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crystalflygeo · 1 year

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Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Slave!Omega!Dragoness!Reader-

cw/tags: mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics, mating bites, fingering, scenting, pet names, zhongli has a knot and alpha fangs and is not afraid to use them lmao, some nip and clit stimulation ig?? emotional roller coaster ngl.

notes: So remember a loooong time ago when I held a poll and one of the options was "dragon" and it WON?? well actually it was this, (dragon READER heh) it just got WAY out of control. 5.6k words and now I wanna make it into a whole series //head in hands// anyway ye have this weird lil funky AU I poured my sweat blood and tears into (also my heart and soul) idk why I am just so attached I love it so much plsss I have ideas fot other scenes with them already aaaaaaaaa <3

Partially inspired by some of @silentmoths' fics holy shIT I LOVE DRAGON READER AND I LOVE OMEGAVERSE NOD IF YOU AGREE!!

Last but not least if y'all wanna be part of my pinglist uhh I'm making one now so :3c

Part 2 ->

Strange yellow leaves fall around you all over the courtyard…

“Fix your clothes, you have to look appealing… well, as appealing as a creature like you can be.” The voice of your Master calls out harshly, pulling and tugging at details in your outfit. It was a flimsy and silky thing, mostly see-through, rather elegant, but very revealing.

You’re used to it.

“And stop looking so miserable! You better smile and please this Alpha. He’s not just anyone, you know?”

You nod meekly, trying to hide the slight trembling on your body. This will be just another bonding attempt. Nothing else.

It will fail. Just like all the others before.

Silver chains clink and tug the collar at your neck, it shakes you back to the present as you stumble forward.

Master guides you through a maze of corridors, with sleek surfaces of dark wood, decorative lanterns and paper screens. They’re strange, covered in even stranger symbols that look nothing like the ones back in the desert. Your bare feet, used to rough hot sand, now walk along polished wood with your draconic tail dragging behind. Everything looks so lavish…

You’ve been brought all the way to Li- Liu-… Li-yue? A foreign country, to meet a potential client. Well, a client to your Master. You are just the merchandise: a dragonblood Omega. Rare, unique even, “exotic”.

But defective.

Your fists clench in nervousness. How rough will this Alpha be with you? You dread to find the answer. Alphas were cruel, ever since you remember you’ve been taught to please, be gentle, obedient and look pretty, but they were never any of those things. Alphas just took their pleasure and used your body as they wanted, usually until you were crying and screaming, begging for mercy. You just hope this Alpha would give you some pity and be quick… or give you time to rest in between attempts.

Though you had learned since long that your wishes don’t tend to come true.

What a disappointment. After I spent so much money and resources on you.

Such a waste of time, what use is there in an Omega that can’t bond?

Why do I even bother with you? You’re just good for the reproduction camp. Maybe that way you can produce another dragonblood.

This is your last chance, mutt. If you fail again, I won’t be bothering with you anymore.

You feel anxiety creeping on your chest, heart jumping to your throat as the dark thoughts invade your mind. Last chance… your last chance at bonding. At proving you’re not useless and stupid. At serving your purpose as Omega. What was happening to you was fair. You deserve to be punished and you should be grateful you have one last chance after all your failures.

You just want to… to…

Tears prickle at your eyes and you breathe in deeply, trying to contain your distress and hugging your own tail, rubbing your face on the fluffy tip.

Whatever happens today, your fate is going to be sealed.

The nest room is nice.

Like the rest of the place, it is rather elegant, dimly lit with neutral colors and wooden walls, filled with pillows and blankets that had a very subtle flowery aroma to them. Small cabinets to one side with some decorative objects on top and a full-length mirror on the other side. So much different from the barren cold stone walls and tents from the desert camps.

“Hm, pretty fancy.” Master says taking off your collar, your soft unblemished neck now on display, free from any claim. “Now…” He pulls at your hair and you wince, whining and lowering your ears on a submissive display. He wouldn’t hurt you right? You have to look pretty. “The emperor will be here shortly. Make sure to do anything and everything he wants. And you better smile, I told you.”

“E-Emperor?” You pale, eyes widening.

He scoffs and pushes you back, you stumble back into the mess of pillows. “That’s right. I don’t know why but he was very adamant to see you it seems. Perhaps he just wants the prestige of owning the last known dragonblood, hm? Another novelty for his collection, I’m sure. You should consider yourself really lucky. So…” He flashes his Alpha fangs at you with a growl and you whimper again, cowering. “I would suggest you do your best and don’t disappoint this time, he’ll pay a pretty penny for you.”

And with that he leaves, muttering something and almost slamming the strange sliding door.

And so, you’re alone.

Immediately your brain goes into overdrive. An emperor? You had been presented to various Alphas of high status before, wealthy merchants and high-ranking tribe members, but this… this was probably a whole other level.

An emperor had to have an empress, right? Someone of noble birth and high status such as himself, not a lowly sand lizard like you, with weird ears, scales, horns and a tail. Why would he want to see an Omega like you? Perhaps Master was right, he intended to keep you as a trophy in his collection, another pretty thing.

It was humiliating.

But anything was better than being doomed to the reproduction camp…

Maybe the emperor had a harem? You’ve heard of them before, some Alphas liked to boast having many Omegas bound to them. Living in this luxury, not having to worry about much anything except looking pretty and pleasing him once a while. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even pay attention to you, you’d be just a glorified pet.

You could… do that.

Without noticing, your tail starts swaying after you, this could be a chance. Your chance. You just had to make him like you. Forget the bond. Don’t think about it. All you have to do is please him.

You start frantically arranging the sheets and pillows around, building the comfiest nest you ever had with all the extra material, scenting it with excited happy pheromones. You could do it, this was your chance.

You won’t fail this time. You’ll be pretty, obedient, submissive, the ideal Omega. You’ll let him use you to his heart’s content, sure you may be a little sore but it’ll be worth it if he chooses you. He won’t even care about the bond.

…Right?

You jolt when you hear the door slide slightly open again, your heart leaps to your throat as someone walks in.

Oh.

Is… he the emperor? … He’s handsome.

To be fully honest, you expected some fat pompous middle-aged man not this… perfect specimen of an Alpha.

Your tail sways a little with curiosity.

He looks only slightly older than you, tall, wearing elegant robes in brown and golden hues. His eyes are like a sunset: golden, warm, almost glowing. A red liner accentuating them. Long chocolate hair faded to amber at the tips. His scent was earthy and pleasant, subtle unlike most Alpha musk. Almost comforting and… familiar?

He seems to stare back at you with the same surprise, frozen for a moment, eyes slightly wide, he says something you can’t quite hear and it shakes you out of the spell. You suddenly feel a little self-conscious, curling your tail around you, ears down and resisting the urge to brush (hide) the scales at the corners of your eyes.

It occurs to you that you’ve been just staring like an idiot, you don’t know very well how to address him, nor know his foreign tongue. So, you simply lower your head in respect. “My Lord…”

You suddenly feel nervous. This is it.

You turn around, following the motions ingrained in your brain. Body splayed on the nest, arms tucked in, head down. Submissive, obedient. Your hands are shaking, you feel dizzy, heart thrumming in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

You lift your butt just slightly, tail curling elegantly over your back, out of the way to expose the flimsy fabric covering your privates, properly presenting to the Alpha. You focus on trying to control your pheromones, letting out just whiffs of a needy sensual scent, worried of mixing in your anxiety and fear and displeasing the emperor.

You had to be pretty, enticing, compliant, and he would, h-he would…

A rather awkward cough has you tense. “There is… no need for that.”

You blink for a moment, taken aback at the rich deep baritone of his voice, so hypnotizing you almost don’t register his words. He speaks common tongue, but still, what does he mean? Isn’t this just… standard protocol for bonding? Isn’t he going to mount you?

You dare peek over your shoulder and see him sitting elegantly over his knees at the floor. He’s outside of the nest range.

He’s also slightly pink at the cheeks and pointedly avoiding looking at you.

Is this a trap? Is he testing you to see if you’ll misbehave? Your hands clench, nails digging at your palms, your breathing and heart increasing pace.

“I just want to talk, I promise.” He tries.

You hold the position.

He sighs, and then-

“Omega, relax.”

You almost squeak at the Alpha command. His voice, his will, seeps into your skin, your nerves, your very bones. You feel your muscles loosen up, tension leaving your body like a bowstring snapping and you lie on the sheets sideways.

Right right right, you’re tense, you have to be soft and pliant-

You look over at him and he’s… heading over to the little cabinets. He picks up a kettle of some kind and little cups that sit on the top, moving around calmly and elegantly as he seems to prepare something. Your head tilts and you gingerly sit up straight. Tail and ears down, curled up not unlike a wounded animal.

“Do you speak the common tongue?”

“Y-Yes!” You nod. “A little…”

“Good.”

The emperor seems… pleasant, he is calm and unguarded, so different from the cold intimidating Alphas you’ve met who like to show off, who immediately order you around. He even used an Alpha command on you but it felt… grounding. There is something equally eerie and entrancing about him and you feel yourself as much drawn to him as terrified of his imposing aura, and you couldn’t explain why. It’s a bit unsettling but also comforting at the same time.

He pours two cups and turns to you. You stiffen and he offers you one.

“Qixing tea is one of the most refined Liyue teas. It tends to be very bitter but this blend has a more pleasant taste, a little floral even. It is also said to help relax one’s mind.”

You carefully take the cup, not wanting to insult such gracious offer, though you’re utterly confused, shouldn’t you be the one serving him?

The cup is warm.

You stare at the golden liquid, small black dots sit at the bottom. This has no alcohol… right? It can’t be worse than snake wine at least.

You carefully take a sip, trying to imitate how the emperor is holding his.

It is… nice, a strong sharp taste but not bad, and very aromatic.

He’s looking at you expectantly and your tail and ears twitch. “I-It’s very good. Thank you, my Lord.”

He smiles and your heart skips a beat. “I am glad. Some say Qixing tea is for older people, but it’s frankly one of my favorites.” He stares at his cup with a somewhat nostalgic gaze, as if it brings him fond memories. “Ah, you can address me as Morax.”

You nod quietly and take another sip. Past the tea’s powerful flowery scent, you can now sense his Alpha pheromones, with him being so close and the air less tense. They’re strong but not overwhelmingly so, sharp and tantalizing, a refined foreign scent you can almost taste in the back of your throat. It stirs something in you, something warm and alluring.

“Do you know where were you born? Who are your parents?”

The question takes you by surprise for a moment as you shake out of your thoughts. Ah, he must be inquiring about your dragonblood. “I-I’m…. I’m not sure, my Lo- um… L-Lord Morax. As far as I know my mother worked at a-a heat house… no one knew who my father was and she passed away when I was very young.”

“I see… so you have no idea where you got your dragon traits from.” It was a sentence rather than a question and you shake your head meekly, taking another sip from the tea, ears lowering back.

“Apparently it could be due to recessive genes.” You once again repeat the same words you’ve heard all your life. You hate bringing attention to your dragon features, people either treat you like a rare exotic creature or a dangerous one. You didn’t know which was worse.

“Hmmm…” Lord Morax seems pensive for a moment, also drinking some of the tea. “Have you been with your caretaker for long?”

You look down. “Master has been in charge of me ever since I… p-presented as an Omega.”

“Does he treat you well?”

Your eyes widen, the question catching you completely by surprise. T-Treat you well? You are… treated like any other slave omega, if only being singled out by your draconic traits. He feeds you, he gives you clothing and education, he arranges the best matches he can for bonding, he even got you here in the first place. You owe him everything, you’re nothing without him.

So then… Why do you find yourself thinking back on all the harsh words, all the punishments, all the screaming and crying, all the… t-touches…

You gulp. “M-Master ensures I have the best living conditions and opportunities I can.” Is what you settle for.

He hums.

There is silence for a moment and lord Morax settles down his cup.

“I don’t think you’re aware of how special you are.”

Just when you thought he couldn’t surprise you anymore, he utters those words and makes your heart speed up.

Is this anxiety? Fear?

“Judging from what your Master has told me, you’re treated like quite the novelty, an exotic half-blood not unlike the Valuka Shuna or Kätzlein. Here in Liyue however those with traits like yours are called Xiānshòu.” The foreign word rolls off his tongue. His golden eyes fix on you and you freeze. “Also known as illuminated beasts. With immense power and longevity, even the half-bloods. They’re well respected and looked up to, why, some are even revered as deities...”

You? Such a fantastic creature? That can’t be…

“Seems to me like things are different in the deserts of Sumeru, however.” His eyes narrow and for the first time you notice his diamond pupils. They look like a snake’s. The same eerie glint he had a few minutes ago is back darkening the bright golden eyes. Yet, for some strange reason you don’t feel scared this time.

A shiver travels down your spine as you feel your instincts purr in delight. Protective… for some reason lord Morax is being protective of you. You don’t know why or how but you can feel it and it made your inner Omega preen inside. An Alpha wanted to protect you, care for you.

“Such a shame.” He adds, sounding almost disappointed but there is something darker underneath. Word simmering with… frustration? “You are such a lovely dragoness, worthy of every praise and prayer they’d sign in your name here.”

You’re very glad your cup rests at your lap, blushing furiously with trembling hands.

For the next few moments, he continued to ask some more questions. What you like or dislike, what you do in your free time, even something as innocuous as your favorite color. Time seemed to stretch into infinity as you grew a little more comfortable with your answers and the whole situation, as though you weren’t talking to an emperor, or even a potential master or Alpha but rather… someone who saw you for who you are.

You liked that. You liked him.

You wanted to stay with him.

You wished to-

“Alright, I think that’s enough. I will have a talk with your Master and we’ll settle things.” He stands up and dusts his attire a little.

Your breath stops.

He is leaving.

Did you do something wrong? Didn’t he say he liked your appearance? Are you such a failed disgraceful omega? Your last chance at bonding. You didn’t even get to impress him. You want to call out to him, do something, anything. Panic rises in your chest, drowning you, freezing you. You can barely think, instincts screaming, begging, wailing in despair for him. This kind Alpha, this gentle, patient, imposing, majestic Alpha who’s too good for you and yet something deep inside you yearns for him…!

“I am very glad to have met you little xiānshòu.” A small smile tugs at his lips. Then, he turns and heads for the sliding doors.

So, you do the first thing that comes to your mind.

The empty cup falls from your hands, your footsteps thump loudly on the wooden floors, soft fabric clenches between your fingers.

As soft as the lips you crash yours onto.

…

It only lasts a few seconds but when you back just a little, ears low and tail curled up in apprehension, you realize what you did.

You’d kissed him, you’d kissed the emperor.

You’re shaking like a leaf, clinging to him for dear life. He stares at you with wide surprised eyes but you’d rather die right here for your insolence than live the rest of your days in regret.

His scent takes on an alluring hint to it and your inner Omega is overjoyed. Up so close it is almost irresistible. His face remains impassive, if a little tense, but you can see in his eyes something you identify very well… hunger, desire.

“Lord Morax… t-the nest… please.”

“Y-You don’t have to-”

“Please! Allow me to please you, allow me to show you…how…” You whisper against his lips, leaning in again as your eyes flutter close.

And suddenly his hands wrap around you and pull you close, cupping your face, curling at your waist, there’s something possessive in it and you feel slight vibrations as he growls deep from his chest against your mouth. But there is also something sweet, something delicate…

And for once, you want more. You want this.

How did you end up here? In the most beautiful nest you’d ever constructed, with the most handsome, kind, caring Alpha you’d ever met?

His kisses are deep and slow, completely unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You lie on the soft sheets as he looms over you, exploring your mouth with an unhurried pace, hungry yet not forceful, letting you timidly do the same at your own pace.

This is nice…

His hands run along your body, caressing your skin through your flimsy attire. His touch curious but gentle.

“May I?” He asks, tugging at the fabric off your shoulder.

You shiver, at his voice, as the pure want in it, in his eyes, in his scent.

“Y-yes my lord…”

“Hmm…” His kisses trail down your jaw down to your neck as he starts pulling the garments off. Careful, instead of simply ripping them apart, your heart skips a beat. “If we’re going to do this, you can use my name and not just titles…”

Your top falls off and goosebumps litter your skin, nipples pebbled as one of his hands cups your breast.

“M-Morax…” You try, shakily, as if testing out the word alone on your lips.

“No, little one. Zhongli. That is my name.” He kisses down your shoulders, nipping at the skin.

“Ah!” Your tail flickers around and you purr.

You take the initiative to kiss him this time, and your hands start roaming his foreign clothes, fumbling with knots and pawing at the fabric. He chuckles at your frustrated whine. You want more, more of this feeling, more of him. To touch his skin, cover him in kisses, worship him.

(Show him what a good Omega you can be.)

No…

You want to make him feel good and please him.

Elegant fabric falls down discarded as he shakes off the layers of his top and you blink surprised. The fabric was bulky and covered up his figure. Lean but muscled, tantalizing like honey. You immediately latch onto him, nosing, scenting, nipping and kissing, feeling the faint outline of his abs and muscles twitch under your touch. He smells so good, he feels so good…

Your Omega instincts are starting to cloud your senses more and more.

Suddenly one of his hands gently squeezes a soft breast and you moan at the sudden touch “O-Oh!”

“You’re sensitive here, do you like this?” He asks, massaging your chest.

You whimper and nod frantically, tail wagging behind you. You had never been this responsive to having your chest played with, though then again, it was rare… but his sensual touches were quickly undoing you. Wetness pools at your gut and you rub your legs together.

Lord Mor- Zhongli… leans down then and something wet flicks over your nipple making you gasp, before warmth surrounds your nub. You cry out even louder. He sucks and laps at it and you instinctively tangle your hands on his hard dark hair, your legs wrapping around his waist.

You groan again, too many layers on the way.

“C-clothes… off, please!”

“As you wish, my dear dragoness.”

He continues squeezing, kissing, caressing and lapping at your skin, leaving a couple of hickeys along the way and teasing his Alpha fangs against you as his attention descends through your body once more, continuing his trail of kisses along your hip. His fingers dip down the waistband of your mesh pants and when you raise your hips to help, he pulls them down.

You’ve been naked in front of others more times than you’d like to count. But there’s something oddly intimate and special about this situation right now.

Your ears lower in apprehension, and your tail flicks by your side, resisting the urge to cover up. Lying down with your legs slightly spread around him. Already flushed, sweaty and panting.

“…You’re gorgeous.”

Huh?!

“I’m so lucky to have found you.” Zhongli nips at your hip. “So lucky that you want me too.” He kisses at your inner thigh.

Your breath hitches.

You’re the lucky one. Completely overjoyed that this Alpha likes you, desires you.

The first touch at your core has you mewling.

Zhongli strokes at your folds, still gentle, finding you soaked as your slick coats his fingers. Your body jolts and you moan “A-Ah!” He smirks against your thigh and nips there again as his fingers move in circles, teasing, testing, before moving to your clit. A finger pad stroking it just so, making your whole frame tremble, like every nerve in your body is being stimulated.

“Mngh- please!”

His fingers travel between your folds. First one sliding in rather easily, pumping steadily as you shudder in pleasure, and then two, making you writhe, bucking your hips against the touch, pushing them deeper, chasing that feeling.

Your body feels hot, too hot. Every sensation blocked except that warm wet feeling down there, in your new heaven. Your hands claw at the sheets, a pleasant fog setting in and you can feel yourself slipping into your most primal needs. But oh, oh, not like this.

You want him. Need him.

“You- y-you! please my lord!”

Something snaps in the Alpha’s eyes and Zhongli growls. Golden eyes dark, swallowed by lust and need and you whine when his fingers leave you. You vaguely hear rustling noises and before you can protest again, he pulls you up back on his lap and oh…

He’s big.

His erection stands proud between your bodies, rubbing against you and you shuffle impatiently, nuzzling against him.

Yes, yes…

Zhongli helps positioning you, gives himself a few strokes, and you feel his cockhead kiss at your entrance, you whine and stare at him rather confused. “L-Like this? B-But I have never- This is n-not how-”

He kisses your forehead, your nose, and pecks at your lips. “I can imagine this is very different from how they’ve taught you Alphas mount Omegas, but I my dear, intend to make love to you.” He whispers, hot breath fanning your cheeks as he nuzzles you, so close, so intimate. Your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Like this you will have more control. I want you to relax, enjoy, my sweet dragoness.” He kisses at your cheek, down your jaw to your neck. “May I?”

You can feel your eyes water. No one had ever told you that. No Alpha had ever been this patient or even asked your permission before. Words die on your throat as you stare mesmerized at Zhongli. Grateful. Incredulous. Completely enamored.

You nod, and he guides you down.

It’s different like this. So much different.

You bite your lip and whine a little once you start to move, his hands hold your hips as you raise them and sink back down on his cock, inch by delicious inch. You feel… full, but warm, good. Your insides clench around him and he groans.

Oh… you could get used to this…

“Hah… ah! … m-my lord... I’m…” You feel dizzy but in a good way, your body tingles all over and it’s exhilarating, addicting.

He leans forward a bit, nosing at your collarbone, soft kisses tickle your skin and he… he’s almost purring in delight, inhaling your scent. “I told you, you can just call me by my name... Would you let me hear it?”

You buck languidly on his embrace, enjoying this…sensual experience, these new feelings and sensations. His tender closeness, his intoxicating pheromones, his deep baritone.

Him.

“Zhongli…”

His name comes out as a needy cry and he growls, Alpha pride clearly satisfied. His hands roam your body just enough to shift position and pull you even closer, hips rolling in tandem, picking up speed, his fangs grazing your shoulder.

Your head is swimming in pleasure, fuzzy like stuffed with cotton, small little “Ah… ah… ah!” moans punched out of you. You’re vaguely aware of your nails digging onto his skin but you can’t even stop yourself, you need to hold onto something, anything.

Even your tail subconsciously curls around his ankle (and he doesn’t even seem to mind), like every cell of your body is screaming at you to hold onto him and never let go.

Zhongli’s own breathing comes out in harsh puffs and satisfied groans as he buries himself in you over and over, the sound of skin slapping on skin becomes more prominent.

And then, he hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

Your eyes snap open (when had you closed them?) Back arching as if struck by lightning and letting out a high-pitched moan. H-How did he do that?! What was that? You don’t remember ever feeling like this in previous bonding attempts.

“M-more?” You mewl in delight.

Zhongli looks at you with a satisfied smirk and it only fuels the fire in your belly.

“Gladly.”

That same wonderful feeling travels up and down your body again and again as your moans and whimpers rise in volume, calling his name over and over. Zhongli kisses you, deep and passionate. Whispers praises and sweet nothings on your flickering dragon ears. Touches you so soft and reverently. Your body feels so hot, your mind going blank, you can feel the base of his cock swelling with his knot and the familiar coil of pleasure tightening as you anticipate it, crave it, more intense and satisfying than ever before.

And just as you reach that high, his fangs sink into you.

You come with a squeal, body tensing, clinging onto him, clenching on him as he lets out a deep satisfied groan, knotting you. Wet stickiness coats your insides and thighs. And everything feels right, just right. Perfect even.

It takes a moment to come back to your senses, and it’s to Zhongli’s hands rubbing circles at your back comfortingly, while he laps and kisses at the bonding mark he left on you.

And then the high comes crashing down.

The bonding mark.

Tears well up in your eyes and start rolling down your cheeks, your tail uncoiling from him and curling around yourself protectively, ears down.

Please no… this can’t be…

Please stay…

Please.

Zhongli immediately notices your distress, in your actions and your scent, completely different altogether. His own instincts going wild at the lack of a happy sated mate scent. “Darling, what’s wrong? I’m sorry did it hurt that much? Did I… harm you in some way or did something wrong?” Oh, he sounds so genuinely concerned.

You shake your head desperately. Of course he hasn’t.

But you will.

Your body will. Betray you as always.

No bonding mark has stayed in your neck for longer than a few minutes. They all fade.

Just like the alphas that place them in you.

And then comes the anger, the guilt, the disappointment, the despair, the loneliness…

You can’t take it. Not this time.

“S-stay… please…” You sob.

Your voice sounds so broken, so weak and tiny, absolutely heart wrenching.

And Zhongli embraces you.

“I will, my dearest dragoness. I promise you.” He kisses one of your horns.

You want to believe him but you can only cry harder…

The room is dark as your eyes flutter open. It takes a few minutes to adjust and for your mind to catch up. Where are you…? You look around at the wooden walls, nestled in comfy sheets, you see some wooden cabinets and a tea set-

…!!!

You jolt awake, tumbling some pillows from your fancy nest. Your last chance at bonding. The emperor. He was leaving, and then…!

You slap a hand against the junction between neck and shoulder and feel something there, a bandage… you try to stare at it confused, though it’s impossible from the angle. And then fear consumes you. What if… it’s not there…?

Your body is still naked, though you have been covered with a thick fabric while sleeping, as it now pools at your lap, your Omega scent and that of an Alpha mixed together pleasantly, you turn around.

The Emperor. Lord Morax. Zhongli.

He sleeps peacefully by your side, on your nest, after having mated you.

He stayed.

You stare at his handsome features, fair skin, dark long hair, strong jaw, muscled arms. His lips slightly parted as he breathes evenly. So at ease.

You want to reach out and brush at his hair, touch his face, kiss him.

You want this moment to last forever.

Looking up slightly you see the large mirror, see yourself. A tiny thing, with freaky ears, horns and a tail.

It was… good, while it lasted. Almost like a dream.

Tears start falling down your cheeks again and you try to be as silent as possible as you pull and lift at the bandage in your shoulder. And there underneath it is… something?

Your fingers trace a mark, a wound, it stings and you hiss.

No way. There is no way.

Hope flutters in your chest, your stomach flips and you feel dizzy, nervous. A bonding mark? Is it real? Is it still there?

You shuffle out of the nest as fast and stealthily as you can, standing in front of the mirror. Hair a mess, eyes wide, pale in fear.

And there it is. The clear mark of an Alpha bite, still rather tender. A claim. A bond.

You start sobbing as you trace it, touch it, feel it. It must have been hours, there is no way…

It’s there, it’s there, for real. You want to laugh, to cry, you’re still nervous, scared, hopeful, happy, a million things at once.

But how? Why now?

“Hnng… darling? Are you crying again?” You stiffen as you hear the voice, deep and hoarse, laced with drowsiness. You turn and see him sit up and yawn carelessly like a rishboland tiger. Elegant and intimidating like one too with his bright golden eyes, Alpha fangs and muscled figure. Still naked as well, you note.

“T-the bonding mark… it’s still there!” You exclaim to him, gesturing to it.

“You should let it heal nicely.”

“Y-You don’t get it!” You huff. “My Lord… it’s still there! I’m bonded, I’m yours!”

He chuckles. “Rather, I would say we belong to each other, now.”

Belong to each other.

That sounds nice.

You turn back to the mirror, still staring at it, poking it with a finger softly, as if afraid it’ll disappear, as if it was an illusion, a dream.

But it’s there.

“For years… for years I thought I was doing s-something wrong, that there was something… wrong… with me…” You cry softly. “No Alpha had even bonded me…”

Suddenly you feel strong arms curl around your frame, a chin resting at your shoulder where it kisses your skin, and then brushes over the mark. It stings but you welcome it.

It means it’s real, all of this is.

Zhongli inhales, taking in your scent. “Well you see my dear, a dragonblood… a xiānshòu like you, can only be truly bonded by one of its own kind.”

The words take a moment to process, to sit on your brain, and you frown confused, staring at him from the mirror. And then your eyes widen.

Golden antlers crown his head, majestic and almost glowing, small scales appear under his striking amber eyes, the color of burnt ocher. A large tail, even bigger than yours in golden and brown hues, sways lazily behind him, before finding yours and intertwining with it, the feel is foreign but not unwelcome. Like holding hands.

You turn around so fast you almost trip if it weren’t for his hold. The dragonblood features are still there, in plain sight.

Your throat feels dry.

“You… you’re…”

He raises a finger to his lips and shushes you, then smiles. “I am yours my dear. Just as you are now mine.”

You cling to him and hide your face on his chest as you cry. Overwhelmed, relieved.

Yes, this is where you belong.

#zhongli smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #crys writes #fem reader #PLS I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH????#this took SOOOO LONG SORRY AAAAAAA #idek what to say here lma just enjoy hope ppl like it bc.... it's so long;;;;;#got a pretty header tho serious business :O #LohK #just in case (?)

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sserajeans · 1 year

Text

mine

kim minji x fem! reader

synopsis: you both knew love came with downhills, but neither of you thought it'd get that bad. you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter, and she's the best thing you could ever call 'mine'.

genre + others: non-idol reader x idol minji, goes over the ups and downs of their relationship, semi angst but fluff end TRUST ME

notes: (TW: implied suicide of minor character) , y/n has been through so much pls give her a break, idk if either of them were toxic, but they work around it bc love >>>, not requested, i was just listening to the album and got an idea that made my soul go WHOOSH hehe, THIS IS A VERY LONG ONE

WORD COUNT: 6.9k

you were in college, working part-time, waiting tables. left a small town, never looked back. i was a flight risk, with a fear of fallin', wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts.

you and minji were your friend group's favorite couple. almost anyone would agree, actually.

you met in high school when you transferred from a smaller, almost unknown town under a merit scholarship sponsored by the school. you were your family's pride and joy, the eldest daughter and older sister to two siblings. your parents weren't born with the same comfort they provided you and your siblings, or any comfort at all. it took a lot of work for them to get to where they were, and even then they still work day and night to give a life better than theirs for their children.

being born first, you witnessed everything. the blood, sweat, and tears your parents poured into everything; their failed start-up business, their multiple part-time jobs, and the low-paying wages they'd get in return. but above all this, you also saw how your parents did it all for love. love for you, love for their kids, love for the family they made. and so you swore, as an adorable 8-year-old, that you'd work your hardest and earn enough money to get your parents to rest comfortably once they were of age. you were raised in a struggling house, but a loving home. you knew love. you weren't a stranger to it. you loved love and the power it held.

minji, on the other hand, didn't. when you met her in your first year of high school, her parents had just signed divorce papers after her dad caught her mother cheating. she was only 16 at the time, and her parents were her role models of love. to her, they represented what love would, could, and should be. she believed in love, until she grew to hate it. she hated the way it hurt her father, she hated the way it hurt her, but most of all she hated the way it pulled her mother away from her. minji knew love. she wasn't a stranger to it. but she hated love and the power it held.

because of the stark difference you two had with your outlooks on love, it was a shock to everyone when the kim minji agreed to not just being your prom date, but to you courting her during your junior year of high school as well.

“kim minji is this really you?” her best friend at the time, seol yoona, waved her hand in front of the raven-haired girl’s face. she was trying to finish an essay in english, one of their final requirements for the semester. “what’s different about park y/n?”

minji sighed and closed her notebook, finally facing the rest of her friends who sat crowded around her.

“look. she was nice to me at prom and she’s…” her friends’ eyes widened in anticipation. “cute, i guess.”

“oh come on minji that can’t be just it…”

“yeah you rejected like a quarter of the student population! i’m sure there were a few nice and cute ones!”

“they all…” minji started as she stood up from her desk and began packing her things in her backpack. “i’m just more comfortable with her, okay? we’ve been friends a while, and she’s patient about everything right now because she knows about…”

the rest of the table nodded their heads in understanding. there was no need for her to expound on that.

meanwhile, in the complete opposite side of the school campus, was where you and your two closest friends ate lunch. under the shade of the courtyard’s largest tree.

"you're fucking playing with me..."

"i'm not! she said yes! she really did!" you exclaimed, mouth full of the school's spam and kimchi kimbap.

"you better not mess this up y/n... you're like the first person i know of that she's ever said yes to." your other friend commented, playfully shoving your upper arm.

"do you guys not have like... the teeny-tiniest bit of faith in me?"

they looked at you for a solid minute before nodding and shrugging. jokes aside, you were a selfless and caring person, and every one that has ever gotten to know you was sure of that.

and fair enough, by your first year of college which was also minji's first year as newjeans' leader, after almost 2 years of courting her, you asked her to have things official, and she said yes.

do you remember, we were sitting there by the water? you put your arm around me for the first time. you made a rebel of a careless man’s careful daughter. you are the best thing, that’s ever been mine.

it had been just over a year since you two started officially dating, and nothing much changed since you put a label on it. you were now in your second year of university, simultaneously maintaining a part-time job at a local restaurant.

it didn’t take an idiot to know that dating an idol was hard. and it also didn’t help that your schedule wasn’t the most flexible either. there were even some days where minji had more time in the week to spend than you did. the both of you hated that, and it frustrated you two to the point where there were times you’d take it out on each other.so when you and minji had your first big argument, it was a shock to none of the peers who knew of your relationship.

you sighed deeply as you unlocked the door to your apartment. it was the middle of midterms week, and you had just finished an evening shift. you didn’t even want to think about studying for your calculus exam tomorrow, but you knew you had to if you wanted to keep your gpa up to the scholarship’s requirements.

“park y/n.” minji’s voice interrupted your brain’s train of thought. you were so busy trying to figure out the most efficient way to spend the rest of the time between the present and your exam.

usually, minji’s voice calling your name would be warm and sweet. you talked about it to your friends one time, describing it as melted chocolate, and she gagged at how cheesy you were being. but god forbid you speak the truth.

but now, her voice was neither warm nor sweet. it was cold. it was cold and sharp. if you had the time to process it you’d probably describe it as ice shards, rather than melted chocolate.

you hesitated to face her, because you knew exactly why she was here in your apartment at 11pm in the evening instead of her dorms, fast asleep. you couldn't count how many times you cancelled a date last minute within the last month, and minji was tired of you not explaining properly.

you heard her stand up from the living room couch and walk towards you in the dining table.

“what is it, minji?” you spoke, leaning your forehead against your palm as you brought out school textbooks and worksheets.

“what do you mean ‘what is it, minji’? you know why i’m here, y/n.”

she wasn’t lying. again, you knew why she was here with you, which is why you dreaded the conversation that was about to come.

“this is the 4th date you’ve cancelled this month without telling me why. if you wanted to break up i’d much rather you tell me directly…” the last sentence felt like a stab to your chest. the cold and sharp dagger that was her words, taking one large hit.

“what the fuck? no, okay! no i don’t!”

“then for the love of god would you at least tell me why you’re being so fucking distant?!”

you kept silent. eyes avoiding hers as you internally debated on whether you wanted to burden her with your struggles or not.

“see? you can’t even say it.”

“fucking hell. my sister is sick, minji.”

you let out a shaky exhale as you spoke, finally gathering the courage to face her.

“she has pneumonia. she’s sick. she’s in the hospital. and i-“ you cut yourself off as tears made its way down your face. the cold exterior on minji’s face dropped almost immediately at the sound of your voice breaking. your breathing remained shaky as you tried your best to verbalize everything that has been piling up over the past few weeks.

“medical insurance isn’t enough to cover it. my parents are working endlessly, but they’re getting older and i don’t want them to overwork themselves or they could get sick too, so i asked if i could pick up more shifts at the restaurant because that’s really all i can do right now. it just breaks my heart whenever i visit her because she’s always telling me that she’s sorry for causing trouble when none of it was her fault. and fuck, as if it doesn’t get any worse it’s midterms week, and if i fail just one exam it’s enough to bring my gpa down for the school to drop me.”

you gasped for air.

the girl sat beside you and rubbed your back, reaching over for your water bottle and offering it to you. you muttered a thanks as you gulped down half of the water inside and gave yourself a few seconds to speak again.

“and i know what you’re thinking. ‘why didn’t you tell me? i could’ve helped.’ but minji please. you’re an idol. you’re a celebrity. fuck, you’re the leader of one of the biggest group’s right now. you have enough on your plate. i don’t want to add to that.”

minji nodded to show you she was listening despite not saying anything since you started letting it out.

"let's take a walk."

you were shocked by the suggestion, and minji could tell. she would be too.

“but won’t people recogn-“

"more air to breathe, more space to think. come on." she got your coat for your and brought your most comfortable pair of shoes over.

you weren't agreeing, but you also weren't objecting the idea. from what could've been a fight to this, you were just glad you had the warm minji with you right now.

she dragged you along by the hand, just a few steps ahead of you. it didn't take too long until you two found yourselves sitting on the park bench facing a small river. it wasn't too far away, just a couple meters from your apartment building.

“can i ask you something, y/n?” there it was. the warmth, the sweetness in her voice.

she turned to face you. “do i bother you when i tell you about my problems? when i talk to you about how i worry for haerin not opening up, or when i tell you about how hanni might’ve bothered me on a certain day. does that burden you?”

you looked up at her shaking your head, your eyes still red and puffy.

“w-what? no. never. i like that you let me know. i like knowing you have some type of output for it."

"well if it doesn't burden you then what makes you think you'd burden me?"

you slowly looked away, eyes busy gazing the clear water and the rocks that laid under.

she moved to wrap her right arm over your shoulders, and slowly reached for your left hand to hold if you'd let her. after all, she didn't expect to be comforting you when she planned on seeing you.

"i may be an idol. i may be a celebrity. i may be newjeans' minji a lot of the time. but i'm also your girlfriend, park y/n. the one you met in high school whose life you changed forever the day you asked me to prom." you leaned against her when she pulled you closer as she spoke.

"i stopped believing in love when my parents split. remember when i told you that? but you were there every step of the way. you understood, and you were fine with waiting." minji took a pause to make sure you were still with her, listening.

your eyes were heavy, but your brain couldn’t be more alive.

“y/n, i don't want to be the person that makes their partner feel like they can't talk to them. let me be there for you too, okay? i may not be able to do a lot to fix it, but i'll be there because you shouldn't be facing things alone. not when you have me."

you nodded, letting out the last of your tears on her shoulder while she ran her fingers through your hair.

“so next time, please, please tell me what bothers you.”

you never gave a clear response, just your sobs slowing down as she held you. minji would later on regret not noticing this.

a few minutes later, after you calmed down, you pulled away to finally fix your eyes on hers.

"thank you. and i still owe you an apology. for how i was the past couple of weeks.”

“you really don’t have to y/n.”

“well, you say that now after i told you. but what i did was still such… an ass move, and i should’ve told you what was going on because you deserved to know with the way it affected you too.”

minji gave you a smile. a small smile that held the largest emotions a human could ever feel. she leaned against your side, head on your left shoulder with her arm around your waist.

“it’s okay…”

“i love you.”

three words. eight letters. the first time it was ever said between the two of you.

on the inside, you were a little shocked. if your relationship was a sports game, no one would bet on minji saying it first. but she did. and that just made those special words mean a little more than they already did.

you wrapped your left arm around her shoulders and rested your head on hers, giving the top of her head a kiss before saying it back.

“i love you too.”

flash forward and we’re taking on the world together. and there’s a drawer of my things at your place.

a couple months later, you felt on top of the world, and so did minji. you found a higher paying stay-at-home job, your sister got better miraculously quick, and your grades were stellar. for minji, newjeans had just released another hit mini album, and it was played everywhere you went. in the store, at the mall, on tiktok, on the radio. everywhere.

eventually, you two found a free spot on both of your schedules, and used it to have sleepovers at your apartment or her dorm. she’d always prefer staying at yours though. one of the few times you stayed at hers, the second you left, hanni and hyein were teasing her endlessly about… well, usual couple stuff.

this night was one of those sleepover nights. the two of you just finished dinner and were cuddling on the sofa, trying to decide on a movie to watch.

“mean girls?”

“didn’t we watch that last week?” minji reasoned out, looking at you with a questioning face.

“uhm… horror?”

“i don’t mind.”

you hummed and browsed through the horror collection your streaming site had. it took you a while to find a movie, you and minji each always had a minor problem with whatever came up.

“oh hey this one looks fun. zom-“

“did i ever tell you the full story of my parents?”

“ha?”

you looked at her with a rather surprised expression on your face. sure, she’s told you all about being a child of divorced parents and how it affected her. but you never bothered to ask more about it in fear of her discomfort.

“well… no. i wanted you to bring things up at your own pace.”

it felt like a silent agreement that maybe you two were going to drop the movie for a little “deep talk” moment.

“my dad went m.i.a., well, sort of did, on my mom.” she began, you sat cross-legged beside her, reaching for her hand to play with while she muttered a quick ‘thanks’. it was your little show of comfort.

her parents was a subject that you two didn’t bring up very often. she’d mention them once in a while, like when you were preparing a dish that reminded her of her mom’s cooking, or when you came over to help fix hyein’s bike like her dad used to do for her. but it was never in the subject of the divorce. you two always had more to talk about when you were together anyways.

“he lost a lot of the money in their savings, and he’d never talk to my mom about it thinking he could cover it up soon enough. mom was convinced he was cheating and was sending money to another girl. even after my dad explained everything she just… went and did what she did. until he caught her and… well, you know the rest.”

minji was surprisingly calm throughout the whole storytelling. you figured it must’ve been from keeping it in for so long, finally letting the old wounds heal.

“wow…”

“yeah, ‘wow’.”

“i’m sorry, i just…” you paused and grabbed her other hand, holding them both closely within your palms. “do you think if your dad was honest from the beginning things would’ve been different?”

“i-… well…”

“nevermind, sorry that was int-“ you dropped her hands and ran yours through your hair, the other covering your mouth in disbelief.

“no no, it’s okay.” she reached for your hands and they were intertwined once again. “i think things would’ve turned out the same. it probably would’ve just… took a longer time.”

“i guess… since your mom practically ignored your dad after he explained…”

“yup. i believe things happen for a reason.”

“really? i’m 50/50 on that.” you looked up at her with a questioning look.

“well, for one, it led me to you.” she gazed in your eyes, her hands soft and gently cradling yours side to side. you looked at her with amazement. since when was she making the moves with all the cheesy lines?

“okay… so i’m not 50/50… maybe 70/30.” “dork.” “your dork?” “…” “sayyy it…” “…” “you know you wanna…”

“my dork.”

“hehehe…”

with a victorious grin on your face, you pinched her right cheek, something she both hated and loved. rolling her eyes, she positioned herself to lay her head on your crossed legs while your hands automatically fixed her hair to keep her face clear.

“god you’re so-“

“lovable? i know… it’s crazy.”

“well…”

“oh, we were serious?”

“yes, seriously, y/n. there are times i think about that night by the river.”

“that night by the river…”

“when i told you i believed in love again, after my parents. because of you.” she opened her eyes and looked up at you like you were a constellation in the night sky. eyes wide and full of wonder.

“i know what you’re talking about, i didn’t forget, don’t worry.” you smiled, tucking a strand of hair that went astray behind her ear.

“when things get hard i think of that night, and how… i don’t know. you know that feeling when something means so much, and it’s so good, feels so right, almost too perfect, you’re just scared it’ll slip away?”

“mmhm. of course. that’s how i felt about this book i was reading. things were going so well at the beginning, like it wa-… continue though.”

“sometimes i’m scared we’ll slip away.”

“what?!”

“i mean like! it’s just a tiny… irrational fear in the back of my head.”

“ell… good thing that won’t happen!”

“how are you always so sure about things?”

i tell my secrets and you figure out why i’m guarded. you say,

“i get why you’re worried, okay? but we’ll never make your parents’ mistakes.”

she sat up straight to give you a proper hug, or, well, she more or less just threw herself on you. not that you were complaining, you loved her bear hugs.

“you and i… we talk things out. we work well that way, right?”

“yeah.”

“i love you. and thank you for letting me love you.”

“i love you too. so so much.”

and we got bills to pay. we got nothing figured out, when it was hard to take, this is what i thought about.

throughout your relationship, you two came across a couple, or well, several bumps along the road. but it was always something you two had dealt with before. even if it wasn’t, you were beginning to feel comfortable sharing the weight you carried on your shoulders with minji; talking about the usual late night shifts, a terror professor, etc.

communication was one of the last things your relationship with minji lacked.

until one fateful evening, you received a phone call from your brother. one you wished you never had to hear. one no one ever deserved to hear.

before he spoke, something about it already felt wrong. the combination of muffled sirens, crying from who you surely knew was from your sister, and conversation between who you assumed were adults, was straight eery. a shiver ran down your spine, realizing the nature of the news.

and you were right.

you could feel your hand shake as he spoke with a stutter,

“noona… it’s about… about d-dad… h-he… he… did it to hims-himself… he-he w-went out… and to-told us not to follow. a-and, and then we- we heard… we heard a r-really… r-really loud noise… n-noona… wh-when… when are you coming b-back?”

what?

who?

how?

your father. he shot himself in your neighborhood’s park.

and you’ve yet to understand why. why he’d choose to abandon his family. why he suddenly switched from the hardworking man who’d endure hell for his family, to a man who chose to escape his troubles.

after consoling your brother and the rest of your family on the phone, you packed your bags and took a taxi the next day. heading straight back to your hometown, a much smaller and rural area compared to the skyscraping city of seoul.

you ran straight to your parents’ room as soon as you arrived, your bags dropped and forgotten by the conjoined living room and kitchen. there was no time to reminisce the warmth, comfort, and love that came with the childhood home you haven’t seen in years.

as soon as you stepped foot in your parents’ room, your younger sister, who was much taller than the last time you saw her, ran straight into your arms, almost knocking you over. it didn’t take long for your younger brother to follow, his added weight finally pushing you to fall butt first to the fortunately, carpeted floor.

you rubbed their backs as soothingly as you possibly could while they started dampening your shirt with tears. in a way, having them in your embrace comforted you the same way you comforted them. you shed your own fair share of tears, hugging them even tighter when they’d take deep breaths and wail.

you also needed to process whatever the hell just happened.

a few minutes later, once your siblings had calmed down, you slowly stood up from the floor and approached your mother who was sorting out papers on what used to be your parents’ shared bed. the mattress dipped as you sat beside her. you wrapped your arms around her frame, giving her a warm hug.

her pain was silent, and you wished it wasn’t so you’d at least know she had an output, but at the same time, you both knew she held it together for your siblings’ sake. she gave your forehead a kiss and ruffled your hair, muttering a soft “you’ve been eating well.”

she was just happy to see her baby home.

the next couple of days were dull and grey. it was the only word you could use to describe it. your mother would head out to deal with government papers, your siblings stayed at home with modular work as permitted by the school after what had happened, and you picked up a small full-time job at a bakery as a cashier.

in a private conversation with your mother, late at night when your siblings were fast asleep, she explained to you the law of debt and inheritance in simple terms. it was difficult, but most definitely much needed for you to at least grasp understanding on why your father did what he did.

“i know what your first thoughts were going to be. and he wasn’t being a selfish person, y/n. he never was and he never will be. in this province specifically, debt isn’t passed down to your heirs. your father… he… he borrowed a lot of money, y/n. and we thought we could pay it back over the agreed 3 years. it was taking longer than expected, and they began looking for your dad with threats that… i’d rather not share with you.”

“wait what? what about the money i’ve been sending? did it help? did you use it?”

“of course we did, y/n. we don’t want your hard work going to waste. we used it for yoonseo and junseo’s tuition. there was an increase that wasn’t in our… scope.”

“fucking school…”

“hey… listen. do you understand things a little better now?”

“…yes.”

“repeat to me what you understand.”

“dad… didn’t want them coming after me… us.”

“yes.”

“i… i don’t understand how you’re so… calm about it right now, ma. did you know? did he tell you he would?”

“he didn’t. we fought about it, actually. i couldn’t believe all that… nonsense he was saying.”

“oh… i’m sorry. i’m sorry i thought he-“

“it’s okay, y/n. and i know you. i know you, yoonseo, and junseo. it’s okay to not be okay right now. i want you to feel that. let it out. cry, scream, take a walk, do anything. let the pain pass through. i’ll be here to make sure you’ll be alright.”

“but we want to be here for you too ma…”

“you will be there for me when you feel better. but right now, you’re my children, and i’m your mom. i want to make sure you’re okay first.”

and for the rest of the night, you silently wept against your mother’s shoulder as she held you tight against her chest, the same way she did the day you were born. you were always your mother's child at the end of the day.

since the day you left til that night, your focus was on yourself and your family. comforting your siblings when your mom couldn’t, helping around the house, and searching for more jobs dirt-paying jobs you could take, for you didn’t care as long as it’d help fill the gap your father left.

your focus was solely on the grief held over yourself and your family, that somehow, you had completely forgotten about your life in the city.

the life with kim minji in it.

on her side of the world, minji was struggling. newjeans was still a popular and well-received group with global success, but their growth was exceeding expectations, and that meant that the hate wave had only gotten stronger.

as their leader, minji was the supporting pillar, the foundation of sanity for the rest of the girls. when one of them had the need to cry or rant, they’d go to her, and she’d hold that responsibility willingly out of love and care for them.

but newjeans’ leader minji, is human.

newjeans’ leader minji, is kim minji.

a 20-year-old girl facing the world’s backlash and carrying the weight of her members’ hurt alongside her own on her back.

she wasn’t meant to deal with all of that alone.

where was kim minji’s supporting pillar? where was her foundation of sanity?

where were you?

where were you when she needed you the most?

and i remember that fight, 2:30 am, ‘cause everything was slipping right out of our hands. i ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street.

things have calmed down a bit. you and your family decided it was best for you to go back to the city as it was where you’d earn the most for your work. you hated saying goodbye to them, especially at a time where it was best where you were all together. but you and your family didn’t have the luxury of choice. you and your family couldn’t afford to lose the opportunity.

on the 2-hour long taxi ride home, you finally decided to charge your phone. you hadn’t realized how you completely deserted it the moment you arrived at your childhood home. leaving it on the car seat, you decided to take a nap to get rid of the headache that was building up. whether it was from the anxiety of being away from your family after what happened, or the pressure of having your family’s financial support come mostly from you, you needed an escape, even if it was just for 2 hours.

you weren’t sure how or what you felt. you knew most would be sad. grief-struck and lost. and you did feel that in a way, when your family held a small ceremony at the memorial center because it was all you could afford. it was just you, your mom, your siblings, and a few neighbors who knew your parents.

that was the hardest you ever let yourself mourn, the loudest you ever let yourself cry, and after that, you felt empty. your chest and your stomach ached, but there was nothing else to feel. your head, on the other hand, felt heavy. like it was rammed against a cement wall and forced to carry the weight of hardbound books.

the moment you picked yourself up from your wallowing in sorrow, the weight of responsibility crashed into you all at once. like being thrown anvils to carry on your back, every step you took wherever you went. your father wasn’t just one of your family’s sources of income, he also stood as a figure of support for your siblings and your mom while you were away. you were angry at him for leaving you, but you beat yourself around into understanding that it wasn’t an escape.

it was about 2am by the time you arrived at the small apartment complex. an inconvenient decision that may have seemed senseless, but before you insisted in spending as much time as you could with your family before you were required to report to work the next day.

and so here you were, backpack in hand, unlocking the door to your apartment late at night.

seeing the living room and kitchen lights on alarmed you. you were sure you turned everything off before you left. your electricity bills were going to be horrendous that month.

you settle your bag down on the floor and bent over to untie your shoes.

“oh… you decided to come back?”

that voice.

kim minji.

hearing her voice again felt fresh. but it felt fresh for only one reason.

you ignored her the whole time you were away. you didn’t tell anyone anything, not even you friends in the city.

minji’s tone was firm. it wasn’t sharp and cold like the time she came over to confront you about missing your dates.

it was firm, but it was also vulnerable. the night she confronted you her voice lacked all the emotion in the world. tonight, it was full of it. you couldn’t tell if she was worried, angry, disappointed, sad, maybe everything and in between.

“where were you?”

there it was. the burning question of the night.

unlike last time, minji didn’t bother approaching you. she stayed seated on the living room couch, her head turned to face you at the front door.

“minji, listen. i-“ you walked towards her, approaching the living room couch with caution from what you could pick up in her voice.

“y/n i was in pain… did you know that? the past few weeks have been horrible… and before i can even begin to talk about why, i have to worry about whether you were even alive or not!”

“i’m sorry! okay, i’m sorry!”

you were defensive, and it came out like you were throwing around apologies for a band-aid solution, when that really wasn’t the case. you just didn’t have it in your heart to tell her what happened.

“we had to cancel 2 fansigns because of threats we were getting, did you even know that, y/n?”

no, you didn’t. you weren’t aware of how far your girlfriend’s career had gone for the group to be receiving that kind of treatment. even before your dad passed.

“…no.”

“and that’s just… the tip of the fucking iceberg… so i ran here thinking i’d find you. because, y/n, i know for a fact you’re my safe place. but you weren’t even fucking there…”

“i’m sorry…” you muttered, your hands clasped together as you stood in front of her.

“you weren’t answering calls, you weren’t responding to texts. from me or any of the girls! i asked my manager to get in contact with your coworkers! fuck, i even asked some of our high school friends… but none of them knew where you were! do you know how sick my stomach felt?” she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. one of the few times you’ve ever seen her cry, and somehow, it always had something to do with you.

it made you feel sick.

“i’m so sorry…”

“and before you fucking arrived, for a moment i really thought you were going to just leave everything like my dad.”

after all the pain she’s shared with you?

“minji i-“

“but a part of me knew, or wanted to know you’d never do that. like you said, ‘we’d never make my parents’ mistakes’. but in that moment it felt like you did. like we did.”

“i’m sorry… i wasn’t thinking…”

“i think we need a fucking break y/n.”

she stood up.

what?

“w-what? minji what do you mean w-why a-“

“this isn’t the first time you just disappeared on me, don’t you get it? the first time it happened i had to confront you because otherwise you’d just let it slide and it’d probably happen again within the next few months.”

she walked to the dining room, away from the living room. it was closer to the apartment entrance.

“that’s not true.”

“when i told you about my parents, it was because i thought i had finally found something different with you.”

“and we did! we are! we’re not like them…”

she stood by the door, hand on the knob.

“you keep disappearing on me, y/n. i don’t know what to believe anymore.”

and just like that, she dropped the spare keys to your apartment on your kitchen counter, and left your apartment unit.

you knew better than to let her go. you knew better to let the love of your life go. you knew better than to let her, a celebrity, run out in the middle of the night, with no security, and god knows who or what out in the streets of the area you stayed in.

braced myself for the goodbye, ‘cause that’s all i’ve ever known.

for minji, she had no idea what she was doing, but she knew couldn’t take another second in your damned apartment. the apartment she stayed in the weeks she was waiting for you to come back. it reminded her of the times she felt like her mom, desperately waiting for her dad to come back to her. it reminded her of how she felt like her dad during the first month of the divorce, and how he kept his hopes high telling her and her brother that things would get better because their mom would always come back, when she didn’t. she hated that apartment because it reminded her of why she hated love. why she stopped believing in love.

she hated that apartment because it was yours, and you showed her how to believe in love again, and you made her believe you two would be different.

if that was so, then why did you leave her feeling like things were going to end the same way her parents did?

she couldn’t take it anymore. how could she fully commit to someone who’d leave her out of the loop. someone who can’t at least try to share part of their world with her. someone who, after seeing all the sides and versions of her, could still get up and leave without a word.

you cursed under your breath for minji being so long-legged. it didn’t take long for her to get to your apartment building’s lobby, but timing was by your side. for once, it felt like maybe the world wasn’t against you.

the scene was cinematic. you grabbed her wrist from behind her, and pulled her by the arm, back towards you. back to you where you knew she belonged.

“i’m sorry, and i promise i’ll tell you everything. and i know i left with no warning, no sign. i know that it was best to tell you. but i promise i wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t something as serious as that.”

you gently reached over to hold her other hand in yours. hopefully it was enough to not have her run away again.

“i don’t know how many sorry’s i have left in me, but whatever that amount is, i know, won’t be enough. but please, minji, i’m begging you now, please don’t leave. i know it’s been hard, it’s been difficult for me too. fuck, it’s been hell the past few weeks and not a single second of it has felt real, but i need you. i need you to stay.”

you took a deep inhale. you hadn’t realized you weren’t breathing throughout your mini speech.

“because right now it feels like i’ve lost everything, and i can’t take it if i lost you. and i know… i know, i sound like a guilt-tripping asshole right now but that’s really... you mean a lot. you mean so much… you mean so fucking much to me, minji, and i know that’s not what you felt when i disappeared, but it’s the truth, and i-“

your legs gave in. you were exhausted, but you weren’t going to stop until you knew she’d stay.

you knelt on the floor, in front of her, holding her hands above your head.

god, you looked so ridiculously desperate. but you didn’t care. not an inch of your body felt a bit of shame. you knew minji was worth everything you had.

“i love you. i love you. i love you so much. and i don’t know how else to say this without sounding like a fucking asshole, but i know you love me too, and i just need you to hear me out, before you decide to leave. and if you still want to go after, then i-. i wouldn’t blame you, and i’d let you, but please… please.” you whispered out the last of your words, your sobs echoing through the empty, dim-lit lobby.

she’d never seen you like this before.

not once in the several years of being your friend or your girlfriend.

and you were right, she loved you so much. just as much as you did her.

and that was enough for her to listen.

“get up.” she spoke so softly, you could’ve missed it if you weren’t listening for any response.

you scrambled, shuffled onto your feet, and finally came face-to-face with the girl you loved.

it took everything in you to not hold her, kiss her, and comfort her, when you knew you were the cause of her pain and suffering.

but if god made angels roam earth, you were convinced minji was one of them.

she almost catapulted towards you, causing you to stumble backwards until your back met a wall. your arms automatically wrapped around her waist, like it was second nature, or maybe because it was.

you heard her sobs, and you ran your fingers through her hair like she’d do for you. rub her back comfortingly like when you held your siblings in your arms, her tears dampening your clothes the same way theirs did.

you let her be, and waited patiently until she decided to speak. her face rested against your shoulder so her voice was slightly muffled,

“i thought you’d leave.”

you felt your chest tighten in guilt.

“i thought i did something wrong, or that you were tired of me. tired of dating someone with a job like mine, packed up, and left.”

then, you took me by surprise. you said,

“i’m sorry i made you feel that way.”

you kissed the top of her head and rested your cheek against it.

“never again. i promise, and i say it out loud this time. i’ll never leave you alone.”

#newjeans x reader #newjeans imagines #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #kim minji imagines #minji imagines #kim minji

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zanarkandfayth · 1 month

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Would love to read your answers to questions 3, 9, 13, 17, 18, 26, 29, 31, 32, 50, and, if there's another number (or several) you really wanna answer, please add those too ✨

thank you for the ask!! <33 I wrote you novels in return gjdskglj

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

oooh this one is so hard because I love most of my fics for different reasons, even my older ones (at least the ones on ao3. we ignore the ones left behind on ffnet lmao). hhhh, of completed ones that are posted, imma have to say monsters honestly, because damn did I put some heart into that. but the one I'd probably consider absolute best is the still ongoing, not yet posted 600K+ beast of a fic I usually refer to as "nanofic" that I've been working on since 2019. it won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it just gets so deep into noct's trauma that I inflict on him and his slow recovery from it, more than I've done for any other fic, and I've poured so much blood sweat and tears into that thing, it's kinda everything to me.

9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?

written, no. been tempted to in the past, but it was too much effort and I already had too many fics for my main fandoms. I have read fandom blind for both harry potter and supernatural in the past though, like lates 2000s into mid 2010s. both were kinda on accident. supernatural in particular is because it kept getting crossed over with MULTIPLE of my fandoms. psych, house md, and criminal minds. so I started reading non-crossover supernatural fics in self-defense gsdklgjdks

13. What’s the biggest change between your style when you started in fandom and today?

I mean… this is the first paragraph of one of my fics from my first fandom when I was fifteen. you tell me 😂

"Relena smiled as she sipped her tea and mentally reviewed the day's schedule. 8:00 am- peace talk to the world. 10:00 am- conference with Romefeller. 1:00 pm- try to convince Dorothy to become a pacifist because she was to stupid to understand that Dorothy loved war. Rest of the day- annoy the HELL out of Heero Yuy. Smiling happily again (PLEASE! Her smile is SO annoying), she stood up and was just about to take a step when …. suddenly a freak falling cow killed her!!! =^.^= The gundam boys all burst out of closets around the room and rejoiced."

the biggest change is probably that I actually write well now lmao. and don't character bash. and don't throw author's notes and emoticons in the middle of fics, and have learned to format better, and, and…

17. In your opinion, what’s your most overrated fic?

oh god. let me hide before I answer this. hands down, it's shadows growing. like let me be clear, it's not bad by any means. I'm still fond of it. but I did not have a clear plan when I started writing it, and I really feel like that shows. it was not meant to be a fix-it fic. it was not meant to be a longer fic. it was not meant to be much of anything, tbh. I saw the prompt on the kink meme and the prologue literally started writing itself in my head and I was like "nah idk what I'd do with that" and I scrolled past, but I couldn't focus on reading other prompts and so I went back and just started typing the fic in a reply to the prompt. honestly I figured I'd write whatever I could and then when I left it unfinished, no one would know because I was anon and I had like one fic posted on ao3 for ffxv at the time and I was used to being a complete fandom nobody. the fact that shadows growing got me even somewhat noticed was unexpected and I was not prepared gdjskgjdskl

it definitely affected the fic because once the readers started picking up it made me feel suuuuper stressed and I was so afraid to stray too far from canon because I thought people would hate that??? for some reason??? no there's logic there. I was just overwhelmed. and I do get why people love it, because the whump and the friendship between the boys is really good. but I cannot help but look at it and remember how out of my depth I felt at the time and wish that I had been brave enough to diverge more from canon and smart enough to come up with a better ending. I still suspect there were quite a few people who felt let down by the ending and that's fair honestly. anyways, yeah, it's a good fic and I'm fond of it and most of the attention and the recs it got were in the first couple years of the game being out and I don't begrudge it being my most popular fic, I just. have better ones now I feel like gjsdgjskgsj but maybe not ones as many people would want to read. which is fine with me tbh.

18. What’s your most underrated fic?

the gladio oneshot in my "fayth's daddy issues week" series! (I wrote all those fics so back to back that I can't remember the titles for any of them whoops.) I adore that fic and it got so little attention compared to most of the other fics in that week, or my fics overall tbh. the only one that got even less was the one about iris 🤣 but I don't care much for the iris one either, even though I think it has some stellar banter between the boys and cute/funny prompto/gladio moments. I really love the gladio one though, because it was fun to revisit gladio's pov in a fic and I got to develop a bit of backstory for him that's been evolving into headcanon and there's a good chunk of ignis and gladio friendship that was the precursor to all their friendship in monsters, plus I got to make gladio cry, so. I love it <3

26. What aspect of your writing do you most enjoy to see praised?

characterisation, for sure. it's the one thing I agonise over and actually worry about what readers might think at times, especially as I get further away from having played the game to keep it fresh in my mind. so anyone commenting that it feels right makes me roll around on my bed in glee. the other aspect I equally enjoy is people commenting on the emotions. like, that the ones I wrote the characters having feel real/deep, that it made the reader feel them too, etc. stuff like that. cos the emotions are literally why I write fic lol.

29. Does the division of your writing across fandoms line up with your reading? What’s the biggest discrepancy?

I am dumb and am struggling to understand what this question is asking, tbh. is it like, do I write for as many fandoms as I read, or something? because fuck no in that case, haha. the only fandoms I've done major writing for (more than one or two fics) are gundam wing, digimon adventure, final fantasy x, and final fantasy xv. and I've read for something like 100 fandoms, idk. at one point I had a list but I stopped keeping track eventually.

31. Who’s the one character you’ve just never managed to get perfectly right?

well… I didn't really understand the concept of characterisation for fanfic until a little before I started writing for ffx. so uh, it's kinda non-existent in my gdw and digimon fics. but once I actively started trying for it… honestly maybe just yuna from final fantsy x. I had some things featuring her meant to be longer fics that were set during the game (most of my posted stuff is set pre-canon, with no yuna in sight) but I never finished and/or posted them because I always felt shaky on yuna's characterisation. I don't think I've majorly struggled with anyone in ffxv to the point that I've felt too dissatisfied with characterisation to post. but at the same time I'm sure none of them are actually perfectly right xD but they FEEL more or less right to me, which is all I care about.

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

noct. I mean. he's my blorbo for a reason xD my beloved, I relate to him so much and the rest of it I just project lololol. I make a point to not actually just write myself as noct, cos I personally ain't about that, but it feels very easy to write him without needing to think too deeply about his thoughts/feelings/reactions most of the time. they feel instinctual to me, even when it's something that would differ from my own thoughts/feelings/reactions if I was in a similar situation.

50. Has writing fanfic had a significant impact on your life? Would you say it’s entirely positive?

YES and the answer to this question is one of the reasons antis/purity culture upsets me so fucking much. it's a personal/sensitive answer though so skip if you don't want to read that xD but. reading rape/sexual abuse & aftermath fics as a teenager is what helped me to understand that, even though there was no outright rape happening, I was still being abused. seeing my favourite characters have the courage to tell someone about their abuse and get help is what encouraged me to tell one of my friends during an AIM conversation late one night when I was sixteen, and she convinced me to tell my therapist at my next appointment, who then told my mom, and yeah let's just say that was a very significant and eventually positive impact (it was a rocky road) on my life. if none of that had happened I genuinely think the CSA would have continued escalating into eventual rape. so thank FUCK for fanfic and I seethe with rage every time some shitfuck anti tries to claim there's no good to be found in such fics. plus in general it just helps with my mental health and I've made plenty of friends through fic over the years, even if they come and go I'm still grateful to have known them for that time, and writing fic is the one thing that gives life any meaning for me, etc. so yeah I'd say at least 99% positive.

and now, I will add a few to answer, because you said I could lmao

7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

it is a toss-up between horizon road, an ffx fic featuring a toxic, fucked up relationship between tidus and auron that I still really love, or endless skies, a really self-indulgent digimon fic. they're both old at this point, horizon road I started in 2005, and endless skies was in 2016. horizon road suffers from me having no solid ideas for it beyond the three chapters I wrote, and endless skies is painfully fully outlined, but it was such a hard, research-intensive fic to write for a number of reasons, and now looking at it also just reminds me of an ex-friend who I feel very negative towards (because I talked to them a lot while plotting/writing and they even wrote some of the smut scenes for me, though I've since removed those) and even if I wasn't still deeply entrenched in ffxv, I don't think I could bring myself to ever work on it again :/ which sucks because I did adore it very much.

35. Have you ever written a ship into a fic without meaning to?

…okay, I think anyone who has read shadows growing and then has also read or even looked at my ignoct fics knows that the ignoct is very much present in shadows growing gjdskgjsk as much as I will swear up and down it's platonic, and people certainly can take it that way if they want, like. come on. it's there. at a point, it very much was intentional. BUT. it did start out accidental. the og prompt asked for either gen or OT4 and I don't ship OT4 so I was gonna do gen but noct and ignis kept blurring the lines when I started writing scenes with them gdsjkgdjkl aaaaand actually I didn't start monsters with the intention of it being ignoct either. (the ignoct bits in the first chapter I actually added in a rewrite of that chapter lmao.) nor the tiny little epilogue in heavy is the burden that nudges into hinting at ignoct territory. fuck, even the ignoct in my very first ffxv wasn't meant to be so overt as it was gjdsklgjks there's also tiny hints of it in some of my fayth's daddy issues week fics (not counting the one that's deliberately and stated to be ignoct).

…actually now that I'm writing this I'm realising very little of my ignoct has been deliberately planned at the start 😂 the sequel to shadows growing, grey skies, was planned, at least xD the promptio that shows up towards the end of the fic was an accident though gjsdkgljslk it just. happened??? I didn't even LIKE promptio when I started writing that fic. huh. maybe accidental shipping is just my thing in writing ffxv fics.

40. Do you feel like you put out enough content?

wanted to answer this one, because, I'm NOT talking in terms of other people here. I don't mean to sound dismissive or ungrateful, because I do appreciate the people who read my fics, it makes me happy, but like. it's not why I write OR post. I'm not "producing content" for people; if someone is unhappy with me for not posting more fics, that's their problem. but in terms of myself… yeah, I do wish I had more to post. not because I feel like I've got some kind of arbitrary quota to meet. like, quite frankly, I have over a million words of fic posted on ao3, and given that I have a single unposted fic that's over 600K alone, I'm positive I have at least 2mil total words written. it's just that I wish I could write more consistently/frequently? I feel like I never write as much as I want to, and I know a lot of it is because of my worsening health, so maybe that's why I just feel so frustrated and dissatisfied with my output, but man, sometimes I look at my number of posted works on ao3 and feel like it's such a low number for how long I've been writing ): both for ffxv specifically and for all my fics total. I know it's silly, but the feeling persists nonetheless.

thank you again for the ask!! I feel happy getting to answer questions and ramble about my fics :D and it was really fun to think about my answers and realise a thing or two haha.

#I assume most people use the auto-hide/click to expand long posts setting on tumblr now #but if you don't then rip your dash I guess #cos I don't wanna stick any of it behind a cut #I didn't mean for it to get so long though #I just cannot help but be wordy gjkdsgs #ask game #my fic

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celestie0 · 1 month

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Hello ellie! 😍 im just here to drop a ‘few’ words so don’t mind me 🤪 (i fear it may have turned into a yapsesh oopsies!)

Help omg idk if this is tmi but like im on my period and I was reading chap 3 of ihm right… and how could i prevent myself from laughing at my fav goofy ahh lighthearted romcom series on tumblr? 😔 put 2 and 2 together and boom i had my ketchup bottle moment when reading the dialogue bye 💀🤚 I LITERALLY HAD TO STOP FOR A MOMENT TO PROCESS WTH JUST HAPPENED LOL

Anyway, i rlly LOVEEEE your writing style for ihm,, the goofiness n domesticity is what I need as therapy for the heart wrenching angst fics ive read 😤 the way you write y/n + gojo’s dynamic and quarrels never fail to make me crack up like an egg and i love you for that 😔 THANK YOU FOR CREATING A COMFORT FIC FOR US ALL 🥺🫶

I hope I’m not stepping out of line here but your feelings abt the smut in ihm is totally valid and i understand you. That anon probs didn’t intend on bringing any harm but like there’s bountiful of smut in the jjk fandom that I’m sure they could have read instead of commenting smth so ignorant and disrespectful 🥲 Pls every time i search ‘jjk x reader’ in the search tab, i’m always greeted by endless posts of smut one-shots 😭 but fr this fandom actually needs to stop being a buncha horny brainrots bc im actually over repetitive and predictable smut,, everything just feels so shallow :,0 (everyone is entitled to their own opinion so dont atk me pls) and them invading your personal space by demanding smut is just not it… and we all know you don’t have to cater to them bc u don’t owe them anything! no need to listen to the smut hungry anons bc they don’t even care abt the blood, sweat and tears you pour into ur fics if they’re pushing you to write smut 😡‼️ they can go fulfil their dirty desires somewhere else ;-;

Words seriously cannot express how much I love your stories and just wanna applaud you for not immediately jumping into smut and actually having relationship buildup,, it makes the stories have sustenance and ik u want ur fics to be memorable in a unique way to your lovely readers 😇 but we seriously need a smut ban n touch grass movement in the jjk fandom for a bit bc this is getting out of hand 😭

I LOVE YOU ELLIE AND PLS DONT BE DISCOURAGED BY THESE SILLY ANONS BC AT THE END OF THE DAY THEY R NOTHING + YOUR SUPPORT SYSTEM (us ACTUAL readers and gojo) WILL ALWAYS HAVE UR BACK AND SHOWER U IN THE LOVE THAT U DESERVE!!! ❤️

hiii bb!! PLEASE the ketchup bottle moment sent me to the moon also so fucking relatable xD and omg i'm so glad you enjoy the lightheartedness of ihm so far!! it's been sm fun to write and it's become a comfort fic of my own as well <33

thanks so much for the support on the smut thing <3 i've been toggling back n forth between feeling awful for coming at that anon like that vs being glad i stood up for myself lol, but ultimately, i just needed to share my perspective. i don't think they were trying to be rude either, which is why i felt bad, but i spoke my truth lol

and i totally agree w you (pls no one attack me either) but i'm honestly kind of sick of just seeing straight smut on my feed. like it's fine when i'm in the mood but the tumblr algorithm for jjk feels like your partner constantly begging you for sex 24/7 lol. but yea power to whatever someone wants to read, but don't impose it on an author.

anywho i've been talking a lot ab this situation lolol i feel like there's nothing i haven't said anymore but i totally agree w everything you've said!

thanks sm for you lovely words of support bb :'') i love u tooo and i'm so blessed to have the community of support i have on here!! this situation has definitely made me realize i'm not alone. have a wonderful dayyy (also hope your period is treating you well) <3

#in holy matriphony #support #asks

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barfok · 11 months

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I’m not sure if sending this will help at the moment (though I have been meaning to for a while) but at least in my own little opinion, your writing is totally magnetic. I don’t even like fanfiction, for a myriad reasons, but I find myself immediately drawn into and invested in the pieces you write. I feel like your work is really on a magnificent level that is genuinely transformative, and that’s why I love it so much.

I want to say that you, more so than Todd or K*rkbride or that Schick guy from ESO or anyone else, make the world and history and cultures of TES feel real to me. But more than that, your attention to detail, to world-building, to pay-off from climactic moments, to writing realistic relationships of all kinds… it may still technically “just” be the Elder Scrolls, but these aspects more than stand on their own as a reflection of the skill and dedication you’ve put into your craft. Seeing familiar characters and events and worlds given due justice is a bonus of course, but it is not the only thing that defines your work, and at this point I am more than convinced to read anything you write.

I know I said I don’t like fanfiction but I have, aiming for a similarly transformative work, written it before. So I do have a lot of painful empathy for the situation of pouring blood sweat and tears into something that is inexorably tied to an existing media, especially that relatively few people will read. It really really sucks and it can feel so pointless and exhausting and frustrating. Deciding that all writing is practise helped a bit… taking apart the pieces of existing fantasy worlds and finding out how to improve them has taught me a lot about world-building and writing. I hope it has for you to.

Even if you feel it hasn’t… idk I’m not demanding that you agree with all this because I know it’s really hard to see or accept compliments on creative works when feeling down about them. But I felt I needed to send this anyway. I know am just one stranger on the internet but as someone who has followed Iliah and Karnalta and Egg of Time and your other work for a few years now, I just wanted to say thank you for sharing them. Your work is wonderful and inspiring and wholly unique and I hope you continue to write in whatever way makes you happiest

i'm ngl i misread the first line as "your writing is totally misogynistic" and thought that i was about to be attacked. oh my god

that said, this is an incredibly kind comment, and i really appreciate it-- thank you so much for taking the time to send it. as you obviously understand, writing derivative work feels like a completely thankless task at some points, so any and all feedback is extremely appreciated. even someone saying, "hey, i read that!" is like a godsend

i do justify all of this as writing practice and to be fair it has paid off in non-fanfic related writing (i've actually won a couple of competitions with original short stories i've written, and my academic writing is the only part of my academic career that's consistently complimented). i also justify it by the sheer fact that... i'm autistic, this is the topic i happen to be fixated on, and indulging that fixation releases a nice concoction of brain chemicals simply by virtue of how my brain is constructed. a lot of my frustration with myself is that i happen to be fixated on this, but this is an agony i've had since like 2018 so i don't foresee it changing any time soon. oh well.

i'm really glad you enjoy my work despite it being fucking, elder scrolls fanfiction. i just really do not have the words to say how much this message means to me, thank you a thousand times.

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obiwanobi · 4 years

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Catch me thinking about sith Anakin who got in a fight w/ Palps (did Palps cross a line? Did Anakin decide he had nothing to lose? Idk), barely managed to win and is now seriously hurting and a little freaked out winding up outside Obi-wan's quarters and Obi-wan doesn't have time to draw his saber let alone figure out how a sith lord managed to get so far into the jedi temple unnoticed and Force is that blood? before Anakin's passing out with only a murmered request for help.

LISTEN you can’t keep sending me perfect prompts, how do you know I can’t resist bloody men on their knees begging for salvation, how do you know me so well??? anyway here’s 2.3k of always-a-sith!Anakin who could have been the new ruler of the empire but said ‘no thanks, this is too much responsibility, I would like to be pampered by my favourite jedi now’ (with a bit of Ahsoka as Obi-Wan’s padawan!)

He didn’t mean to kill him.

Well, not at first.

He didn’t mean to kill Sidious, but pulling his lightsaber from his lifeless corpse only felt like complete satisfaction. A weight on his shoulders he didn't know he carried disappeared, letting him stand up above the body of his master— former master, and gaze upon what was left of him. A shapeless form on the ground. A dark cape around an old man playing at being a god. A begging mess of futile promises when he realised it was the end for him.

As mindless fury leaves him, his ragged breathing slows down and his fist unclenches around his saber. Sidious is dead. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone, his knees start shaking. His Master is dead. His face is wet with sweat and blood and tears. Dead and now Anakin has no one.

And then... And then fear.

"You know," Ahsoka groans as the water starts boiling, "I don't understand how you got your reputation of Cool Jedi Master. Other padawans think I'm lying when I tell them you wear the ugliest slippers at home and gets excited by new tisanes."

"You gifted me those slippers."

"As a joke. And you still wear them."

"I'm not going to throw away perfectly good slippers." Obi-Wan wiggles his toes under the red and yellow fuzzy monstrosities, just to see his padawan rolls her eyes. "And they're really comfortable."

"So you're just going to stay there, then? Your whole battalion is out celebrating our first day of leave since forever, but you prefer to drink your tea alone and go to bed at 22:00?"

"No one wants an authority figure around when they're letting loose and celebrating, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan says, pouring hot water in his cup. He raises the kettle towards his padawan as a question, to which she shakes her head. "I thought you would be happy to see me putting sleep before work for once."

"I am, Master, but I thought it could be..." She trails off, fidgeting with the hilt of her sabers. For once, she looks like a typical padawan, just like he was at her age, dying to enjoy one night away from the temple and any kind of responsibilities.

"It's alright my dear," he sighs, "you can join them if you want."

Ahsoka suddenly perks up. "I can?"

"If you're old enough to be sent to the front, I think you can handle yourself for one night on Coruscant."

"Thank you Master! I promise I'll be careful and not come back too late!"

"You do that, and-- wait, Ahsoka," he adds as she's already halfway through the door, "make sure to stay around Cody! And no alcohol of any kind! And don't lose your lightsaber at sabacc again!"

"That was you!" she yells from the end of the corridor, "don't worry, I'll be fine! Don't wait for me to go to bed! Goodnight Master!"

Obi-Wan smiles, blowing on his cup. He already sent a message to Cody earlier to keep an eye on her, so he knows she's in good hands.

He has his herbal tea, his ugly slippers, no reports to read or write, and no immediate Separatist menace to plan for. For once, a perfectly good night to catch up on sleep and meditation.

So, of course, something has to be wrong.

The Force is bright. The Force is lighter than it has ever been for the past few years.

And Obi-Wan can't understand why.

It's not just him that can feel it: Ahsoka has acted chipper since, more like the teenager she is, laughing with the clones and playfully teasing him the whole fly back to Coruscant. The temple has felt livelier than ever when they arrived, Jedi from all ages going about their day with a new spring in their step, greeting each other warmly in the corridors. Even Master Yoda has taken a few minutes during their Council meeting to note the shift in the Force. No Master could pinpoint the origin of this change, but all agreed that something good happened somewhere in the galaxy, and they were just feeling ripples of the effect in the Force.

Still now, the whole temple feels a bit more like it used to, before the war, and all Jedi are a bit happier without knowing why.

Only Obi-Wan feels like a noose tightening around him. Whatever it is, it's slowing making its way around his presence in the Force. Focusing on him and him alone. Doesn't matter how much Obi-Wan tries to hide himself, it's getting closer and never slowing down or losing interest.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about this.

But after almost three years of war, sullen faces and grim expressions, he doesn't feel like dampening the sudden good mood around the Temple just with a few words. He can probably deal with whatever it is by himself.

His tisane is cold when he finally emerges from his meditation. Nothing is clearer than when he started: the Force is deaf to his questions and inquiries, still light as a breeze. An airy unconcern for his restlessness. And yet, a thick pressure still looms around him, getting heavier each passing second now.

His fingers start pulling on his collar.

The clock on the wall indicates that he lied to Ahsoka when he said he was going to bed at a respectable time today. No diurnal Jedi would still be up right now, but he still considers going out to knock at Mace's door. Narrowed eyes and a very long sigh will be his first answer, but Obi-Wan knows that Mace would never refuse to hear him out. Yes, he finally decides when the pressure seems to creep even closer to him, it's worth waking up Mace.

He opens his door, wondering if he should take his robe with him, and instantly stops walking.

There, in the empty corridor of the Jedi Temple, at his door and on his knees, is a Sith. He knows it's a Sith only because he recognises this specific mass of hair, the large shoulders, the dishevelled dark robe. He knows it's a Sith because he has crossed path with this one enough times on the battlefield to recognise him anywhere. Outside of it a few times too. He isn't sure it's a Sith when the Sith raises his head up, bloody and bruised face torn in an agonizing expression, and his eyes are blue.

"I— I didn't know where to go," Darth Vader says quietly, with the kind of voice expected from a lost child. It gives Obi-Wan a second shock to hear his voice, making his presence suddenly real. "You said... You said if I ever wanted to, if I needed help one day, you would— I could—"

Obi-Wan remembers it. He remembers all the times he offered his help. His pleas for him to stop the violence, the appeals to reason, the multiple suggestions of a gentler path. His hand continuously outreached but never taken. He remembers the burning gold of the Sith's eyes too, and his black cape floating above the dead clones at his feet.

His laughter the first time Obi-Wan brought up the idea of lowering their blades and talking around a cup of tea. His sneer the third time Obi-Wan tried to change his misconceptions about the Jedi Order and play-flirt with him in the same breath. The silence the fifth time Obi-Wan asked him his name, his real name, the one a parent gave him.

The tears the last time he gave it to him.

"And you're always trying to save me," Vader adds more forcefully now, like the words anger him, "you're always here, showing up almost every time I'm sent somewhere with your stupid smile and stupid words, and you're always nice, and... and teasing, and disappointed when I kill someone, like you expect me to be better, and I don't understand you, but..."

Vader raises his hand towards him, and it's only this sudden move that shakes Obi-Wan out of his stupor. Before the Sith can touch his leg, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to him, ignites it in one fluid motion, half-expecting Vader to be up and swaying his saber in his face by now. But the Sith is still on his knees, and it's only now that the blue light of his blade is above him that Obi-Wan realises the state he's in. His face isn't the only thing bruised and battered: his dark tunic is stained with blood and ripped in more than one place, one of his arms is bent in an unnatural way, and it looks like a cut above his hairline is still bleeding, making his curls stick to his face in a mess of wet hair and burned skin.

"Vader," Obi-Wan says slowly, when his thoughts finally regain a semblance of coherence. A rapid investigation through the Force assures him that no other enemy is around and the calm and quiet of the night in the Temple isn't a prequel for a storm. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here? How—"

Vader's hand, stuck in the space between them, reaches once again for Obi-Wan. Foolishly, Obi-Wan lets him. His fingers twist themselves in the fabric of his pants.

"He made me killed them all.” Vader wobbles on his knees for a second, the hand on Obi-Wan's leg gripping it tighter. “No platoons, no battle droids. Just me. He sent me to the power station and I cut through them so easily, so quickly, they didn't even fight back, and I didn't think that..." he trails off, panting. "Until.... until I saw the electro-whips."

"Are you talking about Naphtla?" he asks when Vader doesn't seem to be able to continue.

Naphtla. Outer Rim. Barely on the Republic radar until this afternoon, when nearby troops answered a distress signal and found a hidden Separatist power station operated by slaves. A third of them were dead, killed only a few hours before, and the survivors turned to the Republic for immediate support. Slaughtered like animals, the rescue team reported to the Council only a few hours ago, by one single man wielding a red lightsaber. According to witnesses, the darksider cut through the slaves like bantha butter, killing everyone in his path without discrimination, until he stopped for no apparent reason and abruptly left.

"You were the one who killed the people at the station there," Obi-Wan realises out loud, horrified, "the slaves from Zygerria."

Vader snaps his head up and his fingers tighten painfully around Obi-Wan's knee. "I DIDN'T KNOW!"

All Obi-Wan's senses and logical thoughts urge him to back out, put an end to this nonsensical charade, raise his lightsaber between them, get away from the dark, hungry void Vader generates in the Force.

But his eyes are looking up to him. Gripping his gaze with the same intensity as his hand on his leg. Bloodied face and pleading, on his knees. Full of tears.

Obi-Wan doesn't push Vader's hand away.

"I didn't know they were slaves, I didn't!"

"Vader."

"He never said! He sent me without telling him, he knows I don't—" A small noise sounding suspiciously like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

"Vader, who sent—"

"When I came back," he tries again, quieter. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask about this he, but Vader's head lolls for a second, too heavy to support, before butting gently against Obi-Wan's leg. Vader makes no effort to move, content to stay there, and after a second, a small, almost timid nuzzle against his thigh sends a series of shivers through Obi-Wan's spine. It shuts him up instantly. "When I came back, he looked at me for so, so long, before saying that he knew, he knew I was going to fail, that I was... just like them after all, and that I could never... And I was so mad, so angry at him, so I... I..."

The last words are muffled by the fabric Vader clings to. Hides into. There's blood on Obi-Wan's pants now.

"What have you done, Vader?" Obi-Wan asks, softer than he intended. "Vader," he asks again when no reply comes, without success. The hand not holding his lightsaber moves, hesitates for a moment, then settles lightly on Vader's hair, mindful not to touch any open wounds. His fingers nudge him to tip his head back, gently, carefully, and settle on his cheek to hold his face up, looking at him. "Anakin." His name, his true name, makes him blink a few times. "Anakin, what have you done?"

"I killed him," he finally admits, barely audible. He looks exhausted, more like a child in need of rest than ever.

"Who did you kill?"

"My master."

"Dooku? You killed Dooku?"

"No," Vader— Anakin frowns, like Obi-Wan should know better. "Sidious."

It's a bit much to process in one day. Another Sith Lord, Vader's master, concealed and kept a secret, now dead, killed by his apprentice —and does that make Vader the ruling Sith Lord now? Do Sith have rulers?— the lightness in the Force the same day, a half-dead Vader begging for help in the middle of the night in the Jedi Temple, and all of that while Obi-Wan is still wearing his ugly slippers.

He's so glad he sent Ahsoka away for the night.

Anakin doesn't let him time to feel the migraine coming.

"I can't do it, I can't be my master, I can't— and Dooku hates me, he will never help me, even if I let him have it all, he will never..." Vader seems to run out of steam, and lets his eyes close as his head falls once again against Obi-Wan's thigh. Closer. "You said you could help me. You said I could come to you at any time. You said you would always be there if I didn't want to... do this, anymore."

"I did," Obi-Wan assures him, his hand lightly petting his hair again.

Anakin lets out a long breath. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Obi-Wan's pants, loosen, and tighten again.

"You're the only one I trust," the Sith quietly tells the Jedi, and it's the saddest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.

#appleslakesandeuchre #(I changed the end of your prompt a bit I hope it’s fine with you)#asks #obikin #clem's aus #fic i will never write #always a sith anakin au #ahsoka the next morning is HORRIFIED to find a sith on the couch #like 'I knew you had a huge soft spot for him but really master? REALLY?'#obi-wan 'shh don't raise your voice at him'#fic i did write

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cupofteaguk · 4 years

Text

battle of brains (m)

PART OF THE REPUTATION SERIES

summary: when it comes to academics, everyone knows not to disrupt Park Jimin with his high-standing reputation. but how is a transfer student from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry supposed to know about maintaining his reputation? spoiler alert: they don’t care.

pairing: jimin x fem!reader

genre: hogwarts au, nerd!jimin, enemies to lovers au | smut

warnings: jimin and yn are arrogant idiots, inappropriate usage of Head Student/prefect equipment, alcohol consumption, the story sort of rushes towards the end because I was (and am) so tired of writing this lmao

smut present in the form of: sexual tension, slight dirty talk maybe idk what i’m doing, light bratty and dom vibes, fingering, unprotected sex, cumplay, overstimulation, bondage, one (1) spank, dry humping, slight voyeurism (they have sex in a bathroom, it’s not as gross as it sounds i promise), yeah idk there’s a lot of filth i lost control lol

word count: 25k

a/n: I have poured my blood sweat and tears (by bts) into this fic and appreciate the patience of everyone on this site. hope you enjoy it xx

Park Jimin enters the school grounds the same way he has for the past six years: smirk on his face, books in his bag, and a knowledge in his heart that he is the smartest student standing within these castle walls.

After all, ever since stepping off the train of platform nine and three-quarters all those years ago, Park Jimin has never slipped below an O on his test grades, on his assignments, and overall grades in his classes. Six years have seen Park Jimin on a first name basis with all of his professors, every conversation plagued with his natural talent and natural inclination to do well on essays and exams. And none of them are overgeneralizations about Jimin either—if those aforementioned Outstanding marks on his report cards are anything to go off of. It’s a good position to be in, one that Park Jimin acknowledges and is proud of. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s spent years buried in the library, combing through as many books as his mind would allow him to, using his knowledge to lead discussions and tests and basically set himself as one of brightest wizards in Hogwarts.

So, pair that intelligence with his charming smile and his highly capable social skills to last in plenty of social interactions—and you get Park Jimin. He’s proud, smart, smug, and currently raising his hand. It’s a normal sight for any student in Hogwarts who has the pleasure (or misfortune, or annoyance) of attending class with Park Jimin or attending class with the same house as Park Jimin. His quick-wit and fast processing brain earned him lots of points towards the Slytherin house. But for every point he earned Slytherin, he took away the opportunity for another house to earn points—hence, where the annoyance from his peers probably comes into play.

But Park Jimin doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to look out for anyone other than himself. That’s why as soon as Professor Binns opened class with his usual first question: “Can anyone tell me what followed the Soap Blizzard of 1378?”, he lifts his hand up.

He waits for Professor Binns to look up and call his name, as it usually goes. Jimin’s usual plan, however, is halted when an unfamiliar voice sounds from the back of the classroom. “I believe it was the Wizarding Economic Bubble Burst, professor.”

A different kind of silence takes over the classroom, one that is plagued with a weight of questions and surprise. Who was talking? Who would answer a question without raising their hand?

But above all: Who would try to overstep Park Jimin?

Jimin overcomes the momentary flood of confusion that pour through him as he lowers his hand. As soon as his hand is back on his desk, he follows what his peers are doing in turning around in his seat, to see who the voice belongs to. At the doorway stands a student Jimin has never seen in his life, dressed in what looks to be new Hogwarts robes. Behind you is Professor McGonagall, displaying no expression to give away who you are or what you’re doing here.

You’ve got your hands in the pocket of your robes, head tilted to the side, looking as if answering Professor Binns question had required no extra mental effort, as if you had the answer ready on the tip of your tongue.

At your response, Professor Binns looks up from his podium. “You are correct. Normally, I require students wait to be called on first before answering my question. But you provided a full answer, which is impressive. Especially for an event that hasn’t been covered for you students in a few years. But no matter. To what do I owe the pleasure, Professor McGonagall?”

“My apologies, Professor Binns,” She says, holding up a slip of paper. “But we have a new transfer student—someone from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” The professor directs her attention to the rest of the class. “I know we rarely get transfer students, especially so late in the student’s life, so I expect you all to be welcoming to help Ms. Y/N get adjusted.”

The room is immediately enveloped in a blanket of whispers. Professor McGonagall is right—it’s not just rare to get transfer students, it’s practically unheard of. Especially during a student’s last year in school. The questions start coming up. Who are you? What type of situation are you in that would call for a transfer across the world? And again, the biggest question of all, how could you overstep Park Jimin?

Professor Binns stares at the two at the door for a moment longer, before he looks back down at the podium. “Very well. Ms. Y/N, was it? Take a seat. Contrary to my previous question, today’s lecture isn’t going to be about the Soap Blizzard, but it is a vaguely entertaining topic to engage in…”

He starts to drone on about something else. Maybe goblins or something? Park Jimin isn’t very sure anymore. The only thing he’s conscious of right now is the whispering exchanges between you and the professor. Professor McGonagall hands you the transfer papers. She asks you a few more questions before turning around and heading back down the hallway she had entered from. This leaves you alone in the doorway, lingering for a moment, before you start to move.

Even though Professor Binns is still going on about the topic for today, it’s clear hardly anyone is paying attention. The weight of their gaze falls solely on you as you enter the classroom. You aren’t doing anything to earn their attention, but questions about you largely outweighs any questions anyone might have about class.

People continue to watch as you brush behind Jimin’s seat, before settling yourself in the only vacant chair in the classroom—a place that also so happens to be Jimin’s desk partner. Jimin watches out of the corner of his eye as you settle yourself in, taking out your notebook, quill, and ink. He thinks about the possibility of you saying something to him—maybe an apology for answering a question he had already raised his hand for. Maybe an introduction. Maybe you would ask him how he knew about the Soap Blizzard. Yet, the longer the pair of you sit there, listening but not really listening to Professor Binns go on and on, the longer Jimin feels himself turn red with irritation. You remain quiet.

The class time goes a lot slower than Jimin is used to, as his mind is reeling too much with questions about his new desk partner to pay any attention to class material. It isn’t until Professor Binns is dismissing the class in his usual deadpan tone, does Jimin turn to look at you.

He pastes on a friendly expression. “Hey there,” He greets, just as you’re screwing on the cap of your ink bottle. “That was really impressive when you knew the answer to the question at the beginning of class. Did you guys over at Ilvermorny just go over the Bubble Burst before you transferred?”

You do look over at Jimin this time, eying him up for a moment before you smile. “No, not really. We went over that shit the same time as you guys.” You turn back to gathering your quill and ink. You flip your hair over your shoulder when it starts to get into your face. “I just have better memory than most.”

Jimin blinks, having not expected such an answer from you. You didn’t even thank him for the compliment, nevermind that you weren’t giving him anything to make a conversation from.

You flash him one last glance before you straighten up from your seat, making your way to the front of the room. It’s probably to ask Professor Binns about bringing you up to speed with any potential assignments or readings you need to fulfill in order to do well in the class. But just like with the whole encounter the pair of you experienced thus far, it further continues to rub Jimin the wrong way. As far as first impressions go, the one you leave behind is absolutely—!

“Terrible,” Jimin reports as he sits himself down in the courtyard, book bag thrown onto the ground and catching the attention of the other boys who are already situated around the area. He plops down next to Jungkook, running a hand through his hair and looking irritated enough that it halts any outside conversation that may have occurred before his appearance.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at Jimin’s arrival. “You doing okay there?”

Jimin gives a heavy sigh. “You should have been in class with me today. We have a new transfer student from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and she is—!”

“A new student at this time of year?” Yoongi interrupts, already proving to be uninterested with the direction of the conversation as he’s writing something down in his notebook. “During our last year?”

Jungkook perks up at the mention of ‘new’ and ‘student’. “Is she cute?”

Hoseok giggles, elbowing the boy. “Trying to find someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be fucked over by you, huh, JK?”

Jimin shrugs a shoulder, raising an arm into the air with the palm of his hand upturned, furrowing his eyebrows at the question. “I don’t know. Our conversation didn’t exactly highlight the charming aspects of her personality.”

Namjoon whistles. “She must have really done something for you to be annoyed.”

“She was just…” Jimin trails off, trying to find the right word to describe the current feeling setting with him. “She just—she answered Professor Binn’s beginning of class question without raising her hand. She didn’t even wait for Professor Binns to call on her! Can you believe that?”

There’s a lapse of silence as his friends take a moment to take in Jimin’s explanation of his day.

Jungkook is the first to realize that Jimin is finished, and is the first to speak up. “Is that it?”

Yoongi looks up from his notebook. “But you hardly ever wait for the professors to call your name.”

“Hey!” Jimin calls, pointing a finger at the Head Boy. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, of course,” Yoongi says, brushing the hair from his forehead. “But you seem to be upset for a minor reason. Even from my perspective, it doesn’t seem like she did anything wrong. She knew the question, so she answered it.”

Jimin pouts slightly. “Doesn’t seem like you’re on my side though! How can you say something like that? For a Head Boy, you’re not good at paying attention to rules.”

“Maybe participation is measured differently at Ilvermorny—you expect me to write up detention to someone because they broke rules they didn’t even know existed in the first place?” Yoongi asks. The corner of his lips turn up. “I admit I can be a little harsh with giving out detentions, but the students I target have known about the Hogwarts rules their entire life. They should know better. The expectation on that transfer student is a little much, especially coming from you. Are you sure you’re not just mad that someone who wasn’t you got to show off?

Jimin glares. “Of course not,” He protests, done in a way that is overly exaggerated and implies that he��s definitely mad he didn’t get to show off.

“Of course he is,” Namjoon grumbles under his breath. “The spotlight is taken away from him for two seconds and he’s already pouting like a baby.”

“I’m not pouting,” Jimin scowls. “I can’t believe you guys aren’t on my side. Someone answering a question before me is like someone catching a Golden Snitch before Jeon.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “You trying to compare us or something, Park? Besides, a question given at the beginning of class is different from a whole Quidditch game. I guess it’s more like someone doing better than me during Quidditch practices? I’m not at my best, just like how you aren’t at your best during questions asked in class that, frankly, don’t mean shit.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of bread he had taken from the Great Hall earlier that morning. No one questions it. Jungkook is known to sneak snacks around. He takes a bite of the bread. “And just like how I’m at my best during Quidditch games, you’re at your best when you’re prepared and focused.”

“Jungkook is right,” Namjoon says, slinging an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “So what if a transfer student gets one question right? You’ve gotten six years worth of questions correct. When the tests start coming around and the professors congratulate you on another high score, I think you’ll realize how much you’re overreacting.” He holds up a finger when Jimin opens his mouth. “You are, but that’s fine.”

Jimin sighs. “Okay, okay, you’re right. It was just one question. It’s not that big of a deal. You’re right. I’m fine.”

His friends exchange glances, but Jimin pretends he doesn’t see them because he’s too busy trying to engrave the previous reassurances into his mind. He was totally fine. He could brush past this minor irritation. It’s not like other students never got to answer questions delivered by a professor over his student career, because they had. This was just another person, and you are just another student—a new student, but a student nonetheless. In a few weeks, you’ll just become someone he’ll pass by in the hallway.

The mental note that in the long run, your small interaction would become a hazy memory, relaxes Jimin. After all, it’s not a big deal. It was fine.

Spoiler alert: It was not fine.

Rumors have a habit of flying around Hogwarts quickly. After all, when students are more-or-less trapped in a castle for nine months of a year, the amount of entertainment available becomes limited to homework, friends, a handful of outdoor activities, and participating in the creation and distribution of gossip. Kim Namjoon knows all about gossip—he’s part of the foundation that creates that business.

And it’s all driving Park Jimin crazy, not because of the act of gossip itself, but because the rumors are circling around an individual he thought would have been pushed to the backburner by now. That individual, as could be guessed, is you. And he can’t believe it.

In all honesty, he should have known better. A student from the Ilvermorny school comes in during the final year, answers a question seamlessly right off the bat, and makes no attempts to befriend any students. What kind of person wouldn’t be curious about that?

The answer is no one. Everyone is curious about you, and it shows.

After all, it just takes one week for everyone to know about your quick response to Professor Binns question, and even less time for assumptions about your education level to come into discussion.

“I hear she was the top student at Ilvermorny,” Namjoon says by way of greeting as he slides across from Jimin in the library.

Jimin barely looks up from his textbook. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better because…?” He trails off.

Namjoon blinks. “It wasn’t.”

Jimin scowls. “Fuck off.”

It’s hard to pretend someone doesn’t exist when their mere presence can cause so much discussion and debate. Besides, he already had an inkling that you weren’t just any normal student from Ilvermorny. Your knowledge of the material being taught in class has shed a light to two things: one, it highlights your ability to retain topics from years ago and two, it shows how quickly you can follow your professors advice on readings or essays needed in order to be up to date with the curriculum.

Conclusion: you are smart. Really smart, actually. Smart enough to be the top student at Ilvermorny. And the seeming lack of effort on your end to accomplish so much with little work is what Jimin realizes is the most irritating aspect of this whole thing. That may have slid by at Ilvermorny, but this is different. Because you being the top student at Ilvermorny is equivalent to Jimin being the top student at Hogwarts. And if you took over his spot, where would that leave Jimin? The second best student at Hogwarts?

Yeah, he doesn’t think so.

The feelings only dig themselves in deeper when the first few weeks pass and test dates start being scheduled, announced, and distributed. Jimin studies the way he has for years: he buries himself in his notebooks and holes up in the library for as long as physically possible. He smiles at some pretty girls that walk by, that park themselves in a table just a few rows down from his own. They giggle at the smiles he sends and the glances he steals with them. He doesn’t start a conversation with any of those girls, however, he continues to keep to himself as he rummages through his notes to stay on top of his study schedule.

After a few minutes of organizing and filling out study guides, Jimin realizes that there is a question he hadn’t taken note of during his previous classes. With a sigh, he straightens up out of his desk, heading towards the aisle filled with Charms textbooks. His eyes narrow on the spines of the books, already having a vivid image in his mind of what he was looking for.

His fingers reach out, hovering, until a movement next to the corner of his eye stops him. He lowers his hand, and glares. “I’m a little surprised to see you here,” He notes by way of greeting.

You give Jimin a smile with no teeth. “Is that anyway to speak to your seat partner, Park Jimin?”

“I was just making an observation.” He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t comment about him answering your question with a question. After all, this kind of conversation is a normal occurrence between the two of you—as it has been ever since your first encounter.

“Just grabbing a book,” You say, reaching into the shelf and sliding out a copy of an advanced seventh year Charms textbook. “Those bonus questions on the charms study guide are a real bitch, am I right?”

He stares at you. “I can’t say for sure. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Wow.” You grin. “And I thought you were one of the smart ones, Park Jimin.” You bring the book to your chest. “I should get back to my seat.”

He hums, about to let you slip past his fingers, but a thought stops him. “Hey,” He calls out, watching as you turn back around. Your eyes study him—gaze observant and unwavering.

His own eyes momentarily flicker down below your face. From the collar of your school shirt to your waist, to the line where the fabric of your skirt meets the skin of your leg. He swallows, dragging his eyes back up to you. You raise an eyebrow, a corner of your lips turning up, as if you know what he’s thinking. “Yes?” You ask, making yourself comfortable again against the shelf.

“Listen,” He starts, trying to mentally form his words. “I know you’re new, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. But ranking first on tests and grades is sort of my thing. I’ve been here since I turned eleven, so I think as a newcomer you should learn your place now before rumors get spread and your life here as a student gets very complicated.”

You huff in disbelief, taking a step towards him. “Is that a threat, Park Jimin?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” He returns.

You’re standing at an arm’s length away from him. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re trying to play. Trying to enforce something that only benefits you, because it seems like you can’t handle when someone is smarter than you are.” You smile again, no teeth. “I’m not scared of you. You think I give a fuck about what your little gang of friends have to spread about me? Yeah, I know about your group. If you think bullshit like that is going to stop me from doing my best, then you better start doing some actual research about me. I think you’re in over your head. I was the best at my school, so don’t think I don’t have what it takes to be the best here.”

Jimin remains unwavering, choosing to keep his gaze on you. “We’ll see about that.”

You raise an eyebrow at the challenge, looking amused rather than annoyed. For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your gaze switches between his eyes.

And down at his lips.

They flash back up just as fast as they had looked down.

Your tongue quickly darts across your lower lip. “I guess we will,” You say, taking a step back. “I’ll see you around, Park Jimin.”

His gaze trails down your backside as you leave.

The Charms exam is the first test of Jimin’s final year at Hogwarts, and he goes in with high expectations for himself—as he always does. He answers all the questions, recalling them from the study guides or various readings he had done in preparation. All in all, it’s a regular Charms exam in all its short answers and detailed explanations, but one he has full confidence in doing the best in once again.

So imagine his surprise when Professor Flitwick stops in front of your desk, produces your test from the collection in his arms, and utters the following words: “Congratulations to Ms. Y/N for making the top score in the class. She went above and beyond for all the questions, including the extra credit, and is therefore very well deserving of her Outstanding score!” He claps. “Yes, yes, very good Ms. Y/N! Keep up the good work!”

You smile, looking down at your practically unmarked test, taking in the O at the top of the paper.

The way you slide your eyes towards Park Jimin does not go unnoticed by him, who looks down at his own test. There is a single mark on his test, a -½ at the top, with points marked off from one of his last extra credit questions. Missing a half mark on a test isn’t unheard of with a Charms exam, which can be long and tedious and requires thorough paragraph-length responses.

However, Park Jimin not scoring the highest score in the class is unheard of.

And now you know it, as the students looking around the classroom is anything to go off on. You are not looking at the students around you. You are looking right at Park Jimin, with the corner of your lips turned up, a look of pride written all across your face.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do next, but maybe he’ll try to take a note from Jung Hoseok’s book about putting a damper on someone’s day—he wonders if you like hiccough sweet in your morning tea.

Park Jimin never gets to find out if you like hiccough sweet in your morning tea, because he gets called into Professor McGonagall’s office before he can figure out the best way to give you a taste of how rough he could make your life.

Not only does he get called into the Headmistress’ office, he gets called in with you.

He sees you about to pull open the office door, and cannot seem to help his impatience. He rushes towards you, brushing past you in an attempt to reach the handle first. “Excuse me sweetheart, I have an appointment with Professor McGonagall so if you could let me go ahead, I’d appreciate it…”

You move forward to block him from opening the door. You give him an eyebrow raise, thoroughly unimpressed. “Sweetheart?” You inquire, referring to his nickname.

He blinks. Normally, his peers would be flustered at being cornered in such a way and he cannot help his further frustration—because just what is your problem? Do you not have any weaknesses?

Since people are usually flustered following his whole ‘sweetheart’ role, he doesn’t know how to respond to someone who isn’t flustered by his role. Which, in turn, leaves him slightly flustered. “Well…” He starts.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I have a name, Park Jimin, and I’d appreciate it if you called me that instead of whatever bullshit you think I’ll bend over for.”

“Duly noted,” He grumbles, deciding to let you have this one. “I wasn’t trying to be difficult though, sweet—Y/N.” He corrects himself upon seeing your glare. If he thought you weren’t serious with your threats, he definitely doesn’t think that now. The glare you give him makes him wonder if maybe you’ll slip hiccough sweet into his morning tea. “I do have an appointment with Professor McGonagall right now.”

That makes you furrow your eyebrows, but not in a way that’s directed at him. “Huh,” You say, mostly to yourself. “I do too. That’s weird. Does she want to see both of us at the same time?”

Jimin crosses his arms over his chest. “Why are you asking me? I’m just here to get this meeting over with.”

“So am I, I’m just trying to figure out what this means! Don’t be an ass about this,” You snap back. You swear you’re about to go for the neck before the office door opens of its own accord.

“Y/N! Jimin! Please come in.” It’s Professor McGonagall.

You sharply turn to Jimin. “Great, she heard your squawking.”

Jimin glares at you. “You’re the one who’s talking about bending over for me!”

You flush deeply at that. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Y/N? Jimin?” Professor McGonagall appears at the office door. “You may come in, that’s why I opened the door for you.”

“P-Professor,” You say, stammering slightly and Jimin blinks at the sight—having never seen you look nervous before. “Whatever you heard outside, it’s not a reflection of our actual conversations…”

“As if we ever have any actual conversations,” Jimin grumbles under his breath, and you give him a look that could cut glass.

Before you can continue, the professor holds up a hand. “I just happened to open the door because it’s the time both of you should be here for your meeting anyways.” She shifts her gaze between the two of you. “Regardless of who is offering to bend over for whom.”

Even Jimin has to admit the hotness on his cheeks. Neither of you say anything to that, although you kick Jimin in the shin before entering the office. The pair of you are gestured to take a seat in front of Professor McGonagall’s desk.

“I do apologize for the last minute call,” She says as she laces her fingers together and places them on the desk. “But an assignment has come up that requires attention from both of you. It’s something that the top senior students are asked to do every year, but I wanted to make sure Y/N got adjusted before assigning her with a new project.”

“Forgive my bluntness, professor,” Jimin speaks, hands on his lap. “But is asking the transfer student really necessary for what project you have for me? Since I’m the top student, I’m sure I can shoulder this by myself—!”

“The project requires the top male and female student,” Professor McGonagall interrupts carefully, but she’s giving Jimin a look. “And since Y/N was the top student at Ilvermorny, her involvement in the project was requested by a member of the Ministry.”

Jimin notices the way you stiffen at that—he sees it in the tightness of your jaw, the way you sit a little straighter. The scoff overpower his curiosity, seeing your reaction as nothing more than a student trying to land a job with the aforementioned Ministry of Magic, and he hates it.

Neither you nor Professor McGonagall comment on his reaction, you just nod at her words with the kind of eyes that say you know exactly which member she’s referring to. Jimin decides not to ponder too deeply over it regardless. Any question, sarcastic or not, would not be received well by you.

“And what exactly is the project about, professor?” You ask after a moment.

Professor McGonagall readies herself at that. “It’s a project created by the Ministry of Magic,” She starts. “The project basically asks the top two students at Hogwarts to present a report about their time at the school—anything you two may have learned, from your classes to the extra curricular activities you might have enjoyed. We like to keep a good relationship with the Ministry of Magic, mainly to maintain career opportunities and internships open to the students here. The Ministry also likes to learn about what we’re teaching to either help fund programs and also keep other schools up to date with curriculum. Of course, the students who complete the project are allowed to opt out of their NEWT exams and are offered careers for those specific NEWTS. The project is given as an incentive for the top students to take advantage of the opportunity to jump start their careers—it’s also meant to serve as a reward for working so hard.”

“So, we have to…” Jimin trails off, looking at you. “Work together?”

“Yes, Mr. Park,” Professor McGonagall says. “The two of you will need to work together to come up with something cohesive, and professional. Y/N is still getting adjusted to life at Hogwarts, so I’m sure you’ll do well in showing her around the castle.”

“Yeah, Mr. Park,” You add in, wearing a smile across your lips. “Guess this means you have to accept me as your equal, huh?”

“When would we have to give this presentation?” Jimin cuts in, ignoring you completely and seeing the way you exhale through your nose in amusement.

“It’s after the fall quarter,” The professor answers, eyes flickering between the two of you. “If there’s any problems that come up, or if either of you have any questions—I am available to answer them. Although I hope you both will be able to sort through most problems, like adults.”

“I’m sure Mr. Park and I can figure something out,” You say, voice sugar sweet and eyes bright with attention. There’s a teasing tone, something you always seem to have during your encounters with Jimin. The boy merely sighs, mostly to himself, with the knowledge that this is something that has been handed to him. And therefore, it’s something he cannot outsmart.

“Wonderful,” Professor McGonagall replies, looking relieved. “You both may go if you don’t have any further questions.”

You straighten up, bowing to the professor, and purposely allowing your skirt to brush Jimin’s arm as you leave the room. His jaw sets further, because he could have sworn the skin of your leg touched his shoulder and the thought only annoys him more. Did you have to be such a brat—?

“Do you have anymore concerns, Mr. Park?” Professor McGonagall asks, beady eyes looking right through him. She seems to be challenging him. The Headmistress is, after all, no stranger to Jimin’s constant hustle to be the top student at the school. Jimin wonders if his nerves and him feeling threatened by a new student is showing. If it is, she doesn’t say anything.

Jimin slowly gets up out of his chair. “No, professor,” He says, tilting his head slightly. “No concerns, no problems.”

“Alright, well, you better get going,” Professor McGonagall says, picking up her quill. “I assume you have meetings to arrange with Y/N.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything to that. He just watches the professor for a second longer before turning around and exiting the same way he had entered. A lot of thoughts enter his mind in that moment, mainly thoughts circling around what in the ever fuck was he going to do about being confined to working with someone he honestly could not stand—!

“Just to let you know, I’m just as excited about this project as you are.”

He stops short, lingering just outside the door to the office. “What are you doing?”

You uncross your arms, remove yourself from your position against the wall. “I’m just expressing my excitement for this assignment.”

“You’re sticking around just to spite me.”

“Contrary to popular belief, not everything is about you. You’re just upset because you have to acknowledge that I’m smart enough to challenge you. Not only that, but smart enough to warrant a request for someone at the Ministry of Magic,” You say. “But that’s okay. I don’t need your acknowledgment—I’ve been doing fine all on my own.”

He turns to look at you. “Hey, what was all that bullshit about being requested anyways?”

You readjust the bag at your shoulder. “Hm, let me see… oh yeah. It’s none of your business.”

“Does that specific member at the Ministry have something to do with your transfer?”

You meet his gaze, eyes narrowing. “What part of ‘it’s none of your business’ do you not understand?”

“Oh, I understand it completely.” He takes a step towards you, hands in his pocket. “Since, you know, you’re all excited about us working together, I think the least you can do is give me some answers so I have a good idea of who I’m working with.”

You eye him up. “This is a presentation, Park Jimin, not a date.”

“What’s not a date?” Kim Taehyung slides up to the pair of you. He looks between the two of you glaring at each other. “Hold on, is that code for something? Are you guys planning a rendezvous? Either way, this is a really weird way to flirt…”

“We’re not flirting,” Jimin cuts in, sighing again when he seems to process who is next to him. He runs a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”

Taehyung blinks. “I saw you and thought I’d say hello. If I had known I’d be walking into this very angry form of eye-fucking then I’d—!”

“Do you have selective hearing?” You cut in. “Your friend already said we weren’t flirting. Which is true, we definitely aren’t.”

Taehyung looks at you, seeming to realize who you are right off the bat. This is probably because Taehyung is popular and charming and generally knows all the students who reside in this castle. Not being able to identify you gives him an exact answer to your name. “Hey, you’re—!”

“Leaving.” You turn around. Damn you, for twirling in a way that makes your skirt spin around. And damn Jimin, for watching that.

“... the new girl,” Taehyung says to nobody, voice lowering considerably as soon as you gave both boys your back. Knowing he won’t get his answer from you, he turns to Jimin. “That was the new girl, right?”

“Yes, Taehyung,” Jimin answers. “That was the new girl. And my life is officially over.”

Jimin hadn’t been exaggerating when he delivered the news to Taehyung. The universe setting you and Jimin up to be partners on an assignment that circled around being on the same page and constructing something cohesive? That in itself, especially with two individuals with such strong opinions, is just a recipe for disaster.

To be fair, the first meeting you and Jimin have isn’t a disaster.

Not immediately, at least.

“For the last time,” You say, rubbing at your temples. “We’re not going to do a presentation about your study habits and the grades you’ve received since your first year. Actually, not only are we not going to do that, I refuse to follow along in something that stupid.”

Jimin feigns an innocent pout. “But the assignment is to talk about our experience at Hogwarts—and I really think my own history is the only thing we can go off of! And my experience is getting good grades, so it seems like the shoe fits pretty well on that one.”

“Because you have nothing else better to talk about,” You grumble underneath your breath, straightening up and leaning back slightly when Jimin turns to glare at you. You hold up your hands in mock defense.

“Ha, ha, very funny. At least I would have something to talk about. You’ve been at Hogwarts for, what, a few weeks? What would you talk about? Interrupting class lectures and bending over for the smartest student at school, like what’s that about—?”

The flat of your palm goes straight for his collarbone. “Will you shut up about that?” You hiss.

“Ouch!” Jimin whines, running his own hand over the place you hit him. “What the fuck—!”

“Excuse me,” Madam Pince interjects from behind both of you. “Mr. Park, I’m surprised that I need to remind you of all people that the library is not a place for noise!”

Jimin winces. “Sorry Madam Pince.” He waits until aforementioned Madam Pince is out of earshot before whipping back around to face you. “Nice going, fucker. You’re lucky I’m not a mean person otherwise I’d make your life a living hell for that stunt.”

“‘I’m not a mean person’ he says,” You quote. “While he yells at me and calls me a fucker.”

Jimin leans forward to rest his head into the palm of his hands. “We’re never going to get anything done, are we?”

“And, by the way, what is your obsession with talking about me bending over for you?” You bring up, shoving one of your textbooks out of the way. You are able to turn more comfortably this time, resting your elbow on the table with your body facing towards Jimin. “You like watching people squirm or something?”

At that, he peeks out through the gaps of his fingers to look at you. Immediately, his eyes land on your bare knees, where your skirt probably would have been had you not been moving around previously in a way that caused the fabric to rise up. The fabric is now at your thigh, with your legs spread enough due to your quick movements. His eyes flicker down to the junction, darkened by the shadow casted by your skirt, leaving enough to the imagination.

He shuts his eyes, the previous flickers undetectable because of his hands blocking the way, but he cannot help the racing of his heart. He feels as if he just did something risky, thrilling, dirty.

Although who is he kidding. He did, in fact, do something risky, thrilling, and dirty all in one subtle glance. The knowledge of this only frustrates him further. Did you position your legs like that on purpose? Did you know that he would notice—just as he’s noticed you since your very first day in class? Today, though, it feels different. Beyond just the normal bounds of frustration, there’s a curiosity. More than curiosity, there’s a flashing image behind his eyes.

One of what it would feel like to have your thighs around his waist.

There’s a twitch between his legs.

“Not just anyone,” He returns instead.

You’re looking at him, legs still parted. “You wanna give me an idea of what that’s like, Park Jimin?”

Jimin continues to look at you, taking in your amused, curious, serious expression and the realization pings through his mind. You are doing this on purpose. You’re trying to test him, mess with him, and you are enjoying it—as you have been since he threatened you in the library. Just as you’ve done with staring at his mouth, when you brushed the hem of your skirt over his arm, and especially now. You aren’t stupid. You’ve seen his lingering eyes in the same way he’s noticed yours. You’re trying to see how far you can push him before he snaps.

He decides to ignore the fleeting distraction between his legs as he turns back to the opened textbook on his desk. “Unfortunately for you, you don’t fall in that category. Your curiosity is cute, though.”

“Hm.” You hum, finally turning back towards the desk and finally closing your legs and finally removing the distraction from his line of sight. “That’s a pity.”

He shrugs. “Since it seems like you do enjoy the thought of squirming around for me, maybe stay out of my way and I’ll consider showing you what that could be about.”

You actually laugh at that, a soft sound—appropriate, considering both of you were in a library, but something almost… whimsy? And pretty? What was happening?

At that, Jimin cannot help his own exhale of air, as he looks at you with eyebrows furrowed. “What’s so funny?”

You hum again, shrugging as you pull your school bag forward to stuff it with parchment and books. “Oh, nothing.” You straighten out of the seat, shouldering your bag. “You just admitted that I’m in your way. And that’s exactly where I intend to stay.”

He flickers his gaze down to your bag. “Hold on, where do you think you’re going? We still have a whole presentation to draft.”

“Oh, I’m just doing some extra credit for Professor Binns,” You answer. “Besides, we basically have a whole fall quarter to work on it. Besides, your ideas aren’t exactly thought-provoking as they are. More than that, they suck. Come up with something better.”

“What, so it’s my job to come up with the different topics we’ll have to cover?” Jimin huffs.

You give him a vaguely surprised look. “You’re the one who said you were the only one with relevant ideas.” You glance down at your watch. “Listen, I really have to go. Come up with something better. Or ask me for my opinion next time and actually be willing to listen to it.” You deliver a sickly sweet smile, one that he wishes to wipe off. Maybe with some harsh words.

Or maybe his mouth—!

He tells himself it’s not creepy to watch your hips sway side to side as you leave the library.

Once you are gone, this leaves Jimin by himself, surrounded by people but alone in his thoughts. The banter has left him with a racing heart and, quite frankly, a semi in his slacks that he doesn’t think is going away anytime soon. Everytime he thinks he has a handle on what just happened, he gets a flash of your skirt or your lips or your hips and the memory of you being an absolute fucking brat—and that feeling comes back.

That feeling is one of pure frustration, a desire to just shove you against a wall, to see if he could swallow up all those words that do such a good job of riling him up.

He grits his teeth before moving to collect his own items of books and paperwork. Stuffing them into his bag, he begins to exit the library, hoping that each step he took would be a step away from that terrible idea. He couldn’t let you win—he couldn’t let you get to him.

The second meeting he has with you couldn’t entirely be defined as an actual meeting. But it’s an encounter, and it involves a conversation about the project—which fits the requirements of what a meeting technically could entail.

It happens a week after the first meeting, of seeing each other in classes but both of you making an active attempt to ignore each other. Both doing it for different reasons, but doing it nonetheless.

However, this changes when Jimin gets an idea for the project that he knows he needs to run by you. Assuming you don’t bark at him for lacking originality and assuming he could get through a proper interaction without shoving you against the wall. That latter thought has been getting increasingly more difficult as the week dragged on. You, with your stupid mini skirts and tucked in button-ups, your stupider display of legs that has piqued his interest more than any other member of the female population prior—a feat that is unbelievably stupid given that legs in itself isn’t a novel thing—along with your even stupidest strut down the hallways. Whether those things have been intentional or not, he honestly feels as if one wrong move could crack this facade he’s spent the week putting together.

He decides to pursue you after the shared Muggle Studies class you have together, when you’re out in the hallway and he’s following close behind. He doesn’t know your next destination, assuming you have one—because honestly, it’s been a few weeks since your official enrollment and he has yet to see you with a group of friends.

Instead, he elects to just ignore that internal question, and make his way towards you.

He matches stride with you. “Hear me out.”

You groan immediately. “Haven’t I heard enough of you already?”

That is true. The lesson in Muggle Studies had involved watching and talking about a muggle film and, naturally, Jimin had a lot to say.

Jimin grins. “Are you saying that none of my discussions were enticing enough for you, sweetheart?”

You glare at him. “What did I say about the sweetheart thing?”

You had warned him plenty. However, it’s worth seeing the angry flush along your cheeks. He tries at an answer too. “That you would bend over for me if I kept calling you by it?”

Your eyes narrow. “I’d choose your next words carefully, Park Jimin.”

“So serious,” He remarks, tearing his gaze from you.

You sigh. “Anyways, what are you even doing right now? Talking to me once a week to pick a fight seems desperate, especially for you.”

“I’m not trying to pick a fight—!” He cuts himself off. “I really did have a reason for catching up to you.” He stills. He really did forget what he had approached you for. “Shit, okay, give me a second.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

He ignores you. “Oh! Right! For the project. Actually here, let’s talk somewhere else.” Without a warning, he grabs your arm and practically drags you into one of the empty classrooms. It’s a room for astronomy labs—an open-spaced classroom with a high ceiling in case Professor Sinistra needed to recreate certain astronomical events not available during specific quarters or times of day. The ceiling is a navy color, dusted with tiny stars and constellations at the top, and rows of desks and empty seats around.

You and Jimin settle yourselves near the front of the classroom—close to the door but not close enough where a wrong move would send you out into the hallway.

When Jimin closes the door, you’re still watching him warily with arms over your chest. “Is your idea that good that you have to pull me into an empty classroom for it?”

“Well, I’m just saving you the embarrassment in case my idea happens to be good, you start cheering me on.”

You sigh. “Well, try me then, Park Jimin.”

“Alright,” He starts. “I hear you when you tell me just talking about my grades isn’t enough.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t enough, I said that idea was dumb as shit—!”

He ignores you again. “So how about we talk about different aspects of Hogwarts. We can talk about things like the classes, Quidditch, spell-casting, the newspaper, and the role of the Head Boy.”

You do actually ponder this for a moment, but you’re extremely observant. He knows immediately that you’re about to spit something from the way you narrow your eyebrows. “Why be so specific? And what am I supposed to talk about from that limited pool of topics?”

He gives you a straightforward look. “I thought we already established that you would have nothing to talk about.”

You raise your eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were serious about that.”

“Well, as you should know sweetheart, I’m very serious all of the time.”

“Are you fucking stupid?” You’re glaring now. “Do you not remember Professor McGonagall telling us that this was a team project? We have to work together. If the Ministry comes to the realization that, no, we did not put together a cohesive presentation highlighting our own personal journeys and no, contrary to your pea brain, the presentation should never have centered around you in the first place, we’re going to be in deep shit. Professor McGonagall will probably have us shunned for the rest of the school year, we’ll definitely lose that internship opportunity with the Ministry and my father would—!” You cut yourself off immediately, wide-eyed at your own slip of the mouth.

Jimin raises an eyebrow at that. What does your father have to do with acing the presentation at the Ministry? The realization hits him pretty quick at that. “Oh, okay I see. So daddy was the one who requested your involvement on this team—?”

Your eyes, once wide with emotion and tinged with vaguely defined fear, harden. “How about you mind your own business and not resort to asking really inappropriate questions about my family life?” You snap.

“Woah, alright, I’ll stop,” Jimin interjects, raising both hands up. “If this is what I get for trying to be your friend.”

“For the last time,” You grit between your teeth, stepping closer to him, getting all up in his face and completely distracting him with the wash of lavender that overcomes his nostrils. There’s that delicious flush along your cheeks once again. “We are not friends. And don’t hold your breath because we’ll never be friends. I would never associate myself with anyone at this school, much less a vile, arrogant, disrespectful, terribly overrated individual like you—!”

Jimin doesn’t have an explanation for what he does next. He almost doesn’t even have control over his actions, like his body has a mind of his mind. One moment, he’s staring at you, far enough to still see your entire face but close enough to see the fire in your eyes.

And then the next moment, his eyes are closed and there’s something soft and warm against his lips. He’s kissing you.

The following seconds feel like minutes or hours, ticking slowly in contrast to Jimin’s thrumming heart. His fingers curl around something soft and textured: your hair. His lips, on his own unawareness, are moving frantically against yours—either to get his frustration out or get you to respond, he isn’t too sure.

It isn’t until his tongue pushes against your lips that he hears a whimper from the back of your throat that stirs up his insides like nothing else you’ve done to him before. He feels your fingers at the back of his neck, in his hair, nails digging into the skin, all before you part your lips. His boldness increases at the gesture, pressing harder against you.

The weight of him makes you take steps back, until both of you are moving about the classroom completely unaware of your surroundings. But Jimin doesn’t care, hardly even notices that you’re backing up. Every step you take back is matched with a step forward by him as he continues his attack on your mouth.

That is, until you hit one of the desks and the legs of the table scrap against the floor. The noise is like a bell that sets off in Jimin’s head. It goes off in your mind as well, actually, because you’re both quick to separate and push each other off. You stare at each other, wide-eyed and face flushed for entirely different reasons in comparison to a few seconds ago. Your lips are a deeper shade of red, and wet, and you look shocked. The expression is so opposite of the usual stern and stark that paints your face, so you appear surprisingly vulnerable.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You simply stand there, taking in each other, as Jimin asks himself the same question over and over again. What the fuck just happened?

Unable to conjure up an answer to that, Jimin draws in a shaky breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” He whispers, immediately turning around and shoving open the door to the classroom and letting it slam shut behind him. He doesn’t look back, refuses to picture your expression in his mind because picturing it would make him second guess his decision.

Instead, he maintains his quick pace down the hallway, ignoring the calls of his name by peers and friends. His gaze is hyper focused on being somewhere other than here. So much so that he ends up shouldering his way into the boy’s bathroom, pacing past the row of toilet doors until he reaches the sinks and mirrors along the edge. He goes to one of the sinks as his palms come up to grip both sides of the sink. His eyes flint up, gazing at his reflection and taking it all in: from the flush of his own cheeks, the deeper red tint of his lips, the craze look in his eyes—like he wants more. Like he wanted more of you.

With a scoff, he rips his gaze away from the mirror and instead turns around to lean against the edge of the sink.

It’s not like he’s never kissed girls before. He has. Just never anyone who makes him as annoyed as you make him. This type of dynamic is new and involves unsure elements, a new game that he doesn’t know how to play.

Apparently, it’s one you don’t know how to play either.

It’s another three weeks of awkward stares, no eye contact, and one of you dashing out of classrooms first to avoid having to see each other in the hallway, until Professor McGonagall calls you back into her office. The space is naturally very reminiscent of the first meeting the three of you had together, but the tone is weighed down by tension and the obvious fact that you and Jimin are avoiding each other and have been avoiding each other for weeks.

The fact that the two of you refuse to look at each other is the first sign of this emotional conflict. Pair that with the lack of snappy banter, and all that contributes to the raised eyebrow Professor McGonagall gives both of you.

You look at Jimin out of the corner of your eye and seem to come to the conclusion that he isn’t going to participate. Which you are right, he has no intention of opening his mouth.

“Is something the matter, Professor?”

“I just thought I would have a little meeting to touch base with the both of you,” Professor McGonagall answers, shifting her gaze thoughtfully between you and Jimin. “I was seeing you hold meetings in the library on a few occasions, but there’s been an absence of that recently. During classes, I notice that neither of you engage in discussion and one of you is always the first to leave the room. Has there been a conflict of interest going on regarding the project?”

Jimin exhales a breath, wondering if you were going to spill the beans. Not explicitly, but you’ll probably start talking about how recent developments made you feel too nervous or too cautious to continue working with him—that you’d rather stop, or that you’d rather have Jimin step down. The kiss had been his fault, after all.

You take a few seconds to come up with your answer. “We were having some disagreements about the direction of the project,” You say at last, saying the words slowly and carefully and surprising Jimin. “So we haven’t talked for a little while, I think we just needed to collect our thoughts and come up with individual ideas, and then actually meet up and discuss rather than trying to grow something together.”

Professor McGonagall nods at that. “I understand. Well, if that’s the case. It seems the only advice I could give you both is to work through your problems. In other words, figure it out. There’s a lot riding on this project.”

The pair of you are then dismissed with a finality in her words. A warning.

Unlike previous interactions like sharing class together or running into one another in the halls, neither of you make a move to separate to run away. You linger near each other, awkward still, knowing that you both need to make amends and move past the incident but not sure how to do so.

“We should probably talk about this,” You say after a moment. You aren’t looking at him.

Jimin thinks about this. He sighs. “You’re right. I know a spot we can talk.” Turning around, he starts down the hallway. Your shoes echo against the castle walls, the high ceilings and long hallways that twist and turn. It’s much later into the night—the dinner crowd has dispersed back to respected common rooms or to the library for last minute studies. As a result, most of the hallways are devoid of students. The hallway routes around Professor McGonagall’s office are even more empty, given that a lot of classes are not in this corner of the castle and most places don’t invite loiters.

Jimin continues past closed doors, tall stained glass windows that bring in the moonlight. There’s a silence between you, not as awkward as it had been, but definitely filled with a veil of tension and lots of unanswered questions.

Finally, Jimin stops at a door not unlike the several other doors the pair of you had passed in your quest to get here. You’re about to ask what he’s doing and where he’s leading you and if he plans to kidnap you—because this kind of location in this kind of space would be perfect—before he’s muttering a password under his breath and opening the door. He keeps it open for you to enter the space first.

It’s a small classroom, only big enough to house a whiteboard at the end of the room, a long table right in front of the board, and a few desks in the middle for students. There’s a long window along the other side of the wall, and curtains draped in front of the glass.

You turn to look at him. This place is too suspiciously perfect for private conversations. “What is this place?”

“It’s a space for the Head Boy,” Jimin explains, closing the door behind him. “It kind of doubles as a private study and a place for Yoongi to run detentions. But he lets me come here sometimes when I need more privacy.”

“So not only do you have professors up your ass, but the school’s Head Boy too?” You ask, whirling around to give him a judgmental glance.

“Don’t come in here just to insult me,” Jimin snaps back. “You’re pretty dead set on putting up walls; that doesn’t mean I’m not either. So, not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been friends with Yoongi for years. No ass kissing in that.”

You stare at him for a moment longer before turning back to look at the room. “You’re right.”

He figures it’s the best apology he’ll get from you.

“Alright,” He says after a moment. He watches the way you turn around to face him. “I’m just gonna put this out here, because we need to get our shit together. I do apologize for kissing you. It was rash and inappropriate. If you want me to step down from the project, I’ll understand.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “By you understanding, does that mean you would step down?”

Jimin stares at you. “Well, I mean, no, but it would be more of an incentive to talk about this.”

“Of course,” You grumble, running a hand through your head. “Well, you’re in luck. I have no intention in asking you to step down from the project. I might even go as far to say that I think you’re mildly attractive, which is why I didn’t have a problem with you doing that.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I think you’re vaguely attractive too.”

You nod. “Always reassuring to hear it like that.”

“But see, this is good. We’re getting this out here,” Jimin says, gesturing between the two of you. “I kissed you because of this tension between us, but because it ended abruptly that tension never got any closure. We’re still in this limbo phase.”

You keep your gaze on Jimin. You seem to be pondering his words. Somehow, he’s able to tell that you’re not entirely turned off by his conclusion—probably because you’re still standing close enough to him that your Hogwarts ropes were touching. “You make a good point.”

“Mm, well of course I do,” He says, keeping his gaze on you. “I’m Park Jimin.”

You wrinkle your nose at that. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smirks, still looking at you, and shrugs a shoulder. “I should be able to flatter myself a little. I kissed you, didn’t get snapped out by you, so I’d consider it a worthy endeavor.”

“Well, you shouldn’t waste your breath just yet,” You interrupt, voice growing progressively softer given the proximity. “I’m not sure if that should really count as a kiss considering the inappropriate and abrupt nature of it all.”

At that, Jimin turns hot. “I already apologized for that.”

You smile, a mere curl of your lips, as your hands find their place on his shoulders. At the gesture, his hands automatically go to your waist—a natural place, given the memory of the last time you had your hands around his neck. “And how about you ask to kiss me the way a normal person who is attracted to another person would ask—?”

Your voice cuts off when Jimin shoves you even closer to him, bodies pressed against one another. “You really know how to be a brat, don’t you?”

Your smile widens. You lean towards him, nose brushing against his. “I don’t see you asking, Park Jimin—!”

He shuts you up by slamming his lips against yours. Fingers curl around the back of your neck to keep you in place. He kisses you roughly, lips pushing against yours and sucking the air from your lungs. He pulls away moments later, lips still brushing against one another, heavy breathing filling his ears. “For someone claiming I needed permission to kiss you, you definitely know how to keep your mouth shut to help me get what I want.”

You groan. “You really have to have the last word in everything, don’t you?”

“Not true.”

You sigh, digging your nails into the nape of his neck. You kiss him this time, parting your lips right away as Jimin becomes distracted with sliding his tongue into your mouth. His desire for control comes up again, stepping forward and continuing to move with every step backwards you take.

Hitting the teacher’s desk at the front of the room is so unlike the last time. The scrap of the metal against the floor had awoken Jimin from the reality of what could have happened—but now it heightens his senses, leaves his heart racing because he knows what will happen next and he desires nothing more.

Eyes still closed, he uses his hand to leave your waist and feel down the length of your skirt. He confirms that he’s reached the hem by tugging at the end of the fabric. “I hate this thing,” He growls. “You’re always making it sway when you walk, always drawing attention to this damn piece of clothing.”

You smirk against his lips. “I made you look, though…” You trail off, voice pitching into a sigh when Jimin pulls away from your mouth. Immediately, he kisses at your jawline, down your neck. “Jimin—ee!” You squeal as Jimin’s hands go from on top of your skirt to underneath, fingers dancing up your bare thigh. “I thought you were going to fuck me.”

The actual four letter word makes Jimin groan, makes his blood boil, makes his slacks feel a little tighter. “What happened to asking?”

“Oh, because you were so good at that—!” You choke, the breath catching in your throat as you jump at the sensation of Jimin’s fingers pressing against your clothed clit. Your eyes develop a foggy complexion.

“What was that?” Jimin asks, smirking at the dazed look across your features. Seeing you look like this is so different and intriguing, considering the rarity of seeing you off your guard. He wonders how far he can take it, how much he can do to make sure it’s not words of insult that are passing lips.

You press your lips together, shaking your head. The whimper comes back as Jimin starts drawing circles against the bundle of nerves, slow paced but small movements. The fabric of your panties are thin, enough so that he can feel your clit, and enough to come to the realization that you’re—!

“Wet,” Jimin grumbles.

Your cheeks heat at the realization, something you hadn’t even been entirely sure of yourself.

Jimin leans forward to peck your lips once, twice. “It’s hot.” He deepens the kiss, distracting you as his finger curls around the underside of your panties.

You suck in a breath as he runs a finger up and down your slit before sinking a finger into your heat. “Nn—Jimin,” You whisper, moving one of your arms to curl the fingers around his bicep. It’s a shallow thrusting of his finger, more about preparation and feeling than actually trying to make you cum. But the sensation floods your nerves all the same.

“You’re so hot, I can only just imagine what this’ll feel like wrapped around my cock,” Jimin comments hoarsely, pulling his one finger out. The next time he slides in, it’s two fingers and the slight stretch makes your eyes squeeze together.

“J-Jimin,” You choke out. The wet sounds of friction between your legs begins to fill the room. “That feels so good, fuck…”

“Mm, does it now?” Jimin inquires softly. With every upward movement of his fingers into your pussy, the sensation of your walls tightening against his digits goes entirely to his head. It feels like he’s making mental notes of your reactions. You’re a sensitive little thing, and it’s a fact he really wouldn’t mind testing out more. “You still want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, come here,” You urge softly, bringing him forward to kiss you again.

Slowly, his fingers slide out of you, and you whimper at the emptiness he’s leaving you behind with. His hands leave from in between your thighs, traveling out of your skirt and resting at your waist. Without a warning, he hoists you up onto the desk. He moves you back just enough to give you instructions:

“Put your feet on the table for me.”

Legs twitching slightly, you do as you’re told. Your heels rest on the edge of the desk. At the gesture, the hem of your skirt moves downwards, flashing your panties right at Jimin. He has a momentary flashback to that first meeting in the library—your legs spread atop a chair, the skirt casting a shadow between your legs.

Now, he no longer has to wallow in that curiosity. Black panties flash right in his line of sight, and his dick feels even more constrained as he steps forward and reaches out to tuck his fingers underneath the waistband. With a nod from you, he pulls the fabric up and down your legs, and past your shoes. He pockets the material.

You notice the action immediately. “Need a spank bank collection, Park?”

At that, he shrugs, even though both of you know the answer to that. “Depends on how good this is,” He says casually. You and Jimin know this is a lie. He already knows this is going to be good. Above anything, the tent in his pants is a clear giveaway to that. You watch as he pulls his belt from out of the belt loops, tugs the leather off of his waist. He barely brings his pants down, he just reaches in and comes back out with his cock, pretty and leaking at the tip. His thumb brushes at it, spreading the pre-cum across his length.

You whine at the sight, tossing your head back slightly as your legs come out to drag Jimin towards you by the waist. “I’ve seen enough, please fuck me, please—!” You whimper as Jimin pulls your legs off his waist. He brings his arms underneath your legs, bending it at the knees as he inches forward to rest his hands on the table. Untouched, his dick hovers right where you want him the most, and you whine again.

“I’m just preparing, baby,” He explains softly, almost patronizingly, but you don’t seem to mind the tone. “Don’t want to hurt you before I even get the chance to fuck you.”

“You’ll never know until you put—it—in—oh!” You gasp, the tip of Jimin’s dick hovering at your entrance. One of Jimin’s hands moves from underneath your leg to wrap around the base of his cock, running it up and down your folds. He takes one last look at your expression: wide eyes and parted lips, before he looks back down between your legs. He watches as his cock disappears between your folds, immediately enveloping him in your hot, tight walls, a pressure that increases when you clench around him.

Jimin grunts, tilting his head back. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You’re breathing heavily now. Your arms are resting behind you to keep you level, allowing your fingers to tighten around the edges of the desk. Your toes curl in your shoes. “Jimin—shit.” You jolt slightly when Jimin’s hand moves from the base of his dick to your clit. His thumb rests on the nub, immediately drawing circles against the nerves to relax you through the stretch. You whine, a noise from the back of your throat that makes the blood rush even quicker through Jimin’s body. It fills him with a desire to fill you up, to make you scream.

He continues to push in until he reaches the hilt, the feeling of you around him is so snug and warm that he cannot help his own groan. His finger moves from your clit and curls around the knee of your unoccupied leg. Using his arm to keep your knee bent, his hand travels back to its original position on the desk, allowing both of your legs to be spread apart for him.

Jimin looks up towards you, leaning forward to kiss you. “You still with me?”

You nod. “Yes, fuck, you can fuck me now.”

The permission makes his head spin as he nods. “Fuck, okay.” He begins to pull away until all that’s left inside you is his tip. With a snap of his hips, he drives himself back into you.

The full sensation against your walls lights up your nerves, allowing it to pass through your entire body as your legs twitch and you throw your head back. “Fuck,” You whisper, mostly to yourself as your walls start to tighten and untighten at the sensation.

This, in turn, drives a choke from Jimin’s throat. “Stop clenching around me!”

You level your gaze with Jimin’s once more, but you have a hazy look in your eyes. “Gonna prove to me that you’re a one dump pump or something, Park?”

He stares at you, long and hard. “I’m gonna make you regret saying that.” He pulls out again, all the way to the tip, and thrusts back in sharply. You gasp. But it doesn’t stop this time. He picks a pace, not too fast but he goes deep. The snark in your eyes is gone. The noises in your throat are no longer words but noises instead: whimpers and whines.

The coil starts to tighten in your belly. “J-Jimin,” You wail, using what little strength you have in your arms to push yourself into a straighten sitting position. This brings you closer to Jimin. Without a warning, you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into the collar of his robes. It seems like this is to muffle the sounds coming from your throat. “Ngh, Jimin, feels so good, fuck…”

His fingers curl around the edges of the desk as he picks up the pace. Your knees start to twitch above his arms. “You trying to escape me, sweetheart?” He asks right in your ear, breath against your neck. “Look at you. You just have to take what I give you.” That’s true. He’s keeping your legs spread, leaving you unable to escape or move away.

You’re gasping now. “Jimin, I’m gonna come.”

Jimin hums, pulling his hand away from your arm once again and returning his fingers to your clit. When he rubs at you this time, it’s quicker and faster and you clamp up immediately. “Then come.”

“Mmmm,” You sob, arching your back right into his body. For a brief moment, everything is tight, hot, and overwhelming, before the coil snaps and you wither in his arms. One of your own hands slam down onto the desk, as you try to grip onto the smooth surface of the table either to give you a new sense of bearings or pull away from him, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t acknowledge it either, too focused on thrusting into you until he’s finding his own release.

He grunts, pushing into you until he’s at the hilt as he spills himself into you. The blood is no longer in Jimin’s ear, no longer drowning up the sounds of pleasure and desperation. Instead, it fills the air with the sounds: the gasps and heavy breathing. You, halfway lying on the desk. And Jimin, hovering closely over you, still joined together.

“Shit,” You whisper, untangling your other hand from Jimin’s neck and freeing you to lie entirely on the surface of the table. Jimin watches you carefully, gently putting down your legs so they can rest against the table.

“Lift your bottom for me,” Jimin instructs, lifting the hem of your skirt up to bunch the fabric at your waist. With your entire bottom exposed, he’s able to see himself inside you all over again. Slowly, he pulls himself out. You whimper at that. But Jimin doesn’t say anything. He watches, throat dry, as he watches the white substance of his cum spill out of you. He reaches out, collecting it around his finger, before going back up to your slit and pushing his finger into you.

You arch your back at that, crying out softly at the overstimulation. You push yourself to your elbows, watching him sink his finger back into you. “What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly.

“Trying to make as small a mess as possible,” Jimin explains, pushing his finger in as far as it could go. “You wanna go back to the common room with stains over your robes?”

You stare at him, some of that haziness gone and replaced with your usual thoughtful expression. “You make a good point.”

Jimin is able to wipe the rest of the stains on the sleeves of his white polo, something that will be hidden underneath his robes. He watches as you hop off the desk, smoothing down your skirt and down your hair.

You look over at him. “How do I look?”

He gives a careful once-over. “How about this: if I saw you in the hallway, I wouldn’t have assumed you just got fucked.”

The corner of your lips curl up. “Well, that’s probably as good as it’ll get—!”

“Plus I’m sure other people don’t have the same observational skills as I do, so you’re probably fine.”

“There it is.”

“And how was it?” Jimin asks as he opens the door to the classroom and allows you to walk back into the hallway of the castle first. “Do you think we got that closure to the tension?”

“We are talking,” You point out as you walk side-by-side with Jimin. “And you don’t have that look in your eyes anymore.”

He stops at that. “What look?”

You stop alongside him and give him a smirk. “That strained look, like the one you gave me before you kissed me.”

Allowing your eyes to linger on each other for a moment longer, you break that connection by turning your head and continuing down the hallway.

For someone so good at calculating and organizing his life, Park Jimin missed out a whole factor in his equation to success at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

That factor is you.

Now, he’s had his fair share of flings, makeout sessions, and sexual encounters with members of the female population. Of course he has. He isn’t friends with jocks like Jeon Jungkook or pranksters like Jung Hoseok for nothing—he’s been to those parties in the Room of Requirement and has held up his own in conversations with flirtatious qualms. As someone who trumps logic over emotion, it has never been hard for Jimin to set aside his emotions when something is meant to be a one time thing.

But you. You. You. He really hasn’t accounted for you to linger about in his life the way you have. Mostly, he hasn’t accounted to think about your insults, your sighs, and your whimpers the way he actually has.

It’s hard to tell if you’re feeling the same way. When you’re in study labs together for any class such as charms, muggle studies, or astronomy, he could always swear that your gaze would linger on him for moments too long before switching away. When you two are paired up for potions, the conversations are vague and pertain to the lessons, but it all feels layered with something new. A new unspoken desire, perhaps?

He can’t really get a read on the situation, and that’s the most frustrating aspect of it all.

“Park Jimin?” It’s Professor McGonagall’s voice, one that startles Jimin out of his trance. Jung Jaehyun ducks to hide his laughter.

Jimin blinks, looking up to realize that Professor McGonagall is standing right in front of him, a stack of parchment in her arms and a curious look in her eyes. He’s currently in the middle of his transfiguration lesson. The professor raises an eyebrow, but still pulls a parchment from the stack and passes it down to him. A -1 stares him back up at him, and Jimin feels his heart beat. Although this score is for a mere homework assignment, the grade seems like a weight on his shoulders.

“Is that a minus one, Park?” Jaehyun asks, leaning over and getting into Jimin’s space. “On a homework assignment? What happened there?”

Jimin looks over the assignment. “I guess I didn’t add enough detail to one of my answers.” He looks back at Jaehyun, watching Professor McGonagall hand him his graded assignment. The corner of his lips quirk up. “You’re one to talk, Jung. Minus five? You better keep your grades up if you want to stay on the House Team.”

“Hey, you should see JK’s grades,” Jaehyun retorts. “I swear, that boy was hanging by a thread on some of the recent assignments. Did you know he didn’t even realize he had an astronomy essay due for class until that waitress at the Three Broomsticks had to remind him?”

Jimin grins. “That I remember. You’ve done good keeping an eye on your competition.” Almost unconsciously, he finds himself flinting his gaze towards you only to find that you’re staring right back at him.

You raise an eyebrow at him. Just from a look, Jimin knows what you’re asking him. What did you get?

Feeling vaguely embarrassed about his score, he shrugs. Instead of answering, he jerks his chin towards you. What about you?

You seem to know the reason behind his desire to keep his score a secret from you. You smirk, turning over your parchment and flashing it towards him. A -0 reads at the top. “Pretty good, huh?” You mouth to him.

Jimin flicks his wand underneath the desk. A gust of wind comes out and the parchment flies forward to smack you on the face.

A burst of laughter rings through the classroom as Professor McGonagall whirls around. Having not seen the events leading up to the smack, she narrows her eyes at you. “Miss. Y/N, I don’t believe your perfect grade called for a hit to the face.”

You sink into your seat just enough. “Sorry professor,” You grumble, turning to give the side eye to Jimin.

He is wrong to think that you wouldn’t do anything about his little spell.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” You ask as soon as you catch up to Jimin after class is dismissed. Ever since the “Tension-Easing Experiment”, as Jimin liked to label it and no it wasn’t something he had run by you since you’re both not really eager to brush on that topic in detail ever since it had happened, you’ve both been pleasant enough to each other. This conversation starter falls under that list. “Casting spells on me, I thought that task belonged to Jung Hoseok.”

“Perhaps I have learned a thing or two from him.”

You hum at that. “Guess there are some things you can’t fully grasp just from reading textbooks all day.”

He glares at you. “Did you need something today?”

You look back at him. “We have our weekly project meet-up.”

He blinks. “What weekly project meet-up?”

“Well, when Professor McGonagall gave us the assignment, we were meeting up once a week to exchange ideas,” You say slowly. “We stopped because…”

Oh right, I kissed you in the astronomy lab room, Jimin thinks when you trail off.

You clear your throat. “But since we’re talking again…”

Because we had sex.

“I figured it was as good a time as ever to get back into it. Besides, I do have an idea I’d figure I should bounce off of you.”

Jimin stares at you for a moment. Takes in your eyes, your lips, your robe and the clothes you’ve gone on underneath the thick material. You’ve got your hair up into a half-up-half-down ponytail today. Dare he say, you look nice today. “Alright then. Should we go to the library?”

“Actually…” You cut in, shrugging and not meeting Jimin’s eye this time around. “I was thinking we could go back to your friend’s private study room? Since we are talking, and it is exam season. You know, I wouldn’t want to disrupt the other students trying to go over their class material.”

This is true. Midterm season at Hogwarts is underway and lots of peers are starting to lose the light in their eyes. There seems to be a hidden weight in your words, plagued with an idea of ulterior motives, but Jimin is suddenly taken by curiosity to mind. “Uh—right. Sure. Pretty sure Yoongi isn’t running a detention today.”

Even if Yoongi had assigned a detention, which he probably did considering this was Min Yoongi, it was unlikely he’d use his private study. In fact, Jimin vaguely recalls Yoongi saying he had a meeting. So he leads the way down the hallways and past the large windows. The pathway is familiar to him, given how many times he’s taken this route, and it’s not long before he’s uttering the password under his breath and entering the space.

It’s empty when he enters. Actually, it’s hard to tell if Yoongi had even used this office during the days between the “Tension-Easing Experiment” and today. Not that it matters, as you and Jimin push two desks together and take a seat. You slide your robe off this time and rest it at the back of your chair.

“Alright, so what’s this idea of yours?”

You lean back in the chair. “It’s brilliant, if you ask me.”

He smirks. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

You smile slightly at that, turning back towards your desk and curling a finger around your hair. “I thought we might as well keep it simple and play to our strengths.” You look at him. “You’re known being this really charming guy, and from what I understand you’re friends with lots of different guys who are talented in their own unique ways. I think we need to split our presentation into two parts. Your section would be talking about growing up at Hogwarts—how you’ve made your group of friends and how you’ve centered yourself in activities and conversations. Then I’ll come in and talk about how despite transferring during the last year of school, everyone and everything is really adjustable and nice about being a new student.”

“Hm.” Jimin ponders this. You’ve figured out a way to take what he had mentioned, albeit jokingly, and organize a way for you to be involved yet still be connected to his original topic. “It’s not bad, you can be smart sometimes when you want to be.”

“I’m always smart—a lot smarter than you, so it seems,” You return back. You angle the chair towards Jimin and sit back. “Speaking of, what happened with your homework assignment today? Didn’t want to show off your own -0? Or perhaps did you get extra credit out of thin air?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Jimin snaps. “Contrary to that, I actually got marked off a point. Forgot to add some details to one of my answers, so it was a minor thing.”

“The Park Jimin I know doesn’t forget to add minor details to his answers,” You point out. “What’s up with you? Does Professor McGonagall have to pull you from the project, and leave me as the sole smartest and brightest student at Hogwarts despite only being here for a month and a half?”

“I think your critical thinking skills have to be checked,” He retorts, but it’s a half-hearted attempt to start an argument. You’re much more observant than you let on, if you’ve taken note of his behavior despite not really being his friend. Getting marked off points for minor details is something both of you have been guilty of on rare occasions, so the fact that you still notice something off leaves a strange feeling in his stomach.

Jimin stares at you for a moment longer, only to find you staring back. Should he indulge you on the thoughts floating around in his head? Would it be worth it?

When you raise an eyebrow, it gives him enough courage to open his mouth.

“Actually, I have a hypothetical situation I’d like to go over with you.”

You don’t say anything to that. It’s a sign to keep talking.

“Say you’ve just slept with someone because you thought it would quell that seemingly moment’s sparks of attraction,” He starts. “But it’s been a few days, and you, hypothetically, can’t stop thinking about that moment. As in, you wouldn’t find sleeping with that person again. Do you indulge that curiosity? Or just leave it be, assuming that the person doesn’t feel the same about you?”

Something flickers in your eyes. “Hm, I’m not sure, you’re being so vague it’s really hard to tell who you’re talking about.”

He groans at that. “You’re being a brat again.”

“You must enjoy that, don’t you?” You say back right away. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be thinking about trying to sleep with me again. Unless you ‘quell momentary sparks of attraction’ with other girls on a daily basis.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” He retorts. “You like to think you have all this control over this situation and my feelings, but who was it that was begging me to fuck them just a few nights ago?”

You laugh a little. “You got a point. But who still fucked me after that begging?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you really want to play that game, sweetheart?”

You keep your gaze on him. “What game am I playing, Park Jimin?”

Jimin looks right back at you. After a moment, he wraps his fingers underneath his chair and angles himself so that he can face you. He reaches forward until his hand rests on your thigh, right above the hem of your skirt. “Well, I have something in mind, if you’re willing to hear it.” When you don’t pull back, he continues. “Since you seem set on this idea that you’re in charge, I think I should prove to you otherwise.”

He watches the way your jaw clenches at that.

“First, I would ask you to slide off your panties and your skirt this time, so there’s nothing in the way of me fucking you this time,” He spells out, keeping his eyes on you for signs of slippage. The slight twitch of your thigh is the first tell. “Then, I’d get behind you, turn you around, and press you against this very desk.” He taps the desk you’re sitting in front of. “Depending on how bratty you decide to be, I’ll find a way to keep you where I want you to be. If you’re still a brat, only one of us will be finishing today—and I will tell you right now that it won’t be you.” He leans forward towards you, your eyes flickering towards his lips. “Just tell me no. Tell me you’re not interested and that you don’t look at me the same way. I’ll back off.”

You swallow thickly at that. “What if I don’t want you to back off?”

Things happen very quickly after the question leaves your lips. You’re the one who leans forward, you’re the one who kisses Jimin first. He responds immediately after, pulling you up by your waist until you’re straddling his lap. Gently biting at your lower lip, Jimin still has enough wit to kick the chair you were sitting on away from the desk. It scraps against the classroom floor, a noise that goes loudly unheard of over the roaring of blood in Jimin’s ears.

Jimin pushes you off his lap, forcing you back onto your feet with Jimin following behind shortly after. You barely have time to adjust before his hands are on your waist to spin you around and pin you onto the desk in front of you.

Jimin tightens his hold on your waist. “Look at you, little girl,” He says. The nickname brings color to your cheeks. “You talk a big game but I think when it comes to it, you like being told what to do.” After he’s gotten you settled into position, his hands leave its original position to reach the zipper of the skirt at the small of your back. “Well, since I’ve riled you up this much, we might as well follow through on one of my check-ins, huh?”

His fingers slowly drag down the zipper of your skirt, each movement downwards rings like a bell. Jimin is so close behind you that you can feel his warmth radiating into your body, your legs. He doesn’t take his time. He pulls down the skirt and your panties until they drop at your ankles.

A finger lingers at your entrance, checking. Jimin makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Looks like me spelling out what I was going to do to you was more effective than I thought.”

You whine, pressing your cheek into the wood of the desk. “You don’t always have to report it like that!”

Jimin stills at that. For a moment, the tense silence makes you think that you’ve said something wrong. But all thoughts fly out of the window when Jimin brings his hand down to slap against the back of your thigh. The gesture isn’t too hard or too loud, but it’s enough to make you whimper. “You trying to out-smart me again?”

“N-No, I’m sorry,” You stammer, probably having a brief flashback to his threat about not letting you finish off.

Still, Jimin scoffs. “You seem to think today will end up just like the first time: where you tell me what to do and I’ll do it—would you agree with me?”

You clench and Jimin feels it with his fingers. “Not intentionally.”

“Hm.” Jimin ponders, both of his hands leaving your frame to tug at the tie around his neck. He loosens it and brings the thin fabric down towards you. “I think we should really establish that I’m the one in charge today. Give me your hands.”

Your neck turns slightly to try and catch his eye. “Jimin—!”

“Hands, c’mon little girl, I thought you could follow directions.” Nevermind that this is probably the first time you’ve said his first name as a standalone and there’s something really intimate about that.

You don’t say anything to that, you merely shift your body weight so you are able to rest your hands on your back. Jimin takes your wrists, bringing them together, and loops the fabric of his tie around them. Tight enough that there’s no way you could escape from it, but loose enough to provide some wiggle room. Once your wrists are secure in the tie, Jimin tugs on it to ensure it won’t undo itself.

“This okay?” Jimin asks, albeit a little softly, but his question brings the ghost of a smile across your lips.

You nod. “Yes.”

“Alright then.” There’s the sound of his belt becoming undone, his fingers pulling his cock out of his pants. He lines himself up, his fingers guiding the way before he’s pushing in. The stretch is a little tighter than it had been the last time due to lack of proper foreplay. But there’s enough to get by.

The stretch makes you feel him all the way in your gut, making your head spin as a groan emits from your throat. Your fingers curl into fists at the small of your back. “Fuck,” You let out between teeth as you shut your eyes, knowing that you just have to take what Jimin is giving you.

Soon, the room fills with the softest grunts and groans, the desk rocking in time with his thrusts. His hands stay on his tie, on your wrists, where your fingers curl around his hand—whether for reassurance or to hold onto something solid, it’s hard to tell.

All that matters is that Jimin notices and his heart races for something other than the physicality of what is going on.

That day in the classroom seems to create a new label in Jimin’s relationship with you. Given that both of you have seen the other person naked (twice), it brings a new level of casualness between the two of you.

It shows in how Jimin slides rather gracefully into the library, rolls of parchment in his bag and a smirk across his features. He finds you rather quickly, right by the window in a secluded part of the space, and has no problem approaching you and slapping the top of his parchment on your desk. It lands right on top of your books and your own roll of parchment.

There’s a pause. “If the ink on my roll wasn’t dry, I will honestly not hesitant to stab your eye out,” You say right away.

“Charming,” Jimin returns, sitting in the vacant chair next to you. “But I just wanted to show you something. We got our grades back for that Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. As you can see, here’s my plus two extra credit score at the top.”

“What?” You react immediately, leaning over your desk to catch a glimpse of the score. “Damn, what the fuck. How’d you get two extra credit points?”

Jimin is grinning. “What’d you get then?”

You give him a side glare. “One point five?”

“Wow.” Jimin places a hand on his heart. “Did I beat you on an assignment?”

Your side glare has evolved into a full glare.. “As classy as that brag was, beating me on one assignment doesn’t reclaim your place as the smartest student at this school.” You brush some of the hair out of your face as you turn in your seat. “But I guess there’s no harm in congratulating you for this one. Do you want a celebratory blow job?”

Jimin’s heart stutters in his chest at the words. He does whiplash at your question. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

You grin. “A little nervous there, Park Jimin?”

“W-Well no, I just…” He trails off, trying to collect his bearings, trying to make sure that he hadn’t misheard you. “I-I think I wasn’t able to catch what you said…”

“No, I think you heard me pretty clearly.” You’re right. He had heard you perfectly. After all, there’s no reason for him to have not heard you clearly. You’re both in the library for goodness sake—not just the library but a quiet section of the library. “I just figured you want some sort of congratulatory gesture on my part, since we have a little competition going on between the two of us. You scored better today, so I’ll blow you.” You pause for a moment. “Unless you don’t want me to blow you, and you asking questions like this is just you trying to deflect…”

“No! I mean…” He sets his teeth when your grin widens. “Shut up, you’re so annoying.”

“You’re not saying no,” You point out.

“Of course I’m not. Get your stuff, we’re going.” He grabs your wrist as soon as you’ve packed up your school supplies, and he doesn’t let go.

Your laughter echoes all the way down the hallway.

It continues like this. In terms of your social relationship with Jimin, it turns into a rivalry boosted by sexual encounters. Depending on who scored better on tests, essays, or homework would get to lead the sex in the empty Head Boy classroom near the abandoned corners of the castle. The atmosphere between you two, while still plagued with banter, has turned into something more light-hearted and conversations have lower defenses.

That’s what one gets after seeing the other person naked for weeks on end.

The improvement in your relationship leads to more open conversations about the project, something that Professor McGonagall has noticed an improvement in.

She says this after calling you and Jimin in for a meeting. It’s the beginning of November now, and the weather has cooled down and the sky reflects the bleeker tone in its dark shades of gray. You and Jimin have been in this strange relationship for about a month and a half now, and you didn’t think there would be any physical changes, until the professor opens her mouth.

“I have to say, Ms. Y/N and Mr. Park, that I’ve noticed you two taking more enjoyment in each other’s company. It’s rather refreshing to look at, considering the way you guys used to always be at each other’s throats beforehand.”

“Definitely agree, in more ways than one,” Jimin says, and you kick him under the table.

The meeting with the professor is short. It’s more of a touching base encounter if anything, where you’re explaining the details of your presentation and continue going more into detail about what each of you will be covering. It ends soon after, with a parting ‘just keep going with what you’re doing’ before both of you are dismissed from the office.

“That went well,” You report as you’re exiting the office together. It’s the middle of the afternoon on a considerably bright Thursday morning, so the castle is a little more alive today with activity. Most students are outside, taking advantage of the sunny weather to sit around in the courtyard or have a picnic or study session with friends on the grass. These are the options that are available to you and Jimin, considering your classes are done for the day and you have nothing else scheduled. Except to study and keep working on essays and study guides.

“I’m glad it’s going well for her, at the very least,” Jimin grunts, rolling his shoulder as he tilts his neck back. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

You shrug. “Not sure.” You narrow your eyes at him. He never really asks you this question unless—“Do we have a meeting in Yoongi’s office?”

‘Meeting in Yoongi’s office’ is the key phrase the pair of you coined to replace the much more lewd question: “Did you want to fuck?” Not only is the former much safer, but it keeps away those unsafe, unwanted, dangerous questions. All of which are things that neither of you want to answer. Neither of you would probably know the answer to them anyways.

Normally, Jimin isn’t shameless about what he wants. When he’s straightforward, he’s eager and demanding and doesn’t like to beat around the bush. You’ve walked out of that classroom with bruises on your neck and a wobble in your knees to prove that. This time, however, feels different. He smirks. “Sweetheart, we had a meeting yesterday.” Translation: we fucked yesterday.

You raise an eyebrow, not acknowledging the nickname. It’s normal in your conversations together, anyways. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

“Touche.” He pauses, and runs a hand through his hair. “But we shouldn’t today. I have an essay for our History of Magic class that I haven’t started.”

“Isn’t that due tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” Jimin protests. “Listen, I’ve been helping JK with that waitress.”

You bite your lip, vaguely aware of the aforementioned Jungkook and that waitress from the Three Broomsticks. Jimin refuses to spill any details to you. “How’s that going?”

He adjusts the strap of his bag. “She showed up to his Quidditch practice yesterday, which was a plus.”

“Not entirely a plus, it seems. You have a whole ass essay to work on. At this point, it seems like I’ll be in charge of the agenda for the upcoming meeting.” The quirk at the corner of your lips grows slightly.

Jimin smirks, reaching over to tap your nose. “Don’t get cocky, sweetheart.”

You try to ignore the gesture. He’s been getting more handsy with you, ever since he pinned you down on the desk and tied your hands at your back. You look away from him. “Well, regarding what my plans are,” You start. “I should get started on the upcoming Transfiguration report.”

He nods. “Seems like we’re both in for rough afternoons.” He pauses. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture he only does when he’s pondering something. “How about we suffer together?”

You blink, having not expected that question from him. You did spend a lot of time together, provided all the hours that go into planning the big project and ‘attending Yoongi’s meetings’, as Jimin liked to say, but studying with each other was never on that list. “Do you mean, like, we study together?”

“Hey, if it was such a stupid idea then you should have stopped me immediately,” Jimin retorts, turning red with embarrassment.

“I didn’t say it was a stupid idea!” You say back, eyes wide. “I don’t mind us studying together.”

“Well, that’s really great because I—!” Jimin cuts himself off, clearly not having processed your last sentence before opening his mouth. He looks at you, as it sinks in that you’ve accepted his offer to study together. “Alright, okay, cool. You wanna go to the library?”

You laugh. “Sure, but I gotta ask something. How could I even stop you, since I didn’t know you were trying to ask me on a date?”

He surprises you with a step forward, as he wraps an arm around you and pinches your waist. “I’m not asking you on a date. You’re annoying.”

“And what of it?” You shoot back. You aren’t really expecting an answer, and Jimin doesn’t give you one. Yet, there’s no awkward pause because of it. It’s still just you and Jimin, and it stays that way as you both walk to the library and maintain a casual conversation about your assignments and outside activities.

It’s the middle of December when you scribble on the final flashcard and practically slam your quill onto the table. Jimin jumps slightly, but his startled expression eases into a slight smile when you hunch over and press your head into the desk. “Finished?”

“Finished,” You repeat, lifting your head back up and looking at the array of notes and organized flashcards that are scattered across the table. Each flashcard is covered from top to bottom in your handwriting, all meant to help guide your speech for the project you have spent months agonizing over. No stone is left unturned, every single aspect of your experience is covered upon, per the request of Professor McGonagall.

Immediately, you move to collect your flashcards and ensure that they are in the proper order. The little numbers you have written in the top of the parchment help with that.

There’s another silence that overtakes the air, but it’s a comfortable one. It’s filled with the scratches of Jimin’s quill against his own parchment, it’s filled with the crumbling sound of papers stacking atop one another as you organize your flashcards. Once they’re all together, you look at the top piece of parchment. “Even with a late enrollment that brings you to Hogwarts in your last year, the welcoming environment makes the transition to different classes, social groups, and activities extremely easy and exciting…” You read quietly to yourself.

After a few minutes, Jimin puts his own quill down. It’s much gentler than what you had done a few seconds ago, but it’s still more than enough to fix your attention on him.

“Finished?” You ask him.

He nods, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. The locks are slightly overgrown by now, which leaves his hair in strands that stick up all over the place.

“Is it perfect?” You ask.

Jimin tilts his head back. Your eyes linger on the column of his throat before returning back to your notes. “Honestly, we’ve gone through so much editing and revisions that I would just throw myself off the astronomy tower if it wasn’t perfect.”

You laugh slightly. “That’s true…”

“You look nervous,” Jimin notes, placing his elbow on the table and resting his head in the palm. “Worried about impressing daddy at the Ministry?”

You close your eyes and let out a huff. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“Am I wrong?”

You sigh. “I mean technically you’re not.”

He feigns an over dramatic gasp that earns him the attention of some other students littered around the library. “So I was right this whole time! What the fuck!”

“Jimin, keep your voice down,” You hiss. “Why don’t you ask that Namjoon friend of yours to publish a whole article about it while you’re at it?”

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea—OW!” Jimin jumps when you suddenly reach over to pinch his thigh. He flashes a guilty look to the other students around him who shoot glares that could kill. After a moment of apologetic expressions and mouthing ‘sorry’ to anyone who would listen, he turns back to you. “You’re really going to get it tonight.”

“During our meeting with Yoongi, you mean?” You ask back, giggling into your palm.

He shakes his head and goes back to his flashcards. “You better watch yourself, sweetheart.” He pauses for a second, watching you out of the corner of his eye before he resumes his attention back on you. “So what does your dad do at the Ministry?”

You look at him, thinking about how you’re going to answer for a second before you sigh. It’s probably because Jimin actually addressed your father as ‘your dad’ as opposed to ‘daddy’. “He works in the Department of Magical Education. That’s why he asked that I be a part of the presentation group. It helped that I was one of the top students at my old school.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment.

It’s long enough for you to kick him underneath the table. “Why ask me if you’re not going to ask anything?”

He looks away. “It’s not that—I guess I wasn’t expecting you to actually tell me.”

“Oh.” You stop, turning red. “W-Well,” You continue, staring holes into the table in front of you. “I-I guess we’re f-friends?”

Jimin smirks. “Friends, huh?”

“Don’t make me regret saying that!”

“Hm.” Jimin hums. “So, your dad works in the Magical Education Department. Is that why you transferred to Hogwarts?”

“You could say that…”

He whines your name, scooting closer to you to wrap his arms around you. “Hey, you can give me a straight answer. I thought we were friends.”

You make a noise of protest in the back of your throat, nevermind the way he’s so natural about his physical touches with you. “Fine, fine, yes, his new job is the reason why we transferred. Now let go of me, you’re going to get us kicked out of here!”

“Let Madam Pince kick us out, we’re basically done with our project anyways.” But he does let go of you, the finality of your words probably that pusher. He does not, however, move away from you. He keeps an arm curled around the back of your chair. “You going home for Christmas break?”

“Yeah,” You say, not saying anything about his still close proximity. “I do miss my parents—plus I’m sure my father would want to hear about how the presentation will go.”

He nods. “Sounds like it’ll be a stressful Christmas.”

You look at him. “What will you be up to, Park Jimin? Sneaking through the restricted section?”

He pouts. “I don’t need to sneak through it—I’m not a first-year. I can actually get a note from a professor. Dark Arts is cool to read about.”

“If you say so,” You tease back. “Anything else?”

“Well, there’s actually a party I’m throwing with my friends to celebrate making it up to this point. It’ll be in the Room of Requirements.” He ponders the next thought for a moment. “You should come.”

You blink. “I’m going home for the holidays?”

“No, you dork.” Jimin flicks your forehead. “The party will be before the holiday break starts—so everyone who wants to go can enjoy one fun thing before going back home.”

You tilt your head. “That sounds exciting. But, well, I’m not a huge drinker. It should be fun for you, though.”

He pouts again. “What if I wanted you to come? What do I have to do to convince you?”

You give him a look. “Nothing, Park Jimin, I’m not a party person.”

“You really are,” Jimin agrees, sliding away, looking disappointed in your answer. “I hope you’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing you just crushed all my dreams.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Park Jimin. What’s this about?”

He shrugs. “I thought it’d be cool to see you do something fun for once in your life.”

“Wow, he’s dramatic and rude,” You say, watching as he smiles a little at your usage of his pronoun despite the fact that he is right here in front of you.

“Well, I guess I just have to accept your answer,” Jimin says after a moment, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll be missing out. I think Hoseok is pulling out all the stops. Alcoholic butterbeer galore.”

“And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it, no matter if I want to hear it or not,” You return, looking at your water. “Oh shit, I gotta go.”

Jimin watches you collect your parchment and books, and the way you stuff them into your bag. “Where are you going?”

You look at him, blinking. “Uh—Actually, I don’t think I should tell you.”

He pouts, again. “What? Why not?” His curiosity only grows when you just give him a meek smile, and turn to rush out of the library. He calls your name. “Shit, hold on!” He doesn’t bother to organize anything, he just throws everything into his bag before he’s dashing to catch up to you. He also doesn’t bother to check around him before he’s throwing his arms out to encircle you around the waist.

“Jimin!” You exclaim, both of you slowing to a time. “You’re needy today.”

“Where are you going?” He tightens his hold. “I took some workout advice from Jungkook, I won’t hesitate.”

You still at that. “What the fuck? Are you implying that you’ll crush me otherwise?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

You sigh, reaching into the pocket of your robe. “I may or may not have gotten an offer to get extra credit from Professor Flitwick for Charms.”

He pauses. “Aren’t you and I having a bet about who can get the higher grade in that class?”

“Uh, perhaps?” Suddenly, you bend your wrist slightly to poke your wand in his stomach. “Rictusempra.”

A silver light beams from the end of your wand, and Jimin bursts out into laughter. He releases his hold on you immediately, falling to his knees as the giggling that escapes his lips fills the air and takes the energy out of his knees. “A—giggling—charm?” He manages in between breaths.

You whirl around to face him, twirling your wand. “Sorry Park. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Hopefully one of your friends can help you—preferably after I’ve made my way down this hallway.” You turn back towards your original direction and actually run away from him.

Jung Hoseok is eventually the one to find Jimin on the floor, laughing, crowded by students who were intrigued to see the great Park Jimin at his wits end. Although those same students help him onto his feet, there’s still the mark of amusement in their eyes, and Jimin’s cheek heat nonetheless.

The next time he sees you, he’ll get you back for this.

Jimin’s party is the night before the winter holiday begins. All the classes are done, all the essays and tests are submitted. The snow has become a permanent decoration to the school, all compact white blanketing the grass and exterior castle walls. The chill has settled more deeply in the air, bringing up the heavy scarfs and heavier coats. Breaths come out in puffs of air. And you are near the fireplace.

Actually, more specifically, you are finishing up a last minute extra credit report for Astronomy. Not that your grades need the extra boost—Professor Sinistra had offered to provide you with the assignment that allowed you to indulge a little deeper in star placement and you weren’t going to waste away that chance. It’s due tomorrow morning, right before you take the train back home, so you are wasting away, scribbling all the research that you can recall onto the parchment.

You’re finishing up your conclusion paragraph when you hear the door to the common room slide open, announcing the presence of a student. You don’t pay attention to this. Judging by the darkness clouding the sky, it’s getting late and you assume that the students who had gone to Jimin’s party should be heading back by now. When it gets too late, even though classes and henceforth school are paused, there are still certain punishments on the line.

You don’t pay much attention to the student, until you notice that figure now standing right in front of your table near the fireplace. You look up. It’s Jung Jaehyun—Seeker for the Slytherin team. And, as you are aware of, an attendee to Jimin’s party.

The thing is, however, that you and Jaehyun have interacted a grand total of exactly zero times. Neither of you ran in the same social circle—if the friend you’ve made that spends more time in the greenhouse than in class could be considered a social circle.

Jaehyun looks just as uneasy as you do, with the way he’s shifting back and forth on his feet. “Y-You’re Y/N, right?”

You straighten slightly. That is, obviously the first time Jaehyun has ever said your name. “Y-Yes. And you’re Jaehyun?”

“Yeah…” Jaehyun starts, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, I know this is totally out of line for me. But would it be too much if I asked you to come with me to the Room of Requirement?”

“Uh…” You trail off. You hadn’t been expecting much upon seeing Jung Jaehyun standing right in front of you. But you really hadn’t been expecting this. “Is… there a reason why…?”

“Well…” Jaehyun tries again, but trails off. He seems to be having trouble figuring out how to explain his story. “I think you know that Jimin and his friends were having a party down there, right?”

You keep staring at Jaehyun. “Did something happen to Jimin?”

“N-No, not really, it’s just, he drank a bit and he’s refusing to leave until he sees someone…”

You press your lips together, having a vague idea of where this could be going but refusing to make assumptions. “Was I that someone?”

“Well, okay, he didn’t mention a specific name. He just kept saying he wanted to see his girlfriend before he left…”

“Okay, then why don’t you take his girlfriend down there?”

Jaehyun looks pained for a second. “Jimin doesn’t have a girlfriend. His friends and I were trying to figure it out. You’re the only person he spends all this time with besides his core group. We figured asking you to come down would be a good place to start.”

You swallow at the thought. You’ve never really set foot into Jimin’s world, it wasn’t really your scene. Even back at Ilvermorny, you were well known because of your grades, but you weren’t a popular student. But more than that, Park Jimin calling you his girlfriend? The thought seemed highly unlikely. You aren’t even sure that he feels that deeply for you—rather, your relationship was formed as a byproduct of forced participation. Without that presentation to the Ministry, you’re sure you would never have had a proper conversation with Jimin.

Still, Jaehyun looks like he’s about to fling himself off the Astronomy tower. The more time goes by, the higher the chances of Jimin and the rest of his friends getting caught and getting saddled with detention. You figure: what’s the harm?

“W-Well, uh, sure.” You straighten up, placing your items into your bag and taking a second to drop that bag off on your dorm bed. Jaehyun is still in the common room when you get down, and leads the way to the Room of Requirement. The walk there is another maze of walls and windows and firelit pathways.

But instead of the Room of Requirement entrance you see, you notice a group of boys lingering outside the blank wall Jaehyun had told you let to the party. For a moment, you wonder if the group were attendees of the party. But the closer you get, and the more you start to hear voices that sound vaguely familiar saying names that sound even more so, you realize that this group is The group—Jimin’s group.

“Taehyung!” Jaehyun calls as soon as the two of you are in hearing range.

The boy, you assume is Taehyung, looks up towards the source of the noise. His eyes land on you and he visibly looks relieved. “Hey, you must be Y/N.” He nods towards you, and tilts his head towards the boy leaning heavily against him. “Hey Jimin.” He calls for the boy, but he looks unsure. Probably because he too isn’t sure if you’re who Jimin is describing as his girlfriend. “Uh, we brought your girlfriend?”

It sounds more like a question than an actual statement. But Jimin doesn’t seem to notice. He lifts his head up from Taehyung’s shoulder and locks his gaze onto you. At once, his eyes turn into half moons with how brightly he is smiling at you. It’s like the sun has come out, with the light glimmering in his eyes and his cheeks rounding out. He calls out your name. “Baby, you showed up!” He cries, managing to untangle himself from Taehyung and latch immediately onto you. You might have stumbled, had Jaehyun not helped catch some of Jimin’s weight. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

“Uh…” You trail off, mind going haywire. How could it not? Jimin, someone who is definitely not your boyfriend, is calling you his girlfriend, calling you baby, and hugging you like his life depends on it. The two of you just have sex! Under unestablished rules, sure, but that type of situation calls for an actual discussion beforehand. “Well, your friends said you wouldn’t leave the party unless I showed up. Why don’t we all head back to our Houses, before we all get detention?”

Jimin nods, cheek against your cheek. “That sounds good. Look at my Y/N—so smart and wonderful.”

“Y/N… didn’t he want to rip her neck off at the beginning of the year?” One of the boys whispers. You, of course, hear it, because Jimin’s friends lack indoor voices and it shows. “And now he’s admitting that she’s smart? What the fuck?”

“Shut up, Hoseok.”

Another boy turns to you, an appreciative smile on his lips. It’s Min Yoongi—Head Boy, and fellow Slytherin. “Just ignore Hoseok. And I’m sorry this is how we’re meeting you—from what Jimin says you’re super smart and it drives him crazy, so naturally I’m your biggest fan. I’m Yoongi.”

You nod, trying for a smile. “I know. I would shake your hand, but…”

“You’ve got a Jimin attached to you, I got it.” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively, whirling around to face his group. “Alright, you bitches. You better be in your Houses before I finish my first round of the castle otherwise you’re all getting detention.” There’s a momentary wave of protests before Yoongi interrupts it. “Or I don’t have to do a round and can just give you all detention right now…”

“No, no, okay, we’re going.” It’s the boy who had called Hoseok out, telling him to shut up. He winks at you as he brushes past you, and flashes some finger guns at Jaehyun.

“Fuck you too, JK,” Jaehyun returns, before leveling you with a gaze. “We should get going, huh?”

“Yeah,” You manage, adjusting Jimin on your shoulder before you and Jaehyun practically drag Jimin down to the Slytherin common room. As soon as you enter, you dump Jimin onto the couch, where he slumps backwards and remains unmoving. He laughs, eyes wide as they gaze up at you.

He brings his arms up, bringing his fingers together in a grabby motion. “Y/N, come sit with me.”

Jaehyun coughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll, uh, leave the two of you alone. Thanks for coming out with me, you really saved us.”

You nod. “No problem, although it seemed like Yoongi could have handled it.”

“Nah, that punk is a Head Boy through and through. Loves his friends to death, but wouldn’t hesitate to give detention. Anyways, I’m off to bed. It was nice to meet you.”

You smile. “You too.” You watch Jaehyun and he disappears up the stairs, into the boys room.

A tug on the hem of your skirt pulls you back. Jimin is still gazing up at you. “Come here!” He pouts, pulling a little too hard and sending you stumbling forward right onto him. Your legs end up on either side of him, effectively straddling his waist. His arms curl around your body. “Isn’t this better? This reminds me where we were just a few weeks ago—!”

“Jimin,” You cut in, flushing at the thought of aforementioned few weeks ago. “What are you doing?”

He blinks, the haziness from his drinking still glimmering in his eyes. “I’m just hugging you.”

“No, Jimin.” Your hands find a place on his shoulders. “What are you doing? I’m not your girlfriend, so why would you say that down there in front of your friends?”

“Wait, you’re not my girlfriend?” He’s still looking like a deer in the headlights. “But… I really like you, so I thought that something was going on…” He looks lost.

A lot is pinging through your head—did Jimin just confess to you? “Jimin, you like me?”

He nods. “I do, I really do.” His nod is lagging, it’s a little slow as he probably doesn’t want to make himself sick with movement too fast. “You’re so funny. And smart. And mean. But I like it. It’s not too mean, but mean enough to make me laugh.”

You laugh a little. “You’re drunk, Jimin, you don’t know what you’re saying. You would never admit that I’m smart.”

He sighs, tilting his head back until it rests on the back of the couch. “I would never say it out loud, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Fuck, my head hurts…”

“You should get some sleep,” You say, instead of trying to push the topic further. “Do you need help getting into the boys dorm room?”

“I don’t think I can make it up there,” He retorts softly. “I might have to crash down here.” He gazes up at you. “Will you stay down here with me?”

You waver slightly, lots of questions running through your mind. If you slept down here with Jimin, surely someone would wake up and catch the two of you. Rumors would fly, questions would be asked.

Still, Jimin looks so cozy and vulnerable—an absolute rarity. And who knows, perhaps if things don’t go the way you want them to, you could use this moment against him. A reminder of when the great Park Jimin, a rock of stubbornness and arrogance, looked at you like you were the stars.

So you sigh. “Sure, I’ll stay down here with you.”

You don’t need to tell anyone that the smile flashing across his face makes your answer worth it.

You awake rather abruptly to the movement that happens next to you. Every muscle in your body is aching, so completely sore from the position you’ve rolled into. You open your eyes to a collarbone, a flash of the Slytherin green tie. You blink sleepily, disorientated, as your gaze slides up—!

To see Jimin staring down at you.

You jump slightly. “Shit, sorry.”

“No worries.” Jimin groans, stretching. Or, trying to stretch. The couch you’re both on top of offers very little space for movement. It also explains your sore neck. “Ugh, fuck.”

You sit up, rolling your neck and hearing the satisfying crack of bones. “How are you feeling?”

“Gross,” He answers, sitting up as well. You’re sitting between his legs, the close proximity allowing you to see the tiredness in his eyes. That isn’t surprising. The sun has barely started to rise over the mountains. Given that the sky is a very vague shade of orange, you can only assume it’s five or six o’clock in the morning.

You look up at him. “You hungover too?”

He presses fingers to his temple. “A little headache, but it’s not too bad.” He lowers his hand, and looks over at you. “I wasn’t that drunk, Y/N, I do remember what happened last night. Maybe I was a little more transparent than normal, but…”

You raise an eyebrow, egging him on. “But?”

He stares at you for a moment longer, before he laughs a little, tilting his head backwards. “Aw, Y/N, don’t make me say it!”

You can’t help but smile back. “No, I think I want you to say it. Otherwise I’ll think you’re pulling my leg.”

He lifts his head towards you, pouting. “I would never pull your leg.”

“Then say it,” You say leaning towards him.

As soon as you’re close enough, Jimin’s hand comes up to trap your chin in between his thumb and index finger. The gesture is done to keep you close, to keep your eyes fixated on his, all so he can gauge your expression. He seems to be debating on how truthful he wants to be for this. “But… I wasn’t lying when I said that I liked you.” His eyes flicker between your own. “Even though you’re annoying all of the time.”

You can’t help it. You start to laugh. “Takes one to know one, huh?”

He brings you forward, shifting your center of gravity and bringing you forward towards him. You gasp as your hands come out to rest on the arms of the couch, on either side of Jimin. The gesture, however, brings you closer to him, so that your lips are hovering right over one another. “You’re being a brat again. Shut up.”

You quirk an eyebrow, although he’s too close to see it properly. “Make me, Park Jimin.”

He groans. “Don’t say that. I’m too gross to fuck you right now. And aren’t you going back home today after you submit that report to Professor Sinistra?”

You smile a little, touched that he remembers your report. “I finished the report. And…” You trail off, pulling back enough to look at your watch. You were right: the current time reads 6:15AM. “There’s still five hours before the train leaves…”

Jimin looks up at you. “I’ve got an idea. You have to be quiet though.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were into voyeurism, Park, but if that’s what you want…” You start to unbutton the polo of your shirt.

Jimin’s eyes widen. “H-Hey, stop, I didn’t mean here! Button that back up!”

You gaze over at him, two buttons on your blouse undone, more than enough to expose your collarbone. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do I like you so much, you’re nothing but a brat,” Jimin grunts, mostly to himself as he reaches out to button back your shirt. “I meant somewhere else. You have to be quiet on the way to the place, you idiot. Come on.”

He takes your head, lacing the fingers together, and making your heart jump in your throat as Jimin guides the pair of you out of the Slytherin common room and up the stairs. Making your way up to the fifth floor, he turns into a corridor with statues along the wall. He finally stops at one, the statue you recognize to be Boris the Bewildered.

“Pine Fresh,” Jimin whispers to the statue, which moves to the side and allows Jimin to drag both you and himself into the hidden room. At the detection of movement, the candlelights along the walls light up which further heightens the place Jimin has just taken you into.

It’s a large bathroom. The first thing you notice are the stained glass windows that surround the entirety of the room. Each window paints a different picture of mermaids across the surface, all of which are moving around the space much like every other piece of artwork in this castle. Some of them wave to the pair of you, but most of them continue to mind their own business of looking out the window and enjoying the view of the mountains surrounding Hogwarts.

The moving pictures of mermaids, however, isn’t where your attention has fallen. Your eyes flicker all over the place, trying to take in more of this place Jimin has taken you to.

Located on the left side of the room is a row of squeaky clean, polished and shiny toilets in stalls with a row of sinks, mirrors, and makeup counters on the other side. Located on the right side of the room is a lounging area, couches and cushions in the space and a row of bathrobes along the wall.

The middle of the room houses the main attraction of the space—it’s a large bathtub, as big as a swimming pool with how wide and deeply the hole has been cut into the ground. The tapping for the bath surrounds the tub, each tap with a different colored jewel atop the metal piping. Along the edge of the tub are different baskets, each basket holding a different shaped container and bath product.

“Shampoo, conditioner, soaps, bath oils, and bath salts,” Jimin explains, seeming to notice your lingering gaze upon the baskets.

“Cool, uh…” You pause, trying to gather your thoughts properly enough to ask the biggest question of them all. “What is this place?”

“Oh! Right.” He gestures to the entire room. “Welcome to the Prefects’ Bathroom.”

You turn your gaze towards him, eyes wide. “The Prefects’ Bathroom? Shouldn’t we not be here then?” You’ve heard of this place before back at Ilvermorny. It’s considered a secret location that only Head Boys, Head Girls, Prefects, and Quidditich captains. Definitely not a place for you or Jimin to be in.

He grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Relax, baby. I got the password from Yoongi. And it’s six in the morning on the first day of winter holiday. I doubt any of the people allowed in there wouldn’t think to come in right now.”

You exhale, unable to ignore the quickening of your heart race. It was one thing to fool around in Yoongi’s private study. But being in this type of place that increased the chances of getting caught makes you nervous.

Jimin can see that, because he steps closer to you and rests a hand on your waist. “Hey,” He says, not speaking again until you’re looking up at him. “It’s okay. I don’t want to suggest anything that’ll make you uncomfortable. I just thought of this place because it’s, for the most part, secluded and unused. We’re both tired and groggy, so I thought we could use the bath.”

You take in a breath, before making your decision and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Alright, I’ll decide to trust you on this. So what’s your plan, Park Jimin? What are you gonna do to me?”

He laughs at that, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “Well, sweetheart, we can go about this in two ways. Number one: we’ll go right on that couch and we’ll have a celebratory fuck on some actual cushions for once. Then, after that, we’ll take a bath. Or number two: we skip the fuck and take the bath instead.”

You feign a gasp. “You would skip a fuck for me?”

He mirrors your gasp. “Of course. That’s what you get for making me fall for you.”

“Charming,” You say with a smile. “Lucky for us, I like you too. In fact, I like you so much, I can feel your boner against my leg so I’ll even have sex with you just for that.”

His smile widens. He sighs dreamily, which makes you laugh. “Wow, are you the girl of my dreams or something?”

“Hm, what happened to trying to skip my neck off?”

“You really know how to keep up a mood,” Jimin mumbles. “I’m just gonna kiss you before you ruin this any further for us.” So he does, covering his lips with yours.

There’s something different about this kiss. Normally, with your escapees or ‘meetings with Yoongi’, the kisses you share are frantic and haphazard and not really the main purpose of your interaction. The kisses are short-lived and bruising. But this kiss is different. It’s softer and slow-paced enough that it allows for exploration. It’s a kiss where your fingers gently brush over Jimin’s collarbone, where his own fingers settle at your jawline in order to trace over your cheeks and your neck. The sensation as light as it is makes your head spin.

You aren’t even aware the pair of you are moving throughout the room until you feel Jimin hit something in front of you, and behind him. The back of his knees hit one of the cushions on the right side of the room, and he falls back. You fall on top of him, straddling him. It’s a similar position to where you were less than a day ago, but the intent is different. You hardly register any potential pain or jolts. Jimin just brings you back to kissing him, fingers moving down to curl around your waist instead.

Only when it feels like it takes too much energy to kiss and breathe properly at the same time does Jimin pull away to dust kisses along your cheek, before moving down to kiss along your jawline, down your neck. Your tilt your head back, eyes closed as you let out a breathy sigh. Your hips start to move of its own accord, grinding down on the already stiff junction between his legs.

Jimin groans at that, tightening his hold on your waist and guiding you to move deeper and faster. The bathroom fills with the noises escaping between your lips and the rustle of clothing.

You and Jimin seem set on fixing that problem right away. Being in this position on a couch is so much more different than sex in a classroom on top of tables and chairs. It brings a comfort neither of you have experienced before. With that comfort comes this desire to just go all the way, to feel skin beneath fingertips. It happens too. First the sweater vests go, then the ties and the shirts.

Jimin goes quiet at the sight of your chest, hands encircling your breast and thumb running over the nipple. His mouth replaces his hand, circling the nip with his tongue. The warmth of it brings chills that hit every nerve in your body. You arch your back, as Jimin’s hands at your waist keep you rooted to the spot.

You start to claw at the waistband of his slacks, one thought pinging through your mind—and that was to see this through to the end. “J-Jimin,” You whine, already filling to wet and foggy. Jimin pays you no attention, merely switching to your other breast to wrap your nipple in his mouth. You whimper, grinding a little faster. Your fingers make their way up to his hair, curling the digits around his locks. You pull him away just enough for him to look up and make eye contact with you, but not enough. His mouth is still around your nipple.

He hums, and the vibration sends through your body.

He pulls away from you. “What is it?”

You look down at him, pouting and whining.

He cups your face with one of his hands. “You have to use your words, baby.”

You let out a sigh to calm your nerves. “N-Nothing,” You manage. “I just, I really want you right now. And I’m glad you like me too.”

Jimin quirks the corner of his lips, before his fingers are curling under the waistband of your skirt. “C’mon, let’s get you out of this.”

A few tugs and shift adjustments later, you’re both naked atop the cushions. Hands are running over skin, and Jimin’s hands remain at your sides to lift you up just enough until you’re hovering over his cock—long and hard.

At this, Jimin brings your upper body closer until your ear is hovering near his lips. He kisses below, a spot that makes the shiver travel up your spine, before he goes back to hovering at your lobe. “You wanna show me how good you take dick?”

You nod, brain still fuzzy as Jimin starts kissing down your neck again. It’s a very distracting sensation, the feeling of his pillowy lips against your skin. Your toes curl on the couch when his cock hovers right above your slit, right where you want him.

With the guidance of Jimin’s hands, he starts to push you down, the stretching sensation forcing a sigh past your lips. Even though you and Jimin have had sex for awhile—even the most recent ‘meeting with Yoongi’ had occured a week ago—something about this feels different. There’s a deep rooted passion in his kisses, in the bites he’s littering across his neck. Almost as if Jimin had been holding back for that month and a half of casual sex, and now has let his full love and admiration of you loose.

Every inch of Jimin inside of you is another euphoric wave that washes over you. You had thought today wouldn’t be too different from previous encounters, but the shaking of your knees tells you otherwise. “J-Jimin—!” You whine. “Fffuck…”

“Look at you go,” He praises, eyes fixed on your spot of connection until you’re filled to the hilt. You feel so impossibly full. “Made just for me.”

He waits for you. He waits until you stop clenching around him, until you relax. Only then does he hold onto your waist again and slowly start bouncing you on his cock. Your grip around his shoulders start to tighten as the friction makes your head spin. You let yourself be led, breathy moans turn to gasps. “Nn, fuck, feels so good…”

He feels you start to randomly clench around him again. Having spent so many late evenings and early afternoons with you, he knows your signs perfectly. You’re close.

He finishes you off with a thumb at your clit, circling at the bundle of nerves just right until your gasps turn into cries and you’re spazzing around his cock. The sensation is tight and warm, and Jimin chokes as his fingers dig into your skin to keep him grounded as he spills up into you.

The blood-rushing physicality of what had just happened starts to settle in, leaving the two of you against the couch with mismatched breaths and his dick still inside of you. “Oh shit…” He whines. “You like me too.”

You lift yourself off of him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the only thing you got from that?”

His hands on your hips keep you from moving around. His cock is softening around your walls, all helping his heart rate return to a comfortable pace. “Well, had I know us liking each other meant mind-blowing sex, yeah, I get to be a little salty I didn’t say anything earlier.”

You laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smirks. “That’s right.” He readjusts, helping you up and off of his dick. His cum, white liquid, spills out of you.

You cup yourself immediately. “Oh shit, that’s gonna get on this cushion.”

“Oh shit.” Jimin cups your pussy too. Extra barrier, he would say. He turns towards the long bathtub. “How about a bath now?” He flashes you a grin when you nod.

Keeping one arm around your waist to keep you steady, he leans down to dig through the pile of his clothes until he produces his wand. Turning towards the tub, he waves his wand. At once, the water from the tabs go off, each flow of water a different color. Some emit a string of bubbles, giving a formy texture to the bathwater currently in the tub.

Given the size of the bathtub, one might have assumed it would take a long time to fill the space, so it’s a surprise to see water nearing the top after only a matter of minutes. Jimin waves his wand again to stop the water coming out of the tabs.

Jimin removes his hand from you and allows you to straighten into a standing position. He stands too, guiding you to the edge of the bathtub where he lets you step into the water first.

The water is the perfect temperature, warm and wonderful as it envelops your body. As you sink down, you sigh as you feel your muscles relaxing, where you don’t stop adjusting until your butt hits the appropriate step to sit on. Jimin follows in after you, not stopping until he’s sitting right behind you.

“Ahhhhh, shit, this is perfect,” He says quietly, wrapping his arms around you. The only sound in the room is the rustle of water that splashes around softly in time to the movements both of you make.

You move your head slightly to dip strands of your hair into the water. “Wow, no wonder Yoongi takes his job so seriously. I’d hate to lose out on this.”

“Well, just stick with me, baby, and we’ll keep sneaking around for the rest of the school year.”

You turn slightly to look at him. “Do you mean… sneaking around Head Boy equipment, or sneaking around the school?” There’s an implication in your question. Do you plan to keep me a secret?

However, Jimin quells that worry rather quickly. “Sweetheart, I’ve been chasing you around for a month and a half—emotionally and physically. Do you really think I’d be able to keep my feelings a secret in front of other people?”

You smile, relaxing back into his arms. “I’m glad to hear that…”

“Plus when I kick your ass in our classes, I think that it’s more satisfying to hear that I beat my girlfriend instead of that transfer student from Ilvermorny. Makes it more personal. Just how I like it.”

“There it is.”

He laughs, nudging himself further into you. It stays like this for a little bit, both of making conversation, but mostly just done in the privacy of this space you’ve carved for yourselves. You aren’t too sure of how much time has gone by until you’re hearing the statue behind the entrance to the bathroom move, followed immediately by a voice. It’s Min Yoongi.

“Hey, who the fuck is in here—oh shit, Jimin?” A pause, both of you immediately spinning around to look towards the source of the noise. Yoongi notices you immediately, eyes widening as he turns around to face the wall. “Is that Y/N? What the fuck are you doing here? This is the Prefects’ Bathroom!” Another pause. “Wait, hold the fuck up—are you guys together?”

You, however, don’t hear any of those questions. You’re too busy squealing in surprise, immediately dipping your body lower into the water to avoid having Yoongi’s eyes wander to places they don’t belong. You cover your breasts to further avoid that.

Jimin shifts towards you to block your body. “What the fuck? What are you doing here? It’s Saturday morning!”

“Hey!” Yoongi whirls around, red-faced, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “Don’t answer my question with a question! And I’m Head Boy, I’m allowed in here!”

“You gave me the password!”

“Yes, in the case of an emergency! Is snuggling up to your girlfriend really an emergency?”

“Well, in that case no, but having a celebratory bath with my new girlfriend could be classified as an emergency?”

“JIMIN.” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, whirling around. “Holy fuck, if Flinch saw you in here… if he knows that you’re in here thanks to me…”

“Uh…” You say from behind Jimin. Only your neck is visible above the water, so your voice and arm raising are extremely meek. “Yoongi? I’m sorry… we were both tired and gross, and Jimin had a hangover…”

“No, uh, Y/N…” Yoongi cuts in, albeit more gently. “I don’t blame you.” He looks down at his watch. “I should probably let you know, however, that it’s almost eight o’clock and I’m aware that you have a report to submit to Professor Sinistra before the train leaves back for home?”

“Oh shit!” You startle at that news. “I have to go do that now…”

Yoongi glares at Jimin, then looks back at you, and sighs heavily. “Okay,” He starts slowly. “I’m just gonna stand outside and pretend that I didn’t see any of this. You guys better be out there in five minutes though. Both of you.” Without another look at either of you, Yoongi exits the room.

Immediately, you and Jimin scramble to dry yourselves off. Both of you decide to just leave your hairs damp and wet, electing that just getting the basics of your attire on is more important. In the end, you’re both just in your appropriate bottoms, and messily put together blouses and tops. Yours isn’t even buttoned all the way, leaving your collarbone exposed and littered with Jimin’s marks from earlier.

Jimin grabs your waist before both of you could make it out. “I’ll be able to see you before you get on the train, right?”

You hum, arm around his neck. “Aw, will the baby miss me?”

He glares, pushing you away slightly. “I’m just asking.”

You laugh. “Most likely, I just need to submit the report. And pack—I didn’t really get to do that yesterday.”

“Okay, okay.” Jimin lets you go. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Flashing him one more smile, you lead both you and Jimin out of the room. True to Yoongi’s word, he’s waiting outside with his hands in his pockets and his eyes averted. They, however, fix themselves on you as soon as you emerge from behind the statue with Jimin.

“I was this close to tipping you off to Mr. Flinch…” Yoongi trails off, studying the two of you. His eyes settle on the hickies at your throat. He freezes. “Wait, did you guys fuck in there?”

“Uh…” Jimin looks at you, the realization settling in both of your gazes. “WELL, Y/N, the love of my life, it was great knowing you, how about you run off to Professor Sinistra while I try to outrun Yoongi’s rage.”

Yoongi pales, looking like his soul has just departed from his body. “So that means…”

You nod, corner of your lips smiling despite the potential outcome of the situation. “I’ll write to you once a week.” You look back at Yoongi’s increasingly stony expression. “I’m sorry Yoongi.” You say this before turning around and practically running down the hallway.

Just before you turn to go down the stairs to collect your report, you make out one last sentence: “JIMIN, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

#jimin scenario #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin x y/n #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts smut #traci writes #hp reputation series #i..... am so tired #i want to be freed from this fic

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captain039 · 3 years

Text

Don’t let me go

The huntsman x reader

(Snow White and the huntsman, Chris Hemsworth)

Warnings: Gore, ABO, light swearing, magic things, light angst, idk

You stared at the world around, the voices screeching in your ear, telling you what to do, who you should be. The ground was cold and wet under you, your back soaked in mud and the rain pouring down on you. You struggled the breath, struggled to move so they didn't catch you. Why’d she want you dead? The queen doesn’t know you, doesn’t know anything about you and suddenly it’s your death or nothing. You didn’t know you could run that fast, being mere miles away from the dark forest had its benefit of nobody venturing into your small town, yet the queen was so angry she sent her brother after you. Unsure of what you did you fled, trying to save your family and village.

You eyes had gone blurry, the trees moved to you with their pointy branches, the sky was so grey and groggy it made you sick.

You closed your eyes savoured the earth under you as it might be the last you ever feel it.

Your body jolted though, you were being moved you figured this was the end till warmth spread through you.

“Come on” you heard a voice, deep and soothing almost despite its grunting.

“Wake up!” You heard a more feminine voice this time and frowned seeing a figure to your left. You stumbled in the persons arms, gained your feet and ran with them.

You neared the edge of the forest, your mind still fuzzed, a huntsman by the looks and a young woman, you didn’t know who she was.

“We mean you no harm” the young woman spoke and you frowned lifting your head seeing women in boats, you hadn’t even noticed them.

“What’s wrong with her?” They asked and you frowned.

“She’s been exposed, it’ll pass” the man spoke by your side and you frowned at him.

“Exposed?” You said almost drunken like.

“Get in” the woman said as you were led into the boat.

You awoke, warm and dry on a bed with a sheet over you. You opened your eyes slowly it was dark out, the only light from the flames by the fire.

“Ah there you are” you groaned sitting up as a woman helped you.

“Easy now dear” she said her voice kind.

“What happened?” You mumbled mind rushing back.

“You passed out in the boat” she said and you nodded rubbing your eyes.

“Why- why did the queen want me?” You whispered shifting so your feet hit the floor. You stood and stumbled but the woman sat you back down hushing you gently.

“My mother’s dead! My brother- I” you shook eyes blurring with tears.

“It’s alright child” she pulled you close, she held you, her scent that of an aged beta, calming.

“You’re awake” you frowned looking to the huts door and seeing the young woman.

“Thank you for helping me” you said wiping your eyes quickly and pulling away from the woman.

“The queen wants you too” she walked in and stood by you.

“Why she want you?” You asked, she didn’t look like anything special, beautiful sure, but just an ordinary girl.

“I’m the kings daughter” you froze at her words.

“Princess?” You muttered and she nodded.

“Why did she want you?” She asked and you shrugged.

“I don’t know” you mumbled.

“You’re special” the woman beside you spoke and you looked to her.

“How?” You said confused.

“You’re an omega” you frowned at her words that wasn’t uncommon?

“There’s omegas everywhere” you sighed thinking she was just suddenly insane.

“No there’s not” you stared at her confused.

“The queen executed them, your homes by the dark forest yes?” She asked and you nodded.

“She won’t go near that place, she has no power there” you tried to process, you really did.

“I left the village to get a cow from the market, I disguised myself as my brother” you muttered. Your brother was ill, you’ve been acting like him from time to time when going out, safer to travel.

“Someone would’ve caught you” she whispered and you clenched your fist, nails digging into your palm.

“Damn it” you said eyes watering again as you realised the whole fate of your village laid on your shoulders, they were dead, you watched the flames as you ran, the slaughter.

“The huntsman was after me, he had a change of heart before he found you” the princess spoke.

“A change of heart?” You almost scoffed.

“He’s a huntsman” you said.

“They don’t have hearts” you stared at the fire, memories flooding back.

You laughed while your brother chased you around the village, the older ones laughing as you both caused a ruckus.

“Y/n! Oliver!” You turned to your mother’s call and laughed as you both ran over trying to trip each other.

“Ah goodness ya both a mess” she sighed as you heard a horse approaching. Your mother looked up her eyes wide with tears in it. You looked too your heart pounding at the sight of your father.

“Daddy!” Your brother called running to him as he dismounted and embraced your brother tightly.

“Little Olly” he said as you walked to them.

“My little princess” he whispered cupping your cheek.

“Come here” he said softly and you wrapped your little arms around his neck.

“I missed you both” he whispered as he let you down and embraced your mother.

“They’ve grown” he chuckled to your mother who nodded with tears in her eyes.

“Look at you!” He knelt back down cupping your cheeks.

“Bigger than your brother” he chuckled as Oliver pouted.

“You’ll be a big man one day son don’t you worry” your father pet his cheek with a big smile. Time froze though as he jolted, an arrow through his heart. Screams rang out and the slaughter began. You were carried, torn away as you watched your father die. You were hidden away before it all stopped. Your mother bloodied but alive as she held you both close.

“Never trust a huntsman” she whispered.

“Men like him have no heart nor will they” you said.

“You-“ the princess began to speak but the loud cry tore all your gazes outside.

“Quickly!” The woman grabbed you both and ran out the back, the huts ablaze with fire and the queens men tearing the village down.

“Come now!” The women herded you out the back, through the water and to the boats.

“Huntsman!” The princess said as you saw him coming through the tall grass.

“Go!” The woman cried pushing you towards him.

“Wait-“ you said as she shook her head.

“Go now!” You tan with them both through the tall grass.

You ran for ages it felt like, your small rest reminding you of how exhausted you truely are.

“I can’t-“ you collapsed legs aching, chest burning. You laid on the grass, took in deep gulps of air trying to sooth the burn.

The princess and the huntsman stopped, the princess panting the and huntsman by your side.

“Go away” you said flinching as he went to touch you. He frowned at your words his blue eyes saddened.

“We need to keep moving” he said as you felt your heart finally slow down.

“She’s exhausted” the princess said coming to your side.

“Give me a minute” you mumbled as she handed you a canteen. You sighed drinking the water in it. You sat up slowly before nodding.

You moved for till the morning came, you were tired, legs trembling at each step, you weren’t use to running away. You froze though when something went around your foot and you were all hoisted up. Your back hit the huntsman sand you grunted as you tried to gain awareness.

“Beith” the huntsman sighed as you frowned seeing dwarfs around you.

“Ah Huntsman!” A dwarf said.

“Fancy seeing you out here” he added as you looked around but not spotting the one who spoke.

“You got two pretty little things by your side now huh?” You glared at the dwarf in front of you despite him not being the one who spoke.

“I think she might kill us” the dwarf said as you grunted and squirmed.

“Stop moving omega it’s no use” the huntsman sighed as you struggled.

“Cut us down Beith” he added.

“Do it” you heard another dwarf.

“It’s the princess” he added and you glanced to the princess.

“I have seen it” he muttered.

“Argh cut them down” you assumed Beith said as you landed on the ground harshly, your neck cramping along the way.

“Piss off!” You snapped as a dwarf came over.

“Alright!” He said hands up. You scrambled with your ropes before standing on your feet.

“She’s the one” you frowned looking to the princess who knelt in front of a blind dwarf.

“The darkness will end” he added smiling.

You traveled with the dwarves to the sanctuary, a place you’d never seen, fairies and little critters running around the lush grass. You smiled at the little rabbits running about, fluffy coats and little tails.

Night fell and you finally had a chance to lie down, Snow danced with Gus while the others sang. You had your back to the fire, holding the blanket close as tears silently fell from your eyes. Caught up in this mess for being an omega, your brother was one too, though he grew ill. Thinking back to everything you realise you were the only two, your mother coated your scents every day and night, she always told you, you needed to be careful around everyone, be on you guard.

You flinched when someone covered you with something.

“I’m not going to hurt you” you stared at the huntsman as he held a fur up.

“You were shaking” he said softly lying the pelt down over you.

“What’s it to you” you snapped with a hush voice.

“I don’t know what you think I am, but it isn’t right” he said and you glared.

“You’re a heartless man with an axe” you snapped.

“Monsters” you mumbled as you watched the hurt flash again. He sighed and sat back down, you kept your back turned as you tried to ignore the feeling in your stomach.

You watched your father die again, slowly, the arrow through him then an axe in his head, tearing his soul away as he fell. The Huntsman tore through your village, tore everything up before they left with their small victory. You cried violently over your fathers dead body, blood tears running down his eyes.

“Wake up!” You frowned as somebody shook you a voice echoing.

“Wake up! You shot up your dagger close as you looked around panting.

“Easy” you held your knife towards the huntsman as he held his hands up.

“You were crying out in your sleep” he said and you gulped. You had a layer of sweat covering your body, tears in your eyes. You lifted yourself and headed to the first ignoring his calls.

You pushed past trees and darkness before you fell to your knees and cried. You didn’t hold it back, didn’t silence it, you cried and cried till tears became streams. You heard someone approaching, cursed them as you knew who it was.

“Go away!” You cried turning to him.

“Leave me alone” you whispered as you felt him wrap his arms around you. You sobbed softly hesitant and struggling before leaning back into the embrace.

“Just let it out” he whispered as you cried softly. You held the arm around your shoulders, gripping his flesh.

Your tears dried and he sat back and made you sit back with him. You laid back against his chest looking at his boots outstretched besides you. His arms rested around your waist so you couldn’t leave, you stared at the moon in numb exhaustion.

“My father came home from a merchant trade” you began softly.

“I was five, my brother was four, he came off his horse and told us how big we had grown, embraced us before an arrow went through his heart and an axe in his head” you felt him tense behind you and you swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Huntsman had come through to kill our village leader and claim it as their own for their queen, they slaughtered and burned my village before leaving after their message had been heard that the village was owned” his grip tightened a little as you stopped.

“The queen was clouded by grief, she raised an army of children into Huntsman, she had one rule, to never love” he said.

“I fell in love, it cost me her life and others, so I escaped” his voice croaked a little and you held one hand over his.

“We were reckless ready to escape, but she died and I was sent out with grief of my own” you kept looking at the moon as he spoke, he was warm against you, comforting in a way you didn’t want.

“She wasn’t mine though, maybe we were desperate to feel something, it wasn’t the same feeling as- as this” he spoke softly and your heart raced in your ears as he spoke, you felt it too.

“What is this? I don’t know you” you said broken.

“I don’t know what this is, but I won’t let it go” he said as you felt a single tear drop.

“I won’t let you go” he muttered.

#x reader #fanfic #olden times #Huntsman #Snow White and the huntsman #Chris Hemsworth #the huntsman x reader #Eric x reader #ABO

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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

Text

Faust x Faith - No Looking Back

Warning: 18+ smut, public sex, violence, blood, arson, implied death, mentions of non-consensual touching (nothing explicit and no r-words used,) mentions of stalking, unconsciousness, anti-religious themes, strong language.

Note: Hey, hey. I’ve wanted to write this for a while, but haven’t had much time. This isn’t based on any requests—just something I feel needs to happen to move the universe along. After this, I’ll be basing future FxF stuff off drabble requests instead of going story-heavy for a bit. Likes, comments and reblogs are suuuper ‘ppreciated!

Summary: - Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration - 3.6K words -

Faust makes good on his word to protect Faith, taking drastic measures to assure her assailant never bothers her again.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

Thin raindrops pattered the man's leather jacket as he walked through the streets with his hood drawn up and his eyes low. For two days, the drizzle persisted and melted the black snowbanks into slush. Though the dismal atmosphere kept most inside, Sven had good reason to travel across town on foot. The promise of a girl's company waited at the end of his route, and he put off his regular nightly routine of masturbating to fetish porn for—what he hoped was—the real thing.

He glanced at his cracked phone screen every few minutes to check in with her, making sure she hadn't changed her mind, that she was serious. From the earnestness of her messages and the speed at which she replied to his questions, he determined she meant what she said about wanting to meet. Finally, his luck was turning. He’d show that miserable bastard Faust who was the better man.

- What abt ur bf? Lol

- What about him? Not here, is he?

- Thought u were a good girl.

- Haha, not really. Are you close?

- Ya. Y r we meeting at this random place?

- I need you to promise you won't tell a soul. If you can prove that to me, maybe we can keep meeting up.

- Lol ok. I PROMISE I won't say a word😉

- Thank you. Hurry, please. It's cold out!

- Be there in 5. I'll let u wear my jacket altho idk might not need it😉

- Hehe omgosh. You're making me blush.

- I'll make u do way more then blush baby. Just wait.

Sven lengthened his strides and turned the corner onto a hill leading toward the industrial area of town. Down the slope, he walked past several warehouses and legions of trucks parked inside barbed-wire fencing. It was a peculiar site to meet up, but his rendezvous insisted on a place nobody would think to look.

Betting his night would take an erotic turn, Sven popped a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed away the cigarette taste. He was seconds away from the spot she chose to meet, and his chest constricted with excitement. His boots crunched over gravel and garbage as he walked down a narrow alley between two faceless buildings. There was an open lot at the end of the lane, where he assumed she was waiting. As he made his way through the dimly lit alley, he whistled to make his presence known. The shrill tune reverberated off an overflowing dumpster to his left, and as he stepped to clear the reeking trash receptacle, something hard and blunt swung out at eye-level and flattened him to the ground.

Dazed and blinded from the sudden strike, he tried moving his mouth, but only a bubble of blood popped from his lips. A piercing stream of sound filled his ears as the edges of his vision turned dark. A large black figure came into view above, haloed by the soggy grey sky in the deepening veil. The featureless shadow chuckled deeply before a heavy boot's tread put out his lights.

~*~

Several hours passed before Sven's eyelids shuddered. By then, his assailant had had plenty of time to tie him to a wooden chair and organize his instruments of punishment. A headache blistered through the man's skull, throbbing in his eye sockets until he gained enough consciousness to open them. When he saw the person who had knocked him out, his throat closed and the gasp ripping through came out high-pitched.

"Faust... Please... Don't—" Sven hiccoughed. "Don't do this. I'm sorry. I'm SORRY!"

Faust, who had been facing the doorway at the end of a long red runner, turned toward Sven, holding a hammer's handle in one hand while cradling the head in the other. A malicious smirk peeked out from a curtain of black hair. He took a step forward, the clomp of his leather boots echoing through the church. Each step made a menacing sound that bit down on Sven's nerves and rattled his sensitive skull.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I know you hate me, but please, don't hurt me. I swear I'll never talk to her again!"

Faust approached, flashing the obsidian hammerhead. He tossed the tool in his grip and stuck his hand into his pocket, producing several five-inch nails.

"No! God, no, please! Faust! Don't do this!"

The black-haired giant stopped to admire the curve of the hammer’s prongs. Sven looked around the empty church and saw a jerrycan taking up space in a nearby pew. He immediately started struggling against the jute rope binding his wrists and ankles to the chair as Faust drew nearer, smile uncoiling.

"I already gave you the chance to never talk to her again. Remember?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry means fuck all to me. You should know that. The only reason you left the campsite with your dick intact is because of the witnesses," Faust said, then spun around with his arms out, showcasing their solitude. "Now, it's just you and me."

"Please don't," Sven muttered through swollen lips. "Fuck, I'll do anything!"

"There's nothing you can do. Nothing a sorry sack of human waste can provide this world to make me change my mind."

"SHE LIED!"

Faust jingled the nails in his jacket, reminding Sven who held the weapon.

"Whatever she told you... It's not true! I was at the party, but I didn't do anything to her!" Sven's voice cracked.

"Oh... So you didn't follow her into my bedroom?"

"No! I talked to her for a minute, and that's all. That's all, I swear, Faust. Don't kill me."

The stomp of boots neared the altar where Sven struggled in the chair. He twisted to loosen the rope and slipped one hand out. Faust grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the arm of the chair, readying a nail between his lips as he gripped the hammer. Sven let out a scream, stifled instantly by the hammerhead. Faust wedged the metal between his teeth and hissed.

"Shut the fuck up, or I'll use this to smash your teeth out like a goddamn window. Understand me?"

Sven nodded and quaked as Faust placed the tip of the nail against the soft, flat part of his forearm.

"Stay still. If I fuck up and hit the Radial or Ulnar artery... You could bleed out before I'm done. Gotta get it right between the bones." Faust slapped the pale skin to reveal blue veins. He pressed the nail’s tip in place and rose the hammer above his head, bringing it down and stopping short of the head as Sven shrieked.

Faust cackled. "Jesus Christ, dude. Did you really think I was gonna nail you to a chair?"

Sven groaned, relieved and moist with cold sweat. "Faust, I'm serious. Please, man. You gotta believe me."

His dark laughter continued, bouncing off the high ceilings, the wooden pews and polished floors. As Sven let out his own nervous chuckle, Faust brought the hammer down in one swift pull, then slapped his hand over Sven's gaping mouth to stifle the screams. Howling, Sven rattled his head back and forth as a searing bolt of pain tore through his right arm, crackling in his shoulder where it burned and burned.

Faust tore his phone out of his back pocket and brought up a video, slamming the screen into Sven's face. The video of him grabbing Faith in his room while he was states away watching the live feed from the camera he'd set up on the desk.

"I knew these little cameras would come in handy. See? I know what you did, you stupid fuck. And you know what else? I would have just beat the shit out of you had I not stopped by your place before our little meeting."

Sven whined, tears pouring from his eyes in steady streams.

"Oh, yeah. That's right. I went into your room... Saw some interesting things on your computer. At first, I thought it was just standard fucking creep shit. Snuff porn, torture... Teen girls. None of that surprised me... Until I dug around and found your little stalker file buried in your folders. You didn't even encrypt it. How fucking stupid are you?"

"I'm sorry," Sven shook.

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"I'm sorry for touching her. I should have left her alone."

"What'd you think was gonna happen? That she wouldn't tell me? Or that I wouldn't believe her? And now I know you've been following Faith around, taking pictures of her, you fucking predator. And what about those other women, huh? You sorry about them, too?"

"Yes! I'm sorry. I know I have problems! I'm trying to get help. Please, Faust. If you let me go, I promise I'll do it. I'll get better. I haven’t hurt anyone!"

Faust shook his head slowly, grunting in refusal. "No. I meant what I said when I told you I'd crucify you if you went near Faith again. I'm doing the world a favour."

Sven hung his head and bled from the grievous wound pinning him to the chair, shuddering weakly from his injuries. Faust would never relent. He'd witnessed the drummer's cold disdain, the malignant hatred living inside that made him turn to the dark with open arms. Faust wasn't an actor. He pledged himself to the darkness with unyielding conviction, never one to take such things lightly. This realization depleted Sven's will to reason with the man.

Faust gripped another thick nail and drove it through Sven's left arm, smiling as blood dripped from the wood onto the church altar. The violent yelps filled Faust with morbid delight as he pressed the bloodied hammer under his victim's chin and raised his face.

"You're gonna die tonight, Sven."

"What makes you better than me? You'll be a murderer," Sven stuttered. "You hurt people, too."

"You and I are not the same. Don't ever compare yourself to me. You're a coward, and I warned you. Tread on what's mine, and I'll destroy you. That's what I said."

"All this over a girl? Are you fucking crazy!?"

Faust stooped to one knee, looking up at Sven as though the insult had cut him. Faust's brows arched, bottom lip jutting outward as he studied Sven, who closed his eyes. Then, Faust rose to his feet, leather stretching from the motion. Faust tapped his chin, smiled, and leaned over to whisper, "yes... Totally fucking crazy."

With a powerful kick to the chest, Faust sent the chair and Sven toppling backward. He then unzipped his pants, pulled out his manhood and giggled as he emptied his bladder on the weeping man. While Sven cried and moaned, Faust closed his zipper, whistling merrily. He left Sven on his back and snatched the jerrycan from the pew, taking slow, calculated steps while twisting off the cap and dousing the altar in gasoline.

As the gas trickled, Sven's desperation mounted. He could not flail, so he screamed. Faust gently reminded him what he'd do to Sven's teeth if he carried on shouting. The pinned man blubbered and begged, but Faust ignored his pleas. Inside his head, all Faust heard was the sound of flames rushing into a circle around Sven, crackling over the carpet and up the old church's wooden beams. By the time the roof caught fire, Faust had planned on being long gone.

"Please, Faust... You'll regret this! I know you're a serious person, but this is too far. You won't be able to live with yourself!"

"Wrong. I couldn't live with myself knowing I let a vulture like you walk this planet freely." Faust poured a trail down the floor runner, far away from the altar. He tossed the can aside and looked up at the Catholic saints' stained-glass portrayals and Jesus at the center of it all, staring down with sad eyes. Faust took a book of matches from his pocket and ripped one from the bunch, running its tip across the ignitor strip until a small flame burst to life. Faust flicked the match to the ground without a second thought, and the flame ate up the gasoline trail swiftly. The church was illuminated, and the colourful glass windows came to life. Faust raised his eyes to the forlorn Jesus and leered while the fire spread.

He did not stay to admire his work or revel in the cries of a man burning alive. Faust fled before the fire consumed the church, not once looking back or wondering if his victim had somehow escaped. He trudged through puddles of slush, hair swinging in the wind, white shadows of breath leaving his mouth.

It was time to get back to finish the tour. But he had one more stop to make.

~*~

Faith left the mall after helping close the book store. She received small smiles and nods from the mall staff as they locked doors and unfolded security gates. Some of the people she had spoken to before, and some she had only seen in passing. Though she returned their pleasantries, inside Faith was fretting. She tried not to worry about her boyfriend or ask where he was under strict orders to go about her day as usual.

She stepped into the evening air as the sun sank, taking the blue from the sky along for the descent. Wisps of white cloud stretched across the pink and violet above. Faith took in a deep breath and walked to the bus stop situated between a movie theatre and a dollar store. She popped her earbuds in and turned on a song that reminded her of Faust; one he wouldn’t like. His music taste had no room for the upbeat indie rock she enjoyed. Still, she smiled when the lyrics reminded her of him.

The scent of cigarette smoke caught her attention, and she looked around, finding no culprit. She wondered where the smell came from if nobody was around but soon forgot when the city bus appeared in the distance. It had to make a long trek around the parking lot before it pulled up at the movie theatre. Faith readied her bus card to scan as another cloud of smoke enveloped her senses.

Faith whirled around, and there he was, all black and leather, white teeth clutching the filter of a cigarette. Faust smiled, his words bolting from his mouth as she clamped her arms around him and crushed her face into his chest. The leather and musk brought tears to her eyes. She ripped out her earbuds and tried not to weep.

He hushed her, lifted her off the ground and retreated into the shadowed alley between the theatre and the store. By the time the bus pulled up, Faust had pressed her against the brick wall behind the building.

"Faust. Oh my gosh, where have you been? I was so worried," Faith gasped.

"Sh, don't ask questions, baby." Faust smothered her mouth, holding her thighs around his waist.

"Mm—I love you. Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re here! I love you so freaking much."

"I know you do," Faust breathed against her lips. "I love you, too, babe."

"Tell me where you've been!"

Faust shook his head and kissed her neck instead. She raked her fingers through his hair, knocking his hood down so she could see him unobstructed.

"Told you... Don't ask... Mmkay?... Stop asking... Just let me... Mm—fuck!"

Faith pulled his pelvis inward with her thighs, rubbing against his crotch and the heavy bullet belt wrapped around his hips. In their cloud of lust, Faust pushed his black jeans down just enough to free his erection.

"Fuck, I love your little skirts. Makes it so easy," Faust murmured.

The thought of Faust showing up disquieted her, but his lips on her skin and his desire thwarted these anxieties for a while. She set aside her questions, happy to have him in her arms again and overcome by arousal. When he stretched her panties aside and pushed into her, they both froze in expressions of excruciating ecstasy. Faust tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and Faith clutched his shoulders, already writhing from the intense fulfillment between her legs.

Just as she thought Faust might drop her, he bent his knees and hoisted her higher up on the wall. In his arms, she weighed close to nothing. She missed feeling tiny against him.

"Miss my cock?" He growled in her ear.

"Yes, baby. Oh my gosh, of course, I missed it. I missed my big man."

"Yeah? Fuck, I miss my little pussy," Faust breathed. "Mm, show me those gorgeous tits."

Faith unbuttoned her work polo and stretched the collar down around her breasts for Faust to bury his face. Though there wasn't an abundance of flesh to lose himself in, Faust shivered from the first taste of her nipples. With muted groans of pleasure, he rammed into her until Faith could no longer contain her cries, unaccustomed to his girth. Faust absorbed her whimpers with his mouth, coaxing her tongue until she only hummed.

He felt ferocious from the last twenty-four hours. If he could make Faith scream without drawing attention, Faust would have slammed her into the wall and fucked her until she shredded her vocal cords. He had to keep a low profile. Even visiting Faith was a considerable risk, but one he relished taking as she clamped her thighs and rutted against him.

He supported her ass in both hands and shifted off the wall to fuck her standing up. While he took her this way, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered, whispering, "yes, fuck my pussy hard, big boy. Oh, I love that big cock inside me."

Faust unhooked and held her out so he could watch her breasts jiggle with every bounce. "You still taking your birth control? I'm gonna fucking bust so hard inside you, baby."

"Yeah. Yeah, baby, do it. Fill my pussy, please. I want your cum."

Her dirty talk and sweet sobs for his cock pushed him over the edge. He cradled her head as he pushed her against the wall and throbbed between her legs until empty. Faust pulled out and immediately turned her around and bent her over to watch globs of fresh cum dripping from her wet slit. He used one finger to push some of it back inside and had her suck off the rest. Afterward, he pulled up his pants and compressed her against the wall, one hand over her mouth while the other worked her clit in gentle circles. Faust didn't stop until she squealed and shuddered against him, muffled in his jacket and writhing from the manual orgasm.

When Faith calmed down, he released her and stepped away, pulling a cigarette from the squished pack in his jacket pocket. The lighter's flame created an orange halo around his face and promptly died. He smoked like nothing had happened while she fixed her skirt, buttoned her polo and zipped up her coat.

Faith smiled up at her lover, the night blotting out most of his features.

"I'm so glad you're home," she said.

"Not for long," Faust exhaled.

Her heart quivered. "Wait, what?"

"I gotta go back."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"What? No! But... You just got back," said Faith.

Faust shrugged, his leather jacket speaking for him. The evening matured, consuming the details of her hurt expression until the streetlamps along the road came to life.

"Why did you come here?"

Faust took one last long haul off his cigarette and flicked it down the alleyway. "Listen to me, Faith... You need to quit asking questions. I'm serious. The more questions you ask, the worse it'll be. And you and I did not see each other tonight. As far as you know, I'm on tour. Understand?"

"Yes," Faith said to appease him.

"I want to stay, trust me. But I can't. You know why. All the answers you want, you already have. Don't keep bugging, don't mention it ever again."

"I want to go with you," she whispered.

"No. You stay. Go to your classes, go to work, go visit your parents. Everything normal. And I don't want you moping around either. You put on that pretty smile, and you pretend for me. I'll call you in a couple of weeks before the last show and arrange a way for you to get there."

"What do you mean you’ll call in couple of weeks?" Faith whined. “What about goodnights?”

"I don't have a phone anymore."

"Why—? Oh, um... Okay. I understand."

Faust gathered the girl up in his arms and kissed the top of her head. "Good girl. I love you, and I miss you."

"I love you, too."

He tipped her face up and sensed tears forming in her eyes. Faust shook his head. "No crying. We'll see each other very soon. Just a couple more weeks."

"I know," she sighed.

"I love you more than anything, Faith. Now, go catch your bus. Should be here in a few minutes."

"But what about you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm on tour. I'm not even here," he explained.

Faust kissed her again, smoothed his hands over her shoulders and turned her to face the bus stop. He urged her along. "No looking back. Hop on the bus and go do your schoolwork."

"Okay," she said, determined to make him proud. Faith walked out of the shadows and into the lamplight hovering over the depot. Across the lot, the city bus pulled in, and though she longed to turn around to see Faust watching over her, she kept her eyes forward and waited. When the bus pulled up, and the doors drew back, she stepped onto the platform and smiled at the driver as she scanned her pass. Faith took a seat in the back and put in her earbuds. She searched through a list of bands and selected the only one whose logo was illegible. As she pressed play, she listened to the immediate assault of the drums, their constant and violent beat. Faith smiled—warm in her chest and between her legs.

#faust x faith #valter skarsgård smut #valter skarsgård fanfiction #valter skarsgard fanfiction #Valter Skarsgard imagine

84 notes · View notes

withoneheadlight · 3 years

Note

life has been a bit crazy for me so I haven’t been around but I’m glad to see that the upside down kiss fic is circulating back around bc it lives rent free in my mind constantly and I am whORE KNEE 😩

nsfw! anon

(I hope you’ve seen well I miss u :((( )

NSFW!ANON I'M SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU I MISS YOUUUUUU!!!!! Holy shit this is the nicest surprise!!!!!! 💖💖💖🌟💖🌟💖🌟💖🌟💖 Wish your life were at least a bit less crazy :(. Mine's been a bit crazy too. Weird and busy. Haven't been letting me much time for fandom and i miss it so, SO FUCKING much.

And <3<3<3, haha yep! i’ve got a soft spot for that fic too bc i had so much fun writing it, and it’s even funnier on my mind idk xD. i’m so happy people likes it. Those gifs are like a harringrove inspiration charm i swear! Maybe you’ve already seen it but @warheadache added this amazing ar to it and 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉.

also!! i know it doesn’t look like it but i’ve got a couple things for you on the works and i’m closer to finish them!! at my snail pace but yk,

a few excerpts bc i want to give them to you so baaaaaadddDDDDDD:

(I'm sure you'll recognize the working titles :P)

| n s f w ahead |

| boots |

And it’s been more than three years. More than three years of holes on his body and holes on his veins and stitches and tubes and pills and pain under every scar and unsteady steps and pulling together a pile of dirty rubble. More than one of Steve, Steve, Steve. Of coming back in busts and flickers. Enough gasoline left to light a spark. Too empty still to start a fire.

Except―

He’s going through his old stuff, one day. Cold outside. Late January. Chill fogging the windows. Daylight pouring to the edges of the sky like red-hot steel on the other side.

Billy’s on the floor. The contents of the two plastic bags collecting dust at the bottom of his closet since he moved in here now scattered all around. Cassettes and crumpled papers and tampered books and stupid memorabilia and. His old tight jeans. His leather jackets. His light-blue denim one, with the blood-red goodbye kiss of somebody whose cheek he remembers touching, whose face he can’t remember anymore.

And Billy doesn’t hear him coming, but one moment he’s not, the next Steve’s crouching by his side, leaning against him, too lightly for it to be in need of balance.

“God, Hargrove” he huffs, picks Billy’s favorite shirt out of the pile “Am I remembering this one right?”

Billy bites in a smile. Swallows down some bitterness.

“You are”

Steve nods, mouth twisting into a grin, a brow rising. Glances down at what Billy’s holding (on to) between his hands.

“And oooh. Those boots”

Still dirty. More dark brownish than black. One of the few things he got back from the hospital. His pendant being the only one he ever put back on.

“Yeah”

“Thinking ‘bout using any of these again?” Steve gives the shirt a light shake, the dark-red fabric dragging on the wooden floor.

Last time Billy wore it, he burned hole in it. A stray ember fell from his joint, right under the left pocket. Tiny enough to pass mostly unseen but―

For a closer look, it was ruined.

Two days later, the Mind-Flyer dragged him into the basement of Brimborn Steel Works.

Billy digs his fingers into the dry leather before they can start shaking.

“I don’t―” Takes in a big gulp of air “―know. Don’t know if they’ll fit anymore” It feels like nothing.

Because, he doesn’t mean only his body. Means it all. Because he’s alivealivealive, like some kind of inevitability. Alive like a form of inertia.

Alive because that’s all he had left. Got’s left. The only thing he could. Can. Do.

But,

But

“Uhmm” Steve exhales. Looks right into his eyes and it feels like he’s looking deeper. And it’s not the first time, not the first time Billy wonders, how much he knows, and how he knows it. Wonders what he might be seeing, what his instinct might be saying for him to―lower down his voice, eat away almost every single one of the scarce millimeters keeping their mouths from touching “Maybe the boots, then” his hair tickling Billy as it falls over his forehead, the feeling of it so intimate it seems illicit “Only, the boots”.

And those words. Those words. Taste like gasoline on Billy’s mouth, make the flame almost catch. Hot. As they feel over the rabbiting pulse of his jugular. Ad there shouldn’t be any empty space left between them when Steve moves even closer, his lips brushing a path of raw tenderness over Billy’s cheek, trailing sideways, air turning flammable and unstable, unbreathable when he says, “You’d look―” Voice hoarse. Shaky. Breath warm down the curve of Billy’s neck. Fingertips burning as a branding mark over his solar plexus “Hot as fuck”

Trading a grenade for Billy’s fast-beating heart.

And then― he’s getting up. Going away. Closing the door behind him. Leaving Billy one pull away from the detonation.

And Billy.

It’s been more than year since he moved. More than a year of SteveSteveSteve. Of coming back in busts and flickers. Enough gasoline left to light a spark. Too empty still to start a fire.

But Billy wants it, this kind of inevitability. Not inertia. No survival. Not that something living doesn’t really feels like. He wants Steve to release that bomb he just dropped inside of his body. Left Billy unmade. Shape him back together with his own two hands.

So he gets up. Wired-up and breathless. Anticipation beading on the surface of his skin. Thinks about of all those times alive felt like something reachable. That almost-touch sensation. Static singing on his fingertips: loving arms closing around his ocean-cold skin. The rumbling of the sea caught up on the shell of his ribcage. Max's crazy laugh like a hammer to his bones. The Camaro cooking the soles of his feet, speed making his head spin through a wormhole and out into the infinite. His knuckles cracking against the skin of another, finding bone. The metallic tang of blood flooding down the back of his tongue.

Love and fire and rage and―

He takes all his clothes off. They don’t feel like they fit, either. Socks. Sweats. Hoodie. T-Shirt. Takes a deep breath when the pendant bumps against the naked skin of his chest.

Puts his boots on.

Does the only thing he’s ever known.

“Steve!” he shouts. Pulse spiking up fast. Trying to beat a way out of his body “Can you come back in here?”

Skyrocketing, when Steve shouts back.

“Going!”

And then is the door clicking open. Billy’s lungs freezing in the middle of a breath. Steve’s eyes looking almost black as they catch the shadows. Sun falling down the reality of the other side.

And in a darkness like that, it’s only them what remains. Them, and the way they are looking at each other.

And Billy feels alive. Like falling. Feet slippin’ on the razor’s edge.

"Billy" breathes out Steve. Shoulder perched on the frame. Fingers tightening around the handle "Fuck, Billy I―"

“Yeah?”

Alive. Like a form of gravity when―

Steve comes forward. To him. Careful. Careful. Footsteps creaking on the wooden floor. Lashes falling down as his eyes drift. Swallows. Comes closer and closer still.

And then.

Their chest are brushing and their hands are almost touching and it's not even an inch but Billy has to look up even with his stupid boots on and,

“You said―”

Steve breathes in. Cuts Billy’s breath off his lungs.

Between them, there’s no room for anything that’s not the way they’re not touching.

“I know what I said”

The air, sparks, sizzles, becomes the memory of a thunderstorm and. The tips of Steve’s fingers make his hairs stand on end. High voltage. Spark over the inside of his wrist. The faded blue of his veins. And Billy shivers. Feels like that second of stasis before the rupture. Static calm and then― the ocean breaks.

And then Steve says,

“I wanna see it. That fire in you” and his fingers tickle across the hidden tenderness on the inside Billy’s elbow. Nails grazing their way up to his shoulder, detouring to contour the crest of his clavicle, slide down the trough, spreading as they follow the shape of Billy’s neck, thumb fitting into the corner of his lips and “C’mon.” smiling, smiling. Eyes creasing at the sides, lashes catching the few last strings of light. Wicked and sweet and devastating “Show me who’s that Billy Hargrove everybody's been telling me so much about”

| stick | tw: object insertion |

It’s thrilling, this secret, depraved game they play. Feels like it's forbidden. Leaves a sweet, honey-thick aftertaste.

And Billy is so. So curious. Can’t stop asking Steve to tell him “How it feels babe. I want to know how good it feels. God you look like it's hitting you just right” and Steve tells him. Steve fucks himself down into whatever thing Billy is holding for him, never touching himself until he’s almost there, wanting to ride that sole sensation right up until the very end. Shivering. Shaking. Breaking a sweat. The words coming ragged out of his open mouth. “Cold” or “Weird” or “Like. Too much–ah. Too much” and “Soft, God, Billy so soft” and–

“Why don’t you try it yourself?”

And Billy its so, so curious.

Billy does.

Rails himself for Steve to watch, slicked up with lube and dripping. With a rolling pin. A cucumber. Almost a whole box of wooden colored pencils, stuffed inside his ass one by one. With “ohgodgodgod” the handle of Steve’s fucking nailed bat. Lets Steve holds whatever thing he chooses for him “C’mon, babe. C’mon. Treat it good. Swallow it as deep as you can. Take it like you would take my cock”

And life in Hawkins gets boring after the first, second, fourth, seventh yearly round. Steve takes that office work. Billy gets a permanent spot in the garage. If he gets real lucky, somebody takes him an interesting car from time to time. But sometimes Steve looks at Billy with dark, liquid eyes. Says “Ok enough”. His voice harsh. Rasped. Losing balance at the edge of what he’s able to restrain himself. Sounding as if he’s jealous of those things jamming the insides if Billy’s ass. Takes out Billy’s been writhing around. Fucks him hard. Fuck him deep. Fucks him so good there are tears in Billy’s eyes by the time he comes. Fallen apart and sobbing.

Steve’s driving. One hand on the wheel. One hand on the shift. The cool air of the night coming in shorts through the rolled-down window. On the radio, Ted Nugent’s making his guitar whine, the strings arching into the touch of his fingertips, asking for more more more, ‘Here I come again now baby. Like a dog in heat’

Steve’s long fingers flex over the knob, winter-cold white under reddened knuckles. He shifts from third to fourth with a smooth press and lets go of the clutch, and the Camaro sighs, settles. Steve makes her calm. Steve tames her. Where Billy makes her growl and kick Steve drives her like a lover, whispers to her with all his body I’m gonna fuck you so slow. We got all night, baby. Steve treats her right. Runs those fingers up and down the metallic rod of the shift and Billy gets hard. One second from zero to sixty.

His cock pulses, pulses. Fills up whole. The sudden rush of heat traveling up, up. Presses against the walls of his throat. Billy wants to feel the head of Steve’s cock against his bell. Wants Steve to make him choke on him.

Steve brakes. Clutches. Reduces. The Camaro moans, needy. Steve soothes her, caresses it with a soft brush of his thumb along the speed patter Shh, baby sshhh. Just hold a little bit longer. I promise I will let you come.

Billy feels himself twitch, spit out precum. The inside of his pants feels damp, appetizing. He lets his hips slide, rock.

The knob is real leather. Silver pattern ingrained over black. Seams carefully sew out on the surface as a touch of style.

Billy replaced it a few months ago, the old one too damaged by use. Worn out.

This one curves slightly forward.

It would hit just right.

Steve's eyes are alight, framed in the light reflected from the rearview mirror, a dramatic take out of an old Noir.

Except the brown shines full color. Alive.

Billy puts his hand over Steve’s on the knob, spreads his fingers around his.

Grips him hard.

“Hey, babe. Have you ever thought about it?”

“Mmm? About what?”

“About riding my car”

Steve huffs. Chuckles.

“I am driving your car”

“Yeah” Billy caresses the side of Steve’s hand with his thumb, a lagged reflection of his gesture. Thinks about how pretty Steve’s lips would look around that leather, mouth open wide “Don’t mean it like that”

Billy has to take a deep, shaky breath, thinking it's a miracle they ever get as far as they plan, that Steve Harrington's mere existence doesn't make him come just by looking at him.

Not all their games get to the finish line. But this, God, Billy wants this one to.

"Ah-ah" he shakes his head, smirks, keeps the stakes high "But if you hop on I'll let you eat my mouth"

“Mmmm. I don’t know”

Steve twists his lips, considering, looks like he’s willing to take his sweet time deciding, staying just like this, idly rocking on his lap, keeping Billy hooked in this scarce feeling, this almost kissing between their cocks.

And Billy––Uff. Billy it’s too revved-up, can’t take it any fucking second more.

Grabs Steve’s asscheeks. Lifts him up.

“Billy what the—ohfuck” It doesn't go in. ‘Course it doesn’t. When Billy lets Steve’s weight drop just a slight bit. It bumps. Slips. Wet and obscene. Rips a breathless thing of a sound out of his throat. But then Steve’s arms wrap around his neck. Bracing himself so Billy can take a hold of it, line himself up. And then yeah yeah. He barely has to rub the head against Steve’s slippery hole and his cock slides in. Eaaasy. All the way. Into Steve’s warmth. Tight. Tight. Tight. And–

“Ohfuck. OhfuckOh”

The air coming in from the window is cool, bristling, but it feels like nothing when Steve lets out a chocked cry. Fucks himself. Fast. Rough. Face buried into the crook of Billy’s neck. Breath blooming hot, hot. Teeth on his pulse.

“Shhhh, baby, shhh” Billy takes his face between his hands, pushes him carefully backwards. Waits ‘till Steve’s eyes slowly find focus on his, still rocking, still― “Hey. You gotta stop. You hear me?” Steve takes a deep breath, exhales long and shaky. It takes all of him to slow down, Billy knows, but he does. Thighs twitching. Cock weeping. Smearing over Billy’s belly where his t-shit has hitched up.

Billy brushes his hair back from his forehead. Tangled and damp and gorgeous.

Kisses him light and sweet.

“We’re close, baby. We’re really, really close. But you gotta stop so I can open you up real good ok?”

Steve nods, eyes glossy, lips bitten and Billy feels overwhelmed, feels like burning under the hard sun. They’re both hanging by the thinnest of threads, Billy can feel it, can see it in the blown-out dark of Steve’s eyes. They’re riding pleasure at point break, time holding its breath for them. This is his favorite part of the game. A little too much, just a little too much. ‘Till one of them loses it. ‘Till one of them melts on the other’s hands. Hard and thick.

And God, Billy has never been one not to push his luck.

He takes two fingers up to Steve’s lips, runs the tips over the tender skin inside. Thinks about how they don’t look bitten enough, swollen enough. About how he’s gonna have to fix that.

“I’m gonna put these two inside. Will you get them ready for me?” Steve’s Smile twitches up, canines showing. It’s a two-men-con. But they play as much against the other as they play together. So Steve swallows both fingers. All the way in one go. Eyes falling shut. Eats them wet and messy. Deepthroats. Rumbles. Ass clenching, pulsing around Billy’s cock. And Billy is only a short breath of self-control away from spending himself inside him like a fucking rookie.

It’s boring, small-town life, really. Except–

“Good boy,” he says, making his fingers pop out of Steve’s mouth, satisfaction tastier than honey at the mean glare it grants him. But it softens, that glare, Steve’s eyelids flutter, open-mouthed and blissed, when Billy brushes the head of his cock with his knuckles, haft teasing, half relieving, keeping Steve in the tightrope with him.

“I’m getting a bit impatient in here, Hargrove” he says, only managing to make his voice sound half annoyed about it. Bit Billy is too, impatient. So drags his fingers down, pads tracing the taut shape of Steve’s cock, his balls, and down. Presses. Softly. Rubs the stretched-out flesh of his hole. Dips just the tips. Press. Press. And–

“AhfuckBilly–Ah.Mmmmh”

It’s tight. Steve’s ass clenches around him, squeezes him in. It’s a heady feeling, having him like this, senses overrunning. He’s intoxicated. High on the painful scratch of Steve’s nails when he grabs his jaw to kiss him open-mouthed and harsh. The helpless way he chokes off a sob when Billy makes his fingers curl, rubs him good and,

“I’m ready, Billy. I’m ready. BillyBillyplease. I can’t take it anymore. Please, baby. I’m ready” he’s gasping, breathless, barely taking in the heated up air they share.

“Hey. C’mon. C’mon. Just a little more, ok?. A little more and I’ll let you swallow it all in. That knob. All the way down your ass. No space left for anything else" he licks the words all along Steve’s neck, his ear. Rubs his lips over the damp roots of his hair. Cock pushing. Fingers working. When Steve sits on the stick. Billy wants him right over the edge “Gonna cum so hard you’re gonna be begging me to let you ride her again”

yup! hope you like them! i really really REALLY want to finish them for you.

Fingers crossed I get to see you again soon my dear nsfw!anon 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

#im sending you THE BIGGEST HUG <3<3<3<3<33<#I MISSSSS YOUUUUUUUUUU #your asks never fail to light up my day #take care #and dont let that bad real life grip you too hard #i'll be around if you need me #and my ask box is always open for you #ns*w!anon💖#harringrove #long post #till i can make a cut sorry #the wip tag game!#xwips #xaskfic

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juminsmysticmc · 4 years

Note

For a request idk if this to vague but anything angsty is fine for me. I'm not feeling too well and think reading something like that would help. But do what's best for you as well.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️

RFA try to save their kidnapped child

Hey there, I know, this took ages to write but I finally did it. I hope that you are better by now and feel much better. I am sorry if I couldn’t reach out for you. Please DM me, I would like to support you, okay?

Jumin

The only thing you could hear were voices from afar and a sniffing little voice next to you as darkness surrounded you.

What in the world just happened?

Suddenly, everything came back at you.

,,DADDY, MOMMY IS AWAKE!“ the snorting sound gasped, opening the door and letting the bright light come in again.

,,Mc!“ Jumin said before he entered the room a bit later, closing the door and turning on the light.

Luckily, it was a much dimmer light.

,,How are you, my love?“ he asked you.

You looked around as reality hit you. ,,Where is… my baby? Jumin, where is our son?“ you asked him.

Jumin stroked your head and began to tear up.

,,I know that this is hard on you, Mc, but you need to tell me what happened… My men are already working on finding him but… you need to tell me everything you remember…’’

And so you began to tell him how you walked hand in hand with your children and the bodyguards from the playground and how suddenly you heard the bodyguards yell.

,,Everything went by so fast… I took our daughter in one arm and grabbed our son to run away, but… someone grabbed him! And, I tried to pull him! I yelled for help but… I don’t know how, but I fell and he let go of my hand and… that’s all I remember…’’ you confessed, crying in your husbands arms.

,,We will find him, we will…’’

Days went by and no call came; no one who wanted money or anything.

But suddenly, a call arrived.

And so, you disappeared with a lot of money to the requested place on your own, leaving your daughter in Zen‘s care.

You didn’t even tell Jumin, who did his everything with his bodyguards.

But little did you know that Zen had already informed Seven, who continued to track you down and informed Jumin later on.

And indeed, when you arrived, Jumin and his bodyguards were already at the place, a few men in their care and a crying boy in his father’s arms.

,,My… baby!“ you hiccuped and jumped towards him, hugging him too.

,,I will never let anything happen to you again…!“

Jumin tightened the security and even found out that the kidnappers randomly decided to kidnap a kid, finding out later that they caught a rich kid.

Perhaps, a big mistake for their lives.

Zen

,,Hyun, don’t let her out of your sight,“ you warned him, stroking the head of the infant sleeping in your arms.

,,I won’t. I‘m her daddy,“ he whispered before kissing you and your sleeping daughter.

,,Princess, let‘s go to the mall!“ Zen said to your older daughter in a whisper as to not wake up the baby.

,,Why is mommy staying at home with the baby?“

,,Baby, she‘s staying at home with the baby,“ Zen corrected her and stroked her head.

,,Because your little sister has a fever and mommy needs to stay home to make her feel better,“ Zen explained.

The little girl accepted the explanation and walked happily together with her dad through the little street with the little shops on the side.

,,You didn‘t buy that much, Princess,“ Zen wondered after carrying four full bags of clothes, toys, chocolate, and decorating stuff for you.

,,Daddy! Mommy said a little!“ she lectured him.

Suddenly, a few girls began to yell and apparently spotted Zen, who became pretty famous in the last few years.

,,Seri-ah, stay with Daddy, okay?“ Zen told the little girl who nodded.

However, more and more fans arrived and saw Zen, which led to chaos.

,,Daddy! Daddy!” The girl screamed suddenly.

Zen’s heart was shattering when he saw how someone had his daughter on his back, carrying her away from him while she was trying to get off.

,,LET ME GO! MOVE! MOVE! MY DAUGHTER IS GETTING KIDNAPPED!’’ he cried and screamed into the crowd, trying to get away from the fans.

However, his screams got overturned by the fans and they stopped him from saving his daughter.

,,Mr Ryu, I need you to work with us,’’ the officer said to Zen, who was sitting on the cold ground.

The stuff his daughter bought all over the floor, broken, and ready to go to the trash after people stepped on it.

He was in a trance.

Only your voice could make him look up.

,,Mc… I’m sorry,’’ he sobbed and jumped up, hugging you.

Like a little baby, he cried into your chest as you let your tears fall onto his white hair.

Days went by and no one called.

Zen was getting questioned increasingly by the day, but it never led to anything.

,,I can’t wait any longer,’’ he hissed, one day.

The RFA was currently at his house, Seven sitting at the table, trying to figure out where that man came from.

,,You don’t have to,’’ he said suddenly.

That’s how it began.

Instead of telling the police, Seven, Zen, and Yoosung went to where the GPS led them. With the help of Jumin’s closest bodyguards, they stormed the place.

,,Whatever your reason was,’’ Zen said while he was holding his bloody daughter, ,,as of today, you will regret ever thinking of harming her,’’ he whispered, handing Yoosung his weak daughter and beginning to torture the man who almost killed his daughter.

Yoosung

,,DADDY!’’ the blond man heard, jumping up from the couch and panting.

Cold sweat was dripping down his forehead.

A short glance over to your hospital bed showed him that you were still sleeping.

It was no wonder that after getting beaten up, everyone would sleep that long.

Slowly, without making a sound, Yoosung got up and stepped out of the white room, which was making him crazy.

Just when he closed the door, his phone rang in his pocket, making him fumble the gadget out as quickly as possible.

It was either the police or Seven, and no matter who it was, one of them had good or bad news about the whereabouts of his daughter.

,,Seven,’’ Yoosung said firmly over the phone.

,,I found her. Come out right now. I will pick you up and we will save her, but don’t tell Mc,’’ Seven shortly said and cut the call.

Of course Yoosung didn’t lose any time on going out of the hospital and running up and down in the parking lot where his red haired friend picked him up in one of his cars.

,,Take this and wear this,’’ he said, handing him a gun and bulletproof jacket.

Yoosung was prepared for the worst and just accepted the equipment.

A few moments later, which seemed like an eternity to him, they arrived.

,,The CCTV says that they’re here,’’ Seven showed him on a map of the building.

,,We will enter from down here,’’ he showed him the place, ,,and move this way,’’ he went on, making Yoosung follow his finger with his eyes.

And so they went. Not losing a single moment, both of them walked the way they agreed on.

,,Daddy… daddy….’’ he heard a faint voice sobbing.

The little voice he missed so much, was filled with pain. The single thought about her being in pain made his blood boil.

,,Wait till we have her and then you can shoot as much as you want,’’ Seven said, throwing something into the crowd and fetching the girl as quickly as possible.

,,Assholes,’’ Yoosung said, his violet eyes filled with hate as he hit the man once again and shot at him a third time.

,,Hope you survive with the pain,’’ he said and vanished with Seven from the bloody place, his daughter now in his arms.

Jaehee

,,I’m sorry, Mc. I couldn’t save him,’’ Jaehee said at your grave.

The last thing you begged of her was to save your son before you died in the hospital due to the injuries the kidnappers gave you.

However, Jaehee couldn’t save either you or her son.

Instead, both of you died right in front of her eyes. What did life matter anymore?’’

With this question, she sat down on your grave, her back leaned against your stone while she looked up to your smiling picture.

The last time you smiled went through her head.

How you begged her to save him, her son, and how much you cried the day he was pulled out of your embrace.

Just a few moments earlier, you guys were laughing in the shop, when men in black barged in, shooting in your coffee shop and yelling for money.

Of course, just as every mother would do, you tried to cover your son with your body while she gathered the money out of the cash drawer.

However, life never went like Jaehee wished and the men shot you.

The last thing Jaehee saw was then your bloody body over your crying son, who got pulled away from you and disappeared.

A few days later, when she finally got the call, the day she left you to go and catch your happiness again, just to see him dying in front of her.

Blood over his face, Jaehee couldn’t recognize him anymore if it wasn’t for his tiny voice begging her to run.

,,Baby… Mommy is here…’’ she whispered, stepping closer to the boy hanging.

,,Run-’’ he begged.

A loud bang followed and his last scream was when everything turned even redder and darker.

,,Jaehee-’’ you gasped when you saw her entering your room with his dead body.

It was the last time she ever heard you before you died from a heart attack.

,,I killed you both,’’ Jaehee cried and held the gun at her temple.

,,At least, I will kill myself too now…’’ she sobbed louder.

The loud gunshot was almost a little noise below the pouring rain as blood dropped on the green grass surrounding your grave.

Saeyoung

The fight was supposed to be over, he thought as he watched your lifeless figure on the bed.

The only thing that reminded him that you were alive were the sobs which left your mouth.

Nothing more.

You hadn’t eaten in days and you never got up either.

Saeyoung knew the next person he would lose would be you.

Suddenly Saeran called him, making him turn around in the big room and approach his brother who was sitting in front of a balck computer.

,,I think I got something. Let’s go and check it out,’’ he whispered.

Saeyoung was about to lose hope, but this last chance made his cold heart grow warmer.

Without telling you anything, he left, ready to fight once again. His father, the man who tried to once again destroy his happiness.

,,You guys finally arrived,’’ the white haired man laughed, him sitting on the chair, the lifeless body of his daughter on his lap.

,,You asshole. If she’s dead, I will-’’

,,Then do it,’’ he laughed, throwing her into the middle of the room as if she was an old bag.

,,You arrived too late,’’ he began.

,,You guys should have let the story die. If you would have done it like that, she would have survived,’’ he said while Saeyoung was still looking at her.

The face, which he only knew with a smile implanted on was pale and as white as the wall.

,,What did you do…?’’ he asked him, hate, despair and sadness in Saeyoung’s voice.

,,I played with her, just like a grand-’’

Saeyoung didn’t let him end his sentence and shot him there where he was the most vulnerable.

,,Asshole, you will go through much worse pain,’’ he hissed. Not even Saeran could recognize his brother while he began to beat up the man who killed his daughter and probably would make you die too...

MASTERLIST 1

MASTERLIST 2

MASTERLIST 3

19.02.2021// 11:29 MEST

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amintyworld · 4 years

Text

Green Karma and Orange Memories - Dream SMP Drabble

Yes this is based off that scene from Adventure Time, it’s too good I’m sorry!- Idk if anyone remembers the scene... oh well.

TW: Insanity, Blood, Manipulation, Mention of death, heavy cursing (It’s Schlatt, man-), cannibalism (?), amnesia.

Cheers Theme song by Gary Portnoy and Judy Hart Angelo

----------------------------------------------

Dream stood over the fox, Fundy’s sword flying toward the side as he backed up until his back hit the stone wall. “I need you to come with me.” The fox’s eyes looked a combination of angry and terrified as Dream reached to grab his arm. With a quick punch Dream fell backward, not expecting the fox to still have fight left in him. Fundy scrambled to get up and run again, his body bleeding and aching but not pausing for rest. Dream quickly tackled him to the ground again as the two fought and scuffled.

We need to help him.

We’re unstable, you know what Phil said about getting in the middle of things.

Fundy’s in trouble. My son is in trouble.

If we fight we could end up killing them both, Eret said we needed to be careful, we can’t lose more memory than we already have.

Fuck Eret. Fundy might get killed, Schlatt. He’s getting beat up right in front of us, he’s trying to avoid getting put in prison by that fucking green blob, and you’re telling me to do nothing?!

I don’t want to lose anything else, Wilbur! We’re both barely holding on as it is.

Please, Schlatt. I’ve never asked you for anything, but while I have the ability, I need to protect him. I promised I’d protect him, and I’m planning to do that until whatever is out there makes me stop.

Yeah, well that’s real rich coming from someone like you who basically abandoned the fucking kid to now suddenly start caring about him.

I didn’t abandon him. I...

Wilbur didn’t... Wilbur... Wilbur was a good dad, he just messed up sometimes. Fundy likes me, he’s always been nice to me. He’s my son, and I need to make up for Wilbur. I have to. He needs me, please-

Alright, alright! Enough with all the... the sappiness, you’re making me sick.

Glattbur took a deep breath as he grabbed Fundy’s weapon, walking over to Dream who was restraining the poor fox hybrid, both not noticing his presence. “Keep it together. Don’t... don’t lose yourself again, focus...”

“I have to say it doesn’t look good resisting arrest, Fundy. Your sentence is only gonna be longer.”

“Real funny, Dream. You have a prison, but no fucking justice.” Fundy spat as Dream pulled him roughly to his feet by his shirt.

Glattbur’s spirit glitched as he spoke. “Get away from him.”

The fox looked over in surprise. “Ghostbur...?”

Dream’s smile never wavered from his face, a sharp tensity beginning to grow on his expression as he gripped Fundy by the arms both behind his back to stop the fox from struggling against the bonds anymore than he already had. “I think you’re confused. Fundy and I are just... settling a disagreement. I don’t think you want to do something you’re going to regret, like when you forgot to hand out the invites to Tommy’s party, do you?”

“Didn’t you hear me, motherfucker?” Ghostbur said, Schlatt’s voice beginning to break through more noticeably. “I said to let the little shit go.” Fundy’s eyes widened as he recognized the voice, confused on what exactly their plan was, and who exactly was in control at the moment. Dream looked curious, interested at the change in tone.

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll be forced to show you the consequences.” Dream looked at Glattbur’s expression, then to the sword in his hands, pointed at him. He couldn’t help himself but begin to laugh.

“What are you planning on doing, huh? Giving me a stern talking-to?! I’d put that sword away if I were you, you could really hurt yourself.”

Fundy was confused, looking over to Glattbur as Dream doubled over, laughing. The two looked up in confusion as... he started singing?

“Do, dududu da dudu~” Glattbur gripped the sword tightly as he looked down, taking a breath as his spirit began to glitch violently. Dream, unimpressed with this little interruption, pulled out his sword as he began walking toward the ghost.

“Making your way in the world today...” He began to sing, as he teleported behind Dream, knocking him to the ground, his eyes crazed and smile a bit too wide. “Takes EVERYTHING you GOT-!” He jumped him, getting a solid hit on Dream’s side that he wasn’t exactly expecting. He fell back to the floor in pain, looking up to notice what looked to be a half-insane Wilbur looking down at him, raising his sword.

“Taking a break from all your worries SURE WOULD HELP A LOT-!” Glattbur struck down on Dream violently, the green man just barely rolling out of reach, eyes wide. When did Wilbur get good at PvP...? When was Ghostbur picking fights, not to mention winning them?! Dream shook the thoughts out of his mind as he switched to his trident and ran back towards Fundy to grab him and get away-

“Wouldn’t you like to GET AWAY?!” Glattbur half-yelled, half-sang. The glitches were getting increasingly more violent as he teleported in front of Dream, who fell to the floor in surprise. As they began to duel, Fundy rushed over to rub the rope restraints against a tree trunk, trying to make some sort of friction so the rope’ll snap. Dream poured a bucket of water on the spirit, surprised at it not having the intended acid like effect he thought. Glattbur knocked him down and grabbed the manipulator by the collar, pushing him up against a wall as he squirmed, trying desperately to escape. “Where everybody knows your name~!” The tip of his sword rested taut against Dream’s chest, his own sword abandoned on the ground. The masked man couldn’t help but panic, thoughts of painful and cold death that never seemed to cross his mind until his moment, suddenly realizing the reality of the situation, the reality that he didn’t want to die-

“Alright, alright!” Dream held up both his hands in surrender, swallowing thickly. “You win, you win, please just... put me down...”

Glattbur’s crazed fiery eyes burned brighter at his words, letting out a deep chuckle that sent unfamiliar feelings of dread and fear through Dream’s body. “Why don’t you beg for me, and I’ll consider it? I have to admit the idea of plunging that sword through your heart and eating it right in front of you as you take your final breath is pretty fucking appealing right now.”

Dream could feel a cold sweat run down his back as Glattbur sized him up like a sheep ready for the slaughter. “Ghostbur, I won’t bother Fundy, you have my word just let me go-”

“How ironic it would be that the one member of the server who caused the most suffering, the most death... gets killed by a ghost he helped create.” Glattbur’s eyes stared down Dream’s. “Maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are, if you underestimate a fucking immortal ghost.”

Finally, his will to live and fear of discovering what happens when you respawn won against his pride as he looked toward the grass, words coming out his mouth like a waterfall, pathetic stupid weak words-

“Please just let me live Ghostbur, please I don’t want to die, please please-!” His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes beginning to wet with tears as he slowly looked back to the ghost in question who’s bloodlust expression never faltered. “Please I wanna live, I just wanna go home please I’m begging you-”

“Hm, let me think... NO.” Dream could feel his heart stop at those exact words left the ghost’s lips as the sword was raised, about to plunge into his chest. Dream closed his eyes tight, never feeling this scared in his entire life.

“Wilbur, stop!” Fundy yelled, rushing over to the two. There was something about this, something about the ghost’s face or Dream’s begs, something he didn’t like, and something he didn’t want to remember.

Glattbur turned to face Fundy as he dropped Dream to the ground, the bloodthirsty fire in his eyes quickly getting distinguished as he shook violently, looking at the sword in his hand and the beat up and bleeding Dream on the ground. “I... I didn’t...”

No... it’s happening again...

The sword dropped to the ground with a thud as Glattbur dropped to his knees, running his fingers through his hair, his breaths quick, trying not to panic.

No no no no no, I did it again-!

Fundy and Dream made eye contact as Dream stumbled to his feet and ran off, grabbing his sword along the way. Fundy slowly approached the panicked and glitching ghost. “Wilbur, it’s okay...”

No, I wasn’t... I did it, I wasn’t- Glattbur mumbled, trying to calm himself before he had a full on panic attack.

Then, as quick as it came, it was gone, and he was left staring up at a fox hybrid who held his shoulders to steady him. Fundy bit his lip as he struggled to find the words to say, if there even was words to say. “Wilbur, I...” I miss you? I love you? Thanks for saving me? The one thing that mattered the most in Fundy’s mind right then was the fact that he rescued him, he came back and saved him, he cared about him. “I can’t believe you actually, you...” Tears pricked at the edge of Fundy’s eyes as he pulled Glattbur in for a warm hug, which the ghost quickly accepted.

As they pulled away from each other, Glattbur had a soft smile on his face, eyebrows knitted for a second in thought as he scanned the fox hybrid’s face, confused. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

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aphrodisians · 3 years

Text

◜ choi yerim , ciswoman , twenty . ◞ ┈ through her all - seeing crystal ball, [ 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 ] has her winking eye trained on hestia jones. the ever - enigmatic fifth year is infamous for her righteous ways, but something new seems to be weighing our resident au courant down. a rumor is spreading through these ancient halls like fiendfyre, & even their erudite face can't save them from the flames. she can try to drown out their sorrows to the tune of goddess, but xana can't fix everything ⏤ much less something as grim as [ 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 ]. but ten points to ravenclaw for trying.

hey besties <3 i’m cc & i’m super excited 2 be here! i’m writing your local hater, hestia jones, who i’ve actually never written before but i’m really excited for her. anywhomstdve, i’d love to plot w all of you & i’m ecstatic for this!

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬.⠀ ⠀

an accidental crack of a book spine that echoes throughout an otherwise silent library, never letting anything pass you by – never letting yourself be unaware, unwelcome surprises that you greet with flushed cheeks and clenched fists, a collection of skirts stolen from a mother that has seemed to have forgotten you, bruises forming next to the scrapes on almost - broken knees, passing tears off as just ‘my eyes are sweating’ & heavy, heavy, bags underneath eyes that just never seem to sleep.

⠀ ﹟𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲

birth name. jeong hyun - ae nickname(s) / alias(es). hestia jones. preferred name. hestia jones, only hyun - ae to family + very close friends age + dob. twenty + dec. 23 hometown. belfast, ireland blood status. half - blood house. ravenclaw activities. fifth year prefect, ravenclaw chaser, chess + duelling label. au courant – aware of what is going on; well informed ethnicity. korean nationality. irish gender. cis woman pronouns. she + her face claim. choi yerim

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝.⠀ ⠀

height. five feet, seven inches / 170cm tattoos. none piercings. earlobes only scars. a two cm line that lays horizontally above her left eyebrow from falling off her broomstick during her third year at hogwarts hair. never dyed, meticulously taken care of but rarely styled. naturally falls straight and is often left down eyes. round and dark, accompanied often by dark bags underneath and an absence of makeup usual expression. stressed. just like, if you look at her you can tell she’s going through it ( and has been for like the past three years ),,, she needs a break but she will not be getting one <3 distinguishing features. cheeks that always seem to be flushed a rosy hue of pink, bags underneath her eyes that are haphazardly covered with fake glasses or makeup, brown - hued hair that just always falls correctly

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀

( + ) positive. erudite, bluestocking, intuitive, heedful ( - ) negative. righteous, hubristic, zealous, moralistic natal chart. triple capricorn, pour one out mbti. istj - a, investigator moral alignment. neutral good godly parent. athena languages spoken. korean + english likes. quiet - the kind of quiet that comes only in the early hours of the morning + in restricted access zones where it’s close to silence ( but not quite ), victory in all forms, feeling appreciated tbh, sleeping but genuinely hasn’t gotten a good night of sleep in years, the color yellow, scarves that are long enough to wrap her entire head <3, being a hater dislikes. attention ( though she is overjoyed / obsessed with winning ), losing - a notoriously sore loser, being out of control in any situation - even if she can have no humanly control over it, nail polish ( because she bites her nails :/ ), actually reading i’ll be honest, staircases quirks. as mentioned above, bites her nails often, doodles when stressed ( which is all the time ) - is halfway decent at it too thanks to all of the practice, can fall asleep in two seconds if given the opportunity, taps her foot a lot hobbies. being a hater, being obnoxious enough to have attention ( aka dramatic ) n then having the audacity to complain about the stress

⠀ ﹟𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫

when he meets your mother, he tells you it’s like the world stopped turning. she was enchanting, he says, like a rose blooming in the dead of winter, a blossom of red among a blanket of white - and he swears that he has never loved anyone more. their romance is swift, a bouquet of flowers traded for an engagement ring and a passionate kiss exchanged for the start of a family. your father never says anything bad about your mother, raising you on his own with a faint line on his ring finger. she will be back soon, he says with glazed eyes and love-flushed cheeks that you seem to inherit. she will come back soon, he tucks you in with a faraway look on his features and you realize with a ceiling full of glow-in-the-dark stars that he isn’t okay. but, you hold his hand when crossing the streets with you leading and you let him dawdle about your mother and you pat the top of his head when he falls asleep waiting for your mother. she’ll be back, he says, unaware that she only visits when he’s not around. she will come back soon, he waits for her, a stranger in his own body.

you yearn for control the way your peers yearn for freedom. freedom, you have enough of, but everything in your life is just out of reach. for your entire childhood, you grasp at everything and nothing, your fingers brushing past the things you desire most. you are a young girl with magic in your blood, but you watch from the end of your driveway as life seems to spin so wildly out of control. your father isn’t okay, but you don’t understand why. your mother comes around wearing guilt like one wears a birthmark and you can’t fathom why. you are left alone on playgrounds and with scrapes on your knees and people whisper about you but you don’t understand why. life goes on with or without you, and you think it unacceptable. it’s infuriating being in the backseat, unable to control, unable to know. when a letter falls into your hands, you swear to use it to your advantage. you refuse to ever be in the dark again.

you arrive on your own, a year older than your peers, a sheltered girl from a muggle world and you look around, determined to change your life. it’s obvious to anyone early on that you’re a bright girl, ambition tied into your intelligence, potential pouring over every single one of your edges. for a while, it comes easily. you know things, you understand things; most of all, you learn how terribly things can go wrong. you swear to never let that happen to you, but of course, life has bigger plans for you. the first few years fly by quick and your hands build up a reputation that you’re eager to upkeep. you wipe the sweat off of your palms onto your skirts, you might use magic to make sure your hair always looks good, you always know the latest news, you always pass your classes. then, you go home during your third year to an empty house and your father is gone.

when you return after the winter holidays, it’s obvious that something is - wrong, but you do your thing and you pretend everything is okay. your mother in all of her magic and love writes you a letter, telling you that you’ll be in her care and that only stresses you out more, giving you gray hair and bags underneath your eyes that never seem to away from that point on. every blink is heavier now, every sliver of information repeated as least three more times, everything you learn adds a little more weight to your shoulders. but you soldier on. you become more and more high strung, more sharp, more wretched with stress that shouldn’t be yours to shoulder. you are still an intelligent girl, still a bright witch, still gleaming with potential; but you almost permanently look like you’ve been handled an impossible task and worse, you wear your flushed cheeks almost as your father did, a fact that you dislike whenever you see yourself in the mirror.

⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ has a relatively tough exterior, but wow, words hurt and hestia is a lot more sensitive than she cares to admit. say one off thing about her and she’ll be all “i can’t stand it here!” and storm off angrily, but she’s really just gonna go cry in the owlery and talk to the owls as if they can understand her through her snot bubbles.

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ is this genius of a witch, right, but is the messiest person ever. her area in her dorm is just . . . yeah, it’s messy. she comes to the library, throws seven books down, loses ten pages of notes; is disorganized and completely messy, but at least she always looks put together.

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ coming right off of the last one, because she cares most about her image + her reputation than she does anything else, mostly because it’s all that she thinks she has. so, yeah, she may be consistently stressed out and on the brink of a breakdown, but at least she looks GOOD.

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ her style is a little . . . amateur, if i’m being honest. very season one rachel berry. always looks in uniform even if she’s out of uniform and it’s because she has no personality than being a ravenclaw prefect idk what you want me to tell you. she has never been normal once.

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ i laugh and kid, but she’s genuinely a genius. might have a bit of dyslexia, but is just,,, a smart kid. also makes it her entire personality though, so i’m not sure what to do about that.

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ also, not to be That Girl that’s so quirk n clumsy, but hestia is always injured. not gravely, but a scrape on her knee, a cut on her cheek, tape around her fingers, etc. etc. she’s a problem, to say the least, and always hastily takes care of herself ( aka, cleans it, leaves it ).

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ in general, is a hater, but is so STRESSED from having a #missing father that she’s just like :| in every situation. i wouldn’t call her awkward per se, but she definitely just says what she wants when she wants cause there’s “no point in quieting myself for someone’s comfort” idk?

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ in MY canon, hestia actually conjures up a fox patronus, but it’s non corporeal for now simply because she literally cannot focus long enough to cast the charm correctly – in fact, a lot of her magic has been suffering for the past few years due to her stress, something that really only stresses her out more rip in pieces.

⠀ ﹟𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

academic rival: personally, i’d love for someone who’s just naturally good at academia to be her rival, like the person who doesn’t study and “doesn’t care” but always just manages to beat her in scores; yeah, i think that’d be fun to watch her spontaneously combust.

significant annoyance: someone who really just is the person to tell hestia she’s wound up too tight all the time and tries to get her to live her life, but she just sees them as someone who’s ANNOYING HER because maybe her entire life is being uptight, ever think of that? rabastan

quidditch rival: because quidditch is really the only time she lets her hair down per se, this rivalry is more friendly than it is serious like the academic rival, but there’s still a lot of trash talk involved and meet ups in the corridors to talk shit <3

best friend: the one person who she’s like . . . super grateful for because they’re always there, no matter what she goes through or does to them through her stress induced breakdowns. you know. they’re bffs and always eat together and spend time together n gossip together. eloise

tutee: someone that either hestia’s offered to help or has been forced to help, either way, she’s as strict as any professor and takes her job completely seriously. as in, will approach them in the great hall and ask if they’ve done the work they’re supposed to do.

stress reliever: imagine this - hestia comes up to your muse and is like we need to talk, but they just find a nice seat underneath one of the archways and talk into the night, they make hestia laugh, hestia makes them laugh, they have flushed cheeks by the end of it and she doesn’t speak to them otherwise. xenophilius

their biggest anti: ur muse’s #1 hater??? hestia jones <3 why? probably because they’re better than she is and she’s a nightmare of a person so it’s just her being their biggest anti, probably runs a hate account dedicated toward them tbh <3 rodolphus

The Ex: you know. the ex. didn’t end the way they wanted it to so there’s A Lot There. longing glances, awkward bumps, lots of what-ifs . . . a lot of sad headcanons, a lot of wholesome headcanons. yeah

like family: just someone who hestia is so comfortable with that it feels like they’re family. and by family, i mean like the kind to tackle her on sight just for fun, the sort to tease her and make everyone believe it’s her birthday. you know?

also a barely filled tag here n anything u can possibly brainstorm i’d love <3 thank u love u

#ww.intro #SORRY THIS IS REALLY LONG NOBODY LOOP #LOOK*

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onthewrongsideofthebed · 3 years

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idk if you're still taking prompts but... i want some sad shit... present day one gets a call the other is dead pls

Okay so, this is Liam died in a car crash, Noel gets the call. The little bits in between are taken from this poem.

The sun is filtering in through the translucent curtains Sara’s put up for him in the little room Noel likes to go to when he needs to be alone. It draws long patterns on the wooden floor in front of his feet and strokes his hair with gentle fingers, paints the sounds of his guitar golden; lets his soul stretch out and soak up the music and gain back some of the balance he’s lost in the past couple weeks. Old songs have been clogging up his ears, old faces smiling at him distantly in his dreams, voices trying to lead him down old roads when his hands don’t hold on tight enough to the neck of his guitar or his coffee mug, the kids, Sara. He needs to clear his head. He needs to clear his vision. At two o’ clock in the afternoon, the string on his guitar that he’s just tuned five minutes ago snaps. The sun dips from the sky for a moment. He can’t remember where he keeps his strings. Stop all the clocks Sara knocks and tells him through the door that she’s out for the day. He turns around to pick up the other guitar he keeps in here but its neck slips through his fingers when he tries to grab it. His palms leave his jeans clammy when he wipes them down his legs. And the sun in his eyes is too bright now. He leaves for the kitchen, looking for something to fill that weird, growing pit in his stomach with. On his way, he passes Sonny’s room and hears his loud kid-laughter; his hand hovers over the door handle for a moment, wondering if he should spend the next hour or so with his sons, tell them stories and make them laugh even more loudly. Sonny’s laughter sounds like Liam’s. Noel walks to the kitchen. Around him, the walls begin to look like dreams. Moving fast, then slow, even though Noel’s not changing his pace; throwing shadows, showing pictures, making him sit down at the kitchen table before he can grab a knife and a plate, some bread to make his sandwich. It’s not that his head is spinning; it’s everything around him, and he’s as still as an old church. It looks like the walls of the universe are falling down around him. There’s grey sky shining at him from the corners of the room; there’s white light raining on him from the ceiling. cut off the telephone At 3.30 his phone rings. He can still hear Sonny laughing when he picks up and hears his mother breathing. She doesn’t say she loves him when she hangs up. Noel can’t hear anyway. He throws up in the kitchen sink. Fifteen minutes of bitter retching, shaking up his sour, half-disintegrated insides, then he takes the car. His hands remember gripping the steering wheel, shifting gears, his feet know stepping on the pedals; they want to drift off the road. His eyes are measuring trees and walls and taller walls, the car on the other side of the road; they’re falling shut, fighting back open. He was my North It’s twenty minutes to the hospital he’s still in. Liam’s body. The dead body of his brother. Liam. Noel’s neck is breaking under the weight of his pounding head. He feels Liam’s hair under his fingers. His skin dragging against Noel’s palms. His sweat running down Noel’s chest instead of his own. Noel throws up what’s left in his stomach at the red light. His throat is burning violently and he tastes Liam’s tears on his tongue. He remembers he left Sonny and Donovan alone at home. His phone is in his pocket, but he doesn’t know who to call. Liam’s voice is too loud in his ears; he’s singing. Not in his young voice, but the one that’s roughened up and burning from all the alcohol and chain-smoking and everything else they’ve taken along the way. It sounds like he’s screaming. Did he scream when…? Noel’s biceps are burning from keeping the car straight. What was the last song he sang? He was going to live forever. They both were. Like Noel had promised him, again and again; kissed on his heartbeat, fucking sworn on it. And now his brother’s heart doesn’t beat anymore, no deeply sure breaths making his chest rumble around it anymore. Noel can’t feel his own heart beat. His blood is rushing into dirty silence. my South, my East and West He doesn’t know how, doesn’t comprehend why, but when he steps inside, Debbie leaves. The deep, salty furrows on her almost green shimmering face catch on the edges of his vision, but she doesn’t say anything. There’s a chair next to his brother’s bed, Debbie’s handbag still slung over the backrest. And there’s his brother’s bed. There’s his brother. Noel can see his face. And then he can’t. He’s holding Liam’s hand. Blindly. He just finds it, like he used to be able to, in utter darkness, completely lost and out of it, between thousands of other hands. He squeezes Liam’s fingers between his own. Liam used to squeeze back so hard Noel would try to drop his hand, but Liam would never let go; he’d hold on to Noel almost desperately whenever Noel touched him. Liam’s hand falls back on the bed with a dark thud, his fingers running down Noel’s palm when Noel’s muscles go lax. Noel still can’t see, but his fingers find Liam’s mouth and they won’t stop touching and rubbing, pressing down and sliding over the edges, the thick flesh, and not daring to push inside anymore. He hasn’t even in so long. He hasn’t...hasn’t even fucking seen him in so, so long. And Liam used to be the first and the last thing he saw every day, and he was the first thing that Liam saw, ever, and he thought Liam would be the last thing he’d ever see if after all they’d find that living forever wouldn’t work out the way they’d thought. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one His brother’s eyes are closed against the shrill neon light and Noel’s sight is returning and he wishes blindness back over him. His eyes let breath run through Liam’s nose, let little nerves make his eyelids flutter and his cheeks crinkle up in a slow smile until he sees the coldness under Liam’s skin that won’t ever let his face move again, and his mind jumps forward to earth eating away at Liam’s flesh and dark wood closing over him and shutting him away from the air and his family and the sunshine and everything else that he loved. Noel is so alone. Hollow, everything inside of him is gone. He doesn’t know how to cry. Liam used to cry for him, far, far back when Noel’s face was all beaten up and his arm wouldn’t move the way it was supposed to; later, when Noel couldn’t find a way to give him what he wanted and nothing made sense anymore; and then, when Noel wouldn’t take his tears anymore, he’d still give them to him, never let Noel’s feelings freeze into unmoving, dark statues. But something’s about to shatter now. Noel’s mind is unravelling at the seams. He thinks, it’s trying to grasp Liam, trying to tangle up with his mind like it used to. But where he should feel his brother opening up for him and welcoming him in, there’s just barren nothingness. Liam’s voice isn’t calling out to him, isn’t calling him home. There’s no light. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun Noel’s bones are burning from the inside. Every breath of air that reaches his lungs turns into tongues of fire bursting open his veins. Fear is filling up every cell in his body. He might die, he thinks, and then his eyes are wide open and Liam’s blurring behind walls of violent tears that come running down into Noel’s open mouth until he’s gasping and struggling for air. Liam would’ve put his hand in his neck and patted his back, ‘s alright, you’re alright, he would’ve said in his soothing, reassuring voice. Noel had thought he might say that when he finally would go through with it and call Liam up again. Although he’d imagined Liam to be the one who’d do the crying. At least that’s what he’d told their mam three days ago to stop her from crying when he’d told her he’d do it by the end of the month. The air in here is too cold. Liam never liked the cold, Noel doesn’t either. But Liam doesn’t care now, so Noel won’t either. There are people talking outside in front of the door like they’re about to come in to Liam. And Noel’s blood and flesh are boiling him alive; his muscles are screaming at him, not his little brother. Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

#prompt #god I feel so fucking guilty for this #and I hope I'm doing it justice and not turning it into a caricature or something #god please don't die liam I'm scared :(((

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ikesenhell · 4 years

Text

Heatwave

You can find all other IkeSen works of mine on my page under the Masterlist. NOTES: Thank you so much to the wonderful folks who came out and hung out with me as I wrote my first Ikesen piece since ‘American Dream’ in ages. I’d been batting around this idea at the lovely @a-shout-to-the-void and finally buckled down and did it. TW: torture, abuse mentions and descriptions, blood, painful injuries. A lot of descriptions and references to Ieyasu’s childhood with the Imagawa Don’t worry, no one dies. It also somehow has a good ending? Idk man. Also, hello to my first piece with Yoshimoto in it whatupppppp

----

It was three months after the second disappearance of the Takeda, and the main hall was deathly quiet. All were assembled--Nobunaga lording on his dias, his allies gathered close--and no one spoke.

Ieyasu wished someone would.

“He wasn’t difficult to bring in at all,” Mitsuhide commented, as if it were the weather. Clouds from the shoreline--perhaps it will rain.

(Funny, they could use some of that. The summer was stifling and showed no signs of abating, even as the seasons turned. The crops weren’t going as well as expected, and Azuchi was a cooker. They’d slitted the screens open, but even then, Ieyasu could see sweat beading on Hideyoshi’s forehead. Even Mitsuhide, usually pristine and inhuman, sported small pools of darkened silk in the underlayers that peeked through.)

Masamune almost smiled. “Do you really think he was stupid enough to come here on purpose? He’s got guts.”

Nobunaga’s perceptive red eyes flickered in Ieyasu’s direction.

“Perhaps.” Mitsuhide allowed a smile.

“Probably to try his hand at Nobunaga.” But even Hideyoshi seemed unconvinced. “Maybe the last ditch effort of the Takeda before we destroy them.”

Ieyasu hated that he glanced at Mitsunari, looking for something in the way of understanding, anything he hadn’t guessed at already. Even if that stupid puzzled expression was there, it was something. No luck. Mitsunari had the hard, calculating stare of a man who already knew the score.

Damn it all to hell.

“He no doubt knows where Shingen and his ilk have scattered to. Until we have found them, they remain a threat.” With a subtle nod of an imperious head (the fine sheen of sweat glittered on his neck), he motioned to Mitsuhide. “Do what you must.”

“With all due respect, my lord,” the other man noted, “I believe there is someone else here who might be better suited to… gathering the information you require from our latest guest.”

His hands were cold. His hands were cold and they were all looking at him. Ieyasu balled his fingers into fists and willed them to stop trembling.

(Was he angry? Furious. Incensed. They needed rain in Mikawa and the crops were a concern and in the vacuum that the Takeda left there were a thousand bureaucratic things to consider and he was never not angry, only three steps away from it where he could look at it from what he liked to think was a cool remove when it was really like a fiery tornado. They’d taken so much from him and here he was again, to take more with a smile, and he couldn’t do a damn thing without destroying it anyway.)

Nobunaga just stared at him. “Well?”

And he was the best man for the job.

Ieyasu nodded, his face as porcelain-still as he could force. “Of course.”

---

The first time he met Imagawa Yoshimoto, he only said one word.

Ieyasu was only a child, still in the hands of his enemies. He had bruised banding around his legs from switches and cut knees, hair that went every which way and eyes that still welled traitorously with tears when struck. Illusions of fair treatment were gone. All he had was will and a directive: this is what you can do for Mikawa. If being beaten saved Mikawa, that was his responsibility.

Wasn’t it?

There was a banquet and the Imagawa wanted to show him off like a prize pet. Ieyasu was quiet, not stupid.He smiled politely and remembered all of the tiny details of court manners, the little things that would help him (Mikawa) survive. They’d put him into a finer haori than the one they usually allowed and seated him where all the other nobles could spy on the little waif from a nothing place.

Yoshimoto, he later learned, was the beanpole teen sitting perfectly only a few spaces away from him. Dark hair, a charming smile, pretty eyes. Ieyasu hated them all on reflex. Whoever he was--that didn't matter. Ieyasu smiled with thanks to one of his benefactors and imagined stabbing him between the eyes.

How would he do it first? Who would go? It made sense to start with the Imagawa head--of course, that was only the correct order of things--but he could also trap them all in the hall and set it ablaze, let them scrabble over each other like rats. He could pick off their families one by one. He could--

Someone set a sake cup heavily in front of him, only half-poured. Ieyasu blinked rapid-fire up at the teen smiling down at him.

“Smile,” he instructed, fluttering a fan entirely-too-close to both of them. And then he rushed away.

Ieyasu glanced down at the cup on his table and realized two things: one, he’d allowed his polite facade to slip. He could feel the stormcloud in the grit of his teeth. Two, the Imagawa teenager had blocked him from view with the fan--and probably spared him a beating.

Only later did he learn his name.

---

The dungeon stairs were slick. Every once in a while, someone came and cleaned the mold and mildew from the flagstones, but that was a lost cause. It seemed like the only moisture in Azuchi had escaped to its basements. Wet-blanket heat settled foul in the belly of Mitsuhide’s workspace, the little light lancing from narrow windows illuminating hazy curls of breath-sucking humidity. Ieyasu disguised his disgust at the foul smells the way he knew best--frowning.

Their prisoner was moved to the very last cell, the ‘interrogation room’. Mitsuhide’s gentle words didn't disguise its purpose. It was an execution chamber and torture cell. Ieyasu never went in to discover its secrets. What he did was in the open, precisely where everyone could see it.

(Because if you were going to hurt someone, you did it openly, he’d decided. Cowards hid abuse. If you raised the sword, you showed the sunlight its deadly glint and let heaven know your intent. Violence couldn’t be wrapped in a silken kimono and paraded before leering eyes--)

The door was shut. Ieyasu didn't waste the time to reflect on it. No interior monologue did him good here. Shunting thoughts and the heavy latch to the side, he stepped in.

Their prisoner was kneeling. Mitsuhide prepped well. His knees were tied to those uneven slats the other man so preferred, jagged, uneven boards guaranteed to end with shattered shin bones if left long enough. He’d been stripped of his fine armor and things, reduced to a (still beautiful, dark grey and blue silk) final layer of kimono. Unkempt, shiny dark hair spilled loose on his shoulders. As Ieyasu stepped inside, those gold eyes met his.

Yoshimoto had the audacity to smile.

“Tokugawa Ieyasu,” he said, light as a feather, his voice already hoarse. Like commenting on the weather. Awfully hot, isn’t it? It should have rained by now. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

All the anger he kept so tightly coiled unfurled, the head of it raring like a threatened snake, and Ieyasu bared his fangs, too. “You should have. Why did you come?”

It was a stupid question. They both knew that. Yoshimoto just smiled that serene, sad, painter’s smile. Maybe, Ieyasu thought, if he had half of Yoshimoto’s artistic eye (the way he’d never had Mitsunari’s reflex genius or Masamune’s slick tongue or Nobunaga’s command or--), he could take the scene before him and transform it into a painting. The light cast over his prisoner’s back in sharp relief, all of the folds of silk and linen and hair akin to one of those Portuguese paintings they tried so hard to pawn off on them.

“Are you going to answer?” Ieyasu demanded. Cold, cold, cold. His hands were cold.

Yoshimoto dipped his head silently. “You know why I came, and you know why I won’t leave.”

Ieyasu sucked in his breath--like that would crush the flames of anger twisting, tornadoing in him. It burned in his throat. First, he’d get Yoshimoto off those planks. Those would come later.

---

When he emerged several hours later--without anything to show for his efforts, just blazing fury and frustration renewed and a respect that clawed at his spine--Ieyasu blinked in surprise at the Chatelaine standing just outside the stairwell. He almost missed her. The sun was gone by now, the moon rising in its inconstant arc over Azuchi’s peaks, long lines of moonlight as gentle as the flickering torch light below was ominous.

Of course she was there. Of course.

“How is he?” She asked, and Ieyasu wanted to scream.

“How do you think?” He snapped. “Go inside.”

She didn't move. Instead, she produced a cold cup for him, shoving it into his hands.

“What’s this for?”

“It was hot today. You must be thirsty.”

He stared at the cup in his hands, the silvery liquid inside glowing like moonbeams. “How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

What did that mean? How long had she waited here in the fading dusk, listening to the muffled sounds below, with a cup for him? Was it even for him? How could she give him this when only moments before, he’d washed away the blood of her--her--

Gods, he still couldn’t say it to himself.

“Who told you?” He finally asked, his voice sharp.

She folded her hands over her skirts instead of answering. “Is he alive?”

Of course this was about Yoshimoto. Of course this was. Even the cup was in the interest of getting information. Icy, crawling hatred slithered down the small of his back like sweat. Unceremoniously, Ieyasu dumped the contents of the cup on the ground.

“Ieyasu--!”

He contemplated breaking it. But that wasn’t fair to her. None of this was. None of this was fair to her, just like none of it was fair to him. So instead he shoved the little mug back into her hands and stalked inside, as if moving fast enough would leave all of that behind.

---

For the rest of his captivity, Yoshimoto was less a person and more a concept. Ieyasu saw him sometimes, fleeting glimpses of a young man blooming handsome. What kind of a life did he lead, Ieyasu wondered? It must be the opposite of his plight. No doubt he had enough to eat. No doubt he had clothes that fit, people that cared whether he lived or died, someone to spare a smile at him. No doubt he could sleep at night without a burning hate clawing up his throat and threatening to choke him.

It was hot that summer--sweltering, relentless. Ieyasu’s room had no screens to the courtyard and so he tossed and turned fitfully at night, too uncomfortable to sleep. Sometimes he dreamed of Mikawa and home, home with the people who relied on him to be strong, people who allowed him to step down from his endless responsibility of strength for a day and be a young man again.

They exchanged words only briefly once more, before Ieyasu went home and returned again and razed them, burned their houses the way he’d always dreamed, released all the untamed hatred raring in his heart and finally did for Mikawa what his endless abuse at the Imagawa had never done. They passed in the hallways and Yoshimoto stopped him, a small retinue at his side.

“Tokugawa Ieyasu,” he said lightly. Yoshimoto said his name like a name, not a curse, not a burden on a household already determined to hate him. “How are you today?”

What could he say? A thousand callous things spiraled through his mind, each one more vile than the other, until he couldn’t think of a single nice word. He simply shut his mouth and nodded slowly, safely, feeling thick and stupid. “It has been quite hot lately.”

Those gold eyes stared right through him. And at long last, Yoshimoto nodded. “It certainly has. I hope it rains soon. May you have an excellent day.”

When he returned to his room that night, there was a small, beautiful fan sitting in a neat package before his door. Ieyasu let the slow, languid sound of its fluttering lull him to sleep, its cool breeze the first reprieve in months.

---

He didn't think about Imagawa Yoshimoto for a long while after, not even when he served as Imagawa's puppet ruler. That chapter of his life was behind him. Ieyasu had exacted his revenge on Imagawa. That was over.

It was, at least, until the Chatelaine.

---

“Why are you here?” He demanded.

She was waiting for him again in front of the dungeon steps, a small package wrapped in her hands. Her kimono was a soft blue with little white details, modest and cute and practical and perfect. She worked so hard. Everyone knew that. He knew that.

“You didn't have anything to eat this morning,” she answered. The sun wasn’t yet at its peak, but already he could see the waves of heat rolling across the fields behind her, the bronzed backs of villagers in its orange glow. “You almost never miss breakfast.”

“Almost,” he pushed, as if that word made all the difference. Damnit. Damn it all to hell. This was why he had to hate people like her and Mitsunari (and Yoshimoto). The second you saw anything different in them, they pried you open like oystermen searching for pearls and only recoiled in disappointment when they discovered nothing but sand and salt. “You know that this won’t bribe me, right?”

Her cheeks flared white-hot. Good. Hate me. Hate me like I have to hate everyone else who wronged me.

“You do know I like you, right?” She snapped. “I’m your friend. I’m not doing anything to bribe you.”

“Yeah?” Ieyasu sneered, too angry and confused and bitter to stop himself, “Just like you like Imagawa Yoshimoto? Should I expect a love letter--”

She flung the package into his hands (he caught it, barely) and marched away, her shoulders knit tight together.

It still smelled of bean paste when he arrived in the last room of the dungeon, Yoshimoto already prepared and silent for the day. He looked well, for a man who now sported a bruised eye, crusted lip, and a slightly jagged shoulder.

“Good morning, Tokugawa Ieyasu,” he announced, hoarse but polite.

Ieyasu unwrapped the breakfast and examined its contents. There was a little more than usual.

“Your woman,” he announced, (and why was it so hard to sound angry and impassive, why did he want to sound sad?) “Apparently gave me extra food under the impression I might give you some.”

No doubt the prisoner was starving. He’d barely had enough to eat to sustain himself, let alone under the pressure of the torture. But Yoshimoto straightened.

“Is she well?”

No mention of the food. No weakness. Just that endless reservoir of hope that Ieyasu resented, resented because he couldn’t find it anywhere inside himself. Didn't he deserve that kind of serenity?

Silence. Ieyasu considered his words. Yoshimoto, no doubt, was wondering what had become of her, if Nobunaga had exacted on her the same fate that awaited him. The uncertainty was doubtless crushing. A thousand lies presented themselves.

“Yes,” he finally allowed. “She’s fine.”

Yoshimoto smiled. Even through the bloodstained teeth and greasy hair and bruising and marks running roughshod over his arms where everyone could see, he still glowed. “Good.”

---

Ieyasu still dreamed about being with the Imagawa.

Usually it was just the shape of things. The oppressive hot of his bedroom, the rolling waves of contracting pain in his muscles, the crushing emptiness of a room with no sunlight.

Sometimes Ieyasu considered them a mercy. It wasn’t the same as the real thing. He didn't have dreams about how the men decided to test how far his stone expression went, applying hotter and hotter blades to his skin to see if he’d cry. They finally applied a white-hot wakizashi to the tender flesh of his thigh and he screamed so loud he couldn’t talk clearly for a week.

Where was Yoshimoto during all this, he wondered now? There was no way he couldn’t have known. He had a reputation as a lush, but Ieyasu also knew from first-hand battle experience that more lay beneath that pretty exterior. He was like his Takeda cousin: he knew how to play a good game. Had he known just the hint of Ieyasu’s abuse, or had he understood the full spectrum of it? Surely the men of court talked. No doubt they made it a game.

Yoshimoto had to know.

She was surprised when he confronted her in the courtyard. She was hanging up some silks she’d washed, their bright colors like cavalry banners. Her stone-face was good, too, but not as good as his. He could see the thin lines of worry and sleepless nights stretched in the fine skin under her eyes.

“Why him?” Ieyasu demanded.

The chatelaine blinked at him, registering his question. No immediate answer. That was wise. “Why do you want to know?”

“Do you know what the Imagawa are like?” He hissed. “Do you know what they did? Do you have any idea?”

(It was hot out, so hot that he could see the wet silks drying already. No breeze lifted them. They hung like corpses strung out as an example. The remains of the burns on his thighs and arms, even now, stung superheated. The prickle of sweat against them was agonizing and he’d learned to live with it.)

Slowly, she dipped a hand into the cold water of her wash bucket and took his fingers in hers. Sweet relief! Ieyasu tried not to unbend under her gentle touch, the kindness, tried to convince himself that this was for someone else’s benefit and not his. History said otherwise. Long before she’d met Yoshimoto, she’d been like this.

“No,” she said at last. “I don’t know much about who they were to you, just the vague details you’ve shared.”

“Then why him?” Ieyasu groped for his real question. It was that simple, wasn’t it? Yoshimoto wasn’t just on the wrong side. He was on the worst side. Even Uesugi Kenshin was better than an Imagawa.

“Well…” She dipped her hand back in the bucket, splashed more water on his arms. It clung to the silk of his sleeves and cooled the worst of his burns. “There’s a lot to like about him.”

Of course there was. Yoshimoto was intelligent and clever. He had excellent taste and was handsome and diplomatic, even if he had a reputation as a useless leader and a lush. He’d never been anything but kind, and Ieyasu hated that.

---

Yoshimoto hit the floor with a thud and a yelp, but an unsatisfying one. Ieyasu prowled around him.

“You know what Nobunaga wants.” The sun shot unrelenting into their chamber, superheating everything. Ieyasu was sweating like a madman and refused to cede even a single article of clothing. He would not reveal the testament of his failures hidden underneath. “Just give me where Shingen went.”

The other man laughed miserably and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Ieyasu kicked him back over.

“He would have told you,” Ieyasu snarled. “That was your plan. Your plan was to come here, get her, go back into hiding with her and the rest of the Takeda. Wasn’t it?”

For once, Yoshimoto sighed and shut his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Giving us his whereabouts--”

“Ieyasu,” Yoshimoto interrupted wearily (and he still said his name like a name, goddamnit, not a curse or a burden or an evil thing, even after all of this), “She hates war. Why would I bring her straight into one?”

Outside, heat thunder rolled. No break in the heat yet. Its siren song drove the farmers and townspeople mad with hope. Hideyoshi had looked out sagely that morning and declared that it wouldn’t rain--not today--but it might later that week. They usually trusted him with that kind of thing. Right now, Ieyasu wished that it would come pouring down and drown them both.

“That has no relevance to where Takeda Shingen is,” Ieyasu finally responded.

“I don’t know where Shingen is.” Yoshimoto laid his head on the cool flagstones, eyes still shut, blood flecked over his hair and the filthy silk of the kimono he’d worn the first day. “He wouldn’t have told me.”

Cold, cold, cold hands. “So you’ve said. You’ve said that at least a dozen times.”

A pause. Yoshimoto’s chest heaved a slow, jagged tempo. “He wouldn’t tell me because of her. Because of us.”

Ieyasu wanted to scream again. He could feel it bubbling in his throat, like the ghost of that white-hot blade pressed to his skin.

They were too nice too nice too nice, they both knew what he was doing to him and still she washed his hand and still he said his name like a friend and still there was no damn rain and still she didn't hate him he didn't hate him why couldn’t they just hate him

“Why?” He finally managed, his voice a twisted blade that tore at him the whole way out. “Don’t you hate me?”

Yoshimoto opened his eyes, still gold and pale against the gray walls, still handsome and bright and sharp.

“You’re doing what you have to do,” he managed at last. “And I’m certain you hate me. I probably deserve it.”

Burning burning burning cold hands. The sweat seared him. “Did you know? Did you know the whole time I was there, and did you ignore it?”

At last, they were down to the crux of the whole thing. Yoshimoto wriggled like he meant to sit up (as if they were peers in this moment, just sitting and listening to a friend share their worries) and when his body failed him, he slumped over as best he could, eyes locked and gaze unwavering.

“Tokugawa Ieyasu,” he said, “You do know I was thirteen?”

That wasn’t an answer.

“I knew there was something wrong,” he answered at last. All the words sounded labored. “The details, I never knew. Just the hot room and that you looked ready to kill half of us if given the chance from time to time. I never would’ve known anything specific unless it came from you.”

(He was angry. So, so, so angry. A free-wheeling, blistering summer, crop-killing, volcanic kind of anger that threatened to overflow and kill everything in its wake.)

Ieyasu curled his fingers so tight that his knuckles creaked. Yoshimoto slumped his head back to the floor, shut his eyes and took another labored breath. All of his bruises were out in the open, where everyone could see them. There were no hidden marks, nothing easily covered in the painted facade of a silk--like desecrating a pretty vase, Ieyasu thought.

“Did you know that your uncle--I think it was your uncle--burned me?” He announced. “My arms, my legs. He held a knife over a fire and waited until it glowed, then tried to see if I would scream. He only stopped when I finally did. I’ve still got the scars.”

Yoshimoto’s eyes were open again. There was no stone face--just a well of confusion and relentless sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Ieyasu instantly wanted him to take it back. “That should never have happened.”

Outside, the thunder rumbled again. They’d both been kids, once. Kids who barely knew each other, who lived in the same place and entirely different worlds and never once knew what lay beyond their circle. There was a faint scar just above Yoshimoto’s collarbone. Ieyasu wondered what it was from.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ieyasu said. “You couldn’t have stopped it anyway.”

---

No one was completely sure when she and Yoshimoto met, though Ieyasu suspected that the Takeda had spies in Azuchi for a long time before the battle. It was likely in their own marketplace. They had fine fabrics and he knew that Yoshimoto, otherwise an unremarkable daimyo, wouldn’t have stood out. He’d noticed her disappearing off to the stalls for supplies more frequently, but her business was also thriving. Everyone wanted her wares.

Mitsuhide found the letters first.

The only thing that saved her from Nobunaga was that she’d revealed nothing treasonous. It was love, plain and simple. His fine calligraphy lay neatly on thin mulberry paper (an artistic touch and beautiful in its own right), every character reserved entirely to her wellbeing and their budding affections. No mention of armies or war. No hatred, no grandstanding. Just love--love, plain and simple and innocent and complicated and all-encompassing and blinding.

But all that meant was she was safe.

And the match made sense, as much as Ieyasu couldn’t stand to admit it. They were both art lovers, convinced of its importance as much as warfare, certain that without it, what kind of a world existed to fight for at all? They used entire leaves of paper discussing dyeing techniques and exchanging book recommendations and talking about their homelands.

(And honestly, Ieyasu hadn’t needed the letters to cement what he already knew. She’d spied Yoshimoto on the battlefield and he saw her whole body light up, eyes blazing with the kind of need he’d never seen in her before. He already knew then. He’d just hoped he was wrong.)

Nobunaga wouldn’t let some traitor daimyo run off with his lucky charm. Not in a thousand years.

Ieyasu rapped on her door late that night, and she opened the screen, bleary eyed from fatigue. She’d barely slept in a week. The red rim of her eyes betrayed every tear she couldn’t shed in front of them.

“Come on.” He took her hand and pulled.

“Where are we going?”

“Shut up.”

The silly woman somehow still trusted him. Ieyasu dragged her quietly down the stairs, past the main hall, through the courtyard and out the front door. She wasn’t dressed to be in public and still didn't question him. Without ceremony, he reached the dungeon door and yanked it open, its hinges silvery in the moonlight and depths impenetrable.

She stared at him. “What are we--”

“I said shut up.”

One step at a time, he lead her into the darkness. The stairs were almost dry, the unnatural heatwave baking it clean. Still he was cautious. They reached the bottom and he fetched a lit torch, motioning at the guard on duty to leave without a word, and fetched the key ring. “Lift your skirts and follow me.”

Yoshimoto was back in his holding cell. He was still holding his left shoulder slightly jagged, his breathing shallow but even, his split lip now clear and the grime of his face washed clean. Apparently he’d used his drinking water to do that. He peered intently around the corner at Ieyasu. “Tokugawa--”

Then he saw her, and he fell completely silent.

“Here.” Ieyasu fumbled with the keys (he’d never had to unlock the cell doors) and finally found the right one. “You don’t have long.”

Yoshimoto struggled to rise and failed to get up. He didn't need to. The second Ieyasu cracked the door, she flung herself inside and her arms around him, their bodies bound so tight together that he wondered if they’d ever been separate at all. Her voice cracked, slurred something in her native tongue, the beginnings of a sob rolling through her back.

“Shh.” He lifted his arms with effort, wound his fingers in her hair, kissed her forehead, her head, her eyes, clutched her to him. “Hush, darling. Hush. It’s okay.”

It isn’t, Ieyasu thought. It really isn’t. But they just sat there in silence together, her tears muffled into his chest and his body emanating love like sunlight. And he wondered (as he’d wondered a million things about Imagawa Yoshimoto lately) how a man who’d barely been able to get up this afternoon could summon the strength to smile and hold her so tight.

---

“He doesn’t know anything.”

Nobunaga and Hideyoshi cocked the opposite brow at the same time, which might’ve been comical were it not so deadly serious.

“Is that so?” Nobunaga remarked. It was the tone of voice that let him know this was not a question.

“Shingen didn't divulge where he was going to Imagawa expressly because he knew about the attachment to the chatelaine.” Ieyasu inhaled. “So when he left, he was effectively spurring Imagawa to leave the fight too.”

Mitsunari frowned. “That is a valuable ally to excise for sentimental reasons.”

Mitsuhide smiled. “Practically cutthroat of you, Mitsunari. Color me surprised. As it so happens, I’ve obtained similar intelligence.”

Hideyoshi’s surprise translated loud and clear. “Really?”

“So it would seem. The thorn in our side still has a few petals remaining.”

Nobunaga’s gaze fell back down on Ieyasu, searching him. He’d grown used to most of those inscrutable expressions: contemplative, frustrated, puzzled. Now it was just the brotherly stare he got after some of his worst days on the battlefield.

“How is our prisoner?” He asked.

“Yes indeed,” Mitsuhide purred. “Is he still alive?”

“He’s alive.” Ieyasu paused. “He’s… relatively okay.”

The Devil King’s eyes never wavered. “And what would you recommend we do with him?”

---

Yoshimoto was allowed medical attention and to rest for one week, the meagre possessions he came with restored to him. Even with the fresh scar on his lip and a slight catch in his shoulder (Ieyasu was relatively certain it would smooth out over time), he was still regal and handsome. The cold grey of dawn greeted them with a blinding lightning bolt and a torrential downpour. It soaked through the cracked earth and ran muddy and wild over the fields.

Ieyasu affixed the last of Yoshimoto’s things to the saddlebag himself. “That’s everything.”

Imagawa Yoshimoto smiled at him, despite everything. “I appreciate that.”

The chatelaine lingered in the stable. She’d snuck out to see him off, despite all of Nobunaga and Hideyoshi’s disapproval. Her eyes were puffy with new, unshed tears. “You’re just going to put him out in the rainstorm?”

He glanced out the stable door. It came down in thick, obscuring sheets. “Yep.”

“Come now.” Yoshimoto gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be just fine, love--”

Ieyasu snorted. “Of course you two will.”

The lovebirds started. He relished the look of surprise.

“What does that mean?” She said.

“You idiot, the rain will keep anyone from seeing that you’re gone for at least twenty minutes.” Ieyasu checked it again. “No one on lookout will be able to tell the difference between one rider and two. If you time it right, you can clear the Azuchi fields by the time it lifts. Yes, you’ll get soaked--”

“--It’s perfect cover.” Yoshimoto finished, breathless.

“Ieyasu.” She dashed to his side, catching his hands in hers. They were so warm that it melted through her fingertips and into his--a comfortable, gentle heat. “Ieyasu.”

“Go.” He pointed at the saddlebags. “I smuggled in some of your things. Your weird bag, sewing stuff, some goods. Mitsunari helped me grab extras. No one questions if he takes things. Now get out of here before anyone realizes you’re gone.”

The chatelaine smiled at him--a blazing, beautiful smile--and leaned in and kissed his cheek hard. “Thank you.”

He was going to miss her.

“Go,” he repeated instead. “Go now.”

Yoshimoto and him helped her into the saddle first. Afterwards, Yoshimoto mounted up behind her, wrapping his cloak and body around her as best he could. “Thank you, Tokugawa.”

“If you don’t do right by her,” Ieyasu warned, “I’ll definitely kill you next time.”

“I take that under advisement. Thank you.”

A jerk of the reins and a kick, and they bolted out of the stables and into the pouring rain. Within seconds their figures swam into a vague blur, melding together in the shifting faraway. Only moments later--gone.

Ieyasu stood there alone in the silence, his hands warm, his thoughts swirling like lazy koi in a fishbowl, aimless and unbothered. Without thinking, he stepped outside and stretched out his arms, letting the cold droplets run down his sleeves and cling to his skin.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen yoshimoto #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen fanfic #heatwave #my writing #angst tw #torture tw #tw: torture #tw: violence #tw: blood

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