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ratwithkeyboard · 1 year

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THIS FIC HAS BEEN EDITED AND POSTED ON MY AO3!

In Memoriam

a Utah gas station crimeboys fic that I thought up late 2022, finally done (I'm free)

I swear this thing was a beast to write. I think it's a bit cursed. I think it cursed me.

8,577 words

If you look up the word ‘nobody’ in the dictionary, all you’ll find is a picture of Wilbur Soot.

For the latter part of his life, ten long years, he’s worked at a gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Utah. He lives in a rusted old van, one which has been illegally parked behind the station for years now. Besides work, all he does is play Dungeons and Dragons- though he’d never admit to it- and write depressing love songs for the red-haired woman who works at the library (never mind the fact he doesn’t have a library card and doesn’t plan on getting one anytime soon.)

He’s not particularly notable. He has no major achievements to be celebrated for, and his legacy will be less than his current worth. All of these facts, he’s come to terms with. He’ll leave behind nothing but bones, barely a memory of who he once was, left to rot in the desert heat for all eternity. As is the course of life.

Well, that’s maybe putting it a little too… harshly. Nonetheless, Wilbur doesn’t have much to be proud of in his life.

He used to be convinced he’d be one of the greats. He’d have his own fans, one day, and he’d inspire millions to follow in his footsteps. He’d be remembered. He’d be important. For what? He didn’t know. He’d just have to find out on his way there.

That’s why he left home in the first place.

The most monumental thing that Wilbur has ever done in his life is leave home. He had only been eighteen years old at the time, freshly out of high school and longing for fame and fortune. He had wished for nothing more than to leave behind the life he had, stifled and boring and repetitive, meaningless and insignificant as any teenager believes their life to be. With no real destination in mind, he’d packed his things in the van and driven off into the horizon, no looking back.

God, how stupid he’d been.

He doesn’t really regret leaving, even if he doesn’t agree with his original reasons for doing so. He was stupid back then, reckless and selfish, but a part of him was still right. A part of him still refuses to call home and reassure his family he’s okay, refuses to settle down and live the life he’s expected to. A part of him is still reckless and selfish, even if he won’t admit it. A part of him wonders if it’d even be worth it to call back and explain how he ended up here, insignificant and alone in the desert.

In movies, when the main character runs away to make a life for themself, they always succeed in finding that fame. The protagonist with wide eyes and big dreams waves their small town goodbye and drives off to achieve something much bigger- and they always achieve it by the end. It’s every classic success story: the small-town kid moves to the big city and becomes a self-made star.

Wilbur is not one of these protagonists. When he left home, setting his sights on the great unknown, he hadn’t been given some big opportunity. Instead, he’d been left with a barely-earned high school diploma, a week’s worth of clothes, and whatever pocket money he’d managed to gather over the past month.

When he’d finally stopped driving, he’d ended up in a town with a population barely in the triple digits. A town where nothing ever happens, the last place you’d want to be stuck in. This was no Hollywood or New York City, not even close.

This was Rapids, Utah- ironically named considering the town’s lack of rapids. Or rivers. Or running water in general.

He wouldn’t call this town his home. Not exactly. The word ‘home’ always implies a certain set of characteristics that just aren’t present here. Home is a place you’d want to return to. A place that’s warm and welcoming. Somewhere that’s just as important to you as your loved ones.

They say home is where the heart is, but Wilbur’s heart is stuck stubborn in his chest, unwilling to claim a place for itself.

No, this place is certainly not home to Wilbur; however, it’s as close as a place can get to it. Maybe if he’d grown up here, or moved here under better circumstances, he could find a home here.

Then again, he’s never had the best luck with finding a place to call home.

He supposes he could find a home in star-filled skies, pinpricks of light brighter than he’s ever seen, and in this community, enthusiastic as one so small can be, and in the way everything feels so much smaller out here, a part of a greater universe.

After years of drowning in crushing expectations to be so much more than he is, it’s oddly comforting to Wilbur to feel so small. Out here, his mistakes don’t matter. He can be himself with no consequences. Just one miniscule part of an incomprehensible world.

He’s not famous, but over the years, he’s to come to terms with his insignificance. (will he ever stop being so dramatic? The world may never know.)

Upon arriving (or, well, running out of gas) in Rapids, he’d gotten a job at the first place that would take him. The Manberg gas station was old and run-down as all hell, the kind of place you’d bypass even if your car was running on fumes. The manager, Eret, who was Wilbur’s age and still somehow the manager, graciously gave him the job despite his complete lack of experience. He took the offensively neon orange jacket with a twisted sense of pride, a symbolic middle finger to the people who’d told him he’d never leave his hometown.

Did I mention he was a little reckless back then?

Over time, he’d fallen into a routine. He’d take the night shift alone unless Eret or Fundy had already taken it, because nobody shows up at night and he can sleep as much as he wants. Eventually, they both just let him have it.

During the day, he would write or sing. If he was out of words for the day, he would wander around town aimlessly. Usually he would end up passing out in the van dehydrated and tired. On Wednesdays, he went to the library to play D&D. Truly living his best life.

He owes a lot to this job, namely a place to park and free sometimes-decent wifi. Oh, also money. Not much, but still, it’s money. So he won’t afford it the title of home, but he’s gotten used to it. The orange jacket, and the flickering fluorescent lights, and the annoying little bell above the door are all familiar now.

On this night, Wilbur’s daydreaming is broken by the sound of said bell. It’s not exactly quiet enough to tune out but not loud enough to properly alert him as the door opens. He has to scramble to appear awake.

They don’t get many people coming inside to buy things, even during the day. Usually, customers just get their gas and speed away. This is certainly a surprise, especially at this hour.

The customer is hidden behind a shelf before Wilbur can get a full look at them, but he does notice a shock of blond hair sticking out from behind the gray wall. He wonders if they’re alone, or if someone’s waiting in their car outside; If they’re on their way somewhere or if they’re headed home. He wonders why they’re driving through here at- he checks his phone- 1:05 at night, if they know the closest place to stay for the night isn’t for another two hours’ drive.

The questions are never ending for Wilbur. It’s easy to wonder who a person is when they stop by. Why here? Why now?

When the customer finally approaches the counter, arms full of energy drinks that even Wilbur wouldn’t touch for fear of having a heart attack, Wilbur has to hide his surprise. The man looks dead on his feet, eye bags more pronounced than Wilbur’s, and he can’t be more than eighteen years old.

The customer fixes Wilbur with a grimace, eyes squinted under the harsh light, and clears his throat. He seems exhausted and nervous. Wilbur can’t blame him.

He speaks in a hushed voice as Wilbur rings up the pile of snacks, “D’you know if there’s anywhere around here where I can park for the night?” He pauses, laughing to himself. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself lost.”

On one hand, no, legally there’s only one or two places in town he can park overnight, and they’re far too shady for Wilbur to recommend in good conscience. On the other hand, Wilbur has been parked in the small employee parking lot behind the gas station for nearly two years now, and there’s always a few open spots back there.

Eret would like this, he tells himself, They’d say I’m doing a good thing, as he shows the customer around to the back parking lot, plastic bag of junk food in hand. His car has clearly seen better days, and the back two seats have been converted into a makeshift bed that cannot be good for his back. Wilbur hopes he can sleep well out here.

“You’re not going to, like, stab me in my sleep, right?” he asks, and Wilbur blames how late it is for his delirious little laugh. “This is no laughing matter-” he squints at Wilbur’s name tag, “Wil-bur. Is your last name really Soot?”

Choosing to not hear the last bit, Wilbur responds, “I’ll have you know, I would never kill a paying customer. I don’t think my manager would appreciate blood stains on her nice clean parking lot. Now, if you stole anything, that’s a completely different story.” He laughs a bit, pretending not to notice the can of coke shoved into the customer’s pocket. It’d be hypocritical of him to get on this kid for stealing, and the little Eret in his head tells him it’s only three dollars lost.

Maybe the voice of his boss in his head isn’t actually representative of Eret themself. Oh well.

“Appreciate it, big man, seriously.” he salutes to Wilbur, pulling his car into one of the empty spots and cracking open the first of many energy drinks. Wilbur salutes back, and returns to his post, intent on sleeping the rest of the night away.

In terms of interesting events, this is the first one Wilbur’s had all month, and he honestly doesn’t mind it all too much.

When Wilbur wakes up to the sound of the door bell jingling once again, he’s surprised. He can’t have been asleep for too long, feels like he just rested his head on his arms a few minutes ago, and it’s still dark outside. It’s rare to have one customer come in at this time, but two? In one night?

In his half-asleep haze, he brushes the dust off his jacket, subtly checking his reflection in the cash register and deeming it acceptable enough.

Looking up, he finds himself face-to-face with a bright orange jacket not much different than his own. Only, this one has a little fox patch sewn on. Wilbur knows that the patch is covering a mysterious stain, a stain that he may or may not have caused, and his brain slowly puts the pieces together. His eyes meet his coworker’s, confused.

“Fundy! You’re a bit early,” Wilbur exclaims, jolting up. He brushes the sleep from his eyes in a sad attempt to look professional, “I wasn’t expecting your for at least a few hours,”

Fundy looks unimpressed. “It’s nearly seven in the morning, Will,” he sighs, “your shift ended half an hour ago,”

Wilbur feels the early-morning headache start to set in alongside Fundy’s words. How did he let the time slip away from him so easily?

“There’s a weird ass car parked out back, by the way. I’d be careful if I were you,” Fundy continues, and Wilbur pretends he’s listening to his coworker, “Thanks for covering for me, by the way. Sorry I was late, you know how it is…”

Wilbur is already on his way out the door, giving a quick wave to Fundy and grabbing his things. The sun is just about to break the horizon when he steps out. The stranger’s car is still parked, crooked as fuck in the light, in the never-used employee parking spot by the dumpster. Its owner sleeps in the back, spine contorted in the most painful shape imaginable.

Wilbur finds a spot on the concrete and sits. And waits.

The sunrises, like everything out here, are more beautiful than any sunrise back home. There are no buildings blocking his view, only small hills and distant landforms. The air isn’t as polluted as it was back then either.

The sky is painted a rainbow of brilliant color, vibrant warm tones that fill his lungs and urge him to watch on. It all shifts minutely as the seconds go by, and eventually the sun breaches the line on the horizon. Wilbur sits cross-legged on the curb of the sidewalk; the rough concrete beneath his fingers contrasts the smooth sky beautifully, one just within reach while the other remains unattainable.

He doesn’t notice that someone has joined him until he hears the sound of him breathing in the early-morning silence, whispering a quiet “woah,” as the sun rises to claim its home among the clouds.

The stranger- Wilbur refuses to keep calling him “the customer”, it feels a bit too impersonal at this point- looks significantly less tired than the night before. That’s good, he thinks. The bags under his eyes are still there, sure, but he looks alive this morning. He’s sitting cross-legged on the curb, eyes following the clouds as they cross the sky.

“Surprised to see you’re still here,” Wilbur breaks the silence, “figured you’d’ve left earlier,”

The stranger just shrugs, “Didn’t feel like driving anymore. It’s not like I’ve got somewhere to be…” he trails off, eyes unfocused for a second, before shaking his head and turning to face Wilbur, “Name’s Tommy, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” says Wilbur, “So, what brings you to Rapids? I can’t imagine this place has any good advertising,”

“Oh, you know, things,” Tommy stumbles, looking for words, “I um- I just sort of- ended up here, really,” And Wilbur understands, knows so well the feeling of stopping in this barely-a-town after driving for so long and deciding this is it, this is where he’ll be. He may know nothing about Tommy’s situation, but he knows someone like him when he sees them.

He saw it in Fundy when they had first met. He’d been born in Rapids, but he’d left the second he could, only to find himself back in the place he started. He sees it in Eret, the blind artist who never quite made it big and was left here, the place where dreams go to fade out slowly, not quite dead but close enough.

He sees it now, in Tommy, who is clearly trying to either find something or get away from something, or both (Wilbur hopes upon hope that it’s not both, not for Tommy's sake).

So, being the kind, loving soul that Wilbur is, he holds out a hand to pull Tommy up. “You wanna get a tour of town? I’m basically an expert on this place,”

“Sure,”

By the time Wilbur’s shift is meant to start, he’s half an hour deep into an impassioned rant about anteaters.

“You don’t understand, Tommy, they’re evil. Look at them!” he points to the picture on his phone, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that this is a trustworthy creature, Tommy. Tell me that this is one of God’s great creations,”

Tommy is leaning heavily against the grimy counter of the Manberg gas station, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he cackles. His laugh is loud and distinctive, something that Wilbur would take note of if not for his current anteater-fed haze of anger.

After their tour- which was basically just two or three hours of Wilbur slandering the town and another few hours of pointing out useless information- They’d headed back to the gas station to bother Fundy, who had left as soon as he could. Wilbur can’t imagine why his coworker hadn’t been a fan of his and Tommy’s conversation.

Maybe it was the furry jokes, or the- well, maybe Fundy actually did have a good reason to leave early. Yeah.

Needless to say, Wilbur had a productive day.

Tommy walks out to his car just after the sky goes dark (Wilbur had made sure Tommy stayed to witness the sunset- “you can’t see the sun rise in the morning without watching it fall at night,”- and Tommy has to admit watching the sun shrink below the horizon was just as breathtaking as watching it emerge). Wilbur says goodbye, and prepares himself for another boring night.

Maybe tomorrow, he’ll do something notable.

Tommy had lied when he first left home. He’d lied, and never had the chance to confess the truth. He still feels guilty about it.

Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?

Tommy Innit, aged eighteen, had never wanted to stay at home. So many of his peers had been planning on staying local- for what reason they would want this, he’d never know- and everyone just assumed he would decide the same. They assumed a lot about him, actually, most of which couldn’t be further from the truth. Privately, he’d always planned on moving out the second he graduated. He didn’t hate his hometown, just, well…

He wanted something else. Something far away from there, something new. He wished for adventure, a break from the status quo. That was all, really. He didn’t want fame or fortune, hell, he just wanted something else.

Tommy never considered himself the type to run away. He still doesn’t. Running away is something criminals do. The kid who gets bullied in school, and who graduates in the top ten percent of his class, doesn’t just up and leave.

Yet here he is, lost and alone in Rapids, Utah.

It was easy for him to leave home. Nothing ever really tied him to that place. He had some friends, a favorite record shop, and some less-than-perfect memories there, and not much else. He tells himself that’s why he should be fine with running away, and squashes down the guilt.

He’d promised to return when he left. Said he’d be back in a few months, he was just out on a trip. To figure out life, or some bullshit he'd made up on the spot. His parents are probably still expecting him. He wonders when they’ll stop. If they’ll ever stop. It has been too long, just over a year, and surely now they’ve noticed he’s not coming back.

He should go back- No, he’s never going back- oh but he really should.

They wouldn’t find him if they tried. He’s made sure to leave no trail, no evidence of where he’s been. He’s blocked almost everyone he knows on social media, save for the few friends who helped him pack his things all that time ago, who’ve always stood up for him and deserve to know if he’s doing better. Nobody would ever find him in the middle of the Utah desert if he didn’t want them to, that’s for sure.

It’s not like he’s in any danger out here. Rapids is a good place to stay. They’ve got a nice library and a few restaurants and all the little quirks of a nowhere-town that Tommy’s come to expect. Rapids has a run-down Manberg gas station with plenty of space in the back for him to park, and that’s all he can ask for right now.

It’s not awful here, not by a long shot. Tommy likes it here, even. He likes spending time with Wilbur and watching the sun rise and fall. He likes making fun of Fundy, enjoys meeting the people of this town. He’s had more fun in these past few weeks than the last several months he spent back home (and all of the time he spent traveling, but that’s not important).

But the guilt is still there. It festers, rotten and wrong, and this must be what it feels like to be a criminal running from home. To like something- he won’t say he loves it, can’t bring himself to quite yet- but to be unable to enjoy it.

His car’s check-engine light is on.

Wilbur doesn’t seem too worried about it, and that almost reassures Tommy. If Wilbur knew shit about cars, he thinks he’d feel a bit better, but the man knows admittedly very little despite the amount of time he spends in and around them. Tommy should be fine, though. It’s not like he’s going out on joy rides or anything. The car, Henry, is old, a gift from his aunt that was ancient when she’d bought it, but it’s his. This car is his home, he wouldn’t be reckless with her.

His real home is miles away. He’s never returning to his home. Is it even his home anymore? Was it ever? Henry is warm and reliable, that’s gotta count for something.

Eret offers him a job today. An opportunity. He doesn’t decline for once. The sun rises silently above the horizon like always, and falls back down just as gently, right on schedule, another day passed. It’s still breathtaking to watch. Between sunrise and sunset, there are flickering fluorescents and too many empty coke cans and casual banter with the people he’s beginning to think of as friends. There’s a love song today, sappy as fuck and written for the giggly red-haired woman with the cool tattoos. Tommy orders waffles for dinner and goes to work the night shift with Wilbur.

And the guilt, angry and infected, leaves a sick taste in his mouth. He drowns it out with another diet coke, sticky sugar a much more welcome evil than the bitter that coats his tongue. Fundy’s on about some weird guys that came in earlier, and by the time the man is gone, the moon sits high above them and Wilbur’s dozing off.

Wilbur sleeps nearly all night, but Tommy hasn’t gotten a full night of sleep since he was sixteen, so he spends the time with glazed-over eyes lost in thought. His imagination is vivid, though not always bright, and tonight he thinks long and hard about the merits of becoming a moth under the eye-burning lights of the station.

If I was a moth, he’d be named Clementine, he thinks, and he’d never fall for those stupid lamps. The other moths would burn up and he’d be all fine looking up to the stars and knowing they’re unreachable. And not trying. He wouldn’t leave, never, and he wouldn’t be happy but at least his longing would eat him alive before a hot lamp could get to me-

The door bell rings, and Fundy walks in, ready to start his own shift again. Tommy hides his jacket in the back, shakes Wilbur up, and heads out to watch the sun rise. The moon tonight will be full.

He’s been here in Utah for a month now. The thought sinks in as Wilbur rambles beside him about something; Tommy can’t be bothered to listen right now. He’s been here for a month, gotten himself a job and everything. His mother would be thrilled.

His mother would kill him. Maybe. Who knows?

He’s been here a month, yet his mind still won’t let him call this place home. Some cruel part of his brain still insists that home is back there, boring and stifling and oppressive, and not here, where the sun moves across crystal-clear sky and desert stretches out for ages and he feels free.

“-and obviously, that’s the worst take I’ve ever heard, so I… Tommy? Are you there?” Wilbur stops his impassioned rant, noticing Tommy’s vacant stare. He snaps out of his thoughts, choosing to ignore the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach for now. There are more important things, like blinking fatigue out of his eyes and responding.

“I’m here, big man.”

“Alright,” Wilbur begins again, “Well, as I was saying: I couldn’t just let this pass, right? This guy was so obviously wrong…”

Tommy doesn’t have many friends in Rapids. He has Fundy, maybe, and he supposes Eret cares for him enough to offer him his job, and the librarian is nice, as is the pink-haired waitress who already knows his order by heart. But none of these people are really his friends, the same as Freddie and Eryn and Tubbo were back home.

That leaves Wilbur.

Wilbur is his coworker. He’s the first person Tommy met when he arrived here. Wilbur, despite barely having room enough for one person, invites him over to listen to music; he lets Tommy steal from the store because he’d do the same; he agrees to Tommy’s stupid plans before thinking. Tommy would like to consider them friends. Wilbur’s the closest thing he has to family out here.

He’d said just that, three weeks into his stay, when Wilbur had come up with the bright idea to vandalize the Manberg sign. “L’Manberg is a symbol,” he’d said, “of freedom and brotherhood between gas station workers.” And the spray paint was stolen, for sure, but who is Tommy to say anything? He’s a L’manbergian, after all.

“We are a bit like brothers, you and I,” Tommy had responded, jokingly.

“Don’t say that, I’ll cry”

Tommy stomped out Wilbur’s cigarette and Wilbur hid Tommy’s stash of energy drinks. They’d painted the L’manberg sign over a few times for good measure and stargazed from the roof when they finished. Tommy called out into the desert until his voice went, and Wilbur laughed at him until his went as well.

Tommy will never say it, but Wilbur really is the brother he’d never had. The annoying, asshole, prick of an older brother who shows him all the shortcuts and secrets of Rapids, Utah, and makes him listen to his shit love songs. Tommy wouldn’t trade that for the world.

This place isn’t home, the back of his brain says, but Wilbur does a good job of pretending it is.

Tommy can’t help but wish that he could do the same. Act like he belongs here, that is. If it weren’t for the guilt, he thinks he would have started weeks ago. He and Wilbur are like brothers, after all.

There is one thing tying Wilbur to this place that Tommy lacks. Wilbur has friends here. As in, more than one friend. Friends plural. He has a D&D group (a confession Tommy had practically pried from Wilbur’s grasp), knows everyone who works at the library (They have free computers, Tommy!), and has made a name for himself in town for his music (It’s not like I’m a celebrity, I’ve only played in town a few times). Regardless of what the man says, he has cemented his place in this town.

Tommy only knows five or six people here, and only three by name. Wilbur goes on and on about Ranboo and Charlie, as if those names have any significance to Tommy.

It’s a week or so after the founding of L’manberg when he first actually meets Ranboo. Wilbur had been telling him about them for a few days by now, and Tommy had been ignoring the odd pang of jealousy in favor of listening to Wilbur describe their last D&D campaign. He always figured he’d never really meet the guy, that they’d forever be one of those mythical friends-of-friends that you hear all about and never actually meet.

He had been wrong about that, to say the least.

See, Wilbur has been trying for ages to get a date with the red-haired librarian. His scores of love songs, Tommy has learned, are almost always about her. He leaves her notes folded into little flowers and recites poetry to her, and yet he’s just now decided to ask her out for real. It’s kind of sad. No, it’s very sad.

Regardless, Wilbur finally manages to ask her out, and against all odds, she agrees to a date. Wilbur thinks it’s a good idea to talk Tommy’s ear off all day about said date, and only after oversharing to the nth degree does he think to tell Tommy that he’ll be working alone at the station tonight. Needless to say, Tommy’s a bit pissed. Happy for Wilbur, but still pissed that he’s alone. He hopes Sophie- Sadie? Sammy? Who knows- is enjoying the sunset with Wilbur.

He doesn’t hate her, just the situation. He would never disrespect women, but he would disrespect Wilbur without a second thought. He reminds himself of this again for the fifteenth time tonight.

For maybe the third time since Tommy’s started working here, the doorbell chimes. He quickly shakes away his thoughts and stands up straighter, attempting in vain to scrub the scowl off of his face.

The door creaks, and in steps one of the oddest guys Tommy’s ever seen. They’re incredibly tall and a bit on the lanky side, and they cast a long-ass shadow across the dull floor. Tommy really should clean that some time.

They’ve got a facemask and sunglasses covering their face, and if it weren’t for their garish Hawaiian shirt and dangly, clinking Hatsune Miku earrings, Tommy would call it suspicious. Instead, he just hopes they buy their shit and leave so he can get back to his vivid daydreams.

As if the universe personally hates him- and he’s starting to suspect it does- they don’t just get their shit and leave. In fact, they make a beeline straight for Tommy. It’s weirdly both threatening and not.

And then they speak.

“Do you know where Wilbur is?” They slam their hands down on the counter, immediately pulling them back with a look of pain crossing their face. As they shake out their wrists, they continue to question Tommy, “Wilbur Soot? He owes me. He said he’d be here tonight.”

“Why would I tell you?” Tommy clears his throat, composing himself, “Who the fuck even are you?” He's met his fair share of weird strangers here in Utah, but this one is a specific brand of weird. Tommy wonders how they know Wilbur, if they really do.

The stranger sighs, pushing their glasses up to their forehead to properly meet Tommy’s eyes. Their stare is cold, but it looks directed more toward Wilbur and not the man they’re staring at. “I’m Ranboo. Ranboo Beloved.” Tommy remembers now, Wilbur telling him about his friends. He’s pretty sure this is one of them. “..and it looks like Wilbur lied to me about working tonight. Again. He’s owed me twenty bucks for a month and he still hasn’t repaid a cent,”

“Yeah, that sounds like Wilbur,” Tommy sighs, “He didn’t lie this time, though. He was supposed to work tonight, but he bailed on me. If you must know, he’s out on a date with that librarian…Sarah?”

“Sally? Finally?” Ranboo seems shocked, but Tommy can’t tell if they’re more shocked that Wilbur finally had the courage to ask her out or that she actually said yes. He doesn’t know which is sadder. He does know that he’ll be bullying Wilbur about this as soon as he comes back.

“Yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about it. All day, ‘oh Tommy, she’s so beautiful. She’s like the sun, but also the moon, and the stars as well! And she’s the best and I love her so much! Look at me, I’m Wilbur and I fuck fish, meh meh meh meh’ shut up, we get it!”

“That definitely sounds like Wilbur,” Ranboo says, mischief in their eyes, a plan clearly forming, “Do you want to help me get back at him?”

“Fuck yeah, dude!” Tommy’s a little too ready to drop his work to mess with his friend. So what if he doesn’t care about his job? Malicious intent comes first, work comes second. That’s a new law, he decides, in the L’manberg constitution. Mischief before Work.

Wilbur’s gonna love that one, he thinks, but only after they prank him.

Tommy has only met Ranboo tonight, but as the two of them run over their devious schemes, he can’t help but feel as though this is the start of a great friendship. And maybe, just maybe, the part of his brain telling him he doesn’t belong here quiets, content in this moment to consider it is wrong.

Tommy also decides, here and now, that he’ll be stealing all of Wilbur’s friends. It’s what a brother would do, isn’t it?

A week later, Tommy stands at the edge of town, his phone telling him it’s five past midnight. To his right is Ranboo, carrying a backpack that must weigh fifty pounds. To his left is Charlie, who insists that he’s a perfectly capable ghost hunter. In terms of first impressions, Charlie’s had sure been unique.

Wilbur had denied to come, saying that this whole plan was stupid, which leaves Tommy out in the desert with two near-strangers.

And they’re going to catch a ghost.

The little shack that sits in the distance is their target for tonight. There have been rumors of paranormal activity there, or so says Charlie, and tonight the rumors would be proven. True or false, they would at least be getting some fuel for the town rumors, though Charlie is dead set on actually hunting this ghost.

In all honesty, neither Tommy nor Ranboo know much about ghost hunting. Ranboo’s always been more into cryptids and conspiracies rather than the paranormal, and Tommy never pays much attention to anything like this.

Despite his lack of knowledge on the subject, Tommy doesn’t feel out of place on this haunting journey. The sun is below them, the moon lighting their way, and the presence of his car keys in his hand grounds him. These two friends-of-Wilbur act as if he’s always been a part of their little group, and he finds it easy to join in on their jokes and bits.

It has never been easier to pretend he belongs here.

The three of them approach the decrepit, decaying structure with the most caution, as if the building itself is a monster. With shaking hands, Ranboo pulls out a flashlight and hands it to Charlie, who steps up to the door. Neither dares speak louder than a whisper. Charlie reaches slowly for the rusted doorknob, settling his fingers hesitantly on the metal. They all collectively breathe.

It’s calm for a moment. The stars above blaze like an unseen warning, but it’s calm. Then-

Thud!

The three ghost hunters jump at the sound. It echoes for a moment, reverberating and sending chills down Tommy’s spine. There is a heavy shuffling inside. Faint light that they hadn’t noticed before shines out from under the door. It flickers for a second, almost like a dying candle, then dies out completely. More shuffling, scratching at the boarded windows.

Without so much as a warning, a woman’s loud scream echoes from inside. The old, damp wood of the shack does little to muffle the shriek of agony. A few more loud bangs follow, increasing in intensity, and then…

silence

The door’s hinges creak with decades of weathering and age as it is opened from the inside, but the three ghost hunters are gone before they can see who- or what- is standing behind it. They pile in Tommy’s car, barely bothering with seatbelts. Tommy’s never driven faster in his life as he speeds back into town.

Wilbur and Sally laugh from where they stand in the shack’s doorway. The looks on Ranboo and Tommy’s faces more than make up for the chaos the two had caused on their date. Sally laments the cobwebs in her hair and Wilbur inhales a bit too much dust from laughing as they watch headlights grow dimmer in the distance. Overall, their plan was a success.

Back at the station, safe under the harsh lights, three amateur ghost hunters- Charlie has managed to get both Tommy and Ranboo on his side by now- chat excitedly about the potential of actual ghosts in Rapids. They’ll have to tell Wilbur about all he’d missed tonight when they see him again. Tommy barely registers his brother’s absence, not all that bothered by it like he thought he’d be.

He also barely registers the fact that he sees Wilbur as a brother now, not just a friend. That’ll be a breakdown for another day.

This feels like home. It feels like he belongs here. Hanging out with his brother’s friends on a Wednesday night, talking about ghosts, saluting to the already fading L’manberg sign, this is where he belongs. The clawing guilt subsides for now, leaving just enough room to breathe. It’ll be back, he knows, but pretending it won’t is a whole lot easier when he can just focus on the rapidly rising sun.

Tommy finds he’s starting to regret his lie less and less.

- Autumn passes faster than it has any right to, and soon the air grows a new, bitter cold. The holidays are around the corner and the days themselves are much shorter than they ought to be. Winter arrives quickly and harshly, consuming the last dregs of summertime warmth with a furious passion.

The roads coming in and out of Rapids, Utah are icy.

The good part is that, because the roads are shit, the customer base of the Manberg station is culled down to just the regulars and the locals. There are no more demanding Karens or suspicious old men to deal with, especially during the night shift. The only people who are willing to stop in right now are friends and the occasional frazzled Rapids resident (Though that’s rare even in normal weather).

Noticing this shift, Wilbur begins to play his own music on the store's tinny speakers, and every once in a while someone else will pitch in with a song recommendation. It becomes a community effort, curating the perfect gas station playlist.

Tommy helpfully names their playlist ‘Hell music’, a fitting title to say the least. Eret and Fundy even go along with the change in music, if only so they don’t have to listen to the same five Christmas songs on loop during the day. God bless Mariah Carey, but everyone already knows what she wants for Christmas, they don’t need to be told again.

The week of Christmas itself leaves Wilbur and Tommy alone. Sally’s out visiting family, Ranboo and Charlie as well, and even Eret and Fundy have taken a break from Rapids for the week. The town is even emptier than normal, seemingly everyone choosing to either stay bundled up at home or leaving the second they could. Wilbur and Tommy tell the others that they can handle the station fine, it’s not like they need all four employees.

They close the shop for ‘maintenance’ for the week and don’t mention it.

They agree to not do a gift exchange, seeing as neither of them really celebrate the holiday and it’s on quite short notice. Despite this easy decision, Tommy buys Wilbur a tamagotchi, and Wilbur buys Tommy a polaroid camera. They both pretend to not notice when the other hides the gift in their car, waiting to be unwrapped.

Tommy tapes his new polaroids up on his dashboard and sneaks one into Wilbur’s pocket the next day in lieu of thanking him. Wilbur just stands there studying his new toy like it’s a piece of great, revolutionary technology, then gives a quick nod to Tommy later on in the day. The two of them have the communication skills of a rock (just one, not two), but they hope they get the point across that they’re thankful.

It’s Tommy’s first Christmas away from home, but it’s far from Wilbur’s first, so he elects- out of the kindness of his heart- to invite Tommy to join in on his holiday traditions. Tommy’s all too eager to accept his invitation, confessing he never enjoyed any of his family’s old traditions, and he’s excited to take part in Wilbur’s this year.

That’s not the whole truth, obviously. His thoughts surrounding the holidays are complex and overwhelmingly negative, but Wilbur doesn’t need to hear about all of that.

They go get breakfast at nine p.m. in the corner booth at Niki’s diner. Next is running around town until the sun goes down, dipping in and out of shops, and eventually Tommy finds a trail of animal tracks that they follow until they stop abruptly. And then, the grand finale: they set off fireworks until midnight. With that done, they retire to the roof of the station to stargaze and get a well-deserved calm moment. Another successful holiday celebration in Wilbur’s book, with polaroids to commemorate it all this time.

Under the light of the moon, Tommy nearly forgets that this isn’t normal for him, this isn’t the lackluster Christmas with his parents he’s meant to be having. He puts out another of Wilbur’s cigarettes- dude, seriously, stop, you’re going to kill yourself one of these days- and lays back atop the roof, content to live in this moment forever.

Unfortunately- or maybe fortunately, he can’t decide- the moment can’t just keep going for eternity. It seems, in his exhausted state, that Wilbur feels the need to ruin the tranquil peace they’ve found themselves up here.

“Tommy-” Wilbur clears his throat, a sad little cough, and fiddles with his hands in his lap, “Do you ever… regret it?”

Tommy gives Wilbur a confused look, sitting up on his forearms to look him in the eyes. “What?” The concern in his voice is evident, as is his lack of understanding. Wilbur sighs.

“Do you ever regret this?” he begins again, spreading his arms wide as if the whole town were laid out in front of him, “All of this. Running off, moving here, staying here. Don’t you ever feel like you could be doing more? Like your life could be so much more? Do you ever-” He pauses, collecting his thoughts, “Do you ever get the sense that it would’ve been better if you’d stayed and listened to them about who you could be?”

The question hangs in the air, going stale as soon as it leaves Wilbur’s lips. It’s immediately clear this is more about him than Tommy.

This stops Tommy for a second, thinking. “Will, do you regret it?”

Silence falls over them, not quite comfortable like before but not the suffocating quiet of before. Wilbur takes a deep breath, cool air filling his lungs and shocking his brain. His answer is hesitant and soft, almost an admission to himself rather than to Tommy. “No, not at all. My only regret is how long it took me to realize that. To realize that I don’t regret it. Maybe I would’ve been better off staying at home, but that’s in the past now…” he turns back to Tommy, “But I'd like to think I know you. And I know you feel bad about leaving home.”

And Tommy desperately wants to say yes, he does. Wilbur almost gets it. He almost understands how hard it is for Tommy to feel at home out here despite how welcoming and right everything has been so far. How the boundless sands of the Utah desert feel more freeing and comforting than home ever did, but his brain still won’t admit that this is home.

But Wilbur doesn’t understand. He can’t fully understand. That’s the one difference between the two of them; Wilbur had come here in search of something new, but Tommy had come here as an escape. Wilbur had been looking for notoriety and fame. Tommy had only been looking to get away. It took Wilbur living in rapids for months to settle for mediocrity; Tommy thinks he would settle for less than that in half the time.

While Wilbur has had to deal with the letdown of not getting all he’d set out for, Tommy has to deal with the crushing revelation that this is what he’d left for. He knows it’s beautiful out here, but he still can’t reconcile that fact with the guilt he feels for leaving.

I don’t think I deserve even this, he realizes, but Wilbur thinks I deserve more.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“I don’t… I don’t think I want to regret it either,” He says finally, “I don’t want to go home-” He stops, shudders, “I don’t want to go back there, I want to stay, I just- I don’t feel like I’m meant to be here,”

“I used to think that too,” Wilbur begins, “Used to believe that I was destined for much greater. But I’m still here even after all that. I don’t doubt you could find yourself something better, though-”

“You don’t get it! I don’t think I deserve more, hell, I barely deserve what I’ve got,” Tommy interrupts frustratedly, “If I could just stop feeling guilty about leaving that fuckin’- fucking prison, then I would be fine out here!”

His outburst gets the both of them to shut up for a bit. The moon inches minutely across a star-filled sky.

For as much as Tommy’s paid attention to the sunlit blue of the day, he’s never really given mind to its night-time counterpart. There’s so many stars out here, each forming constellations he’s never really learned about but he’s sure Tubbo could tell him all about. He can’t see stars like this back home. He focuses on the pinpricks of light above and breathes like Wilbur had shown him. He tries to bite back the sting of forming, frustrated tears. He finds he cannot collect his thoughts very well, the idea of gaining composure utterly impossible, so he just silently wipes his eyes.

“The first night I spent here, I was so awestruck by the stars that I forgot to sleep. That’s actually how I learned that the sunrise is as beautiful as it is. I stayed up all night to stargaze and ended up catching the sunrise afterward by accident,” Wilbur speaks, barely a whisper against the vast sky.

“Tommy, that first night, I was a mess. I was absolutely miserable. But seeing what’s out there made me realize that I’m- well, I’m myself. I’m not what everyone told me I am, and I’m not any better than anyone else. Moving into this town has taught me that the relationships I make and the things I do are me, not whatever came before. I can’t imagine feeling guilty about that. Feeling like I don’t deserve that.”

“You get-” Tommy breathes, “you get used to ignoring it,” he laughs, no humor behind it. He can feel himself closing off once again, regretting this whole conversation. Wilbur makes a distressed sound, going to argue, but he is cut off. “I just feel bad about leaving home, that’s all. I can’t see this place as my home when I don’t feel like I belong here,”

“Well, did you belong back where you were before?”

And Tommy has to stop. Because Wilbur, stupid, awful Wilbur, his brother and best friend, has a point. A good one, at that.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but if it hurts you so much to think that this may be where you belong, you can always call back home,” maybe it’s a bit hypocritical for Wilbur to recommend Tommy calls home, but that’s not important, “It might help to talk to someone from- from before. And then we can go and get another round of Christmas waffles and do whatever you want for the day, whatever makes you feel at home.”

Behind Wilbur’s miniscule, reassuring smile is a new determination, a single-minded focus on making sure Tommy feels like he belongs here. He’ll be damned if Tommy still feels guilty for much longer.

Even if Wilbur is nobody to the world, he thinks it’s enough to be somebody to Tommy. And if that means letting the kid drag him around to every shop in town until they both pass out, that’s a price he’s willing to pay.

Maybe they are like brothers. Sue him for caring.

That morning, Tommy calls Tubbo. He sets his camera toward the horizon and shares the sunrise with his friend from back before (That’s new, Tommy thinks, he’s starting to think of it as ‘Before Rapids’ instead of just ‘home’. That’s a step in the right direction, surely). Wilbur chooses to stay off to the side, not wanting to get in the way of this personal moment. He pretends he doesn’t see the tears drying on Tommy’s face as he talks to the phone in his hand.

“I take it that your call went well?” Wilbur asks him as they walk into town. Since this morning, Tommy’s had this lighter look to him, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He still looks a bit off, but it seems like the past several hours have helped.

“He got me a gift, forgot I’m not there anymore, wrapped it up and everything,” Tommy laughs, melancholy, but it’s a start, “Said he’d mail it as soon as he could. Told me that everyone back home misses me, you know, everything you’d expect. He said the sunrise was beautiful…”

“That’s good,” Wilbur can sense there’s more that Tommy wants to say.

“He- um, well- and I feel a bit stupid now, but I uh- I told him about you. About our conversation last night. And well, he and I both know that I’m not great with emotional shit but-” it’s clear he’s struggling, “He told me not to worry about being guilty, and if I like it here I should just call it home already. And then he called me a bitch, and I hung up. I don’t know, I’m just being a dumbass right now, but that- I think that helped. A lot, actually. Hearing it from someone that I left behind- someone who actually cares for me back there. That I can call this place home.”

Wilbur wants to say something, some words of encouragement or reassurance, but he finds himself lost for words. He just smiles, hopeful and kind, and holds open the door to Niki’s diner for Tommy.

He needs to thank this Tubbo guy at some point.

For the first time in a while, Wilbur sits down and eats, and doesn’t think at all about wasted potential or doing something notable or legacy. For the first time in months, Tommy sits down in Rapids free of guilt and ready to make a new home for himself. For the first time, the sun sits low on the horizon, rising as the seconds pass, and two brothers eat together with no worries about belonging or deserving. They’re still not perfect, but they’re here together and that’s all that matters.

There’s nothing inherently special about it, this mundane scene, but to Wilbur and Tommy, this is the world. This is home.

#wilbur soot #tommyinnit #dsmp #the mice are writing

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koostarcandy · 2 years

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Can you do 7 and 27 with namjoon? And congrats on the milestone!!! You truly dserve it and more ♡

ofc, juju! tysm for requesting <3 i hope you'll enjoy this one!

7 - “i heard my crush on you was obvious, apparently.”

27 - “i’m sorry for watching you tolerate it.”

i love seeing you from my pov - namjoon x reader

"shhh, she's coming this way, shut it people."

yoongi doesn't think he's seen namjoon smile this widely, dimples on full display, eyes crinkling into crescent moons. a gentle "hi" along with a "wanna sit with us for lunch?" and when you nod in return, he practically yeets taehyung out of his seat, softly patting the seat next to him. you chuckle, amused at his duality. yoongi resists the urge to cover his mouth with his hand, shocked at how lovey-dovey his friend is acting. apparently, its not acting, because it's the same way he acts his dog moni, all mushy and a puddle of goo.

namjoon is clinging onto every word you're saying, adding his own insights, which makes you rant more about some magic library book you read. slowly, one by one, the boys sigh and pick at their food, tired of namjoon not speaking up and telling you what he was telling them a few moments ago before you arrived.

"can you believe it? moni and her get along so well! i couldn't ask a better mother for my child," namjoon says dreamily, much to the disgust of his friends. "just tell her, man" seokjin groans, "we're tired of you ranting about her night and day! all you have to do is walk up to her, tell her you like her and live happily ever after."

namjoon's face drops at his hyung's blunt words, “i’m sorry for watching you tolerate it.” he says quietly. yoongi glares at seokjin, sliently reprimanding him. "all he's saying is, maybe you should tell her" he starts slowly, "keeping her in the dark and not letting her know may result in something you both don't want," yoongi says wisely. namjoon nods, suddenly perking up and being all smiles. yoongi just hopes he finally tells you what's been on his mind and heart all this while.

it's you who makes the first move, surprisingly.

"hey, do you wanna come with me to the boba shop later? i got their premium card and i could use someone to help me get a discount."

everyone's looking at namjoon now, food long forgotten. namjoon catches their stares, sliently urging him to say yes and get the damn discount. also, get them boba teas while he's at it.

he looks back at you, unfamiliar glint of hope in your eyes. he nods, offering to take you there. the whole group roars at that suggestion, jimin hastily shoving the keys in your hand, knowing the last vehicle namjoon had driven was a go-kart. said man scoffs at their reaction, mumbling he was just gonna pay for the cab fare.

on the way to the boba shop, namjoon offers you various tips and tricks to get you discounts, saying he's an expert at getting what he wants. turns out, he's right. he's also happily sipping and chewing the boba in front of you, which he got at more than half the price.

"so, joonie," you start, "i've been talking to your friends and-" namjoon suddenly coughs, seemingly choking on a boba ball. you rush and pat his back, settling into the chair next to him. you giggle, "why have you been talking them?" he asks, voice a bit scratchy. you shrug, "they've been trying to talk to me, so last week taehyung, jimin and jungkook forcefully sat me down and uh," you fidget with the loose threads on your beige cardigan, “i heard my crush on you was obvious, apparently.”

hold the *censored* up.

you??? have?? a crush??? on him?!?!?

why? when? where? how? what-

"can you please say something," you chuckle, seeing his eyes dart between you and your fidgeting fingers. how could he be so oblivious? every thing falls into place now, the times you would stay up with him over zoom so you could finish your homework, get him an extra pen because he always asks you, he could go on.

he smiles that smile, your favourite smile. you know namjoon wants to know the W's of your crush on him. if only he could see, from your point of view, he's the loveliest person you could ever meet. gentle yet clumsy, goofy but serious when it comes to something serious, loving but can also be hella annoying. you hold his hand, intertwine them tightly as if to say, "i'll tell you everything."

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h0tchner · 3 years

Text

Worth It (college AU!aaron hotchner x fem!reader)

pairing: college AU!aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron and reader are both students together at George Washington University. although Y/N needs to study for her upcoming exam, her boyfriend aaron has other plans for their afternoon... other, sinful, plans... ;)

word count: 3k

includes: SMUT, fluff, hotch has a silver chain (adsfhkjdhskfhkjsd), spitting!kink, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, cigarette mention, PDA, slight bratty!reader, lots of eye contact and kissing, creampie

rating: 18+ (this is basically pure SMUT so pls dni if you are uncomfy with explicit sexual content, or if you are a minor).

a/n: tysm to my besties in the discord server who put the idea of college!hotch with a silver chain in my head. this thing practically wrote itself. i hope you all enjoy, and that it's what you imagined! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

It’s the first beautiful spring afternoon of the year. Considering you and your boyfriend Aaron have both been cooped up in the GWU library all winter long, the choice to study outside in the fresh air today was a unanimous no-brainer.

After a full morning of classes, the two of you waste no time racing over to the courtyard at noon, in serious need of some sunshine. Hand in hand, you navigate the throngs of students and teachers, pushing your way through the sea of people toward an old oak tree at the far end of the outdoor common area. You and Aaron settle underneath the sturdy branches happily, study materials in hand.

His back is up against the tree, and you’re nestled between his long legs, resting comfortably against his warm, firm chest. In your hands are a pile of colour-coded flashcards that you’re memorizing for your Shakespeare 101 test that’s later this afternoon. Well… trying to memorize, that is. Aaron is making it kind of impossible to concentrate.

Although he’s supposed to be looking over notes for his Political Science class, he is decidedly… not. It takes all of five minutes for him to put his notebook down with an exaggerated huff.

You flick your eyes up at him. Aaron’s head is tipped back against the tree trunk, his eyes screwed shut, dark eyebrows furrowed. Something has him riled up and restless; he’s angstier than usual… more impatient than usual. You can’t quite put your finger on why.

You let out a soft sigh of concern, making a mental note to talk to your boyfriend about it later tonight, and turn back to your flashcards.

About 10 minutes later, just as you’re starting to leaf through the literary symbolism of Hamlet, one of Aaron’s large hands begins to tease the hem of your yellow sundress.

You blush lightly and swat his touch away, playfully, cheeks flushing wildly at your boyfriend’s overtly public display of affection. You say nothing, and neither does he. He doesn’t exactly stop… and it’s not like you exactly stop him.

You re-read the same flashcard over again as Aaron’s hand continues to toy at your dress. His other hand comes up to rest on your hipbone.

You fidget a little on the grass under his touch, adjusting your hips to move backwards, feeling something hard pressing into your... OH. So that’s what has him so worked up.

He sucks in a breath, fingers digging into your hip a little harder, the hand on your dress inching further up your thigh -

“Aaron!” you whine, breathy and bewildered. “There are so many people out here you seriously need to control yourself.”

You let your head tip back to rest on his solid chest. Looking up at him you can see the glimmer of arrogance in his darkened, hazel eyes. There’s something else there too… something more… lustful.

Predictably, he says nothing: but lucky for you, his eyes say everything.

“You made me stop studying,” you fake a frown, placing your flashcards onto your lap.

He gives your hip another squeeze.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, smirking, brushing a few strands of hair off your neck before attaching his lips to your collarbone.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out. You bring a hand up and card it through his thick, black hair. You can feel him smiling against your skin, pressing light kisses up your neck, all the way up to your ear.

“You just look so good today, Y/N, I can’t help myself,” he whispers, deep and rough yet full of youthful horniness. He takes the soft skin of your earlobe in his teeth and pulls on it gently, making your eyes flutter shut and your hand pull hard at the hair on back of his head.

Aaron groans into your ear at the feeling. You shudder at the sound. He loops his arms around you and lets his head drop onto your shoulder. You stretch up slightly to the side and softly peck his cheek, moving one of your hands to cover both of his where they rest over your midsection, the other still playing with his gorgeous, raven hair.

“Babe, what in the world is going on with you today?” you ask, knowing full well what the answer is.

He lifts his head from your shoulder and glances at you, warm, golden-brown eyes shining. The expression on his face makes your heart do backflips.

You take the flashcards from your lap and toss them into your bag, twisting around in his arms so that you’re on your knees, facing him.

“Aaron,” you say again, this time more deliberate and confident, “what is it that has you so side-tracked?” Your fingers reach out to play with the silver chain he wears around his neck. You loop it around one of your fingers and pull him closer to you. You hear his breath hitch in his throat.

“You,” he shrugs.

Aaron lunges forward and catches you in a hungry kiss. It’s wet and needy, full of tongue and teeth.

“You’re insufferable,” you jest, lips pulling apart, fingers still toying with his chain.

“Yeah, I know,” he tilts his head cockily, grinning against your mouth as he captures your lips again.

“Dorm?” you ask him softly when the kiss breaks, dropping his chain back to rest on his black shirt.

He nods, letting his thumb brush over your cheek. He steals another kiss and then stands, suddenly, pulling you up with him. Before you can even register what’s happening, Aaron has both of your bags on his shoulders, and he’s scooping you up in his arms. With haste, he starts striding across the grass towards the dorms.

You throw your arms around his neck and grin up at him wildly as he apologetically barrels through the crowd. What a sight it is; you: cheeks flushed and laughing, yellow sundress billowing, and him: sexy as hell in dark blue jeans and a simple black t-shirt, practically sprinting with you in his arms across the campus.

You giggle as he elbows open the front door of his dorm building, and bury your face in his neck. You breathe in the faint smell of his guilty-pleasure cigarettes and clean, musky cologne. When you reach the elevator, he finally lets you down, but his touches never cease.

Aaron pushes you up against the wall of it and kisses you until you’re moaning into his mouth, legs practically jelly.

He continues this until the door opens on his floor, and you’re whisked away, again. He’s pulling you behind him at record speed down the hallway, your hand in his, until you reach his room.

The moment the door closes behind you, Aaron throws down the backpacks and is all over you again.

“Oh my god Aar,” you gasp, as he spins you around and traps you between him and the door. He pushes one of his denim-clad legs in-between yours and flexes up lightly, brushing over your core.

“So,” kiss, “fucking,” kiss, “hot,” kiss, “in,” kiss, “that,” kiss, “dress,” he breathes into your mouth in between bruising kisses.

“Do you have any idea what you looked like? Sitting between my legs in my favourite sundress of yours?” Aaron tilts your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. He is completely undone. A self-confident smile plays on his red, puffy lips. His dimples make your heart ache. His thick eyebrows are quirked up, and his eyes are nearly black, blown out with pure lust.

You answer his question with a whimper, bringing your hands up to his chest to tug at his black tee.

Aaron steps back a little bit, letting you pull his shirt up and over his head. You toss it to the side, bringing your hands back up to run over his broad, lightly toned chest.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” he admits smugly, letting his hands roam over your body.

“Yeah, and why’s that my fault?” You pant, teasingly, egging him on. You like to get a little bratty with him during foreplay, knowing that it always comes back to bite you in the ass later on in the best way possible.

He growls at you, licks his lips and dives back in, kissing you with unparalleled passion, rocking his leg up into your underwear-covered pussy.

“You were right there in my hands, but I couldn’t touch you,” he utters.

“You can touch me now,” you say, “and I can touch you.” You move your fingers down to the waistband of his jeans, eager to feel him. Aaron’s hands stop you.

“Not yet, babe,” he breathes out, shaky, touching his forehead against yours. “Need to taste you first.”

Your mind goes blank at his audacity.

“Aaron, fuck, please,” you whimper, eyes wide. You grind down on his leg, eliciting a grunt from your boyfriend.

You move to grind down on his leg again, but he removes it, leaving you to shudder at the loss of contact. He scoops you up again and carries you into his bedroom.

Aaron throws you down onto the bed, his black and white plaid sheets still rumpled from last night’s restless sleep.

He stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at you, his silver chain resting on the tufts of dark hair on his bare chest. His cock is straining at the fabric of his jeans, and his chest is heaving. He is lean and muscular, and oh so perfect.

“Baby, you’re so hot, please touch me, I need you to touch me,” you plead, pressing your legs together for friction.

“Fucking beautiful,” Aaron whispers as he kneels, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you toward him.

You yelp as he drags you down the bed to him, the skirt of your sundress now around your waist. You look down at your gorgeous boyfriend as he nips and kisses your thighs.

“Aaron,” his name falls from your mouth like a prayer as you reach one hand down to tug at his hair. He tightens his grip around your legs, inching closer and closer to where you need him the most.

He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the underwear covering your clit, making your back arch off the bed, chasing more.

“Aaron please,” you grip his hair with one hand and the sheets with another.

This time he sucks lightly on it through the fabric, and you cry out.

You squirm and moan under his touch as he licks your slit through your panties.

“Oh my god Aaron if you don’t to- OH!” Your frustration is drowned out by the sound of your moans as Aaron pushes your underwear to the side, eating you out like his life depends on it.

He laps at you with vigour, alternating between flat strokes and gentle sucking. Your hand in his dark hair is unfaltering as he hums between your folds, sending shockwaves throughout your whole body. You reach down with your other hand to hold onto Aaron’s, which he unhooks from your thigh and entwines with yours effortlessly.

You are a moaning, whimpering mess underneath his lips. He adds a finger, curling it just right inside of you. You can’t help but thrash, riding his face, begging to cum.

Aaron moans into your folds as he adds a second finger, scissoring them inside you.

“Aaron, baby,” you moan, “I’m so close.”

He peeks up at you under thick eyelashes from his spot between your legs. You lock eyes and he winks. The smug bastard winks.

That wink is all it takes for the dam to break, and your orgasm to overtake you.

Aaron continues to suck, kiss, and lick you through your high, letting you guide his head and ride his tongue until your body is still. He finishes you off with a gentle kiss just above your pubic bone.

“Come here handsome,” you breathe out, finally releasing the hand from his hair, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm.

Aaron wastes no time climbing up the bed as you push yourself into a seated position, taking off your sundress and throwing it across the room. His pink lips are wet with your arousal, and it makes your toes curl. You reach out and pull him to you, sealing your mouths in a searing kiss. Aaron groans into your mouth as you palm him over his blue jeans. He swiftly undoes your bra and lets it join the growing pile of clothes on his bedroom floor.

“Open,” he commands, rising onto his knees, running a finger over your parted lips.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue as Aaron tugs on the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your head back. He spits into your mouth, and you swallow it, never breaking eye contact.

It’s hot and dominating. You can’t get enough.

“Need you,” you whisper, your hand finding the button of his jeans.

“Y/N,” he grunts, one hand reaching to grab your bare breast as you unzip his pants.

He shimmies out of them, and his blue boxers too.

Finally, finally, Aaron is naked in front of you. His thick cock is red, hard, and pulsing, erect on his lower stomach.

You gaze into Aaron’s eyes as you spit into your hand and wrap it around his dick. You pump your hand teasingly, and his eyes slam shut, a string of expletives leave his mouth.

“Fuck, babe,” he groans as you swipe your thumb over the tip.

You move your hand a few more times, each more purposeful than the last. You’re just beginning to find a rhythm when your boyfriend pushes you down lightly onto the bed.

“Aaron?” You gasp, questioning.

“Need to be inside you,” he rasps as he hovers over you, pressing kisses to your neck as he lines himself up.

Aaron rubs himself over your pussy a few times, coating his dick with your arousal, driving both of you insane. You both look down as he finally pushes himself inside of you, the image of his thick cock splitting you open almost too much to bear. Your eyes snap closed in bliss at the sight of it.

“Oh Aaron, oh my god,” you breathe out as he bottoms out.

“Look at me, Y/N” he orders, unmoving.

You open your eyes to find his, dark and shameless, right over yours. His hair is soft and messy on his forehead. The silver chain around his neck touches your lips lightly as it dangles from his neck. He is the most beautiful sight in the whole world.

“Fuck me, Aaron.” You sigh, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him in even deeper.

With a low, sinful, groan, he does.

The pace is perfectly rough; with every thrust of his hips into you, you grind yours halfway to meet him. You let your hands wander over the expanse of his back and shoulders, and then up into his hair. The sound of your hips snapping against each other is delicious. With every stroke, you whimper into his lips, his neck, his chest; any piece of skin you can find. It’s all free real estate.

“You feel so good, babe, I’m so close,” Aaron whispers into your mouth. You squeeze around him in response, letting him know it’s okay to take what he needs. The movement elicits a deep moan from your boyfriend.

With that, he picks up the pace, lifting your legs up and over his shoulders, and you dissolve into a pile of whimpers. This new angle allows him to go even deeper, even harder.

His silver chain passes over your lips again and again, as his thrusts become more frantic. You take the necklace between your lips and bite down, muffling the sound of your mewls. The metal is cold and hard in your mouth, and the sensation makes you moan.

Aaron’s eyes scan yours and then your lips, finding his chain in your mouth. His eyes all but roll back into his head.

“Holy shit Y/N,” he pants. You watch as he starts to devolve, clinging to him as he throws his head back and goes over the edge.

He spills into you loudly, pressing against your body, filling you up with hot cum.

You release the chain from your teeth and pull Aaron down onto you, needing to feel the weight of him.

“Aaron, oh my god, baby, yes, oh my god,” you whisper into his ear as his thrusting slows and his hips stop, his cock deep inside you.

You pulse around him, holding him close, rubbing your hands up and down his back. He is collapsed on top of you, and both of you are breathing heavily. Your chests are pressed together, sweat is sticking to your skin.

Aaron lifts his head from your shoulder to look up at you through hooded eyes and thick lashes. He gives you a dopey grin and his signature wink, before letting his head fall back down.

You laugh into his hair, pressing a soft kiss there.

You two stay like that for a minute or so, revelling in the closeness, before you decide to speak.

“Aar?” You say, nudging his head with your nose.

“Mhhhmmm,” he mumbles, still nuzzled into your neck, his breathing still slowing.

“I still have to study for my exam.”

Aaron groans into your shoulder, and then picks his head up again so you two are eye to eye.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ll just pull the fire alarm,” he grins, all dimples.

You roll your eyes at his ridiculously adorable proposition, pulling at the chain on his neck to bring him in for another kiss.

“You’re so stupid,” you mumble against his lips.

“Only for you,” he replies, nipping at your bottom lip.

Well, it’s only one test. If I fail, I fail… you tell yourself as Aaron slides his tongue into your mouth again, and you feel his cock hardening inside you, ready for round two.

For this? It’s worth it.

taglist:

@ssahotchie @laurensprentiss @arsonhotchner @heliotropehotch @agent-laufeyson @mrsh0tchner

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amberlynnmurdock · 2 years

Text

Library Series (Pt. 19)

Chapter Summary: Matt’s got exams to study for and you’ve got an article to get published.

A/N: ENJOY!!!!

AO3 LINK

It’s Friday night, so the library isn’t as busy as it normally is. Students who should be working on final papers and studying for final exams are instead out drinking at sorority and frat parties, or loud clubs a few blocks away from campus, forgetting their responsibilities and choosing to live in the moment.

Matt wishes he could do the same. He almost does.

The heavyweight of cards he’s been dealt sets in his chest, and he pushes the cement feeling of resentment aside and tells himself God made you this way for a reason, and for a moment, just a tiny moment, he feels better.

But as Matt settles into the old, wooden, and maple-stained desk in the library, he can’t help but wonder, what the hell was the reason anyway?

Was the reason to lie to the people he cared most about? To put a facade up around people and pretend to be a normal person, when he knows he’s not? He feels nowhere near normal. An orphaned kid, who got into an accident that caused him to go blind, yet caused him to have heightened senses that give him the ability to know if a person has taken a shower that day or not. It’s not normal.

He’s not normal.

Was that the reason, God? To make me suffer for my entire life? To feel like an outcast among people?

Or was it to teach him a lesson about getting close to someone, like you? Was this supposed to be a lesson, that he is not allowed to get close to someone like you, he’s not allowed to have someone like you because all he does is ruin what could be like he did last night?

Matt grudgingly pulls forth his Tort Law textbook and places it in front of him, running the tips of his fingers over the faded braille on the cover. He can barely make out the words but he’s studied from this book so many times, he knows it like second nature.

The cold war between you and him settled on his mind the most, but there was nothing he could do about it. As much as Matt adored you, you were as stubborn as he.

It had to have been close to midnight, and Matt wasn’t getting any tired. He forgot that when he gets into study mode, it keeps him awake, unlike others. He decided it was time to wrap it up and go back to Foggy and his dorm.

Matt packed up his books carefully into his shoulder bag and threw on his coat. He felt the table for steadiness and began to walk down the corridor between tables.

No matter how much Matt studied, the only thing he could think about right now was you. Truthfully, it wasn’t fair to you that he hadn’t reached out. He’s sure that you’re worried about where the two of you stand, but Matt thinks that you shouldn’t be. He will always be on your side, no matter what.

He still isn’t happy that your article will more than likely be published. You may have your doubts, but Matt knows the kind of writer you are–a talented one. The school paper here would be foolish to turn down the article you have for them.

Besides, if Matt was going to be a good… boyfriend… he needed to separate his “secret” life and the life he intends to share with you. He can’t hold you back, nor does he want to.

What he should do first is apologize.

It’s nearly half past midnight and you are still working on your news article about Camila.

Yawning, you take a sip of your mint green tea and playback the recording to make sure what you wrote down is verbatim. Marci was out at a party again so you had the dorm all to yourself–and man was it so nice to be surrounded by quiet.

You almost opted for the library, but you didn’t want to go alone. After all, Matt did have a point: by writing this article, you were choosing to get yourself involved, and if high-stakes people were involved, you would be a target. The thought didn’t seem real to you, even though it probably was, but you focused on this being only about school and not so much about real life.

You would have gone to the library if Matt asked you, but neither you nor he has reached out to each other since last night. You figured that would happen but at least you were able to focus on writing a good paper to submit.

Besides, there are bigger problems in the world than boy problems.

When the time was right, you would reach out and talk about it. Either that, or he’d come to you first.

Suddenly, just as you’re about to finish the last sentence of a paragraph, a knock comes from the door. Immediately, you know it’s Marci, and she forgot her dorm key again. She’s lucky you’re still awake, or else you’d be mad at her for waking you up.

As you open the door, you say out loud “Did you forget your key Marci?”

To your shock and surprise, it’s not Marci standing at your feet, but Matthew Murdock. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie with his bag draped over his shoulder. He gives a small smile and looks at you through his red-tinted glasses.

“You don’t check the peephole before opening the door?” Matt asks you softly with concern.

You blush and tuck your hair behind your ears, “I–I usually do but now I really will.”

Matt sighs. You are flattered by his concern.

“Can I come in?” Matt asks.

“Of course,” you say, opening the door more. You wrap your arm around his and lead him inside as you lock the door.

Matt puts his hands out for your bed and when he touches the soft, fuzzy blanket on top, he knows he has found it. He sits on the edge and places his cane between his legs. You gently place your fingers on his and take his cane to lean it against the wall.

“What brings you here so late?” You ask him.

“I–I had a feeling you’d be awake. I was just studying in the library. Being in there makes me think of you,” Matt tells you in a whisper. “So not much studying can happen for me any longer.” He chuckles.

You laugh at his joke, but something tells you he half meant it. You take his hand in yours and put it on your thigh.

“I was working on my article. I’m almost done. I would have joined you in the library, you know,” you tell him.

“I know, but maybe we needed the space after last night.”

“Yeah,” you say, looking down.

“___,” Matt says your name, with a quiet urgency. He takes off his red-tinted glasses and places them on your bed. His gaze meets your chin. He knows he can’t make eye contact with you, but him taking off his glasses is a sign of vulnerability. Matt wants to make sure you know he means what he’s about to say.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a good listener last night. I want to support you in everything you do. I’d never want to hold you back. I know certain things come with risks,” Matt explains himself, his grip on your hand tightening. “I just can’t bear the thought of–of something terrible happening to you.”

You smile wistfully at him. “You always think the worst of things, Matt. This is college, and this is just a paper I’m writing. I know anything can happen but don’t worry yourself too much. You should be enjoying these moments with me.”

It’s not just college, Matt wants to say, it’s real life, too. I know what real life can be like, and it’s not good.

“I do want to enjoy these moments with you,” Matt reassures you.

“I also want to apologize for not hearing you out. You may be more level-headed than me. I should be more aware of risks and what can go wrong, but I’m too focused on getting things done than worrying. I appreciate you looking out for me, Matthew. I’ve never felt cared for like this before,” you tell him truthfully. “It means a lot.”

Matt gives a soft smile and brings your hand to his lips.

“I promise I’ll never leave you like I did last night,” Matt replies with conviction.

“I promise to keep you from leaving,” you whisper with a smile, the space between your lips and Matt’s growing smaller and smaller.

He leans in suddenly and presses his soft lips to yours. You kiss him back and run your fingers through his chocolate brown hair, pulling him even closer than he was before.

Matt’s not leaving your grasp so easily now.

The next morning, you wake up to an empty dorm. Matt left shortly after your make-out session and you passed out immediately. Luckily, all you had left in your article was the conclusion.

After reading it countless times and editing it over and over again, you submitted your assignment to class online. Once it was graded and approved, it could then be sent over to the Columbia Daily Spectator for (the hopeful) publication you truly believe it deserves.

In the subject line, you type “TIME SENSITIVE” as you know the timeliness of a news article is important, so hopefully, the sooner your professor reads it the sooner it will be published.

And with that, you take a deep breath and close your laptop. You sent Camila a quick text saying you’ll let her know as soon as it is graded.

Matt, on the other hand, has the day off.

Having a day off means Matt can take a long bus trip all the way down to Hell’s Kitchen, New York to his favorite place: Fogwell’s.

It had been a while. Matt has been so caught up with the Neil case he forgot it’s important to take some well-needed time to himself. Instead of finding a criminal to punch, he finds his favorite punching bag and begins to prep for his workout.

As Matt begins punching the old, musty leather bag, memories begin to flood his mind, as they always do when he’s back in Fogwell’s. Names come to mind, and certain ones make his punches hit harder.

Stick, his father… Roscoe Sweeney.

The memories are good fuel for a good workout, although they do come with pain.

Matt grunts loudly as he remembers the sinking, drowning feeling of coming outside Fogwell’s when he was just a child to the scent of a hot bullet deep in his father’s chest. The cry for help echoes in his mind.

Matt still has so many wounds inside he doesn’t know if anything could ever heal them.

All he can focus on is what matters currently, today. And that’s Foggy, that’s Marci, that’s you.

He promised you, and he promised himself, that he would be there for you no matter what. No matter the past, no matter what the future held, the one thing that felt constant in his life was having you in it.

He knows Roscoe Sweeney is out there somewhere and he knows Sweeney may or may not remember Matt. It doesn’t matter.

Something suddenly fills Matt. An intense feeling floods his chest and veins. He punches the bag harder than before, so hard the tape around his knuckles rips and Matt feels the cold leather of the bag cut him. It stings.

Vengeance fills him, encompasses him, and Matt can’t seem to shake the feeling off. No, not that he can’t. He doesn’t want to.

The boss, Neil…

Matt changes into his black clothes and leaves Fogwell’s. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, but he’ll know it when he finds it.

CAMILA: So happy you are writing this story. Thank you so much. I hope this puts an end to everything going on. One story can create a ripple effect of many to come.

YOU: Of course. Thank YOU for letting me write it. I wouldn’t have been able to do all this without your help. My professor finally graded it and she has sent it over to the paper. Fingers crossed!

CAMILA: You got this! You’ll be the top reporter for The New York Times one day.

You smile at your phone and flip it closed. It was already the afternoon and you got an A on your paper. Now, for the publication!

But first, since the rest of your day is free, you decided to do a little extra research on the story. Thankfully, Columbia had a grand library filled with not only books but old newspaper clippings as well.

Entering the library, it’s packed for the weekend. Students are catching up on lost study time and scrambling to get assignments done. You’re ahead of the game, otherwise, you’d be worried that there were no open seats at any tables.

No, you head to the back of the library where there is another room. Above the glass doors, it reads “Research Hall.”

After gazing at the beauty this room holds, from the old wooden architecture to the pictures of historical people on the walls, you find the section you are looking for: Criminal Records, History, and More.

You’re not sure where to look, or where to start, but you grab a binder that is labeled 1990-1995.

Picking a corner table, you settle down and quickly search through the labels.

You had spent about an hour at the library reading and digesting information. Luckily, at the very last minute, you hit a goldmine and found one of the first breaking news stories about Neil Benson.

“NEIL BENSON INVOLVED IN ROBBERY”

“NEIL BENSON APART OF UNDERGROUND BETTING MOB”

“ROSCOE SWEENEY AND NEIL BENSON ARRESTED FOR ILLEGAL BETTING”

“NEIL BENSON LET OUT OF JAIL, PROBATION”

“ROSCOE SWEENEY AND NEIL BENSON CONNECTED IN DEATH OF BATTLIN’ JACK MURDOCK”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you read the words of the last headline. Scrambling to find the article, you pull up to the page and read the news story.

To say the least… it was horrifying to read a news story like this. A young boy, just 11 years old and blind, finds his father bleeding to death after he had just won a boxing match at Fogwell’s Gym.

You froze. A flood of memories came to your mind as you remember the name of the place Matt took you to a few weeks ago. Shocked, you gasp and raise your eyebrows.

You felt like an intruder reading the rest of the story. It didn’t feel right, learning all of this information from a newspaper clipping and not from Matt himself. Shaking, you shut the book closed and cover your face in your hands.

You knew Matt’s father had passed away when he was young, but you didn’t know the full story. It was no wonder why Matt never shared. For a young child to experience something like that, it had to be traumatizing. It was probably hard for Matt to even bring up. You felt awful.

Mustering enough strength, you open the book of newspapers again. A few years later, there’s a headline that reveals Roscoe Sweeney did go to jail for a few years, but another that says he did his time and was released on probation.

Now? You’re not sure where he is. There aren’t any recent news stories about him. But it is agonizing to know that he may be walking free, somewhere, anywhere. The thought scared you. The thought infuriated you. You believed justice should be served for Jack Murdock–even after all these years. For the sake of his son.

A thought occurred to you: perhaps Camila was right, that your story could cause more stories to come out about these criminals and finally have them locked up… where they belong.

You made a promise to yourself that they would.

#matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #the defenders #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #netflix #marvel #mcu #college matt murdock #charlie cox x reader #marvel cinematic universe #library series

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wwilloww · 3 years

Text

sh. | ot7 | chapter five

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS protected sex. friends with benefits relationship. dirty talk. power play dynamics. angst. semi-public nudity. mentions of open relationship. sexting. reckoning with feelings. talk of alcohol use.

AN: One million bazillion thanks to the best beta and geologist out there, @hesperantha. Everyday I think to myself, how the fuck would this series exist without this magical lady? And every day I am thankful for her beautiful existence.

Also, if you haven’t seen /the trailer, you might wanna check it out. Just because I had a lot of fun making it and it was super fun to visualize the characters and their tiny little world.

Going forward, you can read with they/them pronouns by navigating to the series m.list and reading from there.

That said, LETS JUMP IN!

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

chapter five

January 2020

What is left when you’re not sure where to turn?

You know there’s Yoongi. Dependable, familiar, predictable Yoongi. Predictable in the sense that you know, unabashedly, that no matter what, you can always count on him to draw a short term — but important — curtain over whatever notion, anxiety, or complication that happens to be singing in your mind that day. Erase it, temporarily, with those long fingers, gliding over your skin in expert patterns, drawing you and your pleasure exactly where he wants it to be.

And predictable in the sense that you know you will be perfectly and endlessly satisfied at the end of the night, no matter what.

See, Yoongi doesn’t mess around. He doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t draw you out and dangle you over your own pleasure. He gives it to you. Over and over and over and over again. Extends his palm and pulls as many orgasms from you as you can physically muster and then lets you collapse in his arms. Dependable, see? Dependable, always.

Once you’re settled in his lap, Yoongi lets you grind on him for a bit as he undresses you expertly, long fingers slipping under the fabric of your clothes before tugging them off gracefully and tossing them across the room. This, this he did love to do. Loved to scatter your clothes around and then watch you from the bed as you tried to piece some semblance of an outfit back together after he fucked you senseless.

“Don’t throw my bra behind the furniture again,” you murmur as you kiss down his neck. “I know you thought it was a great tactic to get me to rearrange your room the last time — but I’m not moving a hundred pound dresser to get my very expensive bra back again.”

He chuckles. Murmurs, “As you wish.” And then throws your bra someplace you can’t see.

Now that you’re topless, he lets his long fingers skate up the skin of your back, tracing the flesh of your hips and with such delicacy it almost tickles. That is, delicate until his hand weaves itself up your neck. His grip tightens at the root of your hair, tugging your head back in a swift motion and exposing your neck to him.

“How do you want me to fuck you tonight?” His voice is deep and it raises goosebumps on your skin. He lets his teeth trace a line up the sensitive skin of your neck until he reaches your ear and bites down hard.

“Fuck,” you breathe as a shiver runs through your body. Yoongi always took particular care to curate a library of knowledge about your ticks, turn ons, and vices. And then he played them out for you in an expertly coordinated hand.

“Yes, that’s in the cards. But tell me specifically how you want it.”

Behind him, the large bedroom is equipped with enough musical equipment to run a fully functioning studio. Instruments hang on the walls and a large black bed rests in the center of the room. The dark tones of the wood and sheets make the otherwise sparse room feel warm and dark. Compared to the shabby little apartment that you share with Namjoon, this is luxury. Your gaze rests on the large wall of glass that looks out over the city.

“The window,” you say.

He grins.

The glass is cold against your bare skin when he presses you to it. The difference in temperature between the fired heat of your skin and the iced window slices right through you, makes you gasp as his hands run over your body, taking you in as you are: bare and ready for him.

You watch as he strips off his clothes, gracefully and swiftly. First the shirt, then his pants. It’s no surprise to you that he’s not wearing any undergarments at all. Delight lights in his eye when he notices how greedily you watch him.

“Do you want me to—” He begins to lean down, but you stop him and pull him up.

“Just fuck me.”

He turns you around in one movement, your hands flying up to stop the impact, your chest — and your nipples — pressing to the glass. The sensation overwhelms you as he slides two fingers between your folds, collecting the slickness that has gathered there.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

A smile spreads across your face as you hear the condom packet rip and he slots his cock against your cunt, coating himself in your arousal.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, a hint of a whine slipping into your voice.

“Don’t worry. I have no patience for that tonight.” And he pushes in. “How’s that?” he says, the lilting tease in his tone cutting sharp against your ear as his dick sinks into you, inch by delightful inch.

It feels like you have to catch your breath to speak. “Is it always this good?”

“Baby, if it isn’t, you should ask for a refund.” He punctuates the last word of his sentence with a harsh thrust that rams your chest up against the glass.

“Fuck—” you hiss.

Memory whitens like it’s been covered in a blanket of snow as he begins a punishing pace, hips rutting up into you before drawing almost all the way back, tip barely inside of you before thrusting back into you, all the way to the hilt. Sensation overtakes thought. The slicing coldness of the glass against your nipples paints a stark contrast to the softness of lips pressed to yours, softness of a hand cupping your cheek—

You should be thinking of anything but that.

And it’s easy to do, in this moment. To focus on Yoongi, his commanding presence, the way he plays your body like one of the carefully polished instruments that hangs on his wall.

You cry out when he hits a particularly soft spot within you, and he pauses his movements, drinking in the sound of you.

“God, you sound so fucking good.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and pushes your back against the glass.

“Hop up,” he says, and you frown in confusion before realizing what he’s referring to. You wrap your arms around his neck and with a jump, wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck—” With a grunt of effort, he holds you up while slotting himself against your folds and pushing inside again.

The most you can do in this position is tilt your pelvis and grind down on him — while holding onto dear life — and you do, rotating it against his waist, drawing the most delicious sounds from his lips. Your hips begin to move in tandem, each pushing closer to the pleasure that you both so desperately desire.

This is better. This is worse.

See, the two of you have fallen into patterns in your hookups. Rules, even, although no one but you thought of them as such. But the habit — and therefore the lines — were clear to you:

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t confess your love. Hookups only, and breakfast together the morning after. Usually he takes you from behind, because, as he once commented to you, “the ass cheeks are the eyes of the heart.” Which to you, made no sense at all, but you still obliged him. Plus, at the end of the day it was all a little more impersonal that way, anyways. Easier to separate from the rest of your relationship.

But looking into his face, pressed so close — there’s something there. A warmth. An understanding. Too much.

Your head falls to his shoulder and his grip tightens on your thighs as he fucks up into you. Several heavy breaths before you bite gently at the sensitive skin of his neck and he hisses.

“You’re too sensitive,” you chide, although the teasing lilt of your tone is broken up by him fucking into your body — and you both know you love the way he lets you know he likes things done.

“And you’re too shy,” he cuts back. “Why don’t you look at me when I fuck you?” It’s posed as a question but you know it’s a command.

Slowly, you draw your head back and look at him. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair tousled and face lined with pleasure.

“That’s a good little pet,” he whispers. It falls too softly.

It makes you want to kiss him. All you want to do is —

You press your lips to his. Just a peck — the smallest, lightest of pecks.

But the plush of his lips, the way they part so slightly when your lips meet... it leaves you wanting more. So you kiss him again, pressing yourself to him, chasing the feeling of his softness.

He responds, opening his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His pace doesn’t falter as he continues to fuck up into you. His lips move against yours, fierce, needy, demanding. And it’s then that your stomach drops. It’s as if the winter chill that lays just beyond the door at your back slices through your veins.

You pull back.

“No,” he says, and pulls you back to him. “Stop running.” He brings your face close enough to yours but doesn’t kiss you, just waits.

And you meet him in the middle, kissing him again, afraid of losing the warmth you sparked between you. He groans against you as your hips swivel around his cock, and bites down on your lip.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, you let your other hand press against the nape of his neck, nails digging in just the way you know he likes it. You both have always been in rhythm, in tune with one another, but now with him kissing you — something new sparks between you. Something new, something terrifyingly warm.

When you pull back he smiles.

“Shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, his hips still circling against yours as he presses your back to the window. “You have nothing to apologize for.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh... stop. It’s okay. It was good.” He punctuates his meaning with a thrust, a small groan slipping from his throat. You want to swallow the sound of his pleasure whole, but still. You let the guilt in your chest rise to your throat.

“No, no, it’s not,” you say, though the coil that’s winding tighter and tighter in your belly makes it difficult to speak. You take a shuddering breath in as he hits your g-spot, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes. It is,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s close too. “You fuck better when you kiss. You feel it. You get into it.” Your brow purses at his words. “Now be good for me, forget it, and cum on this cock.”

You nod.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll forget it, be good for you, and cum on your cock.”

“Good,” he smiles.

Each thrust brings you a step closer. He kisses you, again waiting for you to meet his lips, and together you move like dancing partners closer and closer to the edge.

You cum, clenching around his cock and crying his name into his mouth.

The two of you breathe heavily, foreheads resting together for a moment that stretches long enough for you to call it a distance.

“Fuck—” Yoongi says, pulling out of you and smiling gently as he lets you down. “I’ve never heard you come like that before.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“Hold on, let me get you a towel or something,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb to your forehead and wiping away a bead of sweat. You watch as he shuffles about his room, looking for anything to give you. “One second, I think there’s clean ones in the dryer.”

He wanders out of the room wearing absolutely nothing at all.

When you turn back to the outside world, the glass is fogged and the world feels a million miles away. The tension that rises up in your chest feels like a wrought iron ball and you need out, out, now.

There’s a fuzzy blanket on the dresser next to you and you snatch it, wrap yourself up tightly and push open the glass door to the tiny balcony. With a held breath, you step out. The cold concrete sends a chill through your body as you step out. Blue washes through you, shocking the pleasure-numbed nerves in your body back to life.

When you suck in a deep breath of snow-cold air, it feels as if clarity settles into you. You take a second, but shuddering, breath as you realize with a lucid sharp pain the reality of your situation.

Yoongi didn’t erase tonight from your mind. Sex didn’t remove Hobi’s kiss from your lips. An orgasm didn’t ease the unnamable want in your chest. If anything, it all just burns a little brighter.

This thing with Yoongi — it’s not supposed to be a distraction for you, or a means to make you feel something else. It’s supposed to be its own thing, a compartmentalized friends with benefits situation that has always been clear and defined between the two of you. But as soon as you showed up on his door with an ulterior motive other than sex, it became something else. As soon as you kissed him, you made it something else.

Fuck.

Around you, fat flurries drift down from the dark sky. They melt as they land on your bare skin. There’s no escaping this thing inside you. But the intensity of the cold seems like it keeps you here, grounded, in Yoongi’s home and facing actuality. As if any form of warmth would leave you wandering into the sickly sweet honeytrap of the what if’s that already threaten on the edge of your mind.

“Come to bed,” Yoongi calls from inside. When you don’t, he comes out onto the tiny balcony and wraps himself around you from behind, his head notching on your shoulder. “Christ, you’re freezing.”

“It feels good,” you say, nuzzing your body back against his.

“I know I didn’t work you up that much that you need to stand in the snow to cool down. Come to bed.”

Still wrapped around you, he waddles you inside, earning a giggle from you as you tumble into bed and he slams the door closed with a bit of a shiver.

“Here,” he says softly, wrapping you in a blanket before settling beside you.

He’s close. Wildly close. His breath brushes softly against your face as you look at each other. You take in the flushed pink of his face, the way his hair is tousled into a gorgeous mess from the effort of your intimacy.

You could kiss him again, you think and a shock runs through your body at the thought. Christ, his cock’s been inside you a million times and yet you balk at the thought of kissing him, of pulling him right where you want him, where he fits so perfectly, where he feels so warm —

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi says softly.

“What are you thinking?” you cut back, just a little too quickly.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’m thinking that you keep yourself so tightly together.”

You smile tightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You bite down on your lip.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Yoongi says. “Just tell me. You know there’s nothing you could say that would upset me.” When you don’t say anything, he continues. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen your asshole. It doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine,” he grins.

“Maybe we should…” You trail off and bite the inside of your cheek.

Yoongi rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand.

“Maybe we should…?” He prompts. “Join a sex dungeon?”

You laugh, the thought of going to one with Yoongi is one that sends a thrill through you. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

You take a deep breath. “That maybe we should… stop. This.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows. “That, my dear, sounds like quite the antithesis to going to a sex dungeon with me.”

You laugh. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I am friends with benefits breaking up with you.”

“What? Were you expecting me to be angry?”

“I mean I expected a little bit of a fight. Or at least… I don’t know. Questions.”

“Do you want questions?”

You look at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well. Why are you ending things.”

You flop onto your back. Look at the ceiling. The way the lights of the city reflect paley onto the white surface. They look like ghosts.

“I don’t really know.”

He pulls you to him, rolling you onto your side and tangling your hands together. “Okay.”

And then the two of you just lie there, staring at the ceiling in silence, the weight of your decision, of this ending, settling over you with a concrete taste. There’s something uncomfortable in this kind of silence. But it’s not him, it’s not an awkwardness, or the building of tension or resentment. None of that lies between you. It’s the fact that within the silence the answers rise up in you, and you find the words spilling from your mouth.

“I don’t want it to be complicated, Yoongi.”

He waits a moment before responding. “Is it complicated?”

“Well.” You sigh. “No. Not with us. Us is easy. I feel like I can tell you what I need or what I want and I trust you to be able to either give me that or set a boundary.”

Yoongi hums. “I feel the same. So then if it’s not us...?”

“I made a mistake tonight. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.”

His brow furrows. “Not with me you didn’t. I don’t underst—”

“Not you. It’s me. It’s — it’s always me. I don’t want things to spin out of control. And I feel like they’re about to.”

Yoongi is silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want you to feel that way.” He pulls you closer to him, his grip tightening on your hip. “Really.” You stare down at your intertwined hands. “Look at me.” He waits until you do, summoning an inner strength you didn’t know you needed to look at your friend. “There’s a part of me that wonders how much of this is you punishing yourself for something that you don’t have any reason to be punishing yourself for.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh that shoots from your chest.

“What!? Are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Just… I don’t know what it is, but if anyone were to look right through me and see everything that’s going on, it’s you.”

He smiles softly.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Do you want your friend to wrap himself around you? Pull you in tight to his warm chest? Remind you of the summer that lies on the other side of this long, long winter?

“No,” you say slowly. “I think I need some space. To… process.”

He nods. “Well, as my newest friends with benefits ex, I agree, you should probably leave. You know. So it doesn’t get awkward.” He grins.

“Yeesh, you’re so quick to kick me out.”

“I know. I guess I just need some space. You know. To process, too. Grieve.” He paints a fake frown on his face and does a dramatic rendition of a very gross sniffle.

You giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Together you get out of bed, Yoongi — for once — rifling through his room in search of your clothes. With every piece of clothing you put on, you feel like you take another step backwards. Away from Yoongi, away from the vulnerability in you that feels like it tears open everytime he looks at you. His comfort. Each new piece of fabric is another wall resurrected. But when you go to hook your bra behind your back, he steps behind you, taking the straps from your hands and gently hooking the clips together.

“Here.”

When he’s done, his fingers linger on your skin just a moment too long.

“Thanks,” you say softly, turning back to him.

His eyes are still blown wide, his hair perfectly disastrous. There’s something so deadly soft about him. He looks just as he did when you marched into his bedroom earlier in the night. And yet, on the other side of this night, you feel like a totally different person. As if the stranger inside of you has finally stepped forward and introduced herself.

You turn away hastily, heading to the living room. He follows and pulls your jacket from the couch and helps you into it.

Shoes on, jacket on, you’re all ready to walk out the door. And still you linger. Yoongi glances at his watch.

“Well, I’d say six hours is a proper mourning period. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“How about brunch? I’m not getting up at 9am for eggs.”

“Oh and I’m the one who needs space huh?” He smiles softly. “11am. You’ll get up at 11am and I’ll buy you a breakup brunch.”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. Even as you taste the edge of fear — of anxiety — on your tongue, there is still a kind of undeniable warmth that blossoms in your chest every single time you look at him.

You broaden your smile. Push it down.

There’s one last thing.

“And—”

But he already knows what you’re asking. He steps forward, taking your head between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shock that runs through you is quick and cold.

“I know,” he says. “This’ll still be our little secret.”

When he steps back, there’s something soft in his gaze — too soft, you can’t help but think. Tenderness, surrounded by acceptance and strength. All the things that make Yoongi, well, Yoongi. And yet it feels like too much to handle. Too much to be looked at, to be seen, to be understood when you can barely wrap your mind around what’s going on.

“Sleep well, buttercup.”

Different taxi, different driver, different route.

“Home,” you tell the woman at the wheel when you give her your address, her over-bleached and curly hair forming a kind of halo around her in the seat.

“You got it,” she says smacking her gum and throwing you a wayward smile.

As the car pulls away from the curb and picks up speed, you feel a kind of numbness wash over you.

It was the right decision to end things with Yoongi, you remind yourself, even as you feel a kind of twinge in your chest. You haven’t lost a friend. In fact, you’ve probably preserved your friendship. Saved it from wandering into the brambly bushes of complication and ultimate destruction. Even if it means the loss of killer sex.

You phone dings, and you instinctively brush a hand over your body to make sure you left with all the clothes you arrived in.

When you look at your phone, it’s not who you imagine. It’s not what you imagine.

tae: I forgot how loud you are when you orgasm.

You choke, hand snapping up quickly to cover your mouth.

“You alright, hun?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine,” you say, but your voice is strained. You immediately type out your response.

you: fuck. i’m so sorry. you: it won’t happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, embarrassment and confusion tightening around your throat. How much more can you really take tonight? Hobi, then Yoongi — now this? You tap your foot as you wait for the response, which takes just a minute to pop up on your phone.

tae: oh… well that’s too bad. I actually didn’t mind it all that much.

Oh.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re typing out your response — and turning down the brightness as if it will hide the loudness of your message from the world.

you: is that right?

tae: i said it didn’t i? ive always been a man of my word. brings me back to the old days, in a way.

you: oh?

tae: you know…

you: do i?

tae: you do.

you: it’s been a while. why don’t you remind me?

tae: you’re playing coy tonight. two very loud orgasms and you’re still not done playing?

you: i’d send that shrugging emoji but i can’t find it you: what can i say? I can be needy

tae: should i remind you tae: when we used to park behind the grocery store tae: there was never anyone around but you’d still get so shy and embarrassed tae: and try to cum without a sound tae: but i didn’t hear a single note of shame or restraint tonight tae: shamelessness looks good on you tae: **sounds good on you

you: you were always quite shameless yourself

tae: it gets me far in life

You blink down at your phone, not really sure what to say. Taehyung’s hearty banter is something you’re used to. Even after all these years, your quick back and forth was still twinged with the smallest teasing edge of sexual interest. But you had always kept it within strict boundaries, never returning to your previous relationship, never suggesting—

tae: but my question is how far will it get me with you?

Your breath freezes in your throat. Never suggesting that you return to anything of the past.

tae: jk tae: unless…?

Taehyung’s sexually laced messages have your head spinning round and round on its pedestal. It’s not as if you had never thought about it, never considered it. But there was a line there, was there not? A line you shouldn’t cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, no matter how you wanted to. With a deep breath, you respond.

you: i don’t know if we should be having this conversation right now?

tae: why? because you’re my ex? or because of Jin?

Before you can even manage to type out the long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be dipping your toes into the perilous waters of sexting your very happily taken ex, the screen is lighting up again.

tae: if it’s the latter, don’t worry. he’s here too. tae: he says to tell u you’re hot tae: which is news to me tae: not that you’re not hot, but that he thinks that tae: and he says hes “sorry he missed the show earlier”

you: tbh that was NOT the response i was expecting to get.

tae: we’re very open about these things. he’s quite… encouraging actually

As if this is the opening, you walk through it.

you: in what way?

tae: he likes visibility in a specific way. he likes to watch. likes to be watched and… the attention, especially when its directed at me, especially when he knows that at the end of the day i’m crawling back into his bed

Your heart races in your chest.

tae: sorry, maybe that’s tmi.

you: don’t apologize. i don’t mind tmi

tae: then i won’t apologize.

you: good.

tae: good 😂 tae: you know, i liked it.

you: sorry, liked what?

tae: hearing it tae: hearing you cum

you: did you?

tae: more than i expected

you: more than you should?

tae: that’s not what i said

you: well, like i mentioned, it won’t happen again

tae: why not? You finally get me to admit i didn’t mind it and now you’re telling me i won’t get more? :(

You chew on your bottom lip before responding.

you: it’s complicated.

tae: an orgasm is never complicated.

you: …

tae: but you know what is complicated? tae: feelings. tae: you’re having feelings. tae: oh my god you’re in love with yoongi

you: i am nOT in love with yoongi you: surprisingly it has very little to do with yoongi

Even as you send the text, you know that’s not entirely true.

tae: okay, then what’s going on??? pls don’t play cryptic with me, it’s too late for that shit

you: i don’t even know what’s going on.

tae: oh. tae: so we’re talking big boy emotions

you: i don’t have *emotions*

tae: you’re a fucking liar

you: hey you: language

tae: alright then let me rephrase it tae: what are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your heart catches in your throat. Oh.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, and your head snaps up from the light of your phone to see your apartment complex towering high and familiar above you.

“Oh!” You blink yourself from your reverie and hand the woman the cash for the ride. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” she says, twisting around to look at you as you skootch across the backseat. “Hey—” You pause, looking at her. The orange glow of the streetlights rings like a halo around her head. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” you smile and nod.

A haze settles around your body as you climb out of the taxi. The hard edge of soberness and the sharpness of the winter air mixes and shocks life back into you as his question rings around your head. What are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your breath feels strained as you climb the echoing stairs to your home. The sound of the key fitting into the lock rings with a harsh click, but it brings you back into your body, to the little marks where Yoongi’s hands dug into you, to the confusion that rattles around your mind, and finally, and most devastatingly, the warmth that has sunk deep and inextricably into your heart.

The apartment is dark when you enter.

“Namjoon?” you call out.

No one answers. You don’t bother to flick on the lights as you feel your way blindly through the darkness, hand brushing against the soft fabric of your sofa, the bumpy texture of the wall, and finally the cold knob of your door. Instead of pushing the door open though, you lean against it, taking what feels like the first full breath of the night.

You look at the screen of your phone, Tae’s question, his voice, spiraling around your head. With a shaky breath you respond, fingers flying across the blue light of the screen.

you: something feels off. I don’t… i don’t want to mess anything up. I feel like the only way to keep things in order is to keep myself out of it all.

tae: can i call you?

you: yeah. Joon’s not home.

You finally press into your room. All that silver light from the city reflects off of the white flakes that flutter softly down from the sky. It spills onto your bed like a pool of molten silver, waiting, chilled and cold for you. You flop down onto it, your breath coming out in a long huff.

When your phone rings, there’s a second of hesitation before you hit the answer button.

“Hello?” your voice is shakier than you expected.

“One second.”

You hear the rustling sound of Tae getting out of bed and the door shutting.

“If I can hear you orgasming, Yoongi sure as hell can hear a phone call,” Tae whispers, a slight chuckle to his voice. “Unless you’re just always unreasonably loud.” You can imagine the sly smile that plays across his lips right now. Another door opened and shut and he sighs. “There. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I…”

You trail off. You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what there is to say.

He says your name softly into the phone, the syllables forming such a familiar shape on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t think so. I don’t feel great.”

“You’re home? Safe?”

“Yeah. I’m home.” You look around your room. Art on the walls, your little desk the messiest place in the room, stacked high with papers and photos and plants.

“Good.” Taehyung takes a long breath. “So. Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. But your voice freezes in your throat and you can feel the way your silence falls around him.

After breaking up at nineteen, you and Taehyung had always remained friends. The truth was that even though you loved each other, you were so caught up in the physicality of it all that the rest of your relationship — and your relationships outside of that — began to deteriorate. No more sex, you both had decided. And at the time, that meant no more romance. There weren’t lingering feelings of resentment, but you did know — because you both talked about it — that you were both plagued with the lingering question of what if. What if…. But the answer was simple. You both needed more than what the other could offer.

Best friend turned lover turned best friend. If the lingering sexual tension was the only consequence of that, you could handle that. And if you were honest with yourself, you enjoyed it, in a safe, flattering kind of way.

But the reality was that the consequence of your relationship wasn’t limited to just a couple of sex dreams here and there or comments about your former sex life thrown about as jokes. The truth was that there was a permafrost of cautiousness that sat like a layer of ice beneath all of your interactions; one that only thawed away after midnight or a second drink.

Right now, the clock on the wall reads: 3:12am.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“No — I want to.” You shake your head. “I should… I should talk to someone about this.” You take a deep breath as the sharp images of tonight’s events spiral around your mind. When you speak, it comes out a whisper. “I kissed Hobi tonight.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Or he kissed me. I don’t really — don’t really understand what happened, we were just standing there and had both had some drinks and suddenly it was happening and I should have kept everything within the normal boundaries, I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have overstepped our friendship, but we kissed and I…” Your voice trails off.

“And you liked it,” Taehyung finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I did.”

“And it scared you.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you both ran away from it.”

“Yeah.”

“And your way of running away from it was to go fuck Yoongi again, huh.”

“Goddamnit, Tae,” you huff, annoyed by how right he is.

Taehyung chuckles. “Babe, I’ve known you way too long for me to not pick up on these kinds of things. These kinds of patterns.”

“Patterns?”

Taehyung sighs through the phone. “I love you, dude, but… yeah. Yeah. It’s a pattern.”

As you let his words sink into you, you realize. It is a pattern.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks. “Do you really want to know what’s going on here?”

You laugh softly, even as fear nibbles at your heart. There’s a part of you that wants to turn into blindness. That wants to shield your heart from the reality of the situation. From the reality of yourself.

But there’s also something about facing into the truth — clear and cold like the night waiting just beyond your window. You want the shock of truth through your body, glaring and sharpened like ice. Because at the end of the day, you’ve had enough of this numbed ignorance.

“Yeah. Go for it.”

“This might be out of the blue. And you might not want to hear it. I could be totally off—”

“Tae, it’s okay. I want to hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “But maybe… just maybe, it’s time to think about the way you push people away.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, although the reality of what he’s saying is already dawning on you, even if it’s at a glacial pace.

“How you let people in just long enough, just far enough, to let them see something authentic of you. But you don’t really let them take any real stake in your life.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And that’s okay!” He adds quickly. “At least, it has been okay. We do what we need to do to keep ourselves safe, but… I think you’re past that all now.” You take a shuddering breath and he pauses. “That place in your life where you need to keep the walls and the rules so strict for fear of falling. You’re not there anymore, babe. Maybe it’s time to start looking at the wall that you’ve built and considering letting yourself tear it apart.” And then, so softly you think his voice might be made of something as delicate as a flower petal: “You know, maybe it’s time to think about how you want to start letting love in again. Because you deserve it.”

It’s not until you brush your hand against your cheeks that you realize they’re wet. You look down at your fingertips, glistening with fallen tears, shining silver in the snowlight.

“Fuck, Tae.”

Taehyung lets loose a light, but pained, chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Goddamn it.”

Silence settles between the two of you. Tears slip silently down your face as you hold the phone to your ear. You can hear him breathing softly on the other end, but Taehyung doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he knows you need a minute to process.

His words slide right under your skin. Directed straight at the thing that has felt so heavy in your chest all night now, it’s as if the whole thing has been broken open within you. Suddenly, you can see it all.

The past years, this game of cat and mouse with your own vulnerability. This façade of carefully curated openness and faux vulnerability. All of the things that you kept as reminders of your freeness, your unlocked heart — the hookups, the fast and furious romances that ended in nothing but silence, the friendships you kept so carefully defined — were actually all just markers of the opposite:

A deep and abiding fear that if you let someone love you, a fear that if you let them close enough to really, truly see you, they might see something they won’t like.

Better to keep things clearly organized. Clearly marked and known and understood. That way you’d know exactly when things were spinning out of control and when someone was just about to get too close.

“You know, there are so many ways to love,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t just have to be in that one way of fucking and falling in love and then a big white marriage, tada! the end. And, uh, it’s okay to want love. It’s really, really okay, actually. In whatever weird way love shows up for you, even if it’s not the traditional way. It’s even more okay to let yourself have that love, even if you don’t know what it is — don’t know what to call it.”

When your breath comes out shaky and ridden with tears, you can hear a soft oh echo through the phone.

“Hey,” Taehyung says with all the love in the world laced so delicately through his voice. “It’s okay. It might not feel like that right now. But opening up again — if, you know, if that’s what you want — that’s something you can do. It can be done.”

“I-I do, Tae. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting this.”

It’s as if you can hear his smile through the receiver.

“That makes me really happy to hear,” he says.

“Where do I even begin?” It comes out a whisper, your voice cracked from the tears that have begun to slow. You’re half afraid to even hear the answer. Half afraid to walk down the path riddled with your greatest fear.

“I think you begin by going to sleep. And in the morning I’ll call you. And I’ll keep calling you. And we’ll work through this together. You know, this isn’t something that you have to do alone.”

You’re silent.

“You’re in bed?” crackles through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Go put on some pjs and go to sleep. You don’t have to do this all in one night.”

You nod, wiping the rest of the tears from your face and sniffling. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you to the moon and back, no matter what. You know that. Right?”

You close your eyes. For a second you imagine accepting that it’s true. It fills your chest with a new kind of warmth. One you want to sink into.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you too, Tae.”

“Get some rest then. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

The dial tone clicks and the room falls into complete silence. Only the sound of your breath breaks through, too loud and uncomfortable amidst the darkness. But still, you climb out of bed, dump some water on a towel and wipe at your face, and change into the largest t-shirt you can find in your drawer.

Tonight, you dream the first dream of many in a line that will haunt you — and spark you back to life. It’s Yoongi, his body pushing you up against the ice cold glass, his hands in your hair, his lips whispering, over and over and over again: Is it complicated?

In the morning, you lay awake, just feeling the way your breath falls heavily in your chest. You text Yoongi to tell him you can’t meet up. You look outside.

The world is covered in a blanket of snow. Unrecognizable. Beautiful. Washed clean.

Something hopeful flutters in your chest.

When you look down, your hands are clutching the collar of your sleep shirt. With a deep breath, you wrap your arms around your torso in a hug.

“I don’t really know how to do anything else other than this,” you admit to Tae one day over the phone, flourishing a hand you know he can’t see to emphasize the point you know he already understands.

“Well. I don’t know how much of it is really choosing to be different. Instead, maybe you ought to try looking at it like an undoing. Whenever you match up against that impulse to run, think about sitting with it. Feeling it. And then choosing to move in another direction. Yeah,” he says, and you can tell he’s nodding on the other end of the phone. “An undoing.”

What does this kind of undoing look like? you wonder.

When the world comes to a screeching halt around you, you don’t expect to find your answer. The reality of the pandemic and quarantine — the emptiness of it, the long, drawn out days that feel long and drawn out when you’re in them but that then seem to blend together into one long, monotonous, anxiety riddled day and leave you wondering and wishing for the end — it’s hard. It’s hard in that quiet way that’s easy to ignore and push off, and hard in the way that there’s a big ache in your chest every time you go to sleep, one that crawls straight into your throat and sits there until the morning. It’s hard, and you learn to live with it. It’s hard, but somehow it brings you what you need. When distance seems to be the defining feature of your life, you don’t expect to find clarity. But you do. As you sink into the new routine of quarantine and pandemic life, and as life begins in a new rhythm with new rules and new realities — slowly and wildly new and sometimes horrific — it becomes clear to you.

What does this kind of undoing look like?

It looks a lot like feeling the emptiness in your home when Namjoon is away. Silence louder, space smaller. You find yourself reflected back to yourself, as if you are staring in a mirror.

It looks a lot like distraction. Emotional exhaustion turning into physical. You do distract — and it’s good — with a new drama or a new hobby. Exercising in your room until your cheeks are flushed. Cooking something new and delicious every night. Or sometimes just letting the small rectangle of light in your hand absorb you until the lingering discomfort is numbed, until you’re ready to fall asleep.

It looks like listening to your thoughts, really, truly listening, for the first time. Hearing the stories that you’ve built up in your head over the ears and how deeply they’ve sunk into your reality. It looks like noticing them, and wanting them to change. It looks like standing in the empty hallway of your apartment, feeling it all, and deciding to do something about it.

It looks like weird-ass sex dreams. Once dreamless nights are repopulated with strange and specific sexual fantasies featuring none other than your seven gorgeous friends in various states of undress and revelry.

It looks like letting people in again. Laughing on the phone until tears well up in your eyes. Building up the courage to tell Jimin about your vivid, even pornographic dreams. Writing letters when facetime just doesn’t do it anymore. Telling your friends just how much they mean to you, even when that voice warns you that you ought to keep your feelings held tight to your chest.

It looks like falling asleep one night, the traffic of the city now quieted by reduced travel, and the silence offering you a new kind of truth:

Love can be without limitation.

Love can be without limitation. It is allowed to flow from you without doubt or embarrassment. It is allowed to exist in the world — and in you — without needing to be reciprocated or validated. And you are allowed to ask for it. To demand it from life, even if, at times, it feels like the only place it pours forth from is from that great gaping space in your chest.

The phone rings a couple of times before it’s cut off in the middle of a digital brrng. You’re ready to hear the familiar buzz of a robotic voice reading: the caller you are trying to reach is not available—

But instead, the deep, heady voice you’re so familiar with comes over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?” His name feels foreign on your tongue. After all this time, pushing it away, pushing him away, welcoming his name back into your body feels almost like a fresh rain, washing away the dust on your skin.

“The one and only,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”

A ball of emotion wells up in your throat and the phone line hangs in silence as you try to glue together what you want to say, what you had practiced to say, what you should say. But it feels as if it’s all disappeared.

“I thought—”

“Did I mess up?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion. “What? No, I—”

“That night, I had so much to drink, I’m worried that… I messed up, that— ”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hoseok.”

You can hear the breath release from his lungs and shudder through the phone. “Oh.” It’s silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just…” You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you like there’s an ocean between us,” he says, laughter mixed with sincerity threading through his voice.

“It feels like there’s ocean between us,” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, too quickly for him to realize the meaning behind your words. “But I promise this will all be over soon, babe. How long can something like this really last? In no time it’ll all be done with and I’ll be right back beside you. Right?”

You smile. “Right.”

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2jaeh · 3 years

Text

Bibliophile | Xiaojun x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut

Word count: 2,3k

Warnings: mature themes

Author: SIN

Two literature master students decide to make their steamy romance troupe debates a reality.

——————————————————————————

Your heels clicked against the marble floors as you ran over to the university library, hoping the evening rain wouldn’t worsen when you crossed the open courtyard.

Most of the students were either heading back to their dorm rooms or messing around in the common areas, while the only thing that rang in your head was to not be late for your part-time job at the restricted section of the library.

At first you had no damn clue why they needed someone to work there, especially since some of the books were even restricted to lecturers. But thanks to your century old university and their obsession with keeping their sacred books in pristine condition, all they needed was a literature masters student to help out from time to time.

You entered the library and greeted the woman at the front desk before she buzzed you in through to the door that led upstairs to the restricted area.

You quickly jogged up the stares and swung open the door only to be greeted by the only other person working around here, Xiao Dejun.

“You’re late again” his lips curled into a smile as he pushed up his gold framed glasses and inspected a dust covered book.

“Yeah the rain was just-“

“Crazy ?” Dejun peered up and pursed his lips, knowing that every excuse you had always ended in the same word.

“Yeah crazy” you half chuckled and removed your burgundy coat, making your way over to sign in the shift card.

All you knew about Dejun was that he finished his masters and was offered a lecture position at the university but decided to take up this job instead. He was very reserved and once told you that he craved the utter peacefulness of the restricted area, where he was usually either on his own or with you.

“I’m halfway on my thesis now” you said casually as you started fixing the binding of a physics book from the 70s.

“Oh?” Dejun raised his eyebrow and pulled out a chair next to you to tend to his own book repair, “I’m sure you’re glad it’s almost over right?”

You squinted your eyes and sighed, burying your head in your hands as that familiar migraine began to set in. “I’m....stuck” you groaned and peered up at Dejun, “I decided to dissect the romance genre of literature and honestly most of it is hot garbage.”

Dejun let out a laugh and you admired how his dark eyebrows knitted together, making his face look quite animated.

“What books have you studied if you don’t mind me asking ?” Dejun asked, his curious eyes met with yours as he shifted closer in his chair.

“Everything from Shakespeare to Nicolas Sparks, I just hate them all” you pouted and slumped back in your chair, moving the half bound book aside,

“Don’t get me wrong, I chose romance because I love it you know ? I just don’t think that those ‘classics’ do it any justice.”

Dejun nodded at your words and shrugged, “I agree with you, not a fan of that forbidden romance and rich girl poor man stuff either.”

“Right ?” Your eyes lit up and Dejun grinned at your passionate attitude. He’d always found you cute. Every so often he had the chance to work with you on a shift we’re always his best days. He’d listen to you rant about your professors, the music you hated on the radio, or the fact that someone stole your favourite parking spot.

“So....” Dejun folded his arms, “how would you change it ?”

“Change it?” You quirked a brow.

“What’s your perfect romance troupe ?” Dejun smiled softly and his soft brown eyes drew you in and made you feel warm, safe.

“Well for starters I think intimacy should come first and then the characters learn how to love each other as they develop their relationship” you explained, getting up from your chair and began pacing the small room,

“I don’t mind the cliche of they grab the same book or vinyl, I just prefer that instead of 7 chapters of them thinking about that moment they just take the leap right there.”

Dejun pondered on your words for a bit and also got to his feet, leaning against the table as he watched you pace back and forth.

“Would it work for people who somewhat knew each other before hand though ? A friend ? A colleague ?” Dejun quizzed and you nodded quickly,

“Yeah if there’s no prior feelings or hookups then why not ?”

“I guess we can’t test it then since we like each other huh ?” Dejun smirked returning to his seat innocently as you stopped abruptly and quickly tried to process what he had just said.

“I....we...don’t like each other ?” You stammered while ignoring the fact that your heart was racing against your chest.

Dejun chuckled as he carefully inspected one of the pages of his book, “the funny part is that you’re practically experiencing your ideal romance troupe and contradicting yourself by not owning up to the fact that we do in fact...like each other.”

Your mind was racing on every evening that you’ve spent with Dejun up until today. First day it’s true you both did a double take on each other and you found him extremely attractive. Day seven the two of you reached for the only hard cover copy left of Pride and Prejudice and spent the whole night critiquing the book until you lost track of time. Day seventeen you were packing books on the top shelf and as you descended down the steel steps you lost your balance and fell right into his arms.

You were literally living a goddamn romance troupe without even knowing it.

“By your words y/n, we need to skip a few steps now shouldn’t we ?” Dejuns eyes were still on his book, but he knew damn well that your eyes were on him.

“You’re right Dejun” you finally said and folded your arms across your chest.

Dejun turned his head to face you and narrowed his eyes, “I’m supposed to be the one making the move ? What happened to a change of scenery ? Uh women empowerment?”

You grabbed his hand and headed to the back of the room where the roof slightly slanted and the window panels were covered with water droplets as the night sky drew in. You neatened your blue plaid skirt and leaned against the old wood of a work station desk. Dejun cocked his head as you bit down on your lip, not knowing how to proceed to the next step.

“Why here ?” Dejun raised an eyebrow, removing his glasses and tucked them in the top pocket of his white buttoned down.

“I don’t know the setting is....pretty, also when we first met you were sitting at this desk reading the last book a literature master student would be reading” you stifled a laughter.

“Hey Harry Potter is my childhood” Dejun groaned, cutely rolling his eyes, something he did quite often and you would pester him to the point of seeing that reaction.

“Dejun,” you placed your hand on his cheek and his attention was focused on you, those soft brown eyes bore into yours as he took a step closer.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach as he softly wrapped his hand around the small of your back and placed the other on the back of your head. You finally leaned in and he did the same meeting your lips, for the first time and sighed. The kiss was soft, the two you just melted in the instant connection, basking in the feeling before continuing to deepen the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer until your bodies were pressed against each other, fitting each other’s silhouettes perfectly. Dejun slipped his hands down to your thighs and picked you up and placed you on the desk, not breaking the kiss as he slipped in between your legs.

“I’m afraid I’m going to want more than this” you sighed into the kiss, unable to remove your hands from his toned body as you felt the closeness of him between your legs making you feel aroused.

“Come back to my place” Dejun whispered as he began attacking your neck with kisses and played with the hem of your skirt.

You can’t remember if you said yes or just nodded but you were now in Dejuns car on his way to his place. You enjoyed the passionate kiss he shared with you at the stop street and the occasional squeeze of your thigh when he would make turn into a new road.

The rain had begun pelting down and thankfully you were already pulling into his apartment lot before it became really hazy. Dejun turned to his backseat and realized he had left his umbrella back at the library and sighed,

“Running hand in hand in the pouring rain troupe ?” He held out his hand and you chuckled, “always been on my bucket list anyway.”

The two of you ran for about half a minute in the pouring rain but it was enough to completely drench you from your head down to your shoes. Dejun quickly punched in the code of his door and pulled you inside, already covering you in kisses as his blonde hair stuck to his forehead.

It was one item of clothing after another as the trail of clothes led down to his bedroom, where he had you in just your lacy nude coloured two piece set while he was slowly ridding himself of his pants.

You fell into his bed as you watched him slowly pull his leather belt from its hoops and his black slacks finally fell to the ground,

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met you know that ?” Dejun groaned as his eyes scanned over your body and he hovered over you.

“I could say the same about you Xiao Dejun” you mused and pulled him in for another hot passionate kiss. His warm body settled on yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting him closer even though it wasn’t even possible at this point.

Dejun unclipped your bra and moved his lips down to your breasts, squeezing one in his hand while licking and nipping at the other. You arched your back wanting more but also not wanting to rush him.

“Really want this to last much longer but I’m at my wits end right now” you moaned and Dejun chuckled as he peppered kisses all the way back up to your mouth.

“We have tonight, tomorrow, the next day and the day after that” he smirked against your lips before tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

Distracted by the stinging sensation from your lip you shivered at Dejuns icy fingers that was now hooked in the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down.

He watched as you squirmed beneath him. Watched how your eyes closed and how you sucked in your bottom lip, awaiting his next move.

You mewled when you felt the cool air hit your arousal and Dejun rubbed slow circles on your clit before pushing two fingers inside you, making you moan his name for the first time that night.

His fingers moved slowly but roughly while his lips softly pecked your hips, abdomen and the very top of your mound.

He was so gentle with you but his movements were still dominating, the mixture was absolutely intoxicating. You pulled him up missing the taste of his lips and before pressing his mouth on yours he caressed your cheek,

“Let me know if it’s too much okay?” He whispered against your lips and you nodded not knowing what you were in for.

Dejun locked your arms above your head and used his free hand to remove his boxers before entering you, already finding a rhythm to his thrusts. You threw your head back and moaned his name yet again as he slammed in and out of you, his grunts and your whimpers filling the bedroom.

His hand stayed locked on your wrists as he used his other hand to knead your breast, giving you multiple sensations at once. You almost hated the fact that you were close to your peak and it hadn’t been more than five minutes of him inside you.

“God I really don’t wanna cum right now” you whined as he still pounded mercilessly inside you.

“Good thing I’m not gonna let you” Dejun murmured and just as you thought your orgasm had reached, he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back,

“Get on top.”

You listened to his instructions but before sitting back on his member you gave him a few pumps, finally able to see him squirm under your touch this time round. Dejun gave you a small smack on your butt, and you finally abided to his request and sat on top of him, the new position already bringing you back to where you started.

Dejun sat up to meet your thrusts as you rode him, and you found your hand tangled in his messy locks as the two of you practically screwed the hell out of each other. The kiss this time was filled with lust, filled with lip biting and exchanging of saliva as you felt your orgasm fast approaching and noticed Dejun’s pace was slowing down too,

“cum for me baby” Dejun mused as he used the last of energy to give you a few hard thrusts until you finally came undone and he followed quickly after.

It took about two minutes of trying to catch your breath before you finally rolled on the bed next to him and wiped the beads of sweat from your forehead.

“Yeah this...this was definitely missing in some of those novels” you turned to Dejun who had a smile spread across his face.

He pulled the covers over your bodies and pressed his lips to your forehead and cheek,

“Should we write our own novel then ?”

“Yeah, yeah we should” you smiled, closing your eyes feeling at peace as his warmness enveloped you.

#nct scenarios #nct smut #nct imagines #nct angst #nct au #nct drabble #wayv imagines #wayv au #xiaojun smut #Xiaojun fic #Xiaojun au #wayv smut #xiao dejun #kpop smut

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Note

Hi love!

Sorry for bothering you, but could you do something like really cute and fluffy between Charlie Weasley and reader where he's all shy and delicate maybe teaching her about dragons and their characteristics pls? Like, something that feels really intimate, you know?

I absolutely love your writing and I believe that you could make justice to the character.

Take care darling,

-A

Thank you for the request, loveliest anon! This is actually the first fic request I’ve ever gotten and I’m so happy you like my stuff so much, this makes me very very soft.

This fluff piece was just what I needed to get my mojo back hopefully. Please let me know if this is like what you had in mind - I for one had a lot of fun with it! <3

***

Favourites

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Word Count: ~ 2.800

As a Care of Magical Creatures test covering dragons of all things is imminent and you were too distracted in class to pay proper attention, you know just who to turn to for help.

“You want me to do what?”

Charlie Weasley blinked at you in confusion. He could feel his blood rushing in his ears as he looked at you standing in front of him, clutching you Care for Magical Creatures book to your chest as you raised your eyebrows at him.

“I asked if you could help me studying for the test next week?” you repeated your question, brow slightly furrowed. “I can’t keep track of all these dragon traits and who would know them better than you?”

Charlie felt the heat creeping up on his face. Of course, the test. It was all he had been able to think about ever since Professor Kettleburn had announced the topic; all except you of course.

He tried to formulate a coherent answer that wouldn’t make him look like a blabbering fool in front of you, but the way the dappled sunlight that broke through the trees reflected in your hair distracted him more than he cared to admit.

So he resorted to a weak nod. “Uhm, sure, I’d love to. See you at six in the library?” he managed to stammer out eventually.

A beautiful smile formed on your face as you nodded in enthusiasm. “Sounds great, see you there!”

Charlie watched as you swished around and walked back to your friends, who greeted you with giggles and whispers as they glanced in his direction. You gave one of them a playful swat on the arm, before your clear laugh carried over to him onto the warm summer air and made his heart clench.

He knew all of his dragons by heart, of course he did; this test was the first he hadn’t bothered studying for at all. But now, he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to prepare himself.

The light of the sun had already started to turn into the beautiful golden shade that heralded the end of a warm autumn day as you skittered into the library. You were a little bit late for your study session with Charlie, and the exertion from running all the way from your Common Room flushed your cheeks slightly red. Your friends just hadn’t let you go, all of them just as excited for what they called ‘your dragon date’ as you were. Not that you’d ever tell them that.

You found Charlie sitting at a table near the windows and your breath caught for a moment as you took in the warm light that washed around his frame; it was making his ginger hair glow like fire, the only vibrant speck of colour in this dusty old room full of books.

He had his nose buried in a big, leather-bound tome, his eyes darting over the pages frantically; you noticed how the tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration. He was so immersed in his reading, that he only noticed you approaching as you sat down next to him. Jumping in shock at your sudden appearance, he almost knocked over his ink bottle, only catching it at the last second before its dark, inky content could wash over the thin pages of his book.

“Oh, you’re here already, I didn’t even notice you until now.” His freckled face had flushed a shade darker than usual as he put his ink bottle back into its position and made room for you on the table.

“I’d rather say I’m here finally,” you responded, feeling a little bit guilty at making Charlie wait. “But I see that you started without me.”

He hurriedly closed the book. “No, I was just reading up on some facts about Welsh Greens so I have them sharp in my mind,” he explained, “in case you have questions, you know?”

It was only now that your eyes took in the numerous heaps of books piled up on your table. “First question,” you said as you ran your fingers over the backs of the tomes stacked on top of each other. “I thought the test was about dragons native to Europe and not every single one in existence,” you pulled out a particularly old looking book containing myths and fables, “and beyond.”

You silently counted the numbers of books Charlie had amassed and your eyes went wide. “Charlie, these must be all the books about dragons in the whole library,” you laughed, giggling at the flustered expression of the boy beside you.

“Well, not all the books,” he clarified sheepishly. “There are quite a few in the Restricted Section and then there’s the two I have up in my dorm but forgot to bring and- “

You cut off his rambling by gently touching his arm; he shut up almost instantly, glancing nervously down to where your hand was lying. “It’s alright, it was just a joke.”

“Of course,” Charlie muttered slightly embarrassed. What was wrong with him?

He watched as you pulled your notes from your bag; they were rather sparse compared to the almost three scrolls of parchment he had scribbled down himself.

“Where do you want to start?”

You hummed to yourself as you considered your choices. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread inside Charlie’s chest as you drew your lips into a pensive pout and tapped your index finger against it.

Finally, a neat stack of white flashcards, that lay hidden behind a book on Sea Serpents, caught your attention. You reached over Charlie and pulled them towards you.

Your mouth dropped open as you flicked through them; on every one of the laminated cards was an extensive profile of every kind of dragon imaginable. The descriptions were written out in a neat, accurate hand that looked nothing like the careless scrawl you’d seen on Charlie’s class notes.

But what took your breath away were the detailed drawings below the text. They were done by pencil and although they didn’t move like magical pictures often did, they were so lively as if they only waited to pounce off the paper and take into the air.

Charlie watched you apprehensively as your fingers traced the outline of what appeared to be a Swedish Short-snout. He felt his heart beat faster at the soft, admiring look in your eyes as you turned towards him.

“Did you do these yourself?”

He nodded in response. “It’s hard to find decent descriptions all in one place,” he explained quietly. “I don’t know how accurate the sketches are though; I’ve never seen a dragon in real life.”

You flashed him a radiant smile that had his heart rate pick up considerably. “I don’t care if they’re realistic; they’re brilliant!”

Encouraged by your excitement, he took the flashcards out of your hands and fanned them out, their blank backs facing you. “Then I’d suggest we start with them; pick one!”

Running the fingers along the cards twice, you finally settled on one and drew it out of his grasp. Charlie’s freckled face lit up as he saw which one you had chosen.

“The Ukrainian Ironbelly,” he exclaimed, “my favourite!”

All of his former shyness was suddenly forgotten; this was his prime discipline.

“The Ironbelly is native to the Ukraine, as its name suggests, obviously. It’s considered the largest dragon species in existence with an immense wingspan, long talons and scales that are said to be harder to pierce than steel. It’s name stems from the metallic grey colour of his underside and ever since one particular large specimen carried off a whole sailing ship in the late 18th century, they are under strict observation by wizarding authorities.”

You did your best to jot down the information Charlie dumped on you with impressive speed but there was no way you could keep up with his excited ramblings. So you resorted to listening to him as he lectured you about feeding habits, hunting methods and the average temperature of the flames an Ironbelly could produce.

He sighed wistfully as he paused for breath. “They’re amazing.”

You couldn’t hide your smile at his dreamy expression as you picked out your next card from the stack. “Okay, how about this one?”

The dragon it showed had ridges running along its back, ending in a nasty, arrow-shaped spike at the tip of its tail. It barred its teeth at you in a vicious snarl.

“That’s my favourite, the Hebridean Black,” he repeated his words from before, positively bouncing with energy this time around.

You glanced at the card you two had just worked your way through. “I thought the Ukrainian Ironbelly was your favourite?” you teased him.

Charlie’s bouncing stopped instantly as he blushed bright red; you hadn’t meant to bring him down and felt sorry all of a sudden. So you propped the card against one of the book piles and turned to him.

“So, tell me more about it.”

Relieved to be able to tread on secure ground again, Charlie immediately recounted all the facts about one of the two dragon breeds native to the British Isles to you.

You continued in this fashion; your pulled a random card from the stash and Charlie would tell you everything he knew about it. He grew more animated with every new flashcard; as it turned out, every dragon you talked about was his favourite.

Seeing him so caught up in his favourite subject had a warmth spread in your chest and the smile on your lips never vanished even once. You had given up on writing Charlie’s words down about four cards ago and were merely staring at him explaining to you everything about these fantastic beasts that made up all of his dreams and musings.

His excitement quickly spread to you and you found yourself hanging onto his every word. But the more you were listening to him, the more you found your concentration shift from the dragons you were discussing to the boy beside you.

Your head propped on your hand, you admired how recounting scale colours and preferred environments of Romanian Longhorns brought a twinkle to his blue eyes and how his contagious laugh had you chuckle at the idea that people would confuse a Hungarian Horntail with a Norwegian Ridgeback.

The dimples forming in his freckled cheeks as he smiled at you were the exact reason why you had needed help with studying for this test in the first place. When you had talked about dragons in class, the eager smile and the slight scrunch of his nose as he scribbled down every single word Professor Kettleburn had to spare had left you breathless and unable to concentrate on anything but the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

The pile of flash cards had dwindled down until only a few more were left. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned around your next pick; the pictured showed a slender dragon directly from the front. It’s wings were outstretched and it seemed to be staring directly at you out of wide, pupil-less eyes. It was the only drawing so far that was coloured.

Your finger traced the subtle colour gradient rippling over its pearly scales as Charlie looked over to see which one was next.

“The Antipodean Opaleye,” he murmured, taking in your fascinated expression, “it’s singularly coloured scales and eyes are the stuff of legends.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, trying to imagine how the scales of a real life Opaleye might shimmer in the sunlight.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Charlie suddenly blurted out. The words had fallen from his lips before he’d even had a chance to stop them.

Both of you froze as what he had said sank into your consciousness. You couldn’t believe your ears and were half sure that your mind must have played a trick on you.

You carefully glanced over to Charlie out of the side of your eyes; he looked incredulous and you could watch the colour of his face turning from ghostly white to a deep, vivid scarlet that clashed with his ginger hair in a matter of seconds.

Feeling your own cheeks starting to blush at the unexpected compliment, you desperately were looking for something to say to take the shock out of his widened eyes. But your mind wasn’t working properly anymore, so all you managed was a meek “Wow, uhm, thank you Charlie, that’s really sweet.”

It was apparent your words didn’t help his flustered situation as he covered his face with his hands and groaned “I can’t believe I said that out loud; I’m such an idiot.”

You didn’t know what to do to help him; you felt utterly flattered and confused at the same time. You thought about putting your hand on his arm to reassure him what he had said actually made you happy, but paused halfway, not quite daring to touch him again.

Still unsure of what to do, you got up and picked up one of the books he had used to illustrate the facts on his flashcards.

“I’d better get going, I guess,” you stammered without looking at the wretched boy sitting at the table next to you, “thank you so much for helping me, I think I’ll manage the rest on my own. Can I borrow that book though?”

He didn’t raise his face from his hands, but nodded anyways. You felt bad for leaving him like that, but your head was spinning and you desperately needed to sort out your thoughts.

But seeing Charlie’s slumped frame sitting at the table, all the bubbly excitement from before completely drained from him, tugged at your heartstrings so hard it almost hurt. So instead of turning around and leaving, you drew a deep breath, gathered your courage and stepped behind him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

You could feel his shoulders tense and his breath hitch as your hair tickled his jaw and were glad he couldn’t see the deep blush on your cheeks as you straightened up, picked up your bag and his book and hurried out of the library with a racing heart, too afraid to turn around once more.

Charlie and you hadn’t spoken again after what had happened in the library. It had taken him quite some time to be able to think properly again after you had left; he had just sat at his table, hand on his cheek where you had kissed him, staring into nothingness, the peachy smell of your hair still hanging in the air.

Even though the thought of how soft your lips had felt on your cheek had been the most prominent thing in his mind, he had passed his test with flying colours; some things just couldn’t be erased from his mind, no matter what was happening around him.

He had just returned to his dorm after a particularly tiring Quidditch practise when he saw it lying on his bed, propped up against his head bord; the book you had borrowed from him to finish studying on your own.

For a brief moment, he wondered how you had managed to get it up here, when he noticed something white sticking out of the pages. Curious, he picked up the book and flicked it open.

Even without looking, he knew what chapter it was you had marked with whatever you had put in there; he had read this book more times than he could remember. It was the chapter on the Antipodean Opaleye; he grimaced at the memory of when he had last thought about this particular dragon.

A white flashcard was stuck between the pages, its laminated surface flashing as Charlie turned it around to read it.

A big smile stole onto his face as he saw the photograph of you laughing and waving at him that you had stuck on the front side. His eyes swept over the lines written in your feminine hand and his smile grew even wider as he read the ‘special characteristics’ section:

It has to be remarked, that this particular specimen was able to pass her test with full marks.

He was glad to hear his blurted out compliment hadn’t affected your marks in the end. He sighed wistfully, when he noticed the very small, scribbled note at the very end of the card; it wasn’t as neatly written as the rest, almost as if your hands had shaken while writing it down.

Greatest weakness: While not many weaknesses are recorded of this specimen, it is said that it can be easily tamed by ginger-haired dragon trainers in the making. Whether these rumours are true, remains to be determined.

Charlie’s mouth dropped open as he read the last section over and over again, not daring to believe what he thought they said. But after the tenth time, he finally allowed the butterflies that had been fluttering in his stomach to spread into the rest of his body, his smile growing into the widest grin as he tucked the flashcard carefully into the book again.

This time, he was sure; this one was his favourite.

Tagging: @weasleysandwheezes

#harry potter #hphm #hogwarts mystery #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #L writes #by request

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jeonqqin · 4 years

Text

man up. [m] | pt. 1

h. jisung x reader | netflix teen rom-com au

— ❝Even with classes, annoying brothers, and an unrequited crush, you still figured your first year of college was going pretty well. Until you managed to get your first boyfriend, and suddenly your brother and his stupidly attractive best friend were attached to your hip for the whole damn ride.

or alternatively;

Why did Jisung care about you so much, and had his eyes always been that pretty?❞

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

CONTAINS: brothers best friend au, teen rom-com au, sorta crack fic, love triangle au, college au

WARNING: language, eventual smut, minho is a little bitch

A/N: I pulled little tropes from pretty much every Netflix teen rom-com so if you see those little allusions then that’s why,, also I hope you all don’t mind that I made this into a series!

▸ request

CHAPTERS: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 +

blog masterlist | ⟲ fic song

Your eyes blurred over the words that were held out in front of you, every page harder to remember than the last.

It was your fault you were in the library studying during lunch period. You were the one that decided to procrastinate after all. But you also had no idea what was going to be on the exam in your statistics class. How could you start studying when you had no idea what you were meant to be studying? At least, that was your genius excuse for not touching your statistics book all week.

Resting your head on your hand, your eyes briefly wandered off of your book and directly up into a pair of pretty brown ones. They were already looking at you; gaze intense and flirty. It had you quickly looking back down at your book on instinct, this time without the intention of actually reading anything.

No way.

The boy sitting directly across from you was cute—no doubt about that. It was hard to disregard just how pretty he was with his classic big brown eyes and flat brown hair. At least, you couldn’t ignore him when he was clearly looking at you. Peeking up to make sure you weren’t seeing things, you caught his gaze again. And as his lip quirked up, you knew it wasn’t just a coincidence—he was deliberately looking at you. A childish giddiness flooded your stomach at the realization.

He smiled at you; charming and sweet.

“Do you know anything about political science?”

It took you a second to process what he asked, but you eventually shook your head with a smile. “D’you know anything about the statistics exam next Wednesday?”

He shrugged playfully. “Not a clue.”

“Well, it looks like we’re in the same boat then.”

“Utterly screwed by the school system?”

Snorting loudly, you instantly received an unhappy glare from the librarian and a followed up hush. An apology was on the tip of your tongue, but with the newfound fear of making another noise, you opted to send her a timid wave. Neither you nor the cute stranger moved until she returned to her book. But then he was slinking over and taking the seat beside you.

You could’ve squealed—imagine being such a teenage girl that you were so ecstatic to sit next to a cute guy. You were practically bouncing in your seat.

“At least I know that there’s someone else who can understand my worries,” he whispered, turning in his chair to face you completely.

You scoffed, eyeing the librarian for a moment before blinking back at the boy in front of you.

“Yeah right. You could ask the entire student body and they would all reply in one collective groan.”

“You’re not wrong there.” He hummed. “Thanks for not making me feel like a complete loser for procrastinating.”

“Oh, you’re still a loser for procrastinating,” you said, attempting to hold back your smile as he looked at you with a raised brow. “You’re just not the only one now.��

He made a playful noise of anguish, nodding his head with a silent laugh. “Ouch. That hurts coming from a mystery girl.”

You shrugged coyly, letting him take that as your answer before you leaned back against your palm.

“Maybe,” he paused for a moment, glancing around to the occupied librarian and continuing, “After classes, we could go out for coffee. Y’know—to get better acquainted. Unless you wanted me to keep calling you ‘mystery girl’.”

You pretended to weigh your options in your head, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling and an uncontrollable smile slipping onto your lips.

You were getting asked out. And every possible thing was going right; he was cute, he was witty, there was a connection, there were no interruptions—

“Are you free at six?”

Your mouth opened to reply a quick “yes”, but suddenly there were a set of hands landing firmly on your shoulders and you could feel the familiar brush of soft hair against your cheek.

“No sir, she is not free.”

The subtly stern voice of your brother replied, and the color of the stranger's face in front of you went pale as his eyes darted between you and the intruder beside you. “But thanks for asking.”

“Sorry, Minho—man, I didn’t know she was your girlfriend. I swear.” Came the panicked reply.

You winced, expression going sour as the apologies flew out of the boy’s mouth at a rapid pace.

“Sister.” Minho corrected, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on his face that read disaster.

And then after a few more unsettling glares and passive-aggressive comments from your older brother, the guy was gone, his head lowered to his chest. You had seen worse. There had been many more that happened to end in bruises and a visit from campus security, so a little humiliation wasn’t so terrible.

But fucking hell—there goes another one.

“You need to stop doing that,” you said, swiping all your books into your bag as your brother watched the poor soul leave the library with satisfaction.

Minho scoffed. “What? Weeding out the losers that run at a little sign of conflict?” He tisked patronizingly. “Do you really want to be in a relationship with someone who pisses themselves because your brother was being a little protective? I’m not going to be here forever, and who will be the one to watch out for you then? Certainly not Mr. Are-You-Free-At-Six.”

A heavy sigh left your lips. You had heard his speech before and you had been infuriated. But after years of the same response and lecture, you grew numb to the feeling of anger towards your brother.

“Who said I even needed protecting?”

“Me. I’m your big brother, I know what’s best for you.” He replied curtly, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and slinging it over his own.

You scowled, following him as he charmingly waved at the librarian on your way out. She chuckled under her breath and fluttered her fingers towards Minho, absolutely no intention of even glancing at you. Minho was a very likable person. He had always been able to use his endless pool of charisma to get on anyone’s good side, and that had opened up many opportunities for him.

Unfortunately, your brother had many sides to him, and one of them had manifested from his obsessive need to keep you away from any and all possible danger in life. That part of him was what had every guy running for the hills.

You were a freshman in college, and every relationship you had was ruined, courtesy of your older brother.

The two of you merged into the crowded halls filled with unrushed university students, several people greeting Minho with friendly gestures that you couldn’t keep up with. It was as if no one even saw you—you supposed that was also Minho’s fault.

“I have class now,” you huffed, tugging your bag from his shoulder and nearly making him stumble into a wall. “Okay? Am I allowed to continue my education, oh great brother of mine?”

Minho made a mocking face in your direction. “Haha. Very funny, young lady. Now don’t go seducing any more good-for-nothing’s while I’m gone. Got it?”

“I’m going to kill you one of these days.”

Minho snorted, spinning on his heel towards the direction of his own class.

“And I’ll be waiting with open arms, little sister!”

“Eat shit, Minho!”

With a visible bounce in his step he disappeared behind the corner, supposedly heading to his next class, but you knew it was just a matter of time before he would get sidetracked and distracted along the way. He was always excited to see you around campus, seeing you—his baby sister—just made his day better.

Generally, you found yourself smiling after a good interaction with your brother, but then he would go and pull the ‘protective brother’ card and suddenly you had the urge to rip his throat out. Minho knew you were growing up and pretty soon his intrusions wouldn’t be seen as just a nuisance, and they would turn into more of an invasion of your personal life. But you could see how much that realization hurt him, so you held back.

You settled into your seat as one of the first people in the lecture hall, watching as your professor rubbed his eyes and set up the slides for the class.

On your second day of class, your professor had snapped at one of the students for being late for his lecture, and it scared the shit out of you. The next day he apologized and used the excuse of being hungover and hungry, and it opened your eyes to the fact that you weren’t in high school anymore. You were surrounded by adults—careless and irresponsible adults, granted, but they were old enough to understand your professor’s woes.

Still, you would never find yourself arriving late, just in case you caught him on one of his bad days.

“Y/n,”

The cheery voice startled you out of your stupor.

“Good morning, my darling.”

Your eyes rolled back, though a smile still grew on your face. A fleeting thought ran through your head, you shouldn’t have been surprised, he did it every morning. You offered him a sparing glance as he stepped up to your seat, falling back into the uncomfortable chair beside you.

“Hi, Jisung,” you chuckled as his arm swung around your shoulders.

You decided to ignore the way the cut of his sleeves allowed you to get a glimpse of the muscle that was starting to form.

Han Jisung was your brother’s best friend, an annoying loud-mouth who was in too many of your classes for it to be a coincidence. He had been by Minho’s side for most of his life, and therefore, most of yours. And he flirted with you for as long as you could remember.

Just as the majority of the students started to flood the hall, Jisung pulled an apple out of his bag, holding it out for you to take.

“I noticed that you hadn’t gone to lunch with Felix today, and I figured since you’re looking berry cute today—” He grabbed your hand, placing the fruit into your palm. “Sorry. I didn't have any lines for apples.”

And the pickup lines—the many, many pickup lines.

“Really? Nothing?” You asked.

His head shook, eyes coy.

You aided him, shaking the apple in front of his face, “You’re the apple of my eye?”

“Ah…” He nodded in realization, seemingly bummed for not thinking of that one before. But then suddenly a smirk flickered over his features and he was pinching your cheek, “I knew you were in love with me.”

You turned away from his grabbing hand, fighting back the urge to roll your eyes. His talent was finding a way to flirt with you, and at times you had wondered how he was so good at it.

Practice made perfect, you guessed.

You smiled. “Uh-huh.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was in love with you—

“Hyunae told me to start eating more fruit, so she threw the apple into my bag when I wasn’t looking.”

—but Han Jisung had a girlfriend, and she was so much more than you could ever be.

Not that you cared at all.

“So you two are doing well?” You asked, feigning interest as you reached into your bag and pulled out your laptop. Maybe if you were stealthy enough you would be able to sneak in some studying while your professor went on about how traffic signs affected climate change—or whatever it was that he was talking about that week.

No wonder why you had no idea what you were doing.

Jisung hummed, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah. She’s still bossy, but that’s just Hyunae.”

“I heard she got into quite the discussion with Hyunjin this morning.”

You were swinging pretty low, but you weren’t the biggest fan of Hyunae to begin with, so there was a small part of you that enjoyed picking at the scabs she left behind.

Okay, there was a pretty big part of you.

“Don’t remind me,” he grunted. “One day their fights will end with murder. And it’ll be me who is found dead.”

“Next time they get into an argument just slip away and let campus security deal with the mess. Let the bitches be bitches.”

Your suggestion was in the form of a joke, but really, you meant every word.

Hyunae easily rivaled Hyunjin’s bitchiness, and in your group of friends, that statement had weight to it. Not just anyone could argue with Hyunjin and step away unscathed, but she managed to do so just about every day. You would’ve been impressed had she ever shown you any kindness, but she hated you from day one. You were only returning the favor by rooting for Hyunjin until he somehow figured out how to kill someone with his words.

He had come close before, so you kept your fingers crossed.

“Well that bitch is a goddess in bed,” Jisung snickered, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “And frankly it’s hot when someone’s bossy during sex—”

“Are we talking about Hyunae or Hyunjin now?”

Jisung laughed sarcastically, throwing a sneer your way. “Bravo. You want a medal for the joke of the year?”

“Nah, I have plenty of better jokes that imply that you like boys.” You absentmindedly glanced back towards your professor as he began the lecture, his voice as uninterested as your gaze. “Though I have yet to make one about your secret relationship with my brother.”

Jisung nodded with fake enthusiasm and said, “That’s nice but I’m not listening to you anymore.”

“The girls on campus would pay big bucks for that sex tape.”

“Shut up before I throw up on you.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t like me.” You pouted half-assed, typing notes that you would never use solely because their only purpose was to make it seem like you cared. Though by the look of it, the professor probably gave less of a shit than you anyway.

Jisung’s teasing and inappropriate comments hardly bothered you anymore, especially since you knew how to counter them with your own.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” he mused, though you both knew the reason why he was taking the class was because he needed the credits and the teacher didn’t care if you botched all of your tests as long as the final was double-spaced and had your name at the top.

“Because I’m your favorite.” You whispered, lifting your pointer finger to your lips. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Minho.”

“As if. Get your head out of your ass.”

“Duly noted.”

You loved Jisung.

You loved him in the same way you loved your brother; you didn’t want to love him, but for whatever twisted reason, the universe made it so. Too bad you didn’t think of Jisung as a brother—the game of life was cruel that way. It sucked that he was such a good… everything. Han Jisung was a good friend, a good boyfriend, and annoyingly one of the best people you had ever met.

Not that you would ever admit that to him and risk his head inflating to the size of Felix’s stuffed animal collection.

Dammit, you really didn’t want to love that moron.

Maybe you could get away with being in like with him instead.

“Y/n!”

Your head swiveled, just barely catching a flash of ridiculous purple hair before a hold on your wrist was stopping you mid-stride.

“Owie,” was what came out of your mouth, your gaze set into a glare at your aggressor.

Though, Felix wasn’t fazed by your scowl. He was too excited—or pissed, it was hard to tell—about whatever he wanted to tell you. But knowing him, his news probably had something to do with the meme he posted on Twitter that morning—you did see it, and no, you weren’t very impressed. You expected better than the overused picture of the woman yelling at that cat at the dinner table. Caption be damned, that meme wasn’t even good anymore.

Felix was followed by his shorter but considerably stronger lackey. Without even looking at him you already knew Changbin’s biceps were popping under the black shirt he wore, the whole aesthetic making him look way more intimidating than he was.

“Where were you?” Felix asked, smacking your arm hard enough to gain your attention. “You didn’t meet us for lunch.”

“Maybe because I don’t appreciate your abuse.”

“Haha. Seriously,” he griped, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why’d you ditch me?”

You had been friends with Felix for who knows how long, but you would never get used to how needy the boy was. You and your brother sure grabbed a couple of good ones.

“I had to study.” You admitted with a huff, though you already knew your excuse wouldn’t be enough for Felix.

“Okay, one—you never do that.” He countered before flashing you a look. “And two—liar.”

You set your gaze on Changbin for some support, but the boy simply avoided your eyes as his way of saying “you’re on your own here”.

You turned back to Felix with a groan. Changbin never helped you ever, the bastard.

“Lix I have a dumb test in statistics next week and for whatever reason, all I can remember right now is that the SREB3 gene in zebrafish can cure cancer or something.”

“That has nothing to do with statistics—”

“And is also very wrong. Are you even paying attention in biology?” Changbin asked, his face scrunched up in a mix of confusion and disgust.

You motioned to Changbin to prove your point. “Hence the reason why I was in the library.”

Felix suddenly tilted his head back and did that thing where he looked like he was trying to convince himself that living was worth it.

He sighed. “Okay, I’m calling Seungmin—”

At his words, you all but shrieked, a hand swatting Felix’s shoulder instinctively.

Seungmin was a friend of Hyunjin’s, which indirectly made him a friend of yours. But the relationship between the two of you could only be classified as rocky considering he felt the need to tell you just how much he wanted to, and you quote, “throw a rock at your head”. Ironically enough, the feeling was mutual.

But you would never say that to his face because that would most likely lead him to complete the task.

“You promised to never do that to me again!” You cried, throwing yourself against Felix’s boney shoulder.

This time was Felix’s turn to look at Changbin and search for help, but he was met with the same passive reaction as you had received. Honestly, you didn’t know why anyone tried anymore.

“He’s not that bad, Y/n.”

You gaped, disbelieving of your friend’s words. “You can’t be serious. He’s the devil! He preys on the weak, and then spits out their bones, Felix.”

“He tutored you once and you got a ninety-eight on your exam.”

“After hours of torture and anguish.”

Felix gave you an unsympathetic look before plucking his phone from Changbin’s back pocket, “I’m calling him.”

With a glare, you folded your arms over your chest. “Remember this moment the next time you ask me to revise your Tinder bio.”

“Joke’s on you. Changbin gives better advice and he doesn’t laugh at me.”

You snorted despite yourself.

But before Felix could lift the phone to his ear, Changbin’s began to ring obnoxiously in his pocket, and you were ready to bow and praise whichever deity in the sky that decided to bless you with such luck.

And like a child, you stuck out your tongue.

“What’s up?” Changbin hummed, turning away from the two of you. “Did you get all of your stuff in the apartment yet…?”

Changbin and Minho were roommates and had been since Changbin was a freshman. The two worked well together in the sense that they were both loud as hell and could (and hopefully never will) sleep through a stampede of elephants in their living room.

Felix slipped his phone into his pocket, unabashedly listening to the conversation just as you were.

“They must’ve finally found someone interested in moving in.”

They had always talked about renting with someone else, but along with being the worst people to live with, the duo was picky as hell. Pigs would fly and snowballs would be living in hell the moment they let someone else move in with them.

“Okay, but is Minho going to let you turn the office into a recording room?”

You froze, a remark on the tip of your tongue.

Changbin was talking on the phone about recording—an activity that you knew for a fact that only two people in your life had ever taken part in—and moving into Minho and Changbin’s shared apartment.

Now, you weren’t the brightest crayon in the box but connecting all the dots wasn’t too difficult.

“Are you crazy?”

Not only was the idea of Jisung moving into Minho’s apartment a terrible one, but it would also compromise the only place you could relax in peace. Your dorm was hell (for reasons you didn’t want to relive) and you weren’t allowed anywhere near the boys' dorm. You were currently on the RA’s shit-list ever since the misunderstanding that went down last semester—

Bad timing for a room check one night when you, Felix, and Hyunjin were in a compromising position.

If Jisung moved in with Minho, you would then be spending more time with him, and all the hard work you spent on keeping your distance would’ve been for nothing. You’d probably see his monster of a girlfriend around regularly as well, and you didn’t want to witness any of that in your lifetime.

Time to welcome the snowballs to hell, because that was where you were headed.

Hoisting your bag over your shoulder, you positioned yourself to run.

“Lix, I’m sorry but I have to go beat some sense into my brother! Maybe we can talk to Seungmin on a day when I feel like dying from blunt force trauma.”

You didn’t bother to wait for the yelling as you took off through the quad.

The wind slapped you in the face the moment you were away from the cover of the university buildings, and you were suddenly second-guessing the escapade. Though, you simply chalked your reluctance up to laziness and continued forward. Minho’s apartment wasn’t far from the university, and after his little stunt in the library, you were looking forward to kicking his ass in the privacy of his home.

You pulled your spare key from your bag as you finally approached the complex, eager to get away from the nipping wind. Because fuck you for wearing a t-shirt in forty-degree weather.

Pushing the door open, you threw your bag inside recklessly, “Minho, you flat-faced asshole. You tell me right now that Jisung isn’t your new—”

But you screeched to a stop as your eyes locked onto someone who definitely wasn’t Minho.

“Roommate.”

You swallowed.

A man with perfectly styled black hair and no sleeves on his shirt sat on your brother's couch, a pair of thick headphones covering his ears and a laptop resting on his thick thighs. His eyes darted up to meet your gaze as the door closed behind you, and a single brow raised as you stood in front him in a stupor.

“Hello,” he pulled his headphones down to hang around his neck, cocking his head in amusement. “I am neither Minho nor Jisung, and I really hope I’m not a flat-faced asshole. Can I help you?”

You floundered for a second, mouth open. “I mean—I was looking for my brother. Changbin was on the phone with their new roommate, and I just assumed…”

“You thought that Jisung was his new roommate?” He snickered, carefully placing his labeled laptop onto the couch and lifting to his feet.

You were tempted to hang your head in shame and leave with your confidence shattered. But his attractive gaze was enough to convince you to stay put.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Well,” the stranger’s expression softened, his hand reaching forward. “I’m Chan. Your brother’s new roommate.”

You gave his hand a quick glance before taking it.

“I’m Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

New roommate: not as terrible as you expected it to be.

The more you looked at him, the more you wanted to tell him how beautiful he was. Though you would have to be delusional to actually admit that out loud to a complete stranger, it was surprisingly tempting.

And… you were still holding his hand.

“Oh, uh—sorry.”

Releasing his grip, you laughed awkwardly, feeling the heat rise up your face and engulf your ears.

Damn your brother and his affinity for making friends with every gorgeous person that crossed his path. He was going to kill you eventually, between his protectiveness that shattered your social life and all his model-like friends that continued to claw their way into your heart.

A pleasant beat of silence passed between the two of you while you both took a second to consider each other. Chan wasn’t your conventionally beautiful person like Hyunjin, nor was he completely rough around the edges like Changbin. His hair was a bit wild, possibly due to the lack of product, but it was combed through and hung around his eyes nicely. A stark contrast from the gelled and styled boy you had been infatuated with.

Your eyes fell onto the coffee table between you, neck growing warm as you realized your thoughts had drifted back to Jisung, even with such an attractive stranger standing right in front of you.

You shut your eyes, stilling yourself as you took in a deep breath.

“So…” you drawled, avoiding his amused gaze. “Recording, huh?”

That settled it, you were an idiot.

Chan snorted out loud, finding your innocent question cute.

“I’m a producer.” Chan supplied, shifting closer to you in order to lean against the couch. “I haven’t been able to record my own songs for a while though. That’s why I’ve been trying to convince Minho to let me turn his office into a recording room. I have all the soundproof padding and everything, all I need is to guilt-trip him into letting me put it up.”

You nodded in understanding, glancing over towards the not so office that Minho was currently using as a storage room.

If anyone was ever surprised by the number of bundles he had in his room, they would drop dead at the sight of what was behind that door.

It was bundle hell.

Your voice rang out, “That would probably take you all day on your own. It’s pretty disastrous in there.”

“Is there an implication there?” He snarked, mock question in his voice.

“I help you clean, and you show me what you have on that little laptop of yours.”

Chan hummed, his eyes tracing over you and then over to his precious laptop resting off to the side. He had always been cautious about showing people his music, there were too many outcomes that he didn’t like thinking about. But you were looking at him with this excited little grin and he was finding it hard to say no.

You were dangerous.

“I can get behind that deal,” Chan concluded.

“Great,” you chirped without a second of hesitation. “Let’s go.”

But Chan’s strong grip stopped you as you attempted to pass and you couldn’t help but focus your eyes on the veins that ran up his bare arms.

His eyebrow raised, amused. “We’re just going to barge in there and start cleaning?”

“Would you rather wait for the bundles to gain consciousness and invite us in?”

Chan couldn’t help but bark a laugh at your sarcasm. “Of course not. I just wanted to ask for Minho’s permission first—”

You paused him with the raise of your hand, “There’s one thing you will learn about my brother; he never says yes.”

Sensing a seriousness behind your tone, Chan nodded, suddenly open to all of your suggestions.

“Lead the way then.” Chan encouraged, gesturing forward and releasing your arm.

“My pleasure.”

But just as you were about to reach for the handle of the spare room, you remembered something—

The fact that you were a (stupid and unemployed) college student currently paying for a failing test grade in her statistics class.

You cursed under your breath, pausing in your stride long enough to prompt Chan’s questioning gaze, and damn it, it was adorable the way he cocked his head to the side.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

Your face twisted in thought, “Probably…”

“And…?”

You cleared your throat, finally pulling your eyes away from the chipping white paint of the door.

“Do you perhaps know anything about statistics?”

2K notes · View notes

cupofteaguk · 4 years

Text

battle of brains (m)

PART OF THE REPUTATION SERIES

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

pairing: jimin x fem!reader

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

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

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

word count: 25k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiler alert: It was not fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon blinks. “It wasn’t.”

Jimin scowls. “Fuck off.”

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

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

Yeah, he doesn’t think so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And down at his lips.

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

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

His gaze trails down your backside as you leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not immediately, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a twitch between his legs.

“Not just anyone,” He returns instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe his mouth—!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is something the matter, Professor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wet,” Jimin grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put your feet on the table for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There it is.”

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

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

He stops at that. “What look?”

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

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

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

That factor is you.

Now, he’s had his fair share of flings, makeout sessions, and sexual encounters with members of the female population. Of course he has. He isn’t friends with jocks like Jeon Jungkook or pranksters like Jung Hoseok for nothing—he’s been to those parties in the Room of Requirement and has held up his own in conversations with flirtatious qualms. As someone who trumps logic over emotion, it has never been hard for Jimin to set aside his emotions when something is meant to be a one time thing.

But you. You. You. He really hasn’t accounted for you to linger about in his life the way you have. Mostly, he hasn’t accounted to think about your insults, your sighs, and your whimpers the way he actually has.

It’s hard to tell if you’re feeling the same way. When you’re in study labs together for any class such as charms, muggle studies, or astronomy, he could always swear that your gaze would linger on him for moments too long before switching away. When you two are paired up for potions, the conversations are vague and pertain to the lessons, but it all feels layered with something new. A new unspoken desire, perhaps?

He can’t really get a read on the situation, and that’s the most frustrating aspect of it all.

“Park Jimin?” It’s Professor McGonagall’s voice, one that startles Jimin out of his trance. Jung Jaehyun ducks to hide his laughter.

Jimin blinks, looking up to realize that Professor McGonagall is standing right in front of him, a stack of parchment in her arms and a curious look in her eyes. He’s currently in the middle of his transfiguration lesson. The professor raises an eyebrow, but still pulls a parchment from the stack and passes it down to him. A -1 stares him back up at him, and Jimin feels his heart beat. Although this score is for a mere homework assignment, the grade seems like a weight on his shoulders.

“Is that a minus one, Park?” Jaehyun asks, leaning over and getting into Jimin’s space. “On a homework assignment? What happened there?”

Jimin looks over the assignment. “I guess I didn’t add enough detail to one of my answers.” He looks back at Jaehyun, watching Professor McGonagall hand him his graded assignment. The corner of his lips quirk up. “You’re one to talk, Jung. Minus five? You better keep your grades up if you want to stay on the House Team.”

“Hey, you should see JK’s grades,” Jaehyun retorts. “I swear, that boy was hanging by a thread on some of the recent assignments. Did you know he didn’t even realize he had an astronomy essay due for class until that waitress at the Three Broomsticks had to remind him?”

Jimin grins. “That I remember. You’ve done good keeping an eye on your competition.” Almost unconsciously, he finds himself flinting his gaze towards you only to find that you’re staring right back at him.

You raise an eyebrow at him. Just from a look, Jimin knows what you’re asking him. What did you get?

Feeling vaguely embarrassed about his score, he shrugs. Instead of answering, he jerks his chin towards you. What about you?

You seem to know the reason behind his desire to keep his score a secret from you. You smirk, turning over your parchment and flashing it towards him. A -0 reads at the top. “Pretty good, huh?” You mouth to him.

Jimin flicks his wand underneath the desk. A gust of wind comes out and the parchment flies forward to smack you on the face.

A burst of laughter rings through the classroom as Professor McGonagall whirls around. Having not seen the events leading up to the smack, she narrows her eyes at you. “Miss. Y/N, I don’t believe your perfect grade called for a hit to the face.”

You sink into your seat just enough. “Sorry professor,” You grumble, turning to give the side eye to Jimin.

He is wrong to think that you wouldn’t do anything about his little spell.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” You ask as soon as you catch up to Jimin after class is dismissed. Ever since the “Tension-Easing Experiment”, as Jimin liked to label it and no it wasn’t something he had run by you since you’re both not really eager to brush on that topic in detail ever since it had happened, you’ve both been pleasant enough to each other. This conversation starter falls under that list. “Casting spells on me, I thought that task belonged to Jung Hoseok.”

“Perhaps I have learned a thing or two from him.”

You hum at that. “Guess there are some things you can’t fully grasp just from reading textbooks all day.”

He glares at you. “Did you need something today?”

You look back at him. “We have our weekly project meet-up.”

He blinks. “What weekly project meet-up?”

“Well, when Professor McGonagall gave us the assignment, we were meeting up once a week to exchange ideas,” You say slowly. “We stopped because…”

Oh right, I kissed you in the astronomy lab room, Jimin thinks when you trail off.

You clear your throat. “But since we’re talking again…”

Because we had sex.

“I figured it was as good a time as ever to get back into it. Besides, I do have an idea I’d figure I should bounce off of you.”

Jimin stares at you for a moment. Takes in your eyes, your lips, your robe and the clothes you’ve gone on underneath the thick material. You’ve got your hair up into a half-up-half-down ponytail today. Dare he say, you look nice today. “Alright then. Should we go to the library?”

“Actually…” You cut in, shrugging and not meeting Jimin’s eye this time around. “I was thinking we could go back to your friend’s private study room? Since we are talking, and it is exam season. You know, I wouldn’t want to disrupt the other students trying to go over their class material.”

This is true. Midterm season at Hogwarts is underway and lots of peers are starting to lose the light in their eyes. There seems to be a hidden weight in your words, plagued with an idea of ulterior motives, but Jimin is suddenly taken by curiosity to mind. “Uh—right. Sure. Pretty sure Yoongi isn’t running a detention today.”

Even if Yoongi had assigned a detention, which he probably did considering this was Min Yoongi, it was unlikely he’d use his private study. In fact, Jimin vaguely recalls Yoongi saying he had a meeting. So he leads the way down the hallways and past the large windows. The pathway is familiar to him, given how many times he’s taken this route, and it’s not long before he’s uttering the password under his breath and entering the space.

It’s empty when he enters. Actually, it’s hard to tell if Yoongi had even used this office during the days between the “Tension-Easing Experiment” and today. Not that it matters, as you and Jimin push two desks together and take a seat. You slide your robe off this time and rest it at the back of your chair.

“Alright, so what’s this idea of yours?”

You lean back in the chair. “It’s brilliant, if you ask me.”

He smirks. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

You smile slightly at that, turning back towards your desk and curling a finger around your hair. “I thought we might as well keep it simple and play to our strengths.” You look at him. “You’re known being this really charming guy, and from what I understand you’re friends with lots of different guys who are talented in their own unique ways. I think we need to split our presentation into two parts. Your section would be talking about growing up at Hogwarts—how you’ve made your group of friends and how you’ve centered yourself in activities and conversations. Then I’ll come in and talk about how despite transferring during the last year of school, everyone and everything is really adjustable and nice about being a new student.”

“Hm.” Jimin ponders this. You’ve figured out a way to take what he had mentioned, albeit jokingly, and organize a way for you to be involved yet still be connected to his original topic. “It’s not bad, you can be smart sometimes when you want to be.”

“I’m always smart—a lot smarter than you, so it seems,” You return back. You angle the chair towards Jimin and sit back. “Speaking of, what happened with your homework assignment today? Didn’t want to show off your own -0? Or perhaps did you get extra credit out of thin air?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Jimin snaps. “Contrary to that, I actually got marked off a point. Forgot to add some details to one of my answers, so it was a minor thing.”

“The Park Jimin I know doesn’t forget to add minor details to his answers,” You point out. “What’s up with you? Does Professor McGonagall have to pull you from the project, and leave me as the sole smartest and brightest student at Hogwarts despite only being here for a month and a half?”

“I think your critical thinking skills have to be checked,” He retorts, but it’s a half-hearted attempt to start an argument. You’re much more observant than you let on, if you’ve taken note of his behavior despite not really being his friend. Getting marked off points for minor details is something both of you have been guilty of on rare occasions, so the fact that you still notice something off leaves a strange feeling in his stomach.

Jimin stares at you for a moment longer, only to find you staring back. Should he indulge you on the thoughts floating around in his head? Would it be worth it?

When you raise an eyebrow, it gives him enough courage to open his mouth.

“Actually, I have a hypothetical situation I’d like to go over with you.”

You don’t say anything to that. It’s a sign to keep talking.

“Say you’ve just slept with someone because you thought it would quell that seemingly moment’s sparks of attraction,” He starts. “But it’s been a few days, and you, hypothetically, can’t stop thinking about that moment. As in, you wouldn’t find sleeping with that person again. Do you indulge that curiosity? Or just leave it be, assuming that the person doesn’t feel the same about you?”

Something flickers in your eyes. “Hm, I’m not sure, you’re being so vague it’s really hard to tell who you’re talking about.”

He groans at that. “You’re being a brat again.”

“You must enjoy that, don’t you?” You say back right away. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be thinking about trying to sleep with me again. Unless you ‘quell momentary sparks of attraction’ with other girls on a daily basis.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” He retorts. “You like to think you have all this control over this situation and my feelings, but who was it that was begging me to fuck them just a few nights ago?”

You laugh a little. “You got a point. But who still fucked me after that begging?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you really want to play that game, sweetheart?”

You keep your gaze on him. “What game am I playing, Park Jimin?”

Jimin looks right back at you. After a moment, he wraps his fingers underneath his chair and angles himself so that he can face you. He reaches forward until his hand rests on your thigh, right above the hem of your skirt. “Well, I have something in mind, if you’re willing to hear it.” When you don’t pull back, he continues. “Since you seem set on this idea that you’re in charge, I think I should prove to you otherwise.”

He watches the way your jaw clenches at that.

“First, I would ask you to slide off your panties and your skirt this time, so there’s nothing in the way of me fucking you this time,” He spells out, keeping his eyes on you for signs of slippage. The slight twitch of your thigh is the first tell. “Then, I’d get behind you, turn you around, and press you against this very desk.” He taps the desk you’re sitting in front of. “Depending on how bratty you decide to be, I’ll find a way to keep you where I want you to be. If you’re still a brat, only one of us will be finishing today—and I will tell you right now that it won’t be you.” He leans forward towards you, your eyes flickering towards his lips. “Just tell me no. Tell me you’re not interested and that you don’t look at me the same way. I’ll back off.”

You swallow thickly at that. “What if I don’t want you to back off?”

Things happen very quickly after the question leaves your lips. You’re the one who leans forward, you’re the one who kisses Jimin first. He responds immediately after, pulling you up by your waist until you’re straddling his lap. Gently biting at your lower lip, Jimin still has enough wit to kick the chair you were sitting on away from the desk. It scraps against the classroom floor, a noise that goes loudly unheard of over the roaring of blood in Jimin’s ears.

Jimin pushes you off his lap, forcing you back onto your feet with Jimin following behind shortly after. You barely have time to adjust before his hands are on your waist to spin you around and pin you onto the desk in front of you.

Jimin tightens his hold on your waist. “Look at you, little girl,” He says. The nickname brings color to your cheeks. “You talk a big game but I think when it comes to it, you like being told what to do.” After he’s gotten you settled into position, his hands leave its original position to reach the zipper of the skirt at the small of your back. “Well, since I’ve riled you up this much, we might as well follow through on one of my check-ins, huh?”

His fingers slowly drag down the zipper of your skirt, each movement downwards rings like a bell. Jimin is so close behind you that you can feel his warmth radiating into your body, your legs. He doesn’t take his time. He pulls down the skirt and your panties until they drop at your ankles.

A finger lingers at your entrance, checking. Jimin makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Looks like me spelling out what I was going to do to you was more effective than I thought.”

You whine, pressing your cheek into the wood of the desk. “You don’t always have to report it like that!”

Jimin stills at that. For a moment, the tense silence makes you think that you’ve said something wrong. But all thoughts fly out of the window when Jimin brings his hand down to slap against the back of your thigh. The gesture isn’t too hard or too loud, but it’s enough to make you whimper. “You trying to out-smart me again?”

“N-No, I’m sorry,” You stammer, probably having a brief flashback to his threat about not letting you finish off.

Still, Jimin scoffs. “You seem to think today will end up just like the first time: where you tell me what to do and I’ll do it—would you agree with me?”

You clench and Jimin feels it with his fingers. “Not intentionally.”

“Hm.” Jimin ponders, both of his hands leaving your frame to tug at the tie around his neck. He loosens it and brings the thin fabric down towards you. “I think we should really establish that I’m the one in charge today. Give me your hands.”

Your neck turns slightly to try and catch his eye. “Jimin—!”

“Hands, c’mon little girl, I thought you could follow directions.” Nevermind that this is probably the first time you’ve said his first name as a standalone and there’s something really intimate about that.

You don’t say anything to that, you merely shift your body weight so you are able to rest your hands on your back. Jimin takes your wrists, bringing them together, and loops the fabric of his tie around them. Tight enough that there’s no way you could escape from it, but loose enough to provide some wiggle room. Once your wrists are secure in the tie, Jimin tugs on it to ensure it won’t undo itself.

“This okay?” Jimin asks, albeit a little softly, but his question brings the ghost of a smile across your lips.

You nod. “Yes.”

“Alright then.” There’s the sound of his belt becoming undone, his fingers pulling his cock out of his pants. He lines himself up, his fingers guiding the way before he’s pushing in. The stretch is a little tighter than it had been the last time due to lack of proper foreplay. But there’s enough to get by.

The stretch makes you feel him all the way in your gut, making your head spin as a groan emits from your throat. Your fingers curl into fists at the small of your back. “Fuck,” You let out between teeth as you shut your eyes, knowing that you just have to take what Jimin is giving you.

Soon, the room fills with the softest grunts and groans, the desk rocking in time with his thrusts. His hands stay on his tie, on your wrists, where your fingers curl around his hand—whether for reassurance or to hold onto something solid, it’s hard to tell.

All that matters is that Jimin notices and his heart races for something other than the physicality of what is going on.

That day in the classroom seems to create a new label in Jimin’s relationship with you. Given that both of you have seen the other person naked (twice), it brings a new level of casualness between the two of you.

It shows in how Jimin slides rather gracefully into the library, rolls of parchment in his bag and a smirk across his features. He finds you rather quickly, right by the window in a secluded part of the space, and has no problem approaching you and slapping the top of his parchment on your desk. It lands right on top of your books and your own roll of parchment.

There’s a pause. “If the ink on my roll wasn’t dry, I will honestly not hesitant to stab your eye out,” You say right away.

“Charming,” Jimin returns, sitting in the vacant chair next to you. “But I just wanted to show you something. We got our grades back for that Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. As you can see, here’s my plus two extra credit score at the top.”

“What?” You react immediately, leaning over your desk to catch a glimpse of the score. “Damn, what the fuck. How’d you get two extra credit points?”

Jimin is grinning. “What’d you get then?”

You give him a side glare. “One point five?”

“Wow.” Jimin places a hand on his heart. “Did I beat you on an assignment?”

Your side glare has evolved into a full glare.. “As classy as that brag was, beating me on one assignment doesn’t reclaim your place as the smartest student at this school.” You brush some of the hair out of your face as you turn in your seat. “But I guess there’s no harm in congratulating you for this one. Do you want a celebratory blow job?”

Jimin’s heart stutters in his chest at the words. He does whiplash at your question. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

You grin. “A little nervous there, Park Jimin?”

“W-Well no, I just…” He trails off, trying to collect his bearings, trying to make sure that he hadn’t misheard you. “I-I think I wasn’t able to catch what you said…”

“No, I think you heard me pretty clearly.” You’re right. He had heard you perfectly. After all, there’s no reason for him to have not heard you clearly. You’re both in the library for goodness sake—not just the library but a quiet section of the library. “I just figured you want some sort of congratulatory gesture on my part, since we have a little competition going on between the two of us. You scored better today, so I’ll blow you.” You pause for a moment. “Unless you don’t want me to blow you, and you asking questions like this is just you trying to deflect…”

“No! I mean…” He sets his teeth when your grin widens. “Shut up, you’re so annoying.”

“You’re not saying no,” You point out.

“Of course I’m not. Get your stuff, we’re going.” He grabs your wrist as soon as you’ve packed up your school supplies, and he doesn’t let go.

Your laughter echoes all the way down the hallway.

It continues like this. In terms of your social relationship with Jimin, it turns into a rivalry boosted by sexual encounters. Depending on who scored better on tests, essays, or homework would get to lead the sex in the empty Head Boy classroom near the abandoned corners of the castle. The atmosphere between you two, while still plagued with banter, has turned into something more light-hearted and conversations have lower defenses.

That’s what one gets after seeing the other person naked for weeks on end.

The improvement in your relationship leads to more open conversations about the project, something that Professor McGonagall has noticed an improvement in.

She says this after calling you and Jimin in for a meeting. It’s the beginning of November now, and the weather has cooled down and the sky reflects the bleeker tone in its dark shades of gray. You and Jimin have been in this strange relationship for about a month and a half now, and you didn’t think there would be any physical changes, until the professor opens her mouth.

“I have to say, Ms. Y/N and Mr. Park, that I’ve noticed you two taking more enjoyment in each other’s company. It’s rather refreshing to look at, considering the way you guys used to always be at each other’s throats beforehand.”

“Definitely agree, in more ways than one,” Jimin says, and you kick him under the table.

The meeting with the professor is short. It’s more of a touching base encounter if anything, where you’re explaining the details of your presentation and continue going more into detail about what each of you will be covering. It ends soon after, with a parting ‘just keep going with what you’re doing’ before both of you are dismissed from the office.

“That went well,” You report as you’re exiting the office together. It’s the middle of the afternoon on a considerably bright Thursday morning, so the castle is a little more alive today with activity. Most students are outside, taking advantage of the sunny weather to sit around in the courtyard or have a picnic or study session with friends on the grass. These are the options that are available to you and Jimin, considering your classes are done for the day and you have nothing else scheduled. Except to study and keep working on essays and study guides.

“I’m glad it’s going well for her, at the very least,” Jimin grunts, rolling his shoulder as he tilts his neck back. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

You shrug. “Not sure.” You narrow your eyes at him. He never really asks you this question unless—“Do we have a meeting in Yoongi’s office?”

‘Meeting in Yoongi’s office’ is the key phrase the pair of you coined to replace the much more lewd question: “Did you want to fuck?” Not only is the former much safer, but it keeps away those unsafe, unwanted, dangerous questions. All of which are things that neither of you want to answer. Neither of you would probably know the answer to them anyways.

Normally, Jimin isn’t shameless about what he wants. When he’s straightforward, he’s eager and demanding and doesn’t like to beat around the bush. You’ve walked out of that classroom with bruises on your neck and a wobble in your knees to prove that. This time, however, feels different. He smirks. “Sweetheart, we had a meeting yesterday.” Translation: we fucked yesterday.

You raise an eyebrow, not acknowledging the nickname. It’s normal in your conversations together, anyways. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

“Touche.” He pauses, and runs a hand through his hair. “But we shouldn’t today. I have an essay for our History of Magic class that I haven’t started.”

“Isn’t that due tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” Jimin protests. “Listen, I’ve been helping JK with that waitress.”

You bite your lip, vaguely aware of the aforementioned Jungkook and that waitress from the Three Broomsticks. Jimin refuses to spill any details to you. “How’s that going?”

He adjusts the strap of his bag. “She showed up to his Quidditch practice yesterday, which was a plus.”

“Not entirely a plus, it seems. You have a whole ass essay to work on. At this point, it seems like I’ll be in charge of the agenda for the upcoming meeting.” The quirk at the corner of your lips grows slightly.

Jimin smirks, reaching over to tap your nose. “Don’t get cocky, sweetheart.”

You try to ignore the gesture. He’s been getting more handsy with you, ever since he pinned you down on the desk and tied your hands at your back. You look away from him. “Well, regarding what my plans are,” You start. “I should get started on the upcoming Transfiguration report.”

He nods. “Seems like we’re both in for rough afternoons.” He pauses. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture he only does when he’s pondering something. “How about we suffer together?”

You blink, having not expected that question from him. You did spend a lot of time together, provided all the hours that go into planning the big project and ‘attending Yoongi’s meetings’, as Jimin liked to say, but studying with each other was never on that list. “Do you mean, like, we study together?”

“Hey, if it was such a stupid idea then you should have stopped me immediately,” Jimin retorts, turning red with embarrassment.

“I didn’t say it was a stupid idea!” You say back, eyes wide. “I don’t mind us studying together.”

“Well, that’s really great because I—!” Jimin cuts himself off, clearly not having processed your last sentence before opening his mouth. He looks at you, as it sinks in that you’ve accepted his offer to study together. “Alright, okay, cool. You wanna go to the library?”

You laugh. “Sure, but I gotta ask something. How could I even stop you, since I didn’t know you were trying to ask me on a date?”

He surprises you with a step forward, as he wraps an arm around you and pinches your waist. “I’m not asking you on a date. You’re annoying.”

“And what of it?” You shoot back. You aren’t really expecting an answer, and Jimin doesn’t give you one. Yet, there’s no awkward pause because of it. It’s still just you and Jimin, and it stays that way as you both walk to the library and maintain a casual conversation about your assignments and outside activities.

It’s the middle of December when you scribble on the final flashcard and practically slam your quill onto the table. Jimin jumps slightly, but his startled expression eases into a slight smile when you hunch over and press your head into the desk. “Finished?”

“Finished,” You repeat, lifting your head back up and looking at the array of notes and organized flashcards that are scattered across the table. Each flashcard is covered from top to bottom in your handwriting, all meant to help guide your speech for the project you have spent months agonizing over. No stone is left unturned, every single aspect of your experience is covered upon, per the request of Professor McGonagall.

Immediately, you move to collect your flashcards and ensure that they are in the proper order. The little numbers you have written in the top of the parchment help with that.

There’s another silence that overtakes the air, but it’s a comfortable one. It’s filled with the scratches of Jimin’s quill against his own parchment, it’s filled with the crumbling sound of papers stacking atop one another as you organize your flashcards. Once they’re all together, you look at the top piece of parchment. “Even with a late enrollment that brings you to Hogwarts in your last year, the welcoming environment makes the transition to different classes, social groups, and activities extremely easy and exciting…” You read quietly to yourself.

After a few minutes, Jimin puts his own quill down. It’s much gentler than what you had done a few seconds ago, but it’s still more than enough to fix your attention on him.

“Finished?” You ask him.

He nods, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. The locks are slightly overgrown by now, which leaves his hair in strands that stick up all over the place.

“Is it perfect?” You ask.

Jimin tilts his head back. Your eyes linger on the column of his throat before returning back to your notes. “Honestly, we’ve gone through so much editing and revisions that I would just throw myself off the astronomy tower if it wasn’t perfect.”

You laugh slightly. “That’s true…”

“You look nervous,” Jimin notes, placing his elbow on the table and resting his head in the palm. “Worried about impressing daddy at the Ministry?”

You close your eyes and let out a huff. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“Am I wrong?”

You sigh. “I mean technically you’re not.”

He feigns an over dramatic gasp that earns him the attention of some other students littered around the library. “So I was right this whole time! What the fuck!”

“Jimin, keep your voice down,” You hiss. “Why don’t you ask that Namjoon friend of yours to publish a whole article about it while you’re at it?”

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea—OW!” Jimin jumps when you suddenly reach over to pinch his thigh. He flashes a guilty look to the other students around him who shoot glares that could kill. After a moment of apologetic expressions and mouthing ‘sorry’ to anyone who would listen, he turns back to you. “You’re really going to get it tonight.”

“During our meeting with Yoongi, you mean?” You ask back, giggling into your palm.

He shakes his head and goes back to his flashcards. “You better watch yourself, sweetheart.” He pauses for a second, watching you out of the corner of his eye before he resumes his attention back on you. “So what does your dad do at the Ministry?”

You look at him, thinking about how you’re going to answer for a second before you sigh. It’s probably because Jimin actually addressed your father as ‘your dad’ as opposed to ‘daddy’. “He works in the Department of Magical Education. That’s why he asked that I be a part of the presentation group. It helped that I was one of the top students at my old school.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment.

It’s long enough for you to kick him underneath the table. “Why ask me if you’re not going to ask anything?”

He looks away. “It’s not that—I guess I wasn’t expecting you to actually tell me.”

“Oh.” You stop, turning red. “W-Well,” You continue, staring holes into the table in front of you. “I-I guess we’re f-friends?”

Jimin smirks. “Friends, huh?”

“Don’t make me regret saying that!”

“Hm.” Jimin hums. “So, your dad works in the Magical Education Department. Is that why you transferred to Hogwarts?”

“You could say that…”

He whines your name, scooting closer to you to wrap his arms around you. “Hey, you can give me a straight answer. I thought we were friends.”

You make a noise of protest in the back of your throat, nevermind the way he’s so natural about his physical touches with you. “Fine, fine, yes, his new job is the reason why we transferred. Now let go of me, you’re going to get us kicked out of here!”

“Let Madam Pince kick us out, we’re basically done with our project anyways.” But he does let go of you, the finality of your words probably that pusher. He does not, however, move away from you. He keeps an arm curled around the back of your chair. “You going home for Christmas break?”

“Yeah,” You say, not saying anything about his still close proximity. “I do miss my parents—plus I’m sure my father would want to hear about how the presentation will go.”

He nods. “Sounds like it’ll be a stressful Christmas.”

You look at him. “What will you be up to, Park Jimin? Sneaking through the restricted section?”

He pouts. “I don’t need to sneak through it—I’m not a first-year. I can actually get a note from a professor. Dark Arts is cool to read about.”

“If you say so,” You tease back. “Anything else?”

“Well, there’s actually a party I’m throwing with my friends to celebrate making it up to this point. It’ll be in the Room of Requirements.” He ponders the next thought for a moment. “You should come.”

You blink. “I’m going home for the holidays?”

“No, you dork.” Jimin flicks your forehead. “The party will be before the holiday break starts—so everyone who wants to go can enjoy one fun thing before going back home.”

You tilt your head. “That sounds exciting. But, well, I’m not a huge drinker. It should be fun for you, though.”

He pouts again. “What if I wanted you to come? What do I have to do to convince you?”

You give him a look. “Nothing, Park Jimin, I’m not a party person.”

“You really are,” Jimin agrees, sliding away, looking disappointed in your answer. “I hope you’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing you just crushed all my dreams.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Park Jimin. What’s this about?”

He shrugs. “I thought it’d be cool to see you do something fun for once in your life.”

“Wow, he’s dramatic and rude,” You say, watching as he smiles a little at your usage of his pronoun despite the fact that he is right here in front of you.

“Well, I guess I just have to accept your answer,” Jimin says after a moment, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll be missing out. I think Hoseok is pulling out all the stops. Alcoholic butterbeer galore.”

“And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it, no matter if I want to hear it or not,” You return, looking at your water. “Oh shit, I gotta go.”

Jimin watches you collect your parchment and books, and the way you stuff them into your bag. “Where are you going?”

You look at him, blinking. “Uh—Actually, I don’t think I should tell you.”

He pouts, again. “What? Why not?” His curiosity only grows when you just give him a meek smile, and turn to rush out of the library. He calls your name. “Shit, hold on!” He doesn’t bother to organize anything, he just throws everything into his bag before he’s dashing to catch up to you. He also doesn’t bother to check around him before he’s throwing his arms out to encircle you around the waist.

“Jimin!” You exclaim, both of you slowing to a time. “You’re needy today.”

“Where are you going?” He tightens his hold. “I took some workout advice from Jungkook, I won’t hesitate.”

You still at that. “What the fuck? Are you implying that you’ll crush me otherwise?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

You sigh, reaching into the pocket of your robe. “I may or may not have gotten an offer to get extra credit from Professor Flitwick for Charms.”

He pauses. “Aren’t you and I having a bet about who can get the higher grade in that class?”

“Uh, perhaps?” Suddenly, you bend your wrist slightly to poke your wand in his stomach. “Rictusempra.”

A silver light beams from the end of your wand, and Jimin bursts out into laughter. He releases his hold on you immediately, falling to his knees as the giggling that escapes his lips fills the air and takes the energy out of his knees. “A—giggling—charm?” He manages in between breaths.

You whirl around to face him, twirling your wand. “Sorry Park. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Hopefully one of your friends can help you—preferably after I’ve made my way down this hallway.” You turn back towards your original direction and actually run away from him.

Jung Hoseok is eventually the one to find Jimin on the floor, laughing, crowded by students who were intrigued to see the great Park Jimin at his wits end. Although those same students help him onto his feet, there’s still the mark of amusement in their eyes, and Jimin’s cheek heat nonetheless.

The next time he sees you, he’ll get you back for this.

Jimin’s party is the night before the winter holiday begins. All the classes are done, all the essays and tests are submitted. The snow has become a permanent decoration to the school, all compact white blanketing the grass and exterior castle walls. The chill has settled more deeply in the air, bringing up the heavy scarfs and heavier coats. Breaths come out in puffs of air. And you are near the fireplace.

Actually, more specifically, you are finishing up a last minute extra credit report for Astronomy. Not that your grades need the extra boost—Professor Sinistra had offered to provide you with the assignment that allowed you to indulge a little deeper in star placement and you weren’t going to waste away that chance. It’s due tomorrow morning, right before you take the train back home, so you are wasting away, scribbling all the research that you can recall onto the parchment.

You’re finishing up your conclusion paragraph when you hear the door to the common room slide open, announcing the presence of a student. You don’t pay attention to this. Judging by the darkness clouding the sky, it’s getting late and you assume that the students who had gone to Jimin’s party should be heading back by now. When it gets too late, even though classes and henceforth school are paused, there are still certain punishments on the line.

You don’t pay much attention to the student, until you notice that figure now standing right in front of your table near the fireplace. You look up. It’s Jung Jaehyun—Seeker for the Slytherin team. And, as you are aware of, an attendee to Jimin’s party.

The thing is, however, that you and Jaehyun have interacted a grand total of exactly zero times. Neither of you ran in the same social circle—if the friend you’ve made that spends more time in the greenhouse than in class could be considered a social circle.

Jaehyun looks just as uneasy as you do, with the way he’s shifting back and forth on his feet. “Y-You’re Y/N, right?”

You straighten slightly. That is, obviously the first time Jaehyun has ever said your name. “Y-Yes. And you’re Jaehyun?”

“Yeah…” Jaehyun starts, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, I know this is totally out of line for me. But would it be too much if I asked you to come with me to the Room of Requirement?”

“Uh…” You trail off. You hadn’t been expecting much upon seeing Jung Jaehyun standing right in front of you. But you really hadn’t been expecting this. “Is… there a reason why…?”

“Well…” Jaehyun tries again, but trails off. He seems to be having trouble figuring out how to explain his story. “I think you know that Jimin and his friends were having a party down there, right?”

You keep staring at Jaehyun. “Did something happen to Jimin?”

“N-No, not really, it’s just, he drank a bit and he’s refusing to leave until he sees someone…”

You press your lips together, having a vague idea of where this could be going but refusing to make assumptions. “Was I that someone?”

“Well, okay, he didn’t mention a specific name. He just kept saying he wanted to see his girlfriend before he left…”

“Okay, then why don’t you take his girlfriend down there?”

Jaehyun looks pained for a second. “Jimin doesn’t have a girlfriend. His friends and I were trying to figure it out. You’re the only person he spends all this time with besides his core group. We figured asking you to come down would be a good place to start.”

You swallow at the thought. You’ve never really set foot into Jimin’s world, it wasn’t really your scene. Even back at Ilvermorny, you were well known because of your grades, but you weren’t a popular student. But more than that, Park Jimin calling you his girlfriend? The thought seemed highly unlikely. You aren’t even sure that he feels that deeply for you—rather, your relationship was formed as a byproduct of forced participation. Without that presentation to the Ministry, you’re sure you would never have had a proper conversation with Jimin.

Still, Jaehyun looks like he’s about to fling himself off the Astronomy tower. The more time goes by, the higher the chances of Jimin and the rest of his friends getting caught and getting saddled with detention. You figure: what’s the harm?

“W-Well, uh, sure.” You straighten up, placing your items into your bag and taking a second to drop that bag off on your dorm bed. Jaehyun is still in the common room when you get down, and leads the way to the Room of Requirement. The walk there is another maze of walls and windows and firelit pathways.

But instead of the Room of Requirement entrance you see, you notice a group of boys lingering outside the blank wall Jaehyun had told you let to the party. For a moment, you wonder if the group were attendees of the party. But the closer you get, and the more you start to hear voices that sound vaguely familiar saying names that sound even more so, you realize that this group is The group—Jimin’s group.

“Taehyung!” Jaehyun calls as soon as the two of you are in hearing range.

The boy, you assume is Taehyung, looks up towards the source of the noise. His eyes land on you and he visibly looks relieved. “Hey, you must be Y/N.” He nods towards you, and tilts his head towards the boy leaning heavily against him. “Hey Jimin.” He calls for the boy, but he looks unsure. Probably because he too isn’t sure if you’re who Jimin is describing as his girlfriend. “Uh, we brought your girlfriend?”

It sounds more like a question than an actual statement. But Jimin doesn’t seem to notice. He lifts his head up from Taehyung’s shoulder and locks his gaze onto you. At once, his eyes turn into half moons with how brightly he is smiling at you. It’s like the sun has come out, with the light glimmering in his eyes and his cheeks rounding out. He calls out your name. “Baby, you showed up!” He cries, managing to untangle himself from Taehyung and latch immediately onto you. You might have stumbled, had Jaehyun not helped catch some of Jimin’s weight. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

“Uh…” You trail off, mind going haywire. How could it not? Jimin, someone who is definitely not your boyfriend, is calling you his girlfriend, calling you baby, and hugging you like his life depends on it. The two of you just have sex! Under unestablished rules, sure, but that type of situation calls for an actual discussion beforehand. “Well, your friends said you wouldn’t leave the party unless I showed up. Why don’t we all head back to our Houses, before we all get detention?”

Jimin nods, cheek against your cheek. “That sounds good. Look at my Y/N—so smart and wonderful.”

“Y/N… didn’t he want to rip her neck off at the beginning of the year?” One of the boys whispers. You, of course, hear it, because Jimin’s friends lack indoor voices and it shows. “And now he’s admitting that she’s smart? What the fuck?”

“Shut up, Hoseok.”

Another boy turns to you, an appreciative smile on his lips. It’s Min Yoongi—Head Boy, and fellow Slytherin. “Just ignore Hoseok. And I’m sorry this is how we’re meeting you—from what Jimin says you’re super smart and it drives him crazy, so naturally I’m your biggest fan. I’m Yoongi.”

You nod, trying for a smile. “I know. I would shake your hand, but…”

“You’ve got a Jimin attached to you, I got it.” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively, whirling around to face his group. “Alright, you bitches. You better be in your Houses before I finish my first round of the castle otherwise you’re all getting detention.” There’s a momentary wave of protests before Yoongi interrupts it. “Or I don’t have to do a round and can just give you all detention right now…”

“No, no, okay, we’re going.” It’s the boy who had called Hoseok out, telling him to shut up. He winks at you as he brushes past you, and flashes some finger guns at Jaehyun.

“Fuck you too, JK,” Jaehyun returns, before leveling you with a gaze. “We should get going, huh?”

“Yeah,” You manage, adjusting Jimin on your shoulder before you and Jaehyun practically drag Jimin down to the Slytherin common room. As soon as you enter, you dump Jimin onto the couch, where he slumps backwards and remains unmoving. He laughs, eyes wide as they gaze up at you.

He brings his arms up, bringing his fingers together in a grabby motion. “Y/N, come sit with me.”

Jaehyun coughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll, uh, leave the two of you alone. Thanks for coming out with me, you really saved us.”

You nod. “No problem, although it seemed like Yoongi could have handled it.”

“Nah, that punk is a Head Boy through and through. Loves his friends to death, but wouldn’t hesitate to give detention. Anyways, I’m off to bed. It was nice to meet you.”

You smile. “You too.” You watch Jaehyun and he disappears up the stairs, into the boys room.

A tug on the hem of your skirt pulls you back. Jimin is still gazing up at you. “Come here!” He pouts, pulling a little too hard and sending you stumbling forward right onto him. Your legs end up on either side of him, effectively straddling his waist. His arms curl around your body. “Isn’t this better? This reminds me where we were just a few weeks ago—!”

“Jimin,” You cut in, flushing at the thought of aforementioned few weeks ago. “What are you doing?”

He blinks, the haziness from his drinking still glimmering in his eyes. “I’m just hugging you.”

“No, Jimin.” Your hands find a place on his shoulders. “What are you doing? I’m not your girlfriend, so why would you say that down there in front of your friends?”

“Wait, you’re not my girlfriend?” He’s still looking like a deer in the headlights. “But… I really like you, so I thought that something was going on…” He looks lost.

A lot is pinging through your head—did Jimin just confess to you? “Jimin, you like me?”

He nods. “I do, I really do.” His nod is lagging, it’s a little slow as he probably doesn’t want to make himself sick with movement too fast. “You’re so funny. And smart. And mean. But I like it. It’s not too mean, but mean enough to make me laugh.”

You laugh a little. “You’re drunk, Jimin, you don’t know what you’re saying. You would never admit that I’m smart.”

He sighs, tilting his head back until it rests on the back of the couch. “I would never say it out loud, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Fuck, my head hurts…”

“You should get some sleep,” You say, instead of trying to push the topic further. “Do you need help getting into the boys dorm room?”

“I don’t think I can make it up there,” He retorts softly. “I might have to crash down here.” He gazes up at you. “Will you stay down here with me?”

You waver slightly, lots of questions running through your mind. If you slept down here with Jimin, surely someone would wake up and catch the two of you. Rumors would fly, questions would be asked.

Still, Jimin looks so cozy and vulnerable—an absolute rarity. And who knows, perhaps if things don’t go the way you want them to, you could use this moment against him. A reminder of when the great Park Jimin, a rock of stubbornness and arrogance, looked at you like you were the stars.

So you sigh. “Sure, I’ll stay down here with you.”

You don’t need to tell anyone that the smile flashing across his face makes your answer worth it.

You awake rather abruptly to the movement that happens next to you. Every muscle in your body is aching, so completely sore from the position you’ve rolled into. You open your eyes to a collarbone, a flash of the Slytherin green tie. You blink sleepily, disorientated, as your gaze slides up—!

To see Jimin staring down at you.

You jump slightly. “Shit, sorry.”

“No worries.” Jimin groans, stretching. Or, trying to stretch. The couch you’re both on top of offers very little space for movement. It also explains your sore neck. “Ugh, fuck.”

You sit up, rolling your neck and hearing the satisfying crack of bones. “How are you feeling?”

“Gross,” He answers, sitting up as well. You’re sitting between his legs, the close proximity allowing you to see the tiredness in his eyes. That isn’t surprising. The sun has barely started to rise over the mountains. Given that the sky is a very vague shade of orange, you can only assume it’s five or six o’clock in the morning.

You look up at him. “You hungover too?”

He presses fingers to his temple. “A little headache, but it’s not too bad.” He lowers his hand, and looks over at you. “I wasn’t that drunk, Y/N, I do remember what happened last night. Maybe I was a little more transparent than normal, but…”

You raise an eyebrow, egging him on. “But?”

He stares at you for a moment longer, before he laughs a little, tilting his head backwards. “Aw, Y/N, don’t make me say it!”

You can’t help but smile back. “No, I think I want you to say it. Otherwise I’ll think you’re pulling my leg.”

He lifts his head towards you, pouting. “I would never pull your leg.”

“Then say it,” You say leaning towards him.

As soon as you’re close enough, Jimin’s hand comes up to trap your chin in between his thumb and index finger. The gesture is done to keep you close, to keep your eyes fixated on his, all so he can gauge your expression. He seems to be debating on how truthful he wants to be for this. “But… I wasn’t lying when I said that I liked you.” His eyes flicker between your own. “Even though you’re annoying all of the time.”

You can’t help it. You start to laugh. “Takes one to know one, huh?”

He brings you forward, shifting your center of gravity and bringing you forward towards him. You gasp as your hands come out to rest on the arms of the couch, on either side of Jimin. The gesture, however, brings you closer to him, so that your lips are hovering right over one another. “You’re being a brat again. Shut up.”

You quirk an eyebrow, although he’s too close to see it properly. “Make me, Park Jimin.”

He groans. “Don’t say that. I’m too gross to fuck you right now. And aren’t you going back home today after you submit that report to Professor Sinistra?”

You smile a little, touched that he remembers your report. “I finished the report. And…” You trail off, pulling back enough to look at your watch. You were right: the current time reads 6:15AM. “There’s still five hours before the train leaves…”

Jimin looks up at you. “I’ve got an idea. You have to be quiet though.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were into voyeurism, Park, but if that’s what you want…” You start to unbutton the polo of your shirt.

Jimin’s eyes widen. “H-Hey, stop, I didn’t mean here! Button that back up!”

You gaze over at him, two buttons on your blouse undone, more than enough to expose your collarbone. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do I like you so much, you’re nothing but a brat,” Jimin grunts, mostly to himself as he reaches out to button back your shirt. “I meant somewhere else. You have to be quiet on the way to the place, you idiot. Come on.”

He takes your head, lacing the fingers together, and making your heart jump in your throat as Jimin guides the pair of you out of the Slytherin common room and up the stairs. Making your way up to the fifth floor, he turns into a corridor with statues along the wall. He finally stops at one, the statue you recognize to be Boris the Bewildered.

“Pine Fresh,” Jimin whispers to the statue, which moves to the side and allows Jimin to drag both you and himself into the hidden room. At the detection of movement, the candlelights along the walls light up which further heightens the place Jimin has just taken you into.

It’s a large bathroom. The first thing you notice are the stained glass windows that surround the entirety of the room. Each window paints a different picture of mermaids across the surface, all of which are moving around the space much like every other piece of artwork in this castle. Some of them wave to the pair of you, but most of them continue to mind their own business of looking out the window and enjoying the view of the mountains surrounding Hogwarts.

The moving pictures of mermaids, however, isn’t where your attention has fallen. Your eyes flicker all over the place, trying to take in more of this place Jimin has taken you to.

Located on the left side of the room is a row of squeaky clean, polished and shiny toilets in stalls with a row of sinks, mirrors, and makeup counters on the other side. Located on the right side of the room is a lounging area, couches and cushions in the space and a row of bathrobes along the wall.

The middle of the room houses the main attraction of the space—it’s a large bathtub, as big as a swimming pool with how wide and deeply the hole has been cut into the ground. The tapping for the bath surrounds the tub, each tap with a different colored jewel atop the metal piping. Along the edge of the tub are different baskets, each basket holding a different shaped container and bath product.

“Shampoo, conditioner, soaps, bath oils, and bath salts,” Jimin explains, seeming to notice your lingering gaze upon the baskets.

“Cool, uh…” You pause, trying to gather your thoughts properly enough to ask the biggest question of them all. “What is this place?”

“Oh! Right.” He gestures to the entire room. “Welcome to the Prefects’ Bathroom.”

You turn your gaze towards him, eyes wide. “The Prefects’ Bathroom? Shouldn’t we not be here then?” You’ve heard of this place before back at Ilvermorny. It’s considered a secret location that only Head Boys, Head Girls, Prefects, and Quidditich captains. Definitely not a place for you or Jimin to be in.

He grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Relax, baby. I got the password from Yoongi. And it’s six in the morning on the first day of winter holiday. I doubt any of the people allowed in there wouldn’t think to come in right now.”

You exhale, unable to ignore the quickening of your heart race. It was one thing to fool around in Yoongi’s private study. But being in this type of place that increased the chances of getting caught makes you nervous.

Jimin can see that, because he steps closer to you and rests a hand on your waist. “Hey,” He says, not speaking again until you’re looking up at him. “It’s okay. I don’t want to suggest anything that’ll make you uncomfortable. I just thought of this place because it’s, for the most part, secluded and unused. We’re both tired and groggy, so I thought we could use the bath.”

You take in a breath, before making your decision and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Alright, I’ll decide to trust you on this. So what’s your plan, Park Jimin? What are you gonna do to me?”

He laughs at that, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “Well, sweetheart, we can go about this in two ways. Number one: we’ll go right on that couch and we’ll have a celebratory fuck on some actual cushions for once. Then, after that, we’ll take a bath. Or number two: we skip the fuck and take the bath instead.”

You feign a gasp. “You would skip a fuck for me?”

He mirrors your gasp. “Of course. That’s what you get for making me fall for you.”

“Charming,” You say with a smile. “Lucky for us, I like you too. In fact, I like you so much, I can feel your boner against my leg so I’ll even have sex with you just for that.”

His smile widens. He sighs dreamily, which makes you laugh. “Wow, are you the girl of my dreams or something?”

“Hm, what happened to trying to skip my neck off?”

“You really know how to keep up a mood,” Jimin mumbles. “I’m just gonna kiss you before you ruin this any further for us.” So he does, covering his lips with yours.

There’s something different about this kiss. Normally, with your escapees or ‘meetings with Yoongi’, the kisses you share are frantic and haphazard and not really the main purpose of your interaction. The kisses are short-lived and bruising. But this kiss is different. It’s softer and slow-paced enough that it allows for exploration. It’s a kiss where your fingers gently brush over Jimin’s collarbone, where his own fingers settle at your jawline in order to trace over your cheeks and your neck. The sensation as light as it is makes your head spin.

You aren’t even aware the pair of you are moving throughout the room until you feel Jimin hit something in front of you, and behind him. The back of his knees hit one of the cushions on the right side of the room, and he falls back. You fall on top of him, straddling him. It’s a similar position to where you were less than a day ago, but the intent is different. You hardly register any potential pain or jolts. Jimin just brings you back to kissing him, fingers moving down to curl around your waist instead.

Only when it feels like it takes too much energy to kiss and breathe properly at the same time does Jimin pull away to dust kisses along your cheek, before moving down to kiss along your jawline, down your neck. Your tilt your head back, eyes closed as you let out a breathy sigh. Your hips start to move of its own accord, grinding down on the already stiff junction between his legs.

Jimin groans at that, tightening his hold on your waist and guiding you to move deeper and faster. The bathroom fills with the noises escaping between your lips and the rustle of clothing.

You and Jimin seem set on fixing that problem right away. Being in this position on a couch is so much more different than sex in a classroom on top of tables and chairs. It brings a comfort neither of you have experienced before. With that comfort comes this desire to just go all the way, to feel skin beneath fingertips. It happens too. First the sweater vests go, then the ties and the shirts.

Jimin goes quiet at the sight of your chest, hands encircling your breast and thumb running over the nipple. His mouth replaces his hand, circling the nip with his tongue. The warmth of it brings chills that hit every nerve in your body. You arch your back, as Jimin’s hands at your waist keep you rooted to the spot.

You start to claw at the waistband of his slacks, one thought pinging through your mind—and that was to see this through to the end. “J-Jimin,” You whine, already filling to wet and foggy. Jimin pays you no attention, merely switching to your other breast to wrap your nipple in his mouth. You whimper, grinding a little faster. Your fingers make their way up to his hair, curling the digits around his locks. You pull him away just enough for him to look up and make eye contact with you, but not enough. His mouth is still around your nipple.

He hums, and the vibration sends through your body.

He pulls away from you. “What is it?”

You look down at him, pouting and whining.

He cups your face with one of his hands. “You have to use your words, baby.”

You let out a sigh to calm your nerves. “N-Nothing,” You manage. “I just, I really want you right now. And I’m glad you like me too.”

Jimin quirks the corner of his lips, before his fingers are curling under the waistband of your skirt. “C’mon, let’s get you out of this.”

A few tugs and shift adjustments later, you’re both naked atop the cushions. Hands are running over skin, and Jimin’s hands remain at your sides to lift you up just enough until you’re hovering over his cock—long and hard.

At this, Jimin brings your upper body closer until your ear is hovering near his lips. He kisses below, a spot that makes the shiver travel up your spine, before he goes back to hovering at your lobe. “You wanna show me how good you take dick?”

You nod, brain still fuzzy as Jimin starts kissing down your neck again. It’s a very distracting sensation, the feeling of his pillowy lips against your skin. Your toes curl on the couch when his cock hovers right above your slit, right where you want him.

With the guidance of Jimin’s hands, he starts to push you down, the stretching sensation forcing a sigh past your lips. Even though you and Jimin have had sex for awhile—even the most recent ‘meeting with Yoongi’ had occured a week ago—something about this feels different. There’s a deep rooted passion in his kisses, in the bites he’s littering across his neck. Almost as if Jimin had been holding back for that month and a half of casual sex, and now has let his full love and admiration of you loose.

Every inch of Jimin inside of you is another euphoric wave that washes over you. You had thought today wouldn’t be too different from previous encounters, but the shaking of your knees tells you otherwise. “J-Jimin—!” You whine. “Fffuck…”

“Look at you go,” He praises, eyes fixed on your spot of connection until you’re filled to the hilt. You feel so impossibly full. “Made just for me.”

He waits for you. He waits until you stop clenching around him, until you relax. Only then does he hold onto your waist again and slowly start bouncing you on his cock. Your grip around his shoulders start to tighten as the friction makes your head spin. You let yourself be led, breathy moans turn to gasps. “Nn, fuck, feels so good…”

He feels you start to randomly clench around him again. Having spent so many late evenings and early afternoons with you, he knows your signs perfectly. You’re close.

He finishes you off with a thumb at your clit, circling at the bundle of nerves just right until your gasps turn into cries and you’re spazzing around his cock. The sensation is tight and warm, and Jimin chokes as his fingers dig into your skin to keep him grounded as he spills up into you.

The blood-rushing physicality of what had just happened starts to settle in, leaving the two of you against the couch with mismatched breaths and his dick still inside of you. “Oh shit…” He whines. “You like me too.”

You lift yourself off of him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the only thing you got from that?”

His hands on your hips keep you from moving around. His cock is softening around your walls, all helping his heart rate return to a comfortable pace. “Well, had I know us liking each other meant mind-blowing sex, yeah, I get to be a little salty I didn’t say anything earlier.”

You laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smirks. “That’s right.” He readjusts, helping you up and off of his dick. His cum, white liquid, spills out of you.

You cup yourself immediately. “Oh shit, that’s gonna get on this cushion.”

“Oh shit.” Jimin cups your pussy too. Extra barrier, he would say. He turns towards the long bathtub. “How about a bath now?” He flashes you a grin when you nod.

Keeping one arm around your waist to keep you steady, he leans down to dig through the pile of his clothes until he produces his wand. Turning towards the tub, he waves his wand. At once, the water from the tabs go off, each flow of water a different color. Some emit a string of bubbles, giving a formy texture to the bathwater currently in the tub.

Given the size of the bathtub, one might have assumed it would take a long time to fill the space, so it’s a surprise to see water nearing the top after only a matter of minutes. Jimin waves his wand again to stop the water coming out of the tabs.

Jimin removes his hand from you and allows you to straighten into a standing position. He stands too, guiding you to the edge of the bathtub where he lets you step into the water first.

The water is the perfect temperature, warm and wonderful as it envelops your body. As you sink down, you sigh as you feel your muscles relaxing, where you don’t stop adjusting until your butt hits the appropriate step to sit on. Jimin follows in after you, not stopping until he’s sitting right behind you.

“Ahhhhh, shit, this is perfect,” He says quietly, wrapping his arms around you. The only sound in the room is the rustle of water that splashes around softly in time to the movements both of you make.

You move your head slightly to dip strands of your hair into the water. “Wow, no wonder Yoongi takes his job so seriously. I’d hate to lose out on this.”

“Well, just stick with me, baby, and we’ll keep sneaking around for the rest of the school year.”

You turn slightly to look at him. “Do you mean… sneaking around Head Boy equipment, or sneaking around the school?” There’s an implication in your question. Do you plan to keep me a secret?

However, Jimin quells that worry rather quickly. “Sweetheart, I’ve been chasing you around for a month and a half—emotionally and physically. Do you really think I’d be able to keep my feelings a secret in front of other people?”

You smile, relaxing back into his arms. “I’m glad to hear that…”

“Plus when I kick your ass in our classes, I think that it’s more satisfying to hear that I beat my girlfriend instead of that transfer student from Ilvermorny. Makes it more personal. Just how I like it.”

“There it is.”

He laughs, nudging himself further into you. It stays like this for a little bit, both of making conversation, but mostly just done in the privacy of this space you’ve carved for yourselves. You aren’t too sure of how much time has gone by until you’re hearing the statue behind the entrance to the bathroom move, followed immediately by a voice. It’s Min Yoongi.

“Hey, who the fuck is in here—oh shit, Jimin?” A pause, both of you immediately spinning around to look towards the source of the noise. Yoongi notices you immediately, eyes widening as he turns around to face the wall. “Is that Y/N? What the fuck are you doing here? This is the Prefects’ Bathroom!” Another pause. “Wait, hold the fuck up—are you guys together?”

You, however, don’t hear any of those questions. You’re too busy squealing in surprise, immediately dipping your body lower into the water to avoid having Yoongi’s eyes wander to places they don’t belong. You cover your breasts to further avoid that.

Jimin shifts towards you to block your body. “What the fuck? What are you doing here? It’s Saturday morning!”

“Hey!” Yoongi whirls around, red-faced, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “Don’t answer my question with a question! And I’m Head Boy, I’m allowed in here!”

“You gave me the password!”

“Yes, in the case of an emergency! Is snuggling up to your girlfriend really an emergency?”

“Well, in that case no, but having a celebratory bath with my new girlfriend could be classified as an emergency?”

“JIMIN.” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, whirling around. “Holy fuck, if Flinch saw you in here… if he knows that you’re in here thanks to me…”

“Uh…” You say from behind Jimin. Only your neck is visible above the water, so your voice and arm raising are extremely meek. “Yoongi? I’m sorry… we were both tired and gross, and Jimin had a hangover…”

“No, uh, Y/N…” Yoongi cuts in, albeit more gently. “I don’t blame you.” He looks down at his watch. “I should probably let you know, however, that it’s almost eight o’clock and I’m aware that you have a report to submit to Professor Sinistra before the train leaves back for home?”

“Oh shit!” You startle at that news. “I have to go do that now…”

Yoongi glares at Jimin, then looks back at you, and sighs heavily. “Okay,” He starts slowly. “I’m just gonna stand outside and pretend that I didn’t see any of this. You guys better be out there in five minutes though. Both of you.” Without another look at either of you, Yoongi exits the room.

Immediately, you and Jimin scramble to dry yourselves off. Both of you decide to just leave your hairs damp and wet, electing that just getting the basics of your attire on is more important. In the end, you’re both just in your appropriate bottoms, and messily put together blouses and tops. Yours isn’t even buttoned all the way, leaving your collarbone exposed and littered with Jimin’s marks from earlier.

Jimin grabs your waist before both of you could make it out. “I’ll be able to see you before you get on the train, right?”

You hum, arm around his neck. “Aw, will the baby miss me?”

He glares, pushing you away slightly. “I’m just asking.”

You laugh. “Most likely, I just need to submit the report. And pack—I didn’t really get to do that yesterday.”

“Okay, okay.” Jimin lets you go. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Flashing him one more smile, you lead both you and Jimin out of the room. True to Yoongi’s word, he’s waiting outside with his hands in his pockets and his eyes averted. They, however, fix themselves on you as soon as you emerge from behind the statue with Jimin.

“I was this close to tipping you off to Mr. Flinch…” Yoongi trails off, studying the two of you. His eyes settle on the hickies at your throat. He freezes. “Wait, did you guys fuck in there?”

“Uh…” Jimin looks at you, the realization settling in both of your gazes. “WELL, Y/N, the love of my life, it was great knowing you, how about you run off to Professor Sinistra while I try to outrun Yoongi’s rage.”

Yoongi pales, looking like his soul has just departed from his body. “So that means…”

You nod, corner of your lips smiling despite the potential outcome of the situation. “I’ll write to you once a week.” You look back at Yoongi’s increasingly stony expression. “I’m sorry Yoongi.” You say this before turning around and practically running down the hallway.

Just before you turn to go down the stairs to collect your report, you make out one last sentence: “JIMIN, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

#jimin scenario #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin x y/n #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts smut #traci writes #hp reputation series #i..... am so tired #i want to be freed from this fic

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