#interactions very appreciated i am very proud of my idiots here

[autoboros]

Decided to bring back some splatband ocs I made in around October 2022 since I never really drew em but I really love them

Plus a sketch page I did earlier of the girl

[burntb4bydoll]

It's my first time requesting something on here, I am CRAVING for any Tokio Hotel member with a kind/sweet/obedient reader, I usually can't find stories/headcanons with them where the reader is a sweet and obedient girl, feel free to ignore this request if you want to.

Bae this is so me fr (for the most part😇)

Tokio Hotel with a sweet and obedient gf (slightly NSFW)

Bill Kaulitz

•hes completely infatuated with you. you could do anything you wanted to him and he would let you.

•he thinks that you are an absolute angel. He loves how sweet you are, it makes him so proud to be your bf

•would NEVER let people take advantage of you or your kindness. You don’t like disappointing people by saying ‘no’ but he has absolutely no problem doing it for you

• “sweetheart, you can’t do everything people ask you to. You are too sweet for your own good sometimes I swear.”

•he means that in a endearing way dw! He wouldn’t change a single thing about you

•he tries to test your obedience tbh. He’ll tell you to do something small then slowly start telling you to do more, but you never disobey him. And he makes sure to praise you very well for it

• “oh my, what a good girl. You listen so well, angel. Im so proud of you.”

•definitely is more of a soft dom with you, he can’t imagine being mean to his sweet girl🤭

Tom Kaulitz

•oh boy…

•you two are opposites. He’ll try to get you to do and say bad/mean things just to see if youll actually do it

•your hesitant because you dont wanna be mean, but you obey him and he immediately cant help but smirk to himself

•Bill always scolds him for it tho, you can’t escape mama Bill.

“Tom, Leave her alone! Y/n don’t listen to him, hes an idiot.” 😭

•he thinks its so cute watching you interact with his family. You’re just so sweet and they all love you so much. Hes so happy that they love you just as much as he does

•HIS MOM LOVES YOU. SHE TAKES SO MANY PICTURES OF YOU AND TOM AND SHOWS THEM TO EVERYONE. SHE CALLS YOU HER DAUGHTER TOO😭💗

•not to be a whore….but CORRUPTION KINK?? HELLO???

•LOVES pet names. He calls you princess, sweetheart, my love🤭🤭

Georg Listing

•LORD he is obsessed with you omfg

•you are absolutely everything to him. You’re his precious girl who could never EVER do anything wrong in his eyes

•literally refers to you as his ‘lovely girlfriend’ to people 😭

•his heart almost explodes whenever you do anything for him. Whether that be cooking him food, drawing/coloring a picture for him, or just giving him a small compliment, he’ll always be so so appreciative of it

•HES SO SOFT WITH YOU. He kisses youholds your face so gently while stroking your cheeks with his thumbs:(((

• “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that? I love you so much, my sweet girl.”

Gustav Schäfer

•hes also such a sweetheart, but he likes to pretend like hes all mean and unapproachable😭

•like babe, you are probably the cutest person here you’re not fooling anyone.

•you two are known for being the super lovey couple. He loves to show you off and you’re just happy to be there😇

•although you’re both sweet, you’re the only obedient one in the relationship. He such a brat and LOVES to push peoples buttons just to see how far he can go before someone actually gets mad😭

•BLUSHES SO SO HARD WHEN YOU COMPLIMENT HIM

•you guys are the embodiment of a praise kink. Neither of you can go 5 minutes without being and all nice and lovey dovey to each other

•dare i say….pleasure Dom Gustav…. GUYS IK I SAY IT ALL THE TIME BUT PLS YOU KNOW ITS TRUE

• “such a good girl for me, arent you?”

“Aww, you’re so cute, my baby.” Yes. HIS baby.😇

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part ii

tags: same as before except more unhinged, (slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT), idiots in love, friends with benefits though it is more than that, oral sex (fem and male receiving), fingering, piv sex, overstimulation, thigh riding, dom!obi?, ANGST AT SOME POINT(S), tension so high that they should be on medication, me shortening every uncle-in-law phrase to uncle bcs english sucks in family terms, overuse of commas because editing 42 pages is hard

a/n: HELLO AGAIN, thank you all so much for all the love you've shown, i couldn't be more grateful. sorry for the *long* wait, i just thought the story needed a little longer than a week to do its trick, and frankly i am a busy person so 7 day gap wouldn't work for me. but i hope you can forgive me with this beast of a chapter, it is my first time writing such a long one. hope you enjoy it, and see you all again soon!

also not so fun fact: i totally misunderstood the "season", thinking it should be around summer- early autumn but it was the other way around, sorry, all the historical babes (i can no longer call myself that) for the frustration. but this timetable suits this story much better, does it not?

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

chapter two: it's a bad idea, right?

The morning or to be exact, the noon, is when you finally feel refreshed, ready for the challenges of the day. Lucky, because your relatives are more than understanding, has always been. They would scold you for going about your day as a ghost rather than miss breakfast or join only halfway to their other activities. You always try to honor their kindness, not to take advantage of the privileges as a guest, and do your best to spend time with your cousin Carolina, (The young girl has all the benefits of her young age, full of energy and excitement, fascinated by the stories she hears (from you, mostly)), and also avoid bringing a man into your room under their roof and absolutely ravaging each other-

The last one is an exception, which you are not proud of, yet not a single drop of guilt muddies your soul. None, considering the enjoyment or strengthened bonds.

Speaking of it, something tells you that you'd have been late anyways if you woke up early, thanks to him. There's indeed a mark on the side of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. Also, your thighs share the same fate, though lightly, a few small bruises and red, irritated areas thanks to his neat beard. Thankfully, they're quite hidden except the one that's not that has you cursing at him. For how good it felt, and for his daredevil nature. 

You're scared to admit your fear for your future with him, not in the romantic expectations aspect, you would never, but for the simpler stuff like how are you going to look at his face and not be reminded of its presence between your legs. Or the unending tease he’ll become, even more so than usual, rightfully so. Make no mistake, you had pretty high expectations, and an overall picture of your relationships past it. Yet, last night was its own entity, reducing you to a mess in the most beautiful way, plucking every thought from your mind, yet dropping seeds of doubt like this.

Still, there’s a foolish smile on your face, and some soreness in between your legs, a welcomed ache.

Nonetheless, you’re not sure how to react when you descend the stairs, and he’s there, sharing tea with your aunt and uncle.

Obi Wan stands up in a blink, even before your aunt has the chance to react to your entry.

“Oh, here you are, sweetie! Just in time to join us in the gardens, and look, who’s here!”

“Hello, auntie. Uncle.” For what’s worth, you like being here, with them, and nothing changes that. You can feel the adamantine warm cloud of love in your chest. The reason you never doubted coming here.

“Lord Kenobi.” You greet him as well, though not with that big smile and sincerity you’ve just shown.

“My Lady.” His indifferent tone is interesting. Indifferent, yet indifferent as any other time, respectful and overly sympathetic. Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you think? Yet, he’s here, isn’t he? His very presence is questionable enough.

“How good of the young man to join us, don’t you think? Though I fear it’s only due to work issues, and not out of courtesy.”

Yes, how good! And definitely not out of courtesy.

“You hurt me, Madam.” He objects, frowning his brows. “I must say this house, with its amiable hosts, has always had a great place in my heart. Last night once again proved it right, it was the best ball I’ve ever been to all summer. In fact, I was thinking of learning your contacts for the band and the cook, you inspired me to throw my own.”

You really, really try to not roll your eyes, and drop the tea that’s being offered to you now.

“Oh, no problem at all! I’ll write them down when we finish the paperwork in my study.” Your uncle says, and the absolute charmed look and excitation in his eyes have your stomach sinking. “And how are you, my dear? Haven’t you shaken out the morning chill yet?” He points to your shawl, wrapped tightly around your neck. You powdered the marks, and put on a big necklace, but then decided you couldn’t be too careful, and put on the fabric too.

“Yes, I think the weather change wasn’t quite easy on me this time.” You reach for the honey, making a show of it so they don’t put you in the center of attention.

“Did you sleep well last night?”So, it doesn’t work. And that’s about the one question you hoped to avoid.

“Despite the exertion taking place-“ Kenobi’s eyes widen, exaggerated by the teacup basically covering other parts of his face, and for a second you think he may choke on his tea. “downstairs, I say it was the best sleep I could’ve ever had.”

You hope your acting inspires the same in him too. He suppresses that little cough well, and the blush settling in his cheeks is faint, easily blamed on the warmth of the drink.

Strike one.

Irritation grows in you, rather than anxiety. Does he really think you’re that crude? That dumb? You make a point of not looking his way after that, an attitude clearly noticed by him in no time. It’s not like he has any chance of talking about it, but the alarm bell in his head rings continuously, busying his mind ‘til the opportune moment comes to talk about it.

Then, a gleeful screech of your name fills the room. In a blink, your cousin is right next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulder that you can’t properly stand up and hug her back in a normal way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all day long!” She says, hands reaching to hold yours, almost causing you to lose control of the fabric covering your neck. “We’ve got so much to do! And you were going to tell me all about Naboo! Did you really get to see the lions?”

“Sweetie-“ Despite the wildness of the affection you are given, there’s a huge smile on your face, and you almost make her sit on your lap- an old habit from her younger years.

“Come now- you promised to go riding with me. I want to show you how much I improved.”

“Well-“ your poor, poor legs are in no condition for that kind of activity. “I think it’s best if we do that tomorrow. You see, I had enough of it yesterday, I’ve been in a carriage all day.”

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

Your furious gaze kills that gleam quickly though. The faint smirk disappears, and he straightens his back, clearing his throat.

“Carolina, can’t you see we have a guest? Where are your manners? And give your poor cousin some space, for God’s sake!” Your aunt exaggerates like any mother of her generation, that high pitched voice screeching every ear in the room.

You should be glad to see the subject changed, but the condition of it is bitter. She bows her head down, taking a few steps away from you, but you hold onto her hand, keeping her near.

“Hello, young lady. I am Obi Wan Kenobi.” He sounds- sympathetic, though not overly. It is this sweet balance between respecting their being without the prejudices of age, but compassionate enough not to crush them under expectations they are yet to achieve. Interpreting this from just a couple of words seems a bit of a stretch, you know, still, his whole attitude screams he’s got some experience talking to kids, or considerable knowledge about the human psyche.

“He’s a friend of mine.” You explain further, trying to ease her.

“Welcome, Lord Kenobi.” She curtsies, yeah, she’s perfected that, you observe with proud eyes.

“I didn’t see you at the ball last night, I’m afraid.” Like he was there longer than an hour.

“It was past my bedtime.” The look she gives her parents tells him all he needs to know about her character, or precisely who influences her. He wonders if it was any similar to yours.  “I hope you had a wonderful time. You must’ve, because she’s an excellent dancer.” She turns at you, smiling so innocently that you can’t blame her for complicating things. “She taught me all about it, even better than my tutors.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t-“ The sentence synchronically rolls from both of your tongues, but you stop as you realize. There’s an abrupt silence in the room for a few seconds, causing anger to bubble up in you once more, and forcing you to make up an excuse to break free from this atmosphere.

“Hey,” You tug on her arm, “I’ve brought candy.” And just like that, she’s jumping all over you, bouncing with joy, “Sshh,” You warn. “First we need to go somewhere unseen.”

===

You see him again, days after, when he’s clearly learned his lesson, and gave you a window to breathe, calm your fury. The worst thing? It works. You can imagine (or in other words daydream) the next time you two see each other, which you desperately wish for it to be soon, and picture keeping yourself from stepping onto his feet, or shoving your finger into his chest. It all could not be forgotten but worked out through little warnings and explanations. Communication, basically.

And it turns out, you don't have to imagine any longer, and have the perfect opportunity to test your temper.

In a cafe. Where you sit alone. Blissfully ignorant of the couples (or to-be-couples) surrounding you. But most importantly, unchaperoned. (You had your tongue to defy any unwanted presence, and it's not like people came here alone like yourself. They came here for dates. And if anything, your presence was a litmus paper. What was to happen in marriage, if one couldn’t even keep their eyes from others in those little flirtatious rendezvous?)

(Though you knew some didn’t see it that way. A temptress, their choice of word to describe you.)

Obi Wan walks up to your table in quick, big steps that somehow don’t capture the attention of anyone but you. A further proof of that magic dust he sprinkles.  He’s dressed in browns today. It is a welcomed change. The smile on his face is unbeatably prominent, even as he follows the guide of manners, bowing his head and removing his hat before he sits in front of you. There’s no indication of his previous whereabouts in his looks and you wonder how he found you. Was he simply passing by the establishment before noticing your presence, or did he inquire about your engagements today, asking around?

"You shouldn't be here." It’s that sweet tone of yours, an alarm said in the softest of inclinations. “I have no company.” While it is redundant to both of your mindsets, the need of a chaperone for every conversation you have with strangers, you like to be cautious.

Then let me be it, he would’ve said, if it wasn’t literally the first time after your distasteful encounter. He’s not going to throw away that lesson for a shot of comedy. Or the fact that it’s hardly a request, but again- It’s not worth it. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the last time. It was- unadvisable to say the least.”

That- feels so good to hear, somehow. Far better than expected. You lean back in your chair, a sly smile on your face that you can’t help, and a subtle blush, a total contrast to your attitude.

“What can I say though? I don’t know if it’s still possible to be unsatisfied, but I sure felt like that if I didn’t see you again.”

Your fingers grasp the fork far too tightly, considering you have no appetite left for the desert in front of you. It’s the flashbacks from that night, and the undeniable effects it had on both of you.  

“Well, apology accepted.” 

He releases a breath after your words, visibly relaxed, amusing you further. You focus your gaze on the plate, in hopes of blending this conversation into the atmosphere around. 

You add. “Then again, don’t take my forgiveness for granted. None of my partners were this careless, and I seriously expected better from you.” 

(You're quite aware this is not the sort of conversation fit here.)

The interruption of “Oh, that will never even cross my mind.”, turns into “Partners?”, thankfully in a whisper, but sharp enough that it holds the same value as a shriek. He plays it off like it’s a frivolous question, a part of your ongoing banter, a mere thread to spin the conversation.

As if you gave the perfect impression of a blushing virgin that night. You flutter your lashes, as you take a bite. The silence is absolutely deafening, before you can continue. “There’s a reason I like traveling that much. Naboo. Correlia. Alderaan. God, even Hoth.” The discomfort in his face grows, and you fight it with an explanation, hoping that’s the reason. “Never at the same time, though, if it wasn’t obvious. It was just about having good company if I was to spend months in a city.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He shakes his head, an act of his nonjudgemental nature. “So, am I the Coruscant part of your little play?”

“No. You're the exception.” You laugh. “I haven’t- not here. I wouldn’t dare. Too little privacy. No trust. Above all, not a single soul that felt like a match of my own. Til I met you.” He deserves to hear that, right? “However I must say, the rules would be a little different here. Requires more caution. Fine work. For example, you couldn’t come and see me like this whenever you desire."

"Fair enough." He agrees, though makes little effort to follow the lesson. Actually, not even little, none. He just sits there, moulding into his chair further, a pleasant grin as he takes the world in, entertaining himself with the surrounding people. And you, of course. His piercing gaze travels back to you, every time.

Well, right. Not like you wanted him off of your table. "What do you want, Lord Kenobi?" And how did you know I would be here anyway? 

"Are you coming to the picnic on Saturday, in the Perlemian Park?"

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

"I'm only going if you are joining too." He wets his lips, an action you don't miss, and you continue to watch it long after he's done and see the next words coming out, before your brain can comprehend their meaning. "So, I'll need a better answer." 

The same lips that mapped out your entire body, whispered all those dirty things, tasted your hidden corners, drinking in the pleasure it provided…

He clears his throat, and you break out of the trance. He looks at you with a brow lifted, but the twinkles behind his blue eyes tell you it's not out of boredom. More like the exact opposite. 

"I'll be there." 

This is his cue to leave, with excitement for the said event, and a tinge of sadness for this interaction ending. You mirror his manners as he bids you a good day. 

Then, you're left alone, exactly as merely half an hour ago. Yet, the dessert in front of you is unsavory, nowhere near enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.  

It is still completely the same.

=== 

Comes Saturday, and does it come slower than possible… The weather seems like it's making one last show before the summer ends and scorches the earth, leaving everyone a sweating mess, little to no words coming out of their mouth, sprawled on the nearest surface. You seriously debate whether calling the offer off, the choice of fanning yourself to a lazy nap sounding better and better. It is in these extensive relaxations that you uncover the horrid truth- your fingers fell short in bringing you pleasure now, making you an even more sweaty, frustrated mess rather than the relaxed, drowsy mess you want to be. It is an awful revelation, bringing along many questions that haunt your every waking hour. You fear it's got something to do with him- and the best prescription for you is to stay away.

Alas, you keep true to your promise and show up. 

Thankfully the air has calmed down on said day, and sorbets are refreshing, making it more than a bearable experience. Bearable is actually an insult in this case, for it is more than that. These people are some of your oldest friends, close to your age, and share your opinions. It is hard not having fun when you are allowed to be free (just a little more than normal, though it is enough). None cares about the obscene gossip, or juices of fruit staining faces, dripping onto the expensive fabrics you all are adorned in. Laughs are loud and constant, never letting three minutes go without them. Hands are all flying around, hitting each other as a joke, reaching for the last piece of cake, taking the very dangerous road back without spilling a drop of the drink (which is, once again, a target of pranks).

Obi Wan enjoys it as much as you do, despite the fact that he doesn’t know them like you do. His life doesn’t allow much leisure time, and his choice of friends is mostly unfitting to these kinds of events, but he doesn’t have a problem finding joy in these kinds of events. Maybe it is mostly due to you, watching you in your nature, admiring the way you handle yourself among the crossfire of jokes, or what foods you prefer the most, making silly expressions as the taste of them hits just right. With every little thing he learns about you, he’s drawn closer to you. Once, he would name you a mystery, yet that would indicate the thrill was all in revelation. Now, it is the exact opposite. He gets more excited with each new question, like what is the actual story behind the “donkey joke” you are hinting at, or why do you pick some of the seemingly perfectly looking strawberries aside and pick others- or why you blush when you catch him looking at you, only to do the same yourself?

It is only in the afternoon that the buzz leaves its place for something serene. Conversations diminish, replies take longer, bodies sag and lean on the nearest surface, be the tree trunks or picnic baskets or their loved ones.

C’mon then, let’s take a walk. One proposes, and others follow, albeit slowly and with protests. You are among the latter, every cell in your body refusing to produce or use energy.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you end up at the very back of the group with Lord Kenobi, and while you manage to stick with him unlike your friends, the distance between you and them grows and now, you can safely say that you’ve lost the sight of them. Twenty minutes ago.

So yes, you’ve been walking alongside him in silence. Far away that you don’t brush hands, yet so close that it would raise questions if someone were to see.

“I don’t think this is doing much for my somnolence.” He basically yawns.

"Should I take that as an insult, my Lord?" 

"Why would you- what did I say to make you think so?" He shakes his head, as stubborn as he's apologetic, ready to accept the accusation if your reasons are firm. Still, his heart is already pacing up, distressed. That must be the wine taking over.

"Well, am I not the only reason for your presence? And I must be boring you, if you are still feeling drowsy." 

"No- Absolutely untrue- “ He stutters, a panic to find the right words, not to be buried under your claims, he is not going to lose his chance to be by your side- only to realize the grin on your face too late.

"You little minx." He breathes out, and is rewarded by the sound of your tempting giggle. 

"Seems like I successfully rid you of your problem." You take pride. "And now, I suggest walking by the lake, to ensure its permeance."

"You mean to dip my feet in the water?" Again, he shakes his head, already rejecting the proposition.

"If you don't do it I shall." You skip, prancing like a nymph before he grabs you by the arm. 

“I don’t think that is safe.”

“It perfectly is.” You state, bewildered by his anxious urge. One look into his hand, and he remembers to let you go. The said hand flies to his hair, with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, but – let me be by your side. And make it quick.”

The fact that he thinks you need his approval is downright funny, though you’d take issue with it any other time. Now, you are amused by his good intended worries and don’t have it in your conscience to break his heart over it, or bring up a quarrel.

So, you start undressing. Only your socks and shoes.

Still, the blush settles on his cheeks, and the light behind his eyes burns brighter as he sees the skin just above your knees naked. Not for the first time- still, he feels like turning his back on you, but does no such thing. And that is not because it defeats the purpose of his presence.

God, how could you even make you believe he wasn’t planning on having these impure thoughts?

You feel your temperature rising, and it has nothing to do with the sun. You meet his hypnotized eyes, and can still feel it focused on you. After days of dissatisfaction, its effect is multiplied by ten, making your heart race. You pray none of it is visible on your face. the last thing you need is for him to know.

He laughs when you lay the white fabric in the old woods of the docks, like the spoiled child you are. It is more than likely to stain, but more importantly, it is definitely old, creacking under every step, hence his aversion to sit beside you with a head shake. You shrug in return, and pull your skirt slightly above your knees, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Oh, this is lovely!” You say, sprawling your toes in the water. “Truly, you are missing out.”

“I believe you, my Lady.” His tone is joyful, just the right combination of trust and mockery.

You turn to look at him, a big mistake. The excess part of your dress brushes the surface, wetting the fabric, though it is the last thing you care. He is looking at you, with that charming grin, and subtle hunger etched into his gaze, screaming worship, in complete awe of the scene he's beholding, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, holding his hand, her dress bunched up like in those ancient paintings of fairies, and endless passion for the leading role of it. It swirls the emotions deep inside your belly, the only reaction you want to avoid. Yet, you’re not immune to it. your heart skips a beat, the tingles overtaking your skin.

“Look- I see fishes!” You whip your head, the one thing you can do in hopes of breaking the tension. You lean forward, trying to get a clear view, or try to do so because you are stopped by his grip.

“That’s enough.” The command sends a shiver down your spine. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

“Fine.” You huff, the simplest protest you can manage. His touch softens as he realizes you’re going to follow his words, though takes long to let go.

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

“How long are you going to stand like this?” You ask, exasperated that this isn’t going anything like you imagined.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m also standing, this is hardly fun.”

“That is only the result of your own choice.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huff and climb back on your feet, disregarding the objections of the offended dock. Then, you push past him- 

He suddenly pulls you back, promptly disrupting your balance, a tactic he uses to pick you up into his arms. You scream as your feet meet the air, hands grabbing anything they can reach which ends up being his clothes.

“What are you doing?!” You yell, burying your fingers into him. With how strong your grip is, you can feel every muscle tensing under your touch. 

“I’m not gonna let you walk in that mud, after all.” He explains like it was the problem you were referring to.”

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

He leans his back on the tree, and you rest your arms on your knees, propped up.

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

“If you name it so.” His smile is borderline insulting, ear to ear. With one look, he points at the reason- your wet feet. There’s literally no choice but to wait for them to dry up. But by proposing the only solution, he infuriates you further.

“Very interesting.” You snark. “I would’ve just stood back if I knew this was what we would be doing.”

“And now it is I who might take those words as an insult. Have I somehow proven my companionship to be loathsome in the times we spent together?”

Times you spent together… The flashbacks are, as implied in their name, flash before your eyes at such great speed that by the time you realize it is not something you should ponder upon now, your heart rate is already up, the flame deep in your belly ignited once again, and even the sounds of the past are echoing in your ears. You turn your head away from him, cursing at the color blooming on your cheeks.

Oh, but the action is enough to let him know exactly what you are feeling, a song of “I thought so” on his tongue- yet he doesn’t sing it yet, realizing the underestimation of his own emotions. He brings it upon himself- a glance at you, taking in your red face (as much as possible) and bare legs, let out to the sun to dry up.

“Well, I’ll think that’s the case if you don’t say anything.” He opts to say this instead, loving to taunt you further. 

“It’s not.” You mumble, still turned to the other side, fingernails digging at your palm.

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

The moment you move your head, you are met with his face, so close to yours, a distance he promptly closes by placing a hand at your neck, and tugging at it, ‘til your lips crash. You lose your balance once more, gripping his collars to not fully crush him with your weight. You gasp, the only protest you have in yourself, because for all your resolve to stay away, here you are, falling right into his arms. And it feels so damn good.

You gasp, pushing him. He laughs as his back hits the tree, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You whisper-scream, suddenly aware of the fact that while you are all alone on this field, your friends are still very much around.

“Oh, what am I doing? It is you, darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were looking at me.”

You direct your gaze to the ground, embarrassment getting the better of you.

“What is it?” He questions your lack of defiance. “You had no problem before. Don’t tell me you’re scared of being seen. They should at least be like, a mile away.”

Yeah. That’s absolutely correct. Besides, you’re shielded from any unwanted visitors by the thick line of trees, and the sheer distance between there and the path. It is a secluded corner of the lakeside.

“Or is there something else that’s bothering you?” This, is said in a more suggestive tone, and its effect is only amplified by the way he holds your chin to refocus your attention. You burn under his grasp and insistent watch.

Say farewell to your pride.

You let yourself fall over him once more, kissing him with a whimper you can’t quite suppress. You feel his smirk at that, but neither of you dwells on it, for he too lets out a sound of desperation, panting as he pulls you close, placing you on his thigh. (You hear your dress positively rubbing against the grass, and dare not to imagine the green blotch that may appear.) You don’t know whether to celebrate your newfound closeness or chastise your weak will, for it creates a new wave of desire in you as you delve your fingers into his beard. Your skin lights up against his coarse hair, so familiar yet so unyielding under your touch, and to be holding his face in your hands like this only blinds you more. So blind that you only realize the movement of your hips, seeking pleasure, when he holds them.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” A kiss right on the left corner of your lips. “Are you haunted by that night so deeply that you are unable to satisfy your needs on your own, like me? Or hell, with another?” Even in the midst of haze, you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the mention of a third party.

“No- only you.” You whisper, too afraid of things ending.

“Fuck.” He can’t help but burst at your surrender. “That’s my girl. Lift your hips a little for me, darling.”

You oblige without question, raising yourself on your trembling thighs. Holding your breath, imagining all the things he can do to you… He is bewitched by your neediness, the way you moan at the first contact his hand makes with your skin after lifting your skirt just above your knees so you have more freedom to move, and can directly sit on his thigh.  

Speaking of it, why? Your eyebrows scrunch as he pushes you down like that, though the actual questioning part comes a second after your clit rubs against the fabric, not his cock, the first jolt of true ecstasy you experienced in a while, but that can’t be the case for him, right? “What are you-?”

“Trust me.” He takes his sweet time to relish the expense of your neck, so close for his taking, partly to ease your nerves, and frankly it is too much fun for his own good to feel you twitch in anticipation, and your breath getting stolen away at his open-mouthed kisses, panting when he lingers on a spot for too long at the fear of him leaving a bruise. “No marks, I perfectly remember.” He has to confess after a point, and only after that point, you begin to truly relax, and have your heart beating so fast at the same time, noticing your wetness is positively seeping into his clothes.

Your jaw hangs open with a silent pant as he decides it’s enough, and guides your body, rocking onto his. It’s not something you haven’t done before, but there’s something so unique about now, maybe the scandalous location, or your depraved state, or simply everything regarding him, that you are convinced it looks like your first time. Shit, it may even be your first time, considering the previous examples are nowhere close to this, the stakes, the desperation, the payoff… You’re holding onto his shoulders like a fucking virgin, pressed so close to receive every bit of affection he's giving. It’s the damn heat, the greatest excuse on your lips for the last couple of weeks, invalidated by the nonexistence of space between you and him. It only causes sweat to pour out of both of you, like the constant drip out of your cunt, sabotaging all your attempts to gain control, and create the slightest of frustration. 

“Obi Wan.” You chant his name, unable to form any other word, and he drinks it all in, valiantly ignoring the ache in his cock. It is a hard task, a growing challenge as your knee brushes against it from time to time, especially when you try to take initiative and escape the rhythm he’s trying to create.

“Ah-ah-ah- Let me take over. You know we’re short on time, darling.”

Then, he does justice to his words as he bounces his leg, the added pressure claiming a gasp from you.

“Do that again.” What your efforts can't get you, maybe your pleads can. After all, you're just as stubborn as him, giving up easily is not on your book.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”  

You roll your eyes, though it is totally due to annoyance, and let out a moan, throwing your head back. The fresh air does nothing for your lungs anymore, just an outlet for your scandalous noises. Which, he has no complaints too, your erratic breaths warmed his neck enough, and blessed him with those sweet sounds, right under his ear. Oh, but in any other case, this was anywhere else, and he had to silence you, also which he has no complaints too. Perhaps the sole problem is missing the blissed out expressions of your pretty face, and the light in your eyes, burning for him.

“Are you close?” Like he even needs to ask, like he’s not aware of your moans turned whimpers.

“Hmmh.” Is all the answer he gets, and that’s enough for him, laughing quietly, as you feel the vibrations of his chest.

When you cum, it is indeed an earth-shattering moment, and an end to your misery, the first drop of water after thirst- so much so that you don’t care about it happening in such a short time. Your legs squeeze his firm thigh, shaking over them like the rest of you. His one hand travels to your waist, holding you steady and pressed against him. You swear you can feel every aspect of his hand over three layers of fabric, yet he’s not actually exerting that much power, treating you like a delicate flower, afraid to crush the silky petals.

You sigh as the trembles die down, your senses coming back to you one by one- the first and foremost the tension in the body beneath you. Your fingers loosen from his collars, and travel the expanse of his torso slowly, a kiss to his throat in the meantime.

“Don’t you worry about me.” His voice is slightly shaky, though it may very well be due to his exertion.

“I think I should.” Its trueness is further proven when you palm him, and he groans. Though he is insistent.

“Look at you, you sweet thing, concerned with me walking around with a hard-on.”

That has you rolling your eyes, and removing your hand. Removing your entire body, even. You settle on the grass, leaning on your elbows. Your dress is already ruined, so you’re past the point of worrying.

“On the other hand, you may want to think about this.” He points to his wet trousers, the dark stain visible even though the fabric is black.

Uh oh. That is indeed a problem, if you are to return soon. Unfortunately, your brain can’t grasp the danger, coming up with solutions like soaking him entirely in the lake… 

So, it’s no wonder that your next words are a joke.“You marked me, I marked you. We're even.”

To your surprise, it works. His laughter fills the entire forest, yours a whisper in comparison. The idea that maybe, just maybe this can be repeated every now and then, that it wouldn't harm anyone fills your chest with a different kind of cheer, a hopeful sensation that suits the summer. He's proven his carefulness, making the best of the situation without risking either of you. The rising hope in you should scare you, but it doesn't. It only makes you sprawl under the sun like a cat enjoying the heat, and join his laughter with a big grin.

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

The next time you see each other again, things seem to cool down a bit. It is entirely a civil dinner, always at a respectable distance, the number of times you lock eyes are countable on one hand (though some border the edge of being a little too long), and it is all not so surprisingly, plain. Maybe it is about both of you trying to contain one’s self, so much so that the other core aspect of both of you, the humorous side is buried that night and no other person can live up to its ghost. Perhaps it is due to the upcoming end of summer, bringing out a tinge of melancholy, already mourning the past, thus your impulses dwindle down, the sparkles absent.

That is, ‘til, you are the only occupants in the saloon, after the other guests have left, and your aunts retreated to their rooms. You are reading a book, barely aware of the fact when he, sitting next to you in that single armchair drops whatever pen he’s holding, just by your feet. You’re pulled out of your trance by the sound it creates, raising your gaze from the page just in time to see him bending over to retrieve it or- ending up completely kneeling in front of your legs.

He raises his head, and you watch the way his face softly being illuminated by the candlelight, a smile you can’t decide whether charming or devilish, long abandoning his mission.

That’s the moment the air shifts, and the room feels hotter like the cheminee is lit, the heat wave has returned, and taken both of you to that lakeside, and the week before it, the frustration and despair that came with being unable to take care of yourself. You haven’t felt such a thing after, perhaps, it’s due to your fulfilled state and therefore lack of trial, but now, the need returns, like adding more to an already full cup, realization only hitting after the drops spill from the sides. The cup demands to be emptied, - translation: your soul demands whatever pleasure you can get your hands on- and the image of him causing it is certainly a preference.

(Again, it is your soul that’s demanding it- your brain would very much like to lock you away in the furthest corner of this house, or kick him, if that’s all you can manage.)

“Excuse me?”

“I just remembered how I failed to say how beautiful you look tonight.” 

“Thank you.” Your mouth speaks before you can protest the improperness of your situation. Color settles on your cheeks for accepting his compliment first. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting my pen.” He shrugs, and demonstratively takes it to his hand, yet it is once more left to the ground instead of the nearest table, with the rest of his papers. He adds, “I admire how you are an expert in navigating every social situation, whether it's a boring dinner like this, or a ball.

Your eyebrows raise at the boring part, after all, it's hosted by your relatives, and it wasn't exactly boring, maybe a little uneventful. “Not every occasion has to be full of adventure, Lord Kenobi. Slow nights like this are beneficial for the soul. Gives the mind some rest.” 

He purses his lips, like he’s been told on his bluff, the one part he emphasized to sound strong. Because, he is. He had fun tonight, the type that fills one’s heart with sweet lethargy. “I suppose you’re correct. But you’re missing out on an important detail.”

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

You’re glad that your hands were pressing against the book, holding the page, because if they weren’t, they would be visibly shaking.

“I have underestimated how much I missed you, that much is clear to me now.” Barely speaking, or barely speaking anything important with you throughout the evening, yet he feels rejuvenated, the ache in his chest becoming prominent as it starts the heal. He doesn’t say the last part, but the sentiment is reflected in the soft sparkle behind his eyes, the hypnotic storm, pulling you towards unknown chaos, but beautiful, and promising safety in its center. That’s why you don’t protest as his hand reaches for yours, brushing your knee (he wanted to do that for some time, to feel the soft fabric that basically decorates your body), interlocking fingers, and reluctantly retreating them in favor of taking the book that sits in your lap, setting it aside. You don’t protest, despite the screams in your head, saying he’s right there why is he still there-

 “And the other thing I missed terribly, the sight of your legs.”

Your shaky inhale echoes.

His fingers gently close over your ankles, and travel upwards slowly, lifting your dress alongside. “Though I’ve only seen them twice, they might be my favorite view, ever.”

“Is that so?” You are perplexed by the confession, with a lazy grin, very much enjoying the seduction. His way with words seems like a constant threat to your sanity, but damn do you adore it dearly, a voluntary victim to its spell.

“Why would I ever lie to you?” He whispers, hands tightening. “I like them very much. But I think I would like them better around my shoulders.” He pulls your knees slightly, causing you to yelp as your back caves in, and grasps your ankles once more, proceeding to demonstrate exactly his words.

“What are you doing?” You ask, like you don’t know the answer. It is a statement, an acknowledgment, the last chance to bring some sense into any of you. You’re in the living room, in a house that is not your own, filled with people who are still very well awake, and can just decide to come in.

“Having a second dessert, if I may?” And how can you refuse, after the image is served to you on a golden plate?

“But at the lake - You were-” 

“You think I'm doing this for recompensation?”

“No, I didn't mean to imply that.” God, this is embarrassing. “I just wanted to say I might miss having my way with you.”

“I’ll be glad to take that as a promise.”

Then, it is settled. 

Still, he waits for your small nod and takes in the way you bite your lip, wishing he was the one to do so, but- priorities. Time is a valuable asset, especially now, and he has to honor his offer. That’s why he opts for a few small, open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, actively fighting the desire to leave bruises, evidence, a memory. Judging by the rapidness of your breath, it seems he has reached his goal in some way. It’s the beard- scratching your skin even when his mouth is not doing something, sensitizing the flesh and making it all too susceptible to the incoming assault. Your hand flies up, absentmindedly reaching for his hair, yet stopping a second before, landing on the couch instead- if you messed up his hair, there’s no coming back from it. He chuckles at your struggle, the warm breath making you squirm. Even if you don’t, he’s maddened by action, despite the laugh. He has you- but not really. He’s enveloped in your heat, taking in your scent, and seconds away from tasting you, but is not able to be blessed with the slight pain he'd felt if you tugged on his strands, or the untamed sounds you’d have sung in a more private setting.

So yes, he’s as torn and desperate as you. Slow nights, you said? 

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what adjective comes before the word; slow or fast, boring or exciting as hell, freezing or hellishly hot; if it is with you, it is a good night. Otherwise, it is lacking. The world may be painted gray forever, considering you two mostly don’t get the chance to spend more than two occasions together in a week, but there can be no comparison to colorful scene of those moments.

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

You both moan, when his tongue finally meets your cunt, licking a messy stripe. It is more of a vibration than a noise- possibly for the best. It makes you jolt, and his hold tightens, and again, it is for the best, because when he decides to pay attention to your clit after his time exploring your folds is done, your limbs start to shake, threatening to fall. Your eyes roll back when things settle, and pleasure starts to build up, your juices flowing, and he drinks it all in before they have the chance to make a mess of your dress.

That is the first time he takes a break. “Eyes on me, darling.”

What is with him and that special request?

Your whine doesn’t mean anything to him, except make his cock twitch in his now tight trousers- but that has other reasons too. He waits ‘til your eyelids open once more, and you meet his gaze, and a second longer, unable to resist the urge to get lost in your hazy expression. Then, he dives back in, swirling the muscle around your bundle of nerves. In any other circumstance, you’d have thought this would be too indelicate, so straight to the point, no fun or respect, yet his way to do so is anything but those qualities. His movements are precisely designed for you, slow enough to not cause discomfort, fast enough to make the best of your unknown time limit. You’re afraid to deduce that one time was enough for him to learn you, one time to turn your world upside down, and leave you to deal with the memory of it. 

“Sweetie?” That’s the first time your eye contact is broken. The world freezes for a second before it does, and your head whips to the direction the sound has come from, to find your aunt by the door. Miraculously, she continues to stand there, unbothered by the long and protective distance which compromises of the dining table and the back of your couch, a perfect cover for the scandal that is taking place. Obi Wan stills, perhaps even stops breathing, yet he’s the one to snap you out of your shock with his grip around your skin. It is ridiculously encouraging, knowing he's not abandoning you on your own, even at the expense of getting caught, and the dread it would surely follow.

“Yes, auntie?” You gulp. Trying not to sound breathless is a clear effort.

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

Your reputable smartness lags, the answer of yeah, he’s right here IN BETWEEN MY LEGS, occupying your mind.  “I think he went out to get some air, I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“How odd.” She comments, “And what are you doing there on your own?”

“Reading my book.” You smile, and hope your cheeks’ tremble isn’t too noticeable. “It’s quite good- couldn’t tell the time.”

She scorns. “Oh, now I see- he must’ve gotten bored as you were buried in your book. You truly should work on your guest etiquette, dear. And Lord Kenobi, of all people!”

“Auntie!” Your eyes widen, and you squeal a little, and feel Obi Wan giggling quietly.

“I’m just saying, that you should treat him better- he’s a good person, and obviously fancies you.”

“Auntie!”

“I mean, I like him? Don’t you like him?”

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

To escape the subsequent questions should you answer otherwise, you give in, and sag.” I do.” And the worst thing is, you actually do. Objectively, you like him, all his little jokes and sweet tongue (no pun intended), the elegant form he carries himself in, and the kind nature he never fails to live up to. Except for the dangerous extent your relationship is getting into, there’s nothing about him that you don’t like. And truthfully, even that is barely a matter you care about, proven by your current situation. 

You can feel him smile, the coarse facial hair biting into your skin, rubbing like a cat, and the sensation is followed by a kiss on your thigh. 

“Then you know what I am saying is the truth.” She raises her eyebrows in a motherly manner, a loving attempt of intervention. “Don’t stay up too late, no matter how absorbing that book is. We are invited for breakfast to the Mon’s Estate.”

Thankfully, she’s gone like that, saving you the act.

When you turn to your front again you find the need to come up with a warning to make him shut up unnecessary for he kisses you, silencing both of you. The action brings color to your cheeks more than ever in this entire evening. The fact that you can taste yourself on his tongue aside, he’s so gentle about it, like congratulating your success, or admiring your talent, pouring out his affection for you. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his wide torso, it is how good it feels. When you two part, the lack of breath gets the best of you, only then do the swarming butterflies in your stomach begin to disturb you again.

But you’re not so quick to forget the last couple of minutes. Perhaps you've spoken too soon back then at the lake, thinking this could be continued. You’d imagined the rest of this scene a little differently, letting him follow you to your room, returning the favor, but that scare has only helped you to brew a storm inside you.

“Obi Wan…” You whisper, brows cinched in concentration as he towers over you, claiming all your senses. “We can’t- we have to stop…”

“Sshh, calm down.” His thumb draws circles on your skin, trying to soothe you in one aspect, if not every. He’s not going to let you go to your bed shaken like this, for starters. “Take a deep breath.”

You try, twice before you can manage to fill your lungs in their entirety, and your achievement is rewarded with a peck to your neck. Some of the air leaves you in an abrupt exhale because of it, and he curses himself for it.

“Follow my lead.” He tries again, reclining on his knees, giving you space. It is another challenge to look into his ocean eyes, and match his pattern, but you manage, your heart beat semi-regular after a minute or so.

Semi, for said eyes and your bare pussy are face to face, and all common sense loses its importance, burned by the fire inside you.

“Obi Wan- please…”

“You sure?” He will be very disappointed if you change your mind, but he has to ask, play the sensible part. And ignore the constant throb in his trousers that has become even more unbearable after you confessed your feelings.

“Just… make it quick.” Oh, are you seriously requesting an orgasm like ordering a cake in a café?

“As you wish, love.”

He starts out the same, just playing his game a little faster, and he holds your hand as he does so, the small detail as efficient as his moves. But, the final blow is his other hand, prodding against your entrance. The flood of memories doesn’t help either, as you remember that night. A loud moan threatens to leave you, and you slap your palm against your mouth. He stops ‘til you are secured, praise in his eyes, and pushes the two digits in, stretching you out in the way. Your fingers are nothing in comparison, and he notices it immediately, the way your walls hug him. 

Though, he’s an expert, and can absolutely manage to take care of you properly, so there’s nothing but pleasure, your slick channel welcoming the intrusion. It is not long before he feels the resistance fading and returning in a new form, as your climax approaches, and your muscles begin to quiver.

With your noises secured in your throat, the only form of communication is your connected hands, squeezing each other sometimes enough to risk breaking fingers. He understands what you mean perfectly, reaching up to a certain speed, then keeping it the same ‘til you start trashing, legs violently shaking around his body, and juices dripping, this time more than he can clean up. If any other time, he wouldn’t stop ‘til he feasted on every drop of it, but he withholds himself, respecting the clouds of danger. He’s glad to have helped with your anxiety, yet he doesn’t want to carry the ease to dangerous level and make you susceptible to be swayed in whatever direction.

Well, the image of his messy, wet beard certainly sends you through the wrong one, but already your nerves are not able to take more risks tonight, so you just bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, and lower your legs to the ground as he starts by cleaning out his fingers. It is hard to believe any man would try this much to indulge in your every aspect, but here he is, careful about even the smallest part.

Damn, you want to take him to your room and let him have his way with you so bad- but this is enough adventure for a night.

“Good night, Lord Kenobi.” You say, fixing your skirt, and standing up on shaky legs with your book clutched in the tightest grip against your belly.

“Good night, darling.” He nods, a content smile. “Send my compliments to the chef. “

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

You’re justified in your shock, enough to express it out loud in the middle of the jewelry shop, the last place you’d expect to run into him. Of course, he’s a neat and subtle man, and his appearance reflects his statue, though in a very calculated yet effortless manner. His pocketwatch is a family heirloom, so you’ve been told, a chic piece he takes great care of, and while his cufflinks are always elegant, it is never that eye-catching. It only compliments its wearer, you dare say, a final addition to an already completed painting.

(You never denied his handsomeness, and this is an objective opinion. Don’t read much into it.)

His supposed loneliness coupled with the fact that he looks utterly lost and bored, your curiosity is aggravated further.

Also, bumping into each other? What is this, a trick of fate?

“Madame.” He bows, and moves to press a kiss to your hand, the tradition not forgotten. His shock is easily ridden, unlike yours. The small blush on his cheeks and the wide grin on his lips tell contradictory stories, not that you’re judging, but the evident thing is his excitement.

“What are you doing he-”

“What a coincidence-“ His interruption is most unexpected, along with the high pitch in his voice.

You tilt your head, further dazed, but before the suspicion creeps in (you would be terrified to turn your gaze and find women’s accessories laid out for his picking on the table, for somebody else or for you; the latter being the lesser evil, but still disturbing), another joins, though he doesn’t seem to notice you at first.

“How helpful you are being, Obi Wan!” The tall young man with light brown hair calls out, necklaces hanging from both hands. You have a feeling that if he wasn’t busy, there would’ve been a physical reaction as well, a friendly pat on his shoulder, perhaps. “Don’t you know this is important? I need-“

His sentence is broken when he catches your attentive gaze, and realizes you are a part of this conversation as well. You’re amused by how glass-like he is, full of emotions and not afraid to show them. He looks at you, and back to Obi Wan, who finally decides it’s time for an introduction. The expression of recognition flashes through his face in a second as your name is revealed, but you can’t reflect it back fully. You have heard of Kenobi’s best friend or as some call it, brother, although barely from the man himself. You've witnessed how Kenobi's eyes lighten up with pride whenever Skywalker was mentioned, and stories- summaries of their adventures together that he told. The shortness of them wasn't a result of his unwillingness to tell them, but the circumstances of your company, never long or alone enough to visit them in their deserved entirety. 

To be honest, Anakin doesn't know much about you either. He and Padme prefer the countryside by the sea, especially during the summer, thus he and Obi Wan hadn't had the means to talk often lately. He senses the situation, by the slight tension in the older man's voice; this strong, confident man crumbling into pieces for some unknown reason. 

“Pleased to meet you, my Lady.” He makes a small cursty, which you mirror.  

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll need my friend back to keep his promise.” The chains in his hands shake as he speaks, reminding the absurdity of it all. You’re not disturbed by it though, for all is concealed under his charismatic voice and mimics. He’s pretty and he knows it, which gives him all the tools to captivate others. Now you understand why people speak about him like that, moved by hearing his name alone.

“Oh, not a problem at all. We were just saying hello.” Entertained by the interaction, your anxiety is somewhat diminished, enough to let him go without an explanation. Also, the way that he rolls his eyes, and clenches his jaw is very cute, you dare say.

“Promise? I never promised anything.” He murmurs, but it is still audible for you as he follows his friend. And the rest, which makes you laugh whenever you remember it. “Anakin- she's your wife, you know her better than me. How exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You always had a vision when it comes to beautiful things. Not like my eyes, which are only accustomed to the dirt and grease of machinery.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning, while you start talking with the salesman about the bracelet you’ve given them to restore. They make you sit and wait for a couple of minutes, all of which you spend trying to not spy on them. Fortunately, the shop is quite crowded, and their conversation is a part of the low grumble. A cup of tea is placed in front of you, as well as some new pieces they think you might like.

The one that catches your attention is not among them, however. It is a ring with a blue stone, the tone too similar to something you can’t put your finger on. It is too big to be for a woman, clearly designed for the other sex, but you admire its elegance nonetheless.

“Here is your piece, Madame.” The young salesman returns with a package, just in time to stop you from reaching it.

“Thank you.” You take the precious item back into your hands and inspect the handwork. It is shining once again, polished, and the place you accidentally broke it is now attached, the handwork barely visible.

You release a deep breath, praying graces. You would’ve never forgiven yourself if the family heirloom was forever damaged from the incident. You almost cried when it happened, a stupid game you were playing with Carolina before a ball, when you had already gotten ready and she was counting the minutes to her bedtime.  

“That is beautiful.” Obi Wan joins you once more, now looking more relaxed. Your eyes search for Anakin and find him waiting for a package, reaching for his wallet. Mission accomplished. “May I?”

The chain slides into his hands, and wraps around your wrist under the watch of the young boy with a wholesome smile. He must think you two are engaged in some way, and there’s no turning back from it.

“Would that be all, Madame?”

“Actaully I-“ You remember about the ring, and even if you just want to unravel the mystery around it, the words have already left your mouth, and the entire tray is placed on the table.

Oh. Oh. With him next to you, suddenly it all makes sense. You’re holding the color of his eyes on your palm.

“That is beautiful too.” He remarks, embracing his role a little too much.

“I think it would suit you.” Now it is your turn to accessorize him. He is silent while you do so, taken aback by the unorthodoxty of it all.

“I’m not sure-“ Is all he manages to say, though can’t stop looking at it. It is ridiculously so well fitted around his finger, the fate pulling all strings to give a message.

“It compliments your eyes.” You defend yourself, perhaps a little too lively but you have no shame. It is the truth.

“The Lady is correct.” The boy joins your side, or does his job. “It is a most excellent match.”

“I might think about it.” Is how far he budges, returning it, and checking up on Anakin from where he’s standing. 

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

The audacity? The though is reflected in your face, which makes him blush at his unnecessary offer.

“With the ring.” You add, and it is all said and done ‘til he has time to get rid of his embarrassment and intervene.

Then, you make him take the package from you, your fingers wrapping around his. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in your tone, only gentle suggestion. “You don’t have to wear it, but I want you to have it.”

“Thank you.”  

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

You truly don’t expect to see him wearing it, you really don’t.

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

When he takes on his promise, and actually starts working on the ball he’s supposed to throw, the first thing he does is request for your uncle’s help. Then your uncle entrusts the job on you, and you’re spending hours with him like that, securing the musicians, bargaining for the food supplies, preparing invitation lists… Truly, that’s it. You too are surprised to accompany him that much and engage in nothing outside of the mission. Truthfully, a little concerning in the grand scheme of things, the inevitable result of your relationship improving, real sincerity. Although you have zero problems with the fact, enjoying it far too much. You don't care about how your contributions are secret, for your efforts surpass the limits of help that are considered friendly, and fully acknowledge that it is gonna be a damn good ball. 

Also, while you hate to see him distressed, it is a look on him that you are guilty of adoring. The nervousness is like a little crack in his shell, a way to see a part of him that rarely sees the daylight. And it is for something so feeble? Only half of his effort would be enough for a wonderful ball, and he still tries to do more, and gets agitated over that? You are cruel for laughing at that, you confess. But it is more of a balancing act, rather than a mock. Somebody's gotta play the sane part, lower the tension. 

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-” 

You're at his study, the place you've been sitting since the morning. Time flies with every cup of tea, and plates of biscuits, but after a while, things inevitably get boring. For you, at least. He's quite focused, brows scrunched, tie slightly loosened. You see him looking at the list that you've put together in the beginning, the possible ways to entertain his guest. 

You've already arranged the services of more than half of them. Twice the amount that would be considered enough.

And he's still going over it?

“That's enough!” Your open palm lands on the surface. 

Obi Wan doesn't expect your outburst. He doesn't flinch, but his mimics change in an equivalent way. His lips part, causing him to relax that clenched jaw -oh, you might have a point. 

“You. Need. To. Relax.” You’re now less frantic, due to his irresistibly clueless expression, though still firm in your cause. Fuck, how can he look at you with those doe eyes and expect you to… do anything! 

You get up, and reach for the papers, sending them in a far corner of the desk. While you do so, you are basically halfway in between him and the table. Putting the teacups and the pot back on the tray (it has grown cold a long time ago), you turn to him, almost sitting at the desk in order to fit that narrow space. The bashful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t enjoying the perfect view of your ass seconds before) breaks your heart once more.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you mirror his emotion. “It’s gonna be a splendid night. The kind that people will talk about it for years. And I’m not exaggerating on that one. I would’ve said the same thing days ago, all before the last additions, too.”

It is a challenge to feel the warmth of your skin, and not lean against it. “You’re right.” He tugs on his collar, taking a deep breath. “But you know- I’ve never planned a ball in my life, and- I just need it to be perfect.”

You giggle, and replace your hand on his cheek that is colored with the confession of his little perfection obsession. You welcome the slight sting of his beard, like a habit, and caress his cheekbone. He dares not move, or even take a breath, only watching your pretty face focused on his, and relish the feeling of your thumb across his features.

“It’s going to be just that.”  You might’ve said, or a joke about his troubles, but words scurry off of your mind as you stay like that, squished in place as you try your best to comfort him.

“Can you kiss me?” The thought seems lunatic when uttered on a whim, but it has crossed your mind too, you must admit. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” There's an undeniable urge to use his words back at him. 

Your back has to bend in an uncomfortable way for your lips to touch, but you have no complaints about it. The touch is so soft, laden with affection in the purest kind. It is obvious in every way, the movement of your mouths, determined to preserve the sweetness and sweetness alone, and the itch in your palms, mapping each other out over and over again, and the determination of your lungs, using every last drop of oxygen before demanding an exchange. 

“T-thank you for that, dear.” His eyes open after a few seconds, with a sheepish smile that causes him to speak in whispers.

It’s about to get real dangerous for you, if he keeps being this cute. 

“I’m not about to say we should've done it sooner, for it is a complete waste of our time repeating a truth well known, and I've already used that trick before, but maybe we should do it again.” 

Okay, but how does that kind of sass sound cute from your perspective?

“Don't push your luck.” You say, fingers smoothing his hair, and his complaint dies on his throat visibly. He purrs, eyelids closing. That's the moment you decide to press a small peck to his lips for all his troubles. It lasts longer than intended, and while it's definitely different than the previous one, him gripping your waist telling a different story. The weight of them is welcome nonetheless, and it serves as an anchor, like you two could be molded into a statue if he held it long enough.

However, he is the one to break the stillness, shifting in his chair- first of all, how dare he, you're doing the acrobatics here-

Oh.

He notices that you've noticed it. Clearing his throat, Obi Wan lets his hands slide to the table, just a centimeter away from your body. “It’s been some time.” His face remains focused on the floor.

Didn't he even take care of himself?

You push his shoulder back, and he takes it a step further without a blink, sliding away with his chair. 

What he doesn't expect, is for you to stay exactly where you are, only this time on your knees. He has to gulp once, then twice, because he finally looks at your face, smiling back at him. 

“May I help?” Admittedly, your fluttering gaze was unnecessary, and tips him even more. You don't miss the way he stabilizes his hands.

“By all means.” 

You start by unfastening the buttons of his tan trousers, letting your forearms rest on his thighs. He aids your quests by lifting his hips a little, being freed from the constraints of the fabric-

There he is.

You bite your lip at the sight, and the sight is not just his huge cock, already hard and weeping for you. It is about him, and the redness that creeps up his neck, the way he hisses and bites his knuckles at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin, how he claws at the armrest waiting for your touch. His head nearly hits the back of the chair when you finally do, a small moan leaving his exposed throat.

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

Your thumb swirls around his head, more fluid leaking out as you do so. Thus your fingers slide down his shaft easily, and he is coated in his slick in no time, along with your palm. It twists around him without rush, leaving him to wander in that dream like state without mentioning a finish line. You want to ask him, ask him how he likes it, or make him cover your hand with his, guiding you, but you also want him to stay just like this, eyes fixed with that heavy lidded gaze, partially obscured by that infamous strand of hair that refuses to be tamed like others. His mouth hangs open with loud breaths and sometimes graces you with sounds of his pleasure.  

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

You clasp tighter and shudder like him, taking pride in your work. He can feel the strain in his muscles fading second by second, the problems in his mind are plucked out one after the other, replaced by your soothing words you repeated constantly for days at this point, and expert hands, creating the same effect on his body.

“Like this, Lord Kenobi?” You require you still acquire his opinion, a feedback, and his title rolls off of your tongue unintentionally. Honestly, there’s no explanation you can make even to yourself, but you are already over it as his cock twitches under your palm, and his groan fills the room.

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

That must be some sort of karma, for he is above the concept of revenge, but you’re left with an itch to grind your legs together at his praise. If you do that, you’ll probably feel your wetness smearing all over your skin, you’re sure of it.

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

Your other hand joins the game too, starting to massage his balls. That makes him tense under you for a moment, but the tension dissolves quickly, leaving him dizzier.

“Fuck-“ Even the simplest swear word sounds hypnotizing on his lips, “you’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

Like you had any intention to do that.

On the contrary, your intentions evolve in the direction after his words, perhaps even a little bit further. You lean in and lick a stripe up his length, the tip of your tongue dancing around his head, fully tasting him, before you take him to your mouth fully.

His hand flies up, shaking as it comes down, held back by the strongest of wills from delving into your hair. Instead, it inches closer to your cheek, and returns to the position before (because he may have just lost five years of his life feeling the way you swallow him), half-stabilized over the armrest. His head rolls back once more, unashamed to release his moans with your every move. The most sinful one comes out when you use your throat, gagging around his thickness. You repeat it, and he whimpers, earning an equal sound from you too.

This time, you don’t have to ask him anything. The eye contact as you recover your breath, and continue to stroke him tells you everything you need to know, tells how much he enjoys it.

“Please- darling-“

You don’t try to choke on him again, but keep a rhythm with your tongue and your palm. He reaches climax quickly nonetheless, throbbing in your mouth and coating it white. Obi Wan feels sorry for not warning you, a sense of guilt rising alongside that pleasure, but it once again came over with lust as you gulp it down without a blink. He even fears he might go hard in a second, against all the rules of nature. You provoke that in all ways possible, pressing small kisses to his shaft, occasionally licking it, and letting your head rest on his thigh.

“Thank you.” It is so out of place to say that for this kind of act, but it is the sentence that is spoken, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome, my Lord.” Thankfully, you raise your gaze just in time to miss the way his cock moves. You straighten your back and throw your shoulders back, stretching like you’ve just woken up.

So cute and so filthy.

“I’d like to return the favor.” He says, the action fueled only by his kind and generous soul.

“Some other time.” Your smile reflects the acknowledgment, not mocking his advances. “I am expected from home.”

“Ah, pity. Send my regards to your family.” He can’t help but feel envious of them. Do they know to treasure your company, not take a second of it for granted? Do they know what you did to him, before joining them? Would they be as accepting as ever, aware of your scandalous affairs?

Of course not.

But even then, you’d deserve much better than what they would treat you like. Your courage alone is enough to make the world bow down to you.

And what if your family means something other than your blood, your relatives? What if it was a stranger, a man undeserving, but had you to himself every night, when you returned home from your daily activities? A lucky fool who had the blessing of knowing you’d be by his side soon, every damn day.

His fingers turn into fists as you clean yourself up, so pretty in your ignorance to his gaze, brows slightly furrowed as you smooth out the wrinkles on your dress.

“Shall do.” And with your cheery voice, he doesn’t even notice his grip is unclenched.

===

Red isn’t his color. Some say it suits him well, that the stark contrast is eye-catching, but he doesn’t like to carry it. At this point of his life, it’s not even about his clothing choices, he prefers anything over that pigment in every possible scenario; the sheets, the carpets, the flowers… He makes a point of avoiding that powerful color.

Not today, though.

He has no word over how you dress and for once, tries very hard to stay neutral, not verbalize his choices when you mention the outfit you’ll be wearing in his ball, and it is a successful endeavor. (Knowing you and your stubbornness, it would probably only damage the bond between the two of you, something you’ll quip for years, or God forbid, keep you from attending at all.)

In the end, you wear it, and he ends up where he doesn’t want to be. Drowning in that bloody cloud. Without remorse, for the first time in his life.

For once, he finds himself chasing after it, taking joy in its liveliness, surrendering to the dangerous promises it makes. Your presence brings energy to every room you enter. The candles seem to burn brighter, and the warmth in his chest is not solely a result of both of your accomplishment of the spectacle. Obi Wan smiles ear to ear, eyes almost closed because of it, and he wants nothing more than to dance with you all night long, bury his hands in that expensive fabric and feel the burn in your cheeks, painted with the same color. He doesn’t even mean it in a perverse way. He wants to celebrate the payoff of your efforts, let the pride be felt, and enjoy the treats like all the guests, or even more than them (it would be more than fair to do so), together.

Alas, the society you both live in isn’t the type to accept such things. In order to not taint the event with the bitterness reserved for that principle, he doesn’t ask for more than six dances, or follow you around the saloon like a lost puppy. While it is never enough, he counts and cherishes the accidental eye contacts, and your hands holding his in dances, or the different circles you ran into each other and have snippets of various conversations. He accepts every compliment with your name tied behind his tongue and feels relieved with each passing hour, realizing how perfect everything is going, thanks to your pieces of advice and restrictions. He is light as a feather underneath all those layers he had to put on for the evening, without the pressing intention of taking it all off as soon as possible.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and here comes the other side, halfway through the night, the prejudice he had returning sinisterly.

He does a decent job of suppressing his jealousy, for all the purposes he’s thought of before. He can glance over when you dance with a stranger, or two, ricocheting on the stage and putting on a show for everyone. He chooses to admire the beauty you’re radiating, shining like a rose after the rain. It keeps him occupied for a while. But when an hour passes and you’re not even looking at his general direction, way too engulfed in your conversation with them, he feels a distaste rising in him. The red bleeds into his heart, poisoning him. It slowly takes over, and by the time you throw your head back with a burst of laughter that echoes in the room, he’s entirely filled with it. His hands twitch with every dream of ripping the source of that poison from your skin in a cove meant for just the two of you, away from all the vultures that eat and drink and savor his doings and yet ready to crucify him at his slightest flaw.

Obi Wan is one step away from sending everyone to their homes when you escort that man to the garden. Honestly, the only reason he doesn’t is because you return in a minute or two, the tip of your nose giving away all he needs to know- it’s chilly.

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

On the second thought, it’s best that he didn’t, because then Obi Wan wouldn’t even bother to get rid of the crowd to have his way with him.

“Lord Kenobi.” You manage to catch him alone, on the balcony. He’s up there to calm his nerves, over you, unbeknownst to you. Unfortunately, his progress is lost the second he hears your voice, and it is truly an effort to act otherwise.

The night is on the brink of ruin for him, and it doesn’t have to be that way for you. This is why he tries so hard.

“I must congratulate you on this beautiful ball. It is a night to remember.”

“Don't say it like the honor doesn't belong to us both.”

You shrug, as if whisking all the credit away. But your eyes twinkle with pride. 

“I haven't had this much fun in ages,” You chirp,  “I would've begged for another one already, if I hadn't witnessed the toll it took on you.” He covers his face at the mention of the state he has been in for the last couple of weeks. “Oh God, don't.” 

“Oh God, you just didn't expose yourself like that! When will you start enjoying this?” Your laugh is a hidden giveaway of how many glasses you had tonight. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed for those who may inquire.” Your lips. Wrapped around his cock. Mapping out his neck. Keeping his secrets.  “Remember that every word that comes out of my mouth is said by a person who attended all types of feasts all over the continent for a decade now. I grew up around these circles.” Shrugging, you add. “Perhaps that was my undoing.”

“Undoing? I could never call you “undone”.” Ironic, how you make him forget about before and continue to concern him with totally different subjects.

“You’re right.” Thoughts come out a little slow, but your effort is evident on your face. “I just had too many opportunities to start over in new places, experience everything that I was curious about, and that all led me to discover exactly what I liked, what I wanted from life.”

“How’s that a bad thing?” 

“I’m not willing to let that go anytime soon.” You can’t help but notice that it sounds like some sort of prison of your will, but that’s not a discussion you can have tonight. “Anyways, Obi Wan. I must be going now, just wanted to pay my compliments and wish you good night.” 

“I thought you’d stay the night-“Well, that’s definitely not the case, “But it is so early?”

“You know our houses are not so close, any later than this and I’m going to fall asleep on the road out of habit.”

Yeah, that’s why he thought it would be perfectly reasonable for you to stay over. 

“I see.” And he wishes he had gone blind and deaf. “Then, allow me to bid you good night, my Lady.” 

He takes your hand, placing a kiss you can very much feel despite the fabric. What he doesn’t expect, is for you to press your palm against his chest in return, because he doesn’t know of the urge you have to not leave. It is a split second of override, before you can command your feet to move again, blissfully unaware how tender that moment was.

===

A day. A full day. That’s how long he can refrain from seeing you. Funny, the meetings have become a habit for him, and although he needed you back then, he needs you more now, for completely different reasons, and you’re not there that morning- and why would you be? There’s no arrangement that demands your assistance anymore. Your praises are all said and done, and if to be repeated, it wouldn’t certainly be a matter that required urgency for you to show up at his door.

And maybe, you have other places to be, other doors to knock. Perhaps you’d enjoy a change of air.

So, he has come to yours.

Naboo. Aldreaan. Correlia. The cities churn in his mind, alongside your image in every one of them. The flowers in your hand as you roam the fields of Naboo, the coat that doesn’t do much for the redness on the tip of your nose while you lodge in the mountains of Alderaan. The exquisite jewelry you wear to a Correlian masquerade, outshining every debutante in the room. He imagines the people hypnotized by your presence (what can they be, other than blessed), or you gliding among them (after all, discretion was your powerful suit). And the worst of all, he thinks of the man escorting you, claiming their dances, bringing you a glass of their rare wines, walking with you in the natural scene, their savage arms around you, their hands groping your curves, pulling sweet sounds from you.

(No, the purpose of his visit was not that. )

He invites himself in from your open balcony, catching you as you start your nightly routine. You’re taking off your hairpins, when he does the courtesy of knocking on the glass, startling you just a little. You jump, but thankfully do not scream, the reflex somehow suppressed. Truth be told, it’s not because your shock actually dwindles. If anything, it is redirected into a different question, going from “What the fuck was that?” to “Why the fuck is he here?”

“Good night, darling.” He gestures for you to sit again, and you do, returning to your chair in front of the vanity. Your head has to crane in a strange way for you to see him, but thankfully, he comes closer and solves the problem, eyes meeting through the mirror. And his face lights up as he sets foot in the room, like he too has forgotten everything but this moment, his jealousy and desperation left behind the walls. That’s how the question of “What are you doing here?” is not immediately articulated.

 Instead, you say, “Good night, Obi Wan.”

“I see I managed to visit you just in time.” Look at him, fixing his beard, laughing nervously. He just climbed to the second floor, and his heart only got racing now.

“Lucky you.” Honestly, you don't think there's a “wrong time” in his perspective, at least when it comes to you. A few minutes later, and he'd see you in your nightgown. Would that deter him from setting his foot in here? Most, most, most likely, no. Don't dwell on that thought, though. “And what do I owe the pleasure?” You try not to focus too much on the fact that you have him and your bed in the same frame, through the reflection. 

“I thought I would see you today.” Is that sarcasm in his tone, or a little bit of self-humiliation?

This must be some sort of a Shakespeare play, right? 

Oh my God, it is. 

“Ah.” You fiddle with your hairbrush, the eye contact broken, your attempt to stop any matter from escalating this night. Any matter. Not that you had any questions when it came to his morals, he probably was the one person you’d never doubt, but in terms of his intentions to be here tonight startled you in a much different light. “I slept in late today. Didn’t even leave the house.”

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

“That’s because you had too much fun without me last night.” A treacherous scoff falls from his lips as he shakes his head. The moment that the tides turn. The one that brings back all the crude questions.

“What? No? What do you mean?” For all your effort to remain calm, you look alarmed, that tired face with doe eyes showing it all, and he feels sorry for a second, troubling you over his overthinking ass.

Then, he spots the bracelet you wore last night, lying haphazardly over a piece of paper on the corner of the table. It looks very much like a letter.

It’s not hard for him to advance his speculations.

“I think you know it already.”

“Obi Wan.” You twist to actually face him, your arm on the back of the chair. “Why are you here?”

He takes a few steps back, as if the air is stolen from the short distance between the two of you. He runs a hand through his hair, undisturbed by its messy result. You can see him biting into his cheeks, trying to select the right words. In the end, all that effort seems unnecessary, because when he speaks, the sentence can’t be any simpler. “Who was the man you spent an hour with last night?”

Wincing, you take a few seconds to process. It’s not about the answer, but his motive, his audacity that irks you. You stand up and speak. This time, your voice is sharp as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

He blinks a few times, so sure of his righteousness, and determined. “You were in my house, at our ball, dancing and talking with strangers and not even glancing in my direction for the better half of the night. I think it’s some of my business.”

“I was by your side for much longer than it is acceptable, Kenobi, do I need to remind you? We danced six times and greeted the majority of guests together.” You’ll not let the truth be ignored. “Any longer than that and there would be rumors all over the society today, and even I would’ve heard about it despite staying here all day. I didn’t come this much by pushing boundaries at every fucking chance I get. I picked my battles, the thing you seem incapable of.”

“So, am I to understand, this thing between us,” The look on his face dares you to deny the existence of it, “is not worth picking?”

This is the possibility that scared you. And for good reason, it seems. You close your eyes, in order to not roll them, and purse your lips. He uses the moment to reach for your arms, like he could appeal for an answer from you. “Don’t you love what we have?”

You couldn’t feel any worse under the warmth of his hands, affection pouring out of them despite the rage in him. “I love what we had.”

“Had?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t keep doing this, is it not?”

Confusion leaves its place to anger once more, for all the wrong reasons and his face darkens. “Oh, I see. You secured yourself a new entertainment, and now you have to get rid of the old one.”

You shrug out of his hold, distancing yourself from him. The source of the problem is not what he claims it to be, and it infuriates you, along with the accusations he taints you with.  “Don't you dare reflect your own degeneration on me like that! It’s not about my damn cousin’s damn friend, it’s about you!” It is nearly a scream, the highest pitch that wouldn’t grab attention. Still, reflectively, you turn your head to the door, which you had luckily locked. “Leave now, you bastard!”

Honoring the part he was assigned in that theatre play, he focuses on the wrong part of the words, the crumbles of information giving him hope, and dim his doubts. “So there's nothing between you and him?”

Seething, you are red with fury, taking a sharp breath, pointing your finger at him like a gun. “Get. Out.” 

“Is there?” 

Your tongue is determined not to let him hear your words, despite the truth in them. It will not lead to any good. 

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close? 

The moment you look into his ocean eyes, the decision to say anything is deemed impossible. The decision to do anything, actually. His arms cage you against the cluttered table, and yours end up on his chest, though without any intention of pushing him away.

“Answer my question, and I will.” 

How could you? How can you be able to resist his utmost sincerity, the desperation in his behaviors and the brutality of his words contrasted in the way he looks at you, the caging without actually touching you. Your suffocation is only a result of your inner turmoil, the desire to spit out the truths, clear his heart and give in to the love he's handing out, but terrified of the places it will take the two of you.  

“I’m waiting, darling.”  You can’t help but watch his perfect lips move, his voice licking your skin. 

You gulp, an action he doesn’t miss, and dares to laugh at it. Obi Wan can see the exact moment your gaze returns to being that of an eris, though the flames remind him of a different time.

A very different time. 

“I hate you.” It is perhaps the most childish thing you’ve ever said in years, and it shows. 

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

For all your claims, still, he doesn’t miss the small moan you let out, swallowing it with pride. Your soft lips move against his like a habit, anticipating every move and the next, a choreography you both know all too well  albeit in a much swifter tempo. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer but his stay in the same spot, afraid to disturb you, though gripping the edges hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Though, when he tugs at your bottom lip, asking for more, you grant him that, your tongues joining the dance. You whimper, the action triggering your inhibitions to loosen up, like each second wipes the doubts away. It is a sugared water, only serving to increase the thirst instead of quenching it. So you don't stop drinking it.

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.” 

Two seconds have to pass for you to understand his response. With his breath still warming your cheeks, even brushing them with his nose, yes he dares now, the statement is the undeniable truth.

However, not that you're ready to admit it. He already knows too much, all the things you like, all your weak spots, all of your soul.

“Yes, I- oh” And he's not the one to endure your lies. His fingers delve into your scalp, putting traction into your hair ‘til you have to tilt your head back to release the tension, forcing you to look at him through your lashes. Still, eye contact is not what he seeks, for he has as much a chance of getting lost in it as you. He uses the expanse of skin you offer, and dives in for that specific spot that has your legs going limp. It has two consequences: Firstly, you are stuck between him and the table, the latter supporting you too little that the weight rests almost entirely on his body, every plane of him touching yours. Secondly, the angle puts the mirror in the corner of your sight, and you have a maddening view of what’s happening. It is enough to make old ladies screech and faint, and artists to slave to immortalize the scene.  

“You’re a bastard.” You murmur the last bit of objection, solely for the object of throwing it out of the tip of your tongue. He hears, though quite unbothered, the retort to break you further leaves his mouth readily.

“Call me whatever you want, dear, you’re the one begging for it.”

Of course, you only pant in return. Even when he threatens to nip and bite at the sensitive nerves, you don’t stop him. Furthermore, your calf twists around his as much as it is able in that impossible posture. An invitation.

“And what else would you let me do to you? Would you let me take you to your bed?”

You nod, frantically. “Yes, please Obi Wan- take me”

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

The second your feet touch the ground, both of you gather the ends of your dress, yanking it out to throw it haphazardly on the floor. Your stays and chemise follow the same fate, then it is his jacket and shirt. He taps on your thigh, like he would let you walk the five meter distance between there and the bed, you jump, a little shakily (not that you ever had questions about his strength). Fuck, it excites you how easily and softly he lands you on the edge of it. You reach for his trousers, but he stops you and urges for you to scoot back, and lay down.

Because that’s the best way he can rid you of your shoes and stockings.

Your knees stick together as he works on one foot, and the other. The shoes drop with a loud thud, making you bite your lip, close your eyes for a moment and pray nobody investigates. It’s no wonder that after that small break, your pupils meet once more. How ironic that it is the cause of your concern, and the only solution.

You can feel his fingertips skimming the top of the only clothing left on you. While the touch is stimulating enough, it is the fact that you have to spread your legs a little to allow him to undress you, giving him a view of your wet pussy.

Nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t affect the way you tremble.

Throwing your head back, you let him slide the stretchy fabric down. Slowly. Like his piercing gaze isn’t enough. You’re squirming by the end of it, all thoughts of getting him out of his outfit gone (-or delayed, should you still believe yourself.)

Thankfully, he takes care of it, the sounds of his buttons unfastened echo in the room. 

Though he has no rush to join you. 

You turn your face to search for what's taking him so long, a whine in your throat when he kneels. That's unlike him. 

You feel cold without his body looming over yours. And he has a hard time not to do that, not falling for the flush of red and your hard nipples. Especially when you're so gone that you may come undone just from that.

He'd like to see that. 

But he has to make you understand how you keep him in that state, ignorant of his troubles, even as the solution is obvious and wanted by both sides, however the other can't accept it out of simple stubbornness.

Thus, he plays the deaf now, as he grips the supple flesh of your thighs, squeeze and move as he pleases, exposing your core to air while he busies himself with other parts. He claims you with his lips, mapping out, pushing you down to the mattress every time you jolt because he’s so close just a little to the left- But perhaps the worst is his vulgar taunts, whispered, to himself mostly, a way to speak out the anger.

“Are you this wet for all the men you hate?”

“No.” You cry, not able to stand the accusations. “It’s you.”  And it is the truth. There are no other men on the planet that you would bear being treated like this by, or attempt to change their opinion of you. But now, you need him to know that. You can’t imagine a future with his back always turned to you, or be subject to his very much forced small talk with empty, or worse, hatred filled eyes. It is a reveal of a side of you that you had to keep hidden and downplay, to be free at the end of the day, give both of you an opportunity to walk out, but it doesn’t matter if the said fallout leaves his judgment of you sour. You care about his perception, and would do your best to change it should it be mixed with lies. Truth, and nothing less, is what he deserves.

A wave of relief floods his heart, that simple answer is all he wishes to hear. There’s also a bit of rage, for knowing you’d never admit it in any other circumstance. Alas, the smile appearing on his face is unstoppable. Even as he finally begins to eat you out.

A moan leaves your mouth at the first contact, which is nothing more than a small kiss. That bad, uh? As he licks everything he can reach, it turns into a whine, because it is evident he has no concern about making you cum quickly, or in a normal amount of time. He just continues to do whatever he was doing before, exploring every nook and cranny, and marking, like he intends to commit this moment to his memory. It may not have been his first time, (or the second), but he’s doing it for himself now, your desperation sadly not a priority. You also suspect he’s doing it to drive you mad, using his previous experience and remembering how sensitive you got when his beard rubbed against your skin.

“Obi Wan-“ Your back arches, a hand reaching for his hair. He stops it all by jostling your legs with a hold that could leave imprints. It takes half of your willpower to stay in the place he put you in, and that means you only have the other half to process the indescribable pleasure he’s giving. It is gonna be fast, whether he plans it or not.

“Could you actually throw this away? How can you pick anything else over this?” You knew it would be a hard transition. The magic he created is haunting and ready to jump on you in those dark corners, even after many years. There is no cure for ghosts, after all. The thought now seems impossible, the last thing that could cross your mind. Simply impossible. He emphasizes by nudging your clit, every single movement forcing a sound out of you. “That's right. I’m going to remind you how good we are together, make you feel so good that you'll forget anything but us.” 

The passion in his words scares you, but it would be a lie to say they don't excite you in some way, making your heart flutter in your chest at his devotion and to be able to still feel safe only supported by the honest bond you two have. You chant his name as he smothers himself in your folds, sucking and flicking your raw bundle of nerves. He loves to feel you twitch when you are overwhelmed, but not enough to climax. 

Then, he scrapes your clit with his teeth, and you're gushing, head thrown back, a silent scream in your mouth. The hot lava inside you doesn't cool down, paying its visit to every part of you, making stars explode behind your eyes and body trash against the sheets. To be perfectly honest, he didn't expect this much either, his strong muscles tightened to keep you from closing your legs, a string of curses muttered at the obscenity of it all. As always, your bliss only augments his own, especially at the sight of your essence flowing out of you. He has to drink it all in. Thus, he doesn’t stop, unbothered by the subtle sway of your hips, or the slight tug at his strands. He has no objection to them, on the contrary, he would encourage them if he didn't have to abandon his task to say the words. The slow movements of his tongue create constant stimulation in your already delicate nerves. Your second orgasm crashes you like a clap of thunder, leaves you sobbing and shaking. It uses all the energy in your already spent muscles, wipes every argument from your mind and removes those troubling emotions from your soul. The interesting thing, is that you have no oppositions to the matter. Why would there be? Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Isn’t it better than a dream? You speak the truths, and he worships you. You pay him the respect he deserves, and he tries to honor it in every chance. You don't complete his personality, you enhance it, and in return, he uses everything in his power to make your day better. 

It is not that simple, a voice speaks from the back of your head, but it's too silent to have an importance. 

Likewise, some of his ideas are dismayed just as easily. Pity. He had every intention of taking you from behind, not letting you get away before painting your ass red, and watch you crawl back to him still even when he teased you that badly, but you seem too gone, too weak to lift your hips up. And it is not a big deal anymore, because he's equally excited to have you like this, lying on your back, legs hugging his torso. Like your first time. The parallel is unintentional, but more than welcomed. How much and how little has changed since then? He leans in for a kiss, and fuck, your mouth is greets him too purely, like he's not covered in your slick. There's something more than lust that drives you, evident in the way you move, like you’re carving out a promise on his lips. The sounds that you produce are not in desperation, but gratitude, not weary of the periods of suspense but glad that it is over. His fingers travel the length of your abdomen, all blame on him for the coldness of your skin and the way you shiver. When he circles your nipples with his thumb, you sigh, and press yourself to him. 

“You take care of me like no other, Obi Wan.” You whisper as you cup his cheek. You should’ve told him sooner. It was the least you could do. 

He has no answer, and he doesn’t need one. Holding your wrist at the sides of your head angrily and meeting with your tongue is more than enough of an explanation, just like the one you made a little too late, beautiful controversies. You both are unaware of how your hips rub against each other, without hurry, ‘til his cock catches your entrance. Your breathing becomes erratic, considering you didn’t get a prep or had any in some while, and he’s big. 

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?” 

“I need you.” You almost wail, despite knowing it will be too much. It’s not about pleasing him, either, for these things are not given up as sacrifices, ever. What matters is that you’re together, and that is always good. “Please, I want you.”

Could he ever refuse?

He takes his time, relishing the surrender of your tight walls, and brave noises, replied with his own moans. Your pants are guiding as much as they are troubling, making him even harder. He swears he’s about to burst when you outright sob while he brushes your areolas. Your back raises, an attempt to get his fingers a little higher, and your eyelids flutter close with the movement.

Make no mistake, your face scrunched up in delight is a sight to behold, but he can’t compromise having your eyes closed, sparing him from that glossy, burning gaze you have when he tears you apart. He needs to see them lose all coherent thought, see those doubts fly away and light up with pleasure.

“Look at me, dearest.” Right, aren’t you more than acquainted with his most important wish? He pleads, the softest tone that spilled from his lips tonight. Your heart skips a beat although you’re not exactly capable of processing that information. Needless to say, you don’t oblige to his wish, not when you are so spent. 

Obi Wan groans, his hand flying up to turn your chin. At that moment, all fall silent. You get lost in his stormy eyes, and so does he. Though his cock twitches in your quivering channel, that’s not the point.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He blurts. Then, the other truths demand to be told too.  “I don't like the way they look at you. I don't like how they don't know how blessed they are by your presence. Shit, I hate it when they know it too. I hate to think those who got to memorize you this closely, even those you knew before me.” 

Even those you knew before me. “Obi Wan, you're-” 

“Crazy? I'll admit, I am crazy when it comes to you.” 

“I never-” You have to drown a whimper as he continues his deep, slow strokes, “asked for any of it.”

“Of course, dear. I know, I know it's not you, but them. But I can hardly stop myself from reaching out and pulling you out from their sigh. Or wrap my hands around you, let them see what we share. They wouldn't dare anymore, if they knew the lines you left on my back.” It takes an incredible amount of will not to thrust into you faster, with where his ideas lead him to. “Would you let me mark you from the inside?”

Fuck, why does his words make their way into your heart without ringing those alarm bells you have ready at all times? How does he move past them so easily? 

Or do you let him, and take those rings as a cheery tune of his nearing presence, and not a warning as they must be?

“Yes!” The feeling of him finishing anywhere but in you suddenly sounds so disgusting. You want his warmth, even though you're burning already. 

His lips find yours, kissing you so hard that you'd thought he wanted to silence you. But surely, you know better, that's definitely not the case. You get to drink his sweet moans as his hands envelope you further (like it's possible). In return, he's right there to swallow your gasps, the proof of how you push yourself for him. The rest of the world stops, the urge to fill your lungs no longer necessary, nothing but the rhythm you've created, and clouds you've climbed on. 

He senses your peak before you do and gives you a brief space to breathe, praises falling from his lips that you can't hear, as you shake and let out whimpers, quite loud, for you've grown used to him muffling them. He follows suit, not able to resist your walls clamping down on him, painting your insides with a heavenly moan. 

It takes a second for both of your bearings to return, for the night to evolve into a chilly summer night it was simply meant to be. The coldness is especially remarkable as sweat cools down. A towel wipes them rather quickly, but it's never as warm as having the other around. Your usual remedy, a nightgown, is no use either, even if he helps you put it on. It is such a whiplash that makes you question everything about the last hour. You're left with burning cheeks as he collects your clothes from the floor, hanging them on the divider, then his- but he does the same to them?

“What are you doing?” You croak, a minute of silence for your vocal cords. “I don't cuddle.” That's a harsh sentence, but it's the truth.

“And I don't leave the person I love in the middle of the night to freeze.” He's holding a candle, the only lit candle in the room, and his face is illuminated beyond anything else and it could be said that he is the source of light. 

The person I love. His words break down the last resolve you have, and you're left to figure out how you feel about it as he kills the flame, and slides  into the sheets behind you. You'd think the sensation of his chest pressed to your back would keep you wide awake, but no, it's weirdly new yet familiar, enough to lull to sleep. Also, his scent is mesmerizing, and you never had it this close and constant. 

And for him, he had no trouble whatsoever from the start, but this is far better than expected, that he is sure he is living the best moment of his fate. The softness of you, in his arms, drifting into heavy dreams. It is a treasure for him to see that you can relax beside him, allow him to feel the regularity of breaths, showing your most natural self. 

But the morning is anything like the night.

You wake up from the orange lights of the rising sun, when he gently combs your hair out of your face. There's a fatigue in your muscles, alongside that sweet tinge of pleasure still lingering, making it all bearable. Your skin runs hot where he holds you, your back, your waist, your intertwined legs… The slight prickle of his beard is not pronounced when it's rolling on your shoulder, especially as it's followed by small pecks. He's unable to resist, your intoxicating smell pronounced in the cove of your neck, right under his nose. Only when he feels somewhat satisfied, and you seem a little more conscious, the tonus of your body increasing, he talks. 

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

“Good morning, love.” His hand rises to soothe the redness rising where his chin was pressed. Delicate all over. “I’m afraid I must get going, for both of us’ sake.” 

You give an affirming hum, and swiftly roll out. Your body betrays you without delay, a shiver seizing you, protesting the lack of his heat. You shake your shoulders, not so subtly but it's not like you can cringe. It is your band aid, and you're ripping it out. 

You reach for a robe and put it on rather easily for your questionable nerves and state of mind. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, you should really get going, Obi Wan.” Fuck, that sounds still more aggressive than you are, or you ever intended, a mirror of the storms in your mind. 

“What's the matter?” He's awfully quick to put on his trousers and come near you once again. He looks into your eyes, unobscured by your hair, and then there's that look of reveal on his face, the point of no return. He says your name, a final plead and a warning.

“You must leave soon.” This time, you’re a little softer, but it is nowhere near normal, considering what you shared.

“You think last night was a mistake.” He’s never sounded colder, and you have to focus not to bite your lip. The stern expression on his face is unbecoming of him, but it’s also a great reflection of his fidelity. Now, the other side of the coin shows itself, with his icy eyes and clenched jaw.

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.” 

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail. 

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?” 

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads. 

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

[cupofteaguk]

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!” 

[reachfolk]

❥ prompt: gift (for TES Cheer)

✿ tags: fluff, gen: ophelia & lucien, they're both awkward as hell

❥ word count: 770

✿ summary: lucien is beginning to grow on ophelia. she doesn't always understand how to get her point across, but she's trying her damndest.

❥ author's notes: i haven't had much time to write for this event, and this is like suuuper late but i forgot to post it earlier lol. anyway, enjoy these two idiots being awkward as hell and not knowing how to communicate

✿ taglist: @korvanjund

"Here. For you."

Lucien looked up from the book he was reading to see Ophelia holding out to him a piece of… colored bone?

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said it's for you," she said simply, her whole body tilted away from him as she refused to eye contact.

"Have you asked if Alexandria misplaced it? It's not mine."

The statement seemed to anger her, as she huffed and turned to look at him. "Look, do you want it or not? Because I certainly have no use for it."

Lucien, by this point, was more than used to getting on Ophelia's nerves with every word, but this time the interaction was entirely initiated by her. "What is happening right now?" He muttered to himself.

"It's a gift! Now will you take it, or am I to assume my efforts to make peace with you were wasted?"

"I… wait, what?" He wasn't sure where to start with his confusion. He was always under the impression that she hated him, and the delivery of this so-called gift would go under the long list of evidence for it all the same. "Did Alexandria tell you to do this?"

"No! Just—Ugh, forget it. I'll give it to Esme," she once again turned from him, holding the thing close to her chest. Her head was lowered, and it didn't escape his notice the way her lips pouted as she was about to walk off.

She was embarrassed, he realized with a start.

"Wait, wait!" He grabbed her arm, pulling her back. She shot him a glare, but not one filled with the usual suspicion and hostility. She seemed almost… flustered. Regardless, the intensity in her eyes startled him into quickly pulling his hand back.

"Of course I accept your gift," he said. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Can I see it?"

Her angered expression subsided, but there was still a little pout on her lips as she held it up.

As he would expect from her, it was a piece of carved bone, shaped into an elongated oval. There was a hole at the top with a string threaded through, affixing to it three hagraven feathers, no doubt from Helle. Most notably, however, was the pale green coloring.

"It's a bookmark," Ophelia explained. "I carved it from the bones of that elk we hunted two nights ago."

"Is it… glowing?"

"Only faintly," she said. "I soaked it in taproot essence to infuse it with the magicka-enhancing properties."

It was certainly working; he could feel his focus sharpening after the long day as his magicka returned to him. He took the bookmark gently, running his fingers along the grooves of the bone. It was strong and sturdy, but he found himself handling it like a piece of delicate glass.

"Thank you. It's—" he chose his words carefully, knowing how often they have been misinterpreted by the hotheaded Reachwoman—"a fine piece of handiwork."

"Yes, well," she began as she loosely braided a strand of her hair. "I recall you mentioning that your bookmark collection was lost in Helgen. And you've been dog earring your pages, and I can see you die a little on the inside every time. So…" Her words trailed off as she gestured vaguely.

"It's a thoughtful gift," he said, a genuine fondness in his tone. "I appreciate it."

Her eyes widened at the sudden praise, but she gave him a small, proud smile. "I'm glad."

"I’m afraid I haven't gotten you a gift. This was quite a surprise," he said, feeling a slight tinge of guilt.

"Will you use it?" She asked simply.

"Of course."

"Then your gratitude is all I need." Then she smiled at him, and he found himself very conscious of the fact that this was the first time she did so. At least, the first time she did it without a mocking edge to it.

He returned her smile with the same sincerity, basking in the comfort he'd never felt with her before.

Without much else to say, she awkwardly gave him a weak punch to the arm. "I'll, uh… leave you to it, then."

"Right," Lucien said, just as awkwardly, unsure how to end the conversation. "I appreciate it."

"You don't have to keep saying it," Ophelia said, an amused lilt to her tone.

"Right," Lucien gave a sheepish laugh. "Until next time."

In lieu of a goodbye, she bowed her head and turned back to her tent in the camp, leaving Lucien to his business. The smile never left his face as he leaned back in his seat, admiring the gift in his hands.

[nottonyharrison]

Rexsoka Week Round-Up

Here it is, a round up with some straightforward bullet points. I managed to put out fics for every day this week, and art for four of them which I am extremely proud of! My first time ever doing work for every day during an event whoooo!

Everything from this week was Rebels themed, because there’s nowhere near enough Rebels era Rexsoka out there, and that’s specifically the point in the canon timeline where my heart breaks for them the most.

Congrats to everyone who made content for this week! You are all amazing, and it’s been such a joy to see so much Rexsoka content. Thanks also to anyone who’s interacted with these. Every one of you is appreciated 💙

Gravitational Potential Energy | M For day 1: Boredom/Hurry up and wait

Everyone’s favourite, UST

That very specific form of exhibitionism where you’re trying to get someone’s attention while working out

Rex’s beard is hot no write-ins

Fifteen Hundred by Fifteen Hundred | E For day 2: Some like it hot(t)

Friends with benefits with big stupid feelings

Remember team, if you’re gonna do it in a shower make sure you have something to grab on to

[No Art] The Twits | T For day 3: Bitter, not so sweet

They’re idiots, your honour

Besany Wennen is hot and will steal your girl (and Ordo can share too, I guess)

Fuck Kal Skirata, he dead

[No Art] Scratchy Blanket | T For day 4: It happened once in a dream/AU day

Rex dies you’ve been warned

Existential horror mixed with a bunch of force visions is a great way to realise you fucked up

Dead Dove: Do not eat

Playthings | E For day 5: Show me your dark side

Rex is a sub and finally admits it.

Ahsoka’s unconvinced

Pegging with a Side of Power Play™

Seriously read the tags my kinks are showing

Convoluted and Ridiculous | M For day 6: Truth or dare

Repcomm adjacent

Rex in Lingerie, you’re welcome

Apparently I wrote comedy as an apology for Scratchy Blanket

[No Art] Made You Look | E For day 7: FUBAR

Look away Cody, you horndog

When you’re desperate to escape the empire you’ll sometimes push things a bit too far

Only a bit of semi-consensual voyeurism

Pre-OT3 because I had to chuck a bit of that in this week who the heck do you think I am?

(Full uncropped versions of all art are available on Patreon to my $3 and up supporters)

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Accidental Feminist Icon

Between my own headcanon Barba becomes a very niche viral celebrity for being a mix of feminist icon giving one liners on the news and handsome/well dressed and the DJ Khaled post, this happened. 

“Counsellor, are you listening?” Olivia asked as Rafael Barba looked at his phone again. It had been months now since he started trying Manhattan SVU’s cases, and she hadn’t seen him this distracted before. 

“I just- why do I have rapid fire Twitter notifications? Over one hundred and fifty?”

“You have Twitter?” He rolled his eyes, not proud of the admission. But he liked to follow politics and music and satire. His colleagues would have discourse on legal proceedings and theory. But when he opened his notifications, the sea of professional headshots making up the icons in his notifications window were replaced by cartoon avatars and selfies. Handles like @Bradley_GreedADA were replaced with @feministkilljxy. 

What was happening?

Why were there GIFs of him now?

“Rafael?” He was snapped back to attention by Olivia’s hand passing over his phone screen, and he shook his head, holding the screen out to her. “What am I looking at?”

“Why have a couple hundred- are these all teenagers?”

“Are they following you? Or tagging you?”

“Both?” He scrolled through the mentions.

“Both.” A questioning look.

“Have I gone viral?” he asked herr, eyes wide and his tone disgusted. Twitter was where he posted law books, nice dinners out, homemade dinners in, and the nicer scotch he drank. Sometimes even pictures of himself; some of his friends enjoyed fashion as well, and their twitters all had a heavy thread of their suspenders and ties. Suddenly, he was having photos he’d posted to flaunt his ability to mix patterns retweeted in appreciation of something more than the color scheme.

“I think you have. What have you said now?”

“The girl whose tweet I keep getting tagged in mentioned Jocelyn Paley and the Adam Caine case.”

“That was seven months ago.”

“I’m very aware. I have to get to the office. I’ll get you that warrant.”

He continued to scroll as he walked, alarmed by the number of followers he was gaining and going to open a direct message from a friend to see a wall of messages from names he didn’t know. Once he was able to find Bradley’s message, he saw it was series of tweets with videos and GIFs of him on the courthouse steps. They were all from the same case, he assumed the Adam Caine case. He clicked the video of he and Rita Calhoun.

All I can say, today's Grand Jury indictment is the first step towards achieving justice for Jocelyn Paley. 

The DA's office is desperately trying to distract from their recent scandal with a high-profile case. 

Don't give me that--whether you're a john in the South Bronx or a $3-million-a-year talk show host, no means no. 

 He could remember the exchange now, and it had apparently been retweeted thousands of times. Cameras always made him determined to distract, determined to drive home a point. And now, he was seeing some group of teenagers had clung on to his words, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming recognized enough by that demographic to warrant this rapidly increasing follower count. 

“Carmen, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr. Barba. Need coffee?”

“No,” he said plainly, shaking his head and showing her his feed. “Is this normal?”

“They found you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you seen the posts?”

“I don’t branch out on Twitter often.”

“I see it mostly, like, on Instagram with captions and people post clips of you on vine.”

“What’s vine?”

“A six second video app. Teenagers and young women post you. Vine is normally comedy. But people are obsessed with you. Niche, but sizable number. I think it’s mostly New York girls who see you on the news. But that means the vines went viral a couple months ago.”

“So now they’re all following me on Twitter?”

“You’re viral for being attractive, dressing well, and prosecuting rapists. Embrace it.”

“I can’t post my clothes anymore.”

“Just continue like usual. Don’t respond to DMs.”

He spent a few weeks terrified of this new following, but after three days, things calmed down. The number of followers he gained was weird and confusing to him, and he decided to listen to Carmen ultimately, keeping the profile the same and pretending nothing had happened. She did stop him one day, showing him that there had been people making fake accounts, yet another thing that was insane to him. She primarily told him because these accounts were attempting to take advantage of the fact young girls were the ones following him. He awkwardly slid the handles to Olivia, and Carmen filled out an application for Twitter verification that left him mortified. Even worse, it was approved. 

He was swept away in a case soon enough. Lindsay was assaulted by a whole fraternity at Hudson. They uncovered a previous victim in a hospital, a fraternity known for being a rape factory, and a dean helping create a culture that buried these attacks. It was becoming higher profile than he expected, and it wasn’t easy to try. He’d had to shut off his notifications on his phone during these cases. When Lindsay committed suicide, he accompanied Rollins when she went to arrest the dean. What he didn’t expect was for two of the women they saw to approach him, asking if they were here about Lindsay and thanking them when he said he couldn’t mention it. Then they asked for a selfie. Rafael was mortified but obliged. 

“We recognize you from Twitter.”

Well, now he knew he needn’t accompany the squad out anymore.

When he got tweets from the kind of scum that supported the fraternity, it took a concerted effort not to respond. That could jeopardized the case. He’d already had to tell the two girls they couldn’t post about him being there. He tweeted a disclaimer for if people saw him out, feeling like an asshole. Twitter was now becoming a liability, but he could balance it and refused to give up the feed. Slowly, the GIFs and stills of him on the news were collected, and he only got embarrassed again when mami’s students had discovered him and realized he was the guy in their principal’s pictures. Now Mami had a Twitter, and she followed people who praised him joyfully, though he’d managed to convince her not to interact in private messages or respond to people insulting him. 

The Jenna Miller case caused another leap in his follower count, and he had developed a little sense of pride instead of embarrassment when his followers jumped from people who mattered in New York to people who mattered elsewhere. A congresswoman from Ohio. Artists. Activists. He’d texted Olivia when Lady Gaga followed him. Plus that woman from True Blood. God, she was beautiful. Plus the hot boybander that had probably made him realize he was bisexual. It was weird, and he was unwilling to publicly acknowledge any of it. Unless they were on twitter, he certainly didn’t tell anyone he knew other than Olivia. Soon enough, someone had made a t-shirt on Etsy of the moment he’d turned on his heel. The media had called after Jenna, the olympian, and he’d told them no questions. Then the had the gall to bring up her sex work. He’d stopped on the steps, turning on his heel and announcing “Except for that one. Paid or not paid, no means no. Consent can be revoked at any time.” And now, Etsy users were profiting on it. This group was niche, but it ran deep. Luckily, he noticed the shop only had a few dozen sales.

Everything was fine until Rafael Barba lost his ability to maintain his composure. Up until now, he’d monitored his name, mentions, and a few hashtags people used with him. It was usually just the GIFs and stills and soundbites. He participated in some banter after the first couple of years, boundaries firm enough he felt he could. But he still didn’t bicker. Carmen said he got a following for being a good guy, and he thought it was gross openly condemning rape seemed to be all it took to be a good guy. But then through his lurking, Rafael Barba saw a tweet about DJ Khaled. He’d had to google who the hell that was, unsure who all of Twitter was piling onto, but he found the tweet objectionable enough to respond.

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said, eyes sparkling with amusement as she came in to see her boss still scrolling through his phone. “You really decided this is the time to get involved on Twitter? You only ever respond to what people say to your stuff or your friends.”

He should’ve known she’d be on top of it. He’d given her access when notifications went through the roof the second time, and Carmen helped filter through DMs he didn’t want to see. But now, that meant her phone was vibrating like his in response to his first tweet in response to a stranger or someone who wasn’t in a thread under his own post.

“What? I’m supposed to endorse consent but not enjoyment?”

“You’re going to end up in a Buzzfeed article, sir.”

“If this is my legacy, so be it.”

“Your legacy? Taking it seriously now?”

“This is serious.”

Carmen’s phone buzzed in her hand, and she knew he’d sent another tweet. Her own account got notifications so she could monitor him. She sighed heavily, unlocking the phone and looking at it. 

“Mr. Barba, does your mom know you’re bi?”

“No, why?”

“She follows you, idiot.”

“Shit. Well, I suppose it’s time.”

“If you tweet Smash Mouth, I’m quitting. These kids are already thirst tweeting you. They must have tweet notifications on for you.”

“Who’s Smash Mouth?”

“How the hell are you culturally relevant?”

“According to Liv, I’m a feminist icon.”

“Don’t get arrogant sir. I help run this twitter.”

“I’ll change the password. I do all the posting.”

“I won’t tell you if Evan Rachel Wood slides in your DMs.”

“Why would I care?”

“I know why you watched True Blood.”

“Touche.” He paused. “Do you think she will?”

“Give me the phone. I’ll bring it when Liv calls.”

“Why would she call?”

“She made a Twitter, sir. Followed you last week.”

“Shit,” he said, eyes wide. “I posted pictures of my food. She saw me acting like a Twitter guy.”

“You are a Twitter guy.”

He rolled his eyes, ending with a retweet of his new favorite addition to the conversation. 

@mia-liz @chasingeverybreakingwave @thegirlwiththemaleficient-tattoo​ @teachingpanda​

[ask-the-riders]

Forging A Bond

Welp,, I wrote this a little while ago, but thanks to my ADD, I kept getting distracted and forgetting to do anything with it ^^"

In summary, Retribution had caught the attention of a stranger, who in turn had decided to follow him for a bit. He tries to ignore them, but inevitably, they wind up making their presence known and introducing themselves, completely catching him by surprise

Retribution let out a soft breath, keeping his gaze forward as he walked. He'd been able to sense the feelings of a second person for a while now. Although he found it odd, he detected no malicious intent, so he attempted to ignore them. Dried, dead leaves crunched under his boots as he kept walking, fighting the urge to glance back over his shoulder. Reaching his destination, he lowered himself onto one knee, delicately placing a small bouquet of flowers in front of a headstone. The rider remained silent, part of his cloak fluttering in the breeze as he reached out to gingerly trace his fingers over the name on the stone. Remembering the human who was buried there, he frowned, furrowing his brow bones and murmuring, "If only I could've been there for you in your final moments..." 

He could sense the approaching soul behind him, already aware that it belonged to the person who'd followed him here. Not even remotely surprised as they called out to him, "Well, it looks like someone beat me here." At the unfamiliar voice, he arched a brow bone, "I'm afraid so. What business do you have here?" They hummed, drawing nearer, "I'm merely paying my respects to the fallen children here. And you?" Retribution stood, straightening his clothes, "I'm also paying my respects... I lost a dear friend quite a while ago, so I'm visiting her grave, specifically." The stranger gave off a pulse of sympathy and made a sound in understanding, "Ah. I'm sorry for your loss... I can't imagine the way you must feel." 

Ret watched curiously as a figure passed by him, moving to the next row of graves. Despite the long coat they wore and the hood hiding their face, he immediately noticed the simple, yet elegant gown they were wearing, along with bones as white as fresh snow. With their back to him, he watched them curiously, silent for a moment before speaking again, "So... Any particular reason why you followed me here?" The stranger momentarily tensed up, "...I should've known that you would've caught on. You are a version of Nightmare, so it's in your nature to be incredibly observant." Retribution stiffened at hearing his old name, his brow bones furrowing, "Ok, who are you, and why were you following me?" The figure let out a deep sigh, pushing their hood back off of their head to reveal a simple crown that sat atop their skull. Turning to face Retribution, they proceeded to unbutton their coat, pulling part of it aside to reveal a family crest stitched into the fabric over their chest. 

The rider's sockets widened as he recognized it, and blatantly ignoring his scowl, the figure before him gave a small curtsey, her violet and grey eye lights meeting his cyan ones, "I apologize for the delayed introduction. I am Nyx, daughter of Nightmare, and the current queen of the kingdom of Regoria." Retribution stared at her for a moment in silence as he tried to process the situation; His original counterpart was a father, huh?... Would that mean that, in a way, he was a father, too? As if Nyx could tell what he was thinking, she hummed, "Yes, it's true. The 'walking tar pit,' as some call him, has children. There's myself, and I have a brother, as well." 

He blinked in surprise; It wasn't just the one kid, it was two now? Who in their right mind would willingly sleep with his counterpart?? Twice, at that.

Ret cleared his throat, "That's... Interesting. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to learn anything like this today. That still doesn't explain why you were following me though, your Highness." Nyx rolled her eye lights and couldn't help but smile slightly, "At ease, Retribution. I wasn't following you with the intention of causing you any problems or harm. I was curious about you and wondered what you were doing here, that's all." The rider made a face, still at a loss, "I'd like to ask how you know my name, but I feel like I should be more concerned about why you were curious about me." The princess laughed softly, "I can't blame you for being wary of me, but I'm serious. I don't mean you any harm, and I'm here of my own accord. My curiosity stems from the things I've read about you in my father's journal." 

He narrowed his eyes a bit in suspicion, "Oh, really? What kinds of things has he written about me?" Nyx shrugged her shoulders, remaining completely at ease, "It's nothing incriminating, don't worry. He seems to be logging the differences between the two of you and jotting down notes about your interactions, for the most part. I can see some of the obvious differences between you already, but I'm intrigued. I'd like to observe with my own eyes." The rider arched a brow bone, "Tell me what differences you think you see." The princess made her way over to a bench and sat down, tilting her head as she looked at him, "Well, there's the obvious lack of tentacles and goop. Your eyes are cyan by default while his are violet, and you appear ever so slightly shorter than him." 

He made a sound in acknowledgment, beginning to approach her. As he stopped in front of the bench and clasped his hands behind his back, she smiled again, amusement bleeding into her tone, "While you appear quite different from him physically, you're also very similar, at the same time." Retribution scoffed, "You must be joking. I'm nothing like him, and that's a fact." Nyx leaned back on her hands, "I'm not. The way you hold yourself and that stance you're in are quite familiar. I've seen them countless times from my father. I'm getting the impression that you're stubborn and full of denial, as well." Ret was briefly taken aback, glancing away from her. Reading him with ease, she straightened, lightly patting the seat beside her, "Come, sit with me. My schedule for today is clear and I'm available to talk as long as you want, if you'd be open to it. I know that by default, you probably don't give others your trust very easily, and I understand. I would like to learn more about you, and in turn, I believe I can provide you with answers for whatever questions are floating around in that head of yours." 

Retribution hesitated a few seconds before letting out a deep sigh, moving to sit beside her. Nyx's brow bones furrowed as she looked at him, slowly lifting a hand and beginning to reach for his face. She stopped just short of actually touching him, clearing her throat, "May I?" The rider stared at her hand, considering the options; He could either allow it, with the worst case scenario being an attack, or he could tell her no, and the worst case scenario would again, be an attack. 

He weighed the pros and cons, and with a sigh, he gave a small nod, "Go ahead." The princess offered him a tiny smile, delicately tracing her fingertips over the faint hints of cracks that framed one of his sockets. She leaned a bit closer, her eyes squinting as she took in the way the cracks had healed. They were smooth and so light that she probably wouldn't have even seen them if he wasn't so close to her. Tilting her head, her brow bones furrowed as she murmured, "You were hurt, quite some time ago... I can see the cracks, and they look like they've healed pretty well." He glanced away from her, beginning to sense the concern and sympathy she felt, "They have, and I'm glad they healed this way, honestly. It's better than them healing wrong and leaving me looking like some freakshow." 

Nyx withdrew her hands after a few more seconds had passed, watching him curiously; If he was anything like her father when it came to the way he dealt with his emotions, she'd be able to read him like a book. Right now, he was trying to maintain his proud, stubborn front, but in the way he avoided her gaze, his discomfort was as clear as day. Whether it was anxiety, him being secretive, or a lack of self esteem, she wasn't sure, but at the very least, she could tell that it had nothing to do with him being deceitful. She offered him a slight smile, breaking the formality in an effort to provide some reassurance, "Nah, I don't think you'd look like a freakshow. You might look pretty badass with some cracks and scars, actually." 

He arched a brow bone, glancing at her and clearing his throat, his tone holding a very faint hint of amusement, "I appreciate the thought. Though, I'm surprised your father lets you talk that way." Nyx couldn't help but smile slightly again, lightly nudging him with her shoulder, "Are you talking about the cursing, or the fact that I gave a compliment?" The rider hummed, "Both." She laughed softly, the sound catching Ret off guard. He watched her, blinking as he noticed the softness of her features; She definitely looked like a princess, and she spoke like one too, for the most part. As his eye lights caught sight of the bandages wrapped around her hands and the barely visible scratches and scuff marks that decorated her arms, he began to wonder if she also behaved as such.

He was pulled from his thoughts as she let out a sigh in contentment, "Compliments, I could see your reasoning for. After all, he doesn't seem like the type that'd give any form of praise, does he? The cursing, however... He's not a fan of it, but he doesn't complain unless it becomes excessive. I wonder, do you have any children that you allow to curse?" Retribution's mind briefly wandered, settling on a memory of Pestilence and Abrael playing with dirt, and he shook his head, "I have no children of my own. The closest I've got would be my nephew and my idiot friends." The princess blinked, appearing momentarily surprised, "Oh, I see. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I assumed that you must have at least one child by now." He tilted his head, "Nope. Just because your father and I share a similar origin story and are, in a sense, the same person, I'm afraid we live two completely different lives. He's got you and your brother, a league of bad guys that he's assembled, and he's still pretty focused on killing Dream, last time I checked. Meanwhile, I work in a team with other monsters, though not as their leader. I have no children, and instead of a brother, I have a sister." 

Nyx's eyes widened the smallest bit in surprise and she mirrored him, tilting her head as well, "You're not the leader of your team, you have no children, and your Dream is a girl?" Well aware of her surprise and increasing interest, he made a sound in confirmation, "That's correct. The only thing with my Dream is that she doesn't go by that name anymore. Rather than that, her name is Conquest." The princess seemed to perk up, "Oh! I think I know her, actually!" Retribution's brow bones furrowed and a look of confusion crossed his face, "How so?" She straightened her back, her posturing becoming proud, "She knows me as Lady Night, and is a follower of mine. I give her odd jobs every so often, but her primary task is to protect the children who have no one else they can count on, who makes them feel safe and loved. Between the work she does for Death and the work she does for me, she's being paid quite the pretty penny." 

The rider stared at her in disbelief, and at his expression, she did her best not to giggle. He was silent for a few seconds before speaking again, "...You're being serious right now?" She nodded, "Of course I am." Retribution let out a long, low whistle, "Well color me shocked. You're still so young, but you already rule a kingdom and have your own little following that, based on what Conquest's told me, seems like it's bordering on you being viewed as some ethereal, otherworldly being. I bet your father's proud of you for achieving so much." Nyx shrugged her shoulders, smiling slightly, "I believe he is, yes... He's just not very good at expressing it, some days. He doesn't quite understand the concept of protecting others without any form of personal gain. To him, I'd be better off at the castle, helping him plot my uncle's murder."

Ret took a moment to debate what he should say next, his brow bones knit. Deciding to wing it and hope for the best, he hummed, "Ah, I see... He and I are technically the same person, even though we're very different. I'm not sure if it would mean anything to you, but if he's having a hard time expressing how proud he is of you, then I'll do it for him." The princess's eyes widened slightly, and she remained quiet as he pressed on, "The multiverse works in the strangest of ways, so I'm honestly not sure if you'd count as my child or not. Regardless of that, I have no shame in admitting that I'm proud of you for all that you've done, and I think you're doing what's right. Your choices might not always make sense to him, but at the very least, they make sense to me." 

The princess stared at him in surprise, taking a moment to collect herself as her cheekbones flushed violet and she glanced away, "...I officially met you for the first time, not even a full hour ago, and you're already giving me some version of the 'if you were my child' speech?" Retribution's cheekbones also became flushed and he shifted awkwardly, also glancing away from her, "If that's how you'd like to look at it, I guess. Forgive me for being so straightforward, Nyx. I'm not normally like this, and I genuinely have no idea what my problem is right now." She let out a soft sigh, "It's alright. I'm not normally like this either. I think I might have a theory though, as to what the reason for this sudden, out of character attitude change is." 

He tilted his head, "What do you think it could be?" The princess lifted a hand, resting it over her sternum, "Maybe it's a bit of a leap, but it's possible that it has something to do with our souls. If yours is similar enough to my father's, then it could be attempting to forge a connection of some sort with mine." The rider made a face, considering it for a moment - she was right, it was a pretty big thing to assume - but at the same time, it also made sense, in a way. Fighting the urge to hide in his cloak, he spoke again, his voice a bit softer than it'd previously been, "I suppose that makes sense... Have you seen your father's soul before, Nyx?" She gave a slow nod, glancing up to sheepishly meet his gaze, "Yes, I have... It's been a while, but when I was a child, I used to have these awful nightmares. He'd calm me down by holding me in his arms and materializing his soul, while his tentacles kind of acted like a shield."

Retribution listened quietly and offered no complaint as she continued speaking, a small smile on her face as she recalled the instances when her father had used his soul to comfort her, "I remember it being warm, and how he sounded when he either told me a story or began to hum this one song, in an effort to calm me down... His soul's corrupted by excess negativity, and it has been for a while, but there were these thin slivers of it that weren't concealed by the goop, and the prettiest purple light would shine through. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to cast a glow across my room, and it made me feel safe, somehow." Although he was having a hard time picturing his counterpart ever being that soft with anyone, he chose not to voice his thoughts; The look on Nyx's face was peaceful and happy, and he decided that he preferred it over one that was upset and insulted.

His cheekbones dusted a slightly brighter shade of cyan and he looked away from her, allowing his soul to materialize and float just outside his chest, "Was it anything like this?" Her eye lights locked on his soul and her violet blush became a tiny bit brighter as well. Taking in the apple shaped soul before her that was only partially coated by corruption, she couldn't help but stare, marveling at it's soft purple luminescence as she breathed out, "Yes... It's nearly identical. The only difference is that yours isn't as corrupted, and therefore it shines a little brighter." He made a sound in understanding, pushing his soul back into his chest, "I see... I won't ask to see your soul because I know how personal that can be, but I'm curious. Is yours at all similar to mine and his?" 

She shrugged her shoulders, refusing to look at him as her own soul began to materialize. Ret watched as it took on a similar shape, but arched a brow bone in confusion as it became a vibrant orange, small yellow speckles dotted across its surface. Before he had the chance to ask about the color, she spoke, "...It's weird, I know. I'm a monster, but I have human soul traits. You can thank my mother for that one." The rider blinked in confusion, tilting his head, "Your mother's a human? What about that brother you mentioned?" Nyx made a face, "She was, yes... For whatever reason though, she was murdered when my brother, Kazimir, and I were still babies. Kazimir himself is also a monster, but he has a human soul trait, as well. Mine was originally just bravery, but it developed the justice trait after a while because of my line of work, and Kazimir has the integrity trait. It's possible that he could've developed a secondary one like me, but I haven't asked about it." 

He watched Nyx push her soul back into her chest and sighed, offering her a small, reassuring smile, "Well that's pretty neat. I didn't think it was weird either, by the way. It wasn't what I was expecting, but there's nothing wrong with the way it is. If you ask me, I think it suits you." Nyx nearly gaped at him and he rolled his eye lights in amusement; Never in a million years did he think that this was what he'd be doing today. He didn't know that his counterpart had children, and he would've never guessed that he'd get to meet either of them, much less have such an oddly pleasant conversation. He didn't think he'd ever allow anyone other than Famine and Conquest to see his soul, and while he did realize the risks that came with doing such a thing, he didn't feel that Nyx was a threat. 

Nyx, despite being his miscreant counterpart's daughter, felt familiar, somehow. It was like he'd met her somewhere before, and even stranger yet, it felt like it would be safe to trust her. There was an odd warmth in his chest that he had mixed feelings about, and he was struggling to fully grasp what it meant. On one hand, it reminded him of the warmth he felt when he was with his partner, but on the other, it also reminded him of the warmth he felt when he spent time with his nephew, as well. He'd literally met Nyx maybe an hour or so ago, but his soul seemed to be making an attempt to form a bond with hers already, and he bit back a scoff at how ridiculous this entire situation was becoming. 

It was strange and downright unnatural, but he didn't feel the need to complain very much. Nyx looked completely content, and as long as she wasn't attacking him, then he supposed that was what mattered most.

[mrpenguinpants]

KAEYA PLAYING WITH ABYSS MAGES AHDHSHDHSB IM- that’s so cute????? Guizhong being older than Zhongli is such a valid hc, I fully support and condone it. Thank you. And Childe growing to like battle was something I found interesting because he was once mentioned to be fragile and weak in his character stories iirc? I like to think that maybe the initial reason he persevered was to overcome that past status.

Also, YES. They’d have the worst habits, and it would eventually become more visible the more comfortable it becomes, but Keqing just gives up on trying to change anything because it’s literally hopeless.

I also headcanon that they have different ways to show appreciation for Keqing. E.g. Childe sometimes uses one of his cringy ass Russian nicknames and when she looks up the meaning, she turns from the most straight-faced woman known to man to a highkey affection-starved queen self-destructing in her room.

Diluc leaves a note on her desk that are simple “Sleep early today. Tomorrow is your day-off.” or “Don’t over work yourself.” messages. He’s so self-conscious about it because like, what if Kaeya catches him up at night contemplating whatever reaction he’ll get. Ends up feeling so accomplished whenever his messages bring a smile to her face.

Kaeya, I feel, would be more open in a sense? Keqing is the last person he thinks he’s be able to deceive, and so he chooses not to. He’s probably one who enjoys deep conversations about literally anything be it mosaic artwork or changes in between modern and archaic politics. A good listener and a fine conversation partner, I feel they’d certainly have interesting conversations.

Zhongli lowkey seizing every opportunity to bring up Rex Lapis and his sense of humor is lowkey degrading Morax for his past mistakes. He’s like “Oh, I thought you hated him. I hate him too” and proceeds to laugh at the fact that the oh-so legendary Geo archon bore a hole in his hoodie for his hair. FOR HIS HAIRS. Keqing is losing her sanity trying not to expose herself as a closeted fan.

The anon lists’ name is super cute btw! Makes me feel pretty blessed for being there haha. I just finished midterms and goodness, I am exhausted. We’re having a short break so I think I can send asks much faster during the brief moment of rest. And pls drink responsibly 🙏

Sincerely, Keqing harem brainrot anon

I lowkey plucked Kaeya playing with mobs and shoved it into the royalty au because god damn, that’s fucking cute. I’m so behind on my asks;; but it’s okay cause we’re here now. I don’t know, Guizhong being that older sister/mother/whatever figure is so heartwarming to me. I think you’re right? I vaguely remember him saying he was pretty fragile but I have the memory of a goldfish haha. Lowkey, this is why I really want the part 2 and 3 of character story quests to go more in depth with their actual character stories. I want to see Childe talk about his feelings and meet his siblings, I want to hear more about Guizhong, I want to hear about the crippling loneliness and depression that Bennett and Barbara have (NO I WILL NOT SHUT UP ABOUT THIS PART. WHY THE FUCK IS GENSHIN NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS? I KNOW ITS FUN AND GAMES BUT LET ME CARE ABOUT THEM. 1.4 has these hangout events and istg, bennett and barabara have one and if we don’t talk about our feelings I’m going to cry). 

oml their bad habits, Zhongli and his extensive collection of plants because that’s the most social interaction he gets (yes, zhongli is a planter. no i do not take criticism tyvm) and it starts off with a couple plants. Not too bad. Then the next day Keqing walks and it looks like their entire home turned into a forest. But Zhongli loves his plant children and Keqing is slowly losing her mind and starts referring to the plants with the nicknames Zhongli gave them. 

This. This is cute. These appreciation ideas. I fully approve and we need to bring them back. I don’t know anything about Russian but I have a friend that does. But I don’t know how to casually say “hey, can you give me Russian nicknames of endearment. It’s for research.”. Keqing radiates professional in the front, social anxiety in the back. I just love that they added the detail that she’s secretly a Rex Lapis fan but pretends that she hates him. I know there is art of Zhongli lowkey being creeped out or vv smug when he find’s Keqings stash but idk, imagining him being a proud dad and giving headpats even though Keqing is an adult. 

Okay. Let me level with you. Sticky notes of reassuring phrases are the best and why the fuck aren’t people doing it more. I’ve been reading “my mom left a note on the table” or “my partner puts sticky notes in my textbooks as a pick me up” for CENTURIES but am I seeing it in real life? Fuck no. Please, if someone does this for you. Keep them, never let them go. I can imagine Diluc writing these messages, feeling confident when he writes them and ready to be a supportive person. The next day he’s looking at these notes and thinking “what the fuck did I just write, this is garbage” (totally not how I feel about my writing). Then he proceeds to throw them in some cabinet but since Kaeya doesn’t know the first thing about personal boundaries he goes snooping around in Diluc’s room, discovers the notes, and he ends up taking them and putting them on Keqing’s things. It makes her happy so Diluc is going to ignore the very pressing issue with whether or not he should commit manslaughter. 

You know, that’s very valid. That’s how I feel about Kaeya’s relationship with Lisa or Albedo. People that don’t get riled up or annoyed by his antics the same way Amber is. I feel like if you’re looking for small talk, he’s not a bad choice, but if you want those deep 3am conversations he’s definitely the person to go to. Zhongli isn’t a bad choice either but Zhongli tends to go into historical and philosophical moments (which isn’t bad) but you want to have someone relate to you or it feels like an actual conversation and not a history lesson then he’s actually perfect. Especially more controversial topics, I feel like Kaeya would probably have very different opinions from the norm. 

YES. YES. YES I’m replying to these as I read them but YES. Honestly, I get it. Zhongli is a super polite and respectable person. But. But. Have you seen how he clowned on Childe?? That entire interaction?? He didn’t even look the slightest big apologetic for almost destroying Liyue and using the man who was going to kill him to pay for his funeral. What a power move?? And you’re telling me you don’t see him being a smug prick. I love Zhongli’s story quest where everyone is saying “oh the first mora was treasured or it holds mythical powers” and Zhongli is looking at them as if they’re idiots. 

tyty (❤´艸｀❤) I’m blessed to have you here. Oh, I hope you did well on your midterms tho and be sure to rest. I am a bit late to replying to this so hopefully I caught you before your break was over.

Always lovely hearing from you,

Pengu

[arigatouiris]

an inconvenient crush // kozume kenma x reader (2/2)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the support! I really appreciate people coming in and telling me you liked my story! Makes me feel so loved and valid, I can’t even begin to tell you how special it makes me feel. Here’s the final part! Do let me know what you think! Thank you so much :”)

Word count: 4k+

Pairing: YouTuber! Kenma Kozume x Streamer! Reader

Summary: YouTuber Kozume Kenma has had the biggest crush on Twitch Streamer, (s/n) (y/n), who in actuality simps heavily after Kenma’s secret YouTube persona, puddinghead0.

What happens when their paths cross?

Kuroo is honestly tired of Kenma’s second-guessing, and (y/n) is a bit of a crackhead.

Warnings: unrequited love, one-sided crush, slight angst, pining, crackhead reader, internet bullying, slang, gaming references, haikyuu manga spoilers, fluff

C h a p t e r T w o: kozume in love

Kenma chuckled when he heard you scream over the controller. The both of you were currently fighting a boss named Martyr Logarius, and while you had beaten the game once, playing it in Newgame+ was extra hard. Kenma was certainly helping, but you had made a silly mistake and died for the fourth time in a row.

    "You're dodging too early," Kenma said, still chuckling, "But it is entertaining to see you dodge in such panic."

    "Shut up," You groaned over the microphone, earning more chuckles from him, "I'm trying, okay?"

    "You beat this game, you said?"

    "Ahhh!"

Kenma laughed some more, now covering his face with his hand. He could hear you laugh out of frustration as well, but while this entire orchestration felt funny to both of you, Kenma's heart bubbled dangerously. He loved the sound of your voice, and he absolutely adored the way you groaned and cursed at the bosses each time you died or each time you defeated them. You were good, and even as the game tested you, you trod on. He could see you loved gaming in its entirety, and slowly, he was learning more about you.

    "I need a beer." You sighed.

    "This game does that to you," Kenma leaned back against his bean bag, "I mean... Not to burst your bubble, but you do suck."

    "Oye," You warned playfully, "I'm a streamer."

    "Anyone can stream, (y/n)."

There was silence on the other end after that, but Kenma didn't think it was anything odd. The co-oping between you two was going on for a few days now, and it would last up to 5-7 hours at most. It was strange that despite college, you two managed to find time to sit and play, but after a point, it had become more than just the game. You began to crave his voice, crave the way he'd be there, whenever you were about to run low on health, he'd come over and give you time to heal.

Co-oping with Kenma was fun because it felt, oddly, as if he really cared.

    "(y/n)?"

    "I always thought you sounded familiar," Kenma blinked, "But I think hearing you say more words sort of... gave it away."

    "Gave what away?" Kenma's heart was pounding now.

    "Kozume-kun," He didn't want to hear the rest, "Are you puddinghead0?"

It took him several seconds to process what you said. He could practically feel his heart beat against his ears, and he could sense you getting impatient at him as well.

    "Kozume—"

    "How did you know?"

You took a few moments to answer.

    "I... I've been a fan for too long not to recognize your voice, really. I just... I guess I had to hear you through the microphone to instantly pick it up? I don't know I... Why didn't you tell me?"

    "I didn't want you to know."

    "Oh," His heart broke at how low you sounded. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't ask you because I knew you were him or anything! I asked you as Kozume—"

    "Right."

    "No, listen," You were panicking now, "I assure you, I didn't know until recently. I didn't even think... I never—"

    "What did you picture him as, (y/n)?"

    "What do you—"

    "I'm sure you pictured him as someone different, right? It must disappoint you that someone you admire is in fact, a regular college student—"

    "Don't say that! I really enjoy playing with you, and... I never even pictured how you'd look in the first place!"

    "Sure—"

    "Can we meet? Please, let me just—"

    "Not happening. It was nice playing with you, (y/n). I hope you get the platinum—"

    "Please, don't do this."

When Kenma hesitated, he knew that it was no longer an inconvenient crush. His fingers trembled and he couldn't look away from the television screen. His chest hurt and he was certain that his shirt was drenched.

    "Please, let's—"

    "Where do you want to... meet?"

    "Oh, thank goodness," Your genuine relief made him want to laugh, "I was so certain you'd hang up. Oh, thank god. Uh, I don't know. You live near campus?"

He narrowed his eyes, "What campus?"

    "Tokyo University?"

    "You go here too?"

    "Literature student! You go here? You mean to say the puddinghead0 goes to—"

    "Please, just never call me that, okay?"

    "Where do you want to meet?"

    "I... Just come to campus, we'll figure it out."

What normally took Kenma 12 minutes took him 17 now. He spent some time pacing back and forth on whether to go or not, before understanding that he couldn't back out after assuring you that he'd be there. He wondered if you would come as a fan or as his friend (were you his friend?), but the foremost thing that Kenma worried about was what your interaction with him would be about. Why did you want to meet him? What explanation did you want to give?

Maybe she wants to thank me, he thought as he walked forward, finally bucking up and realizing that he might actually need to meet you alone as himself.

He noticed that you were waiting outside the gates of the campus, airpods plugged in, head rocking lightly to some music that you were listening to. From a distance, you caught sight of him and waved almost hesitantly, shooting his heart to the skies. Your hair was tied in a messy bun and you were wearing anime merch, a Bakugou shirt with regular jeans. No matter what you wore, Kenma thought you were ridiculously pretty. Kenma had always thought you were pretty, from the very first video that you uploaded. He caught your stream in Kuroo's laptop when he had come over, and apparently it was your first time. You were hesitant and shy, but it gradually died down the more you played. Kenma found himself laughing so much that it alerted Kuroo, who had understood right away that you held a special place in Kenma's mind since no one could make Kenma laugh quite like you could.

When he was a few feet away from you, you looked at him awkwardly before he noticed you were red-faced. Is she... blushing?

    "U-Uh, yeah so uh," She was so nervous that it was making him feel weird, "I don't want to treat you differently but I just realized that I was gushing to you about puddinghead not knowing that you are, in fact, puddinghead and god, I feel like an idiot."

Kenma had to laugh at that before shaking his head, "It's fine, I don't get too many compliments anyway."

    "You had me simping all over you and you knock that down as compliments? Please teach me the art of modesty, senpai."

Kenma laughed some more before letting out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. You were taking breaths now yourself; you were standing beside someone who had literally inspired you to start streaming gameplay, and you had no idea that you were playing alongside him all this while until he had practically confirmed it not too long ago. Of course, a part of you felt weird that he never told you himself, but perhaps he wanted to keep it a secret. Also...

He had been watching your streams. Kenma had admitted that as himself the first time you had met. You could practically die.

    "There's this cafe down this road," You said, suddenly feeling a lot bolder, "We won't have to stand around awkwardly then."

    "Alright."

The walk wasn't quiet, you were desperately trying to think of something to talk about, and you were mumbling a few things here and there about Bloodborne, and he commented back; but neither of you found your heart in the conversation and kept going because you didn't know how to handle the silence. While you admired Kenma, Kenma was also aware that you had no idea the feelings he had for you.

It made him feel a bit inadequate, and he wasn't sure how to take it.

When you reached the cafe, Kenma and yourself took the seats outside. You took in his appearance properly for the first time that evening; his hair tied in a messy, loose ponytail and wearing baggy clothing with black jeans and sneakers. Kenma was gorgeous, you wouldn't deny that, especially now that your heart was bubbling with excitement over how he was your YouTube idol. Strangely, his question rang in your mind:

What did you picture him as, (y/n)?

Your eyes softened at Kenma as he checked his phone for a minute; unable to look away. You stared at him the way folks stare at a rainbow, taking in all that unexpected beauty, not wanting to look away in case it might disappear. You felt yourself blushing when he looked up to meet your gaze, almost feeling time stop. But, you were too much of an overthinker to let that happen.

I'm sure you pictured him as someone different, right? It must disappoint you that someone you admire is in fact, a regular college student—

    "Kozume-kun," What am I doing? "I can't picture anyone but you."

He was now staring at you like you were an idiot mumbling rubbish. He gulped, you could see the rise and fall of his adam's apple, but he wasn't saying a word.

    "A few months ago, when I started the channel on Twitch, I could do it only because of you. You inspired me to upload my own gameplay because I now had a platform to be proud of it. But as Kozumu-kun, you gave me the courage to not only be proud of my gameplay but to see what's actually important," You smiled as you said, "Fun."

    "You're giving me way too much credit."

You shook your head, "We don't always realize how little exchanges that we have with people cause ripple effects. Playing with you these past few days reminded me of what streaming for views made me forget. Views don't matter, the fun does. I let those comments get to me because the views mattered to me, and they still do. But, that's not everything. I learned that from you."

Kenma didn't know what to say.

    "So when you figured out that I was... the YouTuber—"

    "Puddinghead—"

    "—Yeah, that. Didn't you think I lied to you?"

You shook your head, "You never had a face reveal, which meant that you wanted to keep it a secret. So why would I feel like you lied? You had every reason to—"

    "Stop being so fucking adorable, it's actually pissing me off." Kenma snapped without realizing.

Both of your eyes widened—Kenma's and yours—at the words that exited his mouth. Your face was flaming at what he said, and Kenma probably felt like a suicidal ostrich. He wanted to bury his head under the ground and never rise, for that would keep him away from the embarrassment that was due; he could hear Kuroo's laughter in the distance, which made it all the worse.

    "I'm... I'm not trying to be cute, you know?" You said, tilting your head a little, playing with a strand of your hair.

Kenma frowned at you, wondering now if you were doing it on purpose.

    "What are you... doing?"

    "There's a word for it!" You pointed an index finger in the air, "Hanker sore."

Kenma scoffed, "What's that?"

    "It's finding someone so attractive that it pisses you off."

Kenma blushed, "Y-You're not all that attractive, you just... come across as cute sometimes."

Your eyes widened, "I'm a catch!"

He bit his lower lip, "Yeah, sure."

    "Hey! I am a total catch, you could like totally fall for me!"

Kenma's heart skipped a beat, "Yeah, sure."

While you were sitting across him having a struggle over how he easily pushed away your claims, Kenma stared at you like you were all he could see, and as if you were a sight that he would forget if he didn't drink in your details at this very second. A moment later, you gasped before leaning forward.

    "I think we should get something."

    "Let's actually... go get your platinum."

Your eyes widened, "You... don't mind?"

He shook his head now that he was absolutely certain, "No, let's go back."

You were beaming and thanking him, acting as if he suddenly wasn't the YouTuber you had been simping after, treating him like a separate individual that he was, behaving as you would with anyone else; Kenma's worries dissipated in thin air, he was now confident that he had fallen in love with you, mind, body, and soul—your voice had ensnared and captured him, and now, your revelation had done the deed of claiming his heart.

    "Oh, and," Kenma said, "No one will know."

You nodded before throwing him a mock salute, "Of course!"

*

You were legitimately freaking out. 

Kenma had followed you as puddinghead on your professional Twitter and you had been staring at the screen for close to an hour now. You weren't sure if the reason for your heart to be beating the way it was was because Kenma was puddinghead or because you had finally learned what puddinghead looked like, but whatever it was, the feeling was intense.

Are these feelings romantic though? You wouldn't lie, before you knew puddinghead's face, you had pictured meeting him and dating him—the regular daydreaming that a person would do for the person they were simping after. And while those thoughts were innocent, now puddinghead had a name. Puddinghead was Kozume Kenma, an attractive college student, CEO of Bouncing Ball Corp, and YouTuber. Your mind was taking you to places, and juxtaposing your previous fantasies now with Kenma's face. No, no, no, you scolded yourself before covering your face with your hand. Yes, discovering his identity is huge, but don't forget, he thinks of you as a friend!

You were about to join his party on the PSN and co-op Bloodborne again, but all you could think about were how long Kenma's fingers were when they were placed on the table before you that day when you met him in the cafe.

You were practically out of it.

    "Hey, Kozume-kun!"

    "You know you can call me Kenma, right? I call you (y/n)."

    "O-Oh," Your face reddened uncharacteristically. "R-Really?"

You heard Kenma chuckle and your heart was ready to combust, "Yeah, what's there to think about?"

Oh dear lord, "Okay. Uh... So..."

     "So."

     "Uh."

    "(y/n)?"

Fuck, "K-Kenma-kun."

Kenma had his hand covering his jaw at how cute you sounded, but you were practically jelly yourself. It wasn't easy learning the identity of your internet crush and having to play with them as friends. It wasn't easy to accept these facts and to admit that maybe, just maybe, the person that they are in real life was equally attractive.

    "We have to beat the Shadows of Yharnam today."

Did his voice always sound like velvet?

    "Hm, I've heard they were relatively easy?"

    "No," He said chuckling, "To you, they're definitely going to be a challenge."

When he chuckles, I feel like I'll die.

    "Didn't you play against them without co-op?"

    "Oh, yeah," You could practically picture him rubbing the back of his neck, "I did co-op for Gherman in the end, though."

Fuck, he's so cute!

    "What?" Kenma asked, sounding confused.

    "What?"

    "You said 'he's so cute', you mean Gherman?" You gasped, "(y/n), he's... he's an old man?"

    "Y-Yeah! Haha, I mean... Yeah. It's... I was..."

Kenma laughed before asking you to continue before you slapped yourself for making such a big fool out of yourself. Snap out of it, you scolded yourself once more. You can't like Kenma-kun just because you know he's puddinghead.

But, did you?

As days passed, you exchanged numbers with Kenma. Texting him was relatively easy since he barely tried to keep the conversation alive and you just had so much to say. Sometimes, Kenma believed he might be boring, but you kept texting him as if his personality wasn't really that much of a bother. He wasn't much of a texter, and you had caught on, a fact that didn't actually bother you. Kenma, however, would never leave you on read, would try to reply within the hour even though he doesn't text as often.

Your mind, however, revolved around the heart he had once sent you as puddinghead.

You were re-reading the tweets almost every night, and juxtaposing the image of an empty face with Kenma's. For some reason, puddinghead's image was slowly erasing itself from your mind; you became less fascinated with the YouTube persona, but instead, looked forward to hearing from his real-life identity, trying to know more about his day, about his other interests, and having learned that he was from Nekoma blew your mind since he was from a rival school.

Kenma and you often met at the cafe again, just to grab a few snacks and talk about games. It would be you most of the time who would be initiating conversation, and Kenma would listen and retort when he felt the need to. However, not once did you feel like he wasn't listening; not once did Kenma make you think you weren't keeping him engaged. His eyes were on you, his intense gaze enough to burn you to the ground. It practically had you shivering.

Your mind, however, still continued to revolve around the heart he had once sent you as puddinghead.

    "I might need to go to a volleyball game soon—"

    "Why did you send me a heart?"

Kenma froze before meeting your gaze. "What?"

You almost wanted to slap yourself but you had said it. You couldn't hold it back, you couldn't keep mulling over your thoughts and therefore, you decided to tell the source of your problems what your problems were.

    "Kenma-kun, I... I had a big crush on puddinghead," Kenma's gaze on you was unwavering, "Now that I know you're puddinghead, and... and you were the one who sent me a heart, I... I've always thought you were cute and all—"

    "(y/n)—"

    "—and it's a bit unfair if I like you only because you're puddinghead, but I gave it a lot of thought—"

    "—(y/n), listen—"

    "—and I don't want you thinking that my feelings are just because you're a famous YouTuber and I just want to like... I don't know... I enjoy every second with you and slowly I just—"

Kenma's finger tapped your forehead, freezing you in position. His cat-like eyes were boring into your soul, and there he was, face inches away from yours, expressionlessly staring into you.

    "I've been in love with you for the longest time," Kenma's voice was gold, "No pressure, though."

    "No..." What the fuck? "N-No pressure?!"

Kenma laughed at your outburst, "Yeah, I mean... I took sometime accepting it, to even think that I liked you over the internet didn't make sense to me. And then we bumped into each other and we started gaming together and I guess I understood that your internet persona was just a part of you I'd liked, and now I like you more."

Oh.

Was it really that simple?

    "So... If I liked you as puddinghead—"

    "Please don't call me that."

    "—and if I like you as Kenma-kun, then..."

Kenma sighed before offering you a sweet smile, "It's probably the same thing, (y/n). Stop worrying."

    "Can I kiss you?" You blurted out, without thought.

God, this woman, Kenma thought, before covering his jaw with his hand.

*

In less than a week, you'd learned the route to Kenma's apartment by heart. You went over to game at his place, and slowly began streaming as (y/n) again on Twitch. You didn't want to stream with Kenma yet, because you guys had just started dating a month ago. For liking you longer than you liked him, Kenma was relatively cool about you hanging over at his, and about initiating any sort of touch—because your thoughts were practically spilling out of you and as cute as he once thought they were, he didn't want you to say 'pinch me' every time he kissed you.

Kenma's hands were buried into your hair as he kissed you fervently, softly at first before pulling back to see how flushed your face was. He'd never really imagined you being here, out of the screen he saw you from, in his arms, kissing him back.

He chuckled at the thought.

    "What's so funny?" You were legitimately a crackhead, but he adored you.

    "I thought having a crush on you was very inconvenient at first."

    "Why?"

He shrugged before pulling you to his chest, your face reddening at the contact. He noticed, but simply shook his head as you buried your face into his chest.

    "Because I thought it was too good to be true."

    "Am I the one freaking out each time or are you?"

    "Yeah, that part even I don't get."

You giggled before wrapping your hands around his neck, bringing yourself closer to him. Your face was at the crook of his neck, eyes closed as his arms were wrapped around your waist. You were both currently on Kenma's couch, nuzzling with each other on a lazy class-less Monday.

Suddenly, the door opened, revealing Kenma's roommate, in all honesty, did not know how to react when a famous Twitch streamer was lying asleep on his roommate. Kenma gave him a nonchalant look before placing a finger on his lips.

    "She's asleep."

    "Y-Yeah, that's definitely what I was thinking." The roommate said before rushing to his room and locking the door.

Well, Kenma thought before bringing his hand back around your waist, That's a problem for another day.

[chaoticfriendship]

This is not hate but how can you support someone like pewdiepie after all hes done? I feel like it's wrong to put him with Jack because sometimes i feel like jacks his friend only because he feels he needs to because of the shoutout. Don't stan him with Jack or associate him with him please. Pewdiepie is a bad influence and a white supremacist

Ok. Let’s talk. I was going to ignore this but you’re really persistent. This is the fifth ask you have sent me telling me the same thing but in different ways. Sad thing is that I just started this blog, I can’t believe this keeps happening to me in every fandom I go to. Some of you need to understand something about Felix.

Yes, I’m aware he did a lot of questionable things. And no, he’s not a white supremacist. He’s not racist. And he’s not homophobic or whatever Twitter/the media is saying about him these days. I might not know him personally but I’ve been watching Felix since the very beginning and even with this little info about his life I can tell the difference between some things people choose to ignore about him. He’s a very honest person and he always tells everyone the information they need to know about him, whether it is about his personal life or his pewdiepie persona. His real actual friends (Jack, Ken, Mark -also good people, and whether you like it or not, Jack is one of them) held him accountable for the things he did and also made sure to assure everyone that the ‘Pewdiepie’ personality is totally different than his real-self. They confirmed he’s not any of his mistakes. Meaning the ‘Pewdiepie’ personality got too far and the facade/entertainment mask fell off of him when he made those mistakes. This was not only a lesson for him but it showed him places that needed real improvement in his life, something we all need sometimes. We all fall short in understanding the potential harm we can do to others and we easily face the temptation to define ourselves by ignoring those crucial parts. What Felix needed to learn was self-awareness. And he’s now constantly working on it so he can objectively evaluate himself when it comes to those things. Some people face this alone and privately but, him, as an internet sensation had to do it on camera.  

Pay attention to what his actual friends say about him. Jack himself said it:

‘It is strange, all the stuff that gets said about him, it’s kind of weird to see that being said about a friend of yours. To hear his actual thoughts on it…people like to take things every which way and twist things all over the place. I don’t know how he does it, with that many people on you and that much scrutiny on you constantly. I think I would have lost my mind by now.’

I’m also aware he’s a white rich guy and that he’s a step up on the scale from me and other people but I’m sure that if I dig long enough, I’m going to find something about certain actors/actresses/musicians (that most likely you and other people love) as well. Meaning they’re human at the end of the day and they might make mistakes too. Felix is the same case here.

It was dumb to say certain things and do certain things? YES. I held him accountable when he did those things. He didn’t need to say or do the things he did. It was irresponsible, harmful and immature from his part. However, he’s willing to make a change and work on it so this is something I can appreciate. 

He did the fivver video. This is his statement:

‘I make videos for my audience. I think of the content that I create as entertainment, and not a place for any serious political commentary. I know my audience understand that and that is why they come to my channel. Though this was not my intention, I understand that these jokes were ultimately offensive. I think it’s important to say something and I want to make one thing clear: I am in no way supporting any kind of hateful attitudes.’

his response.

He said the ‘n’ word. He sincerely apologized. This is his statement:

‘I hate how I personally fed into that part of gaming. It was something that was said in the heat of the moment. I said the worst word I could possibly think of and it slipped out. I’m not going to make excuses to why I did it because there are not excuses for it. I’m dissappointed in myself because it seems like I learned nothing from controversies. And it’s not like I think I can do or say whatever I want and get away with it. I’m just an idiot but that doesn’t make what I said or how I said it okay. It was not okay. I’m really sorry If I offended, hurt or disappointed anyone with all of this. Being in the position I am, I should know better. I know I can’t keep messing up like this and I owe it to my audience and to myself to do better than this. I really want to improve and better myself, not just for me but for anyone that looks up to me or anyone that is influenced by me and that’s how I wanna move forward. Away from this.’

source: my response. 

He:

Held himself accountable.

Made no excuses for his behaviour.

Recognized he did something wrong and stupid.

Sincerely apologized for it without making a fake act or fake crying for sympathy.

Never asked for sympathy or support because he's willing to make a real change in behavior. 

Realized some people are influenced by him and worked to be better for them and himself.

Chose to be himself and stand his ground on an important matter to make his audience understand he was taking this as serious as it is. 

Understood he gave ammunition that feeds some people the wrong idea and didn’t try to rationalize it because he knows he should take accountability for it. 

Saw that he had no need for jokes or words like that in his vocabulary in the first place and worked on self-control.

Rightfully feels ashamed for his actions. 

Here you can see Felix takes this seriously. He’s not messing around with what happened. He takes it with the responsibility it should be taken. 

And this is enough for me. I’m sorry if you think Felix needs to do a blood sacrifice to prove himself but that’s just not how it works. 

We all have said or done things we are not proud of. He did many of them and trust me, he was held accountable for them. How? Here’s a list of the consequences:

He was part of the original content network YouTube Red, and was affiliated with Disney’s MakerStudios brand where he had his own network. Disney cut all ties with him.

They cancelled his YouTube Red show, where a lot of people put big effort (not only the participants but the crew members). You can see that this was important for him. It was not just some random ass show.

Was held accountable for his actions and it was made known every mistake he did. Every single one.  

Received the proper criticism from the media, his fans and his own friends.

He also received harsh backlash and hate from the situation.

Lost support from followers, celebrities, friends and companies. 

He’s constantly attacked by people and media outlets on a daily basis. Some people even fabricate false stories about him.

He faced the proper consequences for those actions. Let him move on already.

You also listed a bunch of stuff in one of your asks, things he’s NEVER done. Those are things the media has made you and everyone else believe he did but he didn’t. This is why you should never believe any random media headline, you need to actually do your own research to see if that’s true or not. Here are the things you said he did (none of these are true): 

No, he hasn’t hired people to say the ‘n’ word. This is not true at all.

No, he doesn’t promote Adolf Hitler speeches and anti-semitic cartoons. Disney did once tho.

No, he’s not homophobic. At all. He was actually evicted from his own flat because his previous landlord is an actual homophobic person and called him and his crew the ‘f’ word. He decided to move far away from the guy. 

No, he didn’t perform the Nazi heil. Never. 

No, he didn’t pay the ‘Jesus’ guy to hold a sign that says ‘Hitler did nothing wrong�� this is a lie. Someone else did it and the media said it was him to cause more controversy. He paid him to say ‘Subscribe to Jacksepticeye’. 

No, he’s not racist. For this, his content would’ve to be filled with racial jokes and actual intentional attacks daily. His content is not like that, trust me, the most he does is play with some tambourine all the time. He’s said the ‘n’ word (something he admitted was terrible, apologized for it and took responsibility for his words), yes but someone that feels as bad and ashamed as he does, does not equal to what an actual racist is and how they act. 

No, he didn’t dress up in a Klansman robe. He never did that. This is also false information about him. 

No, he doesn’t bully his friends or enables bullying. I don’t know where the media got that one but I can assure you they’ve got no friends if they think his interactions with his own friends are ‘bullying’. 

No, he doesn’t joke about crises happening around the world. AT ALL. He constantly raises money for them (and gives his own money as well) to different causes such as the Wildfires Emergency Appeal, Team Trees (to plant 20 million trees), St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital (for kids with diseases such as cancer), Crisis Text Line, National Alliance on Mental Illness (a group that helps those suffering from mental illness), CRY (a GoFundMe campaign to help Indian children living in poverty), World Wildlife Fund (dedicated to the reduction of mankind’s environmental impact), RED (did a whole 7 hour livestream with friends to help people fighting HIV/AIDS in Africa), Charity: Water (a non-profit that provides drinking water to developing nations), Save the Children (for underprivileged kids to give them better education, healthcare, better economic opportunities), he recently raised $106,000 for the BLM movement donating the contributions to the family of George Floyd and other victims of police violence, Cincinnati Children’s Hospital, Hope for Holt, Malaria No More, Oceana, SpecialEffect, War Child, etc. Does this sound like someone who makes fun of real problems happening around the globe? No. And no, he hasn’t made fun of those causes either. 

No, he doesn’t make fun of mental illnesses. He talks about it with the proper respect and delicacy it deserves. He constantly adresses mental health, shares resources for viewers who may be struggling and talks about the importance of being aware and getting legitimate help. Where are you taking these facts from?

No, he doesn’t support China’s police brutality. He was BANNED from China for critizing the president and the country’s treatment of Hong Kong’s anti-government protests. How hard is it to watch the real video instead of trusting some Susan from Twitter? 

No, he has NEVER disrespected Japanese culture. Felix loves Japan and respects their culture. He always treats the people and the place with utter respect. 

He’s not a white supremacist or a secret Nazi. Are you insane? He’s said it himself ‘f*** anyone who is racist and anyone who is a white nationalist. That’s not what I’m about. And that’s not what my channel has been about either.’ Maybe if you think about it, the media painted him that way and people decided to go with it because they don’t actually watch his videos. The number of accusations and stories are insane and ridiculous. Have you ever watched one of his videos? Ever? Because if you would’ve, you would know none of these things are true. 

No, he doesn’t encourage kids/teens to see and follow Nazi ethics. He recommended a channel that does anime reviews (he didn’t know the channel had pro white-supremacy videos). You’re accusing him of that for not checking the thousand-something videos said channel has because he liked one anime review? This is reaching to a whole new degree. You could’ve randomly watched the same anime review vid, does that make you a Nazi as well? And NO, he didn’t wear an Iron Cross, he was wearing a Georgian Bolnisi cross. The shirt is by the Georgian designer Demna Gvasalia. Use Google please. 

I don’t think you’re a real Jacksepticeye fan if you think he’s sticking up for him only because of a shout-out that happened years ago. Extend your perspective in this. He knows him in real-life. He’s his best friend. He can tell he’s not a bad person. This is not a hard thing to figure out. 

Also, you forgot to put the anon option in one of your asks, so I know who you are. Weren’t you joking about WW3, using the ‘r’ word to fight with your followers and making fun of the BLM movement a few months ago on your twitter account? It might not look like it’s possible but we’ve also made and are capable of making some of the same mistakes too. The difference is that some of you hide behind the ‘it’s just humor to cope with life’ gen z card. Joking about a serious important movement is harmful as well, hope you can learn that. 

I can’t tell you how to emotionally react to his content, however I can advise that if it bothers you that much you should remove yourself from the environment that revolves around him (if you even watch his videos which I highly doubt) if you’re not willing to give him a chance. You also need to remember that forgiveness is private and personal, just because you don't see his content and can't see that change doesn't mean it's not happening. There’s power in understanding.

[ryuichirou]

Hi, Ryu❤️ Hope u’r doing well❤️

Since u’r talking about ships lately, I’m really curious to hear your opinion about Aru//Ani, its execution, development and progression throughout the whole plot👀, if it’s not a problem and especially if u have the time to. Its shippers claim Isym has been doing a great build up since FT arc (???) and that, despite the lack of development onscreen, the dynamic makes sense (???) cause they “complete” each other and they learnt how to “love and respect” each other throughout the past 4 years (???!!!).

And... I don’t know, Ryu: I really tried to consider their pov, even reread the A/A interactions and look at the dynamic with shipping goggles on, but I really failed to see and understand what they claim. Actually, I keep seeing this dynamic as insulting not just for Armin and Annie’s characters in first place, but also for Eren, Mikasa, Hitch and Berthold. Moreover, it seems nothing but an addiction made out for fanservice, cause it serves absolutely nothing to the plot: if u cut their interactions post 131ch, the story wouldn’t change in the least. Also, their interactions weren’t even that romantic and weren’t focused at all about their supposed “crush” for each other. I personally believe Armin is using Annie as coping mechanism and/or just a mean to substitute Eren; whereas Annie is substituting Armin with her father, cause she feels adrift and desperate, and seeks for someone who cherishes her and appreciates her for the person she is no matter the harsh things she did in the past (I’m crying for Hitch in the mid time....). Other than that, I’m believing also in Berthold’s influence on Armin, cause it’s the only explanation for the sudden interest of boy towards girl, that happen to begin exactly after he ate Berthold: it can’t be just a coincidence imo.

So yeah, at the end of the day, I’m pretty sad cause I used to love both the characters and now I’m much conflicted atm, cause I see nothing but a huge derailment for both and a waste for Annie’s one, who’s developing literally over a love interest... And it’s a very huge pity to me.

Sorry for the big ask, lol... I have this weight on my chest and I confess it’s actually ruining my love for SnK: I feel like everything after 131ch started sucking pretty hard... Plus, the fandom became more toxic than ever😔😔😔

I was waiting for someone to ask me about them eventually, and honestly... Anon, you're such a big mood lol

You’ve guessed correctly: I don’t like AruAni. Not because we personally don’t ship it, but because it doesn’t make sense and (for now) it’s unclear what it the purpose of this storyline and if there’s even going to be a purpose. I don’t recommend anyone shipping them reading my reply.

Basically, Anon, you’ve described everything perfectly, so I’m just going to agree with all your points. I also don’t see a reason for Armin to have this type of love for Annie. I see a coping mechanism, I see something to escape to from the Eren problem, I can even see a self-punishment of sorts, but I don’t see that sweet crush we’re led to believe is there. See, Armin didn’t even know Annie that well. They talked like twice, and then the Female Titan thing happened, and then… he was talking to her for years, but he still never learnt anything about her. How can he love her if he doesn’t even know who the fuck Annie is? And yeah, it’s convenient Bertold timing, I wonder if it’s going to come up later.

We feel like it’s unfair to other characters. It’s also extremely unfair to Hitch that’s also been here for Annie for all those years but didn’t get the special treatment for some reason. Like... their reasoning would be pretty much the same, they could’ve made Hitch her love interest for all the same reasons.

It’s unfair to Annie herself, because, based on what we know about her, she’s drawn to stubborn idiots going against the flow. Because she herself could never do that. This is the point of her character: she could never stand against what people asked her to do, even when she knew it was useless or wrong. This is why Eren intrigues her, this is why Marlo intrigues her.

Of course I’m biased here, and don’t get me wrong: I don’t see EreAnnie becoming a canon thing either lol and I talked about how I don’t care about ships being canon in general a bunch of times already. I’m saying this as an example of a dynamic that actually... works for her type of character. But all the development Annie’s got was kickstarted by Eren being interested in her fighting style and being the first person who legitimately interested her on this island (and who was interested in her too to some extent, at least interested in something she was proud of and deeply loved). She also deeply appreciated it, they had funny dialogues together, and he was the first and only person she had flirted with, which is a huge step for a character as shy, distant and serious as Annie. Seeing her now blushing for Armin looks like a joke when you keep these things in mind. You can listen to his stories all you want, but it’s strictly one-sided. And, like I said, Hitch can also have the same chances with this type of logic. Their pie-eating scene has more chemistry than all AruAni moments.

The “good person/bad person” dialogue with Armin doesn’t feel like a development to me because they were just mirroring each other’s thoughts, so it’s like talking to yourself…

Ok, that was a little bit off topic lol. But yeah, this is why for now we think that either there will be a twist of sorts (i’ll take killing Armin as a twist) or the editor just made Isayama push this narrative, since Isayama doesn’t strike me as a type who likes romance that much or ships his own characters, plus he used romance for proving the cruel world motif so many times already. Or this is just exactly what it is, a last minute het romance, and we’ll end up sitting there like bitter losers being all upset, Anon haha

The fandom’s always going toxic and pretty feral as soon as het couples pop up, and in general huge fanbases mean nothing good unless you want that sweet clout to make money or get attention, so the only thing I can advice you is to distance yourself from them so that it won’t ruin your SnK experience even more. I don’t know you or your feelings, but I think you’re just upset about AruAni thing, this is why the manga sucks to you right now (well, you basically said it yourself, if I got you correctly). And that’s fine and we’re annoyed by this thing a lot too, so we can definitely understand this sentiment. Personally, we pretend like this bs romance never happened so it won’t ruin our experience, and we’ll see what to think about it when SnK is over. Like, what if it’s just a plot device and we get ourselves worried about nothing? I wanna believe that... :”)

And can I just… use this chance to say how frustrated I am that the majority of Annie content there is is either AruAni or BerAni (or the trio)? It’s like she isn’t important when she’s not in the context of those relationships… It upsets me a lot.

Let me just say this… Reiner had more development with Annie than Armin and Bertolt combined. There, I said it. And Reiner’s fucking gay.

Overall, we’ll see how everything plays out, and then you can come again to us and we’ll bitch together lol

[doomstypewriter]

Warmth

I’m back with some Moceit because, god, the new video shook me. 

AO3

Summary: 

Patton wants to say something very important to Janus.

What anyone can get from that in the end is that he is very gay and in panic and should probably just talk things out with Roman.

It would have made it easy if Patton had clearly taken a side in his and Roman’s vicious back-and-forth. But he’d mostly maintained himself neutral. Not to mention how laughably good it had felt to hear him imply he was right. And now that. No implications. Outright appreciation. Why did warmth feel so unbecoming? “What?” he answered in a tiny voice shoved in the middle of an exhalation. His face puckered ever-so-slightly. Yearning. It would have been more useful to keep it as a thought

.

Word count:

1690

TW: 

Maybe unsympathetic Roman, but this is all from Janus' point of view (the general posture is neutral), Janus being a sarcastic bitch, a mention of Remus doing some whacky stuff but nothing mayor, mild arguing but gets sorted out. (Nothing more I can think of, still, if you do find something, please tell me).

Warmth

“So, Janus…” Patton began to speak feeling his way around.

He saw a change coming, on Thomas’ position regarding the dark sides and how that would affect them all. He had already taken a chance with Virgil at the time. He’d never regret that choice. Maybe that was the reason why he had gone there. 

“Yes, that’s my name, don’t wear it out so soon, you just found out about it” answered Janus, leaning his elbow on the back of his left hand, while the right one bent in a dramatic gesture, almost touching his shoulder.

Janus looked everywhere except at him. In all honesty, he found everything about that situation perfectly comfortable and, no, the interaction was not at all forced nor the silence awkward. 

“By all means, do stay there just standing” after hearing this Patton made a sound of confusion, as if he was frowning with his voice. Because, heaven knows he’d sooner pass out than frown in public. As amusing as that mental image was, he had to clarify it, otherwise Mr. Nice over there would never cut to the chase. “By that I mean that we both got stuff to do, and, even though I enjoy your company so, so much, I have complots to plan and Remus won’t get unburied by himself; I imagine you’ll have cookies to bake, camp songs to sing or something equally vital for this world”. 

Patton took a breath. For a moment it seemed as it a confession was about to happen, something trascendental, information of a caliber that changes lives, ideas. Not yet. 

A small, apparently unrelated, laugh escaped him. 

“I didn’t mean to make you nervous”. 

This time, Janus did look at him straight in the eye. Patton felt he had been shoved under the bus of his gaze, it was not painful, but quite intimidating. Which was weird because, if Virgil was anything to go by, Janus had the tendency to shove people down a flight of stairs, not busses. Still, he played dumb and kept his goofy facade on.  

“Nervous?” the eyebrow of Janus’ human side raised to a height that could have been a mile, in a road trip straight to an expression of dubiousness. What a time on the cat-bus, or, well, snake-bus. 

He could have explained he’d come to realise that Janus had the pesky habit of deflecting with sass and not-so-subtle melodrama when confronted with something he did not like or when he got nervous. After all, his way of acting centered around getting what he disliked out of sight. Patton knew this first hand. Not because he knew Janus well, rather, due to the fact that he knew himself well enough. There are things one prefers to ignore. 

Patton had preferred to ignore the familiarity in Janus’ purpose and his, their personalities and motivations; which wasn’t exactly neat, being a dad and all. 

Perhaps it was time to step forward. 

To grow up. 

“I didn’t say it before and I think it’s not right for me to not let you know--”. 

Pursing his lips in an almost duckface, the reptile looked done with everything, and he hadn’t even heard the entire sentence. He rolled his eyes and raised his eyebrows, surprisingly proving that more of a bitch-face was indeed possible. 

“The entire interaction has been a delight and all, but let’s cut it here. If this is about Royal Pains then you don’t need to ‘let me know’ anything, he made himself clear, contrary to popular belief snakes are not deaf”. 

“That was not what I wanted to say” and, in all honesty, he would have rather not have Janus mention it. Now he was morally compelled to address the elephant in the room. He placed his hands on his hips to give himself an air of authority. “But both Roman and you said pretty nasty things and should go apologise each other”. 

“What a pity, there’s something in all of that jazz about talking to playground bullies that does not appeal to me. If I wanted to speak to children I’d just sit with Remus all day”. 

Patton frowned. 

That didn’t throw Janus off, and, by no means it made him want to comfort him to stop him from being upset. To suggest that would be ridiculous. But, if, let’s say, he did want to provide him with some degree of support, and this is one hundred percent hypothetical, he would hug him. Not that he’d ever  wondered about how that would feel like. 

“Do you think it is okay to just leave Roman feeling awful because you feel awful too?” Patton’s tone was kind as always, but his words did not tell the same story. “It might seem ‘fair’ but it’s not right. Using some other people’s vulnerabilities just because you’re angry, it is not even making you feel better. It only makes everyone more angry and sad. You too. Specially since you need to hear an apology as badly as Roman does--” 

“What would you know about me? I have told you my name, that’s about it. And.what.a.party.that.was. I am so thrilled that when I am at my most vulnerable, when I let my guard low cause I think: come on Janus, maybe it’s worth it, you could finally be heard and actually do your job… sorry, NO!” as if to further his point, or, most likely, his anger, he added a single fake laugh. “Someone has to barge in and make me feel like an absolute idiot for not hiding something for once. How is it that when Roman repeatedly uses others people’s vulnerabilities against people, for the sake of satiating his own need for self-importance, you turn a blind eye on it; but, when I do it I must be reprimanded? You’re all so self-righteous. Let me be the villain if needed be. I don’t need no apologies because neglecting the validation of the importance of my role is something I have always been able to handle. I don’t want your praise. Telling you my name is the last thing--” 

“Thank you”. 

The air left his lungs in a rush. All determination carried within his words deflated like a soufflè that had had the oven door opened too soon. A part of him bent to the gut punch of that sentence. He wanted to pry the mask of his eye caps. Cry. Always thinking that hearing it would leave him satisfied, proud, not disgruntled. Nevermind that quiet voice in the back of his head, screaming: yes! Finally! Finally. 

It would have made it easy if Patton had clearly taken a side in his and Roman’s vicious back-and-forth. But he’d mostly maintained himself neutral. Not to mention how laughably good it had felt to hear him imply he was right. And now that. No implications. Outright appreciation. Why did warmth feel so unbecoming? 

“What?” he answered in a tiny voice shoved in the middle of an exhalation. His face puckered ever-so-slightly. Yearning. It would have been more useful to keep it as a thought.

“That is what I came here to tell you. I forgot to say so before, with all fuzz, taking care of Roman and Thomas… I’m a busy dad, but I have to give an example, and when someone does something nice for you, you say thank you. I apologised so many times I forgot to say it more”. 

“You don’t need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you. Caring for Thomas… I was just doing my job”. 

“Yeah, but you did one snek of a job,” Patton laughed in a poor effort to break the tension between them. Only to fall back into the saccharine section of his disgustingly and not-at-all-endearing registre.“Janus, and it’s not okay to ignore that. Also… you kinda saved me”. 

Validation was something, huh. 

“You’re welcome, I guess”. 

It seemed that almost giving him a heart-attack was not enough. Patton had zero self-control and simply threw himself at Janus to capture him in a constraining hug. Who was the albino boa constrictor here? 

Not only did Patton smell like vanilla, cinnamon and a taint of chocolate, he was also oven-level of warm. The pillow-like feeling to his embrace would have made anyone sink in like a baby. 

Holy shit. 

If it hadn’t been so sudden Janus would have lost any shred of dignity and poise he’d hope to keep. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous again” Patton disentangled himself from the other, seeing no reciprocation occuring. Maybe he should just change the subject and leave.

That had been horrible. Janus would forever deny the impulse to just melt Patton had so thoughtfully gifted him with. 

“I know Roman isn’t always... the kindest, but he really doesn’t mean it. He’ll change his mind about you eventually. I hope you can forgive each other then”. 

Janus looked at him with intensity. 

“I… need time”. 

“That is okay” he paused, considering. He might as well just take the second cookie. Fingers extended, because crossing them would make it really hard for him to grab the cookie, heh. “I’m not the smartest one, but if you ever need anything, I make really good muffins and always listen. You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to, you can say you came over because it’s warm”. 

“Only in for white lies. Lacks style, but it might make you slightly tolerable”. 

It was a bit sad to hear. Patton had hoped for a different kind of answer, but if Janus didn’t want to confide in him that couldn’t be forced. He’d have to give him some space and prove his good intentions one little step at a time. 

“Well, this frog is getting back to his pond. I’ll let you get back--” 

“I won’t consider your offer”. 

Oh? 

Oh!

Patton’s face lit up in the brightest of smiles. 

‘Great timing’ thought Janus. So opportune to just keep on nagging him towards a heart-attack. Wonderful.

“Oh, Janus” said Patton, just before he left. 

“What?” he asked, yet again. 

“It is a lovely name”. 

Taglist: 

@girl-with-many-fandoms , @what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me  , @snek-snacc , @oddpopsicle , @your-boi-leon  ,  @many-fandoms-trash , @rubixn , @theantisocialghost

[giggles-and-freckles]

creator tag game

Ooh, thanks for the tag @pandora15!! I’m excited to go through the tags of this and read some of the things from all of you that I never got the chance to read!!

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

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that one person  (snips & skyguy, mostly just banter and fluff as they teach each other some lessons with laser swords and hearts of gold)

I’d be remiss if I did not mention my first ever fic! I read it now and cringe a bit (which is crazy bc I only wrote it in August!! but yay for growth!), but I still really do love it. I’ve said this a few times over the past few months, but I watched my first EVER Star Wars movie in January (and it was TFA hahaha). As I devoured any and all SW content in those first couple months of quarantine, Anakin and Ahsoka are what first compelled me and brought me to this fandom. Their dynamic feels like home to me.

all too young (obi & soka, cold starry nights on Onderon and hurt/comfort for their brother-friend)

This is what catapulted me into my Obi-Wan and Ahsoka obsession! I’d always been very interested in them as a duo based on their limited little moments in TCW, but my imagination really got the best of me on this one. I was thinking about late night conversations between my grandpa and me and how that would play out for Obi and Soka and, before I knew it, I had written this fic and become literally incapable of thinking about anything else. That...hasn’t subsided. Haha.

hologram heart-to-hearts (obi & soka, hurt/comfort and angst as the two navigate the difficulties of staying in touch after Ahsoka’s departure from the order)

This makes me smile to think about because it’s what got me here! I had kind of been a lurker on Tumblr for about a month, maybe? And I’m honestly not sure what compelled me to post this here, but I did, and then, before I knew it, I had my first reblog and my first follower and then poof. Now I have a sweet little internet home. My own personal SW found fam. 

nothing a cup of tea can’t fix (disaster trio sick-fic, humour, light fluff, anakin being a dramatic whiny baby. y’know–the WORKS.)

This one is just a personal favourite of mine. I’m really proud of some of the dialogue and this is the fic that stands out in my mind as one where I really started to feel the characters. They each fit into a different part of my imagination and, since this fic, I do not struggle as much to change hats anymore. There are pretty clear distinctions where one character ends and another begins and this fic showed me where those are and what to do with them.

brilliant (obi & ani, hurt/comfort and mechanical arms)

And lastly, this one! I found some new bread and butter that I liked with this fic. Honestly, though, what SW author doesn’t like writing the frustrations of Obi-Wan and Anakin being incompetent idiots with their communication skills and then making them hug it out? Again, the dialogue in this particular fic feels more real to me than some of my other stuff. I remember how easy and quick this was to write because I could so viscerally see every part of this interaction happening in front of me. It wasn’t in the Halls of Healing, it was in my room. Also, this story was inspired by one of my dyslexic students who had an outburst as I worked with him on reading, so it feels very personal. 

no pressure tags: I’m gonna be honest and say that I’ve seen just about every possible fic author be tagged in this at some point tonight already haha, so I’m going to focus on artists whom I admire to spread the love! If I’m tagging you, you may not know me, but please know how appreciative I am of you and the creativity you bring to this fandom in a way I am physically incapable of! 

You can partake or not...I just mainly wanted you to know WE FIC-WRITERS SEE YA AND LOVE YA. @thenegoteator @autumnchild22 @rolrol @ginger-sass-master @hollyoakhill @space-passenger @rrrainbo @lugzug 

[hypergamygimme]

✨The night my mindset about dating options changed✨

I have never been one to hold my tongue yet I am a woman who respects atmospheres. I have to get this off of my chest because to this day this particular situation has been on my mind. And with the changing climate of black women becoming more feminine and realizing we are all we have i want to tell a quick story of what broke the camel’s back on my realization of our reality in the US!

Disclaimer: I will admit I DO NOT have this issue with African men. I tend to have this issue with othe African diaspora who have been misplaced in countries such as American, Jamaica, Canada, etc. Which given the history ... this isn’t a surprise. This is not my driest time experiencing something like what I’m about to write, actually I’ve experienced WORSE, but I’m telling this story in the midst of my level up journey.

So me and my best friend went out to dinner to catch up . This was around February before we were on serious lockdown. Now my best friend is mixed. Her father is Puerto Rican (Portuguese and native ancestry due to colonization) and her mother is black American (Nigerian, Cameroon and European ancestry due to slavery) . She took an ancestry test 😊. She is proud of who she is and I love it. And for me I am beautifully, proudly, and fully a Nigerian queen. I am not dark skinned. My mother is high yellow and my father is dark skinned. My skin colors changes with the weather but typically I am a rich Carmel color with an organice undertone lol (I love my color).

Growing up my best friend did get special treatment due to her being mixed but she also worked hard to get where she is in life. She isn’t tone deaf and she’s fully aware of her position in society but honestly if you looked at her she looks like a regular light skinned black woman due to her tanning very dark and her native ancestry . Anyways, she is very basic. She does wear make up and she likes wearing her hair curly or in braids. The most make up she will wear is mascara and lipstick. She has great skin, “fine girl no pimple”. Me on the other hand... I’m a diva! I will not step out of my house to meet ANYBODY unless I have on makeup, a classy dress, and heels. My nails are always done, toes CHECK, hair CHECK! That’s just me , I’m high level.

We went to a 5 star Japanese restaurant. I noticed many white men who were looking my way and I was okay with it because I’m here to look beautiful and find potential sponsors (anywhere I go). The old me would reject the idea but the mature me is fine with it. When our meal was over we went to valet to wait for our cars. Two Jamaican-American men were also waiting on their cars. The were both very dark skinned. They began to start conversation with my best friend . Literally BOTH of them. It was like they were competing to see who could get her number. They were asking about where she was from because she was so beautiful and that many women in Jamaica look like her. She told them she was mixed with Puerto Rican and they jumped with joy because she was a Caribbean foreigner like them. As they were talking my best friend told them that I was Nigerian and that we are probably closer in relation than herself. They looked me and said “ohh I have a Nigerian friend, cool dude”, then continue to speak to my best friend. She just rolled her eyes not to even mention she has a HUGE engagement ring on!! 😂💍

When she noticed how they wrote me off she stopped speaking to them and sent them on their way. I looked her like “what the fuck IS WRONG WITH THESE NIGGAS” (excuse my language but I was heated but not surprised). The valet walked up to us and shook his head and as he was laughing at the two idiot men who just entered their vehicles. He knew what was up we all did yet, they didn’t.

My best friend wore boots, jeans, and a dark green sweater to a damn 5 star restaurant. Her hair was in a pony tail and her nail were not done. I had on high heeled sandals, a form fitting navy blue dress, and a white and black houndstooth coat. My hair was straight, my nails/toes were done and nails painted red (white toes always).

In that moment I felt so low! This wasn’t a preference, this was a passive interaction with colorist men that left me feeling ugly and unwanted. Not only that but it made me feel as though my whole level up journey was a waste of fine! NEVER EVER allow people to make you feel like something you put your all into is a waste!! I will NEVER let anyone ever make me feel that way again! That is my vibe when surrounded by these type of men , Especially men who don’t own shit in this economy when I have a countries full of men who appreciate me! I should comfortable and appreciated by default not discarded even for small talked because my friend by my side is high hello or mixed!

I wrote all of this to say, black girls and women Go to where you are appreciated. Do not waste your time waiting for black men to notice you or treat you the way you should be treated. It is set in stone that they have their ideal types even when their type does not want them. They are of colonized minds and have no loyalty to you no matter how many times you fight, march, and stand in like superwoman for them . Let it go! Now in my disclaimer before I stated that I only have this issue with displaced African diaspora. I have NEVER had this problem with African men due to how our societal structures are built on our families. I understand I do I truly do. But I have options, I made options because those other options want ME! Even though I do plan to marry a Nigerian man because they typically provide, protect, and profess (when needed lol). Also, my lineage can continue. That’s ideal but like I said I’m open when dating.

Black women! Go to where you are appreciated and not tolerated! You are the prize! You are the gift to these men! You are not an option! You have a choice to make your life luxurious and live care free because you know the man in your life hold you to a high regard! You deserve it! You are not a charity case and don’t make people feel sorry for you! I got my confidence from my lineage and I know it’s not like that for everyone but dig deep and find that love for yourself! Stop wasting your youth struggling to find black love! There are other black men in this world that love you OUTSIDE of the American colonized mindset!

Please let me know your thoughts or share your experiences of when it “clicked” for you to open your options. ✨

[missholland]

Lan Wangji (mostly, his love)

LAN ZHAN! I read somewhere that this was said 102 times by Wei Wuxian in The Untamed. It feels like an understatement, cause I’ve watched the show so many times now I could hear ‘Lan Zhan’ being called in my sleep...

My first time watching the drama, I was full on Team Xianxian. I mean, who would not be? He’s the central character of the story, he’s the first thing you see within the first few seconds of episode 1, and who could resist his sunflower aura? I was not into Lan Wangji at all. I remember this clearly because I just found an old Instagram story in my Archive on the day I first watched this show: a screenshot of Wangji’s face in episode 3 and my caption was: ‘OMG how could Wei sunshine fall in love with this dry and boring man?’. And just like how Wangji eventually swallowed all of the statements he had made about the young Wei Wuxian (’I don’t touch other people’, ‘We’re not close’, etc.), I am not the same person on that fateful day tuning in the first episode on Netflix. I am now Team Hanguang-Jun through and through!

What I’ve been enjoying so much these days is watching random earlier/later episodes just to compare how Wangji’s attitude changed toward Wei Wuxian over 16 years-ish. It’s probably so obvious for everyone that he definitely falls in love first, even when the drama purposely made their early relationship a lot more intense comparing to the novel i.e. showing Wei Wuxian somewhat feeling the same way about Wangji in his first life, with the constant flirting and mutual pining (don’t even get me started...). Now that I kinda understand what the character is like, it makes a lot of sense the way he processed his feelings for Wuxian in his youth. I wonder how different he would have reacted without the push from the best brother/wingman in the cultivation world - Lan Xichen. Sure, Jiang Cheng had a lot to say about this too, but mostly out of a slight envy (I reckon) over Wuxian’s new subject of desire. But Lan Xichen sees through his brother, and has been pretty much WangXian fanclub admin since day 1. I don’t have a brother, but man, I wish Lan Xichen could be mine.

In my humble opinion, the fact that we were given 3 versions of Wei Wuxian throughout the series kinda gifts us 3 versions of Lan Wangji too in a way - the straight face, the confused heart, and the national boyfriend/husband. Considering the number of times I rewatched the latter half of the series i.e. episode 33 onward, I just want to write down all of my thoughts about the national boyfriend/husband Lan Wangji, and not just because that version seems to have the most lines comparing to the other two.

There are several details that were not explained much in the series (although shown on screen) so I have to read from the novel later on. But oh my god, the stuff I found... I never realized that the scene before Lan Wangji went to Mo’s manor where his guqin was playing behind him standing on the balcony referred to how he used Inquiry to find Wuxian. What Jiang Cheng said to him about having gone to a lot of places for 16 years and searching for someone completely went over my head in the first watch, and imagine how I scratched my brain revisiting that part. That plus ‘oh I’ve never seen you at a cultivation conference before’ in episode 41 - my goodness, because he was spending ALL of his time LOOKING FOR Wei Wuxian.

Another thing I hope would have been addressed in the series was the hot iron mark on his chest. I thought the story of him drinking wine and giving himself a mark identical to Wuxian’s was the prime work of a broken heart. He must have thought about their conversation in Xuanwu cave, about the mark staying on his skin forever and how Wuxian was convinced Mianmian would never forget him. Was that how Wangji was making a point of never forgetting Wei Wuxian? If that scene made into the drama, I would have thought Wangji’s character song Buwang to be play in the background. The lyrics fit the situation so much.

Personally, everything from episode 33 onward was perfection for me, finally getting to see Wangji embrace his feelings and ACT ON THEM toward the romance-blind idiot Wei Wuxian (yes, he totally is). All the caring touches and details played out so astonishingly. One of my favourite (which doesn’t seem to be a popular one since I have not seen many gifs of it on Tumblr) was when, after interrogating Huaisang, Wangji comfortably moved over the other side of the table and picked up Wuxian’s left leg to CLEAN THE EVIL SPELL - think of the level of intimacy this act is! Although that came after the romantic piggyback under the moonlight, I thought that speaks volume for someone who doesn’t even physically interact with his family members, and serves as a great follow-up right after he, again comfortably, pulled up Wuxian’s trousers to check his leg.

What I thought was always presented so beautifully is every time Wangji serves Wuxian liquor. The way he carefully picks up his sleeve, prepares the cup (I know they’re probably not called ‘cups’ but I can’t find another word), pours the liquor and slides it over to his partner is so well demonstrated and shows how much he wants to properly take care of Wuxian. Would you put so much effort in such a tiny mundane act if you’re not doing it for the most important person in your life? 

In a way, I feel like everything he does is making up for what he could not do the past 16 years, including remembering so many tiny details and keeping all sort of Wuxian-related things. My favourite Wangji keepsake moment, despite being a very short one, is the butterfly talisman at Yunping City which he gave to Wuxian to rescue Wen Ning. I don’t know why that moment makes me really really happy, probably because that was one of the earliest items Wangji could have kept hold of from Wuxian’s. That tells us how way long before he was developing feelings toward this little rebel. Not to mention, we did see Wangji even use this very talisman in episode 11 when he encountered Wen Chao on his way back to Cloud Recesses.

Yes, the ‘I knew he was Wei Ying all along’ while having all the swords pointed at you is highly pivotal as it’s basically the censored version of ‘I love you’. BUT, the moment all leading cultivators of all major and minor clans ran to Burial Mounds just to witness Lan Wangji standing proudly without flinch on the other side with Wei Wuxian makes me appreciate that whole arc a lot more than the big revelation in the last 3 episodes. Wangji ignoring his own Grand Master, Wuxian once again standing against every single person in the cultivation world but with so much confidence this time around - to me, is beyond satisfying. I love this arc so much so I wrote a separate piece about episode 44-45 - if you’re interested in more of my random thoughts, feel free to have a read here.

Thinking about all this, I’m absolutely in awe of how protective national boyfriend Wangji is to Wei Wuxian even before knowing he lost his golden core. They either have insanely accurate GPS, or just really good telepathy. Wangji’s constant attention to his partner (without having to verbally find out where he is) blows my mind every time. Remember how proud Wei Wuxian was having Lan Wangji come out just in time to fight Xue Yang at Coffin Town? That’s how much Wangji’s love and trust empowers Wuxian and makes him so so so secured, even when everyone was walking around in the fog hiding from the most notorious killer and his puppets. 

The one detail that pushed me over the edge completely (thanks a lot Lan Xichen) was the story of Wangji’s mom. Oh my god, baby Wangji sitting in the snow really messes with my head. I cannot believe it took 40 something episodes for us to learn about Wangji’s emotionally damaged upbringing and what shapes him into a stubborn lovebird as we know today. It adds A LOT more context and sadness to his famous phrase ‘bring a man back to Cloud Recesses and hide him’, as well as Lan Qiren’s statement ‘have you not learned from your father’s lesson’. I revisit the ‘bring back and hide him’ scene with a completely new perspective and can sense Wangji’s pain and confusion that Xichen described. The desperation in that statement of Wangji was a lot heavier in my eyes now that I understand the back story. If I were Wei Wuxian listening to all of that from Lan Xichen, I would probably have a meltdown right there at the doorsteps of the Silence Room.

Now we all know the source of inspiration of the infamous ‘I want to bring a man to Cloud Recesses. Bring him back and hide him’ in episode 25:

So after all of Xichen’s effort in telling Wuxian how Wangji actually feels about him through the tear-jerker story about their parents, Wei Wuxian STILL asked Lan Wangji WHY he was willing to seal Bichen and his own spiritual power so that Jin Guangyao would not hurt him. This dense man, of course, brought up the guilt card i.e. ‘Oh you don’t owe me anything’. I mean COME ON NOW YILING PATRIARCH! CAN YOU ACTUALLY BE THAT OBLIVIOUS WHEN IT COMES TO THE MAN THAT TOOK 300 LASHES ON HIS BACK FOR PROTECTING YOUR LEGACY? 

I know it went the other way in the novel, where the big confession happened. Maybe a bite from Fairy could do you some good, or just talk to Lan Xichen some more and then you can start appreciating your soulmate the way he deserves.

The silver lining after being deprived of an epic love confession is everything that happened in episode 50. It might have not been spelling-it-out clear as in ‘I love you’ ‘I love you too’ because of the government censorship, but it’s easily the most obvious yet emotional type of ending the production team has worked to hard to deliver. If you are still having trouble processing the allegedly ‘ambiguous’ finale, I can help with that - here. Just a heads up: it’s a happy ending. 

Good to know Wei Wuxian has the rest of his life making up to Lan Wangji. Everyday means everyday, because Wangji deserves THAT much!