#spent a year and some change on this slightly buff wet cat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugar-petals · 6 years ago

Text

Boss Witch (m)

PAIRING ⇁ jimin x reader

WORD COUNT ⇁ 6.1k | smut, angst, action | 4-part series

SUMMARY ⇁ Jimin, the clumsy apprentice of a mighty sorceress, becomes a sudden gentleman-in-jeopardy.

warnings ⚠️ sexual use of magic, subby jimin, dom!reader, breath & power play, swearing, graphic description, mommy kink, painslut!jimin, begging, TW blood, crying, choking

↳ NOTE: i am vastly obsessed with abandoned buildings, that ended up being the inspiration for the story.

There's an unusually low cloud forming over the amusement park.

It's so massive and dark that the towers of the rollercoaster disappear.

Lightning in the distance makes it hard to focus on any work. The wind had been tough on the rugged buntings in the garden all day, but you've never seen a storm front as gigantic as this one.

Last year, a cyclone passed the Northern area of the city, but the sky had been grey — not black all over. The rain comes once the sun has vanished completely, and outside there's nothing but darkness.

You worry about Jimin.

He's out there playing. Maybe collecting something like you told him earlier.

In any other case, you would simply close the blinds and read. But now that the lightning approaches, you're uneasy in your seat at the window.

By the time you pace around imagining how he tries to get home, but ends up cornered by heavy rain and thunder, the decision is set. You'll go out there and get him yourself.

After kicking off your shoes, you crank the door open and step outside barefoot.

The rain lands anywhere but on your gown.

Both towers of the rollercoaster loom afar, engulfed by mist already. You know it will get worse, so you hasten your steps.

Mud is everywhere. All grass is gone. The wind tousles your hair more every time much like the rain is becoming relentless, turning the mud into grimy water with chunks of wood in it. So far, the trees elsewhere didn't survive this very well like they usually would.

The park might not have trees, but you can still tell by the wind that this is not nature's work.

It's too strong, too cutting. It doesn't sound normal, either.

Judging by the scale of the cloud, it must overarch the majority of the city. But the focal point appears to be right above.

Jimin is nowhere to be seen or heard, how could he be. Crawling haze emerges from the ground and booming thunder resound from every direction. You browse the shooting galleries and run-down rococo carousel.

Not a trace. No melody, no movement. Only the gushing of rain creates a rhythm on the carousel's roof of painted metal.

You call for him twice now, but no answer returns from the obscure plaza.

The arcade and the casino are empty, too. Instead, most of their ground floor is completely flooded. The doors have remained intact which comes to your surprise.

But a lot of window frames, flags, chairs, and tables are splayed out demolished all around. A slot machine tipped over in another corner, and playing snooker would mean getting one's knees horrendously wet.

A dozen teddy bears float on top of the water elsewhere. Some small, some oversized. Grey stuffing peaks out of their ripped up bellies.

You leave the patio of the arcade devastated yourself. Had Jimin only been inside on the first floor saying he had forgotten time.

What if he's trapped somewhere.

A myriad of other questions pose themselves while you turn to search the restrooms, but pick up a creaking noise before you can get there. It's a dull and lifeless tone that makes you turn.

It came from the Ferris wheel.

Please, not there. He can't be up there. He'll die.

You shout.

"Where are you?"

Silence. Only thunder continues. The mist obfuscates the entire scene by now while a sole wayward lantern by the restroom door brings a bit of clarity. The rain pounds against the side of the building and it becomes deafening, but still: Your coat remains dry.

Merely the cold reaches your finger tips, but doesn't dare to venture any further. What is does instead is make the mud a lot stiffer underneath your feet.

You proceed to the wheel following the lantern's ray, walking the path as if it was by fate or design.

A voice, then, reaches your ear when the wind turns.

"Mom!"

It's his. You can't identify the direction.

"Jimin! Come!"

The creaking noise is back.

"Help me, mommy!"

His scream reverberates in the darkness. Something is off. It must be the wheel, it can't be anything else.

There's one antique red cabin dangling close to the peak where you can see a little arm waving. Its movement is so frantic that you have to look twice.

The Ferris wheel has only sixteen capsules and it had to be this one right at the top. You told him not to climb around there.

Again, you can hear him.

"Stuck—!"

The wind swallows the other words. But it's already obvious what the problem is.

You extend your left index finger. Pointed at the wheel, you assume the familiar position. Two feet planted firmly on the ground, shoulder's width. Right palm on the heart to connect with its beat.

The words are deliberate even if the wind carries them far past the horizon.

"Bend to my will."

Another creak. Several ones, this time. The steel, even though it hesitates, ends up following the circular motion of your hand. Even if it rattles and churns, the wheel moves. Slowly.

You can feel how heavy the iron is in your chest. The red gondola approximates about half past the peak that the entire plaza is engulfed in an uproar.

You can't see anything. It's too bright. Panic.

Then, the familiar black sky returns.

The distraction interrupted your movement. So now, the wheel is starting to spin dangerously fast. Without your control, the impetus starts having a shrieking and droning mind of its own.

Jimin's voice oscillates back and forth in your ears pleading.

It's a desperate cry, and you can't see where it's coming from anymore.

The red color of the capsule blends with green, blue, yellow, purple, into nothing short of a grey blur on the plaza.

Twenty years spent and it all ends. Now you're going to lose him.

You only have one last idea.

If it fails, he's dead faster. If it works—

Snap go your fingers, twice. Within seconds, a fuzzy white dot flies across the patio. An arch so high the cloud tangents, a plunge so steep that all you feel is an immediate sting of regret. As if in contempt, the wheel just keeps spinning. It sneers.

Failure.

With a heavy heart, you head to the one feasible spot assuming the dot landed there after plummeting straight to the ground behind the casino. It's almost been an hour since you left the place at the window. Still, the rain won't stop. It didn't work.

This is your heaviest loss so far.

The lantern merely flickers at this point. It makes the patio feel darker than the gruesome cloud. A singular puddle comes into your focus, seeing how something had disrupted the area. Nothing moves. There is no life as you expected, just a pile of dirt, wood, and rusty chairs. But as you step close, there is a sign. Just a small movement.

Now, you hurry, elated. Only to pry a mewling cat from a puddle just beside the arcade, stained in mud from tail to paw, gyrating — thankfully. Whatever you did missed the spot, but still, it lives. It really does. Just as planned, the cat landed on all fours.

It clings to you in an instance and curls up shivering. Impossible to tell whether of freight or cold, both even. You just want to hold it close forever. Ten, eleven, twelve, how many times do you roam your hands over its legs and backbone to feel if everything is where it should be. What every book of yours would call implausible has happened right before your eyes.

The Ferris wheel gradually slows its pace while you turn to walk past the casino, cat tucked neatly inside your cloak, back to where you came from through the storm. Lightning illuminates the way, but the park is all too familiar already. There's a deep purr at your chest, tail peaking out at an opening between two of the silver buttons lined up at the front of the black garment. How bizarre this is already, but now you're walking home with a feline in your cleavage, barefoot, with a coat so warm and dry that it might have been inside on its cozy hanger all the time.

The theatre is still standing at least. It's audible from the outside that the shabby 1960s piano plays a melody on its own in the foyer. Chopin, Nocturne in E-flat major. The sound subsides around the first half because a few keys are missing.

After passing the box office, you open the doors to the familiar scent of corrosion and moth powder backstage. Both kicked-off shoes are right where you left them, but you won't bother putting them on again.

Maybe you can get used to the air in here one day. It's always just the difference of returning from outside to the inside that you notice it. Jimin has tried so many things to change it, but to no avail. Gladly, the bathroom is somewhat neutral in its smell when you enter.

Mewling again, the tomcat scrambles to stay in your arms, but the tub is already filling with water. You plant the ragged fur ball in the middle where there's foam crowning the surface ever so slightly.

You make sure that the water won't rise too much and stick a hand in, checking for temperature. It's hard to estimate given how the chilling wind outside has numbed your fingers, but the fur ball stays in place without complaints as long as your hand lingers nearby and stirs the bubbles. Only thunder makes it wince. A soft sponge comforts it, having you buff both cheeks and belly with care until some of the mud comes off.

It doesn't take long until the foam piles up left and right. It's time, you decide, and two more snaps of your fingers turn the cat's purr into a fuller timbre. The fur flattens, the legs get bigger. They branch out into more muscular limbs while the tail coils up and then disappears. Both pointed ears turn into rounded, dainty ones. Paws tainted by mud give way to petite toes. Long and thick black hair sprouts where once cropped fur stood upright soiled. Front paws elongate into beringed fingers framed by the seam of an old parka.

Once the transformation is completed, you get a giant towel from a wobbly bronze tray at the sink. Not giant giant, but still rather large. You let the water rise again until a lethargic Jimin is completely soaked and hugged by foam. A bit more scrubbing with the sponge and you think he might have found his words again. It always takes a couple minutes.

You sit down at the edge of the tub and work half a palm of herbal shampoo through his hair.

"Everything okay?" you ask, facing two dark and twinkling eyes from behind the bubbly mountains.

Downcast, Jimin murmurs as if not to drown out the rain by his volume.

"Won't do that again."

The neutral scent in the bathroom gradually changes to something more flowery. It's got a bit of basil and thyme in it, too. The theatre's walls still shake under a few oncoming gusts of wind, but none of the cold air manages to creep inside just now. Jimin ends up purring a bit under the circling and twirling motions of your fingers, but catches himself in the act.

"Lightning hit the casino," you wipe away some of the grime on his face. "Sorry for messing up the bending spell. Your nose's bloody here. Hurts?"

"Tissue will do, it's not broken. And you didn't mess up much, really."

Jimin kind of likes trying out a heat charm on himself when you sit down with him to watch TV. The air magic book is lost on you, but after teaching him how to read it, Jimin has acquired a fair lot of spells. A little spark alights between his fingers when he says the words, remembering to place one hand on his bottom lip while guiding the warmth with the other.

You watch from the oaken armchair with fairy faces carved on its sides, faces who had seen three generations of witches pass it on. Jimin warms up his clothes and hair while your favorite show runs, one of the older episodes when the cast was funnier and the wit more sophisticated.

The tube TV is buzzing in the old enameled cupboard where you keep most of all books and two backup crystal balls. One having less density, the other more solid but less polished which would always turn out to be a nuisance. Well, there is a reason they are backups.

You placed them close to the television hoping they would improve the ever-so-shitty signal anyways. Knowing the theatre was fairly remote and the park generally as desolate as it could be, perhaps a bit of magic would give technology a hand and the five available channels would follow suit.

Jimin still preferred the cauldron, and you doubted he could use level three magic to get even the low density one to work.

He's on the chunky suede sofa, a makeshift handkerchief twirled into his nostrils. All busy moaning about how the clouds block the usually splendid view to the countryside. You got him tea before emptying the pockets of his parka, one of his favorite jasmine blends. The pockets are quite heavy, making you wonder where he had been around the funfair to collect their contents.

"Look. These are good." You align a couple of empty snail shells on your lap. "Almost too many, really."

"Could've spent less time out there, I guess."

Jimin is chewing on the inside of his cheek, staring outside the window. You go on crushing the shells in a mortar, but leave one particularly beautiful specimen untouched on your lap.

"I'll let that slide. But next time you come home from the carousel, you'll be early as usual, Jimin, 8PM. I've never been this worried since 800 years."

"I'm sorry, mom. And thank you."

Mom. You had always found it funny when he called you that at first. Or odd, if you admitted it. That was never the plan. You thought of more fitting alternatives for him to use, but after he persisted, that too you would let slide. If it would give him peace and certainty, then you'd bat two eyes instead of one.

"The Weather Witch Directorate. They are experimenting again, it seems."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Tell them that Fridays are a bad time to cast a thunder charm at the next best occasion!"

"Well fuck, what are they up to?"

"When magic is out of balance, it needs a discharge."

He's scrunching his nose at that.

"Discharge? I thought someone just has a grudge!"

"They wouldn't dare. And why make such a huge storm front all over the city just to tease us. You can't imagine the effort this took. That needs at least nineteen witches. All Level four or four and a half, something like that."

"That's true."

"I'm not so unpopular either recently. Haven't heard anyone complain about the adoption for quite a long time. I think a lot of them really like you. They heard you're making progress."

You put away the mortar covered with the ground shells inside and get a little leather string to attach to the one shell that's left. You give it to Jimin and he puts it around his neck.

"Should you ever be in danger again, touch the pendant. I'll feel it. What were you doing in the gondola, anyways? You didn't see the black clouds coming, from up there? Jimin, you're one of the best junior magicians I've ever seen. You couldn't possibly overlook it."

He bats his eyes now. The strands of his hair fall into his face so you can't see his expression. He doesn't bother brushing them behind his ear like he usually does. They're dry already.

"What's wrong, Jiminie?"

He fumbles with the hem of his jeans.

"I was a bit... uh, lonely."

"Taemin's always here for the weekends. And Fridays!"

"I don't want to play with him."

"You don't like Taemin anymore?"

"No, that's not what I mean. You wouldn't understand."

"Jimin, what have you been doing on the wheel? Remember what we have here."

"Honesty policy."

"So?"

"Err, I got a bit carried away doing something. I'm sorry."

"Something?"

He mumbles into the curtain of his hair so you can't hear.

"What, who put up a shelf?"

He repeats, louder, voice shaky.

"No. I was... touching myself."

Jimin swallows hard.

"Why would you completely forget about the damn world around you! It's not so hard, jerking off or not!"

"It, it was hard. Like the book said."

That book. Sexual Education for Young Wizards Volume 3. A 560 pages strong encyclopedia that was initially circulated as a joke among some witches, but gained huge popularity.

It ended up being rewritten in earnesty, with more demand even asking for a third volume. Which was the one you decided would be best to pick to spare him from the awkwardness of the second or first volume. It wasn't just for born wizards, but also gifted human practitioners. You locked some chapters in his rendition with a guardian spell, but masturbation wasn't among them. It was quite a large chapter with tips and tricks, including charms for stamina, chastity, and a separate section detailing all of female masturbation, too, and how one could assist it.

You completely forgot about the book after giving it to him some time ago. He brought up this and that in conversation, but mostly you were sure the text was extensive enough to cater to each query he had save the later chapters. The ones with asphyxiation and getting stepped on. You sort of left him to his own devices after the questions stopped, and knew he would try things he liked responsibly. Nothing of concern had happened. Until today.

"Jimin. I meant it wasn't difficult to just keep an eye on the weather even if you got carried away."

"I was too... focused."

"Were you using one of the Level two spells?"

He nods.

"For witches' sake!"

Nobody writing that book would have figured how 'responsible' magic would be rendered useless once it wasn't practiced in the safety of one's sheets but on top of a Ferris wheel. Level two is relatively harmless magic as long as one would wield it on the ground. But height ultimately wouldn't do any charm, well, any good. Especially within a thunderstorm of Level 4 sorcery.

"Why, out of all places, there?" you ask.

"I thought it's where you couldn't hear me."

Your face immediately falls into a deadpan.

"Do I care if you groan in your room about Taemin? You can do whatever you want, Jiminie. I don't judge. Unless it kills you, do you get me?"

"It wasn't Taemin."

Now you just blink at him.

"What's with that, it wasn't Taemin?"

"I went there because I caught myself saying something else."

"Which was?"

"Your name."

"What!"

"And, that thing. Cho, um, choking. When I think about you... doing it, I get too loud and my spells turn out a little, I don't know, weird."

Now you realize. The guardian spells in the book were timed ones.

They would fade when he would turn a certain age, or vanish once he unlocked them by practicing a previous chapter until completion.

Knowing Jimin, he would do it in record time to disable the majority of the locks. The new, heavier last chapters might have made him feel a bit reckless. And remembering how Jimin worked the cauldron in your presence for the first time even, he would get into detail bit by bit.

But could you blame him. You picked the book for him to study, you installed the guardian spells so that they could be altered just by how ambitious one was. Sexual charms were part of the course on bio magic that Jimin desperately wanted to know about. And he was turning 20.

The age where any apprentice would get seriously interested in a witch or wizard. But given that there was nobody else around and Taemin's flirting apparently went past him—

"Your spells get weird, what happened?

"It felt better than when I usually do it."

"When you thought about you, me, I mean. Me, me choking, uh, you?"

"Yes. Why are you sweating?"

"Jimin, that's..."

"Hey, honesty policy!" he chirps.

"That's a longer story."

"You have to tell it. I did my part."

"It's about my ability. Not the spells, my natural skill. The one I told you needs no charms to cast."

At that, his eyes light up like charcoal glimmers in the morning ash at the cauldron.

"Wow, really? I never saw you exercising it!"

"It's because I am capable of something that nobody likes, Jimin."

"But, didn't you say everyone is talented at doing some kind of good magic?"

"The reverse is true, too."

"Oh..."

"I happen to be that person with a natural skill of it. Have you ever wondered why we don't interact with other magicians and mortals?"

"Come on, Taemin should still count!"

"He's just our delivery boy."

"But he used to do magic! He told me so many times!"

"Before the hand accident. Taemin barely belongs in either category now. He's not human like you. And he's not a sorcerer. His magic is completely, say... neutralized. It's rare."

That it would put him squarely in the middle was the only reason why he could drop by, and that was hard to come to terms with. Anybody else wouldn't do so well setting foot in the park.

"I only communicate long-distance with witches and wizards", you add. "My magic is too disturbing for those who are sensitive to sorcery. Meaning, all people."

"Why? It's not disturbing, that's not you. But, it must be powerful, isn't it?"

"Surely is."

"I knew it! I knew it! How does it work, then?"

He comes over from the sofa and props down next to your calves like he was still in cat form. Jimin coos, nestling with the long seam of your coat.

"Don't mess around here now, Jimin. I wanna go on watching TV."

"Mommy, please show me how it works. Honesty, remember!"

"I've prepared your bed long ago. There's more tea in the kitchen, too. Take that with you. I demonstrate it when I think that the time is right."

"Please, I'm dying to know! And everyone who doesn't follow the policy has to clean the toad's pond on Mondays!"

You sigh, store away the snail shell powder. Jimin gets his parka back and uses a floating charm to bring the teapot into the living room. This time, he doesn't spill a single drop. Outside, the thunder is still rumbling.

You fill an embellished purple cup with the tea and recline in the armchair, causing one of the fairy faces to utter a little giggle before falling silent again.

"There's a special reason why I was elected head of the Witch Council."

"I know, you're the boss! And why, then? Special?"

"My magic is the most potent among all governing witches. But also the most dangerous and harmful. When the Council meets, only my projection is there to advise the other sorceresses. I can't get closer than ten miles. The power imbalance would be too severe."

There is a reason why the cloud is the darkest over the park and not elsewhere. That is, right above your heads. Discharge.

"I am by birth the only witch able to use what is referred to as: pain magic."

"Pain magic?"

"Full range, Level five and possibly above."

Lightning strikes one tower of the rollercoaster. The foundation of the theatre echoes it long after.

"Level five! What, what does it do?"

"Well, it hurts. Anything."

"And how?"

"I adhere to the codex, I cannot tell nor demonstrate that to a mortal."

"I'm not a mortal anymore, you taught me how to use my talents!"

"The codex also says that gifted people are exempt. It doesn't matter which Level they can exercise."

"What's the reason for it?"

"It's not so difficult. All the codex does is protect you."

"How patronizing it that!"

"Matronizing, if anything. The rule was made by witches."

"I know, but I wanted to see how it looks like! Please, please, it sounds amazing!"

Jimin's curiosity. It'll be the death of him.

You pick up the teapot and take out the little sieve attached inside, placing the tea leaves in your palms. As they settle, all green fades only to be replaced by brown, then grey. Jimin stares with his mouth agape.

"My magic finds a living thing's, a person's weak spot and torments it indefinitely. It draws out life energy. Since it's my natural skill, I can't just seal it away or not use it. It works with bare hands and never stops. No spell can inhibit it either. It's just about keeping it as low level as possible, which I can do."

"Really, no spell?"

"These are magic tea leaves, right?"

"Yeah, sure?"

"You would need to use a complex bio magic charm to disintegrate them like this. But I didn't do much now."

Jimin extends his hand for you to place the remaining two crumbs of the leaves in it.

"Is that all that's really left...?"

"Have you ever noticed how no plant is growing around here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Most wildlife in this area is sensitive to pain magic, too. I kill nature wherever I go, seeds mould away when I walk. Even rain won't touch me. There is no way of doing anything against it. When you said choking..."

"I thought—"

"It reminded me of how much I could hurt you, Jimin."

"But mom, can't you touch me?"

"That's the paradox. You are the only person I know who didn't wane. It is no coincidence you're my first ever apprentice. You're gifted, but that's not really why. But sure, it may be one of the reasons. I always thought it had something to do with that."

"I don't get it, that you can touch me?"

"I would guess so. A normal human would collapse. That's why I keep everyone at a distance. I was fortunate you came my way. I'd never try to purposefully show my skill to you because of it. Whatever the full range might be, because nobody really knows."

The tea has turned cold. Jimin doesn't bother with the heat spell. Instead, he hugs your legs from where he sits. It's not as expected, the embrace is hardly suave like a cat's now. He's really plump, his arms are big. He trains a lot.

He holds up his arm again, the crumbled tea leaves falling off his hand.

"I still want you to show me. If it's as low as possible now and I don't feel it..."

"The problem is, my character changes."

"Ooh, exciting!"

"It's not."

He rolls up his sleeve.

"I've known you for so long. I really trust you. Use it as punishment for me staying out too long."

You tug at the cuffs of your coat, thinking. The codex doesn't encourage it. But it also doesn't forbid it either. And if he pleads for it to get even?

A fairy snickers from the back of the chair, making the armrests vibrate. You want it to shut up, but it keeps on chortling anyway.

Well. Honesty policy doesn't just mean honest words. Honest actions, too. It's not because Jimin is very good at convincing you if you already ponder the option.

Finally, you exhale.

"I need your chest bare. It hurts the least when there is heart magic to counteract."

"Isn't heart magic what you always use?"

"Yes, even today with the wheel. It might be a bit depleted, at least I hope so. That actually helps."

"Let's do this!"

"Slow it, there's a whole process behind that. Remember your new pendant instead."

You unclothe him noticing how well he had cast the heat charm even if he dresses like... a walking onion with a gazillion layers. The parka, then his denim jacket first. He got it downtown the other day, and has not left it at home since. It has a lot of whimsical pockets all over so Jimin can keep a couple of feathers, stones, and petite flasks with potions inside. He keeps it all organized unlike his room where he refuses to throw out the pile of props and mirrors.

No, this jacket is the complete opposite indeed. Underneath, as always, is the cashmere sweater that had been your gift for his 19th birthday. It had been a small party, but Jimin would let confetti rain from his sleeves by accident because he got so excited.

Even if it's already starting to wear out at the hems, even if the cashmere is close to turn into actual felt because the surface had to handle so much friction from other clothes, he will refuse to get a new one. "I'll wear it until it falls apart". It's a bit tricky to pull it over his head because the long hair gets in the way.

And Jimin loves his tin-forged jewelry, the leather strings and beads and crystals. The new necklace, too. They all stay on because you like how they look around his neck, and adorn his chest alongside the tattoos. Not that he'd ever put them off anyways.

The tissue that you pull from his nose is almost spotless, but you're too nervous to take note of it.

When Jimin's last tank top and the TV is off, eventually you can clear the area from the armchair, the table, also shoving the sofa a few inches back toward the wall. He reclines to lie down on the carpet with the weaved-in flat gems, mostly quartz, jade, and agate. His hair fans out on the carpet like a halo, even wavering a bit to intertwine with the woven threads.

That's what he taught himself the other day just for fun. More air magic, of course. The majority of the witches in the council say that their apprentices would rather mingle in bars to get roaring drunk on potion and booze instead of advancing to Level two and finding interesting things to do in abandoned amusement parks.

Observing his breath, his smooth torso, you see how Jimin freezes a little. He does well wearing at least five layers each day. But now, you wouldn't dare to make him use a heat charm. Instead, you kiss his forehead as you would do when singing lullabies for him. Back then, he was still at Level one and couldn't climb on the carousel.

"Are you sure?"

"M-hm!"

"Keep your arms on the carpet if possible, okay. Stay grounded."

There's not much more preparation necessary. You concentrate the lowest dose on one thumb. But it's hard to focus it there. It simply flows. The spot where you tattooed him at the center of his chest is where you graze the tip of the finger ever so languidly. It's the image of a sailing boat, facing the horizon sun and parting waves without effort.

It was an honorary tattoo eventually approved by the Council, lending Jimin better ability to channel heart magic. He was already very good at it when you carved it into him with a wand. He said it didn't hurt one bit leaving everyone astonished. Again, you knew he was the only person.

But now that you raise the frequency of the pain, even he would feel it. You are sure. Nobody was ever safe. Even Taemin would often say he'd get a massive headache after spending an afternoon at the amusement park, gone in a second the minute he came home. You knew Jimin would be no different. But still, you place the thumb over his heart. Right where the anchor of the sailing boat is, dangling by a heavy chain.

Jimin contorts on the carpet in growing convulsions. He's crying blood. All of his hair wets again because the heat charm reverses, and roughens against the carpet in frizzy, trickling strands. You try to bend down to soothe him, caressing his cheeks, his arms, his sides in desperation. But a mighty impulse takes over. The energy keeps on streaming through your hands without mercy. Trying to hoist him up is a mistake, a grave one. You only see his pained expression becoming stronger.

He is fighting against the heavy stab trying to clasp his chest. It had been of no use to tell him: stay grounded. The mud reemerges on his hands and face, a large brown patch on his arm where he spilled red hot potion on five years ago. You know why. He has to use up all his energy to resist, and all other charms must break. He cries and cries, and the carpet goes into creases before you when he curls himself up sidewards.

You won't fight for much longer, motherfucker.

There's that voice inside you. The dreaded voice. You hate it. All the time you had hoped it would not emerge again. You shouldn't have agreed to lay a hand on Jimin even the tiniest bit in the first place. He's still winding and sobbing. You want to hold him so bad now, but your hands are in paralysis. You realize: they pierced his heart.

Hurt him. More.

You want the voice to go.

That's not even a quarter of what he can take.

You didn't hear it for almost three decades. The memory was the only thing you wanted to take into the new century. And that was already hard to bear enough.

But it keeps on speaking.

Punish the shit out of him. He deserves it. Mess him up, put that thumb down again. He begs and jerks off to you, what more can you want. He got so loud. Imagine that in your own bed.

No. Jimin is in so much pain. You won't do anything. You won't touch him, not even once.

You think it's a coincidence he likes choking? Your boy has good intuition. He already knows what your hands are capable of. He wants it bad.

You snap your fingers twice, but nothing happens. Jimin remains on the carpet as he is. A hastened calming charm — too, is useless, leaving your hands empty where you would usually see a russet squirrel emerge to hop around the place, chanting and prancing until the situation had resolved itself. In the meantime, Jimin begins to salivate on the carpet with his eyes rolling back into their reddened sockets. You turn to get out of the room. Run, run as far as possible. If even bio magic doesn't work, there is no hope.

You only want to run because you, you! You think it hurts him. Does it, really? Face the truth. You'd chokefuck him any minute for the thrill.

Past the sofa, the armchair.

Like a rag doll.

Past the table, the cupboard.

Remember, you wrote the book yourself.

Even further. You need to run further. Escape from the theatre even when the world outside is a puddle of dirt, ripped up teddy bears, and more dirt.

Didn't you tattoo him in that spot just because you like his collarbones? Why did you give him all these necklaces? You're 900 years old. But still a virgin cause no dick on the entire planet could survive a second inside of you. And on that floor? The single most able boy to get your horny ass off. What are you going to do about it? You're perfectly clear about what you REALLY want.

The voice is now booming inside your brain like thunder. When you get to the door and press its brass handle, the volume is a staggering crescendo, almost unbearable. Your hands remain buzzing with energy. The room is upside down. It's all tilted. The TV switches itself back on again, but only shows a blacked out screen while a brittle voice presents the news from yesterday. More people have diabetes. Another dead person after a wizard couldn't tame a charm. Good weather forecast only. The lotto numbers are 27, 3, 18—

Chopin plays in the foyer again.

The crystal balls burst in their spots, sending splinters darting through the room. The teapot shatters to dust, rendered a cloud of ground china. Jimin's saliva pools at the ceiling while the voice drowns everything in an ugly shriek.

What are you going to do about it!

Until you hear Jimin cough. Several times, and it's bloody.

"Mom, mom. Don't leave me. Fuck me, please, mom. Fuck me, fuck me..."

Told you so.

— Sequel parts linked in masterlist.

838 notes · View notes