#finally dumping my (and my friends) sketches all over the floor

[sonicbooom]

big ol doodle dump of that one blue freak and the other guys

[therenlover]

The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee​! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

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                                    The University of Novi Grad

                                                 Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.  

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.  

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”  

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee​ because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton​ , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ , @be-cautious-around-bri​ , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car​ , @frothonthedaydreams​ 

[kaylakat2]

posting more year old doodles from miscellaneous sketch pages because I can and also because I love all of these for different reasons. Explanations and information after the images, if you’d like to read about them :) (this one is very long cause it covers topics I've been dying to talk about (cause when I say I have 15 years of story for these guys stored in my brain, I mean it), so just a heads up!)

The first one is from a Halloween sketch page where I explored Chase and Marcus going on a date to a pumpkin patch. Which is really special for a lot of reasons, one being that a significant part of their early relationship (around a year) was spent at work. They didn’t have the opportunity to go out on dates or really do any of the cheesy stuff either of them would want to do with a new partner. So going on a date at all is fun, but it’s made more fun when Marcus gets to see a side of Chase he hadn’t before. You see, Chase never really got to be a kid, carving pumpkins, trick or treating, going to a pumpkin patch and going on hayrides. Nor did he really get to do anything else kids do. He didn’t have any friends, since his parents kept him away from peers not on 'his level', and he barely had any time outside of studying and schoolwork, seeing as his parents felt his potential would be wasted doing anything else. So when Chase finally feels comfortable, and gets to have fun, his inner kid comes out full strength. And honestly? Marcus loves it. They get to see their serious, reserved partner, who’s usually only relaxed in private, get goofy and smiley. He gets to see Chase get excited over how this pumpkin patch sells the small pumpkins. They get to see him enjoy sweets and spiced cider. He gets to see Chase really be himself. And though it's a little surprising, Marcus can’t say they’re opposed to seeing more of it.

As for the second one, it is, as you may be able to tell, a wedding photo. And just like the previous info dump, this one is gonna be long. Cause the subject of marriage between these two is actually kinda complicated, since, as I do with all my characters, I’m projecting my own contradictory feelings about the topic onto them. Chase loves the idea. He sees it as an act of rebellion, a shining symbol of his independence and ability to finally live as himself after years of hiding in denial. He gets exceptionally happy at the idea of saying he has a husband, that he’s happily married and he chose the person he’s with. That he did this of his own free will, and not because he was expected to. Marcus though, he’s vowed since he hit 20 that he was never going to get married. It’s a stupid, archaic way to fit queer people into the heteronormative idea of love and relationships. It’s getting paperwork and the government involved in your relationship for no good reason. And he hates that. But. He’s not opposed to talking it out. So they do. They have a long talk about it, discussing each of their reasons for wanting to or not wanting to do it. Chase brings up the logical point of adopting kids being easier, Marcus keeps mentioning all of his own reservations. They end it without a real conclusion.

But Marcus gives it a long think. Chase really wants this. It’s special to him. And he's given up everything he had for Marcus. Granted he probably would have lost his parents and the rest of his family eventually (yay homophobia) but he still moved with Marcus. Moved to an area Marcus wanted, to stay close to his parents. Chase lost the few friends he had. All of his stuff. Everything familiar to him. Just to be with Marcus. So maybe it was worth making a compromise on it. Maybe it was worth it just because Marcus loves him.

As you can see, Marcus caves. He gives in and actually says yes when Chase proposes. He enjoys all the wedding festivities and being able to say he has a husband. They even pull Chase onto the dance floor, despite his adamant protests. "But," Marcus says "it's our wedding. Can't I have just one cheesy little dance with you?" And of course, Chase obliges. And now Marcus has their favorite picture of Chase. Where they're twirling him around on the dance floor, both smiling like crazy.

The third one is a lot more silly than the other two and I'm honestly just posting it because I love Chase's expression. Marcus decides to drop lunch off for Chase while he’s at work on a particularly busy day. Marcus decides to fully surprise Chase, coming up from behind and placing a hand on his side, with a flirtatious 'heey'. But y'know, in the workplace that's not something you'd be expecting to face, so Chase rightfully freaks out. And nearly slaps his husband before he realizes what's happening. Needless to say, Marcus apologized for not thinking that move through.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #2: Cursed Covenant

Prompt: aberrant || Master Post || On AO3

--

“Do you even know how hard it is to make the front page of the Eye for a night of drunken debauchery?” Rereha said disparagingly, pulling herself up onto the chair.

The newspaper—indeed, a copy of the Mythril Eye, its front-page reporting on the aftermath of an orgy-turned-somnus-bust in lurid detail—being held in front of the table’s other seated patron folded over, and Nero glared at the lalafell over the rims of his tinted glasses. “First, don’t think I didn’t notice that deliberate choice of word in there,” he sniped, and sniffed derisively at Rere’s delighted, juvenile giggle. “Second, how the fuck did you know I was here?”

“Saw you from the third-floor solar of the Rising Stones,” she said, gently laying her bow on the tabletop and unceremoniously dumping her pack next to it. “And ain’t no mistaking that particular combination of platinum blonde hair and bloody red doublet. If you don’t want to be recognized from a distance, wear blue.”

“I’ll wear blue when Synnove decides she isn’t going to decapitate that Hannish fop with her bare hands.”

Rereha cackled in amusement, tipping her hat in a salute as Nero snapped his broadsheet back into place, and gave the waitress her breakfast order when the hyur came over.

Gloom hung over Mor Dhona, as it was wont to do five times out of six; Synnove had stayed overnight after conferring with Urianger and the twins (the elezen ones, not the carbuncle ones) about something arcanima-related, but had immediately teleported home to Limsa Lominsa that morning as soon as the weather began to turn, her face twisted into the peculiar grimace she wore during a synesthesia-induced migraine. Heron was assisting Slafborn with some sort of planned sortie with a number of other adventurers deep into gigas territory, and Alakhai had been gone to who-knew-where before anyone else had awakened, while the rest of the Scions were scattered about Eorzea on assorted business.

And Rere, not having any current immediate obligations since the Twin Adders had her out on permanent ‘loan’ to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, had spotted Nero sitting at a back table on the House of Splendors’ patio among the breakfast rush, and decided now was as good a time as any to see about implementing a little idea of hers.

A fun little idea she’d been rolling around her brain for a while now.

Rereha grinned into her newly arrived tea, and settled to the task of devouring her breakfast. Never conduct business on an empty stomach, after all.

As she scraped the last of her cheese-smothered scrambled eggs and smoked sausage and dragon pepper sauce into a pile of gooey, greasy goodness, Nero closed his newspaper and folded it in half, tossing it onto the table next to his own empty plate. He stared at her as she shoveled her perfect final bite into her mouth.

“All right,” he said waspishly, picking up his coffee mug, “what is it that Eorzea’s premier degenerate wants?”

She chewed thoroughly and swallowed, because while she was a degenerate, but she was a degenerate with manners. As she dabbed her mouth clean with a napkin and pushed her plate aside, Rere said, “I’m hurt, Nero. You’re a friend! I like to spend time with my friends, even the ones who wanted to shove me into a primal-eating warmachina at one point just to see what would happen.”

The lalafell smiled, angling her head just enough that she was sure she could catch the morning sunlight on her teeth in a blinding smile against her dark skin.

Nero pushed his sunglasses up his nose, and took a pointedly loud slurp of coffee.

Rere pouted. “Damnit, too thick again.” She glanced at him and said, sly, “It’s like your accent when you get too worked up and slip back into Garlean, the Echo translates it so you sound like an Eastern Thanalani hick who’s never had tea served properly with goat’s milk.”

“That’s more like it,” the Garlean muttered into his cup. He frowned, then, and tilted his head at her. “Why wouldn’t one have goat’s milk with their tea?”

“Argh!” Rereha shoved her hat back and faceplanted onto the table, hands flat next to her face. “Stupid northern farmer stock, stop making my insults fall flat!”

“Get new material. Get to the point, too, while you’re at it.”

“Fine, fine.” She grabbed her pack, opening it and digging into it. After a moment’s rummaging, she yanked out a rolled-up piece of parchment, and shoved the pack aside once more. Dropping it next to her, she crossed her arms on the table and stared at Nero. “I want you to build me a bow. A very special kind of bow.”

His sunglasses of course hid his eyes, but she recognized that particular twitch of his left cheek that usually meant he was interested. “And why should I do that?” he said, because he wouldn’t be Nero if he didn’t play a little bit hard to get.

Rereha smiled, and held up a finger. “One,” she said primly, “Cid won’t, because he doesn’t create weapons. We are going to ignore the whole thing with the G-Warrior, because we shouldn’t judge a man wanting to get his grubby little engineering hands all over a hot pristine Allagan warmachina.”

Nero muttered something that sounded like, The audacity of not telling myself or Synnove.

She didn’t comment. That had been very rude of Cid.

“Two,” she continued, raising another finger, “this would not be Synnove’s specialty. She likes engineering, but this requires precision and knowledge currently outside her wheelhouse, and while I have no doubt she would become a master in the course of this project, I’d rather not wait the extra time this will take.”

He hummed noncommittally; he’d become significantly less likely to bristle at the mention of other people’s brilliance in the last few years…so long as those other people weren’t present, at least.

“Finally,” Rereha said, holding up a third finger, “and most importantly: you do create weapons, you do have the precision and knowledge already to pull this off, and you have exactly the kind of creative deviousness necessary to ensure this is a masterwork.”

Nero tipped his sunglasses back down his nose, and harrumphed. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he drawled. “What’s the project?”

She slid the parchment across the table towards him.

He picked it up and unrolled it, so it was flat before him. For a few long moments, he merely looked at it, absorbing what she had roughly sketched out, his blue eyes darting over to the corner to read some of her notes. And then his eyebrows began to rise.

“This,” Nero said, precise in a way that was deeply judgmental, “is an abomination.”

Rereha hummed in agreement.

“Absolutely disgusting.”

She shrugged, a what can you do? gesture.

Nero’s eyes glittered with manic energy as he looked at her. “I love it.”

Her grin was wide and demented and absolutely evil.

[pies-writes-and-more]

A French Kiss

Word Count: 7, 947

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: No warnings! Just some super cute fluff :) 

A/N: Dedicating this work to the lovely @wxstedhexrt​​!!!! Ps. Destiny if you thought i wasn’t going to dedicate this fic to you, you’re crazy lol. Thank you so much for being such a cute part of my writing process😉😘

(Not my gfif, creds to the original creator!!)

Y/N held her phone tightly to her chest, eyes scanning the crowd. Too old. Too young. Eh, maybe? Not that one. Maybe that one? Shit no, has a girlfriend. Has kids. Ugh.

“You’re not actually going to do this are you?” Wanda asked, taking a sip from the iced coffee she had bought earlier. She watched as her friend nervously shifted her weight, staring at different men who were around them.

“Of course I am. I need to do this.” Y/N’s hands were shaking a little. Here she was, at an amazing photo opportunity in front of the Eiffel Tower, and she wasn’t even looking at it. She could only imagine how stupid she looked to everyone else.

Nat sighed from her spot on the ground. She had known this was going to take a while so she had laid out her rain jacket on the ground and sat down, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. “Just pick someone. Anyone.”

“I can’t just pick, Natasha,” Y/N huffed, hands on her hips as she turned to look at her friend. “I need someone who is far better looking than Jake could ever dream to be. Not to mention I need to make sure he’s not married or with his family or with his girlfriend because I can’t imagine how awkward that would be-”

“What about him?” Wanda spoke up, nodding forward.

Y/N followed her gaze to a group of guys gathered around a nearby bench, laughing and smiling together. Y/N couldn’t be sure which guy Wanda was referring to but her eyes immediately fell on the blond guy who was writing? maybe sketching? into a small notebook. They were loud enough for Y/N to catch glimpses of their conversation, making a small smile pull at her lips.

“God this is going to take forever. Why didn’t you just take a photo?” The long dark-haired one whined, popping a snack into his mouth.

“The more you whine, the longer I’m going to take,” Y/N heard the blond say. She bit her lip, finally turning to Wanda and shaking her head.

“No way, he’s busy.” Y/N tried to seem casual, as if this wasn’t the first guy that she felt like she was drooling over. He had such a great physique, and that quiet concentrated look on her face made her swoon. What kind of guy like that would be single anyways?

“Oh come on, what you’re asking for takes like two seconds. Just go ask!” Wanda insisted but Y/N just made whining noises in response.

“God, no. I can’t do this. This is too embarrassing. Forget this. Forget Jake. Let’s just take a group photo and get this over with.” Y/N fumbled with her phone quickly, getting ready to just take a selfie with her girls.

“Nuh uh. I did not just get comfortable here on this foreign floor for you to chicken out of what you’ve been planning on doing the whole trip here.” Nat insisted, sighing but getting up anyways. Instead of posing for the selfie, she grabbed her things off the ground and then tightly wound her fingers around Y/N’s wrist, dragging her over to the group of guys.

“Hi there! I’m Wanda, this is Nat and Y/N!” Wanda spoke up to them first, having skipped along Nat and Y/N (who was still protesting and pulling at Nat’s strong grip).

The guys stared at the girls for a moment, all three of them sharing a look before looking back at them. “Hey there. I’m Sam. That’s Bucky and Steve,” the one guy grinned, nodding towards his friends. His smile was lined with amusement, obviously trying to not laugh at how distressed Y/N looked. “You being kidnapped or something?”

“Please, if they wanted to kidnap me, no one would’ve noticed.” Y/N huffed but gave him a sheepish smile.

“What can we do for you, ladies?” The long dark-haired one, whom Sam introduced as Bucky, asked. His smile was sort of cocky looking, very cheeky, Y/N noticed. She tried to look anywhere but at the blond, who seemed to be eyeing her.

Nat nudged Y/N forward, raising an eyebrow at her like she was saying Go ahead. “Um.” Y/N bit down on her lip, glancing back at the Eiffel Tower. Maybe she could lie. Maybe she could just ask them to take a picture of her and the girls and it would be over lickety-split.

“Y/N needs to be kissed.” Nat stated simply, noting the hesitation in her friend. The bluntness in her tone shocked everyone but Wanda who just snickered beside her.

“Nat!” Y/N whined, eyes going wide as she glared at her friend. “That’s not- that’s not the whole story! You… It sounds weird if you say it like that!”

“Well then, you tell them the story.” Nat shrugged. She placed her jacket back down on the ground, sitting back down and looking up at her friend, as if becoming part of the audience for the story she knew all too well.

Y/N sigh and closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could just disappear. “Uh.” Her eyes opened and they immediately locked onto Steve’s beautiful blue eyes. God he was gorgeous. A guy like that would make Jake insanely jealous. “I got… I got dumped by my boyfriend a few weeks ago.” She started, immediately realizing how pitiful that sounded.

“Actually, you dumped him. He cheated on you.” Wanda interjected as she squeezed onto the bench beside Steve. She gave him a smile as he shifted to make room for her. “But continue.”

All of the guys gave her empathetic smiles, but stayed quiet as if to urge her to keep going. Y/N wished her life wasn’t as tragic as this story sounded.

“Fine. Jake cheated on me. With a girl he’d been friends with for a while. But that’s besides the point. Kinda. I mean it’s the whole point of why we’re here and asking but it’s still besides the point,” she rambled nervously. Wanda rolled her eyes and stretched out her leg, kicking the girl in her shin and making her yelp. “Hey!”

“Come on girl, get to the point. I’m sure these guys have other things they need to do today.” Wanda teased, making Nat snicker.

“No no, please continue. If it leads up to a kiss, I’d much rather hear the full story,” Bucky grinned, making Y/N’s face feel hot. He gave her a playful wink and Steve reached over to hit him over the head.

“Let her finish her story, Buck,” Steve glared, looking back at her with a small smile.

Y/N smiled back nervously, chewing on the inside of her cheek, “W-Well. I just… Paris was supposed to be the place that me and my ex were going to go. We always talked about it. So now that I’m here…” her voice drifted for a bit and she glanced back at the Tower once more.

“Ooooh.” Sam chuckled, his dark brown eyes sparkling as he put two and two together. “You’re looking to make that son of a bitch jealous. Find a cute guy to take a picture with in front of the Eiffel Tower, make him regret what he did to you, amiright?”

Y/N blushed further but nodded. He had hit the nail right on its head.

“Honestly, you probably could’ve just asked us to kiss you and we would’ve said yes,” Bucky laughed, clapping a hand onto the shoulder of the blond guy, who Y/N noticed seemed to have tucked his notebook away. “Except for Steve here. He’s a proper old school gentleman.”

“Buck,” Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose slightly. “Can you go like five seconds without embarrassing me?”

“Normally? Yes. But when there’s cute girls involved, it’s hard.” Bucky chuckled and turned to Y/N, “Well sorry your ex was an asshole. But on the plus side, you’ve got your pick of us three. Any of us you’d prefer?”

Y/N wanted nothing more but to faint. Here she was, actually doing the thing she wanted to do, with insanely handsome men who actually wanted to help, but it was all too much. She was overwhelmed with anxiety, her heart was pumping so fast she wasn’t sure she could actually form a complete sentence. It would be mortifying to say that she was already falling for Steve, even though she literally just met him.

“Cool it, Bucky, you’re making the poor girl sweat,” Sam smacked Bucky’s arm, who just turned to smack him back. “Just let her breathe, sheesh.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered over to Steve, who also seemed to be blushing a little. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was just embarrassed over his friends? Y/N could relate to that.

“Actually, Y/N’s got a think for blonds!” Nat piped up, only looking up from her phone to smirk at her friend.

“Oh that’s rightttt. Especially when they’re artists. You were sketching a little earlier, weren’t you? Steve, was it?” Wanda asked, nudging Steve slightly. She wiggled her eyebrows at him making both Y/N and Steve squirm shyly.

That’s it. Y/N was surely going to die. She looked up to the sky momentarily, wondering if Zeus would smite her just to help a girl out.

“Ooooh well lucky for you, our blond artist is a hopeless romantic still looking for love,” Sam chuckled. “He’s the complete package, so please take him so we don’t have to.”

Steve shot him a glare, moving his gaze back to Y/N and giving her that same sweet empathetic smile. She felt her stomach flip a little, quickly staring at the floor instead. God, if she couldn’t even look at him without feeling butterflies, would she really be able to kiss him?

“Okay enough eye fucking, you two.” Nat spoke up casually. “Wanda, go take their photo before they end up having babies.”

“Nat!” Y/N was going to kill her for that later but Nat, Wanda, and Steve’s friends laughed it away. Steve blushed a little more, standing up and brushing off the eraser dust from his pants. Y/N couldn’t help but feel small next to him. Not because of his height, but he just had this aura. A strong, protective aura.

He took her hand gently and Y/N bit her lip at the feeling of his callouses. Her mind went to all sorts of places, wondering how such a gentle man had such a hard outer shell. “We really don’t have to. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. It’s a really stupid idea anyways, I don’t even know if he’ll see it.” She rambled nervously as the two of them walked to a good picture spot, Wanda and the others behind them.

“He’ll see it.” Steve stated firmly with a smile to her. “If I lost a girl like you, I’d be checking all your social media to see if you missed me too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed again, staring at the ground nervously, “Yeah well, I can’t be all that great if he found someone else while he was with me.”

Wanda positioned them in a spot with good lighting, Steve turning to face Y/N as Wanda got her camera ready, “You ever been to an art museum? And some asshole just blows right by a piece of art, acting like there isn’t emotions poured into it, like there isn’t something deeper in it? Sometimes art isn’t appreciated the way it should be. Just gotta find that one guy who’s going to be speechless every time he sees you.”

Y/N looked up at him with wide eyes. How did this man go from blushing, awkward, and quiet to smooth and flirty? She couldn’t help but giggle as she raised an eyebrow, “You always talk like this? Or is it just the influence of the City of Love?” She teased, feeling a sudden ease in talking to him. He felt so comfortable now, when it was just the two of them a little ways away from their playful friends.

“I dunno, doll. I’m in a city filled with some of the greatest pieces of art, and right now I’d much rather be here. Looking at you.” He teased back with a smirk. He saw her face glow a little more and he reached out to brush her hair from her eyes.

Although Y/N’s face felt hot, a cool breeze pushed past. She pulled her arms to her chest, rubbing her arms gently, “Are you just saying all these because you pity me?” She asked with a small smile. “I’m okay you know. About the whole… getting cheated on ex boyfriend thing.”

Steve watched her for a moment and stepped back a little to pull his blue sweater over his head. Y/N tried not to let her eyes stare but it was hard not to notice the muscles hiding under his white undershirt as he stripped. “Here. You must be cold.”

Y/N flushed a little, stammering out some sounds as he helped her ease the large sweater over her head.

“And no. I’m not lying about all this. You really are beautiful, Y/N,” he leaned forward, whispering it into her ear. “I’m sorry that jackass hurt you… but I can’t say I’m all that sorry that I’m standing here with the opportunity to kiss you.” Steve’s fingers found their way under her chin, tilting it up gently.

Y/N almost forgot what they were doing here. Her brain suddenly went, Jake who?She already felt like she was hyperventilating with Steve’s poetry-like words and chick-flick worthy speech. The moment Steve’s lips touched hers, her whole mind melted. His lips were soft and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the comparison to his rough hands. All the love songs, the poems, the movies… they all talked about that one kiss and suddenly, they all made sense. After a moment, Steve pulled away slightly but Y/N quickly filled the gap, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him back.

When the fogginess of her mind disappeared and the two of them finally took a turn to breathe, their eyes locked momentarily. Y/N could’ve sworn she heard a “wow” escape from Steve’s lips.

Whoops and hollers from their friends were quickly becoming louder as the two of them returned to Earth from their makeout high.

“Damn Steve, you kiss all girls like that?” Wanda teased, having snapped numerous photos of the kiss, not to mention a ton of the cute interaction that happened before. She and Nat shared a laugh, knowing Y/N was going to love the cute picture of Steve stripping next to the picture of her standing in his sweater.

“What girls?” Sam snickered, him and Bucky high-fiving. “Steve’s a completely mess around most girls.”

Steve let out a groan as he shot a death glare to Sam. “Can you… I’m trying to be… ugh!” He huffed, flustered with both embarrassment and frustration, especially as he heard Y/N giggling next to him. Here he was, overwhelmed with endorphins from having kissed the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and his friends can’t stop making him out to be an anxious nervous wreck. He was an anxious nervous wreck around girls but this girl didn’t have to know that!

The four friends laughed nearby as they all got to know each other a little more, teasing the slightly awkward ‘couple’ as they stood there, unsure of what to do now.

“Y-You don’t have a girlfriend or anything to get back to do you?” Y/N asked as she blinked at him, realizing she hadn’t even asked him before.

Steve shook his head quickly, cheeks turning pink as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Naw, I haven’t had much luck in the love department for a while.” He admitted, mentally slapping himself as the words left his lips. Why is he telling her this??? He had been so careful in choosing his words before, wanting to make the whole interaction feel as romantic as possible. After all, this girl deserved to be swooned.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at how nervous he seemed. Before he kissed her, he was all smooth and suave, but he also seemed so soft and awkward.

Right now, Steve was looking like he was battling a war in his head. He shifted on his feet, watching her nervously, “Was… was it okay?” He blurted out, biting down on his lip as he watched her expression. “The kiss, I mean?”

Y/N wasn’t sure what to tell him. How could she put into words the way that his lips literally made her feel like she was floating? How could she tell this man, a man she would probably never see again, that he was like a drug and she was already addicted? Here he was, a stranger, and Y/N was falling in fucking love with him when she had only done this to get back at her stupid ex boyfriend?

“I-It was…” She hesitated, looking for a good word. “Perfect.” The word slipped from Y/N’s lips faster than she could comprehend it. The two of them shared another blush, an awkward silence falling on them.

“Hey Rogers, if you’re done fonduing, we gotta meet with Tony and Rhodey! Got that dinner reservation Tony’s been talking about!” Bucky yelled over. Steve’s heart fell a little and he looked over at Y/N, only to find the same slight downcast expression on her face.

“Thank you… for your help,” she smiled up at him. Steve tried to capture the image in his mine, the sight of her smile, gleaming in the sun behind them. This was the sight Steve wanted to die looking at.

“A-Anytime,” he quickly stammered, realizing that he was staring at her.

“Steve!” Bucky yelled again, glancing between his friend and the watch on his wrist. “If we’re late, Tony’s gonna kill us!”

Steve groaned a little, rolling his eyes at the sound of his best friend. “I should go.” He sighed, looking at her just once more. He leaned over and brushed her hair from her face, bending over to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Have a great time in Paris, doll.” He murmured to her before rushing over to Bucky’s side.

The boys left, Sam and Bucky teasing him endlessly and loudly, drawing the attention of many people nearby. Y/N’s cheeks were still flushed as she slowly walked over to her friends, their grins as wide as their faces.

“Soooo. Steveeee.” Wanda sang with a giggle. “He’s much cuter than Jake.”

“He’s much cuter than any guy you’ve dated,” Nat corrected with a smirk. “You’re welcome. When you guys get married, I hope that you’ll thank me in your wedding vows.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile, shaking her head. “I’m never going to see him again, you goose.”

Wanda and Nat’s wide eyes made Y/N feel like she had grown a second head. “W-What?” She frowned, feeling a little self-conscious with them looking at her.

“Um hello? You just shared the hottest kiss with a man in the most romantic spot in the world and you’re not planning on seeing him again?” Wanda asked, hands on her hips.

“How would I?” Y/N frowned slightly, giving a shrug.

Nat stared at her exasperatedly, “You didn’t give him your number?! What about your instagram? So he could be tagged in the photos?”

Y/N shrugged again, blushing now as she realized how much she now wanted to give him that info. “He didn’t ask for it,” she gave as an excuse, only worsening her slight pain. Her mind wondered for a moment about why... why hadn’t he asked for it?

“Wait, but you’re still wearing his sweater,” Wanda gaped, eyes wide.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she looked down to indeed find his blue sweater fitted on her body. “Shit!” She screeched, running towards the direction the boys had headed. Her eyes darted between groups, trying to find a sign of either one of the boys she had met. But she had no clue where they were headed, she didn’t even know what restaurant they were going to.

“Fuck...” she mumbled. A little piece of hope that had flickered in her heart died, realizing that she had lost her chance to connect with the one guy who made all the love songs make sense.

Y/N wore the sweater all night long, admittedly because she loved the smell of him on it. She could feel her heart grow a little, her chest tighten, her lips tingle, ever time she inhaled it again. God he smelled so good. But she also wore the sweater because she had hoped that whilst they were roaming around Paris’ nightlife, he would see her.

“Aw baby girl, chin up,” Wanda cooed gently, touching her arm as they got back to their hotel room. “Maybe you’ll see him again!”

“Where?” Y/N moped, sitting on her bed. “I had my chance and I totally messed it up.”

Nat and Wanda tried to stay positive for her but they all knew the chances of running into the boys again were slim. Y/N kicked herself mentally as she started getting dressed for bed for not at least asking him where he was from. Sure, he had an American accent but there was 50 states! What if he was Canadian? American and Canadian accents weren’t all that different were they? That means 50 states PLUS 13 provinces/territories in Canada… The thought pulled a sigh from Y/N’s lips. Even if she did manage to find him, there was no telling he’d actually want to see her again.

Y/N folded up the sweater gently, sighing as she pressed it flat into her suitcase. But as she did, her hand pushed against something harder than a bunch of fabric should be. Curious, Y/N reached into the large sweater pocket and pulled out a small notebook. Her eyes widened as she realized it was the booklet that Steve had been sketching in earlier.

Great, not only did I steal this man’s sweater, I stole his art too, Y/N thought to herself. She bit her lip as she sat down on the floor, carefully opening up the notebook, as if it might break if she were too harsh with it.

The first page made her laugh a little. It was Bucky and Sam, fast asleep on airport seats, both with their arms crossed and Sam’s mouth open a little. Y/N was surprised at just how much detail went into such a small drawing. No line was without purpose.

The next few pages looked like they were what Steve had seen out of the plane’s window, most of them having the wing in the centre and small clouds flickering around.

She thumbed through the drawings, loving each and every one of them more and more. Landscapes filled pages and Y/N felt herself get excited when she found something she recognized. It was like a little memory book of the places the boys had all gone together. She noticed two more figures in most of the drawings, figuring these were the other two that the boys were meeting up with when they left. Throughout all these drawings, at the bottom, there was Steve’s signature. In scribbled lines, she could make out S. G. Rogers. She let her thumb glide over for a moment, as if she was missing someone she knew well. She couldn’t help but laugh at herself, knowing she literally met him for not even an hour.

Y/N shook the thoughts from her head as she flipped to the next drawing. Her eyes blinked for a moment, taking in the beautiful sight of the Eiffel Tower that she had see earlier that day. He really was a talented artist, Y/N noted. Even in just sheer pencil, she could see details she probably missed in her momentary glimpses at the tourist site.

“What’s that?” Nat’s sudden voice made Y/N jump, realizing Nat had just come out of the bathroom.

“Uh Steve’s drawings… It was in the sweater.” Y/N explained shyly, handing over the book.

“Oooh more about Steve?” Wanda gasped, hopping over immediately. “Oh wow, he really is an artist huh?” She grinned, flipping through the pictures.

“So now you stole his artwork too huh?” Nat teased, making Y/N pout.

“Stop! Don’t say that! It wasn’t my fault!” Y/N huffed, hugging her knees to her chest. She couldn’t help but feel a little happy that she had his notebook and sweater. It would convince her that all of this actually had been real, and not a dream, like it was starting to feel like.

----------

Steve hadn’t even realized he was missing his sweater until after dinner. The group of guys had sat back in their chairs a little, sighing at what was a great meal when Steve noticed Bucky giving him a weird look. “What’s wrong? Got something on my face?” Steve asked, nudging his friend.

“No… something’s just different.” Bucky tilted his head slightly. His eyes squinted slightly, opening again slowly as he said, “Weren’t you wearing a sweater earlier?”

Steve’s eyes could’ve popped out of his head. He immediately stood up from the table, staring out the window in the direction that he had met Y/N and the other girls. He had only meant to give her the sweater for a moment, while they were taking pictures and talking. She seemed cold, how could he not? (His mother would’ve killed him if he hadn’t… not to mention he really liked seeing her in his clothes). How had he completely forgotten to get it back?

“I bet I know where it is,” Sam snickered as he watched the confusion on Steve’s face.

“Where?” Tony asked, looking between the three.

Rhodey rolled his eyes, “Tony, catch up. There was a girl. He kissed the girl-”

“-And being the ever so lovely gentleman we know and love Steve Rogers to be, he gave her his sweater,” Sam finished with a laugh, shaking his head. “Didn’t have your wallet in there did it? Any other important things?”

Steve shook his head, glad to feel the wallet-sized lump in his jeans pocket. “No… but my sketch book…”

“Not like you can’t just draw some more,” Rhodey shrugged and grinned up at him.

“Yeah but I was hoping to bring it all back and use it for my paintings,” Steve frowned tightly, looking at the boys who had met Y/N with him. “You don’t think she’s still around there do you?”

“Come on, Steve, it’s been hours! You can’t honestly think the girl waited around for you. Just give her a text or something.” Bucky’s amused smile on his face froze as he saw the blush appearing on Steve’s face. “…You did get her number or something didn’t you? I mean, that’s the most tongue-tied I’ve seen you with a girl in a long time!”

“Oh so there was tongue. Talk about a true French Kiss,” Tony snickered, making the other boys laugh and Steve feel like he could die.

“No, Tony, there was no tongue,” Steve rolled his eyes, sitting back down slowly crossing his arms over his chest. “I… I might’ve forgotten to ask for her number…” Steve muttered, knowing exactly what was coming.

“Steve!” Sam and Bucky both yelled, both swatting at his arms from either side of him.

“How could you forget?” Sam groaned, shaking his head. “Just like you to get all flustered over a girl, and have her get all flustered over you, just for you to completely forget to make sure she could get in contact with you!”

Steve looked up, his eyes suddenly beaming with hope instead of shame, “She was getting flustered over me?” He asked curiously, letting out a groan when both Sam and Bucky swatted at his arms again.

“Idiot,” Bucky shook his head devastatingly but he smiled anyways. He wanted to let Steve mope a little more, as a consequence for being an idiot, and then later, maybe he’d show him the pictures that he and Sam had taken of Steve and Y/N.

_______

Why Natasha and Wanda were dragging Y/N out on a Friday night, she had no clue. Normally, if they were going to go out on a Friday, it would be to a club. Not to some place that had a black tie dress code.

Y/N tugged on her dress slightly, feeling a bit uncomfortable all dressed up and not understanding where they were going. “Can someone please-” she started, but the two stern looks she got back from Nat and Wanda shut her up quick.

“If you ask one more time where we’re going, I’m going to knock you out. I really don’t want you to be unconscious when we get there, but don’t tempt me, Y/N,” Nat threatened with a playful smirk on her face. “Just be patient. You look fucking hot, you’ll love it.”

Y/N sighed and slunk back into the Uber seat, tapping her fingers on her knee. Here she was, hair perfectly set around her face, body fitted into a black evening gown, a touch of makeup done… she was picture perfect. But Y/N couldn’t figure out why. Wasn’t her birthday, wasn’t any sort of important date…

Y/N stared out the window as she tried to consider all the possibilities. This seemed to be the biggest event since their trip to Paris about a month ago. The small memory of Paris made her smile, thinking about all the fun the girls had had together, and of course… Steve. She hadn’t really thought about him for a while. She spent the days back home looking for a Steve Rogers online, but it was such a common name, she knew she was bound to never find him.

His sweater sat in her dresser, waiting for the day that maybe she would meet him again and he could take it back. But one month later and no such luck.

Nat and Wanda shared a look as they watched their best friend fade into her daydreaming state. They giggled together quietly, Wanda nudging her slightly. “You’re sure you’ve got the tickets?” She murmured softly and Nat nodded in response.

“Just have your camera ready. I want to capture the moment.” Nat reminded her and Wanda agreed, slipping her phone out of her small purse.

Y/N stared at the building the Uber driver pulled up to. The bright lights at the entrance made it look so regal, like it was some event that major celebrities were going to be attending. As the girls stepped out of the car, Y/N silently thanked both of them for not letting her come in the casual dress she had originally picked out for herself. Her eyes caught sight of the gorgeous evening and cocktail gowns that other women were wearing, the sleek and smooth looks of bowties and suits on the men.

Y/N almost forgot that they were here to attend whatever this was, standing completely frozen from where the car had once been.

“Come on!” Wanda laughed, grabbing her hand. “It’s an art show!”

Y/N blinked in surprise, looking at her friends with a confused look on her face. Neither one of them had really shown any interest in art before… so why were they here?

“Tickets ma’am?” The man at the front asked with a smile. Nat started to open her purse but the man held up his hand. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize you had a muse with you. Go right in, ladies.”

The girls looked at him and then at each other. Not wanting to hold up the line that was growing behind them, they started to walk in and Y/N raised an eyebrow, “Muse?”

Nat shrugged, pushing the tickets back in her purse. “Well damn, if I had known, I wouldn’t have bought these super expensive tickets,” she muttered to herself, making Wanda laugh. “What do you think he meant?”

“Um hello, you guys were the ones that dragged me down here, how should I know?” Y/N looked around as the three of them stood in the front halls of the museum. She wasn’t quite sure where they were supposed to go so she started to walk, so she started to follow a few people in front of her.

The decorations were stunning. Everything was black and white, so the colours on the mediums shot off the walls. People were walking around with trays of small horderves and other trays of champagne glasses. The girls each grabbed a glass, smiling at each other as they clicked the glasses together and took a sip. As the three of them continued to walk around, Y/N could’ve sworn that people were whispering as they passed, gawking at them.

“Is it… a private show?” Y/N whispered harshly to her friends as she noticed someone sneak a photo of them.

Nat’s eyebrows furrowed, noting the commotion she and the girls seemed to be making, and she shook her head, “No, it was a public event.”

“Ma’am, do you think I could take your photo?” A man asked with a smile, holding up his camera and press pass. “I’m doing a story on the artwork.”

Y/N had to look around for a moment, making sure that he was actually talking to her. “Sorry, I’m not… I don’t have a connection to this artwork?” She stated confusedly, stepping away and further into the exhibits with the girls.

“What the hell was that about?” Wanda mumbled, glancing back to see the man looking equally as confused.

Most of the people seemed to be in the on main section of the museum, whispers and murmurs filling the room. As Y/N and the girls walked in to see what everyone else was looking at, they were greeted with flashes of light. People with cameras yelling questions at them about how they felt about the exhibition and if she liked the pieces.

“Sorry I- I have no clue what you’re talking about-” Y/N tried to tell them, holding her hands up to protect her eyes from the multitude of flashes.

“I think I know.” Y/N turned to look at what Wanda was talking about, her jaw dropping for a moment.

There. In the middle of the room. On a large canvas, was her face.

Y/N had to take a moment, staring at the painting as if she were going to wake up from a dream any moment now. “N-Nat, what is this?” She looked over to her friend who seemed just as confused as she was.

“I didn’t think… I only saw his name,” Nat explained, her eyes wandering around.

“Whose name?” Y/N asked exasperatedly, her chest feeling tight. This room was suddenly feeling very small as she looked around. Everything else was of a landscape, gorgeous paintings of green landscapes, orange sunsets, beautiful cafe atmospheres… but this one painting was of her.

“What’s your relationship with the artist, miss?” A woman asked, holding up a voice recorder to Y/N’s face.

“S-Sorry?”

“The artist, miss. S. G. Rogers, what’s it like knowing that after being mostly known for landscapes, and other art that never has a specific muse, his new most talked about piece is the one featuring you?” The woman asked again and Y/N felt her whole body freeze.

S. G. Rogers.

Y/N stammered out an apology, rushing over to the nearest corner where the press weren’t, needing to breathe. Nat and Wanda moved with her, shooting glares at the reporters, as if daring them to follow.

She tried to focus her breathing, feeling all too overwhelmed with everything that was happening. Reporters’ voices started raising again, yelling loud questions again and Y/N winced, thinking they were coming back for more. Her eyes moved to the direction of the flashes, the sounds of the reporters, only to find a blond man standing with his back to her. He seemed awkward in front of all of them, attempting to answer questions and pose for pictures, though he didn’t really seem to want any.

“Can we get a picture of you and your muse?” A reporter asked out and all the others quieted, eagerly nodding.

The man held up an apologetic hand, moving it to rub the back of his neck, “S-She and I… well she’s not here.” He explained and more murmurs arose from the crowd.

“Isn’t that her? Standing right there?” Another reported yelped, pointing in Y/N’s direction.

She felt like a deer in headlights, the way that everyone seemed to turn on her. The man turned and sure enough… there was S. G. Rogers.

“Steve.” Y/N felt her lips breathe out, her eyes locking to those baby blue eyes.

“Surprise,” came weakly from Nat’s lips, who suddenly appeared next to Y/N. “This definitely wasn’t how I planned on it going though,” Y/N heard her mumble.

Y/N felt her brain tear into pieces over the next few seconds as she tried to make a decision. Part of her wanted to run. Run out of the museum and into fresh air, maybe that would make it easier to breathe. But she couldn’t help but think about how embarrassing that would be, for her to run and probably trip over her long dress and heels. The other part of her wanted to jump him, feel that ripple of sensations down her spine again like the last time he kissed her. Another part of her was confused and wanted to demand answers from him. Answers about why he hadn’t asked for her number if he was going to just paint her anyways!

“My lovely reporters, if you could all just take a step back for a moment. I think the lady needs a moment to breathe. You all can be very overwhelming as I’m sure you know. But I’m certain that once she has a chance to catch her surprise, perhaps Mr. Rogers and his muse will be able to stand for a few pictures later. Please, help yourself to the champagne and the food, they’re delicious-” a man spoke up, holding up a few pieces of food in his hand and plopping them into his mouth. Y/N recognized him vaguely and her mind connected his face to the simple sketches that had been in Steve’s Paris notebook.

The crowd dispersed, some hanging around close enough, as if waiting for more action between the two.

“Y/N?” Steve and the girl had barely stopped staring at each other, but the distance between them was still far. Y/N noticed Bucky walking over, as if casually walking across the room. But as he got to just behind Steve, he pushed him forward, sending Steve into a fumbling mess towards Y/N.

“S-Sorry!” Steve yelped out as he tripped over his feet, bumping into her slightly. He shot a glare at Bucky over his shoulder as he tried to compose himself but his gaze softened as it resumed on her. “Y-You’re here! How… How did you...” His cheeks were burning red. “How’re you here? How’d you find me?” He finally managed out, his hand reaching forward for hers but stopped, as if he thought better of his actions and pulled it back.

“I think Nat can answer that!” Wanda grinned from behind Y/N. “Sorry, we definitely weren’t expecting for you to have painted her and set her right in the middle of your exhibit, we probably would’ve prepped her for it if we had known-”

“We definitely would’ve prepped her,” Nat interjected with a guilty smile. “Sorry, Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t find her voice as she studied his face. He looked the same as he did a month ago, that gorgeous nervous smile, his blond hair perfectly shaping those stunning blue eyes. She could feel her heart pounding out of her chest and was almost certain she was going to sweat all her makeup off.

“My notebook,” Steve guessed after a moment, giving the girls a small smile. He turned to Y/N with an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, I should’ve… I should’ve asked for your number or something. My mom was so upset with me that I just kissed you and left,” he admitted with a chuckle.

“You… told your mom?” Y/N squeaked out, making his cheeks turn a redder shade.

“I-I mean, I didn’t… I wasn’t going to but Bucky just blurted it out and then my mom just wanted to know more and you know, Bucky, he just keeps talking and-” Steve swallowed hard, pressing his lips together tightly as if trying to shut himself up. He looked over at Nat desperately, begging for her to start talking so he didn’t have to.

“Yes the notebook,” Nat clarified for him, smirking. “You left Y/N so lovesick she carried it around with her for a few weeks-”

“Nat!” Y/N whined, looking at her impossibly. “Really? Now? You want to embarrass me now?”

Nat laughed and patted her friend’s head, “Sorry sorry. Anyways, we saw your signature and Wanda pointed out that if you were this good at sketching, you must’ve gotten your training from somewhere. So we went looking for an S. G. Rogers and sure enough, we found that you were a part of a New Upcoming Artists Exhibit and we thought it would be a cute way for you to meet back up again.”

Cute was definitely not the words that Y/N would describe it. She was panicking inside, overthinking every single detail of what had led up to this night. She had spent the last few weeks thinking that Steve probably hadn’t wanted to get to know her anyways, or else he would’ve asked for her number or something. But here he was, telling her he should’ve and… his main piece of his exhibit was a painting of her. How was she supposed to take this? She hadn’t seen any other paintings of girls… was she the only one? What was that supposed to mean?

Wanda reached out and nudged Y/N’s shoulder, “Well you two should talk. Nat, why don’t we go and look at the rest of the exhibits?”

“Sounds brilliant,” Nat grinned and the two linked arms, giving little waves to Y/N as they disappeared.

Steve and Y/N looked at each other, both obviously unsure of what they should say. Y/N let her eyes drift to the painting in question, unable to help the blush growing on her cheeks as she admired it. Steve had painted her standing there with a bright smile on her face, as if she was smiling at the person looking at the painting. You could see the bottom of the Eiffel Tower behind her and Y/N blushed, realizing that she had taken the main spot of the artwork, rather than the Eiffel Tower like in his sketch.

“I know it must seem so creepy-” Steve stammered out nervously, clearly kicking himself for having it up as the centre of his exhibit. “I just… it was one of the few artworks that really evoked something in me and I just couldn’t let it sit in my room gathering dust-”

“It’s gorgeous, Steve,” Y/N told him with a smile. She looked up at him and almost regretted it, seeing those blue eyes again. He was so handsome and it certainly wasn’t helping that he seemed to fill out his tux so well. “You made me look really pretty.”

“I was only painting what I see, doll,” Steve chuckled. “While Wanda and Nat were taking pictures of us on their phones, Bucky and Sam had snapped a couple from theirs. I’ve been staring at them nonstop,” he admitted sheepishly. “You were all I could think about when I got back.”

Y/N was almost positive she was dreaming. She had dreamed about Steve before, sure, and he was usually doing this whole confessing attraction thing, so this had to be a dream right? She moved her hand to her arm, pinching it gently and wincing. Her eyes looked back up at him and she bit down hard on her lip. Not a dream.

“By the way,” Steve started, taking one of her hands and holding her at an arm’s length, “You look… like a work of art.”

Y/N wondered if he knew her whole body was heating up as his eyes examined the way the dress hugged her body. “S-Stop staring,” she swatted at him quickly, blushing. “We’re here to look at your art, not me.”

“I’d much rather look at you,” Steve laughed but led her for a closer view of his centrepiece of art. Y/N got so entrapped looking at it, she almost forgot the lurking press. “I’m sorry about them, by the way,” Steve leaned in and murmured to her. “Tony’s a part of a really wealthy family and his family are really into art… they’ve been really supportive of me and my works so they thought some reporters would help get my name out there.”

Y/N smiled and nodded, guessing that it was Tony then who had made the announcement to save her and Steve from the insane reporters.

“Sir, if you don’t mind-” one of the reporters spoke up, holding up his camera. They all flocked in eagerly, waiting for Steve to give the ‘ok’.

Steve looked down at Y/N with a shy smile, “You got all dressed up, doll. I’d hate to have no photos of it.”

Y/N smiled and nodded slowly, deciding that tackling these people with Steve by her side was a lot easier than doing it on her own. Steve gave a nod to the reporters, stepping in closer to Y/N for the photos. He let his hand touch the back of her waist, as if worried he would cop a feel and she would be uncomfortable.

After a while of smiling and posing, Steve made a couple of jokes with her about wishing his art got phtoographed this often, his eyes still fixated on each camera. She laughed and couldn’t help but look up at him, her gaze trying to memorize every piece of his face. Her lips tingled slightly, as if reminding her of the reason they had met in the first place.

“Steve?” She whispered with a smile.

“Mm?” Steve’s blue eyes moved to meet hers, flashes still going around them.

“I think it might make my ex-boyfriend very jealous to know that I was a muse in an art exhibition.” Y/N stated with a smile, trying to press down the giggles bubbling in her throat.

Steve let out a laugh, making Y/N’s heart skip a beat or two, “Oh yeah? You’ll have to get some of those photos then.”

“We could make him more jealous though,” Y/N hinted at, her mind racing at her sudden surge of confidence.

Steve blinked at her, a little surprised at the suggestion, “You mean-”

“Will you kiss me, Steve?” she whispered, biting down on her lip slightly. “I promise I won’t run away with your sweater and art this time.”

Steve didn’t need to be asked again. He turned to face her, his one arm wrapping around her while his other hand reached up for her chin. Y/N felt the memory of their first meet flood back to her, “You better give me your number after this. Or my mom will have a field day,” he whispered into her lips before kissing her deeply.

Steve felt all of his worries and nerves sink into that kiss, only to be filled with a sense of belonging. He barely knew the girl but Steve hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since Paris. He was so in love with this girl, he couldn’t help but feel like Fate had put them in Paris at the same time for a reason. Kissing her again in the museum, at this moment, Steve was sure of that reason.

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

I hope you guys enjoy this!! It’s probably one of my absolute favourites fics that I’ve ever written!

Masterlist

[friendofspidermannedleeds]

Fictober Day 3

Prompt #3: "I’ve waited for this”  Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: None Characters: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones’ mom Words: 1105 Summary: After Peter's identity is revealed, MJ mourns the relationship she's always waited for.  

Unmet

MJ hangs up her call with Peter and pulls her knees into her chest, eyes lingering on his contact photo on her phone. It’s a slightly out-of-focus candid she’d taken during a random AcaDec practice Freshman year, and though she’s since saved several higher quality, more recent, and objectively hotter images, she can’t bring herself to update it—the photo reminds her of how far they’ve come.

It used to make her smile, but tonight—

tonight it hurts.

She’s done all she can in the past few weeks since the reveal to be supportive. She’s told Peter she’s standing by him no matter what, she’s accompanied him on his rooftop getaways when the crowds at school get to be too much, she’s answered his calls every time he wants to talk.

During this call, she suggested he might see the positives in the identity reveal situation—he doesn’t have to hide anymore, doesn’t have to keep secrets from her or from anyone else—shouldn’t that count for something?

She’s not sure he fully bought it, and she can’t blame him. She’d mostly said it to convince herself that everything would be alright, but she doesn’t fully believe it, either.

That work of convincing herself isn’t getting any easier as the days go on, and it’s not getting any easier tonight to convince herself that she’s not upset, and that her relationship with Peter is fine, and that she believes his insistence that he never wanted to lie to her—because all of this still hurts.

It hurts that he’s been Spider-Man for three years and never told her.

It hurts that when she thought he was finally being honest with her in Prague and blurted out his secret, his first instinct was denial.

It hurts that just after he was finally honest with her, he dashed off to save the world while she was stuck waiting it out with no knowledge of his progress, or even of his survival.

And right now, it hurts the most that her first date, her very first date with the boy she’s had in her phone since Freshman year, the boy who’s given her jitters since long before he was even aware she wanted to be friends, who’s finally come around and was everything she’d hoped for—that boy is locked away in a safehouse and can only be reached via video chat.

There’s a quiet knock at her door.

“Meesh?”

MJ almost considers putting in earbuds to pretend she didn’t hear, wrapping herself in a blanket and doing everything she can to appear unapproachable.

But tonight hurts.

“Come in, mom.”

Her mom enters and smiles, then sits on the edge of her bed.

“Were you chatting with Peter again?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s alright.”

“Are you?”

MJ doesn’t respond to that, unsure of how much she wants to share.

Her mom scoots closer.

“What’s up, Meesh? What are you thinking?”

MJ sighs.

“It’s just—I’ve waited for this. For years. And now…”

She shakes her head, unable to finish the sentence as tears come to her eyes.

Her mom puts a careful hand on her knee. “Now your brand-new relationship that’s supposed to be perfect has been hijacked by the identity mess.”

MJ nods, sniffling and wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Oh, honey.” MJ leans against her mom’s side and lets her pat her hair. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

“It’s happening to Peter,” MJ whispers, “he’s the one who’s really going through it.”

“It’s happening to you too,” her mom says resolutely, “and you’re allowed to mourn what you’ve lost.”

She puts an arm around MJ and scratches her shoulder gently.

“You know, Meesh…I’m guessing you still don’t want to hear it but just in case you need to…you don’t have to be Peter’s girlfriend right now. All of this is so much, and—”

“I know.” MJ sits up straight again. “I know, mom. I’m not changing my mind.”

Her mom nods and, mercifully, doesn’t push the issue. It’s the second time she’s cautiously brought it up, so differently from the way MJ’s dad boldly and consistently shares his opinion that a boy isn’t worth one’s piece of mind, no matter how superhero-like he may be. MJ knows that even though her mom is less forceful in her approach, they both want her to get the hell out of this fledgling relationship and remove herself from the public eye.

MJ doesn’t blame them. It was quite a shock to learn that the nice boy their daughter has only just started dating is a superhero who’s been publicly accused of murder. And honestly, being in the public eye is the very last thing MJ could have wanted for herself, so a significant part of her wonders if they’re right.

But she can’t let him go. She’s not entirely sure why, which is terrifying for someone as introspective and self-aware as she considers herself to be, but the fact remains that just the thought of letting Peter Parker go is devastating enough to keep her holding on.

He’s kept secrets, but so has she.

There’s still a lot she hasn’t told him, mostly embarrassing stuff about feelings that she’s never, never shared with another person. But she wants to. Peter makes her feel safe, like she can explore and share parts of her she never has before—and that scares her, but she wants it more than anything.

This is going somewhere, and they both know it. She needs him, he needs her, and she’s not about to dump him when he’s going through hell. She can’t.

“Do you want to be left alone, baby?”

Normally, MJ would. She normally prefers to process alone when she’s having moments of crisis.

“I think…I think I want to have a movie night, actually.”

Her mom smiles. “Okay.” She squeezes MJ’s shoulder as she stands. “I’ll get started on the popcorn.”

MJ swings her legs onto the floor and grabs her favorite blanket off her bed, pausing to look at the sketch of sophomore Peter in detention that’s tacked to the wall. She’s unofficially titled it Peter in Crisis, a little joke to herself and a reminder of the days when she pined over the boy who only had eyes for the most popular girl in school—a fact that doesn’t sting the way it used to.

Look how far we’ve come.

It’s not the way it’s supposed to be, and that still hurts. She doesn’t have a solution right now, and that still terrifies her.

But she’s not going anywhere.

[unmaskedagain]

Ladybug: A Young Avenger

Hey Everyone, I got prompt for a civil war ML crossover fic but I was really into Team Iron Man on Ao3 for longest of times and, after endgame, I kind of need some team fluff. So I tweaked the prompt. It’s still team Iron man; just… not the way you’d expect. (Also did anyone know else know that Penny’s last name was Rolling?)

It took Tony Stark all of five minutes to figure out Ladybug’s identity.

“Jarvis, buddy?” Tony called out.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s up with teenagers and being bug-themed heroes wearing inappropriate costumes?”

           The A.I took a moment before answering, “…I, for one, blame Vine.”

           Tony sighed. First fifteen-year-old Peter Parker aka Spiderman. He took the kid on an as an intern the second he learned about Spiderman. Now fifteen-year-old Marinette Dupain-Cheng aka Ladybug.

           He groaned.

What could he do? He needed help.

           Captain America needed to be stopped. The Winter Solider needed to be taken down. Team Cap had gone too far.

           It was war.

           Getting Harley Keener, a mechanical mastermind to agree to be his intern was a bit like chewing nails but Tony always knew the kit would agree. Getting Peter Parker, a child genius with a bright future as a scientist, to agree to be his intern was a piece of cake. Honestly Tony could’ve asked for the kid’s soul in repayment and Peter would’ve asked if he wanted on a silver plate or if plastic was okay? Getting Riri Williams, an engineering prodigy to be his intern, was easy. Too easy; her mom practically threw her at him, all while making him swear into a recorder that he wouldn’t sue. No matter what. Introducing the kids to his labs made him feel like Willie Wonka hand-delivering the golden tickets.

           They were all future scientists and engineers like Tony. They grew up worshiping at the altar of Stark Industries like ever future MIT graduate did.

           Marinette Dupain-Cheng, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast who played an entirely different game. She was a fashion prodigy who had designed for stars like Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. She had interned for Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois, had her clothes walk the runway during Paris fashion week, and had a summer job that somehow lasted over a year, working for Miranda Priestly, the editor-in-Chief for Runway Magazine when the scary woman took over Paris: Runaway. Said job ended when Miranda when back to New York. Marinette only prayed to the fashion gods. So when Tony Stark, god of the nerds, showed up at her door, she only blinked once.

           Said girl sat between her parents, with cool blue eyes glaring at him suspiciously. Luckily Tony was smart enough to bring Pepper with him.

           Pepper Potts smiled at the family in front of her; two bakers and the daughter, who made the most delicious macarons that she ever tasted. “So you see, after Tony came across Marinette’s wonderful re-design sketch of his suit on her website, he was very impressed with her talent.”

“But to take Marinette on as an intern?” Sabine asked. “Excuse me, but Marinette has always leaned towards the arts than science.”

           Tony gave the woman his best charming smile, “What is science if not another form of art. We both create, strive to better our talents, work to make names for ourselves; experiment and test out hypothesizes. Granted no one in my field ever created the disaster that was crocs.”

           Marinette narrowed her eyes, “Didn’t your father help on the Manhattan Project?”

           Silence.

           Pepper cleared on her throat. “Tom, Sabine, before anyone agrees to anything I’d like to go over safety procedures in place. Would you mind stepping outside with me, I could use a bit of fresh air.”

           Tony and Marinette just stared at each other as the three left the room. When the front door closed behind them, Marinette leaned forward, “What do you want?” Her patience had reached its end.

“Aren’t you being a little rude?” Tony smirked.

“Aren’t you a little old?” Marinette snapped back. “What do you want?”

“I want Ladybug’s help.”

           Marinette flinched back in shock. Her heart raced in her chest. “How do you know?”

“I’m Tony Stark,” He shrugged easily, picking up a mint chocolate Macron. “I know everything.”

           Marinette fought the fear racing through her, and steeled herself like Miranda and Audrey had taught her, “So Iron Man’s wanted Ladybug as an intern? So what does Iron Man get? What does Ladybug get? What does Tony get? And what does Marinette get?”

“You made clear distinctions,” Tony said approvingly, his business-side gearing up. “But I am Iron Man.” He said. “You come to New York for this spring break and for the summer. I get Ladybug’s help in handling a personal issue that has developed within the Avengers. Ladybug gets training from the Avengers. Marinette gets to add Stark Industries and a personal letter of recommendation from Tony Stark to her resume.”

“On the condition, that identities stay secret from the media,” Marinette crossed her arms. “I don’t suppose I can hide it from the rest Avengers for very long. And I get an additional letter of recommendation from Pepper Potts. Pepper takes my friend Chloe on as an intern; she’s the hero, Queen Bee. And only one who knows my identity, besides you. Also, I actually do get to help design your next suit. My expenses?”

           Tony smirk widened. The girl knew how to cover her bases. She even wanted to have an Ally with her should things take a turn. “All paid for by me. First-class all the way. You and Chloe will stay in the Stark Tower on the same floor as the other interns.”

“Other young superheroes, you mean?” Marinette guessed, causing Tony’s eyes to twinkle in joy. “Spiderman, Iron Heart, and WarIron. Based on their sizes, I had guessed they were young; teenagers probably. Why didn’t you ask Chat Noir too? Or why aren’t you? Because you’re not, you would’ve mentioned it by now?”

“You mean the Agreste kid?” Tony said, not noticing Marinette’s eyes widen in surprise. “He’s not serious enough for me. I play games but he goes too far. Surprised you haven’t dumped him yet. Get a better partner.”

           Marinette took a bit of a macron to get a moment to think. Adrien was Chat Noir. In retrospect, it made a lot of sense. Both were socially immature, and a bit naïve. Each had an idealistic view of things and didn’t let the real world break them of it. For example Adrien and his dealing with Lila’s lies. Chat Noir and Ladybug turning down his advances.

“Very well,” The bluenette finally agreed. “I agree to be your intern. Shall we discuss my salary now or later? Well, need to before I or my parents sign any contracts.”

           It was Tony’s turn to narrow his eyes. Not one; not a single one of his interns: Harley, Peter, or Riri ever asked about how much they’d get paid. They’d all assumed it was an unpaid internship and was surprised when their contracts included a salary. “You’re a shark.”

           Marinette hummed, “You should see me when there’s blood in the water.”

           That was something Tony was looking forward to seeing.

           The official paperwork was signed three days later; Marinette was officially a Stark intern. Due to go to Orientation for spring break in New York in a few weeks.

           Those weeks flew by. She let Fu know she’d have to go back and forth for a few weeks. She didn’t bother telling anyone else. Her friendships in the class had dwindled dramatically. While most weren’t her outright enemies, her classmates tended to avoid her. If they couldn’t do that, they were beyond cold to her. It was Lila’s doing. She got her hooks into the class, who all wanted to tie themselves to the golden goose, and when it was clear that Lila and Marinette didn’t like each other, they picked sides. They chose their meal ticket over their lifelong friend.

           Honestly, it made Marinette almost wish that Lila had lied about her instead; accused her of being a bully or something. Anything. Because at least then her ex-friends would have somewhat of a reason to be ex-friends. Even if it wasn’t a very good one. Instead, they were just bad friends all on their own.

           Still, Marinette didn’t mourn their loss as she sat in the back of the class with Chloe on a Sunny Tuesday morning, and they were living for New York that Friday. She had a steadily rising career in Fashion. She had worked under Miranda Priestly and Audrey. From them, she learned it was best to drop fair-weather friends and how to spot wannabes, fame-seekers, and gold-diggers from three miles away.

           She was happy with Chloe as her bestie. The girl had turned a new leaf and proven her loyalty to the point where Fu made her a permanent hero. And the Blond had been ecstatic when Pepper Potts had shown up at their door. She had hugged Marinette a full five minutes for getting her the internship. All while screaming with joy.

           Both girls were excited to go. Though Marinette did encounter one downside. The night before, Jagged Stone and Penny Rolling; or as Marinette deemed them #RollingStone, called her. Or rather Penny did the talking. Jagged was trying to wrestle his newest jacket away from Fang’s teeth. Penny offered Marinette a chance to spend her spring break traveling around on tour with Jagged, as his personal stylist. Marinette had no choice but to turn the job down. She loved her honorary Uncle Jagged but she already signed the contract.

           That morning Lila had spun another set of lies. The first was about helping Tony Stark fix his Iron man suit when she was traveling in America. The second was about the newest song Jagged Stone wrote about her. It was exhausting to listen to but the class hung on every word.

           Bustier had just finished her first lesson of the day when she invited Alya to stand up.

           The glasses-wearing girl grinned at the class, “So as everyone’s aware; there’s a class pool party is this Saturday; first day of spring break, baby!” The class cheered. “Everyone who’s invited should’ve gotten their invitation. Don’t want any drama,” She cast a cold look to the two girls at the back of the class. “Invite only. So no party crashers. Marinette, Chloe what are you doing this Saturday?” Alya smirked at her call out that the two girls weren’t invited; that they were the only ones who weren’t.

           As if on cue, the classroom’s door burst opened and in walked Tony Stark, followed by a very apologetic looking Pepper, “Marinette; it’s time to go! Grab Pepper’s minion and let’s go.”

           There were gasps from the class. Max sat up straight. Iron Man was in front of him, in his class, this was the best day of his life.

           Marinette just sighed, “Did you kick the door open, Tony?” Disapproval clear in her voice.

“…No?”

“I can’t go now!” Marinette explained. “I have class. We weren’t supposed to leave until Friday, remember.”

           Tony waved her off, “Details. Spring Break starts now. Queenie, Mari; chop-chop! New York is waiting!”

           Bustier decided to step in. She may not always be the best teacher but she refused to allow a strange man, even if that man was Tony Stark, to take away any of her students. “Mr. Stark, can I ask what you want Marinette and Chloe for?”

           Thankfully, it was Pepper that answered as she closed back the classroom door, “They have been employed as interns for Stark Industries. They’ll be attending orientation during their spring break at Stark Tower.”

Max actually fell out of his seat. Because this couldn’t be happening. Stark industries rarely ever took high schoolers’ as interns. Tony Stark only chose the best of the best. How could Marinette land the job?

“Marinette’s my intern,” Tony grinned. “Blondie’s Pepper’s. Who else is gonna teach her how to rule the world.”

           A slow smile spread across Chloe’s face, “With an iron fist.”

           Tony pointed at her, “You scare me. Pepper get your intern!”

           The other students were amazed. Marinette was Tony Stark’s intern. Chloe somehow got Pepper Pott's attention. What had they missed? Why didn’t Marinette tell them? How?

“That’s what we’ll be doing this Saturday, Alya,” Chloe drawled. “In New York, hanging with the Avengers.” Causing Alya to flush with anger. “We couldn’t come to your pool party even if we wanted to. Which we don’t.”

“He found my sketch of a potential Iron man suit design,” Marinette explained, continuing the story Tony had told her parents. “He loved it and offered me the job a few weeks ago.”

“Weeks?” Nino asked. “And you didn’t tell us? Dudette, not cool.”

           Alix nodded, her arms crossed, “Yeah I thought we were friends!”

           Marinette and Chloe just looked at them like they were stupid.

           Alya put her hands on her hips, “Mr. Stark, why didn’t you ask Lila Rossi to be your intern? She helped you with your suit before. She’d be much better than Marinette!”

           The girl in question face turned bright red, “This can’t be happening.” Lila muttered.

           Tony looked honestly confused, “Lila? Who’s Lila? No one ever helped me with my suit except the kids I already got as interns.” He looked at Pepper. “Do I know a Lila Rossi?”

           Pepper shook her head, and turned fierce eyes towards Lila, “Miss Rossi, please refrain from lying about Tony Stark and or Stark Industries. Or we will sue you on the grounds of defamation.”

           Lila squeaked. Sue? She couldn’t be sued. Her mother would kill her if she got a lawsuit from Tony Stark.

           It was the rest of the class’s turn to look confused.

           However, before anyone could ask any follow-up questions, the classroom door burst opened again. Jagged Stone strutted in, followed by a very apologetic look Penny and happy Fang with, what looked to be, the arm of a leather jacket.

“Marinette!” Jagged yelled. “What’s this about you not coming on tour? I need my favorite stylist, love.

Marinette just sighed, “Did you kick the door open, Jagged?” Disapproval clear in her voice.

“…No?”

           The bluenette just shook her head, “I have plans this Spring break. I’m sorry.”

“Plans?” Jagged whined. “What could be better spending your Spring Break with a Rock Star? You can even bring your Blonde. Penny could use an assistant!” He paused, finally noticing it wasn’t just kids. “The bloody hell is Tony Stark doing here?”

           The two famous men eyed each other. The women they came with just looked so done with the world.

           Tony crossed his arms, “I got custody of Marinette for Spring Break; you snooze, you lose.”

“What?!” Jagged hissed. “She’s my designer.”

“She’s my intern!”

           Jagged glared, “I knew her first. By rights, I get custody.”

“I have a contract that says otherwise!” Tony taunted the Rock Star. “Her future is Stark Industries.”

“Her future is Rock and Roll!” Jagged yelled back.

           Both men glared at each other.

“Pepper!”

“Penny!”

           Both women groaned. How was this their lives? Why what was this their lives? What bus full of nuns and orphans did they rob in a past life?

           Penny smiled, “Marinette means the world to us. I’m her honorary Aunt Penny,” She held out her hand for Pepper. “Jagged’s her honorary Uncle. We’ve known her for years. Contracts were already signed?”

           Pepper nodded, “Tony doesn’t play when it comes to his interns. He won’t budge. Trust me; we’ve done this three other times. Marinette’s his kid now, all but legally.” For now, Pepper didn’t bother to add. Every now and then she found discovered a new set of adoption papers with one of the interns’ names on it; one time she found three sets for all three. Plus if Tony kept hinting any harder, May was going to gut him.  “She’ll be in New York for Spring break and all of the summer.”

“Summer!” Jagged whined. “He gets custody for summer too! No!” he shook his head. “Not happening. Call our lawyers, Penny. We’re going to family court!”

           Tony blew him a raspberry. Tony Stark blew Jagged Stone a raspberry. The class could only blink, trying to process what was happening.

           Marinette just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her.

“Marinette already designed your clothes for the tour,” Penny tried to placate. “They’re amazing. We can call and skype if we need any additional tips. We have a concert in New York over spring break so we can go and see.” They didn’t. But Penny would be damned if she could have one booked within the hour. Anything to stop jagged from mention family court again. “Most of our summer is free too, we can visit Marinette whenever we want.”

           Jagged huffed but didn’t say anything.

“Well not whenever you want,” Tony teased.

“Family court!” Jagged hissed.

“Tony!” Pepper said warningly. She was not going to let this going to court. No matter how lovely Marinette was. “Be nice.”

           Tony pouted.

           Marinette raised her hand, “You guys know that legally my parents still have custody of me, right?” There was no answer. “Right?!” Nothing.

           The bluenette just sighed.

           Alya took that moment to break in, “Jagged, don’t you want to say hi to Lila? She’s right here,” Alya pointed to her bestie. “Oh, can we listen to the songs you wrote for her? Can you tell us how she saved your cat from getting hit by a plane?”

           The look Lila gave Alya could’ve killed a thousand men.

           Jagged looked affronted, “Lila? Who’s Lila?” He looked at his fiancé. “Penny, do I know a Lila?”

“No!” Penny glared fiercely at Lila. “Jagged Stone has never written a song about an underage girl before. He has never owned a cat. What parents and airline would careless enough to allow a child to rush onto a runway for a pet? Refrain from spreading any further slander. Or we’ll hit you with a lawsuit so fast you’ll get whiplash.”

“I’m allergic to cats by the way,” Jagged told the class. “All fur actually. That’s why I got Fang here.” He pointed the crocodile who had made its way to Marinette for cuddles. “I’ve had him for twenty years. He’s the only pet I’ve had all that time.”

           Marinette rolled her eyes and took the crocodile in her lap.

“Twenty years?” Kim’s eyebrows furrowed. “Whoa, that’s long that we’ve been alive.”

           Nino glared at Lila, “Yeah it is.” He finally realized the girl was lying. Most of the class had in fact.

“Enough of this,” Tony waved. “Marinette, Chloe, time to go. Leave the dinosaur.”

           Bustier took a deep breath, “No one is taking Marinette or Chloe anywhere. Until I get a note from their parents verifying that is. I’m going to have to ask you all to leave.”

           Penny and Pepper nodded understandingly. Jagged and Tony just looked shocked.

“But I’m Tony Stark!”

“I’m Jagged Stone, love!”

           Bustier just rolled her eyes and shooed them out of her class. It took some handling, and eventually, the women had to drag the guys out. The teacher shut the door with a sigh of relief. She brushed off the imaginary dirt on her clothes. “Marinette,” She called. “If you could tell any future visitors to wait until after school to pick you up, with a note from your parents that would be most helpful.”

“Sorry,” Marinette blushed, a deep dark red.

           Bustier walked back to her desk before pausing. “Is that Crocodile still in my class, Marinette?”

“…Yes.”

“I think he’s here for the rest of the day,” Chloe shrugged. “Unless you want to invite Jagged back?”

           Bustier paused. No. Never again. “No. No. Fang can stay for the day.”

           When the lunch bell rang, Marinette found that it was easier to avoid her classmates' questions, as they were too busy yelling at Lila. It wasn’t long after that Ladybug had to take down Lila’s seventh akuma form.

           Marinette and Chloe left that night to New York. Somehow he managed to convince their parents that missing three days of school to study in the most advanced building in the world was a good thing.

           When they got to Stark Tower, they were given a quick tour. Then Pepper took Chloe to show her where she would be working. And Tony took Marinette the workshop where three other kids were already working.

           The oldest one glanced at her and snorted, “God he kidnapped another one.” He was the tallest in the room with dark brown hair and a smirk on his face.

           The other two snickered.

           Tony looked affronted, “Oh please; your parental units practically threw you at me.

The younger looking boy smirked, “Aunt May threatened to shank you next time you took me out of school early.” He had light brown hair and big brown eyes

           The genius pointed, “You tell Aunt Hottie to leave me alone.”

“HI, I’m Marinette!” She waved happily. “He keeps mentioning he has custody. And I’ve become moderately concerned.”

“And you should be,” The other girl in the room laughed. She was a pretty brown-skinned girl with black wild curls. “Name’s Riri.”

“Harley,” Said the first boy who spoke.

“Peter,” The other boy introduced.

           Marinette nodded and eyes them, “WarIron,” The pointed at Harley. “Iron Heart,” Then at Riri. “Spiderman, right?” She pointed at Peter.

           The three looked at Tony with questions in their eyes. Tony raised in hands in surrender, “Hey, I told her nothing.”

           Harley eyed the new girl, “You’re from Paris, right?” She nodded. “Ladybug, I’m guessing.”  Marinette blushed. “Welcome to the Young Avengers, I guess. Why’d he bring you in?”

           Marinette shrugged, “He said to there was a personal problem happening with the Avengers. He wanted my help.”

           The teen froze. Peter just shook his head, “You didn’t, Tony!”

Tony looked sheepish.

“What?” Marinette asked.

           Riri rolled her eyes, “That personal problem? It’s called ManHunt.”

“I’m sorry?” Marinette asked. She was going to have to hunt a man?

“It’s a game,” Harley explained. “Team Iron Man versus team Cap. One team hunts the other in a sort of hide and seek type of thing and tries to capture as many members as they can. Last time we played it, Team Cap crushed Team Iron man. It’s why Tony brought us all in. Revenge.”

           Said Man didn’t look one bit ashamed, “Rules were since Thor and the Big guy are gone I can bring in whoever I want to replace them.”

           Marinette tossed up her hands, “You brought me here to play a game?” Unbelievable.

“No,” Tony said. “I brought you here to take out the Winter Soldier.”

“Say what now?”

“Welcome to orientation,” Was All Tony said to her question.

           The kids trained together for a week; Chloe, a girl named MJ who was Pepper’s other interns, and a boy named Ned who was a tech intern, were brought in as well. When it turned out that Kagami was in New York City for a fencing tournament. Tony was happy to bring in the scary girl as well. (And somehow get her mother to agree to let her stay for Spring Break) He made practice stealth and learn hand signals. Tony drilled them on the Team Cap’s strengths and weaknesses. They reviewed videos of previous missions until they had everyone’s fighting style memorized. Tony went over body anatomy aka where the best place to hit them was. They memorized plans and scenarios to take out each specific member of Team Cap.

           The teens spent a lot of time in the lab creating gadgets to use against the Avengers. Each one straight out of a spy movie.

           As far as Tony was concerned this was War. And there would be no prisoners.

Team Cap consisted of Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch, The Falcon, Antman, along with several Shield employees which included Fury, Melinda May, and Coulson.

           Team Iron man consisted of Ironman, War Machine, Vision, Maria Hill, The Wasp, Quicksilver, Daisy Johnson, and a bunch of names Stark employees: I.E the interns. (Black Panther refused to participate. Though he and sister would watch from Wakanda.)

           Each team had a total of thirty players; no more, no less.

           The game would take place at the compound. Anything area within the compound legal territory was free to use. The living room would be home base and were all ‘out’ people had to stay. Until they were freed. Or until every member of the hiding team was captured and then it was Game Over. Everyone could communicate with their own team using special mics; normally only taken out for missions. However, those imprisoned in the home base couldn’t communicate with their team.

           On Saturday, just before sunset; the main superheroes of the avengers met up. Tony facing Steve. Rhodey glaring at Bucky. Vision versus Wanda. Hawkeye to QuickSilver. The wasp against Ant-Man and the Falcon.

           Steve smiled, “Tony.”

“You ready for war, Cap?” Tony asked.

“Training exercise,” Steve corrected his husband. “I trust your team is ready.”

           Tony smirked, “Oh you have no idea. Your little spies are already hiding in the shadows.”

“Like your team isn’t?”

           The alarm went off.

           Tony suited up, “You have 1000 seconds, Steve.” His helmet shut. “I’d get running.”

           Steve rolled his eyes. His team split up, running into the growing shadows.

           The game had started.

           Marinette waited, hiding in the shadows on the roof. Her ladybug costume was all back with little red polka dots; mostly easy to move around body armor. This wasn’t her actually Ladybug suit; Tikki, while willing to create a new suit design, decided it wasn’t a good idea to involve magic. So Marinette designed herself a new suit, and Tony help her trick it out.

Tony had pointed out the all-good hiding spots located in the Compound. She was the overly large landing pad. She forced herself to stay completely still. Even when she saw the Falcon take flight with WarIron right on his tail.

           The smallest of moments caught on the corner of her eye, the glint of metal. An arrow, she realized. She smiled. Hawkeye.

           She watched the man take stock of the room, looking in every possible place a person could hide. Unfortunately for him, Marinette had a bit of luck on her side.

“All clear on the roof, Cap,” Clint said into his mic. “I’ll keep a lookout from up here.” There was silence as he listened to Cap’s orders. “Okay. Will do. Stay invisible, got it. Over and out.”

           The second the conversation had ended, Marinette through a smoke bomb at his feet. Before Clint could even finish saying, “What the he-” Marinette was on the attack. Using the smoke to her advantage, she swung her yo-yo at Hawkeye’s feet. The String wrapped around his legs, tripping him. Five seconds later, Hawkeye was hogtied on the ground.

Marinette touched her mic, “Tweety Bird down. Bringing him to home base now!”

“Copy that, Ladybug,” Tony said. “Be careful.”

           Clint looked up at his assailant; expecting to see Tony or the Wasp, any avenger. Instead what he saw, was a teen girl with a scary blue-eyed glare on his face, “Who are you?”

           Marinette leaned down, “Your reckoning.” She hissed.

“What the fuck!” He said as he was thrown over the girl’s shoulder and carried to home base.

           When Marinette got to home base, she saw Harley putting a rather put out Falcon on the ground, Spiderman with five webbed up shield agents, Chloe had brought in two, Kagami and Riri brought in six. MJ and Ned both brought in one random shield agent. Marinette tossed Hawkeye on the couch.

           It had been twenty minutes, Clint knew by the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes since sunset and the game had started. And they had already lost just over half their team to a bunch of teenagers.

Clint couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had Tony unleashed on them.

“Foghorn Leghorn secure,” Harley said into his mic. “Tweety in his cage. The shadows are all accounted for.”

“I’m Tweety,” Clint told Sam.

           Sam paused. “…Am I Foghorn Leghorn?”

“Wasp and Vision on their way with The Blue Fairy,” Tony’s voice rang their ears. “They’ll play guard dog. QuickSilver is down; Miss Tuffit got him. Seven minions gone; Captain Hook and his jolly crew got them. Over and out.”

“Queen Bee, MJ, guard the Home base until they get here,” Harley ordered. “Guy in the chair, Mj, back on monitor duty. Fulfill mission Top hat ASAP.” They nodded and left the room.

           Top hat was important. The two were trying to hack into Team Cap’s communications, once they did; it was game over.

“The rest of you complete the assignment,” He told them.

           Then all split up again. Vision and Wasp arrived with Scarlet witch just as they were leaving. All three avengers gave the kids confused looks as they left.

           It would take Marinette another hour before she came across another member of Team Cap. And she didn’t so much as come across, as she did respond to Peter’s cry for help.

“Captain Sparkles!” Peter yelled in their earpiece. “Training yard. I’m trying to hold hi-No I won’t give you back your shield! Hurry! Over!”

“I’m around the corner,” Marinette hissed into the mic as she ran for the yard. When she arrived it was just in time to catch the shield that was flying at her face.

           She held the shield tightly in her hand, feeling like Wonder Woman, as she stared down Captain America.

           Steve looked at the young girl who had joined the fight, “My shield, miss?” He was aware that Spiderman had landed behind him.

           Marinette smiled sweet. Then she launched the shield at him with such brute force, he was lifted off his feet. “The Name’s Ladybug.”

Steve didn’t catch the shield in time and it bounced back to Spiderman.

           Captain America glared at the two teenagers.

           Then the fight was on.

           Spiderman hits Steve with his shield, distracting him. The shield falling to the ground. Ladybug barges Captain America backwards. Steve shoulders her to the floor. Marinette lands on the ground; pain flaring across her shoulder. Spiderman punches Steve who just lifts him and slams him against the ground. Spiderman raises a fist but Steve twists it. A web shoots out of his hand, the sound of a small explosion fills the training yard.

           Marinette takes the distraction to trip Captain America and jump up. As Steve falls to the ground, Marinette uses the electro-shooters that Riri made and shocks the dear life out of him. It wasn’t enough to bring him down but then Peter added in his own shocking web-shooters.

           Yet Steve still looked ready for another round of their fight. Marinette quickly picked up the shield and slammed it across his head. Steve Rogers fell forward in a slump.

           Spiderman webbed up with quick-drying cement.

           Both teens breathed heavily; struggling to catch their breath, tense from the fight. Marinette could even find it in herself to unclench the shield.

“Captain Sparkles is down, over,” Marinette said into the Mic.

“We’re bringing him in, over,” Spiderman added.

           There was a moment of silence.

“…What the fuck?” They heard War Machine say.

           When Marinette walked in with the shield in one hand and helping Spiderman carry Cap with the other, the avengers present quietly lost their shit. Kagami nodded, where she stood over Fury who looked more pissed than ever before in his entire life. Chloe stood over Coulson, who just looked put out. MJ and Ned looked overly pleased. Their mission had been a success but it only lasted long enough to get Fury and Coulson. After that, Team Cap was smart enough to ditch the communications, figuring something was up.

“Who’s left?” Spiderman asked in the Mic. “Over.”

“Stoneheart,” Kagami answered bitterly, referring to Melinda May, into the Mic so the team could hear them. “She took out Daisy and got away. Hill is after her now.”

“Jon Snow and Miss Tuffit,” Chloe said referring to the Winter Soldier and Black Widow. “Iron Man and WarIron are after Small fry. War Machine has eyes on Miss Tuffet.”

“I’m closing in on Miss Tuffit, over.” War Machine said.

           Marinette looked at her team, pressing on her mic, “Guy in Chair, Mj, I want you on Stoneheart’s tail. Spiderman go be back up for the War Machine. Iron Heart, meet me on the Location 12. Over.”

“What are you going to do, over?” Harley asked.

           Marinette clenched the shield in her hands, “I’m going to go tell Jon Snow that Winter Is Over. Queen and Dragon with me. Over.”

           The battle with the Winter Soldier was epic. The showdown happened in the gym. It turned out they weren’t hunting for the Winter Soldier, the Winter soldier was hunting for them. The second they walked into the gym, the doors closed behind them.

           Bucky jumped down from the rafters. He stared at the girls. He had seen them fight. None of them fought with any ounce mercy but plenty of skill. But they were clearly just kids. Just Dames in over their heads. He’d go easy on them. “Shall we, Ladies?”

           Ladybug, Queen Bee, Iron Heart, and Dragon shared a look before giggling.

           The Winter Soldier only just barely stood a chance.

           The girls laid Bucky gently on the floor on home base. He grunted and glared at them.

           A few minutes later, Tony and Rhodey walked in with the Black Widow. The last of Team Cap.

           Tony smirked, “Game over.”

           Rhodey shook his head, “Record time; two hours and four-two minutes. Beats the last one by about seven hours and sixteen minutes.”

           Then they debriefed. Video of the fights and footage was seemed was shown so everyone could see where they could improve. The image of tiny Ladybug clocking Captain America in their head with his own shield was rewinded and watched seven times.

           Tony fell over laughing, “I’m putting on Youtube!”

“I will divorce you!” Steve snapped but couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

           Once The random agents of shield and Stark industries left, Steve glared at Tony. His team had gotten demolished. In record time. “You brought in outside heroes, that’s not fair.”

“No,” Tony laughed. “I brought employees of Stark Industries as agreed upon. Everyone meet WarIron,” Harley lowered his helmet. “Iron Heart,” Riri lowered his, “You know Spiderman already,” Peter took of his mask and waved. “MJ, and Ned” Both teens nodded. “Ladybug,” Marinette took off her mask. “Queen Bee,” Chloe glared as she removed hers. “Dragon!” Kagami took off her black mask. “The interns. Otherwise known as the Young Avengers.”

“Oh, fuck you too Stark,” Clint complained. “Did you see what they did to poor Bucky. He’s the deadliest assassin in history, and I felt they went a little rough.”

           Bucky nodded with a wince, “Can I have my arm back.”

           Steve looked at the bluenette still holding his shield, with a charming smile.

Kagami glared. She held the metal arm like trophy. “Spoils of War.”

           Marinette giggled.

           Being a intern was going to be fun.    

[pterodactylterrace]

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 3

Chapter Summary: You’re late for tea

Rating: 18+ for later chapters

Warning: Possible swear words, dirty thoughts, nudity

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Friday had been a strange day for Faye.  First, Henry wasn't on set. It took an embarrassingly long time for her to remember being told he had a few days off of filming.

Then, Mrs. Anderson sent her a strange series of texts asking about him. Sure, Faye had mentioned him a few times. Also, Briar was constantly going on about the man with the fluffy dog, so it made some sort of sense that she would ask about him. Not to mention Mrs. Anderson was always trying to find her a 'nice young man' to settle down with, so fixating on the one man she had mentioned wasn't that odd in retrospect.

Then, as she was pulling her beat up car into her driveway, she noticed an unfamiliar, shiny vehicle already parked outside. Maybe that was the new car Mr. Anderson had been dying for? Why would he park at her house instead of in his own drive a few doors down, though? Was it a surprise for Mrs. Anderson?

Now, she was walking into her house only to be greeted by a very excited, very large fluffball at the door.

"Kal?" That was definitely Kal. He was the only black and white Akita she knew with the habit of knocking his rear into her leg for attention, although his getup was rather strange. Why was Henry's dog in her house, and why was he wearing fairy wings, her daughter's dress up fairy tutu and at least a dozen mardi gras necklaces? Also, the floppy sun hat on his head was a nice touch. He seemed to enjoy having it on as well. That, or it was tied on too well for him to get off.

The dog's attire should have prepared her for when she looked into the living room. There sat Mrs. Anderson, her sun hat on along with one of Briar's scarfs and glow in the dark glasses perched above her regular seeing glasses. Next to her was Briar, her full fairy princess costume on, complete with wings, crown and a scepter, pouring pretend tea into the strangest guest's cup.

There sat Henry Cavill, cross legged on her living room floor, tiny plastic tea cup in his massive hand. On his head was perched a plastic crown, a feather boa wrapped around his thick neck, and if the sparkles were anything to go by, Briar had attacked him with her glitter body spray.

"Mommy!" Briar gasped, dropping her plastic tea pot and racing over to her mother, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Hi, sweetie. What's going on?" Faye asked cautiously.

"You're late for tea." Henry replied, taking a pretend sip from his cup.

"I hope it's alright, dear. You did say he was a friend, and Briar seemed so fond of his dog, I didn't have the heart to turn him away." Mrs. Anderson explained.

"Uhh... yeah, it's fine." Faye mumbled, still taking in the sight before her, Kal and Briar rejoining the tea party as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

"My mistake. I thought we agreed on Friday." Henry apologized, pushing himself up. "We've only been here a little while. We can leave if you'd like."

"Oh, no. That's ok." Faye assured, finally setting her bag down, hastily turning over her sketch pad on the entrance table. Some things weren't meant for anyone other herself to see.

"I'll just be heading off then, Miss Warren." Mrs. Anderson excused herself, taking off her borrowed accessories and gathering her things. "You all have fun."

"So, uhh... how... how long have you been here?" Faye asked once she closed the door behind the older woman, quickly scanning the room to make sure nothing difficult to explain was in plain sight.

"Not long." Henry assured, sitting back down at Briar's insistent tugging, folding his long muscular legs back up as he settled on the floor in front of the coffee table.

"More tea!" Briar demanded, holding the cup up to his mouth, prompting him to take another pretend sip.

"You make wonderful tea, miss." Henry complimented, Briar preening in response.

"Mommy, you want tea?" Briar asked, a wide yawn cracking her little face.

"I would love some, sweetheart, but it's time for your nap." Faye pointed out.

"No! I wanna play tea!" Briar whined, plopping back on her backside in a pout.

"Briar." Faye warned, raising a brow at her.

"But... but... tea party!" Briar insisted.

"We can play more tea party after your nap. You're getting grumpy."

"No I'm not!" Briar insisted, her chubby face drawn into a scowl.

"That was grump right there." Faye pointed out, gently scooping up her cranky daughter. "Now let's go lay you down for a nap, and then we can play more tea party when you wake up."

"I don't wanna nap!" Briar yawned, rubbing her hazel eyes in an attempt to stay awake.

"You need one."

"I don't wanna nap, I'm tired!"

"Sound logic, my love." Faye sighed, settling her daughter into her bed, tucking her in with her favorite stuffed unicorn. The little girl was asleep before Faye even reached the door, curled up around her stuffie with her little tush up in the air.

"Sorry you had to see that. She really hates going down for a nap when she's having fun."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to get her wound up." Henry apologized, removing the plastic crown from his head.

"Don't worry about it, she's just happy to have more guests at her tea party." Faye assured, picking up the plastic dishes and putting them back in the toy box.

"She was quite insistent we join, though I do think Kal enjoyed getting dressed up." Henry chuckled, beginning to remove the dog's costume.

"Good thing you agreed, otherwise you would have faced the wrath of Briar." Faye giggled, noticing the unicorn and rainbow stickers all over Henry's back.

"It was a pleasure attending her party. She is quite a wonderful host." Henry laughed, stowing the costumes back in the toy box. "Now, I do believe you requested help with a cake for our little party host."

"Yes, right this way." Faye waved, heading off to her tiny eat in kitchen. "What do we need?"

"Well... you have an oven, so that's a start. I brought the ingredients with me. Do you happen to have a cake pan?" Henry listed, opening the fridge and removing the bag he'd brought along.

"I have a glass baking pan." Faye offered.

"We will work with that." Henry agreed. "Now, measuring cups?"

"They are around here somewhere."

"Do you know how to use them?" Henry teased, setting the ingredients from the bag onto the counter.

"Vaguely. I just usually eyeball everything when I cook." Faye admitted.

"That won't work with baking. It's a science and the measurements have to be exact." Henry explained. "So, we'll start with the dry ingredients. Can you measure out two cups of flour?"

"I have no idea where the cup is. I have half a cup."

"Four of those, then." Henry absently mumbled, scanning over his mother's recipe card again. He glanced over to see her attacking the bag of flour with the measuring cup, wincing to himself as he watched. "Faye?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Forgive me for asking, but do you know how to measure flour?" Henry asked, cringing when she tried to smooth the top down with her hand, causing a flour explosion in her face.

"I'm guessing what I just did wasn't right."

"Not quite." Henry chuckled, stepping behind her, taking her hand in his and dumping the flour back into the bag. "You can use a spoon to sift it. Packed flour and unpacked flour are two totally different measurements." He explained, handing her a spoon and taking her other hand in his, showing her how to sift the flour into the measuring cup.

Faye tried to keep her cool and ignore the fact that Henry Cavill was pressed up behind her, holding her hands and showing her how to measure flour like it was the most natural thing in the world. Surely this was just some dream and if it was, no one had better wake her up.

"Got it?" Henry asked, turning his head to look at her, snapping her from her thoughts. Faye did her best not to stare at his lips, so close and yet so far away. She could just lean in...

"Yeah, got it." She quickly confirmed, forcing her attention back to the task at hand.

And so it went, Henry leading the way through the mysterious land of baking, Faye following blindly behind. He even let her lick the spoon when he was done with it, and he in no way stared in awe at the way her tongue moved around it. He was a gentleman, after all, and imagining what else that tongue could do would be highly inappropriate.

It wasn't until after the cake had been pulled from the oven to cool that Briar woke up, wandering into the kitchen with her now disheveled princess costume still on, her hair sticking out in strange angles as she rubbed her eyes.

"You're here!" Briar gasped, taking notice of the giant in the room and scurrying over to him, throwing her arms around his legs.

"Nice to know where I stand." Faye pouted as Henry scooped the girl up, her daughter not even glancing her way in favor of talking to Henry.

"Can we play dollies?" Briar asked, batting her thick dark lashes at him, her chubby lip sticking out in a pout.

"I've never played before, you'll have to show me how." Henry agreed, smiling down at the little girl held securely in his arm.

"Mommy, you look silly!" Briar giggled, finally looking over at her mother.

"That's not nice." Faye gently scolded.

"What on your face?" Briar asked.

"Mommy had an incident with the flour." Henry explained. Shit. Had she really spent the last hour, practically drooling over her guest with flour all over her face? She really should write a book on how to flirt. No doubt, it would be a best seller.

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up." Faye mumbled, her face heating up beneath the flour coating as she ducked her head and beelined down the hall.

"I'll be learning how to play dolls." Henry chuckled after her, carrying the toddler back to the living room so her mother could shower in peace.

Fifteen minutes later, Briar was still explaining the different names of her dolls and stuffed animals, piling each on top of Henry and resorting to stuffing them under Kal's paws when she ran out of room on her semi-willing captive. Faye cracked the bathroom door open and glanced to the living room to make sure her guest was thoroughly distracted before she slipped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around herself as she snuck down the hall to her bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief when she closed the door behind herself. She could almost convince herself he was interested in her with the couple times she'd caught him looking her way when he thought she wouldn't notice. No need to scare him off with her mom-bod now.

Sure, it hadn't been that hard on her figure. She wasn't left with the same saggy stomach her mother had after her pregnancies, but then again, her mother had carried two sets of twins almost to term. Talk about a superwoman. Though she did decide no more children after her younger brother and sister had been born.

"You keep giving me a two for one deal, I'm not doing this again!"

Good times. Good times. The wonders of having twins running strongly in your family. Faye had only given birth to one, but she still bore the stretch marks on her stomach and breasts, and the loose skin on her stomach had never really gone back to the way it was before.

Faye was shaken from her thoughts by her daughter's all too familiar exclamation coming from behind her. "Mommy, you're nakie!" She would never understand her daughter's near obsession with pointing out the fact that she was in fact, naked during and directly after showers, but it was without a doubt one of her favorite hobbies. Right behind tea parties if she had to guess.

"Wait, what? Oh!" That was not her daughter's voice. Faye's head snapped up to find Briar's chubby hand wrapped tightly around Henry's little finger, his other hand clapped firmly over his eyes. "I am so sorry! She wanted to get her stuffed dragon, I did not know this was your room!"

Faye snatched her towel off the bed and wrapped it around herself again, grabbing the dragon from the pillow and handing it off to Briar. The little girl happily took her dragon and led Henry back down the hall, not bothering with the door. The wonders of being young and innocent. She had no clue what she had just done.

Faye quickly shut the door herself, remembering to turn the lock this time, though it was a moot point by then. She threw on a tank top, leggings and her fluffy socks before forcing herself to venture back out. Henry was actually sitting on the couch this time, doing his best to focus on what the little girl was saying, though truth be told, his mind kept wandering back to the quick glimpse he had gotten of Faye's backside before he registered what was going on. It was even better than the glances he had gotten when she bent over in front of him to rummage through her make up bag. Nice and round, plump yet firm. The kind of ass you just want to squeeze as you're-

"So... " Faye started awkwardly, quickly breaking Henry out of his own head. "Lunch sound good?"

"Chocolate sandwiches!" Briar quickly suggested, hugging her stuffed bunny to her chest as she bounced around.

"It looks like I'm making chocolate sandwiches, though I could probably also manage a peanut butter and jelly."

"I wouldn't want to impose, though I did want to apologize again-"

"Accident's happen, but we are going to pretend that one didn't, ok?" Faye interjected. "So nutella or peanut butter and jelly?"

"Umm... either is fine."

"Briar, keep them company while mommy makes lunch, ok?" Faye suggested, going back to the kitchen before her false confidence faded. If he was on board with repressing and denying, so was she.

Now, only one questioned remained: Would Henry prefer his sandwiches cut into dinosaurs or puzzle pieces?

[anightflower]

Come and Find Me

Chapter Two: Paint It Black

Hello Loves! Just to let everyone know, my chapters go from flashbacks to present day! Thank you all for sticking with me and I am sorry this chapter is posted a bit late! 

Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Mentions of Gore, violence, swearing

Read Chapter One Here 

He had spent several hours outside your window, trying to figure out the next phase of his plan. But once the Doctor had arrived and swept you into his arms, he had decided to go home. Not back to his apartment, that was the place he resided. His home was a place nobody could know about. 

It was a place for only him and his mentor Drew. 

He walked into the kitchen to find Drew cleaning up his knives. “Hey little brother, out with your girl again?” Drew asked with a mischievous smile. 

Little brother was Drew’s nickname for the boy, they weren’t blood-related, but being 7 years younger than Drew, he had taken the boy under his wing.

“Yeah, until her stupid fucking doctor came.” the boy replied. 

“Don’t worry about the Doctor, your time will come.” Drew reassured. “Come, sit, I just finished up making dinner.” 

The boy sat down, pushing aside Drew’s papers so he had space to eat.

“Ah, ah,ah, you’re going to want to look at those. Those papers contain all the fun things you need to know. I’m not teaching you all of this for nothing huh?” Drew smiles, placing the papers back in front of the boy, alongside a bowl of stew.

“Do you really think this will work?” The boy asked, glancing over Drew’s explicitly written notes.

“Don’t worry little brother, this whole thing is trial and error.” Drew reassured. “Don’t be intimidated I’ve had this whole thing planned for a while and she won’t be the first, she can be our finale-” Drew was interrupted by a scream. He rolled his eyes. “Goddamnit, this bitch just never shuts up. I wanted to surprise you with her, but now she spoiled it.” 

The boy gave Drew a curious look. Drew chuckled. “Come on little brother I will show you.” Drew led the boy down to their basement. “After she’s gone, I’ll soundproof the basement better. I just needed an idea of how loud these whores will scream.”

The color drained from the boy’s face as his gaze fell on the woman. She was tied to Drew’s metal table, she looked like one of the frogs that the Boy had to set up for dissection for Professor Irving’s class, except she was very much alive, and slightly bloodied. 

“Meet trial number one little brother, she looks quite like your girl huh? I think all of em’ should just so you can be prepared for your finale with her.” Drew turned to the Boy. “Surprise.”

“How long has she been missing?” the Boy asked, panicked. How could Drew not warn him? “Relax, like I said she’s trial one. Just a corner whore, no one will even notice she is gone. The next one will be the real challenge, I want to find one exactly like your girl and I already found her, this one we will just pump and dump. Did you get those chemicals from your professor like I asked?” 

The Boy nodded “It all in my backpack.” The Boy couldn’t drag his eyes away from the girl on the table. Yes she had your hair and eye color, but she was a hideous thing compared to you. A mere whore could never compare to you. “If she’s a whore I don’t want to touch her. I’ll try the next one.”

Drew huffed. “Fine, you only have to watch this time virgin boy. But next time, I expect you to be hands on. I’m not doing all this work for nothing.”

The Boy’s face was emotionless the whole time he watched Drew, even when the blood spurted, even when the girl looked at him, pleading for help. Even when she stopped breathing and the chemicals he brought were used to melt her flesh. 

The Boy felt nothing.

________________________________________________________________

There was an extra flounce to your step as you made your way to your favorite cafe. Maybe it was because you had successfully hired a few new employees to help your company flourish, maybe it was because one of them had already settled a new deal in Ohio, or maybe it was because you knew Spencer was coming back from a case today. 

Hell, you had just had a fantastic day and you needed to update Ava and grab your favorite mocha latte to top it off. And maybe it was your 4th coffee of the day, but so what?

Your face lit up even more when you saw Ava. “Hello my darling best friend.” You said causing Ava to grin. 

“Hey there babe, what’s got you so preppy today?” Ava asked. 

“Well, let’s see; I hired 3 new employees who already are fantastic, one of which already booked us a design job in Ohio. Oh and my superhero hot boyfriend is coming home from a case tonight.” You grinned.

Ava rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe you told him I call him that. I wanted to dissolve into the floor and simultaneously kick your ass.” She laughed. “As for the new employees, are any of them hot? Single? Oh and Ohio is good I guess.” 

You giggled. “Well Thomas is incredibly handsome, but I am afraid his soon to be husband might want to have a word with you if you try anything. As for the other two, Aiyla and May, I think you’ll find them stunning and single.” 

Ava wiggled her eyebrows. “Don’t tempt me girl, you know I swing both ways. Anyway, grab a seat, I’ll grab your coffee and bring it out to you. I get off early today so we can actually talk to each other rather than me hopping back and forth between the counter. James gets to hold down the fort with Emma and the newbie Jane today.”

“Well, maybe Jane will help him get out of his shell.” You hoped. Ava shrugged. 

“Maybe, anyway, Ohio?” Ava questioned.

 “Oh! Yes. My new minions are sketching our designs as we speak. The company is called Ohio technological, a very original name yes-” You said as Ava snorted. “But they’re trying to create an office space like Google, however I am going to one up that and add my own spin to it. Also your girl has a fantastic budget from this company and I am being paid bank!” You squealed.

Ava squealed with you, grabbing your hands and squeezing them tight. “(Y/N) that’s fantastic! I am so proud of you girl, you’ve been working so hard on this and I am so glad it’s all working out.” 

“There is one downside though.” You said with a sigh. “I have to get my plans to them by next week and once they approve of them, I have to head to Ohio for three weeks. After that I will just have Thomas overlook the project and tie up any loose ends. Either him or I will have to fly down and check in on the progress every couple weeks until then.”

 “Could be worse though.” Ava shrugged.

“That’s true, but Spencer and I have been dating for almost 3 months and half the time we can’t see each other. I’m worried that the distance will ruin us.” You confessed.

 Ava's face went completely serious and she grabbed your arm gently. “(Y/N, I have never seen a boy more in love with you. You have never seemed happier in your life. You two will make it work I promise. You’re both so in love it makes me sick.” You snorted out a laugh and Ava smirked.

 “Like I said, if he has a brother-” 

“AVA.” You groaned.

 _______________________________________________________________

The boy burst through the door, startling Drew. 

“Yo, what the fuck man?” Drew hissed. 

“She’s leaving. Fuck, fuck, fuck Drew. She’s leaving.” The Boy slammed the door shut, he leaned against it and slid down, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey little bro, take a breath, what happened?” Drew came over and pushed the boy’s hands away from his face.

“She’s leaving me Drew. For three weeks! She’s going to Ohio for THREE WEEKS. 21 days, almost a month! I won’t see her and when I do she will probably be with that goddamn doctor! What do I do?” The boy cried. 

“That fucking whore, it’s like she knows she’s making you suffer. She’s probably reveling in it. Don’t worry. While she’s gone, we will perfect our craft and get you ready. Then when she comes back you’ll strike.” 

Drew reassured the Boy, pulling him in for a hug.The Boy pulled away, dragging an arm across his tearful eyes. 

“You promise?” 

“I swear it.” Drew growled. 

________________________________________________________________

Present Day

“Garcia what did you find?” Reid asked, pleading that it would be a reliable lead. 

“Something that you won’t really like Reid.” Garcia said seriously, her usually bouncy personality was flat. “Something about your gift irked me, I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but then I remembered; the Curtis case.” 

Spencer’s heart fell into his stomach. The Curtis case had happened a few months after Spencer had started dating you. It had happened right here in Quantico, which terrified Spencer, especially since you fell perfectly under the unsubs victimology; 20-30 year old females with (Y/C/H) and (Y/E/C), successful middle class women who lived alone for one reason or another. You had luckily been out of town for a business trip at the time, working on an office design for a company in Ohio. 

Spencer remembered a phone call he had with you one night during the case. He had called you after finding yet another dead victim, raped and torn to pieces, whore scribbled all over their wall in their blood. It had made him sick, because all he could picture was you in their place.

It was late when he called you, but he had just needed to hear your voice and know you were okay. “Hi baby, are you alright?” Your voice was sleepy, but concerned, you had kept up with the news and had heard about the horrible murders going on while you were gone.

 “Not really, but I just needed to hear your voice. There’s a sick selfish part of me that is so glad that you aren’t here (Y/N). All of these girls look so much like you-” Spencer paused, you could hear the tears in his voice. “I just am so glad you are safe, I don’t think I could focus as well on this case if I knew you could possibly be in danger.”

 “Aw Spencer, I am so sorry baby. You aren’t sick or selfish for wanting me to be safe, everyone focuses on the safety of those they love, it’s only human. I know you are going to catch this guy, you are the most brilliant man and agent I have ever met. Just don’t tell your team I said that, I don’t want a bad reputation before they even meet me.” You teased, trying to lighten his dark mood.

 It had worked slightly as you heard him let out a small laugh followed by a sniffle. “Listen Spence, I can stay here a bit longer if it will help you focus, but when I come home I am taking self-defense classes and such. I want you to have a sane mind knowing that your girlfriend actually can handle herself. I honestly think it will help me keep sane too, after hearing everything about this case.” 

Spencer paused and thought for a second, part of him wanted you as far away as possible, while the other part just wanted you in his arms. “I appreciate you considering me, but I want the ultimate decision to be made by you Princess, I trust your judgement and I don’t want you living your life based on my fear.” 

You breath caught in your throat at the sentiment. “I love you Spencer Reid.” 

“I love you more (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” A true smile beamed across his face, you guys had never said that to one another before and it meant just as much over the phone as it would in person.

Spencer flashed back to the present. “Andrew Curtis is in jail right now with three life sentences, how could this have anything to do with his case?”

 Garcia cringed a bit, “His calling card.” The words hit Spencer like a ton of bricks, how could he have not seen it before?

The gift box, the red bow, the eyes scratched out of the picture, that was exactly what Curtis had sent to his victims before they were attacked by him. Most of the women had thought it was a prank, a way to scare them into submission, they were incredibly wrong.

“So what could it be, a copycat?” Emily asked.

 “That is a possibility, they are using the exact same delivery company Andrew Curtis used, I found this on the security footage.” Garcia pulled up an image of a man wearing a uniform; it was a hideous orange color with the words “Swiftly Delivered” on it, khaki shorts, and white tennis shoes. 

“You think the company would have shut down or at least redesigned their hideous uniform after all the association with Curtis.” Emily mumbled.

“Well, I think in this case it’s lucky they didn’t, that way we could easily find the connection.” JJ said.

 “How could something like that have gotten cleared by security?” Rossi wondered aloud. “You think someone would have possibly recognized it, the case is still pretty fresh.” 

“Well, the box had no threat, no weapons, they must have just scanned it and sent it through. Alyssa was the one who brought it up with the rest of the mail. She said nothing seemed off about it when she brought it up, she just thought it was someone who was sweet on our pretty boy.” Morgan explained.

“Everyone is just so invested in my love life that we miss obvious clues.” Spencer growled frustrated.

“Well, at least we have a lead.” Hotch interrupted. “JJ, Morgan, I need you guys to head over to Swiftly Delivered. Ask them about their past customers and see if they can remember our unsub. Emily, you and Reid head over to (Y/N)’s apartment and see if you can find anything. Rossi and I are going over to talk to Curtis.”

“Hotch, I need to talk to Curtis.” Reid protested. “If he knows anything about (Y/N)-”

“No Reid. You know (Y/N)’s apartment better than anyone. You will notice if anything is wrong.” Hotch explained sternly.

“Hotch-” Reid argued. 

“No. I don’t trust Curtis, he seemed too interested during his original case. If he knows something, I can’t have him getting under your skin. Reid’s head fell in defeat. “But-” Reid’s head shot back up. “If you guys finish before us. Meet us at the prison.” Hotch ordered. 

Hope filled Reid’s eyes.

TAGLIST

@andiebeaword @haylaansmi @parkastoria @possessedjoker @amronsparty @generaltheoristexpert @sierraraeck @coniumalces @tamedbyafox @anotherr-fine-mess @adoregin @rainsong01 @canyonnmoonn  @mggshoe @boxofsparklingmuses @richardpapensmuse @deanlenaz​ @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @annesauriol @itsametaphorbriansblog @secretpickleprofessordean @shameleswhorehourstm @stepsofthefbi​ @iifloweringnightsii

[inkwell1013]

Snapshots - Persona 5

Pairings: Yusuke Kitagawa & Yusuke Kitagawa’s mother, Yusuke Kitagawa & Ren/Akira, Yusuke Kitagawa & Madarame, Yusuke Kitagawa & Natsuhiko (all plationic/familial)

Genre: Angst, shameless angst, one shot, found family, 5+1 fic.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: This fic deals with some heavy topics, including child abuse, emotional abuse, meltdowns, the death of a parent, a mention of suicide, unhealthy eating habits and alcohol abuse.

Summary: There’s a funny thing about memories. Some of clear and defined – like a photograph – while others are hazy and vague like a half-finished sketch. Still, they define a person just as much as the choices they make or the friends they keep. All of Yusuke's most important memories are about Madarame. Thinking back on his life, he wondered how he missed all the red flags.

Five moments in Yusuke's life chronically his life with Madarame and one moment after he leaves him.

- - - - -

Age 3

“Mama, play with me,” whined Yusuke, tugging on his mother’s sleeve.

His mother sighed, setting her paintbrush down on her easel. “I can’t play with you right now Yusuke.”

Yusuke pouted. “But I want to play!”

“Why don’t you draw instead?” she said. “I promise I’ll play with you once I’ve finished this painting. Okay?”

Yusuke beamed. “Okay, Mama.”

She gave him an easy smile and fetched his crayons and some paper from the shelf. She passed them over to him and went to get some more paint. Yusuke sat down at the table and started scribbling. Slowly, the picture began to take form. A neat brick house with a wild garden next to it.

It was a world away from the decrepit house they shared with Madarame. The shack was nailed together from sheets of scrap metal and was so unstable that a particularly strong gust of wind could have knocked it over.

Two people were standing in front of the house. A dark-haired woman and a small boy. Him and his mama. Just the two of them. They would finally be happy there away from everyone else. Away from Madarame.

Yusuke didn’t like Madarame. He was scary. Mama tried to make them spend time together, but Yusuke would always throw a tantrum and demand to be let go. She would always concede and let him run off, but he knew she and Madarame weren’t pleased about it.

“What is your painting going to be Mama?” he asked, as he coloured in the sky a bright blue. He imagined that they would live far out in the country, away from the grey skies of Tokyo.

“It’s a surprise!” she answered, tapping him on the nose as she walked back to her easel. “But it’s going to be a present for you.”

“A present for me? Can I see it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not until it’s done. You can’t know what it is, because then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

Yusuke went back to his drawing.

After a few minutes, Yusuke realised that he was thirsty. He turned around in his chair. “Mama, can I go get a drink?” he asked.

She didn���t say anything. She just stood there, holding onto the easel and quivering. He hurried over and gave her a little shake to get her attention.

“Mama!” he cried. “Are you okay?”

She convulsed and fell backwards, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Her body and twitched, as if there were electricity flowing through her veins. Yusuke didn’t know what to do. He tried to shake her awake, but that just made her tremble even more. He yelled Madarame’s name until his throat hurt but he didn’t come to help.

Yusuke didn’t remember much after that. Everything was hazy, like a drawing smeared over with chalk dust. He remembered a dark figure loitering in the doorway, it’s face bland and uncaring. It stood there for a good few minutes. Standing. Staring. Waiting.

By the time that she had stopped shaking, it was gone. Yusuke was crying. Then, he heard sirens. He slammed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, trying to block out the terrible noise. The sound dimmed but wasn’t gone completely. He curled up into a ball and rocked himself, trying to calm the swirling emotions in his chest.

He had been doing that for some time when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, hoping it would be his mother. Instead, his eyes met with those of a stranger. Startled, he shuffled backwards. The man was wearing a dark green uniform and had a kind-looking face.

“Hey kid,” he said softly. “Are you back in the real world?”

Yusuke gave a hesitant nod. “That’s good,” continued the stranger. “You gave us a real scare there but your daddy told us not to worry.”

Yusuke furrowed his brows. “I don’t have a daddy,” he mumbled.

“Your grandpa then?” Yusuke said nothing, just shaking his head.

“No grandpa either? Then who’s the man downstairs?”

“Madarame is Mama’s friend,” said Yusuke.

He looked to his mother, who was still lying on the floor. There was dust in her long dark hair, which was splayed out above her head. She wasn’t shaking anymore, which was good.

“Can I talk to my mama?” he asked. “She fell asleep, but she’ll be awake by now.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this kid…” The man looked over to his friend, who was knelt next to Yusuke’s mother. The woman, who was wearing the same uniform as him, shook her head. The man bit his lip and held out his hand to pull Yusuke to his feet.

“Let’s go downstairs,” he said.

“I don’t understand… Is she going to be okay?”

The man shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Your mother has passed away.”

Yusuke knew at that moment - when everything he knew came crashing down around him – that they would never have that perfect crayon scribbled life.

 Age 7

Yusuke was bored of waiting for Madarame to finish painting, so he decided to explore. He was curious to see what he would uncover in the drafty, old shack. Maybe there would be buried treasure under the floorboards or a wild beast living in the basement.

Yusuke always had an overactive imagination. He made stuff up for the fun of seeing where his mind would lead him. Sometimes it would take him to faraway fantasy lands full of awe and magic. Other times he would find himself somewhere mysterious and dark, full of horrifying creatures - like the dark shadow that watched his mother die.

He was so deep in his head that he nearly slammed headfirst into an unfamiliar door.

It was covered in pretty peacock feathers, all painted in swirls of blue and gold. He ran his fingers along the ridges and crevices in the paint, marvelling at the way it was layered. The style and technique were nothing like Madarame's and it made him wonder who painted it. Could it have been one of his previous students?

He stood on the tips of his toes and grabbed a hold of the handle. Just as he was about to swing open the door, someone grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him backwards. He whipped his head around and saw that it was Madarame.

“Sensei, what’s in this room?” he asked.

Madarame slapped him so hard that Yusuke was knocked to the floor.

Still reeling from the shock and confusion, Yusuke raised a shaky hand to his cheek. It hurt to touch.

“You are not allowed in that room,” growled Madarame. “Do you understand me?”

Yusuke nodded through the tears which threatened to fall from his face. 

You are not gonna cry. You are not gonna cry. You are not gonna cry. 

Maybe if he repeated it enough, it would be true.

Madarame stormed off in a violent temper, leaving a shaken-up Yusuke to continue with his day like everything was normal. He went to eat dinner with his fellow pupils. Natsuhiko raised an eyebrow at Yusuke’s bright red cheek but said nothing, handing him his food wordlessly. The rest of the pupils stayed similarly tight-lipped. Yusuke swore he could see the tiniest hint of sympathy on their faces. 

After wolfing down his food, he excused himself and went to bed, thoughts swirling in his mind.

Why would Madarame hurt him like this? Madarame loved him. It didn’t make any sense.

The next morning, Madarame came down for breakfast like normal and Yusuke briefly wondered if he just imagined it all.

Everyone else found a reason to leave the room, leaving Madarame and Yusuke alone.

Madarame spoke first. “I'm sorry you’re upset Yusuke, but you have to understand this from my point of view. That room is where I keep all my old paintings and if you were to damage them, I would be upset. You understand, right? I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Yusuke gave a hesitant nod. Madarame stood up and patted him on the shoulder. “Good. I love you Yusuke,” he said, as he left.

Yusuke was still curious about the contents of the room (perhaps even more now that he knows it’s full of paintings) but when he went to investigate later that day, he found that it was sealed with a heavy padlock.

So, he left it alone and tried to push the ordeal to the back of his mind.

 Age 9

Tidying up the studio was one of Yusuke’s chores. Madarame had never asked him to do it, but he always blamed Yusuke when it was messy in there, so Yusuke learned it was expected of him.

He dumped the pallets and paintbrushes in the sink. Turning on the tap, he watched the paint run together and wash down the sink.

Madarame usually let Yusuke paint with him - as long as he behaved - but Yusuke had been exiled from the studio for two weeks now. He understood though – Madarame had to focus on his pieces for the upcoming exhibition.

Madarame had always been short tempered but the past few days had been worse than usual. It was okay though. He was just stressed about the exhibit; Yusuke was sure everything would go back to normal once it was done.

It was quiet. Natsuhiko had gone on an errand, so it was just him and Madarame. The shack always felt empty now that there was only three people.

Madarame used to have lots of students back when Yusuke was younger but over time, they had all left. Yusuke didn't really know why but he didn't want to risk upsetting Madarame by asking.

A few open cans of paint were sitting on the windowsill next to a drying painting. Yusuke went to put them away but something about the painting made him stop to take a closer look.

Madarame had signed it, but it didn’t look anything like his style. Had he really painted this?

The longer Yusuke looked at it, the more confused he got. The strokes of the brush were familiar and…

The realisation hit him. This was Natsuhiko’s work. He had painted it and let Madarame sign it as if it was his own. Why would he do that? It was didn’t make sense.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he didn’t even notice that he had knocked over the paint until it was seeping into the canvas. Panicking, he swept the it out of the pool of red, hoping it would still be salvageable.

Yusuke snatched a rag from the cupboard and desperately tried to wipe off the paint but it quickly became obvious that the painting was too damaged to be saved.

That was how Madarame had found him – scrubbing at the ruined painting with a rag, red stains all over his hands and forearms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and flapping his hands to calm himself. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”

Madarame prowled over to him, like a wolf stalking its prey. Yusuke expected the slap but that didn’t make it hurt any less. “I’m sorry Sensei. I swear it was an accident,” he mumbled, tears welling in his eyes again.

“Apologising isn’t going to fix this Yusuke.”

“I know, I just… I can’t… I don’t...” He could barely get a word out. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.

“Oh, stop that!” snapped Madarame, grabbing Yusuke by the wrists. “I didn’t want to do this again but you’ve given me no choice. Come on.”

Yusuke allowed himself to be dragged down the corridor, thinking that Madarame would just yank him upstairs and maybe shut him in his room. That wouldn’t be so bad.

His eyes widened when Madarame pulled him past the stairs and a little further down the hall. He dug his heels into the ground and tried to wrench his arms from Madarame’s grasp. Madarame just tightened his grip, digging in his fingernails harshly.

“Sensei please!” he cried. “Please! I’m sorry.”

“You have to learn.”

“But I don’t want to!”

“Do you think I care what you want?” yelled Madarame, hauling Yusuke into the cupboard beneath the stairs. “This is for your own good.”

With that, Madarame slammed the door shut and locked it. Yusuke screamed to be let out, but was ignored. He tried to force open the door, but only succeeded in making himself exhausted. Defeated, he sunk down to the floor.

There was a miniscule crack in the wood which let in a little light, but it wasn’t enough to illuminate the dark cupboard. Of all the punishments he endured from Madarame, this was the one he hated the most. It was cramped and uncomfortable, and he never knew how long it would last. Madarame would let him out once he felt he had learned his lesson, whenever that was.

His wrists hurt where Madarame had dug in his nails. Yusuke wasn’t sure if they were bleeding or not – it was dark enough in the cupboard that he couldn’t discern the difference between the paint and the possible blood – but it hurt all the same. Why did Madarame hurt him like this?

It’s because you were bad.

Was that true? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know anything anymore.

He had been in there for some time when the front door creaked open. Yusuke heard footsteps coming toward him. He peered through the crack and saw that it was Natsuhiko, home from running errands.

“Yusuke, where are you?” called Natsuhiko.

“I’m in here!” responded Yusuke. “Can you let me out?”

“Yusuke? I can’t believe that he… Not again. Are you hurt?”

“Only a little,” said Yusuke. “I might be bleeding.”

Natsuhiko mumbled something under his breath that Yusuke couldn’t quite hear. “I’m calling the police,” he said. “He’s been getting away with this for too long.”

He could hear Natsuhiko talking to the police, and even though he was pretending to be confident, his voice was trembled with every word. He was talking so quickly that Yusuke couldn’t make out the words.

There was a long pause and Natsuhiko mumbled a thank you. Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing?” shouted Madarame.

“I’ve called the police,” said Natsuhiko. “You can’t keep treating Yusuke like this. I won’t let you!”

“You have no right to tell me how to parent my son, Natsuhiko. This is a punishment – nothing more,” said Madarame.

“This is abuse!” yelled Natsuhiko. “I’ve being turning a blind eye to it for too long but this ends today.”

“I can’t believe you are doing this to me!” growled Madarame, grabbing Natsuhiko’s arm. “You’re going to regret this.”

“No!” roared Natsuhiko, snatching his arm out of Madarame’s grip. “You’re not going to control me anymore. I am done! I’m not that fifteen-year-old boy you picked up off the street. Not anymore. I’ve had enough of you using and manipulating me. This ends today.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” said Madarame. “You don’t understand anything about the world Natsuhiko. You’re so naïve, still just a child.”

Natsuhiko violently shook his head. “I’m not a child anymore. I am nineteen and I know what I am talking about. You’ve been mistreating me for so long. You abused all of us. That’s why everyone else is gone. You hurt them so much they couldn’t stand to be here anymore. You’re the reason that Tatsuo has a panic attack every time he picks up a paintbrush. You’re the reason Miki shakes in terror whenever she’s around men. You’re the reason that Yukki killed herself!”

“YOU’RE INSANE!” bellowed Madarame, grabbing onto Natsuhiko’s collar. “Do you think I wanted that to happen? I loved you all like my own children.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it. We’re terrified of you.”

“How dare you treat me like this! I took you in when no one else wanted you. I saw potential in you when you were just a homeless delinquent - when everyone saw you as trash – and this is how you treat me?” He sounded genuinely upset and Yusuke felt a little guilty.

Madarame continued. “You’ve always been manipulative but this is a new low, even for you. Prank calling 911 is a crime you know.”

“I didn’t…”

“Yes, you did. You called the police out of spite. All because you want revenge for nothing.”

Natsuhiko stared at him. “That’s not- I’m didn’t- You’re lying.”

“Let’s see what the cops think,” growled Madarame. “Whose story are they going to believe? The accomplished, famous artist or the high school drop out who never amounted to anything? I know who’s side I’d be on.”

There was a ring at the front door. “That will be them now. It’s not too late to back down.”

Natsuhiko faltered for a moment - for just long enough for Yusuke to think he had given up – before giving Madarame a sharp glare and shaking his head.

“Suit yourself,” said Madarame. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

***

The officer inspected Yusuke’s wrist. Traces of blood lingered amongst the red paint.

“You’re saying he did this?” asked the officer, gesturing towards Natsuhiko. Madarame gave a nod.

“I’m afraid so,” he sighed. "Natsuhiko tends to get a little aggressive with his brother when they play.”

“Bullshit!” yelled Natsuhiko. “You’re lying.”

“Don’t speak to your father like that,” snapped the officer.

“But nothing he’s saying is true,” said Natsuhiko desperately. “He’s the one who hurt Yusuke, not me.”

The officer sighed and stood up. “Calling the police under false pretences is a crime. I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t do it again. If we’re done here, I need to leave.”

“You can’t leave.” Natsuhiko grabbed a hold of the officer’s sleeve. “Please, he’s lying.”

“Let it go kid,” said the officer. He slammed the front door shut on his way out.

“Go to your room Yusuke,” hissed Madarame.

Yusuke eyes flicked between Madarame and Natsuhiko, unsure and frightened.

Natsuhiko gave him a brave smile. “I’ll be okay Yusuke,” he said. “You can go.”

***

Natsuhiko limped into Yusuke’s room a while later, a shadow of the person he was, voided of all his courage. His left eye was bruised purple and black, and his lip was split down the middle.

“What did he do to you?” asked Yusuke.

“Nothing he hasn’t done before,” said Natsuhiko, sitting on Yusuke’s bed. “If you could leave today, would you do it?” he asked, wiping the blood from his lip.

There was a long empty pause

“I would,” he admitted. “Are you going to leave?”

Natsuhiko stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

***

The next morning, Yusuke woke up to a single post-it note on his bedroom door. It had a phone number written on it, as well as two words.

I’m sorry.

 Age 13

Yusuke had finished his first proper painting. He called it Grief. It had taken him hours and he was satisfied with it. The way the colours and shapes twisted upon each other was perfect and the colours were just right, which was satisfying. He had spent so long picking the right shades of blue and red that he worried he would have gone mad.

There was something profound about it. It was an apt representation of how he felt about his mothers passing - tornado of sorrow and bitterness. He barely remembered her but there was still an empty hole she had left in his heart that nothing seemed to fill.

Yusuke had proudly showed it to Madarame, rambling about his inspiration and the techniques he had used. Madarame gave him an impressed smile, that seemed ever so slightly forced.

Then, he asked Yusuke something strange. “Do you remember the day your mother died?”

“I don’t,” lied Yusuke. His recollection of the day was vague but there were shards of the memory clinging to his mind. He remembered a dark shadow, and the kind man who came to help him. He wanted to tell Madarame about the shadow, but he would never believe Yusuke.

Besides, the selfish part of his brain wanted to hold onto the final moments of his mothers life for himself.

“That’s good,” said Madarame. “I wouldn’t want you to remember something so... traumatic.” He tapped the painting. “Do you mind if I hold onto this for a little longer? I need to have a closer look before I can give you feedback.” Yusuke had been more than happy to let him keep the painting.

Two weeks later, Madarame held an abrupt exhibit. Yusuke had been excited to see what art would be on display. Madarame had been struggling with significant art block for weeks and Yusuke was glad that he was feeling creative again.

Yusuke was floored when he saw the principal piece of the exhibit. It was the painting he had poured his heart and soul into encased in a gaudy ,golden frame.

For a moment, he thought Madarame had put it up by accident. He glanced around. His mentor was just a few feet away, happily chatting with a critic. He hadn’t even noticed the mistake. Should he tell him?

Madarame walked over and stopped in front of the painting. He would have to realise his mistake now. Right? The critic studied the artwork with an enamoured look on his face. “This is a fascinating piece,” he said. “I'd love to know your inspiration.”

Madarame gave a serpent’s grin. “This piece is one of my favourites in this collection. It plays with the concept of fame and how it effects one’s ability to create art.”

The fan nodded. “I see. That makes a remarkable amount of sense.”

Bullshit! Everything Madarame had said was bullshit. He had stolen Yusuke’s art. Yusuke had ripped open his own heart and poured it onto the canvas, and Madarame had taken it like it meant nothing. Yusuke wouldn’t have minded Madarame taking credit for it either, as long as he had asked and hadn’t corrupted the meaning like that. That was unforgivable.

He listened to the two men talk for a little while longer. Once the critic was gone, he pulled Madarame far away from prying eyes or ears.

“Why did you steal my painting?” he demanded.

Madarame frowned. “I didn’t steal anything Yusuke. You agreed to let me use it for this exhibit.”

“I agreed for let you keep it for a bit. I never agreed to this!”

“Stop being so selfish,” snapped Madarame. “I’ve done everything for you these past years. You owe me. The least you can do is stop being such a brat.”

“But this painting is so personal...” muttered Yusuke, looking anywhere but Madarame’s face. Why did he feel like the bad guy? Madarame was in the wrong. Madarame had stolen from him and lied and hurt him. So why did Yusuke feel so guilty about upsetting him?

“All paintings are personal,” said Madarame. “Yours is nothing special.”

“But I –"

“You’re being ridiculous Yusuke. This conversation is over. You agreed to this and getting upset over nothing isn’t helping anyone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an exhibit to attend to.” He whirled around and walked away, leaving Yusuke standing alone, confused and guilty.

Age 15

The feeling of the paintbrush in Yusuke’s hand was familiar and reassuring. The growling feeling in his stomach was familiar as well, though it did nothing to comfort him. He put down his brush and looked up from the painting he was working on.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

Madarame sipped his green tea. “Be patient.”

Yusuke frowned. “But I want to eat now.”

“Don’t be selfish Yusuke.”

“But—”

“Just finish this painting, then you can eat,” Madarame stood up and setting his cup in the sink.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He patted Yusuke on the shoulder as he left the room. Yusuke listened to him fetch his coat, leave the house and lock the door behind him. It wasn’t unusual for Madarame to go out in the evenings, so Yusuke paid it no mind.

He returned to his painting, the hunger gnawing at him like a wild beast.

 Yusuke finished his painting after a few hours and immediately went to start another. It wasn’t that late, not really. It was barely even dark outside. Besides, the more work he did, the happier Sensei was. It was a simple equation really. Hard work went in one end and kindness came out the other.

The next time he checked the clock, it was nearly midnight. His eyes strained when he pulled them away from the canvas. When had it gotten so late?

He really should eat something.

When he checked the fridge, he found it was nearly empty. Yusuke wouldn’t be sent grocery shopping until Sunday and the food would have to last until then. Besides, the gnawing in his stomach had calmed a bit. He could survive another night.

Something deep down told him he doesn’t deserve anything anyway.

Yusuke tidied up after himself and went to his frigid room. It was always cold in there because the radiators didn’t work. They broke down a few weeks after Natsuhiko left and had never been fixed.

He didn’t have much - just his futon, a small table and an easel in the corner - but it was enough. Madarame had always preached that worldly possessions and wealth corrupted an artist. You couldn’t be creative if you were happy and content. You needed to suffer.

Art is borne through suffering. Art requires sacrifice. Pain is temporary but Art is forever.

He lay down on his futon, exhausted and hungry. A tiny shard of anxiety lingered in his mind, keeping him awake. Madarame still wasn’t home. It was unusual for him to stay out this late without warning Yusuke first.

Yusuke was probably just being paranoid. Everything would be fine. His sleep slowly came to him, like snow settling on the ground, only to kicked around by the first person to deem it’s existence inconvenient to them.

He was startled from his brief rest by a sharp banging at the door. Yusuke dragged himself out of bed and went to let him in. Opening the door, he saw something he didn’t expect.

It was Madarame.

He was drunk.

Yusuke knew that Madarame drank – it wasn’t a secret – but he had never actually seen him drunk before. Whenever he stayed out late, he would slink off to bed while Yusuke was asleep, being careful to not wake him up. Yusuke would find him hungover the next morning and connect the dots.

Madarame looked like shit. That was the simplest way to describe it. There was vomit down his shirt, he reeked of whisky and his hair was wild and unkempt, as if he had been caught in a hurricane on his way home. He swayed on his feet, to intoxicated to keep his balance.

“What are you doing awake?” he slurred. “It’s late. You have school tomorrow.”

I was up late worrying about you.

“You’re drunk,” said Yusuke, slightly more accusatory than he intended.

Madarame bristled. “I’m not drunk,” he snapped. “I’m just a little… tipsy.”

Why does he even bother to lie?

“I think I’m going to be sick again,” muttered Madarame, stumbling into the house.

Yusuke grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the bathroom. Madarame retched and Yusuke went to pull his hair out of his face so he didn’t get sick in it.

As it turns out, helping your drunk father puke at one o’clock in the morning is not fun. Madarame looked rather pathetic, and Yusuke wondered why he kept doing this to himself. It only ever brought him pain.

Helping Madarame into his bedroom, Yusuke handed him a clean set of clothes. He turned around while Madarame got changed and took the soiled clothes from him afterwards.

“You are so much like your mother Yusuke,” croaked Madarame, as he settled down. “Sometimes, when I look at you, I see her eyes staring back at me.”

Yusuke didn’t remember his mother, but from the few blurry pictures that he had found around the shack, left forgotten in notebooks and stashed away in drawers, he knew they looked a lot alike. They shared the same dark hair, cool-grey eyes and lean stature. They could have been twins.

“I loved your mother,” wept Madarame, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “I wish I did something differently that day. I could have saved her.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” reassured Yusuke. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”

Madarame rolled over to his side, racked with sobs, and Yusuke comforted him until he fell asleep. He wasn’t slightly surprised when he only got to bed himself at four in the morning.

He was even less surprised when he fell asleep in class the next morning. His teacher hit him over the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper and Yusuke jumped so hard he almost fell out his chair.

“No sleeping in class,” he snapped. “Why on earth are you sleeping anyway? Did you stay up late watching television or something?”

Yusuke nodded.

He didn’t know what he would say. How would he explain that his father is falling apart at the seams? That he seems to be drunk more often than he is sober? It makes him feel lonely and isolated. There is no way that his teacher could understand.

No one could possibly understand.

 Age 16

Yusuke was staying at Ren’s house for the night. It felt strange to sleep in the same room as another person; he hadn’t shared a room with someone since his mother died.

He couldn’t sleep, anxiety swirling in his chest. What if something had happened to Madarame? What if he had a mental shutdown? Even after everything Madarame had done to him, Yusuke didn’t want him to die. He tried to reassure himself that Madarame had been okay when he had made his confession.

Still, they didn’t know much about the mental shutdowns. Could they be delayed? He wanted to poke Morgana awake and ask him, but decided not to. He didn’t want to be a nuisance. Morgana flicked his tail in his sleep and Yusuke hoped he was having a nice dream.

It was too quiet in the attic. The only sound was the rain beating down on the roof and Ren snoring on the couch. Ren had insisted that he take the bed, which only made Yusuke feel more guilty. Ren had done so much for him and Yusuke didn’t want sink further in his debt.

You’re so selfish Yusuke. You always use people.

He wanted to wake Ren up. He wanted to feel less alone. He wanted to let out this worry before it ate him alive. Ren had said that Yusuke could wake him if he needed him.

But you don’t need him, not really. You want him, but you don’t need him.

He decided to let him sleep. Yusuke stared at Ren, pondering. Why had he helped Yusuke in the first place? He had been so rude to him and his friends when they’d first met. Still, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to hold a grudge. He had probably forgiven Yusuke already.

Hopefully.

Yusuke laid back in bed, trying to force himself to sleep. He jumped a little when his phone vibrated on the windowsill. Someone was calling him. No one ever called him.

He was about to decline the call, when he recognised the number. Trying to keep his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Ren up, he spoke.

“Natsuhiko?”

“Yusuke, there’s something I need to tell you,” said Natsuhiko. He paused, as if trying to figure out what to say next. “There’s no easy way to say this but Madarame is dead.”

“What?” exclaimed Yusuke. Ren stirred on the couch. Yusuke lowered his voice. “How did you—"

“I have a friend who works at the Police Hospital,” explained Natsuhiko. “He told me.”

“That can’t be true…” Madarame couldn’t be dead. Yusuke couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it.

Natsuhiko sighed, his voice more sympathetic that Yusuke expected. “He was an old man Yusuke. Being arrested put too much stress on his heart and he couldn’t handle it.”

“Sensei always had a weak heart...” mumbled Yusuke as a wave of guilt crashed over him. He had done this. He had killed his father. And for what? A mere slight or two? Was that worth snuffing out a human life?

Natsuhiko sighed and for a split-second Yusuke thought Natsuhiko knew what he had done. His logical side reminded him that was ridiculous.

“Look, I wanted to be the one to tell you this rather than some stranger,” said Natsuhiko. “Madarame wasn’t a good man but he was still your father. It’s okay to mourn him.”

There was a pause. “I have to go,” said Natsuhiko. “Are you going to be okay?” The question was as loaded as Yusuke's silence.

“I’ll be fine,” murmured Yusuke. Natsuhiko hung up, leaving Yusuke with his horrified thoughts.

He faintly realised that he was crying. Why couldn’t he stop? He was such an idiot. He was going to wake Ren up. But Yusuke couldn’t stop the tears from coming. He was a murderer. No one could know about this.

He could leave. The idea hung around his head for a minute. There was nothing trapping him here. He could just pick up his bags and leave. Escape the scorn of the only real friends he ever had.

But where would he go? He couldn’t go back to the dorms. Everyone there knew him about Madarame and he wouldn’t be able to take their pitying stares. He would stay at a motel, but he had no money. How would be pay for it?

He really had nowhere to go. Yusuke had never felt so guilty and lonely and helpless as he did in that moment. Pulling his knees to his chest, he wiped tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and did his best to quell his weeping.

You’re not seven years old anymore Yusuke. Stop crying.

He was so inside his own head that he didn’t notice that Ren had woken up until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Yusuke looked up at him through bleary eyes, his brain barely recognising his friend.

“Yusuke… Are you—"

Yusuke pushed him away and scrambled to his feet. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped.

“Yusuke, what’s wrong?” said Ren. “I just want to help you.”

“I killed Madarame! Natsuhiko just told me he had a heart attack. He’s dead and it’s all my fault.” He fell to his knees, chest heaving.

“I’m a murderer,” he sobbed. “I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted him to die.”

“You are not a killer,” said Ren, crouching down to Yusuke’s level. “I’ve only known you a week, but I know that much. You didn’t kill him.”

“But I stole his heart, knowing this could happen. He was old and weak. I should have known better.”

Yusuke was startled when Ren wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “You couldn’t possibly have predicted this Yusuke. Besides, stealing a heart doesn’t cause heart attacks. We know that much. You didn’t kill him.”

Suddenly, Yusuke was three years old again, wrapped up in his mother’s arms. He hasn’t felt safe in so long, but in that moment he found comfort again.

Ren didn’t judge him. Ren wasn’t mean or snippy, even when Yusuke got tears and snot all over his t-shirt. Ren hand rested lightly on Yusuke’s shoulder, holding him to reality when Yusuke was sure he might evaporate and float away. He is an anchor. A lighthouse in a stormy ocean. A beacon of comfort in the mess of Yusuke’s life.

Yusuke’s voice was ragged by the time he finally brought himself to speak.

“I hated him,” he muttered. “Despised him even. But there were good days. Days where I loved him. Sometimes we would sit in the den together for hours, just painting. Painting and painting and painting. He used to praise me too. “You’re such a talented painter,” he would say. “You’re such a good kid. I love you so much.”

“You never knew what to expect from him. Sweet words could be replaced with cutting insults in an instant. But I wanted that praise so badly that I would hunt for it. I would do anything he asked, just so I could hear that praise. Turn over all my art, go without food, take his insults and abuse, all for the promise of a little kindness at the end of it all. I only ever wanted to be loved. I only ever wanted him to love me.”

Yusuke buried his face into Ren’s shoulder, not wanting to see Ren’s to see his pathetic expression. “Why do I still love him? Why do I still love the man who ruined my childhood? The man who killed my mother? The man who treated me like dirt? Why can’t I just admit that he hurt me?”

“Will I always be his property?” he asked. “A portrait in his museum of stolen work. His son in name but not in practice. His prodigy. His worker. Will I ever be free from him?”

Ren held Yusuke even tighter. “You are a creator,” he said. “And you are an artist. You are so much more than your past. So much more than what he said you were. And most all, you are my friend. I care about you Yusuke.”

For the first time in his life, Yusuke knew he was hearing the truth.

[naturalswifty89]

Rejection Klaus Hargreeves x reader

word count:1222

summary: Reader accidentally let’s it slip that she’s in love with her best friend Klaus.

warnings: Probably bad grammar, it’s not my strong suit I’m sorry guys! a curse word or two! Angst??

--

Your head rested in your hands, then ran through your hair. Klaus voice rang out and you looked up to give a small laugh at his antics. He was currently sitting on the floor of your room with multiple sharpies all different colors. He sat there scribbling the most randoms things that came to his mind. Your walls were slowly being taken over by the doodles, and thoughts of your best friend. 

"(y/n), what's on that beautiful mind of yours?" Klaus asked. You broke your stare at the wall to look at him. "Oh nothing I was just trying to find my favorite thing you've done. It's very difficult seeing as I love it all." you say. Getting up from the spot on your bed you move to the wall that your observing. you heard a shuffle and turned to see Klaus crawling along the floor to sit in front of the wall. You looked down at him and laughed. he looked up at you with his beautiful green eyes. "c'mon sit next to me. show me your favorite. I know you said you can't choose but I know you too well to know that the only reason you're saying that is because you want it to be fair, and don't want just one to stand out to you, out of all the rest because you think it's rude." he said, almost out of breath. Sitting down next to him, you turn away to blush softly. "Ok, Klaus.. you're right.. I'll tell you which one is my favorite. " you say and look up at him once more. "that's my girl, alright now tell me which one!" he exclaimed. 

you blushed when he called you his girl.To be honest you had fallen in love with this crazy eccentric yet vulnerable man.  

you scanned the wall looking for the little sketch of you and him, that said next to it: "KH +(y/i)" (y/i= Your initials) 

He also put a little heart next to it. It gave you butterflies every time. sitting up slightly you pointed it out to him. A smile formed on his lips and chuckle slipped out. "I remember that one, It was the night your ex dumped you; and you called me crying. Wow, that was a long time ago. " he traced over the sketch gently. You just turned to admire him as he admired the sketch. His jaw was sharp, and his brow furrowed in concentration. His lips slightly parted as he put his focus on the art on the wall. The sun hit him perfectly, and bounced of his shiny curls. The sight was perfect. 

"I love you Klaus." You blurted out. Your eyes grew wide at what just escaped your thoughts, and became words. His hand instantly dropped into his lap from its place on the wall. his shoulders tensed and he said nothing. 

"Klaus, I'm sorry just.. uh.. just forget it ok. I didn't mean to say it.." You said swallowing thickly, begging your body to move away from him.  "(y/n),wait." he mumbled. You whipped your head around his words giving you a sinking feeling but the slightest bit of hope. "Did you just say you loved me?" he asked. This time he slowly stood and looked at you. his eyebrows even more furrowed in confusion. It took a moment before you finally spoke. "Yeah.. I did.. I love you Klaus, and i have for a long time now.." you trailed off staring at your hands as you played with them. not daring to meet Klaus' gaze, in fear of coming undone. 

Silence, that's all that was left, and that was the only sign you needed to know that he didn't feel the same.  Finally you gathered the courage to lift your head up to look at him. his eyes were wide in shock, but that shock slowly melted into this look of fear.  Seeing this you let out a breath you didn't have any clue you had held. Hearing no response after almost a minute of the silence your eyes began to sting. he opened his mouth about to speak finally until you interrupted him. "No, Klaus. You don't have to say anything. I get it, you don't feel the same. Don't worry about it, I'm fine." You said. Your voice was surprisingly calm, but you felt your lips tremble.  

He felt heart broken as he looked at you crumbling before him. Feeling as though it was his fault for your pain. "Please (y/n), you have to understand.. Your my best friend and I do love you but we could never happen. I can't even picture it. Me and you would just not be good at all, it would be so weird to be seen with you as my girlfriend. " He said. 

Your eyes stung and the tears fell at his words.  Your heart shattered like ice falling from a stain-glass window. he couldn't even picture being seen with you as his girlfriend?

"It would be weird to be seen with me? You can't even picture us, what? With you holding me in public. I'm that 'weird' that you wouldn't even want to be seen with me?" you asked.  At this point tears poured down your face.  Hearing your words he realized what he said. he didn't mean it like that, but that's the way it came across. 

"No, that's not" he didn't get to finish "let me guess. that's not what you meant? It didn't come out the way you wanted it to?" you snapped back. Klaus stared at you in horror and panic. "Well, guess what. All you had to say was that you didn't love me back. But you crossed a line and you're so far past it that it's invisible now. All you had to fucking say was that you didn't feel the same. then maybe we'd be ok. But you didn't." you state. Your voice shook, as you looked at him through teary eyes. 

He stayed silent, as if unable to speak or move one bit. You scoffed as you looked at him. "Klaus, I need you to leave." You said pointing to the door. He snapped out of his weird state of mind to rush towards you throwing apologies at you. Trying to grab your hands and explain. 

"You're my best friend (y/n), the only one who has ever understood me.. please don't leave me. I love you so much. I love to be seen with you. You're my witty, smart and beautiful friend, that I love. I'm sorry it's not the way you love me.. but please know that I love you. " He pleaded with you. 

"Klaus I'm not leaving you. I'm asking for you to leave, I need to be alone right now. I need to figure myself out before I can see you again." You said. He placed his lips to your forehead before nodding silently and walking through the door. you closed your eyes, and fell apart. Thinking to yourself 

"I just ruined everything.. Things will never be the same, that is, if we ever come back to each other." You sighed and just sat there. swimming in guilt that you just broke not only your heart but his as well. 

All you had to do was keep it to yourself. 

[love-and-monsters]

Armon the Aqrabaumelu

Hey guys! Before I get into this, I’m just letting you know I won’t be posting writing for the next two weeks because it’s grad school final time and I have so much work. In the meantime, if you want to give me some prompts, I’m all ears!

M aqrabaumelu X F reader, 2,895 words

You’ve been hired to paint a portrait for a local rich family. What do you make of your irritated (and a little irritating) subject?

Fortune Falls was a small town, but it was surprisingly bustling. Perhaps it was the variety of species that kept it that way. Perhaps it was just the sort of people who came to a place like Fortune Falls, excited young people who were trying to start up new lives and careers. At least half of the shops in town had opened in the last couple of years and were run by young residents.

You weren’t one of the excited newcomers, although you could have easily been mistaken for one. Your family was one of the first to move to Fortune Falls, which meant you had some roots here, and had managed to snag an apartment toward the town center for relatively cheap. Your family was friends with the building owner, and you were handy enough to earn your low rent.

It also meant that your career as a struggling artist was at least somewhat feasible. Your family had connections with the other families in town, especially the well-off ones. The sort of families with the disposable income who could commission artists for portraits.

That was your newest job. A commission for one of the older money families, a portrait of their second-oldest son, since he had come of age. Portraits were, in your humble opinion, exceedingly boring. Trying to paint a face staring off into the distance while subtly tweaking their worst features to suit their vain attitudes wasn’t interesting. You were much more partial to landscapes and nature scenery. Much more beautiful. But you still had expenses and if painting rich people managed to pay them, so be it. You would.

The Aristota house was technically just outside of town, on an enormous plot of land. You gathered your supplies into the passenger’s seat of your ancient car and hobbled up their long, winding driveway.

It was a pretty mansion, you thought. But it was also just a little bit too rich for your taste. The chandeliers, the velvet carpets, the deep reds and golds and creams. It was all just a little too much, like they were more interested in showing off their money than creating a house that was nice to live in.

Fortunately, you knew the family well enough for them to dispense with the overly stuffy pleasantries. “Good to see you again,” Mrs. Aristota said when you entered the sunroom. She was settled on a long, red couch, deep orange carapace glinting in the sunlight. “You’ve met Armon before?”

You looked toward the person she was gesturing at. He looked quite similar to her- a rounded, but sharp-cheeked face, thick lashes, rich, black hair, and long, delicately fingered hands. Like the rest of his family, he was, from the waist down, an enormous scorpion. His carapace was a deep shade of orange and his tail was lifted, curling behind him with its stinging tip brandished outward. You knew enough about aqrabaumelu body language to read the discomfort in his posture.

“We’ve met before,” you said. It had admittedly been years ago, when you were both teenagers, and neither of you had wanted to be around each other. “Hello.”

He dipped his head to you, then went back to staring out the window. He was wearing a black coat with little gold stitches around the hems. His long nails worked at the hem, tearing the stitches out a little at a time.

“You have the specifications for the portrait?” Mrs. Aristota asked. She rose from her couch and skittered over you, looking critically at your supplies.

“Same as the last one I did, I assume,” you said.

“This one will be a little smaller,” she said. “But roughly similar, yes. Armon will give you any more details he desires.” She walked over to him and lifted his chin in her hand. “And smile, won’t you?”

With that, she turned and headed out of the room. You finished placing your canvas on the easel and organized your paints before looking at your subject.

He’d mostly turned his back on you, staring out the windows of the sunroom into the garden. You cleared your throat. No response. You cleared it again, louder this time. His gaze flicked to you, expression unchanging.

“Are you ready to begin?” you asked. “Pick a position you think you can comfortably hold for a bit. I’ll take pictures, but I like sketching in person. It helps me with proportions.”

Armon let out a long, heavy sigh and crept across the room until he was standing in front of you. He stared flatly ahead, tail still hooked and lifted in its defensive posture. His expression was flatly neutral, almost bored. You frowned at him. “Uh. You sure that’s the position you want to go for?”

His dark eyes slid to you for a moment. Then they returned to their staring-blankly-ahead position. You shrugged. “Whatever.” You could make some touch-ups to make the position a little more interesting, more stately instead of bored. After snapping a few photos, you sat down and got to work.

A silence fell over the room. You could hear your pencil scratching against the canvas, the soft noise of your breath. Every now and then, Armon would shift a little and the hard plates of his carapace scraped quietly together. After thirty minutes, you paused, flexing your wrist.

“Wanna move around a bit?” you asked. Armon shifted his head toward you.

“I thought that would be disallowed.” His voice was both deep and quiet.

“Nah. You can shift around a little bit. Just go back to the position when you’re done. I can tweak a little bit to fix any problems. And I need a break too.” You stood up, rolling your wrist and stretching your legs. “Want to take a look at what I have so far?”

He scuttled over to you and peered at the canvas. You saw his eyes move, roving over the image, then he leaned back. There was no change in his face. “What, nothing?” you said. “I thought it was pretty good. Anything you like, don’t like, want more of?”

Armon sighed, shifting his weight. “I don’t know. I’m not an artist.”

“Well, if I think it’s a bad idea, I just won’t do it. I’m just asking your opinion. It’s your portrait.”

Armon laughed. It was a bitter, cold laugh. “This is not me,” he said, pointing at the painting.

You frowned, feeling a flicker of insult. It wasn’t your best work ever, but it didn’t look that bad. It looked like him! “In what way?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral. You’d never had any of them, but you’d heard about clients who wouldn’t let their painters stop until the image looked like a god come to earth. If he was trying that angle, you weren’t sure how long you could bite your tongue for.

Armon looked at you for a moment, then sighed out his nose and waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.” He walked back over to his position and held it again. This time, he looked even more stiff and uncomfortable. His tail tip twitched like he was threatening to strike.

You looked consideringly at the painting. Even with your careful alterations, he still looked a little stiff. His tail was arched over his back in a way that seemed unnatural, and his expression was severe. You couldn’t give an accurate depiction of his smile because you’d never seen him give one. His brother had been all grins and self-importance. Armon seemed to be sulking.

“I need a break.” You tossed down your pencil. Armon gave you a look.

“Weren’t we just taking a break?” he asked. You stretched, groaning as your joints popped. Armon blinked at you as your arm twisted around. “Humans aren’t supposed to bend that way,” he said. His expression was vaguely queasy.

“I’m double jointed,” you said. “And I need to walk around for a bit. Stretch my legs, you know? And my fingers, otherwise my hands will cramp.” You tilted your head, staring around the room with feigned interest. “Mind showing me around the place?”

Armon clicked his many legs against the ground. “Something you’re particularly interested in seeing?” he asked with little enthusiasm.

“Whatever you’re interested in is fine by me,” you said charitably. Perhaps you could get another emotion out of him that wasn’t sullen disappointment.

There was a moment of consideration, then Armon opened the glass door to the outside. Without checking to see if you were following, he stepped outside and into the sunshine.

You followed him to a small stand of trees around a pond. He settled by it, back pointed at you. “This is nice,” you said, looking around. Your fingers were itching for your supplies. It would be a lovely scene. In fact, Armon’s form seemed to fit well with it. His unfocused, serene gaze, the curl of his lowered tail, the sweep of his black hair over his brow. He seemed much more relaxed than he had in the house.

“I have an idea,” you said. Armon’s gaze became guarded as he looked up at you. “We can continue the painting out here.”

Armon gave you a bewildered look. “What?”

“It’s a nice day. And the sunroom’s really hot. We can keep going out here. Much nicer.” Armon frowned. His many legs shifted, sharp tips digging into the dirt. “Something wrong with that idea?”

“I thought Mother wanted it done in the sunroom.” His voice was stiff and his tail was starting to bristle again. You put on your easiest smile and clapped him on the shoulder. He started at the touch.

“I’ll tell her I thought it looked nicer out here. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.” You turned and started to head back inside. After a moment, you heard the quiet scuttling of Armon following you.

He watched as you gathered your supplies up. It took some skill to juggle them. You carefully slid the easel under your arm and tried to gather as many paints as you could into your arms. Armon stared at you for a moment, then picked up your paint box from the floor. He held it still while you carefully dumped your paints into it. “Thanks,” you said.

“Just helps speed things up,” he mumbled. Before you could say anything else, he headed out the door ahead of you.

You followed him back to the small stand of trees and set your supplies up again. When you looked up, you clapped a hand over your mouth, barely preventing a giggle.

There were several birds around Armon. Three of them were crows, and one was a blue jay, which was perched happily on his tail, apparently unconcerned by the venom. A chipmunk was eying him from a short distance away, and a squirrel was sitting by one of his hands without concern. Armon seemed to consider this as relatively unimpressive. His expression was just as neutral as it had been before. But his tail, you noticed, was relaxed.

“Uh,” you said gently, “so how long have you been a Disney princess?”

His tail jerked reflexively and the animals scattered. “Oh,” you said, watching in disappointment. “That would have made a cool painting. Can you make them come back?”

“I don’t make them do anything,” Armon said. “They just know me.” He looked around, his gaze softening. “I come out here a lot. It’s nice. Better than inside the house.”

There was something peaceful in his gaze. Almost without thinking, you reached out and started sketching.

“No wonder you seem comfortable out here,” you said. You kept your tone low, trying to encourage his mood. One of the birds hopped cautiously closer. Armon stretched out a hand toward it.

“Mm. The animals are nice.” The bird, a crow, closed the distance between them. Armon let out a low whistle and it hopped onto his hand. “There are stray cats out here too, sometimes. I feed them. Can’t have them in the house, though. Father doesn’t like furry pets.”

“Allergic?”

“No. He just doesn’t like the fur.” Armon stroked a finger over the bird’s head. It let out a croaking note. His lips twitched.

For the first time, you saw the tiniest of smiles appear on his face. You sketched it into place. One of his cheeks dimpled. It was rather adorable.

He stayed still and silent for several moment, stroking absently over the bird’s head. You hurried to get the scene out onto paper. It was a much more relaxed picture than the one you’d been trying to paint inside.

“You seem to have a strong connection with them,” you said after a few minutes. “Can you speak to them?”

Armon looked at you. For a moment, you were pretty sure he wasn’t going to answer, then he shrugged. “Not like we’re speaking. They’re not that intelligent. But I’ve spent enough time with them that I understand their mannerisms.” He glanced at you. “People, not so much.”

“I feel that,” you said. “I’m better with paint than people.”

Armon turned his gaze back to the bird. “You’ve been doing well to me.”

“Yeah, that’s lots of practice. I’m not very naturally good at it.” Armon snorted and his tail lashed.

“I was never any good at it. Nothing like my brother.”

You gave an absent nod. “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”

Armon closed his eyes. “He’s much better than I am.” There was a pause as he swallowed. The bird fluttered back to the ground and pecked at the soil. “I think my parents have quite given up on me.” He said it with a bit of a laugh, but his expression was twisting in a way that almost made him look like he was going to cry.

You lowered your pencil. “Given up?”

“You need to be good with people to be good at business. I’m awful with them. I’m just too unapproachable. They keep me around, add me to the collection of family portraits, but I am not what they want in a son.”

“Fuck your family,” you said. Armon blinked at you. “Your family’s too up their own ass. No offense. Why don’t you just leave? You’re old enough, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Armon said. “But I don’t really know how. I’ve never been on my own before.”

“You’ve got a lot of money. You’ve got some time. Why don’t you just figure out what you want to do? Not saying it’s going to be easy. It’ll be a lot different than what you’re used to, but it’ll be better. I mean, being an artist isn’t easy. But it’s more enjoyable than doing something easy that makes me miserable.”

The grass rustled as Armon made his way over to you. He sat down, looking at the drawing over your shoulder. There was a moment of silence, then Armon let out a low, shaky sigh.

“That’s me,” he said, reaching over to tap the painting. He traced the slight smile that twitched at his lips, the softness that gathered around his eyes. “That one is me.” He leaned into your side, letting his head rest on your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You didn’t get much more painting done that day. Armon showed you around the grounds a little bit before dropping you off at the front gate. “I’ll show you the painting when it’s done,” you said.

Armon smiled again. It was small, and it looked poorly practiced, but it was something. “I’ll look forward to it.”

It was a couple of weeks before you returned to the house. You met with Armon’s mother before going to the sun room, where Armon was waiting. He looked up as you entered.

“Here,” you said, holding it out toward him. He took it delicately, as if he was afraid his claws would tear the canvas. He stared at it for a long time, just taking in the artwork.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It’s better than I thought it was going to be.” He gave a weak smile. “All those portraits in the halls are so stuffy. So formal. They’re never something I really wanted to be a part of. This one is much nicer.”

You shrugged. “You can keep that one, if you want. I’m not getting paid for it.”

Armon’s head snapped up. “Why not?”

“Didn’t meet the specifications your mother was looking for, apparently. She said it was too… um… casual, I think.”

Armon looked down at the painting. “I’m sorry. I should have-”

“Don’t sweat it. It wasn’t your idea, remember? I pushed you into it.” You shrugged. “Your mom’s giving me a second chance, though. I would have to do it right this time.” You perched on the side of a lounge, looking steadily at Armon. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

Armon gave a small smile. “I don’t think I’d mind sitting for another portrait,” he said. “As long as you’re the one doing it.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly mad about it either,” you said. Armon made to hand you back the painting, but you pushed it back toward him. “I did say you could keep that, right? It’s a gift.”

Armon looked down at it with a faint smile. “Thank you,” he said. You memorized that smile. It was going into his portrait no matter what.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

CURSED: CHAPTER ONE

"He was a boy, She was a girl"

Kai Parker x OC!Mack Grace

Series synopsis: "We're both cursed, in a way."

We all know the story of Kai Parker, but he once lived in a very different life. Do you ever wonder what that life looked like?

Chapter summary: Mack meets a new guy at school, Kai Parker

Warnings: swearing?

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Mackenzie pulled open the car door and climbed into the passenger seat, leaning over the middle console and planting a sweet kiss on Ben's lips. He smiled into the kiss and pulled away.

"Morning babe." He said happily.

"Morning." She smiled back.

Mack dropped her bag by her feet and sat back, pulling her seatbelt across her body and plugging it in. Ben revved the engine and began driving off in the direction of the school, arguably way to fast.

The whole way to school Ben hammered on about how annoying the freshmans would be and how he was so ready to be the quarterback this year. Mack nodded along and made sounds of agreement every now and then, but she really didn't care much for Ben's popular boy life. Mack was the quiet girl who got good grades and sat on her own at lunch. She only went to parties and attended football games so she would appear the 'perfect girlfriend' as Ben said.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Ben turned to her and cupped her face, pulling her in for a long kiss that was only really to give everyone else a show. And that made her stomach drop. They got out the car and instantly she felt Ben's arm wrap around her waist, pulling her into his side tightly.

As they wandered through the halls everyone waved and said hi to Ben, completely ignoring Mack. Ben received the wanting stares of girls and some claps on the back from some of the guys on the football team. As they reached her locker Mack stopped and unlocked it, shoving her books inside and grabbing her sketch book.

"I still don't know why you even bother with those, you're not good enough to get a scholarship." Ben said bitterly, motioning to her sketch book. Mack furrowed her brows and slammed her locker shut, charging off to her first period class. She heard Ben call after her but ignored him, knowing it'd come back to bite her later.

The head splitting noise of the clock ticking filled her ears, the screeching of chair legs against the scratchy floor and the constant first-day-back chatter of her classmates slowly driving Mack insane. She'd been in the room for less than five minutes and she was already ready to self combust just to get out of this hell-hole. The graphite gilded across the page as she drew, sketching god knows what and doodling all over her sketch book pages. Someone coughed obnoxiously above her and Mack instantly looked up, coming face to face with a super hot boy she'd never seen before.

"Is this seat taken?" He spoke with a hint of cockiness, gesturing to the empty seat beside Mack. She shook her head and watched as he made his way round and pulled out the chair, dumping his bag next to the table leg and plopping down into his seat, leaning back and crossing his ankles. He looked over to Mack and her head snapped back down, her attention back on her sketches.

The teacher walked in and Mack quickly placed her textbook over her sketches, hiding them and pretending to pay attention. In actual fact, she already knew what the teacher was talking about, the droning sound of his voice like a white noise.

About half way through the lesson Mack felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked to where it came from only to see the boy from before studying her intently.

"So what's the deal with you? I don't think I've heard you mutter a single word since I've seen you." He asked, slightly confused. Mack shook her head and looked down at the desk before looking back up again, her sight instantly catching the boy's captivating blue-grey eyes.

"Who are you? I've never seen you before." She asked shyly, speaking more than she'd like to. The boy grinned widely before offering his hand for her to shake.

"Kai, Kai Parker. And I just moved here last weekend. My twin sister is also in our grade." Mack nodded and kept sketching, hoping he'd leave her alone now. But he didn't. "So how long have you lived here? What's your name?" He continued. Mack sighed.

"All my life, and I'm Mack Grace." She said almost too quietly. The sound of his voice made Mack rest her head in her hands and try to tune him out, but nothing worked.

"Mack? As in Mackenzie? That's an awful long name. Do you go by a nickname? Mack - no, too many people call you that, I bet it's what you tell everyone to call you. Oh, oh what about Kenzie? Actually, no. Too long. Ohhhh I know! I'll call you Kenz. There we go, short, sweet and catchy. Nice to meet you Kenz." Kai babbled on, not realising Mack had completely ignored him.

She'd just met the guy and she already hated him. Mack felt awful but he was just so annoying. Hot, but annoying. The rest of the lesson continued like that, Kai chatting incessantly in Mack's ear as she tried to get the work done so she could go back to her sketching and ignoring him.

"Those are soooo good." Kai basically whispered as he leant over Mack's shoulder with wide eyes, entranced as her pencil moved over the page. She snapped the book shut to stop him from looking and he turned away, muttering an offended, "O-kay." And whistling while rolling his eyes. He was staring at just the page she'd done that lesson, which was now almost completely covered in sketches of people in their class, from all the angles Mack could see them from her seat. She rolled her eyes and kept drawing, letting her long hair fall as a curtain to hide herself from him.

The sound of the bell was like music to her ears and Mack instantly stood, scooping her books into her arms and charging out the class and down the hall. With her eyes kept trained down, Mack didn't realise someone was in front of her until she collided with them. They both fell to the ground and Mack's sketches were littered all over the floor, pieces of loose paper floating down around them. She scrabbled to her knees and crawled around aimlessly, picking up the pages and stuffing them back into her book. She went to grab the last page but the other girl got there first, Mack's eyes drifting up to meet hers.

"S-Sorry." Mack said shyly, taking the page from the mystery girl and slowly standing up. The other girl joined her, giving Mack a warm smile.

"Don't worry about it, it was my fault. I'm Jo." She said reassuringly, offering her hand to Mack, who hesitantly took it before shaking.

"I'm Mack." Jo smiled at her and let Mack's hand go, stepping back slightly and speaking up again.

"Do you know where Mrs Price's class room is? I'm totally lost and totally new here." Jo admitted bashfully, looking at Mack with pleading eyes. Mack nodded and motioned for Jo to follow her before they both walked down the hall, side-by-side.

"You don't talk much." Jo observed - not in a rude way though - as they approached the door to the classroom. Mack nodded and opened the door, letting Jo walk in first. She thanked Mack before heading inside and picking two seats at the back for her and Mack.

"I was never really listened to, so I stopped talking." Mack said simply, sitting down and folding her arms over the desk. Jo nodded slowly and turned her attention to the front of the class, where Mrs Price was introducing herself to the class.

As the lesson went on Mack felt as if she could sleep, she hated American History. It was so dull and useless, not to mention Mack could probably correct Mrs Price in every 'fact' she told. Finally they were set some work and a sheet landed on her desk. Mack picked it up and examined it, just a boring old worksheet. Mack turned to Jo, hoping to find out more about her.

"So you said you were new?" Mack began. Jo made a noise of confirmation before elaborating.

"We only moved here last weekend, family of 10. I have a twin brother and a bunch of younger siblings." Mack nodded and furrowed her brows in thought.

"A twin?" She pushed.

"Yeah, he's a good brother but is extremely annoying." Jo chuckled. That's when it clicked.

"By any chance is your twin Kai?" Mack asked, suddenly realising the resemblance between the two. Jo nodded and wrote something down.

"You've met him?" Jo said while writing.

"Yeah, I sat next to him in first period. Does he ever shut up?" Mack said with a laugh at the memory of Kai chatting in her ear for the whole hour. Jo laughed too.

"Sometimes. If he's eating or-" Jo cut herself off quickly before she said too much. Mack tilted her head to the side in confusion.

"Or what?" She asked.

"Oh, um, or if he's listening to m-music." Jo answered quickly. Mack nodded uncertainly and begun her worksheet too.

Mack slowly wandered out to the car park from her last period lesson, really not wanting to spend the whole ride with Ben, but knowing she had no other way home. She walked up to Ben's car and saw him leaning against the car door, arms folded over his chest.

"Hey babe." He smirked, pulling her into a kiss. Ugh, Mack hated the name 'babe' but decided to say nothing. She smiled and said hi back quietly before opening her car door and plopping down on the seat, leaving her bag on the floor at her feet. She began humming a tune, tapping her nails lightly against the armrest as she did so. Mack looked over at Ben as she felt him sit down, shutting his door with a thud and putting the keys in the ignition. She turned her attention to her window, watching as couples walked by holding hands and friends gossiped about their first day back after winter break.

"Please stop humming, it's almost as bad as listening to you talk about fucking art scholarships." Ben snapped, huffing frustratedly and pulling out the parking space. Mack stopped and frowned, looking out the window again and ignoring whatever shitty music he put on.

Her mind drifted as they drove home, thinking about her day. Meeting Jo might've been the best thing to happen to her, seeing as she was a potential best friend. Mack and Jo really clicked, they just kind of understood each other. After their second period had ended, Mack had asked Jo to sit with her at lunch and she agreed.

The other person she thought about was Kai. God, Kai. She new he was annoying, a typical grade-A asshole and extremely attractive. She knew she should stay away, and that she shouldn't think about a guy as attractive as him when she had a boyfriend, but she didn't care. He was probably the most talkative person she'd ever met and also the most annoying, but Mack felt drawn to him, strangely.

"Mack, Mack!" Ben repeated, waving his hand in front of her face. Mack snapped out her thoughts and looked over at Ben, who didn't look too happy. "We're here." Is all he said, gesturing to Mack's small house behind him. She fake smiled and thanked him for the ride, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips before grabbing her bag and getting out the car.

"Hey Dad." Mack Shouted as she walked through the door, dropping her bag on a chair and walking into the small kitchen and reaching for a glass from the cupboard. She filled it with water and gulped it all down, setting the glass down on the counter before sitting at the small dining table and opening her bag.

"Hey Wolfy." Mack's Dad smiled, ruffling her hair as he walked past. "How was school?" He asked.

"Good I guess, I think I made a new friend." Mack said happily, pulling out her textbooks and starting her math homework.

"Good good." Her dad said, sitting down on the plush old armchair that was fading from age. He picked up his book and put on his glasses, opening it up and peering over the top at Mack. "Your sister has the night shift tonight and I'm meeting Tony for a meeting about the company at eight, so you have the house to yourself tonight." He said before redirecting his eyes to his book.

Mack's dad helped run a company with his best friend Tony, but it wasn't very big. They struggled with money so her sister wasn't in college, so she already worked at a local business and often took on an extra night shifts to help with money. Mack worked a weekend job, but spent lots of her time on her school work and drawing. She was insanely smart, getting straight A's in every subject with almost no effort, but she'd never get a scholarship off of that alone. The only thing she had a shot at was an art scholarship, otherwise she wouldn't get to go to college at all.

Mack looked up at the sound of the phone and so did her dad, but before she could answer it he got there first. He listened for a moment before holding out the phone for Mack to take.

"It's Ben." He said before walking off.

"Hey are you doing anything tonight?" Ben asked. Mack chewed her lip, contemplating her answer before deciding he'd be able to tell if she lied.

"No, Kim is taking the night shift and my dad is going out at eight." She said, still not sure if she should've just said she was busy.

"Perfect. I'll come over for eight thirty?" Ben said.

Mack gulped. This would be the first time she was home alone with Ben and for some reason the thought scared her rather than excited her.

"See you at eight thirty."

[elskamo]

Aleduncan Week, Day 3

It’s a day late but I have some fluff for you for Day 3′s Childhood and Memories prompts. It’s a cute, light-hearted one and you’ve even got a dumb sketch to go with it. Don’t forget to let me know if you have anything for Aleduncan Week so I can reblog the hell out of it for you! (Drabble under the cut)

“Al come back!” “Come back Allie!” “Aaaaaaaaaaal!” Alejandro ran away as quickly as his little legs would go. His parents had always told him that he should be kind to others and normally adults would praise how much of a gentleman he was already at his age. Considering what that group of girls was trying to do to him however he figured hiding was justified.

He'd come to Canada with his family on vacation though so far it had been a complete bust. His parents were still doing work even though they’d promised not to, and his brothers didn’t want to play with him. Instead of the spending time together like he’d hoped he was dumped at the resort’s kids club. One of the girls had begged him to join their game and before he knew it they were arguing amongst themselves about who got to be his wife and insisting he choose one of them to kiss. Gross!

Looking around desperately he noticed a couple of grownups stood chatting in the doorway to the playroom. With the girls still in hot pursuit he seized his moment, squeezing through the gap between the adult’s legs and escaping outside. After a few minutes he found himself running out of breath and, certain that he was no longer being chased, flopped down onto the grass.

For a while Alejandro just stared up into the sky watching the clouds until another little boy’s face came into view. He looked a lot different to the other boys back at home, the most notable difference of all being his bright green hair. As the boy noticed him and came over Alejandro got up from his spot on the ground.

When the two were face to face Alejandro asked, “What are you doing?” The boy pouted and folded his arms, “My parents tried making me go to some stupid kids club, but I got out. When one of the resort ladies took me to wash the paint out my hair I escaped! Now I can play outside til my mommy comes back.” He tilted his head curiously, “Why are you here?” 

“I ran out while the grownups were talking. Those girls said I had to get married, they were gonna make me kiss them!” The other boy wrinkled his nose in disgust, “Eeeew! You can’t do that; everyone knows girls have cooties…” The two of them shuddered at the thought before wandering around the resort together.

As they explored the outside of the premises together (and tried to avoid bumping into any adults) Alejandro’s new friend turned to him, “I am never ever gonna have a girlfriend or a wife, I’m gonna live with my dog Petey instead.” Alejandro nodded, “Agreed. You’d have to be un gilipollas to want to kiss girls.” The other boy frowned, “What’s a heely poyass?” “I don’t really know but my brothers call each other that all the time so it’s gotta be bad.”

The two kept walking for a while, making jokes and having fun together when they almost bumped into a couple of resort staff. Hiding until they were sure the grownups had gone Alejandro turned to his friend, “What do we do now? We can’t hide forever…” The other boy sighed, “I guess we have to go back to the kids club; our parents will be back soon anyway.” He looked at Alejandro nervously, “What if those dumb girls try and marry you again?”

Alejandro thought for a moment, his eyes glancing around as he came up with a plan. Noticing the flowers dotted around on the grass he grinned and plucked one out, “We can get married instead! You can be my wife and then neither of us will have to kiss any yucky girls.” A soft blush settled on his friend’s cheeks as Alejandro held out the flower to him, “You wanna marry me?”

The other boy considered this for a few seconds before nodding enthusiastically, “I do!” Smiling gently at each other the green haired boy took the flower and the pair ran back inside, their fingers intertwined.

Duncan carelessly began tossing items into the cardboard box in front of him as he cleaned out his closet. Alejandro had told him countless times to make sure he finished packing before the moving truck arrived but of course he hadn’t listened.  Why would he want to waste time sorting through old junk when he could make out with his boyfriend instead?

Footsteps echoed down the hallway as Alejandro approached his childhood bedroom, “I can’t believe you’re finally moving in with me, this is going to be- mierda! Duncan, only half your stuff is packed.” Sighing he knelt down and began emptying the drawers into the box, “You realise the sooner you get this done the sooner you get to live with me right?”

The delinquent rolled his eyes, “I know, I know… if there’s anything I can do to-” “We are not making out until this room is 100% packed up.” “Aw man…” Duncan pouted and carried on grabbing items off his shelves, glancing idly over at his boyfriend before shouting, “Be careful with that!” Alejandro startled and dropped the book he was holding, some of the pages flipping open on the floor.

Both men rushed to make sure the book was okay, Alejandro smoothing down one of the pages, “It’s alright cariño, see, there’s no damage.” The pair looked over the contents of the open page: a few ticket stubs, an embarrassing polaroid of Duncan and his brothers as toddlers, and a pressed flower. Alejandro’s brow creased, his finger softly tracing one of the petals, “Where’d you get this?”

To his surprise Duncan’s cheeks burned red, “Someone… special gave it to me when we were kids. I must’ve been 5 or 6? I guess it just felt like something I should hold onto.” Slowly Alejandro began laughing, much to Duncan’s confusion, “I take it I should start calling you my wife again huh?” Realisation finally setting in the two kissed each other softly, Duncan murmuring as they parted, “If you can find a ring maybe I’ll let you call me husband…”

[vanaera]

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟐 | 𝐣𝐣𝐤

Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Characters: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre/AU: Sci-fi, romance, angst, mystery, action (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 8.2k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); heavy descriptions of a hit-and-run; mentions of blood from injuries (PG-16 Rating)

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

              The skies were gray and the streets were damp and yet the air remains humid. The scorching heat on the pavement permeates the soles of his leather combat boots. It’s the familiar stench of Down Hill. Jungkook could already smell it when he’s just reaching the boundary between it and Middle Town.

              Jungkook looks down at the scrap of paper that’s been in his pocket since the day started. Namjoon had to write the address of this Y/N L/N, lest DOJ traces his electronic trail and take him in for unnecessary questioning. Jungkook himself had to make up some petty excuse of a “hurting arm” to file a day-off. He just hopes all of this spent effort will worth him something.

              Jungkook nears the 7-Eleven sitting in the fork of the streets. Namjoon wrote Y/N’s studio is cramped among the apartments around this area. He said she never really penned down a home to accommodate covert meet-ups like this. All she has is her studio. 

              In “Mini Palais, 23-B,” Jungkook mutters again, huffing in front of a door with cracking cadet blue paint. He finds the unit after climbing up a series of stairs at the end of the alleyway jammed between the decaying 7-Eleven and a battered motor shop. Jungkook raises his hand to knock when the door bursts open.

              In front of him is a girl. Namjoon already said so and although Jungkook thinks it’s accurate enough for the girl who’s looking up at him through chopped raven bangs, it also wasn’t really enough to describe her. Because the girl in front of him was an aberrant mix of a girl and a woman. Jungkook thinks she’s around her early thirties if he were to consider Namjoon’s history of working with her for about ten years in FJO. There are faint lines around her eyes to support that. However, her relatively small height, plump cheeks, and the natural rosy hue of her lips beg to decrease ten years off that supposed age.  With her youthful face, messy half-bun, and the white, floral off-shoulder dress flowing past her knees, no one will argue with Jungkook if he were to say she’s just 22. 

              “Who are you?”

              “Oh, um,” Jungkook flashes his badge, “I’m Jungkook Jeon, a captain in the Federal Justice Organization. Precrime, Murder sector. I’m here to um, avail your…services for a case.”

              The girl cocks her head to the side and gives him a once over. “I’m sorry, I don’t do services for the FJO anymore.” She moves to close the door but Jungkook was quick to block a foot between it and the wall.

              “I’m a contact of Namjoon’s!” Jungkook exclaims, “He’s Lieutenant Seokjin Kim’s close subordinate.” This is a card he didn’t want to use but it looks like he has no other choice left. Jungkook clears his throat. “Actually, I’m a very close contact of Namjoon. We’re best friends. I even live with him. He’s the one who told me to, um, consult you for the case I’m handling.” 

              The girl opens the door an inch. Jungkook hands a folded paper to her. She spreads it open and scans through the letter. Jungkook doesn’t know what it actually says. Namjoon just thrust it into his hands on his way out and told him not to open it. It must be an effective personal request because by the time the girl reaches the end, she’s pushing her door wide open, tilting her head to the side, beckoning him to come inside. However, her face remains grim.

              “I’m Y/N L/N. This is my studio. I know you already know I prefer to transact business here even for ones intended to be covert. So first off, I want to say I’m sorry you have to travel to such a place like this.”

              Jungkook shakes his head, “Oh no, it’s definitely alright—”

              “I kinda think it’s not when you grew up in a comfortable life. You must be quite shaken up.”

              Jungkook freezes. Y/N looks at him, “Oh, I didn’t look into you or something. It’s just a hypothetical guess, seeing your,” she motions to his silver watch. “That’s expensive. No one from here will be able to afford it anytime soon.”

              Jungkook’s shoulders turn lax. Y/N points to a chair next to a table in the corner. “Just wait there. I’m about to finish this piece in just a sec. Then I’m all yours.”

              Jungkook nods and makes himself comfortable on the seat. Unlike its appearance on the outside, Y/N’s unit is not much of a concrete wreck. It still looks a bit rough. The ceiling has cracks all over it.  A small white bulb precariously hangs on its center. It looks too weak to illuminate the whole room when the night comes. Jungkook thinks it’s a good thing that the unit has huge gaping rectangular windows to let in the natural light. The floor is cemented in gray but the work on it is unimpressive as there are numerous uneven layers, rough patches, and dents that could only be ascribed to poor mason work. The white wallpaper is torn around, some even wet at the edges—probably due to a leak during rains. 

              However, the flowers painted on them is vibrant enough to uplift the dreary unit. Paintings are littered around. Many are big, a few are small. Some were seated on easels, several are just laying around on the floor. Newspapers are strewn across the majority of the floor. Buckets and tin cans of paints line up the corners like a prayer circle. 

              All the colors present in the room can only be attributed to the paint that’s strewn across the newspapers, the paintings, and the 6’ tall canvas of an owl in flight Y/N is currently working on. The girl is standing on a small foldable ladder, painting the feathers of the bird at the top of the canvas. When the wind blows her hair to the side, Jungkook finds a mirage of colors on the scarlet spider lilies inked on her spine.

              After about two minutes, Y/N steps down and dumps her brush into a rusted bucket filled with water. She turns to the man on the chair and makes her way to the stool opposite his. She fixes down her dress and finally looks at Jungkook. “So, what case do you have for me?”

              “This,” Jungkook slides a couple of pictures toward her. They are the screen captures from the CCTV records that caught the black Jaguar. “There’s an unknown driver who’s doing an illegal time jump patterned to Precrime’s traveling agents. We tried to run in the license plate but it just turned to be ‘invalid.’ All we know is that the suspect is male, slim, and tall. He’s interested in the Winston Assassination, and has probably inside ties in FJO since he easily entered the Special Operations Building just ten days ago.”

              “None of the traveling agents has seen this man before? Precrime or Forecrime?”

              Jungkook shakes his head.

              Y/N licks a finger and flips to the next picture, “What about the car?”

              “None of the agents has seen a suspicious sedan sports Jaguar before. It’s the first time we have someone presumably well-to-do threatening the justice system.”

              Y/N nods. Jungkook inserts his hand into his pocket and retrieves a black USB. He hands it to the girl. “Here’s more of the screenshots from the CCTVs, taken in each second. I can’t give you the CCTVs because of the protocol. I can only give you these. Just imagine they’re moving,” Jungkook purses his lips as he looks at the girl. “I want you to identify this man for me.”

              Y/N tucks the USB into her dress’ pocket. She slides the pictures back to Jungkook. “This seems to be a heavy identification check then. Not that I couldn’t handle, of course. However, Namjoon must have told you that my rates are quite high—”

              “Money is not a problem.”

              Y/N cocks a brow, “So you did grow up a comfortable life.”

              Jungkook clenches his jaw.

              Y/N chuckles, “Okay, I’m not gonna dwell on it more. It’s settled then. Send your weekly payment to this account,” Y/N tears a piece from the rolls of paper by her side, scribbles on it, and hands it to him. “Every Friday, 10 AM sharp.” Jungkook looks at the paper before tucking it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

              Y/N crosses her arms, “We can start next week after you give me the downpayment.”

              Jungkook zips open a duffel bag and places a stack of bills on the table.

              “Eager, aren’t we?” Y/N smiles, “I like that.” She flips through the bills before deciding they’re legitimate and dumping it into a box by her feet. 

              Y/N turns to him. “Now, where are we? Oh—you must already know, but what I really do here is foreseeing the future for whatever cause you have. It’s not just trivial fortune-telling but a purposive one. I can accurately give you whatever you want to know.” 

              Jungkook nods. Y/N’s leans forward on the table. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really have terms and conditions with my clients. Or any contract to ensure them their protection, as what I do tend to…increase risks. Emotional security and mental stability on your part. Those two and physical toll on mine. It will be absurd to provide any contract as what I am doing is anything but guaranteeing protection. I can’t also be fully transparent about the mechanisms behind the things I will do for you. Otherwise, my gift won’t work. What I can only assure is I’ll never proceed on any memories you have set boundaries on. Should you decide to stop this negotiation anywhere in the future, I will automatically concede and keep the confidentiality of whatever that may happen. As long as on your part, you won’t consider asking for a refund.”

              “I understand.”

              “Good,” Y/N smiles, “Now first things first. Tell me any hurting point you have.”

              Jungkook goes stiff. “Is this actually necessary?”

              Y/N nods. “I know this is a tough question, but we’re talking about memories here.”

              “I know but I can’t just divulge them to a stranger—"

              “I think you don’t get what I’m saying.” Y/N lets out a humorless chuckle. “Look, Jungkook, when I attempt to see the future concerning this elusive driver you’re after, it is inevitable for the past to re-appear. There is no future without any past. Your past memories can clog up with the ones involved in the case because you are in the case. You’re heading it. Good or bad, memories will come up. That’s their thing.  They spring up at the most inconvenient times. No matter how old they already are. No matter how long you must have already moved on from them. Memories demand to be remembered and you cannot just disregard them even if you will it to because it never gave anyone a choice to do otherwise.  So, if you don’t set the boundaries on the memories you don’t want me to cross, I’ll just see everything in their utter unadulterated form.” Y/N leans forward, “And I can assure you, you don’t want that to happen.” 

              Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue. “Fine. I’ll give you my hurting point and that’s that. No further questions.”

              “Okay.”

              Jungkook digs in his back pocket for his wallet and flips it open. There’s a tattered white edge of a picture peeking through the flaps. It’s been years since he pulled it out. Its replica, now tucked in his shelf, has prevented him from doing so for so many years. Jungkook closes his eyes and slides it toward the girl. “This boy. Anything that concerns him, I don’t want you to cross or even bring up. Understand?”

              “Okay.” Y/N hands back the photo to him. “We go to the second step then. You must already have your assumed suspects. Tell me their names.”

              Jungkook draws back. “I can’t tell you that, that’s highly classified information. FJO’s protocol doesn’t allow it and—”

              “Do you seeking my help part of the protocol?”

              Jungkook looks down, “No.”

              “Right. So, tell me their names. I need to know them to make a memory map.”

              Jungkook’s brows meet “A what?”

              “A memory map,” Y/N repeats, “It’s something I make to identify points of certain memories in time. It guides me to the memories I need to tread to reach what I’m really looking for. It’s like a demo version of Forecrime’s box trainings but except of a machine, I’m doing it manually by hand. For all we know, the real suspect must be close to these suspects.” 

              Jungkook’s brow quirks up.

              Y/N leans forward, “So, tell me their names?”

              Jungkook turns his face away from her, looking at his clasped hands. “Well, I…only have one.”

              “And that is?”

              “Leigh Anderson. Winston’s assassin. FJO has been after him for 17 years. He also has a number of sponsors who’s been sending him missions with promises of large sums of money. But most of all, he’s rumored to have access to time jumping technologies. Illegal of course. FJO is the only one licensed to be utilizing them.”

              “That’s good,” Y/N quips. “Do you have any pictures of him?”

              Jungkook turns to his duffel bag and retrieves a picture. It’s Anderson in the scene of Winston’s murder that FJO has pinned to their system. The one in the crime record Jungkook produced. He hands it to Y/N. “Is this enough?”

              “More than enough,” Y/N smiles. She stands up and walks to one of her cupboards, reaching for a ceramic bowl. She pours some tap water in it and turns back to the table, a short, white candle in hand. She places the candle on the water, letting it float. She retrieves a lighter from her dress pocket and lights up the wick of the candle.

              Y/N puts her palms open on the table. “Let’s start now. Do you have your clicker with you?”

              Jungkook’s brows meet. “What?”

              “Your time jumper,” Y/N grits.

              Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “I don’t see any reason why would you need it—”

              “We’re going to the past to have a tangible memory to start on my memory map.” Before Jungkook could tear himself away from the table, Y/N launches forward and snatches the small, black device hanging on the man’s belt loop. Jungkook shoots an arm out and grabs onto it.

              But it’s too late. Y/N’s already pushed the button.

              The air is knocked out of Jungkook’s windpipe. A numbing pain starts to settle on his chest, a migraine forming on his temple. His limbs also feel stone-heavy. Precrime traveling has always been like this and yet Jungkook can never get used to it. However, he’s not left wondering about it for long because in the next second, Jungkook’s standing in front of a dark road. Tall shrubs and trees shadowing the moon, CCTVs mounted on the lamp posts lining the concrete. It’s Somerset Road.  

              Jungkook’s eyes widen. Why is he here? He tries to move but his limbs are stuck by his side, unmoving as he grunts. He tries to take a step back but the effort is futile when his feet are seemingly glued onto the dark asphalt. Jungkook sighs and turns to the road in front of him again. And this time around, Jungkook’s mouth falls ajar.

              Y/N is standing idly at the other side of the road, opposite of him.

              “H-how did you travel here—”

              A car zooms past. Jungkook turns his head to the sound. The air is punched out from his esophagus. It’s his car—the silver-gray Ford. And there at the other end of the road emerges a black sedan sports Jaguar. The Jaguar speeds on and drives into the Ford, swerving it around, tires screeching loud on the pavement. It topples down, rolling around, then round, and round. Three times, Jungkook counted. Just like the CCTV Hoseok retrieved. The Ford stops, upside down. The black Jaguar zips past it. Like the CCTVs have shown, the Jaguar reaches the other end of the street and disappears. A second passes. The body of the driver in the car drops onto the cold pavement. It lolls his head to his side, bloodied face turned towards the man standing on the pavement. 

              Jungkook’s facing right into his past. He isn’t reliving the memory. He is living it. There’s no anger but pain. Fresh, unadulterated pain that cannot be accounted to the lacerations on his injured arm.

              The wind howls. Jungkook remains frozen in his position. Then suddenly, everything stops—the distant honking of the cars, the wind, the clatter of the crushed car pieces falling onto the ground. What the fuck is happening? Jungkook turns around, only to come face to face with the girl.

              Y/N’s arm shoots forward and fists the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him down to her level. “You didn’t say this business is personal!”

              “It’s not a big deal,” Jungkook spits, tearing her hand off him.

              “It is, Jungkook! You said you were involved. I didn’t think it was this level of involved!”

              “It doesn’t change any fact that I’m still going to be involved either way! I’m still going to head this case because it’s tied with Winston. What difference does it make if I am the victim of this fucking man?!”

              “A lot!” Y/N screams. Jungkook stops. Y/N sighs, “It does a lot of difference, Jungkook. We’re already risking a lot in this until it turns out you’re a focal point in this case! You’re a fucking victim of this culprit! A conflict of interest is highly possible. You will be unable disassociate yourself from this and objectively investigate this case—” 

              “I don’t need you telling me what I should do or not, Y/N.” Jungkook steps forward to the girl. “I know what I’m doing. And I know it when I say I can investigate this following all the legal protocols.”

              Y/N tilts her head. “How can you say that when you’ve just been face-to-face with your past self?” 

              Before Jungkook can say anything, Y/N closes her eyes and clicks her finger. In just one second, everything around Jungkook falls beneath his feet—the trees, Somerset Road, his bloodied self. It rips themselves off from his senses until all he could see again is the dilapidated atelier, the barren ceilings, and, Y/N.

              Jungkook hunches over, coughing as air fills his lungs again. “H-how could you do that?”

              Y/N blows off the candle. “My gift.” She glances at the man. “The accident is taking a serious toll on you. I have to take us out of the time jump.”

                Jungkook sits back and glowers at her. “N-no, what I’m asking about is—how could you snatch my clicker and make a jump without any remorse? You do know that’s illegal!”

              “I know. ‘FJO’s traveling agents and officials are the only ones allowed by the law to engage in time jumping activities’ yaddah yaddah bullshit.”  Y/N leans on the table, face hovering the Captain’s. “But involving a then-law practitioner, much more an outsider like me, into your case is also illegal. I have my gift, yes. But I can only see the future and I won’t be able to see it accurately if I don’t have some sense of the past. Plus, I have no other pragmatic choice to start this case on the right foot. I already saw the future of our negotiation before you sat down on that stool. There’s nothing else I could say other than it didn’t end favorably for any of us.” Y/N turns back to the table she’s clearing, “Not that it’s any different now. Especially when I just learned the case you’ve showed me is more personal than you presented it to be.”

              Jungkook purses his lips. He stands up, gathers his things, and wordlessly makes his way out of the atelier. He didn’t bid the girl any farewell.

              “Looks like you haven’t been sleeping.”

              Jungkook looks up at his friend before looking down at his crossed arms, turning his attention back to his mug of coffee.

              Namjoon takes a seat cross Jungkook. “Did something happen?” He twirls the tea bag around his own mug, “Care to tell why you’ve been sporting those dark eye bags since two days ago?”

              “It’s nothing.”

              “It’s not nothing when the doctor precisely told you to have a healthy lifestyle to help your wound heal faster.”

              Jungkook looks at Namjoon.

              Namjoon points to his bandaged arm, “It indeed doesn’t look it’s healing fast like it’s supposed to.”

              Jungkook sighs. “Fine, you caught me.” He purses his lips then looks at his friend, “I’ve been wondering. You know our clickers are designed to identify the agent it was assigned to before it could work. But, is it…possible for clickers to work on someone that doesn’t belong to FJO as long as someone from FJO is present?”

              Namjoon keeps his gaze on him. A look of surprise seems to wash over his face. But it soon gets replaced by a look of recognition. Namjoon places the tea bag onto the saucer on his left. “I see you already met Y/N.”

              “Y-you knew that about her?”

              “I do,” Namjoon mutters over his cup of tea. “I learned it when the Bureau looked into the Linton Park serial murders. Seokjin’s team, including me, followed the memory map she made for us—a trail of memories that specifically belongs to anything related to the murders. But then, we hit a dead-end for the supposed next victim. Can’t identify her. We only had images of flashing movement—blood splattering in a barn, people running on a green field. There are just cops and a woman.” 

              Namjoon places down his cup, “And so, Y/N told me she needed me to help her make a time jump in the past. I pressed on the clicker and,” Namjoon shrugs, “Y/N successfully made the jump. And also successfully return with the info of the victim—a girl working on a farm. Y/N tied it to the flashing images of the field and deduced the running was not about us chasing a murderer’s accomplice. But us running after a victim before Linton could. It was hard to tell at first why the victim is running away from us. Until we learned through Y/N she was an illegal immigrant.” 

              Namjoon pulls his lips into a tight smile. “I think it’s an additional gift. But at the same time, it’s also a setback. A rightful one at that. Y/N’s inability to time jump in the past unless with a clicker a meter radius within her balances the power of her future-seeing gift. She still needs to rely on the system even if her gift for the future is, hypothetically, unbound from any constraints.” Namjoon takes a sip of his tea. “How ‘bout you? How did you learn this…extra ability of hers?”

              “She snatched my clicker from me,” Jungkook leans back in his seat. “She said she needed a ‘tangible memory’ to start on her memory map. She ended up thrusting us back into the time of my car accident.”

              Namjoon freezes. “Excuse me? Did you say ‘us’?”

              Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Yeah. We did the jump together, that’s why I’m asking you about this thing with the clickers.” 

              “Jungkook, she never did that before.”

              Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “What?”

              Namjoon scratches his nape, face scrunched up. “When she asked me to let her jump through my clicker, she didn’t take me along with the jump. It’s only her. Like it should always be as one clicker is only for one user. It’s always been like this in all the situations she asked me for a time jump in the past.” Namjoon looks at him, “I don’t know why you got in the same loop as her.”

              The night was quiet but devoid of peace. Like an ugly pause in a running film that’s just about to unwind the questions they laid at the start. Even after intaking his blue pills, Jungkook finds it difficult to close his eyes shut.

              “Big brother!”

              Jungkook turns around. The small boy stands on his tiptoes, small arms reaching for him. Jungkook smiles, “You want to climb on my back again, Daehyun?”

              “Yes!” Daehyun giggles.

              “Alright then,” Jungkook crouches in front of him and Daehyun’s squeals grow louder as he loops his stubby arms around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook stands up, securing the boy’s short legs around his torso. “Ready for some wind, big boy?” He asks. Daehyun nods frantically and soon, Jungkook is zooming on the green field, turning the heads of the children and volunteers in the park. But all Jungkook could hear was Daehyun’s laughter filling the nice summer afternoon. It brings a huge smile on Jungkook’s face. 

              Then—flashing blue and red lights. Cold pavement. A lone school bus standing in the middle. Its yellowness highlighted by the police’s yellow tape surrounding the area. Reporters dot every possible space on the crossroad. “Shooter on the loose.” “Poor child.” “Blood splattered on the seats.” But all Jungkook could hear is the white noise of the chattering. And the call of “Big brother!” he’ll never hear anymore. 

              Jungkook jolts awake. He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s all in the past,” he mutters repeatedly under his breath. But no matter how many times he repeats it, it doesn’t shake off the horror he’s reeling in. He’s had this dream again and again for eight years straight. He should be already accustomed to it. 

              Jungkook sits up straight. He turns back to his computer and sees a couple of pictures open on the desktop. It was the screenshots of the CCTVs Yoongi gave them. He looks at the top of his desk. His notes empty of anything new other than Leigh Anderson’s name webbed next to an un-filled space for sponsors. Jungkook covers his face with his palms and yawns. Just then a series of text messages come in.

              Unknown: This is Y/N. I know we left on bad terms three days ago. I’m the one to blame for that for overreacting. I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done a case for FJO. I’m still kinda hung up separating personal services from investigative ones. (2:13 P.M.)

              Unknown: Nevertheless, I hope you’re free this day. Meet me at Somerset Road. 3 P.M. I don’t want you to waste the money you gave me yesterday (2:13 P.M.)  

              Somerset Road is a thirty-minute drive from the FJO Main Headquarters. However, it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook parks his car on the side road. It seemed like hours have gone by when the sun is about to set in the alcove of trees in the distance. It’s just three in the afternoon. Jungkook steps outside and shuts the door. From his position, he could make out a girl in ripped black denim pants and black tank layered with a pink see-through mesh shirt. From the striking red of the spider lilies on the top of her spine, Jungkook could tell it was Y/N. He almost didn’t recognize her. He wouldn’t know she has an undercut had her high ponytail didn’t highlight it.

              The girl turns around and looks at him. “You’re late.”

              “I have to bribe the Maintenance Office first to give me this afternoon’s CCTVs when we’re done.” Jungkook strides toward her, “How did you get my number?”

              “Namjoon.”

              Jungkook cocks a brow.

              Y/N shrugs, “he wrote it in the letter you gave me. Should you, quote-unquote, be ‘difficult to deal with.’”

              Jungkook keeps his lips in a straight line.

              Y/N rocks on her toes, hands in her pocket. “Let’s get straight to it then. Take your clicker out and push it.”

              “What are you intending to do—”

              “A time jump.”

              “Of course, I know that. What other purpose do we use our time jumps for?” Jungkook spits. “What I want to know is what we’re supposed to be doing first before I follow whatever you want me to do because I cannot just blindly trust you with this—”

              Y/N turns her head to him, one brow cocked up, “Didn’t I tell you before I don’t fancy How-What-Why-Whatever questions to what I do or else my gift won’t work?”

              “Yes, but—”

              “Look, will you just push it or do you want me to snatch it from you again?” Y/N takes a step closer to him, leveling his eyes with hers. “I already did a read for today. I know its new hiding place.”

              Jungkook remains unmoving in his stance.

              Y/N crosses her arms. “If it would assure you, this session won’t end taxingly fruitless like the last time. I’m positive we’ll get something by the end of today.”

              “How did you know?”

              “I told you, I did a read for today. I saw you with an astounded face and me with a happy and proud smile. Obviously, we must have ended up finding something.”

              Jungkook is still unconvinced.

              Y/N sighs, “If you don’t want to do anything of what I can offer you, you know you can just terminate our connection anytime you want. Just so you know you can’t refund the 10,000 zials you gave me for the downpayment.”

              Jungkook keeps his gaze on her. A couple of seconds pass before he sighs and shakes his head as he takes out his issued clicker tucked in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

              Y/N smirks. “See? You know you’re gonna need me in the end and you still try to put up an unnecessary fight.”

              Jungkook grunts. He turns the clicker’s indicator to “1-2 weeks” timeframe and pushes the button.

              It was just like their previous time jump—like any other Precrime time jump. It felt like nothing yet also everything at the same time. An amalgamation of sensations and perceptions flashing in front of him in the blink of an eye as he is transported back to the night of his accident. Jungkook looks down at his feet. He’s back to where he last stood at—the left side of the road next to the corner where his car will come from. Jungkook turns to his left and he almost jumps in shock. Unlike their last jump, Y/N is no longer on the opposite side of the road, but beside him, shoulders almost bumping his. Jungkook takes a staggering step away from her. 

              Even if Namjoon laid everything he knows about Y/N’s skills yesterday, Jungkook still finds it hard to accept that a clairvoyant is able to look into the past with such effortless access. Aren’t they only supposed to see the future?

              “What are you looking at?”

              Jungkook tears his gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

              “Thought so, too,” Y/N quips. “We’re here to work after all. Not ogle at each other.” 

              Jungkook tongues his cheek. He’s not left to his frustration for long as after a second, the burning of tires on the asphalt is heard on their side of the road. A silver-gray Ford appears and it zooms past them in a flash. A black Jaguar subsequently shows up on the other side, its form nearing them each millisecond that passes. It’s only time ‘til the two crashes and sends Jungkook’s car rolling three times on the road.

              But, it didn’t happen. The howls of the wind stop. The screeching of the tires halts in awkward silence. And the cars are frozen still. The Jaguar’s bumper and Ford’s right door are separated by a mere inch. It’s the second before the accident happens. Paused in a picture-like frame as if someone hit the pause icon on a video.

              Jungkook whips his head to his side. Y/N has her palm closed in a post-click of her thumb and middle fingers. Jungkook feels his throat clog up, “H-how did you do that?”

              Y/N rolls her eyes. “Told you before, it’s because of my gift. And it’s also just seconds ago I told you I don’t like questions about how my gift works.” Y/N steps away from him and onto the road. “Follow me.” 

              Jungkook silently follows behind. It’s only a matter of seconds that they reach the side of the door of the silver-gray Ford. Jungkook lets his fingers touch on the coated metal. It felt cold on his flesh. Solid. Real. Jungkook can’t help but be astonished. This is no regular time jump. Totally unlike the first one he did with the woman. For this time, Jungkook doesn’t feel he’s living the film of the scene, just like any of the standard Precrime time jumping. This time, Jungkook feels he’s in the scene. Not in a film, not like the virtual reality experienced by Forecrime agents. But in real-time.

              “Take your hands off your car.”

              Jungkook tears his hands away from his car. He looks at the girl. Y/N gives him a pointed look, “I know this time jump doesn’t feel like the standard time jumps of Precrime so you may be astounded with,” she motions around them, “all of this. But I prefer you not to get too overwhelmed. We’re here for work.”

              Jungkook nods, reluctant. Y/N walks further into the side of the road, now a foot away from the spot where the cars should crash. Jungkook quickly follows behind. When he’s by an arms-length away from her, he faces back to the scene in front of him. And then, Y/N clicks her hand.

              The trees sway again. The winds continue their violent gush on the road. And the cars collide. The film is playing again.

              But then, Y/N clicks her fingers. The scene stops, frozen yet again. The bumper of the Jaguar has dug into the Ford’s door, crushing the metal with its momentum. The side mirror is broken, glass shards shattering in mid-air.

              “Come here,” Y/N beckons. Jungkook walks close behind as Y/N stops by the point of intersection of the two cars.  From their position, Jungkook could see the past him hunched over on the wheel, seat belt digging into his torso. The window by his side is broken, a splotch of blood marring the clear glass. And on his right, Jungkook could see the driver of the black Jaguar. Non-existent.

              Y/N looks at him, “So we know the man you’re after is doing an illegal time jump similar to the pattern of Precrime’s traveling agents. But what you don’t know is: he’s a professional.”

              “W-what?” 

              “Look,” Y/N flicks her wrist and makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hand. The sound goes void again and the cars back away from each other in slow motion. Jungkook’s brows shoot up.  The scene is rewinding. Y/N is turning back the time before the Jaguar collided into the Ford. And then, Y/N moves her arm horizontally to her left and clicks her fingers. The Jaguar moves forward again, but slowly this time. Jungkook could see the silhouette of the driver with arms taut on the wheel disappearing into a cloud of smoke until it turns no more but a nonexistent person on the seat as it hits the door of the Ford. 

              Y/N clicks her fingers and the scene pauses. “As you saw, it only took the driver,” she glances at her watch, “ten seconds before completely disappearing into his time jump. From how fast he disappeared, we could say it only took him twenty seconds in total to make the entire jump. I can only deduce this as the memories we have are short of the time we could see him in his solid form. The same way goes for the CCTVs you gathered. It only captured the last ten seconds of the whole accident. The Jaguar nonexistent in the frame from 20:23:39 and anything beyond before that time mark. The CCTVs only showed the Jaguar from 20:23:40 to exactly 20:24. The last 10 seconds, devoid of any driver.” 

              The girl continues, “Now, to be able to completely vanish in just 20 seconds, you must be a professional in time jumping in the past. Which can only be done if you’ve undergone training under Precrime. However, this could also be just any other outsider that’s gotten lucky doing an illegal time jump. Considering Somerset Road has a strong electromagnetic field that can help anyone do their time jumps faster and more successfully—including the risky ones that involve a huge time frame of unbounded jumps into the past. But to know that about Somerset Road, much less know how to effectively take advantage of its field during a time jump—you should be a long-time agent of Precrime.” 

              Y/N faces Jungkook, “The man you’re after is either a professional Precrime traveling agent or an outsider who’s fed with all the necessary information only a Precrime agent could know. It’s an inside job.”

              Jungkook shakes his head, “No. It can’t be. Every time-jumping device has a permanent tracker that can never be taken out even by the best engineer. Allen McGregor designed it to be like that to ensure these devices will not be used for personal interest. Every agent is tracked of their traveling activities and logged straight into the Investigation Bureau’s files. They’re inputted in glass files similar to the crime records—void for editing, copying, and deleting. And should it be an outsider utilizing Precrime’s technology, a travel will still be tracked back to the agent whose device was used.” Jungkook looks at Y/N. “There have been no reports of anyone traveling on Somerset Road the night of my accident.”

              Y/N shrugs, “I’m just saying what I saw. Especially this.” Y/N makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hands and the scene rewinds again.  The Jaguar is frozen back into five seconds before it hits the silver-gray Ford. Y/N walks toward the car, Jungkook close behind. The girl motions to the passenger seat and Jungkook stills. There on the leather seat is a red file case. Unprecedented murder. Precrime Murder Sector. But this is not what rendered Jungkook immobile in shock. Rather, it’s the label on the file case. 

              “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              “See?” Y/N smirks, “Told you we’ll find something today.”

              A click of the hand and soon, the dark night sky of Somerset Road bleeds into the burning colors of the sunset. There’s no longer the silver-gray Ford and the black Jaguar. It’s just Jungkook and Y/N alone in the road, back to where they were before.

              Jungkook hunches over, coughing as he beats his chest. When he finally stabilizes his breathing back to normal, he turns to the girl. “You…Ho-how can you be so sure with all of these vi-visions?”

              Y/N looks at Jungkook, an indecipherable look on her face. “This is what you paid for 10,000 zials. I’m handing you what your eyes missed on just the way they are.”

              Jungkook holds in his breath as he knocks on the glass door.

              “Come in.”

              Jungkook pushes the door open and salutes. “Chief Nathan Spencer.”

              “Captain Jeon,” the Chief of Precrime glances up at him before returning back to the stack of papers he’s signing. He motions to the chair in front of his desk, “Make yourself comfortable.”

              Jungkook pulls back the black chair and sits.

              “So, what brings you here?”

              “This week’s report, sir—the joint investigation with DOJ on the unidentified black Jaguar.” Jungkook places a brown folder on the Chief’s desk.

              The chief looks at the captain. “Still no progress in the identification?” 

              Jungkook shakes his head, face grim.

              “That can’t be helped,” Nathan sympathetically mutters. “It’s not the first time FJO has handled a difficult case.”

              “But it is the first time FJO can’t identify a suspect with its current system.”

              “You’re right,” Nathan nods. He flips open the brown folder and skims the report. “How’s the auditor doing?”

              Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Fine. Still…meddling with our processes.”

              Nathan lets out a light scoff. “As expected of someone who’s running for a promotion. Always been a know-it-all jerk, this Min Yoongi.”

              Jungkook makes a tight-lipped smile.

              Nathan chuckles. “Forgive me. I’ve always had a prejudice against DOJ’s auditors. Most, if not all of them, always give us a hard time more than what’s necessary. Anyway, what else do you have for me, Jungkook?”

              The captain sits up straight. “I would like to ask a favor, sir.”

              Nathan clasps his hand on his desk. He leans forward. “What is it?”

              “It’s for the investigation. DOJ has access to all of our files—Precrime, Forecrime, and even the Investigation Bureau. So I figured if I can also do the same since our sector seems to be their main target. If I have the same leverage on our own information as them, I can have control over this investigation and drive them away before they can even assume power over us.” Jungkook leans on the table, “We could see the problems first before they become visible to DOJ.”

              Nathan raises his brow. “So what do you mean?”

              “I would like to have unrestricted access in our archives. Everything that contains anything pertaining to FJO.” Jungkook leans forward, “Including the Memory Temple.” 

              The chief sighs, “That’s a big favor, Jungkook.”

              “I know. That’s why Chief General Andrews told me to go to you.”

              Nathan’s brows shoot up, “The Chief General?”

              “Yes, Chief General Matthew Andrews. He said you’re good friends with Chief of the Bureau, Natasha Ryde. Chief Andrews wants to ask if you could do a favor of a friend for a friend.” Jungkook slides a white envelope underneath the folder, “Of course, not without considerable credit.”

              Nathan purses his lips. A beat. He shakes his head, sighing. “Okay…I’ll try to put in a word for you. I can give you the entire archives tomorrow. But the Memory Temple could take a while. Two days or three.”

              “That’s fine with me.” Jungkook smiles. He stands up and heads to the end of the room. Before he could disappear behind the door, he salutes one more time, “Thank you for the kind accommodation, Chief.” 

              Jungkook heads to the main elevator and hits the second floor below the Superiors’ Hall. The metal doors ding open and soon, Jungkook’s looking at a wide expanse of glass wall reflecting hundreds of shelves on the glass panes.

              Jungkook heads to the entranceway and salutes at the guard, “Sally.” The guard returns the salute, smiling. Jungkook tilts his head, “Did the Bureau come by to retrieve Precrime files?”

              “Not yet, sir. The Bureau’s still busy in their matters with DOJ. They halted the synching of files for now.”

              “That’s good,” Jungkook quips and pushes the glass doors open.

              Tall metal bookshelves snake like an accordion around the floor. The spaces between them is occasionally filled up by wooden desks that mandatorily come along with a wooden bookstand and black study lamp. It looks like a hedge maze made of old books, monochrome papers, and multi-colored files.

              Jungkook heads to the leftmost aisle—Precrime’s archives. He weaves his way through the bookshelves until he stops in front of a separated room in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s made completely out of glass, just like FJO’s offices. The only difference is that this room contains five sets of desks and chairs, bookshelves, and the Archive Manager’s huge white station as the centerpiece.

              And before Jungkook could finish leveling his eyes to the scanner set by the door, he could already feel the growing stare of Emily Young.

              “Captain Jeon.”

              “Ms. Young,” Jungkook nods to the manager.

              Emily smiles, “To what do I owe your visit today?”

              “Jonathan Winston’s Assassination case file.” 

              “As usual,” The thirty-seven-year-old manager sing-songs as she stands up and disappears into the back room. It doesn’t take long for her to retrieve what the Precrime captain is looking for.

              A long expandable, red file with the label in Arial 12 print: “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              Just like in Y/N’s time jump. Identically the same. Jungkook looks at the manager, “Do you have a log of anyone who looks into this file?”

              Emily chuckles, “I don’t think that will bring anything new to the table, captain.” She scans the numeric code of the file and turns the monitor of her computer towards him. “There’s no one who’s been looking at this file but you.”

              Jungkook peers in. Indeed, the log on Winston’s file contains nothing but his name. From August 15, 2047, the date of Winston’s assassination, to the most recent date, August 3, 2059. The day after Leigh Anderson’s suicide. The day after the Winston case was closed cold. There’s no other name in the log for 12 years other than his name.

              Jungkook looks back at Emily, “Are you sure this is the complete log on this file? No one borrowed the file earlier than July 12th?”

              “That’s the whole log, captain. There’s no record on August 1st because we’re closed to do an inventory check.” Emily leans back in her chair. “Everyone knows you’re busy on a case in Down Hill for the entirety of June. The Allison future murder is all over the news. Of course, with a Metropolis resident as a future victim. And with you busy on another case, this Winston’s file is devoid of any viewers.” Emily releases a chuckle. “Every cop has an obsession with a particular case. Everyone here knows Winston’s case is yours. I think I will remember if someone other than you looked into this file because I swear that day will be a miracle.”

              Jungkook purses his lips, face undecipherable. Right then, his phone rings loud. He turns to his back and picks it up. “Hello?”

              “Captain.” It’s Jimin.

              “What is it?”

              “You have to come to the sector now. There’s a file from Precrime. It’s…a blank.”

              “Okay, I’ll be there soon,” Jungkook ends the call. He faces Emily. “Thank you for today, Emily.” The archives manager nods with a playful salute at him. Jungkook quickly returns the salute and pushes the door open. Soon, he’s tearing past the labyrinth of shelves.

              It doesn’t take Jungkook longer than ten minutes to reach the left-wing of the 2nd floor. The cold sweat from the discovery in the archives is still clinging on his nape. 

              As soon as he steps into Murder Sector, everyone’s eyes are set on him. Including Yoongi. Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue as he slides in the gloves over his hands. “Jimin, give me the run-over.”

              “Captain, Jeon. It’s a grayish-white file. Precrime, Property and Crime Scene Sector. Traveling agent in charge is Eric Williams. Crime record validated by traveling agents Hannah Peters and Ivan Park. Case number 3571, hit-and-run, destruction of property.  Suspect is unknown. Victim’s name is…Jeon Jungkook.”

              Jungkook whips his head towards the secretary, eyes wide.

              “It’s your case, sir.” Jimin confirms, “Eric accidentally time jumped into the night of your hit-and-run while he’s traveling for a T-Bone accident in Middle Town. Property and Crime Scene figured this blank is a crucial update on your case.” He walks to the end of the glass board and slides the disk into the middle slot.

              Jungkook turns to his front. The glass board lights up and a video starts playing. It’s Somerset Road and it’s almost pitch black in the grainy film. Eric stands frozen on the pavement for a second. But the seeming serenity of the scene soon dissipates as he looks down at his gear and frantically fumbles for his time jumper. Suddenly, hot blinding light fills his peripherals. Eric’s head shoots up. A car is speeding toward him. The headlights grow larger and finally, the car becomes visible. It’s the silver-gray Ford. Eric turns around and right then, a black Jaguar zooms past him, merely missing him by a hairsbreadth. But the Jaguar doesn’t stop and further increases its speed. It bulldozers right into the side of the Ford, sending it flying across the barren road. Eric picks up his feet and dashes to the cars. But his efforts are futile. The black Jaguar has already disappeared before he could even take his 12th step. And then, the record stops.

              Before Jimin could even state the protocol run-through, Jungkook frantically swipes through the blank record. He slides across the frames in reverse, back and backward until he reaches the first second of the blank.

              “Sir, I’m afraid we have to do the protocol first—"

              Jungkook’s hand stills on the board. The frame freezes. It’s a close-up of the black Jaguar as it barely grazes Eric’s body. Jungkook zooms in. There inside the passenger seat of the car is a long, red expandable file. “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

              Jungkook feels his blood run cold. It’s the same file he just had his hands on less than 15 minutes ago. It’s the same file he saw in his and Y/N’s jump. Y/N’s vision is true.  

              Jungkook feels his pocket vibrate and he quickly whips out his phone. However, he wasn’t able to dwell on it longer as a hard force pushes his shoulder backward, forcing Jungkook to tear his eyes off the screen.

              Yoongi glares at him, “Why are you indifferent about this? You know something about this, didn’t you? Captain Jeon!” 

              But even with his name called out loud, Jungkook couldn’t hear anything. All that registers in his mind is one single message.

              Y/N L/N:  Have you ever heard of a Sooah Kim before? (11:14 A.M.)

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Note: This story is based on Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story, Minority Report (2002). That being said, this series may contain spoilers for the movie so if you want to watch the movie, please do so first before reading!

A/N | Hi hons! Thank you for reading the 2nd chapter! I hope I got you guys more curious about the story hehe. Anyway, I have some announcement: I have finals for a major coming up this week so I’ll spend the next whole week studying. So, I’ll try if I can update the next chap the week after next week, on Sunday, too. But nothing is certain yet as I still have some uni stuff to do. Don’t worry, I only have 3 projects left to do to finally finish this sem. So as soon as I’m done with them, expect more frequent updates from me! 

If you guys wanna get notified as soon as I post the next chapter, I’m gonna add you all in my taglist! Just hit me up down the comments of this series’ masterlist so I can better track you all! The search function of Tumblr is messing with me and my notifs in my inbox usually come late so it’s highly probable your asks and DMs may get lost ☹

Once again, thank you for reading and giving a chance to My Time! :”)

Notes: As you know, this is a mystery fic. So, it will be most appreciated if any theories pertaining to the story be kept down the comments so I can entertain them all without spoiling our future readers! Once again, thank you so much for reading this!

All Rights Reserved 2020 © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.

[toothpastecanyon]

A Name From the Mailbox, Chapter 2

Dipper finds out the author's name before Not What He Seems. It's not the person he expected.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

The Gravity Falls Public Library. Dipper didn’t find himself going here as often as he’d thought he would. Sure, there were books, but whoever the librarian was they certainly weren’t stacking them in any kind of system; it was impossible to find anything you were looking for besides dusty magazines heaped up on coffee tables.

But for all the library’s shortcomings, it did have one thing the Shack didn’t. It had computers.

“Is that a dial up sound, Dipper?”

He shrugged at his sister. “Maybe? I dunno what that sounds like.” He sat back. “Wish it’d load faster. Ugh, I swear these things are cursed to be slow or something like that.”

“Oooo, curses!”

“Just need to wait for it to load…” Dipper took out a notebook. “If I can’t have the journal, fine. I don’t need that. I don’t need him. I’ll find it out myself.”

“You’re muttering, bro bro.” Mabel poked his face. “So what’re we looking up, anyway? I thought you said all the websites for magic stuff are ‘unnacurate’ and ‘disturbing’.”

“It’s innacurate actually, Mabel.” He pushed her hand away as the computer finally loaded. “And I’m not looking for Gravity Falls stuff. I’m looking for Stan.”

“What’s he doing on the internet? I don’t think he knows what it is.”

Dipper started typing. “No, but maybe we can find out something about him on there.”

“Ooo, like secrets!”

“Yeah, like secrets.” Dipper made a face as he put in ‘Mystery Shack Gravity Falls’ and got a few sites with mixed reviews. “Oh you gotta look at this, Mabel. Someone wrote, ‘A friend recommended I bring my family here. We spent five minutes inside, and in that time the owner charged an exorbitant entrance fee, scared my children with some horrific taxidermied duck-rat thing, and then made up some fake ‘early exit charge’ when we tried to leave! We are pretty sure he picked our pockets too, but the police in this town are useless. I’m out a wallet and a friend.”

Mabel giggled. “I’m pretty sure Stan has no idea about these! Oh, this one’s from when I was boss! Ahem, ‘The last time I was here an old man was giving the tour, but when we came by the manager appeared to be a young girl. Everything appeared to be slightly destroyed too? When I asked for a refund because part of the roof fell on me, she told me to shut my yap. Other than that, great as always. Love the money bag.” She gave a fist pump. “Aww yes, I got us a five out of five! Let’s read more, this is fun!”

“Actually, Mabel, we’ve gotta keep looking.”

“Awww.”

Dipper tapped on the keyboard. “Okay, I guess the Mystery Shack doesn’t turn up much. How about… just his name?”

He typed that in, and sat back as it loaded.

“Alright, Stan. Let’s see what you’re hiding…”

______________________________________________________________

It was late at night when Stan snuck his way back into the Shack. He opened the front door as quietly as he could, and shut it behind himself, making a face at every creek. He took off his black mask, his leather gloves, and stashed them under the register before moving to the blinds. He kept a close eye on the parking lot as he drew them closed; it didn’t look like he’d been followed.

Ugh. Stan didn’t like messing with the feds, but it wasn’t like anyone else had any radioactive waste handy. He’d scope out the place a few more times, just to be safe… but that was for another night.

With a big sigh, Stan headed over to the vending machine. He raised his arm to input the code, but something told him to look around first. His eye caught on a small darkness on the base of the staircase, and he paused a second before pressing the code for a candy bar. He picked it up, unwrapped it, and munched on it as he headed for the living room.

“Grunkle Stan.”

There it is. He turned on the light.

“Oh, hey Dipper. Having fun standing in the dark like that?”

Dipper had his arms crossed. “You’re out late.”

“Yeah, ’cause I’m old and I do what I want.” He sank into the chair. “What’s up, kid? If you’re gonna ask for your journal back you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“No, that’s not why I’m here.” He pointed to a large stack of papers on the side table. “I found this.”

“Huh? Oh, you didn’t use the copier, did you? Paper’s expensive, kid.”

“No, I printed it out at the library.” He made a face. “It was like twenty dollars. Now look!”

“Ugh, I already sat down, kid. Can’t we- Oof!” He grunted as the pile was dumped in his lap. “Watch it, that’s a lot of paper! You’re gonna have to summarise whatever this is, because I am not-”

“It’s your thesis, Grunkle Stan!”

Grunkle Stan paused, and looked up at Dipper. He looked very, very serious, and he came a step closer.

“Well?”

“Well… well what? Thesis?” Stan tried to stand up, but the papers kept him down. “I don’t know what you mean, Dipper. Seriously, I’ve never seen this before in my life-”

“You wrote it!”

“What?”

“Look!” He grabbed the top page and stabbed a finger at the author line. “Stanford Pines! All summer long you said you didn’t even go to college, but you’ve got a PhD! You wrote a thesis about anomalous sightings in the western United States! Admit it - you are the author!”

Stan found himself shrinking back; he had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to be able to brush this off. “Wh-where’d you even get that from?”

“I found your college online. Apparently they’re still writing about your thesis since it’s the only nationally ranked one in their history.” Dipper clicked his pen. “You’re, you’re a genius, Grunkle Stan! I-I have so many questions, like why didn’t you tell us? Why’d you stop writing the journals? Where are the other two?”

“I… I…” He took a deep breath. He had to get control of this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ki-”

“Oh come on-”

“I don’t! Look, there’s obviously been some kind of mix up, it’s not like Stan Pines is a rare name-”

“Already thought of that.” Dipper held up an article. “I found this piece about how you used your grant money to build the Mystery Shack. It’s even got a photo - it’s you.”

It was a gutpunch to see Stanford’s college photo shoved in his face, but he tried to swallow it. “Kid-”

“I don’t understand why you won’t just admit it. I know you don’t want us messing with the supernatural, but all summer long I’ve been reading your journal, trying to solve the mysteries of this town. The author was a huge one - I-I was kind of worried I’d never find out, or I’d find out he was dead or something, but it’s you!” He grinned. “And now I know, we can work together! You don’t have to keep pretending! You can trust me with this!”

Stan looked down at his nephew’s face, and gave a deep sigh. There was no easy way out of this. With a bit of struggle, he hefted the thesis off his lap and onto the floor, then put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

“Dipper, listen. I’m not the author.” Stan saw him open his mouth and quickly continued. “I’m not, okay? I know you like your mysteries, but just this once, could you please just take my word on this one?” He made a face. “I don’t want you or your sister getting hurt. So just forget about it, okay?”

Dipper frowned at him, and for a moment Stan didn’t think that was gonna work - it was a long shot, anyway. But then something seemed to click in his mind, and he stepped back.

“Forget…” he said. “Grunkle Stan, do you know about the Society of the Blind Eye?”

“The what?”

“It’s-“ He reached under his arm and rolled his eyes when he realized there was no journal. “Ugh, I’ll draw it.”

He grabbed a paper from the pile and started sketching something out. Stan stood there, a little confused.

“Sounds like a cult. Did you join a cult? Ugh, your folks are gonna kill me.”

“It’s this!” Dipper shoved a paper in his face - a crossed out eye, a symbol Stan remembered seeing somewhere in the journals. “Have you seen this before?”

“Kid-”

“Ugh, that doesn’t prove anything, though. You might’ve forgotten that too.” He clicked his pen, and then took off for the stairs. “I’ll be back!”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Stan called out, but he was already gone. He threw his hands up in the air. “Great. Perfect. Hey, can you come back down and explain what all that was? Dipper?”

No reply. Stan frowned; he made to follow, but his foot caught on the stack of papers. He caught himself on the wall, and turned back to look at the scattered pile. Each page was lit by TV static, stark white in the light, and pitch black in the shadows. He narrowed his eyes at that picture of Stanford, that stupid thesis.

“Fine.” He gave the mess a kick and stalked into the gift shop. “Fine.”

Dipper wasn’t going to stumble into this so close to the finish line. He’d worked too hard for too long. If the kid was so intent on figuring him out, he’d just have to work faster.

He gave a long look around before entering the code. The venting machine swung open with a puff of air, and he shut it quickly behind him before marching down the steps.

No more scoping out. It was time to finish the job.