#its on my old laptop which i still have but i doubt anyone (including me) is ever gonna see that animation again LOL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoaqins-funk-house · 4 years ago

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Springtrap

Yandere

Male Reader

Part 1

Sitting in the black swivel chair, you spin once or twice before coming to a stop, grimacing at the feeling of sticky floors beneath your shoes. This place is brand new, how the hell are the floors sticky?

Actually, on that note, how is everything so covered in dust?

Sighing, your mindless fidgeting comes to a stop as the phone, just as dinky as the walls around you, begins to ring. You pick it up but put it back on the table, eyes drifting to the laptop and swing-out tablet. When you flip the former open, you note the four buttons, each relating to something you would have to reset when it comes time to. The latter has cameras that are scattered around, including a separate tab for vents. There’s an option to block off vents, which sends a chill up your spine as you glance to the big ass one at your side.

You decide to block that one off for now.

Humming, you familiarize yourself with the layout of the place, deciding to ignore the shadows that crept through your vision.

Your unenthused eyes scan and take in everything. The replicas (you had seen the originals, and they were permanently stained with both the smell and color of pizza sauce and lawsuits) that were in and around the office, as well as the little bobbleheads that sat on your desk of the animatronics, which were, for some reason, human? You boop the one who you assume to be Freddy, hearing the familiar squeak.

A small smile comes to your lips.

It was at this time that you realized you had completely ignored the man on the phone, but you couldn't really bring yourself to care.

The little drawings that were put up were authentic; not just anyone could recreate what a child's mind spits out and decides to draw.

That Freddy looks a bit fucked up.

The posters were cutely designed, and after getting the gist of what everything was and how everything works, you were on your phone the rest of the night.

When six strikes, you casually leave, giving the building a quick once over as you leave the doors, locking them behind you.

If every night is going to be like that, this is going to get boring.

He’s stuck.

This suit traps him like a rabid dog, eager to stay gripped onto his neck.

Still, things would be changing soon.

He can feel it.

He can feel it as a fresh breeze, the first in many years, hits his nostrils, sending a wave of euphoria through his system. The bloodied musk that hung in the dank room was not a pleasant one.

He can feel it as his body accepts this new host, more and more, until soon, quite soon, he will become one with his vessel.

Just as the animatronics before him did.

He ponders.

Why was he being freed from this prison of his own design?

Is he being taken somewhere?

…

Will there be a night guard to terrorize?

A grin takes to his broken lips as he ignores the pain and blood that comes from them. Oh, a night guard! Truly, that will be a sight!

He can't wait.

For now, however, he must play dead.

My, that voice that shouts with excitement from behind him…

It sounds so familiar.

"Bring the truck around!" He calls. "I found one, a real one! It's got the rips, the weird colors, and what I am going to assume is pizza sauce! Ohohoh man, I hit the jackpot with this one! Fazbear's Fright needed something, and here it is!"

His congratulatory tone made the man within the suit want to throw up. Finding him was nothing to be happy about; he is despicable, incapable of redemption, and an awful being.

And you know what?

That's just the way he likes it.

So to have someone happy to find him, especially for their own purposes?

He won't let it stand.

Yeah, if this place has a nightguard, he'll kill them without mercy before burning the entire thing to the ground.

Might as well make it fun for himself.

As light peeks through, clearly originating from a flashlight, he feels his pupils shrink, resisting the urge to let out a groan as his weak eyes ache from their decades of being in the dark.

"Whoahoh! This one looks gnarly!" The same man as before speaks, probably referencing the organs and tendons that were showing. "C'mon, let's get it up!"

His grin only grows as two people lift him onto a dolly, beginning the move.

Goodbye, saferoom.

And hello, Fazbear's Fright.

Humming, you walk into the building, skimming over the decorations once more before noticing something.

The papers that had fallen onto the ground from before, they had dirt on them. Not surprising on its own, but when they were in the shape of tire tracks?

You decide to follow them, using your memory of the cameras to guide you through the building, which was already rather linear anyway.

Entering the last area, you could see a rather dilapidated animatronic suit, with organs visible and its fur matted with blood. Real blood. The old Springbonnie suit was nearly green from how old and dirty it was.

Your eyebrows raise. "Is that guy just stupid or did he knowingly bring in a suit that has a dead body in it?"

Honestly, you didn't care. "Eh, whatever. It'll probably start moving when I start my shift… I've heard those rumors about the other locations." You turn, stretching, unaware of the eyes that followed you or the head that turned your way.

Damn, does he want to kill this one?

Well, he can think it over more soon. After the merge.

He grins again, feeling his uneven, gouged skin begin to flare with pain.

You exit the room fully, making your way back to the office with all the urgency of an ADHD-riddled person doing laundry.

Which is to say… not much.

You fall into the chair, cursing as the thin mesh cushion does nothing to protect your tailbone from the metal frame of the chair. The phone rings not a moment later, you picking it up and laying it on the table again, eager to ignore it just as you had done before. You stretch again, arms raising above your head as you begin to flip through cameras, finding the rabbit in the same spot it was in before.

You yawn.

Hopefully it starts moving soon, or else the entire reason you took this job would be unfulfilled.

You were bored, and you remembered this place from the times you had gone with your younger brother, who was now in his early twenties. You, however, were 28 years of age, with nothing better to do than 'investigate' the Fazbear's Fright that opened up. Still, if that rabbit has a corpse in it, it should make things more fun.

As you lazily flip through your cameras, you set it down and look to the side, seeing a rather dirty looking man with an eyepatch and fox ears. To his confusion, before he could lunge at you, you reach out and swipe a hand through his chest. You continue to swipe forwards and backwards, the incorporeal man stuck standing there until you leaned back.

"So, you're a ghost."

His mouth opens as if to retort, but he just gives up and leaps at you, you not even looking at him anymore. He closes his mouth halfway through the jump, and with an unsatisfied sigh, he disappears.

You continue flipping through the cameras, checking in on the rabbit a couple of times before shoving the tablet out of the way, opening the laptop to have it ready and sitting back in your chair.

You glance towards a shifting figure in front of the window, the hat and bear ears telling of who it is. He limps along, eventually falling beneath your view before seemingly phasing through the wall and leaping at you. You stare passively as he does so, him not completing the jump to instead stand in front of you, confused.

For shits and giggles, you wave your hand through his chest once or twice.

"Why… aren't you… scared?" He croaks, voice ruined from years of no use.

"Oh, was I supposed to be scared?" You genuinely ask. "Uh, sorry. If you do it again I promise I'll hyperventilate."

"Don't try to… lessen your survival chances…"

"Okay. My bad."

He sighs, and after annoyedly rubbing his face, he disappears.

You flip out your cameras once more, finding the screen obscured by static and a small error in the center. Lazily, you reset cams.

When your screen clears, you check the rabbit. He looks… strange. Like his body is evolving in front of your eyes.

To be honest, you don't give enough of a shit to watch a potentially world-changing discovery if it looks that gross. You aren't paid enough to, anyway.

At this pay grade, you even coming into the damn building is volunteer work.

You check your phone for the time, seeing a cool time of one in the morning.

"Aside from that science experiment gone wrong happening in the back room, it's still really damn boring."

However, it's still not boring enough to watch that transformation or whatever. That corpse (well, at this point, you kinda doubt it's dead) can do whatever the hell he wants with that suit. It's his body, not your business.

After another fifteen minutes of staring at a wall, you check the cameras to the sound of loud clicks and pops, now seeing a heavily scarred man with 1.5 rabbit ears in place of the suit. He takes one step out from his original spot, body heaving forward before he lifts himself up, looking up at the camera with a grin.

"Huh. That's new." You say, watching him jolt forward, continuing to take steps before relearning how to walk smoothly.

It only takes him a moment to rocket off.

"I doubt that's good." You mumble, beginning to flip through the cameras to follow him before playing a sound in the room behind him, making him pause. He turns, walking back with a confused expression.

Continuing to flip through cameras, you watch as the man, who you'll dub Rabbit Guy, wanders, seemingly having lost his focus. Hearing a sound to your left, you pay no heed to whoever it is, instead waggling your hand in what you would assume to be their torso.

"You're strange…" They say.

"Uh-huh. If you'd excuse me, I am currently working on keeping Rabbit Guy the hell away from me." Your voice is monotonous but sincere; you aren't trying to be sarcastic or mean, just trying to tell them the facts.

Glancing to the side, you see that it was a child, so you were waving your hand in his collar. "Oh, my bad. Does that… make you guys uncomfortable?" You ask, retracting your hand.

"No, we can't feel it."

"Huh." You blandly respond, playing the sounds to lead Rabbit Guy back to where he started, before resetting sounds as you weren't able to play them anymore.

It seems like Rabbit Guy is getting progressively more and more annoyed at being led back, if his attempts to move fast enough to avoid the sounds or block out his ears meant anything.

His body was responding to the sounds, not him.

It was then that he disappeared, so you check vents, finding him in one that led directly to the room beside your office.

You block it off, much to his annoyance, before yawning and sitting back as any thumps you hear from inside the vents come to a stop.

You find him standing in the room where he had entered the vent, irritated as he glares at the camera. Preemptively, you reset all, thankfully right as cams and sound go out.

Sighing, you lazily check through cameras, brows slightly furrowing as you look for him. He was completely gone, not in vents or in rooms. It really is unfortunate how many blind spots and shadowed areas there are.

When you hear the thumping of the vents, you search through them, only finding a stupid knick-knack laying on its side halfway in your sight.

Looking to your side, you peek into the vent, leaning down to see if anything was there. Your gaze meets Rabbit Guy's.

"Shit." You say, quickly switching cams over to this one and holding down the seal button.

Your eyes shift back to him, finding him way too close for comfort. As you lift your finger to let the gate close on the vent, the man (who was crouch walking) catches it, forcing it back up. You hear something grind that definitely shouldn't be grinding, and you have a feeling that that vent cover just might be broken.

Getting out of the vent, he stands over you, waiting for some sort of plea or… literally any response at all.

"So, you, uh… come here often?" You ask, leaving him genuinely at a loss.

"Wh- was that a pickup line?" His rough, baritone voice catches you slightly off-guard.

You weren't expecting something that was pretty much a zombie to have such a good voice, or a slight british accent for that matter. "Was it? Shit, more people've flirted with me than I thought."

"Really? That's all you can come up with before your death? I'd hate for those to be your final words." He lightly teases, leaning against the wall with a mean grin.

You look up at the ceiling with a vague smile, his eyes widening momentarily. "To be honest, of any place to die, I'd much rather have it be in a place where I know I'll reach the front pages than in some random alley."

His grin falls into a frown as he watches you turn to him, the smile still on your face. It feels strange.

He feels strange.

Why does a random night guard make him feel so…

So… comfortable?

You were calm, collected, not making any sudden moves or even attempting to exit the chair. Theoretically, the perfect prey, but not a satisfying kill.

If he even wants to kill you, that is.

“What’s your name?” He asks, watching as you spin to face him in your chair. You would be taller if you stood, but he would still have a few inches on you.

“Y/N. You?”

“I’m… William. Or, rather, I was, when I was well and truly human.”

“And now?” You ask.

“I don’t exactly have a name.”

“Can I still call you William, then? Well, if I live long enough to do so?” You ask, eyes moving up to meet his. Looking up at him like that… He wishes the hot feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away.

“...Fine.”

“I mean… are you going to kill me?” You ask, face not shifting as he glares down at you.

“I won’t kill you on the first night, you need to give me more entertainment.” At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Oh, so we’re both here for the same reason.” You blankly say, his face contorting from a glare to confusion once more.

“You’re here… for entertainment?” He slowly asks, answered by your nod.

“I’m certainly not here for the pay. This place gives like half of minimum wage but I can’t complain about it because the other part is supposed to come from tips. Somehow.”

“How do you even live?”

“Well, right now I’m on an paid leave due to some unfortunate deaths in my family. To be honest, I never really cared for any of them, but hey. I’ll take any chance for a break I can. Then I got bored.”

He huffs out a laugh. “So you went to another job on your break?”

“Listen, getting a month off leaves a man with little to do when capitalism has left me with no hobbies. Besides, this gives me a great excuse to continue avoiding people.”

His lips curl into an amused grin as he leans forward, lowering his head to be eye level with yours. "Well, you won't be avoiding me." He practically purrs, you averting your eyes at the tone he uses.

Why would he say it like that?!

His golden eyes follow you as you close the laptop's screen, enjoying your reaction. You…

He'll keep you around.

You're entertaining and friendly. Open, and… warm.

He wonders.

You're human, and fully alive. He's a revived corpse who merged with his vessel. You probably are very warm compared to him.

When he comes back to his senses, he notices you slowly raising out of your seat, hand outstretched towards him.

Well, might as well take the chance.

He grabs your wrist, looking down at you unimpressed. You quietly huff, falling back into your chair and forcing him to move away from the wall in order to not dislocate your wrist.

Well, his hypothesis is correct. You are very warm.

He feels the tightening in his gut, not wanting to let go but knowing that he will have to.

You, however, don't actually care either way. You begin your attempt again, this time with your left hand. Slowly raising out of your seat, you actually manage to stand fully up before he notices again, grabbing your other wrist.

"What are you even trying to do?" He asks, a light sneer on his lips.

"Well... uh, I was trying to… boop your nose? If you're bonded with one of the original suits, then I figured either you or Fredbear would have the sound effect."

He lets out a few short laughs, his sneer replaced with the same amused grin as before.

"I'm afraid neither of us have the sound effect. That only came about with the second and third generations of animatronics."

You hum, interested.

His eyes quickly scan over you, taking in your form. This position, practically holding you hostage… Needless to say, he didn't dislike it.

Still, he releases you as he catches you glancing at what he assumes to be a phone. Things have advanced quite far since he was trapped.

You turn it on quickly, checking the time. “Well, we have around an hour and a half before my shift ends, so…” Pausing, you check the time again. An hour and a half?

He steps closer, you glancing back up at him before leaning back as he leans forward, looming over you. “Tomorrow, you best make this more fun for me. I’ll greet you, but then I’ll head to the back. Try and stop me from getting in.”

“Uh, sure. Are you still planning on making the punishment for loss, uh, death?”

His eyes narrow in coordination with a widening grin. “That’s for me to know. You either figure it out, or you don’t. It all depends how well you play.” His gruff voice slightly echoes in the mostly empty building, you nodding in response.

“Oh, cool. Can I tell my brother about you?” You ask suddenly, him quirking a brow as he stares down at you, easily at least half a foot taller than you. He was always tall, but now that he’s in this new form, he grew to be somewhere from 6’6 to 6’8. You sit down once more, exacerbating the height difference.

“Feel free to. Just know that if he ever comes around here, he won’t be alive for very long.”

“I doubt he will. He’s always preferred Foxy the most because he has taste, but-”

“Taste? For liking that liability-strewn fox? You like him as well?”

“To be honest, I never really liked any of them more than the other. I was in my emo phase when I went to see them, so it was practically illegal for me to like anything. But Foxy had sharp teeth and a wicked lookin’ hook, so… I guess I did.”

He hums, clearly slightly annoyed.

“Are you jealous that I liked the fox more than the rabbit that isn’t even the same generation as you?”

“I really should kill you.” His irritated expression shows the truth to your statement.

“It’s okay, I’m willing to call Springbonnie my favorite.”

Now, William was confused. Your tone… you weren’t joking. You were being genuine about something as stupid as this? What is with you?

“You’re very confusing. I think you joke, and then I listen to your tone and you’re genuine. But still, I wouldn’t mind if you did so.”

“It’s not nearly as confusing as how time passes in this place. It’s been like ten minutes since I met you but the clock says like three or four hours have passed.”

“What? Really?” His brows furrow as he steps closer, finding another excuse to close the distance between you both as he leans over the chair, seeing you pointing to the screen. “How strange…”

“Yeah. It doesn’t seem like tomorrow’s hunt will last for six hours, then. Thankfully.” You sigh.

“What, do you not want to feel like my prey for six hours straight?” He grins, leaning over further until his arm rests on your shoulder.

You shiver. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“Because it makes you react, obviously. It’s entertaining to watch you squirm from something as simple as... the tone of my voice.” Of course, in order to prove his point, he does exactly what he did before, lowering his voice a few pitches and upping the growliness of it.

In covering your eyes, you also cover your cheeks, which have gained a slight flush. “William, I am begging you. Please, please, please, stop talking like that.”

And, naturally progressing, he was left somewhat stunned by the sound of your pleading tone. There’s just something about it, especially as you say his name, that makes him want to…

...makes him want to chase, and capture, and possess forever.

You as his prized prey, and him as the hunter.

“I’ll use it when necessary.” He vaguely answers, watching your head droop.

“I’ll take what I can get.” You concede breathily.

He chuckles, hearing the chime of a bell, signifying 6 in the morning. "Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then. Don't keep me waiting."

"Asshole. I won't." You turn your head away from him, hiding the flush on your face, and stand up, stretching. "See ya, William."

He hums, eyes tracing your form as you stretch. It was a nice view, watching the button up shirt crease around your back as you stretch, clearly hinting at the muscle beneath. His eyes did drift lower once or twice, and that's how he figures out that damn, you have a really nice ass!

You begin to walk out, and he follows you with his eyes, watching you turn past the replica Freddy husk and unlock the door, exiting into the fresh morning. His eyelids droop, gaze slipping up as his lips curl into a wide grin.

“Y/N… I won’t kill you. Especially not when I’m presented with such an ample opportunity to make this into something so entertaining.”

Well…

Is that the only reason?

Of course, he knows it isn’t.

His grin falls, leaving him coldly leering at the aged panels above him before his sight shifts back to the room around him. As he exits the office, he glances at the stained and shaded glass of the door, not allowing much, if any, light in. He turns away, heading back to where he was originally.

As he walks, he lets his form shift, feeling his body grow to his previous monster rabbit self, the creaks of his metal joints loud in the silent building.

He ignores any shadows that creep in the edges of his vision, the specters traversing without sound.

“This is going to be… boring.” His voice, far rougher than before, comes out unfeeling and croaky. As he returns to his previous position, slouching over once more, he decides to use his old tactic to pass time; inflicting enough pain on himself to fall unconscious. It doesn’t matter if his dreams are infested with darkness, nor how much he suffers in them.

It was better than the boredom of sitting in one position with an unchanging environment.

He begins forcing his muscles to flex and strain within the suit and pull against the beams they have welded to, making him grit his teeth before the searing pain fades away, along with his vision.

Goodnight, Y/N.

“Yo.” You greet your brother, the man tiredly yawning as he ruffles his hair.

“Heya, Y/N. What’re you up so early for?”

“Well, I got bored and got a night shift job at this dinky little horror attraction opening up next week. I decided to tell you about what happened there before I head off to sleep.”

“You got bored during a break from your job so you… got another job?”

“Y’know, William said the same thing.” You say, your brother narrowing his eyes at you.

“A coworker?” He asks.

“Eh, not quite… he is the reason I stayed up to talk to you, though.”

He hums, walking around the couch you were splayed on with your shirt half unbuttoned.

“So, to begin my tale, you remember Freddy’s? The pizzeria with the animatronics?” You question.

“Yeah?”

“Well the horror place I went to is based off of that; it’s filled with replicas and a few actual things from the pizzerias of the past, but something came in tonight that was… different.”

“Which was?”

“An animatronic. One of the originals, Springbonnie. Granted, the suit was ripped to shit and covered in enough dirt to be green, but it was authentic. It even has the dead body! Well - not so dead body, but still visible.”

“Did you call the cops?” He asks, worried.

“Hell no! I’m not paid enough to give a shit about what could-or-could-not-be a dead body. Either way, he transformed into a human, which was rather odd, but-”

“Just to be clear, this rabbit had a dead body inside and transformed into a human, and you don’t question it?”

“No. Continuing on, he got into my office and then we talked for a bit, I learned that his name is William, time passed really weirdly, and then we struck a deal where I have to keep him out of my office or I'll maybe die.”

“You’re still going back there?! And ‘maybe die?!’”

“Yeah, he said the knowledge about whether or not I die from losing the hunt was ‘for him to know.’ I didn’t question it further.”

“You know, Y/N, sometimes it feels like I’m the older sibling. You’re fucking stupid.”

“I’m well aware.”

He leans over the couch, glaring down at you. “Then wisen up and quit that damn job.”

“I’m good. William is good company.”

“He threatened to kill you!”

“And? He hasn’t. Yet.”

“You infuriate me, gayboy.” He says, stepping away from the couch.

“Cool. I’ll sleep here for now, when you get back from work I’ll definitely be up.”

“Whatever.” He waves his hand at you, ignoring the middle finger pointing his direction from behind the couch’s back.

---

Part 2

also a lot of the stuff i write from now on may be male reader inserts lol

heres my springtrap design

here's the updated design lol

#springtrap #springtrap x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #afton #fnaf #fnaf x reader #fnaf 3 #yandere #yandere fnaf #yandere springtrap #five nights at freddy's #yandere x reader #x reader #male reader #male insert #reader insert #fnaf springtrap #gay

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justanotherblonde23 · 4 years ago

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When Marcus Met the Doctor

Author’s Note: Hey there Internet friends! So my buddy @autumnleaves1991-blog had asked me for a follow up on my original Marcus Moreno story. She was wondering how Marcus met the future Dr. Moreno. It was in an ask, but I can’t find it to save my life. I’m posting this on my iPad because my laptop isn’t playing nicely today, so I apologize if the format seems a little odd. I’m still learning! I gave the reader a last name and a nickname so I didn’t have to use y/n but I didn’t give any descriptions about physical appearance, so I hope you’ll be able to see yourself here. Please let me know what you think, I hope you enjoy - Kat

Warnings: swearing, single parenthood

Tags: @autumnleaves1991-blog @madness-roses @bisexual-space-slut @dindjarindiaries @frannyzooey @zeldasayer @cinewhore @revolution-starter @mrschiltoncat @softpedropascal @paniclana @jollyrancher87 @hdlynnslibrary @maybege @corrupt-fvcker @cyaredindjarin @scribbledghost @woakiees

Marcus was at his wit’s end. He’d been a single dad for all of three weeks after his wife decided that she wasn’t invested in being a mother or having a spouse that occasionally saved the world. What was he supposed to do with a kid that just turned 7, a two-month-old baby who started showing signs of powers, and a full-time job as one of the Heroics? He’d been up all night with the baby, Jules, because every time she woke up, she’d inadvertently started throwing things around the room...with her mind.

He had been around children with powers before, sure, but he had never encountered a child this young having powers begin to develop. Hell, his oldest, Missy, hadn’t even had her powers show up yet. He knew that each child was different, but this was way out of his league. He knew how to handle children; he loved children, especially his children. A powerful infant was not in his job description. He needed outside assistance, and he needed it yesterday.

It was a blustery Saturday, so he bundled himself and the kids up, making his way to Heroics HQ. There had to be someone there that could help. Walking into HQ was like walking into a completely different world. Uniquely powered individuals in multicolored hero outfits, scientists in lab coats, executives in suits, and a myriad of others all spent their time hustling and bustling through the gigantic building. In the middle of all this was Marcus, a dad in jeans, a grey V-neck, converse, and a leather jacket holding a bundled up super powered baby in the crook of his arm, with his hand gripping the small hand of his inquisitive little girl. He sighed, making his way to the building’s science and medical wing, trying to find the proper hallway and office number.

Finally, he found it, office 22A, the person who hopefully had the answers he needed for baby Jules. He knocked; he felt awkward just rushing in even though technically had an appointment. He hadn’t expected the door to be opened by the most beautiful woman that he’d ever laid eyes on. She smiled kindly, gesturing for him to enter. He couldn’t help but take in her appearance as he guided himself and Missy into the office. She was dressed professionally, wearing a pencil skirt, blouse, and heels topped with a lab coat, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her eyes shone with both care and enthusiasm; a soft smile graced her lips. He watched as she grabbed Missy’s hand, setting her up with toys in a corner filled with all sorts of things children loved. She was so gentle with the little girl, giving all of her attention to the child. Once Missy was situated and happily playing quietly, the woman turned her attention back to Marcus and Jules. She said something to him, but Marcus just stood there, blinking, a mixture of exhaustion and admiration rendering him speechless.

“Mr. Moreno?” a gentle voice inquired, her hand on his bicep snapping him out of his reverie.

Marcus blinked, shaking his head, willing himself to be in the present. “I’m so sorry, I’m completely worn out. Between work, the baby, and Missy, I’m just barely pulling through on my own. You can call me Marcus, by the way, Mr. Moreno just seems so formal.”

The kind smile was back as she led him to a couch at the back of the office, where they both sat down and got comfortable.

“So, Marcus, I hear that you are here to see me about your little one here. My name is Dr. Johnson, but mostly everyone around here calls me Iris. Please tell me what’s going on with the baby, and I can see what I can do for you.” She sounded so confident in her ability to assist him, not even knowing what the problem was yet.

“Iris? Is that your name?” Marcus accidentally wondered aloud.

The responding light laugh that Dr. Johnson gave him sounded like a perfect melody. “No, that’s not my name, just a nickname. One of my secondary abilities is a bit of telekinesis. When I activate that or my other abilities, my eyes turn well the color of irises, and the name just stuck.”

He nodded, absorbing the information while rocking Jules in his arms. She was dozing at the moment since this would ideally be her naptime. He studied her face, looking for what, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know where to begin, how to ask for something he wasn’t sure there was a solution for. It hit him then how young she was. How was someone so young supposed to help him?

“I sense some hesitation in you. If you have questions or concerns, I’m happy to address them. I want to be able to help you, but to do that, you also need to trust me.”

Marcus shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be rude or demanding, but this was his baby they were talking about here. It was his job to keep Jules safe, it was just him now, and he couldn’t stand the idea of her in any type of danger simply because he couldn’t figure out what to do about her powers.

Iris put her hand on his, causing him to look back at her again.

“Yes, I’m quite young, I just turned 28 last month, but that doesn’t make me any less qualified to help you and your baby girl. My greatest ability is my mind. I have nine doctorates, working on more as we speak, which doesn’t include my medical degrees. I am a doctor of pediatric medicine, as well as a surgeon for both children and adults. I’ve worked on most of the heroically enhanced beings that work here, you included, although you were unconscious at the time. I invent most of the tech that you and your fellow Heroics use every day. Those katana blades of yours, those are my work. As a father, I know that you’re going to be hesitant to allow anyone to help your daughter, especially someone who is young, like me. I assure you, Marcus, that my young age is made up for by my vast set of experiences. I would argue that I’m the best suited for this job out of anyone. Please, let me help you so that you can take care of your children to the best of your ability. Give me a chance here; I promise you won’t regret it.”

He had been expecting her anger at his hesitance, not her understanding. He was sure that he was about to be yelled at for doubting her. Instead, she calmly explained exactly who she was and why she was his best bet. Fuck, she was brilliant and willing to help. He needed to give her a chance and let her see this through, no matter how nervous he was.

“Iris, I apologize; I shouldn’t doubt you or your abilities. I’m pretty new at this single dad thing, and I’m just trying to take care of them the best I can. I’ve been doing mostly consultant work from home, but that’s only a temporary solution. I just-,” his voice broke, tears filling his eyes.

A tear dripped down his face, but the doctor caught it with her thumb, smoothing it away. She had tears in her own eyes, threatening to overflow. She enveloped him in as firm of a hug as she could with baby Jules still in his arms, letting him lay his head on her shoulder and permitting him to feel. All his sorrow, worries, and fears flowed out of him through his tears. Fingers carded through his hair, a hand rubbed soothing circles on his back, her words of comfort whispered in his ear. Marcus, you’re not alone. There are people who want to help. It’s okay, let it all out. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but by the time he finished crying, he felt safe and cared for, something that he hadn’t felt in a while, not since far before his ex had left.

They spent the next half hour discussing what abilities Jules had exhibited so far, what Marcus’ concerns were, and what he needed to be a functional parent. He explained how the baby started showing signs of power less than a week after she was born, how she seemed to be able to move things with her mind, but that he wasn’t quite sure because, well, Jules was a baby and he was sure that she didn’t even realize she was doing it. He was worried because as time went on, the objects kept getting larger. Last night, somehow, she had moved the crib in front of the bedroom door when she woke up in the middle of the night for her bottle. He had ended up having to take the door off its hinges to even get into the room. Hearing his baby crying and not being able to get to her had scared him shitless. He’d ended up staying in the baby’s room all night to make sure nothing else happened.

As they talked, Jules had woken up and was beginning to fuss. Iris ended up taking the baby, giving her a bottle, and watching her abilities while still listening to Marcus. She was so good with little Jules, holding her, gently stroking her hair, whispering comforting words when she would get fussy. He saw books begin to float off the shelf in his peripheral vision, he got up to try and put them back, but Iris’ hand shot out, stopping him. She smiled up at him, raising a hand and pushing them back in place with her mind.

“I think I have something that will help.”

She stood up, still holding the baby, and went to her desk, grabbing a tiny silver cuff. She pressed a few buttons on the keyboard, bringing up various holograms all around the room. Marcus almost jumped out of his skin when she began to talk to an AI, sorting through her research until she found what she was looking for.

“This is my own design, it’s basically a bracelet that will contain Jules’ powers and abilities while she wears it. It’s waterproof, tamper resistant, and will only open with either your fingerprint or my own. As she grows, we’ll change the cuff size and lessen the suppression. When this little lady is old enough, the cuff will come off altogether and she will have full access to her abilities. The suppression will not cause her any harm or pain, I’ve made sure to try it on myself long term to be certain. This allows you to keep her safe without working yourself into exhaustion. We can meet a few times a month to assess her progress. This should help you all get into the groove of things, Marcus.”

He took the cuff, studying it, rolling it over in his hands. It felt like regular metal, nothing special. He titled it to see the inside. There were tiny sensors evenly spaced throughout and something that was blinking green. This was far beyond his paygrade as far as technology went. The fact that the woman in front of him invented this and was willing to use this to help ensure his baby’s safety was not lost on him. He was grateful that she had a solution, hopefully it would help.

“It won’t hurt her, right? I just want to make sure. Has this been studied long term? Are there any side effects?” he enquired, trying not to get too excited.

Iris shook her head as she lightly rocked Jules in her arms. “I’ve used this on myself, as well as some other children that have had their abilities show up a bit too early. I haven’t seen any drawbacks or side effects of the cuff so far, but I want to have you bring Jules in at least once every few weeks so that we can keep her closely monitored. You’ll also have my number, please feel free to contact me day or night if you have any concerns or if anything goes wrong. I’m here to help and it’s my main priority to make sure that this sweet girl can learn and grow safely, without the threat of her powers going awry. This problem is one that we can solve, Marcus.”

He nodded, her words were reassuring to be sure. Since he became a single father, he hadn’t really trusted anyone with the safety and wellbeing of his little girls besides himself. It was difficult to reach out and allow someone to help solve a problem when the one person he had trusted the most had shattered him. Iris was giving him a solution, she was asking for his trust in her and her science. He could do that for his kids, he had to.

Marcus handed her back the cuff, allowing her to delicately put it on Jules’ wrist. It didn’t even phase the baby one bit. She kept on as if nothing had changed at all. He let out the breath that he didn’t even know he had been holding. She seemed absolutely fine, content to be rocked in the good doctor’s arms. She handed her back to Marcus, allowing him to cradle his little one close.

The two adults scheduled baby Jules’ followup appointment for the next week so that they could see her progress and give Iris a chance to check the data and run some tests. They spoke for a few more minutes until Missy came up to get their attention.

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

Iris got down on Missy’s level so that she could look her in the eye. “You did so well today, Missy. Thank you so much for playing quietly while your daddy and I talked about your baby sister. I’m very proud of you.”

Missy broke out in a huge grin, throwing her arms around the doctor’s shoulders.

“Will we get to see you again? Can I come and play here more soon?”

Iris returned the hug, smiling fondly at the little girl. “Your sister has another appointment here next week and you are more than welcome to come and play in my office again. It was very nice to meet you. I think your daddy will be taking you down to the cafeteria here for some lunch, how does that sound?”

Missy nodded enthusiastically, grabbing her father’s free hand and tugging him along.

“Thank you so much, Iris, I really appreciate all the time you’ve given us today.”

“The pleasure is mine, Marcus, really. I’m here to help.”

There wasn’t much more to be said as Marcus was dragged by Missy out the door and down the hallway, chatting about what type of lunch they were going to eat. The doctor stood in the doorway, watching the little family leave, happy that she could be of assistance. She liked Marcus, he seemed to love his children a great deal and was a good man.

As they got in the elevator, Missy’s sweet voice said, “Daddy, I like that doctor lady, she’s so nice. I hope we get to see her more. She’s so pretty!”

Marcus had to agree with his daughter, he liked Iris, too. He felt a tug in his gut telling him that he should get to know her more, that she was someone truly special. He decided then and there that he would try to make that happen.

#marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno #we can be heroes #pedro pascal

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bang-fantansies · 4 years ago

Text

Sasaeng BTS Profiles: Yoongi Edition

Warning: Heavy mentions/implications of suicide, mentions/implications of overdosing on medication, insomnia, unhealthy behaviour, obsessive behaviour, poor mental health, self-denefse killing, homelessness, nightmares, mention/implications of side-character being drunk, death, blood, gore, destruction of evidence, crime, profanity.

I did my best to include any triggering topics mentioned in this post, but if you see any more potentially sensitive topics I may have missed, please let me know!

This does not represent Bangtan as people or a business, nor does it represent anyone/anything associated with them. This is purely fictional and was made for entertainment purposes only; not to slander anyone or any company.

Mental Stability: 3/10

2:50 AM.

As was the same battle every night, Yoongi lay in bed, the whole world sleeping apart from him. He couldn’t help it, of course - believe me, he would if he could - and this was what made the thoughts in his head run wild.

Each thought had a voice, all unique to their varying degrees of uselessness, yet the message they chanted was identical.

“Sleep! Sleep!” they cried. They’d grown louder over the years as Yoongi’s insomnia worsened, and in spite of their efforts to help their master, they did the complete opposite.

That dream - red and monstrous - drowned out any measure of volume the voices could hope to muster.

The sound of a man gargling with his own blood made Yoongi feel as if he was suffocating, and more often than not he’d jolt up in bed, forced to replay the events of his early adult years.

Before finding his current residence, Yoongi had been forced onto the streets by unjust circumstances, leading to a great deal of situations he’d rather keep buried beneath the layers of his memory.

One such situation involved another homeless man - drunk, Yoongi had assumed - competing with Yoongi for a bottle of liquor he had scored.

Yoongi’s only use for such a thing was to sell it off and use the money to find a cheap room and a meal. But his opponent had refused to accept such nonsense.

“Such fine wine shouldn’t go to waste!” Yoongi could still hear him say, voice ringing in his ears.

“And it won’t if you just let me pass, you stupid old prick.”

In short, the drunkard had taken Yoongi’s tone very personally and caused his own demise by making a haphazard attempt on the younger’s life, resulting in having the bottle of wine he oh-so desired slammed into the side of his head, shattering and giving Yoongi a sharp enough tool to puncture his throat with.

Yoongi fled the scene not long after, keeping the remains of the bottle to hand until he could destroy the evidence later on.

Nowadays, while he was far from sleeping rough, he hardly slept at all for fear of his actions whispering cruel and dark remarks into his ear.

As it would for most, this took its toll on Yoongi’s health; physical, emotional, and mental.

The pressure had proven to be too much for him to handle, and on this night, he had decided he’d had enough.

On his computer desk stood a bottle, a proud shade of orange with its contents revealed in a cluster of black ink, made to resemble actual handwriting, written across a label stuck to its front - the only semblance of privacy Yoongi was allowed. Its white cap was ajar, and though no scent came from within, Yoongi could practically smell the prescription enticing him to a snack.

And under normal circumstances, he would have declined as he had many a time before.

But these were no longer normal circumstances.

Yoongi rose from beneath the bed sheets, any semblance of humanity he’s once held having burnt out alongside his will to continue.

He knew what it meant to live - to love the act of being human - but he was no longer human. He most similarly resembled a shell; cold, hollow, and filled with the shadows of his own mind.

And so he had made his decision. Despite his lethargy shackling him to the bed, he made a reach for the bottle, popping off the cap and peering inside.

A glass of water sat on his bedside table, bubbles sticking to the water-covered walls as a result of disuse.

Yoongi counted the pills, assuming that the amount he was left with would be enough.

At this point, he figured that if he was to find no rest in life, he would surely find it in whatever lay beyond his broken, mortal body.

In these last moments, Yoongi granted himself his last comfort.

He brought his laptop beside him and searched his favourite artist on YouTube.

He only had a few artists in his arsenal that he could dispense at family dinners or reunions he’d been invited to.

he never was an adept conversationalist: even at friends’ parties where a guest he didn’t know would be obligated to talk to him on account of appeasing the birthday girl or boy.

For a second, Yoongi faltered.

His mind backtracked to the joy he’d felt with his friends, and in turn the joy he had granted them.

Was he really going through with this...?

A stab of doubt was all it would take to make Yoongi withdraw from his initial intentions, and he cut the tie with said doubt immediately, pushing his friends to the back of his mind.

He was exhausted - tired of helping and appealing to others; now it was time to take care of himself.

From the tiny speaker in his laptop came the sound of solace: his favourite track from his idol.

He lay back, pill bottle and water placed on his bedside table as he basked in his last melody.

Through the duration of the song, Yoongi’s unease had worn away - eroded by the tides of his own resolution.

The song eventually clambered to a fading finish. Yoongi knew what came next.

He sat up and tipped the contents of the bottle onto the table, a hill of oddly-coloured tablets forming.

He threw the bottle somewhere behind him, hearing it land in a hidden corner of the room.

Pale hands scooped the pills up like candy, bringing them to Yoongi’s lips.

And like a saving grace emerging through a storm, a miracle unfolded.

A soft sound played beside him; the sound of angel wings and promises of a better future.

Yoongi didn’t so much as falter as he did pause, lending his ear to the tune.

It played notes from an instrument Yoongi didn’t even think existed - a soft twinkling stalked by a voice he had yet to have heard on his musical voyages through Soundcloud and YouTube.

For a second - just a second - the doubt that had made such a ruckus to enter had now slithered through the back door of Yoongi’s mind.

What was this music?

Reluctant, he lowered his hand to his side, though held tightly on to the pills.

Turning the screen to face him, he came face-to-face with someone other than his idol.

Her eyes looked a soft shade of (e/c) in the no-doubt filtered lighting of the video, though the sincerity she held within them was far from fabricated.

The background was crystalline - faux crystal props - oversized and oversaturated. They were littered around the studio in which the woman sang, and beneath a purple hue she sat on a stool, an air of comfort radiating from her.

As to what she was singing, Yoongi had no idea.

He let the music play for a moment, considering his options.

What harm would it do him to listen to something new? It wasn’t as if he’d be able to after he was gone, anyway.

Lying back down, Yoongi stared at the ceiling, the lack of light or patterns making it easier for him to focus solely on the music.

His fatigue embraced him like a long-lost mother, shrouding him in a warmth unmatched by that of any real person.

The singer’s soft humming filled the desolate room. And if Yoongi wasn’t mistaken, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

He forced a bitter smile, doubtful that his mind would actually allow him any such solace as sleep.

To humour his weary self one last time, Yoongi shut his eyes, sighing deeply and sinking into the mattress.

The next time Yoongi opened his eyes, his room was still dark. And as if it had never left to begin with, his bitter smile returned.

I knew it, he thought. Though the victory of beating his already hell-level expectations filled his overflowing spirit with grief, disguised and diluted by the anger that had slipped into the mix so long ago.

Sitting up, Yoongi lent his ear to the room once more.

He could hear the soft hum of the woman’s song no longer, and it was in this second that he realised he didn’t remember actually hearing the song end.

It was on one minute, and off the next.

Suspicious, Yoongi glanced at his half-lidded laptop, faced with a blackened screen as the device had switched itself off.

With a push of the power button, the power returned, and in a blast of light the screen sprung to life.

Through the tips of his fringe, Yoongi checked the time.

11:15 AM.

He recoiled.

That couldn’t be right - surely.

Logging in, he noted how his battery was running low, despite having been fully charged before he lay down.

The screen gave way to the last application he’s been using, and clear as day the same starry-eyed woman with the voice of velvet was on-screen, though the video she was in had long since ended.

Yoongi checked the time again, pulling his fringe back so as not to trick himself a second time.

11:16 stared back at him, steadfast and unwavering in its absolution.

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in a sense of alarm.

He rose from the bed, tearing his curtains open.

A cityscape greeted him, and the sun waved from its fixture in the sky. It was daytime.

Yoongi stumbled back, carding a hand through his hair.

There was absolutely no way he’d-

...Had he actually managed to get to sleep?

Yoongi checked his phone, watch, and alarm clock; no-one dared deceive him of date nor time.

He was willing (and already considering) to accept the idea that he’d time-traveled; the concept of having a decent night’s sleep was as foreign as a language to him.

Nevertheless, he hadn’t the time to dawdle in such a concept, though he made absolute certain to when he was at work.

His colleagues seemed to notice a change in Yoongi’s behaviour.

Though he was often dazed into bouts of silence by his exhaustion, this quietude was new. Different.

A few co-workers commented on how he looked much livelier. And more alive, he felt.

In spite of this, the constant what-ifs of the morning had followed him - clung to him like a cologne.

What if...what if he was actually dead?

He considered this, deciding against his theory.

If he was dead and this was indeed Heaven, he should be receiving a lot more good fortune for all the shit he had to deal with in his life.

No, this was neither Hesven nor Hell. Or Purgatory.

Yoongi also considered that he was in a coma, but that didn’t add up, either.

He tested to see if he was comatose. Nothing.

He was still trapped in his same-old reality. But at least he could think clearly now.

By the time he got home, his body yearned for the sweet release of music, and he sought the comfort of his favourite artist - as he usually did on days as long as this.

Shoving his bedroom door open, he grumbled at the brightness the room held for a change.

He’d forgotten to shut his curtains before he left.

In the dwindling light of the afternoon sun, he saw the pills scattered across his duvet, the sole remnants of his almost-actions.

He cringed, forcing them to the back of his mind.

He could acknowledge the gravity of his decision later. Right now, his head was filled with the phantom melodies longing for a vessel.

Yoongi has attained the good sense to charge his laptop, and as he switched it on, he was greeted with the same lady who had pulled him to sleep the night before.

Or, Yoongi supposed, who had just happened to be playing on the night he was finally able to sleep without the nightmare scaring him awake.

Such wonderment remained at the back of his mind as he went about his business.

Through his own music, the whisper of the lady’s tune plagued him. So much so that, after a good three hours of composing, Yoongi found himself eyeing the tab he’d left open from before.

Having returned home from work later, his body was weighted with the day’s contrivances and stresses, as well as its successes and joys.

Emotionally, Yoongi had given all he had to offer, which, if he was to admit it to himself, was far more than he usually did.

He considered that it was more than likely it wasn’t just the song that had sent him to sleep.

On the contrary, he believed that a multitude of factors had to have been at play in such a miracle.

He wished to replicate the conditions of the night before: he kept his room dark and a glass of water on his bedside. He packed his pills away and placed them on his bedside, too, taking care not to lose any in case their service was required again.

He set the woman’s song up, lying in bed and playing it.

The creeping horror of the notion of never obtaining such a quality of sleep again was the only odd variable in this equation, and though it quietly consumed Yoongi’s thoughts, the hum of the song muffled it.

The song was no longer than 4 minutes, though the eternity that stretched between Yoongi and his voyage to the fabled land of dreams made it impossible to tell how long it had been.

He was not yet familiar enough with the song to place a time on the segment he was experiencing.

His concerns faded as he simply let himself be.

If it works, it works, he told himself.

The next thing Yoongi remembered was hearing a bird chirping nearby his window.

He cracked an eye open.

Much like the night before, his room remained in a state of quiet disarray, though only noticeable to the trained eye.

His laptop lay near his side, screen dark and lifeless.

Yoongi checked through a crack in the curtains. And sure as anything, the sun had risen once again.

Over the next couple of weeks, Yoongi researched the song, its creator, and whether it was really the secret to staving off his insomnia.

He had discovered that the creator’s name was (Y/N) - a popular artist who had fans far and wide, as well as domestically.

He found more of her particular songs - the ones that she hummed.

He tested both the original and these humming bird songs (as he called them), and to his delight, the humming birds worked.

Yoongi would go to sleep and wake up at reasonable times, rather than the odd dips in and out of consciousness he would try to induce on his own terms.

It was just your music that soothed him so, and from the day he uncovered this, he vowed to be your loyal follower.

Though, with any influential fan can blossom obsession, and as Yoongi became ever more eneamoured with your gossamer vocals, he feared the day that your songs would no longer support his sleep.

Or, God forbid, you stopped singing.

He often fretted over such a premature worry, though he couldn’t deny how it had all but devoured his thoughts.

Months into his expedition into your music, he decided to finally take action to ensure that your voice would never die - never fade with age, accident or abuse.

No, he would preserve it like the fine wine he had failed to so many years ago - to be sipped and savoured for eternities to come.

Sasaeng Masterlist

#yandere bts #bts #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #Yoongi #min yoongi #suga #yandere yoongi #yandere yoongi x reader

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shera-dnd · 4 years ago

Text

Cupid’s Kiss

Took me way longer than expected curse the whims of my mental health but the winner of this month’s 3k fic poll is finally here!

In which Carmen and Julia have a lovely totally not date in Paris while in search for two thieves who are certainly also not having a date

if you’d like a chance to get your fic ideas written by me, or just want to support me, you can feel free to donate to my ko-fi (rules over here)

and here is the ao3 link if you’d rather read it over there

also this fic was brought to you thanks to the help of @cantdrawshaw

NOW ON WITH THE FIC

Carmen Sandiego was the best at her job. She had bested trained assassins and killer robots, evaded the world’s most advanced detective agency, and destroyed the largest criminal organization. All in her early twenties.

Yet there was one task she was not prepared to face. One that escaped her skills, both martial and technical. One that she had failed to plan around. One that existed entirely beyond the range of her skills. A foe that she could not beat.

“Come on, Carm,” Zack called, “it can’t be that hard. If even Ivy could score with the girls, you can do it too.”

“Even Ivy?!” His sister replied, furious, “I’ve been with more girls than you, jackass.”

“Guys, guys!” Carmen interrupted, “you’re not helping.”

Mentioning her interest in spending more time with Julia Argent had been the biggest mistake she had made in weeks. This was supposed to be a peaceful day at their old home base, but now here she was.

Her friends were trying so hard to help her and she couldn’t even be mad at how poorly they were doing, because she knew she wouldn’t fare much better were the roles reversed.

“Sorry,” the siblings replied in unison.

“I appreciate the support,” she assured them, “but I’m not trying to ‘score’ with anyone. I just wanna get to know Jules a little better.”

“So this is not a date?” Ivy asked.

“No!” She replied, a little too quickly, “me and Jules aren’t like that. She’s more of a… professional acquaintance. A coworker.”

“Carm,” Zack replied, “we’re coworkers and you’ve never had a bouquet of roses delivered to my door.”

“It was just a thank you for handling all those precious artifacts for me,” she explained, “she’s a hard worker, she deserved it.”

“Sure,” Ivy nodded, unconvinced, “is that why you take time to chat over coffee with her every other caper?”

“Not every moment of our lives has to be a chase, you know?” she countered.

“Or why you keep finding excuses to dance with her?”

“It’s the easiest way to speak privately at those parties without garnering unwanted attention,” she recited as if from a textbook.

“Or why-”

“Cease this!” Shadowsan’s stern voice commanded and the siblings fell silent, “VILE has trained her to never cave under interrogation. You’ll have a better chance extracting information from a rock.”

Carmen smirked at them, proud to have her skills of deflection recognized.

“Do not be so full of yourself,” he added, making Carmen flinch just a bit, “I have taught those lessons for years and I know how to see through them.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she deflected, looking away.

He walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“I have seen the happiness Miss Argent brings you,” he said, “and I wish you the best of luck should you wish to pursue it.”

That meant a lot to Carmen. More than she could really express in words. But after she had been so thoroughly embarrassed by her friends, all she could really say was,

“Not you too.”

She looked up at the smirking siblings and braced herself...

“Hey, Red,” Player’s voice called, just in the nick of time.

“Player!” She jumped to attention and grabbed the laptop from their desk.

“Woah!” he exclaimed, “everything okay, Red?”

Zack and Ivy snickered as they sat by each side of her, so they could see Player.

“I think Carm would rather you sent her on a crazy chase instead of sitting here talking about her crush on Jules,” Ivy teased.

“Well it looks like you might get to do both,” Player replied, to Carmen’s dismay, “look who our cameras just found walking around Paris.”

The screen cut to a video feed of one of ACME’s hidden cameras over the streets of Paris. None of the people on camera seemed particularly conspicuous… until a particular pair walked on screen. Even without their costumes Carmen could always recognize them.

“Tigress and Paper Star,” she noted, “those two can’t be up to any good.”

“Looks like we’ll be going to Paris, eh Carm?” Ivy commented as she playfully nudged her side.

“City of love,” Zack added as he joined the nudging.

Carmen groaned. This was gonna be a rough mission.

Chase had grown a lot over the past few months. His deductive reasoning had vastly improved, his mood was far more amenable, and he actually stopped to listen to Julia nowadays. What hadn’t really improved with time was his overall clumsiness.

“Miss Argent, I’ll be fine,” his insistence was interrupted by a powerful sneeze, “This is nothing.”

“Agent Devineaux, please,” she pleaded, “you’re in no state to continue this investigation.”

Devineaux had landed himself into his fair share of rivers over the months he had worked for ACME, and it seemed that so many cold baths had finally caught up to his health. Not that he would ever admit to that.

“Nonsense,” he claimed, “I’ll be back in perfect shape by the time we land in Paris.”

The sneeze that followed said otherwise.

“Chase, please,” she asked again, “rest. I can handle this.”

“I refuse to send my partner on a mission by herself.”

“As sweet as your concern is,” she countered, “I doubt I’ll be by myself for long.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure La Femme Rouge will make for good company,” he agreed and she was glad he did, but it sounded like there was more to his words. “Were you anyone else I’d worry this was all a ploy to have some private time with Miss Sandiego.”

She shot him an unamused glare.

“Apologies,” he said almost immediately.

“Accepted,” she sighed, “but I do not appreciate any insinuations as to the nature of me and Miss Sandiego’s relationship. We’re good friends, nothing more.”

“Of course,” he nodded, but Julia could tell he had more to say.

Truly his detective skills have improved considerably as of late. It had become harder and harder for Julia to pass her excitement for those missions as simple passion for her work. Not when she had abandoned that work as soon as it conflicted with her passion for… something else.

Chase was her friend and she knew he’d understand her feelings for Carmen. She was also sure he’d do his best to keep it a secret until she was confident enough to bring these things to light. She trusted him and she didn’t fear anything of the sorts.

What she did fear was Chase trying to wingman for her. Just the thought was enough to fill her with dread. Enough dread to keep her mouth shut about her feelings in the vicinity of Agent Devineaux. Even if it felt bad to hide this from her friend.

Thankfully the Chief chose that exact moment to call her to give her updated information on their targets.

Now she could just shut off all these awkward feelings and focus on her work.

The Louvre had been an obvious target. The world’s most famous museum, home to thousands of priceless works of art, including the Mona Lisa itself. It was so obvious in fact that VILE had never bothered to consider it.

But VILE was gone now and its escaped students no longer had any faculty to dissuade them from this target.

That’s why Carmen now walked its halls, diligently searching for any security flaws that could be exploited and any sign of the two master thieves on the loose.

She still took time to appreciate the art of course. This was the most famous museum in the world for a reason and she wasn’t gonna let this unique opportunity escape her, even with the evil duo to watch for.

Carmen had her attention split in every possible direction, her mind juggling its many tasks as she wandered hall after hall. Until, that is, she found something that pulled her focus into one singular point.

A shorter woman in a nice fitted suit, standing before one of the statues.

“Jules,” she greeted as she walked up behind her.

“Miss Sandiego,” Julia smiled as she greeted her, utterly unsurprised. She must have been expecting her, “it’s nice to see you here.”

“It’s nice seeing you too,” she replied, “and we went over this before, Carmen is just fine.”

“Carmen,” she said, in a way that warmed Carmen’s heart, “I take it you’ve been enjoying your time in Paris.”

“Hard to go sightseeing while I’ve got work to do, but I’m making do,” she shrugged, “how about you? What caught your attention today?”

Julia turned back to the statue she had been appreciating until then, “Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss.”

Carmen smirked, it was her time to shine.

“Sculpted by Antonio Canova, commissioned by welsh art-collector John Campbell in 1787,” she recited from memory, “its prime version was acquired by the Louvre in 1824 after the death of its previous owner, Joachim Murat.”

“Very impressive,” Julia praised, “I wish my students put half as much time as you do into their research.”

“I’m just good at memorizing trivia,” Carmen shrugged, trying to hide her pride at earning that praise, “I’m sure you know so much more than me on the subject.”

Boy was Carmen right about that. That seemed to have been the cue to send Julia into a long lecture about the neoclassical and romantic periods, as well as an analysis of the sculpture’s mythological origins and the many interpretations of the myth.

Many people would probably find this amount of information unspeakably tedious. But for Carmen, who was always hungry to learn about the world around her (and could never get tired of Jules speaking so enthusiastically,) it was exciting and endearing.

Carmen had realized then that she wanted nothing more than to spend her every waking hour listening to Julia talk on and on about anything she wanted, as long as it was passionate like this. Maybe someday soon.

Right now they had the whole rest of the Louvre to scout.

“Alright, alright, victory is yours,” Carmen playfully interrupted, “I guess you really are the biggest history nerd here.”

“Oh I’m sorry, it seems I got a bit carried away,” Julia cringed in shame. Damn it Sandiego! “I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“You couldn’t bore me if you tried,” Carmen assured her as she placed a hand on her arm, “I mean it. It’s nice hearing you talk.”

“Unfortunately I no longer teach,” she replied, “otherwise I would have given you an open invitation to any of my classes.”

“Well, how about you show me around the place?” she suggested, “we can call this a private lesson.”

At that Julia smiled again, “then I hope your memory is as good as you say it is, Carmen Sandiego, because I’ll be quizzing you at the end of the tour.”

They both laughed as Julia led them along to the next art piece in what was clearly a meticulously planned tour of the museum. Jules kept her teacher face on for all of her little lectures, but as they walked from room to room it felt so simple and casual.

For once Carmen felt like there was no rush and that she could just enjoy her time with someone she cared about. Maybe that was the moment. Her chance to make something out of this and let Julia know how she felt.

“Hey, Jules,” she called, walking a little closer to her.

“Yes?” Julia turned to look at her, she seemed surprised by the sudden closeness, but did not move away from her.

Carmen decided to take that as a good sign.

“This has been really nice, you know?” she tried, her usual confidence failing her, “just spending time with you like this.”

“I guess it was,” she replied with- Wait, was that a blush? No, that had to be wishful thinking.

“Yeah,” she agreed, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck, “and I just feel like-”

It was then that she was rudely reminded of what she was here to do.

“-you have got to be kidding me!”

“What?” Julia jumped a little in surprise.

“5 o’clock, behind you,” Carmen instructed.

She turned to look and there they were. Tall, blonde and scheming, and short, monochromatic and homicidal. The two thieves they were here to catch. Two thieves that had also noticed them.

They both smirked at them for a moment, before Paper Star whispered something into Tigress’s ear and they both bolted in separate directions.

“I go for Tigress, you go for Paper Star,” Carmen ordered as she bolted after her target.

Tigress was the fastest of the two, and the one most likely to pull dirty tricks on them. Unfortunately for her, Carmen was well-versed in all of those tricks, and of course had all her equipment on her. It’s amazing how much she could hide in just a red hoodie.

Soon Tigress had led the both of them out of the main building, ready to make a run for it and disappear into the city. Her mistake though, was going somewhere Carmen could use her grappling hook without worrying about damaging priceless works of art.

She swung after her, quickly closing the distance and knocking her down with a kick to the stomach. Tigress groaned as she forced herself back up, but instead of running again or getting ready to fight Carmen, she simply shouted.

“Come on!”

“Done running around?” Carmen taunted.

“Yeah yeah whatever,” she replied. Well that was unusual, “did you girlfriend catch Paper Star already?”

“What!?” She nearly jumped in surprise, “She’s not- we’re not- that doesn’t matter! You’re going to jail, for good this time.”

“For what?” she replied.

“Trying to steal from the Louvre!”

“Ah yes, because that’s the only reason we’d be enjoying some time together in the city of love,” she mocked and rolled her eyes.

Was she implying what she thought she was implying?

“Aww, babe,” a voice above them called. Paper Star leaned out of a nearby window and openly teased her partner in crime.

Babe?

“She caught you already?” she continued

Tigress groaned again, “not my fault you got easy mode.”

Paper Star jumped down and casually hooked her arms around Tigress’s neck.

“Well I’ve won,” she declared, “now where’s my prize?”

The last thing Carmen expected was for the two of them to kiss right there in front of her, and yet that was exactly what they did.

“I did not need to see that!” She complained.

“You were the one who interrupted our date!” Tigress complained back.

“Do you seriously want me to believe that you two were just spending the evening together in the Louvre as a date?”

“Was that not what you and your little agent were doing too?” Paper Star teased.

Carmen’s reflex was to say no, but… was that what they were doing? They had been walking around, sightseeing, talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company and- oh god Carmen almost confessed to her back there.

This was her chance to have a proper date with Jules and it got ruined right at the finish line because of a mission that didn’t even exist in the first place!

She would have time to figure all of this out later, right now she had a job to do and two smug assholes to put in their place. Thankfully she already knew just how to do that.

“You’re right, it was very rude of me to interrupt your romantic evening,” Carmen raised her hands in surrender and backed away, “how about you two get back to what you were doing and I can arrest you both tomorrow?”

“What?” Tigress challenged, “no romantic chase over the rooftops of Paris?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend would love that,” Paper Star added.

“Actually I think Julia would rather just have you behind bars,” she shrugged.

Right on cue the ACME’s blue sleep gas finally reached the both of them, making them both drop on the spot. It was kinda cute how they were put to sleep still holding each other. Carmen almost felt bad for arresting them. Almost.

She pulled her grappling hook again and launched herself through the open window above, landing right next to a very proud Julia Argent.

“Two for one,” Carmen praised, “at this rate, pretty soon you won’t be needing my help anymore.”

“I appreciate the compliment, but I had my partner down there to keep them in place,” Julia replied playfully. Carmen’s heart skipped a beat at the word ‘partner’, even though she knew she meant it as coworkers.

“Always happy to play distraction for you, Jules,” she played along.

Taking another step forward, Carmen felt her sense of balance completely leave her as she accidentally inhaled some sleep gas fumes.

She tumbled forward, but before she hit the ground she felt Julia’s arms holding her up. It took her a second to shake away the effects of the gas, and another second to process the position they were in. How Julia was holding her like she had just dipped her in a dance.

For a moment they froze, staring into each other’s eyes as they held onto each other, until finally Julia helped her up again.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Julia apologized as she tried to fix up Carmen’s scuffed clothes.

“It’s fine,” Carmen assured her, “I should’ve been more careful around the sleep gas.”

Still Julia fussed over her, readjusting Carmen’s hoodie as she muttered a few more apologies. It took her a moment to notice just how close they were both standing now. The realization made her jump back a bit on reflex, but still she remained considerably close to Carmen.

She took a moment to collect herself before finally asking, “so uh- you had something you wanted to tell me?”

Carmen sighed in relief. Good to know those two hadn’t completely destroyed her chances.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed our time together today,” she admitted, “before we got interrupted that is.”

Julia gave her a genuine smile that made her heart stop, “I enjoyed our time too. It’s nice to be able to talk about these things outside of work.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, feeling her confidence return bit by bit, “wanna do that again sometime? Maybe over some coffee.”

Jules seemed surprised at first as she caught on to what Carmen meant, but that expression was quickly replaced by a playful smile.

“Carmen Sandiego,” she called, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Nothing escapes ACME’s best detective,” she joked, “I guess I am.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to wait a little for my answer,” she asked.

Carmen opened her mouth to say that she was more than fine with waiting however long she needed, but she was frozen mid motion when Julia’s lips met her own. A quick, sweet little peck.

“I want to finish our first before we plan the second.”

#carmen sandiego #julia argent #carulia #julesthief #fanfic

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emmy-writes-sometimes · 5 years ago

Text

The Hoodie Problem

A wardrobe mistake costs you and Henry the privacy of your relationship.

“No,” you groaned as your heard the dreaded chiming of the Alexa alarm. “No, no, no, turn it off!”

“You have to say its name, dearie,” a tired Henry grumbled in response. You could feel him pull you tighter, deeper into his warm arms. “Alexa, stop the alarm.” The alarm stopped right after.

“It’s currently 6:20 AM. The weather in London, England, is currently 6 degrees Celsius and will be sunny for the rest of the day. There are no unread emails for your .edu or gmail.com account. One package, containing 3 makeup brushes and dog treats will be arriving to 102…’

“Will she shut up?” You groaned in response, turning back into Henry’s warm body. The room was freezing cold, and the dog had already gotten off the bed.

“I don’t think she’s done yet.” In a single second, the opening riff of Back in Black started playing. “Alright, love, you actually need to go.”

“No,” you grumbled. “Fuck class, I don’t wanna go to class. I hate it anyway, and I don’t wanna sit there and listen to my history professor talk about an asshole and defend his work when it’s already shit anyway.” Henry chuckled, sending another wave of heat through your body, making you want to stay even more.

“You won’t get to argue your vulgar point if you’re late.” You sighed and started to sit up, yelling at Alexa to stop playing music. “Go, darling, otherwise I won’t get out of bed either.”

“You’re such an asshole in the morning,” you responded, wrestling yourself onto the floor. A gigantic ball of fluff followed you, expecting his breakfast. “Can I borrow a hoodie? Left mine in the laundry.”

“Which you only did so you can borrow one of mine. They should all be clean, just find one that can cover the bruises on your neck.” You sighed, spying a hoodie from a charity Rugby match Henry had done the month before, and after slapping deodorant onto your under-arms you pulled it on over her sports bra. You hoped it would be enough. Quite honestly, you didn’t care who saw the hickies on your neck. Anyone who was going to see was an adult who should act like an adult about it. Your hair would have to do since it wasn’t too greasy, and after deciding just to leave it down, you finished up in Henry’s adjoining bathroom and walked back to the bedroom.

“Covered?” You asked.

“Yep. Leave me your keys, take the Merc, and I’ll pick it up from the shop after my workout, I want them to check the paint on the hood, too.” He looked you up and down, sitting up in bed as you walked over to give him a kiss.

“Thanks, babe.”

“You look beautiful,” he responded with a smile.

“I do not.”

“You do!” Without bothering to look at the back of the sweatshirt, Henry got out of bed and went into the bathroom. You yawned as the massive dog zoomed down the stairs, waiting for breakfast. Kal sniffed around as you set foot on the stair landing, probably wondering why your vanilla perfume was mixed with the scent of Henry’s strong aftershave. Truth be told, you were glad. It was a comforting smell.

“Be a good boy, Kal, Papa’s gonna feed you in a minute.” The dog panted in excitement and went to go stand by his water bowl, where he would inevitably drool for the rest of the time until Henry came to feed him. You placed your things from the dining room table, your makeshift desk, into your backpack, refilled your water bottle, and took a few seconds to exchange your keys with Henry’s keys. With another glance around the house, making sure you didn’t leave any chargers behind, you walked out the front door and began to adjust Henry’s car to fit your height. You felt like something was off, but you couldn’t describe it. Instead you went to go get your coffee and find a place to park before your frightfully early class.

“You look knackered,” a voice said behind you as you finally climbed out of the car an hour and a half later. It wasn’t the first time you’d borrowed one of Henry’s cars, but at least it was the humblest of the three he had. The McLaren wasn’t something he even trusted himself to drive sometimes, he’d finally gotten rid of the Clio collecting dust at his parents’ house, and the Aston was his precious baby you didn’t dare go near. But you were endlessly grateful he let you borrow the Merc. You just wished it wasn’t so flashy. It was ten times flashier than the seven-year-old Hyundai you’d inherited from your mother. Especially in the parking spot right in front of the building ten minutes before class where people could see you getting out of it. The voice who’d spoken was Anna, your best friend, and supposed roommate if you ever came home.

“Trust me when I say that man needs a new coffee machine, because I’m sick of having to leave the house at seven in the morning to go buy some,” you groaned in response, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. It was heavy as hell, but you were carrying most of your things in it because you didn’t have time to go back to your barely lived-in dorm room. Your other hand held your gigantic coffee, the biggest one you could buy because apparently British people preferred caffeine-free tea in the morning. People called you absolutely crazy for getting cold drinks when it was cold outside, too, but you didn’t care.

“You realize your neck is completely purple, right? I doubt an espresso machine is the reason you’re so tied.” You scoffed at Anna’s statement. In reality it hadn’t been crazy sex keeping you up for the past few nights – you’d been working so late that Henry came up to you the night before and wouldn’t stop biting at your neck until you agreed to come to bed, hoping it would embarrass you into having better sleeping habits. But sex was a much better story.

“Is it really bad?” You asked.

“No. Not from the front.” Anna started walking backwards up the building’s staircase, opening the door for the two of you. Your classroom was the first one on the left, a massive auditorium, because everyone had to take the History of Wagnerian Opera class for some stupid reason. You took your normal places in the bright room, taking your laptops out onto the desks. You fully expected to have to plug it in, but Henry, the ever helpful boyfriend, had plugged it in when he found it half dead the night before.

“Had a rough night, did you, Yankee?” Another voice asked behind you. It was Isaac, another student you’d been friends with from the moment you stepped on campus.

“What on Earth gave you that idea?” You asked as you took a sip of coffee. Isaac leaned closer, looking down at the back of the sweatshirt you were wearing. The hood barely covered the top of the lettering on your back. It read Cavill in white letters, and underneath it was the number 01. It was obviously customized, and well-loved judging by the fading English rose that was the logo for Henry’s favorite team. It was about three sizes too large, too, adding to the evidence that the hoodie didn’t belong to you. Isaac and Anna knew you were dating Henry, but most people had no idea. It wasn’t like you were hiding it, because you weren’t. Henry just wanted to protect you from the craziness that came with dating him, including paparazzi and prying eyes that would try to find their way into every little thing you did with or without him. You hadn’t signed an NDA or anything, but Henry was insistent on protecting you for as long as he could. You were fourteen years younger than him and he loved you dearly and nothing could change that.

“You do realize that the back of your hoodie says HIS name on it, don’t you?” Isaac said quietly, hoping no one else in the auditorium heard.

“What?” You asked in response. You could feel your face going red.

“It says Cavill 01.”

“Oh, shit.” You couldn’t take it off because the only thing you were wearing underneath it was a thin sports bra, and of course Henry’s car was so spotless on the inside that there was no chance of there being an extra shirt in there. Come to think of it, he’d been lounging around in the sweatshirt the night before. Shit, you thought. How could you miss it? How could you screw up that badly? What if this ruined everything?

“Oh shit is right,” Anna remarked.

“Does my hair cover it?” Isaac looked down at your hair. The lecture was about to start, but the thought of maybe losing Henry over a hoodie made you want to sit in the corner and cry.

“No. Neither does the hood.” You sank lower into the seat.

“Maybe people won’t care. Cavill’s a common last name here.”

“No, not really. And I think they will.” You sighed, crossing your arms against your chest.

“Just don’t mention it to anybody and wear your bag when you can. Problem solved.”

“I’ll get you something else later,” Anna cut in. In reality everyone already knew something was up. You had mentioned a few times, offhand, that you had almost moved into your boyfriend’s house and was commuting from Kensington. And you mentioned one day that he was an actor, much less that he was one of the most well-known actors in the entire world. Your phone had his name as Hank, and even though the connection wasn’t immediate, it was still enough to make someone think of the name Henry. Damn the British and their overly common name diminutives.

“I swear to God, I’ll strangle whoever even thinks about it,” you sighed in response, putting your head down until the professor started class. You didn’t need to take notes quite yet, and pulled up the messages between you and Henry. The last night it was just on my way, got the food! And you are an absolute angel. Drive safe. His name wasn’t completely revealed at the conversation.

We have a problem. Henry started typing immediately.

You didn’t crash the car, did you????

No, but that probably would’ve been better…

Please explain.

Promise you won’t get mad?

What’s wrong???

I picked up your hoodie from last night and it has your name on the back and it hides my neck but it has your name on it and there’s nothing under it so I can’t take it off and I’m freaking out because you don’t want people to know and I’m sorry, I just screwed up so bad. I’m such an idiot.

It’s okay. Calm down. You’re not an idiot. You’re an absolute moron and I love you anyway

I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want anyone to know.

The only reason I didn’t want anyone to know is because I didn’t want anyone to make you upset because I’m stupidly in love with you and people will try to tell you otherwise. It’ll be okay. If they find out they find out. Don’t worry about it. Really.

I feel like an idiot now.

I’m sure you look better in it than I do anyway. Don’t worry about it, love. I’ll see you at home and we’ll figure it out.

Thank you.

I love you!!!!

Love you more dimples.

You smiled a little, sitting back into your chair and starting to type out notes about the dark undertones within Ride of the Valkyrie. For the rest of class, it was fine. But you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t nervous for your next class. Isaac wasn’t there to back you up, and Anna sat on the other side of the room because you always distracted each other. You were on your own, taking in the scent of Henry’s aftershave that was left on the sweatshirt from the night before. It helped you calm down at least a little, even if the name on the back made you nervous. You sat lower in the chair than usual, but it didn’t stop at least one person knowing.

“You like Henry Cavill too?” Elizabeth, the most annoying person on Earth (and a completely mediocre pianist with no sense of emotion who only got in because her father works for the royal family), said as she strained to read the sweatshirt on the way to her seat.

“Yep.” You tried to play it off and wipe out the conversation before it even started. Never before had you wanted to listen to your old white professor rant about other old dead white guys. “He’s a good actor.”

“I’m, like, so in love with him,” Elizabeth responded. Henry rolled his eyes every single time you said a word about Elizabeth, but you’d never tell her that. “Like, he’s just so dreamy.”

“Oh, yeah,” you responded without even thinking. “He’s gorgeous.” You didn’t even realize what you said until Elizabeth’s eyes danced with a grin that matched her mouth.

“You know him?” She exclaimed.

“I mean, um, yeah, my internship…” you tried to cover, but it definitely didn’t work.

“Shut up, you know him? Or, oh my gosh, is he the guy you’re dating?” You could tell that all of the color drained from your face and the room suddenly felt hot. You weren’t going to lie about it, but she would also be one of the first few people to know. And it wouldn’t be long before she blabbed her mouth to her followers.

“I heard he likes younger girls anyway,” Ellen, the girl who sat behind Elizabeth, said. That was the cue for you to realize that everyone else was listening, too, and they couldn’t just mind their business. Your hands shifted uncomfortably inside the pocket of Henry’s sweatshirt. The room was definitely getting warmer.

“Yeah,” you responded quietly. “We’ve been dating a few months and didn’t want to tell anyone yet. But you figured it out, so congrats.” You swallowed a lump in your throat. On the one hand you were glad that it wasn’t going to be a secret anymore. You didn’t want to hide how much you loved the curly-haired idiot who was too large for his own good.

“Oh my GOD!” Elizabeth said excitedly. She was a little too loud with it. You just turned back around and pulled out your phone, hands shaking from the anxiety of what Henry had said. He said you were good enough, but what happened when the world was able to judge you?

Well, Elizabeth figured it out. Not long until she spills to her 22 followers. And then their 22 followers.

At least I can post that picture you took with me on the beach…

The ugly one where I almost drowned after? Nooooo please!!!

Oh that’s not what I was thinking about, but now that you mention it, my fingers might just slip…

This conversation is DONE, fat Cavill! I swear I’ll punch the dimples right out of you.

You underestimate me, little one.

Cavill, this class is an hour long and I swear if I get out and you did something I will make you sleep on your own couch for the next year.

Guess you’ll just have to fight me when you get home…

With that, the conversation was over. Most people in the room didn’t seem to notice or care, but Elizabeth and Ellie did. Your friends didn’t for the most part, but you would assume some would turn on you. And you could tell that they were going to do whatever they could to make sure everyone knew that they knew before anyone else. It was strange to think that Henry was being so cool with it, that he wanted there to be a before people knew and an after. You shut your mind off and did your best to focus, even though it wasn’t very well.

You got up at the end of class and packed your things, ready to brave the library until your next class, but you exited the room and there was someone standing at the entry hallway. Henry. And he was holding another coffee in one hand, and draped on his other arm was a shirt. He’d never been in public with you without some stupid disguise on, much less to bring you coffee in between classes.

“Henry?” You asked, slightly too loudly. Elizabeth and Ellen turned toward you, but you blew past them to see Henry. He was grinning, from ear to ear.

“So apparently, according to the internet in the past few minutes I’ve been in the car, I’m cradle robbing. Apparently you’re Instagram-model material, which I could’ve told you,” he said. “I brought you another coffee for dealing with bullshit, and I brought you another shirt in case you want to change.”

“Can I keep this one?” You asked, looking down at Henry’s that you were still wearing. “And you didn’t post the bad picture of me yet?”

“No, I was waiting for your approval,” he responded. He reached for his phone and handed it to you, and it was opened to a set of pictures he hadn’t posted yet.

@henrycavill: The real Mission Impossible is getting her to stay still long enough to take a picture with her favorite old man. To be clear, though; she is MINE and I couldn’t be happier. I will sword-fight ANYONE to defend her honor!!

It was a series of five pictures, all of them the two of you together, some of them cuter than others, and you just grinned. You couldn’t believe he was okay with everything, and you couldn’t believe that he was actually standing there with you, braving the people in your class just to hand you a coffee and offer you a shirt.

“I love you,” you said quietly. He smiled in response. “Really.”

“I love you too. I don’t care who knows.” You laughed and hugged him tightly, even though he was still holding your coffee. “But I do want the Merc back, your car is outside.”

“Whatever you say, cradle-robber.”

A/N: I’m in an opera history class right now and it’s so frustrating that I’m definitely taking it out here. I hope the person who requests this loves it as much as I did because omg I love this 😭

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill imagine

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teamdoubleoh · 4 years ago

Text

Rings - 00Q secret marriage AU

pt. 1/2 pt. 2/2

Q and Bond flirt and MI6 ships it. There is a betting pool.

wordcount: 2791

Many thanks to Kira for helping me figure out the ending.

007 and the Quartermaster meet.

Really, the minions should have seen it coming. So should have R and Eve Moneypenny and M and the rest of the double 0s.

Introducing 007 to the Quartermaster had been the simultaneously best and worst decision MI6 had made since the founding of the double-0 program but the meeting of the youngest Quartermaster and the oldest serving Double-0 in the history of MI6 had not only been inevitable; at that point no one had really had any idea of what they were getting into.

Their fist meeting had been witnessed only by R, who was in Q’s ear at the time, and a few minions who kept tabs on the Quartermaster via CCTV, both of which was a plain matter of security.

It had been a smooth affair. Q had been brought to the National Gallery in a standard issue vehicle and entered the building with only a brief glance at the cameras above. He had strolled around for a bit, perfectly anonymous to everyone around him.

Then he had reached the meeting point and 007 had been waiting, ready to receive his papers and equipment.

»…Always makes me feel a bit melancholy. Grand old warship being ominously hauled away to scrap… Inevitability of time, don’t you think? What do you see?«

The cameras hadn’t been able to capture the slyness of the smirk in its entirety, and neither would they catch the cynicism in 007’s voice when he answered,

»A bloody big ship. Excuse me.«

Then Bond had turned away, and it had seemed as though he really was about to leave, had it not been for the very slightest of smiles on his face.

»I’m your new Quartermaster.« Q said, still facing the painting of ›A bloody big ship‹

Bond sat back down.

»You must be joking.«

»Why? Because I’m not wearing a lab coat?«

»Because you still have spots.«

»My complexion is hardly relevant.«

»Your competence is.«

»Age is no guarantee of efficiency.«

»And youth is no guarantee of innovation.«

The whole exchange had been laced with a hint of amusement that went over the heads of the Minions, whose grainy CCTV feeds and earpieces could only pick up so much.

They didn’t catch the glistening of a pair of rings on the Mens ring fingers either.

Later all present observers would agreed that, in retrospect, this was the point from which it had gone downhill. Though ›downhill‹ was the wrong expression entirely, because the Quartermaster and 007 had caught on like a house on fire.

And so it had begun.

When Bond wasn’t on mission he hung around Q-branch and tailed Q. Sometimes he would flirt in his not-so-subtle ways or bring Q fresh cups of earl grey.

Q flirted back be either complaining endlessly about Bond’s tea or not complaining at all, depending on how busy he was.

After a week of this Q branch had opened a betting pool on when and how they’d go on a date.

When Eve first found out she was close to furious - about not being told that is - and regularly joined the Minions on breaks to discuss the latest gossip.

Once Bond had brought Q Indian takeaway after returning from a mission. The wagers rose immediately.

Then Spectre happened. Bond had gone with Madeline and the entirety of Q-Branch and all of the double-0s were ready to murder Bond and incredibly careful around Q.

Q didn’t seem to care that Bond had run off but everyone at MI6 who was at least slightly invested in the matter was secretly convinced he was just putting on a brave face.

A few weeks after Bonds disappearance Eve and R - who was a mother hen to everyone in Q-Branch - told Q that he should just forget Bond; in response Q only looked at them like they’d just told him to get a job at an Internet café and asked what they meant by that.

Eve and R retold the exchange during break and again there was a major shift in the bettings. Not that anyone was having any doubts about the Quartermaster and 007 ending up together, but the predicted time for a first date moved back considerably.

Of course Bond came back eventually, as he always did.

He even brought with him all of his equipment, most of which was intact, including the Aston Martin which sported a new set of scratches but was otherwise fully functioning. When Bond entered Q-Branch - for the first time in six months after dropping of the radar as well as everyone’s favours - Q looked up from his Laptop, smirked at Bond when he laid out the equipment carefully on his desk and said with an eerie lightness in his voice: »Thank god you didn’t ruin the car. I’d hate to rebuild it from scratch again.«

Bond returned the smile and answered in his usual flirtatious tone »Don’t get used to it. I don’t think I’ll do a mission that quiet or extensive ever again.«

Q put his head to one side, and squinted at Bond and mused, »I suppose not, no. Yet another broken record, hm 007?«

Bond considered this for a moment, but refrained from answering and instead took Q’s empty scrabble mug and ventured to the Q-Branch break room to make a new cuppa.

The minions, who had collectively held their breath since 007 had set foot in Q-Branch, exhaled slowly and carefully but didn’t refrain from retelling the situation in vivid, if not dramatic detail to Eve and the agents during lunch. Eve later told M while delivering files.

Not a full 24 hours after Bond’s return everyone in on the situation had changed their bettings again.

By day three of 007’s - ‘unexpected’ wasn’t the right word, considering the bets had still run high during his time of absence - return, Bond had taken it onto himself to make sure the Quartermaster drank and ate properly and even organised a large couch from one of the waiting rooms to put in Q’s office. He denied that the sudden appearance of a bed substitute had anything to do with him, claiming he wouldn’t care how or where Q spent the night.

His lie would have been more believable had Bond not spent the better part of the last two days trying to convince the Quartermaster to sleep more.

Q only rolled his eyes so far back it looked painful and turned to work on a new project.

Obviously the information on Bond’s exact phrasing was passed around MI6 carefully and was thoroughly discussed during coffee break. By the end of the week everyone at MI6 was convinced Bond had stopped seeing other people altogether in an effort to get the Quartermaster to have dinner with him.

Then Bond was cleared for the field.

While he regularly lost his MI6 issued watches and guns, he always returned whatever communication device he was entrusted with. Q seemed to appreciate this, and always smiled brightly at the agent when he carefully placed the most recent earpiece or radio on Q’s desk. While the betting pool was often reset by a few days or even weeks it was only once after Bonds disappearance, that it was collectively delayed by more than five months.

Five weeks after Bond’s return to MI6, R checked into the google docs spreadsheet that the Minions had created to keep tract of the wagers, only to find that almost everyone had changed their wagers to an average of plus seven months until first date.

Confused she checked the minion group chat and, upon realising that something had happened during her off-shift, got Minion #22, Lake, to summarise why exactly there had been such a massive delay in the predicted dates.

Apparently Bond had come down to Q-Branch after spending his morning at the gym, which was not unusual. He had sported black slacks and a white shirt and the top three buttons had been undone.

That was unusual. R didn’t think she’d seen 007 without tie ever.

And Bond had been wearing a necklace, #22 continued, but not any necklace. There’d been a ring on it. It had been a simple gold band, fitted to someone with rather thin fingers in comparison to 007 himself.

The Minions had come to the obvious conclusion; Bond had been married and, whatever had happened to the original wearer of the ring, Bond wasn’t over it.

R contacted Eve Moneypenny.

To the dismay of all of MI6, while Bond kept flirting with Q and regularly fed him take-away, Q didn’t respond to his efforts any different from before. He ate and drank what Bond handed him, and even sometimes took a nap. Not once Q answered Bond’s offers to take him out for dinner with anything but an exasperated sigh.

R didn't get to see the fabled ring until two months later.

Bond was on a mission in Lebanon, trying to seduce a woman who knew something. Getting into the party had been ridiculously easy and within ten minutes of his arrival at the luxurious villa Bond was surrounded by pleasant music, thick red carpets and about two hundred strategically placed candles, that basked the crowd in golden light.

Bond was currently talking to a grey haired man sporting a white suit, whose tongue had been loosened by the free champagne significantly since the beginning of the event.

When the target entered the room every one present turned to towards her, including Bond. The grey haired man seemed to read his expression all to easily - though admittedly the years as spy had made Bond a formidable actor.

The man took another champagne flute from one of the passing waiters - his fifth - and shook his head at Bond, when he turned back to him. "Oh that is an expression I have seen before." He slurred.

Bond cocked one eyebrow.

"That look on your face, Mr. Sterling. Forget it. She doesn't go for men like us."

"Men like us?" Bond asked with an easy smile.

The target was, according to her files, eight years older than him, and the grey haired man was older than her by a few years, so age couldn’t be the deciding factor, and neither could money, as Bond was ‘Mr. Sterling’ tonight.

The grey-haired man sighed with all the theatrical expertise of a sixth grader. "She likes to go for married men -- Only for married men, ever since her husband died - the third one I mean." He hiccuped.

Q-branch was dead silent.

So was Bond, for a split second.

Then he turned away from his conversational partner and took a step into the crowd.

R, who was on CCTV duty for the night, could see him open his mouth to speak-

"Not a word James." Q unceremoniously cut off what ever Bond might have said. The place had excellent cameras, R found, as she watched Bond smile innocently.

"I don't know whatever you could mean, dear Quartermaster."

Q groaned and shoved up his glasses over his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Oh, grow up 007 -- Just do it."

Bond reached in the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a chain with a ring on it.

Judging by the reaction of the minions - a collective intact of breath that was so blatantly obvious that even Q briefly looked up from his laptop in confusion - this was the necklace Bond had been wearing a few months back.

Bond, unaware of the consequences of his actions to the betting pool, opened the chains fastener and pulled the ring off. Then he carefully placed the chain back in his pocket and slipped the ring on his left ring finger where it fit surprisingly well. He straightened his suit jacket and made his way across the room to their target.

The rest of the mission passed in a haze.

Bond seduced the woman, who was convinced that he was a married man and thus more or less openly spilled some secrets MI6 had been after for weeks -- as well as some no one had had any idea about, but they weren’t going to complain about that, were they.

The intel was transmitted via Q-branch to the recipient, 004 - R's fiancé, currently on mission to snuff out a child trafficking ring in the north of the united States - and Bond, for once perfectly following his orders to return immediately, managed to grab the first plane to England the following morning.

What MI6 personnel found much more interesting than the gathered intel was the fact that not only was Bond apparently over his marriage - or at least had no problem using it to his advantage - but Q had apparently been well aware the spies former engagement.

Within three hours the betting pool was fully reset once again.

Bonds flight -Beirut to London, almost 2000 kilometres - took four hours which he spent sleeping. When he arrived at Heathrow, still quite tired, he found that Q had already organised a non descriptive silver car to take him back to MI6. Yet, by the time Bond finally reached the steel doors of Q branch it was 10 am and the day shift had taken over again. The only thing he wanted now was a warm bed with a Quartermaster in it, and since Q had worked even longer than he had he woudn’t object to James taking him home. If you asked James he slept way too little anyways.

Bond put his Hand on the scanner to his left and waited till it had picked up his handprint - something Q branch apparently had an obsession with - and stepped through the opening doors.

R sighed. Deeply. She was supposed to be at home by now, enjoying the off time or sleeping, yet here she was, sitting at her desk, working on a project. And it was all Bond's fault.

Well technically.

She just wanted to be present for 007 return - usually the best time to pick up fresh gossip about the Agents budding relationship with the quartermaster. Unfortunately she now could barely keep her eyes open. Time for another coffee then. She stood, cup in hand, when the for opened and Bond strode in. Fucking finally.

As usual Bond went straight for the Quartermasters desk at the back centre of the room where Q was sitting, typing idly away on his sticker covered laptop.

As usual Q looked up at the sound of Bonds steps on the cold concrete floor, a smile forming on his lips. Since Bond hadn’t been equipped with anything more than a com system for the mission, only carefully placed the small device on Q’s desk.

“You know 007, I might just start equipping you with only a com. At least if I don’t give you any tech, you won’t be able to loose it, hm?”

“Aw Q, you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Q didn’t answer.

“Would you?”

Q wasn’t listening. Even from R’s position pretty much all the way across the room it was clear that he was staring at Bonds hand. The one with the Ring on it.

Now even James noticed that something was amiss.

Q stood from his chair and extended his hand towards 007. “James, Hand over the Ring.” There was something in his voice that was a perfect mix of annoyance and fondness - which confused R a great deal.

Bond liftend his hand and pulled the ring off. It must have been a little too tight because he struggled quite a bit before dropping it in Q’s outstretched hand.

R took a step towards Q’s desk, to have a closer look. By now the attention of the entire room was in Q and 007.

Q rummaged with his free left hand through the pocket of his cardigan and pulled out a gold ring that seemed - to everyones surprise - to be the exact same Bond had just handed him, safe for the size. Bond’s ring was narrower, while Q’s looked like it would fit comfortably on the Quartermaster thumb.

Q took the larger ring and slipped it onto Bond’s outstretched finger, where it fir perfectly. Bond smiled, not fazed in the least.

“I was wondering why it was so tight.”

Q scoffed. “Oh yes, it’s almost as though there was a reason they get fitted, hm?”

Bond’s smile only widened as he picked up the smaller ring to slip it onto Q’s ring finger, apparently completely unaware of the minions shocked expressions around them.

“Join me for dinner then, Quartermaster?”

R chocked on air, but Q only rolled his eyes and shut down his laptop, carefully placing it in his messenger bag.

“James, for the love of god. It’s 10:12 am and I just completed a 38 hour shift.“

Bond’s smirk only grew as he offered his left arm for Q to take. “Bed it is then.”

#007 fest 2020 #team00 #005.Vi #00q #secret marriage #though its really not secret #everyone is just unobservant #they bicker #like and old married couple #hint hint

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letsperaltiago · 4 years ago

Text

one single thread of gold tied me to you

From the very first time Jake mentions her name, Karen sees a thread of gold tying him to Amy. In other words: a series of small moments in which Jake is talking to Karen about Amy.

Jake talking to Karen about Amy throughout their relationship

Read here or on AO3

The new girl

“Anything exciting happening at work?”

“Nah,” Jake halts, pausing to think between bites of the dinner Karen has prepared for the two of them. Because he’s the only child (and the fact that he’s a huge momma’s boy) he tries to stop by Karen’s once a week. Either for a quick chat and a coffee or longer. If the latter includes dinner, which it often does, then it’s always a huge plus. Tonight’s visit is one of the longer ones, much needed, and of course dinner is a must.

“Or,” he takes back his prior dismissal. “Like, this new girl joined the squad last week, so that’s… exciting, I guess?”

Karen’s head perks up letting her son know that she’s indeed listening.

“Well that’s always a good thing. What’s her name?”

By then Jake is already busy chewing on another bite of her mom’s baked potatoes - a personal favorite of his. Then again any food his mom makes is his favorite.

“Amy Santiago. She seems cool enough, I guess. Then again she just arrived so I guess I’ll have to see.”

Although the world, more specifically Jake, isn’t aware of it yet, the spinning of his and Amy’s golden thread commences its journey here. Karen smiles to herself as this, she realises, is the perfect opportunity for her to pick a bit on her son who’s never shy of teasing her. Lovingly, of course.

“Maybe she’s cool enough to date?”

The statement immediately interrupts his before eager chewing, a press on his entire body’s pause button, and earns Karen a deadpan expression as answer to her so-called proposition.

“Mom, please.”

There’s small smile on his face as he knows his mom is out to pester him. “Charles already went all Cupid on us when she arrived, so the last thing she needs is me hitting on her. Plus,” he’s back to being chewing on a mix of potatoes and meat, “I don’t even know her.”

“Well that’s just a matter of time, honey.”

Having nothing else to add he figures a shrug must be answer enough.

“Anyways,” he looks back up from his plate to his mother. “How’s Carla?”

Rivalling close friends

For her son’s birthday Karen has invited the squad over to her place for a celebratory dinner. At this point, since they’re good at dropping by if they’re ever in her neighbourhood or nearby for work, she’s familiar with most of the people Jake spends 95% of his time with - this with an exception of Amy and Holt.

They’re setting the table while Jake gives her one last quick rundown of the 99th precinct’s squad, so Karen is sure of who the different people are.

“… And Amy, besides Holt, is the last one to have joined the squad. She’s that super neat, kinda annoying one, I’ve told you about. You know, the one who tells me that I can’t eat in her car, and constantly corrects my grammar.”

“I thought you liked her?” He can’t see tell, since he’s busy setting the table, but Karen frowns finding it unlikely that her son suddenly has something against a colleague he most of the time spoke so highly of.

“I do, mom and that’s what’s so annoying. She’s the worst and best of all worlds...” He pauses in the middle of putting down a plate giving himself some time to turn over his thoughts. “… I mean, she probably is my best friend at this point, besides Charles, yanno? But please don’t tell him I said that. His little heart can’t take it.”

“Because of jealousy or because he’s dying to see you and Amy together?”

“Both,” Jake chuckles shaking his head in disbelief of the fact that he puts up with this situation daily.

Karen knows Jake’s “brother from another mother”, how the little man had introduced himself the first time she met him, very well and can’t hold back a chuckle at the very vivid mental picture of a both jealous but also over the moon Charles.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

It brings an even wider smile to his face upon seeing his mother pretending to lock her lips and throw away an invisible key. Okay, maybe his mom is his best friend, but Amy and Charles are a close second.

Sadly Amy has fallen sick and never makes it to the birthday dinner, but upon arrival Rosa hands him a pretty gift bag with a tiny card and impeccable handwriting that says: Happy birthday, Pineapples ;) Inside the bag he finds the limited edition Die Hard 2: Die Harder-poster that had smashed his heart to pieces when someone had outbidded him for it on eBay. Little had he known it was Amy, sitting just a few feet away by her desk opposite of him, who’d outdone his bid with a sly smirk on her face. A smile which she could hide behind the big computer screen.

The smile on his face is impossible to hide and he immediately sends her a text:

‘ur gift made me die hard!!! guess ur not so bad after all ;) all kidding aside thank u so much and get well soon <3’

Later that night after everyone has left, he’s helping his mom cleaning the kitchen. Suddenly she hands over a homemade doggy bag with leftovers from the dinner.

“Don’t you think sweet, sick Amy deserves this after the gift she gave you?”

Her smirk doesn’t go unnoticed.

Jake of course agrees and later, on his way home, he drops it off at Amy’s place. It being late and not wanting to wake her up, he leaves it on her doorstep and sends her a text for her to see whenever she wakes up:

‘the bag on ur doorstep is not a bomb but a care package from mother peralta. hope ur feeling better but if u dont can i have your desk at work?’

A few days later Karen texts him a picture of a beautiful thank you card with the infamous, neatly Santiago style-written message thanking her for the thoughtful gesture. Jake smiles to himself and replies with a simple: ‘shes a good 1’

Unconsciously developing feelings

He never explicitly tells her. Still, Karen has her suspicions and they only grow every time her son mentions Amy’s name. Sooner rather than later it becomes very clear to her: her son would go to great lengths for his partner - even though he isn’t ready to acknowledge it yet.

“Mom, there’s no way I’m losing my car to her. I’m gonna take her on a date and she’s going to hate it and i’m going to love it- I mean… love her misery,” he corrects himself.

Karen is leaning against the doorframe to his still unaltered childhood bedroom, where Jake is currently rummaging through boxes containing a mix of childhood memories, dust and worthless nick-nack.

“You don’t happen to still have those old pictures of me and Jenny Gildenhorn, do you? I want to find an exact replica of Jenny’s hideous blue dress to torture Amy with.”

Knowing of Jake’s repressed, yet to be realised feelings, because a mother does know best, Karen rolls her eyes. He doesn’t notice. Probably because he has his head buried under his bed looking for more boxes and childhood treasures. Telling him to look for acknowledgement of his feelings for Amy while he’s down there is almost too tempting, but Karen manages to bite her lip. Hopefully he’ll see it himself one day… Or just keep talking the way he already does about her, even when complaining; it’s always with some kind of admiration. Karen sees the little twinkles in his eyes whenever the raven haired detective is brought up in a conversation.

To Amy’s sheer luck, Karen of course has loads of childhood pictures stored in a box in the garage and she gets to sit by knowingly as Jake searches multiple internet websites for the most horrible, blue, 80s dress possible. “Oh, mom… She’s going to hate this so much. Amazing.”

She doesn’t say anything but smiles knowingly as her son sits on her couch, laptop in his lap, a boyish smile telling her that he is up to no good as he plans the (best) worst date for his “just a good friend”.

Pining

Everything seems harder at the moment. At least harder than what he’d like, Jake thinks to himself as he lies in bed, feeling tipsy from the few beers he had a Shaw’s. He knows he should just sleep but for some reason he can’t. Instead he tortures himself by staring at the ceiling which is definitely spinning - just a tiny bit though, he tries to convince himself.

He’s just come back from being undercover, and although it was kind of fun and definitely exciting in more ways than one, deep down inside he can’t deny that a tiny part of him had hoped Amy by now would give them a chance. It’s not that he’d expected her to break up with Teddy for him - it was her life to control after all. Not his. Although there was no shame in dreaming; dreaming that she’d welcome him back to the 9-9 with a slow motion run and kiss that would blow them both away, telling him that Teddy and his pilsners were out of the picture and that they belonged together; all this time they’d been destined to belong to no one else but each other.

Alas this wasn’t the case and he returned from the mafia to a:

“I’m still with Teddy.”

The short sentence plays over and over in his head like a broken record he can’t turn off. The worst soundtrack of his life - without a doubt. Suddenly his phones rings, interrupting his spiralling thoughts.

“Hi, Mom,” he mumbles not hiding the fact that he’s exhausted, physically as well as mentally, and tipsy.

“Hi, honey. How did your first day back go?”

“It was... fine. Good to see everyone.”

Good to see Amy, Karen thinks before she does a double take when she picks up on her son’s voice clearly representing a moody side of him she, or anyone, rarely gets to see.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing, It’s-” he starts out not wanting to get into it, because feelings are messy and he always ends up being the hurt one anyways… But on the other hand, he thinks, his mom will figure out either way - if she hasn’t already. Perhaps his lack of soberness also takes part in his sudden honesty.

“Amy,” he sighs.

“Is everything all right with her?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. I just-” he pauses. “She’s with this guy and-”

“You wish she wasn’t?” Karen beats him to it and finishes the sentence for him.

“Yeah or- I don’t know. I want her to be happy but...” he sounds utterly defeated to a point that hints at teary, she can tell even though she can’t see him. In that moment Karen wants nothing more than hug her little boy. “I really like her, mom.”

His voice never breaks entirely but it’s a fine line he’s walking throughout the entire conversation. Everything pours out of him; he’s a book of sentimental secrets opening up about his Achilles’ heel for the first time and all his mother can do is listen as he describes his favorite parts of Amy (which is pretty much everything): everything from the way her dark ponytail swings back and forth with purpose when she walks to a crime scene to how, when they’re out drinking with the squad, she always get him a beer whenever she gets up to get herself one.

It’s almost as if the spinning of the golden thread, still unknown to the world, between him and Amy is slowly choking him.

“I want her to be happy, mom… I just-” he almost dozes off before finishing the sentence but fights through it and it’s all at once incredibly endearing and heartbreaking to Karen who’s still listening from her end of the line.

“... I just wish she would be happy with me instead.”

New couple

It’s truly unbelievable. Jake can’t believe he’s about call his mom to tell her: tell her that he’s with Amy now.

It’s been a month now; a month of him being with Amy and being so very happy he still can’t believe he’s been spending all this time not feeling like this. However, not wanting to rush things or put any pressure on either of them, simply enjoying being together, no one else but the squad knows about them.

Them. Him and Amy. A thing.

Just thinking about him and Amy that way, it almost makes him dizzy of pure disbelief. There had been so much buildup, such a long history of back and forth, bad timing, but all that aside now here they were. Amy Santiago was his girlfriend. Maybe that is the thought that causes his heart to take on a way too quick beating pattern and the hand holding his phone to become clammy. Now is the time though and he doesn’t hesitate to hit his mom’s contact. It rings. Jake can clearly hear his heart thump loudly against his ribcage. Should he be this nervous?

One time.

Two times.

Thre-

“Hi, honey,�� his mom’s warm chipper voice interrupts the monotone ringing instantly making his lips spread into a small smile and heart take a break from the irrational thumping.

“Hey, mom,” he starts pacing around his apartment in attempt of diverting all the energy and emotions rushing through him, unconsciously bringing him everywhere from his bed to his kitchen.

“So it’s actually been a little while now… And I haven’t said anything since I didn’t want to rush anything but,” he cuts the sentence in two with a deep breath. “So, like… Amy and I are dating... together... her and I,” he starts rambling and wow he really should’ve written this down first. Karen doesn’t let it go on for too long though too excited to not say anything.

“Honey, I’m so so happy for you two! And it was about time that you finally told me!”

Jake’s pacing stops on the spot.

“What do you mean “finally”?”

“Oh, Jake... Sometimes I think you forget that mothers know everything. Plus you’re not very good at hiding… bruises,” she clears her throat, emphasizing what she’s really saying while imagining her son blush on his end of the line. “Also you’ve been visiting less and less, which means someone else has to take up your time.Someone who is even cooler than your very own mom, someone who makes you this gitty and nervous to talk about… It had to be her you were calling about.”

The smile in her voice is clear as day, but Jake is still baffled trying to come up with an explanation or the very least a decent answer. There is none, he quickly abandons the plan and instead lets out a happy huff.

“She’s really cool, mom. So cool. The last month has been like… the best. I don’t know how else to describe it. She’s the best.”

Compared to the defeated and heartbroken man she spoke to all those months ago, after his return from being undercover, this is a whole new version of her son that she’s longed to see. Karen can’t physically see him but can still clearly tell he’s flipped the page and is taking on a better chapter of his life.

Early relationship

It’s another night at his mom’s. Although the motivation behind the visit is a tiny bit different than usual this time. Sure, they’re gonna talk and have a nice dinner prepared by Karen as per usual, although tonight the mother has to nurse a whiny Jake who’s missing his dear but very out of town for the week-girlfriend. And the experience feels… mixed.

“Dinner is ready!”

No response.

She looks up from where she’s just carefully put down a sizzling pan to see her son back against the one arm of her armchair with his legs svung over the other. Physically he might be close but mentally he’s so far away, clearly more focused on whatever is going on on his phone’s screen.

“Jake,” she tries again but rather than giving his mother a reply Jake start typing as if nothing or noone was within miles of him. Karen can’t help but feel like she’s raising a teenager all over again, a teenager with the attention span of a goldfish, although this time her son is actually in his late 30s, lives by himself and has a girlfriend. So little yet so much has changed about him.

“Jacob,” she tries with her more more stern voice. She knows what he’s doing, texting Amy, and even though it’s cute he needs to snap out of it. At least for long enough to eat. He finally reacts and looks in her direction. Realization hits him which immediately prompts him to push himself out of the seat.

“If you stop eating you won’t even be alive to see her when she comes back.”

He deserves to be teased, he figures.

“I’m sorry. It was a text from Amy and I just wanted to reply right away. I just really miss her, I guess... and this is the closest we’ll get to talking today since she’s busy with her family, so...”

He leaves his phone behind on the coffee table, implicitly letting his mother know she’s got his (somewhat) full attention from now on.

“It’s so weird. We’ve only been together for like...” he counts in his head. “... 5 months now, but I already can’t stand being away from her for too long. Am I insane?” he drops down into his usual seat by the dinner table, almost in defeat but Karen is quick to rescue him in his moment of overdramatic despair.

“No you’re not, I assure you.”

Karen grabs his hand to stroke it comfortingly. She knows her son didn’t mean to be rude, didn’t mean to ignore her and she loves how much he’s opened up about his emotions since getting together with Amy.

“It’s a good sign that you care so much, but just remember that distance makes the heart grow fonder and it’ll feel even better when she comes back… and until then you can let your old mom entertain you.”

They share a chuckle because they both know what that means.

“Did you get ice cream?” he asks.

“Strawberry, chocolate chip and cookie dough… and to top it off: Die Hard is ready to play the second we’re done eating and doing the dishes.”

It’s a little tradition of theirs: their shared comfort snack plus movie-combo.

“You know me so well,” Jake smiles almost forgetting about missing Amy.

If not for the rest of the week then at least for a couple of hours.

Going steady

This week is a a lot different from the usual. While it’s not every single week they actually manage to see each other or even get the time to talk, Karen knows for sure that she won’t hear from her son for at least a couple of days. Jake is away on a cruise with Amy, and so besides the few pictures he’s texted her of them eating shrimp in bed (she wonders how he talked Amy into that) and a huge seagull stealing some of Amy’s fries, Karen doesn’t expect a whole lot of her son’s attention that week.

Which is why she is extremely surprised when her phone rings, her son’s picture and name displayed on her phone, in the middle of the night. Yes, the element of surprise is of course due to the fact that she knows he’s busy being away with Amy, but also much due the time at which he calls.

01:21

A mother’s undeniable fear and worry for her child never goes away, no matter how old said child is, and it now creeps in making her fear that the worst has happened. What could possibly lead him to call this late? She frantically grabs her phone from her night stand.

“Jake, it’s in the middle of the night. Is everything okay?” She doesn’t mean to come off as accusing but she’s definitely trying to get to the bottom of the mystery right away.

“I love her.”

It falls from his lips, very out of nowhere, and it’s hard to tell within what context it is to be interpreted. Interlacing with his voice is the sound of crashing waves and a strong breeze making Karen wonder where her son finds himself.

“Honey, what do you mean? Where are you?”

Maybe she should’ve understood right away, it was obvious, but not only was she sleeping just seconds ago but the background noise on his end of the line only makes the whole scene way more confusing than it already is.

He breathes, out of breath almost as if he’s been running. “I’m outside. On the deck. And I love her, mom.”

“The deck?”

“No,” he pauses catching his breath. “Amy. I told her… Or she told me first and then I told her back. Nothing has ever felt more right.”

That makes way more sense, Karen thinks although still quite unsure of exactly why he’s calling her. All that aside her heart is flooded with happiness, when she realises her son is not out of breath from running or crying, but rather all the emotions he must be feeling.

“Aw, Jake. I’m so happy for you. I know how much she means to you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah… You’ve changed so much throughout your relationship with Amy and it’s only for the better. You were already wonderful, you’re my son after all, but she brings out so much more good in you. This was only a matter of time. I think you’ve loved her for longer than you think.”

Another silence allows the crashing waves and whistling night wind to make an appearance. Following words almost fall off his lips in a tremble but Karen can tell it’s because he’s moved and is trying to collect himself, his emotions and thoughts. This is a big step for him - she knows.

“I have. And I don’t think I wanna stop again.”

Their talk lasts a few more minutes; just long enough for Jake to explain that he couldn’t sleep, too excited about the fact that he loved Amy Santiago and, even better, she loved him! Instead of staying in bed, restless and thus risking waking up Amy, he’d carefully disentangled himself from his girlfriend’s grip and decided to go for a night stroll. Next thing he knew he was calling his mom’s number.

“I should probably go, mom. I don’t want Amy to wake up alone.”

They say their goodbyes and when Karen finally gets to meet his daughter-in-law a few weeks later, at Jake’s chaotic birthday dinner, she is even more sure: their golden thread is so very strong.

Moving in together

The first time Karen visits Jake and Amy’s apartment (the words still make his stomach twist and turn with excitement every time he says it or even thinks it), Amy is out getting groceries for the dinner they’ll all be preparing together.

Jake proudly gives his mom a full apartment tour explaining where he’s added his Peralta-touch to the household while still praising his girlfriend’s taste in interior design. She has to laugh at the huge Die Hard poster discreetly hung on the inside of their closet door. Framed pictures of the couple together hung and standing around the apartment only makes Karen’s heart melt even more.

“How are you guys liking living together so far?”

They’re in the kitchen, Jake is preparing them both a cup of coffee.

“I mean, we already took constant turns crashing at the other’s place so it doesn’t feel that brand new, but still…” he pauses to smile and pours his mother a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee before continuing. “This is so much better. We share a home now. She is officially my home now, yanno?”

“I’m proud of you, Jakey,” Karen playfully ruffles her son’s curly hair, something she rarely gets to do but still immensely enjoys every time. It reminds her of when he was still a little kid and hits her with just how far he’s become. She’s not just proud: she’s so proud.

“Plus, now I get to annoy her 24/7, which is great,” he laughs and Karen playfully pinches his ear.

“Be nice to her, Jacob,” she’s chuckling too.

“I am! Our relationship is practically built on a foundation of pestering and messing with each other. Trust me; she loves it.”

Prison

“Amy… I miss her so much.”

As if the fact that her son has been wrongly accused and is facing 15 years in prison isn’t agonizing enough, Karen also has to suffer the pain it causes her to hear her son cry out to her over the very rare phone calls they get these days.

“When I say I’m afraid of never getting out of here-” he heaves between fallen, sobbed words; sobbed words which Karen knows he tries to subdue in order to not show the other inmates weakness. But it’s hard; impossible. “It’s mostly because I’m afraid of not seeing her again. Every time she visits-,” a sniffle “I’m always afraid that it’s the last time I see her. And all I wanna do is kiss her and hold her, but i just- I can’t. I miss her so so much, mom.”

Karen’s heart breaks alongside her son’s, even hours and miles between them, tears rolling down her red cheeks. She knows she has to be strong for him, and that it’s harder for him than for herself. Denying the ache and fear in every cell of her body is impossible though… But she has to keep her head up for him.

“It’ll be okay, honey,” Karen forces herself to stop crying when she speaks and will instead let the tears fall freely whenever he can’t hear it. “The squad is doing everything they can to get you out.”

“I know... “ he takes a deep breath and Karen can tell he’s trying to collect himself for good this time. “H-how is she?”

For a split second Karen considers lying, not telling him that she’s spent multiple nights consoling a crying Amy and even sleeping over at their place when the young woman was too tired to take care of herself. She considers telling him she’s fine, but she knows it’s pointless: Jake and Amy are two open books who tell each other everything. Just like Amy knows Jake has never been more afraid and seeks hope in every second he gets to be with or even just talk to her, Jake knows Amy is struggling though she’s a trooper and tries to fight through it as seamlessly as possible.

“I visited her on Wednesday and…” Karen bites her lip but eventually a sigh escapes her. “You know how she feels... It’s hard for both of you. But she’s strong, honey and she manages. And on the days where she can’t, I’m there with her. I promise.”

Silence.

He’s holding back tears again.

“I love you both, mom. So so much. You two are what is going to get me through this.”

“I love you too, Jacob.”

Their golden thread might be strained, but now is time for it to show its strength.

Engaged

He can’t put it into words, at least not properly, because how does one describe how it feels to be the happiest man alive? How does one describe such a wide, complex, incredible range of emotions? It’s impossible.

Instead he settles for a text.

It’s truly comical but also very much them: a picture of Amy in the evidence locker, still partially crying although of course also smiling as she shows off the shiny ring on her finger. It’s followed by the message:

‘MOM, I’M MARRYING HER!!!’

Later that night, tipsy after celebrating at Shaw’s, Jake and Amy facetime Karen. It’s safe to say that she gets a good laugh at 3-drink Amy showing off her new, favorite bling while Jake is all over her, placing small kisses to various parts of her face.

“Okay, you two... I’m going to hang up before this goes beyond a PG-rating. Once again congratulations. I love you both and can’t wait to see you soon.”

Married

Bomb threats, ruined cakes and a lost veil are just a few of the things that go horribly wrong on Jake and Amy’s wedding day.

Now, a few weeks later, all these tiny disasters seem to be long forgotten, almost as if they’d never happened.

“... But in the end we’re married and that’s all that matters,” Jake finishes telling his mother the tale of their chaotic but incredibly beautiful and unique wedding which was followed by a PG-rated version of their trip to Mexico.

The three of them are taking up the space of Karen’s living room as they chat and drink their usual coffee. Jake’s arm is slung around his new wife’s shoulders, fingers interlaced with a happiness and peace that warms the mother’s heart. Compared to the anxiety and sadness they all experienced during Jake’s time in Florida and then later on in prison, this moment in time is a major contrast. It’s a moment which Karen at times had feared she’d never be able to witness ever again. Yet here they were, the three of them together in the same room and Jake looked happier than ever. He was married to the love of his life, showing off a warm glow that he could thank both happiness and the Mexican sun for.

“I’m so happy for you two. It was always meant to be this way.”

Karen beams just as much as the married couple, feeding off the pure bliss they display in each other’s company. Amy perks up at the comment growing curious.

“Always?” she questions with a smile.

“The second he told me that the new girl was “pretty cool”, I knew something was meant to happen.”

Jake feels blood rushing to his cheeks even though said new girl is now his wife.

“Aw, babe,” Amy turns to him flashing a teasing grin. Every opportunity to tease must be put to good use. “I can’t believe you’ve been into me for so long. How embarrassing for you.”

“Hey!” He whines and it’s clear to see that he’s trying to fight the blush and embarrassment alas it’s already way too late. ”Be nice to your husband, Mrs. Peralta.”

“Not my fault that you’re so into me, Mr. Peralta.”

There’s a short pause in the conversation where Jake realises there’s no way out unless he uses her own teasing ways against her.

“I’m a lucky man… I guess,” he counters playfully and it earns him a just as playful slap to the shoulder.

“You guess?”

Amy is quick to pull away although doesn’t allow their fingers to untangle while she sends him a mock-pout.

“Be nice, Jake.”

Karen loves her son but will also, at any given time, take Amy’s side before his. Jake came to learn this the second he introduced the two women and they started gossiping about him. He would care to mind if it wasn’t for the fact that there was nothing better than his two favorite women getting along so well.

“I’m joking, babe,” he loses no time and before Amy can add anything he’s pulled her back into the nook of his arm, adding a kiss the top of her head - just for good measure (and because he’s crazy about her). “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Their golden thread has tied an everlasting knot.

Trying

Jake and Amy trying for a baby had been such a joyous announcement, and Karen will never forget the proud look on her son’s face the day he told her. Although tonight, said proud and happy expression is long gone, forgotten and dissolved by the many months of planning, trying and holding on to their hope.

Jake is once again, as so many times before, on his mother’s sand-colored couch with warm coffee in hand but this time with a look of despair painted across his pale face. While she’s been getting cookies in the kitchen he’s fallen into deep thought and doesn’t say anything for a while. Even after she comes back and sits down across from him. The silence might be needed, Karen thinks and, of course, respects it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t shake her to the core when the next thing he says seems to question every ounce of happiness he’s ever lived.

“What if all along I’ve been the wrong choice? A bad choice.”

His eyes doesn’t budge from the same spot, an old coffee stain on the couch, he’s been staring emptily at for the past minutes. Even as he speaks.

“What if she was supposed to be with someone else. Someone who can give her the family she wants… the family she deserves.”

It doesn’t even sound like a question at this point but rather a horrible fact he states in a moment of frustration and agony, and it ignites a fury within the mother because she knows it’s his anxiety and fear of abandonment speaking. She knows that their love is way bigger than that.

Things are far from easy right now. On the other hand Karen hasn’t witnessed them fight and overcome every obstacle imaginable, everything from a stupid mattress to being sent away to both Florida and prison, only to come to this. This isn’t the tip of the thread. A golden thread isn’t spun without reason. It’s spun for the fated.

“Has Amy ever made a bad choice?” she asks.

For the first time in a long time Jake actually looks at his mom. He pauses but she knows he doesn’t have to think. Karen knows that in his eyes Amy can do no wrong.

“No… I just-”

“Okay, so do you honestly think that her wanting and fighting for a baby with you is a bad choice? Even if it doesn’t come easy.”

There’s another silence, longer this time, which hopefully means that something resonates inside his head even though Karen knows it’s a dark and confusing place right now.

“No, I guess…”

“No, don’t say “you guess”. You know, Jake Peralta. You love Amy and she loves you. I know it seems like life keeps on throwing you curveballs and I wish it wasn’t so, but trust me when I say that it’s not because it’s a wrong or bad choice. You being with Amy is the best, most right doing I’ve ever witnessed, and I’m so proud of it. Stop doubting yourself. Your love is too good for that. You’re too good for that, honey.”

Her voice had started out a bit rough, just to make sure to get her point across, but by her the last sentence it has grown soft like butter and Jake can’t help but fall into his mother’s arms. He knows she’s right and it’s in moments like these that, moments where he wants to give up, he’s glad to have her to fight off his demons.

“I just want to give her everything she deserves, mom,” he mumbles into her shoulder, still holding on for dear life; so closely that Karen swears she can feel his heart breaking against her chest. “And I know I’ve been hesitant about it in the past, but now I just-”

Karen feels him let go of her and straighten his back. His eyes are shiny and there’s so much hope but also hurt in them.

“... I really want to be a dad. I really do. And then I wanna do it right.”

Karen knows what he’s hinting at and the sentiment is so valid even though she’s back together with Roger and their father-son relationship has grown stronger.

“You will be, honey. One way or another,” she whispers and reaches out to stroke his cheek. “And you will be the best. I promise you.”

Pregnant

Mother knows best, Jake can’t help but think on the magical evening Amy tells him the best thing he’s ever heard: she’s pregnant. The world seems to flourish around him like never before.

Of course the first person he wants to tell is his mom, but him and Amy quickly agree on keeping the amazing news to themselves, or at least until their baby has hit the safety that the 12-week mark comes along with.

Until then Jake and Amy plan on how to break the news to Karen (and Roger, of course) and Jake almost can’t believe it when the day finally arrives. Their 12-week check was just yesterday, and to everyone’s relief and joy their baby is growing as they should and thriving in their mother’s womb. They both shed a tear and ask for an extra set of ultrasound pictures to give to the future grandparents - both on his and Amy’s side.

During dinner with Karen and Roger the following day, Jake is on the verge of bursting, yelling out the news the very second his parents arrive. Although a humbling squeeze of the hand from his wife keeps him in check until dessert. Here the hand squeeze feels different and Jake knows now is the time.

“By the way,” Jake gets up and heads to the kitchen to get another tub of ice cream. “We have a little extra surprise for dessert…”

Roger and Karen frown in unison as both of them are yet to finish what’s already in their respective bowls. Jake ignores it and comes back with a tub of…

“Lime ice cream?” Roger asks, clearly confused by the very specific flavour.

“I didn’t even know that was a thing,” Karen chuckles, always being the one to lighten the mood.

“Well,” Jake smiles with content as he sits back down. “I promise you: you don’t wanna skip this part. It’s the best.”

And so of course Karen is quickly hands on, pulls off the lid and is ready to dig in with her spoon but halts the second she gets to take a good look at the bucket’s content: a small piece of paper. Neither her or Roger understand a thing, and being too preoccupied by their confusion they fail to notice the wide grins on the other couple’s faces.

Karen takes the leap and digs out the picture quickly noticing something scribbled onto it with neat handwriting - Amy’s, of course.

Hi, grandma and grandpa. I’m now 12 weeks old and the size of a lime! I can’t wait to meet you <3

Karen feels her heart skip a bit, maybe even stop entirely for multiple seconds and looks to Jake and Amy for some kind of approval or… she’s not even sure of what. All she’s sure of is that she’s on the brim of exploding. Her son nods biting down on his bottom lip in excitement, and when she flips the piece of paper she’s met by the most wonderful picture she’s ever seen: their future grandchild, tiny as can be, in black and white, and completely perfect.

Karen tears her eyes away from her grandchild to look at her son to be met by his almost trembling voice and shiny eyes.

“Good thing my mom was right when she told me that I would be a dad some day.”

Jake’s eyes are so sincere with tears threatening to spill as he holds his mother’s gaze talking directly to her, and it’s safe to say there’s waterfall’s worth of happy tears that evening.

Welcoming mac

The day Mac is born Jake feels as if his heart is suddenly beating and living outside of his chest in the shape of his son. There’s so much love even before their son officially arrives, but nothing can possibly top the feeling of holding him in his arms feeling the infant’s hand wraps around Jake’s thumb. Love is shooting through the roof and up to the moon. Never before has Jake felt so much love for someone’s he’s just met before and it’s scary in the best way.

He’s sitting in an armchair by Amy’s hospital bed, his wife fast asleep after the most exhausting hours of her life, when the door to their room pops open. He doesn’t even bother looking up at first as he’s too busy gazing lovingly at the bundle of love in his arms.

“Oh my goodness.”

Jake head perks up immediately recognizing the sound of his mother’s voice. By now she’s closing the door behind her, quietly.

“Hi, mom. Come say hi.”

Karen can hear his smittenness in his voice and sits down on a smaller chair next to him to better see her brand new grandson. It’s immediately clear as day that the newest Peralta is the perfect mix of both parents. Chubby cheeks, dark hair, full lips and a nose she’s gonna want to kiss over and over again.

“Meet McClane. Mac for short,” Jake informs her stroking his son’s chubby cheek.

“It’s perfect,” Karen clucks and follows suit stroking Mac’s other cheek. “He’s beautiful, honey. You must be so proud. I know I am.”

For various obvious reasons Jake has always struggled with acknowledging pride - even when he’s clearly felt it, he’s found it difficult to say it out loud or fully believe it. Today is different though and he wants to scream it from the rooftops: he’s so freaking proud of his beautiful baby son and his incredible wife.

He smiles fondly as he nods in agreement.

“I really am, mom. Proud of myself but especially of Amy. I’ll explain it further later but I Amy went into labor at the precinct, I was out helping with the blackout and almost missed the birth. I just barely got there before Mac was born and Amy managed everything like a pro. I can’t believe I’ve made a human with her. She’s the best… I’m so lucky.”

Jake looks at Karen sensing that she’s going to speak.

“I can’t imagine any other person for you than her, and together you’ve formed a beautiful little family, honey. One to be very proud of, so don’t forget to give in to that feeling, okay?”

Karen hand travels from sleeping Mac’s cheek to her son’s curly hair, on a mission to stroke it like she always would when he was a child and it prompts Jake to lean his head onto her shoulder. From his new vantage point he looks back at Mac, then Amy.

They’re his whole world, his two ends meeting and Karen can only sit by to admire the scene before her. Never has Karen felt more sure of the fact that there was always one single thread of gold tying Jake to Amy.

(And Mac).

#peraltiago #baby peraltiago #mac #fanfic #fanfiction #perlatiago fanfic #oneshot #pining #fluff #angst #happy ending #jake and amy #peralta #santiago #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #brooklyn nine-nine #taylor swift #kinda hahha

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swgoji2001 · 4 years ago

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My Thoughts on Jedi Fallen Order

So after upgrading to a new, stronger laptop (pretty sure my stupidity in attempting to run this game on my old laptop hastened its tragic, untimely demise), I finally finished Jedi Fallen Order last night. I had mixed feelings going into this game, as I have some friends who said it was amazing while others said it was a mediocre story with decent gameplay.

Now after playing, was it the greatest Star Wars game I’ve ever experienced? No, but it was very good. Some minor gripes here and there, but overall I had a blast playing the game.

Warning: Some spoilers will be included, I’ll try to keep them as minor as possible though.

Story:

So I’m not gonna go overly deep into the story as I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who still hasn’t played the game, but to be honest I found the plot of Fallen Order to be a bit generic at first. It’s a classic light side vs dark side narrative with a redemption arc or two sprinkled in. In fact, I found the plot of Fallen Order to be quite similar in structure to the Disney Trilogy. Both have MacGuffin hunts (holocron and wayfinder), both include journeys to different planets following the trail of someone else (Eno Cordova and that one assassin dude mentioned in IX), both have mentors who have distanced themselves from the Force (Cere and Luke), and both have antagonists who were failed by their masters (Trilla and Kylo).

Fallen Order splits off from this more generic route after returning to Dathomir and does it’s own thing, but I found myself asking why I enjoyed the first 75% or so of Fallen Order when I absolutely hated the DT. I found the answer to lie mainly in two things: the characters and the world they found themselves in.

Characters:

Cal Kestis: I absolutely loved Cal’s character arc. He has his own deep personal struggles with his past, feeling responsible for the death of his master. He faces those fears and comes to terms with his past, determined to make a better future. Cal not only comes out of his journey a Jedi Knight, but as a stronger person. Compare this to Rey, who had no meaningful flaws or personal struggles. Plus Cal’s the first ginger Jedi! Score one for diversity!

BD-1: My fourth favorite Star Wars droid, only behind HK-47, KOTOR 2′s T3-M4, and K-2SO. He’s cute, adorable, and loyal to a fault. What more could you ask for in a droid? (Other than a tibanna-powered blaster rifle and a bloodthirsty, anti-meatbag personality of course!) Plus there’s a revelation about his history towards the end that only makes him better and better.

Cere Junda: Star Wars has always had its mentor characters, but in all honesty I found Cere to be pretty generic. A Jedi Master who failed her Padawan and touched the dark side, only to be horrified by it and renounce the Force. Throughout learning her story, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had already seen something like this before. Her arc isn’t bad, it’s well done and feels natural to her character, it was just rather generic.

Greez Dritus: Gotta say Greez grew on me as the game went on. He has his flaw in his gambling problem which bites Cal in the ass a couple times, but towards the end I really felt the connection between him and the others grow. He’s also the source of a good deal of humor.

Nightsister Merrin: Sadly, Merrin being an eventual ally was spoiled for me, but I love the subversion because it was built up that she would be an eventual boss fight. Merrin might be my favorite character besides Cal, I wish there were more interactions with her in game! She’s hot, has a great accent, a wicked sense of humor, and is powerful with Nightsister magick. But beyond all that, she’s a parallel to Cal. Both are survivors, the last of their kind, and I’m hoping that if a sequel is made, it goes deeper into their relationship because Merrin and Cal have great chemistry. I also love how Merrin challenges Cal and Cere’s plan to train the next gen of Jedi using the holocron, putting that idea in a more realistic, less idealistic light.

Prauf: I really feel bad for him. I liked him and you could feel the camaraderie between him and Cal, how he wanted Cal to succeed and do great things. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.

Oggdo Bogdo: Fuck this frog! He killed me so many times!

Trilla Suduri (Second Sister): The Jedi Padawan that felt betrayed by her master and became an inquisitor. I always love it when antagonists have a personal connection to the protagonists in some way, shape, or form. Trilla shakes Cal’s faith in Cere, and plants seeds of doubt in him. She wants revenge and the Emperor’s favor, and therefore we know why she chases Cal across the galaxy. She has motivations for all her actions, which is something that Kylo lacked in the DT.

Taron Malicos: I knew something was off about this guy the second I met him. I quite enjoyed the clash of beliefs between him, Merrin, and Cal. Malicos proposes a way forward, a new Jedi Order, but one founded on darker teachings. He offers Cal that power, but Cal proves his stature as a Jedi in refusing it.

Ninth Sister (Masana Tide): Probably the weakest of the villain characters for me. Ninth barely has any presence in the game at all other than the start and to serve as a boss battle on Kashyyyk. I honestly just don’t think she fits into the story as is. Perhaps if they tweaked it so that Ninth and Cal knew each other back before Order 66 she would have fit better. Ninth just doesn’t have any personal connection to Cal and the Mantis crew (like Trilla does) and doesn’t really serve as a trial like Malicos does. Remove her from the story and not much changes.

(If you somehow haven’t had this next one spoiled yet, I’m impressed. Please skip to ‘World’ if so)

Darth Vader: I absolutely loved how he was portrayed. A terrifying, unstoppable force. You won’t last in a fight with him, your can only hope you can outrun him.

World:

Fallen Order’s worldbuilding was on point. Cal’s ability to sense Force Echoes lets you get a more detailed understanding of the environment around you. It’s a small-scale Star Wars story, but the planets all feel lived in if you take the time to explore them. It’s the small details like the probe droid witnessing your initial use of the Force on Bracca or the side-stories you can discover like the tragic tale of the family running from the Empire on Zeffo or Malicos’ corruption and manipulation of Merrin that really flesh out the world. Compare this to the galactic-scale story the DT told, which somehow made the galaxy feel extremely small and uninteresting.

My only complaint with the world-building is the Zeffo. They’re just... there. Very little is explained about them. Who were they? Why were they important? What happened to them? Why did they disappear? Perhaps this was to leave room for a sequel but to me the Zeffo just felt like discount Rakata. I wish the devs had gone with the Rakata instead, but maybe that’s just me.

Also the wildlife on every world is more than capable of killing you if you aren’t careful so you almost always have to be on your toes for them, which rolls us into the next part...

Gameplay:

The gameplay was great fun in Fallen Order. Leveling up and unlocking new abilities was exciting and once I got the hang of them all, it was so much fun just cutting through your enemies. I played on Jedi Master difficulty (died approximately 75 times, give or take a few I may have missed) and it felt really well balanced. It forced me to study my opponent’s moves and adapt to them instead of being a hack-and-slash type of game. Combos are fluid and fun to pull off, parrying opponents leaves an opening to attack, and you can experiment with different fighting styles.

Customizing your lightsaber and appearance was also great fun. So many different options and combinations for everything! Plus you got rewarded for exploration with these extra customization options, so it adds incentive to do that if you care about appearances and whatnot. You can become the General Grievous of ponchos!

Overall Rating: 8.5/10

Overall Fallen Order was a great game that could have been even better. Of course I have to admit I’m looking at this through the nostalgia of games like KOTOR 2, which flipped Star Wars completely on its head. I would have preferred if Cere’s story had been a bit more nuanced, the Ninth Sister had more reason for being in the story, or if the game had Cal seriously question the use and role of Jedi in the galaxy (he does a couple times to BD-1, but it’s never really built on).

And then there’s my overall gripe about this type of story set after Order 66. It sets up questions like... where was Cal during the OT? Was he dead? Somewhere in the Unknown Regions doing something else? I know the ending of the game sets up the opening for Cal’s story to continue, but still, these types of stories usually end in death for the Jedi protagonist, so I am a bit nervous for his future.

Despite that though, I am super happy I finally decided to play this and am eagerly awaiting a sequel to continue this story.

#jedi fallen order

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justformyself2 · 4 years ago

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Notting Hill.

A/N: Wow, who also need a good story to be pumped for the apocalypse? raise your hand please!

Not really sure if you guys know about this story, but June 27,2020 is the date, look it up lol. You know what else we could be doing before going to hell once for all for lusting so much over John Krasinski?

Sign this Petitions and donate if possible:

Justice for Elijah McClain

Elijah McClain donation

Justice for Miguel

Ways to Help and more petitions to sign.

BLACK LIVES MATTER NOW AND ALWAYS.

Well, now that i said what i said, let me finish by telling you, this is an important story for me. The past months have been extremely rough and i struggled like never before to fight for something i love to do not be consumed by dark thoughts, regardless of the past, i’m proud to be posting this right now, no matter how long it took for me and how minimal it may seem, goddamn i feel happy to create and write, and for you guys, in whatever you need to do, dream of doing, don’t let dark thoughts guide you into staying stuck, shine, do what you love, we all have the capacity.

This is my participation on my friend’s @lullabieswrappedinlies rom-com writing challenge (go check her out, she is so damn creative and amazing)

This story is based on the movie Notting Hill and will be added on my masterlist. or tell me you want to be tagged if you want to keep up.

BEFORE YOU JUMP IN BE ADVISED

. Pairing: Reader x John Krasinski.

. It contains strong language.

. Click here for soundtrack of movie if you are in your feelings today

JOHN’S POV

“John, we will be ready in five.”

“Ok.”

I press the phone once again against my ear, listening to her heavy sigh. It is easy to mold her face into my brain with dexterity. The bushy eyebrows, casting a shadow under piercing blue eyes, seeking to grab my soul, she succeeding to combine it all with a condescending smile on her lips. Condescension which I have to kiss it off.

“Well, if you want to go, then go.”

Deep down, she was still trying, and I can’t take that for granted.

“I don’t want to go. I need to go, an enormous difference. It’s work.”

I aim to be the diplomatic debater, the mediator, and the opponent. She is better than me at being the third party, perfecting the act of passive-aggressiveness in chosen phrases, fuming through her nose on the other side of the line. An act I wish to interpret as a genuine breathed laugh with no second intentions; my five minutes seemed to multiply.

“Call you later?”

I say.

“Yes.”

She answers

“Love you.”

She hanged up.

--------

Y/N POV

“This book is so weird and sexist, holy shit.”

You put the phone down, and Nova throws another eighties romance book into the cardboard box with its copies.

“Language.” You sing at her in a scolding tone.

“Sorry.” She sings back. “But you know I’m right. They are always pairing a young girl with some fifty years old, control freak who prey on them with their big, strong, tan hands.”

You giggle, and she looks satisfied.

Regardless of the narrative that anyone could quickly review, it was ‘in’ right now, as Agnes said, and what her bookclub wanted. “Un plaisir coupable.” she completed; the thin red lines that were her lips stretched in a laugh, causing her blue contacts to squint.

Soon enough, the scavenging for the material began, and you found the yellow pages, delivered with weird smells, phone numbers, and addresses written on the inside of the covers, but still readable.

“They paid and are coming to pick them up tomorrow. It’s the only thing I care about right now. Also, don’t let her catch you saying that you hear me? I will help finish this then we can close before your mom shows up and kill me when she finds out you are here.”

You move from behind the counter, seeing the digital hour hit past ten pm on the laptop.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, she already knows.”

The unconcerned Nova grabs a box, and you grab another following her quick steps, twisting to the right almost at the end of the hall, entering a room that was once a decent private office before it became nonfunctional.

The reserved bookshelf for Agnes club waited empty, a last-minute metal book rack next to the bay window. To create an illusion of a comfortable place for a book club, orange curvy chairs, which Alexis begged to be thrown out, along with the red Arabic carpet left behind with the chairs by the old owner. Every time you enter the space taking a deep, immediate, frustrated breath, Alexis wins a point.

You place the box down, looking at your niece.

“Kyle?”

You ask, and Nova hums softly, doing the stocking job.

Kyle, more than a name it was first a banned topic usually discussed between a limited couple of sentences. His name was a warning, along with his unrequested presence at random, unannounced times. It became harder since Nova wasn’t at a manageable age anymore. It was tough at fifteen, and as the time passes by, sweetness gains the bitterness, and innocence, gone.

“Well, you know you will always have a second bed, Donkey misses you.”

You gain a laugh while she finishes her box.

“Oh God, can’t believe you still keep him there.”

You shrug impulsively, paying attention to your own hands, arranging the books and their horizontal titles on a pile.

“It was your favorite toy, why would I throw it away?”

“You know why.”

A pause and a deep breath came from her, triggering the thought, long forgotten about, that people still expected you to be mourning over material remains.

“It’s okay to throw away with the rest of the others, it’s been a long time.”

Her auburn hair was now being tied in a bun. Your fifteen-year-old niece, holding a peaceful outside appearance, didn’t mind sounding more mature than you wanted to admit.

“Good... then we can donate, not throw it away.”

“Even better.”

She agrees quickly, stomping on the empty cardboard box.

Nova turns out the lights as you awaited for her, leaning against the glass door on the entrance, blowing hot humid air into your cold fingers and watching over nothing other than a middle-aged man with a red beanie walking a Greyhound on the other side of the empty street.

Notting Hill wasn’t known for its nightlife. It was almost a deserted city by eight and in the light of day, Portobelo Rode fruit market brings it to life. On weekdays, stalls and its hay baskets, packed with succulent fruits and greens, filled the streets along with shouted invites, half prices and sweet-soured smells invading each corner; on weekends the baskets shape-shifted to antiques of all kinds, genuine or handmaid, the crowd and the stalls multiplied in the small village.

In-between buyers and sellers of what you could harvest or find in your gramma’s basement there was your store, a bookstore, one corner away from your home, squeezed in the middle of Linda’s cafe and a self-employed yoga instructor that recently rented Mr. Walsh’s house, a retired Navy who moved to Greenwich with his daughter-in-law three weeks ago; his red door house now held a big white plaque with ‘Sivananda Yoga’ written in cursive gold letters, phone number and social media included under the picture of a woman in the lotus posture.

“A yoga studio, nice!” Says Nova, coming closer to the four steps leading up to the red door.

You close the store and covers her shoulders with your arm when the icy wind started building up.

“We could try it someday, your mom-.”

“Hates trying new things.” She completed. “Don’t even bother.”

“That is where you are the wrong baby. It may seem like this now, but I wish you could have seen your mom in her prior days. Wow... She was glorious.”

The feeling of wandering eyes aiming at your face became stronger as you carried her along the street under your embrace.

“Before my dad, I guess.”

A tiny part of your soul lighten up, recognizing itself in your niece’s words, but there was no place to fuel her fiery tone.

“To be honest, I don’t know, but people change Nova, everyone eventually, even the ones we thought we had figured out, including ourselves.”

“Whatever, I don’t want him back in the house again if she puts him back, I’m moving with you.”

The decisiveness in her voice sent bad vibrations along your back.

Unusual memory mechanism. Alexis visited your mind, vivid as if you could see her across the street you were crossing, she waiting and shivering at your front door because you forgot the spare key in the store again.

After the scolding she would show a rose-colored box from Fincher’s cafe under her arm, comporting the most amazing banoffee pie, your favorite pie from your favorite place.

Fincher’s cafe, that was once located two blocks away from where you two lived was closed when the old owner went bankrupt and reopened in Queensway street, she would drive there every weekend to bring that rose-colored box under her arm and wait for you on the couch, once the spare key was in the fake birdhouse, with the TV turned on and the plates placed on the center table next to the wine.

“See, I don’t think that will happen.”

“How could you know? Didn’t you just said people change?”

“And love changes people, your mother has more for you than you could ever imagine and without measuring efforts. She wouldn’t make any decision that would hurt you, trust me.”

Nova quickly disengage from the conversation, staying on mute abruptly, leaving a temporary gap for thoughts of doubt to occupy. Your heart is worried, but a grown-up, worried heart shouldn’t be shown while trying to pass a sense of security. That included waiting for Nova to fall sleep before calling Alexis.

You climb the four steps and opens the blue door, face to face with smiling Rudolph from last Christmas, hanging by a thread along with Santa, waiting to be taken down as the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I ate at home so if you don’t mind I will go to bed now.”

Unreeling the red knitted scarf, the tenth big piece Alexis attempted to make at her knitting fase, Nova doesn’t look behind once. You watch her back as she went upstairs to the guest room, her special fort at five, and now her hideaway at fifteen, with fewer toys and Donkey, an old stuffed toy still sitting in the shelf waiting for no one in a room cleaned every week.

You dismiss the purple scarf from around your shoulders, the third big piece on your sister’s collection, not as good as the tenth, but it warmed you inside to observe her trying to hide a proud smile in seeing what she made wrapped around Nova and you.

A stupidly cold breeze hits the back of your neck before you turned around to close the door, the phone rings along with squealing tires of a black car on the other side of the street.

#RomComWC #RCWC #john krasinski #mine #imagine #original #jim halpert #jimhalpert #story #imagination #i hope you enjoy

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smallmediumproblems · 5 years ago

Link

vigil

noun: a period of keeping awake during the time usually spent asleep, especially to keep watch noun: a demonstration in support of a particular cause, typically without speeches

Something was wrong with Jon’s apartment. He hadn’t been able to pin down what it was until the second night after the fire. Two days of Martin sleeping on his couch. Martin had been almost scarily unobtrusive. Jon hadn't caught any indication of him disturbing a single item in the flat, nor could he hear Martin moving around when he wasn't directly in sight.

Martin's presence wasn't what was wrong. If anything, it was his absence that bothered Jon.

"Martin," Jon called across the apartment. Martin always seemed to station himself at the farthest possible point from Jon, as if that would make him disappear entirely. Now, Jon found him on his laptop in the living room. "Have you seen my mugs?"

"Which… Wait, mugs, as in several?" Martin asked.

"More along the lines of all of them," said Jon.

Martin looked confused, then guilty, then outright annoyed. "Ahh, for- That, yeah. I'll find one." He got up from the armchair and hurried into the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets seemingly at random. The shelf where Jon kept most of his ceramic-ware was completely bare, except for an inexplicable coating of dust. Martin eventually pulled a mug with a band logo on it out from under the sink, where it was hidden behind a few bottles of dish soap. He held it out to Jon with a cursory nod.

"Okay," said Jon, making no motion to accept the offering, "Why."

"Em," said Martin, "Well, I- It just sort of happens? Things start disappearing around me, so it looks like nobody’s been there. Not like, really disappear, just sort of go away. Like they’re being hidden. I think it happened when I used one this morning and tried to put it back. Normally it takes longer, but I guess it’s worse if I’m trying not to be noticed. Still figuring things out."

"With the Lonely."

"Yes, Jon," said Martin. "You don’t have to say it like that. It's fine. I'm fine."

Jon eyed the mug distrustfully. "I thought you said you hadn't been in contact with Peter."

"I haven't!" Martin said quickly. "This is personal. I'm working on some stuff, and I need it."

"Right," said Jon. "And this… Stuff, there's no chance that I could help-"

"I'm sorry, Jon."

Jon took the mug from him.

"Me too."

They had just started to retreat quietly to opposite sides of the apartment again when something occurred to Jon.

“Hang on, where are the rest of them?” he asked. Martin stopped halfway through picking up his laptop, and gave him an awkward grimace.

“I dunno,” he muttered, “Around?”

“Are you going to help me find them?” said Jon.

“...wasn’t planning on it,” said Martin. “Look, they’ll turn up once I’m gone. This is why I didn’t want to stay with anyone. One of the reasons, anyway. Basira can’t expect us to stay like this forever.”

“Let’s start over,” said Jon, adjusting his glasses over a pointed glare. “Martin, please help me un-vanish the parts of my kitchen that you made vanish.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Martin protested.

“I know,” said Jon, “And I know this isn’t your fault. But that doesn’t make it go away.”

Jon wasn’t, if he was honest with himself, even a little bit angry about the mugs. He was frightened. The disappearance frightened him for a lot of reasons, but Martin’s proposed solution scared him most of all. He imagined himself alone in his apartment after Martin had left for good, watching the mugs slowly return to the shelf one by one when he wasn’t looking, knowing that when the last one reappeared it erased the only sign that Martin had been there at all. Perhaps the only sign that Martin had been, at all.

He didn’t like the way Martin had said ‘once I’m gone.’

Evidently oblivious to Jon’s internal panic, Martin set his laptop down and briefly checked his phone. “It’s going to take hours,” he complained. “Can’t we do it in the morning?”

“I’d rather not,” said Jon. “I don’t like your nightmares any more than you do.”

Martin didn’t seem to know how to respond to this, so he just nodded and pocketed his phone. “I’ll finish the kitchen. You might as well start on the sitting room.”

They worked in silence except for the occasional alert when one of them located a mug. They were missing nine in total, including the one that Martin had retrieved from the sink, hidden in increasingly bizarre places as the search went on. There was one more in the kitchen at the back of the fridge, and Jon found another inside a lamp fixture. After two whole sweeps, Jon stood in the center of the sitting room, staring intently at the front door.

“I don’t think any would’ve made it outside,” said Martin from the kitchen doorway.

“No,” Jon said distantly, “There’s one in here. I know it. I just… Ah!”

He nodded, approaching the couch. He wriggled a hand under one end and tilted it off the ground effortlessly, revealing a dull red mug with the word SPORTS! emblazoned on the side in cartoon yellow letters.

“There,” said Jon. “Could you get that?”

“Hwhaaaaaokay,” said Martin, “Let’s- put that. Down. Slowly.”

Jon gave him a blank look. “I’m not going to break it,” he said, as if that would calm Martin down.

“How are you doing that?” Martin spluttered.

“Oh.” Jon considered the couch. Conveniently, he knew that he was holding most of its 73 kilograms over his head with one arm, and realized why Martin might be concerned. “Forgot about that. It’s easy to get used to.”

“Forgot about what?” said Martin, “Having super strength? How long has- right. Right, that would be since, um... ”

“I’m a bit surprised it still works,” said Jon, sparing Martin from the rest of that sentence. “Everything else has been sort of fading in and out.”

Jon realized too late that Martin had very little concept of what “everything else” was, and, of course, took it the wrong way. “Oh, god,” Martin muttered, “Are you okay?”

"Now that you ask, I’ve been very fragile," said Jon, in a voice so stern and commanding that Martin actually laughed out loud. Immediately, a hand flew up to cover his mouth, but the damage was done. Jon didn't feel fragile. He felt like he could do just about anything in the world to hear that sound again.

To start, though, he struggled to keep a straight face. "I might waste away entirely, at any moment," he continued dramatically, "Go on, see if I don't!"

"Jon, you- you shouldn't joke about that," said Martin, clearly conflicted between laughing at Jon's theatrics and being concerned.

"Never," said Jon, throwing his free hand to his chest in mock offense. "Joking, about my delicate state? Here, let me put down the couch so I can throw myself onto it."

Martin was present after that in a way that he hadn’t been before. Jon no longer felt a need to check on him every time he disappeared around a corner, as if he might cease to exist if he wasn’t observed directly. This was particularly helpful, since splitting up really did seem to be the only way to search as thoroughly as they needed to. It was nearly three in the morning when they reconvened with a total of eight mugs.

“You’re sure there’s not one in the dishwasher?” said Martin, punctuating his sentence with an enormous yawn.

“Checked,” Jon mumbled, equally tired. “Boxes, what about- did we check in the boxes?”

Martin made an indistinct, doubtful noise.

“There’s some in the hall closet, and in the bedroom,” Jon explained, “Just old papers, maybe it’s there.”

“Fine,” said Martin, “But after that, I’m going to sleep. Eight’s fine.”

Naturally, Martin stationed himself in the hallway. Jon barely stopped short of telling him that he shouldn’t, that he had some very personal, possibly embarrassing documents in there and he’d really rather not risk anyone seeing them.

But he did stop.

He stopped, and he waited.

Under normal circumstances, he would have felt bad for tricking Martin even as indirectly as this, but it was very late at night, and he was reasonably assured that he’d earned a bit of pettiness. Besides, Martin would have to read something of his own volition that he shouldn’t for anything to come of it, which some vestigial instinct in Jon was very acutely interested in. He hauled out box after box from his bedroom closet, not even pretending to search through them, until he saw Martin reading one of the papers.

“Old work for university,” Jon commented loudly, “I think that one was a poetry class.”

He made sure to appear busy when Martin looked up at him.

Martin flipped through the pages with a soft, absolutely enchanted smile while Jon pretended he wasn’t watching. Eventually, he got to one that threw him, and he glanced between Jon and the manuscript with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

“Jon,” he said carefully, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but is this one… A-about-”

“Oh, god, let me see,” Jon sighed. He leaned over Martin’s shoulder to skim over the text, but one look at the title told him everything he needed to know. He smirked, and looked up at Martin. “I’m honestly curious, did you get what I was going for?”

“It’s-” Martin looked dumbfounded, “Is this about Batman? Did you turn in a poem about Batman to a university poetry class?”

“Calling it a class by that point in the semester would be a completely unearned kindness,” said Jon. “They were totally out of control. I was so tired of hearing people go on about the 'tortured nature of the artist,' or some slimy opinion about women, or how goddamn meaningful everyone thought se- Uh. Th-the point, I mean, is, um. I thought I was being clever. I just wanted to see if anyone would stop taking themselves so seriously for long enough to call me out.”

Martin’s expression had frozen in place just short of open shock. He recovered gracefully by the time Jon was done spluttering.

“God, that sounds painful,” he said. He sounded like he meant it. More than that, he sounded like it was something he’d been through. Jon could picture him in a cafe, or maybe a back room in a pub, with a handful of other poets workshopping stuff they’d brought in. It was a strange comfort to know that this image was entirely imagined, and that he didn’t know what, if anything, the reality of the situation was. If he did want to know - which he did - he would have to ask, and Martin would get to choose whether or not to tell him about it.

“Did they say anything?”

“Sorry?" Jon said loudly. A large part of his brain was still processing how close he’d come to complaining to Martin at length about sexy poetry. The rest was daydreaming about having a normal, human conversation with him where that hadn’t just happened.

“Did anyone call you out?” Martin prompted.

Jon took a second to try and flush some of the redness that had taken over his cheeks. It didn’t go very well. “W-well, no. They all went round saying very profound, artistic things until it was someone else’s turn.”

“Yeeeees,” said Martin gleefully, “I mean, it is a good poem about Batman.”

“Why, thank you, Martin.”

#ahhhh this part is taking forever #I swear this story is almost done #just setting up all the threads for the ending I want #tma #the magnus archives #fanfiction #smallsays

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kikyozoldyck · 6 years ago

Text

lemon, jelly, sprinkles & jizz

PAIRING: klaus hargreeves x reader SUMMARY: a date with klaus is never that simple. WARNINGS: nsfw, oral

---

“I figured instead of letting one of those kitschy uptown salons charge me forty-five of my hard-earned dollars,” he pauses, turning for a moment to glare at the empty seat behind him, “for a sugar and lemon wax—“ He digs through his matted fur jacket, rustling out a lighter and before continuing to dig, “— I could do it myself. Be resourceful. And chocolate pudding has sugar…”

You give a vague nod as he starts to light a cigarette. Still mumbling about how it’s perfectly reasonable to assume that chocolate pudding would be a cheaper alternative to sugar wax, you wondering if anyone else has these kinds of conversations with their boyfriend (best friend? fuck buddy?) outside donut shops in the middle of the night or if this is just another wonderful perk of being romantically entangled with Klaus Hargreeves.

He takes a drag, and you perk up.

“Klaus!”

"What?” He starts coughing, surprised. Jerking his hand away from you as you try and snatch his wrist, “What—What did I do?"

"Do not smoke in my car." You tell him, for what must be the millionth time since you’ve known him, gesturing at the Marlboro burning between his thin fingers.

“What?” he coughs again, this time a little indignantly, “I smoke in your apartment all the t—“

“Well, thanks to you, my apartment already smells awful. I care about this vehicle.” You argue, lovingly patting your steering wheel, “I’d rather it not smell like an ashtray."

Klaus frowns at that, “I smell like an ashtray."

"No. You don't."

A small nod comes from that. “A classier ashtray, I suppose.” He gives a glance at the lit cigarette in his hand, then one at you. A contemplating glance that makes you sigh with your entire body. Because he doesn't put it out. Instead, he opens the car door, stepping out into the deserted parking lot.

You follow very hurriedly.

This time of night, Griddy’s is jam-packed with silence and empty booths, save for the owner (Angela? Agatha? …You can never remember her name) prancing around searching for trash, refilling coffee cups, searching for anything to make the graveyard shift less dull. A man sat in the corner, nods at you over his laptop. A woman at the counter gives the briefest of smiles. Both of them quickly turn back to whatever they’d been doing before.

You look away from them to see Klaus already leading you to a booth in the back of the diner. Hardly time to do anything while trying to catch up with legs that tall. But you make it as he slides easily into the noisy, vinyl booth.

“Can I get you kids anything?” The owner, Agnes, asks sweetly, as she approaches your table.

You’re about to ask for a moment to decide when Klaus says, “I’ll have one lemon creme, one jelly filled, one with sprinkles — rainbow not chocolate — and uh, oh! Do you have those uh, those ones with the jizz on them? Fuck, what are they called?” He asks, gesturing at you to supply the answer.

“Glazed.” You mutter, giving Agnes an apologetic wince as she fills both your cups up with coffee.

“Glazed!” Klaus repeats, giving himself a tap on the side of his head, “one lemon creme, one jelly filled, one with rainbow sprinkles, and one glazed! And while you’re at it could you bring a third cup of coffee?”

"Do you really need four donuts?” you ask, as Agnes ducks off to prepare your order. Can he even afford them? Is he going to play Dine and Dash today with you as his unwitting accessory? You hope not. You’re barely able to keep up with him when he’s walking, you’d definitely fall behind if he were sprinting.

“Of course not!” He laughs, a little buzzed and way too loud, “I ordered the jizz one for you. And the third cup of coffee is for — ” He glances at the seat next to you and shakes his head, “did I ever tell you I used to come here as a kid?”

“No.” You reply, although he definitely has, grabbing a mostly empty bottle of syrup and tapping it absently against the table. It’s the old glass kind. Much more satisfying than plastic.

Klaus stands abruptly, knocking against the table which in turn clacks against your bottle. He rounds the table in one giant stride before plopping down next to you, “so, my brother Five and I, this was before we got names so bare with me, would wake up numbers Two through Six.” He drapes his arm around you, “we had bedrooms in numerical order — it was adorable! Anyway, the five of us would tie our sheets together like we were escaping Alcatraz or something, and then we’d walk the town in our pajamas like some weird little prepubescent cult.” He laughs again, this time quieter like it’s only for you, “and come here to eat donuts and drink coffee.” He gestures grandly at the cooling coffee cups in front of you.

“What about numbers One and Seven?” You ask, putting the syrup bottle back where you’d found it. You don’t usually ask questions when Klaus’s trying to tell you something. You find it just makes things more confusing, considering that ostentatious statements followed by vague replies have always been his style. You suppose his storytelling is representative of his brain; weird mentalities, forgotten details, strange interjections, and absurd tangents.

He giggles, “we’d bring a donut back for Luther — Allison’s idea, not mine — and leave it on his bedside table. Anyway, the beefy little idiot started to think that it was the Donut Fairy who was dropping off sweet treats to reward him for being a good boy!” He laughs again, his body shakes the booth you’re sharing.

“And Vanya?” You’re about to ask when Agnes brings your order to your table, Klaus’ extra cup of coffee included. Instead, you say, “thank you” and rush to move the coffee cups around to accommodate her.

Agnes smiles politely and scurries off, back behind the counter. Klaus follows her with his gaze. His jade eyes fixed on her as he rips a piece off a piece of his lemon creme donut and stuffs it into his mouth. He makes this lovely, little delighted sound and sucks the remaining sugar off of his fingers.

You rub his neck, meaning to surprise him. (Maybe? Really, you just want him to pay attention to you.) Your thumb brushes against his skin and finds those marks. Fresh blotches of purple from incidents you're still very proud of shine. Shine and no doubt ache under your touch.

"That’s-“ Klaus's shoulders roll forward, “That's still sore."

"Oh,” you mumble, not moving your hand, “sorry."

"S'aight." He squeezes the donut, and you both watch as the off white filling oozes out. He scoops it up with his fingers and sticks them back into his mouth. Albeit with a different pace. Your hand is still on his neck, unmoving from the bruised spot it touches. His movements seem almost more forced now, stalled almost. You hope you're not reading too deeply into things because there's a small grin crawling on your face and it gives you fantastic ideas.

You push again.

“Ah—“

As your thumb presses, it slides. Sliding underneath the clumpy fur collar of Klaus's jacket and tugging at it. You try peering into it, still smiling.

"More down there, huh?"

"Feels like it." For a moment, he registers what you mean. Blinking. Then he pops up a smile of his own. “I got another on my hip.”

You nod.

Your hand starts slider lower from his face. The man watching curiously. The closer you get to his destined hip, however, the curiosity pulls into a far more smiling look again. He's getting what you're setting down.

"So is it..." A cold hand slides under his jacket and shirt, meeting bare skin and exploring. He doesn't stop you, just gives a bite to his lip as he waits for the moment when—

“…here?”

He lets out a strange and loud snort, and the donut falls from his hands back onto the plate. Your nail scratching the surface of a dark purpled bruise on his hip bone didn't startle you but that. That did. An intense heat hits your cheeks, you give a glance around the diner. You know there are at least two other patrons that would have heard that. You know there are people in China would have heard that.

Klaus seems as equally aware of how terrible a noise he just made it was.

“That,” he gives you a breathy giggle, “that feels quite nice dear.” Chuckles lining up with his speech. "You—Could you do that again?"

The woman at the counter is gone, the man in the corner is wearing headphones, and Agnes is hidden away in the kitchens somewhere. Your heart is still racing though. You should have known. He’s nothing but a blaring stereo in the bedroom. You actually had the idea to toss that into Griddy’s —

It makes your skin crawl. Your body heats up, and your mouth goes dry.

But...this seems like a lot of fun.

Your hand starting to slide a bit deeper, “you’re incorrigible.” You tell him, your mouth watering at the chance to latch on to old hickeys on his neck.

“Incorrigible.” He repeats, his voice and breath steady like you're not playing with his hand isn’t one millimeter away from being in his pants, “God, I love it when you flaunt that sexy little college degree at me.”

You’re struggling to come up with a witty reply when a curved mouth touches yours. Klaus doesn't give a chance for any more neck brands. The position seems to shift on its own. Already one you certainly shouldn't be in, it becomes more, well, terrible when the unpleasant sound of his leather pants moving against the vinyl seats reverberates through the diner. Your fingers flex hesitantly beneath his belly button.

But he still kisses you.

The smooth leather of his pants feels too boring on your palms. What doesn't is something that certainly draws your — and his — attention.

“What can I say,” he laughs against your lips, “I’m incorrigible.”

Looking down at your full palm, you nod. “A true menace to society.” Hardly meaning it. You give a squeeze.

“A vagabond, indeed.” A familiar sound that makes his voice sound like a gust of wind is in your ear. He's moved to it. Even with his face out of view, you are utterly positive Klaus's still got a smile on his face.

“A Hellion in high heels,” you respond, your fingers still rubbing. A giggle starts to fall from his lips, but at the last moment, it's replaced with a breathy sound.

“An agent provocateur,” Klaus adds and adjusts his position -- wrapping his wrist around your own. You barely realize he’s stood up before he’s pulling you towards the bathroom. The bathroom is single-stall. You know it, Klaus knows it, and the man sitting in the corner knows it, and your whole body feels hot when you pass him on your way –- but then again, he probably doesn't notice. You’re pretty sure he’s stoned.

Klaus locks the door behind you. You’re seconds away from a cold sweat because fuck, you’re actually doing this.

And it must show on your face because the sultry smirk on Klaus’s face fades, “you’re not into it are you?” He asks, stepping forward. It’s a tiny bathroom; just one of his broad steps is enough to crowd you against the sink. “Hey, I get it.” He gives a peck to your face. "You have very strict moral guide…rules or whatever. No bending. Like a nail in a wood wall or a really old person who thinks that yoga is the work of the devil.” You're a bit thrown off by what he's trying to say, but he says it with a gentle smile, so you assume it's positive.

“I’m into it.” You tell him, and for a second it’s like he doesn’t hear you, “really into it.” Hearing it signals more moving. You’re sitting on the sink. Well, not really. You’re sort of halfway sitting and halfway standing, but with the way you're being leaned back, your head is one push away from crashing into the mirror. It's a precarious arrangement. You could easily fall both forward or back, like sitting in the middle of a teeter-totter.

Klaus has got you though. You trust him enough to let him keep you in place here. It's his turn to grab at a waist, back to your lips again. The faucet digs into your back, hands going back to hold the handles shut instead of feeling the man up. He's got something more in mind anyways it seems.

You certainly can feel the idea brushing your inner thigh.

He's rocking against you. Gently and not too shockingly to make you freak out. You only grip the handles tighter. Grips on your backside keep you steady, Klaus's hands dipping into your back pockets.

Your lips are sealed tight, breathing harshly through your nose at each move forward. It's not a quickening force, really. Just continuous enough it makes your stomach tighten.

Almost whistles are on your skin, Klaus keeping himself calmed through the same bit lips of earlier. It's a bit unsettling. Tough on him because he probably wanted to be vocal. He was really vocal, wasn't he?

His thumb slides beneath your shirt and your back arches. It's a sudden feeling that makes it all sweeter. Thumb pad forming circles on the curve of your spine. Arch rolling your zipper closer to his far more bulged one.

Klaus's head tilts closer as well, mouth on your neck but not kissing. Just resting, so the stubble on his lip tickles your skin. Open mouthed, hot air-- You're just as suddenly on a sink with him grinding against you as you are about to be walking out of here it seems.

The motions feel more jagged at the very least. Jabbing comfortable into you, making you wish you weren't so close to banging your head into the mirror. This is so lovely otherwise. Lovely and you...you could have gotten more out of it, but it's still fantastic. Knowing you helped feels enough--

Klaus catches himself on the edge of the sink. You don't really realize your eyes have been closed until he's halting entirely. Done, you're sure.

He immediately stops. No, he just hesitates. Fingers twitching in place on your thighs, each waiting to continue but he still sputters out his usual lines. "Whoa--sorry, I just thought that it's not good sport to just stop, right? I mean--haha for you. Not for me." He puts on this goofy smile that you feel, in your heart, he truly means as sexy. "We are sure on that."

"Are you offering me something, Klaus?" you inquire, smirking down at him.

The man gives a fake shrug.

"Are you serious?"

“My mother may have been a robot, but she raised a gentleman.” He says, as your dizzy mind registers he's eye level with your fly, fingers going towards it--

You don't really have any words anyways. Just letting Klaus do what he seemed to be eager about getting done prior. It's like a kid playing with his favorite toy, working with little time at your zipper.

You aren't totally sure what he's planning until he's tugging your everything down, which makes your cheeks heat up again. Mouth is too dry suddenly to really say anything. But there's still no words, right? Just the view of Klaus on his knees in front of you, seemingly unfazed by you're sudden nudity.

You're not bothered by it either, namely because you wish you'd been told that would happen. In the bathroom of all places.

Either or, Klaus peers up. "This fine with you, right?"

He does have your interests in mind... "Yeah, dude."

"Yeah, dude," he repeats, not mockingly but to hear it. It makes him smile."Well, dude, you should probably bite into something or, uh, hope that Agnes likes to listen to heavy metal while she bakes."

"Bite into...what?"

Klaus doesn't give a response. You don't really have the chance to process one even if he had offered one. The man's cold hands grasp your hips, making your own fall back to grab the handles behind. Saliva catches in your throat. Body holding still.

He kisses your stomach. Drawing out a slight shudder down your body as it crawls lower, his lips. Experimentally perhaps, but maybe too much. You are working on a deadline here, and you hope he gets that thought in his mind soon enough.

You stare forward at the bathroom door. Like a look-out. Your own look-out. Scared someone's going to come waltzing towards the two of you, and then the whole thing's fucked, and that'd really ruin things for you, wouldn't it?

You'd be in the papers as the person caught getting head in a local donut shop from The Umbrella Academy's famed hero The Seance and probably arrested on multiple counts of public indecency.

A gasp leaves you, one you quickly cover with your hand. Klaus's done kissing and teasing, whatever teasing that had been. His lips pressed right against you. He doesn't seem shaken by your sound -- if he is, he doesn't let on. You for once are not focused on him and his reactions.

He's too far down to be noticed as anything other than moving lips, long thin fingers, something wet finding you. Hands still keeping you where he needs you. It just started, but it feels like forever, given the making out in the booth. His skilled mouth is making you feel so weak and getting your eyes to flutter.

He works like a true professional, that's for sure. Motions you almost wish you could feel out to their full extent instead of quickly to finish a quickie at Griddy's.

Klaus's tongue curls so perfectly, making you really wish you'd had something to bite into after all. This is torture having to resist the groans practically attacking your throat. Your body is shaking at the motions escaping your stomach, wanting to escape your throat.

Your toes curl in your ratty converse, feeling heavy and nonexistent as you want to fall forward, held up by the sink and Klaus's hands on your hips.

Even as it draws to a close with the final lift of heat from your body, making your eyes squeeze shut as any means to resist that same gasp that started it.

And he's pulling away, the cold embrace of his fingers sliding lower, to drag your lower garments back up and buckled so kindly.

The sink deserves to collapse. You deserve to collapse.

Klaus deserves to carry you home and tuck you into bed -- maybe a medal as well. You feel honestly disgusting, more physically than emotionally. Though you can't complain as badly as Klaus, you can only imagine the state his pants are in. He doesn't do anything until he has made sure you're all zipped and belted back up. Nice of him. You feel too dazed to do it yourself. He rubs his mouth on his grimy jacket sleeve, grinning like an idiot when his face emerges from behind it.

You feel strangely not alive like you really are in bed and not in the bathroom of Griddy's. It makes your register of Klaus' kiss slow.

He grabs you by the shoulders and kisses you hard. You can taste yourself mixed with synthetic lemon flavoring and sugar on his mouth. You're briefly surprised by it.

Long enough to stare at Klaus wide mouthed as he heads for the door. The chorus of “I don’t know about you, but I am starving! Ooh! You think I should order a sticky bun? Did I ever tell you about the time I fist fought a hobo over a sticky bun?” as he leaves makes you start to grin, in a mix of disbelief and pride.

#klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader

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whumping-newbie · 5 years ago

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Reunion

So! As part of NaNoWriMo, I have been doing some reshuffling of the order in which events occur, particularly in Michał’s story. I will be fixing this order in my masterlist of course, but here is the next bit of Setup (TM) for his story. No whump, just filler. Sorry! But the whump is coming soooooooooooon ish, I promise.

Tagging @justplainwhump and @givemethatwhump. This is very much setup for the next part of his story! Sorry about the lack of whump, but still!

POV: Michał

It’s been a while since I’ve been given a temporary leave of absence, and even longer since I’ve been happy to take it. I feel wretched, and I still ache all over from being cooped up in the medwing for as long as I have been.

I think that the last time I came out to explore the city properly – the mainland capital city of the country – was for Oskar’s last birthday. We had come out for a few drinks around the town. Even though I didn’t particularly enjoy drinking continuously over an evening, it was good to spend time away from work with my friend.

The streets are so different now. There’s the skeletal remains of the library further in the depths of the twisting roads, and the cathedral which still stands tall and proud towards the east.

It’s nice to have the fresh air, even though the burning hot sun is brutal at this time of year. The market stalls that normally fill the plaza have closed for a few hours whilst the sun is at its highest, but there are still a lot of people wandering around.

Including soldiers.

There’s so many, but they are highly concentrated towards the entrance to the tidal road that leads back to the citadel. They’re all travelling in pairs, and they certainly aren’t shy at making their presence known, marching around with a stern look on their faces, the look of someone who thinks they’re more important than they are.

There’s a certain tension in the atmosphere among the crowds of citizens here, now. It’s hard to tell, but it’s like everyone is skittish, and more alert than usual. Of course, this could have something to do with the armed soldiers that patrol the streets, but it could also have something to do with my recent excursion that led to a hideout being uncovered.

I find myself walking there. The building that was once an inconspicuous tailors shop has its windows smashed, the products within looted, and the way that almost every passer-by except myself is acting like it doesn’t exist. Like there’s nothing there. It’s like a ghost, it’s there, it has a form, but no one else sees what an eyesore it is to the rest of the area.

I move along quickly, I don’t want to get spotted lingering here, staring at an old building. Can’t have that making its way back to Emil. With that being said, surely he’d understand that I would want to see the place I uncovered, right? He’d understand that, I hope…

Psst.

I stop in my tracks, uncertain as to whether I actually heard that. It sounded like someone whispering, trying to get my attention. I turned around, looking for someone that could have done that. I can’t see anyone, there’s an old lady and old gentleman making their way past me, there’s a man with a little boy heading in the opposite direction, and a man and a woman, staying close together, slipping through these other people on the street.

Suddenly something catches my eye, literally. Light, blinding light distorts my vision for a moment, and I blink it away. It disappears as quickly as it came, and I look up at where the light came from. There’s a figure in the alleyway just ahead. They’re leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, wearing almost inconspicuous summer clothing, and holding something shiny. I can’t make out their face clearly because of the shiny thing, but I can see them nod at me, before disappearing behind the building.

Who was that? I think they want me to follow them, but I stop myself after a moment. Why would I be so stupid as to do that? I got beaten up the last time I was in this area because of who I work for. I managed to get people arrested in this area. Why on earth would I want to follow them at all? I didn’t even get the chance to see them properly, how can I be sure that this won’t end up with me dying in an alleyway?

I clench my fist, take another look around to make sure no one sees, before slipping into the alleyway too, following whoever it was.

I quickly make my way down the alley, keeping my eyes ahead but constantly looking back to make sure that no one is trapping me here. I look around, hoping to see something I can conceivably use as a weapon if I have to. There’s a wooden broom over there. I doubt that would do much good in an emergency, but it’s better than nothing. Oh, further down, there’s a loose, rusty pipe laid on the ground. The person I’m following must have gone down the alleyway further, so I take the chance to pick up the pipe as soundlessly as I can, and keep it held behind my back.

It’s better than being caught totally off guard.

I turn the corner and there is the figure from before now stood before me, arms folded and in the middle of the alleyway, waiting for me. I can see them clearly now, and I recognise them. It’s that lady that got me put into the medwing for two weeks.

“Glad to see you alive,” she said, deadpan.

“Same to you,” I returned, nodding my head in her direction. I still had the pipe in my hand, gripping it tightly. I was ready for her if she suddenly turned violent, and I could hear if someone was going to creep up behind me. “I heard about the hideout.”

“They didn’t get everyone,” she responded with a sigh, breaking our eye contact. “I suppose here is where I thank you. You kept your end of the bargain, and you got him out.”

“Is Alek alive?”

“Alek? Oh, that isn’t his real name, of course,” she shrugged, “but yes, he’s alive. Told us about what you were doing in there. He seems to trust you.”

“And you don’t?”

“What you have done has certainly edged it more in the… direction, of total trust, but your boss still credited you with discovering our base. We still lost good people that night.”

“I know, I’m sorry. That was never my intention.”

“I know. You still got our man out, and I appreciate that.” She unfolded her arms, turning around on the spot, before making her way towards a metal door in the building beside us, “you can drop that pipe, I’ve got someone that wants to see you. I think you’ll know them.”

She knocked sequentially – knock-knock, a pause, knock – before I could hear its heavy metal gears grind out of the locking mechanism, and the door opened. She gestured for me to follow, and I did, leaving the pipe on top of a dustbin that was on my right hand side.

This building appears to be the hideout that just got raided, because this back room is littered with once smartly pressed suit jackets that were now on the floor in tatters.

“Michał.” A short voice called out quietly.

I look over at the source, and am both shocked and immensely relieved. I remember those long black locks of hair, her dark skin and chestnut eyes.

“Zofia,” I recalled, but daren’t step forwards. She didn’t either. She looked pleased to see me, but not overjoyed. I don’t blame her. She likely knows the fate of her friends, and she has probably been told about me and what I am doing.

She, however, is wearing long trousers, most likely to conceal her metal prosthetic leg that she has. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew she had it, I wouldn’t have been able to tell.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she tells me politely, “you look… well.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her hesitation. Always the polite one, she was. I have to admire that. I also can’t help but feel immense relief that she’s actually alive and okay.

Since the day that Matylda and Irena were brought back to the castle, I was worried sick about the others since the Princess would not likely leave their side, but the moment Anastazja and Karolina were brought back was when I started to get worried. The chances of the Princess’ discovery was just… unfathomable, and I dreaded the day it would happen.

If it happens.

“Where’s the –?“ I started to ask, but was cut off by Zofia, who was working on re-locking the door behind me. She was also fiddling with some fine pieces of string above the door, so thin I barely saw them.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t. We got separated. Kasia and Anja were captured, and she ran off somewhere. I haven’t seen her for… about 8 months, now.”

I could breathe again, now that I know she’s sort of safe. Sort of, because now I’m back to square one. She’s missing, and no one knows where she is. Then again, if she was here I would have to question what her goal was, by sitting in a previously compromised building that housed rebels. The chances of her getting caught increase tenfold here, armed soldiers are everywhere. Plus, surely it’s safer to be anywhere but here?

“Why have you remained here?” I asked the woman who escorted me here, “isn’t this compromised?”

“It’s compromised for such a big group. Right now, there’s just two of us.” She started to lead me up the wooden stairs, taking care not to creak the steps, with Zofia behind me.

“That’s fine, I suppose, but aren’t they going to know this was previously a rebel hideout?”

“They like to think they’re smart. They think we have of course fled this one, and wouldn’t dare return. They’re right, except that they don’t actually check this place out properly. They just think that because it looks deserted, it is.”

“Just yesterday, we actually thought we would get caught, Michał,” Zofia piped in, “they came into the doorway and knocked things around, and we were right here. No one ever came upstairs to check.”

I couldn’t help but be impressed by this.

“Zofia… how did you get here? Working with them?” I asked her as I looked around the room.

An attic room, with a low ceiling and no windows, illuminated by battery powered lamps, by the looks of it. Papers everywhere, maps and documents, a laptop plugged into a plug socket on the wall, and two beds concealing all of it. There’s a small camping stove with two pans and cracked plates next to it, empty tin cans lining the corner of the room. There are some small bells on the ceiling up there, with wires following the walls down and disappearing into the floor. There’s even a gun on one of those beds over there, and I shudder to think that it’s Zofia’s. I doubt it highly, but if it is, I find it difficult to envision. This must be where they’ve made their home.

She carefully closed the door behind us, and took a seat on one of the blankets.

“After we left the capital, we went to Przezlas,” she started, “we hid there for a day, but someone spotted us. We had to run. Anja and Kasia… I saw them get dragged away. I don’t know where the Princess went, because I couldn’t find her. I ended up waiting it out. Starved a little bit. Was taken in by some guy named Markus. Markus… works with Teresa.”

I barely had a second to wonder who Teresa is, until I saw her nod in the direction of the woman. So that’s her name. It does feel better to know her name, rather than as some nameless rebel. Teresa did not look too pleased at Zofia mentioning her name, though her lack of an outburst makes me wonder if it’s even real. She said Alek wasn’t his real name.

“I helped Markus in his safe house for a while. I met Teresa when she brought that very, very wounded man in the other week,” she continued, enunciating each of her words with more strength and conviction, “he told me about you. About how you wanted to get my friends out. I want to help you with that, Michał.”

Relief. Sweet, warming relief rushes through me at how determined she sounded. I was glad for that, really. I was truly glad to hear that she doesn’t think I’m some traitor, after everything I’ve done (or not done) so far.

“Is that why you brought me here?” I asked, trying to cut straight to brass tacks.

“You kept your end of the deal,” Teresa took a seat on the floor, and pulled out a wad of papers from under a blanket. “Now, let us keep ours.”

Our deal. The deal for two freedoms. Freedom for their man, freedom for the Princess’ – and Zofia’s – friends.

I’m hoping this will work. I’m optimistic about it, I can hope that it’s successful, but there’s still something in me, a part of me that warns me to be wary.

I can’t explain it, but there’s a burning sensation in my chest as we talk through the plan.

#my writing #my OC's #Michał #basically no warnings here tbh #it's not exactly whump I'm sorry

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oajpw5f3-blog · 5 years ago

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