#Antique Ebony Flooring

[dearharriet]

Sunday; James Potter 📺

summary: you spend a lazy sunday evening with your boyfriend, james.

word count: 1.5K

warnings: beefy!james, fem!r, established relationship, lots and lots of fluff, mentions of eating

note: BEEFY JAMES 🩷🩷 a second part (or prequel?) to this fic is up now <3

The telly hums gently beside the trickling rain outside, lulling you into a swath of late-afternoon drowsiness. The cooking competition that once effortlessly held your attention is now fuzzy at the edges, the challenges blurring together into a mess of commentary. Beneath you, the sofa seems to swallow you further and further into its enticing comfort.

Distantly, you register the sound of the lock clicking in the front door, and then the push of it falling inward. Your eyes close heavily and startle open again and again, an endless fight against sleep that you’re probably losing.

Thankfully, your boyfriend traipses into the room at that very moment, giving you a reason to turn your head and shake some of the sleep from your person.

He’d popped to the gym while you vegged on the couch, and by the looks of it he’d chanced a trail run. His ebony hair sits in slick curls, dampened with rain. The old shirt he’d thrown on is tacky over his chest and shoulders, likely absorbed with an assortment of rain and sweat. It shouldn’t make him as handsome as it does.

As he tosses his gym bag to the floor, you push yourself up the sofa cushions feebly.

“How’s my gym rat?” you ask sweetly, with a tang of teasing at the corners of your mouth. James is all smiles, leaning into the silly nickname you like so much.

“Hiya, lovey,” he sighs in response, finally settling from his long trek home. He’ll run off to shower in a moment, but for now he moves to lean over the sofa back, aiming to get a good look at you. “Miss me?”

“Mm.” James kisses you once, twice, then leans just far enough away so he can see you. “Terribly.”

“Mm,” he mimics your hum as he leans in for a third kiss, and then two more to your chin. “Same for me. Couldn’t stop thinking of my lovely girlfriend, all warm and dry and falling asleep to the telly.”

“I was not falling asleep,” you insist, even as your eyes droop faintly, dry from so much screen-time.

James lets you have this, though he smiles soft and knowing as he kneads his calloused fingers into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You sit silently like that for minutes, your forehead meeting his lips in a moment of lucky structure.

“D’you need to shower?” you eventually broach.

“Hmph,” James sighs, “yea.”

Bringing a gentle hand up, he encourages your head back, displacing it to the couch once more. As if you couldn’t possibly do that yourself. It’s a simple thing, an unnecessary thing, but one that James happily does without hesitation.

“Don’t move an inch, love. Back in a tick.”

James disappears, and defying his words—though you know he was exaggerating—you shuffle to spread yourself fully over the sofa.

The shower starts, and the chefs on the screen are up for elimination. You pay hazy attention to who wins, distracted by the muffled water lapping into the tub in the bathroom, and the rain still coming down outside.

Before you know it, you’re slipping under the blanket of sleep, your mind taking each evening apartment noise for its strange sofa dreams.

+

When you wake later, it’s significantly darker outside, and the apartment is fragrant with dinner-smells. The television is playing an antique auction show quietly. You haul up and off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen where James is working.

“Hello, boyfriend,” you greet sluggishly, still wiping sleep from your eyes. A faint headache lingers that only a sofa-nap causes, so you sally up to the cabinet to start a glass of water.

James, presiding over a simmering pan of mystery sauce, preens over his shoulder at you.

“Lovely girlfriend,” he returns. “How was your nap?”

Unsure of your answer, you hum noncommittally. James glances down at you in amusement as you settle against the counter beside the stove, facing him.

“Weird dreams,” you say as a means of explanation.

“Oh, yea?” James sets his ladle down carefully and crosses his arms. You watch his arms tense against his short black sleeves, and then trace his jaw up to watch his damp hair fall over his forehead. You nod distractedly to his question.

James borrows your water glass for a quick swallow, and you pretend to be inconvenienced. You’re sure he only takes it because it’s yours and he’s been compelled to share everything with you since you started dating—maybe even before that.

Handing the glass back and retrieving his utensil, he asks, “Was I in any?”

The answer is typically yes, and today is no different.

“Mm, I think so, yea.” You squint at the ceiling, dredging your warped dreams back to the front of your mind. “We were trying to swim but we had to get a turtle back to its owner first, and then I think the owner was Bobby Flay.”

You’re laughing at the absurdity as you recall the story, and James sends you amused little glances as he stirs.

“We’re lovely for doing as much. Did we get to swim for our troubles?”

“Nope,” you say disappointedly, “the dream changed to something else after that. I don’t remember what.”

James forces a frown that you think is meant to be lighthearted.

“Rubbish,” he curses. “Day ruined.”

Despite his dramatics, James’ free hand snakes over your torso, slipping under your thick sweater to soothe the skin of your hip. You smile contentedly, headache already ebbing away from the water and his hands and the promise of dinner very soon.

“Was your shower very pleasant?”

“So pleasant,” James agrees immediately, and you can imagine the simple pleasure of hot water on rain-wet hair. It makes you run your palm up his bicep, soaking in his warm skin, his clean clothes.

“Mm. I’m glad.”

A moment later, James steps away to fish a spoon from the silverware drawer. Returning, he dips it into his stew and offers it to your mouth.

“Taste,” he says, but you’re already closing your lips around it. You’d thought it was some kind of pasta sauce, but it’s significantly more rich and spicy than expected. It’s good.

“Curry?” you guess. James nods happily. “I like.”

Giving it his own taste-test, James seems to be happy with the flavor, too. A few more stirs for good measure and then he’s flipping the burner off and thwacking the spoon over the pan to rid any excess.

He moves around like a trained professional, removing the pan from the heat and wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. Competence is always sexy, but James has a way of amping it up further, twisting the metaphorical knife of affection you’ve taken for him.

There’s no arrogance in what he does, despite how good he is at it. He’d brag for days on end about his prowess in the gym, or on the field, but there’s a dexterity he has at home, too, that he doesn’t seem interested in flaunting. It’s the happiest you see him, when he’s practicing this genius of domesticity, and it makes your chest ache.

“Thank you, Jamie,” you muster sweetly, as he ferries your bowl and his to the living room. You reclaim your place on the sofa, and James settles in beside you.

You eat in a fuzzy silence, not really paying attention to anything in particular, just enjoying the food and the company.

“Good?” James ensures, glancing at you. You hum around a bite, enthusiastic. “Not too hot, you’re sure?”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him, calf pressing against his. “I was so hungry.”

“I bet,” he agrees.

Lapsing back into silence, you both pay haphazard attention to the TV once more. When your bowl is empty, you place it beside James’ and ease back into his waiting arms thoughtlessly. It’s like pinging from one good thing to the next—out of the meadow and into the clouds. You sigh.

“I love Sundays.”

James hums his agreement, the sensation shivering up your back. He follows with a press of his mouth, just over your temple.

“Love you, dear.”

The nickname makes your lips lift. James only calls you dear every so often, when he’s feeling truly, undeniably sappy.

You tilt your head up to catch his eye, watching his expression soften the same way yours does. Twisting in his hold, you press a kiss to his strong chin, his aquiline nose—reach up to fix his glasses, just because he’ll let you.

James strokes your back like a harp, and your humming is the music. You know you’ll go to work tomorrow, and you’ll miss him all day, but for now time feels doused in molasses. The apartment—James and you included—is swimming in the thick, sweet flood of your idle words and touches, as it will be tomorrow night, as it was the night before. It’s enough to make the long weeks worthwhile.

“Love you, too, Jamie,” you say, and then it’s him lulling you to sleep instead of the cooking channel.

+

thank you for reading! 🏹

masterlist

[mrs-fatu]

Blossom in Summer

Chapter 1: Why me?

Paring: jey uso x Jasmine (fem!reader)

Warnings: Language, anger, confusion

WC: 2,824

Summary: Jasmine wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom with no memory of last night. Who is this man? And why did he pick her?

As I slowly opened my eyes, the morning sun cast a warm glow across the lavish bedroom, bathing me in a soft, golden light. The silk curtains, adorned with intricate patterns, seemed to dance in the gentle breeze, and the sweet scent of dior Sauvage wafted through the air, filling my senses. But as I sat up, my head began to pound, and I was hit with a wave of confusion. Where was I? This wasn't my bedroom. The silk sheets tangled around my bare legs felt luxurious, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was a stranger in this unfamiliar surrounding.

I forced my eyes open again, taking in the room around me with a sense of disorientation. The walls were a deep, rich blue, accentuated by traditional lavalavas hanging in beautifully crafted frames. To my left stood an antique black armoire, its intricate carvings telling a story of elegance and sophistication. The plush blue rug beneath the massive four-poster bed seemed to have been imported from a far-off land, and I felt like I was sleeping on a cloud.

As I sat up, holding my throbbing head in my hands, memories of the previous night began to trickle back. The fancy cocktail bar with my friends, doing shot after shot of tequila until the night blurred into a haze. Stumbling into a swanky hotel suite afterward, though I couldn't remember exactly how I'd gotten there. Who did this room belong to? And where had they gone? The questions swirled in my mind like a whirlpool, pulling me under.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up on shaky feet, clutching the bedpost for support. My head felt like it was going to split open, and I needed to figure out what happened and get out of here. As I looked down at myself, I saw that I was still wearing the silky black dress from last night, now wrinkled and creased. It was then that I noticed something heavy on my left wrist - a tennis bracelet so bright it almost blinded me. What was it doing there?

Just as I was trying to make sense of the strange circumstances, the door on the side of the room swung open, and a tall figure emerged. He stood at 6'2", his chiseled physique on full display as he walked towards me. His ebony shorts clung to his toned thighs and waist, accentuating his inked legs and tribal tattoos that glistened against his damp skin.

His hair was styled in a seductive mullet, and his lips sported a perfect shade of color, revealing his dazzling grillz as he parted them. It was like he had stepped out of a steamy romance novel, and I felt like I was staring at a character come to life.

"Morning," he spoke, his deep voice low and husky.

I stood there in shock, unable to form words. He walked around me, opening a drawer from his dresser to pull out his clothes. My eyes followed him, mesmerized by the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

"I'm sorry, who...?" I stuttered before I could finish.

But before I could even get the words out, my stomach began to churn and I felt like I was going to vomit. I stumbled backward, but it was too late. The morning sickness washed over me, and I threw up right on the floor.

He darted towards me, concern etched on his face. "Shit, you good?" he asked as he brushed away a dangling curl from my face.

"I'm sorry...I'm..." I spoke, feeling tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

But before I could finish speaking, he ushered me towards his bed and sat me down on the edge. "Sit down," he said softly.

As he left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and emotions, I felt like my world was spinning out of control.

I just wanted to go home, to crawl back into my own bed and forget the reckless night I had just endured. But instead, I found myself in a luxurious bedroom, surrounded by the opulent trappings of a life that was not my own. A diamond tennis bracelet glinted on my wrist, a constant reminder of my foolishness. How could I have been so irresponsible, drinking so much that I ended up in this strange and unfamiliar place?

As I sat on the bed, trying to gather my thoughts, my phone began to ring. I picked it up from the nightstand, hoping for some semblance of normalcy in this chaotic situation. "Hello?" I spoke, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Girl, where the hell are you?" asked my best friend Natasha, her voice laced with concern.

"I...I don't even know," I replied, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm with a man, and...and I threw up on his carpet, so..."

Natasha's laughter came through the phone, followed by a gasp. "Wait, is he sexy?" she asked, her tone playful.

"Um, well...he looks like he's from some kind of Pacific Island or something," I replied. "He has all these tribal tattoos and lavalavas on his wall."

Natasha's squeal of excitement was music to my ears. "Don't stop there, bitch! Tell me more! How does he look?"

I took a deep breath before launching into a detailed description of the mans handsome features. "Well, he has a short-cut mullet, and he's kinda muscular. His thighs are thick...and he has bottom grillz...and his voice is low and smooth."

Natasha's reaction was immediate. "Oh my god, Jas! You're in trouble!"

I glanced up to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "Shit, I gotta go," I said hastily. "he's back."

"Okay, girl, let me know if you need me to pick you up," Natasha said, her voice dripping with concern. "I love you, be safe Jaz."

The line went dead as Natasha hung up, leaving me alone with him once more. I felt a sense of trepidation wash over me as he walked towards me, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

-

As I stood up from the bed, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. He had just finished cleaning up the spot where I had vomited, and now his eyes were locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I met his gaze, my mind still foggy from the previous night's excesses.

"I'm really sorry...I need to leave," I said, trying to sound apologetic as I began to step into my shoes.

His eyes darted as he stood up, his expression unreadable. "You just gonna forget about last night?" he asked, his tone laced with accusation.

I hesitated, searching for the right words to say. The truth was, I didn't remember what happened last night. It was all a blur of music, laughter, and tequila shots. But I knew that I couldn't keep it up forever, not when I had no idea what had happened or who this man was.

"I don't..." I paused, feeling a sense of embarrassment wash over me.

The man let out a huff, his expression turning annoyed. "Damn, you don't even remember," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"I am very sorry," I said, trying to apologize once again. "And...the bracelet. You can have it back, I'm sorry."

I started to unhook the bracelet, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I handed it back to him. But instead of taking it from me, he spoke up again.

"Just keep the bracelet, Jaz. I don't want it back. If you want to leave then go, the door is over there," he said, his tone hostile.

I was taken aback by his words. "I'm sure you spent hella on it," I said, trying to reason with him. "I don't want to..."

But he cut me off again. "Bruh, keep it, Jaz. I gave it to you for a reason."

His words were laced with aggression, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized that he was genuinely upset with me. But why? What had happened last night?

As I stood there, feeling a sense of unease wash over me once again, he spoke up again.

"And I bet you don't even remember my name huh?" he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

I lightly shook my head, feeling a sense of shame wash over me. How could I have forgotten someone's name?

He sucked his teeth in disgust before speaking up again. "It's Joshua, Jey Uso," he said agitatedly. The name sounded slightly familiar but not quite.

With that, I grabbed my purse and made my way towards the door. As I left the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. I had no idea what had happened last night or who Jey was or why he was so upset with me. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there before things got any worse.

-

I stood on the sidewalk of the penthouse, my head still throbbing with a dull ache. The morning sunlight was harsh, and I winced as I squinted up at the towering skyscrapers. I pulled out my phone and dialed the familiar number, hoping that my friend Tiffany would be able to come and rescue me from this situation.

As I waited for her to answer, I took a deep breath and tried to clear the fog from my mind. What had happened last night? Who was Jey Uso, and why did he seem so angry with me? And why, for that matter, had he let me keep the diamond tennis bracelet? It didn't make any sense.

The phone rang again, and Tiffany's cheerful voice answered. "Hey, what's up?"

I took a deep breath before speaking. "Hey, can you come get me? I'll send you the address."

Tiffany's voice turned serious. "Yeah, I'll see you soon. Be careful."

The line went dead, and I was left standing alone on the sidewalk, feeling like I was in a fog. Who was Jey Uso, and why had I ended up in his penthouse apartment? What had happened last night, and why did I have such a pounding headache?

-

As I stood there, trying to make sense of it all, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car approaching approaching. It was Tiffany, looking stylish and put-together as always in her benz.

"Hey, girl, get in" she said, concern etched on her face. i stepped into her car and took a deep breath, "What happened?"

I shook my head, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I handed her the keys. "I don't know," I said. "I don't remember anything from last night."

Tiffany's eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "I don't know who Jey Uso is or what happened. But I need some coffee and some crackers. Like, right now."

i rubbed my temples in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing headache, my friend Tiffany's eyes lit up like a bright light bulb. "JEY USO?" she yelled in question, her voice piercing the morning air.

I winced, feeling a wave of pain wash over me. "Goddamn girl, my head," I groaned, trying to hold onto my sanity.

Tiffany's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I'm sorry, but you said his name is Jey Uso, right?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

I nodded my head, feeling a sense of resignation wash over me. "Yeah, why? Then he let me keep this bracelet," I said, holding up my wrist to show her the diamond tennis bracelet.

Tiffany's reaction was immediate. She squealed like a little child, her eyes wide with excitement. "YOU STAYED WITH JEY USO AND HE GAVE YOU A TENNIS BRACELET?" she repeated, her voice rising to a near-shriek.

I palmed my face, feeling a sense of embarrassment wash over me. "My head. Please stop screaming," I begged.

Tiffany's laughter died down, and she looked at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Oh, girl, I'm sorry. Jey Uso is the WWE wrestler, and he's fine as hell!" she exclaimed.

I gave her a skeptical look, feeling a sense of unease. "What? Come on, you can't tell me he's not sexy. He's main event Jey Uso. And God, the way he flicks his tongue... We have to go to the supershow tonight, you gotta see him in the ring," she said.

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a sense of trepidation. "I mean, he's okay, but he was kinda rude. If going to the show will make you happy then sure. But I really need some fucking coffee," I said.

Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Fine, we'll get you coffee and then get ready for the show," she said before driving off into the morning traffic.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion. Who was Jey Uso, and why did he seem so angry with me? And what had happened last night? The questions swirled in my mind like a whirlpool, refusing to be silenced.

But for now, all I could think about was getting home and getting some coffee into my system. Maybe then things would start to make sense again.

—

I knew that having a hangover wasn't the best, but coffee always seemed to come in handy.

I reached for my trusty brush and gel, and began to work my hair into a sleek, curly ponytail. The hard bristles of the brush glided effortlessly through my locks, leaving them smooth and tamed. I then moved on to my eyebrows, using a precision brow pencil to reshape them into a thin, arching shape that I preferred. The gentle strokes of the pencil seemed to calm my frazzled nerves, and I felt a sense of clarity wash over me.

With my brows in order, I turned my attention to my makeup. I carefully applied a light foundation to even out my complexion, followed by a subtle blush to give my cheeks a healthy glow. A swipe of mascara added depth and drama to my lashes, and a swipe of lip balm left my lips feeling soft and hydrated.

As I finished up my makeup routine, I stood up and surveyed my reflection. I was pleased with the results - my hair looked luscious and bouncy, and my makeup was understated yet effective. I then gathered my clothes, selecting a nice outfit that would see me through the day.

As I dressed, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the simple pleasures in life - a hot shower, a good cup of coffee, and a fresh start. The night moonlight streaming through the window seemed to hold promise, and I felt a sense of renewed energy coursing through my veins.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror, smoothing out any wrinkles or creases in my outfit. Satisfied with the result, I headed out into the night, ready to face whatever happens.

-

As I emerged from the hotel, I was greeted by the warm night and the sound of Tiffany's horn blaring in the distance. I rushed towards the car, my mind still foggy from the lingering effects of the night before. As I slipped into the passenger seat, Tiffany flashed me a bright smile. "You look good, girl!" she exclaimed.

I smiled back, feeling a sense of gratitude for her kind words. "Thanks, you look good too," I replied, taking in her stylish outfit.

As we hit the road, Tiffany began to drive, her eyes fixed on the windshield. "Okay, so remember, we're going to see Jey tonight. I got us front row tickets, so at least cheer when he comes out, because I definitely will," she said, her voice filled with excitement.

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a sense of confusion wash over me. What was up with this man? Why did women like Tiffany drool over him so much? I mean, I got it - he was hot as hell - but I didn't understand all the hype. The traffic lights seemed to be flashing in sync with the diamond bracelet on my wrist, and all I could think about was why me? What had happened? Would it all come back to me?

As we navigated through the crowded streets of Las Vegas, my mind began to wander back to the night before. The anger in Jey's eyes as I told him I didn't remember anything was still etched in my memory. It was enough to keep me away from him, to make me realize that I didn't need another angry man in my life. Not again.

After dealing with Aaron, I had promised myself that I wouldn't dare let another angry man into my life again. And now, as I sat in the car with Tiffany, I knew that I had to keep my distance from Jey Uso. Maybe after the show, I could find him and give him the bracelet back - never look back. It would be for my own good.

As we pulled up to the venue, I took a deep breath and let my thoughts settle. I had five days left in Vegas, and I was determined to make the most of it. No more worrying about waking up in a random man's bed. No more drama or stress. Just me, myself, and a fresh start.

[blu-ish]

🌆▪️Silent Nights▪️

Summary: Someone is sending Shadow mysterious gifts?! [erroneous gift's at that..] leading up to Amy's annual New Year's extravaganza party. Will he be able to figure out who this mysterious pitiful present giver is, before Team Dark sets off on their year lasting G.U.N mission? H-Hey don't ask me, read for yourself! ;)

▪️▪️▪️

Sharp ruby eyes were fixed on the clock, the one that made it's soul purpose agonizing the black hedgehog with it's earsplitting ticking; one that seemed to echo in the otherwise empty G.U.N headquarters. It was already half past eleven, and Shadow wanted to go back to his apartment.

The hour's lethargic hex never reached the ebony agent, it rarely did. Compared to the sluggish movements and gaping yawns the occasional G.U.N solider gave as they retired for the night. Shadow was practically wide awake.

He would temporarily tear his eyes away from the clock to give a cordial nod to the periodic solider who passed him; who in return would either grumble a muffled "night..." though their mask, or salute hastily.

The clock would ring every hour, he wondered if he stared at it long enough it would burst into flames.

At approximately 12:01am, Rouge unceremoniously swung open the doors that led to Commander Towers' office.

"Good morning hun! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long~" The bat's silklike voice was a welcoming change to Shadow's sensitive ears.

"What happened?" He stated flatly. Earning him a melodramatic sigh and a sorrowful look from the other. He was just stating the obvious.

"Well, apparently someone below screwed up on the one thing they're supposed to be doing. So Team Dark get's to be their clean up crew."

Shadow crossed his arms with a hum, closing his eyes in thought. Rouge continued as they gradually walked away from the lobby.

"Trust me deary, it's a complete mess..." She pressed her gloved finger to her temple, she was drained, he could tell.

He glanced down toward her arm, where she held some folders between them, she slipped them to Shadow and he scanned the pages as they approached Team Dark's office; well, more like Rouge's office, Shadow and Omega only shared the name plates plastered on the door.

"Shamar..?" Shadow recited, the bat hummed tunefully in agreement as she effortlessly slid her keycard through to open the door.

"It's on the whole other side of Mobius, I know." She chuckled, "I'll give you the spill once we get Omega and get the hell out of here."

He agreed, and carefully closed the folder. Rouge was never keen on repeating herself, no matter how trivial.

The lights automatically switched on as the sound of her heels clicked against the polished floor. Lavish wasn't even a close comparison to the grand zeal of the office, it was so... Rouge.

Gem's were lovingly placed on valuable furniture; oh, they weren't real though, those were devotedly hidden in her bedroom, away from prying eyes. Soft sofas, chique wooden tables and bookshelves gave the room a antique feeling, one that Shadow didn't necessarily dislike.

Well, until you looked at the corner near the back of the room, where a huge machine was plugged into the wall. Otherwise known as E-123 Omega.

Rouge sighed, patting the bots frame. "Wake up sleeping beauty, we're off~"

The thumping of metal plates echoed slightly as she moved away to shove some things in her purse from her desk. Omega's form shifted as he stood up, red optics focused on the two Mobians--well, Mobian and one half.

"I HAVE BEEN SITTING AT FULL POWER FOR APPROXIMENTLY 10 HOURS. ONE COULD ASK HOW LONG IT TAKES TO OBTAIN INFORMATION?" Omega's booming robotic voice seemingly questioned.

Shadow noted Rouges clasped hands gripping their respective fabric when she turned towards the bot, if she wasn't careful, he was sure they would rip.

"Well, for someone who slept all day, you sure are grouchy! I would gladly switch places next time if you believe you could do better, dear."

Omega's pause almost pulled a breath of a laugh from Shadow, who was leaning against the wall eyeing the duo. The robot shifted, knowing better than to provoke a sleep deprived bat woman.

"ROAST ACKNOWLEGED. I SHALL NOW, LAY OFF."

"Thank you. Now!" Rouge clapped. "Lets be off, if you boys behave the rest of the way home maybe I'll let you in on the mission details instead of letting you go in blind." Shadow, who had already grabbed her faux-- totally not stolen coat, eyed her.

"Of course, I only stayed here with you outside Towers' door until midnight to make sure you didn't fly home half asleep..."

Rouge gasped breathlessly, "My hero~". He wasn't amused.

After slipping on her coat, she patted the hedgehog on the cheek playfully. "In all seriousness dear, I want you to know I appreciate it, it's more than Robo Aurora offered here."

"I WOULD NEVER FALL VICTIM TO A SPINNING WHEEL."

-------

The reunited trio made they're way to G.U.N's private parking lot, where Shadow parked his prized motorcycle. He had drove Rouge to the meeting with Towers, her being the Team Leader always led to her getting the bulk of the mission information firsthand, not that Shadow minded, he would rather stare at that clock than Towers' disapproving stare.

His vehicle was outfitted with a detachable sidecar, one big enough for Omega that is, Shadow had previously thought of it as a bit silly and impractical in a serious situation. But it grew on him, and well, Omega tolerated it.

"Ugh, the sooner I take a shower the better." Rouge complained for what seemed like the millionth time on their walk outside. He could only hum in agreement, bending down to open a bag on the side of his bike, pulling out his leather jacket and slipping it on, careful of his inhibitors.

"LET US RUN ALL RED TRAFFIC LIGHTS." Omega stated, already seated in the side car, his arms awkwardly held at his side.

"What, no." Shadow breathed, grabbing his keys from his quills and inserting them, throwing his leg over to straddle the bike as it rumbled to life.

Rouge joined him, leaning over to pat Omega in the side car.

"Now, now Omega, we respect the traffic laws--for the most part *AHEM*, anyways how do you expect Shadow to speed with you in the sidecar?" She obviously teased, and Shadow obviously ignored.

"CHALLENGE ACCEPTED."

Shadow grumbled, and as he sped away from the gates of the parking lot, who would've noticed if he passed just one or two red lights to get a roar of laughter out of his friends.

-------

"And that's the gist of it, I suppose." Rouge waved her fork carefully, before using it to take another bite of lasagna.

The team had laid out the papers in a semi-organized order on the kitchen table, Shadow balanced his plate on his leg as he made mental notes of the info Infront of him.

"Should have guessed it was Robotnik related." He sighed, placing one of the papers down in-front of Omega to scan.

The bat adjusted her hair towel. "It does appear like old eggy is up to his usual antics again hm?"

"AS LONG AS E-123 OMEGA STANDS. HIS DAYS ARE NUMBERED." The E-series robot proclaimed, raising his arm swiftly in the air to make a strong fist.

"There's just one thing I don't understand..." Shadow gestured toward the papers in question. "A whole year of reconnaissance, why?"

"Remember the little friend below I mentioned earlier? You can thank them for that~" Rouge stabbed another piece of the pasta before delicately placing it between her teeth. Shadow almost felt sorry for it.

Apparently, Robotnik had plans to make another lab in Shamar, any previous information regarding it was accidently deleted by an unfortunate intern at headquarters. He could piece that much together at least.

The people there had a very high likely hood of being ambushed, and as capable of self-preservation as they had the likelihood of being, the reconnaissance info was supposed to be given to them. They were practically in the dark so to speak.

Which is where Team Dark comes in. To shine some light on the situation, it was a simple task, but a long one. A year long.

"Hm, I'm sure their receiving a party full of thanks." The agent gathered the file, neatly evening out the papers before placing them back in the folder. "But, what matters now is the mission. We need to prepare."

They would need to borrow a vehicle from G.U.N, something sturdy and could fit something motorcycle sized. Plenty of food, medical supplies, weapons and ammo. Rouge was an awful driver at night so Shadow was already planning driving shifts, they would either go by plane or boat from there and---

"Well, of course! But there's one, tiny problem~" Cutting off Shadows semi-mental thoughts. She set her plate down and made her famous "I could do no wrong" face. Great, Shadow thought.

"As in?"

"I kinda sorta already promised Rose we'd be there for her New Years Party." Rouge gleamed. "I wouldn't want to disappoint the little girl, would you?"

It had completely slipped his mind, Rose had her yearly party at her cottage for all her friends. The trio had just started attending recently, as in the past 3 years straight.

Of course, it's not as though it was uncommon for one or two of them to had missed an occasional party due to, oh he doesn't know... maybe, because of something IMPORTANT.

"Rouge, her party is the same day we are supposed to leave... how do you exactly plan we prepare to leave to another continent and drop by in that time?" Shadow's quills ruffled, Amy would understand why they wouldn't be able to make it. Did this bat have no care for his mental schedule?

"I know it sounds crazy, but we could make it work! We prepare in the morning, drive by to say goodbye--maybe fluster a certain red head~ and be off!" Rouge waves dismissably, he couldn't believe it.

They were gonna be late because of an Echidna.

"Rouge--"

"Nuh-huh! I'm pulling the Team Leader card on this one fellas! If I'm going to be deprived of my boyfriend for one whole year I'm at least saying goodbye!" Shadow groaned in response, her argument oddly made some sense he supposed.

"Alright, fine. We have a week anyways, I'm sure we'd be done by then..." He thinks anyways... but the last thing he'd want is a depressed Knuckle deprived Rouge on their roadtrip to Shamar. He can only take so many narrated description's of his "sexyness" to bear.

"Aww! I knew you would agree sweetie!" She smiled brightly, a yawn escaping her lips. "Now if you'd excuse me dears I REALLY need to sleep... my head is pounding." Shadow nodded, and offered to take her hair towel. As soon as her door shut he turned to Omega, who was quietly observing from the side.

"Your on my side right?"

"OMEGA CHOOSES THE SIDE OF DESTRUCTION AND CARNAGE."

....

....

"ONLY IF YOU PROMISE THIS NEW VEHICLE HAS GUNS."

"Of course Omega."

"YES."

-----

Shadow supposed, maybe, it would all work out. He slumped on the couch, relishing in not standing any longer than he had too.

He'd feel better as soon as he gets started tomorrow, he's sure. Besides, it would be nice to see everyone before they left. It's only appropriate, the well mannered thing to do. The year would fly by and they'd be just in time for another one of Amy's New Year parties, one they would be able to enjoy.

Glancing out the window from their apartment, he looked at the dancing lights of distant vehicles, and the blue hue the night gave above the towering buildings..

So why did leaving feel so bittersweet?

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Ramses Thothmes, a wealthy Egyptian magnate, extends an invitation for a new excavation, promising untold secrets hidden beneath the desert's surface. As you convene with Thothmes to discuss the venture, a new figure emerges from the shadows – the enigmatic Colonel Duncan Smith.

Under Smith's watchful eye, the expedition sets forth into uncharted territory, where ancient ruins conceal dark secrets and lethal perils.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, mentions of dead parents, reader has "Fagan" as the last name, none.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,5k

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Posting this early 'cause I got a meeting today. Enjoy your reading babes!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

As you and Steve traverse through the corridors of Mr. Thothmes' office, a sense of anticipation hangs thick in the air. Just earlier, a cryptic phone call from Mr. Thothmes summoned you both to an urgent meeting regarding a new excavation. Now, as you stand mere steps away from entering his chamber, your mind races with questions, curiosity gnawing at your every thought.

Each hallway seems to stretch endlessly, the flickering lights casting elongated shadows along the polished floors. The atmosphere is charged with a sense of importance, every corner holding the promise of revelation and discovery. With each approaching door, the weight of anticipation grows heavier, like a palpable veil of mystery enveloping your senses.

The echoes of your footsteps resonate through the corridor, a rhythmic cadence echoing the steady beat of your heart. The allure of the unknown beckons, drawing you inexorably closer to the threshold of possibility.

As you stand poised on the precipice of this new chapter, the thrill of anticipation courses through your veins like electricity. For in this moment, you are on the cusp of embarking upon a journey that may reshape the very fabric of history itself.

"Harrington! Ah, and my favorite archaeologist!" A pot-bellied old man, probably in his fifties, welcomed you both with a hearty greeting as he swung open the grand door of polished mahogany. "Come in, come in!!" He ushered you and Steve into his sanctum with a sweeping gesture.

Stepping over the threshold, you are immediately enveloped in an atmosphere of sophistication and antiquity. The walls are adorned with a rich palette of colors, exuding an air of regal elegance. Deep shades of mahogany and ebony mingle with soft accents of ivory and gold, creating a sense of timeless luxury.

At the heart of the room stands an imposing desk of dark wood, its surface intricately carved with motifs reminiscent of ancient hieroglyphs. Behind it, shelves lined with leather-bound tomes and ornate artifacts whisper tales of bygone eras, each item a treasure trove of history waiting to be explored.

The furniture, upholstered in sumptuous fabrics and adorned with delicate filigree, beckons you to sink into its embrace. Plush velvet cushions offer respite from the rigors of the outside world, while ornate chairs with gilded armrests exude an air of refined opulence.

Throughout the room, the soft glow of ambient lighting bathes everything in a warm, inviting aura. Intricately carved candelabras cast dancing shadows across the walls, their flickering flames lending an air of mystique to the surroundings.

On every available surface, meticulously curated artifacts and antiquities are proudly displayed. Ancient statues stand sentinel, their weathered features bearing witness to the passage of time. Glittering jewels and polished gems catch the light, their brilliance a testament to the wealth and power of civilizations long gone.

As you take in the sights and sounds of this magnificent chamber, a sense of reverence washes over you. For here, in this hallowed space, you stand on the threshold of history itself, poised to uncover the secrets of the ages.

"Ah..." The man's sigh carried the weight of centuries as he eased into one of the plush grey armchairs, crafted from the supple hide of seals. His eyes, like ancient tomes, held secrets untold as he poured a measure of brandy into a crystal glass, the amber liquid swirling with the promise of forgotten tales.

"I presume you received my call earlier?" His voice, smooth as polished marble, resonated with the echoes of ages past, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Uh..." You exchanged a glance with Steve, who was drawn to the intricacies of the art adorning the office walls like a moth to flame, his fascination palpable in the flicker of his gaze. With a subtle roll of your eyes, you summoned the words to respond. "Yes, you mentioned something about a new excavation, if memory serves."

His demeanor shifted, morphing into an aura of solemnity and intrigue. "Let's just say... it's not your run-of-the-mill excavation, confined to the depths of a tomb or the shadows of a pyramid," he intoned cryptically, the glint in his eyes hinting at untold secrets swirling within the depths of his mind. With a deliberate motion, he raised the glass of brandy to his lips, savoring the amber liquid as if it held the key to ancient mysteries.

"Why don't you both have a seat so we can discuss this further?" His gesture encompassed the other plush armchairs surrounding the dark wooden table, it was only then that you realized your own stance, frozen in the doorway like a sentinel of the past, while Steve remained ensnared by the allure of the unknown, his curiosity guiding him further into the depths of the enigma before you.

Your legs propelled you forward with an urgency that betrayed the gravity of the moment, guiding you to the plush embrace of the armchair before Thothmes. Your eyes, like intrepid explorers, scanned the room for a glimpse of connection, seeking solace in the warmth of a familiar gaze. They settled upon a pair of mesmerizing honey-colored orbs, ensnared by the enigmatic allure of a Sphynx cat statue adorned with glistening golden earrings.

With a discreet clearing of your throat, Steve's eyes met yours, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you. His gaze lingered for a moment, before you gestured towards the seat beside Thothmes.

"Proceed," you said with a nod, your hands resting calmly in your lap as you awaited the unfolding revelation. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation.

"Last week, we received a warning of a rockfall on a mountain in the Whale Desert," the old man continued, his voice carrying the weight of impending revelation. You glanced at your fellow Egyptologist, now sitting beside you, noting the quiet contemplation that settled over him, mirroring your own thoughts.

"We initially believed we were dealing with the remains of some other fossil or skeleton of a large animal," he continued, his words punctuated by the weight of uncertainty. "So, we dispatched a team of paleontologists to investigate the crash site."

As he finished speaking, a heavy silence descended upon the room, punctuated only by the sound of liquid being drained from the glass in his hand, leaving an ominous echo lingering in the air.

"It turned out it wasn't a fossil, much less a skeleton, so we withdrew the team," he explained, folding his hands thoughtfully on the table before him. The weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the unknown lurking in the shadows.

"And what about the unconventional excavation? Do you want us to dig these caves?" Steve's inquiry cut through the tension, his raised eyebrow accentuating the skepticism in his voice. The soft glow of the office lights played off his eyebrow piercing, lending an air of defiance to his demeanor.

"We don't excavate caves, Thothmes. Tombs, pyramids, temples, abandoned galleries—that's our domain, not caves," you interjected solemnly, a note of frustration creeping into your voice as you questioned the purpose of this meeting.

"My dear, I never said it was a cave," Thothmes replied cryptically, his words hanging in the air like a shroud of mystery, leaving you to ponder the true nature of the task that lay before you.

"What do you mean 'not a cave'?" you pressed, exchanging a perplexed glance with Steve. Meanwhile, a knowing smile spread across the businessman's face, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"What I am about to reveal to you is company confidential and must not leave this room," he began, his tone weighted with significance. He paused, casting a meaningful look between the two of you before continuing. "Apparently, we have stumbled upon a type of sanctuary hidden within the mountain. We still don't know its origin or which people it belongs to. But I believe that the best person to lead an exploration expedition is you, one of the finest archaeologists in the business and a trusted friend."

Steve's mocking expression and suppressed laughter didn't escape your notice, but you remained fixed on Thothmes, feeling like a fish out of water as you struggled to find the right words.

"I... Um, it's a departure from our usual expeditions," you managed to explain, your words stumbling out in a rush. "I might need a team of professional excavators, not to mention the logistics of an excavation site in the middle of the desert. The costs for—"

But before you could finish your sentence, the old man interjected firmly, cutting off your concerns. "We are not talking about costs here, my dear. I will pay whatever it takes if it means you will take charge of this exploration," he declared, his gesture dismissing any financial worries with a wave of his hand.

Your eyes met Steve's, finding reassurance in his nod of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you found resolve in his silent support. "Well..." you began tentatively, feeling a surge of determination wash over you. "In that case, we accept!"

"Perfeito!" The old gentleman's eyes sparkled with excitement as he clapped his hands together, a sense of anticipation palpable in the air. With a graceful stride, he crossed the room to one of the ornate paintings adorning the walls, his movements fluid and purposeful. With a gentle yet deliberate touch, he shifted the painting aside, revealing a hidden safe concealed behind it.

A hushed murmur of intrigue rippled through the room as the safe was unveiled, its metallic surface gleaming softly in the ambient light. With practiced ease, the old man dialed the combination, the tumblers clicking into place with a satisfying finality. With a soft thud, the door swung open, revealing the contents within.

From the depths of the safe, he retrieved a thick folder, its pages brimming with secrets waiting to be discovered. With a sense of reverence, he placed the folder on the table before you and Steve, the weight of its contents echoing the gravity of the task ahead.

"Here are some basic information about the site, team suggestions, equipment availability... Everything you need," he declared, his voice carrying a note of solemnity and determination. As you and Steve pored over the documents before you, a sense of adventure tinged with uncertainty filled the room, setting the stage for the journey that lay ahead.

"You mentioned something about the Whale Desert," Steve's tone was laced with skepticism. "I know full well that area is extremely inhospitable and nearly uninhabitable," he continued, his brows furrowed in concern. "We'll likely have to set up camp there, which worries me a bit due to the region's propensity for attacks by art thieves..." You vocalized, your own brow furrowing as you contemplated the level of danger involved.

Thothmes's laughter echoed through the cozy room, filling the space with a sense of warmth and reassurance. "My friends, why all this concern?" he asked theatrically, his eyes twinkling with confidence. "I've already made sure to hire an elite team for your protection. They're highly qualified to handle this type of terrain, so there's no need to worry.”

As Steve's eyes communicated a promise of future discussions, a silent pact passed between you both.

"In that case, we accept the challenge," Harrington proclaimed, his voice carrying a note of determination that bordered on defiance.

"Very well, it's yours," the old man conceded with a gracious nod, extending his hand for you and Steve to shake. His eyes held a glint of admiration as he added, "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Miss." The weight of his words hung in the air, hinting at a history of mutual respect and shared endeavors.

As you both bid farewell to Thothmes and exited the room, you couldn't resist slapping Steve on the arm.

"What was that for?" Steve exclaimed, rubbing his arm where your hand had made contact.

"It's for your behavior today," you replied sharply, your frustration evident in your tone.

"And should I mention how bizarre that proposition was? And all this secrecy?" Steve grumbled, clearly frustrated by the situation.

"Steve, my dear and esteemed companion, care to explain why you think this is a strange proposal? I don't know if you've realized, but we're archaeologists, well, I'm more of one than you... But there's nothing strange about a proposal for excavation in a different terrain," your voice laced with false calmness as the two of you walked out of the building.

"I don't know... Something about all this seems off to me, call it a gut feeling or something, but I don't think he reached out to us just out of camaraderie," Steve voiced his concerns as he unlocked the car. "Maybe you didn't notice, but he lied about the sanctuary." A pair of intense honey-colored eyes met yours. "Thothmes knows what's in that cave, and he knows exactly where it came from." A strange sensation coursed through your body.

"How can you be so sure?" Thothmes wasn't known for his lies, quite the opposite. "Body language, that old man loves a face-to-face conversation, but he looked away as soon as he spoke," Steve explained, his voice tinged with disbelief. You glanced at him incredulously, the sound of the car engine turning over becoming background noise.

"Because he look away? Seriously, Steve?" You shook your head. "I think hunger is starting to affect your brain. We should stop for lunch." He rolled his eyes but maintained the same thoughtful and suspicious expression for the rest of the way to the nearest restaurant.

Back in the dimly lit office, Thothmes stood by the window, a phone pressed to his ear while he held a glass of tequila in his other hand, the amber liquid swirling ominously.

"Mr. Raneb? It's me," his voice echoed through the receiver, the words carrying a weight of secrecy and intrigue.

"Thothmes, how many times do I have to remind you not to use that name?" The voice on the other end crackled with authority, sending a shiver down Thothmes' spine.

"My apologies, Mr. Damien. But I bring news," Thothmes replied, his tone subdued yet filled with urgency.

"What news?" The question hung in the air like a foreboding cloud, thick with tension.

"A sanctuary has been unearthed in the heart of the Whale Desert," Thothmes revealed, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard.

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching taut like a wire.

"I've secured the services of the finest archaeologist to explore the depths of the mountain," Thothmes continued, his words laden with implication.

"Get that bastard out of there as soon as possible," came the icy command, the line abruptly going dead before Thothmes could respond, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the unsettling knowledge of what lay ahead.

Seated in the cozy nook of "Cleo's Kitchen," you and Steve perused the menu, your stomachs growling in anticipation of the feast to come.

"We're gonna dive into two hawawshi, gotta have that koshary fix, and wash it all down with a pitcher of Asab, ya know?" you grinned at the waitress, your enthusiasm infectious.

"Oh, and throw in a Kunafa for dessert, 'cause we're treating ourselves today," Steve chimed in, nodding in agreement.

With the order placed, you leaned back in your chair, already imagining the burst of flavors awaiting your taste buds, the atmosphere alive with the promise of culinary delights and good company.

The tantalizing aroma of sizzling meat and fragrant spices filled the air as your order arrived at the table. The hawawshi boasted a crispy exterior and a savory filling of minced meat, onions, and aromatic herbs, tantalizing your senses with each bite. Next to it, the koshary presented a colorful medley of lentils, rice, pasta, and caramelized onions, topped with a drizzle of tangy tomato sauce and a sprinkling of crunchy fried onions. The pitcher of Asab, a traditional Egyptian drink made from fermented barley, promised a refreshing and slightly tangy flavor, perfect for washing down the hearty meal. And finally, the Kunafa arrived, a decadent dessert featuring layers of crisp, golden pastry filled with sweet cheese and drenched in a fragrant sugar syrup, offering a delightful balance of textures and flavors to round off your culinary journey.

"I'll tell ya, there's nothin' like this food," Steve mumbled between mouthfuls of koshary, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

"You know what really gets me about our job?" You took a swig of your drink, relishing the cool refreshment. "The food. I mean, getting to taste all these exotic flavors, it's like a culinary adventure every time we're on the road."

"Yeah, but sometimes I just crave a good ol' burger, fries, and a giant soda," Steve chuckled, a twinkle of nostalgia in his eyes as he recalled a fond memory.

You smiled along with him, your eyes drifting to the sleek black folder nestled in your backpack. Intrigued, you reached for it, flipping it open to peruse its contents.

"Thothmes must've had his coffee this morning," you remarked, flipping through the contents of the folder with a wry smile.

"What's in it?" Steve leaned over, his curiosity piqued.

"An excavation permit signed, site details, a list of available machinery and vehicles, info on our elite team... you know, the usual drill," you replied nonchalantly, snapping the folder shut and diving back into your meal.

As he perused the contents of the folder, you indulged in the divine feast before you, savoring each flavorful bite.

"Seems like it's the same old song and dance," he remarked, tucking the folder away into his backpack. "So, what's on the agenda for today, boss?" he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Back to the hotel to tackle a mountain of mundane tasks—endless phone calls, a deluge of emails, and compiling a laundry list of necessities. I want everything squared away by tomorrow," you declared, finishing off your drink and signaling for the bill.

"Whoa, easy there, tiger," he joked. "I still want to enjoy my vacation a bit. Can't it wait another... five days?"

"I'll strangle you if it's not tomorrow," you replied, handing the Egyptian pounds to the waitress and getting up with him.

"Be gentle with me, sweetheart, I'm delicate, you know?" You playfully nudged him and exited the restaurant together.

Back at the hotel, your afternoon resembled a bustling marketplace of phone calls, list-making marathons, email exchanges, and deep dives into research into the cozy five-star room.

The walls are adorned in rich tones of chocolate brown and sleek black, exuding a sophisticated ambiance that immediately captivates the senses.

At the center of the room stand two queen-size beds, each adorned with crisp white linens that contrast beautifully against the deep hues of the walls. The bedding is accented with delicate cream-colored details, adding a touch of refinement to the inviting sleeping quarters. Plush pillows and sumptuous duvets promise a restful night's sleep, while the meticulously made beds beckon you to sink into their welcoming embrace.

Between the beds, a sleek bedside table stands, its polished surface gleaming softly in the ambient light. Against one wall, a spacious wardrobe offers ample storage for your belongings, its dark wood finish complementing the elegant decor of the room. Inside, plush bathrobes and slippers await, promising indulgent comfort and relaxation during your stay.

"Finally, I thought that day would never end..." The guy dramatically collapsed onto the bed, limbs splayed out like a starfish.

"We need to double-check everything before sundown, Stevie," you announced, stifling a laugh as he protested like a petulant child.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road." He snatched up a sheet of paper eagerly. "We'll dispatch three REO M35 trucks as advance scouts, loaded with the gear to establish our campsite. Another trio will accompany the team and transport our machinery; each truck's capacity should more than suffice." You outlined the plan as Steve diligently scribbled down the details. "Then we'll send in four more trucks stocked with provisions and water, followed by a lone Jeep for us to navigate the terrain and carry any additional essentials." He nodded in agreement, his excitement matching yours for the upcoming expedition.

"Our security detail boasts a robust lineup of 25 individuals, poised to lend a hand until we arrive," he remarked, his eyebrows shooting up in mild disbelief. "Quite the pampering we're receiving, isn't it?"

"Stay on track, Steve. We're expecting new equipment to kick things off, so keep a watchful eye on the team while I delve into our location research," you concluded with a weary sigh.

"About time, too. I was beginning to feel like I needed glasses from all this fine print," you shared a laugh, easing the tension of the moment.

"Found something interesting while digging into the location," you announced, making your way to the bed and flopping down.

"What? Some sketchy website?" He waggled his eyebrows mischievously, earning a pillow tossed his way.

"Gross," you wrinkled your nose in disgust. "It's an ancient legend about that desert, reminded me of a tale my folks used to tell me," you settled onto your side, glancing at him.

"You know I'm a sucker for ancient legends, spill it," he grinned eagerly.

"The legend goes that the desert was once part of the ocean, where the caves were as beautiful and colorful as coral reefs, unique to that little piece of sky. In those waters, giant whales roamed, and it was the domain of Apophis, the colossal serpent who was once the guardian of those waters," you recounted, weaving the tale with an air of mystery.

"But one day, the gods descended from the heavens and plunged into the deep waters. No one knows why, but there was a deafening roar followed by a scream that echoed across the four corners of the world. The gods ascended again, but they took all the water with them. Everything that lived there perished that day, except Apophis. They say the serpent still guards something there to this day," you concluded, and Steve sat there, mouth agape, captivated by the ancient tale.

"The whale skeletons! It's all starting to make sense now, isn't it?" Steve exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement. "You mentioned it reminded you of a story your parents used to tell you. Now I'm even more intrigued," he urged, leaning in eagerly.

"Well, they had this fascinating tale about a warrior condemned to an eternal prison. The gods sealed him away in a cave, protected by a colossal serpent, in a place that was once submerged beneath the sea," you explained, the words carrying an air of mystery and ancient legend.

“I love this stuff... But hey, did they find any snake bones out there?” He asked hopefully.

“Not that I know of, but some say if you look out into the desert at night, from a certain vantage point, you can see the outline of a giant serpent slithering through the caves.” Steve seemed utterly captivated by the legend.

"No more tales for tonight." You yawned and settled into bed, as you and Steve always shared the room, pulling the covers snugly around you.

"Fine by me," Steve replied with a wink. "But I'll be dreaming of giant snakes and ancient mysteries."

Chuckling, you wished him goodnight, "Sleep well, my fellow adventurer."

"Likewise, Bug," Steve quipped, using the nickname he'd coined after discovering your fascination with scarab beetles.

That night, as you drifted into slumber, your mind ventured into a vivid dreamworld. In this dream, a mysterious figure immersed himself in the gentle embrace of a flowing river. His presence was enigmatic, veiled behind a striking jackal mask. Crafted with meticulous care, the mask enshrouded half of his face, its golden accents gleaming softly in the moonlight. Intricate designs adorned the mask's eyes, snout, ears, and forehead, adding an air of ancient mystique to his visage. A sheer black veil trailed from the back of the mask, dancing gently in the breeze like a wisp of shadow.

Beneath the mask, strands of dark, lustrous hair cascaded in luxurious waves, framing his strong and tattooed shoulders. Each curl seemed to sway rhythmically with the rhythm of the river, lending an ethereal quality to his presence. With a graceful movement, one of his hands rose to the mask's snout, lifting it ever so delicately, as if revealing a hidden truth or unveiling a long-guarded secret...

Suddenly, the tranquility of the dream was shattered by the intrusive blare of your alarm clock, jolting you awake from your reverie.

"If you don't shut that thing off, I swear I'll strangle myself with the sheets," Steve grumbled from his bed, buried under the covers.

As you turned off the blaring alarm, you couldn't help but chuckle at Steve's grumpy response from beneath the covers. "I promise I won't let it kill you," you teased, making your way to the bathroom.

The bathroom was a luxurious retreat within the hotel room, with its two rectangular marble sinks, each featuring intricately designed golden faucets that gleamed in the soft morning light filtering through the window. The faucets, elegantly curved like the necks of swans, seemed to add a touch of regality to the space.

Above each sink, a large and ornate mirror hung, its delicate frame adding a sense of refinement to the room. Below the mirrors, a spacious marble countertop provided ample space for toiletries, with neatly arranged towels and bath essentials adding to the sense of organization and luxury.

Taking a moment to appreciate the serene ambiance of the bathroom, you leaned against the sink, feeling the cool marble beneath your palms. Another day of adventure awaited, but for now, you allowed yourself to bask in the tranquility of the morning.

You brushed your teeth and then stripped down, making your way to the opposite side of the bathroom where a deep cobalt blue bathtub awaited you. The bathtub was a luxurious indulgence, its smooth curves and inviting depths promising relaxation and rejuvenation.

With a contented sigh, you stepped into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the tension of the night's sleep slowly melt away. As you submerged yourself, the scent of lavender-infused bath salts filled the air, soothing your senses and easing your mind.

The water cascaded over your skin in a gentle caress, washing away the remnants of sleep and leaving you feeling refreshed and invigorated. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in the moment, savoring the sensation of warmth and comfort enveloping you.

For a few precious moments, the world outside faded away, leaving only the soothing embrace of the bathtub and the soft hum of the hotel's air conditioning.

You emerged from the bath feeling refreshed, the scent of lavender-scented bath salts still lingering in the air. As you reached for one of the luxurious, embroidered robes hanging neatly by the sink, a sudden rap at the door interrupted your tranquil moment. "Bug, if you don't get out that bathroom in the next five seconds, I swear I'll pee on the carpet," your roommate's voice echoed through the door, tinged with urgency and a hint of desperation.

With a soft chuckle, you wrapped yourself in the plush robe, relishing its warmth against your skin, and called out, "Hold your horses, Steve, I'm on my way!" The fabric billowed around you as you strode to the door, feeling refreshed and ready to face the day's adventures.

Steve entered the bathroom for his morning routine, giving you the chance to get dressed. You opted for terracotta-colored khaki pants with a stylish double fold at the ankles, paired with a crisp white short-sleeved button-up shirt. Completing the ensemble, you adorned yourself with a brown fedora, a leather harness secured around your waist to hold brushes and a small dagger, plenty of sunscreen, and most importantly, your protective amulet.

The pendant bestowed upon you by your parents at the age of ten holds profound significance. At its center, an intricate piece of obsidian depicts the head of Anubis, the god of the underworld. Emerging from each side of Anubis's head, two stylized wings extend towards the sides of the necklace. Just below Anubis's head, rests a symbol of the Eye of Horus, carved into a blue stone. According to your parents, this necklace symbolizes spiritual protection and divine insight, serving as a constant reminder of their love and guardianship even in the face of the unknown.

With a deep breath to dispel any lingering thoughts, you fastened the golden necklace around your neck, ready to face the challenges of the day ahead.

As you and Steve descended to the lobby, your footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floors, a formidable figure stood in wait. Clad in an all-black uniform, impeccably tailored and adorned with sleek golden accents, he exuded an air of authority that commanded attention. His cap, adorned with a subtle golden insignia, sat atop his head with a dignified tilt. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, seemed to pierce through the bustling lobby, fixing upon you and Steve with an intensity that hinted at the gravity of the task ahead.

As you approached the man, Steve headed to the reception desk, leaving you to initiate the conversation. The Colonel greeted you with a nod of his head, his demeanor exuding a sense of formality and professionalism.

"Miss..." He acknowledged you with a slight bow of his head, his tone respectful.

"You must be Colonel Duncan Smith," you extended your hand towards him, and he clasped it firmly in his own. "I'm the archaeologist who enlisted your services."

"Ah, Thothmes has spoken highly of you," he responded warmly. Duncan was a man nearing his forties, towering and muscular, exuding an aura of strength and authority. His physique spoke of years of discipline and dedication to his craft. A striking feature was his fiery blond-red mustache, complementing his jet-black hair with hints of gray, swept back in a manner that exuded confidence. His piercing green eyes held a depth that hinted at both wisdom and experience, observing the world with a keen intellect and unwavering determination.

"I hope only good things," you chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension.

"The very best," he affirmed with a reassuring smile.

"Everything's set, can we go?" Steve inquired upon his return.

"The car is waiting for you both. I sent the rest of the team ahead to set up camp," Duncan informed. "I wanted to make sure personally that you would arrive safely," he added, extending his hand. "Colonel Duncan Smith."

Steve shook his hand and introduced himself, "Steve Harrington, Egyptologist."

"Shall we?" Smith gestured towards the exit, indicating it was time to depart.

In the car, Colonel Smith decided to address the curiosity that had been gnawing at him since the previous day.

"Sorry to intrude, Miss," he began, and you looked at him as if urging him to continue. "But is your last name by any chance Fagan?" he asked, curiosity evident in his expression.

"Yes, that was my father's last name. He was also an archaeologist," you replied, a fond smile touching your lips as you remembered your beloved father. But soon, concern crept in as you noticed the expression on Duncan's face. "Why do you ask?"

He looked at you with an inscrutable gaze.

"Thothmes didn't tell you," he stated rather than asked. "Didn’t tell what?" Steve interjected on your behalf.

Nothing could have prepared you for what was to come.

"Your parents died before they could excavate in that desert, in the same location we are heading to," Colonel Smith revealed. Both men looked at you, noticing your stunned expression.

A flood of emotions surged within you as Colonel Smith's words sank in. All you knew was that your parents had died in an accident before an excavation. There had been an explosion caused by one of the newcomers, which tragically claimed the lives of the entire team. Some speculated it was a premeditated homicide.

With a heavy heart, yet resolute, you spoke with confidence, ""I will honor the sacred legacy of my parents and achieve what they could only dream of.”

Duncan and Steve exchanged discreet smiles, recognizing the courage and determination in your gaze.

As the car pressed on along the road toward the unknown, the landscape shifted around you, the desert stretching out in all directions like an endless sea of sand and mystery. Duncan, observing you from the rearview mirror, made a silent vow to himself to protect you at all costs, even if it meant risking his own life. In that moment, the weight of responsibility mingled with the enigma of the desert, creating an atmosphere charged with emotions and anticipation for what lay ahead.

With each passing mile, the sun cast long shadows across the dunes, painting the sky with hues of white and blue. The air was thick with a sense of adventure and apprehension, each breath carrying the promise of discovery and danger. And amidst it all, you sat, a beacon of determination amidst the vast expanse of sand, your resolve unwavering in the face of the unknown.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @birdysaturne

[promises-of-paradise]

Felix Yusupov on the murder of Rasputin

As I was alone in St. Petersburg, I was staying with my brothers-in-law at the Grand Duke Alexander's palace. On December 29, I spent most of the day preparing for my examinations which were to be held next day.* As soon as I had a free moment I went home to make the final arrangements. I intended to receive Rasputin in the flat which I was fitting up in the Moika** basement: arches divided it in two; the larger half was to be used as a dining room. From the other half, the staircase which I have already mentioned led to my rooms on the floor above. Halfway up was a door opening onto the courtyard. The larger room had a low, vaulted ceiling and was lighted by two small windows which were on a level with the ground and looked out on the Moika. The walls were of grey stone, the flooring of granite. To avoid arousing Rasputin's suspicions - for he might have been surprised at being received in a bare cellar - it was indispensable that the room should be furnished and appear to be lived in. When I arrived, I found workmen busy laying down carpets and putting up curtains. Three large red Chinese porcelain vases had already been placed in niches hollowed out of the walls. Various objects which I had selected were being carried in: carved wooden chairs of oak, small tables covered with ancient embroideries, ivory bowls, and a quantity of other curios. I can picture the room to this day in all its details, and I have good reason to remember a certain cabinet of inlaid ebony which was a mass of little mirrors, tiny bronze columns and secret drawers. On it stood a crucifix of rock crystal and silver, a beautiful specimen of sixteenth-century Italian workmanship. On the great red granite mantelpiece were placed golden bowls, antique majolica plates and a sculptured ivory group. A large Persian carpet covered the floor and, in a corner, in front of the ebony cabinet, lay a white bearskin rug. In the middle of the room stood the table at which Rasputin was to drink his last cup of tea.

My two servants, Grigori and Ivan, helped me to arrange the furniture. I asked them to prepare tea for six, to buy biscuits and cakes and to bring wine from the cellar. I told them that I was expecting some friends at eleven that evening, and that they could wait in the servants' hall until I rang for them. When everything was settled I went up to my room where Colonel Vogel, my crammer, was waiting to coach me for the last time before my exams. The lesson was over by six o'clock; before going back to dine with my brothers-in-law, I went into the church of Our Lady of Kazan. Deep in prayer, I lost all sense of time. When I left the cathedral after what seemed to me but a few moments, I was astonished to find I had been there almost two hours. I had a strange feeling of lightness, of well-being, almost of happiness... I hurried to my father-in-law's palace where I had a light dinner before returning to the Moika. By eleven o'clock everything was ready in the basement. Comfortably furnished and well-lighted, this underground room had lost its grim look. On the table the samovar smoked, surrounded by plates filled with the cakes and dainties that Rasputin liked so much. An array of bottles and glasses stood on a sideboard. Ancient lanterns of coloured glass lighted the room from the ceiling; the heavy red damask portieres were lowered. On the granite hearth, a log fire crackled and scattered sparks on the flagstones. One felt isolated from the rest of the world and it seemed as though, no matter what happened, the events of that night would remain forever buried in the silence of those thick walls.

The bell rang, announcing the arrival of Dmitri and my other friends. I showed them into the dining room and they stood for a little while, silently examining the spot where Rasputin was to meet his end. I took from the ebony cabinet a box containing the poison and laid it on the table. Dr. Lazovert put on rubber gloves and ground the cyanide of potassium crystals to powder. Then, lifting the top of each cake, be sprinkled the inside with a dose of poison which, according to him, was sufficient to kill several men instantly. There was an impressive silence. We all followed the doctor's movements with emotion. There remained the glasses into which cyanide was to be poured. It was decided to do this at the last moment so that the poison should not evaporate and lose its potency. We had to give the impression of having just finished supper - for I had warned Rasputin that when we had guests we took our meals in the basement and that I sometimes stayed there alone to read or work while my friends went upstairs to smoke in my study. So we disarranged the table, pushed the chairs back, and poured tea into the cups. It was agreed that when I went to fetch the starets, Dmitri, Purishkevich and Sukhotin would go upstairs and play the gramophone, choosing lively tunes. I wanted to keep Rasputin in a good humor and remove any distrust that might be lurking in his mind.

When everything was ready, I put on an overcoat and drew a fur cap over my ears, completely concealing my face. Doctor Lazovert, in a chauffeur's uniform, started up the engine and we got into the car which was waiting in the courtyard by the side entrance. On reaching Rasputin's house, I had to parley with the janitor before he agreed to let me in. In accordance with Rasputin's instructions, I went up the back staircase; I had to grope my way up in the dark, and only with the greatest difficulty found the starets' door. I rang the bell. "Who's that?" called a voice from inside. I began to tremble. "It's I, Grigori Yefimovitch. I've come for you. I could hear Rasputin moving about the hall. The chain was unfastened, the heavy lock grated. I felt very ill at ease. He opened the door and I went into the kitchen. It was dark. I imagined that someone was spying on me from the next room. Instinctively, I turned up my collar and pulled my cap down over my eyes. "Why are you trying to hide?" asked Rasputin. "Didn't we agree that no one was to know you were going out with me tonight?" "True, true; I haven't said a word about it to anyone in the house, I've even sent away all the tainiks.(* Members of the secret police.) I'll go and dress." I accompanied him to his bedroom; it was lighted only by the little lamp burning before the icons. Rasputin lit a candle; I noticed that his bed was crumpled. He had probably been resting. Near the bed were his overcoat and beaver cap, and his high feltlined galoshes. Rasputin wore a silk blouse embroidered in cornflowers, with a thick raspberry-colored cord as a belt. His velvet breeches and highly polished boots seemed brand-new; he had brushed his hair and carefully combed his beard. As be came close to me, I smelled a strong odor of cheap soap which indicated that he had taken pains with his appearance. I had never seen him look so clean and tidy. "Well, Grigori Yefimovich, it's time to go; it's past midnight." "What about the gypsies? Shall we pay them a visit?" "I don't know; perhaps," I answered. "There will be no one at your house but us tonight?" be asked, with a note of anxiety in his voice. I reassured him by saying that he would meet no one that he might not care to see, and that my mother was in the Crimea. "I don't like your mother. I know she hates me; she's a friend of [Grand Duchess] Elisabeth's. Both of them plot against me and spread slander about me too. The Tsarina herself has often told me that they were my worst enemies. Why, no earlier than this evening, Protopopov came to see me and made me swear not to go out for a few days. 'They'll kill you,' he declared. 'Your enemies are bent on mischief!' But they'd just be wasting time and trouble; they won't succeed, they are not powerful enough ... But that's enough, come on, let's go..." I picked up the overcoat and helped him on with it. Suddenly, a feeling of great pity for the man swept over me. I was ashamed of the despicable deceit, the horrible trickery to which I was obliged to resort. At that moment I was filled with self-contempt, and wondered how I could even have thought of such a cowardly crime. I could not understand how I had brought myself to decide on it. I looked at my victim with dread, as he stood before me, quiet and trusting. What had become of his second sight? What good did his gift of foretelling the future do him? Of what use was his faculty for reading the thoughts of others, if he was blind to the dreadful trap that was laid for him? It seemed as though fate had clouded his mind... to allow justice to deal with him according to his desserts... But suddenly, in a lightning flash of memory, I seemed to recall every stage of Rasputin's infamous life. My qualms of conscience disappeared, making room for a firm determination to complete my task. We walked to the dark landing, and Rasputin closed the door behind him.

Once more I heard the grating of the lock echoing down the staircase; we were in pitch-black darkness. I felt fingers roughly clutching at my hand. "I will show you the way," said the starets dragging me down the stairs. His grip hurt me, I felt like crying out and breaking away, but a sort of numbness came over me. I don't remember what he said to me, or whether I answered him; my one thought was to be out of the dark house as quickly as possible, to get back to the light, and to free myself from that hateful clutch. As soon as we were outside, my fears vanished and I recovered my self-control. We entered the car and drove off. I looked behind us to see whether the police were following; but there was no one, the streets were deserted. We drove a roundabout way to the Moika, entered the courtyard and, once more, the car drew up at the side entrance.

As we entered the house, I could hear my friends talking while the gramophone played "Yankee Doodle went to town." "What's all this?" asked Rasputin. "Is someone giving a party here?" "No, just my wife entertaining a few friends; they'll be going soon. Meanwhile, let's have a cup of tea in the dining room." We went down to the basement. As soon as Rasputin entered the room, he took off his overcoat and began inspecting the furniture with great interest. He was particularly fascinated by the little ebony cabinet, and took a childlike pleasure in opening and shutting the drawers, exploring it inside and out. Then, at the fateful moment, I made a last attempt to persuade him to leave St. Petersburg. His refusal sealed his fate. I offered him wine and tea; to my great disappointment, he refused both. Had something made him suspicious? I was determined, come what may, that he should not leave the house alive. We sat down at the table and began to talk. We reviewed our mutual acquaintances, not forgetting Anna Vyrubova and, naturally, touched on Tsarskoe-Selo. "Grigori Yefimovitch," I asked, "why did Protopopov come to see you? Is he still afraid of a conspiracy?" "Why yes, my dear boy, he is; it seems that my plain speaking annoys a lot of people. The aristocrats can't get used to the idea that a humble peasant should be welcome at the Imperial Palace. ...They are consumed with envy and fury... but I'm not afraid of them. They can't do anything to me. I'm protected against ill fortune. There have been several attempts on my life but the Lord has always frustrated these plots. Disaster will come to anyone who lifts a finger against me." Rasputin's words echoed ominously through the very room in which he was to die, but nothing could deter me now. While he talked, my one idea was to make him drink some wine and eat the cakes.

After exhausting his customary topics of conversion, Rasputin asked for some tea. I immediately poured out a cup and handed him a plate of biscuits. Why was it that I offered him the only biscuits that were not poisoned? I even hesitated before handing him the cakes sprinkled with cyanide. He refused them at first: "I don't want any, they're too sweet." At last, however, he took one, then another... I watched him, horror-stricken. The poison should have acted immediately but, to my amazement, Rasputin went on talking quite calmly. I then suggested that he should sample our Crimean wines. He once more refused. Time was passing, I was becoming nervous; in spite of his refusal, I filled two glasses. But, as in the case of the biscuits - and just as inexplicably - I again avoided using a glass containing cyanide. Rasputin changed his mind and accepted the wine I handed him. He drank it with enjoyment, found it to his taste and asked whether we made a great deal of wine in the Crimea. He seemed surprised to hear that we had cellars full of it. "Pour me out some Madeira," he said. This time I wanted to give it to him in a glass containing cyanide, but he protested: "I'll have it in the same glass." "You can't, Grigori Yefimovich," I replied. "You can't mix two kinds of wines." "It doesn't matter, I'll use the same glass, I tell you." I had to give in without pressing the point, but I managed, as if by mistake, to drop the glass from which he had drunk, and immediately poured the Madeira into a glass containing cyanide. Rasputin did not say anything. I stood watching him drink, expecting any moment to see him collapse. But he continued slowly to sip his wine like a connoisseur. His face did not change, only from time to time be put his hand to his throat as though he had some difficulty in swallowing. He rose and took a few steps. When I asked him what was the matter, he answered: "Why, nothing, just a tickling in my throat. " "The Madeira's good," he remarked; "give me some more." Meanwhile, the poison continued to have no effect, and the starets went on walking calmly about the room. I picked up another glass containing cyanide, filled it with wine and handed it to Rasputin. He drank it as he had the others, and still with no result.

There remained only one poisoned glass on the tray. Then, as I was feeling desperate, and must try to make him do as I did, I began drinking myself. A silence fell upon us as we sat facing each other, He looked at me; there was a malicious expression in his eyes, as if to say: "Now, see, you're wasting your time, you can't do anything to me." Suddenly his expression changed to one of fierce anger; I had never seen him look so terrifying. He fixed his fiendish eyes on me, and at that moment I was filled with such hatred that I wanted to leap at him and strangle him with my bare hands. The silence became ominous. I had the feeling that he knew why I had brought him to my house, and what I had set out to do. We seemed to be engaged in a strange and terrible struggle. Another moment and I would have been beaten, annihilated. Under Rasputin's heavy gaze, I felt all my self-possession leaving me; an indescribable numbness came over me, my head swam...

When I came to myself, he was still seated in the same place, his head in his hands. I could not see his eyes. I had got back my self-control, and offered him another cup of tea. "Pour me a cup," he said in a muffled voice, "I'm very thirsty." He raised his head, his eyes were dull and I thought he avoided looking at me. While I poured the tea, he rose and began walking up and down. Catching sight of my guitar which I had left on a chair, be said: "Play something cheerful, I like listening to your singing." I found it difficult to sing anything at such a moment, especially anything cheerful. "I really don't feel up to it," I said. However, I took the guitar and sang a sad Russian ditty. He sat down and at first listened attentively; then his head drooped and his eyes closed. I thought he was dozing. When I finished the song, he opened his eyes and looked gloomily at me: "Sing another. I'm very fond of this kind of music and you put so much soul into it." I sang once more but I did not recognize my own voice. Time went by; the clock said two-thirty... the nightmare had lasted two interminable hours. What would happen, I thought, if I had lost my nerve? Upstairs my friends were evidently growing impatient, to judge by the racket they made. I was afraid that they might be unable to bear the suspense any longer and just come bursting in. Rasputin raised his head: "What's all that noise?" "Probably the guests leaving," I answered. "I'll go and see what's up." In my study, Dmitri, Purishkevich and Sukhotin rushed at me, and plied me with questions. "Well, have you done it? Is it over?" "The poison hasn't acted," I replied. They stared at me in amazement. "It's impossible!" cried the Grand Duke.

"But the dose was enormous! Did he take the whole lot?" asked the others. "Every bit," I answered. After a short discussion, we agreed to go down in a body, throw ourselves on Rasputin and strangle him. We were already on the way down, when I was brought to a halt by the fear that we would ruin the whole scheme by our precipitation: the sudden appearance of a lot of strangers would certainly arouse Rasputin's suspicions. And who could tell what such a diabolical person was capable of doing? I convinced my friends with great difficulty that it would be best for me to act alone. I took Dmitri's revolver and went back to the basement. Rasputin sat where I had left him; his head drooping and his breathing labored. I went up quietly and sat down by him, but he paid no attention to me. After a few minutes of horrible silence, he slowly lifted his head and turned vacant eyes in my direction. "Are you feeling ill?" I asked. "Yes, my head is heavy and I've a burning sensation in my stomach. Give me another little glass of wine. It'll do me good." I handed him some Madeira; he drank it at a gulp; it revived him and he recovered his spirits. I saw that he was himself again and that his brain was functioning quite normally. Suddenly he suggested that we should go to the gypsies together. I refused, giving the lateness of the hour as an excuse. "That doesn't matter," he said. "They're quite used to that; sometimes they wait up for me all night. I'm often detained at Tsarskoe Selo by important business, or simply to talk about God.... When this happens I drive straight to the gypsies in a car. The body, too, needs a rest... isn't it so? All our thoughts belong to God, they are His, but our bodies belong to ourselves: That's the way it is!" added Rasputin with a wink. I certainly did not expect to hear such talk from a man who had just swallowed an enormous dose of poison. I was particularly struck by the fact that Rasputin, who had a quite remarkable gift of intuition, should be so far from realizing that he was near death. How was it that his piercing eyes had not noticed that I was holding a revolver behind my back, ready to point it at him? I turned my head and saw the crystal crucifix. I rose to look at it more closely. "What are you staring at that crucifix for?" asked Rasputin. "I like it," I replied, "it's so beautiful." "It is indeed beautiful," he said. "It must have cost a lot. How much did you pay for it?" As he spoke, he took a few steps toward me and, without waiting for an answer, added: "For my part, I like the cabinet better." He went up to it, opened it and started to examine it again. "Grigori Yefimovich," I said, "you'd far better look at the crucifix and say a prayer."

Rasputin cast a surprised, almost frightened glance at me. I read in it an expression which I had never known him to have: it was at once gentle and submissive. He came quite close to me and looked me full in the face. It was as though he had at last read something in my eyes, something he had not expected to find. I realized that the hour had come. "O Lord," I prayed, "give me the strength to finish it." Rasputin stood before me motionless, his head bent and his eyes on the crucifix. I slowly raised the revolver. Where should I aim, at the temple or at the heart? A shudder swept over me; my arm grew rigid, I aimed at his heart and pulled the trigger. Rasputin gave a wild scream and crumpled up on the bearskin. For a moment I was appalled to discover how easy it was to kill a man. A flick of the finger and what had been a living, breathing man only a second before, now lay on the floor like a broken doll. On hearing the shot my friends rushed in, but in their frantic haste they brushed against the switch and turned out the light. Someone bumped into me and cried out; I stood motionless for fear of treading on the body. At last, someone turned the light on. Rasputin lay on his back. His features twitched in nervous spasms; his hands were clenched, his eyes closed. A bloodstain was spreading on his silk blouse. A few moments later all movement ceased. We bent over his body to examine it. The doctor declared that the bullet had struck him in the region of the heart. There was no possibility of doubt: Rasputin was dead. Dmitri and Purishkevich lifted him from the bearskin and laid him on the flagstones. We turned off the light and went up to my room, after locking the basement door.

Our hearts were full of hope, for we were convinced that what had just taken place would save Russia and the dynasty from ruin and dishonor. In accordance with our plan, Dmitri, Sukhotin and the Doctor were to pretend to take Rasputin back to his house, in case the secret police had followed us without our knowing it. Sukhotin was to pass himself off as the starets and, wearing Rasputin's overcoat and cap, would drive off in Purishkevich's open car along with Dmitri and the Doctor. They were to return to the Moika in the Grand Duke's closed car, after which they would take the body to Petrovsky Island. Purishkevich and I remained at the Moika. While we waited for our friends, we talked of the future of our country, now that it was freed once and for all from its evil genius. How could we foresee that those who ought to have seized this unique opportunity would not have the will, or the skill, to do so?

As we talked I was suddenly filled with a vague misgiving; an irresistible impulse forced me to go down to the basement. Rasputin lay exactly where we had left him. I felt his pulse: not a beat, he was dead. Scarcely knowing what I was doing I seized the corpse by the arms and shook it violently. It leaned to one side and fell back. I was just about to go, when I suddenly noticed an almost imperceptible quivering of his left eyelid. I bent over and watched him closely; slight tremors contracted his face. All of a sudden, I saw the left eye open... A few seconds later his right eyelid began to quiver, then opened. I then saw both eyes - the green eyes of a viper - staring at me with an expression of diabolical hatred. The blood ran cold in my veins. My muscles turned to stone. I wanted to run away, to call for help, but my legs refused to obey me and not a sound came from my throat. I stood rooted to the flagstones as if caught in the toils of a nightmare. Then a terrible thing happened: with a sudden violent effort Rasputin leapt to his feet, foaming at the mouth. A wild roar echoed through the vaulted rooms, and his hands convulsively thrashed the air. He rushed at me, trying to get at my throat, and sank his fingers into my shoulder like steel claws. His eyes were bursting from their sockets, blood oozed from his lips. And all the time he called me by name, in a low raucous voice. No words can express the horror I felt. I tried to free myself but was powerless in his vicelike grip. A ferocious struggle began.... This devil who was dying of poison, who had a bullet in his heart, must have been raised from the dead by the powers of evil. There was something appalling and monstrous in his diabolical refusal to die. I realized now who Rasputin really was. It was the reincarnation of Satan himself who held me in his clutches and would never let me go till my dying day. By a superhuman effort I succeeded in freeing myself from his grasp. He fell on his back, gasping horribly and still holding in his hand the epaulette he had torn from my tunic during our struggle. For a while he lay motionless on the floor. Then after a few seconds, he moved. I rushed upstairs and called Purishkevich, who was in my study. "Quick, quick, come down!" I cried. "He's still alive!"

At that moment, I heard a noise behind me; I seized the rubber club Maklakov had given me (he had said: "one never knows") and rushed downstairs, followed by Purishkevich, revolver in hand. We found Rasputin climbing the stairs. He was crawling on hands and knees, gasping and roaring like a wounded animal. He gave a desperate leap and managed to reach the secret door which led into the courtyard. Knowing that the door was locked, I waited on the landing above, grasping my rubber club. To my horror and amazement, I saw the door open and Rasputin disappear. Purishkevich sprang after him. Two shots echoed through the night. The idea that he might escape was intolerable! Rushing out of the house by the main entrance, I ran along the Moika to cut him off in case Purishkevich had missed him. The courtyard had three entrances, but only the middle one was unlocked. Through the iron railings, I could see Rasputin making straight for it. I heard a third shot, then a fourth... I saw Rasputin totter and fall beside a heap of snow, Purishkevich ran up to him, stood for a few seconds looking at the body, then, having made sure that this time all was over, went swiftly into the house. I called, but he did not hear me. The quay and the adjacent streets were deserted; apparently the shots had not been heard. When I had reassured myself on this point, I entered the courtyard and went up to the snow-heap behind which lay Rasputin. He gave no sign of life.

But, at that moment, I saw two of my servants running up from one side and a policeman from the other. I went up to the policeman and spoke to him; I stood so as to make him turn his back to the spot where Rasputin lay. "Your Highness," he said on recognizing me, "I heard revolver shots. What has happened?" "Nothing of any consequence," I replied, "just a little horseplay. I gave a small party this evening and one of my friends who had drunk a little too much amused himself by firing his revolver into the air. If anyone questions you, just say that everything's all right, and that there is no harm done!" As I spoke, I led him to the gate. I then returned to the corpse by which the two servants were standing. Rasputin's body still lay in a crumpled heap on the same spot, but his position had changed. My God, I thought, can he still be alive? I was terror-stricken at the bare thought that he might suddenly get up again. I ran toward the house, calling Purishkevich, who had disappeared indoors. I felt sick, and Rasputin's hollow voice calling my name still rang in my ears. Staggering to my dressing room, I drank a glass of water. At that moment Purishkevich entered the room: "Ah! there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!" he cried. My sight was blurred, I thought I was going to faint. Purishkevich helped me to my study. We had scarcely reached it when my manservant came to say that the policeman I had talked to a few moments before wished to see me again. The shots, it seems, had been heard from the police station, and my constable, whose beat it was, had been sent for to make a report on what had happened. As his version of the affair was considered unsatisfactory, the police insisted on fuller details. When the constable entered the room, Purishkevich addressed him in a loud voice: "Have you ever heard of Rasputin? The man who plotted to ruin our country, the Tsar and your brother-soldiers? The man who betrayed us to Germany, do you hear?" Not understanding what was expected of him, the policeman remained silent. "Do you know who I am?" continued Purishkevich. "I am Vladimir Mitrophanovich Purishkevich, member of the Duma. The shots you heard killed Rasputin. If you love your country and your Tsar, you'll keep your mouth shut." I listened with horror to this amazing statement, which came so unexpectedly that I had no chance to interrupt. Purishkevich was in such a state of excitement that he did not realize what he was saying. Finally, the policeman spoke: "You did right and I won't say a word unless I'm put on oath. I would then have to tell the truth as it would be a sin to lie." Purishkevich followed him out.

My manservant then informed me that Rasputin's body had been placed on the lower landing of the staircase. I felt very ill, my head swam and I could scarcely walk. I rose with difficulty, automatically picked up my rubber club, and left the study. As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Rasputin stretched out on the landing, blood flowing from his many wounds. It was a loathsome sight. Suddenly, everything went black, I felt the ground slipping from under my feet and I fell headlong down the stairs. Purishkevich and Ivan found me, a few minutes later, lying side by side with Rasputin; the murderer and his victim. I was unconscious and he and Ivan had to carry me to my bedroom. Meanwhile Dmitri, Sukhotin and Doctor Lazovert came back in a closed car to fetch Rasputin's body. When Purishkevich told them what had happened, they decided to let me rest and go off without me. They wrapped the corpse in a piece of heavy linen, shoved it into the car, and drove to Petrovsky Island. There, from the top of the bridge, they hurled it into the river. On regaining consciousness I felt as though I had just recovered from a serious illness. The air I breathed in so deeply seemed fresh, clean and pure, as after a storm. I seemed to come to life again.

With the help of my servant I washed up all traces of blood which might give us away. When everything was in order I walked out into the courtyard... I had to think of some story to explain the revolver shots. This is what I decided to say: one of my guests while considerably the worse for liquor had tried to shoot one of our watchdogs in the courtyard when he was leaving. I then sent for the two servants who had seen the end of the tragedy and explained what had really happened. They listened in silence and promised to keep my secret. It was almost five in the morning when I left the Moika to return to the Grand Duke Alexander's palace. I felt full of courage and confidence at the thought that the first steps to save Russia had been taken. I found my brother-in-law Fyodor in my room. He had spent a sleepless night, anxiously waiting for me to come back. "Thank God you are here at last," he said. "Well?" "Rasputin is dead," I replied, "but I'm not in a fit state to talk about it; I am dropping with fatigue." Realising that I would need all my strength on the morrow to face the cross-examinations, the investigations, and perhaps even worse, I went to bed and at once fell into a deep sleep.

*Felix Yusupov was undergoing military training at the Corps des Pages at the time of the murder.

**the Yusupov palace on the Moika canal.

source: Lost Splendour by Felix Yusupov, chapter 23

[magicthatmustbelove]

The First Moment Of Forever

A pre "Encino" short in which Michael and Althea first meet.

Note: It's been a while since I wrote a little blurb. I'm hoping this was successful in getting my creative juices flowing for a future "Encino" update. Also, we can't forget to wish our one and only King a happy heavenly birthday! 🎂

Link to original story: https://www.wattpad.com/story/291710565-encino-m-j

Althea's jaw could have dropped to the ground when the bus jerked to a stop. A halo of light caressed the tall, majestic building, causing the silver bricks to glitter like diamonds in the California sunlight. 

She'd only ever seen pictures of the Jacksounds Records building in magazines. Never once had Althea dreamed she'd one day be standing in front of it, the idea she'd soon be setting foot in it was even wilder. 

Her stomach churned with anxiety as she shuffled the bus, fellow passengers pushing past her as she stopped on the sidewalk to take in a deep breath. 

Althea finally knew how Dorothy felt when she arrived in Emerald City to see the Wizard. 

The Jacksounds internship was the most highly competitive and coveted internship Loyola Marymount had to offer its music students and Althea was over the moon when she discovered she'd been chosen as one of the five applicants to get the best musical education anyone could ask for.

Jacksounds had integrated black soul music into the mainstream in the ‘60s and '70s and crafted some of the greatest hits and biggest stars the country had seen. Joseph Jackson was the ebony Burt Bacharach, King Midas of R&B and Soul. Every melody he put his pen to turned to gold. He'd built his Empire with his bare hands and was now one of the first black millionaire CEOs. 

Anyone would be stupid not to jump at the opportunity.

Things had been tough on Althea when she returned to classes after taking a leave of absence to care for her grandmother who'd sadly succumbed to her diabetic coma but for the first time in a while, she felt on top of things.

Things were finally looking up and she was bursting with optimism that even Mary Tyler Moore and her tam-o'-shanter hat couldn’t compete with. 

The sales tag of the teal and maroon floral printed wrap dress she’d brought from the boutique she worked at scratched her back as she pushed through the building’s revolving glass doors. Althea knew she’d need to look as professional as possible for the internship but didn’t have the budget to keep any new clothes. 

She’d stood the entire bus ride, hoping not to have spills throughout the day. The twenty-dollar dress would have to be returned as if she’d never worn it. 

The lobby looked luxurious with marble floors, gold paneling, and cream furniture. Her eyes landed on the marquee boasting  Jacksounds suite and suddenly the imposter syndrome hit Althea. She was very much in the building that birthed the hits she’d danced in her living room to as a kid and a nagging voice in her head told her she didn’t belong. 

Althea closed her eyes, taking another deep breath as she pressed the elevator button. 

“Time to me make Granny proud,” she whispered to herself.

She resisted the urge to pick apart her appearance in the mirrored walls of the lift and instead, focused on tapping her foot to the jazzy rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” playing over the intercom. When the doors finally opened, Althea was nearly blinded by a gold record of a Miracles hit hanging proudly on the walls, a dozen more trailing behind, each from an iconic black artist. 

The carpet was as red as the one at the Oscars, and she was almost afraid to imprint it with her pumps. A large, shiny mahogany desk was not far away, a hive of identical ones stretched the length of reception, each with a busy secretary perched behind it. 

“Excuse me,” she spoke timidly as she approached the desk. 

The gray wisp escaping the secretary’s bun and the antique pen necklace draped around her neck made Althea conclude she’d been working for Jacksounds for a long time. The chunky chocolate brown phone stayed glued to her ear with the support of her shoulder blade while her hands were occupied with a sharp nail file. 

She hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge Althea’s presence. 

“Excuse me,” She repeated, gently pressing her hands on the desk. “I’m an intern candidate. Could you show me where I’m supposed to report?”

The secretary stretched her hand out in front of her, inspecting the new oval shape of her nails as if  Althea had not uttered a word. 

“I tried to tell her,” The woman spoke loudly into the receiver. “If he lied about his height, he’ll lie about anything else,”

The young woman sighed, trying not to grow frustrated. She nervously glanced around the room, hoping that anyone would recognize her distress but she only seemed invisible. 

“Sure, the idea sounds a little far fetched but I know I can convince them to take us on,” 

Michael rolled his eyes before fixing his gaze out the conference room window as his older brother Jermaine arrogantly droned on about the company’s latest potential business deal. He often found these weekly business meetings with their father pointless and insufferable. Jermaine always monopolized the conversation, and any input Michael had to offer was ignored or stolen by the older brother. 

Joseph looked up from the document in front of him, his gaze falling to his distracted youngest son. Because he wanted his sons to stay abreast of the happenings in the family business, the CEO made an effort to include Michael.   

The youngest Jackson was far more creative than he was business-minded and Joseph admittedly preferred Jermaine’s gift of strategic business modeling than Michael’s talent and ear for music production. He'd trained the older son well and Joseph knew when his time on earth was up, the Jacksounds legacy would live on with Jermaine in charge.  

“Michael, do you have anything to add?”  He asked. 

The aforementioned son tore his gaze away from the view of the busy Encino street, his shapely brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Since when do we care what I think?” Michael questions sardonically while folding his arms. “Erms never lets anybody get in a word edgewise. Besides, that was my idea all along and he takes it and runs with it,” 

The elder Jackson brother leaned back in the plush leather chair with a facetious grin

“You pitched it but I perfected it,” Jermaine bragged. 

Michael rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, Erms. You're not so original,” He scoffed and turned to Joseph. “Do I have to be here, anymore? This is a waste of my time,” 

Jermaine chuckled.

“It's not like you've got much to do,”  

The younger brother pushed himself from the glossy mahogany table, jaw clenched in anger.

“You're about to give me somethin’ to do alright,” Michael warned.

Joseph sighed heavily, too tired to endure his sons’ constant rivalry. 

“That’s enough. Let's adjourn. Jermaine, give me an update on this by Wednesday,” 

The older brother clicked his gold embossed pen close. 

“Sure thing, Joseph,” 

Deeply agitated, Michael stormed out of the conference room. Sometimes, he didn’t even know why he even bothered showing up at Jacksounds every day. He could easily live off his trust fund and spend his days trotting around the globe with a beautiful woman on each arm but Michael wanted something more fulfilling. 

Since a young child, he'd had a deep passion for music. While he'd never fully mastered an instrument, Michael was a savant at weaving sounds together. When he wasn’t perched behind the soundboard, he'd been sitting in on Joseph's meeting since he was fifteen and had trained himself to identify the qualities that created a bonafide star. 

Michael was just as capable and charismatic as Jermaine but Joseph had already decided which son would someday reign as CEO. 

“Hey, little brother,” Jermaine spoke, rushing to his brother's side to gloat. “Don't be so sore,” 

Michael rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. 

“Stay away from me, Jermaine,” He warned.

Jermaine chuckled. 

“Don't be silly, Mike. That kind of stuff is for executives. I mean, you have no idea how much pressure I'm under. Joseph's gettin up there in age and I've been taking the load off his back carrying this company by myself,”

The younger Jackson rolled his eyes as they entered the lobby. Michael stopped at the water cooler chuckling to himself. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe just how inflated Jermaine’s ego was. 

“You really believe your own shit, don't cha?” 

He snatched up a paper cup, his eyes wandering briefly around the office. They stopped briefly at his secretary’s desk before Michael’s gaze caught sight of something far more interesting. 

There at the front desk stood the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. 

Her skin was the color of silky, sweet caramel, her frame small but shapely, boasting delicate, deep curves, and a tiny waist held up by spectacular legs. The young woman's face held an agitated pout but was exquisitely sculpted with gorgeous cheekbones and darling brown eyes. Her hair had been piled into big soft curls, the fluorescent lights seemed to cast an angelic glow over her head. 

A rush of awe and allure quickened Michael’s pulse like a zap of lightning.  He'd seen plenty of beautiful women in Encino but no woman had ever stunned him the way this one had. 

She was a literal knockout in looks but there was also something so magnetic about her presence in the room. Suddenly, Michael wanted to know any and everything about her. 

In a bit of a daze, he shoved the paper cup in Jermaine's hand before slowly making his way across the room. 

Althea anxiously tapped her foot, an impatient sigh escaping her. From the corner of her eye, she could see a figure approaching.  She first noticed the dazzling white smile when she turned her attention. Althea had to take in a breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the sight of the handsome young man coming toward her. 

His walk was smooth as butter, natural and relaxed yet oozing masculine energy. His spanku eyes were large and enchanting- the kind you can hardly look away from- and Althea truly couldn’t decide whether she adored his eyes or his smile more. The beauty of his face could only be described as being caringly whittled by the gods. 

Althea never believed in love at first sight but the chorus of bells and banjos was deafening.

The ball of anxiety sitting on her chest had been relieved thanks to the smile. That smile made her feel safe like nothing could ever go wrong. 

“You look a little lost. Can I help you find your way?” 

Althea turned her eyes away from the lean muscles peeking beneath his collared Lacoste shirt and chuckled nervously. 

“I'm an intern,” She grinned, batting her eyelashes. “I don't know where I'm supposed to report and she's a little tied up at the moment,” 

She jerked her head in the direction of the distracted receptionist. Michael shook his head in disappointment. 

“She's deaf in one ear and she's always got the good one glued to the phone,” He tutted. 

His slender frame leaned over the desk, his perfectly coiffed jheri curl glistening under the office lights. Michael’s slender finger firmly tapped the rude woman, cutting her gregarious laughter short. She set down the phone with a small huff. 

“Gladys,” He smiled passive-aggressively. “Could you help this young lady by telling her where to report?” 

“Name, honey?” 

Althea flashed the young man a gracious smile. 

“Thomas. Althea Thomas,” 

Gladys swiveled her chair in the direction of a stack of manilla folders and quickly thumbed through them before she found the matching name. 

 “Production conference room in the West hall,” the secretary answered dryly, extending the folder to the young woman. 

Michael straightened himself from his leaning position against the desk. 

“Thank you, Gladys,” he turned to Althea. “C'mon, I'll take you there,” 

She let out a heavy sigh of relief. It felt so nice to be acknowledged. 

“Thank you so much,” she giggled. “I feel much better now. I didn't catch your name,” 

“Michael,” he flashed that breathtaking smile again. “Michael Jackson,” 

He extended his large, svelte hand and Althea felt her heart race when they touched. It was a warm, zippy feeling- like static shock without the pain. 

“You wouldn't happen to be related to Joseph Jackson, would you?” She questioned while following his lead. 

“Sometimes I wish I wasn't but there are perks to bein’ his kid,”  Michael shrugged. 

Althea felt a sense of disappointment. Sure, Michael was gorgeous and nice but she couldn't risk getting involved with the CEO's son. She didn’t need a silly crush getting in the way of her education and surely there was some rule against it. It was better to keep her head down and forget the idea altogether. 

“Piano,” He grinned over his shoulder. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Piano. That's what you play right?” 

Althea giggled bashfully as she extended her fingers to inspect her cherry red nail polish. 

“How'd you know?” 

“It's your hands,” Michael grinned, proud of himself.  “Piano players always have the prettiest hands,” 

She hugged the folder to her chest, a blush creeping across her cheeks. 

“I'm classically trained but I don’t think I'll have much of a career as a concert pianist. Besides, I like funk music too much,”  

Althea giggled and he couldn’t help but instantly love the sound of her laugh. Michael quirked a brow. 

“Who’s your favorite?” 

Her doll eyes lit up, a bashful grin stretching across her lips. 

“I’m just crazy about Rick James,” 

He chuckled. 

They’d only met a few minutes ago but Michael was willing to buy her every Rick James album ever printed if he knew it would make her happy. They’d stopped in front of the production room and he felt disappointed knowing their conversation had to end. 

“Well, here it is,” Michael announced. 

Althea smiled adoringly at the handsome young man who’d come to her rescue. 

“Thank you, Michael,” 

He folded his arms behind his back and grinned, bowing slightly. 

“It was my pleasure, Althea. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me,” 

“I won’t,” 

They’d both wanted the moment to last forever but both Michael and Althea knew this wasn’t the last they’d see of each other. 

[madmarchhare]

For the DnD writing thing

@chaosunit0010, it's a day erly I know, but for the Forgotten God one. I can't draw, so here a short story!

Hope you all like it! If you do, I have other writing stuff on my blog! Have a love-ely day~!

Forgotten Star

I was sat in the back of an erratic little carriage that jumped and jerked as it was pulled up a rough little highland road that led to my friends estate. He was not overtly fond of carriages, and even less so of automobiles, so he left his roads rough, as he usually either walked them himself or rode where he wanted to.

                Not that he was home enough that it would ever have been much of a concern to him. He spent far too much time on safari or adventuring out wherever and whenever he could. The carts movement steadied as we reached the end of the road and I peered out of the window to look at his estate, the beautiful sight never boring me.

                It was a large grey stone manor, stately and old fashioned in its shape. Yet its roof was bowled out and pointed in various points, apparently called shikhara, more akin to a great eastern palace. The bricks were engraved with great tribal patterns making it look like a grant temple from the Dark country. Finally it’s windows and doors were grand affairs, the formers made of grand slabs of eastern crystal thinned and polished then painted in beautiful patterns: the latter carved from ebony wood with deep and beautiful patterns etched deep in their faces. All this surrounded by the dense embrace of a forest of pines, firs and sequoia trees that seemed to shield it from the view of the world.

                I stepped out from the carriage down onto the drive, giving a nod to my driver along with a tip. He returned the nod then turned the carriage back and began to depart back down the rocky road. I walked up to the beautifully carved door, brushing my hands slightly over the smooth patterns on it’s face before snapping together the brass knocker on them.

The door was pulled open after a few seconds by a pale looking Tiefling, he wore a tribal mask from the Dark country, covering his whole face while he wore a pale bone coloured suit. He bowed to me, then pulled the door further ajar and stood aside to let me in.

“Master East is expecting you, if you’ll wait here in the hall I shall go get him.” He said, speaking with a slight bobbing accent, his voice slightly muffled from behind his mask.

“Of course,” I replied, removing my hat as I stepped in, looking about the lobby as he walked off, his tail twitching slightly behind him as he walked off. The lobby was tall, reaching up two stories, the main house steeple at it’s top, which carried the grand chandelier that hung down into it, illuminating the various tapestries, stuffed heads and antiques around the room pinned to the grand wood walls or on plinths on the mosaic floor.

There was a door either side of the room, excluding the entrance itself. Next to either door was stood a stuffed bear, for the one that the Tiefling had went into for the parlour, the bear wore a top hat. The other wore a pith helmet and clenched a musket in it’s jaws. Likely to his hunting room.

“Sven! How are you my friend? Have you been well?” Called out a new voice from behind me as I studied the helmeted bear. I turned around to see the friend I had come to visit. East was a reasonably tall man just breeching six foot. He was thickly built, with broad shoulders and a bold chest that was full of mirth. He was dressed in a reddish smoking jacket and a wide smile, the latter he always wore. He had maple brown hair, trimmed short on his fringe, but platted on his back; and a great beard obscuring most of his face in autumn coloured hair.

“I am well. Though having to go up that drive of yours had made me rather sore.” I replied, walking over to him as I held my hat, the servant coming up to our side and taking it from me. East gave a guffawing laugh in return and put his arm over my shoulder and pulled me in close.

“You always act like every seat is a bed of nails for you my friend!” Pulling me forward past the top hatted bear into a hallway.

“With what that drive is like it might as well be!” I responded, making him break out into a laugh once again.

“Yes, your not the first to complain. Though the politest about it so far.” Opening the door to the parlour as he spoke, letting us into the splendid room.

It was a long, almost hall like room, like what you would read about from old adventure novels. It had a trio of massive fireplaces across the opposite side of the room, all dressed in brick and aged oak with great portraits above them, all from different countries ad vastly different styles. They were never the same paintings that I had seen the time before either.

It was carpet in a great purple velvet, ebony tables and leather chairs were dotted about it as a quartet of grandfather clocks tutted together at the emptiness of the room. I walked over to the table that East gestured to me, a tall ebony round table with a pair of sherry glasses and a large blue bottle of the sweat drink.

“Thank you,” I said as I sat down, the servant pouring me a drink as I did, getting a smile from me in return.

“So, how has work been treating you? I still can’t believe you’re a police officer, that type of work doesn’t suit you!” East remarked as he slackened in his chair, the cherry in his glass seeming to have disappeared before I saw it poured.

“My superior seemed to take the same view.” I replied, looking down at my steepled hands, my face tensing slightly. East shifted in his chair, straightening up.

“Pardon?”

“He fired me from the force. He couldn’t even come up with a reason why, just told me to go and not come back. They never did like me there anyway.” I said, my voice becoming slightly hollow without my noticing. I cleared my throat, trying to push past the subject. “Well, you all said it never suited me. This might be for the best, there’s always work if you peak under the corners.” I finished with a chuckle looking up at East, who regarded me with a stern look, catching me off guard.

“Yes, but it was what ,you, wanted to do.” His response caught me off guard, making me stiffen up. “Whether I, or anyone else thought it didn’t suite you was irrelevant. We were happy that you were.” Resting his head on his palm as he spoke. I looked down at the floor, not having anything to say, trying to hold back a warm tear, and only just managing.

East was silent for a long moment before standing up. “Well,” he began as I turned up to look up at him, “if you are looking for work, I might have something to tide you over before you go back to the force.” He stated, gesturing for both I and the servant to follow.

“Wha-” I began before he continued on, out through the door we came through, making me quickly chuck the rest of my glass down my throat and scurry after him, the servant following on after us much more calmly, yet easily keeping pace.

“What do you mean? Firstly, I don’t need a job, I’m more than fine. Secondly, what do you man get back on the force? It didn’t work out! I’ll just do something else.” I blurted out hurriedly, panicking as I scurried after him, my glasses rocking about on my nose with every other step.

“You give up too easily on your ambitions my dear friend.” East replied, making me stop mid-step. He stopped as well, turning around to me with a stiff expression, a line of disapproval clear in his countenance. “While, it is, and will always remain your own right to decide your own path. It remains my right to be concerned for you as your friend, you can refuse my help, but that doesn’t mean I will stop offering it.” He finished, his face the same, though less disapproving now than before.

“Now, either, you can follow, looking at a job offer. Or, you can follow simply as my friend, who I want to show off to. Though, you’ll remain the latter in either case.” He finished, walking through the hall and past the pith hatted bear. I looked at him as he went, stopping for a moment, unable to stop a single tear from falling from my eye and blurring my glasses. I lifted them from my face, and wiped it with a white cloth from my vest pocket as I followed after him, a small smile on my face.

“You’re too good. Simply too good.” I mumbled to myself as I walked, noticing the servant was regarding me quietly, but then quickly turned his masked face forward again. I followed after them, darting my gaze around as we advanced through the hall to the various paintings, tapestries, animals and fineries that beautied the menagerie of a manor.

Then we came to a large, pale door, a great valve set on it’s face, like a ships bulkhead. The servant stepped past both East and I and grabbed the valve with a single hand, then twisted it open with great ease. I stared at him for a moment in quiet bewilderment, feeling my glasses slide down my nose once again.

“Thank you Nivika,” East said to him, a pleasant smile on his face, the latter giving a small bow in return. East then continued on, lifting a foot over the step into the rooms threshold, both I and Nivika following on after, seeming to gravitate towards my friend.

The room itself was covered wall to wall in stacked glass cabinets, filled with various objects of either great beauty or things that I simply could not explain.

“What is this?” I asked, eyes scatter, flicking my gaze about the room, almost making myself dizzy as I found object after object that snatched up my curiosity.

“A collection of mine. Mythical and magical artifacts, form Dwarves, Elves, Kobolds, Gnolls and what have you,” he replied, with a slightly exited tone, puffing his chest out slightly. “Though, there’s plenty of things from humans in here as well. We were always a race obsessed with the materiel after all,” chuckling as he finished, then seemed to calm himself suddenly.

“But, that’s not what I wanted to show you however,” walking over to one side of the room to a particular cabinet in a dark corner of the room, his words pulling me after him, “that honour, belongs to this.” He held out his hand and Nivika passed him a wooden rod with a brass head that East used to push open the face of the cabinet, then pull out it’s contents.

It was.. Well, a smallish round iron ball, somewhere between a watermelon and a grapefruit. It was unpolished, seeming to sit in his hand with a dull lustre, and yet, seemingly out of place in reality, like it didn’t quite fit.

“What is it?” I asked, curious what about it made it so fantastic it deserved a place among all these other treasures.

“Something forgotten.” East replied, rocking it in his hand as he walked around in front of me.

“Pardon?” I asked, taken slightly aback by his response. East regarded me for a moment, seeming to think about something as he looked down at the clump of metal in his hands.

“You know that this world has seen far more nations and cultures and peoples that what is left in this current age, yes?” He put to me, his inner scholar breaking out across his face.

“Yes, what do you mean?” I replied, a bite of sheepishness breaking my words.

“Well, we have our Gods don’t we?” He said, looking to me for confirmation, so I, and Nivika both gave a nod in response. “Then, here is the question you should be asking. What happened to theirs?” Lifting the ball high above his head as he studied it’s underside. I felt my jaw slacken as he finished, what he just said slowly digging itself into my mind.

“Y-you mean…” I stammered out, feeling my glasses finally fall from my face, then be caught by the chain from my jacket pocket.

“Yes. This is what is left of a forgotten God.” He turned to me after that, a smile pulling at his face, “but, if something is left. That can only mean, it’s not forgotten.” I felt myself getting exited as he spoke, my knees weakening beneath me as a manic smile seemed to break across my face before I could notice it.

“The job I have for you,” he continued, snapping me out of my little reverie, “is to find who, or what, still remembers this one.” Bouncing the ball in his hand as he finished.

“But, how do I do that?” I asked, trying to remain serious, my excitement almost flooding my brain.

“I’ll leave that up to you.” He replied jovially, tossing the ball into my arms, which I caught with both hands, making me gasp out from it’s surprising weight for how easily East had been tossing it about.

“But,” I began, but when I looked up, neither East, Nivika, the room or anything was there. I looked all around me, looking up and around to try and find something, but there wasn’t anything. Just cold blackness. Yet, it felt oddly comfortable.

I spun my head around for a moment before I heard a voice come from behind me, as if spoken directly into my ear. “So, you’re the new one then?” I whirled around to where I had heard it, but nothing was there, somehow even less than there was before.

“Who are you?!” I shouted out into the emptiness. “Where are you?!”

“I should really be asking that. You came up here to me after all, or would it be down? Maybe a bit to the left? Never mind…” The voice dismissive as it spoke, always seeming to be just behind me no matter where I looked. “I suppose I should grant you the honour of an answer. You are the first one to come and see me in a while after all.” It finished, leaving me slightly confused, but before I could think about it, I felt a clap of air from behind me as if a massive explosion had silently gone off behind me, accompanied by a great silver light as well.

I spun around to see what it was, to snap out some retort, but when I did, nothing came out. The figure that floated before me was over seven feet tall, dressed in a splendid red, blue and gold tunic, covered with gold and turquoise jewellery. But what was more fascinating was it’s body, it was covered in turquoise feathers that covered it’s arms, legs and face, then pale nutmeg scales that covered its stomach and chest, along the bottom of it’s tail.

But what was even more remarkable than that, was something else. A large section of it’s gut, an arm and a leg on opposite sides, and the top half of it’s head, seemed to be shattered, with part of them hovering near where they used to be part of him, following delayed after he had already moved the limb, delayed slightly in their movement.

“Speechless then?” The figure responded, making me jump, “that’s to be expected when people gaze on my majestic figure.” Placing the hand of his shattered arm on his chest proudly, dragging behind him a shattered halo of white light.

I wrestled with my stunned mouth for a moment before I was able for force out my question. “Who-who are y-you.” I bundled the question out of my mouth, my tongue not seeming to fit within my jaw any longer. He seemed to look at me slightly surprised, like I had asked something obvious, not that I could truly tell, considering he lacked most of what could be used to make an expression bar from a long muzzle stuffed with large teeth.

“Well, you should know that already, shouldn’t you,” Spreading his arms out wide, his muzzle breaking out into a grand smile, the fractured halo expanding out behind him, “I’m your God!” His response making me stiffen, not able to breath for a moment. “Good to meet yah! But, I think it’s time for goodbyes. Caio!” He called out, the last note of his voice seeming to coincide with the world around me snaping back to where I was before, both East and Nivika giving me concerned looks.

I smiled back to both of them, making them relax slightly. “East, I’ll do it.” I stated, my smile stilled pulled across my face as I gripped the at the steel sphere.

@agarespicero

@pursonsoisooi

@pemopemochimi

@irumaismybaby

@irumeanie

@shaoron

@jemimacatclover

@momonoki-a-real-teacher

@psycho-zom-atic

[pokemonleagueofficial]

can you post a bedtime story I’m tired

The chair has been used since antiquity, although for many centuries it was a symbolic article of state and dignity rather than an article for ordinary use. "The chair" is still used as the emblem of authority in the House of Commons in Galar[6] and Canada,[7] and in many other settings. In keeping with this historical connotation of the "chair" as the symbol of authority, committees, boards of directors, and academic departments all have a 'chairman' or 'chair'.[8] Endowed professorships are referred to as chairs.[9] It was not until the 16th century that chairs became common.[10] Until then, people sat on chests, benches, and stools, which were the ordinary seats of everyday life. The number of chairs which have survived from an earlier date is exceedingly limited; most examples are of ecclesiastical, seigneurial or feudal origin.[citation needed]

Chairs were in existence since at least the Early Dynastic Period of Egypt (c. 3100 BC). They were covered with cloth or leather, were made of carved wood, and were much lower than today's chairs – chair seats were sometimes only 10 inches (25 cm) high.[11] In ancient Egypt, chairs appear to have been of great richness and splendor. Fashioned of ebony and ivory, or of carved and gilded wood, they were covered with costly materials, magnificent patterns and supported upon representations of the legs of Pokemon or the figures of captives. Generally speaking, the higher ranked an individual was, the taller and more sumptuous was the chair he sat on and the greater the honor. On state occasions, the pharaoh sat on a throne, often with a little footstool in front of it.[11]

The average Egyptian family seldom had chairs, and if they did, it was usually only the master of the household who sat on a chair. Among the better off, the chairs might be painted to look like the ornate inlaid and carved chairs of the rich, but the craftsmanship was usually poor.[11]

The earliest images of chairs in China are from 6th-century Buddhist murals and stele, but the practice of sitting in chairs at that time was rare. It was not until the 12th century that chairs became widespread in China. Scholars disagree on the reasons for the adoption of the chair. The most common theories are that the chair was an outgrowth of indigenous Chinese furniture, that it evolved from a camp stool imported from Central Asia, that it was introduced to China by The Original One missionaries in the 7th century, and that the chair came to China from India as a form of Buddhist monastic furniture. In modern China, unlike Korea or Kanto, it is no longer common to sit at floor level.[12]

In Europe, it was owing in great measure to the Renaissance that the chair ceased to be a privilege of state and became a standard item of furniture for anyone who could afford to buy it. Once the idea of privilege faded the chair speedily came into general use. Almost at once the chair began to change every few years to reflect the fashions of the day.[13]

Thomas Edward Bowdich visited the main Palace of the Ashanti Empire in 1819, and observed chairs engrossed with gold in the empire.[14] In the 1880s, chairs became more common in Unovan households and usually there was a chair provided for every family member to sit down to dinner. By the 1830s, factory-manufactured “fancy chairs” like those by Sears, Roesawsbuck, and Co. allowed families to purchase machined sets. With the Industrial Revolution, chairs became much more available.[15]

The 20th century saw an increasing use of technology in chair construction with such things as all-metal folding chairs, metal-legged chairs, the Slumber Chair,[citation needed] moulded plastic chairs and ergonomic chairs.[16] The recliner became a popular form, at least in part due to radio and television. In the 1930s, stair lifts were commercially available to help people suffering from Polio and other diseases to navigate stairs.[17]

The modern movement of the 1960s produced new forms of chairs: the butterfree chair (originally called the Hardoy chair), bean bags, and the egg-shaped pod chair that turns. It also introduced the first mass-produced plastic chairs such as the Bofinger chair in 1966.[18] Technological advances led to molded plywood and wood laminate chairs, as well as chairs made of leather or polymers. Mechanical technology incorporated into the chair enabled adjustable chairs, especially for office use. Motors embedded in the chair resulted in massage chairs.[19]

[talesofpassingtime]

But in the draping of the apartment lay, alas! the chief phantasy of all. The lofty walls, gigantic in height—even unproportionably so—were hung from summit to foot, in vast folds, with a heavy and massive-looking tapestry—tapestry of a material which was found alike as a carpet on the floor, as a covering for the ottomans and the ebony bed, as a canopy for the bed, and as the gorgeous volutes of the curtains which partially shaded the window. The material was the richest cloth of gold. It was spotted all over, at irregular intervals, with arabesque figures, about a foot in diameter, and wrought upon the cloth in patterns of the most jetty black. But these figures partook of the true character of the arabesque only when regarded from a single point of view. By a contrivance now common, and indeed traceable to a very remote period of antiquity, they were made changeable in aspect. To one entering the room, they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities; but upon a farther advance, this appearance gradually departed; and step by step, as the visitor moved his station in the chamber, he saw himself surrounded by an endless succession of the ghastly forms which belong to the superstition of the Norman, or arise in the guilty slumbers of the monk. The phantasmagoric effect was vastly heightened by the artificial introduction of a strong continual current of wind behind the draperies—giving a hideous and uneasy animation to the whole.

— Edgar Allan Poe, Ligeia   

[epicpurplzoul]

A chair is a type of seat, typically designed for one person and consisting of one or more legs, a flat or slightly angled seat and a back-rest. They may be made of wood, metal, or synthetic materials, and may be padded or upholstered in various colors and fabrics.

Chairs vary in design. An armchair has armrests fixed to the seat;[1] a recliner is upholstered and features a mechanism that lowers the chair's back and raises into place a footrest;[2] a rocking chair has legs fixed to two long curved slats; and a wheelchair has wheels fixed to an axis under the seat.[3]

Etymology

Chair comes from the early 13th-century English word chaere, from Old French chaiere ("chair, seat, throne"), from Latin cathedra ("seat").[4]

History

Main article: History of the chair

The Coronation Chair, circa 1300

The Monobloc chair is a lightweight stackable polypropylene chair, usually white in colour, often described as the world's most common plastic chair.[5]

The chair has been used since antiquity, although for many centuries it was a symbolic article of state and dignity rather than an article for ordinary use. "The chair" is still used as the emblem of authority in the House of Commons in the United Kingdom[6] and Canada,[7] and in many other settings. In keeping with this historical connotation of the "chair" as the symbol of authority, committees, boards of directors, and academic departments all have a 'chairman' or 'chair'.[8] Endowed professorships are referred to as chairs.[9] It was not until the 16th century that chairs became common.[10] Until then, people sat on chests, benches, and stools, which were the ordinary seats of everyday life. The number of chairs which have survived from an earlier date is exceedingly limited; most examples are of ecclesiastical, seigneurial or feudal origin.[citation needed]

Chairs were in existence since at least the Early Dynastic Period of Egypt (c. 3100 BC). They were covered with cloth or leather, were made of carved wood, and were much lower than today's chairs – chair seats were sometimes only 10 inches (25 cm) high.[11] In ancient Egypt, chairs appear to have been of great richness and splendor. Fashioned of ebony and ivory, or of carved and gilded wood, they were covered with costly materials, magnificent patterns and supported upon representations of the legs of beasts or the figures of captives. Generally speaking, the higher ranked an individual was, the taller and more sumptuous was the chair he sat on and the greater the honor. On state occasions, the pharaoh sat on a throne, often with a little footstool in front of it.[11]

The average Egyptian family seldom had chairs, and if they did, it was usually only the master of the household who sat on a chair. Among the better off, the chairs might be painted to look like the ornate inlaid and carved chairs of the rich, but the craftsmanship was usually poor.[11]

The earliest images of chairs in China are from 6th-century Buddhist murals and stele, but the practice of sitting in chairs at that time was rare. It was not until the 12th century that chairs became widespread in China. Scholars disagree on the reasons for the adoption of the chair. The most common theories are that the chair was an outgrowth of indigenous Chinese furniture, that it evolved from a camp stool imported from Central Asia, that it was introduced to China by Christian missionaries in the 7th century, and that the chair came to China from India as a form of Buddhist monastic furniture. In modern China, unlike Korea or Japan, it is no longer common to sit at floor level.[12]

In Europe, it was owing in great measure to the Renaissance that the chair ceased to be a privilege of state and became a standard item of furniture for anyone who could afford to buy it. Once the idea of privilege faded the chair speedily came into general use. Almost at once the chair began to change every few years to reflect the fashions of the day.[13]

Thomas Edward Bowdich visited the main Palace of the Ashanti Empire in 1819, and observed chairs engrossed with gold in the empire.[14] In the 1880s, chairs became more common in American households and usually there was a chair provided for every family member to sit down to dinner. By the 1830s, factory-manufactured “fancy chairs” like those by Sears, Roebuck, and Co. allowed families to purchase machined sets. With the Industrial Revolution, chairs became much more available.[15]

The 20th century saw an increasing use of technology in chair construction with such things as all-metal folding chairs, metal-legged chairs, the Slumber Chair,[citation needed] moulded plastic chairs and ergonomic chairs.[16] The recliner became a popular form, at least in part due to radio and television. In the 1930s, stair lifts were commercially available to help people suffering from Polio and other diseases to navigate stairs.[17]

The modern movement of the 1960s produced new forms of chairs: the butterfly chair (originally called the Hardoy chair), bean bags, and the egg-shaped pod chair that turns. It also introduced the first mass-produced plastic chairs such as the Bofinger chair in 1966.[18] Technological advances led to molded plywood and wood laminate chairs, as well as chairs made of leather or polymers. Mechanical technology incorporated into the chair enabled adjustable chairs, especially for office use. Motors embedded in the chair resulted in massage chairs.[19]

Materials

Metal chairs in the Tuileries Garden, Paris, France

Chairs can be made from wood, metal, or other strong materials, like stone or acrylic. In some cases, multiple materials are used to construct a chair; for example, the legs and frame may be made from metal and the seat and back may be made from plastic. Chairs may have hard surfaces of wood, metal, plastic, or other materials, or some or all of these hard surfaces may be covered with upholstery or padding. The design may be made of porous materials, or be drilled with holes for decoration; a low back or gaps can provide ventilation. The back may extend above the height of the occupant's head, which can optionally contain a headrest. Chairs can also be made from more creative materials, such as recycled materials like cutlery and wooden play bricks, pencils, plumbing tubes, rope, corrugated cardboard, and PVC pipe.[20]

In rare cases, chairs are made out of unusual materials, especially as a form of art or experimentation. Raimonds Cirulis, a Latvian interior designer, created a volcanic hanging chair that is handmade out of volcanic rock.[21][22] Peter Brenner, a Dutch-born German designer, has created a chair made from lollipop sugar – 60 pounds (27 kg) of confectioners' sugar.[23]

Design and ergonomics

Chair design considers intended usage, ergonomics (how comfortable it is for the occupant),[24] as well as non-ergonomic functional requirements such as size, stacking ability, folding ability, weight, durability, stain resistance, and artistic design.

Seat height

seats with adjustable height

Ergonomic design distributes the weight of the occupant to various parts of the body. This is done by having an easily adjustable seat height.[25] A seat that is higher results in dangling feet and increased pressure on the underside of the knees ("popliteal fold"). It may also result in no weight on the feet which means more weight elsewhere. A lower seat may shift too much weight to the "seat bones" ("ischial tuberosities"). Gas springs are attached to the body of the chair in order to give height adjustment and more comfort to the user.

Some chairs have foot rests. Around 15% of women and 2% of men need foot rests, even at the 16-inch (41 cm) chair height.[26] A stool or other simple chair may have a simple straight or curved bar near the bottom for the sitter to place their feet on.

Actual chair dimensions are determined by measurements of the human body or anthropometric measurements. The two most relevant anthropometric measurement for chair design is the popliteal height and buttock popliteal length.

For someone seated, the popliteal height is the distance from the underside of the foot to the underside of the thigh at the knees. It is sometimes called the "stool height". The term "sitting height" is reserved for the height to the top of the head when seated. For American men, the median popliteal height is 16.3 inches (41 cm) and for American women it is 15.0 inches (38 cm).[27] The popliteal height, after adjusting for heels, clothing and other issues, is used to determine the height of the chair seat. Mass-produced chairs are typically 17 inches (43 cm) high.[citation needed]

[razoolio]

A chair is a type of seat, typically designed for one person and consisting of one or more legs, a flat or slightly angled seat and a back-rest. They may be made of wood, metal, or synthetic materials, and may be padded or upholstered in various colors and fabrics.

Chairs vary in design. An armchair has armrests fixed to the seat;[1] a recliner is upholstered and features a mechanism that lowers the chair's back and raises into place a footrest;[2] a rocking chair has legs fixed to two long curved slats; and a wheelchair has wheels fixed to an axis under the seat.[3]

Etymology

Chair comes from the early 13th-century English word chaere, from Old French chaiere ("chair, seat, throne"), from Latin cathedra ("seat").[4]

History

Main article: History of the chair

The Coronation Chair, circa 1300

The Monobloc chair is a lightweight stackable polypropylene chair, usually white in colour, often described as the world's most common plastic chair.[5]

The chair has been used since antiquity, although for many centuries it was a symbolic article of state and dignity rather than an article for ordinary use. "The chair" is still used as the emblem of authority in the House of Commons in the United Kingdom[6] and Canada,[7] and in many other settings. In keeping with this historical connotation of the "chair" as the symbol of authority, committees, boards of directors, and academic departments all have a 'chairman' or 'chair'.[8] Endowed professorships are referred to as chairs.[9] It was not until the 16th century that chairs became common.[10] Until then, people sat on chests, benches, and stools, which were the ordinary seats of everyday life. The number of chairs which have survived from an earlier date is exceedingly limited; most examples are of ecclesiastical, seigneurial or feudal origin.[citation needed]

Chairs were in existence since at least the Early Dynastic Period of Egypt (c. 3100 BC). They were covered with cloth or leather, were made of carved wood, and were much lower than today's chairs – chair seats were sometimes only 10 inches (25 cm) high.[11] In ancient Egypt, chairs appear to have been of great richness and splendor. Fashioned of ebony and ivory, or of carved and gilded wood, they were covered with costly materials, magnificent patterns and supported upon representations of the legs of beasts or the figures of captives. Generally speaking, the higher ranked an individual was, the taller and more sumptuous was the chair he sat on and the greater the honor. On state occasions, the pharaoh sat on a throne, often with a little footstool in front of it.[11]

The average Egyptian family seldom had chairs, and if they did, it was usually only the master of the household who sat on a chair. Among the better off, the chairs might be painted to look like the ornate inlaid and carved chairs of the rich, but the craftsmanship was usually poor.[11]

The earliest images of chairs in China are from 6th-century Buddhist murals and stele, but the practice of sitting in chairs at that time was rare. It was not until the 12th century that chairs became widespread in China. Scholars disagree on the reasons for the adoption of the chair. The most common theories are that the chair was an outgrowth of indigenous Chinese furniture, that it evolved from a camp stool imported from Central Asia, that it was introduced to China by Christian missionaries in the 7th century, and that the chair came to China from India as a form of Buddhist monastic furniture. In modern China, unlike Korea or Japan, it is no longer common to sit at floor level.[12]

In Europe, it was owing in great measure to the Renaissance that the chair ceased to be a privilege of state and became a standard item of furniture for anyone who could afford to buy it. Once the idea of privilege faded the chair speedily came into general use. Almost at once the chair began to change every few years to reflect the fashions of the day.[13]

Thomas Edward Bowdich visited the main Palace of the Ashanti Empire in 1819, and observed chairs engrossed with gold in the empire.[14] In the 1880s, chairs became more common in American households and usually there was a chair provided for every family member to sit down to dinner. By the 1830s, factory-manufactured “fancy chairs” like those by Sears, Roebuck, and Co. allowed families to purchase machined sets. With the Industrial Revolution, chairs became much more available.[15]

The 20th century saw an increasing use of technology in chair construction with such things as all-metal folding chairs, metal-legged chairs, the Slumber Chair,[citation needed] moulded plastic chairs and ergonomic chairs.[16] The recliner became a popular form, at least in part due to radio and television. In the 1930s, stair lifts were commercially available to help people suffering from Polio and other diseases to navigate stairs.[17]

The modern movement of the 1960s produced new forms of chairs: the butterfly chair (originally called the Hardoy chair), bean bags, and the egg-shaped pod chair that turns. It also introduced the first mass-produced plastic chairs such as the Bofinger chair in 1966.[18] Technological advances led to molded plywood and wood laminate chairs, as well as chairs made of leather or polymers. Mechanical technology incorporated into the chair enabled adjustable chairs, especially for office use. Motors embedded in the chair resulted in massage chairs.[19]

Materials

Metal chairs in the Tuileries Garden, Paris, France

Chairs can be made from wood, metal, or other strong materials, like stone or acrylic. In some cases, multiple materials are used to construct a chair; for example, the legs and frame may be made from metal and the seat and back may be made from plastic. Chairs may have hard surfaces of wood, metal, plastic, or other materials, or some or all of these hard surfaces may be covered with upholstery or padding. The design may be made of porous materials, or be drilled with holes for decoration; a low back or gaps can provide ventilation. The back may extend above the height of the occupant's head, which can optionally contain a headrest. Chairs can also be made from more creative materials, such as recycled materials like cutlery and wooden play bricks, pencils, plumbing tubes, rope, corrugated cardboard, and PVC pipe.[20]

In rare cases, chairs are made out of unusual materials, especially as a form of art or experimentation. Raimonds Cirulis, a Latvian interior designer, created a volcanic hanging chair that is handmade out of volcanic rock.[21][22] Peter Brenner, a Dutch-born German designer, has created a chair made from lollipop sugar – 60 pounds (27 kg) of confectioners' sugar.[23]

Design and ergonomics

Chair design considers intended usage, ergonomics (how comfortable it is for the occupant),[24] as well as non-ergonomic functional requirements such as size, stacking ability, folding ability, weight, durability, stain resistance, and artistic design.

Oh hello Dr. Coomer. Please leave this place.

[jamaisjoons]

erised ⤑ pjm | m.

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

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

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: mild angst ⋆ fluff ⋆ smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 29k 🥴

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, all of a sudden, he’s stopping.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cute.

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

Cute.

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

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

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

You would know.

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

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

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

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

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

Which is… not something you can say about yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s just him.

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

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

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

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

“N-No,” you stammer once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I can e-explain,” you stammer out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pick a safe word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“J-Jimin- fuck me, please,” you beg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me,” you implore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought,” he hisses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop teasing me,” you grumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[siriusmydeer]

happy birthday, james.

james potter x fem!reader

summary: it’s james’ birthday, and you have a little present for him, as-well as his present to you.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of marijuana, mentions of alcohol, kissing, mentions of anxiety, choking, missionary, creampie, penetrative sex, male receiving oral, innocent kink, sort of size kink, choking, rough sex, dirty talk, a little degration?, pet names, daddy kink, mentions of sexual dancing, jealous!james, possession kink

a/n: happy bday to my fave dilf

there was immense heat flowing throughout the crevices of the room. barely a sober teenager left at the birthday celebration. it was profoundly humid in the midst of the gryffindor common room. the aroma of marijuana and the tinges of fire whisky extremely articulate in the concluded room of teenagers smoking their little hearts away and doing body-shots close to the stairway of the girls dormitories.

james fleamont potters birthday, the quidditch captain, and maybe even gryffindor prince, if you will. from the crack of dawn, march 27th he had been ecstatic enough to put his friends in an immense amount of misery from all the happy-go-lucky behaviour.

as the devoted girlfriend you were you dedicated the whole day to him. he was an amazing man after all, his loving affections never faltering throughout the first duration of your relationship. so a day dedicated to him well was in favour, but to other peers it was probably beyond and well over the top, surprise gifts, snogging sessions between classes and even his favourite meals throughout the whole day.

but now the party commenced, where everything and anything pg-13 was directed straight out the window and anything else that took place was well on its way after the younger years had went to sleep; sauntering through the crowd you made way to your boyfriend— surprisingly barely tipsy, whomst was sat on the vermillion couch patting sirius’ back as he hoarsely coughed, seeing immense amounts of smoke flow out of his mouth and nostrils.

“too hard of a hit there, pads?” not even trying to be subtle about making a mockery of the boy hunched over the couch and puffing up smoke, the raven-haired bow slightly scowled at you before sauntering off to remus. you chuckled at his irritated-behaviour, and basically placing yourself on the verge of james’ lap, a smirk forming on the apex of his lips.

“had enough yet, dear?” you felt the vibrations of his mumble hit directly on the shell of your flushed ear from the humidity in the room, and the gruff undertone of his voice sending immediate signal waves all over the depths of your nervous system. feeling the colossal gitter in your system, borderline-anxiety pooling into the pit of your belly from his tone of voice.

it wouldn’t have been your first time with james, he was the first boy that had ever taken you all the way. but you definitely weren’t experienced— per-say, and you wanted to continue that tremendously sexual odyssey with him; and tonight, was unquestionably not going to be portrayed as innocent.

“mhm, getting there; are you liking the party?” you spoke back to the bespectacled boy was covered in a carnal aura, and awaiting your response. “i am, much rather spend alone time with you, but it’s phenomenal that you could pull all this off.” james whispered back at you in response, he wasn’t even attempting to be subtle at this point of his true intent with you, i mean— ‘alone time’ his purpose was set crystal clear.

he could so play this game, but you could just play better; it’s not like it was quidditch.

“‘course it would be, me and alone, how enticing.” you were ridiculing him, it was obvious to any peering eyes that could’ve been eavesdropping on the conversation over the deafening music that had been blasted in a continuous loop throughout the duration of the party.

“enticing it is, that’s why i presume we get out of here. don’t you think? ‘ve got a few suprises for you, after all.” the boy proposed to you with sensuality lingering in his tone and he spoke to you. he was venereally whispering into the shell of your ear so he wouldn’t have to shout to you over the boisterous music.

“your birthday, a surprise for me, those don’t exactly go hand in hand. what’s the surprise for, hmm?” starting to question the reticent boys motives as his fingers trailed onto the apex of your thighs in light-weight movements in small swirls close to the hemline of your skirt.

“not a day where i don’t want to surprise, m’girl. it’s upstairs.” james looked at you ponderously as you creased your brows in faux-thought. you knew where you would be in the end of the night, it made you feel electrified. like every single touch was oversensitive and every single emotion of yours was in overdrive; the most prominent that were roaming around your bloodstream being pure arousal.

your finger agilely-danced up the side of his jawline, and swirling around his brunette tendrils in thought. would he leave his own birthday party to be all alone, with you? i guess he certainly would. sirius would be impressed following with a concerning applause he would give the both of you that could have your mother gritting her pearly whites by the extensive amount of scandalous acts you had partaken in with your boyfriend.

you could play his very own game, maybe better. swivelling your body to the point where your hand landed on the ripple of his navy blue jeans feeling the tightening feeling of his beseeching cock that was partaking that very second, and feeling the shell of his ear start to burn at the touch of your lips and whispering a small, “take me to your dorm.”

pulling away with a slick smirk practically glued to your lips, seeing the flash of warmth scrummage up the boys cheeks in pride of his love wanting an escape with him. he was in fact one to brag, and he verily adorned that you would always be right by his side, not letting his gates open up with scoundreling waves of jealous flow throughout his body at the memory of another boy hitting on you few hours previously.

feeling the glide of his hand effortlessly slide into your smaller one, and his guidance towards the deep mahogany flooring of the stairs. the couple heard a whistle in the distance. the both of you compliantly turning around to see a tall-drunken raven-haired boy sat on a love seat. his arm around an ebony-haired lycanthrope, waggling his dark brunette eyebrows and blow a small kiss at you both. seeing remus fit out a small chuckle as his eyes roamed back to sirius. cute.

his hand sliding out of yours as he guided you up the antiquated stairs with the placement of his hand right above the swell of your bum directly into his dormitory that would guaranteed be unoccupied for the rest of the evening to the early hours into the morning.

as soon as the squeak of the door end and you heard the shut of the door you back was immediately arched against the wood on the now-locked door. his hand was directly sitting on the column of your neck in a hold, the pads of his fingertips slightly squeezing the sides of your neck; feeling your pulse heighten in anticipation. “c’mon bunny, you didn’t think i was finished just yet, did you?” the whisper of his mockery was warm as his hot breath fanned over your ear.

“yes... daddy.” you delayed whilst whispering to the boy, still getting used to all the pet names that had been thrown around since your relationship had begun. his mind was starting to get bleary and a dominant headspace was taking over every nook and cranny of his mind, ready to please you.

he felt the anxious bob of your gulp in his palm as you maintained eye contact with him. he rose a brow at you in a silent question, as if he was asking, ‘do y’remember the safe word?.’ you rapidly nodded in silent response as he grinned at your shy smile; pushing the strident music into the back of your mind that had been booming from below you.

he gazed at you for a moment before catching your plush-cushion lips with his own, feeling your lipgloss glide across his lips like a smooth paint. your tongues greeting eachother like old friends, the simple taste of fire whisky glazing your tongue. he felt the mundane taste of your strawberry lipgloss catch onto his taste buds as his one hand grasping your throat guided you all the way over to his ivory-comforter clad bed.

your body assertively falling onto his mattress, feeling his body weight hovering over the midst of your torso , one of his hands heavily grasping at your waist. “you’re making it difficult to gentle, darling.” his murmur landed directly on your lips, the shimmer from your lipgloss on his lips prominent as he hastily spoke; saying his sentence rapidly before pushing his lips back onto your own.

“then don’t.” you confirmed to him, whispering between kisses directly on his mouth. wanting every ounce of his unfamiliar belligerent take place. his inure hand that had a previous strict grasp on your waist now dancing across the flesh of your abdomen after your shirt had risen up from your skirt.

in a millisecond of mid separation of your lips he suctioned them onto the column of your throat, rolling the flesh of your neck in between his pearly-white capped teeth. his hand that had remained of your throat departed and now grasped at the root of your hair so your neck was at his full disposal. his breath approachingly quickening as he proceeded to mark up your throat with tinges of plum and cherry hues.

he took a hold of the hemline of your ivory-top, sliding it up your torso and pulling it directly off of your body and onto the floor of his dormitory. “mine... all mine.” he murmured to himself as he looked at you in vast glory. the best birthday present ever.

you clutched onto the bottom of his shirt, feeling the loose fabric between your nimble fingers and sluggishly pulling on it in a signal for him to undress. he saw the deep intent look gazing into your irises, your pupils basically exploding in lust as you continued to gape at the boy.

he straddles your legs for a moment his upper torso on display as he grasped at the neckline of the shirt and swiftly pulling it off of his toned body, now returning and remaining his hover over yours. he furthered to continue nipping at your collarbones. “if anyone ever thought they could love you like i could, fuck you like i could, make you cum like i could. they’re wrong.” he spoke into the crevice of your neck continuing his work at sucking marks into you.

his hot kisses overwhelmed your senses as his lips got closer to the hemline of your skirt that you had been wearing all that, the skirt eventually riding up your thighs all on display at your previously dancing figure like a show. his hand plummeting to the back of your skirt, feeling the small cold zipper on his finger tips as he dragged it down the swell of your bottom and trailing it down the planes of your adorned thighs he so effortlessly paid attention too.

feeling his lips sponge from your lower thighs all the way back up to your neck your breathing extended immensely whilst feeling his grasp of jealousy on your body. james was truly attentive, but he resented when anyone else thought they could swoop you away from him like you were nothing; because you were everything.

he hooks his pointer finger under the chisel of your chin, blasting your gaze right into own. his eyes moving erratically over your face as he was in deep thought of his word choice. “you’re mine, aren’t you?” he simply wasn’t asking this for an actual answer, rather than a test of your obedience towards his dominance over you for the remainder of the night as he fucked you into oblivion.

“yes.” you complied to him, not fully giving into him just yet. a playful tease before the fun could truly begin, pulling your lips into an extravagant pout as his thumb dipped into the cleft of your chin with a tightening grip. “yes, what?” you may have been stubborn but so was he, james wasn’t foolish and moderately knew the game you were playing at wanting the relatively familiar words to leave your mouth.

“yes, daddy.” your compliance towards him brought great pride and satisfaction in the swell of his heart, you would be the first and last person he would say that too. it brought him tremendous gratification that everything you had been taught was from his knowledge and his teachings.

“wanna suck your cock, daddy. teach me, again please.” your voice had an undertone of a whine lacing it, pleading out to your boyfriend so you could pleasure him on his birthday. he smirked at your demeanour of perseverance, quickly flipping his body underneath yours so your remained on top of the shirtless body.

you further swivelled your body down his form, nosing at his happy trail. kissing all the way to the point of his boxers, seeing the adamant print of his bulge through the fabric of his underwear. mumbling a quick ‘lift up’ and stroking his prick in your hand. your warm saliva coming in contact with his erection, spreading it around him for easier access.

your bleary eyes made direct view at his precum leaking tip, starting at mini-kitten licks that could have the boy groaning going off of intuition. “fuck, baby, just like that— keep going.” his praising going straight to a churning burn of warmth in your lower abdomen, heavily breathing as you took his tip into your mouth and prodding it with your tongue.

you took your mouth off his prick for a moment, steadying your breath before you took him in fully. going lower and lower trying to avoid the pesky gag reflex in your throat. you heard the grunts approach deeper and deeper from his mouth the more you took him in. one hand stroking the base of his cock, your cheeks nearly hollow as your sucked profusely nearing him to an orgasam in almost minutes.

his fingers were threaded through your tresses as you moved up and down his shaft. his guidance helping you as you throughly swirled your tongue onto his cock. your breathing quite deep through your nose. his own release near, his torso was clenching at the feeling of a tremendous boil in his abdomen about to burst through him entirely and directly into your mouth.

you felt the warm ropes of his release shoot directly down into your hollowed cheeks is one duration, swallowing his cum that had coated the walls of your cheeks now thoroughly down the vermillion walls of your throat. you took your mouth off of his prick, lines of spit surrounding his cock and covering your lips like it was your own personal brand of lip gloss rather than the simple strawberry one you had on previously.

you gaped at the boy trembling in pleasure, seating yourself upon his lap. you bit your lip in angst for a moment, feeling the easy glide of your teeth directly on your swollen lips, further opening your mouth showcasing him your clean tongue. he shot you a grin in fulfillment, grasping the roots from the back of your head and quickly pushing your lips together in one breath.

as you were sat upon his bare lap he took the liberty to shift his hand up the crevice in your back, all the way up to the stygian-laced material of your bra. his one hand loosening the metal clips and flinging the black material right across from your skirt. taking it upon himself to take a taut-grasp at your breasts mid-kiss rolling the bud of your nipple between his fingers, electrocuting a groan emitting from your mouth directly vibrating onto his own lips.

as his grasp removed itself from your breasts it made way back to the depth in your lower back, using the moment to propel you underneath his larger form. “such a pretty little baby, you are.” the boy claimed as his hand re-attached it self to your violet-ridden neck. james’ opposite hand had a tense grab at the strap of your thong, snapping it once against your flesh seeing you slightly tremble at tinge of affliction in his grasp before he fully tore them off your waist.

the bespectacled boy flung the flimsy material directly onto peters bed, seeing your eyes widen at his audacious-like manner. “alright, poppet?” the boy confirmed, on the outside of his dominant persona it looked like he was making a mockery at your somewhat skittish-behaviour, but he truly wanted to confirm you were alright with his aggressive-like actions.

you quickly nodded excitedly at his abrasive behaviours. a smirked grazed his lips as he separated your locked legs from mortification, even after having sex with your boyfriend you still happened to be embarrassed on how sterling he could make you feel. he finally took liberty to realize how wet you truly were, not to mention how pathetic you were at covering it up. finally slotting his middle and ring finger in-between your anticipating cunt, collecting juices onto the pads of his fingers.

“all f’me, huh baby?” he crooned in a ridiculing manner, his hand still prominent on your throat and his thumb maneuvering from the crook in your throat to your jutted lip, feeling your gloss mixed with your spit on the pad of his thumb as he moved his finger swiftly back and forth in a taunting manner on your lips.

his thumb finally caught in between your teeth with a miniature playful bite, looking deep into his lustful blown-cerulean irises. his thumb making way to pull down your dewy bottom lip, and it pulling back up with a small ‘pop!’

“i want you, i want it rough.” the very plead left your trembling lips in desperation. felling the wet print of his thumb right below your lip, pressing into the flushed skin. emotionally yearning for his slack touch, the warmth of his olive skin aching directly into yours in desire.

his prideful grin scorned his face as he placed himself between your cage-like legs that dressed the sides of his waist like a stiff belt. the both of you were almost chest to chest, the emotional connect building between you both as you maintained lustful eye contact, both intently aching for each other. the squeeze of his digits on the baluster of your throat grew more intense as he settled his hips between your plush thighs.

he slowly dragged his tip through your glistening folds gathering all of your juices directly onto the mound of his cock and slowly descending into the depths of your cunt allowing you to adjust to his substantial size.

he started off with slow, deep thrusts, feeling your torso pressed up against his own in abundance. tensing his clap on the side of your throat as he pulsed in and out of your sloppy cunt; now easily as his thrusts gained a brisk pace in and out of you.

“my girl, letting me use her cunt at my disposal.” james started to babble small praises mixed with degrations into your ear as both of your orgasams began to subtly approach at his quickening pace inside your clenched cunt. “like you’re my little toy.” his derides causing your moans to spurt out of your mouth instinctively; your noises sounding like a beautiful song that could’ve played on a broken record repeatedly, like he was being hypnotized.

the sensitive burn in your belly was further approaching at a brisk speed as it swivelled from the crevices in your spine all the way to your core. “‘m gonna— let me cum, please. ‘m gonna cum, daddy.” you blubbered quickly at the intensity of his thrusts on your g-spot. feeling immensely full from him being buried inside of you, his unfamiliar yet sensational rapid thrusts building tension inside of your abdomen.

“go on poppet, cum for me.” he crooned to you as you mumbled pleas of ‘thank you’s.’ and explosion of pleasure strictly taking over the planes of your nervous system whilst his pubic bone continuously thrashed against your bundle of nerves in the midst of his swift thrusts.

his cock twitching whilst wrapped around your cunt, close to his second orgasam of the night. further, releasing deeply into your velvet walls now coated with his release, a grunt following as he squeezed the sides of your throat, his hand never departing from it, and burying his face into the side of your neck.

his hover over you now remaining seeing your pleasure-struck face as he pulled his softening cock out of you, catching his breath and shifting the hair that was stuck to your forehead now on the sides of your face and behind your ears. he kissed your damp forehead once, swiping his nose against yours affectionally before speaking.

“c’mon dove, let’s get you to the shower.”

taglist: @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @msmb @five-cups-of-coffee @emmaev @serenitywilderness @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @dear-luna @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul

[cafeacademia]

Beyond Words

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco creates himself something to chase a feeling he can’t explain and it’s only when he shows you, his best friend, that he understands what that beautiful feeling in his heart is.

Warnings: None, it’s just fluff and soft Draco, some kissing, friends to lovers (I think that’s a given with me now 😅)

Word count: Approx 2500

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves!! This is my fic for my darling @fuckingdraco​​‘s 1K writing challenge! My prompt was “Take my hand. Just trust me.”, it’s highlighted in bold in the fic! As well as that, this fic was heavily inspired by my favourite song by Fleurie - Explosions of Grandeur, I tried to emulate the feeling this song gives me into this piece! Anyway, enjoy!! 💕💕

The taglist is open, please send me an ask if you’d like to be added!

Draco would never admit it, not to his peers or to his family, but he had always had a love for books. It wasn’t just a story that he craved, it was the feeling of escape he found between the pages, that whenever he opened a book and smelled the aged parchment and ran his fingers over the printed words, he found himself transported somewhere else.

It was magic in itself, the way it made him feel, the way it allowed him to find himself in a rich world, filled with things that brought him happiness and love and anguish and fear, all in the best ways. Because the best part about a good book was that when he was finished reading it, Draco felt the most wonderful feeling, like he had been on the adventure of a lifetime while sitting curled up in a squishy old armchair in front of the fire.

But now, as he gently closed the book in his hands, it was not a regular storybook. It was not the work of a seasoned author or some kind of documentation of something discovered in the wizarding world, nor was it a diary or a journal. It was something far more special than all of those things combined.

Draco had searched for a way to create his own magical feeling, one he wanted to find whenever he was immersed in a book. And soon, he had found his answer in the restricted section of the library one rainy, blustery Thursday night while Filch was too busy corralling some first years back to their common rooms during the mid evening.

It was everything he had hoped for when he skimmed over the words on the page. Ideas immediately coming to him as he read deeper and deeper into the wonderful discovery he had made. And he thought at the time, that there was not a single person in this world that he would ever feel he could share this with.

But he had not accounted for you, who somehow, through your persistent kindness and sweet nature, had managed to soften him and become someone who stood at his side near constantly. And it was not long before he decided that you were definitely the person he wanted to share his hand crafted secret with. You had melted his heart, warmed him with every smile you gave him and made his eyes gleam with love whenever he cast his gaze on you. It was impossible for him not to love you when you were someone so sweet and kind and genuine. He felt he could be himself, that around you he could be real and for the first time in his life, he felt a little bit of that magical feeling he got when he opened a book whenever he was around you.

And slowly, as he spent hours each night writing on the blank pages of his book, he began to realise what that feeling was that he craved and without even realising, he was capturing it between the pages of his book.

“You’ll come with me this evening, won’t you?” Draco asked after class as he plucked your books right out of your hands to carry them himself as he walked with you towards your next class together. “Of course I will, I’d never miss a night with you.” You said with a sweet smile and Draco almost melted on the spot. How was it that his best friend was so sweet and so endearing? And how was it that Draco was struggling to find the right words to explain that he loved you? It was not as if he was not well learned and well read. He was often poetic with his words when he was alone, but he was not used to speaking those words out loud to someone he cared for.

“Good, I have something to show you.” Draco glanced over at you, watching your reaction. “Ooh and what would that be?” You asked. “Wouldn’t you like to know, princess?” He said teasingly with a smirk. “It’s a surprise, I promise,” He paused as you both approached the classroom door, the Slytherin leaning in close to you. “It’ll be worth the wait.” He spoke quietly, something about the lower octave of his voice, the way he looked at you and winked made you feel something. Merlin, if only he knew what he did to you.

And that evening, after you had finished your meal in the Great Hall, Draco was quick to nearly sweep you off your feet, the way he gently took your hand in his with such a mysterious, yet endearing smile on his lips as he led you along to his prefect dormitory.

It was common for you both to spend most Friday and Saturday nights in each other’s company for a few hours. Sometimes you’d do homework together, other times you’d spend hours chatting, playing wizard chess and thinking up plans for your lives after Hogwarts together, side by side. It never occurred to you, despite the love you both held for one another, that perhaps you were meant to be together. That perhaps your plans to be at the other’s side for as long as you could, would not just be as friends, but something more. And as you spent more of your time with Draco, you began to realise that kind of connection with him was something you craved.

“So what’s this thing you want to show me?” You asked as you dropped onto his bed, the soft dark green sheets creasing beneath you. Draco looked away from you towards his desk hesitantly. He knew you would not judge him, but he feared it nonetheless. “It’s this.” Draco replied, gripping a book in his hands and lifting it up so you could take a look. “A book?” You asked, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive look. “It’s not an ordinary book.” Draco said, holding his index finger up as he pushed his chair away from the desk before he laid the book out on the ebony wooden surface.

“What is it, then?” You asked, slowly standing up and peering over at it. “Come, I’ll show you.” Draco waved you over. As you stepped across his bedroom floor to stand at his side, Draco reached over and opened the cover of the book to reveal the first page. Property of D.M. was written in beautiful cursive. You had only ever seen him use handwriting like that when he wrote something with great care and meaning. You had a few letters you cherished dearly that you had received from Draco throughout your holidays in that beautiful cursive.

“Darling, take my hand.” Draco spoke softly, holding out his hand for you to take, the name he used for you giving you butterflies. You looked at him with an air of curiosity, but the unknown of what he was showing you seemed to make you feel on edge. “Just trust me, love, I promise you’ll love it.” The sincerity of his voice was already enough to comfort and convince you, but the way he looked at you with such a kind, sweet look in his eyes told you it was okay.

“Alright.” You nodded, gently placing your hand in his, the ashen haired boy giving you a soft smile before he turned his attention back to his book, raising his wand and pressing it against the pages. “In libro.” He muttered it so softly you almost didn’t catch it because as soon as the words left his lips, you felt the most wonderful sensation. You were sucked in, feeling weightless and in less than a second, what had been Draco’s bedroom was a flurry of soft pages, yellowed and stained and old, the gentle flutter of parchments coupled with the musty smell of old books and antique wood polish made you feel like you really were inside of a book.

And it all passed in a matter of seconds, because as fast as you had recognised the smells filling your senses, a world had begun to materialise around you. Soft, dark scribbles in Draco’s perfect cursive handwriting formed the outlines of things as if they were being written before you, the words blurring into fully formed lines, colour filling the environment around you, texture and depth filling in each detail as a soft breeze brushed through your hair, lifting the edges of your clothing, sweeping over your fingers entwined with Draco’s.

It was so real, everything around you was intricately detailed and wonderfully formed as if you had been taken to a location in the real world, when really, you knew you were between the pages of a book. It felt new but at the same time it felt as if you had known it all along and as you looked over at Draco with a look of amazement about you, you realised it was the familiarity you had when you met someone you felt like you had known for years, much like you had with Draco when you had first met him.

Taking in a deep breath, it was something ethereal, something otherworldly yet so real, the air feeling as crisp and as full bodied as the fresh air you breathed in each morning through the open windows in your dormitory. The grass beneath your feet was just as soft and springy as the grass in the grounds and the stonework of the beautiful house ahead of you looked as real as any stone house. Looking up, the sky was a mixture of colours, enriched with the misty smell of rain and hazy afternoon sun, soft clouds tinted with gentle tones of purples and greys passing overhead and the hint of stars in the far distance made the world Draco had brought you to feel even more wonderful and alive.

The feeling it brought you was something of nostalgia, of comfort and warmth and every good thing in between. It was something more than words on a page, or the description of how something was meant to be, it was not imaginary or dreamt up. It was real, handcrafted with words, but it was beyond what words could encapsulate. It was neither a dream nor a reality, it was something in between, something truly ethereal, unreal yet so astoundingly real, evidenced by the way it felt when you knelt down to run your fingers across the soft blades of grass, and when you reached over to trail your fingers through the soft trickle of the crystal clear stream that ran around the edge of the garden.

“It’s incredible.” You gasped softly, finally able to find your voice after being captivated by everything around you. “I hoped you’d feel that way too.” Draco nodded, smiling as he proudly looked around his little secret garden, nestled between pages, wrapped in a feeling of safety, of unending comfort, a deep sense of love overcoming you both as you slowly explored the work of Draco’s words. “I needed something more than words. Something deeper.” He explained as he approached a patch of wildflowers, the Slytherin leaning over to gently lift the head of a flower and admire it for a moment. It was as soft as silk in his fingers, as delicate and as real as the flowers you already knew.

You were in awe as you stood near the middle, eyes cast up into the dreamy sky, Draco approaching you, his hands resting in his trouser pockets. “Has anyone else seen this place?” You asked as you cast your gaze on him. “Only you, darling. You’re the only person I want to share this with.” Draco told you, pulling his hands free from his pockets as he stepped in front of you, gently taking both of your hands in his.

“You’re the only one I ever want to share things with,” He paused, his eyes softening as he looked at you, love surfacing in his deep grey eyes. “You’re the only one I want to share myself with.” The feeling that blossomed in your heart at his words was like no other, making you feel weightless, spreading warmth through you like sweet honey.

“Draco,” Your voice was gentle, his name sweet on your lips, the ashen haired boy melting at the sight of your features, bathed in the ethereal light above you, the way your eyes had softened at his words and your smile curved gently, but it was genuine, reaching your eyes, making you look as if you glowed with the emotions that swam just beneath the surface. He leaned in, gently tugging you towards him, your hands coming up to rest on his chest as you drew yourself closer to him. The closeness between you was welcomed, as if the unspoken feelings you both felt had finally found their truths. You did not need to say them out loud to know that they were real, to know that your feelings for Draco were deep in your heart and shared by the same boy you loved dearly.

With his hands resting at the curve of your back, Draco pulled you in, his lips pressing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss, encapsulating you in a wondrous feeling of love. He kissed you slowly, lips moving gently against yours as your fingers trailed over his chest until they met at the back of his neck. Draco gently rested his hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you as he kissed you into pure bliss, his touch ever present as his firm, yet gentle grip on your waist tightened slightly.

Draco kissed you until you were both breathless, a warm haze overcoming you both as your lips parted, eyes fluttering open to sink into his soft grey hues. “I love you.” Draco spoke softly, with such gentle conviction that there was not a single lingering shadow of doubt in his words.

“I love you too, Draco.” Your voice, while dreamy, was sincere and Draco felt his heart flutter.

He had created a world to describe a feeling that was beyond what he could explain. Draco had accumulated all of those details and small moments that lingered in his mind, not just from snapshots inside of books, but feelings he felt when he spent time with his best friend. When he spent summer nights stargazing with you and autumnal Sunday afternoons taking a walk with you in the soft drizzle while the sun poked through the thin clouds casting a gentle haze over you both. It was everything you shared together in one place, collected together in one, wondrous, dreamy moment in time, captured between the pages of his book, printed into words to describe something beyond what they could.

It was love.

Taglist (OPEN):

@kitkatd7​ @paintballkid711​ @thesewaywardskies​ @coldlilheart​ @victorialynn7​ @pandaxnienke​ @megantje123​ @loving-life-my-way​ @chaotic-fae-queen​ @theweasleyslut​ @daltonacademia​ @amourtentiaa​ @sincerelymalfoy​

[kuwurapikaaa]

Candlelight || Chrollo x Reader

Title: Candlelight Spider Leg!Reader || Plays during York New arc One-shot || Genre: Smut || Angst Pairing: Chrollo x Reader Summary: In the middle of the night, (Y/N) found herself entangled in the web of the spider. Warning: Sexual content, Age Gap Word Count: 3,660 Note: This story is cross-published in AO3 and Tumblr. Yes, my next fanfic would be another Kite fanfic after that, it would be a Jotaro fanfic. I like supplying content for underrated HxH characters. I am currently on a blast right now and I can’t just stop at this point. I am also getting into a new fandom so it is a more of an excuse to my followers who only saw me write hxh fanfics lol

In one hasty night, just like any other night. (Name) was carrying a candle and a stack of antique books to the head of the phantom troupe's room. Putting his books back to his bedroom became somewhat a routine for her. - Today seems like just like any other night. 

She just secretly reads his books. Steals five of them, but always, puts them back on their shelves as if nothing happened. As she opened the door, put the books in their respective places, to her surprise, Chrollo was wide awake. The candle's warm light illuminating his handsome face as he held a book with his left hand. His legs were crossed as he sat on a wooden chair. He's probably unable to sleep tonight.

He looks so hot and bothered. - She thought to herself as she bit her lip. She never had many wanton thoughts. It was rare for her to have those. She has been thinking about him since she read that one book that had a character that looked like him. She had been crushing on him since she joined the spiders.

At first, it was simply admiration, but right now, it’s a crush. - Chrollo made her feel like a schoolgirl hiding her feelings in front of a much older and hot guy. It’s like a junior falling in love with a senior trope, yet again.

The vision is something to admire. He looked ethereal at his current stance. His hair wasn't combed back like it did on most days. His ebony hair was a bit messy right now. He also doesn't wear his earrings, which is a surprise. Yet, said view also gave the young woman an eerie feeling about it.

Number nine bit her lip. Trying to make as little noise as possible. She is trying to avoid Chrollo seeing her so late at night. Just as unlucky as she is, the books fell. It was heavy and her arms were tired carrying it from her room downstairs to his room 2 floors higher. 

A loud thud was heard as the heavy leather-bound books fell on the cement floor of their base. Chrollo's attention was right at her. He closed his book. Fate is sealed. Fuck. He heard me. - She thought to herself, biting her lip harder. She tried to leave the candle on the floor and picked the book up.

(Name) is an enhancer. A simple person and a horrible liar. At this point, she doesn't know what to say to her leader. She was speechless. As if words were stolen from her mouth. "(Name), you're still awake." He was shocked to see that anyone was still awake at this time of the night. 

She looked into her watch. "I know it's already one in the morning. I just came to return your books." She smiled at him. She tried to make an impression on him. Since she is just a new member, it would be stepping over boundaries if she tries to have her usual boisterous speech.

"So you're the one sneaking and reading my books?" He asked as he went near her, she froze. Her body tensing each step he took. She nodded and swallowed thickly. Although she sees nothing is wrong with that, she could be wrong.

"I'm not angry at you, (Name)." He told her with his charming voice. He was looking at her in the eye. She avoids his gaze like it's the plague. But there's no escaping now. He's now against her as her body pressed to the bookshelf. The two lit candles in the opposing sides of the room and the pale moonlight was the only thing that was giving light to the scene.

His arms were around her. She was quite flustered. She never got in scenes like this, ever. It was rather her first time being in something like this. She doesn't know what to do as she is wrapped around the devil's fingers. The man was devising. It's hard to distinguish his genuine affection for his fake one.

Yet here she is, throwing herself into this. She knows what she's going to get, and it's something less than tasteful.

"Don't be ashamed, beautiful." Once he said that (Name)'s blush only deepened. Nobody has gone this close to her. Just by his voice, she can feel something underneath her panties. It was an unfamiliar feeling for her.

"Since you're here, I want you to take care of something." He continued talking. Then he went near her lips and sealed a kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft. She was shocked by his advancements. No one has ever done that to her. Her eyes were wide open. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders as the kiss deepened. She didn't even bother to fight it. 

Since day one, she always had feelings about him. He made her feel things she otherwise couldn't feel. Yet, it's a secret she kept for herself. Falling in love with the spider head is the best way to ruin the troupe. "I don't think this is right." She said immediately after the kiss broke. 

Still as charming. - Chrollo breathed, his gaze still locked to hers. He can just look at her like this the whole night if something isn't bothering him. Her gaze drifted south and what she saw shocked her. Chrollo's junk seemed bigger. - Not that she's looking at it all the time. She'd be bashful and hesitant if ever caught doing so.

"(Name)... Don't be so shy." He said to her in such a hypnotic voice. His playful hands removed the velcro on the nape of her neck. Her backless shirt was freed. Her silicone bra remained. She ended up being very flustered by his actions. - Speechless in fact.

Chrollo removed the silicone bra right away, he threw them in the ground. Her halter bodysuit remained as it was in her underwear. Her breasts now were out in the open. She was frozen, shivering. With the mixture of the cold air and the shock she is feeling, she couldn't move at all. He tucked her hair on her ears as he went down to her. His beautiful purple eyes were looking at her as his hands were pressed on either of her sides. They were near her bosom. Slowly brushing against them.

It is almost tickling her as it goes higher up into her sensitive nipples. His thumb encircling the area. She was shivering at every touch. With the cold air and his warm touch, it was truly a recipe for disaster. She was having goosebumps.

"Danchou... Please be careful. This is my first time." When (Name) said that his eyes were wide open. He was shocked to hear that a woman like her is currently experiencing her first time. - Secretly, no, openly, Chrollo likes it that his partner is a virgin. It's like he's twistedly religious. He would like to teach and somehow shape them.

"I will." He said with a smirk on his face. He unbuckled his belt and removed his black pants along with his underwear. Her eyes went wide as she saw his huge length right in front of her. It was long, and a bit thick. Probably seven inches long. It was standing and hard.

"Knees down." He ordered (Name). She kneeled to the cold cement. Then, he switched their positions. He was now the one against the hard wooden bookshelf. She had no idea what he was going to do to her. Then, he aligned his cock on her small mouth. She took it eagerly.

Her head was going back and forth as she tried her best to cover his length. It was long and could choke her. She was barely halfway into his shaft. Then, Chrollo all of a sudden, he pulled your head to his cock. Tears were dripping down her face as her eyes widely opened. She gripped her hands on his hips as she continued sucking him.

He was amused by how she was bobbing her head back and forth. Her cherry-colored lips surrounding his long length. He can hear sounds of her choking as she was struggling to get into the end of his shaft. She tried her best to cover the whole area.

His cock was reaching the back of her throat. Her right hand reached for his balls. Stroking it at the same time. - It was unfamiliar territory. He continued growling and gripping onto her hair. It was obvious that she was a virgin. She lacked many facets. In other words, she doesn't have any technique. "Good for someone who did that for the first time." He smirked at the young girl in front of him.

He pulled her off from his cock. Drool connecting her mouth and his length. She was quite flustered, avoiding Chrollo in the eye. Then, as he withdrew, he held her hand and went to the chair he used to sit in. "Come here." He said in such a soothing voice.

As soon as it was said, she followed suit. She was flustered as he could see her naked body properly in this area. Minutes seemed like hours. The only indicator of time was the candles placed everywhere in the room. The white candles slowly melted.

He held her legs as he started kissing her lips again. He stroked her back. She felt a bit ticklish as he started going to her neck. Doing butterfly kisses before finally sucking in the sensitive spot. She gasped and mouth left agape, he marked the area near her flower tattoo. It's sure to bruise up. Just as he was doing that, he was also groping on her sizable bosom.

Then, he pulled her leather pants down along with the rest of her stripe bodysuit. Her slit is now on display. Looking at it, she was rather well-groomed. Her pubic hair was well-trimmed.

She removed her stilettos along with her pants as she threw all those items in the same place as her silicone bra. She was flustered as she was already naked. Her spider tattoo in her left leg was showing. She was number nine. "Keep your shoes." He whispered to her. She wore her shoes again as he continued caressing her legs.

Then, he switched her position. She was now facing the bookshelves again, he continued touching her naked body. Her soft, milky skin. He admired every inch of her. 

He tucked her hair on her ear as he gracefully watched over the mark he created. Then, he puts his fingers on his mouth as he begins to insert them on her slick folds. She gasped once more as her wet muscle encapsulated his unfamiliar finger. “This is going to hurt a bit.” He said to her, assuring all the uncomfortable and painful feelings is all normal.

The fingers were unfamiliar, they were colder than the rest of her body. She was shivering from it. As it slowly moved up and down in her slit, an elicit moan escaped her lips. He was rather amused with her. She was more flustered than ever as she spoke, "Danchou… I… I like you." She said shyly. This moment got her feeling like a young schoolgirl confessing her feelings to her crush.

He smiled at her as he heard those words escape from her lips. Her mind right now is all mushed-up. She doesn't even know what she is saying nor thinking at this point. All she knows is that her danchou is making her feel so good right now. As soon as she adjusted with the two fingers he inserted, he added a third. Her cheeks are becoming very hot as he continues.

“Danchou… so this is what it feels like?” She asked him. He responded to her with a short nod.

His fingers still slip up and down making her feel so wet for him. Juices dripping on her legs. She was flustered as he continued his actions, she looked at him, her head turning to the left. His thumb was rubbing on her neglected clit. She bit her lip as she tried to lower her voice. He simply smirked at her as she became a sweaty mess. 

Then, out of shock, he pulled his fingers off her slick folds. He made her stand up again as he fully discarded his pants with his dress shoes. She had a better view of him like this. He stood up from the chair as he carried (Name) into the table. She sat on the hardwood as her legs were wrapped around his hips. He kissed her once again in the lips. Then, she removed the last piece of clothing from him. - His dress shirt.

As soon as she removed his dress shirt, she saw it. A mirror near the bookshelves reflected. #0. The legends were right. All the gossip she has heard from non-troupe members were correct. She is indeed toying with the spider head himself. - She never saw this moment coming.

She gasped as he aligned his length onto her. “If it hurts, grip me.” He said to her as her blue eyes opened wide. She bit her lips harder as the length entered her. She gripped harder on his back. Her manicured nails marking his back, marking half-moons on his back, where the iconic spider tattoo resides in.

Strangely enough, Chrollo has more tattoos than that. He also had one in his left arm, it was a huge dragon with many religious symbols and flowers around it. He and (Name) have a lot in common. - One of them is their unquenchable thirst for knowledge and their love for tattoos.

His length slid into her. Slowly and carefully. She yelped at the large size of his cock entering her. Unlike what she expected from men, “I’ll be gentle” he promised, kissing her lip as his grip on her waist tightened. Oh, it was expected from someone like him to say that.

Her tightness and warmth surrounding Chrollo’s cock earned a growl from him. (Name) also felt more comfortable moaning now. Her moan was rather quiet as she would like to contain the pleasure she is feeling. When his length fully entered, which took a while, instead of starting, he was stuck. Waiting for her to calm down, familiarize herself with his cock. Her tight grip on his back is getting slowly undone as her core adjusted to his length.

"It feels… uncomfortable…" She said to him, biting her lip. Still registering the unfamiliar feeling of her danchou's cock inside of her From her voice and everything, no matter how much of a slut she dresses, she has innocence. The fragile innocence that he is taking away from her.

“Is it okay now, (Name)?” He asked the woman against him. (Name) was speechless. She simply nodded to tell him that he was allowed to move. Her wet muscle has adjusted to his cock. Then, as he got the signal, he started moving his hips back and forth against her, slowly.

It elicited a much louder moan from the young woman. Her eyes went up, slowly fluttering up and down as the waves of pleasure were entering her system. Her hands were still on his back, still gripping it. "Danchou, please go faster." She ordered him as he moved in his slow and sensual pace.

He did follow her order. He moved much faster this time. His other hand went in her neglected clit, rubbing it with his thumb as he crashed his lip on her. - (Name) was overwhelmed by his actions. All the string of thoughts and doubts in her head were long gone now. 

"(Name)… So tight..." He remarked as he growled. He continued thrusting in and out. Her grip on his back tightened. She can feel her end is coming near. Chrollo finally found her g-spot.

"Right there… ah… Please!" She exclaimed mouth left agape as she whimpered. He continued his thrusts on her. This time, hitting her spot at each one of them. He started growling and groaning much louder too as he continued the way his hips rock against her. - She never knew a cock felt this good. 

His thrusts were now at a much faster pace, she mewled as he thrust his hips harder into her. "Ah… Ah… I think I'm going to cum!" She remarked as he thrust much faster into her.

As he knew the young woman in front of him was near her orgasm, he withdrew his length as he kneeled on the cold cement floor. He went near her slit as he was stroking himself while licking her labia as he began eating her out. - This is something Chrollo does not do with his partners. Although he would like to make (Name) an exception.

He stopped stroking himself as he started fingering her roughly. (Name) moaned the loudest as he was mercilessly pushing and pulling his fingers in her pink hole. His mouth moved from her labia to her clitoris. "Fufu-" she said, her swears were choked as he continued licking her clit and fingering her. Tears started running down her face as she continued to moan, louder than ever.

Her vision was covered with white as her orgasm finally came into her. "Ah... Ah…" She was incredibly speechless. Chrollo made her feel so good. She was glad that her danchou was below her, licking and tasting her precious juices.

She covered her face with her hands, all the shame she felt is coming back as she finally goes back to her senses. Cheeks hot and a sweaty body, then there is her danchou who is gladly eating her out. Licking every single drop of her orgasm like he was a starved man.

To her surprise, Chrollo's cock was still hard. - Tonight, it was obvious that her pleasure was the priority. But, how about his? "(Name)…" He said to her as he puts her legs around his shoulders. She kicked her uncomfortable five-inch stilettos to the ground. She had a sigh of relief as her feet could finally rest.

She puts her head on his shoulders as he moves her to the chair. He sat on there as he started thrusting in and out of her again. The young woman was already shaking because of the hypersensitivity brought by her violent orgasm. This time, he had no mercy with her.

She almost yelled when he entered this monstrous pace. She was at Chrollo's mercy as she held tight on him. His hips bucking up and down on slick slit. "Danchou… ah… your cock is… so big…" she cannot even form words at this point.

It's like she is being sent into heaven once again by Chrollo. Her vision is being clouded again as her back arches. He continued thrusting into her pussy until she had a second climax. She gripped harder onto his shoulder as she followed his pace. His groans got louder as he was close to his own. “D-danchou… ah...” She moaned with a sharp cry.

“Fuck!” He groaned as he was reaching his orgasm. (Name) yelped as she held much tighter on his shoulder. Spurts of white got inside of her. Her vision was filled with stars as she looked up in the ceiling. They tried to catch her breath as he withdrew his length from her. His cock went back to its soft state.

Then, she stood up. She was still quite sensitive. Her legs are shaking, cum dripping on her thighs. She sat into the cold and smooth cement. Her hands held her knees as she sobbed quietly. 

Chrollo stood up from the chair and got his blanket. He wrapped the crying woman in the warm fabric. “Why are you crying?” He asked her. His voice was very comforting, but it isn’t enough for her to stop sobbing.

“Please, danchou, don’t touch me.” She told him as she carefully removed his hands from her naked shoulder. He saw that his creation was there. A purple-ish red mark was on her shoulder, near her rose tattoo.

“I feel so overwhelmed. I feel used!” She exclaimed as she wrapped the blanket to herself. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying. Luckily, her danchou seems very experienced. He knows what to do when situations like this come around. He was the firsts of many women, he knew that a lot of them would cry during their first time.

“(Name). Please. Calm down.” He said to her with caring eyes. The stars twinkled in Chrollo’s eyes.

(Name) can never handle all the burden she is experiencing. What if her family knows? She knows that her beloved mom would react in horror. She would never have a chance of having a husband. (Name) always wanted a traditional husband. Even if she has her tattoos and dresses provocatively, she wants a husband who will accept and love her.

All that is thrown in the garbage as she can never have those things anymore. She can never have a husband anymore, all because she gave in with the call of the flesh. She gave in to his desires. It’s all my fault! - (Name) yelled in her mind. It was like an empty void, no matter how you scream, nobody can hear anything.

“I…” Before (Name) can even speak, she feels Chrollo’s tight embrace. She gasped as she rubbed his back. She was speechless as the hug is very comforting.

“I love you (Name).” He cooed into her ears as he started touching her hair, calming the young girl. - Danchou is so different from her expectations. She expected someone like him to be crude and hostile. Yet, here he is, with humility and culture. He truly is a gentleman straight out of a romance novel.

“Let’s clean you up.” He said to her as he picked her up, going to the bathroom. She smiled gingerly at him as she held onto him.

Danchou is so sweet.

[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 1

Finally, finally I can show you guys a preview of the horror book I’m publishing in October (:. You can find chapter 1 below, and if you’d prefer, you can read it on ao3 by clicking here!

Chapter 2 is now out and can be found here (:

Enjoy!

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery.

Chapter 1:

Thorn’s Antiques and Restoration, tucked away in the tall trees that encircled the small town of Lunewell, wasn’t the place where one would expect a woman like Zarifa to work. The building was merely a converted two-story brick house, though even then the antique shop itself only operated on half of the ground floor and the basement, and the employees could consider themselves lucky if even so much as a single soul wandered in.

  From an outsider’s perspective, it made no sense. Zarifa did not originate from Lunewell, had little to no interest in antiques, and had a Bachelor’s in English of all things, whose only tie with antiques was the pompous, ivory tower assholes pestering both fields. However, if said outsider were to ask Zarifa herself, or any other of the two working in the building, why she had this job, she would have said that it was the only path she could have ever imagined herself working.

  Though even she had to admit, for as much as she loved her job, it could sometimes be… tedious. 

  Very tedious.

“How many crates of… art did we receive again?” Zarifa asked, white patched ebony fingers holding one of the many, many paintings of eerily realistic human eyes shoved haphazardly in a box. The crates had arrived this morning, heavy and worn, and were sitting in the off-white ‘employees lounge’, that only equated to a singular desk, a sofa, a microwave that never heated all the way through, and two uncomfortable plastic chairs.

 “Only two,” Bruin responded, not bothering to look up from the wooden desk, where he had his nose buried deep in a black title-less book. Zarifa would have asked what he was reading, but stares through dark thin eyes and sighs had long taught her not to. “Bought in by an Anthony Bell earlier this morning.”

  “Thank you,” Zarifa said, giving Bruin a warm smile that didn’t go noticed. She then turned to her other coworker, who had been sitting sheepishly on one of the back-destroying white chairs. “Why do we have two crates of creepy eye-paintings, again?”

  “Okay there’s actually a good reason this time boss,” Grant said hastily, chestnut brown hair messy and glasses half sliding off his face, “I was taking a walk to that cosy little bakery- you know, the one owned by that very sweet elderly couple on the other side of town, which by the way makes cakes straight from the heavens-”

  “So you were walking to the bakery, and then?” Zarifa interrupted.

  “Oh right. I had walked a little ways from the house, when I saw a white van stopped up by the road with a man looking quite pissed off outside. I went up to have a chat with him and found out he was an absolutely fascinating art major named Anthony who had run out of petrol. To make a long story short, I invited him in for a cuppa whilst he waited on the towing truck, found out he was getting rid of these absolute gems, and bought them off him.”

  Zarifa and Bruin, who had finally looked up from the pages, both stared at him. Bruin was the first to break the silence; “you bought antiques from an unverified source, in a van out of petrol, who you also invited inside my home for tea?”

  “Hey! I pay the rent too!” Grant defended, “and besides, I got, you know, the feeling off him. There was already a description of the antiques inside the box, meaning they’ve been passed around a little. If you two don’t want them here, I can take them.”

  “We can keep them,” Zarifa decided, looking at the realistic paintings once more. They were all extremely similar, each one having a blue iris and white pupils. As she moved around the box, it almost felt as though they were all following her movements. She shivered and put the lids back on; “I’ll carry this down. Grant, go open shop, and Bruin, go register these in the system, please.”

  Grant gave her a mock salute, before trudging out of the door and into the shop room, whilst Bruin nodded and turned to the big, archaic box of a computer sitting on the desk. Zarifa stacked and grabbed the two worn crates, surprisingly light in her arms, and made her way to the spiral staircase. They were narrow, seemingly ever looping steps falling into darkness that made walking down them almost impossible. She had once tried to convince Valour to install some lights over the stairs, to reveal the actual length of them and to make sure Grant would stop tumbling down into the abyss, but she had only received a stern no and an icy glare that could kill. 

  So her only options were to walk down carefully, whilst gripping onto the wall for dear life, like she was currently doing. The stairs went on for what seemed like minutes, nothing in her sight as she was swallowed in complete darkness, with no way to judge her surroundings except her shoes hitting the steps. Finally, a flickering light made its way up the stairs, and she saw the start of grey concrete.

  To say the archival basement was lit, was perhaps a bit of an overstatement. There was precisely one dim and occasionally flickering lamp in the room, slightly illuminating cobwebs glued to the walls and dusted shelves of antiquities, but not much else. However, the room was like a scorching desert sun compared to the void Zarifa had previously descended. 

  Making her way between the shelves, past the bag of hand-sewn doll-heads, slightly cracked vases, and mirrors so ladened in dust that one couldn’t see the distorted reflection anymore, she found a small group of paintings. Paintings were one of the rarer antiques for them to receive, so there was plenty of space for the two crates.

  Before slotting them in, she opened them, quickly counting the amount. There were fourteen in total, seven in each box, all in a roughly similar condition and all painted in the same way. Oddly enough, there was no signature nor name, but there was a little slip of paper at the bottom. She picked it out of the crate, and stuffed it in the pocket of her blazer, before closing the lids again.

  Zarifa slid the boxes between a painting of a single red rose titled ‘Chaos’, and a two-hundred-year-old painting titled ‘A Girl in Field’ containing a suspiciously girl-less field. There had been a debate on whether they were all just missing her, whether it was a mislabelled piece, or if it was supposed to be some kind of metaphor, but seeing as it was hardly the weirdest thing in the basement, they had all just grown to accept it. She shivered once again, the basement giving the feeling of being watched, and grabbed the golden butterfly that hung around her neck. She fiddled with the wings, every touch calming her slightly as she began making her way up the stairs. 

  The ascent up the spirals always seemed to take a considerably shorter time, perhaps because the imminent danger of falling had disappeared. Zarifa was up at the top in the blink of an eye, walking into the lounge to see both Bruin and Grant inside. Bruin turned to her from the computer; “‘Antique Eye-Painting x14’ has been written on the document,” he informed. “Did we have any other information?” 

  “I couldn’t find any signature or date on the painting itself,” Zarifa said, reaching into her blue blazer pocket and pulling the paper with a heavy brown tint out, “but there was a note accompanying it. The paper looks old enough to consider it an antique, at least.” 

  “Well, go ahead,” Grant piped up from the couch, “tell us about dear Anthony’s creepy eye pairings.” Zarifa nodded, unfolding the paper as carefully as she could, and began reading.

  ‘The Grey Man’ by Elizabeth B.- 1885

  He is watching from the water. Watching with the trees.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  The Grey Man is knocking 

“Grey Man?” questioned Zarifa, “that’s not a reference to anything, is it?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Grant said, sitting up from where he had flopped on the couch, “help us out Bruiny?” She heard a sigh from the corner, and a slight grumble, but he did eventually speak.

  “The Grey Man isn’t a reference to any historical event, no,” Bruin began, “but it isn’t something we haven’t heard before. I believe it’s referenced somewhere in Valour’s notes”

  A heavy silence fell over them at the mention. “Oh no,” Grant began, “no, no, no. The weirdly detailed cult worshipping cows with inverting eyes was enough, and the murderous glare Valour gave me afterwards almost made me piss myself. I am not going through those notes again, I don’t want to be skinned alive by our own version of Leatherface.”

  “That’s a bit far, isn’t it?” Zarifa said, “We shouldn’t go around accusing her of being a murderer, just because she’s a bit…”

  “Mental?” Bruin quipped from the back.

  “...peculiar,” she settled on, “she’s a bit peculiar.” Zarifa knew, of course, that calling Valour peculiar was a massive understatement- and even calling it a massive understatement was a massive understatement, but she would not be the one to speak ill about her boss with a potential murder streak thank-you-very-much.

  “Need I remind you of that day Valour came covered head to toe in ‘red paint ’ that smelled suspiciously like copper?” Grant said, “she obviously did some serial-killering-“

  “Killering?” Bruin asked with a cocked brow, turning Grant a salmon shade of pink and bringing a bright smile on Zarifa’s face that reached her dark brown eyes. 

  Grant made sounds akin to a drowning man. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally sputtered out, “what matters is that our dear creepy landlord was covered in what was clearly blood, passed it off as paint, and we just acted like it was normal!”

  “I don’t like it either, but I’m not going to be the one to call her out. Besides, maybe it’s a good thing. At least the days here are... interesting.” Zarifa said with a smile. “If we stopped the weirder stuff from happening, these days would pass slower. Especially since we don’t have any custom-“

  The sound of the bell that hung above the door, a loud and horrid thing, rang through the building.  

  “You were saying?” Bruin said, looking as amused as Bruin could be. Meanwhile, Grant shot up like a puppy, sprinting in an unprofessional manner towards the counter. Zarifa joined him, though her walk was much more slow and graceful. 

  She crossed through the shop door, which always stood wide open nowadays, and turned the corner. However, she stopped before she could reach Grant, who was staring at the stranger as much as she was. 

  Now, what needs to be said and understood about Thorn Antiques Shop, and the town of Lunewell in general, was that strangers were one of the rarest sights. Sure, occasionally one could find one of the neighbours’ relatives, or a gang of cyclists and hikers, and even tourists that had gotten hopelessly lost, which was impressive considering landing in Lunewell was a skill within itself, though these were few and far in between.

  The customer, who was scanning through the shop with what Zarifa could almost call interest, didn’t look remotely like a relative, a hiker, a cyclist, or even a lost tourist.

  She was short, with strawberry blonde hair tied into pigtails by two baby pink ribbons, pale but warm skin that made the light freckles on her cheek pop, and a stark black leather jacket which was visibly well-loved. There was something incredibly familiar about her, though Zarifa couldn’t pin down exactly what it was. 

  The customer’s fingers trailed over one of the antique chairs, before she sprawled over the priceless thing like a rag-doll. The violation snapped Zarifa out of her trance; “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t sit in those chairs!” she informed the customer, her voice raising a pitch higher when the blonde started fiddling with a lighter suspiciously close to the fabric.

  The customer’s head snapped up like a predator hearing prey, and for the first time, Zarifa noticed the woman’s eyes. The irises were a bombastic explosion made of hues of bright green, though it was almost impossible to tell from a first glance, as the pupils were blown so wide as to make the colour but a ring around a black hole.

  There was both something incredibly dangerous about the way she stalked over, sizing her up with those void eyes, but simultaneously, something incredibly intriguing- dare she say attractive- about the girl that made Zarifa want to keep her eyes on her forever.

  “Waste of a good chair, really,” the customer began, leaning over the counter, “what the fuck kind of shop doesn’t allow you to test the chair before you get it?”

  “I know!” Grant exclaimed, turning to the dark-skinned woman. “That’s what I keep saying! How can I know if the chair is good if I’ve never tried it!”

  Zarifa shot a disapproving look at him, irritated that he would encourage this girl. “What can we help you with, miss?”

  “Oooh, miss.” the woman drawled, “I’m looking for a collection of very… special papers that I left in the hands of one Valour Thorn a few years back.”

  “Special?” Grant asked, a look of confusion passing over his face. Zarifa was sure she mirrored the same puzzlement, but the woman merely grinned- an expression that yet again invoked that familiar feeling.

  After a few seconds had passed, and it had been made clear that she would not elaborate, Zarifa grabbed the notepad and pen on the counter and asked for her name. Maybe she was registered somewhere in the frankly ancient system. Assuming they even had a sort of registering system. She had never been the one to handle the technical aspects.

  “Lottie. Lottie Rose,” she said, and Zarifa’s hand froze on the paper. She glanced back up at the blonde, eyes wide and mouth dry. Of course, how hadn’t she seen it earlier? The clothes, the eyes, the lighter everything suddenly made more sense as her memory flooded back.

  “Lottie?” she whispered, faint as the whispers of a breeze, and there must have been something in her tone, because the striking green eyes widened comically, before the blonde suddenly burst out into a tension filled laugh.

  “Should’ve guessed it,” Lottie said after calming down, “can’t be that many Southern old-book nerds with vitiligo around. You should get name tags, I would have recognised Zarifa anywhere.”

  Her name was said in a smaller tone, filled with… with something that melted Zarifa’s insides like molten lava. They stood there in silent pressure, eyes on each other but gazes not quite meeting. It was for the better, as Zarifa’s heart was hammering hard enough that she was worried her ribcage might break. Whether it was from fear or something much scarier, she couldn’t quite tell.

  Grant snapped his fingers, both of them practically sighing in relief as the tension lifted; “Oh”, he began, smiling widely, "exes or childhood friends?” And just like that, the tension was back to crushing. 

  While Zarifa wasn’t quite sure of the state of her own face, Lottie had gone a complete shade of tomato red. “We’re neither,” Zarifa squeaked out curtly, Lottie nodding frantically along. “Can you give me a description of the papers?”

  Lottie straightened out at the request. “Can’t miss them. They’re in an ornate wooden and gold box, with a leaf engraved in the front,” she said, “it’s locked, as far as I know. Don’t know where the key is, but that’s hardly a problem.” She made yet another predatory smirk. 

  “I-I’ll go look for the papers, uh, in the back... miss,” she pushed herself from the counter at an almost inhuman speed and paced into the lounge. On her way, she bumped into one of the chairs, toppling both herself and the object. The sound alerted Bruin, who looked at her quizzically.

  “Was she your ex?”

  “No!” Zarifa exclaimed exasperatedly, “Not every woman I know is an ex!”  

  “No need to get defensive,” Bruin said, flipping a page, “I was just wondering if Grant’s observations were correct.” 

  Zarifa took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. I suppose her visit just… surprised me.” she straightened the chair, and looked at Bruin, “You haven’t seen a wooden and gold box engraved with leaves around here, have you? I can’t recall it, but you’re usually the one sorting the items, so I figured you might have seen it.”

  Bruin hummed, putting down his book and looking pensively at her. “I might have,” he said, after a quiet moment, “though if we do- or did, at any point, it’s not anywhere in the basement.” He glanced up at the ceiling, before returning to the book.

  “I suppose it’ll be upstairs, then,” Zarifa said, with a heavy sigh, “I’ll make Grant call Valour, see if she can bother to show up from… wherever she’s gone.” And try to explain to Lottie that those papers might be inaccessible, she thought, but didn’t add. Lottie was a lot of things, but patient and calm, she was not. 

  As she made her way back to the counter, gripping the golden butterfly hung on her neck tightly, she tried to calm her heart and thoughts. A part of her still refused to believe Lottie was here, after all these years, in an antique shop of all places. It almost felt taunting, in an odd way. The life Zarifa had tried so hard to run from and avoid sneaking through the door, looking more dangerous and simultaneously more intriguing than ever.

  What life had Lottie led? What had happened since that last night? How did she know Valour? What did she want with the papers? All the questions buried themselves into Zarifa’s head, burning and begging for answers. And as Lottie, drumming her fingers on the counter as Grant rambled off about something, came into view, she realised what Eve must have felt like looking at the apple.

  Lottie perked up as Zarifa entered the room, though as her eyes drifted to the empty hands, her smile fell. “Thought I asked for a box,” she said, a raised eyebrow and mean glare that would have been intimidating, had Zarifa not had to deal with years of Valour, and not known that for her, Lottie was all growl.

  “We do, most likely, have the box,” Zarifa began in her most soothing voice, placing her hands on the counter, “but, it’s currently upstairs, in Valour Thorn’s flat, to which none of us has the keys.”

  Lottie sighed, in an exasperated and slightly overdramatic way; “‘Course you fucking don’t. Guess she hasn’t changed at all, still closed off, disappearing, and secretive.” 

  Pot meet kettle, thought Zarifa, though kept her cranberry painted lips sealed. “Grant will give her a call in the morning,” Zarifa said, pushing over a blank slip of paper which had Lottie R- half-written on it in quite nice penmanship. “Just write down your number, and we’ll call you when she arrives.”

  Lottie pulled the paper closer to herself, though made no move to write. “Think she’ll even show up?” she asked, turning to Grant, who smiled at that.

  “Valour actually seems to like me,” he said, proudly, “or, tolerate, at least.”

  “Huh. Didn’t know people still practised witchcraft around this part.”

  “It’s all in my muffins, cakes, and pitiable nature,” Grant said, only half-joking, “I’ll give you a taste one time if you decide to stick around.”

  Lottie nodded, before scribbling onto the paper, and sliding it back. It contained no number, but the name had been completed, albeit with a much sloppier if artistic handwriting. “I’ll know when she returns,” Lottie said, bouncing from foot to foot. There was a firmness in her voice, and she said it with such confidence that Zarifa almost believed her. Almost. “How’s the nightlife here? Worth sticking around for?”

  “Horrid, simply dreadful,” Grant butted in, before Zarifa had the chance to give a quick answer and an even quicker goodbye, “but we do have a lot of pretty places to take a midnight stroll. Trees are lovely here, especially now in the autumn.” He paused, a contemplative look over his face, “Come to think of it, I do know quite a lot of dealers around here that can hook you up, if you’re up for it.”

  “Grant!”

  Lottie chuckled, amusement painted in neon on her face. Seeing some of that flame inside her come to light filled Zarifa with a sense of joy, that she pushed down with a strength bodybuilders would be jealous of. 

  “Oh, I like him,” Lottie declared to Zarifs, jabbing a finger in Grant’s general direction. Her green eyes- which Zarifa had to stop looking at, traced down from Zarifa’s own eyes before landing on her neck. Lottie’s posture, previously energetic and bouncy, froze. “You kept the necklace,” she whispered, though the sound felt louder than all the explosions of the universe.

  Zarifa’s hand was instantaneously on the golden butterfly hanging around her neck, shielding it from the world. The metal felt cool against her skin, even if she could feel her racing heart where her hand rested. “Felt it was a shame to let it go to waste,” Zarifa murmured, technically true, “so I just kept it.” She shifted in the silence for a while, doing her best to ignore Lottie’s eyes glued to the necklace, before clearing her throat and putting on her best ‘professional’ tone; “Was there anything else you needed?”

  Lottie shook her head, leaning back from the counter and adjusting her leather jacket. “No, I’ll be back soon,” she said, before speeding towards the door. She knocked into the vases, making them wobble like jelly, before pushing the door open like she was assaulting it, and leaving nothing but the sound of a bell and the distant thrum of a motorbike. 

  “Lottie, huh,” Grant said, his tone dazed as though he was lost in a daydream, “she was certainly interesting. I’m a fan. Think we’ll see her around more?”

  “Hopefully not,” Zarifa said, running fingers over the butterfly, “hopefully not.”