#but this has been brewing on the back burners for a while now

[winters-dream]

A pair of feet crunched down on dead leaves as I trudged through the forest, the earth silent save for my walking. It was typical of me to stray away from my clan and walk around the border of the territory. The Clan Elders didn’t mind, they actually encouraged my outings as I served as an extra “guard” at preventing trespassers—especially werewolves. 

The demons that created vampires and werewolves thousands of years ago held a deep hatred for one another, a hatred that ran so deep it became part of the monsters’ biology. Their hatred for one another was pure monstrous instinct. This instinct was so strong, the mere mention of a werewolf could quiet a whole room of vampires in anger. And I had no doubt werewolves felt no different about us.

Footsteps that weren’t my own distracted me from my thoughts and I quickly jumped up the closest tree near me. I quietly landed on one of the thick branches of the tree, my senses more alert to quickly track down who was there. I made sure I was well hidden with the surrounding branches as I saw someone wandering around, slowly stepping closer to the tree.

Human. What was a human doing all the way out here? And so close to the border of my territory? Whatever they were doing, they were about to be in for a rude awakening. Vampires didn’t take much of a liking towards humans either, they were like annoying little pests. Vampires tell them to leave and they come back with more of them to show us off like we’re zoo exhibits.

It had boiled down to making examples out of a few of them and killing some to keep them away. It caused a rise in vampire hunters, but it made humans keep their distance for the most part, which the vampires liked.

The human wandered around aimlessly for ten minutes, I had secretly hoped they’d just go away on their own. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for draining an innocent person of their blood, but after a few minutes they were still there and getting too close to the edge of my territory. A strong wind rushed about the air and the human’s scent hit me like a train. This person wasn’t human at all. They were something else. Something foul and evil. My natural worst enemy.

A werewolf. 

A hiss left my mouth as I jumped from my spot in the tree, my feet hitting the ground without a sound. The werewolf turned to face me, a growl sounding deep from their chest.

“Who do you think you are, prancing around the edge of my clan?”

The werewolf snarled, their piercing amber eyes filled with the same hate and disgust I felt in my own chest. I tensed, ready to fend this intruder off when something about the werewolf changed.

Their gaze softened. Their eyes still held that same disgust, but less. There was also some confusion and shock mixed in as well. And they’d dropped their stance, now standing with their arms limp at their side and their body leaning forward. Like they were being pulled to me with an invisible string. And what shocked me the most was the single word that fell from their lips.

“Mate.”

I looked at them in bewilderment. What was this person on about? How could two species destined to hate each other be mates?

“What?” I asked, hoping for a bit of clarification.

“We’re mates,” they said. “Can’t you feel it?” They took a few steps towards me, stopping when I hissed at them.

“Don’t come near me,” I said. “I don’t know what trick you’re trying to play here, but I feel nothing. It’s impossible anyway, why would the universe fate a vampire with a werewolf? We’re bound by nature to hate each other.”

The werewolf took another hesitant step towards me, ignoring the hateful stare I sent them. “But I know what I feel, look at me.”

They grabbed a hold of my shoulders, forcing me to make eye contact with them, the one way to find who your soulmate is. Their first time soulmates meet eyes, something in their brain just unlocks. The world seems to stop, everything falls into place. A sense of completion washes over them, a wonderful feeling that many have failed to put into words.

And I felt it. I wanted to throw up.

The werewolf must have noticed, their head nodded and a small hopeful smile slowly spread over their face. “You feel it.”

I shook my head, violently. I backed away, a horrible feeling twisting in my gut. My mind and heart were at war with each other, my instincts telling me to kill the creature in front of me. My heart longing to wrap my arms around them and wipe the hurt look off their face. I didn't know what to do.

“I can’t—I don’t—” I didn’t know what to say. “I have to go.”

I was gone in a flash, racing through the woods. Not stopping until I slammed the door shut to my home. I slid down the door and landed in a crouching position. My chest ached from the distance I put between us. 

I wanted to go back. Find my soulmate, wrap my arms around them, hold them close. Suffocate my natural instincts screaming at me to kill them. Shove them down and push past the deep rooted hate and rejoice in finding the one the universe fated me to be with. 

I was restless for the rest of the night, my thoughts clouded with my soulmate. I couldn’t wait until morning, I had to see them again. I didn’t even know if they’d be there still, but I had to go. Had to see them again. 

I ran out into the forest, headed back to the same spot I’d found them. To no surprise they weren’t there. I ventured further, searched for hours. I found them trudging alongside a stream, a sigh of relief falling from my chest at the sight of them. So stunning. So beautiful.

They turned around, probably sensing my presence. They smiled and I swear my heart did a backflip.

“Are you ready to accept me?” they asked. I couldn’t say no if my life depended on it.

#personally i hate the concept of soulmates #that you have no choice in who you end up spending the rest of your life with #the idea that you need someone else to be with you to be complete? #no thanks #it takes away your sense of free will #and there's nothing you can do about it #you have no control over it #i hate that #but this has been brewing on the back burners for a while now #so i'm posting it here to get it out of my mind #writing #my own #vampire #werewolf #vampires and werewolves #mate #soulmates #enemies to soulmates #enemies to lovers #fate #vampirism #lycanthropy #imagines #oneshot #fantasy #monster lover #sorry for the rant

[haveyouseenherlately]

thinking about riding Matty while his hands are tied behind his back yummy yummy monday evening thoughts

oh my god anon, thank you for this.

are you in my head? because this is something i've been wanting to chat about regarding soft subby bf matty but haven't gone around to doing a proper blurb so here are some ramblings that i hope make sense. it's just a run-on stream of consciousness thing with no formatting and no real ending. i also got too carried away so it is a longer one lol

warning: 18+, smut, reader is upset. grammatical errors, typos.

other bf matty blurbs & rambles here.

okay, so imagine you just got home from a fucking awful day of work. freaking debbie from accounting is back at it, making your job impossible and a living hell. who knows what her problem is. anyway. right away when you enter the apartment you are greeted by the scent of a delicious pasta that your dear bf matty is preparing because he's one damn good cook (it's canon for him, lol). you go to the kitchen and sit at the bar, watching as matty whips up the alfredo sauce which is your favourite. matty greets you without looking at first because he's too focused on getting the proper cheese to cream ratio for the sauce, but once he does, he knows right away that something's off.

bad day, huh?

you make some sort of confirming grunt before you rest your forehead on the cold marble countertop. because your head is down, you don't notice the sad expression on matty's face; he cares about you too much so anytime you're feeling down he cannot help but feel upset, too. he takes one last taste of the sauce (perfect!) before he pulls it off the fire and places it on a trivet. as much as he loves cooking and prepping dinner for you, he wants to make you feel better. so the pasta can wait. bless him.

he takes off his denim apron (which has a drawing of a rooster on the front, for some reason...) before heading over to your side. you feel the warm palm of his hand rub your back in the gentlest of ways while his other grabs your hand. c'mon darling. you raise your head to finally look at your surroundings again only to realize that he stove burners are off and his apron is crumpled on the countertop.

matty, what about the food, i know you like finish-

don't worry about it, love, the food will still taste good later on. let's go.

you're not one to deny him, so you get off the stool and follow his lead as he takes you over to the living room, guiding you to both to sit on the sofa.

he asks about your day as he knows talking makes you feel better in these sort of occasions but it catches him off guard (and you as well, truly) when you just start sobbing uncontrollably as you recount your day. the stress and pressure has been building in your body that all you can really do is cry out of frustration. matty instantly brings you close so you're straddling him, arms wrapped tightly around you, trying to provide some sort of comfort as the tears just stream down your face soaking the fabric of his shirt. your head is buried in the crook of his neck, giving him access to gently kiss the skin of your exposed neck, continuously whispering it's okay, it's okay.

and everything is usually okay, but this time you cannot help but feel an overwhelming mixture of anger and exhaustion. it's bad enough that you've subconsciously grabbed fistfuls of your boyfriend's curly hair, and when you realize you're doing so, you instantly jerk away, apologizing profusely while more tears streak down your face.

oh no, i'm sorry. i'm so sor--

he urgently but carefully grabs your face between his hands, bringing his forehead against yours. it's okay, it's okay. everything feels like too much right now, that not even the sensation of his gentle fingers on your face can soothe whatever is brewing inside you.

and at that moment you cannot help but kiss him. hard, fast and hungrily. he whimpers against your lips at the shock of it all, but doesn't hesitate to kiss you back, letting you take the lead and set the pace. teeth clashing against each other, you bitting at his bottom lip, shoving your tongue in his mouth constantly. it's messy and aggressive but he doesn't stop you, only pulling away to catch your breath, looking down at the crumbled fabric of his now over stretched shirt clenched in between your fingers.

seeing his dishevelled state--red swollen lips, unruly hair, wrinkled top--is enough to edge you on to continue, now focusing on leaving marks all over his neck, around the several necklaces that he wears. there's nothing gentle about it, a sharp contrast as to how softly he's holding on to your waist. you lick, bite, suck at any skin that you find, leaving behind countless bruises along the way as he moans uncontrollably underneath you. your left hand is back on his hair, pulling at it so his neck is exposed, while your right one is aimlessly trying to unbutton his pants but failing miserably. god knows you're already frustrated enough, so you just grab one of matty's hands and bring it over to the front of his jeans so he can undo the pesky button and zipper himself. once he's done, he places your palm back at the top of his pants, giving him a mumbled thank you before you slide your fingers under the fabric of his boxers.

you waste no time and start stroking his cock as fast as you can, all while you desperately kiss him leaving you both breathless once more. because of your erratic pace, it doesn't take long for matty to begin losing control. you know he's getting near his climax because of the way his legs are starting to shake and how close he pulls your body against him. however, you're too deep in whatever trance has possessed over you, that you take your hand away as to not let him finish. not yet at least.

and before he says anything about it, you get off his lap and on to your feet, dragging him up with you so you can take off his pants and underwear completely. you instruct him to remove his shirt and you swear he's never done it faster in his life. instantly your lips are clashing against each other for the millionth time that night, giving you the chance to reach behind your head and undo the white silk scarf holding up your ponytail. again, you're not entirely sure what's taken over your mind and body, but before you know it, you tie matty's wrists behind his back.

you push him down on the couch, bitting your bottom lip and silently asking him if this is alright. the fucked out expression and small smile tugging at the corner of his lips is all the confirmation you need.

please.

you take off your soaked underwear but decide to keep your floral cotton dress on because you know it's his favourite. it's the least you can do for how you've been treating him. not that he minds; it's quite the opposite in fact. with each of your knees to his sides, you straddle him for the second time that night, grabbing his cock and guiding him to your cunt before you sink down and take him all at once.

and it fucking hurts. having him inside you without any foreplay is probably a stupid choice, but part of you hopes that the pain can help take away some of the anger and resentment built up in your body not only from that day, but weeks and months prior. more tears end up streaming down your face. from the pain or anger, you don't know. probably both.

hey, hey. love are you ok-?

you cover his mouth with your hand before he can say anything else, but you look at him and nod, glassy eyes assuring him that it is okay. he returns an understanding, soft look, and that's when you finally begin to move your hips, grinding hard against his dick so you can feel every single inch of him inside you. in that instant you see his brown eyes roll to the back of his head, mumbling a fuck against the palm of your hand. you work yourself up to a steady pace, switching between grinding and moving up and down his cock to hit that spot inside you which makes you delusional.

with your fingers still over his open mouth, you can hear his muffled moans, his spit now covering the palm of your hand and dripping down his chin. it's fucking obscene sight but one that you hope you'll never forget.

making sure that his eyes are on yours, you finally take the hand off his mouth. his gaze follows as you take your soaked fingers and guide them under your dress, your high pitched moans a clear sign that you have started to rub your clit.

oh my fucking god.

he snaps his head up to look at you with the most lustful yet loving expression on his face. the adoration radiating off him is too much for you to handle and you cannot help but smile, the first time you’d done so during that whole day. there is no more pain, no more tears, just pure pleasure running through your body, washing away the frustration.

thank you.

#sorry for ending it there #hope this makes some sense #bf matty blurb #anon asks #matty healy x reader #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fic #bf matty #matty healy smut #smutty asks #matty asks #bf matty asks

[sixeyescurseuser]

Thinking about a Spy AU where Geto retired to pursue a normal life, leaving everything he knew behind, including his closest partner-in-crime, Gojo. 

Satosugu always kept their relationship on the down low but everyone knew they were more than best friends. But being a spy took a lot of sacrifices. It was a lifestyle riddled with constant danger, and did not guarantee longevity nor personal fulfillment.

After Geto made the permanent decision to leave, Gojo kept in contact with him via secretive methods such as burner phones, documents disguised as ads, etc. Gojo himself had worked to become the leader of his team, consisting of their original team members plus a few new members.

Though he missed Suguru and thought about him every day, Gojo  never wanted to jeopardize the delicate life Geto has turned to. 

It isn’t until a critically important mission comes up that Gojo goes to seek Geto again after years of no contact. Gojo simply didn't trust anyone else. 

One day, Geto returns home and notices someone has broken in. He avoids entering through the front door, choosing to sneak in through the bathroom window instead.

No lights are on in the house. Geto just spots a vague silhouette of the person looking through his bookshelf and at the pictures on his walls.

Geto, quick on his feet, quickly tackles the unsuspecting intruder.

The culprit lets out an “OOF!!” and the two go tumbling to the ground.

Geto groans.

He recognizes that voice. Also the long legs that get tangled with his, and the familiar shape of Gojo’s body against his.

(Gojo let Geto tackle him for funsies, of course!)

After nearly giving Geto a heart attack, Gojo unloads story after story about his adventures to catch his (ex?) lover up. Geto listens while brewing himself tea and scrounging together leftovers to feed this menace.

Gojo pauses his storytelling and sneaks behind Geto to hug him from behind.

“Satoru?”

Gojo rests his cheek against Geto’s head.

“I missed you,” Gojo confesses.

Geto smiles.

“I missed you too, Satoru. I always do.”

Gojo exhales shakily at that. He squeezes Geto’s waist tighter, not that Geto minds.

“I didn’t just come here to visit, though I wish I could,” Gojo confesses, a bit guilty. “I have a favor to ask. And you can say no, of course. It’s- it’s a pretty big favor. But I don’t trust anyone else.”

Geto stops chopping the vegetables entirely.

“I already told Yaga no. Several times,” Geto states. Gojo nods from his position, anxiety gnawing at his heart.

Suddenly, Geto turns around. Their faces are so close, noses almost touching.

Geto searches Gojo’s face with furrowed eyebrows. Or maybe he’s finally taking in Gojo’s features in the light, having been separated for eight years now. 

Then, Geto’s eyes immediately soften.

“But if you ask, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you, Satoru.”

Gojo wears a pained expression. 

Geto cups his cheeks in hopes of soothing that pain.

“You don’t even know what I’m about to ask,” Gojo whispers.

“That doesn’t matter,” Geto says, smiling. “Satoru, has it really been so long that you have forgotten?”

Geto leans forward to brush their lips together. 

“I can never say no to you.”

***

Geto would be lying if he said he never saw himself meeting his end on a mission. And nothing has changed in that he would still do anything for Gojo.

So Geto comes out of retirement. 

(And back into Gojo’s arms. They were finally back together!)

There’s new recruits that require training in order to prepare for their important mission. The students learn that Geto had been living a normal life previous to coming back…

Nobara: “So did you have a wife and kids that you left behind?”

Geto: “Oh that’s not- you can’t ask tha-“

Gojo, butting in: “Yeah, yeah, tell us!”

Geto shoots Gojo the stink-eye.

Geto: “No wife or kids, thank you very much. Now if you’re all done prying into my personal life, I will be taking my leave.”

Geto walks away and Gojo stares at his ass.

Megumi, cursed with the gift of being too observant, thinks, “Oh god, how to unsee??”

Megumi is actually very curious about Geto and tries to find out more about him. Gojo-sensei and Shoko only reveal so much…

Like Megumi, Geto also possesses the inane gift of catching the smallest details, so he notices how much Megumi stares at him, how piercing his gaze becomes when it’s directed at him.

The kid thinks he’s so smooth. 

The younglings are quite behind in physical combat, and since Geto is particularly skilled in martial arts, he often helps out with their physical training.

Oftentimes, he actually goes up against the kiddos. 

Megumi is the last one to go, Nobara and Yuji having tried their best to hold their ground but ultimately yielding to Geto. The other two cheer him on. Megumi narrows his eyes and gives it his all.

Geto is so quick and powerful with his movements. Also very swift. He ends up backing Megumi into the very edge of the training platform-

And when Megumi tries to hop back, his foot gives way to a weak spot on the floor.

Geto easily pins him after that. 

Megumi breathes harshly as Geto stands up and offers a hand, which Megumi hesitantly takes. Geto frowns.

“I had wondered if that dead spot was still there. I’ll tell Yaga. It should’ve been fixed ages ago,” he murmurs. Megumi’s eyes widen at that.

“You tricked me?”

Geto smiles, half-apologetic and half-gleeful.

“Not exactly. Just testing a hypothesis. Lord knows how many times Satoru did the same thing to me.”

Out of the three students, Yuuji would be the closest to win against Geto. He’s somewhat of a prodigy in martial arts, so give him a few months and Geto is actually paying attention to him when they spar.

He makes Geto break a sweat once in a while. 

Meanwhile, Megumi is very good at using the space around him in his favor, but he still has a lot to learn in terms of balancing instinct and strategy. 

Nobara has elegant and quick movements, sometimes too quick, which makes her lose balance. She’s training to gain muscle and be able to pull off those kinds of movements by anchoring herself with confidence.

Geto finds out that Gojo’s instruction is super intense too. 

Yuji: “Once, Gojo-sensei and I sparred for so long, we completely skipped dinner!” 🤣

Geto: 💀💀

Gojo leaves the training to Geto most days because he’s in the middle of his own solo missions. Every night, it’s like heaven returning to his room to see Geto already in his bed, reading a book or listening to music. 

It’s the best welcome home Gojo could possibly ask for. Gojo is beyond ready to jump into bed and cuddle up with Geto except-

Geto holds a hand up.

“Inside clothes.”

Gojo tears his clothes off with a dramatic growl, leaving his underwear on and then leaps into the bed. Geto laughs as he bookmarks then places his book on the nightstand.

He turns back to see Gojo looking at him with a razor-sharp smile.

Gojo: “You really know how to get me going, don’t you?”

Geto: “Excuse me??”

Suddenly, Geto has a lapful of Gojo. They don't get around to sleeping anytime soon...

Nowadays, Gojo walks around with noticeable marks on his neck and his students are like ??? He’s never expressed interest in anyone before, but now he seems to have a consistent lover(s)?

Scandalous Gojo-sensei!

Satosugu find their own time to spar with each other. They’re dressed in blank tanks; Geto has his signature flowy pants, and Gojo also now has flowy pants, but in white. 

Geto: “Copying my look now, I see. I knew you always admired my style more than you let on, Satoru.”

The first to three pins wins. It feels like their fight goes on forever. Gojo still plays dirty by tugging Geto’s hair band out, making Geto’s hair fly free. 

Since he’s been more active, Gojo pins Geto down for the third time, a triumphant grin on his face. 

He sits on top of Geto and asks “What’s my reward?”

Geto: “Reward? What reward? Fool.”

Gojo: “I beat you, therefore, I deserve a reward.”

Geto: “I- no. And get off of me!”

Geto pokes Gojo’s sides. Gojo squawks and pokes Geto back. 

Shoko walks in and sees them tickling each other, and she smiles. 

Some things never change.

(Geto rewards Gojo with his favorite brand of ice cream. And more kisses!)

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

#jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu au #spy au #goge #satosugu fanfic #satosugu fluff

[rustedhearts]

dad!boxer steve with an angsty pre-teen jane harrington

“dad, you’re hiding pieces.”

“am not.”

“i see one under your elbow!”

“that’s just because your father isn’t wearing his glasses, hon.”

steve tosses you a glare across the kitchen from his place at the puzzle-littered table. the image is full of gaps in odd places, and they’d already been working on it for a few hours.

“i’ll go get ‘em,” jane grumbles, rolling her eyes.

steve stands to his feet before she can. “no, no, janey, sit down. i’ll get ‘em.”

he kisses her head and ruffles her hair on his way past her, and she huffs and smacks the affection away. she’s been so angsty and irritated lately.

“i don’t understand. did I do something wrong?” steve came pouting to you about it last weekend when she didn’t want to go to the store with him—even after he offered ice cream on the way home.

“it’s just the age,” you promised him. “she’s in her ‘too cool for school’ phase.”

steve walks over to you and plops a kiss on your cheek from behind the stovetop. you pucker your lips back at him in an noisy air kiss as he shuffles to the counter near the fridge to grab his glasses. he slips them out of their sleeve and wiggles them in place.

“now I can really see where I’m hiding pieces,” steve jokes as he heads back over to the table.

jane’s glare is a mirror image of his own. It’s a surprising amount of anger for one tiny, twelve-year old face. steve just grins at her and picks up another puzzle piece to find its place. you stir the chili on the burner and read your book at the island in between. the radio on the counter plays classic christmas tunes quietly between the rustling of motions.

“ugh,” jane suddenly groans. “this is boring.”

steve glanced up over the rim of his lenses. “c’mon, we’ve still got more than half to go—“

“i don’t wanna do this anymore,” she interrupts.

steve sits up a little straighter. you glance over the top of your book and flip the page. jane never has an attitude like this, let alone with her father. he was her moon and stars, and she usually saved all her mouthy sassiness for you. on the drives to school in the morning, on the way home, at department stores trying on new clothes when she grew out of hers, coaxing her to wear a pair of “sensible” shoes and not ones that strangled her feet just because they were cute and “everyone had them.”

steve always managed to escape those moments with jane. but now here one was, brewing at the kitchen table.

“it’s tradition, jane,” steve defends cooly, another puzzle piece clacking in place under his thumb.

“mom!” jane whines, twisting in her chair. “tell him i don’t wanna.”

“jane, it’s nice to spend time with your father. you watch too much tv anyway—“

“ugh,” she grunts, turning around to the table again with her arms crossed. she visibly sulks. “this is stupid. i don’t wanna do this shit.”

it’s quiet for a moment. your book falls to the countertop with a slap, and steve’s hand stills while reaching for another puzzle piece. jane slides down in her chair. clearly, she forgot whose company she was in: her parents, and not her friends from school who swore in secrecy when their parents weren’t listening.

“hey!” steve snaps. it causes both of you to jump. “watch your mouth. apologize to your mother right now.”

steve never yelled anymore. it was so rare that jane wasn’t even sure what it was like to see her father angry. you were proud of him for that—that after all those years of running on pure rage, steve found a way to mellow out and settle into a calm, collected version of himself. he had his moments—he was human, after all. but he never yelled, and he never yelled at jane. she never did anything to deserve it.

the former slides down further in her chair under her father’s narrowed fury. her eyes well up with stinging tears, the tops of her ears burning hot. steve waits patiently, pinning her with a glare you knew all too well.

“sorry, mom,” she murmurs meekly, turning halfway to glance at you. “s-sorry, dad, i didn’t mean—“

“go to your room,” he gruffs, waving his hand dismissively.

he was upset. he was disappointed. he couldn’t even believe his little girl would speak that way—would treat either of you with such blatant disrespect.

your heart is in your throat when jane stands to her feet and scurries off, unsuccessfully choking back sobs. her bedroom door slams over your head, and you hear her muffled sobs a moment later. you slide to your feet and go to steve’s chair at the table.

the moment your hand brushed his arm, he drops his head into his hands. “shit.”

“hey,” you coo. “it’s okay. she didn’t mean it, you didn’t mean it—“

steve lifts from his hands and points toward the doorway. “no, i made her cry, libby. you should’ve seen her little face!”

you stoop down and kiss his cheek, arm looped around his shoulders to hug him halfway. “i know, honey. it’s alright, just go talk to her.”

steve nods, but waits a moment longer in your embrace. you rub his arm soothingly, and he pushes the chair back to press to his feet. he rubs his palms over his jean-clad thighs and inhales sharply. he takes one step forward, and pauses.

“d’ y’ think she hates me?”

softened eyes gaze up at steve, hands caressing over his sweatered chest.

“oh, baby, no. she loves you so much, and that’s why she was crying. she’s crying because she feels bad she upset you. your disappointment hurts her the most, steve—but you can’t let her get away with everything. sometimes, you need to be disappointed.”

steve’s shoulders slump forward, but he nods his agreement. “o-okay. i’ll go talk to her.”

“okay. i’ll be up in a little bit, let you two have a moment.”

steve places his hand against your cheek and tugs you close. the kiss he presses to your mouth is so gentle, you barely feel it. his feet shuffle slowly out of the kitchen, through the foyer, and up the steps.

upstairs, steve raps gently on jane’s bedroom door. her sobs come to a hiccuped halt.

“h-hello?”

“it’s me, janey,” steve calls quietly. “can i come in?”

“yeah.”

steve cracks the door open, poking his head in. jane pushes herself up on her bed, hugging a ruffled pillow to her stomach. steve tiptoes in, leaving the door ajar behind him. he takes a seat on the edge of her bed beside her and sighs. her eyes are swollen, nose dripping snot that she wipes with her sleeve. her book from this afternoon is sitting on it’s opened page on her pillow. so much like her mother, steve thinks.

steve pulls his glasses from his nose, folding them into the collar of his sweater.

“janey…m’ sorry i raised my voice. i didn’t mean to yell at you, i just…i don’t like hearing stuff like that from you. you’re just a baby—“

“but i’m not a baby, dad.”

steve looks at his daughter. she wipes her tears with her palm and sniffles. she has her mother’s nose. she has her hands, too, the same sort of fingers. she looks like you the most when she’s sad. and just like when you were sad, it broke steve’s heart to see her this way.

“yeah,” steve sighs. “i guess you’re not.”

jane cracks a small smile. steve mirrors it, reaching out to pinch her cheek. she doesn’t smack it away this time.

“but that still doesn’t mean you can swear like that, especially not in this house,” he adds.

she nods. “i know. i really am sorry.”

steve nods back. his smile is soft—reserved only for you and her. a quiet, private steve harrington that few got to see come to life. for jane: it was the only steve she knew.

“i know.”

your knock comes at the door a moment later. you poke your head around and smile at them. “hey, you two. mind if i squeeze in?”

jane pats her bed, and you scurry over to flop next to her. she laughs, and you lean back against her pillows and wink at steve.

“everything okay in here?”

jane nods, and steve reaches out to take your hand. his thumb massages into your palm attentively. “yeah, honey.”

“i’m sorry for swearing, mom,” jane says, turning to you with earnest eyes.

you reach out and brush her hair out of her sticky, wet eyes. “i know, sweetheart. i just don’t want to hear it again, okay?”

she nods. “okay.”

“no matter how much you hear your father say it.” you roll your eyes dramatically.

steve snorts. “oh right—“

and then he’s on you, fingers prodding and poking in all your squeamish places. jane laughs along with steve at your giggly wriggling, though she too becomes victim to his tickling.

“okay, daaaaad,” jane giggles. “enough, enough!”

“alright, alright.” steve sits back, slipping his glasses on again.

he stands from the bed, and everyone ignores the moment when he winces on his feet. he’s rubbing his temples and you can see a headache brewing in his face.

jane sits up on the bed, clutching her pillow. “hey, dad?”

he turns, and any sign of pain immediately dissipates. “yeah, hon.”

“can we finish the puzzle?”

steve smacks his lips. “ah, janey, you don’t have to—“

“i want to. seriously, dad.”

you watch between them, smiling softly to yourself. steve face lights up, and a boyish excitement fills him.

“okay,” he says. “yeah, come on.”

they walk back downstairs together, chattering as they do.

“no hiding pieces this time.”

“i won’t.”

you join them moments later and serve up the chili in small bowls at the table. they let you help with the puzzle, but you let them have their moment of tradition. something for just the pair of them to enjoy together.

“so i guess you’re too old to get presents from santa then, too, huh?”

jane glances at steve and then you. “dad, i stopped believing in santa when i found all my gifts in mom’s closet last year.”

you huff, collecting the chili bowls. “i was just…holding them for santa, duh.”

while your back is turned over the sink, steve winks at jane. jane peeks her chin over her shoulder to look toward you.

“oh, yeah…of course, mommy.”

the title she rarely uses anymore makes you melt, and you hurry over to hold her in a suffocating embrace. she wriggles around and groans playfully.

later, when she’s sound asleep in bed and the living room is half-lit, you curl up in steve’s lap and rest your head on his chest.

“can you believe she said ‘shit?’“ you giggle.

steve huffs, petting at your hair, eyes trained on the fireplace. “it was a matter of time, honestly.”

you kiss at his jaw. “yeah, gonna have to start watching your mouth.”

steve snorts and nips at your bottom lip. “and who’s gonna keep me in line, hmm?”

“guess it’s a job for me.”

steve pats the fat of your ass through your pajama pants. “yeah, we’ll see about that.”

#rolly! #boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #boxer!steve blurb

[w1ldthoughts]

Sensory Deprivation

A/n: Ive had this in my drafts for like a week so I figured I would post it! Still working on two Justin requests that I’ve got so look out for those at some point as well! Happy reading🤭

Warnings: smut

With Justin, everything was a competition. Who could load the dishwasher the fastest or who did Nova run to when both of you were holding treats. And with preseason starting you knew your time with him would soon be limited, so why not enjoy every part of him while it lasted?

“The rules are very simple.” You began, sitting across from your boyfriend at the coffee table on the floor. His hair was out of his face using a thin Nike headband, your favorite look. “Whoever has the most correct answers gets to do whatever they want to the other.”

“Deal.” He states flatly, already coming up with a game plan on how to win. It was just a simple game of ‘guess the food’ where you would each be blindfolded and have to feel around and guess what was on the plate. Anything to get him away from football for a bit was a win in your book so you’d be enjoying yourself tonight either way. But the real prize would come after the game. You and Justin had agreed that it’s been a while since you two had spent some quality time alone with his rib injury, then his shoulder surgery, then he went right into camp so sex had really been put on the back burner.

Tonight was finally the night.

While you spent some time carefully choosing your items, Justin put his blindfold on. He took his time carefully running his fingers across each of the items and you imagined those same fingers running along every inch of your body. You had to snap out of it so you could focus on getting the win and having your way with him.

He had to pretend to be disappointed when he lost the little game, secretly very excited to not be in control this time. Although he prided himself in his ability to make decisions, Justin had to be the guy in charge all the time and it felt nice that when he was with you he could be taken care of for a change.

“Well champ. You have the next few hours to do whatever you want with me. Where do we start?”

You laughed and grabbed him by the hand to lead him upstairs, after you grabbed your special surprise from the kitchen. He laid in bed per your instruction and placed the blindfold back on in anticipation. With a deep sigh you climbed into bed and settled yourself onto his lap, running your hands across his broad chest.

“Open your mouth,” you carefully instructed and he immediately relented, taking a bite of the chocolate covered strawberry you’d brought with you. You let him take a few more bites before replacing the sweet snack with your own lips, the kiss quickly picking up steam as your boyfriend hooked his arms around your waist to bring you in closer. The blindfold had somehow managed to remain exactly where it originally was placed and you took this to your advantage. You pulled away from Justin’s lips and moved over to press light feathery kisses behind his ear and down his neck.

The shift of energy in the room was palpable. What began as simple and sensual chocolatey bliss was becoming more dangerous as he grew half hard. Feeling a burst of energy now that you could see that he was enjoying this little blindfold trick, you stepped the game up, sneaking a hand underneath his shirt and running your nails from his nipple to his belly button, earning a soft, very shaky sigh. You moved your way down his body and reached down to gently massage his balls through his clothing.

With the utmost care, you took his shorts off and licked the length of his shaft a few times, giving it a kiss before you got to work. He squirmed underneath you, slightly shifting his hips like he was desperate for more. Making him feel good was pure ecstasy and you could feel the brewing wetness growing between your legs the longer you went down on him. He let out a sharp gasp and clutched at the sheets as your mouth glided effortlessly up and down his fully erect prick and you could tell he was close. So you stopped.

Justin ripped the blindfold off and immediately gave you a glare. “What just happened? Aren’t you gonna—you know?”

You smirked at him, “Am I gonna what? Finish so you can, finish? I would but…I don’t want you having all the fun.” You moved back up the bed, settling yourself against him. Ever the gentleman he asked if you needed to be prepped first and you guided his hand along your inner thigh, where he was met with a hint of how aroused you already were.

He flipped the two of you over for easier access and guided himself into you inch by inch with a husky groan.

“Babe? You okay? Can I move?” He pants out, trying to adjust to the tightness. It really had been a while. You simply nodded and he gave a few hesitant thrusts before bottoming out, earning a sigh of pleasure from below him.

Justin leans forward even more to press tender kisses on your lips as he continues to find his rhythm, allowing your bodies to move in sync. The closer you are to an orgasm the more unruly his strokes become. Your hands find purchase in his hair as he continues to roll his hips gracefully, sending you to a place beyond orbit. Breathy pants and constant reassurances of pleasure aren’t enough to describe the moment as you reach your peak at the same time, his body heavy against yours when he pulls out of you with a smile taking over his face.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He whispers, standing up and heading to the adjacent bathroom. He comes back with a warm towel and cleans you off, finishing with a gentle kiss to your forehead.

He’s back in bed five minutes later, wrapping you up in his warmth, exhaustion lulling you to sleep as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You can take a nap, bubs. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

All you could manage was a deep sigh and a nod as you drifted off, thinking about how nothing in your dreams could compare to what you got to experience when you were awake.

#justin herbert #Justin Herbert smut #justin herbert x reader #justin herbert imagine #nfl imagine #nfl fanfic

[thedevilsfamiliar]

A continuation of Aizawa infiltrating the LOV from my previous post.

It’s beautiful evening, the birds are tucking in, there’s no chaos brewing on the main street. Nothing to stop Shouta Aizawa from reaching his destination point. Nothing at all.

He wishes there was chaos. He doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend to be a villain sympathizer. The League, for all its intents and purposes, is just a group of young adults who seem to have nothing better to do than to cause mayhem and disaster wherever they go.

It’s exhausting. He feels like he’s teaching much older students who never learned how to handle the word, ‘no.’

Checking his burner phone, he eyes the time before finally slipping into the designated alleyway. He presses the first number, his phone automatically calling the league of villains babysitter/bartender. He doesn’t know how the mist man can deal with all of them under one roof.

Before him, a portal opens and with a sigh, he steps through it. Almost immediately, arms wrap around him and he knows just whose the one hugging him. Lifting a hand, he pushes the blonde away. “We have talked about this, Toga. Personal space.”

“You came back! Shiggy, Shiggy. He came back!” The blonde teenager does a little spin, practically prancing off to grab their leader.

“Of course I came back, Toga. I told Shigaraki of my disillusionment with hero society. We need each other to bring it down.” The words feel bitter on his tongue. While he may not agree with some of the things certain heroes do or what the hero commission does— heroes are a good thing for society. His resting passive face has never been a better skill than now.

Their leader slowly stands up from the couch, looking at him from under his bangs. The 20 something year old smirks, head tilting to the side. “Well, well, well… I didn’t expect to see you tonight, Eraserhead. Toga tipped you off?”

Aizawa doesn’t spare the blonde teen a glance, aware of her sudden silence. She’s observing them. Reminds him a lot of— no. He refuses to see any similarities between them and his kids. They’re nothing alike. “I was invited by Kurogiri, actually,” he responds, keeping his voice even. “Asked that I witness your leadership, since our last meeting left much to be desired.”

That causes Shigaraki to twitch. A weak point. He can use that in the future. “You called him here, ‘giri?” The young man turns to look at the bartender, hands lifting up to begin to scratch away at his neck.

“I did, young master. You need Shouta.”

Shouta. Aizawa never understood why Kurogiri insisted on using his first name. “It’s Aizawa, Kurogiri.”

“My apologies, Shouta.”

Aizawa sighs.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #infiltration au swap #tomura shigaraki #kurogiri #fanfic idea

[delopsia]

Mornings Like These | Rhett x Bob x Reader

Word Count: 800 Warnings & Notes: None :)

It's laughter that wakes you.

Bouncing off the hallway's walls, bumbling through the partially cracked bedroom door, and dancing around your ear like sugar plum fairies. With it, it carries the unmistakable scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee, settling heavily on your nose until your eyes flutter open and you sleepily acknowledge its presence.

Sunlight peeks through the part in the curtains, illuminating the dark room with little white stripes. There's a little mug of coffee sitting on the bedside table, no longer steaming, but it's warm in your hands. The mug comes from a matching set of three, something Bob picked up on one of his deployments; handmade and in your favorite color. All you need is one sip to know that it's Rhett who's made your coffee for you; he's the only person in this house that can get the ratios right.

Your sleep-clouded brain tells you to stay in bed for a little while longer, but curiosity killed the cat, and you really want to know what they're laughing so loudly about. The closer your tired feet carry you to the kitchen, the louder it gets, and it sounds like the table scooted across the floor just now.

There they are; Rhett's got one hand on Bob's lithe waist, the other holding his hand as he clumsily twirls the pilot around the kitchen. Bob's cheeks are bright red from laughter, glasses forgotten on the counter as Rhett spins him around, over and over. 

Mornings like these are rare. Mornings when Bob has the day off from work, Rhett isn't aiding in an overnight catastrophe at the ranch, and both have the energy to get out of bed early and start breakfast together. 

And it makes it all the sweeter when you get to walk in on them doing things like this. 

"Baby!" Bob whines between his giggles, "tell your boyfriend to quit making me dance!"

Rhett mumbles something through his shit-eating grin that you can't quite make out, but Bob's reaching for you; you've got just enough time to set your mug down before fingers are dancing up your side and drawing you into the mix. 

"Good morning," somehow, Rhett's gotten ahold of your hand, spinning you and Bob in a clumsy, all-too-close circle that has your shoulders smacking together. 

It's Bob's hands who find yours next, stealing you out from under Rhett before you've even processed your first spin. Gracefully raises your hand above your head and twirls you around like it's the easiest thing either of you has ever done. 

At least, it's graceful until Bob steps too far to the left and smacks his hip on the corner of the kitchen table, jostling it even further from its original placement. 

"Ow!" He yelps, jumping away as if burned. 

"And you say I'm the bad dancer," despite his teasing, Rhett is leaning down to kiss Bob's temple, then tilts his head to kiss the tip of your nose, "good morning, darlin'."

The coffee pot gurgles with its own good morning tune, summoning both of their attentions back to their former tasks. There's bacon and hashbrowns sizzling quietly on the stovetop, just shy of being cooked through but still a touch raw. Freshly beaten eggs sit in a bowl just off to the side, waiting to be poured onto a clean skillet.

"Why the fuck do you drink it black," Rhett pesters, reaching across the stove to turn off a burner. 

The only task he can be trusted with when it comes to the oven. Or any cooking device that can start a fire, for that matter.

Carefully sipping his freshly brewed coffee, Bob peers over the rim of his mug, "because you're causing a creamer shortage." 

Rhett scoffs at that, but he has no comeback to offer up. It's still fun to think about just how different their drinks are, compared to what you initially expected them to be. You're still not sure how it is that Bob is the one that drinks his coffee black. Yet your cowboy will not touch the stuff unless it has been thoroughly drowned in creamer and sugar.

The bacon is starting to get too hot, grease popping up out of the pan in tiny, explosive little droplets that threaten to land on any exposed skin. 

Rhett holds his hands up in defense, "it wasn't me; all I did was turn off the hashbrowns." 

And yet, when you step forward to turn the burner down, Bob bats you away with a towel, "both of you, out of my kitchen," he fusses, but despite the agency in his tone, he still finds the time to lean down and steal a kiss from your lips, "you're walking fire hazards."

Rhett whines, falling into his respective chair at the table and making grabby hands for you to settle into his lap, "man, we only caused a grease fire once."

And that statement alone is enough to make Bob stop what he's doing and turn to the both of you. "Once?"

#top gun bob #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott outer range #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott fluff #rhett abbott x y/n #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #fluff #delgato's warmups #poly #bob floyd x rhett abbott #rhett abbott x bob floyd #rhett abbott x bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot #idk if these are tags yet #but they are now #this was a test drive of the poly ship

[silaslich]

Where There is Light, a Shadow Appears

Ghoap Hogwarts Professor AU

Part 3/10 - Old Habits & Old Hauntings

Part 1 - Here Part 2 - Here

Wc - 4.2k

No warnings

Taglist - @siriuswritingandart @wheezytomato

For the first time in a long time, John had awoken with the rising sun, buttery rays drifting through the gaps in his curtains, stinging his eyelids.

Despite this, there’s something heavy that sits in his chest, perhaps it’s anticipation, but John is wholly convinced it’s his fraying nerves and ever increasing anxiety.

He’d woken up feeling fine, albeit a little tired, but fine nonetheless. It was just as the day went on, something was nagging in his chest, making his stomach flip and roll any time he thought about meeting all of the students and the entirety of the faculty together for the first time. John supposed it was normal, to feel some anxiety, he had never been good at first impressions.

His ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude wasn’t going to cut things, because he needed to care, and he needed to make a good example.

It’s in the confines of his classroom that he begins brewing Draught of Peace. He has a good amount of time before he needs to prepare for the sorting ceremony and feast, but he knows how temperamental the aforementioned potion can be to brew - so he won’t take his chances.

John has brewed this potion a hundred times over, it had been a common supply for all Aurors, to take the edge off and calm their minds. It’s no trouble for him; he adds his ingredients in the correct order and with the exact measurements required, just an extra grain of powdered porcupine quill could make the entire mixture explode.

He stirs the mixture seven times clockwise, and then another seven times counter-clockwise. Then he adds the final ingredient, hellbore, and he finishes it up by lowering the flames and letting it simmer for exactly seven minutes. Not a second longer.

He’s relieved when he’s met with a silvery vapour pouring upwards from his cauldron at the end of the seven minutes. He leaves the mixture to cool, letting it bubble away as he fetches and cleans some bottles to decant it into, he’s made enough for roughly ten small doses - he’s not overly optimistic about his mindfulness for the next few days.

John realises, as he’s buffing his bottles and putting away his ingredients, that this is what he’s been missing. He hadn’t had any time to properly get stuck back into his potion making, he hadn’t done it for a long time even before he came to Hogwarts, due to the incident.

It soothes him. Having his mind busy, letting it get lost in the myriad of memorised recipes and ingredient usage write ups.

Now that he’s in the midst of it, it seems like it was such a simple solution all along, to get his hands dirty.

The Scot has managed to brew his own creations entirely; potions that melt skin and draughts that simulate the worst kinds of emotions and scenarios anyone could ever wish upon anyone. Yet, on the other hand, he’s also brewed a cure for broken bones and created an elixir that stops internal bleeding. For every bad thing he’s created, he’s made something good from it too, it’s a give and a take.

John wants to get back to that. Back to the boy that didn’t sleep for three days because he had to, just had to, read the latest publication from one of his favourite potioneering authors; he wants to get back to the teenager that flew threw his potions N.E.W.T. with flying colours, with one of the best, if not the best, scores and grades in the history of Hogwarts itself. He wants to get back to the Auror that was feared by enemy ranks, knowing he was capable of much more than just curses and hexes.

He was made for this, and he finds it’s time that he got back to it, so he starts as he means to go on. While his cauldron is still hot from the burner, he begins brewing Draught of Living Death - for his seventh years.

Two hours pass by him in what seems like the blink of an eye. He doesn’t even register the time, he’s too engrossed, too enthralled in his books and his potions. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled messily to his elbows and his fingertips are sullied with murtlap syrup and bezoar juice, some of it is splattered as far up as his tattoo. The one on his forearm, the crest of his Auror division, they’re all marked the same, matching. John huffs, annoyed at his hair, he uses the back of his hand to press his hair back out of his face, it’s getting too long.

Through the plumes of green smoke and the sizzle-crackle-and-pops of his cauldrons, he hears a knock against the creaky-old-door of his classroom. “Come in!” He shouts over the chaos, he has three cauldrons on the go now, his books are strewn about his work surface and although he hasn’t noticed it, a stray leech is making its away across his desk. His back is to the door, and as much as he’d like to greet his visitor with a smile, he can’t stop stirring the mixture just yet. “Gimme a second I’ll be right there” he says tongue in cheek as he squints his eyes to focus, making sure the mixtures colour stays a consistent pale blue. John is met with only silence, but he thinks nothing of it.

Once he’s finally satisfied with the state of his potion he grabs a cloth from across his work surface, cleaning his hands and fingers as he turns to greet whoever has paid him a visit.

John’s eyes land on his visitor before his mind can process what to say, he’s face to face with Simon once more.

Unannounced. Uninvited. Unwanted.

Simon stands a good foot taller than John, and it’s made even more obvious in the way Simon chooses to hold himself. He takes up so much space, his wide shoulders are offset by the thick of his arms as he stands with them crossed over his chest. Dark tattoos peek out from under his sleeves, John’s eyes find a specific one first, drawn to it. Simon looks down at John, physically, tilting his head and looking past him, scanning over the mess of his bubbling cauldrons and the scattered chaos of all of his books. A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “still a bookworm then?” It’s a rhetorical question, and the way he says it makes it seem like it’s a bad thing.

Not all of us can be dumb as a rock, John thinks.

Simon’s expression flattens, “careful Johnny”.

Shit

John has never been great at occlumency. Simon had tried to teach him when he first joined up, but John’s mind was a perplexing one. It was just so busy. It was so hard for him to focus on shutting everything away, he couldn’t discern what was worth hiding and what wasn’t. He focused too much on the wrong things, hiding away memories such as breaking his mother’s favourite vase when he was eight or accidentally setting his charms professor’s classroom on fire in his fourth year. While his mind would subconsciously free up the darker subjects, the ones he should keep buried a little further into his memories, it meant that John wasn’t trusted with extremely delicate information - the chances of him getting caught and his mind being ripped apart for such information just wasn’t worth the risk.

Simon on the other hand, it was second nature. Born gifted with talents for both legilimency and occlumency. Due to that fact it had often been a subject of contention amongst the team, mainly between Simon and John.

He was too good at it in John’s opinion, it got to the point that he didn’t know when he was speaking to the authentic Simon or the one that shut his mind off from anything and everything. He supposed it’s one of the many things that made Simon a great Auror, to have such power over his own mind and too over other peoples, he could sift through someone’s mind completely undetected; and could also string someone’s mind into tatters to get the information he wanted.

John leans his hip against his desk, mimicking Simon in the way he crosses his arms across his chest. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use legilimency on me Simon” he tries his best to seem stoic, but even without reading his mind, Simon can read John like an open book.

The older wizard squares off his shoulders, nodding his head just once. “Force of habit, I suppose” he says cooly, shamelessly staring at John’s bad eye and the scars that go with it. Simon wears his own number of scars, accumulated from not only his Auror career - but from his youth too, John only hopes that it is curiosity alone that peaks Simon’s interest.

John nods, looking down toward the floor, but he can still feel Simon’s eyes, it makes his face burn. There’s a silence that descends, while it’s awfully stifling, it isn’t as awkward as John had thought it would be. He had been dreading seeing Simon, more so dreading the first interaction after not seeing each other for so long, but he finds that he’s telling himself that it could be worse. He isn’t counting their encounter in the corridor the other night, he can’t really say that it was real, they both surprised each other - now that one was awkward.

When John gazes up, Simon is still looking at him. He tilts his head, “there somethin’ on my face?” John asks, and for a moment, Simon doesn’t respond. He blinks hard, “Price told me what happened” he says, John shakes his head, “did he now?”.

He’s not bothered that Price told Simon about the incident, he would have ended up hearing about it from someone eventually, especially if he’d seen the cover up pasted all over the front page of The Daily Prophet. John just wished that he could pretend it never happened, but he knew that the scars would bring questions, so he supposes he may as well just crack on with it.

Simon hums an affirmative, “he said you took a nasty curse to the head” John’s brows knit together, “yeh, somethin’ like that” he mumbles, not wanting to dwell on the subject. He can tell in the way that Simon lets the silence drag for a few seconds that he’s waiting for John to elaborate more, but he soon realises that the incident is probably the last thing John wants to be talking about.

John watches as Simon clears his throat, “listen Johnny-“ he starts, demeanour shifting, just slightly. John tries hard not to focus too hard on the nickname, it seems it hasn’t died away over the years. He watches as Simon moves off, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, he makes his way toward the shelves that are stacked high with bottles and jars, some filled with potion ingredients and others with specimens. Simon looks up, trailing his eyes over the many rows before sighing heavily, “there’s no easy way to go about this” he starts, an out of place laugh huffing from his chest, “but I need your help”.

It’s strange, seeing him again, it seems like it was all just yesterday. John can’t comprehend it, the thought that things will never be as they once were, for better or for worse. It feels like it was just yesterday that they were heading out together; as partners, a routine patrol to a known smuggling ground to see if they could dig anything up to get any sort of lead. Everything was as it usually was, time was slow, and they laughed together over the small things, John found that he never wanted those sorts of days to end. Perhaps that day never did, because the events that transpired seemed to have followed him everyday since then, everyday for seven-hundred and forty-eight days straight John has regretted everything that happened - because it’s all his fault.

“You need my help?” John is taken aback, genuinely, unsure of what Simon could possibly what him to do after everything’s that’s happened between them.

Simon doesn’t turn to look at John, he simply nods, still feigning interest at the vast array of bottles and ingredients on display. From where he stands, his back toward John, the slight sliver of a scar peeks out from the collar of his shirt. It’s a silver-pink, worn by age, the sight of it makes John’s heart sink. Simon clears his throat, “I had an arrangement with the prior potions master here” his tone is flat again, his stone facade back in place, “I was hoping it could continue despite her departure”.

John processes the words, intrigued, what could Simon possibly need from a potions master?

Then, like the strike of a match, realisation hits him and his heart sinks completely.

How could he have been so stupid?

“You need Wolfsbane” John swallows thickly, watching as Simon nods silently, still not looking at him.

Two and half years ago

It’s eerily quiet. A fog laden morning that sits heavy against the backdrop of a cruel winter storm that has just passed. They’re both cold and miserable, having lost their will hours ago, unable to comprehend what this lead could possibly do to help them better their chances at getting the one up on Makarov.

He was nothing but a thorn in their sides, crossing dangerous artefacts and illegal beasts over seas to try and smuggle them from Europe to America and back again. Makarov was worse than an eel, Simon had always said, slippery and always impossible to keep a hold of - they couldn’t prove much in a court at the Ministry. Typical.

The two of them were going into this with the same preconceptions, whatever they found wouldn’t be enough for the Ministry to do anything about, but Price had sent them here; so they’d humour him and search the docks for any dodgy activity.

It’s as they both walk side by side in idle conversation, sheltered by great hulking trees whose branches sway with the breeze, that they hear something crash in the distance. It’s a sharp sound, it vibrates through the air, catching them both off guard. They slow, only for a moment, waiting to see if the sound echoes toward them again - it does, and this time it’s closer.

Simon poises himself, retracting his wand from where it’s nestled in his breast-pocket, John mimics the movement, taking Simon’s lead, as always. He’s only a handful of years older than John, but Simon has been in this game much longer.

There’s movement ahead and beyond the thick bushes and shrubbery there’s lights flailing, likely from wands or torches. The pair move closer, tentative and quiet, not wanting to interrupt whatever they’ve happened across this time. Before they can get too close however, something disturbs the ground up ahead, snapping twigs and crunching leaves. Simon flattens his palm to Johnny’s chest to stop him moving any further forward, instinctively inching him behind himself, shielding him.

Then, without any warning, a huge beast jumps forward. Its stark white teeth are the first thing they see, dripping wet and sharp as anything, it’s gnarled mouth gaping and heaving. The creatures eyes glow a bright yellow, almost gold, they pierce through the men as they’re stared down - it’s sizing them up. There’s a deep growling noise, it rattles out from the beasts open mouth, vibrating in its chest. Its paws are humongous, impossible to ignore as it begins to inch closer, crushing leaves and sticks beneath its feet.

John’s mouth dries, “is that a-“ “werewolf” Simon cuts him off, speaking in a hushed tone, as if the creature can’t hear him.

Simon starts to step back, pushing John too in the process, it triggers the very thing they were trying to avoid.

The beast surges forward, snapping its jaws, “run!” Simon pushes John away, out of the beasts line of attack, immediately casting depulso in the direction of the charging werewolf, it knocks it back only a few feet - but it gives the pair a chance to catch their bearings.

And despite being told to run, John is rooted to the spot, digging around in his satchel that is slung over his shoulder, desperately looking for a potion he can use against the beast. Simon notices and anger blooms in his chest, “Johnny go!”, he knows that whatever John has won’t be enough, they don’t have a plan and they don’t have much time.

Yet, John still doesn’t move to run. Instead, he makes a dash for Simon, flanking him, his own wand to hand now too. Simon throws another spell toward the werewolf, watching as it circles them, “confringo!” He lurches forward but the beast is too quick, the spell barely catches its tail as it jumps out of the way. John takes a step, “Levioso!” He predicts the werewolf’s movements and manages to hit it, watching as its paws leave the ground, another quick flick of John’s wand - “depulso!”.

The beast is sent hurtling backwards, its body disappearing into the bushes beyond, a low rumbling noise follows soon after, they’ve pissed it off.

Simon whirls around, now face to face with Johnny, “we need to go” he says hurriedly, “this isn’t worth it”. He’s right, although there’s two of them and only one werewolf, Simon’s observed how high and full the moon sits in the sky. John nods, meeting eyes with Simon, he sees fear in his eyes, and there wasn’t much that scared Simon Riley.

Simon can see it in John’s mind too, fear, he’s scared because Simon is. It rings in his mind like alarm bells, rattling his brain as he desperately scrambles for any idea on how they can get out of this. Running would entice a chase, but trying to fight it directly would be another story entirely, given the beasts speed and size.

Without warning, the werewolf barrels toward them, practically shaking the ground, and before either of them can dodge it - it rams the two of them with its head. They fly backwards, spines connecting with the hard earth, they’re winded and dazed but the beast advances again. It’s headed straight for John, he sits up, trying his best to scramble backwards, but he can’t catch any leverage on the dewy ground. He watches in horror, staring into the open mouth of a werewolf as it closes in, he squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the impact. It never comes.

There’s a wet splat against his face, it’s warm, his eyes fly open. It’s a sight he will never be able to forget for as long as he lives, the werewolves teeth are imbedded deep into Simon’s shoulder, encapsulating almost half of his torso. Simon’s back is to the creature, having blocked its path as it tried to get to John, his eyes are wide and his mouth is agape - suffering an immeasurable amount of pain. He groans, staring right through John, his adrenaline is kicking in.

John’s wand is still gripped tightly in his fingers, but he feels frozen, almost crushed by the weight of not just Simon’s body shielding him, but also the werewolves entire mass as it sinks deeper and deeper into the leverage it has on Simon’s shoulder.

He can’t think, he can’t process what is happening, it’s the same when his wand is suddenly raised, aimed directly at the werewolf when a sudden burst of scalding heat and bright green light explodes from the tip of his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The pressure dissipates almost immediately, and John’s mind seems to clear when the sound of a large thud meets his ears.

Just a few feet behind where Simon’s still straddling John, the werewolf lays dead.

Simon’s body slumps forward but John catches him, hugging Simon close to his chest, his mind running a mile a minute. There’s only so much John would be able to do, and he fears he’s already running out of time, he consoles Simon as he winces in pain - his right shoulder completely mangled. John tries his best not to touch it as he rolls Simon sideways off of him, making sure to be gentle when laying him against the ground. “It’s gonna be okay Si I promise” he tries to remain solid, but it’s more likely he’s trying to convince himself rather than Simon.

John goes to grab his satchel from his shoulder, only to find that it’s missing. “Fuck!” he shouts through gritted teeth, he jumps to his feet, scrambling to find his grubby leather satchel, he darts through the grass and steps tediously toward the werewolf despite it being very much dead.

Something ripples through John’s entire body as he frantically searches, it washes through him, a symphony of dread and guilt and regret all rolled into one - he’s never felt it before, but he tries to push it to the back of his mind.

“You fuckin’ beauty” John spots the bag as it lay in the grass, quickly grasping it and pelting it back toward where Simon lay, his heart sinks. His eyes aren’t open anymore. “Fuck” John breaths, sliding on his knees across the grass, quickly accessing Simon’s vitals. He’s breathing, but it’s shallow, and when he checks his eyes they flicker when interacting with light. “You hearin’ me Si?” John asks, flinging open his satchel as he watches the blood continue to pump out of Simon’s body, the wound is deep, too deep for him to treat entirely here.

He has dittany, but he doesn’t have anywhere near enough powdered silver for the size of Simon’s wound. Regardless, he tries not to panic, quickly and sort-of carefully ripping away Simon’s coat and shirt, exposing his entire chest so he can better treat the bite. John mixes the dittany and silver into a paste with his hands, smearing it into the wound and packing it into the individual lacerations. It continues to bleed, covering from John’s fingertips to past his wrists, he starts to think that it’s a saving grace that Simon is so out of it.

It suddenly hits John. As if his mind is handed back to him, everything rushes him, the overwhelming sense of guilt that Simon had saved him and the fear that no matter what he tries it won’t be enough to heal him.

His chest constricts and his breath catches in his throat, panic beginning to set in, his hands shaking as he applies pressure to Simon’s wound. He can feel it, the burning sting as tears well in his eyes, “steamin’ jesus” he whispers to the sky, feeling as rain spits down across his cheeks.

He tries to even his breathing, trying his best to keep it even, but his lungs burn and his ribs ache, this can’t be happening.

It just can’t, not to Simon.

Then, it all washes away, as Simon’s fingers close around John’s wrist, his thumb lazily brushing back and forth across his blood stained skin, a sign of comfort, an attempt to calm him down. It works to a point.

“S’fine Johnny” Simon slurs, his eyes closed and his own breathing uneven, he’s trying to keep John as calm as possible. As good as his intentions were, it’s only breaks John’s heart further, and when the tears start to spill he can’t hold them back.

“I’m so sorry” John mutters, his chin to his chest, still applying pressure to Simon’s bite wound via his hands, the tears land on Simon’s throat. Simon doesn’t say anything, he continues tracing shapes over John’s wrist with his fingers, taking his own mind off of what’s happening.

“This is all my fault” John’s chest hiccups, his lips quivering as he loses touch of himself, he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, the tears continuing to spill. Simon huffs, it whistles in his lungs, “come off it Johnny” he’s trying to sound stern, but the words are empty. It’s hard for John to see through his tears, he sniffles, unable to wipe his face, “I’m so so sorry” he repeats, still not opening his eyes.

Then his hands are moving, sliding through blood and dittany, they slide down Simon’s chest as he sits up, a heavy grunt blowing past his lips with the effort. As quickly as John opens his mouth to protest Simon moving, their lips meet; and Simon kisses John with a palpability he’s never tasted before. It’s hungry and it’s possessive, and it’s been a long time coming, backed up by so many other emotions that’s it’s hard to place each and every individual one.

Simon cups John’s face with one hand, angling his jaw, smearing blood across his cheek as he deepens the kiss, it pulls a breathy moan from John that gives Simon exactly what he wants. Room for more.

It’s a goodbye kiss if ever there was one.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #alternative universe #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #cod modern warfare #cod mw ghost #cod mw soap #cod mw2 #call of duty fic #ghoap fanfic #ghoap au #ghoap fic #ghoap #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #hogwarts professor au #hogwarts au #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #lichwrites

[fefairys]

"This is a pattern that plays out a lot in HS, probably unavoidably due to its scale, the size of the cast, and how many plot threads are being handled at once. Sometimes series of brewing events all coalesce and galvanize through some intense, dramatic, single event, as in Descend, [S] Make her pay, or the mother of them all, [S] Cascade. But then those plot points are taken off the burner and put aside on the counter to cool, often for quite some time. This lets the story drift back to the casual, silly stuff, which can be seen as HS kind of gravitationally reverting to its most fundamental nature: ridiculous kids BS'ing with each other about stupid shit. But it was also a necessary thing to do from a creative production standpoint: I couldn't always focus just on the intense stuff and keep relentlessly following through on it while it was piping hot, because that was not a sustainable proposition in terms of effort (a thing the kids at home never really understood, while feeling inclined to grouse about pacing issues). So this gradual "cooling effect" of hot plot points actually became deeply interwoven with the story construction and how that flowed. The hot material is always revisited though—rarely is anything totally dropped—but when it comes back into play it definitely has a different effect for having spent several hundred (or even thousand) pages sitting on the windowsill to cool. That cooled-off material becomes a different kind of ingredient than it once was while it was red-hot, as if the recipe called for it to be set aside to cool, to change its nature, its feel, and the way it tastes. And meanwhile many other exotic ingredients have been prepared. So when the cooled-off ingredient is reintroduced, now it just feels like all the other ingredients coming together to make something new, rather than still feeling like "the most important thing going on," as it once did. So then this amalgamation of new ingredients together with old, previously amalgamated ingredients, forms a new recipe, waiting for its turn to get thrown into the oven so everything can approach another critical galvanization as before. Rinse and repeat, until HS finally and miraculously ends." -Andrew Hussie

i actually enjoy this about the pacing tbh. maybe it was frustrating to some people when the next update wasnt immediately talking about the Big Thing that just happened, but reading it archivally, i actually really like the way it flows.

#sams reading homestuck again #homestuck

[robertdowneyjjr]

Heyy, if you're still taking the kiss prompts can I ask for 62 and/or 63! :)

hi, sorry for the late response! i'm gonna go with 63:

"people kiss each other all the time, doesn't mean there's feelings involved."

---

They're spooned up together in bed after cleaning up and getting ready for bed when Steve breaks the silence by mumbling unintelligibly into Tony's neck.

"Hmm? What was that?" Tony asks, turning around in Steve's arms to face him.

"I said, the rest of the team is going to be completely insufferable about this."

Tony furrows his brows, unsure where Steve is going with this.

"What do you mean? Why?"

"Come on," Steve sighs, exasperated. "You have to know that they've been betting on how long it would take for us to get together."

"Oh, yeah, that." Tony shrugs. "Well we can't really do much about it, can we? We're finally together now. I'm really, really happy about this," he says, running a hand through Steve's hair.

Steve closes his eyes at the gentle tugging, humming softly in agreement.

"So am I. But don't you think it'll be funny to mess with them just for a little bit?"

Tony pulls back, intrigued by Steve's tone that he's secretly patented as the Steve-Rogers-is-a-little-shit voice.

"Alright, I'm game. What did you have in mind?"

---

The next morning, they arrive at breakfast separately. Steve gets there first as usual after a run and a shower, with Tony showing up twenty minutes later just after Clint has taken a seat at the island with a bowl of cereal in hand. He sits down next to Bruce, wrinkling his nose at his science bro's cup of camomile tea as he goes. Steve sets down Tony's favorite mug filled with his favorite brew in front of him and smiles at him sweetly, softly stroking his cheek just once before turning back to the burner.

This does not go unnoticed by the rest of the team.

Throughout the rest of breakfast, the two share soft smiles between their bites of food, feet brushing against each other under the table.

At one point Steve's toes accidentally (on purpose) brush against Natasha's leg, but she doesn't comment on it.

---

For the rest of the week, Steve and Tony mess with the team by blatantly acting like a couple while never confirming the actual status of their relationship. As far as the team can tell without either of them saying anything, they've just suddenly become a lot more physical with their affection while still living in denial. They know that the betting pool is worth at least a thousand bucks, and they're not going to make it easy for any of them to win that money.

They show up to team meetings hand in hand and sit side by side, Steve doodling on Tony’s arm and Tony whispering in Steve’s ear, the two of them giggling softly amongst themselves. They hog the loveseat during movie night, but are snuggled so close together that another person could fit in there easily. They say goodbye in the mornings with soft kisses on the cheek or forehead, followed with “I’ll see you tonight, gorgeous” and spend the rest of their days smiling cheek to cheek.

Through it all, it’s clear that their teammates are vibrating out of their skin with the need to ask and confirm whether they’ve started dating, but hilariously enough, no one dares to actually come right out with their questions.

It all comes to a head late on Saturday night, when Steve and Tony are returning home from a date. They’re wrapped up in each other, Steve bracketing Tony against the corner of the elevator, enthusiastically making out without a care for anything else in the world. The elevator comes to a stop on the communal floor without either of them noticing, and it isn’t until they hear someone clear their throat that they stop to take a look at the person who’s so rudely disturbed them.

Clint and Natasha stare back at them with matching smirks on their faces.

“Finally!” Clint exclaims, raising both ands up in celebration. “About time you guys finally start dating!”

Steve turns towards them fully, putting on the most innocent expression he can muster, and asks, “What makes you think we’re dating?”

Clint is gobsmacked by this question, evidently confused that it’s even something that Steve had to ask. “Isn’t it obvious? You guys have been all over each other all week. All the handholding and goodbye kisses and cuddling and smiling. You were literally just making out in the elevator!”

At that, Steve’s face morphs into an expressionless mask and he says, deadpan, “People kiss each other all the time, doesn’t mean there’s feelings involved.”

He presses the door close button on the panel and just as the elevator doors slide completely shut on Clint’s dumbfounded gaping and Natasha’s narrowed eyes, Steve turns back to Tony and presses their lips together hard, drawing a moan from the other man.

---

Clint stares at the closed elevator doors. “They’re fucking with us. They have to be, right?”

“Definitely.”

“You gotta help me think of a way to get them to admit it, Nat. We need this for the bet.”

“Hmm.” Natasha turns towards the stairwell to head up to her room. “I think we’re just gonna have to let this one go.”

#nat walking in on them the next day: ‘kissing without feelings again boys?’ #steve: ‘tony was choking. i was doing cpr’ #‘choking on what steve’ #*mumble mumble* #‘sorry say that again?’ #‘…my dick’ #my boys are very very stupid #anyway the gist is #steve enjoys screwing with the team and tony enjoys screwing steve #stevetony #kay writes things #anonymous #ask

[dailyhelldorm]

Double Head x Style / Dragon's Head: Eichi's mini-talks translation

Note: this is an unproofed translation from Twitter.

Location: StarPro Office

Eccentric Photoshooting (1/3)

Eichi: Do you have something you want to discuss with me regarding work, Producer-chan?

If that's the case then you come at the right time. I just finished up my work.

While waiting for the upcoming photoshoot, I can make time for you.

I'll wrap it up for you quickly.

Eichi: I'm thankful for your concern, but looking at your face, this must be some important thing right?

At a time like this, I think you should need to be sheepish about this.

You are as busy as ever.

Eichi: Well, I won't deny that.

If you are thinking about this industry's future, being idle would be more problematic. Being busy is a blessing.

Are you tired?

Eichi: My body is weak, but I haven't felt tired yet.

Still, I will happily receive Producer-chan's concern. Thank you.

Eccentric Photoshooting (2/3)

Eichi: Afterward, everyone in 'fine' has a photoshoot for a magazine cover.

The cameraman is an eccentric person. He told us to submit plans and ideas for our shoot.

Tori thought of something good, so we'll utilize it with ease. Seeing that child's growth makes me happy ...♪

You should give him a reward.

Eichi: You're right. Children need to be rewarded for their endeavors.

But if I spoil him too much, Yuzuru might be mad at me. What kind of reward do you think I should give him, Producer-chan?

An eccentric person?

Eichi: He is. But he is also a person with real ability.

Therefore, I'm sure that we will have our best shots done. I'm looking forward to the photoshoot.

Senpai's plan...

Eichi: My plan was to have our ‘fine’ image recreated following the current trend.

Wataru's plan is completely opposite to mine, it is outrageous but quite an interesting proposal. Although it is difficult to make it through, so we have to put it on the back burner.

Eccentric Photoshooting (3/3)

Eichi: Now you mention it, this seems to be Shiratori-kun's favorite magazine. He reads this a lot in our dorm.

He really loves idols. Because of that, I think we got along really well.

When it is our turn to be on the cover, maybe I should buy it and gift it to him?

I think he will be happy.

Eichi: Fufu, if Producer-chan says so, then it will be no mistake about it.

We are roommates after all, deepening our bond won't bring anything bad.

Maybe.

Eichi: Because he likes it, so you think he would like to buy it himself?

I see, I didn't consider his mentality as a normal fan. I will reflect on this.

How about signing it for him too?

Eichi: I will get this as a present, so it will be tacky if I just let the magazine be and gift it simply.

Like your suggestion, maybe I should add a little bit of touch too ♪

Location: Reception Room

Things I haven't known yet (1/3)

Eichi: As expected, if this kind of work news comes in, even I get fed up.

Just joking, that is just my tiredness complaining out loud.

Since today I get to work with Producer-chan, we might as well need to create a good atmosphere for the two of us.

You don't need to worry too much.

Eichi: Ah, sorry for making you concerned, I thank you for it.

However, if I'm overexerting myself, I will tell you straight away okay?

How about we take a break?

Eichi: You're right. If we continue at this rate, it will be inefficient.

I have some of my favorite tea leaves here, so I will brew you some tea ...♪

I'm also tired.

Eichi: Both you and I aren't machines with only the purpose are working, rest is also important.

How about letting us refresh and then resuming our work?

Things I haven't known yet (2/3)

Eichi: Ah right. Producer-chan is looking into the Dragon Boat, right?

I know about the sport. But it is hard to say that the sport is widely known to the general public.

Producer-chan, have you been on a Dragon Boat yet?

I haven't but...

Eichi: Before we use the boats for our work, you also want to try and get on it at least once?

Fufu. As expected from Producer-chan. Your initiative sometimes surprises me.

I didn't know the name of the sports before.

Eichi: It isn't something to be ashamed of. I'm also not a well-versed knowledgeable person.

If there is something you haven't known yet, then it is fine to learn it from now on.

If you mention banana boat...

Eichi: But the boats are different you see. Those things aren't alike, and I'm a little bit intrigued about them...

Ahaha, Producer-chan has been thrown into the sea before right? I wanted to see that moment of yours.

Things I haven't known yet (3/3)

Eichi: I did a light investigation on Dragon Boat, but it seems that they are related to Children's Day[1] somehow.

This might not be useful to our direct work. But like this, we can inadvertently gain knowledge we haven't known yet. And I think the moment we learn them, it is quite enjoyable.

All we need is some time, and we can learn more trivial things about different fields.

I understand.

Eichi: Fufu. Producer-chan is always eager to learn more. I think that's a good thing.

People who don't have the inquisitiveness to learn more are bound to continue to fail.

How about taking time off?

Eichi: I think you already understand this, if we could take them then everything would be more leisurely.

Well, logically, I feel that even if I take a break, I won't have the time to learn any miscellaneous things. In other words, this is just reality escapism.

You can attend a variety quiz show...

Eichi: Uhm~ In that case, learning would be for the sake of working, and I can't take any breather from it.

Although not minding Wataru or Yuzuru, I might want to see a hard-working Tori trying his best to answer the pop quiz ♪

[1]: The Children's Day (端午の節句 - Tango no sekku) that Eichi is talking about is May 5th - a Japanese national holiday. The holiday was once called Boys' Days or Feast of Banners, well-known for its carp-shaped windsocks 🎏

#translation #eichi tenshouin #dorm translation #enstars translation

[mewnyan]

Hope it's not too late, but "auhhh fuck my boyfriend became a concept. fuuuck hes just a metaphor for love now." for your WIP ask game 👀

a bit too late bc that happens to be the only wip that i actually managed to finish and upload 😭😭😭 (if u havent read it but know me already from one of my pseuds, the fic is uploaded on my main pseud <3)

but !! i'm still willing to babble abt it since i'd say that it's the fic that i've really put the most braincells of mine into so far LMFAO

basically it's "what if i put my blorbos into that one popular multiverse movie about a bagel?", the premise has been rotating in my head for a while now, even when i was actively writing in my previous fandom (im still planning on continuing there!! like the 3rd chapter of the l********* au is near completion before the tides of brainrot decided to drown me asdfadsd). but for some reason i didnt feel like those two would fit in that kind of scenario?? or at least, i couldnt find a plot that would make sense for them. so the idea got put in the back burner.

but then @bunny-banana sent a few tweets in our discord server and was like "makes me think of an eeaa0 au" and i went OwO (ceci if u want me to set the fic as a gift to u, i would gladly do so 🥺)

with some funky au ideas already brewing but dont have energy to research/worldbuild, i decided to shove all of them into a single thing.

the fic parallels and references a lot of events in the movie it's based on, and a lot of underlying questions can be answered (like, "why did this character decide to sacrifice themselves instead of agreeing to stay?" or "this is a direct callback to an iconic line but why does it seem off?") if u've watched the movie kinda like a little extra treat for the people who Know. but it also has its own stuff separate from the movie. i didnt use the bagel/googly eye duality because the characters are White and it wont make sense to center it in a uniquely asian philosophy. instead i used cloth/thread to tie it all up (hehe) and reading that the costumes incorporated traditional lace just sealed the deal for me

#ask #Anonymous #im being deliberately vague bc i dont want this to end up on tumblr search ALKSDJFAS #mew's shenanigans

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 2,868

Jade: Go inside.

Author commentary:

As much as we all loved Hivebent, it still had this massive delaying effect at a point in the story immediately following a critical crescendo of super exciting plot stuff. We had to plow through Hivebent for hundreds of pages, and then through quite a lot of A5A2, before finally returning to some really basic stuff from [S] Descend that felt like a big deal at the time. Specifically, "Hey, remember how Jade sacrificed her dream self to save John, and how her robot bunny present saved his life, and all that other stuff??" It feels like that all happened ages ago. Now they finally catch up about it, but so much has happened between now and then that the accumulated intrigue has kind of started to have a muting effect on the intensity surrounding the events of Descend. There's a lot more going on now, and them touching on the topic of Prospit's destruction, Jade's dream death, and a heroic bunny rescue all seem like pretty casual points of conversation that can freely mingle with other banter, like how multiple Karkats have been macking on Jade lately. This is a pattern that plays out a lot in HS, probably unavoidably due to its scale, the size of the cast, and how many plot threads are being handled at once. Sometimes series of brewing events all coalesce and galvanize through some intense, dramatic, single event, as in Descend, [S] Make her pay, or the mother of them all, [S] Cascade.

But then those plot points are taken off the burner and put aside on the counter to cool, often for quite some time. This lets the story drift back to the casual, silly stuff, which can be seen as HS kind of gravitationally reverting to its most fundamental nature: ridiculous kids BS'ing with each other about stupid shit. But it was also a necessary thing to do from a creative production standpoint: I couldn't always focus just on the intense stuff and keep relentlessly following through on it while it was piping hot, because that was not a sustainable proposition in terms of effort (a thing the kids at home never really understood, while feeling inclined to grouse about pacing issues). So this gradual "cooling effect" of hot plot points actually became deeply interwoven with the story construction and how that flowed. The hot material is always revisited though—rarely is anything totally dropped—but when it comes back into play it definitely has a different effect for having spent several hundred (or even thousand) pages sitting on the windowsill to cool. That cooled-off material becomes a different kind of ingredient than it once was while it was red-hot, as if the recipe called for it to be set aside to cool, to change its nature, its feel, and the way it tastes. And meanwhile many other exotic ingredients have been prepared. So when the cooled-off ingredient is reintroduced, now it just feels like all the other ingredients coming together to make something new, rather than still feeling like "the most important thing going on," as it once did. So then this amalgamation of new ingredients together with old, previously amalgamated ingredients, forms a new recipe, waiting for its turn to get thrown into the oven so everything can approach another critical galvanization as before. Rinse and repeat, until HS finally and miraculously ends.

#gif #pesterlog

[smoothcurvesinteractive]

"outline" Recipe for Thai Yellow Curry

This isn't so much a recipe as notes and ingredients

Few tricks..

Coconut _cream_

"lime leaves" Only available at asian market

Fresh bamboo shoots in the curry soup

Sautee the MayPloy paste in coconut oil until it seporates turns brown with red oily bits.

Roasted Peanuts

Shredded carrot in the soup

Bamboo tips

8oz coconut _cream_ (best I’ve found was at QFC. Do not get coconut cream intended for a bar… it is mostly sugar. Or, bigger boxed coconut cream from Hung Phat, OR coconut cream in a can from your local asian market) Coconut cream should be almost solid

8oz water (lime juice in the water)

1 teaspoon to 2 tablespoons garlic (FRESH)

1 “thumb” fresh ginger pealed chopped

Heaping teaspoon Mae Ploy brand curry paste

2 tablespoons sesame oil

2 tablespoons coconut oil

1 teaspoon of sesame oil

1 tablespoons chili oil or roasted chilis (pref roasted chilis)

½ cup roasted peanuts (unroasted is ok)

2 tablespoons peanut oil (brown some peanuts and add canola oil)

3 Kaffir lime leaves

Star Annus (3 cloves)

2 limes

Bamboo Shoots/Sprouts (Fresh from Hung Phat, canned otherwise, ideally “slivers” rather than planks or disks/medallions) Or poached baboo tips.. these have proven to provide better taste

Optional: Pineapple

Shredded carrot

1 sauce pot

One small pan

Optional: Roast some chilis then add some coconut oil to make chili oil and roasted chilis (for deep smoky flavor, and spice)

toast some peanuts in coconut oil then add some canola oil to make roasted peanuts (for deep nutty flavor)

In small pan on high, add some chili or peanut oil warm it

Finely chop the kafire leaf and saute it, this breaks the leaf down and allows the flavor to escape, 

Next add the peanuts, be careful peanuts go from uncooked to burnt in a second, 

As soon as the peanuts start to change color add the chopped ginger and garlic and

Add the star annus (yes without breaking the shells, it is easier to pick the big shells out later)

Turn this pan off, as it cools down the garlic and ginger and annus and oil should start to mix to make a very smoky pungent oil brew

Whike Star Anniston is very woody. And ya don't want bits of it in your curry, once you are all done making the oils put some Anniston and ginger in the little pan, on medium hi, after about a min add coconut water and bring to boil, basically making Anniston and ginger tea. Turn the burner off and let that steep for a 3 to 4 min while the curry is breaking down. Then strain the Annis ginger tea into the curry

In the pot bring up to high, add the coconut oil,

When the coconut oil has melted, add the curry paste

Sautee the curry paste until it turns dark color and turns into curry oil.  The curry will go through a phase change (solid to liquid) this will be complete when the curry and oil start to bubble, and turn dark brown, almost looks burnt. It is hard to burn curry paste this way, but it is easy to under cook it. If the curry paste is under cooked the curry will have a “gritty” or “grainy” flavor and texture. The curry past has to completely break down into dark oily goo. Don’t worry if the yellow curry or red or green does not look yellow, red, or green. The color will come back when you add the coconut cream. 

When the curry paste has been broken down into oil,

Now add your sauteed lime leaf/garlic/ginger/chili, annus oil to that mix

Stir well, you should have a bit of curry oil at the bottom of your pot, and it should look like a an almost burnt, oily mess with ginger and garlic lumps. 

_now_ Add the coconut cream

Stir, and stir, you should start to see the color of the curry emerge in the coconut cream almost immediately. 

Squeeze a lime into that, 

Bring it up almost to boil, 

Add the bamboo shoots

stir

Add the optional pineapple

Stir

Optional, add some shredded carrot

Chop the lime rind into big chunks and throw the chunks into the soup

The “Tricks” to making curry takest fantastic:

Coconut CREAM, (not coconut milk or coconut water)

Sautee the curry paste in oil FIRST

Kaffir lime leaves, sauteed, separately

Pan Roasted peanuts

Pan roasted chilis

Bamboo shoots IN the curry soup

Optional, double everything, and also add some coconut milk/coconut water, lemon grass

[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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[marginalmadness]

Summer Nights: 2/4

Pairing: Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N

Rating: Mature (later explicit)

Genre: Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance, Fluff

Synopsis: A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long…will it?

Warnings/Tags: This chapter involves Jungkook going into heat.

Author’s Note: If I called @johobi​ patient before, I fucked up the tenses to bad in this chapter, it took her HOURS to fix. But she approved of the chapter which I’m happy about because this is the one I was most worried about. Jungkook Goes into heat in this chapter, and I hope nobody wants to kill me when they finish it.  Chapter 3 is only a week away! <3

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Tags: @kookiebunny97​ @mintyrae​ @skswriting​ 

Word Count: 5.6K

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The events depicted here are entirely of my own imagining, and have no basis on actual people or events.

I hope everyone is enjoying BE, and Life Goes On.

Summer Nights: Chapter Two

The next morning is the first day of your new-new normal. You wake to the sound of music coming from the living room. You pull yourself to your feet, shuffling from your bed to find the sourc

The next morning is the first day of your new-new normal. You wake to the sound of music coming from the living room. You pull yourself to your feet, shuffling from your bed to find the source of the enchanting sound. To your shock and delight, you find Jungkook hopping around the kitchen happily, ears and hair bouncing as he sings along to the radio and prepares pancakes. His voice is divine. You stand there enraptured, caught under his spell. He drops the spatula in fright when he turns to find you leaning against the wall, watching him silently.

 “Please continue,” you urge him. But he shakes his head, blushing and hiding behind his ears. “Your voice is so pretty. Please?” you coax, stepping towards him. Jungkook considers you from behind his ears for a second. Then, tentatively, he picks up the spatula and resumes his song while he washes it clean.

 From that day onwards, he wakes you each morning the same way, voice drifting through the bedroom door he leaves slightly ajar. There’s always a stack of warm, fluffy pancakes waiting for you in the kitchen, and beside it a bowl of yogurt-drizzled fruit. As soon as you’re seated, Jungkook extends a freshly brewed cup of breakfast tea to you. You eat together in the early morning light, the radio playing in the background. And while you get ready for work, Jungkook cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. 

 Domestic heaven. 

At the end of your work day, you come home and thank God he’s still there. Sometimes he’s typing away on your laptop. Jungkook signed up as a freelance transcriber as a way to make money while staying with you. It was something to do while you were at work, too, restless soul that he is.  Sometimes, though, you come home to find him flopped on his side in a patch of sun, having a nap as a bunny. 

You cook dinner together now. Well, when you say together, you mean you take his direction, since Jungkook is a much better cook than you. He uses some of his free time to look up recipes he thinks you’ll like. 

It’s ridiculously heartwarming. 

After dinner, as is your routine, you split the washing up and curl up together to watch some Netflix. On the days you do all the washing up, Jungkook doesn’t fight you for control of the TV. 

You still tease him over the first and only time you watched a horror movie. The first jump-scare forced him into rabbit form and he leapt into your lap in fright. Jungkook spent the entire movie there, shivering. And the rest of the night he spent pressed against your side in a tight, furry ball. Of course, the next day he insisted he wasn’t that scared, he just didn’t want to bother you by transforming back and forth.

He did a similar thing when you were watching a sappy romantic movie, but you don’t tease him about that. The second you noticed him sniffling at the lovers’ separation, he turned into a rabbit and hopped off his chair and over to you. You expected him to come cuddle, but he scrambled onto the back of the sofa and situated himself by your head instead. Every time there was a particularly romantic moment, he would nudge you with his nose and tickle you with his whiskers. And when he was feeling particularly bold, he’d grip your shoulder with his front claws and rub his chin over your cheek and neck. It tickled so much it made you squirm. 

After extricating yourself from his clutches, a quick search on the internet told you that rabbits do this to mark their territory. You have trouble looking him in the eye the rest of that day. You know he’s attracted to you; have done since that first night. But he’s been ever so respectful. For some reason, the thought of him marking you as his makes your skin flush and burn.

Shopping for groceries is an experience, too. Jungkook skips around the store, picking multiple things up, asking you if you like them before throwing them in the shopping cart. It doesn’t matter whether you need them or not, just if you like it. That’s good enough for Bun. He’s so happy and energetic, his smile wide and eyes sparkling until you bend over into a freezer to pick up some ice cream. When you turn back, Jungkook is clinging to the cart, his eyes wide and entire body stock-still. All but his foot as it wildly pounds the ground.

“You okay, Bun?” you ask with a tilt of your head. His mouth drops open into a shape as round as his eyes. Mimicking you, Jungkook tilts his head before blinking and shaking it. And then he coughs, practically vibrates, before muttering something about cereal and running off in the opposite direction of the cereal. 

Ever since that peculiar day, Jungkook has insisted on going grocery shopping alone. Something about getting out of the house and becoming more independent. But he blushes and averts his eyes as he says it, foot tapping wildly until he kicks over a plant pot. He cleans up the mess without another word, chewing on one of its stricken leaves and purposefully avoiding your eyes for the rest of the day.

Your weekends become different too. Before Bun arrived, you’d spent them relaxing after your work week, alone and in peace. Now you have a tiny, demanding rabbit that follows you around your apartment, tripping you up. And now you also have a fully grown, demanding man. A roommate - for lack of a better word - with which to do things. Now you have Saturday walks in the park and Sunday brunches. Imagine that.

 Jungkook is incredibly physical. Forever moving, rarely still, bouncing from foot to foot, wiggling when excited. When you praise him, he claps and dances. The day you get a promotion at work, he hugs you so tightly, lifting you up and spinning you in the air because he’s simply that happy. He binkies about in excitement just as much as he did in bunny form, long hair and floppy ears bouncing wildly as his eyes crinkle in happiness, sending things flying in his excitement. You’ve already replaced one particular lamp three times.

But then Jungkook starts marking his territory in human form, too.

You’re chopping something for dinner on some nondescript day when Jungkook approaches you from behind, hands sliding gently over your hips. You could shake him off easily if you wanted to. But you find yourself not wanting to. His chin rests on your shoulder as though he’s just watching you work, but then the subtle rub starts. Across your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, until an involuntary shudder runs down your spine. It snaps Jungkook back to his senses and he pulls away.

—-

The day everything changed was the day from hell. Work had been awful, just one fuck up after another. None of which were even your fault, but all of which you were expected to fix.

You come home to a tidy apartment, subtle scented candles burning and soft music playing. Jungkook is in the kitchen cooking, and you’re sure the ingredients you can smell are ones he’s shopped for today.

“Welcome home.” He smiles over his shoulder at you. “Dinner is almost done if you want to get washed up.” He turns back to stir the pan on the stove. When you walked through the front door you were on the verge of tears. Now your eyes are misting up for the complete opposite reason.

You drag your sorry ass over to him and practically collapse against his wide, strong back, wrapping your arms around his tiny waist like he often does you.

“Thank you,” you practically sob into his shirt, screwing your eyes closed in an effort to not actually cry. You try to keep the emotion out of your voice but Jungkook knows you well enough to sense you’re upset by something. He immediately switches off the stove burners and turns to wrap his arms tightly around you, holding you without a second thought.

 “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, voice full of concern. Large, strong hands brush the hair back from your face.

 “I just had a really shit day, and you just—” You turn, arms flailing, motioning to the clean apartment and dinner on the stove. Jungkook nods in understanding. “—you made it all better.” His eyes go round as he blinks at you in shock, before melting into something warm. He tucks your hair behind your ears and tilts your head as he moves in, as though he were going to kiss you. Your eyes flutter closed as his nose brushes yours, but his lips never touch yours. “What’s this?” you ask in a whisper, blinking your eyes open to find him smiling at you softly.

 “A rabbit thing,” he says simply, resting his forehead against yours with a soft grunt of air. It doesn’t quite reach a growl. You know it's a rabbit thing; you researched. But you didn’t expect it in human form.

 “Okay.” You don’t push, don’t demand an explanation for a deeper meaning, just accept the affection from him. You lean in and brush your nose against his in return, causing him to gasp and grunt again, hand moving from your face to your waist. It lingers there for a few seconds before Jungkook gently, physically, pushes you away, his large eyes looking bigger than usual. His pupils are blown out, almost entirely black. Breath comes from his parted lips in short pants and huffs.

 “You should get cleaned up while I finish dinner,” he says softly, stepping backwards. There’s an arm’s length of space between you now. You nod at him, hands finding his, giving him a squeeze as you back out of the kitchen. You don’t let go until the space between you is too far for your fingertips to touch. His eyes don’t leave you until you’re completely out of sight.

 You close the door quietly, leaning your forehead against it and taking slow, deep, grounding breaths, trying to calm the racing of your heart. What was that? Sure, it isn’t the first time he’s done it; he did it on the night he transformed and kissed you. Somehow, though, it felt as intimate as him kissing you again. Is it wrong to feel this way towards Jungkook? He’s your Bun, your charge; you’re his caretaker. Are you taking advantage of him? Is he only acting like this because he’s thankful to you for taking care of him?

 You push off and away from the door, feeling heavy. It’s almost like there’s a rope connecting you to Jungkook and forever pulling you towards him. You change out of your work clothes into something more comfortable. If that more comfortable thing happens to be something just a little clingy in certain, flattering places, and it makes you feel pretty, then you tell yourself you need the ego boost after the day you had. It has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to look good for Jungkook. You head to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your hair into something more relaxed before returning to the kitchen. And Jungkook.

 “Nope!” Jungkook yells, stopping you before you can even enter the kitchen, two strong hands taking you by the shoulders, turning you around and practically marching you towards the living room. You pout over your shoulder at him, but he’s just grinning and laughing at your pouty face. You slump onto the sofa and he leans over the back of it, hovering over you, his eyes crinkling as he laughs musically. Ever so carefully he takes you by the jaw, rubbing his chin over your head, tilting you to the side so he can whisper in your ear.

 “Sit and relax, I’ll bring you dinner.” His voice is light and full of joy.

 You sit and pout, grabbing the remote to put some music on. At the exact moment you drop it back to the table, a bowl of food is placed in front of you. You blink up at a grinning Jungkook as he retreats eagerly to the kitchen, presumably for drinks. His enthusiasm is infectious. You pick up the bowl of pasta, twirling your fork in the creamy sauce and noodles, and take a big bite. It’s delicious. Delicious enough to have you moaning with pleasure and sliding back against the couch.

 “Kookie, this is amazing!” you groan, licking the sauce from your lips.

 Jungkook stares at you, eyes wide, focused on your tongue as it slides along your lips. You hadn’t even realised he’d come back from the kitchen. He places a glass of wine on the table in front of you, ducking his head and hiding behind his ears as he shuffles to his spot on the sofa, bowl in hand. You watch him slyly out of the corner of your eye. His face is so red, so glowing you can almost feel the heat radiating from it. “I made it,” he says, still staring intently at his food. “I found a recipe online I thought you would like.”

 “From scratch?” you ask, amazed. He nods, biting his lip and refusing to look at you. You reach across the space between you and thread your fingers into his soft, wavy locks, rubbing the spot just behind one of his floppy ears. “Bun this is amazing, it tastes amazing!” His head lifts up, eyes so big they sparkle in the low light. “You’re amazing,” you whisper in a soft voice. Jungkook ducks his head again, hiding once more behind his long ears and curly hair. He eats his food slowly, more picking at it than anything. You, on the other hand, tuck in enthusiastically, all manners and grace gone, letting him see and hear your enjoyment of the food. You know how much it pleases him when you unabashedly enjoy his cooking. When you ask for seconds, handing him your empty bowl, Jungkook binkies across the room to the kitchen, bouncing on his heels as he piles a second serving of noodles and sauce into your bowl.

 He hands it back to you soon after and sits beside you on the sofa, knees curling under himself. Reclining on the back cushions, he observes you as you eat, arms crossed and eyes sparkling. When you’re half way through your second serving and can’t eat a bite more, he whisks away the dishes and returns quickly to your side. 

 Jungkook flops over and places his head in your lap. “Will you…” He bites his lip, turning to bury his face in your sweater, his cheeks burning crimson again.

 “What? What do you want, Kookie?” you ask, carding your fingers through his hair and rubbing a thumb over the gentle fur of his ear. It twitches repeatedly.

 “Just this. Will you play with my hair? Stroke my ears?” he asks in a small voice. It’s unusually meek for him in his human form.

 “Of course I will, Bun. Anything you want.” You smile, running your fingers through his hair, nails trailing down his scalp. His leg kicks out, narrowly missing the coffee table. You hand him the remote. “Pick something to watch.”

Jungkook shuffles, turning to face the TV. With his head still in your lap, he curls up into a ball, enjoying your ministrations. You continue to pet him, running your fingers through his hair and stroking his ears, twirling locks of hair around your finger before releasing the resulting curl. You lounge there together, the stress of the day bleeding away from you thanks to a stomach full of good food and your hand tangled in the hair of—Jungkook—whatever he was to you right now.

You don’t know exactly when you fall asleep, but you wake to strong arms holding you, carrying you to your room. Jungkook places you delicately on your bed and you fling yourself backwards, curling up to drift off again. But before long you’re being shaken gently awake and sat back up. Soft, cotton pajamas are pushed into your hands.

“You need to get changed,” a soft, deep voice says firmly in your ear. A warm body presses against your back.

You pout, eyes resolutely closed, but begin taking off your sweater. Large hands help you when you get tangled on your arms. It’s even more of a struggle to unhook your bra. You flail for a while before dropping your arms and slumping back against Jungkook with a tired, pathetic whine. If you were properly awake you might have noticed how his breath hissed through his teeth, or how his nose rubbed your temple. 

With more force than is probably necessary, Jungkook grips you by the shoulder and props you forward. Then, with just one finger, he pulls your bra band away from your back, taking all care not to touch you at all. By some black magic he manages to unhook it, sliding the straps down and off your arms before discarding it on the floor. Not once does he look over your shoulder. He pulls the camisole of your pajama set over your head, guiding your arms through the straps before you wake enough to take over and pull both arms through.

“Now the shorts,” he grunts, low and gruff. It’s unusual enough that you pout at him over your shoulder.

“Bossy bunny,” you mumble, standing and kicking off the comfy leggings you had on. Somewhere in the back of your head you register a soft ‘”shit’” that you’re too tired to acknowledge. You pull on your shorts and sit back down, immediately flopping to your pillow. You feel your body being turned, tucked beneath the sheet pulled over you. Sleep comes easily to you after that.

—-

You wake up while it’s still dark outside. Jungkook’s chest is hot against your back, his knees curled and tucked behind yours. A muscled arm hangs heavily over your waist, keeping you close to him. You lift it as carefully as possible and slide out of bed, tip-toeing stealthily across the soft carpet and out of the room. You head to the kitchen and grab a glass in the dark, in search of a drink for your parched throat.

You drink your fill and shuffle back to bed, bringing a glass with you just in case. Although you slip into your room as stealthily as you’d left it, Jungkook is awake when you return. He sits with his arms wrapped around his knees, bottom lip snagged beneath his prominent front teeth.

“Kookie?” you ask softly in the darkness, making your way back to your side of the bed. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I just—I reached for you and you were gone,” he says, watching you place your glass of water down and climb back into bed. “I was waiting for you to come back.”

“Silly rabbit,” you coo. Jungkook rolls towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tangling a powerful, muscular leg with yours. You settle back, stroking his head and mulling over his unusual clinginess as sleep comes to claim you. 

But then you feel a pressure against your thigh, and you’re suddenly very awake. 

Jungkook undulates his hips to a subtle rhythm. “Wha-” you begin, turning to look at him. But he buries his nose beneath your jaw, his breath coming out in soft,  heavy huffs in time with his movements. He grinds against your hip with a desperation. You swallow audibly, forcing yourself to ask as your face burns. “Jungkook, what are you doing?”

“Sorry,” he whines. “I can’t help it, I just—” He throws his thigh over your hips, shifting until he’s hovering over you, weight on his knees and forearms. His hips drop to roll against your stomach, a thick bulge straining the thin material of the pajama bottoms you had bought him. Jungkook ruts against your sweat-covered skin as you stare up at him, eyes wide, frozen in shock. Heat floods through you, stirring your insides until you’re panting. He is, too. His mouth hangs open as he huffs in time with his thrusts, lips grazing your jaw until they reach your mouth. He caresses it softly with his own, barely a whisper of a touch. Once. Twice. Just like that first night he turned. The third time, he kisses you. Your eyes flutter closed and you kiss him back. Nothing more than a delicate tilt of your head and a careful brushing of your lips against his. This is wrong, a voice in the back of your head whispers. This man is practically a stranger.

Only he’s not.

He’s shared your bed as a human for the past two weeks, and ten weeks before that as a rabbit.

You’ve spent evenings curled up together, watching shows you both enjoy. You know his moods, as he knows yours. Your hand feels as comfortable tangled in his hair as it does amongst his fur, and you can read his eyes in both forms exactly the same.

He’s your Jungkook. Your Kookie. 

Your Bun.

He exhales heavily, his tongue lapping at your lips for more. Warm breath fans your face and you practically tremble with anticipation. Jungkook tears himself away to run his hands down the curves of your body, and as you look up at him, your mouth dries at the sight of his godly form. The ever-present glow of the city creates a subtle neon halo behind him, heightening his otherworldly, divine presence.

“I-I—“ As suddenly as he came onto you, Jungkook scrambles backwards off the bed, falling ungracefully to the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!” he yells, eyes watery and wide with terror. He rushes out of the room so quickly he doesn’t even stand up straight. Just heads straight for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. You follow too late, reaching your bedroom doorway just in time to hear the bathroom lock snap into place.

You drop to your knees outside the bathroom door, knocking on it gently. “Jungkookie, what’s wrong? Please, come out,” you call.

“I can’t,” comes a whine from the other side of the door. It almost sounds like a sob. “I have to stay here. Can I have a blanket please?” The voice is strained and tight; unsure. It’s not like the warm, bright voice you’ve come to know at all.

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll get that for you. I’ll be right back.” When you return with the requested blanket, you let Kookie know with a small knock on the door. He cracks it open just enough for you to push the bedding through. In doing so, you catch a glimpse of his eyes. They’re wide and a little teary, his pupils huge. His face and upper chest is worryingly flushed. Jungkook notices you scrutinising his appearance and slams the door shut before you can comment. You hover on the other side of the door, not wanting to leave him. “I’m not upset with you, Bun. I understand if you want some space. Good night.”

You shuffle your way back to bed, curling up under the duvet for the first time in weeks. Because despite the heat and humidity of summer, it feels far, far too cold.

—-

The fullness of your bladder wakes you, demanding you seek relief immediately. You can tell by the noise outside that it’s late morning, and you hope Jungkook is already awake. You roll out of bed and shuffle over to the bathroom, trying the handle and finding it still locked.

With a reluctant sigh, you knock. “Jungkookie? Bun, I need to pee. Can you let me in please?” A few moments later there’s shuffling behind the door and the soft click of a lock opening. A sunken-eyed Jungkook stands on the other side, eyes averted. The duvet you gave him wraps him like a shroud. It hangs over his head, hiding his ears, his hands clutching it tightly at his chest. He stares pointedly at his feet as he shuffles past you, and if it weren’t for your desperate need to pee you’d stop and talk to him. But that’s a conversation that can wait until you’ve made breakfast.

You finish in the bathroom as fast as possible and make your way to the kitchen, noticing how he sits curled up on the chair in the corner of your living room.

You pull out all the things you need to make pancakes and crank up the volume on an upbeat playlist; mostly songs Jungkook likes listening to in the mornings. “Jungkook, could you help me please?” you ask sweetly. “The strawberries and bananas need slicing.”

He perks up at that, ears twitching before his eyes dart over to you. He loves bananas, almost obsessively loves them. I knew that would work, you smile to yourself. Jungkook fiddles with the waistband of his pajamas and you try to forget the outline of his hardness straining against them. Try to forget how your skin flushed when he rocked it against you. You focus back on the batter, giving it an extra hard stir, making sure there’s no lumps in it. That’s the reason for you beating it so vigorously. No other reason.

You sigh, pinching yourself before switching on the burner on the stove.

Jungkook begins chopping fruit. Yes. You smile to yourself, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you work on two stacks of pancakes. The tension in the air between you two eases, and soon you’re both dancing to a song that Jungkook listens to often; its easy choreography something you developed together. The song changes into something new, something you’ve never heard before, but you sway your hips nevertheless as you ladle batter into the hot frying pan. Jungkook bounces from foot-to-foot, endlessly energetic as he works his way through half a bunch of bananas and the entire bowl of strawberries. He’s piling the chopped fruit up on plates when you push between him and the counter with a small, murmured excuse me. The step he takes back to allow you access isn’t quite big enough. Even then you don’t notice; so used to squeezing around one another in the modestly-sized kitchen as you are.

 Jungkook, however, notices.

Your ass slides firmly against him and he grips your hips almost painfully hard, pressing you into the counter.

“Ow! Jungkook, what are you—” Your question becomes a squeal of surprise when he buries his nose behind your ear and grinds his rapidly hardening cock into the cleft of your ass. Only two, flimsy layers of clothing separate you. 

“I need you so bad,” he growls as he rubs his nose through your hair, the underside of his chin skimming the column of your neck. You arch back into him, throwing your head back to expose more of your neck to him. You’re usually a lot more reserved with men—a lot—but something about Jungkook makes you want to be wild. Maybe it’s the way you feel so safe with him. His body is a solid presence against your back, his thrusting desperate and needy. Gone is the sweet, delicate Bun you’ve come to care about. He’s been replaced with someone who grips you, growls at you, and yet you still feel safe in his arms.

It’s Jungkook. He’d never hurt you.

You groan, something between a whine and a whimper being ripped from the back of your throat as he rubs himself against you. Then, suddenly - unwelcomely - cold air hits your back. 

Jungkook has torn himself from you for a second time. 

You turn but he’s not behind you. Spinning in place, you see a fluffy tail vanishing around a cabinet and a pair of light grey pajamas left in its wake. You follow fast enough to watch him hightail it out of the kitchen and across the living room, straight under the chair in the corner. He never sits in it as a human, preferring to sit next to you on the sofa, but it’s his favourite place to hide as a bunny.

You crouch, peeking under the chair, trying to coax him out.

“I’m sorry, Jungkookie. Come out and talk to me, please?” you beg to the huddled mass of fur under the chair. He stays where he is, shifting in a way you know means he’s settling in for the long haul. You stand up, running to turn off the stove before dashing to your bedroom and throwing on some clothes. After grabbing your bag, you check under the chair again. Jungkook is still there. “I’ll be right back, okay?” you tell him, before rushing out the door.

You all but run out of your apartment building, dodging people on the street as you head to the florist a block and a half away to get a custom bouquet made. It’s ugly as hell, but it’s not supposed to be for looking at. All of the flowers are suitable for rabbits to eat, and you get triple the ones you know Jungkook is particularly fond of.

You rush back to your apartment on a sliver of energy, taking extra care to preserve your gift, but the whole journey takes you less than twenty minutes. You discard your shoes and bag by the door and head straight for the chair, placing your peace offering on the floor before it.

“I have a gift for you,” you say, pulling a white hibiscus from the bouquet and presenting it to him. “Please come out and talk to me, Bun.” You watch as Jungkook hops forward, unable to resist the pull of his favourite flower. You untie the haphazard collection of flowers and lay them out on the decorative wrapping paper for him. It does the trick and draws him out from under the chair. You hold your hand out to him carefully, letting him come to you on his own terms. Jungkook devours a rosebud and hops forward, bumping your hand with his nose. You sigh, tension you didn’t know was building melting from your shoulders.

Somewhat placated, you head back to the kitchen. The pancakes are now cold but nothing that can’t be reheated. You store his breakfast in the fridge and slip a couple bits of banana onto the paper with the flowers. Jungkook leaps at them, devouring them with relish before following you into the kitchen and circling your chair as you eat your pancakes. He reaches up, nudging your foot to get your attention. And by attention, he wants more bananas.

Once you’re all done with breakfast, you move to the living room. There are several episodes of a TV show you and Jungkook have been watching together that you need to catch up on, and that’s your usual plan for the weekend. Jungkook, however, has other plans. He jumps into your lap, purposefully knocking the remote out of your hand. You tangle your fingers through his fur and feel him shudder under your touch.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong now?” you ask softly, thumb rubbing soothing circles between his eyes. Beneath your hand, Jungkook transforms. He curls in on himself, doing his best to obscure his nudity, and buries his head in your stomach. You run a hand down his back and find his skin is clammy and feverish. “Oh my god, are you sick? Bun, you’re burning up!” you exclaim, panic injected into your tone.

“I’m going into heat. It’s why I keep—why I keep—” His voice is high-pitched and strained again.

“Why you keep rubbing against me?” you finish for him, raking your nails through his long locks. His ears and tail twitch and Jungkook whines. Nodding, he curls in on himself tighter. “You need a partner,” you say matter-of-factly, but he shakes his head in disagreement.

“No. I don’t need a partner...” he says simply, the implication left hanging. You move his ear carefully, brushing his hair from his face and cupping it with one hand. Your thumb strokes his cheekbone until his tightly-clenched eyes open.

 “Then, tell me what you want,” you whisper. His eyes narrow like he’s assessing you. Assessing the full implication of your words and trying to decide how to answer you.

 “Normally I’d mate with someone in a nest—” Jungkook starts before he’s racked by shudders. He buries his face in your stomach again and whines.

 “My bed,” you offer. “You can build a nest there if you need to.”

He shoots upward at your words, watching your face carefully. “But—” His eyes are wide, mouth agape as he draws the logical conclusion but not daring to hope. “--where will you sleep?” He asks as though he is scared of the answer.

 You carefully brush his hair back from his face, thumbing over a floppy ear. “I c-can—“ you stutter, before taking a deep breath. “I’ll figure something out.” You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. Your lips are so close like this, close enough to brush against each other as you speak. It’s not quite a kiss, but your intention is clear. “If you need anything—if you want anything...” You trail off. 

 Jungkook wastes no time. He sits up and crawls into your lap, his bare, muscular thighs straddling yours as he kisses you deeply. His hands, no longer rough, cup your face delicately as though he can’t believe he’s been gifted something so precious. Even as his naked hips roll against your stomach.

 “Iwantyouwantyouwantyou. Need you,” he chants between kisses.

 And in an act of madness - or perhaps sanity - you give yourself to him completely.

Next Chapter

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