A Time Of Our Own (Jean X Reader X Marco)

cheff boi ardie

     Contrary to the belief of many, Marco was NOT, and I repeat NOT the simple boy many perceived him to be. Behind those eyes of mocha almost as rich as the cups he served at his local starbies, his mind was spurting with all sorts of insane ideas. All he could think about while his hands were busy measuring cups of milk and water was the foaming taste of the sporting life. More than anything, he wanted to lose himself in the sprawl of a summer haze and repeat every day basking on the shores of a gilded age. He sighed, poured the contents of the drink before him into the container before him. Nothing surprised him anymore.

"Venti caramel iced latte in a-..."

"In a mason jar"

He left it there and didn't bother to see who picked it up. He just wanted to get to his studio already. He wanted to take a nice hot bath and...

"Hey, do I know you from somewhere??"
A voice called out to him from where the previous glass vessel had once been. A *insert description of yourself cuz idk what you are like lmao* stood *choose adjective* opposite of the counter with eyes shining with hopes that he might yet recognize them. Caught a bit off guard, Marco smiles nervously and scratches his cheek lightly,
"Yo bitch, I ain't seen you since eigth grade. How are ya? You still go to that cram school?"

Shocked by the casual talk, (y/n) blushed and exclaimed:

"These hoes tryna come after me, brooo. I really ain't be feelin' aight cuz they come after me in the night."

Marco's face melted into one of despair. He had a special spot for (y/n) and wanted to drive them into a wall everytime they saw them. Their eyes always reminded him of shrek's swamp and how at any time they could tell at him for coming to close. His heart beated and he flew out the door with psyche's wings.

"Who's fucking with my (y/n)? come out and show yourself you basement scum."
His form scared many that were strolling down the street that evening and ignited a piercing pain in the depths of their ears from his mighty voice. Marco's eyes scanned the perimeter and a homeless man shaggy and adorning scraps for clothing appeared lone from the alley way.

"'Tis I. For I alone do travel."
Poor young man, had no other words to folliw before he fell ill his moppy light brown hair falling off his scalp leaving him with the dark undertone which were prevalent against his horse like face.

"Well, (y/n) I have defeated the job. I didn't know this Minecraft update was gonna be filled with hard mobs like horses."
"Damn Marco you dumbass why the fuck you kill Jean? Now my OTP will never be!"
(Y/n) fell to the pavement and began crying uncontrollably. The dread if never being able to see their OTP take  form DESTROYED them.
Marco boiled with so much anger he ripped (y/n) in half. Bursts of confetti fell out and he realized that (y/n) was only a part of his imagination. Frustrated, he shakes himelf of the odd daydream and continues with his job. The next order is peaches and cream milkshake. He begins to measure the milk and peaches, and ice, and pours it all in. He begins the blender, but something is stuck inside. Did he put too much ice? He opens the lid and puts his hand in and begins to move around the ice a bit.
It is the ice! He thought and for a brief moment he didn't see it coming. Jean passed behind him.
"Oh dear! You are supposed to be blending this shit hun!"

"Huh?" Marco gasped and the whirring of the blades began to swirl at full throttle.

"GAHHHHHHH-"

Marco woke up.
He was in a grey room.
His hands were fine.
Jean was not there.
(Y/n) was not there.
Just himself and those four looming walls with no window nor door.
A voice blared from somewhere he could not see, "GOOD, YOU'VE WOKEN UP."

"SCP 9898"