#marcus moreno x you

[morallyinept]

Heyday Hero! - A Marcus Moreno One Shot

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! 🖤

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

💜

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! 🖤

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#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno fluff #marcus moreno x you #we can be heores fic #jett's writing #sometimes heroes are more than just super #mature marcus moreno

[frannyzooey]

The Date

Marcus Moreno x f!college student, The Secret Universe

Rating: E, age gap, heavy daddy kink y'all -- they are exploring it together ❤

A/N: all the thanks in the world goes to @the-scandalorian who reassures me every time I am worried the smut is not hitting -- your comments in the doc keep me going. thank you ❤ a special dedication to @swiftispunk who was really brave earlier this week and not only inspired me with that bravery, but also deserves a treat for it ❤

--

The door of the coffee shop swings open, cold air skimming across your back. Shifting your chair to angle yourself away from it, you glance down at your phone as it rings.

Marcus

Swiping right, you answer. 

“Hi,” you grin. 

“Hey, baby.”

His low voice flowing syrupy warm and deep into your ear, you play with the edge of a notebook page, still smiling.

“What’s up?”

“I’m at work, so I don’t have long, but I was calling to see what you’re doing this weekend. I’m free, and I was hoping you might be too?”

“Marcus Moreno. Are you asking me out on a date?” you tease. 

You hear a low chuckle through the phone, and you press your finger over your earbud to drown out the espresso machine in the background. 

“Yea I am, smart alec.” His scolding is laced with paternal endearment, and you smile wider. “I was thinking I’d pick you up tomorrow night after work?”

“Sure.”

“I gotta run into this meeting,” he says, and you can almost see him hurrying through the hallways, checking his watch. “But pack an overnight bag, okay? And put something pretty in there for me. I’m gonna take you to dinner.”

“Something pretty, huh? Kinda demanding, aren’t you?”

A small smile curls at the edge of your mouth and you can hear him match it with his own when he huffs a laugh, picturing the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with fondness. 

“There’s this hotel I always pass on the way up north, with a dinner place underneath. I made a reservation for us.”

You shift in your seat, feeling almost shy. The premeditated planning and the thoughtfulness behind the idea makes you feel cherished, and for a reason you can’t fully explain, feminine. Delicate, meant to be taken care of. This grown man, thinking of you while he’s at the office, making plans to be with you later. Asking you to wear something pretty, just for him. 

“That sounds perfect,” you reply. “I’ll pack tonight.”

“Great,” he answers. 

His voice slips into something more hushed, as if he’s stepped to the side of a doorway before heading into a meeting room. “I’ll be thinking about you until I see you. Been thinking about you since I booked the room.”

So open with his affection, something stirs deep about the sweet sentiment of the words paired with their true meaning. With what you know he’s been thinking about. 

“Oh yea? Anything you want to share with me now, over the phone?”

He lets out a soft, good humored groan. “I wish, baby. I wish I could.”

The sound of his voice coils something deep in your belly, warming you from the inside out. It’s always so overwhelming when he calls you and you have your earbuds in – especially when he lets out those soft groans. Made even more intimate due to the fact that your relationship is still a secret, it makes the low tone of his voice that’s just for you all the more arousing. 

“Tell me on the drive up there?” you ask sweetly.

He lets out a slow breath into the receiver, and you close your eyes for a moment. 

“Oh believe me, I will. Gotta run though. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You say your goodbye and hang up, your assignment forgotten as you stare out the window with a far away, content expression. 

Taking a sip of your latte, you slide into a daydream: an image of him driving, the way his blue dress shirt pulls tight across his shoulders. Him checking into a hotel room, with the sort of casual confidence it requires. The soft brace of his hand on your back as he guides you through the carpeted hallways, the soft click of the door behind you. 

Taking another sip of your drink, the images roll on from there; the coffee shop humming with life around you. 

–

“Wow,” you say, walking into the room. Turning to him, you give him a shy smile. “Pretty fancy.”

“Yea, it’s not bad, huh.”

He tosses his key card on the dresser, placing your overnight bag down next to it. Clicking on the lamp, he bathes the room in warm, inviting light. The furnishings are understated but luxurious, the king sized bed enormous and lush. The sight of a single bed in the room sends warmth through the cradle of your hips and down, and a rolodex of images flashes quickly through your mind: crisp sheets, sweat slick skin, his broad, bare shoulders hooked under your knees. 

His words interrupt your fantasy. “I thought I could let you get ready, and I’ll go down and get us a table? Order us a drink?”

It’s never been this way with anyone else. Something that drew you in from the first time you met him, he’s always been so caring and attentive. Always anticipating the situation and making a clear plan for it, always considering your desires and putting them first. Never to the detriment of his own, but rather alongside his. Because he likes it. Because he can’t help doing it. Like it’s second nature, after spending so many years as a single dad. 

Still, every time he offers to do something before you ask, you find yourself touched. So considerate and thoughtful – while booking you a room with the clear intention of doing something depraved in it. 

“Don’t take long, okay?” he says, stepping closer. His hands curl around your hips, and you turn to fully face him. Letting your touch find his firm chest, you splay your fingers over the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, warm with his body heat. 

“I won’t,” you promise. 

Leaning in, he presses a gentle kiss to your mouth, one you chase when he pulls away. Studying your face closely for a moment, his expression softens. 

“You know, you can say it here if you want.”

Immediately understanding what he’s referring to, you swallow, vulnerability spreading across your features. 

“I want you to,” he softly encourages.

You bite your bottom lip for a moment, hesitating. You haven’t said it since that night in his guestroom, but the memory of it has brought you to release more than once. The word has echoed in your mind for weeks; his lust-soaked groan after you said it fills your mind every time you close your eyes. 

The definitive statement of his encouragement gives you courage as he meets you halfway with a vocalization of his own secret want. A seemingly large leap to take, you know he’ll catch you when you fall – he always does. 

“Okay,” you agree. 

His expression so achingly soft yet with an undercurrent of lust hidden in the depths of his dark eyes, he leans in again, skimming his nose across your cheekbone with a featherlight brush. His hands gently tug your hips closer, and his mouth finds the soft hollow beneath your ear. Pressing a kiss there, he gives you another, and another, his tongue tasting your skin. 

Your head lolls to the side, and your eyes slip shut, focusing on the plush, warm give of his mouth. 

“Say it,” he whispers, and you melt into him, a heavy ache pooling inside you. 

You focus on the wet glide of his tongue and the solid sturdiness of his body in your grip, and the word comes pouring out of your mouth, saturated and soaked with want. 

“Daddy.”

A soft groan catches in the back of his throat, the sound pressing into the delicate skin of your neck. His fingers tighten in their hold, and he gives you another lingering kiss. His teeth scrape against the slope of it this time, his mustache tickling your skin and when you let out an involuntarily whimper, his mouth gets more demanding, his grip tightening as he sucks, the bulge of his stiffening cock nudging along the top of your thigh as he flexes his hips towards you – 

And then he’s pulling himself back with his eyes closed, a small frown gathered between his brows. Trying to rein his desire in, he lets his forehead rest against yours for a moment, collecting himself with a sigh. 

“Good girl,” he praises you, the warm words ghosting humid across your lips. 

Your fingers curl into the smooth fabric along his sides, and you resist the urge to tuck your face into the crook of his neck to hide how much the endearment affects you. 

You cling to him for a moment, waiting for his body to settle and then he takes a step back, scrubbing his jaw with his hand and blowing out a heavy breath. Swiping the key off the dresser, he pats his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs. 

“I’ll be downstairs at the bar.” He takes a step towards the door, and then stops, hesitating. His eyes drop down your body and back up again, taking their time. “Seriously, don’t take long.”

Laughing, you wave him out the door, standing in place with a grin as you watch it close behind him. 

–

The white wine he ordered pairs with the delicious food just right, and though you want to eat more, you stop yourself, not wanting to get too full. So you share with him instead, eating off each other’s plates as you talk. 

It’s been a couple weeks since you’ve seen him last, and he covers every topic: school, your schedule, how you’ve been spending your free time, what books you’ve been reading. He wants to know it all, just like he seems to want to touch it all, with the way his hands never leave you. The warm weight of his hand on the top of your thigh makes you bold, the proximity of his fingers to your core a bright, beckoning pressure. 

You lean in, asking him to name at least one of the things he promised he would tell you in the car.  

Watching the waiter come over with a refill of your wine, he whispers in your ear.

“I can’t stop thinking about your pussy. How much I want it.”

The filthy words are a direct contrast to the way he seems so outwardly relaxed and polite, and the words play on a loop in your mind when he presses a gentle kiss just under your ear. 

His solid body fits against the length of yours in the booth after you’re finished eating and then again out on the small, intimate dance floor. Feeling bashful at the slightly old fashioned request, you take his hand and let him lead you out to it, winding your arms around his neck. 

One of his hands splayed across your lower back with a protective hold, the other one strokes along your side, seeking out the smooth fabric of your dress. Waves of romantic music guide your swaying steps and lightheaded with drink, with happiness and with him, you rest your face at the corner of his jaw, breathing him in. 

The picture of romance to anyone observing, you pull back just enough to look at him sweet and soft – before opening your mouth. 

“I think I’m ready to go upstairs now.”

His steady gaze just as intoxicating as his charm and attentiveness has been tonight, you hold it and tilt your chin up, lowering your voice even more. 

“Take me to bed, daddy.”

The only outward tell of the effect your words have on him are his hands tightening in their hold, but you can feel his body subtly stiffen the way it’s pressed against yours. He waits until the song is done, and then he’s leading you off the dance floor, the weight of his hand resting on your tailbone all the way to your room. 

When he steers you inside, you expect him to turn on the lights…but he doesn’t. 

His hands cupping your jaw, he kisses you instead. 

“You looked so beautiful tonight.”

The words are whispered into the darkness, the only light in the room coming through the sheer curtains. The firmer edges of him meet your softer ones: a deft, skillful handling of your dress as he takes it off, his dry palms skating over your bare skin as he unhooks your bra and tosses it onto the floor, the delicate brush of his fingertips as he slides your panties down your legs and off. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed with you standing bare between his spread thighs, there is something so…erotic, about the way he just looks. By contrast, he is still in everything he wore tonight, save for the shoes he slipped off when you walked into the room and you fight the urge to squirm under his attentive, reverential gaze. He takes his time, his hands exploring every slope of your skin he can reach. 

“When we were downstairs,” he starts, looking up at you with doleful, heavy lidded eyes, “I just kept thinking about how much I wanted to come back to the room. How much I wanted to undress you and see what was waiting, just for me.”

His touches get heavier, more weighted, slightly more needy when he palms the weight of your breast in his hand and you watch the slow swallow of his throat, a steady throb beating between your thighs. Slick pools sticky and wet along your seam, smearing across his fingertips when he nudges them between the soft skin of your thighs, skating his touch through the silky curls that cover your cunt.   

“This is mine, right?” His voice drops into a low husk, his eyes on where he’s touching you. 

“Yes,” you answer shakily, trying not to succumb to the weight of your want. 

“I wanted so bad to taste this instead of the food we were eating.”

He does then, bringing his fingers to his mouth with a frown and a soft groan and a suck, and you bend at the waist, cupping his jaw to bring his mouth to yours. Kissing him fiercely, you crawl onto his lap. 

“Do you want it just as bad as I do, baby?” he breathes, molding his lips against yours. His arm hooks around your back, tugging your body against his. His broad hand settles on your hip, a slight tremble to his hold. “Tell me. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” you confess. 

Getting lost in the cool sensation of his clothes against your heated skin, one hand grasps the collar of his shirt, and the other wraps around the nape of his neck. Grinding yourself down onto the stiff heft of his cock, it strains through his pants beneath you. His mouth demands more from yours, and the anticipation that’s been building in you since yesterday when he called breaks, the words rushing out against his lips. 

“I want you to eat my pussy, daddy. I want you to taste it.”

Only the third time tonight that you’ve let yourself say it, he growls, flipping you onto your back. Covering you with the weight of his body, he guides your still moving hips against his own with a weighted grind just for a moment, and then he’s pulling himself away to sink to his knees on the side of the bed, tugging you swiftly to the edge. 

“Marcus.”

The moan you let out is guttural and loud when he gives your cunt an open mouthed kiss, his head shaking “no” between your legs. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you pant. Your fingers slipping through his hair to press him closer, his tongue swirls heavy around your clit, his shoulders spreading you wider as you grind against his face. 

“Daddy.”

The rumble of his corresponding groan of approval is felt deep inside you, and there is an urgency that slips into his movements as his grasping hands cup your breasts with a squeeze, smooth down your torso with a weighty drag, and wrap around the back of your knees to push you open wider for him. When you come in his mouth, he buries the bottom half of his face with a groan of satisfaction, letting you ride it out against his chin. 

Leaving you breathless and sated for the moment, he stands and strips his clothing quickly. Buttons ripped open and shirt untucked, belt undone before he pushes everything down and off, he impatiently tugs his undershirt over his head before he’s crawling up on the bed to join you. Your eyes drop to his cock, bobbing with weight as he makes his way over to you and you think he’s going to spread your legs to make room for himself, but instead he stretches out alongside you, pulling you in for a kiss. 

Your taste thick on his tongue, he waits until you’re restless in your movements against him, and then rolls over on his back, guiding you on top.

He’s a lot like this, in this position. His cock thick to begin with, the stretch of it takes his mouth to get you ready to begin with, but paired with the weight of your body as it presses him deeper inside you, your breathing hitches as you work him in. Overwhelmed with fullness, you squirm on his lap and rocking your hips forward just to feel him slide inside of you, you tip your head back with a moan. 

“Daddy.”

His hands envelop your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your peaked nipples. He plays with them, forcing his hips up to meet yours. 

“Daddy, please.” You’re begging, but you don’t even know for what. 

The sensation of him beneath you and inside you, the relief of saying the name you have for him in your heart. You know he brought you here so you’d feel more comfortable saying it, and so you do. You let the word spill into the dark room, absorbed by the walls – spill, spill, spill out of your mouth just like he does down your throat, tucking himself into the deepest parts of your body. 

The quiet intimacy, the warm, dry, comforting hold of his big hands as they move you on top of him, the solid strength in his body between your flexing thighs – it all swirls into something intensely arousing, sending shivers along your skin, your breath catching in your throat.

Your moans are breathless as you start to ride him, pleading for him all the same. “Please daddy. It feels so good.”

Everything centered between your legs, he buries himself to the hilt and makes you grind down on it, filling you to the brim. 

“That’s my girl, letting go like that. Do you need more?”

You shake your head, your teeth pulling at your bottom lip as you focus on how deep he is. 

“No. No, it’s just – “ Your hips work faster; a groan spilling out of his outstretched throat. The sound makes you look down at him and he is wrecked underneath you. “You feel so good. So good.”

His thumb rubs circles against your clit, a groan crawling out of his chest when you clench hard around him. “I want you to come on it, baby, okay?”

His hair mussed against the white pillow, his glasses askew on the bedside table. His plush mouth, open in a pant as he watches you ride him. 

These are things that only you get to see, and similar, contrasting images flash through your mind: his thumb a slick drag over your clit (wrapped around the steering wheel as he drove here), his open mouth, begging just for you (smiling politely at the receptionist as she checked you in), his fingers hooked around his drink tonight at dinner (the same ones that have been buried inside you and tucked into your mouth). 

His broad back at the sink as he does the dishes; the same one filling the space between your spread thighs. The voice that makes polite conversation with his coworkers; the husky, filthy orders given to you in the privacy of your room. 

This reserved man; this depraved man. This good father who loves to debase his daughter’s best friend. 

This unassuming and handsome man with a want cradled within him so deeply that no one can tell — no one but you, who gets the brunt of his tightly held restraint that spills loose every time you’re alone. 

No one knows him like this. Only you.

You come on top of him, and then he’s rolling you onto your back again, before sitting back on his heels and tugging you up onto his lap. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before he’s smearing the wet tip of his cock along the curve of your ass, guiding himself to sink back inside your soaked cunt with a groan. The snap of his hips is harsh and hard, your fingers digging into his shoulders for purchase and when you let out a soft sob, his arms wind tightly around you.

 Secure and safe, he cradles against his broad chest. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, and all mine. All mine,” he chants, pressing kisses along the slope of your shoulder. 

His hand slides down to rest against your lower back, and when he pushes the weight of his hold along it to grind you harder against him, your back tries to bow with pleasure, but he holds you so tightly you can’t. A couple rocks of his hips upwards that have you trembling against him, and then he’s pushing his hand between your bodies, seeking out your clit. 

“Daddy,” you plead, your hand wrapping around his thick wrist as his fingers work, work, work. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good girl. I’m almost there, I just want you to come again. Can my sweet girl come for me again?”

You could – you’re already halfway there with the way he won’t stop playing with your clit while he fucks into you from below, and when you start to come, he holds you even tighter. The air squeezed from your lungs by his strong arm wound around your back and his nails scratch the skin between your shoulder blades as his own groan sounds deep and low over yours. 

Pliant and loose on his lap as you come down, you are so wet it’s audible when he fucks half a dozen harsh strokes into you and when he comes, he forces you down onto his lap as tight as he can, his strong grip holding you in place as he floods you with his spend. The heavy rise and fall of his chest matches your own, and you feel the rumble of his deep, sated groans of relief against your sensitive breasts. 

Tacky with sweat and the inside of your thighs sore, you shift to move, and his hold tightens. 

“Stay,” he pants, hooking his chin over your shoulder to clutch you to him, bowing his head. “Stay.”

–

He’s so boyish when he’s on the verge of sleep. 

His features lax, the wrinkles that surround his eyes softened. You play with the curls at the nape of his neck, the action soothing to both of you. 

You think of how neat his hair is normally styled, and how much you like seeing this version more. Always so buttoned up for everyone else – so reserved, so polite and kind – and yet so undone, just for you. Flushed cheeks, loose curls, bright eyes flashing in the darkness. 

Only you know what he looks like when he comes. 

Only you know that he likes being your daddy. 

A tide of gratefulness swells in your chest, and you whisper to him in the darkness. 

“I love you.”

He stirs, lifting his arm to cover you with the weight of it. “Come here.” 

You tuck yourself in along his body and when you’re shielded by the width of him, he presses a kiss to your temple, and then the apple of your cheek, pressing you closer. 

“My sweet girl.” His words slur, his tone softening as he slips away. “I love you too.”

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno/you #marcus moreno/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fic

[palioom]

day twenty-five - pregnancy

pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader

word count: 676

warnings:18+ content; no use of y/n; pregnancy kink, breeding kink, cowgirl position, creampie

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

“Oh, you look stunning, darling.” Marcus groaned, his huge hands smoothing over her belly, round with their child. “So gorgeous, can’t wait to see you grow more.”

She hummed, her hips rocking back and forth on top of him, head thrown back, her own hands groping at her breasts.

“You need to shut up, Marcus.” Her words caught on her moan, his hips jerking up, disturbing her rhythm momentarily before she could catch herself again. “Getting off more to my belly than my pussy, naughty boy.”

He whimpered, unable to keep himself from rocking up into her again. So sensitive and desperate, her body making him lose his mind.

It was like she was teasing him all day, in her pretty summer dresses as she roamed around the kitchen, belly large and enticing, rock hard just at the sight of her.

And of course she had noticed just how much more touchy and close he had become ever since she had started to grow bigger, as if that was even possible with a man as attentive and loving as Marcus.

But he couldn’t keep his hands off of her, eating her out when he could, sneaking his hand below her dress as she was cooking in the kitchen, inviting her into his office just so he could bury himself inside of her.

“Can’t help it, sweetheart.” He moaned, watching her head roll forwards just to give him an amused grin. “You look so pretty when you’re pregnant."

She laughed, grinding down harder, her hands leaving her breasts, immediately replaced with his, to move down to his chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples, another sweet moan making her clench around him.

Marcus was so easily flustered and aroused, hands twitching on her skin as she sped up just a little. 

“Wanna fuck another baby into me right away, don’t you?” She asked, seeing the crease between his brows deepen, his eyes screwed shut while he nodded. “Love me like this so much, don’t you? Fuck, Marcus.”

He absolutely did, something about him was just crazy about her like this.

“Fill me up some more, honey.” 

Squeezing her full breasts, it was almost enough to make him cum, imagining them leaking and round like this forever.

Her heavy weight felt heavenly on him, trying to meet her movements with his own thrusts, stopping when her fingers pinched his nipples. Always so demanding and in charge, even now, even like this.

“Gonna fill you up, you look so beautiful like this.” Voice hoarse, clearly close to bursting, his eyes opened to look at her again.

Those sweet, dark eyes so full of lust right now, desperate.

Changing the angle slightly, she ground into him, her clit receiving just the perfect amount of friction, his rough hands on her breasts only providing further stimulation, letting the coil inside her burst.

“Fuck, yes! Cum inside me, please, Marcus!” She cried out, losing her rhythm but trying to coax him over the edge too, nails digging into his skin. “Please, honey!”

Marcus couldn’t hold back much longer, her tight pussy gripping him too much to resist, his hands moving to her hips to push her down onto him as he spilled himself inside of her with a whine.

Soothing the skin with his thumbs as he slowly calmed down, helping her off of him and down onto the sheets. 

“Are you serious about what you said, honey?” Marcus asked as he rearranged the pillows for her, making it more comfortable for her to lay down, his hand smoothing over her belly after. “You want more kids?”

She hummed, looking back at him with a tired smile.

“Yeah, you clearly enjoy making them and seeing me pregnant.”

A blush crept over his cheeks, leaning down to kiss her, lingering on her lips for a moment, then kissing her shoulder tenderly.

Just laying down behind her, a smile on his face as he slotted his body against hers, his hand still stroking her pregnant form.

He would really enjoy having more kids with her.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #kinktober 2023 #my writing

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 27th

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.

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.”

#pedro pascal #kinktober #kintober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno imagine #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno we can be heroes

[flightlessangelwings]

Ktober 2023 Day 8- Cockwarming

Marcus Moreno x gn!reader

Word count- 1k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), softness, established relationship, no use of y/n

Notes- I miss writing for sweet himbo Marcus!! I can't believe it's been since last October when I wrote for him!! Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is myupdate blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

~

The morning sun hit your eyes and you let out a soft groan. You weren’t ready to face the day yet, not when you were so comfortable in bed. In Marcus’ bed. In his arms. You smiled to yourself as you let your eyes gently close and savored the feeling of his strong arms around you, holding you close and safe.

Nothing separated your bodies as you laid together under the sheets. Marcus’ body heat was all the warmth you needed as you both fell asleep tangled up in each other. Safe and comfortable and completely disconnected from the rest of the world, you never wanted to leave his bed.

Marcus groaned softly as he too started to wake. He mumbled your name in a sleep-ladened voice as he placed a series of light kisses along your shoulders and your back. Anywhere he could reach with his skin, Marcus kissed, worshiping your body in the morning sun.

“Marcus,” you breathed. 

“Morning, baby,” he murmured between kisses.

He worked his way up your shoulders and to your neck, playfully nibbling and biting all the spots he knew were sensitive. You let out a stifled giggle as you bit your lip and craned your neck to allow him better access. Marcus hummed in approval as he ran his tingle along the taut muscle of your neck, eliciting a moan from you.

“Fuck,” you sighed as you leaned your body into him.

Marcus snaked his arms around your body to caress your chest, kneading and squeezing you to pull even louder moans. He groaned as he bucked his hips against your ass so you could feel his hardening cock against your body.

The two of you were alone in the house; Missy was away at a training camp for the rest of the week, so you could stay in bed as long as you wanted. And you both could be as loud as you wanted without fear of her hearing your bedroom activities. You absolutely adored Marcus’ daughter, but at the same time you were grateful for the alone time you got to spend with him while she was away.

He groaned your name as he wrapped his arms around your body and one hand trailed along your front to cup at your groin. You moaned loudly as he worked you between your legs, making you feel so good. Marcus was always good with his hands, and he could play your body like an instrument, and pull the most beautiful sounds to his ears from you.

“I need you, sweetheart,” Marcus murmured into your ear as his skilled hands fondled you.

“You have me, Marcus,” you whispered back as you turned your neck and took his lips with your own.

He moaned into your mouth as he deepened the kiss. It was slow yet passionate, and full of feeling. You rocked your hips in time with his hands as you started a new rhythm with him. Every time you backed up, your ass grazed against his cock, and you made sure to rub yourself against him.

Heat rose between your bodies as you both became more desperate for the other. Breaking away for a deep breath, you rolled yourself around to face him. Marcus looked at you with those big, dark eyes that you could never deny, and he reached out and cupped your face in a tender moment. You leaned in as you both breathed the other’s name before kissing him once more.

As your tongue danced with his, you shifted yourself so that you straddled Marcus’ waist. His hands never left your sides as he helped guide you while never breaking away from the kiss. It had just been since last night that he was inside you, but you both needed it again regardless. 

You rocked your hips along his length, pulling low moans and hisses from Marcus as he broke the kiss to let out a cry of pleasure. He sighed your name as he looked up at you with a glossed over expression. His hands roamed all over your body, caressing your sides as if he tried to memorize every inch of your skin.

“Sweetheart…” he murmured. 

“I know,” you whispered.

Slowly, you positioned yourself on his cock and lowered yourself down. Both of you gasped as his cock pushed past your first ring of muscle and entered your body inch by inch. Still wet from the night before and mixed with your need for him, you took his cock easily even first thing in the morning.

When your hips met his, you collapsed forward and laid down on his chest, and Marcus immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight. You felt his heart pounding in his chest as you ran your hand across his bare skin. This time, it was your turn to kiss wherever you could reach, and you felt Marcus let out a soft laugh as you tickled his skin.

“You feel so good, baby,” he purred as he caressed your back, his fingers trailing along your spine.

“So do you, baby,” you murmured as you contently closed your eyes.

Marcus loved to be inside you; he craved it every moment of the day when he wasn't. And now that he was, he felt like he was in heaven. He kissed the side of your head as he adjusted himself slightly so you both were comfortable. Neither of you wanted to move anytime soon, not when you laid connected together like this. And you had no plans or responsibilities for the day, so you were free to stay as long as you wanted. 

“Did I ever tell you how amazing you are?” Marcus asked in a hushed voice, careful not to disturb the comfortable quiet that fell over the room.

“You just did,” you quipped back with a soft laugh.

“Well, you are,” Marcus joined your laughter as he kissed you again and tightened his grip on you, “I love you, baby.” He closed his eyes, ready to settle in like his as long as you would stay on top of him. His harden cock stayed buried deep inside you, but he didn’t feel the need to fuck you just yet. Right now, he just wanted to savor the feeling of you around him. He could always fuck you later, and this afternoon, and tonight, and tomorrow, and forever.

You hummed as you smiled against his skin and your eyes fluttered shut as well, “I love you too, Marcus.”

It was a long time before the two of you finally moved.

#fawktober2023 #kinktober 2023 #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x gn!reader #marcus moreno x gender neutral reader #marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno imagine #marcus moreno fic #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno fanfic #we can be heroes fic #we can be heroes fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #we can be heroes

[wardenparker]

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.

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!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Moreno #Marcus Moreno x reader #Marcus Moreno x you #Marcus Moreno x female read #Marcus Moreno x f!reader #high school sweethearts #one that got away #what happens in vegas stays in vegas #We Can Be Heroes

[chronically-ghosted]

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #noisynaia #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno fic #marcus moreno fluff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #marcus moreno x f!reader

[pedroshotwifey]

Christmas Countdown Day 10 - Marcus Moreno

Insatiable

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x afab!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, sex pollen trope, multiple orgasms (f&m), shower sex, piv sex, not beta'd, stuff i'm forgetting

Summary: Marcus comes home from work in need of some help

A/N: Sorry this is late today guys. I'm going to go ahead and get started on tomorrow's, so hopefully that will be on time. I know this countdown isn't getting much attention atm, but to the handful of you who read it everyday, I love you and thank you for putting up with me <3

***

You’re just rinsing your body when you hear the bathroom door open. 

“Baby?” 

Your eyes widen in concern as you hear Marcus call for you, his voice frantic and strained like he’s in pain. All at once, a million scenarios cross your mind. He could be bleeding out where he stands right now. In his line of work, you just never know. 

In a flash, you’re throwing open the shower door and stepping out. 

“Marcus?” You ask, just as frantic as your anxiety gets the best of you. 

As soon as your feet touch the bathroom floor, you’re being shoved back into the warm spray of the shower. 

“Nu-uh–get–shower, get back in–”

You stumble back, per his request as he wraps himself around you and forces you in. His skin is burning up and he’s still fully dressed as he gets in with you. His lips crash against yours as soon as he’s close enough. 

You shake your head and try to shove him back, your concern growing with every second. 

“Marcus, stop,” you say, your voice shaky. “Wh-what the fuck is going on?” 

“Please, baby, nee–ungh–need you, please,” Marcus’s words come out fast and whiny as he reaches for his belt buckle, his fingers fumbling as he tries to undo it in a rush. 

You stare at him with a shocked expression. Clearly, he’s fine, other than the fact that he feels like he’s running about a thousand degrees over what he should be. As soon as he manages to get his belt free and his zipper down, his cock springs up.

Okay, well fuck. Maybe he’s not fine. His dick is fucking massive—more so than usual anyway. It’s about two inches longer than his normal seven, and the girth looks to be almost twice what it usually is. It’s visibly throbbing, the tip a furious deep red. 

Precum dribbles down his solid shaft, catching here and there on the over-pronounced veins to pool in the hair at the base of his monstrous cock. 

Your jaw drops as you look back up into his eyes, and he stares right back at you, a look of desperation, fear, and lust within his own. He brings his hand to his dick, unable to help himself, as if it causes him great pain with each moment he’s not touching it.

“P-please, baby, help,” he pleads, his eyes watering. 

You’re about to tell him that he’s not coming anywhere near you with that thing, when he lets out a strangled sob. His cock twitches and he just about doubles over. 

“It–work–I–there was–ah–this dust-” He can barely get a sentence out. Fuck. You have to help him, you know you do. But how in hell are you going to fit that thing anywhere?

You look at him, licking your lips nervously. His button-up shirt and nice slacks are clinging to his skin the same way his hair sticks to his forehead. His eyes are pleading and ashamed as he continues to tug on his cock at a harsh pace. 

Steeling yourself, you turn around and plant your palms on the shower wall. As soon as you do so, Marcus is on you.

“Thank you, baby, thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

“Just–ah!” you gasp when you feel his engorged tip at your entrance. “Just be gentle, please,” you say, closing your eyes and trying to relax. As much as it may help right now, Marcus might not be able to wait long enough to warm you up. You’ll just have to take it. 

You know you can, you have to. You don’t know what kind of long term effects could come from something like this. Especially if it’s something he picked up on a job. You’ve heard things about a new drug that causes a person to react like this, and if that’s what it is, it means certain death for the affected person if their needs are not satisfied. 

Though you can’t be sure if he’s been affected by such a thing, there's no way in hell you’re going to risk it. 

Marcus begins to thrust up, starting to part your walls to accommodate him. He lets out a breathy whine as he does so, just the slightest bit of relief enough to satiate the pain for a second. 

You wince slightly and your knees buckle once he gets about an inch in, the girthy feeling almost too much. Marcus has his hands planted firmly on your bare hips, and you grip one forearm for a bit more stability.

“I know, baby,” he groans as your nails dig into his skin. “So good to me, you’re okay, jus’ lemme...”

He feeds you another few inches, so a little more than half of him is squeezed into you. You let out a whimper, the fullness unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Marcus is trembling behind you, placing his lips on your neck to leave sloppy kisses. 

Just as it feels like it’s going to start getting painful, he groans loudly and grips you tight before you feel a hot spurt of something fill your cunt–his cum, you realize with a gasp. The intrusion allows him to slip the rest of his still hard cock into you. 

He shoves it all at once, hitting your cervix as he bottoms out. You let out a scream at the same time he groans. He only holds still for a second, and then he’s sliding in and out of you at a brutal pace, the force of his thrusts keeping you on your toes. 

It’s not long before that familiar warm feeling is taking over your entire body, making you shake and your mind grow fuzzy. You’re so close. 

“M-Marcus, please touch my clit,” you beg as you grind your ass into him. 

He obeys, immediately dragging one hand down to rub at your clit, which just as quickly sets your orgasm off. He fucks you through it, slamming into you like an animal. 

You moan loudly as your cunt convulses around him, your eyes closing and your jaw going slack. If Marcus wasn’t holding you up, you would have fallen to the shower floor. 

His cock starts to twitch within you, and you can sense that he’s close too. A few thrusts later, he’s shooting his seed into you again as he bites down on your shoulder. 

You shout as he does so, but the pain mixed with the feeling of his cum spurting in thick ropes all over your walls triggers your second orgasm, so quick to your fist that it seems like it’s just one. 

The two of you seem to melt into one another as the pleasure completely takes over you. By the time you come down from your highs, you’re both panting and leaning on one another. 

Marcus moves, and you assume he’s going to pull out until you feel him thrust up gently. His hard tip nudges your sore g-spot, making your eyes widen. You’re already exhausted, but Marcus shows absolutely no sign of slowing down any time soon.

It’s going to be a long night.

*** Thank you for reading. Please let me know if you want to join the countdown tag list.

FOTJC: @arcanefox207 @redhotkitchen @magpiepills @exquisiteserotonin @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo @morallyinept @beskarandblasters @tightjeansjavi @theywhowriteandknowthings @nerdieforpedro @maggiemayhemnj @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @ghostofaboy @joels-shitty-puns @elvinaa

WCC:  @amyispxnk @melaninmommy @brittmb115 @mandoalorian

Link to prompt list

#friends of the juice collective #pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #marcus moreno #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you

[rise-my-angel]

New Year New Games

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. 

#marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x female reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno imagine #marcus moreno fic #pedro pascal x reader

[morallyinept]

Heyday Hero - A Valentine's Story - Mature!Marcus Moreno

This is a story set in the Heyday Hero Universe. You might wanna read that one first if you haven't already.

Summary: Marcus pulls out all the stops to make your first Valentine's Day together really super!

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. Images for aesthetic, no reference to Reader.)

Word Count: 7.2k

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: Both Marcus & Reader have REAL bodies, and very real middle age spread/coming to terms with ageing & feeling obsolete.

Explicit: Established relationship/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/all the flowers and pancake mush you can swallow/Marcus being the perfect, romantic fool

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: Happy Valentine's Day, lovelies! 🥰 I just had to revisit these two love birds on this heart day. Love you all so much! 😘

MAIN MASTERLIST | MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST

HEYDAY HERO <- Main Story

Enjoy! 🖤

The early morning Austin sun casts a warm glow over Marcus's garden as he ambles among the clusters of vibrant blooms swaying gently in the Texan breeze. 

Clipping blush peonies with thoughtful precision, his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Missy and you; the two women in his life showering him with more love in abundance than he could ever wish for. 

Fragrant petals whisper to him in the gentle flurry, carrying the promise of a special day he’s woken up to. A day that, for so long, had seemed so mundane - another day ending in a Y. So pointlessly lonely. Just ordinary in his solace without a partner to share the topical mushiness with, even if it was rife with capitalist sentiment sponsored by the fat cats at Hallmark. 

Lost in contemplation as he prunes and snips at stems, Marcus's thoughts are a blend of affection and giddy anticipation, and he can’t wait to see his daughter smile as she inhales in the perfumed fragrance of the florals he’s chosen just for her.

Despite the lack of a romantic partner since the passing of his wife and Missy's mother, his Valentine’s Days since were about showering Missy with love and appreciation, something that she initially resisted, stomping into her unruly teens and it being branded “uncool” to spend time with her father fussing over her as she was reaching maturity.

But he still upheld that tradition nonetheless.

Now a headstrong woman in her thirties, she could appreciate that effort and often sought it out willingly as she would snuggle in closer to him when watching a movie together after a hard day of fighting the world’s enemies and threats, and he would smile as she fell asleep snoring into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and subsequently leaving a patch of drool on it.

But as much as the superhero father-daughter duo loved one another, Marcus missed the companionship of a partner he could shower with hopelessly romantic sentiment and love of a more intimate kind.

That was until he met you.  

Over the course of the last six months, yours and Marcus’s relationship has bloomed and flourished, much like his garden, evolving into a softly hedonistic timeline woven with shared experiences, laughter, and genuine affection. 

Despite the exciting journey you’re both on, you both carry unspoken anxieties that occasionally cast shadows on the picturesque canvas of your budding romance.

Your dates were a delightfully regular mix of adventures - whether exploring museums, cozying up at home with a homemade dinner and a classic movie, or exploring the wonderland of nature.

And Marcus still can’t get your first meeting out of his mind. The date that solidified it all for him.

He was mesmerised by you, and still is, fearing some days he’ll wake up and realise it’s all been some wondrous dream where he subconsciously created and crafted you from the moulds of his inert loneliness. 

He glances over to the sun loungers by the pool, and his cock pulls tight in his jeans, remembering the two of you sat in one together, listening to your words as you read from your book to him, only a few days ago as the sun set into a fiery orange sky.

He can smell the scent of your skin again now as the tepid heat warmed it as he had you in his arms, basking in the dying rays as he buried himself inside of you from behind. His nose running tracks against the back of your neck as his fingers drew circles on your clit, bringing you to soaring heights without ever leaving the ground.

With the book discarded to the patio, his big hands were resting and stroking on the crinkles of your tummy skin as he whispered how beautiful you are, nipping on your earlobe as the sky blushed above you, an expansive voyeur to your lovemaking.

The gentle, yet enthusiastic, pace of your relationship allows you to savour each moment, creating a foundation of tentative understanding and trust. Yet, as the seasons change, the passage of time invokes subtle insecurities that bleed in uninvited.

It’s human nature, he supposes. Marcus, a retired superhero, whose body had once effortlessly defied gravity, now finds himself grappling with the harsh realities of ageing. The occasional ache and stiffness serve as reminders of the physical toll his heroic past has taken on him.

You, too, are confronted with your own insecurities when you stand in front of the mirror, naked after a shower, and notice things aren't as supple or as perky as they used to be. The mirage of eternal youth begins to dissipate, sands falling in the glass, replaced by the acknowledgement of lines that trace the stories of your laughter, and the gradual changes of a sinking gravity that comes with the eventual movement of time.

As the months towards his retirement from the Heroics had unfolded, Marcus began to notice the subtle changes in his body - the creaky echoes of years spent in the pursuit of justice. The once effortless movements that defined his superhero heydays were now accompanied by a quiet reminder of the toll taken on his physical form. 

Morning stiffness became a familiar companion as Marcus greeted the dawn - a stiffness of a different, less exciting kind.

The pops in his joints were like a cacophony of irritating reminders, a natural clicking chorus that played out, despite him being an unwilling conductor, as he rose from his bed. Aches manifested in areas that once bore the brunt of intense physical exertion.

His shoulders, which had once easily carried the weight of the world, now bore the imprints of past struggles. Welted, faded scars of times when he came close to exchanging his life so others could live, adorned him. White, little lines of jagged lightning against the golden skin that you would run your fingers or tongue over, bringing about a sensual healing in the layers of his marred epidermis with your explorative and worshipping ministrations.  

On some days, Marcus found himself pausing to stretch, a conscious effort to ease the tightness that settled into his muscles. The warm-up routine, once a prelude to high-flying acrobatic adventures, now became a ritual to navigate the nuances of a body shaped by years of gritty heroism.

Yet, despite the stark, physical reminders of ageing, Marcus approached each day with resilience and a quiet acceptance. The aches were not signals of defeat but rather markers of a life well-lived, a testament to the now grey hero who had faced challenges head-on and emerged with stories of grandeur etched into the fabric of his being. 

Observant and empathetic, you stood by Marcus's side as he navigated these physical aches and pains on the mornings you woke up together.

Your gentle massages and understanding glances spoke volumes, creating a space where the vulnerabilities of ageing became threads that wove you both closer together. 

He thinks back to the way your hands glide over his body and soon distract him from the aches to another ache weighing heavy between his legs. The more pleasant vareity of morning stiffness.

His ears are soon filled with your gasps and moans as he zones out under the morning sun, thinking back to mornings waking with you wrapped around him as he slipped inside you and worked you both out. 

In that tranquil corner of the garden, surrounded by the coveted peace of nature, Marcus confronts the uncertainties, but the happiness he feels quells any of that self-doubt in an instance. 

The kitchen, the epicentre of Marcus’s world now, soon becomes a hub of activity as Marcus sets about creating a special morning feast on the day of San Valentín.

The aroma of homemade pancakes fills the air, mingling with the scents of freshly brewed coffee and tarte fruity berries. The vase of peonies adorns the table, adding a touch of colour to the special breakfast spread he’s prepared all morning with love and care.

As Missy enters the kitchen, hair damp and bedraggled, the mild surprise melting away the sleep in her battered eyes, Marcus can't help but beam.

"Happy Valentine's Day, kiddo," he says, presenting her with the hand-cut bouquet.

Missy's eyes light up with unbridled joy as she accepts the vase of flowers with a kiss on the side of his fuzzy face. "Dad, these are beautiful. Thank you."

“Only the best for my muñeca. Sit, I made you some breakfast.” (Doll.)

“You’re not having breakfast with your lovely lady?”

“We’re spending the rest of the day together. I've made plans.” His eyes light up as he says it, pouring out hot coffee.

"Sneaky." Missy smirks.

“This morning is just for you and me.”

“Makes a change not to see you two half-naked and draped all over each other. You know, these walls are paper thin.”

“Shut up.” Marcus says, evidently blushing. 

“I ought to file a complaint, I’m sure it violates some building code… loud noises.”

“Or you could just stay at your place?” He suggests with a grin.

“Pffft. That’ll never happen.”

In the days leading up to Missy and you meeting for the first time - which was inevitable really considering how often your paths had almost crossed with Missy using her key at any God given time of day - Marcus hadn’t been able to shake a lingering sense of angst. He found himself caught in the crossroads of two important relationships intermingling in his life, and the fear of you both not getting along tugged at the edges of his erratic thoughts. 

As he’d prepared the house for your official get-together, Marcus couldn't help but second guess his decision. What if you didn't hit it off? The worry gnawed at him, the uncertainty of your connection becoming a lead weight on his broad shoulders and making him feel somewhat nauseous at the prospect of facing a choice.

He tried to distract himself with preparations, arranging a small dinner, which soon became over the top due to the stress-cooking that ensued, and ensuring the atmosphere was comfortable. 

But every now and then, a wave of anxiety washed over him despite Missy reminding him that he was worrying over nothing. 

If she makes you this goofy, Dad, then I already love her… Missy'd remarked as he clattered about clumsily with pans. 

When the hour finally arrived, Marcus did his best to hide his apprehension despite his squally gut. As Missy and you exchanged greetings, he observed your interactions with a hopeful, yet anxious, heart.

The initial moments were filled with small talk, and Marcus found himself holding his breath, waiting for a sign that you were connecting, and shucking in deep breaths of oxygen when you subtly reminded him to breathe, observing him turn a shade of purple and giving his thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Of course, Marcus needn't have worried - Missy and you got on like a house on fire.

Laughter began to flow naturally, and conversations unfolded effortlessly. The tension in Marcus's shoulders eased as he witnessed his daughter and new partner finding common ground, especially in teasing him, it appeared.

Marcus smirks as he places a plate under Missy’s nose. 

“Heart-shaped, chocolate chip pancakes? You trying to woo me, Dad?”

“Just showing the love for my amazing daughter.” 

“Why, what are you after?” Smiling, she pours the raspberry syrup over the stack.

“Nothing. Just want you to know how special you are to me is all.” He mumbles quietly with pink cheeks frazzling under his thick rimmed specs.

"Your love is causing me to gain five pounds." She muses.

“What’s that?” He asks, nodding over to the skin on her shoulder now revealed as she ties back her hair.

She glances down at the rather large and angry bruise and back at her father’s concerned eyes. 

“I can handle it, Dad.” She reminds him as he visibly tenses. 

“I know. But I’m always going to worry. Even if you are a Moreno badass.” 

She laughs and then sighs, pulling her cardigan on and covering up the bruise. “Comes with the territory, right?"

He nods, sadly. "It does."

Missy picks up her fork to dig in and then hesitates. "Did you... did you ever have those days when you thought about throwing in the towel?”

Marcus nods again. “All the time.”

As Marcus reminisces about his past, memories of battles lost and wounds endured flood his mind like unwelcome guests crashing a solemn reunion. There were moments etched in his memory with the vividness of fresh lacerations - times when victory had slipped through his fingers like sand, leaving behind scars that ran deeper than mere flesh and bone.

“How did you keep going? How did you… find the strength?” She sighs and Marcus can only helplessly observe the features of her own face, young, but carrying that weight of the world is starting to age her quicker than he would like.

He remembers the deafening roar of explosions echoing in the night as he fought valiantly against insurmountable odds, only to find himself battered and broken, his spirit and pride bruised more than his body.

There were battles where the enemy's strength seemed limitless, where every blow landed with the force of a freight train, threatening to crush his resolve beneath its weight.

In the aftermath of defeat, Marcus found himself questioning everything he had once believed in. The wounds he bore were not just physical; they were a reflection of the doubts and insecurities that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

He considered putting away his katanas many, many times, walking away from the life of a hero and leaving behind the chaos and destruction that seemed to follow in his wake.

But even in the darkest moments of despair, a flicker of hope remained - a stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished. It was the memory of those he had sworn to protect, the faces of innocence that haunted his dreams and whispered words of encouragement in the depths of his despair mid-fight.

Marcus leans over the counter on his arms and pinches a raspberry from Missy’s plate. 

“For you. I wanted to make the world a better place for you to grow up in. Safe.”

Missy smiles like a dim bulb about to burn out as she eats. “You did a pretty good job of that, Dad. I've had some big shoes to fill.”

He smiles, running his tongue around the raspberry pips now lodged in his teeth. 

“You’re doing great, kiddo.”

He reaches for another raspberry and she bats his hand away as he chuckles. 

“You know, you’re the only man who's ever gotten me flowers…” She says a few minutes later, eyeing the fluffy heads with a slight dip on her face, and Marcus can’t help but furrow his brow in unison.

Missy looks up at her father with twinkly eyes that mirror the melting chips in the pancakes. “I love you. You know that, right?” 

“Te quiero mucho, mucho.” (I love you very, very much.) He nods as they eat together. 

“I should get going-” Missy states after she finishes her plate, which only seems to be after a few hefty shovels.

“No, stay.”

“As much as I love being a third wheel, it’s Valentine’s Day.” She reminds him. 

“Hey.” Marcus takes her elbow gently. “You know this is your home, you're always welcome here, no matter what. I always want you here.”

“I know. But you guys should do the whole love thing today. Alone.” 

“What about you?” He asks, concerned at the thought of Missy sitting alone in her apartment on the most love-filled day of the year. 

“I’ll be fine.” She assures with a tight smile. “Might see if Miss Starlight or Renegade wanna hang. We can all be lonely and miserable together.” She snorts. 

A thoughtful pause follows before Marcus tentatively broaches the idea. "Have you ever thought about giving online dating a try? You know, like the dating app profile you made for me? I hear it’s all the rage these days."

Missy raises an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on her face, "Dad, are you suggesting I join the world of swipes and emojis? Because that ship has long sailed. I’m knee deep in dilfs on the regular." She grins.

Marcus chuckles nervously, "I have no idea what any of that means.”

“Probably best.”

“Well, I mean, it's one way to meet people. You might find someone who appreciates your eloquent wit and charm."

“Don’t forget the potty mouth.”

“That too,” he smiles. “I know what it’s like. Being the world’s hero leaves you somewhat… lonely. I don't want that for you.”

Missy nods contemplating. “I’ve been giving it some thought.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you two seem really happy together. I guess I miss having that sometimes.”

Marcus, feigning surprise, replies, "Really? Well, I guess you can thank your old man for staying on top of the trends and leading by example."

Missy rolls her eyes playfully, "Oh, I will, Dad. You're my dating app guru now."

“Hardly.” He scoffs.

“This is true, you lucked out on round one. You didn’t get to kiss any gnarly toads or do the walk of shame.”

“The walk of shame?”

“I'll tell you about it when you’re older some day,” Missy quips with a grin. 

There’s always a subtle restlessness, a physical awareness that manifests in the anticipation of your next meeting.

The memory of your kiss lingers on his lips, he can still taste you long after you're gone, and the mere thought of your touch again sparks a warmth that courses through his veins, burning him up from the inside.

His body has changed so much, and yet you make Marcus feel like he’s young and nubile again when the butterflies begin to flap around, and that tingle surges deliciously down the length of his cock.  

With a sense of heady excitement and a touch of mystery, Marcus decided to plan a special surprise for you for Valentine’s Day.

One that he hopes you won’t forget in a hurry. 

He arrives at your place, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and the breath torn from his lungs as he beholds you opening the door with that gorgeous smile just for him. 

Every time he has the chance to see you again, whether for a planned date or an unexpected visit, Marcus feels a powerful surge run through him, making his fingers crackle with a pulsing intensity that makes them buzz almost uncontrollably. He doesn't bother shaking the feeling away anymore, instead he revels in it.

The moments leading up to your regular reunions are filled with a blend of eagerness and a touch of nervous anticipation, as if each meeting holds the promise of uncovering something new and extraordinary.

In those stolen glances and shared moments, Marcus discovers that missing someone can be a beautiful ache, a testament to the depth of his feelings for you, absent hearts and all that spiel. 

An ache that is soon satiated when you open the door and smile at him like he’s the only man in the world. 

His lips find yours almost instantly as you grasp onto his broad shoulders in the doorway, the pair of you almost toppling through in your desperate haste. The soft groans that escape him makes your blood throb inside your veins.

His tongue slips into the comforting home of your mouth, and you feel it over every nerve ending in your body, tingly and visceral. And not just from his crackly fingertips.

“Hey you,” you eventually manage to sigh into his plush mouth, feeling the silk of his greying beard smoothing against your cheeks. 

“Hey, mi Dulzura…” (Hey, my Sweetness) he murmurs dreamily as he plants delicate kisses along your jawline and inhales the scent of your perfume. It’s the vanilla and jasmine one he likes so much when he can smell it lingering on his pillows. 

He’s all hands and enthusiastic smooches the moment he sees you. Unable to abnegate himself away from the basic needs of touch and affection that you give back to him in equal abundance.

You can't get enough of one another. 

You feel his large hands squeeze your hips gently, and your body flares as he pulls you in closer to him, crushed right up against his stacked, warm chest as he kisses you more with a heated groan. 

Reluctantly pulling away he suggests, "How about we go on a little adventure today? I've got something special planned."

“You spoil me, Mr Moreno.” You cluck, running your hands over the soft leather jacket adorning his arms. 

“Always,” he confirms with a grin. “You look great, so beautiful,” he says, eyeing your tight jeans and pretty floral shirt combo. 

“As do you, you scrub up well.” You marvel at the jeans, leather jacket and green t-shirt he’s casually adorned in, pulling tight in all the right places. You stroke over the soft swell of his tummy as you lean in for another kiss.

He pulls something silken out of his pocket and you glance at it with raised eyebrows. “May I?”

“Kinky shenanigans planned on my doorstep?” You query as you allow him to blindfold you. “The neighbours will love that…” You giggle.

“Even better,” he whispers into your ear salaciously. 

“You hound.” You swipe out playfully to him, but miss when you can’t see anything at all now.

“Woof.” He growls, pausing to nip on your lobe and revelling in your desperate whine in response.

After a short drive through town, Marcus finally pulls up. "Trust me, you're going to love this," he assures as he guides you out of the car.

He carefully leads you along a path, each step heightening the sense of anticipation. As you walk blindly, his arm around your waist, and your hand holding tightly onto his other, you can feel his own sense of excitement as it buzzes into your skin with those pleasant tingles and crackles.

“Just a little further.” He assures as he pushes open a door and you step through to inhale a moistness in the air; a balmy heat that’s different from the outside that settles into your pores. 

“Where are we?” You question with a jaunty, excitable tinkle. For a moment, the smell reminds you of a swimming pool.

“Just wait…” You can hear him grinning. 

When you reach your destination, Marcus removes the blindfold, unveiling the breathtaking scene of the Austin botanical garden before you.

The vibrant colours, the fragrant blossoms, and the serene atmosphere creates a picturesque display that leaves you in absolute awe.

You’re surrounded by flowers in abundance, the scent of them driving you wild as they all scramble to make you smell their perfumes first. You’re even more stunned to find it all completely empty.

"Welcome to the botanical garden.” Marcus says, tucking the blindfold into his leather jacket pocket. “It’s one of my favourite places.” 

“Wow!” You smile, turning a full three-sixty as you take it all in. “You know, I’ve always been meaning to come here. I don’t know why I haven’t before…”

“I thought we could spend the day here," Marcus announces with a grin. “Look,” he points over to a small set up of a picnic on a grassy area under an intricate arch of purple orchids in the shape of a heart.

“Looks like a giant purple heart emoji.” You smile at him. 

He nods, eyebrows wiggling above his specs.

“You really know how to romance a girl,” you smile, stroking under his chin. 

“I booked this place out just for us.” His hands slide down your lower back pulling you into him. “We’re completely alone…”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We have the whole day here, if we want.”

“I want. Very much.” You nod and pull him forward by his lapels for a deep kiss. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you smile, cupping his cheeks and gliding your nose over his. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, mi Dulzura. Feliz Día del Corazón.” (My Sweetness. Happy Heart Day.)

He kisses you, gently nipping onto your lips as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck. 

The air is filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers as you stroll together along lush pathways, surrounded by an array of captivating plant life.

The Orchid Pavilion, the base for your picnic, is adorned with hanging baskets of intricate orchids, showcasing a kaleidoscope of colours - from delicate pastels to vibrant hues. 

After eating together, an array of home baked, sweet treats Marcus had prepared himself, you wander through a section adorned with curtains of exotic orchids, and Marcus can't contain his enthusiasm as he takes on the role of your personal tour guide.

A role he takes very seriously, much to your amusement. 

"Did you know orchids have a fascinating way of attracting pollinators? Some mimic the appearance and scent of certain insects to lure them in. It's nature's way of flirting, I suppose." He rambles excitedly.

You chuckle, finding Marcus's nerdy fascination endearing. "Flirting through flowers, who would've thought? Tell me more, Mr. Botanist."

You continue your fascinating journey, hand in hand, and Marcus points out a cluster of carnivorous plants. 

"These are pitcher plants. They have specialised leaves that form a pitcher-like structure to trap insects. It's like having a tiny garden predator."

“Have you got these in your garden?” You query, peering into their tube-like structures, like tiny trumpets in the grasses. He has so many of his own plants it's hard to remember them all.

“No. I do have a Venus Fly Trap though. She’s very bitey.” He nips on your neck making you yelp as he walks you forward. 

“Ah. Audrey II, of course.” You smirk. 

“Of course.” He muses. 

As you reach a serene pond surrounded by water lilies, Marcus shares another tidbit. 

"Water lilies close their flowers at night and reopen in the morning, and they…. what?” He stops to look at you quizzically, noting the expression spreading over your face. “W-why are you looking at me like that?”

You shake your head smiling, all teeth bared at him. “You're so sexy when you geek out.”

He blushes beet red and smirks. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until we get to the cacti garden. I will be insufferable.”

"Hot." You chuckle.

You meander through a section dedicated to succulents and cacti, where the desert's resilience takes centre stage. The ground is adorned with various prickly shapes and sizes, from the elegant arms of Saguaro cacti to the whimsical arrangements of succulents that seem to defy gravity as their spiky tendrils reach towards the sky. 

The sun bathes this arid landscape in a warm glow through the high glass ceilings, casting shadows that play on the pebbly, sandy ground like a dance of desert spirits conjured by mystical forces.

“You were right, it’s pretty awesome.” You say. 

“Not as awesome as you,” he whispers, kissing you again. 

A serpentine path leads you to the Aquatic Garden, where more water lilies float gracefully on the surface of a tranquil pond. Golden Koi Carp glide beneath the water, adding a splash of movement as you both sit by it chatting. 

The reflections of the surrounding greenery dance on the water, creating a mirror-like effect that seems to amplify the selection of plant species all around you. You dip your fingers into the pool, the fish swimming curiously around at a safe distance, and Marcus watches with a smile that makes his cheeks ache. 

“You like butterflies?” He asks you. 

You nod, smiling as he takes your hand and leads you to the Butterfly Conservatory, a whimsical space alive with fluttering colours of Black Swallowtails, Red Admirals and Cloudless Sulphurs.

Thousands of butterflies dance around, their delicate wings creating a haze of hues that add an extra layer of enchantment to the garden that stuns you into silent giggles at such a place.

“I wish I could fly sometimes.” You smile as the butterflies flit around, some landing on your sleeves as you admire their delicacy with a splendid awe.

You bring your arm closer to your face, your nose wrinkling in delight as the tiny butterfly shows off its wings just for you. 

“Funny you should mention that.” Marcus teases.

You eye him carefully. “What do you mean?”

“I have something else planned for you today. If you’re up for it?”

“I’m always up for it.” You smirk.

“Come on.” He takes you by the hand once more and leads you towards a garden that’s outside and full of roses in every shade of pink and red that exists on the colour scale. 

“This is stunning,” you say, slowing down as you take them all in.

Akin to being lost in the Queen of Heart’s gardens, it takes you a few minutes of wandering back through the maze of rose bushes, interwoven with clusters of pale lavender hydrangeas, to find Marcus handling some belts and clips near a device you’ve never seen before. 

“Is that what I think it is?” You question with wide eyes as you notice the large contraption hovering just a few inches above the grass, whirring silently.

It has two large circular fans and belts that lead from it to Marcus’s waist as he clips himself securely into it.

“You wanna fly?” He queries and you nod enthusiastically, feeling a surge zap through you and your toes tingle in your shoes. 

You feel him navigate a similar belt around your waist, willingly holding your arms out. He runs his nose against your neck as he does it, and you hear him groan in satisfaction as he inhales.

“Mouth watering...” He murmurs as he kisses your skin and your feel it pulse in your core as you clench around nothing. 

You watch as he clips your belt into his and tugs against it.

“Are you ready?” Marcus asks you as you step closer to him.

“No.” You giggle.

“Do you trust me?” He questions with a serious face, thumb stroking down your cheek.

You nod looking into his deep, cocoa eyes. “With my life.”

Marcus smiles at that, wrapping his hands around your waist. “I’ve got you. You’re safe, okay?"

"Okay." You nod, smiling.

"You’re not afraid of heights, are you?

“Bit late to ask me that now,” you chuckle, and so does he. "Are you going to run me through the pre-flight safety checks?"

Marcus smirks. "Hold onto me. That's it."

"Well, shit." You cling onto him as the whirring starts to get faster, the blades of grass blown out into flat circles, and you can feel the belt cinch tighter around your waist as it lifts you both off the ground. 

“Oh my God!” You clutch onto him tighter and he chuckles softly. “This is really happening!”

“Let’s go see the city.” Marcus smiles, placing a kiss on your head. 

Once a soft breeze, the wind grows more ferocious around you, your body becoming free from the reassuring surface of the world.

The wonder in your eyes grows to questionable proportions, and you’re soon completely bewildered at the fact that you're really flying.

He tips forward in a smooth motion so you’re both lying horizontal in the air when the device reaches the desired altitude.

“You ready?”

You nod eagerly as he propels forward with a simple push of his upper body, steering, as you both zoom off towards the Austin city skyline, your giggly gasps ringing in his ears.

Your eyes meet his in wonder as you grip onto him tightly. “Marcus! We’re flying!”

You feel like you’re shouting over the wind whipping against you, eyes wide and gleaming at the sight of the city approaching in a block chart of colour and twinkles of lights. 

It feels colder, but being crushed against his body keeps you warm enough. You’re too exhilarated to feel any change in body temperature. 

You brave yourself to look at the sky above sinking into an inky twilight of orange and cerise hues as the sun sets. 

“Welcome to my world,” Marcus says, nuzzling into you.

You feel his grip lessen and glance at him with alarm, but the look in his eyes convinces you he’s not going to let you fall.

He simply reaches for your hand with one of his, and you drop subtly beneath him, the belt keeping you close as he takes your other hand and you’re spread out beneath, back against his chest, arms wide as they can go as he holds them out parallel with his.

“Oh shit!” You gasp as he flies you both faster, curving and twisting around the breadth of the skyscrapers; your giddy reflection in the mirrors of the glass windows ara a blur as you pass. 

You don’t notice when he lets go of your hands, his arms around your waist instead as your own arms stay out in front of you as you rip through the air. 

“Better than the butterflies?” You hear him call.

“So much better than the butterflies!” You laugh, almost hysterically, as he loops back towards the botanical garden, after a few more laps around the city. 

As soon as you’re back on the ground in the rose garden, a wave of adrenaline surges through you, and you lunge at him with shaky limbs, almost knocking him off balance.

A melody of gasps and breathy pants puff out of your mouths as you kiss frantically through tinctured groans. The whimper in the back of his throat conveying more than words ever need to about his desire for you in this moment. 

Marcus unclips the belts, yanking them off of the both of you with a fumbling fervour, glued at the mouth with you. Clumsy kisses, teeth clashing against one anothers in your mutual haste, as you push his leather jacket down over his shoulders and his fingers eagerly untuck your shirt from your jeans. 

“That was incredible,” you gasp into his mouth, unzipping his jeans. 

“You’re incredible,” he groans as you take his swollen cock in your hand, squeezing and stroking gently as you lavish kisses over his bronzed neck. 

“Oh God,” Marcus moans.

Subtle flicks of your tongue leave him gasping, his hands running through your windswept hair as you make tracks over his chest littered with sparse, greying hairs as you both tumble to the grass and push his t-shirt up further. 

Tasting all the way down his sternum and lingering over the soft paunch of his tummy, a place you always nuzzle against, he glances down at you with a bashful smile.

Then a gentle nibble on his hips before your tongue wanders into the small, neatly trimmed thatch of hairs around the back of this thick, weeping cock. 

“Oh, please…” he whines biting down on his lip. 

You lick up from the base of him, your eyes transfixed on his as he gasps, watching you run up the full length of him to kiss the top of his leaking head gently. You stroke his thighs and he parts them further making room for you as you settle into making out with his cock. 

You’ve mastered the art of taking your time with him, enjoying the sounds that flutter out of his mouth as you take him deeper and deeper. Those unbridled whimpers as you suck fill your ears, and you swear you’ve never heard a more perfect sound escape him. 

It's when you take him all the way down is when he loses his calm, polite composure. 

“Fuck!” Marcus gasps, his head lolling back. “Mm, just like that…” 

You smirk to yourself as you feel fingers knotting in your hair and subtly tugging on it.

“Yeah… so fucking good. Oh my God… Yes.” He pants.

You let him have free reign over your body too, as he buries two fingers inside you and licks you to orgasm. His favourite place is between your legs, his second is a garden. When the two collide, it's even better.

“Marcus, please…” you pant, words tumbling from your mouth as your legs shake.

“Tell me, tell me what you want, mi Dulzura.”

“I want you inside me.”

“Right here?” You feel his buzzing fingers plunger deeper, stroking on that spot that makes your thighs shake harder as you feel the tingles ramp up. “You want me filling you up, hmm?” 

“Yeah.” You pant as he circles your clit. The heavy throb undeniable on it from the crackling in the tip of his thumb.

“That feel good?” He smirks.

You fist the grass, tearing blades from it that stick to your palms as you grasp his face, fingernails digging into his skull behind his ears as your exhale and puff into his face. 

“Oh my God, yes, Marcus!”

His glasses dig into your cheeks as you strain and wail, your breath fogging them up a little.

“Come for me. Come all over my fingers, come on.” He chants watching you, foreheads crushed together as he zaps and strokes harder inside you. 

“Come, mi Dulzura. ¡Dios mío, eres tan malditamente hermosa!” (My God, you're so damn beautiful!)

The Spanish whispers send you over the edge. “M-Marcus!” You cry out, squeezing around his fingers as your whole body shakes; tingles flooding all over and making you feel like you’re still flying, all the way up there in the pale lilac sky above you as your eyes roll back into it.

You feel him kissing over your neck, humming softly muffled words of praise and desire into your skin as your slick coats his fingers just like he wanted.

"So fucking perfect for me," Marcus croons.

“I need you.” You whisper. 

“God, I need you, too.”

His large, perfectly sculpted nose crushes into the side of your jaw as he fills you; your gasps and whines echoing around the rose garden as he slides into your utterly drenched pussy.

He loves how the stretch of you around his cock brings you to orgasm almost right away; a few gentle thrusts as you adjust to his thickness, and you’re shuddering for him, coating him in your slick before he plunders deeper with that gentle, rhythmic pounding.

He loves how you're completely insatiable for one another, despite the ravishes of age rendering your bones heavier, your paces slower.

Despite it all, you still embark on a journey of a healthy sexual appetite, even if you both have to navigate it with a little more preparedness sometimes; it still rocks your world.

He still has it, and so do you. 

“You feel so good,” You whisper to him as he nuzzles into your face. The wind of his hips into yours, hits you at the perfect angle, again and again. 

“We feel so good together,” he breathes with a smile. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you. I don't think I’ll ever stop getting enough of you.” 

You kiss him again as he thrusts a little harder, a little faster. 

The vulnerabilities of being so exposed, so spread before him like this, revealing all the parts about yourself you’ve scrutinised scathingly in the mirror with abhorrence, fade away.

It’s all those wrinkled, stretched, sagged parts of you that he worships with his crackly fingers and tongue. He spends time appreciating them, fawning over them and lavishing them with the attention they so thoroughly deserve as he rolls with you so you’re on top now.

How you watch as your less-than-perky breasts tumble into his face as he pulls them out of your bra, but he licks and suckles at them as his cock notches against your hole and he groans out as you sit on him fully. Running his tongue around those stiff pebbles unabashed, sucking them into his mouth as you grind on him. 

“Come for me…” Marcus pants as he watches that dreamy glaze settle into your eyes as you ride him; that glittery feeling about ready to burst out of your pores as he pushes up with his hips to meet you. “Need to feel you soak me.” 

“Oh shit, I’m coming!” You shake on top of him, gasping. Head thrown back as you rock and grinning as you see stars explode across the sky above you. 

Yeah. Marcus Moreno has still got it.

“That’s it, like that. Fuck, I’m gonna come too! Fuck! Fuuuck!”

Marcus stiffens, his whole body tenses as his hips jerk, and he fills you up. Floods you until he's dripping warm and pearly out of you, all over his soft belly, as you lean upwards to kiss him some more.

Afterwards, as you both lay in the grass half dressed and satiated from the highs of flying and your lovemaking, Marcus reaches up above you both, plucking a single, red rose from the bush and hands it to you. 

You sniff the fragrant petals and smile at him with glittery eyes that wander over his face looking back at you. You run the rose head gently over his cheek and he smiles, and you think you've never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

The way he’s looking at you right now literally renders you mute and unable to breathe. 

But he's a tempest under that sweet smile.

He’s felt it for a while now, that tether between you becoming tighter, knotting into something unbreakable and deepening, but he finds himself grappling with a gnawing worry - one that whispers doubts in the quiet moments of contemplation.

He fears the weight of those three simple words that are on the cusp of his tongue: I love you. 

It wasn't that he doubted the sincerity of his emotions; rather, it was the fear of the unknown, the uncertainty of how those words might alter the delicate balance of your relationship.

Is it too soon? Is it too much? Is it foolish at his age to even begin to allow himself the same giddy excitement he felt when he was much younger? Would uttering those words irrevocably change the dynamic between you, shifting the fragile equilibrium you had both carefully cultivated?

There's also the fear of rejection, of laying his heart bare only to have it met with silence or crippling hesitation. What if you might not feel the same way yet, or even at all? That his declaration of love might drive a wedge between you rather than bring you closer together causes a reaction within him that makes him physically tense.

“I can feel your heartbeat speeding up,” you say, regarding him quizzically with your hand already resting on his chest. Little fluttery pulses thrum under your fingertips.

Looking at you gazing up at him, a mixture of awe and concern, Marcus knows he has all he’s ever wanted and needed right here in his arms, and he can't deny the truth that simmers beneath the surface of his hesitations. 

He loves you with a fierceness that defies logic - defies gravity, even. A love that transcends the boundaries of time and space. And as he grapples with his fears, he knows deep down that the only way forward is to take a leap of faith, to trust in the strength of your forged connection that grows stronger between you every day. 

He decides he has to be bold. To be brave.

To be heroic. 

“I love you. I-I’m in love with you.” Marcus says softly, wrinkled almond eyes swimming with a mix of euphoria and worry. “Be my Valentine?”

You reach for him, stroking your fingers in the soft silk of his greying jawline. 

“También te quiero, Marcus.” You say, before he grazes his lips across yours. (I love you too, Marcus.)

“You learned some Spanish.” He whispers in awe, pulling his smile wide and eyes glistening behind the lenses of his specs.

“I figured I should. After all, I wanna understand all the special things you whisper in my ear.” 

“Sólo las cosas más especiales, y sucias, para ti, mi amor…” (Only the most special, and dirty, things for you, my love.)

“Yeah, I’m not fluent.” You chuckle as he kisses you, pulling you over fully onto his body where he crushes you against him. 

“Yet,” he smiles, as he sucks your bottom lip into this mouth for a deep kiss. 

“So, are we flying home, or…?” You ask.

“You’re an adrenaline junkie now,  hmm?” 

“What can I say, you’ve taken me to new heights, Mr Moreno. I might become addicted.”

“I already am.” Marcus says, nuzzling into you. 

“We should go soon, someone might find us?”

He shakes his head. “I told you, we have the whole place to ourselves, for a little while longer anyway. What do you want to do?”

You smile at him, devilishly.

“Make me fly again…” You whisper, as you feel his re-hardened cock dipping into your sticky folds. 

You push back as he slips fully inside you, hips bucking up to fill you full of him once more, and Marcus does exactly what you ask of him; he lets you fly. 

Thank you so much for enjoying this story! I'd love to know your thoughts and would really appreciate a re-blog too so others can enjoy some Mature!Marcus Moreno. Isn't he just dreamy? Happy Valentine's Day! 🖤😘

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#pedro pascal x reader #marcus moreno x reader #pedro pascal #marcus moreno #pedro pascal characters #mature!marcus moreno #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno fluff #valentines day #jett's writing

[frannyzooey]

The Dinner

Marcus Moreno x f!college reader

The Secret Universe

Rating: Explicit, Daddy Kink™ (seriously, like a lot)

A/N: I have many people to thank for this one: @imaswellkid @the-ginger-hedge-witch @whatsnewalycat @obiknights and the amazing @the-scandalorian - every single one of them gave me the most amazing advice, but also gave me endless reassurance when I needed it, and I could never thank them enough. Sometimes it really takes a village ❤

--

“How is stats this semester? Need any help?” 

You take a slow sip of your ice water, listening. 

“It’s okay,” Missy replies. “Better, now that I signed up for tutoring during my free period, which — “ she points her fork at her father, who currently has a slightly smug expression on his face, “— totally sucks. I know you said it would help, and it did, but at what cost, dad?”

His shoulders move as he huffs a laugh and he pokes around his dinner plate, spearing some roasted broccoli. Shrugging, he glances at you. “Is a couple of hours a week impacting your guys' social life that bad?”

“No, sir,” you answer with a polite smile. 

The title slips off your tongue with ease, and his playful expression falters for a moment. 

Clearing his throat, he shifts in his chair. “That’s what I thought.” 

He takes a swallow of his water — a small sip, then a larger one — and the three of you continue to eat. 

The dining room where you sit is seldom used, but cozy. The lighting dim but inviting, the sparse surface of the table lends it a more formal appearance and you think about how much you would have preferred to eat at the table in the kitchen. The one you passed earlier, cluttered with mail, magazines, keys, and other things that never really have any other home than a flat surface in the kitchen. 

Eating there would have made you feel more at ease. Eating here makes you feel more like a guest. And with Marcus at the head of the table, the formality of the seating arrangement pulls at you: a constant reminder of who he is. 

Forks slide against plates, glasses being set down with a muted thud on the wooden surface of the table and when Missy reaches for another bread roll, a glance over at him has you noticing his body language.  

He’s looking everywhere but you – at a painting on the wall, at his half eaten plate, at the condensation gathering on his glass. He lets his hand rest around the glass, his thumb swiping through the water and a thrumming, heady pulse that Missy seems oblivious to grows until it fills the space between your chairs. 

Swallowing, you place your elbow on the table near his own. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and his attention turns back to Missy. 

“What else is new?” he asks. “I never hear from you anymore. The room still okay? The bed still make that funny noise?”

Missy frowns, holding a bite of chicken aloft in front of her mouth. “How did you know about that?” 

Marcus sits up straight, shifting again in his chair and opening his mouth as if getting ready to speak, but Missy interrupts him. 

“Oh yea, it was there on move in day,” she remembers. “Whatever. No, we got that tool kit out that you gave me at the beginning of the year and fixed it yesterday. A real girl boss moment.”

She looks over at you and grins, and you return it despite the rapid beat of your heart.

“Yea,” you add, not allowing your eyes to stray from her face. “You killed it.”

You can feel his eyes on you, aware out of the corner of your eye how they slide down your frame and back up again. Whether he’s conscious of it or not, he’s been doing it all night and you want nothing more than to return the look, but you don’t. 

“You ladies have any plans for the weekend?” Marcus asks. 

Missy nods, excitement filling her eyes. “Yea, I think so? I got laundry and stuff to catch up on, but there is this party tomorrow night I wanna go to. I got a text about it earlier, I think it’s around 8ish?”

A small frown appears between Marcus’s brows. “Where’s it at? Around here?”

“Yea, I think so? I’m not really sure. I’ll have to look up the address or something.”

He doesn’t like that answer, you can tell by the way his frown doesn’t go away and you chance a peek at his face while he’s distracted. A pulsing beat gathers between your thighs, at both the sternness of his expression but also the care behind it. 

“Well,” he continues, taking another bite of dinner. “Let me know, okay? I’ll drop you off and pick you up.”

“Dad,” Missy playfully whines. “You’re embarrassing me.”

He rolls his eyes, stretching his legs out under the table and when one of his knees knocks into yours, you still. 

His eyes glance down, a short, apologetic smile showing briefly in your direction but he doesn’t move it. It stays there, his leg shifting just enough to press against yours with intent and as the dinner goes on, you resist the urge to smile. 

–

You met them both for the first time on move-in day. 

Cars lined along the driveway to the dorms with their trunks crammed full of new bedding and boxes and the bare essentials for kitchens and showers, you noticed them right away. 

Missy, true to the picture she emailed you weeks ago when introducing herself as your new roommate, and Marcus, when he stepped around the side of the car to open the trunk. Close-cropped dark hair shone browner in the sun, the strands neatly combed into place, yet slightly curled with the humidity. His shirt stretched tight across his wide shoulders, tucked neatly into dress pants that fit him perfectly. The fabric pulled across his back when he leaned forward to reach in for the first boxes and when Missy shouted your name, he turned around. 

You had to pull your eyes away from his face to greet her with a shy smile. 

He stuck around the entire morning – making sure the lofts were set up correctly, helping move furniture, his kind, good humored eyes on his daughter as he took in her first day at college. He offered to take the two of you out to lunch in celebration, but before you could reply, Missy shooed him away. 

“We’re gonna go grab a coffee or something. Get to know each other. You can get outta here, dad. Thanks for the help.”

You could tell she genuinely meant it, but the paltry thanks wasn’t enough in your opinion. He had already done more than your parents had ever done for you, and you wondered what it was like to grow up in a house where it happened so often you took it for granted. Your parents hadn’t even bothered to give you a ride on your first day, you had taken the bus with your meager boxes. 

He humored her, giving her a soft smile and when he turned to say goodbye to you, you made sure to hold his gaze when you thanked him. 

“Not a problem,” he replied sincerely. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

–

The two of them clear the plates while you grab what you can from the table, and it’s apparent that they have their own shorthand method of communication with each other. She clears, he starts the dishwater. She empties scraps into the trash to stack plates neatly by the sink, and when you help her, his eyes linger on your mouth when he turns to say thank you. 

A routine that had never taken place in your own home, you revel in the roles everyone plays. The comfort of them, the domesticity. You imagine the two of them doing this every night before Missy left for college, and the mental image of Marcus standing at the sink with his t-shirt stretched over the strong muscles of his back warms you from the inside out. Even more when you think about him reminding Missy to clear her place, or asking her what she wants in her lunch tomorrow. 

The qualities of a dad: one who does because he cares, but also guides. 

Done clearing, Missy leaves the room, the telltale sound of the washer door opening down the hall, and Marcus stills at the sink, listening. 

“Listen, don’t jam it all in there like last time, okay?” he warns, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. “You can do more than one load. No rush, Missy, okay?”

“Yea, yea, I got it,” she yells back, and he sighs, shaking his head. You meet his eye in a knowing look, and the corner of his lips pulls up in a rueful smile. 

“She almost broke it last time, trying to fit about a month of clothes in all at once.”

You laugh, and nod. “She does that at the dorm too.” 

He shakes his head, pushing his hands into the water. 

“You don’t need to use those machines — either of you. You’re always welcome to come over and do it here,” he offers, searching in the sudsy water for a plate. Finding it, he begins scrubbing it with a rag. “Either of you. Even if she can’t come, you can.”

A pause.

“Anytime you want.”

The invitation hangs between the two of you in the silence, and you keep your eyes on his forearms as they flex above the suds. A sudden, unbidden image of them flexing between your thighs flashes through your mind, the weight of his fingers felt inside you. 

His voice lowers. “We could even plan it that way, so we don’t have to keep…“

He gives you a knowing look, and guilt gnaws at you as you listen to Missy hum in the next room.  

“It’s not that I don’t want that,” you explain, your voice keeping quiet. “I just don’t want…” Uncertainty flashes across your features and when you look up, you find that he’s already looking at you. 

“Don’t want what?” he asks. 

Unsure how to put your fear into words, you hesitate. Moving your meetings to his house somehow makes them more of an offense in your mind. In the space he shares with his daughter; their family home. 

The duality of the man standing next to you has been messing with you all night: the Marcus that stands beside you now versus the Marcus that you know. The unassuming, kind face of a good father masking the hooded lust you know his eyes contain. The strength held in his arms when he takes the trash out; the flex of them under your bare knees when he spreads you wide. His plush bottom lip in a soft smile for his daughter; the same pressing against your skin, your mouth, between your legs. 

A secret shadow follows him around constantly, fleeting slices of the man you know appearing if you watch him long enough. His throaty laugh, the spread of his thighs on the couch, the flex of his jaw.

Seeing him here in his kitchen or at the head of the dining room table has the men merging in your mind despite your ability, until now, to keep them separate. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth, thinking. 

“Don’t want what?” he repeats, softer this time, tenderness curling around the words and you’re about to answer when Missy walks back into the kitchen. 

“Hey, you don’t have to help him with that. I got it.”

He stands taller, shifting away from you and you back up from the sink, making room for her. She immediately scoops a delicate mound of bubbles and flicks them at Marcus, laughing when he grimaces with a chuckle. The teasing makes you smile.

He’s so good with her — so patient, and kind, and attentive. So genuinely invested in her answers in a way you’d never experienced, and though you are happy for your best friend in that she has such a doting parent, you’d be lying if you said a little jealousy never crept into your heart when you watched them. 

Not because you wanted either of them to choose you, but because they so clearly had each other. Someone to depend on; a traditional parental/child relationship full of trust and respect and love. 

You watch them for a moment as they work in tandem, their mannerisms similar from behind. 

“I’m gonna take a shower before bed,” you announce, and excusing yourself from the room, you leave them to finish the dishes. 

—

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.”

Down the hall from his room and across from Missy’s, the guest bedroom door clicks shut quietly in the dark. The shuffle of sheets whispering as you shift to make room for him in the bed, the mattress dips when he joins you, the heat of his body felt close. His hands reach for you, pulling you closer and there are no other words spoken as his mouth meets yours, deepening the kiss immediately. 

His tongue slides against your own, your taste familiar and maddeningly addictive, and he groans deeply into it, rolling you onto your back. 

Beneath the solid weight of his body is your favorite place – secure, safe, desired, wanted. Trapped between the soft bed and the scent of his warm skin, his mouth takes and takes and takes from yours until you’re drunk with arousal beneath him, wanting to stay there forever. 

“I wanted you so bad at dinner,” he breathes in a low confession. “So fucking bad, even when you walked through the door.”

Every one of his words is matched with a weighted grind of his hips into the cradle of your thighs, and you roll right back against him, a soft sound catching in your throat at the delicious pressure. There is something that makes you weak about his voice in general, but when he swears – especially in his desperation to express how much he’s wanted you – it lights a path straight from your ears to your center; need blooming fierce and bright.

You would tell him how much you thought about him just as much if his mouth didn’t immediately cover yours again, and pushing your fingers through his close-cropped dark hair, you match his urgency. Your knees hitch higher around his broad torso, your thighs tightening with every flex of your hips up and the stiff length of his cock underneath his sleep pants fits perfectly along the damp seam darkening your underwear. 

You can feel the thick ridge of it, aching for the filling heft as he grinds his hips against you again and again, and whimpering for more underneath him, the words slip out. 

“Please, daddy.”

He stills for a split second, breaking the kiss as a shudder slips through him and a wash of embarrassed heat floods your face, but it’s quickly replaced with arousal when he groans as if in pain, his furrowed brow pressed into the plane of your chest. 

His hand splays against your side to keep you in place with a pained press of his fingers. “Jesus Christ, baby, you can’t — you can’t say things like that. Please. Please.”

“But I want it,” you whisper. 

You do. You’ve wanted it ever since you met him, just knowing by looking at him that he would give you what you need. So thoughtful, so considerate and kind, so attentive and warm but also very much a man – a handsome, understated man with needs that showed clear on his face every time you met him after that first time. 

The second, third, fourth time you met him, the flicker of interest in his dark brown eyes. 

The magnetic, heady pulse of attraction that filled the small room when he showed up once while Missy was at class. 

The lunch that he invited you to instead of her, and the undivided attention he gave you from across the table. The way he reminded you to buckle your seatbelt, and the way you leaned over and kissed him when he waited a beat too long reluctantly saying goodbye outside your dorm, on the street.  

That first, tentative kiss after he followed you back to your room at the reassurance Missy had classes that afternoon, and the frown furrowed between his brows, both at how wrong it was to want this and relief at finally giving in. 

The soft cotton of your sheets sliding against your bare back, the way his body seemed too big for the narrow twin. 

His giving mouth, soothing guidance rumbled in his deep voice. 

Something that’s taken root in your mind with every time he brings you to bed, you don’t know how else to describe how you want to be tucked into his side to be made felt safe and secure, while also fucked deep into the mattress until you’re sobbing with fullness. 

Being here with him has made the need for it unbearable, and what you do know is that no matter what you want, he’ll give it to you. 

Your confession is a quiet one that lingers in the air and he looks up, his doleful, brown eyes finding yours. They stay there, searching for the truth and when he finds it in your slightly ashamed expression, he pulls himself up until you are face to face. 

“Yea?” he asks, soothing stray hairs at your temple. “You want a daddy?”

The word gives him pause, but his cock hardens painfully against the cool sheets and when you nod, the vulnerability shown on your face is so open that he finds himself mirroring it, wanting to soothe. 

He not only understands but wants, so very badly.  

“Okay, okay,” he agrees. The tension in your body drains as you soften underneath him; pliant and moldable for his needs. “Say it again, baby.”

“Daddy,” you whisper in a relieved rush, your plush lips parting only just. 

His hooded eyes watch the word slip from your mouth, and his thumb skates along the plump cushion of your bottom lip, before pushing just inside. He slides his thumb over the wet muscle of your tongue, letting you suck on it. 

Bright need swells and aches between his thighs, your soft, lush skin slipping against his as you squirm in need underneath him and he slips his thumb from your mouth before pressing his lips to yours with a rough kiss. 

Desperate to feel the clutch of your tight, wet cunt, he reaches down to open you up for him, his hand slipping beneath your panties and his fingers sliding with a familiar swipe through your soaked curls. He finds the dip where you need him most, your arousal soaking the pads of his competent touch and his breathing quickens, his eyes flitting between your face and his cotton covered hand. 

The same fingers that made dinner, that queued up the movie, that clasped under his chin when he listened to Missy talk. The same ones that held the steering wheel in a loose grip as he drove you to the store.

They’ve slid into your mouth before, and then your cunt. Brushed against the puckered rim of your asshole, swirled with divine pressure over your clit, and filled you to the brim until you cried out, your cunt a snug slip around them. 

Two fill you now with an urgent slide, the action making him swallow the soft catch of your whine and the ease in which he slips them in and out is aided by how wet and ready you are for him. 

Always so wet; his perfect girl.

“When you called me ‘sir’ at the dinner table,” he pants, nuzzling the bridge of his nose along your jaw as he looks down at his hand. Your thighs open wider for him, and you softly moan, chasing the thick fill of his fingers. “I almost fucking lost it. So sweet. So sweet, baby.” 

“Just – just for you.” Your brow furrowed in pleasure, you chase what he’s building inside you, your small hand slipping down to cover his larger one. Your fingers push over his, guiding him as if he needs it, and the both of you get lost in the slick, consuming motion; his eyes glued on your parted mouth. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to say it. The daddy thing, I –”

“Don’t be sorry. No, fuck. Don’t be sorry, baby. I wanna hear it. I want it.”

His soothing words wash over you, your cunt accepting him deeper as he adds a third finger and before he gives you time to adjust, he’s slipping them from your wet heat, sliding them into his mouth with a suck. He groans with a frown, his lashes dark against his face as his eyes flutter shut and he shifts abruptly down the bed. 

His fingers grip the band of your underwear and tug them roughly down your legs before the width of his shoulders forces your knees apart. The heat of his mouth felt in a humid gust against your spread, bared seam, he tugs you tight to his face, and the emptiness left by the sudden absence of his fingers is immediately replaced with his thick, eager tongue. 

“Marcus!”

His whiskered cheeks brushing roughly against the tender skin on the inside of your thighs, he devours your cunt, his back flexing as he nearly pushes you up the bed in his hunger if not for the way his hands curl around the top of your thighs to hold you in place.  

“Shhh, baby. Shhh,” he reminds you, and you let out a quiet sob, clasping your hand over your mouth. 

He’s so much, a sensory overload being amplified by the darkness around you: the needy grip of his large hands, the slick slide of his tongue, the muffled groans he’s letting out between your legs. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he breathes, his mouth dragging damply over the inside of your thigh with a thick kiss before he licks your clit with the flat of his tongue. He slides it from side to side with pressure, a motion that makes you bow off the bed. 

Mindless with pleasure, you’re overcome with the need to anchor yourself to something — the direct attention is so much, too much — and your hands fist the sheets, your back arching. 

“I washed it just for you, daddy.”

You should be embarrassed but all traces of shame are turned to cinder the second he groans deep and loud, the sound muffled by the way he immediately buries his face with an open mouthed kiss. It’s messy and decadent, his tongue pushing inside you and then it swipes lower. 

Your hips jolt up to meet it; his low, satisfied groan sounding between your cheeks. 

“Fuck,” you whine, the tip of his tongue pressing against the tight ring of muscle before he flattens it to lick a wide, wet stripe from the seam of your ass all the way to your clit. Another one, before he gives your soaked entrance a hungry kiss and the pressure of his face being buried so deep makes you grind against him, your hips moving in time with his, as he seeks his own relief against the sheets. 

“I’m gonna — I’m gonna fucking come. Daddy, you’re gonna make me come.” 

It’s a plea if he’s ever heard one, and he zeroes his focus in on your clit — circling it with his tongue before giving it a light suck. He keeps going as you thread your fingers into his hair with a tug, keeps going as you press your lips together to try to stifle your moans, and keeps going when your thighs tense around his cheeks and you come with a breathless whimper; his tongue swiping hungrily through the salt of your release.

All tension in your body gone, he kisses a path slowly up your body while you lay and catch your breath – up over the top of your thigh, the rounded curve of your hip, the soft, plush underside of your breast. 

He cradles you to his chest, tugging you onto your side as his mouth drags along the line of your neck. He kisses a path over the skin and your hips shift, seeking his out. He can feel you squirming, looking for relief and bellies together, he rolls you onto your back, your hands working together to push his pajama bottoms down and off. 

Your touch is back to frantic as he pulls from your mouth, his hands cradling the sides of your head to keep you in place as he gets his fill and you wind your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push inside. 

He does – a motion that makes your moan get lost underneath his deeper one – and the snap of his hips is immediate and hard, the filling weight of his cock pushing the air from your lungs. 

His lips kiss your closed eyelids, his tongue sweeping over the salt rimmed lashes where a tear lingers and his mouth finds the fragrant, soft skin below your ear. His lips press against it, his mustache tickling you, the roll of his hips never ceasing. 

“You’re being so good for daddy. So good.”

Your eyes open and find his, and he throbs with how sincerely vulnerable you look underneath him right now, desperate to know you’re being good. 

“You’re such a good girl. Always letting me fuck you the way I want. Always letting me take care of you, like you take care of me.” His lips find the corner of your mouth, the delicacy of the kiss in contrast with the way you have to dig your nails into his broad back to hang on as he fucks you harder and he pulls back just enough to look at your face.

“You’re so good, aren’t you, baby. Aren’t you.”

It’s not a question for you to answer, but rather a statement he needs you to confirm and you nod, a tiny frown of pleasure appearing between your brows as you shift rhythmically underneath him. 

“My baby,” he murmurs, catching your mouth in a deep kiss. “My baby.” 

Your hand trails down the line of his spine and splays over his tailbone, sweat beading along the skin as he fills, fills, fills and you widen your thighs, digging your fingers into the swell of his ass to force him deeper. 

“Please, daddy. Please.”

His hips shift into a slow, weighted grind when you beg using those words. He never pulls all the way out, rather forcing himself so deep into the heart of you that you tremble with the need to come underneath him. 

“You’re so fucking pretty. So pretty when you’re gonna come.”

His praise fills you with light from the inside out, pouring out through your sweat damp skin where it’s flush with his own and another tear slips free; your release both a bright, shining edge that he’s guiding you towards and a strong, powerful current that threatens to pull you under. 

“Give it to me.” 

His voice is husky and strained, a quiet plea for you to let go and when you do with a silent cry, the deep dimpled smile on his face is a proud one, equal parts awe and lust. 

He follows shortly after, the tight, wet clutch of your cunt too much for him – but it’s your relieved face that makes him spend every ounce inside you with slow, smooth strokes until there is nothing left. You look so light underneath him, so content and drowsy and drunk with relief. 

He can’t help himself when he bends to kiss the tear track that runs over your temple, giving you another kiss on the apple of your cheek. 

“So good. You were so good.”

You’re so spent you can’t even kiss him back, rather letting him gently nudge you to meet his mouth and even then you let him take what he needs from your kiss swollen lips, opening up for him when his mouth demands it. 

Eventually he shifts, just enough to settle beside you rather than on top, but you automatically follow the heat of his body, curling into his chest. 

“There’s, uh —” he starts, closing his eyes. You watch the thud of his pulse under the tanned skin of his neck. He licks his plush lips, trying to catch his breath. “There’s milk and cereal — or eggs, if you want those in the morning. I didn’t know what you guys would want, so I —“

Your quiet laugh stops him and he looks down at you, smiling when he sees your expression. 

“Are you really telling me about my breakfast options, like some kinda guest?”

“Yea, I guess I am,” he grins. “But you are a special guest in this house,” he replies, tugging you closer. His mouth finds the curve of your collarbone, his smile felt against the skin there. “Especially for me.”

“Guests really get the full treatment here, huh,” you tease. “Dinner, laundry, breakfast, their ass eate—“

You can almost feel his blush in the dark, his fingers immediately digging into your side to stop your sentence, and your stifled giggles fill the dark room but he doesn’t let up until you’re squirming underneath him, breathlessly begging him to stop. 

“What?” you laugh, trying to keep quiet. “I liked that part of the turn down service.”

He grins, the knowing smile of a pleased man who is well aware he did good. He leans in, putting his mouth by your ear. 

“Good to know. Maybe tomorrow the service will include it again.” He pulls back and winks, leaning back in to give you a quick, full kiss. 

“I wish I could stay, but I better get back to my room.”

“I know.”

“See you in the morning?” he asks, so soft and mussed and hopeful yet grown; his voice low and husky. His eyes are soft with affection, his unwavering gaze showing that he genuinely wants to make sure you’re okay before he leaves. 

His hand cradles the curve of your cheek, his thumb swiping along the line of your cheekbone and you tilt to press a kiss against the heel of it. Relief like you haven’t ever known floods through you, but more than that is what you feel underneath that earnest gaze. 

Safe, secure. In both yourself, and what you mean to him. 

“Yea. See you in the morning.”

He smiles, bending to place a delicate, warm kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight, baby.”

You sigh with contentment. 

“Goodnight, daddy.”

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno/you #marcus moreno/reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x reader

[prolix-yuy]

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.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x female reader #marcus moreno fanfiction #prolix fics

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 2nd

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.

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. 

#pedro pascal #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno fanfiction #we can be heroes

[wardenparker]

The Date

Marcus Moreno x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Inspired by the already beloved Teacher Ben sketch from Pedro’s SNL appearance, this fic is dedicated to every single reader with a HUGE hug and a kiss straight from me to you. Just over about two weeks ago I passed the 2k follower mark and I am so incredibly humbled by everyone’s love and encouragement. Writing makes me happier than almost anything else in the world and I am blown away by the sheer number of you who stop by my little corner of the tumblrsphere to read the words that I produce along with my beloved @absurdthirst​. There is absolutely no end to our collaborations in sight and I am thrilled to keep rolling out fun stories week after week 🧡

Rating: Explicit! 18+  Word Count: 19.9k Warnings: Age gap (reader is an adult student of unspecified age), mentions of deceased spouse, awkward flirting, reader is bad with social cues, Marcus on a Motorcycle, using superpowers for foreplay, begging, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex (superhero stamina).  Summary: After spending the semester becoming friends with your criminal justice professor, retired Heroic Marcus Moreno, it appears that your crush isn’t so unrequited after all. Notes: I was very sleepy doing this edit, so I’m sorry if I missed some things.

Sometimes you really do sit through classes waiting for a cartoonish sounding bell to ring and it’s just too bad. The general education classes that you have to take really aren’t your cup of tea, even though you know you need them for your degree and really should be paying attention. But you’re not going to need chemistry when you restart your career as a high school English teacher. Nor are you going to need the complex algebra and trigonometry that stumped you the first time you went to college. And you’re probably not going to need to understand the intricacies of the criminal justice system either - but this class was a little gift to yourself. 

The hottest professor you could have ever dreamt of in a three-times-a-week lecture that frequently includes anecdotes from his legendary career as the leader of the Heroics. Since the first day of this class it’s been like a real life version of the Indiana Jones scene where undergrads have love notes written on their eyelids and leave him gifts and notes hoping for a smidgen of extra attention, and you can’t really blame them. The thing is, the poor kids don’t stand a chance. He has a daughter nearly their age and couldn’t ever shake the feeling of how young they are. Or at least that’s what he told you the first time you sat together in the student union to eating lunch together after class. Marcus is sweet. He’s charming and maybe a little insecure socially, but when he stands up in front of the class he commands attention at the drop of a hat. He’s incredibly smart - genius, even - and he doesn’t make friends easily. That’s what he told you the fourth time you had lunch together in the student union after his class was over. Which is why you’ve kept your own crush a very tightly wrapped secret for the entire semester. You’re friends now, or at least very good acquaintances, and you wouldn’t jeopardize that for the world.

But next week is the final, and once that’s over you’ll have no excuse to sit and talk about your favourite books or how crazy his daughter is driving him now that she’s fifteen and learning to drive. Last week Missy had used the word girlfriend to refer to a girl in her friend group for the very first time and Marcus had nearly hyperventilated telling you about it. You’re friends. Loose ones, at least. And if you don’t screw up your courage and say something by next week, it might all go away. And you think you might regret that even more than not graduating college The first time you went, many years ago.

Marcus sighs as he flips the tie over his hand and pulls the knot through. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror as he does. Why he still wears a tie, he hasn’t quite worked out, but it’s a part of his routine and made him feel a bit more like the uniform he had worn for most of his life. If you called black jeans, a tac vest and double swords a uniform. Pushing the knot up to tighten it, he glances at the clock on his nightstand and curses. “Shit.” He had promised to grab you a coffee on the way into class and he doesn’t want to fuck that up. “Get moving, Moreno.”

The city buses are remarkably punctual today, getting you to campus twenty minutes before class instead of leaving you scrambling with just a few minutes to spare, and you take your time walking to the history building where his class is held. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you get to see Professor Moreno today. It’s going to be a good day. Whether it’s a brave day is still up for debate.

Marcus has a habit of frowning as he thinks. Shuffling papers on his desk as he mentally files through the itinerary for the day as he sips on the coffee he had gotten for himself. The other one on his desk was the triple shot, two pumps vanilla, one pump one chocolate, one pump raspberry latte that you had sworn was your favorite drink at the coffee shop he always stopped by. The fact that he ordered the same thing for himself to try was not going to be mentioned, but it was good.

“Morning.” Being a commuter is a boon today. There are no other students in the classroom when you open the door, and the man you only call Marcus in private is already sitting at his desk pouring over papers. The soft green tie matches the color in his plaid shirt and you smile reflexively. He’s so stunningly handsome, especially like this.

“Morning.” Immediately, Marcus looks up from his notes, standing up right after that as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. Being a fucking idiot is what he’s being, but at least he resists rolling his eyes at himself. “I see you’re early. Wanting that coffee Huh?” He asks, grinning slightly as he pushes the extra cup towards you.

“The bus was on time today.” The way he always seems to get flustered when he’s interrupted is adorable and you bite your lip to hold back a grin. “You really didn’t have to get my drink for me…but I appreciate it.” Your friendship has been built over a semester of these small gestures, and to say you didn’t love them would be an absolute lie.

“Caffeine is medically necessary.” Marcus jokes, picking up his own cup and taking another sip. It really is good, and he’s surprised by that considering he normally just drinks coffee black.

“It’s true.” Stepping further into the room, you pull one of the chairs away from the long tables that serve as desks and set it beside his desk at the front of the room to sit with him for a few minutes. “So…” The grin you flash him is teasing, but you are probably only going to get a few more times like this with him so you want to make the most of them. “How’s Missy and her girlfriend?”

Marcus shakes his head and winces. “I’m not okay with her dating.” He huffs, nearly pouting at the idea. “She was born like six months ago.”

“I just think it’s incredible that she came out to you so easily.” According to Marcus, he had come home from a day of teaching about a year ago to find Missy icing cupcakes with rainbow frosting as her own way of breaching the topic. It had been an immensely emotional night for them both. “Teenagers get rebellious over practically everything. It’s fantastic that she trusts you enough to tell you who she is and to tell you about this girl.”

“She knows I’m not going to change the way I look at her.” Marcus shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “She’s my little girl, and if I’m honest, there were signs since she was little.”

“That’s my point though.” You reason, picking up your coffee and humming at the taste. “She knows you love her no matter what. If I had come out to my parents at that age? I would have been lucky not to end up in therapy.”

“Oh, yeah, no, nothing like that at all.” It’s funny how swiftly the little arrow of intrigue or hope quickly pierced his heart. The small crush he had developed on you over the course of the class - despite the impropriety if it - crashing down. “I’m sorry you didn’t have supportive parents like that.”

“It’s fine now.” The way his face changes makes you want to scramble to recover, unsure of what you could possibly have said to upset him when you meant to pay him a compliment. “Being bisexual wasn’t even on their radar back then. They had no idea the word even existed let alone that it applied to their little girl.” You shrug, afraid you’ve offended him by accident. “I might as well have told them I was a Martian.”

Bisexual. While Marcus doesn’t sag in relief of the clarification, the angsty guilt over inappropriate thoughts of someone who would not be interested in a man ease. “It worked for Clark Kent, right? Though he was Krytonian.” He says, sending you a small smile. “No weirder than ‘hey mom, I can manipulate metal’. Right?”

“Honestly I think that would have been easier for her.” When you shrug again, you bury your face behind your coffee cup and studiously command yourself not to get too dreamy over that smile of his. “I just…you’re doing a great job. That’s all. Don’t downplay the fact that your teenage daughter is comfortable and confident in telling you who she is.”

“I never want her to feel like she can’t come to me for anything. Even if it was a boy and…birth control.” Marcus isn’t dumb, he knows what teenagers do, he was one of them once. Despite his Heroic future, hormones did drive a lot of his actions when he was around her age.

That earns him another small laugh from you, and you lean back in your chair. “Well I say points to this girl. If Missy’s anything like her dad then she’s amazing. And that means this girl is lucky as hell.”

He shuffles slightly, trying not to take the compliment for more than what it is. Reassurance. He lifts his coffee cup to his lips again to hide the grin he can’t quite suppress. “Thanks.” He murmurs. “Although it’s been a long time for me.”

“Oh?” It’s not as though you had dug through any of the gossip about him. That would have been disrespectful. But he was a well known celebrity when his wife passed away a few years ago and he had only stopped wearing his ring recently, by the band of untanned skin on his left finger. You had never pried for information, but you’re definitely curious.

He gives a small shrug of his shoulders. The pain of losing his late wife is still there, it always will be, but it’s not as devastating as it had been in the beginning. He would always love her, but he’s still living and she’s gone. “Not since Emily.” He confirms quietly. “Avoided the entire ‘widower pity sex’ that was surprisingly being pushed on me a lot more than I ever imagined.”

“I’m sorry things were pushed on you.” It’s not necessarily for you to apologize, but you can certainly express sympathy. “Being ready to put yourselves out there isn’t something you can rush. It takes time to heal.” Which is part of why you’ve kept your feelings deeply, deeply under wraps.

“A lot of it was because I needed time to heal, I didn’t want to change Missy’s life more than it already had been, and we were navigating our grief together.” Marcus had talked about a lot of this with his therapist, but it’s nice to have someone like you he can also talk to. “Plus, I was leaving the Heroics and starting to teach.”

“Your whole life changed.” You nod slightly, head bobbing with the motion. “When it changes again should be up to you and no one else.”

“Might be time.” Marcus admits, trying not to show how much that terrifies him. “Spend more time at home alone than I do with Missy. It’s…highlighted how reclusive I’ve become.”

"Might be?" You honestly would be embarrassed if he could hear how hard that makes your heart beat. It's not like he's talking about you, but you can't help the way it makes you feel.

“I’ve….thought about dating again.” He looks around the classroom for a moment before he finally looks at you again. “Think it’s a dumb idea?” He asks softly, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. His hands are starting to dampen and he quickly slides them against his darker pants.

"Why would that be dumb?" It's baffling that he would even ask that, since he's easily the most attractive man you've ever seen in real life and an absolute angel of a human. "You deserve to be happy. Whatever that means for you. If dating against would make you happy, then..." Then you will dutifully sit and listen to him gush about whoever the luckiest woman in the world is, if he wants to stay friends. "Then whoever you choose will be incredibly lucky."

That buoys his confidence and he nods before he looks back down at his papers. “So-“

“Hey Professor Moreno!” His head snaps up to see one of the other students from your class practically bounce through the door, filled with nervous, flirty energy. He’s well aware that the girl had a crush on him and while he was flattered, she was vastly too young for him.

“Monica.” He greets her, making her beam as she slides over towards his desk. His eyes meet yours and he swears that he sees disappointment at being interrupted swimming in your orbs.

Right before the door opened you could have sworn he was going to say something to you - maybe even something sweet or flirtatious if your wildest dreams ever came true. But Monica is...determined...and she is right about to stare you down. "I should let you focus," you murmur, standing up with your coffee in one hand and your other on the back of your chair.

“You’re okay.” Marcus insists, actually more comfortable with you here rather than talking to Monica by herself. It was bad enough when she showed up for office hours. “What do you need?” He asks her, shifting into a more professional demeanor than he had with you.

"I was hoping to speak to you privately." Monica casts you a derisive glance and shifts her weight between her feet. "That's why I came early."

“Is it…about the coursework?” Marcus asks carefully. He doesn’t like the social aspect that some of the younger students try to draw him into.

"It is regarding senior week." Smoothing one hand down her front, Monica squares her shoulders and fairly glares at you. "I didn't think it would be appropriate to rub it in my classmate's face that she isn't graduating yet."

“It's fine." Even though you have no idea what you did to make Monica dislike you, you're not about to cause a fuss on the second-to-last day you might get to see Marcus. There's no room in your schedule next year to take one of his other classes and taking more criminal justice classes doesn't make any sense with your major anyway. You step back, taking your chair with you, to go put your books down at the table a few feet away.

“What can I help you with?” Marcus crosses his arms over his chest and frowns slightly. He doesn’t understand the animosity that seemingly rolls off of the younger girl towards you. It doesn’t make sense.

"As you know." Monica perks up immediately, feeling victorious at your retreat and Professor Moreno's attention being squarely on her. "Senior week always includes guests of honour from the staff and faculty." What she hopes he doesn't know is that the staff and faculty guests have already been chosen for the dinner dance. Otherwise her cover will be blown. "It would be very exciting if you would agree to come to the senior week dinner dance as a special guest." As her special guest, specifically, but Monica doesn't word it like that.

“Oh.” Marcus shuffles slightly and rocks on his heels as he looks around the classroom as he thinks about how to let this girl down. “While I am flattered…I am not able to attend.” He explains. “I am due to take my daughter to her grandparents across the state that night.”

"And it would be impossible to bring her earlier?" With a lack of understanding and empathy so obviously on display, Monica all but pouts. "It will be such a special night."

“I’m sure it will be.” Marcus frowns and his tone turns slightly frosty. “But my daughter will be getting out of school and wanting to see her mother’s parents.”

The young woman huffs, immaturity fully on display, and puts her hand on her hip like she's about to transform into a version of herself twenty years in the future that would be demanding to see his manager. "Whatever," she scoffs. "You have no idea what you'll be missing."

Marcus rocks his jaw, instantly transforming into the leader of the Heroics when he had dealt with the most stubborn of the other superhero’s. “Miss Anderson, I suggest you take your seat unless you wish to be dropped from the class.” He manages tightly. “Which will affect your own graduation date.”

The hmmphf from her is as pronounced as the pouty frown on her face, but Monica spins around, throwing you a dirty look in the process as she storms across the classroom to sit down and probably not pay much attention during this last study session Marcus will be leading.

Sighing softly, Marcus look down at the papers in front of him. Why couldn't someone just accept that a man who was old enough to be her father wasn't interested gracefully? He doesn't understand it.

His mood seems sour for the entire study session, and it’s not that you can’t understand why. Monica and the undergrad girls didn’t know how to take no for an answer, apparently. You do - at least you expect it - so you’ve just never asked the question. By the end of class you have to assume that his nerves are frayed and he won’t have the presence of mind for your usual lunch together, so you just start to pack up.

Once the class is over, Marcus looks over at you. Frowning slightly when he sees you move towards the door, he calls your name quickly. Unsure if you've changed your mind about walking to lunch together or if something has come up.

The last group of your classmates blows past you when you freeze three feet from the doorway and turn back. “I didn’t know if you’d be up to lunch,” you admit, feeling a little sheepish about it. “You seem preoccupied. I didn’t want to presume.”

"No, uh, I'm sorry." He deflates slightly and sighs. "I just- Monica." He gestures toward the door as if that explains it. "I don't understand. I'm too old for her."

“It’s a fantasy.” The way you shrug your shoulders is completely tense, like you have no intention whatsoever in admitting that you’ve had those same fantasies about him yourself. “They don’t see the reality of it. Only the glossy story they’ll tell their friends.”

"I guess." He won't deny that he had crushes on teachers and professors when he was younger, but he had never been so bold to think they would want him. "I just- I guess I think too much like a dad." He huffs at himself. "She's not that much older than Missy."

"I think that's thinking like a dad just the right amount." The door shuts behind the rest of your class and you shove your hands in your pockets with your bag high on your shoulder. "What did she...ask you? If you don't mind me asking?"

“She wanted me to go to the dinner dance as a special guest.” He picks up his own bag and tosses it on his shoulders. “Didn’t take the very polite ‘no’ very well.” He snorts. “She actually asked me if I could drop my daughter off at her grandparents another day.”

"That's...awkward." When you reach for the door handle this time it's to open it for him rather than to beat a hasty exit, and you follow him out the door. "And honestly, a little disrespectful."

“She doesn’t have to know that her grandparents live two hours away.” Marcus grins slyly, and shrugs.

"She shouldn't have been rude." The walk down the corridor is fairly quiet since the next class period has already started in this building, and you walk side-by-side with your professor one more time. "It was nice of you to try to let her down easy, even if she didn't let you, ultimately."

“I get having feelings you shouldn’t.” Marcus risks looking over at you for a second before he looks back down at the path in front of you. “For people you shouldn’t.”

“How so?” If you had seen him glance at you then you might have had some idea of what he meant, but you were busy trying not to trip over the obvious coffee spill left by a previous student.

Marcus sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he ignores the looks from the students as the two of you walk through the campus. He doesn’t see a lot of the adoration that seems to be thrown his way. “She’s…it’s not like a younger student or anything. Not like Monica.”

“Oh? Oh! You’ve been—?” You can’t help the way your whole face falls, registering that apparently he’s been seeing another student and you didn’t ever know. As fast as your silly schoolgirl crush has grown over the course of the semester, you can feel it being stamped out with every new step you take down the corridor together. “Well, she’s…she’s very lucky…” You choke out, shoving your hands into your pockets with determination.

“No! No, I haven’t - I can’t, it’s not—” Marcus groans. “She’s my student, I haven’t thought it was…appropriate to ask her out.” He rolls his eyes at himself, wondering where were those fucking balls of steel he had to have when saving the world when he needs them now. “I- it would have been wrong, right? But I have been thinking about it.”

“I mean…I guess it depends?” Even though it crushes your heart more than a little to debate this with him, he’s your friend and…and ultimately you want him to be happy. And some people might argue that that is a blaring siren for having feelings, but that’s a moot point now. “It’s the end of the semester, so…theoretically I guess it would depend on the relationship you have with this girl outside of…ya know…the classroom.”

"I think we're pretty good." Marcus inhales softly. "We've spent some time together, a lot less than I'd like, but I guess I don't know what she thinks about it."

“Then you should probably ask her.” And tonight, when you go home to pour yourself a glass of wine for studying, you’ll use your really big wine glass to mourn the passing of the chance you never got. “You can’t know unless you ask.”

"Yeah....." Fundamentally, Marcus knows that. And it's not like you are giving much away with your answers so he can't even use that to judge how you would react. "I need to, but I'm also worried about it changing things for the worse."

“I can’t see anyone turning you down,” you admit, feeling your voice drop a little and your shoulders slump. If you were brave enough to take your own advice, then you wouldn’t be walking at his side listening to him theorize about asking out another woman.

“So…..how do you feel about driving up the coast?” Marcus ventures softly. “Thought we could take a little ride, find a nice roadside spot to eat? Look out over the water.”

It takes you a long moment to register what he’s saying, but when you finally do, your head ticks up and you freeze in your steps, doing your best not to stare while you try to remember how to speak. “Wait, I— me?” You ask, so bewildered that your voice jumps and you’re pointing at your own chest. “You meant me?”

“Shit, I knew this was going to happen. You don’t- it’s okay.” Marcus quickly reassures you. “You don’t have to, I - it won’t affect your grade, they are done anyway. I- just forget I said anything, okay?”

“No! N-no, I meant— I didn’t realize you liked me, too.” And if you could bury your head in the ground in embarrassment right now, you absolutely would. “Please, you don’t…don’t take it back? I’d love to go.”

“Are you sure?” Both you and Marcus have stopped walking and he turns towards you. “I don’t- you don’t have to, I just- I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, and….” He blows out a huff of laughter. “I’d like to get to know you more now that you aren’t my student.”

“I’m really sure.” If it were possible to show him exactly how much without seeming overeager - or worse, desperate - you absolutely would, but right now you’re just smiling so hard you feel like your face might split. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you too, and I…” Flustered, you end up laughing at the way the two of you stammer out insistences and reassurances, and you just nod. “Why don’t we say next weekend? Final will be over and I’ll officially no longer be your student in any way.”

“Missy will be with her grandparents.” Marcus nods. “And I’ll officially not be your professor. So there’s nothing improper about it anymore.”

“I don’t even think you’re capable of being improper.” The little tease makes you grin, knowing that you might have said it before but now it’s flirting.

Marcus flushes slightly, aware that some of his thoughts were far from proper. “You’d be surprised.” He huffs, both of you starting to walk towards the food court again.

“Oh yeah?” It seems so improbable, and you laugh softly while you walk. “Are you telling me the world’s most wholesome retired superhero has a rebellious side?”

Marcus snorts, “well, Emily was about three months pregnant with Missy when we got married…” He offers in way of proof. “And despite my mama’s objections, I still have my motorcycle.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re the one who has been Clark Kent-ing this whole time?” You raise an intrigued eyebrow at him as you walk, but keep your hand stuffed firmly in your pocket so you don’t do something stupid like reach for him out of excitement. “The real Marcus is wandering hands and engine grease?” Oh god…both versions sound amazing…

Marcus smirks at the comparison and there might be a slight air of cockiness to his shrug. “There’s a difference between the public image and the private man, let’s just say that.” He offers. This is why he’s enjoyed your company, he loves being able to talk to you. No expeditions, no judgment. It’s vastly different from a lot of his other interactions with people and he loves it.

"Color me intrigued." And honestly a little turned on, but you'll keep that to yourself for now. The dining hall is just up ahead and it's just beginning to be busy, as people like you and Marcus who are filing out of your midmorning classes are lured in by the smell of lunch.

“Is that a good intrigued or have 9-1-1 on speed dial intrigued?” Marcus jokes, lunging forward to open the door for you when you both get close enough.

You knew he would get the door. He always does. In fact, he glared at you when you had tried to do it yourself a few weeks ago - as though you should certainly know better by now. “I don’t know,” you admit with a shrug. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. It could be fun. Or it might be terrifying.”

“Wellllllll, that was kinda the plan, if you want.” Marcus admits, a slightly boyish grin on his face. “Have you wrap your arms around me and hang on while we ride.”

“No dress. Got it.” Wrap your arms around him and hang on? Apparently when this man flirts he has the ability to make you weak in the knees and nearly pout with just a few sentences. “I have a very definite feeling that I’m going to like motorcycles.”

Marcus can’t help the slightly dirty way his grin turns. “Better than a washing machine.” He hums.

“Marcus!” The scandalized laugh that makes it out of you is practically giddy to see this side of him and you stick close to his side once you’re in the bustling main dining hall. “Maybe I do want to wear a dress, in that case.”

Marcus chuckles and looks over the options for the day and then at you. “What are you feeling today?” He asks. “They have that grilled chicken salad you like.”

“And they have gyro today,” you point up at the menu and offer him a shy smile, Realizing for the first time how much he’s really absorbed about you personally over the course of the semester. “Just try telling me that’s not your favorite. I dare you to lie.”

“Only because you start singing that song every time I sit down with it.” Marcus huffs, flushing slightly.

“‘Holding Out for a Gyro’ is the best parody song ever written.” You shrug your shoulders proudly. “Sorry, Weird Al. I win this one.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “And it’s funny every time I hear it.” He enjoyed the playful banter between the two of you. “If it’s aided by a delicious meal? That makes it even better.”

“Then I think we’ve got to do it.” He’s so relaxed now, and you wonder how many times when you were in line like this or sitting with coffee, did he feel the tension of attraction the same way you did? It’s a relief to know it wasn’t one sided after all. “For old time’s sake.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus shoots you a smirk, and nods towards your line. “Meet you at the table we normally have?” It’s not an assigned table, but the corner table is rarely occupied when you have lunch together.

"Absolutely." To have anything be both of yours sends a shiver of excitement through you and you try not to giggle or anything similarly giddy. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

Making his way over to the correct station, he can’t help but seek you out. Telling himself that it’s just because he wants to make sure you aren’t waiting for him for too long, he can’t help but grin when your eyes find him and you smile.

You tell yourself that the butterflies are because it’s new, and because new is exciting. It’s not because you’re expecting anything, or even know if the date will go well. But your instincts are good and your intuition is worth listening to - and that gut you’ve spent years cultivating is telling you that this could be the start of something amazing if you let it.

You get your salad before Marcus gets his own food, making him watch you as he walks towards the table where you are already settling in. “Do you need napkins?” You always forget them and it’s a little habit that he has developed to grab more.

“You know I do.” He’s attentive. It’s something you’ve grown to appreciate about him during the time you’ve been getting to know him. “Just like I know you didn’t grab a fork and you’re going to regret it when that wrap gets messy halfway through.” The Extra fork on your tray is ready and waiting just like the extra napkins on his.

“Look at us playing to each other’s weaknesses.” Marcus chuckles, knowing that he will be using the fork. He always does and yet every time he doesn’t get one when the utensils are next to the napkins.

“I like to think of it as paying attention.” You counter, moving things around your tray to get it set up just the way you like. “We’ve both found each other worth paying attention to.”

“At least you also paid attention in class.” Marcus snorts, opening up the cup of extra tzatziki sauce he always asks for, along with extra pickled red onions. “You have one of the top five grades. Seriously, you should pursue criminal justice.”

“It would be a hell of a gear change from teaching high school English.” The cup of vinaigrette that comes with your chicken salad is unceremoniously dumped into the container and you pop the lid back on to shake it up and get everything evenly coated. “I honestly took the class because I love mysteries so much. I thought taking something about fighting crime would be fun.” You hadn’t even known who was teaching it when you signed up. Finding out you had Marcus for a professor was a delightful surprise.

“I think it’s a good idea to have everyone take at least one class.” Marcus knows you know this. It was basically his opening speech to his class. “Knowing about our system is necessary.”

"I completely agree." The discussions about how neither of you understand the resistance to understanding how the country you live in works have happened a few times over the last few months, usually in regard to a classmate saying something ignorant or someone illustrating a cultural difference between the US and the culture they grew up in. Discussions could either feel like you were banging your head against a wall or you could learn something truly interesting.

“So..” Marcus looks over at you as he scrapes the rest of the sauce out onto his gyro. “Are you ready for the summer? Or are you taking more courses?” He knows you are working towards your degree while working, so he’s not sure how it looks for you.

"I have a second job lined up for the summer. I'll keep busy and pocket as much money as I can." Working through the busy summer tourist season has always treated you well, and the company you work with has no problem accommodating your class schedule or your other job. "I'm on track to graduate next year as long as I don't run into a problem with any of my senior classes, so I'll spend my summer working and trying to get ahead in my reading if any of my professors are willing to hand out their reading lists early." It was the first email you always sent to a professor - asking if they wouldn't mind sending a reading list to you ahead of the start of the semester - and usually it helped establish you as a serious student early on. Being a slow reader meant you had to be prepared.

“Let me know what classes you are taking and I’ll be able to tell you what most of them have set out.” Marcus offers. “It’s good to have a jump on things.” It’s not just an offer because you’re going out on a date with him. He would offer it to any serious student. Just many of them hadn’t wanted to go beyond the unsubtle flirting.

“I’m a slow reader.” You shrug, digging your fork into your salad. “Taking a lot of classes that require extensive reading. Especially next year.” The first bite of your lunch is bright and crisp and refreshing as always, and you just let yourself enjoy it for a minute while you chew. “What about you?” You ask, tilting your head at him. “Any big summer plans with Missy?”

“Missy’s going to be with her grandparents most of the summer.” Marcus admits, hating that he will miss her, but she needs to spend time with Emily’s family. He was always welcomed, but he wanted her to bond with them without having dad hanging around.

“Oh?” He looks like he’s not thrilled with the idea, but you know how much he loves his daughter and he’s probably just aware of how much he’ll miss her - something you can’t blame him for in the least. That does, however, leave your mind open to think about very specific things…like spending the night together without having to worry about preteen eyes or ears.

“Yeah. So I’m going to be doing a lot of reading by the pool.” Marcus predicts. “Retirement from the Heroics left a lot of downtime that I hadn’t expected when I went into teaching.”

“It sounds relaxing, at least.” Would you kill to see Marcus lounging lazily, sunbathing shirtless with a book and a beer on any random summer day? It sounds like a dream. “If you want a change of scenery, sometimes the country club I work at gives us guest passes on slow days. You could read by a different pool if you wanted to?”

“So you’re inviting me to sit by your pool…” Marcus grins. “How good are your piña coladas?”

“Marcus I’m a bartender.” You pretend to be scandalized but just end up giggling when you take a sip of your drink. “My piña coladas are flawless, thank you very much.”

“I guess I will have to try them for myself.” Marcus teases, sending you a small wink. “Have you serving me frozen beverages all summer?”

"In my extremely sexy polo shirt and khaki shorts." The snort he gets from you is pure amusement, but the way you're smiling is so very, very pleased. Having him actively flirt with you is turning into a happy little puddle. "You'd be the only one actually allowed to leer."

“I will keep all my leering respectful.” He promises playfully. “Although you might be embarrassed to have such an old man flirt with you in public, even if you are used to it all the time.”

"If you're hanging out at the club this summer, then I'm assuming it will be because we've decided to keep seeing each other." And that thought alone makes you nearly giddy. "In which case I will be proud to have you respectfully leering while I work."

Marcus hums and picks up his gyro. “Then we will have to see if we are as good outside of ‘just friendly’ as I think we will be.” He tells you before he takes his first bite and groans at the flavors.

"I guess we will." You grin at him, forking up another bite of your lunch, and barely keep yourself from outright giggling. Next week can't come fast enough.

******

The nerves that come with getting ready for a ‘first date’ for the first time in nearly twenty years catches Marcus off guard. Panicking in the shower as he wonders if he’s made the date too casual, too presumptuous. What if you hate motorcycles? Should he just have made reservations somewhere? He runs through every single scenario in his mind until he’s nearly jittery.

He has no way of knowing that you've been sitting giddily in your apartment - busying yourself here and there with cleaning or changing your outfit four times or staring at the first page of a new book for a half hour and only reading the same sentence over and over again because you're too excited to focus. As seven o'clock ticks closer and closer, there is just less and less chance of you concentrating on anything except thinking of Marcus.

The ride over to your apartment complex is easy and surprisingly quick. You don’t live too far away from him and the implications that spring from that have him reminding himself that it’s just the first date. Swinging his leg over the bike as he shuts it off, he smirks to himself as he looks back at the helmet he had strapped to the back for you to wear. It’s a gorgeous evening for a ride and the setting sun in a few hours would look amazing as you cruise along the coast.

You practically jump when the buzzer goes off, beating a hasty route from the bathroom mirror - where you were quadruple checking the claim that your new lipstick is transfer-proof - to the hall. “Hello?” Trying to sound carefree instead of out of breath, your voice pitches up one too many octaves when you press the button to answer.

“Hey.” Marcus grins at how breathless you sound, wondering if you are just as nervous as he is. “Can I come up, or do you want me to wait down here?” If you decide to just come down, that’s completely your choice and he won’t judge you either way.

"Come on up!" Having decided thirty seconds ago to change your shoes from flats to boots for the sake of the bike you hope he brought, you push the buzzer to let him in and scramble to your bedroom to grab your knee-high boots.

Marcus grins, opening the door and deciding to take the stairs rather than wait for the elevator since you are only on the second floor. Eager to see you and get the date started. The only reason there aren’t flowers in his hand, is because they wouldn’t survive the ride over but maybe the one flower he does have silk charm you.

The knock on your door comes barely two minutes later and you've barely zipped up your boots when you answer it. Marcus has always dressed up for his time on campus, but today he has a leather jacket thrown over his untucked green button-up and boots peeking out from under his jeans where he would normally wear Oxford. The difference is slight, but it's mouthwatering. "Hey." One little word, but it's all you can manage when you're grinning from ear to ear like a lunatic. "Come on in."

“Hey.” He wipes his hands on his pants, slightly nervous as he steps inside. It’s been a long time since he’s been on a date and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. “You look great. Like really good.” He compliments.

“So do you.” He’s so obviously nervous that it makes you smile, relaxing in the moment when you remember how long it’s been for him. Having you be equally nervous isn’t going to help him at all. “Let me just grab my purse and we can head out?”

“Sure.” Marcus clears his throat and reaches into the pocket of his riding jacket. “So flowers, fresh beautiful ones, are standard for a first date - but they wouldn’t have survived the ride over.” He offers as he pulls out the lone metal rose he had brought you. “So I hope you aren’t disappointed by this.”

“Marcus…” Twisted and pulled from glossy metal into the form of a single blooming rose, the bud is a gorgeous example of artistry all on its own. It speaks to care because it’s so delicate, and an eye for beauty, and you gasp softly when you accept it from his hands. “It’s stunning.”

“I made it.” Why did he just volunteer that? He huffs slightly at his fucking inability to act like a normal man for just one second. “It’s- yeah, I just wanted you to have a flower.”

“Just because you don’t wear a uniform anymore, that doesn’t change who you are as a person.” It’s part of why you like him so much, if you’re honest with yourself. His being a hero isn’t all about his powers. He is fundamentally a good man.

“That’s very true.” He likes the fact that you have a very practical mindset about it. Some wouldn’t and it just means you are even more special than he had anticipated.

Out on the sidewalk in front of your building, his bike is easy to spot. The lone motorcycle in a parking lot of practical and family vehicles, it practically screams to be noticed and you love it. “I was hoping you were serious about bringing it.”

“Good.” Marcus practically beams at giddiness in your eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve had time to go for a ride and figured it would be the perfect evening for it.”

“Absolutely perfect.” You couldn’t agree more, happily taking the second helmet from the back of his bike when he hands it to you.

Once you are as safe as you can be, Marcus straddles the bike and pulls it off the standing peg. “Get on behind me and hang on as tight as you want.”

“Dangerous thing to say to the woman who’s had a crush on you for the better part of five months.” The gentle laugh as you carefully climb into the back of the bike and wrap your arms around him is mostly teasing - but only mostly. Because you’d been lusting after him on TV for a lot longer than that.

Marcus chuckles as he starts the bike with a loud roar. Maybe showing off just slightly. He has backed into the parking spot so he can just take off with the twist of his wrist and he grins at the bubble of giggling that bursts out behind him as your arms tighten instinctively.

It’s a quick zip from your building to the Pacific Coast Highway. No more than a few minutes in the residential area puts you out enjoying the Southern California’ coastal salt air instead of smog. Each turn he takes hits right in the pit of your stomach and brings another bubble of giggles from your throat and you just hope he can hear them over the roar of the engine. Even if the night was just this - just riding around with him as your anchor - you would completely love it.

Marcus doesn’t try to speed and break your neck as he coasts along the Highway. This is about the leisure of the trip. Enjoying the scenery and he can feel you gasp when he takes one hand off the handlebars to point out some whales breaching just off the rocky coast.

It’s silly. It’s silly to worry. You’re with one of the world’s only literal superheroes. Nothing is going to happen to you. But you still clutch him a little bit tighter whenever he lets go of the handlebars to point. The smile on his face is free and easy and he seems to love the gasps from your lips, so you don’t bother feeling embarrassed. If you were nervous it’s already melted away. Being with Marcus is easy.

He doesn’t know how long you cruise, maybe an hour, hour and a half before he throttle down slightly. “When you see somewhere you want to eat, let me know!” He turns his head back towards you and shouts it so you can hear.

A little further up the road, a brightly painted seafood shack with a cartoon lobster wearing a captain’s hat on its sign. “Right there!” You call through the engine and wind noise, barely letting go of him long enough to point. It looks unpretentious and like it hasn’t changed owners or gimmicks in decades. Perfect for your breezy, relaxed evening ride.

“Okay.” Marcus immediately slows down more, letting go of the handle bars again to give the signal for his turn as he guides the two of you into the parking lot.

You could swear you’re still vibrating when he cuts the engine and your feet are on solid ground again, but it’s not rattling or uncomfortable. It’s like a very tangible adrenaline buzz running all through your body and - yes, definitely shooting right between your legs.

“You okay?” Marcus asks as soon as he takes off his own helmet and sets it down on the back of the bike. It might not be cool to some to wear protection, but he’s got his daughter to think of. And despite his best efforts at trying to stay inconspicuous, sometimes he was photographed in public, not the example he wants to set for the younger generations.

“That was amazing.” The shit-eating grin on your face promises that you’re not lying, and you let him gently unbuckle your helmet to lift it away and set it with his as you stand up.

“Well, why don’t we have whatever tickles our fancy and then we can find a shaved ice place or ice cream stand?” He offers.

"Sounds pretty perfect." A dressed down night like this - something that's more about who you're with than what you're doing - is exactly the right kind of first date to you.

“Good.” His hand finds your back, up under your jacket by sheer coincidence as he moves you towards the small shack. “Maybe we can eat outside?” He offers.

"Why eat by the ocean if you can't see the water at the same time?" His hand is warm through the thin material of your dress and you unconsciously shift closer to him as you walk inside.

“My thoughts exactly.” Marcus grins. “Order a beer if you want, I’m going to have a soda since I’m the one driving.”

The place is simple - just a window with a huge menu board over it where you place your order and a counter a few yards down where you can pick up your filled order when your name is called. Tables inside are simple plastic with matching chairs, and outside there are picnic tables to extend the seating by another dozen or so tables. A plate of fish tacos and local beer sounds like the most Californian meal you've eaten in a long time, and perfect for tonight.

“God, everything smells so good.” He groans, practically drooling at the menu board. “Do you want to get a bunch of things and split them?” He asks.

"You're on." By the time you get up to the window to order you've picked out three or four things that sound amazing - not the least of which is the fish tacos which are marked on the menu as award winning. Your beer will be on the tray when it comes up but Marcus is given a cup for his soda and is pointed toward the drink fountain while you wait.

"What kind goes best with what we ordered?" He hums playfully as he surveys the soda options. There are a few but he's just playing around, seeing if you will point out your favorite. His theory is that you would take a sip of it if he picks that one. So you just aren't drinking beer.

“Hmmmm.” Pretending to think excruciatingly hard about it, you shrug your shoulders playfully and tap the Sprite logo currently staring you in the face. “It’s a palate cleanser,” you reason when he raises one eyebrow to ask for an explanation. “Bright, citrusy, sweet but not as heavy as Mountain Dew or root beer.” It’s also your favorite, but he doesn’t need to know that. Having a favorite soda is silly at your age.

"Good choice." Marcus actually agrees with your assessment and immediately starts adding ice so he can fill the cup with Sprite. "Kind of like having white wine with chicken or beer with chicken wings." He grins and winks at you as he fills the cup.

“The extremely low rent version of that,” you laugh though, leaning against the counter as he fills his cup. “But I like the low rent versions of things. Just because something is fussier doesn’t necessarily mean it’s better.”

"I always believe there are times to be fancy and then there are times to just be...happy." Marcus shrugs. "I figured that the first date should be easy and light, not stuffy in a fancy restaurant where we are bored to death and unable to find things to eat that we can pronounce."

"Now that is a theory I can get behind entirely." You snag him a paper straw from the container next to the drink dispenser and send him one of those winks that he seems so fond of, just to be playful. "Although I do speak passable Italian."

"You do?" That is new information and he's delighted to learn that. It's charming to know that about you and he grins as he nods. "I can see it. Have you traveled to Italy?"

"I never got to." It's a regret, to be sure, but you made up your mind a while ago to not let those things drag you down anymore. It's been too long. "The first time I was in college, I was an art history major. Most of my focus was on the Italian Renaissance, so Italian was kind of necessary."

“I see.” Marcus nods. “Maybe you will be able to visit once you have your degree.” He offers, knowing that traveling to foreign countries is important.

"Once I have my degree this time, I hope I'll be able to find a good job." The best you can really do is shrug, pretending that you hadn't had to set aside several lifelong dreams when you dropped out of college the first time around. As short a life as it had been then, you've always been a dreamer. "It's okay." Not wanting to bring the mood down, you offer him a sunny smile and turn to wait for his name to be called at the counter. "I'll get there someday."

"I don't doubt it for a second." Marcus promises you with a smile. You are tenacious and he knows you will make it happen for yourself. "How many more of your classes are you shy of graduating?" He asks, as he stands beside you.

"Seven." It sounds like so much and so little all at once, and you stick your hands in the pockets of your jacket to resist the insane urge you have to hold his hand. "One more full year, basically. But I have a spot open in case I don't pass something this semester and need to retake."

"That's a smart thing to do." He is impressed with the way that you are thinking ahead. "Sometimes you don't pass the first time around, I know I couldn't pass my freshman statistics course to save my life."

“I took Intro to Botany for my science general ed thinking it would at least be interesting.” But from your cringe, he can tell that that isn’t true. “It turned out to be both insanely difficult and insanely boring. Which is a shame.”

"Yeah...." Marcus shakes his head. "I'm not the biggest fan of that class." He doesn't like professor Issacs, but you don't need to know that. He's never particularly cared for him, finding him pompous and egotistical without contributing much to the faculty. He seemed to make the course load harder for his students than it needed to be.

“Well, if Isaacs decides to flunk me, it’ll be Earth Sciences in fall, instead.” Which you probably should have done in the first place, but hindsight is 20/20 and all that. “How’s your grading looking? Staring down the barrel of a hundred and fifty tests and papers?”

"I actually have it down to a science." Marcus tells you with a small grin. "I should be done with grading by Sunday at the latest."

“Look at you, Professor Smarty Pants. You’ll have to teach me your tricks if I ever actually become a teacher.” You tease, grinning when the girl behind the counter calls his name, looks up, and recognizes him.

“Moreno?” She asks, stunned and wide eyes. “Marcus Moreno?” Her voice manages to go up several octaves. “I- oh my god!”

Taking his drink and grabbing some napkins and utensils is the most helpful thing you can do, and you watch with a smile as Marcus shakes the girl’s hand and chats with her for a second before grabbing the tray with your dinner. He’s in his element with people - any kind of people - and you always get a warm sort of pride whenever you’re with him when he’s recognized. Despite having no claim on him but friendship, you’re still proud of him.

Marcus listens to the girl gush, he had apparently saved her about five years ago, right before he had quit going out into the field with the other Heroics. Making him recall the incident and he smiles as she thanks him for what he had done, shaking his head and claiming that it had been nothing. Grateful that you aren’t annoyed that he’s having time taken away from the date. When he finally comes back over to you, he gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You push the door open to go outside and let him go through first with the tray. “You’ve saved people's lives. You saved that girl’s life. That’s no small thing. Not at all.”

“It’s bad, but I don’t remember her.” Marcus feels guilty, but it’s the truth. There were a lot of people that day.

“And she never has to know that.” There is one picnic table closer to the water than the others, and you both move toward it instinctively. “I can’t imagine you remembering every person you ever saved. But I’m sure they'll all remember you for the rest of their lives.”

“It’s daunting.” Marcus admits. “I don’t think it’s a secret that I don’t crave attention.” He snorts. “I’m not Miracle Guy.”

“No one is.” You smirk, knowing Miracle Guy’s reputation for tooting his own horn.

Marcus chuckles at your expression and shrugs slightly. “He’s got quite the fan club.”

“And he loves it. But fame isn’t everyone’s first choice.” At the table you set everything out between you and sit side by side so you can both look out over the water while you eat. “For what it’s worth? I like you just as you are.”

“Well thank you.” Marcus moves your beer over to you and grins. “While we eat, maybe you can tell me why you chose teaching?”

“Have we never talked about that?” He shakes his head when you ask and you pop the cap off your beer. “Teaching was always on my radar.” You tell him, figuring that’s the best place to start. “I thought about teaching art, originally. But when I was taking care of my mom…the thing that she had the most energy for was books. We would read together constantly, until it was just me reading to hear and we would talk about every chapter and every book together. It was our own private book club, and I fell in love with literature all over again.”

"I like that." Marcus hates the fact that it seems like your mother is gone, he can't even imagine losing his mother right now although his father died when he was twelve, but he reaches out and takes your hand. "I'm sure that those memories are the ones that she cherished the most." He murmurs softly.

It’s not exactly the way you wanted it to happen - out of sympathy instead of excitement - but you look down at his large hands covering yours and smile. “She was my best friend,” you tell him, aware that your voice has dropped a little. “And I just hope I’m making her proud.”

“Doing exactly what you want to do and living your life how you want to live it is exactly what would make a parent proud.” He knows not all parents subscribe to that, but he feels like your mother would, considering how you’ve turned out.

“Thanks.” You shake your head, almost trying to release the cobwebs from the corners of your mind. “Sorry…I…I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”

“You’re not bringing the mood down.” Marcus assures you, almost instantly. “Talking about our lives and what has happened is learning about each other. It’s the human condition that none of us are without personal tragedy.”

“I suppose.” Not wanting to let go just yet, you take a sip of your drink with your other hand. “Although most men would not feel that way on a first date. So thank you for being your compassionate self.”

“I am no stranger to things like this.” Marcus reminds you softly. “Do you know how many people hit on me at my wife’s funeral? And then didn’t understand why I was angry at them?”

“Are you serious?” The worst part is that you can imagine it. People offering to comfort the grieving widower with varying degrees of subtlety and lewdness. “That’s…that’s despicable, Marcus. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s done.” Marcus rubs his thumb in the back of your hand gently. “But I’ve learned that there are really good people in the world too, and you’re one of them.” He tells you with a soft smile.

“I really like you.” Though it comes out inelegantly, and you can feel your cheeks burn when you fear it, the sentiment is honest. “I mean…obviously. Since I’m here with you. But I guess I mean…I’m glad that you feel that way. Because the time that I’ve been able to spend with you is the happiest that I’ve been in a really long time.”

"That's good." He lights up, grinning broadly and can't quite hide the way his chest puffs out slightly at your praise of him and the time you have spent together. A lot of it has been innocent but it's a building block for what he wants. More.

With the air slightly clearer between you, you dig into your dinner with enthusiasm. The little roadside seafood shack is playing with no less than its A-game so everything is fresh and delicious. The sea is calm, treating you to crisp breezes and the occasional creature-sighting, and little joke after little joke piles up to have you both in a fit of giggles by the time the meal winds down. In your entire life a first date has never been this relaxed or fun, and you're starting to think that maybe you've just been dating the wrong people all along.

Marcus leans back and sighs. “Well, want to continue on and find our dessert stand?” He asks playfully, rubbing his stomach. “Or do you not have room?”

"There is always room for dessert." You tell him, with an air that you're giving some kind of sage wisdom. "Especially cold desserts on warm nights." It will be sundown soon and the mid-May sun is only just starting to lose power. "Do you know a place or are we driving until we find one?" Either way is fine with you. Either way is time spent with him.

“I’m kinda winging it.” Marcus admits with a grin. “Trying to be more spontaneous? Missy said I shouldn’t plan everything out like I do normally.”

"You told Missy?" Admittedly, you had been afraid to ask if he was going to or not, knowing that his relationship with his daughter means the world to him. You wouldn't have been surprised or offended if he had chosen to hold off on telling her about you until it became more serious. The fact that he did - that you seem to be important enough to him to have her know about you - floods you with warmth and joy.

“She’s the one that told me I needed to stop…how did she put it? “Being a wuss’  and ask you out.” He chuckles as he stands from the table and picks up the tray that you’ve both deposited all the trash from your dinner onto. He’ll throw it away and return the tray before getting back on the bike with you.

"Your daughter and my roommate." You can't help but chuckle a little, walking with him to the trash bins to chuck your beer bottle in the recycles. "Well...I'm glad one of us listened to our advice giver. I'm pretty sure I would have been too chicken when push came to shove."

“I was half convinced that I was making up the entire thing in my head.” He huffs, rolling his eyes at himself. “That maybe you just felt sorry for me and that’s why you ate lunch with me.”

"Not at all." The fact that he thought it, though, shows his humility. "Actually, at first I thought the reverse. That you were taking pity on your weird student who was older than everybody else by being friendly."

“God no.” Marcus breathes out. “You saved my sanity. Having someone who was understanding that it’s insane for all these girls to be wanting me?” He rolls his eyes. “There’s a group of them that started calling me ‘daddy’ and I just-“ he shrugs and laughs in that defeated and disbelieving kind of way. “Why?”

When you snort to keep from bursting out laughing, you can only hold up your hand to apologize. “Marcus, it’s because you’re hot. A sexy guy in a position of authority with a nurturing personality is a recipe for being a daddy.”

“But…I—” He trails off and his eyes widen slightly in realization. “Dear God.” He huffs after a long moment of silence.

“It’s a compliment,” you promise, looping your arm around him and hugging him while you desperately try to keep the laughter inside. “A slightly weird one, but a compliment nonetheless.”

“They do realize that I would never actually….date them, right?” He asks. “It would be so wrong.” Most of his class are seniors but the age gap widens every year and now there’s only three or four years between the freshman class and his daughter.

“The reasonable ones do. The less reasonable ones don’t care. That’s not the point.” Together you walk back around the tiny restaurant and out to the parking lot, but Marcus doesn’t move away from you so you keep your hand on him while you go. “They’ll get it out of their systems eventually and then you won’t have to hear it anymore. Besides, I think the ringleaders of that particular nickname are all graduating this year.” One of them was Monica, you know that for sure. But she’ll be graduated and gone in no time.

“Hopefully.” Marcus looks over at you, “although I wouldn’t mind a certain former student dropping by sometimes when she has time.” He teases.

“Oh yeah?” You smirk, unable to resist screwing with him just a little. “I’ll let Monica know. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“Do it and you’ll buy your own ice cream.” Marcus threatens playfully. He doesn’t mean it, but the idea of Monica haunting his office hours after graduation is almost enough to make his time by virtual connection only.

“That’s a very serious threat, you know.” You’re giggling when you make it to his bike, practically doubled over with it just from the mortified look on his face. “Of course I’ll drop by office hours. How else am I going to say hi?” Doing your best not to count on anything - or to get your hopes up too high - you have ended up just sort of assuming that he won’t want to go on another date after tonight. That it will be too weird for him or you won’t be as good as what he has built up in his mind before now. It’s helping to keep your expectations grounded, because your hopes are already imagining what it will be like to get to know his daughter.

“Welllllllll, I guess we could communicate through mirrors and reflections, smoke signals, or pigeon carriers.” Marcus snorts. “But I was hoping it would include the occasional phone call, or visit in person. I’ll even text.”

"I would pay money to see Missy teaching you how to text." That starts up the giggles again, but in a much more lighthearted way. "Look, Marcus..." You manage not to sigh, thank god, but your tone does trend a bit more serious. All fears aside for you, you know that he hasn't dated in an extremely long time and deserves some reassurance. "I told you that I really like you and I meant it. So if you decide you want to keep seeing me after tonight? I'm a commitment girl. So dropping by your office with snacks or to spend some time together will be a given."

“I know how to text.” Marcus grumbles, pouting at you slightly. “I just don’t. There’s no inflection. And how can I convey emotion?” He reaches out to take the helmet you had worn off the back of the bike to put it back on you. “I think this date is going really well, how about you?” He asks. “So I don’t know why I wouldn’t want to see you again.”

"If I tell you that I'm having a great night but trying not to set my expectations too high, do I get to see that cute pout again?" The fact that he sets the helmet on you and buckles it in place so he knows you're safe is about the cutest thing ever.

Just to get you to grin again, he does the pout again. Holding it for a few seconds before he shakes his head in disappointment. “And here I was thinking that you should set the expectations sky high.” He rumbles dramatically.

'My hopes are sky high," you assure him, feeling daring enough to reach out and touch his arm again even if it's only briefly. "But I know this is a big step for you, so I didn't want you to feel pressured."

“I don’t.” He promises, reaching up and chucking your chin softly before he glances down at your lips. “Not at all. Although there’s some pressure, it’s not something you have to worry about unless you want to.”

"What do you mean?" Tilting your head to one side, you don't miss the way he glances down at your lips, though the innuendo goes straight over your head.

He chuckles quietly and lets go of your chin. “I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself.” He teases, turning back and grabbing his own helmet. “Let me know when you got it worked out.”

"Well that's not fair." It's your turn to pout now, just as playfully. "I have no talent for double meanings, if my roommate is to be believed."

“Really?” He turns back around and smirks at you. “If you don’t figure it out by the time I drop you off at your place, I’ll let you in on the pressure.”

"You're enjoying this too much." But it's amusing rather than anything else, and you nudge him playfully.

“Maybe a little.” He chuckles as he climbs back on the bike and motions you over. “Climb back on, sweetheart.”

If teasing you is what keeps that smile on his face then you are all for it. You just shake your head to make him laugh again and swing your leg back over the back of his bike. Your arms slide easily around his waist this time with no hesitation in the thing, and you giggle all over again when the engine roars to life.

“Want to go a little faster this time?” Marcus yells over his shoulder.

"Go for it!" There's no question you'll be safe with him, and the adrenaline from the ride is definitely worth it, so you just hold on a little tighter.

“Hang on!” Marcus laughs as he kicks the peg up and twists the throttle of the bike hard enough to lurch you out of the parking spot and make you squeal in surprise.

Back on the highway Marcus picks up the pace, moving you through traffic with expert handling and a fearlessness that goes straight past anything worrying and directly to being such a damn turn on.

This time there’s less talking, more wind buffering around you. Marcus loves the feeling of it, having spent plenty of time wishing he had the skill of flying like Miracle Guy, but this is a close second. He grins as you squeeze him tight and he lets go of one handlebar to cover your hands with his own as he carries you further up the coast.

The colors of sunset are just starting to appear on the horizon when Marcus points out a sign for an ice cream stand up ahead. His hand has been warm on yours whenever it's been safe for him to have it there, and you could swear that the warmth radiating off of him in waves has changed somehow. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

Throttling down, he pulls into the parking lot of the ice cream stand, happy that it seems moderately busy on this beautiful night. Even better, there’s benches facing the ocean to sit and eat. “Now are you a sundae kind of girl or a cone?” He asks playfully.

"Yes to both," you laugh honestly. You both take off your helmets and pop off the bike to stretch your legs, but stick close to each other while other people bustle around having fun. "But tonight feels like a cone night. Much easier for sitting and watching the water with."

“I agree.” Marcus can’t help but touch you again, keeping his hand on your back again. “Figure once we finish up here, we’ll turn around and start heading back to L.A. Don’t want you too sore from riding too long.”

"Sure. We got a perfect night for a few more hours of driving." Though you have no desire to see the night end, you're not trying to monopolize every second of his time. Or at least you wouldn't admit to wanting it. For now you just keep close and lean into his side a little as you stroll toward the stand overlooking the water.

“It’s also a good reason to stop at these stands.” He looks over at you and smirks. “If you aren’t used to it, it’s a real workout on your hips and thighs.”

"Some things are worth being sore for." It's amazing the way you miss even your own innuendo, but there it is. The words don't even register a second meaning on their way out of your mouth.

Marcus waits a beat for you to smirk, but you don’t. Giving credence to your claim that you don’t get secondary meanings. “Yep.” He chuckles. “Let’s figure out what ice cream we want.”

"I'm going to guess...pistachio for you." You glance up at him when you get into line and raise an eyebrow. "Or Rocky Road? Something classic."

“Actually…” Marcus smiles as he glances at the list of flavors. “I was thinking the sinful Caramel truffle swirl.” He admits.

"Ooh, we're going for something fancy tonight." It might be the mood or the sunset, but he is just remarkably handsome tonight. "Sounds tasty."

“You always go fancy with ice cream.” Marcus laughs. “Or red velvet, peanut butter cup mashup?”

"Red velvet and caramel swirl mash up?" Suddenly it's a game, playing with pairings, and his hand on your back has slipped to your waist making you feel giddy like you're still flying on that bike with him.

“Orrrr the banana flavored ice cream with peanut butter, chocolate chips and caramel swirl?” He asks, nearly drooling at the combinations they offer.

"The Elvis. Always a classic." All it's missing is bacon, and you would absolutely use that as a sundae topping. "I say we pick two and swap halfway through. Best of both worlds."

Marcus grins slowly and nods. “Sounds like a plan to me.” His fingers tighten on your waist slightly as you both turn back towards the window and step up to order. “Ladies first.” He murmurs to you.

You end up ordering coffee cookies and cream and Marcus gets the Elvis-inspired concoction that had him drooling, and within minutes you’re scouting for a place to sit in the small army of benches overlooking the water. The pinks, purples, and orange in the sky are a watercolor collage of the perfect sunset, and the smattering of other couples who also chose to stop here on their dates have given the place a more romantic feel than a little seaside ice cream stand probably ever would ever have on its own.

“Sooooo.” Marcus guides you over to the benches, the girl behind the window assuring them that they will bring the ice cream to you. “How is the view?” He asks, sitting down besides you and offering his hand. If you want to take it, you have the option.

“I think it might be my new favorite.” In fact, you’re so busy admiring his profile against the colorful sky that you almost miss his proffered hand. Almost. But you slip your hand into his larger one with a shy smile, relishing the simple intimacy.

Marcus isn’t looking at the sunset. Instead his eyes are on you. “Mine too.” He promises, curling his fingers around yours protectively.

“Yeah?” You’re both the same kind of sappy, it seems, and the smile on your face widens immeasurably. Your cheeks are going to ache from it tomorrow but you couldn’t care less. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He grins but doesn’t say anything else, just letting both of you settle back and watch the light play over the water. His hand doesn’t leave yours and he sighs softly. “The view of the water is nice too.”

A laugh - small and breathy - cracks your dreamy expression and you manage to thank the teenage girl who brings over your ice cream when she arrives a moment later. “Yes,” you grin at him, nearly giggling. “The water is nice, too.”

The first bite of the creamy, sweet ice cream makes Marcus moan, rolling his eyes back. “Holy shit.” He groans, taking another lick of the confection. “I know we’re trading but you have to try this now.” Having the perfect dessert almost makes up for having to let go of your hand. Almost.

“That good?” You ask, and he nods when he holds it out to you. It’s messier than you're proud of, that first taste, but you groan right along with him and let your eyes float shut happily. “Holy shit, it is that good.”

“Right?” He’s practically giddy as he takes another bite of it happily. “This is definitely a place to come back to again one night.”

“Absolutely.” The first bite of your own cone is just as good, and you moan again happily. “If it’s all this good then we’ll have to come back with Missy.”

“Missy will insist on it.” Marcus chuckles. “That girl has never met an ice cream flavor she didn’t love. She even eats mint chocolate chip.” He makes a face and grins at you.

“Mint chocolate chip is delicious!” You protest immediately, making him just grimace even more dramatically. “Fine, more for me and Missy, then. You’re the one missing out.”

“I will happily miss out.” He promises you. “I don’t care for the taste of toothpaste with my chocolate.”

“How about coffee and Oreos?” Offering him a first taste of your ice cream is only fair since you’d had one of his, but more than anything you’re just enjoying the easy teasing between you.

“Now you’re speaking my language.” Marcus doesn’t hesitate in sampling the cone you offer him and he groans happily. “God.”

“Right?” You laugh, trying to ignore the way the sounds reverberate through you anytime Marcus groans or moans over delicious food. “We have to come back. Gotta try every flavor.”

“Absolutely. Although with Missy coming, we’ll have to trade the motorcycle for the car.” He doesn’t mind it, and to be honest, he likes that you want to include his daughter.

“I don’t mind.” Spending time with his daughter is more important than how you travel, and honestly you’re not sure you’ll be composed enough for family bonding with how fucking wet riding that bike has made you. “The bike can be for when it’s just us.”

“I like the way you think.” Marcus smirks slightly and takes another bite of his ice cream.

“After all…” When you smirk at him it’s devious. “I don’t think the bike would be considered very ‘Daddy’ of you.”

He snorts, nearly choking on the melted cream of his dessert. “That’s just mean.”

“Me? Mean?” You blink at him innocently, with your eyes as wide as they’ll go. “Never! But tease? Absolutely.”

“So you tease but you don’t get the dirty meanings behind comments?” He laughs, shaking his head in amusement. “Interesting.”

“I guess I just…never expect anyone to make dirty comments to me?” It feels like an excuse, or something silly, and you shrug your shoulders. “So it never occurs to me.”

“Why?” That seems impossible to him. You’re beautiful, kind, smart and funny. “While I don’t subscribe to catcalling women all the time, there’s got to be times where people come onto you.”

“Maybe.” Another shrug and you feel yourself looking away, like you ought to be embarrassed for missing out on something. “But I never notice unless it’s extremely obvious. Like the day you asked me to have lunch with you the first time? You flat out asked me.”

“I don’t mind having to be blunt.” Marcus leans in and nudges your shoulder slightly. “I’ll keep it in mind when I want you to know I’m flirting with you.”

“I’ll learn,” you promise, knowing the whole thing sounds silly to any ‘normal’ person. “Learning how you flirt is easier than learning how everybody in the world flirts.”

“This is very true.” Marcus is halfway down with his cone so he dutifully holds it out for you to take.

“Trade time.” You offer him your cone in exchange, glad that something so simple can be enjoyable for both of you. After everything you’ve been through over the last few years, you really have realized that it’s the little things that mean the most to you. Something as simple as sharing food makes everything much more intimate.

“We might have to get a couple of pints to take home next time.” Marcus suggests. “Bring a cooler.”

“We can make homemade ice cream sandwiches.” The thoughts roll on - of spending more time with him, getting to know Missy - the daydreams you have only started to allow yourself this week as you waited eagerly tonight.

“Ohhhh make some cookies for the sandwiches.” Marcus groans, rolling his eyes at the idea.

“Exactly.” His enthusiastic reaction makes you grin, hoping that some of these little dreams might come true sooner rather than later. Tonight has really been perfect, and you don’t want it to end even if all you do is sit here in the after-dusk and watch the water together.

“So…anything else you want to do?” He asks softly. “We don’t have to end the date after we get back to L.A.”

“Honestly? We could probably do anything and I’d enjoy it.” Simple, maybe, but you prefer to think of it as being easy going. And you’ve never not enjoyed time with this man. “Maybe we could just…curl up? Watch a movie or something? Unless that sounds boring to you.”

“We could do that.” Marcus offers after thinking about it for a second. “Do you want to do this at your place or mine?” Just because you were picked up from a date at your apartment doesn’t mean you want him to come back to it. He frantically tries to remember if he did the dishes this morning.

“It’s probably easier if you come back to mine, I think.” Not that the very idea of it doesn’t have you shaking a little with anticipation. “That way you don’t have to drive the round trip between our places just to drop me off.”

“If that’s what you want.” Marcus chuckles quietly and decides to be honest. “I was just panicking and praying I had cleaned up from breakfast this morning.”

“There’s no reason to worry about that.” You shake your head, pausing for a second to lick away a drop of ice cream before it can skate down your hand. “A pristine house always confuses me. It’s supposed to be where you live, and life is messy.”

“Life is messy but I don’t think day old dishes are the way to express it.” Marcus chuckles. “I always think of shoes by the door, backpacks slung over the stair banister, throws and pillows messy on the couch.” He shrugs. “Basically how my house looks.”

“If you would be more comfortable at your house, I don’t mind.” For you, this is all about making him as at ease as possible, because you know that no matter what you’ll enjoy yourself. “I can take an Uber home?” Or spend the night, but you won’t say that part out loud.

He chuckles quietly. “I was wanting you to be comfortable.” He pouts slightly, playfully, at you.

“Too considerate for our own good.” You have to laugh a little, realizing that you’re both dancing around each other. “Why don’t we go to your house, then?” An Uber ride now will give you time to think, and to maybe not do something impulsive like ask him to stay.

Marcus nods. “That sounds good. We’ll have the house to ourselves and not have to worry about bothering the neighbors.” He murmurs, knowing you probably won’t get his meaning.

“Sounds good.” The smile you give him is admittedly a little dreamy, but that’s okay. A first date should be dreamy if it’s any good. Now that it’s officially dark out, the night seems to have taken on an extra layer of comfort that you hadn’t expected. Or maybe it’s just that you’re leaning into his side on the bench.

Marcus quickly devours the cone, but he offers you the very tip of the cone - the best part in his opinion. “Here, sweetheart.” He leans up and holds it up to your lips. “The sweetest bite.”

There’s something very intimate about it but you don’t shy away, accepting the gift by nipping it right out of his fingers with your teeth but still accidentally grazing his fingers with your lips in the process. He’s right about it, though, and you hum happily when you offer him the same last bite of the cone you had been holding.

It should be obvious how Marcus is feeling from the way his breath catches when you graze his fingers, but he doesn’t know. So he makes it obvious. He wraps his lips around your fingers and sucks lightly.

As gentle as he is when he does it, it sucks the air straight out of your lungs to make you gasp. There's no possible way to miss the deliberate way his tongue flicks at your fingertips instead of focusing on the nub of the ice cream cone that you had been offering, and although he does come away with the treat in his mouth that's not at all what you're focused on now. You stare for a second before you can compose yourself again, and instead of being gobsmacked you immediately feel your whole face burning.

"Delicious." He hums, smirking at you slightly as he licks his lips before he starts to lick his fingers clean of any melted ice cream that dripped down. "Are you ready to go back?" He asks, watching you carefully as he sucks his thumb clean.

The reply gets stuck in your throat at first but you nod, eventually managing to stammer out a "Yes" and flustering, because what you want to do is drag him in for a kiss but that seems awfully forward. Or maybe it isn't at this point and you're just paranoid - who knows.

Marcus chuckles quietly, suddenly more confident on this date than he had been up to this point. His knuckles brush across your cheek and there’s still just a touch of light over the ocean to make the scene romantic with the string of lights around to give it a nice glow. “I’m going to kiss you, unless you say no.” He warns softly, making his intentions known and giving you a chance to pull away as he leans in.

“Why the hell would I do that?” It gives you just a second to appreciate his knack for crystal clear communication, which means the world to you, but you’re also not trying to open a dialogue. You lean in as easily as breathing, finding his lips a half seconds faster than he anticipated, and let your eyes flutter closed at that first touch. It feels so natural, like everything else tonight, and you reach one hand up to cup his cheek while the moment lingers between you beautifully.

Marcus sighs into the soft kiss. It’s gentle, promising. A first kiss that sweet dreams are made of and he’s careful to not take it any deeper. If you want to kiss him again, he can expand then. After a moment, or many an hour, he pulls away with a smile. “Ready, beautiful?”

“Absolutely.” As soft and sweet as it is, your whole self is buzzing with it and you run your thumb along his jaw as you nod. “Ready, handsome.”

The two of you stand up and there’s a natural way that you seem to drift towards each other. His hand sliding around your waist and he hums softly. “Are you warm enough in that jacket for the ride home?” He asks, knowing that it will get cooler now that the sun is down.

“I’ll be okay.” He must not know that he radiates heat. It comes off him in waves and you’ve wondered more than once how he could possibly survive wearing sweaters like he does in Southern California weather while being so warm. Maybe it’s just an aura he gives off. “If I’m chilly when we get to your house we’ll just have to curl up under a blanket.”

Marcus groans slightly, barely refraining from making another dirty comment, but his fingers flex slightly on your hip. “Whatever you want.” He promises.

“Did I say something?” You’re starting to pick up on things. On his cues that could be considered unusual. At least, he never groaned around you before.

“Yeah.” He knows you didn’t mean it sexually. “I was just thinking of all the ways I could be under a blanket with you, sweetheart.” He admits as the two of you stop in front of his bike again. “It’s adding to that pressure I was talking about.”

With two pieces of the puzzle, it's like something clicks into place in your mind and you suck in another breath, clamping your mouth shut to keep from openly giggling. "Oh." You duck your head and push into his space a little, just to press a kiss to his cheek. "I wouldn't... wouldn't mind not making it through the movie," you admit quietly.

He chuckles quietly and reaches for the helmet for you. “That’s up to you.” He promises quietly. “Completely up to you.”

The ride back to LA is easy. The giddiness in your blood is different than it was when you left the city but no less exciting - just a new kind of anticipation. The idea that he does actually want you as much as you want him is exhilarating, making you hyper aware of the way you have to cling to him as he guides you through traffic. The strength of him despite how he might look soft to the outside observer. The breadth of his back and shoulders giving you a place to rest your head as your drive that only makes you wonder if the breadth of his chest would be even more comforting.

There is a slight urgency to getting back this time. He’s not speeding too badly but it’s not the leisurely drive it had been on the way out. Not with the fact that your hand has slipped under his jacket and resting on his stomach, warm and heavy.

His house is picturesque from the outside: the pinnacle of upper-middle class southern California comfort. A gate and security box outside let you in to see the well kept front yard and around the side of the house where the pool is beckoning with welcome. It looks tidy but not fussy, which is just like him. "Home sweet home?" You hum when he cuts the engine in his driveway.

“Home sweet home.” Marcus offers, letting you swing yourself off the back of the bike before he lets down the kickstand and dismounts himself. “Hopefully you like it.”

"I can't think of any reason why I wouldn't." As reluctant as you are to pull away, you take off the helmet you had been wearing and hand it off to him to secure. The night has barely gotten a chill but the ride definitely created a breeze, and you smile when you take his offered hand. "Do you want to give me the grand tour?"

“Of course.” He practically beams at how you smile at him. It’s the type of smile that makes him feel like a warm blanket has settled over him. “Missy has managed to make this hang out central in the summertime when she’s here. The kids like to come swim.”

“I would too, if I were them. Any place with a pool is the best place to spend free time.” There’s vestiges of teenagers everywhere when he shows you the path to the backyard - pool toys in a large crate and everything brightly colored in every way. It feels lived in and loved.

“Of course. And it’s always asking if I can grill hamburgers or whatever.” He huffs, but his grin gives away how much he enjoys it. “Do you know how many bags of chips teenagers can plow through?”

“It’s gonna be even more if I start coming over.” You flash him a grin that says you’re one hundred percent ready to suck up to his daughter to make sure she likes you. “Dips and desserts are kind of my thing.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Do you mean to bring them or I’ll have to buy more?” He teases with a wink.

“Oh no, I’ll make them.” You promise, laughing right with him. “Nothing says pool party and burgers like fresh salsa and guac.”

“You make homemade guacamole and my daughter would be your best friend.” Marcus laughs. “She eats it all by herself.”

“Befriending Missy is very high on my list of priorities.” That’s something that shouldn’t be a secret from him - that you value him enough to make his daughter a priority. Tonight has been amazing and might still continue to get better, and it’s important that he knows how seriously you take this.

“The key to her heart is avocados and green chili sauce.” He confides, whispering playfully. “If you can make green chili enchiladas, she might ask you to move in.”

Your other hand moves around his waist when he pulls you into his side and you grin up at him when you hug him. “I really hope you don’t mind having me around then, because it sounds like Missy and I can live off the same foods.”

“If you can cook it, thank God.” Marcus huffs. “Because for some reason mine never turns out right.”

“We’ll have to see what she thinks.” You lean into Marcus with a smile. “I hope they make the cut.”

“If they are halfway decent, it would be a lot better than mine.” He chuckles, leaning into you and sending you an up close wink.

“Wanna show me the inside?” A nod to the house is a small thing, but getting to see his space for the first time is a big deal.

“Of course! Yes, of course.” He huffs at himself and shakes his head. “Come inside, please.”

The house is lived in. Cozy and as tidy as it can be while being inhabited by a single dad and his teenage daughter. No cleaning lady has been through here, no private chef has seen the inside of this kitchen or painstakingly set this table. It hasn’t been touched by an interior decorator or a stylist. It’s just their home, and you like it all the better for that.

“So this is it.” He’s never been a showy person, motioning to the living room and open kitchen. “It’s home and to be honest, probably could use a hell of a dusting.” He admits, blushing slightly.

“It’s just like you.” The words come with a soft, lopsided smile. “Comfortable, welcoming. Like you don’t want to leave once you’ve been let inside.”

Marcus smiles slowly and nods. “Well it’s a good thing that you only leave when you want to.”

It’s a chance to take, but you’re willing to go out on a limb right now. With his fingers still threaded through yours it’s easy to turn into him and tip your head back. It’s just a small moment, or at least it starts that way, but you place a kiss to the corner of his mouth in what is - for you - a very daring move. “That is a good thing,” you murmur, hoping that wasn’t too forward after he kissed you earlier in the evening.

It warms him, making him snake his free hand around your waist and pull you closer. “Hmmmm.” He hums quietly and shakes his head. “We can do better than that, sweetheart.” He promises before he leans in to kiss you again.

It’s firmer this time, more wanting, and you sigh into it with a freedom and enthusiasm that is only encouraged by how close he’s holding you.

Marcus feels the tension building, loves how naturally this is progressing and he tilts his head slightly so he can run his tongue along the seam of your lips.

You shiver a little and sigh, opening up for him and gliding your tongue along his for that first taste of exploring something deeper. While his hand tightens at your waist, yours slide up his shoulders easily, pulling the two of you together like magnets. You opening up for him is like opening the floodgates for Marcus. The needs that have been building for him spill out, making him become more assertive. Guiding you towards a counter while groaning into your mouth, he presses against your body, his own hard and throbbing for you.

Permission has been given here - permission to act and permission to want in a way that you can’t remember even scratching the surface of with anyone before him. Of course there were others before him, you’re not that innocent, but it’s been a long time and something about the way Marcus is mapping the inside of your mouth so carefully and methodically feels momentous. You moan for him, softly at first but it quickly becomes needy, and tangle your fingers in his clothes like a desperate, silent plea to have them out of the way.

“Baby.” Marcus pants as he pulls away, sucking in the air he had been deprived of while he was kissing you. His lips trail down your jaw. “You need- let me know- if- if we need to stop.” He manages.

“Could say the s-same to you —” It’s not as though you haven’t dreamt of this. Gotten yourself off to the thought of this. Tried to imagine if he would be rough and needy from desperation or soft and gentle out of caution and affection. Now that you might be a hair’s breadth away from finding out you don’t ever want to stop.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” Marcus lets out a breathless chuckle against your pulse. “Baby I want to show you my bedroom.” He murmurs desperately. His cock twitches against your stomach.

“Please.” There’s nothing more straight forward than that, and you nod almost frantically.

“Okay.” He pulls away from you and takes your hand. “Let’s go upstairs.” He offers, giving you a moment to breathe.

If you were in a more eloquent mood you might have thought it was like being led through a palace by your very own Prince Charming, but as it stands the only thing you can really focus on is the heat radiating off of him and the urgency with which you’re both climbing the stairs. You barely make it to the landing before you’re glued to each other again, blindly grasping along the hallway as you moan into another kiss.

It has been a long time since Marcus was in such a hurry to ferry someone into his bedroom. Yet his hands grip every part of you that he can reach and he is pushing off your jacket right there in front of the stairs so he can touch more of you. Drunk off the soft sounds you pour into his mouth.

One by one the pieces of clothing start to drop - your purse, both jackets, his shirt - with an urgency that you hadn't known you had until his hands were spanning your whole hips with one great grasp and his teeth found exactly how sensitive the tender skin of your neck is. "Marcus–" His name is a prayer before it becomes a chant and your own hands map the expanse of his chest as you tumble through a doorway that you desperately hope leads to his bedroom.

“Gonna make this good baby.” It’s a desperate promise to his ears, especially as long as he’s been without intimacy. Unless you count him jerking off this morning in a desperate attempt to not attack you. Though that point seems to be moot.

"So good." How could you doubt that about him? Well...you don't, honestly, but you understand that as long as it's been for you it's been much longer for him. And to have a little reassurance might go a very long way tonight. "So fucking good."

“Let me know if I do something that you don’t like.” Marcus orders you softly, smirking at you because he doesn’t think that it will be likely. “It has been a long time since I’ve been able to go down on someone.”

“Fuck, Marcus.” Having had no expectation for tonight, that bowls you over like a ton of bricks and you look up at him with lust blown eyes. “There is nothing I don’t like about that.”

He chuckles, the deep, raspy sound of arousal and anticipation. “You don’t know, I could be a biter.” He teases, knowing that he will put his teeth marks on you in a few different places.

"How do you know I wouldn't like that?" You tease back, enjoying that every single second doesn't have to be fully loaded and serious. Being able to laugh with your lover is something you need.

Marcus snaps his teeth at you playfully at winks. “Only one way to find out.”

Giggling in response, you happily draw him in for another kiss before stepping back toward his bed. One pull brings your dress up over your head, and you just have to thank your lucky stars that you wore a reasonably cute matching underwear set tonight. It's not all the way to lingerie, but it's nicer than your every-day stuff. If you had anticipated this at all, you would have pulled out the fanciest thing you own.

“Fuck.” The sight of your pretty panties and bra makes his cock twitch in his pants and he’s quickly ridding himself of the t-shirt he had worn. He might be slightly self conscious, it’s been a long time since he was in Heroics shape, but he ignores that as he stares.

"You took the word right out of my mouth." It might be a silly thing, but you can't help staring right back for a moment. The little bit of softness around his middle doesn't diminish his figure one ounce. If anything, you like a bit of softness with all that strength. He looks broader like this - shoulders tapering down to trim hips - and you step backward again. One step closer to his bed.

“Take off your bra.” Marcus orders quietly before he smirks and holds up his hand to stop you. “Better yet…hold still.”

Tilting your head at him, you stop reaching behind you. A second later the hook and eye clasps on your bra open completely untouched. "Did you just--?" Your hand immediately reaches back to touch the clasp, which feels completely normal and unbent, and you pull your bra down your arms with a smirk. "Metal powers. Handy."

“Very handy.” He might look like the cat who got the cream and his eyes only get wider as your breasts are revealed to him. “Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty.” He coos, reaching for the button of his jeans. “Do you like your nipples sucked on?” He asks, mouthwatering as he imagines it.

"Mmhmm." For some reason the question paralyzes you, like that is somehow what has made tonight completely real. "I-- y-yes, god yes."

“Then I’m going to suck on them.” Marcus groans like you’ve given him a gift. “I’m going to suck on them while my fingers stretch open your little pussy before I lick it.”

"Fuck." One more step back and your calves bump against his bed frame, almost making you lose your balance because you weren't expecting to find the all-important piece of furniture so easily. "Do it, Marcus. Touch me, please."

His jeans are pushed down, his boxers tented with a large wet spot from where he is leaking. “Lay down.” Marcus practically growls out the order, eager to see you spread out in his bed.

All in one not-too-smooth motion, you shift back onto his bed and slip out of your panties, wanting to just bypass any other awkwardness by laying yourself bare for him. Everything Marcus wants at this moment, you are more than happy to give him.

He had wanted to strip off your panties, but it’s completely okay if you are bare. Giving him the perfect unobstructed view of your body. He hisses through his teeth and rushes to strip off his boxers. “Jesus baby, look at you.”

"Too busy looking at you." His cock is thick, and longer than you've had before, sending a delicious shiver down your spine as you take in the sight of him prowling toward you. Two steps and he's leaning on the bed, making the mattress dip to hold his weight and bringing the heat of his proximity back to you. "Fucking gorgeous."

“Yes you are.” Marcus hovers over you, watching you squirm underneath him as he takes in the view. “Let me kiss you again, sweetheart.”

"Gladly." You would drown in him right now if you could - kissing him is the least of it. The weight and breadth of him on top of you makes you feel almost dainty as you breathe him in, and just a touch of warm wetness on the inside of your thigh tells you he is just as excited by the turn tonight has taken as you are.

The kiss is hot, frantic and Marcus is lowering himself onto you before he even realizes it. Needing to get closer. “Fuck.”

It feels like your hands are everywhere at once, trying to map the length and breadth of him while you memorize his taste. With no hesitations between you, the instinct to reach down and wrap your hand around his length is easy to give in to.

You would think that he’s been surprised, maybe even hurt from the way that Marcus sucks in a loud breath. But there’s no mistaking the way his hips jerk forward when your hand surrounds his cock and squeezes gently. It’s the sweetest kind of torture and he feels the burst of pearly liquid build up on the tip naturally. “Shit.” The ragged groan is followed by his mouth starting to blaze a wet trail across your chest in search of your nipple.

Your own gasp nearly matches when he finds it, drawing a moan from you and arching your back off the bed and letting your eyes flutter shut just for a second before you peel them open again to watch him. Ravenous isn’t usually a word you would use to describe Marcus but right now he is a man starved and the first step to satiating him is found at your tits.

There had been a few times where he had worried he wouldn’t be able to do this again. That he would be too nervous or just unsure of the new partner. But you have stripped all of those insecurities away and left him with nothing but heavy desire.

The sounds surrounding you like a halo turn filthy quickly. Groans muffled by skin, vocal moans, the sloppy sounds of Marcus lapping at your chest more and more desperately every time your hand moves on his cock.

“Fuck.” His groan is muffled around your nipple. His hands blaze a trail over your skin, groping and squeezing every piece of flesh he could. “So good.”

“Marcus—” You whimper when he moves across your chest, latching onto your neglected nipple with eager determination. “Fuck baby — need you to touch me. Please.”

Once you beg him, Marcus can’t deny you anything. His fingers slide down to slide through your folds and press against your clit as he switches over to the other breast. Your hand around his stills when he presses his fingers into you, totally absorbed in the feeling of being split open on two of his thick fingers as his thumb rubs circles over your clit. It has your chest heaving and body aching all at once, desperate to get as close to him as possible. To draw him into you and get him as addicted to the feel of you surrounding him as you already are to him surrounding you.

“So sweet.” Marcus pulls off your tit and groans when he feels how fucking tight you are as he pumps his fingers into your body. “Fuck, that what you need? That good? You need me to curl them?” He wants to know how to make you cum, wants to hear those breathless cries.

"C-curl, fuck, please--" It's impossible to form a complete thought with his fingers moving inside of you so gorgeously, but you nod and hope he can understand the broken sentence for what it is. "So good."

He hears you, his teeth nipping the side of your breast as he curls his fingers up and presses them deeper.

You keen in response, crying his name and grasping his shoulders as he pumps his fingers in and out of your tight cunt, curling them perfectly against that gorgeous spongy spot inside of you and making you see stars. "Just-- fuck -- like that, oh my god."

Marcus groans, breathing against your skin and closing his eyes at the sound of your moan. “Good girl.” He coos breathlessly. “Oh fuck, good girl.” His cock pulses against your hip but he wants to make this good for you. Knowing that he won’t last too long in bed this time.

It's all too overwhelming and so good in all the ways that you've missed being touched, and Marcus's rhythm doesn't falter as he pushes you right to the edge. Barely gasping out a warning before your whole body seems to lock down under him, his name is on your lips when you fall apart for him the first time.

Marcus shudders, feeling the liquid heat rush over his fingers. Making him moan your name quietly as he keeps pumping his fingers up into to keep the pressure against that spongy spot and draw it out for you while he kisses along your jaw and murmurs small words of encouragement in your ear. “Good girl, so fucking good. Ride it out for me, baby.”

"Goddamn." When you feel like you can breathe again, you turn your head to capture his lips in a sloppy, eager kiss. "So fucking good, baby."

He chuckles quietly, soaking up your praise and slowly pulling his fingers out of you along with a whine when he does. “Good.” He pants. “You want–” He pulls back and looks into your eyes. “Can I fuck you, baby?” He asks.

"Fuck yes." There's no hesitation for you. Months of dreaming - and daydreaming - about this makes you nothing but pliant and needy. "I-I'm safe," you manage to pant out between kisses. "IUD, I mean."

He groans the idea of feeling you bare and having you full of his cum. “Good. I’m safe too.” He promises, nudging your cheek with his nose. “Been a long time and I’ve had a clean bill of health.”

"It's been a while for me, too." There's no reason for him to be self-conscious about that, and you brush the damp curls of hair out of his face to press a kiss to his forehead. "Doesn't matter," you smile softly. "Just matters that it's you."

That more than anything, makes him relax. Marcus kisses you, forgetting that he had promised to use his tongue on you as he shifts and covers your body with his. “So fucking beautiful.” He groans.

"All for you, baby," you promise him, knowing that nothing in the damn universe could pull you out of this man's bed now that you're here.

He doesn’t rush. Instead, settling between your thighs is a slow affair. He’s not some teenager that needs to be inside you, although the ache has built up to almost painful. Instead he kisses you as his hand slides between your bodies so he can position himself at your core and his eyes watch yours as he slowly starts to sheath himself in your welcoming body.

You feel like you're holding your breath as he presses into you, filling you up inch by gorgeous inch, but it's the low moan reverberating in your chest and the thick cock slowly splitting you open that gives you the feeling of breathlessness. Marcus isn't in a hurry and neither are you. With your foreheads pressed together and sounds of pleasure coming from both of you, the room around you has dissolved and narrowed your reality down to just him.

“Holy shit.” Marcus’s arms are trembling by the time he is buried to the hilt and he swears that he can’t breathe. The sexy and playful moment turns serious and he can’t do anything more than to press his lips tenderly to yours again while he tries to give you time to adjust before he moves.

He pulls back, rolling his hips away from you as slowly as he had punished them forward, and you gasp into his kiss when he drives into you again - slightly faster but not with anything approaching speed. A languid pace gives you both time to find a rhythm together and your lips only leave his to kiss and nip along his jaw line while he moans in your ear.

He closes his eyes as he languidly rocks into you. Keeping the pace steady. “When you’re ready, let me know.” He murmurs slowly, feeling the exquisite pleasure of your walls squeezing him. “I want to hear you scream my name tonight.”

"More, baby." He knows damn well that you're not above begging, and your tone is borderline pleading even without needing to be. All you know is that you want to be completely overwhelmed by him. "Fuck, I-- please, Marcus, want you so bad."

“W-wrap your legs around me.” Marcus groans out, pushing to his elbows and grins at you. “And hang on.”

Curiosity has you following his instruction as much as anything else, and you shift under him just enough to have your ankles meet at the small of his back. Your hands grasping at his arms and shoulders will have to be enough to ‘hang on’ like you’ve been told.

He hums, pleased by your willingness to comply and he grins at you, devilish as he winks. “Now tell me if I need to slow down.” He says before he withdraws again and snaps his hips forward.

“Fuck!” Slow and steady is apparently not Marcus’s preferred pace, as he begins to pound into you with stamina that could only come from a Heroic. If his goal is really to have you screaming his name, you have a feeling it won’t take very long at all.

Grunting, Marcus reaches up to grab the headboard so it doesn’t beat against the wall. Forgetting that he had removed the spacers so it didn’t the last time he had rearranged the room. There hadn’t been any need for them for a long time. Now he just moans as your fingers dig into his shoulder blades as he keeps hammering into you.

The little crescent moon marks your nails are sure to leave behind don't seem to phase him in the least. Every thrust feels like he's splitting you open for the first time all over again, spearing into you until your head is thrown back on his pillows and you have one hand braced again the headboard so you don't hit your head with the way he's fucking you into the mattress.

“J-Jesus.” He hisses. “K-know how many times I-I imagined this?” He demands, pushing the air out of your lungs with every harsh roll of his hips. “Nearly every f-fucking day.”

"Me -- oh fuck -- too." It's as much as you can do to string a few words together right now and you keen when he drives into you again.

Every time his cock hits the spongy walls of your cunt, you moan for him. Making him ramp up his pace to near frantic and all he can do is pant out your name between breaths.

It hits you like a freight train when that second orgasm comes, without any chance to give him warning or do anything except cry his name into the night, the sound reverberating off the walls with the wet slap on skin on skin as Marcus fucks you through your peak with your cunt clenching down on him like a velvet fist.

“F-fuck, good girl.” Marcus moans, closing his eyes and thanking the Gods that he managed to last long enough for you to be able to cum. “Shit, baby.” He covers your mouth once more for a desperate kiss as he rocks into you half a dozen more times before he plunges deep and pulses inside you, the liquid heat of his pleasure filling you up.

He swallows your moans as he empties himself inside you, and when both of you breathe again it's with brilliant smiles on your faces even though all eyes stay closed for a long moment afterward. When you do open your eyes, you press soft kisses along his jaw and cheeks, finally dusting a few on his lips. "Holy shit," you giggle quietly, chest still heaving as you pant.

His quiet laugh matches yours in breathlessness and he nods. “What you said.” He huffs, deciding the thing to do would be to collapse against you and tuck his head into your neck to snuggle and breathe you on.

You wrap your arms around him, legs going slack as you both just sink down into his mattress together as one. "Hell of a first date," you chuckle, kissing his shoulder where you've left marks behind.

“Mmmhmm.” His smirk is pleased and tired against your neck. “When I can move again, I’ll run you a bath and get us some water.” He murmurs.

"If we don't both fall asleep first." It wouldn't bother you for a second if that's what happened. Passing out after sex with Marcus still inside you is high on the fantasy list.

“How do you know what I’m trying not to do?” Marcus grumbles playfully at you, kissing your pulse softly.

"Cause it's what I'm trying not to do," you giggle against his skin. "That's a hell of a workout."

“Yes it was.” His softening cock twitches inside you and he giggles slightly, feeling euphoric. “I’m very glad you aren’t my student anymore.”

______ 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 

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Moreno #Marcus Moreno x reader #Marcus Moreno x you #Marcus Moreno x female reader #teacher student #I blame Teacher Ben #2k celebration #follow milestone #milestone celebration fic

[flightlessangelwings]

Kinktober Day 8- Voice Kink

Marcus Moreno x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count- 1.1k

Warnings- smut (18+ only), fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, established relationship, sweet Marcus, use of “good girl” and “yes ma’am”

Notes- So I originally had Frankie Morales for this one, but I decided to switch it out, and I’m glad I saved Frankie for another one! And I’m so happy with how this one came out too, I just kinda let it flow as I wrote it lol! List provided by the lovely @the-purity-pen​!

To say up to date on when I post, follow my update blog too and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates​​. Reblogs highly appreciated!

~

“Hey baby,” Marcus walked up behind where you stood in the kitchen and purred in your ear as he rested his hands on your hips, “I’ve missed you.”

You gasped, startled as you didn’t hear him come through the door. But you quickly spun around and wrapped your arms around his shoulders and embraced him tightly, “Marcus,” you breathed.

Marcus hummed as he ran his hands up and down your sides, caressing every inch of your body as he held you tightly. He whispered your name and placed soft kisses along the side of your face. “You smell so good honey,” his tone was low yet soft.

You let out a moan at his words. Marcus was always heavy on the praise, but you also just couldn’t get enough of simply listening to his voice. You loved the way he said your name in that low tone, you loved when he called you one of his many pet names for you, you loved when he went on about how much he loved you. Just hearing the words from his lips made a rush of need pulse through you, and Marcus noticed.

He turned you around and kissed your lips. What started gentle quickly turned more heated as he dipped his tongue into your mouth and played with yours. Marcus swallowed the moan you let out as you clung to him and surrendered yourself to his kiss. While still locked together, Marcus ushered you back up against the counter and guided your body so that he helped you push yourself up onto the countertop.

“Marcus…” you whispered as he kissed his way along your jaw.

You both tugged at the other’s shirts, and in a flash both of you were topless in the middle of the kitchen. Suddenly, you were grateful Missy was away for the weekend, otherwise you and Marcus might have had an awkward conversation with her later. But for now, it was just the two of you, and you were both ready to take full advantage of the alone time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he spoke with such adoration before he wrapped his arms around you again and made himself comfortable between your parted legs. 

“Mmm,” was all you could respond with as Marcus’ large hands cupped your breasts. Somehow, between the way he squeezed and kneaded your flesh and ran his fingers across your nipples, you found your voice, “Keep talking, baby.”

Marcus smirked as he rested his forehead against yours, “You like when I tell you how gorgeous you are? Or how good you are for me?”

A whimper escaped your lips as his hands ran down the front of your body, “Yeah…” you paused as his fingers worked to free you of your pants, “But I just like hearing your voice more than anything.”

Heat rose in your body as Marcus yanked your pants off with a groan, and you only needed to shift slightly to allow him to remove them. And you glanced down and noticed he took your panties along with them, leaving you completely bare on the kitchen counter. When you looked up and met his gaze, you saw a newfound passion behind those dark eyes.

“You like when I talk to you, huh?” he asked softly with a grin. Marcus cupped your pussy and stroked his fingers along your folds, “Answer me,” his command was hushed yet his words still held weight.

You trembled in his grip as you clung to his shoulders, “I do,” you whispered and suddenly felt embarrassed at your confession. 

Marcus only smiled as he slowly pushed two fingers into you, “Well,” he purred as you let out a loud moan, “I like when you scream for me,” he pumped his fingers in a steady and gentle rhythm, “I like when you’re so wet around me,” he kissed your lips, “I like when you’re so good for me like this.”

“Marcus…” you moaned louder as he filled you with his fingers over and over again. 

“You’re so pretty when you let go like this,” Marcus groaned as he cock strained in his pants. He never tore his eyes away from your face as he kept his forehead against yours and pumped his fingers a little faster, “I love the sounds you make too, baby.”

All you could do was moan and cry out as Marcus thrust his fingers even deeper into you. “Yes,” he cooed, “That’s it sweetheart.”

He tightened his grip on your hip with his other hand as he pushed his fingers into your pussy as deep as he possibly could. You threw your head back and cried out loudly as Marcus’ fingers hit spots inside you that you didn’t even think were possible. With his fingers fully buried in you, Marcus used his thumb and rubbed at your clit with expert precision. 

“Oh fuck… Marcus…” you shook as you dug your nails into his shoulders.

“I know baby,” he thrust his fingers once and stilled them deeply inside you again, “You feel so good… My good girl,” he crooked his fingers and stroked your inner walls while his thumb rubbed harder and faster on your clit, “Now let me see how pretty you look when you cum on my fingers. Show me how beautiful my lady is.”

The sound of his voice paired with how he worked you so well sent you over the edge and with a loud scream you came hard. Your pussy gushed into Marcus’ hand as he massaged your core and hit every spot that drove you wild. Tears filled your eyes as you clung to him for dear life as you rode out your climax on his thick fingers.

Just as Marcus brought you to your peak, he helped you down just as thoroughly and he slowed his movements as the aftershocks of your orgasm pulsed through you. He groaned as your pussy clenched his fingers hard until he stilled himself completely. Once he was sure he pulled every ounce of climax from you, Marcus slowly pulled his fingers out of you and wrapped his arms around you.

“You alright, baby?” he whispered in your ear and he kissed the side of your face and caressed your back.

“Perfect,” you replied, “I love you Marcus.”

He smiled, “I love you too, honey.”

As much as you wanted to stay like this forever, you felt the strain of Marcus’ clothed cock and you smirked as you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, “Now how about I take care of you,” your tone was low as you pushed yourself off the counter, “But as long as you keep talking.”

Marcus’ skin heated as he swallowed hard, “Yes ma’am.”

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno imagine #marcus moreno fanfic #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno fic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction