#I could write six books about them and the side idiots alone
Text
Of porch swings and trampled flowers. (rewritten scene/WIP)
It has been two rather weird months for Orla and Mick and both are trying to make up their minds about that new unspoken thing between them while they’re also trying to have a great time at their friend’s birthday party.
(TW: several mentions of very! irresponsible alcohol abuse)
******
It was only nine thirty in the evening but the party was in full swing already. Orla O’Connell made one careful step after the other through the room full of people and eventually the narrow hallway, balancing some empty glasses on a tablet, hoping that she would get them to the kitchen safely and she was relieved when she saw Damien waiting for her.
“Made it!” she laughed. “There you go, quite a big haul, eh?”
“Ah! You’re a gem!” Damien said, taking the tablet from her. “I dunno, man. Was ‘Please put your empty glasses back in the kitchen!’ too much to ask?”
“I guess, yeah. People be people.” Orla shrugged and followed her friend into the kitchen. “Are you enjoying your party?”
“Yeah, it’s been great so far! Best thing is that I saw about ten people already whom I have never met before.”
Orla laughed and she gave Damien a little pat on his shoulder. “That’s amazing, your reputation precedes you!”
“Heh!” Damien laughed. “What reputation are you even talkin’ about?” He placed the tablet next to the sink and started putting the glasses into the dishwasher.
“That you throw great parties?”
“Aw, you’re cute! However, that would rather be Mick, not me, eh?”
Orla could suddenly feel her heart beating a little faster and she tried her best to hide her excitement about the mention of Mick’s name. She merely bit her lip and nodded and let out a little laugh, doing her best to look and act entirely casual. She knew she was being silly - it was nearly impossible for Damien to have the slightest idea about her feelings, as it was for everyone else.
“Have you seen him, by the way? I know he’s here but he kinda just showed up, said hi and I haven’t seen him ever since and... ”
Orla didn’t answer. She had just stopped listening as her thoughts started wandering off like they had so often in the recent past. Her feelings for Mick had changed a little over two months ago - at the New Year’s party, to be exact. Something had happened between them that evening. Well, at least something had happened with her. Orla hadn’t been able to figure out where exactly it came from; all she knew was that there had suddenly been a moment when, for some inexplicable reason, she had the strong desire to kiss her friend.
Orla remembered the moment well - they had sat in a round with some others and everyone laughed about a little anecdote that one of their friends had just told and Orla and Mick had looked at each other for a few moments, and she had been entirely startled by her own thoughts and she couldn’t help but feel that he had noticed and maybe even felt the same.
There was the catch, though: Orla had no idea at all if Mick felt the same. There had been times when she was almost certain that he did and there had also been times when she was certain that she was merely imagining things. There had also been times when she questioned her own feelings, when she asked herself whether she was maybe just particularly fond of the idea of him and her together, that her feelings weren’t real and that she was just projecting. She had always thought of Mick as exceptionally good-looking after all. He was also cute and surprisingly sensitive, and while he could be a handful (and there was just no way around admitting that) he was always very gentle with her. A gal can get carried away so easily. Especially this gal. Orla was more than aware of her tendency to crush on every handsome lad that would cross her way and she could usually shrug those moments off with a smile.
This whole situation felt different, though, and no matter from which perspective she tried to look at it - something had definitely changed. She could no longer be in the same room with Mick without feeling like she did and she figured that it was about time to do something about it albeit she still had no idea what that something could be. She could feel frustration rise up every so often and she was afraid that this weird state would somehow affect their friendship in the long run. Whatever the outcome may be, she needed to put an end to her pathetic secret pining... although she really preferred the outcome in which he would just smile at her and bend down so their faces would be close and-
“Orla?” Damien asked, gently poking her shoulder. “Hey, you still there?”
Startled, she turned her head. Oh. “Hm?”
“Where have you been?” Damien asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Uhm, sorry, kinda just drifted off for a sec. What is it?”
“Have you seen Mick?” Damien repeated his question. “I’m wondering where he went and you guys usually stick together and-”
“We do?!” Orla’s eyes went wide. “Is that what you-? Erm, I mean- I dunno where he is. Sorry. Haven’t seen him.” she said quickly and after a few moments she added “Probably somewhere outside with Declan, Ryan and Daryl. Doing something stupid, as usual.”
Damien gave her a weird look. “Okay then?” he mumbled. “Guess he’ll show up sooner or later, eh? Well, anyway, thanks for getting me those glasses back.”
“Any time. Let’s just try and make sure those idiots out there don’t wreck your entire house. And hey, my offer still counts. If you need help cleaning up tomorrow just gimme a honk, right?”
“Aw, you’re the best. It’s fine, though, my parents are only coming back in a week and Jake and Jessie already promised to help. You just go and have fun! Hey, we’re gonna have a drink and a chat later, eh?”
“You bet we are!” Orla grinned, hoping that her little awkward moment would quickly slip Damien’s mind again. “I’m gonna have a stroll ‘round the house. Just yell ‘GIN TONIC!’, and I’ll be right with you!”
“Attagirl.”
*****
It was rather unusual that Mick would disappear from a friend’s party just like that and as she left the kitchen, Orla had already made the decision to look for him. She let her eyes wander around as she walked through the rooms but there was no sight of her friend. Not anywhere. It was rather impossible to oversee him after all so it seemed that he really wasn’t here and Orla began to feel really sad and disappointed.
Could it be that he had left already? That short after he showed up, just like that, without saying goodbye?
‘Nah, he wouldn’t.’ she thought to herself, and when she came back to the hallway once more from what felt like her fifth round around the house, she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, huffing in frustration. There they were again - the doubts. The self-consciousness. The insecurity.
There was still a chance that Mick was simply avoiding her after all. Maybe he had somehow sensed her feelings. He was good at perceiving moods and other little things and as much as she cringed at the thought - it was most certainly a possibility. Maybe the thought of being with her had put him off so bad that he could no longer stand being around her. Orla let out another heavy-hearted sigh as a loud and familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
“ORLA! Oh god, there you are! Get your phone ready, this is gonna be fun!” Declan called, jogging across the hallway over to her. He was a bit out of breath and needed a moment to rest, leaning against the wall by putting his hand to it and taking a deep breath before he went on. “Do us all a favour and film this. It’s grand, it’s shocking-”
“What is it?!” Orla batted Declan’s hands away as he started fumbling around with her handbag.
“Daryl just ate half a fuckin’ glass of Russian Pickled Cherries!” he told her, slightly appalled because she wasn’t as excited about that fact as he was.
“Ew, what?”
“And now he’s about to drown a bottle of whiskey for good measure. It’s gonna be so much fun, just come!” Declan took his sister by her shoulders now and pushed her through the hallway towards the living room.
“Not again! I can’t believe you guys still encourage him to do that shit, y’know, considering-“
“Aw, we’ll look after him, as usual.”
“One day, one o’ your stupid little ‘jokes’ will go wrong and put his life in-”
“I said we’ll look after him.” Declan interrupted. “We always do.”
Orla sighed. “And why can’t you use your own phone?”
“Dunno where it is, left it somewhere, just come on now! To the living room!”
“Why can’t you ever look after your things-”
“Now come!”
Just as she was about to protest some more, Orla gave it a second thought. Her little remark to Damien earlier didn’t come out of nowhere after all - if there was anything remotely stupid happening, Mick usually wasn’t far away and Daryl McKenna’s next attempt at drowning an entire bottle of whiskey while everyone was cheering for him was the epitome of stupid and while she didn’t enjoy the thought of it (or better said, the thought of what was bound to happen about half an hour later), Mick most certainly would.
The thought gave her hope. He had probably spent the last thirty minutes with Declan and Daryl and she was certain that she would eventually spot his face among the others in the living room. There was no way Mick O’Loughlin would miss a friend making a fool of themselves.
“Alright, alright, just get your hands off me already!” Orla hissed and freed herself from her brother’s grip. She eventually followed him back to the living room and she found that Declan hadn’t promised too much: most of the guests were already looking expectantly at the slightly chubby guy with the horn-rimmed glasses and the long and tousled red mane in the middle of the room, holding a bottle containing a clear golden liquid into the air. Daryl was putting on a little show, as usual, and even Orla couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him. Daryl had a good portion of charisma, she had to give him that. He knew how to entertain people, it was something he had in common with her brother.
Among the watchers was also Damien, of course, apparently torn between amusement and concern. “My parents just refurnished this room so if you gotta puke, do it outside!” he called but Daryl merely laughed his remark off.
“Get your phone out already!” Declan urged, pushing Orla a little further into the room. She rolled her eyes and pulled her phone out of her handbag, unlocking it and handing it to her brother.
“Here. Do it yourself if it’s that important to you! And don’t you dare losing or breaking it!”
“Neat!” Declan beamed as he took the phone and Orla took the opportunity to look around the room again.
There were many familiar faces but she still couldn’t spot the face she was looking for. ‘How can that be? He must be here!’ she thought, and she felt her body becoming tense.
As Daryl did his thing, the crowd cheered, as excpected, and Orla watched him with a mix of disgust, concern and also deep respect for a few moments. She smirked, as she knew he would never make it. Drowning a bottle of whiskey without facing the worst consequences was nearly impossible for anyone and not even Daryl was careless enough to take a risk like that. He would give up soon, she knew him well enough and he had done it like that before. He was usually all hot air with nothing behind it, he would pretend to have a coughing fit or something and he would put the bottle down, leave the room in a hurry and hope for the best.
At some point Orla didn’t feel like watching any longer and she certainly didn’t feel cheerful either.
“I’m out of here!” she called and patted her brother’s shoulder but Declan didn’t even take notice of her as he was concentrating on capturing the rather disturbing scene on film, probably already thinking of ways to make it go viral and Orla scoffed before making her way out of the room.
She eventually found herself back in the large kitchen. Damien had switched the lights off and Orla could now see all the little lights outside in the garden that lit the way to the Callaghan’s back porch.
Perfect. A little bit of fresh air, a smoke and some solitude would certainly help her to feel more relaxed again. She took another can of beer from the freezer, carefully opened the glass door and stepped outside, taking a deep breath. It was surprisingly warm for an evening in March and Orla strolled along the way to the back porch, enjoying the little rush of fresh air and as she gazed into the clear sky, she couldn’t help but smile at the twinkling stars.
The porch was lit by a few lights on the ground. As soon as she reached it, Orla could hear a faint creak and she drew her eyebrows together in confusion but when she saw what, or better said, who had caused the noise, she let out a surprised laugh.
*****
“There you are!”
Mick O’Loughlin sat on the porch swing all by himself, slowly moving it back and forth with his legs. When he heard Orla talk, he looked up but his expression was difficult to read. He didn’t say anything and merely shrugged.
“You’re missing all the action, y’know.” Orla tried again after a few moments.
“What action?”
“Daryl emptied an entire glass of Russian Pickled Cherries and now he’s attempting to drown an entire bottle of whiskey.”
“Again?”
“He’s Daryl. We always knew he’d try it again at some point.”
“True. He’s stupid.”
“Yeah, he is.”
Silence.
“What’s it with you today?” Orla eventually asked, moving a little closer to the porch.
“Nothin’.”
“You been sitting here all night or what?”
“Kind of.”
Mick still didn’t really look at her and Orla felt the frustration rising inside her again. She began to worry whether he even wanted her around.
“I brought beer! Can I sit with you for a bit? Or do you want me to go?”
“Mh-mh.” Mick shook his head.
"You don’t want me to sit?” Orla asked carefully. He was obviously in one of his weird moods.
“I don’t want you to go.”
Orla smiled and instantly felt a little better.
“Okay then. Move over.”
At least he could stand being around her so his mood probably wasn’t about her. She stepped on the porch and sat down next to him, looking at his profile for a few moments. Still curious about what had caused his mood, she took the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers and took a drag.
Together they moved the swing back and forth in silence a few times before Orla dared to speak again.
“What’s up with you?” she asked, her voice soft now.
“Nothin’.”
“It ain’t nothing! I’ve known you since forever, don’t you forget that?”
“Just not really in a party mood, I guess.” he sighed.
“You’re still here, though. What’s keeping you from going home if you’re not feelin’ it?”
Mick now looked at her, raising an eyebrow, and Orla facepalmed herself in her thoughts. “I mean, I don’t want you to go, of course, but, I mean, you could?” After a few moments she added: “I’m sure everyone would understand.”
Again, silence.
“Hey, I’m worried. You’re being weird!”
Still no answer.
“Come on, you gotta give me something to work with, Mick!” Orla now cried out impatiently, half-amused, half-desperate.
Mick now groaned and leaned back, stretching out his long legs. “It’s nothing!” he insisted and snatched his cigarette back from Orla’s hands, taking one last drag before flicking it away.
“I don’t believe you! You’re so bad at lying, it’s ridiculous!”
“Well, fine, there’s somethin’ but I dun’ - I mean. I dunno how t’ bring it up without soundin’ like a total fucktard.”
‘Fine, we’re making progress’, Orla thought. “Hey, you’re talkin’ to me and you never cared about that before. Speaking fucktard is what we do, it’s our thing!” she laughed.
“Not this time, though.”
“Why not? Just tell me what’s wrong, please!” she pleaded again, starting to feel really worried.
“ Orla, I- god, it’s so stupid.” Finally, he looked into her face. “Did I, like... do anythin’? Have I somehow pissed y’ off or so? Have ya been avoidin’ me?”
Orla frowned. The question took her by surprise. “What? What makes you think so?”
“I dunno either, it’s just -” Mick bit his lip. “I dunno, I feel y’ have been tryin’ to avoid me.”
“Wha- no. What? No! No, I-” Orla stammered. This conversation had just taken an unexpected turn. “To be honest, I was- I was wondering the same. About you, I mean. That you’ve been avoidin’ me! At least sometimes.”
“What? Why would I do that?”
“Well, why would I?”
They looked at each other for a few moments, dumbstruck, and Orla’s heart started beating faster again. She still didn’t know what to make of this moment but at least it seemed that she hadn’t been the only one noticing that something was very, very different.
“I dunno.” Mick sighed, looking back to his hands in his lap. “Shit’s been hella weird since New Year. Right? Tell me I’m not just seein’ things, please.”
Alright. Now was the moment. Orla felt an odd rush of relief washing over her and she moved a little closer - no matter what, they would settle this now and she would finally be able to move on.
At least that was what she hoped.
“You’re not seeing things.” she admitted. “I dunno either but... oh lord.”
Orla looked into Mick’s eyes. The porch was lit just enough so she could see a little spark in them and her little wave of relief instantly faded and the sheer nervousness was back.
This was probably the hardest thing she would ever have to do.
She took another deep breath. “I’ve been... getting lost in thoughts every now and then, y’know. About you. And me. And what I would like to do but... can’t because I’m an anxious wimp.”
“Thoughts? Y' mean... ?” he asked, surprised, but otherwise his expression was once again hard to read.
“Ugh, I don’t know, okay? I just- I’ve been wondering if we could maybe- I don’t know.” Orla looked away again and closed her eyes. Her hands were shaking. No, her entire body was shaking. She was really close to having a panic attack now and, all of a sudden, the prospect of a few more months filled with secret pining wasn’t all too bad.
This particular moment had been so much easier in all her wild theories. Also, much more elegant. She felt like an idiot - this was huge and she didn’t feel ready at all. “Just forget about it, okay? Maybe we should just go back inside and see what-”
She stopped mid-sentence because Mick had just reached over and taken one of her hands in his, intertwining his fingers with hers. Her heart skipped a beat.
Oh my god! she thought. What is happening? Is this really happening?
“If I’m guessin’ right now, well.” he shrugged. “I’ve been a fuckin’ wimp, too.”
“How can you be so cool and calm about all this?” Orla gasped, still not believing that this was actually happening.
Mick now let out a laugh, sounding baffled. “Wow, what? I’m not. It’s just- it kinda makes sense now, doesn’t it?” He gently brushed her thumb with his and squeezed her hand gently.
Orla closed her eyes again, breathing in and enjoying the affectionate little gesture. This was all new territory now. It didn’t even feel wrong. In fact, it felt very, very right.
“So I take it you’ve been, well... wondering, too?”
“Aye, I’ve been wonderin’.”
Could it really be this easy? Was this really the way to solve the issue? Shouldn’t there be more talking and elaborating? A battle plan or maybe at least a little bit more of thinking it through?
“I still don’t know if this- if we- if this is a good idea.” Orla stammered. “We’ve been friends for so long now, don‘t you think it’s weird? At least a little bit?”
Mick shrugged before he eventually tilted down his head a little, leaning in for a much anticipated kiss and although her heart (and lips) had been longing for this moment for weeks now, Orla wasn’t quite convinced yet.
“What if this goes wrong? I couldn’t stand to lose-” she breathed out but as her lips accidentally brushed his now, she was unable to go on. Her eyes were still closed and her lips slightly parted.
“Why would it go wrong?” he murmured back, putting his free hand to the back of her neck, gently tickling it. “Please dun’ leave me hangin’ now.”
Orla let out a funny little whimper, somewhere between fear and excitement. She knew there was no going back now anyway, too much had happened between them within the last five minutes alone, and so she finally let it happen.
The kiss was everything she had hoped it would be and more; sweet and full of longing and it tasted like so much more and she could feel an entire army of butterflies going wild in her stomach and after a little while, Orla drew back her hand that was still in his, reaching up and cradling his face in both of her hands now, losing herself in the bliss of the moment.
When they broke apart, only a few inches, after what felt like five hours later, merely to catch some air and not actually letting go of each other, Orla chuckled, playing with Mick’s hair at the back of his head. “Shouldn’t we go back inside?” she managed to say, her breath shaking and her heart still beating fast.
“Ya wanna go back inside?” he murmured against the side of her neck, nuzzling it, sending a tingling sensation down her spine.
“If you keep doing this, I’d rather drag you into that garden shed over there and do a little more to you than this.” she gasped.
“Temptin’.” Mick smiled against her skin as he proceeded to gently tilting up her chin, giving her another kiss and biting her lower lip.
‘Holy shit, where did he learn that?!’ Orla thought to herself, eventually pulling him into another kiss, a rather hot one this time. Her hand crept under his shirt and when he didn’t object (not that she expected him to), she let the other one follow, enjoying the warmth of his skin against her.
“Damien already asked about you.” Orla murmured after another little while, in between heated kisses.
Mick eventually pulled away and looked at her in disbelief. “What? We’re kinda in the middle of somethin’ here and y' think about Damien?”
“Nah, I just- it’s kinda rude, isn’t it?” Orla shrugged, biting her lip now. “He’s our friend and it’s not even close to midnight and we’re party guests after all... I dunno, I think we’re being rude.”
“Eh, so I guess that means ‘Bye bye, garden shed.’” Mick moaned in utter dismay, leaning against the backrest of the swing again and letting out a dramatic little sigh, but Orla knew he was only mocking her.
“You’re a horrible person, O’Loughlin. Alright, five more minutes. Go!” she encouraged him, making a little gesture with her hands that told him to come closer again.
“Naw, y' can’t just switch me on and off and on again, like fuckin’ television?”
“Why are you being weird now? Just do what I say for once?” Orla reached for his face again, cackling and trying to pull him close.
Mick chimed in laughing now, pulling away from her as far as he could. “I’m a human being, I have feelings!”
“Stop fighting and. Make. Out. With me. NOW!” she urged, laughing and making a silly kissy face at him. “I know you wanna! MWAH!”
“Not when ya make that face!” Mick now tried to push her face away with one hand (as carefully as he could, of course - he didn’t want to hurt her after all).
“You’re terrible, I hate you!” Orla giggled.
“Naw, ya don’t- OW, fuck OFF!” Mick cried out and swiftly pulled his hand away from Orla’s face - she had just bitten his thumb. He looked at his hand and then back at Orla, eyes wide in shock.
“That’s what you get for being like this, arsehole? You can’t win this anyway, just give in to me and my charming advances.”
“Tsk.” Mick scoffed but he was all too happy to oblige. Orla scooted closer, pulling him into another kiss, sweet and gentle again and she wondered why she even brought up the idea of going back inside and joining the party again - she didn’t really feel like it after all.
Just five more minutes. she thought. Maybe ten. Maybe sixty.
Just as she was getting lost in the moment again, a loud noise pierced the air. The sound of what appeared to be shattering pottery had both of them jump apart in shock but that alone was nothing compared to the following howling of some very familiar voices and both Orla and Mick looked over to where the noises were coming from.
“AYYEE, SORRY BUD. Didn’ see ye over there, man!” Daryl cried out, failing to supress a laugh.
“YOU BROKE A POT!” Ryan Boone, Daryl’s best friend, stated the obvious.
“SHHHH I KNOooOOoooOW!” Daryl hissed, still not able to stop his giggling. “We can’t let Damien know, he’ll be MAD!”
Orla and Mick looked at each other. As much as both would’ve loved to keep their moment up - the mood was definitely ruined for now.
“I dunno know about you, but I really dun’ need these two idiots seein’ us like this.” Mick mumbled, biting his lip.
“Me neither.” Orla sighed. “Okay, you go and look what those morons are doing over there and I sneak my way around the bushes and pretend to come out of the house, how’s that?”
“Sounds good.” Mick agreed and as Orla was about to get up, he held her back. “Eh, Orla?”
“Mh?”
“One for the road.” He pulled her down into one last kiss. It may have been the shortest of the few they had shared until now, but it was the one that almost knocked Orla off her feet and left her breathless and dizzy and for a second, the garden shed option came back to her mind but she did her best to brush it off. Not now. It was all going so fast and while she hated the interruption, she decided to take the chance to recollect herself a little. Couldn’t hurt.
“Now go, I see ya in a minute.” Mick stood up and gave her one last smile before he darted around the corner.
*****
“What the fuck are you doin’ here, man?” Mick called at his two friends as he stepped around the corner.
“HE’S ALIVE!” Daryl roared as he recognised the tall and slim figure walking their way. He stumbled towards his friend, arms wide open.
“No, Daryl, NO, you’re too drunk to walk, come back!” Ryan called after his friend. “Oh my god, just listen for once. Seriously, though, Mick, where have you been?”
“Didn’t feel well, needed a minute.” Mick answered as Daryl flung his arms around him. “So I heard ya did the whiskey thing again, how’d that go for ya?”
“He’s drunk and broke a pot.” Ryan pointed at the pile of fragments to his feet.
“YeahIdid.” Daryl slurred, eyes closed, quite obviously not feeling all too well.
Looking at the mess at Ryan’s feet, Mick bit his lip, now dragging the drunk Daryl with him who was still clinging firmly to his waist. “Yeah, you did.”
“I didn’ meanto...” Daryl murmured, apparently having a hard time to stand on his feet.
Mick patted his head a little, trying his best not to laugh. “Naw, ‘course not.”
“What’s going on here, guys?” a familiar female voice called from across the lawn. Orla quickly walked over to the three of them, her eyes narrow in confusion. She looked at the scene, putting her hands to her waist and letting out a sigh.
“Daryl’s drunk, Ryan’s desperate and that pot down ‘ere is fucked.” Mick curtly explained the situation to her. He couldn’t help himself - he flashed her a little smile which she returned. It’s not like Ryan or Daryl had any clue about what had happened between them just a few minutes ago.
Orla felt it would be wiser to get back to acting like nothing happened, though, so she regained her posture and when she looked around the garden, something else caught her attention. “Oh NO, Daryl, you trampled all the flowers!” she cried. “Damien will be pissed, why do you always make such a huge mess wherever you go?”
“Idin’meanto!” Daryl whined. Apparently he had just reached the stage in which he could merely let out weird noises.
Orla sighed. “Declan’s drunk as well. I don’t know how he did it within the short time I let him out of sight but he’s singin’ along to Queen with Jessie-”
“DECLAN! I’M COMIN’!” Daryl suddenly cried out, eventually letting go of Mick and stumbling towards the house with flailing arms. He looked hilarious.
“Daryl!” Ryan called after him again in despair. “Watch out- ah, fuck it, you never listen anyway.” He looked at Mick and then at Orla, and his face lit up as he took a giant step over to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “You look ravishing as usual, Miss O’Connell. You’re free tonight?!”
“What-” Orla grimaced but Mick already stepped in.
“Alright, time to get back in and take care of Daryl and Declan!” he said firmly, squeezing himself between the two, putting an arm around each of them. “C’mon, let’s go! Go!”
And as they made their way back to the like that, Orla couldn’t help herself. To let him know that their moment wasn’t over just yet, she slid her hand into the back pocket of Mick’s jeans. He didn‘t look at her but she could see him smile and as she felt his finger brushing the side of her neck she was certain that the remainder of this evening was going to be just grand.
*****
“So, Damien and I put Daryl into the guest room. He’s sound asleep.” Mick told Orla as he took her by her upper arm, guiding her around the corner into the kitchen.
“Thank god.” Orla sighed. “He should really stop acting like that.”
“Aye, he should, but what can ya do. Any news from Declan?”
“Well, Jessie said he’s cradling his Jameson and has regressed to some weird toddler state. He squeaks and cries any time someone tries to take his bottle away.”
Mick closed his eyes and bit his lip as he tried not to laugh. “Beautiful.”
“However, I regret to inform you that Ryan and Jessie have now claimed the garden.” Orla sighed. “I don’t know what exactly they’re doing over there but it looked like some sort of a séance or so. They’re whispering really weird incantations together.”
“What the hell?”
“Just... don’t ask.” Orla shook her head.
“Jessie’s so cute when she’s drunk.”
“I know, right?” Orla laughed and she looked back up to Mick again. “Well. I’d love to pick up where we left off earlier but all the rooms are full of people.”
“Yeah. Ya never know who’s watchin’.”
“The kitchen is empty, though.” Orla smiled. She looked down and up again, taking the chance to grab Mick by his belt and dragging him further into the kitchen.
He played along and followed her with a little smirk but nodded at the glass door, towards the garden where Jessie and Ryan were currently having what looked like a serious laughing fit. “What about those two out there?”
“Ah, they’re busy necromancing.” Orla shrugged, letting her hands wander up his chest before standing up on her tiptoes and putting her arms around his neck.
“They could still see us?” Mick noted but he found himself not really caring that much as he pulled Orla a little closer now.
“The kitchen light is off and hey, if they should see anything, we can still tell them that they’ve been seeing ghosts.”
“Hm!” That was enough for an answer and Mick threw his doubts overboard with a little shrug before he smiled and bent down to kiss Orla once more and just before the two could get lost in the moment again, they heard someone howl nearby.
“WOW, it’s dark in here!” a female voice cried.
Orla and Mick jumped apart again, quick enough before the intruder turned on the light, both letting out a faint-but-exasperated groan.
“Oh my god...” Mick moaned and he and Orla both shielded their eyes from the light. “What the fuck, who are you?”
The girl let out a stupid laugh. “I’m Linda. I’m Damien’s classmate. And yoouu... are incredibly cute. A little rude, but cute.” Linda slurred as she made a step towards Mick, who merely frowned and backed away.
“And you and I need to leave,” Orla interrupted her. “You’re drunk and you should sit.” she added, trying to put on her nicest smile as she grabbed Linda by her shoulders, pretending that she was just a gal worried about another gal in solidarity. As she guided the girl out of the kitchen, she turned around to Mick who merely put on a slightly disgruntled expression that told her “Go off, it’s fine.” before he crossed his arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter.
Orla tried to mouth the words “I’ll be right back!” at him but when Linda made a weird retching noise, she made a face in disgust, “Eugh.”, and darted out of the kitchen to the next loo as quickly as she could, pulling the drunk girl with her.
*****
“Alright, I guess she’s fine, I put her into the room where Daryl is and-” Orla looked around the kitchen that was still lit but Mick was no longer there.
“Shit.” she grumbled as she let her shoulders drop in frustration, putting her hands to her hips and pressing her lips into a thin line. The Callaghans had a large house and yet it was practically impossible for two people finding some privacy.
“Damn you, Linda.” Orla muttered and she turned off the light as she left the kitchen, eager to look for Mick a second time this evening.
*****
(to be continued)
#orla#mick#orla x mick#made some minor edits and will maybe do some more later once I'm home#god I love my idiots so much lol#I could write six books about them and the side idiots alone
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
haikyuu boys in your typical romance cliche
warnings: mention of alcohol and language
note: female reader insert
oikawa tooru — as the typical popular frat boy that you happen to stumble into because you were so damn wasted of alcohol or vodka. you happen to be invited in the biggest frat party ever and you didn’t know whether you should be thankful or ashamed that you gained freedom and liveliness for a short period of time or squashing your face on the chest of the gorgeous oikawa tooru? perhaps the latter. oikawa know you because you were one of those university girl that never gave a damn about him and in instant he grew fond and interested with you. he actually finds it cute to see you all puffy and red because of alcohol but other than that he isn’t gonna let you go this time, never, especially in this state of yours. he’s that typical cliche where he’ll pull your hair up while you throw out in the bathroom while caressing your back gently and wiping off your temples with his handkerchief.
akaashi keiji — is the classmate that is really intimidating yet hot at the same time? you think you were quite lucky that you were assigned to seat beside him but the moment you gathered your things to move beside him, you can almost feel the weight of the piercing gaze of your classmates. anyways, you got assigned in a school project with him and he offers you his place since the school is bound to close at six and your place is not that appealing much either. so you both walked to his house and you can see the little things he does for you like pressing his body closer to your side when a creepy guy walks across or the ghost of his touch from your back when you both crossed the pedestrian or the way his hands slightly raises your bag cause he knows it’s heavy judging by your slouching. and when the young night passes away, he starts talking about his life and you too, until one moment he confesses that he really admires you, so much.
yamaguchi tadashi — you know yamaguchi and you’re good friends with him since you both live in the quiet neighborhood of sendai. you really love his freckles and usually compare them to constellations that makes him go flustered with his flyaway hair sticking up. he likes you but he’s just so meek and decides to never voice out his feelings. so yamaguchi is part of the photography club and is assigned to take a picture of a subject that is dear to them. and when he walked in the corridors all he could think off was just you. and so he did. you asked him while laughing, as to why he keeps on taking your pictures when you’re not a celebrity yourself, jokingly. but his answer left you off guard especially when he said, “my adviser told me to capture something so beautiful and i think it’s you.”
kageyama tobio — he’s that boy that no matter how much he wanted to go home and rest, he’ll always wait for you patiently at your lockers despite you asking him to head first because you still have committee work after school. then one moment after the adviser has finished the meeting, you’re shocked to see him leaning against your locker while drinking in from his milk. the moonlight is already shining through the window panels; making his skin glimmer marvelously. you’ll just stare at him dubiously; not knowing what to say. and you feel yourself falling down crazily for him; heart’s erratic. because he waited for two hours at the lockers just to walk you home, even though you told him not to. and you know he’s impatient as fuck but there he is, waiting and snatching you bag away from you. he’ll give you a stare and flickers your forehead while saying, ‘idiot, you think I’ll let you walk home, alone?’ and you’ll just pull his blazer down to capture his lips and he’ll blush so hard lmaoo
kuroo tetsurou — that transferee student everyone is talking about. with his dark hair, tall frame, and noted muscles— every girl is crazy about him. he is assigned to seat behind you; at the back by the window. and everything just spiralled down to complete euphoria, even you didn’t see it coming. he doesn’t talk much to your classmates. often dismissing a budding interaction from some girls. and it took you by surprise when he asked you for a pen because he left his pencil case in his friend (you heard him tell you his friend’s name, kenma it is?) and it just happen so quickly. everyday he’ll leave you sticky notes in your table with his messy handwriting saying how beautiful you are than the sun, or go out with me? with a little smile on the side. sometimes, you can feel him playing with your hair or reaching out to hold your hand underneath the table while the teacher is writing on the blackboard.
hinata shoyo — hinata will be that cliche where he will buy a cupcake because he could remember that it is one of your favorites. often running to your place because he missed the bus and will arrive at your place; his hair all messy and fluffy, panting, with his skin slightly flushed and glimmering with perspiration. or will let you cry on his shirt and won’t mind you soiling it despite the shirt being all new and crispy. he couldn’t bring himself to care to be honest, because his only concern is to make you feel better despite having his shirt all wrinkled and damp from your tears.
bokuto kotaru — is that typical boyfriend that would literally walk you down to your room despite his room being two buildings away from yours. he’s that dedicated. that every vacant period, he’ll fetch you off and lead you down to his department’s botanical garden. or will eat lunch with you in your room. or spending together in the library. he’s as fresh as lilies. young as the night. no matter how hard you cajole that you can walk yourself and he shouldn’t bother, he wouldn’t allow you. and will always carry your bag for you even though you can manage to carry it for yourself. he is also that kind of cliche where he’ll ask his professor is he needs something from your building and volunteers to get it for them just to visit you in you room. excusing you from your class and won’t say anything but just steal a peck from you a make a dash towards the faculty room with a proud smirk painting his face cause he rendered you speechless and flustered, again.
tsukishima kei — is that typical cold guy in campus that everyone is lowkey scared of. you were asked by your biology teacher to borrow the books for the class’s current lesson from the library on the spot you took a beeline for the shelves as fast as you could. but for fuck’s sake all the books were placed at the topmost part of the science shelves. you stood there for a good minute while glaring at the books overhead. you know you were damned for good since there are no chairs nearby that are available and the librarian is nowhere to be seen. you stomped you feet in annoyance until you felt a looming presence behind you. a tall one. and the person smells of fresh vanillas as well. when you turned around, you saw tsukishima grabbing the books at ease and handing it to you and stalked away. you thanked him quietly but it was enough for kei to hear and he wasn’t wrong when he thinks you we’re cute while struggling to get those books on top of you.
iwaizumi hajime — that boy you hated to the core. you didn’t know why but he just goes right after your nerve. pressing of your buttons. iwaizumi is the bugbear of your life. yet for him, you’re the fucking cutest person he ever met in his life. and he doesn’t know why you’re so annoyed with his whole existence. but one time, he decided to play it off and decided to push your buttons more. there’s a debate in your class and he stood up to contradict your claims. and basically everyone could feel the sexual tension arising in the air, yet they didn’t utter a word. iwaizumi thinks you’re so hot when your mad and whenever you put an emphasis to him name. or the cliche where he yanked your arm when you’re about to leave the room just to playfully lean in your face, while whispering, ‘you’re so difficult, yet you’re making me want you more’ e2l, pls.
kozume kenma — kenma is that typical boy that doesn’t allow people to play his console or his psp because it is something dear and precious to him. not even kuroo. no matter how his teammates beg to ask him for just one game, he’ll never allow except for you ;) to the point you don’t have to ask him, sometimes he’ll be the one to offer and let you play the recent game he just purchased lol
— part two will be posted soon! hope you guys like this,, i just started this yesterday with my love, @fratboyjae while we were casually throwing out cute blurbs to each other LOL HAHA. requests are currently open, send them in! love lots!
#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x reader#oikawa x reader#akaashi x reader#yamaguchi x reader#kageyama x reader#kuroo x reader#hinata x reader#bokuto x reader#tsukishima x reader#iwaizumi x reader#kenma x reader#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu smut
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
Black Herons - Ch.1
Summary: “Find love wherever you like, but never marry for love. Your title belongs to House Atreides—use it to strike the best possible bargain.” The best possible bargain arises in the form of Lady Rhiannon, a widowed Countess from a Minor House on a distant planet that, until very recently, had been consumed by centuries of war. The marriage alliance will gain House Atreides unlimited access to the planet’s untapped riches, but unbeknownst to Duke Leto, his new wife is far more dangerous than he ever could have anticipated.
Masterlist - Ao3 - Next Chapter
A/N: Made up a story to entertain myself with while I’m reading the Prelude to Dune books. Decided to try and write it because I had a fic craving and couldn’t really find anything that fit and of course you should always write what you want to read. I don’t really think there’s much call for this kind of story, but I thought I’d go ahead and post the first few chapters to check for interest.
Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x Fem!OC (slow burn)
Rating: M
Word count: 4k
Chapter One: Messengers
Eleven years. Six years of war. Four of rebuilding. One of grief.
Rhiannon was angry.
She cut a noble figure, framed against the pale evening light filtering in through the tall windows. Her poise was that of a soldier, head held high and spine perfectly straight, but her alabaster skin cloaked in fine silks marked her as noble-born. Although the room was warm, she drew her fur lined cloak tighter around her as she watched the snow float soundlessly down onto the watery gray courtyard.
Angry at her idiot brother and his council of vultures, angry at the godforsaken planet she’d put so much effort into, angry at the situation, but most of all, angry at herself. At how careless she’d been. Not even the snowflakes drifting idly on the other side of the council room window could ease her mood.
The result of her carelessness lay innocuously at the end of the great table behind her. A letter. Meticulously written on thick stationary in an elegant, swirling hand. Not so much as a smudge or stray drop of ink betrayed the speed at which it must have been drafted and sent. Even the way it was folded indicated great care: trifolded to fit within a sealed envelope, each seam separated by precisely a third of the paper’s length, each perfectly straight. The only imperfection was in the drop of red wax, a slight splatter that made the hawk of the Atreides seal look as if it were dripping blood.
Every seat at the great table was occupied by a member of the House Dering council, but none of them dared move, let alone speak. The lush, carpeted room was dead silent, save for the cracking of the fire in the hearth. Less than a year prior, many of them had been working for her, and knew just how dangerous she could be when cornered. Because even though she actively commanded the room, she was in a corner, and they were the ones that had backed her into it.
Rhiannon intoned a sigh, feeling a bit of the righteous anger boiling in her blood slip away, replaced by the fog of resigned indifference that had consumed her every waking moment for the better part of a year.
Everything had been different since Hetta‘s death. Rhiannon had been different.
As far as the Landstraad was concerned, House Dering had brought peace to the planet Iro. Those who lived on Iro, however, who were in the know and had survived the last decade of politics, knew the driving force behind the carnage to be the Dowager Countess.
The Imperial fiefs for Iro had been small and scattered across the planet’s surface like crumbs cast out for birds, each left to establish order and to tap the precious resources hidden beneath the planet’s surface. Because of this, there was more than one Countess of Iro, and a few of those also happened to be widows. But on Iro, if someone referred to the Dowager Countess, you knew exactly who they were talking about.
The letter’s authors were not from Iro. They had specified. Repeatedly. ‘— House Atreides respectfully appeals to The Honorable Viscount Larion Dering, Head of Minor House Dering, Guardian of The Honorable Dowager Countess Rhiannon Varvara, to inquire as to the eligibility of The Dowager Countess Rhiannon Varvara — ’
The Dowager Countess Rhiannon Varvara. The Dowager Countess Rhiannon Varvara. Over and over again, they referred to her by her full title. No she. No her. No simple Dowager Countess or Lady Varvara. Like if they weren’t incredibly specific there would be a misunderstanding and they would accidentally agree to marry their stupid Duke to the wrong woman.
Rhiannon knew she wasn’t being entirely fair. The wording wasn’t intended to offend her in any way. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perhaps she’d been a bit spoiled. Larion was an idiot, and for the better part of the last decade, she had been the power behind his office. Everyone who had wanted to deal with House Dering had quickly learned which sibling they had to win over, and that treating Rhiannon as an extra chess piece and not a fellow player was a quick way to make a dangerous enemy.
That must be it, the source of her anger. Arranging a marriage for political gain didn’t offend her, not even when she was the one getting married.
No, it was the fact that these negotiations had been going on for months without her knowledge, to the point where the letter was just a formality. The messenger that had delivered it to them was waiting in the next room, ready to carry back the response so the wedding arrangements could begin immediately.
It was the fact that her enemies had taken advantage of her grief over the loss of her daughter to move against her. Then, to add insult to injury, House Atreides hadn’t once bothered to meet with her personally to see if she was actually willing to go through with the deal or even to check if she was suited to be Duchess of Caladan.
To them, Rhiannon’s opinions didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. A means to an end, and nothing else.
Atreides may not have intended to offend, but to Rhiannon, there was no greater insult. And she was pissed.
But it was too late for anger. She had two choices: resist or relent. Even with her dilapidated resources, she still had quite a bit of influence in dangerous circles. Should she choose to try and reclaim what they had taken from her, even though she would almost inevitably lose, it would mean another long and bloody war that would cripple House Dering and threaten the newly established hierarchy.
Her enemies knew that, which was why they were marrying her off into an off-world family instead of trying to kill her outright. In their eyes, this was a solution that benefitted both parties; Rhiannon would be taken far away from Iro and no longer pose a threat to them, and in turn, Rhiannon would climb the social ladder to a previously unattainable position. Widow to wife. Countess of very little to Duchess of Caladan. The very things they believed to be every woman’s dream.
And, of course, Minor House Dering would gain the support and protection of a Great House, a particularly influential one, at that.
Larion, braver than the members of his council in the face of his sister’s wrath, stood and rounded the table.
“Rhia,” he beseeched, lifting up a hand with the intent of resting it on one of her narrow shoulders, before thinking better of it. Four years his senior, his sister had often been the guiding force in his life. He didn’t like to see her upset, even if he didn’t understand what there was to be upset about. “A lot of work has gone into arranging this for you. A new start, that’s what you need. You have too many bad memories here. This is your chance to move on. Start again.”
Rhiannon could’ve laughed at his choice of words. She knew exactly which of the vultures at his table had whispered them into his ear. Poor Larion, always such a puppet. There was no telling the ways they would pull his strings with Rhiannon out of the picture.
When she didn’t respond, Larion heaved a sigh. “Be sensible, please? Sit down. Read the proposal properly. We need to come to a decision quickly.”
“I believe the decision has already been made,” Rhiannon said coldly. “And as I am a woman, there is no seat for me at your council’s table.”
“Nonsense,” he said, not understanding. “I’ll have a servant pull one up for you.”
Rhiannon turned away from the window and surveyed the room almost lazily, the perfect manifestation of haughty disinterest. “No. I’m tired of the company you keep. Do what you must, brother, but I’m going home.
With that, she gathered her cloak around her shoulders and swept out of the room. No one tried to stop her.
After nearly thirty generations, the planet Iro was finally important.
The mines on Iro were thought to be some of the most bountiful within Imperium space. The planet was brimming with enough iron, coal, gold, silver, precious gems, and other raw materials to build an empire, but the constant infighting between houses made it nearly impossible to reach them. There was always another blood feud. Continuous warfare between the Minor Houses drained resources and made mining extraordinarily dangerous. Borders and territories were established, erased, and redrawn so often that it was impractical for wealthier Houses from other planets to barter for mining rights.
Now, after centuries, Iro presented a united front. Over the course of six years, one Minor House had clawed its way to the top and forced settlement amongst the rest. It was messy. It was brutal. But at last, after centuries, it was over.
After five years of progress unimpeded by kanly, the existing mines and quarries were more productive than ever and new ones were being built around the clock. Now that Iro finally seemed ready to truly engage with the rest of the Imperium, the larger, wealthier houses were circling once more, citing old treaties and making grand promises, all in hopes of staking a claim to the enormous wealth that was slowly, but steadily, edging within reach. House Atreides was no exception.
As the northern hemisphere of Iro tilted further into spring, the preparations for Rhiannon’s wedding were well underway. The ceremony was to take place on Caladan, but both Rhiannon and House Atreides still had a lot of unfinished business on Iro that needed to be addressed first.
For House Atreides, that mostly meant fleshing out business agreements, touring mining sites, conducting land surveys, buying equipment from other planets and arranging it to be sent to Iro, and setting up a central hub from which to conduct it all. For Rhiannon, it meant working out wedding details from millions of light years away, preparing to move her household and staff to another planet, extensively researching House Atreides and its enemies, quietly planting socio-political seeds and spies across a dozen planets, and discreetly monitoring everything House Atreides, House Dering, and the rest of Iro were doing from a safe distance.
Rhiannon still hadn’t met her betrothed and was trying hard to not feel insulted about it. Duke Leto was on Iro, and had been since long before Rhiannon had discovered just how interested he was in establishing a firm Atreides presence on Iro. Though, more accurately, he was above the planet, and had been spending most of his time on an Atreides Frigate in orbit for security reasons, but frequently came down to the planet’s surface to oversee everything firsthand. This meant that he was a frequent guest of Dering House Hall, but Rhiannon hadn’t been back to the family home since she’d walked out on the council meeting the night they presented her with the proposal, and she had no intention of returning without good reason.
Instead, she chose to stay at Black Heron Hall, a beautiful stonework mansion situated on her own property a few thousand kilometers away. It had been part of the dower from her first marriage and was located on the fringe of what used to be House Varvara lands. House Varvara itself had more or less been absorbed by House Dering, but Rhiannon had grown fond of the jagged, snow capped mountains and rugged evergreen forests, and had made it her permanent residence.
And anyway, as the higher ranking individual, it was the Duke’s right to control where and when their first meeting would be. If he wanted to meet her, he would either summon her to Dering House Hall or ask to be received at Black Heron Hall — she would comply with either without complaint — but any initiative on Rhiannon’s part would be considered socially improper.
It was a bit aggravating, but a personal peeve, and therefore irrelevant. Otherwise, Rhiannon was perfectly capable of managing her affairs from Black Heron Hall through the constant stream of information from her own personal web of spies threaded all across the planet.
That information web was one of the reasons she was at loath to leave Iro. She had people who she trusted to maintain it in her absence, but was also hyper aware of the fact that there wasn’t anything like it waiting for her on Caladan. It had taken her years to build, and she was having to start from scratch in order to create the same thing at her new home. Until then, she would be effectively blind.
“It’s not that bad,” said Aunt Elsbeth as they walked together on a footpath that weaved throughout the grounds, heading for the ponds to watch the fish. “You’re hardly the first woman to marry and move to another world. And you’ll have twice the resources on Caladan. You're more than clever enough to learn to use them.”
Lady Elsbeth Levin wasn’t Rhiannon’s actual aunt, but the younger sister of Rhiannon’s late husband’s mother. Elsbeth had moved into the Varvara household after the death of her own husband, the late Lord Levin, some twenty years earlier. She was in her fifties, tall and beautiful. Her soft voice and sweet smile were the first things people noticed about her, but behind them hid a vicious intellect and equally vicious libido.
Rhiannon hummed. “Easier said than done.”
Rhiannon had first met Elsbeth at her wedding to Count Bence Varvara. When Rhiannon had been twenty and still naïve enough to believe that marriage guaranteed a life filled with love and safety, Elsbeth had been nothing but kind. Two years later, when Rhiannon had been battered, pregnant, and terrified for her own life and that of her unborn daughter, Elsbeth had given her the means to save herself.
Since then, Elsbeth had been one of Rhiannon’s most trusted advisors, and the rock she had clung to when everything had suddenly fallen out from under her.
“Well, naturally,” Elsbeth sniffed. “But it’s a right smart match, and a far better arrangement than the others you can expect, given your situation.”
An uninformed observer might think that the ‘situation’ Elsbeth was referring to was Rhiannon’s state of widowhood, which was partially true. A widow, even a young one, couldn’t expect to attract the same caliber of suitors that she had for her first marriage. But as Rhiannon had no true interest in remarrying, Elsbeth was referring to the political situation that had cornered her into marriage in the first place.
If Rhiannon stayed on Iro, she would eventually be killed, one way or another. By marrying a noble from another planet, especially one powerful enough to protect her, she had become untouchable. The guards at Black Heron Hall had already seen their ranks bolstered by a squad of Atreides soldiers. The safety of the future Duchess of Caladan was being taken very seriously.
“A smart match,” Rhiannon echoed dryly. “You said that about Bence.”
Elsbeth tutted. “Because that’s what you’re supposed to say when someone marries your nephew. Bence was a brute, and everyone knew it. This one, ‘Leto the Just’, they call him. He’s got a good reputation. I mean it this time. It is a good match.”
It was, actually. Political advantages aside, they did seem to be suited to each other. Both were in their late thirties, objectively attractive, had extensive political experience, and, were Hetta still alive, would’ve both had children that were about the same age. Even though it would likely be a loveless marriage, they would make a handsome couple.
Rhiannon hummed acknowledgement, which Elsbeth took as permission to continue.
“And even if he isn’t all that they say, he’ll probably be content to just ignore you. Imagine that! You won’t even have to carry his children. Or even lie with him, if you don’t want to.” She paused. “I would want to, though. He’s a handsome man, it would be a waste not to.”
Rhiannon let out an inelegant snort. “You say that like you wouldn’t fuck a troll. And anyway, I don’t think it’s up to me. They were very clear that I should manage my expectations about… physical intimacy.”
They had been abundantly clear. Shortly after the engagement was made official, Black Heron Hall had been approached by an Atreides representative, who, in an effort to make a potentially uncomfortable discussion less awkward, had spoken to Rhiannon through her lady-in-waiting. Which, of course, made what should have been a perfectly reasonable discussion about boundaries and expectations between Rhiannon and Duke Leto into an annoying little game of telephone.
Rhiannon’s lady-in-waiting, Mariona, had been a good sport about it. She faithfully presented the representative’s statements to her mistress, then gamely returned with the responses, even going as far translating Rhiannon’s irritation into professionally composed answers.
The Duke has a son and heir, and does not intend to sire any children by his future Duchess. Will the Countess take issue with this?
(Oh, thank God.) The Countess has no personal interest or need for children. Barring the unlikely event where a child is required for political reasons, she does not desire to bear any more children.
The Duke has expressed the desire to remain exclusive to his concubine, Lady Jessica, and does not intend to join the Countess on the marriage bed. He hopes she will not take offense to this.
(Whatever.) The Countess understands that the union is political in nature, and respects the Duke’s decision to remain faithful to the mother of his son.
The Countess will, of course, be allowed to take lovers, so long as she does not become pregnant by them.
(Fuck off.) The Countess acknowledges this allowance and is quite familiar with safe sex practices.
“Oh yes, Lady Jessica.” Elsbeth nodded sagely. “That might be an issue, of course. Humans can be such jealous creatures. But you know what I’d do about that. I’d — ”
“You’d fuck them both.”
“— fuck them both,” Elsbeth went on as if Rhiannon hadn’t spoken. “Then there’s no room for jealousy. Your husband’s concubine may feel the need to compete with you, and that almost never turns out well. It’s best if everyone is in love with everyone.”
Rhiannon arched an eyebrow, equal parts amused and exasperated. “It’s an option, but not everyone likes sharing, you know. I’ll play it by ear. Otherwise what happens between them is their business.”
Elsbeth didn’t look convinced. “Do what you feel is right, of course. Just be sure that you don’t get lonely. I still say that you should take one of your lovers from here with you. That way you’ll have someone on Caladan that understands your needs.”
Rhiannon recognized the concern in her aunt’s tone, and smiled fondly. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”
They rounded the edge of the garden and started their way back. There wasn’t much foliage to look at this early in the spring, but the mountains were always breathtaking. Ice still floated around the edges of the fish ponds, the marbled orange and white fish wandering lazily from one end of the shallow pool to the other and back again.
As always, seeing the fish sent a pang of loss through Rhiannon’s chest. But with it was a comforting ache. Her mind drifted to warm summer days, to the mop of blonde curls dangling just above the water’s surface, to small, delicate hands dropping bits of fish food into waiting mouths. One by one.
She couldn’t take the ponds with her. Or the fish. Maybe that was the most devastating thing of all. The last real connection she felt with her daughter, and she was being forced to leave it behind along with Hetta’s grave.
Rhiannon was jerked out of her thoughts by a flurry of movement from the main house. Loah, one of Rhiannon’s handmaids, hurried out the nearest door. She did a quick turn to scan for her mistress, then bustled across the garden towards them.
Upon reaching them, she bobbed a quick curtsy. “M’Lady.”
“Hello, Loah,” Rhiannon said pleasantly. Loah was Mariona’s younger sister, seventeen and still a bit nervous when interacting with nobility. Hopefully in a few years, she would earn the title afforded to her sister. Rhiannon always made a point of being patient with her. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure, m’Lady.” Since Mariona had gone ahead to Caladan to manage Rhiannon’s affairs from that end, many of Mariona’s duties had fallen to Loah. Loah was extremely bright and exceptionally capable, but had yet to develop Mariona’s intuition, which came with experience. “We’ve received word from our sources at Dering House Hall that a ‘thopter carrying two high ranking Atreides officials has left there, bound for here. But there has been no word from any official channels.”
Rhiannon frowned thoughtfully. “That’s interesting. Did they say which officials?”
“Thufir Hawat and Duncan Idaho.”
“The Master of Assassins and the Master of Swords,” Elsbeth mused. “Why would he send them here? Why now? And why keep it a secret?”
Rhiannon pursed her lips thoughtfully. “It would make sense if they thought that there was to be an attempt on my life. But I find it doubtful that they’d discover a plot before us.”
“Perhaps they suspect you’re plotting against the Duke?”
“I’ve done nothing,” Rhiannon reasoned, “and I can think of no one who would benefit from them suspecting me. Not this early. There may be some trouble with that after I become Duchess, but not before.”
“M’Lady?”
Rhiannon gave Loah her full attention, causing her to shuffle nervously. “What is it, Loah?”
“I was thinking,” she started tentatively, “about patterns, like Mariona said to. I’ve noticed that the Master of Assassins always visits a new place before the Duke. To secure it before he arrives.”
The two older women shared a glance.
“The Duke is scheduled to leave for Caladan in a few days,” Elsbeth pointed out. “It would make sense for him to visit you before he does.”
“Why the secrecy, though?” Rhiannon shook her head, annoyed all over again. “Nevermind. Very nicely done, Loah. Thank you. Inform the staff that I’ll be receiving Hawat and Idaho in my study. Then go to the kitchens and quietly inform the cooks that we are expecting the Duke of Caladan by dinner, and they are to prepare a simple meal. Nothing fancy, but enough to feed all our guests.”
Loah nodded and hurried off. Elsbeth watched her go, a frown pulling at the fine lines on her face.
“This isn’t the time to be informal, surely?”
Rhiannon started walking again, following after her handmaid at a much more leisurely pace. “Except we aren’t supposed to know they’re coming, remember?”
“All the same. You don’t want your future husband to be underwhelmed, either.”
She considered this, plucking a tiny new leaf from a skeletal bush as they passed. She examined it critically for a moment, then rubbed it between two fingers until it turned into a minuscule ball.
Rhiannon flicked the pulp away and said, “If my betrothed wanted to be impressed, he would’ve announced his decision to visit ahead of time. Clearly, this is to be a casual interaction.” She raised her hands in a mock helpless gesture. “Who am I to contradict him?”
“Fine. But I get to help decide what you wear, at least. No niece of mine is going to meet her husband dressed in her lounge wear. I won’t stand for it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, El.”
#duke leto atreides x reader#duke leto x oc#leto atreides i x reader#leto x reader#leto x oc#leto atreides x reader#fanfiction#oc#fanfic#leto atreides x fem!oc#dune fanfiction#duke leto x reader
155 notes
·
View notes
Text
Under Pastel Skies - 11
Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.
Word Count: 6,696
Warnings: Unprotected Sex (non explicit)
A/N: And finally... Just a word before, and it’s important, I wanted to put the explicit between two ‘*’ but I settled for one at the end because explicit means different things to different people. So whenever it starts to get too steamy for you, skip to the *. Thank you for reading, I appreciate your support!
Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.
Bucky moved behind the kitchen counter when he heard the door close. You and your guests were in the hallway where you took their coats and asked them to remove their shoes. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He had to stay calm, you depended on him tonight.
“It smells nice in here. What did y-”
Bucky straightened himself up and tried to keep a casual, friendly smile on his face as he came face-to-face with Okoye. He had seen enough pictures of your siblings to recognize them.
She looked surprised to find someone else there. He raised his hand and waved, and she frowned at him in confusion. The rest of the guests stopped short when they saw him waving like a dork. You pushed through them and came to his side.
“Guys, this is my friend, Bucky,” you said. “He’s the one who invited you.”
“Thanks for the invite. I hope you like wine,” Scott said, extending his hand as he walked over to Bucky.
“I sure do.”
Then he shook Wanda and Okoye’s hands, telling them how good it was to finally meet them. Your sisters introduced him to their partners, W’Kabi and Edwin who preferred to be called ‘Viz’.
You led them to the living room while Bucky prepared the drinks. W’Kabi decided to stay behind and help Bucky carry the drinks to the living room. He praised Bucky for having such a nice home.
The conversation seemed to flow easily between your siblings, though as Bucky arrived with your drink, he couldn’t help but notice that you were not participating. You took the glass from his hand, smiled then went back to staring at the coffee table. He sat next to you and rubbed soothing strokes on your arm before he reached for his drink.
Okoye was telling everyone that she had decided to return to New York after King T’Chaka’s passing. His son carried the mantle of the Black Panther, surrounding himself with his father’s Dora Milaje, but Okoye wanted to live closer to her own family.
She was a Dora Milaje, loyal to her king, but she was also a sister, loyal to her family. She felt like there were no good choices, and it ate away at her until her king found a solution to her problem. His little sister, Shuri, was starting her own business in the United States and needed her own bodyguards. Okoye accepted and W’Kabi followed her.
Scott didn’t share much. He showed everyone pictures of his little girl, Cassie, and said he was now working at Baskin-Robbins.
Wanda was evasive about her life and whereabouts. She told everyone that she’d been backpacking across Europe and met Viz, a wealthy businessman, on a beautiful sunny day in Berlin. They’d been attached at the hip ever since.
“And of course, you’re all invited to the wedding,” Wanda said while Okoye admired the ring. “It’s going to be a small wedding. I just need my family.”
“Excuse-me,” you said, standing up abruptly. “I think something’s burning.”
Bucky watched you disappear into the kitchen. He glanced at the group again, no one was paying attention so he followed you into the kitchen.
He found you leaning back against the counter, your arms crossed over your chest, staring into nothing. He walked over to you and pulled you into a one-armed hug that you accepted with a pleased sigh.
“I don’t think I can do this,” you said, your voice muffled against his shirt.
“Is it a code ‘flamingo’?”
“No,” you chuckled, pulling away. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the counter again. “It’s just...”
You huffed, unable to find the words and grabbed him by the waist, seeking his warmth again. Bucky let out a surprised laugh as you squeezed him tightly. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pressed you against his chest.
“I know it’s hard,” he said, kissing the crown of your head. “It’ll be over soon, angel.”
Bucky rocked you side to side in a slow, soothing rhythm until you were practically melting against him. He felt you take a deep breath, your nose buried in his chest. He didn’t want the moment to end, but you’d been gone for several minutes now, and the others would barge in the kitchen soon.
He pressed a long kiss to your forehead and gently pushed you away, his arm falling to your waist. You smoothed out the wrinkles you had made in his shirt without looking him in the eye.
He could tell you were thinking about something but before he could ask what was on your mind, you kissed the slight cleft in his chin and quickly moved away from him.
He smiled to himself, his heart beating a little faster.
You were transferring the dinner rolls from the pan to the basket when Scott poked his head into the kitchen. Bucky was still smiling to himself like a lovesick idiot.
“Everything okay?” Scott asked, taking a step closer to you. You turned to him and nodded. “It’s kinda weird, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Seeing each other again after all this time.” He leaned his forearm on the counter next to you and smelled the bread. “Baby Wanda’s getting married. Did you know they flew me first class? And the hotel is incredible. I feel like a prince.”
“Viz seems very nice.”
“I can’t believe Wanda backpacked through Europe,” Scott scoffed. “She hates camping.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Bucky watched as Scott leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me and for Cassie-” Bucky quietly left the two of you alone. It was a private conversation and he didn’t want to impose himself.
He finished setting the table, and soon everyone joined in. Bucky was sitting with his back to the kitchen, W’Kabi sitting next to him. You took a seat across from him, Wanda sitting next to you. Okoye sat next to Wanda, facing Scott, and Viz took a seat at the end of the table.
The food was good, and everyone complimented Bucky on his cooking skills. He said that you had helped him a lot, but you refused to take credit for chopping up a bunch of vegetables. You gushed about his cooking skills and his delicious recipes. It made them salivate just thinking about it.
“And your house is amazing,” Scott said with a dreamy look on his face. “A place like that...” he sighed, “that must have cost you an arm and a leg.” The whole room fell silent, and something that sounded like a foot hitting a shin made the table jump. “Ouch, why did yo- oh.”
Okoye was looking at him with the widest pair of eyes Bucky had ever seen. She looked furious and exasperated at the same time. The others stared at their plates as the uncomfortable silence grew.
Bucky glanced at you, not surprised to find you smirking. You knew he lived for moments like these, and you knew he already had the perfect comeback. As he watched you bit your lip, trying to contain a little giggle, he couldn’t help but love you even more.
“It was the original price but I’m a good negotiator,” Bucky said. “Only cost me an arm.”
W’Kabi was the first to laugh at his joke, then the whole table broke into fits of laughter. Scott looked equally amused and relieved.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”
“No problem,” Bucky cut him off.
“Can’t take you anywhere,” Okoye said with a smile and a shake of her head. She turned to Bucky as everyone calmed down. “So, Bucky, strange name, uh? What do you do for a living?”
“My name is James, Bucky’s just a nickname.” He wiped his mouth and set the napkin down. “I’m a writer.”
“A pretty good one, judging by your apartment.”
“I’m all right.” He shrugged. “Literally.” Scott snickered at the joke.
“He’s too modest,” you said. “His books are best sellers. They’re autobiographical, he’s very sincere and honest and funny. He has a way of making you laugh about things that are pretty awful.”
“Yeah, we saw that,” Wanda said with a grin. “Are you working on anything at the moment?”
Bucky shifted a little in his seat. “Yeah, it’s uh,” he cleared his throat. “It’s a very important one. I don’t really want to talk about it. Don’t wanna jinx it.”
He wasn’t going to tell your family that he was writing a book about how he fell in love with you. That’d be pretty awkward.
“I understand,” Okoye nodded, then looked at you. “You’ve been really quiet tonight.” You shrugged. “I thought you were still living with Natasha. Do you still work at the hotel? Where is it again? Chelsea? That’s one hell of a commute from Brooklyn.”
“I wasn’t exactly living with Natasha,” you said. “I was crashing on her sofa. And no, I quit six months ago. I’m a full time artist now.”
“That’s great,” Scott said, raising his glass toward you in a silent toast. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Not too bad. Bucky’s friend is a professional photographer. He helped me set up my website. The pictures he took are amazing. I sold a few pieces online but I’m struggling to find gallery representation.”
“Hey, as long as it pays the bills.”
“I don’t really have to worry about bills these days.”
“What do you mean?”
The room got quiet again, and Bucky could feel the tension in the air, buzzing like static electricity. All eyes were suddenly on you, waiting for an explanation. Bucky knew you were not going to lie to them. He locked eyes with you, and braced himself for impact.
You set your fork down and folded your hands in your lap.
“Well, Bucky and I have an arrangement.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Scott cut you off.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush and I’m not going to use pretty words to make it sounds more appealing,” you continued as if you hadn’t heard him. “He’s my sugar daddy.”
“You’re joking. Please, tell me you’re joking.”
“Nope,” you replied smugly, popping the ‘p’.
A chorus of voices rose in protest. Okoye and Scott were shouting while the others kept glancing around wondering what had just happened. Wanda was strangely quiet next to you.
“Oh, shut up!” you shouted. “You left me alone. All of you. We were all grieving our brother but it doesn’t give you the right to fuck off when things get tough. Do you know how fucking terrifying it was when mom started to lose her memories? Or when the police drove her home at three in the morning after one of her spells? No, you don’t know because you weren’t there.”
Bucky had never seen you so upset before, and he didn’t quite know what to do but he felt like you needed to get it off your chest.
“I didn’t have friends or boyfriends. I went to class, then got home, hoping mom hadn’t set the house on fire. I took the first decent job I could find because she needed a new home and professional help. Without Natasha I would have been homeless.” You turned to Bucky. “I’m so sorry, I’ve ruined dinner. You’ve worked so hard.”
“It’s okay,” he replied immediately. “I’m with you.”
“God, you’re so nice,” you sighed, then turned to your siblings. “See? That’s the kind of person he is. I was lonely and lost, and I found him and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s kind and sweet, he’s selfless and generous, and you have no right to criticize our relationship.”
Bucky stared at you, his mouth hanging open a little. Slowly he shook himself out of his trance and reached for your hand on the table. He had no idea you thought so highly of him.
“We needed each other,” you continued. “And I don’t care what you think.”
Dinner was officially ruined but Bucky didn’t care. He smiled at you, soft and reassuring, and let go of your hand when you smiled back. He was proud of you for speaking up, for standing up for yourself.
Bucky noticed Wanda and Viz exchanging looks.
“Okay so, since we’re sharing truth bombs,” Wanda said, shifting a bit in her seat. “I wasn’t really traveling through Europe. I went to Sokovia and after that, everything’s kind of a blur. I did things I’m not proud of. I wanted to forget,” she paused and sighed, “everything. I hit rock bottom, pretty hard, and checked myself into a psychiatric hospital. That’s where I met Viz. He helped me send you those postcards. I screwed up, real bad, but I couldn’t tell you guys the truth. I’m not really proud of myself.”
“I got fired from Baskin-Robbins for yelling at a costumer.”
“Okay!” Okoye exclaimed in her big sister voice. “Enough truth bombs.” She pointed at you. “I’m sorry you had to do this alone, it wasn’t right but we’re here now and we won’t let you down. As for the sugar daddy thing... well you’re a grown woman, you can do whatever you want. Bucky seems like a nice guy.” She turned to Wanda. “We are all dealing with our pain in our own way. I’m not judging you. We’re here for you, Wanda.”
“I know,” Wanda said, sniffing.
“And Scott, stop yelling at people.”
“Yeah, good idea.”
Bucky turned to W’Kabi and Viz who looked proud of their girls, albeit a little uncomfortable with the whole situation. Someone started chuckling, he couldn’t tell who it was, but suddenly the whole table broke into a fit of laughter.
“How about some dessert,” he said. “Then you guys can fill me in on some childhood secrets.”
As he walked away from the table, he heard you warn your siblings to keep their mouths shut. They laughed in response, which made Bucky smile. Surely it’d take more than one outburst at a family dinner to fix your broken bond but it was a good start.
During dessert, he learned that everyone called you ‘Splotchy’ because you painted on the living room walls as a child. He learned that you always wanted to play board games with Okoye. Your favourite one was Mystery Date.
“She had a crush on Tyler, the beach date.”
“No, that’s not true, don’t listen to them.”
When they finally left, you spent a few extra moments hugging everyone. Promises were made, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he watched you wave goodbye to your siblings.
It was just the two of you again, and the mountain of dirty dishes and silverware. He told you not to worry about the dishes, but you knew if he went to bed he wouldn't be able to sleep, not when the kitchen was such a mess so you cleaned together.
He loved these moments with you. There was something very peaceful about the night; the dark skies, the soft lights, the quiet apartment, knowing people all around town where getting ready for bed. It used to make him feel tiny and isolated but now, with you, the night didn’t seem so frightening anymore.
A few weeks went by, and things were changing a bit. You spent your Saturday mornings with your sisters, bonding, and facetimed with Scott at least once a week.
Bucky also noticed a subtle change in Sam’s behaviour. He seemed happier and he wondered if his friend had already forgotten Natasha.
It was almost June, and the building’s swimming pool reopened as the weather got warmer. Despite living there for several years, he had never gone near that swimming pool until you dragged him out one scorching afternoon.
The rooftop was surprisingly calm, apart for the group of children playing in the pool. There were people sunbathing around the pool, enjoying a good book, socializing. You dropped your bag on the floor and laid out your towel on the reclining chair.
Bucky had never seen you in a bathing suit before and it caught him completely off guard, but what made him literally growl was seeing the little pendant of your necklace rest against your skin. He didn’t know why but it awoke something in him.
You both slathered on sunscreen before you went for a swim. Bucky recognized a few neighbours, and while they all knew he only had one arm, they had never seen him shirtless before. Bucky didn’t mind their inquisitiveness, as long as you were beside him.
“Do you think the kids peed in the water?” you asked as you rested against the edge of the pool.
“Probably,” Bucky cringed. “When I was a kid, my mom told me that there were chemicals that turned the water a different color when someone pees.”
“Ew,” you laughed.
After a while, he lay out in the sun, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. He could still hear you playing water polo with the kids when a shadow passed over him. With a frown, he pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead.
“It’s nice to see you, James,” his neighbour beamed, taking a seat on your unoccupied chair. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out here.”
“Hi.” He wasn’t surprised when his voice came out hoarse since he had been on the verge of falling asleep. With the grace of a walrus, he propped himself into a sitting position. “Yes, well, swimming pools are more fun when you’re not alone.”
His neighbour turned to look at you. “Congratulations, by the way. I didn’t know you were seeing someone. Must have been serious if you two moved in together. How long has it been since she moved in? Six months?”
“Seven.”
He knew he should have corrected her, you weren’t his girlfriend, but it felt good. It was just a harmless little lie.
“Does she make you happy?”
“I’m the happiest man on earth,” he replied with a bright smile, then slid his sunglasses back on his face.
His neighbour chuckled quietly. “I can see that!”
When you returned to your seat, his neighbour was gone. You hummed to yourself as you settled into your seat, big droplets of water running down your body. Bucky tilted his head down and peered at you over the top of his sunglasses.
“Where did you get that popsicle?”
“Jealous?” You licked your treat without looking at him. “The kids’ mom gave me one as a thank you for looking after her kids.”
“That looks good.”
“So good.”
“Mind sharing it with me?”
You pursed your lips thoughtfully, then held out your popsicle. As Bucky leaned closer, you pulled it away and jumped to your feet. The look he gave you was one of pure betrayal.
“Oh, angel, you should have never done that.”
He grinned to himself when he saw a shiver run through you. When he stood up, you took a step back. He strutted toward you, his grin predatory. The floor was slippery so you couldn’t go very far.
“Are you ready to share now?”
“No!”
The popsicle melted down your hand, creating a mess. You turned your arm and licked the drops of popsicle juice from the inside of your wrist. It distracted you long enough for Bucky to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. You squealed and grabbed him around the neck to keep from falling while also trying not to smush the popsicle against his chest.
You waved the treat in front of his face and he tried to bite off the tip of your popsicle. It made you laugh, your body sagging against him. His face was close to yours. He was so close he could smell the artificial orange scent of your popsicle.
Your laughter died down and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you. Without thinking, he went for it. He felt your fingers flex against his skin, urging him closer.
His lips were barely a breath away from yours when one of the kids repeatedly slapped your thigh, obviously oblivious to what the two grownups were about to do.
“Come back! We haven’t finished the game,” the kid whined. “Come on!”
Reluctantly, you let go of Bucky and took a step back. Your exhale came out shaky, and in your almost-kiss-induced trance you handed him the popsicle without saying anything before you followed the kid.
You turned back to look at him, one hand sprawled across your stomach, the other across your chest. He knew you were feeling it too: the butterflies, the racing heartbeat, that pleasant heat going through your body.
The difference between like and love.
A week later, he came home to an empty apartment. He climbed the stairs to your studio but you weren’t there. Instead, he found a canvas stretched out smooth and tight on the floor, and several bowls of paint arranged in a semi-circle around it.
He knew you were home, you wouldn’t leave without your phone or bag. Out of curiosity, he went up on the roof and let out a relieved breath when he found you.
You were sitting on the edge of the rooftop with your knees up to your chin and your arms wrapped loosely around your shins. You looked so beautiful in the golden hue of the setting sun.
He stood there, watching you as if he was looking at a painting in a museum. Entranced. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and a quick glance around the roof told him you were alone.
Slowly, he made his way to you and took in your appearance: a short sleeve white shirt and a pair of denim overalls. The shirt was surprisingly spotless but the overalls were covered in dried paint splatters of different colours.
“I looked everywhere for you,” he spoke softly, trying not to disturb you.
“Did you?”
You straightened up a little but kept your eyes trained on the horizon. Bucky sat close to your feet and let his hand slip under the hem of your jeans to close around your ankle. A sigh slipped past your lips, and he let his fingertips linger for a moment on your smooth skin.
He knew you had a meeting today, and judging by the resigned look on your face, it didn’t go well.
“What’s on your mind, angel?” he said, caressing the top of your foot.
“I was thinking about the night we met. God, I was so nervous,” you said, laughing softly. “I told you that agreeing to meet you was like choosing between a pack of wolves and jumping off a cliff.”
“I remember,” he chuckled.
“I never told you how glad I am that I jumped off that cliff,” you said. “I’d never jumped head first into something, not knowing what was going to happen. Now I think I’m addicted to it. Before I met you, I was living for others. Everything single decision was thoroughly analysed. There was no mystery, fun, or impulsiveness. I put my entire life on hold, and now I see that I can’t do that anymore.”
“What are you going to do?”
You paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t know if I want to turn my passion into a career. Painting is my safe-place, and right now it’s giving me so much anxiety. I haven’t had the inspiration to paint in weeks.” You looked at him and pressed your lips together tightly. “And, if I don’t want to become a full time artist, then I guess our deal is off.”
Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. He really hadn’t seen it coming.
“Please, don’t be angry,” you pleaded. “I don’t want to stop seeing you. When he didn’t answer, you leaned forward and touched his face.
“I could never be angry with you, angel,” he said, kissing the inside of your palm. “I understand, and I’ll help you however I can.”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m still thinking about it.” You looked away from him and stared at the sky. “Do you know that feeling when you stand in a high place and you think about jumping? You don’t want to jump and you don’t do it, but there’s that urge.”
“I think I do.”
“It’s called ‘call of the void’. People say that it’s an affirmation of our will to live. That knowing we’re going to die one day makes us appreciate life even more.” You looked at him. “I want to jump but I can’t. I’m scared.” You lowered your voice. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
“You’re scaring me a little. You can’t talk about jumping when we’re sitting on the edge of the roof.”
You chuckled under your breath. “It’s a metaphor.”
“Let’s go home. We’ll make dinner together, put on some music and pretend we’re in a movie.” He got to his feet and held out his hand to you. “Please.”
You took his hand and let him lead you to the staircase.
Once you were inside the apartment, he removed his shoes and you removed yours. Silence settled between the two of you as you entered the kitchen. Bucky moved behind the counter while you stood close to the dining table.
When he chanced a glance at you, he saw you staring into nothing while you played with the charm on your necklace, rolling it back and forth on its chain. You often did that when you were daydreaming.
Bucky walked over to you and placed his hand on top of yours, halting your movements. You let go of the pendant and held his hand instead. He ran his thumb soothingly over your fingers.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he spoke softly.
“If I say it, it’s going to change everything.”
He pressed your joined hands against his chest, over his heart. “No, it’ll make it real.”
He let go of your hand and cupped the side of your face. You leaned closer until you were only inches apart. His thumb traced your cheekbone, then moved to trace the outline of your bottom lip.
He let you come to him, let you take that first step, and when your lips brushed against his, he closed his eyes and sighed. He kissed your parted lips; once, twice, three times, tiny little kisses against your trembling lips.
His kiss grew bolder, turning into something so intimate, so passionate and intense that tears gathered in his eyes. He pressed his mouth more firmly against yours, his large hand still cupping the side of your face. His bad shoulder jutted forward as if his missing arm wanted to touch you.
He let out a groan, frustrated that he only had one hand to finally explore your skin. Sensing his inner turmoil, you held onto his bad shoulder and pulled him against you.
His tongue swept into your mouth, moving in a slow and deliberate rhythm. A growl escaped him and he deepened the kiss, tasting, sliding, retreating and entering again. He poured everything he had into the kiss.
“Bucky,” you moaned after your broke the kiss, breathless.
Hearing his name fall from your lips, your voice hoarse with desire, sparked something inside him. He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling the softness and collecting the moisture that had gathered there.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking positively entranced. “My pretty angel.”
You pulled him in for another kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck, your slightly cold hands felt amazing against his heated skin. He pressed himself against you, letting you feel the rise and fall of his chest, the desperation in the jerky thrust of his hips.
He needed more but he wasn’t going to force you into anything. He was more than happy to stand here and kiss you for hours. He cupped the back of your neck and rubbed the sensitive skin behind your ear with his thumb.
“I’m yours,” he spoke against your lips, his eyes screwed shut.
You pulled back to look him in the eye, searching his face. He opened his eyes and you saw nothing but honesty in the depth of his eyes.
You untangled yourself from him and took his hand. Slowly, you took a step back, then another, his hand still in yours. His eyebrows lifted slightly when you bit your bottom lip and gave him a coy look.
He nearly growled again, the wolf inside him eager to touch you, feel you, claim you. He stood taller, his chest puffed out and breathing fast.
You led him up the stairs to the second floor and turned on the light in the corridor. You slowly made your way down the corridor with him behind you.
But instead of turning left towards his bedroom, you turned right into your studio, and it changed everything. Your studio was your sanctuary, your safe place, and knowing that you were about to bare your soul and body to him tamed his inner wolf.
You hesitated at the threshold of the room and glanced over your shoulder to look at him. Bucky squeezed your hand to encourage you.
“I bought some body paint on my way home,” you said, letting go of his hand to step into the room. “I wanted to try something different, something more personal. I wanted to use my body to express my emotions, to create something raw and messy. My interpretation of somatic art therapy.”
You moved around the darkened room; bent down to adjust the canvas on the floor and made sure the bowls of paint were still full.
“I sat there and thought of my mom and Pietro,” you continued, barefoot on the canvas. “I only feel sadness and anger, and I don’t want to create something that makes me feel sad. And I realized the only thing that keeps me inspired is hope.”
Turning to face him, you held your hand out, palm up, and his eyes widened at your silent request. Without thinking twice, he joined you on the canvas. It was both soft and scratchy under his feet.
Bucky watched as you unbuckled the right strap of your overalls and slipped the second strap off your shoulder. You tugged your jeans down your legs and tossed them aside, leaving you in your underwear and white shirt.
Swallowing thickly, Bucky let his eyes travel up and down your body. He had seen you in your bathing suit before but this was different. Then he reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head, baring his strong chest, hard abdomen and marred skin.
The room was dark; the pastel sky, visible from your studio thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, didn’t provide much light. The light was still on in the corridor, casting a faint golden glow over the room.
You took a step forward to examine his scars more carefully and Bucky took that opportunity to kiss you again, slowly, intimately. He peppered kisses along your jaw and down your neck, then went down on his knees in front of you and continued his journey down your body, pressing soft kisses to your stomach.
He accidentally knocked over two bowls of paint; the dark colours spilled out onto the canvas, chasing each other. His kisses made you light up with desire, your moans music to his ears as your hands came down on the back of his head.
When it all became too much, you gently pushed him into a lying position and helped him out of his jeans. His belt buckle made a faint clink when you pulled it open, and Bucky swore out loud when you planted a wet open-mouthed kiss right below his navel.
In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t going to survive the night. He let his head fall back against the canvas and closed his eyes shut. Your talented mouth sent sharp jolts of pleasure through him, making it difficult to breathe.
He could feel the paint stick to his back, creating the shape of his upper body on the canvas. It was strangely exciting.
He moaned, arching his back, and slammed his fist down on the canvas. His fist landed in one of the bowls of paint. It splashed paint everywhere. He looked down at you and saw tiny flecks of paint splayed like freckles on one side of your face.
It made you both giggle. As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, Bucky left a print of his forearm on the canvas. You climbed into his lap, straddling him, then removed your shirt and bra. You wrapped your legs around him, one hand on his upper arm, the other hugging his neck.
Bucky was sitting on the canvas with his legs outstretched and slightly bent at the knees. He held you against his chest, rocking back and forth, his arm around the small of your back. You sighed together, sharing the same breath.
“You have the prettiest nose.” You let your index finger run down the length of his nose, your finger wet with paint. “So pretty.”
Laughing softly, he brushed his nose against yours and kissed you. He changed the angle of his thrusts, catching you by surprise.
“Does that feel good, angel?” he asked, lightly biting your jaw. You answered with a short cry. “Look at me.” You slowly opened your eyes, your movements faltered a little. “You’re so beautiful like this. You drive me crazy, y’know that?”
“Bucky,” you cried out.
He felt you shiver when he moved his hand from your back to your face. He cupped the side of your face and you immediately pressed yourself closer to him, craving the warmth of his touch.
He stopped your movements and looked you in the eye. “I’d do anything for you. Anything. You’re my one and only.”
He laid you down as gently and safely as he could, and once you were lying flat on your back, he sprawled between your thighs. He supported his weight on his forearm, careful not to crush you. Your hands slid up his sides, and as your thumb traced over his ribcage, a violent shiver went through his body.
He had never seen anything more beautiful than watching you come apart; your eyebrows furrowed, your lips parted in a silent ‘o’, the way your body shook in little spams. Absolutely stunning.
Exhausted, he collapsed on top of you and hid his face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around him and slowly caressed his back.
After he kissed his way down the side of your neck, he straightened himself up into a kneeling position and looked down at you. Your naked body was on display, covered in paint and glistening under the moonlight. He wished he could take a picture, immortalize this memory.
*
He helped you up, and after another passionate kiss he led you to his bathroom, the two of you leaving colourful footprints all over the clean floor.
The bathroom's bright fluorescent light was harsh and unforgiving as you looked at each other in the mirror. Yet you were both glowing, streaks and dots of paint covering your bodies. Bucky turned on the water and waited for it to get hot.
He wrapped his arm around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. “We look like we blew up a rainbow,” he said, smiling wide when it made you chuckle.
In the shower, you took turns washing each other, laughing and kissing until the water turned cold. You pushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled sweetly at him.
“We’re going to catch a cold if we stay here.”
“Mhh,” he replied, kissing your temple. “You’re right. There are clean towels on the shelf. Go, I’ll be right behind you, I still need to take care of my scar.”
“Can I help you?”
Asking for help wasn’t something he was comfortable with, especially after years of being babied by his ex-girlfriend, friends and family. After his accident, he couldn’t do anything on his own. He had to rely on others and it made him feel like a burden, like he was incapable of taking care of himself.
He knew it was all in his head but he couldn’t help it.
“It’s not exactly sexy,” he said.
“I don’t care. I want to help. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Patiently he guided you step by step through the process of cleaning his stump. You inspected his skin thoroughly, looking for irritation or any signs of infection, then washed it with a mild soap.
He had to admit that watching the woman he loved take such good care of his scar made his stomach fill with butterflies. You looked so focused, so attentive, that he could help but smile and try to kiss you.
“Bucky,” you complained, turning your head away, avoiding his kiss. “This is serious business, stop fooling around.”
He almost said it. I love you. But something was holding him back. He didn’t know what would happen next and it scared him. He didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, but he also realized that things were moving too fast.
“Okay, now you’re shivering,” he said, holding you close, trying to share his body heat with you. “Let’s get out of here.”
He wrapped you in a fluffy bathrobe and patted you dry. Then you carefully dried his scar and applied corticosteroid cream to his shoulder, massaging it gently into his skin. He slipped on his robe and you loosely tied the belt at his waist.
“We should talk about what just happened,” you said, playing with the belt. “What does it mean? What are we going to do? Can we-mph”
He cut you off with a kiss, long and hard and filled with passion. You smiled against his lips and finally pulled away.
“Is that how you’re going to shut me up from now on?” you asked with a grin.
“We’ll talk,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours. “But not tonight.”
“When then?”
“Tomorrow, I promise.”
You looked down at your hands on his belt and nodded. He tilted your head up and lowered his mouth to yours.
“Don’t avoid me tomorrow. Please.”
Your words felt like a knife in his heart, and it left him momentarily speechless. He took one of your hands and pressed it against his heart. “No matter what we decide to do, you’re my angel and I’m yours.”
You shared a long, silent hug before you both decided to call it a night. Once he saw the footprints in the corridor, Bucky felt the urge to clean them. He tried to resist but he knew if he didn't clean he wouldn't be able to sleep.
You understood –you always understood. That’s why he felt so comfortable with you.
Once it was clean, he joined you in the kitchen and made you breakfast for dinner, opening the cupboard and pulling out a couple boxes of cereal you didn’t even know he had.
He told you that he was keeping them for a special occasion. He remembered you telling him that it was your favourite meal as a kid, watching TV with your siblings every Sunday night, eating cereals.
“I can’t believe you remembered that,” you said, tears in your eyes.
The two of you sat on your bed, sharing random thoughts and spoonfuls of cereal. You giggled as milk dribbled down his chin and stained his robe. You wiped at the spot on his chin with your thumb and gave him a chaste kiss.
Your lips tasted sweet. Bucky pulled you in for another kiss, discarding the dirty dishes on your bedside table. You helped each other undress, then slid under the covers where you laid your head on Bucky’s chest.
“Bucky,” your voice cut through the quiet. “Do you mind-”
“Don’t worry, my angel, I’ll wait until you fall asleep.”
“Thank you.”
Part 12
#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marvel imagines#bucky barnes imagines#bucky barnes fanfiction#marvel imagine#bucky barnes imagine#redgillan#redgillanwrites
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
To Hell and Back PART 3
Hi so a lot of people liked that last part, thank you for the support, it really made me smile and made my day. If you have any suggestions/requests or want me to write a specific scene then feel free to ask, my dms are open, but for now here’s part 3! This series spans across the ending of season 4 if it wasn’t already clear enough.
✰
The flight to Windsor, Ontario, Canada felt longer than it should have. Trying to avoid Spencer’s prying and profiling eyes was harder than it seemed. Even staring at her book wasn’t enough to keep him from noticing how long she had been on a single page. And the looks the team were now giving to a certain profiler who seemed to be studying every movement of his co-worker were hard to ignore.
By the time the plane had touched down, Y/n had cleaned up her space and was sitting on the edge of her seat, book in hand and satchel across her chest. As soon as it was clear to leave Y/n was out of her seat, mumbling a thank you to a flight attendant and hurrying down the steep steps. The normal cars they had assigned to them were directly outside, waiting for the team. Flinging an SUV door open and hurrying into the back, ducking behind the headrest, she tried her best to see over her hiding spot to check if the hour ride to R.C.M.P. Headquarters was going to be one filled with torture, or one filled with awkward silence.
She was just about to sit up, realizing how idiotic she looked and how stupid she would feel if someone spotted her when an uncoordinated Reid tried to hurry down the steps without looking, well… hurried. A grimace settled onto his face as he squinted through the sunlight trying to spot her. Rossi was next behind him, taking slow steps. Clapping a hand on his back and leaning in, Rossi muttered something in Reid’s ear, smiled and then started for the car. Reid’s demeanor shifted, his shoulders went stiff and then relaxed, his expression softened and then fell. He took off for the next car.
Y/n sat upright and stuffed her nose into her book as Rossi entered the car, pulling his seatbelt on before finally starting the car. “You can sit in the front if you like, you know?” He offered, looking up in the mirror to meet her eyes. Hesitating, she dropped her book and moved to the door. Settling into the front passenger seat, she forced herself to keep her eyes forward. The drive started out fine at first, Rossi didn’t try to make conversation and let the silence flow comfortably around them. After the first 20 minutes of driving and staring down endless highways, Y/n had grown restless and drew her book back to her, in need of something to occupy her mind. As she read her eyes grew heavy, sore, and her head fell forward slowly. Every so often she fought against closing her eyes fully and instead found herself sinking further and further into her seat. By the time she had woken up, the drive was over.
✰
“Come on Sunshine,” a voice laughed near her ear, startling her out of her sleep. Craning her now sore neck to peer up at the person who stood with her door open, trying to unbuckle her now, she rubbed her eyes. “Have a good nap?” He chuckled, taking her satchel from out of the backseat. She grimaced, taking his hands to help lift herself up, steadying her balance. “Where are we, Derek?” She asked, taking a look around. “Headquarters, they dropped your bags off at the hotel, told me to give you your room key for tonight. You were knocked out for a while, Rossi didn’t wanna wake you when we got to the hotel. Don’t worry, we didn’t go through any of your belongings,” he added with a smirk. Looking up at the headquarters, she smoothed her shirt and pulled her into a ponytail, trying to look decent, or at least as if she hadn’t been asleep for the past hour. “Thank you,” she mumbled, taking her satchel from his hands. “No problem.”
A thought popped into her head as she pulled the satchel onto her shoulder, “Aren't you supposed to be with Prentiss?” she asked, twisting to look for the other profiler. “Yes, mother,” he chuckled, “I’m heading there now, but the teams inside and I'm apparently on wakeup duty. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do,” he answered, walking backwards towards another SUV. “Drive safe,” she called after him, turning to the big building as he called back, “You know it.”
The building was big and red. Bigger on the inside than she anticipated, multiple floors, lots of bustle and busy people. The faint smell of peppermint and air freshener wafted to her nose. As she entered the building she caught sight of the rest of her team, giving a small smile as she started towards them. “Morning sleepyhead,” JJ cooed. Her stomach did flip flops as she came to a stop in front of them, locking eyes with Spencer. “Very funny,” she retorted as the team started to set a stride.
A small elevator sat at the far end of the room, a door titled, “Stairs Access,” stood just across from it. On any normal day Y/n would’ve chosen the stairs, she had always had a problem with the close quarters of an elevator, the uncertainty and danger of such an unstable device had always left her off put. But a long way to the ninth floor on the stairs would not only be physically tiring, but would most definitely be accompanied by a certain doctor to her left who had been dying to talk to her alone. Still, the team became increasingly interested when Y/n stepped in with them. “Someone’s getting brave, huh?” JJ chuckled, “Just too tired to deal with the stairs today.”
The hallway the doors opened to was short and led out to a giant office full of people. Tan walls extended on each side, the tiles on the floor reflected the lights above them. A man met Rossi in the entrance of the room, exchanging pleasantries and introducing the team, it was impossible not to notice the way Spencer’s gaze kept flickering to hers. Two red offices stood at the far end of the room and the room to the right of them. Walking in between the desks and making his way to one of the rooms, Jeff led the team, “I've got a victim board and timelines set up on monitors in the conference room. Anything you need, you've got the run of the place.”
“We appreciate it,” Rossi replied lightly.” “Don’t thank me, Thank the unsub. He's the one that put you all in charge.”
Something about that last remark hit Y/n the wrong way, wrinkling her nose in agitation. JJ excused herself to go talk to Garcia as Y/n took in the room. A long conference table sat in the middle of the room, six chairs pushed into it. A tv hung on the left wall, faces of the victims littering the screen. Rossi took in the site, then moved around the table to make room for Reid and Y/n. Following Reid, she took a second to go over the tv soon realizing that she had already seen the pictures in the file JJ had supplied her with. Realizing that everyone’s backs were to them, Spencer made the quick decision to steal a look at her. Turning on her heel to walk away from the screen, her eyes reached his, the pleading look on his face was enough to make her stomach turn. Guilt flooded her, all he probably wants is his best friend back, this isn’t fair to him. Did I ruin our friendship? Turning around to take her place next to Rossi. “You believe that he killed all these people?” Reid asked, his eyes turning back to the screen, “Fits the profile,” Officer Jeff responded absentmindedly. “How so?” Rossi asked, clearly quizzing his former student, everyone in this room knew of the Unsubs history, but Jeff answered nonetheless. “He got a recent physical trauma. Could be a stressor. Wide disparity of victims. No bodies. Possible border cross. Two entirely different terrains,” He paused, “To pull that off, you'd have to be smart, you'd have to be organized, mobile, physical.” His missing leg ran through Y/n‘s mind once again, before the accident this all could’ve been possible, but now? After such physical trauma? It didn't make sense.
“Military background gives you all that,” Rossi finished for him.
“Exactly,” Officer Bedwell hummed.
“It appears as though he clusters his victims into men, then women, and then back to men again.” Spencer’s voice raised in tone, confusion heavy in his voice.
“What does that tell you?” Officer Bedwell asked.
“At the moment, nothing.”
They were informed that he hadn’t contacted family, nor a lawyer and was awaiting an interrogation. Hotch was the last person to talk, deducing that since this man had contacted the FBI, he would want to speak to whoever he believed was the most in charge.
The interrogation room was dimly lit, only one light directly overhead, the room behind the glass was filled with two officers, Rossi, Reid and Y/n. Crammed into the few chairs there were, Y/n watched, her brows furrowed, as Hotch sat down at the table. William was a tall man, broad shoulders and muscular arms, he sat in silence, a detached look sewn onto his features. A black goatee rested above his lips, his hair was cropped in a buzz cut, understandable due to his military background. His body shows his training too, he sat straight up, shoulders back, hands on his thighs, his legs slightly spread. The pinnacle of perfect posture.
It was silent as Hotch announced himself as the behavioral analysis unit chief from the FBI. William’s face didn't change as his eyes lifted to Hotch’s, “You’re here to analyze me.” This wasn’t a question, but a statement. “No, I’m here to take your confession and find out where you dumped your victims,” Hotch corrected. Y/n could see the technique Hotch was using beginning to form, diminishing any hope of negotiation. Setting himself in charge in the room and demanding the attention, making it clear that this was Hotch’s room, not Heightower’s, taking away any slimmer of wiggle room around the conversation. He continued, “Or are you wasting my time?”
Y/n’s boss was always great at keeping his voice firm but somewhat monotone when speaking to unsubs, not letting emotion intercede unless it was directly needed. “I gave you names, I gave you dates.” William bounced around the subject, his voice low and gravely, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. Hotch reigned the conversation back onto topic easily, “You didn’t give me a dump site.” It was silent for a moment, as if an unspoken staring contest had started, the Unit Chief’s jaw was set, William was withholding information and he wasn’t intending on opening up anytime soon. “You were a sergeant,” Hotch started, again not a question, a statement intended to gain an emotional reaction, “You led troops, probably lost men.” Y/n’s eyes flickered to William’s just as he let out a hesitant, “a few.”
“What would their parents feel if they didn’t know whether their sons were dead or alive?” Hotch tried. The tension shifted uncomfortably. A cord was struck, “Don’t lecture me on notifying families, I’ve been on those doorsteps,” as William spoke his voice rose slightly from the whisper it had started out as. He’s protective of these men, his angry tone shows Hotch’s words affect him, why is he trying so hard to make us not see that? “No one cares about those people, why should I?” His head shakes as he says it, even his own body is rejecting the words he’s saying, subconsciously disagreeing with them. Hotch’s words have caught him off guard, this technique is making him emotional.
Rossi’s voice interrupts Y/n’s thoughts, “Here we go.”
“What do you mean?” An officer to the right of Y/n’s chair asks, he leans against the interrogation window, unknowingly making her scoot her legs closer to herself. He mindlessly takes up so much of the little space beside her that she cringes uncomfortably away from him. “An interrogation doesn’t really start until you get the first lie,” Rossi finishes, so he picked up on it too. Hotch’s voice silences all of them as he resumes the conversation through the glass, “See that’s just the thing William, you were out there every night. You took their photographs, you checked off their names in a notebook,” William remains blank as he mutters, “So?” Hotch grimaces at the answer and then continues, “Your behavior was more like a protector, like someone in the army doing a bed check.” If Hotch’s words resonate with anything at all to him, he doesn’t show it and lets him continue. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to confess to a crime you didn’t commit,” Hotch accuses.
Suddenly all reservation in William is gone, his lips quiver as he spits the words out angrily, “The folks on the street, did they tell you people were missing?” It's like he’s trying to prove their absence rather than his own guilt.
“If my team is here there are cases we are not working on, you are wasting our time.”
“10 people dead, huh?” Swallowing harshly, scowling, challenging Hotch, “That’s not enough for you?”
“I’ve watched the tape of you at the border cross over and over again, you wait until every guard is out of the booth before you drive into it,” Hotch raises his voice, as he leans closer to the table, “if you wanted to kill people you had your chance.”
William’s voice is booming now, his face enraged, “Are you investigating these murders or not?!” His whole body shakes violently as silence fills the room. “So that’s what this is all about?” Hotch questions, “Making sure we investigate?” What a way to do so. “If you thought people were being killed you should’ve gone to the police in Detroit.” Another shudder rips through William, “I already did,” his voice is low as it break. “3 times. They told me the kind of people I was looking for disappeared.” His voice trembled, the light reflecting off tears in his eyes, “They said that’s the way life on the street works.” Silence enveloped them again.
Struggling to keep his composure, he enunciated every word, “Do. You. Believe. The. People. I. Showed. You. Are. Missing?”
“I believe it's possible.”
Rage wracked through his frame once again, “Don’t give me a political answer!”
Hotch hesitated, giving himself a moment before he responded, “Tell me about what happened the night before the border cross.” William opened his mouth and then shut it before starting, “I did a head count,” he began. “Every night for the past month, like we do in Baghdad. That night I saw a boy named Charles wasn’t where he usually camped down.” The mention of a boy sends a pang of pain through Y/n’s chest, wondering how old the boy must have been. Hopefully he had meant a young man, rather than a young boy. The idea of a child in the case was a sore subject. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she hoped she hadn't shown any visible signs of discomfort.
“So I made another pass.”
“He didn’t turn up?”
“By the morning I knew he was gone,” another scowl had set on his face, though this time it wasn’t targeted at the man across from him. “William,” Hotch started, sympathy thick in his voice, “People don’t do what you did out of honor.” He paused, “They do it out of love.” William’s lack of a response was enough to confirm their suspicions. “Who were you looking for on the streets every night.” His brows furrowed as William prepared himself before continuing, “I got home from Iraq, first thing my mother told me was that my baby sister Lee was on the streets.” Y/n’s heart sunk, with the way he’d been acting there was no way this story was going to end well. Rossi must have noticed it too because out of the corner of Y/n’s eye she watched him shake his head slightly, turning away from the glass before coming back to it, exhaling roughly.
William continued, “She asked me to find her.”
“But you couldn’t?” Hotch pried.
“I managed once. Brought her home, we got her fed.” His eyes fell, staring longingly as his voice broke yet again, “She even wore my dog tags. For good luck.” Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. No matter how long you were on this job, no matter what horrors you’d seen, it never gets easier to hear from the relatives of people who’ve gone missing. The team was evidence of that, Rossi’s head was to the side, face contorted in uncomfort. The officers sat quietly, staring at their laps. Though Hotch had to remain indifferent in order to keep control of the room, his face was no longer hard and stern. While he held his lips together in a tight line, a deep sadness sat behind his eyes, something only his colleagues who’d worked with him for so long would pick up on.
“Two weeks later, she slipped back onto the streets.” Composure was no longer an option for William, his breathing came out in short, quick breaths as his chest visibly shook. The tears spilled over, “That was it,” he barely managed to let out, another shaky breath in.
“William, you’ve got so much information about the other potential victims, why not Lee?” Hotch asked, though this was a raw subject, it was still vital to know. Blinking rapidly in order to control the tears and reign his emotions back in, Heightower replied, “I hid it in a spare tire, in my car.” That explained why none of the team had any knowledge about Lee, organized and brilliant, William had intentionally left her out of the files he created for us. He wouldn't have even been considered had the officers known how close he really was to one of the victims, Y/n pondered. “I needed to wait until I was sure,” while the tears had stopped and his breathing was now in control, his hands still shook slightly under the table as he finished, “that you were on board.”
That was all the team needed to hear, Frankie excused herself from the room. Walking down the hall as she assembled her thoughts. The car would definitely be in evidence somewhere, how they hadn’t managed to find the new piece of the puzzle was surprising, confused she wandered the hall trying to find the stairs.
The sound of the stairwell door opening made Y/n falter. She’d reached a platform between the set of stairs, eyes glancing to the door at the end of the platform that would take her to the hallway. Stairwells were where most assaults happened, but due to the fact that she was in a police department, she pushed that thought to the back of her head and continued to the next set of stairs. It wasn’t until she heard the pitter patter of quick footsteps behind her, that she realized she should have taken her chances with the elevator.
“ Y/n?” A pang of dread ran through her body in slow waves. Turning slowly on her heel, her eyes met Dr. Reid’s. His face was contorted, his eyes fixed on the ground, then fluttered back up to hers. “I-”
“Did I miss something on Heightower?” His eyebrows furrowed, confusion making it’s way on to his features.
“No- I just-”
“Does this have anything to do with this case or a previous one?”
“No-”
“So this is not work related?”
“No, it’s not, but-”
“Then we should not be having this conversation.” Starting back down the stairs, he was next to her in a moment. “I know that, but the other night I didn’t mean to make it seem like-” “Spencer,” her nose scrunched up in uncomfort. “Please, don't do this.” Another flight of steps was through. At this point she was counting them down in her head.
“Y/n, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, it just seemed like the worst time and I didn’t want you to-” “Spencer, please.” One more flight to go.
“Okay but give me a moment to-”
“Spencer!”
Blinking back tears, she tried to reason with him. “That was the single most humiliating thing I’ve ever done. Just having to look you in the eyes right now is unbelievably painful. Knowing that our friendship will probably never go back to the way it was is killing me and you bringing attention to it every five seconds is making it worse,” she rambled. “I mean for God’s sake Morgan won't stop trying to profile me and Hotch looks at me like a kicked puppy. I can tell everyone here is second guessing my decision to come back and I’m already having a hard enough time proving that I’m okay without your worried glances making everything worse so please. Give me some space, some time before I have to have this conversation with you.”
Spencer’s eyes flickered down, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“I just can’t do this right now Spencer.” Opening the door and entering the lobby she made her way to an officer, flashing her badge and asking where the evidence storage room was.
✰
okay that’s part 3, again, i hope it didn’t disappoint. and if it did then, again, that's chill too. tagged everyone who wanted a part 3. i know it was pretty long but i wanted to get a lot of the dialogue out of the way so i can focus on the reader and spencer in the next couple parts, rather than just the case, although that is pretty important. thank yall so much for the kind words!! and again if you have any suggestions or recommendations just ask, and if you want to be tagged in part 4, let me know! if you want me to stop tagging you then let me know that too lol. part 4 will be up tomorrow. have a beautiful day loves :)
@anarchy-n-glitter i love you sm, thank you for the support lol.
@reidselle
@doctorspenceryeet
@ashwarren32
@reidsbookclub
Part 2
Part 4
Masterlist
#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds self insert#reid#reid x reader#reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#reid imagine#spencer x you#spencer x reader#spencer x y/n#spencer imagine#spencer reid self insert#spencer reid comfort#fanfic#fanfiction#series#fanfic series#fanfiction series
122 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sunshine - Nikolai Lantsov
Request: yea! “Can you make a Nikolai Lantsov x Reader where the reader has been with the Crows for a year, so when she sees him again, he recognizes her immediately and vice versa.”
Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader
Summary: Someone looks very familiar, and you can’t wrap your head around it
Warnings: crooked kingdom spoilers!!
Word count: 1.6K
A/N: hi! there’s (slight) crooked kingdom spoilers in this one, so don’t read it if you don’t want any spoilers for the book! thanks for requesting this, enjoy reading!
‘The Ravkan king is sending a pirate to go to the auction.’ says Kaz, making you look up in confusion as you’re walking through the halls of the fancy hotel. You are on your way to meet with the Ravkans, but you didn’t know the king would send a pirate to go to the auction.
‘He’s sending a pirate?’ you question. ‘To represent his country?’
‘He prefers the term ‘privateer’.’ says Kaz, slightly clenching his jaw.
‘Probably because it helps him sleep better at night.’ chuckles Jesper beside you.
You roll your eyes, but chuckle as well. ‘Would it make you feel better if I called you a distance expert, instead of a good shot?’ you say.
‘Oh no, I’m good with flattering, you don’t have to use fancy words for that.’ says Jesper, making you laugh again.
‘Keep it professional, you two.’ says Kaz as you’re approaching the double doors at the end of the hallway.
‘Why?’ you say. ‘You’re intimidating enough for the three of us. Jesper and I can just be your bright side, you know, bring a little sunshine.’
‘We don’t need sunshine.’ says Kaz. ‘We need to bring Van Eck and Rollins down.’
You sigh as you follow Kaz through the doors. ‘Never a bright side with you, is there?’ you say.
Once you enter the room, you immediately look at the three people waiting for you. As you walk up to them, you take all of them in.
On the left is a stunningly gorgeous girl. It’s hard to keep your eyes off of her. She has her arms crossed and looks very sternly at Kaz, Jesper and you as you approach them. You can tell she’d much rather be in Ravka if it was up to her. You weren’t familiar with most grisha’s, but you’re sure Nina would know her.
On the right is a grisha you do recognise. But only because of the eye patch and scars. Genya Safin. Despite her scars, you can see her beauty. She looks a lot nicer than the other girl.
Between them in the middle is a boy, not much older than you are, who you assume must be the pirate. Despite being flanked by two powerful Grisha, he’s the one that catches your attention.
He doesn’t look like a pirate. At least, not like the one’s you’ve met. He’s holding his chin up high and standing up straight, not exactly like a criminal would. He smiles as you approach him and there’s something familiar about him you can’t place.
‘We’re glad you’re here.’ says Kaz, as the three of you stop in front of them.
‘We’re here on business.’ says the grisha on the left.
‘Zoya.’ says the pirate. ‘Be nice.’ But she only scoffs and rolls her eyes at him. Clearly, she didn’t want to be in a city like Ketterdam.
‘Well, this is Zoya.’ says the pirate, motioning to the girl. ‘And this is Genya.’ he says, gesturing to the other girl. ‘And I’m Sturmhond.’
‘I’ve heard that name before.’ says Jesper.
‘Only the good things, I hope.’ says Sturmhond.
‘This is Jesper.’ says Kaz. ‘That’s Y/N.’
Jesper nods at the Ravkans, but you narrow your eyes at Sturmhond. Sturmhond looks at you, waiting for you to say something, but you merely continue to look at him, slightly narrowing your eyes.
‘Why is she looking at me like that?’ he asks.
You don’t say anything, but notice Jesper moving closer to you.
‘Scheming face.’ he says, studying your features. ‘Her brain’s running at top speed right now. Best not to ask anything ‘til she speaks up herself.’
Kaz and Sturmhond start talking business, and you take Sturmhond in once more. There’s something so familiar about him, and you’re going through all the memories you made in Ravka, trying to determine where you could have met him before.
Some time later, Sturmhond turns to you again.
‘I know I’m nice to look at, but you’re over selling it a bit, sunshine.’ he says.
Sunshine.
Suddenly, memories of a summer night flood back to you. It was before you came to Ketterdam, when you were in Ravka. You did all sorts of jobs, because you had certain skills not a lot of Ravkans had. On one night, you had a run in with a few soldiers.
You thought you were done for, but they’d won an important battle that had lasted days, and weren’t in the mood for more fighting. They shared their food and kvas with you, and told you stories. You didn’t want to tell them your name, so one of the soldiers had decided to call you sunshine instead.
He had told you his name was Nikolai, and when you asked him about his family name and he said it was Lantsov, you didn’t believe him. What were the odds you ran into one of the Ravkan princes in the middle of nowhere?
Maybe he had spoken the truth after all.
You smile at Sturmhond and finally speak up. ‘You don’t look like a pirate.’ you say.
‘Privateer.’ he corrects you.
‘Pirate, privateer, all the same. You don’t look like one. You don’t talk like one either. Or act or stand like one.’ you say.
‘Then what do I look like?’ he asks you.
A smile tugs on your lips as you look at him. ‘A royal.’ you say. ‘Why would the Ravkan king send a pirate to such an important auction? If I was king, I’d want to know what was going on. I’d go myself. And have one of the best Tailors in the country help me with my disguise. Turn myself into a pirate named Sturmhond.’
‘That’s an interesting theory.’ he says. ‘Are you implying I’m king Nikolai? It’s a good one, but not the right one, I'm afraid.’
You nod at him but aren’t convinced. Next to you, Kaz pulls his watch out of his pocket, and tells you you need to go. The six of you walk toward the door, you and Sturmhond trailing at the end of the group. Just as you’re about to walk through the doors, he stops you and closes them, leaving the two of you alone.
‘You’re smart.’ he says and you smile at him. ‘I never thought I’d see you again.’
‘So I’m right?’ you say, very pleased with yourself.
‘Maybe.’ he says.
‘Maybe?’ you say, laughing softly. ‘It’s good to see you, Nikolai.’
‘It’s good to see you too.’ he says.
‘You know, when we met and you told me your family name was Lantsov, I didn’t believe you.’ you say.
‘I wouldn't have believed me either.’ he says. ‘Some soldier claiming they’re a Lantsov? I’d think it was a bad move to try and impress a pretty girl.’
‘Ah.’ you say. ‘So you think I'm pretty now?’
‘I thought you looked absolutely gorgeous when I first met you. Even in that ridiculous coat that you wore to hide your revolvers.’ says Nikolai.
‘Why come to Ketterdam as Sturmhond?’ you ask.
‘I’ve always been Sturmhond.’ he says. ‘Everything you’ve heard about him, that’s me. I sailed the seas when my parents thought I was at a university.’
You’re silent as you look at him. Genya had done a good job tailoring him. If you hadn’t spend an entire night talking to him, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was actually the Ravkan king, and not some pirate. But you had studied his face that night, and it had been imprinted in your memory ever since.
‘What’s on your mind?’ asks Nikolai.
‘Genya did a good job.’ you say, moving closer to him and taking in the details of his face. ‘I like your own eye color and nose better though.’ you say, making him smile.
‘Do you like it here?’ he asks.
‘In Ketterdam?’ you say and he nods. ‘I do.’ you say. ‘It’s messy, and you need to have some kind of weapon on you every time you’re out on the streets, but believe it or not, it feels like home. I can be myself and use my skills without a civil war or soldiers bothering me.’
‘Don’t they have Stadwatch here?’ questions Nikolai, and you laugh.
‘They’re here, yes. But they don’t do much. All it takes is a little kruge and they look the other way. Plus, in the Barrel the gangs have territories, the Stadwatch doesn’t decide how we handle things down here.’ you say.
‘If you ever get tired of this life, Os Alta is very nice.’ he says.
‘Is the king of Ravka asking me to come to the palace with him?’ you ask teasingly.
‘No.’ he says. ‘Nikolai is asking if you want to come to the palace with him.’
You smile at him. ‘I have to admit, it does sound nice. But I’ve found my place here with the Dregs. Kaz, Jesper, they may not look like much to you, but I trust them with my life, they’re my family.’ you say.
Nikolai nods, taking a step back and away from you. ‘I understand.’ he says. ‘Forget I asked anything.’
‘I wasn’t finished yet.’ you say. You step closer to him and look up at him. ‘Ketterdam is now my home, but I wouldn’t say no to the occasional visit to Os Alta.’
Nikolai’s face lights up upon hearing your words and he starts grinning like an idiot. ‘I’ll make sure there’s a bottle of kvas waiting for you on your first visit. Along with a gorgeous hazel-eyed, blonde king.’ he says.
You raise a hand and run it through his hair, which Genya had tailored to be a shade of red instead of the golden blonde you remember. ‘I prefer you as a blonde.’ you murmur softly.
‘Next time you’ll see me, I’ll be blonde.’ he says.
‘Next time I see you?’ you say.
‘Promise.’ says Nikolai.
A/N:
If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules
Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist.
Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!!
Thank you for reading!
Much love,
Marit
#nikolai <3 <3 <3#nikolai lantsov#shadow and bone#grishaverse#nikolai lantsov x reader#nikolai lantsov x you#nikolai lantsov fanfiction#nikolai lantsov fanfic#nikolai lantsov fanfics#nikolai lantsov fic#nikolai lantsov fics#nikolai lantsov oneshot#nikolai lantsov oneshots#shadow and bone fanfiction#shadow and bone fanfic#shadow and bone fanfics#shadow and bone fic
280 notes
·
View notes
Text
Water (Ethan x MC)
Warning: NSFW, 18+
A/N: I finally finished the Miami shower sex fic. It’s roughly ~5K words of nonsense, 60% is filth, and the urge to re-write it is strong, but here it is.
Enjoy!
~v~
Being in Miami with Naomi unnerves Ethan in ways he can’t articulate. They aren’t in the confines of the hospital, bound by the strict boss and subordinate boundaries he’s attempted to set for them. And while they’re in the city for a medical conference, he can’t help but feel like he’s just Ethan and she’s just Naomi.
Her presence is overwhelming and intoxicating. From the way she took charge and ordered them drinks on the plane, to the way her luggage spills over their shared hotel suite despite being checked in for less than 3 hours, to the way it feels effortless just walking along the beach with her, Ethan can’t escape her and the role she’s slipped into feels too familiar and comfortable, which actually gives off the opposite effect. It terrifies him.
“We’re in Miami, for goodness’s sake, our hotel is literally on the water, and we are going to the beach,” is what Naomi told him after she slipped out of her plane clothes and put on something more appropriate for the warm Miami weather. She didn’t give him any time to object–and boy did he want to–before catching his wrist and dragging him out of their hotel room.
And that’s how he ended up taking a walk on the beach, the hot sand sticking to his toes, Naomi by his side. For reasons he’s not ready to face, he can’t say no to her and it’s infuriating. But on the flip side, the way her cheeks turn up and eyes sparkle at the enjoyment of the little things like this make his insides twist, and he’s a prisoner to her happiness.
“Come on, we’re hundreds of miles away from the hospital, the beautiful sun is beaming down on us, and there’s nothing but warm sand and ocean breeze around us. You have to admit that this is nice,” Naomi urges, poking Ethan in between the ribs.
They came to Miami on a mission, and that was to get help for Naveen and also fulfill his duties to the hospital. Frolicking on the beach was nowhere on the agenda.
“We’re here for work. And besides, I could be spending this time catching up on sleep or enjoying our air conditioned suite. That’s my definition of nice.”
“I swear, you probably came out of the womb a grumpy old man,” Naomi teases. “At least try to unwind.”
“The fact that you managed to drag me out here is testimony enough, don’t you think?”
“Nope,” Naomi says, leaving no room for debate. This is one of those times where Ethan isn’t all that enamored by her stubbornness.She sits down in the sand, throwing down her sandals. She extends a hand, and after a few seconds Ethan sighs and begrudgingly accepts it, allowing her to pull him down as well.
“Now close your eyes,” Naomi orders, watching Ethan closely to see if he listens. Once he realizes that she isn’t going to stop glaring at him, he closes them. “Thank you.”
“I’m only doing this so you’ll eventually leave me alone.”
“Always the fuddy duddy. Can you sit in complete and utter silence for 10 seconds? Please?”
Something about the way she says that word only adds to the list of things she does that make him uneasy. Only because he hates the way he responds to her plea, something stirring in the pit of his stomach.
It’s hard for him to handle the stillness of the moment. He’s gotten too used to always moving, always having something to do, but he sucks it up and tries.
“When was the last time you took a vacation?” Naomi asks.
“Is it bad to say I don’t know?”
“Yes. I’d kill to have your vacation days.”
“Well what about you?”
“I went to Aspen with my family for Christmas last year,” Naomi replies. “We used to go on at least one vacation a year when I was a kid. I don’t know how much of that I’ll be doing with my residency, but it’s nice to get away, even if it’s for a few days, you know?���
“I do. I think it’s been a solid three years since I had a real vacation. I went to Italy.”
“Rome?”
“Florence.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Of course.” Ethan feels her thumb trace a circle on the inside of his palm, and that’s when he notices that they never stopped holding hands when she pulled him down, and his pulse skitters. Part of him believes Naomi doesn’t notice she’s doing it, so he stays silent.
“Do you speak Italian?”
“I’m fluent in all of the Romance languages,” Ethan admits.
Naomi scoffs and playfully nudges him with her shoulder. “No one likes a show-off, polyglot.”
“What about you?”
“I speak very minimal French. My grandma taught me some basics when I was a kid and spent my summers with her, and I tried to fine tune my skills in high school, but I’m not fluent.”
This is the first time he’s heard her talk about her family, even a little bit, and he clings to the information as if it’s precious.
This time when the conversation tapers, Ethan actually doesn’t mind the silence, and he revels in the presence of the pretty intern beside him, her hand still warm in his.
“I should’ve booked you a spa treatment,” is how Naomi eventually breaks the silence. Ethan’s eyes snap up and he stares at her. “What?”
“I don’t think I’m a spa treatment kind of guy.”
“The sauna could be nice. Or a mud bath.”
“You’re such a comedian, Rookie.”
“I’m serious!” Naomi leans forward and presses her thumb between his eyebrows, gently massaging the crease. “I think a day at the spa would be good for you. Relatively speaking, you’re too young to be getting wrinkles.”
“What does that mean, relatively speaking?”
“You’re young in comparison to the average life span, but compared to me you’re…”
Ethan raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Are you trying to call me old?”
“It’s fine,” Naomi assures him. “Lucky for you, I like older guys.”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, Naomi realizes her grave mistake. She’s said too much, revealed her slip, and the double meaning of the sentence hangs in the air between them. Ethan’s eyes widen. His eyes fall on their still interlocked fingers before flitting back to her face, and that’s when Naomi notices that they’ve been holding hands. This entire time.
Ethan leans forward, until their faces are mere centimeters apart. Feeling bold, he takes one of her loose ringlets, curling it around his finger.
“Ethan, I–”
He stands so abruptly, Naomi almost falls over but she catches herself with her hands.
Ethan clears his throat, trying to center himself. What the hell was he thinking, nearly kissing his intern? How did he get so caught up that he almost crossed that line?”
Naomi stands up, wiping off the back of her shorts. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, Dr. Valentine.”
The name change feels like a physical strike. He hasn’t called her by her formal title the entire time they’ve been out here, but now she’s back to Dr. Valentine?
“Are you sure because I could’ve sworn that you were about to–”
“You know what? I think I’ve had enough of this beach excursion for the day, and I’m going to rest before we have to go to the party later on?”
A party? Where the fuck did that come from? “Ethan, slow down. A party? What party are you talking about?”
“Every year there’s a party hosted in conjunction with the party. It’s a black tie event, so please dress accordingly. See you later.”
His long legs carry him away before she can even reply, and he’s trudging back to the hotel, leaving Naomi more confused than she was ten minutes ago.
They were sharing a moment and Ethan was going to kiss her…right? This isn’t some fever dream, she didn’t just make that up, it is a fact. And just as fast as they were connecting, he put up a wall and shut her out.
She sits down again, ruminating over the situation and trying to wrap her head around it all.
After a while, annoyance forms in the pit of her stomach. Ethan doesn’t get to just play with her like a ping pong. And if she misread the situation, he should be big enough to tell her that to her face, not run off. And the more she thinks about it, the more she stews, and the annoyance turns into anger simmering under her skin. She stands, brimming with righteous indignation. He doesn’t get to walk away from her, and she’s going to tell him as such.
The trek back to the hotel only makes her angrier, because she only has time and opportunity to think, especially with the long elevator ride up to their suite. Once she makes it to the room and the door shuts behind her, she hears some shuffling around coming from the en-suite as well as running water.
“Ethan, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you need to explain whatever that was on the beach,” Naomi starts. She doesn’t get an immediate response from him. “The walls aren’t that freaking thick, I know you can hear me.” She inches closer to the door and notices that it’s been left slightly ajar. “And you left the door open, genius. Now I really know you can hear me.”
Maybe the walls really are that thick because she thinks she hears him talking, but it’s muffled. She almost lets it go until she hears a gruff, “Naomi!” come from the other side of the door.
So he can hear her. Good! Because she has a lot to say. She doesn’t give it a second thought, she charges towards the bathroom and forcefully pushes open the door.
What on earth was she thinking, barging into the bathroom like a bat out of hell?
The correct answer to that is she wasn’t thinking, fueled only by her need to argue with the infuriating man who left her on the beach like an idiot.
And now she’s standing in front of him and he’s stark naked.
The professional clothes and the white coat he wears at the hospital do an amazing job of keeping him contained, but here in this bathroom, Naomi realizes for the first time just how massive this man is. Tall isn’t enough of a description. His wide shoulders lead down to powerful arms, all corded muscle and tension. His chest, those defined pecs and a six-pack. Of course he’d be built like this underneath those clothes. Like a Greek fucking god. Of course.
That still isn’t what steals her breath straight from her body. It’s his hand, strong and powerful, wrapped around the base of his cock.
She should really say something. Apologize profusely. Beg to keep her spot in the competition, beg to keep her job at Edenbrook period. But she can’t. Any form of coherent or rational thought has been banished from her brain, and this soaking wet image of her boss is the only thing running through her mind.
Dr. Ethan Ramsey masturbates.
And if he’s still thinking about the moment they shared less than an hour ago, coupled with the fact that she heard him call out her name, it’s safe to assume that Dr. Ethan Ramsey masturbates to thoughts of her.
The realization makes her flame, and Naomi swears her body temperature has spiked to near feverish. And the fact that Ethan isn’t doing anything to right the situation—putting his hands in a more appropriate place, saying something, yelling at her to leave—only makes things more insane. He keeps his eyes fixed on her, his gaze so intense, she swears he can see her brain.
The angel on Naomi’s shoulder is screaming at her to stop gawking at him like some fish out of water, but she can’t. Now that she’s seen him, really seen him, she doesn’t know how she’ll ever go back to him being anything other than this, six feet, five inches, 200 pounds of pure unadultered sex.
The urge to touch him is so strong, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to do anything else until her hands are on him.
Swallowing whatever nerves are trying to creep up, Naomi takes a tentative step forward, and reaches for the glass door. The glass pane slides away so slowly, she almost wonders if it’s her subconscious giving her enough time to bolt before she makes even more of an ass of herself, but she ignores whatever annoying voice in her head is telling her to go.
“I’m not an idiot, Ethan. I’m not naive, and I’m not blind.” Naomi takes another step forward, the steam of the shower and a light spray of warm water hitting her face. Gingerly, her hand finds purchase on his chest, and they settle on his left pec.
His heart is beating so wildly, Naomi actually gasps at the erratic thumping beneath her fingertips. “Naomi–”
“I was so confused earlier,” Naomi confesses. “I thought you and I had been vibing these past few weeks, I thought you and I actually had something. And then we had our near first kiss earlier, but you pushed me away and ran off faster than a lightning strike, and I was hurt, and convinced that I completely misread the situation. So imagine my surprise when I walk in on this. You are horribly affected by me.”
“Naomi.” The way he says her name is so much rougher than it was previously, and it sends a shiver down her spine. Yup. So affected.
“It’s okay though, you don’t even have to say anything,” she continues. Taking Ethan’s free hand, she places it on her own chest so Ethan can feel her own erratic heartbeat. “Because trust me, I feel the exact same way.”
He doesn’t say anything else, opting to pull her in by the front of her t-shirt instead, what very little restraint he had over himself gone in this instant. The full blast of water comes as a shock, but Naomi can’t even react to it before Ethan slants his mouth over hers, pulling her into a bruising kiss.
The first thing she notices is just how rough his stubble is as it scrapes her mouth. The second thing is she probably would have fallen over due to how forcefully he pulled her into the shower, and she’s thankful his grip on her is as tight as it is.
Fireworks. A million fireworks going off at the same time. That’s what kissing Ethan feels like.
He sets the pace, but she kisses him back with just as much fervor. He kisses her like they have all the time in the world and none at all, passionate and intense, like he wants to devour her.
Her lungs protest against this endeavor, practically begging her to inhale something other than Ethan. But she doesn’t want to stop kissing him, even if it’s just for a second.
Thankfully Ethan makes the first move to separate them, breaking the kiss. His tongue licks along her neck and her head falls back in pleasure. So caught up in their kiss, it’s easy for Naomi to forget that she’s fully clothed, Ethan tugging at the fabric of her shirt quickly reminding her.
The water has the clothes clinging to her like a second skin, and Naomi giggles at the frustrated huffs Ethan lets out in his quest to undress her. The giggle turns into a full on squeal as she hears the telltale sound of a rip as her t-shirt ends up on the shower floor, followed by her shorts, and Naomi has to kick off her sandals to assist.
Once her clothes are in a sopping wet heap on the floor, Ethan regains control of the situation. Naomi’s back is pressed against the cold marble wall and Ethan’s mouth is on hers again, bruising and hard. It’s almost like he wants to punish her through his kisses.
“I have tried my absolute hardest to keep you at arms length,” is the first full sentence he’s said since Naomi entered the bathroom. “I compartmentalize my feelings for you, I am constantly reminding myself of our power dynamic. And you just keep inching your way closer at every single turn despite my best efforts.”
Naomi hums in reply. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been trying to keep me away in the first place.”
He’s kept her away because he knew. Ethan knew Naomi would find a way to get under his skin, leaving him to feel open and raw like he just got scrubbed with sandpaper. Having her like this is a fantasy come true, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that once this line is crossed, he’ll never want to go back. He can be a selfish bastard sometimes.
“If we do this then–”
“I’m a big girl, Ethan,” Naomi assures him. One of her hands reaches in the tiny space between them, and she grips his erection. Ethan shudders and leans forward, crowding her space even more as she strokes him at a leisurely pace. “And we can talk about all of the messy stuff later, but right now, talking is the last thing on my mind.”
“Alright, Rookie. Enough talking.”
Her underwear is off before another word can be uttered.
Naomi isn’t sure what she was expecting, but he slides two fingers inside of her before she can think, and the sharp intrusion leaves her gasping. Ethan doesn’t treat her with kid gloves, the quite opposite actually. Whatever sound she’s going to make, he quickly swallows with a kiss.
Naomi is expressive. It’s one of the first things Ethan noticed about her. She’s going to be seen and heard at all times, and that extends to the bedroom. And since he has effectively cut her off with a kiss, Naomi sinks her nails into him, one set on his shoulder, the others raking through his hair, urging him to continue his ministrations. Good.
He breaks the kiss, leaving a trail of tiny kisses and bites along her jaw, neck, and collarbone, paying special attention to her nipples, lavishing them with his tongue. He drops to his knees in front of her, urging her to lean backwards against the wall behind them and Naomi does so without an ounce of hesitation.
The one hand not currently playing her like a fiddle runs along the smooth expanse of her curves, tracing every dimple and mark he can find. He does this until his eyes fall on the tiny tattoo marking her skin, resting on her hip. “I never took you as a tattoo kind of girl.”
“I have a few secrets left to tell, Ramsey.”
“Why on your hip?”
“My parents would’ve killed me if I got it somewhere visible,” Naomi explains breathlessly as Ethan continues to stroke her, slowly coaxing her towards an orgasm.
Ethan places a kiss on her left hip, right below the tattoo as if it’s to be revered before sucking a mark on it. Something to remember him by.
“Naomi?”
“Hmm?”
“Eyes on me,” Ethan commands her. It’s a tough task because the steam and the water have made it difficult to see and she would enjoy nothing more than to close her eyes and fully revel in what he’s doing to her, but they manage to lock eyes. “Good girl.”
The first swipe of his tongue against her makes her legs buckle, but thankfully Ethan keeps her upright.
His fingers curl inside of her, and Naomi swears her vision goes blurry for a second, but not once do her eyes waver from his. Ocean blue irises hold her gaze, and she feels like they’re burning her from the inside out. Everything is hot, too hot, but at the same time she feels like she might go insane without it.
The strokes are slow and languid. In, out, curl, twist, keeping pace with the way his tongue laves against her clit. Soon her breathless whimpers become more ragged, more labored and she grabs a handful of Ethan’s hair, tugging it so hard, she’d worry about actually pulling it out if she cared about anything other than finding the edge of the cliff he’s so close to pushing her off. Ethan can tell she’s close. The incessant tugging at his scalp, the increasingly louder moans, and the way her hand slaps against the wet tile.
She knows it’s coming, but her orgasm takes her by surprise, pleasure seizing her at the base of her spine. Her legs tense up and her entire body falls forward, taking Ethan with her. He cushions her fall, and they both land with a hard thud.
Naomi giggles again. And soon that giggle becomes a full on laugh, so uncontrollable that Ethan wonders if she’s snapped.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just never…fallen over during sex before,” saying that out loud makes her laugh again.
“And is this a good thing?”
Naomi leans forward and kisses Ethan, smiling through it. “We’ll you’re the first guy to ever make my legs give out in the middle of an orgasm so…yes. I’d say it’s a very good thing.”
Well that is a healthy ego boost, Ethan thinks to himself. “Good to know.”
When blood circulation has returned to her legs, Naomi stands up, pulling Ethan along with her. She deposits him on the spacious bench built in along the back wall of the shower and he falls onto the seat with a hard thud.
He watches through hooded lids as Naomi straddles him, undulating against him in a way that makes him want to take control and bury himself to the hilt inside her.
“Question for you, Ethan Ramsey,” Naomi starts.
“Answer for you, Naomi Valentine.”
“When I walked in here, were you thinking about me? Was I the subject in your dirty little fantasy?”
“Always,” Ethan is shocked by how breathless the answer comes out, but at this point, pride and ego aren’t needed. Not when they’re like this. “Since day one, I have been consumed with nothing but thoughts of you.”
“Mhmm, what was I doing in this particular fantasy?” Naomi asks. She takes him into her hands, and at a tortuous pace, rubs the swollen tip of his erection against her clit, drawing out a moan from the older man.
His memory fails him. Nothing he conjures up in his head will ever be comparable to the sight of a naked Naomi in his lap. She’s so beautiful, water droplets clinging to her skin, lips kiss swollen, loose strands of hair clinging to the sides of her face, her round cheeks flushed.
He doesn’t remember what the fantasy entailed, he just knew this woman’s presence was so overwhelming, if he didn’t expel some of the tension, he wouldn’t survive going to a black tie event with her.
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” Ethan says honestly. “The real you is so much better.”
“I think I like that answer.”
Ethan lifts her by the hips and in one smooth thrust, he’s fully sheathed inside of her. He notices that way Naomi’s eyes are fixed on where they’re joined, glazed over by pleasure and he’s never seen something so erotic.
She starts to move, slowly at first because she’s still way too sensitive from her last orgasm to do anything else. But the slow pace she sets does nothing to ease her, it only makes things worse. Every slow glide, every brush of his pelvis against her is magnified tenfold, and the heat she felt earlier has turned into a bull blown inferno, consuming every inch of her. But now, the only way out is through, and she’s trapped in a delicious purgatory until the next wave hits. It only intensifies when Ethan’s mouth closes around one of her nipples, sucking fiercely. “Oh, fuck.”
He releases the bud with a soft ‘pop’, pulling a soft groan from her lips. Her head falls back, but Ethan catches a fistful of her hair and drags her back, forcing her to make eye contact. “Eyes on me, Rookie. I want to see your face.”
The tiny pinpricks of pain at her scalp give way to pleasure as his grip on her tightens. “Harder.”
Ethan smirks and wordlessly obeys the order, pulling Naomi’s hair even harder as she moans. Huh. He’s going to tuck this information away for a later date and time.
The hand not holding her hair goes back to her hip and he squeezes tightly before guiding her up and down. And that’s when the pressure starts building again, up, and up, and up, until the only sounds that can be heard are the obscene slaps of their wet skin and her broken whimpers. His hand leaves her hip, not having to move far before his thumb is on her clit, working it in soft circles.
Naomi comes so hard, her teeth chatter and she’s almost afraid of cracking them. Unable to keep up the eye contact, she leans forward, resting her forehead against his. He gives her a second to catch her breath before he rocks into her, trying to chase his own release.
“Naomi, I…fucking I’m going to–”
She nods, understanding exactly what he’s trying to say. She bites down on his earlobe, tugging. “Inside me.” Then she kisses the patch of skin right below his ear and grinds against him once more. “Or on the tattoo.”
Holy fuck. That alone sets him off like a bottle rocket. He bites down on her shoulder hard enough to break skin.
His heart beats so wildly, he doesn’t know if it will ever return to its normal resting state. With his arms wrapped around her like this, he wonders if this is their new normal. How that he’s been with her like this, how on earth will she go back to being his subordinate. Everything about her feels like euphoria, her taste, her touch, her scent is embedded in him, so deep in his skin, she might as well be woven into his DNA. But the thing about it is, he’s not sure he wants it to.
On top of being a selfish bastard at times, he is wildly possessive.
It takes a long time for them to separate , neither one of them wanting to move or disrupt the peaceful little bubble they’ve created within the confines of this shower.
Eventually Ethan pulls Naomi off of him, but his grip on her remains steady. He stands as well and reaches behind him, grabbing the bottle of shower gel he has on the shelf. It isn’t until the clean scent of citrus and sea salt hits her nose does Naomi realize he’s using his shower gel. A chill sweeps through her. Sure they just had sex–great sex even–but sharing this man’s shower gel is a subtle intimacy that she wasn’t prepared for, and her chest goes tight.
“I smell like you,” Naomi murmurs sleepily.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Of course not, you always smell good. I do draw the line at sharing shampoo. Whatever shit you use might destroy my hair.”
Ethan snorts. “I saw the amount of hair goop you stuffed into your suitcase. Trust me, I won’t get in the way of that routine.”
Once they’re both sufficiently lathered, they duck under the water to rinse off, and they finally step out of the shower. The entire room is full of steam, and Naomi almost feels bad that they wasted so much hot water. God, her skin is going to be so dry if she doesn’t moisturize soon.
Ethan wraps her in a large white terry cloth bathrobe before wrapping a towel around his waist.
“I’m still mad that you didn’t give me any sort of notice about this party,” Naomi huffs. Ethan rolls his eyes and takes a step forward, his hand wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer until her back is firmly against his chest.
“It’s in a few hours, how much more notice do you need?”
“What if I didn’t pack an appropriate dress?” Naomi implores hypothetically. “Or shoes?”
He shrugs. “I have a credit card, and this hotel has a boutique.”
“Well lucky for you, and your wallet, I packed a few dresses,” Naomi says. Her mother taught her to be prepared for any situation, including the spur of the moment black tie event. “I’ll pull together something decent.”
“You’re beautiful, you always look more than decent.”
“Compliments will get you everywhere with me, Ramsey.”
Using the palm of her hand, Naomi wipes some of the steam off of the mirror in front of them and takes a good look in the mirror. She looks thoroughly debauched. It’s going to take a miracle to pull herself together with just a few hours’ notice.
She also notices the dark mark blooming on her right shoulder, outlined by teeth marks. Ethan’s bite is only going to get darker and more prominent as time ticks on.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to cover up this mark you gave me though.”
Ethan slides the robe off of her shoulder to examine the bite mark. He runs his thumb along it soothingly before planting a kiss on the spot. “I have a solution.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
Instead of replying immediately, Ethan bends down slightly and scoops up Naomi, bridal style. “How about I give you a matching one on the left shoulder?”
~v~
Tags: @openheartfanfics @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @cecilecontrera @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @uneravine @choicest @schnitzelbutterfingers
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
My knight in shining armour
Rowaelin month Day 2 - University AU
I literally just finished this. I wasn’t going to write for this prompt but then an idea finally hit me.
The title as usual is bad... sorry
2k words
-----
Aelin had days in which she hated men. That was one of those days.
After finishing high school she decided to took a challenging course at the University of Terrasen. Her dad, before he retired, had been an airforce pilot. She had grown up going around his base, visiting him when he was back. In doing so, she had become obsessed with planes. As she grew up, her dad had let her get friendly with his engineer and the man had started teaching her all she needed to know about aircrafts. From the basic physics to the more obscure detail of how the jet worked. Aelin had been fascinated. She had started reading all the possible books, and as she got older, her dad’s engineer had also started having her to actually help her in the hangar. In the summer when school was out, she would actually get a part-time job as an apprentice at the base and she had loved every moment of it. She had also become very close with the two female pilots and together they had spent time talking about the life of a woman in a boys club. The two women had become her role models very quickly.
Terrasen was quite and open minded country but some ideas were still quite obsolete.
In high school at the question “what you want to be when you grow up?” She always answered an aircraft engineer for the airforce. She never faltered or never doubted. That’s what she wanted to, that was her path.
But when time for uni arrived and she applied for a degree in aeronautical engineering, that’s when she realised that the boys club extended far more than she expected.
She was basically the only woman in the class. None of the guys had approached her and on the first day she had walked in the classroom, one of them had the guts to tell her that the humanities department was in the annex c. She ignored the bastard and sat down at the front. She belonged in that room and she would prove it to every single one of them.
Day after day she had shown her knowledge and surprised her professor who was amazed at the fact that she could answer such in depth questions. Last time it happened, she had turned to Chaol - the asshole who had told her about the annex c, and gave him a smirk. That had removed his stupid grin from his face. It felt amazing.
During a private one-to-one with her professor she had confessed to him she had been working at the airbase as an apprentice during the past three summers. Her teacher had luckily been very supportive and encouraged her to keep up the good work.
Now, six months in, she still hated with a vengeance the arseholes she had to study with. Some of them even had the guts to ask her for some help after they realised she was actually good. She had answered that surely they didn’t want the help of a woman, and walked away.
After another class it was finally lunch time and she was meeting Rowan down at their spot on the grass. They were a couple. He had asked her out in the summer after high school was over and they had been together ever since. He was a med student and he knew her pain about choosing a challenging degree. Both their degrees were very intense and required a lot of time so they would just try and spend as much time together as they could. They had a flat together but the public library was were they spent most of their time.
And when their schedules allowed it, they would enjoy lunch together, venting about their academical choices.
“I fucking hate that bastard.” She raged, dropping her bag on the grass and sitting at his side, depositing a kiss on his lips. She felt better almost immediately, being in his arms was all she needed to feel okay again.
“What did he do now?” Asked Rowan knowing of her struggles in her classes.
Aelin grabbed her bag and pulled out her food, the dinner that Rowan had prepared the previous night and then packed away for both of them.
“The teacher gave us an exercise where we had to design an aircraft with what we had learned so far.” She told him, while munching away her food “He was up first and his project was a effing disaster. Seriously, I’d wouldn’t want to fly on a plane designed by him.” She took a sip of her water “the teacher asked us to say what was wrong and it took me ten minutes to stop. I mean, a two year old would have done a better job with lego bricks.”
Rowan giggled at her side “then my turn came and the bastard had the guts to tell me that the aerodynamics of my plane were off and that my ailerons where wrong as well and would not allow the plane to function properly. I took my laptop and shoved it in his face and told him to find the error in my math. He had no clue.” Her face turned smug “then the teacher took over and said that actually my project was, among all, the only one that could actually fly. I felt smug as fuck.”
Rowan pulled an arm around Aelin’s shoulder and pulled her to him. He was proud of her. Every damn day.
“Then after class, he threw me a paper plane and inside it had a message saying this is the only plane you will ever build or work on. I swear, the guy is still alive only because I am not looking forward to finishing my degree via distance learning from a prison.”
She calmed down “how was your day?”
Rowan leaned back against the tree “I had anatomy and physiology. Today we covered the endocrine system and it must be one most boring of them all.”
“Well,” she added with a big smile “when you cover the reproductive system you are welcome to practice with me…”
He laughed and squished her to her chest “I am a very big fan of your… bits.” She kissed him deeply not caring that they were in public, she wanted him and hated that they had more classes before being able to go home and then alas, study more. Maybe for one evening they could study something different.
“Aelin?”
“Yes, buzzard?”
His tongue gently teased her and she opened for him while his hand brushed off a rebel strand of hair.
He pulled back “Nothing, you had tomato sauce on you lips. I was just wiping it off. Did you think I wanted to kiss you?”
Aelin gently punched him on the shoulder, in return he gave her a massive grin. Rowan was a very reserved man who struggled with stranger, but she had her own version, the goofy one, the one who made jokes and loved to cuddle with her. She would treasure that version forever. That was just for her.
They were busy chatting away and she was showing him on her laptop the exercise she had been working on and her plane prototype and although what she was saying was greek to him, he still listened to her in fascination.
She was telling him how a plane flew and the four forces when a figure stopped in front of them.
“It must be exciting to brag with your boyfriend about your hopeless projects.” Said the man.
Rowan raised his eyes and finally saw the face of the man that had been making Aelin’s life miserable.
“What did you just say?” Rowan stood and towered on the brown-haired man by twenty centimetres. Chaol also looked frail compared to Rowan’s muscular frame.
“Chaol, you’d better go.” Not that she cared about the man, she just didn’t want Rowan to get into trouble for a petty man.
“You’d better give up while you still can, Galathynius. Aeronautical engineering is not a field for a woman.” He crossed his arms at his chest trying to look intimidating but the look in Rowan’s eyes told her it was a useless attempt. Her boyfriend was ready to attack. She knew he had never hit anyone, but had a feeling that if Chaol didn’t stop it could be a first for Rowan.
“Chaol,” she stood as well and growled his name in warning.
“Oh, so you are one of those arseholes who believes that certain jobs can be done only by those who were born with a penis. It’s the fucking 21st century. Grow up, idiot.”
Rowan swore, alarm bells rang in Aelin’s head. He only swore when he was extremely mad, something that her unflappable boyfriend rarely was.
“Oh look, Galathynius, you have a knight in shining armour.”
Aelin moved between Rowan and Chaol, trying to separate them when her boyfriend moved a step closer to the other guy.
Chaol chuckled “Did you sleep with every professor—” but Chaol never finished his sentence. She saw the scene develop in slow motion in front of her. At those words Rowan’s face had turned feral and as on instinct his arm moved and a second later his fist found its target in Chaol’s face.
Rowan then grabbed Chaol by the collar and lifted him up slightly “You take it back, immediately or I’ll smash all the twenty two bones in your skull.”
“Go on,” said Chaol, nursing a broken lips.
Aelin stopped in between and grasped Rowan’s hand gently “Put him down, Ro, he is not worth it.”
Her gaze then turned to Chaol “now you go back to whatever shithole you came from and perhaps go back working on your project and design a real aircraft.” She moved closer to him “I know what the fuck I am doing. And I know I will have a job in the airforce after this. You will just go back being daddy’s little spoiled boy.”
Chaol glared at her and Rowan finally let go of him, bur before he fully released him he pulled the man close enough that his mouth was near his ear “you disrespect her like that one more time and you’ll finish your degree from a hospital bed while sipping your food from a straw.” Rowan flashed his teeth in a threatening gesture “you leave her alone, because if I hear you have been a bastard to her one more time, I will make your life a living hell.” And eventually released him. Chaol shrugged his t-shirt back into place and walked away without adding another word.
Rowan sighed and then turned to her, his expression back being soft as soon as she looked back at him.
“You didn’t have to punch him,” she said while snuggling against his chest. His arms quickly around her.
“Yes I had to. What he said….” She felt him tense up again “he made me so mad, fireheart.”
“Seeing you thump him was very sexy,” she kissed him gently on the lips “my knight in shining armour.”
Rowan chuckled and looked into he blue eyes “you don’t need a knight. You are fierce, brave and strong and do not need any protection,” he added, his lips on her head. Nesting under his chin was her favourite position. They fit perfectly “I, on the other hand, as a male who is hopelessly in love with you, felt the desperate need to avenge the sullied honour of my amazing other half.”
Aelin giggled hard “you really sound like a knight.”
“Come on, Sir Rowan Whitethorn of Wendlyn, let’s finish our lunch, I have an hour of mechanics of flight coming up and I need sustenance.”
“Yes, my queen,” he said kneeling in front of her.
Aelin laughed and kissed him deeply “maybe I can be your queen tonight in bed as well.”
His smirk grew wider and Aelin felt heat pool at her core at his expression.
“Whatever m’lady commands.”
They finished their lunch in peace without any more interruptions and eventually they parted ways, going to their respective classes.
Chaol did not bothered her anymore. He didn’t even met her gaze and him ignoring her was all she asked. She was there to learn, he could just go and sulk in the afterburner of a jet, perhaps while on, for all she cared.
Aelin texted Rowan a thank you and his reply was a simple To whatever end.
#rowaelin#rowaelinmonth#rowaelin fanfic#rowaelin fanfiction#rowan whitethorn#aelin galathynius#chaol westfall#university au#Throne of Glass series
111 notes
·
View notes
Text
You Are Beautiful (1)
Summary: Sirius Black was entranced since the moment he saw you. He had to have you but you are convinced his feelings are fleeting, and will only hurt you. People inside and outside of your relationship meddle in the makings of something that could be beautiful... or disastrous. Will love and confidence win? Or will doubt and uncertainty tear you both down?
Young Sirius Black x Pus SizedFemReader
Warning: one inappropriate joke lol, fluff I suppose and nothing else really. All the real stuff comes later :0
Authors note: I mostly write my xreader fics as neutral but as this is a request, I wrote this as fem. But if anyone would like a male version or neutral version let me know and I will copy this but obviously change readers gender (and it's no burden to me I'd love to make more readers feel included and represented). Also reader is plus sized and she is confident and strong throughout the fic -because plus sized characters aren't represented like that in film/books alot (but if looking for amazing and empowering plus sized female characters Nina Zenik from Six of Crows owns my entire heart and changed how I saw myself personally and I would recommend that book for anyone really)- but as any human she has her insecurities because beauty standards are unattainable and have a way excluding so many people and making us feel less than beautiful. As a plus sized/overweight person myself, I understand how we have to fight to feel beautiful and fight this internalized bias we have when we look in the mirror. But WE ARE BEAUTIFUL. WE ARE WORTHY OF MAGAZINGE COVERS AND COMPLIMENTS AND ABOVE ALL SELF LOVE!! The self insert character in this has fought for her confidence, but it will shake and stumble throughout the series and Sirius and friends are there for her to help her realize for herself how beautiful she truly is, once again. So I hope I didn't stray too far from the request :) Enjoy....
Word Count: 1.8
Authors Note: About halfway through I decided to make it a series oops-
****Blabbering Idiot****
Sirius Black is a man of many, many words. In fact, I'm sure if he was writing this he could quickly turn it into one of the most entertaining novels ever written. He'd describe the laughter of his friends for a whole page. Tell a hilarious joke on the next. Then he'd describe the wind blowing through the open halls and courtyard and the spring sun. He could write about a great many things in great detail. (But he wouldn't because he doesn't quite enjoy writing as much as he does anything else, but that's above the point.)
As I said, Sirius Black is a man of many words. So it was such a curious thing when he first saw you. It was an astounding thing really, because for the first time he found something that rendered him completely speechless.
The sun was peeking through the open corridor and pooled onto you, caressing your skin and hair in an ethereal glow. Highlighting curves that brought both sinful and sweet thoughts running through him. It was as if the universe was telling him, look at what we've created, look at this beautiful creature. But he could hardly believe that this world could create something so lovely and kind. You threw your head back in laughter at something your friend said and suddenly the world is back to normal and all he can hear is your laughter and the sound of his friends curiosity at what could have possibly kept him from the conversation about muggle rock compared to Wizard bands. In fact, James was so passionate about it half the hall turned to listen to his rendition of The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.
But he didn't care, he took a feeble step towards you and suddenly felt so nervous his hands began to sweat. He stuttered and coughed up his words just for a simple "hello" in your direction only for the wind blowing through the halls to carry it away. And his friends laughed at him as he watched you walk too far from where he wanted you. Because, oh did he want you.
Sirus POV:
"I'm telling you, I won't be able to sleep tonight unless I know who she is," Sirius says for not the first time that evening. James started to laugh.
"Why? Because you'll be too busy thinking of her?" James said, laughing as he made a very suggestive hand motion. Peter cackled and Remus rolled his eyes, trying to find the cleaner side of his humor but instead he couldn't help but snort. Sirius pushed James's shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm sure Lily would love to know how familiar with that feeling you are," Sirius says and James stopped laughing immediately, his eyes narrowed.
"Please, you wouldn't dare. And I will deny all accusations, you'll be made out to be a liar. Then the mystery girl will never love you. Is that what you want, Pads?" James joked with a single arch of his brow. Sirius just rolled his eyes. He was only half paying attention, he has been scouring the hallways since he first saw that girl. He wanted to speak to her again, or maybe just stare for a bit. If things went well, he'd be able to do both those things on a date. But he hasn't seen her since that morning and his heart felt oddly shallow. He wanted those butterflies he had when looking at her to come back and overwhelm him again.
"What'll it matter if I don't even know who she is? Or- or if I can't talk to her? No one falls in love with a blabbering idiot," Sirius says. Remus shrugs.
"Lily fell in love with James," he says, Peter laughed again.
"Yeah, regardless of what he does at night," Peter added and now both James and Sirius were rolling their eyes. James and Lily just recently stopped denying their feelings for one another and gave into the sexual tension and mutual pining. Their relationship was still fairly new but they act as if they've been together for years. Sirius supposed that in a way, they have been.
Sirius would watch them giggling, hand and hand in the hall. He'd see them cuddling in the common room, or coming back after dates with rosy cheeks and beaming smiles. Sirius would never admit it out loud, but his heart cried out when he saw them like that. He rarely ever felt lonely. He could have any girl or boy he wanted if he really tried, but for what? One fun night? Only for one more morning where he wakes up alone? He wanted more than that whenever he saw Lily and James, their happiness was palpable. Their love was suffocating.
Sirius always thought he'd find the one after Hogwarts, if at all. But when he saw her... well that changed everything. In a flash he saw himself with her, their hands intertwined and her head thrown back in laughter. Rosy cheeks and bruised lips. Warm beds and making love... being in love. He nearly felt silly after and yet, he knew that even if he did sleep tonight, it would be her he'd dream of.
"Ello' guys!" Lily said, bouncing up to James who kissed her cheek. They walked with their arms looped and Sirius glared at the easy sign of affection. He thought of his parents, how they would be stiff with one another except for in quiet moments, when he'd pass through a hall and glance into their room. He'd spot a quick kiss on the cheek, and soft squeeze of the hand. It were those odd moments for him, that struck him so strongly with a sharp bitterness. They don't deserve softness and love, he'd think, how can such cruel creatures even feel such things? But even then, he'd walk away seeing them as still awful creatures born from the depths of hell, but more human.
"That's her," Sirius whispered so quietly Remus almost didn't hear it. In fact, Sirius didn’t think Remus heard it at all, but it was rather his look of longing towards the Great Hall entrance that gave him away. Because standing right there, was you.
Your hair was a little wind blown, messy around your face, bits of iit shaped your round cheeks and soft eyes. Sirius eyed you up and down and cursed clothes and cursed shyness and cursed his own head for thinking he could even talk to you. But most of all, he cursed a group of boys who walked past you.
Sirius was a confident boy, he knew how to spot someone who held their head up just as high as he did, and you were very much one of those people. You were giggling as you stole a biscuit from a friend and popped it into your mouth, you covered your mouth as you laughed when they complained with a little smile of their own.
"It's just so yummy, and I haven't eaten since breakfast." He heard you say, your friend just shook his head and handed you a plate as you sat down next to him. But right before you could get comfortable a sneering group of boys stole a piece of food from your hand and said something rather rude.
Sirius didn't even realize he had been walking towards you, this girl he has never even spoken too, yet thought of so endearingly, until he was standing right before the boys and had the pack leaders wrist firmly in his grip.
"Drop it boy, c'mon, drop it," he teased. It was humiliating for the boy and he knew it by the laughing and sneering others directed towards the group of boys, but Sirius did not care. The boy dropped the biscuit and looked as if his tail was tucked into his legs. "Good boy," he said, ruffling his hair until it was a knotted mess, the boy winced at just how hard Sirius dug his knuckles into his scalp, Sirius relented with a satisfied smirk.
Sirius’s voice took on a much harsher tone, "Now scram." The boys were out of their seats and in new ones within seconds.
Sirius felt his mood shift completely once they left, because now all eyes were on him, yours included. He looked up at you rather shyly, his hair falling in strands over his forehead. He tucked it behind his ear and found some confidence in the way your eyes followed the movement and how you blushed. He gave you his best smile, hoping his charm wasn't as weak as his legs felt at that moment.
"Hello, I'm Sirius... Sirius Black." Then, like an idiot he put his hand out for you to shake, what charmer just shakes the ladies hand? He stopped belittling himself the moment you softly placed your hand in his.
"It's nice to meet you, Sirius, and thanks for helping me. I know how to handle those filthy 'dogs'" you said, smiling as you remembered the way he spoke to them, he chuckled. "But I suppose it's nice not always having to," you finished with a bright smile on your face. He felt his own cheeks heat up and he nodded but could not think of anything better to say.
"Name," he said, you raised your brows. He cleared his throat, "your name?"
"Oh, how rude of me," you said and then you laughed, that same laugh that caught his attention and has yet to let go. "I'm (y/n) (y/l/n)."
"Nice to meet you," he said, it was as if he couldn't feel the appalled stares of your friends because all he could see was the blush on your cheeks and your head thrown back in laughter. He swallowed thickly before making his way back to his friends. They all wore raised brows and smirks, and he knew they were about to bite into him.
"Treating them like dogs, really? A bit ironic don't you think," Lily said, James shrugged
"That's why it was so good," he said, high fiving Sirius.
"But it admittedly went downhill from there," Peter was sure to add, just like Sirius knew one of them would. Sirius just laughed, too elated to finally know who you were.
"Don't start," he said, but it was too late.
All in union they sputtered out the lame word that will plague Sirius' memory of that moment forever, "Name?"
They cackled at him and ruffled his hair all the way to their seats, but Sirius knew they were pleased for him. And Sirius didn't mind, he could feel the pretty eyes of a pretty girl following him across the room. If only someone told him how important she would become to him, maybe he would have looked back at her and never looked away.
Taglist <3
@enchantedblackrose
#sirius black#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black angst#sirius black fluff#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x reader#young sirius x reader#young sirius black#young sirius imagine#harry potter fandom#the marauders#plus sized reader#sirius black x plus sized reader
177 notes
·
View notes
Text
battle of brains (m)
PART OF THE REPUTATION SERIES
summary: when it comes to academics, everyone knows not to disrupt Park Jimin with his high-standing reputation. but how is a transfer student from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry supposed to know about maintaining his reputation? spoiler alert: they don’t care.
pairing: jimin x fem!reader
genre: hogwarts au, nerd!jimin, enemies to lovers au | smut
warnings: jimin and yn are arrogant idiots, inappropriate usage of Head Student/prefect equipment, alcohol consumption, the story sort of rushes towards the end because I was (and am) so tired of writing this lmao
smut present in the form of: sexual tension, slight dirty talk maybe idk what i’m doing, light bratty and dom vibes, fingering, unprotected sex, cumplay, overstimulation, bondage, one (1) spank, dry humping, slight voyeurism (they have sex in a bathroom, it’s not as gross as it sounds i promise), yeah idk there’s a lot of filth i lost control lol
word count: 25k
a/n: I have poured my blood sweat and tears (by bts) into this fic and appreciate the patience of everyone on this site. hope you enjoy it xx
.
Park Jimin enters the school grounds the same way he has for the past six years: smirk on his face, books in his bag, and a knowledge in his heart that he is the smartest student standing within these castle walls.
After all, ever since stepping off the train of platform nine and three-quarters all those years ago, Park Jimin has never slipped below an O on his test grades, on his assignments, and overall grades in his classes. Six years have seen Park Jimin on a first name basis with all of his professors, every conversation plagued with his natural talent and natural inclination to do well on essays and exams. And none of them are overgeneralizations about Jimin either—if those aforementioned Outstanding marks on his report cards are anything to go off of. It’s a good position to be in, one that Park Jimin acknowledges and is proud of. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s spent years buried in the library, combing through as many books as his mind would allow him to, using his knowledge to lead discussions and tests and basically set himself as one of brightest wizards in Hogwarts.
So, pair that intelligence with his charming smile and his highly capable social skills to last in plenty of social interactions—and you get Park Jimin. He’s proud, smart, smug, and currently raising his hand. It’s a normal sight for any student in Hogwarts who has the pleasure (or misfortune, or annoyance) of attending class with Park Jimin or attending class with the same house as Park Jimin. His quick-wit and fast processing brain earned him lots of points towards the Slytherin house. But for every point he earned Slytherin, he took away the opportunity for another house to earn points—hence, where the annoyance from his peers probably comes into play.
But Park Jimin doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to look out for anyone other than himself. That’s why as soon as Professor Binns opened class with his usual first question: “Can anyone tell me what followed the Soap Blizzard of 1378?”, he lifts his hand up.
He waits for Professor Binns to look up and call his name, as it usually goes. Jimin’s usual plan, however, is halted when an unfamiliar voice sounds from the back of the classroom. “I believe it was the Wizarding Economic Bubble Burst, professor.”
A different kind of silence takes over the classroom, one that is plagued with a weight of questions and surprise. Who was talking? Who would answer a question without raising their hand?
But above all: Who would try to overstep Park Jimin?
Jimin overcomes the momentary flood of confusion that pour through him as he lowers his hand. As soon as his hand is back on his desk, he follows what his peers are doing in turning around in his seat, to see who the voice belongs to. At the doorway stands a student Jimin has never seen in his life, dressed in what looks to be new Hogwarts robes. Behind you is Professor McGonagall, displaying no expression to give away who you are or what you’re doing here.
You’ve got your hands in the pocket of your robes, head tilted to the side, looking as if answering Professor Binns question had required no extra mental effort, as if you had the answer ready on the tip of your tongue.
At your response, Professor Binns looks up from his podium. “You are correct. Normally, I require students wait to be called on first before answering my question. But you provided a full answer, which is impressive. Especially for an event that hasn’t been covered for you students in a few years. But no matter. To what do I owe the pleasure, Professor McGonagall?”
“My apologies, Professor Binns,” She says, holding up a slip of paper. “But we have a new transfer student—someone from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” The professor directs her attention to the rest of the class. “I know we rarely get transfer students, especially so late in the student’s life, so I expect you all to be welcoming to help Ms. Y/N get adjusted.”
The room is immediately enveloped in a blanket of whispers. Professor McGonagall is right—it’s not just rare to get transfer students, it’s practically unheard of. Especially during a student’s last year in school. The questions start coming up. Who are you? What type of situation are you in that would call for a transfer across the world? And again, the biggest question of all, how could you overstep Park Jimin?
Professor Binns stares at the two at the door for a moment longer, before he looks back down at the podium. “Very well. Ms. Y/N, was it? Take a seat. Contrary to my previous question, today’s lecture isn’t going to be about the Soap Blizzard, but it is a vaguely entertaining topic to engage in…”
He starts to drone on about something else. Maybe goblins or something? Park Jimin isn’t very sure anymore. The only thing he’s conscious of right now is the whispering exchanges between you and the professor. Professor McGonagall hands you the transfer papers. She asks you a few more questions before turning around and heading back down the hallway she had entered from. This leaves you alone in the doorway, lingering for a moment, before you start to move.
Even though Professor Binns is still going on about the topic for today, it’s clear hardly anyone is paying attention. The weight of their gaze falls solely on you as you enter the classroom. You aren’t doing anything to earn their attention, but questions about you largely outweighs any questions anyone might have about class.
People continue to watch as you brush behind Jimin’s seat, before settling yourself in the only vacant chair in the classroom—a place that also so happens to be Jimin’s desk partner. Jimin watches out of the corner of his eye as you settle yourself in, taking out your notebook, quill, and ink. He thinks about the possibility of you saying something to him—maybe an apology for answering a question he had already raised his hand for. Maybe an introduction. Maybe you would ask him how he knew about the Soap Blizzard. Yet, the longer the pair of you sit there, listening but not really listening to Professor Binns go on and on, the longer Jimin feels himself turn red with irritation. You remain quiet.
The class time goes a lot slower than Jimin is used to, as his mind is reeling too much with questions about his new desk partner to pay any attention to class material. It isn’t until Professor Binns is dismissing the class in his usual deadpan tone, does Jimin turn to look at you.
He pastes on a friendly expression. “Hey there,” He greets, just as you’re screwing on the cap of your ink bottle. “That was really impressive when you knew the answer to the question at the beginning of class. Did you guys over at Ilvermorny just go over the Bubble Burst before you transferred?”
You do look over at Jimin this time, eying him up for a moment before you smile. “No, not really. We went over that shit the same time as you guys.” You turn back to gathering your quill and ink. You flip your hair over your shoulder when it starts to get into your face. “I just have better memory than most.”
Jimin blinks, having not expected such an answer from you. You didn’t even thank him for the compliment, nevermind that you weren’t giving him anything to make a conversation from.
You flash him one last glance before you straighten up from your seat, making your way to the front of the room. It’s probably to ask Professor Binns about bringing you up to speed with any potential assignments or readings you need to fulfill in order to do well in the class. But just like with the whole encounter the pair of you experienced thus far, it further continues to rub Jimin the wrong way. As far as first impressions go, the one you leave behind is absolutely—!
.
“Terrible,” Jimin reports as he sits himself down in the courtyard, book bag thrown onto the ground and catching the attention of the other boys who are already situated around the area. He plops down next to Jungkook, running a hand through his hair and looking irritated enough that it halts any outside conversation that may have occurred before his appearance.
Namjoon raises an eyebrow at Jimin’s arrival. “You doing okay there?”
Jimin gives a heavy sigh. “You should have been in class with me today. We have a new transfer student from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and she is—!”
“A new student at this time of year?” Yoongi interrupts, already proving to be uninterested with the direction of the conversation as he’s writing something down in his notebook. “During our last year?”
Jungkook perks up at the mention of ‘new’ and ‘student’. “Is she cute?”
Hoseok giggles, elbowing the boy. “Trying to find someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be fucked over by you, huh, JK?”
Jimin shrugs a shoulder, raising an arm into the air with the palm of his hand upturned, furrowing his eyebrows at the question. “I don’t know. Our conversation didn’t exactly highlight the charming aspects of her personality.”
Namjoon whistles. “She must have really done something for you to be annoyed.”
“She was just…” Jimin trails off, trying to find the right word to describe the current feeling setting with him. “She just—she answered Professor Binn’s beginning of class question without raising her hand. She didn’t even wait for Professor Binns to call on her! Can you believe that?”
There’s a lapse of silence as his friends take a moment to take in Jimin’s explanation of his day.
Jungkook is the first to realize that Jimin is finished, and is the first to speak up. “Is that it?”
Yoongi looks up from his notebook. “But you hardly ever wait for the professors to call your name.”
“Hey!” Jimin calls, pointing a finger at the Head Boy. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, of course,” Yoongi says, brushing the hair from his forehead. “But you seem to be upset for a minor reason. Even from my perspective, it doesn’t seem like she did anything wrong. She knew the question, so she answered it.”
Jimin pouts slightly. “Doesn’t seem like you’re on my side though! How can you say something like that? For a Head Boy, you’re not good at paying attention to rules.”
“Maybe participation is measured differently at Ilvermorny—you expect me to write up detention to someone because they broke rules they didn’t even know existed in the first place?” Yoongi asks. The corner of his lips turn up. “I admit I can be a little harsh with giving out detentions, but the students I target have known about the Hogwarts rules their entire life. They should know better. The expectation on that transfer student is a little much, especially coming from you. Are you sure you’re not just mad that someone who wasn’t you got to show off?
Jimin glares. “Of course not,” He protests, done in a way that is overly exaggerated and implies that he’s definitely mad he didn’t get to show off.
“Of course he is,” Namjoon grumbles under his breath. “The spotlight is taken away from him for two seconds and he’s already pouting like a baby.”
“I’m not pouting,” Jimin scowls. “I can’t believe you guys aren’t on my side. Someone answering a question before me is like someone catching a Golden Snitch before Jeon.”
Jungkook shakes his head. “You trying to compare us or something, Park? Besides, a question given at the beginning of class is different from a whole Quidditch game. I guess it’s more like someone doing better than me during Quidditch practices? I’m not at my best, just like how you aren’t at your best during questions asked in class that, frankly, don’t mean shit.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of bread he had taken from the Great Hall earlier that morning. No one questions it. Jungkook is known to sneak snacks around. He takes a bite of the bread. “And just like how I’m at my best during Quidditch games, you’re at your best when you’re prepared and focused.”
“Jungkook is right,” Namjoon says, slinging an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “So what if a transfer student gets one question right? You’ve gotten six years worth of questions correct. When the tests start coming around and the professors congratulate you on another high score, I think you’ll realize how much you’re overreacting.” He holds up a finger when Jimin opens his mouth. “You are, but that’s fine.”
Jimin sighs. “Okay, okay, you’re right. It was just one question. It’s not that big of a deal. You’re right. I’m fine.”
His friends exchange glances, but Jimin pretends he doesn’t see them because he’s too busy trying to engrave the previous reassurances into his mind. He was totally fine. He could brush past this minor irritation. It’s not like other students never got to answer questions delivered by a professor over his student career, because they had. This was just another person, and you are just another student—a new student, but a student nonetheless. In a few weeks, you’ll just become someone he’ll pass by in the hallway.
The mental note that in the long run, your small interaction would become a hazy memory, relaxes Jimin. After all, it’s not a big deal. It was fine.
Spoiler alert: It was not fine.
.
Rumors have a habit of flying around Hogwarts quickly. After all, when students are more-or-less trapped in a castle for nine months of a year, the amount of entertainment available becomes limited to homework, friends, a handful of outdoor activities, and participating in the creation and distribution of gossip. Kim Namjoon knows all about gossip—he’s part of the foundation that creates that business.
And it’s all driving Park Jimin crazy, not because of the act of gossip itself, but because the rumors are circling around an individual he thought would have been pushed to the backburner by now. That individual, as could be guessed, is you. And he can’t believe it.
In all honesty, he should have known better. A student from the Ilvermorny school comes in during the final year, answers a question seamlessly right off the bat, and makes no attempts to befriend any students. What kind of person wouldn’t be curious about that?
The answer is no one. Everyone is curious about you, and it shows.
After all, it just takes one week for everyone to know about your quick response to Professor Binns question, and even less time for assumptions about your education level to come into discussion.
“I hear she was the top student at Ilvermorny,” Namjoon says by way of greeting as he slides across from Jimin in the library.
Jimin barely looks up from his textbook. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better because…?” He trails off.
Namjoon blinks. “It wasn’t.”
Jimin scowls. “Fuck off.”
It’s hard to pretend someone doesn’t exist when their mere presence can cause so much discussion and debate. Besides, he already had an inkling that you weren’t just any normal student from Ilvermorny. Your knowledge of the material being taught in class has shed a light to two things: one, it highlights your ability to retain topics from years ago and two, it shows how quickly you can follow your professors advice on readings or essays needed in order to be up to date with the curriculum.
Conclusion: you are smart. Really smart, actually. Smart enough to be the top student at Ilvermorny. And the seeming lack of effort on your end to accomplish so much with little work is what Jimin realizes is the most irritating aspect of this whole thing. That may have slid by at Ilvermorny, but this is different. Because you being the top student at Ilvermorny is equivalent to Jimin being the top student at Hogwarts. And if you took over his spot, where would that leave Jimin? The second best student at Hogwarts?
Yeah, he doesn’t think so.
The feelings only dig themselves in deeper when the first few weeks pass and test dates start being scheduled, announced, and distributed. Jimin studies the way he has for years: he buries himself in his notebooks and holes up in the library for as long as physically possible. He smiles at some pretty girls that walk by, that park themselves in a table just a few rows down from his own. They giggle at the smiles he sends and the glances he steals with them. He doesn’t start a conversation with any of those girls, however, he continues to keep to himself as he rummages through his notes to stay on top of his study schedule.
After a few minutes of organizing and filling out study guides, Jimin realizes that there is a question he hadn’t taken note of during his previous classes. With a sigh, he straightens up out of his desk, heading towards the aisle filled with Charms textbooks. His eyes narrow on the spines of the books, already having a vivid image in his mind of what he was looking for.
His fingers reach out, hovering, until a movement next to the corner of his eye stops him. He lowers his hand, and glares. “I’m a little surprised to see you here,” He notes by way of greeting.
You give Jimin a smile with no teeth. “Is that anyway to speak to your seat partner, Park Jimin?”
“I was just making an observation.” He frowns. “What are you doing here?”
You don’t comment about him answering your question with a question. After all, this kind of conversation is a normal occurrence between the two of you—as it has been ever since your first encounter.
“Just grabbing a book,” You say, reaching into the shelf and sliding out a copy of an advanced seventh year Charms textbook. “Those bonus questions on the charms study guide are a real bitch, am I right?”
He stares at you. “I can’t say for sure. I haven’t gotten there yet.”
“Wow.” You grin. “And I thought you were one of the smart ones, Park Jimin.” You bring the book to your chest. “I should get back to my seat.”
He hums, about to let you slip past his fingers, but a thought stops him. “Hey,” He calls out, watching as you turn back around. Your eyes study him—gaze observant and unwavering.
His own eyes momentarily flicker down below your face. From the collar of your school shirt to your waist, to the line where the fabric of your skirt meets the skin of your leg. He swallows, dragging his eyes back up to you. You raise an eyebrow, a corner of your lips turning up, as if you know what he’s thinking. “Yes?” You ask, making yourself comfortable again against the shelf.
“Listen,” He starts, trying to mentally form his words. “I know you’re new, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. But ranking first on tests and grades is sort of my thing. I’ve been here since I turned eleven, so I think as a newcomer you should learn your place now before rumors get spread and your life here as a student gets very complicated.”
You huff in disbelief, taking a step towards him. “Is that a threat, Park Jimin?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” He returns.
You’re standing at an arm’s length away from him. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re trying to play. Trying to enforce something that only benefits you, because it seems like you can’t handle when someone is smarter than you are.” You smile again, no teeth. “I’m not scared of you. You think I give a fuck about what your little gang of friends have to spread about me? Yeah, I know about your group. If you think bullshit like that is going to stop me from doing my best, then you better start doing some actual research about me. I think you’re in over your head. I was the best at my school, so don’t think I don’t have what it takes to be the best here.”
Jimin remains unwavering, choosing to keep his gaze on you. “We’ll see about that.”
You raise an eyebrow at the challenge, looking amused rather than annoyed. For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your gaze switches between his eyes.
And down at his lips.
They flash back up just as fast as they had looked down.
Your tongue quickly darts across your lower lip. “I guess we will,” You say, taking a step back. “I’ll see you around, Park Jimin.”
His gaze trails down your backside as you leave.
.
The Charms exam is the first test of Jimin’s final year at Hogwarts, and he goes in with high expectations for himself—as he always does. He answers all the questions, recalling them from the study guides or various readings he had done in preparation. All in all, it’s a regular Charms exam in all its short answers and detailed explanations, but one he has full confidence in doing the best in once again.
So imagine his surprise when Professor Flitwick stops in front of your desk, produces your test from the collection in his arms, and utters the following words: “Congratulations to Ms. Y/N for making the top score in the class. She went above and beyond for all the questions, including the extra credit, and is therefore very well deserving of her Outstanding score!” He claps. “Yes, yes, very good Ms. Y/N! Keep up the good work!”
You smile, looking down at your practically unmarked test, taking in the O at the top of the paper.
The way you slide your eyes towards Park Jimin does not go unnoticed by him, who looks down at his own test. There is a single mark on his test, a -½ at the top, with points marked off from one of his last extra credit questions. Missing a half mark on a test isn’t unheard of with a Charms exam, which can be long and tedious and requires thorough paragraph-length responses.
However, Park Jimin not scoring the highest score in the class is unheard of.
And now you know it, as the students looking around the classroom is anything to go off on. You are not looking at the students around you. You are looking right at Park Jimin, with the corner of your lips turned up, a look of pride written all across your face.
He doesn’t know what he’s going to do next, but maybe he’ll try to take a note from Jung Hoseok’s book about putting a damper on someone’s day—he wonders if you like hiccough sweet in your morning tea.
.
Park Jimin never gets to find out if you like hiccough sweet in your morning tea, because he gets called into Professor McGonagall’s office before he can figure out the best way to give you a taste of how rough he could make your life.
Not only does he get called into the Headmistress’ office, he gets called in with you.
He sees you about to pull open the office door, and cannot seem to help his impatience. He rushes towards you, brushing past you in an attempt to reach the handle first. “Excuse me sweetheart, I have an appointment with Professor McGonagall so if you could let me go ahead, I’d appreciate it…”
You move forward to block him from opening the door. You give him an eyebrow raise, thoroughly unimpressed. “Sweetheart?” You inquire, referring to his nickname.
He blinks. Normally, his peers would be flustered at being cornered in such a way and he cannot help his further frustration—because just what is your problem? Do you not have any weaknesses?
Since people are usually flustered following his whole ‘sweetheart’ role, he doesn’t know how to respond to someone who isn’t flustered by his role. Which, in turn, leaves him slightly flustered. “Well…” He starts.
You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I have a name, Park Jimin, and I’d appreciate it if you called me that instead of whatever bullshit you think I’ll bend over for.”
“Duly noted,” He grumbles, deciding to let you have this one. “I wasn’t trying to be difficult though, sweet—Y/N.” He corrects himself upon seeing your glare. If he thought you weren’t serious with your threats, he definitely doesn’t think that now. The glare you give him makes him wonder if maybe you’ll slip hiccough sweet into his morning tea. “I do have an appointment with Professor McGonagall right now.”
That makes you furrow your eyebrows, but not in a way that’s directed at him. “Huh,” You say, mostly to yourself. “I do too. That’s weird. Does she want to see both of us at the same time?”
Jimin crosses his arms over his chest. “Why are you asking me? I’m just here to get this meeting over with.”
“So am I, I’m just trying to figure out what this means! Don’t be an ass about this,” You snap back. You swear you’re about to go for the neck before the office door opens of its own accord.
“Y/N! Jimin! Please come in.” It’s Professor McGonagall.
You sharply turn to Jimin. “Great, she heard your squawking.”
Jimin glares at you. “You’re the one who’s talking about bending over for me!”
You flush deeply at that. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Y/N? Jimin?” Professor McGonagall appears at the office door. “You may come in, that’s why I opened the door for you.”
“P-Professor,” You say, stammering slightly and Jimin blinks at the sight—having never seen you look nervous before. “Whatever you heard outside, it’s not a reflection of our actual conversations…”
“As if we ever have any actual conversations,” Jimin grumbles under his breath, and you give him a look that could cut glass.
Before you can continue, the professor holds up a hand. “I just happened to open the door because it’s the time both of you should be here for your meeting anyways.” She shifts her gaze between the two of you. “Regardless of who is offering to bend over for whom.”
Even Jimin has to admit the hotness on his cheeks. Neither of you say anything to that, although you kick Jimin in the shin before entering the office. The pair of you are gestured to take a seat in front of Professor McGonagall’s desk.
“I do apologize for the last minute call,” She says as she laces her fingers together and places them on the desk. “But an assignment has come up that requires attention from both of you. It’s something that the top senior students are asked to do every year, but I wanted to make sure Y/N got adjusted before assigning her with a new project.”
“Forgive my bluntness, professor,” Jimin speaks, hands on his lap. “But is asking the transfer student really necessary for what project you have for me? Since I’m the top student, I’m sure I can shoulder this by myself—!”
“The project requires the top male and female student,” Professor McGonagall interrupts carefully, but she’s giving Jimin a look. “And since Y/N was the top student at Ilvermorny, her involvement in the project was requested by a member of the Ministry.”
Jimin notices the way you stiffen at that—he sees it in the tightness of your jaw, the way you sit a little straighter. The scoff overpower his curiosity, seeing your reaction as nothing more than a student trying to land a job with the aforementioned Ministry of Magic, and he hates it.
Neither you nor Professor McGonagall comment on his reaction, you just nod at her words with the kind of eyes that say you know exactly which member she’s referring to. Jimin decides not to ponder too deeply over it regardless. Any question, sarcastic or not, would not be received well by you.
“And what exactly is the project about, professor?” You ask after a moment.
Professor McGonagall readies herself at that. “It’s a project created by the Ministry of Magic,” She starts. “The project basically asks the top two students at Hogwarts to present a report about their time at the school—anything you two may have learned, from your classes to the extra curricular activities you might have enjoyed. We like to keep a good relationship with the Ministry of Magic, mainly to maintain career opportunities and internships open to the students here. The Ministry also likes to learn about what we’re teaching to either help fund programs and also keep other schools up to date with curriculum. Of course, the students who complete the project are allowed to opt out of their NEWT exams and are offered careers for those specific NEWTS. The project is given as an incentive for the top students to take advantage of the opportunity to jump start their careers—it’s also meant to serve as a reward for working so hard.”
“So, we have to…” Jimin trails off, looking at you. “Work together?”
“Yes, Mr. Park,” Professor McGonagall says. “The two of you will need to work together to come up with something cohesive, and professional. Y/N is still getting adjusted to life at Hogwarts, so I’m sure you’ll do well in showing her around the castle.”
“Yeah, Mr. Park,” You add in, wearing a smile across your lips. “Guess this means you have to accept me as your equal, huh?”
“When would we have to give this presentation?” Jimin cuts in, ignoring you completely and seeing the way you exhale through your nose in amusement.
“It’s after the fall quarter,” The professor answers, eyes flickering between the two of you. “If there’s any problems that come up, or if either of you have any questions—I am available to answer them. Although I hope you both will be able to sort through most problems, like adults.”
“I’m sure Mr. Park and I can figure something out,” You say, voice sugar sweet and eyes bright with attention. There’s a teasing tone, something you always seem to have during your encounters with Jimin. The boy merely sighs, mostly to himself, with the knowledge that this is something that has been handed to him. And therefore, it’s something he cannot outsmart.
“Wonderful,” Professor McGonagall replies, looking relieved. “You both may go if you don’t have any further questions.”
You straighten up, bowing to the professor, and purposely allowing your skirt to brush Jimin’s arm as you leave the room. His jaw sets further, because he could have sworn the skin of your leg touched his shoulder and the thought only annoys him more. Did you have to be such a brat—?
“Do you have anymore concerns, Mr. Park?” Professor McGonagall asks, beady eyes looking right through him. She seems to be challenging him. The Headmistress is, after all, no stranger to Jimin’s constant hustle to be the top student at the school. Jimin wonders if his nerves and him feeling threatened by a new student is showing. If it is, she doesn’t say anything.
Jimin slowly gets up out of his chair. “No, professor,” He says, tilting his head slightly. “No concerns, no problems.”
“Alright, well, you better get going,” Professor McGonagall says, picking up her quill. “I assume you have meetings to arrange with Y/N.”
Jimin doesn’t say anything to that. He just watches the professor for a second longer before turning around and exiting the same way he had entered. A lot of thoughts enter his mind in that moment, mainly thoughts circling around what in the ever fuck was he going to do about being confined to working with someone he honestly could not stand—!
“Just to let you know, I’m just as excited about this project as you are.”
He stops short, lingering just outside the door to the office. “What are you doing?”
You uncross your arms, remove yourself from your position against the wall. “I’m just expressing my excitement for this assignment.”
“You’re sticking around just to spite me.”
“Contrary to popular belief, not everything is about you. You’re just upset because you have to acknowledge that I’m smart enough to challenge you. Not only that, but smart enough to warrant a request for someone at the Ministry of Magic,” You say. “But that’s okay. I don’t need your acknowledgment—I’ve been doing fine all on my own.”
He turns to look at you. “Hey, what was all that bullshit about being requested anyways?”
You readjust the bag at your shoulder. “Hm, let me see… oh yeah. It’s none of your business.”
“Does that specific member at the Ministry have something to do with your transfer?”
You meet his gaze, eyes narrowing. “What part of ‘it’s none of your business’ do you not understand?”
“Oh, I understand it completely.” He takes a step towards you, hands in his pocket. “Since, you know, you’re all excited about us working together, I think the least you can do is give me some answers so I have a good idea of who I’m working with.”
You eye him up. “This is a presentation, Park Jimin, not a date.”
“What’s not a date?” Kim Taehyung slides up to the pair of you. He looks between the two of you glaring at each other. “Hold on, is that code for something? Are you guys planning a rendezvous? Either way, this is a really weird way to flirt…”
“We’re not flirting,” Jimin cuts in, sighing again when he seems to process who is next to him. He runs a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”
Taehyung blinks. “I saw you and thought I’d say hello. If I had known I’d be walking into this very angry form of eye-fucking then I’d—!”
“Do you have selective hearing?” You cut in. “Your friend already said we weren’t flirting. Which is true, we definitely aren’t.”
Taehyung looks at you, seeming to realize who you are right off the bat. This is probably because Taehyung is popular and charming and generally knows all the students who reside in this castle. Not being able to identify you gives him an exact answer to your name. “Hey, you’re—!”
“Leaving.” You turn around. Damn you, for twirling in a way that makes your skirt spin around. And damn Jimin, for watching that.
“... the new girl,” Taehyung says to nobody, voice lowering considerably as soon as you gave both boys your back. Knowing he won’t get his answer from you, he turns to Jimin. “That was the new girl, right?”
“Yes, Taehyung,” Jimin answers. “That was the new girl. And my life is officially over.”
.
Jimin hadn’t been exaggerating when he delivered the news to Taehyung. The universe setting you and Jimin up to be partners on an assignment that circled around being on the same page and constructing something cohesive? That in itself, especially with two individuals with such strong opinions, is just a recipe for disaster.
To be fair, the first meeting you and Jimin have isn’t a disaster.
Not immediately, at least.
“For the last time,” You say, rubbing at your temples. “We’re not going to do a presentation about your study habits and the grades you’ve received since your first year. Actually, not only are we not going to do that, I refuse to follow along in something that stupid.”
Jimin feigns an innocent pout. “But the assignment is to talk about our experience at Hogwarts—and I really think my own history is the only thing we can go off of! And my experience is getting good grades, so it seems like the shoe fits pretty well on that one.”
“Because you have nothing else better to talk about,” You grumble underneath your breath, straightening up and leaning back slightly when Jimin turns to glare at you. You hold up your hands in mock defense.
“Ha, ha, very funny. At least I would have something to talk about. You’ve been at Hogwarts for, what, a few weeks? What would you talk about? Interrupting class lectures and bending over for the smartest student at school, like what’s that about—?”
The flat of your palm goes straight for his collarbone. “Will you shut up about that?” You hiss.
“Ouch!” Jimin whines, running his own hand over the place you hit him. “What the fuck—!”
“Excuse me,” Madam Pince interjects from behind both of you. “Mr. Park, I’m surprised that I need to remind you of all people that the library is not a place for noise!”
Jimin winces. “Sorry Madam Pince.” He waits until aforementioned Madam Pince is out of earshot before whipping back around to face you. “Nice going, fucker. You’re lucky I’m not a mean person otherwise I’d make your life a living hell for that stunt.”
“‘I’m not a mean person’ he says,” You quote. “While he yells at me and calls me a fucker.”
Jimin leans forward to rest his head into the palm of his hands. “We’re never going to get anything done, are we?”
“And, by the way, what is your obsession with talking about me bending over for you?” You bring up, shoving one of your textbooks out of the way. You are able to turn more comfortably this time, resting your elbow on the table with your body facing towards Jimin. “You like watching people squirm or something?”
At that, he peeks out through the gaps of his fingers to look at you. Immediately, his eyes land on your bare knees, where your skirt probably would have been had you not been moving around previously in a way that caused the fabric to rise up. The fabric is now at your thigh, with your legs spread enough due to your quick movements. His eyes flicker down to the junction, darkened by the shadow casted by your skirt, leaving enough to the imagination.
He shuts his eyes, the previous flickers undetectable because of his hands blocking the way, but he cannot help the racing of his heart. He feels as if he just did something risky, thrilling, dirty.
Although who is he kidding. He did, in fact, do something risky, thrilling, and dirty all in one subtle glance. The knowledge of this only frustrates him further. Did you position your legs like that on purpose? Did you know that he would notice—just as he’s noticed you since your very first day in class? Today, though, it feels different. Beyond just the normal bounds of frustration, there’s a curiosity. More than curiosity, there’s a flashing image behind his eyes.
One of what it would feel like to have your thighs around his waist.
There’s a twitch between his legs.
“Not just anyone,” He returns instead.
You’re looking at him, legs still parted. “You wanna give me an idea of what that’s like, Park Jimin?”
Jimin continues to look at you, taking in your amused, curious, serious expression and the realization pings through his mind. You are doing this on purpose. You’re trying to test him, mess with him, and you are enjoying it—as you have been since he threatened you in the library. Just as you’ve done with staring at his mouth, when you brushed the hem of your skirt over his arm, and especially now. You aren’t stupid. You’ve seen his lingering eyes in the same way he’s noticed yours. You’re trying to see how far you can push him before he snaps.
He decides to ignore the fleeting distraction between his legs as he turns back to the opened textbook on his desk. “Unfortunately for you, you don’t fall in that category. Your curiosity is cute, though.”
“Hm.” You hum, finally turning back towards the desk and finally closing your legs and finally removing the distraction from his line of sight. “That’s a pity.”
He shrugs. “Since it seems like you do enjoy the thought of squirming around for me, maybe stay out of my way and I’ll consider showing you what that could be about.”
You actually laugh at that, a soft sound—appropriate, considering both of you were in a library, but something almost… whimsy? And pretty? What was happening?
At that, Jimin cannot help his own exhale of air, as he looks at you with eyebrows furrowed. “What’s so funny?”
You hum again, shrugging as you pull your school bag forward to stuff it with parchment and books. “Oh, nothing.” You straighten out of the seat, shouldering your bag. “You just admitted that I’m in your way. And that’s exactly where I intend to stay.”
He flickers his gaze down to your bag. “Hold on, where do you think you’re going? We still have a whole presentation to draft.”
“Oh, I’m just doing some extra credit for Professor Binns,” You answer. “Besides, we basically have a whole fall quarter to work on it. Besides, your ideas aren’t exactly thought-provoking as they are. More than that, they suck. Come up with something better.”
“What, so it’s my job to come up with the different topics we’ll have to cover?” Jimin huffs.
You give him a vaguely surprised look. “You’re the one who said you were the only one with relevant ideas.” You glance down at your watch. “Listen, I really have to go. Come up with something better. Or ask me for my opinion next time and actually be willing to listen to it.” You deliver a sickly sweet smile, one that he wishes to wipe off. Maybe with some harsh words.
Or maybe his mouth—!
He tells himself it’s not creepy to watch your hips sway side to side as you leave the library.
Once you are gone, this leaves Jimin by himself, surrounded by people but alone in his thoughts. The banter has left him with a racing heart and, quite frankly, a semi in his slacks that he doesn’t think is going away anytime soon. Everytime he thinks he has a handle on what just happened, he gets a flash of your skirt or your lips or your hips and the memory of you being an absolute fucking brat—and that feeling comes back.
That feeling is one of pure frustration, a desire to just shove you against a wall, to see if he could swallow up all those words that do such a good job of riling him up.
He grits his teeth before moving to collect his own items of books and paperwork. Stuffing them into his bag, he begins to exit the library, hoping that each step he took would be a step away from that terrible idea. He couldn’t let you win—he couldn’t let you get to him.
.
The second meeting he has with you couldn’t entirely be defined as an actual meeting. But it’s an encounter, and it involves a conversation about the project—which fits the requirements of what a meeting technically could entail.
It happens a week after the first meeting, of seeing each other in classes but both of you making an active attempt to ignore each other. Both doing it for different reasons, but doing it nonetheless.
However, this changes when Jimin gets an idea for the project that he knows he needs to run by you. Assuming you don’t bark at him for lacking originality and assuming he could get through a proper interaction without shoving you against the wall. That latter thought has been getting increasingly more difficult as the week dragged on. You, with your stupid mini skirts and tucked in button-ups, your stupider display of legs that has piqued his interest more than any other member of the female population prior—a feat that is unbelievably stupid given that legs in itself isn’t a novel thing—along with your even stupidest strut down the hallways. Whether those things have been intentional or not, he honestly feels as if one wrong move could crack this facade he’s spent the week putting together.
He decides to pursue you after the shared Muggle Studies class you have together, when you’re out in the hallway and he’s following close behind. He doesn’t know your next destination, assuming you have one—because honestly, it’s been a few weeks since your official enrollment and he has yet to see you with a group of friends.
Instead, he elects to just ignore that internal question, and make his way towards you.
He matches stride with you. “Hear me out.”
You groan immediately. “Haven’t I heard enough of you already?”
That is true. The lesson in Muggle Studies had involved watching and talking about a muggle film and, naturally, Jimin had a lot to say.
Jimin grins. “Are you saying that none of my discussions were enticing enough for you, sweetheart?”
You glare at him. “What did I say about the sweetheart thing?”
You had warned him plenty. However, it’s worth seeing the angry flush along your cheeks. He tries at an answer too. “That you would bend over for me if I kept calling you by it?”
Your eyes narrow. “I’d choose your next words carefully, Park Jimin.”
“So serious,” He remarks, tearing his gaze from you.
You sigh. “Anyways, what are you even doing right now? Talking to me once a week to pick a fight seems desperate, especially for you.”
“I’m not trying to pick a fight—!” He cuts himself off. “I really did have a reason for catching up to you.” He stills. He really did forget what he had approached you for. “Shit, okay, give me a second.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
He ignores you. “Oh! Right! For the project. Actually here, let’s talk somewhere else.” Without a warning, he grabs your arm and practically drags you into one of the empty classrooms. It’s a room for astronomy labs—an open-spaced classroom with a high ceiling in case Professor Sinistra needed to recreate certain astronomical events not available during specific quarters or times of day. The ceiling is a navy color, dusted with tiny stars and constellations at the top, and rows of desks and empty seats around.
You and Jimin settle yourselves near the front of the classroom—close to the door but not close enough where a wrong move would send you out into the hallway.
When Jimin closes the door, you’re still watching him warily with arms over your chest. “Is your idea that good that you have to pull me into an empty classroom for it?”
“Well, I’m just saving you the embarrassment in case my idea happens to be good, you start cheering me on.”
You sigh. “Well, try me then, Park Jimin.”
“Alright,” He starts. “I hear you when you tell me just talking about my grades isn’t enough.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t enough, I said that idea was dumb as shit—!”
He ignores you again. “So how about we talk about different aspects of Hogwarts. We can talk about things like the classes, Quidditch, spell-casting, the newspaper, and the role of the Head Boy.”
You do actually ponder this for a moment, but you’re extremely observant. He knows immediately that you’re about to spit something from the way you narrow your eyebrows. “Why be so specific? And what am I supposed to talk about from that limited pool of topics?”
He gives you a straightforward look. “I thought we already established that you would have nothing to talk about.”
You raise your eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were serious about that.”
“Well, as you should know sweetheart, I’m very serious all of the time.”
“Are you fucking stupid?” You’re glaring now. “Do you not remember Professor McGonagall telling us that this was a team project? We have to work together. If the Ministry comes to the realization that, no, we did not put together a cohesive presentation highlighting our own personal journeys and no, contrary to your pea brain, the presentation should never have centered around you in the first place, we’re going to be in deep shit. Professor McGonagall will probably have us shunned for the rest of the school year, we’ll definitely lose that internship opportunity with the Ministry and my father would—!” You cut yourself off immediately, wide-eyed at your own slip of the mouth.
Jimin raises an eyebrow at that. What does your father have to do with acing the presentation at the Ministry? The realization hits him pretty quick at that. “Oh, okay I see. So daddy was the one who requested your involvement on this team—?”
Your eyes, once wide with emotion and tinged with vaguely defined fear, harden. “How about you mind your own business and not resort to asking really inappropriate questions about my family life?” You snap.
“Woah, alright, I’ll stop,” Jimin interjects, raising both hands up. “If this is what I get for trying to be your friend.”
“For the last time,” You grit between your teeth, stepping closer to him, getting all up in his face and completely distracting him with the wash of lavender that overcomes his nostrils. There’s that delicious flush along your cheeks once again. “We are not friends. And don’t hold your breath because we’ll never be friends. I would never associate myself with anyone at this school, much less a vile, arrogant, disrespectful, terribly overrated individual like you—!”
Jimin doesn’t have an explanation for what he does next. He almost doesn’t even have control over his actions, like his body has a mind of his mind. One moment, he’s staring at you, far enough to still see your entire face but close enough to see the fire in your eyes.
And then the next moment, his eyes are closed and there’s something soft and warm against his lips. He’s kissing you.
The following seconds feel like minutes or hours, ticking slowly in contrast to Jimin’s thrumming heart. His fingers curl around something soft and textured: your hair. His lips, on his own unawareness, are moving frantically against yours—either to get his frustration out or get you to respond, he isn’t too sure.
It isn’t until his tongue pushes against your lips that he hears a whimper from the back of your throat that stirs up his insides like nothing else you’ve done to him before. He feels your fingers at the back of his neck, in his hair, nails digging into the skin, all before you part your lips. His boldness increases at the gesture, pressing harder against you.
The weight of him makes you take steps back, until both of you are moving about the classroom completely unaware of your surroundings. But Jimin doesn’t care, hardly even notices that you’re backing up. Every step you take back is matched with a step forward by him as he continues his attack on your mouth.
That is, until you hit one of the desks and the legs of the table scrap against the floor. The noise is like a bell that sets off in Jimin’s head. It goes off in your mind as well, actually, because you’re both quick to separate and push each other off. You stare at each other, wide-eyed and face flushed for entirely different reasons in comparison to a few seconds ago. Your lips are a deeper shade of red, and wet, and you look shocked. The expression is so opposite of the usual stern and stark that paints your face, so you appear surprisingly vulnerable.
For a moment, neither of you say anything. You simply stand there, taking in each other, as Jimin asks himself the same question over and over again. What the fuck just happened?
Unable to conjure up an answer to that, Jimin draws in a shaky breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” He whispers, immediately turning around and shoving open the door to the classroom and letting it slam shut behind him. He doesn’t look back, refuses to picture your expression in his mind because picturing it would make him second guess his decision.
Instead, he maintains his quick pace down the hallway, ignoring the calls of his name by peers and friends. His gaze is hyper focused on being somewhere other than here. So much so that he ends up shouldering his way into the boy’s bathroom, pacing past the row of toilet doors until he reaches the sinks and mirrors along the edge. He goes to one of the sinks as his palms come up to grip both sides of the sink. His eyes flint up, gazing at his reflection and taking it all in: from the flush of his own cheeks, the deeper red tint of his lips, the craze look in his eyes—like he wants more. Like he wanted more of you.
With a scoff, he rips his gaze away from the mirror and instead turns around to lean against the edge of the sink.
It’s not like he’s never kissed girls before. He has. Just never anyone who makes him as annoyed as you make him. This type of dynamic is new and involves unsure elements, a new game that he doesn’t know how to play.
Apparently, it’s one you don’t know how to play either.
.
It’s another three weeks of awkward stares, no eye contact, and one of you dashing out of classrooms first to avoid having to see each other in the hallway, until Professor McGonagall calls you back into her office. The space is naturally very reminiscent of the first meeting the three of you had together, but the tone is weighed down by tension and the obvious fact that you and Jimin are avoiding each other and have been avoiding each other for weeks.
The fact that the two of you refuse to look at each other is the first sign of this emotional conflict. Pair that with the lack of snappy banter, and all that contributes to the raised eyebrow Professor McGonagall gives both of you.
You look at Jimin out of the corner of your eye and seem to come to the conclusion that he isn’t going to participate. Which you are right, he has no intention of opening his mouth.
“Is something the matter, Professor?”
“I just thought I would have a little meeting to touch base with the both of you,” Professor McGonagall answers, shifting her gaze thoughtfully between you and Jimin. “I was seeing you hold meetings in the library on a few occasions, but there’s been an absence of that recently. During classes, I notice that neither of you engage in discussion and one of you is always the first to leave the room. Has there been a conflict of interest going on regarding the project?”
Jimin exhales a breath, wondering if you were going to spill the beans. Not explicitly, but you’ll probably start talking about how recent developments made you feel too nervous or too cautious to continue working with him—that you’d rather stop, or that you’d rather have Jimin step down. The kiss had been his fault, after all.
You take a few seconds to come up with your answer. “We were having some disagreements about the direction of the project,” You say at last, saying the words slowly and carefully and surprising Jimin. “So we haven’t talked for a little while, I think we just needed to collect our thoughts and come up with individual ideas, and then actually meet up and discuss rather than trying to grow something together.”
Professor McGonagall nods at that. “I understand. Well, if that’s the case. It seems the only advice I could give you both is to work through your problems. In other words, figure it out. There’s a lot riding on this project.”
The pair of you are then dismissed with a finality in her words. A warning.
Unlike previous interactions like sharing class together or running into one another in the halls, neither of you make a move to separate to run away. You linger near each other, awkward still, knowing that you both need to make amends and move past the incident but not sure how to do so.
“We should probably talk about this,” You say after a moment. You aren’t looking at him.
Jimin thinks about this. He sighs. “You’re right. I know a spot we can talk.” Turning around, he starts down the hallway. Your shoes echo against the castle walls, the high ceilings and long hallways that twist and turn. It’s much later into the night—the dinner crowd has dispersed back to respected common rooms or to the library for last minute studies. As a result, most of the hallways are devoid of students. The hallway routes around Professor McGonagall’s office are even more empty, given that a lot of classes are not in this corner of the castle and most places don’t invite loiters.
Jimin continues past closed doors, tall stained glass windows that bring in the moonlight. There’s a silence between you, not as awkward as it had been, but definitely filled with a veil of tension and lots of unanswered questions.
Finally, Jimin stops at a door not unlike the several other doors the pair of you had passed in your quest to get here. You’re about to ask what he’s doing and where he’s leading you and if he plans to kidnap you—because this kind of location in this kind of space would be perfect—before he’s muttering a password under his breath and opening the door. He keeps it open for you to enter the space first.
It’s a small classroom, only big enough to house a whiteboard at the end of the room, a long table right in front of the board, and a few desks in the middle for students. There’s a long window along the other side of the wall, and curtains draped in front of the glass.
You turn to look at him. This place is too suspiciously perfect for private conversations. “What is this place?”
“It’s a space for the Head Boy,” Jimin explains, closing the door behind him. “It kind of doubles as a private study and a place for Yoongi to run detentions. But he lets me come here sometimes when I need more privacy.”
“So not only do you have professors up your ass, but the school’s Head Boy too?” You ask, whirling around to give him a judgmental glance.
“Don’t come in here just to insult me,” Jimin snaps back. “You’re pretty dead set on putting up walls; that doesn’t mean I’m not either. So, not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been friends with Yoongi for years. No ass kissing in that.”
You stare at him for a moment longer before turning back to look at the room. “You’re right.”
He figures it’s the best apology he’ll get from you.
“Alright,” He says after a moment. He watches the way you turn around to face him. “I’m just gonna put this out here, because we need to get our shit together. I do apologize for kissing you. It was rash and inappropriate. If you want me to step down from the project, I’ll understand.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “By you understanding, does that mean you would step down?”
Jimin stares at you. “Well, I mean, no, but it would be more of an incentive to talk about this.”
“Of course,” You grumble, running a hand through your head. “Well, you’re in luck. I have no intention in asking you to step down from the project. I might even go as far to say that I think you’re mildly attractive, which is why I didn’t have a problem with you doing that.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. I think you’re vaguely attractive too.”
You nod. “Always reassuring to hear it like that.”
“But see, this is good. We’re getting this out here,” Jimin says, gesturing between the two of you. “I kissed you because of this tension between us, but because it ended abruptly that tension never got any closure. We’re still in this limbo phase.”
You keep your gaze on Jimin. You seem to be pondering his words. Somehow, he’s able to tell that you’re not entirely turned off by his conclusion—probably because you’re still standing close enough to him that your Hogwarts ropes were touching. “You make a good point.”
“Mm, well of course I do,” He says, keeping his gaze on you. “I’m Park Jimin.”
You wrinkle your nose at that. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He smirks, still looking at you, and shrugs a shoulder. “I should be able to flatter myself a little. I kissed you, didn’t get snapped out by you, so I’d consider it a worthy endeavor.”
“Well, you shouldn’t waste your breath just yet,” You interrupt, voice growing progressively softer given the proximity. “I’m not sure if that should really count as a kiss considering the inappropriate and abrupt nature of it all.”
At that, Jimin turns hot. “I already apologized for that.”
You smile, a mere curl of your lips, as your hands find their place on his shoulders. At the gesture, his hands automatically go to your waist—a natural place, given the memory of the last time you had your hands around his neck. “And how about you ask to kiss me the way a normal person who is attracted to another person would ask—?”
Your voice cuts off when Jimin shoves you even closer to him, bodies pressed against one another. “You really know how to be a brat, don’t you?”
Your smile widens. You lean towards him, nose brushing against his. “I don’t see you asking, Park Jimin—!”
He shuts you up by slamming his lips against yours. Fingers curl around the back of your neck to keep you in place. He kisses you roughly, lips pushing against yours and sucking the air from your lungs. He pulls away moments later, lips still brushing against one another, heavy breathing filling his ears. “For someone claiming I needed permission to kiss you, you definitely know how to keep your mouth shut to help me get what I want.”
You groan. “You really have to have the last word in everything, don’t you?”
“Not true.”
You sigh, digging your nails into the nape of his neck. You kiss him this time, parting your lips right away as Jimin becomes distracted with sliding his tongue into your mouth. His desire for control comes up again, stepping forward and continuing to move with every step backwards you take.
Hitting the teacher’s desk at the front of the room is so unlike the last time. The scrap of the metal against the floor had awoken Jimin from the reality of what could have happened—but now it heightens his senses, leaves his heart racing because he knows what will happen next and he desires nothing more.
Eyes still closed, he uses his hand to leave your waist and feel down the length of your skirt. He confirms that he’s reached the hem by tugging at the end of the fabric. “I hate this thing,” He growls. “You’re always making it sway when you walk, always drawing attention to this damn piece of clothing.”
You smirk against his lips. “I made you look, though…” You trail off, voice pitching into a sigh when Jimin pulls away from your mouth. Immediately, he kisses at your jawline, down your neck. “Jimin—ee!” You squeal as Jimin’s hands go from on top of your skirt to underneath, fingers dancing up your bare thigh. “I thought you were going to fuck me.”
The actual four letter word makes Jimin groan, makes his blood boil, makes his slacks feel a little tighter. “What happened to asking?”
“Oh, because you were so good at that—!” You choke, the breath catching in your throat as you jump at the sensation of Jimin’s fingers pressing against your clothed clit. Your eyes develop a foggy complexion.
“What was that?” Jimin asks, smirking at the dazed look across your features. Seeing you look like this is so different and intriguing, considering the rarity of seeing you off your guard. He wonders how far he can take it, how much he can do to make sure it’s not words of insult that are passing lips.
You press your lips together, shaking your head. The whimper comes back as Jimin starts drawing circles against the bundle of nerves, slow paced but small movements. The fabric of your panties are thin, enough so that he can feel your clit, and enough to come to the realization that you’re—!
“Wet,” Jimin grumbles.
Your cheeks heat at the realization, something you hadn’t even been entirely sure of yourself.
Jimin leans forward to peck your lips once, twice. “It’s hot.” He deepens the kiss, distracting you as his finger curls around the underside of your panties.
You suck in a breath as he runs a finger up and down your slit before sinking a finger into your heat. “Nn—Jimin,” You whisper, moving one of your arms to curl the fingers around his bicep. It’s a shallow thrusting of his finger, more about preparation and feeling than actually trying to make you cum. But the sensation floods your nerves all the same.
“You’re so hot, I can only just imagine what this’ll feel like wrapped around my cock,” Jimin comments hoarsely, pulling his one finger out. The next time he slides in, it’s two fingers and the slight stretch makes your eyes squeeze together.
“J-Jimin,” You choke out. The wet sounds of friction between your legs begins to fill the room. “That feels so good, fuck…”
“Mm, does it now?” Jimin inquires softly. With every upward movement of his fingers into your pussy, the sensation of your walls tightening against his digits goes entirely to his head. It feels like he’s making mental notes of your reactions. You’re a sensitive little thing, and it’s a fact he really wouldn’t mind testing out more. “You still want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, yes, I do, come here,” You urge softly, bringing him forward to kiss you again.
Slowly, his fingers slide out of you, and you whimper at the emptiness he’s leaving you behind with. His hands leave from in between your thighs, traveling out of your skirt and resting at your waist. Without a warning, he hoists you up onto the desk. He moves you back just enough to give you instructions:
“Put your feet on the table for me.”
Legs twitching slightly, you do as you’re told. Your heels rest on the edge of the desk. At the gesture, the hem of your skirt moves downwards, flashing your panties right at Jimin. He has a momentary flashback to that first meeting in the library—your legs spread atop a chair, the skirt casting a shadow between your legs.
Now, he no longer has to wallow in that curiosity. Black panties flash right in his line of sight, and his dick feels even more constrained as he steps forward and reaches out to tuck his fingers underneath the waistband. With a nod from you, he pulls the fabric up and down your legs, and past your shoes. He pockets the material.
You notice the action immediately. “Need a spank bank collection, Park?”
At that, he shrugs, even though both of you know the answer to that. “Depends on how good this is,” He says casually. You and Jimin know this is a lie. He already knows this is going to be good. Above anything, the tent in his pants is a clear giveaway to that. You watch as he pulls his belt from out of the belt loops, tugs the leather off of his waist. He barely brings his pants down, he just reaches in and comes back out with his cock, pretty and leaking at the tip. His thumb brushes at it, spreading the pre-cum across his length.
You whine at the sight, tossing your head back slightly as your legs come out to drag Jimin towards you by the waist. “I’ve seen enough, please fuck me, please—!” You whimper as Jimin pulls your legs off his waist. He brings his arms underneath your legs, bending it at the knees as he inches forward to rest his hands on the table. Untouched, his dick hovers right where you want him the most, and you whine again.
“I’m just preparing, baby,” He explains softly, almost patronizingly, but you don’t seem to mind the tone. “Don’t want to hurt you before I even get the chance to fuck you.”
“You’ll never know until you put—it—in—oh!” You gasp, the tip of Jimin’s dick hovering at your entrance. One of Jimin’s hands moves from underneath your leg to wrap around the base of his cock, running it up and down your folds. He takes one last look at your expression: wide eyes and parted lips, before he looks back down between your legs. He watches as his cock disappears between your folds, immediately enveloping him in your hot, tight walls, a pressure that increases when you clench around him.
Jimin grunts, tilting his head back. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
You’re breathing heavily now. Your arms are resting behind you to keep you level, allowing your fingers to tighten around the edges of the desk. Your toes curl in your shoes. “Jimin—shit.” You jolt slightly when Jimin’s hand moves from the base of his dick to your clit. His thumb rests on the nub, immediately drawing circles against the nerves to relax you through the stretch. You whine, a noise from the back of your throat that makes the blood rush even quicker through Jimin’s body. It fills him with a desire to fill you up, to make you scream.
He continues to push in until he reaches the hilt, the feeling of you around him is so snug and warm that he cannot help his own groan. His finger moves from your clit and curls around the knee of your unoccupied leg. Using his arm to keep your knee bent, his hand travels back to its original position on the desk, allowing both of your legs to be spread apart for him.
Jimin looks up towards you, leaning forward to kiss you. “You still with me?”
You nod. “Yes, fuck, you can fuck me now.”
The permission makes his head spin as he nods. “Fuck, okay.” He begins to pull away until all that’s left inside you is his tip. With a snap of his hips, he drives himself back into you.
The full sensation against your walls lights up your nerves, allowing it to pass through your entire body as your legs twitch and you throw your head back. “Fuck,” You whisper, mostly to yourself as your walls start to tighten and untighten at the sensation.
This, in turn, drives a choke from Jimin’s throat. “Stop clenching around me!”
You level your gaze with Jimin’s once more, but you have a hazy look in your eyes. “Gonna prove to me that you’re a one dump pump or something, Park?”
He stares at you, long and hard. “I’m gonna make you regret saying that.” He pulls out again, all the way to the tip, and thrusts back in sharply. You gasp. But it doesn’t stop this time. He picks a pace, not too fast but he goes deep. The snark in your eyes is gone. The noises in your throat are no longer words but noises instead: whimpers and whines.
The coil starts to tighten in your belly. “J-Jimin,” You wail, using what little strength you have in your arms to push yourself into a straighten sitting position. This brings you closer to Jimin. Without a warning, you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into the collar of his robes. It seems like this is to muffle the sounds coming from your throat. “Ngh, Jimin, feels so good, fuck…”
His fingers curl around the edges of the desk as he picks up the pace. Your knees start to twitch above his arms. “You trying to escape me, sweetheart?” He asks right in your ear, breath against your neck. “Look at you. You just have to take what I give you.” That’s true. He’s keeping your legs spread, leaving you unable to escape or move away.
You’re gasping now. “Jimin, I’m gonna come.”
Jimin hums, pulling his hand away from your arm once again and returning his fingers to your clit. When he rubs at you this time, it’s quicker and faster and you clamp up immediately. “Then come.”
“Mmmm,” You sob, arching your back right into his body. For a brief moment, everything is tight, hot, and overwhelming, before the coil snaps and you wither in his arms. One of your own hands slam down onto the desk, as you try to grip onto the smooth surface of the table either to give you a new sense of bearings or pull away from him, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t acknowledge it either, too focused on thrusting into you until he’s finding his own release.
He grunts, pushing into you until he’s at the hilt as he spills himself into you. The blood is no longer in Jimin’s ear, no longer drowning up the sounds of pleasure and desperation. Instead, it fills the air with the sounds: the gasps and heavy breathing. You, halfway lying on the desk. And Jimin, hovering closely over you, still joined together.
“Shit,” You whisper, untangling your other hand from Jimin’s neck and freeing you to lie entirely on the surface of the table. Jimin watches you carefully, gently putting down your legs so they can rest against the table.
“Lift your bottom for me,” Jimin instructs, lifting the hem of your skirt up to bunch the fabric at your waist. With your entire bottom exposed, he’s able to see himself inside you all over again. Slowly, he pulls himself out. You whimper at that. But Jimin doesn’t say anything. He watches, throat dry, as he watches the white substance of his cum spill out of you. He reaches out, collecting it around his finger, before going back up to your slit and pushing his finger into you.
You arch your back at that, crying out softly at the overstimulation. You push yourself to your elbows, watching him sink his finger back into you. “What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly.
“Trying to make as small a mess as possible,” Jimin explains, pushing his finger in as far as it could go. “You wanna go back to the common room with stains over your robes?”
You stare at him, some of that haziness gone and replaced with your usual thoughtful expression. “You make a good point.”
Jimin is able to wipe the rest of the stains on the sleeves of his white polo, something that will be hidden underneath his robes. He watches as you hop off the desk, smoothing down your skirt and down your hair.
You look over at him. “How do I look?”
He gives a careful once-over. “How about this: if I saw you in the hallway, I wouldn’t have assumed you just got fucked.”
The corner of your lips curl up. “Well, that’s probably as good as it’ll get—!”
“Plus I’m sure other people don’t have the same observational skills as I do, so you’re probably fine.”
“There it is.”
“And how was it?” Jimin asks as he opens the door to the classroom and allows you to walk back into the hallway of the castle first. “Do you think we got that closure to the tension?”
“We are talking,” You point out as you walk side-by-side with Jimin. “And you don’t have that look in your eyes anymore.”
He stops at that. “What look?”
You stop alongside him and give him a smirk. “That strained look, like the one you gave me before you kissed me.”
Allowing your eyes to linger on each other for a moment longer, you break that connection by turning your head and continuing down the hallway.
.
For someone so good at calculating and organizing his life, Park Jimin missed out a whole factor in his equation to success at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
That factor is you.
Now, he’s had his fair share of flings, makeout sessions, and sexual encounters with members of the female population. Of course he has. He isn’t friends with jocks like Jeon Jungkook or pranksters like Jung Hoseok for nothing—he’s been to those parties in the Room of Requirement and has held up his own in conversations with flirtatious qualms. As someone who trumps logic over emotion, it has never been hard for Jimin to set aside his emotions when something is meant to be a one time thing.
But you. You. You. He really hasn’t accounted for you to linger about in his life the way you have. Mostly, he hasn’t accounted to think about your insults, your sighs, and your whimpers the way he actually has.
It’s hard to tell if you’re feeling the same way. When you’re in study labs together for any class such as charms, muggle studies, or astronomy, he could always swear that your gaze would linger on him for moments too long before switching away. When you two are paired up for potions, the conversations are vague and pertain to the lessons, but it all feels layered with something new. A new unspoken desire, perhaps?
He can’t really get a read on the situation, and that’s the most frustrating aspect of it all.
“Park Jimin?” It’s Professor McGonagall’s voice, one that startles Jimin out of his trance. Jung Jaehyun ducks to hide his laughter.
Jimin blinks, looking up to realize that Professor McGonagall is standing right in front of him, a stack of parchment in her arms and a curious look in her eyes. He’s currently in the middle of his transfiguration lesson. The professor raises an eyebrow, but still pulls a parchment from the stack and passes it down to him. A -1 stares him back up at him, and Jimin feels his heart beat. Although this score is for a mere homework assignment, the grade seems like a weight on his shoulders.
“Is that a minus one, Park?” Jaehyun asks, leaning over and getting into Jimin’s space. “On a homework assignment? What happened there?”
Jimin looks over the assignment. “I guess I didn’t add enough detail to one of my answers.” He looks back at Jaehyun, watching Professor McGonagall hand him his graded assignment. The corner of his lips quirk up. “You’re one to talk, Jung. Minus five? You better keep your grades up if you want to stay on the House Team.”
“Hey, you should see JK’s grades,” Jaehyun retorts. “I swear, that boy was hanging by a thread on some of the recent assignments. Did you know he didn’t even realize he had an astronomy essay due for class until that waitress at the Three Broomsticks had to remind him?”
Jimin grins. “That I remember. You’ve done good keeping an eye on your competition.” Almost unconsciously, he finds himself flinting his gaze towards you only to find that you’re staring right back at him.
You raise an eyebrow at him. Just from a look, Jimin knows what you’re asking him. What did you get?
Feeling vaguely embarrassed about his score, he shrugs. Instead of answering, he jerks his chin towards you. What about you?
You seem to know the reason behind his desire to keep his score a secret from you. You smirk, turning over your parchment and flashing it towards him. A -0 reads at the top. “Pretty good, huh?” You mouth to him.
Jimin flicks his wand underneath the desk. A gust of wind comes out and the parchment flies forward to smack you on the face.
A burst of laughter rings through the classroom as Professor McGonagall whirls around. Having not seen the events leading up to the smack, she narrows her eyes at you. “Miss. Y/N, I don’t believe your perfect grade called for a hit to the face.”
You sink into your seat just enough. “Sorry professor,” You grumble, turning to give the side eye to Jimin.
He is wrong to think that you wouldn’t do anything about his little spell.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” You ask as soon as you catch up to Jimin after class is dismissed. Ever since the “Tension-Easing Experiment”, as Jimin liked to label it and no it wasn’t something he had run by you since you’re both not really eager to brush on that topic in detail ever since it had happened, you’ve both been pleasant enough to each other. This conversation starter falls under that list. “Casting spells on me, I thought that task belonged to Jung Hoseok.”
“Perhaps I have learned a thing or two from him.”
You hum at that. “Guess there are some things you can’t fully grasp just from reading textbooks all day.”
He glares at you. “Did you need something today?”
You look back at him. “We have our weekly project meet-up.”
He blinks. “What weekly project meet-up?”
“Well, when Professor McGonagall gave us the assignment, we were meeting up once a week to exchange ideas,” You say slowly. “We stopped because…”
Oh right, I kissed you in the astronomy lab room, Jimin thinks when you trail off.
You clear your throat. “But since we’re talking again…”
Because we had sex.
“I figured it was as good a time as ever to get back into it. Besides, I do have an idea I’d figure I should bounce off of you.”
Jimin stares at you for a moment. Takes in your eyes, your lips, your robe and the clothes you’ve gone on underneath the thick material. You’ve got your hair up into a half-up-half-down ponytail today. Dare he say, you look nice today. “Alright then. Should we go to the library?”
“Actually…” You cut in, shrugging and not meeting Jimin’s eye this time around. “I was thinking we could go back to your friend’s private study room? Since we are talking, and it is exam season. You know, I wouldn’t want to disrupt the other students trying to go over their class material.”
This is true. Midterm season at Hogwarts is underway and lots of peers are starting to lose the light in their eyes. There seems to be a hidden weight in your words, plagued with an idea of ulterior motives, but Jimin is suddenly taken by curiosity to mind. “Uh—right. Sure. Pretty sure Yoongi isn’t running a detention today.”
Even if Yoongi had assigned a detention, which he probably did considering this was Min Yoongi, it was unlikely he’d use his private study. In fact, Jimin vaguely recalls Yoongi saying he had a meeting. So he leads the way down the hallways and past the large windows. The pathway is familiar to him, given how many times he’s taken this route, and it’s not long before he’s uttering the password under his breath and entering the space.
It’s empty when he enters. Actually, it’s hard to tell if Yoongi had even used this office during the days between the “Tension-Easing Experiment” and today. Not that it matters, as you and Jimin push two desks together and take a seat. You slide your robe off this time and rest it at the back of your chair.
“Alright, so what’s this idea of yours?”
You lean back in the chair. “It’s brilliant, if you ask me.”
He smirks. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
You smile slightly at that, turning back towards your desk and curling a finger around your hair. “I thought we might as well keep it simple and play to our strengths.” You look at him. “You’re known being this really charming guy, and from what I understand you’re friends with lots of different guys who are talented in their own unique ways. I think we need to split our presentation into two parts. Your section would be talking about growing up at Hogwarts—how you’ve made your group of friends and how you’ve centered yourself in activities and conversations. Then I’ll come in and talk about how despite transferring during the last year of school, everyone and everything is really adjustable and nice about being a new student.”
“Hm.” Jimin ponders this. You’ve figured out a way to take what he had mentioned, albeit jokingly, and organize a way for you to be involved yet still be connected to his original topic. “It’s not bad, you can be smart sometimes when you want to be.”
“I’m always smart—a lot smarter than you, so it seems,” You return back. You angle the chair towards Jimin and sit back. “Speaking of, what happened with your homework assignment today? Didn’t want to show off your own -0? Or perhaps did you get extra credit out of thin air?”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” Jimin snaps. “Contrary to that, I actually got marked off a point. Forgot to add some details to one of my answers, so it was a minor thing.”
“The Park Jimin I know doesn’t forget to add minor details to his answers,” You point out. “What’s up with you? Does Professor McGonagall have to pull you from the project, and leave me as the sole smartest and brightest student at Hogwarts despite only being here for a month and a half?”
“I think your critical thinking skills have to be checked,” He retorts, but it’s a half-hearted attempt to start an argument. You’re much more observant than you let on, if you’ve taken note of his behavior despite not really being his friend. Getting marked off points for minor details is something both of you have been guilty of on rare occasions, so the fact that you still notice something off leaves a strange feeling in his stomach.
Jimin stares at you for a moment longer, only to find you staring back. Should he indulge you on the thoughts floating around in his head? Would it be worth it?
When you raise an eyebrow, it gives him enough courage to open his mouth.
“Actually, I have a hypothetical situation I’d like to go over with you.”
You don’t say anything to that. It’s a sign to keep talking.
“Say you’ve just slept with someone because you thought it would quell that seemingly moment’s sparks of attraction,” He starts. “But it’s been a few days, and you, hypothetically, can’t stop thinking about that moment. As in, you wouldn’t find sleeping with that person again. Do you indulge that curiosity? Or just leave it be, assuming that the person doesn’t feel the same about you?”
Something flickers in your eyes. “Hm, I’m not sure, you’re being so vague it’s really hard to tell who you’re talking about.”
He groans at that. “You’re being a brat again.”
“You must enjoy that, don’t you?” You say back right away. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be thinking about trying to sleep with me again. Unless you ‘quell momentary sparks of attraction’ with other girls on a daily basis.”
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” He retorts. “You like to think you have all this control over this situation and my feelings, but who was it that was begging me to fuck them just a few nights ago?”
You laugh a little. “You got a point. But who still fucked me after that begging?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you really want to play that game, sweetheart?”
You keep your gaze on him. “What game am I playing, Park Jimin?”
Jimin looks right back at you. After a moment, he wraps his fingers underneath his chair and angles himself so that he can face you. He reaches forward until his hand rests on your thigh, right above the hem of your skirt. “Well, I have something in mind, if you’re willing to hear it.” When you don’t pull back, he continues. “Since you seem set on this idea that you’re in charge, I think I should prove to you otherwise.”
He watches the way your jaw clenches at that.
“First, I would ask you to slide off your panties and your skirt this time, so there’s nothing in the way of me fucking you this time,” He spells out, keeping his eyes on you for signs of slippage. The slight twitch of your thigh is the first tell. “Then, I’d get behind you, turn you around, and press you against this very desk.” He taps the desk you’re sitting in front of. “Depending on how bratty you decide to be, I’ll find a way to keep you where I want you to be. If you’re still a brat, only one of us will be finishing today—and I will tell you right now that it won’t be you.” He leans forward towards you, your eyes flickering towards his lips. “Just tell me no. Tell me you’re not interested and that you don’t look at me the same way. I’ll back off.”
You swallow thickly at that. “What if I don’t want you to back off?”
Things happen very quickly after the question leaves your lips. You’re the one who leans forward, you’re the one who kisses Jimin first. He responds immediately after, pulling you up by your waist until you’re straddling his lap. Gently biting at your lower lip, Jimin still has enough wit to kick the chair you were sitting on away from the desk. It scraps against the classroom floor, a noise that goes loudly unheard of over the roaring of blood in Jimin’s ears.
Jimin pushes you off his lap, forcing you back onto your feet with Jimin following behind shortly after. You barely have time to adjust before his hands are on your waist to spin you around and pin you onto the desk in front of you.
Jimin tightens his hold on your waist. “Look at you, little girl,” He says. The nickname brings color to your cheeks. “You talk a big game but I think when it comes to it, you like being told what to do.” After he’s gotten you settled into position, his hands leave its original position to reach the zipper of the skirt at the small of your back. “Well, since I’ve riled you up this much, we might as well follow through on one of my check-ins, huh?”
His fingers slowly drag down the zipper of your skirt, each movement downwards rings like a bell. Jimin is so close behind you that you can feel his warmth radiating into your body, your legs. He doesn’t take his time. He pulls down the skirt and your panties until they drop at your ankles.
A finger lingers at your entrance, checking. Jimin makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Looks like me spelling out what I was going to do to you was more effective than I thought.”
You whine, pressing your cheek into the wood of the desk. “You don’t always have to report it like that!”
Jimin stills at that. For a moment, the tense silence makes you think that you’ve said something wrong. But all thoughts fly out of the window when Jimin brings his hand down to slap against the back of your thigh. The gesture isn’t too hard or too loud, but it’s enough to make you whimper. “You trying to out-smart me again?”
“N-No, I’m sorry,” You stammer, probably having a brief flashback to his threat about not letting you finish off.
Still, Jimin scoffs. “You seem to think today will end up just like the first time: where you tell me what to do and I’ll do it—would you agree with me?”
You clench and Jimin feels it with his fingers. “Not intentionally.”
“Hm.” Jimin ponders, both of his hands leaving your frame to tug at the tie around his neck. He loosens it and brings the thin fabric down towards you. “I think we should really establish that I’m the one in charge today. Give me your hands.”
Your neck turns slightly to try and catch his eye. “Jimin—!”
“Hands, c’mon little girl, I thought you could follow directions.” Nevermind that this is probably the first time you’ve said his first name as a standalone and there’s something really intimate about that.
You don’t say anything to that, you merely shift your body weight so you are able to rest your hands on your back. Jimin takes your wrists, bringing them together, and loops the fabric of his tie around them. Tight enough that there’s no way you could escape from it, but loose enough to provide some wiggle room. Once your wrists are secure in the tie, Jimin tugs on it to ensure it won’t undo itself.
“This okay?” Jimin asks, albeit a little softly, but his question brings the ghost of a smile across your lips.
You nod. “Yes.”
“Alright then.” There’s the sound of his belt becoming undone, his fingers pulling his cock out of his pants. He lines himself up, his fingers guiding the way before he’s pushing in. The stretch is a little tighter than it had been the last time due to lack of proper foreplay. But there’s enough to get by.
The stretch makes you feel him all the way in your gut, making your head spin as a groan emits from your throat. Your fingers curl into fists at the small of your back. “Fuck,” You let out between teeth as you shut your eyes, knowing that you just have to take what Jimin is giving you.
Soon, the room fills with the softest grunts and groans, the desk rocking in time with his thrusts. His hands stay on his tie, on your wrists, where your fingers curl around his hand—whether for reassurance or to hold onto something solid, it’s hard to tell.
All that matters is that Jimin notices and his heart races for something other than the physicality of what is going on.
.
That day in the classroom seems to create a new label in Jimin’s relationship with you. Given that both of you have seen the other person naked (twice), it brings a new level of casualness between the two of you.
It shows in how Jimin slides rather gracefully into the library, rolls of parchment in his bag and a smirk across his features. He finds you rather quickly, right by the window in a secluded part of the space, and has no problem approaching you and slapping the top of his parchment on your desk. It lands right on top of your books and your own roll of parchment.
There’s a pause. “If the ink on my roll wasn’t dry, I will honestly not hesitant to stab your eye out,” You say right away.
“Charming,” Jimin returns, sitting in the vacant chair next to you. “But I just wanted to show you something. We got our grades back for that Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. As you can see, here’s my plus two extra credit score at the top.”
“What?” You react immediately, leaning over your desk to catch a glimpse of the score. “Damn, what the fuck. How’d you get two extra credit points?”
Jimin is grinning. “What’d you get then?”
You give him a side glare. “One point five?”
“Wow.” Jimin places a hand on his heart. “Did I beat you on an assignment?”
Your side glare has evolved into a full glare.. “As classy as that brag was, beating me on one assignment doesn’t reclaim your place as the smartest student at this school.” You brush some of the hair out of your face as you turn in your seat. “But I guess there’s no harm in congratulating you for this one. Do you want a celebratory blow job?”
Jimin’s heart stutters in his chest at the words. He does whiplash at your question. “I-I’m sorry, what?”
You grin. “A little nervous there, Park Jimin?”
“W-Well no, I just…” He trails off, trying to collect his bearings, trying to make sure that he hadn’t misheard you. “I-I think I wasn’t able to catch what you said…”
“No, I think you heard me pretty clearly.” You’re right. He had heard you perfectly. After all, there’s no reason for him to have not heard you clearly. You’re both in the library for goodness sake—not just the library but a quiet section of the library. “I just figured you want some sort of congratulatory gesture on my part, since we have a little competition going on between the two of us. You scored better today, so I’ll blow you.” You pause for a moment. “Unless you don’t want me to blow you, and you asking questions like this is just you trying to deflect…”
“No! I mean…” He sets his teeth when your grin widens. “Shut up, you’re so annoying.”
“You’re not saying no,” You point out.
“Of course I’m not. Get your stuff, we’re going.” He grabs your wrist as soon as you’ve packed up your school supplies, and he doesn’t let go.
Your laughter echoes all the way down the hallway.
.
It continues like this. In terms of your social relationship with Jimin, it turns into a rivalry boosted by sexual encounters. Depending on who scored better on tests, essays, or homework would get to lead the sex in the empty Head Boy classroom near the abandoned corners of the castle. The atmosphere between you two, while still plagued with banter, has turned into something more light-hearted and conversations have lower defenses.
That’s what one gets after seeing the other person naked for weeks on end.
The improvement in your relationship leads to more open conversations about the project, something that Professor McGonagall has noticed an improvement in.
She says this after calling you and Jimin in for a meeting. It’s the beginning of November now, and the weather has cooled down and the sky reflects the bleeker tone in its dark shades of gray. You and Jimin have been in this strange relationship for about a month and a half now, and you didn’t think there would be any physical changes, until the professor opens her mouth.
“I have to say, Ms. Y/N and Mr. Park, that I’ve noticed you two taking more enjoyment in each other’s company. It’s rather refreshing to look at, considering the way you guys used to always be at each other’s throats beforehand.”
“Definitely agree, in more ways than one,” Jimin says, and you kick him under the table.
The meeting with the professor is short. It’s more of a touching base encounter if anything, where you’re explaining the details of your presentation and continue going more into detail about what each of you will be covering. It ends soon after, with a parting ‘just keep going with what you’re doing’ before both of you are dismissed from the office.
“That went well,” You report as you’re exiting the office together. It’s the middle of the afternoon on a considerably bright Thursday morning, so the castle is a little more alive today with activity. Most students are outside, taking advantage of the sunny weather to sit around in the courtyard or have a picnic or study session with friends on the grass. These are the options that are available to you and Jimin, considering your classes are done for the day and you have nothing else scheduled. Except to study and keep working on essays and study guides.
“I’m glad it’s going well for her, at the very least,” Jimin grunts, rolling his shoulder as he tilts his neck back. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
You shrug. “Not sure.” You narrow your eyes at him. He never really asks you this question unless—“Do we have a meeting in Yoongi’s office?”
‘Meeting in Yoongi’s office’ is the key phrase the pair of you coined to replace the much more lewd question: “Did you want to fuck?” Not only is the former much safer, but it keeps away those unsafe, unwanted, dangerous questions. All of which are things that neither of you want to answer. Neither of you would probably know the answer to them anyways.
Normally, Jimin isn’t shameless about what he wants. When he’s straightforward, he’s eager and demanding and doesn’t like to beat around the bush. You’ve walked out of that classroom with bruises on your neck and a wobble in your knees to prove that. This time, however, feels different. He smirks. “Sweetheart, we had a meeting yesterday.” Translation: we fucked yesterday.
You raise an eyebrow, not acknowledging the nickname. It’s normal in your conversations together, anyways. “When has that ever stopped you before?”
“Touche.” He pauses, and runs a hand through his hair. “But we shouldn’t today. I have an essay for our History of Magic class that I haven’t started.”
“Isn’t that due tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” Jimin protests. “Listen, I’ve been helping JK with that waitress.”
You bite your lip, vaguely aware of the aforementioned Jungkook and that waitress from the Three Broomsticks. Jimin refuses to spill any details to you. “How’s that going?”
He adjusts the strap of his bag. “She showed up to his Quidditch practice yesterday, which was a plus.”
“Not entirely a plus, it seems. You have a whole ass essay to work on. At this point, it seems like I’ll be in charge of the agenda for the upcoming meeting.” The quirk at the corner of your lips grows slightly.
Jimin smirks, reaching over to tap your nose. “Don’t get cocky, sweetheart.”
You try to ignore the gesture. He’s been getting more handsy with you, ever since he pinned you down on the desk and tied your hands at your back. You look away from him. “Well, regarding what my plans are,” You start. “I should get started on the upcoming Transfiguration report.”
He nods. “Seems like we’re both in for rough afternoons.” He pauses. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture he only does when he’s pondering something. “How about we suffer together?”
You blink, having not expected that question from him. You did spend a lot of time together, provided all the hours that go into planning the big project and ‘attending Yoongi’s meetings’, as Jimin liked to say, but studying with each other was never on that list. “Do you mean, like, we study together?”
“Hey, if it was such a stupid idea then you should have stopped me immediately,” Jimin retorts, turning red with embarrassment.
“I didn’t say it was a stupid idea!” You say back, eyes wide. “I don’t mind us studying together.”
“Well, that’s really great because I—!” Jimin cuts himself off, clearly not having processed your last sentence before opening his mouth. He looks at you, as it sinks in that you’ve accepted his offer to study together. “Alright, okay, cool. You wanna go to the library?”
You laugh. “Sure, but I gotta ask something. How could I even stop you, since I didn’t know you were trying to ask me on a date?”
He surprises you with a step forward, as he wraps an arm around you and pinches your waist. “I’m not asking you on a date. You’re annoying.”
“And what of it?” You shoot back. You aren’t really expecting an answer, and Jimin doesn’t give you one. Yet, there’s no awkward pause because of it. It’s still just you and Jimin, and it stays that way as you both walk to the library and maintain a casual conversation about your assignments and outside activities.
.
It’s the middle of December when you scribble on the final flashcard and practically slam your quill onto the table. Jimin jumps slightly, but his startled expression eases into a slight smile when you hunch over and press your head into the desk. “Finished?”
“Finished,” You repeat, lifting your head back up and looking at the array of notes and organized flashcards that are scattered across the table. Each flashcard is covered from top to bottom in your handwriting, all meant to help guide your speech for the project you have spent months agonizing over. No stone is left unturned, every single aspect of your experience is covered upon, per the request of Professor McGonagall.
Immediately, you move to collect your flashcards and ensure that they are in the proper order. The little numbers you have written in the top of the parchment help with that.
There’s another silence that overtakes the air, but it’s a comfortable one. It’s filled with the scratches of Jimin’s quill against his own parchment, it’s filled with the crumbling sound of papers stacking atop one another as you organize your flashcards. Once they’re all together, you look at the top piece of parchment. “Even with a late enrollment that brings you to Hogwarts in your last year, the welcoming environment makes the transition to different classes, social groups, and activities extremely easy and exciting…” You read quietly to yourself.
After a few minutes, Jimin puts his own quill down. It’s much gentler than what you had done a few seconds ago, but it’s still more than enough to fix your attention on him.
“Finished?” You ask him.
He nods, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. The locks are slightly overgrown by now, which leaves his hair in strands that stick up all over the place.
“Is it perfect?” You ask.
Jimin tilts his head back. Your eyes linger on the column of his throat before returning back to your notes. “Honestly, we’ve gone through so much editing and revisions that I would just throw myself off the astronomy tower if it wasn’t perfect.”
You laugh slightly. “That’s true…”
“You look nervous,” Jimin notes, placing his elbow on the table and resting his head in the palm. “Worried about impressing daddy at the Ministry?”
You close your eyes and let out a huff. “Why do you have to say it like that?”
“Am I wrong?”
You sigh. “I mean technically you’re not.”
He feigns an over dramatic gasp that earns him the attention of some other students littered around the library. “So I was right this whole time! What the fuck!”
“Jimin, keep your voice down,” You hiss. “Why don’t you ask that Namjoon friend of yours to publish a whole article about it while you’re at it?”
“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea—OW!” Jimin jumps when you suddenly reach over to pinch his thigh. He flashes a guilty look to the other students around him who shoot glares that could kill. After a moment of apologetic expressions and mouthing ‘sorry’ to anyone who would listen, he turns back to you. “You’re really going to get it tonight.”
“During our meeting with Yoongi, you mean?” You ask back, giggling into your palm.
He shakes his head and goes back to his flashcards. “You better watch yourself, sweetheart.” He pauses for a second, watching you out of the corner of his eye before he resumes his attention back on you. “So what does your dad do at the Ministry?”
You look at him, thinking about how you’re going to answer for a second before you sigh. It’s probably because Jimin actually addressed your father as ‘your dad’ as opposed to ‘daddy’. “He works in the Department of Magical Education. That’s why he asked that I be a part of the presentation group. It helped that I was one of the top students at my old school.”
Jimin is quiet for a moment.
It’s long enough for you to kick him underneath the table. “Why ask me if you’re not going to ask anything?”
He looks away. “It’s not that—I guess I wasn’t expecting you to actually tell me.”
“Oh.” You stop, turning red. “W-Well,” You continue, staring holes into the table in front of you. “I-I guess we’re f-friends?”
Jimin smirks. “Friends, huh?”
“Don’t make me regret saying that!”
“Hm.” Jimin hums. “So, your dad works in the Magical Education Department. Is that why you transferred to Hogwarts?”
“You could say that…”
He whines your name, scooting closer to you to wrap his arms around you. “Hey, you can give me a straight answer. I thought we were friends.”
You make a noise of protest in the back of your throat, nevermind the way he’s so natural about his physical touches with you. “Fine, fine, yes, his new job is the reason why we transferred. Now let go of me, you’re going to get us kicked out of here!”
“Let Madam Pince kick us out, we’re basically done with our project anyways.” But he does let go of you, the finality of your words probably that pusher. He does not, however, move away from you. He keeps an arm curled around the back of your chair. “You going home for Christmas break?”
“Yeah,” You say, not saying anything about his still close proximity. “I do miss my parents—plus I’m sure my father would want to hear about how the presentation will go.”
He nods. “Sounds like it’ll be a stressful Christmas.”
You look at him. “What will you be up to, Park Jimin? Sneaking through the restricted section?”
He pouts. “I don’t need to sneak through it—I’m not a first-year. I can actually get a note from a professor. Dark Arts is cool to read about.”
“If you say so,” You tease back. “Anything else?”
“Well, there’s actually a party I’m throwing with my friends to celebrate making it up to this point. It’ll be in the Room of Requirements.” He ponders the next thought for a moment. “You should come.”
You blink. “I’m going home for the holidays?”
“No, you dork.” Jimin flicks your forehead. “The party will be before the holiday break starts—so everyone who wants to go can enjoy one fun thing before going back home.”
You tilt your head. “That sounds exciting. But, well, I’m not a huge drinker. It should be fun for you, though.”
He pouts again. “What if I wanted you to come? What do I have to do to convince you?”
You give him a look. “Nothing, Park Jimin, I’m not a party person.”
“You really are,” Jimin agrees, sliding away, looking disappointed in your answer. “I hope you’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing you just crushed all my dreams.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Park Jimin. What’s this about?”
He shrugs. “I thought it’d be cool to see you do something fun for once in your life.”
“Wow, he’s dramatic and rude,” You say, watching as he smiles a little at your usage of his pronoun despite the fact that he is right here in front of you.
“Well, I guess I just have to accept your answer,” Jimin says after a moment, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll be missing out. I think Hoseok is pulling out all the stops. Alcoholic butterbeer galore.”
“And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it, no matter if I want to hear it or not,” You return, looking at your water. “Oh shit, I gotta go.”
Jimin watches you collect your parchment and books, and the way you stuff them into your bag. “Where are you going?”
You look at him, blinking. “Uh—Actually, I don’t think I should tell you.”
He pouts, again. “What? Why not?” His curiosity only grows when you just give him a meek smile, and turn to rush out of the library. He calls your name. “Shit, hold on!” He doesn’t bother to organize anything, he just throws everything into his bag before he’s dashing to catch up to you. He also doesn’t bother to check around him before he’s throwing his arms out to encircle you around the waist.
“Jimin!” You exclaim, both of you slowing to a time. “You’re needy today.”
“Where are you going?” He tightens his hold. “I took some workout advice from Jungkook, I won’t hesitate.”
You still at that. “What the fuck? Are you implying that you’ll crush me otherwise?”
“Don’t change the subject!”
You sigh, reaching into the pocket of your robe. “I may or may not have gotten an offer to get extra credit from Professor Flitwick for Charms.”
He pauses. “Aren’t you and I having a bet about who can get the higher grade in that class?”
“Uh, perhaps?” Suddenly, you bend your wrist slightly to poke your wand in his stomach. “Rictusempra.”
A silver light beams from the end of your wand, and Jimin bursts out into laughter. He releases his hold on you immediately, falling to his knees as the giggling that escapes his lips fills the air and takes the energy out of his knees. “A—giggling—charm?” He manages in between breaths.
You whirl around to face him, twirling your wand. “Sorry Park. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Hopefully one of your friends can help you—preferably after I’ve made my way down this hallway.” You turn back towards your original direction and actually run away from him.
Jung Hoseok is eventually the one to find Jimin on the floor, laughing, crowded by students who were intrigued to see the great Park Jimin at his wits end. Although those same students help him onto his feet, there’s still the mark of amusement in their eyes, and Jimin’s cheek heat nonetheless.
The next time he sees you, he’ll get you back for this.
.
Jimin’s party is the night before the winter holiday begins. All the classes are done, all the essays and tests are submitted. The snow has become a permanent decoration to the school, all compact white blanketing the grass and exterior castle walls. The chill has settled more deeply in the air, bringing up the heavy scarfs and heavier coats. Breaths come out in puffs of air. And you are near the fireplace.
Actually, more specifically, you are finishing up a last minute extra credit report for Astronomy. Not that your grades need the extra boost—Professor Sinistra had offered to provide you with the assignment that allowed you to indulge a little deeper in star placement and you weren’t going to waste away that chance. It’s due tomorrow morning, right before you take the train back home, so you are wasting away, scribbling all the research that you can recall onto the parchment.
You’re finishing up your conclusion paragraph when you hear the door to the common room slide open, announcing the presence of a student. You don’t pay attention to this. Judging by the darkness clouding the sky, it’s getting late and you assume that the students who had gone to Jimin’s party should be heading back by now. When it gets too late, even though classes and henceforth school are paused, there are still certain punishments on the line.
You don’t pay much attention to the student, until you notice that figure now standing right in front of your table near the fireplace. You look up. It’s Jung Jaehyun—Seeker for the Slytherin team. And, as you are aware of, an attendee to Jimin’s party.
The thing is, however, that you and Jaehyun have interacted a grand total of exactly zero times. Neither of you ran in the same social circle—if the friend you’ve made that spends more time in the greenhouse than in class could be considered a social circle.
Jaehyun looks just as uneasy as you do, with the way he’s shifting back and forth on his feet. “Y-You’re Y/N, right?”
You straighten slightly. That is, obviously the first time Jaehyun has ever said your name. “Y-Yes. And you’re Jaehyun?”
“Yeah…” Jaehyun starts, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, I know this is totally out of line for me. But would it be too much if I asked you to come with me to the Room of Requirement?”
“Uh…” You trail off. You hadn’t been expecting much upon seeing Jung Jaehyun standing right in front of you. But you really hadn’t been expecting this. “Is… there a reason why…?”
“Well…” Jaehyun tries again, but trails off. He seems to be having trouble figuring out how to explain his story. “I think you know that Jimin and his friends were having a party down there, right?”
You keep staring at Jaehyun. “Did something happen to Jimin?”
“N-No, not really, it’s just, he drank a bit and he’s refusing to leave until he sees someone…”
You press your lips together, having a vague idea of where this could be going but refusing to make assumptions. “Was I that someone?”
“Well, okay, he didn’t mention a specific name. He just kept saying he wanted to see his girlfriend before he left…”
“Okay, then why don’t you take his girlfriend down there?”
Jaehyun looks pained for a second. “Jimin doesn’t have a girlfriend. His friends and I were trying to figure it out. You’re the only person he spends all this time with besides his core group. We figured asking you to come down would be a good place to start.”
You swallow at the thought. You’ve never really set foot into Jimin’s world, it wasn’t really your scene. Even back at Ilvermorny, you were well known because of your grades, but you weren’t a popular student. But more than that, Park Jimin calling you his girlfriend? The thought seemed highly unlikely. You aren’t even sure that he feels that deeply for you—rather, your relationship was formed as a byproduct of forced participation. Without that presentation to the Ministry, you’re sure you would never have had a proper conversation with Jimin.
Still, Jaehyun looks like he’s about to fling himself off the Astronomy tower. The more time goes by, the higher the chances of Jimin and the rest of his friends getting caught and getting saddled with detention. You figure: what’s the harm?
“W-Well, uh, sure.” You straighten up, placing your items into your bag and taking a second to drop that bag off on your dorm bed. Jaehyun is still in the common room when you get down, and leads the way to the Room of Requirement. The walk there is another maze of walls and windows and firelit pathways.
But instead of the Room of Requirement entrance you see, you notice a group of boys lingering outside the blank wall Jaehyun had told you let to the party. For a moment, you wonder if the group were attendees of the party. But the closer you get, and the more you start to hear voices that sound vaguely familiar saying names that sound even more so, you realize that this group is The group—Jimin’s group.
“Taehyung!” Jaehyun calls as soon as the two of you are in hearing range.
The boy, you assume is Taehyung, looks up towards the source of the noise. His eyes land on you and he visibly looks relieved. “Hey, you must be Y/N.” He nods towards you, and tilts his head towards the boy leaning heavily against him. “Hey Jimin.” He calls for the boy, but he looks unsure. Probably because he too isn’t sure if you’re who Jimin is describing as his girlfriend. “Uh, we brought your girlfriend?”
It sounds more like a question than an actual statement. But Jimin doesn’t seem to notice. He lifts his head up from Taehyung’s shoulder and locks his gaze onto you. At once, his eyes turn into half moons with how brightly he is smiling at you. It’s like the sun has come out, with the light glimmering in his eyes and his cheeks rounding out. He calls out your name. “Baby, you showed up!” He cries, managing to untangle himself from Taehyung and latch immediately onto you. You might have stumbled, had Jaehyun not helped catch some of Jimin’s weight. “I thought you weren’t coming!”
“Uh…” You trail off, mind going haywire. How could it not? Jimin, someone who is definitely not your boyfriend, is calling you his girlfriend, calling you baby, and hugging you like his life depends on it. The two of you just have sex! Under unestablished rules, sure, but that type of situation calls for an actual discussion beforehand. “Well, your friends said you wouldn’t leave the party unless I showed up. Why don’t we all head back to our Houses, before we all get detention?”
Jimin nods, cheek against your cheek. “That sounds good. Look at my Y/N—so smart and wonderful.”
“Y/N… didn’t he want to rip her neck off at the beginning of the year?” One of the boys whispers. You, of course, hear it, because Jimin’s friends lack indoor voices and it shows. “And now he’s admitting that she’s smart? What the fuck?”
“Shut up, Hoseok.”
Another boy turns to you, an appreciative smile on his lips. It’s Min Yoongi—Head Boy, and fellow Slytherin. “Just ignore Hoseok. And I’m sorry this is how we’re meeting you—from what Jimin says you’re super smart and it drives him crazy, so naturally I’m your biggest fan. I’m Yoongi.”
You nod, trying for a smile. “I know. I would shake your hand, but…”
“You’ve got a Jimin attached to you, I got it.” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively, whirling around to face his group. “Alright, you bitches. You better be in your Houses before I finish my first round of the castle otherwise you’re all getting detention.” There’s a momentary wave of protests before Yoongi interrupts it. “Or I don’t have to do a round and can just give you all detention right now…”
“No, no, okay, we’re going.” It’s the boy who had called Hoseok out, telling him to shut up. He winks at you as he brushes past you, and flashes some finger guns at Jaehyun.
“Fuck you too, JK,” Jaehyun returns, before leveling you with a gaze. “We should get going, huh?”
“Yeah,” You manage, adjusting Jimin on your shoulder before you and Jaehyun practically drag Jimin down to the Slytherin common room. As soon as you enter, you dump Jimin onto the couch, where he slumps backwards and remains unmoving. He laughs, eyes wide as they gaze up at you.
He brings his arms up, bringing his fingers together in a grabby motion. “Y/N, come sit with me.”
Jaehyun coughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll, uh, leave the two of you alone. Thanks for coming out with me, you really saved us.”
You nod. “No problem, although it seemed like Yoongi could have handled it.”
“Nah, that punk is a Head Boy through and through. Loves his friends to death, but wouldn’t hesitate to give detention. Anyways, I’m off to bed. It was nice to meet you.”
You smile. “You too.” You watch Jaehyun and he disappears up the stairs, into the boys room.
A tug on the hem of your skirt pulls you back. Jimin is still gazing up at you. “Come here!” He pouts, pulling a little too hard and sending you stumbling forward right onto him. Your legs end up on either side of him, effectively straddling his waist. His arms curl around your body. “Isn’t this better? This reminds me where we were just a few weeks ago—!”
“Jimin,” You cut in, flushing at the thought of aforementioned few weeks ago. “What are you doing?”
He blinks, the haziness from his drinking still glimmering in his eyes. “I’m just hugging you.”
“No, Jimin.” Your hands find a place on his shoulders. “What are you doing? I’m not your girlfriend, so why would you say that down there in front of your friends?”
“Wait, you’re not my girlfriend?” He’s still looking like a deer in the headlights. “But… I really like you, so I thought that something was going on…” He looks lost.
A lot is pinging through your head—did Jimin just confess to you? “Jimin, you like me?”
He nods. “I do, I really do.” His nod is lagging, it’s a little slow as he probably doesn’t want to make himself sick with movement too fast. “You’re so funny. And smart. And mean. But I like it. It’s not too mean, but mean enough to make me laugh.”
You laugh a little. “You’re drunk, Jimin, you don’t know what you’re saying. You would never admit that I’m smart.”
He sighs, tilting his head back until it rests on the back of the couch. “I would never say it out loud, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Fuck, my head hurts…”
“You should get some sleep,” You say, instead of trying to push the topic further. “Do you need help getting into the boys dorm room?”
“I don’t think I can make it up there,” He retorts softly. “I might have to crash down here.” He gazes up at you. “Will you stay down here with me?”
You waver slightly, lots of questions running through your mind. If you slept down here with Jimin, surely someone would wake up and catch the two of you. Rumors would fly, questions would be asked.
Still, Jimin looks so cozy and vulnerable—an absolute rarity. And who knows, perhaps if things don’t go the way you want them to, you could use this moment against him. A reminder of when the great Park Jimin, a rock of stubbornness and arrogance, looked at you like you were the stars.
So you sigh. “Sure, I’ll stay down here with you.”
You don’t need to tell anyone that the smile flashing across his face makes your answer worth it.
.
You awake rather abruptly to the movement that happens next to you. Every muscle in your body is aching, so completely sore from the position you’ve rolled into. You open your eyes to a collarbone, a flash of the Slytherin green tie. You blink sleepily, disorientated, as your gaze slides up—!
To see Jimin staring down at you.
You jump slightly. “Shit, sorry.”
“No worries.” Jimin groans, stretching. Or, trying to stretch. The couch you’re both on top of offers very little space for movement. It also explains your sore neck. “Ugh, fuck.”
You sit up, rolling your neck and hearing the satisfying crack of bones. “How are you feeling?”
“Gross,” He answers, sitting up as well. You’re sitting between his legs, the close proximity allowing you to see the tiredness in his eyes. That isn’t surprising. The sun has barely started to rise over the mountains. Given that the sky is a very vague shade of orange, you can only assume it’s five or six o’clock in the morning.
You look up at him. “You hungover too?”
He presses fingers to his temple. “A little headache, but it’s not too bad.” He lowers his hand, and looks over at you. “I wasn’t that drunk, Y/N, I do remember what happened last night. Maybe I was a little more transparent than normal, but…”
You raise an eyebrow, egging him on. “But?”
He stares at you for a moment longer, before he laughs a little, tilting his head backwards. “Aw, Y/N, don’t make me say it!”
You can’t help but smile back. “No, I think I want you to say it. Otherwise I’ll think you’re pulling my leg.”
He lifts his head towards you, pouting. “I would never pull your leg.”
“Then say it,” You say leaning towards him.
As soon as you’re close enough, Jimin’s hand comes up to trap your chin in between his thumb and index finger. The gesture is done to keep you close, to keep your eyes fixated on his, all so he can gauge your expression. He seems to be debating on how truthful he wants to be for this. “But… I wasn’t lying when I said that I liked you.” His eyes flicker between your own. “Even though you’re annoying all of the time.”
You can’t help it. You start to laugh. “Takes one to know one, huh?”
He brings you forward, shifting your center of gravity and bringing you forward towards him. You gasp as your hands come out to rest on the arms of the couch, on either side of Jimin. The gesture, however, brings you closer to him, so that your lips are hovering right over one another. “You’re being a brat again. Shut up.”
You quirk an eyebrow, although he’s too close to see it properly. “Make me, Park Jimin.”
He groans. “Don’t say that. I’m too gross to fuck you right now. And aren’t you going back home today after you submit that report to Professor Sinistra?”
You smile a little, touched that he remembers your report. “I finished the report. And…” You trail off, pulling back enough to look at your watch. You were right: the current time reads 6:15AM. “There’s still five hours before the train leaves…”
Jimin looks up at you. “I’ve got an idea. You have to be quiet though.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were into voyeurism, Park, but if that’s what you want…” You start to unbutton the polo of your shirt.
Jimin’s eyes widen. “H-Hey, stop, I didn’t mean here! Button that back up!”
You gaze over at him, two buttons on your blouse undone, more than enough to expose your collarbone. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do I like you so much, you’re nothing but a brat,” Jimin grunts, mostly to himself as he reaches out to button back your shirt. “I meant somewhere else. You have to be quiet on the way to the place, you idiot. Come on.”
He takes your head, lacing the fingers together, and making your heart jump in your throat as Jimin guides the pair of you out of the Slytherin common room and up the stairs. Making your way up to the fifth floor, he turns into a corridor with statues along the wall. He finally stops at one, the statue you recognize to be Boris the Bewildered.
“Pine Fresh,” Jimin whispers to the statue, which moves to the side and allows Jimin to drag both you and himself into the hidden room. At the detection of movement, the candlelights along the walls light up which further heightens the place Jimin has just taken you into.
It’s a large bathroom. The first thing you notice are the stained glass windows that surround the entirety of the room. Each window paints a different picture of mermaids across the surface, all of which are moving around the space much like every other piece of artwork in this castle. Some of them wave to the pair of you, but most of them continue to mind their own business of looking out the window and enjoying the view of the mountains surrounding Hogwarts.
The moving pictures of mermaids, however, isn’t where your attention has fallen. Your eyes flicker all over the place, trying to take in more of this place Jimin has taken you to.
Located on the left side of the room is a row of squeaky clean, polished and shiny toilets in stalls with a row of sinks, mirrors, and makeup counters on the other side. Located on the right side of the room is a lounging area, couches and cushions in the space and a row of bathrobes along the wall.
The middle of the room houses the main attraction of the space—it’s a large bathtub, as big as a swimming pool with how wide and deeply the hole has been cut into the ground. The tapping for the bath surrounds the tub, each tap with a different colored jewel atop the metal piping. Along the edge of the tub are different baskets, each basket holding a different shaped container and bath product.
“Shampoo, conditioner, soaps, bath oils, and bath salts,” Jimin explains, seeming to notice your lingering gaze upon the baskets.
“Cool, uh…” You pause, trying to gather your thoughts properly enough to ask the biggest question of them all. “What is this place?”
“Oh! Right.” He gestures to the entire room. “Welcome to the Prefects’ Bathroom.”
You turn your gaze towards him, eyes wide. “The Prefects’ Bathroom? Shouldn’t we not be here then?” You’ve heard of this place before back at Ilvermorny. It’s considered a secret location that only Head Boys, Head Girls, Prefects, and Quidditich captains. Definitely not a place for you or Jimin to be in.
He grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Relax, baby. I got the password from Yoongi. And it’s six in the morning on the first day of winter holiday. I doubt any of the people allowed in there wouldn’t think to come in right now.”
You exhale, unable to ignore the quickening of your heart race. It was one thing to fool around in Yoongi’s private study. But being in this type of place that increased the chances of getting caught makes you nervous.
Jimin can see that, because he steps closer to you and rests a hand on your waist. “Hey,” He says, not speaking again until you’re looking up at him. “It’s okay. I don’t want to suggest anything that’ll make you uncomfortable. I just thought of this place because it’s, for the most part, secluded and unused. We’re both tired and groggy, so I thought we could use the bath.”
You take in a breath, before making your decision and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Alright, I’ll decide to trust you on this. So what’s your plan, Park Jimin? What are you gonna do to me?”
He laughs at that, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “Well, sweetheart, we can go about this in two ways. Number one: we’ll go right on that couch and we’ll have a celebratory fuck on some actual cushions for once. Then, after that, we’ll take a bath. Or number two: we skip the fuck and take the bath instead.”
You feign a gasp. “You would skip a fuck for me?”
He mirrors your gasp. “Of course. That’s what you get for making me fall for you.”
“Charming,” You say with a smile. “Lucky for us, I like you too. In fact, I like you so much, I can feel your boner against my leg so I’ll even have sex with you just for that.”
His smile widens. He sighs dreamily, which makes you laugh. “Wow, are you the girl of my dreams or something?”
“Hm, what happened to trying to skip my neck off?”
“You really know how to keep up a mood,” Jimin mumbles. “I’m just gonna kiss you before you ruin this any further for us.” So he does, covering his lips with yours.
There’s something different about this kiss. Normally, with your escapees or ‘meetings with Yoongi’, the kisses you share are frantic and haphazard and not really the main purpose of your interaction. The kisses are short-lived and bruising. But this kiss is different. It’s softer and slow-paced enough that it allows for exploration. It’s a kiss where your fingers gently brush over Jimin’s collarbone, where his own fingers settle at your jawline in order to trace over your cheeks and your neck. The sensation as light as it is makes your head spin.
You aren’t even aware the pair of you are moving throughout the room until you feel Jimin hit something in front of you, and behind him. The back of his knees hit one of the cushions on the right side of the room, and he falls back. You fall on top of him, straddling him. It’s a similar position to where you were less than a day ago, but the intent is different. You hardly register any potential pain or jolts. Jimin just brings you back to kissing him, fingers moving down to curl around your waist instead.
Only when it feels like it takes too much energy to kiss and breathe properly at the same time does Jimin pull away to dust kisses along your cheek, before moving down to kiss along your jawline, down your neck. Your tilt your head back, eyes closed as you let out a breathy sigh. Your hips start to move of its own accord, grinding down on the already stiff junction between his legs.
Jimin groans at that, tightening his hold on your waist and guiding you to move deeper and faster. The bathroom fills with the noises escaping between your lips and the rustle of clothing.
You and Jimin seem set on fixing that problem right away. Being in this position on a couch is so much more different than sex in a classroom on top of tables and chairs. It brings a comfort neither of you have experienced before. With that comfort comes this desire to just go all the way, to feel skin beneath fingertips. It happens too. First the sweater vests go, then the ties and the shirts.
Jimin goes quiet at the sight of your chest, hands encircling your breast and thumb running over the nipple. His mouth replaces his hand, circling the nip with his tongue. The warmth of it brings chills that hit every nerve in your body. You arch your back, as Jimin’s hands at your waist keep you rooted to the spot.
You start to claw at the waistband of his slacks, one thought pinging through your mind—and that was to see this through to the end. “J-Jimin,” You whine, already filling to wet and foggy. Jimin pays you no attention, merely switching to your other breast to wrap your nipple in his mouth. You whimper, grinding a little faster. Your fingers make their way up to his hair, curling the digits around his locks. You pull him away just enough for him to look up and make eye contact with you, but not enough. His mouth is still around your nipple.
He hums, and the vibration sends through your body.
He pulls away from you. “What is it?”
You look down at him, pouting and whining.
He cups your face with one of his hands. “You have to use your words, baby.”
You let out a sigh to calm your nerves. “N-Nothing,” You manage. “I just, I really want you right now. And I’m glad you like me too.”
Jimin quirks the corner of his lips, before his fingers are curling under the waistband of your skirt. “C’mon, let’s get you out of this.”
A few tugs and shift adjustments later, you’re both naked atop the cushions. Hands are running over skin, and Jimin’s hands remain at your sides to lift you up just enough until you’re hovering over his cock—long and hard.
At this, Jimin brings your upper body closer until your ear is hovering near his lips. He kisses below, a spot that makes the shiver travel up your spine, before he goes back to hovering at your lobe. “You wanna show me how good you take dick?”
You nod, brain still fuzzy as Jimin starts kissing down your neck again. It’s a very distracting sensation, the feeling of his pillowy lips against your skin. Your toes curl on the couch when his cock hovers right above your slit, right where you want him.
With the guidance of Jimin’s hands, he starts to push you down, the stretching sensation forcing a sigh past your lips. Even though you and Jimin have had sex for awhile—even the most recent ‘meeting with Yoongi’ had occured a week ago—something about this feels different. There’s a deep rooted passion in his kisses, in the bites he’s littering across his neck. Almost as if Jimin had been holding back for that month and a half of casual sex, and now has let his full love and admiration of you loose.
Every inch of Jimin inside of you is another euphoric wave that washes over you. You had thought today wouldn’t be too different from previous encounters, but the shaking of your knees tells you otherwise. “J-Jimin—!” You whine. “Fffuck…”
“Look at you go,” He praises, eyes fixed on your spot of connection until you’re filled to the hilt. You feel so impossibly full. “Made just for me.”
He waits for you. He waits until you stop clenching around him, until you relax. Only then does he hold onto your waist again and slowly start bouncing you on his cock. Your grip around his shoulders start to tighten as the friction makes your head spin. You let yourself be led, breathy moans turn to gasps. “Nn, fuck, feels so good…”
He feels you start to randomly clench around him again. Having spent so many late evenings and early afternoons with you, he knows your signs perfectly. You’re close.
He finishes you off with a thumb at your clit, circling at the bundle of nerves just right until your gasps turn into cries and you’re spazzing around his cock. The sensation is tight and warm, and Jimin chokes as his fingers dig into your skin to keep him grounded as he spills up into you.
The blood-rushing physicality of what had just happened starts to settle in, leaving the two of you against the couch with mismatched breaths and his dick still inside of you. “Oh shit…” He whines. “You like me too.”
You lift yourself off of him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the only thing you got from that?”
His hands on your hips keep you from moving around. His cock is softening around your walls, all helping his heart rate return to a comfortable pace. “Well, had I know us liking each other meant mind-blowing sex, yeah, I get to be a little salty I didn’t say anything earlier.”
You laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
He smirks. “That’s right.” He readjusts, helping you up and off of his dick. His cum, white liquid, spills out of you.
You cup yourself immediately. “Oh shit, that’s gonna get on this cushion.”
“Oh shit.” Jimin cups your pussy too. Extra barrier, he would say. He turns towards the long bathtub. “How about a bath now?” He flashes you a grin when you nod.
Keeping one arm around your waist to keep you steady, he leans down to dig through the pile of his clothes until he produces his wand. Turning towards the tub, he waves his wand. At once, the water from the tabs go off, each flow of water a different color. Some emit a string of bubbles, giving a formy texture to the bathwater currently in the tub.
Given the size of the bathtub, one might have assumed it would take a long time to fill the space, so it’s a surprise to see water nearing the top after only a matter of minutes. Jimin waves his wand again to stop the water coming out of the tabs.
Jimin removes his hand from you and allows you to straighten into a standing position. He stands too, guiding you to the edge of the bathtub where he lets you step into the water first.
The water is the perfect temperature, warm and wonderful as it envelops your body. As you sink down, you sigh as you feel your muscles relaxing, where you don’t stop adjusting until your butt hits the appropriate step to sit on. Jimin follows in after you, not stopping until he’s sitting right behind you.
“Ahhhhh, shit, this is perfect,” He says quietly, wrapping his arms around you. The only sound in the room is the rustle of water that splashes around softly in time to the movements both of you make.
You move your head slightly to dip strands of your hair into the water. “Wow, no wonder Yoongi takes his job so seriously. I’d hate to lose out on this.”
“Well, just stick with me, baby, and we’ll keep sneaking around for the rest of the school year.”
You turn slightly to look at him. “Do you mean… sneaking around Head Boy equipment, or sneaking around the school?” There’s an implication in your question. Do you plan to keep me a secret?
However, Jimin quells that worry rather quickly. “Sweetheart, I’ve been chasing you around for a month and a half—emotionally and physically. Do you really think I’d be able to keep my feelings a secret in front of other people?”
You smile, relaxing back into his arms. “I’m glad to hear that…”
“Plus when I kick your ass in our classes, I think that it’s more satisfying to hear that I beat my girlfriend instead of that transfer student from Ilvermorny. Makes it more personal. Just how I like it.”
“There it is.”
He laughs, nudging himself further into you. It stays like this for a little bit, both of making conversation, but mostly just done in the privacy of this space you’ve carved for yourselves. You aren’t too sure of how much time has gone by until you’re hearing the statue behind the entrance to the bathroom move, followed immediately by a voice. It’s Min Yoongi.
“Hey, who the fuck is in here—oh shit, Jimin?” A pause, both of you immediately spinning around to look towards the source of the noise. Yoongi notices you immediately, eyes widening as he turns around to face the wall. “Is that Y/N? What the fuck are you doing here? This is the Prefects’ Bathroom!” Another pause. “Wait, hold the fuck up—are you guys together?”
You, however, don’t hear any of those questions. You’re too busy squealing in surprise, immediately dipping your body lower into the water to avoid having Yoongi’s eyes wander to places they don’t belong. You cover your breasts to further avoid that.
Jimin shifts towards you to block your body. “What the fuck? What are you doing here? It’s Saturday morning!”
“Hey!” Yoongi whirls around, red-faced, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “Don’t answer my question with a question! And I’m Head Boy, I’m allowed in here!”
“You gave me the password!”
“Yes, in the case of an emergency! Is snuggling up to your girlfriend really an emergency?”
“Well, in that case no, but having a celebratory bath with my new girlfriend could be classified as an emergency?”
“JIMIN.” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, whirling around. “Holy fuck, if Flinch saw you in here… if he knows that you’re in here thanks to me…”
“Uh…” You say from behind Jimin. Only your neck is visible above the water, so your voice and arm raising are extremely meek. “Yoongi? I’m sorry… we were both tired and gross, and Jimin had a hangover…”
“No, uh, Y/N…” Yoongi cuts in, albeit more gently. “I don’t blame you.” He looks down at his watch. “I should probably let you know, however, that it’s almost eight o’clock and I’m aware that you have a report to submit to Professor Sinistra before the train leaves back for home?”
“Oh shit!” You startle at that news. “I have to go do that now…”
Yoongi glares at Jimin, then looks back at you, and sighs heavily. “Okay,” He starts slowly. “I’m just gonna stand outside and pretend that I didn’t see any of this. You guys better be out there in five minutes though. Both of you.” Without another look at either of you, Yoongi exits the room.
Immediately, you and Jimin scramble to dry yourselves off. Both of you decide to just leave your hairs damp and wet, electing that just getting the basics of your attire on is more important. In the end, you’re both just in your appropriate bottoms, and messily put together blouses and tops. Yours isn’t even buttoned all the way, leaving your collarbone exposed and littered with Jimin’s marks from earlier.
Jimin grabs your waist before both of you could make it out. “I’ll be able to see you before you get on the train, right?”
You hum, arm around his neck. “Aw, will the baby miss me?”
He glares, pushing you away slightly. “I’m just asking.”
You laugh. “Most likely, I just need to submit the report. And pack—I didn’t really get to do that yesterday.”
“Okay, okay.” Jimin lets you go. “I just wanted to make sure.”
Flashing him one more smile, you lead both you and Jimin out of the room. True to Yoongi’s word, he’s waiting outside with his hands in his pockets and his eyes averted. They, however, fix themselves on you as soon as you emerge from behind the statue with Jimin.
“I was this close to tipping you off to Mr. Flinch…” Yoongi trails off, studying the two of you. His eyes settle on the hickies at your throat. He freezes. “Wait, did you guys fuck in there?”
“Uh…” Jimin looks at you, the realization settling in both of your gazes. “WELL, Y/N, the love of my life, it was great knowing you, how about you run off to Professor Sinistra while I try to outrun Yoongi’s rage.”
Yoongi pales, looking like his soul has just departed from his body. “So that means…”
You nod, corner of your lips smiling despite the potential outcome of the situation. “I’ll write to you once a week.” You look back at Yoongi’s increasingly stony expression. “I’m sorry Yoongi.” You say this before turning around and practically running down the hallway.
Just before you turn to go down the stairs to collect your report, you make out one last sentence: “JIMIN, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
#jimin scenario#jimin x reader#jimin x you#jimin fluff#jimin smut#jimin x y/n#bts scenarios#bts x reader#bts fluff#bts imagines#bts smut#traci writes#hp reputation series#i..... am so tired#i want to be freed from this fic
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
I Hope We Never See October (3/?)
When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.
Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.
Rating: Mature
a/n: Not gonna lie, I forget I'm writing this story, remember, and then the moment I sit down to write, I get called away. But here's part three!
AO3: Beginning | Current
Tumblr: One | Two | Three
-/-
His head is pounding. It’s been awhile since it has pounded like this. Usually, it’s from a lack of sleep from the nightmares or the stress. This morning, he knows it’s from the rum. He did everything he could to cancel it out – coffee, water, food, medicine – but his head is still pounding. He is a bloody lightweight now.
Huh.
Killian is making it sound like that’s a bad thing, when really, it’s good. A week ago he was standing with a beer bottle in his hand early in the morning tempted to drown his entire day away. Last night, he made it the entire day without wanting to get pissed and only had two small drinks to toast his friends goodbye.
That’s progress.
This hangover, though, damn. It’s a sign he’s making progress, but damn.
Or he’s simply getting old, which is something else he doesn’t want to think about.
“Fuck,” Killian moans, pressing his fingers against his temples as he opens his eyes. His neck is also killing him, probably from how he slept on this damn couch all night. He should have driven home, but he didn’t trust himself to. Besides, Ariel had offered the couch before she went to bed.
Emma had too.
He’d nearly left after she offered. She was likely only doing it because she assumed Ariel or Eric already offered. He gets the feeling the woman doesn’t like him, which usually isn’t something that happens with him, and that intrigues him. It also makes him realize how much of an asshole he is.
How has he gotten to a point in his life where he expects women to always fancy his company?
Killian sits up, his muscles aching, and slowly, he rises from the couch. The lights in the house are all off, and he knows he can leave now with no one knowing the wiser that he slept over, that he felt bad enough to not be able to drive home. Or maybe that he didn’t want to spend another night in that giant house by himself.
The floor creaks beneath him with each step he takes, but no one seems to stir. Killian finds a notepad and pen in the kitchen and quickly scribbles a note to Ariel and Eric. He said his goodbyes to them last night, and he’ll talk to them on the phone at some point today. He doesn’t need to stick around to say another goodbye this morning. It’s still early enough that the sun hasn’t risen, and they won’t be up for hours. Killian finishes his note, grabs his wallet and keys from the counter, and heads out the front door to his car. It takes him a moment to find his car, to remember what said of the road they drive on over here, but he eventually spots it across the street under a large tree when a light from the house turns on.
Killian turns to see it’s coming from an upstairs window, and Emma Swan is standing between the curtains. He nods, and he swears he sees the slightest nod in return before the curtains rustle and she turns off the light.
She didn’t get in until two this morning, and she’s up at six. How the hell is she functioning?
Then again, how is he functioning?
Killian’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and after he gets in his Jeep, he checks the message.
Elsa Jones: The girls say thank you for their new Leggo set. My bare feet do not.
Killian laughs and puts his phone back in his pocket. That’s how he’s functioning. He may have flown across an ocean, but he’d never leave Ally and Sophia. They’ve already lost enough, and Liam will have his head, someway and somehow, if he doesn’t do everything he can to make sure all his girls are happy.
To make sure Killian is happy too.
“Bloody hell,” Killian whispers to himself as he cranks the engine, “it’s too early to be thinking like this.”
He should be able to have at least a little reprieve from the voices in his head.
-/-
Killian doesn’t leave the house much over the next few days. He doesn’t have reason to. He’s got everything he could possibly need in the house, including his own private stretch of beach that he walks along a few times a day, but the repetition of nothing begins to drive him mad. He trains in almost the same way as he did when he was playing, and while that takes up a good portion of his day, it’s not enough to keep him occupied. He reads the books that the owners of the house left behind but finds it’s mostly romance novels he can’t stomach. For a day or two, he binges Netflix, leaving a permanent imprint of his ass in the couch cushions, but there’s only so much time he can spend staring at screens.
Elsa and the girls call more than once a day with them being on summer holidays, and he gets a call or two from Scarlet, who finally had the bullocks to ask Belle out to dinner. That was good to hear since Killian has been giving Will shit about doing that for years now, and it’s good to see that people are moving on with their lives.
He’s not, not really, but he’s not trying to move on so much as he’s trying to not be a total disaster every day.
Sitting in this house alone all day every day isn’t helping. Why did anyone think sending him to be alone would be a good idea in the wake of his brother’s death? He knows it’s more so the scum English tabloids would leave him alone and he could fix his public image so he doesn’t go broke before he’s forty from loss of sponsorships and possible opportunities to get involved in the league, but damn, this was a bad idea.
At least he’s not drinking himself to sleep anymore.
Or drinking himself awake. He thinks that feat is slightly more impressive.
Killian puts his bottle of water down and opens the door that leads to the deck. It’s cool out today, the sun hidden behind the clouds, and since he cannot stay here anymore, he decides he’ll go for a run. It’s been years since he ran outside and not on a pitch or a treadmill, but maybe it’ll be a good distraction. He’s noticed more people filling into the houses around him, the summer tourists showing up in large droves now, so at the very least he can pass time watching people while hoping no one watches him.
It takes him little time to get dressed, lace up his trainers, and pop headphones in his ears before he’s out the door. The roads aren’t flat around his house, so he drives the Jeep a few miles until he finds smoother, less crowded ground. Maybe it’s a way to keep him from running that little bit longer, but mostly he knows his knees need the flat surfaces right now.
He really has gotten old, hasn’t he?
Eventually, he finds what looks like a good path behind a long stretch of beach, finds a place to park, and then he starts running.
It’s horrible, which was expected, but he does it anyway. There are families lining the beaches, music playing from speakers and phones, and he watches as boats skip out on the water. Maybe he should rent a boat for a weekend and take it out. It’d be nice to be out on the water again. He hasn’t been since Liam’s death, the fear of something similar happening to him despite the unlikeliness, but maybe one day while he’s here. It’s not as if he has anything better to do.
Killian runs until the endorphins kick in and then again until his legs get tired. He’s an idiot, however, because he doesn’t think to turn around to his Jeep.
Bloody hell.
He stops and reaches his hands over his head, stretching out his shoulders, and looks to see what’s around him. It’s mostly beach, but there are several restaurants and shops a few blocks down. He notices the familiar Blue Dog Tavern sign and the long deck filled with their outside seating. That means he’s minutes away from a populated area of shops and restaurants where he could cool down and catch his breath, but he still walks toward the Blue Dog. There’s another diner around here he went to that was horrible, and he doesn’t feel like taking the chance again. He’s still over his phase of twenty-four-hour diners. He doesn’t think he can handle more sticky tables.
Killian cools down on the walk to the restaurant, taking in the people walking along the sidewalk, and he dodges them until he’s inside and the cool air is hitting against his skin. It’s past the prime of the lunch rush, so the place is mostly empty. He thinks of going to the bar again, but as he wants to stay as out of the way as possible, he asks the hostess to seat him at a booth in the corner.
“Is someone coming to meet you?” she asks, smacking her gum as she hands him a menu.
“I’m afraid not. Just me today.”
She smiles, popping her gum again, and leans forward, casually popping a button on her shirt. Killian tries not to snicker at the obvious attempt, mostly because she is attractive, but the last thing he needs is to burn more bridges at one of the few places in towns he likes. “Well, if you want company, all you have to do is come find me. I’m Marina.”
He raises his brow. “Seems like you were born to work by the ocean then.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because your name is Marina.”
She cocks her head to the side and laughs. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, love.” Killian smiles and nods toward the front. “I believe you’re needed.”
She jumps and walks away, obviously putting a little sway in her hips when she moves, and in another life, he’d ask her to join him for lunch and meet her after her shift. He nearly does it now, but the man he’s been and the man he’s trying to be war with each other in his mind.
No burning bridges, he reminds himself. He’s done enough of that in his lifetime.
He orders water and coffee and avoids eye contact with Marina as much as possible, especially when she keeps finding ways to come by his table despite there being no other customers in his section. He texts Will and Rob, sends Elsa some pictures of the beach to show the girls, responds to Ariel about him doing another video conference with a hospital back home, and then he puts his phone away and tries to focus on his meal.
Unsurprisingly, it does not take a hell of a lot of focus to eat a sandwich and chips.
The music coming over the intercoms keeps him occupied for awhile, so does the television hanging over the bar until someone changes it to ESPN, and eventually Killian starts fidgeting for headphones and something to do while he waits for his meal to settle and drinks another cup of coffee. He needs to start the trek back to his Jeep, but that’s the last thing he wants to do.
“Heather, I get that you don’t want to be here, but your uncle and your parents want you here. And you either need to take it up with them or start doing some actual work.”
Killian recognizes that voice, and he sinks in his booth. He was hoping to get away with not running into her here today, if only to save himself the headache. He doesn’t have any paper money on hand, so he can’t pay and leave, and he imagines there’s very little chance he’ll avoid her when she’s walking right toward him with Heather, his server from last week.
She’s in those bloody jean shorts again. They barely cover anything and hug her ass to show it off, and the blouse she’s wearing is fitted to her skin. Her hair is down, hitting past midway on her back, and she looks just as gorgeous as she has every other time he’s seen her…which is exactly why he needs her to not notice him.
So, of course, she does.
Right after she teaches Heather how to clean the tables, she looks up and over at Killian, raises both brows, and walks toward him with her arms crossed beneath her chest. “Anything I can help you with today?”
“The check may be nice, Swan. Lovely to see you again.”
“Uh-huh.” She looks over her shoulder, holds up a signal toward Killian’s server, and he hustles to the back, presumably to get the check. “I can recommend other restaurants in the area. This place is great, but I promise there are better ones.”
He shrugs. “I like the food and how calm it is during off hours. Are you enjoying your house with no Fishers in it?”
“I don’t mind when they come to stay.”
It’s a lie if he’s ever heard one. Killian points to his temple and taps. “I know this may surprise you, but I’m actually quite perceptive.”
Her smile is tight, and she tucks her hair behind her ears. “The Fishers are great landlords, and I can’t complain.”
“I’m not going to tell them what you’re saying, love.”
She smiles again, and he can tell she’s still faking it for him. “All I can say is I’m glad not to have strange men scaring me in my kitchen at two in the morning. Now they simply show up at my work.”
He lifts his glass. “It’s good food, and you’re right, I don’t know of many other reliable eateries around here. Some of them seem a little too…made for tourists.”
“And the Blue Dog Tavern doesn’t? I mean, come on. We have a giant blue animated dog cutout outside. We’re on all those lists of ‘Places in Martha’s Vineyard you have to visit.’ We’re made for tourists like you.”
“I am not a tourist.”
“Says the man who is renting one of the big houses out in Edgartown and staying here for the summer. I’m guessing you go to the beach and lounge around the pool and go through way too many of the bad books the owners of the house have on their shelves.”
Killian huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the booth. That was a little too spot on. “How do you know where I’m staying? Wait, no. Ariel, right?”
“Yeah,” Emma smiles, and God, it feels like a hell of an accomplishment to get her to smile. “She went on and on about the great Killian Jones.”
“Ah, so you know who I am then?” He leans forward and waggles his brows, flashing his brightest smile.
“Yeah, a rich British tourist who is friends with my landlords.” Someone calls her name from across the restaurant, and Emma holds one finger up. “Your check will be with you soon. I’ll ask Marina to give you some other restaurant recommendations on your way out. You’ll get sick of this place soon enough.”
“I’m perfectly happy with it, Swan.”
She shrugs and walks away, and Killian chuckles to himself. He doesn’t understand this woman at all, but she intrigues him.
He knows that’s a dangerous game to play.
Killian gets the check, pays it, and before he can escape, Marina corners him to give him more recommendations. She ends up veering into bars and clubs on the island and the surrounding towns, asking him if he wants her to show him around, but he declines and takes the list of places. Maybe he’ll check them out, but the last thing he needs is to go to a club. A bar, maybe, but not a club. He’s learned that there’s a hell of a difference.
He’s also learned that he’s bored to tears in this place, and no amount of calls to Ariel and Elsa can solve that boredom. He finds himself googling pre-season training information, checking up on mates and rivals, and while that’s a bit of a slip-up, he does manage to still stay away from looking himself up. He never used to have the urge to google himself or to read any of the tabloids, but ever since his retirement, he’s been curious. Were people sad? Happy? Did he leave any kind of lasting impact? Or did they all just see him as the drunk, washed up old man with a dirtied past?
That is a path he absolutely cannot go down, and since he’s already run a half marathon today, he decides to shower and get dressed to go to one of the places Marina recommended. If his time alone doesn’t start to get less depressing, he thinks he’s going to have to fly back to London and bother Elsa and the girls until they kick him out. He’ll pay for the remaining time on the house, but he won’t be staying there.
While the sun sets, Killian drives down new roads on the island, going to different towns and neighborhoods to see what others are doing, before ending up at a bar near his house. Marina said it was a spot for locals with good food and a quiet energy, so he doubts Marina has ever stepped foot into it. Killian pushes open the old oak door, and the lights inside are dimmed, the music quiet. There’s a guy playing guitar in the corner hidden between two pillars, and Killian finds himself sitting at the opposite end of the bar on a stool that’s cushion squeaks when he sits down.
Charming.
“You eating, drinking, or both?” The bartender asks, wiping his hands off with a cloth.
“Eating. Have any recommendations?”
“You have an objection to seafood?” the old man asks.
“Not a one.”
“Good. I’ll fix you up with the daily catch.”
Killian nods as the man makes his way through a door behind the bar, and then Killian swivels on his stool, looking around the place. He doesn’t know about the food yet, but Marina was right. It definitely has a quiet energy to it. There are people in nearly every booth and at every table, but there’s a hushed tone except for a laugh in the booth nearest him. His eyes are drawn there, and to both his surprise and horror, he finds Emma Swan with her head tilted back with laughter.
Fuck.
She’s definitely going to think he’s stalking her, and as hungry and bored as he is, he’s still tempted to leave. So of course, that’s when Emma stops laughing and looks directly at him.
Bollocks. Utter bollocks.
She blinks and stares at him a little longer, her brows raising before falling, and then she turns back to whoever is sitting in the booth with her. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her arms moving, but he turns on the stool until he can see her no longer, wishing at the very least he had a water to nurse.
“Hiya. Come sit in our booth with us.”
Killian twists and looks at the brunette who’s now sitting next to him. “Pardon?”
She sticks out her hand, and he takes it, shaking it. “Ruby Lucas. You’re Killian Jones, the – ”
“There’s no need to – ”
“ – the guy who scared Emma half to death at her house in the middle of the night,” Ruby completes, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “And I must say, you are much more attractive than she described.”
“So she talked about me then?”
“In her own special Emma way.” Ruby tilts her head back toward their booth. “And in my own special Ruby way, I’m inviting you to eat dinner with us. It’s me, Emma, and this super wholesome woman named Mary Margaret who will take you home and bake you cookies while asking you about your childhood because she had a good one of those.”
Killian chuckles, cheeks still flushed from him thinking Ruby knew who he was earlier – he is a pompous, entitled ass obviously – and from being invited to their table. “I couldn’t intrude.”
“I insist that you do.”
He likes her, he decides. She’s stunning and funny with no filter, but she reminds him too much of a dirtier version of Anna. It’s a rather peculiar comparison, but it’s true. It’s also half the reason he agrees to switch tables, rising from his stool and walking toward the booth. The other half a reason is the blonde woman with her face pressed into her forearms against the table top.
She looks beyond thrilled for him to be joining them.
“Oh, Emma, you were right, he is handsome!”
Emma bangs her head into the table as who he presumes is Mary Margaret smiles at him from across the booth. Killian slides onto the seat and elbows Emma’s side before patting her shoulder. “It’s alright, darling. I told all my mates you were beautiful, so we’re even.”
“Go to hell.”
He laughs, grinning at her, and slowly, she peels herself off the table. “Just so you know, I’m only here because Marina recommended it.”
“Remind me to fire her in the morning.”
“So,” Mary Margaret interrupts, tucking her short hair behind her ear, “tell us about yourself, Killian. Where are you from? What do you do for work? How long are you planning on being here?”
“Good God, Marg,” Emma sighs, slumping down, “give the man some room to breathe.”
“What? I’m curious.”
“You’re nosy is what you are,” Emma corrects.
“Aren’t we all?” Killian shuffles in his seat, hoping they move on to another subject, but when Mary Margaret turns to him, he knows she isn’t one to forget. “So, how long are you staying?”
“I have the keys to the house I’m renting until the first of October, but I imagine I’ll leave sooner.”
“And why’s that?” she asks.
Killian shrugs as the man behind the bar drops off a glass of water at the table and tells Killian his food will be ready in ten minutes. “I’m afraid no matter how nice it is here, I don’t know many people. I miss the people I’m closest to. A man can only spend so much time alone.”
“Then why’d you book a house for so long?”
“I needed to get away.”
“Yeah, but – ”
“Marg,” Emma interrupts, placing her hand over her friend’s, “please. You don’t have to know everything about him. Not everyone wants to reveal their entire life to complete strangers.”
She’s right. He doesn’t. But for some inane reason, he doesn’t think he’d mind revealing most of his life to her.
He has obviously lost his damn mind.
But it’s nice to spend a night with other people, to be included in the conversation, and while Mary Margaret and Ruby are delightful, he finds Emma captures his attention, not that this surprises him.
What does surprise him, however, is how much friendlier she is in this environment. He knows it’s her friends and not him, and maybe the glass of wine she had with dinner, but it’s nice to see her laugh freely and blush when Ruby tells stories of Emma he cannot imagine knowing otherwise. He can’t imagine Emma ever scaling a building to break into an ex’s apartment to get her favorite sweater back, but then again, that seems exactly like something she would do if she wanted it badly enough.
He fancies her.
He has no business fancying her, none at all, but when he ends up driving all three women to their homes because Ruby and Mary Margaret had too much to drink and Emma can’t drive the stick shift in Ruby’s car, he accepts Emma’s invitation inside for a cup of coffee.
He also accepts her invitation upstairs into her bed.
To hell with the consequences and burning bridges. He’ll deal with those in the morning when he isn’t so enticed by the trail of freckles running down Emma’s bare stomach.
-/-
-/-
Tag list: @qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight
#I hope we never see october#cs fic#cs ff#cs fanfic#cs fanfiction#captain swan ff#captain swan fic#captain swan fanfic#captain swan fanfiction#captain swan
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
love fool (F.W)
A/N: my first request!! Anonymous. So for this person I am doing a ravenclaw reader X Fred Weasley. btw strawberry lipstick part 2 is almost done but I was so excited to get a request
Summery: when the twins ask you to test a love potion for them you reveal a little more than they thought possible.
Warnings: none (I mean unedited can be one)
Word count:1,506
You walked between Fred and George on your way to Herbology, everyone wondered how the shy ravenclaw got along with the two loudest and most popular Gryffondors in Hogwarts. But they made you laugh, they saw a side of you no one else got to, a playful teasing side that they brought out, they had since your first year at Hogwarts.
It also helped you are a bit infatuated with Fred Weasley, something you were sure no one knew about.
You were proven wrong on that, it started off innocent enough. It wasn’t uncommon for the boys to ask for help when it came to their products so when they sought you out you thought nothing of it.
You 're in the Library of course, in comfortable clothes writing down notes as you read the astronomy book. Hair in an ever present no nonsense ponytail, and an oversized sweater slipping off your shoulder. There was hardly anyone in the library; it was set to close within the hour. But you stayed happily working on your assignment for the next week.
Until you hear heavy footsteps and contagious laughter.
“Boys,” you greeted, not even looking up. They shared a glance before moving to either side of you.
“Y/N” George started from your left. “We have a itty bitty favor to ask of you.”
“As you know we were developing a decent love potion for our shop,” Fred put an arm around your shoulder causing you to put the book down as butterflies erupted in your stomach. “And we think we finally got it right. Would you mind helping us test it?”
“What’s in it for me?” you already knew you would agree, they had to work a little bit though.
“Our undivided attention.” they grinned at you. You pretended to think for a moment before sighing and saying yes. The boys cheered before fred threw you over his shoulder running to the gryffindor common room.
George was kind enough to get your things from the library before whispering the password to the fat lady.
Fred placed you down once you entered, you were rather unfazed they liked to pick you up and move you around since they grew over six feet. “You know I can walk stairs on my own Fred.” you huffed.
“But it's more fun my way,” he winked causing you to blush slightly. Thankfully he couldn’t tell in the glow from the fireplace.
“Sure it is,” you rolled your eyes. “I think walking like a normal person is fun, Fred.”
“You would, Y/N.” he threw an arm around you. Neither of you seemed to notice George's brief disappearance. “You seem to like boring things.”
“Is that why I hang out with you?” Fred looked appalled, George chuckled from the stairs. Both of you turned to the younger twin.
“Nice to know you two can get along,” He walked to you with a vile of pink potion in his left hand. “Like I said we haven quite perfected it, Angelina took a drop of the last batch and she still couldn’t tell us apart.”
You offered George a smile knowing he was quite taken with Johnson. “Well then let's see.”
“Alright Y/N, three drops and look this way,” Fred took the bottle from George pulling a dropper out. “Open up.”
“I can take my own potion,” you pouted as Fred rolled his eyes grabbing your chin to face him.
“You are way too stubborn, you know that?” you stuck out your tongue rather childishly, Fred took advantage of that and put one drop on your tongue. “Now open wide.”
Everything felt slightly hazy as you lazily opened your mouth and he put two more drops in. everything Fred filled your senses.
“Freddie?” you smiled at the boy in front of you. He nodded hesitantly. “I love you, did you know that?”
The boy let out airy laugh. “No, I can't say I did Y/N.”
“Don’t laugh at me, I do Freddie.” you leaned into his chest, “i think I’ve always loved you.”
Fred turned to George, “I guess it worked.”
“You want to get the antidote? I’ll wat-”
“No I want to stay with Freddie” you cuddled further into freds chest. George shrugged at Fred as he walked up the stairs to their dorm. “You know Freddie, I'm sure I've always loved you.”
“Really now and why is that?” He relaxed in your grip thinking he may as well enjoy the attention from you.
“I remember the first year I came to Hogwarts, you were telling the other first years you had to battle a dragon to get into the castle, I told you that was ridiculous it was actually the giant squid. I never saw a face light up so fast.” you sighed, taking your hair down, looking up at him, “i decided that day i wanted to see you smile everyday, I think I have seen you smile everyday.”
“Y/N,why haven’t you said anything then?” you saw a bit of confusion in his eyes.
You laughed, “right, Fred Weasley like the boring little Ravenclaw that stuck around. Freddie you need someone exciting and reckless. I need you, I really do. But do you need me?”
You nuzzle your nose into his chest, you felt his arms loosely wrap around you. “I don't think you get to choose what I need, love.”
“I like you calling me love,” in a moment of boldness, no doubt due to the love potion you moved up, lips only centimeters apart.
“I got the antidote,” George interrupted. He looked between you two before muttering, “sorry.” he handed you another potion. “Drink up.”
You did as told. Before your senses seemed to come back. You shot up from Fred’s arms face hot. “I should head back to my common room.”
You didn’t wait for a reply before sprinting out of gryffindor. You were in tears by the time you got to the ravenclaw entrance luckily Cho Chang was outside.
“Y/N, what happened,” the girl guided you to the dorm sitting with you on your bed.
“Those idiotic twins,” you sobbed into her shoulder. “They had me test a product and I said some things I can’t take back.”
“Y/N what kind of product?”
“A love potion,” your voice was small. You saw her face soffen.
“Oh, sweetheart, dont tell me thats how you told fre-”
“It was and now I can never talk to him again.”
You were pretty sure you couldn’t, spending the next week avoiding the twins even moved your usual spot across the library, Cho was wonderful not letting you be alone if you weren’t feeling like it.
It was one night when you were getting out of DA training that you caught Cho looking at Cedric’s photos.
“I want to speak with Harry, i you wai-”
“I can catch up with Luna, tell me everything later.” you waved at her.
you saw the twins asking harry a question as you left. You locked eyes with Fred.
* * *
Fred spent this last week feeling empty, those few moments in his common room replaying in his head. The way your hair messily draped over your shoulders, the red tint of your cheeks, the way you felt in his arms and mostly the shine in your eyes as you spoke to him.
He tried to find you but unlike usual you were always with someone, mostly Cho, he couldn’t get you alone. He even begged Hermionie to help him sneak into the ravenclaw common room with no luck.
He wanted to hold you to tell you he felt the same, to tell you about how George teased him mercilessly about you since third year. He wanted it to be better again maybe even to finally kiss you.
He locked eyes with you as you walked away from Cho chang, this might be his last chance before the winter holidays.
“George, I’ll catch up to you.” Fred didn't wait for an answer as he walked out into the hall to catch you by the hand.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” you locked eyes once more, you galring while he showed hurt.
“Want me to embarrass myself even more, Weasley?” he looked taken aback as you struggled out of his grip. “I said things Fred, things I meant and can never take back.”
“I don’t want you to embarrass yourself or take them back Y/N.” he pulled you into his arms. “You've never been boring to me, I don't want someone wild I want you. I just never thought you would want me.”
“You’re ridiculous how could I not,” you leaned up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, but he was quick moving to cup your cheek pressing his mouth to yours sweetly.
“Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Weasley, detention!” you groaned hearing the shrill voice of your defence against the dark arts teacher made you jump apart. She dragged Fred away, but it was kind of worth it.
#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley#fred weasley fanfiction#fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader#ravenclaw#ravenclaw reader#harry potter fan fiction#weasley twins#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x y/n
267 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄 .
PAIRINGS : tooru oikawa x fem!reader , platonic hajime iwaizumi x fem!reader
GENRE : angst , romance
WARNINGS : cursing , car accident , amnesia recovery
SYNOPSIS : tooru doesn’t understand how special you are to him until he comes close to losing you forever . as he struggles to comes to grips with his feelings and balance it with his future , you still have to recover from your own injuries , but without your memories to assist you .
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 < [ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ] > 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄
what is hajime’s deal ? what did oikawa do to him to get him so upset ?
word count : 1.3k
SAUDADE
( 𝐧 . ) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant , or that has been loved and then lost ; “ the love that remains ”
⠀you weren't an idiot. you know, damn well at that, you are far from an idiot. and you sure as hell hoped hajime didn't take you as one. you lost your memories, not your common sense.
⠀it was quite obvious that hajime had that oikawa boy pinned up against a wall, and not in the dreamy way fanfictions like to describe it as. no, there was definitely unwanted tension between the two; it was evident they didn't like each other. despised each other, even. whether you had known of this before or after your incident, you wouldn't have been able to remember something like that.
⠀you really, truly hoped hajime didn't underestimate your observation skills, or your common sense. any random passerby would've seen the anger blazing those olive hued irises of his as he glared down at your classmate. was it coincidence that it was oikawa of all people that you two happened to bump into after school? you wouldn't have known of the brunet's reasons to have stayed at seijoh; then again, it probably wasn't any of your business.
⠀you wanted to speak up and confront iwaizumi as you had turned the corner - he was fast, but not fast enough to back up from the other before you laid eyes on the two boys. if the atmosphere between the three of you alone wasn't suffocating, you might've. it wasn't like you were afraid of confronting him. he seemed like a reasonable person, open to communication.
⠀in truth, it was oikawa you were worried about.
⠀the poor guy turned pale, the color draining from his skin when you entered the scene. as to why he had such a pitiful reaction, you wouldn't be able to guess. from the looks of his typical poise and attitude during school hours, he certainly didn't seem like the weak, bashful type. and according to hajime, he too had played volleyball alongside him. however, the universe seemed to not want you to know of their current relationship status - every time you asked, distractions would get in the way of an answer. in this scenario, oikawa’s silent plea for an escape was what drove you to play the oblivious card. the relief that shone in both of their eyes as you turned around to walk away sent your stomach in nervous turmoil.
⠀come to think of it, you were pretty kept in the dark about all of this. you only knew as much as hajime was willing to tell. the idea of asking others wasn't appealing to you yet; hajime seemed to be quite content being the only individual answering all of your questions. and while you were more than grateful for his assistance and his company alike, there was always that voice in the back of your head trying to reach out to you, but you had no idea what it was trying to say. it was too blurry to be put into words.
⠀you waited in front of aoba johsai with your arms crossed loosely at your sides, waiting for iwa to take you home as he had been insisting to everyday this week. whether he wanted this to occur everyday or not, that’s what it seemed like to you. you didn’t mind, but you wanted to branch out and find out who your other friends were. you spoke to the volleyball team at lunch time, and you enjoyed their company tremendously. alas, it was the only time of day you were able to give them, as hajime was quick to escort you everywhere, practically glued to your hip.
⠀the thought of you two being in a relationship crossed your mind, more times than one. it would be a valid explanation for his behavior. he acted the way a boyfriend should - walking you to and from school, helping you with assignments and keeping you company after hours, even offering to carry your belongings when you can clearly do it yourself. you appreciated and acknowledged the chivalry, but when it became too out of hand, you were curious. if you two were an item before your accident, was there a reason he hadn't told you yet? you remembered quite clearly what happened that first day you woke up in a hospital bed, he made it clear that you and him were just friends - nothing more, nothing less - but his behavior has been convincing you otherwise.
⠀"hajime - " you were cut off by the way he gripped your wrist - firm, but nothing that could hurt you. you wouldn't have been able to pull away if you wanted to, though. his strength outmatched yours. your words caught in your throat, he was angry, very angry. the scowl painted on his face frightened you; you hadn't seen him act this way all week. was this oikawa's fault? what could he have done to make him this worked up?
⠀"hajime, please slow down. i can't keep up with you pulling me around like this." your voice was solid enough to knock him out of his frustration, he jolted a bit and loosened his hold on your wrist so you could pull back. his hands clenched into fists, but you could tell he had calmed down. not all the way, but he was sensible. you were on your guard. usually you could read him like a book - he was always open to you. now, there was no telling what he was going to say to you next.
⠀"y/n, i have a request for you." his voice was quiet, soft spoken - as if projecting any louder would let off a bomb. "of course, you're not obligated to, but i would really, really appreciate if you could do this one thing for me."
⠀"sure, it's the least i can do to repay the kindness you've showed me all week. i can handle a simple request." your body was tense, and so was his. however, the tension was created from two different reasons. "what do you need from me, hajime?"
⠀"stay away from oikawa."
⠀you blinked. "excuse me?"
⠀"as far away as you can, don't let him talk to you, don't let him step near you, nothing. you shouldn't be with someone like him." your eyes shot open wider as your feet abruptly ceased walking, your chest dropping to your stomach as he caught onto your reaction. you didn't need to open your mouth, he knew exactly what you wanted to say. "he doesn't look like it, but he's a bad person, y/n. you don't need him in your life, you're better off without that germ infecting it. he's done bad things - especially to you. i don't need to remind you, i'll just plague your thoughts with bad things. you don't need to hold that burden."
⠀the vendetta he held against oikawa sent goosebumps through your body, and it wasn't anything comfortable. now he's telling you that he knows something about you he never bothered to tell you about before? didn't you have a right to know? if oikawa hurt you, shouldn't it be your business so that you yourself can judge if you should stay away from him or not? his lack of logic was beginning to concern you, but the glare in his eyes stated clearly that he was taking no argument. and since he was the one with all of his memories, you really had no room to impose.
⠀"... yeah. got it. oikawa bad. very bad. do not engage." hearing your compliance flipped a switch, he smiled brightly and nodded.
⠀"i knew i could count on you, y/n. believe me, you're much better off this way. the things he's done, are completely unforgivable. if you had your memories, you'd agree with me."
⠀maybe, but you wanted to be the judge of that.
a / n : this stupid taglist almost made me cry i had to do it six times because tumblr kept glitching on me n my dumbass kept forgetting to save it BAHAHAHA
wow i’m being productive lmao. second post in one night WOOOOO who needs school 😼 n e ways bit of a self promo but my new smau, rumor has it, is finally out! would be grateful if u check it out 🥺👉🏼👈🏼
taglist : @ot127 @rena0921 @karlitabi-rrito @psychicpercyjacksonfan @crescentbitch @amelimiles @damnirina @pasta-warlord @blossomingbangtan @clinomanians @i-am-kinda-in-a-lot-of-fandoms @manq-fandoms @citruss @sugar-wara @haikoo @anime-simp @kairostatue @awkwardspontaneity @iwantapoptartqwq @aquariarose @softestdreamer @plantisnotplant @avylee @froppysgirl @that-animebitch @wisepandaslimeland @samanthaa-leanne @dumplingzumispam @0hakaashi @captain-janeway @afterglowkuroo @bellabelieveme @attixca @chickenrest @tycrackculture @ynjimenez @lissa-writes-and-does-matchups @lavieenblancetnoir @dabilove27 @cuddleslut @crypto-s @keigosbitch @readeretal @shittykawaa @donghyuckster @adriloen @ella-solei @emiyummy @kukiisan @catyuyuyuu @sillykittt @dolan-mendes @kiritokunuwu @the-third-wall @yammers @monviemoo @dicerawr @psychopath-satan
taglist closed , i’m so glad you’re enjoying the series! 🥺🤲🏼✨❤️
#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu scenarios#hq#haikyuu x reader#aoba johsai#haikyuu angst#haikyuu headcanons#hajime iwaizumi#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi hcs#iwaizumi fanfic#haikyuu iwaizumi#iwaizumi oneshot#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi headcanons#iwaizumi fluff#iwaizumi angst#tooru oikawa x reader#oikawa tooru#tooru oikawa#oikawa fic#oikawa tōru#haikyuu oikawa#oikawa x reader#oikawa angst#oikawa x y/n#oikawa x you#iwaizumi x y/n#iwaizumi x you
397 notes
·
View notes
Text
[week 4: selfie together]
1.7k, post-canon, non canon compliant.
Three days to impact (moving out with Cas and a bunch of hunter nerds settling into the bunker to set up the Network), and Dean was still elbow deep in messy drawers, sorting through his stuff in one of the research rooms. He couldn’t believe he had managed to hoard that much crap when he spent there not more than six months every year.
Sam had already taken care of most of it and thrown away a lot of junk when he had moved away with Eileen a year or so ago, so Dean had thought that he would be packed in less than a day with what was left. He was wrong.
He was tackling a bunch of phones and chargers all tangled up together, trying to figure out which ones were still working. Between him and Sam they had probably gone through a hundred or so phones, without counting the burners, their dad’s and those of other hunters, passed on after their deaths.
You had to keep them on, check the messages, write down the contacts – for a long time it was the only way to keep the network going and to make sure that no call for help would ever go unanswered.
Hopefully the Network, with Charlie fancy digital system and stolen tech from the Brits, would make things a lot easier. The bunker would become the hunter HQ that it was always meant to be. And Sam and Dean would still go there from time to time, but it would become more like a workplace than an actual home.
Magazines apparently said you had to keep them separated and all that. So, they were trying.
He wasn’t even halfway done when he found his old phone. It was not too ancient or anything and he used to like it just fine, but for Christmas Claire and the girls had gotten him a new one (“not for work!!” said the note attached to it) so he had just dumped it in here.
It had no SIM card, but there were some police contacts (useful) and the Candy Crush app (not useful). He went on to check the gallery and was surprised to find still some pictures in it.
He snorted, seeing one of the last taken – Sam, drunk on Christmas Day, a paper crown askew on his head, trying to focus enough to play Jenga with someone who was out of the shot. Dean didn’t remember who it was anymore. Sam had the most incredible face on.
Oh, there were pictures from when they went to visit Garth! He had taken them at Frontier Stables in Frederic and Dean and Gertie had possibly been equally excited about riding a horse. There were a bunch of pictures of that day, including one Garth had taken of him where he looked like an absolute dork.
Wow, they must have been at least a year or so older, he had totally forgotten about them. Now, he couldn’t just put the phone down and resume his work. He debated with himself (very briefly) if he could afford a break or not and then flopped down on the floor covered in cardboard boxes to look through the rest of the gallery.
Most of the pictures were cases related, articles and crime scenes, then a bunch of landscapes, an amazing looking burger from that joint in Texas.
There was one with Cas that he had taken one night. Dean’s face was on the foreground, on the left, and he was making a funny face, his index finger to his lips. The red couch was visible behind his shoulders and Cas was by his side, his face turned towards the television screen and lighted by it.
They had been cooped up in Dean’s cave for nearly four hours and all that time Sam was freaking out because he didn’t know where they were and he couldn’t find them. When Dean had checked his phone, he had found fourteen missed calls and a bunch of texts. He had sent him that picture back and written shh it's movie night.
Sam had come bursting through the door two seconds later and bitched at him for fifteen minutes for having his phone on silent and then stayed and watched Back to the Future III with them.
This was before he and Cas even got together – well, officially at least.
It felt like so long ago, back when they were all: fingers brushing, intense gazing, losing track of time when alone together. They were so clueless.
It had sorted itself out though. A couple of weeks after that, Dean had fallen asleep on Cas’ shoulder and Cas had spent the rest of the night holding him and he had done that every night since.
Dean smiled and scrolled down, back in time.
More photos on the road, book pages, his car against a pretty sunset. Then a group selfie that they sent to Jody for her birthday. Sam and Eileen were still living at the bunker then and Sam was holding the phone, on account of having three feet long arms. They were standing in the kitchen, Eileen right next to him, under his other arm and Dean next to Eileen.
Cas had appeared on the door as they were getting in position so Sam he had told him to hurry up, get in the frame and he had come to stand next to Dean, stiff like a statue. Sam had said, a little closer, so Dean had slung an arm around his neck and pulled him towards him.
Right when Sam had been about to snap it, Cas had grabbed Dean’s hand, that was dangling over his shoulder. So of course, in the picture Dean looked like a total idiot, with his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted in surprise. He had even stopped breathing a little and Cas next to him had the audacity to look totally oblivious. Dean zoomed in on his face and cackled at himself. God, and what was up with that haircut he had, did he even look at himself in the mirror.
He went on.
A few rows below there was another selfie. It was just him this time and it was terrible, the sunlight making the picture look all wrong, like there was a filter on it. It was a vertical shot that showed just about his face and shoulders.
It had been early in the morning, he was bleary-eyed and there was a little wrinkle in between his eyebrows because he had been in the car waiting for Sam to come back with their coffee for twenty minutes.
Cas had texted him out of the blue, Can you send me a picture of you? and Dean had snapped it and sent it without thinking and then he had written, what do you need it for and Cas had written back, I just miss you. Dean had almost dropped his phone, then put it away and not looked at it until late that night. Yeah, it hadn’t been one of his best moments.
Finally he had managed to pull out the conversation again. He had typed and deleted miss you too and same and same, man about a thousand times and then ended up writing your turn now.
He remembered that Cas had been quick to reply with an even worse shot than the one he had sent. Some blurry picture he had taken under a streetlight, his face wearing an intense expression, as if he needed to focus to tap once on a screen. Still, Dean had looked at it for an hour before he had gone to sleep. What a sap.
Thinking of that photo reminded him of another one. He wondered if? It took a while to find it, but it was there, almost at the end of the gallery, right after a picture of Jody in a ridiculous sun hat from when they all went to the beach for the weekend.
It was there. Their first selfie together. He snorted out loud.
He had been pacing in the map room, cursing at his phone that was stuck with the camera open. He was trying everything and it just wouldn’t close.
Cas had come look over his shoulder while Dean had been furiously tapping, and that was when the screen had frozen and flashed and the result of that was a picture of the two of them from the most unflattering angle, frowning down at the phone. Two half faces, Dean on the right, Cas on the left. Dean thought it was hilarious.
Cas had said, “I think you took a picture,” because he was a great help as usual and Dean had said, “Yeah, no shit Cas,” and eventually had to restart the phone to make it work again.
He couldn’t believe that had happened more than two years ago.
“I’m done with the inventory of the herbs. Are you done in here?” said Cas, poking his head in from the hallway. Dean very obviously wasn’t done, but he was still smiling, so Cas said, “What is it?” and came to crouch beside him to peer at his phone and the infamous selfie, “Why did we take this?”
Dean laughed, “We didn’t. My phone was acting up.”
"And you kept it?"
"Yeah, of course I kept it," Dean said, tilting his phone away, as if Cas would jump him to delete it.
Cas had other priorities. He kissed his temple.
"Okay," he said amused, then, "Do you need help? Charlie is coming over in an hour to set up the - cables."
There were no cables. Cas clearly didn’t know what he was talking about, but Dean had no idea of what Charlie was supposed to do either, so.
"No, just - wait, let's take a picture," he said, grabbing his sleeve before he could get up. Cas settled once again next to him and Dean opened the camera and held his phone up, then got his other arm around Cas’ shoulders.
The light was not great, like anywhere else in the bunker and they looked exhausted after a day's work but still, not a bad sight, if Dean could say so himself.
He focused on Cas on the screen, the little smile on his lips.
He grinned. He was gonna spend the rest of his life with that face, he thought. Jesus.
"Dean?" Cas called, after another moment of nothing.
"Alright, alright," he said and snapped the picture.
@bend-me-shape-me said #deancassummerprompts21 and I said YES
#deancassummerprompts21#deancas#deancas ficlet#fwf#as in finale? what finale?#i couldnt decide on what idea to focus on so i kept them all#incredibly on time for once#i just didn't want to edit it too much cause i like it????#yeah i know weird#it was fun#my writing
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
@aromantic-enjolras, @p-trichor
*awkward wave* hiiiiiiii:))))
okay so i know i said i would write this last week, but tbh, last week was a w e e k (fuckyouanxiety)
anyways, i have written down my headcanons for the werewolf au! it is a bit of a mess, and it probably doesn't make much sense but! i did it!:))
i honestly wasn't planning on writing this much tho, it kinda got away from me lol, but i would have written more tbh, if it wasn't already so long
(also now that i have written this i really want to draw this whole thing, somebody please s t o p m e)
(also if anyone wants to take this shitty au idea and actually write a fic, i would be absolutely delighted! and! i would love to do art for it!:))))
enjoy this mess i guess:))))
General:
This is a fantasy au, set in a slightly ambiguous time period (I'm thinking anywhere from the middle ages, to today, mixed together and thrown in a blender:)))
Werewolves and other monsters live side by side with humans, but often have to hide their identity for fear of discrimination and unjust prosecution
Les Amis de l'ABC Is an activist group, fighting against the discrimination of werewolves and other monsters
The group consists of both humans and non-humans
Grantaire:
He was born with lycanthropy, as the result of a curse placed upon his parents before he was born
His parents didn't want a wolf child, so they abandoned him in the woods as a newborn, where he was found by an old woman who took him in
The old woman had been raised by witches, and though not skilled in the art of magic herself, had quite the talent for medecine, and remedies, and was well equipped to take care of a young werewolf
And so, for most of his childhood, Grantaire and the old woman lived peacefully and happily in a small cottage in the woods
The old woman taught him to read and write, and gifted him with books on mythology, art, and magic, and on full moon nights, he would be allowed to roam the woods
When he was eight he met Enjolras for the first time
They never knew each other by name, they were just two children playing together in the woods, referring to each other as 'friend'
A year later Grantaire tells Enjolras about his lycanthropy, and the following week, Enjolras stops coming to the woods
Grantaire learned to keep his lycanthropy to himself after that
When he was seventeen, Grantaire left the safety of the small cottage behind, wanting to explore more of the world than the woods he had been raised in. He left the old woman with the promise that he would write home with tales of his adventures, and would visit whenever he was in the area.
A werewolf is not, as you might have heard, some kind of vicious, mindless beast. If you stay out of it's path and treat it with respect, it should pose no particular danger, to anyone but the fools stupid enough to threaten it.
Unfortunately most people do not know this fact, and Grantaire quickly learned to hide everything that about himself that tied him to the wolf.
He was nineteen, when the old woman he had lived with his whole childhood, sent him a letter telling him not to come visit anymore. A while later he found out that she had been arrested and executed for alleged crimes against the country. And he realized, that her letter had not been her rejecting him, but a warning, and that her only crime had been housing a werewolf.
Around the same time, he started drinking. He started sleeping around with anyone who would take him. And he fell into cynicism and depression
The boy who had been raised with love and care, and had gone out into the world, hopeful, and eager to create his own path, had now seen just how cruel the world could be to anyone it deemed a threat, or viewed as different. He was done fighting.
When he was twenty five he met Les Amis de l'ABC, and he fell in love. For the first time in six years, he felt hope again.
Enjolras:
Ejolras was born with a tail. No one knew exactly how or why, except maybe his parents, but to them the fact that their only child had a tail, was their greatest shame, and as far as they were concerned, it had to stay hidden at all times
In every other aspect, Enjolras was perfect. Having been born with beautiful golden locks, and radiant blue eyes, and being rather mild marrered, his parnents would recieve many compliments on their child's good looks and behaviour
Enjolras might have been a soft spoken child, but his favourite thing was playing outside in the woods, much to his parents frustration. Enjolras also did not like his parents very much
Enjolras' parents were very conservative, very outspoken against anything they didn't agree with, and most of all, not very good people. Not that anyone but Enjolras seemed to notice this, they were wealthy after all, and were respected members of the community.
When Enjolras was six, he met Grantaire and he made his first friend
Grantaire doesn't care that Enjolras has a tail. Grantaire doesn't care that Enjolras likes to play outside, and gets dirty sometimes. Grantaire doesn't care that he doesn't wear the dresses his mother buys him, or that he isn't really a girl.
Grantaire is weird, and he is Enjolras' favourite person
When Grantaire tells him that he is a werewolf, Enjolras knows his parents are wrong
He gets in a fight with them.the following week, and the next day his parents hire a surgeon to remove his tail, and he is shipped off to boarding school
Enjolras cries for weeks after that
At school he meets Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and they quickly become his most trusted friends
It's not until years later that he realizes that neither of them are completely human, and he accepts them fully , just as they have always accepted him
When he is thirteen, his two best friends are sent away, and for the first time in seven years he feels entirely alone
At sixteen he runs away from home, and from school, and from everything he has ever known.
The first of the amis he meets is Bahorel. They meet after he gets into a fight with three people twice his size, and Bahorel saves him. He proceeds to call Enjolras an idiot, and takes him under his wing.
Bahorel is seven years older than him, and a werewolf, and he introduces him to Feuilly and Jehan (a human and a wood nymph)
He meets Joly and Bossuet next
Joly is dabbling in witchcraft next to his medical studies, an Bossuet is his boyfriend who has been cursed from an early age with bad luck
Enjolras takes to his new friends instantly and together they form Les Amis de l'ABC
Enjolras is twenty and he is the leader of an activist group fighting for the rights of every creature and human alike
Two years later Combeferre and Courfeyrac finds him again
They find him by accident, having heard of the group and decided to attend a meeting. The moment Enjolras sees them, his eyes light up, and he embraces them both in a crushing hug. The rest of the group warms up to them immediately
A year later Grantaire joins them, and Enjolras doesn't recognize him
#long post#sorry! i don't know how to do that line break thing so you don't get the whole thing on your dash:((#les mis#les miserables#les amis#les amis de l'abc#enjolras#grantaire#enjoltaire#exr#combeferre#courfeyrac#bahorel#feuilly#jehan#joly#bossuet#werewolf au#monster au#werewolf#tw death mention#headcanons#au
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pairing: Chan x Reader
Genre: Angst/fluff/smut
Word count: 2153
Warnings: 18+ smut & cursing & fainting
Authors note: shit goes down in this chapter so eeeeeekkkk
You’re too hard to forget.
It’s been one week without any dreams. I have moments where my eyes are closed and I see flashes of images that look like various hospital rooms. But none of them have Chan. I told Jasey what had happened, I think. Honestly my body felt numb and my head was ringing so I don’t know what exactly I said, but I said enough that she would leave me alone, because I don’t want to think about it.
Unfortunately, it’s all I can think about.
It’s Monday morning again. I walk into school and plaster a smile on my face, knowing that I can take off in just six hours. I can do that, right? Yes, I think. I walk over to Jasey as usual, but stop when I see a familiar face. It’s the boy who I saw outside the coffee shop a couple weeks ago. He seems to recognize me too, because he stares at me with wide eyes. “Uhhh,” I say when I look at him, and thankfully Jasey doesn’t seem to notice and interrupts me. “Y/n! You’re here! This is Minho,” she says, and I can see the blush spread across her cheeks. This is her secret. And apparently, mine too. “I’m Y/n,” I say to him, though I’m looking at my shoes. He hesitates, but introduces himself in a similar way. I silently thank him for not saying anything like, ‘I know you’, or, ‘wait you’re the weirdo who’s friends with my girlfriend?’ We shake hands. He smiles. I smile. And then I turn on my heels, because suddenly I feel dizzy and I’m having flashbacks and if I don’t run, my feet might stay grounded forever, in a state of confusion and shock. “Y/n!” Jasey yells after me, but I keep walking, because I don’t know what else to say. I hear a few whispers behind me, and then I feel a hand gently pulling my arm, stopping my escape plan. I don’t want to turn around in fear of explaining myself to Jasey, but this is worse. The person with a grip on my arm is Minho. I see Jasey on the other side of the courtyard, and she knows something because she’s staying put. Does she know what I told him? Does he even know the depth of what I told him? Right now I don’t care. Because no matter what I told them or told myself, the dreams are gone.
Minho lets go of my arm, but I know he wants to know what’s going on. I speak first. “Sorry, I’m running late and I have English and I’m happy for you and Jasey so anyways I’m gonna get going…” I said. “Y/n, yeah?” he says. I nod, and turn away but he reaches for my arm again. “Wait, I want to talk to you for a minute!” he nods over to a bench, inviting me to sit down. But before I can think, my head is spinning and Minho is there and Jasey is rushing over and there I am. I’m shaking, for reasons I don’t know, and there are so many voices yelling at me from reality as well as from my very own mind. My head hits the concrete, and I pass out.
“I’m okay love.” Chan is in a hospital bed. His hair lies flat, and his skin pale. But he still looks like Chan. My Chan. His eyes shine looking up at me, and his lips form into a smile. I hug him. “Why haven’t I been able to see you?” I ask. It’s been days of waiting, hoping, and wondering if he was okay. They wouldn’t let me in, but I knew I could’ve if he wanted me to. “Why didn’t you let me see you?” I asked as my eyes filled with familiar tears. “Because even though I was hurt, I knew that if you saw me it would hurt you too. And seeing you hurt causes me more pain than anything physical ever could.” I thought about his words, but only for a moment. Because the next thing I know, I’m consumed in a kiss that made my heart stop. I missed him. But he’s okay. It’s us against the world, and I knew nothing would change that. We were back. Chan was going to be okay, and so was I.
I woke up in the nurse’s office. I’ve only been here a few times, usually when I faked a cough to get out of class or when I get migraines. This time though it felt like I was in the middle of some depressing party, held just for me. To my right, Jasey and Minho are standing over me, talking in worried tones. About what, I don’t know. To my left, I see my mom, and that’s when I think this is serious. Then again, She was probably just obligated to be called because of the school phone call I’m sure she received. As if I had pushed some sort of button, the all look at me at the exact same time. Well, I think. This is awkward. Mrs. Amy, our school nurse, is the first to speak. “Y/n, can you hear me? You hit your head pretty hard. Do you want some water?” I shake my head. I don’t want water. I want to go back to bed. Because even though my head is actually pounding, and I’m still a bit nauseous, none of it matters right now. Chan is back. Why now? I look at Minho. He looks at me. When I shook his hand, something felt so familiar. Like he was connected somehow, but no matter. “Thank you.” I say, and I’m smiling like an idiot. He looks at me confused, but I get up and I walk out of the crowded office. And I’m running, because I have so much to do but I have only one place to go right now. I’m going to the coffee shop, and I’m not going to be scared to go in this time. It could be the beginning of the rest of my life if I would just take the extra three steps.
Minho’s P.O.V.
“Minho, I’m so confused right now,” Jasey says to me. “We literally just watched Y/n pass out hard, and then run away like she got a shot of adrenaline.” It was about 9 a.m.now, so I was very late to school. I decided to just skip today in general. This was far more interesting than world history. “I don’t know, Jae. I don’t even know her,” I say. Y/n and I hadn’t even really met that day at the coffee shop. Is this about what she said to me then? I barely remember. I just remember trying to comfort someone who looked a bit shaken up. I never thought she might be broken completely. Maybe this has something to do with that Chan kid? Maybe a breakup, who knows. I love Jasey, but do I have to deal with her friend now? It’s bad enough that Chris is already going through some breakup with a girl he won’t tell me about, and he’s slept at my house every night this week. We play music and he reads and I like that he makes me pizza (that boy can fucking cook, even if it’s just simple things), but I don’t know Y/n. I can’t handle this too. “You should talk to her,” I say to Jasey. “She’s just going through something right now,” she says back, and looks down at her shoes. I think. And then I have a stupid brilliant idea, that could help both me and Jae. We were both so caught up with our friends that we never got much time together. “You know,” I say. “If she’s going through a breakup, I may have an idea. Or even not a breakup, but just rough shit. I know it’s hard and stuff, but I think she should talk to one of my friends. Actually, I think they’d get along really well. They could keep each other company.” I mean, Chris and Y/n. I think they’d be cute. “Calum, that’s never going to happen. I’m sorry baby, but Y/n is taken. I mean, sorta.” She’s laughing, like what I said, it was the dumbest idea in the world. Ouch. “She’ll be okay. I’ll talk to her later,” she says. Oh well. Was worth a shot, if not for Y/n, for Chris at least. I apply her last words to him as well. He’ll be okay. Everything will be fine.
Y/n’s P.O.V.
I’m scared again. Five minutes ago, I told myself to take a deep breath and just walk in. That was after the twenty minutes of standing there, pretending to be on my phone and thinking. I did this so nobody would ask me what’s wrong, like Minho did. Big mistake. But now I’m here and I’m scared. Thinking about Chan always made me feel dizzy because I didn't know what was real and what was a dream. It felt like it had all just become one big blur, dragging myself to and from school, skipping my way to meet Chan and trudging my way to meet Jasey at her place. She knew about the shop, and she knew that I’d never gone in, even though I was there so often. After running out of school this afternoon, she deserved a call from me, at the least. So I called her and went over to her place, and here we are back at the same downtown corner with the smell of coffee and muffins drifting through the air. I was smiling like an idiot, and had told Jasey why I was so adamant about getting out of school. I left out the part about Minho. To me he was just another human on this earth who happened to be dating my best friend, but he had a weird effect on me. I definitely didn’t tell Jasey. She didn’t ask. “Are you ready? Let’s just grab something to go, I’m really thirsty anyways.” I knew I couldn’t stand there like an idiot for any longer. I almost lost Chan once, the worst had already happened. I knew I was ready for anything. I took one last deep breath before bracing myself, and I took my first steps into the nostalgic feeling cafe.
I took in this new feeling, both the physical and mental aspects of it. It was exactly the kind of place that I dreamed of spending hours in, reading books and writing poetry. It had dim lights and a few couches, and wooden tables were scattered around the room. It’s exactly what I knew it would be, aside from a few changes here and there, but I couldn’t help but take it all in with wide eyes. Jasey had left to go order a drink for her and myself, and I went to the table that faces the window, like I had known myself to do many times before, yet never before while conscious. This was a feeling that I was starting to like very fast. At first I couldn’t remember why I was even here, but that was only for a moment. I looked around me, but I saw no sign of a dark haired boy with the eyes that I drowned in every night. There was barely anyone here, actually. I still saw my best friends backside at the counter, waiting for our drinks and striking up a conversation with the barista. A few seats over was a boy who caught my eye.
He had bright blonde hair that was down across his forehead. His shirt was tattered, but in a fashionable way, which he wore with black skinny jeans and dirty black converse. His eyes were piercing right into mine, a dark brown that I wish didn’t scare me as much as they did. I looked down at my hands to see them shaking the smallest bit. There was something about his presence that made me uncomfortable, but at the same time like I belonged even more. He looked out of place, but acted like it didn’t matter. Just like me. I looked up again, surprised to see that he was still staring at me with an unknown emotion in his eyes. He looked confused, almost. He stood up, and I unconsciously held my breath, not knowing why he was walking over to my table. The door was behind me, but he wasn’t looking at the door. He was looking right at me, almost as if he was looking through me. He stood 2 feet from me now at a dead stop. I studied his face, while I’m sure mine had “shock” written all over it.
“Allie?”
#bangchan fluff#bang chan fluff#bang chan#bang chan smut#skz chan#skz smut#skz x reader#skz x y/n#skz bang chan
54 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
dokidobe
yellow.dr.monv
cconfusedkat
💤🐈⬛ Syd Sarg 🐈⬛💤
kakt-raw
شركة تنظيف قصور بالكويت
rixpt
X Making Innovations
takeru822
THE DAZAI