#i can’t predict how his opinions will turn out though but I have hope in him so far!

[gvenevera]

If any BKDK (or any casual MHA fans) here enjoys watching anime reaction videos like me - I’m spreading the news that Youtuber @ Nicholas Light TV is starting My Hero Academia!

I’ve been a fan of his channel from his Attack on Titan reactions. I’ve seen people say he’s too hyperactive, but imo he’s actually a guy who’s super excited about everything and it doesn’t feel fake.

But the best part is his media critical thinking skills is top notch. The guy was a Gabi fan and enjoyed the (anime) AOT ending, he also recently started Naruto and loved it too, so that’s a guaranteed winner in my book!

Just look at his reaction to the first Deku vs Kacchan fight: he’s already got the romance pinned down from the bullying lol.

Like yeah he’s being 90% sarcastic but he actually gets it, unlike antis these days who would immediately scream “Abusive Proship!”

He says: Deku has a lot of love and admiration for Bakugou from his childhood, but he doesn’t accept that love!

He sees All Might’s interaction with BKDK and feels like he could be a father figure for Bakugou, just as much as for Deku!

(He also thinks Bakugou has parental issues or is fatherless lol, that’s the only thing he got wrong. He roasted Bakugou a lot in the early episodes, as expected, but even he says that he’s sure Bakugou will become one of his favorites in time.)

One Disclaimer! I am NOT claiming he is a BKDK shipper, in fact I hight doubt it since he’s a straightforward male anime fan. But it’s nice to hear some fresh, positive perspective instead of all the hate towards us. Look at the comments in the first episode and you’ll see commenters say that “MHA is good but the fandom is toxic.” Yeah, I’m so tired of hearing that shit.

Anyways, if you’re interested in an MHA rewatch, go watch Nick’s channel!

[stitched-mouth]

TALK TO ME SPOILERS

Just watched Talk To Me, loved it. First horror movie in a while that actually scared me, that being said though it was VERY predictable.

And I don’t think it needs a sequel. Like a sequel would just be telling the exact same story with different characters, not interesting. If they could make a story continuing from Mia’s perspective as a ghost I’d love it though. But that’s a nearly impossible story to write.

Also one specific thing that I loved about this movie is how using the hand and temporarily connecting to spirits is framed like drug use. It’s the new drug teens use at parties and get hooked on and I just kinda loved that connection. Although I do see some people hating it as it is very cringy to see teens using drugs at party in movies but I think it was handed very well here.

And how the end references the beginning with the dying kangaroo. Mia is heavily encouraged to put the kangaroo out of it’s misery but opts not to, and kinda cruelly leaves it dying on the side of the road. But when she is encouraged to put her close friend out of their misery, she goes for it and things end badly for her. I strongly think she did actually try to kill Riley but had no control of her body anymore and when she throw Riley onto the road, she actually threw herself. Not her opting to throw herself after being unable to kill her close friend. She didn’t chicken out this time and it ended badly for her. It makes me think the writers have an issue with putting people and animals out of their misery, especially since Riley survives this and makes a full recovery. It’s like the writers are saying even if someone is on death’s doorstep they can still very much so recover and if you try to or actually put someone out of their misery, karma will get you. I don’t really believe in this message but I like that they had a message in there that explained the dying kangaroo in the beginning.

And I loved the bad ending. I want to see more protagonists end up as ghosts in the end. I don’t know why, it’s just a cool uncommon concept. That being said, I did feel very extremely bad for Mia and kinda wished she had a better ending.

Maybe this is a controversial opinion, but I hated Jade. She turns her back on Mia so quickly and never seemed like a good friend anyway. Also she treats her brother like shit. Like girl he’s 15, if you’re going to do ‘drugs’ in front of him you don’t get to act surprised if he asked to join in. And you can’t physically stop him, like he’s 15 and I know you started doing that shit at his age. Also how she just stood by looking all sad when her boyfriend was being humiliated. No wonder why he hates you touching him. Why did the writers make Jade so unlikeable?

Also Sue, I think she was straight up abusing and neglecting those kids. Mia seemed like she was parenting both Jade and Riley in the beginning of the movie; until she started playing with ghosts and Sue has the audacity to blame Mia. Like she wasn’t the hired babysitter, she is a teenager and your daughter’s best friend why are you leaving her to parent your kids?? And acting like she’s responsible when one gets hurt?? Like Sue can be mad at Mia was partying with her kids when she made it clear she didn’t want a party but she should be mad at all the teens for being irresponsible. Not solely mad at Mia as if it was her job to keep her kids out of trouble.

Wish Max had more screen time, cause his character made NO sense. But I was real sad when he got stabbed. Like he was running to help his daughter, found her in the same way he found his wife when she died and then she stabbed him 😭😭😭😭😭 I almost started crying in the cinema. He also looked a lot like my own Dad, who I have a complicated relationship with, so his and Mia’s relationship felt so similar to me and my Dad and it hurt

I was simping for Hayley for a lot of the movie. And I’m once again questioning my sexuality thanks to them. I’m hoping to see Zoe Terakes in a lot more movies, I’ve heard they are already well known in Australia but this was my first time seeing them so again I hope to see them again. I’m really disappointed the whole movie was ban in Kuwait just because the actor is gender non conforming. We still have transphobia in 2023? Wow.

(Credit to @louxkate for the gif)

edit: just found out I’m not the only one simping for Hayley’s actor, Zoe Terakes, which makes me feel better about not understanding my sexuality.

gonna go see this movie a second time now.

[ladysolidor87]

More thoughts on the season finale. WARNING: Spoiler Alert 🚨 Only read if you’ve watched the season two finale.

- Towards the end of the episode we see Sauron with Feanor’s hammer, which I assume he will use (alongside his own blood) to forge the one ring. We also see Elendil take Narsil, the blade that will cut the ring from Sauron’s hand.

We see both Sauron’s way to power and the beginning of his downfall. As Celebrimbor tells him, he creates his own doom. All his power in one object, an object we know will ultimately be destroyed by one person, Gollum. Celebrimbor pretty much predicts it for Sauron and Sauron hates it.

Sauron weeps. I’d like to think a small slither of him is sad for killing Celebrimbor but let’s be honest, he’s crying for himself. I’m almost certain, deep down he knows he’s doomed.

- It’s implied at the end that Durin may end up wearing the ring that led to his father’s madness and death. (Loved that he managed to take the bloody ring off in the end though) With oppositions rising to take the throne they all look to the ring, be it warily at the moment. I’ve got a dreadful feeling Durin will eventually put it on. I can foresee lots of horrid things and it makes me sad. I love them so much. But the dwarves do dig and Khazad-Dum does fall…gotta get there somehow.

- Queen Miriel is seen in chains before Pharazôn. Am I right in thinking that he marries her in text to strengthen his claim to the throne? Forgive me friends, my knowledge isn’t as complete as I’d like. If a learned friend could confirm or deny that would be great. Whatever the case, I hope Elendil raises a force to rescue her.

- I think Eärien will see the errors of her way. She looked rather uncomfortable at points, especially when the faithful were declared as traitors and she immediately went to warn her father. When Isildur returns I think she will turn against Pharazon if she doesn’t before hand. A nice mini redemption arc would be sweet for her. Bonus points if she bumps off Kemen (although I think Isildur will do that!)

- Gandalf has arrived. Not sure how I feel about his early arrival but I must admit it’s bloody lovely to have him! He is such a wonderful character and we see now where his deep love of the Halflings comes from. I do wonder who the dark wizard is though. Any theories? I don’t know Tolkiens work well enough to guess myself. (I’ve only read the Silmarillion once and my poor mind couldn’t absorb much of it.)

- Did we see the birth of Rivendell? That’s where the elves are, right? Can’t wait to see that explored in season three.

- Gil-Galad and Galadriel getting on for once was lovely 🥰

- Elrond is perfection as always. For the record, I don’t think the kiss between Elrond and Galadriel was at all romantic. Just my opinion! If you ship them then that’s great. I just think it was a farewell kiss and a bit of distraction. They definitely love each other but just don’t see the romantic aspect myself. I loved when he put on the ring. He was so reluctant but did it for Galadriel. Loved it ❤️

That’s all for now! Send me your own thoughts and theories. I genuinely want to talk about this amazing series. Also, for anyone who knows the texts inside and out, teach me! And correct me when I’m wrong which is…probably a lot 😆

[vermillion71401]

MY REVIEW ON PSYCHO PASS PROVIDENCE

Disclaimer: I’ve been Psycho Pass fans since (roughly) 9 years ago. I’ve never want to write any reviews on the series until now because I NEED THIS TO GET OUT OFF MY HEAD, and there’s some things I don’t understand. Still, I’m just a fan, this review is based on my opinion only. After I finish this so called essay, I found more question than answer, so if you don’t want extra headache, don’t read it. Also if you’re not Kouaka shipper, pass it, you’ll find me annoying.

Apologize beforehand if there’s any typo or any missed info. I hope you understand my write (English isn’t my first language, so I struggled a lot.)

This post consist on four part; review, my opinion on character, relationship, and my irregular thoughts throughout scene.

BEWARE OF THE SPOILERS.

..

STORY, CHARACTER

PPP occur after Kougami’s return to Japan. Shorty after, Peacebreaker make their way to steal Stronskaya Paper for their gain, terrorize everyone that blocked their plan. Akane can’t stay still after witnessing horrible acts of this group and their leader, determine to arrest them along with division 1 and SAD team.

Overall story is pretty straightforward, which I like. They make a new storyline and new interesting character and villain, makes it compelling. A new system like General is a fresh idea, rather than just stick with Sybil System. We actually can relate to villain, learn through his trauma and backstory, eventually we feel sympathy for him. Not to mention some cool stunt and action.

Aside from storyline, what makes this more interesting is we get to see relationship development between Kougami, Akane and Ginoza before S3. The three OG character since s1, and how they see each other now.

Akane, as a main character can finally have some development also in the end of the movie. I wish they explore it more.

MUSIC, VISUAL & ANIMATON

The music director did a good job on this. The music match with the atmosphere of the scene so well, so we, as an audience totally immerse in the story. Some soundtrack even take samples from season 1, create nostalgic feeling into it.

Production I.G did it again for visual animation! Texture detail, smooth animation and background image is top tier. I have no right to complain anything.

OVERALL CONCLUSION (7.5/10)

This is what movie should be. Action, good plot, good character development. I had so much fun than I expected to be and recommend to every anime fan to watch it.

..

MY OPINION ON CHARACTERS:

Kougami

Kougami being Kougami again. Ever since SS3, I think we truly knows what kind of person he is, and he’s never change. That might be the reason why he didn’t regret what he’s done. Some people care for his well being though, like Prof. Saiga and Akane, she’s concern he might be used as violence tool only, that’s why she actually wanted to bring him back to CID.

In this movie, aside from being agent, it’s refreshing to see him being a detective mode even for a little moment, like the scene he had with Shion, because apparently he has brain too :/

2. Akane

Some thing never change, Akane and her unshakeable trust to the system. Like I mention before, I wish they explore more the moment before she took the action.

Throughout the film, she seems more emotional than usual. Her explosive anger remind me of s2 Akane so much.

After the incident, I was speechless of how brave she is to let it all go. Imagine your flawless, peaceful, secure life suddenly take turns and now all people will label you as unhinged. She earn my respect.

3. Ginoza

He’s truly MVP, along with Sugo. He basically carried everyone, especially how he help Sugo and Frederica.

His interaction with Kougami at first is amusing and predictable. He only mad for awhile, before he finally accept him again. At the end, his face shown frustrated for Akane’s decision, leaving everything that she achieve so far. I wonder if he feel failed again to ‘save’ his friend.

4. Frederica

She’s the perfect example of good subordinate, I think. She’s the type who obedient to her boss, not judging or question Yabuki’s decision. The contrast between her and Akane in this aspect made me laugh and make me realize that Akane is such a rebel, (lol). But she wouldn’t rebel if Sybil wasn’t an asshole.

5. Akira

Sad tool to Yabuki and Shindo :’( Seriously, he remind me so much of Kougami. Akira is selfless, willing to sacrifice himself as undercover agent for MoFA. Not to mention he even beat Kougami and Sugo in close fight, state how strong he is. If it’s not because of his kindness to spare Kougami on that scene with Tonami possessing Yabuki, Kougami would be dead by now. I think that’s why Kougami make frustrated face when he die. Seriously, his death is such a shame. He also makes me think that Kougami wouldn’t end up like Tonami, but more like him, because until PP3, the man doesn’t have ambition.

..

RELATIONSHIP OPINION:

Kougami and Akane

Idk if some people see this relationship is sink, or whatever. For me it’s actually the opposite. Akane FINALLY understand Kougami a little more. Even inspired by him. I don’t know exactly what she see in Kougami that inspire her to shot Kasei, is it because despite his CC, he actually have conscience, and ‘certain’ reason to commit crime, thus leads to make people questions (and debate) his justice?

(I’m an idiot to not know this, lol).

Akane care for him. I know the official denied romance between them, but she clearly care for him. She doesn’t want him to work like a bloodthirst hound, and value his life. At the same time I can also see what writers planning to do with him since Desmond Rutaganda address him in PP movie. 

I also notice they cut down their screen time together, even some scene that usually involve in face zooming, now they don’t. They could make their reunion so much more friendly, but they choose not to. (My guess is because they’re main characters, they can’t become lovers, that could potentially mislead the genre.) Honestly, this is so sad. If they can’t make them canon, why bother making such a great dynamic between them. Male and female can’t be friends, if you ask me. It’s too late for sudden change between them.

It’s a shame because I miss them being a partner again. Fight side by side.

Anyway, probably the only person who support her deeds is just Kougami. Regarding the convo these 2 have after he shot Tonami will address later.

2. Ginoza and Akane

Ginoza intention to become shield for her is honestly so pure. His reasoning sounds like personal feelings rather than fulfilling his duty as enforcer. Other than that, I’m more curious about his feelings after the incident. From what I see through his frustrated face and kind of ‘resentment’ face in PP3, my guess he’s somewhat angry to her for sacrifice her life (and angry at himself). I wonder what kind of face he’d make if he knew Kougami inspired her (lol, rip Kougami.)

3. Kougami and Frederica

Not so much thought, beside Kougami actually look angry at her when he lied to the team and professor. Though only angry for a second, he quickly being professional again when Akane mad at Frederica. (and look at Akane face, she’s shock and somewhat feel distance because her ex-enforcer standing up to his new boss.) Poor choice of words, Kougami.

My thoughts and issues will have another post.

[cobraonthecob]

F1 2024 Predictions!

Red Bull: Obviously they’re going to continue to dominate. They have to get in their domination years before the 2026 regulations come by, so as far as 2024 and 2025 are concerned for me, Red Bull is going to aim to dominate and they will. The only thing I’d be interested in Red Bull in is whether or not Checo will have stable mental health to hold a smaller gap in points between him and Max, because what the hell happened after Monaco alsdkjfaklsdfj.

Ferrari: I am not a superstitious person usually, but if you have Scuderia in your name, your strategists are shit. AlphaTauri has this problem, and Ferrari is the same. At least Ferrari has a car that can get points (not great ones, but still points) whereas AT will be far away from the points. So hopefully 2024, the strategists gain more brain cells, otherwise, it’s just going to be a repeat of 2023.

Mercedes: The strategy is questionable at times, but what really needs to improve is the pit stop times. They’re doing better, but they NEED to get their heads out of their asses for that because that’s the real killer in my opinion. 

Mclaren: My surprise prediction of 2024, is that Mclaren is going to be the team that will come close to lighting a fire under Red Bull. Or rather; Oscar, Lando, and Checo are going to be fighting for podium spots after Max fucks off ten seconds ahead of them (a gracious guess, it would’ve been 20 seconds but I decided to be nice). We all saw Mclaren’s miraculous technological growth this year, so assuming Mclaren doesn’t bring a tractor at the start of the season, I can very much see a Red Bull vs Mclaren fight.

Also we need a lando win. Please, he’s been suffering for too long

Aston Martin: I don’t follow AM, so if anyone wants to bring additional info, I’ll be grateful, but I feel like they’ll bring the fight to P3 in the constructor’s championship against Ferrari and Mercedes. They seem to have decent strategy and pit stops, it’s just that the car is average with two good drivers. Maybe they should hope for more rainy races and Lance works his driving-in-the-rain magic.

THE MIDFIELD:

I predict that it’s going to be an Alpine-Williams-AlphaTauri/Racing Balls fight.

Alpine: if the Frenchpine civil war doesn’t fuck them up more, because Pierre really showed what he was made of. I can’t really estimate how good they are against each other because Esteban has had 6 DNFs total, 4 being mechanical failures, 2 retirements because of collision from other people running into him, and I’m not counting all the times Esteban has run into other people but no DNF because I’m not combing through every race lol. I think they’re equal, it’s just that Esteban’s car was plagued with mechanical problems and Esteban regularly finds himself in weird situations where he’s getting bonked into or he’s bonking into someone else. Alpine is going to be fighting themselves and the rest of the midfield lol.

Williams: Alex is definitely going to head that king of the midfield fight for Williams while Logan will quietly improve and hopefully get points. 

AlphaTauri: Daniel and Yūki are probably the best driver pairing AlphaTauri could ask for. Daniel’s experience and Yūki approaching his fourth year on the team means they have to be fighting for consistent points now from both of them, and that’s only if AT doesn’t give them a tractor to drive. Also, before anyone who didn’t pay attention to Yūki’s growth this year, you missed out. The two major times I can say that Yūki costed himself points was Singapore - I definitely think he turned too early in that first lap and doing it next to Checo of all drivers - and Mexico, where he turned on the outside and bumped into Oscar and spinning himself off the track. But most importantly, even though Yūki couldn’t crawl back into the points in time, he LEARNED, and in Brazil, he applied that when he didn’t do the same error when he and Lewis were fighting. 

Sauber: Hopefully with the shedding of AlfaRomeo, they’ll bounce back. But they’re my flop prediction.

Haas: This team flopping is a given. I will be pleasantly surprised if they pull a Mclaren and miraculously be consistently pulling themselves into P9/P10 every race.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Advent Calendar: Day 8 @kylo-wrecked​

The best way she could describe the look on Ben’s face was dubious. Brow raised, head tilted, mouth not settled between a frown and a bemused smile. Still, he ventures forth from the foyer into the open space of her living room and kitchen. Drops down next to her on the couch while she sits lotus style at her coffee table with two bowls and a spool of thick waxen string stuck through with a long, heavy gauge needle. “Jus’ in time,” she beams. Discretion is the better part of valour afterall. For a moment the resemblance to the little blonde, blue-eyed creature on her television ~a rare occurrence to be on and actually playing something, in this case, the 1966 version of the famous story~ is uncanny. An onlooker would then have to wonder if Ben himself is the Grinch. Beth would instinctively deny the possibility based on emotion alone, offended on his behalf. “You said it was urgent.” Ben isn’t wrong, she did say that in the text. Not that she wanted him out in the snow that’s been falling for hours, threatening the city with its own particular kind of siege. Six inches with a predicted foot and a half more over the day making roads dangerous and the air painful to breathe. Were her words truthful? It depended on how one chose to define the statement. Did she really need help making popcorn-and-cranberry strings for the tree? Not exactly. She’d already hung sage leaves and dried orange slices from the mantle of the fireplace. There’s one for her, one for the cat absent in presence at the moment. There’s one for her friend Jay. One for her brother who wouldn’t be coming home and that one is probably the most heartbreaking. Can the dead celebrate holidays? There’s even one for him. Name twinkling due to the sequins that spelled it out. Mostly though, she wanted to spare him from being trapped at home. She’s seen the highly stylised and sterile holiday decor ~funny, she’d always assumed that Ben was Jewish~ that looked immaculate in press photo-shoots but in reality had no warmth or comfort. This lack of soul in her opinion was a travesty. And what better way to combat the beginning of winter’s doldrums than by being wanted? Curling up with some great movies and even better take away, with one of your dearest and most loved friends? “I may have exaggerate but…now dat ya heah, you could stay, right?” She has no idea if the sound he makes is even a word, much less whether or not he was agreeing. She leans back and drapes an arm around his knee. There’s six counties between it and his hip so she isn’t really violating any too-personal space. “My prop’sition to ya. Eiddah you can hold da end of da string and push each granberry or popcorn down to da knot gently, or ya can take internal frustration out an’ stab dem wi’ dis needle also carefully. P’sonally, I like two granberry between each popcorn. Wha’evah’s left aftah, we can turn into hurricane, an’ curl up an’ watch movies til Christmas bleed out out eyes an’ we decide time for General Tsao’s or mushy pork.” Dream-soft smile, winsome on her delicate face and dripping sweetness enough to make his teeth and other parts of him ache in ways her words really can’t. It’s the cruelty of the season; pure hope that demands nothing more pressing from him than his company, with the built in protections of not having to talk if he doesn’t want to. Whatever Ben is ~whether a burnt out nova whose explosion was so bright it could be seen without telescope, or some new sun born over a distant world inside on Yule~ he’s still so very much the simple comfort she wants to share in. “Might even let ya open one of ya presents early. Wha’ya say?”

[butterflyrry]

So many hints for Harry to stop acting but he and his team wouldn’t even recognize those hints even if they would hit them on the nose. Let’s just list the most obvious hints that the universe is telling him to stop trying to pursue an acting career. 1. pandemic that stopped everything and made him agree to do DWD worst mistake till now in his life! Leads to 2. the worst PR relationship ever that surely made him to question all his life decisions that lead him there. 3. baz luhrmann who cursed him for jumping ship (that Dracula movie last minute) 4. the sag strike that was in full swing right when he finished tour and would have had free time to audition and stuff and was 100% what he was intended to do 5. marvel and all that getting the worst critics ever and after just having signed an alleged 5 movie deal and only a 2 minutes teaser thing it looks like as if his character gets axed completely 6. hanging around the most boring, talentless and not at all booked wannabe ‘actresses / directors‘ and rather giving their non existent careers a push than having any great talks or experiences with really talented actors /actresses that could help him build his acting abilities (this PR charade is not convincing at all and he really needs those acting classes if he can’t properly convince people that those ‘relationships‘ are real (not talking about harries, they believe anything!)) I‘m certain there’s way more but I‘m tired

I don’t think it’s the universe saying anything. It seems more like a series of bad business decisions, things that didn’t work out as planned, and factors beyond his control.

In hindsight, it’s easy to say that accepting a role in DWD was a bad decision, but at the time, it didn’t seem that way. I doubt that Florence, Chris, Gemma and all the other actors expected that movie would turn out to be a fucking disaster, so how could Harry know that? As far as Holivia was concerned, I do feel like he should’ve known better. I don’t know how no one considered the optics of breaking up a family and hooking up with his boss, but I also don’t know if anyone could’ve predicted the absolute shitshow it became.

Baz Luhrmann was the director of Elvis, who didn’t cast him but said he hopes to work with him in the future. Robert Eggers is the director of Nosferatu, which Harry was supposedly cast in but dropped out due to scheduling conflicts. I’ve not seen any negative comments from Eggers, other than to say he thought the project might be cursed because he’s tried twice and hasn’t gotten the movie made yet.

My assumption was that post-tour, he would be filming for something Marvel-related, based on his physique. Then the strike happened, which probably changed things. Now that it’s over, I guess we’ll see what happens. I don’t think Marvel is what it once was. The Eternals underperformed and was not well received by critics or fans. So, the alleged Marvel deal may not come to fruition based on those factors, more than it being about the Eros character.

The pr stunts are what they are and we hate them, but unfortunately, I don’t see that changing. That’s what we’re meant to see. Not likely that he’ll be stunting with an established/acclaimed/well-known actress.

We don’t know what he is or is not doing to further his acting career. My opinion is that he tried to do too much, too fast. He’s a part time actor who probably didn’t have the time to properly prepare. I don’t think he was ready for dramatic lead roles. I do think he should focus more on supporting roles and work with an acting coach to build his resume and skills if acting is something he truly wants to pursue. I believe his heart and true passion are with music, though.

I personally would be fine if he focuses on music and never acts again but it’s his choice, not mine.

[kageyamatobiyogurt]

which haikyuu boys i would fight 

a/n: no idea where this came from, honestly just me spewing my opinion lmao. so here’s me rating which boys i’d want to fight- physically. your thoughts?

includes: most of the haikyuu men lol 

hinata: 2/10 

he’s too baby to make me actually wanna fight him 

i’ll give him a little hair ruffle instead 

even if it started jokingly he probably wouldn’t do anything to actually hurt 

kageyama: 4/10

he’d take it too seriously and i feel like he could do serious damage 

he’s too calculated for it to be fun :(((

also considering his serves, i think he’d deck me and it’d be over 

yamaguchi: -2/10 

also too sweet for me to want to really want to throw hands

even if i initiated a fight i feel like he’s tall enough to just hold my arms to stop my swinging and like,, turn me away 

tsukishima: 9/10 

i may be almost a foot and a half shorter than him but i think i could win 

have you seen his energy.. IT’S LACKING

i can take this beanpole down 

he’d probably spit something mean but actions speak louder than words and i will target the kneecaps >:)))

nishinoya: 8/10

it would be glorious 

i could match his energy 

it’s literally perfect, he’s only a couple inches or so taller than me so he doesn’t have that much of an advantage 

neither of us have that great of a reach so it’s good 

i might get tired first but i won’t go down without taking him down with me 

tanaka: 7/10 

like noya, i think his energy would be funny 

i’m at a disadvantage because mans has no hair so i can’t grab anything

the kind of fight where hits don’t even really land???

would probably be funny 

asahi: -371023570/10 

i don’t want to make him cry :(((

mans is literally jesus so how could i attack that 

i can braid his hair instead 

suga: 5/10

not sure how to feel honestly

he can be a little aggressive 

also think he might be able to outsmart me so i’ll only fight him if i have to 

daichi: 1/10 

i feel like he’d intimidate me 

or like, give me a dad look that says “stop” and it’d kill the vibe 

also can’t knock him over, his legs are too thicc and strong, making him too steady 

i mean have you seen his receiving stance

what if i ran at him and he just stood there ???

oikawa: 11/10 

another one i could take LMAO 

i think it would end up being the kind of fight where you aren’t throwing fists but it’s more like flat hands??

so we’re both kind of slapping at each other ??? 

does that make sense?? 

iwaizumi: 1/10 

i would simply not win 

his ARMS BRO 

he’s probably the kind of person to have taken some kind of martial arts 

mans would put me in a headlock and it’s over 

kuroo: 9/10 

i would like to try to take down the smirky boy 

would be fun bc we’d both probably end up laughing so much that we’re more wrestling than throwing hands 

i could imagine the hyena laugh and me wheezing 

i’ll still say i won 

kenma: 0.5/10

i don’t see a point ngl 

he wouldn’t like it either bc it’s confrontational 

i’ll give him a high five for peace 

bokuto: 8/10

i like the challenge 

i think i’d really lose bc bo’s beefy as hell 

mans could throw me with one arm ngl and i wouldn’t be able to do much 

if he sat on me the fight is probably already over 

hope he doesn’t go into emo mode though :(((

akaashi: 1/10 

he’s too pretty for me to want to fight and i don’t think his personality would be into it either 

i don’t think he’d be easy to take down in general either 

tendou: 6/10 

i’m scared but not enough to back out 

i’d fight him out of curiosity but i really think i’d get annihilated 

he is the guess monster so he’d predict anything i’d try to pull and automatically deflect it 

also he’s such a wild card you never know what’s gonna happen 

ushijima: 2/10 

i’ll admit i’m intimidated... because it’s him 

he’s a softie but a competitive person nonetheless so i think he’d take it half seriously and knock me out bc he’s that strong 

not a good look for me 

atsumu: 273416/10

i’ll take ratsumu on any day anyWHERE 

he does not scare me and he may be tall too but it does not matter 

energy would also be through the roof 

i’ll pull his hair LMAO 

osamu: 4/10 

i have less of a beef with osamu LMAO 

he’s just as much of a crackhead but i think he’s just a little bit humbler so i don’t need to teach him a lesson 

suna: 2.5/10

i’m scared pt. 2 

he’s just bendy ??? so what if he increases his reach because he’s so flexible 

he’s also quieter so what is he thinking ?? 

he’d prolly jab me out of nowhere and that’s where i lose

plus he’d record the fight somehow and i don’t need evidence of it 

sakusa: 2/10 

would probably decline a rumble with anyone just because it’s contact and *ew* 

would push me away to stop the fight before anything begins 

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

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“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[aquamarinescarlet]

The Psychology of Us

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~3.5k

Warnings: mentions of smut (nothing explicit)

Summary: It seems like you’ll never get the answers you want, but little did you know…

Author’s note: This is probably my favorite story yet. It got a little steamier than I originally planned, but I think it turned out okay. I hope the explanation makes sense, it’s something I do use in real life so I thought it’d be fun to write about. Anyhow, thank you for everyone who read, and have fun with the last part :D

Taglist: @helloalycia @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xastrydx @trikruismybitch @b0mbdotc0m @ima-gi--na-tion @cristin-rjd @arealearp @1-800-maximoff @zarriaza329

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“I know, I know, I’ll be at your place at seven.” You said to Angie as soon as she reached you.

The hallway was packed, yet you were still able to notice her presence.

“About that,” she sounded unsure, “I came to tell you about this small gathering Pietro is doing at his place tonight, and I was wondering if you’d come with me?”

“So I can be a third wheel? No thank you.”

“He will have other friends over too, don’t worry.”

“Then why can’t you go by yourself?”

“Because I don’t know any of them and I don’t want to be there all by myself.” She reasoned.

“Just stick by Pietro and you’ll be fine.”

“Please!” She pleaded, giving you her best puppy eyes.

You weren’t opposed to the idea of going to Pietro’s house, a small gathering would be a nice change of pace from your usual Friday night parties. But your mind was in a different place right now and a party wasn’t exactly on your plans. You couldn’t say no to her though, maybe you could sneak out early, who knows.

“Fine, I’ll go.” You gave in.

She cheered, hugging you eagerly, and walked away before you could change your mind.

It was Friday again and you were still stuck on the girl and her puzzle. You’d seen her seven more times in the past two weeks. Now you had compulsively read eight books in the span of one month. Eight books all due to her, it was more than Diego reads in the same time.

Even your family was starting to question this sudden new hobby. Aalways keeping yourself locked in your room or with your nose deep down into a different book wasn’t normal.

Despite that, you were no closer to solving the mystery that was the girl from the library. She refused to give you her name when you asked her for it. She refused to explain the logic behind her recommendations. She just had fun watching you drown in frustration.

You were close to giving up, to start avoiding her until you forgot completely about the whole situation. But you enjoyed these moments. You were excited at the prospect of seeing her, not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

Of course, all this excitment died down the moment she started to mock you for nothing, with that annoying smirk painting those perfect stupid lips of hers, growing your desire to wipe it off of her.

There was something, though, that caught your attention, something about the books she recommended. You enjoyed them, you savoured every story, every plot, every character. Diego always tried to get you to read some of his favourite books and you gave up after a few pages. But not these ones, you liked them, and you had to figure out what kind of spell she used to make you like them so much.

“I think I’m going insane.” You muttered while staring at the ‘map’ you had created on your bedroom wall.

It contained post-its, notes, the title of all eight books and the answers that earned you each recommendation. A pathetic attempt to find a connection between this whole thing.

“You are getting too worked up on this, I mean, look at your wall,” Diego, who had been hanging out with you this afternoon, gestured towards it, “it looks like something right out of a detective movie.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said exasperatedly, “I just need to figure this out.”

“Okay, two things,” he put up both his index and middle finger, “first: it is that bad, it’s just a bunch of books; and second: why are you so desperate to figure this out?”

“I’m not desperate,” you argued.

“Yes, you are.” You heard him mumble.

“And aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

“Not that curious.”

“I just want to prove her wrong,” you explained.

“Because you care about what she thinks?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“No, I-”

“Look,” he interrupted, “I know you. I’ve known you for a long time. You have never been one to care about what other people think of you. So why her?”

“I-,” you were at a loss for words.

Why did you care? It bothered when she insulted you, even though you knew it wasn’t true, and you’ve never been bothered by such things before. It bothered that she knew nothing about you and still had the nerve to deem herself better than you, even though this was all the more reason to not care about her opinion at all.

Was it really a bother though? Or was that just an excuse? And if it is an excuse, then what were you excusing? Why were you still doing this? You’ve been dragging this out for a month. Why were you so keen on proving her wrong after all this time?

You don’t need to prove to her that you’re smart: you get good grades, you’re the captain of the football team, you even have a scholarship in one of the best colleges in the area. Of course she doesn’t know any of this, but that’s not enough motivation for you to spend a month trying to prove her she’s wrong about you.

For all you know that crazy scheme of hers to recommend books could be fake. She could just recommend books she likes and hide the reasons behind those questions. But then why did you enjoy those stories? And why would she put up a whole facade to recommend some books to a random stranger she met in a library?

“Do you like her?” Diego’s voice brought you out of your own thoughts.

The look you gave him was one of disbelief. You almost wanted to laugh at his words.

“Like her? How can I like someone who pisses me off so much?”

“Then why do you keep going back?”

“Why I- because- I- I’m curious.” You didn’t sound as confident as you wished. It wasn’t a lie. You were curious. But curiosity was not the only reason you kept going back, although you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

“I don’t believe you.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how to answer. Thankfully you didn’t have to when, with a quick glance at the clock, you were able to change the subject.

“We’re late.” You simply stated.

“For what?”

“I told Angie I was going to meet her at her place at seven,” you gestured towards the time, “it’s seven thirty.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“C’mon, please,” you pleaded, “it’s going to be a small, like, get together or something, and I know Angie will leave me alone at some point to makeout with her boyfriend.”

“Okay fine,” he gave in and you made a little celebratory dance, dragging him out of the house.

Since this was supposed to be casual and between friends, you didn’t waste any time at Angie’s, where you’d usually spend hours getting dressed and ready.

Pietro’s place wasn’t far, which you were slightly thankful for since Angie wouldn’t stop talking about him the whole ride. He’s such a good kisser. He’s so cute. Did you know he plays soccer? He looks so hot in his uniform… You love your friend, but that’s just too much.

As always you weren’t the first one’s, and by the amount of people it was far from a “small gathering between friends”. The apartment wasn’t small, but sure felt like it with the almost fifty people crammed in there.

You were greeted by Pietro himself, who offered you each a beer before pulling Angie in for a kiss, causing you and Diego to roll your eyes. You gladly took the beer, if you had to endure this, might as well have some alcohol to help.

Two beers later and your mind was no longer fixating on the girl-from-the-library problem. Instead you were having a friendly debate with some of Pietro’s friends about which college was the best, the typical rivalry. Having only Angie to back you up was making the whole thing harder.

“Hey Piet,” a tall blonde boy called out, interrupting the conversation, “is Wanda going to join us?”

“Doubtful, you know how she is…”

“Who’s Wanda?” Angie’s voice was laced with jealousy causing the boy to laugh dramatically, which only seemed to make her madder.

“She’s my sister, don’t worry,” he reassured her. It made sense, he had mentioned he lived with his twin sister.

You watched as he pulled Angie away from the group, probably to makeout, as you had predicted, and you looked at Diego, to stop him from commenting anything, only to find his place empty.

You left the group as well to search for him, and was surprised to find him shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat. You could’ve left them alone? Yes, you could. But did you? Of course not.

“Y’know,” you tapped on his shoulder, earning his attention, “when I bring you to a party so I can have someone when Angie left me, I expect you not to leave me as well.” You teased.

“Shut up.” He tried to sound serious, but the smirk gave it away.

“You owe me one.”

Feeling a sudden need to go to the bathroom, you let them be and went in search of one. You opened a door you thought led to a bathroom, but found yourself in a corridor which had other four doors that probably led to bedrooms, at least one must lead to a bathroom.

“Pietro, I already told you, keep that door closed!” You heard someone scream from one of them.

It wasn’t just anyone though. That was a voice that had been haunting you for a whole month now. Okay, haunting was an exaggeration, but still. You quickly closed the door, muffling the music and chatter.

As you rested your back against the wall, a surge of power took over you. The new information taking over all your thoughts. You had the upper hand now on this little game of hers. It was your turn to play.

Her door was easy to identify, being the only one with light seeping through the cracks, and you made no effort to be quiet or discreet when opening it.

She was sitting in her bed, long red hair loose over her shoulders, a book in hands. Her expression was soft despite the interruption, she hadn’t looked up, so she had no idea it was you who was standing there.

“What do you want Piet?” A mischievous smirk grew on your face.

“Wanda,” you uttered as if trying it on your tongue for the first time, earning the girl’s attention.

The shock that took over her features did wonders to your confidence.

“A beautiful name,” you continued, daring to take a few steps inside her room, “I see you favourite color is red,” you referred to the endless amount of details on her walls, shelves, bedsheets, all a different shade of red.

You walked further into the room, exploring everything in sight. She followed your every move with her eyes, too stunned to say anything. Were you crossing a line? Probably. Should you be invading her personal space like that, without a warning? Probably not. But she has been invading your personal space for weeks, so you couldn’t care less.

“Ah, you play the guitar,” you grazed your fingers over the instrument sitting on the corner of the room, “I didn’t think you had any talents other than insulting me for no reason.”

You were enjoying this too much. Your eyes landed on some pictures and notes clinging to a wall.

“Sokovia,” you said after reading one of the notes, “so you are Sokovian, that’s interesting.” Your gaze fell to her desk, a pile of textbooks stacked there. “Psychology,” you laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was going to piss her off even further, “you are more likely to drive your patients crazy than to actually help them.”

“How…,” you turned towards her, “did you…,”

“Get in here? Learn your name?” You offered some suggestions since she didn’t seem capable of finishing that sentence herself. “Pietro.” You simply stated and watched as her face went from stunned to mad.

“How do you know my brother?”

Was that jealousy you were sensing? Or was she just upset that he had told you stuff about her? You decided to play with it a little bit.

“He is a sweet boy isn’t he? So hot and so nice,” you teased and she advanced towards you, making you a little frightened, but not enough to back down, “it’s hard to believe you two share the same genes.”

Your face was mere inches from hers and you suddenly felt like the air was growing thick, making it hard to breathe. A feeling of warmth taking over your chest and stomach. In spite of all the discomfort, you managed to keep your composure.

“I so want to wipe that pretentious smirk off of your face right now,” she growled. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Why don’t you?” You challenged.

Football had given you fast reflexes (except for that particular event a few weeks ago), you were ready to catch her hand if she tried anything. Instead of her fist or her palm, you were met with her lips attacking yours furiously.

The kiss was needy, hungry, desperate even. Your hands made their way to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. It was a battle, a fight neither of you were willing to lose. Tongues fighting for dominance, teeth biting lips, jaw, neck, hands pulling on skin in such a way it would definitely leave marks.

Clothes fell to the floor as you backed her to her bed, pushing her onto the mattress, this feeling, a necessity for her, on the pit of your stomach growing ever more.

Safe to say your plans of leaving early were postponed. At some point during the night you had managed to find Diego and let him know you wouldn’t be needing a ride back home. Your disheveled state and red marks, which were already showing up on your neck, didn’t go unnoticed by him, but he didn’t have time to comment on it. You mentally dreaded the moment he would start with the questioning.

Some shifting on the bed caught your attention. Slowly opening your eyes, you were able to catch Wanda staring at you with a soft smile. Your back was facing her, so she didn’t know you were awake, but you could see her clearly from her bedroom mirror.

And what a sight it was.

“You’re staring.” You called out, and watched her face turn three shades redder out of embarrassment from being caught.

You turned around so you’re now facing her, although she wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?” She kept quiet. “Okay, wanna know what’s on my mind?” She nodded lightly. “Well, I’m thinking that I would have never, not in a million years, pegged you as being shy.” She tried to stifle a laugh while bringing her hand up to playfully hit you on the arm. “That’s more like it,” you teased.

“I’m not shy,” she defended.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Because… “ she lost it mid sentence.

“... you’re shy and sweet, just like your brother said,” you recalled from the day you spent together in the arcade.

She hit you, yet again, on the arm, slightly harder this time, but not enough to hurt.

“Tell me this then,” you finally reached the topic that has been bugging you for weeks, “what was all this for? The mystery, the games?”

She fell silent, seemingly in deep thought and you got scared you had killed the moment.

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little shy,” she admitted and you celebrated internally while your face remained unfazed, “and that makes me scared of…”

“Talking to people?” You helped out, but she covered her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“Please, don’t laugh at me, I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not,” you interrupted, uncovering her face, “go on.”

She took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m scared of talking to people… especially people that I like.” Although it sounded like a confession, you weren’t exactly sure what it was about.

“So you liked me?” You asked in disbelief. “From the beginning?”

Her already red face was growing darker by the second.

“I had seen you before, with Diego, in the library, always complaining, always stating how boring it was,” she shook her hands in the air for the purpose of drama, “and it was annoying, but it was also cute and- and I always wanted to talk to you, but I never found courage to do it.”

To say you were shocked at the new information was an understatement. She liked you all this time? And you just thought she hated your guts for no reason? Wow, that’s precious.

“Okay, so…” you tried to say in the stunned state you found yourself, “how- why- the- why did you do all that then?”

“Because I had like, this sudden flow of confidence, and since you had this cocky personality I thought you would like someone who was the same, so I said what I said, and I did what I did and-”

“I started to hate you.” The way you acted when you first met must’ve hurt her.

“Exactly, and I thought I had screwed up completely, until you showed up again, and my stupid brain associated that to the idea that the way I had acted worked. So I kept it up. A persona, in a sense.”

“What were you planning to do then? Keep that act up forever?” The question made her slightly frustrated.

“I don’t know, I didn’t think that far, I just enjoyed your presence, even though you still seemed to hate my guts.” You laughed and moved closer to her, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“I did,” you whispered close to her ear, “I hated your guts, but I also enjoyed it, the games, the mystery, that’s why I kept coming back.”

“So it worked,” she said excitedly.

“It sort of did.” You stared into her green eyes, for a few seconds. “There’s something else in my mind too that I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“So… about the recommendations-”

“Oh my god,” she didn’t let you finish, “you haven’t figured that out yet?!” She exclaimed in disbelief, when she opened her mouth again you knew what was coming.

“Don’t say it.” You warned.

“You really are slow.” She said it anyways, a mischievous grin painting her lips.

“Damn, I hate you,” you said jokingly, unwrapping yourself from her and making a move to leave the bed.

She stopped you short, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling you back, causing you to fall on the bed laughing hysterically.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I won’t say it anymore.”

She let you go and sat up and across from you.

“Good, so are you going to explain it to me or not?” You questioned and she rolled her eyes playfully. “And don’t you dare tell me there is no logic behind it, there has to be one.”

“Yes, there is a logic,” she mocked, “it’s quite simple actually, the ‘color’ is what sets the mood for the book.”

“How so?”

“Uhm, like, we associate colors with stuff, like black is associated with death and evil and white is associated with peace and purity,” you nodded, “it also works for feelings, associating those with colors, so when a person says a color I can pick a book that has elements that are associated with that color, or that causes a feeling that we associate with that color.” She explained.

“That explains the psychology major thing.” She seemed happy you remembered, even though it was mere hours ago.

“Basically,” she agreed, “so, ‘person’ is what defines the relationships that surround the main character, so either romances, friendships, families, strangers, y’know?”

“Yeah okay,” you tried to follow along.

“And ‘place’ is to decide how far from reality the story should be, if the person says a place that’s close to their home, they tend to prefer stuff closer to their comfort zone, so no fantasy or sci-fi, and vice-versa.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” she beamed a smile, “simple isn’t it?”

“Does it always work?”

“No, it’s a really subjective thing, the more I know the person the better, but sometimes it just doesn’t work.” She admitted. “It worked on you like a charm though,” she teased.

“That it did,” you couldn't deny. “Okay, so if I got it right, color sets the mood, right?”

“Right.”

“Then what is red associated with?” You looked around her room, filled with several details in red.

“Anger, love, passion-,” she stopped talking when she met your eyes, a mischievous smirk on your lips.

You slowly rose from your position and crawled forward, never losing her gaze. You quirked an eyebrow suggestively as you got closer. You sat on her lap, faces inches from another.

“Well, I can show you some passion.”

[violettelueur]

— FUSHIGURO MEGUMI || LET’S NOT LOSE EACH OTHER

↳ featuring : fushiguro megumi from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of blood, mention of death and grammar issues

↳ form : imagine

↳ published : 04 february

↳ pronouns : non specified in imagine

↳ word count : 1.2k

↳ synopsis : during a mission, you had unconsciously made the choice to take a hit for fushiguro leading you get injured during the process, what will fushiguro’s reaction towards your reckless actions be like?

↳ request : I love your writing 🥺 can I request a Fushiguro imagine or hc where maybe the reader takes a hit for him and gets hurt?, (Angst ending in fluff)

↳ barista’s notes : here is another imagine for you all and it is fushiguro megumi’s turn ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ and yes, those manga books were worth the purchase, ariana grande said retail therapy right? i hope you enjoy your cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and please don’t be shy to order again soon ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ

“What the hell was that Y/N!?” Fushiguro shouted in anger as he ran up to you completely in panic, struggling somewhat from the pain he was experiencing on the side of his body after finally managing to defeat the curse he was facing.

Right now, you were leaning against a cliff wall where there was a large crack in the middle due to the impact that it had endured when your body hit the solid rock. Of course, you were in pain, probably had a few bruises in the process, but the agonising feeling was going numb at this point since you knew the boy who was in front of you right now was okay.

From what you could recall, you and Fushiguro were on a mission together that was set by your teacher Gojo Satoru. Unexpectedly, during the middle you and him were suddenly ambushed by two high-level curses, forcing you both to split up to face on at the time. Fortunately, you had managed to exorcise the curse you were facing despite the grade you predicted to be, yet the same couldn’t be said for your boyfriend who seemed to be struggling. However, after that, it became completely hazy.

All you could remember was Fushiguro laying on the ground for a split second, then the illuminating light of magenta from your curse spell to create a shield to protect him as well as you, to the act of the back of your body to hit the cliff you were against now.

‘Did I take the hit for him?’

Shifting your eyes to the side, you suddenly noticed how bloody your left arm was. Numb. Have you broken it? You wouldn’t be surprised if it was, that was the usual hand you used to support the layering shield you casted, but the curse somehow broke the last layer resulting in you taking most of the damage compared to your counterpart.

“Y/N?” Fushiguro quietly muttered, as he kneeled down next to your body leading your eyes to shift back to your partner, who now expressed a face of pure concern as well as vexation combined causing you to come to the realisation that you were going to have a lecture at this moment in time.

‘I swear, sometimes he could be my dad rather than my boyfriend’

“What the hell was that? You shouldn’t have been so reckless!” Fushiguro yelled in frustration, causing you to look at the stoic sorcerer with sharpened eyes with a warning glare pending. In his defence, you completely understood why he was irritated at you, you threw yourself out there in front of an attack that you probably knew you couldn’t completely cover since the shield wouldn’t develop fully due to the small space of time you have. However, in your defence, Fushiguro was completely vulnerable at that moment and if he took the attack head-on, you knew he wouldn’t be standing right now or probably worse.

“You were on the ground, what else could I have done?” you questioned in a whisper tone, knowing if you had shouted at the shikigami user, you would either feel the pain of your injuries again and Fushiguro will yell at you more for being ‘irresponsible’ while also feeling the pain of his injuries that he had also sustained before you protected him.

“You didn’t have to jump in front of me like that! Are you stupid?” Fushiguro angrily asked while unable to hide the crack in his voice, leading you to slowly but carefully lift up your right hand to gently wipe away the stray tear that was slowly breaking down his composure. 

Since the start of your relationship, you never once saw Fushiguro tear up in front of your very eyes. You have seen his mind swim through guilt and pain, every jujutsu sorcerer has once or maybe twice in their career. However, tears were a whole nother thing for you. There was no point in arguing with him now.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologised to him while cradling his face with the same hand you used to wipe the clear tear away. “sorcerers rarely die without regrets, and if I didn’t protect you, I will regret that with my whole being Megumi,” you explained, knowing it wouldn’t get to him but it was nice to voice out your opinion, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“I can’t lose you Y/N! I nearly lost my sister but she’s not waking up, I can’t lose you in the process!” Fushiguro screamed, leading to his agony to echo throughout the open area you both were currently located leading to some of the birds, who were looking down upon the scene, to fly away in fright while the stream that was near couldn’t conceal any hint of pain in his voice.

Tenderly, you moved your hand from his cheek to the back of his head before pulling him in to rest his forehead on your shoulder, knowing right now that Fushiguro didn’t want the world to see his helpless state even if there was no one but you to witness it. Leaning your head on his, you felt his erratic but soft locks brush against your cheek while his face buried further into the crook of your neck causing you to feel the sensation of damp tears seeping through your white dress shirt.

Steadily, Fushiguro's position dropped causing him to lean on your body slightly but made sure he didn’t make any contact with your left arm in any way as he began to relax in your hold. Even though Fushiguro wanted to prove himself that what you did was rash and heedless, there was a purpose to it. If you hadn’t moved yourself or put that protective spell in front of him, he would have either been in a worse condition than you were in right now or worse as you had hinted in your reasoning.

“Even though you tell me that you can’t lose me, I can’t lose you too Megumi, even if I die, I can’t make the world lose you,” you informed him as your use your hand to brush the bottom of his hair as you bit your lip to hold the tears that were threatening to pour down your face. “Besides, you look like you're not in good shape as well,” you joked with him in a humorous tone, trying to make the tense and suffocating atmosphere lighter - even that comment made Fushiguro’s lips tilt upward slightly knowing what you were trying to do.

“That’s not shocking, you’ve seen me injured many times,” Fushiguro commented back, causing you to giggle slightly before wincing as a shock of pain travelled up your spine leading you to come to the conclusion that you might have also gained some bruised ribs as well. Fushiguro quickly moved away from your body much to your disapproval, before taking your hand from the back of his head to his, as he began to interlock your fingers together as he then looked down at your connecting hands as a way to confirm that you were really here with him, savouring the warmth that was travelling through your hand to his.

“Let’s not lose each other, okay?” he asked in a whispered tone, knowing in some way it was possible for the promise to come true even when the chances were extremely slim.

“Yeah, let’s not lose each other”

[angelkurenai]

Summertime love - Steve Rogers x Reader

Title: Summertime love

Pairing: Bodyguard!Steve Rogers x Celebrity!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: When the spotlight proves to be too much, you come to the conclusion that vacation is a must. No vacation will ever be truly relaxing and enjoyable, though, if your favorite bodyguard isn’t by your side, even in one of the most beautiful places of Italy. And if you happen to flirt with him and tease him into admitting his feelings for you, then no harm done. Unless there is some poor soul that walks in on you that is.

“Ah Italy, always so wonderful. Peaceful and sunny, just the way it should be. How not to love it?” you took in a deep breath, smiling as you took in the sight around you. The small town had too many wonders that you really looked forward to finding out yourself and taking your time to enjoy them. You were in no rush after all, neither to end your vacation nor to end your time- no, correction, your alone time with your beloved bodyguard. That, in fact, you planned on making last as long as possible.

“Oh yes, very peaceful. I'm sure Sam and Bucky really have the same opinion. Especially if you think about the airport this morning, they really haven't spent a more peaceful morning in their lives.” said bodyguard couldn't help but add with a small smile lifting the corner of his lips.

“Fortunately for me I won't be hearing any of their complains anytime soon. And besides that, I've given them the entire month off and paid for their vacation. I don't think there is a reason for them to complain, just enjoy their time... wherever they are.” you shrugged, fanning your face with your hand so as to make up even a little bit for the lack of a small breeze that you would very much appreciate under the burning sun. Not that you were really complaining.

“Here.” he said softly, handing you a cold beverage which you didn't even think to question before taking gratefully “Well-” he placed the bags with the sweets and drinks you had specifically made a stop for in the car (not that you had needed to argue a lot over that, the moment you asked Steve was instantly making the driver change his route) before fixing his sunglasses and turned to you once more “For what it's worth, your fans we will never be able to predict or understand, sure, but it's you we gotta be more careful with after all. What was all that for?”

“Oh come on, Stevie.” you smiled as sweetly as you possibly could at him but after all these years you doubted there really was any convincing him for a thing with that look, surprising as it may be for a man who you had wrapped around your little finger “Is it wrong to want to take a photo or two or a thousand with the fans? They've all been waiting so long to see me there. I'm on vacation anyway, a couple extra minutes there wouldn't hurt. I mean, how dangerous could it get?”

“Very. Especially when we had not taken the right precautions ahead of time.” he said, and although you couldn't see his eyes behind his glasses, you felt them burning a whole on your head from how intense they were. Leave it to Steve Rogers to always be on duty, even on vacation.

“Fans and paps are an everyday thing, Steve. You know, I invited you over in hopes that you'd relax but Steve, in all honesty, if you can't for once go on vacation- real vacation, then I think I should just fire you!”

“I really don't even want to think about the paparazzi, thank you very much.” he sighed, completely ignoring the second question because he knew, both of you did, that you couldn't really function without one another anymore “We chose Crema for a reason, let's hope nobody makes an appearance.”

“That makes it two of us. I chose you for one reason. Alright, maybe two. One being that you care so much about my safety and whatnot.”

“And what's the other one?”

“I might need the protection, sure, who knows. But I couldn't have Bucky or Sam around when I go skinny dipping, obviously.” you said so casually that it would have taken some time for anybody else to catch, but Steve was always an attentive listener so it registered instantly. And it was certainly quiet the sight to see his body stiffen up and the muscles in his face shift. Oh how you'd give everything to see the way he was looking at you behind his glasses. “What?” you asked so innocently that, really, there was no innocence there.

“I-” he cleared his throat “I see you've got... quiet the plans for your vacation.”

“Why, yes!” you said cheerfully “And that's only the beginning, darling. You have no idea what I have in mind although you will find out in due time.” you winked at him and he made an adorable sound before looking away “Ah but yes, see-” you sighed “I couldn't have Bucky or Sam around that time you know? Unless you'd like me to replace you, of course, then I could-”

“No.” maybe he said that faster and more possessive than he intended but it was out there now “No, no it's-” he cleared his throat “It's my responsibility. That and-” he sighed, despite or maybe because of the situation “I'll do my best to keep any paps away when you... when you uh... you know.”

“Hmh” you hummed, biting your lower lip “Oh I do know, Steve, trust me.” you could barely hide your smile “But-” you perked up “Don't worry. I'm all yours this month, anyway.” you said with smile, earning a soft chuckle from him “Open to all suggestions and even more finishing what we started on the plane two months ago.”

“I don't doubt that.” he laughed a bit, looking away from you but you were fast in taking notice of the way his face turned a shade more red “I suppose I rather look forward to it.” but you weren't too focused to hear that sadly and he was fast to get back to seriousness, giving a nod to the driver.

“Pronto ad andare?” the man asked.

“Sì grazie.” he unbuttoned the one button of his suit “Lo apprezzeremmo se potessi sbrigarti, per favore.”

“Si signore.” the man nodded and you watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. Steve opened the door for you and only after he had entered the car and taken notice of the look you were giving him did he speak to you.

“What?” he asked with an adorable frown.

“I didn't know you-” you stopped yourself, biting your lip before changing your words “Just how many languages do you speak, that I don't know of, Rogers?”

A soft chuckle left his lips, effortless, as he casually took off his glasses and looked at you in such a charming way you didn't know how you didn't grab him by that damn black tie – which you could swear was always taunting you – and crashed your lips to his. Especially when he spoke to you.

“I suppose you'll have to figure that out on your own, won't you?”

His smile could be considered sweet but there was no innocence behind his words or eyes. No matter how much he tried to hide it, something had really changed after that plane travel, even if all you'd done was sit on his lap and flirt all you could by taking off his jacket and tie.

“It's only a matter of where then, I suppose.” you on the other hand didn't hide your smirk as you took a sip of your drink through the straw.

Steve tried to hide his smile the best he could, putting his glasses back on and looking outside the window as you started off to your destination once more. A destination you hoped would be as isolated as possible, especially if your bodyguard kept biting his lip that way, you knew you weren't going to hold back for long.

Thankfully, for your own poor heart, the driver made sure to pick his speed up and you had reached said destination no later than 45 minutes later. But you were sure that had it taken longer, the sight would have still been well worth it. The city itself had been captivating but this place? You could live here for the rest of your life. It was quiet and calm and warm that you instantly found yourself relaxing.

“Ciao!”

“Buongiorno! Welcome!” the lady, no older than 35, greeted you both with a bright smile that mirror the man's next to her – her husband as far as you knew and the one Steve had contacted to book the two rooms they had to offer.

“Buongiorno!” Steve smiled at them, giving them both a handshake soon followed by you “Uh Sono Steve Rogers e questa è Miss (Y/n) (Y/l/n). È così bello conoscerti finalmente. Grazie mille per le stanze!”

“Oh” they both laughed a bit “We certainly know of Miss (Y/l/n), fear not!”

“Oh you speak English, great!” you said full of relief, earning another soft laugh from both of them “I though I was going to get lost within the first day here!”

“Oh fear not. You'll find that if you get lost you will still enjoy it!” the woman said with a laugh and you smiled widely. You were sure that if you got lost with Steve somewhere close to that lake, all alone, you wouldn't mind. “Please, come in! Let us show you around and to your rooms!”

And follow you did, even though your mind lingered back to the sight that had caught your eyes in the back of the great house – motel? - and you couldn't stop thinking about. You couldn't fully engage into the conversation but the plan you had in mind and the excitement you felt at thinking about it and glancing at Steve, was well worth it.

It was barely two hours later that you found yourself only a couple feet away from executing said plan, too.

You didn't really like to thin of it as that, because it made you feel as if you were taking advantage of some situation but on the other hand Steve had not been of any help either. If anything he seemed to do the most he could to push you in said direction. Why did he even have to chose a bedroom directly linked to yours through a shared bathroom, too? Every sense of privacy had long ago gone straight out of the window with the man and you had accepted it, but you couldn't keep walking this thin line of almost love. It was either personal, very personal, or professional. No in between anymore.

“I can't believe you're in that hideous suit of yours, still!” you exclaimed, startling him.

“I though you liked the suit. Maybe a little too much.” he said with a small smirk that only seemed adorable on him – especially as he squinted at the sun that peaked through the trees of peaches close to you.

“Oh don't get me wrong. I love the suit, and I'd love it more if you'd loosened up the looks when we were alone as you may already know, but-” you set your drink on the small table, your book and glasses beside it “We're on vacation now, Steve, and the sun is burning. Don't you feel like suffocating in that thing?”

“Well, I see that you wasted no time yourself.” he pointed out, almost unable to hold back the words that poured out just like his emotions, eyes sparkling as he smiled sweetly at you when he took notice of the yellow floral button up shirt that reached your mid-thigh “You look wonderful, by the way.” he points out and you do nothing to hold back your smile.

“Thank you, I couldn't wait to get rid of all those layers of fancy clothes and slip onto my official vacation clothes. I did far too fast, though, and didn't wait for you help. I hope you'll forgive me for that?” you gave him a sweet but far from innocent smile and you were sure the man caught it. Because the way he looked down and laughed, hands tucked in his pockets, was the exact proof.

“Well-” he cleared his throat and he hesitated, you could swear he hesitated and he did out of nervousness, before he said “Maybe next time.”

Once the words had left his lips, a shiver run down your spine like an electric current. More shocking than anything you'd ever experienced in your life and definitely in the most pleasant way you could have experienced it. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him because you'd known the man for very long, so long that you trusted him with your life day and night without a second thought – both literally and metaphorically, and he had never been so forward before. Maybe your efforts had finally started to pay off and it made you giddy and eager for more. More of this Steve, the relaxed and open man that aside from his beliefs and opinions, he would let you know more of his feelings too.

“Anyway.” he cleared his throat fast enough – or was it a good couple seconds already? - and looked away “As for the suit, you know I'm still officially at work so that's a good enough reason to keep it but I plan to change later, don't worry. I can tell vacation from work, you'll see.”

“Ah so that means that if I say a bad word you're not going to go “Language!” on me for it?” you smirked, starting to unbutton your shirt, grinning when you saw him sigh heavily and hang his head.

“That's not going away anytime soon, is it?” he looked at you through his lases with a cute smile and you shook your head with a grin of your own.

“Hell no. I even told Stark, already!” you giggled and he groaned even louder, shaking his head.

“Then you might as well have told the entire world.”

“I'm sure SHIELD won't mind if one of their best bodyguards is old-fashioned or not, to be honest.” you shrugged, already making your way to the two chairs, only two buttons left from your shirt “But yeah, Tony is going to tell everyone for sure.”

“You know sometimes I really think you enjoy torturing me.”

“Really? What would ever give you that idea.” you tease the man with a clear smile as you let the shirt drop to the chair and walked past him. Had you looked at him you'd have seen him parting his lips to speak back but the ony thing you caught was something like a choking sound, which made you turn to face him. “Yes?”

“Wh- wha- what a-are you-” it was hard for him to get three words out, let alone a full sentence, but his eyes were too adorably wide – combined with that beautiful blush – for you to care about it.

“What?” you smiled sweetly “Oh do you like it?” you placed your hands on your hips for a small pose “I saw it just a week before we left and I couldn't resist, I wanted to buy it. Might be a bit tiny, sure, but I love the color.” you looked down at your yellow bikini adorned by the small red flowers before looking back at him “Pretty, isn't it? I hope it looks just as good on me...”

You trailed off and looked at him expectingly. It took him a couple seconds to stutter out an answer and all the while you were captivated by how adorably flustered he was and how cute his red face was. “You look stunning.”

“Why, thank you!” you leaned up to kiss his cheek “Anyway, I wanted to try out the... pool? Don't know if that's what it is but I saw it, loved it and... here I am!” you said cheerfully and it didn't take much time for you to dive in completely, enjoying the warm yet very refreshing water against your skin that made goosebumps form at first. “Wow” you breathed out when your head broke from the surface “The water is indeed amazing, Steve. Oh I could stay here forever.” you said, swimming smoothly but not getting far away from your bodyguard.

“Well, glad you think so.” he mumbled. But it wasn't his words you payed attention to, ratehr the way he avoided looking at you that had you smiling even more.

“Come on, you can figure out for yourself!” you giggled, splashing him with some water that he laughed at while trying to avoid “Come on, Steve.” you smiled widely up at him – effectively stealing his breath away by how you sparkled under the sun, literally and metaphorically “There's plenty of place, go change and-”

“Oh no, no.” he shook his head, clearing his throat more out of habit and nerves than anything else “No, I'm not-” he rubbed the back of his neck “I'm good here. Thank you.”

“What?” you exclaimed “You mean you're going to stand there in that suit the whole time?!” before he even got the chance to speak up you were rushing out of the water – which didn't really help in his situation because the only thing worse than a bikini was a wet bikini on you – and making your way to him all the while he tried to make it less obvious that he was avoiding looking at your body “Come here!”

“(Y/n), I'm really-”

“No. Nope.” you cut him off “This is not happening, not under my watch. You're relaxing, Rogers, whatever it takes. I won't rest until I make sure of that. And the first step is getting inside that pool with me right now.”

“No, (Y/n), I really think I'm quiet fine wi-” but he didn't get to complete his sentence because a sound that was something like a mix of a squeak and a yelp left his lips and he jumped when felt your hands slip on the belt of his suit. He had been used to you taking off his suit jacket and his tie but this you hadn't gotten the opportunity to do yet and so he had definitely not seen coming. “Wha- what are you doing?”

“What does it look like to you? I don't think you've got such a dirty mind unless you've spent too much time with Stark, that is.” you grinned up at him before winking, not once stopping from you work of undoing his belt “You have to undress to get in, Steve, come on.”

“N-No, I- I think I'm quiet good he-”

“Wait-” you paused, biting your lip “You are wearing underwear, right? It's not because you're not wearing anything underneath that you're so squirmy all of a sudden, right?”

“Wha-” he gasped “Yes, yes of course I am!” if possible he turned even more red and you giggled more.

“Oh alright then. I mean... shame if you ask me but-” you shrugged “I'll get a full disclosure later, right?”

“Wh- (Y/n), what are you say- What- Will you stop that?” his eye were wide as he glanced behind his shoulder “We're not exactly alone you know, I can't just undress and join you in the pool. It's both very unprofessional and- and- How will I explain this is anyone walks up to us or sees us o-or-”

“Oh Steve but it's just the two of us. Our lovey hosts are in the city. Left ten minutes ago. And Mafalda is not going to come out of her kitchen anytime soon. We are all alone. Come on Steve, everything's fine. And besides, you'll see I am really good with my hands. Undressing-wise... at least speaking for.” you tugged at his belt that you had already undone, eyes locked with his “Unless you don't like our alone time?”

The man held his breath for a long moment, awfully long for you too, before he brought he brought a hand up to his tie, hooked a finger to loosen it while looking away and around. The smile was evident on his lips and voice as he spoke in a whisper “Oh I love it more than anything.”

[somelittlewhitebird]

okay so i really hate the once upon a time interpretation of peter pan now that i look back on it and i must rant about it

okay, so, for context, i was a huge fan of the ouat pan back when i was about 12-15 years old. looking back, i probably was fascinated by him because he was the fictional crush of my two crushes at the time (i was a mess at that age and i don’t think i should elaborate on it), so i can’t remember exactly how sincere my liking for him was. however, i wrote many unpublished fanfiction of him and attempted to roleplay him often in roleplay groups, anyway i was really fixated but looking back i realize how stupid it is if it’s to be counted as a genuine adaptation (i know it isn’t because it’s once upon a time, but, that’s irrelevant because i’m counting it as one anyway)

okay, so, (spoilers), peter pan in ouat is a villain. (great! i like people who agree with me on peter’s evilness!!) however, he is very... collected? strategic? neutral evil? he behaves much like an adult - which is later explained because apparently he actually is an adult who just pretends to be a teenager.

tinkerbell barely knows him, hook and peter view each other mostly neutral for enemies and hold no deep seated hatred for one another, oh and peter’s shadow is actually the evil one except that it isn’t really because pan is rumplestiltskin’s father and he abandoned him and since he is kind of the worst parent ever you can’t really pretend he’s not evil.

there’s a lot i have to say on this, but firstly: making peter “actually an adult” just does not work in my opinion and feels like an extremely lazy way to try and make pan more evil to me.

the whole conflict/plot in the book stems from childhood vs. adulthood, and how both have good and bad parts regarding it, and how it are two completely different states of mind that have difficulty understanding one another. peter is scary because he is as whimsical and full of potential as children; he's essentially nothing yet and thus he is everything, making him hard to understand or predict. hook is scary because he is cruel in a different way - he is more predictable, but also much colder and cynical. by removing this duality and changing it into "well actually they're just exactly the same thing except that one of them pretends not to be", you don't add another layer, you remove one of the layers and make it less interesting. peter was always scary and unpredictable, because children aren’t inherently good and nice. kids can be mean and sadistic and unpredictable - not quite realizing what consequences your actions have brings a certain impulsivity. children have intense emotions that may seem erratic and are just as quickly forgotten after. young children may be greedy and not feel that attached to other people yet, they can suddenly turn mean and taunting just to see what happens because of the never ending curiosity that plagues a child’s mind. of course, not all children are like this, but peter was described as such. now, give someone like that an immense amount of power, such as, say, controlling everything in the dimension they live in, with no consequences of their actions that negatively affect them at all - and you have a chaotic force possibly hindering your every move.

ouat didn’t use that concept, though? instead, pan poses as a smug teenager, who despite some catch phrases that sound vaguely childish doesn’t behave like a child at all. he never runs after his introduction, he rarely actually laughs instead of chuckling, he doesn’t do impulsive and erratic things at any point, and he’s not actually that scary to make up for it, either? it all feels like lazy twists to me wherein the authors tried to do what was least expected, but they made no use of the already existing factors that could’ve made pan and neverland scarier.

also, all the children cry on neverland because they’re home sick?? but there’s also this vague implication that i hope i didn’t imagine that all the lost boys came from extremely shitty homes? and even if they didn’t, really? that’s how you tried to make neverland scary?

neverland in the book had many implications that made it horrifying!! it was described as if the entire island was actually alive, as if it was one creature that could seek out people to let on there. the longer the main characters stay there, the more they forget about their lives before neverland. it cannot be found and instead finds you. you need to scare it away with night lights because otherwise the wall between neverland and this world may crack at night and drag you in. the island appears to be constantly changing and time works extremely weirdly on there - people grow much slower, yet plants grow much quicker, the island comes alive only when peter is there, and just... it comes off as some sort of fae trap and although i don’t expect much from ouat, even less so for them to use my extremely specific headcanons for this story, i feel like there is so much unused potential in both peter and neverland. (and tink and hook for that matter - as well as wendy to some degree, though i actually think she’s done quite nicely in the show so i’ll give them credit for that)

[jjkpls]

set your world alight (m)

genre : fluff, smut, tiny lil bit of angst

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

word count : 24k (eye-)

warnings/content : mentions of bruises, mature language, long haired jaykay, awkwardness & cutesy overload, clumsy frustrating idiot(s), bratty reader, explicit sexual content (fingering, handjob, protected penetrative sex), HARRYPOTTER!AU (i cant believe i forgot to precise that in the teasers), jeon as charlie weasley, pretty much.

Jeon Jungkook is a mystery. Master of dragons. Long dark locks hiding a face most have never seen. Skin covered in scars. A brave, unpenetrable, curious being that you don’t know much about for, the very few times you’ve seen him in your life, you didn’t dare talk to him. Of course, you’d have the fatest crush on him.

“If we add roses instead of eucalyptus, wouldn't it turn into a love potion?”

You could have predicted it. If you were to have spent your evening scribbling the course that this morning, with the introducing of a new potion to your year 6 class, would take, solely based on intuition and experience, you would have gotten it right. Down to who's asking the question. 

“No, it won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Are you? After having spent your whole schooling career in Hogwarts, having studied the art of potion-making for five years filled with internships in the four corners of this Earth, in the greatest House of Potions there are, are you sure?

You could say all that. You could even tell to this annoying Gryffindor to shut the hell up because everyone, and you first, can’t stand to hear her voice anymore, interrupting constantly every lesson either with pointless questions or with obnoxious jabber.

But you don’t. Obviously, you don’t. 

“For now, let’s just focus on learning what the actual recipe is. We’ll worry about interchanging ingredients later.”

Which is almost a lie. You won’t ever do that with them. You have your tight program, with a limited amount of recipes, that you’re supposed to go through with them. And creating new potions, or adapting already existing one to discover new effects are not on the plan. Not with Mrs Umbridge watching closely over every Hogwarts teachers' shoulders. 

If they ever still find themselves obsessed with their dating life and enlarged pores once they'll be done with school, they will worry, on their very own, about creating the magic juices and ointments they need -given their lack of attention, investment and overall talent, you do sincerely hope they drop it because the results might lead to catastrophes but that's beside the point. 

Miss Gryffindor sighs loudly. Turning slightly on her chair to roll her eyes to her friends, who snicker along, they’re whispering Merlin knows what about you and you’re just left there, trying to find your way back to the lesson without losing too much of your composure. 

It doesn’t take you so much effort because unfortunately you are used to this. This class of Gryffindor is terrible. In your couple of years of teaching, you’ve never fallen upon a class filled with so many disinterested, awfully rude teenagers. Naively, when you just walked out of Hogwarts yourself almost ten years ago, when you were wondering with a certain dreadful desperation, what path to head for, you had finally chosen the teaching one, believing that by the time you’ll become a teacher, you’ll be old enough and teenagers would stop being scary by then, you might even grow a little fond of them, embodiment of a something long time gone, of nostalgia. 

You were wrong. At twenty-six, you still feel like a barely done with teenagehood human, hardly an adult yet. The weapons you thought you’d gather along the way didn’t appear in your robe’s pockets as you thought they would. 

Instead, you only have one, effective on an immediate use, but pretty useless on the long run: a monk’s patience. 

You can ignore them. When they’re being so aggravating, you consider sometimes taking a hundred points away from their house -but you don’t because you’ll have to justify to the very biased Head of Gryffindor and fucking Umbridge-, you can ignore them. It’s the most effective way to react as it doesn’t feed them much, they just get annoyed with your unresponsiveness and decide to contain their disruption between themselves. The thing is, the steam has to blow some way, somehow. It’s fine when you can wake up early and spend an hour or so meditating, to gather all of your monk's potential, or if you ever have a Draught of Peace laying around, that can help too. 

These days, it’s just harder to meditate, to try and keep your mind light, unbothered and calmly content.

So much harder that by the end of the class, only fifteen minutes left, you snap and end up taking off ten points from Gryffindors. 

There’s a lot of whining, of strident eruptions of indignation, however, you’re smart enough to do it the moment you’re dismissing your class and they have to leave, sulking and hating you with a passion, for their next lesson. 

“What have you done?” It’s Taehyung asking. He has a little alarmed look shading his abnormally handsome face, but a tiny little tremble of the corner of his mouth gives him away. 

“Ten points.” You state with a bored raised of your eyebrows. What a bunch of babies. 

“You suck. They’re going to hate me too, now.”

Which is not true. Immature profiles like them would tend to hate a teacher simply by association -it is to say that Taehyung is well known to be always stuck to your shoes, you grew up together anyway- but they would never Taehyung. He’s too handsome, has a voice way too sultry, too much charisma for anyone to hate him, especially his students. They can't stand his lessons though. He’s the worst option for a History of Magic teacher. He is passionate about his studies, really really passionate. Therefore his classes, in summarise, turn into him ranting non-stop, jumping from the main point to tiny insignificant streams made of pointless anecdotes that leave his students lost and confused, holes in their parchments, hands burning from their poor attempt at trying to take notes. His classes are Hell, made of boredom and confounding. The only upside being that he’s very nice to look at. He’s like an ancient mage stuck inside an elf body. 

“Do you know how many times this year I’ve had to tell them that ‘no, this potion that has nothing to do with a love potion can’t be turned into one’? Why do I have to deal with their hormones all the time, seriously?”

“You mean, on top of yours?” It freezes you on the spot You could have heard that coming, with the big old ton-heavy boots. You don’t bother looking up from your papers you are reorganising. It’s pointless because you already know what you’d see. The smart ass’s shit-eating grin, singularly square at the edges, with the mischievous squinted eyes and subjective dance of the eyebrows. 

“Shut up.”

“I can’t. I know you love talking about him since you don’t talk to him.”

The shame is burning the back of your neck. It’s climbing up your cheeks, taking over your ears in the process. If there’s one person who does wonders at not-making-you-feel-like-an-adult, it’s Kim Taehyung. Because of course he saw you grow up, and of course, he’s noticed that the timid, coward of a little Ravenclaw you used to be, hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re so mean.”

“Am not too.” He giggles as he leaps from the front table he had been sitting on to your desk, where he takes a seat, not caring about your quill holder that he knocks down. “You’re never going to try?” 

“I don’t know, Tae.”

“He doesn’t look mean. A bit gruff but I guess that’s what living like a wild creature surrounded by the wildest creatures makes you look like.” 

You hum non-committally. You have come to the same conclusion already. But you hate the idea that you could be right because it gives you one less reason to not dare approach him. “He must be nice.”

“He must?” You cackle a bit. He doesn’t even sound so sure of this statement. Taehyung smiles along, shrugging with a tilt of his head. 

“Well, I don’t know. But you have to talk to him. Soon he’ll be portkeying back to his Transylvania-“

“Romania.”

“-you won’t see him ever again. And also, seriously, it’s been like, what, three months since he’s back?”

“Actually, it’s been barely a month.” The idiot is pretending, with a grandiloquent theatrical performance, that he doesn’t believe you, that somehow you’re trying to deceive him. And it’s ridiculous because no matter how dramatic he always aims to be, no matter how long indeed this whole pinning over the pretty guy without having the courage to act on your feelings has been lasting, it still has not been three months. It’s been three weeks and four days, not that you're counting. 

He arrived on a rainy Friday morning, you remember it well because the wet weather agitated the frogs an awful lot and you ended up spending your ten minutes of break between two classes, on all fours, crawling along the hallways of Hogwarts to try and retrieve three escapees. 

A real joy. 

Especially when he appeared at the end of the hallway. Soaked to the bones but not seemingly caring, as opposed to Mr Filch who seemed even angrier than he usually does. You barely recognised him, from so far, looking up from the ground, with the hood of his heavy coat low above his eyes, nothing peculiar in his appearance that would give him away, not a word uttered that could have helped. Until he turned the corner of the hallway, and the emblem of this foreign school of wizardry appeared. With the purple embroidery contouring the white seagull, it just clicked. You remembered the rumours spreading wildly, excitedly around the castle, that despite the very vindicative Mrs Umbridge's opinion, dragons would be introduced this year to the course of Care for the Magical Creatures and real dragons, seen by their master, would be flying to you and inhabit the grounds of Hogwarts for this semester.

And of course, it would be him. With his impressive resume, or that unauthorised biography written about him by that one stingy journalist singing his lauds that you could read anywhere -there was even a version, presented as fiction, that’s been published in the muggle world- and also, his first and last visit to Hogwarts, two years ago, for the Triwizard Tournament when he proved his talent and bravery in front of all by forcefully regaining control over a Horntail that was just about to chew a few students’ heads off after having eluded his chains -and conveniently, it's also the same time when you fell head over heels for the stranger. 

It was ridiculous because you never talked to the guy. But two years later, just his silhouette and the bouncing of his heavy head of curls you have to come to the shameful acknowledgement that your heart hasn’t gotten over the crush. 

It’s ridiculous. 

It precisely why you shouldn’t have talked about it to anyone. It’s just too hard to keep anything from Kim Taehyung though. Even if your life would have been so much easier if you’d only have to listen to your own nagging about this and not his. 

“You’re going to end up as a crazy old spinster if you keep acting like that.”

“And you’re going to be late for your class if you keep on bothering me.”

“I don’t have a class.” Taehyung stares, dubiously. Now that you don’t have to face head-on your shame, attention slightly steered away from your useless self, you can stare back, glare even, as you challenge him with a raised eyebrow. 

“You do.”

You relish in the sickly white suddenly brushing all over his face. He curses under his breath, grabbing his briefcase with one of his gigantic hands, before he’s flying out of your classroom. 

Quite frankly, you’re not sure if he does have a class at the moment. You do know for a fact that he doesn’t know either because strangely enough, for a teacher whose whole subject depends on memory and a good one at that, he’s never been able to memorise his planning. 

An easy escape you’ve come up with. 

Everyone needs those. 

Especially whoever’s having their ears talked off by the crazy old howl, Umbridge, down the corridor. You can hear her from your room, even with the door almost shut close. Her whole monologue is hard to decipher. You do hear that it has something to do with “her disapproval” and someone else's “irresponsibility” and “pure lunacy”.

By curiosity, you lean your head through the thin entrance your door is offering, picking discreetly to see who the victim is. 

It's the guy. Jeon Jungkook. Standing with his feet pointing away from Umbridge, hands tucked deep in the pockets of a thick winter vest, you can’t see half of his face because of his hair, as always sitting low down his forehead, but you can tell from the thin line of his mouth, his tensed shoulders and something else, maybe his aura, so loudly screeching annoyance, that he's not having a good time. 

It’s him. And for some reason, for the first time ever, you recall words Taehyung has said to you, loud and clear and pressing and inspiring. You don’t want to become a “crazy old spinster”. Therefore you decide to become a crazy something else you don’t bother to identify right this second.

“Oh, Mrs Umbridge!”

“Miss ___, as you can see, I am already-“

“Oh!” The loud gasp, hand clasping on your gaping mouth, wide eyes completing the look. You can’t find the courage to turn to him to reinforce -in case it wasn’t clear enough- that you just, now that she mentioned it, realise the man was here.

Mrs Umbridge has this quality to her. You find her so awfully ridiculous that you turn yourself in a clown, subtly mocking her -though you don’t think she fathoms it since you’ve always acted this way around her- each time you share any kind of conversation.

It can work and you can go along with your usual antics only if you forget the obnoxiously troubling presence of the dragon master.

“I am so deeply embarrassed, I didn’t realise. I’m not wearing my glasses, I’m an incorrigible mole without them.”

“Is that so?” From above the frame of her pink glasses, her beady eyes scrutinize. “You should wear them on your nose then, Miss ___. Now, if you will-“

“I’m sorry, I needed- It’s very important.” You cut her off with such speed and enthusiasm, you know she can't shut you off. “After discussing with my students about the program, I thought about something. Maybe I could introduce a new-“ “Miss ___!” She screeches, the triggering words -”introduce” and “new”- having hit perfectly right. “The program, as you owe to know, has been carefully crafted by the great Minister for Magic and doesn’t need for an airheaded little teacher like you to add any changes to it.”

“Oh yes, of course, how could I forget?”

“It is bad enough as it is that this foolish Hagrid has been able to convince my confreres of bringing a useless study on the most dangerous creatures there is-“ She pointedly glare from the corner of her eyes to the man who remains silent and immobile. His hands haven’t moved from the depth of his pockets, you can’t see his eyes even up close, because the curtain of dark curls hiding them is even thicker than it looked like from the other end of the hallway. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered. You wonder if he’s even listening. Barely swinging on his long legs, waiting for his presence to be dismissed it seems.

“Dragons are quite interesting creatures. I suppose that’s why they were added to the program. The Ministry for Magic must have thought so too since they voted...”

She gnarls at that. She tries to be discreet, conceals a bit of her spite but there’s no doubt in your mind that her mouth's just filled up with a distasteful repellent aftertaste.

Since the main goal was to distract her from him and free him from her claws, you start again with the suggestions for a revised scholar program. Her cheeks grow pinker than her jacket, her eyes start reflecting a fire alike the ones from Hell, her usually perfectly well-combed hair releases a few angry frizzes. She’s beyond herself and without letting you finish your little act, she’s going over all the things that are so wrong about you, about Hogwarts teachers in general, about young people and their disrespectful tendency to want to add their little spice to every tea.

You take the nagging like a champ. Because you’re used to it and to be perfectly fair, you’ve mastered a certain state of meditation whenever she’s coming your way with some complaining.

None of her words successfully reach you to stick around.

She holds strong for a good, fat fifteen minutes. At some point, you even worry that this time, her pit of nonsensical arguments won’t ever show a bottom. Until it does.

She looks all dishevelled from her heated argument. The hair worsened, with now drops of perspiration shining on her forehead. The mean beady eyes are dull, exhausted from the fight as she contemplates the void between you and the man. With a last dismissive wave of her hand, she leaves, stumbling on top of her lacquered Fuschia heels.

How can someone work themselves up so badly with so little provocation -and no further response too?

It leaves you alone with the dragon master and only now, even though you had plenty of time to take in this present, you realise how inconvenient for your coward self the predicament is. You are meant to talk to him now, aren’t you? Maybe the same question raises in his mind however he certainly doesn’t reach the same conclusion. Deeming it unnecessary, he turns his back to you and heads down the hall without much of a look spared to you. Maybe he did check, through or maybe under the impenetrable curtain of hair, for the identity of the idiot that thought he needed help to escape the annoying old owl but you wouldn’t know.

Watching in pure despair, your heart prickling uncomfortably in your bosom, you wonder if you somehow upset him. He did look irked from what you could tell. Anyone else, anyone less grumpy, anyone feeling anything but discomfort or discontent would have said something, wouldn’t they?

That’s what you explain to Kim Taehyung. Emphasising on the fact that you did try to approach the guy. You did. You created the situation, you faced him fully, you did miss the moment when you were probably supposed to say something to him but he left, too soon, and clearly is not interested in getting to know you, and whatever, you’re fine with that you just want your friend to note and remember for later reference that you did try this time.

Taehyung who’s never keen on trusting your words, no matter the fact that you’ve never lied to him -or maybe just a few times so he would leave you alone, but nothing major really- decides that you are wrong. That somehow you misinterpreted the whole thing and surely you need to hop back on the horse and try, again, maybe this time more vindictively.

It takes quite a couple of days for him to convince you. You’re not sure how. It might be from exhaustion, it might come from those three too many butterbeers you drank even though you didn’t remember ordering, back when you were gloomily celebrating your never-ending celibacy in Jjang Jjang -the magical bar held by your friend, Min Yoongi, in the far end of Hogsmead.

You promise that if an opportunity appears to be showing the very tip of its nose, if the universe is kind -and delusional- enough to gift you another chance, then you would try.

It’s funny how the laws of attraction work. Or rather, probably more accurately, it’s funny how Taehyung can be so shameless and volunteer when he has his mind set on something. He has no problem manipulating people and situations as if the universe is his and he decides whatever happens to the little pawns inhabiting it.

A week later, when he, the dragon master, is the curious apparition manifesting itself in front of you when you open the door to let your class free, it doesn’t fall into place right away.

It’s a strange coincidence. Maybe he messed up and meant to find another classroom, any other classroom but yours. He doesn’t budge when he sees you, doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He only takes a step to the side once he realises that a wave of hurried teenagers is about to swarm him in their way out.

“Miss, are we still going to study this potion next time or will we move to something more interesting?” It’s that same Gryffindor. The same as usual. She’s just made of attitudes, eye rolls, hand on the hip and all.

“Once you’ll be able to make it without cooking a hole in your cauldron, we’ll be starting with a new one.”

You’re snarkier than usual, there’s no denying that. It’s your fifth class of the day, everyone seems to have signed an agreement on messing with your patience and he’s here, hearing and seeing an umpteenth attempt to humiliate you from this kid and you’re not having it right now, not today. She grows red on the cheeks, eyebrows frowning dangerously low, they might fall from her face when she barks, “I told you the hole was already there!”

“I understand. Next time, I’ll lend you my old cauldron so there won’t be any issue, alright?”

The angry wands she owns for eyes shoot you a good dozen of curses and she departs, with her friends, as angry as ever.

There’s a heavy silence, setting around you both, engulfing you. The wood of the walls, dark and cold, make it old the more uncomfortable until you can not take it anymore. You’re about to mumble something, maybe point out the end of the hall and suggest he tries there, to find whatever or whoever he is looking for. He beats you to it. Having reached the very limit of handling this silence at the same time as you do.

“Good morning.” He starts, clearing his throat. A husky, quiet yet somehow soft voice that he doesn’t seem to have used quite often. “Here’s the stuff for your potions.”

He holds out a strong hand to you, all veiny and sparkled with tiny bruises, a dark bag made of linen held in his fist. If he can see you, he can undoubtedly take in your confusion. You have no idea what “the stuff” is. If it’s a badly expressed thought. If he meant to say, “some stuff” for your potions. Because you’ve never asked for anything from anyone for your potions -even though, the thought crossed your mind that he, with his magical pets, must have some fantastic ingredients for your searches. You don’t know if it just comes from him. If he thought you may need it and generously prepared this for you -you doubt that one highly. The other reason, way more evident, quite obnoxiously obvious actually, that doesn’t reach your brain which is only working at a quarter of its habitual capacity given his standing here, and his smelling like woods and smoky and something subtler, you can’t pinpoint but feel addicted to as soon as it reaches your nostrils, is that someone -Taehyung- must have put him up for it. He must have gone behind your back, mumble some basic potion ingredients knowledge he owns to him and asked him to bring it to you.

“I put my Norvegian Ridgeback's scales in a separate bag because they’re very sharp -and poisonous too- so be careful when you open it.” He’s done talking, he clears his throat again, this time you’re pretty sure it’s out of discomfort as your gaping silently like a dumb fish must not be the easiest response to receive. A little inviting shake of his fist brings you to your senses, and you reach forward to grab the present. Your arm drops down from the surprising weight of the thing, fortunately, as if he expected it, he catches you before you topple over, a hand on your shoulder and the other encasing yours holding the bag, squeezing around your own as he lifts some of the weight up.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.” because you carried it like it was filled with dragons feathers instead -you mean to add.

“It’s fine.” He simply mumbles. You add your free hand to cup the underside of the thing, pressing the whole to your bosom and he lets go there, letting you step inside your room to find a place on a shelf to put it away. You probably take a second to long, your back facing him, as you stand staring at your new possession. It’s the heat remaining on the back of your hand that troubles you. As if not only have his pets decorated the top of his skin with scratches and bruises, they’ve sighed enough fire in his palms for them to forever feel this warm. And he touched you so naturally so. Pressing his large hand around yours that seemed so tiny in comparison. Probably without even acknowledging it while you are shook to your core.

This added to your confusion born from his surprise apparition, are the reasons why, as I said, your brain doesn’t reach its full capacity. Still, the idea that Taehyung is behind it all, that it can’t solely come from this man here, just won’t do in your idiotic head.

You’re enamoured, even more than before, just by a touch and by the gentleness his words hold under the tougher surface. And you decide, that if you turn around and he’s still standing there you’ll ask him out.

You do so, spiralling in slow motion, filled with apprehension. He’s here. His hands back inside the pockets of his jacket, the shadow of a sparkle coming from his eyes, under the heavy protection he’s wearing in front of them.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He’s startled at the call of his name, the top of his mop of hair bouncing slightly and you just find it adorable. Maybe he didn’t expect you to know his name, he must not even know yours. Of course, he could not have expected that you had spent way too long, two years ago, back when he came to Hogwarts for the first time and you had heard his name amid a conversation, trying it out for yourself. Not to wear it out but repeating his name to yourself, appreciating the way the syllabus formed, how they felt so well chosen for each other’s, for him, and the feeling, light heading, that it gave you to pronounce it.

“Would you like to have a drink with me? On Fridays, I like to go to my friend's bar in Hogsmead and I was wondering, maybe you’d like to come?”

More clearing of the throat. It’s stalling the delivery of his answer, you hate it and almost jump to your cooking station to sort out a quick remedy for it. Your heart is beating so furiously, you might pass out and he’s just taking his sweet time to answer. You feel the awkwardness. You don’t see it. You can’t see anything, the bottom of his face not telling any secrets on his feelings. You must look terrifying, red anywhere it’s possible for you to blush, sweating and fidgety like you’re on a Girding Potion bad trip. And he doesn’t show anything. You’d rip the hair out of his eyes if only you could. 

There’s only one telling sign that manifests in the form of his hand, slipping out of his pocket to reach for the back of his neck where it scratches for a bit. 

It’s no. It must be a “no, I’m absolutely not interested and this moment is very awkward”. 

“I have my dragons to exercise. Sorry.” 

“Oh. It’s ok.” It is not. 

You hope, with all your might, that he doesn’t notice how upset you are. Through your prickling eyes, through the trembling pout you try to hide behind a casual smile.

It is terribly not ok but fortunately, he doesn’t stick around. That’s probably the thing you’re the most thankful for at this moment, his laconic tendencies. Anyone else may have tried to say something else to make you feel better, to make you feel like the rejection isn't worth throwing you off one of Hogwarts high tour. Instead, he just quits, swiftly. Leaving you alone to compose yourself back enough to handle your very last class of the day. You manage to feel fine, sort of numbed out for long enough until you don’t have to pretend anymore and you can let all the emotions out. 

Bent over on the wooden tabletop of Yoongi’s bar, you’re crying out your whole soul, face laid in a pool of your own tears, a gentle hand petting awkwardly the top of your head. 

“I hate you Taehyung!” It hardly comes out, half mumbled, half coughed out. The hand on your hair still in the air for a second so he must have got the jest of it until it resumes to its previous activity. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d reject you.” He sighs deeply. “I didn’t even think you’d ask him out!” 

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” You rise from the depth of your despair, hidden in the centre of your crossed arms. Yoongi looks extremely distraught. Your face looks awful, you know. But seeing him this shaken upsets you even more. You feel mad and vengeful and you’d like to flood his shitty bar with your tears to teach him a lesson -you’re not sure which, maybe: don’t look so disgusted when your friends look indeed disgusting, that’s mean- but the realisation downs on you that you cried so much you don’t have any tears left. Just the rashness around your eyes and nose, no snot left because Yoongi had maternally cleaned it for you, tiny pathetic sniffling around nothing but heartbreak now. 

“He sent him to me!” You bark, punching Taehyung in the shoulder, not caring the least that half of his drink gets spilt everywhere. 

“You didn’t have to just ask him out! You could have just, I don’t know (he pretends to think deeply, the tip of his fingers tapping lightly his chin), talk to him! Like a normal person that’s never spoken to him would have done.”

You gasp, eyes burning with fire. “Yoongi, he called me a freak!”

“When have I ever-“

“Normal people, my ass!” You continue, sort of having a lone conversation parallel to theirs. “What do you know about normal people, you fucking Grindylow.” You swallow down your fourth butterbeer, one furious finger indicating Yoongi that you need another one. Taehyung is just rolling his eyes, not taking offence of the nonsensical insult. “I hate you so much, Merlin, how am I supposed to face him again?”

“You do like everyone else’s does. Just start hating him until you don’t care anymore.”

“People do that?” Yoongi asks curiously. He’s slid you a new pint, filled to the brim. 

“I know I do.” You slap the back of his arm there, without giving him any explanation, just because you’re sure he’s bullshitting you -the guy surely never has been rejected. 

“Doesn’t matter. How could I ever hate him anyway?” A lone survivor tear falls from your lashes into the calm, quiet amber lake topping your glass. It doesn’t hit you there that there’s no foam. Yoongi watches you carefully, one of his hand is patting your forearm. 

“Is he really that great?” Taehyung just shrugs. He’s such a dimwit. You nod, heart growing big with sadness before it breathes it out, turning into a tiny, squeezed on itself pained creature. You leave the conversation then. Simply trying to rest with your hurting bosom. It needs nurturing and a benevolent yet firm healing hand to tell it to rest for a bit, and stop overreacting. 

[“What's he like?” Yoongi asks directly to Taehyung as he can see, clearly, that you’re not here anymore, for now.

“He’s... uh...” Taehyung starts with very flimsy conviction. “He’s into dragons.” More shrugging.]

Honestly, you might be exaggerating. You do not know much about him. Most of what you believe to know, assumed by what little you do know about him. You believe he is nice and sensible, from the way he treats his animals and the way they treat him. 

[“Oh. Holy Dumbledore!”

“Stop saying that! I told you it’s fucking disrespectful.”]

You’ve seen how much respect and trust lay between them. It’s blatant. And to create this kind of relationship with some of the fiercest creatures in the magical world, he must be something else, something exceptional. 

[“It’s him. It’s fucking him!”]

And you read about him, a lot, the two books he wrote solely about his creatures. They don’t directly tell much about him but indirectly, they hint his humility and humbleness. It’s not like that stupid Gilderoy Lockhart and his autobiographies on magical creatures. And there are the numerous articles that were written about him and his exploits and alleged character.

[“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

Sharp short nails are jabbing annoyingly in the skin of your forearm. It’s Taehyung, of course, he never stops bugging you. It’s his second passion after the soporific subject he’s decided to teach. You close your eyes, frowning a bit because he won’t stop, trying to annihilate him from your existence, to annihilate yourself from it too.]

Simple, humble, smart and strong. Passionate, sensible and a beautiful set of thick dark locks you want to slip your fingers through as the cherry on top. 

“It’s apple juice!” You screech in disgust, pushing your fake butterbeer far away from you. The hocus-pocus, if it irritates you, at least brings you back to earth, and back to the noisy bar. Min Yoongi mouths something about you having drunk enough but his attention is elsewhere, along with Taehyung's. 

“Oh, Merlin's beard.”

Of course, he would be there. He’s been back to Hogwarts for over a month now, you’ve never seen him around here, but of course, the day he rejects you, he has to come to your retreat, and witness the mess he's made of you. What kind of sick joke from the stars is that?

“Holy shit. Isn’t he a bit much for you?”

You know exactly what the barman means. It makes you blush slightly under the tipsy flushing already adorning your cheeks. 

If Jeon Jungkook may or may not be made of all the qualities you’ve named for him -with or without reasons-, he has some very visible, very obnoxious other qualities to him. Qualities that you’re not proud of pining over because it makes you feel shallow and superficial. The expression on Yoongi's face makes it feel better though. Justified. As if, well, here they are, you can’t deny it. And since you like his imaginary personality, you might as well like the body imaginarily hosting it. 

Jeon Jungkook is tall as a tree and as strong as one. It’s hard to tell, from here, with the layers of clothes he’s wearing on his back to protect himself from the cold, to what extent he fills them but it’s obvious he’s broad, wide. He walks with strong determined steps, with his fists tight to his sides, as tight as his jaw, square, sharp. 

He’s big. Both in appearance and aura and you can understand how Yoongi wonders if he’s not “a bit much” for you. 

“Don’t call him over!” You whisper-yell, digging your nails in the tender skin of Taehyung’s forearm. He whines, curses and tries to let himself free while telling you that of course, he’s not that dumb, he won’t. He doesn’t need to, anyway, because the guy, after seemingly exploring with his gaze the bar, sets his aim on your table, slowly starting to make his way towards you. 

“He’s coming.” Taehyung mumbles, bewildered. 

You are too. Could it be you misunderstood earlier when he said he couldn’t come because he’d be “exercising his dragons”? It can’t possibly be true. You don’t even know what the heck is up with this excuse. Because it can’t have been anything more than an excuse. Since when do dragons need to be exercised and by a wizard at that?

And now he is here. 

Literally, he’s standing right in front of your table, a hand reaching for the back of the empty chair, next to yours, but stops mid-track and backs away to his side. 

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here ?”

You can feel, physically, the two heavy heads of your friends, turning slowly on their necks towards you, like an idiotic audience, not wanting to miss one beat of the drama playing for them. 

There’s a little snappy answer that rises to the back of your throat. Something inspired by what Taehyung said earlier, about hating him. You almost tell him aloud that he can do whatever he wants, that you don’t own this fucking chair.

Jeon Jungkook is still raspy but soft voice. With his bruised hand with the fingers red from the cold, not assertive and confident enough to dare grab the chair yet and you can’t do much but nod your head, swiftly sliding your own chair to the side to draw a little distance between you. 

It takes forever for the initial tension to drop a little bit. You can’t say anything, Taehyung the chatterbox can’t either, Jungkook probably feels too awkward by your behaviours to find a casual way to start the conversation. It’s Yoongi who realises the successful start. By doing what he does best, serving your new guest the best butterbeer there is in Hogsmead (Yoongi would say that it’s the best in the world, both magical and muggle, but given he hasn’t stepped two feet outside of this village for the past two decades, you wouldn’t give him that).

“My name’s Jungkook, by the way.” He starts quietly, in the direction of Yoongi. The latter nods and smiles a bit too eagerly. He tries to be natural, you can tell. And fail miserably, you must add. 

“I’m Min Yoongi. Welcome to Jjang Jjang!” Taehyung cringes visibly. Yoongi leans further, towards yours and Jungkooks side of the table, wanting to ignore at best the unhelpful clown beside him. “You must already know...” With a vague hand gesture, he points Taehyung and you. It makes you want to die, the idea that he knows your name, he knows you. You’re unsure what’s going on. Why he’s here, where this will lead. But it would all feel infinitely better if you knew that somehow, he didn’t know anything about you. It’s hard to remember people without their name. It’s the first thing you learn about someone, really, like a tag they’re wearing on their foreheads and when recalling about them, ever, consciously or not, the name comes always. He knows yours so he won't forget you.

It takes all of you a short eternity to warm up to each other. The bar is still noisy, with its occasional rough burst of laughter from the tough-looking wizards, maybe missionaries, the high giggles of a group of Hogwarts 7th year students hidden in a corner. You’re all nurturing your drinks, even you with your stupid apple juice and the unease is even louder, the silence deafening in the middle of the concert of voices and shatters of glasses. 

Until Taehyung says something weird, “So you like dragons, uh?” You don't understand why he persists on making it sound weird, like he's romantically interested in them. 

You hit him under the table, a good kick to the kneecap but it’s clear to everyone that his yelp comes from you. That makes Jungkook laughs. 

He pretty much giggles, sounding like a boy, head tilted down forward with his locks sadly hiding his smile. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” He finally answers, clearing his throat, words coming out sweet and sheepish-like, as if he’s embarrassed from having been caught laughing.

“Oh, that explains this.” Yoongi says, pointing at his skin and the numerous bruises orning it. You’ve never hit Min Yoongi because 1) he’s older than you, 2) he’s a tiny little thing that you’re scared to hurt but you are this close, the width of a hair away, from throwing your foot up again and hit him in the junk. For a second, Jungkook seems awkward. Staring himself at his hands, one sliding over the other, the tip of his thumb grazing with insistence on a deep scar. Until he raises his head again, you assume to let his eyes go over your faces, studying them silently and something he sees there, maybe innocent benevolence -even if Yoongi's comment was lowkey inappropriate, he didn’t mean any ill- and something else, childish excitement probably suffice to relax him. Letting his hands be, one wrap around his pint, the other flat on the tabletop, tip of his fingers drumming quietly every now and then, out in the open for anyone who'd like to to see. 

“They tend to be a bit playful.” He says this with a sly smile raising the corner of his mouth. Something ridiculously sexy that makes you choke on your fake beer and back away from him even more. You shouldn’t raise an arm to plant your elbow into the table, as a sort of shield between you two, because it’s rude and lame, but you do it anyway. Because it’s all a lot. 

He's a lot.

Yoongi, probably, knows you better than you could ever imagine. Seeing right through you, added to the statement he raised earlier -and maybe he was right, maybe he's a whole lot, and a whole lot too much for you-, he reconsiders forbidding you from consuming any more alcohol. Kindly, he manifests a glass of sparkling juice, right in front of you. It's a light peach colour, from the first sniff of the aroma, you can tell it won't knock you unconscious any time soon. It's more sugar than alcohol but at least, it succeeds to soothe the harsh edges of your nerves. Because your nerves are on the verge of a fucking spontaneous combustion.

"Hey! Why does she get another one?" Since earlier, Taehyung, too, has been switched to a strictly non-alcoholic beverages diet. He's not happy about it but you understand easily Yoongi's train of thought. You need to relax so you deserve a little something -especially given the fact that Jeon Jungkook's appearance had you almost entirely sobered up-, while Taehyung's stupid mouth is way too loose and needs to be fed something soft and safe.

"Because he likes me and he hates you." You mutter, not daring to look up from your glass by fear of coming across your neighbour's attention. Your comment is well received though. You allow yourself to joke like that because everyone, Taehyung included, knows that Kim Taehyung is everyone's favourite. No matter the competition. No one can hate him, even when he's boring as hell, even when he's too loud, too nosy, dumb or annoying. He knows it as well as you do and each time you throw one of these snarky taunts, a glint of amusement sparkles his almond eyes and he loves to act all hurt and offended. 

He turns all gasps and bombastic hand movements, claiming unfairness, misery. You start nagging back at him, adding more about how dumb he sounds and stupid he looks, while he counteracts with more dramatic appalled cries, as Yoongi just shrinks onto himself, shaking his head in disconcertment -even though, he's too used to your antics to be any surprised nor confused. 

You're so caught up in your childish bickerings that slowly, only you two, and the amusement you're trying to contain in your stomach, matter and exist. Jeon Jungkook disappearing entirely. It has your voice turn louder, mimicking Taehyung's, your insults getting bolder, your face raises as you squint your eyes menacingly at your friend.

It's once Taehyung grabs the wand from his pocket and aims it at you, threatening to turn you into a pile of ghoul's shit if you won't shut up, that he's reminded to you.

The giggles, like earlier. Boyish and rusty, uncommon, that can only be his, ring and bless your right ear. It has you shut up instantly. Startled, you stare at him, only for a soft smile to grow on your lips, fond as you are to see him laugh like that, because of you. 

You must look stupid as your eyes jump to Taehyung, silently begging him to acknowledge the wonder taking place just next to you, too giddy, too excited, too blushy to be part of it. He just grins back at you, nods his head even though you're not exactly sure at what, one of his elbows poking Yoongi's side.

"How long have you two been friends ?" He asks once he's managed to calm down his fit with a bite on his lower lip. Your heart is running a marathon and you're not sure for how long it'll keep holding up, you might need to focus all of your energy on the course, on not breaking a leg or pass out in the middle of the run, but you refuse, because he's talked to you again, because your best friends are accessorily here to help out, ease a bit of the burden of having to face the terrifying idea of being rejected (again), of failing at being good enough, somehow, to a guy you don't know much but like a lot.

Therefore you answer, aiming a joking dark glare at Taehyung because it helps to look at him, "Too long." Jungkook sniggers at the answer as Taehyung slips his ugly tongue out to you.

Somehow the tension diffuses itself. As if now that all of you had placed a word in the conversation, played somehow a role in it, it feels better, the ice has been melted and you can all, finally, relax.

Without even realising, your elbow slips from the tabletop, you're still wary, still very much aware of him sitting so close to you but you're fine with it.

As the drinks, more or less loaded, flow, Jungkook's cheeks fill up with mountains upon mountains of the fried wonders Jjang Jjang's beloved house-elf, Seokjin, has to offer, the discussion runs smoothly, tongues untied and excited.

It starts with Taehyung telling a very inaccurate version of your first meeting and blooming of this decades-old friendship (you add now and then, when the exaggerations and blatant lies get too much, little modifications to the tale that have Jungkook snigger and nod his head discreetly to you in secret confidence). It continues with Jungkook, pressured by a very adamant audience (which you are not part of, even if you are probably the most interested in the topic, in any topic that would have him speak a bit more, you don't want to bother him with your curiosity which Taehyung and Yoongi do not seem the least disturbed about) telling about the couple of last years he'd spent all around the world, in the most secluded corners of Earth, where only dangerous creatures like his beloved pets live and where only the foolhardiest or most suicidal wizards dare to adventure. As you expected, he's quite humble about it. He doesn't insist on details that make your heads spin in bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders lightly when you're the one whisper-yelling that "but you could've died?!". After a lot of cooing, from all angles of the table, tiny whispers repeating some of his words like a strange echo as you all try to handle the admiration -and intoxication-, he starts feeling himself, a tiny, discreet but visible smile, slyly redrawing the corner of his mouth. He shrugs a little less, nods his head firmly a little more, voice louder and more confident, shaping in the full form it's able to take.

He sounds lovely when he doesn't care anymore. When he feels unrestrained, comfortable and easy-going. He laughs a lot, you notice. It colours almost every single one of yours and your friends' comments, and maybe the fact that you're all a bit dumbed by shock and interest and starstruck and tipsiness makes it so that they're pretty ridiculous, hence him laughing so much. It's not so much that you're all hilarious, rather than you all being pretty stupid but it doesn't matter. You note how easy his laughter, that you couldn't even picture before hearing it for yourself, can come out. How open he is to meddle with you.

He fits so well in your bubble. This personal place only Taehyung and Yoongi have ever been authorized to inhabit. He matches perfectly. It fills your heart and mind with so much content, you feel your cheeks hurt from smiling constantly without meaning too. It's what he does, you suppose, making you smile. And when you notice the pink tint colouring his cheeks, rounded out lovingly so by a grin, you assume he's feeling the same, enjoying his time with all of you, your heart dips in the warmest bath. 

"Dude!" For the umpteenth time, he's trying to wave himself some air with a hand. Taehyung has had enough and just slammed his fist to the table, making everything on it knock against each other, Yoongi's eyes this close to falling out of their sockets. Jungkook just giggles some more, he might be a bit tipsy. "Just tie your hair up, you're making me sweat just looking at your mop!"

"I don't even have-" Taehyung's already up from his chair, he bumps his leg in the process but pay it no attention, marching over his future victim with a little hair-tie that seemed to appear from thin air -probably did too. Jungkook is so lenient with your best friend, too lenient you'd say, you wouldn't even have it in you. When he excitedly reaches forward, his long fingers parting the dark locks in two, he's trying to tie one end into a little side ponytail. Before he's even done with the first one, you roll your eyes, knowing what he's aiming for. Of course, he wouldn't just give him a regular manbun or something.

For the first time, you meet one of Jungkook's eyes, the one uncovered thanks to Taehyung's shenanigan. It's round, dark but warm like rich chocolate, sparkling with exhilaration but concerned.

"What's he doing?" He asks you, unbeknownst to the fact that meeting half of his face for the first time, the endearing pretty thing, stole every single little last word from you. With two fists hold to the side of your head, you attempt to show him the cute girly hairstyle Taehyung has in mind. He winces at that, nose scrunching into itself so high, the round thing turns into something adorable, shaking his head to try to free himself from your friend's prying hands, a grin still on his lips.

"Stop being such a baby!" Taehyung growls, trying for a little while to keep ongoing, his hand desperately holding onto the second bunch of hair. He's soon forced to stop as the victim turns to be too unwilling. "Ok fine! You do it then!" 

It's you he is barking to. If the hair tie thrown straight in your eye is any teller. It renders you blind for a second. Until you can blink the stingy discomfort away and you’re greeted by Jungkook and his endearing face with the oh so adorable tiny tail hanging from the side of his head, observing you with great attention, single eye blinking worrisome. He looks cute, half dolled up like a girl, fearful and curious to discover how you’ll treat him. For a second, you are tempted to follow your friend's design. Because how cute would this man look with two ponytails hanging on top of his head, with maybe even tiny hair clips to perfect it all.

He’d be pissed though and wouldn’t keep it probably so what’s the point.

The real point is that you have a hair tie in your hand, fingers itching on instinct to play with the shiny raven locks and the owner of said pretty locks, silently permitting you to do just that.

Maybe Taehyung is not as dumb and as useless as you thought him to be. Your prior reflex would be to assume he didn’t even mean to create this opportunity for you. He’s just invading as a person, touchy-feely and very comfortable with anyone entering his vicinity. You do owe him more credits and you willingly give them to him for this time. Because if he didn’t intend to put your foot on the stirrup, he surely did anyway, with a natural and a smoothness you couldn’t imagine coming from him. 

Standing behind Jungkook's chair, hands hovering centimetres away, you feel so blessed, you’d jump over to Taehyung's side to snug him to your fervent heart if you didn’t have better at hand -and if the idea of actually having him this close to you did not fill you with an immense cringe.

Taehyung is watching, over the rim of his glass, with an obnoxious, kid like excited sparks burning you uncomfortably. You curse him out, soundlessly but with such great articulation, he can’t possibly miss the words.

Yoongi who watches all of it notices and understands it all as he always does even when he pretends he doesn’t, starts talking then. Something about Brazil where Jungkook had spent nine months, living alone in the wild forest of Amazonia, and about the curious plants and fruits he heard that could be found there. It’s a nice distraction. Soon Jungkook is on it again, Taehyung partakes a role in it too, leaving you alone to handle the grandiose yet terrifying fantasy that is touching and messing with Jungkook's hair.

The first ponytail comes undone easily, the hair tie simply slipping off with just the tip of your fingers to guide it.

When you timidly start, reaching with two hands to grab all of the hair from him, you feel a rush of blood to your cheeks, heart skipping beats and perspiration bubbling at your temple. Your fingers just have to graze slightly the skin of his neck, all warm and soft, you have to do it a few times even because his pretty locks are rebellious and your fingers too willing to let them run in between them, silky as they are. 

There’s a strand refusing your gentle taming, slipping from your grasp and falling in front of his eye. You go to catch it back, meeting hot fingers on his temples. Yours surrender immediately. Jungkook from the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, throw you a glance and a smile. A small one, small but fond. 

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Yoongi asks as Jungkook tucks the strand behind his ear.

"Not really. I'm used to it." He shrugs. You take your sweet, sweet time to finish the half-bun, half-tail hairdo you're working on. Somehow something lovely has settled. Something comfortable, domestic. He's not wary of your touch, letting you mess with his hair, not even flinching when, tentatively, just taking a chance, just once, the pad of your thumb stroke the hot skin of his neck. "Dragons can be very affectionate-" That makes Taehyung cackles as Yoongi gasps in disbelief. You have a hard time picturing those creatures as affectionate. Jungkook is different anyway. You need to be different to go after the path he's chosen for himself. "I swear!" Taehyung rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Have you considered all this time spent away from civilization turned you mad?"

The bun is done, sadly. You made it last for as long as you could but eventually, as every perfect moment, it has to come to an end. You don't even bother to hide your dread as you let your ass drop to your chair, puffing.

"Leave him alone, moron." A few peanuts to his stupid head and Taehyung stops messing with Jungkook, stops acting like he's insane and starts telling about something no one cares about -so much so, Yoongi leaves to go chat up an old goblin who's just entered the bar.

Jungkook turns to you, leaning a bit. Smiling quietly, gently. As if he doesn't realise the face he owns once his hair isn't hiding the majority of it anymore. 

It must be a joke. He must know. He must have noticed how his straight, dark eyebrows, with the cut splitting the right one in half, gives an irresistible, dark, mature shape to the roundest, sparkliest set of eyes the world has ever seen. He must know his face is a wonderful work of art, with the tiny little details, here and there, adding charms and depth and uniqueness, that only the greatest, only a special artist would know to use -like this faint scar linking a mole under his lip to the corner of his mouth, or the one craving in the top of his cheek. His colours are splendid too. While you'd always seen him with black everything, black hair, black clothes, quiet sombre aura and a tiny bit of red, you'd catch sometimes, where he'd hurt his hands. Never would have you thought, he's more harlequin than monochromatic. Golden scopes, tipsy patches of red matching the tiny pout he owns for a mouth, eyes not dark but the richest shade of chocolate.

"You," Jungkook starts in a whisper, now so close you have a whiff of his smell, torturous scent of pinewood, of soot, and something else, more natural, sweat most definitely but turns out to be the better element of the mixture, suave, awfully addictive. "you believe me, don't you?" You need a full minute to get your brain's vessels to connect. A full minute during which you have no idea what the hell he's talking about, what words are and how to use them, and all you can focus on is not dying from a heart attack -and also, not show that you are having one.

You shake your head up and down, still unsure to what you're agreeing to. It does not matter that much because he's smiling the way he does. The adorable smile another wonderful novelty, shaped like a bunny one, eating up his upper lip into the thinnest cupid bow. The sparks in his eyes, on his cheeks, from excitement, mirth. He's really here with you, warmer than you've ever thought him able to be, and somehow, different than what you had expected, but thousand times more endearing. Having developed a crush on him previously makes more and more sense by the second.

"Thank you for the invitation." He says quietly. You don't miss a single word, nor the least flinch in his intonation (soothing, genuine), even in the loudness of the bar, because, for some reason, he's never leaned back. He remains there, hardly a dozen of centimetres away from you.

"No problem." You lie, effortlessly after a few gulps of liquid courage. If you're enchanted by the evening, the unexpected turns of events, he still made you go through a short misery for this. He must see your awkwardness, he must notice how you're sweating bullets and swallowing with difficulty. How your eyes keep battling between wanting to bath in his and avoid them at all cost. Jungkook doesn't budge though and it almost gets annoying, almost upset you how he doesn't care -or maybe simply doesn't realise- the effect he's having on you. "I thought you couldn't-" You start, meaning to sting him a bit because he deserves it.

"I finished early, and um-"

"Was it even real?" You ask, genuinely curious to have him clear this out for you. It's not like you're mad anymore. On your face, you only feel a tingle at the apple of your cheeks from how many smiles and waves of laughter you've shared, the desperate tears from earlier long dried and gone. "The excuse, I mean."

"It wasn't an excuse..." Jungkook turns his face away from you then. Biting hard on his bottom lip, a traitorous grin hardly contained. The tip of his ears are flushed, you wonder from what, until you see his hand raising to the top of his head where it flats down hair that doesn't need it. "I- I just-" Maybe it's seeing him this abashed that pushes you forward, literally, scraping your chair to the wooden floor, thigh meeting his in the process. "I was startled when you- asked. When you said my name even, I wasn't- like- expecting it and I'm not used to-" He cuts himself off, a hand vaguely motioning the room.

"To what?" You insist, mimicking his murmuring tone, terrified as you are to pop out the little bubble now only he and you dwell. 

"Going out with people or just- hang out, I don't know." He looks inherently embarrassed now. Possibly even a bit saddened, you note. Still, his face remains open, kind, the ever-boyish smile teasing at least the corner of his lips. You don't mean to be so sappy but you wish, consciously, right this second, for this very moment to last an eternity or at least, for your memory to take a picture realistic enough, as in-depth and detailed as possible so that you'll be able to recall and relive it for years to come. 

"Oh. Dragons don't like to go clubbing?" He bumps your thigh with his knee, chortling at your words but shaking his head nonetheless. As you stare at his thigh, covered by a cheap black cloth stretched to the very limit, stuck to yours, almost supported by yours, sending a continuous channel of heat from there to the pit of your stomach, it seems like you've reached a determining point. A definite phase where you can handle him (more or less). Enough not to liquefy on the spot at his every glance, while remaining way too aware of him, his smell, his warmth, every sound coming out of his mouth, his lovely, lovely charms. 

You really like him.

"My head hurts." Taehyung's half-dead on the table. You're not too worried because as his head lies flat, his hair marinating in a pool of spilt beer, he can mumble with a lot of coherence about how heavy his head feels, and how it will probably weigh this much until Monday. Jungkook grabs a bunch of tissues to try to slip under Taehyung's head as an absorbing pillow, it's no use though, because Taehyung, strangely enough, feels too comfortable in this position to let himself be disturbed. Jungkook seems concerned, a bit bothered even -way more than you are because you are very much used to this depiction of lame- until Yoongi passes by, observing with deep disapproval written all over his face. He kicks on purpose one of Taehyung's chair legs, making him groan, and leaves.

Greediness turns you bold. Knocking Jungkook's leg the same way he did earlier, you call back his attention on you. For some reason, he stares at your legs, touching. You wonder for a second if you shouldn't have. It's not that much, he did it earlier, but maybe you shouldn't have. He's too pensive. Doesn't budge a muscle. In deep reflection. You hit him again, a tiny little push, and a few others to follow, like an annoying bratty kid trying to steal someone's attention. His hand finds its way to your knee then, enclasps it entirely, thumb pressing and you have no idea if any of this means anything, but it does send a rush of jolt straight between your legs. Surely he doesn't mean this use of firmness to turn you on, does he? How could he even guess it having this effect? You didn't even know it yourself.

It does work though. You stop acting like a feisty little brat, patiently waiting for him to be ready to listen to you. He pretends, mean as he is, that the hand won't stay, letting it slide slightly away from your knee. It doesn't go far though. Somehow it's comfortable a bit higher on your thigh. Not very high. It's awfully PG, awfully casual and platonic, but it serves to drive you a little breathless.

With the wide glassy eyes, the small smile that keeps finding its seat on his lips each time he turns to face you, he's all ears, all eyes, just for you. It's infuriating. Galvanizing. You lavish in it.

"You said it doesn't get lonely?" You blurp out, putting all efforts on focusing on the question you are sincerely curious about. If you didn't have it blinking loud and bright in your brain for the past ten minutes, you would have had it long lost and forgotten. He's messing with your head. But you owe to ask. The curious sadness, that you may have imagined for all you know, you saw briefly earlier needs to be addressed.

If it ever were there, it's gone anyway. As he stares into your eyes, seemingly pondering his next words around in his head, there's a gleam shining to you personally there.

"It doesn't when you don't know what you're missing."

"I don't feel too good, puffskein." Taehyung burps out. Thanks to some miracle, he doesn't end up vomiting all over the table but it's obvious he's this close to it and needs to be taken home. It takes all the goodness of your soul, all of it, to control your urge to grab your wand and throw a forbidden curse on his stupid ass.

The asshole makes you out to be an ungrateful friend, appreciation long gone, aggravation deeply grounded. It was going so well.

"Sorry about Taehyung." You start, wincing a bit. Your back leaned against the door of your room, it's late, quiet and badly lit up in Hogwarts' hallways. Taehyung is sound asleep in his bed, fully clothed and wrenching of a burp who turned down to be vomit. You've managed to use your wand on him, something to make sure he'll have a long and safe night and a rather gentler awakening tomorrow.

Jungkook pretty much carried him on his back, all the way to his bed, without much of a complaint, only a growl or two when Taehyung showed himself difficult in the capricious stairs hall -because it's the best and safest place to try and stumble, blindly, drunk out of your mind. 

"It's fine. I had a great time."

"Dragging Tae's drunk ass all the way here was fun to you?" You tease, squinting at him. You know what he means. You know that he knows what you mean. You're only trying to earn time. Just a little bit more time. It's late, he's about to leave you for his room, you assume, and you're not just ready for it yet.

"Maybe not this part."

You don't know what to say to make him stay. It's not like you could possibly invite him inside, is it?

Yoongi would say it's way too soon. Another version of you, maybe a twenty-four-hour younger version of you, the one that didn't know him from this close yet, that didn't get to talk and undergo the full experience that is Jeon Jungkook, to feel his hand on your thigh, his pretty eyes -Merlin, there is a time when you didn't even suspect he hid those wonders right here- would agree. It's not your kind, to have hook-ups. You wouldn't even know how to.

That being said, it's not like you often meet Jeon Jungkooks.

You're not that greedy. You're sure of it. When he's leaning himself against the wall, shoulder pressed against it to support himself, head slightly tilted, watching you soundly, the corner of his lips always curled upward. His eyes say it all. Completely black in the shadow, hooded, tempting. Sending heat to your core, shudders along your spine, tingles to the tip of your fingers.

If he says something, if he suggests anything, you'll say yes. He just has to say it. You've been courageous enough already. Asking him out, talking to him, and everything else. You just can't. You can't imagine admitting out loud what you wish to happen now, exposing yourself to him again by asking him if he'd like to stay the night.

And it's too soon, isn't it?

But Hell, you still have the lucid memory of his hair, running in between your fingers and it's become undeniable how bad you'd like to have it again except this time, you could be less delicate.

"I should probably go."

The disappointment is the language you speak because you're too tired to filter the vexation in your voice, "What, your dragons need to be tucked in?"

"Uh?" He chortles. All teeth out, eyes a bit wide, he regards your face, evidently amused. "Is there anything on your mind you'd like to share, maybe?"

"Absolutely not." You're bratty. It's the tiredness and maybe the butterbeer too. Undoubtedly the frustration. Arms crossed, looking away, pouting because somehow you are unable to relax your mouth and need to be so obvious about it all.

"Are you mad at my dragons?" Jungkook asks lightly. If you don't dare look at his face right now, you can guess it. He must have that smirk you've seen a glimpse of a few times tonight. From your peripheral vision, you can tell he's mocking you. Standing away from the wall, a step closer to you, chest puffed out and arms crossed on it.

"Why would I be?" You mumble, ever so vexed. 

"Exactly." He's holding back a laugh, you can hear it louder than if he were to let it out.

Continuing, same tone, same pout, squinting harder at the void that is the end of the hall, "They sound awesome, I have no reason-"

"They are. You should meet them."

Startled, you look up to him, eyes wide with both fear and interest. "Should I?"

"Yeah." His tongue swipes swiftly over his bottom lip before he bites on it for a second, pondering. "Go to bed now so that you're in good shape tomorrow and I'll introduce you then."

Of course, he'd be so casual about it but the idea kind of blows your mind. "Really?" You've seen dragons from afar a very few times, during competitions or this one time, with Taehyung at that circus in Wales. But never have you approached one. Like most wizards, at least all wizards holding the basic amount of worth necessary to their life, it's not something you want to do: approach a dragon. You know that for the Care of Magical Creatures class, Jungkook only brings one dragon at a time. The class with their professor standing on one end of a wasteland, and Jungkook, at least a hundred feet away, presents them the animal. 

"Yeah," Jungkook says again, bobbing his head along. You're dazzled by the light the grin adorning his face brought. He really wants to show you his dragons. "But early. Like super early. They're tired in the morning so they won't be too... agitated."

"Is this supposed to reassure me?" He shrugs with the same cheerful beaming. 

"Did you hurt yourself with Taehyung?" For the third time tonight, you've seen him reach a hand over his shoulder, messily massaging the muscle with a tiny grimace on his face. He hasn't mentioned it so you did not bring it up but the thought that maybe it's your dumbass of a best friend who's responsible awakes your guilt.

"No, it's not Taehyung." He scoffs. Almost offended that you could imply he hurt himself that way. "I had a bad fall."

"On your back? How do you fall on your back?" There are, actually, a lot of ways for someone to fall on their back but somehow, you can only imagine Quidditch players to have the occasion to do so. You haven't fallen to the ground since you were twelve and finally mastered the skill of flying on a cheap broomstick. But Jungkook is different, right?

"Tina. You'll meet her tomorrow."

Tina. One of his dragons. Of course. He sounds so excited to introduce you to a mythical creature who manifestly attacked him, you start to wonder if that's not the thing that is wrong about him. Because everything is too sweet and lovely and perfect about him, something must be wrong -or else, it's not fair. And maybe his thing is that he is batshit crazy.

"Anyway," A clearing of the throat -you almost missed those, "go to bed. Sleep tight. Tomorrow, I want you-" Your heart stops in your bosom. There's the tongue winking at you again, through his pink lips, it's indecent, makes you forget it all about his alleged insanity, "alive and kicking."

You roll your eyes, raising your eyebrows, bewildered by his choice of words. He laughs, again. The boyish one but quieter, as if he's scared to wake the castle or just a grumpy painting possibly hanging somewhere in the dark. It's lovely. "Thanks for walking me to my room. And for Tae." You say, sincerely, turning to your door to open it.

"You're very welcome." Before you disappear in your suite, you glance his way. It's sappy-you again, needing to take a mental picture of his face, with the hair still pushed back, the rebellious strand from earlier curling against his cheek, his handsome everything, his soft expression and charming smile. He doesn't seem to mind. If anything he's doing the same, not hinting to a departure until you take it upon yourself that maybe, it's enough staring at each other wordlessly for tonight and you wave him goodnight, closing the door behind you.

By Merlin's beard, what the hell happened today?

And what the fuck is going on, now?

Your ass down on the hard ground, head dizzy, with a little warm tingling sensation in the crook of your neck. 

Jungkook is standing, looking like he’s a thousand feet tall with his long legs, chest puffed out and leaning upward. He’s facing Tina, the infamous Tina, about his height if you put aside the long tail laying flat to the ground in between her legs. She's a bright degraded of a deep purple and a fire red, covered in scales, sharp and standing upwards every few seconds as if they're breathing along with her lungs.

He has a forearm blocking her jaws open, glaring with the most severe set of eyes you could never have imagined on him boring holes in her flamboyant ones. He’s growling things in a language you think you recognise as Romanian, barking in her face as he forces his arm deeper, gagging her, not caring about the sharp teeth digging in his skin. 

After a while of the strangest and scariest staring contest you’ve ever witnessed, the tail lying between her legs flap once and she whines a heartbreaking mewl.

His face softens at that, slightly, he frees her from his arm, taking a step back while keeping an attentive eye on her. 

Tina snivels more, as soon as her master’s attention hints at leaving her, rubbing the tip of her gigantic snot against his shoulder blade. 

“Not now.” He says, sending her away with a pat to the side of her neck. 

This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced. 

You simply remain there, staring, gaping, trying to process it all. 

You’ve been jumped by a dragon and Jeon Jungkook is-

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He still has his hair pushed back in a messier bun than the one you made for him yesterday as if he knows that you like him a lot like that. Therefore nothing is hiding the most pitiful look you've ever seen on anyone's face when he looks down to you. Eyebrows dropping low above shiny wide pearls, his two hands reaching for you, munching nervously on his lip. 

-Terrible. You just had the biggest fright of your entire life -and probably, hopefully, the last one of the kind- and all you can think about, is how wet you got from Jungkook growling like an animal, and somehow intimidating the fiercest animal there is to submission. 

“She doesn’t- I didn’t think she’d be that excited, I’m sorry, ___.” He mumbles, guilt laced in every syllabus he pronounces. You accept one of his hand, sliding yours against his palm, hot and calloused, sending warm all over your body as he squeezes around your fingers. “It’s my fault. She’s used to playing rough with me and she doesn’t control her strength very well yet-“ 

He bends over, catching your second hand in his and lifts you, a bit too strongly given how you are entirely made of mush right now. You hit his chest in the process, he has to steady you once you’re up on your wobbly legs. He holds you with a hand to your upper arm, still hot, still firm, it has the blood to your face boil even more. What kind of experience would it be to bathe entirely in this warmth, to have not the least stupid barrier in between yours and his skin, to feel his firm hold grabbing you, his whole body covering you and pressing you down?

You need to focus on the pets. 

Tina seems upset, a few meters away, her tail slapping the ground impatiently but her head held low. There are three others, different sizes and spices, quietly laying above the trees forming the forest glade. They’re watching inquisitively, quiet, as cats would, you had no idea they could behave like that but then again, they were raised by this fucking guy. 

The guy still holding you close, breathing hard over your forehead, who’s most definitely searching for your eyes you are deliberately not allowing him to meet. You’re not mad. A bit shook still maybe. You’re just soaked, head filled with inappropriate thoughts you're terrified he might hear from how loud they are. And the oblivious idiot keeps apologising and asking if you’re fine because you should not be, you should probably be more traumatised, certainly not aroused as you are, especially when he’s feeling this guilty. You catch a wobble in one of his words and wonder if he could even cry from a guilty conscious. 

Therefore you grant him a glance. 

“I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

He must see something there, hear the subtle tilt your voice, too soft, has taken because he nods, visibly relaxing. His hand departs slowly, fingers grazing your skin. 

“Jungkook, I have something for you.” You say it like you know where it’ll lead. Frankly, you have no idea. You can hope, wish very loud and clear in your mind, but you can’t bet on it. “For your back.” You fish out of your shoulder bag a tiny flask. With its shimmery blue content, the tag on it with his name and a short note consisting of wishes of healing you’re somehow embarrassed to show him. “I made it before coming. It should fix your back in no time.”

“That’s very kind of you, ___. Thank you.” He grabs your hand along with the bottle as if he couldn’t take it on its own, and now you’re sure he knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t be innocently stealing all of these touches from you without knowing how intensely pleasing it feels all over.

“Don’t thank me yet, you might not like the... process.” He raises an eyebrow, head slanting to the side. “It’s a bit uncomfortable for like... 30 seconds and then it gets better.” 

“How uncomfortable?” 

“Well... Nothing too bad. I’m sure you handled way worse.” He can see you’re not completely honest with him. For your defence, looking at all the scars scattered on the very few skin your eyes have access too, he must be used to some kind of pain. It’s not painful per se. It is uncomfortable. Like dipping a firstly warmed up skin in a cryogenic liquid for half a minute kind of uncomfortable. He senses it. Watching the strange liquid carefully, suspiciously, he’s not certain he’ll use it. 

“Is it dangerous?”

You scoff, hands raising to your sides, “No, I mean- Not if you apply it correctly, it’s fine.”

“If I-“ He worries at his lip, frowning, mentally debating the subject as if it’s that much of a big deal. Honestly, the risk, is, not that tragic. An over-application can cause a curious discolouration that will, later on, turn into a marble-like blue patch -it might be definite but you’re not sure-, you can potentially burn your skin too but usually, it only happens -and it’s the case with any magical ointment really- if it’s mixed with another ingredient it shouldn’t come in contact with or on a body that’s already under certain charms -which is not his case, you assume-, and of course, an ointment made for local application should in no circumstances be ingested. It’s not that complicated. He doesn’t need to look so scared and suspicious. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Jungkook! Don’t use it if-“ You aim to snap it out of his hand but he’s quicker, holding up where you can’t reach, the corner of his eyes crinkling cutely. 

“No I want to but- can you do it for me? You worried me.”

“You really are a big baby, aren’t you?” He shrugs, doesn’t deny it. He looks cute like that. Dancing on his two feet, munching on his lip, hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “Fine.” You say without meaning it. You wouldn’t say that you’re fine or that you’ll be fine. 

When he walks you to his cabin, twenty meters away from the dragons' playground, your heart starts beating hard and fast, more furiously at every step. It might not mean much more than a nurse job. At the same time, would it make any sense for you to not take the opportunity to take a step and make it more than that? Kim Taehyung would turn you into some kind of pile of whatever gross creature's shit if he were to hear that.

The cabin is super tiny, rustic and barely equipped. Wooden floor, wooden walls, wooden furniture -if you can call them that. Mentally, you curse at Mrs Umbridge. If she didn’t plan this on purpose just because she despises the guy and his pets. You can tell he sleeps in it because of the shitty mattress sitting on a pile of wooden boxes, with the sheets unmade. Discarded used clothes in a corner, a little tower made of books that all seem to be about travelling, magical creatures and travellers’ autobiographies. It’s dark, smells like soot with a tint of something sweet, as if the remnants of a pastry made of cinnamon is hiding somewhere.

Jungkook excuses himself for the mess, even if it’s not much compared to the poor condition he must have received the cabin as, jumping to the only window to tear open the dusty curtain.

It brings a bit of light inside, a subdued but warm yellow-ray coming straight from the barely awakening Sun.

It feels a bit stuffy in here. With him taking over the whole space, and your lungs struggling to pump normally. It feels too intimate, to be standing a few steps away from the place he sleeps in at night. Too intimate because you're not used to it, and two days ago, or even fucking yesterday morning, you would have never thought you'd ever be standing here.

"It's cosy."

You comment, humming to yourself, at the same time as he asks, "Should I take off my shirt?"

You almost choke, tilting your head, watching him with misplaced shock. He's already holding the hem of his black shirt higher on his stomach, exposing smooth golden skin, tight on a thin, sculpted waist, a trail of teasing black hair under his belly button, yet looking at you with his wide round eyes, unsure, quite innocent somehow.

"I don't think you need to- the whole thing." Coward-you hurries to answer, trying to divert your attention to anything but him.

Jungkook turns around, giving you his back and raising his hands to the back neck of his shirt, wincing silently, as he lifts the cloth. The back is almost worst than the front. The thin waist you had a glimpse of, the smooth skin with the golden highlights, the cute dimples at the bottom of his back, the developed, beautifully drawn muscles. A dizzying hot flush takes over your head.

This guy is a mystery. Under his thick, oversized clothes, you knew he was well built, but never would you have expected that. It's not like you care about it usually but with him standing in front of you, smelling so wonderful, with this thing, intense and unique, linking and running in between you two, you can't ignore it all. You can't ignore nor deny how attracted you are and giddy and greedy at the idea of seeing it, of touching it all -when most people don't even get close enough to him to suppose what he's hiding.

It's easy to get back to Earth and the present moment with the large, blue hematoma marking his right scapula. It looks painful as hell, so much so you wonder how he's been handling it so far, how he hasn't visited the infirmary yet, how often it happens and if he always simply tighten his jaws and take the pain until it just leaves.

He turns you cheesy again. You'd like to lean forward and press a kiss to make it better. You wouldn't dare though, and you know, for a fact, that the ointment you prepared for him would be an infinite amount of times more effective to heal him.

He shudders at some point. Probably because you're taking a short eternity to do anything, or just say anything, silently contemplating instead.

Gulping hard, you start, "Bear with me, ok? It'll be better in no time." He grumbles something to himself, way too quiet for you to hear over the loud popping of your potion's bottle and the even louder rummaging of your heart in your bosom.

The first drops seem to be fine. He's not squirming under the gentle touch of your fingertips, handling the strange sensation that the potion causes at first, instantly warming up at the contact with skin. He even relaxes, letting you spread evenly all over the bruise, calm and still as the perfect patient. Until he squeals.

"Fuck, what- ah!"

On reflex, he tries to bend and twist, attempting desperately to avoid the inhumanly freezing discomfort burning his skin. You try to hold him still, hands clasped to his shoulders but he wouldn't stop wriggling, whining like a hurt puppy.

For a tough guy, he can't handle much, you decide. It's amusing but concerning as you see him move around so much, you can imagine how he's stimulating the pain coming directly from his injury rather than the ointment.

"Jungkook, stop!" He manages to knock the pile of his books down with a blind kick. "It'll last just a few seconds, calm down!" Your hands fully pressed against his bruise, the heat coming from your overly agitated heart helping, it releases some of the cold. Somehow your tiny hands on his broad back are enough and he sighs in contentment, just a tiny whimper uttered as a remnant of his short but intense torment.

"Are you ok?" You ask after a few minutes. His breathing has quieted down too. His shoulders hanging low, his head relaxed, ease and comfort have taken over his body and mind.

"Yeah. But-" Tentatively, he tests out his right shoulder, rolling it up and down a few times, a tiny impressed 'wow' escapes him and you grin to yourself, enchanted to see him acknowledge your talent. "When you said discomfort-"

"Sorry about that. I thought you wouldn't want to try but it's worth it, isn't it?"

"It is." He has a sudden burst of laughter when he turns around, flashing you a relieved smile. You can read in his eyes that he's a bit surprised, a bit confused himself about what's so funny, probably settling on the little fright the experience gave him. You won't mention that the potion, if it's so effective and this, so quickly, is because it has very highly active ingredients that mess with the organism as soon as it penetrates the skin and his insides might be a tiny bit all over the place for a few moments.

Suddenly, a big whooshing sound comes from outside, seemingly knocking against the front wall of the cabin and making it shake on its hinges. It just makes him chuckle some more, not worried the least and beyond amused by your reflex to step towards him, hands raised, this close to grabbing a hold of his shirt.

"It's just Tina getting impatient, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" You scoff. The mention of her name brings back the memory from earlier. For some reasons, Jungkook's presence now and inside that memory, make it all seem rather mundane but you're sure, you're positive that you should feel traumatized by what happened. A dragon fucking attacked you. Jungkook shoots you a crooked smile you can't say you recognise. With a little bite on the corner of his bottom lip, dark eyes squinted yet shinning mischief.

"You're safe with me." He says, voice low, teasing, as one of his hand reaches for his index and thumb to pinch lightly at your waist.

"Because they're scared of you somehow?" He laughs again, hand now encompassing your side, staring down at you. He looks so inhumanly attractive. You're confused where this intensity comes from. If it's simple lust, coming from a genuine natural place, the same as yours. Or if the potion is not still messing with him, and his hormones, possibly. It shouldn't. It's been a good ten minutes and his build wouldn't entail this long of a repercussion.

"They're not scared. They just know who's the alpha." He explains with the cockiest shit-eating grin you've ever seen. Even greasy Gilderoy Lockhart doesn't have those. You'd find him gross if he was a hundred per cent committing to the act. There's a lurch though, in the way chocolate marbles shine in childish amusement, the tendentious beam turning into a boyish one, biting back something you know would sound like a giggle if he let it escape. You chuckle yourself, hitting him on the chest -because now that he's healed, he can take it. He doesn't budge an inch, doesn't back the slightest away from you. If anything, the hand holding you slide a bit further behind your back, keeping you close. "I'm just kidding." He whispers, voice as soothing as his attentive gaze as turned. So attentive you feel your face burn with shame. As a poor attempt to deflect your focus on this, your hand raises to his chest again, fingers scrapping at a tiny default in his shirt.

"You're not." He snickers. "I still don't understand how you're not scared of them..." The question somehow was never brought up. The whole night, the day before, your friends and you spend your time praising him and asking so many questions about his life and dragons in general, the things he's seen, the things he's done, the reasons that push him to take this orientation -something about adventure and wanting to see where the world ends was the answer however you could tell it wasn't entirely the real one- but you never actually asked how come he's not terrified of these deadly creatures.

"Honestly, your students are way scarier to me than they are." Your eyes grow big with surprise as you simper. You naturally lean a bit back as you laugh, and he follows you, for some reasons, eyes fixed on you, a tiny smile shaping his mouth. "That one girl the other day, the way she looked at you."

"Yeah, they can be real brats sometimes."

"My dragons, on the other hand, are super playful and soft." He sounds like a little boy, trying to brag about his alleged better pet. Of course, he'd be lethally sexy a second and undeniably adorable the next.

"You're a bit weird, Jeon." Jungkook shrugs, not sure what to say to that because he knows you're right. He can also hear in your voice that you don't mind and he's not sure how to say that he's glad you don't. Because he doesn't say anything you force yourself to look up, study his handsome face to read him. His expression is precisely what you expect yours to look like. Content yet expecting for something more, enamoured.

It's just hard to take the first step. Impossible to overcome.

Only now, from so close he can probably feel your breath hitting his neck, you notice he has a thin beard decorating his jaw. There's a patch missing on the left. You press the tip of your index to the tender skin, noting he's probably got burnt.

"That's what happens when a baby with a cold refuses to leave your shoulder." "It sneezed on you?" He nods, grinning. "I could make something for that. And for your eyebrow too." You stare, your finger caressing the soft skin, cheating a bit and slipping to the side of his jaw where there's nothing except a barely unshaven skin. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

"Would you?"

"If you want me too. You'd be losing charm points for sure but-"

"Oh, I have those?"

For some reasons, it’s this moment your memory chooses to recycle your friend’s words. The ones about him being that great. With the pretty gold glimmer coming from his peculiar round eyes, you do not doubt that he is. “As if.” You roll your eyes, jaded by his certain lie.

And the ones about him possibly being a lot, being too much to handle follow quickly behind. He is a whole lot, from head to toes, to the very essence of his character. The thing is he’s dipped in a thick pool of sweet honey, rounding his edges into something so much more accessible, too easy to swallow, how could you not try. “Let’s not fix it then,” He starts, one of his hand roughly rubbing at his short beard. “you already have too many ahead of me.” You give him a doubtful “oh really?” look he greets with an amused grin. He’s pretty smooth for a guy that hardly ever interacts with women and humans in general. You almost ask if his pets give him dating advice but you decide to keep it for later. The cat and mouse game is getting hard to endure. You’re not bored of it but you know you’re both ready for it to turn a little less playful and a little more decisive -also you don’t know exactly what time it is, however, you do know you have a class in the morning. It (whatever it is) won’t happen with you bullying him restlessly. Maybe one of you will get tired of watching so closely the other's face, you both know the details by heart by now, are probably even able to draw them with your eyes closed, and act. There’s a subtle frown messing up his handsome face. A tiny dip of the starting lines of his eyebrows and a pout reshaping his lips. “I’m really sorry about that.” He mutters, shame dripping from his words. The pad of his thumb raises to your neck, grazing ever so lightly the skin surrounding the tiny cut Tina gave you earlier. It’s not that bad. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. When your heart is beating so fast, when your cheeks are burning so high, when your core is quivering so much, you barely remember about the cut on your neck ever hurting. He seems so sorry though. And then he’s leaning towards you, dubious eyes not leaving yours until he’s hidden in the crook of your neck and can’t see you anymore, and softly, presses his lips to the bruise. It feels like a seizure in your heart. It shouldn’t be much but it is, the softest touch, most delicate, also a beautiful promise for more to come.

You relax under him, his arm naturally sliding further behind you, pulling you flush against him. You tend your neck, expecting more, demanding more. He instead breathes in, nose buried in your hair, humming to himself as if the scent pleases him before he’s kissing your neck again, this time a more resolute kiss, with a tough pressure, a louder smack.

You can’t help but giggle, he sniffed you like an animal would, like a dragon would. The giggle turns into an embarrassing fit of laughter, the tension wearing you out probably helping a lot.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with curiosity and a smile translating his bemusement. He backs away for a second, just to see your face.

“Sorry-“ More giggles, he pinches your side, you barely manage to bite your laughter back in your throat. “Sorry but you’re really- I just didn’t realise to what extent you’ve been raised by dragons.”

He’s confused you can tell, frowning in deep thought yet not looking the least vexed. It makes you smile. Seeing him looking so adorable, a little lost, a little embarrassed. You kiss the palm of his hand, the one that’s sitting where it fits perfectly, tucked in the crook of your neck, his eyes grow big for a split second. “Cause I smelled you? Was it weird? I’m sorry, I’m just used to- like- smells are imp-“

He made it so easy for you to press your lips to his. Everything about him, from his smell to his warmth, to his smiles both from his pretty flushed lips and from the wonders he owns for eyes, his voice soothing, welcoming, words always gentle, always soft. He’s both the unknown and at the same time, the most comfortable aura you’ve ever wanted to dip in.

It’s hesitant at first, or more precisely sheepish, like testing the waters. Figuring out where you’re stepping in, noticing you’re barely keeping your nose up and afloat. It’s scary, new and exciting. Requires a little bit of practice, some intended nibbles, some timid lingering.

You’re both unsure, trying until you’re not anymore. Like a button blooming into a rose, suddenly turned bright bloody red, intense and passionate, with fierce thorns digging and scratching at the skin.

You sigh into him, he’s humming as in agreement. There’s a little agitation coming from outside. As if they know what you two are doing, how you’re feeling. As if impatient Tina can tell you’re stealing her human right under her snoot.

He is so willing to get stolen though. Chasing after your mouth when you worry for a second about the ruckus going on just behind the wall, arm tightening around you, hugging you as close as he can, his body melting with yours whenever your fingers dig in his skin.

You’re the first one to slip your fingers underclothes to just have a little sample of naked skin. It’s just past the hem of his sweatshirt, the soft and burning skin of his waist. It spurs him on. As if he was just waiting for you to give him permission, his hands find a home under your shirt. Flat on your skin, so large, so hearty, raw skin from someone who’s worked with those hands a lot, feeling so nice on you, feel like he’s holding you captive in between the palms.

The hand against your back slides up, stopping an instant where your bra is sealed, toying with it as if he’s wondering if he can. Deeming that he can’t, for some unknown reason, he goes further to grip the back of your neck. You’re too busy with his tongue teasing yours, with the growing stiffness digging in your stomach to notice. Have your brain been less occupied, you would probably have the fingers playing with the ends of his hair, pulling a little harsher than they already are. He’s loving it, it seems. Moaning each time you do, groaning each time your nails slip through the hair to scrap at his skin.

Everything is too good. Everything feels made to be, bodies made to meet and make up. It feels like this could be enough. Highly satisfying, more delicious than any make-out session has ever felt because none of those boys before were Jeon Jungkook and never have you liked someone as much as you like him.

But Jeon Jungkook can’t be perfect. You don’t know if he means to be to tease or if it’s just him holding onto some doubts, some insecurities, not wanting to go too far without you explicitly telling him that it’s what you want -because, clearly, it’s not evident enough, the way you’re hanging off of his mouth, limp in his arms, subjectively grinding against his cock can’t be telling enough.

His second hand, the one closest to all the places you want him to invade, won’t give in. Set on your stomach, his thumb retracing the underline of your bra, this hand is the very incarnation of a tormentor. You don’t last long, grousing in your mind, losing your shit and your patience, giving him chances after chances to finally get to it but of course he never does.

Your frustration reaches its limits when you back away from him, hitting his chest with your fist, breathless and frowning.

He’s too dazed, hooded eyes barely seeing anything but your swollen mouth, to comprehend. Until you bark his name, punching him again.

Jungkook takes in your mad eyes, scrunched eyebrows and impatient tapping of your foot on the cabin's floor.

“Touch me.” You whine more than you demand. His light chuckles fill the suffocating air, diffusing a little bit of the tension and maybe it’s not for the worst.

“Is that all?” He asks, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your pouty mouth. “You scared me.”

“I don’t care.” He is so gentle on your lips. The sweetest touch you’ve ever received there. Your heart is growing exponentially, threatens to burst in your chest and you’re loving every single second of it.

“You’re a bit mean when you’re frustrated, you know that?” He can hardly contain his amused grin long enough to kiss you. Explicitly telling you, he doesn’t care much for your moody outbursts. “And,” Another kiss right in the centre of your awaiting lips. “I was touching you.”

“Not enough.”

“What’s enough, lil’ brat?” He mumbles against the skin of your neck, biting a little at it, definitely grinning to himself there. You almost cum there.

“Touch me here.”

You can sense his cockiness drops to the ground when you grab his hands and press them to your clothed breasts. He just gapes, too shocked to act, as if it’s the first pair he’s coming in contact with. You have to do everything on his behalf and really, thankfully for him, you like him that much you don’t hold it against him. Tearing the cups of your bra down and under your breasts, guiding his long fingers to your tender mounds, he takes in a shaky breath, his curious eyes borne into yours.

Tentatively, he wraps his hands around them, weighing them, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin, enjoying taking extra time on the nipple.  You can tell he wants it, he’s too willing to touch you, yet his mouth, the stupid thing, starts to stutter, “B-but, I don’t think righ-“

“Please.” And if this isn’t enough, you’re giving up. You’ve tried so hard. Asking, moving his hands for him, pleading with your boobs out and your shirt bunched up over them. If this isn’t enough, you’re giving up and probably kicking him in the dick in your way out.

His puppy eyes fall from your eyes down to your breast, almost reluctantly. He leaves out a tiny whimper of pain. As if he’s the one hurting. As if it’s not you, the one suffering, the one tortured, because he’s been messing with you, shaking your insides upside down, baiting and lightening up sparkles but refusing to feed you accordingly the way you need to. As if he’s not the only one inflicting himself the torment, refusing to give in for reasons you don’t understand.

Until something clicks in his brain, finally, common sense meeting desires, his mouth fall from your neck and straight to your nipple, kissing hungrily. Licking and sucking and nibbling, moaning almost as much as you do. Once both your nipples are swollen and a pretty flush, he senses your sensitivity, deciding to drop from the buds, meaning to cover the whole supple surface of your tits with lovely kisses and infuriating grazing of the teeth.

The position is awkward. Him bent in half, you on your tiptoes, trying to ease the access for him while simultaneously ordering your wobbly legs to keep on supporting you. The task is not easy, so poorly executed he gets tired of it in seconds, big hands seizing you to pick you up, holding you close, your legs wrap around his waist, so comfortable, so natural, somehow more convenient for him, he doesn’t seem to be in the least amount of effort as he feasts gladly on your chest. His hands stay on your ass, fingers digging, occasionally dragging you up and down his front where you can feel him hot and hard against your centre, a few times squeezing and tearing your cheeks apart. If this is not what paradise tastes like, then you don’t know what is.

It’s perfect pleasure, pure satisfaction.

But of course, you’re human.

Soon, it’s not enough, anymore. And more and more you want and you need. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, drops of honey dripping from the side hems of your panties crotch. He’s so good to you, lavishing and ravishing your breast like it’s the only job he’s ever wanted but you want more. Maybe you’ll let him worship you another day. Place the kisses and paint the marks he wants on every inch of your body.

Right now you need release. Any kind. He’s pent you up to a point, you can’t handle the idea of not letting any steam out.

You’re about to get bitchy again. Getting saltier and saltier at every empty-handed clench of your cunt. If you don’t take a step now, make him take the step, you’ll turn into a sex-deprived gremlin again, this time worse than earlier, and it’s not a good look you wish for him to see -again.

“Jungkook?” You can sense him perk up at the call of your name, even though he doesn’t stop his ministrations. He hums against your nipple, held tight in between his wet lips. “Fuck, Guk- just- uh- your bed.” No reaction. You suspect he didn’t even listen. “Take me to your bed, Jungkook!” It’s the harsh pull on his hair that’s made him look up and pay attention to your words. Like an obedient puppy with unmatching dark eyes, he nods, swirling around to head for his bed, carrying you effortlessly like you're not a full-grown adult hanging from his neck.

You’re about to meet his sheets. You’re about to get ravished and treated so, so right. You can tell from all the promises his hooded gaze has no shame sharing. Anticipation is killing you. The tenderness and affection along with the evident intense lust you read in him are killing you. Your back is just about to meet his sheets when it just doesn’t. He’s holding you centimètres away from it, eyebrows frowned, preoccupation taking over his face and covering everything sexy that fitted it so prettily.

“I can’t have you on this bed.”

“Wha- why?!” Maybe you yelled a bit. He winces. You don’t know what you look like right now, lust turned into pure fury, you just hope if you feel and talk like a gremlin, you still don’t look like one.

“Have you seen it? It’s not even a bed, it’s just a pile of dirty rags probably a thousand years old-“ It’s sweet and annoying, infuriating beyond belief. He’s blushing too. One foot hitting with spite the pile of rags he was given to use as a bed.

You want to cry.

“Why are you so fucking difficult, Jungkook?” You spit his name with venom, forehead hitting his shoulder, defeated as you feel. He’s hugging you closer, hands less sexual and just warm tenderness as they slide along your spine, pressing you closer if it’s even possible. Feels nice. But your panties, the soaked ruined cloth that is uncomfortably sticking to your cunt are reminding you you’re hating this moment.

“I don’t mean to. I- you deserve better than-“

“But you sleep on it!”

“I can sleep anywhere, it doesn’t matter but you’re too pretty to be laying on this.” You huff at that. Too frustrated to just take the compliment and let it shake your belly with the butterflies in it like a kid would a Christmas snow globe. “I’m sorry.”

“Should apologise to yourself, why you’re sleeping in it if it’s shit? Don’t you deserve better?”

He can tell how you feel. You’re kind enough to let everything clear as day, written in a language he mastered in so little time, an intimate one he’s only allowed to see. He sees the disappointment. Also the ease you’re feeling. The lust that’s not left. The despair and frustration tinted by dark shades of anger. You look cute as hell. All pouty and mushy in his arms. Whining and complaining and so angry yet fingers gently caressing the nape of his neck. He can tell you’re bitchy, feel like arguing but probably want something else even more.

“Wouldn’t it be better to use your bed instead? I saw it yesterday, looks nice.” He suggests, kissing your jaw to relax you.

“It is, it’s a troll size.” You lean your head back, giving more space for his mouth, mumbled words hardly falling from your pout.

“I saw that.” He says, amusement teasing the corner of his eyes.

“Professor Jeon!” The amusement completely annihilates from his eyes, his pretty rosy lips falling in a shocked o, along with all colours leaving his face. You gasp silently, wide eyes matching his.

There’s a terrifying succession of thuds shaking the little cabin, the call of his name again. Slowly, he releases you from his arms, making sure you meet the ground without emitting the least noise.

“I told you I had a class-“ he mimes with his mouth rather than speak.

“You never told me that?”

“I mean- I tried to but you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t list-“

“Professor Jeon?” More knocking on the door. You both hear the man outside mumbling to himself, a little commotion and you can tell, he’s trying to find a way to reach the window to have a look through it. Jungkook jumps on it, tearing the curtain in front of the blurry glass.

“Yes- uhm-“

“Are you okay? The class is ready for today’s demonstration! We’re all excited about that Opaleye you’ve talked ab-“

“Hagrid, I- I need to- finish get ready so- if you and the class could wait- f-five seconds?”

You are fuming. Glaring at him with the meanest eyes you own. Smoke probably coming out of every orifice, desperately trying to leave out some steam or else you’ll be spitting fire better than his fucking pets do. Tucking your boobs back in your bra, tearing your teeshirt back down, probably looking as miserable as you feel.

He’s apologetic though. One hand holding yours between gentle fingers, massaging kindly the palm of your hand. Looking guilty as hell, pouty with the watery eyes, a sweetheart.

And you like him. The realisation hits you once again, full force, you like him a whole lot. Frustration fading into compliance, leaving you helpless, about to forgive him wholeheartedly and suggest to come back later when his schedule sees it more fitting.

“Alrighty! I’ll show them that cute baby dragon I see over there-“

Jungkook winces visibly. Even you can tell it’s not a good idea to leave Hagrid alone with kids and dragons unsupervised, his reputation precedes him, unfortunately. He doesn’t hint a gesture towards the door though. Observing you with attentive eyes, the same from earlier, as if he’s trying to memorise your traits with utter accuracy, knowing he won’t be seeing it for at least the whole day ahead. You should suggest he takes a picture, it’ll last longer. But you’re overwhelmed with a vague wave of sadness, suddenly, so close to the parting from him and so unready for it.

You don’t know if he sees it, senses it, if when he kisses you hard on the mouth it’s to make himself feel better or if it’s just for you. It works in any case. Your heart filled up as it’d been, with lust and affection and something that can’t be but is so akin to love.

“I wish you didn’t have a class-“

“Do you want me?” He asks in a breathless whisper. The question is ridiculous, the answer being so fucking evident, you’d hit him to the side of the head if you didn’t like so much how intimate, how sexy he sounds murmuring against your lips.

You nod. Realising as you try and fail that he’s stolen all air from you -and probably a few other things like your heart and sanity along the way.

“Can you be quiet?” His hands have already dropped from your face, attached to the hem of your pants, hurried fingers proceeding to open them up. The situation in its entirety with the environment, with the people outside at most a dozens of meters away, the awkwardness, the everything can’t hit you, can’t take a sensible shape. No information able to be treated because of him, his everything, the whole lot that he is, infuriating, dizzying, shattering, moving. All you know is that you can be quiet, you can be whatever he wants you to be right this instant.

“I’m sorry for being so terrible at all that-“ He starts, sincere but light, amused, comfortable with you -and that’s the nicest look you’ve seen on him. “I’ll make it up to you until later when I- can really make it up to you.”

It’s funny to see the two facades of his personality clash like that. He’s apologising, red in the cheeks, but also a mouth, reshaped by a confident fatal crooked smirk, stating promises as facts.

How does he know he’ll make it up to you? How does he know he’ll make you feel good enough you’ll forgive his clumsiness?

“I’ll need more than five seconds, Jeon.” That makes him chuckle silently, shaking his head and squinting in defiance.

“You’ll need hardly more than that.” He says, dragging your pants and your panties at once, down a few centimetres.

Heat burns your face as air hits your centre. It feels shockingly exposing even if he can't see much from up there, with your shirt down, with little to no light coming from the curtained window and his large hand, that doesn’t wait for a second, slipping in between your thighs, covering your mound instantly as his mouth covers yours.

He’s right. This fucker.

You don’t time but you know he makes you come incredibly fast.

First starting by sliding a lone finger in your heat to quickly realise that you are soaking wet, sloppy to be exact, perfectly able to fit at least two and probably a third one easily. And he obliges so, filling the torturous void, fucking you with them slowly, dragging the pad of his rough fingers along your walls, teasing your sensitive entrance with lovely, lovely strokes. The sound -and he has to slow down to keep it quiet enough- is obscene. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been so fucking turned on. Dripping down your legs and unto his hand.

He spends only a few minutes on that, on fucking you nice and open when you both know he won’t even be able to fill you as you both wish he would until, well, some undefined time. It should be revolting, that thought, sort of a quick, immediate satisfaction for a long term painful wait.

But then his fingers leave your hole to migrate to your clit, as engorged as ever, as it’s not been for a long, long time, all of this for this stupid crush, from this stupid man, from his kisses and his scent, and his purposefully neglecting to give it attention. A few strokes only, fast and hard, messy and desperate with a sweet pet name he’s never used but fits so nice from his lips press to your ear and you’re coming, hole kissing emptiness, it sucks but you're invaded with so much content, legs shaking, heart beating fast, remnants of the orgasm reshaping the whole stance of your body, feels like you've just moved in an entirely new one, and head dizzy, feeling in love.

“Told you.” He’s chuckling to himself. Full of himself as he wipes you clean with a teeshirt he just picked up from an open travelling bag.

“Shut up, Jungkook.” You groan. One hand holding onto his bicep while his owns diligently tie back your pants, fixing you like nothing happened. The orgasm has been so good, it devoided you of all strength and energy you may have had.

You need to leave. Or more precisely, he needs to leave and meet the class, take them away probably in the forest so that you can escape and flee back to the castle. It’s inevitable.

You close your eyes for a second. Trying to empty your head, focus on breathing properly again, hiding how upset you feel. It’s not that dramatic. Surely, you’ll catch him again, today probably, later, tonight, but you feel so upset. Like a little girl. You don’t want to leave him yet.

Jungkook calls your name softly. You open your eyes, biting on your lip to contain all the emotions wanting to spill out right under his nose.

“Do you like me?” This time you have to throw a punch to his side -it hurts your knuckles more than it does him- because how dare he ask and look so unsure of the answer. “Well, I don’t know- I don’t- you never know with women and- and like- I- you never said-“

“I’ve liked you for two years, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Two...?”

You see the gears rolling, slowly, unsettled by big knots of confusion. You’re sweet, you’re generous and you just came in his hand, literally, so you have no issue admitting -with only a slight blush on the apple of your cheeks, “When you first came for the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t-“ Again with the apologies. With the looking so pitiful, with the guilt, with the him being so lovely of a man, especially when he’s so big and covered in all those warlike scars.

“Well you had this in your eyes anyway, would have been hard to notice me.” You joke, stealing one of the locks hiding behind his ear and tickling his eyelids with it. He scoffs, smiling before he slips it back where it was.

“Thanks to Taehyung, I have a hair tie now. So that I can see you better.” He’s beaming, staring at you fondly, it’s insufferable and you look away, embarrassed as ever because those big eyes being just yours, admiring you -for what too?- are hard to handle. You need practice.

“Is it your dragons teaching you all this cheesy garbage-“ He cackles at that, not even letting you finish and you’re loving the idea that it’s you causing that. “You need better wingpets.” He laughs even harder, you’re grinning even harder until a screech, ear-splitting, resonates through the whole surrounding forest. For a second you wonder if it’s not just Tina throwing a fit because she heard how her master is having so much fun with someone else than her but there’s a commotion following and what sounds like a seventeen-year-old Slytherin boy losing his shit, yelling and crying, and alarm takes over Jungkook's face.

“Can I see you tonight?” He asks in a hurry and you nod. “I’ll meet you in your room after I trained-“ A big smooch to your lips. “Actually maybe before, I don’t know, I-“

“Just go, Jungkook.” His eyes say something his mouth can’t, you can read the trepidation, as he sprints to the door, gaze not leaving you.

You can’t be sure a hundred per cent but you’re almost certain he just told you that he really likes you too and suddenly, you don’t feel as upset as you did, knowing you will find him back later.

« Thanks for earlier. »

For a second, you don’t know what he’s referring to. Until he points a finger towards his crotch, a little flush showing on his cheeks, where his hair doesn’t reach. 

That makes you laugh. You shrug your shoulders, waving his thank away because of course, you wouldn’t let him run in the middle of a class full of teenagers with a rock hard cock showing through his pants. 

Too focused on the possible catastrophe happening in his front yard, he didn’t seem to realise, if any discomfort or pain ever existed he couldn’t acknowledge it but you surely did. 

After having it pressed to your crotch, having felt its hardness and its heat, there’s no way you’d be able to just stop thinking about it. Then in the cabin, with your tingling cunt and sticky panties, and the whole day ahead, no matter how far away from him you were, physically and supposedly mentally, it’s just all you could think about. 

Blushing incessantly at the least stimulating moments. Gagging back giggles whenever a word, a touch, a smile of his recalled itself to you, and this in front of confused and suspicious eyes.

The whole day was a pain. It simply wouldn’t roll fast enough. 

Now here you are, standing in front of him, not recognising him fully. He’s hiding behind his hair again. He’s quiet and awkward like he too forgot how to talk to you. 

Maybe that’s what you get for meddling with him so quickly. Suppose you get separated for a short dozen of hours, he becomes a stranger again. 

It’s an awful feeling. Seems like maybe you made it all up. The comfort, the noncommittal love and adoration, the ease, the lust, the warmth. Maybe all of it was just a hazy dream. Made up yesterday evening by alcohol and this early morning by fatigue. 

Here you are sober and empty of any other commitment and you can’t picture how you could have gotten to that special place and how to find it back if it ever existed.

“You’ve let your hair down.” You simply say. Maybe it’s your way to point out aloud how you feel like you’ve been thrown a thousand steps back. He’s hiding behind his hair, being unreachable again. 

“Yeah, I just- they were all staring so I felt awkward-“ You mean to interrupt, let him know because you’re sure that he doesn’t (the boy from the bar yesterday didn’t know) that if they were staring it’s because he is that beautiful and certainly no one has expected that. “I wanted to tie it back for now but I lost the little thingy.” You take a step forward, closing some of the distance between him standing against the wall and you in the middle of your room. The more you hear his soft voice, the more you recognise him. “I hope Taehyung won’t be mad, I can buy a new one for him.” You could probably point out that Jungkook probably did not lose anything. That probably Taehyung used a charm and like any of those, the object you didn’t pay for, that materialised itself from thin air, simply disappeared after some time. Maybe you’ll tell him later. Right now you’re close to him again, so close you can catch a glimpse of an eye under the pretty locks. Your ears recognise him, your nose too, and you’re impatient to see if your fingers would too. 

You reach up, catching his fringe in between your fingertips and dragging them behind his ears, opening the silky curtain and smiling to yourself, eyes almost blurry with emotion, when you see his handsome face now on display. With the pretty brown eyes, the rosy lips, the cut eyebrow and that scar on his cheek, just above his timid dimple that shows up only when it wants. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” He squeaks out, flushing. “I must look ridiculous-“ He gestures you his hair your holding hostage behind his ears, taking advantage to caress his soft skin with the pad of your thumbs. 

“You look cute.” He does. He looks a bit awkward, like a boy who just finds himself with too much hair and tries to do something about it. “Very cute.” You add, beaming when you see his embarrassment grow. 

“Liar.”

He catches one of your wrists in his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the thin skin of the inner part. Lips soft, eyes soft, voice tender. “I thought about you a lot today...” Somehow he found you back too. He feels comfortable saying this while you’re sure he’s not used to it. Therefore even if you hate it, you can’t help but admit it. That you too, obviously, could only think about him the whole day. “I’m not here to stay forever, ___.” 

Your airy smile flatters until it disappears completely. 

Way to ruin the mood. 

He senses it. Press the hand leaving his face back against his cheek, pressing the second one to his mouth again as if he could bring you back to him and forget all about what he just implied. 

Obviously. 

Obviously, his life is not here, in Hogwarts. He’s not a professor, he doesn’t want to become one, he’s here for a project that has a defined limited time - Mrs Umbridge made sure of it. He’s an adventurer anyway. He only knows forest and lands and mountains and mythical creatures, extreme weathers and dangerous places. 

Obviously, you two only properly met a few days ago, only started to get to know each other less than 24 hours ago, it’s too soon to be in love, too soon to be so attached that a separation would feel that devastating. But even if you’re not, you feel in love. You feel wonderful in his arms, under his gaze, with his pretty smiles lighting on you and his sweet voice rocking your heart. 

It’s so upsetting to think about. You don’t want to. Just him hardly bringing it up makes you so upset you could cry. 

“But I- I know that you know that already. Maybe it’s clear for you that- we can’t-“ The more he talks the less sense he makes. Every syllabus seems dragged out of his mouth. He struggles so bad, your hand distractingly playing with the neck of his shirt, only because his hand wouldn’t let it go, you can feel his beating heart through the thick vein of his neck. “What I mean to say is- I don’t know what this- could mean to you. If it means anything or it’s just- like- fun,” Your eyebrow ticks at that. How dare he? “either way I don’t mind-“ He’s quick to add. “Really! Whatever you want is fine. I just mean to say that we can’t- I mean- at some point, I’ll be very very far away so-“

“Does it matter now, Jungkook?” 

The whole dilemma is not that hard to solve, on your part anyway. There’s nothing you can do about his future departing, is it? All that’s under your control is either you decide to indulge in him, have him the way you crave to, feed in this lovely thing that’s started blooming yesterday evening between you two and later on, deal with the heartbreak you’ll surely have once he leaves. Or will you deny yourself this, still get the heartbreak but way earlier on and have to nurture it for probably less long but in this peculiar case, through a thick coat of regrets. 

You hate to think about it all. You hate to think about a time when he’s not going to be around, not even only appearing at the end of a hallway, not even noticing you, not doing anything special except existing and breathing the same air as yours. 

It’s clear for you. He’s right here, right now, literally right under your hands, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to consume as much as him as you possibly can, if only he’ll let you. 

He looks worried, concerned. Not on the same page as you maybe. Guilty too. While it’s not his fault. It’s your own stupid, unpractical dumbass’s fault for falling for the only guy that lives like a fucking wild animal and is probably inept to leave his wild savage life for more than a couple of months at a time. 

An attempt nibble to his bottom lip. Your eyes shut close slowly as to not squeeze a droplet menacing to fall from your eye. He sighs deeply, leaning into your mouth for a moment. 

“I guess it doesn’t have to matter now.” He decides, pressing a new kiss to the relieved smile growing on you. 

"Cause you had a few things to show me, I believe..." It's subtle. Sort of. The words may be but the eyes you give him are not, demanding, minxy. Your intentions are no secret to him and you can tell in the way he smirks, kissing you again, this time his warm palms holding your cheeks still. He's made up his mind too.

It's all you needed to wash it all behind. Everything that could be too heavy for your shoulders or your heart to carry right now. Anything that could affect this moment, tarnish it, make it lesser than it could be.

It just has to be good. Only good and nothing else. His hands everywhere, on your ass, squeezing, on your breast, fondling. He seems to have remembered what you like. He's not withholding, he's not overly gentle. He's still awfully tender, awfully sweet because it's just the essence of his person, you feel it in every breath you steal from him. The way he carries you so softly, sitting you down on his lap as careful as ever as to not have you tip over and fall off of the bed.

When you're so greedy and almost rude in comparison, lavishing in the position he just offered you, groaning when you feel his thick thighs stretching yours wide, grinding already, sliding forward to feel his hardness anew against you. You touch him everywhere because his body feels surreal. Hard and taut and skin boiling even through his clothes. Your hands disorganized, impatient, start by unbuckling his belt to then jump to the hem of his shirt, dragging the cloth up and off of him.

You hardly catch a glimpse of fair honey skin before the light is shut off suddenly. There's the very recognizable thud of a wand hitting the wooden floor that hints at you that he's the one who did turn it off and you want to whine and complain and maybe even argue a little, and maybe more, enough for him to turn it back on but his wet mouth is sucking at your collarbone, the indignant scold dies into an insignificant, trembling whimper.

He lets you undress him. Even if you're missing the visual, you decide you'll enjoy the touch. His skin is so soft, too soft in a few spots where you guess he's been hurt, uneven, little bumpy traits, here and there, like the trace of a road on a map, scattered all over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He feels wonderful under your fingers. Hot and soft. He smells heavenly, encaging you as he does, you're bathing in his scent, earthy, smoky, masculine.

You have the push him away, a hand on his jaw, another on his chest to have him quit mouthing at your skin and lay his back down on the mattress. In the very dim light, you catch his shiny eyes, wide and intense as they observe you in the dark. You lean over, pressing kisses you hope as loving as his on his skin, starting from his cheek, you feel moving under your lips from him smiling, descending to his hard belly without missing a spot.

Your mouth turns extra delicate when your lips meet uneven skin, as if you could hurt him, as if he hasn't been long healed and your lips aren't the last thing that could ever hurt him, it makes him gasps and sighs though, each time, you feel his abs tighten under you, his thighs stiffen.

"Am I hurting you?" You ask quietly, even if you doubt it.

"Yeah-" He sighs and you freeze. "I mean no! No, no, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" You insist and he groans in defeat. You might be palming his cock through his pants, which you should be patient enough to wait until he answers properly if you'd honestly like an answer. But the rock hard member has been poking your thigh for too long and you can't help it. He's so responsive too, concealing poorly his groans and his moans, his whole body and cock twitchy under you.

You're close to giving him more. To give him fully what he came for. Nails grazing with intent the line where the hem of his underwears lay but not moving down further, hinting at something more but not giving in yet.

It's exhilarating to have him so docile under you, waiting, hardly patiently, for you to give him what he wants and you can tell, from how hard he is, that he really does want it. He sucks his breath in one more time, loudly, and you snickers above him, excited as you are.

Until he decides it's enough. Raising one thigh fast and hard, pushing at your ass, making you tip over with a squeal. He catches you with the cheeky chuckle you've grown to adore, rolling you unto your back so he can hover over you. You feel so tiny under him, with his strong thick arms encasing you, the line of his wide shoulders barely decipherable in the dark. Your hand follows the line, appreciating him to be so willing to be touched, always leaning onto your fingers. When it stops at his chest, your fingers mean to play a little but you're stopped in your track by the thudding hitting your palm. It takes you a hot second to realise it's his heart, being so loud and agitated, so expressive from where it's hidden. Of course, someone as reserved as him would have a heart that vocal.

"Your heart's beating so hard." You comment quietly. You don't mean to embarrass him. You don't even mean to reverse the power button hanging between the both of you. Yours in your own chest has to be causing a similar ruckus. But it's his that matters right now. You can't get over the fact that it's for you.

"Stop teasing me." He grumbles. He's not even vexed. He's embarrassed, but you hear the slim smile in his voice, a sheepish one.

"I'm not. You should feel mine." He hums against your mouth, then backs away laughing a bit.

"Smooth."

"It wasn't-" You sigh in defeat. It was not a subtle attempt to have him take care of your tits. Seriously. He's too glad to comply though, you're not one to complain.

You only have a vague notion of time passing, of things progressing. Somehow a second he's suckling on your nipples through the thin material of your top and the next, both of you are naked, panting in each other's face. Your nipples erect and still wet, occasionally rubbing against his chest, two of his thick fingers pumping in between your folds, a third one occasionally teasing the entrance, hinting at a stretch you're so greedy to feel even though you're not sure you can take; your hands wrapped around his shaft, pumping furiously, squeezing hard to have him hiss and curse against your lips, with your thumb teasing the slit of the tender slick head.

His free hand is at your neck, resting there, fingertips pressing in your skin, his thumb toying with your swollen bottom lip whenever he's biting too hard on his own to kiss you properly.

"I'm close..." You whimper, nibbling on the flesh of his thumb. He smiles vaguely at you, hooded eyes unfocused, eyebrows scrunched from pleasure. "I want you, Jungkook."

"Like now?" Fuck. You really have to like the guy a lot. He dares stop fucking you too, all attention now driven to your face. You don't say anything, your eyes telling enough. He nods to himself. "Okay, now. But uh-"

"Jungkook, sometimes you're half-useless." You try not to be mean but you can't help some snarkiness to escape. You have patience. You have a lot of it. But he just makes everything so difficult. How can you be sin and temptation embodied and at the same time, be so fucking clueless? He's like the cure but also the disease.

You roll over on your bed, grabbing a condom from your bedside table that a certain friend I don't need to name provided you with, to then face him again, brandishing the foil packet in his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-" He seems confused for a second, struggling to get the thing open and you wonder if it's been as long as it's been for you since the last time he's been with someone like that, or if it's been even longer. "but-" Growing even more impatient, you jump on your knees, kneeling next to him, taking the thing from him and tearing it open for him. "You're, like, a lot."

You stay silent for probably too long, frozen, hit by his words probably too intensely.

"In a good way! In a- in a, you're- I like you a lot and it makes me all-" He's talking too much you decide. Stuttering the sweetest things you have a hard time hearing while you're both naked in your bed, so near to get even closer, even more intimate to each other in a way you're too excited about to handle any extra pandering -especially given, you know exactly what he meant. Who would have thought? Jeon Jungkook talking so much you'd have to kiss him quiet.

"How do you like it?" He asks in a whisper, kissing your jaw in a way that makes you shudder. He's making you lightheaded, so dizzy, with the stupid jumps between his sexy lust-filled self and the adorable clueless dude he can also be.

"Just- however you'll have me." You answer, ignoring blatantly that it doesn't mean much.

So he decides. Laying you down on your back, hovering you. The thought that maybe you are made for each other hits you full face then, because that's exactly how you'd like him to have you. Just like earlier, so close, so intimate, sort of intimidating, dominating too. All yours and you, even more, his, with his soft locks caressing your forehead, lips so close you hardly have to make any effort to reach, not that he lets you have your mouth for your own for too long anyway, every few seconds, claiming it with lingering kisses tasting of greed. You know you're in trouble as soon as the very tip of his cock squeezes in. It's somehow a tight fit, even with his earlier ministrations, even with the ones from this morning that made you feel loose all fucking day. Jungkook only fucks you with the head of his shaft for a while, feeling you so tight around him, savouring the sensation but also worried he'd hurt you if he were to go further.

You're on edge. On edge of a devastating orgasm, already too fucking close, and even if you could blame it on the foreplay, on your hormones or whatever else, he'd know. He'd know it's because of him, because of how much you like him, of how good he makes you feel, how much he turns you on.

You don't really care. He's already panting in your ear, groaning and moaning with tight jaws about how good you feel and how pretty you are, when he's only half of the way inside and that's more than enough. It's kind of too much. Kind of impossible to handle.

It's a mewl to the shell of his ear and the digging of your nails in his firm ass that push him further and balls deep inside you. It feels like discovering new places within yourself, places you haven't reach before alone or with someone else, brings a rush of excitement to your whole body that translates in a vice tight clench around him.

He fucks you so good, it feels so nice, his cock was made for you. His rhythm steady, rather slow but powerful, sending you a tiny bit higher on the bed at each thrust, with one arm slid behind your back, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to hold you still enough. It's little to no effect but it drives you crazy, having him own you like that. From all those places, his dick, his thigh pressing yours higher, his hands, his mouth, his words. Bewitching, he is. Everything feels and sounds and touches him, the air you breath tastes like him.

You wish it'd last forever but it can't. Like everything that tastes that wondrous.

"Jungkook, I think- uh- gonna come." You lie because you don't think, you know you're about to come even if it's been a couple of minutes since he's started. Conveniently, the moon chooses this very moment to come out of wherever she was hiding, shining right through the only window of your suite and hitting him right in the face to bring clear light to him and to his grin, the smug grin you've only caught glimpses of. Your nails dig deeper in his flesh, he gasps lightly and bites on his lip but the smirk doesn't leave, even though it looks ridiculous with his heavy droopy gaze, his red cheeks and his heaving. He's as affected as you are. And that's that precise revelation that throws you over the edge. You mewl aloud, turned euphoric with how incredible it feels to have him keep fucking you through your orgasm, with his cock dragging along your tight, sensitive entrance with his movements.

Soon he follows. You don't exactly catch the moment, too lost in your own euphoria to decipher when his begins, but you feel the change in his thrusts, sloppy and harsher, skin slapping louder in the quiet room and once you've both bathed fully in the pleasure, came back to the now calmer, quieter Earth, you realise your ear rings with the ghost of a raw, low scream that certainly was his.

Fuck, you need to hear this again but this time with your full, undivided attention.

But another time.

Right now, you're half dead. Your hearts have just started coming down from their high. With him laying almost entirely on you. The most of his weight he safely pressed to your side but he's clinging to you, the round tip of his nose buried in your neck, hands holding you tight against him and legs intertwined with yours. Your hand has found its way to his hair, the ungodly mess, fingers gently massaging his scalp, rolling the curls in between.

"So warm..." He hums against your skin, almost purrs. You smile lazily. "Never wanna leave."

"You don't have to." It's the exhaustion that renders your filter ineffective. You know you shouldn't have said that. You know even more so when he doesn't say anything back. "For now, I mean." You don't even know how much of this is a lie. If you really were only thinking about this moment, this night or if the future you both know too well, ugly but very real just waiting its moment to play out, was also on your mind. You're too tired and concretely, fucked out, to even think properly.

"I still have four months." It's a poor consolation. You don't mean to spoil it all. After having spent such a precious, wondrous time with him, you don't want to fuck it all up but you can't help your heart from squeezing painfully in your chest, your throat from struggling to swallow down the heavy ball that's lodged up there. Jungkook senses it. You know he does by the way he holds you tighter, pressing one of those kisses, the most tender ones, at the corner of your lips. "We'll figure something out." He says with an assertion you didn't expect and don't know the origins of. Yet, you trust him and the lump in your throat decides to leave for now.

Somehow, persuaded that you and your heart are safe with him.

A/N: i can’t believe i finished this fucking monster. i need sleep. i’m sorry if it’s not super well edited, i did the 33 pages in one go and yeah. also it’s been so long since i wrote actual explicit smut, i have no idea how it turned out. 😳 let me know :)

to anyone who’s made it this far, thank you so, so, so much. you have my infinite gratefulness and i sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

i’m off to sleep, i hope you are having a wonderful day. stay safe, lots of lots of love 💜

[iamdeku]

Needy: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Me? Making a fic title that isn’t based off a song somehow? Seems unlikely. 

Warnings: school stress. makin’ out. not proofread.

For @sems-diarie

You hated your classmate Bakugou Katsuki with a passion. He was arrogant, brash, and extremely loud. He was rude to you and he was rude to everybody else and he was completely convinced he was the greatest thing to ever exist. There was really only one thing you hated more than Bakugou.

Being teamed up with him for your class’s newest group project.

You had pleaded and begged with Aizawa to let you pair up with literally anyone else, but he was unyielding. All of his pairings were final, and you and Bakugou were no exception. You were just going to have to learn how to work with him, your grades be damned, apparently.

“Alright, listen up,” you said, taking your seat next to Bakugou the day after your group pairings had been announced. “You are not going to mess up my grades. If anyone is going to mess up my grades it’s going to be me. I don’t think you’re an idiot. I know you’re an idiot. So just sit down, shut up, and follow my lead.”

You were perhaps slightly harsher than necessary, even for a guy like Bakugou. In your defense though, you’d had a truly garbage day. Your coffee machine had broken, leaving you with no caffeine this morning. It was an expensive coffee machine too, and you weren’t sure when you would be able to buy a new one. You had spent half of your morning looking for the manual to the coffee machine in the hopes that Momo could just create another one for you, and by the time you realized what time it was you had no opportunity to do anything but toss your clothes on before heading to class. On your way to class, it had rained, soaking you through because you had forgotten your umbrella and provoking Mineta to make a comment on the clinginess of your wet uniform. You had gotten a worse grade than you were expecting on your last test, you had tripped and spilled all of your lunch across the floor, and now here you were, having to sit next to your assigned group partner, hair still damp and mood still very, very bad.

“Hey, I don’t know who you think you are extra, but I’m no idiot. If you think we’re not beating everybody else in this class, then you’re wrong. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but Bakugou Katsuki never loses.”

You had known the great Bakugou Katsuki for the last 3 years of yours and his UA career, and now, in your final year, you were pretty confident that you still knew him. You knew him as a guy who had definitely lost before in the past. There was no particular shame in that, but you couldn’t afford to lose this time, especially not on Katsuki’s account.

“You better be right about that, pretty boy, because this grade is important to me. If we get a bad grade on this assignment it’s going to throw off my entire average, which I really can’t afford right now. Speaking of which, we really don’t have the time for all this dilly-dallying. Let’s get to work, king explosion murder,” you mocked.

To your surprise, the ever confident Bakugou turned bright red at the old nickname.

“Whatever. Let’s just get to work. We’re going to have to trade contact information so we can figure out a time to meet up. Plus I don’t trust you not to screw this up without my advice.”

You rolled your eyes. The nerve of this boy. The sheer gall.

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” You reached into your soggy backpack and pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper, scribbling down your phone number.

“We should just be able to meet up in one of the dorm’s common areas. The trick will be finding a time when everyone else isn’t working there.”

You sighed, knowing your classmates wouldn’t make the scheduling of this easy. Even ignoring the fact that you might have to deal with their noise and obnoxious planning, Bakugou’s sleep schedule was another barrier to your project design. He went to bed early enough to severely limit your time for working on the group project. You honestly didn’t know when he found the time for homework. If you didn’t do yours immediately it probably wouldn’t get done until the very last minute.

“We can just study in our rooms. It will be quieter there.” Bakugou shrugged.

You froze at his casual words. Study in your rooms? As in study in his room? Nobody had ever been invited into Bakugou’s room. Not his best friend Kirishima. Not his childhood rival Midoriya. Not even that girl from the gen-ed course he’d dated when you were second years. Nobody.

“Uh…are you sure?”

“Yeah. Why?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re making a weird face, idiot.”

You shook your head. “Nothing. I was just thinking. Yeah, we can just study in our rooms. Just text me before randomly showing up, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Aizawa was starting up class, causing you both to shut up. You felt a part of you get very excited that you might be about to see Bakugou’s room. There was something sort of forbidden to the feeling, fluttering around in your chest like a stupid flock of butterflies or something. You were sure it was just the appeal of his room, the secrecy of it all. You loved knowing other people’s secrets. That must have been what it was.

As it turned out though, your hopes and dreams were all in vain. Bakugou texted you to ask about studying, not in his room, but your room. You complied of course. As much as you wanted to see the inside of his mysterious room, you respected his privacy. After all, rooms were sacred. Your room was a deeply personal expression of yourself, and you weren’t about to pry into his space. It wouldn’t get you a better grade anyway, seeing as your project wasn’t on the inside of Bakugou’s room.

You had cleaned up your room earlier in preparation for this moment, anticipating that sooner or later Bakugou would want to study in your room even if you had briefly entertained hopes that he would want to study in his. Your normally messy desk was cleared off, your bed was made and your dirty laundry was all in the basket where it belonged. If you hadn’t cleaned the room yourself you would probably think that you didn’t live here.

Bakugou walked into the room with all the posturing of royalty, shoulders thrown back confidently as he eyed your room. He sniffed, passing whatever final judgement he would, and proceeded to sit down at your desk.

“Nice room, nerd. Cleaner than I thought it would be.”

You grew uncomfortably warm at the truth of his accusation, feeling specifically called out. Could he possibly have heard you vacuuming earlier? It didn’t matter. You didn’t care about his opinion.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s just get to work, shall we?”

You pulled out your notebook, taking a seat on the floor and gesturing for him to join you.

“Why are you sitting on the floor, idiot?”

“I don’t have two chairs for both of us to work at the desk, so therefore the floor is our next best option.”

“No it isn’t.” Bakugou rolled his eyes. “You have a bed, don’t you? We can just sit on your bed and that way you don’t have to break you tailbone on the floor. Unless you like sitting on the hard floor.”

You gritted your teeth, glaring up at the challenge.

You pushed off from your hand, standing so you could loom over where he sat at your desk. “Fine. Bed it is then.”

You took a seat on your bed as he stood up from your desk chair he had invited himself to sit in. You waited for him to take his spot next to you on the bed, but he hesitated. For a guy who had suggested this idea, he didn’t seem to like it very much. Your surprise wore off though when you realized that he was being…awkward. Bakugou Katsuki was being awkward.

Was it you? Had you done something to make him uncomfortable? Or had he just been shy this whole time?

You could have laughed at him, but instead you took pity. You remembered your first year, when you had been painfully awkward. Maybe Bakugou had always been like that and you had just never had occasion to notice until now.

“Go ahead,” you said, patting the bed next to you. “Take a seat. I don’t bite, and even if I did you would like it.”

You laughed a little bit at your own joke, even if Bakugou didn’t seem to think it was very funny. You did succeed in getting him to sit on the bed though, so some small victories were won. He was stiff and sat much farther away from you than necessary, but he sat nonetheless.

After hours of working together, you managed to have a rough outline for the project. It was sort of a tricky project, based around gathering knowledge and making a presentation on the hero you thought to be the best. Bakugou had insisted with surprising vehemence on making it on All Might, and you agreed with him. After all, he was the symbol of peace and had been the #1 hero for decades. Even though this was a move you would have predicted more from Midoriya, you figured if you were going to do this project you might as well do it right.

Bakugou got up to head to bed, but you stopped him before he could leave. “Hey…I didn’t know you were so into All Might.”

Bakugou blushed, nervously scratching the back of his head.

“I mean, we all love All Might, don’t we?”

“I mean, I know I do.” You laughed a little to set him at ease before revealing a little bit of yourself. “When I was a kid All Might was always my favorite hero because of his smile. I always thought that if someone were ever to come save me, I would want them to smile at me like that.”

Bakugou was silent for a moment, thinking about your words.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I was always so impressed by his strength, and the way people loved him. I always wanted to be loved like that. I wanted to make people believe that I could help them. That they could trust me.”

There was a deep sense of vulnerability to his words that made you want to know more and made you want to understand this boy you had clearly underestimated.

“Is that why you became a hero?”

He huffed, retreating back into himself.  “I became a hero to prove I was better than everybody.”

In a way, it was a yes.

“Have a goodnight, Bakugou.”

He stopped in your doorway, looking back at you with a hint of that vulnerability from earlier.

“Goodnight.”

You had been working nonstop for the past 4 days. You had your schedule set up to an unreasonable level of strictness. You would work for an hour, watch a 10 minute motivational video, then work for an hour again. The only real breaks you took were to eat and sleep, and it was starting to wear on you. You just had so much work to do, and you needed to be free this weekend for the sleepover Mina was having, but you were exhausted.

You had finally reached a breaking point tonight, and you found yourself sitting in your bed crying. You weren’t pretty crying either. It was an ugly, exhausted cry, yanked out of you by the hours of work and stress. You had fallen onto your side, curled up in bed as the sounds choked out of you, ugly things breaking you open and cracking your chest and your voice.

Because of all the stress you had been under, you had completely forgotten about your group project. You had met up with Bakugou the first couple of days, but yesterday you had begged off and reschedule for…today. Right now.

You didn’t even hear Bakugou’s polite knock on your door, the same three knock rap he had given the last few days before coming in to work on your project with you for an hour. If he thought you were ignoring him or just not there, it didn’t stop him from coming in. You didn’t notice, completely oblivious to his presence until he spoke.

“Are you hurt?”

He rushed over to your side, rolling over your body to inspect you. His hands were surprisingly gentle as they skimmed over your body, checking for injuries, gently pressing into the divots of old scars. He found no hurt on you though, and pulled back, frowning.

“What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”

You sniffled loudly, shamefully wiping your arm across your face.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, repeating it for your own benefit. “I’m fine, I’m totally fine. Everything is fine.”

“You sound like stupid Deku. Every time he’s ever told me he was fine he was lying.”

You choked out a giggle against your will. “Yeah, he does that doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he does. But unlike Deku you’re not stupid. You want to explain this little episode to me?”

“I’m just…stressed.” You sighed, explaining your situation to him.

He sat back, stunned. “Well no wonder you finally broke. Nobody can work like that. You have to have fun, you idiot!”

For such a nice sentiment, he said it awfully aggressively. He almost made you burst into tears again, but he seemed to realize his mistake, quickly softening his voice again as he floundered for something to say.

“I…you…I’ve never seen you cry before,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I do it. This may come as a surprise but I’m human too, y’know.”

His hands still rested on your thighs, and you looked up at him hesitantly, breath catching in your throat. You had, of course, noticed that he was pretty before. Sharp cheek bones, harsh blond hair, bright red eyes that dug into your soul. Somehow though, he had gotten prettier over the past couple of days as you had gotten to know him, gotten to understand him better.

Before, you had thought he was arrogant. From your conversations though, you knew better. He just cared about people too much. Cared about their opinions too much, feared rejection. You offered up a little piece of yourself in exchange for everything he had admitted to you.

“Remember what I told you about All Might being my favorite hero? I thought to be a good hero you had to always be smiling. You could never show weakness. Not anger or sadness or anything else. That’s why you’ve never seen me cry before. Why I’m always so happy go lucky. Because I have to be.”

There was a pause while Bakugou processed that information.

“That’s…stupid,” he decided. “You shouldn’t hold back on your emotions like that. You deserve to feel things. You can’t dedicate your life to other people like that.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m starting to figure that out.” You stared down at your bedspread.

You were shocked when you felt a warm, calloused hand brush your cheek. Bakugou hesitantly, tenderly wiped the last of your tears away, and you felt something in your heart flutter. You had known Bakugou Katsuki a long time, but you had never known him like this. Looking up into his eyes did nothing to dispel your butterflies when you saw how soft his gaze was. Something in you ached to be looked at like that, to be held in someone’s hands as carefully as he was holding you now.

“Can I…can I kiss you?”

You weren’t sure where the question had come from, and yet you were, because some time along the way of getting to know him you had realized something. Everything you had thought there was to hate about Bakugou was really something to love. Over the course of this project, you had done something extraordinarily stupid. You had developed feelings for a boy who would never like you back. Which was why his next words stole your breath entirely.

“Please,” Bakugou said, his words a sticky sweet, fervent plea.

You blinked, daring to look at him again only to find him wide open to you. He was leaning forward, a look in his eyes you could scarcely describe, a feverish desire overcoming him. His hand on your face twitched ever so slightly in anticipation as you leaned forward.

When your lips met his, you were surprised by the easiness of it. You fell forward into him, arms draped around his broad shoulders as he pulled you in, large hand wrapping around your waist, firm and capable. He tasted like burnt sugar, impossibly so, and it made your head spin, made you dizzy with the sensation. It made you hungry for him.

When he licked your lower lip, you let him swallow you down, hands blazing a fiery trail across your waist to your back, making the trip over and over and burning into you with their warmth. You tugged on his hair lightly, eliciting a moan from him that shot straight through your chest. You gasped into his open mouth, your clumsy kiss flipping when he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Everything became easier when you let him take over, let him pull you into his lap up against the hardness of his body and tilt your head to the side just so, pliable and soft in his arms. Kissing him became easy and natural, shivers running through your body as you surrendered yourself to the experience.

When he finally pulled away, you found yourself licking a mixture of your spit and his off your mouth, not even minding how profoundly gross that was. Normally you would have shuddered, but you were far too busy staring at him, mesmerized and breathless.

“You, uh…that was…that was really nice. And I think you’re pretty.” Bakugou coughed. “Do you want to go out sometime? Because obviously you need somebody to distract you from your homework, stupid. Look what you did. Made a mess of yourself.”

You ducked your head into his shoulder at his words, hiding your face and your embarrassment. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice.”

He hummed, the sound resonating in his chest and traveling straight to your ear. “Can I…kiss you again then?”

“I thought you would never ask.”

[thisisarcanereverie]

What it Means to be Worthy (Thor x Reader)

ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

THERE IS SMUT IN HERE 18+ YOU THIRSTY SONS OF BITCHES.

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it up pals) Do NOT read unless you are 18+. 

Also I have never written smut before so I hope it’s ok. I honestly couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t been listening to Deity by Valeree (highly recommend listening while reading the smut. It will probably make it better.) 

“Thor,” you called the God of Thunder, “Thor it’s (Y/n).”

You heard a small grunt coming from the living room as you entered through the front door. You immediately went to cover your nose from the stench that invaded your senses upon entering. 

It seemed as though the whole house smelled of rotten food, sweat, and something akin to a pigs feces. It was a smell that you never quite got used to, even after 2 years of smelling it every day. 

You quietly made your way through the house until you saw a sight you were quite used to seeing now. 

Thor on the ground, shirtless, covered in sweat and grime. His beard was filthy from vomit and dandruff and his hair greasy and matted to his head. 

There had been a time where he cared so much about his hair that he got triggered if you had tried to trim it. 

After 2 years of seeing this scene before you, it failed to surprise you. 

Now it just angered you. 

You knew you couldn’t understand the pain he was in, he lost his entire family, half his people, and Asgard. 

Sure, the people of Midgard were generous and gave your people sanctuary, a place for your people to call home once again. 

But that didn’t stop you from missing Asgard’s golden palace and it’s mountains of lush green forests. How you missed running with Thor and Loki through those forests after dark to get to the highest peak you could to watch the glittering of the gold during sunrise. 

You had been playmates with the Princes since infancy. You had trained and fought alongside them in battle, joined them in celebrations after each conquest, mourned the loss of Frigga with them. 

You went with Thor all those years ago to retrieve Loki and joined the Avengers with him. 

But now the Avengers were gone, long since disbanded before the battle of Wakanda. 

You weren’t angry at him, your anger was towards the cruel fate that had befallen your precious friends. You had cared for Loki, almost as much as Thor if not equal to. 

If you were honest, you weren’t in better shape. Your grief had taken hold of you as well. Your kind smile had turned cynical. Anyone who tried to get close to you often was met with your icy glare and scoff. 

Thor was the only one who brought out the caring person you once were. 

With a deep sigh you expertly walked around the empty booze bottles and to the grieving man before you. Thor may have gotten soft around the middle but he weighed about the same as you slumped his arms around your shoulders. Thor groaned and went pale, his eyes barely opening. 

“C’mon blondie,” you softly spoke, “let’s get you washed up.”

You half dragged the god to the bathroom, he threw up halfway there but you paid no mind. You would clean that after getting him in the shower. 

You didn’t bother stripping him before setting him in the tub. Without warning or mercy you pointed the shower hose directly at his face and turned the water to icy cold. 

Thor yelled at the icy feeling, borderline pleading, for you to turn off the water. However, over the course of 2 years the patience you had for him had worn thin and so you continued to spray until the stench subsided a little. 

Thor was fully awake and sober now, seeing your figure as clear as day tower over him in the tub with a look on your face akin to a mother scolding a misbehaving child. 

Thor felt so small and powerless under your gaze and he loathed it. 

“You could have stopped a while ago.”

“This needs to stop Thor.” 

Your hands motioned to him, Thor once admired those hands and the strength that they had. Now he just found them annoying. 

He found you annoying. 

You came by everyday and pulled him out of his stupor, clean up after him a little, and try to clean him up. You treated him like a child who couldn’t take care of himself and he loathed it so. 

“I am King of Asgard you do not get to tell me what to do.”

“What King would wallow himself in such a way.”

He bolted upright and stood in the tub, successfully towering over your frame, you had gone too far. You didn’t get to say such things to him. 

What Thor didn’t count on was the world getting fuzzy and a little dark when he stood up, so although he towered over you he was as stable as a wind chime. 

You held onto his frame to prevent him from falling flat onto his face. You felt Thor stiffen under your touch. 

You knew Thor was now sensitive and insecure in areas he never was before. 

It seemed like yesterday that he was admiring himself in one of Asgard’s golden mirrors, his long hair had looked like spun gold in Asgard’s sunlight and his figure was that befitting of a god. 

But none of that had ever mattered to you, even when Thor became full of himself to the point of him being ill tempered and arrogant, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever give up on him. 

Not that you tried to give up on him anyways.

Loki had asked you one day why you didn’t. Why didn’t you give up on the golden prince when he clearly would never feel the same way. 

“I love him too much to be without him. Even if that means watching him parade himself around as a peacock and watch women fly to him like bees to honey.” 

Then Thor was banished and the only reason why you didn’t follow was due to Loki’s intervening. 

Then Thor met Jane Foster. 

The memory of the beautiful scientist brought back bittersweet memories. You had never seen Thor so deep in love, and that made you both sad and happy. 

Happy that he finally found someone who could keep him humble and who he loved just as much as you loved him. 

Sad that when you often caught Thor daydreaming, that it wasn’t you he was daydreaming about. 

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and sat the giant on the edge of the tub while you went to gather fresh clothes for him. 

You gathered a simple sweatshirt and pants for him to pull on once he was finished with his shower. 

As you set the clothes beside the sink you couldn’t help but feel the gnawing feeling in the deepest parts of your heart and the nagging thoughts in your head. 

You knew that Thor was hellbent on this self destructive path and you knew that there was nothing you could possibly do to prevent it. 

It was either you let Thor drown himself in his despair or you let him drown you with it as well. 

You had accepted long ago that Thor would never see you as anything more than what you had always been. 

His playmate since infancy. 

The girl who got a starry look every time he entered a room. 

You had saved up money from the jobs you had worked over the past 2 years, you finally saved up enough to get away from New Asgard. Leave its people to the hands of their self pitying King and Val. 

It wasn’t like they needed you or the other way around. 

No one would notice your absence. 

You began to pick up around Thor’s home, recycling empty liquor bottles and trashing pizza boxes and rotted food. Vacuuming the carpets and dusting here and there. 

This will be the last time you do as such. 

You needed to leave, staying here and wallowing in Thor’s despair and depression as much as your own wasn’t good for you. And you knew deep down you had been enabling him, every time you cleaned his house and washed and fed him you knew that he only got worse and that you were supporting him when you did this. 

You needed to leave for Thor’s sake as much as your own. 

You wondered how long it would take him to notice. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Thor, you doubt he would even care at this point. 

The walk back to your house was only a few minutes, having moved into the house closest to his in case of emergency. 

Most of your things were packed and already in your apartment in New York waiting for you. Well things of value, the rest you had sold online, it was amazing what the internet could do. By far one of the greatest inventions on Midgard in your opinion. 

All that was left to do was, pack a few pieces of clothing and toiletries. 

And write a goodbye letter to Thor explaining where you went and why. 

You had avoided writing it, not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting Thor to not care. 

It wasn’t like you were completely leaving Thor, Valkyrie (Val as you called her) assured you that she would make sure he didn’t starve or drink himself to an early grave. 

You trusted her to make good on her promise. 

You leaving wasn’t even your idea in the first place, Val had tried to get you to leave a year earlier, but you were too stubborn to leave then. 

You grabbed the piece of stationary and began to write. 

‘Thor, 

By the time you're sober enough to read this I’ll already be gone. I don’t predict that I’ll be back. 

Val will be making sure you don’t starve or drink yourself into an early grave in my place. 

I just can’t do this anymore Thor. 

I had loved you since we were but children running around the palace gardens, I still do. However I accepted the fact that you could never see me as anything more than your old playmate and dear friend so long ago. 

I had tried to be by your side in a supporting role no matter how much it had hurt me. 

When you became an arrogant ass I tried my hardest to explain away your tantrums. 

When you came back from banishment I listened to you swoon over Lady Jane Foster with a smile on my face even though it tore me apart. 

I had stayed with you, took care of you. It took me so long to realize that I had just been enabling you this entire time. 

I had been supporting your self destructive behavior and I refuse to play that part any longer. I need to leave, not just for me but for you. 

You need to sort through your emotions, you need to learn how to handle yourself by yourself. You need me not holding your hand when you do that. 

I need to discover for myself what it means to be worthy-’

A loud pounding at your door disrupted your train of thought as you wrote. Normally no one would bother you, not unless it had to deal with Thor. 

The floorboards creaked as you made your way to your door. The pounding had not ceased until you flew the door open to reveal Thor. 

His hair was still damp from his shower and the sweats you had picked out were already stained from the beer he held in one hand. His sky blue eye was hidden behind dark shades. 

“(Y/n),” Thor said, “I need a thing.”

“Thor right now isn’t a good time.” 

“Don’t worry Lady (Y/n) it won’t take even a second I’ll be in and out.” Thor assured, flashing you a smile that could make your legs go weak. Despite how much hurt you were in you were still no match for Thor’s charms. 

“What thing do you need?”

“Just a thing I’ll know the name of it when I see it.” 

You stepped aside as you let Thor in, hoping that he won’t notice the lack of furniture or the note left on the table. You decided to let him be while you went and finished packing whatever was in the bathroom. After that you went back to the living area where you had left the note only to see Thor sitting on the couch, his fingers clenching the paper tightly. He had taken his shades off, the deep dark circles stood out against his skin a tribute to how tired he truly was. 

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sorrow that filled his eyes. red rimmed the blue eye as fresh tears began to fall. 

“You weren’t supposed to read that yet.” 

“And when was I supposed to read it then?! When you were god knows where you will be!” His voice bellowed as tears continued to fall down his cheek. 

“Thor please don’t yell.” 

“No (Y/n)!” he cut you off, “you,” his finger pointed at you, his gaze as intense as lightning, “you don’t get to leave like this. You don’t get to leave me too.”

“Thor I don’t have a choice,” you argue, “I need to let you go. I need to find who I am without you and you need-”

“DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I NEED!” 

You could hear thunder roaring in the distance outside, lightning danced around his fingers faintly. Thor had never scared you, but right now you were close to it. 

“Thor,” you say calmly hoping somehow your calm tone will calm the God of Thunder, “I’m sorry for choosing the cowards way, I wanted to avoid this.”

“Did you truly think you would be able to avoid me for long.” The lightning had yet to cease but his eyes seemed to stop glowing ever so slightly. 

“I didn’t think you would have noticed for at least a few days.” 

“Why would you think I wouldn’t notice immediately?” He asked like it was the most incredulous question. He took a step closer to you while you took a step back. Thunder still roared outside and lightning still curled around his fingers. Thor furrowed his eyes in confusion until he finally seemed to hear the thunder storm outside and realize he had scared you. 

Thor had scared you. 

Immediately the pain in his chest worsened with the guilt that he had scared you. That he had so little control over his powers when he was so emotional. Slowly he closed his eyes and he took a deep breath in and out. He then felt his powers subside and the thunder had stopped. 

You could see his shoulders hunch forward with shame and you instictivly placed a hand over his shoulder to comfort him. Thor was quick to envelop your hand with his. Holding onto your hand for dear life. 

Your eyes then met, closer than you had ever been before. 

“What thing were you looking for?” you asked softly, “you said you came over for a thing.”

“I lied,” Thor admitted softly, “I just didn’t want to be alone.” 

The next thing you knew was the faint taste of beer and blueberries on your lips and strong, calloused hands making their way to your shoulders. 

Thor was just as good a kisser as you imagined. Lips moving expertly over your own, moving against yours so desperately. Like a man dying of thirst. 

You knew you should push him off of you, but for one second you wanted to enjoy his lips on yours. Kissing you like you had always wanted to kiss him. 

You moved your lips against his, relishing every moment. Because you knew you wouldn’t be able to kiss him again. 

Only when Thor's hands traveled to your waist did you break away. Albeit, you couldn’t push him further than just enough to give you some breathing space. 

“Thor,’ you said, “you’re drunk you don’t want this.” 

‘When will you stop telling me what I want and don’t want.” His lips moved from your lips to the corner of your mouth and slowly made their way to your neck. 

“Thor I do not want this if your reasoning is impaired.”

“I appreciate the thought dear one, but I only had half a beer tonight.” 

Asgardians could handle their booze well, especially Thor. For Thor to be the least bit intoxicated he would have had to drink 3 large bottles of Asgardian booze. However, when it came to Midgard it took 4 large barrows of Midgardian beer for it to have the same effect on him. Thor mostly drank it for the taste.

“Unless you would rather I stop.” Thor said, before his hands had removed themselves from your waist you stopped them. 

With every ounce of passion in you, you grabbed a handful of his long hair and pressed your lips to his. 

It was a mess of passionate and needy kisses and moans. Thor’s battle-worn hands had roamed over your body in a desperate need to feel you. 

He was quick to rid you of your shirt, hands feeling every inch of naked skin as he could. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth. 

You moaned as his hands found your breasts, his large hands covering them over your bra. Your hands made quick work with your bra, removing the suffocating fabric before lifting Thor’s shirt. 

you felt him stiffen as you rid him of his shirt. 

He wasn’t as muscular as he had been 2 years ago, however it took more than 2 years to completely diminish what his body had been. Although his stomach had softened as well as his arms. You didn’t care in the slightest, loving Thor in every shape he came in. 

Your hands lovingly brushed over his torso as you began to leave open mouthed kisses down his neck, over his chest, it wasn’t until you were at the waistband on his sweatpants did he bring you back up and kissed you with fiery passion. 

Thor laid you in front of the fireplace that you forgot you lit a while ago. Honestly a little surprised that the fire was still going. 

You didn’t have much time to think about that as you felt Thor’s lips travel  from your neck and over your breasts. Your nails scratched the floor beneath you as you felt him at the waistband of your jeans. 

You felt Thor pause and you looked at him. 

“Are you sure dear one?” 

Your heart melted at the new nickname, as you nodded to him. However that wasn’t enough for the blonde adonis as he traveled up your body and littered your neck in open mouth kisses. 

“I need to hear you say you want this dear one.” 

“Please Thor,” you pleaded as he ground his hips into yours slowly, your hips meeting his as his pace slows even more successfully driving you insane. 

“I need you Thor.”

“What do you need dear one?”

“I need you to finish what we started.” 

With that Thor slammed his lips on yours as he rid you of your pants, underwear included. He leaned back and his eyes drank in your figure illuminated by the fire light. You were breathtaking, any one would buckle at the sight of you. 

Pride swelled in Thor’s heart as this view was reserved for him only. 

Just as you were about to say something you felt Thor’s beard tickle the inside of your thigh and without warning Thor dived in. 

Your hands immediately flew to his hair and grabbed fists full of it, anything to tether you to reality. 

As Thor worked his magic on your bundle of nerves your moans filled the empty house. Thor moaned as your grip on his hair tightened which sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. Thor lifted your legs over his shoulders and gripped your thighs firmly as his tongue worked faster. 

Just as you were about to reach your blissful release you felt him pull away. Your arousal practically dripped from his lips onto his beard. 

He rid himself of the last piece of clothing before capturing your lips once again. Unlike the kisses from before, this was gentle and sweet. You could taste yourself on his lips as he tenderly kissed you. 

You slowly ran your hands over his chest, committing him to memory. 

Thor pulled away from your lips as he entered you. 

Your mouth let out a silent scream of pleasure as Thor let out a shaky breath of pleasure. Thor waited for a few seconds, relishing in the feeling of you around him before finally moving his hips against yours. 

Thor was soft and slow in his thrusts, making sure to worship every part of you. His lips were everywhere, from your face to your breasts. 

You met in time with his thrusts. The only sound in the room being your shaky breaths, moans of pleasure, and skin on skin. And it sounded like a chorus to you. 

Thor’s thrusts became erratic and unyielding, the knot in your stomach was on the verge of bursting when Thor whispered in your ear. 

“Let go dear one, I’ll catch you.”

With that the knot had become undone, leaving your body shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. 

Thor had not been too far behind you before he too reached his climax. 

Thor laid down beside you, still coming down from his high. You laid your head on his chest and he instinctively wrapped his arms around you. 

This was everything you had ever wanted, to lay beside Thor with his arm beside you. Well almost everything. 

As Thor began to play with the ends of your head as you replayed the past two years in your head. 

“I think you may have been right.” Thor broke the silence, you lifted your head off his chest to see his gaze distant as he stared at the ceiling. 

“When have I ever been anything otherwise.”

Thor’s chest rumbled in laughter as unshed tears began to fill his eyes. He refused to cry, not now. 

“I agree that you need to leave dear one.” Thor’s voice cracked, “I have become a pitiful king to my people, but I have been an even worse friend to you.” his eyes left their place on the ceiling and rested on your face. “You have been faithfully by my side ever since either of us could remember. You had defended me when I didn’t deserve it and loved me when no one did. Not even myself.” His calloused hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing the tears that had escaped your eyes away. “you don’t deserve to drown in my despair with me. You deserve a life of adventure and you deserve the time to figure out who you are.” You pressed your forehead to his as tears leaked out. “I need to let you go.”

---

Thor had spent the night committing every touch and every scent to memory. He had no idea when his feelings for you grew to such lengths but he knew now that he had figured it out much too late. 

He wasn’t the man you deserved by your side. 

Thor waved you off at the airport and watched as the metal contraption took you away from his side for the first time since his banishment all those years ago. 

He hoped that if you returned he would be a man worthy of you again. 

Thor only wished he knew where to start.