#But girl Duck? She's completely fabricated. No firm ground to stand on

[zerozeroren]

Feeling wistful feelings over the fact that the form of Ahiru the majority of us viewers end up loving and rooting for the most (girl Ahiru) is also the most illusive and unreal of the three

[scuttling]

And this I promise from the heart

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,428 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Fluff, Hot tub foreplay, Hiking, Hotch is into plants, Rough sex, Hickies, Biting, Mirror sex Summary: Includes a scene Inspired by @ssahotchie and this ask. Collection: Just The Way You Are Series, Part 2 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (Coming Soon!) Part 4 Link to A03 or read below! “Sunny. Sunny,” Aaron calls in his deep, even voice, and the six-month-old Golden Retriever at your feet wags her tail, looks up in your direction.

“Daddy’s home, Sunny girl. Do you want to get daddy?” She rises to her feet, looks out the door, down the hall, then back at you, tail thumping against your desk chair. “Go get daddy.” She takes off running, and you smile, turn back to your work. You can hear the jingle of her tags as Aaron scratches her neck—she’s probably two seconds from flopping onto her back for a belly rub, which, you know, you completely get—and his voice as he asks her if she’s had a good day.

If anyone doesn’t believe Aaron is a soft, gooey marshmallow of a man beneath the buttoned-up federal agent exterior, you welcome them to witness one exchange between him and his dog.

A few minutes later, he walks into your office, Sunny at his heels, and you look up, raise your eyebrows. “Oh, is it my turn to be greeted now?” you tease, and you stand, meet him for a kiss.

“Not jealous, are you?”

“Only a little, but I’ll let you make it up to me.” He wraps an arm around your waist, smooths a hand up your back, kisses you again, but this time it’s slower, warmer, and you’re a little breathless when he pulls back.

“Planning on making it up to you tonight—or, all weekend, actually. Derek offered to watch Sunny, and I pulled some strings and was able to rent us a cabin near the national park. I thought maybe we could get away, get some fresh air, hike the trails? I know it’s not the beach, but on short notice I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask with a grin, holding onto his arms. This is totally unexpected, so thoughtful it makes your chest ache. You lean up to kiss him repeatedly, soft and sweet. “Thank you, baby, really. I can’t tell you how excited I am.”

“You’re welcome. I should have thought of something like this sooner; I’m sorry I’ve been a little oblivious.” He frowns, and you move your hands to his face, guide him down for a deeper kiss.

“I know you have a lot on your plate, and I love our life exactly as is—going away with you is just a bonus.”

“Well it’s a bonus you deserve,” he says, pulling you closer. “I want to be more attentive; I don’t want to fall back into my old habits.”

“You’re very attentive; I wasn’t exactly forthcoming with my thoughts, so I can’t blame you for not reading my mind. Let’s promise to talk more about things that matter,” you suggest; he agrees, and you kiss again before heading to your bedroom to pack your bags. After getting the car packed for the trip, you head to Derek's to drop off Sunny and her things—with lots of pets and kisses for Sunny, and a tight, appreciative hug for Derek—and then stop for dinner on your way to the cabin.

Aaron is so light and happy, you almost wish you’d gotten drunk and asked for a vacation sooner, even if it is only a weekend away.

The cabin is beautiful, all deep cherry wood and high ceilings, a stone fireplace; there is a swimming pool, a hot tub, and a finished wraparound deck that overlooks the forest. It promises peace, quiet, solitude—a perfect place for you and Aaron to reconnect and spend some one-on-one time together.

You unpack your clothes and toiletries, and Aaron unpacks the kitchen things: coffee, water, and wine, breakfast ingredients, snacks. You meet him downstairs when you’re finished, and he is sitting out on the patio with two glasses of wine on the table in front of him. You feel a little like you’ve died and gone to heaven.

“You’re so good to me,” you tell him when you step out onto the deck. You intend to sit down in the chair across from him, but he reaches out, curls a hand around your forearm and guides you to sit in his lap instead. You wrap an arm around his neck, loosely drape the other over his chest, look up at his gentle face. “So very good to me.”

“All I want is to be good to you; I just want to make you happy,” he murmurs, and he leans in to kiss you—it’s a very specific type of kiss, slow and passionate, one that makes you crave his touch on your bare body, and you make a soft, needy sound against his mouth, pull back with a smile.

“What do you have planned for me in that beautiful, brilliant brain?” Aaron ducks his head, smiles a bit bashfully; you love that your compliments still affect him after all this time, quite partial to the shy, serious man who stole your heart in the first place.

“Well, I was thinking wine, clearly… maybe a soak in the hot tub? I turned it on, brought out some towels—did you happen to pack a swimsuit?” He smooths a hand over your hip, your ass, and you cling to him a bit more tightly.

“I didn’t, but that won’t stop from getting in that hot tub with you.” He looks confused, and you raise your eyebrows, give him a moment to let it sink in.

“Skinny dipping?” he says, looking simultaneously surprised and turned on by the prospect. You laugh softly.

“Yes. It’s private back here, no neighbors close by, and I think it would be a lot of fun. I won’t try to force you to join me, you know I won’t, but if I could convince you somehow, please let me know.” You brush your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, lean in for an unhurried kiss, slowly dragging your tongue along the length of his, and it’s clear he’s quickly convinced. He grips your thigh with a firm hand, moves the other to the back of your head to keep you close, keep you kissing.

He’s not always forceful, not always rough, but there’s no denying what it does to you when he grabs you a little harder, kisses a little deeper; you want to give yourself to him even more than you usually do, want him to do what he wants, take what he wants. You want to give him everything.

When he breaks the kiss, you press two more against his lips, then pull back and tug your sweater over your head. He runs a hand over your breast, squeezes through the fabric of your bra, then slides it up to wrap lightly around your throat. It’s tender but possessive, something else that never fails to drive you crazy; the first time he did it during sex you had an orgasm almost instantly, and there’s just something about having his broad palm and thick fingers there that makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck,” you groan, though it’s more like a whisper, and he moves his other hand to your pants, slips the button free, hovers. “Please, Aaron.” He flicks his eyes up, stares into yours, pulls you toward him for another kiss, and you moan against his lips. The moment he releases you, you shift up, out of his lap, and you push down your pants and panties, unhook your bra.

You’re both breathing heavily, especially when Aaron looks over your body like he hasn’t seen it a million and one times already, his gaze hot and lingering; you reach for him, and he stands, lets you get him out of his clothes too. It’s clearly a little uncomfortable for him to feel so exposed, even though you are in a private space, so you run your hands over him gently, press your lips against his body, whisper soothing words of encouragement and remind him that you can go inside whenever he likes.

The hot tub is in-ground, square, made of stone, and you both sink into the blissfully hot water with matching sighs; the night is warm, with a cool breeze, and you sit down next to him, let him pull you into his lap again. You smile, tug the hair tie off of your wrist and sweep your hair up into a high bun, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Not so bad,” you murmur, smoothing your hand over his chest, “is it?” He holds you close with a hand on your lower back, drags the other up your stomach, over your breasts. Your mouth falls open in a soft gasp, and he does it again, his rough palm catching your nipple, rubbing against it.

“Not bad at all.” You run your tongue over your lips, grind in his lap—he’s already hard, and you can’t blame him, feel like you’re halfway to a climax as is. This is extremely hot, and not just because you’re still surprised he even agreed to it. “I want to kiss you—just kiss you for a little bit. You’re not too turned on for that, are you?” You close your eyes briefly, sigh, because he clearly plans to torture you, drag out the foreplay; eventually, you shake your head.

“I’m not too turned on for that.” He hums, pleased, and then brings a hand to your throat again, pulls you in for a long, wet kiss. You roll your hips against his, slowly and sensually, and he moves his hands over your body, squeezes your ass hard with both of them. “Mmm. Want you.” He squeezes again and you grip his shoulders firmly, whimper. “Aaron.”

“Should I let you up? Or should I make you come right here in my lap?” he asks, and then he decides on his own, moves a hand between your legs and slides it over your pussy. You moan softly, looking down at him in a way you hope conveys your desire, your desperation; he seems to understand, holds your ass and pushes two fingers inside you, presses deeply. “Kiss me, baby,” he breathes, and you do, gasping against his mouth as he pumps his hand.

Your kisses are graceless, eager, and you ride his hand, weave your fingers into his hair to keep him close, to stay connected. Eventually you just breathe against his lips, unable to focus on even a messy kiss; he adds a third finger, watches your face like you’re mesmerizing as you get close, as if he hasn’t seen this look a million and one times too.

“I want you to come hard, I want to hear it. I want the neighbors we don’t have to hear it.” He smiles, just a little, and so do you, and then you kiss him with renewed fervor, slam down against his hand, water sloshing around you; you come moaning, gripping his shoulders hard, and he brings his wet hand up to hold tightly to the back of your neck, so you’ll make eye contact as you ride out the final wave of pleasure, clench around his fingers. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he groans, and you wet your lips, panting, lean in for another kiss.

“I want to blow you,” you speak over his mouth, earning a soft sound of desire, and he kisses you deeply once more before guiding you off of his lap. He moves up a step, so just his legs are in the water, and you climb between them, run your hands over his thighs. “Gorgeous too.” You look up at him, and he puts both hands on your face, pulls you in for a kiss; you grope at his chest, slip your fingers over the wet hair that trails down his stomach, then bite him there softly when he lets you go, leans back on his arms.

You wrap a hand easily around his straining cock, press the other against his thigh; his sharp intake of breath when you cover him with your mouth is enough to get you wet again, and you shift a bit uncomfortably—the stone is hard beneath your knees, the ache between your legs back in full force, but you would stay in this position for hours if that’s what Aaron wanted.

Now, though, he just looks like he wants to come, so you suck—tight, shallow, wet, strokes—and hum, working your hand with each dip of your head. “Oh, yes. So good,” he rasps, and he curls forward so he can run his hands down your back. It brings his body closer, his scrunched stomach brushing against your nose as you tilt your head up, and you whine, lift off of him, press open mouthed kisses to his stomach and chest, everywhere you can reach. “Fuck. Are you wet again, baby?”

“Yes,” you sigh, kissing him, touching him with your free hand—the other is still pumping his cock even though your mouth has abandoned it. “Touch me, please touch me.” He leans in a bit further, puts one hand on the back of your neck and one over your clit, rubs quickly and pulls you in for another hot, hard kiss. “Yes, touch me, Aaron, touch me.” You’re so eager for more—more pleasure, more of his pleasure—that you literally can’t stop talking, so you slide your mouth over him again just to occupy it, just so you don’t sound as needy as you feel.

“You’ll come for me again,” he murmurs, cupping your head with his broad palm—no pressure, just a reverent touch. “You’ll swallow for me, come for me; you’d do anything for me.” You would, you have no doubts, and you just hum your agreement, keep sucking until he groans, guides you off of him, to his lips. “Inside,” he mumbles through a kiss, and you take his face in your hands, deepening it, clinging to each other.

“You want to go inside?” you ask, breathless.

“I want to go inside… come inside you.” He puts his hands on your waist, urges you to stand, and you step out of the hot tub, take a few dripping steps over to the chair with the towels laid across it. You wrap one around Aaron, rub it roughly over his body; it starts as something sexy, but then it must tickle, and he laughs. You can’t help laughing when he does, and when he dries you off, you dissolve into giggles, wrap your arms around his neck and let him lift you, carry you into the cabin and toward the bedroom, pausing to grab the half-full glasses of wine before you go.

You set them down on the dresser, and he sets you down on the bed, hovers over you with a grin. He pushes your legs apart, wide on either side of his hips, and you surge forward for a kiss; he wraps his fingers in the sheets and pushes inside you, earning a short, high moan. You sink back against the bed, tilt your hips up, and he thrusts quickly, roughly, makes you sigh.

“Yeah, fuck, Aaron.” You curl a hand around the back of his neck, grip his forearm with the other, and grind up against him, watch his face as it shifts from determined to desperate for release.

“Won’t last,” he pants, and you shake your head, pull him down to your lips.

“Don’t have to. Just come, baby.” He groans, wraps his hand around the wooden headboard and uses it for leverage, slams hard into you; you fuck yourself against him, even harder when he comes, so eager to catch up, to meet him there. He leans in, face against your throat, fingers tight on your shoulder, and thrusts so deeply and roughly that your entire body tenses when your orgasm follows, and then you shake in his embrace while you catch your breath.

He brushes his mouth over your throat, your jaw, and you just lay together a moment, chests heaving, before he climbs off of the bed and grabs the wine. You both drink it down in one long sip, then laugh breathlessly once more, kiss again.

You get cleaned up, pull on pajamas, and Aaron builds a fire; you cuddle up on the sofa in front of it, drink enough wine to get a little tipsy, and talk and laugh, make out just to do it, with no end goal in mind. Time passes by slowly, and here, that’s perfect; you’d stop time if you could, spend the rest of your life warmed from the inside out with Aaron’s voice in your ear. The next morning, you wake up at a decent hour, make coffee while Aaron starts breakfast. It’s a bit chillier than the day before, so you wrap a blanket around your shoulders and take your coffee outside, look out at the forest and its silent stillness. Between Aaron’s work and yours, and now Sunny, life is rarely so peaceful, so quiet, and you just stand there and drink it in for a moment before Aaron comes out, clinking plates and silverware, disturbing your solitude in the most perfect of ways. You turn back, and he smiles, sets down your food, and you cross the deck, press a warm kiss to his lips, and sit down for breakfast.

The two of you get showered, dressed, and you drive to the national park to hike before it gets too warm; the trails range from easy to difficult, and you stick with something moderate, since you’re not very familiar with the park. The path you take is mostly dry, but lush and green, surrounded by thick trees and lots of plant life. Aaron, as it turns out, is quite the amatuer botanist, points out random flowers when he notices them, tells you their scientific names like a nerdy boy scout; it’s really very adorable.

“Baptisia australis—Blue Wild Indigo,” he says, pointing to a plant with small, light purple buds. “It’s a member of the pea family.”

“The pea family,” you repeat, taking care to step over a fallen log. He hums.

“I’m sure you know Indigo plants are used for dye, but indigenous people also use them in medicinal teas.” He takes another two dozen steps, kneels down to pick up a pretty golden-yellow flower that has fallen off of its plant. “Oenothera fruticosa—Southern Sundrops. Hummingbirds love them.” He turns to you, offers the flower, then a slow, tender kiss.

He moves on, tells you about at least ten other flowers along the path; you spend so much time smiling at his exuberance that your face is more sore than any other part of you by the time the hike is over.

You are ready for lunch, and a dip in the pool, and maybe a foot massage that leads to something more, but almost the second you walk in the door, Aaron’s phone rings. He looks down at it, then you, and you shoot him a soft smile.

Some things are just too good to be true.

He sighs, answers and brings it to his ear. You pass him, pat him on the back, and head to the kitchen to make some coffee to go.

“Hotchner. Yes, the family annihilator. Me specifically, JJ?” He looks over at you fondly as you pull a travel mug down from the cupboard, almost like part of him is surprised that you accepted his fate so easily, where the other part is very unsurprised. “We’re not far, but… No, it’s okay. I’ll be at the precinct in an hour. Thank you.”

“Family annihilator doesn’t sound good,” you say after he’s ended the call, stepped into the kitchen with you. “Do you have to travel?”

“It’s local, just an interrogation. We could be back here together by dinnertime.” He comes up behind you, runs his hands down your arms, leans in to brush his nose over your throat. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He sounds resigned, a bit sad, and though it’s inconvenient, it’s not something he should be beating himself up over. You knew what you were getting into when he had to leave in the middle of your third date to fly out for a case, and you’ve accepted that his work is unpredictable, and urgent, and important, would never make him choose between you or the job—because it’s not the right thing to do, but also because you’re fairly certain he would not be able to choose you.

“I know you will; you always do.” Your tone is not sarcastic or biting, but soft, and you turn your head, tilt it back to receive a warm kiss on the mouth. “You’d better get changed. Can I come along for the ride? You can stash me away in a corner at the precinct,” you say, following him upstairs; he’d packed a spare suit just in case something like this happened, and you know he wishes he could shower first, but there isn’t time.

He agrees easily, and you change your own clothes, slipping into dark jeans and a clingy black sweater, a pair of low-heeled boots. He gathers up his badge and gun, looks every bit the super special FBI agent you know and love—but he still smells like the forest, and a very large part of you is uncomfortably aroused by that fact.

You focus on that, and the thought of how he’ll make this up to you, for the entirety of the drive; Aaron is quiet, shifting gears into his calm, composed authoritative mode, but you can tell he’s aware of what you’re thinking, feeling, that it’s running through the back of his mind as well. When you arrive at the precinct, JJ is there, and you stand by quietly while she brings Aaron up to speed. Apparently a man has killed his estranged wife, children, and mother-in-law, and there is evidence, but a confession would speed things up considerably, and the district attorney has called in a favor to ensure that Aaron is the one to interrogate the man. He leaves you with a kiss on the cheek, and you and JJ make small talk before it dissolves into silence.

“Do you want to watch the interrogation? Two-way glass,” she says with a smile, and you are intrigued by the prospect. You’ve never seen Aaron in action at work before, or at least not in a way that’s any more exciting than filling out forms. She takes you to the large window, where you can see Aaron and the suspect engaged in tense conversation.

He opens up a file, spreads out photographs of what must be the man’s family; you can’t make them out, but they appear to be gruesome, if the concentration of crimson that covers the pages is any indication. The man doesn’t flinch the way you would expect, but Aaron seems to know where to proceed with that knowledge; he continues questioning him, and at one point he gets in the man’s face, shouts, and slams his hand on the table.

You can’t help it, you jump, and JJ reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“You okay? I know it can be intense,” she says, and you compose yourself, nod.

“Yeah I’m okay. I just… he’s never raised his voice to me. Not once in almost six years,” you muse; you’ve never thought much of it, because a man shouldn’t be yelling at his girlfriend, right? This isn’t extraordinary, just normal behavior, but it makes you feel something deep and moving anyway. You excuse yourself, head to the bathroom and splash a little cold water on your cheeks; by the time you return, Aaron is already out of interrogation, and he and JJ are smiling.

“That was fast,” you say when you approach, and JJ pats Aaron on the arm.

“Now you know why the DA pulled all those strings to get him here. He makes the BAU look superhuman.” He shakes his head, never one to take a compliment without putting up a fight, and they chat a little more before Aaron puts a hand on your back to signal that it’s time to go.

You look at your phone when you get into the car. Thirty-six minutes have passed since you turned it off on your way into the building.

You always kind of figured, but for the first time you can see for yourself: Aaron is kind of badass. You stop to have dinner on the way back to the cabin again, but this time there is less laughter and more lingering looks, soft, eager touches. The atmosphere between you is the same as it was in the car on the way to the precinct, the familiar tension between two people who want each other but can’t, or won’t, or are waiting to say it.

It makes you feel pretty good, that the two of you have this kind of chemistry after all this time.

When you get back to the cabin, you both undress, and Aaron suggests showering together in the master bathroom’s large glass shower. You agree, eager to put your hands on him, your mouth on him; the way you touch is exploratory, as if you haven’t done this countless times over the course of your relationship, as if you weren’t in a very similar position just last night. You wash each other, slow and sensual, but tender, and then dry off, and kiss, walk backward toward the turned-down bed.

“I want to take our time tonight,” Aaron murmurs as he hovers over you. You nod, lost in the haze of his hands on you, the smell of his soap, toothpaste, the feel of cool sheets beneath your back—these are sensations, scents, you are intimately familiar with, but they never fail to make your heart pound, your breath quicken in anticipation.

No one has ever made you feel quite so much, and even after almost six years, Aaron is capable of reducing you to your basic needs and emotions with just one sentence breathed into the space between you. He smooths his hands up your sides, over your stomach, and you’d swear time stops so the two of you can just be, so you can indulge in each other in a way that feels like going back to the beginning.

His hands move to your breasts and he squeezes them, watches your face as you react to the roughness, the pleasure, before leaning in for a hot, breathy kiss. “Mmm. Yeah,” you sigh, and he presses his lips to your throat, drags them slowly down your chest, encircles a nipple and sucks hard enough that your head falls back instantly and you moan his name.

“God, I love your body,” he tells you before moving to the other nipple. “So perfect for me.” Again, he sucks, then moves his mouth just a little to the left, bites down on your breast where you’re soft and sensitive; he sucks harder, so hard it hurts and you know you will be sore where he’s claimed you for days to come. It’s been a while since he’s done this, bruised you, covered you in bites, and he knows what it does to you, seems unsurprised when you wrap your hands around his arms for leverage and try to grind against him where he’s sprawled on top of you.

“Please, Aaron.” He groans against your skin, moves a hand to cover your pussy, lets you rub against it while he continues to lick and suck and bite until both breasts are covered in the aching, tender remnants of his kiss. You’re so close to a climax from just his mouth and your own desperate movements against the heel of his hand; when he brings his lips to yours, soft and wet, you run your hands over his shoulders and head, hips working, revel in the way your own pleasure is reflected in his face when you come.

“Fuck, baby; so good for me.” You stare up at him, panting as you try to come down, and he brushes fingers over your lips, down your throat. “Turn over?” You moan softly at his request, turn onto your stomach when he leans up over you; you spread your legs wide and he tucks his knees in behind yours, guides you back onto his cock with both hands on your ass.

You fist your hands into your pillow, work your body back against his thrusts; it’s not fast, or hard, but he knows exactly where to put his hands to drive you crazy, how to help you move. You moan together, both out of breath and quickly approaching orgasm when he pulls out, leans back against his heels.

“Mmm, come here, sweetheart.” He slides his hands under you, covers your breasts again, guides you to your knees, then shifts so you both turn, face the side of the bed, not the headboard. He presses his nose against your cheek, hooks one arm around your shoulder to tightly grip your breast in his hand, and you grab onto his arm, lean your head back against him. “I want you to watch, baby. I want you to see how gorgeous you look when you come on me.”

You lick your lips, and it’s only then that you realize he’s positioned you right in front of the full-length mirror by your side of the bed. Your eyes roll back in your head a little when you process the request—is he trying to wreck you?—and he huffs a laugh against your throat.

“Do you like that? Do you want to watch me move inside you?” You nod lazily, lean your back against his chest, and he presses his cock into you, thrusts smoothly but quickly. Your mouth falls open in a soft moan, and you rock against him, digging your fingertips into his arm.

It’s so erotic, watching the movements of your bodies—Aaron’s deep pumps of hips against your ass as he disappears inside you, your thighs flexing to keep up. He squeezes your breast, which still aches from the hickies he covered you with, and then that hand slides up to your throat and you can see the bruises in all of their rich, vivid glory. “Oh, fuck, Aaron.”

“It’s been a while since I got to take you apart like this; you’re so perfect for me, so beautiful. Covered in me, full of me.” He squeezes your throat softly, just enough pressure to draw your attention there, and you sigh.

“Yes, yes. Harder,” you breathe, and he pounds against you; you watch his face in the mirror, can see that he’s breathless, close, and you bounce roughly back against him, moan and come when he’s pressed exactly where you need him. He thrusts a few more times, right there, and you don’t stop coming, just clench around him and ride it out, watch both of your expressions shift when he loses it inside you. “Oh, god, yes.”

“Yes, baby, just like that. Just like that.” He snaps his hips hard, mouths at your shoulder, and you’re reduced to whimpers until he removes his hand from your throat, pulls your hair back away from your face, tilts your chin toward him for a kiss. “So good: did so good, felt so good,” he mutters against your lips, and you both kiss a little messy, soft. This one has left you both a little come-dumb, and you press back against him, spent.

“Mmm. I fucking love you,” you sigh, and you focus on him—and maybe a little on the mirror—when he rumbles a reply and slips you his tongue. You pick Sunny up from Derek’s the next day—she runs to Aaron first, no big deal, so you talk with Derek, thank him again for watching her on such short notice.

“I’m happy to take her any time, she’s a real sweetheart. Did you enjoy your getaway?” You nod, smile, sigh a little wistfully.

“Yeah, it was really nice. He promised me a beach vacation for our honeymoon, though, and I plan to sunbathe on an island so remote his cell phone is rendered useless.” You look up at him, slap him lightly on his bicep. “So get better at your job, will you? When he’s my husband I’m going to be much less lenient if my date night gets interrupted.”

Aaron looks up from his position on the floor, where he’s giving Sunny the belly rub of her life.

“When I’m your husband,” he says with a smile, and you roll your eyes, thank Derek again, and wrangle your family out the door.

Taglist 🤍 @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @uchihasteph @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921 @hxtchncr

[devilkri6]

Please, teacher.

A cold autumn wind rolls the lifeless leaves over the training ground; the crimson pre-dawn sun takes the last notes of warmth from the skin of the trainees, making them squirm in brief breaks from the bout.

Like a wild lion, the man circles around his prey - remembering every step, every wave of the hand, every confident movement.

We don't dance here, — he taps a sharpened wooden stick on the ground.

— Fight! — He throws the improvised weapon at the girl and parries new attacks with feline dexterity, deflecting her torso at different angles.

The concrete floor is outlined by the rustling movements of their feet. The Supreme Sorcerer is too strong, too fast, and in complete control of his body.

Slowly. Too slowly, — he gets behind the girl and shoves her carelessly to the ground. Christina falls to her knees and slams her fists menacingly against the cold concrete.

— Again, — she jumped to her feet and struck the man in the chest with her staff. — Attack, Master, — she stepped aside slightly, brushing sweat from her forehead and looking at the wizard with the expectant eyes of her large emerald eyes.

— If you never learn how to defend yourself, you will never become a master, —his voice is even, chillingly calm and firm.

— Start already, — the Sorcerer slides one foot, finding a solid footing, and slowly raises his arms.

Christina shuffles gracefully with her soft shoes and punches the man in the shoulder. The blow slides over the tightly pulled muscles, clinging to the fabric of the blue mantle. The man doesn't have time to duck and raises his eyebrows in surprise, nodding approvingly.

— Good girl, — he whispered very close to her ear, burning the girl's skin with his breath. — But still not good enough.

Stephen sharply throws up his weapon and hooks her trembling legs in front of him. The girl loses her balance and hits her nose on the concrete floor. Her head instantly begins to spin, the world splits in front of her eyes, and a thin, scarlet trickle oozes from her nostril, staining her plump lips. The girl rolls over onto her back and covers her eyes in an attempt to concentrate.

— Your opponents won't wait. They will kill you instantly, at the slightest hesitation.

Stephen gives a hand in an attempt to lift the girl to her feet, but Christina only winks angrily at this gracious gesture and clumsily stands up, chin up proudly.

— You're absent-minded, — the Mage looks condescendingly at the girl from his lofty height. — If you have a problem, as your teacher I should know about it, — he crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head, scrutinizing every feature of the girl's face and searching for a catch.

— Come on, teacher. You don't give a shit, — Christina tucked the loose silver strands into a tight, high ponytail. — You talk. We do, — she wipes the little bloody stream under her nose. — You have no interest in our lives, we have no interest in yours. Fair enough, I think, — the girl bows in a deep bow. — Thank you for your training, High Sorcerer, — she shakes off the dry leaves from her robes and stubbornly stands, waiting for some sort of response. The mage only handed her a wooden, chiseled staff and smiled ingratiatingly.

— Shall we do it again? — He pushes her in the chest and adopts a fighting stance, catching the angry look in his student's eyes. — I'll call you weak if you don't take a punch, — the man attacks her, throwing her to the ground and hovering over her with his whole body. — Weak, — he whispered through clenched teeth.

— I am not weak! — The girl screams back, wrapping her hips around the man's strong waist. With a jerk, she flips the man onto his back and pummels his chest with her fist. The sorcerer responds to this onslaught with a resounding, guttural laugh.

She will never win this game. He commands, she obeys. He is in charge, and absolutely everyone has to take his opinion into account.

Christina leaps to her feet and slaps the Enchanter painfully on the ankles.

— Get up, — the girl hisses at him. Steven gently lifts himself up on his elbow and laughs even louder in response.

— You are unworthy to wear the title of master, — the man throws his weapon at the girl. — Get out of my temple, — he straightens up and looks disappointedly in Christine's face, and then, turning on his heels, walks away.

— Goddamn piece of shit, — Kristina shouts after him, while she stands there biting her lips, holding back a torrent of hot tears.

She tried so hard, she worked so long and so hard for her goal and she wanted this place so badly, and now it's all falling apart before her eyes because of some narcissistic asshole. The sorcerer stops on the stairs and feels Christine-that little something-beam sizzling eyes on his back. His skin tingles unpleasantly, and a wave of barely controllable anger surges through his body. The magician covers his eyes and mentally chokes the girl until her plump pink lips turn blue.

— You, — her insolent face swollen with anger appeared right in front of him. — A narcissistic asshole and keep the likes of you around, — Christine jabs her finger at the Sorcerer's chest. She gasps with her own anger, and her throat and ribcage ache with heavy, intermittent breathing.

Without exception, everyone tolerates the antics of this pompous sorcerer, obeying his every word like sheep and indulging his endless caprices.

— Go jerk off, finally let your filthy gut out on someone other than me, — she raises her hand and slaps his rough, shadowy face loudly in the sunset light. The small palm of her hand is sore from the meeting with the prickly neat beard, and tears of boundless resentment finally come to her large emerald eyes.

The man boils like a kettle, letting off steam loudly. His cheekbones play in spots, the swollen vein on his neck pulses nervously, his fingers dig into his palms and his sharp knuckle fists shudder. The warlock rolls his eyes, unable to bear it any longer.

— Wipe your filthy tears and get out. I don't want to see you here by midnight, — he said, and quickly took off down the stairs.

Christine is left alone with her silent sobs and, seeing off the last rays of sunlight, goes inside. The path to the cell is blocked by puzzled stares, relentlessly directed in her direction. Everyone wonders what has upset the girl, but no one dares to ask. Quietly opening the door, the girl crawls to the back of it, props it up, and hugs her knees.

The body explodes with new tears and a portion of excellent spilling through the veins of anger, and the anger is the poison that penetrates inside, it is the thorns that are embedded in the heart, and then the icy crust that covers it.

And what was she hoping for when she came here? What was she looking for within these walls? Now the girl has no answers to these questions, clearly posed at the beginning. There is an unbreakable silence behind the door, as if this wing of the temple was long ago abandoned by life, taking away all echoes and voices. Christina is really weak, if she took the Wizard's words seriously and did not try to challenge them in any way.

Hate craves release and smolders at her fingertips. Wiping her wet face, the girl dumps her belongings into one big pile on the floor and curses this sacred place that once welcomed her into its walls.

— Are you still here? — A velvety, enveloping voice comes from behind her.

The man stands with his arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the dilapidated doorjamb, his lips contorted into a smirking grimace. He is pleased with himself; he revels in Christine's misery.

— You're really weak to give up so easily, — every carelessly spoken word affects a tightly woven ball of nerves somewhere in the center of the girl's brain.

— Why did you come here? — she stands, clutching at the edge of the table and scratching the ancient surface with her fingernails.

— I came to let my ugly gut out, as you advised, — is distributed the distinct sound of the door closing and heavy footsteps on the creaking floor.

The breath lingers somewhere in my lungs, and my brain trembles with the lack of oxygen. The girl's still incomprehensible sensations throb in her temples, knocking out the fragile remnants of common sense.

Stephen comes up behind her and presses his hips hard into Christine, breathing heavily into the top of her head and gently beginning to stroke her thin shoulders. The girl stands still as if she were standing still, preferring not to show any signs of life.

— I don't even like you, — he reaches into the tight ponytail at the back of her head and pulls back the elastic band, unraveling her hair. He tangles his fingers in the silver curls and inhales the familiar scent of lilacs and gooseberries. Such open proximity makes Christina shake her whole body, greedily grasp the air with her lips, and begin to purr softly. The enchanter wraps his arms around the girl's waist, barely touching the neat seams of her perfectly tailored mantle.

— You have to go, — she barely squeezed the words out of her mouth, her whole body reverting from the touch. God, how long it had been since a man had touched her, how much she wanted it now.

— Do you really want me to leave? — The man licked the small, exposed area of skin on her neck. — I don't think so, — the wet, hot tongue continued to trace circles on her skin, which gradually turned into goose bumps. — Turn around, — Stephen orders. — Look at me and tell me you want me to leave.

The girl turns around, but does not look up at him and nervously rubs her hands somewhere in the area of his stomach. Of course, she does not want the Wizard to leave her alone with the sexual tension, she wants to taste his caresses, to be completely immersed in contact with the delightful male body. God, she cannot count how many nights she has dreamed of seeing the Wizard naked, feeling his hands on her, feeling his hot lips on her skin in the most sensitive places.

The man looks lustfully, expectantly, and draws inconceivable circles with the tip of his tongue around the buttons of his mantle, twitching his fingers deliberately hard and exposing the snow-white skin on his neck.

— So shy, — the man's calloused hand stroked her cheekbones, tucking the straight strands of hair in her loose ponytail behind her ear.

— I want you to leave, — the girl grasps the collar of his blue mantle with trembling hands, glancing bashfully around the taut fabric of the man's pants.

— Look into my eyes, you little liar, — he kissed her naked neck tenderly, and then covered her in stinging bites. — And tell me you don't want to sleep with me, — he tugged at the rest of the buttons on her chest, making them fly across the floor. And he groans loudly when he sees her naked, lush, bra-less breasts with erect nipples pierced with tiny gold earrings in the shape of tiny hearts.

The man covers his eyes and covers her heaving breasts with his palms, his fingers clutching her earrings. Christine wraps her leg around his body and tilts her head back a little, watching from beneath her lowered lashes for this stunning sight. His cold, thin lips once again cover the skin on her neck and lead wetly to the cleavage below, between her breasts. Sucking, leaving crimson marks, the Enchanter moves to her nipple, pulls the jewel in with his lips and fondles greedily. A sweet languor spreads in Christine's belly, and her underwear becomes unbearably wet.

— Get on your knees, — the low, murmuring order sounds. — You will beg your teacher's forgiveness, — the girl gives the man her childishly innocent look, but little sparks of defiant flame flare in her green eyes. She knows exactly what he needs, and she's going to give it right now - to tear her own name from her thin, moist lips while the Enchanter's body flutters with passionate, dirty caresses.

She descends all too slowly, circling with her eyes every cell of his body, covered with the scraps of her mantle. When her knees finally touch the old floor and the planks creak, the man exhales in satisfaction. Without breaking eye contact, the girl reaches for the fly of pants and clutches the bump on the cloth defiantly, then pulls the cloth off, along with her boxers, and wraps her fingers tightly around the base of his cock in a tight ring. Gently and unhurriedly Christine runs her fingers up and down, gently pulling the skin away.

— You are my most obedient student, — Stephen reaches out and strokes her chin.

— And how many of them have you had sex with, Mr. Strange? — The recent girlish shyness is gone. A fully confident woman kneels in front of him - controlling him, choking on his loud sighs.

— Apparently, only with you, — the Mage looks directly into green eyes, enjoying the truly stunning sight of his apprentice sucking him off so expertly beneath him.

— Apparently? — She wraps her lips around the foreskin and runs her tongue over the flushed head. Helping herself with her hands, she caresses the frequent protruding veins. The sorcerer doesn't hold back and roughly grabs the girl by the hair, pressing on the back of her head and forcing her to take his cock into her mouth even deeper.

— Uh-oh, you want to go further? — pulling away, she gently runs her hot tongue along the entire length, kissing and nibbling. The sorcerer arches against the enchanting caresses, begging to return to the girl's mouth.

— Shut up, — he moaned, as Christine pressed her lips against his cock again. The girl thrusts her throat all over him, then again, pulling away and sliding her tongue down the thin skin. Stephen feels himself biting his own cheek on the inside until it tastes metallic. He lifts his hips slightly off the table and leads them in a circular motion-so that the head rubs against the palate and then pulls hard against the girl's cheeks.

Christina raises her innocent eyes to him again and reaches out with her hand to her clearly outlined abs, intertwining the fingers of their hands.

When the Wizard's lower abdomen begins to tug with sweet exhaustion and he has no strength left to endure, he grabs the girl by the chin, pulls her to his lips, forcing her to her feet, and tastes herself for the first time.

— Teacher, you didn't let me finish, — the girl runs her hand back and forth over his cock, wet with her saliva, making the man's body ache with already intense desire. He grabs her by the hips, making her wrap her legs around his waist and pulls her to the bed, simultaneously engulfing her hot maiden lips — yes, he needed this, he's needed it for so long.

— We have a problem, — he whispers. — You're still wearing too many clothes, — he pulled the tight fabric from buttocks and squeezed the wet lace between his fingers roughly. It hurts against her skin, making the girl moan into his mouth. The enchanter gently touches her swollen clit and, breaking their kiss, wheezes gutturally. — So wet, and only for me, — Mage slides his fingers inside her, making the walls of her vagina tighten around his palpable scars on her pads.

— Teacher, please, — Christine kisses the man's sweat-wet shoulders, thrusting herself on him with tearing motions.

— Please, what? — He purred into her neck, stroking her breasts with his free hand, squeezing her pierced nipples between his fingers.

— Fuck me already, — asks she, no, begs him to fill the emptiness inside her. Whimpering as he takes his fingers out of her and pushes them deep into her mouth all the way to her throat, sharing the girl's marvelous taste.

— You don't have to ask me twice, — the man turns the girl's back to him roughly, asking her to kneel down in front of him again. And she obeys, obediently arching her back, digging her hands into the pillow.

The enchanter languidly slows, driving his cock around her labia, deliberately tapping the head of her sensitive clitoris. He teases, torments the girl with his own long-desired body.

— Or is it still necessary, — he strokes the snow-white skin on his back, reaches his hand to his head, and wraps his silver hair around his big fist.

— Please, Mr. Strange. I'm begging you, — Christine moaned into her pillow at his torturous manipulation of her body.

He has to be asked twice, definitely. He thrusts inside her with bestial ease, stretching the narrow walls of her vagina, and pulls the woman's breasts away from the pillows, pulling his tail on her arm, making Christine arch her back uncomfortably.

The girl hisses, but gradually the pain of him stretching her dulls. The girl pushes herself against him even more, desperate to devour the Supreme Enchanter whole and utter. Her ass slams against his thighs, and that's when Christina realizes he's too deep inside her.

A million stars flashed before my eyes. Lust clouds the mind, and all that's needed now is his big cock inside, that's all. The girl doesn't care about the rest of the world, about saving humanity or feeding stray animals. She only cares about how fast she can cum, thrusting her whole body on him.

— Is this what you wanted? — The movements become sharp, rough, with a distinctive slapping sound. The mage whispers at her ear, curving her body as only he himself wants, and then slowly sinking kisses into the curve of her neck.

— Definitely, Teacher, — the girl wiggled her hips in time with his confident movements, clutched around him with her whole body and dug her fingers into the fabric of the pillow with wild force.

— No, it doesn't work that way. I need longer, — the man gets out of her in a hurry and turns her over onto her back. — I need to see your face, — he pulls Christine's body sharply closer, and puts the maiden's leg on his shoulder. He enters quickly, not even letting her get used to the new sensations, tucks her other leg at the knee, slides his hands over her body and presses hard on her belly, wanting to feel the rhythm of his movements inside her.

— Can you feel it? — his cock is clearly felt almost in the middle of stomach, making girl gasp and faint with pain and passion.

He fucks her with animal savagery, with daring lust, bringing more and more loud moans from her biting lips.

His hands painfully squeeze the maiden's thighs. His pace punishes her for her misconduct rather than gives her pleasure.

He controls every movement, so that Christine can barely breathe or see clearly — she is like a little rag doll that the man can use as roughly as he pleases.

The charmer cuts off all men before and after him.

His outburst of dominant energy makes the girl moan loudly. With each new movement, her hips flex in ways the girl would never have thought possible, offering new depths of pleasure, appealing to a primal, incomparable pleasure.

A few more rough thrusts and her orgasm overwhelms Christine, and the satisfied face of the Magician hides behind a white veil before her eyes. The girl screams loudly, digging her nails into his big back, and millions of sharp needles pierce her body.

— Let me cum too, honey, — the man's hand grabs the girl's throat, presses against her larynx, and cuts off her attempts to breathe normally. Christina shrinks to the point of asphyxiation.

Steven moves too fast, thrusting his hips roughly and pressing his other hand on her wet clit. He moans loudly and pours his entire animal gut right inside Christine. And then, dropping his head onto the girl's chest, he whispers venomously and intermittently:

— If you tell a single soul about this, I will hurt you very badly.

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

TRUTH AND LIES ; PART 3 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.5k SUMMARY: You and Loki make a trip to the open market which leads to a flurry of thievery, arrests and an almost death. A/N: Hey hey, I guess I’m just updating this series on no porper day because I’m a bitch for procrastination wohoo! There’s so much going on in this chapter, probably a little too long but I hope you like it <3 gif from this gifset by @hiddleston-daily WARNINGS: Swearing, laser rifles, electrocution, intended execution, Loki being annoying. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

“So, what do you propose?”

Loki questions, walking beside you through the winding pathways of the outskirts of the city of Sakaar. Stalls propped up on stilts, colorful fabric hung overhead as a shield from the blazing sun of the afternoon. He’s dressed like a Sakaarian, drapery of vivid and bright colors, similar to yours—both passing through, hiding in plain sight amongst the crowd of contrasting species.

The place inevitably stinks, living up to the planet’s nature.

Yet, it’s a world of textile mania. Everywhere he looks, there’s a pop of color, radiant and brilliant. Whether it’s the clothes of the locals, the paint that adorns the structure of their faces, or the streaks of blue and red cascading down the walls of the city in the glimmer of the sun.

Your eyes seem to glow in the reflection of the sunlight; the shawl conceals the crimson scar well enough—barely recognizable in your disguise. Your gaze meets his. “Well, I propose we steal one of the Grandmaster’s ships. They're the only ones that are strong enough to enter the Anus.”

Loki flashes you a look, “You have to stop calling it the Anus.”

Your rapid steps come to halt at the foot of a stall, an extensive table with miles of crates filled with an array of vegetables and fruits. Some wiggle their way through the crowd of customers, some rigorously examining every blemish of each fruit while others attempt negotiating the prices with the distraught-looking vendor with a face of sapphire.

It’s a pastiche of a Pieter Bruegel painting. And the two of you are seemingly animate characters at the center of it.

Loki trails closely behind you—much to your dismay— shouldering a two-headed lady by accident, both heads snapping at him with blazing eyes. He mutters an apology as she quickly disappears into the crowd. He turns and nearly loses sight of you, instantly shouldering his way to stand beside your figure as you hum with amusement, brows raised. Your head tilts, eyes on him once more. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would it help if I called it the ‘giant red hole’ instead?”

He blinks. “You have somehow made it sound worse.”

You hum once more, cautiously gazing at the hectic vendor. “It’s one of my many talents.”

With a swift motion, he follows your fingers that delicately pluck one of the odd-looking blue enlarged berries from the stand, sliding it into your stash in a matter of a split second.

He’s almost impressed.

“I suppose thievery is one of your many talents.”

It’s both a question and a statement—Said in a tone of near mockery. Loki is starting to get on your nerves with the unnecessary commentary on every decision you made that led the two of you to this very moment—a routine you’ve repeated for years before his arrival. Oh and he’s well aware of the growing aggravation towards his sheer presence. It’s a feeling he’s no stranger to. It feels like home.

Your once monotony interactions are now turned into a muse for Loki’s own entertainment.

“Look, you really don’t have to announce and narrate every aspect of your silly observations like we’re in a stupid play. Especially, when I’m doing something that’s fairly frowned upon—”

“Fairly frowned upon? Really?”

A groan escapes from the scowl of your lips. You look like you’re about to kill him.

“Just shut up, for God’s sake.”

You snatch him by the wrist, forcing your way through the sea of Sakarriaans. Your grip is surprisingly firm—he scoffs, twisting his arm out of your grasp almost in a child’s manner. “Would you stop that?” he says as you lead him away from the bustling crowd, a corner where two perpendicular buildings meet. You turn to him in a somewhat exaggerated attempt to express your resentment towards him, pulling the shawl away, revealing your face as you hold your pointer finger to him like it’s a weapon. Loki instinctively staggers back in his stance. “No, you stop that!” you hiss, advancing towards him. “I told you not to mess with my shit and what you did there, that’s messing with my shit.”

Again, he finds himself caught in the act of your fury and frustration. He quickly notes that you seem to have an uncontrollable temper, and it’s unpredictable. You’re living in a constant predicament, one slight prod and you’ll burn, spontaneous combustion and you’ll burn right through everything, God or not.

You sigh, caressing your cheek. “I’m sorry, it’s just...I’ve been alone for so long and this,” You gesture between the two of you, “I never thought it’ll be possible to experience this again.”

Loki arches a beckoning brow. “Which is?”

You blink once, then twice, pursing your lips. “Company.” you punctuate it like it leaves an unpleasant taste on your tongue—you’re embarrassed to reveal a side of vulnerability. Like you have been in a constant fight to build the walls around you, to keep your guard up at all times, no matter the circumstance or cost. Whatever happened between you and the Grandmaster, destroyed the remains of your personality, your ability to feel like a human being and coping and living with the knowledge that you will never get off this planet and never return home for years. You deserve a fraction of his reverence, not sympathy.

Forced into the realm of independence with no one to cry out to. Your life oddly and eerily reflects his. He can’t help but feel that maybe it’s fate that hauled him out of the Bifrost, sending him flying into Sakaar and crashing into the very home you reside within.

His mouth runs dry for the first time because there’s nothing to say. You apologize even when you don't need to and the part of you that protrudes is your honesty—a part of you that differs from himself. You’re truthful, even to a stranger. Nevertheless, he nods.

A yell from a distance captures your attention, a man on the other end of the pathway that leads to the markets, dressed in the armor of red—a Sakaarian guard, armed with a laser rifle. The guard, unfortunately, might recognize you, with your face out in the open. Your scar makes you stand out like a sore thumb. It’s every criminal’s nightmare.

You discreetly turn your head towards the wall in a desperate attempt to hide your identity even though you very well know, there’s a significant chance it isn’t going to work. Your figure is now close to his, he can almost feel the erratic beating of your heart. You’re...afraid.

The sentry on patrol nears the two of you, expression unreadable, concealed under the mask of red strokes like warrior paint. His voice is low, authoritative. “Everything alright here?”

He must have noticed the commotion during the heat of your argument, perhaps recognizing the tone of your voice which does not help with the plan the two of you are drafting to get off this planet, or maybe, he is just genuinely concerned. The latter seems improbable by the way the guard stands, hands hovering over the trigger of the rifle.

Loki decides it would be best to negotiate and pretend everything is fine. He would much rather avoid a fight because he would hate for you to end up dying as a prisoner in the arms of the Grandmaster. Well, because you’re on his way out. Nothing more.

He turns to the sentry with his usual charming smile, palms raised to indicate he means no harm. It's an image of vulnerability. The guard seems to relax at this, fingers moving away from the trigger of his weapon although his posture remains sturdy.

He’s alone, no other guards are lurking nearby. If anything were to happen, at least it will be two against one.

How foolish.

“Everything is quite alright, kind sir. It’s just one of our...common little spats, nothing more. The missus says I don’t give her enough attention and well, you would know how that turned out—”

You nearly choke at Loki’s words. Out of all the possible reasons, he chooses a lover's spat as an excuse. An incredibly absurd and petty lover’s spat.

Now, you're his fucking missus.

The armored man is unfazed by Loki’s charm; he doesn’t seem convinced. He turns to you, gesturing to your figure with his rifle. “Show your face, ma’am.”

Loki is quick to step in. “Sir, I believe that would be rather embarrassing for her. You see, she has been crying, and it’s not a pretty sight. Red all over, bloodshot eyes—you know.”

You roll your eyes. Now, all you want to do is send your palm flying across his face. Hard.

Once more, the guard doesn’t completely believe Loki’s explanation.

Loki turns to you discretely, extending his open palm to you. He whispers lowly. “Do you trust me?”

You simply shake your head.

Nevertheless, you take his hand.

Before you know it, you’re being hurled by the arm, head first and now the two of you are in a full-out sprint, spinning, and weaving from every pedestrian. Your shawl is long gone, Loki has magically switched back to his original Asgardian outfit. The sentry tails behind the two of you, close enough to hear him speak through the telecommunication device attached to his armor. “It’s the girl—Scrapper 170!”

The two of you dive down an alley, the sentry starting to gain. Loki turns to you mid-sprint with an exasperated look. “Scrapper 170? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Now is not the time, Loki!” you groan, voice trembling with every land of your quick feet against the ground. The sentry halts and aims. A flash of purple passes you by an inch. You duck instinctively, feet stumbling and your hand leaves Loki’s. The laser beam crashes into a wall, leaving a massive hole in it. You hear a woman shriek from the other side through the hole.

You round the corner, catching the glimpse of not one but three guards running after you. You instantly spin away to see Loki just about a meter ahead. You power through, catching up to his side. The alley breaks into a clearing, leading you back to the open market that teems with the same hectic and rowdy crowd of Sakaarians. Another shot fires at the two of you; it blasts like a hand grenade—the crowd screams. Loki is shoved away from you and with a turn of your head, you completely lose sight of him. Another blast of the rifle, you duck in time as it hits the crate of fruits behind. You kamikaze down the little avenues lined with vendors and shops, careening through the labyrinth. There’s a sentry at every turn, emerging from the crowd, behind the counter, tent flaps, and crates.

Amid the chase, you halt at a dead end. Behind you, the guards are catching up. At the corner of your eye, you spot Loki on the other side of the market, a few stalls away. His eyes are wide, and you’re trying to catch your breath. You step forward, ready to make his way to him when suddenly you hear something tick by your ear, then a wave of excruciating pain burns throughout your body—muscles spasms all over, you could barely control your own body any longer. Then, complete darkness as you felt your knees give out, face hard to the ground. The last thing you heard was your scream.

-

Maybe, you are meant to live your life filled with events of deja vu—a life of full circles and time loops. Maybe, you are meant to live a life of crime with the constant disability to learn from your mistakes, having been caught on numerous occasions because as soon as your brain awakens from its weakening of electrocution torture, there’s a familiar sense of aftermath pain, the sight of colorful grand walls, the feeling your hands cuffed to a rock metal chair and the grinning smile of none other than the Grandmaster.

You are stuck in a cycle, and you’re never breaking free.

The Grandmaster calls out your name with an almost chilling enthusiasm to his tone.

“At last, we meet again, 170! I’ve missed you, you know. You, uh, you really were something, huh? Intelligent. Pretty. Brought me lots of great stuff. Like that guy—What’s his name? Oh! Ares, God of war. He was a brilliant champion. Now, look at you. All dirty, disgusting and that hideous scar, ugh—” The Grandmaster cringes, gesturing to your figure with that melt stick of his. You flinch as he nears you, deciding how much you hate that shimmering golden robe. “Though I’ll have to admit, you are good at hiding. It’s almost annoying...Do you agree, Loki?”

He turns and you follow his gaze. Loki stands by the corner, looking almost sheepish. Your eyes are now immense, face painted with hurt and betrayal albeit you don’t necessarily demonstrate it. Loki averts his gaze to the Grandmaster. “I suppose.”

The silver-haired man laughs with a wagging finger to him. “I like you, Loki. I really do.”

You cringe at his words. He turns to you, smile gone.

“Hey, now you are going to tell me—I mean, really tell me—who exactly you are and where you’re from.”

You spot the furrow of the God's brows. His voice is faint, like the time at the market, asking you to trust him. “Is she not from Earth?”

The Grandmaster seems to be taken aback by Loki’s sudden question, narrow eyes bouncing between the two of you. Then, his mouth curves into an apparent ‘o’. “Oh, I see what’s going on. Wow. You actually believed that little story of hers? That she’s from a planet called Earth and an astronaut? Oh, you poor thing,” He speaks through his chuckles, amused by Loki’s expression of bewilderment.

So much for being truthful.

“You know, I always have the intuition for liars like you. So, there was no way you could have faked it all the way through.” His attention is on you, but you’re too busy looking at your unlikely ally or you dare say your partner's unreadable manner. Blank face. Usual posture. You hope to spot a hint of sympathy or sadness in his eyes. There’s nothing.

You can’t save yourself and neither can he.

You, after all, betrayed him in terms of your unknown identity. It’s expected he wouldn’t do the same. Yet, this is Loki getting a taste of his own medicine. If it weren’t for your imminent death, you would find this situation rather amusing.

“So, are you going to tell us the truth?”

Your gaze returns to the taller man. “No.”

You’re not sure how to feel about that single word being the last word you speak.

The Grandmaster blinks then shrug coyly. “Oh well, that’s quite a pity,” he moves around, gazing at the surrounding guards, hand on his hip. “So, uh, we’re doing this, huh?”

No one in the room moves or speaks.

He sighs, extending the melt stick to you. “Yeah, okay...See ya, then!”

You shut your eyes, ready to succumb to the pain of being liquefied. You wonder if it hurts and that the past victims you have witnessed were being dramatic as they screamed for the end of their lives rather than the pain itself. In all honesty, you’re terrified although you believe you shouldn’t be. Death is inevitable, after all, and you’ve been prepared for many years, living in hiding.

This is it. This is when you finally rest.

You miss home. Wherever that is.

“Wait!”

Your eyes are wide open, they fly to Loki who has his arm stretched out, nearing the Grandmaster. The melt stick is inches away from your face. The Grandmaster spins away from you, attention directed to Loki. “Really, Loki? I was so close to having the pleasure of melting her!”

For an Elder of the Universe, he could erratically act a lot like a child. A child with an obsession with control and murder. Psychopathic child.

You observe the two enter an argument of whispers and dramatic hand movements. Then, the colorful psychopath in that hideous shimmering coat swivels in his stance, gaze at you as a heavy sigh escapes his lips. “Fine. I guess I don’t have to know who exactly you are. On behalf of Loki here who seems very keen on keeping you alive, you are pardoned,” Your mouth flies open in response. “But! I’m putting you on probation. 142 will be keeping a close eye on you. So, yeah. Lie to me again and I’ll have you executed for real.”

The Grandmaster walks away and your wrists are released from the cuffs of the chair.

Loki retains that darn smirk on that charming face of his.

-

The slave quarters seem huge from the last time you were here. In comparison to your unstable shack of a home in the outskirts of the city, anything cleaner and brighter than that shithole was enough to fulfill your heart’s desire for an ideal place of residence. It’s the same room you occupied before you fled and went into hiding. You recognize the markings on the wall, roman numerals, hidden in the corner by your bed, counting the days since you arrived on Sakaar. That was years ago, maybe a decade—you lost count.

There’s a knock on the door; it swishes open to reveal none other than Loki, dressed in a different but relatively similar outfit to his original Asgardian clothing. It’s blue instead of green. You abruptly decide you like the way it brings out the specks of blue in those irises of emerald.

You cross your arms. “So, I assume you got caught, but I want to know how the hell did you not get this thing?” You tap the obedience disk on the curve of your neck. His smile curves into a smirk. “One word: Silvertongue.”

Your snort, nearing him. “That’s two words.”

Loki simply rolls his eyes. “No, it isn’t. It’s two—it doesn’t matter.”

That deafening silence wave over the two of you. You purse your lips.

“Why did you save me back there?”

The God blinks, shoulders squaring. There’s a sudden tension in the air.

“Well,” his head tilts as he clears his throat, trying to form the right words. He wets his lips. “If someone manages to trick the God of trickery himself, maybe that someone is worth saving.”

His response startles a distinct silence from you—the silence of awe and contemplation. He says you're worthy of saving, a sentence you never thought you’ll hear from the man who crashed through your roof and proceeded to be threatened with a dagger. The man who seemed to have some sort of inclination and ambition to annoy the death out of you. It’s bizarre how life works, how two diverging lives end up intertwined with one another in the most unlikely circumstance, and how time truly heals. It mends the wounds of the lonely, the ones who were told they were never enough.

Maybe scarce and scarce turns out to be enough after all.

You see yourself in him, a complex mind and a misunderstood heart. It’s frightening how you somehow understand, and you somehow don’t simultaneously.

People are complex. Life is complex.

He watches you with that same look when he initially heard the vocals of Freddie Mercury.

You’re no Freddie Mercury, you know that.

Your voice cuts through the silence. “Thank you.”

Loki seems to snap out of what felt like forever, responding with a curt nod.

“I’ll see you at dinner then,” he says, backing away into the hallway as he readies himself to leave. “And please, wear something better than that hideous heap of trash.” He gestures to your figure; your clothes are rugged and filled with dust and sand.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“We can resume our plans to getting off this planet after that,”

With a smug look, he spins on his heel and leaves. The door closes with a whirring sound. You feel heavy.

And God, you need a drink.

You quickly locate the drinking glasses, in one of the cabinets above the kitchenette. As you rummage through the rest of the drawers and cabinets in search of a bottle of something, a soft hum from the other side of the room catches your attention.

Your figure spins and you’re met by the sight of a group of materialized armored soldiers, clad in black. You heave a profound sigh of relief, a grin curving upon your lips.

“You guys finally found me! What took y'all so long? I’ve been stuck here for ages—”

“It appears to be a standard sequence violation.” one of the armored men say with an A-50 scrawled vertically on his helmet in orange.

You furrow your brows, feeling your heart stop. “Wait, what—”

“On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the Scared Timeline.” Hunter A-50 speaks. There’s a wave of sympathy flashes upon his expression. “I’m sorry.”

The cup falls to the floor, shattering into serrated pieces that surround your feet. Your heart begins to pound. As the other hunters grasp onto your arms, you are hauled through the translucent glowing doorway. Then, you hear the words of A-50 that struck your heart like a dagger.

“Reset the timeline.”

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

[scriptaed]

bygones of the sun. 05 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 4.3k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

a/n: a repost of my old fic!

The sun begins to set the minute you stride your way out of the dance room.

“Leaving already?” Keiko asks, looking up in the midst of rummaging through her duffle bag.

You pause, affixed a few feet from the door frame where Taehyung and Jungkook peer in from, “I, um... I have something urgent to do.”

Contrary to most people’s uninterested reactions, she raises both brows in genuine curiosity when Taehyung perks his ears and interjects with a chirp, “what’re you doing? Where are you going? Do you need help?”

“Uh, no,” you blurt out, furrowing your brows and eyeing the ceiling and door and everything but Taehyung’s pure circular and watchful eyes  in an attempt to fabricate some excuse. “I actually… forgot to lock my house.”

“You should hurry on back then,” Keiko grins, and the way only one corner of her lips lifts and a lighthearted laugh tumbles from her lips tells you your excuse might have been adequate in fooling the boys but not her.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later then,” you mumble under your breath with a pressed smile, nodding them goodbye despite seeing the pout adorning Taehyung’s lips. Ducking your head with your eyes glued to the floor, you shuffle in between Taehyung and Jungkook and through the door. Standing on each side of the door frame, you can practically feel their gazes following you as you inch forward step by step, wondering whether they’re staring at the disheveled state of your hair or the poor outfit choice you had thrown on in a hurry—

“Oh? Isn’t that Hoseok’s sweater?”

Shit, you had totally forgotten about it.

You whip your head around to find Jungkook staring at the black sweater which engulfs you from within, and it only takes you a split second and the strike of a hammering heartbeat to dismiss his suspicions, “no. It’s mine.”

“Nah, I don’t think Hoseok would lend her his clothes,” Taehyung waves his hands, “I mean, did you see them scowling at each other yesterday? Plus, it’s not like they’re dating. Right, Y/N?”

Your cheeks burn—imaginably, a bright shade of red—and you can’t help but run your fidgeting hands through your hair.

“Uh...” you hesitantly glimpse at Taehyung who smiles at you from ear to ear with cheeks raised before averting your eyes back to the ground. Technically speaking, you and Hoseok are no where near dating; in fact, the only reason you two are still acquainted is because of a stupid bet you made in the spur of a moment… or at least that’s what you tell yourself, because despite how many times you tell yourself otherwise, you know the reason you accepted his offer stems from curiosity, concern, and guilt over Hoseok’s hiatus as the school’s heartthrob of a dancer. So no, you two aren’t dating. It’s not like Hoseok would want to anyways, especially after hearing you mention the topic he despises the most. “...yeah.”

Jungkook cocks his head and cinches his brows, eyes never leaving the obviously and excessively oversized sweater, “oh, really? Sorry… my bad.”

“No, it’s fine,” you shake your head and hastily excuse yourself, “see you later.”

Jungkook slowly nods his head, waving you goodbye as you lower your head and quickly make your departure. And despite verbally dismissing their initial suspicions, you can still feel their piercing gaze boring a hole into the back of your head as they questioningly glance at each other with a shrug of the shoulders.

Of course they’d notice; what were you even thinking when you first threw on this damn curse—albeit warm and comfy—of a sweater?

“Oh? Where are you going, Y/N?” you lift your head to find Jimin striding his way towards you from across the hall.

“Home. I have to do something urgent,” you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your left ear.

Jimin lightly laughs at your reply, nodding his head and passing by you only to turn on his heels right when he does so, “hey, I didn’t want to ask you this in front of the other two in case you got embarrassed, but isn’t that Hoseok’s sweater?”

Your eyes pop as you quickly whirl around to turn your back on Jimin and hide your cheeks which scorches with heat equivalent to blazing flames, because it’s not like his attempt at sparing you from embarrassment makes anything different; in fact, all it does is commence the second round of embarrassment for you. And when you think about all three of the boys noticing your choice of clothing while everything goes unnoticed by Keiko, you conclude the three boys truly are too similar for your own good.

You gulp down the knot in your throat before exclaiming, “for the last time, no!”

“Okay! Have a safe walk home, alright?” he calls out in the midst of his laughs.

Throwing on the hood which indeed belongs to the one and only infamous Jung Hoseok, a fact which flushes overwhelmingly burning blood to your cheeks, especially when you’re bombarded by the scent of clean mint and spice, or rather, the scent of him, you scurry down the halls without another glance back over your shoulder.

But once you’ve scampered out of the building and into the cold, harsh air of the outside, away and hidden from curious eyes of the dwindling numbers of passerbys in the school, and once you’ve taken your final step out of the hall leading to the dance practice room where light seeps through the doors from late night sessions, you find the sun has finally set.

Street lights line and illuminate the sidewalk in its embrace of warm and welcoming hues of golden bronze, providing more than enough safety for you to roam around in the neighborhood, but the hastening of your footsteps and the panicking thoughts flooding through your mind tell you otherwise; after seeing where your careless curiosity and actions had gotten you into with Jimin and the boys, you devise a simple enough plan to complete on your own terms. You have to get home, change into anything but this damn sweatshirt, and get yourself to a state presentable to a boy who’s soon to come barging into your house uninvited—all to be done before Hoseok arrives.

But when you’re pacing down the streets with your arms crossed and your lungs huffing out quickened breaths showcased by the script of the cold, night air, a part of you dreads for the moment when you’re forced to discard yourself of this sweater. Unlike your bare legs, feet, and lips which quiver in the wrath of the freezing night, your arms, chest, and the entirety of your upper body remains wrapped in the warmth of his cotton sweater. As much as you hate to admit it, the scent which radiates from his sweater provides you with an odd sense of home and security as it shelters you from the weather and intermixes with the scent of freshly watered grass and petrichor.

And when you’re lost in your thoughts elicited by the soft, warm fabric of his sweater, you find yourself walking up your driveway when someone’s voice captures your diverted attention.

“About time you arrive!” a familiarly low yet bright voice calls out to you. Lifting your head, your eyes widen and a harsh pang of your heart against your chest floods you with panic as every part of you hopes he doesn’t notice the sweater you have draped over your body. Luckily, his gaze locks with yours, unamused and tired from waiting, and yet glistening ever so slightly at your arrival. With his body leaning against the wall by your door, he crosses his arms and taps his fingers against them like he always does, “so, where were you?”

“Is that any of your business?” you answer, rummaging through the pockets of the sweater to find your door key.

“Wow, sassy right off the bat,” Hoseok chortles, lifting a plastic bag filled with whatever he had brought with him, “and here I am, a gentleman, bringing you, who should’ve been bedridden, some food.”

Waving him off, you scoff at his remark and fumble with the keys until you realize how close he’s standing to you. And no, it isn’t the proximity of his heat radiating off your already burning cheeks that sends you into panic, but it’s the fact that he’s so close to noticing the sweater of his on you and the thought of a smug smile spreading across his lips when he registers the thought of you, who supposedly, and most certainly, despises him, putting on his clothes that causes you to interject when you can practically feel his eyes scanning you up and down.

“Well, at least I know you weren’t out on a date with some other guy,” he laughs, “or at least not with that outfit—”

“I went to the grocery store,” you blurt out, keeping your eyes on the door and your hands clutching the doorknob.

“Uh… huh…” Hoseok hums, head turning and leaning against the door frame only to meet the hood draping over your own head. “And so why are you coming back empty handed?”

Well shit, maybe he isn’t as dull as you thought after all.

“The store was closed,” you mutter.

“...fair enough,” Hoseok stands there in silence, with the exception of his fingers pattering against his gray sweater, each second which ticks by sends your heart racing in suspense. “By the way, why are you all buried up like that? C’mon, you can’t hate me that much, can you?”

“No, it’s possible,” you quip.

He snorts at your response before he coos, “but I haven’t seen your face in a while! I miss you!”

Hoseok’s hand reaches for your hood, his palm placing flat against the top of your head as he gently attempts to nudge it down only to have you stubbornly grabbing both sides of your hood to prevent it from falling; it’s not like you think you look bad per say, but having Hoseok specifically request for a glimpse of you makes you all the more self conscious. You’re sick. Your nose is red from excessive blowing of tissues, your eyes suffer from dark circles, and your hair is too much of a mess to present to others… but the thing is, none of those thoughts crossed your mind when you marched through school just a few minutes ago. So what is the difference now?

The two of you engage in a mini tug of war challenge until suddenly, all movement comes to a halt and you can no longer feel the force of his hand other than having it rest comfortably against the top of your head.

You can hear him smirk, “...hey, isn’t this my sweater?”

And it’s at that moment that you’re almost certain your heart had stopped and you could no longer breathe.

“No,” you mutter under your breath, finally twisting the doorknob and barging through your door. Whirling around, you attempt to slam the door closed before he could enter, but all efforts are fruitless when he skillfully sticks his foot in the small slit between the door and the remaining distance to the door frame.

“No, I’m pretty sure it is,” he erupts into cackles, “are you really going to shut me out of your house because you’re too scared to admit you’re attached to my sweater? Even when I brought you some food, thinking you were sick and not prancing around outside in my clothes?”

You grit your teeth and bury yourself and your reddening cheeks further into the hoodie, your entire body heating up at his teasing, “shut up or I’m going to lock you out.”

“Weren’t you going to do that anyways?” he quips from the other side of the door. You can just imagine the smug smile plastered across his face. “Open up or people will wonder why I’m at your house and I’m just going to have to tell them you stole my sweater from me!”

Whipping the door open, you turn to storm back into your house without sparing another glimpse at Hoseok, “fine, you win. Close and lock the door, will you?”

“Yes, love,” he chirps mockingly and does as you instruct as you roll your eyes.

Plopping down on your couch, you bury yourself under a bundle of bedsheets, covering half your face up until only your eyes can be seen. Hoseok’s heavy footsteps taps against your wooden floor and echoes across your house, and while you usually would scold Junghwa for jumping around in your house so loudly, you can’t help but become entranced by the eloquence of his steps akin to the heavy beats of a song blasting through small speakers of the dance room. And plus, as much as you hate to admit it, you like noticing these small things about Hoseok that others may not get to see.

“So are you ever going to explain to me why you’re wearing my sweater?” he asks, setting the plastic bag hooked on his slender, soft looking fingers onto the coffee table before you and plopping down next to you on the couch.

“Well, are you ever going to tell me why you quit the dance club?”

He pauses, and you can catch him pursing his lips in the corner of your eyes, “...touché. But I didn’t quit, I’m just taking a break.”

“Same thing,” you snort.

“And it’s not like I’m never going to tell you. C’mon, I promised you I’d tell you as long as you don’t fall for me,” he laughs before smirking, “but seeing how you’re already wearing my clothes, I don’t know if I’ll ever have to tell you—”

“Do you want to stay or not?” you groan, burying your face further underneath your blanket as you shut your eyes in sheer embarrassment.

Why does he always love to tease you like this? But despite the fact that your cheeks burn so brightly and your entire body radiates off heat from the increase of blood flow, you take pleasure in being teased by Hoseok. In a way, it makes you two that much closer, somewhat like friends, and somehow you start to wonder if you’re the only one he teases like this. But when you think about it more, you remember he’s known for playing with girls. You can’t let your guard down. Plus, he’s right about this little bet of yours. If you want the answer to your questions, then you’d have to win. And flustering like this is most definitely a step in the wrong direction.

“Fine, I do, I do. I’ll stop teasing now,” he chuckles, hands lifting to the hem of the blanket resting on the bridge of your nose. His knuckles graze against your already burning cheeks, sending blazes of fire across the surface of your skin as you gulp and your heart nearly jumps from your chest. So when he gently tugs on the blanket to tuck underneath your chin, you’re caught off guard and the blanket easily slips from your gripping fingers. And for the first time in a few days, you peer up to lock eyes with his own soft ones, too close for your own good. He gives you that charming lopsided grin of his, “no, really, stop covering yourself with all of that.”

“It’s your fault for not giving me a warning before coming over,” you mumble, barely able to breathe when the two of you speak eye to eye. “My face isn’t even presentable in this state. Sorry if you’re disappointed—”

“No, that’s not what I’m looking for,” he chuckles, cinching his brows at your remark. “I’m telling you to stop covering your face because I’m genuinely worried you’re going to suffocate underneath all that. Aren’t you hot?”

“...not really,” you lie, averting your eyes when the burning of your cheeks only push you closer to brink of sweating right then and there.

“Alright, if you’re too attached to my sweater to take it off, just feel free to say so. I’ll lend you my other clothes if you really want, ow,” he breaks out into a fit of laughs when you punch his arm and turns his wide eyes to meet your glaring ones, “hey, I’m just joking! I’m just trying to convince you to take that damn jacket off! It’s hot as hell in here!”

“But I look like a mess!” you exclaim.

“No, you don’t!” he scoffs in disbelief. “You look damn perfect to me! Now give me this blanket!”

Huffing at his persistence, you remove the hood from your head and throw the blanket off to the side. A rush of cold air brushes against your bare skin and relieves it from the previous heat of your sheets. Hoseok’s right, he could see right through you, because you really were dying underneath all of those sheets and clothing. And so of course, you cross your arms and refuse to admit it, but that doesn’t stop him from widening his eyes in surprise before smugly smiling to himself in triumph.

“See? Your hair looks effortlessly perfect. Your bare face is as breathtaking as ever. You look great, so stop hiding that pretty face of your from me, alright?” he quickly says, turning away to occupy himself with the contents of bags.

His sweet words come to him so naturally that you’re not sure if you should be ashamed of yourself for being touched. And even though your heart skips at his endless compliments, it’s impossible to deny the juxtaposition of the drop in your stomach when you realize you were looking for more of a reaction. What exactly were you looking for? Were you hoping his jaws would drop and all air would be knocked from his lungs at the mere sight of you? Aren’t you falling too quickly for his way with words and dancing yourself right into the palm of his hands?

“So why’re you here?” you take a deep breath and sigh.

“To feed my sick girlfriend,” he dips a plastic spoon into the bowl of congee, blows gently across the steam which evaporates into the air, and brings it to your lips.

You roll your eyes, “don’t call me that. We’re not even dating.”

“Aren’t we technically dating? Open up, love,” Hoseok furthermore teases, a snicker coming from his lips as he pushes the spoon against your closed lips. “Ahhh. Or are you going to be a baby and need me to pretend this is an airplane?”

“I have a cold. It’s not like I don’t have arms or some—”

—in goes the spoon.

“Good girl,” Hoseok coos, removing the spoon from your lips and returning it to the bowl of congee.

You hate to say it, but the entire situation and vibe he gives off would’ve given anyone, including you, the wrong impression. Here he is, a casual gray sweater and mustard colored snapback thrown on backwards in a haste to meet you, someone he’s supposedly seeing all for a silly bet, and feeding you some homemade food to his sick pretend girlfriend. Everything about him, his teasing, and the warm atmosphere of tonight screams of more than a fake relationship. But does he notice it? Does he notice the change in the air? The fact that he’s acting so damn casual and calm around you in your own house angers you all the more. Glimpsing back over his shoulder, he only laughs at your silent death glare.

“What?” he raises a brow.

“Nothing,” you mutter. Quick, think of something to get back at him. “Do you want to attend your club’s annual spring boot camp?”

“First off,” Hoseok frowns, placing the spoon back into the bowl and leaning back into the couch, “it’s not my club. Second, no, I don’t.”

“Why not?” you question, brows furrowing. If you’re being completely honest with yourself, a part of you still longs for the day Hoseok returns to the stage, and the bootcamp sounds perfect for that. “Jimin says they’re completely behind schedule and they don’t know what to do without their dance captain.”

“They’ll be fine. They can ask Keiko anyways,” he deadpans, glimpsing at you before adding, “Keiko’s our last dance captain.”

“...Keiko?” you repeat. It’s dumb for this to finally reoccur to you, but you had totally forgotten how Hoseok had first asked you out on a date due to a bet he had made with his own friends. You’re just a pawn in the midst of his plans in acquiring feelings from his ultimate goal. “...do you still talk to her?”

He quirks a brow, “not particularly.”

Odd. A contradiction to Keiko’s words. One of them had to be lying, and if you’re being fair, Hoseok is the more likely one.

“Just wondering, but do you ever regret quitting dance? Don’t you regret letting people down? Or is there anyone you wish you had gotten to know better?” you gulp when the words slip from you before you could take them back. “People from the club? People who were going to join the club?”

He glances at you with a raised brow before turning away to stare at the window absent of the usual sunlight flooding through across the two of you. “No. It’s not like I remember every single member.”

That’s a lie. As people had fawned over him for, he always knew the name of every single member.

“I don’t miss having people watching me dance. I don’t miss the stage.”

Another lie.

“I don’t miss trying so hard to recruit new members only to be turned down when they don’t show up the next day at practice,” Hoseok mutters, and you’re pierced with a sense of guilt. Is he alluding to you…? Does he remember you? Does he remember the fateful night you two had spent together only to let him come crashing down the next day? Or were you just one of many? “...but I do wonder where she went.”

She?

“Who—”

 “But let’s not talk about that anymore,” he gives you a small, lopsided smile, “you promised me, after all.”

Ah, something about his smile irks you to the point that your chest aches and your guts twist in pain. His smile. It isn’t genuine. It isn’t as genuine as it used to be. 

Hoseok chuckles in the midst of the silence, “actually… come to think of it, I did give you a warning. I texted you fifteen minutes before coming over. Why didn’t you reply?”

Looking over his shoulder, he finds you staring at him in silence. Hoseok quirks a brow at the parting of your lips that fails to utter a single explanation.

“...I didn’t receive your texts,“ you blink and he reciprocates your blank stare.

“Oh, really?” Hoseok raises a brow, eyes trailing to the coffee table where your phone lies.

Your phone.

Hoseok.

Your phone.

Hoseok.

Glimpsing between your phone and Hoseok, you immediately spring forward in a vain attempt to retrieve your device, for when you’re up and on your feet, you realize your phone is right in Hoseok’s hands. Raising his hands up above his head and high into the air where you fail to reach despite numerous jumps, Hoseok takes his own phone from his pocket to dial in your number.

And sure enough, his number and contact name pops up on your screen.

“Ew, Hoseok?!” he exclaims, mouth gaping at the name you had given him on your phone. “When did you change this because last time I remember it was just Hoseok?!”

“I changed it because it more accurately portrays my feelings towards you, hmph,” you stick your tongue out at him and snatch your phone back.

“Says the one wearing my sweater!”

“Hey, you promised you’d stop!”

“Then change it!” he exclaims.

The two of you wrestle around, tugging and pulling and pushing every which way in an attempt to win over the phone. But alas, as fate has it, the phone somehow flies off into the air across the room and the two of you collapse back onto the couch—you underneath Hoseok and Hoseok over you.

He’s too close. His nose just an inch from grazing against yours and his lips just a couple of inches from meeting yours. His eyes gaze right down and straight into your own wide ones, except his is unfazed. You gulp. You can feel his heat radiating off his body and onto yours, his hands by your each side of your head and holding him up from collapsing onto you. His heavy, mint scented breathing brushes across your lips, sending tingles down your spine, and his usual deodorant overwhelming you in a cloud of a dazed moment.

“Come to think of it…” he says, not budging a single inch. “You do look strikingly familiar…”

Your eyes pop open and he smirks in reaction, leaning in closer and closer by the second. Is he really going in for it...? You panic for what to do before your instincts calls for you to place a hand against his chest and push him away, “get off me already!”

Lifting his cap to run a hand through his hair and reposition his snapback, he chuckles and leans over to grab another spoonful of congee, “I was just joking around. It’s not like I was actually gonna kiss you or anything. Now finish this food or you’re wasting my efforts.”

He might’ve been joking around about the kiss, but something tells you he’s not quite joking around about the remark which slipped from his lips unknowingly.

And just like that, you spend the rest of your day with Hoseok. Teasing, laughing, smacking, and just being the two polar opposites that you are akin to the sun and the moon until the day ends the second the clock strikes midnight.

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 6 - life

you shoot first and ask questions later.

Obitus.

Death. It had been one of the first basic Latin terminology you had learned all those years ago in nursing school, back when you had thought memorizing ancient words related to your studies was the hardest thing ever. Waking up early for clinical trials and cramming through the tests, sometimes crashing on the library couch were most you could remember from those simpler times but above all the memories, etched deep within your very soul and mind had been your remarkable professors - how much they valued life.

Human or not, all forms of life had always been sacred and should have been protected at all costs - those were the teachings they all tried to instill into young minds, doctors and nurses alike. People who were going to dedicate blood and sweat into treating others in need. The recurring doctrine echoed in your mind relentlessly through the years - if you were going to save lives, you were going to do so by not harming life itself first. Every single medical procedure performed, no matter how unimportant and mundane they seemed, had to do with protecting and letting prosper, and thus was sacred in some way of thinking. If needed, and it often was, you were always ready to completely sacrifice your own health and well-being if it meant doing good for the ones suffering.

Nothing ever came close to the pure happiness and wonder, knowing that you saved the patient in the operating room who would die had it not been for your help - an almost daily feeling back in a better time.

It seemed like you took more lives than you helped live these days. The sacredness of the profession you had chosen for a lifetime had slipped through your fingers when you had first pulled a trigger on a human being, the very creature you had sworn to protect, turned or not. Killing became the new norm in the cruel world, and it contradicted the very essence of your soul. Saving lives had been a losing game in a world full of bloodshed and mayhem, you would learn over years of pain. One you could play only for so long before you succumbed to your own demise.

For the time being, it had to be another one's death in exchange for your life.

It was just the way the world worked.

"Fuckin' hell!"

The residual echoes of the loud gunshot rang in your ears combined with the panting and gasping of the other man. Waiting only a split second to see the guy on your right crumble down on the ground with a sickening thud, blood and brains splattering around the cream walls, you ducked back to cover fast. Faint smoke rose up in gentle waves from the barrel of your gun, your chest heaving up and down in anticipation of what was to come next.

It would have been great if you had a fucking clue yourself. The honed survival instinct within you had screamed less heads the better, and it was a rule you had found yourself following often lately which explained the freshly-dead, bleeding body somewhere in the living room. What the instinct did not tell you immediately was how to deal with a damn Firefly whose best friend you had just murdered in cold blood, who maybe knew you or about you - neither of them increasing your chances of survival against this enemy. Seemed like you would have to improvise once again, you had been doing that an awful lot lately that led you to this fucking mess to begin with - yet you had no other choice but to trust your muscle memory and the leftover bullets in your handgun to get you through this.

The lingering soreness in your injured thigh was making that trust run out in a pretty steady pace.

Mutters of the approaching man could be heard as he took a couple of steps that made the hardwood vibrate, no doubt glancing at his fallen friend for any vital signs. Not finding any hope, you would hear him cursing out again, frantically breathing as a metallic click sound echoed.

“I'm gonna find you, you fuckin' hear me? Come out!”

The knuckles clutching around the revolver in your hands became white from exertion, the grip becoming vice-like as the creaking sound of the wood under his heavy feet made stealth impossible. Coming closer and closer, you could hear his rugged breath - terrified because of the unknown source of death looming.

Holding your breath in haste of what was to come, the adrenaline coarsing through your veins was what made you slowly slide up the wall and land a violent, well-placed kick to the man’s calf as the toe of his boots showed up through the archway, sending his gun go sprawling off with him collapsing in a loud growl.

The blow to his tibia would not be enough to break it, but it was a well-executed one to send him to his knees. Eyes sparkling with determination, a couple grunts of your own slipped past your lips from sheer effort as you took quick steps approaching the man clutching onto his lower leg, left panting, one hand trying to reach towards his gun over at the edge of the wall.

“Alright, now,” slipped out of your mouth, words rather uncharacteristically laced with some form of cruelty as your military boots pressed onto his wriggling fingers in a sickening crunch which made him scream his damn lungs out for all the neighborhood to hear.

“You fuckin’ bitch! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!” he drabbled in his last stand, spittle on the corners of his mouth, body twisting and turning, trying to claw at your leg. He did manage to, his hand reaching up to tear the bandage on your wound, dirty fingers digging into the sore ache of a scab through the fabric, sending you howling in pain. Without thinking, you would slap the butt of the handle onto his tugging hand through gritted teeth, your leg buckling and threatening to collapse. Your supporting one swung in a desperate attempt to kick the guy in his guts, landing and knocking the air out of him for only a second, giving you enough time to sit yourself down on his stomach, straddling him with a hand viciously pressing against his windpipe.

The pain in your leg as you knelt was fucking killing you, sending warm waves of agony all over your body. You prayed the wound did not pop open again - if it did, you were worse off living than dead. It had been no time to lick your wounds and worry about possible blood infection - with the cold barrel of your gun pressed against the man’s throat, your hand cutting off his circulation bit by bit. He must have been a new recruit, somewhat young - his face did not ring any bells from your old days and maybe it was for the best.

“Here’s how this is gonna play out,” you ordered, voice dripping in dark, dark venom, eyes boring daggers into his terrified expression. “You’re gonna tell me who the fuck you were searchin’ for around here,” the words continued, causing the man to gulp and cough dryly, his foot tapping onto the ground helplessly. 

“Or you can join your little friend over there.”

In a matter of seconds, his blue eyes seemed to be damn near exploding out of their sockets as he took a good look at your face, making you raise an eyebrow ever so slightly as you clenched your jaw. “Please let me go,” he started to beg this time, frantically, the taunts he used to throw your way long gone, writhing under your grip. “Promise I won’t fuckin’ give anything away… not a word outta me. Just let me go.”

Not able to comprehend just what the hell the man was rambling about, you did what you knew best to do - pressed the barrel tighter against his neck, tilting your own head as you inched closer to his face. 

“What the fuck are you squirmin’ about? Give what away?” you asked, your patience growing thinner by the second. The hand on his windpipe eased just the right bit to allow him to form words.

“We were lookin’ for you,” he confessed after a moment of silence, beads of cold sweat descending his cheeks, voice cracking and hoarse. The shock on your face no doubt readable from his stance. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you would let out a growl, pushing the man more.

“Who the fuck sent you?”

“Who the fuck do you think? Marlene. She said she needed you and sent us over,” he gave out, pressure the barrel on his neck making the veins bulge on his temple. “There. I gave you everything. I swear to God I don’t know nothin’ else. Let me go,” the man would plead, not even giving you a moment to reflect on the new information you acquired that dumbfounded you, to say the least. He would stare at you from his position, see the unbelieving glints in your eyes.

What on earth did the Fireflies want with you again, let alone send men to gather you up? It seemed like you were pondering for a moment, mouth agape only for a second before you came to your senses and gave him a firm nod of your head.

“I believe you,” you would say before you pulled the trigger, sending one right through his throat as red splattered on your face from the impact, sending his head limping backwards as he gargled on his own blood in a relatively quick death.

“Christ...” you muttered to yourself, your brain running a hundred miles a second as you lifted yourself up and away from straddling the dead Firefly. It previously occurred to you that once you left the compound and got discharged from their service, you had been a free woman. That the Fireflies had way more to worry about than a surgical nurse who had escaped from their group. You had managed to get by on your own years after you left, and figured it would always be this way, only hearing about your old crew from the bombings in zones and the wanted posters. Why did the Majesty herself need you so damn badly, then out of all the moments, to the point that she sent actual men after you to your last known location?

Your thoughts were interrupted right away as the tall man and the small girl, who let out a loud fuck the moment the door swung open, stood in the doorway with Joel’s arm shielding her lightly from going further - until he was sure all danger had been gone, his other hand pointing his own revolver. His face that scanned the room intently, was a mixture - shocked, relieved, somewhat disappointed, and scared. It was some expression you could not discern but it gave away more than his usual demeanor - it did not take you much to realize they had stepped in after hearing double gunshots, maybe checking to see if you were dead and if they needed to finish the job themselves, though you had this hunch he had an eye on you as you infiltrated the house, watching from the windows.

It was ironic that a part of you wished you had been killed right there and then, after all. Any demise would be considered paradise compared to getting hunted down by your ex-kin, with you outnumbered and alone.

Yet the lone-wolf survivor in you, no doubt still running high off the pumping adrenaline, told you to put one in between both their eyes and just drive the fuck out of there, it was a good chance as any, but one quick lingering glance at Ellie who stood rigidly alert behind Joel - halted you.

Instead, you took deep, heavy breaths, with a bloody hand clutching onto your overworked recovering leg, all you could do was send a shaky, wide-eyed nod to the pair.

“You’re safe,” you would announce the visible fact in a breathy voice, as if you were trying to make yourself believe in that rather than them. “The keys should be around somewhere.”

Only after those words echoed in the house now littered with fresh corpses, Joel would lower his gun only slightly yet did not holster it, letting Ellie move a little move freely as he tossed you a brief nod.

Replying with a nod of your own directed his way, you let the pair rummage through the empty living room while you made your way back to your latest victim, kneeling beside. Crimson oozed in a lazy haze down what was left of his throat, coating the hardwood, the smell of copper sulking. His outstretched hand left in a sickening angle due to his broken fingers under your firm step. It was routine to search corpses for any goods that could help you survive, but this time, it scared you to death knowing what you could find inside those pockets of his.

“Found it,” you would hear Ellie announce with her innocent voice that should not belong in a world full of sins, the jiggling of a metal key ringing in the air much to all comfort.

Just as she found something in the means of her survival, you would come across the bane of yours, something you tried to bury so desperately in your past. From the breastpocket of his jacket, with trembling hands, you extracted the chain, its familiar twinkle surrounding you as the round pendant partially covered in dry blood rested in your palm before you tucked it in your pocket hastily.

And it proved all your fears, seeing that it had your name carved on it, in capitals.

next

[deathbyvalentine]

Regency Werewolves, Chapter One

The first matter was, of course, finding a property with a plot of land large enough to meet their not insignificant needs. Simple acres of meadow and field would not do, nor would the carefully manicured gardens that so many of their station opted for. No, there needed to be an air of wilderness about the place, a whisper of nature overtaking, civilisation needing cultivation rather than the other way around. 

Therefore Basil Hall was perfect. It had once belonged to a great aunt and when she had died, the bank had held it until the complex matter of inheritance had been settled. In truth, many of them had forgotten about the old place until their solicitor called, his voice every inch the brisk professional. Everything else had happened rather quickly - the signing of deeds, the appraisal and a letter or two to the parish church, informing them of their new congregation members. And so, just as spring was creeping over the fields, the Williamsons moved in.

If a gossip column had published an official profile of them, it might have went like this; 

Lord Gordon Williamson - the patriarch of the family. Man with many affairs and many interests, though previous to the move, they had mainly been rooted in Scotland. He is known for a somewhat stern manner. However,the centering of his family was admirable and one many more husbands could stand to learn from. He liked cigars, port and hunting, all good strong masculine pursuits.

Lady Elise Williamson - the wife of Lord Gordon. While she could not be described as a great beauty, there was something attractive about her nevertheless, be it in a smile or in her conversation. She was a keen naturist and often took long trips to the Lakes or even into the Yorkshire Moors. As such, she was stout and of fine disposition, never taking to a sick bed a day in her life.

The Widow Selene Daviton - the sister of Lady Elise. Once married, once widowed, she relied on the company of her darling sister to keep her in society. They were inseparable and Selene ended up bringing up the children as much as her sister and indeed, her sister’s nursemaid. 

Master Kingsley Williamson - the eldest son of Lady Elise and Lord Gordon. A scholar at heart, much to the pride of his parents. He showed little interest in the follies and pursuits of other boys his age, generally preferring to learn of his father’s business matters and responsibilities. He took the burden of heirship gracefully and without complaint.

Miss Alice Williamson - the eldest daughter of his Lord and Ladyship. While her brother was retiring, Miss Alice tended towards the wild. There was no new scientific endeavour she didn’t want to witness, no novel she didn’t insist on reading. Her chief joy in life however was riding. She would come home drenched in sweat and whatever weather was currently occurring outside, smile wide and body aching.

Miss Sybil, the youngest daughter of the family took great strides to distance herself from such unladylike behaviour. As Kingsley learnt from their father, she learnt from their mother. She knew the order of every utensil at a dinner table, how to make a wonderful bouquet and how to shoot a rifle perfectly without getting a smidge of ash on one’s dress. 

Now, of course other cousins, aunts, uncles, godfathers, godmothers, long lost grandparents, very recently lost grandparents, devoted nannies, nephews and nieces appeared often (to speak nothing of the servants) but it is this five that kept a permanent residence at Basil Hall and so it is this five with which we will occupy ourselves.

On the day the pack arrived at Basil Hall the servants had already done an exceptional job. Paintings and statues had been uncovered, the dust sheets put away until the next season, beauty restored. The main bedrooms had been aired out and furnished with aplomb, fires set in each to chase away the spring chill. The bags had been sent on ahead and unpacked so every wardrobe hung heavy with fabric and all the small trinkets that provided comfort were laid out, ready to be used once more. There was still much to do - the guest rooms were still coated in a fine layer of dust and many of the bathtubs needed a good scrub with some iron wool, but it was more than enough to be starting with.

The only discontentment came from the groundskeepers. They had been instructed not to trim, chop or uproot a single plant until the family had arrived and given their appraisal. They had been given specific permission to pull ivy from the windows and algae from the boating lake, but no more. They were not pleased at the rather scruffy look this left the manor in, but what could they do? Perhaps back in Scotland, they liked their gardens resembling jungles. There was no accounting for taste, that was for sure.

*

The society surrounding --shire wasted no time in speculating about the Williamson family and what exactly their fortunes were. It seemed there was no haberdashery that wasn’t alight with whispers, no coffee house where there was a low grumble of voices. This was, of course, spurred on furiously by the fact that for the first month of their occupancy, they were entirely invisible. They left no calling cards, visited no homes and did not attend a single social event. If it wasn’t for the fact the manor had a chapel on its grounds, it might have been assumed they did not go to church. Their servants were extraordinarily tight lipped and seemed to be very occupied by errands which were always done in a rush. All in all, it was deeply unsatisfying.

But to everything a time. A few days into the new month and a rumour spread like fire through --shire. A rumour was soon confirmed as fact by a scullery maid talking to a stable lad who had paused to exchange words as she had ducked into the bakery.  The Williamsons had finally made themselves comfortable, had finally moved in completely and so it followed that they would be attending their first function the following week. All but Sybil would be attending, who was deemed rather too young to attend such an event. The event in question was the Lady Robins’s ball. She tried to pass off her excitement at the accepted invitation with a cool demeanour but a certain glitter in her eyes betrayed her. There would not be no missing invitees, no pointed denials. Everyone would be there. 

*

In the manor, the family had no idea of the effect they had caused. They had been occupied by rather more pleasurable occupations than gossip. Alice had spent a great deal of time in the gardens, inspecting wild flowers, daydreaming with the clouds and following butterflies. There was something of the bohemian about her as she wandered through long grass, and what’s more, she knew it and it pleased her. Kingsley had principally been occupied with the library and irritating one of the butlers by being completely unable to settle on a organising system for the books. Only Sybil was restless, eager to meet the new neighbours and size them up - after all, if they were to remain here for a little while, would a new pack member be amongst these new faces? Alice had to marry some time and Sybil fully intended to vet and nose about in the affairs of every eligible man who so much as blinked in her direction. Accordingly, pestering her parents about when they were to take the bold new steps into society was her chief pleasure.

Her lady mother had held firm - there would be no parties, dinners or tea until after the first full moon. After all, they had to see if the grounds were indeed suitable. If they weren’t, well, they wouldn’t be staying. Plus, she added, it was better to meet the neighbours on a full stomach. Just in case. Nobody wanted a repeat of the Bristol incident, especially not the residents of Bristol. Sybil took to not only pestering her parents, but looking meaningfully at calendars and the date of the newspaper that was delivered every morning. Her mother ignored her. Just as meaningfully.

The day came with an air of expectation, even more so than usual. It was no longer just the day they changed, it was the day that once done with, would open all the doors of polite society to them of which they had been deprived for some time. The servants were sent home to visit their mothers or into the village to spend some of their generous wages. The gate to the long, winding drive was locked tight. The moon rose as gloriously as the sun, silver rays reflecting off the lake until it looked like a path one could walk up to meet her. Everything, even the most familiar things became unreal and strange in this light. Like one had stepped through into a book. In the cultivated gardens, the moon flowers bloomed, their pollen giving the air a perfume no apothecary had ever been able to replicate. 

The family gathered on the steps. The girls wore nothing but their shifts, bare feet squirming against the cool stone of the stairs. The son wore his undergarments too, the parents opting for housecoats that could easily be shrugged off the shoulders. All was quiet. Birds called to one another, occasionally there would be the rippling noise as one moved upon the water. Only Selene spoke, the sharp edge of her accent softening here, as if the moon was a lover who could only be whispered to. Perhaps Selene, like her namesake, had a little more to say to the night sky. The moon crested, clearing the dark silhouette of the trees. For a moment it hung there, nothing moving, nothing breathing.

Then the first howl ripped through the night. 

Selene had started shifting first, as usual. It was not a beautiful process. It was not fluid or gentle. It was claws and fur and the sound of bones breaking, reforming. Claws scraped across stone, fabric ripped and where there once was a woman, there was a monstrous wolf. It didn’t just sit, it hulked, dominating every gaze that caught it. Bright, intelligent yellow eyes sat above a mouth that seemed to be all teeth. It was not long before more wolf-language joined the first, the girls following Selene’s example, then the boy. The lady and lord of the house were looking at each other fondly, playing their usual game of who could hold out the longest. As always, Mrs Williamson won. When she did allow herself to change, it was with a sigh of relief as well as a cry of pain.

Before the moon had moved another inch in the sky, a wolf pack sat beneath it. Their colours were primarily shades of grey with splashes of white, except for Sibyl and Selene who were white with splashes of grey, just to be contrary. The smallest, if the brain could comprehend one of these beasts being the smallest, was Kingsley. There was something of the scout about him, his fur the darkest so he may dash in and out of the night almost entirely unseen. Alice was the strongest, her youth and wildness barely being able to be contained within the human flourished here, blooming along with the moon flowers. She had often lamented the fact she had to be a human at all and Mrs Williamson woke up frequently in the night, plagued by nightmares where her daughter finally abandoned the trappings of society and ran into a forest, never to return. She would have to check on her sleeping child to make sure that the dream hadn’t come true. 

It was Alice that first broke, nipping at Kingsley’s tail so he turned around with a snarl. She immediately sprinted off, challenging him to a race. He would win, as he always did, but the point was the running, not the winning. The feeling of joy too big to name, the joy of having four paws and being a part of nature rather than just an observer of it. The joy of muscles burning and breath catching and the hundreds of scents that made up a tapestry of the grounds. So many things to see, bite, taste, fight. 

Sibyl did not partake in the race, her snout pointed up slightly in the air as if implying that all of this was below her. But even she was not immune to the intoxicating magic that transformed them all. All the poetry she wrote at her desk, painfully slowly, trying to capture the beauty of the natural world like her much admired famous poets, she did not realise it but it was here, now, where the inspiration came from. Where the love of beauty and art came from, like a spring flowing into a river. She investigated flowers, lakes, gardens with inhuman eyes and found the experience almost revelatory. When you were a wolf, everything was more.

Selene wasted no time in hunting. She had been starving all month and here was her opportunity to satisfy the hunger that went beyond a mere need for food. She needed to taste the copper tang of blood, to shake off the shackles that constrained her for thirty days a month. No lacing, no dresses, no polite tinkling laughter in a ball room. Her mind would clear and her instincts would rush in to fill the gap, like the sea refilling tidal pools. The poor hare did not stand a chance, but it died well.

As for the Lord and Lady? Here their bodies did not ache or creak. They had no schedule, no work to be done. They could focus on feeling the ties that bound their family to one another, the subtle lines that shimmered like spiders gossamer in the mind's eye. There were no manners, no script on how to act. Usually a distance was constructed between them all. There was no such distance now. So they nipped and howled and nuzzled, keeping their pack together and keeping their pride deep in their canine hearts. Tomorrow, they would have to be people again. But here, they were just a family.

[writing-the-end]

WS Chapter 43- Hellspawn

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

Finally! Forty three chapters and we FINALLY get to meet the antagonists of the story! It was almost like a mystery book, all the clues leading up to the big reveal! It also seems they have something of importance to one of our wanderers...

Red belongs to  @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

Red clutches the eggs, blue and orange in color and just transparent enough for him to see the baby guardians inside. Curled up, fins over their undeveloped eyes. Every so often they wiggle, like they’re dreaming of freedom. He looks over his shoulder, making sure the others have a firm hold on their charges. 

Avon found a salt pond a bit deeper into the woods, separate from the dying ocean. A place that the eggs can hatch without falling ill. Selene teleported ahead of the others, bringing a few of the healthier guardians to care for the nests. Hopefully the eggs weren’t harmed by any of the red tide or other plagues set on their ocean. 

“Be gentle, don’t let them get shaken up too much.” Red whispers, as if the eggs can hear him. Maybe they can, Red isn’t entirely sure. “They can survive a little while out of the water, but we should be fast.” 

Ecto holds her clutch of eggs close, swaddled in her scarves as she bursts ahead and out of the water. The air isn’t much better in terms of toxicity, but it’s not quite as suffocating. She misses the feeling of being dry, of not having every fiber of her being soaked in water. Of not feeling currents tugging on her clothes and scarves, or the endless amount of water breathing potions that Selene has. That girl comes prepared. 

She slides out onto the sand, coddling her batch of unborn as she basks in the warm sun and lets droplets of seawater fall free of her hair, skin, and clothes. Ecto can’t help but take a relieved sigh, closing her eyes and stretching out.

Her hand reels back to her body as it singes, skin burning hotter than she’d like it to. Ecto grabs hold of her eggs, looking at the faces staring down at her. On the left she sees Blu, leaning against his gold sword with a crass smile. The other two, however, are new.

A smile so bright it nearly blocks out the sun runs across the middle face. Teeth the color of quartz, and eyes gleaming with mischief and charisma. Long hair is tamed into twin pigtails, held severe against the side of her skull by twisting horns. The hair is borne of fire, ends burning bright blue and licking towards the sky. 

However, the last on the right couldn’t be any more different. A flat face with dead, bitter eyes, framed by straight hair. It still burns like the other two, but more like the surface of lava. Slight variations and changes in the color, but not dynamic like flames bursting free. The horns of the third one are just as uniform, rising from her hair and spearing towards the sky. 

The middle one turns away from Ecto, a cheeky grin appearing on her face as the others arrive onshore. “Come to give up? Ready to beg for us to get it over with and kill you?” 

“It would make our jobs much easier. And yours as well.” The monotone voice matches the monotone face, lips barely moving as she speaks. Blu doesn’t add anything, but the way he wields his sword is louder than any word. 

“You, you’re…” Ecto is at a loss for words. These are the people who have been harassing them for months. Three pairs of footsteps melted into the sand. A firm hand pushing her into the portal. Whispers at night and singed foliage along the trail, an unseen attacker deep in the dark. An extinction event, a destroyed desert. A silent sea. 

“Oh, we should introduce ourselves!” The middle one croons, taking a deep curtesy and grabbing at the knee length skirt she wears. “You three know the battle hardened buffoon here. But my right hand woman here is Endo, mastermind behind all our beautiful destruction. And I’m Nova, the mastermind, the puppeteer.” 

“The voice that never fucking shuts up.” Endo growls. 

“Can we kill them now, guys? You two had your fun. Let’s just get this over with and stop stalling the invasion.” Blu’s toothy grin, lips blood red against dagger-like teeth, bears as sharp as his sword. 

Endo reaches past Nova, smacking Blu. “Be quiet, you really are useless for everything except killing.” 

Ecto hears the near silent sound of metal sliding across fabric, and over her shoulder she can see Avon pulling out her trident. Angry tears threaten to fall from hardened eyes, and one wing carefully sets the eggs back into the water. The hellspawns definitely see it, but none of them look even bothered by the threat. “I just wanted to see the fruits of all our labor. Nothing sweeter than complete abandonment of all hope.” 

Red feels anger well up in his core, festering and taking control of all his thoughts and actions. He can’t believe he was going to let them win, let them gloat about all this. Like they are now. Red puts the guardian eggs into the water, closing his eyes. 

When they open again, they’re blackened with anger, with vengeance boiling over. These are the three that killed Mama Gummi, destroyed the reef, and ruined the entire ocean. Red extends her hand, water blasting free of the waves. Blu ducks away in time, and Nova only gets doused in the arm. But Endo wasn’t fast enough, and doubles over as her body steams and crackles. Her hair darkens into a muted red, discolored splotches all across her body. She was only spared by the armor she wears, thick material between her and the Overworld. 

Blu ignites his sword, eyes ablaze with eagerness to battle. His flaming hair burns bright, curling and smoking. The sand beneath his feet melts with every step. Endo struggles to stand, and none of the other hellspawns offer help as she gasps. “This place is too dangerous. To many unknowns. The balance must shift, the weights must be ours.”

“I’m hearing permission to kill. That’ll definitely shift the balance in our favor. Less of them, more of us. And especially getting rid of the only people stupid enough to fight me.” Blu steps forward, molten glass dripping off his shoes with each advance. 

“Not yet! There’s still so much planned, we’ve hardly even begun.” Nova giggles, rubbing her arm where the water soaked her. 

Avon has heard enough. She leaps over Ecto, wings extending as she pitches her trident at the three. Avon taking the offense gives Ecto time to worry about her clutch of eggs. She scrabbles close to the water, about to drop them in when a small wave frees her of duty. Red’s no longer attacking, but rather playing defense. Protecting the eggs and keeping Blu at bay as Avon attacks Nova. 

Chittery laughter fills the salty air, Nova dodging every blow of Avon’s. Ecto barges in, taking on Blu for a rematch. And this time, she refuses to lose. In the midst of the fighting- Nova slowly losing ground on Avon, Ecto and Blu locked in close combat, and Red offering defensive attacks with water- no one noticed Endo slip away to grab something. 

Not until Avon goes skyward, rearing back to drop out of the sky and plunge her trident into the hellspawn version of herself. The wrong version of herself, a different one. The triple prongs are about to end Nova’s life-

Until Endo holds up the egg. “Looking for this, you useless half reptile monstrosity?” 

Avon halts midair, suspended like she’s been frozen. Her wings keep her hovering, eyes never wavering from the massive black and purple egg. Jeane’s only offspring, a thousand years unhatched. Both relief and terror floods Avon’s body. The egg is still alive, but it’s in the hands of the nether. 

Ecto sees the opportunity to strike, while most of the hellspawns are distracted by Avon. She charges, iron sword raised to spear Nova and Endo at once. Too fast for Blu to catch her. Her feet dig into the sand, running with the displacement rather than going against it. She never lets her gaze wander, keeping it locked on the two. She hoists her blade as it meets Endo’s skin. 

And both Endo and Nova disappear, flecks of purple and the scent of ozone left in their wake. Ecto stumbles, all her strength and weight for stabbing now tipping her over. Red yelps behind her, retreating as all three hellspawns appear before her. Nova and Endo hold onto the egg, the purple splotches growing mute once more after teleporting. 

Blu sticks out his tongue, placing a bloody hand on the crown of the egg. “I wonder what scrambled dragon egg tastes like?” 

Just as fast as they arrived, the hellspawns have disappeared. And once again, leaving disaster in their wake.

[lihikainanea]

That anon ask about Tiger saying they can’t have sex on vacay anymore and Bill taunting her after RUINED ME, I am really into that Jesus lord almighty please include a scene like that in one of your longer chapters. Where they are hiding it and can’t let anyone know. I know you probably have 700 other things on your list but please, please, pretty please. ❤️

Anonymous said: now that tiger is asking bill to be in charge, can you write them going at it while she’s bent over and he starts holding her hands behind her or just something where he uses some form of restraints when they’re together

Combining these two because I am just insufferable.

This was an entire group effort. IT TOOK A VILLAGE. Because it all started here and then I literally could not get this thought out of my brain for like weeks but I was getting stuck at certain parts. So I put a call out, and you all answered in DROVES, and I even took a few lines verbatim out of what you sent me because it was just…so fucking perfect.

I need a cold shower. A cold ass shower. Thank you, all, for your contributions to my uh, issues tonight. UNFFFF.

Do I even need to preface this by saying smut?

***

“Let me get this straight,” Bill crossed his arms in front of his chest a few feet away from you, staring you down.

“We can’t fuck anymore on this trip,”  He placed his feet slightly more apart, standing with an authority that made your knees weak, “Because you can’t keep your mouth shut?”

You rolled your eyes and his gaze darkened.

“No, Bill,” you explained calmly, “We can’t fuck anymore on this trip because we almost got caught.”

“Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

When you glared at him he lifted a hand, palm facing up, and raised his eyebrows.

“Because you were being a little too enthusiastic,” you accused, and jabbed a finger at him.

“So we can’t fuck anymore on this trip,” he started again, “Because I’m too good in bed and you’re too loud about it?”

You sighed, exasperated, and ran a hand down your face.

“Look bud, I don’t know what else to tell you,” you shrugged, and it was half-hearted and sarcastic, “I don’t make the rules.”

He uncrossed his arms, licking his lips and taking slow steps towards you. You stood your ground and looked up at him defiantly.

“Well you’re right about one thing,” he stopped when his chest was up against yours,  keeping his head ducked down to look you in the eyes, “You don’t make the rules.”

He reached for the wrapped belt on your dress, gently untying it before pulling it free from the loose loops. He twisted the fabric around his hands, eyeing you in challenge. You stared back, cocking a hip and crossing your arms.

“Bill.”

“Tiger.”

You rolled your eyes again, sighing in exasperation.

“I’m imposing a no sex rule for the rest of the vacation because I don’t want to get caught. Because that was way too close. This has nothing to do with me being loud, Bill. I can be quiet if I want to.”

You had no sooner flicked your hair over your shoulder as you turned back around, and Bill was on you. Grabbing your shoulders, he bent you at the waist and forced your front onto the the dresser, the mirror rattling into the wall with the impact. You couldn’t stop the quiet moan that escaped your lips, but Bill didn’t miss it.

“What was that, kid?” He bent over you, looking at you in the mirror and bringing his lips to your ear, “Did you say something?”

You bit your lip, cursing under your breath.

“Because I could swear I heard you moan,” he mocked, “But I guess that means you didn’t want to be quiet. Right?”

He let you go then, backing up and smirking at you. You turned to face him and let out a shaky breath, reaching for your belt but he held it over his head. When you jumped for it a second time with both hands outstretched, he grabbed your wrists and quickly wrapped the material around them, binding them together with a knot.

“Bill what the f—”

He spun you around by the hips, pulling your back to his chest as he bent to loop your bound wrists over his head, biting your earlobe. He released it with a lick, your wrists coming to rest on his neck behind you, and he tilted your chin to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“What’s your colour, kid?” He asked.

“Green,” you breathed.

Releasing your chin, he ran his hands languidly down the front of your body and you bit your lip.

“You roar so loud, tiger,” he murmured in your ear, “You think you’re real tough, don’t you?”

You closed your eyes as one hand came to rest on your hip, the other reaching down to lift the hem of your dress.

“Eyes open,” he commanded, and you leaned your head back against him, opening your eyes to catch his gaze in the mirror.

“Let’s see how quiet you can be, hmm?”

He peppered kisses along your jaw, and you choked back a gasp as you watched one hand disappear into your panties. You felt his long fingers stroke over you, buckling your knees when they applied pressure in just the right spot. His lips attached to your neck, suckling that soft spot under your ear, and you bit your cheek to keep from making a sound.

“Such a smart mouth on you, tiger,” he teased, “A real sassy little thing, taking charge, making rules.”

He parted your folds, his middle finger dragging through them to circle your clit as he bit down on your neck.

“Now where’s your lip at, kid?”

You rolled your lips into a thin line, biting down hard on them as his fingers moved faster.

“So sweet and docile now, aren’t you? Quiet as a little mouse,” he taunted, “Small as one too. Look how tiny you are, tiger.”

You couldn’t hold back your moan at that.

“That’s it, kitten,” he breathed, “Purr for me.” 

He stood up to his full height for emphasis, your arms still looped around his neck meant you lifted a few inches off the ground. Everything about Bill was all-encompassing. He towered over you, but his chest was also so broad, his arms so long, his hands so big—and with you in front of him like this, you looked so…helpless. His arms enveloped you, his hands spanning across nearly your entire torso when he spread his fingers out.

He hunched again, setting your feet back on solid ground and you wobbled again his chest. Seizing the opportunity, he teased your opening before sliding a long, slender finger into you and you gasped.

“C’mon kid, louder,” he urged. Biting your lip, you shook your head. He dragged his fingertips across that spot inside of you, rubbing gentle circles, and you writhed.

“Just let it out, tiger,” he teased, “Let them know how good it is.”

“Fuck you,” you panted, mostly to hide the loud groan that threatened to escape your lips the minute he added a second finger into you, pumping slowly. You held his gaze in the mirror, and he grinned at you devilishly.

“Okay, kitten. If that’s what you want,” he whispered in your ear. And in a flash he withdrew his hand from your panties, unhooking your arms from around his neck before he shoved your chest down onto the dresser. He fisted your hair at the nape of your neck, flipping your dress up across your waist and dragging your panties down to your knees.

He slid his hand up your back, gliding his fingertips gently across your spine as he leaned to bring his face to yours.

“What’s your colour, kid?” He asked, and his tone was soft. Kind.

“Green,” you breathed with a smile, and his lopsided grin flashed his dimple quickly.

“Ok, good,” he kissed you sweetly, but it lasted only a second before he pulled away and gave your hair a little tug.

Rubbing his hand down your backside, he palmed at your ass before retracting his hand and landing it back with a loud smack. You opened your mouth as if to scream, but held your voice back at the last second.

“That’s not…” you paused, gulping in a deep breath, “That’s not playing fair.”

“Mmmm, you’re quiet until it starts to feel real good, aren’t you?” He pulled back, landing another smack.

You shook your head, your cheek still planted on the dresser. He leaned, licking up your spine and biting between your shoulder blades. 

“Come on kid, let them hear it,” he brought his hand down again, then kicked your feet further apart. Lining up at your entrance, he gave your hair a small tug and your back arched, expecting him to slam into you. 

Instead, he eased his way in slowly, taking his time as he stared you down in the mirror.

“Watch,” he commanded, tugging your hair a bit harder when you had closed your eyes. You mewled despite yourself, feeling every inch of him sink into you, every vein, every throb. He groaned when he bottomed out, and your mouth went slack as you tried to control the scream that you were on the verge of letting out.

Pulling his hips back, he thrusted in to you while landing another resounding smack on your backside, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You groaned, clawing at the dresser with your bound hands.

“That’s it, kitten,” he encouraged, “Sing for me.”

It was as if the floodgates opened. Once one moan escaped, countless more followed and you couldn’t control it anymore. You groaned as he pumped into you, his fist still wound in your hair, the other one alternating between clutching your hip and pulling back to spank you.

“Louder, kid,” he demanded as he pounded into you, “Let them hear how deep I am.”

You gasped when he thrusted in particularly deep, the mirror slamming into the wall behind it.

“Fuck,” it was louder than even you intended it to be, coming out more as a guttural scream than a moan—deep and throaty, a complete lack of control.

“Good girl,” he moaned, “Let them know how good it feels.”

He pumped into you, rolling his hips up and slamming into that spot inside you that had your toes curling. You were teetering, and when he timed his next thrust with a hard smack on your ass and a firm tug of your hair, you catapulted over the edge.

“Come,” he snarled in your ear, and you were helpless to do anything but obey. You let out a loud groan that seemed to last forever, clenching and spasming around him as you squirmed. He slammed into you a few more times before he stilled, his chest pressing into your back and his hands grabbing your hips to pull you back on him. He moaned loudly as he spilled into you, twitching as he rode it out.

You panted against the dresser, your chest and cheek still pressed to it with your arms outstretched in front of you. Keeping his weight on you, he reached up and untied you, rubbing your wrists. He dragged his hands slowly down your arms, kneading lightly, before standing you both back upright slowly. He caught you when you wobbled, chuckling softly, but you barely registered it.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, and it was a half sigh, half moan. You spun in his arms, planting your face against his chest as he held you.

“You good, kid?” He asked, tucking a finger under your chin to tilt your head up. He laid a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Yeah,” you sighed, and burrowed into his chest as his hand cupped your cheek.

“See? I told you I could be quiet. I win,” you mumbled, trying to headbutt and push him towards the bed so you could lie down. He laughed, walking backwards towards it.

“How do you figure that, tiger?”

“Quiet is relative, Bill,” you released him when the back of his knees hit the bed, and you clumsily climbed on with shaky legs, stretching out and waiting for him to join you.

“Like, I was quiet compared to a jackhammer,” you reasoned, “So I win.”

[jj-lives]

Grounded - bmblb

Her world had been flipped upside down so many times in the past few months she sometimes forgot which way was up and which was down.  Every new discovery seemed to press her into a corner. Every realization that she’d made the wrong choices, that Adam wasn’t what she’d believed him to be, that she was on her way to becoming someone unrecognizable in the mirror all had her running so far from the White Fang that by the time she stopped she’d been completely lost.  It was dizzying trying to process all the terrifying truths that her decisions had wrought the past year. She barely knew who she was anymore and try as she might, she could not remember a clear vision of who she’d been two years ago and a blank portrait stared back as she tried to picture who she would become.  She wasn’t even sure if she knew who or what she wanted to be anymore.  She’d spent months travelling and searching to find that lost spark of purpose within her soul, and she was determined not to return home without recovering it.  She owed her parents that much at least.  

Its return was sudden and very unexpected. As she made her way through the crowded streets of Vale one day she pulled at the fabric covering her ears, not yet used to the foreign feel or the way the sounds were muted by the blockage.  She’d just brushed past a large man, turning sideways to make room for him when she found herself staring at an information board.  There were advertisements and posters of lost pets and events held around the city, but the one poster that caught her eye, was the same one that caused that all too familiar spark to light up inside her.  Once again her world tilted, and everything else disappeared as she tried to feel the ground firm below her feet.  She would have never considered such a move, the direction being nothing like what her younger self had planned. Blake felt as if the Gods were toying with her, amused to see how many times they could pull the rug from under her and see if she could, in fact, land on her feet like the animal with which she shared a trait. Printed before her, strewn in amongst a hundred other papers was a poster for Beacon Academy.

As confusing and surprising as it was for her to feel such excitement and purpose over something not equality related didn’t make her less determined to succeed.  No longer would she follow someone else’s plan of a better future. She would forge her own path, and hopefully find redemption for her past crimes by using her skills to protect everyone, not just her own race.  She was prepared to follow her newly discovered destiny alone, she was strong enough to succeed by herself.  The idea of teams did unnerve her, though.  She’d entered the academy with a carefully placed bow disguising her secret heritage.  Still, she feared someone would see through it, that when teams and dorms were decided, she’d forget to double check the bow was tied tight or would entirely forget to tie it in place after her showers. Blake never had to spend so much time hiding just a part of herself. Hiding her entire being in the shadows was easy, she had lots of practice in the White Fang to master that technique but it was going to be difficult to be constantly vigilant, and oh so exhausting.

It was why she turned from the girl when the young Schnee stormed off. It was why she didn't make eye contact with the other students and changed directions when any appeared to want to approach her. It was why she decided to secluded herself to a quiet corner of hall the first night. Because she didn’t want to form any attachments with anyone outside her required teammates - whoever they may be. Even then, she wasn't keen on befriending them either, though she would have to if they were  fighting alongside each other. She would be a good teammate and do her share and more but she wasn’t about to form any deeper attachments while at Beacon. She had plans for the future and although she couldn't picture exactly what that looked like, she knew her future was a lonesome path, at least for as far ahead as she could see. She’d chosen the wrong path and it was her duty to atone for her sins. It wouldn’t be fair to drag anyone else into the mess she alone was responsible for.

Blake thought she was being very transparent when the two siblings approached her.  Not once had she given the slightest form of encouragement to the interaction.  They seemed harmless enough, she supposed, and the youngest - Ruby she believed her name to be - had called out the Schnee heiress,  A fact which did garner the girl some brownie points; anyone that could stand up to a Schnee was alright in Blake’s mind.  She hadn’t wanted to respond to Ruby’s introduction, choosing to keep both hands firmly on her book instead of reaching out to take Ruby’s proffered one.  But at Ruby’s sheepish look Blake couldn’t help but feel for the girl, she seemed so nervous.  She compromised with her mind and offered only her first name, hoping they would soon get the hint and leave her alone.  But the elder latched onto that single syllable and began introducing herself before the silence became uncomfortable, for them at least.  

Complementing her bow was an odd way to begin a conversation and Blake questioned why Yang criticized Ruby’s social awkwardness when she seemed to be just as inept.  However, something in Yang’s eyes, when she met them, told her the odd question wasn’t asked in vain. It wasn’t voiced just because the bow was the only accessory she was wearing.  There was a soft knowing look behind the girls striking lilac eyes. It had to be something else because there was no way Yang could know with just a look that she was who she was.  There was no conceivable way she would know the bow hid a pair of ears. As their eyes continued to lock Yang smiled.  It was barely a twitch on one side of her mouth, but Blakes sharpened sight caught it.  And with that small movement the ground beneath her fell away and her head was spinning once more trying to figure out which way was up.  

Long after the others returned to their respective sleeping bags, Blake had stayed awake.  She observed the students closest to her wondering if any could potentially be her future teammates.  Four years was a long time, after all.  It had taken her less time than that to disappoint her family, go against her very morals and finally start on the road to repent for her misdeeds. If her team did not get along, or if they just plain did not like her or Gods forbid any of them acting racist to any Faunus, she didn’t know what she would do.  

Her eyes easily found Yang and her sister not far away, the dark not at all affecting her sight.  The two were fast asleep, and Blake knew she should be following their example.  She’d only just convinced herself Yang’s look hadn’t meant anything. That it hadn’t meant anything more than what it appeared to be, just a compliment.  But the look still haunted her late into the night and even followed her into her dreams, a silent shadow hovering behind her closed lids.  

It was that phantom gaze that made up her mind the following day.

The Headmaster knew how important it was for the teams to become one cohesive unit.  But instead of pairing them up by compatibility Professor Ozpin decided to leave it all to chance.  Blake could not understand their reasoning for doing it but she knew there was no way she was going to be stuck with someone she was almost guaranteed to either hate - the Schnee - or some other racist student.  She briefly regretted not talking to anyone else the previous day.  How was she to know the students to stay away from?  

And there was only one person that might guarantee her safety and comfort.  Yang had either meant nothing with the look from the night before and Blake may have even misread it, or it meant Yang had figured her secret out already.  And if she had and she continued to seek out conversation she couldn’t be a bad person.  Ruby appeared to be quite nice and she had a soft romanticized view of the world that could only have come from caring and supportive role models.  And if Yang was such a role model then there was a good chance Blake and her would get along.

Looking around she noticed some of the other students sharing looks, already having an idea who their choice partners to be, but there was only one girl that Blake was determined to make hers.  

It wasn’t difficult to find her.  She wasn’t exactly subtle in her landing strategy.  The only issue had been that Yang propelled herself deep into the forest, far away from any of the other students, including herself.  She had to spring through the forest to keep up with the flying girl.  Blake made sure to duck behind a bush as a white dress came into view and steered clear of the male voice calling out for help.  His tone was more of exasperation than panic so she didn’t feel bad for leaving him to fend for himself.  One last echoing blast gave Blake a final direction and having left the rest of the students behind she was able to quickly make up the distance separating her and Yang.  

She’d known about the Ursai well before Yang heard the rustling branches.  Blake could have warned her, but she needed just one more piece of confirmation that she was making the correct choice.  The way Yang confidently dodged the blows from the Grimm solidified Blake’s decision.  But just as she was about to step out from her hiding space Yang’s eyes flashed from soft lilac to fiery red and it gave Blake pause.  The raw strength that followed the change was breathtaking.  

Her mind blanked as a picture of another wormed its way through the cracks in the wall she’d trapped the memories behind. Knowing a change like that in Yang was probably a sign of her activating her semblance reminded her of her last partner.  His powered semblance. All her previous mistakes she’d made in choosing him came flooding back.  She’d meant to take a step back, she was sure of it.  How could she trust herself to choose another, when all her previous choices had proven her instincts incapable.  Her world was turning again, the branches of the trees on either side of her blurred and the ground beneath her feet vanished; she was suddenly floating with no anchor to the real world to guide her. Only when the Ursa fell did Blake notice her body had moved from her seclusion. Her muscles moved of their own accord as she tugged her blade from the beasts back, its body disappearing into black smoke, returning to whatever hell it’d come from.

Her eyes locked with Yang’s as they returned to their previous softened hue.  The world shifted around her once more, but instead of forcing herself into the righted position she felt a gentle tug.  Without question she allowed herself to be lead, gently she felt it tug her safely back into her own skin.  Rooted to her body, she could feel everything.  The soil beneath her boots so grounding, the touch of breeze on her skin and the scents it brought with it.  She felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins from her rushed journey to Yang’s side. But as she focused on the energy holding her so firmly in place she realized she was still gazing into lilac orbs.  The spark in her hummed in response like it had never done before.

“I could have taken him.” She said with a smile.  So self confident Yang was that she could handle the situation, it felt like she was telling Blake she could handle something else as well.  Like the Ursa wasn’t the only monster she’d be willing to dispatch for her sake.

As she took in Yang’s smile she felt more anchored to her own skin and more sure of her path than she had since before she’d ever met Adam.

Whatever and whoever Yang was, she was someone that was meant to be next to her.  No matter the horrible decisions she’d made in the past and even the ones she was sure to make in the coming years, Blake was sure she would not count Yang among them.

[xxgothickxx]

Sneak Peak

Genre : Smut

Characters: Taehyung!Fuckboy x Reader

Word Count: 3 111

Warnings : Taehyung being an ass, Barging into dressing room, Swearing, Oral (female receiving), Slight Choking if you squint?, Not really name calling(he calls you bitch once), Unprotected Sex (Stay Safe!!!), Cum consumption.. That's about what I can remember🤷‍♀️

A/N: So this was really just a 20 minute quick write, when I started writing it I had no idea where it was going to go. It's a bit bland to my taste, but at least it's something. End of the day, this is just an accomplishment for me that I'm at least posting! If you see any mistakes please feel free to point them out, my eyes are so tired I wouldn't be surprised if I missed anything. Enjoy!! 💜✌️

______________________________________________

"Come on! Just a sneak peak!" Taehyung tried again to throw his gaze over the curtained railing of your changing room.

His bouncy and wavy silver haired head was met with the loud thump of the end of a coat hanger. And this was firmly clutched in your hand, a scowl painted as clear as daylight on your face.

"For the finally time, I said NO! Go be a perverted ass somewhere else! Leave me alone!" You were breathing heavily, hand still clutching onto the coat hanger and your other hand holding your t-shirt to your heart. Failing miserably at trying to cover your exposed bra and chest.

"OW! That was unnecessary!" You could hear Taehyung mumbling to himself, probably running his fingers through his preciously styled locks and rubbing at, a hopefully, forming bump from your attack.

"Go bother someone else! I don't even know why you are here, like, what gives?"

After making sure that the curtains are securely closed, once more at that, you turn back to the full length mirror in the corner. A dress you were planning on buying placed delicately over the gold frame. You've been saving for months now to get this item, and you'll be damned if Kim Tae-fucking-hyung, is going to distract you from your end goal.

You grab the lacy summer dress and hold it against your body. Admiring the delicate beads stitched into the front. Softly giggling at how the ribbons that tie up the back tickle your naked front.

All to distracted by admiring the piece of fabric, you didn't even notice Taehyung busy checking you out between the many pleats and folds of the deep crimson red curtains. Until you spot his silvery dyed hair, which was in stark contrast with the fabric. Basically sticking out like a sore thumb.

Gasping out loud, clutching the dress to your chest even more, you spin around ready to slap his stare away.

"TAEHYU-" Your sentence was cut short by a large warm hand covering your lips. Eyes wide with shock, you come to realise Taehyung stepped inside of your dressing room. He's currently in this small space. With you.. Alone. Practically feeling a heart attack making its way, Taehyung's deep and slightly breathless voice washes over you.

"Shhhh.. Stay quiet! We wouldn't want to be kicked out, now would we?" He was talking in whispers, his head bent down towards you, but his frame still towering over you. You heard the faint sound of footsteps walking past your changing room. Someone muttering to themselves while looking for Taehyung.

And this is how you ended up with Taehyung in the changing room. Half naked. And with his hand covering your mouth and his eyes pleadingly staring into yours.

Meet Kim Taehyung, the local campus fuckboy. Thee Fuckboy. With his flawless skin, dark chocolate eyes (even though he prefers wearing coloured contacts, "It's for the foreign exchange students! I look more exotic to them then!") and completely fuckable attire, Taehyung could have any girl a withering mess in his bed.

But of course with his looks he has the sexual hunger of an animal. Everyday on the lookout for a new piece of meat he could devour, and then drop as soon as he's had his fun. And today was no different. Were you next on his list of conquests? Definitely not. You just so happened to be at the wrong time and the wrong place. Well.. In Taehyung's favour, you were at the right time and the right place.

Taehyung was out at the mall with his latest side piece when something must have gone wrong. He's tried to duck and dive from her since leaving the food court. And this is how he came to a stumbling stop at your curtain. You share at least 3 classes and he could recognise you easily from your voice. You never shut up in class when it comes to giving answers.

He begged you, if he could hide in the changing room with you, and you were having none of it. Until he actually realised where he was. And that you, in his mind, were naked. And his whole game plan swerved from getting away from a needy pussy, to wanting to get into an other pussy. Yours that is.

Listening intently at the fading footsteps, you breathing becomes more laboured. His eyes become more hooded, seeing your flushed skin and blown out eyes. The doe eyed look turning him on immensely. His tongue darted out between his lips, true fuckboy style, running over his bottom lip before bitting into the same flesh. His eyes traveled to your strained throat, exposed collarbones, the lace fabric clutched over your chest and finally down your naked legs.

His gaze slowly ran back up to settle on your face, heat growing everywhere. You could swear it felt like molten lava running through your veins. Even the slight throb between your legs were distracting you from calming your racing heart.

Why aren't you pushing him away? Why aren't you screaming? Why are you just standing there letting his gaze eat you up in all your glory? Well because it was Kim Tae-fucking-hyung, that's why. One can not simply push him away and call it a day. What the fuckboy wants, the fuckboy gets. And in some completely fucked up reality and/or situation, he had his eyes on you.

"You know.. I've always dreamt of making you shut up. But it never ended up like this." His heated gaze fell on your eyes. "Now, I'm going to remove my hand. And you're not going to make a sound. Got it?" His words were stern, making you fight back a moan. Nodding your head, you felt the pressure and warmth slowly disappear from the lower half of your face.

Sucking in a deep breath, you try and steady your heart again. Clutching at the dress even tighter. But as promised, no sound escaped your lips. Instinctively though, you pressed your thighs together and tried to make yourself seem as small as possible. His body heat radiating off of him and onto you. You could taste the dirty thoughts zooming in the air around him.

"We're going stay in here awhile, or well, till Soonmin outside fucks off and gets the picture. She's been a hassle since we got here. But enough about her, let's talk about you.." He dipped his head down suddenly, resting his lips at the shell of your ear. Your mouth opened with a silent yelp. Fists holding your dress closer to your body. He easily slipped his right knee between yours, sliding his thigh up until your core was resting comfortably on him. His left hand slid up your arm, holding down your shoulder and his right hand gently tugged the dress from your hands. "You'll find that you won't be needing this sweetheart.." His voice sent a cold shiver down your spine. Your fingers letting go of your precious item and there you are. Exposed in your mismatching underwear, cornered by the legendary fuckboy himself.

His right hand carelessly tossed the dress to the ground before his hand bypassed holding your waist and went straight for cupping your still covered breast. You back arched slightly, against your will and you sucked in a breath. A rumbling chuckle bursts through his chest, and he presses into you even more. His thigh now lazily rubbing against your soaked core. You tilt your hips with his motions, seeking friction to its best. He laughs again.

"Needy little thing aren't you? Look at you. Practically riding my thigh, half naked and in a dressing room. You filthy girl. I bet you're soaked as well.. Should I check?" He pulled his head back so he could watch you. Waved hair was in his eyesight but the dark look in his eyes made you grow even wetter. Sliding his left hand from your shoulder, he rests it on your throat. His long fingers applying enough pressure on your main artiraries, making your throughts hazy. His right hand leaves your chest and skillfully slips pass the waistband of your underwear and he strokes one finger over your bundle of nerves. The lewd sound of your wet core makes itself known. He bites his lips again and moans.

"You're absolutely soaked right through. I bet there's even a stain on my jeans from you.. You dirty dirty girl.. Are you just as hungry as I am, hmm? Because sweetheart, I'm famished. And you sound delicious, I can only dream of what you taste like"

With that he drops to his knees in front of you, pushing your legs apart and pulling your ruined panty's down your legs. He quickly tucked the damp fabric into his back pocket. A horrible habit he has for marking his conquests, stealing their ruined underwear.

"Now Baby Girl, before I do anything.. I need to hear that you want this as well.."  His eyes looked up to you and your words got caught in your throat. You finally understood why no girl could turn him down. Not only is he drop dead gorgeous, has the sex-appeal of a Greek God but he still had the nerve to ask for permission. Something almost all guys lacked in today's age.

He quirked an eyebrow at you, still waiting for your approval. Your dripping cunt in front of him slowly making him lose his resolve, and your aroused scent made the bulge in his jeans grow more uncomfortable.

"Y-yes.. Y-you.. I.." You stumbled over your words, your mouth suddenly dry and you looked panicked. Has your brain finally turned into mush?!

"Say it, tell me you want me as much as I want you.." His words were more firm, his fingers digging into your calves. Growling, he pulled your left leg over his shoulder, his breath now tickling your aching core.

"Please! Please eat me out Tae! Please!" You finally found your voice with the jerky movement he pulled you with. Your hands instantly flying down to his hair, sinking into the locks. Tugging, you tilt your hips into his direction, coaxing him into putting his mouth and tongue on you.

Without resistance, he dipped his head between your wet folds. His tongue darting out and taking a flat tongued swipe from your entrance all the way to your clit and back again. Reveling in your addictive taste, he nibbles on your bud of nerves. Slightly tugging and then rolling his tongue over it with slow circular motions. Your eyes closed and you tilted your head back against the mirror behind you. More shivers broke out on your skin. Your mind lost in the heavenly clouds of lush that Taehyung's skillful tongue put you in.

The coil under your stomach slowly started twisting tighter and heating up. At the same moment Tae decided not to just plunge one finger or even two fingers into your clenching entrance.. He pushed three fingers into you, your wetness making it extremely easy for him. The stretch was so sudden you let out a strangled cry of arousal. Your right knee shook and you were holding onto dear life on Tae's hair. You felt your end closing in on you.

"God look at you.. Your hungry cunt is just swallowing my fingers. You feel so good Baby Girl.. You make the perfect little plaything, just for me baby.." Taehyung's eyes were fascinated by how well you were taking his fingers, even by how wet and tight you felt around him. Without thinking he leaned in on you, just off center of your pelvic. He began sucking hickies into your soft, unmarked skin. Marking you as his for the time being.

"Tae.. Tae please.. I need more, fuck me.. F-fuck me.." Your words were breathy and you were stuck on your edge of bliss. His fingers purposefully avoiding your g-spot. He wanted you to suffer just a little longer. But hearing you pleading for him to screw you, he couldn't hold back. With a growl he pulled his fingers from you, and ripped your leg from his shoulder. The feeling of emptiness nearly making you sob.

He rushed up to his feet, tugging at the button and zip of his jeans. Quickly pulling the bothersome pants from his middle, it falls to a pool around his ankles. Two strong hands grabs hold of your ass and hauls you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist and your right hand slips from his hair to cling onto his neck.

That's when you felt Taehyung's throbing cock press against your slit. You nearly came on the spot. Desperately looking for friction again, you don't even hesitate to start rubbing your core up and down the underside of his shaft.

"Fuck sweetheart.. You really are needy"

He growls the words into your collarbone before biting down on the soft flesh. Pulling a delighted moan from your chest. Tilting his hips back, he easily lines up his cock to your core and with a finally growl into the crook of your neck,  he plunges forward. With one thrust, he gets enveloped by your warm walls.

Both of you sighing outloud at the exotic sounds of wet heat and the feeling of pressure. He stretches you just beyond your limit, the burning sensation quickly evaporating to pleasure.

"Tae move! I can't take it!" You all but squeak into his chest, arms and legs both shaking from the overwhelming sensations.

With a grunt, he moves his hips back and then back into you just before he slips out. Slamming his hips against yours fills the quiet space with skin meeting skin. With every thrust he pushes deeper into you, until he's buried to the base inside you. Your contracting wet walls around him makes it difficult to stand. His legs wanting to give out underneath himself, but he determinedly pushes through and continues to plough into you over and over again.

"Fuck.. You're so tight baby.. Fuck fuck fuck.. I want to fill you up so well.. I can feel myself stretching you.. Jesus.." Taehyung's got his forehead resting against your shoulder now, concentrating on chasing both your highs. The soft mewls of pleasure you whisper out into the shell of his ear makes him grunt in return. The coil inside you uncomfortably tight and wanting to let go. With another tilt of his hips he enters you at a different angle, the head of his cock now hitting your g-spot over and over again.

"Fuck! Right there Tae!" You yell, tightening your legs around him. With another grunt he complies, if anymore possible, moving faster and harder.

"Cum for me baby.. Cum around my cock like the dirtyittle bitch that you are!" His teeth bites at your throat and you release another string of pleasurable moans. You finally give in to your bliss and cry out in ecstasy. Tae shoves his shoulder into your mouth and you bite down hard, trying to muffle the sound. Your walls quiver and clutch around his cock, milking him of everything he's worth. Your hips not being able to hold still as you try and ride out your high with Taehyung. Taehyung pumps into you a few more shallow times, his end also approaching fast.

"Fuck Baby Girl.. I'm going to cum.. Shit!"

Suddenly his hands lower you to the ground, effectively and unwillingly sliding out of your still trembling core. Still blissed out of your mind, with heavy eyelids you look up from resting against the mirror, and up at him. There he stood with his eyes watching you, eyes darting to take in every little detail of your face while his hand fisted around his meat. Your wetness making it easy for his cock to slide over his palm. The lewd sound of him beating his meat in front of you, makes another heat spasm run through you.

"Open wide for me sweetheart.. You look a bit hungry.."

His brows furrow and he tilts his head back. You could see his cock starting to twitch and quickly opened your mouth. Tongue hanging out, ready to catch his seed.

Just in time four large strings of white milky cum erupted from his cock head, nearly painting your tongue, mouth, cheek and chin. Now completely spent from having the daylights fucked out of you, you simply stare up at Taehyung with a sleepy expression. You watch as he tucks himself back into his jeans and buttons and zips himself up. Pulling at his supreme t-shirt and running his clean hand through his hair, he makes himself publicly presentable.

His eyes, full of mischief, looks down at you and admires the work he's made of you. Bending down on to his haunches, he runs a hand down the side of your head, flattening the mangled mess of hair.

"Thanks Baby Girl, that's just what I needed. I owe you a solid for helping me"

With a wink, and one final lip bite he gets up and turns to the curtain. There you could still see your purple panty hanging from his back pocket. Poking his head out, checking to see if the coast is clear, he turns back to you over his shoulder. Placing two fingers in a salute to his forehead, a cocky grin over his lips, he leaves you as is in the dressing room. You could faintly make out the casual whistle he makes as he strolls away.

It's the next day at campus, your photography class soon to start. Students were sheepishly making their way to their assigned seats while waiting for the professor.

The day before still plays out in your mind, how you had to clean yourself with your t-shirt and ended up wearing your new dress. Having to explain that you had a wardrobe malfunction and that's why you had to wear the dress out the store. After paying and having to scurry away from the judging eyes of the cashier, you vowed never to cross paths with Taehyung again.

"Ahem~.. Hey.. Psst" Irritable and still lost in thought you turn around with a rude "What do you want?!" just to be shocked into silence. There sat Kim Tae-fucking-hyung, smug and proud.

The good-for-nothing sod left you just like that! How in God's names does he still pull girls when he treats them like that?!

"Hey, did you do the homework for today's class? Do you mind if I can just catch a sneak peak?" His bright smile almost blinds you and his wink nearly has you falling to your knees for him again. Goddammit.

[eirianerisdar]

i'm terrible at titles but for that fic title ask thing: a falcon in the dive, syzygy, and little people

I can finally answer thisask using the actual reply box because I’ve done two of these already:

Little People(Obi-Wan is interviewed by the holonet press during the clone wars. Cueamusement but much more angst)

A Falcon in theDive (Obi-Wan dives. From the Temple gardens, across galactic history,to another Falcon altogether)

Syzygy

Syzygy(noun): An alignment of three celestial objects, be it star, planet, or moon

Characters:Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Tahl etc. (many, many Jedi)

Summary: Jedi die younger than most; but they arereunited in different ways. A somewhat AU-ish interpretation of Jedi scatteredacross the multiverse after death. Jumps universes from victorian-era-esqueworlds to futuristic, inexplicable ones. Begins with Qui-Gon. Ends withtwo others.

Note: In this AU Qui-Gon didn’t hang around after his death as a Force-ghost, so he wasn’t there for Anakin killing Tuskens, etc., etc.

Qui-Gon Jinn wakes to thesound of a portal opening.

Even after seven years ofthis being common occurrence, the noise remains utterly distinctive. It is anindescribable rending of the fabric of space-time; something between hissingand tearing, but without any echo whatsoever. It is a gateway of the purestkind.

Qui-Gon watches the portalshimmer in the opposite wall. It has opened into a world of humans - as mostworlds he has visited usually are - and a street made grey by rain. The groundbeyond is not made of duracrete, he can see. Acurious mode of transport trundles by, drawn by two four-legged animals withsleek manes of hair and sleekly curved bodies. The transport itself is composedof four wooden wheels and a painted box-like structure.

The portal shimmers with alayer of carmine energy. People walk past without seeming to notice it.

As always, an outfit hasappeared next to the portal, on the empty coat-stand that Qui-Gon had placedthere simply for that purpose. He eyes the strange, tall black hat on it withwariness.

It is seven years fromNaboo, almost to the day.

Seven years, and every day anew portal, with a new task. Qui-Gon is never aware what task he has tocomplete until he enters this new world. He does not find it. It finds him.

He has thrownhimself into battles with nothing but bronze armour and a blunted sword toprotect himself; he has found himself in worlds of peace, where his only taskfor the day is to help a little girl find the perfect flower, or to carry anold man’s groceries home for him.

Qui-Gon performs hismorning ablutions quickly, and reaches for the outfit provided to him. Itis…strange. The white shirt, boots and trousers are simple enough, but there is ashort, sleeveless silk garment to go over it, and a long, black coat thatswings about his knees. Qui-Gon finds himselfmystified at a length of silk, more ribbon-like than anything.

Men walk past the portalwith similar lengths of silk tied around their necks in elaborate knots, soQui-Gon manages to come up with something that does not seem too much like asquashed ball of yarn. He rams the thin-rimmed, tall black hat on his head andpulls on his gloves.

Qui-Gon cannot stop thesmile from spreading across his face when he snatches up the last item providedto him; he pulls at the head of the long black cane, and finds the glint of asword within.

Sword-cane. Excellent.

With that happy thought,he ducks through the portal.

The smell is what hits himfirst.

Qui-Gon is immediatelysure that this is a city in the middle of an era of increased industrialproduction; only a rapidly-expanding city with a rich history of pre-industrialdevelopment has this particular stink.

But even here, in thissmoke-aired, sewer-filled city, the Force is present.

Qui-Gon closes his eyesonce, opens them again, and begins to walk.

Close to four hours later,he hurls himself back through the portal, bleeding out his momentum in a muddyroll across the pristine floor of his bedchamber.

Across the shimmeringbarrier, five very confused bloodhounds sniff at the lamplit pavement, utterlyconfused at the disappearance of their quarry.

The portal closes with afirm snap, leaving blank wall in its place.

Qui-Gon tugs at thegrime-encrusted, ruined knot at his neck - a cravat, he now knows - anddrops the length of silk to the floor. It disappears, as is usual for allprovided clothes at the end of a daily task. He is happy to see it go.

The sky outside his littleapartment is bright with afternoon sunshine.

Qui-Gon cleans himself up,dresses in a subdued outfit, and checks his kitchen.

He is running out of eggs.Or whatever the equivalent of eggs are in this universe.

He pulls on a jacket andgoes to the market.

This world, the world inwhich he woke up in seven years ago, is not particularly special. It is peacefulin places, at war in others. There is rudimentary space travel, but not beyondthe closest few planets. Qui-Gon had discovered very quickly within the firstfew months of living here that there is absolutely no knowledge whatsoeveramong the general populace of the Force, or the Jedi, or any other speciesbesides humans. It is as if the galaxy and Republic Qui-Gon served and gave hislife to does not exist at all.

He buys eggs, and a few things for the care of his houseplants. The shopkeepers are polite but distant.

Qui-Gon can feel theirwariness flicker in the Force as he turns to go, like searchlights dancingacross the back of his head, whispering:

There isalways something different about him, that Mister Jinn.

Come sunset, Qui-Gon makeshimself a meal. It is delicious and tastes absolutely different from anythinghe is used to in his old world. The salt here has an unfamiliar tang. The meatis different. The vegetables do not sing with the energy of the Living Force.

But the Force is stillhere, at least, steady and pure. Qui-Gon thinks he might have gone mad withoutit.

He runs though a few kataafter evening meal, in the small dojo connected to his study through aside-door. Even without a lightsaber, the forms flow through him as perfectlyand lightly as they did when he first mastered them. It is at times like thesethat he values the youth that he has in this world; his body for allappearances and abilities seems to match his own when he was about thirty-five.

It is better than havingsixty-year-old knees, certainly.

When he has driven himselfthrough enough repetitions of advanced Ataru velocities to blur the white wallsinto resembling a Temple sparring arena, Qui-Gon halts.

He washes up and goes tosleep. The bed seems to swallow him whole.

He does not dream.

The days blur past withoutmemory or time.

Some days, the tasks aresimple, and he speaks snippets of conversation to beings across the multiverse,tossing words into the aether, like a passing gale would scatter leaves intothe river.

Then there are days theculmination of whole wars rest upon his shoulders, and he negotiates and speaksand fights - but hours later he always steps back through the portal again andinto the artificial tidiness of his apartment, no matter whether he is drippingblood onto the carpet, or pristine in honoured robes.

The Force provides noanswer when he inquires why he is here, or why he must complete these tasks. Itsimply surges and recedes when he meditates, and whispers, patience.

And then comes the day hispatience is finally rewarded.

Ten years post-Naboo, Qui-Gon has just begunsupper when there is an unmistakable hiss-snap of a portal opening.

His hand pauses in the actof shaking more salt over the pot of soup.

“No,” he says, to nobodyin particular.

The Force eddies aroundhis ankles, encouragingly.

“No,” Qui-Gon says again,firmly. He places the salt container to the side and reaches for a spice-jar.  “It is time for evening meal. I have to eat so I can throw myself into another battle tomorrow morning.”

He nearly drops the jar as a sudden headache starts up behind his eyes.

After a moment, he shuts off the stove.

“Force-forsaken duty,” Qui-Gon mutters. He turns to face the portal.

Behind the translucent barrier is a snow-swept train station, looking not unlike one from Qui-Gon’s current universe. The portal looks out onto a platform and a set of tracks; the view of the opposite platform is obscured by a train halted there.

Frowning at the portal, Qui-Gon moodily reaches around to undo the ties of his apron.

There is a sharp hiss of hydraulics as the train pulls away from the platform.

Qui-Gon raises his head, and the breath stops in his chest.

There, standing on the opposite platform, is a woman with hair the colour of freshly-watered earth, and skin the shade of bronze-kissed jasper. Her hands are tucked into her coat-pockets for warmth; her scarf billows in the wind as she glances to her right.

Her eyes. Her green-and-gold-striped eyes.

Qui-Gon stares at Tahl Uvain and knows this cannot be a dream, because he is already dead, and he has not dreamed in a decade.

And then he senses her; a bright-flamed star blossoms on the edge of his consciousness where an empty void had been before.

He has stumbled through the portal before he even began to think of stepping forward.

Tahl’s sharp eyes catch the movement in the air, and the next moment, green and gold meet sea-blue.

Her spine straightens. Proud and confident and strong; three of the many, many things that Qui-Gon had loved about her.

And then he realises.

She can see. She can see.

Qui-Gon does not dare move. It would seem neither does she; they stare at each other across a no-man’s-land of two train-tracks, as though neither of them have ever seen anything before; as if this, before them, is beautiful and wondrous enough as to be wholly indescribable.

Tahl’s lips move first, and the words come, muffled by snow but clear as a clarion across the space between them:

“Qui? Is that you?”

Qui-Gon thinks he might have wept, then. It would have been different, perhaps, if she had spoken his name in full; but it has been two lifetimes since he last heard someone say his name with such fondness, and a lifetime since he last heard his name at all.

He tries to say her name in return, but the sounds do not come.

It does not matter. Recognition blooms on Tahl’s features; her eyes are immediately lit with such incandescent joy that Qui-Gon’s wonders if his heart will stop simply by mirroring it.

Joy he has not felt since…

Since he heard the words I pledge myself to you, Qui-Gon.

A deep rumble sounds to Qui-Gon’s right. Both Jedi’s heads snap to the side; the tracks tremble as a train approaches.

Panic flares in Qui-Gon’s chest; he cannot allow this train to slice between the two platforms and separate them, not when they have endured enough years apart for death, twice.

“Qui-Gon!”

He glimpses her sprinting for the platform stairs as the train rushes into the station; he pivots on a heel and lunges at the stairs on his own platform. The short seconds he races up the steps are pounding spaces of disbelieving hope.

At the top of the steps is a corner, and round the corner a bridge, and down that-

They slam into each other at the centre of the bridge, suspended above the tracks like two actors that have missed their cue, and raced out of the wrong entrances, colliding.

Qui-Gon has buried his face in her shoulder and breathed in her Force-signature before he even registers the weight of her in his arms.

Tahl’s arms are so tight around his chest that he thinks he might be sawed in half. Or perhaps that pressure is not her at all, but the pain of a heart remade.

It is strange. They have both died once, separated by a span of ten years, but here, in this moment, Qui-Gon thinks he is happy enough to die.

“Tahl,” he sobs, muffled by the cold and the snow.

“You’re not supposed to be dead, you idiot,” Tahl mumbles somewhere under his chin.

“You weren’t, either,” Qui-Gon whispers.

“Hush.”

They stand, orbiting each other in the Force, a perfect binary star.

The Force glimmers, and laughs.

It is not long after they find each other that more Jedi begin to appear.

Two hundred Jedi flicker into being out of nowhere, scattered across the multiverse. Qui-Gon and Tahl link hands and seek them out. They bring troubling news, of the beginning of war.

More Jedi are found throughout the few years after, increasing in number but often decreasing in age, with the youngest no older than junior padawans.

Qui-Gon spends his nights sipping tea with Tahl, fiddling with his wedding ring distractedly as he thinks about Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, leading campaigns far out on the outer rim of a galaxy he can no longer reach.

Then came the day that the portals opened non-stop for twenty-four hours.

Qui-Gon and Tahl run, and run, and at the end of that one day, they have gathered ten thousand Jedi.

Qui-Gon gazes at the fallen Order, and wonders that the two faces he searches for are not there.

Mace Windu steps out of the crowd, flexes his right hand for a moment as though checking if it is really there, opens his mouth, and speaks.

Qui-Gon crumbles.

Nineteen years pass quickly, here.

The Jedi Order settles in nicely to this new world. The initiates who were cut down in the death throes of the old Order are all now knighted. Qui-Gon is the new Grand Master; he finds the job hopelessly dull, but Mace had insisted.

Then one day, a portal opens, and Qui-Gon drops his cup of tea all over his new robes.

“Master,” Obi-Wan says, blue eyes twinkling above well-cut beard. He doesn’t look a day over thirty.

Qui-Gon knocks aside his tea-table in his haste to embrace the other man. Obi-Wan’s laugh cascades into the Force, as does Tahl’s shout when she sees him.

Syzygy. Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Tahl. Three celestial objects in complete alignment, forever.

END

There you have it. A 2,400 word “snippet”. *falls over* Thanks for reading! Do reblog and leave a comment! I hope this fic made you smile as much as it did for me :) I think this is a pretty good AU to keep adding tidbits into, so send me prompts for that any time. It will be called Syzygy AU, I think.

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[inksandpensblog]

#Hear me out on this#The Duck is true to reality. It's a living being. Princess Tutu is true to the fairytale. Same way Mytho is.#But girl Duck? She's completely fabricated. No firm ground to stand on#Quicksand of an existence. And yet. It's her we connect with#Her that we are rooting for#Her who builds relationships and bonds and her who does all the preliminary work for Tutu to take over later#she's the most real person for us emotionally#And because of that it's heartbreaking#Because if you look closer you'll know that she's doomed and destined to be forgotten#She belongs to no world#But you want so badly for her to pull through

Feeling wistful feelings over the fact that the form of Ahiru the majority of us viewers end up loving and rooting for the most (girl Ahiru) is also the most illusive and unreal of the three

[bubblesandpages]

#Hear me out on this#The Duck is true to reality. It's a living being. Princess Tutu is true to the fairytale. Same way Mytho is.#But girl Duck? She's completely fabricated. No firm ground to stand on#Quicksand of an existence. And yet. It's her we connect with#Her that we are rooting for#Her who builds relationships and bonds and her who does all the preliminary work for Tutu to take over later#she's the most real person for us emotionally#And because of that it's heartbreaking#Because if you look closer you'll know that she's doomed and destined to be forgotten#She belongs to no world#But you want so badly for her to pull through#princess tutu

Oh no we're not leaving all of that in the tags (via @zerozeroren)

Feeling wistful feelings over the fact that the form of Ahiru the majority of us viewers end up loving and rooting for the most (girl Ahiru) is also the most illusive and unreal of the three