#somehow this turned out better than my last one despite taking like a quarter of the time 🤷‍♀️

[greendraws]

WAAAHHH PLEASE DRAW MORE TORI SPRING!!! <3333

<3

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Can we get hcs of Helian and s/o waking up after a drunken night of doing spicy things?

(GFL) AK-12, AK-15, UMP45, HK416, M4A1, M16A1, RO635, G36, WA2000, Helianthus with their S/O the morning after

I've actually been wanting to write something like this for a while, so now's the perfect excuse to write it!

NSF-W IMPLICATIONS BELOW THE CUT! obviously

S/O's eyes slowly flutter open from the lights of their quarters, feeling a warmth on their body.

Their head turned to a smiling 12, who was snuggled into their chest, her finger idly tracing the outline of their shoulder.

(AK-12) "Hm, looks like someone slept good.~"

(S/O) "Thanks to a certain someone."

S/O made a conscious effort to not stare at her bare chest as the blanket shifted, something which she noticed despite her eyes being shut still.

(AK-12) "Why so shy now? You enjoyed doing much more to them last night-"

(S/O) "Ah, don't say it like that! Makes me sound like some kinda pervert."

12 hummed playfully as S/O moved to get up. Their quarters had always been an enclosed gray rectangle with only space enough for a table, chair, bed, and a closet.

But with 12 hugging so tightly onto them, it felt even smaller somehow.

Before they could fully sit upright, she forced them back down, a small chuckle escaping her lips.

(AK-12) "Come on, we don't have to get up just yet. I'm not entirely satisfied."

(S/O) "We both have to get to work soon, 12. And unlike you, I can get sore."

12's eyes opened and revealed her glowing pink irises, staring straight at S/O, though her expression was more soft than intimidating.

(AK-12) "Please?"

(S/O) sigh "...That's cheating."

(AK-12) "Mhm, but is it working?"

It took all of S/O's self-restraint to not do anything else after giving her a kiss, resulting in 12 making an adorable pout.

S/O felt a small nudge on their forehead that stirred them awake, turning their head to the left and seeing 15 looking at them.

(AK-15) "...Good morning."

(S/O) "Mm...Morning, 15."

Her face was stoic as usual, though there was the slightest tinge of red on her cheeks. S/O had no idea if that was her, or just their eyes seeing something that wasn't there.

Regardless, it made S/O cuddle into 15 with their arms wrapping around her waist.

She slowly raised her arms and did the same, their bare skin touching one another.

Although just like last night, it felt more passionate than lewd.

(AK-15) "You are not injured, I presume?"

(S/O) "Injured? From wha-...O-Oh, right." ahem "No, just a little sore is all."

(AK-15) "Understood. I will take better care next time, my apologies."

(S/O) "Heh, you don't need to say sorry. I don't exactly mind."

(AK-15) "No, but the Commander will should our intercourse become a liability."

S/O couldn't help but blush a little by how bluntly 15 stated last night's activities.

(S/O) "R-Right...By the way, did you kiss my forehead?"

(AK-15) "I did...Should I have not done that?"

(S/O) "Actually, I...was wondering if you could do it again."

15 remained silent again before nodding.

(AK-15) "Acknowledged."

UMP45 yawned as she moved closer into S/O's personal space, a hand lazily resting on their chest.

(UMP45) "Mornin'."

(S/O) "Hey, sleep alright?"

(UMP45) "Mmm, guess so. Now I understand why G11 struggles to get out of bed."

(S/O) "The bed that comfortable?"

(UMP45) "Well, that and a certain someone is quite the sight to wake up to."

UMP45 playfully kissed their cheek and smiled, one of the rare times S/O got to see her genuine one.

(S/O) "You're not so bad looking yourself, you know."

(UMP45) "Aren't you the charmer?...Alright, we should probably get moving. Don't want HK screaming at me too."

UMP45 and S/O sat up, the blanket falling onto both their laps with nothing to make themselves look decent.

Not that either of them minded.

UMP45 felt a tad bit embarrassed about her chest being out in the open, but it quickly dissipated when her head fell onto S/O's shoulder.

(UMP45) "...On second thought, maybe we can stay like this for a few more minutes."

(S/O) "No complaints from me."

416 holds onto S/O tighter the moment she felt them awaken and trying to move.

(S/O) "Wha...416?"

(HK416) "You move too much in your sleep."

(S/O) "You didn't have a problem with me moving last night-"

416 gave them a death glare as S/O chuckled, but she simply shook her head and rested it on their chest.

She angled her head away to make sure S/O didn't see her blush, but they could just feel it with how her face began to heat up.

(S/O) "Did you rest well at least? I hope I didn't annoy you too much then."

(HK416) "I slept good...t-thanks to you. Now, get your ass up. I don't wanna have to lecture you too as well."

(S/O) "But, you're on me-"

416 gently flicked their forehead, grumbling what S/O could assume was German.

(S/O) "Love you too, 416!"

416 rolled her eyes but S/O saw the tiniest smile on the corner of her lips that formed.

S/O feels their hand wrapped in a comfortable warmth, turning over and seeing M4 smiling right at them, both her hands wrapping around theirs.

(M4A1) "Good morning, dear."

Even though she was blushing, her smile did nothing to mask her beauty, making S/O's mouth go slightly agape.

(S/O) "Morning, M4."

The two briefly kissed before S/O squeezed her hand in return, making her giggle.

(S/O) "You're very beautiful in the morning, you know that?"

M4 bashfully turned away, finally releasing S/O's hand.

(M4A1) "Hah, I-I don't know if I can handle these kinds of compliments this early in the morning."

(S/O) "How about this then?"

M4 let out a cute yelp when S/O suddenly hugged her from behind, rapidly giving her light pecks on the cheek that made her laugh.

S/O was just happy to see M4 laughing after what she had been through.

She deserved every bit of affection, and more.

M16 obnoxiously stretched and yawned, her hand accidentally smushing against S/O's face.

(S/O) "Ack...!"

(M16A1) "Heh, what's up?"

She messily rolled over on top of them, her chest squishing up against them and threatening to press against their face, making S/O blush madly.

(M16A1) "Seriously? This wasn't even the craziest position w-"

(S/O) "Stop it! Too early for this, M16!"

M16 let out a hearty laugh, but her expression became softer as she laid her head next to theirs.

(M16A1) "...I love you."

S/O was taken aback by how affectionate she had just become, but returned the gesture with a kiss on her eye.

(S/O) "Love you too."

M16 finally got off S/O, letting them breathe freely again as she got up and put on a shirt.

(S/O) "...H-Hey, that's my shirt!"

(M16A1) "Psh, girlfriend rules. Whatever clothes you wear are mine."

She wore the shirt outside of their room, making many members of AR Team realize the implications of what had happened.

Except for SOPMOD.

RO flusteredly put the blanket over her large chest, making S/O wake up faster than she intended.

(S/O) "Hm...? Oh, hey RO. Is something wrong?"

(RO635) "N-No, it's just...Um...I don't look decent right now."

S/O smiled as their hand brushed against hers.

(S/O) "You always look beautiful to me, RO."

Her cheeks brighten up at the compliment, but is quick to correct them.

(RO635) "I-I meant I'm not dressed!"

(S/O) "I know what you meant. But really? After what we did last night?"

(RO635) "That's a bit different! But...I appreciate the compliment."

S/O laughed at how adorable she was, giving them a small peck on the cheek. It made her shoulders finally relax, and let the blanket drop as she averted her gaze.

(RO635) "Can you hand me my shirt...please?"

G36's eyes squint as she wakes up, trying to find a shirt to put on for the moment before feeling S/O's hand on her waist.

(G36) "Ah, good morning, dear."

(S/O) "Morning. Going to work already?"

(G36) "Indeed."

(S/O) "Can't you stay in bed for at least a few more minutes?"

(G36) "No, I cannot. I must make myself look presentable otherwise people might...talk."

G36 reflexively covered her chest, though she made no effort to hide it from S/O.

(S/O) "Well, at least that'll be easy for you..."

S/O awkwardly eyed the hickies on their neck.

G36 vision became clearer as she closed in on S/O's face, giving them a quick kiss before finally getting up and letting S/O stare.

(G36) "...S/O, I believe you have already had ample time to look at me from last night. May I ask if you can help find my clothes?"

(S/O) "R-Right."

WA's eyes shot wide open the moment she realized she had no clothes on, and neither did S/O.

She looked hurriedly back and forth for a shirt before seeing S/O slowly get up.

S/O wrapped their arms around her stomach, making her yelp as she felt their head on her shoulder.

(S/O) "Hey, WA-"

(WA2000) "W-Watch where your hands are going!"

S/O chuckled teasingly, but made no suggestive movement with their hands, much to her relief.

Instead their hug became tighter.

(S/O) "You didn't mind at all last night where my hands were-"

(WA2000) "I swear to god you blockhead, one more word out of your mouth...!"

WA felt S/O's smirk grow against her bare shoulder, but they said nothing else when WA sighed and relaxed into them.

WA rested her body against theirs, closing her eyes.

(WA2000) "...Just give me my shirt in a few minutes, and I'll let you have this, alright?"

(S/O) "Let me have this, or let you have this?"

(WA2000) "Shut it already."

WA squeezed the hands around her tightly, deciding to enjoy the intimate moment with S/O adding of saying anything else.

Helian jolted awake as her eyes shot wide open, almost screaming.

(Helianthus) "I'M GONNA BE LATE!"

(S/O) "H-Helian! It's only 7, we still got an hour and a half!"

(Helianthus) "I...I-I see."

She finally realized what had happened, noticing her and S/O's lack of clothing.

Slowly, she grabbed the blanket and covered her chest awkwardly.

(Helianthus) "...G-Good morning."

(S/O) "Um...Morning."

An awkward silence passed between the two before she put the blanket to her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper.

(Helianthus) "...Was...I alright last night?"

S/O smiled and took her into a loving embrace, making her relax just the slightest amount.

(S/O) "More than alright. You made me feel loved, and that's all I'll ask for. What about you?"

Uncharacteristically, she gets even quieter as her expression softens and her shoulders become less stiff.

(Helianthus) "...I feel the same, S/O."

After a moment enjoying the intimacy, Helian clears her throat and begins speaking how she normally does.

(Helianthus) "Get yourself dressed. I want you ready by the time I come out the shower."

(S/O) "Can't we both use it?"

That immediately makes her fumble her next words.

(Helianthus) "I-...I suppose we can. Just...don't try anything, alright?"

(S/O) "Heh, yes ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow at their playful tone.

(S/O) "..." ahem "Understood."

S/O said in a much more clearer and professional tone.

That made Helian chuckle, making her squeeze their hand affectionately.

(Helianthus) "Much better."

She didn't mind S/O's playfulness and...other moods, as long as it was kept inside here in privacy.

[shanksxbuggy]

PLSOLSPLSSS share more of ur shuggy headcanons the last one was so good that it has been my lil entertainment in the head cuz i cant write for shitttt

Ask and you shall receive c: I didn’t know if my headcanons would be very interesting, so I’m glad to hear you enjoy it.

I started this out thinking hmm do I even have any more headcanons, but now I’ve written all this…

Sometimes I imagine them as cis, but sometimes I like to headcanon them as trans. Shanks as a transman, Buggy as nonbinary or trans or genderfluid or like a drag queen. However they are, they’re hanging with Ivankov and the rest of queer community because they just fit there.

Buggy used to be insecure about his hair and hid it under a beanie. He used to want a more ‘normal’ hair color like the other crewmembers.

Shanks is the better liar when he wants to be. He doesn’t lie as often, but he’s better at controlling and hiding his emotions.

Buggy first became interested in the circus by seeing street performers as a kid, and somehow felt the circus lights calling out to him. His heart longs for the stage, to be at the center of attention before a huge crowd. But he also hates being made fun of and isn’t very good at dealing with criticism. He became inspired to include circus techniques and magician’s tricks in his fighting style, light and airy and impossible to predict.

Buggy didn’t come up with being called the clown, the Marines did. He just begrudgingly went with it.

Shanks is a lot more touchy-feely. He likes casually having an arm around Buggy, having their thighs touching, resting his head on his shoulder. Buggy is generally fine with it in front of people he knows, but he’s not one for overly public displays of affection. He has a reputation to uphold.

After Buggy got his powers, whenever he used to get annoyed or mad at Shanks, he’d detach his body and float away where Shanks couldn’t reach him.

Buggy knows sign language, because it’s useful for subtle communication and even better when you’re someone who can detach their hands.

Shanks used to show his affection by teasing Buggy a lot, who’d take it the wrong way and thought Shanks was just being an ass for no reason to Buggy. It’s classic pigtail-pulling behavior.

Buggy was real upset about not being able to swim anymore, so Shanks promised to take Buggy out into the water whenever he felt like it, so he could experience the seas without fear of drowning.

One of Shanks’ favorite foods is lobster, which is hard for him to eat unless someone cracks open the shell for him. Buggy is always the one who unshells it for him.

Shanks is a morning person, Buggy is more of a night owl who consumes multiple cups of coffee to function.

Shanks doesn’t like sleeping by himself so he shares sleeping quarters with the crew. After Elegia, he started getting nightmares more frequently. Sleeping with a room full of people he can trust helps put him at ease.

When Shanks can’t sleep, he’ll drink a lot of alcohol until he just knocks himself out.

Same as Luffy, Buggy also has the special ability to turn people into allies, just in a slightly different way.

All the Red-Haired Pirates already know about Buggy because of Shanks’ tendency to ramble while he’s drunk. At first they expected Buggy to be this exotic beauty, they were shocked when they found out the love of Shanks’ life was a literal clown. But then again, Shanks always had…questionable tastes, so they should have expected it.

Shanks really loves Buggy’s red lipstick. He especially loves it when Buggy leaves red lipstick marks on his clothes and skin. Buggy does it as a way of staking his claim.

Despite his good looks, Shanks is bad at posing for photos. He’s not the type to try and utilize his looks, so he’s more awkward in photos than in real life. Buggy is the one who knows how to work the camera and loves showing off in front of it.

Shanks definitely isn’t the type to whine or complain about pointless things…except he will with Buggy, just as a way to get his attention or be pampered. Shanks turns into a big, immature baby around Buggy, but it’s because he feels comfortable enough to do so.

Shanks likes summer islands, Buggy prefers winter islands (his nose gets sunburned easily lol)

They used to swap clothes a lot when they were kids. As adults they don’t do it that much anymore, but when they do, usually it’s Buggy stealing Shanks’ things.

Shanks wears the same damn outfit all the time unless someone forces him into something else (usually it’s Buggy who does). Shanks also sleeps naked or just in his underwear most of the time.

Buggy trains Uta in the circus trade and teaches her tricks so she can include them in her performances. The Buggy Pirates and Uta do collaborations on the stage. It’s like an idol concert meets Cirque du Soleil and the result is mind-blowing. Shanks is not talented enough in that area to be an entertainer, but he is their biggest fan.

[trashikin]

IWM Vader publicly spanking Luke head canons please? 😈 😈😈

For where IWM is right this moment, Vader doesn’t force Luke to hang around him all day so it’s not likely to happen. But that doesn’t mean things won’t change later 😈

Consider this non-canonical for now

tw, public humiliation, accidental incestuous marriage, D/s, non consensual spanking, wayyyy undernegotiated kink, references to past sessions with highly dubious consent

Luke was relieved that Vader at least did not walk quickly everywhere. He still had to take an extra quick step every so often to keep up with him, but it was nowhere near as bad as the time he had rushed him to the hangar to meet Tarkin.

It was the first time Luke had been ordered to attend one of the Executor’s staff meetings. It seemed a hilariously normal thing for a Sith to do, but bureaucracy ruled everywhere, it seemed. It was something the Empire excelled at.

He still did not see why he had to attend. Vader had gone from virtually ignoring him to inserting himself more and more into Luke’s personal space. So far Vader had been content to confine his humiliating, quasi-sexual games to their private quarters. There had been nothing Luke could quite call an assault, if only because the strange floaty state he fell into made him much more amenable. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the Force, either. He was no expert, but he knew when Vader used it the air grew cold. And all he felt in those moments was heat.

Luke shivered despite the long-sleeved deep blue tunic he wore and rubbed his arms. None of that was what he wanted to focus on. He doubted that there would be any interesting intel in an internal meeting, but perhaps if he could memorize some of the ship’s routines he could help the Rebels sketch out an assault one day.

The conference room Vader led him to was either the same one they had dined with Tarkin in, or every one on the Executor looked alike. Luke’s credits were on the second option. They were alone for the moment, and it did not surprise Luke that Vader was the first. It was that or a dramatic entrance as the last there. He had noticed, despite Vader’s usual manner, that he had a flair for it.

Vader walked to the chair at the head of the table. It faced the door with its back to a transparisteel screen showing the stars. Luke lingered further down the table. There were rules in court to who sat where, and he was certain his actual input was not needed. He picked a chair a little more than halfway down the table. As far away as he could get from his detested husband without making it obvious that what was what he was doing. Hopefully, anyway.

”No, Luke.”

Luke bit the tip of his tongue and froze, halfway into the chair. He carefully stood and turned to face Vader.

”Then where should I sit?” He asked, remembering at the last moment to add, “my lord,” as they were in public. Vader better tolerated his sass in private.

Vader did not indicate another chair, nor did he speak. Instead he crooked a finger in Luke’s direction, calling him to his side. Luke kept his sigh to himself and obeyed, it was too small a battle to bother fighting.

When he reached Vader’s side he saw a small, grey mat sitting to the left of his chair. It was where one would sit a beloved pet so that they were close at hand but could not interfere. Luke frowned at it, confused at its purpose, before looking back up into the lenses of Vader’s helmet.

”Kneel,” Vader said, with no more intonation than if he were saying hello. As though he was a man who made such small talk.

“What?” Luke knew precisely what he had said, but hoped he had somehow misunderstood.

“You are to kneel,” Vader indicated the mat, confirming Luke’s fear.

Luke balled his hands into fists. He could endure a lot for Alderaan’s safety, but not without pushing back.

”No! I’m not a massif!”

Vader did not give commands a third time. He stared at Luke, seeming to loom over him even though while sitting they were roughly at eye level with each other. He said nothing for several seconds, though Luke could feel his anger at being defied building. He was giving Luke a chance to obey, to be good.

To be his good boy.

That thought threatened to bring in the tide, and Luke imagined he could feel warm waves begin to lap at his ankles. He dug his fingernails into his palms to quell the feeling. He was stronger than this.

Vader sighed, a human sound that he did not make in public, and stood. Luke resisted the urge to step backwards. He would hold his ground and sit in a chair, like a person.

“Oh, little one,” Vader said as he gripped Luke’s chin in one hand. He spoke almost gently, which Luke had learned was more dangerous than his actual anger. “You should have learned this lesson by now. I give orders and you obey.”

In a blur Luke found himself bent over the conference table, face-down. He tried to push himself back up, but Vader wrenched his arms behind his back. He held Luke down with one hand, pressing against his arms and using his greater weight to keep him pinned.

”What are you — “

The door at the far end of the conference room slid open and an officer entered. It was not one Luke knew. For a brief, wild moment he had hope that Vader would desist in front of others. The officer did look surprised for a second, but then took a seat and began flipping through a datapad. Luke was of no interest.

Vader grabbed the back of Luke’s pants and in one motion pulled them and his underwear down below his ass. Luke went pink, his only relief that Vader had not oriented him with his ass to the door.

“I-I’m sorry,” Luke said quickly, craning his head around to try to look at Vader. “I’ll — aaahh!“

The first smack against his cheeks cut off his attempt at contrition. He bit down on the noise for the second, trying not to give Vader the satisfaction of hearing his distress.

He failed quickly. The fifth blow made him yelp, and each subsequent one pulled a new cry or moan from him. By the tenth, he felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes. He blinked, determined that they would not fall.

All the while, more officers entered for their staff meeting. The looks Luke received were a mixture of curiosity, disgust, and amusement. Most followed the first officer’s example and chose to ignore him. Others watched with a sort of glee. Luke did not have the spare mental capacity to tell if they were enjoying seeing a suspected Rebel suffer or if their pleasure was more perverse.

Luke let out a particularly loud wail at the twentieth blow. He had no idea how long this was going to last.

”Please,” he tried, quieter than before, “please, my lord.”

Vader paused, and Luke felt a surge of relief. But he did not release Luke, and instead spoke to the room.

”You may begin,” he told the gathered officers, before resuming Luke’s punishment.

Luke had no idea what they discussed. His entire galaxy shrunk until it was only the rhythmic blows on his ass and thighs, his losing battle to hold back his tears, and his pitiful cries of pain. There was no end to it, it seemed, perhaps it would last the entire meeting. Or forever. He kept his eyes squeezed closed and tried to pretend this was not happening.

“My lord,” one of the officers said at some point.

Vader paused once more and Luke panted in relief.

”It is rather difficult to hold this meeting with the noise your husband is making,” the officer said. He was brave, Luke thought, to speak to Vader like that. Braver still to try to put an end to this.

He should have known better.

”Indeed,” Vader said. “Luke, apologize to the Lieutenant for your poor manners.”

Luke would give almost anything to get this to stop. He turned his watery gaze to the man who had complained. Eye contact made him even more aware that his humiliation had witnesses.

”I’m suh-sorry,” Luke said, “for interrupting.”

”That’s a good boy,” Vader said as quietly as his vocoder allowed.

Luke hated that he felt the tiniest spark of pride at having done something correctly. But at least the punishment was over. He would probably have to kneel on that damned mat but —

Smack

”AAHHH!”

Luke could feel Vader’s displeasure in the Force. Vader did not give him another chance to disobey. An cold, unseen presence wrenched his mouth open and filled it, holding it open as wide as his jaw would go. It pressed down on his tongue, keeping it in place. He let out a small whine, but it was almost entirely muffled by the invisible mass. He could, at least, breathe through it.

He knew better, by this point, than to hope that they were done. The blows resumed, each punching a fresh, silent wail from his chest.

Luke slumped and gave in. Any form of fighting seemed foolish, this would last as long as Vader willed. He could not swallow for the Force in his mouth, and saliva dribbled out around the sides of it. He let the tears he had been holding back fall down his cheeks and join the drool in a pool on the table. There may have been a few laughs, or he may have imagined them.

He was aware that the meeting continued but he no longer heard it. The tide he had kept at bay earlier returned, quickly rising past his calves and hips and shoulders. The warm current consumed him, until he was once again in that twilight space where he floated.

It did not make the spanking hurt less, but his shame shifted. He no longer felt as embarrassed about having witnesses. Instead, he hated how he had done this to himself. He knew better, he knew how to be good. All he had to do was everything his lord said and he would be treated well. And he had been asked for so little.

He deserved this.

Luke did not know how long the meeting lasted, deep beneath the waves. But at some point the spanking stopped. A warm hand pressed into the small of his back and made small, calming circles.

”Luke,” a voice above the water called.

It was the voice he knew to always follow, and he traveled up, up, up, until he was back in the conference room. He still lay facedown on the table with his pants pulled down, but Vader no longer held him in place. His head was turned to one side, his cheek sticky with drool and tears. His mouth ached, but he was no longer gagged. He worked his jaw, trying to ease the pain.

”There you are,” Vader said, using his natural voice without modulation.

Luke frowned at that, Vader did not open his mask around others. He craned his head up to find the room empty, then dropped back down with a sigh, ignoring the mess that already covered his face.

”I’m sorry,” he said again in a quiet voice, too tired for the rest of it.

”I know you are,” Vader said.

He pulled Luke up off of the table and helped him fix his pants. At least they were not ripped and he would not have to walk the halls of the Executor half undressed. He still winced and hissed as the fabric scraped against his raw skin. There was no mirror to check, but Luke was certain he was bright red almost down to his knees.

”Is it over?” He asked, not sure if he meant the meeting or his punishment.

“That meeting is over,” Vader said, “But we have a few more to get through.”

Vader was a stoic man who found few things diverting, but now his exposed lips twisted into a cruel smile.

”Are you sure you don’t want to kneel?” He asked, the tiniest note of amusement in his voice.

Luke had no fight left in him today. He slumped to his knees on the mat, trying to find a position that was the least painful against his raw skin. Vader made minute corrections to his posture, but Luke did not know how well he would be able to maintain it.

He would try, of course. He did not want to be corrected again.

He could be a good boy.

[jamaisjoons]

erised ⤑ pjm | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 the last thing jimin had anticipated when he’d followed you into the room of requirement was to find you, the demure little head-girl, in front of the mirror of erised. moaning his name. 〞hogwarts au. pwp au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: slytherin head-boy!jimin x hufflepuff head-girl!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: mild angst ⋆ fluff ⋆ smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 29k 🥴

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: hard dom!jimin, big cock!jimin, possessive!jimin, sub!reader, virgin!reader, female masturbation, mirror sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, teasing, minor thigh spanking, fingering, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk, corruption kink, biting, orgasm denial, orgasm control, begging, pussy slapping, marking, object play? he teases her with a vibrating wand, praise, object insertion, clit spanking, crying, begging, overstimulation, clit torture, forced orgasms, multiple orgasms, squirting, manhandling, spanking, minor anal play/teasing, power play/dnyamics, virgin sex, wet & mess sex, unprotected sex, once again jimin has a ᵖʰᵃᵗ cock, kneeling doggy style (kind of oath sex position), mild pain kink, rough sex, hair pulling, creampie, brief cum play

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: sol writing a jimin au? truly, it must be a miracle,,,,, this really was supposed to only be a 5k commission,,, but i thot if i need to suffer and write for jimin,,,, perhaps i should suffer and write him an entire au with plot,, just like he deserves 😌

⏤ commissioned by @opaljm​​ in exchange for a blm donation // beta read the these lovely people: @yeoldontknow​, @luffles424​, @peekaboongi​, @sunshinekims​, @inthecrescentmoonight​, @tricethecharm​, @jjungkooksthighs​, @dontaskshhhhh​ and @nervouskiwi​!!

⏤ disclaimer: in order to ensure all characters are 18+, i’ve tweaked the hogwarts curriculum to include ‘apprenticeships’ and ‘masterships’, essentially wizarding equivalent of graduates/post-grad, and as a result, yn is 21 and jimin is 22!! // additional disclaimer: i know absolutely fuck all about tarot cards and readings and therefore thank you to the lovely @yeoldontknow​ for picking which cards to use as well as giving me the explanations/details of the reading!

⇥ this ones for all my kinky virgins out there, hope y’all stay freaks 😤

Hidden in the private dorms of the Potions Apprentice Quarters, you sit on the floor in the common room. Large, arched windows litter one side of the room, charmed - just like the Great Hall’s ceiling - to reflect the weather outside of the castle. Though, unlike the Great Hall, the charm could be turned off at will - allowing a magnificent, if not eerie, view of the underwaters of the Black Lake and all of its creatures. Currently, the charm is off, and the lake’s murky waters cast a dark hue to the room, bathing everything with a dark-teal tinge. Dark, crushed-velvet curtains drape down from the ceiling, the velour fabric only adding to the ominous scene of the Black Lake.

Despite the dismally grim sight of the lake, the rest of the common room is pleasant, and homely - if a little cold. With the space shared by all Potion’s Apprentices, from years eight to ten, regardless of the house, the interior is decorated in shades of black and grey rather than Hogwarts House colours. Dark, almost black, wenge wood furniture litters the room: from the large beams that run across the ceiling - holding onto the chandeliers, to the towering bookcases that fringe one wall of the room - brimming with rare potion tomes; as well as the glass-lined cabinets that cluster one corner of the room - teeming with vials and flasks of all sorts of potioneering ingredients.

The carpet that lines the flooring, however, is a light shade of mottled grey - the material piled and shaggy, and oh so soft under bare feet. Lavish leather sofas and armchairs of smoke-grey sit in one corner of the room, right beside the ornate brick fireplace; and a large frame of white gold hangs above the mantelpiece, containing the portrait of Gunhilda de Gorsemoor: a gifted potioneer who had developed the cure for Dragon Pox in the sixteenth century. Potions tables occupy the far corner, right beside the ingredients cabinets; each surface littered with a series of flasks and beakers, as well as glass phials, a pestle and mortar, various ingredient prepping tools; and, of course, a cauldron.

A sudden chill runs through the air, causing a shudder to run down your spine. It’s the middle of November, and yet, somehow the air feels colder in the common room. Though, you have a feeling that’s more to do with the fact that the dormitory is located in a far corner of the Hogwarts Dungeons, as well as being surrounded by the cold waters of the Black Lake. You don’t know why, perhaps it was just an oversight, but the temperature of the dungeons had always been bitterly biting. As a result, you nestled further into the warmth of the furry blanket laid over your lap - a gracious comfort from the brisk chill in the air. You’ve been living in the Apprentice Quarters for almost three years now, and yet, you’re still not used to the frigid temperatures of your dorms. To be honest, you don’t think you ever will.

Of course, being a Hufflepuff, you’d spent seven years on the floor just above - the common room located in the basement of Hogwarts. Alas, contrary to the dungeons, the basement is warm, in particular the Hufflepuff Common Room, and so, these past three years, you’ve struggled with the cold. Part of you wishes you were still within the comfort of the dorms you’d spent the better part of your Hogwarts Career in. However, after graduating from seventh year, you’d immediately applied for an apprenticeship in Potions. Upon having succeeded in your application, it had meant you’d had to move into the Dungeons, and from the Hufflepuff Dorms to the Potions Apprentice Quarters - a living space you currently share with Park Jimin.

Speaking of Jimin, he sits beside you and, unlike you, the cold doesn’t seem to bother him one bit. In fact, on the contrary to your body huddled into the shaggy comforter, the Slytherin Head Boy is casually pouring over the table: his back bent as his dark eyes skim across the parchment paper. His cloak rests casually on the sofa’s armrest, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and hair dangling in front of his eyes. You don’t know how he does it; how he so easily braces himself against the cold. Though, it could be because he’s spent ten years in the dungeons now - having acclimated to the cold over the decade.

From the corner of your peripheral vision, you take in the Head Boy. Naturally, you and Jimin had grown up together throughout your time at Hogwarts. And so, you’ve seen him change from the pudgy little eleven-year-old boy he was, to the man he is now. At twenty-two, Park Jimin is every bit the Pureblood Aristocrat he was born and bred to be: with dark pine-green hair that falls like silk around his face and sharp, cunning eyes - nestled between soft lids - that could stare into your soul and discover your deepest, darkest secrets (without the use of Legilimency).

Eyes scanning over his form, you watch as his lips quirk in concentration, his own gaze skimming across the large potions textbook as he jots down his notes. Against your will, your stare is pulled toward his hands. One is splayed onto the textbook, his pointer finger marking his current space on the page. The other glides across the parchment in front of him, his Eagle Quill scrawling over the paper in balletic movements as he jots down his notes. The gracefulness of the motions immediately captures your attention. His hands always surprise you, no matter what they’re doing. They’re somewhat small, and on the thick side - and a lot of the time they look incredibly cute. However, sometimes - like now - you’re surprised by how… attractive they are.

His fingers loosely grip the quill, the flexion of his knuckles practically mesmerising you as they protrude through his smooth, creamy skin. The bony features of his digits, and knuckles, are only emphasised by the thick rhodium ring he wears on his middle finger: the palatial band studded with gems of dark lilac and ebony. You have no doubt that it’d cost a fortune. Though, it’s probably closer to priceless; and most likely an antique, Park family heirloom. The backs of his hands are vascularised, and with each movement, you note the way the prominent vein bulges. You don’t know what he’s writing, but whatever it is, you know it’s probably incredibly advanced. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise you if he were scribbling different ingredients and their uses down, so he could create his own concoctions.

When you’d first moved in with Jimin, three years ago at the start of your apprenticeship, you’d been surprised by how often he’d actually studied. Particularly because Jimin was naturally gifted in Potions, and on his way to being one of the most skillful Potioneers the Wizarding World had ever seen. Thus, it was no surprise when you’d found out he was the other chosen Potions Apprentice for your year. Soft sigh drawing from your lips, you turn your attention back to your task at hand. Or well, tasks.

Juxtaposingly to Jimin, you were by no means a Potions Genius. Of course, you loved the subject, it’s just that you had to work a little harder in order to keep your grades up. Hence, the sight that greets you. Three pewter cauldrons sit on the table in front of you; the corners of your lips quirked into a frown as you inspect them. One of the pots contains a deep burgundy liquid, the potion rippling blood-red under the lighting of the torch sconces; signifying its completion. As a result, it’s the only one that’s set to the side. The other two still bubble over the bunsen burner: the left shimmers a pale, pearlescent lilac, while the right is a strange, putrid puce colouring that has you worried.

With a glance down to the potion tome beside you, your frown deepens. At this stage in the potion’s brewing, it should be a soft orange shade, not fetid-green. A low hum of distress emanates from your throat while you skim down the recipe - wondering just where you’d gone wrong. No matter how much you scour the textbook, you simply can’t seem to find it, and slowly, you grow more desperate. Especially as the potion’s critical stage approaches. You need to add minced Puffer-Fish soon, but if you add it now, when something is clearly wrong, you don’t know what will happen. Though, you doknow it will result in a useless potion.

Without warning, “You didn’t powder the Bone fine enough,” comes a husky voice. The sound vibrates right beside your ear, a warm breath simultaneously fanning across the outer shell of your ear. Abruptly, you jump in your seat, almost knocking the brass scales holding your meticulously measured Puffer-Fish mince to the floor.

Almost as if he’d anticipated your movement, Jimin’s hand shoots out to steady the apparatus. Although, even as his arm moves, he stays unbelievably close to you, and the proximity of his pillowy mouth next to your ears has goosebumps pricking at your skin. Angling your head, you come face to face with him, your eyes going wide. Directly adjacent to yours, his lips are just a hair’s breadth from yours - so close, in fact, that they virtually graze against yours. Heat creeps up: from the base of your throat, all the way up to the tips of your ears; and not expecting him to be so near, you jolt away.

The motion causes Jimin to quirk a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at you, and his reaction only has the flush to your cheeks deepening. Ducking your head down, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear, and, “Oh… I didn’t realise,” you mutter under your breath.

The instant the words fall from your lips you blanch, internally kicking yourself. I didn’t realise. What a joke. You’d fucked up your entire potion and all you could say was I didn’t realise. By Morgana, you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Here you are, a Potions Apprentice, and you hadn’t realised the bone wasn’t powdered fine enough. How had you even made it here? Especially since the potion you’d managed to botch was the Skele-Gro potion; one taught to second years. Meanwhile, your Blood-Replenishing potion, an expert recipe, is completely perfect and complete.

If Jimin cares about your response, he doesn’t say anything. Rather, he gestures towards your cauldron. “Why are you brewing three potions at once? Even brewing onerequires all your attention and concentration,” he states plainly, causing you to wince imperceptibly. He doesn’t mean to, but inadvertently, he’s rubbed salt into your wound.

“Madam Pomfrey’s running out of certain potions and I offered to help replenish them,” you reply, your voice coming out quieter than you’d intended to. Jimin simply hums.

“I guess that explains the potions you’re making. I was almost worried,” he says, his soft lips pulling tight as a lop-sided smirk crawls onto his mouth.

Not understanding, your eyebrows knit together. “Worried?” you frown. Jimin’s smirk only deepens, before he lounges back on the cream sofa. The movement draws attention to his strong body, his toned muscles bulging under his shirt, while his thighs strain against the tight material of his slacks.

“I mean, you’re brewing Blood-Replenishing, Skele-Gro and Wound-Cleaning potions out of the blue, any sensible person would be worried about their safety. I was starting to fear that you’d hex me, and then heal me before I could report you,” he jokes.

Swiftly, your jaw drops, and hastily shaking your head, “I would never-” you begin retorting, only for Jimin to hold up a hand and halt you.

“Yes, yes, you would never hurt me. Or anyone for that matter. I know, ____. It was just a joke,” Jimin cuts you off with a chuckle. “Besides, you’re too much of a Hufflepuff to think of anything so cunning,” he continues. His words have you blushing harder, your bottom lip protruding in a slight pout. After a brief pause, he nods to your cauldrons once again. “Anyway, that doesn’t explain why you’re brewing three at a time,” he says, his sentence phrased more like a question. With a sigh, you feel your shoulders deflate with weariness and lifting up a hand, you rub the bridge of your nose.

“She needs them as soon as possible. Quidditch games are going to start soon, and she’ll need all her potions restocked by then. If I don’t get them out of the way today, I won’t have any time to do them between Head Girl Duties and the Apprenticeship,” you answer

“Hmm… Still though… three potions at once is a lot. More than that, if they’re healing potions, you need to be even more careful. One wrong step and it could mean the difference between life and death,” he lectures. You know he means it well, and he doesn’t mean to upset you, but you can’t help the way your stomach sinks at his words.

He’s completely right - potion making, at its heart, is both a science and an artform. Of course, most magic requires careful consideration, however, potions even more so. Namely because, as he’d said, the slightest error could change the entire nature of the potion. That exact reason is why you’re here, as a Potion’s Apprentice. You see, your life’s dream is to qualify as a Healer, and in order to be a Healer, you now need to have some sort of post-N.E.W.T qualifications in either Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts or Herbology. Of course, it hadn’t always been like this. Before the Second Wizarding War, once a student had graduated from Hogwarts, they would be required to enter into a Healer’s program, or any job really, straight away.

However, once Voldemort had been defeated, the entire Wizarding World had needed to rebuild itself - having lost too much in the aftermath of the Final Battle. In a way, it had been somewhat of a - morbid - blessing; mainly because, it had meant that the stagnating magical community had grown and bolstered itself into the twenty-first century. One of the consequenting changes, had been the reintroduction of Apprenticeships and Masterships, meaning that students now had an option to gain an extra qualification or two that would better prepare them for the future jobs - kind of similar to the muggle equivalent of university. Though, of course, these apprenticeships continued through Hogwarts, rather than a separate magical institute.

Naturally, with your dream job being a healer, you’d taken up the Potion’s Apprenticeship. Mostly due to the fact that you want to work in the Cures and Remedies Department of St. Mungo’s: a department dedicated to brewing potions, as well as creating new ones for the ever-developing medical needs in the Wizarding Community. Which is also why Jimin’s lecture hits you harder. If you were already making such silly mistakes, you’ll sooner fail your dream than achieve it - and probably kill or harm a few people while you’re at it.

Realising that Jimin had stopped talking, a tense silence befalling the two of you while you wallow in self-pity, “I’m sorry,” you mutter under your breath. As soon as he hears the despondent tone to your voice, Jimin’s face softens.

“No need to apologise, you didn’t do it maliciously,” Jimin says. Then, nudging your knee with his foot, “Scoot over,” he says.

Eyebrows creasing, curiosity colours your face as you watch him close his book, before waving his wand and muttering a couple spells under his breath. Immediately, his parchment rolls up into a scroll, before flying through the air and into his bedroom; along with the rest of his things. Once he’s cleared his stuff, he scuttles off of the sofa, and onto the floor beside you. In your confusion, you hadn’t moved quick enough, and as a result, Jimin’s crossed knee falls onto your lap. With a blank stare, you glance down at his thick thigh, and feeling the weight of his limb onto yours, you quickly kick yourself into motion.

Shuffling to the side, you make space for Jimin, the Head Boy slotting into the space next to you and under your blanket - the cover draping over his own lap. In your new position, he’s now level with you, your pantyhose-clad knee brushing against his while your shoulders practically touch. He’s close enough that the scent of his expensive cologne is more prominent: notes of sandalwood and bergamot dancing in the air and through your senses. The woodsy-sweet aroma virtually entrances you, your head swimming with the beguiling fragrances and beckoning you to sink deep into them. For a moment, you take a deep, albeit subtle, breath - wanting to breathe it in even more. Nonetheless, Jimin’s voice is swiftly breaking you out of your trance.

“You need to add minced Puffer-Fish to this, right?” he asks as he peers at the Skele-Gro potion, the rancid-green liquid still bubbling under the high heat of your bunsen burner. Abruptly coming to your senses, you nod, trying to ignore the fuzzy warmth that settles in the pits of your stomach. “If you add it now, it’s most likely going to result in Skele-Gro,” Jimin mumbles, and hearing him, you immediately perk up. Perhaps all wasn’t lost yet. That is, until you hear him continue. “Except… it will probably result in the bones continuously growing without stopping - even once they’ve fixed themselves.”

“Oh. So I need to start over?” you ask as you pull your bottom teeth between your lips. Did you even have time for that? Or ingredients? If you go down to Slughorn’s Office in order to get a fresh supply, he’ll most likely question why and you’d rather notexplain that it’s because you’d been incompetent enough to mess up a second year level potion.

Jimin hums in thought. “No, I don’t think so. You’re also brewing Wound-Cleaning Potion, yes? That means you have Dittany Essence?” he asks, causing you to nod and pass him the dark-blue vial. “Adding three drops should counteract the effects and bring it back to what it’s supposed to be,” he continues, and you watch as he uncaps the glass bottle, before carefully pipetting exactly three drops of the solution into the cauldron. After placing the Dittany Essence back down, he stirs the potion anticlockwise five-times, and you observe in complete awe as the potion returns to a pale orange - the exact colour it's supposed to be.

“How did you…?” you breathe out, astonishment heavily lacing your voice. Beside you, Jimin simply shrugs.

“It’s a common mistake second years make when brewing Skele-Gro… not powdering the bone finely enough, I mean. Adding three drops of Dittany Essence and then stirring anticlockwise five times brings it back,” he replies casually. Despite his nonchalant tone, though, you find your body slackening with defeat.

“I can’t believe I made such a stupid mistake…” you mumble under your breath. The self-deprecating tone to your voice has Jimin clicking his tongue at you in a tut as he nudges your knee with his.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re brewing three potions at once - and two of them are advanced potions. Both of which you’ve brewed perfectly so far. You probably didn’t notice that the powdered bone wasn’t fine enough because you didn’t expect to mess up a simple potion,” Jimin immediately says - in a bid to comfort you. It works, because swiftly, you feel your stomach flip: butterflies blooming in the pits of your abdomen at his praise.

Against your will, a smile creeps onto your face - the corners of your lips tugging, and, “Thank you,” you mutter under your breath. A tinkling laugh slips through Jimin’s lips, and he bumps his shoulder into yours.

“You’re a perfectionist and a hard worker, ____. Both of those traits make a good Potioneer, ____. Which you are. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here. You need to stop beating yourself up over small things,” he continues. His face is twisted into a bright smile, his plump lips stretched thin and displaying his teeth, as the apples of his cheeks bunch under his eyes - causing his eyelids to slit into thin, crescent-moons. Your own lips tug into a sheepish smile, and you look at him gratefully.

“I know… it’s just such a silly mistake,” you respond.

Jimin snorts at your answer, and, “Everyone makes silly mistakes. Even a Potions Master or Mistress. It’s inevitable with the amount of potions we brew,” he scoffs. His words placate you even further, and you feel your earlier upset fade to nothingness - replaced by ease. Sensing the fact that you’ve perked up, Jimin grabs the rest of the prepared ingredients for the Skele-Gro potion. You look at him in surprise, Jimin simply smiling kindly in response.

“Why don’t you focus on the Wound-Cleaning potion? I’ll finish up the Skele-Gro,” he suggests. Swiftly, you shake your head.

“No, no. It’s okay! I’ll be more careful! You don’t need to help if you’re busy,” you quickly refuse - not wanting to be a burden - as you reach for the ingredients once again. Jimin simply scowls, and holding out his arms, he uses his strength to bar your hands from touching the tray.

“I’m not busy - I was just doing some light research on Phoenix Tears. Now be a goodgirl and let me help you,” he hisses. The instant the command falls from his lips, you feel your stomach twist, and your eyes widen slightly at the command. For a moment you still, not expecting them. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it; yet, you still find your arms obediently dropping to your side.

Head ducking down, you turn your gaze to the surface of the table in front of you, in an attempt to hide your face from Jimin’s view. It would not do well for him to see the barest hint of a blush on your face. Especially since he hadn’t meant it in that way in the first place. Nodding your head, you acquiesce to him, and begin working on your potion once again; Jimin taking over for the second one.

The two of you work in near silence - the quiet broken up by the sounds of the bubbling potion, and the hissing of the fire. Intermittently, the blunt sound of chopping or the sound of the pestle grinding into the mortar echoes through the air: the two of you continuously prepping your ingredients as you brew your potion. With how close you are to each other, you practically invade each other’s space, and yet, as if by magic, neither of you get into each other’s way. While you concoct your respective draughts, every now and then, you find your attention wandering towards Jimin.

In the midst of brewing, Jimin is fascinatingly exquisite. That’s the only way you could describe it. Warm honey-kissed skin glows under the saffron lights of your dorms, the high arcs of his cheekbones glistening with every movement. The button of his nose is slightly scrunched, and similarly, his lips are pulled into a tight purse: his entire visage an epitome of concentration. The potion is easy, and an elixir he could very well brew in his sleep. Nevertheless, he focuses on each and every one of his actions, working meticulously and methodically as he concocts his potion.

Deft hands move expertly, alternating from preparing the different ingredients and adding them to the mixture, to carefully stirring the potion. Umber eyes scrupulously watch the simmering cauldron, his keenly trained gaze observing the elixir for even the slightest changes. You have no doubt that under his ever watchful eyes, the potion will be of the highest quality, even with how relatively easy it is to create. At some point, you finish your potion, and turning off of your bunsen burner, you turn your attention to Jimin. Unable to help yourself, you find yourself completely lost in how he effortlessly works; each movement, each gesture, completely second nature to him. It’s an artform. It has to be. At least, with the way he works it is.

You don’t know how long you watch him - but with each second that passes, you note something more about Jimin. You notice the way his eyes light up every time he successfully completes a stage, and the way the soft skin of his eyelids flutter, thick eyelashes kissing his cheeks, every time he blinks. You notice the slight sheen of perspiration that coats the back of his neck, most likely from the heat of the bunsen burner, rather than tenseness. Mesmerised by the movement, you follow a single drop of sweat - watching the way it trails down the thick curve of his neck and over the subtle bulge of his Adam’s apple, before percolating into the collar of his shirt.

Out of the blue, Jimin lets out a deep sigh, and with how intensely you observe him, you notice the way his shoulders ease - the movement so faint your eyes essentially strain to spot the movement. The motion is surprising, because the potion is easy, and yet, he still felt some level of tension. Though, that only leads you to appreciate him and his love for potions even more. Potion Making is easy for Jimin, and for the greatest part of it, it comes instinctually to him - but still, he takes the utmost care with each brew - no matter what the difficulty.

A strained groan resonates through the air, Jimin’s throat rumbling as he stretches out the kinks in his muscles. Thoughtlessly, he lifts his arms above his head, the muscles of his biceps pulling taut against the material of his shirt, and the motion causes the hem of his shirt to rise above the waistband of his black slacks. Against your will, your gaze finds itself drawn towards his waist, your eyes honing in on the sliver of his smooth skin of his hips that peeks through the gap. You don’t eye it for long, however, because as soon as it comes it's gone, Jimin’s hands drop down to his sides; the shirt’s hem consequently falling back into place.

“Are you all done?” his voice suddenly tears through the silence, and abruptly, your eyes snap back up to his - watching as he flicks off the flame under his cauldron.

“W-What?” you stutter, prompting Jimin to arch a strong eyebrow.

“Are you done with the Wound-Cleaning potion?” Jimin reiterates, purposely enunciating each of his words. Owlishly, you blink at him, your stare completely blank. At the same time, your brain slowly processes his words, your mind still slightly spellbound by his previous beguile, and eventually, you process his words.

Jerking slightly, “Yes!” you practically yelp, only to wince at the loudness of your own voice. Swiftly, you compose yourself, and clearing your throat, “Sorry… yes. I’m done,” you mumble. A look of concern flashes across Jimin’s face, and carefully he sweeps his gaze over you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and the clear worry etched into his voice has your heart fluttering.

“Y-Yes,” you squeak out, wanting nothing more than to bury yourself into the blanket over your laps. For a fleeting instant, Jimin watches you carefully, and momentarily, you fear he’s going to press you further. Nonetheless, a couple of seconds later, he’s shrugging you off.

Glancing at the grandfather clock nestled in one unassuming corner of your shared common room, “Oh wow. Has it really been that long? It’s almost dinner time,” he murmurs, an astonished inflexion lacing his voice. Following his gaze, your own eyebrows widen when you spot the ornate clock, the baroque hands reading six-thirty. “I’m going to go shower and then head down,” Jimin begins as he gets up from his space beside you. His movement causes the blanket to partially fall off of your lap, exposing your right leg to the air, and involuntarily, you shudder at the cold.

“Go on then, I’ll wait for you,” you readily respond as you pull the blanket back over your lap. Drawn up to his full height, Jimin looks down at you curiously.

“Are you sure? I may be a while,” he replies, causing you to shrug and wave him off.

Waving your wand, you mutter an ‘Accio’ and summon a book from the shelves that line one wall of the common room. “Take as long as you need. I’m not hungry right now anyway. We can go down together when you’re done,” comes your own response.

Spinning on the heels of his Dragonhide boots, “Alright then. Thanks, ____,” he calls out as he walks back towards the bathroom. Your only response in a noncommittal hum, your attention already drawn to the book.

It’s almost half an hour later, when you hear Jimin return from the shower. Automatically peering up from your book, you move to close it - now more than hungry and ready to go down to dinner. Nonetheless, the moment you spot Jimin, you find yourself freezing. The door to the bathroom is wide open, clouds of steam gently drifting through the threshold and dancing around his frame as he steps into the common room. However, it’s not the water vapour that has your attention. No. it’s Jimin.

The very Jimin who is dressed in nothing but a thick towel wrapped around his waist.

Park Jimin is by no means short. Of course, compared to some of the other wizards that inhabit the castle, he’s not considered tall either. Nonetheless, he stands imposingly - a raw, powerful swagger that rolls off of his demeanour with every movement. It’s no wonder he’s considered the Slytherin Prince, and as he practically saunters out of the bathroom, with just a towel hanging off of his otherwise naked frame, you can’t help but feel that domineering aura. Droplets of water bead his skin, forming little rivulets as they run down his body and towards the hem of his towel.

The sheen of water that glazes his flesh catches the torchlight that surrounds you, causing his skin to glisten as he’s encased in a halo of gold. His hair is slightly damp, the deep green shade blackening to onyx; the wet tips sticking to his face. Helpless under his charm, your eyes trail down his body: from the corded muscles of his shoulders, down the smooth expanse of his torso - stopping briefly to take in the dusky-mauve nipples that grace his pectorals - and along the faint outline of his abs. When you get to the hem of the towel, your eyes coast over the definition of his hips: your heated stare charting the prominent ‘v’ that carves itself into his pelvis.

Trailing your gaze further down, you level it at his covered crotch. The terry cloth material of his towel is bulky, and effectively hides the rest off his body from your gaze - the bottom edge grazing just past his knees. Still, as he walks, you spot the barest hint of his muscular thigh - the limb peeking through the slit of the towel as he walks towards his bedroom. With each movement, heat flashes across your skin, your spine tingling as you find your stare honed in on his pelvis.

Then, all of a sudden, he’s stopping.

“See something you like, Sweetheart?” Jimin drawls, his voice cutting the terse silence that enwraps the room. Abruptly, you break from your trance, your gaze snapping up to his face.

His arms are crossed across his chest: the sinewy muscles of his biceps bulging under the movement; and his hip is cocked to the side, his knee sticking out through the fabric of his towel as he gazes at you. Wry, but voluptuous, lips are twisted: the thick petals of his mouth pulled in a lop-sided smirk, his teeth poking between the seam - almost predatorily; and taupe-brown eyes twinkle with mischief: a playful light dancing in the onyx depths. From the knowing glint to them, you know he’s spotted you brazenly devouring him with your gaze.

Heat immediately crawls over your cheeks, and you audible swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “N-No,” you squeak out, your head ducking further under the cover of your book. Though, even as you do that, your eyes peek over the edge - an action Jimin easily catches.

Smirk widening into a wolfish grin, “Are you sure, Princess?” he purrs and, hearing the nickname, you can’t help the way your stomach knots in the pit of your abdomen.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, your body curling further into the side of the sofa - in a bid to make yourself seem smaller. Jimin hums in response. The deep tremors reverberate through the air, echoing through the quiet common room and causing your breath to hitch.

Jimin’s tongue pokes out through the seam of his pouty mouth, and after swiping it across the plush bottom lip, he pulls the petal between his teeth. The act is incredibly enticing: the plush flesh slowly slipping from under his incisors before plumping out once more. Entranced by the movement, your eyes narrow onto his lips, and you suddenly feel your throat run dry. Spotting the way your attention focuses onto his mouth, Jimin lets out a low chuckle, and hearing the rich sound vibrate through the air, you inhale a sharp audible breath.

The sound resonates through the common room, heightened by the quiet - and swiftly, you feel the heat that stains your skin intensify. Body burning under your own embarrassment, you practically curl into the foetal position: your knees pulling towards your chest, a small squeak emanating through your mouth. Hearing the sound, Jimin simply chuckles again, and this time, taking pity on your form, he drops the subject and walks towards his bedroom.

“Cute,” he laughs you off as he shuts the door to his private room. The moment you hear that word, you can’t help the pout that forms onto your face, nor the way you blush ever harder.

Cute.

God you hated when he teased you like that. Partly because of the way a fuzzy warmth settles into your stomach, and partly because you know that’s all you’ll ever be to Park Jimin.

Cute.

Having lived with Jimin for three years, you think you know him pretty well. You know him well enough to know that he keeps Sugar Quills hidden around the dorm, practically addicted to the confectionery; and that he writes letters to his mother once a week, usually on Saturday, in his free time. You know that when he’s had a particularly hard week, he unwinds by reading his prized, first edition copy of ‘The Twelve Uses of Dragon’s Blood’ - a tome he’s had to have read thousands of times by now. You know that despite him being the heir to the Park name - an age old, aristocratic pureblood line that dates back centuries - he doesn’t care about status, or power, and rather judges people on their own merits and hardwork.

You also know that Park Jimin, as sweet as he is, is the biggest playboy the school has ever seen - actively flirting with any and all the other apprentices from the other subjects. It’s not like he could help it. In fact, you’re sure that it’s practically ingrained in his nature. Though, when he looks like that - a frightening middle between incredibly adorable and devastatingly sexy - you sort of understand it. Because if you looked like that, you’d take any and every opportunity to use it as best as you could. And Park Jimin definitely used his allure

A terrifying mix of cunning, ambitious, sweet and distressingly handsome, Park Jimin has probably broken more hearts than you can count; and is most likely the sole reason for every Apprentice’s wet dreams. Girls flocked to him, and boys wanted to be him - so it’s no surprise that Jimin was highly sought after - nor that he was the biggest flirt you’ve ever met. Hence why you hated when he flirted with you. Mostly because, you know he never does it seriously. And also because the last thing any of the girls he actually flirts with are, is cute.

You would know.

You’ve seen them sneak out of your dorms on the off chance he brings them over. Though, more often than not, he tends to sneak into their private quarters. That is, of course, if they aren’t one of the Potions Apprentices from the lower years. You and Jimin being in your third year of the Apprentice program, and your tenth and final year of Hogwarts. That is, of course, unless either of you choose to do your Mastership - which would be another five years.

If you’re being honest, you don’t really have anything against being cute - mainly because when he says it, he says it with a sweet smile. What you do have against it, however, is that he says it almost as if you’re a child, and not a grown, twenty-one-year-old woman. Though, that may be more to do with your own shyness and inexperience; especially in terms of the opposite sex. But still, you couldn’t deny that it hurts sharing a dorm with Jimin, and being in such close proximity, and yet still having him not be attracted to you.

Sure, he flirts with you - using any opportunity he can get to tease the ever-loving hell out of you. But it’s not like he means it, or that he ever takes it any further than his flirtatious banter. Not like he does with most other girls. No. When Jimin flirts with you, there’s always an air of jest, and restraint around him. He doesn’t stare at you with his smouldering gaze - as if he could devour you whole with just his eyes. He doesn’t lower his voice to that raspy husk of his - the one that is filled with a promise of sin. And he definitely doesn’t exude that same aura of raw dominance - the one that has most girls’ cores trembling with an ache that only he can satiate.

Of course, what you do have, in comparison to those other girls, is Jimin’s friendship - which is more than you can say for most of them. Particularly because most of Jimin’s friends tend to be the other guys on the Apprentice Program. After all, it’s hard to befriend the people you’re constantly trying to sleep with, or have slept with. You think. You don’t really know… You know, considering your own sexual inexperience with other men. Yes, Jimin has never shown any interest in you, and he’s never really flirted with you seriously, but at least you can say that you’re actual friends, and that you get on with each other beyond wanting to tear each other’s clothes off.

Although, needless to say, you doubt he’s ever thought of tearing your clothes off.

Which is… not something you can say about yourself.

Lost in your own thoughts, you don’t notice Jimin return - now fully dressed. At least, not until you feel his plush lips ghost against your ear. “Are you ready to go?” comes the low, sultry purr of his voice. Not expecting the sound, you immediately jump in your seat, your head whipping to the side as you stare at him wide eyed. Once again, you come face to face with him - the proximity making you jerk back with a strangled cry.

“Jimin!” you shriek in surprise, and your choked yelp has the Head Boy bursting into a peal of laughter. Heart thundering within the confines of your chest, and the ever-present flush of embarrassment painting your cheeks once again, “Stop doing that!” you chastise, your face twisting into a sulk as you glare at him. Entire body wracked with laughter, Jimin heaves for air as he tries to catch his breath - short gasps breaking through his howling.

When he continues to laugh, your lips twist into a deeper pout, and your glare intensifies; and sensing your rising ire, Jimin swiftly holds up his hands in a motion of surrender. “Sorry, Sorry. You were just so lost in thought, I couldn’t help it,” he chuckles while wiping his teary eyes. “What were you thinking about that had you so enraptured?” he asks, an impudent smile etched onto his lips. Remembering just whatyou’d been thinking about, your blush deepens, and you swiftly shake your head.

“Nothing!” you quickly interject. The abruptness of your answer has Jimin cocking his eyebrow, and eyes narrowing playfully, he looks at you - mischief dancing in his dark eyes.

“Oh? Doesn’t sound like nothing,” he purrs. Then, eyes widening in thought, a smirk creeps onto his face, “Hmmm. Were you thinking about me? Maybe something along the lines about how you’d seen me in just a towel a little earlier?” he croons, and you suck in a sharp breath at the low huskiness to his voice. That’s a first.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you swiftly shake your head while throwing the blanket off of you. “N-No. I was thinking a-about how h-hungry I am,” you quickly snap, wincing slightly at the shakiness to your voice. It’s a brazen lie. Even you don’t believe you. And there’s no way in hell that Jimin does, at least not from the sly smirk curled onto his lips.

“Are you now? Hungry for food, or something else?” he teasingly quips, causing you to huff.

“S-Shut up. Let’s just go,” you mutter under your breath, your head angled to the ground as to try to hide your own mortification.

Jimin simply laughs at you, his shoulders shaking with mirth, “Whatever you say, Princess.”

On the seventh floor of the North Tower, the next day, you sit in the Divination classroom. Warped shelves frame the circular room, cluttered with various odd curios. Fading tarot cards, argentate scrying mirrors and lustrous crystal balls fill half of the shelves; china teacups, dust-lined feathers, and candle stubs filling the other half. Wooden furniture crams the room, the walnut timber long since scratched, chipped and faded: ravaged with time as some edges collect dust. The classroom is dim, with a few shafts of mellowed sunlight filtering through the greyed, heavy velvet curtains that hang from the tops of the arched windows.

Chandeliers dangled by wrought iron chains - and sheer, red scarves cover the lamps, bathing the room in an eerie crimson glow. A fireplace sits in the front of the room - right by Professor Trelawney’s table - the amber fire flickering behind cast iron grating. Though, rather than illuminating the space in its light, the dancing flames only add to the arcane feel surrounding the room. A brass kettle swings over the hearth as the tea leaves steep; and a sweet, woody scent wafts through the room. Sat at one of the many round tables nestled inside the room, you sink further into the paisley upholstered armchair, watching as the girl opposite you shuffles the Tarot deck effortlessly.

“Do you want a specific reading?” Eve, the eighth year prefect, asks.

Shrugging noncommittally, “Just whatever,” you reply. Eve huffs for a second time, blowing a thick black curl out of her eyes before glaring at you.

“You could at least attempt to take Divination seriously you know, even if you don’t believe in it,” she scolds.

Sending her an apologetic smile, “You know I’m only here to help you with your Divination homework.” Once again, Eve huffs. Nonetheless, with the way her shoulders relax, you know she doesn’t take offence by your words.

“Alright fine,” she sighs in defeat. Then, sending you a grateful look, “Thank you for this by the way. I know you’re busy, being Head Girl and in the last year of your Apprenticeship and all,” she continues, her nose wrinkling in the slightest.

Gracing Eve with a kind smile, you casually wave her off, “It’s alright. I owe you for helping us out anyway,” you respond. From behind you, you hear a low chuckle, causing the hair at the back of your neck to stand on edge as you hear the rich sound.

“You mean we owe her one, Princess.” Breath catching in your throat, you swallow imperceptibly, willing yourself to calm down. “Well, more specifically, I owe her one,” he continues as an afterthought.

His words cause your stomach to flip, butterflies flurrying through and leaving a fuzzy feeling in the pit of your abdomen. Angling your body in the chair, you turn, only to be met face to face with Jimin. With how cramped the Divination classroom is, there’s usually barely any space between the side edges of the various chairs. However, currently, the classroom is mostly empty, less than ten of you occupying it. And yet, somehow, you still find yourself impossibly close to him.

Eyes blowing out marginally, your mouth forms a surprised ‘o’ at the distance, or lack thereof, between the two of you. With how close you are, you can smell his sickeningly sweet breath - the scent of Sugar Quills so strong you can practically taste them on your taste buds. Swiftly realising your position, you back away in an abrupt movement - your chair scraping against the hardwood flooring. The screeching noise draws the attention of the other students, the muted, ambient murmurs coming to a halt as they turn to you.

Your cheeks immediately flush, the heat of embarrassment crawling from your throat to the tips of your ears. Ducking your head down, you sheepishly smile at the class and mumble out a ‘sorry’. At your apology, the rest of the students quickly turn back to their divinations, causing you to let out a breath of relief. Only for it to hitch when you hear the light tremors of Jimin’s tinkling laugh.

Turning back around, you flick your gaze over Jimin’s face. Dark hair - the colour of blackened pine - frames his face, the strands falling like silk over his head. His locks are parted in the middle today, rather than hanging loosely in front of his forehead, and the front-most tresses bear a slight wave; revealing soft lids and sharp brown eyes. Dressed in his white oxford shirt - his Slytherin robes hung loosely over the backrest - and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, he looks the epitome of sin. It doesn’t help that his tie is loose around his neck either, the top button of his collar undone and revealing the thick arc of his throat, and the barest hint of his defined collarbones.

He’s lounging in his chair, his ankles crossed as he stretches them under the table. One of his elbows is pressed to the armrest, leaning his chin on the base of his palm, while his other arm is stretched out, long fingers drumming casually on the table. As your gaze roves over him, you can’t help the fuzzy feeling that settles in your stomach as he stares at you - obsidian eyes practically staring into your soul. Easily, he spots the fact that you’re staring at him, and immediately, a teasing smirk pulls at generous lips, his strong eyebrow quirking playfully.

“See something you like, Sweetheart?” he purrs, his sweet voice a few octaves lower as he mimics the sentiment from last night. The memory him dressed in nothing but a towel flashes in your mind: the sight of his muscular, wet body ingrained so deeply in your mind that just the recollection of it manifests itself as something incredibly tangible. A shiver runs down your spine at memory, as well as the deep tremors of his voice, and as the hairs at the back of your neck stand on edge, you duck your head - in a bid to hide your flushing cheeks.

“N-No,” you stutter out, and with the way your voice croaks, your blush deepens. Hearing your stammer, Jimin’s grin widens - his heated gaze roving over you almost predatorily. Responsively, you feel yourself shying from his eyes, your body curling into itself protectively.

Noting your reaction, Jimin lets out an airy laugh. God, you were such a Hufflepuff. He wasn’t one to often believe in the whole ‘students embodied their house traits’ bullshit - after all, people weren’t set into specific personality moulds. But when it came to you? It couldn’t be more true. A Hufflepuff through and through, you’re as hardworking as you are kind - and downright humble about it. It had been an incredible surprise when you’d been chosen as the Head-Girl beside him, most people expecting it to go to Penelope Graham. However, to everyone’s utter shock, it had gone to you instead, your scores in the Apprenticeship second only to himself. A fact that you’d kept to yourself, despite Penelope being one of the brightest Ravenclaws Hogwarts had ever seen, and a stellar Herbology Apprentice.

Thus, your grades, paired with your hard work throughout the years; not to mention your kindness, and willingness to help anyone, had landed you the Head Girl position. A choice that was still a sore subject for Penelope, who would lament about it to anyone and everyone. Nevertheless, if Jimin was being completely honest about it, however, he much preferred you to Penelope. And not just because Penelope didn’t know how to shut her mouth. Even when it was full of his cock. Though, he’d also be lying if he said it wasn’t partially because of that. Really, he didn’t know how she managed to prattle off constantly while still managing to breathe, and sucking his dick. It was almost magic. Pardon the pun.

No, you were a much better fit to him. Your patience was known through the school, and paired with your strong sense of fairness, it meant that most pupils, if not all, would more often approach you for help with their problems. And as a happy result, they’d leave him alone to get on with the more important duties. In fact, that’s exactly how you’d split your workload: you’d handle the student-body and prefects and anything pertaining to people in general, and he’d work on the other more mundane tasks; such as patrol duties, ensuring Prefect rosters for Hogsmeade weekends were sorted and all those odd bits and bobs.

Needless to say, it’s not like Jimin didn’t want to help the students. He doesn’t mindhelping them, and as Head Boy, he’d be duty bound to sort out whatever petty problems they have. He’d just do it begrudgingly, because the last thing he cares about are the frivolous issues of the student body. Really, who cared if Jonah Robins sat at the table Amber Cowen and her friends usually sat at in the library? A problem he knew you’d dealt with just a little over a week ago. Somehow, you’d managed to convince Jonah to leave the girls alone and all balance between the third years had settled. Something which caused Jimin to scoff. See, if it had been him dealing with it, he’d just tell the girls to find another table. Because it’s a table and it didn’t matter where they sat, as long as they did their work.

But that’s just him.

You, on the other hand, had a better sense of justice - and finding out that Jonah had purposely sat at the table to annoy the girls - you’d gotten him to move. Of course, most of the problems presented by the students were of similar nature - and Jimin didn’t understand how you had the tolerance to deal with them day in and day out without going insane. Though, that was just another one of the classic Hufflepuff traits manifesting in your personality. Honestly, he doesn’t think he’s ever met someone more Hufflepuff in his life.

“Uhh… Jimin?” you quietly call out to him, and his eyes widen slightly as he’s broken out of his contemplative reverie. Facial expression relaxing, Jimin realises he must have been intensely scrutinising you for the past couple of minutes - completely lost in his own thoughts.

Eyes casting over your face, he observes you for a moment. You refuse to look at him, your eyes skimming over the room as you actively avoid his gaze. Incessantly, you cross and uncross your legs, your body fidgeting under his heavy stare, and sensing the thick waves of nervousness that exude off of your being, Jimin’s lips twist into a mischievous smirk. And there it was. The one trait of yours that had piqued his attention when he’d first been officially introduced to you three years ago. Your timidness.

“Is something the matter, Princess?” he drawls, a perfectly trimmed eyebrow cocking. Immediately, you freeze, your cheeks heating even further as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth; only to gnaw at it. God, Jimin groans internally, you were so easy to provoke.

“N-No,” you stammer once again.

Lolling his head to the side, and resting his cheek in his palm, Jimin graces you with a sly smile. “Really? You look like you have something on your mind?” Then, flashing his teeth almost devilishly, “Maybe something from last night?” he hums. There’s clear innuendo in his voice, and unintentionally, you let out a little squeak. The sound is high-pitched, and just barely audible as it’s forced from the back of your throat.

“Last night?” Eve asks, her voice curious as she glances between the two of you. The heat of your mortification burns even brighter, so inflamed now that it starts sweltering your skin. Breath caught in your throat, you gnaw even harder on your lips - almost breaking the skin from how much you chew it. What are you going to even tell her? Nonetheless, before you can come up with an excuse, Jimin is already opening up his mouth.

“Just a small mishap in the Potions Apprentice Common Room. It’s none of your business. Shouldn’t you get on with your reading, anyway? I’d like to go back as soon as possible,” he interrupts, drawing Eve’s attention back to her homework. Face scrunching in distaste, she glowers at him.

With a huff, “You’re clearly lying to me. But fine, if you don’t want to tell me that’s your business,” she mutters, a scowl curled on her lips. Then after a short pause, “Also, if you don’t want to be here you don’t have to be. Feel free to leave,” she bites. Jimin discernibly bristles, and sensing his rising indignation - most likely from Eve’s snapping at him - you quickly hold up a hand.

“Why don’t we all just calm down?” you calmly say, smiling gently at both of them. Both Eve and Jimin open their mouths to argue, before closing them; Jimin shrugging his shoulders offhandedly while Eve lets out a deep, conceding breath. Turning to Jimin, your earlier embarrassment slowly ebbs away and you clear your throat, “You don’t have to be here you know. I was the one who offered to help.”

Jimin scoffs in response before waving you off dismissively. “The only reason you offered to help was so that Eve would take up setting up the Yule ball in my place,” he begins.

“Yes, because you have that Wizarding Chess competition you want to go to,” you butt in, causing Jimin to nod.

“Yeah. A competition I could have skipped. But you asked Eve to help you instead, so I could basically shirk my Head Boy duties, and it’s now more work for you,” he explains. Once again, you shake your head.

“It’s not that much work. Besides, I don’t mind. You’ve been talking about this tournament since last year, I know you’ve been looking forward to it,” you cut him off once again. Jimin halts for a moment, simply looking at you, a picture perfect expression of stoicism painted across his face.

Honestly, who were you trying to kid? He knows how much work the Yule ball is, and that while third-year Apprentice’s tend to have more free time (and hence why they now have the Head Boy or Girl position in comparison to seventh year N.E.W.T students), you’ve taken up a few more of the Prefect’s duties, since the seventh year Winter Exams are coming up soon. More than that, with how often students come up to you for help, your official duties tend to get pushed on the backburner even further. Hence why you’d had to brew three potions last night. Once again, he has no idea how you do it. Or why you do it. You’re way too courteous, and far too kind - even to the people you don’t know.

Letting out a sigh, “It is more work. Which is why I’m here. Even if I’m not really helping, I’m going to see it through with you,” Jimin says. Involuntarily, you feel your chest tighten, that telltale warmth flurrying through your stomach as your heart flutters within your chest. Before you can thank him, however, Eve bangs her tarot deck on the table.

“Maybe you’ll let me do a reading for you then?” she asks, her top lip curling shrewdly as she smirks at Jimin. The Slytherin Head Boy simply sneers in response.

Turning his attention back to his open textbook, “Yeah sure. When Merlin rises from the dead,” he snickers under his breath. Then, “Just get on with the reading,” he mutters. Eve’s mouth curls into a snarl, but before the eighth-year Gryffindor can respond, you draw her attention.

“Should we start?” you say, an encouraging smile on your face. Eve’s gaze flicks to behind you, and for a moment, you think she’s going to say something. However, she simply takes a deep breath and calms herself down.

“Alright, yeah,” she says, returning her own apologetic smile. “You don’t want any particular reading, do you?” she asks, and when you shake your head, she smiles. “Then, it’s okay if I pick one?” she questions. This time you nod, and Eve’s smile brightens. “Alright, wonderful! Then… I’m going to do one on love and sex,” she continues. Immediately, you choke on your own spit.

“Eve!” you splutter, causing her to look at you, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“What? I’m almost nineteen, I’m allowed to do them,” she says, her voice laced with faux innocence. Scowling slightly, you send her a pointed look.

“That’s not the point!” you try to argue.

Swiftly, a coy smile creeps onto Eve’s lips, “Oh? Does the prim and proper Head Girl have something to hide?” she sing-songs. Feeling an intense stare on the back of your head, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You don’t even need to turn around. You already know Jimin’s attention is on you both once again.

“N-No! It’s just-” you begin, only to deflate. What could you even say? Sensing your defeat, Eve snickers.

“Well, if you don’t, then there’s nothing wrong with me doing one, is there?” she asks. With no way out of the situation, your shoulders fall and you let out a muted noise of concession. “Perfect! Then, I’ll begin,” Eve continues.

With her mind made up, Eve begins to work. She starts by setting up her reading space: placing three candles onto the table. A pink one sits at the top of the table, right in front of you, while a white one sits in the left corner on her side, a purple one on the other. The candles form a large triangle, her tarot deck placed right in front of her, and an incense burner sitting right in the middle of the table. After the candles, she begins by placing her crystals down: rose-quartz and garnet are placed on the corners beside the pink candle on your side, and then an onyx on her side - in another triangular shape. Once she’s set up, she waves her wand - four bottles flying from one of the shelves that lines the classroom and into her hand. From the inky scrawl on the labels, you read them as ‘dried cherries, ‘saffron sprigs’, ‘steeped deer musk’ and ‘jasmine-infused oil’.

Meticulously, she adds the ingredients to her incense pot: exactly four teaspoons of dried cherries, half a sprig of saffron and three drops of the steeped deer musk. Once she’s done, she adds two tablespoons of the jasmine oil, before crushing it all together using a pestle. Once the mixture has formed a smooth paste, she inspects the concoction, before nodding in satisfaction - happy with her handy work. Carefully, you watch her. The eighth year Gryffindor is sly, and witty, and more often than not a handful to deal with. Still, she’s kind, and helpful; and when practising Divination - her favourite subject - there is no one who’s more reverent than her.

Fully prepared to begin her reading, Eve finally closes her eyes, and levelling her breathing, she takes in deep inhale before exhaling shallowly. From your divination class in fourth year, you know that she’s trying to find the centre of her magic. It only takes her a few moments, and then, she opens her eyes. Muttering a few spells under her breath, she points her wand towards the candles, slowly bringing them to life. She starts with the white candle, and then the purple, and finally the pink; and when she’s done, she taps her wand onto the incense burner.

Immediately, the mixture is enkindled, visible puffs of smoke wafting from the paste and into the air. The scent is rich, and fragrant - the notes of jasmine and cherry entwining together in a sweet aroma that has you entranced. The light perfume is deepened by the scent of the saffron and musk; the two heavier notes cutting the floral essence with a darker, more sensuous odour. The incense is inebriating, and calming at the same time, and you find yourself readily wanting to dive deeper into it’s intoxicating hold - let the scent consume you and lull you deep into its grasp.

With her ritual completed, she places her wand down onto the table beside and after a quick shuffle of her deck, she closes her eyes once again. Lips moving subtly, you hear her lowly mutter another spell, and then, she begins pulling the cards. Enraptured by her movements, you watch as she draws exactly five cards, placing them in a pentacle shape around the burner, and in the middle of the triangles of crystals and candles. Her eyes remain closed until she draws the fifth card, and then, eyebrows cinching slightly, she mutters another spell before finally opening her eyes.

Glancing down at the spread, she cocks her eyebrow, a small frown marring her face. The slight perturbation etched on her face has you intrigued, and practically on the edge of your seat, you wait for her to say something. You don’t have to wait long, however, because letting out a surprised whistle, “Well, this is certainly unexpected,” she breathes out.

“It is?” you ask, shuffling to the edge of your seat as you look at the cards closer. Eve hums in response.

“Yeah. The first card - The Hanged Man. You’re in need of urgent release. You’ve become rigid and careful, and there’s a strong need to release your inhibitions,” she begins. Only to pause, “But… you’re indecisive about what you want, and this suspension of your feelings is causing a sense of unhappiness. You need to open yourself emotionally, and more physically,” Eve begins explaining, her manicured nail tapping at the card as she speaks. Hearing her words, you immediately freeze, your muscles locking as Jimin’s face suddenly flashes in the back of your mind.

Oblivious to your shock, Eve continues, her finger moving to the next card, “The Devil. Usually, this card is ominous, and bears a sinister edge; one that most fear. However, in this reading, it’s a symbol of intense hedonism and fervent passion. It’s a card full of lust, an indicator for an intense yearning for a person. There’s a desire to submit; an overwhelming physical urge.” Her voice hangs heavy in the air, and with each word she utters, you feel yourself growing hotter and hotter; your collar suddenly tight. However, you refuse to move. You can’t move. Because you can feel Jimin’s heavy stare behind you, his presence magnified by the sudden silence of the room.

The dull sear of mortification settles in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly, you can feel all the students’ gaze on you. None of them, however, are as intense as Jimin’s; his eyes practically boring into the back of your skull. You want to open your mouth, to tell Eve to stop, lest you embarrass yourself any further. Nonetheless, you simply can’t bring yourself to do it. You don’t know why. Perhaps, it’s because your mouth is suddenly dry, almost as if you’ve swallowed cotton. Perchance it’s because your throat is tight, the muscles suddenly constricting - stifling any words that form in the back of your pharynx.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because a small, masochistic part of you is curious: intrigued by what else Eve will say, what else she will reveal… and perhaps even Jimin’s reaction.

“When The Lovers follow The Devil, that’s usually a sign of not only balanced, emotional love, but also physical desire. There’s a need to be touched, to be claimed, and consumed; and an even greater sexual hunger that covets your partner, or the object of your desires. You want to truly submit, with implicit trust and consent, to this person,” Eve’s deep, yet distant, voice continues. Again, however, she pauses - almost as if in thought, and staring intensely at the card, she bites her lips. “This could also be a sign that the person you desire, desires you back,” she mutters.

That has you audibly snorting. Yeah, right. You highly doubt that. For a moment, Eve flicks her gaze to you, her eyebrow quirking in intrigue, and swiftly, you send her an apologetic smile. Shifting in your seat, you sheepishly gesture for her to continue. Eve’s stare falls back to her cards, her hand moving to the fourth, and penultimate card.

“The Tower. The fear that giving into these lustful urges will be your undoing. To give into your desires will be to bring about a change that you aren’t necessarily ready for - or maybe that you think you’re not ready for - since it’ll lead to a significant change in your life. Still, this card is one of extreme surrender to chaos, a surrender that you are refusing, or resisting,” she begins once again.

Then, circling her nail around the card, and tapping - two audible thuds resounding through the air, “Nevertheless, the liberation that comes from giving in is an extraordinary release, even if the act of giving in is terrifying. The Tower is an important card. It is one that cannot and will not be avoided. The major life change must happen. It must be experienced for you to progress in life,” she foretells, her voice almost foreboding.

“Which brings us to the last, and final card. The Ace of Pentacles. This is usually a symbol about fresh career starts. However, in a reading about love, it tends to read as an egg wanting to be fertilised. The ten of pentacles is a family oriented card, but this one is the act of conception; the desire to engage in sex. However, it’s more than just carnal hunger. You want this person; truly and utterly. More than you probably even realise,” and with that last declaration, Eve finishes her reading.

A strong silence befalls the classroom, her last words lingering in the air and echoing in your mind over and over again. For long, drawn out moments, neither of you say anything - you: because you’re caught between mortified and speechless, and Eve: to let you truly grasp and process her words. The few students that straggle about are equally quiet, more than fascinated by the surprising divination. None, however, are more surprised than Jimin.

Unable to tear his eyes from the back of your head, he simply gawks at you. Truth be told, like you, he doesn’t believe in Divination; even with its roots nestled deep within magic, it’s still considered an imprecise school of wizardry. That being said, he can’t help the way your taromency has piqued his interest - especially, considering the fact that it’s a reading based on your love and sexual feelings. At first, he’d been ready to ignore both you and Eve, and happily sink into ‘Moste Potente Potions’ - a book he’d managed to liberate from the Restricted Section, thanks to not only his Head Boy status, but also his Apprenticeship.

However, the moment he’d heard Eve explain the first card, he’d been ensnared by your divination. With each word that had slipped out of Eve’s mouth, he’d grown more and more curious, not to mention shocked - because really, there was no way that that was your reading. Jimin has lived with you for three years now, and he likes to think he knows you well enough.

He knows you well enough to know that, no matter what, you refuse to drink pumpkin juice - finding the drink sickening - and yet, you adore pumpkin pasties; a treat you frequently buy on your trips to Hogsmeade. He knows that you can’t fall asleep at night without reading a book - and that you often read ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’, having read them so frequently, in fact, that you could probably recite each story word for word. He knows that you aren’t a huge fan of chocolate, but that every month, for one week, you will inhale it like your life depends on it.

He knows you well enough to know that though friendly by nature, your actual friends are few and far between: choosing to give your trust to a select few individuals. You don’t call people your friends lightly, and it gives him immense joy, and pride, that he’s one of the few people you’ve granted that title. Most importantly, however, Jimin knows that you’re completely, and utterly, inexperienced with men. In the decade you’ve been at Hogwarts, not once have you ever had a boyfriend. He knows because he’s asked around. Purely out of curiosity, of course.

With how much time people spent at Hogwarts, rumours tended to be rampant and everyonehad at one point, had a rumour about them and someone else. Everyone, that is, except for you. At first, Jimin had worried that the two of you wouldn’t get along - that your inherent natures would be the complete opposite and that he’d hate you. After all, he didn’t want to spend his Apprenticeship years hating the only other Apprentice in his year. However, after meeting you in his eighth year for the first time, he’d finally understood why you’d never had any rumours. And that was simply because you spent most, if not all, your time studying.

By all means, it was only exacerbated by your incredibly shy, and timid, nature - especially when boys were concerned; but it was primarily because, you just didn’t seem to think about romance or sex. Which was precisely why he had never really given you a second-thought when it came to spending time with you. Of course, he flirted with you, but it was more playful than anything. Mostly because he enjoyed watching the way you’d get flustered, and how you’d stutter to respond to him. It was incredibly cute, and dare he say, endearing.

Yet, even then, he’d never considered actually pursuing you, and even now, he doesn’t know if he would. You’re complete opposites, and he doubts that you’d even wantanything to do with him - especially since you very clearly knew his reputation. His reputation being that his stable, steady girlfriends are few, and far between. More than that, he’d always dismissed you as someone who’d be into vanilla, missionary sex day in day out; and granted, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that if that’s what you liked. But the last thing he, Park Jimin, ever would be, is vanilla. Hence, his reasons for dismissing you as a partner early on.

However, that was before today. Now, he’s not so sure. And not being sure is driving him completely wild. Because now, now he wants to know just what you really are like. Just what really makes you tick in bed.

“So, ____, who’s the object of your desires,” Eve’s voice suddenly breaks the silence, her eyebrows wiggling at you. Breaking from his reverie, Jimin immediately hones his attention on the two of you once again. This, he has to know. He doesn’t know why, but he’s suddenly filled with the burning need to know just who you so carnally want to submit to.

“N-No one,” comes your choked reply, and even though he can’t see you, Jimin already knows that your face is flushed with heat. “I-It must be a wrong reading,” you quickly continue, Eve’s eyebrows shooting into her hairline.

Humming in thought, “Hmmm. It’s all open to interpretation ____, so perhaps,” she ponders out loud. A coquettish smile curls onto her face, and levelling you with her impish stare, “Would you like another reading to be sure?” she asks. Swiftly, you shake your head.

“No, it’s pretty late. And Jimin wanted it to be done as soon as possible,” you quickly interject. Ears perking at the sound of his name, Jimin lets out an airy life.

“Oh no, by all means, do continue if you need to. I remembered I have nowhere to be,” he purrs. Despair floods your stomach at his words, and internally you scowl. He had to choose now to be genial? Really?

“See, Jimin doesn’t mind,” Eve snickers. Letting out a little huff, you quickly get up from your chair and begin gathering your things.

“Still, it is late - almost curfew in fact. You should all start getting to your dorms,” you reply, your voice louder so the rest of the students hanging in the class could hear. A chorus of groans resonate through the air, but nevertheless, they begin packing up their own divination items.

“Spoil sport,” Eve mutters under her breath, however, there’s no real heat to her words; and like everyone else, she too begins clearing the table. As she waves her wand, the bottles, candles and crystals flying back to their original places, “Are you sure you can’t let me do another reading? It would really help,” she asks.

With a sigh, you shake your head, “I’m sorry, I have Head Girl patrol duties tonight, and I still need to get back to the dorms and shower,” you respond.

Behind you, Jimin immediately freezes, his book partially in his bag as he himself gets ready to leave. Now, that’s interesting. Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, he casts his gaze over your body. A lie. A very clear lie - but a good one - because only he would have known it’s a lie. You don’t have Head Girl patrol duties tonight, you know that, and he knows that. Why? Well, because he’s the one who comes up with the patrolling schedules - and you definitely don’t have any tonight. Which begs the question, why are you lying?

Naturally, it could be because you don’t want a second reading, but Jimin has known you three years now, and it’s not often that you refuse to help. Moreover, it’s also not often that you lie - which only has his intrigue growing. Just what were you up to? Not that you do have to be up to something, you really could just not want to have a second reading, and usually, Jimin would happily accept that reading. If it weren’t for the niggling feeling in his gut that it’s something more, and if there’s one thing Park Jimin does, it’s trust his gut feeling.

Hearing your explanation, Eve swiftly deflates. “Alright, that’s fair enough. Still, thank you though. I’m sure Trelawney is going to love this,” she grins. Though, that only has sheer mortification rippling through you. Because really, the last thing you want, is Trelawney hearing about your deepest, darkest feelings. A part of you wants to ask Eve not to use it, however, she’s promised to leave your name out of it, and knowing Trelawney, she’ll barely even pay any attention to it - both facts quickly settling your embarrassment.

“You’re welcome,” you respond with a nod as you gather your bag. Then, turning to Jimin, you tersely smile at him, and, “Ready to go?” you ask - your eyes flicking from his to the space behind him, as if you’re avoiding his gaze.

Momentarily, he looks at you, but no matter how long he stares, you refuse to maintain eye contact. The peculiarity of your actions only has his curiosity growing more aroused. Internally making up his mind to get to the bottom of your behaviour, “Yeah, let’s go,” he simply responds.

It’s later that very same night, when Jimin finds himself up well past moonrise. Usually, by now, he’d long since be in the comfort of his bed, enjoying the privacy of his own dorm. Or he’d be sneaking into the room of another apprentice. Today, however, he finds himself waiting in the Potions Apprentice common room; nestled on one of the plush velvet armchairs that makes its home by the hearth. Weak flames lick at the scorched wood, the fire waning as it slowly dies out. It bathes the darkened room in a dim light, and despite his position right beside the fireplace, the shadows hide his body well enough.

Internally, he wonders how long he has to wait for you to make a move, for you to sneak outside the common room and towards wherever it was that you wanted to disappear for the night. Really, he doesn’t know why he cares so much, and normally, he wouldn’t; you’re a grown woman after all, and you’re more than welcome to your secrets. Which is what he’d say if you were anyone else. But you’re not. You’re ____ Graves. The same ____ Graves he’s lived with for the past three years, and the last thing you have are secrets. Realistically speaking, he should probably give up and head to bed, because really, why did it matter what you got up to late into the night. However, ever since hearing you so easily lie to Eve, he simply can’t get out the incessant need to find out what you were hiding.

That is, if you are hiding anything. Because really, the later it gets, the more he finds himself wondering if he’s deluded himself into believing that you had secrets in the first place.

Mentally, he wonders if he should just head up to bed. It’s way past curfew, and you don’t seem to have emerged outside of your private bedroom; the rest of the Potions Apprentices having all retired for the night long ago. As he sits in the armchair, he contemplates his decision. It’s nearing midnight now, and you still haven’t so much as moved, and he’s really starting to believe that perhaps you’ve already retired for the night. Just as he shifts, however, he hears a door creak causing him to freeze immediately.

Head snapping to the stairs that lead towards the bedrooms, he watches as you slowly creep out of your bedroom and down the stairs. The common room is dark: the only light source the dwindling flames of the fireplace, and the faint, overcast shafts of moonlight that filter through the still waters of the Black Lake; and as a result, your wand is lit up - the eerie blue-tinted light of the ‘Lumos’ spell guiding your way through the space. Hidden by the shadows of the corner he finds himself in, Jimin’s breath hitches as you carefully tiptoe past him.

To his absolute luck, however, you don’t notice him. Instead, you simply slip out of the portrait that guards the Potions Apprentice Quarters. Jimin waits a couple moments for you to get far enough from the entrance before swiftly following you out. As soon as he slips through the portrait, he sees your frame disappear behind one of the corners, and hastily, he casts a disillusionment charm onto himself, followed by a ‘Muffliato’, before he begins tailing you.

It’s late after curfew, and as a result, the corridors are completely deserted. Iron sconces hang high up the beige brick walls and the flickering amber light illuminates the large, arched halls of the castle. Expertly, you navigate through the maze-like hallways, and with how purposely you move - your feet directing you down a specific route - Jimin knows you’re not out for Head Girl patrol duties. Albeit, he’d already known that. Though, this simply confirms his suspicions.

The entire journey, Jimin keeps a steady distance from you - close enough to keep you in his line of view, yet far enough that you won’t feel his presence. You lead him down twisting and turning corridors, and up towards the Grand Staircase. Realising that you’re planning on moving to a different floor, Jimin quickly moves closer towards you, still staying far enough for him to remain undetected, while keeping up with you as you navigate the ever-changing staircases. He doesn’t know how long he follows you, but around ten minutes later, you slow down your pace.

A look of surprise flits across Jimin’s face as he looks around. From the looks of it, you’re both on the seventh floor, in the left corridor. Though, he has no idea whyyou’ve come here. This area of Hogwarts is barely used. There are no classrooms in this corridor - it’s essentially a large stretch of hallway. Despite this obvious fact, however, Jimin watches as you walk down the passage, stopping when you get to a large tapestry. Quietly coming up beside you, he looks at the moving depiction in confusion.

Trolls dressed in ballet tutus are illustrated on the large curtain, their green-skinned body fanned out in various positions as they dance about with large clubs held in their giant hands. In the middle of the cluster, is a man, dressed in medieval-esque clothing, two of the trolls hitting him with their weapons intermittently. Suddenly, recognition dawns within him. It’s the attempt of Barnabas the Barmy to teach the trolls ballet. Enraptured by the odd, mobile tapestry, Jimin doesn’t notice you move - not until he watches a large, ornate wooden door manifest itself into the castle’s wall.

Eyes widening, he takes a step back - the sudden appearance of the entrance surprising him. He doesn’t have long to collect himself, however, because without a moment’s hesitation, you’re opening the door and entering it. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Jimin hastily slips into the room after you - the door shutting behind him with a quiet thud. As soon as he steps inside, however, he pauses - not expecting the sight to greet him.

The room is large, yet completely barren. Marble arches and pillars line the perimeter of the room; plush carpet, the colour of beige, lines the entire floor - and even through the soles of his Dragonhide boots, he can feel how soft it is. There’s only one piece of furniture that sits inside the odd space - a large mirror. With clawed feet, and an ornate frame that has faded into a dull, metallic shade of gold with time, it looks ancient; and wholly mysterious. There’s even a strange inscription in the framework, in a language he can’t quite decipher, but one that seems familiar at the same time.

Nonetheless, Jimin doesn’t have much time to contemplate the peculiarity of it all, because all of a sudden, you’re moving. Drawing his attention once again, he watches you step up to the mirror, looking into the reflective glass intensely. The entire occurrence is strange, because it’s just a mirror, and yet you watch it so curiously, so intensively, that he wonders just what you’re looking at. And then, for a second time that day, he has an epiphany. He knows this mirror. Or well, more specifically he’s read of it.

It’s the Mirror of Erised - the one that shows you what your heart desires the most.

Now even more curious, Jimin’s head tilts to the side as he looks at you, his face a picture of curiosity. Soon, however, it morphs into shock. Because, completely out of the blue, you start stripping.

Febrile skin flushed with desire, you stare into the Mirror of Erised. The sight that greets you is no surprise to you, at least not anymore. You see, the first time you’d stumbled upon the Room of Requirement, had been this summer, towards the end of your ninth year. Back then, you’d just been a prefect, and on one of your nightly patrols, you’d stumbled across strange noises coming from one of the abandoned classrooms on the seventh floor; and being the principled prefect you were, you’d instantly investigated. The sight that had greeted you, had shocked you to the core.

You had expected lots of things behind the classroom door. Perhaps it was Peeves, causing a ruckus as he usually does. Or perchance Filch doing his own rounds. Or maybe, just maybe, it was two students out past curfew. However, the last thing you’d expected was to see Penelope Graham, the second-year herbology Apprentice, bent over a table as Park Jimin thrust into her from behind. Her uniform had been in a state of dishevelment, her shirt wide open and her bra pulled under to reveal her breasts. The most surprising thing, however, had been the fact that her hands were tied up, and her panties stuffed into her mouth as Jimin harshly moved behind her.

Suffice to say, the entire scene had been such a shock, and way more than you’d expected to find behind the classroom door. More than that, you couldn’t bring yourself to break them up, your own timidness getting the better of you. As a result, you’d quickly turned around and ran away - racing to the opposite end of the seventh floor - only to find yourself in the empty left corridor, right by the large tapestry that depicted Barnabas the Barmy and the trolls. You can still remember your embarrassment, the sight of Jimin roughly fucking Penelope burned into the back of your mind. As you contemplated what you’d stumbled across; pacing back and forth in front of the tapestry, you’d accidentally come across the Room of Requirement.

The randomly-appearing door had surprised you. You’d heard of its existence of course, from your cousin, Sybil Lovegood, but you’d never gone looking for it. Curious about what the room had manifested for you, and needing to recuperate from what you’d just witnessed, you’d entered - just to discover the empty room, and the Mirror of Erised. What you’d spotted in the reflection, your heart’s greatest desire, a few months ago had completely shocked you.

Because depicted in the magic glass, is you - your body naked and bound - as Jimin fucks you, just as roughly as he did Penelope. Or perhaps, even rougher.

Shaken by the discovery, you’d swiftly left the room. Only to return the next day. And the weekend after. And then the week after. However, then you’d broken up for holidays, and in your tenth year so far, you’d been too busy with head duties to return. By all means, you’ve spent many nights laying in bed, with fantasies of Jimin sweeping through your head as you lose yourself in your own pleasure. However, your fantasies could never compare to what the mirror showed. Though, the real deal probably couldn’t compare to this either, but what could you do? You doubt Jimin would actually ever fuck you; that is, if his adversity to flirting with you was any indication.

Tonight is the first night you’ve returned in a while, prompted by Eve’s tarot reading, and eyes darkening with hunger, you watch your reflection’s face twist with lewd pleasure; Jimin’s intense, domineering gaze levelled on you. Molten lust pools between your thighs, your stomach twisting with the desirous heat of hunger as your core trembles. Your gaze trails down the body of your mirror-image, settling on your core, and almost as if he knew, mirror-Jimin lifts your reflection’s leg up - allowing you a better view of her swollen, sodden cunt.

A low whimper resounds through the still room, your voice breaking the quiet. All of a sudden, the heat that sears your body is too much, causing you to grip your wand tighter, and vanish almost all your clothes with a simple spell - purposely leaving your skirt on. Cool air brushes against your heated sex, and a low mewl falls from your lips at the sensation, your thighs spreading a little further. Without wasting a single moment, you slip your hand between the apex of your legs, merely to cry out in pleasure when your fingers brush your throbbing bud.

Knees buckling at the pleasure, you tentatively stroke your clit, your breath turning laboured as ripples of ecstasy course through you. Nonetheless, it’s not enough, and you have no doubt that this position is soon going to get uncomfortable. Thus, without wasting another moment, you carefully drop to your knees before sitting on your ass. Bending your knees, you draw your thighs closer to your body, before spreading them wide open. Able to access your bare folds more freely, one of your hand dips between your legs: a single finger trailing through your dewy slit.

You run the digit through your sex a couple of times, and once the pad of your finger is coated in a thin film of your own wetness, you press it to your clit once again; slicking the bud under your ministrations. In the mirror-reflection, Jimin mumbles something indiscernible into your mirror-self, and you watch as her cheeks tinge with heat, but as usual, does as he says. Her hand winds down towards her spread thighs, only to splay her cunt wide open. Then, in one smooth motion, Jimin spears his cock into her - impaling the entire length into her dripping pussy.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you responsively dip a finger into your own honeyed entrance. The rings of muscle are tight, and firm, but slippery with your arousal, you manage to slip a single digit into yourself. Steadily, you push your finger into you. It’s fairly short, and girthy, and yet, there’s still a pleasurable ache to the intrusion - your inner walls rippling around the digit. You push it in as far as you can before crooking it at the knuckle. Promptly, you feel your body shake - your nail inadvertently dragging against your sweet-spot.

For a moment, your eyes blur at the euphoria, your eyes threatening to shut. Nonetheless, you forcibly keep them open - your gaze focused on the way mirror-Jimin begins surging into your reflection, your entire body bouncing from his rough thrusts. Imitating his actions, you begin plunging your finger into your silken depths - the movement causing the pad of your digit to drag against the erogenous spot inside of you repetitively. With each stroke, you feel the pleasure inside your stomach intensify, morphing from a dull ache into a maddening burn.

Nestled in the shadows, Jimin’s jaw drops at the lewd sight of you. When he’d decided to follow you tonight, this was the last thing he had expected. At first, he’d meant to announce his presence - question just what you’d been staring at. However, before he could say anything, your clothes had suddenly been divested off of your body - flying into the air before folding neatly onto a pile on the floor. Tongue-tied by the action, his jaw had dropped, and he’d been rendered speechless - because really, why would he have expected you to suddenly strip to just your skirt?

Nonetheless, his astonishment set aside, Jimin can’t help but feel his skin heat as he watches you - his cock twitching to life in the confines of his trousers. He still has no idea what it is you’re seeing, but still, the sight of your legs spread wide, and your hands buried between your thighs is incredibly hot. From his position, he can’t see you in full - your skirt partially covering your sex - and with only his imagination to go off of, his mind runs wild. He wonders just what your cunt looks like as you pleasure yourself: does your clit throb? Are you soaked beyond belief - strings of your arousal leaking down your ass? Does that little cunt of yours tremble around your fingers?

Each question has waves of hunger washing through him, and with each thought, hot lust bubbles through his veins. Desperately he wishes to find out the answers - to remove your hand and push your skirt up - only to bury his face between your thighs. He wonders how you look amidst an orgasm, and the type of sounds you make; the type of sounds your cunt makes. Even so, even with his urgent desire overtaking him, he knows he can’t. He enjoys being your friend - a hard title to come by - and this would cross a boundary he’d initially been hesitant to cross; especially since you’d never shown interest in him, or any other boy for that matter. More than that, however, he figures he should leave you to your own privacy - having voyeuristically watched you for long enough.

However, just as he’s about to turn on his heel and exit, a sudden cry of pleasure tears from your throat - louder than any other that has spilled from your mouth. All of a sudden, you jerk, and your free hand darts out behind you: the palm dragging against the ground as you brace your entire body. Your back twists, the motion pushing your chest further into the air - drawing his attention to them - just for it to move to the way your thighs begin trembling. Holy fuck. Were you about to cum? Merlin, he reallyneeds to get out of here.

“J-Jimin,” you suddenly whimper and Jimin stops short - the muscles of his entire body locking. Did you… had you just…?

Breath catching in his throat, Jimin strains his ears; focusing his entire attention on you. It couldn’t be. There was no way you’d just said his name. His mind was obviously playing tricks on him. Swiftly, he dismisses the sound. Until, “Oh… Jimin,” you moan. It’s louder this time, and clearly - so discernible, in fact, that it resonates through Jimin’s ears.

Turbulent eyes roving over you, and once he’s confirmed that it is indeed his name, a smirk curls onto Jimin’s plump lips. His cock strains inside his boxers, the hardened member straining against the tightness of his trousers as it begs to bury itself inside of you. A surprising reaction, considering he’d never seen you in that way before - then again, how was he not supposed to want you, after learning that your heart’s desire, is him. Suddenly, Eve’s voice echoes through his mind, and recognition dawns inside of him. He’s the man from the divination - the one you truly want to submit to; the one you so desperately yearn for. Immediately, the smirk on Jimin’s face twists further, pulling into a large, predatory grin.

Well, who was he to deny you your deepest wish?

Stalking closer towards you, Jimin waves his wand discreetly - ending both the charms that hide him from your view. However, so lost in your own pleasure, your focus concentrated on whatever it is you see in the mirror, you don’t notice him. Closer to you now, your soft mewls and whimpers are louder - the sounds practically music to his ear - and this time, when you call out his name, “Need something, Princess?” he purrs in answer.

Instantaneously, you freeze. Every single one of your muscles locks at the sound, your lust dissipating as dread settles in your stomach. Head snapping up, you finally notice Jimin’s reflection in the mirror, and blinking blankly, you slowly realise it’s the real Jimin. Swiftly, you shut your legs, the movement locking your hands between, as you stare at him wide eyed.

Mortification surging through you, “J-Jimin,” you stammer out.

“Oh, Sweetheart, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying the show.” His eyes flash with mischief, his gaze dropping towards your legs perceptibly, before locking back onto yours.

“I-I can e-explain,” you stammer out.

Jimin simply hums in response. ���Oh? I think I have a pretty good grasp of the situation, Kitten,” comes his rumbling voice - the husky warbles reverberating through the air and directly to your core. Inhaling sharply, your eyes widen imperceptibly. Kitten. That’s a new one. More than that, the pet name drips from his lips like viscous honey, laced with a promise of lust-filled sin.

Deliberately, he stalks around you, your eyes following him - as if transfixed - until he’s directly in front of you, just beside the mirror. With your positioning - his broad body towering over you - your face to crotch with him, and quickly, you spot the prominent bulge of his cock. Throat tightening, you swallow thickly - your mouth suddenly dry. Jimin spots your gaze easily, causing him to chuckle.

“Eyes up on me, Kitten,” Jimin purrs, and almost as if you’re trained to obey, you follow his command; albeit, reluctantly.

Forcibly tearing your eyes from his covered manhood, you level your gaze onto him once again. He stands above you, fully clothed; waves of powerful dominance seeping off of his entire demeanour. Meanwhile you’re next to naked - with your hand still buried into your cunt - and as a result, you can’t help the ripples of humiliation that strum through you; your core reflexively clenching. Against your will, a wanton whimper escapes your mouth, your cheeks tinging darker with the heat of embarrassment. From the way Jimin’s eyes twinkle, you know he’s heard you.

“It looks to me like you’ve been playing with that little cunt of yours to thoughts of me, am I right?” he teases, and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you tentatively nod. Jimin hums once again, his head cocking to the side as he regards you coolly. Under his intense gaze, you feel completely exposed - his heavy stare roving over your entire body as he scrutinises you.

Then, his eyes landing on your skirt, Jimin lets out a low, taunting coo. “Is that pretty pussy wet, Princess? Does your cunt ache to be filled by my cock?” he asks. The vulgarity of his words doesn’t surprise you, you always had a feeling Jimin had a filthy tongue on him, and reflexively, you nod once again. Under his teasing words, you feel yourself grow wet, your lust-filled desire mingling with the humiliation that flutters through you.

Surreptitiously, your hand begins moving, the digit still buried inside you flexing as you slowly plunge it into you. The movement is imperceptible, and near non-existent, but somehow, Jimin still spots it. With a chuckle, “Is this turning you on, Sweetheart?” he coos. Mouth still dry, it’s all you can do to nod. However, Jimin’s eyes simply narrow into slits, and, “Articulate,” he hisses.

“Y-Yes,” you force out obediently, your finger moving even faster. Jimin coos tenderly, his lips curling into a wry sneer.

“Of course it is, Kitten,” he coos. Then, gesturing his head towards your hand, “But is your hand enough? Wouldn’t you like the real thing? Wouldn’t you rather have my cock?” he asks, a playful lilt to his voice.

You don’t even have to contemplate your answer, because immediately, “Please,” you whimper.

“Please what?” he hisses, and realising he’s going to force you to say it, you inhale a deep, steadying breath.

“J-Jimin,” you stutter out in an attempted protest.

“I want to hear you say it. I want you to beg with that pretty, innocent little mouth of yours,” Jimin purrs, his eyes darkening with dominance as he watches you.

Brushing your humiliation to the side, you take in a deep, steadying breath. “P-Please g-g-give me y-your cock,” you stutter out whilst imploringly staring at him through the thick of your lashes.

Immediately, a roguish grin crawls onto Jimin’s lips, and chest purring in approval, he walks around you - the heels of his expensive Dragonhide shoes clicking against the ground - before he settles behind your body. His long legs splay on either side of you, the limbs bent at the knee: effectively caging you between his figure. The strong muscles of his chest press flat against your naked back, and involuntarily, you shiver - his warmth seeping into your skin.

Hands moving to loosely rest on either of your thighs, the cold metal of his ring making you gasp as it presses against your febrile flesh, “Spread your legs,” he orders. The sound rumbles against your back, and for a moment you hesitate - the tips of your ears burning in humiliation. Nonetheless, you do as he says: tentatively splaying your legs open once again. Jimin watches your reflection in the glass, his eyes dropping to the apex of your spread thighs. Material of your skirt falling between, it obstructs his view of your cunt, causing him to let out a low tremor of disapproval.

Angling his head to the side, he brushes his lips against the outer shell of your ear, before taking the topmost part between his teeth and biting down softly. The sudden action causes you to let out a soft whimper, and you both see, and feel, Jimin’s lips twist into a sardonic smile. Lightly nibbling on the cartilage, his hands indolently trail further up your thighs, causing your eyes to flutter at the sensation. Just when he gets to the soft flesh of the top of your inner thighs, however, Jimin suddenly stops.

“Lift up your skirt, Princess. Show me the way that cunt drips for me,” comes his command. The intonation of his voice is low, a slight rasp underlying it, and reflexively, goosebumps prickle at your skin.

You suck in a sharp breath, and with shaky hands, do as he says. Gripping the hem of your skirt, you hesitantly lift it up - both your eyes glued onto the mirror - where you watch the way you slowly expose your sodden cunt. The moment your bare sex meets his gaze, Jimin lets out a pained groan. Swollen with need, the flesh of your sex is puffy - your clit visibly throbbing as a thick sheen of your wetness coats your skin. Pools of arousal gather around your entrance, the ring of muscles trembling under his heavy gaze, causing thin rivulets of slick to trail down the seam of your ass.

“Oh? You’re fucking drenched. What is it that you see in the mirror, that has you leaking like this? You’re practically creating a puddle,” he chuckles, a dark, taunting inflexion cutting his sweet voice.

A near inaudible whimper falls from your lips, and when you don’t respond, Jimin bites your ear harshly. Soft stings of pain strum through you, and, “Y-You,” you cry out in response, your cunt clenching visibly.

Watching the way the ringed muscles contract, “Oh? Just me?” Jimin chuckles darkly. You shake your head in response.

“N-No… us,” you reply. Fingers flexing, he begins softly massaging your thighs: kneading the supple flesh under his deft digits.

“Tell me.”

“W-What?” you ask, shock evident in your eyes. Tongue flicking out, Jimin licks the outline of your ear, only to brush his lips against the shell.

“Tell me what you see,” he elaborates. Thick waves of hesitation exude off of you at the command. There was no way - absolute none - that you could describe the vulgar scene, born from your deepest fantasies, and depicted in the magical surface.

Sensing your trepidation, Jimin’s face softens, and he buries his face into the side of your head. Lips pursing, he places a tender kiss to your hair. “We can stop if you want, or if it’s too much,” he mumbles; his hands soothingly rubbing your thighs. Your heart flutters at his concern, and you shake your head quickly.

“I-I’ve just… never done something like this,” you begin, your voice coming out as a whisper. Internally, you cringe at the timidness of it. It’s not that you don’t want to fuck Jimin. You do. Desperately. It’s just, you’re not used to it - to having someone see this side of you - and the idea of revealing it to Jimin, the object of most of your lascivious fantasies, is more than just a little daunting.

Awareness crossing his face, Jimin nods, and you watch in despair as his eyes turn tender - a stark contrast from the heavy dominance that had just twinkled within them. “We can go slow… I’ll be gentle,” he offers.

“No!” you instantly object, Jimin’s eyes widening at the sudden protest. Realising how loud you’d been, you quickly curl into yourself and avert your gaze. Throat tight, you swallow thickly; and gathering your courage, “I- I don’t want gentle. I- I want you to be rough. I want you to fuck me,” you confess, A few pauses break your sentences as you force yourself to be honest with him, however, once the words are out, you feel a sense of relief flood through you.

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, and against the curve of your ass, you feel his hardened cock throb. “Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes searching yours. This time, when you nod, there’s not a semblance of hesitancy.

Bolstered by your sudden courage, “I want you to fuck me as hard as you can. I want you to dominate me, and make me cry,” comes your sudden declaration. The hands on your thighs flex, Jimin gripping the flesh almost painfully.

“Fuck.” He takes a deep breath, and then exhales just as deep. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asks once again.

Unwavering, “Yes.” Then, “Please,” you add - practically begging him now.

“Pick a safe word.”

Surprised by his words, “W-what?” you dumbly ask, causing him to smile at you genially.

“You’re a virgin aren’t you?” he asks; his tone is passive, almost kind, and not mocking at all; yet, you still find yourself growing embarrassed as you nod in response. Pressing another kiss to your head, “Then pick a safe word you can use if things are getting too intense and you need to stop,” he continues.

“Oh. Um… Mallowsweet,” you blurt out after a short deliberation.

The instant the word slips from your mouth, Jimin lets out an amused exhale, and you feel his lips curl in bemusement. “Mallowsweet? Really? The first thing you thought of was a potion ingredient?” he asks, causing you to pout.

“Safe words have to be something you won’t normally say during sex,” you mumble, and once again, Jimin laughs.

“You’ve got me there. Alright, Mallowsweet it is,” he nods. Then, after a short pause, “Don’t hesitate to use it, okay?” he continues. You don’t say anything, simply nodding firmly. Happy with your assurance, “Good girl. Now, tell me what you see,” he praises, only to follow the sentiment with a command.

A ripple of excitement courses through you at the heavy authority that laces his voice once again; his eyes dark with domineering hunger as he practically scrutinises you. Attention returning to the mirror, your breath catches in your throat at the sight that greets you. Your reflection selves have changed positions, now almost perfectly imitating the two of you. Cradled in mirror-Jimin’s embrace, your counterpart has her legs spread wide, and her lips spread even more lewdly - her own digits splaying them apart - as Jimin fucks his thick fingers into her drenched heat.

When you don’t say anything, your attention instead focused on the erotic scene depicted in the magical surface, you suddenly hear a loud slap echo through the air. All of a sudden, a sharp sting of pain flares across your thigh, and you hiss when you feel Jimin spank your flesh.

“I gave you an order, Princess. I expect you to obey,” Jimin spits, his voice hissing against your ear.

“Ah- I’m- I’m spreading my own…” you begin, only for your own mortification to pause.

“Your own?” Jimin prompts, a smirk curling onto his face at your clear embarrassment.

Letting out a whine, “V-vagina,” you choke out with a stammer. Immediately, Jimin brings his hand down onto your thigh, a sharp slap resounding through the air.

A low cry slips through your lips and, “Cunt,” Jimin hisses.

“W-What?”

“Cunt. You’ll call it your cunt, or your pussy. Do you understand?” he responds, causing you to nod your head. “Good girl. Now, continue,” he urges, his hand delicately massaging your thigh as he soothes the flesh he’d spanked.

Cheeks burning, “I-I’m spreading my own c-cunt,” you whisper. A jolt of ravenous hunger sparks through Jimin as he hears the vulgar word slip from your lips and he lets out a low, pained groan. He’d ordered you to say it, and yet, it somehow sounded even sweeter, even more sinful as it drips from your mouth.

“Are you now? Show me how,” comes his next order. Shuddering at his breathy voice, and thick ripples of pleasure coursing through you, you do as he says.

One of your hands uncurls itself from the material of your skirt, the other hiking the fabric higher up your body. Next, using your now free hand, you press two of your trembling fingers on either side of your cunt, before spreading them in a ‘V’ shape. Under the ministration, you both feel, and watch, as your slick folds are pulled apart - revealing even more of your bare sex to Jimin’s gaze. Seeing the way your flesh peels open, Jimin lets out a strained groan.

“Fuck. Look at you. Dirty fucking slut,” he spits, and hearing his words, the walls of your cunt automatically clench. With the way your pussy is bared for Jimin, he easily spots the movement, causing him to chuckle. With another spank on your thigh, “Do you like that, Princess? Do you like the way I call you a slut?” he taunts. Fist curling tighter into the cotton fabric of your skirt, you nod shyly. Jimin’s hand splays further down your thigh before he begins drawing slow, teasing shapes into your flesh.

A shudder runs down your spine at his actions. In their new position, his fingers are impossibly close to your cunt - so close, in fact, that you’re sure he can feel the intense heat radiating from your sex. Deliberately, however, he keeps them away from where you need them most, and under his ministrations, you slowly feel your body temperature rise; the ache in your pussy intensifying tenfold. One finger moves awfully close to the flesh of your nether lips, and each time he draws an indiscernible shape, the bone of his knuckle grazes your clit.

“Do you want me to keep calling you a slut?” he taunts, and eagerly, you nod your head, a wanton whine slipping through your throat. “Then beg,” he hisses.

With a whimper, “P-Please degrade me,” you moan.

“Merlin, you’re such a fucking whore. Who would have thought that the innocent, shy Head Girl was such a desperate, needy little slut?” Jimin questions, and hearing the blatant derision in his voice, your stomach flips with humiliation. Then, pressing his lips to your ear, Jimin moves his hand to purposely graze your cunt. “I’m going to fucking ruin you,” he groans, his eyes swirling with dark lust. Then, he gestures back to the mirror.

Already knowing what he wants, you take in another breath. “Y-You’re f-fingering my p-pussy as I s-spread my c-cunt,” you stutter out, your ears burning at the crude words.

“Like this?” he teasingly asks. Inhaling sharply, your eyes flutter as you feel his middle finger teasingly caress your dewy folds: the pad of the digit tracing down your swollen lips. You nod your head.

“Y-You’ve got t-two fingers in me. T-Thrusting them as you f-fuck my cunt,” you continue. Finger moving further down, Jimin runs the tip of his nail around the quivering, ringed outline of your cunt.

“Fuck. Such a pretty, needy, pussy. See how it trembles for me?” he asks. It’s rhetorical. You know it is, because the next thing he’s doing, is plunging his finger into you.

A high-pitched moan spills from your lips, your back arching as your head falls onto his muscular shoulder. He stops once he’s knuckle deep, and curling his finger, “I’m going to fuck this tight, unused little cunt, Princess,” he continues. The cold metal and cut gemstones of his heirloom ring presses against the sodden, heated flesh of your cunt. The band is incredibly thick, the maddening girth threatening to plunge into you as it presses against your entrance.

Nonetheless, Jimin stops. Instead, he languidly pulls his finger out, before abruptly plunging it back inside. Heavy moans elicited from your throat, your cunt spasms as you feel his ring press against your ringed muscles once again. Thrusting the crooked finger in and out of you, he indolently tests the pliance of your inner walls; relishing in the resistance he feels. “By Morgana, you’re so fucking tight. Such a tiny, little hole…” In a deliberate motion, he pulls his finger out - so slow, that you can feel every ridge of his knuckles as it retreats out of you.

As he holds up his finger, your eyes widen at the sight. The entire length of his digit is coated in a thick sheen of your wetness; filmy strings trickling towards his palm. The glint of his ring catches the low lighting, the shine only highlighted by your arousal. Jimin lets out a baritone chuckle, “So fucking wet too. You drip like such a slut.” His hand moves back down to your cunt, and stroking up the slit, you whimper the pad of his finger brushes your throbbing clit, the wet bud slickening under his ministrations.

“I’m going to make you cum so much that all you can think about is the way my fingers, or tongue, or cock feel inside of you,” he murmurs. The intonation of his voice is heavy, with an intentional husk to it, that has you whining in need. With each word, he tantalisingly circles your engorged bundle of nerves. His touch is feathery, virtually non-existent, and the tormenting motions has your core burning with need; the muscles of your thighs twitching intermittently.

“Mmmm, yes. By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be a cock-hungry little bitch, begging me to fuck you like the cumslut you are.” All of a sudden, he presses his digit down onto your clit before rolling it in hard, tight circles.

Abruptly, “Ah- Please,” you cry, your thighs beginning to tremble on either side of Jimin’s. Between his filthy words, his purposeful taunting ministrations, and your own, previous ministrations, you swiftly feel the telltale fog of euphoria cloud your mind.

Jimin dips his head into the crook of your neck, and watching your body through the glass of the mirror, he stares darkly at your figure. You’re completely wired: eyes-half lidded and clouded with lust while your mouth is parted - breathless shallow gasps slipping from your throat. With each stroke of his finger against your clit, he watches your entrance responsively clench - forcing thick streams of your essence out of your honeyed hole and down your ass.

“Are you close, Kitten? Are you going to cum from just having me tease this needy clit?” he taunts, his breath fanning across the flesh of your neck. Throat tight with desire, it’s all you can do to nod your head. Pleasure burns in your abdomen, your skin flushing with heat. Still, Jimin continues his ministrations - pulling you closer and closer towards the brink of your orgasm. “Fuck, yeah you are. Merlin, you’re so sensitive... Tell me something Princess, no one’s played with you like this, have they?” he asks.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you shake your head once again - too tongue-tied by pleasure to speak. Plump lips wrap around your flesh, and flicking out his tongue, Jimin begins peppering hot, open-mouths kisses along the column of your throat. Teeth grazing against your sensitive skin, “No. They haven’t. I’m the first to see you like this, aren’t I? The first to touch this pretty cunt, and watch you drip for me,” he murmurs. The reverberations of his voice thrum along your throat, causing you to buck into his hand.

“I’m the first person who’s going to make you cum, Princess,” he whispers. Then, without a warning, he takes your clit between the knuckle of his forefinger and his thumb, and twisting, he pinches the bud. Simultaneously, Jimin sucks your flesh into his mouth, before biting down harshly. The abrupt pain has you crying out, your thighs shaking harder as you feel yourself teeter over the precipice of your climax. Before it can come, however, “But not yet,” Jimin growls before pulling away.

“N-No,” you cry out, tears misting your eyes as you feel your impending orgasm begin to fade. Thoughtlessly, you pull your hand away from where it’s spreading your cunt, and instead, you grab Jimin’s wrist; attempting to pull it back.

Swiftly, Jimin brings his hand down onto your cunt - harshly. A sharp, wet, smack resounds through the air as his fingers impact your swollen flesh. Under the ministration, you feel your clit smart: ripples of pain and pleasure thrumming along your nerves and setting your veins afire. Biting down on your flesh once again, “You’ll cum when I want you to cum, slut. Until then, be patient,” he hisses. A whimper slips from your throat, and you nod before letting go of his hand. Purring in approval at your obedience, Jimin’s tongue roves over your throat, soothing the tender flesh he’d harshly bitten down on.

“Spread your cunt for me again, Princess,” he orders, causing your fingers to fall back to your lips as you pull them apart. Jimin rewards your actions with soft kisses, his plush lips teasing the flesh of your throat. Lightly, he begins suckling and nipping: the skin blooming with bruises under his ministrations.

As he litters your throat with his marks, he retrieves his wand from beside him, and holding the long piece of elm he drags the tip through your slit. You gasp in surprise, your eyes widening as you watch him tease your folds with his wand. Against your throat, Jimin whispers a spell, the words inaudible. Out of the blue, however, his wand comes to life - the entire length vibrating as the point presses to your clit.

“J-Jimin,” you howl, your legs snapping shut as you feel the intense reverberations of his wand against your aching bud.

Immediately, Jimin increases the vibrations, and, “Keep your legs open, slut,” he orders. Sucking in a sharp breath, you forcibly part your thighs again, even as they tremble violently from the mind-numbing pleasure that wracks through your body from his wand. “Good girl,” he praises, his wand indolently circling the outline of your clit.

“J-Jimin- P-please,” you choke out, the muscles of your throat straining to spew out the words. Delirious with overwhelming ecstasy, your eyelids flutter with every motion, causing Jimin to chuckle.

“Do you want to cum, Sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dark, and taunting. Hastily, you nod your head. With how intensely his wand vibrates - the pleasure concentrated onto your clit, where the tip of the wood incessantly presses against the bud - you can feel your stomach twist and knot with each second that passes.

“Yes,” you gasp out. At the same time, your hips start rocking as you grind your clit into his wand - relishing in the powerful reverberations of the vibrating charm that strums through your clit. Again, the telltale sear of euphoria burns through your bloodstream.

Wanton hunger skims through you, and feeling how close you are to your orgasm, you begin wildly thrusting your hips. In the reflection of the glass, Jimin simply watches with a smirk as you ride his wand. With each roll of your hips, your clit drags against the vibrating wood - your cunt rippling over and over as you chase your high. A smirk crawling on his hips, Jimin mumbles something indiscernible, and you cry out when the vibrations increase tenfold. Screwing your eyes shut, you cry out in pleasure. However, for a second time that day, just as you’re about to sink into the mind-numbing ecstasy of your orgasm, Jimin is pulling away.

“NO! P-Please no. N-No, please. Please,” you cry - the words spilling from your words over and over again. With your orgasm cruelly ripped away from you for a second time, you can barely think. Behind you, Jimin lifts his head up, and presses a soft, soothing kiss against your head, and feeling the tender action, you whimper. Through the mirror, you look at him with teary, pleading eyes, and “P-Please,” you sob. Jimin simply lets out a sardonic smirk.

“If you want to cum, keep telling me what you see,” he coos, his eyes flashing with barely concealed dominance.

Eyes blurred with pleasure, and so caught up in the ecstasy Jimin reaps upon your body, you’d completely forgotten about the mirror. Blinking the tears from your eyes, you focus your attention onto the magical glass once again, only for a wanton moan to fall from your lips at the sight. Your reflections have swapped positions now - your body riding Jimin reverse-cowgirl. Even in the mirror, your legs are spread wide - giving you a lewd view of the way Jimin’s thick girth spears your tiny cunt wide open.

“Y-You’ve got me on your lap… my legs spread a-as you fuck me,” you begin once again. Jimin hums underneath you, his lips once again peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat.

He rewards your compliance by pressing his wand to your clit once more, before he runs it down your dripping slit, and towards your cunt. Feeling the thin wood trace the ringed muscles of your honeyed hole, you clench involuntarily - the action threatening to swallow the tip of his wand. Jimin spots the motion, and laughing lowly, he begins pressing it against your cunt. With how wet you are, you easily take the slim piece of wood into you, your eyes rolling at the thin intrusion. Unlike Jimin’s, or your own, fingers, the wood is unrelentingly hard, and you feel it slowly open up the soft flesh of your inner walls.

As he continues pushing the length into you, soft pangs of pain flutter through your velvet depths - the untouched walls slowly widening. Still, the pain is next to non-existent, and with the vibrating charm accompanying the invasion, even that subtle ache is drowned out by pleasure. Once half the wand is inside you, Jimin stops, and instead, he begins fucking you with the wood.

“Like this?” he asks. You pull your lower lip between your teeth, and biting down hard, you nod in response. “How am I fucking you?”

Automatically, “H-Hard. You’re f-fucking m-me hard,” you respond.

Jimin’s free arm moves to wrap around your body, and your breath hitches when you see him inch his left hands towards your cunt. He moves deliberately, your eyes dilating with desire as you watch it in the reflection of the mirror. Even with your gaze trained on the appendage however, you’re not ready for the way his fingers feel as they stroke your clit. The moment you feel the calloused pads of his fingers caress your throbbing bud, you let out a keening mew - your thighs trembling on either side of his legs.

Simultaneously, Jimin picks up the pace; fucking his wand into you even faster as he begins toying with your swollen clit. A shudder of pleasure races down your spine at the foreign pleasure. Despite his wand being slim, your untouched inner depths are unaccustomed to the intrusion, and as such, intense waves of ecstasy flourish through your body. Hot, voluptuous lips trail down the arc of your throat, and getting to the flesh of your shoulder, he bites down - hard enough to indent the shape of his teeth into your skin - and causing you to gasp.

“Be explicit. Tell me what you see,” comes his next order.

“Y-Your thick co-cock is spreading my c-cunt as you fuck me h-hard. I-I can see the way you c-cock opens my pussy,” you describe. Jimin lets out a strangled groan under you.

“Is that right?” he grunts. “Does my cock look good in your cunt, Princess?” Jimin begins taunting. “Do you like the way that pretty little virgin pussy stretches around my fat cock?” His warm breath fans over your naked shoulder, Jimin suckling his marks into your flesh between his sinful words. “Are you imagining how it would feel? How I’d fill you up - stretch you out - and carve the shape of my cock into you? So that you know who that precious cunt belongs to?” The intonation of his voice is incredibly deep, and turbulent with salacious desire. It tremors through the air, cutting the sounds of your wet cunt and erotic moans.

“F-Fuck,” you whimper at his words, your cunt involuntarily quivering around his wand; sucking it even deeper.

Feeling the movement, his wand slipping further from his grip, “Oh? You like that don’t you? Of course you do. Filthy little cockslut. Look at the way you swallow my wand. The way you drip and coat it in your cunt juices. You’re practically gagging for it. Begging me to defile this tight, sweet cunt,” he taunts. His words elicit a high-pitched, breathless whimper from your throat, and eagerly, you nod your head.

“Please fuck my cunt,” you beg, your eyes wide and imploring as you stare at him through the reflection. For a moment, Jimin stills. Your words are unprompted, and as such, completely unexpected. Yet, hearing the words drip from your mouth, laced with wanton ardor, has his entire body thrumming with exhilteration.

“Fuck. You’re a sin. My sin,” he groans in response. Then, he mumbles something unintelligible. You barely have time to comprehend what he says, because out of the blue, you feel your inner walls begin to stretch. Crying out at the sudden change, your eyes widen as you feel the girth of Jimin’s slender wand get thicker. The girth sluggishly increases, yet, with each second that passes, you feel your smarting walls stretch around the unyielding invasion.

Jimin doesn’t say anything. Rather, he begins fucking his wand into you ever quicker, simultaneously increasing the pace of his fingers against your clit. Pleasure and pain intermingle together, your eyes rolling back as your thighs begin to tremble. The sensations Jimin lavishes on your body are far too much to comprehend, and swiftly, you find yourself drowning in the fog of euphoria. Stomach twisting with the knot of your incoming orgasm, your breath turns laboured as you begin fucking back onto Jimin’s wand.

With each plunge of his wand into you, you feel your walls pull apart just a little more, and the vibrations of the wood only has your veins searing with desire. Soon, the wand swells past the size of what feels like two fingers, and you cry out when the burn of the stretch begins rippling through your inner walls. The pleasure is too much to handle, but you never want it to end. In fact, you wish it’d last forever: the sensations wholly addicting. In spite of that, however, “M-Mallowsweet,” you whimper.

Immediately, Jimin stills, and halting the spell, he slowly pulls his soaked wand out of you. Sitting up straight behind you, the hand playing with your clit moves, and he wraps his arm around your waist in comfort. He looks at you in concern - worry painted across his delicate features. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he swiftly asks, his gaze roving over your body. A surge of timidness floods through you, and biting your lip, you simply shake your head.

“I-I’m okay. I-I just,” you begin stammering, only to stop when you feel your embarrassment amplify tenfold. Jimin’s strong eyes knit together, and pressing his lips to your head, he presses an encouraging kiss to your flesh. Taking a deep breath, you gather all your courage, and, “I want your cock to be the first thing that stretches me out,” you whisper. At the sound of your steady voice, you internally cheer. At least you’d managed to get the words out without being a stuttering mess this time.

Sharply, Jimin sucks in a breath. Then, “Fuck,” comes his strained grunt.

In an abrupt flash, he moves. Grasping his wand, he plunges the wand into you once again. The sudden intrusion has your spine contorting, your head digging into Jimin’s shoulder as you cry out in pleasure. Expertly, Jimin angles the wooden rod inside of you and begins thrusting it in and out of your core with rough movements. At the same time, he mumbles under his breath, and your thighs shake as you feel the girth increase twofold as the wand begins vibrating inside of you once more.

“Ah- Jimin,” you cry, your eyes screwing shut as pleasure blinds your senses.

The hand around your waist pushes back between your thighs before he slaps your pussy once again. With the angle of his hand, the impact is concentrated on your clit, and feeling the sharp sting, a wail of ecstasy tears from your throat. Vehemently, Jimin begins spanking your cunt - focusing the slaps directly onto your hardened bundle of nerves. His punishing motions are only intensified by the way your fingers faithfully splay apart your folds: exposing the entirety of your throbbing bud to his actions.

“F-Fuck- Jimin,” you cry, tears beginning to mist at your eyes from the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure that courses through you.

Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, “Desperate little slut. You’re such a fucking cocktease. Do you have any idea what you do to me? Hmm, Kitten? Do you know how hot it is when you practically beg me to ruin that tiny cunt of yours? Hmmm?” Jimin growls out. You whimper at his voice. The usual sweet intonation is long gone. Rather, it’s filled with a mix of pure, carnalistic need, and dark dominance. Each sentence that spills from his lips is emphasised by a harsh thrust, and when you feel the tip of the vibrating wand drag against the sweet spot inside you, you cry out.

“Ah- Fuck- Jimin, please,” you sob. Between Jimin’s harsh spanks on your clit, and the vehement way he plunges his wand into you, you find your orgasm quickly building up. Heat prickles at your spine, your skin pricking with goosebumps as the white-hot pokers of euphoria sting at your flesh.

“Look at me,” Jimin hisses, and through the fog of deliriousness that clouds your mind, you hear the command. Opening your eyes, and briefly wondering when they’d shut, you come face to face with your reflection: Jimin’s intense gaze capturing your own. The sight that greets your eyes has you whimpering.

Your pussy is swollen, and so sodden that you can see thick strings of your arousal cling to the side of Jimin’s palm: the hilt of his hand grazing your cunt with each piston of his wand into your welcoming depths. Wetness leaks out of you in droves, and you don’t know how you haven’t noticed it, but you’re sitting in a puddle of your own wetness - the juices of your entrance soaking into the fabric of the back of your skirt. The lewd sight of your body has your breath turning shallow, and inhaling quick, sharp breaths, you feel your thighs begin to shake.

Spotting the telltale signs of your approaching climax, “Are you going to cum?” Jimin asks, and you swiftly nod your head. “Beg me,” he grits out.

Instantly, your mouth parts, however, your mouth is suddenly dry, and so lost in your incoming orgasm, you can barely find it in yourself to string together a coherent set of words. Still, you force out a few words; though, they come out garbled and incoherent. Lips curling into a sneer, Jimin snarls at you, and immediately rips his wand out of you. The sudden emptiness has you shaking your head, a loud howl of displeasure ripping from your throat. Wildly, your hips thrash, and you attempt to follow his wand as you feel your orgasm begin to subside.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jimin brings down his hand onto your cunt - hard - and feeling the intense spank, your entire body jerks. “If you want to cum, you’re going to have to beg,” Jimin spits out.

Screwing your eyes shut, the tears finally begin falling down your eyes and you let out a dry sob. “W-Wanna cum. P-Please, J-Jimin, wanna cum. Please. Please. Please,” you wail.

With another spank to your clit, “Good girl,” Jimin praises. Then, he plunges his wand back into you.

The gesture is abrupt, and completely unexpected, and instantly, you’re forced over the edge of your own orgasm - the knot in your stomach suddenly unravelling. Shallow sobs ripping from the midst of your throat, the back of your head digs into Jimin’s shoulder almost painfully, and your body arcs as you begin cumming. Thighs quaking on either side of Jimin’s, your cunt clenches painfully around the wood inside of you, as blinding euphoria ricochets through your body.

With how much Jimin has already edged you, the force of your orgasm is threefold, incredibly overwhelming; and like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Toes curling with pleasure, you howl out his name, the sound coming out inarticulate, and close to inhuman. Waves of rapturous ecstasy surge through your body, your blood boiling with searing heat as your orgasm overtakes you. Momentarily, you feel yourself drift from reality - floating through the thick haze of elation - as you relish in the intoxicating sensation that floods through you.

Nevertheless, almost abruptly, you’re crashing down to reality. A dull, stinging ache shoots through your sensitive walls, the pain of overstimulation overtaking your mind-altering pleasure. Even with your entire body trembling from the force of your orgasm, Jimin continues plunging the vibrating length into you; though, his hand has moved from spanking your clit to rolling it in tight, vicious circles.

Hands jerking, you unclench your fist from your skirt, the other moving from your splayed cunt, and instead, you grip at his thick thighs. “H-Hurts- T-Too much,” you weep, the tears flowing freely as you blubber out a slew of strained moans.

Still, Jimin pays no mind to your cries, and instead, “Again. Cum for me again,” he urges. Twisting his wand inside of you, he shifts the angle to the tip of it, and presses it flush against the soft bundle of tissues that make up your sweet spot, before increasing the vibration to the highest setting.

A strangled howl tears through your lips: the intense reverberations against your g-spot causing you to careen straight off of the precipice of your climax. Second orgasm rolling in directly after the first one, your body violently quakes over him, and you wail out Jimin’s name - the muscles of your throat straining at the sound. This time, your cunt clamps vigorously - almost painfully - and you sob at the fervent heat of euphoria that consumes your entire being. The power of your contracting walls abruptly forces Jimin’s wand out of you, his eyes widening as you practically shoot out the long piece of wood.

“Fucking hell,” Jimin breathes out - his attention glued onto your cunt.

Gush after gush of wetness erupts out of your cunt; the jets of your cum pelting against the glass and dousing it in your essence. Jimin watches you squirt with wide eyes, the action completely unexpected. It only takes him a few moments to recover, however, and rapidly, he presses his fingers to your clit: strumming the viciously pulsating bud in quick, back and forth movements. His ministrations have your orgasm drawing out even further, and thick tears roll down your cheeks at the overpowering sensations that flood through you.

Brazenly, Jimin’s eyes stick to your swollen pussy, watching the way your drenched entrance contracts around nothing as you leak all over yourself, the mirror and the ground. Everything is drenched in your cum, from your own thighs, to parts of his trousers, all the way towards the mirror: rivers of your essence trailing down the magical glass and onto the floor. The heady scent of sex is heavy in the air, and taking a deep breath, Jimin’s chest purrs at the intoxicating smell of your cum.

Body erratically quivering from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your cunt continuously clamps around nothing - and with Jimin’s wand no longer pistoning into you - the sudden emptiness is only exaggerated by the involuntary movement of your walls. Coming down from your high, the ache between your thighs grows to be too much for you, and, “C-Cock- I n-need your c-cock. F-Fuck me. Please, fuck me,” you stammer out, the words coming out slurred; your tongue loose from your orgasms.

For a moment, Jimin falters, and looking at your fucked out form in the reflection, “Are you sure-” he begins.

Hearing the trepidation in his voice, you focus your glassy gaze onto him through the mirror, and, “Ruin me,” you breathe out. Despite the breathlessness in your voice, there’s not a single shred of hesitance in your eyes. Just ravenous hunger.

The corner of Jimin’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth. Promptly, his apprehension ebbs - giving way to unbridled dominance as his gaze turns dark with lust. A low growl resonates through the air, “As you wish.”

In one smooth motion, Jimin’s hands move to your hips, and then easily, using all his strength, he lifts you and throws you up against the mirror. Eyes widening, you yelp at the sudden movement, your knees scraping against the smooth floor while your clammy hands press against the cold glass. You don’t get a moment to process the change. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jimin’s hands are curling between the soft flesh of your thighs, and forcing them apart, he spreads your legs further. The roughness of his actions cause you to groan, and willingly, you splay your knees further; pushing your ass out towards him.

Jimin’s chest tremors in approval at your gesture, and roughly pushing your skirt up your ass, he spanks the plump flesh. “Good little slut,” he praises. The sudden, acute impact on your lower cheeks has you squealing, the sound morphing into a garbled groan of pleasure. Emboldened by your reaction, and the way your ass ripples under the ministration, Jimin repeats his action.

A harsh slapping sound echoes through the air, pain flaring along your ass cheeks, and responsively, your head drops onto the mirror. The glass is cold, and refreshing against your sweat-soaked forehead. Jimin barely pays you any mind, and instead, he spanks you once more - as hard as he can. This time, you howl in ecstatic pain. Between the thick band of his ring, and his bulging biceps, this particular spank strikes your ass in the most enticing way possible. Cunt clamping down around nothing, you let out a low whimper at the incessant ache in your core, your breath fogging against the mirrored surface.

“J-Jimin- fuck me, please,” you beg.

One last time, Jimin brings his hand onto the plump cheek, before gripping the fleshy globes with both hands and pulling them apart. Under his action, you find your cheeks tinging with heat with mortification: Jimin exposing the entirety of your cunt and asshole towards his gaze. Seeing the way the puckered rim twitches, Jimin groans, and keeping one of your ass cheeks parted, he moves the other hand to brush your tight entrance.

A single finger indolently traces the ringed muscles of your ass, and you let out a breathy whine, your muscles locking at the sensation. “Such a pretty little asshole,” Jimin casually mutters. With how turned on you are, not to mention cumming so hard you’d squirted, the back entrance is completely slicked with your own juices. Grazing the blunt tip of his finger against your asshole, Jimin begins tracing teasing circles around the rim. “I bet it’s nice and tight in there. I bet you’d look so fucking hot struggling to fit my cock in that tiny little hole,” he mumbles. His voice is breathier, and filled with hunger, and you can’t help but whimper at the sound.

Suddenly, Jimin presses his finger against the rim of your ass, and your eyes widen as you feel the pressure: his finger threatening to enter your virgin ass. Nonetheless, before the digit can dip inside, he’s pulling away. “But that’s for another day,” he murmurs. “Right now, the only hole I’m interested in, is this one.” Abruptly, he forces two fingers into your cunt.

“AH-” you gasp, your eyes fluttering when he begins thrusting his thick digits in and out of your sodden entrance. Instinctively, your hips begin writhing, and pushing them back in slow movements, you fuck yourself onto his fingers: in a bid to take them deeper into you.

The silken walls of your cunt ripple around his fingers, and with each surreptitious contraction, your velvet cavern threatens to swallow his fingers further. “Such a needy cunt,” Jimin hums, his lips ghosting over the length of your shoulder as he presses chaste kisses to your skin. Parting his fingers in a ‘V’ shape, Jimin groans when he feels the tight resistance of your walls, “And so tight too.”

Driven near insane by the filth he spews, and the way he plunges his thick digits into your pussy, a soft mew slips from your lips. Nonetheless, it’s not enough. “D-Don’t t-tease m-me. W-Want your c-cock,” you beg with a stammer; your voice coming out higher pitched, and more desperate, than you’d intended.

“Insatiable whore,” he purrs, and despite the clear derision to his words, his tone is sweet. Almost affectionate. Still, Jimin pulls his fingers out of you, and instead, his hands move back to your ass. Cupping the cheeks, he pushes the plump flesh up and outwards, bearing the entirety of your dripping cunt to his gaze once more. He mumbles another spell under his breath, and to your utter surprise, a loud tearing sound fills the air.

You watch in shock as your skirt falls to tatters on the floor below you, but before you can say anything, Jimin is pressing his naked hardness flush against your bare sex. A shallow gasp slips through your lips, only for it to morph into a low groan when he begins grinding the velvet shaft into you. Hands still pressed flat against the mirror, you watch Jimin through the reflection. He’s still fully dressed in his uniform. The top few buttons of his white oxford are unfastened: exposing the defined peaks of his collarbone, and a few inches of his chest.

Meanwhile, his leather belt is undone, the two long pieces hanging on either side. Similarly, the button of his trousers and his zipper are open, his thick cock standing proudly through the opening. Attention dropping to the throbbing member, your eyes dilate with lust. He’s thick - incredibly thick. So thick, in fact, that a tremor of fear flutters through you, because there’s no possible way it’s going to fit inside of you. And yet, mixed with the fear is overwhelming anticipation, because you can’t help but want to feel his cock stretch you out. Even in the most painfully pleasurable way.

Jimin grips the base of his shaft with one hand, and angling it towards your entrance, he smacks the head against it. A loud, wet smack resonates through the air, and feeling the heavy weight of his cockhead against your wet cunt, you whine in need. Flexing his hips, Jimin slips his cock between your thighs before he begins thrusting it against your folds. Your slick lips spread on either side of his thick girth, and with each thrust, the prominent seam of his cockhead drags against your hardened clit.

Losing yourself in the pleasure, you let out a slew of breathless groans - your breath condensing on the glass - as you undulate your hips back onto him. Chest purring, Jimin lowers his head and presses an open-mouthed kiss onto the flesh just below the nape of your neck. At the same time, one of his hands grip your ass tighter, the other still holding onto his cock; and staring at you through the reflection, “That’s a good slut. Wet my cock with your cum,” he urges. Your body shudders at the sound.

Even as he kneels behind you, almost eye-level with your own gaze, he’s somehow still incredibly imposing. Noticing your gaze on him, Jimin smirks predatorily: his teeth peeking through the seam of his lips. Dark eyes, tumultuous with desire, lock onto your own, and while holding your stare, Jimin drags his cock through your folds in one long stroke, before pressing the head at your fluttering entrance. As the crown of his bulbuous cockhead pushes against your ringed entrance, you both moan.

Turning his attention down to your drenched folds, Jimin hisses when he spots the way your honeyed hole ripples. “Such a small, wet, little cunt,” Jimin groans. Then, gripping his cock tighter, he circles the head around your entrance, “Merlin, look at how tiny your cunt is compared to my cock. I don’t think it’s going to fit,” he chuckles.

Despite the clear taunt to his voice, you shake your head. “It’ll fit,” you whine, your hips thrusting back to take him into you.

Humming, “Hmmm, are you sure, Kitten?” he asks, and furiously you nod your head.

“I can take it. I can. Please. Please fuck me open. Please,” comes your soughed pleas, your eyes swirling with unbridled hunger. Behind you, Jimin exhales deeply at the clear neediness to your voice.

Jaw flexing, “Then take it,” he hisses through gritted teeth. That’s all he says, because the next thing you know, he’s pressing the crown of his cock against your cunt. A dull pressure builds up against your entrance, and your eyes widen at the sensation, a stifled whimper slipping through your lips.

You’re soaked, your entrance positively dripping, and as such, he should easily slip into you. In spite of that, however, he struggles to enter you: his absurd girth causing the taut muscles of your pussy to protest the stretch. For a moment your eyes flutter shut, causing Jimin to release your ass, only to spank it instead. “Look at me. I want you to watch as I fuck this tight, unused little cunt open for the first time,” he hisses.

Whimpering, your eyes snap open, your attention catching his. And it’s at that exact moment, that Jimin thrusts harshly. The force of his movement causes the mushroom-tip of his cockhead to squeeze into you with a sudden pop. Spine twisting, your back arches as a dry sob tears from your throat. Your eyes mist with tears once more, pleasure and pain surging through your body.

“J-Jimin,” you whine with a wince. A searing ache burns ripples through your tight cunt, the ringed muscles smarting as they strain around Jimin’s dense shaft. But, it’s not all pain. No, even through the agonising burn, there are intoxicating undercurrents of pleasure - the ecstasy cutting your discomfort.

Hands moving to rest on your hips, Jimin skims them over the swell before rubbing soothing circles into your soft curves. Arcing his neck down, he buries his face into your neck and presses a soft kiss to the column. “Shhh, Princess. You can take it, can’t you?” he cajoles. Regardless of his soothing gestures, however, Jimin continues pushing his unrelenting hardness into you.

Nodding your head, you force the entrance of your cunt to relax further, and feeling the muscles ease slightly, Jimin presses the rest of his cockhead into you - right up to where it meets the shaft. Once sufficiently inside of you, Jimin’s fingers flex, and digging the pads into the flesh of your hips, he begins pulling you onto his cock. Inch by heavy, agonising inch, his unyielding hardness spears into you. Gradually, the thick girth of his cock stretches out your walls: pulling your virgin passage apart around his heavy intrusion.

When he’s around half way into you, you let out a strangled cry, “F-Fuck, y-you’re h-huge,” you whimper. Jimin chuckles wrly.

“Are you sure you can take it, Sweetheart? Hmmm? Can your sweet, little, virgin pussy take my fat cock?” he taunts, slipping another two inches into you.

Nails scraping against the smooth glass, you drag your hands down the surface and hastily nod your head. “I-I c-can,” you respond.

Plump lips pressing to the roots of your scalp, “That’s my good girl,” he praises with a kiss. His warm breath fans across your scalp, and you shiver involuntarily.

Without a warning, his hips flex, and Jimin roughly thrusts the final few inches of his cock into you, the length bottoming out to the hilt. The sudden movement has you howling, your head falling onto the mirror once again. Against your will, your cunt ripples around his cock, your inner muscles contracting and clenching around his unrelenting shaft as it tries to force out the thick intrusion. Nonetheless, with Jimin’s hips pressing firmly against your ass, the clamping only massages his cock. Cock completely buried inside you now, his balls pressing flush against your wet sex, Jimin halts.

In the reflection of the mirror, Jimin watches as your face contorts in a mix of pain and pleasure. Your eyes are hooded: the lids fluttering with every passing impalement of his cock; and your mouth is parted: your breathing laboured as you struggle to take his cock. Regarding you with his dark, lust-filled eyes, he trails his gaze down your body - stopping briefly at your throat and shoulders - where he admires the love bites he’s littered onto your skin. Trailing his attention further down, he passes by your heaving chest: your breasts rising and falling with the movement, and your stomach, before stopping at the apex of your thighs.

In your current position, he can’t see the way his girth pulls apart your walls. What he can see, however, is the way your thighs tremble: the inner flesh covered in a thin sheen of your own arousal; and the way your nether lips drip with your wetness: filmy strings of your essence dangling in the air, some clinging to the skin of your thighs. Involuntarily, his cock twitches at the sight, and feeling the movement inside of you, you whimper out.

You have no idea how long you both stay like that - Jimin’s hands tenderly massaging your hips as he impales you on his cock. In fact, it feels like forever: time passing by slowly as you swim in the pain of his cock splaying your innermost depths. Gradually, however, the ache begins to ebb, and before you know it, you're left with just the delicious feel of Jimin’s immense girth splitting your cunt open. Perking up, you lift your head off of the glass, and taking a shuddering breath, you experimentally clench around his cock.

At the voluntary movement, Jimin’s shaft is emphasised inside of you, and you could swear that he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d fuck the shape of his cock into you. Twin sounds of pleasure cut through the air: your low moan intertwining with Jimin’s strangled groan. Dropping his head down to your shoulder, Jimin bites down onto your flesh, and feeling the pain of his teeth sinking into your skin, you cry out in pleasure.

“Don’t do that unless you’re ready for me to fuck you,” Jimin warns. Deep inflexion of his voice resonating through your ear, you exhale deeply and repeat the motion. Except this time, you clench even harder.

“Fuck me,” you implore.

Mouth twisting into a derisive, lop-sided grin, “Hold on there, Kitten,” he purrs. That’s the only warning you get.

In one smooth motion, Jimin is retreating his cock out of you, until only the head is nestled inside of your cunt; only to thrust back in quickly. With one, swooping surge, he bottoms out of you, and the force of the movement has your entire body jerking. Grounding his knees onto the floor, Jimin uses the leverage to begin fucking you roughly. Hands braced up against the mirror, you attempt to find some form of purchase as your entire body jerks from his rough thrusts. However, with how smooth the glass is, you find none. Rather, your clammy palms slowly slide down the surface.

Sobs of pain and pleasure wrack your body with each drive of his hips, your toes curling as pleasure burns through your veins. Each plunge of his cock into your silken depths has you feeling every inch, every ridge of his cock. His immense girth pulls apart your walls deliciously, filling you up to your absolute limits. As the velvet shaft drags across your inner walls with each plunge, you feel him stimulate nerves you didn’t even know existed - the motions setting your entire body afire.

Jimin grips your hips tighter, and somehow, you feel his pace increase as he begins practically jackhammering into you. Your body jerks from the force of his thrusts, and consequently, you bounce harder onto his cock. Spreading your knees to brace yourself a little more, Jimin seizes the opportunity, and he angles his hips before he ruts into you even harder. The motion forces his cock to enter deeper into you, and you wail as you feel the blunt tip of his cockhead kiss the soft walls of your cervix with each thrust. Nonetheless, he pays you no mind, and instead, begins pulling your hips - forcing you to fuck back onto his cock.

His rough actions draw out feverish groans and slurred moans from your lips. The change in angle means that with each plunge of his cock, the head of his cock drags against the sweet-spot inside you, before it batters the back of your cunt. Soon, a dull ache begins settling deep within your stomach, and with each vehement pump of his cock, the discomfort slowly intensifies. “A-Ah, J-Jimin. T-Too d-deep,” you croak out with a stammer.

Dipping his head down, Jimin drags his lips against the shell of your ear. He takes the tip of it within his mouth, and biting down hard, “Isn’t this what you wanted, Sweetheart? Didn’t you want me to ruin your cunt?” he growls out. Then, with one deep thrust, he forces as much of his cock into you, before suddenly coming to a halt. “But if you want, I can stop.” The low tremor of his voice has your cunt clenching.

“N-No. Please d-don’t stop,” you whine, a mix of neediness and displeasure lacing your voice. Delirious with lust, you buck your hips onto his cock, and Jimin swiftly spanks your ass.

“That’s what I thought,” he hisses.

Out of the blue, one of Jimin’s hands moves from your hips, and instead, he hooks the arm under your knee. Hiking your leg up, he exposes your entrance to the both of you, and in the new position, nothing is left to your imagination.

The entirety of your sex is swollen with need, your clit visibly throbbing as it begs for attention. Slick with arousal, your entire cunt glistens in the low lighting of the room, and with how wet you are, thin rivulets of your arousal drip down your folds and onto Jimin’s balls. Dropping your gaze a little lower, you whimper at the sight. Your cunt is completely stretched, the ringed muscles pulled thin as they struggle to accommodate Jimin’s thick length. Like the rest of your pussy, your honeyed entrance is equally swollen; undoubtedly from Jimin’s brutal thrusts.

“Fuck. Look at you.” Jimin’s voice suddenly cuts the silence of the room. “See the way that unused little cunt has stretched? Mmmm. So fucking hot,” he hums.

Pulling out his cock, the both of you watch as your cunt grips his length, the ringed muscles being pulled with the movement. Once he’s only got his cockhead buried inside of you, Jimin thrusts in roughly once again. The sudden intrusion has you crying out in pleasure. “Fuck. How are you still so tight, Princess?” he grunts, his voice coming out strained. “Merlin, I’m not going to last long,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything.

“P-Please cum in m-me,” you whimper in response.

Jimin takes in a deep, steadying breath and then eyes flashing mischievously, “Oh, don’t worry, Princess. I’m going to ruin this cunt for anyone else. I’m going to fuck you so good that the only cock you want, the only cock you crave is mine. And then, I’m going to cum deep inside you, and dirty up your desperate - wet - pussy even more. So that you know, it’s all mine,” he growls.

“Now watch me fuck this sweet little hole open,” he orders. The next one of Jimin’s thrust causes your vision to blur, white spots blinding you.

Keeping your leg propped up with one of his arms, he moves the other from its position on your hips. Fingers tenderly stroking your hair, you shudder at the affectionate touch, only to cry out when he grips your hair and yanks your head back. The movement exposes your neck and using the opportunity, Jimin buries his face into the crook as he bruises it with more of his marks. At the same time, he begins riding you furiously - enjoying the way your inner walls ripple around his cock in the most enticing way possible.

Each thrust has his hips smacking against your ass and the sound of skin slapping is only broken by both your moans of pleasure, as well as the wet squelching of his cock fucking into your sopping wet cunt. Taking the flesh of your throat between his teeth, he nips and nibbles, causing the skin to turn tender under his ministrations. Then, releasing it, his tongue flicks out, he licks one broad line up your neck.

Getting to the spot just under your ear, he bites down on the soft flesh of your earlobe. “You like this don’t you, Kitten? You love the way this fat cock stretches you out. The way I ride your pussy hard and fast,” he taunts. The words shoot straight through your ear and down to your core, your cunt clenching responsively around his cock. You let out a garbled moan of affirmation, and Jimin lets out a throaty laugh.

“Merlin. Who knew the sweet little Head Girl was such a whore? Everyone thinks you’re so innocent. How do you think they’d react to seeing you like this? Your legs spread as you take my cock?” he questions and the teasing lilt to his voice has your thighs shaking.

Fog of euphoria nipping at the edges of your being, you feel the dull ache inside your stomach slowly intensify with every one of his thrusts. The muscles of your throat tighten at the pleasure, and in a bid to lubricate them, you swallow thickly. Behind you, Jimin continues plunging his cock into you, over and over again. Each thrust has his thick shaft dragging against every erogenous zone inside of you, and soon, you find yourself climbing higher and higher towards your peak.

Teetering on the brink of your orgasm, your stomach knots and twists. But it’s not enough. Between the apex of your thighs, your neglected clit viciously throbs - practically weeping as it begs for attention. Dry sob falling from your lips, “M-More. W-Wanna cum,” you croak out. Consumed by the pleasure Jimin reaps onto your body, electric ecstasy courses through your veins - your blood boiling with desire as you feel your end drawing nearer once again.

Swiftly, Jimin releases your hair. Instead, he thrusts his hand between your thighs and finding your clit, he presses the pulsating bud between his fingers. Toying with it gently, “Is that right, Princess? Do you wanna cum? Hmmm? You wanna cum all over this cock?” he ask, an apparent purr to his voice.

Driven mad with lust, it’s all you can do to gasp out your response. “Y-Yes. Please,” you slur. Skin prickling with goosebumps, your body flashes with heat. With each moment that passes, you can feel your orgasm slowly building up, your entire sanity dangling by a single thread.

Hearing your jumbled response, Jimin suddenly takes your hardened clit between his knuckles, and twists. “Then cum,” he orders with a hiss.

Instantly, a strangled wail of pleasure rips from your throat, the muscles of your oesophagus straining under the sound. The additional stimulation causes you to hurtle off of the precipice of your orgasm, and for a third time that night, you drive head first into bliss. Fingers scratching at the glass, you howl out Jimin’s name. Wave after wave of unadulterated bliss sweeps through you, the tide of your climax flooding into every fibre of your being as you sink into euphoria.

Eyes stinging with tears, white-spots blind your vision. Intense tremors wrack throughout your body, but even with the way your muscles tremble under him, Jimin continues thrusting his cock into you. His ministrations intensify your pleasure, and letting out a series of strangled sobs, you screw your eyes shut. Abruptly, the walls of your cunt clamp around his cock in a vice-like grip, and Jimin feels you grow wet once again. With your inner walls clenching and unclenching uncontrollably around Jimin’s thick cock, the Slytherin Head Boy lets out a carnalistic snarl.

“Fuck. That’s it, Princess. Cum around my cock. Fuck,” he urges with a groan. Nevertheless, your euphoria-addled mind barely registers his words. Instead, you fall forward, your body turning limp as you lose all semblance of your sanity as you revel in the waves of rapture that rocket through you. “Oh fuck. I’m cumming,” comes his strained groan.

Underlying ripples of pain begin fluttering through you as Jimin continues surging his cock in and out of your erratically contracting entrance; his fingers still mercilessly toying with your pulsating clit. Overstimulation gripping at you, “Please,” you weep.

Pace faltering, the hand playing with your clit moves to wind around your waist, and Jimin pulls you flush against his chest. Burying his cock as deep into your silken depths as he can, his thick shaft drives through your blissfully beaten cunt and you feel his blunt cockhead ram against the soft walls of your cervix. Instantaneously, your toes curl in pleasure, and your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Tears streaming down your cheeks, you let out a shuddering wail as your walls clamp down around him - almost painfully.

Without warning, Jimin’s pulsating cock swells inside of you, and with a deep roar, he begins cumming. Spurt after spurt of hot cum spills deep inside of your inner walls; Jimin painting your inner walls white with his essence. His cum is thick, and incredibly warm, and as you come down from your elated high, you relish in the feel of it flooding your stomach. Slowly, his cock turns flaccid, and you whine when the bulging thickness begins shrinking inside of you. Once he’s fully spent, he slowly begins pulling out of you.

The movement causes you to flinch, your raw cunt spasming with overstimulation as you feel his cock drag out of you. As soon as his cockhead pops out of your entrance, Jimin runs his nose against the back of your shoulder, and pressing a kiss to it, “Open your eyes and look at your cunt, Sweetheart,” he orders. Sluggishly, your eyes slip open before you lower your gaze to the juncture of your thighs.

Breath hitching in your throat, your eyes dilate at the sight. The previously taut muscles of your entrance are slightly parted open; the ringed flesh intermittently clamping around nothing. Thick trails of his gooey cum run out of your cunt and down onto the floor. Jimin’s teeth suddenly graze against your shoulder and, “See that? See how that tight little hole gapes? How you leak my cum? Such a pretty, ruined, cum-filled cunt,” he taunts.

Lazily, the hand on your clit dips further down your folds and towards your open entrance. A whine emanates from the back of your throat as you both watch, and feel, him press two fingers into you, the digits easily slipping into your battered entrance as he plays with his cum. Flinching at the intrusion, you weakly bat at his hand, an inarticulate sound of protest slipping from your mouth. Chuckling, Jimin pulls his hand away, and wiping his cum across your folds, he kisses the back of your neck.

Carefully, he brings your propped up leg back down, and you flinch at the stiffness in your muscles. So consumed by pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed the muscles begin to turn sore. The moment your knee is back down on the floor, your body slumps. In fact, you’re sure the only reason you don’t fall to the ground is thanks to Jimin’s body propping you up. Jimin lets out another throaty laugh, and wrapping his arms around your body, he pulls you flush against his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and despite the concern in his voice, you can’t help but notice the faintest inkling of amusement.

For a moment, you simply heave for air - in an attempt to satisfy the burn in your throat - and once you’ve caught your breath, you nod. Swallowing thickly, you lubricate the dry muscles of your throat, and, “G-Good,” you verbalise. Another chuckle resounds through the air.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t look like you are,” he teases. Lips curling into a slight pout, you meekly smack his thigh. Though, still weakened from your orgasm, you’re sure he barely feels it.

“You’d be like this too if you’d been fucked as hard as I was,” comes your response, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“You’ve got me there,” Jimin responds with a laugh. “Are you even going to be able to make it back to the dorms?” he asks, a teasing smile on his face.

You pause hearing his words. Then, pulling your lower lip between your teeth, “Oh… we can sleep here… if you want,” you whisper, your eyes dropping to stare at the floor.

Jimin raises an eyebrow at your sudden timidness, and for a moment, he can’t help but think how cute you are. Really, he’d just fucked you to kingdom come, and yet here you were, getting all embarrassed with asking him to share a bed with you. Nonetheless, he ignores your shyness. Instead, “There’s no bed here,” he deadpans.

Suddenly perking up, “Oh! This is the Room of Requirement. We can just ask for a bed. See,” you respond, gesturing your head to the side of the room. Tilting his head, Jimin watches in surprise as a bed suddenly materialises out of nothing. For a moment, he wants to question it, however, after a few short seconds, he simply brushes it off.

Instead, his arms tighten around your body, and carefully, using all his strength, he picks you up. He carries your limp body towards the bed, and with each step, you find your heart beating faster and faster. Eyes transfixed onto his face, you chew on your lip once again. His flesh is covered in a thin coating of perspiration, and the ends of his dark-pine locks are soaked with sweat. Still, however, he looks beautiful: his skin glistening under the low lighting of the room.

Getting to the bed, you feel Jimin lower your naked body onto the mattress. The instant you feel the heavy weight of the cotton sheets, your spine shudders. Not wasting a single moment, you quickly shuffle your body under the covers, your shoulders relaxing when your bare figure is once again hidden. Beside the bed, Jimin strips down to his boxers. Deft fingers undo the buttons of his white oxford, and once all are unfasted, you watch as he peels the sweat-soaked material off of his body, his toned muscles rippling under taut, honey-kissed skin.

Once his shirt is off, Jimin swiftly shimmies out of his slacks - the fabric pooling around his ankles. Unable to tear your eyes from him, you watch as he steps out of the article, his thick thighs bulging within the confines of his boxers. Which, speaking of, once again hides his cock. You have no idea when he’d tucked it away, but you can’t help but feel disappointed. Nonetheless, your displeasure doesn’t last long, because the moment he’s done stripping, Jimin walks to the other side of the bed, and crawls into the covers beside you.

Feeling the bed dip with his weight, you turn to him, and nervously smile at him. Jimin easily notices your bashfulness and freezing for a moment, he looks at you in concern. “If it’s too awkward to share a bed, we don’t have to,” he says. Quickly, you shake your head.

“No! It’s not that… it’s just… this is the first time I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you mumble out, your head ducking under the covers in embarrassment. A deep-bellied laugh resonates through the air, and you feel Jimin tug the covers down.

Squealing at the sudden movement, you attempt to hide once again. However, Jimin’s arms swiftly wrap around your bare waist, and in one smooth motion, he pulls you into his embrace. “I’ve already taken your first time. It’s only right that I take this first time too, then,” he jokes. Despite the lighthearted tone to his voice, you find your chest tightening.

The feel of Jimin’s warm skin pressing against your back has your shyness quickly fading, and instead, your body melts into his. Head pressed to his bare chest, you hear the steady beat of his heart. The rhythmic pulsing soothes your nerves, and involuntarily, a soft smile curls onto your lips. Thoughtlessly, you snuggle further into him, and reflexively, Jimin’s arm tightens around your waist; allowing you to search for a comfortable position. Once you find it, you still, before revelling in the tenderness of your actions.

Silence befalls the room, and for long, drawn out moments, you simply relish in them. That is, until you really process the intimacy of it all. In your current position, your naked chest is flush against Jimin’s, the soft swells of your breasts pressing against his own, muscular ones. One of Jimin’s hands lazily traces shapes onto the flesh of your hips, the other tucked under the pillow. Your face presses into the crook of his shoulder, the deep notes of sandalwood and bergamot intertwining with Jimin’s own natural scent.

Stiffening in his arms once again, butterflies flurry through your stomach. You’re not stupid. You know that realistically, just sleeping with each other, doesn’t mean that you’re together. If that was the case, Jimin was probably dating every single apprentice, not to mention a few mastership students, in Hogwarts. No, you have no real fantasies that this means anything to Jimin. And yet, as he holds you in his arms, you can’t help but let your mind wander.

Sensing your nervousness, Jimin flexes his arms. He bends his head, and brushes plump lips against your forehead. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice deep, and baritone.

“Nothing,” you quickly respond. Jimin simply lets out a deep exhale of amusement.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” he replies. Then, nudging your head with his nose, “Go on, tell me what’s on your mind,” he urges. Sucking in a sharp breath, you contemplate his words. For a few moments, you simply deliberate on whether or not you should say it. Or well really, ask him. You have no idea how he’ll react, and you know there’s a good chance he’ll simply laugh and wave you off. Nevertheless, this could be your only chance.

So, taking a deep, steadying breath, you gather all your courage, and, “Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?” you ask. The words rush out of your mouth in one single breath, and pulling away, Jimin regards you in surprise.

“Like… a date?” he clarifies, and bashfully, you nod your head. He doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, he simply watches you carefully, his features carefully passive. With each second that passes, you feel your courage and hope dwindle; mortification once again settling in your bones. Then, to your utter surprise, Jimin speaks.

“Sure,” he agrees. Eyes widening, your face shoots up as you gawk at him.

“Wait, really?” you stupidly ask. At your question, Jimin snorts.

“What? Did you not really want to go?” he asks, and despite the evident playfulness of his voice, you quickly shake your head.

“N-No. I just… didn’t expect you to agree,” you reply lamely. Jimin nods.

“Well, if I’m being honest, I’ve never really thought about it. Or you… like that,” he begins, and swiftly, you find yourself deflating. Sensing your upset, Jimin bends his head down and presses a kiss to your shoulder, “But, that was only because I didn’t really think we would be compatible… but after tonight… you’ve definitely piqued my interest, _____,” he continues.

Hope blooms through you once again, and against your will, you find a smile curling onto your lips, “Really?” you ask. Hearing the happy inflexion to your voice, Jimin can’t help but chuckle.

“Yes, really,” he replies. Then, a grinning wolfishly, he teasing grazes his teeth against your shoulder before biting down softly. The action causes you to gasp, and Jimin lets out a low growl. “Besides, I can’t wait to learn what else you saw in the mirror.” Instantly, your cheeks flush, and you let out a little whine.

“Stop teasing me,” you grumble.

Humming, “Nope,” Jimin replies, popping the ‘p’. “You’re too cute when you’re embarrassed for me to do that,” he explains.

You let out a little huff, and open your mouth to retort. Only to pause. Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind, and responsively, your eyebrows knit together. Curious as to what the mirror showed him, “What did you see?” you ask. A wicked smile curls onto Jimin’s face, his dark-pine hair hanging loosely in the air as he grins at you.

“Nothing,” comes his simple answer. Eyebrows creasing in confusion, you look at him in scepticism.

“Nothing?” you repeat, disbelief clearly laced in your voice. Jimin only hums in response. Bending his head down, he brushes his voluptuous lips against yours.

“The mirror shows you what your heart desires most. And in that moment, I had exactly what I desired,” comes his simple response. Instantaneously, a warm fuzziness flurries through your stomach; but as soon as it comes, it goes. Because, the next moment, Jimin is pulling you in for a deep kiss.

a/n: i hope y’all jimin fans are well fed, i know i’ve been starving y’all sjfjsjjfjdf anyway. this was super hard to write because i don’t see jimin sexually nor romantically so i struggled with it A LOT but 😭i hope i did it justice 😭 please don’t forget to lmk what you thought 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

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[yellowsuitcase]

You’re mine // Draco Malfoy

A/N: This is an anon request I received. I had to alter the wording of one of the prompts a little bit for it to make sense, I hope that’s okay. Also please be mindful that this is my FIRST smut I’ve ever written. I’m happy with how it turned out but omg was it difficult. But anyway, enjoy and don’t be afraid to request! {Prompt list}

Summary: Draco and Y/N are friends with benefits until Y/N decides she’s done with him. Cedric tries to get with Y/N Draco gets jealous and smut follows.

Warning(s): SMUT! Swearing, Angst, Fluff

Word count: 4.4k

Prompts: #1 #4 #7 #28 #35 #47

All she could think about was his face. The way his grey eyes had pierced her soul last night—the feeling of his hands on her hips. 

“Earth to Y/N.”

Her attention snapped back to the present. A perplexed Hannah was looking at her. “You alright? You looked really zoned out.”

Y/N blinked rapidly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Sorry. What were we talking about again?” Y/N asked while lightly slapping her cheeks to bring herself back to reality.

“We were going over our plans to study for the transfiguration exam. We agreed to meet in the library on Sunday.” Hannah said, her tone sounding slightly irritated.

“Oh yeah, that’s…” Y/N caught sight of him, her eyes glued to him until he left the Great Hall, “fine. That’s fine.” 

Hannah followed her gaze. “Seriously, Y/N? Malfoy? That’s who you hooked up with last night?”

Her friend’s words drove fear into her chest, “Would you shut up? Someone’s gonna hear you!” Y/N whisper yelled. Hannah threw her hands up in exasperation. 

Y/N shrugged her shoulders and picked up another slice of bread.“So what if it was Malfoy? What’s wrong with that?” she asked, oblivious as to why Hannah was so upset.

“What’s wrong with that? Y/N, you simply can’t be serious. Malfoy’s an arse. He bullies anyone who isn’t a Slytherin. Hell, he’s bullied you numerous times. Not to mention he’s not even that attractive.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open upon hearing her friend’s words. “Not attractive? Hannah, have you gone blind? Have you looked at the guy?

Hannah rolled her eyes and dropped her face into her hands. “There’s no hope for you. It’s over. I mean, I can already tell you’ve caught feelings.”

“I most certainly have not!” Y/N exclaimed, inadvertently causing the people around her to stare. “I’m not an idiot, it was a one-time thing,” she muttered while picking at her eggs.

“I hope you mean that,” Hannah said. Y/N couldn’t meet her eyes.

Her friend sighed and reached across the table to grasp Y/N’s hand. “Don’t think too much, you’ll give yourself a headache.”

Y/N ignored her and pulled her hand away while saying, “Snape will have our heads if we’re late, we’d better go.”

The two Hufflepuffs rose to their feet and made their way to the doors. As they were walking through them, Y/N felt a hand grab her wrist. She let out a little yelp and whipped her head around to see none other than Draco Malfoy. “I need to speak with you,” he said, his tone firm.

Hannah had noticed her friend disappear from her side. When Y/N looked back at her, her hip was popped, and her eyebrow cocked. Her facial expression suggested she wouldn’t be happy if Y/N stayed behind to talk with Draco.

Y/N gave her an apologetic smile, hoping it would appease Hannah. It did not. She shook her head and promptly stomped off to class. 

Slowly, Y/N turned around to face the blonde boy behind her. His hand hadn’t left her wrist, but he let go once he realized he was still holding it. Clearing his throat, he looked both ways before speaking. 

“Have you told anyone?” his grey eyes once again pierced her soul.

She shook her head, but then remembered Hannah. “I haven’t told anyone, but Hannah did figure it out,” she said, nervously biting her lip. His eyes flickered to her lips before returning to her eyes.

“If we are to continue this, nobody can know. Do you understand me?”

Y/N couldn’t keep her eyes from widening in shock. “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? You want to continue this?”

Draco raised his eyebrow. “You don’t?”

Her hands waved frantically. “No, no, I do, I just… I dunno, I didn’t think you’d want to is all. But I’d like to continue, yes. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Draco gave her a displeased look, “You’re very annoying,” he said, “But you’re accessible so just keep it under wraps, alright? Besides, you wouldn’t want to see what happens if I find out you’ve told people. Understand?”

Y/N was quite frankly insulted by the way he spoke about her. He straight up, had called her “accessible.” She was about to give him a piece of her mind, but then he gave her a look, and she thought better of it and nodded frantically. 

“Yes. My lips are sealed.” She rocked back and forth on her heels in an attempt to calm herself down.

Draco scanned her up and down before nodding. “Good,” he said. And then he began to walk away. Y/N didn’t think before calling out to him. 

“How will I know when you wanna, you know, do it?”

He didn’t bother to stop walking when he called back, “I’ll find you.”

-------

Y/N buried her face in her pillow. If she concentrated, she could still smell his cologne on it. She breathed in deeply as she reminisced the events of a few nights prior. Somehow, Draco had found her while she was taking a midnight trip to the kitchens. He didn’t have to say anything to her, she knew what he wanted, and frankly, she wanted it too. 

He took them to her dorm since it was closer. He pushed her up against the wall, wrapped his hand around her throat, and whispered in her ear, “Such a pretty mouth. You’d better keep it shut, though. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, would you, darling?”

She still got chills when she thought about it. Lucky for her, it was a Saturday, meaning she could stay in bed as long as she liked. Or so she thought.

“Wake up. They’re serving pancakes today. You don’t wanna be late,” Hannah said in a sing-song voice. Y/N groaned; she really needed Hannah to stop interrupting her daydreams.

“Oh, don’t be like that. They’re serving blueberry pancakes.”

Y/N flung the sheets off her chest. “On second thought, let’s go,” she said. Hannah laughed, “I knew that’d get you up. You really need to stop staying up so late, though.”

“Yeah yeah, you need to stop getting up so early. The plants aren’t going to die if you fail to water them at exactly six in the morning.”

“How do you know? You forget to water Pepper all the time.” Hannah replied.

Pepper was Y/N’s little cactus. It sat on her nightstand in a yellow pot. She loved Pepper dearly.

“Hannah, Pepper is a cactus, and cactuses don’t need a lot of water, so take that!”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Come on; we might legitimately miss pancakes if you don’t hurry.” And with that, the Hufflepuff threw on a sweatshirt and jeans and rushed down to the Great Hall.

Y/N was practically running through the corridors; she could almost taste the pancakes on her tongue. “Geez Y/N, wait up!” Hannah called after her, desperately trying to keep up. 

In her haste, Y/N didn’t notice the group of people turning the corner, and she wasn’t able to stop her feet. She crashed right into the boy in the middle of them.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” Y/N stammered, holding out her hand to the boy she’d knocked over. 

He got to his hands and knees and pushed himself up. When he turned around and faced her, Y/N’s heart sunk. 

“Y/L/N?” He scoffed. “Look where you’re going next time. Blimey, what a waste of space,” he shouted, his minions laughing along with him. Y/N felt her face burn with embarrassment and a little bit of hurt. 

Hannah, who had caught up to her friend, chimed in, “Shut up, Malfoy, why do you insist on being such a git?”

“You wanna say that again, Abbott?” Draco threatened, reaching inside his robe for his wand.

“Hey, hey, let’s just calm down, alright? Nobody’s hurt, we ought to keep it that way,” Y/N reasoned, despite her desire to give Draco a right punch in the gut. Reluctantly, he put his wand away.

“Come on, boys, these twits aren’t worth our time,” Draco said coldly as he and his friends strutted away.

“What a knobhead, I mean honestly, you’d think he’d be a bit nicer towards the girl he’s sleeping with,” Hannah said through gritted teeth. Y/N didn’t even care about her friend’s volume. After all, it didn’t matter anymore. 

“Well, he’s not sleeping with me again. Not after that, I’m done with his shit,” Y/N said, tears gathering in her eyes.

Hannah smiled upon hearing her words, “Bloody hell, it’s about time you realized he was no good. Now let’s get some pancakes, yeah? Come on, you deserve some.” The pair walked into the Great Hall to begin their pancake feast.

---------

A few weeks later, Y/N was sitting on a bench by one of the many windows in the Hogwarts corridors when a boy wearing a Hufflepuff scarf walked up to her. She looked up and noticed it was Cedric Diggory. Cedric was only a year above her, but they hadn’t talked much.

“Cedric? Do you need anything?”

He smiled, “Nothing in particular, no. I just saw you sitting alone, and I thought you might enjoy some company. Am I mistaken?”

Y/N felt her face flush. “Oh, uhm no, you’re not wrong at all,” she stammered.

Cedric stood awkwardly. “Oh! How can you sit if I don’t move over?” Y/N asked while she gave a nervous laugh. Cedric was by far one of the most attractive boys in Hufflepuff, so it only made sense that his desire to sit with her, of all people, was making Y/N nervous.

He chuckled at her anxiousness and took a seat next to her. The bench was relatively small due to Y/N’s things taking up a quarter of the space. This caused her hips to touch his. This made her face burn even more.

“So why are you all alone on a Friday afternoon?” he asked.

Y/N felt her heart clench, “Oh well, my best friend, Hannah, and I are actually in a little bit of a row at the moment. I may have unknowingly talked about her crush a bit too loudly, and they overheard. She’s not very happy with me, understandably.”

“Ah, I see. But it was an accident, and surely she’ll forgive you sooner rather than later. Don’t you think?” Cedric asked, trying to reassure Y/N.

“I hope so. Lately, she’s been a bit dodgy. She’s been really short with me, yelling at me all the time. It’s not like her,” she remarked. 

“Perhaps she’s dealing with something personal. And if she is, then she’s probably taking out her frustrations on you. And don’t get me wrong,” he said while holding his hands up, “that doesn’t make her actions, okay, but if that is the case, then that would mean you’re not the problem. Does that make sense?” Cedric asked.

She gave him a warm smile and nodded her head. “Yeah, actually, it does. Thank you, I never thought about it like that,” she said.

He laughed, the deep baritone of his voice coming to the forefront. “Well, I’m glad I could show you a different perspective on the situation. Sometimes that’s all you need.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” she said. When he didn’t reply, her eyes fell to her lap, too nervous to look him in the eyes. But then she felt his hand on her face. He gently took her chin between his thumb and fingers and turned her face upwards to look at him. He was smirking. 

“You don’t need to be nervous, sweetheart. I don’t bite,” Cedric said as he moved his hand from her chin to her hair. He pushed some stray strands behind her ear so that her face wasn’t covered.

Y/N’s heart began to pound. This boy was making her sweat. She noticed then that he had grey eyes, just like Draco. Her chest grew tight at the thought of him. She hated to admit it, but often she found herself missing the blonde boy, even if he was an arse.

Her attention was brought back to Cedric when he spoke, “If I were to ask you on a date, would you say yes?”

Air got caught in Y/N’s throat, and she launched into a fit of coughs. Cedric immediately reached for his wand. He took her hands and put one on top of the other to create a makeshift bowl. Pointing his wand to her hands, he said, “Aguamenti.”

Water spouted from the tip of his wand and flowed into Y/N’s hands. She eagerly slurped it up, soothing her dry throat. They repeated this process a couple more times before Y/N was satisfied.

“Thank you, that was so embarrassing. I’m sorry you had to do that.”

Cedric only laughed. “No problem. You sure you’re alright?” he asked.

She nodded fervently, “Yes, I promise.”

“Well, in that case, what do you say? To the date, I mean.”

Y/N tapped her finger to her lips, pretending to think. Cedric gave her an unimpressed look that made her giggle and break character. “Yes, Cedric, I’d love to go on a date with you,” she said.

A huge grin broke out on his face, and he rushed to his feet, “Brilliant, I’ll meet you in the common room tomorrow night at eight. Don’t be late!” he called as he sprinted down the hall. Y/N could only laugh at his playful nature. “Okay!” she yelled back to him. 

Once he rounded the corner and was out of sight, she let herself plop down on her back with a dreamy sigh. “I’m going on a date with Cedric Diggory,” she spoke out loud.

“How pathetic,” said a voice.

Y/N sat straight up and sharply whipped her head around. Sure enough, there stood Draco, this time without his minions.

“Shut up, Malfoy, what do you care anyway?” Y/N muttered.

“I don’t,” he said before he took a bite of the green apple in his hand, “It’s just that you fancied me a few weeks ago, didn’t you, Y/L/N?”

Y/N shifted in her seat and crossed her arms defensively. “So what if I did. I reckon you were starting to grow fond of me too.”

Draco scoffed, a smile appearing on his lips. “You’re insane to think I’d ever fancy you.”

His words were like a slap in the face to Y/N. She honestly thought that he would have developed some mutual feelings for her. It turns out she was wrong.

“Well, at least I’m not a low life scumbag like you. All you care about is your reputation. Don’t you have any emotions? Did you even care about me when we were fooling around, or was I just a toy to you?” Y/N’s chest heaved with anger as she finished yelling at him.

He stood eerily still. Silence fell over the corridor.

“You don’t even care anymore, do you? You never did.”

Draco clenched his fists, trying to control himself. But the longer he looked at her, the weaker his resolve became. Without thinking, he bolted towards Y/N, startling her as he did so.

He grabbed her chin forcefully and tilted her face upwards, a stark difference from how Cedric had just minutes ago. She avoided his eyes, breathing heavily with fear. 

“Look at me,” Draco demanded. Her eyes remained fixated on his chest.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said, look at me!” 

He was yelling now, his grip growing tighter. Y/N was afraid of him leaving bruises, so she caved and let her eyes travel to his. His pupils were wide, and his teeth were gritted. He saw the fright in her eyes and smirked. “Scared, Y/L/N?” he asked, chuckling at the look on her face, “you should be. It seems that you’ve forgotten who you belong to, little girl.”

Y/N’s heart must’ve been going a mile a minute; it felt like it was going to break out of her ribcage. The man in front of her looked so attractive. She began to feel her temperature rising.

“You’re mine,” Draco said before he pressed his lips to hers aggressively. She gasped into his mouth; he took this as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside. He ran his hand up her neck and into her hair, where he grasped it tightly between his fingers. This new leverage allowed him to angle her chin upwards. He kissed her intensely until he was forced to pull away to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes, he saw Y/N’s flushed face and swollen lips. She wasted no time and smashed her lips back onto his, letting out a soft moan as she did.

“God, you’re breathtaking,” he muttered, pulling away once again.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I hate you,” she laughed. Draco smirked and looked away from her lips so that he could gaze into her eyes once more. “Liar,” he said. Y/N bit her lip. 

“Perhaps,” she said while giggling. 

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned in to kiss her neck, simultaneously running his hand underneath her button-up shirt. He heard her breath waver as he did this. Little noises escaped his mouth when he sucked her skin between his teeth. She squirmed under his touch, unable to sit still. His hand reached her breast, and he gingerly squeezed her through her bra. 

“Let’s take this elsewhere,” Y/N suggested. Draco paid her no mind and continued to suck on her neck. 

“Draco, please. We can’t do this here, and I want you now,” she pleaded.

He pulled away to smile smugly at her. “Desperate today, aren’t we?” 

Y/N whined in response, wiggling her hips. Draco laughed at her eagerness. “Alright, alright, let’s go.”

They jumped to their feet and grasped each other’s hand as they dashed down the hallway and all the way to the Slytherin common room entrance. “Dementor,” Draco whispered. The walls opened up to reveal a stairway heading down into the dark common room Y/N had come to be familiar with. Luckily, nobody was in the main room.

They practically ran up the steps to the boys’ dorm. Older Slytherin boys had figured out how to dispel the charm preventing females from entering a long time ago, so the pair were able to get inside easily.

Draco burst through the door to his shared room with Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise. “Out,” he demanded. The boys didn’t ask questions. They simply dropped what they were doing and left the dorm room.

He turned to Y/N. “Where were we?” he asked playfully while he took his shoes off.

“Don’t tease me, Malfoy,” she replied snarkily as she did the same.

“You’re not the one in charge here, love,” Draco snapped while pushing her backward towards his bed. She fell onto the emerald green sheets covering his mattress. He wasted no time climbing on top of her. She immediately rolled her hips upwards, craving friction. Draco grabbed her hips and pushed them into the bed. “Patience, love,” he said softly.

But Y/N wasn’t having any of it. She writhed underneath him, trying to break free of his hold. He didn’t like this one bit, so he put his hand on her throat. This halted her movements instantly.

“Be still, little girl. Good things come to those who wait,” he said in a sultry voice. Y/N nodded, her eyes wide open. 

Slowly, he trailed his hand from her hickey covered neck down to her chest where he began to unbutton her shirt. She struggled to remain motionless as he skillfully removed her shirt and tie. He licked his lips when her shirt was out of the way, and he could see her full breasts. 

“Take it off,” he commanded. Y/N sat up and reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. When it fell from her shoulders, Draco latched his mouth onto her nipple, causing her to let out a deep moan. He smirked as he flicked her nub with his tongue. His other hand was making its way to her center. 

Y/N didn’t notice his touch until a finger slipped inside her. She gasped sharply and felt herself clench down on him. He detached his mouth from her breast and lightly laughed. 

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Y/N moaned and whispered, “Just fuck me already, you arsehole.”

Draco hummed, pretending to consider her request. “No, I don’t think I will. I don’t think you deserve it.”

She whined and rolled her hips again. As she did this, he slipped another digit into her pussy. “Fuck, Draco,” she groaned. Suddenly, he removed his fingers. He watched as she pressed her thighs together, trying to stimulate herself. “What the hell?” she asked angrily. 

“Do you want me to get naked or not, darling?”

Y/N crossed her arms across her chest and pouted. He simply laughed at her and began to unbutton his own shirt as well as remove his belt. She took this time to kick off her skirt and underwear. 

Draco bit his lip when he saw her bare pussy. He felt his dick twitch in his pants, and he sped up his pace, eager to continue what he started. 

Once he’d gotten his pants off, he leaned his face downwards and began to kiss the insides of her soft thighs. She propped herself up onto her elbows so she could watch as he got closer and closer to her center. When his tongue made contact with her pussy, she felt a shudder go through her entire being, and she let her head fall back onto the plush pillows.

“Draco,” she moaned as he sucked on her clit, sending waves of pleasure through her body. Her hands found his hair, and she gripped his blonde locks tightly, trying to keep herself stable as he continued to lick and suck her.

He continues eating her out for nearly ten minutes before adding his fingers back into the equation. He swiftly slides three fingers inside her wet pussy. Y/N gasped out in pleasure. “Please,” she said, not quite aware of what she was begging for. Draco moved his fingers in and out of her while still sucking her clit. “Fuck! Right there, right there, please don’t stop,” she pleaded.

Draco obliged and maintained his pace. Y/N arched her back as it all became too much. Her mouth fell open as her climax overtook her system. Draco didn’t stop his motions. He continued stimulating her through her orgasm, only pulling away when he felt aftershock jolts pulse through her body. Y/N’s eyes began to close.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Draco said while pulling his boxers off and beginning to palm himself. He leaned down to kiss her softly, allowing Y/N to taste herself on his lips. She moaned into the kiss and ran her hands up his scalp. His hand reached for his nightstand to the left of his bed. Pulling away from the kiss, he dug into the drawer and pulled out a condom, quickly rolling it onto his dick.

She pulled him back in for another kiss while he lined himself up at her center and slightly pushed the tip inside. Y/N couldn’t resist the urge to wiggle her hips, successfully making Draco hiss. He put his hands on either side of her head and, without warning, slammed his dick inside her and began thrusting in and out at a quick pace. 

She cried out in ecstasy as she finally felt herself become full. The pressure in her abdomen began to build again. Draco’s eyebrows were tightly knit as he focused his energy into each firm thrust of his hips. The sound of skin slapping seemed to echo through the dorm.

Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist as he slowed his pace, opting to tease her rather than chase his own climax. The feeling of him gently pushing into her made Y/N whine in frustration. She wanted to reach her high so badly, and Draco was making it difficult. She decided she wanted to cum, so she sneakily stretched her hand down to her clit. But it was promptly slapped away by the man on top of her.

“Don’t even think about it, little girl,” he growled. But he began to pick up his pace, making Y/N mewl delightfully as the pressure once again began to increase. It seemed like Draco was getting close as well, his thrusts were sloppy, and he was panting hard.

“Please, please, I’m so close, Draco,” she cried out.

“Me too, sweetheart, me too,” he said in between grunts of pleasure.

He felt her pussy grow tighter as it contracted around his dick. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Each thrust felt better than the last. Her hips met his, eagerly, over and over until finally, she felt herself tip over the edge yet again. Y/N saw stars as Draco pounded into her even faster as he chased his release. He drove his dick in and out of her pussy until he, too, met his climax, cumming into the condom while her walls twitched around him. 

Draco lets his body collapse on top of her, both of them breathing heavily as they came down from their highs. Slowly, he pulled himself out of her, hissing as he did. She whined at the loss of her feeling of fullness. He took off the condom, threw it into a nearby bin, and then lied down next to Y/N.

“That was incredible,” Y/N uttered quietly. Draco laughed when he saw the blissful look on her face. He rolled over so that his body was facing hers, and he pulled her towards him. She nestled her face into his chest. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. However, I do need to clear some things up,” Draco said while stroking her hair. She hummed against him.

“And what would that be?” she asked.

“Well, for starters, I’m gonna need you to tell Cedric you’ve changed your mind about your guys’ little date,” he said in a firm tone of voice. Y/N laughed into the crook of his neck. 

“I’m dead serious. If you don’t tell him, then I will. Don’t test me.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell Cedric I changed my mind. But does this mean we’re…”

“Official? Yes, it does. I thought I conveyed that when I told you you’re mine,” Draco said, reminding her of today’s previous events.

He felt her wiggle in his arms. “What’s got you so squirmy tonight? You haven’t sat still for even a moment,” he chuckled. She mumbled an answer.

“Didn’t quite catch that, love,” Draco teased.

“I said, you, you nitwit,” she whispered angrily. He laughed and placed a kiss on her head. It felt good to have her back in his arms. And this time, he wasn’t going to let her go.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 7

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None? I think? Please let me know if I missed something Notes: This is incredibly dialogue heavy, and I actually don't feel as confident about this chapter as some of the past ones? Hopefully y'all like it, I mean at least the ending is cute (or cheesy, depending on who you ask). PS: Not sure how many chapters there will be in total, other than at least 3 more (one of which ill, in fact, get a little h*rny again. actually, h*rnier). Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy

Chapter 7: Harmony

“We need to talk, yeah?” Daniela asked, nearly stuttering, a sort of nervous that you had never seen her exhibit before. The first thing you think is that she’s really, really cute when she doesn’t know what to do. After that you actually process what she said. Relief floods your chest, followed by warmth, and you make a mental note to thank Bela the next time you see her. In the meantime, you were unable to contain your happiness. Out of instinct you move closer to Daniela, smiling softly, quietly reaching one of your hands towards hers. There’s no hesitance in her response. Instead of taking your hand she pulls you in for a hug, opting to rest her chin against your shoulder. Admittedly you’re a little surprised, but you return the motion nonetheless. “Oh, little songbird…”

Heart racing, you softly press against Daniela, turning your head so that you could place a single, brief kiss against her exposed collarbone. For a moment the two of you just stay like that, holding each other close. When you pull away, remembering that you still hadn’t said anything, you find that Daniela is blushing from the neck up. In turn, the sight makes you blush. You can’t help but reach out and run your fingers through her hair. Though you can’t see yourself, you know your eyes are filled with affection.

“I love when you look at me like this,” Daniela whispered, not entirely meaning to voice her thoughts. Then you’re blushing harder, smile small but sweet. “Mmm, you’re just darling, aren’t you?”

“Not nearly as much as yourself, my Lady. To be in your company is to be the luckiest soul in the world. I cannot even begin to describe the feelings of which you inspire in me,” you replied, trying not to stumble over your words, barely able to process any thoughts other than ‘pretty lady likes me ahh’. Thankfully, you still remembered a few tricks from language arts class. Who knew studying the classics could make you more romantic? At least one English teacher, probably. “I’ll have plenty of time to try, though… after we talk about things, that is. Is there somewhere private we can talk? I’m not terribly eager for your mother to overhear.”

“Are you sure we can’t talk about how much you like me for a while longer?” Daniela asked, faking a pout. When you perk a brow at her antics, she shifts a little, forcing herself to be a little more serious (at least for the time being). “If you insist, my sweet thing. I’d suggest my room-” she winks at you- “but I doubt we’d stay talking for long, would we? Maybe the library? Neither of my sisters tend to go there around this time of day, and I can hardly remember the last time mother went there.”

“Well, no one from the day shift is scheduled to organize things until later this week, so… sounds like a date to me,” you chimed, enjoying the way that Daniela’s face lit up in response. “There’s just one thing I have to take care of first. Wouldn’t want my roommates to think something has happened to me, now would we?” With that said you linked your arm with your partner’s, setting off towards the servants quarters.

—————————————–

“Oh thank goodness, we were starting to get worried!” Daphne exclaimed as you quietly ducked into your room. For a second you freeze in place, hoping to whatever higher powers may be that she hadn’t seen Daniela behind you. Certainly the vampire would have moved out of sight?... Despite your assumption, you do see Daphne hesitate for a moment, gazing at the now closed door. Thinking quickly, you give a little wave to draw her attention elsewhere. Seemingly it works like a charm, with her attention returning to you, and so you release an internal sigh of relief. Now you just had to think of an excuse for why you’d be staying up late.

“It’s fine- I’m fine, really. Just had to carry something for one of the Ladies,” you lied, trying not to be specific enough to possibly contradict facts you weren’t aware of. “I, uh, kinda have to go back out, though? There are some piano books I need to find before tomorrow morning. I’ve already found a few, but apparently there’s at least one that goes over some technical practice songs, and I think D-” you almost wince, but lean into it, stuttering instead- “th-think that Lady Daniela would enjoy the variety. Not sure how long it’ll take me to find the books, so don’t stay up waiting for me. I promise I’ll still get enough sleep to function tomorrow.”

“So the lessons haven’t been canceled? That’s good to hear,” Daphne said, nodding slowly. The words catch you off guard, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion. Noticing your expression, your roommate is quick to explain. “After whatever happened yesterday… we weren’t sure if we’d ever hear you play again. Not that we know what happened, just that Lady Daniela was, well, upset, and you stopped playing sooner than usual. But I suppose if the lessons were canceled completely… I doubt Lady Dimitrescu would let you go that easily, huh?”

Again, you shift awkwardly, wondering how Daniela must feel hearing all of this. But just like that Daphne shakes her head, clearing her thoughts, and gives a little shrug.

“Don’t stay up too late, okay? I know you already promised, but we both know you’ll lose track of time if you aren’t careful. If you aren’t in bed by the time the sun reaches its peak, I swear we are gonna have words!” Both of you laugh before Daphne waves you off with a smile. Still, you wait to open the door until she (and the other maidens) has her back to you. Better safe than sorry, right?

—————————————–

Somehow the room felt different in a million ways, now that you were here with Daniela. There was something about the way she moved, freely, eyes and fingers running down the spines of familiar books. Even if you had not seen it before, it felt like the library was overflowing with magic. What I would give, you think, to see the whole world tinted in shades of her. Again you find yourself blushing as you followed Daniela towards a small sitting area. One of the chairs is practically a recliner, with plenty of space, and you realize what she has planned mere moments before she acts.

Next thing you know, you’re being pulled closer to her, practically lifted into the air. Then you’re falling back, right on top of a giggling Daniela. By the time you’ve regained your senses, you’re in her lap, held just tight enough to keep you from getting up. She’s watching your face closely, smirking with pure satisfaction.

“Are we going to be able to talk like this?” You asked, a little unsure yourself, already distracted by the soft curve of her jawline. Even as you speak you’re eying her, imagining what it would feel like to trail kisses along her skin until she was restless… Thankfully she responds before your mind gets too carried away.

“Of course we are, little songbird. Probably. If you behave,” Daniela teased, gently playing with your hair as she did. You can’t help but laugh when she suggests that you are the one who needs to control yourself. “Alright, alright, I get your point. I just… I think that it’s easier for me to, fuck, I don’t know. Relax? It’s easier for me to relax like this, holding you, getting to kiss that lovely neck of yours-” she pauses to demonstrate- “and that means I won’t freak out like last time. Or so goes my thought process, anyway.”

“In that case…” You’re sitting perpendicular to her now, still holding on tight. One hand cups her cheek, gently caressing the skin, before you lean in for a kiss. The two of you enjoy yourselves for a minute, glad to have this time together, more glad to be reassured of each other’s affection. To think that you wouldn’t even be able to meet her gaze if not for Bela’s intervention… Eventually you pull back, knowing that you did need to talk. “I care about you, firefly, and I want things between us to be real, and healthy, but I…”

The words died in your throat, a lump you couldn’t quite swallow, when memories sprung up like weeds in your brain. Communication mattered to you for a thousand reasons, and you weren’t blind to the irony of one of those reasons making you freeze up.

“I haven’t… done this before, not for real,” Daniela replied, mistaking your paues for uncertainty. “Apparently being an immortal, blood-drinking princess is only attractive in the realm of fiction. Maidens only ever seemed interested in a fleeting rush, or a fraction of a chance at an escape. They didn’t care for romance.” Now her tone gets bitter, and her eyebrows furrow. You can see her shoulders tense up, raising a little, making you try to snap out of your own thoughts for a few moments. By the time she speaks again, you’ve started to gently rub her back. “Maybe I should have paid more attention to my novels. How often does the monster actually get a happy ending?” She says the words with a hollow laugh. Still, she’s relaxed a little under your touch, even leaning into it.

“You’ve… done some bad things. Hurt a lot of people, and I can’t pretend that doesn’t scare me,” you started to say, ignoring the heartache you feel when you see Daniela’s hurt expression. “But you’re more than that. You’re soft, cute, and mischievous. More than that… I can tell that you want something beautiful. We can have that, we can make that, for ourselves, with our own hands and our own desires. But we can’t use stories as a blueprint. We can’t rely on what we’ve read, not when everything the two of us do is brand new. Not when-” you close your eyes, fighting back tears, glimpsing fragments of your last relationship- “not when I’ve already been hurt by my own misconceptions. The things we read aren’t always real, or right, or anything like what we need. What we deserve.”

“Something tells me you’re holding back a little,” Daniela murmured, barely able to get the words out. It almost looks like she’s close to crying, but her cheeks are dry, and her voice is steady. “But you’re right. What we have is better than anyone could write, anyway. You’re my little songbird, and I’m not letting you go anytime soon. Even if I have to figure out this whole ‘communication’ thing. I suppose that means I should… come clean. About a few things.” There’s a clear hesitance to her voice, like she’s embarrassed, and she’s speaking slower than usual. A blush rises to her cheeks before she takes a deep breath.

“We don’t have to talk about everything right now, if you aren’t ready. We’ve already made good progress, I think, even if half of it might be because of your sisters. Well, sister, singular. Cassandra throwing me into that wall really didn’t help anyone. Except maybe the chiropractor I will inevitably need to see,” you joked, remembering your earlier conversation with Bela.

“Hold up for a fucking second, Cassandra did what? I’m going to replace all her paint brushes with stained carpet strips, and that’s if she apologizes. Nobody fucks with my baby,” Daniela snapped, expression as serious as can be. Normally you found her anger to be terrifying. Now that she was directing it at someone else? And on your behalf?... Maybe it was a tiny bit cute. Which you tried to show, by gently bringing her in for another kiss. Of course, Daniela isn’t quite as gentle, instead kissing you hard, holding you as closely as she can. There’s a bit of possessiveness in her grip, and it makes you tense up. But as soon as you do she’s pulling back, breathing hard, eyes weighed down with concern.

“Y’know, I think she was just mad that I made you cry. And if I found out someone made you cry, I would be pretty angry. Not that I’d throw someone, partially because I don’t think I could, but still. It’s… almost cute how much your sisters care about you. Almost, just not quite,” you said, eager to draw the attention away from your reaction. Like you had told Daniela, it was okay if you weren’t ready to talk about everything. “Speaking of that, I can’t believe I haven’t apologized yet. I panicked so much, I didn’t even realize I was yelling until you picked me up. No matter how frustrated I was, I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t, please,” Daniela interrupted, eyes closing for a moment. “I can’t believe you’re apologizing. I pinned you to the wall, and not for the usual reason!” There’s a bit of panic in her expression, and you get the feeling that she’s beating herself up inside about it. Which, based on what you had thought about what you had done, was understandable.

“Consider this: We both fucked up, and we’ve both acknowledged it now, so we could just… not talk about our regrets? At least for now,” you countered, glad to see Daniela relax and nod in response. Leaning in, you shift to rest your head against her shoulder, wanting to enjoy her proximity more. “Hey… if I’m your songbird, and you’re my firefly… are we, I don’t know… officially a couple now?”

“I was under the impression that we already were,” Daniela said, clearly a little confused. While you technically agreed with her… there was another part of you that wanted to have a little fun.

“You never asked, and I know I never did either, so…” Now you’re looking up at her, smile wide, heart beating faster than normal. “Lady Daniela, firefly of house Dimitrescu, lover of romance novels, player of pianos, keeper of my heart… Will you do me the honor of allowing me to court you? To be yours, officially, in the pursuit of affection and happiness like the village- nay, the world- has never before seen? Will you be my girlfriend?”

“How’s this for an answer, songbird?” Daniela cooed. Then she was lifting your chin from her shoulder, turning her head and bringing you closer. Your lips touch, as gentle as can be. It’s a short kiss, but one radiating with love, that ends with your foreheads pressed against each other. In this moment, you feel like you could stay in her arms for the rest of eternity. “Yes. Absolutely yes, obviously, a thousand times. I could never say no to you, especially not now, with your eyes so desperate for the sight of me, and your lips so begging to be kissed. Now, how about we celebrate, hmm?”

Just as Daphne had predicted, you end up staying awake far too late, but you were all the happier for it.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Wooed

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Warnings: Cursing; Fluff Notes: I watched a supercut of Marcus Pike’s scenes and uh... Yeah. I’m in love? also i’ve never written for this man before so i’m sorry if this is awful Summary: You hadn’t been on a date since you’d started working for the bureau; truth be told, you’d been nursing a crush on Marcus for the last few months. 

When you told him, he seemed… Horrified. You couldn’t believe you were even having this discussion, but, hell, when you’re on a stakeout with someone, you run out of other things to talk about (even after you’d grilled him for the details of the band that he used to be in). Frankly, it was a wonder that it had taken you that long to reach relationships - the two of you had been in that car for nearly three hours. You’d known that Marcus had been married and divorced once; you hadn’t known about his most recent relationship, before he’d moved to DC, though. And after he’d spilled his guts, it was only fair that you do the same.

To you, it wasn’t that odd. The relationships that you’d been in had mostly started as friendships, and had grown to more. They weren’t whirlwind romances.

“So?” Marcus had asked, frowning, shaking his head. “So… So what you’re describing wasn’t, like… Part of the package,” You shrugged. “They didn’t even try?” “Try what?” You laughed. “You know, taking you out, buying you flowers, introducing you to their friends--” “I usually knew their friends already.” “Flowers?” “Allergic.” “Taking you out.” “I mean, sometimes, sure. That’s par for the course no matter who you’re dating, right?” Marcus leaned back in the driver’s seat, watching you, and you turned to eye the house that you guys had been watching. There had been no change; no car had pulled up, no one had come outside. “You’re allergic to all flowers?” You rolled your eyes. “I haven’t given every single flower in the world an individual whiff to make sure, but pollen makes me sneeze, yeah.” 

The two of you settled into quiet again; Marcus’ focus returned to the house, but you could tell that his mind was still elsewhere. “Okay, tell me something,” He said after a few minutes. “Hm?” “Your last relationship.” “Mhm?” “Started as a friend and… Became more?” “Mhm.” 

“Once that happened, you guys just, what, flipped a switch?” You considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “Things were the way they had been, just with a...Physical component. Why are you so hung up on this?” You added, turning to look at him. 

“Cause, everyone oughta be… I don’t know… Wooed-- at least once.” Your brows rose. “Wooed?” You repeated, amused. “Yes. Wooed,” Marcus doubled down, nodding. 

“When was the last time you were wooed?” “It’s been a while.” “So you’re overdue and projecting,” You decided, turning back to the house. “I am not--! I am not projecting. Would I mind it? Of course not, but I’ve been wooed before. You’ve never had the experience, and that is a shame.” You rolled your eyes as the two of you settled back into an easy quiet. “... I bet you’d like it.” “Hm?” “Being wooed.” “You realize if I had a nickel for every single time you’ve said ‘wooed’ in the last ten minutes, I’d have twenty cents?” You retorted. If you had just a touch less composure, you were pretty sure you’d combust. Your very attractive, very available, very nice-smelling boss was talking about wooing in close-quarters. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him again; you could hardly stand the wide-eyed puppy-like way he’d blinked at you before when you’d told him that your ex-boyfriends had never been particularly romantic. But Marcus just chuckled despite your prickly tone. The sound was cut off by his cell phone ringing. You glanced down at it before turning back to the house. “Pike,” Marcus answered. You waited, listening for a few moments. “Uh huh… Thanks, Wallace.” You glanced over at Pike as he hung up. “Did they get a hit?” You asked. “Yeah, Wallace and Fernandez are tailing him now, so we’re clear,” Pike said, setting his phone aside and starting the car up. “Sweet,” You sat up, refastening your seatbelt. You and Pike chatted idly as he drove back to your apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” You pushed down a yawn as you undid your seatbelt and reached back to grab your jacket from the backseat. “Yeah… Hey.” You stopped at Marcus’ voice, turning to look at him again. And damnit, there were those wide brown eyes again. “Yes?” You asked. “Are you busy tomorrow night?” “No, why?” “Lemme show you what you’ve been missing.” If it were anyone else, you’d be convinced that he was putting you on, and you’d shrug it off and laugh. But there was something just a little too soft, a little too sincere in the way he spoke. “...Pike, you don’t have to do this because you feel bad about my supposed lack of wooing--” “Well, maybe my reason is a little more selfish than that,” He shrugged a shoulder, a bashful smile tugging at his lips, “Whaddaya say? No pressure, either way.” 

You believed Marcus when he said that there was no pressure; he didn’t seem the type to make your life hell if you turned him down. Thing was, you didn’t want to turn him down. “Alright, Pike,” You nodded, adding, “Woo me,” Before getting out of the car. -- You wound up out of the office and tailing the suspect with Wallace for most of the following day, so you didn’t need to worry about keeping a cool head in the office around Pike. That was a relief-- you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so antsy. You hadn’t been on a date since you’d started working for the bureau; truth be told, you’d been nursing a crush on Marcus for the last few months. 

The man was sweet and incredibly considerate. He seemed to take notice of the little things about you - how you took your coffee, when you’d gotten your hair trimmed, the fact that you preferred french toast to pancakes (which he told you was just weird). Your time chatting during the stakeout had only confirmed the feeling you’d had since meeting the man: you wanted to get to know him better. You and Wallace were able to pick up the suspect and bring him in for questioning. By the time you’d filled out your report, it was nearly time for you to leave for the night. You knocked on the half-open door to Marcus’ office, holding up your report. He waved you inside. “Wallace said everything went fine,” He said. “No complaints. Guy’s in holding for now.” “Good.” Marcus took your report, but instead of looking over it like he typically did, he looked up at you. “You still up for later?” He asked. “Mhm.” “You sure?” “Uh-huh.” “Positive?” “You trying to talk me out of it?” “Nope. Just checking.” “Where are we going?” “Oh, no. It’s a surprise,” Marcus chuckled, “But I’ll pick you up at seven?” “Seven,” You nodded. -- Somehow you’d thought you’d be less nervous the closer it got to seven. You couldn’t imagine where Marcus was taking you, and you had spent way too long worrying that what you were going to wear wasn’t going to be nice enough, or would be too nice. You didn’t want to look like you’d tried too hard, or like you hadn’t tried at all.

You’d wound up in one of your favorite dresses, a quilted black leather jacket, and a pair of booties. Depending on what you saw Marcus wearing when he answered the door, you could either ask him to fasten a necklace you were considering (which would dress the outfit up a little more), or leave it. You jumped a little at the sound of your doorbell. You took a deep breath, walking over to the door and opening it. Marcus was standing outside in a plum button down, with a dark tie and a dark blazer. He was not subtle in looking you over, but you didn’t take much note of that. You were too distracted by the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Your brows rose. “First of all, you look beautiful. Second of all, before you worry about sniffling,” He raised a single finger to stop you, “I did some research. These are low-pollen, least likely to cause reactions to people that are allergic: Sunflowers, lilies, roses,” he pointed to one of each. You took in the sight of them, the delicate petals of the white roses and lilies, and the splashes of yellow from the sunflowers, and you felt an odd warmth in your chest - one that you were certain wasn’t the result of an allergic reaction. You reached out, taking them from Marcus and looking down at them. You hesitated, before screwing your face up, taking in two breaths and going, “Ah-- Ah--!” You met Marcus’ eye, quickly adding, “Kidding,” and giving Martcus a wide smile, “They’re beautiful, thank you.” 

Marcus put his hand on his chest, laughing shakily. “Okay, you-- scared the crap out of me, jeez.” “I couldn’t help myself,” You teased, grinning up at him, “And you look gorgeous, too.” “Thank you. Now come on, joker,” He chuckled, taking a step back. You grabbed your purse from where you’d hung it on the coat hook by the door, following Marcus to his car. You reached for the door handle, but heard, “Ah-ah.” You raised a brow, taking a step back as Marcus held the door open for you. “Thank you,” You said. “Of course,” He winked before shutting the door behind you. -- You held the flowers in your lap the entire ride, idly running your fingers over the petals. You really couldn’t understand what Marcus had been fussing about during the stakeout, but you had to admit, you were already feeling… Slightly wooed. Not that you’d tell Marcus that... ...Not that you needed to tell Marcus that, you were pretty sure he could tell. Especially when he parked the car. You were hesitant to put the flowers in the backseat, and he’d chuckled. “They’ll be here when we get back, sweetheart,” He’d teased, “Promise. Go on-- And don’t you dare reach for that door handle.” “Better move fast, I’m pretty quick on the draw.”

“So I’ve seen.” -- Marcus had picked an upscale American Bistro - somewhere neither of you had been before. You’d been a little worried that all you’d have to talk about was work. And work did come up, sure, but it was hardly the only thing that was discussed. The time that you’d spent together on the stakeout had gotten a lot of the awkward first date getting-to-know-you questions out of the way.

-- You found out that there was more to Marcus’ wooing game than a bouquet of flowers and some dinner. After the two of you ate (and he paid, though you’d heavily protested and insisted on paying “next time”; you’d gotten a smile from him that was wider than the Potomac), you went on a walk. Your hands had brushed together a handful of times before Marcus had caught hold of yours. It had been a loose hold at first, giving you a chance to pull your hand away. You’d tightened your grip on Marcus’ hand, and his smile had widened, gentle and generous. -- “Okay, this technically doesn’t count toward the wooing, since you paid,” Marcus argued as the two of you stepped out of an ice cream shop with cups in hand. “Maybe I’m wooing you a little,” You retorted, bumping Marcus’ hip with your own, “Thought we agreed you were past due, too. How’s the blueberry?” “Here,” Marcus held his spoon out to you. You leaned up, taking the offered treat and humming, leaning away and licking your lips. “Good?” “Tasty.” “How’s the cinnamon?” You held your spoon up to Marcus, smiling as he took his time taking a taste. He hummed. “I like blueberry better,” He said honestly. “Figures. Weirdos that prefer pancakes sure do have odd opinions.” “Alright, you’re cute, but you will not get away with insulting pancakes, sweetheart.” “Just saying, I’ve never met a pancake that I’ve liked.” “We should fix that.” “You’re just out to fix every single wrong in my life, huh?” “If you’ll let me.” “I’ve got a wobbly coffee table, you gonna fix that next?” “I’ve got a newspaper in my car that’s a couple of days old, I’m sure we could balance it out.” --

He walked you to your door, too. Dating wasn’t new to you, and what Marcus was doing may’ve been a bunch of… Seemingly little things, but you could feel the difference. “So?” Marcus asked as the two of you neared your front door. You looked up from your bouquet (you were still stunned it hadn’t made you sneeze yet) and raised a brow. “So?” You returned, stopping on your doorstep. “Was I right?” He raised a brow. “...You were not wrong. Wooing is severely underrated… And you’re freaky good at it, dude, I mean-- You should be teaching a course.” Marcus laughed, head ducking bashfully. You smiled, biting your lip a little. “I am glad you enjoyed it. And I appreciated the fact that it wasn’t one-sided,” He peered down at you from under his lashes, stepping a little closer, “Though there is… Typically one more component to wooing.” “Oh? Something you managed to forget or something we just didn’t get to?” 

 “Just didn’t get to,” Marcus backed you up against your door frame, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “And what exactly would that--” You started to tease. You didn’t get to finish asking, which was fine - you kind of already knew the answer, had kinda gotten the hint already, but it kinda didn’t matter. Marcus had been generous all night - with his time, his touches, his smiles, his winks. He was just as generous with kisses. It felt like just a whisper at first - a caress, barely. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes falling closed as Marcus tipped his head to the side, brushing his lips more firmly against yours. You leaned up, chasing the touch, and heard yourself sigh as his lips pressed to yours. You raised a hand from his bouquet, sliding it around the back of his neck. You melted a little as you felt Marcus hum against your lips. You opened your eyes as Marcus leaned away. You licked your lips, tipping your head back against the door frame as Marcus looked down at you with dark, hazy eyes. “Would you, um… Would you like to come inside?” You offered. “Was my wooing that effective, or is this still about your coffee table?” Marcus asked, sliding his hands down your shoulders. “Well, you did leave that old newspaper in the car.” “Oh, I can go grab it,” Marcus offered, taking a step back. “Get back here!” You laughed, gripping him by the collar and drawing him back in for another kiss. 

[melzula]

Come What May

third and final installment of the Fire Lilies series

pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, some mean Zuko, forbidden lovers au

notes: thank you all for the love & support you’ve given this series. although it’s over, if you still have any questions or are curious about what happens to Zuko and the Princess along the way feel free to ask me and I’ll be happy to elaborate! enjoy!

summary: you put your trust in Zuko and agree to run away with him. But have you made the right choice?

part one | part two

“I’ve been challenged to an Agni Kai.”

“I’m engaged.”

The two of you stare at each other stunned, eyes wide and stomachs immediately filling with dread.

“What?” Zuko breathes quietly. His voice is barley above a whisper and he refuses to make eye contact with you, but you don’t miss the way his body begins to tremble with emotion.

“With my father gone and my mother growing older I need someone to provide and take care of me,” you explain weakly with guilt present upon your features. “I’ve been given away to the son of my father’s most trusted advisor.”

Zuko’s eyes widen in horror as you carefully tug the collar of your coat away from your neck to reveal your betrothal necklace. The jewelry rests daintily against your skin, the carved stone almost shimmering underneath the light that reflects across the ice that surrounds you, and it takes every fiber of his being to restrain himself from ripping the thing right off of you. You were meant to be his fiancé, his wife, and yet here you were claiming to be the promised bride of a boy who wasn’t Zuko. A part of him felt sick, and though he knew it was beyond your control he couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

“Tell me you’re not going to marry him,” Zuko demands, his voice calm and unwavering despite his aggravated state.

“Zuko...”

“Tell me you’re not,” he urges you now as he grasps at your forearms and pulls you closer to him. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was furious by the way he was holding you, but in reality he was just desperate and afraid. “Y/n, tell me.”

“It’s not that easy,” you try to reason, “it wasn’t my choice.”

“Exactly, it wasn’t your choice! So don’t marry him!” Zuko insists firmly.

“If I don’t marry him I risk bringing dishonor to my family and to my people. I’m the Princess, Zu. Even if I tried to say no it wouldn’t matter. Becoming a wife to a member of our tribe is part of my duty as Princess. I’m so sorry.”

Your heart aches for Zuko as he slowly removes himself from you, and both of you choose to ignore the handprints that have been charred into the fabric of your coat from where he had once grabbed you. He was good at controlling his temper around you, but his temperature was a completely different story; it was a wonder that he hadn’t somehow burnt you yet.

“What about your Agni Kai?” You press gently, taking one of his hands in both of yours before bringing it close to your chest and over your heart. A small sigh accompanied by a breath of fire escapes Zuko at the action and warms your cool cheeks.

”One of the war generals at the council threatened your life,” Zuko explains dully. You squeeze his hand tightly in response. “I spoke out of turn in your defense, and now I’ll have to duel him. I know I can take him, but what I can’t take is someone who isn’t me being able to call themselves your husband.”

“I’ll always be yours, Zuko.” He says nothing as you wind your arms around his torso and nuzzle your face against his chest, but he can’t help himself from returning your embrace and holding you impossibly tight against him.

“Then run away with me,” he says. A small gasp escapes you as you pull away to look up at him with wide eyes.

“Run away?”

“Yes, run away. As soon as the Agni Kai is over and I win, I’ll come get you and we can leave. We’ll go wherever you’d like, it doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. Please, Princess.”

“I... I’ve heard Ba Sing Se is the place people go to get a fresh start,” you reply with an uneasy smile. Zuko rewards you with a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll leave in three days. Meet me by the docks at midnight and bring only what you need,” he instructs before gently cupping your face in his hands. “We’re going to be so happy together, y/n.”

You smile as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss, but you can’t help the uneasiness that stirs in the pit of your stomach. The thought of running away with Zuko is exhilarating, yet something in the back of your mind is begging you not to go, warning you that things will not be as you planned them to be. But your body succumbs to the sensation of Zuko’s lips against your own, and before you can stop it you find yourself sinking further and further into his warmth.

~~~

It’s not easy having to turn your back on your people and leave the only life you’ve ever known behind, but the journey that lies ahead of you is enough to convince you that leaving the Southern Water Tribe behind is for the best. You’d never be happy in a marriage with someone you didn’t love, and you’d forever resent your parents and your people from keeping you tied down to one place forever. You would be happy with Zuko, there’d be many new sights to see and so many new experiences to have. It was for the best.

You arrive at the docks by midnight per Zuko’s instructions, a backpack full of what little belongings you could bring along with you resting upon your shoulders. This is most likely the last time you’ll ever see the South Pole again and a sense of bitter sweetness washes over you as you take one final look at your home. When the sun rises your mother will find the note you’ve left behind and Princess y/n of the Southern Water Tribe will be no more.

A ship slowly emerges from the distance, the Fire Nation emblem displayed proudly for all to see, and nervous excitement tingles through your body as you prepare to leave your home once and for all.

The Zuko that descends from the ramp of the ship to greet you is not the same Zuko you had seen just a few days ago. The boy before you now has completely transformed both physically and emotionally. The long hair you loved to comb your hands through so much is gone with only a ponytail of hair remaining at the back of his head. You try not to stare at the patch tied securely around his head and over his left eye in fear of upsetting your boyfriend, but he doesn’t even bother to explain it.

When he approaches you it is with purpose, a seriousness and sense of formality that had never been there before- not when it came to you. There’s a coldness to him that frightens you, but you do your best not to show it. Something is wrong, you know this, your superstitions had warned you so, but until you find out what it is you will do your best to act as if everything is fine. You offer him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, and Zuko doesn’t meet your gaze.

You watch with bated breath as he reaches out and tugs your collar down to reveal the betrothal necklace around your neck.

“Why are you still wearing this?”

“I was in a rush and forgot to take it off,” you explain quickly. Zuko stares at you for only a moment before quickly emitting a heat from his palm so great it melts the carved stone of your necklace right off. The choker that held the stone falls limply from your neck and onto the snow below you. You’re bewildered by such a harsh action from the boy who had always treated you with the utmost care and respect. A part of you wanted to turn around and run back home to your mother, but you knew there had to be a reason for Zuko’s sudden change, and so you stay.

“Let’s go,” Zuko says gruffly, taking your bag from your shoulders in one hand and holding your hand in the other as he guides you up the ramp and onto the ship.

He stands beside you with an arm around your waist as the ship pulls away from the docks and out into the open sea. Your home grows smaller and smaller until you’re no longer able to see it, and then it is just you and Zuko together in silence.

“You’re going to be happy with me,” he says quietly, but the statement does nothing to ease your nerves. “It’s late, you need your rest. I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

You say nothing as he guides you to the ship’s deck below, only glancing once at the moon before you before the night sky is replaced with a steel roof over your head.

~~~

Zuko doesn’t tell you much about the Agni Kai; you’ve learned it’s best not to bring it up. But from the vague answers he’s given you along with the tiny details his Uncle has let slip out, you find out that Zuko had not won the challenge and was now an outsider of sorts to the Fire Nation. But that shouldn’t matter now considering you both had wanted to run away, right?

You have separate quarters on the ship, but you always find yourself winding up in Zuko’s bed. Homesickness hits you more often than you had presumed, and Zuko is the only warmth you find in your new life abroad. You hope that will change once you settle down in Ba Sing Se. The thought always bring a sense of comfort to you- the idea of starting over, settling in a new home, eventually getting married, and having children are images that keep you sane on the moving metal death trap.

When you wake you find that the spot beside you in bed is empty and cold, proof that Zuko has been gone for a long while now. With a sigh you force yourself up and ready yourself for the day ahead. If your calculations aren’t off and if you read the map correctly, you should be arriving in the east end of Earth Kingdom some time today.

However, when you ascend onto the top deck you find that you are nowhere near Earth Kingdom territory at all. The air is still frigid from the cold, and you’re regretting not bringing a coat up with you to wear.

It is Iroh who notices your trembling form first, immediately sitting you down at his tea table and calling for one of the crew members nearby to fetch you a blanket.

“Zuko, the poor Princess is freezing,” Iroh states whilst pouring you a nice, warm cup of tea. “Please forgive my nephew for his lack of hospitality.“

You only give the General a weak smile in response as you quietly sip your tea. A warm blanket wraps itself around your shoulders accompanied by a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Why is it so cold?” You frown, glancing up at Zuko who stands before you. “I thought we’d be near the Earth Kingdom by now.”

Iroh guilty looks away from the two of you and quietly excuses himself in order to give you privacy. Zuko is silent for a long while.

“We’re not going to the Earth Kingdom,” he replies bluntly.

“But what about Ba Sing Se?”

“I have to tie up a few loose ends before we can settle down together. But don’t be sad, Princess. I’m sure you’ll like where we’re going instead.”

It’s then that you truly notice your surroundings, the familiar gray skies and calm ocean waters, the frigid temperatures. You’re going back home.

“The South Pole? But that can’t be!” You exclaim. “I just ran away and now you’re taking me back?”

“We’re not going there for you,” Zuko responds harshly. “They have something that I want.”

“I don’t understand...” you frown, rising from your seat at the table to meet Zuko’s fiery gaze.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he mutters, brushing past you in order to stand along the railing of the ship.

“Zuko, if we go back there’s a chance my people will try to take me away from you. They’ll blame you for my disappearance, returning would be nothing but trouble. What could the South Pole possibly have to make you go back?!”

You love Zuko with all of your heart, you really do. But if you had known the severity of the situation you’d find yourself in once you decided to run away with him, you would have listened to the voice at the back of your head that begged you not to go. But now, as the banished prince turns back to meet your eyes, you realize that it’s much too late.

“Your people are hiding the Avatar.”

| tags: @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @multi-fandomstan @eridanuswave @royahllty @lozzybowe @izzieserra @melacholy @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @kittenthekat1234567890 @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @coldlilheart |

[aminiatureworld]

Time and Chance II

Characters: Kaeya, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,702

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Confessions are tricky things. Sometimes it takes week, maybe months, maybe years of building up courage for one to happen. And sometimes life throws the oddest wrenches in our paths.

In which the reader confesses.

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the lack of Zhongli. I feel completely awful currently and though I wrote part of his scenario it was really poor in quality so I decided to stick with Kaeya and Xiao. I’ll get to him and Keqing another time I promise. Also don’t worry this isn’t life or death I just need to sleep it off lol. I realize between this and my computer there’s always something and I feel a bit guilty about it. At least I hope everything’s up to par!

This also probably won’t get proofread tonight.

 I hope you enjoyed my extra fic for Valentine’s Day! To all the lovely people who requested prompts I will be getting to those next week. Have a lovely night and thank you so much for your patience!

Kaeya

Perhaps falling in love with Kaeya wasn’t the most original thing you’d ever done, but by the time you’d come to that conclusion you were too far gone to care.

You loved Kaeya, or at least you liked him a lot. As someone who looked up to the Knights of Favonius there was something intriguing about the man who was simultaneously one of its lynchpins, and a sort of rogue state of a human being. It didn’t hurt that he was stupidly good looking, and a bit of a smoother talker. Okay, maybe more than a bit, but you didn’t really mind that. It was nice to be flirted with sometimes, and Kaeya had the sense never to take it too far.

You figured that Kaeya was at least somewhat aware of your feelings. Though you never asked about it, it seemed somehow too brash. Instead you figured that, in the months that had passed since your friendship had begun – for you did see it as a friendship by now – Kaeya had become aware and decided not to comment on it, as to not hurt your feelings. Though you wouldn’t go as far as call it noble of him, you certainly appreciated it.

So this charade continued on. You two remained close friends, or rather close friends in your estimation. Kaeya continued to flirt and you continued to ignore your personal feelings. It was truly an odd song and dance, but it wasn’t one you were about to change, not willingly anyways.

It’d become a bit of a tradition to patrol together. Seeing as you were an adventurer yourself and Kaeya was, well, Kaeya, you two had eventually decided it was better to make one long patrol together than two shorter patrols apart. Besides wasn’t the rule safety in numbers?

It was an exceedingly boring patrol, and as it neared its end the atmosphere between you two grew from semi-serious to absolute buffoonery. Kaeya had challenged you to see who could pick the most flowers the fastest, then who could control their vision’s element the long, then eventually, seized by some divine genius, he suggested that you might see who could run the farthest on the walls of Monstadt without falling over.

“This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever agreed to.” You grumbled good naturedly. “Don’t blame me if you go tumbling off and end up with a broken leg.”

“I trust you’ll lift me to safety before that happens.” Kaeya answered back, eyes alight with his daredevil proposal.

“My anemo vision isn’t your personal elevator captain.” You reminded him. Hauling yourself up on the walls so you were on the farthest side you flashed a thumbs up. Kaeya nodded.

“Okay. Three… two… one and three quarters.”

“Kaeya.” You huffed, eliciting a chuckle from the knight.

“Okay, okay. Three, two, one, go!” The two of you ran as fast as you could, scrambling up the turrets, too concentrated to talk. Kaeya was laughing though, and eventually you found yourself laughing too, thrilled by the recklessness you were indulging in and the freedom to be doing it with someone apparently as stupid as you were.

“I’m getting ahead~” Kaeya chimed. You scoffed, quickening your pace. Kaeya did likewise, and for a moment it seems you two were going to be running the entire wall in this position. That is before Kaeya slipped.

“Shit.” He cursed, waving his arms like a madman. This only lasted a few seconds before he truly tumbled off, heading towards the stone paved ground. You didn’t say anything, though your brain was screaming various incomprehensible things. You simply clambered off your perch, hands already outstretched, praying to the god Barbatos that you could manipulate air you couldn’t see.

Luck was on your side as it turned out, and your swirl of wind caught Kaeya before he hit the pavement. Gliding down you shook your head wildly.

“Great gods Kaeya you scared the shit out of me!” You knew that you were screaming slightly, but you couldn’t help it. The whole situation had riled you up, leaving you panicked and not fully in control of your emotions.

“I’m fine! Honestly I am. I’m only sorry I lost.” Kaeya chuckled, but his laughter was weaker than before and his expression was slightly shocked.

“It’s not time to joke around Kaeya!” You shot back. “You can’t be so reckless! I know that it was also my fault for agreeing to it, but honestly! What would Monstadt do without you? What would I do without you?” You paused then, realizing that what you said held certain implications you’d been hoping to keep under wraps.

“What do you mean?” Kaeya’s expression immediately became brighter. Figures he’d read the meaning into your words. Honestly the man was too emotionally intelligent for his own good.

“I meant was I said.” You replied, figuring that there was nothing else to say. The truth was all but out now. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you Kaeya. Now I’m going to tell you something I’ve been hiding for a while, and since I saved your life and revealed it in the process I just want you to take it seriously, okay? I’m not joking, and now that I’ve said it I want to make it explicit. I like you. Like, I like, like you. And I know that I’m just your friend and that you’ve probably been aware of it for ages, but it’s out in the open now, okay? You don’t have to reciprocate or anything, that’s not it. I just… want to let it out.”

You stared at Kaeya, trying to gauge his reaction as much as possible, unwilling to look away. Unsurprisingly the news hardly seemed shocking to him, but instead of his smile slipping from his face it only grew wider. “You’re kinda oblivious you know.”

“I – what?” You sputtered, slightly offended. This wasn’t where you expecting it to go. “I don’t expect you to reciprocate, but leave the teasing alone for now at least!” So much for calling Kaeya emotionally intelligent.

“You’re reading this the wrong way!” Kaeya held up his hands, before stepping closer to you. “I just can’t believe that you’ve been my friend this whole time, had feelings on top of it, and never noticed that I was just as interested in you. I mean I’ve been flirting with you for months.”

“You flirt with everyone.” You scoffed, although the argument seemed to hold a bit less weight when compared to the jubilant, slightly smug look on Kaeya’s face.

“You may be right about that.” He admitted. “But c’mon. I don’t flirt with them like I flirt with you. I certainly don’t take them out on patrol.” His expression turned softer then, and he shook his head. “I know that I joke around a lot, but I promise, I wouldn’t joke about this. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you though, that was a fault on my part.”

“So you mean I’ve been hiding my feelings all this time for nothing?” You deadpanned, feeling overwhelmed. The situation still seemed too good to be true.

“Sounds about right.” Mischief was creeping back into Kaeya’s voice. “But it’s all right now! Your prayers have been heard! So, since you were the one to admit your feelings, I’ll be the one to ask the question. Want to date?”

“Yes.” You replied, sure of your answer.

“Good.” Kaeya replied, before pulling you into a hug, one you gladly reciprocated. It had been a hell of a day, and while you wouldn’t relieve Kaeya’s fall for anything you felt somehow lighter, as if a great burden had been lifted off your shoulders. He liked you, Kaeya liked you. For you, for now, that was all that mattered.

 Xiao

Once you’d decided to admit your feelings to Xiao you’d immediately followed up that decision with the knowledge that you were going to have to break it to him slowly. You’d been friends with Xiao for over a year now, and though you were cautiously optimistic as to how the adeptus would take it, you still knew that he wasn’t the kind of person who would be at all comfortable with a sudden confession.

Confessing your feelings was in itself an act which required all the courage you possessed. You weren’t sure when you’d truly started falling for Xiao, it had come about so gradually. But before you knew it you had grown to love him. You loved the way he talked, the soft cadence of his voice though often impatient was still filled with enough softness to make your heart flutter. You loved how, despite all he’d suffered, he still retained a begrudging love for the world, especially Liyue, which he once revealed to you would always be the one thing he loved, even if he loved nothing else. You loved everything, his hands, his eyes, the way he walked, the way he kept going despite it all. You loved it so much it hurt, and now you found that your love wasn’t something merely to be pushed away. If the odds of Xiao rejecting you were almost 100 so be it, at least then you’d be proud of yourself.

You spent quite a bit of time mulling the whole thing over, before the answer struck you. Xiao refused the gifts you brought him after some of your adventures, and when you’d once asked him what he might accept he’d shifted his gaze slightly towards the side, one hand running itself through his hair. “…Almond… Tofu.” He’d admitted. You’d been delighted by the revelation at the time, promising yourself you’d learn to make it. And what was a better way to show your feelings than to do so now? Not only was it something he’d like, it was something you’d made yourself.

So you gathered all the ingredients, borrow a receipt, and set to work in Wangshu Inn’s kitchen.

Unfortunately you’d failed to predict how difficult Almost Tofu was to make. It’d been hours and you had nothing to show for it but dirty utensils, a scarcity of ingredients, and a few mysterious blobs that looked about two steps away from inedible. Leaning your head on the counter you let out a groan. Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea?

“What’re you doing?” A familiar voice broke through your reverie.

“Xiao!” You exclaimed, glancing around you. There was no use hiding the project, although technically nothing was looking even close to Almond Tofu right now. “I was, I was trying to make Almond Tofu. But I guess I’m no good at cooking.” You laughed, more than slightly embarrassed.

Xiao’s eyes narrowed, and he raised an eyebrow. Saying nothing he walked over to the counter. Grabbing a cloth he started wiping down the counter.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, slightly confused and extremely surprised.

“Teaching you.” Came the reply. “Come on, let’s start again. Have you washed your hands since your last attempt?”

If cooking was difficult without Xiao it was impossible with him. The whole time you couldn’t help butbe aware of his presence, the way he stood behind you, leaning forward ever so often. Once you hadn’t been mixing fast enough and he placed his hands on yours, pressing his chest against your back. Your grip had immediately lost all strength, and you were sure that Xiao was the only one actually working. His breath was warm against your neck, and his palms were warm and dry. It was all too much, and you spent the rest of the lesson only half paying attention, too wrapped up in his proximity to you.

Despite the distractions this batch turned out, well looking like Almond Tofu. You couldn’t help but smile when seeing the finished product. Even if you didn’t make it completely yourself, there was still something about creating that gave you a sense of pride. Even if you did need help from the person you were going to give it to.

“It’s done.” Xiao proclaimed, a slight smile of satisfaction on his face. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Oh, well actually I made it for you.” You grabbed the plate and approached the adeptus. “I know you said it was your favorite, and the only thing you’d accept, so, I made it!” You smiled slightly, though inside you were a bundle of nerves. This was happening. Holy shit this was happening.

The surprise on Xiao’s face was evident, but he nevertheless took the plate. Grabbing a pair of chopsticks he pressed into the tofu, causing it to almost immediately separate. Taking a bite a smile crossed his face. “Thank you,” he said, “it’s very good. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Of course I did!” You replied, voice slightly hurried. “And, um, well I’d like to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Xiao’s slightly concerned look returned. Setting the plate down he crossed his arms.

“Well… you see.” You glanced at the floor. “I know this will probably seem very sudden, and maybe not very proper; and I know that this is something that’s purely one sided, but the fact is I like you. I like you more than a friend and, well… yeah.” You finished, feeling as if you’d just spoken some utter nonsense.

Glancing up you noticed how rigid Xiao had gone. Mouth twisting into a nervous frown you shook your head. “I’m so sorry! I know that you aren’t really, well you’ve said you aren’t familiar with the way humans experience the world. And I don’t want to put you on the spot, that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I’m sorry it’s so shocking.” Glancing away you started worrying your hands together. This had gone so much worse than you’d expected it.

“I don’t understand,” Xiao finally spoke, dropping his arms to his sides, “I don’t understand why you’d like someone like me. I’m not a human, and in terms of adepti I’m far more cursed than most. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t like some like me. I bring disaster.”

“No you don’t!” The objection came naturally to you, horrified as you were by Xiao’s view of himself. “You’re one of the most wonderful beings I’ve ever met, human or adeptal! You’re kind, and you try to understand the pain and emotions of humanity. And you never push your burdens onto others despite carrying such heavy ones. If that’s not the mark of a good person, well then I don’t know what is!”

“I still don’t understand.” Xiao said, voice softer than usual but just as matter of fact.

“I’m sorry I pushed this onto you.” You said, suddenly feeling a burst of regret, turning around you made to leave the kitchen.

“Wait!” Xiao’s voice was loud and slightly jarring, his hand caught your wrist in a grip that, while gentle, was still firm. You turned around, unsure what to expect. Xiao sighed, closing the distance between you two. “When I said I don’t understand, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” There was a pause as he collected his thoughts, looking down, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t understand how humans think, nor how they feel. But, when I’m around you I’m happy, happier than I’ve been in a millennia. And I want to be around you, all the time sometimes. I want to know more about you and I want you to know more about me. So, if that’s what you mean, then… I also like you.”

Xiao glanced back up towards you and your eyes met. You felt slightly floaty all of a sudden, as if you’d gotten very, very drunk. Everything was too sudden, your emotions had changed too quickly. But through all your confusion you understood one thing. Xiao liked you, he liked you. He wasn’t going to reject you or push you away. The thought was enough to bring a smile to your face.

“So you really like me?” You asked. Though you knew the answer now you still wanted to hear it again. Just in case.

“Yes.” Xiao replied, a smile once more adorning his face. “I like you.”

And that was all you needed to hear.

[sukumen]

CONGRATS ON 2.5k!!!!!! so so deserved!! also i don’t think i ever told u this but you were my first ever mutual on here and i just 💞💕💞💕 if it’s still open can i request bakugou + exes to lovers?

HOORAY FOR 2.5K --- AU/TROPE FICLETS: bakugou x exes to lovers.

notes: things we already knew about me: i overwrite. WOW! this got so long, but i had so much freaking fun with it, i can’t even tell you. it’s my first time writing bakugou and i hope i did him justice, especially with this trope that i love. thank you so so much for the support and love victoria - it’s an honor to have been your first mutual!!!! i hope you enjoy this~

summary: it was an odd match from the start, you and katsuki --- at least that’s what you tell him when you walk away after a year and a half. as you leave, you remind yourself of the probability your quirk had read the night of your first date - 73% chance of breaking up. not certain, sure, but high enough to help you through missing him: this was always going to happen. you tell yourself the same thing a year later when he becomes your protection detail at a support item expo that’s received a major threat: being in the same industry, you were always going to cross paths.

but, over the course of your week together, you start to realize that not everything has a rational explanation, a logical way in or out. not Katsuki, and certainly not the way he makes you feel.

quirk details: reader has a quirk that grants insight into the probability of an outcome occurring. ultimately, she can analyze a situation and determine within seconds how likely a specific outcome is if she was to move forward with all variables unchanged. she uses it primarily to design her support items, but can also use it in personal situations too. notably, she used it to work out how likely it was that she and bakugou were going to break up in a misguided attempt to deal with her feelings.

key limitations: scenarios have to be simple for her quirk to work - she can only determine if something will or won’t happen, not what will happen. the information she has will impact the accuracy of her prediction; this means that using it for personal situations - which often rely on the complicated emotions of other people - can be tricky. but, being emotional too, she doesn’t always remember that….

Snippet (2.7k, slight nsfw at the end):

Your flight ends too quickly for your liking, the walk to the arrivals gate even more so. Katsuki is waiting for you under a Starbucks sign as planned with arms folded over his chest while a second hero - a newcomer to the rankings - makes small talk beside him. 

As you move in their direction, time follows in slow motion, each step rigid as you’re reminded of the day you’d walked the other way and out of his life. You’d been strong willed then and hadn’t turned once to see the look in his eyes as you went. But now, you can’t look anywhere but him, not even when the other hero notices you and waves for your attention.

He hasn’t changed much in the year apart. There’s a littering of scars that you’d noticed on the news and are seeing for the first time in person; but otherwise, Katsuki is the same man you’d always known, imposing but in a way that’s nearly comforting after his years in the public eye.

He seems to be watching you right back, but where your gaze is full of scrutiny, his is practically empty. Looking right through you as you draw near, which doesn’t change even when you still in front of them.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giving an awkward half-bow that you hope neither of them read too much into. The person beside Katsuki - hero name Phantom - introduces themselves right back, their bow deeper before they return to their rambling. They’re too caught up to note the way you and Katsuki don’t share names with each other and, with the moment lost, have gone to avoiding each other’s eyes altogether.  

The tension lasts until the other support item maker - a man you recognize from the flight - emerges from baggage claim. The sight of him shifts the tides and you all start to gather your things for the hotel. Katsuki still hasn’t said a word to you, though if the others have noticed, it doesn’t show. You, of course, have and even as you trail behind him and Phantom to make small talk with the other designer, your eyes linger over his broad back.

Somehow, you’d expected more...anger when he saw you next. 

Of course, this calm is pleasant, especially when you’re in public. But, there’s something about it that’s disappointing as well. Leaves you with an emptiness in your gut that you push past with animated conversation with your new companion.

[ … ] 

“Who was she?” Your eyes screw shut before the words even make it out. How embarrassing --- all that talk to yourself about letting it go and you fold not even three steps into your shared suite. It’s none of your business who she is -- it’s none of your business what he does. But, your heart twists every time you think about the two of them in the back of the welcoming party. You’ve never seen him like that - at least not from an outsider’s lens - leaning into another person so closely and the curiosity comes tumbling out of you before you can stop it.

Katsuki is silent for a long while; long enough that you almost think he hadn’t heard you. But, the stiffness in his shoulders tells you aren’t so lucky and after a moment of you watching him untie his shoes, he finally turns to look at you. The glance is brief, but poignant, before his focus returns to himself --- this time, his tie. “I don’t think you’re in any place to be asking me that,” he grunts, tugging at the fabric until it loosens.

Embarrassment sears your throat, a sting you feel behind the eyes as you turn them towards the floor. It’s bad enough that you’d given into the urge to ask, but Katsuki being so straightforward is mortifying. He’s right, of course, but what makes it worse is that he’s not even trying to belittle you with that answer. He means it as simply and plainly as he’s said it: you’re in no position to ask him to tell you something like that.

Self-indulgence from you is rare and you find it’s for this very reason. When you step out of the safety of your logic, your equations, your reasoning, you always manage to trip yourself up. Even now, you want to push, misplaced jealousy gnashing its teeth at the back of your mind. But, his response has sobered you  and you lock it and your curiosity up tight with a stiff apology and a goodnight.

Katsuki doesn’t look up again until your door closes behind you.

[ … ] 

When the chaos has gone, and dust settled, a gang of thirty-something villains is in handcuffs and you’re banged up; ankle throbbing, but very much alive. You haven’t seen Katsuki since he’d stashed you away with the others with a promise to come back, but you’ve heard enough steady explosions to think he must be okay. 

Still, you want proof. When the panic room door opens with a creak, his face isn’t the first you see, but it’s all you’re thinking about. Him, and getting back to him. You want to say it’s the last of your adrenaline, but even you know better. Know adrenaline from longing well, even with your limited experience and you let yourself admit something you’ve hidden for twelve months.

You miss him. 

And even with the lengthy process that usually follows a villain attack, this will likely be the last full day you’ll have with him for the rest of your life.

The realization makes the panic room shrink to a quarter of the size, pain punching air out of your lungs so fast your vision swims. You need to go, you tell yourself, Katsuki’s promise lost in the static of your upset -- you can’t be here right now.

Your ankle smarts when you start putting real pressure on it, but the pain isn’t enough to stop you from pushing to the front of the line to leave.  With each step past someone else, you hear sneers and you think you apologize, but when you’re so cotton-mouthed, you can’t really be sure.

Either way, it doesn’t slow you. The madness makes it easy to peel away from the crowd and though it takes you some time, you don’t stop until you’ve made it outside where you can breathe. For everything that’s happened in the last forty-five minutes, the island’s relatively unaffected, air as cool and breezy as every other night that week. The only real sign of the attack where you are are sirens and voices rising from the other side of the expo center - where you imagine Katsuki to be. 

The thought - that he’s so close - should be comforting, but your despair does good work to keep it bittersweet; to remind you that it won’t be for much longer. It has to be selfish to be so upset when this had all been your choice to begin with; but for the first time since the breakup, you don’t try to explain away what you’re feeling. To dissect and rationalize so you can avoid it altogether. 

For the first time since the breakup, you let it all in.

[ … ]

It takes Katsuki fifteen minutes to find you. Each one finds him more agitated than the last as he works himself up, searching every space by the now empty panic room to figure out where you’d gone. 

At first, he’d assumed the best - that you’d been ushered with the rest of the group to the lobby waiting with police and paramedics. But, a quick skim of the crowd came up empty for your familiar face and panic set in not long after. 

An admittedly tense conversation with the officer that had unsealed the room revealed that one civilian - a woman with a noticeable limp - had broken away from the group just as the doors opened. It’d done well to calm him, knowing someone had seen you after the fighting was over, but he’s hardly settled, if the way he stomps through the floor is anything to go by. “She never fucking listens,” he growls to no one in particular, eyes narrowed in razor sharp focus. 

He’s worked up, above all, by his worry. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t vaguely wounded by the fact you hadn’t let him come back like promised. It draws him back, despite his best efforts, to the day you left --- the day you told him in no uncertain terms that you’d always expected one of you to leave, what with that know-it-all quirk of yours.

He’d felt then as he does now: utterly untrusted. Like he’s behind without even knowing there’s a race --- like he’s lost without any hope to catch up. He doesn’t like it, feeling that way again, and it gets him so unnerved that he starts to revert to old habits. Shoulders bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets, and, notably, taking a foot to every door that could stand between him and wherever the hell you’ve disappeared to. 

When he finds you, finally, behind the fourth, it’s with a kick so firm it turns your sob into a strangled squeak. 

[ ... ] 

“I thought I told you to stay put---” There’s venom in Katsuki’s voice, but a sort you know well. Worried more than enraged, even if his expressive face doesn’t show it. You move to answer, but he steps in before you can, eyes locked eerily on your face. “...Why the hell are you crying?” You reach up for your wet cheeks, cursing internally; you’d hoped to be well through this before you faced him again so the question catches you off guard. Long enough that Katsuki can close the distance and kneel at your feet, pulling your fingers away from your face so he can inspect it. “You gonna say something or what? Did someone hurt you?” 

You can tell he’s biting his tongue, tempering his rage until he’s sure there’s something to rage about. But even that muted anger can be dangerous and you’re quick to shake your head, hands coming up again to wipe your face. “No! No, it’s...just my ankle. From before, when we were running.”

Relief spreads in Katsuki’s face hearing that, like he’s grateful that that’s all it is. But, his frown stays put, deepening some when he reaches down for your ankle and watches your expression sour from the touch. “Hm. Doesn’t seem broken or anything.” He turns thoughtfully towards the building behind him, stilling at the sounds rising from the busy lobby. You try to glean purpose from his face, but have to wait until he speaks up again to work out what he’s doing. “‘S gonna take ages for them to see you right now. I can wrap your ankle up at the hotel and take you in for a check up before tomorrow’s flight.” 

You nod wordlessly, grateful for the chance to avoid anyone else for the night.

[ … ]

The quiet in your suite as Katsuki carries you in is a blessing.

You hadn’t realized how badly overwhelmed you were until you’d been alone on the balcony, so even just a few minutes going through the expo center was too much. Katsuki had picked up on it and hesitated very little in hoisting you up so you could move quickly through the crowd and rubble.

You’d insisted he didn’t need to do it at all, let alone again in the hotel; but just one glance at you down the slope of his nose had silenced you.

The first thing he does when the door shuts behind you is set you down on the couch, warning you to stay still with a look alone. When you’re settled, he disappears into his room before emerging with an impressively stocked first aid kit. And for the second time that night, he’s on his knees for you, taking your swollen ankle in hand to inspect it more closely. 

With so much happening earlier, his touch on the balcony was easy to drown out. Now, there’s nowhere to focus but him and the press from his palm as it cups your bare skin. He runs a thumb over scratches you hadn’t noticed, the way he traces the lines almost pensive, before his attention turns to the kit beside him. 

You, all the while, are stock still, frozen from the heat of his touch. It’s nothing compared to his mouth or the weight of his full body, but after so many months apart, it bowls you over all the same.

You don’t notice you’re crying again until he says something.

“You’re not crying over the ankle,” he says simply, though his touch softens just in case as he brings it into his lap with some bandage wrap.

You don’t know what it is, but something in the way he asks compels your honesty and you nod, feeling pathetic as you sniffle and look down at your hands.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on then?”

You swallow thickly, words already threatening to bubble up like they had the night of the welcoming party. “I...I don’t think I can.” Or should, rather - you don’t need to use your quirk to know that nothing good could come out of this.

But, Katsuki is firm, shaking his head as he starts to wind the first layer of bandage carefully around your ankle. “Well, I’m sayin’ you can. So, don’t go crying by yourself for some dumb reason like that. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to. But if you do, you can.” 

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s a given. And beside your better judgment, you lean into that open assuredness. You’d always loved it about him, after all --- the way he so firmly believes that nothing could stop him - or anyone - if he didn’t let it. For some people, it was self-importance, but nights holding him after good and bad days had taught you otherwise -- it was bravery.

Bakugou Katsuki was the bravest man you’d ever known. A blaze that shone so bright on its own that you felt out of place beside him -- like you couldn’t give him what he needed --  and decided for you both that that meant you didn’t have a chance. 

But, in the quiet of your suite, with Katsuki sitting comfortably at your feet, you decide that maybe he’s rubbed off on you some. That maybe, in your time alone, you’ve become a lot braver than you realized.

So, you suck in a deep breath, look him square in the eye, and tell him the truth.

“I miss you, Katsuki.”

[ … ]

He holds your hands to the mattress so tight they hurt, but the ache is welcome. You know him well, even now, and can read between the lines of your intertwined fingers. 

He’d missed you too.

All these days of looking through you, past you had been intentional to protect himself, but here, now, he’s completely laid bare. Mouth kiss swollen and eyes lined with tears he’ll wave off later, Katsuki is spilling out every ounce of love he’d held back the day you told him you’d always planned to leave.

You meet him halfway with an arch off the bed to chase his kisses and tell him that you love him --- and you’re sorry --- between each one.

The weight of his body is as precious as you remember and the heat of your tangled limbs lulls you into a daze that pulls your eyes shut.

Katsuki doesn’t notice at first as he’s dragging his mouth over your bare neck, but when he does, he’s quickly displeased. “Look at me,” he hisses, fingers tightening between yours. Your eyes open heavily and it takes you a moment to find his gaze in the darkness. But, once you’re back, he presses his forehead to yours and slowly, carefully presses forward until his cock’s stretched you to the hilt.

The fill feels like coming home. 

[vodkassassin]

This turned out longer than I intended! @k-l-ng

—

“Where are you going?!” Shang Qinghua demands, voice breaking on the very verge of hysterical.

Liu Qingge pauses in the door. “... Leaving.”

“To where?”

He glares over his shoulder at the An Ding peak lord. “A hunt.”

“No!” Shang Qinghua slams the scrolls in his arms down on the (rarely used) writing desk of Liu Qingge’s (also rarely used) office. His open palms slap loudly against the wood. “Liu-shidi, you can’t! There’s paperwork that you have to fill out for this quarter! Forms I need you to sign!”

Liu Qingge waves a hand dismissively. “Will do them when I get back.” He says.

Shang Qinghua blinks, watching as the taller man once again turns to leave. The An Ding peak lord clenches his jaw and releases a low growl, pushing against the desk. “No!”

A burst of qi enhances the movement, and sends the desk flying across the room to slam into the wall beside the door, barely an inch away from where Liu Qingge is standing. The scrolls and inkwell loll about but come to rest without being much disturbed.

Liu Qingge jerks back. His hand flies to the hilt of his sword, and he whips his head around to scowl incredulously over at his fellow peak lord, whose head is bowed.

“It’ll be too late then, we’ll already be well into the next quarter when you get back. Shidi has to go through the forms now.”

The words come out through gritted teeth. Shang Qinghua, head still bowed and shoulders tense, gripping at his own sleeves as he trembles, sits himself down on the cushion that had once been set before the desk. He lifts his head up, then, to stare at Liu Qingge expectantly, expression dull and flat.

“Shidi has to go through the forms now.” He says again.

“Okay,” Liu Qingge agrees, voice low. He removes his hand off his sword, even though he can still feel the tingling resistance of his fellow peak lord’s qi turning in the air of the confined space of the room.

He reaches out with a foot to prod at the desk that now sits beside him. Nothing happens, so he peers over at the silent Shang Qinghua warily before nudging the furniture a little ways over and sitting down beside it on the hard floor.

Liu Qingge eyes the assortment of scrolls and files with distaste, but he can feel the ceaseless stare of the An Ding peak lord boring holes into his back, so he grabs the first one of the pile and rolls it open.

It takes three hours to get through the whole stack. Shang Qinghua stays for the entire time, not once moving from his cushion, like he thinks that Liu Qingge will give up and leave without finishing the paperwork if he doesn’t stay and watch him to make sure. Which is ridiculous. Liu Qingge would never.

He glances down at the financial statement of the Bai Zhan sect allowance coffers for the last few months and curls his lip as he’s forced to dig around in the papers for the correct corresponding audit report, brush clenched tightly in the white knuckled grip of his other hand.

… Liu Qingge might.

Once he’s finished, he hangs his brush on its hook and glances regretfully at the window. The light of the day is already beginning to dim, giving way to the evening, and the optimal time for setting off on a journey has already passed. He might as well just stay the rest of the night in the sect and leave early the next morning for his planned hunting grounds, at this rate.

The Bai Zhan lord sighs, cracking the knuckles of his hand against his palm, and turns back to look at his uninvited guest. Shang Qinghua seems to have fallen asleep sitting up, somehow, while he was waiting for Liu Qingge to finish. He’s slumped down, head bowed toward the floor in a way that can’t be good for his spine, but nothing a little qi circulation won’t fix.

Liu Qingge climbs up from the floor and rubs the feeling back into his legs. They’re sore, after having been knelt upon for the past three hours without any sort of padding underneath him. Like a cushion. He leaves the desk where it is and crosses the room to nudge Shang Qinghua awake with his foot. He keeps one hand curled loosely round the hilt of his sword, in case the other man decides to blow up at him like he had earlier when Liu Qingge had suggested postponing the paperwork.

Instead, Shang Qinghua goes along with his nudge, falling almost bonelessly back against the cushion. He lifts his head drowsily, and looks up at Liu Qingge with some sort of confusion in his eyes. His gaze is distant, like he’s not quite seeing him yet.

“Did you forget where you are?” Liu Qingge asks coolly.

Shang Qinghua blinks slowly. “... Shidi?” It comes out in a mumble.

“The paperwork is done. Leave.”

“... Mmh….”

Liu Qingge feels his brow tick in irritation. He reaches down and grabs the squirrelly man by the collar of his robes, roughly lifting him up and onto his feet. It’s a harsh but efficient method to wake someone up and have them become fully alert quicker. He uses it on his peak disciples all the time.

Except, Shang Qinghua does not become alert. The moment Liu Qingge releases his collar, the man’s legs buckle beneath him, and the swordmaster is forced to catch him around the waist before he can go sprawling in a heap on the floor. Shang Qinghua’s head falls forward limply, like a doll’s, coming to rest against Liu Qingge’s chest.

It’s in that second that Liu Qingge realizes that something is wrong. Beyond Shang Qinghua having a sudden temper that is incredibly out of character for him, he’s running much too warm. Liu Qingge only wears a modest four layers, but his robes are thickly and tightly woven, purposed for battle and sparring. They’re great for the cold months, as they trap heat in, and work well in the hotter seasons because it takes the sun a bit longer to seep through the weave.

So, Liu Qingge should not be able to feel the heat pulsing from Shang Qinghua’s forehead when the man’s face has only been pressed against his robes for barely a handful of moments.

He fists a hand in the back of Shang Qinghua’s robes and pulls the man back slightly in order to get a look at his face, and curses. Rivers of cold sweat bead down from the An Ding peak lord’s brow, which is creased in pain. His eyes are closed, and from the added weight Liu Qingge is registering, the man might actually have fallen unconscious in his arms.

Liu Qingge glares across the room at the stack of paperwork he’d just finished, as if they are at fault for all his current problems, and then reaches down to scoop up Shang Qinghua’s legs. He hauls the smaller and much lighter cultivator over into his private rooms and lies him out on Liu Qingge’s bed.

Shang Qinghua curls in on himself, a tiny, breathless whimper escaping his mouth as he pants and gasps into the sheets. The cold sweat decorating his face soaks the pillow almost immediately.

Liu Qingge turns on his heel and heads out of the house. He marches down the path until he catches sight of a gaggle of disciples likely wandering from one training ground to another. Or maybe the eating hall, how the hell would Liu Qingge know. What time is it, dinner?

“You!” He calls, and something inside him curls, pleased, at the way all five of them jump at the sound, scrambling to stand at attention the very second they realize it’s him. “One of you go and summon Mu Qingfang. Immediately.”

“Shizun?” One of them asks, confused but nonetheless hurrying to unsheathe his sword and climb upon it before the others have a chance to do so.

Quick wits, that one. Liu Qingge might have to take him out on a hunt sometime. He commits the boy’s face to memory, and turns back toward the house.

“Make it fast,” he throws over his shoulder as he climbs back up the path.

He finds himself standing over Shang Qinghua, staring down at his fellow peak lord as the man lies curled up on his side on top of the covers. Shang Qinghua has his arms wrapped around himself like he’s somehow cold despite the raging fever that’s coursing through his body. Now that Liu Qingge is getting a better look at him, he can see that the man is incredibly pale, paler than can be healthy, and there are smudges beneath his eyes so dark that Liu Qingge isn’t sure how he missed them before. It’s almost as if Shang Qinghua had dipped his finger in soot and drawn them under each eye himself, they’re so distinct.

It makes something uncomfortable twist in Liu Qingge’s stomach. Shang Qinghua looks weak, in this moment, and usually the thought would make Liu Qingge scoff at him, because that is par the course with the An Ding peak lord, but he’s never seen any of his martial family look so… sickly, before.

He’s kneeling stiffly beside the bed when the door is thrown open to admit a frazzled looking Mu Qingfang, who takes one look at them both before marching over and kneeling directly on the bed to hover over Shang Qinghua.

“What happened?” The doctor demands, searching the unconscious and listless peak lord for injuries, his fingers roaming from pulse point to pulse point in an examination of his qi.

“He came to make me do paperwork,” Liu Qingge begins gruffly. “Stayed to make sure I’d do it. I did, but he fell asleep while he was waiting, and when I woke him up…” The swordmaster glares down at his knees, hands clenched in the fabric of his pants.

“What, shixiong?” Mu Qingfang asks, impatient. He’s got his palm pressed over Shang Qinghua’s heart, and the expression on his face isn’t a reassuring one.

“He couldn’t stand,” Liu Qingge grumbles, glare becoming more fierce for all that it doesn’t have a target other than his own hands. “He fainted, so I laid him on my bed and sent a disciple for you.”

Mu Qingfang sits back, both hands now pressed against Shang Qinghua’s chest. The low glow of his qi encircles them as it pours forth and into the An Ding peak lord’s channels.

“Did he seem at all off to you, before that? Was he perhaps acting in ways he normally does not?”

“... Yes.”

Mu Qingfang frowns at him, distracted as he is by his examination of his patient. “That doesn’t really give me any information, shixiong.”

“....” Liu Qingge shifts, like he’s some sort of junior disciple kneeling in punishment for disobedience. It’s what it feels like, almost. “He threw the table at me with his qi.”

The doctor actually pauses. His hands lift off Shang Qinghua as he stares over at Liu Qingge in surprise. The unconscious peak lord groans, and Mu Qingfang quickly returns to channeling him qi, but he still stares at Liu Qingge in shock.

“He… threw furniture at you? Why?”

Liu Qingge clears his throat. He turns his glare back to his knees. “I was leaving, for a hunt.”

“But didn’t you say he had paperwork for you?”

“... Yes.”

Mu Qingfang frowns in confusion. “Then what—” His eyes widen. “Liu-shixiong! You were going to leave without doing it?”

The Bai Zhan lord scowls defensively. “I would have done it when I got back!”

“From what I can recall, it’s almost time for the quarterly reports. If you’d left without doing your share, you would have made Shang Qinghua have to finish it all for you.” Mu Qingfang pins him with a narrow-eyed look. “How irresponsible of you, shixiong, trying to foist your duties off on our already clearly overworked martial brother. No wonder he reacted so violently, especially if…”

The doctor trails off, glancing down at Shang Qinghua as the man shifts under his hands. The An Ding peak lord whines softly into the pillow that’s been soaked in his own sweat, twisting under the covers as if he’s in pain. From how he’s been acting since Liu Qingge woke him up, he… probably is.

“If what?” Liu Qingge demands, rising up part way from where he kneels, eyes locked on the man currently taking up his bed.

But Mu Qingfang’s surged to his feet, distracted now. His patient is waking.

Shang Qinghua blinks up at them with bleary eyes. He only takes the time for a single, confused, wheezing breath before he’s trying to sit up. Both peak lords place a hand on either of his shoulders and guide him back down to the bed. Immediately, the An Ding peak lord looks stricken.

“No, no,” he says, eyes wide and face pale. “No, no, no, no! I need to — I need to go work! I don’t have time to… I—I’m gonna fall behind!”

“Lay down, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang gently insists.

“I’m gonna fall behind,” Shang Qinghua whimpers, tears leaking out of his eyes.

He takes a shuddering breath and brings both hands up, as if he’s contemplating fighting the both of them off, but then he scrubs at his face with them instead and releases another sad, hurt sound that makes Liu Qingge’s stomach tie itself in a knot.

“I’m gonna fall behind,” Shang Qinghua repeats, voice cracking. His eyes are glazed over and tearful.

“Shh, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang soothes, brushing back their martial brother’s sweat-soaked bangs with his hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Liu Qingge is useless, helping to hold Shang Qinghua down and watching helplessly as the Qian Cao peak lord does his best to comfort him. It doesn't really work, but Mu Qingfang does eventually manage to coax Shang Qinghua back into a fitful sleep.

Liu Qingge crosses his arms over his chest. His hands shake with intensity, and so he clenches them into fists so tight that his knuckles turn a mottled white. He turns to stare at the doctor as the other man finishes tucking the blanket securely around a quietly sniffling Shang Qinghua’s shoulders.

“So?” He demands.

Mu Qingfang is silent for a moment, gazing down at his new patient with an unreadable expression. Slowly, he shakes his head, and Liu Qingge unclenches and clenches his fists as he waits for a response.

Finally, Mu Qingfang sighs and runs a hand through his hair, disrupting its previously neat style. “This should not have happened,” he says quietly. “This should not have been able to happen.”

“What shouldn’t have?” Liu Qingge grits out.

“Any of this!” Mu Qingfang exclaims, and sits back down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb its sleeping occupant. “He should not have even gotten to this point! His workload shouldn’t be heavy enough to cause any of this, and yet…”

“It has,” Liu Qingge says, and uncrosses his arms in order to wrap his hands around the hilt of his sword. “He’s doing his own workload, in addition to much of the work of the other peaklords, including…” He struggles not to unsheathe his sword, because the only enemy in this situation is himself. His voice lowers a pitch out of shame. “Including me.”

“And me,” Mu Qingfang is quick to add, looking down at his fitfully slumbering patient with a sorrowful expression on his face. “I cannot deny that I have also pushed some of my own responsibilities onto his shoulders, upon occasion. Alone, it wouldn’t be much, but if I and ten other peak lords are doing it, then…”

“The workload grows exponentially,” Liu Qingge finishes, scowling. He gestures with his chin at the unconscious peak lord in his bed, and says, “What else, then? He’s been shouldering it for decades now. If he was going to break under the strain it would have happened before now.”

Mu Qingfang gives a slow nod, reaching out to press the back of his hand against Shang Qinghua’s forehead to check on his fever. The grimace that decorates his face makes Liu Qingge glare at the floor, especially when the doctor gently grabs Shang Qinghua’s too-thin wrist and once again begins circulating qi through the connection.

“His cultivation level is much too high to allow for any natural sickness. His core would flood his immune system and destroy any disease that attempts to take hold. For him to even get sick in the first place, let alone this terribly — his core would have had to face a tremendous imbalance.”

“A qi deviation?” Liu Qingge pushes off the wall and begins to pace furiously. “Impossible. We’d have noticed.”

Mu Qingfang turns his head away, passing qi into his patient in silence.

Liu Qingge stops, and glares at the man. “Someone would have noticed,” he says tightly.

The doctor doesn’t respond. The tenseness of his shoulders, however, speaks for him.

Liu Qingge turns on his heel and storms out of the house.

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Every Emma Woodhouse Ranked and Rated

With all my reviews of all the period-set adaptations now finished, I'm beginning my series in which I rate and rank each interpretation of all the principle characters, starting with our girl Emma!

Now I wanna be clear--I am not rating the actresses that played Emma. I am rating how the character was handled in general in each adaptation. The actresses are a factor, but they're not the sole factor, since the writer and director have as much, if not more, to do with how the character ends up in the finished product. So without futher ado, let's rank...

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her….

“The real evils indeed of Emma’s situation were the power of having rather too much of her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself; these were the disadvantages that threatened alloy to her many enjoyments.”

NUMBER 5: 1972

Portrayed by: Doran Godwin

Age at time of filming: 28

Clocking in as the oldest actress to play Austen’s famously TWENTY-ONE year old heroine (at the ripe age of 28), Doran Godwin also snags the coveted position as inhabiting the worst portrayal of the character (in my personal estimation) to date.

Just about everything about this interpretation of Emma Woodhouse is bad, from her seemingly automated recital of her lines to her all-too-intense, wide-eyed, hypnotic stare. The 1972 portrayal of Emma highlights all the character’s worst qualities while also failing to convincingly communicate her good qualities, such as her caring nature. The script is equally to blame for the awfulness of this interpretation, adding unnecessarily cruel and condescending lines, including one where she negs Harriet for being sad after Elton’s marriage, and then forces Harriet to come with her to meet the new Mrs. Elton, when Emma in the book did her best to shield Harriet from exactly that kind of situation.

Godwin couldn’t pass for 21 if her life had depended on it, and the worst part is that the script actually states Emma’s age, so she seems like a bit of a crazy spinster, preying on the naïve Harriet. Whether it’s her intent to bathe in Harriet’s blood to keep herself young, or to bake her into a pie is up for debate.

Rating: 1/5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 4: 2020

Portrayed by: Anya Taylor Joy

Age at time of filming: 23

I thought long and hard about this. This movie is a modern period drama phenomenon. It’s gotten so many people into Jane Austen and satisfied long-time Austen fans by giving them an interpretation they never dared hope to see. It’s a gorgeous film.

But I don’t like this interpretation of Emma Woodhouse. Though Anya Taylor Joy is one of the youngest actresses to play Emma (only two years older than the character) she’s played with a careful stiffness that perhaps shows us a glimpse of the Lady Catherine she might turn into without swift intervention. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and this isn’t a commentary on Anya Taylor Joy either—her appearance or her acting ability—but I just don’t like her as Emma. And she’s not the sole problem, she turns in a solid performance, she’s a good actress, but something about this characterization is just off-color to me. Anya Taylor Joy plays a great mean-girl; but I think that’s one of the reasons why they thought she’d be a good choice for this role, and it’s one of the prime reasons I don’t think she wasright for it. Emma is a deeply flawed character and, of course, the biggest turning point in her story comes as a result of a thoughtlessly mean remark to someone who has only ever shown her deference, hospitality and gratitude.

All that said, Emma is not, at her core, a cruel person. Emma has gone all her life thinking condescending things about Miss Bates but it’s only when Frank comes along and validates her less kind commentaries that she actually starts to voice them in search of validation from a peer.

The problem with this in the context of 2020’s Emma Woodhouse is that Frank hardly gets a look-in in this adaptation. Emma’s relationship with him is severely underdeveloped and the actors don’t have enough chemistry to pull it off in the limited time they’re given. The result is that Emma appears to cross a line just to cross it, and it pushes Emma’s character from thoughtless to out-and-out frigid.

Still better than Doran Godwin, since she's identifiably human.

Rating: 2 1/2 / 5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 3: 1996 (MIRAMAX)

Portrayed by: Gwyneth Paltrow

Age at time of filming: 24

Despite the fact that Gwyneth Paltrow was an appalling casing choice for Emma Woodhouse (I will be forever salty that they passed over Joely Richardson), and I know there are some who will think me, at best, crazy (sacrilegious, at worst) for ranking 1996’s interpretation of Emma higher than 2020, I actually feel that solidly in the middle is right where this version of the character belongs.

There’s so much wrong with this Emma: she swings from mature to bizarrely infantile at the drop of a hat, much of her script is genuinely tragic, Gwyneth can’t convincingly portray Emma's social naiveté, her accent is overwhelmingly nasal and impossible to listen to, just for starters.

And yet… I don’t hate her. I don’t like her particularly either, but even though much of the dialogue re-working butchered Austen’s prose, there are a lot of things McGrath seems to have gotten right about Emma’s character. Her relationship with Knightley feels comfortable and playful, and, while Emma of the book probably doesn’t really care for Harriet Smith in the spirit of true bosom friendship, I believe she does care about her and wishes to spare her (further) pain. She shows exasperation with Harriet while still being patient with her, which is very much in the spirit of the book. Her concern for Harriet at the ball feels real, and her contrition at Box Hill following Knightley’s rebuke, while not profound, at least feels like contrition and not self-pity.

Perhaps, given the soft-take that the Miramax version is, it shouldn’t be surprising that the biggest faults in characterization rest on awkward writing and the biggest triumphs highlight Emma’s better side. It’s not a very in-depth take on the character, but it at least, is an adequate one.

Rating: 3/5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 2: 1996/97 (ITV)

Portrayed by: Kate Beckinsale

Age at time of filming: 23

Those who’ve read my reviews of each adaptation of Emma might be surprised to see ITV’s portrayal of the title character sitting so high on my list. To be frank, it’s a distant second, and she may have stolen the number two spot only because she’s played by Kate Beckinsale and not Gwyneth Paltrow.

In truth, I see a lot of parallels between 1997’s Emma and 2020’s. Both actresses were 23 (or thereabouts) when they played the role, both have extremely childish moments, and both crumple down and burst into tears that don’t feel entirely genuine after Box Hill.

So why is 1997 on the good side of the number 3 spot and 2020 isn’t? I’m not precisely sure. I think it may be because Andrew Davies (and/or Diarmuid Lawrence) at least understood the scale of Emma Woodhouse’s wealth and status. This Emma feels sufficiently self-important, a bit haughty, sure—but she’s also believably naïve. You feel her isolation, you understand her caring relationship with her father, and she’s not as patently rude to Robert Martin compared to the 2020 version (she at least acknowledges his presence when he meets Emma and Harriet in the lane).

Grudging though this favorable placement may be, I can at least acknowledge that Emma herself is the least of my problems with this version, and even though Beckinsale’s acting is a bit sketchy at certain points, she also has some truly great moments, especially her interaction with Robert Martin at the end of the film. This portrayal is consistent, and Emma’s better qualities aren’t overpowered by her negative ones.

Rating: 4/5 Half-finished portraits

Number 1: 2009

Portrayed by: Romola Garai

Age at time of filming: 26

And in a shocking twist—I’m kidding this is neither shocking nor unexpected to anyone who knows me or has read my blog/reviews of the Emma adaptations. Am I totally biased? Probably. I don’t care, this is a completely subjective list. Here, finally—my first and true love as Emma Woodhouse—is Romola Garai. I suppose it’s also not surprising that the first actress I ever saw in the role would still be my favorite a decade on. I just love everything about this interpretation of the character. She rides the very difficult line of being bright, caring and intelligent, while also being completely naïve and lacking in social savvy (in her own age-group at least), coddled, and painfully sure of her own self-importance.

Even though Garai was 25 or 26 at the time (far too old for the character—almost as old as Doran Godwin) her energy and charisma are enough that she’s able to carry it off convincingly. Everything about this Emma screams youth, and when Emma’s child-like social ignorance is her most prominent characteristic, it feels authentic and natural. Equally authentic are her emotions—her love for her family, her dynamic with Knightley, he exasperation, patience, and concern with Harriet. Most of all though, this Emma seems to experience the most maturation in the last quarter of the story. Box Hill really feels like a turning point—not just a chastened young woman, but a true coming-of-age moment. Emma faces a reckoning here that begins a chain reaction culminating in her realization of her feelings for Knightley, and everything from the writing to Garai’s performance conveys the magnitude of this shift in Emma’s life.

This version of the character seems the most… complete to me. Somehow, between Romola Garai’s vibrancy, Sandy Welch’s screenplay and Jim O’Hanlon’s direction, this interpretation takes an extremely divisive character and helps the viewer understand just why everyone in Highbury loves Emma Woodhouse.

Rating: 5/5 Half-finished portraits

~~~~

If you liked this, check out my rankings of Mr. and Mrs. Weston

[permanentcrossfics]

Blurred Lines: A Different Christmas // h.s.

How do we write Christmas fics in a really weird year? I’m still not sure, but I tried to string together a bit of relief for the end of December. I’m shutting myself up now, even though there’s lots I want to say. This is for anyone who wants it, anyone who needs it, anyone who enjoys it (or hates it!) silently and vocally alike. My Christmas gift is the happy and unexpected bonus of anyone reading what I have so much selfish fun thinking of and spinning out. Happy and Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, and a happy and merry end of December if you don’t and are just doing you! x

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It was the big Christmas tree you’d dragged back home by yourself on top of a rickety shopping cart all the way from a place on Second Avenue that had been your breaking point. Picking it had its own bittersweet undertones, but the smell of fresh pine tickling your nose even through a mask had kept you afloat as you struggled to get it off and onto curbs before traffic pancaked you in the middle of the road. It wasn’t until you were back inside, still wrapped in your coat and struggling to get it upright in the stand the correct way that you burst into a torrent of hot, selfish tears and bowed your head, kneeling next to the mass of needles and branches. He should be here! He should be helping you. He should’ve helped anchor lights in windows, he should’ve had an opinion on the scented candles, he should’ve made you go back for decorations you just weren’t sure of because you wanted them regardless of what he thought, and he should’ve helped pick, and carry, and set up the tree. The whole reason you’d gone out to get a fresh tree – something real in a year that had felt anything but – was to lift your spirits, but instead you were sobbing next to it and it all felt a little dramatically pointless. It was everything you’d avoided last year by flying off to England but that you couldn’t escape this time. What was the point? What was the point of pretending?

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“You coming home with me this year?” 

Again. He asked the same question you’ve been dodging for weeks since plans had started to look uncertain again, not because he was pestering you, but because somehow, some way, you were both hoping for an answer with a loophole. 

“I can’t,” you said softly, regretfully, holding your phone close to your face with one arm as you curled up under the duvet of a bed in an apartment that had somehow become yours together instead of his alone throughout the course of a very new, very different, very unsettling year. “For a few reasons.” 

And he knew that. 

Harry’s deep breath crackled and he dragged his hand down his face, holding it there as he shook his head, the thought processes you’d learned to read so well hidden from view. 

You’d liked going home with him last year -- loved it, even. You’d hardly had time to look forward to a repeat when the world had flipped in the first quarter or sooner, and the sand had just kept slipping through the hourglass until all time for hope of a new and normal Christmas was gone and sucked away into the void of the year. 

So many plans. So many memories that lived only as memories of daydreams now. So much else, so much more important, devastating, and tragic you couldn’t even put it into words and, frankly, didn’t want to. Not now -- you spent too much time thinking about it to think about it now, too.

“Filming’s done soon,” he said from behind his hand. “I can book my flight to New York--”

“Harry--”

“And then go to Manchester after Christmas -- after the New Year, we always take a bit of a longer break. Mum won’t mind--”

“Your mother’s barely seen you since last Christmas,” you said. “Your sister, too, and there’s not enough time to--”

“Course there is!”

“Two weeks quarantine in each?” you asked. “That’s a month of staying put, let alone--”

A split second glance at his face was all you saw before the screen went black and you bit your tongue. He hadn’t hung up, because you’d heard the soft thud when his phone collided with his chest, and you could hear him breathing now, so you waited, suppressing your own urge to snap as he had his. Despite having spent the better part of the year together, it was frustrating to think about not being together for the season. All you wanted was him, though you knew better than to voice it out loud. He’d do it -- for you, he’d do it if you asked him to -- and you’d have to live with the guilt of taking him away from his family at the time of year where family should be together most, if it mattered to them. And you’d been weirdly lucky enough to have him most of the year between carefully navigated business trips. He was only one man with one body. It didn’t -- couldn’t -- matter that you wanted him, too. 

That you wanted to be with the man you loved. 

When he picked up the phone again, his face was drawn, tired, and not just from filming, you suspected. 

“Go home,” you urged, swallowing the break in your voice. “You miss home, and home misses you. I’ll have fun decorating and send you all the pictures you won’t be able to do anything about.” 

His throat bobbed hard, audibly, and his eyes looked dangerously shiny. 

“Next year I’ll go home with you,” you said, burrowing half your face into your pillow. “London and Holmes Chapel both.”

“Next year,” he said eventually, voice raspy. “We’ll have Christmas at home next year.” 

You nodded, forcing the lump rising up, up, and up back down. “You should go to sleep,” you said. “It’s late and you have to be up early.”

“Later for you,” he said and you sighed, noting the 3:08 timestamp at the top of your screen. 

“Let’s go,” you said. “Call me when you can.” 

“I will.” Sad, but resigned. You wanted to reach through the screen and touch the downturned corners of his mouth to push them back upright again. “Sleep well, and I love you.” 

Taking a deep breath, you murmured, “I love you, too,” before hanging up the call and the room descended into darkness and you into a fitful sleep. 

***

At first, you were determined to make the most of it. Your studio had always been small, cozy, and Christmasy to the best of your abilities, but his -- your -- apartment had so many more possibilities. Candles were the first to be set out, with strategic clusters of red, green, and gold-colored wax placed all about and nestled in fake holly wreaths. String lights that cast a pretty glow lined windows even in the bedroom for some last minute holiday cheer, and despite the urge to drive him up a wall, you did your best to only pick out other decorations that you’d both like and want to use in the future. Because as much as you might avoid talking about it in many certain terms the longer the relationship went on (it still felt so funny to think that a one night stand had turned into a relationship), there was a future. He was your future. It wasn’t your first Christmas together, but it might be your last one apart. 

It was the big Christmas tree you’d dragged back home by yourself on top of a rickety shopping cart all the way from a place on Second Avenue that had been your breaking point. Picking it had its own bittersweet undertones, but the smell of fresh pine tickling your nose even through a mask had kept you afloat as you struggled to get it off and onto curbs before traffic pancaked you in the middle of the road. It wasn’t until you were back inside, still wrapped in your coat and struggling to get it upright in the stand the correct way that you burst into a torrent of hot, selfish tears and bowed your head, kneeling next to the mass of needles and branches. 

He should be here! He should be helping you. He should’ve helped anchor lights in windows, he should’ve had an opinion on the scented candles, he should’ve made you go back for decorations you just weren’t sure of because you wanted them regardless of what he thought, and he should’ve helped pick, and carry, and set up the tree. The whole reason you’d gone out to get a fresh tree -- something real in a year that had felt anything but -- was to lift your spirits, but instead you were sobbing next to it and it all felt a little dramatically pointless. It was everything you’d avoided last year by flying off to England but that you couldn’t escape this time. What was the point? What was the point of pretending? 

Wiping your nose, you stood, eyes heavy, swollen, and itchy. With your coat gone, you heaved the tree up until it was sitting securely in its stand, needles scattered in its wake but branches full and outstretched, enveloping you in the warm smell of Christmas in a way the cedar- and balsam-scented candles couldn’t. Stepping back with your hands on your hips, you looked up at it, the swell of your anxiety simmering, thanks partly to your crying fit and partly to succeeding at the task. You’d decorate it bit by bit to draw the season out, and then on Christmas Eve, you’d call him and you’d both sit by your own trees and talk until it was Christmas Day for him. It was just for now -- this wasn’t the way of all ways for all time. 

Click.

You nearly passed out cold from the rush of fearful adrenaline shooting through you when the lock on the door clicked. In three seconds, you ran through whether or not you’d locked the door, determined that you had but then had forgotten, and figured out that somehow, someone had gotten in and they weren’t supposed to. You spun, frozen, brain zooming to determine if you dove behind a sofa or if you charged, but you didn’t get the chance before the door opened. 

A duffle bag, a foot, a body, in that order, and then a pair of wide, green eyes rimmed with circles just above a cloth mask.

“You do not get to be mad at me,” he said, voice muffled. He grunted and pushed the door open wider to bring in the rest of his luggage as you stood there, as equally speechless as you were breathless. “I tested before I came here,” he said, speaking with a loud if exhausted sort of authority, like he was trying to get the words out before you could protest. “But I’ll take the guest room, and I’ll get my own food, and we’ll keep out of each other’s space until the two weeks are up.” 

He brought his bags in the rest of the way, and it was only when he was halfway by you that he stopped in his tracks. “Y’haven’t moved,” he said, eyebrows furrowing as he narrowed his eyes on you. “Are you all right?” 

Lightheaded, you nodded. 

“O… kay,” he said, stilted, still eyeing you. “M’just gonna go get settled and showered, then.” 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, the words finally forcing themselves from you. 

“S’Christmas.”

“You’re supposed to--”

“Mum knows,” he interrupted. “M’taking Christmas here this year. Gem’ll have Christmas with her and I’ll go along after. She’s excited about having two. ‘Scuse me….” 

Nodding, you waved him away to hurry, shoo, because you could feel the emotions rising in you again and your confusion wasn’t enough to quell them. Fifteen minutes ago, you’d been kneeling on the floor with aching knees, crying, and now here he was. 

You’d wrestle with the confliction of doing what was right and doing what you wanted… later. Later, when you could wrap your head around it and the choice he’d made. 

Two weeks. That would put you just on Christmas Day, basically. Just two weeks.

***

Dodging him around the apartment was a lot more difficult than you would’ve guessed for how big it was. More than once you nearly slammed into him in the kitchen, and someone was always in the favored bathroom. For his part, he’d taken to wearing a mask when he roamed, and even though you told him he didn’t have to do that, all he did was hum behind it. You got it -- the positive result from the crewperson on set had spooked everyone, and he was being safe. You both were being safe, but for as mindful as you’d been throughout, all you wanted to do was hold him, hug him, kiss him. Video calls were ridiculous when you were in the same house and you could hear his laugh through the walls. But you got it, and if you kicked too much he’d book a hotel to quarantine away from you, so you’d rather have him here, as selfish and risky as it was. 

It was three days into your little bubble that he finally dared to get within arm’s reach of you. You were mulling over where to put the chimney sweep ornament when he shuffled over to the foot of the ladder you were leaning on, and you raised an eyebrow, arm outstretched.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He shook his head, the lights from the tree reflected in his eyes. “Just watching,” he said from behind his mask. 

“You’re standing a little close, aren’t you?” you teased. Jokes were all you had -- all anyone had this year, if they were lucky. 

Immediately, he scowled -- how funny you could tell what his face looked like so clearly even with the cloth stretched firmly across it -- and you giggled. “Watch what you’re doing,” he said, taking his hands from his sweatshirt pocket to grab the ladder legs, and with his support, you held on tightly and leaned over to place it on the prime branch. 

“Thank you,” you said. “Do you want to pass me that box?” 

He did so and you murmured your thanks, resting it on the top step as you pulled ornaments out to hang them. 

“Not there,” he said before you could drop a hook over a branch with a snowflake. “Give it… thank you.” He took it carefully from you and placed it on a different one closer to him, lower than where you were placing it but slightly higher than you could reach without a ladder. 

“Thank you.” 

Together, slowly, ornaments were hooked and rehooked (and rehooked yet again when one of you noticed the other had moved them from a spot you each thought was perfect) until the tree was trimmed, each branch heavily laden, bearing the weight of ornaments and of providing joy after the year behind. 

“How’d you get this home?” he asked, looking up at it with you once you were off the ladder. 

“Carefully,” you said dryly. “Oh! The top.” You turned, but he cut across your path.

“I’ve got it,” he said, grabbing the box from the precarious stack next to the coffee table. 

“I want to,” you whined and he snorted.

“You’ve done the whole bloody thing,” he said without venom. “Let me do just the one.” With it in hand, he climbed the ladder as you held it steady, and he set it on the topmost branch, prodding it until it was tall and straight up, all five points outstretched and shining. 

“That’s perfect,” you said under your breath, resting your head on his leg, and he patted the top of your head gently. You stayed like that for a minute, two, three, and more, with your arm curling around his calf, embracing as much physical contact as he’d allowed since he came home. “How many more days?”

“Eleven.” He sounded thoughtful, resentful, and exhausted all in one go. You squeezed his leg and kissed his knee through his joggers. 

“Then it’s Christmas,” you said.

He exhaled slowly, still patting your head. “Christmas morning.” 

***

Eleven. Whole. Days. 

Eleven days of more of the same. He’d eased up, thankfully, and dared to venture a little closer with a mask on, because, as you’d reminded him, he had tested negative. You sat on opposite ends of the couch, enjoying the Christmas tree and decorations together, laughing, talking, planning, and exchanging stories about everything that had happened while you were apart. His, of course, were wildly more interesting, but he somehow managed to hang onto every word of even your most droll and mundane ones, and always with the right questions and supportive murmurs of agreement as necessary. 

Eleven days of saying goodnight and crawling into a bed that was too big for one when two was next door. 

Eleven days of not being able to share meals properly or touch each other -- sex aside -- and eleven days of Hell.

“It’s your fault,” you said one night from your end of the couch, scowling with your arms crossed. The tree twinkled happily despite your sour mood, and music that was too merry and bright played from the television. 

“Me?” he asked indignantly. 

“Yes! You had to do that stupid film.” 

“It’s not stupid.”

“You’re wearing a mask in our home,” you said, burrowing into the cushions. “If I want to call it stupid, I will.” 

He groaned, dropping his head forward. “Baby….”

You grunted. 

“It’s only a couple more days. A couple more days, and then it’s Christmas. Think of it like a present you’re waiting for.”

Despite yourself, you snorted. 

“I’m all you want for Christmas, aren’t--?”

“Shut up,” you said, kicking his thigh with your extended leg. He snickered, eyes crinkled and full of light all their own. 

“Couple more days,” he said, patting your ankle. “Couple more days, and then you won’t even be able to get rid of me. We’ll be in bed all weekend.”

“I’m not calling your mother from bed.”

He waggled his brows with some exaggeration and you rolled your eyes. 

That had been around day five, maybe six. Suffice it to say, by Christmas Eve, you were done. 

“It’s one day!” you said over breakfast in the kitchen. “One day, Harry!” 

“We made it this long,” he said, pouring hot coffee into a mug that had his face printed onto the head of dancing elf -- a gift from his mother shipped along with a matching one for you that she insisted you both open ahead of time to enjoy for as long as possible. “We can make it a couple more hours.”

“If I stripped naked, what would you do? Stand there and watch me?” 

He froze and looked at you over his mask, the heated warning pinning you in place. Huffing, you pushed the stool away from the counter and hopped off it.

“Where are you--?”

“Out,” you said. “I’m going to get--” You floundered. “Coffee.” 

A beat passed and his eyes dropped to the mug in his hand.

“We literally have--”

“I’m going out!” you said, wrapping your neck and half your face up in a scarf to keep warm. You were going out, because you were mad, and the tantrum was burgeoning. That poor man had seen more unreasonable tantrums from you this year than he had in the entire two and a half you’d reciprocally acknowledged each other’s presence, and you hated it. But he’d hate it, too, if you’d gone on a trip for work and come back and things were off.

Could be worse, you reminded yourself. It could be so very, very much worse.

“I love you,” you said, calmly, firmly. “I’ll be back. I’m only going around the block. Take that--” You waved at his mask, “--off. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way in..” 

When you returned, he was in the guest room, but a fresh cup of coffee in your own dancing elf mug rested on a mug warming plate. The last of your frustrations that hadn’t melted with the walk deflated and you picked it up, enjoying the aroma before taking a deep sip. 

He always made it better. And the coffee was nice, too. 

His mother called in the afternoon and you hardly noticed he was at your side until the phone was in front of your face and you gave a startled hello. 

“Has he been wearing that the whole time he’s been home with you?” she asked, her gleaming eyes and wide, genuine smile matching her son’s own warmth. 

Home. With you. 

“He has,” you said. 

“S’posed to be proud of me,” Harry said and Anne laughed.

“Of course, sweetheart. We’re still calling tomorrow?” she asked you. 

“Yeah,” you said. “We’ll be here.”

“Next year will be different, won’t it?” she all but clucked. “Did you like your mugs? I got one for me, Gemma, and Michal, too.” 

“Used them just this morning,” he said, squeezing your hip and wandering away. “Won’t be posting them anywhere for people to see, though….” 

Eventually -- finally -- the day drew to a close, and you crawled into bed with the knowledge that it was just one more night. One more night, and then in the morning you could say hello like you wanted to. One more night and you wouldn’t want to bite his head off. One more night and you wouldn’t feel so mental, as he would put it. 

And yet, lying there, the minutes dragged. Ten? No, just one. Fifteen? Five. 

It felt like Christmas, though. As much as this was pure torture, this was what Christmas was supposed to feel like -- like it used to feel when you were a kid and you’d wait for weeks tingling anticipation, counting down, hoping that you’d find what you wanted under the tree, bursting with more energy than any amount of sugar could give you. Except instead of presents, or money, or sweets, you were waiting for the man who’d been under your nose for two weeks by this point. You got to kiss your boyfriend tomorrow. You got to see your boyfriend, hold your boyfriend, and celebrate Christmas with your boyfriend. 

Twenty minutes? Two. 

12:02.

Two minutes after midnight.

Christmas.

Fourteen days. 

Oh!

You sprang from the bed before you could think about the matter and darted to the door over the cold wooden floor, but when you rounded the corner in the hallway, out of nowhere, something all but slammed into you. Sucking in a sharp breath with a screwed up face, you squeaked when you collided with a very warm, very sturdy frame. Belatedly, two arms shot out to grab you by yours to steady you. “Oh my God, I--”

Hair, forehead, eyes, nose, and mouth, too. No mask. 

“Are you o--?”

He didn’t get to finish his question. You clapped your hands over his cheeks and kissed him soundly before he could kiss you first. Under ordinary circumstances, he’d laugh -- you both would -- but rather than that, he locked both his arms around you tightly and spun you, teetering precariously with you in tow until you got to the guest bed. Tackle was an apt word for how he delivered you to it, but you were the farthest thing from upset at finally having not even an inch of space between you. The bed smelled like him and it was warm, he was warm, and you were kissing again, and again, and again, cold noses smushing together as you found new angles. 

“Christmas,” he mumbled between them.

“Mmhm,” you returned against his mouth, legs interlocking with his. “I missed you,” you whispered.

“Missed you, too.” 

Shivering, you both pulled the duvet up over your shoulders, and you curled up against him. Cologne, skin, and laundry detergent, with a bit of his minty toothpaste. There was no scented candle for that. You pressed your fingers against his chest and scratched lightly through the smattering of hair there. “We could go to our bed,” you reminded him, but he shook his head.

“Y’here now,” he rasped, leaning in to press his lips comfortably to your hairline, one arm draped over your back. “Let’s stay here tonight and we can change things later.” 

“Were you coming to get me?” you asked, voice shaking as the last of the shivers left your bones. 

“Yeah,” he admitted. You laughed, teeth chattering, and he pulled you closer. “Don’t laugh!” he said, rubbing your back and warming you. “S’been two weeks for me, hasn’t it?”

“For you!”

“You try bein’ home with you for that long,” he mumbled. 

Shaking again, but less than before, you kissed the underside of his chin. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.” 

***

When you woke up, his back was to you, and his one shoulder was rising and falling with the rhythm of his sputtery, wheezy snores. You smiled, closing your eyes, and snuggled into the pillow. Better -- much better. You dozed on for an unknown amount of time, and you were walking the line between sleep and consciousness when featherlight kisses across your brow startled you and you jerked awake.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, only sounding slightly truthful. You made a noise and stretched, shaking from head to toe before curling up into a tight little ball next to him and opening your eyes fully. His own were puffy with sleep, but he grinned radiantly as if he’d been awake for a while.

“What?” you asked in a croak.

“Nothing,” he said. “Mum’s gonna call soon.”

Groaning, you halfheartedly turned your head to look over your shoulder. “What time is it?” you asked, straining to see the window and get a gauge. 

“S’ten,” he said. “So about three for them. Sure you don’t want to call from bed?” 

You glowered at him and his lip twitched. “I’ll put the coffee on.” 

When you finally managed to leave the warm nest of the bed, the living room had been transformed. The tree was on, twinkling under the streams of light pouring in through the windows, and he’d lit the fireplace, too, flames licking up and up behind the glass. Soft, melodic Christmas music floated from the far corners of the room, and the smell of coffee tickled your nose. 

“So,” he said from his spot at the island as he unwrapped cheeses and opened jars of olives, and jams, and honeys, and other goodies. “What time do we pop the bubbly?” 

Laughing softly, you shuffled over. “It’s ten.”

“Little after ten now,” he said, lips pressed tightly together and arms flexed until the lid popped. “And somewhere in the world it’s five o’clock.” 

You pulled a grape off the bunch lying on the counter and popped it into your mouth, chewing not so delicately but enjoying the sweet burst of freshness. You’d no sooner swallowed than his phone started buzzing and you grabbed it, sliding your finger to answer the call from the incoming Mum and pointing it at him.

“Happy Christmas, honey.” Anne’s voice was warm even through the phone, and Harry’s head whipped up.

“Wh-- Happy Christmas-- didn’t know you were-- ‘scuse the mess,” he said as you giggled behind the phone. 

“Having a good morning so far?” 

“Goin’ ok, yeah,” he said. “Just getting started, heating up the coffee.”

“Where’s your better half gotten off to?” 

Trying not to melt, you waved your hand in front of the camera. 

“Hello, love,” she said. “Happy Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas, Anne.”

“Are we going to get to see you today?”

“Fair’s fair,” Harry chimed in. “Turn that thing around, why don’t you?” 

Rolling your eyes, you flipped the phone and waved, sliding around the counter to stand next to him. 

“That’s better,” Anne said with a firm nod. She had a red top on with a festive, sparkly necklace, and looked a good deal more put together than either one of you.

“Where’s Gem?” Harry asked, taking the phone from you so you could unbox the crackers. 

“Upstairs napping off the morning,” she said. “She’ll want to call again later.” 

And that was how the morning went, with each of you passing his mother back and forth while you carried plates and trays full of snacks to the coffee table and couch in front of the tree to nibble while tearing into gifts on camera, including a box full of chocolates for you, Branston pickle for him, and Christmas crackers for both of you to have, “A little bit of home this year.”

“Thank you,” you said, clutching your sweets close. “And thank you for--” Unbidden, you choked up, and Harry glanced at you sharply, his inquisition vanishing with his understanding. For sharing him -- allowing you to steal him away during the holidays in a year where everyone needed family, either by blood or choice. He squeezed your shoulders and his mother, as adept as he was at redirecting a conversation, piped up. 

“Promise you’ll come see us again next year,” Anne said. “It’s been too long.”

“It has been,” you agreed, resting your cheek on his shoulder. 

“Maybe sooner.” Harry looked down at you. “If things ease up?” 

You nodded. “Summer in London,” you mused. “That would be nice.”

“And then a bit of time back home. We could go before things pick up in August.”

Summer in London. A beacon of hope you couldn’t erect just yet, but a beacon nevertheless. A bit of time with him before he, hopefully, went back to work and you got to revisit adjusted and postponed plans. 

The rest of your Christmas Day was quiet -- different from the year before when you’d been overwhelmed with names, faces, screeches of Uncle Harry, and not being sure how to break your way in. You kept trays of cheese, crackers, and other snacks within an arm’s reach, and by the early afternoon both of you had a comfortably steady buzz from the bubbly he was good at topping off both your glasses with -- never sloppily drunk, but enough to be warm in your fingers and toes and to seek out cuddles from him under the blanket you were snuggled in on the sofa with paper crowns on both your heads. 

“Can I tell you something?” you asked, ribs crunched from how far you’d slid down on the sofa to nestle into his side, all but eye-level with his chest. “And have it not be as awful as it sounds?” 

You felt his laugh before you heard it. “Sure,” he drawled. “What is it?” 

Squeezing his wrist, you turned your mouth into his forearm, eyes on the television as a snowman leapt and bounded over a wide, snowy plain before jumping into the air. “I like this Christmas,” you admitted into his skin. 

Harry snorted. “S’not awful, s’the point -- Christmas is supposed to be likeable.”  

“You know what I mean,” you said, sighing. “I know it’s just us and there’s no family or anyone around, but… I dunno… it’s not all bad, is it?” 

“Like having me to yourself?” 

You groaned and rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Shut up,” you mumbled. 

He kissed the top of your head, crown crunching under it, and you grunted. “S’not so bad,” he said into your hair. “Like having you all to myself, too, y’know.” 

“You’re just saying that because you have to because you’re stuck with me,” you said and he laughed with another smacking kiss. 

“Not stuck with me yet,” he crooned. “Can leave any time you want.” 

“Maybe I will….”

“Oi!”

Giggling, you untangled yourself from him and squirmed out from underneath the blanket. “More bubbly?” 

***

Boxing Day was a Christmas redux, with more cheese, sparkling wine, music, and calls with family and friends. Long distance versions of old favorite games were adapted and adopted, and you snickered quietly from the corner of the couch, staying out of his way when he shouted about how he had hit the button, it was his trackpad that hadn’t worked. 

The late afternoon and on, though, was yours together and alone with the time difference breaking up the party earlier than it normally would be. The bittersweet cloud vanished, though, when you at some point you separated even further into your own activities -- him with his stack of new books and you with a film you played quietly on your laptop. Able to be near each other without having to be wrapped up and begging with your bodies for sorely missed attention, it finally, really, felt like home again. 

“It’s so pretty out,” you murmured, nose pressed to the windowpane to see as much of the light-lined streets as you could. It got dark earlier and earlier these days, and yet later than it had even a few days ago. “I love Christmas in New York. I wish--” You caught yourself ahead of finishing the sentence, thinking better. 

You wished it was a normal year -- for many reasons -- so you two could go out and see the city. So you could show him your favorite places, so you could make memories together like you had with him last year. It wasn’t anything life altering or new, but it was different when you were with someone you loved. You wanted him to know you -- all of you, even the unknowable parts. 

“Y’know,” he said next to your ear, hand on the back of your neck as he slunk up behind you, “it’s getting pretty late.”

You turned your head slightly, looking at him in the reflection of the glass. “Do you want to go to bed?” 

Too early for sleep. Was he asking for sex? 

Harry hummed and shook his head. “How ‘bout you get your coat on?” he murmured. “Let’s have that Boxing Day walk we didn’t get last year.”

“Now?”

“When else?” he said. “Haven’t been out yet, and it’s late. Streets’ll be empty. We can go wherever, do whatever, see whatever.” 

“You’re serious?” 

Nodding, he pulled you by the arm and you stumbled with him, still processing it even as you pulled beanies on with masks and (winter) gloves.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

He shrugged, calling the elevator. “Dunno,” he said. “Figured you’d lead the way. Show me your favorite bits. Seem t’remember summat about Bryant Park last year.” 

There were sobering realities at the street level, too. Gates were down on storefronts that hadn’t been pulled up since March, awnings above them tattered from months of neglect and ‘For Rent’ signs flapping against them in the wind. The usual post-holiday influx of tourists was thinned, with hardly a white sneaker in sight, and everything was just a little quieter than it should be and would be in a usual year.

But there were lights. Broadway’s may have dimmed for the time being, but endless, endless displays of lights, brighter without the ambient light pouring from storefronts diminishing their power, offered beacons of hope -- literal lighthouses in a storm of a year -- and led you uptown like a trail of breadcrumbs. 

You pulled him this way and that way, weaving through side streets to look at any display that looked bright enough from a distance, fingers locked tightly with his in a way they never were outside of the house. As bittersweet as it was no one was out, it afforded you a level of privacy you never had, anywhere. Not even Holmes Chapel. You couldn’t remember a time where you’d ever held his hand for this long at one time, if you were honest, and while you didn’t need it, you enjoyed the option. 

In between zigs and zags, he mumbled stories to you about this time, and another time, and a time after that, pointing at buildings, venues, restaurants, and hotels, and you listened half in awe and half in earnest. It was a whole other life he’d lived without you before, and you’d only been aware of the surface of it. Nobody knew what he was telling you except the people he’d lived it with, and you didn’t think you’d ever get over or be able to thank him for trusting you to be someone he chose to share it with. 

“I love Sixth,” you said, sighing as you walked past giant red Christmas ornaments three times the size of you both, the reflection of the string lights wrapped around tree branches bouncing off their shiny surfaces. Radio City’s electric red script beamed at you both from a distance, and traffic lights winked and waved in the wind up and down the avenue. “They do a lot with it.” 

“It’s pretty,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Tree’s this way, isn’t it?” he asked. 

You raised your eyebrows. “Yeah,” you said. 

He jerked his head and you blinked. 

“You want to?” you asked. 

“Just a bit,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

“There’s people!” you warned him, because even from here you could see the trickle of people with the same thought. “And I saw online they have a schedule--”

“We don’t have to get close,” he said, pulling you firmly. “S’big enough we don’t need to, just wanna take a peek.” 

He was so certain, but you were less so, because all you needed was someone to see him to break the serene bubble you’d blown around yourselves. Despite that, you shuffled with him until the tree was visible, a bright, glowing ball of multi-colored lights stretching towards the sky. “Wow,” you whispered under your breath. 

“S’nice,” he said and you nodded your agreement. It was nice -- despite the sad press it had gotten, the tree had turned out very nice at the end of it all, tall and impossibly beating all odds. What a metaphor for the year.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, squeezing him around the middle. 

“Come here,” Harry said next to your ear.

“Hmm?” Reluctantly tearing your eyes from the tree, you gasped when he pulled your mask down first and then his own in two swift tugs, revealing a cheeky grin with a face cradled by the fabric. “What are you doing?” you asked, eyes darting around. 

“Getting a kiss by the tree with my girlfriend,” he said. “Now, come here,” he repeated. This time, you obliged and allowed him to steal one, two, three kisses, each one of them smashed against your lips with a palpable sort of eagerness that made you think he would drink you if he could. This felt… normal. Normal, safe, and free. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like that. 

When you broke and burrowed against his neck, he covered the back of your head and wrapped his other arm around your back, cocooning you in the shell of the most protective embrace he could give. Just a man -- any man, a regular man -- holding the person he loved, and, after his decision to stay with you through Christmas and New Years, he arguably loved you most. 

Through the thick knit of your beanie, you felt him kissing your head, and you nuzzled into his scarf. “Thank you,” you said, face safely out of sight. “For coming here.” 

“Not mad a’me for it?” he mumbled and you shook your head. “‘Kay, good.” 

Shivering, you huddled closer and he tightened his arms, shielding you from the brisk wind. 

“People will see,” you said, but despite that you held him closer. 

“Who cares?”

He did, despite his quiet rasp. He did, and you knew why he did, but right then, you could pretend that it didn’t matter at all. 

***

It was simultaneously the longest and shortest week of your life. 

The longest, because time didn’t exist, much like it hadn’t for most of the year. Days, afternoons, evenings, and nights blended together, blurred by a happy holiday haze onset by too much of everything good -- sleep, sustenance, and spirits. The weird, if nice, part of all the extra time was having the chance to do things you’d enjoyed over the course of the year all over again. Nine times out of ten, when the two of you were together, it was rushed even on the long layovers. You’d watch one series or a film the whole way through, and next time you’d have to be on to the next one you’d agreed to hold off on until the other was there, but after having spent most of the year under the same roof, the typical race to the next one was paused. Instead, you settled in for old Christmas films and other ones you hadn’t seen since you first started properly dating, lending a timeless sort of quality to the week. 

The shortest, because he’d only just gotten there. How had it been three weeks since he’d walked in the front door with a mask on and a warning? Three weeks, two of them masked, and now it was over and done. The whole year was over and done, with 2020 coming to a slow close after feeling simultaneously like it never would and like it was moving much, much too fast. Who would’ve known this would be how it would turn out after kicking it off in the back of his car with a paper plate full of snacks and the countdown on his phone? You’d made it through another year, together. 

“Do you know what I just realized?” you asked as you unpacked the bag from El Diablito at the kitchen counter. In the background, the low hum of commentators on the TV remarking about how different this year was provided a steady buzz amidst familiar scenery of lights in different cities. Berlin had gone first, then London, and now, gradually, the new year on the east coast was gliding ever closer. 

“What?” he asked over the noise of him unfurling the bag of tortilla chips. 

“This was our first year together,” you said. “Full--” you drew an arc through the air-- “year, I mean. Saying it and all that.” 

He didn’t say anything, but when you looked at him the corner of his mouth was lifted up slightly. “S’pose it is, yeah. Feels like longer.” He fished a chip out with his index and middle fingers before crunching into it noisily. 

“Almost three years of everything else,” you murmured, unwrapping a taco to inspect it. “This one’s yours.” 

“‘Everything else’?” he teased, snickering when you slid the taco across the counter to him. “Watch it, it’ll fall apart….” 

“Shut up and eat,” you said and he barked a laugh, grin permanent and eyes sparkling as he unwrapped it to peek.

“In a minute,” he said, setting down his food, satisfied it looked right. “Come here,” he said.

“Why?” you asked, smiling slightly though you eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want?”

He motioned with his hand. “C’mere a minute,” he repeated, voice light but eyes tight, and he swallowed hard. A cold wave washed down you from head to toe. You didn’t know why you were suddenly so nervous, but the nerves themselves spiked your anxiety and made your scalp prickly and your palms sweaty, and they got worse when he grabbed one of your hands -- your left hand -- to hold between his. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about summat.” 

Oh, God. 

“Harry,” you said, but he shook his head.

“Lemme do this.” 

Five seconds. Five seconds was all it took to imagine the words coming out of his mouth, quietly, with soft, trusting eyes waiting patiently, hopefully for an answer. Five seconds was all it took for you to imagine mucking it all up with a twisted tongue, not because you weren’t sure what to say, but how to say it. No, no, no -- you didn’t want to hurt him, not even temporarily, not even by accident. 

Clearing his throat, he squeezed your hand. “I dunno how to do this,” he said, and for the first time ever, you were pretty sure he laughed without his eyes. You made a noise in your throat and curled your fingertips into his palm. “I love you,” he continued, Adam’s apple bobbing, lips trying and failing to form a smile. He was terrified, but determined, and you held his hand tighter while pressing your opposite one into his cheek.

I love you, too. You couldn’t say it, but you felt them swelling in your chest, growing your heart not two, not even three, but six times over. 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying, “M’going to spend the rest of my life with you,” with a thoughtful quality in his rasp. “I think, if-- if that’s somethin’ you….”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t, you were trying, but it was like sucking in helium. 

“So, m’kind of wondering if--”

“Harry--”

“I’m not,” he shook his head. “I’m not asking you anything right now, because we’re not ready.” He rubbed the back of your hand assuringly. “We’re not ready, you have… and I’m….” He exhaled sharply, dropping his head, and your hand moved from his cheek to his hair and you rubbed the back of his neck. “I just want to know,” he said, breathing heavily, with his voice muffled into his chest, talking very fast, barreling through and tripping over words, “if I’m totally off base here. Cause m’not gonna now when there’s so much shit happening, but like… I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth when-- if I do, so if I could just get an idea of what you think, because we had a talk once but now every time you cut me off at the knees and--”

He sputtered, stopping short, and you pressed your face into his short hair. 

“I want it,” you said, sounding braver than you felt admitting wants out loud. “I do. I will.” 

His shoulders fell with his slow, deep breaths, and you rubbed your fingertips into his scalp gently.

“I will,” you say. “Promise,” you added, voice cracking. “You’re not off base.”

Neither of you said anything for a while. You couldn’t -- you quite literally, physically couldn’t -- and he was gulping for air as quietly as he could. 

“Okay,” he said into his chest finally, sounding inexplicably embarrassed. “S’good to know.”

Silly, silly man. Did he really think… did he doubt…? “I love you,” you murmured. 

“I know,” he said. “I know y’do.”

“No, you don’t.” You kissed his head. “I love you, I-- you’ll never know.” 

Harry took a deep breath before straightening up, head high and curls falling over his forehead above the weariest, most agonized eyes you’d ever seen. His cheeks were bright red, and he might as well have just run a marathon for how spent and miserable he looked. 

“I promise,” you repeated. “I promise, honey.”

He nodded slightly, mouth still set in a thin, grim line, and, instinctively, you stepped in to kiss him, because no. No, that wouldn’t do. Stiff and unmoving at first under your lips, gradually he warmed and softened, releasing your hand to grab your hips and you moaned softly, hands running across his shoulders over his hoodie. You promised -- when it was right, when you both could, if he asked and it was what you both wanted? There was only one answer you’d ever give. 

The stool scraped against the floor when he stood, but he never broke the kiss, and you squeaked when you stumbled back against the counter. You opened your mouth wider when he coaxed you to, dizzy behind your closed eyes, and you let your hands wander freely, pulling him into you as the intensity behind the kiss escalated from comfort to need.

Two weeks. Two weeks -- three -- of pent up energy. Of hardly being able to touch each other, of being close but not close enough. 

“Come here,” he demanded in a mumble, the firm hold he had on your jaw to hold you in place as he kissed you the way he wanted leaving you breathless. Rarely did he ever do that; usually, he guided you into what you both wanted to build it until the bubble of tension popped. There was something thrilling about being told though -- something that reminded you of when you were new, three months instead of almost three years in. Something that was like when time was limited and you had to be efficient to learn each other and what would feel good and do good for the other and yourselves, and telling was sometimes all you had. 

Harry broke away with a wounded little noise and you blinked, dazed. “M’just….” He grabbed two tacos with one hand and threw them back into the paper bag. “M’moving these.” Tacos, nachos, and burritos all went back in, topped off with the chips, and he shoved them aside with some impatience. You laughed breathily and lifted yourself up onto the counter with his help, but it faded when he stepped between your legs and cupped your cheek and jaw and you caught a glimpse of the blown pupils and flushed cheeks that gave him a wild, primal look before your own eyes shut. 

Each and every tender sponging of his lips across your jaw and down your neck made you ache, and it was all you could do to stay upright and not collapse back, limp from how weak you were. His needy, mesmerized groans made your belly tighten, and when he tugged the hem of your shirt you nodded. 

Shirt, sweatshirt, bra, and undershirt were the first to go, and the straps had no sooner fallen down your shoulders than you let out a wordless, guttural shout from deep in your chest when Harry latched on and sucked your nipple with greedy enthusiasm, moving with you when you squirmed, his stubble scraping the soft skin of your breast. 

“Oh my God,” you gasped, eyes watering and elbow nearly buckling underneath you in your effort to hold yourself up. “Yes, please,” you said when he pulled the strings on your sweats. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, releasing with a pop and latching on again. “That’s my girl… gonna make it better for you.” He stood tall again when he pulled by the waistline, and you wriggled until they were at your knees and you could kick them off the rest of the way with your underwear as he dropped his own to his ankles. 

With nothing left between you, you shivered, shrinking into him when he stepped closer and drew his hands around your body in a circuit. Legs first, stomach, back, breasts, shoulders, arms, and repeat, each squeeze and dig of his hands and fingers just a little restrained and not as zealous as his groans and heavy breathing made him out to be -- like he was trying to be good, or patient, or….

“It’s ok,” you murmured between kisses. “You don’t have to wait.” They’d done the waiting -- more than enough of it. You just wanted him now.

“Sure?” Harry rasped and you nodded, eyes rolling up when he slipped his fingers between you both and they slipped up and down your folds. “Sure,” he confirmed under his breath. “Open a little more for me, love-- there we are, thank you.” 

You folded your arms around his neck and over his back and locked your ankles loosely just under his ass, heart racing in your chest. 

“Breathe in--” Harry murmured and you squeezed your eyes shut when he fit his head against your entrance. It slid and you laughed, kissing his jaw when he kissed your brow through his grin. “Deep breath for me.” 

Every time. He did that almost every time with you, first asking for a deep breath and then, invariably, pulling a long exhale from you when he thrust into your warm, wet cunt. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered in awe, holding still. You could feel the tremors pulling each fiber in his muscles, and when he throbbed inside you, you bit your lip. “Holy shit, you’ve got me good,” he groaned. 

You laughed once. “Yeah.” Yeah, something like that. Wincing, you rolled your hips forward and gasped softly from the stretch before tightening your arms and pressing your face against his hot skin. You nuzzled in between your own slow, lingering kisses, taking deep, grounding breaths. He was soft, and smooth, but firm, and hard, and he smelled amazing. Clean -- all soap and cologne with some detergent that smelled even more from the warmth of his skin. 

“Oh, God,” you whispered. “Oh, God, I--” You sucked in a harsh breath, abdomen tightening as you pulsed around him, feeling wetter, and you moved your face higher, nose pressed into the base of his sheared hair as you moaned quietly. “Oh my God, I love you.” Pitchy, bordering on hysteria, but you’d be hard pressed to remember a time you felt it as much as you meant it like you did right then. “I love you, I love-- I-- you feel--” Good. Better than good. No one had ever fit like he had -- too much, but just enough, physically, mentally, emotionally. 

“I love….” Harry gulped. “Shit, ok, m’gonna….” He made to pull his shoulders back, but you shook your head. 

“No, no, stay,” you begged, wrapping your arms and legs tighter. “Stay, please,” you murmured. 

“I can’t-- ok,” he panted. “Lemme….” He gripped your ass and pulled you closer and your back arched as you opened your thighs just a little more. “There we go,” he grunted, hips snapping forward as he finally moved. “That’s… fuck, that’s better now.” 

You could hear the effort you could feel between your legs -- each sharp pull of breath between his teeth, each muted grunt between his driving thrusts, and the pants he let out when he had to stop for a moment to catch his breath. “M’ok,” he said every time between labored gulps for air. “M’good, I just need to--” and he grit his teeth before he began again, and again, you gasped and whimpered, shrinking closer to him. 

You didn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, now or ever. You didn’t want to be this close to anyone else again ever. This was never supposed to happen. He was never supposed to meet you, know you, fall in love with you, nor you with him, but now he had, and you were, and you couldn’t imagine it any other way. You couldn’t imagine a world in which he didn’t come home to you, for you, and where you weren’t there. Not waiting -- never waiting on a man, any man, but ready for him when he returned and ready to move forward together. 

He was yours. He was yours, and you were his, and the mere thought pulled something behind your belly button, making you groan.

“What?” he asked, kissing the side of your head. “What, darling, what?”

“I’m gonna cum,” you whispered and then whimpered, tightening your hold around his neck and in his hair. “Harry--” you choked, shuddering with your deep breaths.

“I know.” He grunted, thrusting with slightly more power. “Fuck! Tight little--”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t stop, I’m close, I’m so-- I just need--” Faster and faster you rolled your hips against his, crying out against him when he wedged his thumb between you both to catch your clit, a stream of mumbled, “I’m gonna cum, you’re making me cum,” confessions hidden in his neck. Deep breaths. Long, slow, and deep, with your toes curling behind him until you were barely breathing in your efforts to concentrate, because you were right there. And then, you did cum, hard, convulsing and sucking in harshly as you trembled your way through whimpers of his name, immediately and thoroughly exhausted. 

Both his arms locked around you, then, all but crushing you to his torso in his efforts to hold you up, and he thrust hard, fast, deep, getting the right rhythm and stroke he needed. Barely able to keep your eyes open, your mouth moved soundlessly around the demand -- request -- to cum. Cum, Harry, cum, baby, please. Wordlessly, he sputtered through a sharp exhale, and it was the only indication before you felt the hot, wet release accompanying his groans.

“Fuck,” he choked, one of his hands landing hard on the counter to prop both of you up. You laughed, eyes rolling up, and you held on tightly through his turn to shake. 

“Happy New Year,” you said, still feeling a little punch-drunk from your orgasm.

He nodded. “H-Happy--” he gulped. “Happy New Year, darling.” His shoulders slumped. “Reckon this was the problem,” he said. “Should’ve fuckin’ rung the year in right last time, y’know?” 

“Right,” you breathed even as you shook your head, not quite caught up with what he was saying. 

“M’only sayin’,” he said. “We had sex the one time last Christmas. Should’ve had… a bit more,” he said indeterminately. 

“We haven’t had sex since you’ve been home.” 

Sighing heavily, he kissed your shoulder. “S’pose we’d better start,” he slurred. “S’not the new year yet.” 

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

A FMC x Lavinia hurt/comfort fic, where Lavinia comforts FMC or the other way around. I feel really lonely currently.. I'm going through a tough time and I kind of crave some comfort :/ Thank you and sorry for bothering you. Take care :3

Written by @blue-is-the-coolest-color

It felt good to be in the camper again. Between fluffy blankets and surrounded by random books Lavinia has picked up from libraries or bookstores that have interested her. It’s a strange collection, fairy tales and fiction, a few vegetarian cookbooks scattered about the small kitchen area, a few books about animals or fauna. A collection to capture Lavinia’s curiosities of this world.

Speak of the devil. Annisa had to move her arm quickly as the taller woman shifted next to her until she managed to snuggle up close against her, wrapping her arms around Annisa and placing her head on her chest. Annisa rolled her eyes affectionately as she put down the book she had been flipping through in favor of running her hands through Lavinia’s hair.

“You’re very affectionate tonight,” Annisa pointed out, though she really couldn’t blame Lavinia for a bit of clinginess. It had been weeks since they had been able to have a moment alone, but she could tell the ordeal with Rapunzel had caused something short of frustration to play on Lavinia. The girl was distant since she arrived at the camper, deep in thought at moments with her brows furrowed together and lips tight. Annisa had played it off as exhaustion after everything, but now she was a bit more worried as she felt Lavinia cuddle as close as possible.

“Thinking.”

“Ever articulate.”

Annisa teased as she started rubbing circles into Lavinia’s shoulder blades. Soothing the tension that stuck there and causing a soft sound very reminiscent of a purr to leave Lavinia’s lips. The two stayed like that for a moment before Lavinia gently pushed away until she was on her elbows hovering closely. Annisa could see the confusion and frustration in the other woman’s eyes as she waited patiently to see if Lavinia would deflect or if she would say what had been haunting her for the last hour and a half.

“Ranpuzel has killed innocent witches. Simply for being witches, and she wanted to kill me regardless of what it would do to the people of my kingdom. She even threatened the witchling, and yet-” Lavinia’s eyes narrowed slightly in a brief glare as if the reasoning of it pissed her off, “and your friends are really going to let all that go? Even though she’s proud of those she’s slain.”

Annisa listened patiently, not commenting as she felt Lavinia’s arms tense and relaxed with the statements, as if Lavinia was trying to keep from letting the anger consume her more than it has.

“We are not unalike.”

Lavinia admitted reluctantly, as if the statement was acid in her throat.

“We both grew up in less than ideal situations, used or thrown away, isolated, forced to struggle for years. We crawled out of it in different ways, killed people, did horrible things in the name of our own selfish justice or reasoned it in whatever way. We both-”

Lavinia trailed off hard and Annisa had to fight the urge to brush the long silver hair out of her face as it slipped from her shoulders. There’s a pain in Lavinia’s voice, on that Annisa hadn’t heard too often from the other girl before.

“Gothel,” Lavinia tried to articulate what she wanted to say, but it’s choked and Annisa feels her heart break at the sound.

“Lavinia,” Annisa pushed herself up a bit as Lavinia hastily rubbed at her eyes and tried to go back to how she was laying.

“Forget it, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not,” Annisa argued as she let her hands move to Lavinia’s face, trying to get the woman to look at her, “it’s hurting you, so it’s not nothing.”

Lavinia looked away, a bit of shame crossing her face.

“I was once a student of Gothel. There was a time, back when I was young, that I wanted to be strong and feared like her. Because then maybe I could hold on to the things that mattered to me, then maybe-” Lavinia’s eyes darkened and she tried to turn her head as to no look into Annisa’s eyes, but Annisa still saw the tears the threatened to spill over, “I was orphaned when I was very young, I couldn’t use magic, I was alone. Gothel had this power and I wanted her to teach me. She didn’t at first, but decided I was amusing and worth playing with. She’d send me on these ridiculous errands and I’d do an insane amount of magical research to try and convince her I was worth her time.

Then my magic appeared, my ice alignment made itself known and suddenly I was the only student Mother Gothel wanted to teach. She taught me spells she wouldn’t utter to the other witches in her coven. It felt like she had taken me under her wing. I would have done anything for her.”

Annisa listened quietly, horrified by the raw pain that had claimed Lavinia’s throat. She had known Rapunzel was a victim of Gothel, but hearing that Lavinia had also been a target caused her heart to ache for the woman in her arms.

“She told me about how she planned to kill the ice king and needed my help. I was important to this mission and she needed me to follow her orders to the T. I was so excited to help her, to make a real difference and to take down the Tyrant who abused his power and caused the mass slaughter of so many magical beings in the ice kingdom. The king liked to set up his own witch hunts where he’d release a witch he had captured into his private woods to hunt down and kill. Our plan was for me to get captured and to wait for Gothel who would come and stage a breakout. During the panic she would kill the king while I distracted all his guards with a permafrost spell I had read about in a book.

So I did my part, I let the king catch me and I lived in the dungeon underneath the castle. I waited for Gothel to appear. I waited weeks, starving in a dark wet cell. I was so hungry, I hadn’t felt hunger that strong since arriving at the orphanage. Eventually it was my turn to be hunted, and when they let me into those woods I decided I would kill the king myself. So I used an old spell Gothel had me test a while ago and I slaughtered almost all of the king’s men in the forest. And then I killed him and sat on the throne covered in blood and announced that the king had fallen.”

“Gothel had left, abandoned me there, then had the nerve to show up two weeks after my coronation and demand I give her magic in exchange for teaching me. We fought and I threw up the magical barrier around my kingdom using one of her spells for spite.”

“I guess that explains how you don’t age.” Annisa interrupted and then almost hit herself for such a sudden outburst, but Lavinia nodded.

“I don’t age because it’s the same spell Gothel uses to steal magic, only my people can refuse to give me their magic, they offer up their magic to keep the barriers around the kingdom, so I guess in a way I’m not giving them much of a choice.”

Lavinia sighed, balancing herself on one arm for a moment to run a hand through her hair.

“I let all my pain get the better of me, and I hurt more people because I was too afraid of losing my newfound power. I wanted to keep everything out, because that’s how everything could stay safe,” Lavinia shook her head, “I sound like a maniac.”

“Lavinia, it doesn’t matter what you did before, all that matters to me is that you’re trying to do better now,” Annisa flashed the other girl a soft smile, “what Gothel did to you was horrible, and you shouldn’t have had to suffer to feel like you weren’t alone.”

“But I always am, somehow.”

It’s so quiet and heartbreaking to hear Lavinia’s voice like this. Annisa’s smile dropped as she tried to process the hurt, pain, and anger flashing through Lavinia’s icy eyes.

“To have a chance like Rapunzel has been given. To actually be allowed to keep writing my story without having to hurt you more to do so. I’d have to bend over backwards to be given a quarter the chance at redemption that she’s been allowed after everything. Why? Because her story deemed her a hero despite her murders and crimes?”

Maybe weeks ago Annisa would have said something to defend Rapunzel, defend why she should be given chance after chance where Lavinia shouldn’t. Lavinia dropped her head back to her shoulder in frustration.

“...You’re mad because they won’t give you that chance,” Annisa commented as she wrapped her arms around Lavinia’s shoulders, keeping her in place when she felt her start to shift, “I didn’t think you cared so much about what they thought about you.”

“I don’t,” Lavinia grumbled into her shoulder, “but I know it would be easier for you if they trusted me to keep you safe at least. Then maybe you wouldn’t have to sneak around to see me.”

Annisa held the woman tighter, placing a firm kiss to her head as she felt her relax into her arms.

“They’re not all against you. Arin wants to give you a chance, and I could convince Oliver to as well. And you have me.”

“As long as I have you.”

Of course the melting queen would sneak in some sweet nothings while they layed there, Annisa couldn’t say she was surprised by the familiar affection in Lavinia’s voice.

“So you're using me as a pillow here all night? I’m supposed to be home.”

Lavinia smirked, wrapping her arms tighter.

“Stay, please?”

“Oh my,” Annisa pretended to swoon, batting her eyelashes, “did her majesty just say please? To little old me. What a blessing that has bestowed upon my unworthy ears!”

“Brat,” Lavinia laughed, a beautiful light sound that Annisa would kill to hear, “you’re not allowed to leave now, punishment for mouthing off to a queen.”

“You love when I mouth off to you.”

“Maybe.”

The smirk caused Annisa to blush, suggesting a far dirtier joke that Lavinia had opted out of saying.

“I wish I could stay here,” Annisa sighed as she looked up at the ceiling of the cabin, the little snowflake fairy lights making her smile, sinking her fingers into unbelievable soft silver hair as she felt Lavinia tilt to head, eyelashes brushing against Annisa’s neck in soft butterfly kisses, “I love being this close to you.”

Lavinia hummed her agreement as Annisa’s fingers scratched at her scalp and wandered through her hair.

“It’s certainly a treat, watching the Ice Queen melt just for me.”

“You’re the only person worth melting for.”

Annisa hated how her mind immediately flashed to a certain snowman character from a Disney movie. She couldn’t control the way the giggles shook her form. Lavinia propped herself up on her arm, trying to look bored but the soft look in her eyes betrayed her horribly as she watched Annisa laugh at a joke she didn’t understand.

“Remind me that I need you to watch a movie with me.”

Lavinia hummed and let her fingertips trace patterns into Annisa’s arm before bringing her hand up to her lips, pressing a soft kiss that caused Annisa to blush.

“Do you really have to leave now?”

“I guess I can spare five minutes.”

Five turned to an hour, but it wasn’t like Annisa was complaining.

[twiceasfrustrating]

Absolutely Nothing

I said I wouldn't post my new fic until after SWBQ is done, but I want to begin posting it before S4 drops. It won't update consistently atm, but it's there... I will only be posting the first two chapters to Tumblr. Everything else is going on AO3 because Tumblr is not longfic friendly.

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Main Character, Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke, Solomon, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Original Angel Character(s)

Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War, Trauma, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canon is like a vampire, it can't enter this house unless I let it, Emotional Baggage, Lies, Manipulation, Ships not intended but I'm not stopping you

Summary: War is not unknown to the three realms, but that does not make them any less a tragedy of strategy. Though relations between the three have never been favorable, they have never truly gone to battle with each other. At least, not until now. The heavens have been planning for a long time and have finally decided to execute their machinations. Now it is time to see how every piece will play out this bloody battle.

A/N: These tags are for the overarching fic, not the first two chapters. Only Lucifer, Simeon, Micheal, and Gabriel show up in the first two chapters.

Chapter 1: I Will Not Go With You

“We’re heading for a war,” Lucifer warned, “and I want you to come with me.”

Simeon solemnly blinked a few times before closing his eyes. The weight of the choices laid before him pricked at the edges of his mind. He’d known this was coming. He’d known for a long time that this question would eventually be asked of him and for just as long he’d known what his answer would be, “I must decline.”

“Why?” Lucifer spat out, “Simeon, you have to know what’s about to happen. If we don’t fight then Lilith-”

“I am not stopping you from this rebellion.” He opened his eyes and looked to the pages stacked neatly in the corner of his desk, carefully flipping through the avalanche of writings he’d collected over the years. Somewhere, buried deep in the pile, he vaguely recalled his moment; where his brother would ask him to do the impossible. He’d hidden it away from prying eyes, afraid that others would find it and interpret it as he had. Though, even if they had read it and understood what the contents were, it was nigh impossible to change the events that were foretold.

He pulled the page from the pile, taking care so the others above it would not collapse onto the delicately inlaid wood of his desk, and perused the contents held within. The paper was so old that it had begun to grow fragile to the touch and discolor at the edges. Simeon desperately wished that time had chosen not to show its touch on this particular relic he would rather have forgotten about. It was frightening how long he’d known about this day and he would rather pretend he was shocked when Lucifer had come to him. Sometimes, having a glimpse into what would eventually be was a cruel reality.

That brother, who would come in need of his fellow, will find no quarter. So shall he return with hands left empty, but convictions emboldened by the forge of his stature. He shall take with him those who share his resolve and lead them to where metal sings and cries. Blood shall be shed but on one side, though the cost of the blood spilled shall

It was an old, short paragraph he wished he could forget. Though he could never truly put it out of his mind, because he knew it was left unfinished and his mind and pen longed to see the end of the story. However, his heart and will would prefer not to know every detail of this particular future. For so long, he’d clung to that final shall and hoped that not knowing the entirety of the story would somehow keep it from unfolding. However, his pen only put the stories to page. He was not responsible for the events that inspired him to write.

“You will have to make do with those who are already on your side. No one else will turn their back on Father for your cause.” It was the only warning he could give. In those words he hid the message that Lucifer should tell no one else. If war was approaching, then it was better he have the element of surprise.

Lucifer could only stare at him in disbelief, “Is that your answer?”

“It always was.” He placed the paper face down atop the pile, “I cannot aid you in this, Lucifer.”

“Then you would fight against me? You would condemn Lilith in the same way as our Father?” His voice shook, the rage building inside of him clearly beginning to boil over even as he tried to contain it.

“I will not betray my family.” Simeon’s face remained unchanged as he pushed his chair away from the desk and rose to his feet. Despite the malicious aura that began to circle around his fellow Seraphim, he approached with an unguarded stance until they were only an arm’s reach away from one another. No matter how upset Lucifer may become, Simeon would not fear him. Though, he did fear *for* him, “You and she are still of my kind and that means I will not meet you on the battlefield.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened at the declaration. This time, it was his turn to fear for the other, “You can’t stay out of this. You know they won’t allow you.” If he did try to remain on the sidelines, Simeon would still be seen as a traitor. Not in the same vein as him and his siblings, but a traitor nonetheless, “I won’t ask you to fight if you really refuse to lift your blade, but you can’t stay here.”

“As much as you and Lilith are my family, so are Micheal, Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel. I cannot leave them.”

“Simeon…”

Simeon’s lips pulled back into a smile and he let out the shortest of laughs, “You worry far too much, Lucy. You are aware that I am still a Seraphim, are you not? Even if I do not step onto the battlefield, I do not believe I am in nearly as much danger as you are putting yourself in.” He wanted to reach out and touch his brother one last time as the fear of the unknown overtook him, but he kept his hand within his own space. He did not know what would happen at the end of all of this, but he knew it would not be the same and reaching out to hold onto what they had would only pain them both.

Lucifer looked over the other angel’s shoulder, toward the pile of papers where Simeon had placed one face down. Countless writings that revealed the future to their author and Lucifer did not envy that gift. Others often wished to know what would be, but he had seen far too many times the burden placed on Simeon for having such a skill; the amount of times he had been made to see both grace and tragedy was carved on his face, just behind that smile. That is why, despite knowing that whatever was on that page was related to this very discussion and his ultimate goal, he would not pry. It was not as if knowing the future allowed it to be changed anyway.

“We’ll still be on opposing sides, you know?” No matter how much Simeon proclaimed not to betray his family, that was an unavoidable truth.

He nodded, “I am aware.”

“And you refuse to go against your family?”

This time his confirmation was wordless.

Lucifer took in a deep breath, “Then once the battle begins, I believe we can hardly be considered family anymore.”

Large blue eyes shot up to look at his pale face. It seemed that Lucifer had said something Simeon hadn’t expected, “What?”

“You will not betray your family, but you know they will not allow you to remain neutral in this. As soon as the drums of war beat, it is fine to stop thinking of me as your brother.”

There was a long moment of silence before Simeon could reply, “You cannot ask me that.”

“I am not asking. I am stating a truth,” one that would hopefully allow Simeon a way to follow his morals and gain some leniency if he continued to insist on this path, “I refuse to be your brother from that moment on.”

“Please... you cannot ask that of me.”

“I am not asking anything of you. I am simply stating where we will stand.” And now he needed to leave before the hurt welling in Simeon’s eyes tugged at his heart anymore and shattered his resolve.

He dipped his head in a polite bow, “Thank you for your time, Simeon. I do hope we may speak like this again.” He turned on his heels, refusing to truly look at the other angel again. His only goal was the door, where he opened it wide and stepped through the threshold.

“Lucifer! Wait!”

It took far more will than Lucifer would ever care to admit as he shut the door behind him without saying another word, and even more to walk away.

-----------------------

Chapter 2: Traitor

“How long have you known?” Micheal nearly growled as he stared down Simeon where he kneeled. His pale blue eyes ran wild with rage and it was clear he was just barely holding himself together. That was to be expected after everything he had just been through. Lucifer was unapologetically his favorite brother so it was unimaginable the distress he was in right now as he came to terms with having lost a member of his family. They had been like two halves of a whole, and now they were fractured.

“How long have I known what?” Simeon asked, feigning ignorance.

“That Lucifer would lead a rebellion against Father!” Micheal’s voice raised so loud that the room literally shook around him.

“Calm yourself, Micheal,” a melodious voice shushed him and lithe hands rested on his shoulders to hold him steady, “We’ve lost enough of our siblings today. There is no reason to lose yourself and risk losing another.”

“You would call him our brother after that disgraceful scene, Gabriel?” The disgust in his voice was clear and overwhelming, “He knew this would happen and refused to warn us or lift a finger. Everything we lost today is because of him.” Simeon had to know about today. He was blessed with the gift of prophecy and spent his time writing what was to come. If he had simply shared whatever he knew about today, Micheal knows they could have prevented the rebellion. He knows that he could have convinced Lucifer to stay somehow. Instead, he was left to face his own brother on the battlefield. He could still recall the cold eyes Lucifer had looked at him with as if they barely knew one another. That sight would never leave the darkest parts of his mind.

“You are blinded by your pain, Micheal.” She removed her hand from his shoulders and moved to stand over Simeon, “He is clearly as much our brother as ever. If he were against us he would have joined Lucifer, but Father has deemed that he is still worthy of his halo. Is that not enough for you?”

Micheal chuckled darkly before answering, “Uriel nearly lost an arm and he’s one of the lucky ones.” Even with so few numbers on their side, the rebellion had a gifted Dominion that made the most of their small force.

“And everyone harmed will heal, but we gain nothing in dividing ourselves further, and our brother has already been punished for his transgressions.” She took a knee before Simeon, reaching out her hand and running her fingers through his silken hair, “Will you not put our brother’s worries at ease, Simeon?”

Simeon knew the threat in those words. As kind as Gabriel pretended to be, she was someone he feared far more than Micheal. Not because she was stronger, but because she knew exactly how to most hurt those who upset her. As such, he had no interest in declining her wish, even if what she was asking for was for him to show his shame.

He took a deep breath before unfurling his wings behind him. They shimmered golden in the neverending light of the Celestial Realm, a blessing bestowed upon him by their Father that reflected his very essence. Every angel had such a blessing; different colors, shapes, a range of sizes, and lays of their feathers all differed from angel to angel all dependent on their Father’s grace. That included how high in their Father’s favor they were, and it was obvious at a glance just how out of favor Simeon had fallen. His six beautiful wings, the blessing afforded to all Seraphim, had been reduced to a simple two.

Gabriel’s eyes filled with pity for him but Micheal’s face twisted in glee and disdain, “Is that all? You betray us and all Father does is reduce your rank.” The laugh that left his throat was so dry that it sounded like it hurt, “You must really be beloved to get off with such a light sentence.” If it was up to Micheal himself, Simeon would face the same punishment as Lilith.

“Still your anger, Micheal. As you can see, Father has spoken.” She raised to her feet once more, her nails pulling painfully at Simeon’s hair as she stepped away from him, “Simeon is still of our kind and as one of our subordinates it is our duty to shepherd him.”

A wicked smile crossed Micheal’s face as he continued to look down on Simeon and his now unsightly form that marked his betrayal, “You may be correct, Gabriel. It is only right that we guide lost sheep, especially those of our own flock.”