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helloalycia · 3 years

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just a kid [two] // wanda maximoff

summary: you decide to get to the bottom of things, suspecting Wanda has something to do with your troubled memories.

warning/s: mentions of death and explicit/descriptive violence.

author's note: here’s the second and final part! bit of an angsty one oof

part one | masterlist | wattpad

In all of the time Wanda and I spent together, we'd never lied to one another. We always told each other everything, even if we thought it would make the others person upset. So, I couldn't for the life of me understand what she was doing behind my back now.

After a while of trying to collect my thoughts and reigning in my agitation, I returned to Doctor Maya's office to see she was alone. When I entered without knocking, she looked up with surprise, but now that I knew that she was hiding something, I saw a hint of guilt.

"Y/N, what can I do for you?" she asked without so much as a shake in her voice. She'd practiced well. "Did we have an appointment?"

I closed the door behind me, stepping forward but not quite committing to taking a seat.

"I still feel nauseous," I said with stern eyes. "I still get nightmares. My thoughts don't feel like my own. My head hurts every time I try to remember my accident."

"Y/N, I've told you, it'll take time to–"

"Stop! Stop lying!" I exclaimed, gripping the back of the chair tightly. "I heard you and Wanda talking earlier. I know you're hiding something. Something to do with Wanda. So, tell me. What is it?"

Other than jumping at my sudden outburst, she showed no expression on her face, nor acknowledgement to my words. I tried a different approach, shoulders sagging with defeat and expression softening.

With a normal volume, I pleaded, "Please. I have a right to know if it concerns me."

Still, she said nothing. Only avoided my eyes and played with her fingers nervously on her desk. I clenched my jaw, trying not to snap.

"Fine," I gave in. "Can you at least tell me if Wanda was there when my accident happened?"

Finally, she spoke, nodding. "Obviously she was. She was the one who got you to the quinjet after you were knocked unconscious."

I chewed the inside of my mouth, trying to piece together the incident. Things still didn't make sense...

"The agent that I was trying to help," I said, remembering that was the reason I was out in the field in the first place, "what happened to them? Where are they now?"

She straightened up in her seat. "As I told you before, he made it out okay. But I cannot tell you where he is."

"And why not?"

"It's not relevant."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Well, now I know you're hiding something."

She pressed her lips together, unsure whether to respond or not. After opening and closing her mouth like a fish in water, she opted to stay silent.

"I guess I'll keep taking my medication like a good girl," I said with sarcastic smile. "Thanks for nothing, doc."

With an eye roll, I left the room and decided to take matters into my own hands. If neither her nor Wanda would tell me the truth, I'd make a start to finding out myself.

First thing's first – Wanda had some sort of connection to this whole thing, excluding the fact that she was hiding it. I recalled hearing her say something about 'working out the kinks'... what was she trying to work out?

I knew she had powers and was capable of many things; was it linked to that? I was having trouble remembering and the only two people who seemed to know were my doctor and Wanda, the girl who had the abilities to manipulate thoughts to her own will. But she wouldn't, would she? That was an invasion of privacy, morally wrong. She was a good person. The only time she'd done that was when she was trying to defeat the Avengers, but she wasn't that person anymore... she wouldn't do that to me, right?

It was getting late and I still had so many pieces of the puzzle to put together. All I had were theories and nothing to back them up. So, as I headed to Wanda's room with tired eyes and a curious brain, I tried to push it away for the evening and focus on getting some sleep, if any.

Wanda was tying her hair up in the mirror, already dressed for bed, when I stepped in. Her eyes caught mine in the mirror and she spun around, expression softening.

"Hey," she said gently, probably taking caution after how our last interaction went. "D'you have a nice walk?"

I pursed my lips, studying her carefully. How could she act like this? So concerned for my well-being as she watched me suffer, when she knew something that might help me?

"Yeah, I guess," I spoke, before taking my shoes off and going to the ensuite to get changed.

It was quiet as I got ready for bed and brushed my teeth. Wanda, thankfully, didn't push me to speak, but I was still confused. I wanted her to tell me what she knew, but she was playing it safe. Maybe I could test the waters a little...?

As I clambered into bed beside her, I saw she was sat up and reading a book in the light of her bedside lamp. I began to take my watch off and glanced at her subtly, deciding to say something.

"I think something is wrong," I said, earning her attention. "I think I might be remembering my accident incorrectly."

She lowered her book, giving me her full attention. But unlike before, I now saw the doubt swimming in her eyes.

"What? Why do you think that?" she asked with confusion.

I put my watch to the side and paused, deciding whether I was in the mood to get into it.

"How do you know it was a mine?" I asked her, quirking a brow.

She pulled a face, as if suggesting my question was silly. "I was there, Y/N. I saw it."

I wanted to believe her, I did.

"Did anyone else see it?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

Closing her book, she shook her head, distracting from the panic settling into her expression. "What's with all of the questions?"

I ignored her. "You can manipulate people's thoughts, can't you? Get into their head. Read their mind."

"Yes...," she answered, nodding with a puzzled frown. "So?"

I'd known Wanda long enough to know she was hiding something. I should have detected the signs sooner. The constant avoidance of my eyes, the fiddling thumbs, the way her accent grew a little stronger. I was right. She was keeping something from me.

"You've never got into my head before, right?" I asked curiously, wondering if she was reading my thoughts right now. Did she know I was on to her? Did she know I knew she was hiding something?

Resting a reassuring hand on mine, she shook her head. "I would never."

I glanced at her hand that squeezed mine, then to her dark green eyes swimming with certainty. Was she lying now? Or was she just getting better at it?

No, I still had my doubts. She must have done something to my thoughts. And I would never know unless she told me, which she clearly wasn't going to.

"You're mad at me," she realised, letting go of my hand.

I shook my head and looked away, frowning. "I'm not. I'm just tired."

Without another word, I got under the covers and turned my back to her. I wasn't sure what else to do. She was blatantly lying to my face when I thought I could trust her. How could she?

Sleep came to me quickly that night, thankfully not bombarded by painful dreams. But when I woke up and had a shower, I realised how angry I still was. Wanda was lying to me and I didn't understand why.

"I'm gonna go back to my flat," I told her out of the blue after drying my hair.

She walked out of the ensuite and leaned against the doorframe, seeming taken aback. "You're going back?"

I nodded, maintaining eye contact. "Yeah. I can't stay here."

Wanda frowned. "This is about last night."

She looked so hurt by my words that I almost took them back, but I didn't. She was a liar.

"Yeah, it is," I said, crossing my arms with certainty, a hostile expression taking over my face. "I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, Wanda, but you're lying to me."

She straightened up, eyebrows furrowing together. "What are you talking about?"

I squeezed my hands as I continued to cross my arms, hiding my frustration. "I know you're in my head."

She hesitated – a split second, but I saw it – and it was enough to confirm my thoughts.

"I would never do that," she said with a shake of her head, making me clench my fists.

"Stop lying to me, Wanda!" I shouted, finally bursting. "I know it's you! You're in there, I can feel you!"

"Y/N–"

"No!" I cut her off, tears brimming my eyes. "You're mixing my thoughts up and spitting out something that isn't real. You have to be! Because if you're not then– then– then I'm going insane."

I swallowed hard, wiping my eyes and looking away momentarily, trying to collect myself. Crying wasn't my intention, but God, the discomfort in the pit of my stomach and the constant restlessness I felt was eating me alive. I needed to know the truth and the one person I thought I could rely on wasn't helping me.

"I'm sorry," she said, and I looked at her to see she was watching me apologetically. "I don't want to. But I have to."

I licked my lips, partially fed up. I was hoping I was mistaken, that the most that would happen is I accused my girlfriend of something immoral. This was way worse. I was right.

"Why do you have to?" I questioned with burning eyes. "What happened that I can't know?"

She stepped forward, but I stepped back. Frowning, hurt, she ran a hand through her hair.

"I can't tell you," she said regretfully, making me groan loudly. "Look, it's not as easy as you think. This is for your own good, Y/N."

"No, no, it's not," I disagreed, before pointing an accusing finger her way. "You don't get to decide that for me! You have no right!"

Glassy green eyes met mine. "This is all to protect you. The truth hurts."

"Fuck yeah, it does," I said bitterly. "Discovering my girlfriend is mind-controlling me is never a nice thing to learn."

"Don't say that!" she snapped, clenching her fists. "It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that," I said lowly, scowling at her. "You're treating me like your enemy. You don't just get to prance around in my head because we're a couple. That's not how this works."

"That's not what I'm doing!" she shouted, eyes beginning to glow red with frustration.

"Then tell me what the hell is going on!" I said, not backing down.

She clenched her jaw, red eyes and anger dispersing as her expression softened. "I can't."

Through blurry vision, I glared her way. "Then fuck you, Wanda! I'll figure it out myself!"

I was sick of her feeling like she could control me, like I was some sort of helpless being who needed her protection. It was my head and I deserved to know what the fuck was in it!

In the two years we'd been together, we'd never argued this bad. And I'd never imagined it would be because she was manipulating me like she was.

With determination, I stormed down to the medical floor of the Tower and straight to Doctor Maya's office.

When she saw me, she looked up with surprise. "Y/N, what are you–"

"Cut the act, I know the truth," I interrupted her. "About Wanda mind-controlling me. How you were both in cahoots. I know it all."

She seemed shocked. "I– I don't know what to say."

"You can tell me where the agent I tried to help is," I got straight to the point.

"I'm not sure if I should–"

"One way or another, I'm going to find out," I deadpanned, not in the mood to be played. "Just tell me."

It didn't take much convincing, as I soon found myself on the way to a hospital at a nearby S.H.I.E.L.D. facility where the agent was recovering in. With my clearance, it wasn't difficult to get inside, and after explaining who I was, the agent – Agent Montgomery – was happy to have me visit him.

When I walked into his room, I saw he was sitting up in his bed, watching the TV hung on the wall ahead. When he saw me however, he muted it and smiled brightly at me. I noticed the bruises littering his body and though he was wearing a hospital gown, I suspected his injuries were bandaged beneath it.

"Doctor Y/L/N," he addressed me. "It's such a pleasure. I've been wanting to thank you ever since you helped me out a week ago."

I offered a small smile, stopping by his bedside. "There's no need. I was just–" I hesitated, feeling like an idiot as I couldn't even remember what I'd helped him with. "I was just doing my job."

He chuckled. "So modest. It's just nice to know you're doing okay. If it weren't for you swooping in on the scene, I'm sure I would've bled out. I wanted to thank you, but the doctors here told me that you were pretty shaken up after what happened and needed some time."

My eyes fell to the monitors beside his bed, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah... what exactly happened that day?"

He seemed surprised. "You don't remember? It wasn't... it wasn't good. I thought that's why you were taking the time for yourself."

I looked up, catching the way his smile faded into a frown and he looked down to his hands sadly.

"Can you refresh my memory?" I asked gently, unsure whether I was ready to hear the truth or not. But it was now or never.

"Well, from my perspective, I was laying on the ground, thinking I was gonna die from blood loss..."

This part of the city was desolate and destroyed, remnants of broken buildings as a result of the Avengers' fight surrounding me. When I was rushed into the field with my team, with plans of finding the handful of casualties to be extracted, I followed usual protocol.

It was supposed to be empty of enemy combatants. We were just supposed to be prepping the casualties for evacuation, as usual. This time was different though.

I came across Agent Montgomery's body by myself, separated from my team as they spread out amongst the rubble to find the rest of the bodies. He was laying there, body unmoving as his hand was pressed to a point above his stomach.

Instinctively, I rushed over to him and began to unload my medical equipment on the ground beside him. I squinted in the hot sun – why was it so bright out? – as I tried to pull the agent's helmet off.

"Hey, I'm here to help," I told him reassuringly, giving him a smile that I hoped would put him at ease. "Can you hear me?"

"You helped me, patched me up," Agent Montgomery was explaining vividly, and I found myself hanging onto his every word.

For the first time in a week, my memories were making sense. They flowed as one rather than in mashed scenes of a broken film.

He nodded, to my relief, and let me move his hand to the side so I could see what I was working with. A bullet wound and from the looks of it, the bullet was still lodged in there.

I spent the next five minutes patching him up well enough so I could eventually take him back to the quinjet, whilst making conversation with him so he would feel better about everything. When I was done, I radioed my team to help collect him and planned to wait by his side until they arrived. But I heard someone calling for help and looked up with confusion, hand resting on my own pistol.

"There was this kid," he recalled, wincing at the mention of her, which made me wonder what went wrong. "I was a little out of it, I'm not gonna lie. But I could never forget it. Forget that poor girl."

The voice belonged to a little girl. It was as if she'd appeared out of nowhere. Her clothes were tattered and she was covered in dirt, like she'd climbed out from one of the collapsed buildings. I wouldn't have put it past her. People did live here after all. Or, at least, they did.

"Hey," I said quietly, letting go of my pistol. "Are you okay, love? Are you hurt?"

She frowned, lip quivering. "I don't know where my family is."

My heart sank at her words, watching the look of horror cross her expression. I couldn't imagine what she must have witnessed as the battles raged on earlier. She stepped closer to me, eyes blinking innocently, before finding the state of the agent on the floor.

"He'll be okay," I reassured her, earning her attention. "And so will you. I'll help you find your family, yeah?"

She nodded, wiping away fresh tears.

"She was just a kid," Agent Montgomery said, his own eyes glassy from pent up emotions. "She didn't deserve what happened."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. He didn't need to finish. I remembered it so vividly.

"Do you have a name?" I asked her, removing my medical gloves and throwing them to the side so I could give the girl all of my attention.

I outstretched my hand, offering it up. She rested hers in mine, making me smile.

"Selena," she mumbled.

"Well, Selena," I began, hopefully, "that's a pretty name. And I'm sure we can find your parents in no time."

We just had to wait until my team came and then I could try to look for her parents. It wouldn't be hard and I refused to accept they were dead, despite the likelihood of them being alive being quite low.

Selena nodded, her tiny hand squeezing mine, searching for comfort. I squeezed it back, kneeling before her and giving her a quick nod.

Before either of us could say anything more, the unexpected happened. It was as if there was a bomb set in the middle of that tiny girl's body because one second I was staring at her, and the next, she exploded all over, coating me in tiny, fleshy pieces.

My jaw dropped with disbelief, ears ringing from the explosion and heart dropping at the suddenness of it all. I risked looking down, only to see the girl's hand still intact and resting in mine. But where her body should have connected, there was nothing there.

I couldn't help but think how strange it all looked, like a prop from a film set, or a mannequin hand from a clothing shop. I dropped it without thinking, watching it bounce onto the blood-stained ground.

Smoke and blood infiltrated my nose. I looked down and my hands were shaking so much, covered in what looked like minced meat. Meat. Blood. Smoke.

My stomach curled, but I couldn't move. Eyes were permanently widened. Hands were still shaking. The girl's voice played in my ears amidst the ringing. One second she was there and the next she wasn't.

"It came out of nowhere," Agent Montgomery muttered. "Some weapon HYDRA were testing. Had the ability to make its target explode within seconds. She was just another victim of the senseless violence that day."

I swallowed hard, my stomach curling. So much nausea. So much aching. I pocketed my sweaty, shaking hands. Looked to Agent Montgomery.

"That avenger, the witch?" he continued, looking up to me. "She got us out of there. Killed the HYDRA agent. You must've passed out from shock. But she saved us both."

Wanda. She was there. She'd seen it all happen. She'd saved me.

She'd lied to me.

My mouth was dry like sandpaper. My head hurt. I felt sick. The memories were connecting as they flashed through my mind.

It came out of nowhere.

She was just a kid.

"Thanks for telling me," I managed to get out, already backing up. "Good luck with your recovery."

He may have responded, but I wouldn't know. I left the room, ears ringing like I was still there. I looked down, half expecting my clothes to be covered in flesh. Selena's flesh. That poor girl...

She was just a kid.

My vision blurred and I had to pause, hanging in the empty hallway of the medical wing. I raised my hand, covering my mouth as I struggled to breathe without shaking. But it was impossible.

It came out of nowhere.

I don't know where my family is.

"There you are."

I looked up, blinking away tears, making out Wanda standing before me. She seemed reluctant to come closer and for a moment, I wasn't sure what I was feeling.

"Doctor Maya told me where you were," she explained quietly.

Do you have a name?

"I don't have t-time for this," I got out, pushing myself away from the wall and moving forward, walking past her.

"Y/N, please wait," she pleaded, grabbing my arm, and I shook her off so quickly. The thought of being touched right now, when I was covered in–

I looked down. I was clean.

Selena.

"I shouldn't have controlled your mind," Wanda continued from behind me, sincerity in her words. "It wasn't right. It wasn't my place."

I turned around, breath catching in my throat. My ears were still ringing. Hands still sweaty. I pocketed them, though they shook so much my jacket was moving.

Well, Selena, that's a pretty name. And I'm sure we can find your parents in no time.

"She was just a kid," I said, expecting such ferocity in my words, but they barely came out above a whisper. "She wasn't supposed to be there."

Wanda swallowed hard, taking a small step forward. I didn't move back.

"It wasn't your fault."

"She just wanted her family." I clenched my jaw, squeezing my sweaty, shaky hands into fists. "She shouldn't have been there."

"Y/N..."

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears flowing out, before shouting, "You had no right! You– you– you had no fuckin' right!"

Wanda watched me with glossy eyes. "I know. You're right."

Just a kid.

The ringing stopped. I clutched my stomach, wishing the stabbing nausea would disappear. Now that my thoughts were whole again, I felt like I was experiencing the whole thing once more. It was catching up to me quicker than I could adjust to.

She opened her mouth to speak and I shook my head, signalling for her to stop. I couldn't take it. I was so angry and hurt and shocked and I– I–

"I hate you," I breathed out.

She frowned, eyes screaming with guilt. "Y/N..."

My jaw ached from the pressure I was putting on it. Marks were forming in my palm from how hard I was squeezing my fists. She had no right.

"It wasn't your fucking place," I repeated, moving forward and bundling her shirt in my fist. Glaring at her through my tears, I saw the way she put up no fight, expressions softening and etched with guilt. "You– you– you–"

My hands began to shake again. The ringing returned. I couldn't take it. I let go and shoved her back, needing a moment. But I didn't know what to do.

I wanted to hate her. She had messed with my head. Made this so much worse than it could have been if she'd just let me suffer in the first place. But at the same time, a small part of me wished it would have worked. That her mind manipulation would have done it's job and I wasn't remembering. Because fuck, remembering hurt like a bitch.

More tears came and I squeezed my eyes shut, squeezing my stomach to ease the never-ending pain. I opened my mouth to speak, but a sob came out instead, and before I knew it, Wanda was wrapping her arms around me, letting me fall into her.

"It's okay," she said with certainty, squeezing me. "You'll be okay."

I shook my head because I knew that wasn't true. Nothing was okay. I couldn't imagine it ever being okay.

She was just a kid.

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #mcu #marvel #elizabeth olsen

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

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Aaron Hotchner / Worth Your While

Prompts: The Beard Hotch Fic™ - inspired by that one episode where hotch has a beard and all of us collectively lost our minds

Word count: 3.728

Warnings: E, phone sex, mutual masturbation, beard kink (i guess that’s a thing??), oral (f receiving), i don’t know just smut

Image Credit: @agenthotchner

“Still don’t know when you’re coming back?”

A sigh floated through the phone, “Not yet,” you hum, climbing into bed on top of your covers, your legs folded underneath you. You hear his cot creak underneath him. You hummed, as you placed your pillow beside you, if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine that he was lying there beside you.

“Enjoying the hot Pakistani desert a bit too much, Hotch?” a small chuckle leaves his throat, voice gruff over the line.

“I would enjoy it a lot more if you and Jack were with me,” your chest aches at the sound of the weariness in his voice. He was so tired — and now you couldn’t even take care of him. Another sigh leaves his lips, before he adds, a ghost of a laugh in his voice, “although he’s not a fan of the beard.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Really?”

“His exact words were, ‘do they not sell razors there, Dad?’” you snort, turning onto your side, “I think I’m going to shave it off before I get back.”

“Ah let’s not rush it,” you bit your lip, running your fingers over your bare neck, “why don’t we ask for some other opinions before we jump to conclusions?”

You could practically hear his eyebrow raise over the phone, “And what’s your opinion, sweetheart?” his voice is low and scratchy, and you can almost imagine his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as he murmured the question against your neck.

You feel a heat begin to climb up your neck, and down your body, “I don’t think you should shave,”

“You don’t think?” he presses, and you hear the cot groan again as he shifts, “or I shouldn’t?”

“You shouldn’t,” you swallowed, fingers drifting down to the waistband of your shorts, “not until you see me again.”

“And what are you going to do when you see me again?” you whimper, fingers past the elastic of your shorts, your fingers drift against your soaked panties, “answer me.” You gasp his name as your fingers circle your clit, “are you touching yourself?”

“Yes,” you say, breath uneven as he shifts in his cot again, more this time, “I need you, Aaron, I—”

“Call me on video call,” he hisses, and you know his fingers are around his length, the video call feed only confirming it, “see what you do to me,” his pants are gruff and short, “show me what you’re doing.” You flip the camera from your face to the middle of your thighs, your hand hidden beneath the fabric of your obviously drenched underwear, “Pull those off, I want to see you. I want to see exactly what I’m doing to you.”

Your underwear slides down your thighs, slowly, as you lift your hips for the camera. And his breath hitches when he sees you — soaking wet and two fingers deep in your pussy, “Aaron, fuck, I miss you—”

“What do you miss?” there’s an edge to his voice, an urgency, but still, his voice is hushed and quiet, tension thrumming in the air, “tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Is that an order, sir?” and you hear him groan quietly over the phone that hangs in the silence of the desert.

“Fuck, yes, it is,” he growls, and he hears a quiet hum leave your throat, and he knows you’re enjoying this — all too much, but not as much as if he were actually there. If he had two thick fingers pressed inside of you. His mouth swallowing all the little noises leaving your throat, until his lips sucked dark bruises against the hollow of your throat.

“I would want you to pin me down, your fingers parting my thighs,” quick gasps part your lips, filling the silence of his tent, and you wonder — could someone hear you if you were just a little too loud? Could a colleague hear your desperate cries of his name, you begging him for his cock, his mouth, his fingers — anything, “feel your beard against my thighs as you wrap your tongue around my clit, fingers inside me, like mine are now—” Your fingers sink deeper, adding another with a loud gasp, your hips rolling against your hand, “and I’d cum all over your face.” His beard slick with your cum, as he kisses you again, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue.

“Then, you want me to fuck you hard, don’t you?” a helpless whine parts your throat at his words, low and sharp, “But still, I’d sink into you, slowly, let you feel every inch of myself part you — wet and tight — for me.”

You arch your back against your bed, Only for him.

“Aaron, please, I need to see you — see your face—” You’re close — he doesn’t need to see your face to know that. And you know he hears it — hears you preen against you, and in the quiet silence of your bedroom, and his hand squeezes his cock. Fuck, and he abides by your request — shows you his face contorted in quietly controlled pleasure, his teeth against his bottom lip, until he hears you.

“Aaron, I’m—” he groans, far too loud for the quiet desert and conscious colleagues that surrounded him. But it only further pushes you over the edge, thinking about that groan in your ear, pressing kisses against your neck, fucking you hard and fast until your walls tighten around your fingers, phone falling from your hand. But not before you hear him say your name, reverent and breathy.

Your fingers begin to still, the feeling of your fingers carrying you through your orgasm, chest rising and falling in quick pants. Your body slumps against your mattress, boneless, eyes squeezed shut. That is, until you hear a voice on the phone.

“Fuck,” you mutter, reaching for the phone, “sorry, did you say something?”

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice deep and blissed out — and you can almost feel the words of love vibrate against your skin, “I miss you, so much.”

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder?” you offer, flipping the camera so he could see your face, “but phone sex definitely helps.”

A smile pulls at his lips, “It does, but it’s not enough.”

“No, nothing compares to the real thing,” you sigh, rolling over on your bed, “but luckily, the real thing is waiting for you when you get back,” and then you add, “Just don’t shave the beard.”

He runs a hand through his beard, “Yes ma’am. You’ll make it worth my while?”

You grin, tilting your head, “Don’t I always?”

~~~

Hotch leaned against the headrest of the airplane seat, stuffed between two sleeping passengers — this was certainly different than using the jet. Not that he was complaining — he needed to get back. He resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the arm rests.

Ian Doyle. That was a name he had spent several months trying to forget. The events of what happened still haunted him, but even more than that, the lies he had to tell the team wore away at him. Guilt gnawed at his insides, a pit in his stomach that he was sure would give way.

He had to do it. He had no choice. He was the team’s leader. He had to make the hard decisions. He had to bear the burden. But he only wished he didn’t have to do it at the team’s expense.

He rubbed at his eyes. Watching them cry and mourn, listening to them grieve right in front of him, as he evaluated each of them for field work — it had killed him. And now it would all come out. Prentiss was alive. And they had kept it from them. He had kept it from them.

But there was no use thinking about the fallout. Not when he was on a plane miles away from its destination still. No, he needed to think about something else.

He glanced at his phone, smiling at the picture of you and Jack smiling back at him. He remembered the day they had taken that photo. It was your first time spending time with Jack. He never met someone who clicked so easily with Jack — after everything that had happened with Haley, Jack was a little quieter, a little more reserved (not so dissimilar to himself, you had pointed out to him). But with you, it was different. He would smile. He would laugh. He understood. He knew you and you knew him. And he was so grateful for that.

And he was so grateful for you.

His fingers rubbed at his chin, still prickly with his beard. He had kept his promise — he had kept it for you. Even though Jack would be less than pleased. He would be staying with Jessica either way while he dealt with the situation at hand. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep the next few days — he knew that for sure. But even so, the prospect of seeing you soon made his chest feel a little lighter. No longer would date night consist of a hurried dinner and possible phone sex. Now, he could hold you, he could touch you, and he could fall asleep to your quiet breaths, instead of to a far too hot desert and a lonely cot.

And the best part? He hadn’t told you that he was coming back yet. And he didn’t think he was going to, until he was at your doorstep.

~~~

“How was work today?” Hotch gave a heavy sigh over the phone, and you put down the bowl of dough you had been stirring, “Aaron?”

“It was a hard day,” he cleared his throat, “we saved a kid, but he saw his father die in front of him.”

“Aaron,” you wished you could touch him, could comfort him, no words were enough for times like this, “you couldn’t have done anything more. You saved his life.”

“I know, I just—” he clicked his tongue, “I just wish it didn’t turn out that way.”

“And that’s why you’re one of the good guys,” you smile at your phone, “and that’s why you can’t let it eat away at you — you still have your own little boy to come home too. Not to mention, your very patient girlfriend.”

He laughed, a soft noise that made your heart stutter in its chest, “You have been very patient, haven’t you?”

“I have,” you hummed, perking up at the tone of his voice — appreciative and teasing — “got something to reward me with?”

“I actually might,” and you bit your lip, “but you’ll have to do me a favor.”

“This is my reward, and I have to do you a favor?” you clicked your tongue, “doesn’t seem very fair, Agent Hotchner.”

“I know all about fairness, sweetheart. After all, I did study it in law school,” you could almost see him shaking his head, a smile dancing across his lips, “I just need you to open your door.”

“Open my door?” you wiped your hands clean, before grabbing the phone off the counter, making your way to your door. You spotted the back of someone’s head through the peephole. Locks clicking as you undid the lock and the deadbolt, you held the phone between your shoulder and your cheek, “Aaron Hotchner, did you order me dinner again? Because I told you I already—”

You gasped, your phone clattering against your hardwood floors. Aaron stood, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips, as he tilted his head, “No, but I did bring dessert.”

“Aaron!” you ran into his arms, hands on his shoulders, face buried in his chest, “I can’t believe this. You’re back. You’re here.”

“I am,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, “and I’m not going anywhere now.”

You pulled away, “You’re back for good?” and he nods, as your fingers cup his face, thumbs running over his cheeks, and you note the bristle underneath your fingertips, “and I see you kept your promise.”

“Of course, I’m a man of my word,” he breaths, leaning closer as your breath hitches, his lips pressing against yours. It had been months, and you had nearly forgotten how he tasted, lips moving firmly against your own. His teeth grazed your lip, as he eagerly swallowed your moan, as your hands tangled themselves in his hair, walking backwards, as he shut the door with his foot, “I missed you so much,” he says in between kisses that stole the air from your lungs.

Your hands pushed the jacket from his shoulders, “I missed you too,” his hands squeezed your hips, before his hands slipped your thighs, lifting you against him, as he carried you to your bedroom. No longer could you tell where you began and he ended, but you didn’t care — not when his teeth grazed against your pulse point like that. He had you pressed flush against your bedroom door, lips burning a trail of kisses down your neck, fingers toying with the straps of your camisole.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered, and he did — placing you on your bed, and in a second, he was on top of you.

Your fingers busied themselves with undoing the buttons on his button down, while his slid the hem of your camisole higher and higher. You undid the last button and the shirt slid off his shoulders, and he lifted his arms as you did away with the undershirt immediately. Your fingers traced over the broad expanse of his chest reverently, enjoying how his muscles reacted to your touch and how his breath stuttered his chest when your fingers grazed him. The same man who stayed calm under pressure crumbled under your touch.

You raised your arms and he slipped the camisole from your body, groaning when he realized you had no bra on underneath. His fingers teased your nipples, mouth wrapped around one of them, “Aaron,” you arched your back into his touch, your fingers slipping between your bodies, trying to undo the button on his pants. His teeth grazed your nipple, soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue, “please,”

You undo the button of his pants, and pull them down, helping him kick them off. He whispers your name, pressing a kiss to the skin between your breasts, before tucking fallen strands of hair behind your ear, “What do you want, baby?”

Your eyes fall to the prominent bulge in his boxers, “Fuck me,” you look up at him, thumb brushing his lips, and he smiles, pressing another heated kiss to your lips.

“Not before I taste you,” he says, voice husky, as he burns a trail of openmouthed kisses down your body, re-familiarizing himself with every curve and dip of your body, until the fire in the pit of your stomach all but engulfs you. He tugs your sleep shorts down, as you lift your hips to help him, kicking them off. His calloused hands part your thighs, as he settles between them. You watch him with lidded eyes, breath stuck somewhere in the back of your throat. A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight of your obviously soaked panties. You hiss as his beard scratches beautifully against your thighs, friction making you squirm, until his large palms steadied you. Fingers splayed over the soft skin of your inner thighs, his nose brushing far too close to your soaked center, as he kisses right below the waistband.

“I had forgotten how good you smell,” he murmurs, another kiss, this time right on top of the wet spot on your panties.

He spreads you wider, hips jumping as your heart does in your chest, when his fingers brush your slit through the thin fabric. He doesn’t remove them, no, instead, he slides the crotch aside placing you on full display for him, half wrapped in that silk fabric. You hiss when you feel his warm breath mingling with the cool air of the room. His tongue darts out across his lips, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, before leaning down to press a kiss to your warmth.

His moan vibrates against you, a reverent noise of unrestrained passion and you know that this is just as much for him as it is for you, sending shivers down your spine of what’s to come. A single finger begins to part your folds, as his mouth presses butterfly kisses all around your clit, his beard deliciously grazing against your thighs. And finally, he takes a single broad swipe up his tongue up the length of your weeping cunt. A gasp blooms into a moan, as your fingers grasp at him, traveling the length of his shoulders, until you are able to card your fingers through his dark strands.

His tongue moves in tight circles, your muscles squeezing his thick finger, as keen against him, eager for more, more. As you always were for him, and only him. Desperate for his touch, even when he couldn’t provide it. His beard only stokes the fire coiling in your stomach, now burning against your cunt.

The phone sex seemed like a distant memory, a cheap imitation of the real thing. Nothing, nothing could compare to his lips, his tongue, his teeth, his touch. Nothing could compare your fingers threaded through his hair, his moans quietly reverberating against your slick folds. Nothing could compare to him — the sweet man who had just come back after spending weeks away from his home, his family, his friends, his life — but he chose to spend this night with you.

Another finger parts your folds, and a broken whine leaves your throat, as your head falls against your plush bed, “You take me so well, sweetheart,” he mutters, tongue flicking against your clit, as you lift your eyes to meet his gaze, “so good to me. So patient. So sweet.”

And that’s when his mouth closes over your clit. Your hips rock against the flat palms of his hands, as his tongue flicks against it. And the coil in you snaps, his name a ghost upon your lips, a soundless scream on your lips. You feel him hum against you, far too pleased, but you barely notice, lost in your own high. But he does not relent, pulling your orgasm from you as his fingers scrape against your shuddering walls, tongue eagerly tasting all that you offer him.

He drags himself back up to you, his hardness brushing the inside of your thigh. His fingers trace your jawline, as your eyelids flutter, watching his tongue dart across his chin, still glistening with your release. His lips quickly follow the paths scorched by his fingertips. His lips find yours again when your breaths are even, and even now you can’t get enough of him.

You arch towards him, fingers sliding down his chest to the waistband of his boxers, “Sweetheart,” a strangled groan of your name on lips still sticky with your cum, and he stares at you, eyes black as the darkness that surrounds you, as you slide his boxers down finally.

You both groan in tandem, as your fingers close around his length, flushed and weeping. His hips lean into your touch, the head of his cock brushing your folds.

“Aaron,” you shake your head, “I need you.”

“Where do you need me?” his voice barely above a rasp. He rips your hand from him, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He presses another kiss to your skittering heartbeat.

“I need you to fuck me—” you gasp, as his teeth scrape against your neck, pressing soft kisses against its length, before sucking a pretty bruise against the hollow of your throat, “please.”

He sinks into you then, sliding into your warmth, murmuring in your ear. Your mouth falls open, “Even after all this time, you take me so well,” his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, “I love you.”

His name is a prayer, his touch is your salvation, as his nails dig crescents into the curve of your hips, “Missed you so much—” his own snap against you harder, deeper, “needed you so bad. I love you. I love you.”

“I want to feel you cum for me, sweetheart,” his fingers skim your clit, and that’s it. You come apart underneath him, veins no longer filled with blood, but with pleasure. His hips stutter as your muscles flutter around his cock, still fucking you through your orgasm, as his fingers make you jump against him, “Say my name,” he growls, as your arms wind around his shoulder, tugging him closer, closer, closer, “say it.”

And you do, just as he cums inside of you with a groan of your name in your ear, nearly collapsing on you. He presses into you, and it’s much too warm, the sticky heat and smell of sex pervades, but you don’t care. Still you tug him closer, chest to chest, as your eyes shut. You feel him come down from his high, his breath slowing. He pulls himself out, and your body mourns his absence. He curls up beside you for a moment, his finger drawing absentminded circles on your thigh. You look at him, a smile pulling at your lips as you find him staring at you. And you press kisses to him — to his shoulder and neck, your fingers sweeping his hair out of his eyes.

But his gaze still persists, “What?” you ask softly, your fingers tracing his jaw, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your fingertips.

“Should I keep the beard?” and you laugh, shaking your head, as you lay back on the pillow.

“I think you should do whatever you want to do,” and he kisses you again, full and warm and happy, “and I think you should definitely take Jack’s opinion into mind.”

He raises a brow, a smile on his lips, “Will you still make it worth my while?”

You roll your eyes, fingers cupping his cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, “I will always make it worth your while.”

Tags: @bucky-of-the-opera, @agenthotchner, @sammy-babes, @hommoturttle, @flightsoffandom, @penelopecult, @good-heavens-chris-evans, @tgibstan, @ssacandi-ass-prentiss, @daddy-hot-chner, @ilytgibs, @spencerreidisgodly, @aquila-leo, @gabile18, @kurtsieforlife, @kinkyassvampire, @aaronelishotch, @spooky-muldy, @thecharmingart, @emma-alysee, @honeyshores, @tegggeeee, @evee87, @missbrightside13, @antmnwasp, @stardust-fray, @pansexualh, @hearmecallinyou, @arabellathorne, @llemmapie, @hecklleandjyde, @anonymous-0tter, @jdougl-love, @musiharrystyles, @spencerhotchner, @purpleturtle31extra, @blatant-attitude, @nuiboo, @shamelesslyf, @just-a-nat, @genevievedarcygranger, @captain-christopher-pike, @natienerd, @unsocialized-nerd, @zoerayne2426, @hp-marvel-starwars-kotlc, @aannamaria98, @infj-slytherclaw, @i-am-addicted-to-tea, @lghenry4, @geekgirl007, @rintheemolion, @m00sethemurderer, @justevraimentconfus, @elite4cekalyma, @soloriormora, @b-is-for-brynn, @willows-studies, @dreila03, @skittle479, @kalexp, @peachymomosblog, @retromami, @ijustwantanapandtocallitaday, @a-disaster-bisexual, @daydreamingandbooks, @joemazzello-imagines, @wargoddesss, @pann1247, @giveusbackourbucky, @justanotherbrunette, @1mailefigueroa1, @yes-sir-hotchner, @kitachan21, @smiles1994, @criminallyfanatic, @ange-must-die, @lotties-journey-abroad, @marvels-agents100, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @captain-christopher-pike, @therestisconfettis, @asuckerforyou, @ephemeral-barnes

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #aaron hotchner smut #hotch x reader #hotch imagines #hotch smut

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frombeyondtheblackhole · 3 years

Text

Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 9.1

[TW: Blood, violence, severe injury, bone related gore and zombie/undead related body horror. Please take care of yourself and stay safe. Warnings bracket the worst of the potentially triggering content and a summary is provided if you feel the need to skip that part. Some violence and minor injuries are outside the brackets. If there is a specific TW that you would like me to include in the future feel free to let me know and I will do my best to add it.]

Quackity, Purpled and Charlie, spent over an hour searching through the woods and the land around Las Nevadas, well mostly just Quackity and Purpled while Charlie hovered around asking annoying questions. Neither The Zombie nor Foolish were anywhere to be found.

Quackity told Purpled and Charlie to Head back to Las Nevadas and look there while he did one more check around the perimeter for any clues as to what happened. Quackity took his time. Now that he was by himself he was able to think more clearly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned.

Quackity wasn’t exactly sure what he had witnessed. He’d never seen something exactly like it, one minute Foolish was standing in front of him and the next he was gone and this zombie lady was in his place. He might argue with the other Las Navadas recruits, and they might not have the best opinion of him, but one thing was certain, if anyone messed with them, especially on Las Navadas property, They were messing with him and he wasn’t about to let anyone push him around, not anymore, never again.

Quackity looked up as he rounded a sand dune, the walls of Tubbo’s “cookie” outpost looming up on the edge of Las Nevadas land. Quackity Scowled. One problem after another. The whole conflict about the walls hadn’t really been resolved, Tubbo was being stubborn, unreasonable. But that wasn’t a priority at the moment, he would deal with that latter, right now, he had bigger problems.

Quackity followed along the wall and stopped short on the road in front of the Las Nevadas toll tunnel. Ranboo and Tubbo stood on the road coming from the other direction.

They stared at each other, neither side moving. Then Quackity broke into a smile “Hey there, Fancy running into you two here. You seem to hang around here a lot, have either of you seen Foolish or a strange looking Zombie by chance?”

Ranboo fidgeted and looked away but he was always fidgeting and he was never one for eye contact so that wasn’t exactly a tell.

Tubbo on the other hand, Quackity had been in the same cabinet with him during Schlatt’s presidency, and in the cabinet during Tubbo’s presidency, he knew what the kid looked like when he lied.

“A Zombie you say? What makes you think we would have anything to do with that?” Tubbo shrugged.

Quackity didn’t drop the smile. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I am talking about.”

“Honest big man, there are no Zombies here, that's why we built the walls.” Tubbo insisted.

Ok so the kid was getting better at lying. Quackity frowned but the smile returned a moment later. “That's all good. Just be careful, she did something to Foolish, he’s gone missing, I’m worried that if she is allowed to roam free and do whatever she wants then she might do what she did to Foolish to someone else. You understand. I would hate to hear that one of you two went missing.”

Tubbo and Ranboo looked at each other. They definitely knew something they weren’t telling him.

“Thanks for the warning big man, we’ll let you know if we see anything,” Tubbo smiled tightly before grabbing Ranboo’s arm and pulled him aside to whisper in his ear.

Called it. Quackity smiled, his sharp gold tooth glinting in the sunlight. He turned on his heel and headed back down the tunnel towards Las Nevadas.

---

Cleo looked down at the dark water lapping against the stone pier where she sat, her legs dangling over the edge. The air smelled of salt, cold stung her lungs. She wasn’t shivering despite the fact that a crop top and shorts was chronically under dressed for the weather. She didn’t really notice.

Her heel bounced against the wall of the peer as she stared out to sea. Snowchester was secluded, nice and peaceful, but it also felt vacant. There were houses but no one lived in them. Not that that was anything all too strange, Hermits built empty houses all the time, but these felt different. The empty houses the Hermits built were intended just for show, or to conceal functional builds. These houses once housed people, and now were abandoned.

Cleo looked up at the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow and the clunk of boots against the wood at the beginning of the peer. Tubbo and Ranboo stood looking back at her. Tubbo had his hands in the front pockets of his coat and Ranboo stared at her over Tubboo’s shoulder. He never seemed to blink, it was a bit unnerving.

Cleo pursed her lips “Um, thanks for letting me stay here kids, but-”

“You can’t stay here anymore,” Tubbo blurted out.

Cleo blinked.

Ranboo flinched “Sorry about all this, it’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it kid,” Cleo said, getting to her feet, “I was going to leave anyway,” She shrugged.

“Oh really,” Ranboo sighed.

Tubbo frowned “Why? What changed?”

Cleo chuckled hollowly, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Tubbo pursed his lips but didn’t push the issue.

Cleo walked past the two of them and started up the path.

“Wait,” Ranboo called

Cleo stopped.

“Where are you going to stay now?” Ranboo asked. Tubbo just glared at her.

Cleo shrugged and smiled a bit to cheerily “I’m sure I’ll find a nice cave somewhere, after all I am a Hermit,”

“Um,” Ranboo looked off to the side, tapping his fingers together. “If you need it there’s a hotel in the Greater Dream SMP. It’s big and red, hard to miss.”

Cleo chuckled, “I’ll be alright, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Tubbo was still glaring at her. She turned to leave again.

“Just know that if you try and mess with us we can and will defend ourselves,” Tubbo said.

Cleo didn’t turn around “Oh, I know,” She smirked as she walked away. This Tubbo kid had guts, she could respect that.

---

Quackity taped his fingers against his arm impatiently as he waited in the ditch on the Greater DSMP side of the speed tunnel to Snowchester. After talking to Tubbo and Ranboo he had watched from a distance and followed them here.

The splash of oars cutting through the water reached Quackity’s ears as a boat made its way towards his hiding spot. Quackity took a steadying breath, stealing himself as he listened carefully. The boat scraped against the shore and there was a crunch of sand as someone got out of the boat. Only one person.

Quackity stood up and moved into view. The Zombie jumped, summoning her sword as she spun around to face him, teeth bared.

Quackity held up his empty hands and took several steps back. “Woe, woe woe. Hold on. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?” She scoffed. She didn’t attack but she still had her guard up.

“Just tell me what you did to my friend and maybe we can resolve this peacefully,” He smiled tightly.

“I didn’t do anything! And even if I did, why would I tell you? You already tried to kill me once?” She said. Then her expression changed, as if just remembering something. She lowered her sword and straightened. “What do you know about perma-death?” She asked calmly.

Quackity sucked in his breath and took a step back. Was this a threat or a legitimate question? He looked at the determination in her eyes… It was both.

He fought the urge to summon his axe.

“Do you really think you can kill a Zombie? I’m already dead. The rules don’t apply to me!” She strode forward and pointed her sword at him. Quackity staggered back looking up at her standing over him on the edge of the pit framed by the crystal clear sky behind her.

Was she bluffing?

Fuck.

She spun on her heel and ran the other direction, across the field.

The trance was broken.

[TW: Blood, violence, body horror. Skip to the next bolded text to avoid the worst of it]

“Shit, Get back here!” Quackity scrambled up the bank, summoning his crossbow and letting loose the bolt. It struck her in the leg, but she didn’t even seem to slow down. Had she even felt it? An ender pearl replaced the crossbow and a moment later he felt a sudden rush as he flew through the air, switching to his axe mid-flight. He crashed into her back, embedding his axe between her shoulder blades.

Quackity pulled his axe out of her back and staggered backwards. She wasn’t dead. She hadn’t despawned yet. Maybe she had been telling the truth about being unable to die. Oh wait, she was moving.

She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees coughing up dark sickened blood. She staggered to her feet and turned around to face him again, fire and determination in her eyes.

How was she still standing? That last hit had to have broken several ribs. Quackity glanced at the exposed ribs poking out from under her crop top, edged with decayed flesh. Those had been that way before. Maybe broken bones didn’t matter?

[TW End: Summery: Quackity chases after Cleo, she tanks a bunch of damage but is able to keep fighting despite severe injuries]

Why were his knees shaking? She hadn’t even scratched him this time, and she wasn’t as good at combat as Dream or Techno. Yet she refused to die?

He clenched his teeth and scowled, “I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me what you did with Foolish?” He demanded. Now he was bluffing.

“I. Don’t. Know!” She yelled as she lunged at him, summoning her sword mid swing as she brought it down on him.

He didn’t have time to block. Instead he moved back and swung the axe up. The blunt side of the head struck her in the chin as he felt her sword cut into his shoulder and graze his chest.

She staggered back and switched her sword out for a gapple.

Oh no you don’t. Quackity raised his axe about to lung when he felt someone jump on him from behind. Arms wrapping around his neck in a choke hold. The axe returned to his inventory as he grabbed at the arms around his neck. They were invisible, his attacker was invisible.

“Cleo, Run!” the invisible man shouted.

She froze, the gapple halfway to her mouth “Etho?”

“I said run!”

She turned on her heel and started running, only pausing for a moment to eat the gapple and keep going.

Quackity clawed at the arm around his neck. This Etho guy was invisible. That ment he wasn’t wearing armor. Quackity summoned a sword in reverse grip and stabbed behind him. He heard Etho hiss as the sword grazed him. His grip loosened and Quackity was able to wrestle free. Summoning another pearl he threw it, getting away and landing near some trees. He staggered against one of the trees, coughing and rubbing his neck. He gritted his teeth, his face twisting into and ugly snarl. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She got away. And she had an accomplice.

They made him look like an idiot. He quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He had promised never to let himself feel helpless again. Never to let other people control him. Yet he had let himself get pushed around by some random Zombie and one guy with an invis pot. Fuck this. He needed to do something about this. He couldn’t let this stand.

#hermitcraft dsmp swap au #dsmp #dream smp #hermitcraft #dsmp au #hc x dsmp au #dream smp au #hermitcraft au #quackity #tubbo #ranboo #zombie cleo #etho

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tempestaurora · 3 years

Photo

in another time, a gladiator stucky au by @tempestaurora

image IDs under the cut

IMAGE ID:

FIRST IMAGE:

Sunlight dappled across the stone floor, casting cool, dancing shadows in the summer heat. Bucky yawned and stretched, flexing his toes into the sunspots and smiling from the warmth. He watched the newest boy to the school, a scrawny thing called Steve, stand alone in the courtyard.

He tipped his head to the side and called out, “New boy! Over here!”

Steve had straw blonde hair and eyes like the Aegean Sea. He seemed hesitant for a moment before heading over. When he arrived, he looked at Bucky like he might bite, but after sitting, he simply melted into the sunspot Bucky had found.

“You’re pretty small,” Bucky observed. “Your family sell you?”

“What? No, they didn’t.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed; he seemed insulted by the mere notion. “Your family sell you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Indentured, actually,” he replied. “But they’re practically the same thing. Why are you here, then? You have dreams of being a gladiator?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I don’t. But it was either this or live on the streets.” He paused, twisting his fingers into his tunic. “My mater died, recently. She was all I had.”

Bucky stilled. “Oh,” he said. “Perhaps she is better off now; perhaps she is in the Land of Joy.”

Steve nodded, barely. “There are few places better than the underworld, these days.”

SECOND IMAGE:

ii.

Steve may have been small, but he was fast. He twisted and turned in combat, picked up the skills with ease, and learnt to use his size to his advantage. If he got hit, he was down, so Steve learned to avoid the punches thrown his way.

They trained year-round, through summer heat and winter snow, and soon they grew. Everything Steve learned about being small and fast was discarded when he hit his growth spurt at fourteen, suddenly taller than half his class and finally able to make the attacks, not simply dodge them. He watched Bucky often; the two of them nigh inseparable since his arrival at the school. Bucky was not a golden student, but he was a golden boy; his eyes were like Jupiter’s sky and his hair grew thick and dark in a shaggy mess.

There were few things Steve found himself caring about more than the only boy in all of Italia who knew him, inside and out.

[Beneath is a photo of the ruins of a temple of Saturn, backlit by the sun. It is ethereal and quiet-looking, with green fields interspersed with crumbled architecture.]

THIRD IMAGE:

iii.

They had climbed up onto the roof of the gymnasium to gaze at the sweep of stars painted high above their town.

“Do you think you’ll be up there one day?” Steve whispered in the dark.

“In the sky?”

“The stars,” Steve clarified. “All the great heroes are immortalised in the stars.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be a hero – there’s not a drop of godly blood in me. What about you?”

“I don’t want to be a hero,” Steve replied. “I just want to travel; to see all of Italia and beyond. Pompeii and Corinth – maybe even see the Oracle of Delphi, one day.”

Bucky smiled. “I’d like that. I don’t want to be fighting forever.”

“Come with me,” Steve said. “We could go anywhere. We could go everywhere.”

Bucky stared at Steve under the star-lit sky and smiled.

FOURTH IMAGE:

iv.

When they were eighteen, they moved to Rome. The Ludus Magnus gladiator school sat in spitting distance of the coliseum, and this was where they trained. They had long been learning their preferred style of combat – Steve, after shooting up and broadening, fought as a Thracian, with his broad-rimmed helmet, small rounded shield and curved sword. His only armour consisted of thigh-length grieves, while Bucky was granted a chest plate and greaves as a Dimachaerus, dual-wielding two swords.

They fought regularly in practice, but never in the ring drawn into the sand in front of an audience. There was a palpable fear Steve felt at making Bucky bleed. Some nights, he whispered prayers to whatever god might deign to listen – perhaps Mars, for war, or Venus, for love – and pleaded with them to never pit him against Bucky.

[On the right hand side is a close-up of a temple’s columns, with sunlight poking between.]

FIFTH IMAGE:

Bucky knew Steve was watching from beyond the Gate of Life as he stepped into the ring for his first gladiatorial combat in the arena. Steve had already won his earlier that day in front of roaring crowds and amused royalty in the Emperor’s box.

Now it was Bucky’s turn, and he twisted his swords in his fingers, facing down his opponent across the ring. Bucky knew their job was to fight – fight and possibly even die – but he also knew his job was to give them all a show.

And Bucky was nothing if not a showman.

In the end, blood stained the sand a vivid red, but Bucky strode towards the Gate of Life, triumphant.

SIXTH IMAGE:

vi.

There were always popular gladiators, and Steve didn’t know how to react, finding himself to be one of them. Women lined up outside the bathhouses he frequented; shared rumours that dipping their hairpins in his blood might bring them love, that his sweat would work as an aphrodisiac.

“I can see their point,” Bucky whispered one night, his mouth ravenous against Steve’s after a long day of training. Their bodies were always animalistic in these moments, whilst the school was empty and the others were out drinking the night away. They took everything they could get from each other; swallowed each sensation whole.

Steve never wanted these moments to end. He would throw all the glory and money away for more time with Bucky, for more nights like this.

SEVENTH IMAGE:

vii.

After amphitheatre fights, admirers and buyers alike would flock to the school where the gladiators lounged on cushions and benches, drinking wine and eating expensive foods. These were the nights Bucky enjoyed the most. No one was allowed to approach unless beckoned by a gladiator, and Bucky would often spend time toying with the admirers, allowing one or two over before sending them away again. Eventually, after the show, he’d slip away into the sleeping quarters or empty storage cupboard, and find Steve waiting there for him.

There was a miles-long list of things Bucky loved about Steve’s body, but number one on the list was how it fit against his own in the dark.

[Cut into the left side is a photo of the Coliseum in Rome.]

EIGHTH IMAGE:

viii.

A few days before the festival, culminating in three days of games at the coliseum, their master told Steve and Bucky that they were scheduled to fight.

“It’ll be fine,” they told each other in the dark. “The fights rarely end in death. We’re not fighting to kill. We’re fighting to entertain.”

“We’re performers,” Bucky would say. “We’re just there to give them a good time.”

“Don’t act like no one ever dies,” Steve would reply, each and every time. “Don’t act like we haven’t killed our opponents before.” Sometimes, friends would enter the ring with them and never leave it. Sometimes, the audience called for their deaths.

It was blood lust, through and through. The men caught hold of that first splash of red and couldn’t let it go; they had to see more, they had to see death in all its forms. The gladiator could’ve fought bravely, wonderfully, and they might still end up slumped in the sand afterwards.

“Soon,” they would say, “we’ll retire and leave this for good. Soon, we’ll travel the world, like we always planned.” They would whisper lies and truths to each other, desperately tangling them together until they couldn’t tell them apart.

NINTH IMAGE:

ix.

On the day of the fight, Steve stepped into the ring opposite Bucky and breathed in the cheering crowd; the hot, midday sun. They had kissed in the shadow of the underground corridors, and now faced each other, weapons raised, poised for battle.

It was bloody from the get-go; they were entertainers after all, and the audience was only entertained when they saw the streak of blood dampening the sand. They twisted and turned as if they were dancing, as if there was music playing and this was them, centre stage, having the time of their lives rather than anxiously hoping their blades wouldn’t cut too deep, that the bruises would soon heal.

And then Steve’s sword slashed too harshly at Bucky’s side and he faltered, hissing.

“Bucky—” Steve said, not moving in on the advantage, not moving at all.

Bucky straightened, removing his hand from his side, darkly red. “What are you doing?” Bucky asked, before raising his swords once more. “Fight me.”

“Bucky—”

“Fight me,” Bucky hissed, slamming his swords forward. Steve barely had time to raise his shield. He couldn’t stop staring at the thick blood leaking from Bucky’s ribs.

“No—”

“Steve—”

“No.”

Steve stepped back, feet almost at the ring’s edge. He dropped his shield, his sword to the sand. He held his arms out, palms towards Bucky, and said, “I won’t fight you, Bucky. Not ever again.”

So Bucky took the win, and the crowds jeered at Steve, and the Emperor held his thumb outstretched, unamused by the champion’s surrender.

“You won’t fight me,” Bucky spat, “but you’ll make me kill you instead?”

[Cut into the right hand side is an edited shot of the movie Gladiator; two gladiators rush towards each other to battle, with the crowds filling the stands. Much of the image is in shadow, with streaks of sunlight pouring down from the left side.]

TENTH IMAGE:

The sand was hot beneath Bucky’s feet; no lazy afternoon shadows in the centre of the amphitheatre. In front of him, Steve knelt facing away, his head tipped low to bare the spot at the top of his spine, all smooth skin tanned and unblemished.

The crowds roared around them and Bucky lifted his sword, pressing the tip at the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve flinched and said, just barely loud enough for Bucky to hear: “Perhaps I’ll go to Elysium… I hear there are few places better to be than the underworld, these days.”

But Bucky knew Steve would not go to Elysium. He was a warrior, but he was not dying righteously, not for fighting well. He was dying for surrendering, for caring about Bucky more than himself.

And Bucky—well he cared for Steve more than himself, too. They were the same that way. They always had been.

So Bucky stepped back, lowering his sword in his hand. He looked up to the Emperor, shadowed in his private box, and shook his head.

“I won’t kill you, Steve,” he said, and Steve looked around in surprise, like it was really all that out of character. He held out a hand and pulled Steve to his feet, ignoring the roaring of the crowd, the anger that came from mercy.

“They’ll come for us,” Steve said, eyes wary. “They’ll kill us both.”

With one hand, Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek, thumb against his cheekbone, and with the other, he lifted the sword and twisted it. “Let them try,” he said. “But we have plans to travel the world. We’ve got no time for dying, Steve.”

And in the summer heat, they ran for the Gate of Life.

ELEVENTH IMAGE:

[A close up of two marble statues kissing.]

[END OF IMAGE ID]

#stucky #marvel #mcu #steve rogers #bucky barnes #gladiator #long post #talk #this is explicitly for the anon who suggested a gladiator au #also yes it did feel ridiculous writing about ancient rome and then using the names steve and bucky #but what are u gonna do

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skaylanphear · 3 years

Text

Some thoughts on Reki becoming “support”-- Rough Character Analysis

I've been keeping my distance from the Sk8 fandom as a whole, but I saw a post on twitter about the subject of Reki being made into "support" as far as skateboarding, and the poster seemed to think this was some kind of… bad take? I don't know who the original poster was, but based on their opinion, I assume they're very young. I'm not here to bash on this opinion, per se, but I have been thinking about the whole Reki being support concept and I think it's detrimental if people take this to be some kind of downgrade or demotion, or "lesser" position. Again, this is a very immature mindset to have and of course many people who watch Sk8 are very young, but for anyone who's interested, here's a healthier take on the subject:

For one, Reki realizing he might not have what it takes to be as proficient a skateboarder as Langa is pretty good on him, especially at such an early age. But I think the reason he came to this conclusion in the first place is because he doesn't want to be as proficient as Langa or whoever else, no matter how hard he tries. Reki skates because he loves it—he says this in the very first episode before going on to lose to Shadow. Yes, he is insecure about the fact that he's not as good as some of the other skaters, but in the end, I think he will come to realize that it's not being the best or winning that makes him love skating. A lesson that I wish a lot of young people would realize early on is that you don't have to be the best at something to enjoy it or be passionate about it. Life is not a competition and the sooner you stop viewing it that way, the happier you'll be. Initially, Reki was able to bounce back from a loss and still love skating—he was down on himself when he lost to Shadow, but was back on a board enjoying himself shortly after. It's when he started internalizing all the differences between himself and Langa that he started to really hurt. But this doesn't mean that the solution to his problems is to become just as good a skater as Langa—that's an upward battle that will not only ruin their friendship, but continue to cause him the same hurt over and over and over again.

Reki realizing that maybe his talent lies in making skateboards is not a downgrade from being a "professional" athlete, as Langa has the potential to be. And I will note that, in this particular post, the person said that Reki was not as passionate about making skateboards as he was the actual skating (or something along those lines), which is absolutely wrong. Reki has been shown time and time again to be exceedingly passionate about building and designing skateboards, as well as the techniques needed to use them appropriately and do all kinds of sick tricks. But this doesn't mean he'd destined to be the same kind of athlete as Langa. Langa doesn't know the first thing about skateboards or the mechanics of how to ride them properly. He can observe and learn and try, but it's always Reki that's pointing out why he's doing certain things wrong or why the board is reacting a certain way. Reki's passion for building boards is just as valid as Langa's passion for being a great skater and that shouldn't be undermined by the immature opinion that taking up this "supporting" role is somehow inferior. Skaters couldn't be skaters without that crucial support—Langa wouldn't be able to skate at all without Reki having taken great pains to create a board that fit his needs, and then taken the time to literally coach him through learning to use it.

Notice that a lot of football coaches didn't actually play in the NFL, nor do all commentators, nor do the people designing their equipment. Yet these people are just as vital to the sport—just as necessary. Did people miss the point where Reki specifically said that the only reason he wanted to beat the best people at "S" was so that he could brag about how he did it with his own board? That he made? Or that Reki is not just Langa's teacher, he's his coach? Note that as soon as Reki and Langa started fighting, Langa not only lost his ability to have fun skating, but he also lost any sense of discipline. That scene where he's thinking about Adam and whips around a corner, only to have a whole bunch of people yell about how dangerous that was to the people standing there was not an accident, nor was it coincidental that both Cherry and Joe were visibly concerned about his behavior, no matter how good he is.

Langa needs a coach, he needs Reki's support. That’s the whole reason he gave up snowboarding. It's hinted that it was his father who taught and coached him, who loved the sport so much that Langa came to love it. When his father died, so too did his love of snowboarding, just like his love of skating has dwindled with Reki's absence. No matter how talented a person is, going it alone is next to impossible. The people there helping you, supporting you, are vital and just as important to success as the person performing said sport.

Reki's ability to embrace his position as support or as a board maker is not a downgrade. If anything, it fits his personality much better than the competitive aspect. He gets too down on himself when he does poorly, and spirals when people compare him to others. He can be passionate about enjoying skating itself, but also in the building of boards and coaching of others (do people not get how impressive it is that he BUILDS his OWN BOARDS?! That's just as impressive, if not more so, than anything Langa can do—something Langa is very much aware of even if Reki isn't). Reki is exceedingly patient, helpful, and willing. He wants others to succeed. Him embracing these aspects of himself is not settling—it's him pursuing his passion in a different way than Langa. Being the "best" isn't and shouldn't be the end goal for Reki, nor should it be for Langa in the manner he's currently pursuing it, as I think he is going to painfully find out in the coming episodes. Langa deciding to prioritize skating with the "best" (and psychotically dangerous) skater despite how many people he's hurt is reflecting on Langa. Langa is passionate and driven and clearly ends up wearing blinders when he gets that focused, thus he is susceptible to becoming just as dangerous as Adam. Reki being his support—being his coach, being the person that makes it possible for Langa to skate at all—is the lynchpin that will stop Langa from becoming Adam (that's why Tadashi has the personality of having "no opinions." Reki always has an opinion—Reki will be what gets through to Langa where Tadashi failed with Adam. Tadashi and Adam are the unhealthiest version of what Langa and Reki’s relationship represents). Langa is the support and inspiration for Reki. How many times has Reki altered Langa's board to better fit Langa's needs? And how many times has Langa been absolutely astounded and amazed at Reki's knowledge and know-how? Their skill sets are not pitted against one another as Reki's spiral would want him to believe. The idea that the only way Reki can truly succeed is if he is able to "catch up" with Langa is the exact poison that is hurting him. Langa needs to be reeled back from his more dangerous tendencies and Reki needs to come to realize that his value is not set in comparison to other people. Both of them are currently allowing these faults to govern their behavior and that's why they're fighting. They're both acting irrationally and once they come to grips with who they really are and what they really want, they'll be much better off.

Reki is just as good as Langa for pursuing his passion in skating by going another route than just "being the best," and Langa can be a great skater without having to default to behaviors that hurt the people around him. They can both be support for each other, and be talented and "shine" in their own ways within the the world of skateboarding as a whole. The idea that one has to be the best "performer" in their field or passion is absolute poison and I would be very sad if this was the route the anime chose to take for Reki.

#sk8 the infinity #sk8 #renga #reki #langa #character analysis #a response to a post I saw but I don't know the source #doesn't really matter though #I still make my point lol

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matchamorphosis · 3 years

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 | ღ | 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || what seems to be a normal rich summer morning with the women who lives across the honeysuckle boulevard from his cottage lies something else. a buttery rich feeling that spreads deep within Bucky’s heart as he takes his neighbor, alongside Alpine to the farmers market for coffee.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || fluffy fluff! ➳ part one

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || retired!bucky barnes × neighbor![black//woc]reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 3K ➳ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 || @firefly-graphics

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || if you think long walks with bucky and alpine in the sunny countryside are warnings then so be it but there is lots of food mentioned. ღ also reader owns a flower shop, not a warning thought just some info!

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 || this version of cherry wine by hozier ღ this version of mystery of love by sufjan stevens ღ

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || eeeeep!!! so this is my first bucky with alpine fluff and i’m very glad to have it be the first for my fluffy mini series that i’m doing for this month! ღ I don’t describe reader too much throughout the story but what is clear is that I don’t specify on skin tone but yes the person in the moodboard is a woc! ღ anyways I hope you cherubs enjoy reading! ღ

+ p.s || do not repost, republish or plagiarize my work on any other fanfic platform such as: wattpad, ao3, tumblr, etc or steal my work all together. do so and i will rip your spine from your scumy asshole and shove it down your talentless throat. ♡♡♡

it was a lavish affair when Bucky found himself tangled with you in the bed of a million perennial petals.

clothing falling and bodies twisting themselves against each other in not lust but emotional apprehension. the soft petals of rose, carnation and violet keep pouring like blissful rain, entangling in his hair and in the crooks of your body.

enough to suffocate but enough to make him feel enveloped in the fantasy- the divination of you you you and only you.

for you are butterscotch benevolence that he will let pool like ambrosial nectar in the cavernous hollows of his collarbones. your tears of seventh heaven euphoria trickling onto his skin forming constellations- like the paint speckles on the forlonged artists canvas of his naked soul.

you are honey sunlight oozing from the basin of the candy floss sky, lacing with the shedding petals that continue to powder in their divine scent and morality. his fine pink sheets soft and silky as the rose petals of Heliogabalus, he’d sigh in heavenly pleasure to be buried alive in petals if she was drunk of the love he has for her.

he sees her playing, singing, dancing and bringing her virtuous spring song deep within the glossy shine of her honey hive eyes. love seeping in the melancholy streams leaking through the old creeky floorboards of his home and straight into the chambers of his heart.

so promising yet so grandeur as he feels his chest warm with her very touch, the ivory bow encased in the virtuous flowers of her emblem garden in his hands- he’d think that he was Cupid but oh how he’s been struck by his own arrow in great surprise. straight into the once extravagant chamber of his heart.

the spiraling golden arrow destined to pierce and rip through the tender muscle of breast to the beating vessel that writes a tragic tale of eternal ravishment in the movements of lyrical beats. muttering with languor-glazed lips, he’d keep her love like a an old locket against his chest for it’s what reminds him of home whenever he feels the cold element on his skin.

there are pieces of you scattered in the wonderous arteries of his heart.

nestled in the folds of the beating muscle, take heed.

for that is his home.

y/n is his perennial feelings left unsaid, exquisite pain yet ethereal serenity. his soft bed of roses and his deadly golden arrow, all meant to give his heart hope.

that he was- however it seems the bed of roses and all the lovely elements it holds have come to a staggering pause.

now as the sun hits the past super soldiers eyelids that dream of flower petals and the heavenly vision of you disappear. they flutter open to meet the single stream of sunlight that has slipped past the slit of the sheer bedroom curtains. brightening up the somewhat clustered space of the room with its single golden string.

Bucky sighs in defeat, this is the fifth dream he’s had of you in a month and he was barely pushing past the second week of May. before he didn’t mind the dreams, they calmed his mind while he layed in slumber during the thunderstorms of April but now they were resilient. it wasn’t no regular thing to dream about the women across the boulevard in the haven of flower fields and maple trees.

Bucky knew this but he couldn’t help but not treat these dreams sweetly. they were the definition of sweet torture, you never hurt him in those dreams as he did to himself but it was a pain to know that you probably don’t think of him the same way. for goodness sake ever since he and Alpine moved the only interactions he had with the maiden were just acknowledgments as they passed each other on their daily errands.

he shouldn't be this infatuated with someone who he's only met.

the soft hum of a purr finally awakens Bucky, his cats paw brushing against the half covered skin of his fleshed bicep. it takes a pat or two to make Bucky open his eyes to find Alpines blue hues staring back at his and he gives his furry friend a crooked smile. a chorus of meows welcoming him to another sunny morning in the peaceful and harmonious countryside.

“morning pal, ya slept well?” Bucky smiles as he lazily lifts his hand to scratch the right spot behind Alpines ear.

stretching out of bed till his feet touch the cool wood flooring, following the simple path from the bedroom to the kitchen he pours Alpine his dish of cream and gets started on his own breakfast. whisking hen eggs his neighbors from afar gifted him the day before and toasting the freshly baked loaves of bread he bought specially from the market yesterday.

Bucky normally didn’t take any gifts from anyone, he wasn’t that type of person to feel comfortable with those sort of things but as the days gone by the cheerfulness of the communities welcoming energy towards him has soften his doubt.

eating his simple breakfast paired with coffee, Bucky bites into his buttery egg toast whilst quickly scribbling down his to-do list for the day. of course there isn’t any tasks that the hundred and ten year old man has to get done but there were things that Bucky did look forward to ever since he settled in a month ago. the country was a lovely peacefulness he had forgotten about ever since he was a boy.

traveling to his grandparents farm away from the city for memorable childhood summers in the sun and fields. turning his head to meet the white linen sheets that draped over the kitchen panels, Bucky can see the herd of brown and black spotted cows from the distance. tapping the pencil against the shiny polish of the kitchen table he bites his lip on what else to add on.

his head lifts up to see through the other window that casts its lovely light against his paper. blue eyes meeting the toffee cobblestone path that led to her cottage, hidden amongst the shrubbery of acorn trees and flower budded bushes. hearing from lots of locals in the cobblestone village near the sparkling sea that she owns a little orchard of peach and cherry trees, a few strawberry patches amongst the vegetation.

it made sense why he sometimes finds a large wooden basket of those ruby fruits at his doorstep from time to time. a card inviting him over for some tea that he would agree to yet he would always call you the next day a stuttering mess canceling it over some important errands. nonetheless it made Bucky's heart swell how understanding you were, sweet just like the ripe fruits you pluck for him on Sundays.

Bucky would make copplers and sometimes pies out of them and if he wasn't so scared of the possibility of being too attracted to you he'd head over to your place so he and him would eat them in your gazebo. but of course he can't do everything his heart implores him to do. was it bad to want to get to know you and imagine what it would be like to befriend you?

maybe do lots more than just befriend you...

sometimes he would find a glimpse of your form in the distance as he headed for the lake neat the lavender fields up north to fish something for dinner. humming while you cared for your flowers, singing to them as you danced along the vintage radio. Bucky could see himself singing and dancing alongside you. caring for your precious tulips, primroses and other beautiful flowers that you sold.

those pretty flowers sweet and divine just as her lips and voice when the two first met, when he arrived in the too expensive car that stood out amongst the scenery. arms occupied with bouquets upon bouquets of trimmed flowers that practically shielded her face, his body ran straight into yours when he got out of his car. flower petals falling with the impact and him apologizing one thing led to another and he helped her with her bouquets all while being stricken when he got a clear look at her.

a clear look at you.

lovely in your sundress that flowed beautifully against your bodies soft planes, there was something about the sparkle in your eyes that made him start to stutter. something about you that made his heart bloom in a recherché flower he still can’t understand because he can still hear the velvety tone of your voice speaking your own name when giving each other’s your introduction.

from there on out a glowing ember of clustered stars burned in the pit of his belly when you spoke his name and he spoke yours. it was soft and innocent as the flowers in your arms but the introduction was cut off far too short for Bucky's liking but he promised you a coffee when he was completely settled in. having to do something so he could see you again cause oh how he wishes to hear you speak his name again and again and again till the flowers sprout, bloom and decay with each coming season.

maybe he should pay you a visit and bring up that coffee...

the music from the radio filling the bright cottage kitchen sweetly alongside the birds singing their song outside. Alpine takes his seat across from him, yawning over the new day that brings nothing but lazy laps and baked fish treats. forking a few honey drizzled raspberries in his mouth, Bucky walks to the front door and just in time the daily paper plops down on his feet from the passing paper boy whipping through the grassy roads on the shiny steel of a ringing bicycle.

bending down to retrieve the newspaper, he passes through the sidewalk of petunias and violets till he reaches his mailbox. the wood creaky and the metal rusty but the daisies that sprinted around the opening was a pretty site to see before Bucky grimaced at people from the outside world wanting to invade his privacy. grabbing the letters before smelling the sweet daisies, Bucky looks through the letters one by one. ripping some that had no use for to be used as fire food for his fireplace, grunting that even though he’s away from the tabloids and cameras there are still people eager enough to want something from him.

a soft voice from the distance pulls him out of his annoyance, it makes his eyes lift from his dreaded mail to the women a mile away singing her song as she reaches her mailbox. Bucky can’t help but look at her from afar; and maybe Alpine knows this to as he watch his lovesick owner admire the maiden from the kitchen windowsill.

with some obscene fortune he notices you checking your mailbox as well. heart pacing in his chest, he wishes he didn’t go outside before showering and at least brushing his hair for your waving to him from the distance.

“hello hello Bucky!” your sweet voice exclaims and it just adds onto the heaven that is the morning it makes his cheek hurt from how much he’s smiling.

“hello hello to you y/n. how is the shop coming along?” Bucky shouts and his heart sinks when you wave him over to you.

despite his mind telling him to not pursue closer his heart makes him walk his way to you standing next to your Valentine shaped mailbox. his worries slipping away when there's a underlying comfort in your posture and aura, alluring like the bees are to the flowers. welcoming and warm and he can't help but feel that way every time he's near you.

speaking of you, its reassuring to also know he wasn't the only one to wear pajama's out since your still in your blue silk nightgown. matching silk slippers adorning your feet, you sip from your tea cup as you read what he believes to be a Cosmopolitan.

“it’s coming along great, thank you! a bit slow the first week but that’s how any business starts but I just received my tenth loyal customer and i’m more than certain i’ll be selling lots of flowers today.” you spoke as you smiled to yourself then up at him.

checking your mail, Bucky’s surprised that you have quite a handful of letters and boxes. all written in lovely cursive and packaged nicely, almost like love letters and gifts. it makes Bucky’s heat sink, knowing that he might not be the only one who’s fallen head over heels for you. by all means you probably have the whole village under a spell with just the way you smile alone but he wants to see that smile the most.

he wants to be the reason for that smile.

“that’s sounds wonderful y/n, maybe I could stop by and pick a pretty bouquet or two," you only smile wider upon those words and much to his excitement you even brush your hand against his.

"oh really? have a special someone in your life who needs some loving?" you perk as you open an envelop but the question makes Bucky's throat dry on how he should answer.

you seem like the type of maiden who loves an honest man- yes, he should be honest.

"well... there is this one special lady." Bucky lingers and that makes you snap your attention away from the letters in your hands. voice dying in your throat at those words and heart beat hitting pause.

"I always thought Alpine was gonna be the only one to get to my soft spot- we sleep in the same bed together," he stops to laugh a bit, rubbing the back of neck with his metal arm and you laugh along with him.

"how is Alpine? i'm noticing he's getting into a routine with sleeping in my chamomile beds in the afternoon," you smile and bring your tiny tea cup to your lips. "would you care for a cup Bucky? this just so happens to be chamomile,"

"Alpine is doing good and thank you for bringing that up I was beginning to wonder where that rascal has been leaving for. will have an important talk to him once I get home and- I was going to ask you something," Bucky speaks while admiring how your thick lashes curtain your honey hive hues as you sip the steaming golden liquid.

no one should look that beautiful just drinking tea yet here he is, breathless on the simple action. if he truly wanted a cup he'd wish to drink from your tiny cup, to press his lips upon the porcelain rim where yours once brushed against. drink the sweet sunshine to experience the closest thing to your honey kiss...

"don't worry it's alright! I love looking over at him when I have tea at the back patio, he's quite a lovely guest. very well mannered, and yes Bucky is there anything I can help you with?" you cannot deny that your heart is practically skipping beats in your chest, fast and lively like the flutter of a butterfly wing.

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, for someone who has done the simple thing of asking someone out for couple hundreds of times a hundred years ago from now it’s a disappointment that he’s lost his touch. however you don’t seem to notice or care but that doesn't mean he should give up. not when you're right here glowing in your morning dew radiance, anticipating the next words to slip past those lips.

it's now or never.

"h-how do you feel about that coffee I promised? today? I have a few errands to run in town and I was wondering if you would accompany me- on my errands... if that doesn't bother you,” Bucky rambles to a stop and he's thankful you're still smiling that closed lip grin against the porcelain of the cup.

"yes Bucky I would love that! there's a coffee cart near the shop I work at but what about your lady? she wouldn't mind us going out for coffee, would she?" you speak as you gather your letters in your arms. glancing up at Bucky to receive some conformation and Bucky bites his lips.

"I don't think she'll mind. in fact... I think she would love me to go out once in a while. I have a habit of only going out when necessary, coffee with you wouldn't hurt,"

"that's perfect, i'll see you at twelve then Bucky. you can help me open shop to," you smiled and Bucky returned an even warmer one back.

filling your heart with a rush of liason, like a tea cup filling with tea. something meant to be full and warm, embraced with someone's touch and lips as they drank each fluttering honey glazed sensation they have for one other.

something that seems to be happening right now before they break their strong eye contact, wiry- crooked smiles still embellishing their sun-freckled faces.

you wish you could kisses each one off his clean shaven cheeks right now, slightly rosy but oh how it would feel like peach skin against your lips.

Bucky wishes to kiss yours, the shine of your lips the form of heart shaped clouds and he just can't seem to get his head out of the amorous blue you cast him into.

"i'll be seeing you in an hour Bucky," you draw before walking away with a cheeky wink, your eyes still locking with his before you get to the rosy sunflower porch.

"and i'll be waiting for you doll,"

♡♡♡ thank you for reading part one! ♡♡♡ pretty please like, reblog and/or comment what you think and if you enjoy this join my taglist to be notified of my future works! ♡♡♡

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alisonsfics · 3 years

Text

Secret Santa🎄

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: “Omg spencer and secret Santa!!” - @wesleeporstudy

Word Count: 1.9k

You walked into JJ’s office. The team was doing a secret santa exchange for the holidays. JJ had volunteered to be in charge of picking who each person’s secret santa was.

“Hey JJ, I’m here for my assignment” you said, jokingly acting like JJ was your teacher. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N” JJ repeated while scanning the list for your name. You waited patiently as she found it. “Oh here it is, you are Derek’s secret santa” she told you, smiling.

“How much do I have to bribe you to find out who my secret santa is?” You asked her, smirking. “Not going to happen, Scrooge. Stop trying to ruin the holiday spirit” JJ said, sticking her tongue out at you.

You laughed and left JJ’s office. You were already trying to think of gift ideas for Derek. You loved Derek and he was one of your closest friends, but you had no idea what to get him. You ran into Spencer in the hallway, as you were going back to your desk.

“Spencer! There you are” you said, lighting up when you saw him. Reid gave you a warm smile and waved at you. “I need some advice” you told him, simply. He looked shocked to say the least. “Only if that’s okay” you said, backtracking. “No, of course it’s okay. I’m just not used to people asking me for advice. Normally they ask Derek or someone” he expressed, honestly.

“Well this is about Derek. I don’t know what to get him for secret santa” you told Spencer. You hoped he would have a good idea. “Oh well umm, he’s been talking about some football game that’s coming up. Maybe you could get him tickets to go see that” Spencer suggested.

Your eyes lit up, that was the perfect gift idea. “Oh my god, Spence! That’s it, it’s perfect” you told him, excitedly. You wrapped your arms around his body. You could feel his body shake as he laughed. Then he put his arms around you. He gave you a quick squeeze and then you both pulled away.

You saw the slightest blush in Spencer’s cheeks after you both pulled away. To be honest, you weren’t sure if you really saw it. There was a part of you that was sure you had made it up.

You had the biggest crush on Spencer. You thought that everything he did was perfect. It was pretty obvious to everyone on the team, everyone except Spencer.

Spencer had been pining over you for years and just could never get the guts to ask you out.

“I should get going, I have to go see JJ” he said, awkwardly. “Oh for secret santa! Good luck, just hope that you don’t get Hotch. He’s probably the hardest to shop for” you told him, giggling. You saw Reid let out a light laugh at your joke.

“Yeah, you’re probably right” he said, and then walked past you. You had a cheesy grin on your face as Reid walked away. But, you just couldn’t help it.

-One week later-

You were sitting at your desk, filling out paperwork. You saw Morgan stand up and walk into the kitchen. Now was your chance.

You stood up and quickly walked over to Morgan’s desk. You placed the envelope on his desk and then quickly walked back to your desk, so he wouldn’t catch you in the act.

You continued doing your paperwork and acted inconspicuous when Morgan came back in the room. “Well would you look at that” Morgan said, to himself. “What’s that?” Emily asked, curiously. “My secret santa got me tickets to the game. But it’s two tickets, who wants to go with me?” Morgan asked the rest of team.

“Sorry I’m booked solid” Emily said, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t really do sports” Spencer said, causing Emily to laugh. “What about you, Y/N?” Derek asked you. You looked up from your paperwork.

“Well— ” you said, thinking about if you were busy or not. “She has plans” Spencer said, quickly. You were shocked by what he said to say the least. You most certainly did not have plans.

You spun around to face Spencer. “I do?” You asked him, raising your eyebrow at him. “Pretty boy, what are you talking about? Y/N looks as confused as I am. What are these magical plans that she doesn’t even know about?” Morgan teased Spencer.

“It’s umm— it’s nothing” Spencer said, looking back down at his book. Then it clicked, Spencer was jealous. Could it really be that Reid liked you back?

There was only one way to find out. “Reid, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to the game with Morgan” you said, hoping that would get a reaction.

Morgan smirked at you, realizing what you were doing. He walked over to you. “That sounds great, babygirl” Morgan said, knowing the nickname would make Reid even more jealous. Morgan came up behind you, and rested his hands on your shoulders.

“Can I talk to you?” Spencer asked you, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him as he walked into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” You asked him. “Don’t go with him, please Y/N” he practically begged you.

He was clearly jealous, why couldn’t he just admit it to you.

“Why don’t you want me to go?” You asked him, prying. “Cause look at Derek, all the girls love him. And it’ll just be you two and it’ll be like a date” he said, looking down at the floor.

“Derek is one of my closest friends, we hang out all the time. Why is this time any different?” You asked him, confused. “Cause you’ll both be alone together” Spencer said, quietly. “What are you worried is going to happen?” You asked him, trying to draw the answer our of him. “That Derek is going to make a move on you. I mean, look at you, you’re absolutely gorgeous. I’m sure Derek knows that too, so what would stop him from asking you out?” Spencer rambled. Your heart fluttered when he called you gorgeous and you could feel the butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“Derek and I are just friends. But I think you’re jealous” you told him, smirking. “Huh? I’m not jealous, I just don’t want anything to happen to you” he lied.

You sighed to yourself, apparently it would take a lot for Spencer to admit he was jealous.

“Come on Reid, we both know Derek. He would never let anything happen to me. You trust him when he’s out in the field with me, so why is this different? And you could’ve just said you didn’t want me to go, you didn’t have to lie and say I had plans” you told him, honestly.

Spencer took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to you. “What is this?” You asked him, cluelessly. “I’m your secret santa” he explained, and it clicked in your brain.

You opened the envelope and you saw two tickets. You read the tickets and saw they were to an orchestra concert.

The concert was the same night that the football game. It all made sense now. It wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to go out with Derek, it was also that he wanted you to go out him. And Derek’s football game would get in the way of that.

You looked up at Spencer and tried to figure out the right words to say.

“You mentioned the other day that you were a fan of this orchestra that was coming here on tour. So I got you tickets” Spencer said, sheepishly. “Yeah I see that, two tickets. What am I supposed to do with the other one Spence?” You asked him, smirking.

“I was hoping you would go with me, but if you want to take someone else that’s okay too” he said, giving you a weak smile.

“Oh come on, you dork. Spencer, would you like to go to the concert with me?” You asked him, smiling. “Like a date?” He asked, hopefully. “Just like a date” you told him, smirking to yourself.

“I would really like that” he said, smiling down at you. Looking at Spencer, you felt completely lovestruck. He had that smile, the one that made your heart melt.

You thought of a sneaky plan. A smirk rose on your face. “Come with me?” You told Spencer, then turned and started to walk down a hallway that no one was ever in.

“Where are we going?” Spencer asked, cluelessly. “Shhh” you said, putting a finger up to your lips as you looked over your shoulder at him. You looked around and then stopped walking.

You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s neck and pulled him towards you. His eyes grew big, he didn’t seem to believe what was happening. You backed up until your back was against the wall.

“Put your hands on my waist” you instructed Spencer. Then, you smirked and leaned in to kiss him. His lips felt soft and tasted like chapstick. Spencer felt rigid, his hands were lightly placed on your hips, barely touching you.

You tugged on Spencer’s hair a little, as your lips moved together. “You good?” You asked, against his lips. “Mm-hmm” Spencer muttered. You pulled him closer to you, so your bodies were pressed up against each other.

Then, his grip on your hips tightened and you smirked against the kiss. Finally, you both pulled away for air.

“What was that for?” Spencer asked, breathlessly. “For finally getting up the courage to ask me out” you told him. “But didn’t you ask me out?” He asked you, confused. “Did you enjoy the kiss?” You asked him. He nodded and his cheeks flushed red.

“Then, just take the win, pretty boy” you told him, smirking and walking back into the bullpen.

“So are you coming to game with me or what?” Derek asked you, walking over to your desk, where you were sitting. “No, turns out I do actually have plans” you told him, giggling. “Did pretty boy finally give you the tickets?” He asked you.

You froze, how did Derek know about the tickets? “How did you- ?” You started to ask him. “Please, Reid has been stressing for a week, trying to find a way to give them to you. And I may have asked you to come to the game, because I knew it would make him jealous” Derek admitted.

Then, it all made sense to you. “So you were completely in on it! Oh and by the way, you’re welcome for the tickets” you told him, turning back to your paperwork.

“Wait, you were my secret santa?” Derek asked you, in shock. “Yep” you heard someone else answer. You saw Spencer walk in the room and sit down at his desk.

“Woah woah, you knew too?” Derek asked, turning to Reid. “Yeah, who do you think gave her the idea to buy the tickets?” Spencer said, ratting you out.

“Shhhhh, you weren’t supposed to tell him” you said, frowning. “Come on, you lovebirds. Stop arguing, you both should be looking forward to your date. You’ve both been in love with each other for years, and you’re already bickering as soon as you get together” Derek told you both, and then walked away.

“Thank you, by the way Spencer. It’s a really thoughtful gift” you told him, smiling. He just smiled right back at you. He was happy. You were happy. Derek wasn’t lying, you both had been waiting for this day for a while.

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isamijoo · 3 years

Text

Can You See Me

Written for @amortentiaboys (again! lol). Betaed by @fw00shy! Also many thanks to @orange-peony & @vukovich.

Features Unspeakable!Draco in a Soulmate AU.

WC: ~2.6k.

Rating: Teen and Up

A/N: The fic takes place in another realm where they are 'souls' while their physical bodies remain in the 'real world'. Some lines are inspired by Doctor Who.

READ ON AO3

~~~

If Auror Harry Potter had to describe his relationship with Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, seven years after the war, he would use the phrase "in limbo": neither here nor there. Frustratingly stuck somewhere between nothing and everything. Friends? Yes, but not really. Boyfriends? Maybe, but not quite. Perplexing? Absolutely.

Hermione, an Unspeakable herself, had a theory that the problem lied in their inability to communicate effectively. Harry was notoriously bad with words while Draco became quiet and subdued after the trials and induction into the Department of Mysteries.

Except when Draco was drunk.

The first time Harry and Draco kissed, they had just solved their first case together. Harry dragged Draco to a pub, and after several rounds of drinks in a booth, the alcohol loosened Draco's tongue and reduced his inhibitions. Before they knew it, they were making out right in the booth, unhidden, out in the open for anyone to see.

One week later, Harry chanced upon Draco at the Auror Office when the blond came to submit a report. Harry caught his eye and shortly afterwards, found himself slammed against the wall in a broom cupboard by a charming Unspeakable, who was crafty with a Silencing Charm.

They fell into a pattern. They kissed, bit, and groped each other. Although inappropriate, Harry loved these private moments with Draco. He often glimpsed Draco smiling dreamily between their kisses, grey eyes gazing at him with an adoration that never failed to make Harry's heart beat faster.

They never brought each other home. They never went on dates. They never addressed what they did, but not due to any lack of effort from Harry. Whenever he tried to talk about it, Draco would stare at him in trepidation and despair, as though Harry was going to curse him or strike him with a sword. Then he would use whatever Unspeakable skills he had to escape and disappear.

Did Harry find Draco infuriating as hell? Yes, very much so.

Did he also love the git to death? Utterly and completely.

So when Hermione barged into the Auror Office and hurried to his desk as though chased by lightning, screaming "Malfoy is in trouble!", what would you expect Harry to do?

~~~

Harry landed on two feet in a shallow puddle of mud.

He quickly surveyed his surroundings. He was standing in a clearing in the middle of a vast field of yellow wheat. Earthy brown mountains lined the horizon, and a strong breeze chilled him down to his bones, despite his thick Auror uniform and robes. As he looked down to inspect his boots, he realised that his glasses had vanished, but his vision was perfectly clear.

Harry brought his hands to his face, just to make sure. A finger graced his forehead and — his breath hitched — touched the smooth skin over the spot where his lightning bolt scar should have been.

The scars at the back of his left hand were gone too.

He hastily patted his chest, stomach, arms, and thighs. Aside from his eyesight and scars, his physique was unchanged. He still wore the same uniform he had on at St Mungo’s before he blacked out.

As he got his bearing, he felt the air chill and the wind blow stronger. He heard footsteps approaching and immediately grabbed his wand by his hip.

About five metres from where Harry stood, a tall wall of wheat parted and out walked Draco Malfoy, decked in his elegant navy blue Unspeakable uniform. His skin was pale and there were dark circles below his eyes, but he appeared unharmed. His usually immaculate blonde hair was slightly tousled, thanks to the breeze.

“Potter?” Draco yelled, a hand shielding his squinted eyes from the harsh wind. His dark robes billowed out around his knees “What are you doing here?”

With a grunt, Harry tucked away his wand and trudged across the muddy soil until he reached more solid ground, taking note that Draco was also moving in his direction. “Saving your arse, obviously. What the fuck were you thinking? Sending your soul to another dimension?” Harry shrieked. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“A place where souls transit between life and death,” Draco replied, not having to shout now that they were within arm's length. “Some people call this place Bardo.”

Anger burned in the pit of Harry’s stomach, yearning to burst. Didn’t Draco have any idea how worried he made Harry?

But his desire to scold vanished when Draco asked, “Why did the Department of Mysteries send you, an Auror? Why not another Unspeakable?”

Harry breathed heavily. The wind was picking up and he figured they should get moving, but he couldn’t move, not when Draco was gazing at him curiously. “They couldn’t locate your soul. They needed me to find you.”

Pale eyebrows rose quizzically. “Why you?”

Harry gazed into his cool grey eyes. “You know why,” he muttered. “Apparently I’m your soulmate.”

Draco’s jaw went slack; no words came out as he stared unblinkingly at Harry’s face.

“Were you planning on telling me at some point?” Harry asked softly.

“Do you have a way to get us back?” Draco enquired instead.

Harry reached inside his shirt and pulled out a silver medallion that fit nicely in his palm. At the centre of the medallion rested a small piece of jade stone, which now glowed red. Hermione had told him to wait until the stone turned green before attempting any more dimension-hopping.

With a small squeak of excitement and relief, Draco grabbed the medallion with both hands. It was still connected to a chain around Harry’s neck, so Draco stood close to the Auror as he ran his fingers over the jade stone.

“A Dimension Transporter, perfected by Granger herself. This is powered by your magic,” Draco said almost reverently. “I can feel it.”

Unable to help himself, Harry took the other wizard’s hand and held it to his chest. “I'm glad you're alright. Don't scare me like this.”

“I’m not here by choice, Potter,” Draco clarified, rolling his eyes as he slowly pulled his hand out of Harry’s grasp. “I suppose now that you’re involved, I can explain how I got here, while we wait for the Transporter to recharge.”

Suddenly a strong gust of wind blasted around them. Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him towards the direction he came from. Harry followed Draco into the wheat field, but as soon as he stepped between the tall stalks, his surroundings changed. Gone were the yellow scenery, replaced by a vast landscape of a snowy mountain valley.

Draco appeared unperturbed by the sudden change in climate. The wind was still strong here, though, so Harry obediently followed Draco as the latter trekked up a small hill.

At the top of the hill was a small hut, in which they took shelter from the harsh elements. Inside, Draco had arranged several flat stones to masquerade as a stool and a table. On the table sat an emerald green sphere the size of a Remembrall. A small key-shaped trinket suspended inside the misty orb. Numerous narrow cracks ran around the surface of the sphere.

Harry had seen the sphere before, minus the cracks. He was the one who found the sphere a few months ago during a raid. The sphere was unimportant to the case at hand, but Harry had a suspicious feeling about it, and after blasting it with every curse-detection spell he knew, he wanted to destroy it. But Robards stopped him and sent it to the Mysterious Artifacts Division, more colloquially known as MAD.

The idea of the sphere falling into Draco’s hands and potentially harming him made Harry angry again.

“Why do you have that?” Harry’s voice trembled with barely disguised fury as he kept his eyes on the orb.

With a sigh, Draco went to a corner of the hut and kicked a large rock the size of Quaffle to Harry’s feet. “Do you have a wand?”

Nodding, Harry transfigured the rock into a proper stool, complete with a cushion. He then did the same to Draco’s stone-stool. Draco muttered his gratitude as they both settled down around the table, the sphere glowing ominously.

“The people at MAD sent this to my department last month,” Draco explained. “My senior colleagues knew right away that this sphere was previously used by Dark Wizards in the seventh century to extract a person’s soul from their body, basically leaving behind an empty shell.”

Any talk about souls — extracting, separating, severing — always reminded Harry of Horcruxes. Even when Hermione was explaining to him the plan to save Draco by sending Harry’s soul after him, Harry had been uneasy. Their real bodies — both his and Draco’s — were lying in a ward in St Mungo’s, lifeless and dependent on magic to keep them alive. “Sounds like something you should stay away from.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over Harry’s face for a second before he dropped his gaze. “It’s my job to figure out how it works. I managed to dismantle it. See these cracks?” He pointed at the lines over the sphere, careful not to touch it. “I was able to decode the spell inside it, layer by layer, until I reached the key inside. When I touched it with my magic, I blacked out and woke up here.”

“And that thing followed you here?” Harry raised an unbelieving eyebrow, but it explained why nobody mentioned finding any cursed objects around Draco’s unconscious body.

“I suppose,” Draco replied, uncertain. “Maybe it’s pissed at me for taking it apart, and wants to make sure no one in the physical world can use it to rescue me.”

Harry leaped to his feet and pointed his wand at the sphere. “Reducto! Evanesco!”

The sphere exploded into a hundred pieces before vanishing into thin air.

“There," Harry said contently, dropping back onto the stool. "I should have done that as soon as I found it.”

“Good job, Potter,” Draco said sarcastically, grimacing. “Please remember next time you destroy my projects, that I’m the one who has to write the paperwork.”

“It could have killed you!” Harry protested.

Draco shrugged flippantly and rested his elbows on the now-empty table, purposely avoiding looking at Harry.

A few minutes passed where no one spoke. The wind outside grew more violent, transforming into a full-on blizzard.

Harry glanced at the red glow of the medallion around his neck and pulled his stool closer to the other man. "Draco, we need to talk."

Draco's nimble fingers tapped the surface of the stone absentmindedly. "If you say so. It's not like I can go anywhere."

Now being given the chance to address their relationship, Harry didn't know where to start. So he started with the most recent development. "Did you know we're soulmates?"

"Yes. I'm a member of the Soul Squad. We study anything related to the human soul. The Soulmate Detection spell is a simple spell, created by the Unspeakables themselves.” Draco paused before adding. “Of course, I've tried it on myself."

"When did you find out?" was the next question, loaded.

Draco studied Harry's face silently for a few seconds before answering, "After our kiss at the pub." He tucked strands of blond hair behind his ears and cleared his throat. "I was just curious. There is no benefit in knowing your soulmate, after all. It's old magic; interesting to study, but practically, it isn't useful."

"Now, hang on." Harry's own throat constricted. "Not useful? Your colleagues spent 48 hours going round in circles, no idea how to find you, until one of them suggested the soulmate route. They taught me a spell to make me aware of the soulmate connection, and then I could locate you easily." He gestured at the medallion around his neck, pointedly ignoring the green glow of the jade. "I only needed one jump."

Draco gazed forlornly at the device resting against Harry's chest. "Well, it's not typical to find oneself in a limbo world and needing to be rescued, is it?”

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What would that change, Potter?" Draco snapped as his hands started gesturing wildly. "I know how your childhood and teenage years were influenced by a madman's response to a prophecy that was out of your control. Isn't this similar? An ancient, poorly understood magical force dictates who is compatible with your magic and soul. It's not even comprehensive! It doesn't take into account your emotions, your minds, or your physical compatibility. Why do you think the Department of Mysteries never shared this knowledge with the public? It's useless and even harmful in some instances. It gives false hope and robs people of their agency. Not all soulmates end up getting along. They can even be enemies."

Harry tasted bitterness in his mouth. "We're not enemies."

Draco rubbed his forehead exasperatedly. "Then what are we?"

"That's exactly what we should talk about."

Draco's lips twisted in displeasure as he glared at the table, arms firmly crossed over his chest. "I know what you want, but it's not going to work. You'll get sick of me very quickly. You hate when people keep secrets from you. My whole career is a secret."

"Sure, you can't talk about your job. But you're more than that."

"If I'm not an Unspeakable, what am I?" Draco demanded, the unspoken implication hung in the air.

"Draco, you're not defined by your job. You're brilliant and intelligent. I like you for you." There, Harry had said it. He could not backtrack now. “Hermione and Ron can make it work. They even have a baby together.”

"Weasley and Granger survived a war together."

"Didn't we survive a war too?" Harry quipped, earning a frustrated growl from the other wizard. "Draco, please look at me."

After an excruciating wait, Draco turned on his stool until his body faced Harry, though his arms remained crossed. He lifted his chin and locked eyes with Harry, flinching when the Auror tenderly touched his jaw but neither broke eye contact.

"You can't see me, can you?" Harry murmured bleakly. "No, you refuse to. You always work hard for people to acknowledge your work and that's fine but I'm also right here. I'm right in front of you and I'm in love with you. But you don't want to see that. You don't see me. Have you any idea what that's like?"

Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I see you, but... Potter, if I do this with you but we don't work out," he whispered, "I won't be able to handle it. I'm not… strong enough."

Harry felt an invisible weight lift off his shoulders while another, newer and more hopeful, sensation settled in his stomach. "Then let's make sure we make this work," he said resolutely. "It takes effort from both of us. We have to try."

Draco closed his eyes, another protest ready on the tip of his tongue, but he pressed his lips shut together, visibly holding himself back. He was already making an effort.

When he opened his eyes again, he reached out and cupped Harry's cheeks. Draco turned Harry's head from side to side, studying the latter's face. "You're pretty handsome without those ugly glasses."

Harry chuckled. Draco smiled before they both leaned forward and their mouths met in a chaste kiss.

"Thank you," Draco said after they separated, "for coming for me."

After a few more kisses, Harry decided he had held Draco hostage long enough. Harry lengthened the chain around his neck so that it could loop around Draco's neck as well as his own. With Draco's help, he rotated the jade stone a few times before pressing it firmly.

~~~

If Harry had to describe his relationship with Draco Malfoy, five years after they exited the realm of limbo, he would fiddle with the silver wedding band on his left ring finger and grin happily, no words necessary.

~fin~

LINK TO AO3

#wheel of drarry mini exchange #drarry #drarry fic #isamijoo

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unswayed-au · 4 years

Photo

UNSWAYED PT. V - EPILOGUE

(pt. i) (pt. ii) (pt. iii) (pt. iv) (pt. v) (askblog)

(thank you @supercantaloupe, @oklaheauxma, and @axolotlbeans <3)

(Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.)

he wakes up at the station on the surface with other souls waiting to be taken down. and the souls, the rails, the image of a train that isn’t here yet, the idea of a place he’d only just left--his head is full of images of broken glass and fire, a hadestown at war, a hadestown emptied out with only a few thousand dissenters left, a hadestown whose king surely hates him--and persephone, who had been hanging out there to wait for hermes, sees the look on his face with haunted eyes and a hard gaze and she makes a beeline for him

he's dead. she has an idea of what happened, but she's not going to ask or push. what she does do is this: she takes him by the wrist and says, "orpheus, look at me. you're not going down there again. there's a place for the truly dead, and there's a place for the heroes, and it's not hadestown."

orpheus blinks and looks up at her, and to be met with those eyes in hers is a feeling she can’t replicate. she's not shaken, but the look of someone expecting to be at war should not be on his face, she thinks. he stares at her mutely.

"hadestown ain't the train's only stop, brother. when it stops there," she takes his fare from his hands (when did those get there?) and hands him his ticket, "you don't get off. the next one, that one's yours. they'll show you where to go. you're gonna be just fine, orpheus. you ain't gotta fight anymore."

the next thing she knows orpheus is standing and he's pressed tight against her in a hug, and she's hugging him tight in turn, and he's got his face in the crook of her neck, and she can feel how much he's shaking. "thanks," is the only thing he chokes out

"oh, don't thank me, 's just the way the world is."

(When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn’t make any sense.)

when the underworld empties and the few who still prefer the security of the underworld to the freedom but unpredictability of the Top--those who choose to stay with what's familiar--it's a chance for hades to start putting things right again. wiping out the terrible things like a wave and starting something new. opportunity to change, now that there is little to uphold. cutting out the briar to plant a rose. maybe he'll get it right, this time. Autumn is on the banks of the world, and it doesn’t take long before it’s time for persephone to come down under--this time, on time. and eagerly, to help rebuild.

(of course, his pride smarts for a long while. to be so soundly defeated and his whole empire rocked is a large blow to the king of steel. and the few hundred workers remaining are subject to what comes of it, but they're not so keen to listen anymore, and the more reasonable few manage to get through to him, after a while. with great hesitation, but through, nonetheless.)

he'll keep these few furnaces still running... he'll wander out to the Beyond, now that no one is there but Kampê, and see what has become of the place for the first time in hundreds of years. he doesn't want to let go of the place completely, but since it’s practically emptied, perhaps kampê would be alright in central hadestown. perhaps he will go to all the abandoned places and carve out the earth with his mighty god-hand, crush up the stone and gather up all the metal and throw it into the furnaces that still run, make something new. a rail system...? perhaps not. persephone didn't really like the train.

ideas for something new are difficult. for so long, all he made was factories and mines, automobiles and oil drums, wires, electricity. he still doesn't quite understand why persephone refused them all, the diamonds and gold, light and warmth he gave her.

though he knows that it is wrong, he still feels like he’s right. changing is such a complicated and long process

(The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep.)

but she’ll explain; she’ll talk, she’ll hold hades’ hand and they’ll figure it out. persephone has a voice, and the workers, they begin to speak too; the steady tune of hadestown has been stopped and left a silent void for maybe something different. who knows what will happen; how different things will actually turn out. but they have to try.

orpheus too lends his hand from his perch in Elysium; turns out to be instrumental in helping along the change in Hadestown, the last movement of the red revolution.

there must still be mines, hades says. there must still be factories. how else will there be carved things? jewelry? how will new metal be got? fuel?

"of course," they say, "but that is not all we should have."

"of course," he agrees, in the quiet underground.

(he spends the winter making a little town out of the... bigger town he'd built. spends the winter refreshing the underworld just as persephone spends summers refreshing the overworld.)

(I would love to kiss you. The price of kissing is your life.

Now my loving is running toward my life shouting, What a bargain, let’s buy it.)

eurydice looks around in awe at the valley.

it’s so much space in the open underground. it’s nothing like hadestown. there’s no oppressive pollution; there’s no heavy waves of heat sweeping through the air. and sure, it’s mostly a lot of rock, but... just because there isn’t a lot of greenery growing there doesn’t mean that it’s bad. actually, it’s pretty beautiful, the geological formations, stone structures, and the homes of other elysian heroes in the distance, and the paved roads and the lights strung up in between. a waterfall she can spy far off; a river running through the bottom of the whole place.

and what surprises her is that there is greenery growing at all. sparsely, but... it’s there. a couple of roadside trees; some bushes, some flowers, cultivated patches and smatterings of wild grasses.

orpheus’ cottage stands out to her. there it sits in its homely little spot, and it has the most lively things of all. growing under an electric sun and incandescent stars. tall trees with broad leaves; a swaying field that browns at the edges, but is filled with delicate flowers and tall viridian shoots the closer to the house it is. a fire pit and stone stools out front. lanterns strung from one pillar of rock to another, lights hung from the branches of the trees. a guitar on the weathered wooden porch. she can see it all from here.

it is so achingly orpheus. she missed this. she missed him.

pulling the horse along, her wagon rattles with bits and bobs of furniture and items as it trundles across the road.

all that greenery wasn’t there originally; when orpheus got there, it was all stone and water with no sun or stars, and not that it wasn’t beautiful, but it was hades who wanted to bring spring downstairs, at least a little, to try and appease his wife. and she wasn’t the only one who wanted it. at least, with their efforts to help him along in reconstruction, something’s been done.

orpheus’ little college is perfectly fit to him, but there’s space for another. nothing is there--there aren’t two rocking chairs or two placemats at the little kitchen table, but there could be. there’s space for it, and his bed is big enough for two.

it would hurt to see empty seats and no one eating with him, but he knows that someday she will fill that space.

... (beyond right and wrong there is a field i will meet you there

don’t go back to sleep don’t go back to sleep)

orpheus hears the wagon first, and when he steps out on the porch, he doesn’t register what he’s seeing.

and then he does

and the biggest grin cracks his face wide open and he jumps down the porch stairs, skipping them all, and orpheus runs down the lawn and eurydice runs up to him and they crash into each other, and orpheus picks her up and swings her around, and she’s laughing, and he’s laughing, and they’re both crying, and there is nothing like feeling a shattered heart you’d made peace with get suddenly pieced back together.

eurydice grabs his face and kisses him, and he puts her down so they can kiss in a less awkward position, and they just dive deep into each other and neither of them have ever felt so alive in so long

pulling away, orpheus cups eurydice’s face--both of them must be messes, he thinks, tear-streaked and red-eyed. he just takes her in, they stare at each other, just... looking. drinking in the sight of each other after decades of separation.

and orpheus presses their foreheads together and says, “good morning.”

and then; he looks past her at the horse and the wagon full of things. “what’s this?”

eurydice laughs. “you asked me to come home with you?”

“i did.”

“i do. now help me get these next to yours.”

(i will meet you in the morning i will lie with you day and night til the words you and i fall away…)

gods, they haven’t seen each other or heard each other’s voices or put up with each other’s wit in so long. moving in isn’t all that tedious so much as just kind of strenuous, but every minute is spent with them talking and catching up and laughing and shooting remarks and remembering everything they missed about each other

they’re alone together all day, but it’s been so long, and this place is so strange. orpheus is obviously happy to see her but he seems so focused on helping her settle in and see the place and everything. after so long apart, they’ve changed; it’s hard to tell if this is still Her Orpheus

or maybe she was expecting too much, and her memory of him turned him into some kind of false idol

but as the bright bulb of the sun starts to dim and the sky turns red and the stars begin to wink into existence, some people come knocking on their door

apparently orpheus had sent out word earlier that day. his friends and neighbors are here, something of a party, a celebration, a welcome for eurydice. orpheus gets to introduce everyone and she gets to meet the neighborhood

orpheus starts for the stove to make everybody food and stuff but somebody shoves him aside like “no, no, this is you guys’ night; let us handle this stuff, alright?”

it’s. nice. it’s homely. eurydice thinks about the friends she left behind on the surface. and she thinks about what it was like for orpheus, waiting for her all these years. she’s happy he’s healed and made friends. he wasn’t alone

and outside in the warm air, the fire pit is lit. folks are chatting under the lanterns with flowers beneath their heels, talking, getting to know eurydice, having a good time

it’s all a bit overwhelming for her, meeting so many people at once, but honestly? she wouldn’t have it any other way

and then someone pulls out a fiddle

and they start playing. and someone pulls out a guitar

and someone perks up and runs inside and grabs orpheus’ accordion (and someone bangs their knees and says “damn, i wish i had my tambourine,” and orpheus tells someone to go grab his for them)

and they’re playing something sweet. it fills the air, buffeted by the fire, singing like fairies on the grass

and orpheus pauses. and he stands up and beckons eurydice over to the big empty part of the lawn

and orpheus and eurydice, they took each other’s hands

and brother, you know what they did?

they danced.

words in parentheses: “A Great Wagon” - poem by Rumi “XII. The Field” - song from Octet

(pt. i) (pt. ii) (pt. iii) (pt. iv) (pt. v) (askblog)

#unswayed au #hadestown #hadestown au #hadestown fanart #broadway #art #chapters

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multimilfs · 4 years

Text

Eda Clawthorne x Fem!Witch Reader: Bad Blood

Summary: You’d only agreed to this charade for Luz’s sake. But you should have known Odalia wouldn’t make this easy for you.

A/N: An anon sent in the message of “Even though we don’t know much about her, Odalia (Amity’s mom) being the one who cursed reader. When reader hears that one of Luz’s friend in a Blight, she tries to be supportive, but is worried for Luz’s safety when she, Eda and Reader are invited to dinner at the Blight’s Manor as guests. Just imagine the tension between the 4 adults, two of which have bad blood against each other (Odalia and Reader), one being overprotective (Eda), and one trying to keep the peace (Alador, Amity’s father).”

My dearest anon, I hope you enjoy this. It got a bit away from me, I must admit. I loved writing it though.

Warnings(s): Body Horror Mention, Mild Swearing

It was taking every bit of your willpower not to launch yourself across the table. The only thing holding you back was knowing how much it would upset Luz. That’s why you’d even accepted this dinner invitation anyway.

Learning that one of Luz’s friends was a Blight had been… upsetting, to say the least. But you hadn’t said anything. Nobody knew that Odalia had been the one to curse you - not even Eda. She hadn’t been there when it happened. Nobody had. It’d just been the two of you, making it oh-so-easy for Odalia to place that curse on you without anyone knowing.

When Eda found out you’d been cursed, it broke her heart, but it also ignited something in her. She’d been so angry that her skin buzzed with electricity. And she had wanted to take care of it, to start what you knew would be an intense fight. She would have won, but you’d just wanted it all to go away. So you told Eda that you didn’t know who cursed you.

Eda had believed you without a second thought. It made you feel horrible. You didn’t want to lie to her about this, but you hadn’t wanted to deal with anything else. And you never expected that it would ever really come up again.

Boy, had you been wrong.

Since Luz had no idea what Odalia had done to you, she’d been extremely excited when the Blight’s extended an invitation to you and Eda. Something about ‘wanting to formally meet Luz’s guardians’ or something like that. The thought of being in the same room as Odalia had parylyzed you, but you couldn’t say no to Luz. It would break your heart to wipe the smile from her face. So you’d accepted.

Now you found yourself sitting across from a devious-looking Odalia Blight, trying so very hard not to let your content mask slip. If she knew that she was getting to you, it would make the rest of dinner even worse.

“So tell me, Y/N, what is it you do now?” Odalia asked, her tone dripping with faux sweetness.

“Eda and I run a stand at the market. We also sell potions.” You said stiffly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Luz and Eda both look at you. You knew your tone was strained and much colder than normal, but you couldn’t help it. It wasn’t exactly easy creating polite conversation with the person who’d ruined your life. And you desperately hoped that Odalia wouldn’t make any comment about it. You didn’t want Eda and Luz to know. Not now, at least. Not when Luz was sitting at her friend’s dinner table.

“How… quaint,” The woman said with barely hidden disdain, “I must say, that was never the path I expected you to take. You were always going on about grand plans when we were in school.”

“Yes, well, circumstances change. If memory serves me correctly, you also had grand plans. Something about joining the Emperor’s Coven? But Lilith beat you out. Such a pity.”

You could tell it affected her by the way her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. The whole room was silent, watching the tense exchange with confused glances. Eda put a calming hand on your arm, but you shrugged it off. You couldn’t bear to let anyone touch you right now. Odalia would see it as a weakness. And you could never show weakness in front of her. Not now, not ever.

Focusing on keeping a level head, you missed the hurt that blossomed briefly on Eda’s face. You’d never done something like that before. Luz and Amity were sharing startled glances as well. They had no idea what the heck was going on.

“Does anyone need more tea?” Alador cut in, trying to cut back on the tension in the room. For his sake and for the sake of the children.

“No, thank you, dear,” Odalia said with a sharp smile in his direction, though her eyes never left yours, “How about you, Y/N, would you like more tea?”

“No, thank you, Odalia. I appreciate the offer.”

“Oh, that’s right, you probably require a more… specialized blend, don’t you? To take care of your pesky little ailment.”

There was a twisted sort of glee in her eyes. She knew that of all the things that would get you to crack, it would be a jab about your curse. It was no secret that she was proud of herself for cursing you. For ruining your life, so that you couldn’t fight back. So that you’d be nothing compared to her.

You pressed your nails into your palm. Hard. This is for Luz, you reminded yourself, don’t ruin this for her. Leveling out your breathing, you gave a strained smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. The look in her eyes was bringing back memories you’d forced yourself to forget. It was the same way she’d looked when she’d chanted those words. Those words that had made you into what you are.

A messed up excuse for a witch, your mind sneered at you. You tried to ignore it. You still hadn’t responded to Odalia’s question.

“I do. How… kind of you to remember.” You forced out, but you knew you’d made a mistake the second you said it. Odalia’s mouth curled into an evil smirk and you couldn’t do anything to stop the words that left her mouth.

“Why of course. A witch never forgets her finest work.”

It was so silent you could’ve heard a pin drop.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt Eda look at you. You knew that she knew. That you’d lied to her all this time. That when she vowed to find out who did this to you, you’d known the entire time. But you’d kept it all from her.

At the other end of the table, you heard Alador breathe in sharply. Amity and Luz had both let out startled gasps. If you were to open your eyes, you were sure you’d see them both looking at you. You couldn’t force yourself to look at any of them. Luz would look at you with that sad, pitying look you’d promised yourself to never be on the receiving end of. You were one of her guardians, being strong for her sake was all you’d wanted. She didn’t need someone else to worry about. And Eda, oh Titan, Eda - she’d be furious and disappointed. You had promised to always be honest with her and then you’d kept this.

A deep, startling anger built in the pit of your stomach. You opened your eyes, glaring directly into Odalia’s. She had done this. She’d ruined your life and couldn’t help herself from gloating about it.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. You practically got off on it the first time.” You spit at her, letting your content mask drop. There was no point in keeping it up anymore.

“I still do.” She grinned. You felt like your blood was boiling inside your veins.

“How messed up are you that ruining someone else's life is that satisfying? Though it makes sense, you were never talented at anything else. Lilith tells me it is still a running joke for all of them - Your very public failure to qualify for the Coven. How embarrassing.” You said, allowing yourself a cruel chuckle.

That wiped the smile off of her face.

“You worthless little-”

“Would anyone like a biscuit?” Alador asked, sounding frantic.

“Shut up, Alador!” The both of you yelled, glaring at the startled looking man.

There was a split second of stillness, where your eyes locked on Odalia’s, and you wondered if it was a good idea. But anger overwhelmed your rational thought. So with a sneer, you conjured a particularly nasty ball of fire and threw it right at her face.

She nearly failed to dodge it, her eyes wide. You were never the type to fight back or strike first. In school, you took everything she dished out, until you’d stood up to her. And the both of you knew how that one ended.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Y/L/N?” She taunted.

Then all hell broke loose.

You don’t know what spells you’d both thrown around, but there had been a lot of them. One of you had pushed the other occupants at the table behind a protective field. You may hate each other, but you didn’t want anyone else in the room to get hurt.

Throwing a particularly nasty blast at the other woman, your heart dropped as you felt the itchiness under your skin. You hadn’t taken your elixir today. Feathers were scratching under your flesh, trying to force their way out. To force the transformation.

You couldn’t let that happen, but you had no way of stopping it. The elixir was back at the Owl House and you were using a lot of magic to even block Odalia’s attacks. You put as much energy as you could spare into keeping yourself from transforming. Tears were leaving your eyes as you held it back, trying to breathe through it. If you lost control, you’d probably end up ripping Odalia’s head off. That was the last thing anyone needed - even if she did deserve it.

“What’s wrong, Y/N, can’t keep up?” The woman teased, though she was breathing heavily, sweat dripping from her brow. She was slowing down too.

“In your drea-” Your statement was cut off as a tuft of feathers shot through your skin, forcing a pained noise from your mouth. It felt like your arm was being cut open in a million places. The tears leaking out of your eyes felt like a dam had broken.

Through the blurred vision your tears created, you saw Odalia’s eyes widen slightly, before a satisfied look settled on her features. You were not in fighting condition anymore and she’d relish winning against you. She raised her hand and you closed your eyes against the spell, throwing a hand up, hoping that something would stop the spell.

There was a loud cracking noise as it made contact with something, but it didn’t send a jolt through you like it should have. Looking up, Eda was standing next to you, a bright yellow barrier standing between the two of you and your opponent.

“You did this.” She growled out, eyes full of fire as she looked down on Odalia, “All this time, it was you. You hurt her.”

With the hand that wasn’t holding the barrier steady, Eda pushed a spell away from herself. It moved through the air faster than the speed of light, knocking Odalia into the wall behind her. There was a loud, echoing thud as she made contact. Silence followed.

“Yes,” Odalia forced out between panting breaths, “I did. And you know what? I would do it again. Every ounce of pain she got, she deserves. She is nothing but an over-confident witchling in a witch’s body. She should have known better than to challenge me in the first place!”

Eda’s eyes were stone cold. You’d never seen her so full of anger and hatred before. It would have been attractive if you weren’t in so much pain. You watched as Eda’s magic moved, keeping Odalia bound to the wall, as your girlfriend moved forward.

“Even cursed, she is more of a witch than you will ever dream of,” Eda snarled, nose to nose with the woman, who suddenly looked very scared, “I won’t do any of the things I want to do to you. I won’t lower myself to your level. But remember this one thing, Odalia Blight - if you touch her again, I won’t hesitate to ruin whatever shred of a life you have.”

Odalia’s eyes were wide as she stayed pressed to the wall, parylyzed with fear. With a roll of her eyes, Eda cast a sleep spell, using magic to lower the sleeping woman to the ground. Suddenly realizing something, she turned. You were kneeling on the floor, still doing everything you could to hold back the transformation.

“Luz, my bag!” She said, kneeling next to you, pulling you into her, “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart, just hold on for me.”

The pain was excruciating and you wanted nothing more than to give in. To let yourself transform. But you forced yourself to focus on Eda. How she held you, whispering in your ear so softly, placing little kisses on your head. Your senses were quickly full of nothing but Eda.

You registered a slight shuffling to your side, before Eda tilted your head back, pouring the elixir down your throat. It tasted horrible, but the relief that followed was worth it. The feathers disappeared. And so did that horrible, itchy feeling underneath your skin. You suddenly realized just how exhausted you were, slumping into Eda.

“We need to get her home.” Eda whispered to Luz, who nodded, glancing worriedly at you. She’d never seen you like this. And she didn’t want to ever again.

Taking a look around the room, Eda winced at the mess you and Odalia had made. The table had been sliced in half, the walls were singed. It was not great.

“Send us the bill, kid.” Eda said, ruffling a stunned Amity’s hair as she walked you out of the room, Luz following behind quickly.

You didn’t remember much after that, except for the feeling of Eda’s arms wrapped around you. It was the same feeling that you were enveloped in when you woke up. Blinking the exhaustion from your eyes, you looked directly at Eda’s face. She was watching you wake up with a semi-guarded expression. It was then that you remembered all of what had occurred.

“E-Eda,” You croaked, your throat parched, “I’m s-sorry.”

It wasn’t enough. You knew that. In your current state though, it was all you could offer her. She seemed to understand that, letting out a sigh and pulling you into her arms.

“I know,” Eda whispered into your hair, “It hurts, but I think I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

She shifted, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. Her expression wasn’t annoyed or angry, though. But expectant. As if saying ‘well, then explain it to me.’

“You know how Odalia was at Hexside,” You said softly, avoiding her eyes, “She was unrelenting, but I never wanted you to worry, you know? You were dealing with your own issues. So I told myself that I could handle it all myself. But I… I was wrong. She got the best of me. I didn’t want to admit that I was… that I was weak and couldn’t take care of myself.”

The silence that followed your admission wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t reassuring either. So much was unspoken. You knew that she was hurt you’d kept the truth from her, but you needed her right now, and she wasn’t going to abandon you.

“You’re not weak,” Eda said finally, after letting your admission sit in the air for a while, “I hear you and I understand why you did it. But we promised that we’d be honest with one another. We… We’re okay, but this is something I will need time with, okay?”

You nodded against her chest. You would never expect her to forgive you just because. It had been damaging to the trust of your relationship. The two of you would be okay, it would just take some time. You were more than alright with that.

“I’m proud of you though. You kicked her ass.” Eda said. You could hear her grin, prompting one of your own.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Hell yeah. It was kinda hot, too.”

You couldn’t hold it in, letting out loud laughter. Eda was smiling down at you, fondness written all over her features. Unable to help yourself, you leaned forward, placing a sweet kiss on her lips. A kiss she didn’t hesitate to return. And being mindful of your depleted strength for now, that was as far as it went.

“How is Luz? I didn’t mess things up too royally, did I?” You asked after a while.

“Odalia was going to forbid Amity from spending time with her, but Alador talked her down. So she’s okay. A little shaken up about everything though. I think I heard her planning breakfast with King, as a little ‘pick me up’ for you.”

“She doesn’t have to do that..”

“She knows, but it makes her happy. The kid really cares about you, you know?” Eda said softly, running a soothing hand up and down your back.

“I know. We’re really lucky that we found such a great human.” You agreed with a smile.

The exhaustion that had been temporarily pushed back, was slowly overwhelming you again. Your eyes began to droop as Eda drew soothing shapes on your back with her fingers.

“I love you, Y/N.” She whispered into your hair.

“I love you too, Eda.” You yawned.

You knew that tomorrow you would need to work on fixing things, on making it right again. But for now you were content to fall asleep in the arms of your love. That made all the difference in the world.

#edalyn clawthorne #eda x reader #the owl house #eda clawthorne #the owl house x reader #eda the owl lady #eda clawthorne imagine #the owl house imagine #luz noceda #amity blight #odalia and alador blight #wlw #wlw imagine #eda clawthorne x fem reader #oct2020 #multimilfswritings

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jacarandabanyan · 3 years

Note

📚for the fanfic plot ask thing!📚

Okay so- plot of one (of many) fanfic I haven't written (because to be honest, I don't have the skill to pull this off yet) but often daydream about:

I would love to write a This-Is-How-You-Loose-The-Time-War-inspired spy-vs-spy KisaIta fic. It would feature baby ANBU Itachi trying desperately to find a solution to the tensions brewing between his family and the village (massacre was still a few years off when he first joined ANBU, I believe). This eventually leads to him hunting down all reports/intelligence related to the night of the Kyuubi Attack and finding a few small scraps of information that hint at the existence of the Masked Man.

(He is a pre-teen, so he doesn't really *get* that finding a different scapegoat/"revealing the truth of what happened that night" probably isn't going to fix issues that are rooted in three generations of Village Policy and History, because he may be a genius at killing people but his education has not emphasized critical thinking)

He eventually tracks what little (extremely scant) evidence he has to Kiri, where he comes to believe the Masked Man is operating.

He gets himself sent on endless missions to the Land of Water in pursuit of his pet project, gaining himself a reputation in the process. There are no shortage of missions- the Land of Water is rapidly devolving into three different simultaneous civil wars, and resentment over the last Great Shinobi War lingers enough that Kiri and Konoha will likely never be friends in Itachi's lifetime.

(This is gonna get really long, so here's a read more)

At the same time, recently-made-ANBU Kisame has been mostly assigned to intelligence-related missions, as in canon. However, over the course of his first few months worth of missions, he comes to suspect that there's a leak in ANBU, and he sets about trying to find it and silence it. He slowly develops a reputation for ruthlessness even among ANBU, a cut above the normal Kiri ruthlessness, as he secretly works to get his fingers into every hidden nook, cranny, and conspiracy until he finds the disloyal one.

(And maybe he's projecting his issues/self-hatred related to killing other Kiri ninha just. a little bit. on this mysterious leaker. How dare this person sell out the Village? How dare they give out the information that gets other Kiri shinobi killed? It's easier to hate the faceless traitor than it is to hate himself. And at least he still *has* values. He killed the Few to protect the Whole.)

Over time, as the two develop their reputations, their respective villages start pitting them against each other in the field. Konoha has an unofficial policy of trying to off Seven Swordsmen hopefuls before they can get powerful enough to actually get a blade, and Kirigakure knows that the unstoppable Konoha operative is a Sharingan-user, and Obito-controlling-the-Mizukage is always down to take down his estranged family members.

Danzo is less eager to have Itachi take care of the Uchiha for good, not out of any particular maneuvering on Itachi's part, but because he also remembers the last Great Shinobi War, and how brutal Kirigakure was during it. He sees their ongoing civil strife and fears that one faction will eventually WIN and turn their attention on their neighbors. Itachi has made himself the best operative at getting into and out of Kirigakure- if he wants to interfere from the shadows and keep the civil strife going, he needs to keep Itachi in the field. (Don't worry, he finds other ways to be awful/keep the pressure on).

Itachi and Kisame are a good match-up. Itachi might be a natural genius with a fancy kekkei-genkai, but Kisame has way more experience than him. Also, unlike laser-focused Itachi, Kisame is actually keyed into the intelligence world, so he always has more information than Itachi.

They clash over and over again over several years, and slowly learn more and more about each other. They mature into seasoned ANBU operatives, have epiphanies about themselves and their villages. And slowly come to like each other.

Itachi has his sexual awakening when he sees Kisame rise up out of an ocean of blood, shirtless, effortlessly hoisting a struggling Jonin one-handed over his shoulder, big tooth-filled grin on his face.

They infiltrate each others' villages and insert themselves into each others' missions in disguise. Itachi genjutsus a Kiri team to think he's one of their teammates, whom Kisame secretly has orders to eliminate. He feels a surge of relief when the teammate he'd known since his Academy days dissolves into a murder of crows moments before his sword pierces their chest- his teammate is still dead, but at least this time they were killed by an enemy, not Kisame himself.

Kisame knows his mysterious counterpart is a Sharingan-user, so he infiltrates the Uchiha compound to tease out what the situation is with the clan in Konoha right now (and maybe see if he can figure out who his counterpart is).

While he's in the village, tracking kekkei-genkai users, he discovers Root and exposes it. This is both a huge win for Kiri Intelligence and put Danzo in a tricky situation, since he supposedly disbanded it.

Eventually Kisame figures out that some of the leaked information is making its way to Danzo, so he goes to kill Danzo and try and figure out who he's getting his information from. This is right around when Danzo's started making threatening noises towards the Uchiha again, since Root was just rediscovered (by foreign intelligence, no less!) and he needs to redirect attention off himself and onto the Uchiha. He's even considering the total elimination plan again- Itachi's work in the Land of Water is valuable, but not more valuable than consolidating control over the Village.

(Or perhaps he doesn't need Itachi for this- Shisui is also a talented ANBU operative, after all. Sasuke was originally supposed to be the spare Uchiha left alive in the village, so they wouldn't loose the precious Sharingan, but it's becoming increasingly clear that while he's good, he's not as good as Itachi. Why keep the subpar tool and throw away the masterwork?)

Itachi develops a humorous problem where he's leading three different fake lives, and is covering up with by genjutsu-wammying anyone who might notice anything suspicious in the timing of his long absences. He's infiltrated Mei's rebellion as a spy who needs to disappear a lot to go do spy stuff, while at the same time pretending to be an official in the Water Daimyo's court, while also posing as a regular Kiri Jounin.

His Regular Kiri Jounin act is so solid, they give him a genin team. One of the genin is related to the civilian official he's impersonating in the Daimyo's court, and she constantly comes to see him and tell him all about her sensei. On of the other genin on the team is related to a the Mizukage, and Mei orders him to kidnap that genin away from their sensei, which is also him, so that he can be used as leverage. The third genin turns out to be a secret kekkei-genkai user, and actually wants to be kidnapped away to the rebellion so that they won't have to live in fear of being discovered, and also because they hate the current government. This genin who wants to be kidnapped is constantly fighting with the genin he's actually supposed to kidnap, and whines that "Sensei, you're not supposed to play favorites! Why do they get to get kidnapped but I don't? They don't even want to get kidnapped!"

(Itachi the Regular Kiri Jounin, who is Unquestionably Loyal and Totally Not a Radical Who Would Join the Rebellion, ends up dating Kisame, whose identity as an ANBU is technically a secret. This relationship runs on willful ignorance.)

Kisame and Itachi would end up taking each others' places at some point to take down each others' mentors- Kisame walks right into Danzo's office looking like Itachi, and no one blinks when they sense the genjutsu because Itachi is always casting genjutsus. No one even realizes anything's wrong until Danzo's dead and "Itachi" is making his getaway.

Itachi would be approached by Fuguki at some point with an offer to sell information, and immediately realizes that this is Kisame's leak. He argues to Danzo's replacement that the value of Kiri's ANBU turning on each other is greater than the value of having someone willing to sell the occasional nugget of info. He has to work not to laugh behind his ANBU mask, because Konoha nin just don't get how down Kiri nin are to turn on each other at the drop of a hat. "Turning Kiri ANBU against each other" please, as if the Seven Swordsmen don't regularly train their own murderers. As if one of the fastest ways to gain cache isn't by offing your superiors. It's like Konoha Intelligence knows nothing.

He wins his case, and reveals what he knows to Kisame, who goes and kills Fuguki like he did in canon. Obito reveals himself, same as in canon, and Kisame immediately knows how he's going to pay Itachi back. He's still disillusioned with the Shinobi world like in canon, but he had his initial Pit of Despair moment years ago, when he figured out there was a leak in ANBU and that truly there were lies everywhere. He's learned how to compartmentalize since then.

He pretends to join Obito so that he can feed Itachi information. Together they take down Obito, revealing his crimes to both Kiri and Konoha.

It should be over then- Kisame found the leak, Itachi cleared his family's name- but it's been around a decade at this point. Both of them have played so many roles as spies that they don't know how to go back to who they were before.

Itachi's almost spent more of his life in the Land of Water than in the Land of Fire at this point, and he certainly knows more people there than in the Land of Fire. He's passed his twentieth birthday by now, and he's no longer a pre-teen with no concept of the world and his place in it outside of Konoha Propaganda/Brainwashing. He doesn't know how to relate to Sasuke's fierce, uncomplicated desire to grow up to be the best Shinobi, because how can he think that's a good thing at this point?

Meanwhile, Kisame still kind of hoped that killing the liars/traitors who had sent so many Kiri-nin to their deaths would make him feel better about all the comrade-killing, but it doesn't. He can't seem to reconcile his absolute loyalty to the Village and its ideals with his disgust at everything they do.

For a brief while, he and Itachi join Mei's rebellion for realsies (Itachi still as one of his undercover roles) and help her topple the Bloody Mist government and install a new one, but it's not enough. What she's proposing is still a Ninja Village. It's better than what there was before, but that's not really a ringing endorsement.

Itachi's the first one to decide to walk away. He lets Kisame "kill" him on a random mission in a way that doesn't lend itself to a body being returned or retrieved, then settles down and builds himself a life as a secret kekkei-genkai child who grew up hidden like Mei, but never learned to be a proper shinobi. He spends his days at a quiet house outside Kiri proper gardening and making jam by the side of a lake Kisame made during one of his fights with Itachi. There's a ghost town near the lake, emptied during the Civil War years. He develops a reputation as a ghost.

Kisame walks away not long after. He can't really leave, of course- unlike Itachi, he has no desire to settle down in a foreign country, and too many people know him here- but he does step away from active duty. He "kills" Itachi The Regular Kiri Jounin-Sensei and takes his genin team for himself. The kids know something's up because their Sensei still visits them sometimes, though he half-heartedly tries to convince them he's a ghost. They help spread the story about the ghost living by the lake anyway, just in case anyone starts investigating.

Kisame quietly moves out of his shitty Kiri apartment to join Itachi by the lake. Some of the seven swordsmen do come investigating then, but when they discover that Kisame's just moving in with his squeeze who he really sexily fake-murdered, they decide not to do anything about it. Besides, they like Itachi and don't want to have to write up a report about how dangerous it is to Kiri security that he lounges around a lake all day, drawing birds and cooking elaborate meals in an attempt to blend the comfort food of his youth with the produce and spices native to Kiri that are honestly more familiar to him at this point than the ones that grow in the Land of Fire.

Itachi sometimes goes and visits Sasuke and Shisui back in Konoha, but mostly he hangs out in his new home and lives out his soft, domestic, non-violent dreams with Kisame and his cute little genin. It's a sappy ending.

#naruto #fanfiction #kisaita #kisame #itachi #This is totally different from my other Kisaita Spy AU because in that one only Itachi is the spy

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magicalsalamander · 4 years

Text

Show Me Your Teeth

Pairing: BTS Jimin ⇆ Reader

Summary: Hybrids were common amongst civilians, but monsters lurked, created by the government. H.O.U.N.D, pronounced hound, is Hybrid Operation in United Negotiation of Defense, an allegiance of hybrids and federal officers. They were weapons breed for tactic and war. Special agent Y/L/N came back marked a failure after your secret last mission. Politics involved, you were to be assigned a Hound officer. What happens when the monster, Cerberus, gets assigned to you?

Word: 11.6K

Rating: Mature; Explicit themes, mentions of guns, PTSD episode, possessive behavior, gunshot wounds, cruel behavior, torture, abuse, bullying, crude and discriminatory language. If I’ve missed any tags let me know.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’ve been working on this for a few weeks and I hope you enjoy it. Originally a oneshot, now a twoshot. Lightly edited, please be kind.

| Masterlist | Final

Lowering your hand from your brow you waited until you were signaled to ease. The hardened expression of the Director followed from the crumpled document on his desk to you, he gestured silently for you to sit. Carefully maneuvering your left arm as you sat down in one of the leather seats in front of his oversized desk. The mahogany desk was in a state of semi-cluttered, several stacks of papers yet the items closets to you were impeccable. His gold plaque with his name proudly written was polished as it gleamed.

Politics, the size was compensating for something.

The dark pigment under his baggy eyes shadowed deeper as his neutral expression wavered as he held your gaze. You were glad he couldn't hear your heartbeat, but it was near deafening in your ears. He folded his hands on top of his desk, cinching the shoulders of his black suit that was normally starched beyond movement. The amount of medals on the left breast had him wiggling his left arm in adjustment until he settled. The sheer amount of medals he's collected since his service to his time as the Director of the FBI was quite obnoxious.

You sat perched near the edge of your seat, you already had an idea of what was going to happen. As soon as you got off the plane you were escorted to headquarters, duffle bag still packed. In the steady voice, "Agent Y/L/N reporting back from Victiz. Sir, you requested my audience?"

He reached into his desk, medals clanking, and pulled out a thick manilla folder at least a hundred pages thick. Papers slid out of it as he let gravity take over and slammed it onto his desk. You didn't dare break eye contact with him focusing on the tip of his bulbous nose. The silence was eerie as he flipped it open, he pulled out a thick packet and placed it facing you. Quickly glancing down you read the title then back up, it was your report you had submitted.

"Y/L/N in your recent mission to Victiz, we've," clearing his throat, "come to realize that you require assistance."

Domestics was your playing field, but upon special request, you answered the call to duty, even if it lied overseas. You'd always say yes to the Director—at least, you used to. Loyalty ran deep in your veins as it was empathy, and pretense to serve him. Without him you wouldn't be here today, but…three months, three months had your eyes wavering in darkness.

You took in a deep breath; one you've been holding in for the last three months. You sharply gritted your teeth before you calmed yourself on the discrete exhale. You knew why he had called you and it wasn't because of your "lack of ability". It was his lack of ability to save his ass. Three months, you spent three months amongst a revolution to come home and be told you required assistance. You swallowed your pride in front of your commander. "Sir, I had no choice."

He arched a brow, "No choice?" He tilted his head in condescendence, "There is no excuse for weakness or mistakes Agent Y/L/N. Our country depends on you. I depend on you. We can't afford that type of mistake again—the world may be splitting because you couldn't prevent it. Do you understand Agent?"

Correction, his mistake. This was all diversion from the real problem. You became a special agent going through hell, fighting and outcompeting the rest to prove you were worthy. Seeing the other agents assigned a Hound used to put a smirk on your face. The Director even smirking alongside you as he praised you. With the vendetta you worked hard for five years to get where you are now, to earn his praise, assigned top-secret missions by the Director, without the help of a hound. You raised from the soil, trudged through the mud to stand where you are now—on your own.

Quickly your loyalty was turning to sludge and embolic. You fought to keep yourself empathetic and loyal. He was like a father after all to you. The eyes that once looked at you with pride and adoration turned to hate and bitterness.

You gritted your teeth, "Yes, Sir."

Adjusting himself to sit upright by smoothing out the lapels of his coat, "Every elite agent has a H.O.U.N.D and you are the last without one. The government specially created and trained these…monsters, so things like that won't happen. They never miss a target."

You were aware of them; you had seen agents with their own as the government began initiating the integration two years ago. H.O.U.N.D, pronounced hound, was Hybrid Operation in United Negotiation of Defense. A specialized unit of canine hybrids that were bred for war, ruthless in the way they fought like their animal counterpart. Although they were human in resemblance except for the dog tail and ears. You didn't know much about them besides the occasion you saw other agents with their officer in passing. However, you heard tales of limbs being snapped by jaws, their extended fangs, and their bloodthirst. Rumor or not, you wouldn't question their ability—they are hell hounds as they were breed for.

"Agent, you were shot and held captive." He chuckled but it held no humor, it was condescending. "It was supposed to be easy for you, yet here you are injured. I never thought you'd disappoint me so greatly Y/L/N."

You bit the inside of your cheek taming your tongue behind your teeth. Your mind flashes back to three months ago when you sat down in the same office in the dead of night. There was a state of emergency in Victiz, the country was in an uproar over the tyranny as the public demanded a democracy. Your countries ambassador in Victiz was kidnapped by an extremist guerilla group trying to reestablish tyranny. The Victiz government did not want to be involved in the recovery of your representative.

The Director was right, it was supposed to be a simple rescue. You've run through drills of disarming and recovery a million times.

It was supposed to be.

Sneaking in through a slip in the wall you stuck to the wall as you navigated the warehouse. You hid behind crates as you glanced around the corner. The target was sitting alone in a foldable chair. A single overhead light that illuminated the isles intervalley shadowed his silhouette as he was hunched forward. Assessing your position you quietly loaded your hand with a knife. The sound of footsteps filled your ears. The world paused as you listened in catching a glance around, still in the shadows. Emerging from the shadows the footsteps took on a presence of a tall silhouette to a masked male figure.

You watched as the man raised a gun and pointed it directly at the target. "It'll all be over soon." He flicked his index over the pull trigger.

Switching your blade for your gun you stood up and sidestepped out. Pointing your gun at the captor, "Freeze!"

The man cocked a thick brow then pointed the gun at you. "Oh, we have visitors?"

The man chuckled, nudging the barrel against the ambassador's shoulder. "Your people here to rescue you. Looks like they just sent one, you must not be as important as you say you are."

The ambassador stood up from his chair and your heart skipped a beat as he stood up with a smirk and tucked his hands in his pockets. The pit of your stomach fell and rose to your throat with revolting ad nauseam. Your skin rolled in waves of goosebumps. Immediately you began calculating things in your mind as the man with the gun took a step forward towards you the ambassador stopped him with a raised hand. The ambassador took the gun from the man and pointed it directly at you. "The war begins tonight. Long live the tyrant."

He punctuated each last word, then he pulled the trigger.

Blinking away the memory, you looked up to your commander. "Director, I don—."

He cut you off with a hand held in the air. "Agent, I understand, but we are implementing the change whether you like it or not. You're getting a hound. He will be directly working alongside you and you are to take responsibility for him."

You tried once again, "Director—."

"A hybrid life is disposable but yours isn't Agent."

Fumes tickled in your stomach, yet, you sat with your tongue still; venomous words sitting at the tip of it for him. You—you still were loyal. You knew he was being harsh because of how all this had made him look. How this blunder in the ambassador's double nature had made him look incompetent, the FBI incompetent—and it rested all on your shoulders. Over the pain, blacking out for the most of it, you remember mostly darkness, the itchy blindfold, yet the patriotism you held tightly behind your clenched teeth stayed there.

You were loyal and always will be.

By implementing a hound, it would boost the false security that the forces were incomparable and fearful as whispered about in foreign lands. It was all politics. You were the punching bag while he shined with the glory of strengthening the nation in a time where the rest of the world is grasping for glory. He was making sure agents are strong and safe. In the shadow of glory, you were powerless and under his command to obey.

A soldier's duty to obey.

You were loyal and always would be.

He fished through the folder as he spoke, his voice taking on a harsh tone. "If you had one it wouldn't have happened Agent. I really trusted and believed in you, but I now know your skills. Certainly, it will never compare to a hound's. Don't ever forget you are representing me when you're out on the field." He snorted smugly under his breath, "Maybe you need a whole team of hounds."

You felt his words cutting deep, the bullet shards in your arm somehow burying deeper. His words hurt. This is where you open your mouth. "Director, I do not need a hound. I'm capable of handling myself."

He cleared his throat and sighed, "I'm not changing my mind Y/L/N."

Flipping through the folder again and pulled out a paper putting it over your report. Standing up from his desk he straightened out his jacket and rounded his desk. Glancing down at the application form a picture in the left corner showcases a picture of a man—no, a hybrid, a hound. The hybrid's face was handsome at first glance, but you didn't get to look more than that.

"This is H.O.U.N.D Officer Park, rottweiler, and top of his class. A real monster with a count. Got the impact of a truck when he strikes, and a good shot with a 364 score. The H.O.U.N.D has never seen anything like him. A true beast of a machine."

You read off the same stats that the general was giving to you. His list of awards and achievements trailed off to the second page you didn't bother to turn to. He was good, no he was great, but still…you didn't want the hound.

The Director cleared his throat and in a booming voice, "Officer Park, enter."

You heard the doorknob clink as it twists and heavily boots thumped rhythmically on the wooden floor. You twist around in your seat and came to face the rottweiler. His tall, lean figure filled out his pressed clothes. His white shirt was taunt as it alluded to the idea of the refined muscles underneath; silver tags hung from his neck and clanked softly as he marched until he paused a few feet from you. His black cargo pants that were tight around his thighs were tucked neatly into his polished, black combat boots that gleamed as he snapped his heels together to stand at attention as he saluted.

You finally took in his face, his features were handsome, silky dark hair carefully parted and pushed back, and full lips. Black, floppy ears equally as polished blended in with his dark hair. All hounds you had met so far had a more rugged appearance, scared and tattered from the action, yet he had none. You don't know why but that unsettled you. When your gaze finally reached his eyes you found the familiar rugged tension as they were boring forward and technical in tension. His gaze peeled from the Director's to yours as he finally lowered his salute.

The General stepped forth patting him on the shoulder, "Y/L/N I want to introduce you to Officer Park. He's under your care now."

You meet his eyes, the dark brown orbs, carefully analyze you as you are sure you portray the same tone. You held his eyes as you stood up, and soon it was clear he towered over you. You felt the need to state your presence. You took his extended hand and the callouses and thick fingers nearly engulfed your hand.

"Do you have your belongings Officer Park?"

He pulled his hand back and folded them behind his back lacing with his other, "Yes, Sir."

The Director turned to you and smiled, "Goodbye, Agent Y/L/N."

Your mouth was left clenched as you politely gestured and began walking out of the door assuming he would follow you. You heard the heavy boots trail after you as the door shut behind him.

This…this wasn't how you expected things to go.

Pushing open the front door with a bit of a huff, stepping inside you flicked on the light switch. When the Director said he would be under your care you didn't think literally. You thought he'd be at his barracks and he would just be present during work hours. You had realized quickly that he was meant literally under your care, under your household, you were in charge…of his care. You glanced over your shoulder and saw him walking tight-lipped from the driveway with his duffle bag. He walked as if he was marching, legs stiff and hair barely bouncing. His gaze was the most daunting, sharp and cold. Shaking the thought you shifted topics mentally. You couldn't be afraid of him. He was your hound. You'd have to go back tomorrow probably to collect the rest of his stuff.

You hooked your keys on the key rack. Stepping inside holding the door open for him you hurriedly defend your home. "I haven't been home in a few months, so I'm sorry for the dust and the mess."

He nodded in a curt motion. You toed off your shoes and placed them on their rack. He stood politely not too far from you awaiting direction. You weren't sure how this was going to work. You had a guest room, but it was mostly unused office space. With the door closed, it was quiet, you could only hear your awkward breathing. The tension in the atmosphere was heavy as you didn't know really what to do next. You rounded him nearly flattening yourself against the wall avoiding touching him as he nearly took up the whole entryway. "Uhm, will you…will you give me a minute? Just make yourself at home." You sped off before you had a chance to see his reaction.

Quickly you dropped your stuff off in your room and stood there for a moment. Your bed was made just like you left it, your robe was still draped over the bench at the end of your bed. Everything was as it seemed, but it didn't feel—nothing felt normal. You rubbed over your left arm and the soreness responded. Yes, this was real. You…you had a hound. Retreating you crossed the hall to the guest bedroom. You flicked on the lights and the room was nearly bare, furnished from your college budget. There was a full bed only a plain white sheet over it to protect the mattress. The end table, desk, and dresser were all covered in a fine layer of dust. The walls were bare, but the rest of your house was similar. Ever since you've moved in you've spent more time at headquarters or on missions. This was more of a hotel than a home.

You pulled the sheet off and speed across the hall and tossed it in the washing machine, then you dug into the cupboard. Do you even have any other sheets that are full size? Your bed is a king. Maybe you should just use the sheet you put in the wash. No, what if he wanted to rest? Finding another white sheet, you hopped to pull it off the top of the stack. You hissed as you reached up straining your injury as it burned to remind you of its existence.

A hand was placed gently on your back preventing you from tipping backward. Gasping under your breath you turned your head as he reached for the sheet you were attempting to grab. He was nearly pressed up against you, but the notion dissolved before you had time to register it happened. He held it out to you as you thanked him. Quietly he followed you to the room. Again you unfolded it but haphazardly flapped it about as your arm throbbed. Cautiously and silently he took it from you seeing you struggle again. He began making the bed.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you could handle it. You really could. You nodded rubbing your hand over your forearm. It felt odd. All of this was so sudden. Heading back to the cupboard you were able to pull the extra comforter out. It was a fluffy, white down nearly engulfing you as it was meant for your bed. You went into your room and took a pillow off your bed. You stood at the door as he tucked in the last corner of the bed and he stood at attention heels pressed. You carefully set the pillow and comforter on top of the bed and began unfolding it. Easily he helped as he finished the last few tugs.

You stood there staring at the down, as he awaited you. You were used to being in charge, you fell into the role of leadership easily, but this, this was a different kind of responsibility. Something caught your eye for a split second, you were sure you caught his tail wagging behind him before it stilled just as fast. "There is a bathroom right next door for you to use. The kitchen is free for you to use and eat anything you like."

He nodded.

It was an odd pause as you waited for him to fill the silence, say something, but he was a statue.

Pursing your lips you spoke, "Officer Park, I don't know the first thing about hybrids or hounds. If you're uncomfortable here, we can always get you your place, eventually, I'm sure you will want to anyways. For the time being, let's," you held your hand out to him, "get along."

His expression tightened if possible. He looked from your hand to your face and stepped forward taking your outstretched hand in a curt shake. You pulled the hand clutching it and nodded, "That's settled then." Slowly you began backing out. "I'll let you get settled in. Good night."

He nodded standing there still as you backed out and went into your room. Closing the door behind you you slumped against your door.

How did you end up here?

You rotated your shoulder dispelling the tension from sleeping. As you rounded the corner into your living room you paused in your steps as you made eye contact with Park. Yes. It took you a moment to remember. You were in charge of another being. He was sitting on the couch fully dressed, as he was wearing the same clothing he was yesterday. Your mind was still awakening from the haze of sleep. Didn't he bring a duffle bag with him? How long had he been awake? You squinted at the clock on the wall as it read out 7:30 am. You were still in your sweats and long sleeve pajamas. You felt underdressed in your own home. Slightly nodding towards him as a form of greeting he returned the gesture stiffly. You moved to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge and it was stark clean. It was as if you had just purchased it. You searched the cupboards and it was the same, except for a single random can of beans.

You came back out and stood at the entrance of the kitchen. "Officer Park."

He stood up hearing his name and hovered by the edge of the couch.

"I don't have any food here. I'm going to call for delivery," you paused suddenly remembering, "later, we can pick up the rest of your things from the barracks while we are out."

"I have everything I own with me, Miss."

Hearing his voice was jarring as the only time you remember hearing it was yesterday when you first met. His voice was softer and melodic in comparison to his exterior. For a rottweiler, his ears were more Doberman like as they were perked. Belatedly you then realize they were docked, probably for safety purposes.

Everything? You refrained shifting your expression, the last thing he needed was pity. You carefully prodded. "Park, is that your only change of clothes?"

He nodded confidently. "Yes, Miss."

His only pair of clothing? You anticipated that he'd have more at least a personal blanket, a trinket, something. The Director's words echoed in your ear from last night. "Hybrid's lives are disposable, yours isn't."

Anger fills you as you process it all. You'd expect the government to treat them well, yet they treated them like they were--disposable. Rubbing your left arm, you paused soaking in your thoughts at the small realization. If he only had one pair of clothes, exactly how was he living before?

He sensed your unease. His eyebrows knitted in confusion. Did his lack of items upset you? He didn't know how he could correct his error.

Licking your lips, you moved forward to head back down towards the hallway. "Let me get dressed I'll be right back."

He nodded and stood there with the same blank expression. Seeing the lack of response, you smartened up and turned on the T.V and handed him the remote. "Watch something while I'm gone, I shouldn't be too long. Food will be here soon."

He analyzed the control as if it was something alien. You slipped behind the wall over the hallway. Making a motion you pointed behind you, "I'll be back."

He stared up from his standing position, his knee jerked until he straightened it to place. "Yes, Miss."

------

You spent longer in the shower than you had anticipated. The warmth of the water was soothing, and you felt the painful kinks leave you. Before you got in the shower you called the café and placed an order. After your shower, you dressed for the day. The doorbell rang as you were toweling off your hair. You grabbed your wallet and headed towards the door. As you rounded towards the door, Park was crouching and hoovering by the front door. Before you could move further Park growled viciously, and it sent a chill down your spine. "Miss, stay back! Intruder."

You quirked a brow before you understood what was going on. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath before you smothered it. "Park, step down."

He tensed, hesitant on obeying your command. You repeated yourself, but it was followed by a breathy chuckle. He couldn't understand why you laughed; this was serious. An unfamiliar person was on the other side of the door! He had to protect!

You pushed past his blockade, but he was hot on your trail, body tense and ready the second something goes wrong. You opened the door a scrawny teen held a large plastic bag. His voice cracked as he held out the receipt, "Whoa, dude, ugh—de-delivery for Y/n."

You smiled ignoring his other commentary. "That's me." You gave him the money and a tip as you exchanged the bag from the kid. You waved ensuring he got back to his car safely as the teen practically ran back to his car. Shrugging you turning around in to get a face full of a hardened chest that was flexing as he heaved with each rumble. Your eyes widened as you jumped back nearly tripping. His fangs were out and you realized they started high up in his gums. His ears were perked forward and eyes were darkened as he looked feral. You finally realized why the teen's hand was trembling, the stuttering, and practically running back to his car. His being sent another chill down your spine when he looked down at you, but you gulped it back. You couldn't be afraid of your officer.

Putting on a smile you reassured him, "It's okay, it's just the delivery guy."

As you closed the door his neck was nearly stretched, veins protruding in his neck as he watched the beat-up Honda Civic drive off before you shut the door.

He encroached the door and stared out the small window. Yes, just moments ago you were spooked, but then it hit you. He was kind of silly, he was acting like a real guard dog. Especially when his shoulders slightly jumped as you could tell he was building up a bark that left in quiet huffs. You couldn't help biting your lip to suppress the laugh again. For someone who looked like a mafia boss, he was being fussy about a delivery boy. You did a double-take as you realized there was a small nub that was slightly wagging within his pants. He had a tail? You tilted your head watching it wag before you realized you were staring at his butt. Which was plump, but that wasn't the point! How could you stare! You quickly looked away and began your trek to the living room.

Cooling down the flush that had begun to creep up your neck, you called him, "Park, he's gone, it's okay." You crouched down as you set the bag of food on the coffee table. Fishing out the trays you went into the kitchen to grab some drinks. Looking over your shoulder Park still stood frozen in the entryway halfway between leaning to you and glancing out the window. This time you couldn't contain your laughter, yup, he was kind of silly. "Come on, eat."

His brows raised at the tinkling sound of your laugh. His ears twitched at the soft sound, it almost quelled him completely as the sound danced around in his chest. He…liked that sound. However, he wasn't one to forget his role. Glancing back at the door once, he carefully walked over to you robotically. Standing there you pointed to the couch, "Sit." As soon as the words left your mouth you realized that sounded like a command for an actual dog you changed your wording. "Please take a seat. I don't know what you like, so I just got you the same thing that I get. It's good I promise." It struck you, you spun in your spot, "Do you have any food allergies?"

His eyes were wide as saucers, "No, Miss."

Sighing in relief you handed him a tray that he took graciously with two hands. "Bon appetit."

You sat comfortably on the floor and opened your tray revealing the savory breakfast bagel sandwich. This was one of the first things you had wanted ever since you came back. Bringing it to your mouth you were in heaven as you took the first bite, savoring all the breakfast essentials.

Park was staring at you the whole time, watching the way you casually ate.

You turned to him and realized he still hadn't opened his food. Your smile fell, "What's wrong, is it not what you like?"

His ears perked up, eyes wide as he shook his head, "No, It's alright, Miss." He slid down onto the floor next to you. You watched as he finally popped open as you took a bite of your sandwich. The tip of his pink tongue peeked out as he picked up the sandwich. He looked at you, then he took a small bite before he paused as if he was paralyzed. The flavors danced on his tongue and it was near euphoria. He had never tasted something so flavorful and delicious. The only thing he had ever been fed back in the labs was supplemental meals in pellets or slop that was just an off shade of brown.

You watched his expression carefully, afraid he would hate it, but who could hate breakfast sandwiches? Suddenly his eyes gleamed as the edges creased in an eye smile. He ravenously began devouring the sandwich in large bites noisily. His hands were empty within seconds except for crumbs as he sucked on his thumbs getting all the savory oil. His tail was wagging fast as his pants made soft rustling sounds. You couldn't help it, a giggle spilled as you watched his reaction. A hot blush covered his cheeks as he stared at you with a finger in his mouth. The sound again that was like a call to something internal within him beckoned him to look at you. That sound…he couldn't understand why you were laughing. Nothing funny had happened.

He looked gentile for the first time since his arrival as his eyes sparkled wide. You wondered how he could do that go from looking so terrifying to so gentle you couldn't believe he'd hurt a fly.

You had the great idea of getting extra; you took the empty tray and replaced it with the empty tray. He shook his head trying to place it back, "No, I'm fine Miss."

You placed it back in his lap, "Please, I got more than enough. Eat."

You turned back to your meal and the TV finally paying attention to what was on. He looked back and forth between you and the tray, squirming in his seat. He wanted to eat, but it was too much. His stomach believed otherwise, but he would be fine if he ignored it like he usually did. It was more than he's ever been offered. Were you testing him? Yet, you weren't turning around. Your body language wasn't tense. Carefully he popped the tray open, he gazed at you, waiting for a reaction, but you kept chewing. He picked up the sandwich and began eating, a little faster than necessary in case you changed your mind at any point. He'd deal with the consequences later. Eating so fast he began choking as he swallowed nearly the whole sandwich down.

Rapidly you poured him a glass of water and handed him the glass, "Here drink this!"

He took it and drank the whole glass, sighing in relief as he cleared his throat. When he finally was all right he couldn't look you in the eye, embarrassed with himself. He waited for his punishment, tensing his body for the hit.

You smiled, realizing his tray was empty again. You looked at the tray and realized he was clenching his fist until they were turning white. A sadness overcame you that had him whining as he scented the shift in you. You reached into the bag and pulled out yet another sandwich. You gently replaced the empty one with another, his fist still tight. Softly you assured him, "You don't have to eat so fast; no one is going to steal your food. I won't ever keep food from you."

Although it felt odd to say it, you wanted to assure him. You wanted him to be comfortable. This was going to be your life from now on. Park was going to always be a part of your life whether you liked it or not. He was your hound.

He was your hound.

On a sigh, you spoke words you never thought you'd be saying. "This is your home too." You brushed your still slightly wet hair from your face when he remained stoic, face recessing back into a neutral blank.

As you rustled your hair your sweet scent filled the air. He realized how sweet it was as you rustled back as it filtered the air erasing the small sadness that was there before. It was intoxicating as he waited for it to be ruined by a foul scent that usually accompanied lying. Yet, it stayed sweet, it had been since he had met you.

You licked your lips and nodded assuming that was the end of the conversation. If there was one thing you learned through your training as an agent is patience. He'd speak when he'd want to. You knew space and you'd want the same. Just as this has been a lot for you, you can only imagine how stressful this must have been for him. Maybe you needed the silence to answer more than you could want words from him.

He stared at the cardboard top of the tray. He rubbed his thumbs over the paper feeling the small ridges. This was real. He blinked as he couldn't place the feeling. He had never felt something like this before. It made him squint his eyes, it bothered him he couldn't understand the feeling.

"Okay, Miss."

You were surprised at the sound of his voice that came almost too quiet. You offered him a smile to let him know you heard him. He stared at you with eyes that were swirling with emotions as his ears swiveled slightly. Clearing your throat, there was a lot you had to learn. Oddly, you settled into a comfortable relaxation. You forgot about your arm. You forgot about why Park was being sprung into your life. The failure, the politics, it all.

A halo of light glows around you as he found himself staring at you. He reached up and rubbed over his chest, that odd feeling had been swirling around for a while now. It was probably the need to protect you. Protect…his…home now. This…was…his—his thoughts were cut off by the sound of your laughter again as you laughed at something on T.V. He followed your line of sight and to your face as your face scrunched up as you lingered in whatever was funny.

He clutched the tray in his hands. Yes, that must be what he's feeling. It must be that. He will protect you.

You somehow fell asleep somewhere between the episodes of some sitcom you didn't know the name of played. You woke up on the couch and Park was still sitting on the floor watching whatever was on TV. Lightly blushing, he must've placed you on the couch. Not dwelling on that fact, you wiped the sleep out of your eye as you looked at the clock and it was just a bit past noon.

You sat up straight and Park turned around to look at you hearing the rustling.

You joked, "Hello." He nodded his head.

"Sorry for falling asleep." He shook his head to disagree.

The coffee table had been cleaned. You thanked him for it and his tail wagged again before he tempered it. Getting up and stretching you winced and hissed when you realize you had been sleeping on your left arm.

He stood up immediately, "Miss are you okay?"

You waved it off, "I must've slept funny, that's all." Rotating your arm, you released the tension in your shoulder, but it was sore still as you lowered it.

He didn't believe you. He noticed you were awkward with your left arm as you always were caressing and cradling it. Before he could comment you moved past him. You sighed internally realizing that you needed to head to the store for groceries. You couldn't keep ordering take out. In the kitchen, you dug in your junk drawer and got out a notebook and began writing a list. Knocking the pen against your chin you tried to think of anything you're missing after jotting down the basics. You went back to the living room, sitting down on the floor again and letting the notepad rest on the coffee table. "Park, what do you need at the store?"

He shook his head.

You quirked a brow, "Please, tell me what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

He hung his head low, in a whisper you barely caught onto, "There's hybrid soap that's unscented. That's it."

You raised a brow, "That's it?"

He nodded.

"Okay." You ripped the page out and stuffed the list into your purse. Slipping on your shoes, "I'll be right back. I'll just be a bit."

He stood up immediately alarmed. "I will go with you. I need to stay with you."

You raised a brow, crossing your arms across your chest, "It's just shopping. I can handle myself." He was poking at a sore spot. You could handle yourself. You can handle yourself. He stood chest puffed in full seriousness. The same assurance he had before with the delivery boy returned.

"I'm okay on my own."

"I will go."

Realizing you were arguing with the wall you swallowed your pride. This. This was something you were going to have to learn to deal with. You were going to learn how to be a "team" and work with another. Chanting to yourself, you reminded yourself this was a learning process. "Fine, come on."

Quickly he slipped his boots on and you unhooked your keys and closed the door behind him.

Putting the car into park it struck you. The whole car ride he had been quiet, the soft hum of music playing from the radio had filled the silence. Before getting out of the car you turned to him, "Hey, are you okay going around shopping?"

He turned to you, "Yes, Miss."

You cringed internally at the formality he had been calling you Miss this whole time. But you respected it, it would probably feel more awkward using first names.

It felt stupid but you felt the need to remind him, "Please don't growl at anyone, unless they're a real threat okay?" You wanted to let him know, "If it ever is too much, let me know. We can leave at any point."

He nodded, lips slightly pouting, and you both got out of the car.

Stepping into the store you carefully side-eyed Park and his eyes were telling a different story as he was searching nearly everyone for threat. You decided to let him do whatever made him comfortable, even if it was glaring at everyone. You pulled out a shopping cart and picked up everything off your list including some things that weren't. More things weren't on your list than were, but who were you to deny your love for the good stuff. You watched Park if he took an interest in anything, but he was natural and bleak about it all.

You stopped in the hybrid section. Scattered through the store there had been a few, but truly you noticed other hybrids with their owners in this section. There were all types of rabbits, feline or canine hybrids. Before yesterday you never really noticed them, it all was normalcy, now with Park, you felt more aware. When you passed them with Park you noticed them freeze and divert their eyes from him. The rabbit hybrid nearly tugged its owner out of the aisle. You felt bad for them, but you both had the right to be there just as much as everyone else. Some other canines dared to stare at him before they were yanked away. Okay, maybe Park wasn't the one you should be worried about. He hovered over you, shoulders back and chest puffed. You called to Park, distracting him momentarily from staring down others. "Choose whatever you need."

The selection was near bare, except for the essentials. He glanced back frequently as he selected his soap. You watched other owners with heir hybrids, they were selecting more than just bar soap. When he came back with a bar that was in a basic box you smiled at him, wanting to be sure to always encourage this behavior of making his own choice. "Are you sure?" He nodded and he immediately reverted to his guard stance. You asked him to place it in the cart and then you walked over to where the other hybrids and their owners just were and began picking the scarcest products off the shelf. It must mean they're good and popular.

"Miss?"

"Yes?" You placed a bottle down as the side was dented and picked up one in better condition.

He looked between you and the products. "What are you doing, Miss?"

You glanced at him, "Do you like," you popped open the lid of the shampoo refreshed by the clean scent, "this one?"

He took it from you and placed it back on the shelf. "I'm fine."

You picked up the shampoo back and placed it in the cart and carried on. He sighed and followed along as you kept picking up things like a brush, fur shine conditioner, vitamin tablets, a loofah, and a toothbrush. He had remained quiet the whole time and as rounded the corner there was a very small selection of basic clothing. You recalled back to his confession earlier and the idea saddens you at your ignorance. It struck you that last night he must've slept in the same clothes he was in now. You held up sweats and a shirt up to him he stiffened as your hands were nearly touching him. You hummed when you were content with the sizing before you picked up more and placed them in the cart. Pointing to underwear and socks, "You can pick those yourself." He fidgeted on the spot as if he was glued. You decided to pinch a little, "Or do you want me to pick them?" He unglued himself from his spot and he tossed in a package of each reluctantly. You smiled at him at your small victory. This would have to do, for now, you'd order things online later.

He still stood protectively over you, but at some point, you had ignored the feeling of his hovering. You could feel how uncomfortable he was. Your hand itched to reach out and settle him, but you weren't sure how comfortable he would be with that either.

"You can have things to Park." You turned to him, with a softness that had him relaxing, "I'm happy to get it for you. I want to do this for you."

His tail wagged as you began carting away.

Opening up your mailbox you pulled out the mail then shoved open the door with bags and mail in your hand. Waddling to the kitchen with the bags you set them down as Park came just behind you with his arms full of the remaining bags. The top of his head barely peeking above the bags. Your eyes widened as you helped him place the rest of the bags down. You could handle heavyweight, but you didn't want to accelerate joint pain and destroy the recovery you've made so far. He seemed completely unaffected though.

He stood patiently again as you turned to him, realizing he was awaiting a command. You cleared your throat as you grabbed bags. You found the bags holding his products. You handed them off to him. He hesitated as he nearly set the bags down, "Let me help. Tell me what to do."

You waved him away, "It's alright, I got it. Why don't you take a shower? I'm sure you feel gross after a long day. Do you need help figuring that out?"

Again, he found himself conflicted. He couldn't sense the duplicity in your tone. He waited for you to yell at him. Waited for you to shout commands, punish him for being useless, something, yet you stood up and stared at him with eyes that nearly smiled on their own. He was stunned at the way you looked at him. Gently you picked up his bags and handed it to him, "You can put your stuff away and the clothing you got on now put them in the wash. You remember from yesterday right? You can pick out just an outfit then the rest can go in the wash."

You shooed him off when he stood there dumbfounded. Taking your statement as final he picked up his bags and disappeared around the corner.

You sighed a bit in relief, an ache left in its wake. You hadn't realized how tense you were all day. Taking care of someone else was exhausting. The way he was looking at you was confusing. It was like he was expecting something, but you weren't sure what. Instead of dwelling on the what-ifs, you sorted all the groceries. It was odd seeing your home full of food. You never had this much food before. You always made instant food when it was just yourself. You folded all the plastic bags into one and placed them in a bin by the front door. Coming back you glanced around the kitchen, then picked up the mail.

You shifted through it as the majority of it was junk mail with a few exceptions of bills. Stuffing it into the wall rack for your mail you were cautious to separate the bills from junk.

Your phone begins vibrating in your pocket. You read the caller ID, 000, and your face hardened. You answered and a distorted voice spoke, "Report tomorrow at 0700 for a new assignment." There was a click and the call was over. Sighing heavily you tossed your phone on the counter uncaring if it cracked the screen. You leaned on the counter, elbowed supporting your head as you run your fingers through your hair. You clutched your head, breathing through your nose.

He came out of the corner, his hair slightly dripping wet as he toweled off his ears. His face scrunched up in disgust, it smelled sour. It was from you, clutching the towel he rounded the corner as you were standing back up. Your face was slightly flushed, and your eyes held this look of exhaustion. The smile had disappeared from you. He dropped his towel as he marched over to you, "Miss, is everything alright? Did I do something wrong? I knew I should've helped you. I'm—."

Your eyes widen in surprise as he nearly rushed you. Realizing your position you laughed it off, and quiet his resolve, although your voice isn't as strong as you wish it could've been. "No, I'm fine, It's fine." He didn't believe you as he carefully looked over your face.

You realized his hair was dripping. You picked up the towel from the floor and tiptoed slightly as you rustled the towel over his hair. "Don't walk around with wet hair, it's cold out. You can't be catching a cold." You were careful of his ears.

He froze on the spot.

When you pulled away, your smile had returned. He was staring directly at you, nearly inches apart, eyes wide. Your heart skipped a beat. You took in his jawline, tawny skin that was slowly turning rosy and his pupils dilating. Realizing your position and what you had done you dropping the towel and it draped over him like a ghost. He whined as you laughed going towards the fridge. You try to cover your embarrassment by acting normal, "Dry your hair with the dryer next time." You opened up the fridge, "Let's eat."

One ear popping out he pulled the towel back he stepped forward, "Let me help Miss." His cheeks were rosy, and you sure yours was too.

Surrendering to his eagerness your cave, "Okay."

Surprisingly Park was a great cook. You gave him simple instructions to cut vegetables and they were sliced and diced neatly. You thanked him as you slid them off into the pan. The house filled with the smell of stir fry and just in time the rice cooker jingled as you turned off the burner.

"Can you get some plates, please? It's in the left cabinet."

He nodded and set two plates beside you. With your good hand, you scooped food onto the plates. When they were filled, he took them to the table without propagation. You fished inside the fridge for some cold water and the drawers for utensils and brought that to the table with you.

Looking at the table with steaming plates Jimin stood by the table waiting for you. You set the water down and utensils and sat down. Your eyes glowed as you stared at the food. You picked up your fork and began poking at your food and shoved it in your mouth. You're a few bites in before you realized he was sitting across the table food untouched. He picked up his fork and began eating after you had taken your first bites.

You wanted to know more, you wanted to understand why. The report the Director gave was bare-bones, but you could inquire enough. You had been on a mission before countless times, analyzed war criminals, and more, but this felt out of reach. If you were going to keep Park then you wanted to know more. There was no better way of getting information than just asking. You swallowed your food then asked, "Park, may I ask you something?"

His body tensed slightly as he swallowed and answered formally, "Yes, Miss."

While shopping today you did your shallow research as you watched those with hybrids of their own. All hybrids had something around their necks, collars, like chokers around their neck. You casually inquired, "Do hybrids wear…collars?"

"It's a sign of identification and ownership."

You quirked your brow, "Do you have one."

He pulled out from his shirt dog tags on a silver ball chain. You nodded at it and kept poking at your food. The biggest question sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't ask it. Instead, you choose to look him over. "Do you like your new clothes? Do they fit right?"

He nodded rapidly, "Yes, Miss."

They looked comfortable as they fit him a bit oversized, but it would give him wiggle room.

He finished his meal and stood from the table taking it to the sink. You followed shortly after with your dish. He fidgeted on the spot before he thanked you for the meal. Shutting off the water and drying your hands on the towel rack you leaned against the counter.

"Park."

He paused and robotically turned and stood at attention at the entrance of the kitchen. You looked down then back up at him, "New assignment—for us, meeting tomorrow at headquarters. Be up early."

His posture stiffens. As his hands began clutching at his sweatpants. He nodded then rounded about the corner slipping into his room.

You flicked off the kitchen light as you signed, why did that feel so heavy? You massaged your arm as you walked to your room. That night you laid in bed doing a bit of research on hybrid things. You browsed for a few hours shopping for things that others recommended. You bought clothes varying from dark in color to light unsure of where his palate was. You guess the size going for the larger size for safety and it possibly shrinking in the dryer. You'd rather him be comfortable than enclosed in his clothes. Checking out you bought a list full of things, but you don't spend your paycheck on yourself, so you placed it in your cart without a second thought. He deserved it.

You shut your laptop and thought about the hound sleeping in the next room over. Was he sleeping alright? You heavily sigh allowing your body to sink into your bed. You were going to have a long day tomorrow and you needed your sleep. Closing your eyes you had a million thoughts going, but the main one was of the hound in the room over.

You just had to hold out for tomorrow.

"Your next mission agent is to be the personal guard the governor on his trip to the capitol from the airport. He will be arriving from the capital after receiving an acknowledgment from the president and we expect a lot of eyes to be on him."

Your blood boiled internally. This was a job meant for a mid-rank agent, not you. Yet, you tried to sound eager, "Yes, Sir."

He smiled, it felt so greasy. "Your mission starts in three months upon his arrival."

"Understood, Sir."

He looked towards Jimin who stood at the edge of the room at attention. The Director smiled, "Park, is Y/l/n treating you well?"

"I'm content Sir."

The Director looked at you, "I knew this was a great idea. You are much better off with him."

He stood up and you followed along clenching your jaw. "Thank you, Sir."

As you were walking away. "Agent Y/L/N."

You turned on your heel completely facing him. "No more mistakes."

Your face was hard set, yet pleasant enough. Park noticed your fist clenching as you crossed them behind your back.

"Understood Sir."

Park followed along silently. He could smell the change in your scent—it was ruining the sweetness. You stood in front of the elevators and pressed the down button. Park waited behind you, standing tall. He had no idea why you were uncomfortable. He found the Director behavior odd. What had he meant by making a mistake?

When the elevator opened you stepped in and immediately into the floor panel you punched in the code 45730 harder than necessary. For a second the elevator stalled, then it began dropping down. The elevator went beyond the parking garage basement as it continued to drop. Jimin's eyes watched, internally reading himself for anything.

Without saying anything you stepped out of the elevator he followed you to an internal door. You scanned your ID before you stamped your finger to go inside. Jimin scanned his dog tags and was allowed inside behind you.

As the door whorled open with an electrical buzzer sounding off, a sudden bang introduced you both to the gym. Flashes of light caught his attention as he looked into glass rooms. The rooms each were unique and technical as digital screens were projected in the air with stats while within the room holographic simulations of hostile scenarios played as agents trained. You kept marching like you were running to a fire. He only caught glimpses of the intense training going on, monitoring their movements in those split seconds. The arena opened up and agents were firing off in succession as they shot down the range. Seeing rows of stations, he realized you had brought him to a gun range.

You rotated your left shoulder. You stepped up to a station and placed your hand on top of the glass desk. The monitor glowed blue as a digital screen popped up. "Put your hand on the glass Park." He followed along, and the desk expanded into a dual station. His information appeared on the screen alongside yours. Selection of weapons appeared next, "Pick what you want to use."

He went through and selected a handgun like yourself. The proper wear appeared on the right wall of the station. The guns were simultaneously present from the walls.

After having the debriefing, you found yourself feeling wound up. You wanted to prove yourself again, prove you were good enough. The drudging task he gave you, protecting the newly elected governor, was for the rookies. Grabbing it you inspected it thoroughly. You shook out your left hand. The guns weren't typical, although they recoil, sound and weighed as much as a real one, they weren't.

You didn't meet eyes with Park as you spoke, "I'm sure you've done this before."

He had. Too many times to count. He had spent a lot of time in ranges, less modern than this. He remembers when he was a young pup and he stood at the other end of the rage facing the abysmal barrel. Officers commanded the older hounds with real guns. It was a miss and survive. A test for all.

He was brought to the present when the holographic screen began changing as infographics and widgets displayed difficulty levels, strategy, and intensity. Selecting a random high-performance program you reached over and pressed the approval for his side of the dual station to fully expand to accommodate you both. His eyes followed the station walls as they moved and widened a few feet. Your eye twitched as you brought your arms up finger away from the trigger as you tightened your hips.

"Ready yourself, Park."

Selecting random the widget flipped through until it stopped on the hostage situation. A short debriefing appeared on the screen, entailing the scenario. Your shoulders tightened, a thing you learned to never due, and the motion caused you to wince as you felt the muscle tug around your injury. You were fine. You were fine.

Situation: A bank robbery and the civilians inside and employees are being held, hostage. Save the hostages.

As soon as the countdown began on the screen from three, two, one, the bank doors opened, and fake comrades joined you both as you enter. Five criminals circulate the main lobby as they surround hostages piled in the middle. The simulation was interactive, and it expected you to act accordingly. Slipping into your roll you commanded, "Drop the weapons and get down!"

Park held his position as his gun was raised defensively mirroring your stance.

The criminals laughed simulated jargon of them arguing and they refused to place down their weapons. You repeated your commands and they still refused. You scanned the room again, analyzing the exits, windows, and corners, there weren't many options, but the desk offered refuge. Counting the seven hostages surrounded by the five criminals, the odds of getting the robbers away were slim. But the margin of possibility was where you thrived.

"Park, on my mark."

Just like you had predicted the robber facing you reacted hotly by grabbing a hostage and holding a gun to their temple. "I'll do it! I'll do it!"

You continued, "Release the hostage, no one has to get hurt. Put down your weapons!" You slightly nodded but Park had caught it as the mark.

The robber's hand trembled with anger before he threw the hostage and began unleashed rounds at you. Screams and sounds of chaos erupted. The other criminals began targeting the other commanders. Your eyes worked a million miles an hour as you dodged bullets moving forward behind the wall. Park was opposite of you, finding a shield in the opposing wall.

When the sound of gunshots paused you took the chance and shot at the criminals.

"Park, right!"

He let a few rounds out, both successful as they land their targets. The hostages scream and run towards you but disappeared as they simulate running past you.

A robber appeared next to you as you fired at their extremities. Death is never the goal, inebriation is. Assassination isn't a solution. The bank begins shifting into the warehouse as you panted, breathing faster and faster. Seeing the lone chair and a man with a gun pointed at you took form. A slow smirk built on their face as their finger shifted to be over the trigger and they pulled. You had been so lost in thought you forget what was going on. Suddenly you were pushed back as he stood in front of you. His side of the screen flashed red. He had been shot, kill shot to the chest

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped. "PARK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, "Protecting you."

You gazed at him, shock filtered, again those words ring clear in your ears: hounds are disposable. Bile built in your throat. If this was real, he would've been dead. You failed Park. You…failed, again.

Panic filled your heart creeping like an icy cold grip and your hand began to tremble. Your face was stone cold, but inside a storm was brewing.

Boisterous laughter filtered through and broke you from your beginning hysteria. They snorted at the end of their sinister laughter, bringing their hand up to cover their mouth. You pulled your trembling hand behind you as you turned and Jimin looked over your shoulder.

Eyeing you up and down and then Park a snarky smirk plastered on her lips as they stride closer to you both. "Ah, Y/L/N, you finally got one." Her eyes stared at Park for a moment longer than necessary. Subtly you shifted yourself in front of him. "I see the Director finally recognized that you weren't perfect." Her lips pulled higher. Agent Smith had been in the federation longer than you have. Her father was from the same fraternity as the Deputy Director. She let everyone know proudly where she came from and how she knew people in high places. Instantly you were rivals after she opened her mouth. However, during training, she was one of your main motives for climbing the ladder. You were better than some rich girl with connections. Proudly you climbed to your position on your own, no family, no friends, just you.

It's always been that way anyway.

Finding yourself on steady grounds, pushing nausea aside, you smirked back sweetly. Setting your gun down, "I'm glad your back safe Smith. Your last mission was watching that rich girl from Montenegro, right? How was it playing a shopping assistant?"

Her smirk didn't deter. "Assistant? Please. At least I didn't fail. Daddy told me all about how the Director said you were a failure. You couldn't handle a simple rescue mission. Makes me concerned for the rest of us."

She cut deep and quick. Park next to you listened to it all, quickly glancing at you. He hadn't heard of this. He wasn't told why he was now your hound. He could feel you change though. It was unsettling him.

Quick on your feet, "The only concern you should have is if Daddy is going to buy you another spot on a mission. How much did your Daddy pay for your last mission?" It was petty. This was petty, out of character. Today wasn't your day.

Her face blistered with anger. "You bitch! I wish they left you in Victiz to die in that cell."

Park growled, a rolling growl. Her eyes widened in surprise like yours. Park's eyes were jet black, he appeared like a feral beast encroaching over you with his presence. His fangs were exposed as his lips pulled back. He made no motion forward, but Smith knew if she moved offensively, he would act. Realizing she was out of her reach, Smith flinched as she corrected herself rolling her eyes pretending it didn't bother her. You hadn't realized her hound was behind her. Stomping away she picked a station leaving you standing there with Park.

You hadn't realized her hound had been with her as he stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Cerberus." The name came shakily out of the hound, their doe eyes staring, body frozen. "Yo-you're alive." The word came out as a whisper. The hound didn't get say more as Smith snapped calling the hounds attention. Without another word, the hound booked it, tail between his legs.

Park watched the hound with careful eyes. Your mind was elsewhere, desperately swallowing anger. You turned back to the monitor as it blared out "Mission Failed." You were too embarrassed to look at him. You were ashamed of yourself. You had never acted that way. You never let her get under your skin. The last comment stung like a slap across your face. Who was this person you've become? You shut it down quickly, setting all things back appropriately.

"We're leaving." You commanded stiffly.

He watched you for a few moments as you held your left arm as you walked away. Setting his gear down he began after you.

The house was dark, yet you didn't bother flicking on the lights as you took off your shoes in the entryway. The quiet ride home had let your though mull over. You were so disappointed with yourself. Words from the director, Smith, you could handle hers, but…Park, when he took the bullet for you—it was all too much. You were fatigued, your arm was ebbing in pain. "I'm going to sleep." Without further explanation, you rounded the corner and went into your room.

He stood there in the entryway, the darkness feeling suffocating as you walked away. He couldn't understand why you were so upset. He couldn't understand why you screamed at him when he took the bullet for you. Why was that woman yelling at you, he couldn't control it when she said you should die in that cell. He was going to protect you. You would never die as long as he was around. Where did he go wrong? If his ears could flatten, they would. If his tail could hide between his legs, it would be. He messed up, again.

He found his feet moving before he was aware of it. He wanted to reach out. His feet were moving fast until he felt a surging pain followed by a crunch on the hardwood floor. Retracting back he realized it was your ID. Picking it up he stared at it, the person in the ID looked so cold, so frigid, similar to how you looked now. It made his insides itch uncomfortably, it felt wrong. That you felt wrong.

Clutching it in his fist he walked through the darkness, eyes adjusted for it, and he stood in front of your door. He could hear your soft breathes, but your heart was beating fast. The tainted scent that was normally sweet was nearly rolling from under your door like smoke. He clutched your ID in his hand tight enough that the edge of the plastic badge dug into his skin.

Soft knocks rapped at your door. It took you a moment before you answered. Park was standing at the door staring at you directly. It felt like time had slowed before his fist unclenched and he held out your ID. You took it from him staring down at it. All your energy had been sapped from you and in barely a whisper, "Thank you."

His tongue poked through his thick lips as he opened his mouth but he clamped it shut quickly. He began turning on his heel heading back to his room.

"Park." Guilt ate at you.

He paused and turned robotically.

Clenching your ID. "I don't want you to ever take a bullet for me." His eyebrows perked. "You are not disposable, especially not because of me." You knew he had heard everything Smith had said. "I'm sorry you're in this mess. I'm sorry you're tied to me. Again, let me know if you want to leave, I'd understand."

You closed the door unaware of the sullen look on his face. The mask breaking for a crescent fallen expression. He moved at the speed of light catching the door before you closed it. The fire in his eyes raged like rumbling lava. He pulled it open fully as you stood there shocked. His posture was strong as the muscles bulged from underneath his shirt.

"Do you want me to leave?" Your mouth fell agape, caught off guard. Vulnerability bled through his words, yet it still sounded scripted, like a duty. But a part of you wanted to believe it wasn't just his duty. It was too quiet and panic began to fill Park's chest replacing the itch. "Please, don't make me leave. Please…I don't want to –I'm going to protect you until the end I promise, please, don't make me leave."

Your heart broke as you fought back tears. The harshness of his words hit you, especially as he punctuated the last three words. Although you had only been with him shortly, you didn't hate him. You had forgotten, selfishly belatedly realized how your behavior had a profound effect on him.

"Stay." You cleared your throat and spoke clearly, "You can stay."

It was silent between you both. He was trembling. His hands felt itchy again, that odd feeling he had of wanting to reach out instead he reverted to comfort. He resumed attention stance, "Yes, Miss."

"Y/n. Call me y/n. Don't call me Miss anymore."

His pupils dilated hearing your name for the first time. He had never called anyone by their first name before. He felt almost like he was committing treason, but he tested it anyway. "Y/n."

You smiled and nodded. That smile, that smile was now making his stomach itch again.

He fidgeted in his place, muttering, "Jimin…my name is Jimin."

The man, who often looked like he could crush iron with his fist, and gaze destroy a city with a blink, he looked like a puppy in front of you. You smiled. Without even realizing what you were doing you reached up and ruffled his hair.

His eyes were so wide. You pulled your hand back and retreated with a blush on your face after you realized what you had done. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own. Quickly you sputtered out, "Sorry. Good night Jimin."

He wished you hadn't stopped. His tail was wagging a million miles per hour.

"Good night Y/n."

| Masterlist | Final

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