#as a reader I hope you DO still imagine other scenes and spin-offs because I wanted to make room for possibility and transformation

[urne-buriall]

when you finished young hearts, did you plan on writing that even plottier part 3? or maybe just a hopeful epilogue that gave a glimpse of the young lovers in their new world?

my notes at the beginning of the third fic really do sum it up:

that new world Young Dean made presented so many opportunities that I had to pick a thread and follow it. like the ending of Clue, this is how it could have happened... in my mind's eye the third instalment was supposed to be a short little jaunt, fun and boppy, such that I called it "Teen-Dean: Ragnarok" in my head. instead it's the most meticulously plotted. guys, I'm hopeless.

there was part of me that was always afraid to put something down in writing and make it "concrete" because I had left part 1 intentionally open, and intentionally bittersweet (which time travel often is). the pain has to happen and cannot be avoided and I'm kidding myself and everyone else if I act like it could've gone differently

but, could it? when I started part 2 I didn't know how it would end, but knew that it couldn't be another "none of what just happened matters and you have to go back and live just as before, forgetting all these hard-won lessons." that felt so pointless and, frankly, unkind to Young Dean. our present Dean still has to have his past, but I had the opportunity to split ways

there were multiple routes in my head for what happened in Young Dean's new world. I hated the idea that I'd be closing any of them off by writing just one that would become "authoritative." for readers to lose the chance to speculate on or imagine a different way. I knew if I put it in writing it would have to be plotty, and Past-Cas would have to be lost somehow, and that I was going to immediately destroy all Young Dean had worked for. meanwhile there were versions in my head where they just got to enjoy each other. versions where Dean and Cas clear away from John, versions where Cas meets John and how that would go, versions where Cas keeps his angel power and versions where he doesn't. it was all up for grabs

but they're so young and I knew, no matter what, their story couldn't simply END with young hearts. it was just beginning. more would happen in their lives, more actions and consequences. I was kidding myself, just as I'd been at the end of part 1, when I thought I wouldn't need to write anything more. because it was all spinning through my head, all these iterations and possibilities, but I also instinctively knew which path was most compelling for me to pursue. I had NO IDEA it was going to be the longest and most intricate part, but again, the pay-off felt huge and like I had actually resolved all the things that niggled at my brain in the previous parts

there is another post where I talk about the "other iteration" of part 3 (what could've been) a little, which I'm linking to and will reblog now as a treat

[wings-of-ink]

I'm trying to make my own IF story, if it's ok to ask how'd you come up with the ideas? Or how'd you build off it to make a whole (beautiful and amazing) story?

I've had a few ideas but get caught up in trying to make everything in one section fit, and then I feel like I'm getting no where

if you have any tips Id love to hear (your game has become one of my favorites in the 24 hours it took to play ♥️)

Hello Nony! I am so glad you enjoy GC, and am happy to answer that question as best I can. I'm free-styling here, so this will be a bit long.

For me, most ideas just sort of spring up, but they aren't full ideas when they do. GC started from a thought about a cursed MC. That was it. I just dwelt on it and sort of answered questions about it - where did the curse come from, etc... It grew a lot from there as I tried to answer questions about it. The nature of those details gave me my fantasy setting, which I grew as well. I just started small and found a place for each layer that I needed to add to the structure. This can take quite a while depending on what you're cooking up. GC had months and months of building and background before I ever started writing the actual story.

In this poll, the IF idea I had for "Shivers" was literally inspired by my brother-in-law. He actually has that nervous tick, and he jokes about it, and we tease him (good-naturedly). He says that his future gravesite must be under a parking lot or a sidewalk because people keep walking on it, lol. It just made my imagination spin.

The "gritty drama" idea from this same poll stemmed from one of my OCs. I just made a setting for her and then thought of the type of world she lives in and what I could do with it.

Other ideas I have had came from thinking of a cool "scene" while listening to music. Music is a great medium for me to help me think about my characters especially. Just listen to your favorite tunes and let your brain go wild.

It just sort of also depends on how you think. There's nothing that says an idea just needs to come to you, you can set out to find one.

I would recommend focusing on themes and genres that you enjoy reading as well. I am a long-time fan of fantasy, I have written several fantasy stories in the past, and it just feels comfortable for me. You are more inclined to think of story ideas in the niches that you love the most.

One thing I would highly recommend for IF's especially is that you make sure the MC is the center/focus of your story. Some IFs can feel like the MC is a secondary character, and the story is really about the ROs. They can still be great stories, but your reader is often looking for a personal experience in addition to the story and romances.

And just an aside that I think is important, since in the IF communities you see themes repeated, especially popular ones. Do not worry about if your story is completely unique. As long as you do not pluck ideas and words directly from others, it's okay. In the literary and entertainment world, truly unique ideas are very rare if not non-existent, but your version of it has not been told before. You also don't need an earth-shattering idea to make it interesting.

I hope this helps you a bit. If you have more questions or comments about any of this, feel free to send in another ask. If you tell me more about your personal process and experience, maybe I can think of other things that would help if you like. ^_^

[ghostberrie]

Soft as the rain

My first reader insert fanfic. Going to discuss mental illnesses, schizoaffective, major depression, PTSD, and Anxiety. Reader is already p messed in the head before the boys find her and make it worse. Ofc blood gore and murder. Manipulation and some other fun stuff. NSFW down the line so this will be 18+. I’m a whore for Hoodie/Brian, Toby and Masky/Tim thrown in for fun too. LMK what you think and how to tag this! Enjoy!

Eyes blearily, head pounding, your body stiff. You get up and your joints creak as the world spins. What did you do last night? You become vaguely aware you’re in an alleyway, having wormed your way behind a dumpster, you look like shit, smell like shit, and feel like it too. Stumbling to your feet, legs weak and very numb from being bent under you for what you guessed to be a long time. You notice as you trip over yourself that your heels are broken. Looking down at your little black dress, its covered in a slick substance. Residue leaking liquid garbage on the pavement where you took your little power nap.

As soon as you step out from behind the dumpster the smell hits you, making your head pound even more, making your vision blur your surroundings. You double over and hurl. Stomach tensing so hard it hurts. Reaching a hand on the dumpsters cold and sticky metal, you lean your weight on it to support you as you empty your stomach. Another hand reaches to try and pull your hair away from getting even more disgusting than it is. As the bile burns your throat you have the fleeting thought that you may have not eaten before or during your little night out, exacerbating your fucked up state. Tears prick at your bulging eyes as you retch up another bit of bile. Taking a few heaving breaths to steady yourself, you can’t help but think this night couldn’t get any worse. Not knowing how you got here, still a bit messed in the head because of whatever you took, god you hoped it wasn’t coke, a huff of a laugh bubbled out of you. You can’t imagine how bad you must look. You wipe your mouth with the back of the hand no longer holding your hair and lean back. Staring at the dark night sky, the view partially obstructed by the tall buildings surrounding you. Light pollution making the sky look starless and void.

Your head snaps back as the bang of a door slamming open echoes through the air, cutting through the background noise of bumping dance music you didn’t fully register until it was overtaken. You quickly duck down, crouching and cowering behind the dumpster you were fully leaning against moments before. Peeking your head around your hiding place you saw two men. One pressing the other to the dank brick wall of the space you occupied. The smaller man seemed scared, eyes wide and panicked. He was slurring his words as he spoke, no, begged the larger man holding him by the front of his white button up a few feet off the ground. He was obviously intoxicated, maybe as much as you. Poor bastard would have a pounding headache in the morning, just like you.

“Please, I swear I wasn’t going to say anything, I didn’t see anything, I don’t know anything. I’m just a little guy, you wouldn’t hurt a small little guy right?” His head snapped to the side, he was punched in the jaw hard, his babbling continuing and getting more pathetic. The larger man would apparently very much hurt a small little guy. You’re not sure if it was the wild night you’d clearly had or your weakened mental state that led you out tonight, but the scene laying out in front of you didn’t scare you absolutely shitless, if anything you found it kind of funny. Of course this shit would happen to you, getting caught in a potential drug deal gone wrong, having to see some poor sucker get jostled around stuck where you were so their attention wouldn’t turn their violence to you. Tugging at your phone which you had tucked into your bra, and struggling with the lock screen, eventually you opened your camera app. With a last blurry thought of ‘worldstar’ you pressed record and filmed the act of violence unfolding before you. Probably not the smartest move, but fuck being smart, this could be fun.

The bigger man, the aggressor, didn’t speak. His back turned to you, you noted he wore a murky yellow hoody and dark jeans. You barely registered the dark gloves covering his hands, gloves that would ensure no fingerprints would be left behind. The smaller man realized after a few more hits that his begging was getting him nowhere. He started to struggle, limbs seeming heavy and uncoordinated, he attempted to claw at the hand that migrated to holding him by the throat. Kicking his feet trying to use his legs to jam the bigger man away, maybe his kicks were weak or maybe the other man was just that strong but he held firm, pulling his other hand back and cracking the head of the small little guy back into the brick, punching him square in the nose. He cried, fat tears pouring down his cheeks, mixing with the blood pouring out of his very broken nose.

The Bigger man reached a hand to his waistband, a glint catching your eye, you realize dully he had pulled a gun. This was no longer a bit of fun violence, your gut churned, wanting to throw up again. Holding it up to the babbling man’s temple, point blank, he waited for the begging to start up again. “Please, I promise you, I won’t say a thing, I’ll disappear, you’ll never have too worry about me!” Finally the bigger man made a sound, a low chuckle rumbled, the sound barely reaching you. He really seemed to enjoy the look of fear and the broken whimpers of someone who’s life was about to end by his hands. Shoulders bounced before he stiffened again. And just like that he pulled the trigger. A resounding bang thundered off the walls. The large city not being the safest, so the gun shot wouldn’t really raise alarms. Just another night that got a little too wild.

Your mind struggled to make sense of the scene, his head was there and then it was mostly gone. A huge hole taking an entire side of his face off, blood and chunks of brain and muscle staining the wall behind him. His body going limp immediately, neck letting his damaged head lull to the side with the bullet that tore into it. The image of a water ballon bursting ran across your mind. And for whatever reason you laughed, maybe it was the nerves, or the thought that you’re shitty night that couldn’t get worse did just that, but a bark of a laugh ripped from your throat. Oh shit. He’s looking this way, oh fuck oh shit. He wore a kind of ski mask, uneven red circles and a frown stitched into it. He was huge, tall and very obviously built, bringing the gun down and pointing it towards the floor, still using his other hand to hold up a grown man in the air, he stilled. While definitely scared now, it all seemed so ridiculous in your mind that you seemed to take your leisurely time to click the recording off and stand on wobbly feet, you gave him a wonky smile. He turned his head to the side, an unsettling movement, slow and calculated.

Before he could even drop the body and make a move towards you, you turned on your heel and ran, as fast as you could in your physical condition. Bursting from one alley to the next, before making it onto the busy street of downtown on a Friday night. Still letting out nervous giggles you melted into the crowd. Ignoring the looks you pushed past people for a few blocks before finding a cab and hopping in. Promptly knocking out after giving him your address, not questioning the lack of foot steps behind you as you hightailed it away from the scene. Small details being lost in your hazy mind. You didn’t take time to account for your ID that was no longer on your person, or the keys to your apartment that were lost as well.

He on the other hand, was so kind to find them laying on the floor behind the very dumpster you took shelter behind, and with your address in hand and a way to get inside he was very happy to return them to you. But not quite so soon. He found the dazed look of fear in your eyes, your lips, shiny from lipgloss that clung to you, pulled into a nervous smile and the way your legs pumped under you as you ran very cute. He couldn’t wait for the fun you would have together, but like any good game he had to be patient. Knowing his victory was guaranteed, he still wanted you to squirm.

[daughterofcain-67]

𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 (pt. 8)

(Beau Arlen x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After Beau and the other officers found nothing, they look for any other way to find you and they block the roads to make sure no one gets out of Helena. Beau is determined to find you before it's too late. He just has to hope that 'too late' never comes.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: shooting (during a chase scene), mention of Y/N's r@pe, stabbing, nothing graphic. I think that should be everything.

Previously

When Beau finally found the entrance to the basement he couldn’t help but feel at least a little relieved. He busted the door down but what he saw was not what he was hoping for.

“No…”

You were nowhere to be found! The handcuffs were lying on the floor, the chains that kept you there were empty.

“Beau, no one is here.” Jenny said when she found him.

Then it was like the walls around Beau were crumbling down. He didn’t know what else he was supposed to do so Beau ended up punching the wall in front of him. He punched it so hard he was positive he might’ve busted the skin on his knuckles.

“Damn it!”

Now

This couldn't be happening...

Beau had to be dreaming. They were so damned close to finding you and just when everything was in place, you were just.. gone? His officer's were quick to get to this blasted place, how did Andre's men move so fast?

Beau's head was spinning as he walked out of the basement empty handed. When he made it outside, he told one of the officer's to take Andre down to the station so they could get him booked. They had more than enough to hold him and he was sure Agent Sampson had more evidence to solidify his arrest.

When he ran his fingers through his hair, Beau felt a hand on his shoulder. When he looked and saw who it was, he tried not to be so tense when he realized that it was just Jenny with one of those empathetic looks on her face.

"We'll find her, Beau. We've got Andre and maybe we'll get some answers from him." She tried to reassure but Beau knew it wouldn't be easy. Then Agent Sampson came up.

"Speaking of holding Andre... Beau, I think it would be wise if you didn't interview him when we get to the station." He said, and Beau glanced over it him with his brows narrowing slightly.

"Why the Hell wouldn't I interview him? I'm the Sheriff of this town, remember?" He asked.

"Yeah, and I'm the FBI Agent handling this case and I have jurisdiction on this one. You're lucky I even let you get as involved as you are, despite your interest in this case. Or did you forget about that?" Sampson reminded.

At this, Beau went quiet. He knew Sampson was right and he may have blown things by getting angry. But when Andre admitted to him what he did, and so haughtily too, Beau couldn't help losing his cool.

"Arlen, as much as I like you, I really don't think he'd give you any answers you want after your, um... confrontation. Something tells me it was a little more than evading arrest or self defense. Do you really think he would willingly cooperate with a guy that just kicked his ass and got him arrested in the first place?"

"I get it, okay? I messed up. But at least we've got him and we're taking him down to the station." Beau said as he started taking off the bulletproof vest and he tossed it inside of his car.

"Beau, what did Andre admit to you? Maybe we can add that additional charge to everything if we have the right evidence." Jenny said, trying to uplift things a little before the sheriff got too discouraged.

"Trust me, we don't have the right evidence yet." He said.

"What makes you say that?" The agent questioned, then Beau explained what exactly Andre said that made Beau lose it for a moment.

"Andre... he admitted to assaulting Y/N. We don't have any evidence yet because we still haven't found her yet, and it's not like I got a recording of his confession. So I'm not sure effective that'll be while we hold him."

"Holy cow..." She breathed out, "I can't imagine going through something like that..."

"But it is an additional charge. Once we find Y/N, we'll do a rape kit and use those results as evidence against him." Agent Sampson agreed.

"Let's get to the station and see if we can get some answers. Maybe we can still get surveillance on other vehicles. I told officers to keep an eye on any other cars that were at this location for the past few days so maybe we'll be able to find out who left this place and-"

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Beau asked, "Have you heard anything back? Has anyone called anything in?"

"Not yet, which is all the more reason t get out of here." Sampson continued.

So that was exactly what everyone did.

Beau got into his truck and started driving down to the station to get some kind of info an any of the other people that happened to be there. Maybe they would still have some time to get some roads blocked off before you'd be gone for good. They were running out of time and Beau wanted to make sure they were doing everything in their power to get you back.

Once they made it back to the station, Beau went to Poppernack's desk and saw him there already typing away at any surveillance footage they could get.

"What do you have for me, Poppernack." Beau said.

The deputy looked a little shocked that Beau was using his real name this time around, but he also knew now wasn't the time to linger on his surprise as he focused on the screen in front of him, "Naturally we've got Andre's truck whenever he left to go see you, Boss. But I'm assuming right after Andre's chat with you he must've made the call to the people on the inside."

Beau took a look on the screen and sure enough, another vehicle came by. It was a large, black van and Beau could see two men carrying you by your arms. You were fighting as best as you could but you ended up in the back of that van and the doors slammed shut.

The two men got into the van and then a woman stepped out, she was on the phone looking like she was making some kind of arrangements while she started heading to some kind of silver hybrid.

"How long ago did they leave?" Beau asked.

"About ten minutes before we all arrived." Poppernack answered.

"Ten minute head start... That doesn't give them a whole lot of time so maybe we can get to them. Zoom in on both their plates and track them down. Start looking for where both the cars went and send people to block the roads leaving town." The Sheriff said as he straightened up.

"On it Boss."

With that, Beau walked towards the interrogation room. He may not be able to interview Andre, but he could at least watch and see what would come of all of this. He wanted to know what kind of progress they would be able to make and see how cooperative Andre would actually be with this.

"Sheriff, I don't think you're supposed to be here." One of the officers said and Beau looked over.

"I'm not interviewing the guy, I'm simply an observer. This is still my department." He reminded, even if the position is supposedly temporary.

When he looked through the window, he saw Andre sitting there with the most arrogant posture. It was as if he really thought they couldn't get anything on him, and that drove Beau crazy.

"Look, we just want to know where Y/N is. And after your little confession to the sheriff, we know you know where she is." Agent Sampson spoke and Andre cocked a brow.

"I knew where she was back where she was still held in the basement. I wouldn't know where she's headed now." Andre said as he leaned back into the chair.

"But we know you can find out. Better yet, you can give us the names of the people that have taken Y/N." The agent continued and he leaned over and he placed a file on the table top. He slid three pictures in front of Andre.

"These people, your family members, I know you're involved with them. We know you go by the King, your sister is the Queen, a little cousin of yours, Matvey, is Ace. Then you've got another man coming in as the Jack." He began, "We also know that you've kept your hands clean up to this point and you've let people like Ace take the fall. Are you really willing to screw all of that up?"

"From the way I see it, and from the way your Sheriff friend was so determined to get me here, I'd say it's already my time to go to jail, yes? So why would I help you?"

"Come on, Andre. You act like FBI haven't made deals before."

"If you wanna cut a deal, talk to my lawyer."

Beau's jaw clenched at the mere idea of striking a deal with a scumbag like Andre. He was trying his best to bite his tongue for this. He crossed his arms over his chest and listened.

You stared down at your wrists. They were bound yet again, just after you thought you were free from the handcuffs, they put you in zip ties. It didn't feel that great against the wounds you had on your wrists after getting out of those cuffs. Now these zip ties gave you no wiggle room to try and get out of them.

You leaned your back against the wall of the van since the seats were taken out of this thing. So many thoughts were swirling in your mind.

How would Beau find you now? How would he be able to track you down now? What if they didn't know the plates of these vehicles? What if they would be too late again? What if you would never see Beau or Cadence again?

What if you really would be sent out of the country and end up with a lifetime of torture with whatever trafficking circle you'd be sold to?

What if there wasn't any hope left after all?

You lifted your bound hands and put them to your face, palms pressing against your eyes as if you were trying to wake yourself up from this nightmare. Where did it all go wrong?

You wished you hadn't gone on that date with Andre, especially if you would have known his involvement with this group. You wished you would have been smarter about everything.

The one thing you could say you did somewhat right, was get Jenny to do some kind of background check on Andre. And even then, who knew if Andre would get out of this with his reputation unscathed? The chances of him having to deal with any consequences was highly unlikely, much to your dismay.

"I can't believe we're in this fucking mess because of this chick." Jack said, causing you to lift your face from the palms of your hands and you notice his gaze on you was dark, unforgiving. You didn't think he would be the type to kill you though - it seemed more Ace's speed.

"You just had to go and scream out on King's phone call. What a bitch." He glared at you.

"Yeah, yeah. She's the source of today's problems. But you know King. He can't resist the ladies. If they resist him then... well there's one more sold off." Ace said, never taking his eyes off the road since he was the one driving the car.

Wait, Andre's done this to multiple girls? How many times has he done this and not gotten caught? How many girls were suffering because of him? Would they ever get any justice?

"Son of a bitch..." Ace grumbled and started to put on the brakes, "Gag her and put her away. We can't have her loud mouth alerting anyone."

"Ace? What's happening? What's going on?" Jack asked.

"Traffic on this highway's turning around. This road's blocked so we need to find another way out. Gag her incase they're doing a search and put the blankets on her or something."

The next thing you knew, Jack put some duct tape over your mouth and he pushed you down, pulling a knife out and pointed it at you.

"If you get up, make a sound, or do anything that will get us caught, I will slice your throat." Jack told you, and seeing as you didn't want to piss him off you simply complied.

All you could think of that you could do was just close your eyes. When they closed, you focused on the blackness surrounding you and you just tried to get lost in different thoughts, anything to distract you from the current situation.

But nothing positive came to mind. All you could think of were all of the 'what ifs' that repeated in your mind like a broken record.

"Hello, Officers. How can we help you?" You could hear Ace ask.

"The roads are closed off and we're looking for a girl. We're going to have to search your vehicle before we allow you to turn around." An officer said.

That sounded so hopeful! If they were searching the cars, then the officers would find you and then you would be free from all of this! You could go home!

You stayed still because you didn't know if Jack was still next to you ready to strangle you if you made any movement, but you could hear the doors of the van open. The next few sounds horrified you...

Gunshots rang out from inside the van and you could only imagine from beneath the blanket covering you, that Jack was the one pulling the trigger. While this was going on, you felt yourself being tossed around the back of the van and you could hear the screech of burning rubber, knowing Ace must be making some kind of U-turn to get out of there.

The blanket fell and you could see Jack getting up to shut the back of the van before the cops could shoot the inside. You carefully sat up and you wondered if the cops would be able to catch this van, if Beau had other officers on the watch for you.

You lifted your hands and took off the tape since its not like they remembered to have your hands behind you. You winced a little since it stung when the tape was ripped off your skin, almost like a band-aid. When you leaned forward to try and look out through the windshield, you saw your surroundings and knew they were headed to some back roads.

But if they're going through the back roads, that means there are no security cameras. And if there are no cameras, how would Beau be able to track the vehicle?

Soon enough the car came to a stop.

"Ace? What the Hell are you doing? This wasn't a part of the plan." Jack said with a slightly panicky tone.

"Well the roads shutting down wasn't exactly in the plan either, now was it? Get her out." Ace said as he got out of the driver's seat.

They were ditching the vehicle. Right here and now?

Jack pulled you by your arm and dragged you out of the back of the van and you could feel the rocks and twigs against your bare feet.

"We're going on foot from here since the roads are blocked. Send a message to Queen." Ace said.

"I don't think there's any cell reception from here but I'll give it a shot." Jack said and pulled his phone from his pocket with his free hand.

As Jack was distracted, you bit your lip as an idea formulated in your mind. It was a long shot and you didn't know if you had the physical strength to do this, but you had to try something.

So with all of your might, you elbowed Jack in the side which caused him to drop his device. When you moved to try and make an escape, Ace grabbed one of your arms. You took your hands and formed them into fists so you ended up punching him with both fists and you watched Ace cover his nose.

"Ah, you bitch!" Ace snarled, although it came out muffled.

You looked and Jack was running towards you, and you ran back to the van looking for anything you could use to help with your self defense and that was when you saw the blade that Jack must've dropped earlier when Ace made that turn-around.

You picked it up and you aimed it at Jack.

"Now you don't actually know how to use that thing, sweetheart. How 'bout you give it here before you do something stupid, huh?" Jack said and you clenched your jaw.

"You stay away from me before you get yourself hurt." You said back.

"Why you little-"

When Jack lunged forward, you had an overwhelming dose of adrenaline rush through you and you ended up stabbing him somewhere in the abdomen. You hoped that you didn't kill him, since you didn't want murder on your conscience, but it was clearly enough to get Jack to back off.

You could hear his scream from the pain he was feeling and he grabbed his side and leaned against the van. You kept the knife in your hands that were still tied and you hopped out of the car. But you still had Ace to deal with.

Ace came at you and tackled you to the ground and you landed on your back and it knocked the wind out of you for a moment. But when you realized that Ace was on top of you, it took all of the strength you had to use your legs and you kicked him in the groin. It was one way to get him off you.

He rolled over in pain and you turned around, scrambling to get up again. Then you took the gun that was in Ace's belt, you used the butt end of it and knocked Ace out.

While you were finally catching your breath, you looked over and saw that Jack was still in the van, losing a lot of blood. You walked over to the van, picked up the blanket and tossed it as best as you could to Jack so he could try and get his own bleeding to stop.

Then you hopped out of the van once more, picked up the knife since you knew you would need it to unzip your wrists. Then you bent down to pick up Jack's phone that was still miraculously unlocked through this whole endeavor.

You quickly dialed up Beau's number since he told you to memorize it just incase. You held the phone up to your ear as best as you could as you rushed off into the woods before Ace would wake up and before Jack could regain any strength.

"Sheriff Arlen. Who's this?"

God you couldn't have been more relieved to hear the sound of his voice.

You just hoped that the reception wouldn’t be too bad where you were and that he would be able to hear you as you went deeper into the woods.

"Beau? It's Y/N..."

Thank you guys so much for reading!

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @chriszgirl92 @nancymcl @fanfic-n-tabulous @globetrotter28

[curiousquirks]

okay so, here's my request 😼 sorry this is too long 😭😭

this imagine has been spinning around my mind for a while now and... imagine prohero!reader x best jeanist as a married couple. prohero!reader is known as charismatic, brave, bold and confident (a similar personality to mirko's!) who's not shy to express their emotions, specially to their husband; they take place as the number 4 hero and their relationship with the number 3 hero is quite popular among people and more known as power couple (since when they fight together, they're just amazing). but what would happen if they have an argument about something not too serious and take some time apart to clear their minds? the media goes crazy and starts a hero drama, endless gossiping about them, entire internet blogs making theories and, specially, reporters surrounding jeanist and prohero!reader looking for answers about what could've possibly happened to make the so powerful couple separate momentarily (failing miserably because none of them would talk about their personal lives). tsunagu starts feeling annoyed by all the drama over a little argument but reader remains chill about it, they aren't really mad, so the story ends when tsunagu is being surrounded one day by reporters asking the same things as the last week and prohero!reader appears on scene with a rose in hand, apologizing and ready to patch up the past argument with their spouse in front of the camera! they make up and reader gives hakamada a kiss over his hero costume and leaves for patrol, stating out loud they love him humongously beyond the argument (leaving tsunagu heart-warmed).

this would be a oneshot with an humoristic/romantic-fluffy touch if possible (feel free to give reader a quirk of your choice if you want). SORRY IF IT'S A LOT, feel free to ignore♡

Red Threads of Fate

Word Count: 2,023

A/N: I appreciate all of the details, they honestly help me so much so don’t worry about it! I hope you like it! This also took longer than I thought but I made it a longer fic to hopefully make up for it aha <3 Still not that used to writing Best Jeanist so I hope I did him justice. Enjoy <3

Your head whipped around towards your TV when you heard your Hero name.  Your local news anchor was currently moving onto a “special segment” they called Troubles in Paradise. You paused your actions as you moved closer to hear him better.

 

“And no new development on either half of the dynamic power couple, it seems they need time to work on their differences. We here at the station don’t fear for their relationship, knowing nothing could tear them apart.” 

“Thank you.” You replied to the man, as though he could hear you. “I know you guys wouldn’t care as much as the other stations do.” You know Tsunagu was no doubt growing irritated with the public’s meddling in your relationship, making up their own narrative to your private but childish argument.

“That doesn’t stop other sources from trying to figure out just what made two of our top Heroes to part even temporarily. Some have stated that Best Jeanist seems to be getting restless without his spouse by his side. Are the troubles in paradise going to affect his performance as a Pro Hero? Here's hoping they kiss and make up soon.”

You picked up the remote and clicked the TV off, giving a soft laugh to yourself. The public and media was always eager to pick apart every detail of Pro Heroes, their relationships were no exception. It didn’t bother you at all, you’ve grown used to the constant badgering and pestering. Sometimes, it was even amusing to you. Tsunagu, on the other hand, finds it tiring when they come to the wrong conclusion. Image is everything after all, and when the public doesn’t have the full story they’ll go out of their way to fill in the gaps themselves. 

You were currently staying in your own agency building, agreeing with Tsunagu on it being best to give each other space. You’ve made jokes to a reporter that had cornered you that being around each other too often would lead to more petty arguments, especially because you enjoyed messing with him far too much. Tsunagu however, after hearing your little comment, didn’t appreciate how lightly you were taking this whole thing. He had known, without even having to look at any article or forums, that you weren’t helping any false narratives people kept trying to spin. You telling him to lighten up and relax didn’t help your little lover’s quarrel either. 

It had been a few days now, time flying by because the antics of various villains in both of your areas proved a large distraction. You plopped yourself down onto the nearest chair, beginning to mindlessly scroll on your phone. Sure enough, your timelines were filled with you and your husband, usually with the tagline: “If they break up I give up on love!!” You clicked your tongue, heaviness sinking in your heart. You really missed Tsunagu. You threw your head back, letting out a long exhausted sigh. This was going to need to be fixed soon and you didn’t really care how at this point. It was both of your prides at this point, the argument wasn’t even worth this much drama. 

You looked back at your phone, swiping until you could scroll through your own collection of photos you’ve taken with Tsunagu. You scrolled for a few minutes but you had to put your phone down, throwing your arm over your face. You stayed like that until you grew tired enough to move to somewhere more comfortable. You paused, deciding whether or not to toss your phone onto the table but waging a war with yourself. You quickly swiped up on your text messages before you quickly typed a message to Tsunagu, but had decided not to send it, leaving it up on your phone before you had gone to sleep for the night. 

I miss you and your stupid blue jeans <3

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Being rudely awoken because of an emergency alarm asking for your assistance was something you still hadn’t gotten used to. You sprung into action, quickly putting on your hero costume as you as you contacted your sidekicks to assist you. Your efficiency was impeccable and one of the many reasons you were so praised, quickly arriving at the scene to assist civilians and take down any Villain in sight. 

You handled aiding the civilians you spotted immediately with ease, their concerns and uneasiness falling off of them at just the sight of you. You had helped move any rubble and debris that was in the way, scooping up the random strangers and taking them somewhere safer. You’ve been keeping an eye out for the Villain but you can’t seem to find any sign of them. You assessed the damage on the victims you had near you before you signaled over two of your sidekicks who finished aiding some other civilians themselves.

“Help aid their injuries, this one has a broken leg and that one needs stitches.” You commanded them as they both immediately got to work. You checked around again before calling back down to your sidekicks. “Have either of you seen the Villain anywhere? I haven’t seen any signs.”

You watched as both of them looked at each other, seeming to debate whether or not to tell you something. You narrowed your eyes, but before you could open your mouth you heard cheering coming from the far side of the battle field that was obstructed from your vision.

“Is another Hero already here?”

“Uh…well uhm Best Jeanist also arrived on the scene and he was taking care of the Villain while you had aided these civilians.” One of your sidekicks explained, not looking you in the eyes as they tried to focus on helping the person in front of them. 

“Jeanist is here?” You asked, looking back towards the area where you heard the cheering. “What’s he doing in this area?”

“We’ll handle everything from here if you want to go and uhm…greet the crowd…” The other sidekick started saying before letting the sentence fall off before trying to quickly add on: “I’m sure they’ll appreciate being able to thank you as well.”

“He shows up in my area and takes care of the Villain, taking the credit from the public…” You ranted in hushed whispers, crossing your arms, scoffing at the audacity. “Is he trying to get a bunch of good publicity to get the media off his back about our fight?”

A quiet ow had you spinning around as the second sidekick was holding their arm after getting hit by the other. You sighed, rolling your eyes, as you composed yourself. You were being unreasonable and didn’t intend to let your frustrations be front stage for the civilians behind you, so you quickly flashed a grin at them. 

“My sidekicks will take good care of you until rescue teams arrive. I'm going to go assist Best Jeanist with taking in the Villain responsible for this.” You reassured the civilians, flashing a thumbs up at them before rushing off towards the crowd. Maybe fate was on your side for this encounter.

You rushed over, spotting a flower cart out of the corner of your eye. You made a small detour before getting over the collapsed rubble with ease. Sure enough, Best Jeanist had the large Villain thoroughly secured with extensive lengths of threads. He was currently talking with various civilians and an onslaught of people with cameras as he waited for transport. You casually made your way over, the second your presence was seen the crowd screaming your Hero name. Tsunagu eyes glancing towards you, his obscured face completely unreadable, something you were cursing. Surely he wasn’t still upset.

 

“Good thing you were in the area, Best Jeanist.” You called out cheerfully, any bitterness you’ve held onto from before was gone. “Had no idea you would be over here.”

The quick and harsh whispers from the crowd didn’t go unnoticed from either you or Tsunagu. You could see him close his eyes briefly, probably cursing your insistence on not taking your public image as seriously as he did. The reporters seemed to be at odds with themselves, struggling to decide if they wanted to turn the cameras towards you or keep them on Best Jeanist, eager to learn more about this apparent ongoing argument. All of the reporters kept talking over each other trying to get a statement from you. 

“Are you two still at odds?”

“You didn’t know he was going to be in the area? Were you planning on coming to apologize to your spouse, Best Jeanist?”

“Can you tell us what started this feud between you two?”

“Is there not enough in common for you two to keep things together?”

“Did one of you cheat on the other?”

The last question that you heard gave you a pause, immediately causing you to look at Tsunagu. Your voice was loud and commanding as you shouted for silence, forcing the talking to come to a sudden halt. You took a deep breath, Tsunagu’s eyes snapping to you, eyes slightly wide in seeming shock. 

“Guys, guys, guys. That’s enough okay.” You said, trying to ease the crowd growing antsy. “I admit this little disagreement between us has gone on for too long, isn’t that right babe?” You lifted up your arm bumping your elbow into his side as a not so subtle signal.

“I’m afraid we’ve been quite busy and weren’t able to set up any official explanations for our strange behavior. Which we both apologize for, of course.” Tsunagu had explained with that elegant grace as he always did. “Much like frayed denim needs delicate hands and care to prevent the threads from coming apart, our disagreement needed time apart for us to not handle it incorrectly.”

“Actually Tsunagu…” You had turned towards him, pulling out a rose you had snatched off a flower cart you had passed coming over here. “I should’ve just apologized, instead of dragging it on. I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to admit to being wrong.” 

You saw Tsunagu pause for only a moment before his eyes softened, his hand reaching out to grab the rose from you. He delicately twisted the stem in his fingers as he clasped his hand in yours. “I was at fault too, my love. Stubbornness is not one of my best traits, I admit.” He said, smiling underneath his denim collar.

You grinned at him, stretching up to place a kiss against his covered mouth. “We have those red threads of fate wrapped around our fingers.” You explained, moving your fingers to hook your pinky around his. “We may disagree at times, sometimes for something stupid, but nothing is going to tear that thread apart.”

Tsunagu marks this as another moment where he swears that he falls even more in love with you everyday. The aw’s and cooing from the crowd was drowned out as he focused solely on you. He marked every single detail of your beautiful face into his memory, cursing his pride for how long it had been since he had last seen it. Despite his irritation at some of your antics, he wouldn’t trade you for anything and couldn’t have asked for a better partner. 

You heard your sidekicks calling out for you, your head looking back towards them. You let go of Tsunagu’s hand as you waved at the crowd next to you. “Sadly, duty calls!” You called out, making your way towards your sidekicks. “I love you, Tsunagu!”

You moved over the rubble with that same grace you did the first time. He heard your voice calling over the debris still: “I love you a lot! Like a whole bunch! Annoyingly, one might say!” 

Tsunagu looked down at the rose, his eyes falling to his pinky, his mind imaging that little red thread. His eyes could see it leading right over that debris you just jumped over, smiling to himself before he turned his attention back to the crowd he still needed to address again. 

That little red thread of fate that wouldn’t tear no matter what pulled you two apart. He couldn’t be luckier.

[gettinshiggywithit]

!Kirishima x Artist!Reader!

Scenario:- kiri with an s/o who’s an artist!

Pairing:- kirishima x gn!reader

Type:- headcannons

I imagine you working on the couch while kiri comes back from a mission

Hes tired and waiting to see the one person he loves most but ur complete fixated on your screen

Hed just come up behind you and sorta just bury his face in the crook of ur neck from behind the couch,his arms going to wrap around you

But soon he lets go to go and clean up

If ur still working when he comes back he doesn’t disturb you but just sits on the couch beside you,simply basking in your presence

He’s 100% you’re model

Need a pose and cant find a reference??

KIRI TO THE RESCUEEE

If youre ever feeling insecure about your art too he’d completely shut down your insecurities

Not with blind positivity

But with actually good points

Telling you that you shouldn’t compare your art to others because a) your style and speed is unique to you and no one does it like you b) the best part about art is to have fun and the moment you stop overthinking it’ll be fine

Also while he can appreciate good art nothing looks better in his eyes than your art!

Other stuff just doesn’t hit him the same way urs does

Is it because he loves you and therefore your work just has the same hold on him that you do?

Or is it just that he has a great And unbiased eye for art?(yes)

I guess we’ll never know!(oh but we dooo)

Oh also a really good point that the loml( @cloudy-zephyr) brought up,

HE WOULD DEFINITELY SHUT DOWN ALL THE BITCHES THAT SAY ART ISNT A REAL JOB OR THAT ITS EASY

If anyone even insinuates that

Buddy just gets offended af

I doubt hed cause a scene just for an off handed comment but if the offender keep goin on he’d 100% step in with a forceful and passionate couner-argument

Oh also imagine like if you ever get messages on ur socials asking for free art and you’re just LOSING IT, (because honestly entitled karens and kens are genuinely tiring to deal with🤬)

Kiri will definitely just ask for your phone and then ask you to go take a nicee warm bath to calm urself

When you come back out,the entitled folk are all dealt with! (Buddy basically just killed em with kindness and the way he handled em left no room for it to be turned on you to make u look like the bad guy!)

Also i can totes imagine you teaching him how to draw🥺

He’d be such a keen and enthusiastic learner tooo😩

God Bless this man honestly!

And i def think that all around your apartment,theref be framed pictures of your art

And youve even hung up a few of his!

He thinks they dont look good enough to which you reply with the same stuff he tells you

His style and speed are unique to him and you wouldn’t change anything for the world🥰

He kisses you on the lips and spins you around at that

I WILL ONCE AGAIN SAY THIS BECAUSE NO ONE CAN EVER SAY IT TOO MUCH

THIS MANN IS A GODDAM BLESSINGG(HES LIKE TOM HIDDLESTON IN FICTION!!)

~The end

!Wait bonus point!

I feel like at some point when the rest of the bakusquad learns of your art and how great it is they all ask you for lessons and then you have like this workshop where all the pieces created in the day go to a charity project(like raise money for kids in need and stuff cos Holy Shit does celebrity art get a lot of money) or to a lil room in your home which acts as a lil gallery for all your little group art projects!!

🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿

Tagging:- @izueli

please dont repost my work here as your own on any platform all rights belong to me except that of the mha characters used,their right belong to their respective owners.but this story? mine.

feedback,likes,reblogs and comments are so very appreciated tbh :’)i hope you enjoyed and ill catch ya next time!

Comments & Reblogs w/ tags >>>>>>>>>>>likes please

[aviangrian]

ahhh i just wanted to say i love starboy SOOO much!!!! i did not/still dont know anything about f1 but the way you write it is so easy to follow along with and read!!! i love how you write the characters, especially scar/grian/joel/lizzie, you write them so so sooo flawlessly... i love how it seems like were there with scar in the moment of everything going on and how you describe everything from his perspective. i also LOVE how you write scar and grian especially because they both seem just so *real* and *raw* and i usually never see that from fics. the way you write is just so in detail that it really allows the reader to imagine everything thats happening and i LOVEEE that!!! i also love how you write grian and mumbos friendship, like they obviously care about each other so muchhh and i love how the readers able to see that even through scars perspective!!!!! esp the scene after grian fell asleep watching topgun and mumbo helping him lay down into a more comfortable position,,, and how they hugged when grian finally got p1 😭😭❤️ NOT TO MENTION THE LATEST CHAPTERRRR AND SCAR AND GRIANS FIRST KISS????? THAT WHOLE CHAPTER WAS GOLDDDD i loved that chapter so much,,, so much happened between grian and scar???? that scene of them in the club??? scar (and us) finally getting some insight to what happened in grians past from grian himself??? grian being comfortable enough with scar to actually open up to him??? AND THEM CONFESSINGGG??? ☹️☹️☹️❤️❤️❤️ might be my fav chapter if im being honest

i also just wanted to ask a few questions while i was here though;

first, do you have a set upload schedule? or is it like a whenever you have time to work on it thing?

second, do you think youll be posting more content abt this au after starboy is finished? like a grians pov or something? ive become so interested in this au because i can tell so much work has been put into it and id love to see more it!!

lastly, is this going to be an eventual mumscarian fic??? i think its obvious Somethings going on/has happened between grian and mumbo but i just dont know What... like that one scene with them all at the dinner??? or the car scene with grian standing up through the sunroof???

i cant wait to read more chapters!!! but im also scared As Hell because SO much has happened already and its only been 6 chapters. we still have 5 more longgg chapters left and im so scared but also excited for how things are going to go... i hope youre having a good day, i cant wait to see what you have in store for this story!!! 🫶🫶 sawrry that this was a lot of rambling though,,, 😭😭❤️

anon i’m crying?? 😭 thank you so much.

the goal of the fic is real and raw! it’s an unusual setting (maybe not for me considering this is my second racing centric fic) but everything that happens is a product of the environment! the wins from his own team left scar feeling bitter at times, but watching grian win had him so proud he knew he’d get in trouble w his own team if he showed it lol. it’s all about where they are and it makes me sooo happy (like you would not believe) when people who aren’t f1/sports fan still enjoy the fic!

last ch was a lot and contained a lot of really vital stuff that i couldn’t wait to see the reactions of. grian finally opening up is so important to me and scar letting it happen in its own time is a huge part of why grian begins letting him in, which is evidently not something he’s used to at all. mans has been through it in this universe

as for the questions: i don’t have an upload schedule but i try to churn out the chs when i have time. it fits that valentine’s was right before midterms season for me so i got to get something out before i get swamped by all that 🥲 i don’t like to let a full month go by without posting but we’ll see how my semester keeps going lol

and i’ve been thinking of content once i’ve finished starboy. i’ve had ideas of grian’s pov hitting all the major plot points or even a jimmy spin-off one shot but nothing is planned for now. definitely floating around in my mind

mumscarian is not the endgame but the mystery behind grian and mumbo will be revealed! grian is mysterious and mumbo being mumbo goes along w it, but it does come full circle eventually!

i didn’t even realize there’s already only 5 chs left! that’s crazy, considering how much of the story i have left!

thank you again anon, this is all very much appreciated. i love your rambling because it allowed me to ramble too haha

[mgparker]

Hey! So I’m not sure if you’re taking requests but I have an oddly specific one ? So it’s tams!xreader and the reader is from MCU but in tasm! Universe she was peters girlfriend that he couldn’t save and when he comes into the MCU he’s like weird around her and she’s getting frustrated because he won’t talk to her and she’s basically saying “this plan won’t work if you won’t talk to me! What’s your problem with me?” And my brain keeps imagining that scene in greys anatomy where Alex is yelling at Izzy that “you freakin died in my arms…I’m scared to move, I’m scared to breath, I’m scared to touch you” anyways, I’m not that creative but it’s a maladaptive daydream that I haven’t been able to completely put together in my head but I love your writing and I was wondering if you could put it into words for me? ❤️❤️❤️ I know it’s weirdly specific so no worries if you don’t wanna !

the way this request filled me with absolute joy:,)))

i love hearing from you guys and i am definitely taking requests!!!! thank you so much for this, i hope this fulfills your expectations <33

also: i have an unhealthy obsession with grey’s anatomy so this just hit the spot

scared to breathe

[tasm!peter parker x f!reader]

NO WAY HOME SPOILERS

summary: seeing you again was too much for peter, so much so that shutting you out seemed like the only thing he could do.

warnings: NWH SPOILERS, angst so much angst, bitter!peter, some swearing, mentions of death, intense grey’s anatomy references, anon request <33

Frustrated, you slammed your book shut, scaring both Ned and his Lola. You gave them an apologetic glance, running your fingers through your hair anxiously.

“He’s taking too long,” you determined, chewing on your bottom lip and honestly feeling two seconds away from opening the damn magical box your friend had left you with.

Ned tried to get a word in, but MJ beat him to the punch. “I agree,” she said firmly, reaching down to grab the Machina.

It had already been too long, nothing on the TV broadcasting any Spider-Man related news but the radio silence was enough to worry all three of Peter Parker’s friends. Doctor Strange’s box rested by MJ’s feet, ready to be opened if Peter didn’t show up in the next two seconds.

“Guys, no,” Ned protested, waving his hands around as if to dissuade MJ. “He said he’d be here. It’ll be okay.”

But even Ned couldn’t convince himself.

The three of you sat at the table, silence filling the void. The air practically reeked of anxiety and it only took a second longer before Ned was nervously rambling once more.

“I just wish we could see him!” He exclaimed in exasperation.

A glimpse of molten orange caught your attention and beside you, MJ had perked up as well. “Ned, do that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing you did with your arms and repeat what you said,” you clarified, fascinated by the sparks that had mysteriously appeared in the living room. Though it seemed Ned had no idea what was going on still.

“I just wish we could see him,” he repeated in the same fashion, circling his arms uncertainly.

Again, the sparks appeared in the room, taking the shape of a perfect circle, spinning with a stunning vibrancy. But it wasn’t the color that shocked you the most— it was what the circle held.

A portal— leading straight into a deserted alleyway. And on the other side, the silhouette of Spider-Man turned toward you.

“That’s him!” MJ exclaimed, frantically waving him over. Ned joined in, hollering at the top of his lungs.

“Peter! Peter!”

It took you a moment to kickstart into action, staring at the suited figure with uncertainty. There was something strange about Peter. You knew that MJ and Ned could tell too, but their relief was blinding them.

In the next moment, several things happened.

First, Spider-Man jumped through the portal swiftly, landing with a light thud and causing Ned’s Lola to scream at his unfamiliar figure.

Second, when he ripped his mask off, the handsome man staring back at you was definitely not Peter Parker. Not only did he look completely different, but he was also staring at you with such intensity that you almost couldn’t bear it.

Uncomfortable under his gaze, you were desperate to know who the imposter was. “Who the hell are you?”

Instantly, he sort of… flinched? As if you had taken a knife and plunged it into his stomach. The watery look in his eyes confused everyone in the room.

“I’m Peter…” he hoped your eyes would flash with recognition but there was nothing. “…Parker. In my world. But then yesterday I was just… here.”

“Right,” MJ gave him a suspicious look, keeping a close eye on ‘Peter’ as he began to wander the space.

“String theory, multidimensional reality, and matter displacement? All real?”

“Yeah…” All three of you answered hesitantly. Then, you all huddled together, exchanging harsh whispers about the stranger standing mere feet away from you.

Meanwhile, Peter Parker was absolutely sure he’d broke into a cold sweat, feeling the perspiration along his hairline. He wasn’t stupid— when he’d first arrived, Peter was one hundred percent positive that he had found himself in a universe that was certainly not his own. Seeing the teenage Peter Parker plastered all over the newspapers of NYC was enough to confirm it—because this universe’s Peter looked nothing like him.

Along with that, he knew that there must’ve been different versions of all the people on his earth, including you.

It was just that, he didn’t expect this version to be a literal doppelganger of the late girlfriend.

So, Peter didn’t know how to act, viciously fighting the impulse to cross the room and hold you like his life depended on it. Clearly, you didn’t know him at all. You only knew the Peter Parker from your world.

You weren’t her.

Even if your hair was styled in its usual fashion. Even if your eyes held that same glimmer they always used to. Even if every single inch of your being was the exact same as he remembered.

God he never thought he’d see you alive again. And it was killing him, keeping him rooted to the spot and looking like a fish out of water. Mouth agape and eyes stuck in a wide trance.

“This is Ned,” you gestured over to the boy who smiled and gave Peter an enthusiastic wave.

“MJ,” you continued, watching as MJ sort of grimaced and waved with much less enthusiasm.

And then you introduced yourself, warmly smiling at the man and extending a polite hand.

Only that smile was instantly wiped off your face when Peter blatantly ignored it, a complete contrast to the warm greetings he’d given your friends.

His cold behavior set off an alarm in MJ’s head, leading her to bring her arms up defensively. “Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That you’re Peter Parker.”

“Oh, I don’t really carry an ID with me. Kinda defeats the whole anonymous superhero thing.”

With a little extra strength than needed, you chucked a bread roll at him, instantly feeling your humiliation from earlier fade away as it thumped his chest roughly. The fact that MJ had also thrown some bread almost made you laugh in his face but you kept your defenses strong.

Making a point to avoid your glare, the Spider dude looked down at the discarded roll. “Why’d you do that?”

“Trying to see if you have the tingle thing,” MJ told him, raising her arms even higher.

“I have the tingle thing,” Peter confirmed. “Just not for bread.”

“I call bullshit,” you whispered to Ned, nudging his arm.

Between MJ’s efforts and yours, Peter finally proved that he indeed possessed spider-like abilities, confirming his identity and leading Ned to create another portal in order to find the “real Peter Parker.”

Only, the man who stepped through the next circle wasn’t your teenage Peter Parker at all…

This Peter was older, eyes full of wisdom and a casual demeanor that would never lead you to guess his secret identity. “It’s just a regular dude,” Ned said in relief, glad that it wasn’t some sort of rogue Spider-Man.

Still, you stayed on edge. “Hello,” he waved awkwardly. “Hope it’s okay, I just came through this—”

The portal spun shut, leaving him emptyhanded as he turned to gesture at nothing but air. “—Oh, it just closed.”

“You’re Peter?” You tried cutting to the chase, worried about your Peter and slightly irritated by the standoffish one standing behind you.

The man furrowed his eyebrows, still confused by the portal. “Yeah, Peter Parker. I’ve seen you three— oh, hi.”

Ned’s Lola had given him a flirtatious wave, smiling mischievously from her place by the stairs.

“Wait,” he finally caught sight of the suited man behind you. “He’s not your friend…”

Chaos ensued, the new Peter Parker shooting a web towards the suited one. In a split second, you were pushed out of the way, dragged out of the crossfire at a remarkable speed before you could realize what was going on. Webs shot back and forth, the two men leaping towards the ceiling and then back down again in a series of mirrored movements. Then the fight was over when the casually dressed Parker webbed the other’s hand down to the kitchen island.

All of you waited with bated breath until the suited Peter smiled, clearly impressed with the quality of his counterpart’s web. “So you’re Spider-Man too?” Ned asked exasperatedly. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I generally don’t go around advertising it,” the new arrival shrugged. “Kinda defeats the whole anonymous superhero thing.”

“I just said that—”

“—He just said that,” you said in sync with another voice.

Looking over at suited Peter, you watched as he cleared his throat, bringing his eyes over to the wall slightly over your head before looking away just as quickly. Seriously, what was his deal? Did you smell or something?

“My Lola is asking if you could just clean up the webs you threw at each other,” Ned translated after his grandmother finished saying something directed at the normally dressed Peter.

“Yes, of course,” he smiled kindly, turning to grab the sticky substance by his foot.

You tried to keep yourself calm and collected. “When did you get here?”

“Yesterday, I think,” this Peter responded, placing the glob of web into your outstretched hand. “Um, this may seem kind of weird, but I’ve been trying to find your friend ever since I got here. I just have this sense that he needs my help.”

“Our help.” The other Peter added, nodding as if he had been feeling the same thing.

You tried your best to keep your attention focused on the conversation at hand, but you were trying hard not to throw up as you crouched behind the kitchen counter, peeling the extremely sticky web from your palms. It was embarrassing—you should’ve known that taking the web from Peter was stupid. Your many experiences helping your Peter make web should’ve told you that the substance would be difficult to get off your hands.

“Gross, gross, gross,” you whispered, finally tossing the glob into the trash bin. “Ugh!”

The two Peter Parkers heard you clearly, their enhanced senses catching onto your disgusted mumbles and disgruntled shuffles from behind the counter. The older Peter fought an amused smile, listening to MJ as she brainstormed where her boyfriend could be.

“I know where he is,” she concluded, catching your eye from across the room.

That’s how you found yourself arriving at Midtown High School’s rooftop via portal. Thankfully, Ned was able to conjure a direct passage purely with his natural talent for the mystic arts. You were slightly jealous of his skills honestly…

Introducing the two Peters to your universe’s Peter was a bit…rocky. Between your Peter’s defensive nature and the other two telling stories that couldn’t have been easy to share in front of an audience, the night was slowly progressing into even more of a shitshow.

You didn’t think much of it—as the suited Peter shared his story about how he had lost his “MJ” not too long ago. Of course you listened with a heartfelt empathy towards the man, despite his adamant intention to ignore your existence (unlike his behavior toward your other two friends whom he’d lightly conversed with between the whole portal incident and now). You had a big heart, everyone who knew you was certain of it, so you couldn’t help but feel his pain as he lamented on his actions ever since his girlfriend’s death.

“…I just stopped pulling my punches. And for some time, I got rageful. I got bitter… I just don’t want you to end up like me.”

Your Peter’s eyes were filled with tears, his gaze catching yours, then MJ’s and then Ned’s. Even shadowed by the darkness of the night sky, you could see in his eyes that his trust had extended to the two Spider-Men.

……………………………………….

“Here’s the deal,” you started once everyone was settled in Midtown High’s laboratory, taking up your usual mantle as team leader.

God knows that Peter was not the best at plan-making (despite being the one to ultimately carry out the task as Spider-Man). Peter Parker was undoubtedly smart—probably the smartest person you knew—but between creating a plan and executing it…. Well, let’s just say something always got lost in translation. Thankfully though, he had your mastermind.

You continued. “We gotta finish these cures in the next hour or so. Who knows how much havoc these villains will wreak upon this city if we wait any longer. What are we going to do about the Goblin?”

“I think I can make an anti-serum for Dr. Osborn. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time…” The older Peter caught the gaze of teenage Peter, who was still destroyed over the death of his aunt. “Gotta cure all of them, right?”

“Right,” your Peter agreed distantly.

“That’s what we do.” With that, the older Peter nodded in your direction, walking off to a separate station to get to work.

Wide-eyed from how fast the older Peter got to work (you couldn’t begin to explain how hard it was to get Peter and Ned on task usually), you moved on, shifting your gaze back over to the whiteboard you’d been writing on. “Peter—” your Peter raised his hand sheepishly. “—can handle Marko and Dillon but Connors—”

“—I’ve got Connors. I’ve already cured him once, it’s no big deal.”

You turned to look at Peter, the one who had arrived with the suit on.

He was a strange guy, that’s all you could really say about him. Throughout the night, you’d caught him staring at you with a conflicted look, tears lining his eyes and his fists clenched at his sides. As soon as he’d catch you staring back, his eyes would snap away, though his chest still rose aggressively as if the sight of you caused him to hyperventilate. It was confusing to say the least.

“…Okay,” you trailed, watching as he snatched the vial from your hand, as if touching you would give him a literal disease. Quickly, Peter shuffled to his own station, cracking a small joke to the older Peter as he passed, which irritated you a bit.

Honestly, you weren’t even sure why he was getting under your skin. You were usually so collected and kind and welcoming towards others…

Maybe that’s the reason you were frustrated—the fact that people usually took an instant liking to you… And you didn’t mean it in a self-absorbed way, it was just that you always made the effort to make those around you feel at ease, comfortable.

For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why this Peter Parker was avoiding you like the plague.

“Well, let’s get started!” MJ pumped her fists awkwardly, trying to deflect from the obvious situation between you and the new Peter.

……………………………………..

For the next half hour or so, you’d been wandering between stations, feeling the desire to help in anyway. You hated feeling useless and though you probably should’ve just sat down and stayed out of the way, you still hovered.

Luckily, the older Peter didn’t really mind, explaining his anti-serum to you with genuine enthusiasm which you appreciated.

A few tables over, Peter heard your gentle laughs mixed along with the older Peter’s. Shaking it off, he tried to ignore the ache in his chest, his hands shaking as he combined some ingredients together. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to distract himself; everything reminded him of you—down to the very cure he was concocting (his version of you had helped him create it years back).

Your laugh was like music to his ears, filling his heart with immeasurable joy before his mind squashed it with the impending realization that you weren’t his you. That no matter what, he had to continue to live without you and that realization hurt him as much as your death.

Your approaching figure caused Peter to panic, the tremor in his hand knocking the vial over. Witnessing the disaster about to unfold, you lunged forward, wrapping your fingers around the tipping glass and setting it upright.

Frozen, Peter stared at your hands, his own supernatural reflexes failing him as he panicked in your presence.

In a way, he felt absolutely horrible for ignoring you. In reality, all he truly wanted to do was wrap you in his arms and kiss you until your lips were numb. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. But the thought of losing you twice was too scary… so he did the only thing he could do.

Distanced himself so that you couldn’t wiggle your way into his heart even deeper.

“Thanks,” Peter finally mumbled, remembering that you were standing there expectantly.

Your heart plummeting from his seeming lack of compassion, you cleared your throat, shifting from foot to foot. “No worries.”

He didn’t look up, continuing as if you weren’t there. If he had looked up, you would’ve seen the mournful gleam in his eye.

“An easy fix?” You knew you should’ve just given up; it would’ve saved you from further embarrassment and irritation, but you hated that your presence made him visibly uncomfortable. You were desperate to get to the bottom of it.

Peter kept his head ducked, the tremor in his hands still disrupting his work but he was pushing through it. “Pretty easy, yeah. Just need a few more things though.”

Without waiting for a response, Peter flew away from his station, heading toward the supply closet in the hallway.

Just leave him alone, you thought. But then you realized that the plan wouldn’t go smoothly if he didn’t fully cooperate with you. That thought sent you rushing after him, ignoring the glances from everyone else in the room.

Inside the closet, Peter could hear your hasty footsteps heading in his direction and he tried to prepare himself, knowing that you were insanely stubborn and you’d get something out of him one way or another.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you,” you started, closing the door gently behind you. “But I need to know that you’ll be clear-headed out there tonight. Otherwise, this whole thing might go down the drain.”

Silence.

You tried once more. “I usually cook up the plan around here. It’s kinda my thing in the group and, you know, I have a really good feeling about this one but I just don’t know if you’re completely on board.”

Standing there with that stupid lab coat (that honestly made him look ten times hotter), his lack of response was making you feel like a complete idiot.

A red, hot fury soared to your head before you could stop it. “This plan won’t work unless you talk to me!”

Still, he wouldn’t meet your eye, clearing his throat and continuing to rummage around the supplies as if he had only heard the buzz of a fly.

“What is your problem? You don’t even know me!” It came out more aggressive than you intended. You weren’t usually the type to act out emotionally, but it wasn’t fair that this Peter Parker seemed to make the instant decision to hate you as soon as he stepped through that portal.

You felt the sting of tears pooling in your eyes and you angrily wiped them away before they could even fall. You absolutely hated that your body’s natural response to intense frustration was tears. Like, what was crying supposed to do? Absolutely nothing.

In the midst of all this, you failed to realize that Peter froze. With bated breath, you waited for him to say something, to move…anything.

“I don’t even know you?” His voice was bitter, full of deep and raw pain. You could hear it clearly and it confused you. “God, it would be easier that way, wouldn’t it?”

You racked your brain, trying to think of anything you might’ve done to make him so resentful towards you. Maybe you stepped on his shoe? Slammed a door on his hand without realizing? Honestly, what the fuck could it be—?

“I knew you,” he nodded, keeping his back towards you—something that was irritating you more and more as the seconds ticked by.

Maybe you should’ve waited for him to continue but you couldn’t help it. “Okay, good,” you crossed your arms defiantly. “Then what’s up? Was I mean to you or something?”

“Mean,” he repeated, chuckling humorlessly. Okay. Now he was starting to piss you off.

“God, I’m sorry for whatever the other me did to you but I don’t understand what you’re so afraid or scared of—”

“You died!” His sudden outburst startled you. The crack in his voice bounced off the walls of the closet, hitting you deep in the chest. “You died.”

Immediately, you had no idea what to do with those words. You froze, your chest falling flat from the lack of oxygen in your lungs. You died?

Staring at his shaking figure, you realized your death must’ve done quite a number on him. A flood of guilt washed over you—you were reading into this all wrong. He wasn’t angry at you or resentful towards you—he was genuinely afraid. Down to his very core, you could tell.

Wait—when he was talking about his MJ earlier on the rooftop… was he talking about you?

Flabbergasted, you tried to regain your composure, spluttering some odd syllables in an attempt to form a sentence, or heck, even a word. But he wasn’t done, his body slowly spinning around to face yours. “You died in my arms… You want to know what I’m scared of? I’m scared of everything. I’m scared to move. I’m scared to breathe. I’m scared to touch you.”

The air in the room seemed to drop several degrees lower, goosebumps rising along your arms as you stared at the handsome man before you. There he was, a complete stranger to you, but to him, you were anything but.

“I’m—I’m sorry—”

“I can’t lose you again. I won’t survive. So I can’t let you in. I can’t.”

Through his eyes, Peter watched you fidget with your bracelets nervously, eyes darting everywhere as you tried to contain your feelings. It was familiar— watching you bottle everything up. Something he’d always correct you on back when you were alive and in his arms.

Your likeliness to her was remarkable—it was like he was stuck in an extraordinarily vivid dream, staring at his heart’s one desire— breathing with pumping blood under your skin. Because the last time he’d seen you in real life, your body was cold, and your skin lacked its usual glow.

The pale sheen that had colored your complexion as you laid there dead in his arms all those months ago haunted him every night.

So, standing here seeing you again when that was the one thing he’d wanted since that night was excruciating. His throat burned from holding back his grief-stricken sobs, his legs wobbled from the effort of holding up his stunned body (when all he wanted to do was fall into your arms and never leave them again), his eyes stung from holding back tears and his lips ached because they longed to touch yours. To seek the comfort only your lips could bring; it was like muscle memory.

“It’s easier this way, Y/N.”

“No,” you protested, surprising yourself and Peter. “It isn’t easier this way. Because in order for all of this to be over, we need to work as a team… and—and you can’t keep torturing yourself like this. It isn’t healthy.”

His eyes were still stubbornly trained to the ground.

“Peter—”

He recoiled from your touch and you instantly drew your hand back, feeling guilty for overstepping.

The sound of his name leaving your lips was blissful, though you didn’t know it. Hell, anything that left your lips sounded heavenly to Peter. But your touch was too sudden—his arm seemed to burn from the contact and though his heart wanted you to touch him again, his brain was too overwhelmed.

It was like he said: Peter couldn’t move around you. Or breathe. Or touch you. Or even look at you in the eye.

He knew that once he did that, he’d be absolutely fucked. Because it would be impossible to go on living his life knowing you’re out there, alive and still full of that same compassion he’d always envied.

“Look at me,” you tried, heart racing as you began to feel desperate. “Peter, please.”

“I can’t do this,” he denied, shaking his head and hastily grabbing the material he needed then making his exit. “I can’t.”

With that, he left you alone in the supply closet, your heart feeling strained and lungs starving for air.

………………………………………

After your confrontation (which the other Peters heard, you were sure of it) in the supply closet, Peter seemed a bit more cooperative, offering you full sentence responses whenever you directed something at him. Still, he didn’t quite look you in the eye.

But nevertheless, the plan was set in stone, your Peter leaving first to call the Daily Bugle and expose his location to the other villains. Then the other two followed, fully suited up and equipped with the cures.

Originally, the idea was that you’d stay in the lab waiting for Peter’s signal to close up the portal. It was a good plan with little room for error but of course life didn’t work that way.

Under the intense pressure of the mission, Ned found himself unable to close the portal, though you made sure to make him feel good about opening it in the first place. You reminded him that he was a natural and the praise seemed to be working… but not quick enough. Because the Lizard caught sight of the box in MJ’s grasp, diving through the portal and knocking all three of you out of the way.

“Shoot!” You yelled, scrambling to your feet and trying to make sense of the situation. Several feet away, you spotted your friends, both of them sprinting away from the chaos between Spider-Man and Connors.

“Go!” Spider-Man yelled. You quickly realized from the tone of his voice that it was your Peter and you hesitated for a moment, your feet failing you as you tried to glance back at the fight. You tumbled toward the ground again, slicing your palms and knees on the broken pieces of wood from the shattered tables. “Y/N, I’m serious!”

“I know, I know,” you exclaimed, recovering as quickly as possible and jumping through the portal. “Jeez!”

At this point, MJ and Ned were levels away from you, your fall delaying you by a good minute. Inwardly, you cursed your lack of coordination. “MJ! Ned! You guys good?!” You hollered, pushing your legs as fast as you could down the steps.

Your voice caused Peter to whip around, frantically searching for you in the chaos. What were you doing here? You were supposed to be in the lab where it was safe—

Oh—oh. Not safe. Definitely not safe, he thought as he swung over and saw the younger Peter engaged in combat right in the smack dab middle of Ned’s Midtown portal.

Quickly, Peter searched for you again, swinging along the side of the statue for a glimpse at your figure. Finally, he spotted you… but not in the state he was expecting.

In all honesty, one could say you looked peaceful. Your eyes were closed and the scream that had escaped your mouth was long since gone.

But to Peter, the sight was his worst nightmare all over again. The ringing in his ears muted him to his own desperate scream—a scream of your name. And then his body finally jumped into action, the disconnection between his brain and his limbs vanishing as soon as he determined he wouldn’t let history repeat itself.

Faster and faster, you fell from the Statue of Liberty, at the hand of the Green Goblin who’d pushed you off the edge with nothing but malicious malintent and a horrendous cackle to fill the air of the night.

Knowing your Peter was busy fighting off the other villains and the other Peters were likely doing the same, you’d accepted your death as soon as you went tumbling off the side of the monument. Closing your eyes seemed to make it easier—it almost felt like you were freefalling from a cliff, surrounded by your friends on a sunny seaside vacation. At least that’s what you told yourself anyway.

It made your landing a softer pill to swallow.

Water, it’ll be like landing in refreshing water after a thrilling dive.

If your eyes were open, you would’ve seen your Peter’s desperate efforts to save you, his attempt thwarted by the very same villain who’d caused your fall in the first place. And then you would’ve seen the person you least expected to come to your aid— the Spider-Man who you believed wanted nothing more than to obliterate any trace of you from his life.

Even when he had explained it to you in that supply closet, it seemed you didn’t understand the true depth of his conflict and love for you.

Peter knew he was getting closer to you, but it seemed like he wasn’t falling fast enough, your body horribly getting closer and closer to the ground. A chunk of railing flew in his path, debris from the fight overhead but he didn’t let it deter him, diving past it and miraculously getting close enough to grab your hand.

Shocked by the contact, your eyes flew open and you jolted in midair as you finally met Peter Parker’s hazel eyes. Your peace was suddenly destroyed as you saw the top of the Statue of Liberty growing smaller from behind Peter’s figure, your vision of cliff-diving obliterated in a fit of panic.

But before you could make a sound, Peter wrapped his body around yours, arms going around your torso firmly and your legs wrapping around him tightly. Before you could blink, you were on the sweet, sweet ground. Albeit in Peter’s arms but still, back on the ground.

It seemed like the dam had finally been broken in many ways—you were closer to Peter than you’d ever been before, wrapped in his arms and grasping his neck tightly, and his tears were finally flowing down his flushed cheeks.

Heart pounding from the adrenaline, you tried to say something… anything. “Are you okay?”

Feeling his heart connect with yours once more, Peter looked down and into your eyes. “Yeah.” And he finally meant it. “Are you?”

“Never been better,” you smiled tightly, scratching the hair at the nape of his neck and jumping out of his arms swiftly. “Thanks for that. I thought I was a goner.”

Peter gulped, licking his lips nervously. “Listen, I-I—”

“Peter Three!” The older Peter called from the top of the monument, engaged in an intense battle with the Goblin.

But Peter didn’t look up, his gaze stuck on yours as if they were locked forever now.

You knew that they needed Spider-Man’s help. Pushing his chest gently, deciding that all boundaries were torn down now, you snapped him out of it. “Go, Peter. You can tell me when you get back.”

“Okay,” he breathed, the ghost of a smile on his face as he felt his heart slowly start to mend itself back together for the first time since your death.

Maybe letting you back in wasn’t so bad after all. It wasn’t like he could fall for you anymore than he already had—he was sure if he loved you any more than he still did, he’d have to go seek some sort of help because feeling so intensely toward someone had to be dangerous.

Now, you finally understood why he’d been pushing you away so hard. Because you saw the love in his eyes when they finally met yours. The sheer intensity of the pain that came with loving you was the sole reason for his detachment, which you had foolishly mistaken as anger and hatred.

“Okay, Bugboy.”

His genuine laugh was the last thing you heard before the Amazing Spider-Man swung away, swiftly disappearing into the night and leaving you with a warm feeling in your stomach.

.

.

.

hi!!!! sorry this was honestly a little out of character!! i tried to play around with the more bitter (grieving) side of tasm!peter that they briefly introduced in no way home. if you’d like a part two, pls let me know!!

i am indeed accepting requests as i write chapter two of contingency! im in a bit of a writer’s block for that specific series :/

also does anyone know how to add borders on tumblr posts (instead of me adding a bunch of periods)??

check out my masterlist here!!

requests are open!!

— elle <33

tasm!peter parker taglist:

@lemur46 @utterly-in-like

[pagesoflauren]

Look After You

feat. best friend!Jake Jensen

Premise: Jake has always looked after you. When faced with a break-up, here's there immediately to try and cheer you up. He'll stop at nothing to make you smile--and keep you safe.

Warnings: canon-typical violence for The Losers universe (mentions of guns/firearms, human trafficking, kidnapping, physical abuse towards the reader, tranquilizer darts; possibly more that I have missed and/or forgotten), angst, slow burn, unrequited love (on Jake's part), knight in shining armor trope

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent. as always, ty @eightcevanscentral 🤙🏽 And to all of you that voted for this oneshot! It's the second time writing a longer piece for Jake, I hope I did him justice.

Additionally, I only meant to have a picture of hands tied to represent part of this story. Those hands are not meant to be the reader's. She has whatever skin tone you imagine her having.

This is also based on this blurb. I also made a playlist for this story if you wanna listen.

Masterlist

“Ah, my sworn enemy.”

You snort. “I’m sure the windmill is the least of your worries in the grand scale of things.”

Jake tees up his neon blue golf ball after placing his beer on the nearby table. He sets his feet as he lines up his putter and begins to aim.

“I’m also pretty sure if you would slow down when drinking, the windmill wouldn’t be much of an issue,” you add teasingly, sticking your tongue out back at him when he does it first.

“I think you need to drink more,” he insists, getting in position to putt. “We’re supposed to be having fun! You’re moving on, getting over him!”

Your smile is reluctant. “Right.”

“Hey, come on,” he straightens up immediately, looking at you as sternly as he can but it’s hard to take him seriously simply because it’s Jake. “You’re not supposed to be frowning,” he points an accusatory finger at you. Then, he gestures to the entire outdoor green, “This is a no frowning zone!”

You try your best to indulge him; he can see it when your mouth slightly twitches up at the corners but they don’t stay there for long.

He doesn’t give up. Placing his hands on his hips, he tilts his head and gives you a smirk.

Your face changes suddenly, eyes going wide as you look at him incredulously.

“Jake…” you step back. “Jake, don’t–!”

You scream once when he quickly bends down, wraps his arms around your knees, lifts you onto his shoulder, and spins in a circle. You can’t block the panicked laughter that escapes from your mouth as you plead for him to stop, fists digging into the back of his shirt to brace yourself.

“Jake, stop! Seriously, you’re gonna get us kicked out!”

“Ah, come on, they can’t do that more than twice!” he teases.

“I’m pretty sure this is our last chance,” you argue, seeing a blurry bright yellow shirt approaching, “Oh my god, security’s coming.”

He stands still, your body continuing to swing with the momentum as you grip his shirt harder, making it twist around his waist.

“Sir, ma’am,” the security guard sighs.

“Clyde,” Jake greets him casually as if he doesn’t have your body hanging off him.

You shut your eyes out of embarrassment and press your face into the back of his shoulder, thankful that you’re facing the windmill and not the other patrons who are probably gawking at the two of you being confronted by a security guard right now.

“You’re making a scene, I’m gonna have to ask you–”

“Clyde, please,” Jake implores, “Look, my friend has had a really rough time lately and I brought her here to try and cheer her up.”

“Okay, first of all, quit calling me by my first name, we’re not friends. Second of all, will you please put her down? It’s a little awkward talking to you like this.”

He complies, slowly lowering you to the ground. The two of you adjust yourselves, straightening out your hair and clothes. For a moment, you look at Jake, very much resembling the look you always gave him whenever the two of you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to do.

His heart skips a beat; it never fails whenever he looks into your eyes. He can never get his thoughts organized when he looks at you.

Clyde clears his throat. “Now,” he sighs, looking over both of you. Then, he sighs and closes his eyes for a brief moment. “I know I’ve kicked you out at least twice and we have a three-strike rule…”

Jake exchanges another look at you, trying to apologize with his eyes.

“Look, I don’t like kicking people out and, ma’am, if you’re having a bad day,” he sighs again. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time. But don’t push it, got it?”

“Thanks, Clyde,” Jake smiles, offering his hand for a shake.

Clyde scoffs, rolls his eyes, and walks away.

“Well, how lucky am I?” he teases.

“Dumb luck, I’d say,” you reply.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he called you ‘ma’am’?”

“Why would that be weird?”

“You’re too young to be a ‘ma’am’. You’re a ‘miss.’”

You roll your eyes. “I think it’s your turn to putt, weirdo.”

Jake picks up his club and gets into his stance again, but not before stealing a quick glance at you.

You’re smiling.

Mission accomplished.

- - - - -

Understanding you were in a delicate stage in your life post-breakup, Jake checked in on you very often. He sent memes and videos of cute animals that he found online whenever he was slacking off work.

There was nothing that he wanted more than for you to be happy.

He’ll admit that it impacted his work negatively, distracting him as he constantly found ways to try and make you smile. At one point, he realized he was throwing fistfuls of pasta at the wall and seeing what stuck.

When he saw an ad for Hamilton coming to town, he realized it would be nice to take you. The two of you could grab dinner, he’d buy you all the souvenirs you wanted, and maybe have a late-night run at McDonald’s afterward.

Picking up his phone, he goes into his speed dial list and taps your name–the first on the list. He waits as it rings, excited to tell you his plans for the weekend.

“Jake,” you answer quietly.

“Hey!” he greets you. “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” your response comes quickly, urgently.

“Okay, well, I was thinking this weekend,” he swallows nervously, suddenly losing his words at the thought that he might be asking you out…on a date? He clears his throat, “This weekend, maybe we could go see Hamilton? We can make a whole evening out of it, you know. Maybe go to that rooftop restaurant you’ve always been talking about–”

“Jake,” you say his name again, differently this time but he can’t quite pinpoint what’s wrong. “I can’t go out with you this weekend.”

He deflates at your rejection.

“I have to go to the grocery store to get more peanut butter.”

Feeling his face twist up in confusion, he asks, “Why would you need to get peanut butter? You’re aller–”

His sentence stops when he realizes, heart stopping and spine chilling. He freezes for a moment before closing his web browser and launching the phone tracking software on his computer. Putting his phone on speaker, he hooks it up to the laptop and records the phone conversation to show to the team.

“You’re allergic to peanuts,” he finishes his sentence, his voice brittle as he understands what you’re saying. It’s a simple sentence, most likely uttered every day across the world, but it means something different to both of you.

You’re in trouble.

“I know, but I think I’ll try to get two jars so that I can make some cookies for everyone in my building.”

Two jars, you said. Two people.

In my building; they’re in your apartment.

He hears your breath catch and frantically enters your phone information to set up a signal trace. “Maybe you can come over and help–”

He flinches when he hears you cry out after an audible smack, shouting your name as he reads the information on the screen. The little dot representing your phone is beginning to move and the coordinates change with it.

“Captain Jensen,” a male voice addresses him. “You have something that was meant for us.”

“What are you doing?” Jake questions weakly, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the right words but he can’t think of anything. How can he when you’re in trouble? “Let her go and-and–”

“You two make a real cute couple, you know?”

Hearing his phone vibrate against the table, Jake picks it up so he can see the screen, finding a notification in his Mail app.

He finds a recent message from a burner account and no subject line, but he can see the message contains three photos. Opening it, he sees the images are of the two of you at the mini-golf course. The first is just of you, a beer in your hand as you look intently; maybe you were listening to him say something stupid. The second is him carrying you over your shoulder mid-spin, your legs flailing as he laughs. The last one is when he had finally put you down, the two of you looking at each other.

To him, his emotions are practically plastered on his face.

Now, he feels like a fool for ever presuming that you were safe with him there.

“Here’s what’ll happen,” the man continues, jarring Jake from his thoughts. “There was a message you intercepted from a buyer of ours. It was encrypted. Word on the street from our pretty little doll here is–”

“Don’t touch her!” he shouts, eyes glued onto the dot as it moves further away from your apartment and towards the freeway.

The man on the other end laughs. “Listen, you give us the message decoded and we’ll give you back your girlfriend. Sound like a deal?”

Breathing hotly through his nose, Jake clenches his jaw.

“Where will I find you?”

“We’ll call you back from this number. I bet she sounds really sexy reciting coordinates,” he taunts.

Jake’s hands close into tight fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms.

“We’ll call you in an hour,” the man adds. “Oh, and come alone.”

- - - - -

“Relax, Jensen,” Clay ordered, only half-reassuring. “We’ll figure this out.”

The team sits in their headquarters, information about you, your predicted location, and the two men who captured you plastered all over the whiteboard.

The Losers had been keeping tabs on a pair of brothers named Maxim and David, who had called themselves the Dyad. They were making a name for themselves in the human trafficking trade. In the more modern age of electronic transactions and communication, Jake was tasked with gathering, hacking, decoding, and intercepting whatever intel he could on the two.

“They said that she knows what you were doing?” Roque asks, referring to the transcript from the call. “‘Word on the street from’...her,” he paraphrases.

“She doesn’t know anything, I don’t tell her anything,” Jake swears as he paces across the room. “They have to know another way, maybe they know I’ve been hacking them, I don’t know. I tell her a lot, but never anything about work–”

“Have you told her you love her?” Pooch interjects.

His teammates pause what they’re doing and look at him, making him feel more unhinged. “We don’t have time to talk about my feelings!”

His outburst calls for further silence and stillness. Jake has the longest fuse out of all of them. He’s childish in more ways than one; sometimes he’ll derail missions with his goofiness, but he also approaches the world with an understanding lens and genuine curiosity. He keeps shouting to a minimum, usually only doing it during urgent moments when they’re on missions.

It makes the men realize the level of urgency he feels about you.

“Do we have a plan or not?” he demands.

“We’ll wait for the phone call,” Clay says. “When that happens, you keep her on there for as long as possible and we’ll see what information we can get from that. You’ll trace the signal and we go over there, you go in on your own and give them a fake message. Once the trade is done, you grab her and get your asses out of there. We’ll stand by and wait for your call for back-up.”

He orders Jake to begin composing a forged message to the Dyad while Pooch and Cougar begin arranging transportation and supplies.

Everything seems to cease when the phone begins to ring. The air hangs still and Jake almost feels like he forgot how to move as he reaches to answer the call.

“Hello?”

He hears your voice shake as you rattle off coordinates while he multitasks, prompting the software to track your phone and corroborating the coordinates you’re saying to the ones on his screen.

He feels a grain of relief when they match.

“...point seven, three, nine,” you finish. “Be-be here in less than an hour.”

You breathe unsteadily as someone barks an order in the background.

“Don’t forget to come alone,” you add and he can hear you sob.

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” you exhale. “Jake, I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” he urges, looking at Clay and Roque as they exchange glances and make notes. “I’m gonna come get you,” he promises.

Your breathing picks up and suddenly you’re shouting, words running together, “Jake, don’t come alone, please hurry, they’re gonna take me–!”

Another loud smack cuts you off, followed by a thud and Jake instinctively slams his fist on the table.

“How sweet,” the voice of the man from before sounds through the earpiece. “But so sorry to cut this conversation short. I just figured you’d want to leave as soon as possible if you want to get here within the hour.”

Then, he singsongs, “Don’t be late.”

Just as the line goes dead, Clay and Roque are out of their seats radioing for Pooch and Cougar to be ready to leave for the shipyard immediately.

As he runs, Jake feels his heart in his throat.

- - - - -

While the team sets up at a vantage point outside of the building located at the coordinates you recited, Jake heads to the front door with nothing but a comms link in his ear, the forged message in his pocket, and a gun at his waistband. He doubts he’ll have the weapon for much longer, predicting that the Dyad will make him remove it the moment he enters the room.

There’s no buildup to when he finds you; you’re the first thing he sees when he walks through the atrium and into the main storage room. What he sees is the classic hostage image: you, tied to a metal chair looking disheveled with bruises on your face; the two men on either side of you, Maxim on your left with a gun pointed at you and David on your right with another pointed at Jake; and a table with their limited supplies in the back.

Looking at your face, he wonders what goes through your mind as your expressions reflect a certain pattern of emotions you feel when you see him.

He sees your body straighten a little as you inhale sharply with your jaw dropped and eyebrows up and assumes you feel relieved. Your eyes widen, most likely in fear, for his safety and your own. Then you blink, startled, when the man pointing the gun at you yells at you to sit still.

“Hey, come on!” Jake steps forward, stopping abruptly when both guns are pointed at him. He puts his hands up. “There’s no need for that.”

Slowly reaching into his pocket, he takes out the printed message and shows it to them.

“Here’s what you wanted. You said we’d trade right?”

David nods once. “Put it on the floor.”

Jake complies, slowly crouching down and setting the piece of paper at his feet. He keeps his gaze on you the whole time, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Now kick it over.”

“Let her go first.”

“For God’s sake–”

“At least untie her.”

David rolls his eyes then turns to his brother, spitting something at him in Russian.

You flinch at the sharp sound of a knife being drawn from Maxim’s belt and Jake watches as you cringe away from the blade as much as possible as he slices through the ropes binding you to the chair.

When the last set of ropes is cut, you let out a pained exhale and press your hand to your wrist. Jake instinctively begins to move forward to you but David shouts at him, pointing his gun again.

Despite knowing he should probably focus on the immediate threat to his life, Jake can’t take his eyes off you as he raises his hands again.

“The paper,” he reminds him. “Kick the paper over.”

Huffing, Jake gives it a half-hearted effort. The paper barely moves a foot forward.

“Again!”

Stepping closer, he kicks it again and it goes an even shorter distance than before.

“Quit fooling around!”

“It’s a piece of paper, I can’t kick it that far!”

Jake hears a crackling in his ear as his comms link comes alive with a transmission from Cougar.

“Snakebite incoming,” he says.

The sound is negligible, barely reaching anyone’s ears, but David stiffens and holds his neck before beginning to collapse to the ground.

Maxim begins to shift his stance to change his aim, but Jake is faster, reaching for his gun and firing a single shot for one of Maxim’s kneecaps.

“Come on!” Jake yells, reaching for you.

Still holding your wrist, you get up from the chair and run to him, tucking yourself into his side as he ushers you towards the atrium.

“Cinderella’s leaving the ball!” Jake shouts into the comms.

“Who?”

“Jesus Christ, we’re leaving the warehouse, move in!”

Once outside, Jake pulls you away from the door, spotting his team running towards the building.

“Status on the Dyad,” Clay orders.

Jake quickly recaps what happened and Clay orders the others to move in.

“Do you need me to call a bus for her?”

Jake looks you over, then his eyes land on your hand covering your wrist.

“I’ll take her,” he says.

“Alright. Don’t take her home afterward, I have a team casing the place for anything they might’ve left behind. Can you–?”

“She’ll stay with me.”

Clay nods then looks back at the door for any movement. When nothing happens, he faces the pair of you again. “I’ll send a security detail for you for the week. If you need anything, just let them know, they’ll get it for you. I’ll check in as soon as I’m available.”

“Got it,” Jake nods.

He watches his commander enter the building and turns back to you.

You hide your face in his chest, shuddering as he wraps his arms around you. He allows you a few moments before he remembers he needs to get you to a completely safe place.

“Let’s get you to the hospital to look at that cut.”

- - - - -

After passing a concussion evaluation, getting your wrist bandaged, and receiving a packet with care instructions for your wounds, Jake takes you back to his apartment.

He watches you plop onto the couch as he goes to the windows to shut all the curtains. He goes down the hall to close off every possible view into the space before returning and finding you exactly the same as you were.

There’s a swollen bruise on your cheek and a smaller one on your forehead. You don’t seem to worry too much about your wrist anymore, but he remembers how your hand shook when you saw the bloodstains on your hands and fingers. You don’t look at anything in particular; your eyes just look ahead.

“You hungry?” he tries, speaking quietly to avoid startling you.

You shake your head.

“Thirsty?”

You swallow and look down, then you finally look at him before nodding.

He goes into the kitchen, finding an empty glass and filling it with water before bringing it back to you.

He’s careful with how he sits next to you, slowly lowering himself onto the couch cushion and handing you the water.

Your hand trembles as you bring it to your lips, sipping slowly at first then quickly until you’ve finished it. You’re thirstier than you anticipated.

He reaches over and places his hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb in an attempt to soothe you. “You wanna get some sleep?”

“Yes, please,” you nod.

Leaning down, he maneuvers his hands awkwardly to slip off your shoes, placing them neatly next to the couch. He toes off his sneakers and puts them next to yours.

“Come on, you can take my bed,” he urges you gently, standing up and holding his hands out for you to take.

After he helps you up, his heart nearly stops when you keep one hand clasped around his while your other arm wraps around his bicep.

He makes sure to match your pace, stepping when you step and not a moment sooner. When you reach his bedroom, he guides you to the bathroom first to freshen up, digging under the sink for a spare toothbrush you can use.

“I…I don’t have a hairbrush but…” he mumbles, handing you a comb he rarely uses.

His heart breaks at the vacuous look in your eyes as you take it from him, running it through your hair almost mindlessly.

“I’ll go get you some clothes.”

By the look on your face, he’s not sure you’re listening.

He goes into his dressers and pulls out a pair of pajama shorts and a long sleeve and brings them back to you.

“Thank you,” your words are almost inaudible.

“Of course.”

He steps back awkwardly to give you room to close the door and change. When the door opens again, you ask where you can put your clothes.

“Here,” he reaches for them, “I’ll throw them in the wash.”

As he heads out into the hallway to the closet laundry, hears the sink running and the sound of the toothbrush against your teeth. Loading your clothes, he turns on the cycle and returns to his room, finding you heading to bed.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he should focus on taking care of you, but he can’t help the way he likes seeing you in his clothes and climbing into his bed.

You settle under the sheets and Jake asks if you need anything else. When you shake your head, he tells you he’ll be on the couch if you need him.

As he shuts off the light, he hears your breathing pick up. When he turns to go back to the living room, he stops dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” you call, your voice beginning to tremble. “Please…please don’t leave me alone.”

Jake rarely says “no” to you. He can probably count the number of times he’s said it on his fingers, maybe even just on one hand.

He won’t be adding to that list tonight.

Stripping down to his boxers, he throws his clothing into his laundry pile on the floor and awkwardly feels his way around the room. When he finds his dresser, he seeks out the handle of the second drawer and pulls it open to grab the first t-shirt he can reach.

Normally, he’d sleep without a stitch on, but he won’t assume you’d be okay with that.

After covering his upper half, he places his glasses on the nightstand, hearing the covers rustle as you shift over to make room for him. In the minuscule amount of light that manages to slip through his curtains, he sees you lift up the comforter to allow him to tuck under them easily.

Despite the amount of space in the bed, you seem to not need it, crowding into his space and curling into his side, your head on his shoulder and arm across his waist.

The mattress begins to bounce and shift as he awkwardly adjusts himself to be more comfortable, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. As he settles again, he can hear the small sound of you giggling softly.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you reply with a shake of your head and he feels you look up at him.

He can just make out the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile at him.

Mission accomplished. Again.

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[wwinterwitch]

I feel in love with your Kate Bishop fics, the way you write her is so lovely. So I thought about making a request of my own since they're open :D. My idea is that the reader was helping Clint and Kate fight the Tracksuit Mafia, and at the final fight something happens and Kate thought that she had lost the reader, she panics and when they finally found each other she hugs her like her life depends on it. Fast forward a bit and in the Barton's house Kate can't sleep alone because everything that happened is still too fresh and she needs to be near the reader to know she's okay, so she goes to her and asks to sleep there or something, and during the night Kate becomes clingy and maybe sheds a tear or two and finally shares how scared she was (and maybe some feelings can be spilled too :P), so the reader holds her and assures her that she'll never leave. I know that got big I'm sorry, do only if you have time ❤️

I absolutely loved this idea😍 I hope you liked what I had in mind for this one and thank you so much for your request❤

CAN'T RISK LOSING YOU – KATE BISHOP

summary: after fighting the tracksuit mafia, kate thought she has lost you forever 

pairing: kate bishop x avenger!gn!reader

word count: 1.9K

warnings: mentions of injuries, angst, fluff at the end

a reblog would be very much appreciated!

masterlist

A loud explosion echoed across the entire street, almost shaking the floor beneath. Clint and Kate, fighting off a group of the bad guys, turned their heads almost as soon as they heard the loud bang behind them. At the end of the street, they could see a building starting to be almost entirely consumed by flames, the black smoke rapidly invading the air.

"No..." Kate muttered in complete shock, knowing very well who was probably there.

As she started to run towards the building, she could barely hear Clint shouting for her to wait for him. She didn't care about anything. Just you. Just making sure you were okay.

It was a stupid idea to agree to separate, but yet again, you were probably the most stubborn person Kate has ever met (yes, even more stubborn than Clint). You said you could handle a group all by yourself, telling her and Clint to go find the rest.

It really isn't her fault. It's not yours either. There's no way any could've predicted any of you would be in this situation, but her thoughts were screaming at her that she better finds you, she better makes sure you are okay, otherwise this will be entirely her fault.

Kate has never run this fast in her entire life. It was as if her life depended on it, and quite honestly for her it felt exactly like it. She needs to know nothing bad happened to you, otherwise...she can't even begin to imagine what would happen if you're not okay.

When she finally reached the building, it was all burning now. The flames were devouring the building and people started to run away from the scene. Sirens echoed in the distance. No matter how hard she tried, Kate couldn't find your face among the various terrified individuals around.

Before she could think of doing anything too risky, Clint was able to catch up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder as an attempt to silently warn her not to move from there. He was certain that, given the chance, Kate would ran inside the building to get you.

Desperation only grew from there. Kate felt like air was unable to enter her system properly, finding it hard to breath. Her head spins and her legs threaten to betray her any minute, struggling to keep her on her feet. Her whole body couldn't function correctly and her mind just couldn't form a coherent thought.

You. It was all about you.

Unable to allow herself to stay outside that building and not help you (in case you were still inside), she rushed towards the building– or at least tried to, since Clint quickly held her back.

"I have to go in there!" she protested.

"No, you don't," Clint replied almost immediately. "I'm sorry, but I won't let you risk your life like that."

"But what if they're in there? If they need our help?"

Clint didn't really know what to answer. He has know you for a while now, back when Tony thought recruiting that highschooler spider-kid and the college student with a Natasha Romanoff complex would be a good idea. He has grown to respect and care for you, so of course not helping you was also difficult for him.

"There's nothing we can do now."

Kate was about to argue with what Clint has said, but at that very moment they both saw you run outside the burning building, collapsing to the ground once you knew you were safe.

The two of them rushed to check if you were okay. Luckily, you were very much alive. You had a few cuts on your face from a fight and probably some bruising across your body for that very same reason, but at least you were there. Safe.

Kate finally felt like she could breath correctly, her heart beating rapidly against her chest. At that very moment, she wrapped her arms around you. She didn't care if it was too much of a gesture, she didn't care if it could be too revealing of her feelings for you. She needed to hold you.

She made sure not to crush you with her hug, as she knew you were probably in pain. You thanked her gentleness, leaning into her body for comfort. You really needed this.

Clint backed down enough to let you two have a moment, making sure that people around wouldn't get too close to the scene to keep everyone safe. He knew Kate would want some alone time with you.

He's not stupid, seeing right through Kate. It was evident she didn't see you like any other friend or work acquaintance. He could also see right though you, knowing you'd also like to spend some time with Kate.

In his mind, the furthest he got from young romance, the better. Last thing he needs is Kate asking him whether or not she should ask you out.

---

Laura helped with cleaning everyone's wounds as usual. She also made sure the three of you were well-fed and had a shower before going to sleep.

You told them everything that happened on that building. How you followed two guys from the Tracksuit Mafia thinking they were just two. How they tricked and ambushed you. How you had to fight them off by yourself. How one of them set off a bomb you didn't even see when it was installed.

Given what happened, you were lucky to be alive.

After Laura was done cleaning and patching your wounds, you went to your bedroom to finally get some rest. This has been definitely an exhausting day, and you deserved sleeping for as long as you desired.

However, before you could completely fall asleep, you heard a few knocks on your door. Shortly after you asked who it was, you saw Kate opening the door. You looked back at her, unaware the girl has been passing around on the hall for minutes now, debating whether or not she should come talk to you.

The sentiment of loss was still at the back of her mind, torturing her. She could feel it as if she was still staring at the building on fire. It was too traumatizing, enough for her to build up enough courage to knock on your door in the middle of the night, wishing she could spend the rest of it with you.

"I woke you up, didn't I?" Kate asked in a whisper, half apologetic, half embarrassed.

"No, I was just about to sleep."

"Oh..."

"Is...something you want to tell me?" you asked, wondering why she was just standing there without saying anything.

"I was just wondering...if I– if I can maybe sleep here?"

You were quite surprised to hear that. In your room there was only one bed, so you two would share it. Not like you would ever think Kate's company is anything but a gift. Yet, you never expected she would be so up front about it.

Without keeping her waiting, you moved to the side to give her enough space. Kate got the hint, entering the room and closing the door behind her. Quickly, she got under the covers with you.

At first she was very awkward, not knowing if she should lay on her back to stare at the ceiling or turn to her side to look at you. She has never shared a bed with you. Luckily you seemed okay with this.

Finally, she turned to face you entirely. "Are you feeling better?"

You were staring at the ceiling, your body still aching from the fight, making it very painful to move around. That's why you decided to maintain your position, moving only your neck to be able to look at her.

"I'm still very much in pain but yeah, being back here and getting some rest makes everything a lot better."

Kate nodded after your answer, looking at you in completely silence for a few seconds before deciding to confess what was on her mind. "I was really scared when I heard that explosion. I was worried something bad had happened to you."

"Oh, well. I think you'll need more than a gang dressed like wanna-be olympians for you to get rid of me," you said jokingly, earning a chuckle from her.

After another pause, you heard Kate's voice again. This time, in a much careful, yet hopeful tone. "Can I hug you? I know it sounds weird, I just–"

"It's not weird," you quickly cut her off. "I'd really like that, actually."

Kate moved closer to you, wrapping an arm around you as she leaned her head on your shoulder. You could still feel she was cautious about the whole gesture, so as a way to let her know you wanted to feel her hug as much as she does, you tangled one of your legs with her. That was your way of letting her know this isn't her giving you physical proof of her love– it's a moment you two are sharing. You're trying to give her the same she's giving you.

This made Kate feel much more comfortable, snuggling closer to your side, practically hiding her face on your neck. Her breath was tickling your skin in the most wonderful way.

As you caressed her arm that was wrapped around your body, you eventually started hearing a series of quiet sobs. It took you just a few seconds to realize Kate has started to cry.

Before you could ask what was going on, Kate pulled you in closer. "I was so afraid I lost you for ever."

The sound of her voice, the desperation and terror of you not being there for her, melted your heart. It sounded so genuine, and coming from her just meant a thousand times more. She means just so much to you. It almost made you feel miserable for putting her thought that, even when it wasn't really your fault.

"I'm sorry, Kate." You really meant that. "I promise I won't leave you. Ever."

Kate sobbed again, hugging onto you like you could disappear any second. "Yeah, you better keep that promise," she said. Despite she said it in a joking voice, she really wanted that promise to be kept.

"You're adorable," you commented, trying to hold back your laughter.

"I'm not!"

"That just sounded even more adorable."

Kate sighed, pretending to be annoyed. "Well, you're lucky you're insanely cute I can't be mad at you for making fun of me."

"I just called you adorable! How is that making fun of you?"

"You're saying it with that tone..."

This time, you could hold back your laugh. "What tone?"

"That one!"

"Kate, I mean it. You are, without a doubt, the most adorable person I've ever met," you insisted in a much serious tone.

Despite not being able to see her, you could tell that made her grin. "That's more like it," she says. "Now that that's settled we should get some sleep. You really need to rest after everything that happened today."

"I must admit I'm pretty tired," you replied. "Goodnight, Kate."

You got no reply, so you proceeded to close your eyes to sleep. Just a second later, you could feel Kate's lips pressing against your cheek before she snuggled back against your neck.

"Goodnight," she says.

The room was in complete silence before Kate spoke again.

"Was the kiss too much?"

"Not at all. In fact, please do that more. Do it all the time," you replied.

Kate chuckled again. "Will do."

[jungkxook]

—moonstruck. (m)

⟶ pairing: taehyung x reader

⟶ genre: werewolf!taehyung au / arranged marriage au / smut with a sprinkle of fluff

⟶ words: 7,421

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: in hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted” and the only way to save you is to be mated with taehyung. whatever that means.

⟶ warnings: multiple smut scenes, first time (virgin!taehyung), clumsy sex, soft and gentle sex, sort of rough sex, all the sex, cunnilingus, riding, hair pulling, knotting, buckets of cum, biting kink, slight impregnation kink, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ disclaimer: first fic back after a long hiatus and i’m suddenly v nervous to post this!! also this is shamelessly and 100% inspired by an episode of the show outlander (to be exact, the wedding episode). i couldn’t help myself!! 

“Are you serious right now?”

In hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted.” Whatever that means.

Had you heard yourself speak a year ago before meeting Taehyung and having your life turned upside down, you would have surely thought you were insane, and you would have definitely thought Taehyung is insane, and the rest of his friends who are, subsequently, now yours ━ each of whom are all currently splayed out before you in Namjoon’s spacious country-side home with similar grave looks staring back at you.

“Dead serious,” Hoseok takes the liberty of breaking the odd silence saturating the kitchen. He’s made it a point to be on time for once, which you consider great and all if it wasn’t basically to dispute your current death sentence. “Always thought Jaebum’s pack were sons of bitches ━ glad to know it’s still true.”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi scolds. “Be a little more compassionate.”

“Am I wrong?” Hoseok refutes.

From off to the side, Jimin pushes himself forward with a frustrated groan, shaking his head. “Tae, I told you this was a dumb fucking idea ━ bringing Y/N into the pack━”

“I didn’t think this would happen,” Taehyung protests hotly. He’s leaning against the wall somewhere behind you, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown darkening his face.

“How could you not think this would happen?” Jungkook retorts bitterly.

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“She’s a human,” Jungkook says. “Jaebum wants her gone, but if he were to get his hands on her, then who knows what could happen━”

“I said shut up, Jungkook,” Taehyung snarls, an odd vehement tone dripping from his every word that is out of the place for the usually tranquil boy. Jungkook’s mouth clamps shut at once, though you suspect it’s not to do with defeat more so than because he’s the newest addition to the pack and, while Namjoon is their leader (or Alpha, as you’ve heard being thrown around before), Taehyung was something of a second-in-command. You could only imagine the consequences of crossing either Namjoon or Taehyung within the pack.

“Hold on a second,” You try to sputter for air, lungs wheezing. Your mind has since been spinning, struggling to keep up. At first you thought they were joking when they had told you, but now you were beginning to understand the severity at the very least. “I’m being hunted? Why?”

Now, Namjoon looks from Taehyung, then to you, and back again. Taehyung hesitates to answer at first, and Jungkook scowls. “Well, tell her, Tae. You dragged her into this mess. She deserves to hear it from you.”

As you twist in your seat to look up at Taehyung, your eyes locking briefly with his, the boy grimaces and then has to look away. He takes a deep breath before responding. “Okay, look. You know that pack I told you about? Jaebum’s?”

You nod, though the memory is vague. You’ve heard the name in passing before, but you could only gather that there was some sort of animosity between his and Taehyung’s pack.

“He found out about you, and I don’t know how,” Taehyung explains. “And now he wants you gone, and he’ll do anything to see it through.”

You blink once, dumbfounded. Terrified, even. Taehyung can certainly hear it in your voice and it makes him flinch again, as if being striked across the face. “Why?”

“Because you’re not one of us,” Taehyung says. “Because you’re human. When I first told you about us, I was risking everything. It’s uncommon for one of us to bring a human into the pack just because, and often even frowned upon. There’s a fear you’ll expose us to the human world or the hunters. Jaebum’s threatening to start war if we don’t deal with this situation ourselves.”

It’s only then that the dread begins to creep upon you, chilling you to the bone. “Deal with it… how?”

“The ultimatum is either kill you ourselves, or give you over to Jaebum to deal with, as a sort of peace offering,” Namjoon says carefully.

“Which probably also results in death,” Hoseok points out morbidly.

Jin scoffs. “Or worse.”

“Is there any option that doesn’t result in death?” You ask warily. At this, the group falls silent once more.

“Well, there is one.” Namjoon glances fleetingly around at his brethren, then sighs. “You become one of us.”

“I━” You stammer, face suddenly hot. “You mean, like, a werewolf?”

“I mean, a wedding.”

“A wedding?” You gasp. “How is that going to save me?”

“Not a wedding like you think,” Namjoon says. “More of a bonding. A handfasting. Right now, as a human, you’re vulnerable and exposed. We have no claim over you. But if you become one of us ━ without being turned ━ then Jaebum shouldn’t be able to touch you.”

Slowly, you begin to piece together the fragment of your dilemma. “Marry who?”

A beat of silence passes amongst the group in which time you spot Namjoon nod in the direction of Taehyung’s figure beyond you, a wordless yet clear gesture. Suddenly, a stubborn warmth of a blush pinches at your cheeks. You wonder if they can notice, if Taehyung can notice. You start, “Taehyung━?”

“He offered to be the one,” Namjoon says. “And Jaebum knows Taehyung’s role in the pack. If he knows you’re mated to Tae, Jaebum would be absolutely insane to try and come for you. It’s the only way, Y/N, and it ensures your safety.”

“Marrying Taehyung?” You ask shrilly, voice dangerously thin. “How is marrying Taehyung going to ensure my safety?”

“It’s not just a marriage,” Jimin explains.

But of course you already know this, werewolf laws a strange and intricate jumble of rules that you’ve long since grown accustomed to. When he speaks next, you already know it’s much more than a marriage; and, when he speaks next, you fear you’ve already had your fate decided for you.

“It’s not just a marriage,” Namjoon repeats, matter-of-fact, “because we’re making you Taehyung’s mate.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

You try not to think about it. Admittedly, marrying your friend who you have only known for a year isn’t something you had been expecting. But, as Namjoon had explained it, it wasn’t necessarily a legal unification between you and Taehyung, though you suppose it’s as valid now as any marriage with the ritualistic handfasting ceremony making it official. That, and you favoured living to see another day instead of becoming a werewolf’s next meal or ripped to shreds by one.

Only a day after your conversation with the boys of Taehyung’s pack, you’ve come to your ultimate decision which has led you to where you are now, returning to Namjoon’s home for a wedding. Your wedding. You hadn’t very long to decide your own fate anyway, with the boys grimly warning you it was now or never. But you trust them, despite this crazed ludicrous situation you find yourself in ━ and you trust Taehyung more than anything, your friendship with him having quickly blossomed into something so sincerely profound over the year that you’ve known him.

If you’re being honest, Namjoon’s pack had at least made an effort for the occasion because despite how unconventional it is, it was still a celebration. A celebration for your marriage, and a celebration for their hopeful victory over Jaebum. Still, the underlying threat of the evening remains, made more prevalent by the fact that it was required to invite at least another pack (of which you’ve met the leader, Jisoo, a handful of times before) as witnesses. It’s a simple ceremony too, quaint and cute if you weren’t clinging to life. You had made it a point to dress up, digging a pretty white dress from the depths of your closet with flowing butterfly-like sleeves; Taehyung had forgone a suit but was still handsomely dressed too, leaving you to feel like less of an idiot. Namjoon had officiated it, standing before you and Taehyung as you held one another’s hand, wrapped delicately in ribbon, listening to the vows being proclaimed that talked about true love, and the passion and yearning involved.

When the handfasting finally draws to a close, you’re shoved into a room alone with Taehyung for a moment of privacy by Hoseok, who can be heard quipping wolfishly, “Get it over with quick!” before vanishing behind the closed door. You wager he’s left to join with the rest of the festivities outside where, no doubt, every werewolf is currently drinking themselves blind.

Finally alone with Taehyung, a saturated silence fills the air that has you wringing your hands anxiously in front of you. You sit on the edge of the bed in the center of the room. “What other choice was there, Tae?”

Taehyung takes a moment to respond, and even he knows the thought is a useless one when it crosses his mind before voicing it aloud. “We could have ran away.”

“How far would we get?” You sigh. Still, the sorrow earnest in his voice and riddling his face is enough to make you look up at him sympathetically. “I’m no use to you if Jaebum or someone worse finds us by ourselves. Besides, the boys need you.”

“No, you need me,” Taehyung insists. “Jungkook’s right. I dragged you and the pack into this mess. It’s my responsibility to fix this.”

He drags his feet towards the bed, then flops down onto his back on the mattress. A troubled groan punctuates the air, and you sneak a glance behind you to see him rubbing warily at his eyes.

You decide now would be the best time to ask the one question that has been on your mind since the night before when you were sitting in Namjoon’s kitchen to discuss Jaebum’s scorn. “Is that why… Is that why you offered to be my mate?”

“Yes,” Taehyung admits meekly. “Sort of. Think we’d all rather it be me than Joon, anyway.”

You don’t argue with this. The reasons as to why it had to be Taehyung satisfied you well enough. That, and aside from having befriended the pack over the months, you’re much closer to Taehyung than you are with the others.

“So…” You trail off, clearing your throat. At this point, you’re simply speaking for the sake of filling the void. “What now?”

Taehyung shrugs. He looks around the room. “Nothing.”

“Well, what did Hoseok mean just now? Get what over with?”

“Erm━” Taehyung opens his mouth, as if preparing to explain, then decides otherwise. “It’s nothing.”

“Taehyung, we literally just got married and you’re already keeping secrets from me,” You retort. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he insists. “It’s just that… Well…” He sits up from the bed, meeting your curious gaze. “This was essentially a mating, and every mating needs to be seen through to the end to be considered valid. The pack can tell when it’s… uh… done.”

Oh.

Now it hits you. It’s the way he awkwardly trails off, hand ruffling through his long locks, that has you immediately understanding what he’s trying to imply. You gawk upward at him. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

Suddenly, Taehyung looks flustered and he shakes his head frantically. “I mean, they expect it, but I would never force it on you.” Then, he straightens up, as if captivated by a newfound confidence. The smallest of smirks dances upon his lips that you don’t miss. “Besides, I never said it had to be between you and me. As long as they can sense it, I’d say your hand would do just fine instead ━ but you have all night for that.”

“Oh my god.”

The smirk widens into a devious look now. “You said you wanted honesty.”

As he dissolves into a fit of stifled chuckles, you scowl but you wager it’s mostly an attempt to hide the frazzled look on your face. Then, hurrying to change the topic, ask, “Is every mating like that then?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. “If two mates want to stay together forever, they complete the process with marking, usually by a bite. It strengthens the mating bond.”

Taehyung notices you squirm in your spot, crossing your knee over the other and squeezing your thighs together. He can sense you’re uncomfortable, understandably with your current situation, but can’t quite pinpoint what else seems to make you sit so rigidly.

“What was it like for you?” He decides to ask. “The handfasting?”

The question takes you by surprise, though his sincere intrigue makes you smile smally to yourself. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before, but it was… It was nice.” You think back to nearly an hour ago, and the way Taehyung had looked standing before you. While you were marrying him out of necessity, there was something candidly beautiful about the entire ceremony. At the very least, you were glad it had been with Taehyung of all people. “Can I be honest with you, Tae?”

“Of course,” Taehyung says. “At this point, you can pretty much tell me anything. Don’t think anything’s as shocking as coming out as a werewolf.”

An innocent giggle bubbles at your throat. Suddenly, you look sheepish. “I might have had one too many glasses of wine before coming.”

“Ah.” Despite the interested hum of noise, he looks genuinely entertained. “So you’re drunk?”

“Not quite. Pleasantly buzzed,” You say. “Well, can you blame me? The occasion called for it considering a bunch of wolves want to kill me and I’m being arranged into a marriage.”

“So you don’t remember anything about your own wedding?”

You pull a face, though Taehyung gathers it’s because of the blunt mention of the word. “I do. Just… not all of it. Some things are clearer than others, but I think that’s mostly because I was nervous.”

“I remember every moment,” Taehyung muses thoughtfully. “I remember seeing you there, in your dress, and everything felt right despite it all.” His stare hardens in that moment, as if probed by the harsh reminder of the reasoning behind the night in the first place. “You know I’ll do anything to keep you safe, right? We haven’t had time to sit back and talk it over but you really do mean the world to me.”

A muffled groan eclipses your lips. You dig the heels of your palms against your eyes as you bemoan, “Don’t say those kinds of things, Tae.”

“Why?”

“Because… Because…” Your eyes shoot open, though suddenly you refuse to meet his curious wandering gaze.

But Taehyung doesn’t even need you to finish your thought. You wonder if it’s one of the many keen abilities possessed by these shapeshifters or if it’s simply a Taehyung thing, being that he’s quickly become one of your closest friends over the year that you’ve known him.  

“You’re still nervous,” he hums as delicately as possible. It’s not an accusation, but a simple fact of the matter. He pushes himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, leaving an appropriate amount of space between the two of you. “Are you nervous because of me?”

“No.”

“That’s a lie,” Taehyung snorts. When you don’t respond immediately, a small inkling of a doubt makes him question apprehensively, “Are you scared of me then? I wouldn’t blame you, especially after everything that’s been going on━”

“What?” You finally turn to look at him, a look of incredulousness contorting your face. “No! No, I’m not scared of you, Tae. I could never be scared of you.” You don’t dare turn to face him, instead keeping your eyes fixed on your hands as you continue. “You make me nervous, but not in a bad way. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” When you chance a look at him, you find him smiling softly to himself. “It’s the same way I felt when I saw you earlier tonight.”

Your heart quickens in pace against your chest, and you’re almost positive he can surely hear it. Now, you finally lift your timid stare to meet his pensive look, and you have to bite back the smile that threatens to form on your face. He looks distracted, though not in a way where his mind is elsewhere entirely; instead, he seems besotted, dark eyes shimmering gently, and there’s a palpable shift of energy in the atmosphere.

Without even realizing it, the pair of you begin to gravitate towards one another, leaning in close enough to shorten the distance between the two of you. You pause, lingering near enough to feel his warm breath fanning against your neck. He can’t help himself, and reaches out with his hand to brush his fingers along your shoulder to the base of your throat, sending chills down your spine. His hand comes to rest against your neck, fingers stretching outward to cradle the back of your head. He guides you toward him this time, closer and closer.

“Taehyung…” You whisper.

He stops at once, clamps his mouth shut and squeezes his eyes closed. His restraint seems to be not without labour, judging by the sobering small shake of his head, and the way he leans his forehead against yours, tendons in his jaw fluttering as he clenches his teeth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.”

“I want you to.”

He’s startled when you’re the one that moves first, catching his lips onto yours. He’s unmoving at first, basking in the feel and taste of your mouth smoothing over his. It’s slow, steady, but then he’s craning his neck to deepen the kiss and something feverish overtakes the both of you. You clamber onto his lap at once, swinging one leg over his and settling back onto him, your dress bunching up at your thighs. He’s taken aback for a moment, though his hands instinctively come to grip at your waist and you try not to focus on how large and warm they feel, burning against the material of your dress. In fact, every inch of him radiates a thermal energy that is both comforting and excites you. You chase his lips, yearning for another kiss, but he hesitates at the last moment, jerking his head away. He doesn’t move very far at first, then he drops his head into the crook of your neck. His nose burrows against the base of your throat, his lips brushing against your skin as he moves along your neck to your shoulder, then back again. You can tell he’s holding himself back, not quite allowing himself to enjoy this. To enjoy you.

“You said we have all night, didn’t you?” You rasp. “So why not start now?”

“I also said it didn’t have to be between you and me if you didn’t want it to be.” Taehyung finds his voice at long last, however hoarse it may be. You’re already driving him crazy, just by your smell alone. “Are you sure? You said you wanted honesty, so be honest with me, Y/N. Don’t just say it’s because it has to be done. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“Well, don’t you want this?” You question.

“Fuck, yes.” He groans against your neck. Something feral seems to stir within him, and you can feel his canines bare against your skin. “But only if you do.”

You aren’t quite sure what seems to possess you all of a sudden. He’s intoxicating, you think. Your hands tug at his hair now, desperation wearing your own voice thin. “Yes, Tae. Please. I want you inside me so badly.”

Finally, he presses his mouth against your throat, tonguing hot open-mouthed kisses there. His grip tightens around your waist, tugging you harder against him, and the feeling of him growing harder against your inner thigh in a matter of seconds has you both enraptured by a newfound heated ferocity.

Grasping at a moment of clarity, you ask meekly, “Isn’t this your first time?”

“Is it that obvious?”

You want to tell him anything but, the way his hands and lips move across you an indicator of that. “I thought you wolves are all about sex. Don’t you, like, go into heat or something?”

It’s a feeble attempt at a snarky joke, judging by the way your lips unfurl into a languid smirk. “Typically. But I never wanted sex for the sake of fucking. The boys make fun of me all the time for it.”

You snicker, but the delightful noise is lost in a simper as he continues to kiss upward to the underside of your jaw. He grips tightly at your waist and moves, shifting the two of you around, until your back is splayed out on the edge of the bed and he’s hovering directly over you.

“Taehyung…” He grunts in response, though you don’t blame him for not responding. The way his cock bulges against your core now, the way you press your hips up into his instinctively, is enough to drive you insane, let alone the boy. Still, you manage to rasp, “Tae, just don’t bite me. Promise me.”

“I won’t,” he assures, though now he certainly seems preoccupied. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring, and whines aloud, “God, I can already smell you. So fucking good.”

His head falls into the crook of your neck as his hips dig harshly into yours in a way that makes you aware of what his words seem to mean. Slick arousal already begins to form between your legs, pooling into a mess on your underwear that has you squirming beneath him. The thought of him being able to smell you makes your face heat, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He kisses down to your collarbones, then, without warning, flips you over at once. Rough hands grasp at your waist, pulling you to your knees and your ass off the edge of the bed. As he fumbles to tear your panties from your hips, then lifts the skirt of your dress up with one hand, he hurries to undo his belt and the button of his pants with the other.

“Wait, Tae━” You gasp. Before he can push himself into you, you heave yourself up with your hands and twist just enough to place your palm above his waist on his abdomen, stopping him in his place. “What are you doing?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, brows creasing with concern. “Isn’t this how it’s done? I’m not totally helpless.”

You bite back your abrupt grin, swallowing your amusement when you realize he’s genuinely confused. It’s hard to grasp how he can look so innocent even despite his leaking cock still in his hand. “Well, yeah, but not always.”

“I just thought it was like how dogs go at it, y’know?” Taehyung says. “The guys all seem to say so anyway.”

You can’t help it now when this newfound information has you keeling over with laughter. You’re fortunate he doesn’t seem offended by your delight, instead grinning sheepishly to himself as he watches you wipe tears away from your eyes.

“What?” he asks promptly, and then as if to nudge you back to reality, tightens his grip on your waist and yanks you towards him gingerly. Pressing his front flush against your back, he catches your ear lobe between his teeth and nibbles on it.

“Then I feel sorry for their mates,” You manage to choke out. “It’s not bad, but I want to be able to see you the first time around. It’s better that way. More intimate.”

You squirm out from beneath him, turning to face him properly. Still sprawled out before him, you prop yourself up on your elbow and then reach out with your other hand to grab at his face and pull him down to you.

“Noted,” he hums into your mouth. “Anything else I should know?”

“Nothing that I can think of at the moment,” You admit, though maybe that’s simply because your mind is spinning at the sight of his length.

He’s much, much bigger than you imagined, tip irritated and swollen red already, glistening with precum as he swipes his palm over himself a handful of times. You hike your dress up further around your waist as he guides himself towards you.

“Stop me if it hurts,” he says.

You nod, though you trust him well enough to know he’ll treat you right in the best way possible. As he pushes the tip of his length against your folds and into you, your reactions are almost immediate. He ceases above you, face scrunching up at the feeling of your slickness around him. You notice his furrowed brows, the way he bares his teeth. A guttural growl sounds deep within his chest that has you shuddering in anticipation.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “You’re so fucking wet. You take me so well, baby. I don’t think I’ll last long.”

“Don’t care,” You whimper. “Just wanna feel you.”

He pushes himself in further, slowly and carefully, inch-by-inch, in just a way that has the both of you feeling how he stretches you open every single step of the way. You wonder how much further you can go until he’s stopping, bottoming out within you. He sputters for air, collapsing against your chest entirely as you fall back onto the bed. He waits just enough for you to adjust to the girth of his weight in you, then rolls his hips into yours. Then again, and again, until he’s grinding into you with such measured and deep strokes that you melt beneath him entirely. You kick your legs up to wrap around his waist, head lolling back at the feeling of his mouth sucking against your throat.

“I’m gonna━” His voice splinters off then into an abrupt cry. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum━”

He’s quick to dissolve into shambles, grunting and moaning every time you clench around him and every thrust of his hips. Just when you think you’ve lost yourself to the moment, he cums much faster than you thought and entirely unexpected for him too, in hot waves that have you still writhing beneath him. When he’s spent, his weight falls slack against you, crushing you beneath him but in a comforting manner. It’s silently peaceful for a few moments as he settles, heart thundering in his chest and against yours. Your fingers smooth over his sweaty long locks, scratching at his head. Then━

“That was terrible, wasn’t it?” he mutters wretchedly.

“Not terrible,” You confess. “What was that? Three minutes, top? For your first time, I’m honestly surprised you lasted more than a minute.”

“Fuck off.” His fingers poke at your sides teasingly as you burst out into laughter. He lifts his head to meet yours, perhaps a little embarrassed. “Don’t tell the guys. They’ll never let me live it down.”

“Doesn’t matter,” You hum, tracing your finger down to his lips. “We can practice whenever you want. I’ll make you into a lover so good, you’ll want me to brag to them.”

“Practice, huh?” His eyes sparkle mischievously. He pulls himself from your core and you hiss at the sudden loss, tugging at his chest as if to keep him close to you but he seems to have other plans. “Why stop now?”

You watch him curiously. “Easy there, boy. Don’t wear yourself out.”

“Well, I have to make it up to you,” he points out. “Especially on your wedding night. It’s only fair. What kind of lousy mate would I be to call it a night without having you cum on my face?”

“Romantic.” You roll your eyes but you marvel at the way you had shuddered at the word only moments ago and now, under such a different circumstance, the way he utters it makes your heart flutter in your chest. “Is this the first time you’ve eaten a girl out?”

“I said I was a virgin,” he says. Your eyes stay trained on the boy as he shifts himself further down your body to wedge himself between your thighs, throwing one leg over his shoulder. He kisses at your navel, then down to your core. He takes his time as he reaches out with his fingers to swipe at your folds, admiring the way his cum leaks from you; then, with his forefinger, he wipes at a stray bead of his arousal and pushes it back into your cunt slowly. The simple action is enough to have your back arching off the bed, hands flying out to brace yourself by gripping at his hair. “I never said I didn’t know how to please a woman elsewhere.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Gladly.”

He sinks lower to your core and out of sight, leaving hot open mouthed kisses along the way. His finger never once leaves its spot within you, and instead is joined by another that spreads you wide in absence of his cock.

“Do you know how hard it is to focus on anything other than your beautiful cunt?” he asks, voice low and sultry. “From the moment I could smell you, I wanted a taste.”

His tongue probes against your clit, the wet muscle a sudden startle that has you slackening against him. He flicks it back and forth, mouth wrapping around the bundle of nerves and sucking hard. A moan threatens to fall from your lips but an intrusive thought crossing your mind has you swallowing it with much difficulty.

“Can’t the boys hear us from down there?” You ask. You wonder how the celebration for your “wedding” has unfolded over the night without you or Taehyung there, or if they even notice your prolonged absence.

“No.” His voice is a deep mumble, rattling you from your core outward. “We learn how to tune out sounds nearby unless we really want to pay attention. The new ones struggle a bit, though.”

He curls his fingers inside you, stretching them upward. You pant, “Isn’t Jungkook still new?”

You can feel his smirk unfurling against you even before he pokes his head up to look at you with devious, hooded eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s a bit of a hazing process.”

You hardly have time to register the thought, though it doesn’t matter much. You’re far too overwhelmed by the way Taehyung is making you feel to even care. He drops his mouth from your clit to your folds, tongue swirling against your aching core. He laps at your cunt like a mangy dog as his fingers continue to work within you. The further he burrows into you, the harder his nose digs against your clit and sends you over the edge. You try to hold on just a little longer but your core is already achingly sensitive from when his length had made it home.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let me taste you.”

Fingers twisting in his hair, he growls roughly against you, basking in the way you mewl and moan his name. Time seems to blur and, before you know it, you’ve reached your high. You’re embarrassingly wet, soaking his chin and nose which glistens with a mixture of yours and his arousal. Taehyung doesn’t hold back, instead licking you clean of every last drop, a muffled moan of content emitting from him.

“So good,” he says. “All mine.”

When he finally pulls away from you, he licks at his lips as if not quite finished with your every taste. From where he sits, you’re an entire mess, brows scrunched in concentration, teeth tugging at your lower lip. Needy hands yank at his hair and he obliges, kissing his way up your body to meet your mouth. His tongue pokes through to lav at your lips and wedges itself beyond, and you suck delightfully at the taste of you and him mingling on it. His own hands caress your body, bringing you back down from your high gradually but you can still feel his straining dick against your thigh and it invigorates you even further despite the beginning hints of exhaustion starting to creep upon you.

“Want more,” Taehyung growls with a newfound intensity, catching you off guard. “Need your cunt. M’gonna make it mine. Need to make you mine. Gonna fill you with my cum till you’re bursting with my pups, how does that sound?”

Mind spinning, you nod eagerly at the thought. Your words form in the shape of a moan. “Yes, please.”

“Gotta get this dress off first,” he mutters, greedy palms wandering up beneath the hem of your dress.

You scurry to obey, helping him slide the dress off your arms and toss it away on the floor. He’s more than pleased to see that you had decided to forgo wearing a bra earlier in the day, and reaches out at once to grasp at your perked breasts in his large palm. He buries his face into your chest, catching one of your nipples between his teeth. He busies himself by marking your chest red with small nibbles until you grow impatient, tugging at the shirt he’s still wearing. He’s quick to oblige, shedding himself of his clothes; then, his nails are digging viciously into your hips as he flips the two of you over with incredible ease.

“Sit on my cock,” he snarls into your ear. “Need to feel you again.”

Legs weak from your past orgasm and the huskiness of his voice, you sidle onto his lap, tossing one thigh over his. He sits up to join you and helps push himself past your folds, though you finish by settling back on his length carefully until you’re filled to the brim. Despite already knowing what to expect from the first time around, you still shudder at the feeling, mouth unhinging as you roll your hips leisurely against his. He hardly strays from your body, instead continuing to kiss between the valley of your breasts and up to the underside of your jaw and back again. Fingers poke and prod at your body as they follow his lips, then grasp at your ass to push you closer to him each time you grind against him.

Just when you begin grinding against him in a new angle that makes you moan into his ear, a sudden noise startles the both of you but only just. It takes you both a moment to register it’s the sound of knocking on the other side of the bedroom door (that you can’t remember if Taehyung had locked, because you certainly hadn’t), followed by Jimin’s familiar voice. “Joon said he wanted us to check in on you!”

Taehyung immediately groans into your neck out of frustration, though you suspect it’s because your pace starts to stutter and not because of his bothersome friends.

“Taehyung,” You bite at your lip in an attempt to hide your moans. You tug at his hair, as if to portray what your words fail to do, but he can hear it plainly riddling your voice. The concern, and the sudden shyness, as if fearing Jimin may walk in. But part of you is thrilled at the thought, and judging by the way your unabashed cry of glee slips from your lips without much hiding is proof of that. “Oh, Tae━”

“Shit,” Taehyung’s muffled grunts of pleasure and the way his hips continue to dig into yours to meet your efforts makes you aware Jimin is the least of his current troubles. “Fucking hell━ Don’t stop.”

“Are you guys okay in there?” Now comes Hoseok’s voice, a little faint but undeniably there. Can they hear you? Do they care? They must know what’s happening beyond the door.

“They’re doing it on purpose. Fucking idiots,” Taehyung snarls as he slams his hips up into yours. A contented whimper falls from your mouth, and you cling to him tighter as you quicken your pace. Taehyung grabs at your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes fixed on him despite wandering to the door. “Look at you fucking yourself on me still even with them listening. Such a good girl, huh? So desperate for my cock, aren’t you? Gonna breed so well.”

You think Hoseok and Jimin give up and leave at some point, though you don’t recall when. Instead, in the next moment, something primitive seems to awaken in Taehyung once more and he’s shoving you onto your back on the bed. Kneeling before you, he pummels his hips into yours again and again until you’re only crying his name.

“Mine. All mine,” he growls. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

So wearied from your first high, you tumble easily to your second, coming undone in a matter of seconds, spurred on by the lewd wet noises of his length thrusting into you.

“That’s it, baby,” he mutters, basking in the sound of your moans. “Fuck━ Let them all know who you belong to━”

But just when you think Taehyung has reached his own orgasm ━ sputtering for air and crescendoing in moans of your names, panting hot breath into your ear as he leans against your chest ━ he doesn’t. His thrusts become desperate and sloppy, bordering on frantic, that the soreness between your legs begins to burn. It’s an amalgamation of stubborn yet bearable pain and something harshly pleasant that has your head lolling back.

“What’s wrong?” You moan, blindly tugging at his hair. “Taehyung?”

“I can’t━” He cries out. “I can’t━ I’m so fucking hard, it hurts. I don’t know what’s wrong━”

Confused yet too tired to keep up, you reach out to smooth your fingers across his back. “It’s okay. Just let go, baby. Cum for me, Tae. Please.”

“I’m trying,” he chokes out. “I just can’t━”

Your mind works in a haze to understand what’s happening, but through it all you’re able to discern one reasonable thought. What had Taehyung said about matings and bonds? Aside from the obvious of sleeping with a mate, he had said that typically certain bonds require marking. But he had also said that marking proved to be almost irreversible, resulting in a connection so close that a pair of mates would be together forever. It was a troublesome concept to think about, especially when considering you didn’t think you were a fit match for Taehyung if only because you’re human.

But is that what he needed? The physical strain he puts himself under now to reach his high is almost unbearable to watch. So, you settle on a whim of a decision and conclude that you won’t think of any consequences until after the fact, only wanting to see the poor boy in relief.

“Tae,” You whisper. “What if you bite me?”

“I won’t,” Taehyung says through gritted teeth. His pace has slowed as he slumps against your chest in nearing defeat. “You told me not to.”

“I don’t care,” You retort. “Just bite me.”

He hesitates, lifting his gaze to look at you. When he sees your earnest zeal, he grimaces as if despising that this is his only option. Still, the look of relief that crosses his face is undeniably there. He presses his mouth against your throat, lips brushing faintly against your flesh as he grazes the smooth expanse for a spot, sharp canines poking against you. You brace yourself for the bite, though the pain isn’t as bad as you had thought. A sharp jolt runs down your spine as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and his reaction is immediate, crumbling into pitiful moans of glory.

“Fuck!” he wails. With one final slam of his hips into yours, he finally reaches his high and it’s unlike anything you have felt before. As if he begins to swell within you, his length pulsates as he cums in you to the point where you can’t help but feel so full. It overflows and leaks from your core and onto the sheets, a sticky mess that lingers even long after he’s done. Your mouth pops open at the foreign feeling, whimpering his name.

“I’m sorry,” he flinches. “I’m sorry, does it hurt?”

“No,” You manage to say. “It just… It feels so good━”

He sluggishly rides out the rest of his high until you both physically can’t take anymore. When he hears you hiss his name in a soft reminder, he apologizes once more. Then, as the room falls oddly silent, he slumps against you. He lavs his tongue over the fresh mark on your neck, the gentle motion alleviating the sting left behind. As Taehyung settles finally, he shifts his head to look up at you. You note the faint yellow hue lingering in his eyes, fading now.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “We might have to stay like this for a while.”

“Can’t say I’m mad about that,” You croon sleepily. “You better draw me a bath after this.”

He laughs, rubbing gentle circles against your hips. “Of course. I’ll do anything for you.”

You believe him wholeheartedly when he says it, smiling against his mouth when he leans in for a kiss. His tender wandering hands over your body does wonders in calming your shrill heart, the stretch between your legs, and the bite on your neck. He nuzzles his face into your collarbones, the tip of his nose tickling against you. As your fingers rake through his hair and scratch at his head, he mewls in content.

“Is it always like that?” You ask through a stifled yawn. “You had so much energy, I could barely keep up.”

“No,” he admits groggily. “It’s only like that when you’re mated with someone.”

“What does that even mean anyway?” You ask. “To be mated with someone?”

“Well, it’s━ It’s not really a conscious decision. It sort of just happens,” Taehyung says. “It’s a connection. You gravitate towards one another. You can’t live without the other. We call it imprinting. Sometimes you’re mated to a person who doesn’t even want you, but those are rare instances.”

“So we’re the exception?”

“I thought we were,” Taehyung trails off now. He finally lifts his head to look at you, perhaps a little embarrassed. “I━ Well━ All of this, and especially the bite, doesn’t just happen ━ and definitely not with humans.”

“Oh.” You blush now, face warming under the boy’s introspective stare. “So you’re saying we’re…”

“I always thought there was a connection, but I didn’t think it meant this,” Taehyung murmurs to himself. “As crazy as it sounds, I think we were meant to be.”

“So the bite…”

You don’t finish your thought, instead already having pieced it together in your mind. It does sound crazy, but even you have felt it before. A strange connection to Taehyung, far more exceptional than simply having feelings for him. And the bite is what draws it all together, proving his point and your previous speculations about some sort of affection between the two of you.  

“Are you starting to regret this now?” Taehyung asks sheepishly, a weak attempt at a joke to what he had asked you earlier in the night.  

He braces himself, as if waiting for your outburst of annoyance or anger. To push him off of you and leave forever. But you do neither, instead reaching out to grasp at his face in both of your hands. You delicately lift his head, meeting his docile stare, entirely and utterly bewitched by him.

“No,” You say earnestly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better night.” A smile forms on his face, innocent and ardent in nature. “I’m just wondering how I’ll hide the mark.”

“I think there’s little to hide now after tonight,” Taehyung grins wolfishly. “Especially with the boys.” 

He quivers with laughter at the sight of your scowling face and fingers poking at his sides. As he settles, he leans into your ear to hum, “I’ll make it up to you. Everything. Jaebum, the bite, the boys. But I think you should rest now. We’ll deal with all of that later.”

You don’t argue with that. You’ve already begun to fight the beginnings of sleep, eyelids drooping and itching with a need to just close them ━ and with Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you, his body emitting a pleasurable heat, you decide there’s no place else you’d rather be, moonstruck and in love.

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 324: Is There a Force Field Around Him??

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Rat Principal was all “please tell Midoriya that I spent a concerningly small amount of money upgrading U.A. into a wacky physics-defying funtime grid so as to make the final battle much more confusing for everyone.” Present Day!Mic (or Present!Mic, if you will) and Jeanist were all “if only somebody could deescalate this dangerously unhinged mob, we’ve tried nothing and we’re all out of ideas.” Ochako was all “LISTEN UP PEOPLE.” The mob was all, “god??” Ochako was all, “NO, IT’S ME, OCHAKO. I’M REALLY HIGH UP ON THIS BUILDING AND THE VISIBILITY IS LOW DUE TO THE RAIN, SO I CAN SEE HOW YOU MIGHT MAKE THAT MISTAKE. ANYWAYS, DEKU WAS OUT THERE RISKING HIS LIFE FOR YOU CLOWNS EVEN THOUGH HE’S JUST A KID, SO I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IF YOU COULD ALL REMEMBER HOW TO BE DECENT HUMAN BEINGS, THANKS.” Let’s see if her Big Scolding Energy has any impact.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “so I have this speech planned out, and it’s really good, but it also only really needs about 6 to 8 pages, but I’m gonna see if I can stretch it out to 17 pages so I can kill time before we get to the next volume cliffhanger two weeks from now.” Anyway but it really is a good speech though. There are feels, and tears, and more talk about how Deku is so in need of a shower that just looking at him requires a tetanus booster, and more feels, and more tears, and bonus ship drama, and an iconic callback to the very first chapter which reframes the entire series in a new context in a totally epic and moving way, and it’s all very good. Except that Horikoshi is determined to never let anyone actually give this kid a hug. Who hurt you, dude.

omg we are opening on a callback to chapter 212, a.k.a. the chapter with by far the cutest flashback that doesn’t involve any baby Todorokis

baby Ochako is lethally cute. she could literally murder someone with her cuteness. I just want to scoop her up and play airplane with her until she accidentally activates her quirk while we’re spinning around and we both helicopter up into the air never to be seen again

“a child’s insistence” huh well that’s all well and good, but I sure hope this doesn’t mean we’re going to drag out the whole “sternly lecture the obnoxious citizens” plot for another whole chapter. no offense but I think we’re good

so page 2 is just continuing the whole happy/worried faces monologue, which of course is very important to Ochako’s character as it provides the context for why “who protects the heroes” ended up becoming her thing. and this is making me think we actually are in for a whole second chapter of this sob. when will my boy finally get to rest

OH MY GOD SUDDENLY THESE PEOPLE HAVE EYES IMAGINE THAT

HORIKOSHI: [reaches for a box of tissues while tearfully penning an homage to his beloved Spider-Man 2, specifically the train scene where the crowd sees Peter without his mask and they suddenly realize just how young he is]

HORIKOSHI’S HOMAGE SCENE: “COME TO THINK OF IT, I GUESS IT WAS KIND OF MEAN FOR US TO PICK ON THIS TEN YEAR OLD KID WHO WEIGHS 75 POUNDS AND LOOKS LIKE HE LOST A FIGHT WITH SATAN’S MOLDY OLD BASEMENT”

lol at this one guy who can feel the mood of the crowd shifting and is all “WAIT, NO, I WANTED TO KEEP BEING AN ASSHOLE DAMMIT”

as many pointed out last week, this man is wearing an All Might shirt. that’s some fantastic irony there

-- SDKFJWIGKS

“LITTLE GIRL, I HOPE YOU’RE NOT SUGGESTING THAT WE SHOULD ALL BE WALKING AROUND DRESSED LIKE A SOVIET-ERA BUS STOP.” heh. last week I said I was ashamed of BnHA being my favorite manga. that was a lie, actually

(ETA: in the original Japanese Ochako’s next two lines are basically “the only ones covered in mud will be us heroes!” followed by “please give us some time to get rid of the mud”, with that second line basically being the single funniest thing I’ve ever read rdslkjl. Ochako thank you so much for supporting my running gags. “YEAH WE KNOW HE’S DIRTY. WE ARE GONNA TRY AND CLEAN HIM UP, BUT IT MAY TAKE A WHILE, I’M JUST SAYING. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM. HE LOOKS LIKE AN ASBESTOS COSPLAY.”)

doesn’t the megaphone kind of look ever so slightly like an axe that she’s wielding maniacally here

easy there Lizzie Borden

also that’s a really bold claim to make there. and not one she necessarily should have to make, either. but as we all know, there’s nothing that shounen manga likes more than having its heroes bravely hoist heavy burdens of responsibility like good self-sacrificing citizens

p.s. lowkey loving how Kacchan is positioned here standing slightly behind Deku. not presuming to stand in front of him all overprotectively (because he would hate if anyone ever did that to him), and kind of being unobtrusive and letting others take center stage -- but still being close enough to Deku that he can catch him if he stumbles or passes out again

(ETA: or maybe not lmao.

DEKU: [falls to his knees]

KACCHAN: [glancing up from his phone a few minutes later] “someone just sent me the stupidest meme about milk crates -- oh. uh. you good...?”

really, son. “the burdens you can’t carry, we’ll carry them for you. ...later, I mean. right now it’s late, and we’re all cold and wet.”)

also lowkey loving this OchaTsu moment here

I was going back and binging Ochako chapters this past week for reasons, and I gotta say it really stuck out to me just how often these two are paired with each other. they do everything together. it’s a really sweet friendship that often goes unappreciated but it’s very cute

meanwhile, not to be outdone by the OchaTsu, Iida is staring at Ochako with open admiration talking about how she’s fighting too. it’s been so long since we’ve had any IidaRaka you guys. I was starving and I didn’t even know it

oh my lord IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING

THE LIGHT IS BACK. he finally looks like him again. what a cathartic fucking moment omg

ffklkdw

“I KNOW YOU ARE ALL SCARED, BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS, WE DEFINITELY CANNOT GUARANTEE YOUR SAFETY AND WE ARE ALL SCARED TOO!” good pep talk there kiddo

BUT, jokes aside, truth be told this is the exact right approach to take imo, and something that’s long overdue. I’ve said this before, but this new generation of heroes is shaping up to be much more transparent than the All Might generation. they’re basically abandoning the almighty, untouchable Superman “heroes as gods” concept in favor of the more nuanced “heroes as people” concept instead. and that’s a good thing. seeing their heroes as humans, with human limitations and weaknesses and flaws, will hopefully not only lead to more scrutiny and accountability, but also more awareness of how hard some of them are working and how much they’re sacrificing. that’s something All Might never quite grasped back at the start of the series -- that the weak, vulnerable, injured him could be just as inspiring as the mighty, invincible him -- perhaps even more so. there’s a power in seeing otherwise ordinary people show extraordinary bravery and compassion. it inspires others to try and do the same

SSDLHK AIZAWA SIGHTING AAHHHHHH

so he was still back at the hospital this whole time?? smdh at this disrespect. that feeling when your sexy self-insert character’s powers of rationality are too strong, and so you have to nerf him so that he doesn’t ruin your Deku Angst arc twice over by (1) immediately talking some sense into Deku and making him come home Right This Instant Young Man, and (2) not allowing him to leave U.A. in the first fucking place. excuse me, you want to do WHAT now, Midoriya?? that’s it, go to your room

also living for Katsuki and Hawks’s soft expressions. Shouto’s too, although his is tinier and harder to see. and Jeanist’s 12-foot-long neck. imagine Jeanist’s head with Mic’s hair. maybe Jeanist had a mohawk back in the day and that’s why U.A.’s doors are so big now

speaking of soft faces, Enji’s is also excellent

what could this random close-up possibly imply?? hell if I know. but Horikoshi truly fears no discourse and that’s what I love about him

OMGGGG

“smh my child is so dumb.” poor Ochadad. your child is cute af count your blessings

SDOFFHSMH

I’m telling you guys. lethally, catastrophically cute

this speech is still ongoing lol. Horikoshi you’re doing so good but I think we get the point now my dude. you gotta learn how to transition out of these things

UNEXPECTED TOGA WHAT

“there we go” Horikoshi says, crossing off the last line on his list of Ochako ships. “that’s all of ‘em”

poor Ochako is just repeating the same “LET HIM REST, PLEASE, WITH EVERYONE’S COOPERATION, IF YOU DON’T MIND, WE APPRECIATE IT” talking points over and over again hoping someone will throw her a bone and acknowledge her already. SOMEONE PLEASE HELP HER

literally they’re all just staring up at her silently omg. work with me people!!

now she’s saying it for the 56th time but more dramatically all of a sudden

they got so dramatic that for a minute I thought she had suddenly leaped off the building or something

look, not to rush you or anything Horikoshi, but I’m starting to get the feeling that this is yet another one of those “the volume is ending soon so I need to either hurry things up or slow things down in order to make sure we end it on my perfect cliffhanger ending” chapters where you go to ridiculous lengths to drag things out much to the exasperation of your week-to-week readers

(ETA: ftr, volume 31 ended on chapter 306, and I’m predicting that vol. 32 will end with chapter 316 (a.k.a. “you’re next!” [explodes]). I’m guessing vol. 33 will follow suit and likely end on chapter 326, so keep your eyes peeled for a big cliffhanger in two weeks’ time. Deku’s dad?? All Might in peril?? U.A. traitor at long fucking last?? we shall see.)

is Deku straight up falling in love with Ochako right on the spot lol what is happening

I know I just said that I enjoy when Horikoshi gives zero fucks about discourse, but shipping discourse is a whole different beast lol. I hope he’s prepared

(ETA: and for the record, I have no interest in shipping discourse either, as always. and I think this scene can be interpreted as platonic, tbh, with the context being that Ochako was literally introduced as someone who was willing to help him so casually without a second thought, and now here she is saving him again.

I don’t think it really fully hit Deku until this moment how much he needed saving. like I said in another meta somewhere, selflessness is basically just selfishness on behalf of others. and Deku is selfless to a fault, but that’s okay, and it doesn’t mean he needs to change -- he just needs friends who are willing to be be selfish on his behalf in turn. and I think the full emotion of what it means to have friends like that just hit him at last. everything his friends have done for him, how much he needed it and didn’t even realize, and how grateful he is. anyways what a terrible day for rain.)

-- son of a --

is he apologizing?? or pleading?? please tell me that’s not the case, because what the actual fuck. Deku you beautiful precious radiant selfless child, this is the exact opposite of how this should be. all these motherfuckers should be on their knees apologizing to you

DEKU WHY

I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS FREAKING BOMBARDMENT OF EMOTIONS GODDAMIT. OUT HERE ARMED WITH YOUR FREAKING TREBUCHET OF FEELS TO LAUNCH AT ME UNPROVOKED. WHAT’S WITH THAT

FREAKING CHRIST. THIS BOY IS CRYING HIS EYES OUT AND HORIKOSHI IS JUST ZOOMING IN WITH THE CAMERA, LIKE CAN WE JUST CUT HIM A BREAK ALREADY. ENOUGH OF THIS. HE’S SO YOUNG AND HE TRIES SO HARD AND I JUST NEED HIM TO FEEL SAFE, HORIKOSHI PLEASE CAN YOU JUST GIVE ME THAT ALREADY WHAT IS THE FREAKING HOLD UP!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY!!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY PLEASE BE MY HUGGER BY PROXY!! SERIOUSLY GIRL IF YOU JUST HOLD YOUR UMBRELLA OVER HIM OR SOMETHING AND DON’T GO THE EXTRA MILE I’M ABOUT TO LODGE AN OFFICIAL COMPLAINT. THIS IS GETTING RIDICULOUS NOW

!!!!

A KOUTA IS GOOD TOO!!! oh my god if Kouta hugs him I will seriously 100% straight up cry. go on and test me

FOR THE LOVE OF --

is this man expressly forbidden from drawing hugs in his contract or something. DO YOU DO IT JUST TO SPITE ME?? this is tyranny, sir

AND I KNOW, THIS PAGE ACTUALLY CHALLENGED THE VERY PREMISE OF THE SERIES ITSELF, AND HERE I AM COMPLAINING ABOUT HUGS, OR THE LACK THEREOF. “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes.” and just like that, he waves a polite middle finger at all of the Strongest Greatest Chosen One shounen protags of old, in favor of something much less conventional, much more interesting, and much more suited to Deku’s character. because if that one sentence doesn’t just sum up Deku to a T. he gladly relinquishes his Greatest Hero status in favor of acknowledging the hero in everyone. what a class act. that’s my protagonist

I love this kid so fucking much I swear. only just PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. GIVE HIM HIS HUG

[seijorhi]

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”

[sunder-soul]

I’ll start off by saying I adore this blog due to how amazing ur writing is & how active u r, it makes me so happy. I’m hoping you could write some tom smut where he’s the virgin & the reader (preferably a hufflepuff) is the experienced one? (cause I really can’t imagine Tom being popular or caring about sex in hogwarts). Like I can just imagine him having no idea what to do & letting the reader take in control and he’s highkey loving every minute of it (like he’s secretly just a sub).

You cannot imagine the effect this had on me. I… I am a changed person.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

Nox

Summary: You’re trapped in a closet with Tom Riddle playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. What happens in the dark, stays in the dark. Word count: 4.8k Content warning: explicit sex scenes. Underage drinking I guess?

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II HERE! 💖

It had taken some convincing to get you to come to the party, but you’d have to admit that it had been more fun than you’d expected – the Slytherin common room was the perfect place for a post-Quidditch game blow out, hidden away under the lake where the Professors wouldn’t hear the music blasting from enchanted gramophones, the creepy light filtering in through the tall glass windows leading into the dark waters of the lake giving the perfect background under the dim green lanterns illuminating the party.

You’re drunk on Firewhisky that a group of cheeky-faced seventh-year Gryffindor boys brought to bribe their way inside, and by the time the party is winding down at around two in the morning you’re laid out across Ruth Willows’ lap on one of the black leather couches by the fireplace, giggling and very unwilling to move.

“Alright you two,” one of the Slytherin boys you don’t recognise says, smirking. “Clear out – this is strictly Slytherin territory again.”

“Aww, come on, Hartley,” Ruth says teasingly, “don’t tell me you’re done for the night – out-partied by a couple of Hufflepuffs, are you?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Willows,” Hartley says seriously, pointing at her.

You sit up, the room spinning around you in a pleasant, warm way. “We can take you,” you say cheerily, resting your head on Ruth’s shoulder.

There’s a smattering of laughs from the circle of lingering party-goers – You and Ruth are the only Hufflepuffs left, but there’s a couple of Gryffindors too, and you recognise some sixth-year Ravenclaw boys whispering to each other next to the fireplace.

“A game, then,” Hartley declares, looking around the circle with a grin.

“A game!” you and Ruth echo cheerfully, lifting your drinks.

“Alright, who’s playing? Scott? Peters? How about you, Avery?”

You glance over your shoulder to the far corner of the Slytherin room at the only group left in at the party – the gaggle of Slytherin boys who had spent the whole evening sitting at the circular table looking disapprovingly at the revelry as they sipped their drinks and evidently thought themselves far too mature for such nonsense. You share an amused look with Ruth.

“No thank, you,” Avery says aloofly, turning up his nose.

“Too good for a bit of fun, are you?” one of the Gryffindor boys snickers.

“They’re just trying to show off,” another smirks back, “think they’re acting all grown up and responsible –”

“I’ll join you,” says a very unexpected voice.

The whole circle looks around in shock. Tom Riddle has stood from the table and approaches the couches, his acolytes staring after him looking surprised. “What are we playing?” Riddle asks pleasantly, taking a seat on the couch opposite you – Ella Scott from Slytherin scrambles to the side to make room for him looking like she’s just won the lottery.

“That’s the spirit, Riddle,” beams Hartley, “not like those hoity-toity friends of yours, are you?”

Riddle smiles with far too much charm as he laces his arm over the back of the couch and crosses one long leg over the other, his Slytherin boys sliding into spare places around the circle and casting him perplexed looks of surprise.

“So?” Ruth asks expectantly, grinning at Hartley. “What’s the game?”

“Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Hartley smirks.

The circle erupts; the Gryffindor boys whoop with cheers as the Ravenclaws groan and roll their eyes, and you laugh softly as your head rolls back against Ruth’s shoulder, the alcohol still making the room spin slightly.

“I don’t know this game,” Riddle says quietly through the cacophony – though everyone seems to hear him with ease all the same.

“It’s the best game ever invented,” the first Gryffindor boy grins – you think his name is Rory but you can’t remember his surname. “When it’s your turn, you spin your wand on table and whoever it points to has to spend seven minutes with you in the broom closet.”

“What is the point of that?” Riddle frowns.

There’s a smattering of snickers and Riddle’s frown vanishes at the sound, his face going strangely blank.

“Making out, of course,” Rory smirks, “catch on, Riddle.”

Riddle’s face remains expressionless but there’s a coldness to it that the others don’t seem to notice as they continue to chuckle quietly. He clearly doesn’t like being laughed at.

“Who’s going first?” you say quickly, looking around the circle to distract them.

“Hartley’s the one who suggested this, he should start,” a Slytherin girl (April…? Avril…?) smirks.

“Only because Willows goaded me!” Hartley accuses, pointing at Ruth.

“I’ll happily go first,” Ruth says with an easy smile, “since Hartley’s too chicken.”

There’s a low murmur of amusement as Hartley’s eyes narrow at Ruth leaning forward and spinning her wand on the table – only to explode into raucous laugher when it comes to a stop pointing directly at –

“Looks like you’ll be going first after all, Hartley,” Ruth says breezily, standing. “After you,” she gestures theatrically at the wooden door to the broom closet in the corner, and Hartley gets up from the couch looking extremely gobsmacked.

“Make sure you return him in one piece,” April/Avril snickers.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” Ruth says without missing a beat, grinning as she slams the door to the closet shut behind them.

“Hufflepuff’s got a set of claws on her,” the other Gryffindor boy laughs.

“Badgers are a natural predator of snakes,” you sigh, lying back on the couch and throwing back your arms in a content dizziness. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

You lie there listening to the group talk and laugh, the reedy music wheedling away in the background, and by the time the closet bursts open again it doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all – though perhaps that’s the alcohol talking.

“And that,” Ruth exclaims, falling back onto the couch beside you, “is how it’s done.”

“How’s Hartley?” you ask her, laying your head back on her lap.

“He’ll never be the same,” she says smoothly, inspecting her nails.

The group is still laughing when Hartley sits back down on the floor beside the table, his hair dishevelled and his expression rather shell-shocked.

“Have fun mate?” Rory smirks, clapping him on the shoulder.

Hartley nods blankly, and the laughter only grow.

“Alright then, who’s next?” Ruth says loudly, looking very pleased with herself.

The turn passes counter-clockwise, and April/Avril gets landed with one of the reluctant Ravenclaw boys before Edgar Peters spins Rory. Scott casts Tom next to her a very unsubtle hopeful look before she spins her wand, but when it lands on Lestrange she has the good sense not to look too disappointed.

“Alright Riddle,” Rory grins, his arm now around Edgar’s shoulders (who is blushing violently). “Your turn.”

There’s something strangely blank about Tom’s face as he leans forward and sets his wand on the table, and you let your head loll to the side to watch with interest as Tom’s long, pale fingers deftly spin his wand. You cast an eye around the circle and fail to hold in a laugh; nearly everyone is watching in utter rapture, mostly leaning forward expectantly. Your laugh is drowned out by the noise that erupts across the group when Tom’s wand comes to a gradual stop pointing directly at your face.

“Is that me or you?” you ask Ruth languidly, looking up at her from her lap.

“That’s you,” she smirks down at you, “I’ve had quite enough Slytherin for one night.”

“Alright then,” you sigh, sitting up and stretching before swinging your legs off the couch and sprightly standing.

Tom is looking up at you blankly, unmoved from the couch.

“Well come on then,” you say in amusement, waving your hands at him. “The clock doesn’t start until the door shuts, you know.”

Riddle blinks and then smoothly stands, and you totter around the couch and stroll towards the door to the closet, still buzzing from the Firewhiskey. Riddle follows you silently, not looking at you as you hold the door open for him.

“Have fun!” someone shouts from the couches to general giggles.

You roll your eyes and let the door fall shut. Darkness and utter silence immediately falls, and you realise at once that at least one of the previous players has cast a muffling charm on the door to stop any potential eavesdropping.

“Lumos Volant,” you murmur.

A little ball of warm yellow light springs from your wand and hovers happily above the two of you, casting the inside of the closet into view – it’s small and cramped, a table stacked with boxes of books and old parchments beside you and shelves crammed with all sorts of things on every wall, hedging you in. Tom is standing in the middle of the closet, his dark, even gaze on you. There’s something suddenly very funny to you about the fact that he’s still wearing his uniform, impeccable as always.

“I thought lights were not permitted,” he says quietly.

You lift yourself up onto the edge of the table, feet swinging slightly. “I thought we might talk for a moment,” you say casually, looking around the closet.

Tom hesitates. “Talk?” he asks slowly.

“You’ve not done this before, have you?” you ask him, meeting his gaze with a tilt to your head.

“I believe I made it quite clear that I’m unfamiliar with the rules of this –”

“Not the game,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a soft smile. “This.” You gesture between the two of you.

Silence returns. Tom looks at you with an impenetrable expression as you wait for his reply, your feet still swinging lightly.

“And why would you think that?” he eventually asks, very evenly.

You shrug. “Just my read on you, I suppose. Am I wrong?”

Tom just leans back against the shelves, his hands pushing back his robes and sliding into the pockets of his slacks. For the first time you take a moment to appreciate exactly how good-looking he is; the black waves of his hair, the high cheekbones, the elegant curve of his lips – and the naturally regal quality of his features only augmented by the calm composure he always seemed to radiate. It was easy to see why he’d been made prefect, why Slughorn always fawned over him, why everyone said that he’d be Minister for Magic one day.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you say conversationally.

Tom arches one of his dark brows. “What do you mean?” he asks in wry amusement.

“A stranger in a closet at a party?” you smile. “With a time limit, no less… Not exactly a very romantic setting.”

“I’m not a romantic,” Tom says lightly, looking away.

“No,” you say quietly. “You’re not, are you?”

Tom’s eyes flash to yours. For a moment you think you see something almost annoyed in his eyes, like your comment rubbed him the wrong way, and then the look is gone and his attention returns to the closet. “Your read on me appears to be quite extensive,” he says distinctly.

You laugh. “Does it bother you to be so transparent?”

His lips curve into a rather unsettling smirk. “Transparent,” he echoes, looking up at the ball of light floating above. “I must say, that’s a first…”

“You don’t like being laughed at, do you?” you say nonchalantly. “Specifically when you’re being excluded – oh! Is that why you spend so much time with those horrible blood supremacists even though you’re a half-blood?”

Tom’s eyes narrow on you and his smirk vanishes immediately. Something sharp has taken over his face, and you think that perhaps if you hadn’t drunk so much Firewhiskey, you’d find it scary.

“You tell those boys what to do, don’t you? They listen to you even when they don’t want to – Avery didn’t even want to play tonight but he followed you the second you came over. Are you in control all the time?” you ask curiously. “Is that why you dress all…” you wave a hand at his absolutely perfect uniform, shoes charmed to a shine, hair set into tidy waves, Slytherin tie dead straight and his prefect badge gleaming on his robes. “Well anyway, I suppose that would explain the grades, too.”

“Extensive indeed,” Tom breathes, tone very cool. “Is there more?”

“Yes,” you smile, holding the edge of the table lightly. “I don’t think you’re one to be coerced into doing something you don’t want to do.”

“Is that so?” Tom asks icily.

You nod. “Which means you want to be here.”

“I’m regretting it already.”

“You are not,” you scoff, “or you would have left.”

“I’m considering it,” he snaps.

“Come here.”

Tom’s expression falters, his brow furrowing. “What?”

You lift a hand and motion him closer with a casual wave. “Come here,” you repeat softly.

Tom huffs disapprovingly and looks away. “If I were really so transparent you would know not to give me orders,” he says coolly.

“Tom.”

His eyes find yours immediately, and you tilt your head again. “I’m not ordering you,” you say quietly, “I’m inviting you.”

Tom frowns slightly, something very calculating about the way he looks at you in the ensuing silence. After a long moment, Tom gently pushes off the wall and takes three slow steps towards you, stopping a respectful distance from where you’re sitting on edge of the table, his hands still in his pockets.

You smile, amused. “Closer.”

The blankness has returned to his face. You wonder if perhaps that’s how he looks when he doesn’t know how to look.

Tom takes the final step towards you, just barely brushing your knees, looking down at you with impenetrable eyes. You slowly reach forward and gently take his wrists, pulling his hands from his pockets and placing them lightly on your thighs. Tom doesn’t react, he only keeps his eyes on yours, his hands utterly still where you’ve placed them. You let your own remain on top of his as you look up at him, watching his face curiously as you gently guide his hands to push your knees apart.

He blinks, the barest flicker of his eyelids, a seemingly involuntary reaction – but that was what you’re looking for. Something beyond the composure. Something out of his control.

Slowly, you glide your hands up his forearms, keeping your eyes on his face and watching for his reaction. You can feel his warmth through his robes, his body beneath the impeccable layers of his uniform, your touch traveling up to his shoulders, down across his chest, and in a single, unbroken motion you lace your fingers around his tie and pull gently.

Tom’s eyes flicker again, but he lets you pull him down towards you, smooth and slow, and you feel anticipation thrumming in your chest as he gets closer, those dark eyes fixed on yours, his expression still blank and inscrutable. He’s less than an inch from your lips when you stop. Tom pauses at once, bent to you with his hands still resting on your thighs, your knees brushing against his hips. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath warm on your face.

“Are you quite sure I can’t order you around?” you ask softly, leaning up and very gently pressing your lips right next to his mouth. Tom exhales slightly, his eyes closing. You smile and then press your lips up against his neck, right in the most vulnerable point under his jaw. “I think you might like it,” you murmur against his skin.

Satisfaction curls in your stomach when you feel his fingers press ever-so-slightly harder into your thighs. “What would you have me do?” Tom asks quietly, and he’s almost entirely successful at concealing the slight thickness in his voice – but not quite.

“I’d have you move those hands of yours,” you say softly, your lips trailing back up his jaw. “I didn’t put them there to stay still.”

Tom exhales again, tense and measured, and then very slowly his hands slide up your thighs. His hands are warm and reserved, travelling to your hips as you press your lips against his pulse point and listen to his breathing, the deliberateness of it, the brittle tension in it. Tom is trying very hard to remain in control.  

You pull away and Tom’s hands fall still on your waist. His eyes have gone hooded and dark, and a flutter of excitement swells in your stomach at the sight. “Keep going,” you say quietly, gently pulling on his tie again, bringing him down to your lips and holding him there, barely a breath away.

Tom hesitates only for a second before his hands start to move again, sliding up your waist, your ribcage, the side of your chest – you nearly smile at how obvious he’s being at avoiding touching your breasts – up your collarbones, your neck, coming to a halt on either side of your jaw.

For a moment he holds you there, and you hold him there too, your hand on his tie anchoring him in place mere milimetres from you. His gaze is level but you can see the hesitation behind his eyes, feel the reservation in his hands.

“Nox,” you whisper against his lips.

The light above you goes out.

In the darkness, the warmth is all-encompassing, the sound of his breath louder, the heady, rich scent of him more potent, and the feeling of his hands on your skin more overpowering, and you lean without hesitation, kissing him slow and smooth, and…

Your stomach twists. He’s kissing you back just the same, restrained at first, hesitant like you were expecting, but when your arms slide up around his neck to pull him closer, drawing him into you, some of Tom’s restraint starts to falter. His hands against your face hold you more firmly, his breathing getting sharper, and his head tilts to the side to kiss you deeper. When you lock your ankles together behind him, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips he breaks the kiss and you look up blindly into the dark.

“What?” you ask softly.

“I… you were right,” he says, still breathing slightly harder than normal. “I haven’t… done this before.”

“Do you want to?”

There’s a ringing silence. You frown in the dark. “You don’t have to, Tom.”

“You’ve already noted that I’m not one to be coerced into doing something that I don’t want to do,” Tom says smoothly, leaning back down to your lips.

“Right on that count too, was I?” you smile, kissing him again before he has a chance to reply.

Tom inhales and his hands pull your face closer to him, his mouth moving more insistently, and as you twist your fingers through the soft waves of his hair, you experimentally brush your tongue against his top lip. He immediately pulls away again and you laugh softly.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, “too much?”

He hesitates. “I wasn’t expecting it,” he says evenly. Some of the restraint has returned.

“Shall I do it again? Now that you’re expecting it?” you ask with no small amount of amusement.

By way of reply Tom slowly leans in again and kisses you deeply, and then – exactly as you had done – his tongue traces your top lip, like he’s mimicking you. He is mimicking you, you realise as you kiss him back enthusiastically, he’s copying what you’re doing because he doesn’t know what else to do.

If you’re leading by example, then there’s only one thing for it.

You slide your hands from around his neck down his body, pressing your hands flat against his chest and sighing against his lips – he feels good. Down your hands fall, curving under his jumper, gently tugging his shirt from his trousers, and Tom is kissing you harder and harder, stepping in closer, a hand falling from your face and slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him.

Your fingers brush his warm stomach and Tom breaks the kiss again, his head falling onto your shoulder as you touch him, your hands travelling around his hips and up his back. His skin is soft and smooth, his body lean and warm, and you’re breathing hard yourself when Tom lifts his head again.

“Can I…” he says slowly.

“Can you what?” you breathe.

Tom slowly kisses you, full and open, his lips lingering when he pulls away. When he speaks, he’s so close that you can feel his lips forming the words against yours. “Can I touch you?” he murmurs.

You laugh softly again. “If you weren’t so opposed to being ordered around, I would have already told you to.”

Tom’s arm around your waist tightens and pulls you into another kiss, and this time when his tongue brushes your lips you reach up and take his other hand from where he’s still cupping your face, gently guiding it down your neck, down the swell of your chest – Tom’s breathing takes on that same brittle quality – down your hip, your thigh, coming to a stop where the hem on your dress rests just above your knees.

Your lips draw from his and there’s a ringing silence. Too quiet. You realise that you’re both holding your breath.

“Is this what you meant?” you ask softly.

Tom swallows, and he nods.

You kiss him again, sliding his hand up your thigh and under your dress. When you bring his hand up to the hollow where your thigh meets your hip, Tom exhales again, breaking the kiss as his head tilts down. “I… I’ve never…” he says slowly, swallowing again. “I don’t know what to do,” he finishes quietly, and you can hear the conflict in his voice, his pride battling with his desire.

“Would you like me to show you?” you murmur.

He takes a breath and nods again.

You guide his hand inwards, the touch of his fingers against the outside of your underwear making heat spread across your skin. Slowly, you push Tom’s hand into place and carefully press to curve his fingers. When he feels how wet you are Tom breathes out very shakily and then – to your surprise – his lips are against yours, kissing you as you move his fingers with your own, showing him what to do.

He’s a fast learner. Tom’s fingers slide gently against you, mimicking what you show him and kissing you the whole time – it’s too much very quickly, and you can’t keep yourself from moaning as searing pleasure burns at his touch, smothered by his kiss. Soon you draw your hand away, confident that he knows how to continue, and place your palm against his cheek to draw him closer into the kiss. Tom’s grip around you tightens, his tongue meeting yours, the pressure and speed of his fingers just barely increasing and making you gasp into his mouth.

“Like that?” he asks softly.

“Like that,” you breathe, your eyes squeezing shut as tension coils in your core. “Don’t… don’t stop…”

Tom’s mouth presses hot against your jaw and your head falls back automatically, his lips moving – just like yours had  – right on the vulnerable part under your jawbone.

You feel the pleasure hike, growing and growing, and then with your palm still flat on Tom’s cheek and your other curled into a fist around his tie, it hits you hard, gasping as the dark closet seeming to spin with lights for a moment before you slowly come down.

Tom slowly draws his hand from you, and over your own panting you can hear him take a long, tense breath that sounds suspiciously shaky.

“Now,” you say a little breathlessly, “it’s your turn.”

Tom is silent as you slide your palm down his neck, his chest, keeping one hand fixed around his tie as the other brushes his hip, slips under his shirt again and traces the top of his trousers.

With a small, sharp tug on his tie, Tom’s mouth is nearly against yours again and you hear his breath stutter. “Do you want me to touch you?” you whisper against his lips.

He swallows. Nods.

Your fingers curl around the button of his trousers, pull it open, and then slowly undo the zip. Tom reaches up and takes your face in his hands, taking another shaky breath as his forehead presses against yours, and you can almost imagine his eyes closing, the tension on his face, the wanting.

Slowly, knowing that you’re teasing him, you slide your hand against his skin just beneath the line of his trousers, feeling the flat warmth of his stomach, the sharp angle of his hip bone – Tom’s hands hold your face tighter and he’s trying to control his breathing as you push your hand lower, lower –

There’s a rap on the door that makes you both jump and you pull your hand from him quickly.

“Time’s up!” someone yells from outside, muffling charm broken. “That’s seven minutes!”

You suppress a laugh as you reach for your wand on the table next to you. Just when things were getting good… “Lumos Volant,” you say again softly.

From your wand the same ball of light erupts, and you freeze.

Tom is still standing in front of you, but he looks nothing like when you saw him last. The refined, impeccable, composed Tom Riddle has been replaced by a figure unlike any you’ve seen – Tom’s dark hair is tousled and curled, his eyes black with hunger, his lips slick and pink and his cheeks flushed. His tie hangs loose from his crumpled collar, his shirt untucked and his trousers still unbuttoned.

Worst of all is the way he’s looking at you.

Tom’s dark, ravenous eyes sweep over you in what must be the same way you’ve been looking at him, lingering on the sleeve of your dress fallen from your shoulder, the hem pushed up all the way to reveal your thighs where his elegant, pale hands are resting. Whatever he finds on your face catches his attention because his jaw tightens and he looks on the brink of leaning in again.

“We… should…” you say slowly, unable to look away from him.

He nods silently.

Neither of you move.

You clear your throat and force your gaze off his face, straightening your dress pointedly and standing. Tom’s uniform slides back into its usual perfection with a single wave of his hand, but as he moves to step past you, your palm flashes up and catches his chest. Tom looks down at you at once and your heart skips a beat at the heat in his eyes.

“Your… your hair,” you say sheepishly, nodding at it. “You might want to…” You reach up before he can and push your fingers through it, smoothing it out and returning it to its regular impeccable state.

Tom’s eyes don’t leave yours as you touch him, and your cheeks grow warm, pointedly not lowering your gaze to his as you work.

“There,” you say quietly, smiling at him as your hands drop.

He doesn’t step away. He just looks down at you.

Your face gets warmer still. “Listen,” you say softly, “do you… want to keep this between us?”

The barest hint of a frown appears on Tom’s face. “Why would I want that?” he asks evenly.

“I just thought you might,” you shrug.

His lips flicker into what might be called a smile. “Just your read on me?” he asks with the faintest brush of dry humour.

“So?” you smile, rolling your eyes slightly. “Would you like that?”

Tom’s expression falls sober. After a second he steps in a little closer and you can’t ignore the way your pulse spikes when he lifts his fingers and pushes your hair back behind your ear, so soft that you shiver. “Yes,” he says very quietly, “I would like that.”

You nod and quickly turn away before you can get distracted again, pulling the door open and humming absently as you step out. You know without needing to check that Tom is following you with that blank composure returned to his face.

“Oi oi,” Ruth calls, winking at you. “You sure took your time – longest seven minutes I’ve ever seen!”

“We just talked, Ruth,” you say with a wry grin, leaning against the back of the couch. “Tom is an excellent conversationalist.”

“Conversationalist?” she repeats, smirking. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“We should be going,” you say dryly, giving her a look. “It’s nearly three in the morning and we’ve got Apparating class tomorrow.”

“Merlin’s beard, if I don’t splinch myself it’ll be a bloody miracle,” Ruth mutters, standing. “Alright you lot, try not to do anything too irresponsible once we’re gone!”

You catch Tom’s eye as he sits back down on the couch, but both of you look away again.

“Good night lovely people!” Ruth calls gaudily, throwing an arm around your shoulders and leading you across the Slytherin common room towards the steps, “Oh – and Hartley.”

The circle snickers, and you chance one last glance over your shoulder at Tom – but he’s not looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the little table in between the black leather couches, on his wand resting there, still pointing at where you’d been sitting.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II HERE! 💖

To request sequels/being tagged in follow-ups, leave a reply in the notes!  💖

[the-modernmary]

when you gonna take me out? || derek morgan x GN!reader

Summary: You and Derek have been flirting pretty heavily for the past few weeks. So when his first time asking you out doesn't go as well as planned, he's determined to get you to say yes.

Warnings: mentions of getting shot, allusions to smut

A/N: Chapter title taken from Aly & AJ's "Take Me Out". This was inspired by a scene from the show community, and also because derek morgan deserves more love

~~~~~~~

“No, no, you see, asking somebody out is an art,” Derek explained to a very frustrated Spencer Reid. “And I think with a little practice, pretty boy, you could become a bit of a player.”

Prentiss, who had been listening to Derek trying to convince Spencer to let him be his wingman for the better part of an hour, scoffed from her desk. “Using a cheesy pickup line is an art now?”

“There is nothing wrong with a line!” Derek argued, leaning back in his desk chair. “It’s a knock at the door. And once they let you in, that’s when you strike.”

Spencer scrunched up his nose at Derek’s phrasing. “I think I’m going to leave the whole player thing to you.”

“Come on, Reid, it’s easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then why don’t you show us?” Prentiss shot.

Right at that moment, Garcia and JJ walked back into the bullpen, coffees in hand. “Show us what?” JJ questioned.

“Derek is trying to teach Reid how to flirt,” Prentiss explained. “But I think he’s just all talk. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Morgan with a significant other.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Hey, I don’t pry into your personal life?”

Garcia put a comforting hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Nobody can resist my chocolate thunder. I mean, look at him. He literally looks like he was sculpted by Michaelangelo.”

“I’m with Emily,” JJ chimed in. “I kind of want to see the Derek Morgan in action.”

Derek’s eyes scanned the bullpen until he landed on you, standing in the kitchen area and making yourself a cup of coffee. You were also a profiler, just on a different team that primarily focused on cold cases. It was no secret that you and Derek Morgan had been flirting pretty heavily the past few weeks — longing glances, pet names, and kisses on cheeks were just the start — and you both had a sneaking suspicion that there was an office pool betting on whether or not the two of you had already hooked up.

“Fine,” Derek said, standing up. “Watch and learn, Pretty Ricky.”

Derek sauntered over to the kitchen and leaned against the counter while reaching for a wooden stirrer. “Let me help you with that,” he offered.

You turned to look at him, a smile on your face. “Wow, what a gentleman,” you teased, but you handed your cup of coffee to him anyways. “I didn’t realize you knew how I take my coffee?”

“You learn a lot about somebody when you can’t take your eyes off them,” he pointed out. “Especially with the way you look right now. I mean, wow. Got a hot date tonight? Because he is one very lucky man.”

You arched an eyebrow in his direction. “Nope, no date.”

“Well, you do now, baby,” Derek grinned. “I’ll pick you up at 8:30.”

You stared at Derek, part amused and part incredulous. “Did you really think that would work?” you asked through a breathy chuckle.

Derek’s confident grin fell slightly as his eyes narrowed in confusion. “Wait, what?” he asked, unable to form any other words.

“Derek Morgan, I expected so much more from you,” you mused, snatching your coffee cup from his hand. “I know you can sweet talk better than that.”

It was Derek’s turn to raise his eyebrows, and he tried his best to ignore the barely-suppressed giggles from his teammates. “So is that a no?” he clarified, not used to the feeling of rejection. Although, it didn’t feel quite like a rejection, especially when you were smiling at him with just a hint of your tongue peaking out from between your teeth.

“It’s a… ‘better luck next time’,” you explained, taking a sip of your coffee.

Derek’s normal, confident grin returned to his face. “You’re saying I can ask you out again?” he clarified, because he did not want to be the guy who didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

You walked backwards to your desk, never taking your eyes off Derek. “Sure. It could be fun. But you’ll have to bring your A-game if you want me to say yes,” you told him, and oh, Derek Morgan loved a good challenge.

Derek walked back to his desk, feeling the stares of his teammates the whole way back.

“Like a knock on the door...” Prentiss quoted back to Derek. “So did you just get the door slammed in your face, or was nobody home?”

Derek scoffed and sat down in his chair, already coming up with all the new ways he could ask you out. He had been wanting to for a while, but the timing was always off. But now…

“Oh no, I’m in,” Derek promised, and his eyes were immediately drawn to you. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. “But I’m playing the long game.”

~~~~~~~

Derek and the rest of his team got pulled into a case shortly after, so you didn’t hear from him for about a week except for the occasional “how is it going?” text. They got back to the BAU in the middle of the day, but instead of heading straight home like the rest of his team, Derek made a beeline to your desk.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he greeted, dropping a quick kiss to your temple. “Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

A soft blush rose to your cheeks as you shut the file you were looking at, spinning your chair so that you could face him. “I missed you tons, as always. But you knew that.”

Derek’s eyes trailed up and down your body, and there was a softness to his gaze that you rarely ever saw from him. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Sore eyes?” you questioned. “I don’t know about that. Wasn’t there a meteor shower where you guys were at?”

“Yeah, but no meteor shower can compare to how beautifully your eyes sparkle.”

You tried really, really hard to hold in your laughter. You pressed your lips into a thin line and you bit the insides of your cheeks, but you were only so strong, and even Derek looked like he realized how cheesy and awful that line was.

You broke down into a fit of laughter. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, covering your mouth as you did. “I just — Did you google a top ten best pickup lines list on the plane ride back?”

Derek winced, but nodded in agreement. “That’s fair. Not my best work.”

“No, it was not, Romeo,” you said, patting his cheek. “But we’ll chalk it up to post-case sleep deprivation.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Derek grinned. “When the time comes, you won’t be able to say no.”

You laughed, throwing your head back as you did. “And I am eagerly awaiting that day.”

~~~~~~~

Two days later, Derek all but ambushed you at the elevator. As soon as you stepped out onto the 6th floor, Derek slung his arm around your shoulders, and used his free hand to carry your bag for you.

“Oh, this is exciting,” you mused. You reached your hand up to interlace your fingers with the hand that was draped over your shoulder. “What do you have for me today, baby?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Derek explained. “And you’re a modern, progressive, independent person. I think I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

You nodded in encouragement. He was so close, you just knew it. All he had to do was ask you.

“You don’t want to be dragged down by a bunch of strings. So how about you come over tonight, I’ll put on some mood music, light some candles, and you and I can have one perfect night of pure bliss.”

Or maybe he wasn’t as close as you thought.

“Nope,” you said, moving his arm off of your shoulders. You liked Derek Morgan, but you were not going to be another one of his one night stands. “Not gonna happen.”

“Better or worse than before?” Derek asked, already knowing the answer, and he handed your bag back to you.

“Worse. Much worse.” You paused and turned so that you were facing him. “But I like how forward you were. Keep that up.”

Derek smirked and leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “Yeah? So should I keep those candles just in case?”

You pretended to think about it for a few seconds. “With your current track record, baby boy, the only place you’ll be using those candles is in your dreams.”

“You’re already in my dreams, hot stuff,” he promised you. “Every. Single. Night.”

Oh god, that was a very welcome image you would think about forever. You knew that Derek liked you, and you had had your fair share of fantasies involving him in some pretty explicit situations, but him fantasizing about you? It was almost enough to convince you to drag him into the nearest empty room.

Almost. Because if he wanted a chance with you, he was going to have to actually ask you on a date.

Instead, you blew him a kiss and left him with: “And I bet I’m even better than you can imagine.”

Needless to say, the both of you spent the rest of the day incredibly distracted.

~~~~~~~

By that point, pretty everybody on the 6th floor knew what was going on, and they were all invested. More betting pools sprouted up, and even some of the more reserved agents were putting in their two cents, albeit under the guise of disapproval.

That’s why, when a bouquet of flowers appeared on your desk one morning, it was all anybody could talk about as they waited for you to get to work. Even Rossi and Hotch had found an excuse to get themselves out of their offices and into the main part of the bullpen.

“They’re going to say yes today,” Penelope guessed. “They have to. Everybody likes flowers, and this shows the sweet side of my chocolate thunder.”

Prentiss scoffed. “I hope they don’t. I have twenty bucks on at least two more rejections.”

Rossi, who was sitting on the edge of a desk, shook his head. “These are your friends. Don’t you guys feel bad about betting on their love lives?”

“Says the guy who has fifty dollars on ‘they get drunk and leave the bar together’,” Hotch said, not even looking up at the file he was skimming through. Hotch was one of the only ones who hadn’t put money into this whole thing, but he was still very well informed. “You all should really hide the whiteboard the bets are on a little bit better.”

Rossi was about to defend himself when you walked through the glass doors of the BAU. A hush fell over the room and they watched as your smile melted into realization and then nervousness.

You walked over to the bouquet and gingerly took the card, but you didn’t even get to read it when the first sneeze came. Then the next and the next, and pretty soon your eyes were watery, your nose running, and your throat was so scratchy that you sounded like you smoked four packs a day.

You tried to focus on your work, but the constant sneezing and needing to get up to blow your nose was seriously disrupting your productivity. You could barely focus because it felt like a head cold that just wouldn’t go away. Your pollen allergy was something you’d had your whole life, and when they hit, they hit bad.

The flowers were gorgeous and such a sweet gesture, but you didn’t even have the chance to really appreciate them while you could barely breathe through your nose. You were sure you were just a distraction

A hand on your shoulder made you jump, and you whipped around to see Hotch looking down at you with concern. You sighed. “I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner,” you said, your voice nasally. “I usually keep allergy meds in my bag, but it’s not pollen season and I—”

“Go home, agent,” Hotch interrupted you gently. “Get some rest. You can come back tomorrow when you feel better.”

“No, m’fine I just need to—” You cut yourself off this time with another sneeze, and then all you could do was agree with Hotch. “Yeah, I’m gonna go home. Thank you.”

You took the bouquet and walked over to Penelope, handing the glass vase over to her. “Will you please tell Derek that these are beautiful and that I’m so sorry—” You sneezed three times in a row, and by then you were too exhausted to even try talking anymore, so you just groaned and waved goodbye to the rest of Derek’s friends before dragging yourself out of the bullpen.

The next thirty minutes went on as usual, until Derek walked into the bullpen. He had been gone all morning doing a profiling seminar for academy recruits, so he had missed your quick descent into your allergic reaction.

His face fell slightly when he saw your empty desk, and it fell even more when he saw the flowers he had bought sitting on the corner of Prentiss’s desk and his entire team talking amongst themselves.

Derek walked up to them, a frown etched on his face. “Did they not show up for work today?” he asked.

“I sent them home,” Hotch explained, and if Derek didn’t know any better, he could have sworn that he saw the hint of a smirk on the corner of Hotch’s mouth.

Spencer’s smirk, on the other hand, was not even close to being hidden. “Hey Morgan, did you know that pollen allergies affect up to 20 million adults? And sunflowers and flowers in the aster family are considered some of the worst flowers for people who suffer with pollen allergies, since the pollen is so easily dispersed by the wind.”

Realization set in Derek and he cursed under his breath. You had mentioned once in passing that you liked the look of sunflowers, so he had assumed that those were the best flowers to get you. Clearly, he was wrong.

Noticing his dejected look, Garcia quickly interjected. “But they said that they’re beautiful and they looked like they really loved them,” she comforted. “And they wanted me to tell you that they’re sorry.”

Derek shook his head. How did he not know that you were allergic? That seemed like a pretty big thing. “No, they have nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to go wipe down their desk, make sure that it’s clean for them tomorrow.”

The team watched as Derek went over to your desk, taking his time to make sure that there was no flower residue left. They all quickly went back to discussing the bet, changing up their predictions now that they had more evidence to go off of.

Surprisingly, instead of going back to his office, Hotch spoke up. “Morgan isn’t used to being told no. He’s going to break down and beg.”

The team looked at Hotch incredulously. “I’ve never seen Morgan beg for anything,” JJ pointed out, and Hotch just shrugged.

“Well, are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?” Prentiss pressed.

Hotch sighed and shut the file he was holding. “I try not to make a habit out of betting on my subordinates' love lives.”

Rossi rolled his eyes. “He knows he’s wrong, he just wants to be a contrarian,” he told the team, baiting Hotch.

Hotch narrowed his eyes slightly. If anybody else had said that, he would have been able to walk away, but this was Rossi. So Hotch reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty from his wallet.

“None of this goes on any sort of record.”

~~~~~~~

“Derek Morgan, you got shot?”

You stood up from your desk as soon as you saw Derek and his team walk through the glass doors. It was way after hours, but the news of a shoot out at their last crime scene got back to you, and there was no way you were going to be able to go home knowing that Derek got hurt.

The rest of the team all shared a glance and quickly dispersed, giving you and Derek as much privacy as possible.

Derek made his way over to you, trying to look like he was in less pain than he actually was. “Don’t worry, hot stuff,” he told you, slumping down into his seat. “It just hit my vest.”

You stormed over to where he was sitting, worry evident on your face. “Yeah, I’ve been shot in the vest before!” you reminded him. “It still hurts like hell! What were you thinking?”

Derek forced a smile and held your hand in one of his own. “Baby, I’m okay. Really. I could even show you, if you wanted proof. Then you can stare at my abs without feeling guilty.” He took his free hand and started to lift up his shirt, and you quickly yanked your hand away from his.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, already in the process of storming away from him. “I cannot believe that you are seriously hitting on my right now. You just got shot and you’re asking me out? Agh!”

You started to walk away but Derek caught your hand just in time, laughing as he did. “Okay, don’t go, I’m sorry. I just…” he trailed off, suddenly getting serious. “I just really needed to see your smile.”

You mustered up the best smile you could. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Derek let out a long, audible exhale. “So am I,” he admitted. “I’ve never been more glad to be here doing paperwork.”

You rubbed your hands on the tops of your thighs. “I have some leftover takeout that I had for lunch. How about I heat that up and we can share it while I help you with your work?”

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll stay. I have nothing else to do.”

Derek grinned and kissed the top of your hand. “You’re too good to me.”

You smirked. “I know.”

Pretty soon, the two of you were hunched over his desk, sharing bites of dinner and chatting easily as you trudged through paperwork.

You quickly learned that he liked to read Kurt Vonnegut and that his eagle tattoo was because of a nickname he had gotten in college. You told him about your fear of the ocean and the time you accidentally set off your high school’s fire sprinkler system during chemistry.

It was nice to be able to just talk to him. It felt like you and him had been friends for years and years, not just the past two months. This Derek Morgan was different from any other version of him, and you loved it. If you didn’t already have the biggest crush on him, this just solidified it. You really, really liked him, and you really, really wanted him to just ask you on a date already.

As the night went on, the two of you had moved closer and closer, until your shoulders bumped and your legs were pressed up against each other. If you both turned your faces to look at each other, your noses would brush. And from there, it would only be a few centimeters until your lips would be on each other…

“Thank you for helping me with this,” he said suddenly, breaking you out of your fantasy. He turned towards you, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “You didn’t have to stay, but… it meant a lot that you did.”

You smiled and tried to control your erratic heartbeat. “It was no problem. I’m happy to do it, anytime. Are you feeling any better?”

“A little,” he admitted. “But do you know what would make me feel even better?”

You finally turned to look at him, and his face was so much closer than you expected. “What is that?” you whispered, unable to force yourself to speak any louder.

Derek’s lips quirked up in a smile and he moved impossibly closer to you. His lips were brushing against yours, and all you had to do was lean in just a little bit. Then he met your eyes, and they really did sparkle, and for the first time in his adult life, Derek lost all of his nerve.

“You could kiss it better,” he suggested. “Because you are much hotter than any of the EMTs at the scene.” Derek grimaced internally, knowing that he came off sounding like an asshole. All he had to do was ask you on a date. It should have been easy. So why couldn’t he?

You closed your eyes and sighed exasperatedly, pulling away. “Wow, fumbled at the five yard line,” you teased, trying to hide your disappointment. You had thought that Derek and you were really having a moment, but maybe he really just didn’t want strings attached.

Derek frowned slightly, but tried to laugh it off. It was the first time that he thought he actually had a chance with you, and he blew it. “Yeah, I guess I did, huh?”

You fought a smile as you stood up out of your chair. “Mhm. But there’s always tomorrow. And since you’ve had such a rough past few days…”

You spun Derek’s chair around so that he was facing you, and you placed your hands on the arms of his chair, leaning over him. The two of you kept eye contact for what felt like ten years, and his cologne was making you dizzy. Slowly, you pressed a lingering kiss right on the corner of his lips. Derek’s breath got caught in his throat as you pulled yourself away, albeit on shaky legs.

“And that’s all the lovin’ you’re getting from me tonight,” you teased.

Derek leaned back in his chair, his hand over his heart in what looked to be a dramatic display of affection. In truth, he was trying to calm his rapid heartbeat however he could. “Oh, light of my life,” he cooed. “That’s more than enough. It’s the only win I’ve gotten all week.”

~~~~~~~

It had been a few days since your night in the office with Derek, and he hadn’t tried anything, which worried you. He wasn’t avoiding you, and the two of you still exchanged pleasantries throughout the day, but he wasn’t flirting with you anymore.

Part of you wondered if you were too harsh with him that night, if you should have just kissed him and gone home with him. But within the past few weeks, your infatuation with Derek Morgan had turned into a full blown crush, as juvenile as it sounded, and you did not want to be another notch in his bedpost. So you were willing to wait it out, to see if you would actually say the words: “Do you want to go out with me?”.

As if you had summoned him, Derek Morgan wheeled his chair over to your desk and put down a coffee cup from your favorite little cafe in front of you.

“Iced vanilla latte with oat milk?”

“You know both of my coffee orders?” you grinned. “I’m impressed.”

“Consider it a bribe,” Derek said, and you raised your eyebrow as a response.

“A bribe?”

“Please go out with me,” Derek asked, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “Pretty please. This was fun for a while, but now you are the only thing I think about. I can’t do my job, and I can barely sleep. I feel like I’m going crazy. You are so hot and so smart and so funny. Please let me take you on a date.”

The smile that grew on your face was so big that your cheeks started to hurt. “I’d love that.”

Derek seemed shocked that his attempt actually worked, and he blinked a few times just to make sure he heard you correctly. “Seriously? It’s a yes?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, taking a sip of the coffee Derek got you. “You finally asked me. Of course I said yes.”

“All I’ve been doing the past few weeks has been asking you,” he pointed out.

You hummed to yourself as you scrunched up your nose. “No. You told me that we were going on a date, asked me to have sex with you twice, and the rest of the times, you just used pick up lines. This is the first time you ever actually asked.”

Derek stared at your wordlessly, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out what to say. Finally, he landed on: “That’s all it took?”

“Yup,” you replied, popping the ‘p’. “Although, I do want to hear more about my eyes and the meteor shower.”

Derek let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he did. “I will be sure to tell you all about it. And more. I’ll pick you up at 8?”

You were practically beaming as you watched Derek stand back up. “That sounds perfect. Oh, and Derek? I hope you still have those candles out and ready to use.”

“Baby, I never put them away.” Derek winked at you before walking back to his desk. Prentiss was mumbling something about owing Hotch money, but Derek was so high up on cloud 9 that he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“See Reid,” Derek said as he took his seat at his desk. “That’s what we call ‘playing the long game’.”

“Finally,” Spencer grumbled, his nose buried in some book Derek didn’t recognize. “Took you long enough to realize.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed together. “You knew?”

Spencer scoffed, flipping the page of the book he was reading. “I knew from the first time they rejected you.”

Derek leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. “Man, why didn’t you tell me?”

Spencer finally looked up from his book, his eyebrow quirked up. “You were ‘playing the long game’,” he quoted in a bad impression of Derek’s voice. “And since I’m running it, I get a cut of the entire betting pool, no matter who won, so it was in my best interest to keep it going as long as possible.”

Derek shook his head in disbelief. “I see. That pretty face of yours is hiding an evil genius.”

Spencer hummed in agreement and went back to his book. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “They want you to take them to that Mediterranean place two blocks down.”

“Okay, there is no way you know that,” Derek groaned, rolling his eyes.

“You don’t have to take my advice, but you should. Clearly, you’re helpless,” Spencer shrugged, and Derek laughed as he threw a crumpled piece of paper at him.

When Derek picked you up that night, he made sure that the flowers he brought you were hypoallergenic, and the Mediterranean place ended up being the right choice, not that he would ever admit that to Spencer.

And he did, for the record, make sure to set out those candles he promised, but at the end of the night, the two of you were too busy tearing off each other’s clothes to even bother lighting them.

[nctsworld]

in a king-size, say i’m your queen

✩‌ renjun ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ prince!renjun | fluff | smut | ‌3.4k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ you’re drawn to the kingdom’s prince staying at your family’s inn. on the night before he leaves, you exchange good-byes in the form of a kiss and more. WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌smut (near the end), unprotected s*x, f*ngering, oral s*x (m receiving), mentions of alcohol/drinking, commoner!reader, dash of angst RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ mature PROMPT ⇾‌ prince/royalty au // fluff + smut REQ BY ⇾‌ anonymous   ‌

⇾‌ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

“Prince Huang, this is my family, who will be looking after you during your stay.”

Your father awoke everyone from deep slumber in the middle of the night, hollering at everyone to put on their work clothes in a hurry. Little did anyone expect the actual prince himself to be taking a rest at your family’s inn, for several days apparently.  

As the youngest and only daughter among your kin, your father introduces you last in line to greet the prince and his companions. With sleep still in your eyes, you curtsy as gracefully as you can, once towards the prince and another towards his followers.

The sleep in your eyes disappears as your eyelids suddenly bloom at your first clear look at the man standing a few steps across from you.

Everyone within the kingdom obviously knew of the royal family, but being this far from the mainland never granted you the chance to see them in-person. There were rumours far and wide of how captivating and beautiful the family was, especially the prince, but you assumed they were exaggerating, fueling the propaganda mill that all royalty were gorgeous, godly beings.

Oh, to be absolutely wrong.

Air’s snatched from your lungs when his warm smile burgeons, warming the room more than the fireplace ever could.

He holds his gaze on you, placing a palm on his chest and saying, “My dearest apologies for disturbing your dreams. It was a must though; we haven’t stopped anywhere in days and finally found your inn.”

Your father replies to his words, while you blink observantly at the royal figure. You wonder if it’s due to the lack of sleep or simply all in your head, but you swear his glances waver over at you more than your other family members.

“Well, I will retire to bed now and won’t be requiring your services until morning. Please resume your slumbers, and I wish you all the sweetest of dreams.”

Puffing his cheeks cutely, he bends his head slightly towards your family, while all of you dip and bow to him. When you two jointly look up, your gaze surely connects with his.

Funny enough, his wish comes true as his beauty rules over your dreams, molding them into sweet ones, for the rest of the night.  

On the second morning of his stay, you watch him relaxing at the back of the inn among the luscious greenery. In a loose white-button up, he’s sitting by himself, save for a guard nearby, and lounging in a chair under the spring sun.

Prior to starting on your tasks for the day, you stroll towards him with a jug in hand. Smiling freely, his eyes are shut as you approach him.

“Sorry to disturb you, Your Royal Highness—”

His eyes flutter open at your divine voice and his smile deepens.

“But would you care for some lemon juice?”

The boyish man hums in acceptance and he’s glued to how you carefully pour the liquid into his chalice. His eyes track the path of your departure after you leave the jug on the table and head towards a group of trees in the farther end of the garden.

Though he delights in the picturesque image of you skillfully picking the yellow fruit, which he assumes are lemons, off the tree from your wooden ladder and dropping them into the bucket hanging from your hand, a desire simmers in his stomach to be in your presence. The prince's guard follows behind him discreetly as the handsome individual makes his way over and speaks to you from below.

“May I assist you?” he offers.

His appearance startles you for a moment, then your stare unintentionally drops over the exposed skin of his upper frame. You ponder over the smoothness of his skin and imagine yourself leaving kisses upon his clavicle, on his chest, going downward further and further...

Clearing your throat and shaking your head to focus, you airily laugh at his question. The highness’s eyebrows crease, perplexed by your response.    

“Prince Huang—”

“Call me Renjun, please,” he interrupts, laying a palm against his chest. “I insist.”

“Prince Huang,” you reiterate, not wanting to breach the formalities. “It’s my duty—and an honor if I may add—to pick these lemons for you, not yours.”

“Well, as prince,” Renjun gently seizes the bucket away from your grasp. “I order you to allow me to assist you.”

Incredulously, you stare at him for a lingering moment and he engages equally, delving into your glowing aura.

Since you can’t reject his order, you yield and continue to pick the lemons off the tree, now plopping them into the bucket held by Renjun. Throughout the comfortable silence, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you for one second, admiring how elegant you are with the light breeze blowing through your hair.  

He wonders to himself if you’re aware of your devastating beauty.  

A couple of nights pass and during one evening, in the shared resting area, you find Renjun situated adjacent to the fireplace, reading a book alone (with a guard lurking close by, of course).

The prince’s features are already so soft, but he seems ethereal with the fire’s glow against his face. You’re reminded of the first night he arrived.  

As you usually do, you query if he needs anything before you retire to your room.  

He replies negatively, but then adds, “Would you like to hear some of the story I’m reading before bed?”

Shaking your head, you tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose—”  

“Not at all,” Renjun beams. He gestures for you to sit in the seat beside him, and you do so with prickling cheeks.  

His fingers flip a few pages back and he tells the short story from the beginning. Your cheek tips into your palm as you listen intently. Yes, the story is intriguing, but you’re also focused on Renjun’s voice. It’s soothing, yet lively with the specific parts in which he modulates his tone to flow perfectly with the storytelling.

And then you drift over his plush, kissable lips. You will yourself to focus on the story, rather than the reader.

In between his reading, he peers up from the pages to see if you’re still interested to hear the rest of the story, not wanting to waste your time nor bore you to death. He reads the dazzling expression on your face as a signal to finish until the very end.

When it’s over, Renjun asks if you enjoyed it. You hum positively and stand up, excusing yourself to formally leave for the night. You exchange pleasant good-nights and sweet dreams. While you shuffle off, before you’re past the doorway, he pipes up—

“Perhaps I can read you another story tomorrow evening?”

You turn around by the end of his sentence, grasping onto the doorframe.

Renjun continues, his grip tightening around the closed book. “If you wish.”

Your lips press together, in hopes to suppress a grin. It doesn’t work too well.  

“I’d like that very much.”

Time flies, and it’s already the second to last day before Renjun’s departure. Your family decides to arrange a party at the inn, inviting the fellow townspeople to join as well.  

Fittingly, Renjun sits in the middle of the long table alongside his associates and is entertained by the spectacle of the event. After the townspeople grant him gifts and dinner is served, the dancing commences. Throughout the evening, he keeps a constant eye out for you.

All night, you serve the guests and barely have time to properly eat your own meal. However, as the night lengthens, your parents urge you to live a little. In the middle of the hall, you rush to unite with your close friends, clasping onto their hands and dancing around in circles to the merry music.

The royal figure radiates, enticed from the scene of you laughing and jumping in joy, having never seen this side of you before. His heart flops at the endearing sight and an itch overcomes him. Taking a sip of his wine, Renjun anxiously wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and heads towards you onto the dance floor.  

Gasps trail behind his steps as he floats through the domino effect of bowing people. He casually says his thank you’s to everyone in passing and as the domino effect finally reaches a stop within the middle of the room, you’re the last one to formally greet him.

“Your Royal Highness,” you curtsy with a small smile.

He acknowledges with a bow of his head and shocks you by holding his palm out.

“May I share a dance with you?”

Your heart pounds in your ears as you glance around the room to ensure he’s talking to you and not mistakenly someone else. Additionally, you’re surveying the prospects because you are definitely not the most worthy to dance with royalty; the mayor’s daughter should be owed this dance, not you. You also shamefully touch your work outfit, wishing you were wearing something cleaner and more extravagant.

“Prince Huang, are you sure you want to dance with me?” you murmur, despite how everyone quieted down and can hear what you’re saying.

“Of course,” he stretches out for your hand and possesses it in his.

“Who else would I want to share a dance with?”

Your friends and all other parties now disperse and surround the two of you, dancing to their own fulfillment as you’re left in an imaginary bubble with just Renjun. Every twirl, spin, and bounce generates endless vivacious laughter from the both of you. You dance deeper into the night until your faces and feet soon ache, until it was almost only the two of you on the dance floor.      

Because of the aching, you stumble at one point, crashing into Renjun’s body.

He catches you in his arms. You look up into his eyes, then at his lips merely fingertips away from yours. Renjun’s liquored panting fans your face and you drown in it without reservation.

His eyes flicker to your lips too, and he gulps. Bravely, he raises his palm to caress your cheek, but as his skin touches yours, it jolts you to your core, popping you out of your secluded bubble and dragging you into reality.

Pulling apart from him, the prince asks if you’re okay.

You nod thoughtlessly, quickly thank him for the dance, and spew that you should begin to clean-up the hall, leaving him on the dance floor.

Renjun brings a finger to his lips and watches you run off.  

The last evening of his stay finally arrives. In your nightgown before bedtime, forgetting to ask if he needed anything before you changed out of your work clothes, you knock on his room’s door with the guard on-duty beside it.

His muffled voice beckons you to come in, and you open the door ajar to creep your head through the space. Noticing it’s you, he immediately drops the book he was reading onto his bedside table.  

“Prince Huang, did you need anything else before you leave tomorrow?”

Legs dangling off the largest bed at the inn, he thinks to himself for a few moments. He twists his mouth to one side, tapping a finger on his chin.

“I think I have everything in order...”

Then, he tilts his head to one side and puckers his lips. He darts onto his feet and adds, “Can you come in for a moment though? And please shut the door behind you.”

You’re taken aback by his request. Nevertheless, you fulfill it and close the door behind you as you walk in. Renjun’s eyes widen at the sight of you in your nightgown, clicking together why you didn’t fully come into his room in the first place.  

You rub one of your arms. “Sorry for my indecent clothing—”

“No, I’m sorry, uhm,” he palms the back of his neck nervously. “I just wanted to say a few words, so I’ll be quick.”  

He steps closer to you. Both of you stand in the middle of the room and he continues.

“Before I leave, I want to make sure you know that I quite enjoyed my stay here because of you and your family’s fine service, but I enjoyed it even more because of your cordial company.”

At his earnest appraisal and personal compliment, your cheeks flare and your jaw dangles. You bow with your head. “Thank you, Prince Huang.”

Renjun then faces the floor and picks at his fingers, trying to formulate his thoughts.

“I don’t normally do this and I’m about to ask the following not as a prince, but as a normal man. And let me preface it by saying that, as a man of my word, you are not obligated or pressured to agree to what I’m about to ask; you have every right to say no.”

He sputters everything so fast, it takes a bit for you to process his words. When it sinks in, you’re still unsure exactly what he’s talking about. Worried, you raise your eyebrows, anticipating his inquiry.  

Noting your confusion, he exhales a lengthy breath and goes straight to the point.

“As a send-off and to demonstrate my gratitude…”

He meets your gaze.

“May I kiss you?”

Your jaw, along with your eyes, hangs this time. Awestruck, you blink rapidly and inhale sharply as you stay frozen in place.

“I know it may be one-sided, but at yesterday’s gathering, I thought we shared a special moment and perhaps it’s my fault I acted upon it since we were among people, so I apologize for that—”

“You may kiss me,” you cut him off, relieved to hear his thoughts, and close the space between yourselves.

It’s his turn to don the rapid blinking.

“Are-are you sure?”

Cautiously, his palm cups your cheek, mirroring the memory of last night, then he adds his other.

“Yes, Pr-”

“Renjun, please.”

“Yes, Renjun—”

You collide as he captures your lips. He exudes innocence and it shows in his kissing; he starts off gently and barely expands his mouth. Each movement is lovely and oozes affection. Your fingers tug lightly at his nightwear, body humming emphatically in response.

However, as he tests the water, his kissing is soon stripped of innocence and is replaced by a sinful hunger. While his tongue slips into your mouth, grazing against your teeth, his hands traverse your body and confront your waist and neck, squeezing them upon arrival. You eagerly reciprocate his change of pace, desperately running your fingers through his hair and angling your neck to better the searing, open-mouthed kisses.

Since there aren’t many layers covering either of you, you’re blatantly aware of Renjun’s growing desire against your body.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he pants, “May I take you to bed?”

You bob your head fervently and croak, “Yes.”

“Yes…?”

You grin into the next kiss at his playfulness.

“Yes, Renjun.”

In retrospect, being taken in a guest room at your family’s inn was strange, but you couldn’t think much of it within the moment.

At the moment, all you yearn for is Renjun’s weight on you, locking your body into the bed with his. Lip-locked as he lays you down, he satisfies your yearning hastily.

While he dominates your neck, one of his hands is rashly underneath your nightgown and ascends to the haven of your breasts. You gasp at the initial contact, your fingers tightening in his hair and over his shoulder blade.

He kneads the meat of your tits momentarily, but he’s more fixated on attending to your nipples. Renjun’s thumb tenderly rubs over them prior to his loving pinches. At this point, his mouth zones in and nibbles on your earlobe, so he listens to your rising panting and erotic moans crystal clear.

Following his massaging and playing of your other breast, he withdraws from you to disrobe your layer in one-go and you return the favour to peel away his.  

Renjun’s purity ignites once more as he reveres your bare body, lovingly scanning all your curves and lines.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispers.  

Fluttering your eyelids, you lightly bite your bottom lip between your teeth. Truly, it was too easy for him to make your cheeks spark this often. He converges with your mouth sweetly before he wraps his pretty lips around your nub.

“Oh, my God, Renjun—”

Because your eyes snap in gratification, you can’t see the smirk on his face. He indulges in you calling him by his first name, especially so melodiously and within this context. A hand finds purchase upon the neighbouring breast, and another hovers under your warmth. Your hips buck heedlessly, begging for his fingers to dive further.  

They do so when he switches his embrace upon your breasts. Although you know he must feel it, the obscene, loud sounds of him fingering your sex confirm how wet you are for him. Renjun peeks an eye open to your wanton self. He adores the view in addition to your dripping pleasure contracting and spilling over his digits.  

Moving ahead, he retreats from you and mounts himself on the bed on his knees, stroking himself to harden himself for what’s to come. Despite still being breathless from your high, you rise onto your knees to match his stance in front of him.

Your dominant hand grasps his possession, taking over for him. Simultaneously, your mouth finally has the chance to reign over the smoothness of his frame—his neck, his carved clavicle, the expanse area of his chest, and his soft abdomen. He sighs blissfully, eyes batting.        

Your mouth proceeds lower to where your hand is located and aids to the swelling of Renjun’s desire. He gawks, mouth hanging, at the beautiful arching of your back and your enthusiasm as you engulf him.

Gripping him by the base, you stroke to the measure of your bobbing. To keep him enraptured, you occasionally focus on his tip, such as with the swirling and flicking of your tongue and initiating vigorous, targeted sucking. Not wanting him to reach climax yet, you pull away from him with a pop, but not before you leave a delicate kiss upon the glossy apex.

Once again, you recline downward onto the bed, except now with spread legs. Renjun pumps his wet length and lines it up with your glistening crevice. You stare at his cock upon penetration, and the flood of sensations from the impact causes you to crane your head into the pillow.  

Hands encompassing your waist, the lover thrusts gradually at first, allowing you to acclimatize to his girth. After some time, he surrenders to his carnal urges and plunges deeper with speed. Your chest heaves as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving half-moons on his skin. Lowering himself, he secures your lips for a fleeting, sentimental moment.

To your surprise, Renjun picks up the rhythm even further, leading you to wail his name and incoherent noises repeatedly. In hopes to quell yourself, you lightly bite down on the meat of your index finger. It only partially helps since whimpers still trickle out from you.  

Both of you are nearing. Aching to be even more intimate with you, his hand flees from the flank of your body and over your head to lace his fingers with yours. His intertwining compresses alongside the pinching of his face. With your finger in pain, you release it and let loose. As one, you moan in sync with Renjun and you break together. He extracts himself, painting your stomach in white ribbons.  

Inhaling much needed air, you settle upon Renjun’s chest with his arm around you. He trifles with your fingers in his before he kisses the back of your hand.

“If you ever have the chance to come by the kingdom, I implore you to find me.”

Peering up at him, you agree enthusiastically. “Of course, Renjun.”  

With pink tinting over his face, he cups you by your chin.

“Promise?”

Hesitancy pumps through your blood. You know the chances of you ever leaving your home town would be very unlikely, and even if you could, you two could never be together for he is of royal blood, and you of none.

Nevertheless, you dare not to break the twinkling, awaited expression upon his face, so you reply—

“I promise.”

Sharing another kiss, you stay with him in the bed for a little while longer, savoring the brief amour as much as possible.