Please leave your shoes at the door, the meeting will start shortly. || Mouse! || she/they || age range: 21—25 || Main: axolotl-anonymous || 18+ for Explicit or Mature content. Don’t push it kiddos, I’m not your mama ||
Relationships: Marcus Moreno/Reader
Rating: M || Lime || 18+ Work || Sorry but Minors Beware & BEGONE
Tags: highly suggestive, unintentional light predator/prey dynamics, no use of Y/n, reader character understands spanish, untranslated spanish, almost entirely Gender Neutral!Reader but a spanish feminine term is utilized (pequeña) ONCE, alcohol consumption
DISCLAIMER: I am not Latino, or a fluent Spanish speaker! I tried my best to verify everything, including checking with two fairly fluent people, but they’re Peruvian, and this version of Marcus grew up in a Mexican-american household. So if you have experience with that and the dialect, grammar, vocab ect looks wrong to you, PLEASE FEEL FREE to correct me!!
Little playful you often forgot that Marcus Moreno wasn’t just some workaholic with a savior complex — a tired dad-next-door that overworked himself enough to earn early retirement nearly 2½ times over before he even hit 50.
No one could really fault you for jumping to that conclusion. He let you get away with so much when you played. When you teased and taunted him outside closed doors, he simply nodded along with a roll of his eyes and a knowing smile, patiently waiting for his payback until he could get you back to his place — to his bed — to ravage you. Sometimes you were led to believe he was just shy — a little old-fashioned, maybe. Sometimes you forgot he had game.
It was an understandable mistake to make, but a fatal one nonetheless.
Because the fact of the matter was, Marcus Moreno was just as much, if not more-so, a deviant of mischief and mind games as you were. And it took surprisingly little effort for him to mess with your head, leaving your face hot, your body buzzing, and your mind empty of any thoughts except him.
The first time he’d shown you those cards was fairly early on in your relationship, at the first mission afterparty you’d ever attended. It had been nearly a three-years-long investigation, finally marked [CLOSED] after a month straight of undercover operations. The Heroics were gone for far too long and, of course, their families and HQ wanted to celebrate their return accordingly.
However, getting 100% of your ass getting handed to you by Invisigirl and her new girlfriend on the Chief of Staff’s absurdly large patio? Not quite what you called proper celebration. The…mildly drunken pride in you just wouldn’t back down from the challenge of a good card-n’-dice game.
You were enjoying yourself regardless, if a little bitterly, just thankful that your Marcus was at your side again. Though, beside you was somewhat of an understatement. It was more that he clung to you, in his own way at least. He had been shadowing you all day, since the minute the dropship touched down on the HQ runway that morning. Not that you were complaining. Obviously you had been doing some clinging of your own, and you simply couldn’t get enough of the way he liked to reconnect with you after a long or hard day: Touch.
And oh, touch you, he did. There was so much of it you’d missed these past few weeks, it felt like you were rediscovering each other all over again. Not even another alien invasion could pull the both of you apart for more than a few moments. Even now, Marcus was rubbing small, firm circles with his thumb into your back, and thoroughly enjoying the show of your competitive passion, watching with his fatigued, yet doting brown eyes. It was marginally better than the way he was looking at you while stroking your thigh earlier; even sober-you struggled not to jump his bones right then and there. But alas, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be in the mood for shenanigans like that after such a long op.
Assignments such as this were draining on the best of days, and that was just for the intel agents like you. You could only imagine how taxing it could be on someone in Marcus’s position. The look of exhaustion in his eyes — not to mention the dark circles beneath them — was likely only a glimpse into the physical and emotional toll taken. You were surprised he was still awake, let alone up and about as you attempted to get him to lay down. Multiple times.
Clearly, something else was eating him, though you couldn’t tell what for the life of you. All you knew was, beneath the layers of masking and the insistence over at least attending the afterparty — something about “responsibility to team morale” and some bullshit about “letting loose” — he had some other things on his mind, things that were making him restless enough to avoid, well, rest, and your presence helped to soothe those agitations, if only somewhat.
So, there you were, dutifully letting loose and desperately trying to convince your partner to join the game so you at least wouldn’t have to be humiliated alone. All you got in return was a quiet chuckle, the sound traveling from your ears, down your spine, and through your whole body, doing things to you that were not appropriate for the current venue. He certainly wasn’t making things any easier when he kissed your cheek and snickered about being “Just fine watching your defeat from the sidelines, thanks.”
You grumbled to yourself, but appreciated the view of his backside anyway as he stood up and wandered over to the cooler to grab another soda. The brainworm that formed in your mind came tumbling out of your mouth before your better judgment could stop it:
“What’s the matter, Moreno? Are you telling me you don’t have the dice?”
Marcus was never one to freeze necessarily — it wasn’t in his blood — nor was he prone to fight. But, try as you might, you couldn’t quite fit stalk into the classic ‘fight, flight or freeze’. His pace slowed, but never stopped as he gave you a subtle side-eye over his shoulder, that strange and unfamiliar thing that ate away at his conscience rearing its head in the darkness of his gaze. You couldn't tell what it was, but you could feel the power behind it. You knew you’d struck something in him when you spotted that slight tensing in his shoulders, flexing softly down his arms beneath that tight fucking t-shirt, good lord did you miss those—
You had to refocus. You’d be in for it later — or, so you thought — and just the idea alone was enough to pull your lips into a cocky grin. You’d missed teasing him — missed watching the way his body reacted when he knew he couldn’t act on his desires just yet, and not to mention the way you couldn’t help but squirm under what you knew were his eyes boring into you despite only seeing his silhouette in your peripheral. But all those things you missed, all the delicious thoughts that were rapidly forming in your mind had to wait. ‘Later,’ you told yourself, ‘later.’
For now, you honed in on the task at hand. As you dealt in for the next round and your tipsy mind assessed the cards in your hand, it struggled to register Marcus sitting back down next to you. You didn’t have the bandwidth to notice how much closer he was to you than before. You did take notice, however, of the sudden, steady grip on your free hand beneath the card table as it was slowly pulled from resting on your thigh, leaving plenty of time for you to pull away should you so choose. When you didn’t, your hand was gently settled into Marcus's lap.
It still took you by surprise every now and again, how big his hands were. His palm so easily encapsulated your own hand as he guided it down, down, right to where he pressed and curled your hand to cup—
Oh. Oh. Ohhhh wow.
His voice was already in your ear, quietly rumbling against your back, before you could out yourself by reacting: “Tengo algo pesados para que ruedes aquí mismo, pequeña. Y estos están más cargados que los dados Invisigirl sigue usando para estafarte. Deja esas cartas, nos vamos.”
If the shiver that raked down your spine didn’t give away the nature of his comment to everyone around you, the brief squeak that quickly bubbled up from your throat, accompanied by your deer-in-headlights face, certainly did. You were in over your head already, your thoughts racing around before barreling out the door to your mind and leaving it empty of everything but Marcus’s presence.
He must have had something stronger than pop when you weren’t looking, right? Tequila, wine, hell maybe even weed, something to curb his inhibitions. He never spoke to you like this, not out in public anyway, that– that was always your job, to tease and rile him up when everyone was–
Marcus briskly turned to get up once again, this time with you in tow, but when you didn’t immediately follow his motions, he paused, then settled back into his seat with an air of nonchalance that irked you. When he swiveled back to face you, directly this time, you locked eyes again, and it took your breath away. His expression remained unreadable, save for the prominent cock of his eyebrow. Your hand found his crotch again, though you still don’t quite remember how to this day.
Regardless, you had to restrain yourselves. This was a dangerous game you were playing, and you were not about to lose. You reigned in the melting, whimpering mess you were quickly turning into, settling for a not-so-subtle quiver. You felt the resulting throb underneath the denim you cradled in your palm, and– oh stars he was full, wasn’t he – gone for so long, likely far too busy, too exhausted to take care of himself, forced to suffer the ache of his– of hi– getting heavier by the week without you t– to d– to fill–
Your eyes darted to the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed a growl, feeling you feeling him, weighing him below the table. Those deep brown irises were giving way to the black of his pupils while they swept down your frame, dragging much, much slower on their way back up. He was really making a show of you, huh?
The rest of him remained viciously still, and when he met your eyes again, that cornered feeling in your chest quickly turned to pinned beneath the stare of this predator. That’s when you knew you were done for. Your pride was nothing but a remnant wisp in your mind, like a candle silently fighting against the wind. Only the animal inside you, the one he’d brought about when you started dating, remained. You felt frozen, helpless beneath his predatory watch, but in the best way possible, and it was almost as though Marcus could sense it. A corner of his mouth twitched up.
He leaned in towards you, which your body surprisingly arched into, rather than away from. That subtle grin turned into a full smirk that split his chapped, but still deliciously full lips while he watched you fight your own mind. It seems you still hadn’t fallen to him just yet, so he gave your inner brat something to chew on, adding at an amiable, casual volume:
“Unless you don’t have the dice?”
A/N: This is my first official fic post, and I really hope you liked it! A reblog would be appreciated, if you'd be so kind, or send it to someone you think would enjoy!
All three words must be used (Fluffbruary prompt list here).
Use the words in order.
I reserve the right to break rules and/or cheat.
There’s not enough room between the folding table and the water heater to brush past Marcus without giving his cute little butt a good squeeze.
The shy smile and blush it usually garners is always worth it, but today the smile is wan and wistful as he remains focused on his task, piles of clothing precisely and neatly folded, color-coordinated, perfectly towered monuments to the gods of laundry.
“You okay, handsome?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his waist in such a way that he has to stop pairing socks for a moment as you pry into his attention a bit further, “You seem a little lost.”
“I was just thinking,” he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, pointing to a pile of brightly striped tops and then a second stack of more muted shades, “Missy’s, mine…but something’s missing.”
“Oh no…did you lose some socks?” you laugh, but it fades with understanding as he places a kiss on your forehead and then leans back to peer through his glasses at you with a look of hope and adoration.
“Yours,” he whispers, “When are you going to move in here with us and let me fold your laundry too?”
warnings: all fluff, reader has medium brown skin and is able bodied, no gendered language used for reader
words: 1.1k
a/n: Excited to kick off with @jolapeno's April Showers writing challenge! Prompt today is: A character finds a love note tucked under their umbrella after a sudden downpour. Make sure to check out the tag for everyone's works! ☔️ Main Post Directory
[ID: Rainy green-blue gradient background, pale blue text reads "April Showers." End ID]
🌧️🌧️🌧️
Coffee hadn’t been in the plan for the day, or at least not coffee at a coffee shop. But in the middle of your errands downtown, it started raining and you were wearing suede boots. Your new ones that had a gorgeous Inuk design on them that you would not be ruining with rain. Should you have looked at the weather forecast before getting dressed that morning? Maybe. But your boots were comfortable and they were the only shoes that matched your outfit perfectly, so you probably would’ve risked it either way.
You had an umbrella in your bottomless tote that you carried everywhere with you, but the umbrella wouldn’t protect your shoes. So you were waiting it out in the coffee shop. You’d never been to this particular one before, although you had walked by it several times, so you didn’t mind finally having the chance to check it out.
When you walked in the door, you shook your umbrella out just outside, wiped your feet, and put your umbrella in the stand upside down with a few others.
At the counter, you ordered one of their specials, hot, and a cookie to pair with it.
It hadn’t been in your plans to stop here, but you always had a book in your bag, and while your drink was being made you looked around for a place to sit. The place was packed and you started to wonder if you should’ve gotten a cup to go because you didn’t know how you’d stand and hold a cookie on a plate and a drink in a ceramic mug and read all at the same time.
Just before you started to worry, someone got up from their place on the couch and donned a rain jacket. Figuring that it was safe to assume they were leaving, you walked over to the couch yourself to set down your things. Just to make sure, though, you turned to the man that was still sitting on the other end of the couch.
“Excuse me,” you said politely, waving your hand in his periphery.
He turned to you and it was possible that you stopped breathing for a second. He was incredibly handsome, with short, dark hair, black framed glasses, sweet brown eyes, and a nose people could write poetry about.
His full lips formed a soft smile and he said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” you said, your voice breathier than it had been before. You cleared your throat, “Um, I wanted to make sure this spot on the couch was free. That you— that you didn’t need it or anything.”
His smile grew and he gestured to the spot, “No, be my guest, please.”
You said a quick thanks and set down your things just as they were calling out your order at the counter.
There was a little coffee table in front of the couch and the guy you had been talking to moved it closer for you and also scooted his own cup and plate over to give you more room.
“Oh, thank you. I was worried I was going to be stuck without a place to sit,” you told him.
“Definitely been there before,” he said. “My recommendation is always to grab an open table if you see one. Even if you’re in line. Waiting in line for a couple extra minutes is so worth having a place to sit.”
“Thanks for the tip, um…” you hesitated, realizing neither of you had introduced yourselves.
“Marcus,” he supplied, holding out his hand.
You placed your hand in his, your warm brown skin a light contrast to his pale golden. You barely got out your own name as you shook it, suddenly very distracted by his hand’s warmth and strength. When you both let go, you didn’t know whether it was your brain processing things a little slower with lust, or if his fingers lingered against yours.
Instead of reading, you spent the next while talking with Marcus. He was incredibly sweet, asked interesting questions, and only got cuter by the minute. It somehow came up that he was a single dad of a nine year old girl, and you wondered if it had really come up naturally or if he had worked it in for your benefit. It led to an interesting conversation about childcare and the struggle to build community that told you a lot about his character and was very promising.
There was a lot of what you would call careful flirting. On your part because he was a dad and you didn’t want to, like, overstep or anything. And for him you figured it was the same. But a lot of smiles, some light touches on the arm, and a couple of looks that seemed more than a little meaningful later, and you were a little flustered and very eager. If he wasn’t a father with a daughter to pick up from school you might’ve asked him for a ride home and made out with him in the car.
As it was, when you came back from the restroom, you found him standing and grabbing his things, then looking at you with a sorry smile.
“I’ve gotta go get Missy, but it was so nice meeting you.”
“Oh, you too. Thanks for the chat,” you said, trying not to let your vast disappointment show. The two of you said goodbye and as you wallowed in your sadness, you made plans to come back at the same time next week in hopes of seeing him again. If it was a little desperate it was okay because the two of you had talked about people in current society being desperate for connection, so it was relevant.
You finished your drink and packed away the rest of your cookie because the rain had stopped and you wanted to make sure you didn’t get caught in the rain again.
Stopping to grab your umbrella from the stand, you noticed that there was a little folded up piece of paper inside and took it out as you began to walk. It was a handwritten note from Marcus. You realized that he must’ve noticed you when you first walked in, enough to remember which umbrella was yours anyway, and you blushed with the knowledge.
The note read, “Would you believe that I’m shy? You seem like a lovely person and I’d really like to get to know you better. Coffee again? Dinner? Anywhere we can talk, you pick. -Marcus”
He included his number and you saved it in your phone as you walked to keep yourself from calling him that very moment.
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.”
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.”
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.
Returning from a work trip this late at night was more for your own mental health than necessity, you had to disconnect from work and escaping the hotel early was the best way to do it. But this was just plain awful, you had jumped onto a back road to avoid this exact scenario, it seemed you weren't the only one who wanted to avoid the holiday traffic on the highway.
The night air was filled with cicada and cricket song, the puff and rumble of cars and trucks, and the low cacophony of everyone's music melding into one sound. You huffed lightly behind the silver sedan in front of you, watching as a tiny hand emerged from the window to make a shadow puppet on the back of the 18 wheeler ahead and smiled.
The kid was probably even more bored than you were if they were resorting to shadow puppets.
Casually you reached out and matched her little dog face with a snake, since you wanted to avoid using both hands, and the shrill laugh of delight from ahead cut through the boredom as a larger -masculine- hand formed an even larger canine puppet that was protecting the smaller one.
In the glow of your headlights you smiled as the girl turned around in her seat to wave at you, the gesture returned outside of the window so she wasn't blinded trying to see through the lights, and you almost rejoiced when the traffic began to move. You shifted to the right to make a turn onto a different back road and noticed the silver car slowing just a hair.
As you turned off the road you glanced in time to see a man, a handsome man, wave at you along with his teenage daughter. You returned the gesture and focused back on the road, glad for the night being dark enough to hide the warmth on your face. You weren't one to call yourself desperate but the attention of a handsome man making you fluster this bad, a man with a daughter -and likely a wife- on top of it, should not have gotten you this bad.
“Ugh, I just need to get this out of my system.”
♡♡♡♡
Being set up for a blind date was not what he meant when he told Miracle Guy he wanted to be paid back for covering his patrol, the blond hero had taken Marcus’ advice and finally agreed to go to couple’s counseling to repair his struggling marriage. But this? Being set up with one of Heather's friends?
It was a damn shame but Marcus had hoped to run into someone else meandering around the city. But life wasn't some romance novel, and New York was a big state, he doubted he'd ever see that woman again.
Who was she? He could only believe she was kind, fun loving, if she decided to play -even briefly- with Missy. It had already been a week and his urge to see if his dash cam picked up that woman's license plate number had not disappeared at all.
He fiddled with the bouquet of flowers he brought with him, choosing one was tricky since he didn't want to being roses or carnations, it was a bit traditionalist but Marcus hadn't wanted to appear rude to his surprise date either. He picked mums and hoped she liked them, to avoid flowers with a romantic meaning.
The event was casual, an outdoor art exhibit, so he opted for a pair of black jeans with a gray plaid short sleeve, choosing to brush his hair back instead of slicking it to the sides like he did for work, and Marcus was glad he went for the glasses instead of contacts. A blend of super hero Moreno and causal dad Marcus.
“Sorry I'm late, I couldn't find the flats I keep in my car. Heather didn't tell me I'd be walking around.”
He turned toward his date and froze, her shy smile was tinged with embarrassment, and then her eyes widened slightly. His mouth moved before he could stop it, blurting out the first thing that came to mind, and so did she.
Hey so small update! Ya girl got a job and a car like a proper adult and my computer shows up in three days. Now I just have to hope it works still after it's trip on the boat, if it did then I can start writing again!
Yes, they should!
I’ve seen so many comparisons of Joel to Din Djarin, and they’re valid–but if you’re a Pedro Pascal fan and haven’t seen Prospect yet, get on it because you need to meet Ezra. Joel and Ezra are definitely cut from the same cloth and certain moments from The Last of Us are directly parallel to events and dialogue in Prospect. Their accents are even similar!
So do yourself a favor and check out this wonderful little indie sci-fi that needs some more love!
He’s gotta be, with how hard he is in your mouth right now, watching you sink down lower and lower around him. When he hits the back of your rounded throat, he can’t help the way his hips jerk up, seeking out the slick tightness.
Fuck.
A break between your classes today, you had texted him to come over, citing your roommate had left for the weekend and he tried - he really tried - not to immediately get in his car. He looked at the words for a moment, remembering the last time he was in your small dorm room on that soft floral comforter, the sweet sounds you made for him ringing softly in his memory and he only made it about four minutes before he was up and slipping his shoes on, heading out the front door.
His hands were greedy for you the second you cracked the door open, possessive and consuming when they pushed your clothes off and guided you onto the bed and trembling with need when you flipped him onto his back, sliding down with clear intent on your face.
You suck him so hard and so thoroughly he couldn’t think, lips and tongue molding around every slickly soaked inch and when the heat building at the base of his spine at the image of you worshiping his cock releases through hot, thick spurts into your mouth, you make sure to hold it all.
You pull back, opening your mouth and he groans - an almost whine - letting out a heavy breath at the sight of your milky smeared tongue.
“Fuck,” he frowns, chest heaving, breathing hard through his nose. “Fuck.”
He opens his eyes to see you waiting patiently for his command; the act making him twitch underneath your chin.
Okay, so this is stupid as hell, definitely ooc and has nothing to do with canon, BUT occasionally I need to see Ezra as alive as possible after watching Prospect.
Also it was time for a new phone background. xD Poor Cee is probably better off listening to her own music to blend out the chaos happing behind her...
*edit: Fixed a coloring error. Probably shouldn't stay up so late to draw. :'D
Friends, one of the members of our community is in a very tough spot. @daddydindjarin had her rent money this month stolen by someone who she thought was a friend, and she doesn’t have money to cover the upcoming rent and utilities. Phoebe works incredibly long hours to be self-sufficient, and this is a huge blow to her. She doesn’t like asking for help- ever- but we are a strong community that helps each other in any way we can.
Her commissions are open, and you can find those details here.
If you can donate any amount, her PayPal can be found here.
I am asking on Phoebe’s behalf (and with her permission) to consider donating anything that you are able.
If you have been the recipient of one of her many gifts of art for your fic, or loved her stories, or just enjoyed the positive light she brings to our fandom- please consider sharing and donating.
I’ve been so incredibly overwhelmed with all the love and support you all have shown me. My heart is so full and I’m just so thankful to everyone.
It’s hard to believe sometimes that people care, and that strangers are willing to help, and my glass is overflowing with the love you’ve given me. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.
Fic art for someone else. I will draw for YOUR fic, or if you absolutely want me to I will draw for one of mine, but I won’t draw for something you didn’t write. Please have the section of your fic you want drawn already chosen. I will not choose for you.
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Discord is my preferred method of communication (Lellowberry#6653), but I can be reached on any platform.
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After I’ve accepted your commission, I will draw up a mock messy sketch for you to approve.
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After agreeing to the mock sketch I will still make alterations such as moving a limb or changing a facial expression, or make small adjustments to clothing. I will not change the chosen character(s) or make drastic pose changes post payment.
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Posting the artwork on redbubble or similar print distribution site for others to purchase. If you want it privately printed for your use only, that's fine!
Now that The Last of Us is out, and Mandalorian season 3 on the way now would be a great time to get a commission! I LOVE drawing pedro pascal characters, and reader inserts of all kinds!
And YES, I would LOVE to bring your smutty fanfic to life...😘
Relationships: Marcus Moreno/Reader
Rating: M || Lime || 18+ Work || Sorry but Minors Beware & BEGONE
Tags: highly suggestive, unintentional light predator/prey dynamics, no use of Y/n, reader character understands spanish, untranslated spanish, almost entirely Gender Neutral!Reader but a spanish feminine term is utilized (pequeña) ONCE, alcohol consumption
DISCLAIMER: I am not Latino, or a fluent Spanish speaker! I tried my best to verify everything, including checking with two fairly fluent people, but they’re Peruvian, and this version of Marcus grew up in a Mexican-american household. So if you have experience with that and the dialect, grammar, vocab ect looks wrong to you, PLEASE FEEL FREE to correct me!!
Little playful you often forgot that Marcus Moreno wasn’t just some workaholic with a savior complex — a tired dad-next-door that overworked himself enough to earn early retirement nearly 2½ times over before he even hit 50.
No one could really fault you for jumping to that conclusion. He let you get away with so much when you played. When you teased and taunted him outside closed doors, he simply nodded along with a roll of his eyes and a knowing smile, patiently waiting for his payback until he could get you back to his place — to his bed — to ravage you. Sometimes you were led to believe he was just shy — a little old-fashioned, maybe. Sometimes you forgot he had game.
It was an understandable mistake to make, but a fatal one nonetheless.
Because the fact of the matter was, Marcus Moreno was just as much, if not more-so, a deviant of mischief and mind games as you were. And it took surprisingly little effort for him to mess with your head, leaving your face hot, your body buzzing, and your mind empty of any thoughts except him.
The first time he’d shown you those cards was fairly early on in your relationship, at the first mission afterparty you’d ever attended. It had been nearly a three-years-long investigation, finally marked [CLOSED] after a month straight of undercover operations. The Heroics were gone for far too long and, of course, their families and HQ wanted to celebrate their return accordingly.
However, getting 100% of your ass getting handed to you by Invisigirl and her new girlfriend on the Chief of Staff’s absurdly large patio? Not quite what you called proper celebration. The…mildly drunken pride in you just wouldn’t back down from the challenge of a good card-n’-dice game.
You were enjoying yourself regardless, if a little bitterly, just thankful that your Marcus was at your side again. Though, beside you was somewhat of an understatement. It was more that he clung to you, in his own way at least. He had been shadowing you all day, since the minute the dropship touched down on the HQ runway that morning. Not that you were complaining. Obviously you had been doing some clinging of your own, and you simply couldn’t get enough of the way he liked to reconnect with you after a long or hard day: Touch.
And oh, touch you, he did. There was so much of it you’d missed these past few weeks, it felt like you were rediscovering each other all over again. Not even another alien invasion could pull the both of you apart for more than a few moments. Even now, Marcus was rubbing small, firm circles with his thumb into your back, and thoroughly enjoying the show of your competitive passion, watching with his fatigued, yet doting brown eyes. It was marginally better than the way he was looking at you while stroking your thigh earlier; even sober-you struggled not to jump his bones right then and there. But alas, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be in the mood for shenanigans like that after such a long op.
Assignments such as this were draining on the best of days, and that was just for the intel agents like you. You could only imagine how taxing it could be on someone in Marcus’s position. The look of exhaustion in his eyes — not to mention the dark circles beneath them — was likely only a glimpse into the physical and emotional toll taken. You were surprised he was still awake, let alone up and about as you attempted to get him to lay down. Multiple times.
Clearly, something else was eating him, though you couldn’t tell what for the life of you. All you knew was, beneath the layers of masking and the insistence over at least attending the afterparty — something about “responsibility to team morale” and some bullshit about “letting loose” — he had some other things on his mind, things that were making him restless enough to avoid, well, rest, and your presence helped to soothe those agitations, if only somewhat.
So, there you were, dutifully letting loose and desperately trying to convince your partner to join the game so you at least wouldn’t have to be humiliated alone. All you got in return was a quiet chuckle, the sound traveling from your ears, down your spine, and through your whole body, doing things to you that were not appropriate for the current venue. He certainly wasn’t making things any easier when he kissed your cheek and snickered about being “Just fine watching your defeat from the sidelines, thanks.”
You grumbled to yourself, but appreciated the view of his backside anyway as he stood up and wandered over to the cooler to grab another soda. The brainworm that formed in your mind came tumbling out of your mouth before your better judgment could stop it:
“What’s the matter, Moreno? Are you telling me you don’t have the dice?”
Marcus was never one to freeze necessarily — it wasn’t in his blood — nor was he prone to fight. But, try as you might, you couldn’t quite fit stalk into the classic ‘fight, flight or freeze’. His pace slowed, but never stopped as he gave you a subtle side-eye over his shoulder, that strange and unfamiliar thing that ate away at his conscience rearing its head in the darkness of his gaze. You couldn't tell what it was, but you could feel the power behind it. You knew you’d struck something in him when you spotted that slight tensing in his shoulders, flexing softly down his arms beneath that tight fucking t-shirt, good lord did you miss those—
You had to refocus. You’d be in for it later — or, so you thought — and just the idea alone was enough to pull your lips into a cocky grin. You’d missed teasing him — missed watching the way his body reacted when he knew he couldn’t act on his desires just yet, and not to mention the way you couldn’t help but squirm under what you knew were his eyes boring into you despite only seeing his silhouette in your peripheral. But all those things you missed, all the delicious thoughts that were rapidly forming in your mind had to wait. ‘Later,’ you told yourself, ‘later.’
For now, you honed in on the task at hand. As you dealt in for the next round and your tipsy mind assessed the cards in your hand, it struggled to register Marcus sitting back down next to you. You didn’t have the bandwidth to notice how much closer he was to you than before. You did take notice, however, of the sudden, steady grip on your free hand beneath the card table as it was slowly pulled from resting on your thigh, leaving plenty of time for you to pull away should you so choose. When you didn’t, your hand was gently settled into Marcus's lap.
It still took you by surprise every now and again, how big his hands were. His palm so easily encapsulated your own hand as he guided it down, down, right to where he pressed and curled your hand to cup—
Oh. Oh. Ohhhh wow.
His voice was already in your ear, quietly rumbling against your back, before you could out yourself by reacting: “Tengo algo pesados para que ruedes aquí mismo, pequeña. Y estos están más cargados que los dados Invisigirl sigue usando para estafarte. Deja esas cartas, nos vamos.”
If the shiver that raked down your spine didn’t give away the nature of his comment to everyone around you, the brief squeak that quickly bubbled up from your throat, accompanied by your deer-in-headlights face, certainly did. You were in over your head already, your thoughts racing around before barreling out the door to your mind and leaving it empty of everything but Marcus’s presence.
He must have had something stronger than pop when you weren’t looking, right? Tequila, wine, hell maybe even weed, something to curb his inhibitions. He never spoke to you like this, not out in public anyway, that– that was always your job, to tease and rile him up when everyone was–
Marcus briskly turned to get up once again, this time with you in tow, but when you didn’t immediately follow his motions, he paused, then settled back into his seat with an air of nonchalance that irked you. When he swiveled back to face you, directly this time, you locked eyes again, and it took your breath away. His expression remained unreadable, save for the prominent cock of his eyebrow. Your hand found his crotch again, though you still don’t quite remember how to this day.
Regardless, you had to restrain yourselves. This was a dangerous game you were playing, and you were not about to lose. You reigned in the melting, whimpering mess you were quickly turning into, settling for a not-so-subtle quiver. You felt the resulting throb underneath the denim you cradled in your palm, and– oh stars he was full, wasn’t he – gone for so long, likely far too busy, too exhausted to take care of himself, forced to suffer the ache of his ba– of hi– getting heavier by the week without you t– to d– to fil–
Your eyes darted to the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed a growl, feeling you feeling him, weighing him below the table. Those deep brown irises were giving way to the black of his pupils while they swept down your frame, dragging much, much slower on their way back up. He was really making a show of you, huh?
The rest of him remained viciously still, and when he met your eyes again, that cornered feeling in your chest quickly turned to pinned beneath the stare of this predator. That’s when you knew you were done for. Your pride was nothing but a remnant wisp in your mind, like a candle silently fighting against the wind. Only the animal inside you, the one he’d brought about when you started dating, remained. You felt frozen, helpless beneath his predatory watch, but in the best way possible, and it was almost as though Marcus could sense it. A corner of his mouth twitched up.
He leaned in towards you, which your body surprisingly arched into, rather than away from. That subtle grin turned into a full smirk that split his chapped, but still deliciously full lips while he watched you fight your own mind. It seems you still hadn’t fallen to him just yet, so he gave your inner brat something to chew on, adding at an amiable, casual volume:
“Unless you don’t have the dice?”
A/N: This is my first official fic post, and I really hope you liked it! A reblog would be appreciated, if you'd be so kind, or send it to someone you think would enjoy!
