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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

Note

So I read Elixir and I love how you write sex pollen and I was wondering if you could do one for our other federal agent, Marcus?

Jump Start

Warnings: smut. A lot of smut. Unbeta’d writing; soft Marcus.

Words: 3,500

Summary: What if Marcus only went to DC for a while? And what if he came back for you?

Marcus: Still game for tonight?

You: Are you kidding? Cho and Lisbon have bigged up that Aladdin’s Cave for months. I’ll be there.

Marcus: You sure this is what you want for your birthday?

You: Yes.

Marcus: Okay then… Bring a pillow because I’ll probably bore you to sleep with all the art stories.

When the elevator doors part to reveal Agent Marcus Pike, you’re standing by the door to the lock-up. A smile lights up his face when he sees you, and your heart bumps hard in your chest. He slides his hands in his pocket, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Marcus.”

He ducks his head, a little shy. You know he isn’t always. You’d seen him in the interview room a few times last year, when your team and his had co-run a case. Watched his eyes go hard, his face stern. He’d slammed a file down on the desk inches from a suspect’s face and the surprisingly rough side to him had made you shiver.

Lisbon had sent you a knowing look and you’d ignored her.

She’d had her chance and she’d blown it, and frankly you didn’t want to know what she and Marcus had shared; how close they’d been.

Marcus had gone to DC after that. A year’s undercover work has helped him heal, you think. Get his head back in the game.

He came back for another co-op case, and thankfully, Lisbon and Jane had been away on honeymoon then.

You and Marcus had worked this one together, sometimes late into the night, sharing take-out and anecdotes from other old cases, and then, you’d started hanging out, a little.

He’s interesting. Funny. Friendly. Panty-melting gorgeous.

Heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

Cho dropped that it was your birthday at last week’s after-work drinks, and then Marcus had texted offering you a tour of the art lock up. You’d been rota’d off the day Cho and Lisbon got to see it, last year.

Patrick Jane hadn’t been allowed in. Marcus had muttered something about sticky fingers when you’d asked him about it.

“You ready?” He ducks his head to buss your cheek and you meet him halfway, breathing him in, minty gum, sandalwood, and the gourmet coffee he hides in his office. He shared it with you once and it’s like him, memorable, decadent, addictive.

“Ready.” You pull away, reluctantly, wanting him, but he’s never given you any overt hints that he sees you as anything more than a colleague.

He and Lisbon are cordial to each other when they meet, but for all you know, he’s still pining over her.

You daren’t ask; you don’t want to know the answer.

Marcus punches in a code to the first gate, then plucks the rings of keys from his pocket and opens the dinner door of the lock-up, a smile playing on his scruffy face. He grew the patchy beard during his time in DC and it really suits him, highlights his beautiful jaw and makes his soulful eyes a deeper brown.

This time on a Saturday, no one else is around.

“A private museum,” you breathe as you see all the paintings, sculptures and other art set carefully in frames or on desks or custom made plinths.

“Yeah, I always feel like Aladdin.” He scoffs at himself. “I say that every time. What a dork.”

You turn and grin at him. “I like it. You’re an art geek. It’s sexy.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Marcus’ brow wings up. “That so?”

“Um, sure.” You duck your head, embarrassed. “So. Tell me some art stories, Special Agent Pike. What’s new here?”

He brightens, soulful chocolate eyes going wide for just a moment. “Well. There’s this equine sculpture. Maker’s mark is Italian but we seized it during a raid for paintings. Wasn’t expecting it.” He snaps on white gloves and offers you a pair, then gently turns over the statue to show you the swirling signature on the bottom. “We’re still not sure where the other two are.”

You trace a gloved finger over the horse’s detailed mane, wrought perfectly in cherrywood. “Other two?

“Sure. This is part of a set. You can tell here-” he points out a divot in the base that you wouldn’t even have noticed, and another on the opposite end. “And here. The two connecting statues are missing - other horses, I’d guess.”

“Wow.”

Marcus sets the horse down and meets your gaze. “You bored yet?”

“Nope! More!”

He chuckles indulgently. “Okay. Why don’t you choose.”

You wander around the various lock-up cages for a while, examining instruments, more statues, even a huge quilt that looks woven with gold.

After a few moments, a painting about your height catches your eye. It’s an orgy, but tastefully done, painted in shades of amber and gold, the bodies fluid, enchanting.

“I’ve never seen such a… soft depiction of a group bang,” you smile.

Marcus’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “That came in last week. Rumour has it, the artist was quite the lothario back in the 1800s. A steady stream of, ah, callers to his penthouse in Florence. The accounts of his sexual prowess are something else.”

“I bet.” You eye the curves of the women in the painting; she looks soft, welcoming, her eyes closed in ethereal bliss. “So, how’d you get this?”

“Allegedly, found in an attic. We went to the house to pick it up. The man who gave it to me - said they just moved in - seemed kinda high.” Marcus’ brow furrows. “Very mellow. Pretty sure he’d been smoking something. He was half-dressed.”

You crouch, examine the painting more closely. “And you didn’t… arrest him?”

Marcus shrugs. “Art’s our deal. I did note the address with a colleague in the DEA, so if it gets flagged again, they’ll investigate.”

Something about the painting keeps you enraptured. You spy a little notch in the frame. “Do you think something’s hidden in here?”

Marcus bends next to you to examine the area you point to. He’s been working today, so he still wears his suit, the red tie the little bit of flash he allows himself on the job. His scent weaves around you, the lick of coffee, the gasp of mint, and something uniquely Marcus.

“It looks like something…. Comes undone?”

You both lean in together, and you edge your gloved finger along the groove in the ornate gold-effect frame.

Marcus does the same from the other end. “Wow,” he breathes. “A hidden compartment?” Then his eyebrows shoot up as part of the frame depresses under his finger, clicking. He grins hugely. “Well, now I really do feel like Aladdin.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a little monkey wearing a fez around here, do you?” You tease.

“Maybe a magic carpet. I-”

He’s cut off when a hissing noise pops from the painting. You and Marcus both lean in to try and hear it more closely, and just when you get close, powder sprays from the frame, light gold in colour and smelling faintly musty.

You cough, reeling back, your hands over your face. “Gross.”

Marcus steps back too, wiping a gloved hand over his face and examining the golden-hued powder on the cotton fabric. “What the hell-”

You slowly sit down on the floor. “I feel… sort of dizzy. Hot.”

Marcus crosses to you, crouching in front of you, and if you didn’t feel so discombobulated, you would appreciate the closeness of him, the amber shot through his irises, the slight curl of his cowlick. “I’ll go get help. Maybe some water?”

You’re burning up. A slow dance starts in the pit of your belly, something that you think was always there, maybe, but intensified now Marcus is so close. “Please don’t go.”

His brow furrows in concern. “Of course.” He smoothes a gloved hand over your hair, and then you see it; the change in his eyes, the way they go dark and hot. “I… what the fuck is this stuff? I feel…”

You clutch at his forearms, feeling the play of lean muscle under his suit. “What if…. What if this was the reason that painter was such a, um, lothario?”

Marcus’ gaze has dropped to your mouth and at your words, he blinks. “What? Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “Marcus, I…”

He stands up, backing away. “I can’t be near you. Not when I want… I can’t.”

You reach out to him. “What if you stayed?”

He gazes down at you, longing in those bottomless eyes, and now you can clearly see the outline of the powder’s effect on him. “I can’t. Can’t do that to you.”

A flash of hope pierces the haze descending on you. “You want to? Because of the.. Stuff,” you finish lamely.

An expression of half desire, half pain, sketches itself over Marcus’ features. “I’ve wanted to for a while. That night we worked late.” He’s half-panting now, the fingers of one hand curled around the wall of his side of the lock-up. “Wanted to take you over the desk. I - fuck- can’t do it.”

You make to move. “Marcus-”

“Not like this,” he groans, that voice of sin and sex dropping half an octave, California with a lick of the drawl of Texas. “Not… like this.”

“Don’t go!” You beg. Your insides are burning up for him. If he’d just touch you. Just for a moment.

Marcus is shaking his head, fumbling with the door on this section of the lock-up. You lunge for him but he pulls the door closed, locking you in and him out.

He turns the key, then tosses the ring across the room.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Not like this. Goes against everything.”

“But I want you,” you say. You crawl over to the fencing separating you. “At least… touch my hand.”

You pull your gloves off, slide your fingers through the holes in the mesh.

Marcus takes his gloves off too, tangles his fingers with your the best he can. He sighs deeply. “I had this whole date thing planned. Dinner at an Italian that reminds me of a place I ate at in my gap year.”

“Marcus,” you whisper. “So you do really like me.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since I got back from DC, and there you were, pretty as a picture, working late with me, sharing Chinese food. Making me laugh.”

You swallow, wanting him so badly it hurts. Every inch of you burns for him.

“I wanted to go slow,” he rasps out. “I know I jump in. Get overexcited. But with you.. I wanted to do it right. Fuck.” With his free hand he, almost unconsciously, palms himself through his suit pants, his eyes rolling back. “What the hell is this drug?”

You hungrily follow the path of his hand with your gaze. “Lothario, remember?”

“I remember.” Marcus groans, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection. He’s sitting awkwardly. “Bastard.”

“Marcus.” You squeeze his hand. “I want this. I want you. It’s lonely up on that white horse.”

He shakes his head, vehement. “It’s….not… not right.”

You press against the caging and just the pressure of the mesh on your breasts makes you moan. “So I can’t touch you, and you won’t touch me, but you also won’t leave me.” You watch him squeeze his eyes shut, look at the tent in his suit pants. “Touch yourself.”

His eyes pop open. “What?”

“If you won’t leave and you won’t… give in to whatever this is, although I want you more than I’ve wanted any man, ever…. Let me see you.”

A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead as he looks at you, big brown eyes considering. He’s weighing every option. Marcus is thoughtful, considered. Considerate. He always thinks two steps ahead, encompasses everyone in plans and strategies.

But he’s blindsided by this, and you can’t say it isn’t sexy as hell to see him unravel this way.

“Please,” you add, holding his gaze.

He squeezes your fingers and the air changes between you, and then he leans heavily against the mesh and you take the opportunity to stroke his hair, a little, and it’s so soft. Feels like silk, and you have to touch more of him, but maybe you’ll get to at least see more, so you will your breathing to calm, just a bit, as he fumbles one-handedly with his belt buckle and then slides the zipper of his suit pants down to reveal plain grey boxers, darkened in the centre by a damp patch, and your throat is so dry.

“Have you…” your heart bumps hard, the rush of seeing new parts of Marcus making you even dizzier. “Ever gotten off in this evidence locker before?”

“Can’t say I have.” Marcus’ gaze stays on your face, earnest. “I can go. I can just go.”

“Please. Please don’t go. Come in.”

“Can’t do that.” He closes his eyes; looks like he is silently praying for the power to resist you. His fingers curl into the parted edge of his suit pants.

“Let me see you?”

He sucks in a deep breath, then exhales shakily. “This is not how I planned to seduce you. Just so you know.”

Your pulse rabbits. “You seduce me every moment, Marcus. With every sweet text. Every time you smile at me. All your art stories. When you say my name. Your voice, oh God.”

Marcus’ hand trembles as he holds your gaze through the wire mesh of the lock-up, and he finally, finally parts the opening of the plain grey boxers and draws himself out, and you just drink him in with your eyes, the shape of him, the swollen tip, his length and girth, the curling hair at his base. It looks as silky as the hair on his head and you hear yourself groan needily.

“Marcus.”

He fists himself, his gaze hot on yours. “Not how I planned this date,” he repeats. “I feel like I’m on fire for you.” He rasps out your name and you watch his hand move, and suddenly it’s too much, the heat between your legs cannot be ignored, and you shove your skirt up and mirror Marcus on the floor.

His head jerks around. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“Never knew you had such a potty mouth,” you half-gasp, half-tease.

“For you, I’ll do whatever you want with my mouth.”

You groan at that as you circle your clit with a finger.

Marcus almost growls “Underwear off, I want to see.” His voice, that voice, is gentle-rough, and you think of the day you watched him in the interview room.

“Whatever you say, Agent Pike.”

“Christ.” He’s jacking off in earnest now, his gaze riveted to you as you pull off your underwear with one hand, letting it fall wherever. Your skirt is rucked up around your hips and the fact it’s Marcus watching you is a huge turn on, but honestly you’re not sure if you could have stopped, for anything.

Your combined pants fill the space. You’ve never been so wet. When you slide two fingers inside yourself the sound is obscene.

“It’s.. a wonder.. He ever got… any painting done,” Marcus grits out.

You laugh. “Now? You wanna talk about art now?”

He huffs. “Art is the reason we’re here. Like this.” Then he sucks in a breath and you look down at him, his balls drawn up tight, his cock wet with his own pre-come.

“Marcus Matthew Pike, I swear to God, if you don’t get in here right now, I will never ever speak to you again.”

He hesitates.

“I swear on Van Gogh’s ear,” you add, your internal muscles fluttering.

Marcus half-yanks up his pants, scrabbles for the key. The seconds feel like hours until he appears again, boxers and pants around his knees, shirt tails hanging, and he opens the mesh door and you yank him in and kiss him and you tumble to the floor together, and Marcus grabs both your wrists and pins them above you with one hand, his face dark and determined, and it makes your heart pound.

“Please,” you grate out. “Marcus. I need you.” You spread your legs and try to hook your feet over his calves, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. Sweetheart, not yet.” He curls your fingers into the wire of the mesh. “Hold on. Don’t… don’t touch me. I wanna make it good for you, first.”

You hear yourself keen his name as he shucks off his clothes from the waist down, then slides down your body and puts that gorgeous mouth to work. Your favourite thing he did with his mouth until now was talking, but this-

Maybe he’s writing his name, maybe he’s writing a sonnet, but whatever it is, the way he curls his tongue is obscene, and you don’t know if it’s partly the drug, but when he puts two fingers inside you, you come so hard you almost black out. And then lust rears its head again and you grab for him, carding one hand through his hair and cupping him with the other, and he’s slick in your palm and the ridges and heat of his cock feel so good.

“Marcus.” You fist a hand in his hair, pull a little, and he groans and pants, and you take the opportunity to pump him in your fist until he swears under his breath.

"Condom. Oh fuck. Condom."

He hesitates, then drops a soft kiss on your lips - your first, you think, a bit giddy - and you taste yourself, and he licks into your mouth and whispers your name and it's pure, unadulterated bliss.

Then he extricates himself, rummages in his suit pants, and as soon as he has the foil square in his hand you grab for him, pulling him down on top of you.

"After this," you murmur, "you're gonna bend me over the desk." And you roll the condom down his dick and he lets out a long, slow breath and pushes inside you and it's everything.

Everything inside you quiets for a moment that stretches as he starts to move, caging you in with his braced forearms, and you look into his dark chocolate eyes and his heart is on his face, with Marcus it always is. It's your favourite thing about him.

He nibbles at your lips as you make love to eachother, and you hook your legs around his hips to stop him pulling out too much. You want him close, want to feel his skin under your hands. The buttons of his shirt rasp against your dress, and if you were more aware you might think it's ridiculous, him bringing you to orgasm with you both half dressed in the floor of the art squad lock-up, but you can't care. Not when his cock hits you right there, and then you're keening his name and he tumbles over the cliff edge with you, pressing hard in those final thrusts as your muscles milk him.

You curl around him. "Marcus."

He sighs, presses his forehead to yours. "Was that… are you okay?"

You chuckle lazily. "I've never been more okay."

He cuddles you close, nosing at your cheek, murmuring sweet nothings. "Christ, what is this stuff? I could go again."

At his words desire rears its head. "There must be a desk in here somewhere, right?"

And his eyes go hot.

And that's how you find yourself bent over a desk recovered from an abandoned shipping off, the edges intricately gilded. You cling to them as Marcus fucks you hard and fast, just the way he'd fantasised about, and it's so good that you sob his name over and over.

Afterwards he cuddles you so gently, stroking your hair as he whispers praises about how good you felt around him, how next time he's gonna give you a bed covered in rose petals.

You shake your head, kissing him deeply, helping him into his jacket. "You're all I want, Marcus. Any way I can have you."

A flush colours his cheeks as he cups your cheeks. "Dinner? Let me take you out to dinner."

"I'd rather have it in bed. Have you in bed."

His eyes go wide for a second. "The drug.."

"This isn't the drug and you know it." You loop your arms around his neck. "It just jump-started us. Never been so grateful to a horny nineteenth century painter."

Marcus laughs out loud, hugs you, then releases you to hold your hand, tug you towards the elevator. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that, right?"

Happiness unfurls slowly inside you. "I could stand to hear it again."

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And @arch-venus25 did you wanna be tagged in Pedro stuff?

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lokis-army-77 · 3 years

Text

If You Please

Chapter six

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3280

I'm bad at writing descriptions, so this is basically a reader insert into The First Avenger and then we'll see how it goes from there.

Warnings: Canon typical violence

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Masterlist

It had been almost five months since I had left for London. Five months without Steve and nearly six without Bucky. I knew Steve had been traveling the country doing musical numbers to help sell war bonds, something I would have to tease him about later. He was here in the camp today and I had plans to go visit him when I was finished with my work. Peggy and I had been gathering intel on the movements of HYDRA, and there were signs that Dr. Zola had been using American POWs as experiments for his own super-soldier serum. We had arrived in Northern Italy about two weeks ago, there was a Hydra base a few hours away that we were keeping an eye on. We had reason to believe that Zola had moved to the base some time ago.

I was sitting at my desk scanning through some files when Peggy burst through the tent and into the makeshift office. I looked up at her questioningly. “You aren’t going to like this,” she said and handed me a small yellow telegram. I opened it and quickly read the contents.

107th infantry captured by HYDRA. Heavy casualties. Azzano, Italy.

I felt time stop as I read and reread those few words. Bucky was in the 107th. I quickly sprung to my feet and headed for the tent opening. Before I could cross the threshold Peggy grabbed my arm. “Let go of me Carter, I have to go save him,” I said, yanking my arm away, with little to no effort.

“Would you stop for a second?” She grabbed my arm again. “You can’t go rushing into this, you need to think carefully. You can’t just waltz into a HYDRA base by yourself, it's madness.”

“Yes, I can. Now let go of me.” I yanked my arm out of her hold and reached over to the coat rack next to the opening of the tent and grabbed my jacket. It had started raining an hour ago and the dirt paths had become small pools of mud but I didn’t care. I ran quickly through the rain toward the stage on the other side of the camp, Peggy right on my tail. The mud made it harder to run as fast as I wanted to, I had almost fallen twice. When I made it to the stage no one was in sight. I jogged around to the back and looked all over until I saw Steve in a corner with his sketchbook in hand.

“Steve,” I called out, quickly making my way to him. He looked up from his sketch and smiled at me.

“Hey Kid, I didn’t know you were here. It's good to see you.” he walked toward me and gave me a hug, which I returned but abruptly pulled away. He gave me a concerned look when I stepped back. “What's the matter? You usually like my hugs.”

“Steve now really isn’t the time for hugs. We just received a telegram, Bucky's regiment has been captured by HYDRA. I’m not sure if he was captured with them but if he was I’m going to get him and I need you with me.” I watched as his eyebrows furrowed. His face contorted with emotions. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the stage tent and soon we were running to Colonel Philip's tent.

Steve barreled into the tent and went up to Colonel Philips. “I need to see the casualties list from Azzano.”

The Colonel looked up from his desk and shook his head at Steve. “You don’t get to give me orders boy. Now go on,” he said and started to go back to what he was doing.

“I just need one name, Sir. Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th.”

Colonel Phillips' eyes widened a bit and he looked at Peggy and me. “I’m going to have a conversation with you two that you won't enjoy,” he scolded and shook his pen at us.

I stepped forward to be beside Steve. “Sir, we just want to know if he’s alive,” I pleaded.

“His name is B-A-R-” Steve started to spell off Bucky’s last name.

“I can spell,” He spat sarcastically. He got up from his chair and paced to the table behind him. Holding up a handful of letters he stopped. “I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I care to admit. I'm sorry for both of you but the name does sound familiar.” I took in a small gasp of air and my face fell.

“What about the prisoners? Are you planning to rescue them?” Steve asked with more concern in his voice.

“The plan’s called winning the war.” Philips quipped out.

“But Sir. If you know where they are why” Steve was cut off.

“They’re thirty miles behind the lines. Through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save. I don’t expect you to understand that, because you are a chorus girl.” A thick silence could be felt when Philips stopped talking.

“I understand it just fine Sir,” Steve said in contempt.

“Then I suggest you get going. From what I understand, you have somewhere to be in the next 30 minutes.”Colonel Philips said as he walked off.

“Yes Sir, I do,” Steve replied and stormed out of the tent. I looked past where he had been standing and looked at the map that was off to the side and realized that Steve had seen where the HYDRA base was pinpointed. I ran out after him.

I caught up to him in the backstage tent where he was packing up a bag. I started to grab some of his things and helped. Peggy arrived frantically minutes later. “Are you both planning to walk to Austria?” She asked.

“Yes, If that's what it takes to save him,” I stated.

“You heard the Colonel. Your friend is most likely dead, there’s no point.”

“You don't know that.” Steve countered.

“But you can’t go, The colonel's devising a strategy, if he finds out what,” Peggy starts but Steve cuts her off.

“It will be too late if we wait around for us to win the war, I need to go now.” He grabbed his bag and headed out to one of the jeeps. I stayed behind after spotting a rack with helmets on them. I rushed over and took one with an A painted onto it and then made my way to the jeep as well. I hoisted myself up and into the passenger seat as Steve finished talking with Peggy and she climbed into the back seat. He turned to me and shook his head. “No, get out. It’s too dangerous.”

“I will not. Don't forget we took the same serum, I’m stronger than I look. I can handle it.”

“I said no. I will not be putting you in this type of situation. Even if Bucky is our friend you can't risk your life like this.”

“What and you can? He’s my fiancé and I am coming with you to get him whether you like it or not! Now drive!” I yelled angrily, crossing my arms and turning away from him. I was so angry that I hadn't even noticed what I had let slip.

“Did you just say, fiancé?” I remained silent. I wouldn't talk to him until he calmed down and drove. He sighed and turned the key when he realized that I wouldn't break.

Peggy directed Steve to the makeshift airport a few miles out from the camp. She had made a call to Howard Stark to have a plane ready for us when we arrived. I kept quiet the whole ride, still upset that Steve thought he could keep me from coming. He tried to ask about Bucky and I’s relationship several more times before we reached our destination but I remained silent.

It was dark by the time we arrived at the airport. Before Steve even stopped the jeep I was already jumping out of the front seat, helmet in hand, and heading to the plane that was waiting on the dirt runway. We found Howard sitting in the pilot's seat smiling over his shoulder at us.

“Thanks for your help Stark, I can always count on you,” I said as I took a seat in the copilot's chair. I looked behind me as Peggy shut the plane door and took a seat in front of Steve in the cabin.

“Now what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t fly you into enemy territory in the middle of the night?” He laughed out, patting my left shoulder. I shook my head and grabbed the set of headphones off the dash and slid them on as Howard started the plane down the runway. When we were up in the air. He spoke again, this time to everyone. “We should be able to get you both right at their doorstep.”

Steve looked up from his hands and called out, “Just get as close as you can.” He then went back to his conversation with Peggy.

I looked over at Howard, who was flipping a few switches. “You know, we're all going to be in some deep shit when this is over and done with. I’m so not looking forward to the very long and stern talking to from Coronel Phillips.”

“Oh don’t worry, he’ll get over it. Especially if you bring back the soldiers and destroy the base. And technically I’m not here, so unless you can give him proof that I'm flying, I’m still in my private lab.”

“You always have a plan to get out of trouble don’t you Stark?” I questioned.

“Mostly,” he replied. Some time passed before he called out, “We’ll be over the drop zone in ten.”

I gave an assertive nod and took my headphones off and placed them back on the dash. Then I grabbed the helmet from beside my feet and secured it on my head.

“Also took the liberty of bringing a couple pistols and ammo for you, Peggy said you didn't have time to gather any supplies.”

I gave him a quick “Thank you” and stood from my seat and went to sit beside Peggy. She handed me the second parachute and I quickly put it on. I reached over to where two pistols in a belt holster were laid out on the seat and brought them closer to me. I undid the clasp that held the belt together and brought it around my waist. I looped the strap through the metal frame and pulled it taught. “I’m all ready,” I reported to nobody in particular.

“Okay then, Here’s the transponder, you’ll need to activate it when you’re ready. It will let us know your location,” Peggy said while handing a small almost palm-sized black box over to Steve. He turned it around in his hands for a second before he called out to Howard to ask if it worked.

“It’s been tested more than the both of you, it should,” Howard called back.

Then out of nowhere we were being shot at. We weren’t even five minutes away from the drop site. Howard started dodging bullets, making the plane shake from the harsh movements. Steve suddenly got up and threw the cabin door open. A strong gust of wind went through the plane, knocking me back into my seat.

“Stop, We're taking you all the way in!” yelled Peggy as Steve got ready to jump out.

“As soon as I'm clear, turn around and get the hell out of here!” he yelled back at her. I started to make my way over to the open door when Howard made another sharp jerk, I braced myself with my feet spread and my hands pressed to the top of the plane.

“You can't give me orders,” Peggy called out over the wind.

Steve just shook his head and said “Yes I can, I'm a captain.” Then he jumped out into the gunfire. I stepped closer to the door and took a deep breath.

“Be careful and don’t die.” Peggy gave me a pat on the back and then I jumped.

I closed my eyes and could hear the wind rushing past my ears. I could feel how cold it was on my face. I let out the breath I was holding then pulled the string to deploy my shute. The wind caught in it and I jerked up. This time Instead of free-falling I was floating down rather peacefully, considering that there were guns being fired in my general direction, but that didn’t last long. The shots followed the plane as it flew further away. I spotted Steve as he descended into a small clearing in the dense forest and maneuvered my parachute to follow. I put my legs out in front of me as I got closer and closer to the ground to get ready to catch myself.

When my feet hit the ground, I leaned back so my momentum wouldn’t flip me head over tails. I skidded to a stop and hastily unclipped my parachute from my back and stood up. Steve motioned for me to follow him into the tree line, and I did.

We walked for almost five minutes when we came upon the outside fence of the HYDRA base. It was crawling with guards walking the grounds. I ducked down behind a tree as several large trucks drove up the dirt road beside us.

I looked to Steve and whispered, “What are we gonna do now?” I saw Steve eye the last truck in the line.

“I’ve got a plan. Follow me.” He slowly got up from his crouched position and ran to catch up with the last truck, jumping into the back. I followed closely behind him and jumped into the back a moment later, landing headfirst into Steve's back.

“Ow, you couldn’t have gotten out of the way?” I fussed as I readjusted the helmet on my head.

“How was I supposed to know you’d come barreling in straight into my spine. I'm the one that should be saying ow.” He argued back. I pushed him out of my way and looked around, my eyes soon landed on the two HYDRA guards sitting at the other end of the truck.

“Uh, hi,” I mumbled. Then within a second, they were both up out of their seats reaching for Steve and me. One of them put their hand on my left shoulder and I grabbed it with my right hand and twisted. I kneed him between his legs when he fell to the ground I gave him a good kick to the head, knocking him out. Reaching down, I grabbed him by the collar and threw him out onto the road along with the guard that Steve had taken down.

I heard talking as the truck drove through the gates of the base. I felt us slowing down and pretty soon the truck jerked into reverse. We both waited in silence to see what was going to happen. I heard some footsteps coming closer to us. Steve, also hearing them, moved over to where the tarp-covered the back of the truck and positioned this shield in front of him. A guard lifted the tarp up and Steve swiftly took the guard out by hitting him with the shield. I came up beside him and stuck my head out and looked both ways, making sure no one would see us leaving the truck.

“This way,” I whispered as I jumped from the back of the truck. “I know where they probably keep the prisoners.” We headed out into the large open yard where several vehicles were being kept. Carefully maneuvering past stationary and moving guards we made our way to the back of the main building. “They’ll be keeping them in the lower levels. There should be several staircases leading to the main basement level out here, we just need to find one.” I said over my shoulder to Steve who was directly behind me.

It took no time at all to find one of the staircases and descend into the darkness. I spotted a door at the bottom of the stairs and went to open it but it was locked. I looked over to Steve who moved in front of me to look through the window of the door. He tapped on it twice and when the door was opened by a guard he slammed it onto the man's head. The man fell to the ground unconscious and I nimbly slipped over him and through the door. Reaching to my right thigh I grabbed the pistol out of the holster. They were only to be used as a last resort, but with this building being as big as it was, there was no telling what trouble we would run into.

Steve took the lead onto the large factory floor. We passed hundreds of what I assumed to be nuclear bombs, which were in various stages of development. I couldn't believe my eyes. HYDRA had been able to make multiple high-tech bombs and back in the states, the Manhattan Project was still ongoing. We kept walking until an unmanned workbench came into sight. There was a glowing circular ring on the table, surrounded by what seemed to be high-tech hand grenades. Steve and I both grabbed one, looked at it, and then shoved them in our pockets.

“Steve, I think the entrance to the basement cells is this way,” I whispered, pointing over to a set of stairs a few feet away from us. We sprinted to them and started down. After making it down three flights the stairwell opened up to a large dark room with bared holes in the floor. “This is where they are being kept. There’s one guard in here, so you take him and I’ll go down to the next floor.” Steve nodded. Slowly he crept up behind the guard and I turned to go down to the next floor where the cells were located. I heard the guard fall and the jingle of keys as Steve took the guard out.

“Throw the keys down and I’ll start unlocking the cells,” I called out and jogged down the line of cells to where Steve stood, staring down through the bars. He tossed the keys down to one of the men and they handed them to me after I put my pistol back in its holster. I unlocked a few of the doors before I took the other keys off the chain and handed them out to some of the soldiers so they could help free the others faster. When they were all out of the cells I made my way to where Steve was.

“Is there anyone else? We’re looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.” Steve questioned the men around him.

The one in a red beret spoke up, “There’s an isolation ward somewhere here in the factory, but no one has ever come back from it.”

“Okay men, the tree line is northwest, about 80 yards past the gates, after that follow the creek to the clearing. You need to get out fast. We will meet you there when we get everyone we can find out,” I order out to the group of men.

“Do either of you know what you’re doing?” asked one of the men at the front.

“Sure we do, I’ve knocked Adolf Hitler out over 200 times.” Steve started then turned to run back to the stairs and I followed suit.

Tag list:

@ginger-swag-rapunzel

@underc0vercryptid-reads

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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dramatic-squirrel · 3 years

Text

Damianette December Day 9- book

It may be confusing when the boys are speaking English and when they’re speaking French but, generally, they are speaking English unless they are addressing Marinette directly.

@daminette-december2019-2020

Considering how awful it had gone the last time the class had done this, it was surprising that Ms. Bustier’s class was once again at the Grand Paris to try the various jobs around the hotel. True to her previous actions, Chloe still did her utmost to drag Marinette down, this time, she was stuck cleaning the lobby.

The joke was on Chloe though, because Marinette wasn’t so spoiled that she didn’t appreciate what janitors and cleaning maids did. It was just cleaning, not like it was going to hurt her.

As she was vacuuming the couch, she found something between the cushions, a book. “Hey Tikki, what do you think this is?” she opened it up a bit and saw a sketch of a city skyline. The city was unfamiliar to her but it definitely helped her figure out that she was holding a sketchbook.

“D.a. G.W.,” that was the only thing that indicated who it might belong to. “Should we give this to the front desk, right Tikki? It’s probably a hotel guest’s if it was in the lobby, they’d probably be able to find them based on the initials or at least hold it until they came back.” She looked back to where Chloe was sitting, filing her nails, and groaned slightly. “Or maybe we try to find them ourselves?”

“Marinette. You know the right thing to do here would be to give Chloe the sketchbook and leave it to the lobby clerk.” the kwami understood Marinette’s frustration but, was also dedicated to guiding her partner on the right path.

“Yeah, I know you’re right. I just wish you weren’t,” she made her way to the front desk. “Someone left this behind Chloe.”

The blond glanced at her. “And? What do you want me to do about it? Just throw that dirty book away and be done with it. Do your job properly, Dupain-Cheng.” That was about how well Marinette expected the conversation to go. Instead of talking back and making the situation worse, she held herself back, Chloe would just make some snide comment or complain to her father.

Turning around, she decided to finish the job she had been given and then asked Ms. Bustier if she could try to find the owner of the sketchbook. As someone who frequently used one herself, she knew how important sketchbooks were to an artist, and based on the details of the first sketch she saw, the owner of the book was definitely an artist.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s great that you got permission Marinette.”

“It is Tikki. Now we just need to get Chloe away from the computer. Luckily she’s easy to read.” Marinette walked up to the lobby desk again after she was sure the Lobby Clerk was still gone. “Hey, Chloe. Did you see all of those fans fawning over Adrien on the Hotel’s rooftop. He’s practically surrounded by them.” Rage instantly filled Chloe’s face when she heard those words.

“No one’s allowed close to my Adrikins except me.” And voila, the front desk was missing one Chloe Bourgeois. Marinette slipped behind the desk, once Chloe was safely in the elevator and went to search up the guest in the database.

She looked up last names beginning with W first, to see if any fit the initials she found in the book. Unfortunately, she was out of luck there. On the bright side, it wasn’t a long list to go through, so she managed to finish quickly.

It then occurred to her that perhaps, like her last name, this person also had two last names, so she looked through the names that began with A next. She still didn’t find anything. Checking the time, she noticed that Chloe might be back soon so she had to come up with a new plan.

“What if you looked for the person based on where they live?” It was Tikki’s suggestion.

“That might work but, I don’t know where they’re from.”

“But, perhaps the sketchbook might give you some clues as to where they may be from. The cityscape at the beginning could be where this person lives, they may find inspiration from the things around them, kind of like you.”

“It’s worth a shot,” she hesitated a bit before she started turning the pages of the book. It felt kind of invasive to go through someone’s sketches without their permission but there was no telling if they would ever find their sketchbook otherwise.

“Oh, wow,” the pictures were genuinely breathtaking. It was like Tikki thought, most of the pictures were of a city, and based on the architecture, it seemed like it was the same city. A few pictures of animals appeared, and one of a fantasy creature but, mostly it was a city.

It seemed that the owner liked to sketch more secluded or lesser-known spots since none of the places had any distinguishing features, especially none she could recognize, until she turned the page, and saw a building with the words “Wayne Enterprise” on the side of the building. There was no mistaking where that building was. “Gotham! Tikki, they’re from Gotham!”

She hurriedly looked up the location on the computer and saw a booking by a Richard Grayson for three rooms on the 5th floor. And they were still there, which was a relief because she wasn’t sure what she would do if they had left Paris already.

The name didn’t match the sketchbook, but it occurred to her just then, that perhaps the owner themselves didn’t make the booking and was traveling with friends or family. Slipping from behind the desk she made her way to the elevator just as it arrived. Out of it, Chloe dragging a reluctant Adrien exited. Adrien caught her eye and winked at her.

Being her superhero partner for the past 3 years, he knew when she was scheming something, and he knew just how to go along with her crazy plans. Sending him a grateful smile, she entered the elevator and made her way to the room number she had found.

Standing in front of the hotel room, she began to second guess herself. They might not even be there right now, or maybe she got the wrong room. Just as she was determined to leave and find one of the actual employees to take care of the situation, the door in front of her opened. She came face to face with a man, black hair and insanely blue eyes, who stared at her just as she stared at him.

“Oh god, Bruce found another one, didn’t he. Dick! Can you please tell Bruce to stop adopting children?” The man spoke in English so she couldn’t quite follow along with what he said only something about children and the fact that he was addressing someone else.

“Excuse me?” she hoped he understood French. “I found this sketchbook in the lobby and I think it might belong to someone staying in this hotel room.” The man’s eyes finally saw the book in her hands just as another almost identically looking man came to the door.

He seemed half asleep as he stood in the threshold holding a cup of coffee in his hand. “What’re going on about Jason. Bruce didn’t adopt anyone recently, Alfred already asked me to keep an eye on any adoption papers that might be processing with his name on it. I’d know if he was adopting someone.” the sleepy man’s eyes landed on her and the cup in his hand fell to the floor with a crash. “Shit. I didn’t think about foreign countries. I’ve got to go tell Alfred.”

The first man grabbed the other one before he could leave. “Relax, it was a false alarm, she’s just returning something for Damian.” He turned to her, “I’ll take it, I know who it belongs to.” Up to that point, Marinette didn’t quite get what was going on, but she was sure that she didn’t entirely trust these people. It was hard to follow their English but their actions were weird.

“I’m sorry Monsieur, but I would feel more comfortable if I gave it to the actual owner of the book, instead of… his acquaintance.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet the brat. He’ll probably accuse you of stealing. It would be better to give it one of us to pass along.” The skepticism remained on her face. That was when a voice came from behind the two men in the doorway.

“Get out of the damn way, you morons. I can’t leave the room with you blocking the entrance.”

The first man sighed in resignation when the voice came through and stepped aside. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped now. It’s this demon spawn’s sketchbook.” she turned to see the artist that she had been looking for.

He was about average height, although compared to the person who had initially opened the door, he was small. His skin was also more tanned than his acquaintances, and although they share the same black hair, his eyes were a brilliant green, more vibrant than even Adrien’s.

“Excuse me, Monsieur,” she called out to him. “I seemed to have found your sketchbook in the hotel lobby. Is this your book?” he stopped in his tracks when she started talking.

Numbly, he nodded his head. Recognizing that he hadn’t properly answered, he cleared his throat. “Sorry. Yes, that’s my book.” his responses, while curt were far from insulting as the other man had suggested. Holding the book out to him, their fingers touched as he grabbed the book.

His touch was warm and gentle and it startled her enough that she accidentally let go of the book. Apparently, he was also startled for he too, let go of the sketchbook, and it fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to let go so soon,” Marinette bent down to pick up the book.

“It’s okay. I’m at fault as well.” He took the book from her outstretched hand. “Thank you, for finding my sketchbook and returning it to me.”

“No problem. I understand how devastating it might be to lose a sketchbook, I’m happy I could bring it back to you.” she smiled at him and then checked the watch she was wearing. It was almost time for her class to leave. “I need to head back but, it was wonderful meeting you.” she waved and turned around towards the elevator.

Damian stared at her back as she left. Only, when she had already been gone for a few minutes did he notice a book on the ground. Picking it up, he saw the name Marinette Dupain-Cheng written on the front, and, opening up the front page he saw that it was her sketchbook.

It seemed that this time he was going to have to find her.

#Damianette December #Damianette #Maribat

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vanaera · 4 years

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟏 | 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, mystery, angst, action, romance (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 11k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); heavy descriptions of a hit-and-run; mentions of blood from injuries and violent crimes (PG-16 Rating)

A/N | This fic is for @btswritingcafe’s Map of The Soul Workshop!

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

The pavement was cold beneath his cheek. The gravel, sharp, and the smell of the after-rain, acrid. Jungkook peels his eyes open. They hang too heavy and the task seemed almost a century-worth effort. However, he’s glad he got his lids up because he could now see what’s in front of him. His right foot is stuck underneath the pedal. The windshield was broken, the spiderweb of glass fragments racing from the right corner. When he looks to his left, the car window is shattered. The car was toppled over. The pungent smell of gas is filling his nostrils. Something feels wet on his head. He raises his hand to his temple. When he pulls it away, there’s a scarlet smear on his palm. He’s bleeding.

Jungkook pulls the seatbelt free. He falls further into the ceiling of the car, grunting from the metal appendages poking into his shoulder. He pulls his torso up and starts to make his way out. His joints were screaming and Jungkook could feel his ligaments were tearing apart. His right arm is numb even if there are huge glass shards impaled in his skin. But Jungkook keeps on, dragging his skin across the sharp gravelly road. One after another, he elbows his way away from the wrecked-down car seat. But his upper limbs were not enough to pull his foot free from the crushed console. Jungkook grunts.

And then, there’s a siren.

Jungkook turns to his left. Tires screech on the rough road. A blue sedan swivels and parks right in front of him. Lights sweep on the ground. Jungkook feels it’s similar to the lights that are being reflected by the broken windshield. He couldn’t see much but he feels he’s being blinded.

The car door slams shut. A figure is moving towards him. Jungkook squints his eyes but he cannot see any face. The blood running down his temple must have streamed down to his pupils. All he sees right now is red.

Loose gravels crunch under leather soles. The figure hovers above him. And then Jungkook feels his torso being lifted, his legs dangling lifelessly beneath him. He feels a strong pull on his shoulder and then there’s a tug. His stuck foot is now free.

The unknown man sets him inside the passenger side. Soon, he’s sitting in the driver’s seat. He pulls away from the car wreckage on the road. And then, he looks at him.

“Don’t worry. It’s alright. You’re alright. I’ll get you help.”

Jungkook looks at the man. He starts to see a glimpse of sandy blonde hair in a pompadour, a small button nose, and a pointed jaw. But they’re not enough to recognize him when red still fills the large expanse of his vision.

The man pushes the stick to the second gear. “I’m Kim Namjoon.”

“Wh-who?”

“Namjoon.” A beat. “Your bestfriend.”

“My bestfriend?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon turns his eyes back on the road. “You’ll remember me once we get to the hospital. Now, just sit and rest.”

A bright light is directed to his eyes. It’s so bright he couldn’t tell if it’s even white. But at least, it’s no longer red.

“His eyes are alright,” a woman in her late forties informs. She’s wearing a pristine white coat over a green set of shirt and pants. Jungkook thinks he must be now in a hospital. He doesn’t remember exactly when he woke up. All he recalls from the past minutes is the blinding light and the piercing stench of iodoform.

“Thank God,” a deep voice says. Jungkook looks to his left and he sees the man who picked him up. Now that everything seems more illuminated now, he could see the familiar curve of the man’s smile. His droopy eyes, tall frame, long limbs, and even the small indent of dimples on his skinny cheeks. It really is Namjoon.

The doctor nods. “Yeah, he got lucky. Just a few cuts, scratches, and bruises. Even if his right foot was stuck in the vehicle, not one ligament was damaged, lest pulled. He would be walking like normal once he gets enough rest.” The woman looks at him, “But he has an arm to tend to. He needs to get it bandaged and cleaned from time to time.”

Jungkook follows the doctor’s gaze onto his arm. A thick white gauze covers the skin from his wrist to his elbow.

“It’s not much of a worry,” Namjoon smiles. “He lives with me. He’s in safe hands.”

The doctor pulls her lips in a relieved smile. “Glad to know that. He’ll need someone to help him clean it. The wound was not too deep but it’s pretty stretched wide. We gave him 15 stitches.” The door tucks her clipboard beneath her elbow. “Have him back here after two weeks. We have to get the stitches out.”

“Okay, doc,” Namjoon nods and sends the woman a grateful smile.

“Okay. I’ll leave you here with him, then. He just needs rest, then he can go home tomorrow,” The doctor claps Namjoon’s shoulder. Namjoon thanks and the doctor finally pulls the green curtains close behind her.

“Namjoon.”

Namjoon turns to him, scoffing lightly. “So, you remember me now?” The small smile that starts to grow on his face falls flat when he sees Jungkook pierce him with a questioning glare. Namjoon sits on the stool next to him.

Jungkook clears his throat. He looks straight into his friend’s eyes, “What happened?”

“I think you shouldn’t be worrying about that first. You need to rest—”

“What happened, Namjoon?”

Namjoon closes his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Well…you got hit. Your car received most of the impact on the right side. It drove your car rolling over for probably how many times considering the wreck I found you in. You know, it’s a wonder you only got an injured arm, considering your seatbelt was the only one that saved you from the hit. Your airbag didn’t work. You hit your head on the window but there’s only a small wound.” Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, “Look, the Organization will assign you to another car so you don’t have to worry about paying for the damages. After all, it happened during your patrol and the airbag was—”

“Who hit me?”

Namjoon stops. He looks at Jungkook and then to his side. He keeps his mouth shut.

Jungkook purses his lips. “Namjoon, who hit me?”

Namjoon keeps his mouth shut.

Jungkook sighs, “You know I just got the Winston assassination case back on track. This person is probably highly involved in it—considering I’ve made quite a scene about the warrants—

“Jungkook, we don’t know who hit you.”

Jungkook gapes. “Ho—How could you not know? Forecrime has high chances to be in the timeframe before the crash—”

“Forecrime was unable to predict the crime.”

“What?”

Namjoon looks down at his hands. “Accident Prevention Sector reported they didn’t see any officer getting involved in a hit and run today.”

Jungkook tongues his cheek.

Namjoon shakes his head. “Look, this is probably just human error in the Division. We had the same problem in the Johnston home murders and the Kim crime family drug buy-bust.” Namjoon releases a sigh, “I already reported what happened to the FJO. From what I heard, they’re asking to check into the CCTVs in Somerset Road. Where your car was found. They’re just unable to do so tonight because the maintenance office is already closed. They’ll probably have something by tomorrow.”

Jungkook nods slowly. “Under which division was this case filed?”

“Precrime.”

“Who’s taking over it?”

“Property and Crime Scene’s Mark Benson.”

Jungkook sits up straight. “Transfer him to another case. Hand me this one.”

Namjoon stands up and places his hands on the man’s shoulder, stopping him from further leaving the bed. “Jungkook, you’re injured. You need to rest for a while.”

“Yeah, but the doctor said I will be fine by tomorrow. I can go to work tomorrow then.”

“Yes, tomorrow.” Namjoon glares at him, “Tomorrow isn’t now. Nor will it be for the next days to come because you need to heal your arm first. So, let Mark handle this one. Plus, you’ve not yet closed the Winston case. It would be too tiresome to handle two cases at the same time.”

Jungkook takes Namjoon’s hands off him. “If some son of a bitch easily got away from destroying my car and putting me in this,” he gestures to his arm, “I’d rather be the one to catch him myself. Please do me a favor and put me in charge of the case? Pre-crime’s handling it. I’m a captain in Precrime.” Jungkook purses his lips. “This is just my hypothesis but the hit-and-run doesn’t sound like a mere hit-and-run. It happened at Somerset Road. It’s too coincidental to take place at Somerset of all places. The culprit must be backed up by some technology to escape Forecrime right under their noses.” Jungkook grabs Namjoon's arm. “This could even be Winston’s assassin I’ve been tracking down for years. He has a history of using technology that took advantage of the weak points of FJO’s system. Please, Namjoon? You’re in the Bureau. You have jurisdiction over the divisions. You can easily convince them and get me to head the case.”

“Yes,” Namjoon hisses, “but I’m just an analyst in there.”

“You’re not just an analyst if Lieutenant Kim unofficially hails you to be his adviser. You helped Seokjin resolve a lot of issues between the two divisions. You’re personally close to him. You even got invited to his wedding.”

Namjoon blows out a frustrated sigh.

“Does that mean a ‘yes’?”

“What else will it mean?” the man rolls his eyes. “You know so well how to rope me into your schemes.” He stands up and fixes his friend’s bed.

Jungkook leans back on the pillow, “Of course, you’re my bestfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Namjoon drawls, tucking the sheets to Jungkook’s chest. He reaches for the remote, pressing the button to get the bed to recline.

“Namjoon.”

The man turns to the captain.

Jungkook smiles, “Thank you.”

Namjoon could only nod.

The Federal Justice Organization stands in the middle of the Metropolis Complex. Surrounded by towering buildings of corporations and business centers, the Organization is only five stories high. However, it occupies a large 20-hectare area, the largest in the complex. With two buildings that wing at the sides of the main facade, the Organization envelops the economic hotspot of the city, seemingly like a foundation of security.

The FJO is a matrix of floor-to-ceiling windows separated by layers of metal and concrete walkways. Everything is visible to anyone who’s standing at the façade. Officers in their black protective gears rushing past each other, helmets tucked underneath their elbows. Detectives busy on their phones and stacks of case folders. Interns running high and down with trolleys of files behind them, some even holding coffee cups. Higher-ups in their revered badge-infested uniforms wearing grim faces as team captains follow behind them.

And from the main lobby of the Organization, Jungkook could see Matthew Andrews looking at him from the walk-bridge above him. Jungkook takes the lift in front of him. He walks toward the man and salutes. “Chief.”

Matthew salutes back. He places his hands behind his back again. “I heard about what happened last night.”

“Ah, yes, sir,” Jungkook mutters. He tucks his bandaged arm behind him. “Just a minor accident. The wound isn’t that deep.”

Matthew nods slowly. “That’s good to know. Though I still would want you to stay at home for a while to heal. You must still be in shock.”

“Oh no, I’m not,” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ve been through worse. This is just like a scratch. I can’t afford to miss a day at work. After all, the Winston case I’m heading is still media-hot.”

“You’re right.” Matthew looks at the bustling people in the lobby. “Work doesn’t seem to stop when you’re in here. Skipping a day is a privilege on-standby that we never get to use. Not when our work seems to follow us wherever we go. Right?”

“Yes, sir.” Jungkook nods.

Matthew turns back to him, “I also heard the Bureau transferred your hit and run case to you.”

Jungkook gives a tight smile. “Yes, sir. I think the Bureau thought it would be best if I handle the case. I have a hunch it’s connected with the Winston case.”

“The Bureau’s lieutenant said the same.” Matthew steps to him and claps his shoulder. “I’m just glad your injuries are not that serious, son.”

“Yes, sir. Me, too.” Jungkook smiles.

Matthew steps back, sending him one last smile, “Good luck with the case, son.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jungkook bids him goodbye. Matthew heads to the central lift. He nods at him before the metal doors close, and soon, Jungkook is alone again. Sighing, Jungkook fixes the cuffs of his jacket down to his wrists and heads for the Left-wing.

The Precrime Division is located at the West of the FJO Headquarters. The Murder sector, the second office to be reached from the Left-wing lift. With a 150 square feet area, Jungkook’s office is wide enough to accommodate his whole team without them frequently bumping into each other. At the same time, it is still small enough to effectively work around their tools. Jungkook’s desk is set against the glass wall that separates their sector from Organized Crime’s. Meanwhile, his team’s desks are stationed across his, next to the glass wall of Homicide’s. A metal “chute” is built on the innermost right corner. It’s boxy in structure and looks akin like the previous generation’s take on a fireplace. Except, the opening of the chute is placed much higher, above waist level. It’s used for message coordination among the different sectors. East-west to this metalwork is a huge glass board, fastened on a wooden compartment-panel that broke the series of glass walls in the middle. Despite the space provided to them, Jungkook thinks it’s still less than enough when one case is enough to immediately fill up the entire glass board with open files, their office, with all the team members.

Unlike today. Jungkook plops down on his swivel chair. He thinks it is the first time their glass board is not filled to the brim as he flips open the file case of the Winston assassination.

Jonathan Winston was the Chief General of FJO from 2015 to 2031, renowned for his pristine-clean reputation in his forty years of work. With numerous foundations supporting masses of the poor working class, Winston was a favorite of the people. Especially after he busted out the celebrated pork barrel scam of three Department of Justice’s heads in 2025. When Winston aimed for a position in the Senatorial board in 2032, he didn’t have to worry anymore about getting re-elected for the following term.

That is until August 15, 2047. He was sitting in a restaurant with his family when at 12:30, a gun was shot and Winston falls face-first onto the table with a gaping wound between his eyebrows. It was a field day for the reporters. Assassination in front of numerous potential witnesses in broad daylight and yet no identity of the culprit was found. All the witnesses, including Winston’s family, have different descriptions of the suspect, producing different faces. FJO can’t even trace if there was a mastermind behind the whole crime because no aberrant paper or electronic trail was found. The crime scene was spotless of any fingerprint, and so are the places probable to be the suspect’s hideout before and after the crime.

This is one of the biggest, and difficult, cases Jungkook ever handled. For despite the extensive collaboration between traveling agents of Precrime and Forecrime, FJO only ended up with a gunman they cannot indict. The organization saw similarities in the Winston assassination case with previous cases concerning an elusive gunman with an unidentifiable face: Leigh Anderson. The style of murder, his long background of numerous violent crimes, his reported hate on the New-Age Government, his notable appearances in the vicinity of his victims before their time of death—it all matched up to be too coincidental. Even his known victims’ descriptions of him cannot produce one exact face at all.

However, all of these are mere circumstantial evidence to the court for no singular physical description, fingerprint, or handwriting of Anderson is legitimate enough to be presented against him. Even after FJO has adapted a state-of-the-art technology in 2051, the lack of justice in Winston’s assassination continued to bear heavy criticisms against the organization. No agent in FJO was able to get into the exact time frame of the murder to provide the most convincing evidence in court: a crime record, the FJO-validated video of, or any event related to, the actual crime.

Until July 12 of 2059, exactly three weeks ago, when Captain Jeon Jungkook accidentally got into the timeframe of the Winston assassination while traveling for a different murder case. With the crime record of the whole travel, the clear shot of the crime, and the full image of the gunman to serve as solid evidence, Jungkook easily got the cold Winston case back on track. He’s even backed up by testimonies of Leigh’s sister and brother-in-law who divulged that Leigh has a history of cocaine addiction and gang involvement five years prior to the assassination. But, these never lightened the burden of the case. After Precrime succeeded in placing the warrant of arrest on their long-suspected gunman, Leigh Anderson suddenly disappeared. Disappeared like thin air, without any kind of trail left behind. Off-grid even to FJO’s state of the art technology.

Jungkook pulls out the papers about Anderson’s history. He scans through the file.

“…Ms. Anne Rowanson said she heard Anderson scream in the floor above her. When she let herself in his unit, concerned, she saw nothing but sheets of newspapers flying in the wind.”

“…It’s like he’s there but suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. And yet you could still feel his presence on your skin.”

“He’s always been a strange man….talked about a lot of sponsors, but never once mentioning their name.”

“…got an affinity for cars. Said he loves to crash them. He has a history with notorious car-crashing gangs.”

“James Kim said he’s violent. He said Leigh didn’t show any remorse on his face when he attempted to run him over with his car.”

“…Heavy breathing on the other line. Traced the number to a device that doesn’t actually exist.”

When Jungkook flips through their other file folder for Anderson, he ends up with the same information. Anderson suddenly disappears like thin air so conveniently at his supposed day of arrest. He’s got a lot of anonymous sponsors from the black market. He’s violent and he likes to send anonymous calls to his victims who survived, only to let them hear his heavy breathing on the line.

All of it fits too perfectly with the hit and run case. Anderson is likely to be supported by a big body rich enough to give him technology for time-traveling that could be at-par with FJO’s. Anderson is a likely suspect to hit Jungkook’s car beyond repair, its wreckage too great to be done by an amateur crasher. And, Anderson hates him. This Jungkook is sure of the day he announced to the media Anderson’s warrant of arrest. He called Jungkook’s personal phone that night to announce his identity and scream “I hate you,” “I’m going to fucking kill you,” and “you’re still two steps behind me no matter what you do,” again and again. When Jungkook traced the call, it all led to a nonexistent device, just like the statements of his previous victims.

Leigh Anderson must have used an illegal time-traveling technology last night, crashed right into Jungkook’s car before disappearing into thin air again, fulfilling his act of vengeance.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. He’s sent Hoseok Jung and Mark Lee earlier to the maintenance office of Somerset Road to retrieve the CCTV files. Although he’s yet to see the videos, Jungkook thinks there’s no other plausible reason for what happened last night other than Leigh Anderson’s doing. Everything aligns too perfectly with Anderson’s history to be coincidental.

The alarm suddenly rings. The light set above the chute flashes red. From the corner of Jungkook’s eye, he sees Jimin Park shoot up from his seat. Jungkook quickly follows suit. The metal doors open, the machine pushing a medium-sized red expandable envelope onto the receiving mouth of the Murder Sector’s chute. Jimin retrieves the folder and opens it. He pulls a chartreuse glass file from the envelope and slides it onto a slot on the glass board. He faces Jungkook. “Captain Jeon, red file, Forecrime, Future Murder Sector. Traveling agent in charge is Joanna Sy, crime record validated by traveling agents Steve Meyer, Ara Lee, and Nick Holbert. This is case number 5041. Murder by assassination. Victim’s name is James Kim.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“The suspect is…Leigh Anderson.”

Jungkooks slides in his gloves and dashes to the glass board. The wooden compartment behind the board slides open. Two black screens alight to show a live video conference with a short-haired blonde woman in a maroon blazer and a man in his late fifties wearing a black suit.

Jungkook salutes. “Good morning. I’m Jungkook Jeon, captain of the Murder Sector of Precrime Division. This is case number 5041, murder by assassination of victim James Kim by suspect Leigh Anderson. Recorded by Forecrime Future Murder Sector traveling agent Joanna Sy, validated by traveling agents Steve Meyer, Ara Lee, and Nick Holbert. My witnesses to the crime record gathered by the Federal Justice Organization are Chief Justice Stephanie Park and Chief General Matthew Anderson. Will the witnesses view and validate the crime record at this time?”

“Witness appeal granted.”

The glass board lights up and a video starts playing with the sound of honking cars in the city. The huffs of Joanna can be heard as Jungkook and the rest in the room see everything happening in Joanna’s eyes. She climbs up a bemired, dark staircase in some dingy apartment complex. When a large thud resonates from the floor above, Joanna sprints.

She runs through a dark hallway. The doors of the apartment are locked shut, save for one that’s situated right next to the door where the thud probably came from. Joanna slips in and scampers through the empty apartment. When she reaches the open balcony, she crouches down and hides beside the thick wall extension.

From her place, Leigh Anderson’s face is crystal clear visible as he’s crouched on his own balcony, body flat on the ground, fingers wrapped around his sniper. Joanna attempts to follow Anderson’s line of target only to land on an empty alleyway crammed between two dilapidated buildings. It’s empty until a man swings the door of a bar open and pops into the vicinity. Joanna zooms in her glasses. It’s James Kim.

Joanna whips her head back to Anderson. He pulls the trigger. Screams resonate from a distance. Joanna turns back to the alley. James is on the floor, head bloodied.

The record stops.

Jungkook turns around, “Jimin, time of the crime?”

“10:46.”

Jungkook looks at the time on the board. 10:16. They only have exactly thirty minutes. There’s more time. Jungkook hovers his hand on the glass board and swipes through the crime record. Joanna’s at a dirty, old apartment complex exactly facing an alleyway with two dilapidated buildings. He swipes forward and back through the video until his eyes are caught by something on the window. He sees towering, shining buildings standing on one side, smaller, dirtier establishments on the other, seemingly creating two columns in the open window.

Jungkook shouts. “Suspect location is at Middle Town! Get me a list of Middle Town apartment complexes.”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny Kim hollers, clicking through his computer. He dashes to the glass board and slides a grey glass file into the slot below the one containing the crime record. Jungkook nods at him and sweeps his gloved hand over the apartment list to bring them right next to the playing crime record. Jungkook pauses the record the exact moment Joanna assesses the empty apartment she hid in. Small studio type, gray metal balcony wiring, dull gray cemented flooring, and a huge window by the bedside, the large billboard of the Federal Justice Organization in a great view. Jungkook switches to the apartment complexes. He flips through them until he sees three complexes with probable ample view of the FJO billboard from their windows. Maria Residences, Sunset Place, Riverside Homes. All of them just stand near the billboard. He can’t tell if they are facing an alleyway. Jungkook clicks his tongue. “The architecture of the room, who could have designed this?”

Jess Thomson speaks up from her computer, “It looks like Danny White. He’s known for modern designs and his unproportioned large windows are his signature. His designs proliferated in the late 2020s.” Jess looks at the captain, “but almost every establishment in Middle Town has incorporated this style. White was the go-to man for middle-class housing.”

“Okay,” Jungkook swipes his fingers upward on the glass board, capturing a still-frame of the room. He swipes left and Johnny retrieves the blank grey disk where the picture was sent and hands it to Jess. “Check more details in the design and tell me what you could get,” Jungkook orders.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir, ten minutes have passed,” Taehyung Kim reminds. Jungkook just nods.

Jungkook plays the video again and stops at James Kim’s location. Black gravelly alleyway. Worn out buildings with cracking paint. The door swings open and out comes James. He is stumbling, possibly drunk. Just before Joanna’s perspective goes back to Anderson, Jungkook pauses the video and zooms in. James is reaching over to something that looks like a beat-up human-sized box. It’s blurry but Jungkook could make out a hand resting beneath the glass façade of the red box.

“A carnival ticketing booth stand,” Jungkook announces, “It’s an entrance to a small downtown carnival.”

“There are only two areas with that kind of vintage, cheap entertainment,” Jess informs, “Middle-high Streets and Holiday Avenue. But Middle-high is more of June Lee than Danny White. So it has to be Holiday Avenue.”

“Sunset Place.” Jungkook hollers as he zips up his protective gear, “The future crime scene is at Sunset Place.” He marches to the hallway, Murder Sector’s Task-Action head agents following behind. “Taehyung, flight time?”

“Ten minutes. We’ve got fifteen minutes left, sir.”

Jungkook nods and steps into the clear narrow glass-cased metal lift at the end of the hallway. Taehyung and the rest of the agents occupy the rest of the compartments. The lifts lock shut and propel them down the building and onto the Task-Action Agency Office.

In no time, Jungkook and his team and a number of Task-Action agents are zooming on the streets. By 10:38, the wheels of their vans are screeching into a stop in front of Sunset Place. The Task-Action agents pile out and soon, Jungkook and his team are climbing up the staircase they have seen in the crime record. Two sets of the flight of steps and then they’re running onto the dark hallway. Some of the agents have positioned themselves in front of Anderson’s door. Meanwhile, Jungkook’s team enters the empty room where Joanna has hidden, steps soundless on the naked concrete despite the heavy equipment hanging on their protective gears. Jungkook raises a closed fist and the agents hold their places by the door. Jungkook crouches, inching nearer to the wall extension. He looks at his watch. 10:43.

Jungkook breathes out and peeks at the other side. Leigh Anderson is lying on his stomach, fingers poised around his sniper. Just like the crime record. Jungkook presses the button on his contact device. Leigh’s door bursts open and the agents rushing steps reverberate through the walls. Jungkook whips out his gun, stepping from his hiding place. “FJO, freeze!—”

Gunshot.

Leigh Anderson is on the floor, slumped over his sniper. His head is blown up, blood splattered on the white tiles of the balcony, some even painted on the metal railings. A Glock 19 pistol on his left hand.

“It’s a suicide,” Taehyung mouths at him but Jungkook doesn’t hear anything.

He slumps forward on the balcony. His suspect is dead before he could even arrest him.

“Here’s the CCTVs we retrieved, sir,” Hoseok Jung informs, sliding an ice-blue glass disk into the glass board.

Jungkook nods, but his mind doesn’t comprehend what the agent said at all. He’s reeling back to the scene at Sunset Place. Chief General Andrews telling him the Winston case is off. Open and left cold again, probably for good this time. 12 years of hard work all for nothing. Jeon Jungkook finds it hard to swallow. It cannot end just like that. Anderson is definitely backed up by someone powerful. For all God knows, that benefactor has supported a lot of professional gunmen and another round of murders will start just like Anderson’s doing. Jungkook told Andrews about this, even almost pleaded. But the Chief General only sympathetically clasped his shoulder and told him to let it go.

“The Department of Justice called and wanted us to stop and leave it open for now. Even if I wanted to go with your hunch, we can’t do anything more when our only lead is now dead. Let it go, son,” Matthew closes his eyes, sighing, “Things like this do happen. The Unsolved Crimes sector won’t exist if it hadn’t been the case…We’ve still got enough cases on our plate to handle.”

It’s easier said than done. Jungkook can’t just let go of the case he’s headed for 12 years. 12 years he spent chasing after a suspect they cannot indict even when everyone knows he’s the culprit. 12 years he’s been mocked by a disgusting criminal only to let him have the last laugh by getting out of the case the easy way. Leigh Anderson was just within arms’ reach. For 12 years, Jungkook longed for this exact moment. And yet all he can do is just let it go? No, Jungkook, won’t have that. He can’t just let everything he’s worked hard for go down the drain so easily. He can’t—

“It’s not Leigh Anderson.”

Jungkook stops. He raises his face from his head from his closed hand. “What?”

“It’s not Leigh Anderson,” Hoseok repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Hoseok pauses the video. The image of Jungkook’s silver-gray Ford speeding along Somerset Road fills the frame of the glass-board. In the right corner of the crossroad, is an incoming black Jaguar, its license plate too blurred to recognize anything but its first number “1.” The right corner of the frame shows it was 20:23:40, August 1.

Hoseok hits play, and the Jaguar picks up speed, colliding into the right side of the Ford. It sent the car rolling over three times. At 20:23:50, the Jaguar continues on and disappears into the frame. Another tape rolls in and a CCTV mounted on a post near the road where Jungkook’s car came from. Just like the first one, it shows how the Jaguar crashed right into the Ford before driving away. The Jaguar drives off, continuing from where the first clip has lost contact of it. However, at exactly 20:24, the Jaguar completely disappears. Right in the middle of the road. Vanished into thin air. Caught by the CCTV.

When the next tape of another CCTV rolls in, no car passed Somerset from 20:31 until 20:46, when Namjoon’s car, a blue 80’s sedan zips through the road and stops at Jungkook’s car. At 21:03, the FJO has made its way to the car wreckage. Until at the end of the film on August 2, 11:45, the black Jaguar did not re-appear.

“This…is not Anderson’s doing?”

“Yes, sir. Well, as far as this evidence presents, it’s not him.” Hoseok rewinds the video and pauses at the 20:23:44 mark. The image of the Jaguar is back on screen. Hoseok zooms in. Jungkook gapes.

There’s almost no one on the wheel if Jungkook were to quickly look at it. But Jungkook did not, and in his seat, he makes out a silhouette. Its face was hidden in the dark and some parts of its body are blurred out. Even with these, Jungkook could see that the silhouette is slim and has thick, long limbs. Totally unlike Leigh Anderson. Leigh was overweight and sported a huge belly and large flabby arms.

“…What is this?”

“It’s the same question running in our heads, sir.” Hoseok looks at him, “All we know is that it’s definitely not Anderson.”

There are three blue pills left in the clear bottle. Jungkook pours them all onto his palm and downs them all in one go. When he puts down the bottle, his eyes travel to the city outside, drowning in the heavy downpour.

The city looks the same. Streetlights remain vibrant despite the blur of the thick raindrops. Some buildings still have their lights up in this ungodly hour. The majority of them have long darked out, blending with the ravenous night sky. Only the streets stay lit up but that seems hopeful when he’s seen them flicker in minute intervals. A few cars pass by. Jungkook can’t expect it to be the opposite, though. The buildings in Middle Town stay short under the shadows of the distant ones of the Metropolis. It’s always been like this. Jungkook doesn’t need to look at the window across the room to see the other side completely lit up by various apparatuses known to humankind. The difference between the Middle Town and Metropolis never fails to make itself known to him no matter how high their residence lies in the boundary.

The only thing that’s similar between the two is the humongous billboard that sits atop the crest of each district. Of course, the Metropolis had a bigger one than Middle Town. Nevertheless, they’re still one and the same. Jungkook could tell because it’s just 15 meters away from his place on both sides.

“In a world where everything seems to progress forward, there’s only one thing we hope won’t rush past us too soon. Nine years ago, various violent crimes have spread over the country in epidemic ratios. It seemed a miracle could be the only hope we’ll have. But instead of a miracle, we’re given a more tangible blessing: the time jumpers. When Allen McGregor and his assistant, Chisoo Kim, invented these novel devices that could let humans travel in the past and future, the Federal Justice Organization renovated itself and ensured the devices will fall onto good hands. Now with the ability to see the past and the future, the New-Age Federal Justice Organization has easily prevented crimes from happening and even solved the ones that have long scarred us for years. With just one month under the improved FJO program, the crime rates in the country have dramatically dropped to 95 percent. In a year, FJO has brought justice to every case left open in the 2000s and has prevented more crimes from ever happening. In the eight years, FJO has run their new system, there’s never been a crime that threatened the stability of our nation. The Federal Justice Organization, our nation’s salvation of justice.”

Jungkook tears his eyes from the billboard. They land on the picture frame that sits atop his desk. Warm brown doe eyes, short stubby arms, a bunny-tooth smile. Jungkook feels like he’s looking at a mirror. Bile rises to his throat. He turns the frame down. It’s not enough. Jungkook stands up and tosses it on the table containing his mess of papers and folders.

His eyes are burning. When he holds a hand over them, he realizes there were only tears.

Jungkook places his badge face-down on the metal post. After that, he places his face on the monitor and lets it scan his eyes. A beep and the Federal Justice Organization’s glass doors slide open and Jungkook secures his coat on his shoulder as he walks in the lobby. When he reaches the main hallway, he’s met by the grim face of Matthew Andrews.

“Someone from the Department of Justice was sent over to take our system away from us. He’s in the Left-wing now.”

Jungkook quickens his pace. The Chief General follows behind, “Apparently, a time jumper was found messing around FJO’s system. DOJ traced it back to Precrime.”

Jungkook halts. Matthew continues, “Apparently, they’ve been studying about aberrant appearances and disappearances of a car on cam. A black Jaguar with an unidentifiable driver. Their reports stated it started on July 15—three days right after the media televised your warrants against Leigh Anderson. What bothered them is the Jaguar’s pattern of disappearances. It’s completely similar to the traveling pattern of Precrime’s agents.” Matthew sighs. “The DOJ is going to turn up FJO upside-down in the following days. They’re gonna check on Forecrime and they’re going to take over the coordinating system of the Investigation Bureau, preventing it from mediating any interactions between the two divisions. But most of all, they’re gonna target Precrime. Especially your sector. This new case seems to be connected to Winston’s.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. Matthew runs a hand over his face, “From what I could see, they’re already suspecting Precrime’s high-ranking officials. Probably even of Winston’s assassination. The untimely death of Leigh Anderson is worthy of suspicion of an inside job to them.”

Matthew faces Jungkook. “You know the FJO has been hot in the eyes of the people these days because of the Winston case. A week from now, people are going to vote whether our new system is noble enough to continue for the next eight years. I can’t have DOJ flooring our system’s reputation, son. Moreso your very sector.”

Jungkook nods, “Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Jungkook,” Matthew holds his arm, “Keep an eye on this Yoongi Min—the auditor. Answer all of his questions. Let him look around. Satisfy his curiosity. But, be wary of him. DOJ hasn’t told much of how they will conduct their investigation but I think they’ve already got their men inside and it seems this Yoongi is gonna be heading it all. Whatever happens, good news or not, make sure to report them all to me. And if there’s any problem, ensure that we are the first ones to know.”

“Yes, sir,” Jungkook salutes. Andrews fondly claps his shoulder and Jungkook immediately heads to the Murder Sector’s Office.

When he swings the glass door open, he’s met by his team standing apprehensively around a man in his late thirties. He’s standing at 5’7, sporting platinum blonde hair, thin-rimmed glasses, and navy tweed suit.

“Red files are for emergency ones—murders of passion or unprecedented murders late detected by Forecrime. Black is for premeditated murders—first-degree murders. Gray is for second-degree, maroon is for felony murders. And brown files like this one are for homicides,” Jimin hands the blonde man the folder.

The man nods, opening the folder to skim through a past case. After a minute he closes it shut. “But you’re still technically arresting people based on a future prediction of your co-workers aided by human-made and -operated devices.”

“Yes,” Jimin acknowledges. “These are the revised legalistic methodology of FJO as per the advice of Allen McGregor and his assistant Chisoo Kim. They were the inventors of this system but before that, they were lawyers.”

“How can you tell the system they’ve created is impossible of making inaccurate foreseen futures?”

“They don’t make mistakes,” Jimin assures. “The crime records seen by the Forecrime traveling agents in the future are validated by other traveling agents who have seen the same outcome. There has never been a wrong crime record in eight years. Sure, there may be inconsistencies in how the crime was done with the one viewed in the crime records. But the suspects seen in the future remain as suspects and they will still do the deed one way or another. Plus, the suspects’ motivations were checked on by Precrime’s traveling agents.”

“But what if a suspect decided not to forgo the crime?” the blonde man insists. “People are complex. We are capable of changing our minds at the last second. Can Forecrime even acknowledge a possible alternate future where this person backed out of a crime? Does Precrime really look at all the angles of these motivations you talk about?

“Forecrime and Precrime do all of those things because of our belief in predestination,” Jungkook finally interrupts, reaching a hand out. “I’m Jungkook Jeon, captain of Precrime, Murder Sector. You must be Yoongi Min.”

“I am,” the blonde shakes his hand. Yoongi quickly draws his arm back. “I was just asking Mr. Jimin Park here about the accuracy of your system.”

“Of course, it is accurate. The concept of predestination assures that everything in time is already determined before it comes to actuality. What will happen, will indeed, happen.” Jungkook snatches the brown file from the man’s hands. “When Jimin handed you this,” Jungkook raises the folder, “why did you flip it open?”

“Because I have to look at it. The department—”

“Because you’re going to have to look at it,” Jungkook raises a brow. “The department instructed you to investigate us and it is part of your protocol to see through our files. You’re going to open our files whether right now or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. In the end, you will still look at them, one way or another. It’s a future predetermined by the system of DOJ.”

“Yes,” Yoongi nods, “but you can’t say the same for futures that are yet to happen anytime soon. In our field, we can only rely on objectivity. Factual evidence and observations. Tangible. And your predetermined cases are not any of those. Even if you check on them by having your traveling agents jump into the past.”

Jungkook sits on his swivel chair, “That’s why we conduct our arrests one to three minutes before the actual act of the crime to further verify if the crime record is correct. It’s called knowing an intended result. Doctors acknowledge them when they prescribe medications. It was utilized so because by facts, they—and we—know what will be the result.” Jungkook coyly turns around his seat, “Plus, we don’t charge the suspects we arrest with murder, but future murder. Its punishment is just a couple of eight to twelve years in our prison. A lot of degrees lighter than the punishment we have for murder, which not that we needed to say, was last given in 2051. Because as everyone knows, we stopped a lot of crimes from happening since our new system was established.

“But it still doesn’t negate you’re arresting people who haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I don’t even get why you need to question our system,” Jungkook scoffs, “Your department approved it eight years ago.”

“I’m questioning because DOJ is debating whether it was a good idea to have your program approved eight years ago. Especially when we’re possibly dealing with an inside job allowed by this very system.” Yoongi slides his hands in his pockets. Jungkook purses his lips.

The auditor pulls a glass disk from his briefcase. “Here’s what I’m here for.”

Jungkook motions to Johnny and the latter retrieves the glass disk to insert it in the bottom-most slot of the glass board.

The screen opens and shows a CCTV footage of two streets crossing at 5th Avenue Place. The date is July 16. The streets are almost invisible as it was cramped with a mass of cars just as usual. At 12:25, a black Jaguar appears on the leftmost street. It drives by for about five minutes into the heavy traffic. Then suddenly, like a blink of an eye, it disappears among the sea of cars. The time was 12:30.

Yoongi walks toward the glass board, “As you all know, the restaurant on the center-point of this CCTV is the same place where Jonathan Winston was assassinated. And there’s a black Jaguar here that suddenly disappeared at 12:30. The same time you timed Winston was shot.” Yoongi presses play again, and then a series of CCTV dated from July 17 to 31, shot from different streets across the city, at different times of the day. The only constant element among them is the suspicious black Jaguar which appears on the left corner of the frame, and suddenly disappearing after three to five minutes staying in the vicinity. It was almost like a glitch in the CCTV had they not been recorded in series with other CCTVs.

Yoongi pauses the video. “The person in the vehicle is obviously doing time jumps. Three to five minutes of in-vicinity before indefinitely disappearing—from what our records say, it all seems as if this driver is an agent doing the usual Precrime travel mission. Forecrime doesn’t even get to time travel outside the Federal Justice Organization Complex.” The auditor faces back to the glass board, “It all seems just like any Precrime mission until July 31.”

The CCTV shows the familiar curve of Somerset Road. The time, 20:21. A silver-gray Ford speeds along the road. At 20:23, a black Jaguar appears and collides into the Ford’s right side. Jungkook bites his cheek. It’s his hit-and-run accident.

Yoongi’s eyes sweep over the room, “Now, we all know this tape captured the recent hit and run the captain has been involved with.” The auditor looks at Jungkook, “And I know you’re currently heading this case in connection with Winston’s case. Considering it happened at Somerset of all places, the most electromagnetic-charged field in the country aside from FJO’s traveling area here. Meanwhile, Anderson is rumored to have access to time jumping technology. However, this record of the hit and run also serves as a crucial lead to all these suspicious random appearances and disappearances. Because right here is the perfect shot for our surveillance crew to enhance the license plate.”

Yoongi flicks his hand. The screen zooms in.

1116459-01

Yoongi continues, “Although we don’t know yet where this plate leads us to, it helped us confirm this Jaguar is the same car that’s been captured by the CCTVs I’ve played. Most importantly, we found this Jaguar was seen at FJO’s Special Operations Building on the west side of the Metropolis, one day before the hit and run.”

The screen plays again and shows a record of the same Jaguar parking in the said building on July 30, 21:30. A man steps out and enters the building. After thirty minutes, he comes back and enters his car. He pulls away and goes back onto the streets. After a minute, it disappears again.

“None of the traveling agents are allowed access in Special Operations. They don’t have any valid reason in the first place because that building is reserved for the Investigation Bureau’s special agents.” Yoongi turns around, facing the sector. “And we all know that building houses the most advanced time jumping technology of FJO. Thus, the department has every right to suspect a high-risk inside job is on the works right now. This driver is obviously interested in Winston’s case and has easily accessed the Bureau’s building. What’s worse is I’ve heard your own system cannot identify this suspicious agent, just like ours.”

Yoongi walks around the office, “That’s why I am here to find faults in your system. To see what possibly could allow this break of protocol happen,” Yoongi stops in his step and pins a glare at Jungkook, “and why you should be cooperating at your utmost best instead of arguing against me, if you want to keep your program.”

The captain clenches his jaw. The blonde man smirks. His eyes look over the room until they land on a projected panel on the glass wall. “What’s that?”

“It’s the door leading to our central record room,” Jimin answers. “We call it the Memory Temple. It’s where we keep Precrime’s crime records along with Forecrime’s. As well as the blanks—crime records our agents have seen in the past and future but have not yet made sense of.”

“And no one has authority to go into that room but the Investigation Bureau’s chief analysts,” Jungkook says.

Yoongi turns to him, “You’ve never been in that room, before?”

Jungkook twirls his clicker around his fingers, “We like to separate the agents from the temple as much as possible so no one would be accused of tampering evidence. Unauthorized handling of the records can fuck up the collected memories.”

Yoongi turns back to the door, “So, that means I’ll be the first to enter it, then.”

“Did you not hear what I said?” Jungkook scoffs, “Only the chief analysts are allowed.”

“Yes, but if you’re talking about a question of authority—”

“Oh no, no.” Jungkook snickers, “there is no question of authority. You don’t have any authority.”

Yoongi tilts his head, “Well, I have one if I have a warrant ready in my pocket.”

Jungkook looks at the man. His eyes glance around the room and see the equally appalled faces of his subordinates. Taehyung looks at the captain, tilting his head toward the auditor. Jungkook snaps his gaze back onto the auditor, “Show me the warrant.”

Yoongi steps forward and pulls a folded paper in front of him. Jungkook spreads it open.

“This investigation is done under the direct order and supervision of the Romania Lee, Chief General Attorney of the Republic of Metrosia. If the Federal Justice Organization fails to comply with this direct order, the government has no choice but to implement a temporary suspension of three months up to one year,” Yoongi quotes. He nears Jungkook’s chair and crouches, leveling his face to the captain. “The Chief General Attorney has authority over FJO. I represent her, so I have authority over you.” Yoongi smirks, “I told you, you should cooperate with me at your utmost best if you want to keep your program.” The auditor snatches the paper and folds it back in his pocket. “Now, show me this Memory Temple.”

Jungkook grumbles as he begrudgingly stands up from his chair. He goes to the panel on the glass and presses a button, flashing a special ID of entrance for emergencies to the scanner. Another panel opens and Jungkook leans forward to let the system scan his eyes. The door slides open to a descending flight of metal steps. Jungkook starts downward, leading Yoongi into the Memory Temple.

The temple is dark. Its light source only comes from the bright yellow pin lights installed on the floor. Precrime’s crime records glow in faded sepia around them, looking like burnt-out stars. In contrast, Forecrime’s crime records are illuminated in bright chartreuse, seemingly like new sprouts. Blanks dot a few spaces in grayish-white. Glass shelves shine in faint crystal blue as they line the whole room, forming a circular labyrinth around the central starting walking-space where the four are currently in.

A woman in her late thirties sporting a messy bun and a lab coat walks to them. “Uh, Captain, you do know you’re not allowed to go in here unless it’s an emergency?”

Jungkook holds up a hand, “It’s fine Rina. It is kinda an emergency. DOJ has sent their lovely auditor here to investigate us and he’s adamant about seeing the Memory Temple. We’re not gonna touch anything.

Rina nods. Jungkook starts to lead the way around, Rina trailing next to him. Yoongi looks around the temple. “How are these records maintained to be as accurate as they were first produced?”

“U-um, the temple is built with a special architecture that prevents the exterior environment from affecting the crime records,” Rina pushes her glasses up her nose. “The walls are made of Zonium, a strong, indestructible element that makes strong, fireproof metal that is used in the construction of other government archives. These walls ensure that the records will be safe if the FJO catches on fire, suffers an earthquake, hurricane, and any other natural disasters. There are also no windows here to avoid the sunlight from passing through and wearing out the glass files. Bureau staff here is just limited to eight analysts, including me—one for each sector of FJO to prevent any agents from both divisions tampering around the records for personal use. We’re also here to take care of the crime records and keep an up-to-date inventory of the ones that come in.”

“Is it possible to provide DOJ a copy of each of these records?” Yoongi asks.

“Oh no, sir,” Rina shakes her head vehemently. “The crime records are specialized to be impossible to copy. It has detectors that light up when it senses it’s being processed under a glass disk copier. When it lights up, the record immediately secretes a black ink that will render any memory corrupted to view. The FJO produced such specialized disks as per the advice of Allen McGregor and Chisoo Kim to ensure the security of the records their technology has enabled.”

Yoongi nods, seemingly satisfied. The three walk around the outline of the labyrinth, Rina explaining each aisle as much as she can to the auditor, Jungkook adding a few details of the cases that involved certain records. When they returned to the walk space they came from, Jungkook thanks Rina for the accommodation and leads Yoongi back upstairs. Once they’ve made it back to the office’s concrete floors, the door slides shut, the panel returning to its initial small projection on the glass wall.

Unlike the Memory Temple, Yoongi has complete jurisdiction over the rest of the FJO complex. And so, Jungkook ended up hesitantly agreeing to tour the auditor around the complex and explain the activities done in each office as per the auditor’s inquiries.

“Each sector in Precrime has a metal chute connected with their counterparts in Forecrime,” Jungkook drawls as he points to Organized Crime’s metal structure. “Agents place the files on the projected plate and the chute will provide enough wind to push it through the metalwork. Meanwhile, files are received from the plates with the central slit. It’s like an ATM but instead of money, it produces a legal-sized expandable file.” Yoongi only stiffly nods. Jungkook releases an exasperated sigh. His only silver lining in carrying on this tour is Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok who’s aiding him in doing the rest of the explaining.

The auditor only says his first statement during the tour when they cross to the right-wing: the Forecrime division. “There’s not much difference between your divisions.”

Indeed, the Forecrime division almost looks identical to Precrime. Their walls are also made of transparent glass, their floors metal-infused concrete walkways. Each sector also has similar gigantic glass boards with wooden compartments at the back to enable witnesses to view crime records during investigations. There are also projected panels on the back glass walls that lead to the Memory Temple.

The only difference between the two divisions is the special room Forecrime was granted. Unlike Precrime, Forecrime does not have a specialized metal lift that enables the agents to reach the Task-Action Agency Office in record time. Instead, Forecrime has a huge gymnasium filled with long “boxes” of time jumpers. From their position on the hallway, Jungkook could see their traveling agents flipping the lids open and getting inside these boxes. Jungkook remembers asking about how Forecrime agents travel in these boxes to his friend, Hanford Meyers. The Forecrime Future of Organized Crimes Sector captain said it feels like getting thrust into a VR-like reality at any point around the country.

“It’s like you’ve suddenly awaken into a dream. You don’t have any sense of where you are. You only know of the time. And what you’re supposed to do. Before they could travel, Forecrime agents are trained to have an immense focus on the points of the case they have to check on in their travels in the future. So when they enter the box, it just seems like they’re being led by their conscious’ voice. The rest, we leave it to Precrime. What only matters is to see the nearest intended future and the box.”

All Jungkook could think about is how wrong it feels to call those time jumpers “boxes” when they look more like the vintage tanning beds.

The time seems to pass too fast since they’ve been in Forecrime because now, Jungkook is leading the team down to the ground floor. It must be because it was Jimin who took charge in explaining the rest in Forecrime. Meanwhile, the mundaneness of the fourth and fifth floors of the Investigation Bureau and the Offices of the High-ranking FJO Officers look and feel too much like the typical office the auditor already knows too well.Jungkook reaches the end of the hallway behind the main lobby, standing in front of a metal lift. However, this lift is not like any other lifts in the complex for this one has black gildings around its edges. It also has a note on the button’s panel that says, “For high-ranking officials and Freedom Security Staff Only.”

Just like at the panel on the back wall of the Murder Sector, Jungkook shows his identification card to the detector and leans forward to scan his eyes. The lift opens and inside, he presses “4,” subsequently letting the rest of his small posse enter the metal box. Jungkook presses the down button and soon, they feel the lift descending into the basement floor of the building.

The light at the top flicks green. The doors open and what awaits in front of them is a long metal walkway that leads to the center of the floor. Unsolved Crimes captain Ryan Bergara passes by and salutes at Jungkook. Jungkook does the same and continues on, and soon, they’re walking onto Federal Justice Organization’s Prison Area.

The walls are not made of glass but instead, of silver-gray metal similar to the ones used in the Memory Temple. There are small offices that circle around the floor housing wardens and utility staff. But the largest office sits on the north end. It has a glass wall that separates itself from the main hallway and the rest of the offices. A huge control board is set up filled with loads of different buttons and levers. Sitting in the swivel chair in front of it is the Chief Warden.

Jungkook knocks at the glass door. The Chief Warden jumps in his seat and turns around. Jungkook gives a small smile. The warden salutes at him, smiling, as he presses a button that opens the glass door.

“Why are you knocking instead of using your card? Could have saved me unnecessary shock,” Rick snickers.

Jungkook shrugs. “I felt like not using it after seeing you being so attentive to your job. Why are you even on the board? You’re the chief. Where’s Martin?”

“Took a leave to attend his wife’s performance at the opera. Bastard’s living a fairy tale these days,” Rick trails off as he peers behind the captain and notices the strange blonde man staring too intently at him. Rick raises a brow at the captain.

Jungkook sighs, “DOJ. This is their auditor Yoongi Min. He likes to check out the prison.”

Rick nods and turns to his board. “Make yourselves welcome to the balcony.” The Chief Warden presses a button and a buzzer goes off. The door at the right corner of the board pops open. Jungkook leads the way onto the balcony of the Prison Area. In front of them is a sea of glass-walled prison cells layered on top of one another. Each cell holds one prisoner, seemingly fast asleep as they stand stiff, wearing orange jumpsuits. A couple of tubes are attached to their body, connecting it to a huge tank that sits on the bottom compartments of their cells. Looking at the prison, one cannot help but feel like they’re looking at a wall of coffins tipped face-front.

“Your prison is—”

“Highly secured?” Jungkook turns to the auditor, “Yes, we made sure of that.”

“No. It’s inhumane.”

Jungkook scoffs, “I-inhumane? This is inhumane?”

“You’re stripping these people of their freedom to act on their autonomy to as basic as being awake.”

“Well, they lost their right to that freedom when they’ve stepped on other’s rights to commit their crimes,” Jungkook takes a step forward. “This is just for temporary. We’re going to release them anyway after their sentences. It’s better to make use of the time and teach them what it’s like to have your rights stripped away from you so they won’t even have to think again of stripping others of their rights.”

Yoongi cocks his brow. “It’s still inhumane. Your acting almighty, dictating these people deserve it when you’ve arrested them based on mere human-made predictions you make a temple for. You’re not acting like humans. You’re acting like gods and that is inhumane.”

Jungkook purses his lips. His eyes glance behind Yoongi’s back and see Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok nodding to themselves. Jungkook steps out and looks at them. “You’re nodding as if you know what he’s talking about.”

Hoseok shrugs, “Well, he has a point. We’re exercising our powers determining everyone’s future and dictating what consequence should they have. Indeed, only gods do that and we are no gods.”

Jungkook turns away and sighs. “Go back to work, all of you.”

The three nod. They salute at the captain and silently make their way out of the balcony.

Yoongi falls in step next to Jungkook. He looks down at his shoes. “Sorry, it’s a bad habit. I find it hard to see limitations in my words.”

Jungkook remains quiet.

Yoongi looks at him. “I know you must have great value for this system. Especially when you lost someone dear to you at such a tragic event—”

Jungkook turns to him.

“—And now, the culprit who hit you is walking around free—”

“Cut the bullshit, Yoongi. What are you really looking for?”

Yoongi levels his eyes with his. “Flaws.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. “The organization hasn’t made any flaw in eight years. Yes, there are some suspects who slipped past us and ended up finishing the crime. But we still successfully caught them in the end and exacted appropriate punishment.” Jungkook takes a step to the auditor, “Justice has been ensured at all times. The system is perfect.”

“Yes,” Yoongi nods, “your system is impeccable. But even if you act like gods using this system to its full potential, you are still humans. And humans are flawed. If the system is indeed perfect, then its flaws have to be created by humans.”

Jungkook stands still in his position.

Yoongi makes his way to the glass door, “And you’re wrong, Jungkook. FJO’s system has already made one flaw: that elusive driver of the black Jaguar.”

Jungkook winces as Namjoon pats the last drop of ointment on his wound. Namjoon looks up at him then starts wrapping his friend’s arm in a fresh bandage. “From what I remember, you used to have high pain tolerance.”

“What do you mean ‘used to’? I still have a high tolerance,” Jungkook mutters, using his free hand to raise his mug of coffee to his lips.

Namjoon makes a particular hard tug and Jungkook freezes, stifling another wince. Namjoon tilts his head, “No, I think you do not.” Jungkook faces away from his friend. Namjoon hums as he tucks the end of the bandage to the captain’s elbow with a pin. He pats it lightly one last time and looks at his friend, “Something’s bothering you. Tell me.”

Jungkook sighs, “It’s just work. Nothing you need to worry about. The DOJ is already messing with your department.”

“So you’re also getting tipped over your backs by DOJ, too?” Namjoon snickers, “Great. We’re on the same page. Now, tell me what’s up.”

Jungkook puts down his mug. “Fine. Tell me yours first.”

Namjoon leans back in his chair, placing his arms beneath his nape, “So we’re doing the ‘let the worse problem win’ game again, huh? Thought this was over in college.”

Jungkook gives him an unamused look. Namjoon chuckles, “Okay, I’ll go first. Well, today someone named Chris Jefferson acted like a king and demanded all of us Bureau analysts to let him see our files and history of connections. Good thing I programmed my personal phone to be off-grid to any system or else Seokjin’s name is gonna start making headlines. But I’m still pissed. I had to reorganize my files again when Chris was unsatisfied with the mundaneness of our things. I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. I’ve already poured out enough when we reached our building.” Namjoon leans forward and clasps his hand together, “Now, tell me about yours.”

Jungkook’s eyes travel to the ajar door of his office. He shakes his head and turns to his friend. “DOJ sent their auditor to us. They’re suspicious of our sector because this black Jaguar that hit me is apparently been under their radar for a while doing suspicious things that seem to be connected with Winston’s case.” Namjoon’s eyes widen. Jungkook pulls his lips, “Yeah, I didn’t imagine it was going to be more complicated. I’m still sure it’s Anderson. I don’t have any notable enemies in and outside FJO. Only suspects. And Leigh is the only suspect that’s escaped from my hands. There’s no one who’ll have a grudge against me but him. A thinner man was made out from the CCTVs, but who knows? All we have is just a silhouette after all.”

Jungkook runs his hand through his hair, “But it’s hard to stand on that ground when that Jaguar’s doing the three to five minutes in-vicinity pattern of Precrime traveling agents. And this goddamn auditor has to stomp on all my pride and dignity and run everything in Precrime to his way while he preaches as if he’s better than anyone of us.”

Ugly silence. Jungkook looks at the hanging frame stand on his bookshelf. “On his first day, he implied my faith in this system was not because of my commitment to my job but because of…Daehyun.” Namjoon goes stiff. Jungkook closes his eyes and sighs, “I just don’t know what I should feel in this mess anymore because everything…is too much.”

Namjoon twirls his mug around his hand. “Has…none of the traveling agents seen this driver? Precrime and Forecrime?”

Jungkook shakes his head, “No. I requested Property and Crime Scene and Accident Prevention to do more travels four days ago and it’s still negative. I even asked Organized Crimes to look into this but even they can’t place this driver into their web of contacts. Forecrime didn’t see anything related to the hit and run. We have his license plate but that is not much of a help because our programs didn’t type it as registered, stolen, or even a burner. Just ‘invalid.’ We’d never had an invalid before. We usually type in suspects caught by the CCTV as soon as one hour.” Jungkook exasperatedly runs a hand down his face. “I practically exhausted everything in the system for one whole week and I still don’t know a fucking goddamn thing about this driver.”

Namjoon nods silently.

Jungkook looks at him. “Do you know something?”

Namjoon sends him a tight smile, “Something that could help you a bit, I do.”

Jungkook’s moves his mug away, leaning over the table. “Tell me.”

“Well, this is not part of our protocol. None of it is and whatever we may retrieve from doing this, we cannot use as substantial evidence to indict anyone. It can only go as far as a guide to use. But, it’s still worth a shot trying.”

Jungkook nods at him to continue. Namjoon grips his mug tighter. “Back when FJO is still running the traditional a-gazillion-paperwork-way, we at the Bureau have encountered countless of horrendous cases with unidentifiable suspects. Some of them have gone cold. The most notable was Linton Park’s 7 Capital Sins serial murders. 10 years ago. We were losing hope until we learned someone from one of our departments is capable of identifying the suspect without the help of our system. It was totally unconventional and we almost didn’t believe it. Everyone but Seokjin. He’s the only one who believed it and it was a good thing that he did. Because after he pushed this unconventional method for consideration, we gathered enough evidence to indict Linton. After that, all of our impossible cases were entrusted into this girl. She still remained to be my contact when the Bureau encounters records with people the new system is unable to identify.”

“Who is this person?”

“Y/N L/N. She’s a sketch artist…and a clairvoyant. She can draw up the most unimaginable faces from a future no traveling agent can reach. Not even FJO’s picture-perfect system can penetrate the futures that she sees. What’s astounding is,” Namjoon looks straight at Jungkook, “she’s never been wrong.”

next | series masterlist

A/N pt.2: 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!

Hi @senfleurs! This is your (long overdue) make-up birthday gift from yours truly! I got inspired (and also challenged) to fulfill my part in your Angst Diplomacy™. I know I’ve already said lots of things on your birthday but I just want to pour more love for you. You’re an amazing person and you’ve constantly been there for me through thick and thin and I am eternally grateful of you for that. You’ve always had a good taste in art and books and so much more and that inspired me to write something that can, at least, take a small spot in your top-tier™ taste. So thank you also for being a strong inspiration for me in writing this :”)

Also, this fic happened to drop by the birthday of one of my dear supporters from day 1, @kwonthefire, so happy, happy birthday hon! Thank you for being a wonderful reader who never failed to send me love and motivation when I’m starting to doubt myself. I wish your quarantine birthday was good to you because you deserve happiness! I hope you’re taking care of yourself good and may you always stay safe and remember you are loved and appreciated, even by such a measly, smol writer on the internet you’ve managed to make smile on days’ end! Love you!

Notes | Next update will be on the week after next week, Sunday, May 31! If you guys wanna get tagged in a taglist, just hit me up down the comments so I can track you all! Thank you for reading and giving a chance for My Time! :’> ++ 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! **Tagging my lovely hon, @spring2787 who requested to get tagged in all of my works. Thank you for the support hon!

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modern-vellichor · 4 years

Text

In Her Blood; Five

Summary: You take particular interest in a dinner guest, Bucky isn't pleased.

Warnings: Warnings: smoking, angst, drinking, alcohol consumption, uncomfortable family dynamic, age gap relationship, jealous!possesive!Bucky, implied smut.

Pairing: DadsBestFriend!Bucky x Reader

Previous Chapter || Masterlist

You sat across from Steve, both of you sipping coffee. Since you two had gone on the hike, you had both been slowly spending more time with eachother, and less time arguing. Bucky had seen the both of you pass his window while on morning runs. The two of you were going for coffee and stalking the shelves of vintage bookstores together. It was like you were young again.

It was a pleasant change for Sam to come down the stairs to find the two of you enjoying your mornings.

"So", he said as he sat down next to Steve. "Bucky's coming over for dinner tonight, and Strange, and Peter", names that you recognised from news articles and stories.

"Y/N, you remember Peter, you met him last summer, hes a few years older than you"

You smiled and nodded, nursing your coffee to avoid answering.

You met Peter a few summers ago, you had only come home for a week or two. The two of you went for coffee a few times, he took you to lunch, but it never went anywhere because you left to spend the rest of the summer in Orléans.

You spent the rest of the morning doing some slow moving work, you typed a quick first draft for an essay, layed the base colours on a piece for your portfolio. And then you were being called down to begin cooking. You were taught to cook by Sam when you were a kid, and then expanded your skills when you moved away. Michelle, your roommate, had printed you a recipe book of all her own recipes for your birthday, and you treated it as the bible.

You and Steve danced around the kitchen nursing glasses of wine while you sautéed and roasted and whisked. Soon guests started arriving, filing into the house in dress shirts and booties. You scurried up the stairs to change, Steve on your tail. Bucky had arrived when you were upstairs, he had to take a moment to himself when he watched you come down the stairs. You were a sight for sore eyes in that skirt and your blouse, an image of his dreams. He could see it perfectly, you and him, in a house of your own, together, with a cat and maybe a dog too.

You weaved through the kitchen making small talk with the other guests, too distracted to even spare Bucky a glance.

He was picturing his dream life, watching you with awe as you glided around the kitchen.

He saw the white picket fence, a little white cat. A kitchen with a window above the stove and vintage curtains, a wine rack next to the tv. He pictured all your paintings hung up on the walls, sketches of him littered on your desk, bookshelves filled with books on Victorian era art and cubism and modern romanticism, and all sorts of poetry and story books. You would read to him in the evenings, or sketch him, or simply lay with him, talking nonsense into his chest.

He was rudely torn from his daydream when you sat down directly across from him, but your gaze was not on him, but on Peter. He watched in near horror as he refilled your glass and made you laugh and blush. He nearly exploded when he watched you rest your hand on his thigh, and when his hand gripped your arm for a few seconds past friendly.

You were solely focused on him until dinner was served and the conversation was between everyone at the table. You stayed relatively silent, laughing at everyone's jokes and stories, until Steve turned the attention on you.

"Y/N is actually at art school in Paris", he said proudly, Bucky smiled at his newfound love for you.

The table erupted in oohs and ahs and questions about Paris. You laughed and nodded as you told a few anecdotes and showed the table a few pictures on your phone. Bucky kept his eyes trained on you the whole evening, his blood boiled as you slowly focused your attention on Peter. He nursed his beer with a scowl as he watched you hug Peter a little too long for his liking before seeing him out.

And only then did you notice his frown, as you were sitting back down after all the guests had gone separate ways.

"Bucky?", you mumbled, the rest of your family busy cleaning up. Bucky ignored you.

"Baby", you cooed softly, but he only frowned harder.

"Soldier", you said in a sultry tone, instead of responding he grabbed your arm roughly and dragged you to your room. He threw you inside and locked the door. You opened your arms as you approached him, and he pinned you against the door, his hand around your throat, gripping harshly.

"Bucky", you coo. "what's wrong, baby?", you're stuttering as he licks a stripe up your neck.

"How's Peter?", he growls, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your chest, sure to leave a mark that only you'll see.

You chuckle, it surprises Bucky, so he lets you go, falling to sit on the edge of your bed.

You approach him, pushing his legs open with your knee so that you can stand between them. You take his face in your hands, stroking his cheeks lovingly.

"Jealous, are we?"

"Darling", he smirks, grabbing your wrists. "I dont get jealous"

"Really?", you question him, but you're still soft, treading on thin ice.

"Really", he states with pride. He snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. "and, we all know who-"

He's cut off by Steve hollering for him downstairs, he hurries out of your room and you're left to wonder what he was going to stay.

His half finished words float around in your head all evening, you spend hours tossing and turning, trying to sleep. You went to bed early to avoid having to speak with your family, who all seemed very interested in Peter, so you were unaware of Bucky's presence in the guest room next to yours. You were only half asleep when he snuck into your room. You snapped awake at the click of your lock, his body towering over you, it took you a moment to realise it was only Bucky and calm down.

He curled into bed next to you, wrapping his around you. You lay like that for a while, enjoying each other's presence.

"Buck?", you whisper. He hums in response. "what were you gonna say earlier?"

"when, baby?", he mumbled.

"When I sat on your lap, you said 'we all know who', and then you never finished"

He pauses for a moment, then he sits up against your headboard and pulls you into his lap once more. His hands knead and paw at the soft flesh of your hips and thighs. He hums contentedly, pressing soft kisses over your chest and neck, taking extra care to soothe the bite mark still visible on the swell of your chest.

"well", he growls, his voice has dropped an octave, his pupils blown out with lust. "before we were rudely interrupted, I was going to say", he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips.

"we all know who you belong to", your face drops. Something about his words makes your blood run cold. You splayed your hand on his chest, putting as much space between the two of you as you could, but his iron grip kept you glued to his lap.

"you think I belong to you?", you scoff.

"Y/N, not literally. It's just that you're mine"

You roll your eyes, "I'm yours? Since when?"

"baby, you gotta be quiet"

You drop your voice to an angry whisper.

"I'm not your fucking toy, Barnes"

"I know that, kitten, okay? You never were my toy"

You just scoff, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. He pulls you closer to him again, pressing soft kisses all over you and cooing gently.

"okay, maybe I did get jealous when you were giving Peter all your attention. I just don't want my girl wasting her time on a stupid kid like him", you soften at his words.

"your girl, huh?"

"Only if she's okay with that?"

"yeah", you mumble, pressing a kiss to his lips. He smirks at you, flipping you over, pressing you into the mattress and shoving a knee between your legs, you whimper. He laughs softly at your pleading eyes, he'd give in soon, but first he's going to have some fun with his girl.

@vicmc624 @adriannajackson @zizzlekwum @chipilerendi @madaroni37 @spameloearie

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes x y/n #dadsbestfriend!bucky

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when-i-was-your-angel · 3 years

Text

Hues of Blue

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (40's and Present)

Word Count: 1486

NSFW: Non-Explicit

TW: Rage attacks, Steve being angry

Tags: ANGST, Minor Fluff but mostly Angst

A/N: This is set between TFA and TWS! Steve still thinks Bucky died in the war. bold sections are flashbacks.

Summary: Steve tries to paint a portrait of Bucky. What color were his eyes again?

Inspired by my good friend Meral, @/CAPSBVRNES on twitter. Love ya, doll.

Steve had a long day.

Said day started with a rather pleasant dream about waking up with Bucky in between his legs. This was quickly ruined by his alarm clock. Little Steve hadn’t seemed to notice that it was, in fact, only a dream. After Steve had er- taken care- of that problem in the shower, Tony called. There was some life or death mission debrief he was needed on. So he drove two hours through New York City traffic to get to the tower, only to find out Tony needed his opinion on what qualified as a “classic” suit. Steve didn’t even dignify him with an answer before he stormed out of the building. Now, four hours later and his day wasted, he was finally arriving back home.

Steve unlocked the front door of his Brooklyn brownstone and stopped dead in his tracks.

Boxes. Boxes upon boxes of… art supplies? Based on the pictures and labels on the boxes they were filled with paints, canvases, brushes, pencils, easels, and more. Steve looked around nervously and spotted a note on top of one of the many cardboard boxes.

Sorry, Capsicle. Had to get you out of the apartment so I could deliver this shit.

Paint me something pretty.

-T.S.

A hesitant smile made its way onto Steve’s face. His day just got a whole lot better.

- - - Three Hours Later - - -

A few hours, a shit ton of cursing, and a helping of elbow grease later, Steve had himself an art studio. He had set up the three easels Tony got him, positioning them in front of the windows in the office of his brownstone. There was also a simple desk in one of the boxes that he rather enjoyed the look of. It was simple but made of solid oak. He could just picture Tony saying ‘It’s old fashioned, like ye ol’ Cappie.’

With a slight grunt, Steve stood and looked around his new studio. He hadn’t had something so… domestic in years. He smiled and unwrapped a canvas, sitting down in front of an easel. He raised a pencil to his canvas to begin sketching… and nothing happened. “S’pose seventy years and a cryogenic freeze gives you art block.” He thought.

Steve stood and walked around the few rooms in his modest house, looking for inspiration. His gaze flickered over his photo album. “That’ll do.”

He picked up the leather book, flipping through it. There weren’t many pictures. It had been difficult to get a photo back in the 40’s, and he didn’t have many people to take pictures of nowadays. A few pictures of his ma, one of him in the third grade, and- Bucky.

A black and white version of his best friend sat before him. He was told not to smile in his military ID photo, but the little shit found a way to flash a grin right as the camera clicked. The photographer had been too lazy to redo it- and that was it. Bucky was smiling like a damn runaway criminal in his personnel file. Steve worked the picture out of the clear film holding it in place. He had gotten the photo from SHIELD’s files. It was one of few pictures of Bucky in existence. Less than a dozen original copies were left on this earth. He ran his fingers over the sharp of his Bucky’s cheekbone and the plump of his lips. He remembered all the cold New York nights when those lips sat on his neck. Bucky would spoon him- ‘For warmth’ - he said. But the pink lips on the shell of his ear, on the pulse carrying his life’s blood, said it was for so much more.

So Steve went back to his new art studio and sat down in front of his easel again. He clipped the small photo to the wooden frame and picked up his pencil. He took a deep breath and started sketching. He bit his lip in concentration as he worked. After thirty minutes or so, Steve had a drawing that resembled something like his best friend. He smiled and set to work mixing his paints.

Steve always started with the skin. Habit of his from before when he was using cocktail napkins and a waiters pen to draw. He managed to nail Bucky’s complexion pretty much spot on. The cool shades of his under-eye and the baby pink ones of his cheeks.

Then came hair. Shades of brown highlighted with yellow and pink in the lightest of spots. Bucky always hated how thick his hair was but loved the effect it had on the ladies. Said it was a pain in the ass to take care of but it was all worth it when he brushed a hand through the locks and had all the girls positively swooning.

Next was clothes. The green of his fatigues wasn’t perceptible in the black and white photograph but Steve knew that color better than the color of his own eyes.

Eyes.

What color were Bucky’s eyes?

Blue. But there were a million shades of blue. Cerulean, teal, turquoise, baby blue, stormy blue- Ah. Yes. A stormy blue-grey color. He could see them now. Staring into the crisp ocean of his eyes as Bucky kissed him for the first time. He was smaller back then, barely came up to Bucky’s chin, but he didn’t care.

December 1941 - Four Days Before Bucky Leaves

“Hey, Stevie.” Bucky said after Steve opened his door to the frigid New York City air.

“Hey, Buck. What’re you doing here?” It was a reasonable question. It was midnight and Buck hadn’t been by in days.

“Can’t visit my best guy before I ship off to war?” Bucky gave him his smirk but Steve could see the fear in his eyes. The unspoken ending to that question- ‘before I never come home’. Steve smiled and stepped aside, letting him in.

Steve smiled at the memory. He looked down at the paints before him. Blues and whites and purples and reds. He started mixing them carefully, hoping to put a physical representation of the color he still saw in his dreams.

“C’mon. I’ll make you something to eat.” Steve said, walking towards his very empty kitchen.

“You don’t have’ta-”

“None of that. What would Mrs. Rogers say if she knew I wasn’t feeding my guests?”

“She’d call you smart and tell you not to waste your food on a dead-” Bucky stopped himself. That’s not what Steve needed to hear. Steve was quiet as he made his way across the threshold back to Bucky. He stared down at his hands, picking at his fingernails.

“You’re going to come back. You’ve gotta.” His voice was small. Bucky’s heart nearly shattered at the sound. Bucky took Steve’s hands in his, squeezing them slightly.

“I will. I promise.” Bucky stared into Steve’s eyes to reassure him that above anything else, he meant the words he was about to say.

The colors weren’t turning out right. Greens were too blue and blues were too purple. Everything was a mess. Steve felt himself growing frustrated and brought his mind back to simpler times. Times with him.

“I’m always going to come back to you because-” His breath hitched and Steve took notice, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Because I love you, Stevie.” Steve tilted his head in confusion. Why did Bucky seem so nervous? They had said they loved each other before.

“Yeah, I love you too, Buck- why’re you-”

“Oh, not like that- for Christ’s sake.” Then Bucky was kissing him.

‘So this is what love is.’ Steve thought. Then Bucky’s tongue was tracing Steve’s lips.

Oh.

Paint was everywhere. Frantically, Steve mixed colors in a blur of tears. ‘It’s not right.’ He thought. ‘That’s not him.’ ‘That’s not my Bucky.’

Bucky shared his bed that night. Unlike other nights, however, they were both naked. Pressed against each other for ‘warmth’, should anyone ask. Steve watched Bucky long after he fell asleep. The crease in his eyebrow, the setting of his jaw, the way his eyes moved behind closed lids- chasing dreams. Soon enough, Steve curled into Bucky’s body as he always did. They spent the next four days like that. Wrapped in each other. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t cold.

Steve screamed as he threw his palette out the window. The glass shattered and rainbows of light filtered through the broken glass- mocking him. Steve kicked and cried and punched until the entire studio was a mess. In the aftermath of his rampage, Steve lies on the floor. Surrounded by glass, paint, splinters, and blood, Steve sobbed. He broke because he was gone. He crumbled because they didn’t have enough time. He was wrecked because ‘if only we had known. If only we had tried earlier.’

Steve lies on the ground in a brownstone in Brooklyn.

Numb.

Broken.

Cold.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #angst #marvel #fanfic #bucky barnes #steve rogers #the first avenger #the winter soldier

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mymymadeline · 3 years

Text

•Friendly Dark

gif by: @chrishemsworht

pairing: Hallmark Christmas Movie Au! Poe Dameron x Reader

word count: 6.9k+ words

summary:

warnings: alcohol cw

Adore You series: 01, 02, 03, 04, ... - AO3

Even though you’re on vacation, you are far from exempt from your work. And nothing is proving that more than the headache you nurse as you continue pouring over document after document on your tablet. Numbers and figures, charts and graphs, blueprints and sketches, even interviews and gossip articles – they’re all blending together after staring at the screen for what’s likely been hours.

Snoke’s call the night before was not a social one – they never are. He was going on about some acquisition Kylo’s been trying to make for the past few months, and apparently, he was missing something crucial, which is where you usually come in. The two of you have always been a team for a reason. He was more of the passion and ideas, whereas you were better with relations and logistics.

Snoke had immediately sent over hundreds of digital files for you to go through and find… well something. Most likely some kind of professional blackmail. Some kind of small violation or incident that would really be such a shame if it came to the media's attention. You know, the usual.

So far, everything they’ve done is up to code, as far as you can tell. But Snoke won’t take no for an answer. He’d have your head for it. So you continue looking through page after page, searching for some dirt, searching for any kind of upper hand on the competition.

After coming back in that night while on the phone with Snoke, you blew past your parents and went straight up to your room, where you’ve been for almost the entirety of this Sunday. You couldn’t even face them after that absolute embarrassment of an evening. And though this morning you did stalk around the house if only to get a thing or two to eat, you pointedly ignored your mother, only giving your father a small silent nod of acknowledgment.

Stealing away to your room for a full day of silent, frustrating work was not exactly your idea of a fun vacation back home, but neither was last night. Just the thought of running into Poe again makes you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and stress. He probably thinks you’re an idiot now. Probably never wants to see you again. And who could blame him if he did?

If you were a different woman, you’d probably have shed a few embarrassed tears in the solitude of your room, but that wasn’t you. Not anymore. So you rub your eyes once again, and get back to work.

You’re back to staring at a tax filing by the company’s CEO from seventeen years ago when a notification pops up at the top of your screen.

Unknown Number

hey! its rose! i got ur number from when you called the shop lol hope thats not creepy

i was wondering if ur busy tonight? i was thinking of getting drinks w/ some friends at Kanata’s! wanna come? i can pick u up since ur ride is chopped ;)

You blink back at the notification. Drinks? At Kanata’s?

You can’t remember the last time you actually went out with a group of friends, especially for fun. Taking clients you and Kylo were wooing out to dinner was a common occurrence. But fun? They were never.

Another wave of anxiety washes over you. Friends? Who were these friends? Would they like you? Did you know them? Maybe it would be better to just stay and finish your work. Nothing could go wrong if you did that.

You open the message, absolutely ready to type an excuse why you can’t come, when there’s a gentle knock at your door. You already recognize it as your mother by the way she knocks even before she calls out gently.

“Love? You in there?”

“I’m here.” You leave your voice flat and emotionless. You need her to know you’re still mad.

“Can… Can I come in?”

‘No’ dances on the tip of your tongue for a strong moment, but the uncertainty in her soft voice gives you pause.

“...Okay.”

The door clicks open slowly and your mother pokes her head in, a small, nervous smile affecting her features. You only look at her blankly from your nest of blankets and pillows that have been on your bed since high school.

She steps more fully into the room, closing the door behind her most of the way. She leaves it open just a little, giving the both of you some air to breathe, but also, in a way, making sure not to lock herself in a cage with a wounded animal.

And she approaches you like one–cautious, hands visible and apologetic. You huff, curled up in the corner of your bed, and try to look anywhere but at her. But she’s hard to avoid as she sits gently on the far edge of your bed and pulls her hands into her lap, looking down and rolling them over one another contemplatively. You two sit like this for a moment, simmering in the uncomfortable tension, but like hell you’re the one with anything to apologize for.

She lets out a deep sigh. “I’m… so, so sorry… about my behavior last night. I suppose I just… wasn’t handling your absence as well as I thought I was.”

Despite the small sorrow your heart finds at her small and broken tone, the anger–rage even– that has been boiling since the night before claws desperately to be let out. You breathe deeply, and do your best to keep it still in its place. But that doesn’t exclude the fury that seeps into your quiet voice, as you level your gaze with hers.

“Mom, that was the most embarrassing thing that has happened to me in my entire professional career. I need you to know this.”

She nods understandingly and looks back to her fiddling hands. “Yes. I know. And I couldn’t be sorry enough. I realized...I– I don’t know how to be your mother anymore.” You blink at this. A terrible lurch in your gut crawls into your throat at the sight of the tears silently beginning their descent down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do for you when you're a grown woman who’s accomplished so much on her own without me. I miss you, but I’m not really sure I know you anymore.”

She looks up suddenly at you, her face twisted with grief and regret.

“I didn’t mean it like that… I-”

You stop her, shaking your head, swallowing the lump in your throat, willing the sudden strange wetness in your eyes away. Your voice comes out more choked up than you wish. But whatever wall was up is quickly crumbling away.

“No… Mom, I think I understand.” You look down at your own hands now, picking at your nails nervously, silently discovering the lineage of this habit of yours. You smile sadly at the thought. “I feel that way too sometimes… about myself.”

“Oh, love.” Your mother reaches out, placing her hand on your foot, the only part of you she can reach, and squeezes it gently. She smiles sweetly, her eyes and cheeks still wet, though she’s wiped away the tears.

“You’re not my little girl anymore… but you’re still my daughter, and I’ll love you no matter what.”

You nod, suppressing a sniff as you rub at your nose. She squeezes your foot one more time before standing up and making her way back to the door. She reaches for the handle when you call out.

“I love you, Mom.”

The smile she sends you is genuine, heartfelt, and warming to your core. It makes you realize how much you truly missed your mother, even if she had her difficulties. “I love you too, girlie.”

With that, she closes the door, leaving you alone with your tablet and the unanswered message. But you know your response now.

Sounds fun! Let me know what time. I’d love to come, if you’ll have me.

You begin entering Rose’s information into your contacts and her response is almost immediate.

Rose Tico

duuuh! ill get u at like 8ish? and we’ll meet them there! cant wait!

You look down at the message and can’t help but feel a little more at home.

______________

You run a hand through your hair, adjusting your outfit for the hundredth time. You’ve opted for something more casual tonight. Something a little more friendly, approachable. You suddenly frown at your reflection. You don’t need these people’s approval. Well, no. But it wouldn’t be so bad to be friendly for once would it?

The two voices in your head continue to battle it out, leaving you frozen in the mirror, desperately trying to understand how you feel in this moment. Anxious? Perhaps. Regretful of accepting this invitation? Maybe.

Your phone chirps, lighting up on your desk. Glancing over, you see it’s Rose. You don’t need to read it to know it’s just her announcing her arrival, but you pick it up anyway, settling down on your bed and slipping on your shoes as you open the message.

Rose Tico

here!!! right in front lol

One moment!

You lace up your boots quickly, practically sprinting out of your room and down the stairs, snatching up your long coat on the way.

“I’m headed out, I won’t be back until you guys are already in bed. So, goodnight.”

You call out to the living room as you pull on the coat, your parents turning from their seats on the couch, eyeing you with interest.

“And where are you going this late, young lady?” Your father questions sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

“Out with friends,” you rush, already halfway out the door, spotting Rose in her car and giving a small wave. “Love you, bye!”

Half-jogging down the steps, you cross quickly but cautiously through the snow-laden yard, careful not to slip. As you close the gate behind you, Rose is already opening the passenger door from the inside, beckoning you in.

“Get inside, it’s freezing!”

You allow yourself a small laugh and slide into the seat next to her. Pulling the door closed, you look around, taking in the space of the car, as she starts it back up and pulls away from the curb.

Like most things in The Base, it’s worn and old, peeling and chafed, likely held together with duct tape and love. But despite all of its imperfections, it’s not only comfortable, it’s cozy. It’s warm and personal, every dent containing a story, every mile meaningful.

You can’t help but think back to the chill rigid efficiency of your TIE. Sure, it gets the job done, and is mighty stylish while it does so, but you’ve never felt like it was yours. Never felt anything but cool indifference for its sleek lines and dark exterior.

“So, you’re looking snazzy tonight.” Rose pulls you out of your thoughts with her cheery tone.

You look down at your outfit, once again tugging at its hems.

“Am I? I was actually trying to dress down.”

She laughs at that. “You think that’s dressing down? No way, this is dressing down.” She takes one hand off the wheel, gesturing at her own attire: A brown button-up with a sewn name tag and a pair of dark cargo pants. Likely the uniform she wore to work today. Her cool attitude and smooth voice put you at ease, and you can feel your guard begin to lower.

“I like this on you,” you quietly praise. You pick at your nails, continuing, “Don’t take this the wrong way, please, but… I admire that you can wear clothes like that and feel comfortable. I feel like I have to dress up all the time, no matter what. I don’t know… I- Nevermind.”

You look up at Rose and she pulls her eyes away from the road for a moment to give you a meaningful look. She nods sympathetically, her previous lightness replaced by understanding. She realizes the weight of this seemingly minor admission.

“I get it, I do.” She gives you a soothing smile. “I just hope you can feel comfortable here… with us. We like having you back, even if just for a moment.”

Still smiling, she turns back to the wheel with a light shrug. “Plus, this isn’t Canto Bight. You’ll look great no matter what.”

You groan, half sardonic, half-serious. “Oh, please don’t remind me. You know, I thought I was a vulture, but those people,” you give an audible shiver. “They’re something else.”

Rose laughs melodically. “Oh, do tell.”

______________

The ride to the bar is short, the car only really needed for warmth, but the company is appreciated. Rose laughs along to your story of once attempting to cover for Kylo’s drunken rage in front of investors, and while it was a very unamusing situation at the time, you find yourself chuckling with her.

“Well, that’s why we don’t let him have Bespin Fizzes anymore.”

Rose giggles at that, before piping up in her seat a little. “There it is!”

The bar comes into view just ahead, a familiar neon sign reading Kanata’s hanging overhead a small brick building. The parking lot is compact, but practically full, reminding you just how small the town is, as Kanata’s is the only real bar in the whole Base, and as such, is the town’s favorite happy hour hangout.

She leans up the dashboard, pointing to an old, grey, junky Corellian that’s as familiar to the town as the bar.

“There’s the Falcon,” she points out with a smile, though you don’t need her to tell which car it is. “They’re here.”

You nod, smiling at the old hunk of junk fondly, before suddenly realizing what the Falcon’s presence implies. She pulls up to the spot next to it as you turn to her.

“Wait, we’re getting drinks with Han? ” You try not to sound upset, only curious, but Rose reads your panic easily.

“No, silly,” she giggles, and seems to dodge the question, stepping out of the car. You quickly follow behind, stepping out into the chill night air. Closing the doors, Rose rounds the car and you trail next to her, past the Falcon and towards the bar's entrance. She continues her explanation without you having to ask.

“About five years ago, Han gave the Falcon away.”

“He gave it away? Why would he do that? To who?”

She pushes open the door, leading you into the dimly lit bar, which you only now realize with its unfamiliar interior, that you never stuck around to be old enough to actually enter it. The lights are low, yellow and red, but not unwelcoming, in fact creating a warm atmosphere. It’s brightest around the bar itself, with neon and string lights, as patrons sit on the stools, chatting over the low playing jukebox on the far side of the room. Near it are a couple of pool tables, busy with players in the middle of games. A few locals drink in booths against the walls, however Rose leads you towards the high tables and stools in the middle of the room. You’re scanning the bar for anyone you recognize when you finally see where she’s leading you– to the only couple occupying the tables, and your heart drops into your stomach as your fight or flight instinct kicks in.

“To them!” Rose points but once again you don’t need her helpful hand to see what you need to.

At the table is a girl you don’t recognize with a sweet face and dark hair, but it’s the familiar face next to her that makes you want to run.

Finn, your old classmate, but more importantly your old employee, sits smiling and laughing, casual as anything. You knew Finn left First Order – on very bad terms, one would be remiss to forget – after a fateful trip home for somewhere less cutthroat and competitive, but you thought that meant somewhere like Alderaan. You didn’t think he’d come back, and you certainly didn’t think you’d actually see him here.

Rose doesn’t notice your hesitation, continuing to pull you forward and calling out to her friends. She catches their attention, waving, and you brace for the moment of impact.

Finn is going to be mad that you’re here. He’s going to be furious. He’s going to stand up and yell at Rose about how awful of a person you are and make sure nobody in this town will even so much as smile at you ever again. He’s going to laugh in your face and tell you to go back to Coruscant and you’ll do it because you’re so deeply embarrassed.

The girl turns first, smiling and waving back at Rose. She grins brightly at you as well, obviously unfamiliar but still friendly. Finn turns second with an easy expression, glancing at you briefly before doing a double-take. His face falls, but not into anger like you expect. It drops to confusion, like he’s making sure it’s you, which then turns into half-smug disbelief, a bewildered smile taking over his features.

Finn speaks first. “No-freaking-way.”

Tension still wracks your body as he steps off the stool, meeting you and Rose in front of the table. Rose looks between the two of you before dropping your hand and covering her eyes.

“Oh my God, I totally forgot about the whole…” She looks to you apologetically, not towards Finn, which confuses you. “I’m so sorry I forgot to say.”

“No, I- it’s okay. I just hope I’m not intruding.” It seems that this town just loves to leave you at a loss for words.

Finn laughs, seemingly completely at ease. “Not unless you’re here to talk about work. Or to try to win me back.”

“God, no. Not that we wouldn’t love to have you back but,” you glance quickly at the friendly girl still sitting at the table, obviously confused. “I understand that you’re much happier here.”

“That I am.”

“Then that’s all I care about.”

Rose absolutely buzzes with energy at the exchange. “Yay! So we’re all still friends and everything?” Her hands are clasped and her hopeful eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you.

You turn your gaze back to Finn, hoping that you look as genuine as he does. “I hope so.”

“I don’t see any reason why not,” He smiles warmly at you, offering his hand. “Besides, you weren’t exactly the one that left me with a bad taste in my mouth.”

You take his hand easily, and just barely manage to quell your surprise when he uses it to tug you into a warm hug. The recent bombardment of hugs you’ve received in the past few days is the only thing that gets your arms moving properly, wrapping loosely around Finn for a moment before you part.

As you pull back, an awkwardness comes to hang in the air as a silence settles between the four of you. You suddenly remember the girl at the table seemingly the same moment that Finn does. He pipes up, turning towards her and half leading you to the table where they were sitting.

“Right, uh, Rey, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine.”

You extend a hand and introduce yourself to the woman, Rey, and she lets out an awkward laugh as she takes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was a bit, erm, hesitant to intrude on the moment. Seems like there’s a lot of history going on here.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Finn laughs before his nose scrunches up in thought. “Actually, you might have some idea. You know the place I used to work before we met?”

Rey’s face twists in disgust. “You mean that awful tech company? God, you couldn’t stop talking about how awful it was for almost a year. Must’ve been terrible. Did you work there too?”

She looks to you as your cheeks heat up and you can't help the grimace that creeps into your expression. “I actually still do.”

Finn opens his mouth but Rey beats him to it. “Oh no, that must be awful. What do you do? Get yelled at all day by some tall blonde woman like Finn did?” She chuckles at her own joke, but she’s the only one. Finn and Rose look like they’d rather be anywhere else. Probably at the bar. With strong drinks. Yet, you feel a chill indifference wash over you. The one you feel whenever you walk through the doors of the First Order offices and meetings.

“Actually I’m the COO.”

Rey’s jaw slackens with the shock, mouth starting and stopping any words she attempts to get out. “I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” Finn has his head fully in his hands and Rose looks like she might die. But you smile softly.

“It’s okay. I’ve heard far worse before. From people whose opinions were far more important.”

The urge to storm out tugs at your gut but your feet stay planted. It’s strange. You’re not quite sure what emotion it is that you’re feeling exactly. There’s anger, but it’s the blow to your pride that fuels it. There’s certainly embarrassment. Mostly, you realize it’s guilt. Guilt that the company you worked so hard to build has hurt people - people that you care about. You knew it happened, probably every day, probably right at this moment, but being faced with the conversations that people must be having behind your back… It hurts. It hurts in many directions.

“Drinks!” Rose chirps loudly, desperate to break the tension. “I’ll go get us some drinks!”

She spins on a dime and immediately heads towards the bar. Looking between you and Rey, Finn gulps. “She’ll probably need some… help with those…” He’s immediately out of his chair and trailing behind Rose.

Rey sits quietly, a thoughtful look on her face as you finally take a seat on the stool across from her. The silence hangs for a moment as the jukebox croons quietly in the background.

“I really didn’t mean it that way,” Rey starts quietly. “It’s just…” She leans towards you, elbows resting in front of her on the table. Her eyes are earnest, kindness pouring forth. “Finn was miserable when we met in Jakku. Work was stressing him out to no end, but mostly… he felt like he was hurting people. He had a stable and successful job but… what did it cost him? All he ever wanted to do was help people.” She sighs, and a small smile tugs at her lips. “I like to think I helped him, but really, he knew all along what he had to do. I’m so grateful that we’re both here now, working with the kids, helping people where it feels like it really matters. I can’t speak for you, but it sounds like you’re proud of your company, and I’m glad but… It just wasn’t right for Finn. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

You’re momentarily stunned by her small speech. Not just the words but her honesty. You can tell from the tone of her voice just how much she cares for Finn and how much she believes in their cause. You find a small stain on the table, gazing at it intensely in thought. You’ve just wanted to help people too, all your life, but making something of yourself always came first it seemed. You told yourself you were helping people, creating new things that made so many people’s lives easier, donating intensely to charities, but how many people were you hurting on the way? How many times can you tell yourself that some eggs must be cracked to make an omelette? How many people have you screwed over, blackmailed, and outright stolen from? How many shady people have you bought from or sold to? How many things have you ignored or swept under the carpet just to keep business running as usual?

“If it helps… Finn always spoke highly of you.”

You look up as Rey draws you out of your thoughts, something she obviously picks up on going by her smile.

“Well… He’s a good man. A good friend before he was an employee… I didn’t mean what I said either - about your opinion not mattering. That’s not true, I just…” You trail off, but look up to find comfort and forgiveness in her warm expression. You give her a small genuine smile of your own. “Maybe we should just start over.”

You extend a hand, introducing yourself and she does the same, laughing lightly as she does so. At that moment, Rose and Finn come shuffling over, each balancing a tray with a few colorful drinks and rounds of shots. Placing the trays on the table, Finn eyes your smiles and parting hands.

“Are you guys… Is everything good now?”

You nod, laughing. “Yes, I think we just got off on the wrong foot.”

“And we’re just here to have a good time and hang out - no work talk.” Rey winks at Finn. He lets out a hearty laugh, clapping you two on the back.

“Oh, you two are good.”

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” Rose cuts in. She looks absolutely tickled pink, poorly suppressing her roguish grin. Finn and Rey raise an eyebrow in unison, seemingly used to this behavior.

Rose giggles, “I invited Poe!”

You instantly feel your heart rate pick up and a gentle heat rise in your cheeks, but it seems your the only one excited about this development. Rey only sighs with an unamused laugh. Rolling his eyes, Finn shakes his head, “That’s not exactly a surprise.” He turns to you. “She invites him out every time. And every time he says no. ‘Too busy.’”

“He never just relaxes,” Rey chimes in. “We’re constantly inviting him out, even inviting ourselves into the shop occasionally, but he’s just so dedicated to his work. It’d be admirable if it wasn’t so annoying.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Rose waves her hands around, as if attempting to dispel the negative comments in the air before they reach you. “BUT… I told him a certain special someone was gonna be here!”

Finn and Rey both turn to you, Rey holding an expression of curiosity and Finn looking at you with new eyes, the gears turning almost visibly in his head. Did she mean you? Everyone seems to be looking at you expectantly so… she must be. Sure, Poe seems to like you well enough but… This is behavior that seems to have been going on for years. How could your presence possibly change that?

“Wh- Me?” You ask, turning to Rose at a sudden loss for words. “Why- What makes me special?”

Rose rolls her eyes so hard her head can’t help but follow. “You are so oblivious. And so special.”

Finn nods, with a grin you can only describe as ‘shit-eating.’

“Of course.” He bites his lip deviously. “This is gonna be so fun.”

“Really wha-”

You’re cut off by the sound of the blowing snow and wind as the door creaks open behind you. As if on cue, each of your heads swivel to the entrance to see the door swinging shut behind Poe shaking the snowflakes out of his hair, cheeks ruddy from the outside cold. He looks up from tugging his gloves off to see the four of you gawking at him. If he can tell he just walked in on a discussion of himself, he doesn’t show it. He practically beams at the four of you, but lets his eyes settle on yours.

“Hey guys.”

“This is gonna be so fun,” You hear Finn whisper behind you.

You fail miserably at trying to hide your smile, but you know it’s for the best.

______________

“God, I know it’s embarrassing but... that’s so funny.” Rey chuckles with red cheeks, thoroughly amused.

“But it’s so embarrassing,” You exclaim, a little louder than you’re usually comfortable with but the drinks you’ve been slowly consuming for the past two hours have loosened your tongue just a bit.

Finn continues to shake his head in laughter. “I do love your mom, though. I wanna thank her for that one. A proper Base welcome.”

“C’mon, it really wasn’t so bad,” Poe laughs.

Once he’d arrived, everyone made quick work of getting him a drink and dragging over a stool, planting him firmly and snuggly between you and Rose. Small pleasantries and catching up eventually turned into you and Poe recounting the previous night's dinner and conversation at the strong behest of the rest of the group. It mostly consisted of you complaining and apologizing to Poe and him simply laughing it off, attempting to placate your worries. Finn, Rey, and Rose simply watched in entertainment, soaking up every juicy detail.

“Really, you have to stop beating yourself up about it. You’ll drive yourself insane.” Poe places a hand on your shoulder, sending a little shiver of electricity through your body that you desperately try to curb. You look down at his hand on your shoulder and are struck with the desire to see it as often as possible. Meeting his eyes, they are warm and kind and cause you to immediately lose whatever it was you were going to just say. You are now very aware of just how buzzed you are.

“I’ll… I’ll try.” You give him a small smile and he accepts it readily, his own smile growing. Over your shoulder, Finn must catch his eye because he swiftly turns his head back to his drink on the table and clears his throat. His hand gives you a small pat and quickly retreats back to his lap. His hand makes a loose fist and you miss its warmth.

“Well,” Rose starts. “It’s getting late and I am so beat. I should get going.”

Rose gives a meaningful glance at Finn and Rey, “Isn’t it a school night? You guys should get going too. Don’t want to have to show a video tomorrow.”

Finn’s eyes widen a bit and Rey nods fervently.

“Yes, absolutely. You’re so right, Rose.” Finn begins standing up from his stool. “C’mon, Rey, we should be off.”

Those fucking conspirators. You know you should be grateful - they’re trying very hard to set you up with your high school crush - but all you can feel is panic. You’re an expert at talking to people, from brokering deals to conducting yourself in interviews and even giving presentations, you’ve trained and practiced in the art of discussion. But for some reason, just being in the same room as Poe makes your brain short circuit. Your mind constantly pulls back and forth whether to close off and shut him out or loosen up and actually let him in. It’s barely been three days but it feels like so much longer. And that’s terrifying.

“Uh-Wh- Are you guys okay to drive?” You sputter.

Finn sends you a reassuring smile as he grabs Rey by the shoulders, “Rey might not be in any state to drive, but I’m totally fine. I’ve had maybe two drinks in the past couple hours. Don’t worry.”

Rose is off her stool too, gathering her coat. “Could you maybe drop me off too? I’d just walk but it’s so damn cold.”

“No problem, Rose.”

“What about me? I’m supposed to walk then?” You interject, flustered. “Rose, you drove me here.”

Rose gives an exaggerated look of cluelessness, giving you a shrug before looking over at Poe.

Breaking his momentary silence, Poe gives you a nod. “Yeah, I can give you a ride if you want.”

You can only nod along. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you.”

Rose lets out a little squeal, scrambling over to give you a kiss on the cheek and skip out the door, calling out goodbyes over her shoulder. You can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh along with Finn and Rey, both of them giving you and Poe sidehugs before taking their exit as well.

As the doors swing shut and the silence between you settles, you glance around at the bar. There are about half as many people as there were a few hours ago but the place doesn’t feel empty by any means. The few patrons still mill about, some playing pool, some chatting at the bar. You sigh contently at the sight, something Poe catches as he watches you.

“Good to be home?”

You look over, momentarily studying his handsome features in the warm lights as you try to figure out how to answer his question.

“I don’t know. Like I said before, it’s not really home. And yet it is.”

He nods, thinking for a second. “But are you happy to be here?”

You eye him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m starting to be.”

“Well, I’ll drink to that.” He grins, holding up his bottle. You meet his with your own, both taking a swig with a smile.

As you settle your drinks back on the table, Poe leans over with a lowered voice. Your pulse thrums in your veins. “You know, I actually had a great time last night, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

You sigh with chagrin, momentarily closing your eyes to rub at the spot between your brows.

“Well, I’m glad you had so much fun at my expense.”

Poe leans away, shutting his eyes in his own embarrassment.

“That’s not what I meant, I’m sorry.”

You chuckle lightly, a sound that gets Poe to open one eye before breaking into a smile, laughing with you. He leans in again, still smiling but a serious tone overtakes him.

“I really understand if you don’t want to talk about it but… What was your mother talking about… with Ben?”

You feel like a bucket of water has been dumped on you, ruining the easy-going mood you’d let slowly wash over you for the past few hours, but when you look at him, you can’t help but want to tell him everything.

“I just… I’ve only heard bits and pieces about what happened after you graduated. You really… disappeared.”

“Not disappeared,” you say quietly, with grit in your voice. “They just started paying attention to me somewhere else.”

“I paid attention to you,” Poe murmurs. When you catch his eye, he corrects himself. “I mean, we all did.”

You smile sadly, “Yeah, this is different.”

Poe gently knocks your shoulder with his, making you let out a snicker. Glancing over, Poe levels you with a genuine look, with soft eyes and a smile. “I get the feeling you don’t talk about your life often. So, tell me about it.”

He’s right. You never talk about your life, you certainly never regale your story to whoever asks. Doing that requires you to be vulnerable, it requires self-reflection and introspection. It requires you to think about things that you’ve long locked away inside. But…

“Well, I’m not sure how well you remember, or if you ever noticed but… no one ever really talked to me. Then one day, Ben did. No one ever really talked to him either, so we made a fast pair. He was odd... but he was a real friend to me. I wouldn’t have traded that for anything.”

Poe nods understandably, encouraging you to keep going.

“We decided to stick together. We got into Imperial University together and got out as quickly as we could. Neither of us… We couldn’t stay here, not with what we planned on doing with our lives. This town… it just wasn’t for us.”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot. I get that, too.” Poe takes a drink.

“You do?”

He laughs softly. “Yeah, but that’s a story for another time. Keep going.”

“We learned at school that we worked really well together. Our mentor Snoke realized that, too. He led us, taught us, molded us. He helped us build our company, First Order Tech. He was our first investor, he still sits on the board of directors. Kylo… Ben may be the CEO, but Snoke is still in charge of both of us to this day. It’s our company, we created it from the ground up but… We still bow to him.”

You shake your head. Time for the hard part. Might as well get it out quick and easy.

“Somewhere along the way… I don’t know if it was love. It wasn’t love how it should be - I can tell you that. But, Ben and I… were together. And then he proposed. I don’t think it was because he wanted to. I think he just thought… he was supposed to. Just the natural progression of our lives, I guess.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until the teardrops reach your chin, where they hang heavily before dropping onto your lap. You quickly wipe them away, as Poe once again places a hand on your back, but this time it stays there, his thumb rubbing comfortably back and forth.

“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

“I just,” You sniffle, wiping your nose. Way to break down just as he was warming up to you, kiddo. “I’ve never talked about this before, not really. I don’t even think I’ve ever cried over this before.”

“Anyway, I somehow became lucid enough to call it off a few months before the wedding.”

You sniff wetly and press the backs of your hands to your eyes, your makeup no doubt ruined by now. Poe’s thumb keeps its motion.

“I just wanted it so bad,” Your voice cracks. The lump that had been caught in your throat breaks free in the form of a sob. “I let myself be blind because I…”

Your hands are shaking and tears run freely down your face.

“I wanted to be loved. And I thought that’s how I would get it. But I woke up.”

You drop your hands onto the table, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You clench your fists and your voice no longer trembles.

“And I’m glad I did. We’re both better people for it.”

Only now do you chance a look at Poe. You had kept your gaze down, too scared to find what his expression might be, too scared to read his thoughts on his face. But his hand had stayed planted, comforting you. That had to mean something, right?

Looking up, you see only his warm gaze that had assured you deeply enough to get you talking in the first place. It carries a sadness, a kind of worry in the crease between his slightly upturned brows. But you find no disgust. No pity.

“I wish I knew what to say.”

You chuckle wetly, “You don’t have to say anything. I understand that it’s a lot.”

His hand makes a broad stroke across your back as he leans in once again.

“There’s actually a lot of things I want to say, but I’m sure you’d hate all of them considering they all sound like condescending things your mom has probably said to you over the years.”

A genuine laugh bubbles out of you at this, a bright smile pulling up your wet mascara stained cheeks. Seeing this, Poe can’t help a smile of his own.

“Things like ‘you’re so brave’ and ‘you poor thing’?” You giggle.

He chuckles, “Yeah something like that, the usuals.”

“Well thank you for sparing me.”

“No problem.” He pauses for a moment. “But really, thank you for telling me.”

He sounds like he means it.

“Thank you for listening, Poe.”

And so do you.

You sit like that just for a moment, gazing at each other. You take in the small details, admiring the creases around his eyes, the shape of his jaw, the curls in his hair. He seems to be taking you in as well, his eyes flickering across your features. You see them linger on the stains of your cheeks, turning your head away subconsciously.

“Ready to go?” He asks softly.

You smile and nod, wiping at your nose with your sleeve. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

You wobble just a bit as you get up from your seat, but Poe’s hand is still there to steady you. It stays there as you walk to the door. Stepping out into the cold, you instinctively huddle against him, a move he readily accepts as you walk.

“I’m not always a sad drunk, I promise.”

You feel the rumble of his chest as he laughs gently at your small joke.

“Don’t worry. I believe you.”

The ride is comfortably silent, except for the low hum of the radio as you drive. Pulling up to your house, you want to say something, do something, to thank him for what he did tonight. For driving you home, for listening to you and comforting you as you practically sobbed in his arms, for coming to the bar at all, supposedly just because you were there.

But you don’t do anything.

“I’ll see you around,” is all you say.

You hear him swallow as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll see you.”

When you finally slink upstairs and collapse in your bed, you still feel the phantom touch of Poe’s hand across your back.

notes: Whew! Thank you SO much for reading and thanks to all the people who stuck around! It’s been such a long and hard year and I hope everyone is doing okay. I’m determined to make this year great and I hope you all will join me!

I understand it’s been forever so if you’re on the taglist and would like to taken off it, hit me up and I’ll totally understand - and if you’re not on the taglist and would like to be leave a reply or send me a message! love you all <3

taglist: @ikbenplant @jamesdeerest @fortheloveoflamp @operation-spot @asianravenpuff @whovianayesha @ultrunning @nowheredreamer @honestlyjustwow @badwolf-212 (for some reason i can never tag you properly :( )

#fic: Adore You #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #reader insert #star wars #mads fics #hallmark au #oscar isaac

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clintbartonswife · 5 years

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Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, (platonic) Steve x Reader Summary: When Steve first comes out of the ice, he learns of his fellow Howling Commando’s fates, yours being less than pretty. So, when he goes back to return the stones, he decides to be selfish. He brings you home.

Written for @buckygrantbarnes writing challenge with the prompt : Epiphany (n)- a moment of sudden revelation or insight. It’s in bold. I really tried

Warning: brief mentions of suicide, angst, minor swearing, involves flashbacks (through Steve’s eyes) to 40s!bucky and 40s!steve

Word Count: 3.2k - this was not meant to get this long oh dear god

masterlist

“Are you sure you want to do this Cap?” Tony asked, placing the Manila folders in front of him cautiously, “You might not like everything that you read”

Steve just nodded, his eyes immediately drawn to your file, “I have to know”

He waited until he was alone that evening to look through the folders, starting with Dum Dum’s folder. By 2 am in the morning he had finally reached yours, fingers hesitating at the crisp pages. With a deep breath, he finally opened it.

Your face beamed up at him, standing in between him and Bucky. That particular picture had been taken after their first successful hydra raid with the howling commandos, the three of you full of incomparable joy. Steve felt his eyes brimming with tears as he set the picture aside, moving onto the typed up briefing of your life.

He knew something was wrong before he had even started, the folder much thinner than that of the other members, only a mere few pages detailing your life after the war. His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the sight, yet he continued to read.

She continued to fight with the surviving commandos until the end of the war, where she was heavily decorated amongst her peers. Retiring from the forces, she moved back to Brooklyn, only 5 minutes away from Rebecca Barnes and her new husband. 3 months after retiring from the service she was found dead in her apartment from a gunshot to the head, self inflicted.

Steve felt sick. Utterly, utterly sick. He had left you alone, and without him or Bucky there to help you, you had crumbled. Shoving the folder away from him, he stumbled to his feet, dashing out of his room and towards the common room kitchen to get some water.

He ignored a few worried calls as he walked through the corridors, his mind reeling with the imaginative horrors of your death, conjuring up images of your limp body sprawled lifelessly on the floor -

The thought made him heave, tears gathering in his eyes as he clumsily took a cup from the cupboard and began to fill it up, his usually steadfast hands shaking life a leaf as memories of his youth filled his head.

“I didn't see you here yesterday, you’re always sat here sketching at 4. Were you okay?”

Steve looked up at you in shock, sketching pad lying on his legs as he tried to formulate a sentence.

“Wha - yeah. My asthma was bad is all, ma didn't want me leaving the house. Um - I’m Steve”

“Y/N” you greeted cheerfully, seating yourself next to him on the bench, “I think we’re going to be great friends”

“Steve! Wait up!” you called, running down the street, madly weaving through the throngs of people that lined the Brooklyn streets. Steve had known you for years now, Bucky instantly accepting you into the fold.

Steve watched you approach with a grin, leant against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets to keep out of the way of the morning rush.

“I thought you had ditched me” he teased, elbowing you lightly in the side, “was waiting for 20 minutes doll”

You ducked your head slightly, your hair falling in your face as you laughed, “I would never Steve - you know that”

With a small nod, he offered you his arm, the two of you walking towards the theatre.

“Is Buck coming?”

“Shouldn’t you know that?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You blanched, a blush creeping up your cheeks, “I don't have a clue what you’re talking about”

He snorted, falling next to you in line at the ticket booth with a relaxed smile.

“Yeah, because you didn't fall hopelessly in love with him when we were 7″

You punched his arm lightly, stumbling over words as you tried to defend yourself.

“He’ll ask you out any day doll, I’m sure of it”

“Steve! Help me!”

He turned around to see Bucky close in on you, tackling you to the ground before he began tickling your sides.

“Make him stop - ow! James! I’ll get you for this I swear!”

“Nah, you love me too much to hurt me babydoll” Bucky smirked, his eyes shining with admiration as he stared down at your scowling face.

Steve sniggered as he watched you turn beet red, immediately wiggling out from underneath the taller man and making a rushed excuse to leave.

“What was that?”

“You called her babydoll again” Steve smirked, crossing his arms triumphantly, “Just admit it, you like her”

“I don't know what you’re talking about punk”

“Jerk”

“It’s in Europe, they say we might have to join” you said in a low voice, squished between Bucky and Steve in a booth, a shared smoothie sat on the table.

“Someone’s got to stop the Nazis - I think we should help” Steve explained with a small shrug. “They’re bullies, they need to be stopped”

“What do you think Buck?”

“Huh - what? Sorry doll I wasn’t listening”

You sighed, narrowing your eyes at Dot who had been flirting with him from across the diner.

“Just go sit with her if she’s that bloody interesting”

“If that’s alright with you?”

You huffed moodily, Steve answering for the both of you, a scowl forming on your face as you watched him flirt.

“He’s nothing but a skirtchaser” you huffed, taking an angry sip of milkshake, “Just admit it Steve, he sees me as a sister. I’ve known him too long”

“Trust me, he doesn’t look at you like he looks at Becca. He’s just being an idiot right now” Steve said, consoling you, “Besides, they never last more than a week, you’ve got to realise there’s a reason for that”

“I’ll believe it when I see it Rogers”

“Buck you cant go” you cried into his chest, hands fisted into the material of his jacket.

“I’m sorry doll, but you know I have to. I’ll come home, I promise” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he pulled away, moving to give Steve a hug.

“Look after her while I’m gone Steve, I mean it”

“You know I will”

“And don't do anything stupid”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you” Steve smiled sadly, moving to hold your hand as you waved Bucky off.

As soon as he was out of sight you buried your head in Steve’s shoulder, letting out broken sobs as he held you tightly.

“I didn’t tell him Steve”

“I know”

“What do you mean you’re leaving? You’re being deployed?”

“Yes, well I -” You cut him off with a hug, knowing how much he wanted to get in to the army, until the reality came crashing down.

“What am I supposed to do? What about your asthma? Your pains? I - I should join the nurses, see if I can go with you. You’ll - you’ll need someone who knows how to help you”

“Y/N no, I promised Buck -”

“You cant leave me here alone Steve, I cant be in Brooklyn alone”

“Who are - wait - Steven?”

“It's me”

“But you’re massive! What happened to you!”

“I joined the army” he chuckled, a sad tinge to his voice

“Why’re you sad?”

“They’re not deploying me. They have me on a dance troupe instead, something about selling bonds”

You pulled him into a hug, withholding a sigh of relief, “Well, I guess I’ve found my new job, eh?”

You snuck off stage with Steve, ignoring the cheers of the soldiers as you consoled him, smiling at Peggy as she approached.

“Tough crowd? That audience contains what was left of the 107th -”

“Wait, the 107th?”

Steve was up in a flash, you and Peggy following close behind.

“Sir I just need to know one name, Sargent James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th, please”

“I’ve written more of those letters than I’d care to admit today - I’m sorry but the name does sound familiar”

You choked down a sob as Steve asked what the plan was to save the POWs, your hand absentmindedly clutching his as you tried to ground yourself.

“I cant believe I let you come” Steve breathed exasperatedly, watching as you put your show helmet back on, a determined look in your eye.

“Hey, I’ve been training her, she’s pretty good” Peggy smiled, handing you a pistol and holster, as well as a stolen machine gun.

The plane leered to the side slightly, Howard shouting apologies from the front.

“I’ll have you know I beat your accuracy on the shooting range, Rogers” you teased, attaching the thigh holster as you steadied your breathing, getting ready to drop into enemy territory.

You fought brutally, following Steve’s every move as you made your way through the hydra base.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Get the prisoners out, I’ll carry on looking for Bucky”

“Are you sure -”

“If he sees you here you know he’s just going to act tough, we need to move quickly”

You snorted in agreement, taking the cell keys and splitting off from him, shooting down the last few guards before entering the room.

“Who are you?”

“Here to save your asses”

“I asked you to keep her safe!”

“I did! She’s fine isn't she?”

“She is standing right here! And yes, I’m joining and there’s nothing you can do about it, okay?”

“Doll, I just don't think -” “Bucky if the dame wants to come along, let her come” Dum Dum interrupted, “She saved us back then and she seems capable enough”

You smiled smugly, raising your eyebrow at Bucky as Steve watched on in amusement.

“You’re not gonna back down from this are you? God my ma’s gonna kill me”

You cheered at his acceptance, pulling both Bucky and Steve into a hug.

“The three musketeers back together again”

“I wish it was under better circumstances”

“don't we all”

“Bucky I’m fine! It was the right move, if I hadn't have gone in there then the turret might have taken Gabe and Pinky out!”

“You almost got shot!”

“We’re always almost getting shot!”

“But normally I have eyes on you - I can look out for you” “I don't need you to babysit me James! I can do it!” “Well I cant! I lost eyesight on you and you weren’t answering me doll - I - you can’t do that -“

“You don’t seem that bothered when the others leave your sight! You’re being hypocritical Bucky -“

“I LOVE YOU GODDAMNIT”

Everything went quiet, a shocked gasp escaping your lips at the epiphany.

The men cleared their throats awkwardly, the two of your voices carrying back to the camp. Steve, however, sat back in his seat happily, glad that his friend had finally taken the leap.

Everyone was sat quietly as Jaques fiddled with the radio, trying to hack into the Russian network.

Steve was sat opposite the two of you, watching as you had a hushed conversation. You were sat in between Bucky’s legs, your back leant against his chest. You tilted your head upwards to talk to him, small giggles escaping your lips as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

The rare peaceful moment was cut short as the channel took hold, harsh Russian cutting through the cold air, bringing with it the beginnings of the next mission.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that we were cornered and I needed to get into the control room!”

“Jesus babydoll, are you trying to give me a heart attack”

“I can handle myself Buck! How many times do I need to prove myself before you realise that? I can fight my own fucking battles”

Bucky cut you off with a growl, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, muttering something about your dirty mouth.

“We’ll be back in a bit Steve”

“Try and keep it down this time” Steve teased, earning a shocked curse from you as you began to scold him.

“Steven Grant Rogers, how very dare you -”

“Stevie you’ll never guess what!”

“Did he do it?”

You turned around to Bucky, a massive grin on your face.

“He knew?”

“Of course he knew, who do ya think helped me pick the ring?”

Delighted, you hugged Steve, thanking him.

“He was getting cold feet, thought it was too soon” Steve teased, “all I had to do was remind him you’ve been in love since you were 14 - he’s been carrying that damn ring around since the last big town”

“I love you big idiots”

Bucky chuckled from behind you, his arms encircling your waist protectively, chin resting on the top of your head.

“Just a few more bases and we can go home” Bucky promised, Steve nodding firmly.

“Just a few more”

You stared blankly at Steve, his words falling on to deaf ears. Blindly, you started towards the edge of the cliff to look at the train track where he had fallen, Steve’s hands preventing you from getting too close.

“He’s not gone. He’s not”

“I’m sorry, I reached for him. He was right there and I-“ Steve’s voice broke off into sobs, your arms mechanically hugging him. You were numb.

“It’s not your fault” you murmured repeatedly, “not your fault”

Only two weeks later, the group had found the main hydra base. Steve had tried talking you out of coming but you needed the revenge, the alcohol not cutting into your grief.

You moved through the base with conviction, unbridled fury coursing through your veins as you cleared corridors of hostiles by yourself, movements brutal and unforgiving.

“He’s on the jet - missiles - I need backup”

You watched as Steve kissed Peggy, a small smirk pulling at your lips, before you continued clearing the way to the control room.

“I’ve got to put her in the water”

“Steve - no. You can’t do that to me, please”

Peggy tried to come up with an alternative route, but Steve was sure it was the only way.

“Y/N I’m so sorry”

As Steve stepped on the platform, one glance at Bucky confirmed what he had to do.

When he had first remembered you, he had cried for hours in Steve’s arms until he eventually worked up the courage to read your folder. He had gone silent for a few minutes before letting out the most heart wrenching sob Steve had ever heard.

He was inconsolable for quite a while afterwards, quite similar to Steve when he had found out, unable to imagine you in a place that dark.

“3, 2, 1”

A hesistant knock sounded at your door, bringing you out of your daydream. You cursed the interruption, reality crashing back down around as you realised you were back in the States and they were gone.

The person knocked again, more firmly this time. You opened it with a fake smile (one you had mastered recently), to be met with a familiar set of broad shoulders.

”Steve?”

Your voice was shaky, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek.

“Oh god I’m going insane aren’t I - you - you died. You’re both dead. Who - why are you doing this? It’s not funny!” You wept, scrambling backwards.

“Y/n-“

You froze at his voice, hands beginning to tremble.

“No, no”

Your crying increased as you pressed your hands to your ears, sliding down the wall until you were hunched over, rocking back and forth slightly.

“You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead” you mumbled.

“Y/n I’m here, it’s me. I’m here doll”

Warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace, “shhh. Shhhh”

“Is it - is it really you?” You asked, hands clawing at his shirt, “Steve, Steve it’s you?”

“It’s me, I’m here” he said, voice cracking with emotion.

“But - but - the ice. You crashed Steve. You - you - you died! You both died!” You had to pause, choking on tears, “you both left me. I had to come back here alone, you know I didn't want to be in Brooklyn alone”

“I know, and I’m so sorry doll. I’m so sorry. But I came here to take you home, with Buck and I”

“Oh - I did it didn’t I?”

“What?”

“I’m dead”

“No. You’re not dead, but you did-“ his voice broke off, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to finish his sentence, “I know what you’re thinking of doing”

“Oh”

“I’m from the future, there’s no easy way to put it. The ice froze me, kept me alive. I read it in your notes”

“Bucky’s alive in the future too?”

“The fall didn’t kill him”

You gasped, filling in the gaps yourself.

“Oh god, we - we basically handed him to them!”

“But he’s alive, he’. Please let me save you doll - come back with me. I know it will be different but -“

“Yes, please don't leave me again Stevie I cant - not again - I cant”

The blond just nodded in understanding, helping you to your feet.

“Is there anything you need to get?”

You shook your head, your engagement ring still shining on your finger as you grasped the two sets of dog tags around your neck.

Steve tilted his head to the side questioningly.

“Rebecca wanted Bucky’s, I couldn’t say no to her. I got to keep yours though - you can have them back if you want?”

“No need” he smiled, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, “Let’s go”

You fell to your knees on a metal platform, Steve’s hand still resting on your shoulder.

“Steve what did you do?”

You ignored the unfamiliar voice as you looked up, eyes frantically searching for Bucky.

“Steve -”

You whipped around at the sound of his voice, “Buck”

You launched yourself at him immediately, the two of you crumbling to the ground in a messy embrace. Tears ran steadily down his cheeks as his hands ran over your figure, as if solidifying that you were really in front of him.

“Your hair is so long now” you giggled tearfully, stroking your hands through the silky strands, “and you have a beard!”

He laughed ruefully, searching your face quickly before burying his face back into your neck.

“I missed you babydoll” he whispered into your skin, tightening his arms around your waist, “I’m so sorry for everything”

Frowning, you cut him off, gently moving his face in front of yours and pulling him into a sweet, tender kiss.

“You have nothing to be sorry for James, nothing at all”

He looked down at your intertwined fingers, eyes drawn to the ring.

“You kept it”

“There was never gonna be anyone else Buck -”

“I know”

Averting your eyes from Bucky for a few seconds, you gestured for Steve to join the hug, your family unit complete.

“The three musketeers back together again” Steve smiled, leaning forwards so all three of your foreheads were touching.

“Punk”

“Jerk”

“Idiots”

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art-now-italy · 3 years

Photo

Human aerodynamic 18, Dario Moschetta

Acrylic on canvas 100x150cm From HDL Magazine interview How old are you? What do you feel when you make art? I’m 40 years old, so I’m pretty young. When I’m painting and working to some mixed media I don’t have complex thoughts, I just think about giving the right color, the right shadow and the right light to the artwork. I often stop and take a few steps back to look at what I’ve done, and I look at it very differently compared with the way I observe it as I’m working on it. I think about what I can do to improve it, if I’m going in the right direction, if the artwork I’m creating is better or worse that the last one I made. I don’t think about who’s going to look at it when it’s done, I’m the one who has to be satisfied, I’m the one who must like the final result, otherwise I’ll put it away where I won’t see it for a long time or I’ll throw it away. Do you surprise yourself at your art – at the process or the results? Sure, I can surprise myself about what I’m creating when I’m painting. Sometimes a few brush or spatula strokes given casually in the chaotic central stage of the work have something magic, a evolution, a combination, a color or a mix of colors that are simply nice to see by themselves as they are in the landscape of the paiting. Even the paint dripping on the canvas can fascinate me: too much water, too much diluent or too much color squeezed out of the tube starts sliding on the surface and I watch it intrigued a sit changes direction without no logic, it stops whenever it wants, and in the end it gives a profound meaning to the artwork. Obviously these “randomnesses” stay and I don’t even think about adjusting them. What is your Inspiration – at life, and in your art? In the world of art I’m inspired by the beauty of people, by the effort to try and understand one person’s mood by looking at her face or at the movements of her body. I like bodies in motion, naked bodies, expressive faces, mood changes. I think in life a spontaneous behavior can protects you from bad surprises, so I think that what inspires me is my emotional side, if I want to do something I do it without thinking about it too much, I don’t like to imitate other people’s behaviour. Maybe sometimes I follow someone’s advice, but that must be a sincere advice coming from someone who’s very close to me. What are the main stages in your career? What attracted you to this world of art at the beginning? There have been many important moment in my life. To make a list would be a problem. If I should chose a crucial one, then I’d say when I lost my job as a tecnical employee. I’ve always drawn and painted since I can remember, but I’ve always considered the sudden lost of that job as a new beginning. Since then I started to engage seriously in what I do now: artworks. What lures me to this kind of work is the absolute freedom to do exactly what I want whenever I want. It’s that special kind of deep meditation I experience when I work, everything vanishes and nothing bothers me anymore, everything is peace when I create something with my two own hands. Do you create a story in your mind when you work on a piece? a story about your characters if it’s a portrait, or a story about the city if it’s a cityscapes? When I work on a new artwork I want to describe reality at first. As far as I’m concerned, making a portrait is not only to preserve the face of a person, but also to give others (people looking at it) some kind of emotion, instill a feeling that can be different from person to person. I’d like to create a memento for a brief instant, to make people see the human condition, sad or either happy. We all know what a smiling face look like, but to see one more painted is always useful. Do you discover new things about yourself during your work? To be honest I don’t find out nothing more of what I already know about myself when I work. I’d like to be able to do that. Maybe one day it will happen and maybe it will be the day I’ll begin a new phase, maybe I won’t paint anymore and I’ll dedicate myself to sculpture, or maybe I’ll direct movies. I’m curious about what will come next. Can you describe me your work process? How is your day looks like? Is it all about art? As for the cityscapes the process is pretty complicated, I start from a printed photographic base and then I melt the printing pigments with a vinyl glue. It’s a process that resembles the printing of photographic negatives. Then it’s time for the acrylic color, creating some tension with lines, trying to make the city’s personality stand out, without showing its citizens. It’s like looking at a photo of the African savannah: you know it’s the savannah even if there are no lions or elephants. Then I glue the whole thing on a solid surface like canvas or wood, or some recyclable materials. I scratch the surface with variuos tools, chisels, files, sandpaper. I want the artwork to look like those worn out movies posters that you see along the streets. The more they look worn out the better it is. Are your images come from dreams or other unconscious areas in you?… Please give me examples from your work I will be honest: before I start to paint a portrait or a nude or before I start a cityscapes, the image I want to obtain comes from a heap of images or footage in my head. It’s like I’m directing a movie and I can choose from all those frames at my disposal. Of course I have movies I’m particularly fond of and sometimes I draw frames from them. Some movies have wonderful framings that are as good as paintings. I like to think about Kubrick or Antonioni, real artisans that chose the best angles and the best means to shoot them. As for the cityscapes, I often think about those from on high framings of Christopher Nolan’s movies, a slow and fluid motion of cities that look desert, no people around. People build cities but cities are the first thing you see when you’re flying on a plane above them. What is the purpose of art at all ,as you see it , and your art in particular? I don’t know what art is supposed to mean, but the will to be amazed is alive and kicking in us all. So I think that amaze people is a pretty good satisfaction. The illusionist that can make people stare with their mouth wide open with a hocus-pocus is the happiest of men. The artis is an illusionist, and when the magic works people go to the museum or to an exibition and stare with eyes and mouth wide open, and sometimes even cry. I saw that happening with my own eyes. Do you have things or techniques you want to develop or new field you want to research in your art for the next five years? There are so many things I want to do, or I’d like to do. I’ll paint big size paintings for sure, like 2x2 meters or thereabouts. The more the field of vision is filled with color and artistic reality the more you can be in tune with yourself, with nature and with other human beings. Monet succeeded in doing it in a superlative way with his Waterlilies at the Orangerie. To direct a movie would be great. What are the feedbacks you get? What are the emotions that your work stimulate in viewers? I like to know that people like my artworks. They often tell me that my cityscapes convey quite well the chaos, even though there is no chaos at all. Maybe they unsettle people because we all know what these piles of concrete and glass hide. What are you working on now? I’m working on some big size portraits and nudes with intense colors like the last selfportrait I did, wich is 142x177 cm. I like to give large brush strokes on the canvas, to move a lot in front of an idea I sketched with the pen, and to mix a great deal of colors. I’ve seen a footage of a Japanese artist who painted some beautiful Koi fishes on a canvas that was so big that he could paint with a broom. I’d like to try that.

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Human-aerodynamic-18/337243/2807313/view

#illustration #figurative #DarioMoschetta #impressionism #portraiture

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Surprising Too Late Part I

Part 1

Nick

“Matt, hand me that shelf.” My brother and I were practically dripping in sweat as we helped our dad put in a partition wall in the garage that had once been our home gym. It still was, technically, but we’d moved some of the pieces around to make room for a new purpose.

Y/N’s birthday was in a week, and we had a surprise for her. When we’d met almost nineteen years ago—God, had it been that long—she’d been an art student. There were so many times when she’d beg the two of us to sit for sketches. I remembered the first time she showed me one of her paintings. It was a breathtakingly beautiful self-portrait. She’d given it to me as a present on our first anniversary. But in the years that followed that gift, our wife spent less and less time chasing her joy of art. It was as if the moment that Mattie was born, Y/N set aside everything except for our newborn daughter and us.

“Is that going to be big enough?” he replied, holding out a piece of varnished and polished wood.

Our dad poked his head around the corner. He was working outside, making sure that the window AC unit was sealed. “What are you putting on it?”

I pointed to a spread of jars filled with a variety of paintbrushes and tubes of acrylic paint along with a bento box Kenny had given her where she kept her chalk. Dad looked between the objects and the shelf in Matt’s hands before he nodded.

“Yeah, just tack an extra screw at the back of the bracket top and bottom.”

I grinned and dug into my pocket for two more screws. “This is going so much better than the swing set.”

Dad practically cackled. “You two helped me build your ring when you were teenagers. How you couldn’t follow some simple instructions is beyond me.”

“To be fair,” Matt said as he passed over the electric screwdriver and the level. “We were stubborn.”

“You were showing off,” Dad called back.

“True,” I snorted. “Matt, hold this down.”

Matt

It was hard to keep a straight face in the days leading up to Y/N’s birthday. We spent those final days in a panic. We ended up having to be in Jacksonville an extra day for a taping, and we ended up making panicked calls to our dad to get some final hardware stuff handled. From Friday to Saturday night, I don’t think either my brother or I slept more than a few hours. We took turns keeping our wife occupied while the other slipped away to the other house with the kids or to the garage to hang shelves or photos or art.

I spent Saturday night—the night before her birthday—going through boxes of drawings the kids had done over the years. Nick had gone out that morning and picked up a dozen picture frames. I picked out two drawings from each of the kids and tucked them carefully into a frame to hang on the wall or sit out on the tables in the space we’d made for her.

Nick had crept into her charcoal pencils and sketched the outline of the Tokyo Dome. It had taken a while, but the story of that first time he’d kissed her came out in the early days of our life together. It was a moment I didn’t begrudge them and I memory I hoped they kept with them forever.

I’d spent hours trying to figure out what my addition would be. After a while, I decided to do my best to replicate that moment when our lives together really began. I went through my iCloud and pulled up the photos from our honeymoon. There was half a dozen of that day on the coast where Nick and Y/N had exchanged their rings. It took three tries, but I finally produced something that looked like the lighthouse on the edge of Oahu.

It was the early hours of the morning of Y/N’s birthday when I finally slipped back into the house, bleary eyed and exhausted. Nick stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and chugging a bottle of water.

“Everything’s ready,” I said around a yawn. I thought about making a cup of coffee. “Is she still asleep?”

“Everybody is. RJ was having nightmares, so I slept most of the night in his room.” My brother smiled a little. “Go get in bed. I’ll be there as soon as I check on little man.”

I reached out and hugged him. “Thanks, Nick. For everything you’ve done all these years.”

Nick locked his arms around me and squeezed me hard. “Thank you for letting me be here. For taking me back.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn’t going to cry. “You and Y/N are the most important people in my life. And this life is the one for us, no matter what anyone says.”

I padded down the hallway to the master bedroom. Y/N was curled beneath the blankets in the center of the king-sized bed. For a moment, I stood there watching her sleeping. I remembered the first time I saw her, the first time I kissed her. My wife was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t believe that I’d been lucky enough to have the last almost twenty years with her.

She snuggled close to me when I slipped into bed beside her. She pressed her lips against my cheek and tucked herself under my arm. Her head pillowed on my chest. I kissed the top of her head and closed my eyes.

Sometime later, Nick crawled into bed on her other side. He curled up behind her, his arm tucked around her waist. Together—just like we faced everything else in life—we went to sleep.

***

I woke up to a faint knocking. Sleep fell away slowly. I was warm and comfortable snuggled between Matt and Nick. They were both sound asleep, made evident by Nick’s slightly open mouth and Matt’s soft snores.

The knock came again. I sighed and sat up, crawling down to the end of the bed to avoid waking either of them. Rubbing my eyes to wake up, I opened the bedroom door to find my sixteen-year-old daughter.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” she said with a grin. “We made breakfast for you and Dad and Papa.”

I smiled, tears in my eyes. “I think Dad and Papa are out of it for a while. But we’ll save them a plate.”

She led the way to the kitchen where thirteen-year-old Nicole was piling eggs on the plates of her brothers. Ten-year-old Lee was carefully pouring orange juice into a line of cups. He turned and gave me a smile that looked exactly like Matt’s.

“Morning, Mama! Happy birthday!” he said as he carried one cup at a time to the table. He handed six-year-old Ty his favorite cup, earning a wide grin from his youngest brother.

The kids pulled me toward the table and tucked me into my normal place between Mattie and Nicole. The boys lined up on the other side of the table. Seats at the head and foot were empty, waiting for Matt and Nick to join us.

Mattie looked around the table and frowned. She stood up and practically stalked down the hallway back to the master bedroom. I hid my laughter behind my hand as I heard her pounding on the door, yelling for her Dad and Papa to get up right now you’re ruining Mom’s birthday breakfast!

Ty grinned, his smile pushing into his cheeks, and giggled. “Mattie’s yelling at them!”

RJ looked over at his baby brother and nodded. “Serves them right. It’s Mama’s birthday.”

My heart swelled at the sweetness from my sons. Lee looked after his sister and scrambled from his seat to run to join Mattie. He stood next to her, pounding his fist on the door in time with hers.

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Nick growled playfully as he swung open the door. I saw him grin at our eldest daughter before he leaned over, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder. “Do you think we’d miss your mother’s birthday breakfast?”

Matt appeared right behind him, swinging Lee up onto his back. “We were up late getting Mama’s present ready.”

“Present?” I asked, arching my brows. I followed their movement as they carried our eldest son and daughter back into the kitchen. They deposited them in their seats, slipped around to press a tandem kiss on my cheeks, and smiled as they sank into their seats.

“Who made this?” Matt asked, looking down at the plate in front of him.

“Nikki,” Ty said proudly. She was his favorite, and he loved everything that she did.

Matt’s brow lifted as he beamed at her. She blushed and looked away. “It looks amazing, Bug,” he said before taking a bite. “You cook like your mother.”

Nicole glanced up at me, pride on her face. I kissed the top of her head. “You can help me make Thanksgiving dinner this year,” I whispered.

***

After breakfast, Matt and Nick tied an Elite bandana around my eyes. Then they took me by the hands and led me through the house. I could hear the children following along, whispering and giggling at each other. I looked around, trying to get an idea of what was happening, particularly when we left the house for the late September sunshine.

Nick talked quietly as he guided me over the uneven bumps and dips. I followed a map of our property in my head as I tried to figure out where they were taking me.

“Okay,” Matt said from my left. “Mattie, you got the camera?”

“Yep,” I heard her reply.

The bandana fell away, and I squinted in the bright light. We stood outside the garage that the boys had converted into a home gym when they bought their homes next to each other. I stared at the door, not sure what was happening.

Nick stepped in front of me, his hand on the doorknob, and grinned. “You’ve given up so much for us, Y/N. Your passions and your hobbies. It’s time you got those back.”

The kids filed in behind Nick, Mattie walking backward to keep her cell phone trained on me. Matt pushed me forward with his palm on the base of my spine. The moment I stepped over the threshold, I started to cry. The space was no longer a gym. Somehow, the boys had created a whole new room. It was painted a soft heather grey and stocked with every art supply I owned. My bento box with my chalks. Mason jars of brushes and acrylic. An easel and canvases of every size. Parchment paper. Everything I could ever want or need to draw, sketch, or paint.

The walls were hung with frames of every size and shape. Some held pictures the kids had drawn over the years, signed at the bottom with their names and ages. Two of them were clearly by Matt and Nick. A rough black and white sketch of the curving roof of the Tokyo Dome. Another carefully drawn outline of a lighthouse along a coast.

A palette had been turned into a photo frame—I suspected Brandon’s wife had something to do with it. It was splashed with bright colors, and circular holes had been cut into the wood. A picture of each of my children had been placed inside. A larger oval had a picture of the three of us at the wedding, the two of them standing in their suits on either side of me. A photo we were desperately grateful for after the fact.

I turned around in circles, one after the other, trying to take in everything. My heart pounded in my chest and the tears poured down my cheeks. Mattie followed my every move with the camera, her hands shaking as she cried, too. Nicole sniffled.

“Do you like it?” Matt asked softly.

Nick leaned his chin on his brother’s shoulder. The two of them watched me apprehensively, almost terrified.

“I love it. So much,” I whispered, trying to take a breath. “You… you did this… It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

A moment later, I was wrapped up in their arms. “We love you,” Nick whispered in my ear as Matt cradled my head in his hand. “Happy birthday, Sunshine.”

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @lilred91 @imagineall-the-fandoms @maelleoute @librathepheonix13 @justamess44

#the too late tales #too late tales #surprising too late part 1 #matt jackson #matt jackson fanfiction #nick jackson #nick jackson fanfiction #young bucks #young bucks fanfiction #aew #aew fanfiction #matt x reader #nick x reader #matt x reader x nick #polyamory #polyamorous relationships

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magicsmutshop · 4 years

Text

When You See My Base Line - Pt 4 (Final)

Part 4 of 4

Pairing: Jung Hoseok/Reader

Genre: Multi-chapter smut

Rating: Explicit

Word count: ~2800 words

Warnings: Sex, drooling over Hoseok's perfect face and body

Summary: You and nude model Hoseok finally put the velvet chaise in the art room to good use.

Navigation: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Hobi: Out walking Mickey, look at this cute squirrel!

You: Aww, it kinda reminds me of you…

Hobi: 😳😂

You spend the next few days glued to your phone. Hoseok keeps up a steady stream of emoji-laden texts with cute anecdotes from his dance classes for kids and pictures of his fluffy little dog, Mickey, while you share the latest gossip from Ashley and snaps of your trip to a park to sketch. And you’ve bonded over a shared love of taking pictures of your food--somehow Hoseok managed to make a picture of Panda Express orange chicken look magazine-quality without filters. But you haven’t yet managed to actually get together to share a meal, despite your best efforts.

You: Going to that bar by the rec center with Ashley, do you and Namjoon want to meet us out?

Hobi: Wish I could, but have to cover the 4 year old ballet class, the teacher is out sick 🤧

You: Boo, I wanted Namjoon and Ashley to meet each other!

Hobi: Oh, is that all… you don’t want to see me???? 💔

You: Nah, I’m good. 😝

Hoseok has been crazy busy with his full-time job as a choreographer and his nighttime dance classes at the rec center, while you’ve been working a few late nights for a big work project, so you haven’t been able to see him in person. But that hasn’t slowed down your texting in the slightest. Hoseok’s cute selfies are a consistent bright spot in your day.

Hobi: New jacket, what do you think?? <picture>

You: Looks amazing!! But are you wearing yellow shorts with it?

Hobi: Thought you loved the yellow shorts 😘

Not all of the texts were so innocent. There was the night he wasn’t able to meet you at the bar, so you decided to send him a little reminder that he still owed you something…

You: You still haven’t returned them, Hobi.

Hobi: ???? Returned what?

You: Look how empty my drawer is. <picture>

Hobi: Ohh.. thought you proved the other night that you don’t need to wear any.

You: But those are my favorite pair.

Hobi: Looks like you have plenty of other nice pairs right there.

You: I want these.

Hobi: Yeah? How about a little trade?

You: <picture>

Hobi: Good girl. <picture>

That had been a very satisfying evening, but by the time the next art class rolls around, you’re pent up with longing and anticipation to see Hoseok again.

When you walk into the classroom, Hoseok greets you with a beaming smile and a casual hug. As he wraps his arms around your waist, he leans in and whispers into your ear, “Can you stick around after class today?”

You blink up at him. “Sure, I’m free.” You sound equally as casual, but your heart rate is starting to pick up.

“Good.” he gives you a squeeze and a wink and then disentangles himself, whipping out his phone. “Look at what Mickey did earlier, he was adorable…” His cologne lingers in the air as you will yourself to calm down. What is he up to?

As always, the art class speeds by fairly quickly once you’re in the sketching zone. You’re working on your final drawing of Hoseok, who has his back turned to you and your classmates, showing off his defined back, narrow waist, and muscular ass. During the breaks, as he chatters away to Namjoon, you can’t help but wonder what he has planned for afterwards.

Finally, 2 hours have gone by, and Namjoon calls the class to a close. As you slowly pack up your satchel while your classmates file out of the room, Taehyung turns your way. “Are you in for the bar tonight?”

You stutter. “Um, no, I think I’ll pass tonight.”

Taehyung frowns in disappointment. “Boo, why not?” You can’t help but look over at Hoseok, but Jimin jabs Taehyung with a sharp elbow.

“Don’t interrogate her, Tae. She obviously has other plans.” Jimin links elbows with him, steering him towards the door. Jimin looks back at you and makes an obscene expression with his tongue. “We’ll see you next time, byyyyye!”

Willing the blush out of your cheeks, you busy yourself with putting your pencils away in your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Namjoon with a mulish expression on his face, shaking his head at Hoseok. However, Hoseok leans in and whispers something into Namjoon’s ear. Whatever he says brings a reluctant smile to Namjoon’s face.

Finally, Namjoon digs a key out of his pocket and hands it to Hoseok. “We’re even, ok?” He grabs his bag and heads out of the classroom with a nod to you, leaving you and Hoseok alone for the first time.

“What was that all about?”

“Namjoon owed me.” Hoseok leans back on the velvet chaise, looking relaxed but in perfect control. You can’t help but follow the way his robe rides up his thighs as he casually spreads his legs. Naturally, Hoseok notices where you’re looking. “Didn’t look your fill earlier?”

Maddeningly, you blush again. Despite having gotten this man off--and having him get you off--he manages to fluster you like nobody else.

Hoseok pats his thighs invitingly. “Why don’t you come a bit closer?” As you start to approach him, he speaks again. “But leave the clothes behind.”

You stop in your tracks. Say what?

Hoseok smirks, blatantly looking you up and down. “You’ve gotten to see my body so many times at this point. Don’t you think it’s time to return the favor?” He leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees, watching you intently.

“Here?” you look behind you at the door, which is firmly shut. The hallway beyond is dark, Namjoon clearly having turned off the lights behind himself. The lightbulb dawns over your head--this is what Hoseok got the key for. You look back at him.

“Here.”

The clear desire in Hoseok’s eyes makes you brave. Never breaking eye contact, you slowly strip your clothes off, one piece at a time, until you’re standing directly in front of him in nothing but your lacy panties. He tears his eyes away from your hard nipples to raise an eyebrow at you.

“I thought you might like to take these off yourself, since you still haven’t returned my other pair.” You cock your hip, sending him a smirk of your own as he brings his hands up to encircle your waist.

Hoseok growls. “I’ll buy you five more pairs if you let me do this.” He hooks his fingers into your panties and tears them off in one smooth motion.

“Hobi!” you shriek in surprise, your face turning red.

“Yes, baby?” He calmly tosses the shreds to the side, and takes you by the hips again, pulling you down into his lap.

You try to scowl at him, but he kisses you firmly, stroking his tongue against yours. All the thoughts fly out of your head as he caresses your back and sides with his slender hands. “God, you’re beautiful,” he mutters lowly, ducking his head down to kiss your shoulder. You’re getting the front of his robe wet as you grind down into his lap.

“Says the art model,” you shoot back at him. Pulling back a bit, you fumble with the knot of Hoseok’s belt, pulling the sides of his robe apart. Once his chest is revealed, you press back up against him, sighing at the feeling of his bare skin against yours. But before you can enjoy it for too long, he flips you around until you’re on your back on the chaise, blinking up at him. The casual display of his strength sends a tingle throughout your entire body.

Hoseok sits back on his knees in front of the chaise, shrugging his robe off his shoulders until he’s as bare as you. His cock hardens as he fully takes in the sight of you lying on the chaise. “You deserve to be the one who’s up here, but I have to admit... I like being the only one who gets to see you like this.” Hoseok leans forward, taking one of your ankles in his hand. Slowly pulling you down the chaise towards himself, he trails his lips up your leg, sending little shivers throughout your entire body. He stops to nibble at your inner thigh before sucking--hard.

“Oh god--Hoseok--” You instinctively reach out towards him, but he grabs your wrists in each hand, pinning your arms down onto the chaise while he continues to suck and bite your sensitive skin.

You wriggle and whimper underneath him, but Hoseok doesn’t let up until he’s marked up your thighs thoroughly. Letting go of your wrists, he surveys your dazed expression with a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes.

“Gorgeous.” He licks his lips and leans in close to where you’re spread open, dying for his touch on you. Just before reaching your clit, he looks up and pins you with his intense stare. “Put your hands above your head -- and keep them there.”

You’re too turned on to even think of ignoring his command. Slowly, you raise your hands above your head, feeling your nipples harden in the cool air as you arch your back, trying to get closer to his tantalizing mouth.

Finally, Hoseok brushes his lips against your dripping center, slowly dragging his tongue up from your hole to your clit. As you cry out, Hoseok licks his lips again. “You taste as good as I remembered.” He flickers his tongue up and down your lips, dipping it in and out of your center to lick up your wetness before returning his attention to your clit. He alternates between light touches and sucks, never quite letting you come to completion.

You can’t take it anymore. Having enough of being teased, you finally grab his hair.

“Hobi, please,” your voice already sounds completely wrecked. His gaze gets impossibly darker as he sees the effect he’s had on you.

“You have two choices,” he slowly caresses the marks he’s left on your inner thighs. “You can come now, or you can wait until I fuck you.”

Your pussy clenches. “I want you inside me. Now.”

He allows you to use your grip on his hair to pull him up your body, but once he’s hovering over you on the chaise, he takes your wrist and pins your arm down above your head again. “Then be a good girl, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You obediently bring your other arm up and leave your hands above your head, watching as he gets a condom out of his robe pocket--so, he planned this-- and rolls it on.

Returning to the chaise, Hoseok kneels over you, coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. He slides into you slowly, watching your reactions, until he’s fully seated, his hips pressed up against you. He pauses. “This okay, baby?”

You come this close to coming at the feeling of finally having him inside you.

You nod breathlessly. “Feels amazing. You’re amazing.”

Hoseok smiles brightly before the dark, intent look takes over his face again. “Then hang on.” And he starts fucking you with his dancer’s rhythm. Minutes stretch out into what feels like hours as you cling to him, feeling him pressed up to you head to toe.

There’s only one word for it--intense. There’s a lot of power behind his hips as he grinds into you, perfectly filling you up with every inch. It’s almost good enough to get you there untouched, but you need just a little bit more. You squeeze your legs a bit more tightly around his waist, trying to get even closer to him.

Reading your expression, Hoseok effortlessly shifts his weight to one arm, his bicep popping as he raises himself up a bit to look at you. He brushes a lock of hair out of your eyes with his free hand before trailing it down your body. “Need something, baby?” He tweaks your nipple in tandem with a sharp thrust, forcing a gasp out of your throat.

“I need you… faster. Harder.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you try to pull him back down on top of you, but he only brushes his lips against yours before propping himself up again. A little whine escapes your lips, bringing a smirk to his face. All the while, he’s fucking into you with a steady pace, never letting up for a moment. “I’m so close.” Your eyes are starting to water from being on the edge for so long.

With his free hand, he unwinds one of your arms from around his neck, bringing your hand down to where you’re joined together. “Make yourself feel good, baby, just like you’re making me feel so good. Take what you need.” He’s starting to sound breathless, but his hips never stutter.

Hoseok finally takes his gaze off your face, watching you as you start to rub your clit in little motions. Bracing himself on both hands, he bows his head and starts to speed up his pace, pulling out and snapping his full length back into you in smooth strokes. He bites his full lower lip in concentration, never letting up even as both of your moans and gasps start to fill the air around you.

You rake your other hand down his back, feeling the powerful muscles as he works himself into you, settling your grip on his ass. You’re feeling good on multiple levels between your fingers on your throbbing clit, the stroke of his cock hitting all the right spots inside you, and the sight of his face lost in pleasure as he watches the spot where you’re joined.

It’s been a long buildup to this moment where you’re fucking on the same velvet chaise where you originally admired his golden skin and lean muscles.

When Hoseok’s gaze snaps back to yours, you get lost in his intense eyes, one final circle of your fingers tipping you over the edge into your climax. Your pussy squeezes around him as he leans down and captures your lips with his, muffling his low moans as he finally loses his rhythm and thrusts into you one last time.

You kiss him for a few long moments, feeling his chest heaving against yours, both of you slowly coming down from your climaxes. When his arms start to shake from the exertion of keeping himself propped up, Hoseok gently pulls out of you and rolls over, flopping down onto the side of the chaise next to you but staying close.

His bangs are damp with sweat and his lips are swollen and glistening from your kisses. You’re struck with the sudden urge to get your sketchbook--he’s never looked more gorgeous than he does right now. “I wish I could draw this moment.” you can’t help but share.

Hoseok laughs, tracing a finger down the side of your face before pressing a kiss to your temple. “I wish I could draw at all.”

“Oh, so there’s something you’re not good at?”

Hoseok laughs again, a bit shyer, hiding his face in your neck. “So, was this worth the wait?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “Hobi, I’m pretty sure I’ve been waiting for this since the moment I saw you in those yellow shorts.”

***

A few weeks later, you’re standing in front of Namjoon in your final art class. He hands you your sketchbook with a dimpled smile. “The progress you’ve shown is really incredible! You have so much life and energy in your lines, and you really nailed the anatomy, especially in the musculature.”

You think back to your favorite model and his defined quadriceps and leg muscles. “I had a lot of inspiration, I guess.”

Namjoon looks at you earnestly. “Will you be taking more art classes? I think you’d kill it in Advanced Sketching.”

You blush in pleasure, but shake your head. “I really enjoyed this class, but I’m actually going to try something a little different next semester -- dance classes.”

“Dance? Why dance?”

You shrug. “I’ve heard good things about the instructor…”

A loud laugh interrupts you from the door. “Oh yeah, what kind of things?” Hoseok leans against the doorframe, his heart-shaped grin lighting up the entire room.

“Oh, you know… talented, patient, kind...” You saunter up to him.

Namjoon rolls his eyes fondly. “OK, get outta here. I’ll see you two at the bar?”

Hoseok wraps an arm around your waist, tossing Namjoon a finger heart. “See you there!”

You wave goodbye to Namjoon and lean into Hoseok’s side, getting a good whiff of his sunshiney scent as you walk down the hallway together. “I wasn’t done…”

Hoseok looks down at you, amused. “What else?”

“I also heard the instructor looks really hot in yellow shorts.”

~fin~

#bts smut #j-hope smut #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader #hoseok/reader #hobi x reader #hobi smut

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dimensionwriter · 5 years

Text

My Little Buddy

Part 2

Part 1

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Male orc x Female Reader

Warning: (Future) PTSD, mention of depression, lots of fluff

Description: As you're closing up shop, the get a surprise visit from the orc from across the street. And he brought cookies.

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Closing time. The holiest of moments for any business owner, especially after a busy day. You were so ready to flip that sign around and go home.

Until a little deer centaur came bursting through your doors, you were expecting the night to go a little more smoothly. Luckily, you recognized her as bakery owner two shops down.

She was quite short, barely reaching 5 feet. Her skin was a beautiful soft tan that was emphasized by white short hair. The pitch black eyes were gleaming with excitement as she trotted towards you behind the counter.

"I saw you went to the new shop across the street," she whispered to you, even though the two of you were alone. You grabbed the binder with new fabric order for the week. "Did you meet the owner?"

Quickly, you walked to the back of the store in order to put the binder in your office. It's weird that she brought up the owner. The only time she brings up a shop owner this early in a conversation is unless she wants to gossip. Oh gosh.

"Yeah, I met him," you yelled from your office as you file the binder away. You look to your left to see all the animals you brought a couple of days ago sitting on top of a free table. "He's really nice."

You walked of your office and looked down the hall. You were met with a shocked expression from the deer centaur.

"Are we thinking of the same guy? The big buff orc! The man looks like he could break me in half with his pinkie alone. And not to mention all those scars-"

You cut her off with a harsh glare. She closed her mouth and took a step back from you. Her light brown ears flopped down and folded into her bouncy hair.

"Are you really judging based on looks, because you can look pretty freakish from a human's view point," you said calmly. You tore your eyes away from her and begin to check the register. "Seriously, don't judge him. Have you even tried to talk to him?"

Her head dropped down in embarrassment. She didn't have to say no, but her actions spoke clearly. You felt bad for Vyzer for having to deal with such judgement, especially with that type of personality.

"I know you're a nice person, but please don't go around trying to convince people that he's a bad person just because of his looks. I'm nice to anyone, no matter the gender or species, and I know you're grateful for that. You had your own experiences of being discriminated against because of what you are, so how do you think he feels knowing that he looks scarier?" you extolled holding her pitch black eyes in a meaningful gaze. A sigh came out of her as she ran her hands through her hair.

"Ugh, now I feel bad. First thing in the morning, I'll run over to his shop and actually talk to him. Then, I'll come over to gossip," she said back in that excited voice. You playfully rolled at how quickly she was able to jump back to being happy, but it was because of her naturally happy personality.

"Don't forget you have to open your shop on time too. Don't think anyone didn't notice you opening up late yesterday," you teased as you grabbed the broom. You slowly begin to sweep behind the counter and made a note of getting the hall. You can do the main store tomorrow before you open up.

"I was still asleep. And I was only late like 2 hours," she whined leaning her human half onto your counter. You scoff at the statement and gave her a look over your shoulder. "Speaking of sleep, I better go now if I plan on visiting that shop in the morning."

She began trotting towards the door with a giant smile on her face. You wave goodbye to her before you grab the broom to continue sweeping.

When Vyzer mention people not coming into his shop, you never expected it to be other shop owners on this street. Almost everyone on this street was pretty welcoming of any species.

But now that you think about it, there hasn't been any huge creatures to come in. And almost everyone appears harmless at first glance. No wonder he's standing out, in a bad way. Well, you can help him with that.

You weren't phase when you heard a ting of a bell alerting you of someone's presence. You continue to sweep the hall with your back turned. "Sorry, I am close for the night. If you can come bright in the morning, I will be sure to help you."

"Ah, um. Sorry," the voice said softly. You froze up in recognition of that deep, but soft voice. That unique voice only belongs to one unique person

Quick to fix your hair and outfit, you turned around with your most flattering smile. Your gaze met those beautiful brown and white eyes. The long black hair was styled in a way that went across his face in a way that almost covered the major scar going from his right temple to his left cheek.

"Vyzer," you said walking towards the counter with a bounce in your step. He was wearing his bright pink work shirt with a pair of black jeans. In his giant hands sat a container with unknown content.

"You know my name? I -um- I forgot to introduce myself last time we met. I apologize," he mumbled looking down. His hair slide over his nose causing his scar to be revealed.

"Yeah, it's on your shirt," you joked playfully. His head bopped up with a small blue blush coming onto his cheeks. His hand reached up and moved the piece of hair back across his face. He was putting it there himself?

"Oh, forgot about that. Anyway, I had some free time today, so I-I baked some cookies. And, you know, I was like, 'Hey my neighboring shop may want some.' So, here I am," he rambled turning more blue with each stumble of words. It was so adorable. The way his thumbs played with the end of the container. Or the way his eyes drifted away from you before slowly moving back and then snapping away.

"Well," you leaned across the counter and brushed that strand of hair from his face into the back curve of his right cut ear," I would love to have some cookies from my cute neighbor orc.

You would pay 100 dollars to see his reaction over and over again. First, his eyes widen at your proximity then at your action. Next, the blush intensified so much that the green parts of his skin was a dark blue and his white sections turned into a light blue. And finally, he reached his hands up to cover his face as he turned away from you. He pretended to be interested in your fabric.

"How about I run to the back to get the designs I have for the animals? I can finally show you," you said excitedly while tilting your head to look at his blushing face more. His blunt teeth sank into his plush lips as he gave you a quick slide look. He nodded his head as he continued to 'gaze' over your fabric.

"I love them," he spoke flipping through your sketch book for the fifth time. You could say the same thing for his baking skills. Taking a bite out of his cookies felt like a blessing to your taste buds.

A man that is this adorable and knows how to bake. This really isn't helping your crush on him at all. In fact, it feels like it has tripled in size.

"It amazes me how someone's mind can be so creative that you can envision something and bring it to life. You truly are something…amazing," he said with this dazed look on his face. His eyes came up and you were able to see all the stars held within his eyes.

Make that quadrupled in size.

"Says you," you said trying to quickly turn this around before the blush settles in. "You work with different textured fabrics and sew them to look like an animal. Not to include you make them seem so unique, like they are their own singular being. Now that is truly amazing."

His giant palms slowly rubbed themselves into his knees as he looked down. "Yeah, but my sewing skills aren't the best. And I would like to make them outfits that I feel would match their personalities, but I don't know how," he mumbled sadly. Those stars seem to be dwindling out as he sulked more into himself.

"I can teach you," you said so quickly that you made the same face Vyzer did when his head snapped up. But you liked the idea. "When I close up shop, you can come over to get some lessons on sewing. Or if you aren't busy during the day and are comfortable with it, some days I hold workshops on clothes designing that you are welcome to come to, free of charge."

You felt like you were indirectly begging him to come see you, but it was a nice disguise. Maybe if you kept seeing him and getting the right signals, you can gain enough guts to ask him on a date.

"I-I-I," he stuttered harshly before ending with a cough. "I'm going to need to bake a lot to pay you back."

You started to laugh as he gave this giant goofy smile that make his face seem a lot softer, even with all those scars. His tusk bucked out with the smile making the golden cap on his left tusk gleam under the fluorescent lights

"The offer goes both ways. If you want, I can teach you about making stuff animals. Even though I feel you might pick it up quickly and I might have to deal with some competitions," he teased raising his left eyebrow at you. You let out a slightly unattractive laugh that made you scared for a second for his reaction. But from the stars burning brighter in his eyes made your worries melt away.

"I can say the same about you. I feel like your talent may be endless," you flirted back. The laugh that came out of him made you feel like you were on Cloud 9. The way his head tilted back slightly, allowing his hair to dangle more freely, made his face light up in a new way. Oh you were falling hard, and your parachute wasn't looking like it was going to be opening soon.

"I guess we will see," he said softly looking at you with a dazzling smile. His atmosphere seem to be a lot more relaxed than when he walked in.

You tried to hide your smile by looking down, but you knew he saw. He didn't comment it on it as he excused himself out.

You were a nice host and walked him to the door with a smile on your face. You were so tempted to pull out anything to make him stay, but the two of you had a business to run.

However, it seems like he plans on seeing you a lot in the future, hopefully very soon.

Part 3

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I'm trying my best to hold back from writing 6k words per fic, so I can get more out. So, yeah, this fic is small, but it has some good content. Anyway, please LIKE and REBLOG, so I can see that you guys actually enjoy this series. You can COMMENT on this story on your favorite part of this story or what else you want to see from this series or just anything in general. My asks are open if you want to ask about a character or have any questions for me. I will try my best to answer them as fast as possible. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

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notoriously-blonde · 4 years

Text

Inspired by @gale-of-the-nomads Forgotten Bug AU, I present you all with...(Keep in mind, please, this is unbeta-d, and unedited, so i’m sorry in advance for any typos, i just wanted to get these thoughts out before i went to sleep! I am planning on this being a few chapters long at least, so stay tuned! I’ll get an AO3 link up soon, once i get it beta-d and all that.)

At The Tip Of The Tongue

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Master Fu, Nino Lahiffe, Alya Cesaire, Chloe Bourseois, Miracu-class, Gabriel Agreste, Emilie Agreste, The Gorrila, Plagg, Wayzz, Duusuu, Trix, Pollen, Nooroo, other Kwami.

Tags: Forgotten Bug AU, Gabriel doesn’t have the butterfly, Emilie doesn’t have the Peakcock, Marinette | Ladybug isn’t really a character, no memories, conflicting memories, Fu is actually competent, Adrien will be/is Guardian, Black Cat/Turtle miraculous fusion, Gorilla has a name, some retconned ideas, original origins, more to be added as the story continues

2,341 words

Chapters: 1/?

Summary:

Adrien hasn’t been able to get her out of his head.

He has no idea who she is, or why he remembers her.

Why he can’t find her.

Or why no one else can.

All he knows is, this girl he remembers is important.

And he needs to find her.

Chapter 1: The Edge of Awareness (Origins, Part 1)

Adrien’s dreams have been weird lately. Or, well, he can’t remember the last time he dreamt of anything other than what his dreams have been lately.

All he dreams of is a girl.

He dreams of what she does. Making banners, being class representative, winning a fashion contest with a feather based derby hat, making wonderful sweets for everyone, being a friend to everyone.

This girl, she wears tan flats; pink capris-jeans; a white top with a floral pattern on the front, top, right quadrant; a grey blazer; and a pink bag at her side. She has hair as black as night and it reflects the light in such a way that it appears to have raven blue highlights, she usually has her hair pulled into pigtails. Her eyes are a wonderful bluebell color, and her face is mapped by freckles.

He dreams of the clothes she would sketch in her sketchbook, the absolute pieces of art that could rival the designs of his Father. He dreams of the dedication she put into her designs.

He dreams of the way she’d interact with classmates, with care, compassion, love, determination, and bravery. And he dreams of how she’d become shy, nervous, and tongue tied when talking to him specifically.

He doesn’t understand this. For as long as he can remember, he’s always dream of her. He’d call her ‘princess’ and ‘my lady’, and he’d talk to Mother and Father about her. He could have sworn she was real!

But then, Mother would smile warmly, and act like she was paying attention to what he was telling her about his princess. Father... was less kind about it. He always came to them with barely contained joy and laughter, eager to relay her accomplishments, but he always found himself leaving their company feeling like he was a burden. But they let him keep talking about her.

At least... they did until he was 10, when they both told him, quite sternly, that she isn’t real, that she’s his imaginary friend, and that he’s too old to have an imaginary friend.

They’d tell him that whenever he had dreams about her.

They seemed to mad when he talked to them about her.

So, he stopped. Not because the dreams stopped, they never stopped, but because he realized that they didn’t want to hear it.

So, he kept the dreams to himself.

These dreams confuse him. Because they seem so real, they feel like they could be memories, but... when he wakes up, reality sets him straight.

The derby hat that he saw her create in his dreams, it’s the hat that Chloe (paid someone to make) made and won the fashion contest that Father had put up. It was a truly fabulous hat, but Chloé didn’t make it, It cheapened the experience for everyone else. Honestly, Juleka’s hat would have won if Chloe hadn’t pulled a... Chloe.

The banner that he saw his lady create in his dream, it was the banner that Nathaniel made for Alix and Kim’s race.

It always felt as though something was wrong in the universe, like some big part was torn from it. From him.

But he knew that this girl in his dreams, she’s just a figment of his imagination.

At least, that’s what he knew up until 3 years ago.

It all started when Adrien was 14, sitting in the park, looking at the school that he sees everyone else going to.

——————

“Adrien, honey!” Adrien turns to the voice of his Mother, his face brightening up immediately.

Mother never failed to bring a smile to his face. Almost never, only managing to do so when he brought up the Dream Girl. She was smiling at him, the skin crinkling around her forest green eyes. Her golden hair pulled into a braid, resting on her right shoulder. She’s wearing a nice looking summer dress, black with green seems.

“Adrien, what are you looking at?” She calls again, breaking him out of his reverie. Adriens glances back at the school, watching as kids his age, older and younger file Out, talking and laughing, hugging and shoving. All of them, friends. He shakes his head and turns back to his mother.

“Nothing, Mother, just a little spaced out is all!” He lies, looking back at her.

She smiles a warm smile, and goes back to looking at her phone. Most likely looking for a movie opening, or looking up the latest fashion trends.

Adriens shifts his gaze and meets the grey eyes of the family body guard/chauffeur, Gerald, a man standing at least 188 centimeters tall, with shoulders that are at least 25 centimeters wide on each side, his arms hanging further down below his hips than the arms of most other people. He has a ton of muscle hidden beneath the patented *Agreste* business suit, and his face is as stoic as his voice is silent. Which is to say, he barely shows much emotion, since he doesn’t speak.

Honestly, Adrien can’t help but think of a gorilla when he sees the body guard. He will never, ever admit that to anyone, ever. He only has the nickname in his phone, and no one checks his phone.

...he thinks...

His eyes meet the stone grey eyes of the Gorr- Gerald, and he quickly sifts his gaze away. Something about seeing his eyes makes Adrien’s skin crawl. He looks at Adrien as if he knows something he doesn’t. A sad secret he can’t tell him.

Adrien looks to the school again.

Oh, how he wishes he could be in school like everyone else. Learning with kids his age, laughing, socializing, being a *kid* instead of a teen model, “Paris’s teen heartthrob”, a supermodel, the face of the industry (as Father has always put it).

But no, he’s got hundreds, if not thousands of fans, fans who aren’t above stalking (as they have come to know. Many times), so he’s been forced into homeschooling. Apparently, they couldn’t think that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to be a model at 14 years old?

...but parents always know what’s best for their kids, right?

Suddenly, a man falls down in the crowd of kids on skateboards, rollerskates, running; his pained cry going unnoticed, or ignored by all the others.

Without a second’s thought, he’s sprinting from the park and reaches the school’s grounds within seconds (for today, and today only, he’s thankful for the exercise regime Father has him keep up for modeling) and searches for the man.

He finds him, wearing a bright red , button up t-shirt with yellow flowers, and cargo shorts. His cane is laying over a meter away, out of reach of the old man, who is cradling his ankle.

Adrien jogs over, and scoops up the cane before giving it back to the man, and holding out his arm for him to grab onto if he needs more assistance in getting up.

The man struggles for a moment using just his cane before he grabs onto Adrien’s forearm and, together, they hoist the man back to his feet.

Once he’s on his feet, the brightly dressed man gives Adrien a nod and a “thank you” before taking a shaking step forward.

Right before Adrien’s eyes, as if I’m slow motion, the old man’s ankle buckles, and he starts to fall. Adrien instinctively reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him back to his feet. The old man stares at Adrien for a moment, before thanking him again and attempting to walk off once more.

“Sir, I hope I’m not coming off as rude, but, you fell just now when you put weight on your ankle, even with your cane. Please, let me help you find somewhere to sit and we can check it out?” Adrien responds, eyes pleading.

The man’s eyes are full of caution and curiosity as he hesitantly agrees. And slowly, so as to not strain his ankle even more, they find a bench for them both to sit down on.

Once the man is seated, Adrien moves to inspect the man’s ankle, but the old man stops him with a hand to his shoulder. “There is no need for that, young man,” he laughs, eyes crinkling. “I assure you, I am not injured. I just had a moment of senior citizen faulty joint!” The man chuckles once more, as if he finds something funny in this statement. “Thank you, young one. May I get your name?”

This shocks Adrien. Someone who... doesn’t know his name? “I- yeah, my name’s A-“ Adrien’s vivid is cut off as Mother abruptly calls out to him.

“Adrien! You’re Father wants to discuss something important with me, we need to head back home, now!” Her voice carries with it no sense of anger, nothing malicious, but it carries with it a sense that there will be no arguing.

“Of course, Mother, be right there!” Adrien calls back. “Stay safe!” He tells this mysterious man, as he sprints back to the park.

Once back in the silver sedan, Adrien furrows his brow. For a second, he could she sworn he heard the man say “Thank you, Adrien, you’re perfect for him.”

But no, that’s too weird a thing for anyone to say. It must be a figment if his imagination. Just like Princess.

This doesn’t persuade him.

———

Adrien flops down on his bed, sighing loudly.

Another dinner spent mostly alone. Mother and Father had promised to be there, but Father got stuck designing, and their conversation went ok for longer than they had anticipated, making Mother 30 minutes late to eating dinner.

At least he didn’t spend it mostly alone. He doesn’t know what he would do if he were to eat dinner alone. He can’t even imagine it.

After a second, he flips over and stares at his ceiling.

Why does Father care more about work than he does him? Mother? Why are they always second place to his work?

Adrien doesn’t even care about the burning sensation in his eyes anymore. It’s been a nightly occurrence since Mother stopped tucking him into bed 5 years ago.

She may not have cared much for Princess, the Dream Girl, but she always shared his hopes of going to school. Of socializing with other kids. But... Father is paranoid. Always looking out for ways in which Adrien could get hurt. That’s why Adrien is homeschooled. Why he has a bodyguard. Why he isn’t allowed outside without supervision. Why he only has one friend. (Chloé, the mayor’s daughter. She wasn’t always the mayors daughter, that was only a recent occurrence, about 4 years ago)

It’s just so... stifling. He... all Adrien wants is to go outside, explore, socialize, be *normal* for once.

But... Father will never allow it, no matter whether Mother agrees or not.

He turns to his side, starting to curl up, but something catches his attention.

Hesitantly, he turns to the windows that lead to a small balcony. On one is a piece of paper.

Furrowing his brow and cocking his head, he slips from his bed and over to the window, curiousity mounting with every step. Once he gets to it, he cocks his head even further.

“I require your assistance, young man. You do not know me, but I do know you. Please, if you will, open this gift and come speak with me once you learn of the instructions. We have much to talk about”

On the note, right below the words, there is an arrow, pointing downward. Following it, he finds an ornately decorated box. There are red symbols on it that look like they are an ancient Chinese or Japanese.

Warily, he opens the window and grabs the box. He brings it and the note inside and closes the window. There’s no reason to leave it open for more than 5 seconds and trip Father’s alarms.

He sets the note and box down on his offer table and sits down in the sofa, giving the note a critical eye.

After a moment, Adrien turns his gaze to the box. The second he locks his eyes on it, it seems to pulse with energy, and a wave of adrenaline pulses through Adrien, heightening his sense of smell, sight, hearing for a brief second before he returns to normal human functionality.

Adrien shakes his body, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the box. He’s struggling to keep his arms from moving, (when had he started reaching for the box!) it’s as if the box is a magnet, and he’s a piece of iron.

He struggles to keep his curiosity down too, because something amazing is contained within this box, something no one has seen before, he can feel it. But, someone left this on his balcony, he can’t just open it, right?

Right?

Yeah, no, it’s like Father always told him. “Gifts are only ways to bribe your affection and attention. They mean nothing. They will be your downfall”

This is a gift, it will be his downfall.

But... Mother always went behind Father’s back to get him gifts. Like his favorite, blue scarf, soft as silk.

And even the Gorilla got him gifts.

So... maybe Father is wrong?

And if Father is wrong, then he can open this gift!

Moving with the speed of a starving man who had just laid his eyes on the most appetizing meal in the best restaurant, his hands dart to grab the box and open it.

...At least he lasted 10 seconds.

And before he knows it, the box is opened and there is a bright green ball of energy right in his face.

#mirculous ladybug #ATTOTT #forgotten bug au #ml angst #Blonde's writing

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andrea-lyn · 5 years

Note

For Malex, an au where they go on road trips to save aliens... whether or not they figured their shit out between them before or during is up to you

(like I mentioned, I went stray here, so they are saving aliens! through the rigorous process of record collection)

Colorado

Near Colorado Springs, they break into a facility near the Air Force base and discover what looks like an escape pod. It has some of the familiar components that Alex recognizes from Michael’s sketches and drawings. It’s a ship of its own and it clicks for him probably a few seconds after it does for Michael.

“Is this what you’ve been trying to rebuild?” Alex wonders out loud.

Numbly, Michael nods, like he can’t believe that he has a schematic to mimic. Alex doesn’t want to think about Michael leaving the planet, but faced with an actual escape pod, it’s hard not to. They take the escape pod out of the facility and load it up into their truck without any more conversation about what they’re going to do with it when they get back.

It’s their third stop on a grand tour of suspected sites they’re checking out. By all rights, these are abandoned sites now that Jesse’s support of Project Shepherd has dried up, but after Caulfield, they both know it’s better safe than sorry to make that assumption.

It’s why Alex has a gun and they have a rule.

If something looks like it’s a bad idea, then they both need to get the hell out of there before they end up blowing yet another building sky-high because they were impetuous and short-sighted and emotional. It’s bad enough they did that to their relationship the first time around. So far, they’ve stuck to that rule and it’s been serving them well. It’s also allowed them to survive the road trip, so far.

This trip is meant to serve a few purposes, namely three that Alex can specifically name. The first is checking to see that all the sites are closed down. The second is to see if anyone is still out there furthering Jesse’s cause.

The last and most terrifying point of this trip?

“Nothing like some good old-fashioned therapy,” Michael calls it, sitting in the truck after they load up the escape pod. “You and me stuck in a truck for hours on end is bound to fix at least one or two things.”

“There’s always the tape deck,” Alex says, reaching for the glove compartment where Michael used to keep his tapes, only to find that the ribbon of every single one of them has been yanked out – on purpose. He gives Michael a glare, because he has a sneaking suspicion how that happened. “…Guerin.”

“I got tired of listening to Garth Brooks, so sue me,” Michael replies, whistling innocently as he keeps his eyes forward. The escape pod is in the bed of the truck next to the other artifacts they’ve picked up (nothing as sensational as the escape pod, but the box of files from Santa Fe and the schematics for a new facility from Pueblo are still better in their hands than in someone else’s).

They’re onto their next stop when suddenly Michael pulls off the highway in a frantic rush.

“What the fuck?” Alex snaps. “Guerin! Is someone trailing us? Did I miss someone?”

Michael says nothing, he just puts his foot down on the gas and keeps driving. Alex’s paranoia begins to increase and he wonders if he’d missed someone when they’d left the Colorado Springs facility until Michael parks in a mostly empty lot and Alex sees what the fuss is about.

Alex stares through the windshield, leaning all the way forward so he can see it all.

“Guerin,” Alex says flatly. “Did you just risk our lives merging through five lanes of traffic so you could see a bug?”

Michael’s out of the car in a flash, smirking at Alex as he heads for the placard in front of the gigantic looming thing. Sighing, Alex abandons the ruined tapes and decides that whatever weird obsession this is, he might as well entertain it. Heading out of the truck, he’s careful on his prosthetic as he follows Michael and comes to a stop near a sign that deems the bug ‘Herkimer’.

“It’s a bug.”

“Nah,” Michael says, “it’s not just a bug, it’s the world’s largest beetle. Have some respect, Alex.”

He shakes his head, not sure why he should be respecting anything. They have to keep driving North so they can hit Wyoming, but the moment he tries to open his mouth and say so, he stops when he sees the look of longing on Michael’s face as he stares at a bug.

He seriously can’t have that many complex emotions about the thing, can he?

“Max and Isobel, they always took road trips when they were kids. Max used to bring back postcards from all the roadside stops. I asked my foster father at the time if we could take a road trip that summer from Roswell up to Colorado. It wasn’t much, I figured. I even offered to pay for the gas. The drunk asshole actually promised it to me, too.”

Alex has a bad feeling he knows how this story ends, because Michael never came to school boasting about what he’d seen on his summer vacation.

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know,” Michael says dismissively, turning away from the beetle. “He wrecked his truck and told me it just wasn’t going to work out, because I was asking too much. I learned to stop doing that pretty quickly.” He’s already on his way back to the truck before Alex can react, not fond of the emotional whiplash, but also knowing that Michael’s done it on purpose to protect himself from appearing vulnerable.

Alex gives the beetle one last look, and he digs out his phone to take a selfie with it, figuring that maybe later, he can send it to Michael. It’s not like they’re going to have show and tell when they get back to Roswell, but at the same time, what’s the harm in a few road trip souvenirs that they can both share in?

Wyoming

In Wyoming, they raid a small office building in the early hours of the morning and find employment records dating back to the second world war. There are more names here than Alex feels comfortable with, but he takes pictures of every page as backup before he slides them back into their folders. That box of files earns a home beside the escape pod and nestled with the schematics, as chilling as anything else they’ve found.

“I need a drink,” Alex insists, even though he knows for a fact that Michael is trying his hardest to avoid alcohol and acetone. He feels guilty as soon as he’s said it, thinking that he can wait until he’s back in Roswell to go over the records with a glass of neat whiskey. He doesn’t need to shove that in Michael’s face.

Michael doesn’t seem too angry with Alex’s slip. “I think I’ve got something better.”

That’s how they wind up in Jackson in another beat-down parking lot without a soul in it, except for them. This time, Alex finds himself staring up at a very confusing World’s Largest, and he digs out his phone to look something up. “You know the internet says that there’s a bigger one in Texas,” Alex says, glancing up at the roadside attraction.

Who the hell would want to build the World’s Largest Ball of Barbed Wire?

“I guess everything’s gotta be bigger in Texas, even their torture devices.” It’s a bad joke, but Michael doesn’t look happy to crack it, scowling up at it even though he’s the one who decided they should come here.

Alex wonders if Michael is thinking about the torture devices that the Manes and Valenti dynasties used on his family, and if he’s not yet, he’s sure it’s only a matter of time. Action is required. He digs out his phone and gestures for Michael. “Come here,” he says.

Michael gives Alex and his phone a wary look, but ambles closer to him, leaning back against the small fence that stands between them and the barbed wire. “Don’t tell me Isobel got you into Instagram,” he pleads.

“Who says I’m not already huge there?” Alex deadpans, even though he knows better than to put that much information in a public domain and absolutely wouldn’t even think about putting the details of his and Michael’s journey anywhere online. His location has been off since Roswell and while it’s not a burner phone, he does intend to destroy the sim card when this is all said and done. “Come here,” he says again, and gestures for Michael get close to him.

Michael drifts in close enough that Alex can smell the faint hint of his bodywash. For one brief moment, he closes his eyes and inhales, lets that smell of safety, security, and home wash over him. Then, he opens his eyes and gets the front-facing camera ready, pressed shoulder to shoulder with the barbed wire sticking out in the background. Michael’s smiling, even if he looks like he doesn’t believe that they’re doing this, and Alex looks smugly proud.

It’s a great picture.

“Come on, I think I saw a diner back a few exits,” Michael says, his gaze lingering over Alex before he finally steps away. “You can get a beer, I’ll get a milkshake.”

“Is it Wyoming’s biggest?”

Michael licks his lips, and he climbs on the truck’s step, leaning over it as he looks at Alex. “Doubt it, but I bet you that if you’re there with me, it’ll definitely be Wyoming’s best.”

He ducks into the truck, which is good because it means he misses the flush Alex gets in his cheeks. Staring down at the picture in front of the barbed wire, Alex sees the way Michael’s turned his head a little for the photo and how he’s staring reverently at Alex, a half-lidded look in his eye, like he’s suddenly remembered Alex is there, like he thinks he might want to kiss him.

Alex remembers all those looks enough to feel like the expert when it comes to Michael Guerin when he wants to kiss him. Maybe at the end of all this, when they’ve worked through the question of whether they can even do this together, he’ll get that back.

For now, he’ll stick with giant barbed wire and milkshakes.

New Mexico

They loop back around and take the long way home, finally hitting Alamogordo in the early hours of the morning. Alex had fallen asleep to the sound of Michael humming, not the greatest substitute for the broken tapes, but really not so bad.

(If he stops lying, he’d admit that it’s the best sound in the world)

“Hey,” Alex says, after checking his phone to make sure that he’s got the information right. The search had been a bust. Whatever had once been in the jail is long gone, which is both good news and bad – it means that no one’s committing any heinous crimes, but their information is out of date, so who knows what else might be wrong.

They’ve just finished dinner and they’re in the middle of the drive back. Alex had woken up from his nap to see a roadside sign passing and it had been almost perfect timing.

“Take the next exit,” he insists.

Michael gives Alex a wary look, but the amount of unspoken trust he has in Alex is clear when he takes the exit without a single other question about why he’s doing it. Alex smiles proudly when Michael doesn’t ask for directions, clearly understanding what they’ve turned off to see.

He parks them as close as they can get to what a sign proclaims the World’s Largest Pistachio and the grin on Michael’s face is worth everything in the world. He’s out of the car and he’s the one who calls Alex over so they can take a picture.

This time, Alex makes sure that when he clicks the button, he’s the one staring at Michael like he’s the incredible roadside attraction instead of the weird pistachio behind them. It’s such a stupid thing, and it means nothing, and at the same time, being here to look at this tourist trap means everything to him because of how isolated and abandoned it is.

It’s like it’s a monument built for them alone and they’d better appreciate it, because no one else will.

“Thanks, Alex,” Michael says. “I’m nuts about it.”

He’s smirking and clearly proud of his stupid pun. The shame of it is that so’s Alex, because he’s grinning at him and thinking that maybe this trip is something they both needed. They’ve been sharing motel rooms, but sleeping in separate beds. They sit on the same side of the booth at diners and pick off one another’s plates, but they haven’t kissed or touched or fucked.

Yet, this trip has felt like one of the most intimate things he’s ever done.

The rest of the drive home is filled with light conversation as they swap stories about the days in Roswell before Michael turned up. Alex tells him stories about Max and Isobel in elementary school, like how Isobel had managed to make herself a little cult that had to wear glitter on Thursdays or how Max had constantly submitted awful romantic poems to the literary digest (and since no one else did, they were all his).

Michael tells Alex about high school and the things Alex hadn’t noticed, like how he’d used his powers to fuck with Kyle – including the time Kyle had tripped on the bleachers and wound up with a melon-sized bruise on his ass for a week. He’s laughing so hard that his stomach hurts and though Kyle’s his friend now, he’s so grateful to find out that there’d been some vindication back then, even if they’d all had to treat them as accidents.

They reach Roswell in the early evening.

Michael drives Alex to his cabin so they can drop off all the rescued pieces in the basement where they’ll be protected by Alex’s new state-of-the-art security system. Once they’ve unloaded everything, Alex feels himself searching desperately for any excuse for Michael not to leave. “You know,” he says. “I bet you Roswell’s got something.”

Michael glances up from where he’s been hanging around by the door, checking on the escape pod for the tenth time (which is why Alex feels pretty confident that he doesn’t want to go either).

All that time together and it’s shown them that they don’t actually want to be apart. The pieces want to be together. It just turns out that maybe they’re a pair of stubborn asshole pieces who can’t admit to it, not until they go on a three-week road trip around the Southwest to look for alien artifacts and proof that Project Shepherd is dust.

“Roswell’s got plenty of shit. You might have to get more specific than that,” Michael replies, not following.

“I mean, of the biggest,” Alex says, seeing as Michael had started that pattern. “Or are you telling me that you can die happy now that you’ve seen the world’s biggest beetle,” he deadpans.

Michael considers that for a moment, prying his cowboy hat off his head as he moseys Alex’s way, slow and steady, an amused smirk on his lips. It’s the smile of a man who has something clever he wants to say, but he’s the only one thinking it’s any kind of clever at all.

“Well,” he begins, considerately, “there is always the city’s biggest dick that you could take a look at,” he drawls, with an inclination of his gaze down towards his belt buckle.

Two can play that game.

“Oh?” Alex replies easily. “Is Kyle back in town?”

He’s lucky that Michael laughs instead of the scowl he’d half been expecting, but what Alex hadn’t anticipated is the way that Michael slides his fingers around Alex’s neck for a kiss that he’s been waiting for since they first set out on the road trip. He’s so proud of them for being mature and talking, making things work while acknowledging that they don’t have to get physical, but god, has Alex missed being kissed by Michael.

He tangles his fingers in Michael’s curls, grabs hold and squeezes the soft curls in his hands as he kisses Michael back, fully aware that he’s being shut up for making bad jokes, but definitely not mad with this punishment. Maybe they can’t compete for some of the world’s biggest anythings that they’ve seen, but Alex is counting the world’s longest kiss one of these days, and if he can’t manage that, then maybe he’ll go for the world record when it comes to kissing the man you love.

Not that he wants anyone stopping to take pictures of that, so maybe that’s one of those feats that’s best kept to themselves.

#malex #michael/alex #road trip #fic prompts #tumblr fills #the great 800 follower celebration #roswell new mexico #christchex

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