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thewayofthemandalorian · 2 years

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wreck my plans - epilogue

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Series rating: M

Chapter rating: M

Word count: 1,853

Notes: All my love and appreciation to @ezrasbirdie my beloved for beta-reading this entire series and being my top cheerleader. You are the best and I appreciate you so much! This is just a short and sweet epilogue to wrap things up and see what happened in the aftermath of everything. Thank you to everyone for reading and reblogging/leaving feedback on this story.

Comments/reblogs appreciated

Chapter warnings: Kissing, non-explicit sexual content (including f!receiving oral), proposals

previous chapter || masterlist (main) || masterlist (marcus pike)

AUGUST (AGAIN)

The cherry blossoms sway in the hot summer breeze as you walk to work hand in hand with Marcus. The power’s been out for twenty-four hours and since you’re now the owner/operator of the cafe, you need to make sure everything’s okay and nothing’s gone bad.

“I just hope I don’t have to throw everything out,” you say to Marcus for the seventh time, knowing that the generator is running as needed and everything will likely be fine.

Marcus squeezes your hand. “It should be fine, honey.”

“When should the power be back on at the Bureau?” you ask, fishing the keys out of your purse.

“Hopefully not long. Although part of me wants to stay home. I’ve enjoyed the extended staycation I’m getting.” Marcus had had the past week off work. You’d mostly lounged at the house, gone on day trips, spent lazy mornings (and afternoons) in bed tangled up together.

It’s been nine months since you moved in with Marcus, since Kevin was sent away for twenty years without parole. You still don’t know how you got so lucky with Marcus. He’s the perfect man for you. Sweet, caring, considerate, generous. He takes care of you. And listens to you. He’s everything that your ex-husband wasn’t. He does things for you because he wants to, not because he has a sense of obligation to. You love him completely, and you were once certain that you would never love again. You’re happier than ever with him.

The idea of marriage has crossed both your minds. But as you told him one night a few months ago in bed, you weren’t sure if you could see yourself getting married again. Marcus had understood. He felt the same way once after Teresa left him. But now that you’ve met each other? Anything is possible. You know that Marcus is the one for you, just as Marcus knows you’re the one for him. The two of you had left it open-ended, but it was becoming something you were considering more and more. You want to spend your life with him by your side.

With a jangle of the bells hanging at the door, you push open the cafe door. The air is stale without the conditioner. You could use the generator to its full value and power the entire cafe but you don’t want to run the risk of taking any power or energy away from the fridge or freezers.

With some slight trepidation, you open the fridge and grab a carton of milk, seeing how cold it is. It feels fine. “I think everything’s okay,” you say to Marcus before glancing at the display case of baked goods. They are a new recipe, gladly taste-tested by Marcus after you made them last week in the kitchen. He’d still tasted like the cinnamon swirl donuts later as he kissed you, pushing you up against the wall as you giggled against his lips before helping him take off the forest green t-shirt you love so much on him.

“We should probably take these,” you say, “so they don’t go stale.”

But before you can get a box, there’s a thrumming sound, the tell tale sign of the air conditioner and freezer coming back on. “Thank god,” you cry, the stress releasing from your body in waves.

You still take the donuts home. You know how much Marcus loves them.

- - - -

“When do you know how many students you have?” you ask Marcus over dinner. The power’s on at your place, but it’s still off at the Bureau, so you and Marcus have another day together; he’s going to helping out with the cafe tomorrow, making sure everything’s as it should be. You won’t be re-opening until Wednesday.

“Should be soon. These next few days were supposed to be my last days before my sabbatical.” Marcus has decided to take the teaching job as a trial run. It was one thing when he was undercover. It’s another thing entirely when he’s doing it for real. If he likes it, he’s going to give up the FBI and become a full-time instructor. It’s odd, he thinks, not being an FBI agent. At least for the time being. If he hates it, he’s going back to the Bureau. But you don’t think he’s going to hate it. He’s teaching the figure drawing class again and he’s kept his same model as before on retainer. It had been an easy yes on your part, and you had successfully negotiated a higher pay, which bolstered your income nicely. The only hard part would be keeping your hands off each other completely.

You sense his nerves about it. “You’re going to be great. You are great.”

Marcus smiles at you. “So are you, you know that?”

He tells you so many times, but every time he does it makes your heart grow in fondness for him even more.

“Charlotte texted. Power’s still out at her place, so she’s going to Sam’s.” Though you didn’t see your sister on a daily basis like you had this time last year, she was still number one in your life.

After dinner, as Marcus is washing the dishes, you come up behind him at the sink and wrap your arms around his middle, resting your face against his warm, broad back. “Hi, baby,” you murmur. It seemed a bit incongruent the first time you called this man of authority “baby” when it had slipped out, but he absolutely preens every time you call him that. “I know the power’s back, but I still want to do what we had planned for if it was still out.”

Twenty minutes later finds you and him in his studio. More artwork hangs on the walls. He’s brought home the framed drawing you and he had done and it now hangs on the wall. As you finish lighting the candles and strategically placing them around the room (the sun hasn’t completely set yet), Marcus gets his sketchpad and charcoal.

This has become a semi-frequent activity for you. It usually ends the same way, with him whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ears before he takes you slowly and sweetly on the floor, spread out on a dropcloth. He’s generous and attentive and always makes sure you get your pleasure first before he gets his own. Sometimes it’s quick and frantic, but even then, Marcus makes sure you’re both getting what you need. You love him and his need to show his love for you. He needs you to know that he loves you and shows you in many ways, every day.

“I still want to do one where it’s both of us,” you say as you settle on the couch.

“An artist is never their own subject,” Marcus says primly, trying to hide something. You narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, okay,” he relents. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I’m still waiting on a camera with a timer.” He already has a photo printer for work that he’s also taken home (since it was his to begin with). “Do you want to do it together?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

Your position is a bit off, he reaches out and adjusts you. Though this is not new, his touch still sends shockwaves through your body. You will never get tired of his touch, of him.

He draws you, the intimacy heightened as a result of the candlelight and setting sun. The ambience is different and you love it. It’s always different, each time he draws you, but this time? There’s something else.

The words hang on your lips for a long time, not wanting to distract him. They stay put even as he begins to kiss you on the couch, working his lips down, down, down… Even as your legs go up over his shoulders, all you can say is his name in ecstasy.

It isn’t until you’re lying in bed together later that Marcus makes mention of it. “What’s on your mind?” he murmurs.

You mean to broach the subject a bit more gracefully, but it just slips out. “What if we get married?”

Marcus blinks slowly, making sure he hears you correctly. You never thought you were going to marry again after your divorce, but then Marcus Miguel Pike walked into your life, into your heart and you never want him to leave. You can’t picture a life without him.

“I know I said I wasn’t sure,” you continue. “But I-I love you so much and I never want us to be apart. You’ve made me realize what I want in life and that’s to be with you, by your side. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. I never will.” You don’t realize you have tears streaming down your face until Marcus brings a hand to your cheek to wipe them away tenderly. He kisses you sweetly, says your name with such affection it nearly makes you sob with how much you love him. “You’re the love of my life and my best friend. I never thought… Never dreamed that after him… But then I met you and I’m so glad that I did because being with you is all I want; I can’t think of a better way to spend my life than being married to my best friend. So I’m asking if you want to marry me.”

Marcus’s own eyes are glazed with tears. He says your name again. “Of course I want to marry you, are you kidding?” he tries to tease. Your laugh is watery and he kisses you. “I love you so much, how could I ever want to live a life without you in it?”

Marcus sits up. “Give me one second,” he says, making his way to the dresser. He rummages around in his sock drawer — where you had found his gun and badge — before coming back with something in his hand. He gives it to you. It’s a small velvet box. “I’ve been planning on giving this to you. I was going to give it to you next week on the anniversary of the first time we officially met. It’s meant to be either an engagement ring or a… well, I guess a promise ring? Because even if we don’t get married, I want to be with you.” You open the box. It’s a simple ring with diamonds etched into it. It’s perfect. “I had this whole plan of asking you at dinner, I was going to take you to the bistro where we officially met and ask you there. But this is much better.” He takes the ring out of the box and slides it on your finger. It fits perfectly.

You meet his lips for a kiss. You can’t believe that this is your life sometimes, that you’re in love with the man of your dreams. It had never been in the plans to fall for someone so soon, but as soon as you met Marcus, those plans had been wrecked. And you couldn’t be happier that they were.

The End

--- taglist in reblog

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #my writing

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 2 years

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Fic: The Nicest Thing

Read on Ao3

My Frankie Morales masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Santi x you/librarian!reader, Frankie x same reader, eventually Marcus Pike x same reader

Warnings: This one is a mess of angst, bad self esteem, shame, kind of slut shaming of the self, kind of sloppy seconds, kind of cheating but not really, super bad judgment calls, alcohol is involved, PiV sex, other people hearing you have sex, cunnilingus, basically public sex in a car, hangover. I think I got all of it?

Words: 5,740

Summary: After having turned down Frankie, the nice dad who visited you regularly in your workplace the library with his daughter, you meet Santiago and hook up. However, you had no idea who Santi's best friend is...

A/N: This is a sequel to What We Don't Know Can't Hurt Us. It's been long in the making but here we go. I originally started writing this together with @missredherring but she later bequeathed the story to me. Props to her thought for getting me started on this! This is not a happy story, so be aware of that. Song to go with it: The Nicest Thing by Kate Nash.

All I know is that you're so nice

You're the nicest thing I've seen

I wish that we could give it a go

See if we could be something

Your heart drops when you see Frankie come to a stop by the table you managed to grab for you in the busy bar, and you feel sick when he nods his hello to Santiago.

Frankie is one of Santi’s friends.

His brown gaze rests on your face and you can barely return it. You haven’t seen him at work anymore: after he asked you out and you turned him down, you talked to your supervisor and asked to be transferred from the children’s section. You didn’t want to see Frankie or his kid again and the section for adult fiction seemed like a safer place when wanting to avoid a single father and a child. The library, a space you always enjoyed spending your days in, became something of a video game where you were constantly on your guard, always dreading the sudden appearance of a handsome man armed with a shy, kind smile.

You never saw him at work again but now he’s standing right in front of you in this bar. Frankie, here, with you and Santiago, your new boyfriend – no, not boyfriend: fuck buddy – are to meet his friends for a couple of drinks. Santi makes the introductions and Frankie extends his hand, pretending not to know you. Oh. Okay.

“Good to meet you,” you mumble, shaking his hand quickly before releasing it, like you burned yourself.

Two more show up as well, brothers, and you realize that they are the ones that Frankie mentioned to you a couple of times when talking to you in the library, you keeping an eye on the service desk and he on his girl. Hopefully, the men won’t put two and two together and realize who you are. You’re pretty sure Frankie has mentioned you to them. If not Frankie, then his kid. Judging from how the men are asking Frankie how Sofia is doing, they’re all a tight bunch who know his kid and are actively involved in her life in some way.

You keep a low profile, smiling and answering questions politely without initiating any conversation. Santi’s hand is on your thigh most of the evening, and you do nothing to remove it. But in the presence of Frankie, whom you so very recently turned down because of his history, the hand on you starts to feel heavy and wrong.

You met Santiago not long after that catastrophic goodbye to Frankie. Your girlfriends thought you needed a night out, have some fun, get laid, and you decided to at least try in order to get your mind off the Frankie mess. When Santi’s velvety dark eyes met yours across the dancefloor of a club, you weren’t hard-pressed to accept his invites. He was a great dancer, moving his strong body sensually, always with a hand on your hip or your waist, occasionally on your ass. He was funny. He was a good kisser. He was great in bed, where you ended up with him that very same night.

He was handsome and charming, and you were honestly surprised that he texted you the next day. You met up, mostly for sex, but he would actually cook for you as well. He courted you before blowing your back out, and you appreciated that. He was thoughtful that way.

But you didn’t see yourself ending up with him, not long-term. You sensed that he wasn’t the type. And while you decidedly enjoyed fucking him, you didn’t see yourself ever loving him. You were having fun, that was all. Sure, you probably wanted more in the future from some other man but right now, this was enough. You felt beautiful and appreciated in bed with Santi, but you knew this thing has an end date.

And now, with this new revelation, it’s pretty clear that you’ve reached the end date. It’s tonight, right this minute. This isn’t right. But for some reason, you can’t seem to just get up, excuse yourself, and leave. Maybe it’s your mother’s voice deep inside your brain, telling you to be a good girl no matter how uncomfortable you are, just smile and nod, or maybe you feel sorry for Santi. Or, quite possibly, you just enjoy being in Frankie’s presence again. You avoid his stare but you feel it on you, your skin tingles with it, and you find yourself craving it. When Santi kisses you it feels wrong but exciting. You lock eyes with Frankie right after the kiss, blushing when you see the conflict painted on his face, plain for everyone to see before he seems to catch himself and carefully arrange his features into something more neutral.

The evening drags on and you drink a little too much. When an afterparty at Santi’s place is suggested, you are too dazed to protest. So you go with them, get into Will’s truck with Santi and Benny, Frankie driving himself. At Santi’s place, you end up on his lap while Frankie, Benny, and Will fool around the living-room. Benny is a bit of a brawler and keeps challenging his brother to wrestling matches. Santi accepts a challenge as well, leaving you on the couch for a drunken wrestle on the floor. Casually, Frankie sits down next to you, a little too close. He looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes. What he didn’t drink at the bar in order to be in driving condition, he’s making up for now. You ignore his gaze stubbornly but it’s hard because he’s just so near you. You feel his thigh against you and his shoulder is crowding you towards the arm rest… it’s torture. It’s ridiculous how bothered it makes you. How horny. How guilty and disgusting. Why does he have to smell so good? Old leather and sweat and beer and something sweet like… pomegranate?

You try to focus instead on the juvenile and idiotic match between Santi and Benny but the question that keeps ringing in your head is: What are you even doing here? Why are you still here where these two men that you don’t even want are pretending to fight each other for your hand?

Frankie leans closer. “Sofia asks about you.”

“Don’t,” you mumble, still refusing to look at him. You may have stared brazenly at him earlier when Santi’s lips and hands were on you but now you just feel dirty. You should leave, just take your shit and leave. But you don’t have your car and you’re too drunk to drive, anyway. Maybe an Uber?

A winner seems to be declared in the fight and Santi staggers over to the couch, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. He kisses you, panting from the wrestling, his alcohol breath puffing in your face making you wrinkle your nose.

“I think I’ll get an Uber,” you suggest carefully. “It’s getting late and I’m tired.”

“I’m not letting you into an Uber by yourself,” Santi shakes his head, suddenly sobering up. “No way. Stay the night.”

For some reason you end up agreeing. Maybe it’s pity: you know you’re going to break up with him – or whayever it is one does with a fuck buddy – or maybe you just want to spend one last night in his company. Whatever it is, the two of you end up in his bedroom, kissing desperately, Santi’s confident hands touching you in all the right places with the exact pressure you crave. He stops to make sure you are consenting in your inebriated state and doesn’t go on until you’re begging him to fuck you. When he finally pushes into your quivering cunt, he’s wearing a rubber and you’re already shaking from two orgasms he gave you with his fingers. He fucks you fast and hard, like he usually does; not without precision, but with a heated urgency that he keeps up for much longer than you ever expected. It’s his thing but it doesn’t make any less thrilling now than the first time. His skin turns shiny from sweat but he keeps nailing you to the mattress without showing any signs of slowing down, nearing his climax, or getting tired. You suddenly realize that it’s because you don’t matter to him more than he matters to you. If the two of you were committed and in love, would he be cradling your head against his shoulder, whispering in your ear how good you feel, how well you take him, how lucky he is to be fucking you like this, how he want to keep fucking his good girl like this until the end of time? Instead, he keeps himself high above you, arms straight in a push-up position, as he thrusts into you until he pulls out and makes you turn around so that he can continue from behind. His stamina hasn’t suffered as he goes on pounding you for at least another ten minutes while you struggle more and more to keep your voice down. The two of you may not share an emotional connection but fuck, he’s good, you’ve never been fucked like this in your entire life, it’s so insanely good and it will get even better when you cum on his cock, so you reach between your legs and rub your clit furiously, your moans rising with the tightening of the string deep within you. When it finally snaps you shout out and Santi curses, his thrusts turning more erratic.

“Can I cum on your ass?” he pants and you wail out a Yes! to which he replies with a growl as he pulls out of you, slaps your ass, then grunts loudly as the condom snaps off and he spurts hot cum on your ass and lower back.

He cuddles you for a little while after but the alcohol and orgasm are overpowering him and he’s out like a light, snoring blissfully next to you. You lie awake in the dark, exhausted and satisfied but unable to sleep because of his loud snores. You’ve spent nights with him before but he has always slept quietly and you guess the alcohol has something to do with his vibrating tissues.

The sound of steps in the apartment outside the closed bedroom door makes you freeze. Is someone still here? Didn’t everyone leave? Will would drive Benny but Frankie did drive his own truck here.

Oh no. No. Is Frankie still here? You vaguely remember something about crashing on the couch and driving home tomorrow morning, but you can’t be sure. Oh God. He’s heard everything, he must have.

You feel sick and tears of shame burn in your eyes. Slowly, your head aching with the beginnings of a hangover, you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Quietly and without turning on the light you collect your clothes and get dressed, managing to put everything on right without waking Santi. Eventually, you slip out of the bedroom and slink into the kitchen for a glass of water.

The empty bottles and beer cans smell revolting, and there’s a slice of pizza sitting alone in an opened, greasy box. You don’t even remember having pizza earlier but you’re not hungry so it must be so. Turning on the tap and letting the water run until it’s ice cold, you fill a large glass and then drink all of it in one go.

Heavy footsteps enter the kitchen behind you and you turn around, heart in your throat.

Frankie, his t-shirt wrinkled and his wavy, thick hair tousled. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.

“Did you know?” he asks you in a low voice. Your frown tells him that you have no idea what he’s talking about, so he specifies:

“Did you know that he was a friend of mine?”

“No.” You shake your head, relieved that you can at least be honest about this, but terrified that the conversation turned to this giant elephant in the room immediately.

“He doesn’t do relationships, you know.”

“That’s not what this is,” you immediately let him know, then correct yourself: “Was.”

“Maybe you could try Will next.” Frankie’s harsh tone is like the slice of a well-sharpened knife. “Goldilocks is maybe more your type.”

You bristle despite feeling like absolutely shit about yourself.

“If this is how you are when you don't get your way, Frankie, then I'm glad we didn't get together.”

It hurts, but he has no right. You bet he’d never talk like this to Santiago. It’s probably bros before hos there, a pat on the back, an “I love you, hermano”, and you’ll be just an ugly memory.

You want to get away but Frankie’s blocking the kitchen door and while you don’t think that he would hurt you, there’s again that good girl voice inside you that tells you to stay and deal with this. You made your own bed with this and now you have to lie in it.

“Why him?” Frankie now demands, but there is no heat in his voice, only sadness. Nevertheless, it gets you worked up. Why does he think he has the right to question you like this? The honest, ugly truth is on the tip of your tongue.

Because he doesn't have a kid. Because I can't see the hurt of his last relationship still in his eyes.

But you can’t say that, it’s unfair. How much you want him and how much you know that the two of you won’t be good is unfair. The whole situation is unfair. It’s not Frankie’s fault he has a kid and a failed marriage behind him. It’s not your fault that you don’t want that, it’s not him, it’s his past, it’s just a dealbreaker for you.

“It just happened,” you offer helplessly. “I didn’t know. It just happened.”

You don’t owe him anything, you know that, but it’s Frankie – the sweet, kind man who would talk to you during your tedious hours at the children’s section, who would ask you about your day so far, about your job, whose child would be so well-behaved that you allowed yourself to fantasize about the father despite knowing you didn’t want a child in your life. It’s still that Frankie, his handsome face, the beautiful, soft brown eyes, that hair that you had hoped to maybe be able to touch one day. His smile that just made you want to open your heart as well as your legs.

You feel the tears rising again, and you sniffle and put down your glass.

“I think I should leave.”

For some reason, you grab a half empty vodka bottle from the kitchen table as you elbow past Frankie. Without your purse and your coat, you just shove your feet into your shoes, fumble with the lock, and stumble out. You take a deep swig of the vodka with the insane intent of drinking until you don’t have to feel any longer, but the liquor is room temperature and tastes foul in your already stale, dry mouth. As soon as you’re out of the apartment complex, you take another swig and fish your phone out of your pocket.

“Hey!”

You don’t turn around when you hear Frankie’s voice. Instead, you’re trying to see enough of your phone screen to open the Uber app.

“What are you doing?” Frankie has now caught up with you and is taking the bottle from your hand. You whine in protest but he just throws it to the side. The glass shatters in the dark and you realize that it’s chilly and you don’t have your coat or purse, so you have no keys.

“I’m trying to get home,” you mutter. “I need to get home.”

“You can’t go without a coat. And I’m not letting you go anywhere by yourself in your state.”

“Oh, so now you suddenly care about me, huh?” You want it to sound angry but you’re sobbing. The mere idea that Frankie cares about you is… heartbreaking.

“I do care about you.”

You look up at him, your hand holding the phone slowly falling to hang by your side, the phone slipping out of your grip and clattering to the asphalt. You’re shivering now, both from the cold and the shock, the adrenaline, the hangover, and as you try to speak, you find your teeth are chattering too hard. Frankie wraps his arms around you, quickly, and pulls you into his broad, warm chest. He’s in his t-shirt but still so warm. How can he be so warm?

“I care about you,” he repeats in a low whisper, and your arms slowly rise to his waist, where they tentatively come to hold him. Frankie hugs you closer still and you take it as an invitation for you to hug him tighter. So you do, and you start to feel his warmth seep into your limbs, your chest, your stomach, concentrating in a pool low in your groin.

“Frankie,” you whisper, turning your face up towards his. Your eyes fall close when you feel his lips on your cheekbones, kissing away your tears.

“I got you,” he promises, a soft puff of warm air against your face. “Don’t cry, querida. It’s alright.”

For a moment, you believe him. And you act on it, letting your lips find his softly, almost shyly. You have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss him, and now it’s okay to do so. It’s okay, it’s alright, you tell yourself, and so you brush your lips over his, gently, with feeling. His chin and cheeks are filled with bristles that scrape your skin a little but it’s what you anticipated. Your raise one hand from his waist to his cheek and trace the patchy beard, touch the bald spots that you have been wondering about. You don’t ask him about them, though: there are so many other things that you want your mouth to do. You want to kiss him, kiss him for the rest of the night, and so you carefully slip your tongue out to lick at his lips, and Frankie parts them and lets you in, sucks you in with his own tongue, and before you know it you’re making out like teenagers and feeling just as young and stupid and horny.

His truck keys are in his pocket, you can feel the hard outline of them through the denim, and that’s not the only stiff outline poking at you. You rub yourself against him and he breaks the kiss for a moan.

“I want you,” you gasp, cupping his cheeks. “Frankie, I’ve wanted you since – “

“I know.” His hands come to your cheeks and you stand in the cold dark on an apartment building parking lot, staring into each other’s eyes and seeing anything only because you happen to be standing right next to the ring of light of a street lamp.

“Let’s go inside,” he tells you, his baritone dripping with want that makes your gut drop from desire. You’re brought back to where exactly you are: outside of Santiago’s apartment. Santiago, you’re fuck buddy. Frankie’s friend. You can’t.

“No,” you shake your head. “Your truck.”

You expect him to protest but he doesn’t, only takes your hands off his cheeks and pulls you away with him. He unlocks the car and pushes you up against the door, trapping you for a deep, hungry kiss that tastes of beer and a budding morning breath.

“You sure?” he asks you in a low voice. You take his hand and bring it between your legs.

“Yes.”

He helps you into the backseat, gets in after you, and shuts the door. It’s dark and cold but he drapes himself over you and breathes warmth into you with his kisses and wandering hands. He explores your body, so unlike Santi who seemed to just go for specific spots on you that he figured to be erogenous. Frankie caresses every inch of you, pausing when your breath hitches or a moan escapes you. He gets in under your clothes, under your skin even, and your head spins when he whispers into your ear how beautiful he finds you.

“Sweetheart, can I go down on you? Will you be able to cum on my mouth?”

You swallow hard and find your tongue for a whimpered yes.

“Say it,” he begs of you, not commanding you to use words but pleading with you to communicate what it is you need.

“Go down on me, Frankie, please.”

He kisses you deeply, with a slow passion that promises more for nights to come, before working his way down your body. After some rearranging and some limbs knocking into each other, followed by ouch! and giggled apologies as well as soothing kisses, you’re reclining naked against the corner of the backseat and side door. Frankie is half on the floor, half on the seat, licking your tits with dedication, his big fingers softly teasing your wet folds, conjuring all kinds of sounds from you. When he finally slides lower you’re almost embarrassed at how wet you already are, but Frankie soon has you dripping as he starts to lick his tongue into you, gathering your slick and spreading it all over you. When he latches onto your clit and sucks, you scream straight out from the shocking intensity. Your bury one hand in his hair and hold onto the door handle with the other, sobbing when he goes on sucking your clit before finally relinquishing it and switching to licks.

Santi would eat your pussy with a clear purpose in mind: orgasm. Frankie eats it with another agenda: pleasure, a long rollercoaster of ups and downs before he finally unhooks the train from its tracks and has you falling through the air and plunging into his arms. He doesn’t finish until the car windows are fogged up and you’re begging him with kicking legs.

“You taste so good,” he tells you with a satisfied sigh as he comes up to kiss you, his lips obscenely slick and the taste of you overpowering the staleness of teeth unbrushed.

“Could eat you all night,” he mumbles, “but I’d like to be inside you as well.”

“I’d like that too,” you smile, dazed but aching for him. You push him off of you and sit up, groaning a little at a strained muscle. When you start to unbuckle his belt, Frankie puts his hands on yours to stop you.

“I… don’t have any condoms. I’m sorry.”

“I’m on the pill,” you assure him. “And I’ve always used protection with… other men.”

“I’ve used condoms too, not that I’ve had the opportunity in a long while.” He sounds hesitant.

“If you don’t want to, Frankie…“

“I want to,” he cuts you off, “but I don’t want you to feel obligated. You can just jerk me off. Or I can do it myself.”

You know you’re clean and you sincerely doubt that Frankie has had any action in a while. And you need him inside you, there’s no way it’s not happening tonight.

“No,” you tell him and continue to open his fly. “We’re doing this. I want to, Frankie.”

His pants come off and his cock springs free, thick and veiny and a lot bigger than you had expected. Your cheeks flush red at the thought of having it bursting deep inside, and you’re happy it’s dark so that Frankie can’t see you. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen a dick, after all.

You straddle him in the middle of the back seat, sighing out a throaty moan when Frankie comes forward to lick one of your nipples before closing his lips around it and suckling it softly, tweaking the other nipple between forefinger and thumb. You find him between the two of you, get up on your knees, and nock him at your entrance. You hold your breath when you slide down his thick shaft, all the way down to the thick base. Frankie’s gaze is interlocked with yours, his lips are parted and he’s breathing audibly. When he’s all the way in, he leans his head back, closes his eyes, and groans low, a deep vibration that travels through him and you, making you clench.

“Mierda,” he curses as his eyes open anew and his hands come to hold your hips. “You… damn. You feel so good. I’ve thought about this for so long, querida…”

“When we talked at work?” you murmur, dazed by the feeling of being filled up so completely, by his body, his hands, the heat he exudes. You raise one hand to the back of his neck and bring him to you for a kiss, losing your fingers to the softness of his thick curls.

“M-hmm…” Frankie moans into your mouth when you start to swirl your hips slowly. “Just like that…”

You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into him, moving on his cock in search of the right spot to take you to heaven, as if heaven wasn’t already here, with every inch of Frankie inside of you, finally, his hands on you, his hot breath on your cheek when you trail your lips to his neck and leave your mark there, mine, he’s mine, I wanted him since I first saw him…

He’s vocal; constantly telling you how good you feel, how wet you are, what you do to him. Your ears are filled with his intoxicated words as you hit that right spot and start to work it, your tits bouncing when you start to chase your high to the rhythm of your combined pants. Frankie’s hands are everywhere, on hips and ass and tits and face and waist and he kisses you sloppily, hungrily, asking you in a strangled voice to ride him, ride it home, take what you need from him before he cums, he’s close, you’re close, your body is dripping with sweat as you ride his cock harder, faster, almost there, there, there, oh God, fuck, Frankie…!

He holds you against his chest as you come down and the wild thumping of his heart is thunderous, just like your own. When your breathing is back to normal and the sweat has dried, you start to shiver and your head starts to pound.

“Let’s go back inside,” Frankie tells you, reaching for your clothes. His cum runs down the inside of your thigh when you climb off him and you suddenly remember that it’s not the only semen that has stained your skin tonight.

You suddenly feel sick. What the hell are you doing? You scramble to open the car door and barely make it out before you throw up. The cold night air has you shaking harder than ever before in your life and you feel feverish. Is this what it’s like to die from all those diseases they had in the nineteenth century? Hot and cold and sick and shaking so bad every inch of you is vibrating?

“Fuck, are you okay?”

Frankie’s plaid lands on your shoulders and he’s bringing you against him, his strong arms wrapping around you for warmth. You try to speak but your teeth are chattering too hard, so he helps you with your clothes, even remembers your phone that you dropped on the ground, and takes you back into Santi’s apartment. You don’t ever want to see Santi again but neither you nor Frankie are in any condition to drive, and you owe both of them an apology, so you let Frankie tuck you in on the couch. He covers you with blankets and sits down next to you, his sleep deprived gaze still attentive as he looks you over.

“I’m sorry,” you finally manage to whisper. He caresses your cheek and smiles softly.

“Don’t be. It’s okay. We’ll talk in the morning, okay? You need sleep, we both do.”

“I’m not sure – “

“Not now, querida. It’s been a long night.”

Gratefully, you accept the extra time you get before you have to do anything unpleasant, and you let him kiss your forehead before settling next to you. Despite feeling wretched, you fall asleep within minutes.

You wake up with a double hangover: physical and emotional. Frankie is next to you on the couch, half sitting up, half lying down, head lolling to the side. It doesn’t look comfortable but nothing has been comfortable for the past twelve or so hours.

So stupid, so fucking stupid!

You just want to leave. It shouldn’t have happened, you shouldn’t have given in to those urges that wouldn’t lead to anywhere good. You had perfectly valid reasons for not getting involved with Frankie but you just couldn’t help yourself. The alcohol had part in it, of course, but you hadn’t been uninhibited. You could’ve stopped yourself, but you wanted him too much. You could’ve gone without knowing what it was like to be with Frankie but you fucked it up and now you’re hurting.

Heaven was Frankie inside of you: his cock, his hands, his voice in your ear telling her how good you felt and how much, how long he’s wanted you.

Once you can move without feeling dizzy, you get up and quietly look around for your purse. When you find it, you check to see that you have your phone, wallet, and keys. Your panties are missing but that doesn’t matter, and you have nothing else at Santi’s place. It’s time to sneak out, one final act of cowardice and immaturity. Least you could do is wait for Santi and Frankie to wake up, then have an honest conversation with them, face to face. But no, you can’t do that. Your head is swimming, your stomach is upside down, your pussy is still beating with the echo of Frankie’s cock, and you need to get away from here. You’re done with this, done with Santiago Garcia and Francisco Morales.

On the way out, you hear Frankie move on the couch. His voice, cracking with sleep, says your voice. At the same time, Santi’s bedroom door opens and he steps out, wearing only boxer shorts. With eyes narrow and sleepy, he looks at you, putting together the pieces of what he sees. Involuntarily, your gaze moves from him to Frankie on the couch, both of them rumpled from sleep and sex. Santi sees it, and you know that he immediately knows. Throat snared up and aching almost as much as your head, you open the front door and slink out, misery in your heart, shame suffocating your body.

Epilogue

Marcus is kind, just like Frankie, but seems to possess a greater sense of self-reflection. He tunes into your needs in a completely different way than Frankie: less “I want you” and more “I want you to feel good about yourself”.

You were in a bad shape when you met Marcus Pike. What happened that night with Frankie left you completely broken. The shame turned into self-loathing that swallowed you whole. You even had to take a week off work, but it didn’t do you any good: you sunk even deeper into despair. Your nights were sleepless and when you did sleep, you had wet, scary dreams where you were roughly fucked by Frankie and Santi at the same time. They filled up your holes, used you, and you exploded in one painful orgasm after the other, but whenever you looked at them, tried to kiss them, you discovered that their faces were empty, like those of mannequins. You woke up sweaty and horny but scared shitless. Were you going crazy?

Your shame did not diminish but you learned to live with it.

And then, one day, you ran into Marcus Pike, quite literally. It was a typical romcom meet-cute, the two of you crashing into each other in the door to a coffee shop. You spilled your drink all over his shirt. You were appalled, he was just smiling.

“I didn’t like this shirt anyway, I don’t know why I keep wearing it,” he told you with a smile so warm you had to smile back. You insisted on buying him not only a coffee but also a new shirt, and somehow, he managed to convince you that it was in fact he who should’ve watched out when coming into the coffee shop, so the drink was on him.

You exchanged numbers, one date became several, and you found yourself falling for him. You played it safe, though: you waited with sex, you didn’t touch a drop of alcohol when spending time with him, and as soon as you realized that you had feelings for him you decided to come clean about the Frankie/Santi mess. Marcus deserved to know this about you and after a homecooked dinner at his place, comfortably reclined in his couch corner, you told him.

Marcus was not put off by your past. Neither did he flinch when you told him about your aversion towards kids.

“I always figured I wanted kids,” he told you, “but happiness doesn’t have to include those.”

He waits patiently for you to be ready to have sex, seemingly happy with just cuddling in front of the TV. You appreciated his knowledge of old Hollywood movies and the way he talked about them without lecturing you. He just seemed really excited about finding someone to talk to about the things that interested him, but was equally focused on you when you talked about the books you had read.

When you finally felt ready to go to bed with him, he almost exhausted you with his constant questions. Where Santi would not speak, and Frankie would tell you how good you felt, Marcus was always checking in with you.

“I wouldn’t be moaning like this if I didn’t feel good,” you whimpered, and he scoffed out an embarrassed giggle.

“I’m sorry. I just want to be sure.”

“Don’t stop, you’re doing great.”

Marcus is kind. Marcus helps you heal, provides you with the light you need to find your way back to loving yourself.

Look, all I know is that you're the nicest thing I've ever seen

And I wish that we could see if we could be something

#triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #francisco frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #my fic

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omlwhatamidoinghere · 3 years

Text

Mr. Moreno

Chapter 3: Off-Campus Housing

Summary: Marcus decides it's time for some new scenery during your tutoring session

Warnings: SMUT, language, fluff, teacher x f!student, daddy kink/age kink (all parties are above the age of 18)

Word Count: 3,347!

Check out my masterlist!

_________________

Life has been great!

You're getting good grades, your dad just got a promotion he's been waiting 4 years for, your psychology research was accepted to be part of the department's upcoming journal, and- most importantly- you're sleeping with your professor. Well...maybe "sleeping with" isn't the correct terminology.

The multiple rendez-vous with Mr. Moreno have consisted of him going down on you, you going down on him, your hands down each other's pants and pretty much everything except the main event. That's the one thing he won't do. Yes, you two have definitely had some fun times but he won't go past eating you out and you sucking his cock. Ever since his wife passed, he hasn't had the urge to be with another person in that way. The day he met you, things started to change.

=======

Marcus' daughter, Missy, even noticed he was acting weird that day and confronted him about it. Taking him by the hand to the living room, she sat him down on the couch, "Dad, who is she?" Immediately turning red, "W-what? Who- what are you...I don't...I'm...she's not- she's...why are you-"

"Dad" The pose she strikes radiates the sass that she definitely got from him.

A sigh passes through his lips, "She's...she's just someone I met at work-"

"Someone you LIKE!" Missy cuts him off. She has never seen her dad act this way. She's only heard the stories of how he acted around her mom before they started dating, he must really like this girl.

======

It's not that Marcus hasn't thought about having sex with you- he has and does often- the silver ring that remains on his finger, encompassing the relationship he once had, stirs up this feeling of guilt if he were to have sex with another woman. Even though he knows his late wife wants him to move on and be happy, Marcus still doesn't feel right doing so.

Thank the stars it's the end of the week! Between finishing your project for Mr. Moreno's class and conducting more research for the psychology department, you've been stressed out of your mind. Not only was this week busy, but you also have a test in one of your classes next week. At least today the university decided to give everyone a rest day and treat them to a three-day weekend, even though you're spending it by coming to campus to have Mr. Moreno look over your project. A pleased sigh leaves your lips as you enter the classroom, greeted by a grin from the leader of the Heroics, who is currently talking to one of his fellow teammates, Miracle Guy. He notices his loss of Marcus' attention, immediately realizing who you are, "Well hello there! I've heard so much about you!" If you weren't in the classroom right now, Marcus probably would have knocked him right in the chest. Instead, he turns his head slowly back towards Miracle Guy, his face plastered with a look that can only be taken as 'you need to shut up'.

Setting your bag down as your gaze meets the Heroic's, you're taken back by his last statement, "You...you have?"

"Yeah! Mr. Moreno talks about you all the time! He's always saying how his favorite student is extremely smart and well-rounded!"

Your heart pounds in your ears, hoping Miracle Guy sees past the shade of red currently radiating from your face. You glance over at Marcus and feel heat grow between your legs. If he could kill with a look, Miracle Guy would be dead on the floor right now. The intensity of his stare is enough to make you drop to your knees right there. Your gaze lingers a little too long when Marcus looks over to you and notices your lip between your teeth, his glare changes tones at the sight. The look that fills his wonderfully dark eyes, the same lust-filled look from when he peers up at you from between your legs, causes a flutter deep inside.

"Just fuck each other already!"

Both of you snap from your trance over to Miracle Guy, "What? It's so obvious you both want it! I figured with how much you talk about her, Marcus, that you were already fucking her but I-"

Marcus cuts him off, grabbing his arm and dragging him into his office as you follow with your bag. Shutting the door, Marcus pushes him down into a chair, "We HAVE done stuff." The look on Miracle Guy's face slips to a state of confusion, "But...wait....I thought you said....you told me you haven't..." a sigh passes through Marcus' lips, "We haven't had sex. But we've done other things." A blush dusts your cheeks, Miracle Guy slowly picking up on what Marcus means, "Oooohhhhhhhh....nice! See? Still know how to treat a woman even as an old man-"

"I'm not that old."

"And I really don't care about the age difference." You chime in. Both of them turn to you, "Plus, he's the only man I know that doesn't act like a twelve-year-old," you start to mumble, "Not to mention he's really sexy..."

"What was that?" Marcus leans towards you in hopes of you repeating what you just said. Miracle Guy starts to push, "Yeah I heard you say something but I couldn't tell what it was-"

"I said he's really sexy. Just because he's older doesn't mean he isn't sexy."

Marcus' face matches the embarrassed shade of your own, "You...you think I'm sexy?" Your eyes turn to meet his, "Well yeah! Have you seen yourself?" Miracle Guy remains with his jaw on the floor as the two men take in what you said. A few minutes pass before anyone says anything again, "I think I'm gonna head out. It was nice to finally meet you!" Miracle Guy reaches out to shake your hand. Reaching out to shake his, "A pleasure to meet you as well! Hopefully next time we run into each other it won't be as awkward. Thanks for not telling anyone." With a nod, he steps out of the office, leaving you and Marcus. His eyes lock on yours as he closes the distance between your bodies. Warm, strong hands gently caress your arms, his breath is hot against your ear, "So...you think I'm sexy?" His voice, deep and husky as he moves down to your neck. His teeth graze your skin, a gasp leaves your lips, "Marcus..." His name is a soft whisper filled with desperation. You move your hand up to his hair, your fingers running through each strand causing Marcus to release a low growl against your neck as he continues leaving marks. "Marcus, wait...I need you to....I came in to...-" his lips still on your neck, "Tell me baby." "Why is it so difficult to say something as easy as I came in to see if you could look at my paper?" This man has so much power over you and all he's done so far today is kiss your neck and whisper in your ear. Granted, you can't help but think of all the things he's done to you previously. Stars, you can't help but imagine how amazing he must be in bed...so strong...taking control of you...- see this? This is why he has so much power over you; you can't stop thinking of him. "Baby?" His glasses bump into your jaw as he pulls back to look at you, "What is it?"

"I came in to see if you...um...if you could look over my project?"

His look of realization as he fixes his glasses makes you giggle, "I completely forgot about that...I saw your email and everything and I was going to write you back but then Miracle Guy called and said he was coming in to visit and I got distracted but yes I would love to look over your project." Grabbing your paper out of your bag, still flustered from everything that just happened prior to this moment. Handing it to Marcus, you both take a seat at his desk. He reads over it, paying attention to every detail, biting his lip in concentration. "What the hell? Can you think about anything other than him bending you over his desk and- who are you kidding, of course you can't." He notices your gaze drifting off as he peeks up at you from your paper, "Sweetheart..." You don't hear him talking to you as your mind continues to wander, "...his hands on you...his lips on your body...with how he big he feels in your mouth imagine how he feels in your-" he tries to get your attention again, "Hello? Are you alright?" Still not hearing him, "...and his beard against your skin, especially on your neck and between your thighs..." You still don't notice him as he walks around his desk and leans back against it right in front of you, "Sweetheart, are you alright?" Finally, you come back to your senses. Feeling extremely embarrassed, your cheeks flush red, giving away exactly what was going on in your thoughts. A smirk decorates Marcus' face while he rolls up his sleeves, drawing your attention to his now exposed forearms. "What was going on in that pretty little head of yours, sweetheart?" Even though you two have done a lot together, you still avert your gaze from his, still too shy to admit the dirty thoughts you have of him...not to mention how often you think those thoughts. He gently grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. Pulling you closer, Marcus' lips barely graze against yours, his breath hot on your skin. His voice drops into a low gravely tone, "Tell Daddy what you were thinking about, all those dirty thoughts that I know run through your mind...be a good girl and tell me..." Your breath leaves your body in a soft moan. Trying to collect yourself, "I was...I-I was thinking of....umm...you...your...uh..I..."

"If you tell me, I just may do it..."

A gasp powers you to kind of form a sentence, "I w-was thinking about you...and what you do to me...and the all the things you could do to me...being underneath you...nearly breaking whatever you're pounding me into..." Marcus lets out a low moan as he pulls you in and kisses you, his tongue already finding its way past your lips. The sounds you make in response cause him to press against his pants. His hands find their way into your hair and on your lower back, pulling you closer. He continues to moan as you kiss, "Damn he's so hot when he moans. Oh my STARS I want to really hear him moan" He pulls back, his hands still on you, "Baby, we should go somewhere..." slightly confused on his comment, "What? Where would we..what do you mean?" His eyes grow dark with lust again, "Some place where we won't get caught when I make you scream my name so much you forget your own..." A whimper escapes your lips faster than you can process Marcus' words. "I'll take that as a yes. Where should we go sweetheart?" You pause a moment to consider, "Well, my apartment is two minutes away. I can send you my address and you can meet me over there." Giving you another kiss before pulling back again, "Sounds like a plan. I'll be over in a few." As you fix yourself up and start to walk away, Marcus quickly reaches out, giving you a quick smack, winking at you with a cheeky grin when you turn to look back at him.

You make it to your car and back to your apartment within a few minutes. Racing inside, you see that none of your roommates are home, remembering they left for the weekend. Quickly climbing the stairs up to your room, you change your bra and underwear to the set you just bought a few days ago, put some dirty clothes in the laundry basket and make sure everything is cleaned up, not forgetting to light a nice candle to set the mood a little more. A few minutes pass and you hear a car door as a text pops up on your screen

"Come open the door, baby ;)"

Trying not to fall down the stairs as you eagerly skip steps, you finally reach the door. Doing one last appearance check, you open the door. On the other side, Marcus leans with one arm against the door frame, closing the gap between your bodies as soon as the door closes behind him. His lips almost on yours, "Where's your room?" Grabbing onto his tie, you pull him in for a kiss, "Up the stairs, the door next to the bath-" before you could finish your sentence, Marcus had you up and over his shoulder, walking up the stairs. Reaching behind him, he waves his hand and locks the door. Once he reaches your room, he lays you down on the bed, kicking off his shoes and climbing on top of you, that familiar look floods his deep eyes again. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this, sweetheart." Giving him a smirk, "You have no idea how many times I've gotten myself off to the thought of you." His lips meet yours in a heated clash. Your arms find their way around his neck as his hands find the button to your jeans. Marcus pulls back to slip off your shirt before kissing down your body; on your lips, to your jaw, down your neck, down your chest, past your stomach. Carefully sliding your jeans off, he continues to kiss your body as it becomes exposed. Soft whimpers from you and groans from Marcus fill the room, his lips never leaving your skin. His teeth grab onto your thigh, forcing a loud moan to escape from your throat. Marcus peers up at you with that infamous look of his, "Ooo, baby likes that, doesn't she?" He bites down on you again, getting the same reaction as before, "You sound so pretty. So good for me." His words only turn you on more. "P-please....please....I..I-I need..." He moves back up to your face, "What is it sweetheart?" You moan breathily in his ear, "I need you. Please, Mr. Moreno..." The groan that comes from his lips makes you even hotter for him, your wetness growing rapidly. Even in class, when you call him "Mr. Moreno", your innocent voice masking your filthy intent, his zipper threatens to break from how hard his cock gets. Burying his face in your neck, Marcus' mustache scratching against your delicate skin, "Say it again," his voice dropping to a growl, "say my name again." His hips begin to create friction between your legs while he awaits your response. The things this man does to you, you feel as if you could get off just from him grinding into you as his voice resonates through your soul. Biting the bottom of your ear, he forces sounds to escape your lips but no words can form, "Come on, baby. Be a good girl for me"

"Mr. Moreno, pleeeaaassee"

His lips travel back down your body as he begins to pull you apart, thread by thread. Settling back between your thighs, his hot breath sends a shiver through you. His tongue licks through your folds, already drenched and melting in his touch. "Already so wet for me, baby" he slips two fingers inside you, "How often have you gotten yourself off to the thought of me, baby?" A moan brings an answer to your lips, "All the time...I think about you all the time....think about you touching me...your strong arms around my waist...your hands on me...you-your fingers...doing..."

"Doing this?"

A curve in his fingers guides you closer to the edge. His name escapes your mouth in a chant, the only word your mind can conjure. The sounds you sing only make his aching stronger and stronger until he snaps, "Baby, I need to be inside of you." Your head moves to meet his eyes as he carefully takes his fingers out of you and places them in his mouth. A groan rumbles through his chest as he cleans them off, keeoing eye contact the entire time. Biting your lip, you hold back a moan as you watch Marcus undress before you, taking in the jaw-dropping sight of his naked body. You sit up and crawl to meet him at the foot of the bed, your hands discovering his skin, your lips are soft against his tanned and toned chest. His hands gently push against your shoulders, "As nice as that feels, there's something tighter I wanna feel around me. Be a good girl and lay back for Daddy." The growl sounding like a command, you do as he tells you. Climbing on top of you, his hands land on either side of your head, dragging your focus up his flexed muscles and to his lustful eyes. You can see the hesitation behind his prowling gaze. Arms and legs wrapping around him, "It's alright, Marcus. I want you inside of me." Quickly wrapping himself with you still hanging on him, he lines his cock up with your dripping entrance, carefully pushing into you. Moans rip through your apartment as he takes it slow, easing you onto his size. "I'm gonna start moving, alright baby?" You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding, "Okay. I'm ready."

Easing himself out of you so it's only the tip of his cock left inside, he pushes in slightly harder than before, still adjusting to you, "Ugh....your so tight baby...so tight for Daddy...so wet..." His lips entertain the delicate skin of your neck,your moans and whimpers echoing in his ears, flipping a switch that send his hips into a faster pace. The skin about his cock passes over your clit with every thrust, taking you higher and higher. Your eyes meet as he moves his head back, your lips grazing as you pant against each other. Marcus leans into you depper than before, his mouth meeting yours just in time to swallow the yelp that soars from you. His tongue dancing on your lips, begging for entrance. Parting them slightly, he groans at the feel of you. His kisses travel to your jaw before his lips guide his breath against your ear, "Good girl. Moan for me, baby. Your sound make me want to fuck you until you can only think of me...what I do to you...how much I stretch you..." His husky voice rattles you to the core, clenching tight around his cock. "I'm gonna...please let me come, sir." Marcus pulls back again to look into your eyes, "Come for me, baby. Come for Daddy. You're such a good girl for me." Your climax slams into you at his words just as he chases his release.

Rolling onto his back, he pulls you to his chest, "That...that was...I haven't done that in forever. Was it okay?" You turn your head up to look at him, "Okay? Marcus that was the best sex I've ever had! You really know how to treat a woman." You both chuckle, "Thank you, honey. That means a lot. But..um...what you said earlier about me to Miracle Guy..."

"Y-yes?"

"Is it true?"

"Marcus, I wouldn't lie about that. You're really fucking sexy."

"Honey you're too-"

*buzzzzz*

Marcus' phone begins to ring. Reaching over carefully as not to disturb your comfortable position, he answers it. Still trying to catch his breath, "Hello?"

"Hey pal, it's Miracle Guy. Make sure you turn off your talk to text next time you and hot stuff get together"

Taglist: @no-droids @autumnleaves1991-blog @absurdthirst @velvetmel0n @wyn-n-tonic @leaderoftheheroics @finerthisboutique

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x f!reader #pedro pascal simp #pedro pascal #we can be heroes #marcus moreno fic #professor x student #mr. moreno series #marcus moreno smut

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

Text

Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

Tag list of glory: @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @lunaserenade @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ppascaledit #pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #the mentalist #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader #the mentalist fanfic

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gingerwritess · 4 years

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Theo, my girl, my idol, my star, my main bitch, I gotta read about the first time that Loki is seen out and about after he's been released pleeeaaaasseeeee (and some sexual tension wouldn't hurt)

part 18 of predating idiots, in which you speak with that idiot for the first time since…everything happened. (he hasn’t exactly been released, but close enough ;))

warnings: long ass chapter with blood, injuries, pain, alongside some denial and awkward moments :))

Life without a fake-boyfriend has become rather, well, quiet.

No more surprise visits with only the excuse “I’m dying” being given, no more lying about the exceptional dates you’ve been on…no more ridiculously attractive doctor on your arm.

No one’s stealing your bagels anymore. That’s a plus.

But work is slow, suddenly. The weight of the secret, sneaking Loki into your office to eat and sleep and rushing him home on lunch breaks for a shower, was, in it’s own twisted way, exciting.

Loki admitting to the fact that it’s been “centuries” keeps floating back into your consciousness. You continually choose not to dwell on it.

Your first day back after Tony gave you a four day weekend to recoup went smoothly, without a single hitch nor a word from your special alien. Asking about him while trying to remain casual didn’t get you far, so you resigned yourself to a quiet day at your desk, sometimes sending Marcus off to make copies for you when even he looks bored.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he pipes up one day from his station at the doorway, “I kinda miss Lucky. Thought maybe I’d get to stop a bad guy, that’d look good on a résumé.”

You shake your head with a laugh, scrolling through a file of release records. “Sorry you’ve got to just watch me all day. Can’t be the most exciting thing.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs. You don’t look up.

Another day ticks by, then another, and then a whole week and you still haven’t heard a single bit of accurate information regarding Loki.

Plenty of false information is circulating though, and you pick up bits of pieces around the break rooms and bathrooms.

“Yeah, he got the chair, they wouldn’t have kept him alive.”

“No, they’re rehabilitating him. He’s of use, he’s basically another Thor, don’t you think shield would want to hang onto him?”

“What, make him a new avenger?” The voice by the sinks laughs, and the faucet shuts off. “Just what we need. Another superhero. Jesus, I can’t keep up.”

Break rooms are to be avoided as of late, since you can’t go near another coworker without them jumping you with questions, assuming you must know what happened to him.

“Wish I knew,” you always reply. It’s not exactly a lie.

This fine morning, you pass the god of thunder on the way to the copy room. He gives you a grimace of a smile, lifts a hand, and turns to walk back the way he came before you can call out to him.

Strange. You haven’t seen Thor since the day Loki confessed.

Assuming he’s been busy helping his brother, you hadn’t worried about what he’s been thinking of you. Granted, his impressions of you haven’t been of the greatest, most respectable caliber, from asking you if you were attracted to his brother to watching you rip his brother’s shirt from him while straddling him on a bed—

Yeah, it’d be better not to dwell on what awkwardness Thor may have started to feel towards you. You’d rather not know his thoughts.

Then the next day, Thor is there again. You manage to get in a wave this time, giving him your politest please-don’t-talk-to-me smile and heading for the copy room again.

This time, the god follows you, fidgeting with the strap of mjolnir.

“I would like to talk to you,” he announces, trying to lean casually in the doorway. It doesn’t work well for him, so he straightens up and goes back to fidgeting with the hammer, staring at you.

“Okay…go for it.”

“I’d like to-to—” he breaks off and clears his throat. Finishing your copies, you turn to him with your eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

“I’d, uh, like to apologize.”

Your brow knits in confusion and you cock your head at him. “What for?”

“Not to you,” Thor clarifies with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Do I owe you one?”

“No, not really, I guess.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he tries again, “to, uh, to my brother. You know, Loki.”

“Ah.” You nod with a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m acquainted with him.”

Thor lets out a relived laugh at that, tossing mjolnir in the air and catching it. “Of course you are. The only trouble is, I don’t quite know how.”

“And you’re coming to me because…”

“Because you may know this Loki better than anyone.”

“Right.” Biting your lip, you stare at the crease in Thor’s brow. This Loki. A bit of a terrifying thought, really, but he may be right. However unpleasant, your interaction may have been the first semi-normal one Loki had had in a long time. “Well, um, how can I help?”

“How…bad is he?”

That’s a loaded question, and you pretend to look through your papers while you think. “He’s in a bad state,” you venture to say, “he’s definitely hurt. Somebody hurt him, and not just physically.”

“Right. Alright.” Thor nods, tossing his hammer back and forth between his hands. “I can work with that. Sensitivity, I’m getting good at that.”

“Good for you,” you laugh. “Be careful with him. I mean, I don’t know him very well. But I know he’s not one to open up, so…go slow. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the apology.”

In all reality, you have no idea if Loki will give a shit about Thor’s apology, but in theory it sounds like a good thing to happen. It can’t go terribly wrong.

“Just be gentle with him, will you?”

Thor nods. “Of course.”

You rifle through your papers, gaze dropping to them to avoid his. “Where, uh, where is he, by the way?”

Your stomach flips at the sound of the question leaving your mouth, but hopefully you can pass it off as casual curiosity, keeping your gaze trained intently on the papers in your hand.

“The healing wing,” Thor replies with a growing smile. “The two-hundred and third room. I am sure my brother would be happy to see you, my lady.”

“He hates me,” you answer way too quickly, flashing him a forced smile and pushing past him. “He won’t—no, he doesn’t—heh. Just curious. Thanks.”

—

Curious enough to go find him on your lunch break, that is.

Room 203 is a drab white room that reeks of disinfectant, one single bed in the center next to stacks of monitors and a cot-like couch beside it. It’s an improvement from the cell, you’ll give them that, but the pure white gives you a headache the moment you enter, and Loki still looks trapped.

Trapped, and deliberately expressionless upon seeing you sneaking through the doorway.

“Hello.”

He says it carefully, eyes narrowing at you as you wring your hands with a sheepish grin.

“You’re, ah, looking better.”

More like an angry cat who just had to resign itself to the fact that baths are inevitable, but better nonetheless.

“I feel like my limbs have been filled with lead,” Loki replies. He limply tries to lift his arms for emphasis.

“Nothing a god can’t lift, I’m sure,” you laugh, taking the few steps needed to be by his bedside. His piercing gaze tracks every one.

Checking his water jug and the tray of food still untouched by his bedside, you give him a mildly disapproving look, one he certainly disapproves of. “I bet you’d feel better if you ate something.”

“Not interested.” He sinks back into the pillows, watching you with hawk-like precision. “Why are you here?”

You give him a casual once-over, disguising it with a quick look about the room, as well. His arm is in a sling—that’s new, he must be cooperating at least a little if they’ve been treating him.

“Uh, curious,” you decide to answer. “I’m curious, just, y’know, want to make sure you’re being treated right. You healing up?”

Loki nods. Yes, he is healing, technically, but at a glacial pace that’s nearly historic for asgardian abilities. Maybe he had pushed his limits a little too far with all the illusions and covering undressed wounds for so long.

Your not-so-discrete scrutinizing of his shirtless body doesn’t slip his notice and reopens a whole other wound, but he can’t think about that right now. Or ever.

“You’re wearing a sling,” you lamely point out, desperate to fill the silence, and mentally slap yourself.

“That I am,” Loki replies, and can’t help the smug little smirk that starts to turn the corners of his lips. You’re a bit out of sorts—this could be fun. “Did you miss me, darling?”

Your face goes sour, crinkling at the nose. “Don’t call me that.”

Loki breathes deep with a grin, and Dr. Laing takes his place in the bed, lounging much more seductively, injury free and on his side, with an arm draped over his hip.

“You missed me, didn’t you.”

“If you weren’t on the verge of death and in a hospital, I would slap the shit out of you.”

Laing laughs as he fades back into Loki; it’s a tired sound, scratchy and painful and rattling in his chest, but somehow he manages to sound so disdainfully full of himself that you don’t know if you want to soothe his aches or cause him a handful more.

He does look better though. Weak, definitely still as weak as before, but better. Not so gaunt.

“Have you been eating well, then?” You ask, pulling up a chair beside him. “You’ve filled out a little.”

“Define well,” he replies with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“More fast food, I take it.”

“If I wasn’t close to death before, I am now.”

“Well, take what you can get.” You reach over and give him a pat on the arm, just one awful pat before you think better of it and immediately hate yourself for doing that. “So, uh, what was the verdict? On your…y’know. Crimes.”

Loki shifts on his pillows, trying to sit up a little straighter, and his blanket slips further down to his hips as he struggles to with one arm.

“My crimes…right, trying to conquer the planet. Those crimes.”

Without thinking, you lean in and straighten his blankets for him, tugging them back up to lay just under his arm.

His voice dies in his throat, and he stares.

You stare, too, but unfortunately at the bruises littering his ribs and the scar racing right over his heart.

“There you go staring again,” he says, clearing his throat. “Are you quite finished?”

Ripping your gaze from his chest, you meet his narrowed eyes and swallow thickly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Are you…are you using any illusions right now?” You gesture at him, emphasizing his relatively scar-free face.

“I may be,” he replies.

“Why? You should be healing, not hiding anything.”

His eyes roll and he sighs. “I do still have some semblance of a reputation to uphold. Maybe no longer with you, and something must be done about that, but as for the others, they don’t need to know any more.”

“I don’t really care about your reputation,” you tell him, and he laughs as if that were obvious. “Or any image you’re trying to make of yourself, just so you know.”

“Oh, you did miss me, mortal.”

“No,” you snap, “I just…well, I don’t want you getting any more hurt than you are. And…maybe might have been a tiny bit worried.”

The last part you blurt, staring out the window with a burning gaze. You would like him to know, just for the sake of knowing that he’s not necessarily alone in this, but when you say it out loud, like that…

Loki appears to have swallowed something sour, when you glance back at him, and he stares at you.

Confusion, maybe?

Or maybe just shock. Or maybe he has morphine pumping through his veins; that’s a very possible answer.

“Are you on morphine?” You whisper when he doesn’t move, still staring. “That stuff can kill you, y’know. Careful.”

Slowly, he nods, lips parted.

“I…am.”

“On morphine?” You give him a sad smile. “That’s why you’re being friendly. Well, by your standards.”

“No,” he cuts in, cocking his head at you. “Still using an illusion.”

You nod, glancing down at your hands in your lap. “I figured. You can take it off now, I’ve already seen the worst of it.”

Room 203 falls silent for a moment, nothing but the air conditioning whirring in the background as a wave of green energy passes over Loki’s body.

“Just for you,” he clarifies when you look back up at him, “only for you.”

“Of course. I won’t tell.”

Taking a steady breath, you scoot forward in the chair and begin your inspection, ghosting along the parts of him you can, too used to cleaning him up to the point where it’s almost routine. He sits quietly, you point out to him which bits he should really show the others, berate him again for waiting so long to tell the truth.

“I lie,” he murmurs, and you almost catch a smile playing at his lips. “It’s what I do.”

“Roll on your side,” you simply respond. “You’re letting them treat your back, aren’t you?”

He grimaces, but doesn’t move. “In a way.”

“Please? Can I see?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I don’t know if you realize this,” you exhale, exasperated already, “but I’m a little more trusted here than you are. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

He squares his jaw, fighting with himself for a second longer—then rolls his eyes yet again and turns to face the other direction, exposing his back to you.

“Loki, come on.”

“I tried,” he cuts in before you can berate him further on the hideous state of his lashed back. “Really, I tried, but they can’t treat them yet. It’s not a flogging like any that have happened on Midgard, believe me.”

The thought of something worse than a flogging makes your toes curl, and you gingerly brush your fingertips over his shoulder before the sight makes you retch; one of the few unmarked patches of skin left on his back.

“You’re still bleeding.”

He nods, face turned from you. “I would imagine so.”

“Bled through your sling…” a quick look around finds the spare cloths and towels in the cabinet under his bed stand, and you take a couple soft rags. “Want me to, y’know, clean you up?”

He’s silent for so long you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he nods, just once.

“I would–I would appreciate that.”

His whole body jerks with every few dabs of the cloth, trying to at least stop the trickling and sop up what’s pooled in the bony dip of his shoulder blade.

You try to tell Loki which cuts desperately need stitches, but he just chuckles dryly and explains that these cuts aren’t meant to heal; that they rip and open any stitching or bandages applied to them. Each attempt to close the wound is predestined to worsen it.

“So you’ll always have these?”

“Until I can find a way to heal them,” he grunts, letting you help him sit up, “yes. It’ll be wonderful for when I’m feeling nostalgic.”

The sling, as it turns out, is covering a much deeper gash than the rest, one that the skin around the edges looks burnt—but weirdly enough, also looks almost crystallized where it should be scabbed. Almost…icy.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just continue in silence to switch out his sling, sick to your stomach. Nothing you could possibly have to offer, any assistance from anyone on earth could make up for that.

It’s been a couple months now, since New York. There have been no other attacks, clean up has been relatively successful with the camaraderie of the nation. The avengers have been assembled, tested, and proven effective.

Loki’s in custody, no longer hiding, no longer blackmailing you into keeping his secrets while he runs. He hasn’t stepped out of line since, he’s been offering his knowledge, he’s been cooperating.

Yet he’s the only one still bleeding.

“Loki,” you say quietly, glancing at the door, “are they actually helping you?”

He gives his shoulder a testing roll with a wince. “That’s too tight,” he tells you, tugging at the fresh sling. “I’m being treated. Accordingly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve received the help I need.”

“I don’t believe you,” you reply with a huff, fighting with the knot in his sling. “I mean, has Thor even come to see you? He told me he wants to talk to you, but he’s the only person who’s mentioned you…”

Loki gives you a nod when you finish with the sling, finally lifting his head to look at you with an illusion-less face, ripped flesh around his lips where a cord stitched him silent.

A fist closes around your heart, clenching it and leaving a hollow ache in your chest. Your skin burns at the sight of him.

“You’re staring again.”

“Sorry.”

The stitching was crude, unevenly spread along his upper lip, and the left side has a couple gashes where the skin is torn all the way through. Must’ve had to rip out it himself.

“Don’t victimize me,” he warns. “Don’t make me into something I’m not. Don’t.”

Your jaw clenches, eyes flitting from his lips to meet his gaze. “How do you expect me not to?”

He drops his head back to his pillow, shutting his eyes.

“You should leave.”

“Yeah.” You stand, and he doesn’t open his eyes. The closer you look, his scars are fading again, back under the facade you broke. “I probably should.”

Before you can stop yourself, your hand moves to touch him, just once on the back of the hand that’s draped over his chest. He grabs your wrist before you can.

“I don’t think I trust you,” he whispers, eyes still shut tight.

A lump catches in your throat. “You–you can, you know.”

“I know.” He takes a shaking breath, wincing as his blood soaks the pillows. “That’s why I don’t.”

—

You give him a week.

You hadn’t gotten even half the answers you had gone in there for, leaving with more questions than before, if anything.

It’s hard to tell if he was pleased to see you.

So you give him a week. No visits, no telling him he needs to eat, no mention of him behind his back.

That week passes as normally as it could be.

By the next, you find yourself outside room 203 once again, psyching yourself up to just walk in there and cut right to the chase, not giving him even an inch over you.

But you open the door and he’s on his stomach, fists ripping the sheets as a nurse with a needle stitches the lashings on his back shut.

He’s bleeding. Badly.

“No,” you blurt, “stop, don’t do that–”

Your tongue falls limp in your mouth, and completely against your will, you walk straight to the couch beside the bed and sit.

Nothing you can do will allow you to move, and you spend the next few minutes struggling against invisible bonds, shouting silently into oblivion that you’re making it worse, horrified at the sight of Loki’s serene expression as he stares at you.

You can see it getting worse; each stitch undoes the last, reopening the wound from the beginning so that by the time she’s moved to the next cut, the one just finished is a fresh, open wound.

Even with his face perfectly calm, his gaze stone-set on you, his body betrays him. He jerks with every pierce of the needle, the vein on the side of his neck bulges, and he’s ripped the sheets by his fist.

It looks like pure agony, and you can’t do a single thing about it.

So you sit there, frozen to your seat and silenced, until the nurse gives up and apologizes for another failed attempt, promising that they’re trying to find a type of material that can hold as she tries to soak up the blood. She wraps his torso and he stays silent the entire time, knowing full well that nothing will change, and doesn’t move after she’s left the room.

You take a deep breath as Loki does, and the restraints on your body and tongue fall away.

“What the hell, Loki?!”

“Please don’t yell.”

“I think it’s warranted,” you cry, stomping over to his bedside. “You have a death wish, god, you–you–what the hell were you doing?!”

You’re shaking, half from the horror of having to sit there and watch him endure that, but mostly from rage—he could’ve stopped her.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!”

“Shh…”

“Oh, don’t you shush me, I’m so sick of this–I-I can’t believe you made me watch that—”

A cold hand curls around your wrist and yanks, and you fall to your knees by the bedside, nose to nose with the god of mischief.

“Let me bleed,” he grits out, each word ripped painfully from his throat.

“What?”

“Let me…let me bleed.” This time it’s on an exhale and his eyes close, his hand dropping from your wrist.

You can’t find it in yourself to move away from him.

“Why’d you do that, you idiot?”

Half his face squished into the mattress, he manages a hoarse laugh. “Punishment for my sins.”

“That’s not your call,” you hiss, grabbing him by the arm. “You need to roll over, you’re laying on your injury. C’mon, move.”

He actually obliges and the two of you struggle to roll him onto his uninjured side. It’s not exactly comfortable, for either of you, and you realize after the fact that you had to practically hug the guy in order to haul him onto his side.

That’s probably why he went so stiff.

And…why he’s staring at you as if you’d sprouted wings, trying to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” you mutter, a little out of breath yourself from trying to lift him. “You’re a fucking masochist, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised.” He forces out another laugh.

Always laughing.

Always bleeding, always laughing. It’s exhausting, not to mention unbearably irritating when you’re nearly writhing in pain for him.

“Do me a favor, darling.”

“Don’t call me—oh, wait, do you want me to slap you?”

Another dry laugh, but this one sounds truer.

“Don’t make me beg,” he grins, and you almost find yourself wanting to grin back; it’s a breath of fresh air, after all the blood and pain. “Please, would you do this for me?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the tiny smile you offer back, hidden behind your exasperated sigh. “Yeah, of course.”

“Tie my hair back?”

You swear his cheeks burn bright red, but he doesn’t let his empyrean expression waver, sinking subtly deeper into the pillows and handing you a thin strip of leather.

“Sorry,” he says when you take it, voice muffled, “it only gets matted with blood if I leave it down. I’d cut it, but I can’t be wasting strength on that in this condition—”

“I get it,” you assure him with a smile. “Don’t worry. You’ve already ruined your reputation with me.”

“Right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Biting back a grin, you pull the strip of leather between your hands. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”

“You are unbearably difficult.”

“Thank you.” You lean towards him, a tiny, smug grin just turning at your lips. “You answer any question I ask while I’m doing it. And no lies, trickster.”

He mulls it over for a moment, halfheartedly glaring at your smug self. You do look sure of yourself, leaning onto his bed, eyes narrowed playfully, his leather cord taut between your fingers. Daring him to disagree.

It’s not a bad look. Confidence, he supposes. Power.

The day has reached sunset, and in this moment of weakness Loki can’t help but notice—the light filtering through the lone hospital room window hits your face in a rather flattering way.

That, or maybe it’s been so long since someone smiled at him, laughed with him, teased him—maybe it’s…nice.

Maybe it’s been missed.

Maybe…that would be alright.

― ― ― ―

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electricbluebutterflies · 3 years

Note

Could you do an 'I didn't know I was pregnant prompt' where somehow Abby, who's a doctor and won't ever live it down, doesn't realize that she's pregnant until she's in labor. Possibly with it being conveniently when she's alone bar delinquents, and someone has to go track down Kane and inform him of what's going on.

Canon-divergent from early s3 ish. Also featuring Raven being awesome and Clarke trying not to have a breakdown, so hopefully I wrote those two darlings okay. Content warning for vague / non-graphic and questionably medically accurate descriptions of childbirth. PG13ish for that and also swear words. Also on ao3.

The thing about quiet is it doesn’t last. She should’ve knownbetter.

It’s been a year, maybe a little more than that. Time flowsdifferently here, but one of the kids – and Abby knows they are not that anymore,most of them are so much more capable than her, but in her mind they are stillso small – is pretty sure they saw a snowflake yesterday. So, bit more than ayear. And about a year since she broke down and let herself be reckless and…

All of this hits her in the worst way as she realizes whather body is doing. This pain is not cramps, but she can’t blame herself forgetting confused, it’s been a while since she’s had her normal cycle and-

Yeah. This is what she gets for ignoring her own body aswell as she does. Dammit.

The worst part is, Abby thinks as she paces across herworkspace because so help her she is not letting this nor anything else stopher, she justified everything. Her last implant had expired shortly after shewas widowed, and she’d passed on getting another one because she was on theedge of forty and had zero plans to ever let anyone else touch her and she didn’twant to waste resources like that, and she’d just… forgotten about that detaila year and a half later when she’d gone and taken a new lover anyways. With orwithout the implant, her cycles were always erratic and she stopped trying topredict that ages ago. Nausea got justified when she wasn’t the only person whoate bad meat (turns out mutant might’ve-descended-from-a-raccoon needs to be cookedlonger than that attempt was); a little weight gain because she iseating more, because that’s a possibility now. Said weight pooling in herabdomen is normal enough for a woman her age, right?

She justified everything, she was wrong, and now she is-

Fuck.

Okay, so right now pants are a mistake. They’re soakedthrough anyways, and somehow the idea of someone wandering in and seeing hernaked from the hips down is one of the less embarrassing details of this wholedisaster. Normal people have seven or eight months to process imminent parenthoodbefore it comes. She won’t even have that many hours. Supposedly births getquicker the more a person has had, and given her track record there…

Another wave of pain hits and she grabs the edge of the tablefor support. At least she’s having this crisis – she is trying to use everyword for it but what it is, and she will go through the guilt spiral later – inmedical. Ideal place for this nightmare. If she has to give birth on herown, as is looking more and more likely, at least she is doing so in a safeplace. That’s about the only thing going right here.

There is, after all, the small issue of her partner havingno damn clue about any of this.

Last she checked – and she tries not to hover, she is notthat kind of woman and their more recent trust in each other has eliminatedsome of her tendencies – Marcus is out on a hunting / scavenging daytrip. Whichmeans he may or may not be back before this is over. Either way, explaining howshe managed to be oblivious for close to nine months about something so significantis not going to be a good time and she is more than a little nervous about thatand-

Abby hears the door open behind her. Great. Now thenightmare is complete.

“Are you…” Raven, thank goodness, at least the intruder issomeone who occasionally has common sense. “Screw that, you’re not okay.”

“How willing are you to believe things right now?” Abbyasks, turning her head to look at her friend. Group bonding across generationsis rough, but she sees a different kind of potential in the younger woman thanmost people do. Like this one, if she doesn’t accidentally kill herself beforeshe turns thirty, has some serious untapped leadership potential. And moreimportantly right now, Raven is extremely well-connected and has a highertolerance for crazy than most people. So, again, ideal person.

“From you, pretty cooperative,” Raven shrugs. “What happenedslash who do I need to electrocute?”

“I somehow managed to ignore being pregnant and… it’scoming.” And saying it out loud sounds even more damning than realizing it herselfhalf an hour ago, dragging another person into this mess with her and puttingthat weight on someone who doesn’t need it. “Feel free to judge me.”

“Nah. Not sure what you need me to do but…”

“Get someone. Anyone. Nothing against you as a person but Ido not trust you to-“

Another contraction hits before Abby can sufficientlyexplain why she’d rather not have someone who interacts with technology betterthan people as her backup here. Great. If she factors in the number of timesthis has happened that she really did think were cramps, and how long it’s beensince closing her legs felt like a good idea… shit. Yeah no. There will be noexplaining this to her partner before it’s too late.

“What I’m hearing is radio your idiot and tell him to gethis ass back here as soon as humanly possible but do not tell him whybecause that’ll break him, grab the first person I can find who I’d trust tocatch something and send them in here to help you, and go through the storageroom and hope there’s still baby clothes in that one box I found some in lastmonth. Anything I’m missing?”

If Abby were more mobile, and/or felt less like her body wasabout to explode, she would hug Raven right now. “Yes. I… yes. Thank you.”

“And try to keep this on a need-to-know basis. Far as anyoneelse is concerned, you figured out you were incubating at a normal enough timebut you decided to keep quiet about it because you hate attention. That work?”

“I’m not sure that’s going to be believable when-“

“It’s believable if you’re a couple weeks before your duedate and you can pass that particular dramatic shitshow off as being more aboutthe timing.”

“I’m not sure if you’re an angel or an evil genius.”

“I’d like to think I’m both,” Raven laughs. “Now, if youthink you have enough time here for me to do that, I’m gonna go.”

Abby assesses herself quickly. Unless something somehow goeseven more wrong, she’s got at least half an hour here. “I’ll be alright.”

And again she is alone, she thinks as the door closes behindher. This is… not an absolute worst-case scenario, but pretty damn close. At best,she’s got a lot of explaining to do when it’s all over. At worst…

Describing this as an accident is a serious understatement. Therehas been no conversation about whether or not to have kids together. It neverseemed necessary. They’re older enough that the risk seemed so low, and therearen’t restrictions on that here, and she didn’t think…

She didn’t think. That’s what this all comes down to. A temporaryvacation from her normal instincts and look what that got her. No time tomentally prepare for a tiny vulnerable creature, no time to think about theimplications for her relationship, no time to even find out if her partnerwants this enough to stick around for it, no time to-

Getting closer. She is not attempting to measure herself butshe can feel the process. Timing-wise, she probably is a few weeks earlyhere, in that comfortable space where that won’t mean any problems for thelittle creature and a normal person’s biggest concern would be not being quitedone with their preparations. Whereas she has done no preparations, whatlittle of her fate isn’t in her own hands right now has been entrusted to atwenty-one-year-old who has even less of a baseline for this, and-

It’s all too much, and Abby starts crying. Most confusedemotional release she’s ever had, not sure if it’s stress or fear or pain oranticipation or probably all of those at once. Overload enough that the nextcontraction feels muted by comparison, overload enough to overlook how uncomfortablethis all is.

It’s just a little ironic that this started bent over atable and it may well end that way too, at the rate she’s going. That’ll be funny,in a couple months when any of this can be, maybe.

She hears the door open again and this time multiplefootsteps, this time she is too exhausted to even turn her head, this time-

“Mom? What the hell?”

Limited options, Abby reminds herself. Limited options ofpeople she would trust to be her backup here, and her own – possibly soon to beolder? – daughter is one of them.

“Clarke, I can-“

“Raven filled me in,” Clarke mutters, sounding so familiarlydisapproving. Abby’s always thought her daughter takes much more after her latehusband, but sometimes there are familiar flickers in there. “You basicallyneed me to catch it.”

“Basically, yes. There should be some towels in-“

“I know where things are. Learned my organization systemfrom you.”

“And I can grab stuff,” Raven adds. That would be the secondset of feet, the bright-red jacket Abby can see in her peripheral vision. “Iwould rather not see the nightmare fuel here but I can hold things or whatever.”

“Any luck with-“

Abby swears she can somehow hear Raven roll her eyes. “Wrongperson picked up, but we tried. The group at least knows something is goingdown here and hopefully I yelled enough to-“

The next pain is strong enough to blur Abby’s vision. “Nextone is it.” She’s amazed she can even talk clearly right now, but her presenceis not going away just because she’s in a crisis. She’s gotten through worse. Rarelybeen on this end of it, rarely felt so helpless, but she will not let anythingstop her. “Be ready.”

Around her, the girls attempt as much prep as they can. Abbydoes not know what they’re doing, does not think about it. There is only this. Thereis her, and the little creature that is about to exit her body, and her olderchild who is surprisingly calm about all of this, and another member of theirfamily who is at least trying to do the same, and a black hole where herpartner should be and-

She screams.

She lets it be a blur. She does not want to remember thesefew moments.

She knows one of the girls is hovering under her with alarge towel in hand, and the other one is yelling, and she doesn’t know whichis which and she doesn’t care. She knows that this is at least a familiar pain,and the first part is the worst, and the little creature – now officially hersecond child, she will let herself process that later – is slick andcooperative and how the child of two such stubborn people is so easy to dealwith in its first moments she does not know but-

“I have a little sister,” Clarke says somewhere in thebackground.

Abby wants to collapse. Wants to sleep for a very long time.She focuses on her body, on all the things she knows. There is still pain, waitingfor the afterbirth to come out. She suspects she’s torn but not as badly as itcould’ve been, and her breasts ache and at some point soon that too will beuseful, and-

She fades out. Exhaustion is a wonderful thing. She knowsher body will do what it needs to, and she trusts the girls enough, and… shecan’t do this anymore.

When she wakes up, she’s somehow been moved to the cot –which means someone else has seen her questionable condition, great, just whatshe doesn’t need – and she’s in a clean shirt and someone has placed cold clothbetween her legs to help the hurting and-

“You really didn’t know?”

She’s not awake enough for this shit.

Abby turns her head and yep, there is her partner (but howmuch longer can she call him that, she wonders) in a chair someone must’vebrought in, looking at her like he does not know where to start but he has alot of questions. It’s been a while since she’s had to interpret that look, andshe is concerned.

“I didn’t know,” she repeats. “You’ve known me since we werechildren, you know I can justify anything, I thought-“

“Alright.” And now for the scary-calm. That particularversion has evolved over the past year and a half or so, as Marcus has learned howto be more of a person, but she still knows it too well. He’s harder to readthis way, and more dangerous to those around him. “When I found out… I thought…”

“Do you really think I would’ve hidden this from you if I’dknown?”

“I had to ask.”

“I wouldn’t… I just went through hell,” she hisses. “Involuntarily.Again. And I wouldn’t have had to if I’d paid more attention to myself but youknow I don’t-“

“I believe you.”

She’s not sure she believes him right now, but she isstill too exhausted to move so that fight can wait a day or two. “Where is…” Shedoesn’t know the right word. My daughter? Ours? Which of those will hold longer?

“Raven’s looking after her. You needed to rest, and… I canlook after you here, Raven can keep the baby in her workshop except when sheneeds to feed.”

Abby rolls her eyes. Yeah, keep a newborn in the mostdangerous place in the settlement, great idea. On the other hand, Raven’sspace is at least warm. “And you’re…”

“Still processing,” Marcus finishes. “Someone tried to radious but we were a few miles out, and when we got back I didn’t have time tothink before someone shoved what looked like a bundle of towels in my arms and…”

“It is yours. If that was going to be your next question.”

“It wasn’t. But good to know.”

“I just… I ignored everything, and I…”

He reaches out for her hand, and even that feels like toomuch physical contact right now but it’s a nice gesture anyways. “I’m notblaming you.”

“Well that’s new,” she mutters. He’s been decent for a year,she should have more faith, but… “Are you going to stay?”

And now for the look of stunned horror, the wide eyes and haltedbreaths and for a moment she’s broken him. “Am I… how is that a question?!”

“You are aware how many bad choices I’ve made here…”

“You’ve always been a little impulsive,” he counters. “And stubborn.And usually right. And I don’t know why you think this kind of innocent mistakewould push me away.”

“It’s a screaming liability of a mistake?”

“It’s ours. And I want… if you want…”

“Yeah. You’ve never done this before. You do not realize thehell you’ve just volunteered for.”

“I’m with you. How bad could it be.”

He leans down and kisses her forehead, and the scratch ofhis beard is way too much, and… yeah. They’ll be okay.

#ebf talks to anons #kabby #ebf writes fic

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mudhorn-djarin19 · 3 years

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Could you write a Marcus Moreno whump with a hurt/comfort ending one-shot fic(With no readers) with the POVs of Marcus Moreno and his niña Missy Moreno respectively please? Not too gory and not too graphic please. Plot: A captured/kidnapped Marcus is in a bad shape by being badly beaten and tortured(Though thankfully he's not in a critical condition.). Despite being badly injured, he fights back the best he can against his kidnapper and torturer. Fortunately, Missy and her team along with Marcus' own save Marcus. Later in the hospital at the Heroics Headquarters, Marcus is recovering and is safe with his family again with him, Missy and his mom Anita comforting one another.

Sorry this took a bit to put together! Had to get them writing brain juices flowing! ^^' I hope this is what you are looking for and enjoy! Thanks for the request! <3 Warnings: Mentions of injuries (nothing major) and fighting (not too descriptive) Masterlist | Join my taglist via here!

Marcus groaned in pain as he sat against the cold concrete wall. How long had he been here? Every muscle in his body ached from fighting back and being strained in the restraints currently holding him. His arms were pulled behind his back and bound by rope. Of course they knew his powers and wouldn’t keep him contained with anything of metal that he could manipulate. His fingers flexed as best as they could, trying to reach and find the end of the rope to undo it but, was no such luck.

“Stop trying to escape.” A tall man says, pushing Marcus back against the wall with his foot. “You’re not leaving here. Not until we get the rest of your team captured just like you. It’s about time we finally took you Heroics out.”

Marcus growled. “You may have gotten me but you’re not getting the rest of them. They’ll come, free me and take you out.”

“Pft sure thing.” The man said before leaving.

Marcus sighed, still struggling in his restraints. His wrists hurt from the rope, feeling them becoming raw around the area that they were biting into. His face was sore from being punched a few times and he was sure he had several bruises forming. He rolled himself to lean against the wall, careful to not strain himself too much. Hopefully soon he’d find a way out of here or someone would come and get him out. Thoughts of Missy filled his head as he leaned against the cold wall. He knew he broke the promise to her about not going out into the action anymore but duty calls and it unfortunately had to be broken. She was probably worried sick by now and highly upset, wondering what had happened to him. Tears filled his eyes as he thought of his daughter, he knew she was safe but he still worried and hoped she could forgive him for having to break his promise, especially after this tragedy.

_____

Missy paced her living room floor. It has been hours since she got home from school and dad was nowhere in sight. She had no missed texts or calls from him, so she called into his office to see if he was there. The nice receptionist told her he was not but had gone out on a mission hours ago that he’s yet to come back from. Panic instantly overtook Missy. She thanked the lady and quickly hung up the phone to dial her abuela, Anita.

“Abuela…” Missy started, tears already forming in her eyes. “Dad isn’t home yet but I just called his office and a lady told me he went out on a mission that he hasn’t come back from yet. I didn’t think he was doing mission work anymore. He promised me he wouldn’t.” Missy sobbed.

“Missy… Missy. Breathe. We will get it figured out my dear. Let me make a call into his office and see what I can find out.” Anita assures her. “In the meantime, stay put. I will be over shortly.”

Missy nodded and sniffled. “Thank you abuela.”

Within the hour Anita was over. She had called into Marcus’ office just like Missy did and found out he had gone out on a mission alone to take down a villain squad plotting to take out the Heroics. When she had found out it’s been hours and he has yet to come back she rang them a new one.

“We have to go save dad! He’s obviously gotten held captive… or worse.” Missy cried.

“Dearie, I am sure the other Heroics are working on something to save him.” Anita assured her.

“But it’s already been hours and nothing so far. Abuela can you take me to HQ so I can talk to them and my team? We have to do something to have him. I want dad back.” She sniffles.

“Shh shh. Yes, grab your things and let’s go.”

The drive to HQ was quick as soon as Anita parked Missy was hopping out of the car and running into the building. She ran through the halls and right into Ms. Granada’s office. “Ms. Granada… My dad went on a mission and has been missing for hours. Why is no one out looking for him?” She pouts angrily.

“Missy! Hello dear. Well, we were giving it sometime. Your father is the leader of the Heroics so we figured he’d be okay.” She replied. “Well something doesn’t seem right. He’s been gone too long. If you don’t send out the other heroics to look for him, me and my team will go ourselves.” “Missy… Missy… relax. I will request for some of the Heroics to go look for him. If you wish for yourself and some of your team to go as well you can. But please stick with the adults as you guys are still in training.”

Missy nods and heads down to the classrooms to find her teammates. “My father has been missing for hours. I need a few of you to join me and some of the Heroics to go find and save him.” She states. “Who’s with me?”

Slo-Mo, Rewind, Guppy and Wild Card all volunteered to go. Missy lead them into the locker rooms to change before going off to meet the fellow Heroics they’d be joining on the rescue. After changing into their training uniforms they met up with Miracle Guy, Ms. Vox and Crushing Low.

“All set to go kids?” Miracle Guy asked. Missy and the rest of the kids nodded before splitting up to follow each hero. Missy going with Miracle Guy, Slo-Mo and Rewind with Crushing Low and Guppy with Ms. Vox. They all split off and went their separate ways to search around town for Marcus. It felt like hours had passed until Missy pointed out one of her dad’s katanas dropped in an alleyway. Miracle Guy radio-ed into the other teams that they think they found the location and for them to meet them there. It wasn’t long before they arrived. Finding the doorway it seemed they had Marcus trapped in, Crushing Low broke it down. Slo-Mo quickly stepped in as soon as he heard footsteps and used his powers to slow them down. As he did Guppy took them out and had Miracle Guys help to tie them up. Missy followed Mz. Vox and Rewind farther into the basement. Hearing some talking and grunts of pain. The grunts had to be dad, Missy thought! She stepped to the side wall and followed the noises to the back but had her arm grabbed by one of the culprits. She yelped and tried to tug away but was no luck. Thankfully Rewind stepped in and used his powers to back track it all for Miracle Guy to step in and knock the guy out. Missy sighed in relief and followed his footsteps further into the basement into a backroom. Stepping into the room she saw Marcus tied up and leaning against a wall. “Dad!” She yelled and ran to his side. “Missy?” Marcus groaned and looked at her. “What’re you doing here? You need to leave so you don’t get hurt too.” “I am not alone. Some of the other Heroics are here with me too as well as my team.” She points to Miracle Guy standing in the doorway who gives a quick head nod. “I knew something was wrong when you weren’t home or answering your phone. We came to save you.” Miracle Guy stepped over after Ms. Vox came to cover the doorway from any other potential culprits. He carefully untied Marcus and helped him to his feet. “Don’t think this means we're buddies.” He says letting him support his weight on him. “Yeah yeah I know…” Marcus chuckles then groans. Miracle Guy leads him out of the basement carefully after confirming there were no more culprits. Thankfully the other Heroics had taken care of them and had them tied up. An ambulance pulls up at the entrance of the alleyway and two EMT’s make their way to Marcus, carefully helping him up and into the vehicle. One of them talks to Miracle Guy who passes the word onto Missy. Anita’s vehicle follows behind them and she rushes out over to Missy. “Is he okay? What happened?” She frowns.

“I’m not totally sure but they are taking dad to the hospital to check him over.” Missy says.

“Let’s follow them there. Thank you everyone for your help in rescuing my son.” Anita says to the Heroics and Missy’s teammates. Hopping into Anita’s car Missy and her follow the ambulance to the hospital. They have to wait a bit for Marcus to get examined but once he is all done and set up in a room they rush up to find him. Missy runs into the room right up to Marcus’ bed. “Dad! Are you okay?” She cries. “Yes mija, I am okay. Just some scratches and bruises. Thankfully nothing to serious. I’ll be released tonight. They just want to monitor me a bit to make absolute sure.” He says stroking her head with his hand. Missy nods and wipes her tears away. “I was so worried about you. I didn’t know what happened.” “I know. I am sorry. I know I promised not to do mission work anymore but unfortunately I had to break that promise. Sometimes Granada needs me and my skills over the others. I hope you can forgive me.” “It’s okay dad. I understand that you’ll have to do some. I am just glad you are safe. That’s all that matters to me.” She sniffles.

Marcus smiles and continues to smooth her hair back, comforting her. Anita sits down in the corner and smiles at them both.

“I am glad you are okay mijo. You know I always worry about you too even though I trained you to be the very best.” She chuckles. “I know mom.” He smiles. The nurse walks in and greets them all, stating that Marcus is stable, nothing serious. Just might be sore for a few days and give him the okay to go home. Marcus thanks her and slowly crawls out of the hospital bed. Missy helps steady him and leads him out the hospital to the car. “Let’s take the weekend off and rest, dad. I think you need it. We can have a move marathon! Let’s watch all the Star Wars!” “Sounds good to me. I would love that.” He chuckles. “Thank you for coming to rescue me mija, I love you so much.” “I love you too dad. You know I’ll always come to save you. I can’t imagine life without you in it” She smiles.

#we can be heroes #marcus moreno #missy moreno #anita moreno #fanfic

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calliecat93 · 3 years

Text

So… been a while since I did one of these. Yeah, long story short 2020 just ruined my anxiety and a bunch of other things and I just couldn’t handle doing the reviews after I feel so behind during the first half of V8. Even the six-week break didn’t do anything to reignite the motivation or help the anxiety, so I decided it was best to quit and just wait for the volume to be over. Which with how emotionally draining the volume was which may have very well impaired my judgment at the time, was probably the best decision. But V8 has been over for months now and we’re awaiting V9. So it’s time to finally finish this.

I normally do one chapter per review, but since I now know all that’s coming, I’m going to do two chapters per review. That means four total reviews, then a mass V8 review, and then hopefully things go better when V9 starts. So last I left off, we got Cinder backstory, the Ace-Ops running into YJR, and Salem breaking Atlas’ shields to finally go forward with her invasion. The dark times are upon Atlas and our heroes are running out of time. So… what happens now? Well, let's find out.

Overview

I normally break down everything moment by moment, but we’re gonna keep it brief since there’s a lot to cover.

In War as Salem’s attack marches forward, all of our heroes are in a bind. RWB wants to help Atlas while May wants to return to Mantle and points out that they can’t have both. Nora is still in need of a doctor, which causes Whitley, who overheard, to call in a character that we haven’t seen in quite a while. With JYR, they were captured by the Ace-Ops, who has now been tasked to use a bomb to blow up the whale. Our heroes negotiate with Winter to allow them time to go in and rescue Oscar and causes Ren to make an unexpected discovery. Meanwhile, in the whale, Emerald overhears Oscar/Oz again pleading to Hazel to see reason, even going as far as to give him the password to the Lamp. Not for Salem, for Hazel. This causes Emerald’s doubts to become even more concerning and with Mercury leaving with Tyrian for Vacuo and Cinder focused solely on her quest for power, she is left alone to decide what she wishes to do.

In RWBY’s 100th chapter Dark, we are at the Schnee Manor where the power blows out. But when they recall that they have an emergency generator, Whitley realizes that they can use the SDC to get supplies to the Mantle refugees. Ruby and Blake go to restore the power as Ruby is still struggling to maintain her usual optimism, but they encounter a Grimm in the process. Specifically, The Hound. Meanwhile, Penny, who crash-landed in front of the Manor last episode, tries to maintain control as Watts’ virus goes into effect. During the battle, it ends with Ruby discovering The Hound. One that utterly horrifies her…

Review

Okay, there is a LOT to go over with these two chapters, So let’s break this down event by event.

Monstra

Let’s discuss our villains first since we have some pretty major developments. First, we have Hazel. We had just about everything that I had assumed before confirmed. The reason that Hazel works for Salem isn’t merely just because she claims to want a new world order. Honestly, I think that Hazel just fooled himself to justify his decision to himself. No, as he talks to Ozcar, the truth becomes crystal clear. Hazel has given up. He confronted her once, and all that happened was she kept coming back until he was too exhausted to fight anymore. She broke him. Fighting her was futile and by taking advantage of this, Salem set him on the only path that he had left: getting revenge on Ozpin. Even though he’ll reincarnate, he can still be hurt. He can still be killed. He can still suffer. It was all that Hazel had left, and it consumed him.

As much as I know that some had issues with Hazel’s backstory, losing your sibling to circumstances that weren’t really anyone’s fault but you still feel so angry that you just need to blame something is very understandable. I’ve been in that place. I think that many of us have. And to learn that he did try to fight Salem at first but in the end, gave up due to her immortality… can you imagine how many others likely went down that route? Wanting to fight Salem but when the horrible truth came out were left empty? RWBY went through it in V6 and barely recovered, so it’s easy to see where Hazel is coming from. It’s easy to see why he won’t believe Oz when he tells him what Salem’s true goal, the release of death via summoning the Gods judgment, is. Oscar takes over and reveals the password, trusting Hazel to decide for himself what to do. Not Salem, Hazel. Will it pay off? Only time will tell.

But Hazel isn’t the only one privy to this new information. Emerald overheard all of it. Whatever fears that she had were all confirmed. Mercury is dismissive, both not believing it (until Tyrian confirms it) and even if he did, points out that Hazel failed and fell into line. It’s going to take time for the assassin to change his mind. As far as he’s concerned, he’s on top of the world, or at least in the best place that he can be in. Better than when he was with Marcus at least. Emerald though? She’s been doubtful and scared since at least the end of V3, even earlier if we count the flashbacks in Beginning of the End. The only thing that has kept her around along with the fear of Salem has been her devotion to Cinder. But with how Cinder has been coldly dismissive of her thus far this volume and now knowing that she’s part of something far worse than she imagined, it looks like Emerald may be deciding that it’s not worth it anymore. The question is, will she act before it’s too late? With Mercury off to Vacuo, she’s on her own to make that choice.

The villains’ stuff is mainly setup for Chapter 9 but it’s good stuff. We’re getting everything in place for the many payoffs that we’ve been waiting a long time for. Many of us have been hoping for Emerald to defect. While IDT as many have wanted the same for Hazel, he’s certainly the nobler of his buddies and has shown signs of possible redemption, so I’ve been hoping for it. Oz and Oscar’s efforts seem to be paying off and Oscar taking over and playing a huge gamble is pure excellence. It’s both Oz trusting the boy and working in tandem with him showing how he is genuinely trying to be better and showing Oscar’s growth with his more diplomatic skills here. It failed to work on Ironwood, but perhaps this time he’ll have better luck.

JYR and the Ace-Ops

Like with the villains, their stuff is contained all within War. But boy do we have plenty to go over. With Atlas in utter chaos, to the point of all the citizens having to hide in a subway, Ironwood has decided to have Winter and her team bomb Monstra. Which makes sense… except that Oscar’s in there. Needless to say, JYR isn’t happy about that. But Harriet, Elm, and Vine remain committed to their ‘we have no feelings’ routine. Even though it’s so obvious that they’re lying through their teeth. Ren’s Semblance confirmed it, but it’s not hard to tell. Elm and especially Harriet are hiding their feelings through their anger and doubling down on following orders. Vine does try to remain reasonable, but otherwise retains his emotionless demeanor. Marrow… he just clearly doesn't want to be there anymore. He’s still trying to remain comitted to what he’s doing, but this and Chapter 9 are going to be changing that big time

And WInter? Oh Lord Winter. She wants to do the right thing but is bound to her loyalty and duty to Ironwood and Atlas, and she doesn’t know which one to follow. Her orders? Or her heart? The choice may seem like a no-brainer to us, but to Winter it’s more complicated. She feels that she owes Ironwood so much. Because of him and the military, she escaped her father and his control. I think that she does realize that this point that she’s just exchanged one puppetmaster for another, but she doesn't know how to cut the strings. We see some signs of hope, both in the last volume when she allowed Weiss and the others to escape, and here when she grants JYR’s request to go into the whale to find Oscar before the bomb arrives. She knows that if Ironwood finds out she’ll be in trouble. She remains conflicted, but it’s still a signt hat it’s not too late. It allows her (and Marrow forthat mater) to remain sympathetic while others like Harriet… well, they’re not making it easy, let’s leave it at that.

That brings us to Ren. He’s had it hard thus far, his emotional control slipping, his split-off from Nora, and everything that built up the last volume coming crashing down. He’s been pushing everyone away, but now? He can’t afford to do so. Not with Oscar in danger. When Harriet says that teammates are replaceable, he strongly disagrees. He and Jaune would absolutely know how wrong this is. They’ve never replaced Pyrrha after all. Even if one considers Oscar part of JNR, he’s never been considered the new Pyrrha. He’s just Oscar, their friend. When he finally admitted that to himself, it allowed Ren’s Semblance to evolve. Instead of simply masking emotions, he can now see them via colored flower petals. Yes dear readers, Ren is an empath.

This development is perfect/. It happened at the right time, Ren finally admitting his feelings for those that he cares about instead of internalizing them and pushing those people away as he has been with Nora. It’s a natural evolution of his powers. He can mask emotions to protect others from the Grimm, and now that he can take it off he can see beneatht he masks of others. Harriet and Elm’s rage. Vine’s uncertainty (I’m assuming anyways based on what happens later). Marrow’s sadness. Winter’s collection of so many different colored petals, reflecting the war that she is having with herself. Now that Ren is beginning to open up, he can now help others do the same. Semblances reflect the on using them, and I think this says a lot about what Ren is truly meant to be and will be in the future.

Schnee Manor

Now we get to the meat of this post. Let’s go over the events in War first. While our heroes are safe at Schnee Manor, they’re conflicted on what to do. May wants to, and by Dark does, go back to Mantle since things are just as bad there and they don’t have the military to save them. Weiss however? She wants to help Atlas. Despite everything, Atlas is still Weiss’ home and there are still family and innocent people that she wishes to save. She’s a Huntress, that’s her job. May however? Her family dismissed her when she was their son, and she made it very clear that she is in no way their daughter. Which first, that was a brilliant way to add that representation. Kdin confirmed that May was Transgender last volume, but now we have undeniable proof in the show itself and it was perfectly delivered. She also makes a good point, Mantle has no protection. The whole reason that RWBY went against Ironwood was that he chose to leave Mantle to die. At this point, it does seem like the heroes can have it both ways. It worked in the past, but not here. Not anymore. But even May admits as she leaves that at this point, there might not be anythign left to do for either city. It’s just… bleak. Even moreso than in V3.

This of course hits Ruby. Normally, her optimism and hope carry her through. It was practically what got the heroes through V6 alive and well. But now? No. Even she can’t deny how bad things have gotten. When she and Blake go to turn on the backup generator, it’s clear how conflicted she is. She wants to help everyone. She chose to send the message because it seemed like the best chance to save everyone. But the longer that she waits, the more unlikely it all seems. She’s becoming utterly overwhelmed. Honestly, with how 2020 went, I find this very relatable. You w\see all the suffering caused by COVID and the horror of the police brutality against Black people and so many other awful things we’re still in the midst of. You want to do something. You want to help everyone and want things to just be okay. But when you do, all of it weighs down on you because you simply can’t help everyone. As Klein said, you can only focus on what’s in front of you first. You feel helpless, scared, maybe even angry. But we’re only human. We can only do what we can a step at a time in whatever way we can, even if it’s just being a shoulder to lean on. It’s at least something.

This leads to something that I have practically been begging CRWBY to do for years now, have Blake comfort her. We’ve had very scarce Ruby and Blake interactions, but it’s always been pretty clear that Blake trusts Ruby and has followed her lead faithfully more or less since the team formed. I think it was very fitting for Blake to be the one who reached out to her as it calls back to when they first talked in Volume 1. Back when Ruby expressed her love of books and wanting to make the world better like the heroes that she would read about. How Blake admired her goal but also viewed it as rather childish. Considering everything with the Faunus oppression, the White Fang, and of course Adam, who could blame her? But Ruby gave her hope. Ruby got her to see that they can make the world better. That despite everything, it’s their job to protect everyone and to move forward. Ruby’s been able to push them ahead so much, and they all still need her. It’s what Ruby needed to hear and it shows how far that both girls have come since those early days at Beacon. Which since this happened in the 100th episode, was very fitting.

Now I’m not gonna say too much about The Hound here. The entire fight scene was awesome and the thing stalking through the Schnee Manor? It somehow felt more horrifying than The Apathy did in Volume 6. How do you manage that?! Whitley and Willow ultimately killing it via the armor was also pretty cool and it’s nice to see the civilian characters getting involved, showing that they don’t have to be helpless like with the ship captain and crew back in Volume 4. Then the final revelation, that The Hound was not only human but had Silver Eyes… yeah Ruby’s reaction could not be more justified. I’m gonna go into my thoughts more in the 11-12 review since Ruby goes more into her feelings there. But the revelations that this one scene caused… yeah, it’s added a whole new level of horror to not just Salem, but the Grimm as a whole. It’s kind of a bummer that The Hound was killed off and it just feels so soon, but with how so much is going on at this point… yeah I’m gonna forgive it especially since the death still leaves a lot to think about in the future.

So let’s talk Schnee family! First, Willow. I like how they handled her here. She’s an anxious mess, which makes complete sense. She has to keep forcing herself to not drink, but without that coping mechanism, she’s so anxious that she ends up running out of Weiss’ room in utter panic. Fortunately, she’s still able to get her act together enough to be of help. She uses the security cameras to warn Weiss and keep an eye on The Hound. Which also allows her to see it heading for Whitley. But instead of waiting on Weiss and since Whitley understandably doesn’t want to listen to her, she does the right thing: act like a mother and save her child. Including actually using her Glyphs to summon a Boarbutusk. Yes, Willow. In a jam-packed volume like this, it’s nice to see these bits of character development for even the minor characters and it was done well here.

Then we have Whitley. I’m gonna admit it, it feels like his change is pretty rushed, but again we have about a million other things going on. Plus I guess the worst situations can bring out the best in people. That’s certainly the case here. He over-hears RWB and May talking and decides to call Klein, who is apparently a doctor, not only a butler (the temptation to NOT make an ‘I’m a doctor, not an X’ joke after getting into Star Trek is REALLY hard XD) to treat Nora. Which Weiss’ reaction to seeing him and him not at all blaming her for being fired was just beautiful. But it’s Whitley making a decision. Not due to his father’s influence. Not to get Weiss’ attention. He did it because Nora needed help and it was simply the right thing to do. The fact that he acted independently makes Weiss so happy that she hugs him. It surprises Whitley… but you can tell that he’s happy about it.

I think that really encouraged Whitley. Jaques isn’t there anymore. There’s no one controlling his fate anymore. It doens’t matter if Whitley defies him now, Jaques can’t do a thing about it. It’s Whitley who realizes that they have the resources and ability to send supplies and help to Mantle. It’s him who goes to his father’s office to get the process underway. Even when The Hound comes in, he still makes sure to give the authorization before making a run for it. With the fear of his father gone and Weiss showing more support, Whitley is showing that he’s not a bad person. He was very much like his sister was; someone trapped and forced to succumb to the toxic influences to survive. He didn’t have the support that Weiss did, nor the skills that either of his sisters had that let them escape. But he’s taking those steps now. He has an attitude still, but he’s kind of where Volume 1-3 Wess was; a major brat but one very much on their way to improving. If Whitey ends up taking over whatever remains of the SDC or outright remakes it, I think that he’ll be a fine leader while his sisters continue as Huntresses.

Finally, we come to Penny. I should probably talk about Nora as well, but since Chapter 11 is when she expresses how she feels ike how Ruby does, I’m going to hold off until then As far as Penny goes… God, I… it just hurts. Knowing how this ultimately will end only makes it more painful to go back through. But just as Chapter 5 made it look like Penny would finally be allowed to choose for herself, Watts ruins all of it. This is a girl who is utterly trapped. Ironwood bound her down by isolating her and then forcing the protection of a whole city on her. Pietro, while well-meaning, was over-protective and allowing that to keep Penny held by her strings. He let go… and look at how it ended. The Maiden Powers, while something that Penny accepted, now has her targeted on all sides and she can’t escape them while bound tot he responsibilities that come with it. Now we have Watts’ virus and despite her best efforts, she can’t stop it.

It’s just… heart-wrenching. Especially when Nora wakes up and calms her down by reminding her that whatever is trying to take over is only a part of her, not the whole being. It works… for a few moments. But in the end, all that Penny can do is succumb. This girl truly has no control over anything. Not over her own life. Not over the abilities that she possesses. And now not even over her own mind and body. She keeps having her strings yanked back and forth, wanting to just snap them off but all her limbs are held in place so she can’t. Watching her act utterly robotic, blankly describing how she will open the Vault then self-terminate… it’s just so wrong. Not to mention her coming dangerously close to being carted off to Salem with only Ruby managing a Silver Eyes blast saving her. It was hard to watch back when these premiered but after the finale? It’s just… it’s just so cruel.

Both of these chapters were excellent. War is mainly a setup chapter and ho boy the event that it sets up for… Chapter 9 is gonna be fun to talk about! But it also had plenty of pay-offs, especially for Ren and great moments like May’s scene, Salem conducting the Grimm, and it just captures the bleakness yet determination of our heroes perfectly. Then Dark… boy is that chapter title appropriate. Again great moments like the Ruby and Blake talk, the entire fight sequence, and probably the most horrifying revelation thus far. There’s some minor stuff like the jailbreak as well that made RWBY’s 100th chapter, as well as the chapter to kick off the return after the six-week hiatus, a thrill to watch. That's not even going into Alex Abraham's spectacular score, especially when the big reveal/death of The Hound happens. Just... it's just perfect. It can feel like there’s just so much going on that it gets hard to keep up with at times… but to be fair, that’s how our heroes feel as well, so I supposed that’s appropriate.

Chapter Stats

War

Favorite Character: Lie Ren

Favorite Scene: Ren unlocking his emotion-reading power

Least Favorite Scene: RWB sipping tea. It’s not a bad scene, but them just kind of standing by while the chaos is going on… it just feels a tad out of place.

Favorite Voice Actor: Kdin Jenzen (May Marigold)

Favorite Animation: Salem conducting the Grimm attack.

Rating: 8/10

Dark

Favorite Character: Ruby Rose

Favorite Scene: Ruby and Blake talk

Least Favorite Scene: I got nothing. Everything here was perfect.

Favorite Voice Actor: Arryn Zeck (Blake) and Jason Liebrecht (The Hound)

Favorite Animation: As horrifying as it was, The Hound reveal.

Rating: 10/10

Final Thoughts

When I watched these, all I could really do was stare wide-eyed. Even though I knew that this volume was going to be intense, somehow I wasn’t prepared for any of it. Certainly not for everything in these chapters. But all of it was just so freakin’ good. Does it feel emotionally draining? Yes. It was a big part of why I’m only getting to these several months later. But was it still worth watching? Absolutely. Compare Dark to the first chapter of Volume 1. RWBY has come such a long way. A lot of things both good and bad have happened in between, but it’s still going and I plan to be here until the bitter end. With quality like this, it gives me a good reason to stick around. So six more chapters/three reviews to go.

(Image Sources)

#rwby #rwby8 #rwby reviews #callie reviews

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owlsoldwritingcorner · 4 years

Text

The Ghost (Part 2)

Pairing :Wrench x Reader

AO3 Link

Summary:

“So. You a big fan of hackers?”

“I guess you can say that. ” You may not be able to make a coherent string of codes but you know that vague code speak means: He’s in the group.

Note:

Here's the look reader has in this chapter!

(The helmet and biker suit is the main canonical look reader has cuz it's important to the fic, underneath you can insert your own look)

Chapter 2: Fresh Air and Graffiti

You woke up to the smell of your grandmother’s cooking, checking your phone revealed it was 8 in the damn morning. God you weren’t ready for the strong smells so early in the morning. Looks like Ripley wasn’t either considering she was already away and giving you her big ole puppy eyes that just scream “Walk time? Walk time!”.

Such a sweetie.

“Let’s get you some breakfast first before we can think of any w-a-l-k-i-e-s, alrighty?” Oh gosh, she gave you a little nod and a gentle ruff, you’re gonna get killed by the cuteness of a pup. Not by any of those burly men with guns that you’re so used to on the job, and obviously, you welcome this kind of death with open arms.

Getting up, you cleaned yourself up from the rest of your grogginess and went to the kitchen to fill up Ripley’s food bowl but not before taking a puff of your daily asthma medicine.

Gah… The smell of dried fish was getting more and more prominent now. The dried fish your grandma makes for the conge tastes so good but god it smells like the ocean flooded the house and dried up.

“Mom! Did you really have to make that fish so early in the morning?” Looks like your aunt was up and at ‘em too now. Strong smells always did make her grumpier.

“ It takes so long to fully seep and cook this fish so I should just cook it now! ” Your aunt looked as if she was going to pop a blood vessel already.

“Mom. Now the whole house smells like fish. You could have made it tomorrow or even later today!” You just sighed as your aunt and grandma argued, you really didn’t want a headache so early in the morning…

Ripley was done eating her breakfast so it was time to go for some walkies. Maybe Ripley will make some friends in this neighborhood? You brought out some body spray for yourself to put on once you’re out of the house, your emergency inhaler, then finally you put the pit-bull on her leash. Hopefully a walk around will ease your headache a bit.

So far so good.

It was sunny and surprisingly nice out, your little pup was letting out some energy and you got some fresh air. You finally arrived at a small dog park, certainly not the park Clara told you about. That hideout is about 20 more minutes away from where you’re currently at.

You sat at one of the benches to give your feet some rest, your little pit-bull laid down next to you on the bench, her head on your lap and wanting you to pet her as you two relaxed. You smiled before slowly starting to go into a daze, your eyelids drooped a bit from the nice temperature and your little friend snored away on your lap before your mind finally started to dream away as you stared into space.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Run.

You needed to run.

You have to get out of here.

Opaque silhouettes slithered after you, their limbs contorting as they ran on all fours, letting out whaling cries as if trying to coax you into stopping. Its grotesque body leaving mucus in its wake.

But it didn’t work.

It only made you run faster.

Faster and faster until--

You choked.

The air was knocked out of you as one of the silhouette’s slimy, long arms grabbed one of your legs causing you to fall forward. You tried to crawl away, your nails scratching the concrete below to no avail. You looked behind you to see the mass of disgusting limbs catching up to you, still holding onto your captive leg.

As you continue to try to get away from the creature, you see another silhouette step in front of you and kneel down, and outstretched as if saying “Here. Let me help you up”. This one was different from the ones trying to chase you, they weren’t contorted or slimy nor did they have any extra limbs on their body.

You were so close to reaching for that gentle hand when--

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Excuse me?” You woke up from your daydream by that new voice trying to get your attention. Looking up, you see a man (probably just a couple years older than you) wearing dark lensed glasses and had a light moustache and a soul patch. You also noted the shirt he wore.

Dedsec.

You wanted to snort. The Chicago branch would instantly kick that person out for wearing something so blatant. They’d hate seeing their name with a face.

“Hey, uh, sorry for intruding, I just wanted to pet your dog. Don’t really see many Pitbulls in this neighborhood.” You raised an eyebrow, most people would be terrified of Ripley and cross the street from you two (Granted, she is a big dog with large scars and cropped ears, you can’t fully blame them for being intimidated.) But you gave the man a little nod, he seemed nice enough.

“Sure, she’d love the attention.” The man immediately went to work, giving Ripley little scratches behind her ears, cooing as she gave him some kisses.

“What’s her name?”

“Ripley.”

“As in Ellen Louise Ripley ?”

“Yep. They’re both super tough, so, I just named her accordingly.” You mumbled, god it’s been so long since you had social interaction with a new human. The man just chuckled.

“I can tell, she definitely looks like she been through some stuff.”

You let out a little hum, “She was rescued from one of those dog fighting rings.” He nodded.

“Poor girl. Looks like she’s in better hands now though.” You chuckled as you scratched behind Ripley’s cropped ears, your eyes wandered back to the man’s Dedsec shirt. Honestly you can’t tell if he’s just a big fan or actually part of the group.

“So. You a big fan of hackers?”

“I guess you can say that. You into what Dedsec has to say?” You may not be able to make a coherent string of codes but you know that vague code speak means: He’s in the group.

“They have some good points. Highlighting vulnerabilities and weaknesses in the CTOS systems, showcasing how Blume truly acts. It’s like embarrassing the prom king on stage, I’m all for that.” The man raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

“You seem to have your share of Dedsec knowledge.”

“I’m from Chicago, they’re a pretty big deal there too. Dunno about here.”

“That explains it. Heard they released some pretty big blackmail over there.” You gave the man a nonchalant hum. Dedsec’s blackmail, huh? Aiden did most of the work though…

“I heard that too.”

Checking the time it was already almost 12 pm, that fuckin online college got you on a damn leash. Plus, you were getting pretty hungry, you did skip out on breakfast in favor of feeding Ripley.

“Well, I need to be on my way now. Hope you have a nice day.”

“Oh, you too. I’m Marcus by the way. I have a feeling I might see you again.” Well that sounds only mildly ominous, but, certainly not the worst you’ve heard. The taller man reached out his hand for a handshake, to which you reluctantly shook and gave Marcus your name.

“It was nice meeting you, Marcus.”

You nudged Ripley a bit to let her know you two were heading home now only for her to whine a bit but obliging. Yeah, you don’t wanna smell like fish again but… You really needed to at least finish the week’s assignments. You gave Marcus a final goodbye wave as you walked home with your dog by your side.

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

You flopped onto your bed in defeat.

Why the fuck did this online school have to give you so much work every week? Well, you managed to do a few weeks worth of work and should be free earlier for Dedsec work.

Speaking of, it’s almost time to meet your new “coworkers”. It's time to suit up.

Donning your binder, biker’s helmet and suit, you made sure to test out the helmet’s voice modulator and check for any kinks. Afterwards, it was time for some real clothes! The skin tight biker suit feels pretty breezy despite you not being actually naked. At least the binder makes you look like a super buff guy, not to mention the boots give you some extra height. You really need those 3 extra inches…

Let’s see…

Pastel week? Or maybe something vintage? Or perhaps some fall colors would be nice! Sweaters always feel nice. But, it has been a while since you’ve done a punk week…

Well! It’s been decided!

Finally, you were ready for work. Giving Ripley a final forehead kiss and head pat, you headed for your destination.

Weird that a notorious hacker group put one of their hideouts in a nerdy tabletop shop. Then again, it doesn’t raise a lot of suspicion on the outside. Looking around, you see a bunch of people rolling their 20 sided dice on the tables. You always did want to play Dungeons and Dragons, never had the time to read up on it though. You walked towards the back, ignoring any wandering eyes. But no one really spoke up against you being there, they looked too scared to even try if they actually wanted to.

Aha. There was the entrance. You pushed in the pass-code Clara gave you and viola! You’re in. You took in the appearance of the entrance down the hackerspace. The graffiti is quite a look. Most of the Dedsec graffiti back home were mostly on CTOS ads or other signposts, this is a stark contrast from those dark hacker rooms in Chicago. But, you certainly didn’t mind it. Actually heading into the space itself revealed it looked more like a hacker’s man cave or hangout spot than a big name hacker group meet up room. Dedsec’s name was graffitied around every inch of the room, the table in the middle was filled with snacks, beers, and some computer equipment, and there were some really old rage comics memes near the 3d printer area.

Looks like you’re the first person here though. You sat at the sofa area, crossing your legs. God, the spaces back home needs a sofa like this instead of those rackety pull out chairs. Just as you were getting used to the appearance of… Everything. The sound of the sliding door and footsteps catches your ears. Guess it was introduction time.

Turning around and facing the first person you got to the space first, you were greeted with a familiar face.

“You guys should have seen Mr. Weak Chin’s face in perso--” The man locked eyes with you as you gave him a little wave.

Marcus. Your instincts had always been pretty on point.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” His hand was hidden behind him, probably reaching for a weapon to prepare himself from any surprise attacks. You only raise your hands to tell him you don’t mean any harm. Just as you were going to let him know why you’re here, the rest of the crew came down. Marcus wasn’t the only familiar face around here.

Your hidden eyes gazed into familiar digital Xs.

#wrench watch dogs #wrench #reader insert #Wrench x reader #marcus holloway #Watch Dogs #my art #My writing

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aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

How John Krasinski Convinced Emily Blunt to Do A Quiet Place Part II

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Emily Blunt was in a different place three years ago. That, of course, applies to most people. But back then, in the lush jungles of Hawaii and filming opposite Dwayne Johnson, she was a million miles from the hushed hell endured by the Abbott family in A Quiet Place, which was just becoming the surprise horror hit of 2018. She had no intention of going back.

The sentiment is understandable. In fact, it was initially shared by her husband, writer-director-actor John Krasinski, who, like his wife, was skeptical about the prospect of making a follow-up, even in our modern era of shared universes. But as Blunt told us when we sat down a year (and lifetime) ago in New York’s Dolby SoHo, once Krasinski gets a new idea, it’s the damnedest thing.

“I was the one who was even more steadfast about not coming back,” Blunt says. “There was that feeling of wanting to preserve the first one.” In the early days of the earlier film’s success, she said no, and Krasinski told Paramount Pictures to court other writers… and yet, that kernel of a vision persisted for Krasinski. One which he couldn’t shake until the day he shared it with Blunt.

“I remember him pitching me the opening,” she says. “And I was like, ‘Cool, I’m not going to be in the movie.’ And he was like, ‘Oh no, I know that.’” He then revealed the first scene is a flashback of the Abbott family before the events of A Quiet Place, enjoying a greater moment of peace than we’ve ever seen with them. The monsters then descend. Afterward, Blunt could only concede, “So I’m going to be in the movie.”

Titled A Quiet Place Part II—Blunt’s suggestion, since it feels as much like the next chapter as a standalone—the new film begins in earnest mere hours after the events of the last movie. Lee Abbott (Krasinski) is dead, and his family is left to wander the wilderness after strange aliens who lack sight (but have horrifyingly adept hearing) eviscerated their farm. Alone in the world, matriarch Evelyn (Blunt) has a newborn – who they must keep quiet at all times – in her arms and two young children to protect. But the oldest of them, Regan (Millicent Simmonds), has never been one to follow her parents’ path.

The idea that possessed Krasinski, to the point where, on a Hawaiian beach he persuaded Blunt to return, was always about Simmonds’s Regan: a resilient young woman who, like the actor portraying her, is hearing impaired.

“The first one is about the promise you make as a parent, that if you stick with me, I can keep you safe forever,” Kransinski says. “That’s a promise that I think all parents know will be broken. I realized when that promise is broken, that’s what growing up is… So if the first one is a love letter to my kids, then this is a weird letter to my kids about the dream that I have for them. I hope they’re this positive, I hope they’re this courageous, and they can go into the dark and light a candle.”

That image of a candle in the dark, and Regan becoming as brave (and stubborn) as her old man, is what gnawed at Krasinski.

“Undeniable” is how Blunt describes it. “I think it crept up on him. I think once an idea is that good, it clings to you and it’s very hard to shake.”

The approach also allowed Krasinski to more fully explore the totality of what the Abbotts lost. For instance, that first flashback scene he pitched to Blunt is partially an excuse to have Lee appear again in the movie, but it also underscores the feeling of an idyllic past life robbed by a global tragedy. Opening on a baseball field, the family watches Marcus (Noah Jupe) play Little League, and the viewer immediately senses paradise will soon be lost.

“In the opening of the movie, there’re even visuals that I wanted to feel like the sense [you get from] Jaws,” Krasinski says. “Being on the beach [is like] when we’re at the baseball game. Storytelling-wise, what I learned from it is simplicity.”

When we spoke to the pair, as well as with other members of the A Quiet Place Part II cast, it was early March 2020. The full reality of the pandemic had yet to set in, but by virtue of no one shaking hands during the interviews, the significance of the real-life horror was already inescapable. Perhaps, then, the movie’s delayed theatrical release to May 2021 is serendipitous, as Krasinski’s vision for the future is both humanist and optimistic, in spite of its dystopia. Cillian Murphy, who plays an enigmatic stranger who crosses the Abbotts’ path, certainly thinks so.

“The film does delicately explore those themes,” Murphy says. “But these kinds of things have been happening since time immemorial. How do societies react to crises? How do individuals react? Do they retreat or do you offer a hand? I think with my character, he starts at one place in the movie and he ends up at another place without it being heavy-handed or didactic. I think the subtext exists.”

Blunt would agree with the sentiment.

“I find this a terribly human film,” she contends. “Yes, the creatures are awful and terrifying… but they’re there to offer a backdrop for how humanity withstands. So that’s what I adore about it. You see a fractured community, you see what is shutdown, but then you see the rebirth and the awakening. Ultimately, human beings want to feel a sense of togetherness.”

Hopefully that includes in the dark of a movie theater.

A Quiet Place Part II opens in theaters on May 28.

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tsarinastorm · 4 years

Text

Feel Again-Charlie Barber/Reader-Chapter 1

You could feel the sunlight shining through the windows of the bookstore you were browsing through. It was a small, independent bookstore that had a mini café, showcased local authors and had writer’s events, it was the kind of bookstore that was hard to come across. It reminded you of the local bookstore back home that was your favorite, and this place in Los Angeles made it almost feel like home. You were a new transport to the city of angels, the decision to move was both easy and difficult. Your first book, a memoir, was well-received and made into a film whose screenplay you helped write. Your first novel was successful, and was now being made into a television series by a streaming service. When the producers ask you to be a consult on the series, you decided to move to LA and make a new life. You also taught seminars on writing and history at USC. You loved the warm weather, it was perfect for you to start your own little garden at the bungalow you were leasing, plus your dog, Freckles, loved having a yard.

You browse the aisles and you grab a Russian history book before grabbing Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, a copy of Marina Carr’s latest play, and a couple new releases. On your way to the registers, you see a tall, handsome man with a pile of books head in the same direction. Your eyes meet and it gives you butterflies, it was the kind of thing writers write about but you had never experienced in real life before. You take a good look at him and notice he’s everything you find attractive in a man: tall, broad-shouldered with dark, thick hair, well-dressed, and obviously he has good taste for bookstores. He’s not wearing a wedding band either, you’re sure to make a mental note of that.

“Marina Carr is a brilliant playwright, one of the best of modern day.” He says, pointing towards the pile of books you’re carrying and he steps forward to the register. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and compose yourself before saying, “She’s one of my favorite writers. I’ve never actually seen any of her plays performed though.”

“There’s nothing like seeing a play being performed. I’m a theater director so I might be biased.” He chuckles and smiles at you. You can’t help but smile back at him, you respond with, “Well I’m a writer so I have a bias in favor of printed word.”

“Can’t argue with that, what do you write?” The man asks and you tell him that you’ve wrote a memoir, a novel, and are now writing screenplays. He goes to introduce himself, but his phone rings and he has to answer. He turns and says a few words hurriedly into the phone before turning back. He then says to you, “I’m sorry but I’ve got to get to work, it was really nice talking to you, I hope I’ll see you again.” He extends his hand to you and you take it. You notice that even though it was brief that his hand was warm and much larger than yours. You smile, nod, and watch him walk out of the store.

You wonder if he’s a regular here, and then you begin to calculate how often you can make the trip to this bookstore. Maybe you should stop in more, and hopefully see him another time. You were intrigued and wanted to know more about him. But this was a big city, full of people moving in their own directions and it was more likely than not that you would never see him again.

*********************************************************

It’s been a week since your encounter with the attractive, mystery man at the bookstore, and now you were on the other coast. Your former sorority sister, Blair, lived in NYC and convinced you to come visit her for the weekend. The two of you were now crammed in her small bathroom, trying to put on your makeup for the night while fitting in as much girl talk as possible. She was an off-Broadway actress, and you two were going out with some of her theater people. You had met several of them before when you were visiting and you looked forward to seeing them again. But you always felt sort of out of place with them because you weren’t a theater person and didn’t understand all of the inside jokes.

The bar is already buzzing and you love the vintage, art deco style that exudes from the place. Blair is talking to a couple of people that she knows. She’s introduced to several of them, but you decide that it’s time to get a drink so you saunter off towards the bar. The man sitting there looks vaguely familiar but you can’t place him, until you’ve taken your seat, and given your order which makes him turn to look at you. Wow, it’s the mystery man or his doppelganger. He’s pretty unique looking so you figure it has to be him. Then it hits you, it is definitely the mystery man from Chevalier books with his signature style. You wonder: how did you possibly run into him again on the other side of the country? You can tell by the look on his face that he recognizes you at the same time, before breaking the silence.

“You’re the writer from Chevalier books, I can’t believe I’ve ran into you again, and in New York of all places.” He says and stands up to move closer to you. You can’t help but follow suit and stand with your drink and take a step near him so you’re within a few feet of him. Trying not to be distracted by his freckles and hair that looks soft, instead, you smile and comment back, “You know what they say about a small world. I’m here visiting an old friend, what about you?”

“I actually just moved to LA fulltime from New York, I’ve spent the past year commuting. I’m Charlie, Charlie Barber, and I regretted not getting your name last time I saw you.” He sticks out his hand to you, you take it then you nod your head for him to follow you. You sit together in the booth near where Blair is still chatting away. She notices you walk through and raises her eyebrows at you suggestively.

“I’m Y/N L/N, and I moved to LA only a few months ago. I had been commuting for a while then I decided I liked it well enough to live there fulltime. You do definitely strike me as a New York guy though.” You take a large sip of your drink, but you’re really feeling intoxicated by Charlie. There is something about that man that’s making you lose your head already. You were doomed, you knew it.

“This place was my life for so long. You don’t strike me as an LA girl or as a New York girl either.” He says and you hear the pang of sadness in his voice during the first sentence, for a theater director New York is the dream place to be, it must have been difficult for him to move. You’re curious what made him decide to leave the city he obviously loves, but you’ll save that question for later.

“I’m from a really small town in rural America, but I’ve spent the past few years travelling abroad while writing.” You’re used to explaining your accent, and you feel like you don’t really belong in any city. The two of you have moved closer to each other in the booth to where your sides are practically touching. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and you take notice of his plump lips that look perfect for kissing. He leans in closer to you and his honey brown eyes watch yours.

“Where was your favorite place?”

“London has always been my favorite. I loved the architecture and culture of Florence,” you say as Blair and some of her friends join you at the booth. Charlie’s arm brushes against yours, and your leg tucks underneath his.

“Hi Charlie, hi Y/N. So do you guys know each other or did you just now meet?” Blair asks and you realize that Blair already knows Charlie. Of course she does as it hits you that they would have the connection in the theater world. Charlie answers her question, “We bumped into each other in a bookstore in LA, and then we were surprised to find each other here.”

“Hmm maybe it’s fate or the universe.” Blair says bluntly and you almost choke on your drink. Charlie eyes you and smiles so you smile back. It might actually be fate, you think. Not that you were sure you believed in fate though. You notice a brunette that joined your table is giving a major side eye, to the point that it’s nearly a flat-out glare. You think her name is Mary Ann but you can’t remember for sure. You and Charlie continue your semi-private conversation, oblivious to the people around you.

“I ended up moving to LA for business reasons, to work on some screenplays. What about you?” You ask because you want to know what made him leave New York. You could also sense there was more underneath that he was leaving out. He had no obligation to tell you anything but you wanted to know everything about him.

“My son. My now ex-wife is an actress who unilaterally decided to just leave New York permanently for LA and take our son with her. After all that commuting for a year, I realized I needed to be there for Henry, so I took a residency at UCLA and got in with a well-respected theater company.” He grips his drink when he says that and you can tell it’s still a sore subject.

“Oh I’m sorry, that’s awful. I’m sure your son will appreciate your sacrifices when he gets older, and I’m sure it’s always worth it to put time in for your kid. When I was still practicing law, I would see all these couples tear each other apart to the point they ignored what they were putting their kid through.” You try to comfort him, and you admire his dedication to his son. You couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to divorce him.

“Henry just turned nine, any time with him is well worth it. Nicole and I tried to keep civil then it got nasty fast, and now we’ve cycled back where we co-parent effectively. You’re a lawyer too?” He asks you as his hand purposefully brushes yours. Your pinky reaches to hold onto his and he smiles at you while his eyes bore into yours.

“Regrettably, I graduated law school even though I knew it wasn’t for me, then I practiced for a brief time. I eventually accepted that it was draining me and making me miserable so I pursued writing, what I really wanted to do, and got my master’s in history.” You tell him and you just then notice that the two of you are alone in the booth again.

The two of you chat throughout the night about favorite books, movies, plays. You laugh as you watch the rest of your group participate in karaoke. Then they urge Charlie onstage, and you push him playfully in encouragement. He relents and goes. You can’t believe his voice, it’s beautiful and he remains eye contact with you during the entire song. You can feel a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Can I get your number? It haunted me that I didn’t that day at the bookstore.” Charlie says as you come to a stop outside the bar. Blair is waiting for you but giving you space and privacy. It’s relieving to know he feels the same way. Your hand intertwines with his, and you respond smiling.

“Of course. The haunting went both ways.” He hands you his phone so you can add your number. You hand it back to him, and his hand goes around your waist, while yours grip his bicep.

“When we’re both in LA, can I take you out for dinner?” He asks innocently and you start nodding your head yes, and you’re certain you must look like a dashboard bobble head.

“Oh like a date?” You question incredulously. His hand rubs small circle on your waist and it feels electric. Damn, you’re already in too deep. You might as well write ‘sucker’ on your forehead, but you control yourself and try not to sound too eager.

“Yeah like a date, unless you don’t want it to be a date.” He looks like he’s hopeful, but he’s clearly questioning himself. He wants to give you a chance to back out and let you pace the relationship. If he only knew how into him you already were.

“No a date sounds fantastic. I really like you, and I had fun tonight.” You say and find yourself drifting even closer to him, if that was possible.

“Oh yeah? Good because I really like you too.” Then his hand cups your face ever so slowly and he descends his lips on yours. His lips are warm and soft against yours, your hands find their way to his chest then up around his neck. His tongue licks your bottom lip requesting entrance, which you give. You devour each other like you’ve been starving. Then, you both return to reality grinning as you slowly separate. You each are wearing a guilty-grin as go your separate ways for now.

***************************************************************

This was your third official date with Charlie, and everything felt right. Your first date was dinner at an Italian place with drinks afterward at bar with rooftop terrace. The next morning, you grabbed breakfast and coffee together before heading to work. The second date was a picnic in the park, then exploring an outdoor art exhibit, and the next day you met for lunch. Tonight you went to see an Ibsen play and out for desserts. The two of you spent most of your time together talking about everything, and the dates would last for hours. He would talk about Henry, his previous marriage, and his upcoming play. You would talk about your books, screenplays, and your dogs. You had so much in common, it was crazy, but you also were different enough to keep it interesting. You could see it growing into love and becoming a long-term relationship. You were now walking back to his car, holding hands.

“Wow. I didn’t know if I could feel like this. I feel like the world is spinning, but in the best way. You know how in the summer when you first get in the car and you can feel the warmth, that’s how I feel when I’m with you.” You admit and you know it sounds cheesy. Before you really get to gauge his reaction, his lips are on yours, desperately as his hands wrap around your waist. He’s pulling you flush against him and you can feel both his heart pounding and his growing bulge against you. And fuck, he already feels big, but it would only make sense that he be proportionate. He stares into your eyes with his amber ones and tells you, “I never thought I could feel this way again, but here I am. I’m crazy for you.” You crash your mouth to his again, pulling him close, and you move your hips against his bulge.

“You don’t have Henry this weekend, right?” You ask as you pant for air, pulling away from him briefly. He looks at you quizzically, trying to understand why you brought that up at this moment. Oh sweet, Charlie. You were going to take him home tonight and wreck him, but he thought you were meaning something else. You had wanted to bed him ever since that night in New York but you didn’t want to rush things or cheapen your connection. You had even wore a sexier dress tonight, had lace lingerie on underneath, and had a recent wax appointment. He answers, “No, not this weekend. What’s up?”

“Good, you can stay at my place tonight then,” you chuckle and you watch as what you said clicks in his head. He leans and gives you a steamy kiss right under your ear, and he works his way down your neck. You can feel the heat gathering in your belly from just that, and you’re starting to get wet so you rub your thighs together desperately.

You pull away from him only so you could get to his car. Driving to your place, Charlie placed his hand on your knee and you wrapped your hand around his, though you wanted nothing more than to move it upward between your legs, but you held yourself back. You could tell he was just as excited and eager as you were because he was hard already and his driving was faster than normal. Your eyes kept catching his and you were practically eye-fucking. Upon arrival in your driveway, he rushes out to open the car door for you.

You step out and you both fast-walk towards your door. While you fumble with the keys, Charlie steps behind you and wraps his arms around your waist as your back is pressed into his chest. That’s certainly not helping your concentration. His hand creeps up so it’s under your breast, and his fingers trace your ribs. To make matters worse, his lips attach to your neck again and you can’t suppress the moan that comes out of your lips. You want to throw your head back and rock into him, but you need to get inside the bungalow first then he can fuck against the door or on the floor for all you care. You finally turn the key in the door and the instant you and Charlie step through the frame, you’re on each other.

#charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #adam driver

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seasonofthegeek · 4 years

Text

A Fortress of Your Own Design, Part 1

I made a post about how much I would like to see Max as the Guardian of the Miraculous and it made me realize I wanted to do a story with all the heroes grown and trying to juggle the hero gig and adult life so here we go. :D

___

“Perimeter breach,” Hawking squawked in his artificial voice. “Initiating security protocol alpha-three-tango--”

“It appears King Monkey is paying us a visit,” Markov interrupted, swinging over to Hawking’s charging bay. “Override security protocol.” The floating AI turned to his creator. “I’ll make a note to have his body scans put into the security system so his perimeter breaches can be ignored. Hawking’s hasn’t learned the difference between friend and foe yet. We need to reconfigure his knowledge banks.”

Max watched his friend stroll towards the building on the security feed, the large fence with its prominent NO TRESPASSING sign at his back. “He knows better than to try to sneak in. He doesn’t get any special treatment. Hawking, initiate the security protocol.”

“Max!” Markov’s digital eyes slanted in disapproval.

“It’s a lesson he needs to learn.” He rolled his chair to a bank of monitors. “Bring up the last ten calls over the police scanner please, Olivia.”

“Yes, sir,” the computer replied in a pleasant tone. “Listed in order from oldest to most recent and will update for the next hour.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s taken down the shockbot you posted by the door,” Markov announced with a hint of amusement in his tone. “Knocked it against the wall with the back of his hand and laughed. I don’t think there will be any piecing it back together.”

Max ignored him. “Olivia, more information on line five please.”

“Silent alarm tripped in the Louvre Museum, exhibit four-nine-seven-bee,” she replied evenly. “Police have been notified and are in route.”

“Security footage?” Max sat forward in his chair to watch as the grainy night vision footage played across the screen closest to him.

“Firewall is temporarily keeping me out on the inside but street and perimeter cameras show five possible perpetrators.”

“Five is a lot for a quick heist. Chat’s on patrol. I’ll see if he can swing by in case the police need help.” He held out his hand and Hawking crossed the room to drop a tablet into his palm and floated back to its station. Max opened the communication app and moved back to his computer bank to pull up the security feeds around the museum as Olivia brought down the firewalls. “Chat Noir, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear. I was just finishing up my route, and I have the sneaking suspicion you’re going to tell me that’s not the case,” Chat Noir answered back. Ambient city sounds filtered in behind his voice.

“Louvre break-in. I can see if someone else is nearby.” Max pulled up the contact list on the tablet and checked GPS coordinates. “King Monkey is currently breaking in here so I can easily send him.”

“Sounds about right. You trying to electrocute him again?” he chuckled over the line. "I don’t mind swinging by the museum.”

“He knows what to expect when he comes here.” Max felt his lips tug up in a smirk as he watched the paw print icon on one of his monitors change direction to head to the museum. “If you’re sure you can handle it on your own, I’ll hold off on calling in reinforcements.”

“Hey, been doing this longer than you have, Oracle.”

“Not my name.”

Chat Noir laughed over the comm line. “Sure, sure. I’ll let you know what I see when I get there. Ladybug is busy tonight though so don’t bother her.”

“I’m aware and I’ll be waiting to here from you.” Max muted his line and leaned in to review the security footage Olivia had sent to his screen. “Any I.D. scans come through?”

“Running partial face scans through databases now. Currently no hits.”

“Hmmm.” He sat back in his chair and the springs creaked. “Big move for first offenders.”

“Hey, are you going to let me in or do you want me to break this door down too? I know you’ve been watching me, man,” Kim bellowed from the other side of the steel door blocking passage to the room.

“You didn’t follow protocol,” Max replied, opening up the video line so he could see his friend on the other side of the door.

Kim stared up at him through the screen with a confused expression. “Huh?”

“No one is supposed to come here except for emergencies. Is there an emergency?”

Xuppu stuck his tongue out from his place on Kim’s shoulder. “This guy,” he scoffed. “Are we sure he’s really the Guardian?”

“The emergency is I bet you haven’t eaten anything except those power bar thingies you keep in there and I know for a fact you haven’t been home in a few days. I checked with Marcus. He’s the best doorman ever. He even gave me one of the donuts he was eating during his break.” Kim lifted a paper bag and grinned. “And I brought something really good for you for dinner. Let me in, Max.”

“Code names,” he reminded him with a sigh. “And I’m fine. You might need to meet up with Chat Noir at the Louvre. There’s a break-in.”

“Cool. Let me in and I can meet up with him after I make sure you eat this.”

“I’m not a child. I know the exact amount of nutrients I need to function at my best level. Actually I knew that as a child as well. I was the one telling you what to eat, if you’ll recall.”

“Come on, Ma...Pegasus. Just let me in.”

“This place is supposed to stay secret. You can’t keep drawing attention to it by visiting so much.” Max shook his head. “Make sure you aren’t seen when you leave.”

“It’s an old office building with a construction fence around it. No one is paying any attention,” Kim whined. “Come on. I miss hanging out with you. You’ve been holed up in there for ages.”

“He has a point,” Markov chimed in to the irritation of his creator. “More human interaction would be good for your overall well-being. I can bring up statistics if you would like.”

“All the calculations show that it’s safer if I stay here for longer and varied bouts of time so an observer couldn’t pinpoint my schedule since there isn’t one,” Max pointed out. “I have everything I need. I’ll let Chat know you’ll be meeting him, King Monkey.”

Kim stared into the screen for a long minute before his shoulders dropped and he sighed. “Fine. I’m going to leave the bag outside the door so if you don’t get it soon, it’s gonna start smelling up the place. Your mom says hi, by the way. She misses you too.” He turned without another word and faded into the darkness of the hall.

“He’s trouble, that one.” Kaalki stretched and rose from the pillow she’d been napping on. “But I think I rather like him.”

Max watched the empty screen and tried to ignore the familiar lonely feeling creeping up on him.

___

“The wine and cheese is lovely and all, Marinette, but do you want to tell us why you really called this emergency girls’ night?” Alya set her empty wine glass on the coffee table and looked to her best friend expectantly.

Marinette stood and smoothed her dress down in a nervous gesture. “Right, uh, well, so here’s the thing... So there was this, um, offer, I guess? Wait, maybe I need to go back further than that.”

Alix snorted. “Come on, just get it out. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

“Wait, you’ve been to this moment? Can you just tell what to do?” Marinette perked up hopefully.

“Nope. I like to keep the future in the future. It’s safer that way.” The other woman grinned and plucked a piece of cheese of the tray. “But you’re going to be fine so go ahead and spill the beans already.” She popped the cheese into her mouth with a self-satisfied hum.

“You know whatever it is, we’ll support you,” Mylene added with a gentle smile.

“I was offered a job with a fashion house. Like a real position, not just an internship.” Marinette bit her lip and tensed for the reaction.

“That’s amazing, girl! Why wouldn’t you want to tell us that?!” Alya got off the couch and pulled her into a hug.

“Well, um, it’s not exactly local.”

“How not local?” Rose asked.

Marinette winced, feeling Alya’s arms around her loosen. “New York.”

“Is there a New York in France now? Because I hope that’s what you mean.” Alya stepped back. “New York, really?”

“I never thought they would call me back,” Marinette explained in a rush. “I was looking for job openings and sent in my portfolio, and seriously, never in a million years did I think they would actually want me, but they called for a phone interview and then they called for another one and then the third one was today and the head designer herself offered me the job and I just...” She took in a shaky breath and met Alya’s eyes.��“It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“You’ve had three phone interviews?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell anyone, not even...?”

“No...”

“But she’s telling us now!” Rose interjected.

“Right, uh, now we know,” Juleka added after a nudge from her girlfriend.

“Are you mad?” Marinette asked aloud but it was obvious who the question was meant for.

Alya shook her head. “Surprised but not mad. You deserve something like this, girl. Your work is amazing and you’re amazing and I think you already know what your decision is.” Marinette pulled her into tight hug, murmuring thanks into her hair.

“So now that that’s settled,” Alix stood and stretched. “Who wants to go grab some real food?”

“We should crash Kagami’s lawyer gala downtown,” Mylene teased. “Chloe would have a conniption.”

“We mere mortals can’t be seen among the royal elite of Paris.” Alya flipped her hair dramatically while still keeping an arm around Marinette. “I could kill for some pasta though. I’ve been craving it all week.”

“Ooo, I think Japanese sounds good. Some teriyaki chicken maybe?” Rose added.

“I was just talking about a pizza or something,” Alix shrugged.

“Call in night?” Marinette suggested, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes after finally releasing her best friend.

“Yes!”

___

“Wait, did Max send you too because I’m starting to feel a little self-conscious about his faith in my abilities.” Chat Noir looked over at Carapace as he settled down beside him and King Monkey.

“Nah, Wayzz and I just needed to get out of the house and spotted you guys on the app. What’s going on?”

“One of the exhibit alarms was triggered and five perps were seen breaking into the museum on camera but the police haven’t found anything out of the ordinary,” he reported.

“So we’re waiting in case they’re hiding inside until they think the coast is clear,” King Monkey finished. “And at least you guys want to hang out.”

“Still no luck getting Max to leave his Guardian fortress?”

“Not so much,” he sighed. “I worry about him in there.”

“He’ll be okay. I think he’s just taking his role seriously.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He gets too caught up in stuff. He has to be reminded that there’s more to life.” The bigger man shook his head. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, but it’d make me feel better if I could get him to take a break.”

“Maybe we can storm his fortress and kidnap him,” Chat Noir suggested, amusement in his tone. “I just don’t want to get electrocuted or shot or something.”

“Eh, it doesn’t hurt as much as you would think.” King Monkey grinned at him. “I think I’m starting to like it actually.”

“That’s troubling.”

___

“Looks like we’re in for the night. Spotted three heroes staked out across the street. We’ll wait ‘em out.” The leader of the museum heist made a show of stretching his arms over his head. “All right, let’s get back into the wall. No need to get caught now when we’ve already gotten what we came for.”

“It’s so cramped in there, man. Can’t we just leave one at a time?” Another thief complained.

“Sure. You get caught and see what she does to you. I’ll see ya at your funeral.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

A third thief visibly shivered. “I’m just ready to be done with this job. The client gives me bad vibes.”

“Says the criminal,” the leader scoffed. “A job’s a job and this one pays well. Now shut up and get hidden with the others in case security comes sniffing around again.”

___

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#a fortress of your own design #i'm still trying to decide ships #i have some ideas though #things might go back and forth #i have a good feeling about this story so yay #miraculous ladybug

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pgoeltz · 4 years

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THE STINKFOOT ORCHESTRA

In the early months of 2019, South Bay musician Nick Chargin (keyboards and vocals) got a wild hair up his ass. Best known for his work with the successful Bay Area cover band, the Houserockers, Nick had the idea of assembling an ensemble to give a tip of the hat to one of his greatest musical influences – Frank Zappa. The goal he set was to perform a handful of shows in the Winter of 2020 in celebration of what would have been Frank’s 80th birthday.

But it couldn’t be just any band… There had to be horns. There had to be a mallet player. There had to be backup singers. This had to be more than a band that was capable of playing “all the right notes” – it had to be a band that was capable of performing Frank’s music with accuracy and integrity.

The first two people he contacted were Victor Manning (a guitarist with whom Nick had played music with for well over 20 years) and Jon Hassan (a Baritone/Tenor Sax player and fellow member of the Houserockers) – who were both rabid fans of Frank’s music. With their buy-in, Nick quickly filled out the rhythm section with friends and fellow Zappaphiles Michael Palladino (drums) and Josh Baker (bass). It took some time to fill the mallet player slot, but after scaring away multiple Bay Area orchestral percussionists, they found a musician willing to take on the enormous challenge of covering Ruth Underwood’s impossible lines in Dillon Vado (tuned percussion). The 6-piece horn section came together by enlisting Mark “Dbone” DeSimone (Trombone), Kevin Kono (Trumpet, Flugel Horn), Jo Major (Tenor/Soprano Sax and Flute), Mike McWilliams (Trumpet), and Paul Degen (Tenor/Alto/Bari Sax and Flute). The ensemble was eventually rounded out with 3 dedicated vocalists – Suzi Baker , Amy Barnes , and Mike Boston .

A couple months into rhythm section rehearsals, the group was hit with an enormous loss when their guitarist, Victor Manning, passed away unexpectedly. After a month of grieving and waffling on whether to scrap the project altogether, Nick came to the conclusion that Victor “would have kicked my ass” if he did not see this project to fruition. After a significant search, the band found the perfect replacement in Tomek Sikora (guitar) and they began the daunting task of learning some very difficult music. But it could still come up a notch…

Nick and other members of the band had worked with Zappa alumni Ike Willis 15 years previously, and Nick thought the one thing that would give this band a real sense of authenticity would be to front it with one of Frank’s dynamic male vocalists. So, with the help of his friend André Cholmondeley (leader of the legendary East Coast Zappa tribute band, Project Object), Nick was able to enlist the legendary Napoleon Murphy Brock – a San Jose native who served as the iconic voice of Frank’s music throughout the early 1970‘s.

When asked what songs people can expect the band to cover, Nick responds “Well, given the fact that we have Napoleon on board, we are naturally incorporating a large amount of material from his era with Frank. Roxy and Elsewhere (Zappa’s 1974 live double album) is one of my favorite albums of all time, so there are a number of songs we pulled from that. Apostrophe, One Size Fits All, Bongo Fury…folks can expect a sizable amount of material from those albums. At the same time, Frank’s catalog is so immense and diverse that we can’t properly present a snapshot of his work without delving into everything from his earliest days with the Mothers through the 1980‘s. We have an amazing 6-piece horn section, so we are able to do justice to stuff from albums such as The Grand Wazoo and Waka Jawaka. We have 5 great singers, so we are also tackling some more vocal-intensive stuff from You Are What You Is and Joe’s Garage…really, there is something for fans of all periods of Frank’s music. I don’t want to give away too much more – we want to keep a certain element of surprise to the performances, ya know?”

Given the amount of work required to perform much of Zappa’s material, one might question what motivates this group of musicians to dedicate themselves to such a huge undertaking. Nick’s response is simple… “Frank’s music has had such a huge influence over my musical development. It actually makes me a little nuts when I think of the fact that his virtuosity never really received proper accolades here in the States. This music is historically important – and I feel it is the responsibility of those who ‘get it’ to help keep it alive and, hopefully, introduce more people to it. On any given night, I realize that we may serve as someone’s first exposure to Frank Zappa – and I don’t take that responsibility lightly.”

“It has been a tremendous amount of work, but I cannot even begin to list the ways in which it has been fulfilling for me as a musician”, Nick continues. “Yes, getting the lines under our fingers has been a challenge, but that merely scratches the surface of what it has taken to bring this project to the stage. Most of the horn charts were transcribed by ear from various (Zappa) ensembles by Dbone, Hassan and me – but I had never created a horn chart in my life – quite a way to cut one’s teeth…” he says. “Never mind the logistics involved with getting such a large group of working musicians together and dealing with all managerial aspects of the band. Yeah – it’s been a full-time job for me for the past year, but well worth the effort. I can’t wait for people to hear what we have put together. Perhaps I’m a bit biased, but I think people are going to be blown away by this project.”

NICK CHARGIN

KEYBOARDS & VOCALS & VISIONS & POODLE GROOMING

Nick began studying piano at age 5, later picking up guitar at age 15. A California native, Nick moved to San Jose in 1984 to study music production, keyboard synthesis and performance at SJSU under Dan Wyman and Alan Strange. He has been playing professionally since age 17 with the majority of his time spent writing, playing and recording original music with such Bay Area bands as Swing Party, BlissNinnies, Elephino and Corduroy Jim. Over the years, Nick has shared the stage with such acts as the String Cheese Incident, Leftover Salmon, Zero, the Kantner Balin Cassidy Band, Steve Kimmock, KVHW, JGB, the Radiators, Merle Saunders, Eddie Money, Starship, Firehose, Wang Chung and Jonathan Richman. For the past 15 years, Nick has been a vital part of the critically acclaimed South Bay band, the Houserockers, has backed the legendary Zigaboo Modeliste and at one point assembled a short-lived band playing Zappa music backing Ike Willis.

NAPOLEON MURPHY BROCK

VOCALS & TENOR SAX & FLUTE & STYLE ICON

Napoleon Murphy Brock, front man for Frank Zappa in the early seventies, was first discovered by Frank on a day off in Hawaii. Frank and his band stopped into a club where Brock was leading his band through a set of originals and contemporary funk, rock and blues hits. Zappa was immediately struck by Brock’s voice and sax playing, but was particularly taken by his commanding stage presence.

Brock soon hit the stage and studio with Zappa, first appearing on the breakthrough album, Apostrophe (‘). By 1974, Napoleon had learned and memorized the Zappa Song Book (including new material written specifically for Napoleon) and recordings from the 1973 concerts were soon released on what many consider to be Frank’s penultimate live album – Roxy and Elsewhere. To this day, the all-star “Roxy Band” is commonly considered one of the greatest bands that Frank ever assembled.

The release of One Size Fits All followed which, like Roxy, became hugely influential on not only Zappa fans, but fans of progressive rock, fusion, and bluesy jazz-rock in general. In 1975 Zappa released the iconic Bongo Fury, a live album which documented the collaborative tour that year with the last Mothers lineup (including old friend and co-conspirator, Captain Beefheart).

After the 1975 and 1976 Zappa tours, Brock went on to tour and record with fellow Zappa alum George Duke in his

hugely popular George Duke Band. He went on to make several albums with Duke including Master Of The Game,

Follow The Rainbow, Dukey Treats, and Don’t Let Go (which spawned Duke’s huge hit “Dukey Stick”).

At the end of the 1970’s, Frank again called on Napoleon to provide vocals on the recording of Sheik Yerbouti – which went on to become Zappa’s biggest selling album worldwide. The fact that Frank called on Napoleon to lay down vocal tracks (including the lead vocal on “Wild Love”) speaks volumes about Frank’s continued respect and trust in Napoleon’s vocal prowess.

Since 2001, Brock has worked with several Zappa tribute bands around the world including Project/Object, the longest continually touring alumni-based Zappa tribute band in the world. In 2007, Napoleon received a Grammy Award for his work with Dweezil Zappa on the live album release from the inaugural tour of Zappa Plays Zappa. He continues to perform, record and lecture around the world.

DILLON VADO

TUNED PERCUSSION & IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBILITIES

Dillon Vado is a professional drummer and vibraphonist in the San Francisco Bay Area, and a graduate of the California Jazz Conservatory in Berkeley. He grew up in San Jose, where he played many small club gigs on drums and marched snare drum for the Santa Clara Vanguard. He has recorded at Fantasy Studios, and played with many musicians at The Freight and Salvage, Yoshi’s, and the SF Jazz Center. He has also performed overseas at the Montreux Jazz Festival in Switzerland and the Umbria Jazz Festival in Italy. Dillon has performed with Art Lande, Hafez Modirzadeh, Royal Hartigan, Marcus Shelby, Erik Jekabson, Jeff Denson, Alan Hall, Jovino Santos Neto, Marcos Silva and Kate McGarry. In 2014, Dillon won 1st place in the Jazz Search West competition on vibraphone. Dillon was also acknowledged as the Most Promising Young Jazz Artist of 2017 from the Buddy Montgomery Jazz Legacy Awards. He regularly performs on vibraphone with Alan Hall’s Ratatet, on drums with The Jeff Denson Quartet, and Erik Jekabson’s Electric Squeezebox Orchestra and leads several of his own projects, including Never Weather, The Table Trio, and Beyond Words: Jazz and Poetry.

JOSH BAKER

BASS & RANDOM SCREAMS

Josh started his love of music with the Piano at age 8 and was hooked. The bass came into focus at age 12. Josh’s early years on bass was in the Abraham Lincoln High School Jazz band for 4 years where he had the privilege of playing many in High School Jazz band competitions and even playing in Hawaii for the Aloha Bowl. Josh also received the Louis Armstrong High School Jazz Award for recognition in his Senior year. After High School, Josh spent his summer at the Berklee College summer music program in Santa Fe New Mexico. Josh studied 2 years with bass player Keith Jones( Santana, Flora Purim,and Andy Narrell)

Josh has played with local bands Sporadic Greetings, George Heagerty & Never the Same, Soup, Grampa’s Chili, the Sliders, Black Sunday RoadShow and Levi Jack

MICHAEL PALLADINO

DRUMS & SPANKINGS

Michael has been drumming professionally in the greater Bay Area for over 25 years. He studied various rhythmic styles ranging from jazz to West African and afro-Cuban under the tutelage of San Jose State professors Dan Sabanovich and Royal Hartigan. His band credits include Soup, Sporadic Greetings, Mescalito, Corduroy Jim, Grampa’s Chili and Tricycle Side Project, for which he had the opportunity to perform with Ike Willis from Frank Zappa’s esteemed list of previous band members. He has performed at hundreds of venues up and down the entire West Coast bringing his unique style and energy to every performance he gives.

JON HASSAN

SAXOPHONES & MEGAPHONES & STANK

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JO MAJOR

SAXOPHONES & FLUTE & PUNCTUALITY

Jo Major began playing professionally in his teens and has played with a variety of groups, including the Jimmy Dorsey band and the University of Illinois Jazz Ensemble. In the local area, he has been featured with A Touch of Brass, the KA Wonton Little Latin Jazz Big Band, Bug Horn Rex and the Chabot Jazz Ensemble.In settings ranging from salsa to swing, he has been featured with Ernie Watts, Bobby Shew, Eric Marienthal, Wayne Bergeron, Francisco Torres, and Geoffrey Keezer.Jo has studied with Ben Torres, Kristen Strom, Charlie McCarthy, Bob Reynolds, Chad Lefkowitz-Brown and Chris Cheek. He is a member of Bob Reynolds Studio.

MIKE MCWILLIAMS

TRUMPETS & CRUMPETS

Mike McWilliams started playing the trumpet back in 1974. In 1986, he began performing with cover bands and performing all over the SF Bay Area. He currently is a member of the Houserockers horn section, and teaches private lessons as well as public middle schools with the School Spirit band program.

Mike believes that there is no substitute for real horns, and his influences include Tower of Power, Earth Wind and Fire, Maynard Ferguson, and Doc Severnsen. Mike heard his first Zappa cassette tape in 1977 while on tour with the Santa Clara Vanguard and, many years later is enjoying playing this amazing music.

KEVIN KONO

TRUMPET & FLUGLEHORN & MASTIC ADHESIVES

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PAUL DEGEN

SAXOPHONES & FLUTE & HYDROHYPNOTHERAPY

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TOMEK SIKORA

GUITARS & ALL THINGS POLISH

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MIKE BOSTON

VOCALS & GUTTURAL UTTERANCES

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MARK ‘D-BONE’ DE SIMONE

TROMBONISMS & EVER-CHANGING FACIAL HAIRS

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AMY BARNES

VOCALS & ASTRAL PROJECTION

Amy Barnes began studying piano and flute at the age of 8. After a fateful move to Santa Cruz at the age of 16, she joined forces with the Musical Group World Entertainment War for 5 very entertaining years. Increasingly fascinated with the human voice, she embarked on an obsessive vocal discovery mission; earning a B.A in Voice Performance from UOP Conservatory followed by an M.A. In Voice Performance from UC Santa Cruz. She has prepared works in more than a dozen languages, and has enjoyed teaching singing as much as the singing itself. Amy has travelled thru many different musical galaxies over the years, and is currently very much enjoying her visit to the Zappa Constellation…

SUZI BAKER

VOCALS & KALE DISTRIBUTION

Suzanne Baker began her singing career touring with Plum Tuckered, a children’s musical performing group under the direction of Lynn Shurtleff, musical director and composer from Santa Clara University. While growing up, she enjoyed singing in many school and church choirs, but she honed her skills at Abraham Lincoln High School for the Performing Arts in the sixteen member Swing Choir, under the voice instruction of Connie Lukien, musical director of the San Jose Civic Light Opera. She went on to be lead singer of the innovative band, Sporadic greetings from 1990-1992 and sang back-up vocals in various other bands over the years. She is very fond of her time directing her own elementary school choirs and currently assisting with her classroom musicals.

Victor Manning

Guitars

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