#(from a distance while in town coincidentally)

[nezuscribe]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: six years ago, when they placed that sorting hat on your head, nobody expected for it to assign the muggleborn to the slytherin house, but it did. six years later, you find yourself as alone as the day you walked through those doors. little did you expect the prince of slytherin, the pureblood maniac himself, gojo satoru, to be the one to coincidentally fill your empty hours.

warnings: gojo is a pureblooded slytherin, slight angst, slight messy makeout

word count: 12.6k

note: part two is out now! comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading as always!

part two

slytherin!gojo masterlist + jjk masterlist

When you were little, all the strange and peculiar things that happened to you, such as Ms. Bromsely, the awful maths teacher's desk going up in flames, or Patricia Gallaghers rings disintegrating after she teased your dress, were chalked up to chance or just something else.

Your mother was too busy covering extra shifts down at the pub to worry about it, so she rarely made an occurrence to the meetings your headmaster had scheduled, resulting in very awkward meetings with just you as you were explained how peculiar it was that you always seemed to be in the middle of all these weird occurrences.

So when that brown spotted owl almost crashed into your bedroom window at the ripe age of eleven, explaining that you were chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you suspected that one of your classmates was playing a cruel joke on you, but alas, it turned out to be very real. 

You were whisked away soon enough, stumbling your way in some sort of haze through Diagon Alley, and then in a blink of your eyes, you found yourself waving goodbye to your mother from that red train, on your way to a life you may have only imagined when you were younger, dreaming of a place far away from where you were.

And you loved it.

The feasts, the history-soken steps that you walked on every day to get to class, the little town that was within walking distance that you could go to every weekend. 

While most of the students here had been introduced to this early on in their lives, you hadn’t. Your mother was just as shocked and as bewildered as you were all those years ago, and given your special circumstances, sometimes you wondered if you were yet to see the thick of it, wondering if some things were hidden from you given your upbringing, given your blood.

But you blinked out of your stupor, being brought down from your daydream to the sound of quills scratching, the smell of faint smoke burning in the background, and the quiet sounds of different animals in their cages. All of these tall-tell signs of the transfiguration classroom. 

After years of spending time in this classroom, it slowly became one that you’d look forward to, and despite most Slytherins having an aptitude for potions or defense against the dark arts, transfiguration was where you shined the best.

The light that carded through the high arching windows illuminated the desks, and you were glad seeing how the back of the classrooms was usually the most poorly lit place. Unfortunately, they’re the only places you found yourself sitting throughout the years, which is just another reason why this specific classroom in itself brought you a slight sense of comfort. 

“...cross-species and inter-species transfiguration is one of the most difficult, if not the most difficult, sort of transfiguration to achieve. Even the most accomplished witches and wizards find themselves struggling with it,” you watched as Professor McGonagall walked around the front of the classroom, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head, her emerald robes swaying behind her like green waves, “The only way we were able to replicate this form of magic is through ancient runes.” 

Her eyes raked over all the students of the class, to make sure that everybody was understanding the weight of her words. As seventh years it was expected that you all would be ready to face the challenges of such a high-level class. But especially with Professor McGonagall, seeing just how difficult her classes usually were. 

“Of course, this was all covered during your fourth years, so I hope that some of you,” she gave a knowing look over her glasses, “Remember your lessons.” 

You momentarily caught her eyes.

You squirmed in your seat, knowing that her displeased look was directed to the Gryffindor’s sitting next to you. The boy to your left had his mouth open in a large yawn, promptly shutting it when McGonagall looked at him, and the girl to your right was busily finicking with a piece of parchment, trying to figure out how to enchant it so that it could turn into a swan to send to her boyfriend who was sitting across the class. 

You loved Hogwarts. Most of the time. 

The reason why you usually found yourself at the back of class, sitting with people you barely knew, and the reason why you were yet to experience most of the core memories other witches and wizards your age experienced was because you weren’t welcomed the way other would be by their assorted houses. 

Nearly six years ago, when Professor McGonagall placed that sorting hat on your head, you didn’t know what to expect. 

You had heard from some of the people that you sat near on the train that Gryffindor was best. Of course, the boy who said it came from a family of Gryffindors, but his friends seemed to agree with him. Ravenclaw was only for the smart people, which you hoped you might be sorted into and Huffelpuffs were known for their loyalty, which, judging by your mother's statement about how you dared to leave home, you didn’t have much of. 

But the Slytherin house seemed…forbidden. 

At least for you, anyways. 

“And what about that girl we saw?” One of the boys pointed outside the carriage window into the little hall outside, pointing to a much older girl wearing green robes, walking with some other friends who wore adorning colors, “What house is she in?” 

The other boy, who seemed to have the most knowledge out of anyone, scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Not for you, sorry,” he leaned in closer as if he were telling a secret. You tried to listen in, not making it obvious seeing how you weren’t any of their friends and how this was the only cart available with space, “That’s the Slytherin house.” 

“Why’s it not for me?” The other boy argued, his face pulled into a scowl.

“Well, Slytherins are many things. Ambitious, cunning,” the other boy said but shook his head disapprovingly, “But above all else, they’re all purebloods. Some are half-bloods, but even that’s rare. You’re coming from a muggle family. My father works at the ministry, and he says that some of the people in his department who were Slytherin still despise muggle-borns and muggles even long after they’ve left.”

So you had a basic understanding of what to expect. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor.

But when the hat cried out “Slytherin!” you almost jumped in your seat, looking behind you at the professor, your face of hesitancy surely mirroring hers. 

And you soon found out that the boy on the train (who was sorted into Gryffindor, big shock), was right. Word spread quickly that a muggle-born was sorted into Slytherin, the first in centuries, and that it surely must’ve been a mistake. 

But the sorting hat doesn’t go back on its word, and what was said was done. So six and a bit years later you found yourself as the pariah of your own house and were forced to fade into the background to avoid any further trouble. 

“...and this is the one project in which I’m having you work with partners, picked by me, of course. The research that is needed to go into this is too much to be done alone.” Professor McGonagall continued, and you perked up in your seat a little bit, your brows furrowing at her words. 

You felt a part of your heart race at the thought. Normally when professors assigned partners, it either left you with a fellow Slyhterin who hated your existence and forced you to do the project on your own, or somebody from another house who didn’t know you and forced you to do the project on your own. 

Your tongue felt heavy as she began reading off the paired names on her list, your hands becoming clammy. 

“Miss Finnegan and Mister Belton. Miss O’Shea and Miss Adan,” The girl next to you, who you quickly pieced together was Leila O’Shea groaned, her face depleted as she realized she wasn’t going to be paired with her boyfriend, and you watched as she sulkily went to the other girl's desk. 

You listened in anticipation as she went down the list, your heart beating loudly and comically in your chest the closer it seemed that she was getting to the end. 

“Mister Reeve and Mister Thompson,” she paused momentarily as she watched the two boys clap each other on the back, her lips threatening to quirk up into a smile, just waiting to read what foolishness they were going to write, “Miss Ward and Mister Green,” you felt like you might be getting off the hook, that maybe she took pity on you but it all came crashing down when she looked at you, a knowing look in her eyes far worse than pity as she read your name along with perhaps the singular person you would’ve paid all your money to not be paired with, 

“…will be with Mister Gojo,” you heard some of your housemates laugh out loud, some of them pushing at the boy and ruffling his hair as if he were the one that was going to face the brute of everything. He sat near the front, and you could see a flash of his white hair as he begrudgingly began to pack his things up, having no choice but to sit next to you seeing how the seats next to him were filled up. 

You watched as she rolled the piece of parchment back up as if she hadn’t just sentenced your public execution, and she raised a singular thin brow at the faces that were looking back at her, “Well? Get a move on. This essay is due in a month.”

You tried to take in a deep breath, your eyes trained on the blank piece of parchment in front of you as if you couldn’t hear his footsteps getting closer and closer to you, as if you didn’t just feel his robes brush up against your legs as he sunk into his seat.

This can’t possibly be happening.

Anybody would’ve been better than him. Even Marley Petterson and her constant poking and teasing about how your clothes were held together by scraps, and how you must’ve lived with mud people before you came to Hogwarts would’ve been better than him. Being forced to be a partner with the Prince of Slytherin was torture, and you wonder if after all these years Professor McGonagall was just now starting to show her distaste towards you. 

That day on the train was the first time you heard his name. 

“You see that boy? The one with the white hair?” The boy discreetly pointed out the window to one of the kids standing outside your cart. All the other boys hurriedly nodded, each craning their necks to get a better look at him, “He’s a Gojo. He comes from a line of Slytherins, each one worse than the one before. They’re purebloods, obviously. You wouldn’t find a speck of anything else in them. They’re rich too, filthy rich. They could buy this school if they wanted to.” All the other boys guffawed, but he seemed serious as if this stranger's family was nothing to be taken lightly. 

“When it comes to Slytherins, there are four families to be wary of. There’s the Gaunts and the Malfoys. There’s the noble house of Black, but lastly…them. House Gojo is one that every other wizarding family steers away from.”

After the day you were sorted you also quickly realized why most wizarding families stayed away from them. His word seemed to be law, and all the other Slytherins, especially those in his inner circle, held him to it. 

You peeked from the corner of your eye, watching as he unpacked all his supplies, his face contorted in obvious anger and disgust, and you thickly swallowed. You had done a good job in staying away from him these past couple of months, fortunate enough to only be called a mudblood and an offense to their ancient house a couple of times by him and his posse. 

His left-hand ring finger almost caught your eye in the sun, the gold ring with his house emblem shining brightly, a clear reminder of your difference with him, and you tried to hide your old school bag, riddled with holes and stains, something you just couldn’t replace. 

When he was done unpacked, he sat there for a couple of seconds, the silence between the two of you thick and heavy. You felt like you could choke on it, your fingers twitching to do something, to leave.

“...this is insulating…” he was talking to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as you sat awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t one for many words. You had observed him from afar, long enough to see that aside from the occasional words he’d exchange with his closest friends or the few times he’d mutter traitor under his breath when the two of you locked eyes, he was a more brooding type of person. 

When he was angry, he hid it well. His cheeks might’ve flushed a bit, his nose flaring, but he never made an outburst. Which is why, at this moment, you could tell that he wasn’t in a particularly elated mood. 

“I…” you started, your mouth going dry at the way his eyes snapped to you, cold and cruel, “I can do the essay. I’ll get it done in time…if you want.” 

Most times your partners would just tell you to do the work, expecting (and knowing), you’d just say yes and go along with your day. But here, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, rather having your pride be bitten at rather than your overall self. 

You heard him snort, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he rolled his eyes. 

“What? And have you do everything wrong?” His voice was hushed and clipped as if talking to you a second longer than needed would ruin him and everything he and his family stand for. 

He unrolled his piece of parchment, opening up his book as he kept his head down. 

“Well, I’m fairly decent with transfiguration,” you spoke up, trying for a smile that quickly fell when you felt his eyes burn into yours. For most of your time at Hogwarts, the only times you’ve ever really spoken to Gojo was when he was hurling insults at you, his words spurred on by his group of friends behind him. 

Gojo Satoru knew his worth. He knew that his family name would last through centuries and that the gold his family owned could buy out the entire ministry if they wanted to. Those around him treated him as such; as if his word was law. It also didn’t help that he was incredibly charming, growing into his looks over the years. 

You watched as he grew taller, his lanky figure now filled out with muscles that you could sometimes see through the baggy uniform. His eyes were always a topic of conversation, the infamous Gojo blue. His arctic white hair grew a little longer, sometimes falling in his face when he wasn’t aware. He was gorgeous, and you couldn’t even lie to yourself that he wasn’t.

Aside from his looks, he was also freakishly smart. If he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin you were sure that Ravenclaw would’ve been fitting for him as well. He was always top of the class with O’s on every exam. 

Above all else, he knew his difference from everybody else. Even his closest (pureblooded) friends weren't even near his level. Even before he could walk, he’s been told of this. Not only that but he’s been told of the vileness of muggleborns. How their nature threatens the very fabric of wizarding society, and how muggles who have somehow been blessed with magical abilities are below humans, that they don’t deserve the rights every other witch and wizard has. 

Which means that you, the sole muggle-born in Slytherin, stood against everything Gojo Satoru believed. You were an abnormality, inhuman, somebody that he should resent for even existing.

“Well, we could always divide the work…?” You offered, your feet anxiously bouncing on the ground as you waited for his response. One of the blessings of sitting so far away from everyone else is that sure, they looked over to see how this was going, but at least they couldn’t listen in as you embarrassed yourself even further. 

His eyes darted over to your paper, blinking once, deep in thought. 

He sighed deeply through his nose, swallowing thickly as he gave you a singular, curt nod. 

“Hm,” he hummed, not even sparing you a glance as he began going to work, his pen scratching against the paper as his eyes began reading over the page, “But I’ll read what you write,” he said quickly, “I refuse to have my rank tank just because you mudbloods can’t do your work properly.” 

Mudblood  

After six years of it, you know you should’ve gotten used to it, but the stinging in your chest would argue otherwise. 

Your shoulders sank, eyes falling to the ground as your fingers fidgeted. You murmured something inaudible as you opened your book to the page McGonagall instructed you to. 

—

The days moved on and everything continued as it always did. 

The essay you had to write with Gojo was a slight hindrance in your usual schedule, but the two of you worked in silence in class and never interacted outside of it. Sometimes when his elbow would accidentally bump into yours as the two of you were busy writing he’d make a sort of noise in the back of his throat, his hand snatching back quickly as if you had somehow burnt him, but that was the most of your interactions. 

Sometimes when you were in the common rooms, late at night, you could hear him talking with his friends, talking about how heinous and ridiculous it was that McGonagall paired the two of you together, but you tried to ignore it.

That following week you found yourself back in the transfiguration classroom, working away quietly as you tried to understand the scriptures on the pages you had to read. You found yourself lucky that this subject was the one you might have some sort of talent in, seeing that this sort of ancient magic was just as difficult as McGonagall made it out to be. 

You heard some mumbling next to you, your eyes discreetly looking over at your partner, only to find his head in his hands as his brows furrowed in both annoyance and confusion. 

“...what does this…?” You heard him say to himself, watching as he flipped the page back and forth as if he was missing something. 

You looked back at your work, the talking around the room drowning out whatever it was that Gojo was saying to himself. 

Or at least you tried to drown out the noise, if not for the fact that your partner made some sort of sudden movement that managed to knock his ink bottle down, spilling ink all over the table. You moved your work to the side, watching as some of the ink soaked into your robes.

“Fuck,” he snapped, moving suddenly from his chair so that the ink would drip onto his clothes, “damn it,” he looked around almost helplessly, his hands clenching in anger after seeing all his hard work soaked up in black. 

“Wait,” you suddenly say, your arm outstretching over his body, watching as his head snaps over to you, “Stop moving for a second.”

He didn’t have much time to bite back at how dare you order him around because you had already begun to pull out your wand, flicking it on a quick movement as you murmured “tergeo,” watching as the ink slowly yet surely began clumping up in the middle of the table, going back with snake-like movements into its bottle. 

There was a beat of silence. 

Gojo sat still in his seat, his lips pursing as he finally let out a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Thanks,” he said, but it seemed like he had to bite the word out, choking on it as if thanking you was taking too much of his mental willpower to do. 

You nodded briefly, still watching him as he settled back into his seat. 

“Uh,” you scratched at the back of your neck, knowing that you’d probably regret asking this in a matter of seconds, but somehow not able to stop yourself as you continue talking, “I don’t mean to be rude, or intrude, but is everything alright?”

You hold your breath as you watch Gojo sigh, his eyes shutting briefly. You braced yourself to be snapped at, to be victim to yet another reminder of how much you’ve tarnished the Slytherin name, but he just shakes his head. 

“No,” he seethes, but when he peeks over at you he licks his lips, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he grabs his papers, moving it over to the middle of you two as he motions to it, “Everything is not alright. Something’s wrong with the book…and I have no idea what. I’ve read this page at least twenty times and it makes no bloody sense to me,” 

You try to hide your surprise. 

That’s probably the most he’s ever spoken to you without any mention of your muggle heritage. 

You move in a little closer to look at what he’s pointing to. You try not to heat up under his stare, squinting your eyes as you try to make sense of what it was he was writing, trying to hide your reactions when you realize that he was doing most of it wrong. 

The point of this essay was to learn about the origins of cross-species transfiguration, and eventually an animagus transformation and how it even came to be. 

You had to reference at least five other books and scrolls to piece together the correct herbs and spells needed to even begin the process. McGonagall honestly probably told everybody to reference the textbook because there was nothing in it. This essay was a testament to how many people went out of their way to learn about the true nature of transfiguration. 

What Gojo had written was something you were sure almost everybody else was writing as well, a mistake you almost made. His research was simple and black and white, and he was getting everything wrong because he was missing at least ten different very important points. 

“So,” you swallowed nervously, chewing on your already chapped lips, “You have the main ideas down,” which was a lie, “But there are just some things-” Before you could even finish your sentence the bell tower chimed once, twice, and then a final time, telling everybody that their class was over. 

All around you people began hurriedly packing up, surely excited for lunch, the chatter of conversations growing in volume, and you didn’t have to look at Professor McGonagall to know that she was irked by her student's sudden enthusiasm to leave. 

Gojo sat motionless, still looking over at you, waiting impatiently for you to finish. 

“I…” you scratched at your hands, “I can’t go over everything right now, but tomorrow I’ll bring in the other-” He raised his hand, packing up his bag as he cut you off. 

“No, not tomorrow, I’m already behind,” you watched as he shoved his papers into his leather bag, “Just explain it now.” 

You wanted to laugh, not knowing how long it might take to explain your twisted thinking process to him and you doubted he wanted to stay in this classroom with you for a minute longer. 

“Well, there’s quite a bit of things,” you searched for the right word, “Missing. I have to study for the potions exam right now, but I’m going to be in the library tonight anyway. I could show you then…?” 

You stood at your chair, your eyes looking up into his, wavering. 

What did you just do? Surely he’d laugh now in your face, roll his eyes at how absurd it was that you could even suggest such a thing, just as he usually does.

Instead, he looks at you, then at his paper, and then at yours, which is at least three pages long at this point. He’d never admit it out loud, but you were understanding this assignment better than him and nobody in his group seemed to understand it as well as you were. 

“Fine,” he runs a hand through his hair, the white sticking out between his fingers like snow perched on grass.

Your brows furrow, your lips pursing together in sudden confusion. 

“What, okay,” you fiddle with your fingers, tugging on them in that anxious way you always do, watching him tighten the straps on his bag, “But wait, what time…” You try to call out but he has already left, his robes swaying behind him as you stand alone at your seat.

You slowly begin to pack up, your thoughts running at what you have just done.

—

The potions exam went well enough, but you couldn’t stress out about it too much right now. 

After dinner (which you ate earlier than most, too anxious to be late), you made your way to the library, found a table near the back, somewhere that didn’t get a lot of foot traffic, and set up your workstation for the time being. 

Amongst many of the amenities Hogwarts had, the library was one of them you loved dearly. 

It wasn’t usually too busy, but it filled up quickly the night before some exams. But you didn’t mind it, you liked being surrounded by people. In the Slytherin common rooms, you usually had to wait until everybody had filtered out or had gone to bed before you could make your way down, not wanting to face their icy looks or the way they’d talk behind their hands when you were near, so you opted to be in the library above anything else. 

The muted sounds of pages turning, of people talking in hushed whispers, and the books that would sometimes rearrange themselves were calming. You liked the candles that were lit carefully around the large room, illuminating it deep into the night. 

You made sure that the work you had already written was set out, your quill resting straightly adjacent to it, your ink pot above it. Your pile of books sat neatly to the left. You wanted to seem as organized and as composed as you could, this might be your one chance to show the prince of Slytherin that you weren’t the slob he must imagine you as. 

The clock on the wall ticks, and you note that it’s nearly ten minutes till five. You chew on your lips, cracking your fingers as you keep your eyes trained on the door, waiting for the familiar mop of white hair to appear. 

After the first ten minutes, you begin fidgeting again, moving your papers centimeters above where they were as if they could appear any straighter. You weren’t wearing the usual house robes, and you hoped that your decision didn’t cause him to walk in, scan the area, and leave because he didn’t see what he expected to see. 

But you pushed those worries aside, just doing your best to watch the people who filed in and out of the large double doors. 

After the clock struck six, you began to stop looking at the doors, instead choosing to just get some work done while you were here, and opened up one of the books. Of course, he probably just lied just because he wanted to. There might be some of his friends standing outside, snickering as they watched you wait stupidly. 

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, feeling like an idiot.

For the next half hour, you busied yourself with reading about the start of the animagus process, about the mandrake leaf, and the strenuous process of keeping it on your tongue for an entire month. 

Around you, you could hear the scrapping of chairs on the floor, and how most of the people were beginning to leave seeing that it was getting pretty late. The library closes promptly at eight, and although it was an hour till that happened, most people left till then. 

Your eyes flitted to the door, not seeing anybody, and deflated. 

Stupid, you repeated in your head. 

So you began shutting the books strewn out in front of you, packing them all up in your bag as you rubbed at your tired eyes. Madam Pince also made a deal if you left any ink splotches on the table, so you cast a quick tergeo charm to clean up any spots you might’ve missed. 

“You’re leaving?” 

You looked up from the table, eyes squinting to see his tall figure standing in front of you, his face flushed red, sweat dotting on his brow bone as a bit of his hair stuck to his face. Gojo was panting, his chest heaving up and down as if he had just run across the entire castle, and his brows were creasing in the middle, looking down at you as you seized your packing. 

You note his green quidditch robes and muddy boots. 

“I, um,” you looked at the nearly empty table in front of you, and you shook your head, giving him a small smile, “No, no, I just got here.” 

He looked at your bag, as if not believing you, but not caring too much as he hummed in the back of throat, rounding the table, and plopped himself down in the seat in front of you. 

Wordlessly, Gojo began taking out his supplies, and you figured you might as well, setting everything back up to where you initially had it.  You watched as he slyly looked around the two of you, his shoulder becoming less tense when he realized it truly was just the two of you left in the library. 

“Practice took up too much time,” he mindlessly explains, a clear explanation for why he looked so different from the put-together self he usually is. He pushed some of his hair out of his face, his breathing still a little erratic. 

You nod, swallowing thickly as you pretend to understand the ins and outs of quidditch. 

You were aware that amongst one of the many things Gojo could do, on his long lists of talents (which if there was a list would consist of his ability to speak five languages or his incredible ability to calm any creature down), was that he was an amazing seeker. 

While you weren’t very familiar with how quidditch worked, despite trying to best to follow along with others' conversations as you listened in, you could understand that his forte on a broomstick wasn’t talked about just because he was Gojo Satoru. 

He was fast on his broomstick, and thought it could be chalked up to the fact that every year he came to practice with the newest model, he could whize past anybody. He was nimble as well. With how large his hands were, larger than the other house seekers, he was able to secure a win for almost every single match ever since he got recruited. Last year he was named captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, so you were able to piece together that he got held up with the recent tryouts.

“That’s um,” you scratch at your arm awkwardly, “That’s alright…okay so I’ll try to be as quick as I can, but there’s a lot that McGonagall wants us to do,” you start slowly, letting his get situated as you push forward the first book that helped you out, “Oh, that textbook doesn’t help…right now,” you quickly said as you saw him pull out the assigned reading, saw how he looked at you for a second, his face scrunching up in an unreadable emotion. 

“This one is good, though,” you motion to the one in front of you. 

Gojo’s movements are slow as he takes it, eyes scanning over the title until he looks back at you. 

He doesn’t do much talking, you decide. 

“This book covers cross-species transfiguration, but it briefly mentions inter-species transfiguration. But the author referenced this one,” you pull out the other hefty textbook, sliding it over to him, “And this covers all things related to inter-species transfiguration and then goes into animagus transfigurations.” 

You pause, biting your cheek to stop you from rambling on. Transfiguration was something that you could talk about forever and ever, and you’d never really talked about out loud to anybody else up until now. 

“McGonagall said that the essay was on inter-species, she never mentioned animagus transfiguration,” Gojo said suddenly, pushing the two textbooks back, letting out a heavy sigh as if this was all a waste of his time.

You nod slowly, picking at some of the skin around your nails.

“R-right, and you’re right,” you quickly sputter, nodding, “But because cross-species and inter-species transfiguration are so close together, I doubt that this was what she wanted our month-long essay to be about. Which is why,” you pull out some old essays you had done earlier in the year, “I referenced back to these animagus essay’s we had done. I mean, she wouldn’t introduce us to the topic and then drop it for no particular reason, right? I suspect she wanted us to piece the two and two together.”

Gojo gently took the papers from your outstretched hand, his eyes raking over your words, and then back to the textbooks. He seemed to read it intently as if things were slowly starting to click for him. 

“Which is why the textbook she gave us isn’t really helpful, because it resembles more of an herbology textbook rather than transfiguration. So I think that this textbook, if anything, should be referenced at the end of the essay, seeing how it mentions the mandrake leaf and the properties of the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth. It’s all instructions on how to become an animagus without saying it.”

His eyes, a different shade of blue in the candlelight, watched your every moment. He listened carefully as you eventually did end up rambling, watching the way your face, on its own accord, twisted into a proud smile at your clever handiwork. 

You abruptly stop to catch a breath and glance up at him apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, I went too fast,” you shake your head, rubbing your temple in your hands, tired from staring at textbooks for as long as you’ve had. 

“No…it made sense,” Gojo murmurs suddenly, his lips pulled into a thin line as he quickly looks away from you, back down to his work which was now surely long after your in-depth analysis, twisting and turning that gold ring on his finger, the one he always wore, the symbol of his family crest as he looked through the books you had offered him. 

You stay silent, not knowing what to do, resting back in your seat, picking your nails. 

“Well, that’s all of it,” you rub your hands against your pants, your dry eyes blinking a couple of times, yearning for sleep.

“You could’ve said this during class,” he said, still reading, his attention preoccupied, as if this was a hindrance to him. 

You wet your lips, trying not to clench your hand in anger, frustration, and years of pent-up emotions, as you slowly nod, pulling the leather strap of your bag over your shoulders as you begin to stand up. 

“Right, sorry,” you apologize quietly, taken aback when he suddenly looks up at you, as if startled but you didn’t feel like spending any more in the presence of someone who despised you anyways, “goodnight,” you bid farewell, not noticing how he had opened his mouth to say something, scurrying out of the library as you make your way back to the common rooms before he could.

—

The next day at transfigurations, the two of you didn’t speak to one another at the beginning of class, like normal. 

You took out your books like normal, as did he, and began writing silently, like normal. Everything was going normally until he suddenly paused, his hand wavering above his essay as he set his quill down, turning his head over to you.

“Can I see what you’ve written?” 

You stop writing, eyes darting to the side as if you had misheard him.

Gojo points to the papers you’ve been working on as if you didn’t understand his first command. 

Wordlessly, you pass it over to him. 

He reads it over a couple of times, flipping through your endless pages, muttering some words to himself now and then. You would wager that compared to other people you had made far more progress in terms of how much you’d compiled, so you weren’t necessarily worried about the time restraint on this essay. 

You couldn’t say the same for him, however. 

You’ve never seen him look so intense, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed in clear concentration. He almost seemed frustrated, and it was a strange thing to see from somebody so usually put together. 

“Our work together is too divided, it looks like we haven’t been working with each other,” Gojo says as if that wasn’t purely what was the issue. 

You didn’t say anything, wanting to see what idea he’d propose.

“I need to finish the rest of these texts,” he jutted his chin to the textbooks you had given him last night, “We can work on the essay after classes are over, in the common room.” 

A part of you wanted to laugh at him as if he had just joked. 

But Gojo Satoru was not a joking sort of person. You rarely saw him smiling, even when with his friends, and it was even rarer for him to say something of any comedic value. Which could only mean that he was being serious and that he truly was proposing to work in the common rooms with…you.

A little snort escapes your lips, looking at him as if he were crazy. He looked at you as if you were the crazy one.

“I don’t go to the common rooms after class, it’s too busy,” you explained slowly to him, wondering if he was daft and even after all this time didn’t take the time to understand your situation. 

He blinked, eyes narrowing. 

“...and?” 

Your head tilted to the side, confused. 

“Well…there’s people there,” you explain even further. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as if you were stupid. 

“Ironically, that is the point of a common room.” Gojo looks back to his essay, picking up his quill as if he were done with this conversation, but you pushed.

“Right,” you say more curtly, nose flaring, “For you, it might be. But people don’t want me there.” You say, a truth that you had to stomach, something that you grew used to after too many unsavory encounters with other Slytherins when you tried to come down to the common rooms during social hours. 

“So during the hours of two to eight, you don’t go to the common room?” He didn’t even look up, his voice sarcastic, not believing such an insane thing.

“No.” You reply as if it was obvious as if he should at least know that this is why you rarely ever make an occurrence unless it’s early in the morning or late at night. 

That finally gets him to stop and look at you, confusion woven into his expression. 

“What?” He set his pen down again, and you noted that his eyes seemed a different shade of blue when he was confused, a little bit lighter than usual, he seemed like he was the only one not in on some sort of joke, “So from two to eight you just stay in your room?” 

You shake your head, playing with your fingers. 

“I’m not always in my room,” ignominy clear in your tone, “Most days I either go outside and do my homework or go to the library.” 

You hate the attention this brings to you from him. You’ve never had such a long conversation with somebody in your own house, let alone Gojo. You hated the way he looked at you as if you were either lying your arse off or even worse…pity?

But you almost shook your head at that thought. The great Gojo Satoru pitying you? 

“What if it’s raining?” He asked, pushing you to see if you were telling him the truth. 

“Then I go to the library,” you said as if it was obvious, mainly because to you it was. This was the usual schedule that you’ve become used to over the years, something you’ve just forced yourself to become used to despite wanting everything in your soul to go to the common rooms like everybody else, to laugh at their stories, to talk about your lives, like you were supposed to. 

“What if the libraries closed?” 

You squirm under his heavy gaze, wondering how the topic of transfiguration got turned around to him interrogating you. 

“Um, well, right now, because of the weather, I’d probably just go up to the astronomy tower if the library was closed. They don’t have lessons during the day. Or I’d probably just find a broom closet and do my work in there.” 

His head tilts just a bit, his lips quirking up into a disbelieving smile as if he just caught you in your lie. 

“In the dark?” Gojo presses, and you can hear the people around you already beginning to pack up their supplies, the class nearing its end. Had you spent this much time talking that you wasted nearly half an hour?

“I’d cast a lumos spell,” you argue, packing up your things as you break eye contact with him. You take your paper back, making sure the ink has dried before putting it in your bag. 

“I’ll be in the library,” you say finally, making sure that was the end of it, “See you there.”

—

In some strange way, meeting up with Gojo in the library became part of your routine. 

Every night at seven, after his quidditch practice would end, he’d run all across the entirety of campus to work on your transfigurations essay together. 

The two of you still didn’t talk much, but it was different nonetheless. 

“I’m tired,” Gojo suddenly announced, the candlelight flickering on and off from his face. 

You could visibly see the dark circles that were under his eyes, how he slouched (which was uncommon for him, seeing how he usually sat as straight as a ruler wherever he was), and how he couldn’t go four minutes without letting out an exhausted sigh. 

“You should take a break,” you muttered, not paying attention, head still stuck in your book as you continued to read the rest of the paragraph you were reading. 

Gojo snorted, rolling his eyes at the prospect. 

“I can’t take a break,” he dragged his hands across his face, “I need to finish this essay, the quidditch games in two days, and Snapes up my arse about that potion exam.” 

Your eyes flickered up to his, startled at how much he had spoken, but then tried to mask your surprise by looking back down to your book.

“Potions wasn’t too bad,” you offer, “And I can finish the last bits you have,” you look back up, putting your hand out, a silent ask for him to give you whatever it was that he had written so far. 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, silently passing over his stack of parchment, and you scanned through it quietly, shrugging as you nodded once more. 

To be honest, the two of you were far ahead of the other students in your class. He had eventually concluded on his own that you’d be wasting more time not working together, so you guessed that he just had to suck up a bit and bite back on his pride and work with a muggle-born.

His rush to finish the essay was spurred on by the plethora of other things he needed to do, a drawback of being the prime and perfect Slytherin prince everybody made him out to be. 

“You don’t have much left,” you deduce, “I can just write about the Scalivier trials,” the trial in which a man refused to register with the ministry that he was an animagus, “I’ll have it done by Saturday, I’m nearly done with my bit.”

You slide his essay back to him, but stop when you see the perplexed look on his face. 

“Saturday’s the quidditch game?”. 

Your eyes dart to the side, squinting a bit as you try for a laugh. 

“…and?” 

He scratches at his temple, tilting his head to the side. After these past couple of days working with you, he’d be wrong to say that he became more and more increasingly perplexed with you. Six years he spent watching from afar, muttering words to his friends about the absurdity of your existence, but now that he was able to see you from up close, a part of him has to agree that you’re an enigma he’s never been able to crack. 

You don’t say much during class, you don’t talk to many people, and if he was being honest, in that sense, you mirrored him. You were reserved, but the times he picked and prodded at you, you seemed to open up. You don’t have any friends from what he could tell, often eating at the end of the table during the meals. He watched sometimes to see you during the common rooms during the times in which you said you never came, a part of him thinking he’d be able to catch you. 

Gojo Satoru would never admit it, but in a way, he had become interested in you.

“Well,” Gojo didn’t like to be the one confused, hating being perceived as if he didn’t know everything, which is something he prided himself on most of the time, “After the game, there’s the usual…party,” he bit out, hating the word, because it was so unruly from the usual balls and galas he was forced attend, too many people sweaty and jumping, “In the common room.” 

You blink owlishly at him, fidgeting with your quill, twisting and turning it around in your hand. 

“Right…so I’ll be here.” 

Now it was his turn to blink slowly. 

Was this really that hard to understand?

“Coming to the library after a quidditch game seems a bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?” He leaned back in his chair, playing with the green and silver tie around his neck. You wondered how he could bear to wear it even after classes were over, that even his most posh friend ditched their formal wear the moment they got back to their dormitories. 

“Thankfully I don’t go to quidditch games, so for me, it’s just climatic,” you said, smiling at your little joke, covering your mouth as you yawned, tired and longing for your bed. 

He sat up in his chair suddenly, looking even more shocked than before. This was the most emotion you’ve ever seen him emmett before and you didn’t know what to do with it. 

“What? Why not?” He seemed so startled that you almost wanted to laugh. It was strange seeing somebody you had regarded as stoic look like he did now. 

You shrug, rubbing your fingers across your eyes as you let out another yawn, resting your chin on your palm. 

“I went once, during my first year, but everybody seemed rather annoyed that I was there, and they crowded in front of me so I couldn’t see anything,” you recall back on the memory, one that you could remember vividly, “and I don’t know,” you’re suddenly very thirsty, your cheeks heating up the more he stared at you, laughing uncomfortably, “I don’t really understand…quidditch, so it works out in the end. And I also get to have some time to myself in the common room to do my homework, you know, unlike usual.” 

Gojo didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, and you tried to pretend that you had read something interesting to not embarrass yourself any further with your mindless babbling. Sure, he might be willing to work with you now, but that didn’t mean that Gojo Satoru was up for a friendly conversation with you.

You looked at him briefly, feeling your stomach churn a bit to see that he hadn’t stopped looking at you.

“Everything alright?” You asked. 

He nodded, biting on the inside of his cheek as he picked up his quill, a wordless agreement that the conversation was over.

—

Transfiguration the next day went by oddly silent. 

Gojo didn’t talk to himself now and then, he didn’t sigh his exasperated sigh, and he didn’t peek up every once in a while to check how much you’d written since the last time he had looked over. 

You didn’t pay it much attention, keeping your head down, your eyes to yourself. Silence was better than being reminded of your muggle heritage, which even then, Gojo had yet to remind you these past weeks.

Briefly, you looked up from what you were doing to see if Professor McGonagall was walking around or sitting at her desk, but in doing so you felt Gojo shuffle a little in his seat as if he had felt your sudden movement. 

“Tonight…” he started and you quickly nodded, waving off any of his worries. Of course, you chided yourself, he’s anxious about the quidditch match, nothing else.

“Yes, yes, I know, you have quidditch tomorrow. I’ll finish up what I have left and then start reading about the Scalivier trials tonight,” you finished for him, tracing some of the wood grains of the table with your finger. 

He shakes his head. 

“Not that - and I’ll finish up the trials by Sunday,” he’s avoiding eye contact, and if you didn’t know any better it seemed like he was trying to find his words, as if they had slipped from his tongue and were dangling in the air for him to grab, “Tonight…tonight, don’t go to the library.” 

You purse your lips, trying to smile to see if that was his goal, maybe he was trying to be funny.

“Would you like to meet in one of the broom closets then?”

You felt even more lost after it seemed like he was debating taking up your offer, but his eyes shone a bright shade of aquamarine, and his cheeks twinged a slight shade of pink. 

Strange. 

“No,” he chewed on his lip, as if he were anxious, a preposterous thing to even think, “No, come down to the common rooms around eight.” 

The cursed clock tower chimed, three loud rings, and it cut the two of you off once again. 

“Look, I told you-” you go to say but he cuts you off.

“I know, just come down.” He was being so cryptic, and he looked so on edge that it was starting to freak you out. He was already beginning to pack up, his eyes snapping to his group of friends that were nearing the two of you, and he quickly looked back down at you, his head dipping down urgently. 

“Eight. Be there.” 

—-

You couldn’t say you weren’t at least a little apprehensive. 

You were so nervous that you just stayed up in your room, not even coming downstairs for dinner as you waited for the clock on the wall to read eight. 

Why were you so nervous? You first asked yourself, but then asked the more logical question, what did Gojo want with you?

The minutes on the clock seemed to take hours to pass, and the hours seemed to take days. It was such a slow process, and you knew it would be going faster if you were doing something more productive with your time until it was necessary, but you couldn’t. 

The other girls in your dorms could come in and out, sometimes exchanging glances with their friends when they saw that you hadn’t moved from your spot, but they didn’t ask any questions, opting to just leave you be. 

You were picked at your fingers, cracking your knuckles, and finally, finally, the small hand pointed to the eight on that ancient clock. 

Funnily enough, even though you had been mentally waiting for this to happen, you waited for a couple of seconds, trying to calm yourself down, nodding to yourself that this wasn’t anything big and that you were just overreacting. 

Slowly, you rose from your spot on your bed, a little dent in the mattress from just how long you’d been sitting there. You turn the handle of the door, taking in yet another deep as you take a tentative step outside the safe sanctity of your room. 

The common rooms are usually more busy on Friday nights, and that might’ve been a blessing in disguise as you’re able to slip past most people, keeping your eyes peeled for a flash of white hair. 

You scan the couch area, the sitting area, and the large window that looks into the black lake, but you don’t see him. It’s only until you look near the entrance to the common room, the large oak double doors, do you see him. 

It seems like he’s scanning the area as well, blue eyes looking everywhere until they fall onto yours, and you’re able to sneak past some people watching as he cocks his head in the motion of the doors, and before you could do anything else, he leaves, and you take it as your sig to follow him.

You’re glad that nobody’s looking your way as you push the two doors open, looking to your right to see him waiting for you. 

You go to open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it. 

“Follow me, and be quick,” he’s already walking and you have to nearly jog to get to him, walking at a much faster pace seeing how his legs were abnormally long, “Put these on over your clothes.” 

Gojo throws you a pile of ratty-looking uniforms, but the more you open up the folded mess you come to realize that they’re old quidditch uniforms. In fact, when you’re finally able to get a good look at him you realize he’s wearing adoring green robes. 

You don’t say anything, multitasking as you walk and shrug over the (huge, it was practically dragging on the floor) robes, buttoning them up as quickly as you could without tripping over your feet, the quidditch uniform, or over the stones. 

He looks at you briefly, and he’s glad that you’re too busy trying to figure out how the robes are supposed to fit over you to notice the way his lips quirked up slightly at the look of you at the moment. 

“Put this on too,” he says once you're finally done, handing you another huge helmet, and you take it silently, pulling it over your head. 

The helmet is way too big for you, as it nearly hangs over your eyes, and you can barely see anything with it on, and you pause, a smile making its way onto your face as you push it up only for it to fall again.

You stop walking for a second, and when Gojo looks back he sees the helmet masking most of your face up until your nose, the only thing he can see is your large grin, the sleeves of the uniform enveloping your hands, reaching to your knees, and for the first time, he hears the softest sound, 

You’re giggling as you try to figure out how to tighten the straps on the helmet, not able to see where Gojo is because you have your head tilted down, struggling with the buckle until his boots come into your field of vision. 

All of a sudden you feel a hand tip your helmet upwards, and your smile falters when you now see his face, the way his eyes are swirling with different hues of blues, something you notice that happened when he was battling multiple emotions at once. You can tell that there’s a small, barely noticeable smile on his face, surely from how insane you look right now. 

You’ve never seen him look so at ease. His shoulders seem more relaxed, his jaw not clenched. It helped that he looked like he was smiling for once. 

But there’s no time to think as you feel the brush of him on your skin, his slender and swift fingers working fast and expertly at tightening the strap under your chin. He looks focused, his white brows scrunched up the way he always does when he’s trying to figure out a transfiguration rune. You feel your breath lodge in your throat. When he’s satisfied with how it was resting on your face his hands drop to his side, and his eyes slightly widen, as if he just realized what he had just done. 

He cleared his throat, looking around the hall to make sure that nobody was around, and he turned his back as he began his brisk pace out to wherever it was that he was taking you.

You walked, corrected, ran with him for a little more until he brought you to one of the openings of the castle, the one that led directly to the quidditch fields. 

“Where,” you were a little out of breath, noticing how the sun was nearly about to set, and also knowing that you sure as hell didn’t have a pass to be out this late, “Where’re we going?” 

“To the field,” he said, which was the answer you were most dreading. 

“Right, I can see that,” you feel hot under all these layers, despite the fact that it was late October and the weather was biting at best, “Why are we going out to the fields.” The breeze that was hitting your cheeks was stinging, so you were at least glad in that aspect that the quidditch robe offered you some sort of warmth. 

“Ravenclaws practicing right now,” Gojo said, turning around to look at you for a fleeting second, “I need to see what Nanami’s strategy is, and you need to learn quidditch.” 

You almost trip. 

And you need to learn quidditch.

His words were ringing in your head, possibly even louder than the blood rushing to your ears. He had to be lying, or have some sort of cruel prank planned out. He must be waiting for his friends to run out from behind one of the stands so that they could tie you to a tree. Not that he’s ever done that, but also not the first time it’d be happening at the hands of other Slytherins. 

Because sure, while you might’ve offended him in saying you didn’t understand how quidditch worked, that wouldn’t mean that he, Gojo Satoru, the Prince of Slytherin, hater of all muggle-borns alike, would be taking time out of his life to fix this wrong.

You should’ve just run the other way, ditched the scratchy uniform somewhere, and ran back to your dormitory, somewhere where you’d at least be safe from experiencing any sort of humiliation. 

But the closer that the two of you neared the stands, the more you felt confused. Because nowhere could you see any other Slytherins, and he was right, the Ravenclaw team was practicing right now, if the flashes of blue and white from above you meant anything. 

Which could only mean that…? 

Gojo finally stops at the stairs that lead you up the stands, his hand on the wooden railing. 

“We’re going…up?” 

He snorts, nodding as he ushers you to move. 

“Obviously,” his voice now seems more amplified with his small and cramped winding staircase, “I’m not going to be observing them from the ground.” 

You’re the one that’s ahead, so you try to go even faster so that he won’t be held up behind you, but everything is moving too fast. Did he give you these robes so that you’d seem like another player? So that you wouldn’t be marked up if you were seen out of your dormitory so late at night?

When you finally got to the opening, you were able to hear the yells that the Ravenclaw players were enhancing with one another. You hold the tarp that acted as the door above your head, heading over to one of the seats in the far back, feeling Gojo right on your tail. 

It had been years since you were here since you looked out into the fields. The stands were high, and the winds were stronger up here. Gojo sat where you were, to your right, and you waited silently to see what he was going to do. 

Nanami was the Ravenclaw seeker as well as the captain. You could see the flash of blonde hair as he flew by, the other team members either watching him or practicing with their respective posts. 

Gojo rested his elbow on his thighs, leaning in as he observed intently. 

Eventually, after a minute or two, he sat back up, leaning in closer to you. You could feel his hair ticking your temple, his nose inches away from your cheek as he began to talk. 

“In quidditch, you have seven players on each side. One seeker, one keeper, three chasers, and two beaters.” 

You nod, following along. 

“You see number seven?” He points to the guy flying around near the three tall hoops, and you nod again, “He’s a keeper. He makes sure that the other team doesn’t get any balls into the hoops.” Gojo is leaning even closer to you now, and you can feel half of his body pressing up against yours. You feel like you're heating up, and not because of the excessive quidditch uniform you’re wearing. 

“The beaters, number four and two,” he then points to the boy and the girl flying around, holding wooden bats, “try to protect their team from the bludgers; which is this black ball that sort of follows around team members, trying to knock them off their brooms. Those bats ward off the bludgers.” 

You make a mental note of everything he’s saying, trying not to be distracted by the fact that you’re being given a quidditch lesson from Gojo Satoru. 

“The chasers, which are the rest of them, aside from Nanami, throw around the quaffle to each other. Every time they get it through the other team's hoop, they score ten points…do you follow?” Gojo pauses, looking at you and you push your helmet up so that you can see him, giving him a confident nod. 

“All that’s left is the seeker-” 

“Which is you, right?” You cut him off, rubbing at your nose which was now freezing at this point. 

Gojo pauses, eyes flickering to you as he raises a brow. 

“I may not know quidditch but I’m not daft,” you tell him.

For a second there, you swear you could see the start of a smile play on his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, almost softly, “I’m the seeker.” You’re too busy looking ahead to notice that he’s busy looking at you, so you continue to talk. 

“...plus, Kento was telling me about it a while ago. He said you were really good.”

This time, his brow raised even further. 

“You know him?” 

You shrug, your eyes following the quick and hurried movements of all the players, too focused on their practice to notice the change in Gojo’s voice, or overall, the change in his entire demeanor. You must’ve missed how he slightly tensed up, or the way his eyes narrowed. 

“We had potions with Ravenclaw last year, remember?” You turn slightly to look over at Gojo before you go back to watching, “He helped me with some of my brews, but we talked about other stuff!” You had to raise your voice, the wind was getting stronger, “And Quidditch came up!”

Gojo’s nose flared momentarily before he swallowed thickly, his jaw ticking as he tried to focus back on the practice as well. 

“A-anyways,” he cleared his throat, not remembering that last time he choked on his words, “The seeker catches the snitch. I can’t see where it is now, but once the snitch is caught, the game is over.” He tried to push some of the hair out of his face, getting annoyed at how it kept getting stuck in his eyes. 

“I need to get something, I’ll be back,” Gojo murmured in your ear, pushing himself off of the seat as he walked in front of you disappearing down the stairs within seconds. 

You glanced at where he left but found yourself looking back to the players, your face breaking into another excited smile when you began to piece together what Gojo had just told you, finally able to understand quidditch after all these years.

The sun had set and the stars were peeking out through the sky, and you watched the players as they furiously rode around, each one tense and stressed for the match that would be happening tomorrow. 

You tried to hide yourself in the background as much as you could, now feeling a little more out in the open with Gojo gone.

The minutes ticked by and yet Gojo didn’t come back. Now and then you found yourself looking at the stairs, eyes darting back and forth from those on their broomsticks to where you had first entered from. 

Slowly yet surely, you found yourself in that position the first night you saw him at that library. 

When the Ravenclaw players slowly began dissenting from the air, running off the fields as they went in from shelter from the old, you felt a part of your stomach twist. 

This was all part of his plan, you concluded, shivering to yourself as you tried not to feel let down, or even worse, like an idiot for thinking anything had changed, that you had maybe actually begun to have a friend after seven years.

You feel your eyes water, either from the wind or from everything, and you make your way for the stairs, your lips trembling as you suddenly start to feel claustrophobic under all the clothes you're wearing, your fingers slipping and sliding as you try to take that wretched helmet off of your head.

You feel like if you go any faster you’re going to trip and tumble down the stairs, and it doesn't help that you’re already too distracted with trying to take the helmet off. You sniffle, your eyes blurry as you feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You couldn’t even tell if you were thinking that in your head or saying it out loud as you neared the end of the never-ending stairs, unbuttoning the buttons of the scratchy uniform as you bundled everything up in your hands, wiping at your wet cheeks with your palm.

Amongst all the things people have done to you over the years, this wasn’t the worst. You’ve had your room ransacked, your trunk thrown into the river, your shoes stolen on multiple occasions. You’ve been called a mudblood more times than you’ve been called your own name, and none of these things were actually done by Gojo. 

Perhaps you thought that deep down, maybe he could change. That maybe after all that time spent in the library, talking to you, controlling some of his laughs at your awful jokes, he saw that maybe muggle-borns weren’t as bad as he thought they were. 

And yet tonight you suffered your first prank, if that’s what this could even be called, at his hands. It didn’t hurt because of its nature, but because a naive part of you actually thought that he could’ve been your friend. 

But none of that mattered now, not that you-

“Where are you going?” 

You stop in your tracks, your head whipping around to the voice. 

It was now fully dark outside, the moon and the spare candles that were lit around the castle and the stands were the only sources of light. You could see his figure standing a couple feet away from you, his white hair like a beacon in the night. 

He takes a couple tentative steps closer to you, close enough so that you can see the furrow of his brows and the small pout on his lips. Damn it, you wanted to curse, you could hate him more if he didn’t look so pretty. 

“Back to the castle,” you snap, wiping at the corners of your eyes, throwing down the old uniform and the oversized helmet on the ground near his feet. You sniffle, looking to the side so that you won’t have to see his face.

“What?” He steps closer to you and you take a step back, your head still turned, eyes trained on the dewy grass, “Why?” You try not to think too much about the two sets of brooms in his hands, or how for some strange reason, he actually sounded dejected that you were leaving.

Letting out a shaky breath you laugh curtly, crossing your arms over your chest as you look up to the sky, counting the stars, wondering if that could calm you down. 

You hear the grass crunch under his feet, the warmth of his body as he comes in close to you. 

Why does he care? 

“I brought you a broom,” he holds it to you so you can see the outline of it, “Here,” he bends down to pick up the helmet you had thrown to the ground, “At least put this on,” he’s already securing it on your head, not noticing the way your lips were trembling, his fingers brushing up against your chin once again but you don’t him faster it, smacking his hand to the side as you rip the helmet off your head, throwing it with more force on the ground. 

“S-stop,” you murmur harshly, wiping at your cheeks, “Stop, stop whatever it is you’re doing-” 

“I’m not doing anything,” he snarls, his eyes a dark shade of navy blue, “So stop crying, I don’t know what it is you think I did.”

He’s angry now, good, it’ll be easier to yell at him if he’s just as amped up as you are. 

But when you finally look at him and get to see his face, it’s not the kind of anger you’re feeling. His eyes are narrowed, his eyebrows pulling together down the middle the way they do when he’s confused, the way you often see him looking like when he’s frustrated at your cursed transfigurations essay. He’s not angry at you because of you, he’s angry because he doesn't understand where your frustrations are coming from. 

He’s at least a head taller than you, looking down as his chest heaves slightly, waiting for you to say something, anything, so that he could explain himself for whatever it is he’s done wrong. His cheeks are a little pink, either from the cold or…something else, and his hair is messy, no longer kept the way it usually is. 

Gojo looks different.

And you don’t know who it was that moved in closer, whose rational mind slowly turned irrational as you two took another step towards the middle, but all you do know is that the two of you didn’t care as you roughly grabbed him by his robes, tugging him in as you slammed your lips to his. 

It happened in an instant, your lips moving against his soft one, your hands gripping onto that fabric for dear life. And for a second, you begin to pull away, your eyes opening in shock, but there’s no use, because Gojo slams his lips down onto yours as he pulls you into his chest. 

It’s rushed and messy, your teeth clash against one another, your hands going up from his chest as they intertwine around his neck, your fingers tugging on his long white strands and you hear him groan into your mouth. 

He moves fast, biting at your lips, one hand sprawled on the expanse of your back, the other one behind your neck, almost cradling the back of your head, tilting your head upwards to meet him. His tongue prods at your lips, and somehow, mindlessly, you part them a little more, moaning quietly at the way his tongue explores your mouth. 

Gojo leads you a little back, so that you’re up against one of the wooden pillars of the quidditch stands, offering you more stability, a good thing, seeing how you feel like you're becoming lightheaded, soon about to faint. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, heavy on your lips as he dips down again to kiss down your chin tilting your head up to expose the column of your neck, “Fuck,” he says once more, diving down as he sucks and bites at your skin, his movements growing faster and more erratic once he hears the soft and sweet mewls that escape your swollen lips. 

“G-gojo,” you whine, feeling hot as his hands travel across your chest, cupping your tits through your thin sweater as he continues to kiss down your neck, tugging some of the material down so that he could leave even more marks across your collarbone, “G-god, oh my god,” 

His pants tighten at your voice, his pupils dilate at the way you're pawing at him, pulling at him, needing him. 

“Satoru,” he says against your skin, “Not Gojo. Not you.” 

He’s delirious, he kisses you like you’re the air he’s been missing his entire life, and holds you to him as if you’re the only furnace in a land barren with snow. He needs you. 

Your fingers are lost in his hair, pulling and tugging, hearing the way his breathing stutters when you do so. 

One of your hands drops down to his chest, feeling at the skin that’s exposed from where his uniform was pulling up, and when your cold fingers make contact with the skin resting taunt on his stomach you swear you could hear him almost whine, his head momentarily dropping into the crook of your neck as he urges you to continue, holding your wrist tightly, pushing it up further. 

Your eyes find his, your breathing coming out in short spurts, and he seems so far gone, so transfixed with how you look under him, that the two of you fail to hear the footsteps that come near where the two of you were.

“Who’s there?” 

A voice calls out, and you see somebody behind him standing with a lantern. 

You push Gojo off of you, but he stays put, looking over his shoulder, shielding your body with his. 

“Oh, fuck off Taylor,” Gojo calls out, anger and irritation laced into his voice.

The boy's eyes widen when he realizes how it is, the blue and white Ravenclaw robes dashing away into the distance, the lantern long gone in a matter of seconds, but it’s no use. 

When Gojo looks down at you, you’ve been given too much time to come back to your senses. 

You push him away from you, and this time he moves.

You take a deep breath, not looking at him as you wipe at your spit-soaked lips, blinking rapidly as you try to make sense of what happened. 

He didn't say anything, but you could hear the quiet pants that escaped his lips, trying to catch some air. 

You open your mouth to say something but close it promptly, shaking your head in disbelief. 

You don’t think twice as you make your way back to the castle.

---

(part two)

taglist (CLOSED): @satorusemepls, @mokonasenpaiposts, @kao-ri, @rinxgojo, @notsochillnerd, @astral-hydromancy, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron, @tedbunny333, @13-09-01, @mynameislove1, @hyunsuks-beanie

[st4ytiny]

A sickly romance in the air

Warnings: Tooth rotting

AN: YUNHOOO YUNHOOOOOO ONE CHANCE BEFORE I DIE PLEASE

In highschool, all your girl-friends had partners, they went on dates, had a prom date, a sweet boyfriend or a cute girlfriend calling them up after hanging out together. It made you sick to your stomach. Not out of jealousy but because you just couldn't imagine being in a relationship. Not at all. Maybe you weren't made for love?

Everytime your parents or a friend would ask you'd just say "I’m focused on school" or "I am comfortable being single”. You were confident about it. That was until you saw this guy at the local aquarium. He was there so often you could almost predict every time right. So naturally you ‘coincidentally’ were there. Then you started going to the museums, thrift markeds, downtown cafes and you saw him everywhere. Were you following him or him following you? 

It continued all spring until one day, 1st of June actually. He came up to you and introduced himself. He was taller up close than in the distance and you smiled at him as he reached out a hand. “I’m Jeong Yun-ho” His voice was kind and smooth. You take his hand and introduce yourself as well. “I’m (Name) (Last-name). I’ve seen you around town.”

As you shook his hand, there was an unexpected warmth in his touch, a sense of ease that made you feel like you’d known him far longer than you actually had. You weren’t sure why, but something about his presence made the air between you feel lighter, like you didn’t have to be so guarded or closed off anymore.

He gave a small chuckle, almost as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. "I guess I have a habit of popping up everywhere, huh?" He said it with a teasing smile, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. You felt a slight blush creep up your neck and you quickly looked away, trying to brush it off. "It’s kind of strange, actually, I somehow always run into you." you admitted, your voice quiet but light. 

"Maybe it’s fate," he said with a grin, the way his eyes twinkled making it clear he wasn’t being too serious. "But you seem like you’ve got an eye for spotting me. Are you stalking me?" You let out a laugh, the idea of you stalking someone feeling ridiculous, but somehow, it didn’t seem offensive coming from him. He had a way of making everything seem so effortless, so playful.

"Not stalking," you replied, your smile widening a little. "I think we have a few things in common actually. The aquarium, thrifting, cute cafes… yeah I could go on” His grin softened into something more sincere, and he gave a slight nod. "Fair enough. Why are you here so often?" he chuckled, his attention going back to the sharks swimming around the aquarium. It was easy to get lost in his gaze, his voice carrying a calmness you hadn’t expected from someone you’d just met. While he admired the fish, you admired him. He looked back at you and you quickly moved your gaze to the fish as well. You shrugged a little, unsure of what to say. "I just... I like the peace here. People overwhelm me.. What about you?”

"Yeah, I totally get that." He leaned back slightly, still looking at you with that same quiet intensity. "I think it’s the whole place—like, how everything moves in its own time, without rushing, you know?" You nod in agreement. There was something about his words that made everything feel suddenly deeper than it should’ve been. You had expected this interaction to be brief, a quick exchange of pleasantries, but now you found yourself drawn into his conversation, the chemistry palpable.

"So, do you come here often?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. He raised an eyebrow playfully. "I mean, we’ve seen each other a few times now, right?"

You smirked at the playful teasing in his voice. "Touché." He took a step back, his hands in his pockets, as though considering something. "How about we grab a coffee sometime? I feel like we’re destined to keep bumping into each other anyway. Might as well make it less... coincidental." The invitation was so casual, yet it sent a small flutter through your chest. You’d never been the type to go out of your way for anyone, let alone a guy you had randomly run into so many times. But something about his presence made you reconsider your boundaries.

"Sure," you replied, trying to sound as casual as he was. "I’d like that." A smile stretched across his face, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear. It felt like a new chapter was about to begin, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for it—but the idea of it excited you more than you’d ever admit. "Great," he said, a slight grin playing on his lips. "Can I text you?" he asks as he shakes his phone and you giggle as you type it in quickly. “I’ll see you around” You smiled and as he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another random encounter. There was something more to it, something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it felt right. Maybe you weren’t made for love after all. Maybe love was finding you in the most unexpected places.

Songs I listened to: Falling Behind - Laufey, Fairy of shampoo - TXT, 134240 - BTS

[forsaken-headcanons]

roblox headcanons whatever (this might be long)

Robloxia is a biiig continent, and Builderman created it

While Builderman is in charge of Robloxia’s government, it is far too big to manage himself, which is where admins come in!

There are two kinds of admins: branch admins, and regional admins.

^ Branch admins are in charge of a specific ‘branch’ of government, hence the name.

Regional admins are in charge of smaller areas, think states

Beneath admins are moderators, those who enforce the law, keep the regions safe, and work in the branches.

Regional moderators can also act as judges when disputes arise. If a moderator’s selected jury can’t come to a decision, the case goes to an admin. If the admin can’t decide, it goes to Builderman.

In a perfect world everybody uses R6, but that’s just not really possible for Roblox so a small (comparatively) chunk of the population uses R15

ok more survivor/killer specific things

Exploiting and hacking are banned by law, anyone who does break the law is met with jail time or worse.

007n7 were always good at hiding evidence, but n7 got tired of the stress that came with covering up their tracks, so he retired.

^ This may or may not have been influenced by him adopting C00lkidd

Since Robloxia is so big, most of the survivors didn’t know each other (with the exception of some, like Elliot and n7)

Elliot’s workplace (builder brothers) is nearish where n7 and C00lkidd’s apartment, maybe like a 10 minute car drive

^ Bonus hc time! C00lkidd and n7 are banned from the bb because kid wandered into the kitchen and knocked something over by accident, which caused a chain reaction that nearly burned bb pizza down

^ The owners decided not to press charges since it was clearly an accident, and instead just blacklisted the two. Elliot will hold a grudge until the end of time, though

Chance used to live in a city when he was younger, but found himself associating with the wrong crowd. Because of this, his parents sent him to a boarding school, which coincidentally was nearish bb pizza!!

When a regional admin (Shedletsky) and the literal ruler of Robloxia (Builderman) vanished, the entire system collapsed. Exploiters and hackers ran rampant in Shedletsky’s state, and an emergency vote was held to replace Builderman.

Taph was a branch admin and was hit hard by the vanishing of Builderman. Their boss was gone!!

Another Bonus Hc time, survivors added in updates got forsaken later

Two Time and Azure’s cult was based in a rural town, but they did most of their worship in the forest. Two Time feels at home in the cabin.

Dusekkar lived in the same forest, but kept their distance from the cult.

-peepy anon

Oh, I love love LOVE the headcanons about the admins! I always adored whenever they were viewed more of the rulers/bosses of the government! I'm snatching all of the admin headcanons by the way.

/j /silly

I always think that the admins would get together in a day off and just simply hang out! Maybe get drinks or eat and chat about their branches/regions :~]

[dauhtrofsevnthshe]

isolated doe ୨୧◞　 ──　 𝓐𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓻 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓷

synopsis: life has been so plain since you've seen that man, mr morgan. now, only to take a trip to the lively town of annesburg, leaves you in an unfortunate situation. can you get away unscathed, or does help find you?

tags ͡˚̣̣̣𓎟𓎟　 typical rdr2 violence, naive femreader, mid to low honour, dated and typical period idealogy, annesburg is a working town, not proofread　 a.m ౨ৎ ⋆ ｡ ˚

chapter 1

life has been simple and boring ever since mr morgan dropped you off at your home all weeks ago. you've never seen him since, but the posters and newspapers of outlaws were on the rise, at the top of their peak, even. the whispers and conversations to be kept quiet of such taboo topics were on and on as another criminal robbed a bank or took down another gang or such the like. but for you? living within the beautiful nature and creatures that nature would often offer you, that you've barely had any problems with such people.

you didn't mind living here, in the middle of nowhere. it may be a very long ride to the nearest town, but it was always peaceful. it never bothered you much. the folks that'd go by are often nice, passing by with a greeting or some small talk that you weren't so good at. it was simple, too. it was often sweet, tending to the vegetation that you had growing by your home, to then look up and notice deers, elk, bears, and even coyotes passing by. it was a wonderful thing, nature.

you pouted slightly at yourself, looking at the almost empty cupboards and shelves, as you realised that you didn't have enough ingredients to make apple pie, you were so excited too. before your mother died from that horrible illness, typhoid, you and she would often bake pie and other wonderful sweet treats for yourselves and your father, the three of you were such a lovely family, despite only living in a small home. although you never complained, crowded, yes, but you loved it nonetheless. either way, you spend your door to the bright and blinding open air, your ears listening to what the birds were saying and what the elks were like calling to each other beautifully, you turned to greet your horse, hazel who judged her face into yours. you hitched up and began to take a long trot your way to annesburg.

there wasn't much in annesburg. it was a very polluted, mining town with your usual gunsmith, stagecoach, general store, post office, and train station, although some were out of business. you definitely knew that the work.. was very poor, it wasn't unfortunate to hear how some of the husbands have passed away while working or some complications of working down in the mines. you couldn't complain much, you weren't rich but you weren't poor either only because of the stash of cash your mother left before her passing but you definitely knew that there's no way you'd work in annesburg. maybe van horn.. not saint denis, though. that's a city that's too rich and fancy for you.

soaking in the sun and light breeze that you received while riding your stallion, and that only as you began to realise that your horse wasn't alone in trotting. which, of course, isn't so bad, but these men have taken the same sharp right you've taken on your travels… that can't be a coincidence, right? you looked over your shoulder to realise that they looked those members of that gang, murfree brood. despite you doing your best not to worry so much, you couldn't shake off the feeling of dread, the feeling of nerves. you just had to keep calm and continue with your day. maybe ignoring them might be the solution?

keeping yourself from freaking out, you slow down, signalling hazel to slow down, hitching your horse just outside the post office, as your black boots touch the ground, you catch a glimpse of the same men just a distance away, coincidentally those men just hitching off their horses. okay, now, you're beginning to get nervous now, and they haven't even done anything. although they didn't seem like men that were with the murfree brood or just one of the other gangs of bad men, you often see their own wanted posters plastered across the town.

you turned away as you began to walk to the general store, playing with your cross necklace with each step you took to get the wooden building. you took a step onto the store as the small rung, alerting the owner that a customer walked in. he smiled at you, giving a small nod as a greeting, and you returned that. you had no idea where the men went, which had a sigh of relief escaping your lips. “aint it a lovely day out, miss?” his words caused you to look at him as you're picking up some food. “yeah.. its real nice out.”

you got what you needed as you slow your pace around the store, the unfortunate feeling in your stomach making you feel all nervous and anxious about how you were going to get home, you didn't want to be followed… again. you waved the owner a goodbye as you're leaving the store, the gentle ring of the bell going through your ears while you made your way to your horse. you hitched onto hazel with a small grunt, adjusting yourself and your little bag before you began to trot away, you weren't a huge gan of annesburg but you did like it since it was a working town. well, maybe too much of a working town since the waters nearby were polluted.

your horse began to pick up the pace within your signal as you deepened in the woods, nature offering you her lovely creatures that made sounds so loud like they were trying to alert one another for food or to sing. you often adored soaking up the beautiful environment that you lived through, feeling like you were just part of them, like a baby fawn or a doe. if only that tranquillity was kept without interruption. “hey miss! where are ye goin?” you heard a gruff tone say as you looked forward to pay attention to the man.. it was the murfree brood, and there were loads of them, maybe six of them, and that caused you to freeze in your tracks. hazel weighed softly as she practically felt your nerves kick in, and somehow, you gained the courage to respond.. sort of. “‘m meetin’ back with husband soon. he just a few miles so i─”

“well, ain't he a fool for leavin’ ye to travel on yer own, sweet thing.” this was not how you wanted your soul to leave the earth. you didn't want to die by the hands of these… bad men. but you'd do anything and everything you could to stay alive. “now be a doll ‘nd, get off yer horse before i scare it..” before you could even reply, one of the men shot his gun into the sky and hazel buckled you off her back, causing you to fall to the ground with a thud and she ran away from danger. oh, it was like a moth to a flame as you get yourself into another unfortunate situation. what have you done to the universe to treat you in such a way?

you didn't scramble up to your feet. no way, you remained on the ground, terrified. you used all your strength to back up away from these men, in contrast to their bigger footsteps that started to catch up to your pace. your heart began to pick up it's pace and your breathing followed, your soft brows furrowed in fear as you locked eyes with your perpetrators. before you protest, one of them fell to the ground with a bang... he was shot. but from where? there was no one else around you and these men except from greens and browns of the trees. who would've done this? you watched the men turn to each other with confused and fearful looks on their faces while you were like a deer in headlights. another few shots rang out, killing the other three men while the other two ran away. you were struck with shock, nervous to move in case you were next, which caused you to look around in your environment.

the bushes and beaches shuffled, whiplashing you towards the sound as you backed up, trying to scurry onto your feet with no avail. eventually, you got yourself up as the figure came out beyond the trees.

“... mr morgan?”

꒰ tags ꒱　 ── @heartsickspider @blueskies664 @bountydroid

[minus-plus-zer0]

Jealousy

♡ Genre: Hurt/comfort, very fluff ending ♡ Pairing: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up, established relationships, dating (Jealousy on both sides, it's all unfounded so don't worry! You two are loyal like dogs to each other)

Bakugou was the jealous type.

Everybody in the entire country knew that. There was nothing Bakugou hated more than imagining you leaving him for somebody else. You wanted to tease him about it sometimes, but his jealousy made him so distressed that you ended up comforting him instead.

Currently, Bakugou was still seething at the man who last flirted with you. The guy disappeared into the street's crowd under Bakugou's contemptuous gaze. His anger could only be distracted by you and your words.

"It's okay, Katsuki," you said, while hugging him. "I only love you. I didn't even flirt back, you know?"

"...I know," Bakugou said. He kissed you on the lips, somewhat possessively. When he opened his eyes again, he looked so sad. "One of these days I wonder if you're gonna find somebody better than me."

"Katsuki!" You glared at him. "I could never find someone better than you! You are the sweetest, most loyal guy I've ever met! Even if you do have a temper." You giggled, poking his forehead.

"Dummy." Bakugou rested his forehead against yours, his arm close around your waist. "Sorry. Shouldn't have gotten jealous."

"No, it's okay! Always tell me when you're jealous, always!"

That's how most of Bakugou's jealousy fits went. Over time, Bakugou became less and less easily aggravated, but he still had his possessive moments. But no matter what, he'd never take his anger out on you or try to control you out of fear.

Meanwhile, you rarely got jealous of Bakugou, mainly because you weren't the type but also because there wasn't much to be jealous of. Bakugou made it crystal clear to everyone what he did and didn't like, and you were one of the few things included on the "like" list. In fact, you were the only person ever included on the "love" list.

But despite Bakugou's poor reputation with the public, he still occasionally found fans who fawned over him. These fans sometimes made you uncomfortable.

One day, you two were out in public together in a quiet side path of the town, walking between various shops. Coincidentally, you caught some of his fawning fans exiting a store. Bakugou paid them no attention but you couldn't take your eyes off of the potential "predators" on your relationship. The fans soon passed but not without some loud screeching and several pictures taken without Bakugou's permission. Initially it irritated Bakugou, but you noticed by the end of it he was paying more attention to you.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, seriously. You two walked in the opposite direction of the fans, their voices getting less loud with more distance.

"Of course not..." you lied. "They're just random fans, it doesn't matter."

You didn't want him to tease you for this. This was one of the few times you had to deal with jealousy, and it took you off guard. It was irrational too, and you knew it. Still, you didn't always like being actively reminded that Bakugou could be wanted by others.

Bakugou wasn't having this. He stopped you in the middle of the side path you walked down, his expression focused.

"Don't be jealous, alright?" he said. You opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted. "And don't deny that you are jealous! I've been jealous of you tons of times, so I can recognize that shit anywhere. But it's just your mind playing tricks on you. You're still the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I only go for the best, ya hear me?" He started beaming at you, and you could tell he really meant it. "I'd rather throw myself off a cliff than go back on my promises to you."

That did warm your heart. He caught your lips turning up and his hand brushed against your cheek, but you still shied away from him.

"I just don't get why you chose me," you said. "You've got so many fans. Sometimes I wonder if there are better options for you out there..."

"I fucking doubt it. I have the best judgment and the best taste, so if I chose you, that fucking means something. It means you're as great as me... or better. Now don't go saying that negative stuff about my girlfriend. Or else."

"O-okay! Alright!"

You didn't know what the heck he could be threatening you with, but you didn't want to find out. Regardless, he still looked after you and made sure nothing the fans did ever bothered you. He would never tease you for your jealousy, because he personally knew how much it hurt. You were one of the few people he could trust, and because of that you two were dead loyal to each other no matter the odds.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #44 - Face Fuck]

"When Jungkook sucks your strap."

Genre: married life!AU, some Slice of Life Fluff, Smut

Warnings: my bois Yoonmin make an appearance, sub!Jungkook, Dom!Reader, masochist!Jungkook, kneeling, cock rubbing over briefs, she steps on his cock, girl bulge ngng, this is the nasties blowjob ever, strap sucking, squirting dildo, fake cum eating & play, deep throating, face fucking, so much gagging, tears, drool, Jungkook is so needy for her cock, hair pulling, tongue spanking, face slapping with cock, praise, degradation ("needy cockslut", "whore" etc.), good boy kink, he calls her ma'am, she calls him puppy, mental orgasms (f.receiving), creampieing, he bites her neck as he cums, he also scratches her from neediness, tears after sex, loving aftercare, snuggles and kisses, they’re in love and kinky :(

Wordcount: 7.8k

a/n: *sluttish barking and growling*

You and Jungkook are ready for bed. Freshly showered, moisturized, clean teeth and comfy pjs. You are done and ready. Cozy and snuggly. Warm and sleepy. You aren’t cuddling anymore as you always break apart before sleep to get more comfortable. You are still facing each other, having enough distance between your faces that you don’t breathe in each other’s air, but you still have enough closeness so that you can hold hands. 

Well, it is more so that Jungkook is holding your hand, while you are getting closer and closer to sleepy town. He is tracing your knuckles, staring into the darkness. You have your blinds down, so he can’t see anything, but just the knowledge that you were there is comforting him. He could never sleep in separate beds, let alone separate rooms. You and he talked about it, as one married couple does at some point in their marriage, because you heard from others that it could be beneficial to the marriage. Not for you and Jungkook. You tried it for two nights, before both of you left your rooms to coincidentally meet in the hallway.

“I don’t like this. Wanna be with you”, you told him sleepily as you instinctively touched his tummy for the familiar feel of him.

“I hate it, wanna share a bed”, he answered you and then you and he went to bed in your shared bedroom and you cuddled, falling asleep seconds later. 

That was years ago and, unless circumstances make you, you never slept in separate beds again. 

You love being together. You love knowing that the other is close and that you have each other. You love being able to cuddle whenever, to hold hands and stub feet, you love that you can kiss and snuggle and that you can also chat whenever. The little sleep sounds each of you makes are also very relaxing to both of you. Even Jungkook’s snoring. Somehow it relaxes you because it lets you know that you have him with you. Yeah, you’re that crazy for the man. He is just as crazy however, because he loves your sleep mumbling. It’s utter nonsense and most of the time unintelligible, but he loves it because it means that he has you with him. 

Tonight, Jungkook can’t quite find sleepiness. He feels tired and drowsy, but he can’t fall asleep yet. There is a thought keeping him awake and he needs to share it with you.

He whispers your name.

“Ye”, you breathe. 

“Can I tell you something?”

“Mh-hm.”

“Please don’t laugh at me.”

“Kay.”

“I was thinking and maybe, I don’t know, maybe it could be hot if I sucked your strap? Maybe?”

A few seconds of silence where you clearly gather your strength.

“My strap?” you lull.

“Yeah. I give it head, suck it and if you want to, you can push my head down on it and fuck my face with it. Yeah, I’d like to kneel. I think that could be hot”, 

“M’kay”, you mumble and exhale deeply. Jungkook knows for a fact that you are barely conscious at this point. He is so stupid for bringing it up now. He wanted to do it earlier, but was too nervous. Now he is risking that you won’t even truly take in what he is telling you. 

“Could you be interested in that? I know you wouldn’t really feel it and it’s kinda a little weird of me to wanna suck dick, but yeah.”

“s’not weird.”

“Sorry, I’m nervous”, Jungkook confesses in a whisper, “I know it’s not weird. I guess, I’m just scared you’d hate it.”

“No, just…”, you lull and exhale, “so sleep-mhm.” 

“Did you just fall asleep?”

You mumble something he can’t decipher.

“Baby?”

No new mumbles. 

“You actually fell asleep. No baby, I wasn’t done”, he whines quietly, squeezing your hand, “please, I hope you heard it.” 

He falls asleep not knowing whether his stupid fantasy was heard or not. 

He doesn’t get clarity the next morning because you had to leave before he wakes. He also doesn’t get clarity during the day because other than your good morning texts, you don’t text a lot. You also text him later that day that you and Jimin will meet up for the gym, so Jungkook doesn’t have to pick you up from the restaurant.

Jungkook leaves the studio feeling defeated. Out of all the days, the universe decides to make today the day of barely any communication. He feels very jittery driving home and regrets ever telling you. What if the reason why you weren’t texting him a lot and are now going to the gym with Jimin is because you are weirded out by the idea? What if you are trash talking about him to Jimin? Not that you ever do, but what if? 

Once home and Bam’s dinner is taken care of, Jungkook decides to text you again. He needs to know that you aren’t ignoring him or else he’ll go crazy.

-          Jungkook: Are you eating at home or will you guys go somewhere?

He is in the home gym when you answer him 

-          Wifey ♡: Jimin invited me over for dinner.

Jungkook pouts.

-          Jungkook: Okie dokie :) 

He tries to make his message sound normal even though he is currently aching. He feels so nervous and left out. You probably told Jimin about the weird shit Jungkook asked of you and are now trying to stay away for as long as possible.

-          Wifey ♡: did you cook already?

-          Jungkook: No :) 

-          Wifey ♡: good. Come over as well ♡

-          Jungkook: YES OKAY *-*

-          Wifey ♡: hahahaha I knew you were being sulky

Jungkook smiles, kicking his feet.

-          Jungkook: Why would you think that?

-          Wifey ♡: cause you never use :) unless you’re trying to be sarcastic or fake happy 

-          Jungkook: That’s not true :) :)

-          Wifey ♡: hahhahah you’re cute ♡ bring Bam too ♡

-          Jungkook: Okie dokie ♡♡♡ when can I come over?

-          Wifey ♡: whenever you’re done. We’re leaving the gym rn

-          Jungkook: Got it ♡ 

Jungkook abandons his gym session for the sake of getting ready. He feels so good again. You aren’t avoiding him. He is so happy.

Yoongi and Jimin don’t live that far from your place. Just a few minutes by bike and around twenty minutes by foot. Jungkook decides to take Bam for a walk. It’ll take you and Jimin a good thirty minutes to get home. 

Yoongi opens the door for Jungkook, wearing an apron and a bandana to keep his dark hair out of his face.

“Hey there”, he greets Jungkook.

“Hey. ___ told me that I can come over for dinner?”

“Yeah, sorry I look like a mess. I’m making aglio e oglio”, Yoongi says and looks at Bam, “hey Bamie, how are you?” he greets him in a squeaky voice.

The Doberman huffs out air in greeting, jumping on his tiptoes as his tail wags excitedly and his nose sniffles at Yoongi. The latter is petting him, cooing silly, little things. Jungkook takes off his shoes and light jacket in the meantime.

Holly is by his feet, wagging his tail at Jungkook. And so it happens that the two heavily-tattooed men are cooing and wooing in the entrance way as they greet each other’s adorable fur babies. Said fur babies soon scurry off to play with each other, filling the background with their playful noises. Bam and Holly get along great, despite their size differences and Holly’s anxious nature, and you often meet up with each other for doggy play dates. You are happy that they are friends. It feels as if your children were friends. 

Yoongi and Jungkook walk to the kitchen, chatting.

“Can I help you with dinner?”Jungkook offers.

“No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I’m here now, you know.”

“Maybe set the table?”

“I’ll do that. How are you doing?”

“Yeah, I’m good. The Tigers won last night’s game.”

The Tigers were Yoongi’s favourite basketball team. He watches every game and even has a few fan memorabilia scattered around the house.

“Yo, that’s amazing dude. That’s like the third game they’re winning, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. I screamed so loud, you have no idea”, Yoongi says and chuckles, “I was so excited.”

“I can imagine. Your team’s winning, man”, Jungkook says and nudges his arm in a brotherly manner, “does that mean they’re one win away from qualifying?”

“Yeah. I hope they’ll win. I’d cry. It would make me so happy.”

“I wanna watch the game when it’s on. I gotta see it too.”

“Do you wanna come over? They’re playing this Saturday.”

“Yeah, I’m free on Saturday. I’d be so down to come over.”

“Nice. I’ll get new whisky for high rise.”

“Nice. That’s exciting.” 

The two men continue chatting about the game while Yoongi cooks and Jungkook sets the table. It happens naturally that conversation shifts to their marriages and while Yoongi tells Jungkook about their dying houseplant, Jungkook has something burdening to share.

“Yeah sure, talk to me”, Yoongi allows him.

“Okay so, I’ve been going crazy today. I made a mistake last night.”

“What did you do?”

“I asked ___ if we could do something kinky in bed, but she was almost asleep and now I don’t know if she heard me.”

“What did you ask her?”

“Promise not to laugh.”

“Kook, it’s me. I don’t judge.”

“Yeah, I know. Okay so, I asked her if she’d be down to let me suck her strap.”

“Kinky.”

“I know, but also weird? I guess?”

“Why is it weird? It’s hot.” 

“I guess. I don’t know, I can imagine that it’s not really pleasurable for her?”

“Jungkook”, Yoongi places his hand onto Jungkook’s shoulder, “let me tell you something from my long years of being pan and a whore in my youth.”

Jungkook chuckles.

“The right woman loves to get her strap sucked and I can tell you from experience it gets them off as if it was their real cock.”

“Really? I mean, does it?”

“Yeah, it does.”

“And it feels nice? How does it feel? Did you like it?”

“I loved it. It feels harder than a real cock. It also doesn’t bend as easily and you really gotta relax your throat. It also won’t taste salty like real cock and the smell won’t be there either. And it got me off real fucking good.” 

“It did?”

“Yeah, it did. I couldn’t stop doing it. Ask her again. I’m serious Kook, you’ll regret not trying it.”

“Okay, phew now I’m all hot”, he confesses and laughs.

Yoongi chuckles and turns his back to Jungkook for the sake of stirring the pasta.

“Do it with a squirting strap.”

Jungkook coughs as Yoongi’s blunt suggestion surprised him. He looks over his shoulder, meeting his best friend’s serious gaze.

“Do it”, he insists.

“O-okay, I will.”

“Make her cum on your face.”

“Yoongi, stop”, Jungkook whines.

Yoongi chuckles and looks into the pasta. 

“Is he being annoying again?” 

You and Jimin enter the kitchen. The latter is asking as he hurries to his husband for a back hug. They sway from side to side while Jimin has his chin resting on his shoulder.

“I’m never annoying. You’re annoying”, Yoongi defends himself to which Jimin chuckles and kisses his neck.

“You’re always annoying”, he whispers, earning himself a gentle nudge into his stomach with Yoongi’s elbow. He giggles, hugging his husband tighter while Yoongi pouts and lets it happen.

You greet your husband with less friendly bickering, hugging his arm with your cheek nuzzled against it.

“Hey there.”

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“Good. I guess. Today wasn’t the best.”

You look at him with worried eyes, touching his waist.

“What happened?”

“Can we talk about it later? I wanna do it alone.”

“Yeah of course”, you say and hug him, “mhhm, I’m transferring my love and good vibes to you.”

Jungkook chuckles, hugging you back with his hand rubbing your back.

“I can feel it, thank you sweetie pie.”

You lift your head, resting your chin against his chest as you grin up at him. He leans down and kisses the bridge of your nose. He feels so good now that you’re here. You don’t hate him for his confession. Yet. 

Dinner with your friends is wonderful. You talk, you laugh, you catch up with each other and later share some whiskey until it was time for you to go. You and Jungkook walk home hand in hand and giggling. You left your bike by Jimin’s and Yoongi’s because you couldn’t possibly drive tonight. You aren’t drunk rather than that you are both giddily tipsy. It’s a nice kind of drunk because you know that it won’t last long and also won’t leave you hungover tomorrow. It is just the perfect amount to make the already amazing evening feel incredible. You first chatted good things about Jimin and Yoongi, before switching the conversation to Bam. You can already see your house when you change topics again after some seconds of silence.

“Why was your day bad?” you ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“You told me your day wasn’t the best. What happened?” 

Jungkook sighs and shrugs his shoulders, “it was my own fault, I guess.”

“Why? What did you do?”

Jungkook hesitates.

“It’s okay. You can talk to me.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, “okay so.”

“Yeah?”

“Remember last night?” 

“When you asked me if you could suck my strap? Yeah, I do.”

Jungkook’s entire body tenses up in nervousness. So you heard him.

“O-okay.”

“What about it?”

“No-nothing, I just, nothing.”

“I’d be down. You know?”

“Would you really?” Jungkook gasps squeakily, looking at you with widened eyes.

“Yeah, I bet that could be sexy.” 

“Wait. Are you fucking with me? You’d actually be down?”

You nod your head, “yeah.”

“Dude, I was shitting myself all day ‘cause I thought I’d fucked it”, he confesses in a laugh, rounding you so he could walk in front of you and grab your waist. You hold onto his lower arms, smiling up at him.

“Really? You were just straight up shitting yourself for an entire day?”

“Yeah. Straight up.”

He makes you laugh. You and he stop on the sidewalk because laughter was just too good to continue.

“You’re so fucking stupid”, you snicker and scrunch your nose, “I love you like crazy, you doofus.”

“I love you too. Like so much, oh my god baby”, he begins whining with buckling knees and a pouty face, “I wanna suck your strap so bad. Oh my god. Please.”

“Mmh, you’re so cute when you’re begging. How bad you want it?”

“So bad. Like so bad”, he pouts, sagging his shoulders, “wanna gag and choke around you.”

“Hot. I don’t know though, I’m not convinced you actually want it.”

Jungkook mewls, stomping his foot.

“I want it so bad please. Wanna be creamed too.”

Your eyes gleam dangerously, your fingers close around his waist. 

“You wanna be creamed?” you rasp.

“Yeah, so bad”, Jungkook says and gives you his best puppy eyes, “please? Please, please?”

“Mhm shit, you got me”, you give in and take his hand, “we’re doing it tonight?”

“Yeah, holy fuck yes”, Jungkook croaks and jogs after you in little skips. He is so happy that he can’t stop giggling and snuggling into you. It makes walking a little difficult, but you don’t want to change anything. You love it when he’s clingy. 

By the time you have reached the front door, Jungkook’s clinginess turns into neediness. He is kneading your softness, panting against your neck as he is nibbling at it. 

“I fucked it. Holy fuck, I’m so horny”, he gets out and mewls, sucking on your neck in an attempt to find relief.

“We’re almost there. Hold out a little longer”, you promise him and in that moment, the door unlocks. 

Jungkook needs to be a little patient once inside. Not only because you both needed to take off your outdoor clothes, you also needed to wipe Bam’s paws. You are squatting on the ground while Jungkook is standing. He walks up behind you and cages you in between his knees, placing both his hands on the top of your head. He sways you, whining his words.

“I’m needy.”

“Patience. I’m almost done”, you laugh, “Kook stop shaking me, Imma lose balance.”

“Then hurry up”, he whines and sways you more vigorously. 

“Kook”, you cackle, “stop it, you doofus.” 

“Hurry up”, Jungkook whines.

You finish Bam’s last paw, pushing Jungkook away gently so you could get up. 

“You”, you slap his chest gently.

Jungkook is both begging with his puppy eyes and being cocky with them.

“I’m not gonna be faster when you’re acting impatient.”

“But you’re done now”, he says and closes in. He kneads your hips, lowering his eyes halfway to let them run over your face.

You dance your hands from his chest to the nape of his neck. You look at his lips, feeling your stomach flutter. They look so pretty and pouty. Knowing that soon they’ll stretch and move around your strap is turning you on so good. 

Jungkook notices your hungry gaze and sees it as his cue to move in. You stop him with a finger pressed to his lips, making him both whine and chuckle. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen”, you talk in your sexy voice. The kind of voice that makes Jungkook feel so, so woozy in desire, “you’re gonna go to the bedroom and make yourself pretty. You’re gonna wait for me on your knees and I’m gonna put Bam in his crate. Understood?” 

He nods his head.

“Understood?” you insist and grab a bundle of his hair to pull. 

“Yes ma’am”, he whimpers and closes his eyes, parting his lips. 

“That’s better”, you release his hair, “off you go. I want you kneeling once I’m done”, you order and step back. 

Jungkook takes your hands and bows down to kiss your knuckles.

“Yes ma’am”, he says and breaks away to hurry to the bedroom.

You watch him until he reached the top of the stairs. You sigh. He is so perfect when he’s so obedient. 

You look at Bam.

“Now let’s get you to bed, baby”, you say.

Jungkook feels restless. He keeps checking the time. His heart is racing. He can’t seem to regulate his breathing. He feels dizzy in anticipation. The time. Another minute passed. He shifts without leaving the position. He is in front of the foot end of the bed, facing the door. The rug under his knees makes it comfortable. The pressure around his cock gets more and more unbearable. The time. Another minute passed. 

Jungkook balls his hands to fists. When are you coming? It feels like you’ve been gone for hours. He can’t take it for long anymore. 

The door opens. He moans softly in pure relief. It’s time. The waiting will finally stop. His heart speeds up, his stomach tingles. He straightens up, fixing his posture this way. He needs to look perfect when you finally step inside.

You enter the room. Jungkook begins breathing quickly, feeling dazed. 

You meet his eyes for just a second before looking him up and down. He’s in his Calvins and nothing else. A black leather collar adorns his neck, looking so pretty on him. 

You walk past him to the sex toy dresser. Jungkook watches you in the tense silence, feeling more and more restless. You didn’t even address his state. Did you even notice that he was there? 

You open the drawer which holds your straps and bend down to look for the right one. You fetch it, holding it up by the base while your other hand is letting the harness tangle. 

Jungkook gulps, rubbing his thighs together. 

You look over your shoulder. Jungkook straightens up instantly. No words. You turn away and leave for the bathroom. The door closes. Jungkook is left alone. 

He makes fists again, pulling a face of desperation. He feels so unbearably needy now that he saw you. He can’t bear to be left alone again. He needs you with him so fucking bad. He checks the time. Not even a minute passed. Jungkook squeezes his thighs together. The pressure feels intense on his needy cock. If you don’t come back soon, he’ll actually manage to make himself hard. 

The time. A minute passed. 

Jungkook opens his hands. His fingers twitch. What if he rubs his cock over his briefs? He made sure to pick out gray coloured ones so you can see the wet stains he leaves. You’ll probably like it when you come back and he is already wet and hard in his briefs. 

He slides his hand closer, leaving goosebumps on his thigh because the touch feels so good. 

No. 

He’s going so crazy in desperation that he almost lost control. You never ordered him to play with himself. He shouldn’t disobey. 

The time. Another minute passed. 

He closes his hands to fists and exhales shakily. Please let time pass quicker.

The time again. Ten, eleven, twelve seconds passed. 

Fuck. It felt like a minute already.

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. 

Jungkook opens his hands again and feels up his thigh. Maybe he could do it for a few seconds. Just a little. Not a lot. He’ll stop himself before it gets too obvious. His fingertips brush over his tip.

“A-ah”, he lets out quietly, arching his back. Again. Upwards this time around. His cock twitches and hardens. Jungkook feels blurry. This feels so good. 

He opens his thighs for better access and cups his own cock. He whimpers, closing his eyes as he begins massaging and rubbing himself over his briefs. The material between his touch and his cock actually makes it feel so much better because it enables him to rub without friction. 

It feels so good. He witnesses every change in his cock. How it goes from soft and flaccid to hard and swollen. To feel himself get hard turns him on so much more. Jungkook can barely take breaths, sliding his hand to his tip to massage it through his briefs. He touches the most sensitive spots, arching his back because it feels so fucking good. 

He tilts his head back and moans the only thing running through his mind. 

Your name.

Breathy and filled with so much submission, it leaves his lips. 

He gets his briefs messy because hearing your name makes him leak. 

Fuck, how long are you still going to be gone?

He opens his eyes to check the time and squeaks as he startles. You are right in front of him, standing over him with a dark expression on your face. 

“You scared me”, he gets out and widens his eyes, “oh”, he lets out and moves his hand away quickly, straightening up. He gulps, looking up at you with sorry puppy eyes. 

“Did I tell you to play with yourself?” you ask him. 

“Sorry”, he whispers.

You touch him. Jungkook chases your touch even if it ends in you tugging on a bundle of his hair. 

“Did I tell you?” you repeat the question.

“No”, he whimpers, furrowing his brows in desperation.

“No, I didn’t. So why did you do it?”

“I was needy.”

“Wrong”, you warn and twist his hair tighter.

“Wanted to make myself pretty for you”, he squeaks out, shivering in pleasure. The tug hurts, sending electricity through his veins.

Your features soften. You smirk. Your fingers release his hair and begin scratching his tender scalp. 

“I can accept that”, you speak sweetly and look at his cock. Hard and throbbing it bulges his grey briefs. The light coloured fabric is tainted dark grey where his tip is. You run your foot over it. 

Jungkook moans and rolls his hips into the sensation. His thighs twitch and tense. His abs convulse as they move his hips needily.

“So wet”, you rasp and put pressure on his tip.

“O-oh”, he tenses up, closing his fingers around your calf. The pressure borders on painful and it’s getting him so breathless.

“And sensitive. Hm?”

He nods his head, wiggling his hips in hopes of getting his tip stimulated. 

“Good”, you say and remove your foot. 

Jungkook mewls. He wanted it so much longer. 

“Look at me.”

He obeys. The state of you finally begins seeping into his consciousness. He was so busy being startled and then disciplined to notice how fucking sexy you look. You took off your shirt, but kept your sports bra on. Your body looks so good after the gym. You always hold yourself with so much more confidence and Jungkook feels drowsy. 

You also kept your sweats on. Grey. They are bulging in the front. 

Jungkook gulps, gawking at it with big, needy eyes. 

“You see it?”

He mewls and nods his head.

“I’m so hard for you, puppy”, you rasp and cup your bulge to shake it around a little.

Jungkook moans, moving closer as his lips part. He is throbbing in his briefs. You are so fucking good in how you talk to him. He expected you to come out in nothing but your strap, but of course you are making the sexiest fucking roleplay out of it. He’s got you hard in your sweats. His mouth waters because of it.

“Do you want it?” 

“Yes please”, he croaks, gulping down the masses of drool gathering in his mouth.

“Take it out.”

Jungkook moves instantly. He tugs your sweats down until your strap can flop out. He lets go of the sweats so they bulge under your strap. He follows your cock with his eyes. You must have squeezed down on the pump because it’s leaking just a little from its hole.

Jungkook mewls, looking up at you with widened eyes. Your lips are curled into a knowing smirk, your eyes are half-lidded.

“Seems that I’m leaking for you, puppy.” 

“Holy fuck”, he gets out and looks back at your cock. Because it’s fake cum, it is already white and creamy, but Jungkook couldn’t care less about the inaccuracy. You are leaking for him and that’s all that fucking matters. 

“Please”, he begs and sticks his tongue out.

You grab your cock by its base, burying your hand in his hair. You tilt his head back. Jungkook helps you with it. He keeps staring at your cock even when you move closer and his eyes cross. To have him so cock-obsessed gets you off so good. He is so needy for your dick that he’s looking all silly for you. He’s so fucking perfect.

You spank his tongue with your cock. His tongue pulsates and shakes. A needy mewl leaves him. 

“Mhm, look at you. You look so pretty”, you praise, rewarding him with a spank to his tongue. Just once because then you pull back to instead slap his face with your cock. Once on his right cheek, then his left.

Jungkook rolls his eyes back with the first slap, parting his lips as he moans needily.

“You’re so, so cock needy, aren’t you?” you taunt as you slap his pretty face repeatedly.

“Yeah”, he keens.

“Of course you are. So needy and dumb for my cock”, you taunt and end your face slaps with little spanks on his upper lip. 

Jungkook moans, opening up further.

You knew that it would happen. You place your hand on the back of his head and push inside. 

“Mhmngn”, Jungkook gets out, ripping his eyes open in surprise. One second his mouth is empty and now he’s getting gagged with cock. He is struggling for air because of how utterly excited you’ve got him. He mewls, shivering vividly as your cock fills his needy mouth more and more.

“There we go. Take it in”, you rasp and furrow your brows, “fuck, you’re so fucking hot around me.”

Jungkook knows you can’t feel him and yet you are talking as if you can. If he didn’t need his face fucked before, he definitely needs it now. He whimpers, crossing his eyes as his brain shuts off in neediness.

Your tip tickles his throat. He gags instantly, mewling in nervousness. You pull out. His drool drips everywhere. Neither of you care.

“Good?” you make sure, rubbing your tip against his pouty lips. His lip piercings grind against it as well, moving around so prettily.

Jungkook opens his mouth and begs by sticking his tongue out. He mewls, widening his eyes at you.

“Of course you’re good. You’re such a needy cockslut”, you taunt and drag your tip over his tongue. It hits his lips. You push. 

He mewls and gurgles, struggling for just a second before his jaw shifts into the right position. You push deeper, twisting his hair at the back.

“That’s it. Take me”, you rasp, furrowing your brows. 

Jungkook’s eyelids flutter. His eyes fill with tears. He looks up at you as if you were his goddess. As if he exists solely for you.

“You’re a cockslut”, you taunt.

Jungkook’s devotion grows, he whimpers around your cock.

“But that’s okay. You’re my cockslut”, you add and begin moving your hips. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes back in the most sensual way you have ever seen. He doesn’t close them completely, letting you bask in his fucked out state while you fuck his pretty face. 

You purposefully don’t go all the way yet, fucking nothing more than the first two inches inside. You need him to get used to the sensation before you completely mess him up. 

“You’re so fucking pretty. Fuck.”

His lips stretch and move around your girth. It’s so fucking addicting to look at. His cheeks are flushed. He is panting through his nose, forcing his chest to heave up and down quickly. His almost closed eyes show the white of his eyes. They keep fluttering as he can’t seem to decide whether to open them more or close them completely. 

“There we go. You’re taking me so well”, you praise, scratching his scalp in reward. 

Jungkook whimpers and begins sucking.

“Yeah that’s it. Fuck”, you growl, messing him up even more. 

You noticed that he is sucking. Holy fuck he is so far gone. He closes his hand around the base of your cock and begins bopping his head on your cock. 

“Yes fuck. Suck my cock”, you moan deeply, sliding your hand from your cock to put it into the pocket of your sweats. 

So now you’ve got one hand on the back of his head while the other is relaxing in your pocket as your sweet husband is trying to win first prize for best blowjob of the year. 

He looks so obviously ruined. Body writhing and shaking, thighs trembling, cock twitching and face flushed. While you carry all the coolness in the world, looking down at him with dark eyes. The contrast is fucking biblical. You’ve got him ruined and working so, so hard while you carry his fucking existence in the palm of your hand. 

“You’re doing such a good job”, you encourage him, giving him a throaty moan, “fuck, your mouth’s driving me crazy.”

Jungkook whimpers, spilling tears. He needs you deeper. He needs to choke and gag. He swears that he can taste you (yep he is correct, you are squeezing down on the pump you hide in your pocket, giving him glimpses of what awaits him at the end of it). You taste so good. So sweet. Jungkook needs it coating his throat. He tilts his head back and tries to take you deeper. 

You are girthy, forcing him to gag instantly.

“Take it easy, puppy”, you order him while your fingers soothe through his hair. 

Jungkook gags and chokes, forcing your cock deeper. He convulses, his stomach keeps tensing as he is pushing past his limits.

“Easy puppy, easy”, you warn and yet Jungkook doesn’t listen. 

He is dumb for cock. He gags and gags and gags and yet he doesn’t stop. His tongue throbs and shakes under your cock, his throat aches because it’s difficult to gag so much. His drool is thick, leaking out of him and dripping down his chin. 

“Fuck, you’re crazy. Fuck puppy, that’s fucking amazing”, you growl, feeling your stomach tighten. Honest speaking, this is getting you off so well. You are so into this that you swear that you begin to feel the blowjob. You are so fucking hot between the legs. It grows and grows the deeper he forces your cock to go. 

Jungkook bottoms out. His nose is buried in your pubes, his body convulses uncontrollably as he gags around you. 

“Fuuuck holy fuck”, you moan, scrunching your nose, “you’re so tight. You- ah fuck mhmm.” 

Jungkook shakes. Too much. He’ll throw up. He moves off of you, showing his relief by gagging out a moan. Your cock flops out of him, dripping his spit and your cream. 

Jungkook lets the drool just escape him. It drips down and hits his chest. He opens his eyes, looking up at you with tears running down his cheeks. 

“You’re such a cockslut”, you rasp, “fuck, you almost made me cream your throat right now.”

Jungkook whimpers, writhing as he is trying to learn how to swallow again. He is drooling so much. If he doesn’t want to end up wetting his entire torso with it, he’ll have to relearn how to swallow. He should do it either way. He has to swallow your cum later as well. 

“That’s it. Take a deep breath”, you soothe him, “don’t let me wait for too long though.”

Jungkook mewls something you think is your name. He can’t speak right now. Not only because he is too dumb in pleasure, but also because you’ve ruined his throat. 

He needs more. He tasted heaven and he can’t get enough.

He takes you back inside, concentrating on your tip. He is sucking and mewling around you, sending electricity through your veins. 

“Yes puppy, fuck, keep going”, you moan, playing with his hair. You leak into him again, basking in the needy mewl he lets out followed by eager sucking, “yeah that’s it. Do I taste yummy? Mhm?” 

“Mhm-hm”, he whimpers, crying ecstatic tears. 

“Of course I do. Sluts like you are way too obsessed with creamy cock”, you taunt and grit your teeth, “fuck, you’re such a pretty cockslut”, you growl and close your fingers around his hair. You can’t take it anymore. You need to fuck his face again. 

You twist his hair and push. He gurgles, accepting his fate with fluttering eyelids and his hands gripping your hips. They manage to get a hold of the hem of your sweats and twist. You can feel how his hands are shaking. 

“Relax. Let me do it”, you order him as you fuck your cock deeper and deeper into his mouth, “go on, relax your jaw. Be my good puppy.”

Jungkook mewls and lets it happen. He feels far away. Lightheaded. Weightless. Drugged. There are no thoughts in his brain except the needy begs for your cock. He is utterly and completely yours. His entire existence lies at the very tip of your cock and you are currently giving him more life by fucking it against his tender uvula. 

You don’t go fast. You go slow. You drag your girth over his tongue. You stay at the back and let him gag and gurgle. You make him feel it. He should feel it. Every single inch, every fucking thrust, every second of it. 

Jungkook sobs around you, pulling you closer by your sweats. Once again you are proving to him that you are the best he ever had, has and will have. Jungkook sucked a few cocks in his long life as a bisexual and being a whore in his youth. And yet nobody. Fucking nobody, ruined him as hard as you do. Men are impatient. They get their cock sucked for quick relief. You are dragging it out. You are getting your cock sucked for the sole purpose of breaking him apart. You are fucking his face because you want it fucked. You bulge his throat because you want it reshaped just for your girth. You make him drool and gag and cry because it gets you off to see him so blissed out. 

Jungkook slips off your cock and sobs. 

“Good?” you make sure.

“I’m yours”, he croaks and begins licking the thick veins on your underside. He rubs his face against your cock as he does it, grabbing your balls with his left hand in hopes of squeezing out more of your cream. 

“Yeah you are. Mine. My cockslut.”

“I’m yours. Oh god, I’m yours”, he croaks and sobs. He drags his puffy lips up your cock, rubbing his nose along your veins so he gets all wet and sticky, needing more of it. He reaches your tip. It is covered in cream. Jungkook coughs out a mixture of a moan and a sob. You did what he needed you to do so bad. You are leaking just so he can rub his face in it and get all messy. He whimpers. He sobs. He fights for air. His tongue licks and trembles. His lips kiss and suck. His fingers squeeze and jerk you off. He is covered in your cream. White and sticky. He digs his tongue into your slit and tries to fuck more out of you. 

“So needy”, you rasp and reward him with droplets of your cream. 

He sobs your name, taking your cock back inside to suck out your white treasure. He needs every single droplet coating his mouth. He is yours and he needs to be marked as such. 

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking sexy”, you moan, feeling your knees buckle. 

You messed him up. Strings of thick cream are covering his face. They stick to his cheeks, his lashes, drag themselves over his nose and stick to his chin. All the rubbing and nuzzling he did messed up his face in the sexiest way imaginable. And now you’ve got his creamed, puffy lips moving around your cock as he is fucking his mouth. 

You tense up, feeling your knees buckling.

“You’re gonna make me cum”, you growl through gritted teeth, meaning it honestly. You’re this close to creaming his throat. 

You twist his hair, broadening your stance.

“I’m gonna fucking cream your throat, puppy”, you moan, eliciting the neediest mewls from him.

He grips you by your ass and pushes your hips into him. You bottom out. Your ecstatic moan overshadows the overwhelmed gags he lets out.

“Fuck. You fucking whore”, you spit and grab his head with both hands. The pump is between your fingers just as his hair is. You twist hard and use the leverage to both push him down onto your cock and keep him still for your angry thrusts. 

Jungkook mewls. Jungkook gags. Jungkook gurgles and convulses as you rough fuck his face to an orgasm. He is crying. He is drooling. He can’t breathe. His throat aches. He can’t take much more all while he is pulling you closer. 

“Get fucking ready. Imma cream your throat so fucking hard”, you growl and fuck his face faster.

Jungkook tugs down your sweats. He is fighting the blurriness. All that helps is tugging and pulling. Your sweats slip down to your knees and drop to your ankles. He gags out a sob, searching for more to grab. He leaves burning scratch marks on the back of your thighs and ass until his fingers finally grab your harness. He twists his finger deep into the straps until his fingers lose feeling from blood loss. And then, only then the face fuck is bearable. Holy fuck, he was so close to completely losing all humanity. He tries to meet your movements, but ends up convulsing in yet another helpless gag.

“Now baby. Fucking now”, you growl and moan. 

Jungkook feels ecstatic. You only moan like this when you cum. Are you actually? He can’t finish his thought because of your creamy cum suddenly shooting down his throat.

He squeezes his eyes shut, mewling desperately as you fill him up with your cum. You keep his head down, moving your hips so your cock is throbbing deep in his throat. 

Holy fuck, he can’t breathe. He is choking on cock and cum. 

“That’s it. Fuuuuck take my cum”, you growl, twitching and shaking as an orgasm controls you. He’s actually got you climaxing. The fucking feeling is biblical. You throw your head back, moaning his name because nothing else wants to leave you. 

And as you cream his throat and float on ecstasy, Jungkook is crying around your cock, tugging at your straps because he doesn’t have many more gags left.  

Your knees buckle. He tugs you off. Your cum seeps out of him without control, he is wheezing for air. 

“Holy fuck”, you croak and fall to your knees before him. 

You cup his face, he twists your sports bra. His throat is so sore. His eyes are burning from crying so hard. 

“Jungkook. Holy. Fuck”, you get out and pull him into a kiss. All you taste is your cum. It fills your mouth and runs down your tongue. You kiss him deeper, sharing the creamy mess with him as both of you moan and lick for more. 

This fucked both of you up. You barely feel human. Your orgasm ruined you. Jungkook is barely a person at this point. He exists for you. You could do anything to him and he would take it with tears of worship. 

“You good boy”, you praise breathlessly, tugging his cock out of his briefs. You kiss him. He is almost cleaned of your cum. Soon you’ll have his taste. You and he are moaning more than you kiss. It’s so overwhelming to be with each other. 

You’re on his lap. You sink down. Jungkook breaks the kiss to scream your name. He shakes and writhes, trying to make sense of what is happening to him with restless shakes of his head. 

“Eyes on me. Eyes right here. Here”, you order him and hold him still with a hand around his throat. His eyes meet yours. He is crying, your cream is still covering his face messily. 

“There we go. Eyes on me. Good boy”, you praise, “you took my cock so well, so this is your reward”, you tell him and begin bouncing on his cock. Your own cock is rubbing against his stomach, smearing remnants of your cum all over his skin. 

Jungkook wraps his arms around you and hides away in the crook of your neck.

“I’m cumming”, he sobs and buries his teeth in your skin.

“Ah geez”, you gasp, feeling burning pain from where he bites you and burning heat as he fills your hole with his cum. You pull him closer, tensing up in paradisiacal pleasure, “that’s it. Give me everything. Jungkook. Ah Jungkook.”

Jungkook didn’t know how bad he needed to cum inside until it happened. He didn’t even know how needy for his high he was until one bounce on his cock was enough to break him. He needed it so bad. This is what was missing to show him true heaven. 

He thanks you for making life worthwhile with aggressive throbs of his cock and his nails leaving scratch marks down your sides. Shit, it’s crazy how you’ll carry scratch and bite marks from tonight even if you were the one in fucking control. But then. It’s an honour. Because every mark, every scratch, every tender spot means that you’ve fucked Jungkook hard enough that he lost control. Those marks? They’re medals of honor and proof that you can play his body like no one else can. 

Jungkook whimpers your name, flinching and shivering as his orgasm stopped and he is left with the aftershock. 

You still your hips because you know him well enough to know the meaning of his twitches. He genuinely can’t take more.

“Good job. You did so well”, you praise him, scratch his scalp gently, “good job baby, good job.”

“Oh god”, he croaks and then sobs into your neck.

“I know baby, I know. Let it all out. You’re my good boy. Such a good boy”, you praise him, holding him safely as he comes down in sobs. Yet another proof how hard you ruined him. 

“I love you”, he cries.

“I love you too, baby. So much”, you whisper and kiss his neck gently, “my Kookie. Yeah, you’re my Kookie.” 

“Oh god”, he croaks, shuddering. 

You hug and sway, you give him little kisses while he gets lost in your scent. You hold each other and heal that way. You share warmth and the sticky state of your skins and it’s the sweetest reminder that no matter how hard you fuck, you’ll always be able to return to comfort afterwards. 

You can really do anything because what follows will always be safety. 

Jungkook lifts his head. You cradle his cheeks, giving him a loving smile as your thumbs wipe the tears from his cheeks. 

“What are you doing to me?” he croaks. 

Your smile grows. 

“That good?”

“You literally fucking own me. Holy fuck”, he says and clears his throat, “I’m sore.”

You chuckle, “yeah, I’m not surprised. I fucked you hard.” 

He grins goofily, leaning into your palm. He closes his eyes.

“I know. Thank you”, he whispers and caresses your inner wrist, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Kookie baby.” 

He giggles and nuzzles his nose into your hand. Then he lifts his head again, gazing up at you.

“Did you like it?” he asks excitedly.

“I loved it. I came so hard.”

“Did you actually?”

“Yeah. It felt so real.”

“Wow”, he exhales shakily. His pupils widen because he is so fucking attracted to you. 

“Did you like it baby?” you ask him.

“Yeah”, he whispers and whimpers, furrowing his brows, “it was so much better than in my fantasy.”

“That’s good to hear”, you scrunch your nose happily, “so I guess we’ll do it again one day?” 

“Yes please. I’d like that so much.” 

“Then it’s decided”, you snicker and kiss his messy nose, “now what do you say to a shower? ‘Cause you are so dirty everywhere”, you suggest as you litter his face with kisses.

“Yeah please”, he sighs, enjoying your love with closed eyes, “snuggles afterwards?” 

“Mhm snuggles and head pats. Also warm tea for your throat, don’t let me forget”, you say, making him giggle. 

“Okay.” 

You and he will clean each other. You will hug and cuddle. Jungkook will kiss the marks he left while you will make him tea he can enjoy as you snuggle him in bed. Truly, life is great when you and he are together.

[onegayastronaut]

Whispers in the Pines

Requested by anon: could u make a story about hermione lodge and Alice cooper dating a younger fem reader or just alice cooper???? i dont rlly care about what the storys about

Words: 2199

The dim hum of the Riverdale diner buzzed softly in the background as you sat at a corner booth, absently stirring your coffee. The town had always carried an air of mystery, something you found strangely magnetic when you first moved here six months ago. The people, though pleasant, kept their distance at first—except for two women who seemed to draw you in like a moth to a flame: Hermione Lodge and Alice Cooper. Both powerful, both complex, and both infuriatingly captivating.

Hermione had her polished demeanor, a sophistication that hinted at her years navigating high society in New York. Alice, by contrast, carried herself with a sharp wit and the kind of ferocity born from small-town grit. Their lives had intertwined with yours almost accidentally. At first, it was work. You’d been hired to help with PR for the town’s revitalization project, spearheaded by Hermione Lodge. Alice Cooper had joined as a media consultant.

Over time, professional boundaries blurred. What started as strategic meetings morphed into late-night brainstorming sessions, then casual dinners. The line between colleagues and friends disappeared, leaving a palpable tension in its place. And then, the night of the gala happened.

The town's annual gala was a shimmering affair, held in the grand ballroom of the Lodge estate. You’d spent the evening mingling with Riverdale’s elite, but your attention kept drifting to Hermione and Alice. Hermione looked stunning in a sleek black gown, her hair cascading in soft waves. Alice, in a deep emerald dress, exuded an elegance that took your breath away.

By the time the event wound down, you found yourself on the Lodge estate's balcony with both women. The air was crisp, scented with pine and the lingering notes of Hermione’s perfume.

“I have to say,” Hermione began, her voice low, “you’ve been quite the asset to this project. The town is already buzzing.”

Alice leaned on the railing, her sharp gaze softening as she regarded you. “She’s more than an asset. She’s the reason we’ve made progress at all.”

Your cheeks warmed under their attention. “You two are giving me too much credit. I’m just following your lead.”

Alice smirked. “Oh, don’t be modest. It’s one of your more endearing traits.”

The days that followed were a whirlwind. Hermione and Alice, who had once seemed so separate in your mind, began appearing together more often. At first, it felt coincidental. But as time passed, you realized they were actively seeking you out—coffee runs turned into shared lunches, which became intimate dinners at the Pembrooke or Alice’s cozy home.

One evening, while sitting by the fireplace in Alice’s living room, the tension finally snapped.

Alice poured herself a glass of wine and handed you one as well, her fingers grazing yours in a way that felt deliberate. Hermione sat on the opposite end of the couch, her gaze warm yet assessing.

“You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with us,” Hermione said, her tone teasing but her eyes serious.

“I suppose I have,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Alice smirked. “And you haven’t complained once.”

You laughed nervously. “Why would I? You’re both… amazing.”

Hermione tilted her head. “Amazing how?”

You hesitated, caught in their dual focus. Finally, you decided to take the leap. “You’re both strong, intelligent, and—well, gorgeous. It’s hard not to be drawn to you.”

The confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you feared you’d misread the situation. Then Hermione leaned forward, her hand brushing against yours. “The feeling is mutual, darling.”

Alice set her wine glass down and moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not imagining this. We’ve both been drawn to you for some time now.”

Your heart raced as their words sank in. Hermione’s hand slid over yours, while Alice’s fingers traced a line along your arm. It felt surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to end.

Navigating a relationship with two powerful women wasn’t without its challenges, but Hermione and Alice were nothing if not communicative. They both insisted on honesty and consent at every step, ensuring you felt comfortable as the dynamic evolved.

Hermione’s love came in the form of grand gestures—lavish dinners, surprise gifts, and weekends away at luxury resorts. Alice, on the other hand, showed her affection through quiet acts of care—bringing you tea when you worked late, remembering the little details you shared, and defending you fiercely when anyone dared to question your place in their lives.

Despite their differences, they complemented each other beautifully, and you found yourself falling for them both in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Months passed, and your unconventional relationship with Hermione and Alice began to feel like second nature. Riverdale was a small town, and while whispers inevitably followed the three of you, no one dared to confront Hermione Lodge or Alice Cooper outright. Both women carried themselves with an air of authority that dared anyone to question their choices.

For you, the relationship wasn’t just about the allure of dating two powerful, intelligent women—it was about how they made you feel seen. Hermione’s polished exterior softened when she was with you, her vulnerability emerging in quiet moments when she let her guard down. Alice, fiercely protective and sometimes cynical, revealed a tenderness that took your breath away.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting day of meetings about the revitalization project, you found yourself at Hermione’s penthouse. The three of you had planned a quiet night in, but the tension from work hung heavy in the air.

Alice, ever perceptive, noticed your mood first. “Rough day?” she asked, sitting beside you on the couch.

You nodded, leaning into her touch as she placed a comforting hand on your back. “I just feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions.”

Hermione appeared moments later with a tray of wine glasses. “And yet you handle it all with such grace,” she said, handing you a glass.

You smiled weakly. “I don’t always feel graceful.”

Alice leaned in closer, her voice firm yet gentle. “You don’t have to be perfect all the time. You’ve got us.”

Hermione took the seat on your other side, her arm draping over your shoulders. “Exactly. You’re not in this alone, darling.”

Their words, simple yet heartfelt, brought tears to your eyes. You’d never felt so supported, so cherished.

Hermione, ever the planner, decided a weekend getaway was exactly what the three of you needed. She arranged for a trip to a secluded cabin on the edge of Sweetwater River, promising peace, quiet, and no interruptions.

The cabin was breathtaking, nestled among towering pines and overlooking the tranquil water. The first evening was spent by the fire, laughter and stories filling the air as you shared a bottle of wine.

The second day, after a morning hike, you found yourself sitting on the cabin’s porch swing with Alice. She had a way of making you feel grounded, her sharp humor balanced by a surprising softness.

“You’re quieter than usual,” she observed, her hand brushing against yours.

“Just thinking,” you replied, glancing at her.

“About?”

You hesitated before answering. “How lucky I feel. This… us. It still feels surreal sometimes.”

Alice smiled, her fingers interlacing with yours. “It’s real. And we’re not going anywhere.”

Later that evening, as the three of you sat by the fire, Hermione reached for your hand. “We’ve talked about this before, but I think it’s worth saying again. We’re in this together, and that means communication is key. If you ever feel unsure or overwhelmed, you need to tell us.”

Alice nodded in agreement. “She’s right. No holding back.”

Their commitment to making the relationship work, despite its complexities, reassured you.

Not everyone in Riverdale was as understanding of your relationship. There were snide remarks, judgmental glances, and even a few outright confrontations. But Hermione and Alice never let it faze them.

One particularly difficult day, a local columnist wrote a scathing opinion piece, questioning the morality of your relationship. The article spread quickly, and while most people in town shrugged it off, it left you feeling exposed.

Alice was the first to act, storming into the local newspaper’s office and demanding a retraction. Hermione, ever the strategist, used her influence to ensure the columnist was swiftly removed from their position.

That evening, as the three of you sat in Hermione’s penthouse, they made it clear that you weren’t alone in facing these challenges.

“People will always find something to talk about,” Hermione said, her voice calm but resolute. “But we don’t owe them anything.”

Alice nodded. “What we have is ours. Let them gossip—it doesn’t change a thing.”

Their unwavering support reminded you why you’d fallen for them in the first place.

For all the grand gestures and dramatic declarations, it was the small, quiet moments with Hermione and Alice that meant the most.

One such moment came during a rainy afternoon at Hermione’s penthouse. The storm outside had canceled your plans, and instead of venturing out, the three of you had decided to stay in. Hermione had prepared a pot of her favorite lavender tea, the delicate aroma filling the room as you curled up together on her oversized couch.

You rested your head on Hermione’s shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair. Alice sat cross-legged on the other side, a book in her lap, though she seemed more interested in watching the two of you.

“You look so peaceful,” Alice remarked, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“I feel peaceful,” you admitted, closing your eyes as Hermione’s touch lulled you into a state of bliss.

Hermione leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You deserve this. To just relax and let the world fade away for a while.”

Alice set her book aside and scooted closer, her hand brushing against your cheek as she tilted your face toward her. “Hermione’s right. You don’t always have to be the one holding everything together. Let us take care of you for a change.”

The warmth in their eyes, the sincerity in their voices—it was overwhelming in the best way. You reached for Alice’s hand, intertwining your fingers as a feeling of complete safety washed over you.

Another tender moment came one sleepless night at Alice’s house. You’d woken up in the middle of the night, your mind racing with worries about work and the ever-present judgment from certain townsfolk. Unable to fall back asleep, you padded into the kitchen, only to find Alice already there, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, her voice soft in the stillness of the house.

You shook your head, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. “Too much on my mind.”

Alice gave you a knowing look. “Let me guess—work, and maybe a little bit of the town gossip?”

“Something like that,” you admitted with a sigh.

She reached across the table, her hand resting atop yours. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone, you know. Hermione and I—we’re here. Always.”

Before you could respond, Hermione appeared in the doorway, her silk robe flowing around her like a gentle breeze. “What’s all this?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“She couldn’t sleep,” Alice explained.

Hermione walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch grounding you. “Darling, you should’ve woken us. We’re a team, remember?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you murmured, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Hermione crouched beside you, her dark eyes locking onto yours. “You are never a bother. If something’s weighing on you, we want to know.”

Alice stood, walking over to stand behind you, her hands resting gently on your shoulders. “She’s right. We’re in this together, always.”

The three of you stood in the kitchen for a long while, wrapped in an unspoken promise of love and support.

On another occasion, Hermione had insisted on a spontaneous picnic by Sweetwater River. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold as you lounged on a blanket, Hermione leaning against a tree with you nestled between her legs. Alice sat nearby, her feet dangling into the cool water as she skipped stones across the surface.

“This was a good idea,” you said, looking up at Hermione.

She smiled, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I thought you could use a break. We all could.”

Alice glanced back, her expression soft. “She’s right. You’ve been working too hard lately.”

“I guess I just don’t want to let either of you down,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Hermione’s arms tightened around you, her voice gentle but firm. “You could never let us down. You’re more than enough, just as you are.”

Alice stood, walking over to sit beside you. She cupped your face in her hands, her thumb brushing against your cheek. “Listen to her. You’re everything we didn’t know we needed.”

The sincerity in their voices brought tears to your eyes, and before you could respond, Alice leaned in to kiss your forehead while Hermione pressed a kiss to your temple.

[betwixenandbetween]

Amongst the Stones

We're back! I wonder how many times I'll just draw rocks for the chapter art

First | Previous | Next

Chapter 4: Atone

Word Count: 1.2k

-***-

As soon as the townsfolk could confirm the human had returned to the cabin, they gathered in the town center, where an inundation of shouts and emotions began. There was confusion, worry, frustration—but rising above all of these was fear. Over the years, several humans passed through their town boundaries, but never had one caused such chaos as this. It was hard to believe that the human’s actions were anything but deliberate. Had she spotted them somehow?

The mayor struggled to keep everyone calm. “Please, let’s assess the damage and gather what information we know. We can’t be certain the human was looking for us.”

“Why else would the human be lifting up rocks in our town?”

“Humans don’t go digging around in the dirt unless they’re looking for something.”

The panic of the crowd gathered in the town center threatened to boil over. The mayor called for Yew’s mission leader over the shouting. “Hawthorn, please tell me you can explain this.”

Hawthorn’s brow furrowed, his arms crossed. “It was a flawless mission. The human was asleep the entire time. I don’t see how she could have traced us back here.”

“This is entirely too coincidental to be unrelated to your mission. I have to tell the townsfolk something.”

“Sir?” Yew had been listening to the two from behind. “I...may have some useful information but, perhaps…we could discuss it in private?”

Eyebrow raised slightly, the mayor agreed, and the three of them turned towards the mayor’s office, perched high up on one of the town’s tallest boulders. Before they left, the mayor addressed the crowd. “We have some mission debriefing to do. For now, you can uncover everything and make repairs as needed. We’ll figure this out, but whatever the reason was for this, I doubt the human will return today.”

-

The mayor’s office was quite a hike from the ground at the town center. Breathing heavy as they climbed up the rock, Yew felt the crushing weight of what she was about to reveal. As far as she knew, this had never happened in their community before. She couldn’t imagine how the mayor and Hawthorn would react. The only thing she knew is she had to fix it, somehow.

Single file, they passed under an overhang of stone, into an open hallway of sorts, and then turned into a small room, half formed by nature, half painstakingly carved out by hand. The mayor sat down at his desk, while Yew and Hawthorne sat on wooden chairs across from him.

“Alright Yew, what do you have for me?” The mayor looked at her earnestly.

“Yes, well…” Yew struggled to keep her throat from tightening. “It is true…that none of my crew were seen by the human. However…the human was not asleep the entire time.”

Hawthorne shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But you never tugged the line. If the human woke up, why didn’t you—”

“Because,” Yew’s voice became hoarse, her throat threatening to close up completely. “I only noticed right before you tugged the line yourself. It’s…my fault. I wasn’t watching closely enough.”

The mayor looked at Yew with trepidation. “Did…do you think the human saw you? If you were in eyesight that is.”

“I…it’s possible. She was looking in my direction. But if she did she made no acknowledgement of me. It was pretty dark.”

“And…you think it’s possible she watched all of you return?”

“Now hold on.” Hawthorn cut in. “Yew may have been briefly seen—from a distance mind you, that lookout point on the dresser wasn’t close to the bed—but I’m certain that human did not follow or watch us. The bedroom is on the east side, she would’ve had to get out of bed and walk over to the western window of the cabin to spot us leaving, or step outside—and I am positive she did neither. I would’ve heard it.”

The mayor was not one to believe in coincidences. But he, along with most others in the village, held great respect for Hawthorn. He was one of the few borrowers experienced in both the indoor and outdoor ways of life. “I do find it incredibly hard to believe that these two events are unrelated…but I will choose to trust both of your accounts, for now. If you were not watched or followed, the human must have come here for another reason.”

Yew had regained a small bit of composure in the time the other two were speaking. “I would like to volunteer to find out what that reason is.”

Hawthorn spoke first. “Go back to the cabin and investigate? There’s no telling if that would yield any useful information, or how long it would take. Not to mention winter is almost here, you could get stuck there.”

“Whatever the reason is…it’s because of my mistake. It’s my responsibility.”

“You don’t know that! And either way, I was assigned to lead this mission. If our town’s location was compromised from it…I bear the blame over anyone else in my crew.”

It was strange, seeing this protective side of Hawthorn. It wasn’t Yew’s first mission with him—he often volunteered for borrowing missions—but he was not particularly expressive, instead keeping his statements very matter-of-fact, focused on the task at hand. In this moment he seemed…genuinely worried for Yew.

The mayor stayed silent. He knew the villagers would not be happy with complete inaction. If these two would offer their own solution, even a risky one, so be it. He cleared his throat. “If you do go through with this, perhaps Hawthorn should accompany you.”

“Of course I would.” Hawthorn replied with no hesitancy.

“No. I want to go alone.”

“Why? That seems unnecessarily dangerous.”

“I won’t put anyone else at risk. The human probably doesn’t know there’s anyone out here besides me. If I’m seen again…or…trapped…she won’t go looking for the rest of us.”

Hawthorn frowned. “You’ve never stayed inside a human home for that long, especially not alone. And this one has no crawl spaces to hide in.”

“No, but I know that cabin inside and out. And I have plenty of experience taking care of myself. I’ll stay under the furniture, or outside if I have to.”

“I don’t doubt that. But I can’t let a fellow borrower take this kind of risk alone.”

“Hawthorn, please. I’m no teenager going out on their first borrowing.”

The mayor interrupted once more. “If Yew is confident in her ability, and will take this risk for our community’s sake, we should let her go on this mission solo. But, Hawthorn, if you also feel responsible, perhaps you may impose a deadline? If Yew does not return in that time, you will meet up with her at the cabin.” As paranoid and fearful as the mayor could be, he was well versed in compromise.

Hawthorn and Yew both stared at each other. There was frustration between them, certainly, but it stemmed out of genuine concern for the other. 

“Two weeks.”

“I can do that,” Yew said firmly.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll inform the others of your plans.” The mayor stood up and quickly walked out of the office, leaving Hawthorn and Yew still engaged in eye contact.

“You’re the best watch guard this town’s ever had, you know that,” Hawthorn said quietly. “You better come back.”

-***-

[melanieph321]

Charles Leclerc x Magali Etienne - My Forever Part 3/5

+18

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Charles, what are you keeping from Magali? 😔

Charles and Magali are high school sweethearts with a past like no other. Now, in a long-distance relationship, the couple fight to not lose the hold of their love, although underlying trauma threatens to tear them apart.

Enjoy! 🧸

Nightmares no longer haunted Charles. A coincidental discovery during the years he had spent abroad. The nightmares couldn't catch him as long as Charles was on his feet, moving from one place to the other, instead of dwelling over his troublesome past. However, leaving Scuola di Conoscenze did not mean that the dark memories no longer krept his mind. The opposite. They continued to exist within him, poisoning his soul.

"Baby? Is everything okay?"

Although Charles dreaded the memories of his past, what he cherished the most in the present wouldn't exist hadn't it been for the horrors that he had lived through as a child. "Sorry." He chuckled, tilting down his head to meet the eyes of his girlfriend. Magali, with her dark eyes and even darker skin, stared up at him with furrowed brows, her expression frightened by the discovery of Charles' ability to disappear within himself. "I must've been daydreaming." He lied.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly and clung to his arm a little tighter as they walked down the streets of the town she lived in.

Unlike Charles, Magali was on a road to discovery. She had ambitions to study law and changed the world with her degree. Charles had no ambition, especially not one that generated change. If there was anything he had learned from his past, it would be that people like him should run from it and never look back. Exactly what he was planning on doing.

"There's still a couple of hours left to the ball. But I'm going to need those hours to get ready." Magali said when the two of them arrived back at her apartment. It was a place of convenience, her apartment. A place to eat, sleep, and study. To believe that Charles was once catered to more luxury as a high school student, told you one thing or two about the privilege he was from.

"Charles? Did you hear what I said?"

He was left standing in the hallway, shoes on and everything, while Magali had already gotten rid of her jacket and gloves.

"Huh?"

"I said….I'm going to take a shower. There's some leftovers in the fridge if you don't feel like waiting until tonight."

"Oh, okay." He nodded but did not make his way into the kitchen. Instead, Charles traced Magali's steps towards the bathroom, joining her.

"Charles, I'm serious." She giggled. "I really have to shower and get ready for the ball."

"Well, so do I." Charles did not hesitate to get rid of his shirt. Conflicted, Magali's eyes fell onto his torso. She sighed miserably while stretching out a hand to trace down his abs.

"Fine, you can join me. But no funny business."

"Deal." Charles bent down, planting a swift kiss on her lips. He was determined to keep his promise, however, a challenge was definitely ahead. Magali had grown fuller over the years. As a school girl, Charles found her appealing nonetheless. But now, as a woman, she captured him in every way. Luckily, Magali seemed equally enchanted by him.

Their shower was steaming hot. Magali on her knees before him. Charles would never tell her this for obvious reasons, but watching his girlfriend with her lips and hands around his stem was a pleasure in itself. She took him so well, her mouth and plump lips perfectly outlined around his throbbing dick. He couldn't watch her for too long, though, risking the embarrassment of finishing too fast. He did so moaning her name.

"Stéphanie, nous partons!" (Stephanie, we're leaving!)

An hour past their hot shower, Magali announced their departure to her absent roommate. Charles had put on the suit that he purchased at the airport. It fit him surprisingly well, although he preferred a tie over the boe tie that Magali made him wear.

"How do I look?" She asked, having put on the finishing touches of her makeup. It must've been a trick question because Charles had never seen her look less beautiful, ever.

"What can I say?" His hands went to rest on her waist, pulling her close. "You look beautiful, as always."

"Stop it." She playfully nudged him away. "It's just a vintage, Prada. Nothing too extravagant."

"Nah." He purred. "It looks brand new on you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." Charles tilted down his face, but before he could come any closer, Magali had wiggled out of his grasp.

"I'm serious, Charles. You do not get to ruin my makeup before we even leave the apartment. Now let's go."

He laughed with her on their way out. This wasn't how he originally wanted to spend the last night visiting his girlfriend. But knowing Magali, she would make it a night to remember no matter what they were doing, as long as they were doing it together.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

If you want to know more about Charles and Magali's love story and how it began, feel free to click in the link below 🥰

[dianakc]

All aboard the Milton omnibus

Fandom: North and South

Ever since John stumbled out of the Hales' house and onto an omnibus, having been rejected by Margaret (in the book, not the TV series), he has continued this weekly excursion. Unbeknown to him, Miss Hale also goes on an omnibus journey each week. Then one week, Miss Hale and Mr Thornton find themselves on the same omnibus. What a coincidence ...

I'll be posting a chapter once a week x

The omnibus trundled steadily along the streets of Milton, its horses plodding resolutely on, despite the slippery cobbles beneath their great hooves. The driver clicked his tongue in encouragement to the horses as the bus neared the last stop in the town. From Milton, the omnibus route meandered farther afield towards the surrounding villages, and then onward to the terminus at Prestwich. The driver glanced up at the heavy black sky that threatened snow, but he was grateful that at least it was dry, having suffered over the last few days from being exposed to persistent driving rain. Apart from the personal discomfort from the torrential downpour, it had taken his considerable experience to navigate his horses and carriage safely along the tracks between the villages which were awash with mud.

Only the driver sat outside, and the top level of the omnibus was vacant due to the wintry chill of the day. Even the conductor had decided to spend the whole journey standing at the entrance to the lower deck, instead of sitting beside the driver to rest his feet on the longer distances between stops. He hoped that there would be few more wanting to board, as the enclosed lower carriage was almost at capacity, and he really could do without complaints from gents not wanting to sit atop, when there was precious little he could do about it.

There were twelve passengers in total, all gentlemen, who were all grateful for the shelter of the lower deck. The occupants swayed with the movement of the bus, occasionally being jostled against one another if the road was particularly uneven, though all those aboard were well used to the motion of their transport and accepted the associated discomfort.

John Thornton wiped his coat sleeve on the steamed up window to get a better view as they approached Crampton Terrace. He rubbed his arm against the glass again and peered out towards the neat little row of houses. Over half a year had elapsed since he had stumbled from the Hales’ house onto the street in a state of desperate agitation and distress, and had found himself boarding the omnibus that had coincidentally been passing by at the same time. He had travelled to Prestwich in no small state of shock, then disembarked with his fellow travellers. Finding himself in the countryside, he had walked around the fields in a stupor, not knowing what else to do, while his head and heart had been in a turmoil, seething with tempestuous love for Miss Hale and yet desolate at her sound rejection of him. With despondency, he had then caught the return omnibus in the market square to be transported back to Milton, where he had to take up the reins of his life again after that short and unexpected interlude.

Though taking the omnibus trip on the day of his doomed proposal had been by chance, more at the whim of the driver stopping for him than any intention on his own part, John had realised afterwards that he had benefited from the journey – from being completely separated from his usual activities and worries. In fact, he gave so much credit to the excursion that he continued to do it. The warm summer afternoons of his first sojourns were long gone, and yet he continued even now on the bitterest of winter days. Once a week he slipped away from Marlborough Mills and took the ride through the countryside to Prestwich, and enjoyed the opportunity of respite from the enormous pressure he was under at work, not to mention the additional heartbreak that weighed so heavily upon him. He usually allowed time for his outing on Wednesdays, but no matter how he tried to arrange his work to accommodate the time off, it had been impossible this week, and so he had had to wait an extra day before being able to take his trip.

The memory of Miss Hale’s dismissal of his hand still squeezed and twisted at his heart most powerfully. And yet, his weekly omnibus rides to the rural environs did little to give him relief from his thoughts of Miss Hale – quite the contrary. John allowed his mind to ruminate over all of their interactions together, and without exception, this naturally led on to reliving his disastrous proposal and the occasion of seeing Miss Hale in an embrace with a stranger. Though this regular mental inspection of these events – and frequent they were – didn’t provide him with any answers, he had found that the horror of his crushing disappointment was somewhat easier to bear. Not that it hurt him less, but more that he felt able to endure it.

As the omnibus pulled up at Crampton Terrace, John looked towards the Hales’ modest home. He simply couldn’t help himself, as he had once seen Miss Hale at the window. She had been hanging freshly laundered curtains and had smiled and nodded a greeting to someone in the road; John presumed her greeting to be directed at the omnibus conductor. She hadn’t seen John that day, he was sure, though he didn’t think he would have been blessed with a smile of acknowledgement even if she had. But the memory of that chance sighting of her had encouraged him to watch out for her when they stopped in Crampton, and all times since, his hopes had been dashed by her absence.

And then, quite suddenly, John felt as though his heart had stalled, as who should board the omnibus but Miss Hale. She wore her customary brown coat and hat, and carried a basket, but he could see her black mourning skirt and she had a black woollen shawl drawn around her. She handed her thruppence fare to the conductor and took a couple of steps down the short aisle assessing where there was room for her to sit. There were two spaces left, one next to an older, rotund looking fellow diagonally across from John, and one next to John himself. He knew the very instant that Miss Hale observed him and their eyes met. In that brief second in time, John knew that she was weighing up whether she should sit next to him or not. As an acquaintance, it might be construed rude not to. Then, a gent behind John piped up in a friendly manner, ‘Afternoon Miss. Off to see your gentleman again I see.’

John held his breath in shock. He saw Miss Hale hesitate just for a moment before she nodded a smile at the friendly man and scurried to the other vacant seat to sit next to the portly gentleman diagonally across from John, and she settled her basket on her knee. John cast a glance behind him to look at the owner of the voice who was privy to details about Miss Hale. The man’s attention was now fixed upon a small notebook which he was reading from, oblivious to Mr Thornton’s scrutiny. John assessed him to be a few years older than himself, perhaps towards forty. He was smartly dressed and had sandy coloured hair and a beard – and clearly had no idea what damage his quip had done to John’s equanimity. John turned back around in his seat and rubbed at the window pane again, desperate for some small distraction from the brutal feeling of emptiness that was gradually engulfing him.

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Margaret could scarcely believe it. Mr Thornton was on her omnibus! What in the world was he doing here? She knew her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment after the friendly man’s observation. Normally, she would have exchanged a word or two with the man who regularly was on her bus. In fact, several of the occupants were known to her by sight from her weekly trip to Prestwich. She knew where the friendly man went to each week, sometimes carrying flowers, sometimes not, though she had no idea who any of her fellow travellers were or what their business was. On one occasion she had sat next to a garrulous young woman who had insisted on chattering away for almost all of the trip and Margaret had explained where she was going, and why. The friendly man had clearly picked up on this titbit and, most unfortunately, had repeated it in Mr Thornton’s presence. She had been about to sit next to him when in the periphery of her vision she had seen his eyes narrow and his lips tighten almost imperceptibly at the friendly man’s observation, and Margaret, spotting his reaction, had quickly sat in the alternative available seat.

Margaret fairly boiled inside at the unfairness of the situation. She had been seconds from sitting next to Mr Thornton for at least the next hour, and that time together and chit-chat that would have been possible, might have dispersed the insurmountable wall he had erected between them. Of course, she couldn’t blame him. She had, afterall, clung to him during the strike, which had made him believe that she cared for him. Margaret mused at the peculiarity that a strong and reputedly hard man such as Mr Thornton should be better attuned to his feelings than she was, as he had recognised love in his heart before she had seen it in her own. Margaret was bereft that her love for Mr Thornton had emerged into her consciousness when it was too late. How the fates had conspired against her, as it was not only her refusal of him which stood between them. It was cruel indeed that Mr Thornton should also have witnessed her last emotional goodbye to Frederick, preventing Mr Thornton’s love from being rekindled. He had made that quite clear. And now, as she made her weekly visit to Prestwich, the friendly gentleman’s comment had surely snuffed out any hope of a reconciliation with Mr Thornton.

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They had been bumping along in the omnibus for almost an hour, with the steady clip-clopping of the horses hooves just audible behind the louder monotonous rumble of the wheels against the rutted road. The journey for both Mr Thornton and Miss Hale had been an uncomfortable one. The wooden slatted seats and backrests seemed harder than usual and jabbed into their backs with every movement of the omnibus. There was no relief from looking at the scenery either, as steam from breath and warmth from bodies clouded the windows, so that all that was left to do was to think about the person sitting diagonally across from them. They were only perhaps two of three feet apart, but it may as well have been a mile.

Suddenly, the rhythmic tread of the horses skittered and the omnibus violently lurched first to one side, and then to the other. Margaret grabbed the backrest of the seat in front of her, and her basket tumbled to the floor spilling the contents into the aisle. Yelps of alarm were emitted from several of the omnibus occupants and newspapers were abandoned as the passengers attempted to brace themselves. Cries of ‘Steady on!’ and ‘Good Lord!’ were shouted as the omnibus once again swung sharply to the left, and this time irrevocably so, and it crashed to the ground on its side, skidding along for a yard or two to the sound of splintering wood, and shattering glass. The omnibus passengers and conductor were flung wildly about within the carriage before one last terrible cracking sound, followed by a bone shaking jolt, and the omnibus finally came to a stop.

The omnibus had fallen to the side where Margaret was seated, and fortunately for her, her fall had been somewhat softened by landing upon the portly gentleman. However the bolts fixing the bench in front of her to the floor of the carriage had been wrenched apart by the force of the crash, and it now lay on top of Margaret and the portly gentleman, pinning them in place. After a moment of stunned silence, the party aboard the omnibus gradually came to their senses, and after assessing the damage to the bus and to themselves, began to crawl and clamber towards the door, helping one another out of the wreckage. The conductor appeared to have sustained the worst injury, with a laceration to his forehead, and yet even he was able to get out of the carriage with minimal assistance.

John had found himself thrown against the side of the neighbouring bench behind Miss Hale’s seat, which had prevented him falling any further. He wondered if he had lost consciousness for a moment as he was dazed at first, then became aware of the sounds of shouts for help, grunts of exertion as people moved around him, and in the distance he could hear the dreadful distressed whinnying of the omnibus horses. Belongings littered the route out of the carriage. He saw hats and papers strewn haphazardly about, and Miss Hale’s basket which had children's drawings and rough clothing spilling from it. John shook his head, trying to get some clarity, and he understood the urge to escape and follow the others, but instead of joining the passengers in their quest to extricate themselves from the wreckage, John inched forwards with one thought in his mind.

‘Miss Hale! Miss Hale! Are you well?’

‘Yes, thank you … I think so,’ she replied tremulously.

John’s heart soared with relief. ‘And you, sir?’ he asked the portly gentleman who was squashed against the broken window that was now pressed to the muddied road, and had both Miss Hale and the bench on top of him.

‘I’ll survive,’ said the man. ‘Just get me out of here!’ he wheezed.

John called for help, and the friendly man came to his aid trying to lift the bench but it was stuck fast, as two of the iron legs had been twisted with the impact, restraining Margaret and the gentleman beneath. Unable to remove the bench, the only way to get the trapped passengers out was to pull them from beneath the broken seating. The portly gentlemen would have to be freed first, followed by Margaret.

In her dark cocoon below the bench, Margaret was aware of a hand reaching towards her through a gap in the mangled wood and iron of the seat. Gratefully she grasped it for the comfort it offered. She was frightened and she had a sharp pain in her leg, but she knew she must be calm and keep things in perspective; she would be released soon and she had suffered no serious harm. Beneath her she could feel the efforts to drag the portly gentleman out, and it was proving to be problematic.

‘Is everyone else all right? No one is seriously injured?’ she asked the owner of the hand that held hers with such firm authority.

It was John’s deep velvety Darkshire voice that replied, ‘Everyone seems to be well. Just a few bumps and grazes by the looks of things. Don’t worry, Miss Hale, we’ll have you out of there soon,’ he said, and he managed a secret twitch of a smile as he felt Miss Hale’s hand squeeze his in reply.

The friendly sandy haired man, who had caused both Margaret and John such consternation due to his unfortunate greeting earlier, was helping to extract the portly gentleman. And, by and by, his ample bulk was dragged free, and Margaret slumped lower down, now against the window in his place. John heard her wince in pain.

‘Miss Hale? Are you injured?’ said John, grasping her hand tightly even though it was harder now to reach her with any comfort.

‘Mr Thornton, I think my foot is trapped. As my body position moved, my foot stayed where it was. I find I can’t move it.’

‘Don’t worry, Miss Hale. I promise we shall get you free. Not much longer,’ he said with calm assurance, however his expression told another story as his gaze held the eyes of the friendly man.

‘Ashfield,’ said the friendly man, extending his hand to John.

‘Thornton,’ replied John with a nod, and reached across with his free hand to shake that of his new acquaintance.

‘Oh! Mr Thornton, the mill master. Yes, I’ve heard mention of you. It is my pleasure to meet you, though not like this I dare say,’ Mr Ashfield replied with a quick smile.

‘Indeed,’ replied John a little distractedly, as he returned his attention to Miss Hale. With her new position on the ground, he could now see her face through the cleft between the seat and the back of the bench where there was a small space. Her hat was missing and he thought she looked a little pale, but he supposed the exact same could have been said about himself.

‘Miss Hale, I’m going to let go of your hand for a moment—’

‘Must you?’ she interrupted, and she clutched him a little tighter.

‘Just for a moment. I need to see if I can free your foot. Then we can get you out,’ he said gently.

‘Shall I try to find a saw?’ said Ashfield, causing a gasp of fright from Margaret.

John chuckled softly. ‘For the bench, Miss Hale. Not for your foot.’

Margaret gave a little nervous laugh.

‘May I look at your foot then, Miss Hale?’ John pressed.

‘All right,’ she said with a voice so small that John ached to be able to hold and to comfort her.

John let go of Margaret’s hand, and lying across the sides of the remaining seats with the floor of the passageway to his back, he looked through the twisted ironwork to see Miss Hale’s foot. Her skirt and petticoats were pushed up almost to her knee and showed that the bar holding her in place was just above the level of her boot. John stifled a gasp of shock as he perceived livid blood stains to Miss Hale’s legs, but within seconds he had steadied his nerves and his heartbeat as he realised that it was in fact her woollen ribbed stockings which were coloured red, and not tinted with blood, though he couldn’t be sure. He clambered up again so that he could look at her while he addressed her.

‘The metal from the seat is just above your boot. I wonder, if I removed your boot, you might be able to slide your foot free.’

Margaret tugged her leg again and felt the bar scraping her skin near the top of her boot. ‘I think you are right, Mr Thornton. Please. Take it off,’ she said.

John lay down again, his body supported by the remaining rows of benches, and reached through the mangled remnants of the seating to Miss Hale’s foot. There were at least a dozen small buttons fastening Miss Hale’s boot in place, and without a button hook it was tricky to undo them with any speed, but his long nimble fingers at last managed the task and he pulled the boot from her foot.

‘May I check for signs of injury?’ he shouted to her.

‘Yes,’ she replied, courageously.

And so John quickly ran his hand along Miss Hale’s stockinged leg, from the tip of her toe to where the bench metal work impeded her ankle, then above it to her knee. He withdrew his hand and breathed a sigh of relief as he held his clean palm up to Mr Ashfield. ‘No blood,’ he said. Diverting his attention back to Margaret he called to her, ‘Can you wiggle your toes?’ and she dutifully did so.

John climbed up again and passed his hand back down to Miss Hale and she accepted his grip eagerly.

‘There is no blood, so it looks all right, as far as I can see. Can you try to get free now?’

Margaret wriggled trying to pull her leg, the broken glass beneath her crunching with each movement. Her foot moved easier now that her boot was removed, but there still wasn’t enough space to get out. She felt panic beginning to rise and with it a few tears began to prick. In the dim light John saw the glistening pools forming in her eyes and he looked up to Ashfield. ‘We need to try something else. We need to get her out.’

Ashfield nodded. ‘It’s getting a mite cold in here now too,’ he whispered, the clouds of crystallised breath accentuating the truth of his words. His concern for Miss Hale’s health was increasing and he too felt the urgency in needing to free her. There was no knowing how long it might take to get help, and in another hour it would start to get dark, so they needed to rely on their own abilities. ‘If some of us could try to lift the bench, even just by a fraction, it might be enough to get Miss Hale out,’ he suggested, and John agreed that it was worth a try. So Mr Ashfield crawled from the omnibus and secured the help of three of the strongest in their party and the men climbed back aboard to awkwardly position themselves to lift the bench in the confined space.

Ashfield piped up again. ‘One of us needs to get behind Miss Hale and pull her when the time is right. What say you, Thornton? You might be the man for that job.’

John cast a puzzled glance at Ashfield. He was as strong as any of them there, most likely stronger, and had presumed he would be adding his muscle to the lifting of the bench.

Ashfield spoke in a lowered tone, ‘I was thinking of the lady, Thornton. You are clearly already acquainted and she has obviously put her trust in you,’ he said quietly, nodding to their hands still holding tightly to one another amid the twisted wood and iron. ‘You’re probably the youngest of us too, and more agile,’ he said more loudly for the benefit of the others around, and with a jaunty wink and a slap on the back, John was volunteered.

‘Of course,’ said John.

In the cramped interior of the carriage, John shrugged out of his coat so that he could move more easily. Armed with a blanket that was provided by the omnibus driver to be placed over the broken glass and splinters of wood, he crawled to get to Margaret. ‘Can you sit up a bit?’ he asked, and Margaret leaned forward, almost as far as a sitting position, and John lay down the rug and squeezed himself into the tight spot behind her so that Margaret was in the V of his legs. He took a deep breath and placed his arms around her body, close to her waist, and in doing so his chin was at her shoulder and his cheek almost pressed to hers. ‘Ready?’ he asked softly.

‘Yes’, she said, and clasped her arms over his that circled around her middle.

John nodded at Ashfield.

‘Right. On my count of three then go. Ready?’ said Ashfield to the men positioned by the bench, ‘Three, two, one, go!’

The men heaved as hard as they could, though the seating hardly seemed to move at all, and yet it was just enough, as when John pulled Margaret backwards her foot was wrenched free, and though she had to press her eyes tightly shut and clench her teeth not to cry out, Margaret was elated to have been liberated. John was panting with exertion by her ear and his grip upon her remained firm.

‘I’m free!’ exclaimed Margaret, and the men all gratefully stopped attempting to lift the bench.

Mr Ashfield helped John out of the little space behind Miss Hale, and then John himself helped Margaret to crawl to the doorway of the omnibus, her exit further impeded by her clothing which precluded ease of movement. Nevertheless she emerged from the omnibus to a cheer from her fellow passengers and was lifted to the ground by Mr Thornton.

As John looked at the wreckage, it became apparent that it was nothing short of a miracle that no one had been seriously hurt. As well as smashed windows and broken wooden panels and struts, two of the wheels were considerably damaged, perhaps beyond repair, so there was no way that they would be going home by way of the omnibus that evening. The carriage had slipped in the mire and was perched perilously close to a considerable drop by the hillside, where the recent heavy rainfall had caused a mudslide. John dared not contemplate what might have happened if the driver had not managed to keep the omnibus on the road.

John rejoined the group where a discussion regarding what they were all to do was in progress. The horses had been loosened from their harness and had got back to their feet, seemingly unharmed, and their previous distress now calmed. The driver advised his passengers that they were only about a ten or fifteen minute walk from the village of Little Heaton, and as it was patently clear that no one would be getting back to Milton this afternoon or evening, Little Heaton sounded like a welcome destination.

The omnibus passengers included three gentlemen who resided in Prestwich, and although it might take them an hour to get there, they took their leave to walk directly home before it became dark. The driver, who also had a cottage and stables in Prestwich, decided to stay with his friend the conductor, not least because he was concerned for his welfare, having sustained a head wound. The horses had also had a fright and the driver thought it best to let them rest overnight in Little Heaton before making the longer journey home. So belongings were retrieved, hats donned, and Miss Hale’s boot replaced, though it was not fastened as her ankle was already showing signs of swelling. The omnibus driver, walking briskly beside his horses, led the way, tailed by the conductor who had a handkerchief tied around his head to stem the bleeding from his cut. The majority of the passengers came next in the procession, and a little way further back, slower than the rest, followed the last group of three; Miss Hale walked arm in arm with Mr Thornton on one side, who was also carrying her basket, and Mr Ashfield on the other, both supporting her as she limped towards the village.

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[rhetoricandlogic]

The Book of Koli (Rampart Trilogy #1) by M.R. Carey

Nataliya's review

“Why would anyone hug a tree?” I stammered out. “You would most likely die!”

Nah, you certainly don’t hug trees in Koli’s world, unless you are acutely suicidal. This is unspecified-time-in-the-future “Ingland” (part of what was once known as “Yewkay”) where, fed up with climate change, trees become bloodthirsty predators and regressed humanity huddles behind tall walls in ever-shrinking villages, relying on bits and pieces of still-functional old world tech that might as well be magic for all they know, and rarely venturing out to places even four miles away.

Koli is a young man - 15 at the start of the story - living in a 200-people strong village of Mythen Rood (the future version of present-day Mytholmroyd in West Yorkshire, England), a place where wealth and power resides in the hands of the Ramparts - those few to whom the ancient tech responds, allowing them to protect the village from trees, rats, drones and shunned men. Maybe it’s coincidental that all the glorified Ramparts come from the village’s richest family for generations, maybe not. In any case, Koli comes across some knowledge and a piece of tech that has the potential of upending the status quo in the ways this country bumpkin never even thought possible.

“I learned since then, and paid a price to learn it, that them as lay claim to great wisdom most often got nothing in their store but bare scrapings. And by the same token, them as think they’re ignorant think it because they can see the edges of what they know, which you can only see when what you know is tall enough to stand on and take a look around.”

Honestly, this book starts out as nothing special, following in the footsteps of familiar YA formula - a young person in a stagnant dystopian place that limits his education and ambitions, with a unrequited love interest, a coming-of-age ceremony and an unexpected secret that opens his eyes to the world and changes his life in exciting ways. It follows the tried and tired formula for a while, and Koli is exactly just as annoying as you’d expect a protagonist of such a story to be. And given that’s it’s the older and more experienced Koli telling us a story from his more naive days, the annoyance of his character is acknowledged quite a few times.

“I laughed then. I couldn’t help it. It was not because it struck me funny but because I seen my own self in that hunger. When I decided I didn’t want to be a Woodsmith no more but must make myself a Rampart, I wasn’t no different than Mardew was right then. For I chafed at what I was, like he did, and went about to be different by stealing what wasn’t mine and lying about it after.”

But then Koli gets to grow up just a bit, although not maturing more than you’d expect a modern 15-year-old to be, and starts a painful journey of opening his eyes to the world. And this world is not a place that is pleasant to behold.

Halfway through the story I looked up Koli’s village on the present-day map, recognizing the villages and towns mentioned. And actually looking at the map really drove home how tiny the scale of Koli’s world actually is. This is the world where you spend your entire life in your small village, and rarely venture past 4-10 miles away, and London - 200 miles as the crow flies - is a nigh-insurmountable distance away, with quite a few cannibalistic trees along the way. This version of the future is suffocatingly claustrophobic and notably inbred.

By the time we finally get a glimpse of the world beyond Koli’s village, however, my annoyance started to dissipate and my interest in this world started to peak. This first book in the trilogy is really a setup for the larger story, and that’s the one I want to see. I hope for more glimpses of this disintegrated society that is trying to hold on to survival, the larger cities and villages, and of the cannibalistic trees that so far have mostly been talked about and barely seen. I hope that the stakes will increase and that Koli will stop acting so childish, and the overall more adult feel to the story (seriously, at times there was a bit of annoyingly twee vibe - I do suppose it’s YA, but still).

“[…] anyone who talks about the right way to live, as if there was only just the one, is blind in one eye or maybe both and is not worth listening to.“

So here I am, intrigued enough by the setting and premise to continue, despite the youngish feel of the story and the protagonist who by the end of the book and quite a few brushes with death still makes pretty stupid choices. The sequel is already on my e-reader and I really hope that the direction the story takes is going to be good, now once the intro is done.

Plus, Ursala is awesome.

[january-summers]

Well, it's official, Agent Washington is my new hyper-fixation. How do I know for sure?

Because I just spent half an hour staring into space and running a WashingMaine AU in my head.

it was both hilarious (to me), and very messed up.

Spartan!Maine, ODST!Wash, no PFL, Wash still gets his brain damage, post war retirement (they served together for a few months then parted ways and Wash got brain wrecked just before the war ended) they both get really nice retirement packages and coincidentally for plot reasons end up retiring to the same town on the same planet.

Maine spots Wash and recognises him right away but gets a case of the shy, so instead of communicating like a person, he stalks Wash instead. Wash... takes a while to notice because he has the forgetfuls and when Maine breaks in to touch Wash's stuff, just assumes he forgot moving things.

Then Maine decides to kidnap Wash, which doesn't go as well as Maine was hoping and he has to leave him tied up in the root cellar of his very nice hobby farm farmhouse.

Which Wash promptly escapes, but much like when you leave one room and enter another and forget why you were doing that, Wash's brain damage decides the whole kidnapping thing is irrelevant news, and so Wash is standing in the entry hallway of a strange house when Maine returns from his very urgent errands.

Wash freaks out because he thinks he broke into someone's house, Maine accidentally convinces Wash they're housemates (Wash is in the process of moving in) and Wash just forgot... because he has a spare room with a closet full of Wash's stolen clothes.

And thus begins their domestic farm life, where in the most exciting thing that happens is Maine getting scarily determined to win best cake at the local farmer's market competition, and Wash convincing him they need a cat, and then the cat having kittens.

(Wash doesn't recognise Maine at first because he never saw him without his spartan armour, so it takes a while to click, and by the time it does, he assumes he already knew that but forgot.)

And then a year later while they're quietly reading Wash suddenly gets up without a word, grabs a flashlight, heads down to the root cellar and finds a small blood stain left behind from his kidnapping.

"Maine, buddy, I'm not mad, but I need you to tell me the truth: did you stalk and kidnap me, or is that a crazy dream I had?" *Guilty silence* "Okay, not mad, but probably don't do that again, okay big guy?" *nods, chastened* "Cool, hey is it lunchtime yet, I'm hungry."

and they move on with their lives not addressing the kidnapping thing because they are fail-people who deserve a soft epilogue, dammit.

-

There was a bonus story-line in the background, where Carolina had worked with Wash and was keeping a part-time long-distance eye on him because his brain damage, and noticed he'd been kidnapped and lead a task force to find him, only to find him living in domestic bliss and her determination to see justice done to the monster who'd kidnapped her teammate crumbling in the face of Wash showing off his new kittens and their prize winning pumpkin.

[ultratradmalewife]

Hiiiiii 👋🏼👋🏼👋🏼

Can I spec with you for a minute? I too was thinking about Nashville but for me the reason it has about 10% chance is because it would be hella expensive.

If he is main or even recurring (though would they announce recurring before main?) they would have to have helicopter rescues every other episode.

Unless of course they decide to retcon his career and make him give up flying. Which you never know with Tim *shrugs*

Anyways, hope you are having a good day 🫂

Hi!!!

To be honest anytime I speculate what will happen I feel like a fraud because I’m mostly here passing around fanfic as speculation. 😭 Which isn’t to say it’s impossible for any of what I say to happen, but my usual vibe is “…this will never happen, but can you imagine…”. Which, you know if this is the one time I’m actually right I’m launching myself into the actual sun.

I mean I thought the presence of the 217 truck would be Buck looking for Tommy and never running into him to give the baking a break but still keeping Tommy’s presence in the audience’s minds, and if they did meet it would be like the bar scene where no one was expecting for them to run into each other. Or for the Buck and Eddie farewell scene to be at an airport to mirror the Abby goodbye, and the scene where Eddie tells Buck to call Tommy, only instead Eddie tells him that he already called Tommy, and Tommy is waiting for Buck outside the airport. Or my current fixation of Maddie being the first one who hears Tommy say I Love You from the call center if Tommy’s helicopter does go down in these coming episodes, and he asks Maddie to pass down the message with an apology to Buck because Buck is in civilian clothes on the ground and not connected to a line. Or my most tamed speculation of the show putting in a line of Buck having a bun in the oven if the Sick Day titled episode is about him, and he’s still baking but someone is looking after him (and his literal bread bun in the oven 😭).

Tommy moving to Nashville and the show using this two part emergency before the finale as a cast announcement is just me creating a narrative that I don’t really see happening. It’s fun to think about. Angsty a bit because in this scenario we’ll have to deal with closure, even though I would like Buck and Tommy to end up together. I like to overthink and then see what ideas can come from an untamed mind though, it’s usually how I get ideas for my original work.

In this scenario though, we would have to rely on fanon since they haven’t given us much to work with in Tommy’s character in canon. We can assume he’s lonely, but we don’t know for sure (the show surprised us with a cousin), but if the show uses that loneliness as a base for Tommy thinking he has nothing keeping him in LA after thinking Buck has no feelings for him, I can definitely see him as the runner who doesn’t just run with time but also runs the distance. This would definitely need Tommy to give up flying though, and from there we would need Tommy to be the one who fell first, without realizing that it was Buck who fell harder. Like I said it sounds more fanfic than speculation but it’s fun regardless. I can even spin this sh!t and make it bucktommy positive by having Buck transfer fire stations in the series finale. Imagine if it ended with Hen as captain, Bobby retiring, Eddie is still in Texas, and Chimney being a part of the recruit academy all while a new 118 is created (in my mind with Harry as one of the members), and Buck still single and now freshly out of place but now comfortable in his loneliness decides he needs a new start, and coincidentally he transfers to a fire house in… Nashville. This is how the red string can still win!! Have Buck forget Tommy moved there, or him thinking they wouldn’t even be in the same city/town, only to end up working in the same station.

My mind got ahead of itself again. But you see I don’t take my speculation seriously because to me it reads more as fanfic, which is funny because I haven’t written a fic yet, but I like writing. I went to school for it and believe there’s no way to ever actually write yourself into a corner (which is also funny because that’s a popular phrase in this fandom), because there’s always someplace else to take it to if you just took a chance on it.

Actually now I think I would’ve done numbers on the Buddie side but hopefully with better material than what these grifters offer 😭

Thanks for the anon and letting me rant!! Have a good day too 🤠

[yourlocalcorviddad]

Ugh I just wanna ramble about my oc that I'm currently playing as the farmer on stardew right now and the idea I had about him and some of the modded NPC's from the Bear Fam mod and just, ugh I love that mod and I have ideas

So like, Summer would've grown up in the same town, in the same circles even. While his parents weren't old money rich, they still would've been in nearly the same social circles as the Bear family.

And so Summer would've grown up with Sig, Gunner, and even Gudrun. And had likely gone to school with Teren cause despite being in the status of being able to go to private school, Summer, who's not even going by that just yet, he chose it himself as an adult to try and like, give himself a new start after what I call the Incident, would've wanted to go to public school and have some non-hoity toity friends.

He still would've had to go to the, like, high society parties and all cause of his parents, and would have pretty much instantly preferred to hang out with the Bear's just cause of vibes and all, but he never introduced his two friend groups together, so Sig and Teren meet in the military, not any sooner despite being in the same city, both playing gridball, and literally sharing the same friend crush as each other.

And then Sig and Teren go off to the military, and Summer goes to college-in Sondra's accounting class, study group with Gunner and friends with him for a bit there-and at first he's sending letters to them-and any other friends who may have enlisted, at least until his accident.

And all I can think of is, Sig and Teren both regularly sending letters back and forth with Summer, then suddenly they never get a response, months past, nothing.

They try calling on the rare phone time they can, phone is disconnected.

And they don't know

They think he's ignoring them

They don't know he was in a car accident that was so bad that he almost died, that his memory is shot for a good period of time and while he remembers things like scholarly things, his memory of people from before the accident is shit.

And his parents, despite trying to always make him have 'the right friends' never liked Sig and them for some reason, and they disapproved of his pubic school friends like Teren, so they didn't bother to remind him like they did with the others.

And while he was in the hospital recovering, they 'moved his room to the lower floor too make it easier' coincidentally packing up his stuff that didn't meet their standards, aka anything they knew came from either group, pictures, letters, etc.

But he's still got the phantom memories, the urges to check the mail, the urges to write letters, stuff he did with others, but no clue why.

He feels oddly nostalgic watching movies he's sworn he's never seen before-like the mummy with Teren, Casablanca with his study group, etc.

And like, the parents just toss the letters he gets back, and get him a new phone and change his number and switch him to distance learning for him to finish his degree.

So by the time he's moving to stardew valley, he has only faint memories and impressions and a feeling of loss he can't explain.

All this while using arm crutches, leg and back braces, even a wheelchair on bad days when his injuries flair up. His parents try to convince him not to, that they can hire someone for the farm, etc, but he's stubborn and goes about it anyway.

He puts pavers down for paths, tends the land and animals when he can, gets help when he can't, and always has a spot for bees.

And then he meets the residents from East Scarp, and the grumpy, withdraw Sig Bear, and neither of them recognize each other, cause it's been a decade, and Sig was in a war, and Summer had to have reconstruction surgery on his face after the accident, and he's going by Summer now, having wanted a new start.

And then later that year a friend of Sig's from the military comes to town as well, following after Sig's younger brother and sister who came not long before to stay with him and their aunt.

And Teren doesn't recognise Summer either, not with the changes and all, but the three are quickly thick as thieves.

And it's Summer Gunner goes to for help with the adventure guild issues

It's Summer that Teren goes to for advice about settling into the town

It's Summer Sig goes to for help when Gunner doesn't come back from the mine, and the same for Teren and Gunner when Sig gets caught in a cave in later as well.

But they don't realize, as all of them have trauma about their past so other than a "worked for joja" "was in the military" before having moved to the valley, they don't know.

[booitsbeloved]

The sky was bright out, ______ was ordered to baby sitting their little brother, [?????]. They were out on the playground by themselves, since everybody had left once they arrived, indulged into a captivating story with toy dolls and cars. [?????] making their own sound effects of sorts for each little thing.

______ was not paying attention too much, their mind drifting off farther away. Thinking about their mother, her work.

The people who left..

While trying their hardest to drive the little fake cars their eyes would keep on landing on the sand pit not too distanced away from them, it had a miniscule mound in the corner and something in ______'s body was tugging for it.

______ kept [?????]'s story moving as they acted out a chase scene, giggles flying through the air.

He would miss those laughs.

When they reached the small mound [?????] got quickly distracted by causing obstruction in the pit, sand particles flying everywhere, the plotline leaving his mind.

______ took this chance to unbury whatever this object was. Fingers ripping through the sand til they felt the cardboard, pulling up this box ______ had a nagging curiosity.

Maybe this was one of those time capsules of sorts? Maybe old stuff nobody wanted anymore? None of it mattered.

When carefully opening the box ______ found...tapes? All of them had one weird symbol and numbers engraved onto their titles. ______ hoped her mother wasn't home yet by the time they wrapped up playground time, his mind filled with ideas about whatever these could be.

______ always wanted to find themselves in mystery, coincidentally like their own identity wasn't something of that kind to the town anyway. Nobody ever being able to get a tight grasp of the personality of her, his whole profile doused in many question marks and unsureness.

I guess that's what happens when your town is a control freak and nitpicky over who does what..

Not like their family has the best of reputations anyway besides ______'s likeliness.

Ideas and thoughts brewed in ______'s mind about what content these tapes held, she finally had something of her own, something to discover for herself. It was all she ever wanted.

When [?????] was set to bed, she loaded in the first tape her fingers could get their hands on.

**Whirrrr...**

[thekulemiverse]

YKZ | Merman AU Glossary

Any similarities between real languages and the fictional languages in this project are completely coincidental. I didn't base my language off anything in particular. I just made up sounds in my head then googled to make sure it wasn't a word already somewhere else hahaha. If it was similar, I made sure it didn't mean something wild. I apologize if anything slipped under through the cracks. Google is borderline unusable these days.

[Will update over time.]

Aquatic Sonnet- Aquatic language understood by most underwater creatures consisting of grunting, clicking, wailing and croaking. This sound can travel far distances and is often used for Merei to locate one another when underwater.

The Bay- In full, Starfly Bay, the name of the main coastal town where the story is set. It’s moderately populated. Most of its residents are islanders who have been on Starfly Island all of their life and the rest are immigrants from all over the world. They all know each other and if they don't, they must be new! Nothing a shared drink of Chaba won’t fix! The town is complete with housing, shopping, restaurants, entertainment and more! All within walking distance! There’s always something going on. The only way one will run out of things to do is if they’re hard to please. There’s something out there for everybody. This lively little town never sleeps and everyone’s welcome– so long as they don’t cause trouble.

Bazju- (Bahj-joo) The God of the Sea. Humans have all types of tall tales about him but no one takes his existence seriously except those that society has written off as "crazy" which is unfortunate because he's very much real. He may be an omnipresent God but he is fully capable of taking physical forms to interact with individuals. Most Merei, not all, worship him. Bazju controls all forms of life in the sea and can manipulate some life forms on land. Bazju is a self-serving god and often issues blessings to those whose power can be used to aid in the protection of his waters. He is also vengeful. He punishes indiscriminately.

Bond- A lifelong, spirit commitment between one Merei and another. Bonds typically form by way of romantic connection but on occasion, Merei bond with friends instead of romantic partners. No one knows who their bond partner is until they find them. Many Merei have stories of linking with dozens in hopes of finding their bond partner only to come up short. Bonds are intense partnerships and not possible to sever. When Merei have linked with their bond partner, they're bonded to them for life. The only way the bond is severed is through death.

Chaba- An alcoholic beverage that is popular on Starfly Island. It’s basically any tropical fruit that undergoes a certain fermentation process that originated on the island. The most popular chaba is made of mango.

Danae Sea- (Duh-nay) A sea in the Pacific that surrounds Starfly Island.

The Danase Order- (Duh-nah-see) A secret organization. A coalition between merfolk governments and human governments to keep the existence of merkind regarded as a myth while also regulating the trade of resources. The King of the Sea selects any number of Yoribem based on the population of the land they’ve been assigned to protect. They’re to report all dealings back to him. He never leaves the sea unless absolutely necessary.

Hachimim- (Ah-chi-mem) “God’s chosen father”. Humans might understand this role better by the term, “King”. The crowning of Hachimim is a long, brutal and bloody process. All standing Yoribem use their resources to battle one another until there is but one left. Hachimim rules until death and due to the respect this role commands, most live long lives rather than violent deaths like Yoribem… Usually.

Hachimim's Line- The Ruling King's closest inner circle. About 25 Merei total. These Merei are privy to all types of sensitive information. They're his confidants and they’re also his first pawns of choice. Their armies are on the front lines should he choose to go to war.

The Jewel of the Sea- A merman described in a popular folktale that originated over two centuries ago. He was caught in the net of some fishermen who had intentions of selling him. He was large, maybe 10 feet long with black hair that shone like silk, webbed red fingers, red scales for skin, a white and red tail, eyes like rubies and a glare that stunned the fishermen to stone! A massive whale had gotten him free and he swam away leaving the fishermen in awe of the beauty of the creature… Or something like that– the details change every time.

Juntz-du 'Ba- (Yoonj-joo-va) The glowing mark that indicates when Merei have been blessed by The God of the Sea. Roughly translates to "Blessing of Him".

Kanka- One of the many languages spoken on Starfly Island. It's the official language. Most people speak English these days but certain communities and elders on the island will exclusively speak Kanka. It’s not a very difficult language to learn and the locals are happy to speak it with anyone willing to give it a try.

Life Phases- Merei typically go through 5 life stages after birth: Yaiba, which comprises what humans would consider the infant, toddler, and child ages. Saisba, which comprises what humans consider early adolescence up to the final teen years. Oliba, which comprises what humans might consider the beginnings of early adulthood up to the start of middle adulthood. Kaba are the years that look more like what humans consider middle aged and Creiba is the final stage, old age, the end of a Merei’s lengthy lifespan. 

*Life expectancy for male and female Merei differs about 99 years on average as female Merei tend to live longer than males. The average life expectancy for a male is ~563 years and for a female it’s ~662. Blessed Merei tend to have longer lives and certain life phases go on longer than others. Though, the average length of each life phase equates to about 112 years and 6 months in human time. 

Merei- (mer-aay) The word most commonly used by merfolk to refer to their kind, a gender-neutral term.

Reina’s Bar- A privately owned bar popular in town amongst the locals. No one knows if the bar is popular for the drinks and service or for the woman herself. She appreciates the patronage either way.

Rieba- (Rr-aay-va) A massive island in the Pacific that was once above ground hundreds of thousands of years ago that is now underwater. It’s ruled by Hachimim du Rieba, Zhikama and his 50 god-given sons, the Yoribem du Rieba. Humans liken its existence to the story of Atlantis. That is to say, no one believes it ever existed.

Rieven- (Rr-aay-bahn) The spoken language of Merei.

Sanz-du ‘Ba- (Sanj- joo-va) “Brother in the name of Bazju”. This is a spiritual tie. Mermen must take an oath before The God of the Sea to have this union honored. It’s a massive commitment and males that take this oath do not take it lightly. They swear to protect the other with their lives and they swear to never let the other go without. This means that anything one comes by the other is now in ownership of. They share everything until their final breath. 

*It is extremely uncommon for Yoribem to take an oath of brotherhood together as the nature of Yoribem suggests that they would be natural enemies. 

Starfly- The island’s namesake. A magical flower found on the ocean floor. Humans have written it off as nothing more than a fantasy/myth. It’s described to have cerulean petals and an almost golden stem. It glows underwater which aids in its finding. Other than thousands of artists’ renditions, no one knows what it truly looks like. Many believe it’s what merfolk eat to breathe underwater. No one knows where that rumor comes from. All anyone knows is that it’s been hundreds of years since anyone on the island has seen any and any info about it has long since been recorded in a book that was originally handwritten in a journal by someone who claimed they had received the flower from a woman with long flowing hair and legs of a fish’s fin… Yeah, sure ok buddy!

Siren’s Cove- Named behind the myth that sirens regularly congregated at this location. A private beach, hidden from the rest of the island. A little treasure that lies behind two homes, simply referred to as 1 and 2. Home One is currently occupied by “out-of-towners”, Akira and Masato and Home Two is unoccupied but was owned by a now deceased fellow who was revered in town. There is mostly privacy between the two homes until the cove. Sharing is in the spirit of the island though, right?

Sirynic Aria- An eerily beautiful language crafted by sirens. Those that learn this language are less likely to succumb to its malevolent power and instead can inflict it onto others should they so choose.

Starfly Island- Named after the mythical flower of the same name, rumored to be found deep in the sea but no human’s ever managed to go deep enough to find out. White sand beaches, crystal clear waters, and beautiful, friendly locals. This island truly has it all. No matter where on the island one may go, they’re sure to find something magical. Many claim that they love the island so much it feels physically impossible to leave when the time comes. 

Yoribim- (Yo-rr-ee-vem) “God given son”. Humans might understand this role better by the term, “Prince” though. However, Yoribem (e for plural) are not royal by birthright, they're chosen during the 2nd phase of their life directly by The God of the Sea, Bazju. They're chosen to work for the Hachimim. They are warriors, of sorts. They fight to protect the peace of the sea, prevent uprisings and oftentimes fight one another due to... petty drama or the desire to join Hachimim's Line. When one dies, a new one is chosen to take his place. Merei know when they've been chosen when they awake to the Juntz-du 'Ba. The female equivalent is called, "Nivedim".

Znotznei- (Jahtj-naay) A derogatory word for humankind.