#all of them pain me i such different ways | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drgnflyteabox · 2 days ago

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red ochre [5]

series masterlist previous || part five -> kermes || part six -> madder

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: big nun, little nun w.c: 3.5k tags/warnings: guilt, religious / moral turmoil, stockholm syndrome, child abuse (past), scars, simon returns, corruption (past), misogyny (past), whipping (past), blood, suffering (past mostly), power imbalance, freeze response (past), guilt, dissociation, dom/sub dynamics, we're learning consent (kinda? eeh), violent imagery, dubcon/noncon, vaginal fingering, choking, throat grab

When Johnny asks how it felt to go from there – the convent, you think he means – to here, you can only describe it as dunking your hands into ice water.

Shocking, painful, and prickling all over.

He only says hm, and moves on. His face is pensive. You don’t tell him that sometimes, you wake up and aren’t in the water anymore.

Even in prayer, you hadn’t thought as much as you had since you’d been taken. Hadn’t worried as much. Teachings from adults since youth had told you that everybody was inherently sinful, even children.

So why is the community around you so happy without God? They have their own, you know this, but the multitude of them and their roles in divine hierarchy aren’t necessarily about absolute power.

There are woman-Gods, Gods without designations, Gods for the earth and the children and unions between people. You find it hard to continue calling them heretics, devils, when they’re really just people. Different, yes, strange and incomprehensible, but people nonetheless.

Heathens, you try to think. Heathens, devils. They took you

You wonder when the last time you thought of yourself as just a person was, when you weren’t a thing set within a rigid mold, beaten down in more ways than one.

On the eve of Simon's return you catch Johnny doing something secretive. He's hunched over the table, the tip of his tongue stuck out of his mouth in concentration. The soft sound of scraping, of wood gently knocking is all you can hear over the fire.

“What's that?” you ask, when your curiosity gets the best of you.

Johnny turns, one eye squinted, the every picture of concentration. He holds up a carved figure – a woman, it looks like. Ah, it’s you. Though hard to tell, the woman wears a veil and sits on a chair, hunched.

Your veil. You’d nearly forgotten what it felt like. It used to be a weight, heavy and pressing, a shackle. Now you miss the safety of not feeling so exposed all the time.

Somewhere in the journey here it had been lost, or maybe thrown overboard. Your habit, too, replaced for the woolen Viking-style dresses bought and bartered for by Simon and Johnny. Even you have to admit you enjoy the colours more, even if the conformity of the convent felt safe.

“How long were you watching me?” you breathe, eyes wide and still staring.

“Not long, lamb,” he smiles disarmingly. “Ah just remember ye, sittin’ pretty.”

“Working on the tapestry,” you correct him, though it doesn’t really matter.

He looks back down to his little figure, pensive.

“Ah guess so,” he says jovially.

“It was my punishment,” you add. This probably matters even less, but the clash of worlds has thrown you off balance. You feel unbearably present, unbearably lucid.

I was a nun, you think. Am I still a nun?

“Punishment?” he frowns. “Ah thought they struck ye?”

“Sometimes. But sometimes I had to work extra hard.”

“Like a bairn?”

“A what?”

“A child, lamb,” he smiles again.

You look into the fire, thinking. Punishment applied to everyone, not just children, no? Even Simon and Johnny had punished you. But who had given them the right? Had you, with your secret want? Your secret lustful sin?

“You punished me,” you settle on.

“Aye, we did,” he nods. “Ye needed it.”

“Then why do you… ah, disparage the church for doing the same?”

He turns to you.

“Ah think ye got it all wrong,” he says simply. “We don’t give it to ye to make ye hurt. Aren’t ye better after? Righted?”

Righted. That’s a word worth its weight in gold. As is the truth of his words, but you stay quiet and look into the fire instead of responding.

You take up Johnny’s offer to spend time with Kari. Johnny walks you there, holds your hand in the cold and blows hot air on them as you wait together outside their door.

When Gaz opens it, he hoots and hollers as if the frigid air outside has no effect on him, as if his inner warmth and naturally excitable disposition is no match for the cold.

You have to admire that. At least a little.

“Hi there,” Gaz says to you, a greeting softer than the one he gave Johnny.

“Hello,” you try to subtly peek inside, “it’s… nice to see you.”

He doesn’t take offence to your awkward, stilted attempt at politeness. Maybe he knows you’re not quite comfortable here, to put it lightly, and only claps your shoulder gently to pull you in.

“Have fun!” Johnny shouts, already leaving, “and give me my wife back in one piece!”

That makes you sheepish, but you try to ignore your feelings in favour of moving towards Kari and the little baby, Tyra.

“Hello again,” she greets, smiling. The baby stares at you, babbles ceasing as if she’s seeing you for the first time. Her little head swings towards her mother, hiding despite her clear curiosity.

“You’ve met me before,” you say softly, trying valiantly not to frighten her as you take a seat opposite to Kari.

“She’s feeling shy lately,” Kari looks down and tuts, swiping a thumb over Tyra’s chubby cheek, “needs her mama.”

Weaving here is not much different than weaving at the convent. Once you get the basics down, you’re threading dyed wool into cloth astride Kari.

Some spirit of confidence grips you.

“Will you tell me anything about Simon and Johnny?”

“About-” she lifts her head, “Simon and Johnny? Don’t they speak to you?”

“They - do,” you rush to assure her, though your voice maintains a weary unsureness.

Luckily for you, she gives you a small but comforting smile over the wool.

“You’re looking for an outside opinion? That’s okay, lovely girl, I just might not know as much about them as my husband does,” she gestures with her chin towards Gaz, who walks towards you both.

“What d’you need to know?” he asks casually, sidling up to Kari affectionately, “think they’ll be able to answer better than me.”

“I only really know… what I’ve seen. I haven’t…” your mouth twists as you trail off, frustration germinating as you struggle. Right, you can commit sins of the flesh but you can’t ask a question to sate curiosity — one which might be the difference between surviving and not surviving.

Knowledge is important, after all. Powerful. You think of Eve, who doomed humanity for it, naked as the day she was born and as clueless as Adam yet ate the apple anyway.

“I know they’re… warriors,” you pause, “since they’re all scarred, but—“

“Well, not necessarily—” Kari starts, until Gaz puts a palm on her thigh and gives her a look you can’t discern.

“That’s not something we should share,” Gaz says tightly, but kindly.

“How else..?” you frown.

Tyra stirs, and Kari gives Gaz another look.

“Simon’s father used to be chief,” she lifts the babe back into her lap, patting, cooing, “it’s not a nice story, but if you need it to understand them better then I don’t mind telling it.”

“I want to know about them,” you insist, trying to push past the sense of danger, the sense that you’ll be hurt or killed for toeing out of line.

Testing the elasticity of safety here perhaps isn’t wise, but testing it might be what you need to settle. Knowing where the boundaries are, what’s expected, where they come from… you wonder if you’ll doom everybody, like Eve.

“Believe it or don’t, but we’ve only just rekindled the hunts, the raids. How it should be,” she starts.

Gaz sighs, leaning back where he’s sitting. You assume his hesitance is out of loyalty for his comrades, but you choose tentatively to ignore him in favour of his wife.

“We had a lazy, drunken leader,” Kari continues, “Simon’s father inherited the title through lineage, not through prowess as is… more natural to us.”

You nod slowly, trying to imagine. In the church, such things were often gained with corruption: any wealthy lords’ son could rise high in the ranks, if he had the money and means.

The convent had somewhat of a similar issue, though the women were ‘married’ into the church and the power rested in the hands of their families.

Such was the world.

Not always, but you’d heard of it often enough. One of the abbots of the monastery in the closest town had been the son of an affluent donator, and thus received power of authority over the other monks.

“To make a long story short, and more respectful to Simon—” Gaz looks at her then “—his father was needlessly cruel both to his own children, his wife, and to those he was responsible for.”

“So, those scars…?”

“Some are from fighting, of course. But usually, no one’s getting close enough to those two to land that kind of damage. I’m sure you can fill in the rest.”

Gaz butts in here, “or, you can ask him yourself.”

“How did that woman, I forgot her name, come to be chief?” you frown in thought.

Gaz takes over again, his hand dragging up from the small of his wife's back and squeezing her nape. It’s as much of a warning as you’ve seen, though it’s quiet and Kari looks sheepish, not afraid, “Kate challenged him.”

“A challenge?” you frown, “such as?”

“A fight to the death.”

“Oh,” your lips close, and thin, and your eyebrows fly up. “I didn’t realize… I mean, violence is…”

They don’t do you the courtesy of filling in for you, so you go silent and the air settles.

Johnny picks you up later, when you’ve helped Kari with a big portion of her weaving. You love the threads, the dyeing process. It’s meditative.

“Good ?” Johnny nudges your side, slipping a hand to just above your waist, fingers tickling the side of your breast.

“Yes,” and it’s honest.

He walks you home, hand in hand, and cannot stop talking about Simon's return.

“Ah’ve never been without him this long,” he rambles over the fire, stirring a potato soup, “think yer gonnae be witness to something dirty. Sorry, lamb.”

Only he’s grinning, and he’s not sorry, and you can see the front of his pants begin to tent.

Johnny later offers you that very same sin, tilting his hips towards you and swinging his cock obscenely, cheekily. You do not take him up on it despite the smolder that begins between your legs – you simply turn, and try to sleep through the sounds of his self-abuse.

Simon returns without much fanfare, slipping into the house with a seemingly practiced silence. He moves like a ghost.

Johnny doesn't wake yet, sleeping like an affectionate log behind you.

His gaze meets yours, as impassive as always, framed in a halo of white winter light. He looks handsome this way, though it also has the effect of making his scars look deeper – crevasses on his face for shadows to lay in.

You watch as he strips his winter garments, slipping then beside you, evening out the weight on the bed.

“How did it go?” you whisper. If he's surprised that you spoke he doesn't show it, staring up at the ceiling, muscles decompressing. Sighing like a big dog.

In lieu of speaking, he lifts something into your focus. Oh, it's a tooth, sharp and white. A predator's tooth.

“The rest tomorrow,” he says quietly.

You can tell he's tired. His face looks weary. How far do they travel for these hunts? You assume quite far, as it’s enough to tire even a seasoned warrior.

So, rather than speaking, asking him from which creature he took this tooth, you tentatively reach your hand up to press your fingers against his thick scars.

Simon freezes, as do you. Then, as he relaxes, you trace the grooves on his face with your fingers tightly. Very lightly.

A delicate moment is born then. Johnny's deep, sleepy breathing behind you, Simon's acquiescence – it's a tranquil thing. As thin as lace, as sweet as a crisp apple.

After some time, when you've traced his face twice over and his eyes are half-lidded, you speak softly.

“Why me?”

“You're beautiful,” he says simply, sighing again, “we wanted to.”

It becomes harder, again, to hold the belief of them as devils. That they smelled the sin on you and picked you that way.

“Don't you think it's cruel?”

“No,” finally, he turns to you.

“It was,” you assert recklessly. Fear twists in your gut, poisonous.

“You were scared.”

“Yes.”

“Are you still scared?”

“I feel like you can see right through me. That scares me.”

“Not at first.”

“Then when?”

His hand finds the dip of your waist. Squeezes.

“On the boat, when you pushed up against me like a wet kitten. Even scared, you needed it.”

“You were cruel to me then, too.”

“I’m a cruel man.”

There's a stray thought that wiggles to life in the back of your head that suggests sympathy for him despite his statement. That you can begin seeing the path of his life and understand how he came to be.

You think of punishment again; about parents and children, husband's and wives, about Simon and his father. That wasn't punishment, if you're understanding it the way Kari implied.

A memory strikes you, unbidden and unwelcome.

Salt blows in the air, metallic and thick in your nose. Not sea salt, not the wind you love so much, but from blood spraying.

The man brought his son to the convent, citing his bad behaviour as ungodly. Sister Margret was pleading with him, hands clasped in desperate prayer and voice high, reedy, as she begged him to just stop hitting him – please, just stop hitting him!

The boy cowered. Not a child, but a boy nonetheless. Young enough to make an impression, round-cheeked, on the cusp of manhood. Stained with blood.

He lifted the rope, again and again and again, even as Margret leapt for his arm and tried to stop him, pulling, shouting.

You were stock still, frozen, not even a tremble in your body. Your eyes had widened when he first struck the boy and you’d been stuck since.

Simon takes your hand, peels it away from your dress, pulling you bodily towards him and out of the memory.

With your cheek pressed close to his bare shoulder, you murmur, “did you take me to hurt me?”

“No,” he says, sounding for once like he isn’t hiding anything.

“Did you hit me to really hurt me?”

“No,” he repeats, then, “I hit you because you needed it, because you liked it.”

“I’ve seen…” you don’t continue.

“I know.”

“We’ve both been hurt,” your voice is a whisper.

“Mm,” Simon confirms.

You think of the boy. Of his father. Of his terrified, deer-like eyes, blood splattered on his back and on the ground and soaked into the rope – about how four townsmen had to pull his father away for fear of killing the boy.

How you felt when you hit yourself, when the abbess hit you, how different they were to when Simon took his palm to your ass.

Shame. That had been in the boy's eyes that day. He had hid his face in his arms, cowering not only from fear but from being seen.

You’d felt that same shame each time you’d been punished, intensifying, twisting together until you’d learned to turn the same pain inwards.

“Are you afraid of being seen?” you murmur to Simon.

“No.”

You don’t have to say the silent part; that you’re the afraid one. That Simon correctly interpreting your need for a different kind of control, one that let you lose yourself, felt like you’d been flayed for all to see.

Simon moves his hand lower, cupping the soft curve of your behind, staring at you, testing the waters. You know that if you said no, he might anyways, but you stay quiet as his fingers lift the hem of your dress.

The fabric slides over your skin, a whisper in the air, tickling you. He rubs his rough, hairy knuckles against your thigh close to where it meets your leg.

He pauses there, breathing slowly, before he slides a finger up your slit and through the thatch of hair above it.

“If I made a request,” you murmured, “would you grant it?”

“Make it, and I’ll tell you.”

He slips a finger to rub your hole, just outside, teasing, while his thumb finds your clit.

“I don’t want you to take me until we’re man and wife… men and wife.”

Simon hums, rubs gently, makes your hips undulate.

“Do you think you’re in a place to be making requests like that, love?”

“I haven’t asked for anything else.”

He raises a brow, sliding his finger inside you to the knuckle when you’re wet enough.

“Haven’t you?”

Your breathing deepens, hands coming down to hold his thick wrist, pulling almost subconsciously. Even now, you can’t totally let go, leaning away from him and the pleasure.

But he understands, leaning over you, using his other hand to pin you to the mattress by your throat. It’s not the nicest hold, but the burning of your lungs heightens the pulsing in your cunt.

“Think you just made a few requests right now,” he grunts, using your leg to rub his hard, clothed cock.

There’s a stirring beside you. Johnny groans as he wakes up, then laughs sleepily.

“Ah woke up just in time,” his voice is rough with sleep.

Simon hums, mmm, in that deep rumble of his. He slips another finger inside you, crooking them, making you gasp raggedly. Your hands still clutch his wrist, weaker now, but it’s half resistance half comfort.

“Mm, good girl,” Johnny murmurs. He curls into your side, cock growing against your hip, wrapping a leg around you while his hand climbs beneath your pulled up dress and palms your tit.

God, you could die just like this: fighting for breath, touched all over, held down and made free. The hate you had for them feels irrelevant, the fear, the brutal way in which they stole you.

You can’t even think about if Simon will disregard your request – your last frontier against them, the treasure between your legs for a husband only.

Simon’s knuckle deep in it, but still, you can’t let go of that final tether. Not yet, not without any other internal pillars to hold you up.

Everything else has been wiped away. Drawings in the sand on a beach swept by foamy white waves.

Johnny leans in and bites your shoulder, gnawing, hips moving against you. You can’t arch like you want to, but you try.

Wet, sinful sounds grow as you gush around Simon’s fingers, as they use you to get off.

When you peak, white spots dance in your vision, mouth open in a silent scream choked away by Simon's heavy palm.

It’s like flying.

In the afternoon, when you’ve all slept, Simon leaves to speak with John and you prepare lunch with Johnny.

More fish, more potatoes. It’s growing on you.

When Simon returns, he has in his arms a rolled up fur. Though unprocessed and still wet underneath, it’s beautiful, pale, spotted.

He takes a heavy seat in front of you, laying the skin over his knees, taking your hand in his and bringing it to the fur.

Soft. Dense. Your fingers move through the pelt.

“For you,” Simon says.

You look up at him, heart dancing.

His gifts. The apple, the orgasms, this– you don’t know what to make of it. Yes, it’s a kindness, but he’s a cruel man. He’d said so himself, and you’d felt the brunt of it.

Leaning into that cruelty has given you a strange power, a strange solidity. You’d so begun to familiarize yourself with his harshness that you’d forgotten this complexity.

You pinch the fur, feeling it between your fingers, breathing slowly. Your neck ached, but it wasn’t a bad ache; it felt like a phantom hand.

“For me?”

Johnny slides three bowls on the table, grinning.

“Yer first wedding gift,” he says jovially.

“Oh, I see,” you murmur, but it isn’t a disappointed oh.

Simon leaves later again, full of soup, to process the rest of the hunt’s boon with John. He takes the pelt with him, a snowcat pelt you’ve learned.

Yet, he’d returned with not much more than scratches on him from travel. Tired, yes, but a few hours of sleep and splattering his spend on your belly had fixed that earlier.

You’d bathed, since, though the feeling was hard to shake.

Johnny putters about again, returning to his carving of the little mini you. A peek into the past, one you no longer embodied.

“Can I see when you’re done?” you ask, slipping your favourite wool dress on. The red, well worn one. Soft, comforting.

“Course,” he mumbles, concentrating. Then, his head shoots up.

“Ye want one o’ Simon ‘n’ I, lamb? Carry us around?” Only it sounds like aroond.

You nod, walking on socked feet to where he’s carving.

“Yes.”

#drgnfly writes #sorry this is a bit late ahaaa #im almost late to class to post this oopsie #im also not super happy with it but hey #its posted ig #ghoap x reader #goap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #cod x reader

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moonlitwitchdaisy · 3 hours ago

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virgin loser bff!nanami had been your closest friend ever since the time in preschool when your doll’s head broke, and he came over with his toy truck, offering to play together instead.

the fact that you had such different personalities never got in the way of your friendship. you were always the most popular and social person at school, while nanami didn’t even have any friends other than you. whenever you called him over to join you, and your friends asked, “how are you even friends with this guy?” he thought it might bother you. but when you’d respond, “ken is the most important person in my life. if you have a problem with him, you can fuck off,” it made him realize just how much you truly cared about him.

to nanami, you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world. even if he knew he didn’t deserve you, he would do anything for your affection.

it didn’t take long during high school for him to realize his feelings for you had shifted from simple friendship to what he could only describe as “real love.” the way his dick would get hard whenever you hugged him, the way he’d sweat with excitement, and the constant desire to kiss you — these were definitely not things a friend would want.

the more time he spent with you, the harder it became to suppress these feelings. he thought about confessing to you, just to get it off his chest, but he knew you’d reject him. someone like you would never look at a loser like him. besides, it would mean the end of your friendship, and he couldn’t risk that. so instead, he chose to endure it silently, watching you hang out with other guys and resigning himself to a life filled with pain and self-loathing.

until tonight.

he had no idea how it happened. maybe someone had slipped something into his coffee because there was no other explanation for why he was inside you right now. you were supposed to be out with that handsome guy from the university club, but apparently, you could only stand the date for an hour before coming home.

“you’re such an idiot, ken. how can you not see that i love you? every guy i meet, every guy i date—i’m looking for you in them, but none of them are you,” you yelled at him through your tears, and all he could do was stare at you in shock.

had you wanted him all along?

“i don’t understand…” he muttered.

you cupped his cheek with your hand, your tearful eyes locking onto his. the heat in his face was unbearable as he felt your fingers gently stroke his skin. you’d never touched him like this before.

“why don’t you see me as a woman, ken? i want you to touch me. i want to touch you.”

he wanted to—more than anything.

“you’re only doing this because your date didn’t go well. otherwise—”

“otherwise what, ken? you think i’m lying?” you snapped angrily.

nanami sighed deeply, his voice breaking as he said, “how could someone like you love someone like me? i’m just a loser.”

you never saw him as a loser. to you, he was the funniest, kindest, and most handsome man in the world. who wouldn’t fall for someone like him? you knew people didn’t want to get to know him because he was shy and quiet, but the real nanami was so much more than that.

you said with longing, “ken, kiss me.”

he tried to ignore how painfully hard he was as he stammered, “i can’t…”

“shut up and kiss me.” standing on your tiptoes, you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned in closer. whispering again, you said, “kiss me…”

when nanami finally pressed his lips to yours, he closed his eyes. it was his first kiss, and he had no idea what to do. thankfully, you guided him, moving your lips against his, teaching him. he followed your lead, sometimes using his tongue, sometimes tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth, making you moan into his mouth as the kiss grew messy and heated.

“let’s go to your room,” you managed to whisper when your lips finally parted.

that’s when nanami started to panic. he had just had his first kiss—how was he supposed to satisfy you in bed? if something happened and you regretted it, he’d never forgive himself.

“i-i’ve never done this before,” he admitted, embarrassed.

you smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “it doesn’t matter. i just want you, ken. just kissing you is enough to make me cum. but if you don’t want to—”

before you could finish, nanami scooped you into his arms, silencing you. as he carried you to his room, he said, “of course i want to. i’ve always wanted to, angel.”

he loved calling you angel.

and that’s how it happened. now, here he was, fucking into you with uneven thrusts, his cock buried deep inside the tight heat of your pussy — something he’d dreamed about for years.

you couldn’t understand how this man hadn’t had sex before. when he was preparing you, he was like a professional. sure, his excitement made his movements a bit clumsy now, but his mouth had worshipped every inch of your pussy, giving you exactly what you needed.

“ken… you feel so good,” you moaned, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as the thickest and biggest cock you'd ever seen stretched your tight walls with audible intensity, his face buried in your neck.

“angel, this is so—so…” nanami pressed kisses to your neck, pumping into you with desperate, erratic movements.

“k-ken, i love you,” you whispered.

if this was a dream, nanami never wanted to wake up. having you like this, feeling you so deeply while you told him you loved him, it couldn’t end.

lifting his head from your neck, he straightened up, moving your legs to rest on his shoulders. gripping your thighs for support, he began thrusting faster, his hips slamming into you with a rhythm he didn’t even know he had.

“oh my god, ken—this is too much—ugh…” you could feel him in your stomach, his cock reaching places no one ever had.

“i saw this position in a porno… i always imagined fucking you like this—shit,” he confessed, his voice full of raw emotion.

“ken…” his words made you blush even harder because, for years, you’d wanted this too.

you had always wanted his thick, 8-inch cock to pound into the deepest corners of your pussy with a merciless rhythm, his sweat dripping onto your body as he claimed you completely.

“i-if i’m doing something wrong, tell me,” he said, throwing his head back with a groan. the muscles in his neck were taut, making him look unbelievably sexy. “teach me, angel, please…”

if anyone needed to be taught, it wasn’t nanami—it was you. despite his inexperience, he was giving you the best sex of your life.

“ken, if you insult yourself again—ahhh—i swear…” you gasped as he kept hitting your sweet spot over and over, your back arching off the bed. your fingers moved to your nipples, trapping them between your fingers and playing with them as you kept grinding against nanami’s cock.

“angel, i—i can’t last much longer.” your pussy was gripping him so tightly he could barely hold himself together.

still pinching your nipples, you gasped, “cum, ken.”

“fuck, i’m sorry…” he muttered.

after pumping his thick, sticky cock into your delicious pussy a few more times with quick and uneven thrusts, his grip on your thighs tightened, and he emptied himself inside you, filling you with his warm seed.

breathing heavily, he slowly lowered your legs from his shoulders to the bed and gently pulled out of you. his lips left a trail of kisses from your waist to your neck and finally to your lips. as he nuzzled his nose against yours, you closed your eyes and inhaled the scent of his woody cologne.

“you didn’t cum, did you?” he asked, regret evident in his voice.

opening your eyes, you kissed him and pulled back slightly. “you made me cum twice with your fingers and mouth, ken. trust me, i got everything i wanted.”

his cheeks flushed red. “i’m sorry, angel.”

“don’t apologize, idiot. even though you’ve never done this before, you gave me the best sex of my life. and this won’t be the last time—you’ll have plenty of chances to make me cum again.”

“do you really love me?” he asked, still unable to believe it.

“ken, if you ask me that one more time—”

“okay, okay” he said quickly, pressing a kiss to your neck before whispering, "i love you."

you looked into his bright, honey-colored eyes, placed your hands on his cheeks, and pulled him closer for a kiss. “those rumors from high school were true.”

nanami furrowed his brows. “what rumors?”

“the girls used to call you the big-dicked loser,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

nanami looked at you, utterly defeated “big-dicked loser?”

“uh-huh.”

“they talked about me?”

“ken, no matter what you wore, there was no hiding that massive thing, but thanks for giving us the view,” you said, finally unable to hold back your laughter.

“you’re welcome?” his confused response only made you laugh harder.

“i love you, big-dicked loser,” you said between laughs.

nanami didn’t respond. instead, he flipped you onto your stomach, pinning you under his weight.

“we’ll see who the loser is. get ready, angel, because this time, i’m gonna make your pussy squirt.”

you didn’t protest as he slid his still-hard cock back inside you, burying your face in the pillow and screaming from the sheer pleasure.

tag: @aishi-toru

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

dividers by @aquazero

#nanami kento headcanons #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #jjk x you #jjk x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n

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lucygraysboy · 1 day ago

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hearing the songstress’ sweet voice, basking in the feel of her gentle thumbs on his rough skin, the smell of her hair so sweet that it’s almost overwhelming as dark curls smack his cheeks every now and then, billy can’t help but show lucy gray his most sensitive side. “i’m so happy to have found you,” he whispers, squeezing her sides. “thank you for showin’ me that special place by the lake. i ain’t ever seen nothin’ so beautiful. and for savin’ me when you first found me.” her laugh is like music to him, and it makes everything they’ve been through earlier seem less painful. stress of nearly losing her evaporating. “hope you know now there ain’t nothin’ intimidatin’ ‘bout ‘im. just takes a little trust, is all,” he softly reassures as sundance continues to trot, the rhythm steady but enough to feel the power beneath them. the ride a little more bumpy now. “right, i quite like my chin, wouldn’t want it bruised.” or her shoulder for that matter. a laugh sounds from him when she pushes him away. “don’t lose confidence now, doll. you doin’ real good. and horses got a way of knowin’ how sure you are, just like people do. ain’t much different.” he doesn’t want her to think she’s incapable of handling sundance just because he’s no longer walking slowly. if she ever needs to get away from here, she can’t be afraid of going faster. “ain’t everyday an outlaw like me shows up teachin’ fancy spanish, alright? must of been some kind of fate.” maybe his ma arranged it from up above or hers, if she’s up there, too.

“that sure means a lot to me, thank you darlin’.” thumbs rub against his real quick for a display of affection, he’s just full of sweet things to say. she feels mighty grateful to have such a kind person dropped into her life and the air in her lungs she’s taking extra deep breaths in for, that was terrifying earlier…sinking to her demise. so soaking up every breath she’s given, has made her realize to never take it for granted either. not that she did before, but it’s been a good reminder. “no, not that you seemed unfriendly. just a lot bigger than me. intimidatin’.” the brunette answers, shyly smiling towards the back of sundance’s head. “well be careful, if you’re gonna make him go… he won’t be so friendly to your chin hittin’ against my shoulder.” amusingly smiling, gently pushing his face away to make him not hit his chin. “no, you do it, i might do it too much.” backing back away from controlling sundance again, she sheepishly laughs and then hangs on tighter when he begins to trot. it’s exhilarating and fascinating how fast he can change speeds so easily— just one word and he’s an entirely different horse. “this is a weird thing for sure… an outlaw who wandered up just to teach me spanish.” amusingly smiling, wondering how’s that. “she’d definitely approve of that, too.”

#billysgirllol

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sovamurka · 2 days ago

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Thinking about how Ma Meilleure Ennemie can be considered a continuation and an interesting thematic expansion of Enemy.

"No shit, lmao, they both have the word enemy in them".

Like, yes, that's exactly the point.

But there's more to it than meets the eye.

We all know that Enemy in many ways is meant to be from Jinx's perspective (music video supports that) - it's HER internal worries, it's HER exhaustingly sad sarcasm, it's HER wreck of emotions that she can't stop.

The song explains why and how she basically convinced herself that she's a curse and will never be a saint no matter what she does.

She exclaims that everybody wants to be her enemy. For her this word means "the person that everyone hates, the person who everyone abandoned, the person for whom no one prays or hopes".

And then in Ma Meilleure Ennemie Ekko... agrees with her - she IS his enemy. But to him this word has so much more meaning and underlying feelings than just "the person I'm against, the person I hate".

For him enemy is also someone who's always near - if not in body, then in mind. Someone who truly shares history with you and can hurt you in more ways than one.

Who you hate so much because you had too much love in your heart for them.

Hatred is not the opposite of love, it's just love with a minus instead of plus, the true opposite of love is indifference. And Ekko feels anything but indifference towards Jinx, even though he tried so many times to convince himself otherwise.

First verse of the song is basically his admission that she's an essential part of him - no matter what he does, no matter how many times he forces himself to forget, no matter how much he tries to keep his enemy out of his mind.

He knows he should stay away, he knows he should keep his own heart under hundreds of locks to not let anyone break it again. But he can't help it. He still loves her despite everything, including his own self.

That's why he also agrees that she's indeed a curse. The most beautiful one. She haunts his thoughts and he hates himself for finding comfort in it. But it's better to be in a bad company than alone, am I right?

The chorus of Ma Meilleure Ennemie sounds almost like a last resort - a mutual attempt to push each other away.

To make matters worse, the whole "meilleur/pire" (best/worst) dichotomy that is constantly present in the song literally from the beginning, is a simple yet clever play on a famous wedding vow - "Pour le meilleur et pour le pire" (translation: for the best and the worst of it). The more they try to convince each other that they should not be together, the more they intertwine their fates because they repeat this vow again and again.

And then in the second verse of Ma Meilleure Ennemie Jinx finally lets herself say things she was so afraid to say before. Lets her feelings and thoughts be known in the most vulnerable way possible. Not with Enemy's upset angry screaming but with this gentle melodic whisper.

And what does she have to say about her feelings towards the person who she shares so much complicated history with?

That his name cuts her open every time she hears it. And that's why she doesn't say it - it hurts her so much.

Ekko's name literally echoes in her mind. Jinx can't even say for sure whether this pain she feels comes from hatred that formed over the years or from pure sweetness, softness and gentleness that she still keeps in her heart for him.

And then comes Je t’avais dit: “Ne regarde pas en arrière” (translation: I told you not to look back) which is such an obvious Orpheus and Eurydice myth reference when you say it out loud.

Albeit, their situation is an interesting take on this myth.

Let me explain. Orpheus had a chance to bring his wife Eurydice back to the land of the living if he guided her there without looking back or else she would end up in the underworld again. There are several versions of the myth that give different explanations on why Orpheus turns back, but they all agree on one thing - it was done because of love.

However, in Ekko's case it's kind of a reverse situation - Jinx will disappear if he turns away from her.

That's what, in my opinion, Turn Your Back and I'll Disappear song means, actually.

And here, at the end of second verse, Jinx explicitly tells Ekko that he shouldn't look back. He should leave past behind, should leave her behind, let her disappear from his life and from this world altogether or else everything will get infinitely worse.

But of course he doesn't, of course he turns back (time) again and again.

He does it because he loves her, just like Orpheus loves Eurydice.

Despite not having much screen time, timebomb still managed to tell such a wonderful intricately woven story.

I analysed just a small part of Jinx and Ekko's symbolic lyricism. Believe me, there's still so much more to talk about and uncover since this story is told through different forms of art that are all worth your attention.

#and yes this post is inspired by all the beautiful people who screamed “YOU FORGOT ENEMY” under my “tb is the most musical pair ever” post #LIKE YES. Y'ALL WERE ACTUALLY RIGHT 😭 I FORGOT IT 😭😭😭 I'M STUPID FORGIVE ME PLS AGGSHDHDJD #SEE??? I'M FIXING MY MISTAKE!!!#and also yes. happy 2 months anniversary s2e7 MY ABSOLUTE BELOVED <3 #arcane #timebomb

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 days ago

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Change of Heart - 3 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Australia, sir."

Bucky froze in place when he heard that. Australia? It was so unlike you. In all the time you spent together, you always talked about visiting Europe. That was your dream—to save enough money to open a café there, buy a boat, and travel around the continent.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter now. At least he finally knew where you were.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded.

After his security team gave him the location, Bucky immediately called his pilot to prepare the plane. Within minutes, he was on his private jet, accompanied by his assistant, who sat nervously across from him.

The assistant hesitated before asking, “Sir, when do you want to reschedule the meeting?”

Bucky didn’t look up from his phone. “If I’m not in the company, there’s a vice president. Let him attend the meeting instead. The company pays him a high salary for a reason. If he makes the wrong agreement at the meeting, I’ll fire him.”

The assistant swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting with the pen in his lap. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the cushion as silence settled between them. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin. His gaze drifted to the window, the clouds blurring past.

The matter of this marriage was far more complicated than any company matter.

He broke the silence. “Do you ever have marriage trouble?”

The assistant’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected question. “Uh… yes, sir.”

Bucky turned his head slightly toward him. “Have you ever argued to the point where your wife left the house?”

The assistant hesitated, his hands stilling. “That’s… no, sir. We argue sometimes, but not to that extent.”

Bucky exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I see.”

His situation wasn’t like those couples who separated after endless fights. This marriage was different—it was based on a contract. There was no need for messy legal proceedings or divorce lawyers. No drawn-out drama. It was supposed to be simple, painless.

But it wasn’t.

He rested his elbow on the armrest, his fingers pressing against his temple as memories of his parents’ divorce flashed through his mind. He’d witnessed it all—the yelling, the accusations, the blame. He could still remember the cold, suffocating atmosphere in the negotiation room as both sides tore each other apart. And they’d forced him, a child, to sit there and watch.

They called it love once, but what he saw was anything but. His parents acted like children while he was expected to be the adult.

Marriage was supposed to be a union between two mature individuals who respected its meaning. His parents may have loved each other once, but they destroyed that love with betrayal and adultery.

It was full of lies and deception. For young Bucky, hearing the arguments was painful. Even now, he still feels a lingering resentment toward his parents.

Bucky shook his head, clearing the bitter thoughts. He’d never wanted a traditional marriage because of them. When his grandfather, Paul, had told him he needed to marry to inherit the company, Bucky had been clueless about what to do.

That’s when he remembered a friend mentioning a matchmaking agency. “It’s expensive, but it’s worth it,” his friend had said.

And it was expensive—but it was worth it. With you, he’d fulfilled his grandfather’s condition and taken over the company. You were his perfect partner.

At least, that’s what he thought.

He rubbed his chin as he rewound every moment he’d spent with you, searching for something he might have missed. He couldn’t think of a single instance where he had disrespected you. Both of you respected each other’s personal space and schedules. He knew you had a close relationship with Grace, your best friend.

Friends.

Friends?

His brows furrowed. Now that he thought about it, Grace was the only friend of yours he really knew. While you had met most of his circle, he knew almost nothing about yours.

Bucky leaned forward, clasping his hands together tightly. After giving it more thought, he realized the imbalance in your marriage. He was the dominant one, the one whose needs and routines shaped the relationship.

And he had barely noticed.

His jaw tightened, the weight of his ignorance sinking in. For the first time, he wondered if that was why you left.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After a long flight, Bucky’s plane finally touched down at the destination. He had managed to close his eyes during the journey, but rest was impossible—his thoughts were consumed by you. Memories, questions, and unspoken words replayed endlessly in his mind.

As he stepped off the plane, the crisp air hit his face, bringing a brief sense of clarity. The head of his security team approached him immediately.

"Sir, we’ve found her location," the man reported.

"Where is she?" Bucky asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

The security detail led Bucky toward the docks, their hurried footsteps crunching against the gravel. His heart was pounding, each step feeling heavier as the weight of anticipation bore down on him. He scanned the area, his sharp eyes searching frantically for any sign of you.

And then, he saw you.

There you were, standing near the edge of the dock, the soft breeze tugging at your hair as you stared out at the endless horizon. The setting sun cast a golden glow around you, making you look almost ethereal, like a mirage he’d conjured in his desperation.

His breath hitched. Relief washed over him first, flooding his chest so quickly that it nearly brought him to his knees. After days of relentless searching, and agonizing over where you could be, there you were—within reach.

But then came the ache. A sharp, searing pain in his chest that he hadn’t expected. Seeing you standing so calmly as if the world hadn’t turned upside down for him, struck a chord deep within. You looked so at peace, so distant, and he couldn’t understand it.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up. He closed the distance between you in long, determined strides, his emotions spiraling into a chaotic storm. Relief, anger, confusion, longing—it all melded together as his voice broke through the silence.

He called your name, loud and raw, the sound carrying across the water.

You turned, startled, your wide eyes locking with his. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. He saw the flicker of surprise on your face, the way your lips parted slightly as if you were about to say something. But what shook him most was what he didn’t see.

There was no regret in your eyes.

Bucky’s chest tightened, his fists clenching instinctively at his sides. How could you look at him like that—so calm, so unaffected—when he’d been unraveling without you? He reached you in a few quick strides, his hand shooting out to grab yours before you could move another step.

Bucky’s heart pounded as he called out your name, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves. You turned, visibly startled but composed, no trace of regret on your face.

He didn’t stop running until he reached you, grabbing your hand before you could step onto the yacht. "Why did you leave?" he demanded, his tone raw with frustration. "Didn’t I say we’d talk this through?"

You look at him, your eyes steady but filled with quiet resolve. “I don’t want to continue the marriage contract."

“I know.” He fell silent, his gaze locking onto yours. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

"No," you replied, shaking your head with a soft smile. "Didn’t you get the letter I left for you?"

Bucky frowned, the words unsettling him. The letter? What could it possibly say that justified this?

"It’s not you," you said, your tone steady. "It’s me."

"Lies," he shot back, his voice clipped with disbelief.

"It’s not," you insisted firmly.

"Explain it to me like I’m five years old," he demanded, his frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

You sighed, gathering your thoughts. "In the contract, we promised no lies, no deception. We even agreed that if one of us developed feelings, the marriage would end before things got messy."

Your gaze softened as you added, "Bucky, I love you."

The confession hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him stunned and speechless. He had braced himself for accusations, for anger, but not this.

You took advantage of his silence, gently pulling your hand free from his grasp. You turned to the captain of the yacht and gave a subtle nod, signaling him to start the engine.

As the boat began to drift away from the dock, Bucky’s senses returned. "Where are you going?" he called out, his voice tinged with desperation.

"Anywhere," you replied, your words floating back to him.

Standing at the edge of the dock, he could only watch as the boat carried you farther away.

From your place on the yacht, you glanced back at him. “What a fool,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I told everyone not to let you find me.”

The captain, standing at the helm, turned to you and asked, “How far do you want to go?”

"Keep sailing until I say stop," you said, your tone resolute.

"Alright," the captain replied, steering the yacht into the open sea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The yacht moved steadily through the endless expanse of blue, its wake cutting a gentle path through the water. You stood at the edge of the deck, the wind brushing against your face, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea. The horizon stretched infinitely, meeting the sky in a blur of hazy gold and blue. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the breeze tangle your hair and the sun warm your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you thought. The kind of beauty that felt untouched, unclaimed—exactly what you were searching for.

“This is it,” you murmured, barely audible to yourself.

With steady steps, you approached the captain’s cabin. He glanced at you briefly, his expression questioning.

“Stop here,” you said.

“Are you sure?” His voice carried the weight of uncertainty.

“Yes.” Your answer was firm, final.

He nodded and went to work, releasing the anchor with a heavy clunk as it descended into the ocean’s depths. The yacht slowed to a gentle halt, rocking slightly with the rhythm of the waves.

Without hesitation, you peeled off your clothes, revealing the simple swimsuit underneath. The air felt cool against your skin, but it didn’t matter. You stepped to the edge of the deck, your toes curling over the rim. For a brief second, you inhaled deeply, and then you leaped.

The water embraced you like an old friend. It was cold but refreshing, its weight washing over you, pulling you into its quiet, endless depths. You swam, letting your body move freely, unbound by the constraints of gravity or obligation.

You dove deeper, the light above you diffusing into shimmering rays that danced like silver ribbons. Down here, there were no walls to confine you, no contracts to dictate your actions. It was just you and the ocean—an infinite space where you could finally breathe.

For the first time in years, you felt free.

You floated on your back, staring up at the vast sky. The sun cast a golden glow across the water’s surface, making it sparkle like liquid diamonds. You let out a long breath, your body rising and falling with the gentle waves. This was what you had been looking for—a release from the weight of expectations and the burden of feeling tethered to things you didn’t truly want.

You didn’t understand why, but in this moment of letting go—of money, of love, of the life you’d meticulously built—you felt alive.

All your life, it had been about money. Growing up with a father whose high income only highlighted what was still lacking, you learned early that nothing was ever enough. There was always another competition to win, another prize to chase. Independence wasn’t just encouraged; it was demanded.

Money became your anchor, the thing that kept you afloat. You thrived on it, obsessed over it. You checked your bank accounts daily, reveling in the sight of green numbers climbing higher and higher. It was intoxicating, the sense of control and success that came with it.

Each time you earned more money, it was a step closer to impressing your parents. Impressing them became a lifelong goal—one that would finally make them say, “We’re proud of you.” But no matter how much you earned, it was never enough.

And then there was love—a concept you understood in theory but never cared to possess. Money filled the void better than any romantic notion ever could. Love was messy, complicated, and it demanded sacrifices you weren’t willing to make. Money didn’t ask for your vulnerability; it only required your focus, your ambition, your endless thirst for more.

The two were the same, you realized. Money and love—they both left you parched, chasing something that always seemed just out of reach.

Then what were the other things that made you confront money and love at the same time?

When you joined the matchmaking agency to find a wealthy partner, you hadn’t really thought it through. There wasn’t a grand plan, just the vague hope of finding someone who could meet your terms. Honestly, you expected the candidates to be older men—someone seeking a companion to attend events with, nothing more. You had even specified one unique condition in your profile: no intimacy.

So, it came as a shock when the person who agreed to your circumstances turned out to be Bucky Barnes—a man only two years older than you. Not only that, but he was willing to pay an impressive amount to seal the deal.

When it was Bucky’s turn to lay out his requirements, everything seemed to align perfectly. He needed a partner who could convincingly play the role of a devoted spouse, just long enough for him to inherit his family’s company. You knew you could handle that. Pretending to be his loving wife? It felt like an easy role to play.

His parents were simple to fool, far less intimidating than your own strict, demanding family. The real challenge, however, was his grandfather, Paul. With his sharp eyes and no-nonsense demeanor, Paul had a knack for spotting liars. Yet, even he couldn’t see through you. You gave him exactly what he longed for—a granddaughter-in-law who treated him with genuine care. That part was easy because you understood what it felt like to crave love and approval.

The first year flew by without a hitch. You and Bucky played your roles to perfection. The arrangement opened doors for both of you—financially and socially. When the time came to discuss extending the contract for another year, you agreed without hesitation. The benefits far outweighed any drawbacks.

But then, somewhere in the second year, things began to shift. You started to feel something for Bucky—something dangerous. It wasn’t part of the deal, and you hated yourself for it. From the start, Bucky had been upfront about his feelings—or lack thereof. For him, love was a waste of time. He had no use for romance, and you had respected that. Until now.

You couldn’t stop it, though. No matter how hard you tried to suppress your emotions, they crept in, uninvited. It was written clearly in your agreement: no feelings, no complications. If either party broke that rule, the contract would be terminated immediately.

So, you buried your feelings as best you could. Love was messy, unpredictable, and it made you want things you couldn’t have. It filled your mind with fantasies, leaving you restless and craving more. And you despised it.

You just needed to hold on a little longer.

But then, everything changed.

Two days before the marriage contract was set to end, something happened—something you hadn’t anticipated.

And in that moment, you realized nothing would ever be the same again.

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m1stm3 · 2 days ago

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umm i don’t have a name for this one!! no cw’s other than some angst and fem! reader (reader is referred to as a woman and uses she/her pronouns) :]

word count: 916 (my longest posted yet!!!)

imagining shigaraki who announces to the league that he found a temporary place to stay a few weeks after the base gets destroyed, answering zero questions as to how exactly he found a place for a group of villains to stay after they had seemingly exhausted all of their options (“someone owed me a favor” was all he had said. none of them believed him).

they’re all confused when they arrive at a relatively residential neighborhood. they’re even more confused when their boss walks up to the front door of a random house as if he’s done it a thousand times before (he has. he’d always crawl back to this doorstep, always looking a little small and wounded).

and — not to be repetitive — but imagine their shock when the sweetest looking woman opens the door. you. you’re all smiles and sugar, giving their boss a wide smile before greeting the rest of them and inviting them inside. they’re practically gawking at the way you dote on them as if they’re normal houseguests and not a group of strangely dressed villains.

the blonde girl and the two men in masks are the only ones that introduce themselves (himiko, jin, and ‘compress’. you recognized them from tomuras previous explanations. he thought they were all pains in their own right, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree). the others stay close by tomura, allowing him to guide them through the new environment (as if they had much of a choice). he hadn’t said a word since the nice woman opened the door, even ignoring spinners insistent, whispered questions.

tomura suddenly stops, gesturing to three doors. “we’re taking up these two rooms, the garage, and the living room.” he points to the last door in the hallway. “that’s the bathroom. figure it out amongst yourselves.” he explained flatly, making his way back to the main area of the house with nothing else said. they were left with more questions than when they had initially gotten there.

their boss had settled into a couch by the time they wandered back into the main area, slouched against an armrest with that blank look he wore whenever he was lost in thought. you had taken to the more talkative three, smiling softly as you answered their questions while offering them mugs of something warm (you couldn’t help the softened look in your eyes when you saw the brief shock in their expressions at the gesture).

it was quiet for a while after that. peaceful, even… until you dropped a mug while trying to tidy up your kitchen. it had been a while since the league had seen their boss suddenly so alert, no hesitation in his movements when he briskly made his way into the kitchen. they had braced themselves to hear yelling or some form of harshness. anything to express his displeasure towards the sudden interruption to his thoughts. only, that’s not what happened. at all, actually.

you were a little more frantic, murmuring soft apologies while crouched down and picking up the larger shards of ceramic. only the three at the table could see what was going on, but the quiet way everything was handled was enough for everyone to connect some dots. tomura hadn’t said anything, simply moving down to your level to help you pick up the bigger shards.

when he finally spoke, it was like witnessing a different person. ‘soft’ was an adjective the league wasn’t familiar with. they didn’t have the privilege of really knowing what that word meant… they understood it better now though, with the way their boss was reassuring you in a quiet voice. his words were scolding as per usual, (even you weren’t immune to his small lectures urging you to ‘be more careful’) but he said them with a lightness none of them had heard before.

and then you touched him and suddenly they understood (those who witnessed it, of course). the contact was brief, just a small, grateful squeeze to his shoulder. something so easily overlooked by the general population… but they knew their boss well. they knew the weight of the small gesture. it was so painfully normal, he didn’t even blink an eye at the small touch.

the three at the table — who usually had had so much to say — could only spare each other small, knowing glances. the others that had settled on the couch still looked expectant, as if waiting for the storm that was soon to come pouring down (they could’ve waited years, it was never going to happen).

the league stood at your house for two weeks after that, the interactions between you and the members short but sweet. tomura had bunked in the garage, walking into the house throughout the night with the weak excuse of having to use the bathroom.

they decided not to call him out on his lie.

you remained kind even as they were leaving, wishing them well and softly urging them to stay safe. only himiko noticed the look you and tomura shared as he walked past you. a secret something she was sure only the two of you knew the meaning of. she found herself foolishly hoping that the pretty lady who had taken care of them would be okay.

you found yourself foolishly hoping to see them again (in another life, maybe. things would be better then.)

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kaira-diaries · 13 hours ago

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Affection

Warnings: (Fluff-shared bath) (Mentions of wound)

Pairing: (reader! x In-ho)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: In-ho finally opens up to you about his feelings.

A/N: The bathtub idea came to me and I just had to jump on it OPE enjoy WOO.

Masterlist <-

————————

Affection was a rare currency when it came to In-ho, doled out sparingly and always on his terms.

It wasn't something you demanded or even dared to request. You simply accepted the scraps he chose to offer, hoarding those fleeting moments of tenderness as though they were precious jewels. Of course, you longed for more—achingly so—but you understood: In-ho was a man of intricate layers, a fortress of complexities that guarded his emotions tightly.

Tonight was different—you felt it the moment he walked through the door. Something had happened. His usually guarded eyes were uncharacteristically glassy, emotions swimming in their depths that he hadn't yet spoken aloud. He crossed the space between you in an instant, his arms wrapping tightly around you as though afraid you might slip away. His breath was warm against your ear as he murmured soft promises, each word laced with a quiet desperation that sent a shiver down your spine.

Now, the two of you were submerged in the marble bathtub, the water lapping gently against your skin as steam rose into the air, curling like whispers of smoke. He sat behind you, his broad chest a solid wall of warmth pressed against your back. The firm, reassuring weight of his arms circled your waist, holding you so close it was as though he feared even the water might come between you.

His lips brushed against your shoulder in slow, deliberate kisses, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The tenderness in his touch was almost reverent, his fingers splayed across your stomach as though grounding himself in your presence. The rhythmic sound of water dripping from the edge of the tub was the only interruption to the heavy silence, one that felt less like emptiness and more like the quiet aftermath of a storm.

You drew in a steadying breath, tilting your head slightly until your nose brushed against his. The intimate gesture made his lashes lower, his eyes mere shadows in the dim light. "What happened?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the gentle slosh of the water.

His response came not in words at first, but in the press of his lips against yours—brief, soft, and almost evasive. "I don't know what you're talking about," he murmured, his voice low and even, though his intense gaze betrayed him. Those dark eyes of his, so full of depth and unspoken emotion, always had a way of undoing you. You felt your resolve waver as warmth spread low in your belly, a heat that wasn't from the water. Your eyes darted away, breaking the spell, and you exhaled slowly, your chest rising and falling as you reached for the soap sitting just beyond your shoulder. "Your turn," you murmured, your tone lighter as you wrestled his arms away from your waist. His grip was firm, reluctant to release you, but you managed to turn in his lap until you were facing him, your knees brushing against his in the shallow water.

Lathering the soap in your palms, you pressed them to his chest, the heat of his skin seeping into your fingers. The scent of the soap, fresh and clean with a hint of sandalwood, mingled with the faint trace of him that always lingered. Your hands glided over the firm lines of his chest, following the curve of his collarbone and the definition of his muscles. When your fingers brushed the raised, jagged line of a scar—a gunshot wound from a year ago—you froze for a moment, your lips pressing into a thin line. Your thumb traced the rough edges instinctively, the memory of that night flashing vividly in your mind. The panic, the blood, the fear that had gripped you like a vice—it was all as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

You grunted softly, a sound that was half frustration, half pain. His eyes flicked to yours, searching, but you shook your head and continued to rub the soap into his skin. If he noticed the way your hands trembled for a split second, he didn't say anything. Instead, he let you work, his gaze steady on you, grounding you in the present even as your mind lingered in the past.

A steady hand came to rest on your cheek, the warmth of his touch anchoring you in the moment. Your movements stilled as your eyes lifted to meet his, searching his face for clues to the turmoil you sensed brewing beneath the surface. His expression was a strange mix of relief and something darker—something you couldn't quite place.

"The players rebelled," he said at last, his voice low and weighted.

Your heart lurched in your chest, skipping a beat as the words sank in. "What?" you whispered, your voice barely audible, caught somewhere between disbelief and dread.

Before you could say more, he pulled you forward, enveloping you in his arms as though shielding you from an invisible threat. Your cheek pressed against the firm plane of his chest, his heartbeat steady but faster than usual, betraying the tension he carried. One of his hands slid up to tangle gently in your hair, his fingers threading through the strands as though grounding himself in your presence.

"I took care of it," he murmured, his lips brushing against the crown of your head as he spoke. "But… they were just a corridor away from our quarters. From you."

Your stomach twisted at the thought, a chill running down your spine despite the heat of the bathwater. The idea of danger coming so close, of him having to stand between you and whatever chaos had erupted, made your breath snag.

His grip on you tightened, "I know I've never said it outright, and maybe I've been too stubborn to show it—but you mean more to me than anything else. More than I ever thought someone could."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with sincerity, and your chest tightened at the rawness of his admission. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound the gentle ripple of water around you.

Slowly, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against the sharp planes of his cheekbones. His eyes, usually so guarded, were open now, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.

"You don't have to say anything else," you murmured softly, your voice trembling slightly. "I already know. I've always known."

A flicker of relief crossed his face, but you weren't done. You leaned in closer, your lips hovering just a breath away from his as you whispered, "And for what it's worth…I feel the same. I'd follow you anywhere, through anything. You've always been it for me."

His lips parted as if to respond, but you didn't let him. Closing the small distance, you kissed him, slow and deep, your fingers sliding into his hair as his arms tightened around you. It wasn't just a kiss—it was a promise, a shared understanding that needed no more words.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, his breath mingling with yours, he let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. "You make everything worth it," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

"And you," you replied with a tender smile, brushing your thumb along his cheek, "are my home."

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #front man x reader #front man #in ho squid game #fanfic #squid game season 2 #the frontman #squid game fanfic #fan fiction #the front man x reader

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stxrryskys · 3 days ago

Note

Idk gang sometimes I just wanna be manhandled 😔 anyways can u do manhandling HCS for the MW crew? Including Anya cuz I feel like she's stronger than let on.

AHHH I LOVE THIS WHAT THE FREAK SAGE!!

C/W : Mating press, dirty talk, pet names, drooling?, oral (F receiving), over stimulation,degradation, and..man handling..obv

and I think thats it😣😣, not proofread!! Enjoy!

Daisuke:

He was just a baby!! He never thought he'd have you in such a compromising postiton like this

The one thing he wants to do in life is make his girlfriend feel good so when you came to him about how you'd want him to be more rough in bed he did his research, he searched some positions and some things to say that would satisfy you

So when you guys were fucking he had you in ... Mating press, you weren't flexible so you had to admit it was kinda painful at first but the pleasure of his cock hammering in and out of you

"A-am I doing - good? "

"Mhm- fuck Daisuke I'm gonna-" when you came on his cock he just kept going and it was almost to much..

Curly:

He's a big guy, a really big guy, and he's always so gentle with you, part of you wished he'd just throw you down on your bed and just rock your shit, in a sexual sense that is. You had talked to curly about it on a couple of occasions and he's stated that the thought of hurting you makes him uncomfortable, and you understand that and the last thing you wanted was for him to feel uncomfortable.

Today you had a plan, you would act insanely bratty at dinner with his coworkers to yknow.. Make him crack.

"Uh.. Boss will you uh? Excuse us? " his eye was practically twitching and he grabbed your arm, forcing you to follow him to the bathroom.

"This was your plan huh? Act like a fucking brat until I what? Take you to the bathroom and fuck you? " he locked the stall and whisper yelled and propped you up on the sink

"... Depends.. Are you gonna fuck me in the bathroom? "

He scoffed loudly and flipped your dress up, your damp panties in his view

"Shit- fucking slut.. " he muttered

"What did you just call me? "

"I said you were a fucking slut" he pulled your panties down to you ankles and you just bit your lip, this was really happening

10 minutes went by and he couldn't care less about the people at the dinner table, he was just focused on fucking you, his hand over your mouth as he abused your tight cunt, spreading your legs to the point where it hurt, regardless of the conversations you guys had before he was really enjoying himself..

Needless to say he will definitely do this again

Jimmy:

We all know he likes being rough with you, and tonight was no different.

He had a rough day, he was so sick and fucking tired of people always praising curly, always congratulating curly, the only good thing in his life was you. You always praised him, you always congratulated him. He was missing you so he clocked out early just to see you.

"Babe? " he walked into your shared home and tossed his shoes off and began looking around for you, he walked into your shared bedroom and there you were, fingers in your cunt, pumping in and out of you.

"Jeez you could've invited me"

3 hours later and your head is pushed into your pillow, drool dribbling down your chin, Jimmy abusing your cervix from behind with his cock

Anya:

she loves eating your pussy... Like LOVES, so when she came back from a stressful work day at the hospital she was looking for a way to calm down.

You were laying on the couch and she got home, slammed the door, took off her jacket and stormed up to you and grabbed your arm tightly, made you get up off the couch and dragged you to your shared bedroom, she wasn't usually this rough so it was like a different side of her, she must've had a tough day.

She practically pushed you onto the bed and practically ripped off your pj pants

"No panties.. It's almost like you were waiting for me"

She gripped your thighs and forced them apart, the wetness of your pussy already pooling under you.

"Can- can I just- please? " she basically begged

"Yeah- of course my love-ah-! " as soon as you said yes she began to DEVOUR you, she was eating your pussy like she hadnt eaten in ages, and she probably didnt, this was gonna be a looooong night.

THANK YOU FOR READING, REQUESTS ARE OPEN.. also if you reblog also comment.. I wanna know your thoughts!

#mouthwashing smut #smut #idk what im doing 😔#mouthwashing #please request #curly x reader smut #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke smut #anya mouthwashing #anya x reader smut #jimmy x reader smut #jimmy mouthwashing #jimmy smut #mouthwashing curly #Stxrryblogs

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torturedtypewritersdept · 2 days ago

Text

blue eyes + bruises - part six

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

—

Rafe’s soft hand tracing the freckles on your cheek is what woke you and as you stirred, wincing, as the first of the morning’s pain hit your senses, you looked up and into his blue eyes. At that moment, you were convinced there was no better way to wake up. You could imagine looking into his eyes in a tiny apartment close to the hospital; coffee filling your nostrils as the beans were rung of their juices and into the cup he’d be sure to bring to your bedside, because he’s just that kind of a guy. Those daydreams had been keeping you going lately, imagining a life outside of what you were living now – outside of hospital filled days and pain and the unattainable doctor at your bedside. You had been starting your mornings with blue eyes a lot lately, which was the main constant between your daydreams and your reality – those days – the blue-eyed days, always let you put your best foot forward and you were thankful that today was one of those days.

“Good morning, pretty girl.”

He spoke softly, careful not to startle you as you were still gaining your bearings from the slumber you were woken from.

“Hi.”

You spoke suggestively, your morning voice poking through, unsure of how sexy he found you as you sat upright in the hospital bed. You winced again.

“Easy, tiger.”

He chastised you softly, pushing your shoulders back against the soft pillows.

“Here, let me.”

He spoke, reassuring you with a smile. You gingerly nodded as he grabbed the bed’s remote control and brought the top half to an upright position.

“What would I do without you?”

You questioned playfully again. Jenni snickered from behind Rafe, watching as you shamelessly flirted with him, you had made that your full time job and you hoped he didn’t mind. You weren’t stupid enough to think he meant the nicknames and sweet words, even though it all felt real, you were sure it wasn’t. The truth was, you didn’t believe in love, even if it came in the form of Rafe Cameron, who you were sure had much better prospects than some girl he met for the first time in the emergency room. You thought about the night of your accident often – so much so that it was consuming your being; some days it was all you thought about and this morning, while you woke up to those pretty blue eyes, was no different. The thoughts were consuming you in the same way that Molly consumed him. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, drowning out the sound of Jenni and Rafe chatting amongst you about the day's plans. You loved them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when all you could see as your rows of eyelashes collided was the pale blue dress that clung to your body as you looked in the mirror one last time before heading out the door. Another blind date. You had spent your last thirty bucks on the dress, hopeful it would make a good impression. All that you knew about him was that he was a doctor – you didn’t know where or even what his name was, you just hoped he wasn’t an asshole like the last three had been. You were lonely and ready to find your person; your fertility clock ticking away by the day. You were supposed to fall in love in college and get married and do all the things that you’re supposed to do when that happens. But, instead, some dumb boy named Storm had broken your heart freshman year and you hadn’t let anyone in since. What kind of a person names their son Storm, anyways? Though you thought maybe they knew the Storm he’d turn into – maybe they knew who he’d become. You should’ve taken it as an omen; for him, for your life, for the way the 18 wheeler collided with your car, for the way the blood soaked the pale blue satin of your dress, and for the way the first time you locked eyes with Rafe you knew you loved him.

“Earth to y/n!”

You heard Rafe chuckle as he waved his hand in front of your face. Your eyes were closed, but you felt the wind against your face as he moved it back and forth. Your eyes flew open and you forced a smile; he could tell.

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

You replied softly.

“What were you thinking about, sweetheart? Is everything okay? Are you in pain?”

His brows furrowed in concern. One thing you admired about Rafe is that he always wanted to make sure you were okay. He was selfless and kind; a golden retriever in human form and you loved that about him. You knew those qualities made him a good doctor and moreso, a good person, a good man.

“I’m fine, I promise. I just got lost in my thoughts. I feel a little weird today, lots of emotions, y’know?”

You replied, giving him a genuine smile this time. He always brought them out of you – by simply just being.

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you I brought you breakfast and that you and I are going to go on a little field trip?”

He looked at you with bright eyes, eagerly anticipating your response and as the joy laced your features, he knew he’d do anything to watch that in slow motion over and over again.

“Is it my favorite?!”

You squealed in question and excitement, already knowing the answer. ‘He remembers things about me’, you thought.

“Of course it is, you know I gotta take care of my girl.”

He said, placing the chicken and mayo biscuit on the tray table in front of you. You looked down at the orange and brown Biscuit Co. wrapping paper it was covered in. Ever since Rafe had found out that you loved it as much as him, he made it his mission to bring you one at least once a week. He deemed it a treat for your progress in treatment. The words that had just come out of his mouth hit you in the same way your body flying through the windshield of your car had. The assault on all your senses made you freeze and your only response was the blush that filled your cheeks and a soft smile.

His girl? Is that what you were to him – were you his girl? Or, would he be just like everyone else if you were too close to him.

“Now, eat up – Big day today, sweet girl.”

He said, smiling at you – the Rafe Cameron one – the one you couldn’t get enough of.

“What’s so special about today?”

You questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Today is your first day out of the hospital with me.”

He said sweetly, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You frowned, anxiety filled you. He knew you well enough now to know it would trigger your fight or flight response – hence the biscuit.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’ll be there the whole time – we got this. It’ll be fun. You deserve some fun, don’t you think?”

“I-I don’t know, Rafe.”

You muttered.

“You do. Now, eat up and I’ll go get everything ready for us to go. Jenny is gonna help you get dressed okay? I had her get some clothes for you.”

He promised in return, a wink meeting your gaze before he kissed your cheek and disappeared from the room as quickly as he had entered.

“He’s a sneaky little fucker, isn’t he?”

Jenny blurted out, erupting in a belly laugh and suddenly there were crinkles beside your lashes as your smile met your eyes.

“That, he is – but, you know what he’s up to, don’t you?”

You questioned her, squinting your eyes in her direction.

“I don’t know a thing!”

She gasped, feigning shock as she placed her hand against her chest like you had shattered her heart. You could only laugh at her antics.

“Okay, but, seriously – is this okay? Can I trust him?”

You asked.

“Sweet girl, if there’s anyone you can trust – it’s him.”

Jenny replied, a sweet smile on her face. Your heart clenched at her words and you nodded shyly in response.

She moved around you to the chair adjacent to your bed where a pile of clothes lay waiting for you, quickly gathering them up in her hands before walking around the bed again and helping you lean forward. You aided her as best as you could with your left leg locked straight by the brace it was confined to. She started by reaching behind your neck as she helped you lean forward and gently untying the hospital gown that was draped over your top half. Her hands worked quickly and before you knew it, she was helping you into a bra and placing a UNC sweatshirt over your head. It was oversized and large, accommodating the injuries to your abdomen well. They were healing, but you wouldn’t be back to normal for a while. Jenni continued her work, tenderly removing the straps of the brace and lifting your leg out of it, taking the shorts that Rafe had provided for you and placing each of your ankles before she slid them up your legs as you sat there.

“Okay, sweet girl. I’m gonna put the brace back on and then I'll help you upright so we can pull your pants up.”

She spoke sweetly, encouraging you along the way. She knew how humiliating this was for people, she was no stranger to the reality of that. She worked as fast as she could, buckling you back into your prison before turning your body and letting your legs lower to the floor.

“Put your hands on my shoulders and don’t touch your injured leg to the ground, okay? Rafe will kill me otherwise.”

She joked, but you did as she said and watched in adoration as she manhandled you and helped you stand only on your healthy leg while she pulled your pants up around your hips.

“All done!”

She beamed emphatically at her hard work coming to fruition and just as the words left her lips Rafe entered the room.

“You ready, sweet girl?”

He questioned and you smiled kindly in response, giving him a slight nod.

—

Rafe had packed you safely in the backseat of his truck and he’d gone above and beyond, really. Though, you were sure maybe it was just the doctor in him that had you currently seated in luxury; your back leaned up against the back driver’s side door, a very fluffy pillow well above the regular hospital grade ones you were used to created a barrier between you, the window, and the plastic door handle. Your legs were laying straight out in front of you, the left one elevated by the same brand of fluffy pillow that your back leaned against. Rafe had thought of everything it seemed, you made a mental note of that as you watched your ice machine pump cool water onto the top of your knee.

“How are you feeling back there, pretty girl?”

He asked, turning down the radio and locking eyes with you in the rearview mirror. You gave him a soft smile, though the gravity of this being your first time in a vehicle since your accident weighed heavy on you.

“A little overwhelmed.”

You responded meekly and his eyes softened even more than their usual pouty, puppy-dog-like state, though you didn't even think that was possible prior to this moment.

“I know, sweetheart. Can you make it three more minutes? We’re about to pull in.”

He questioned you and you nodded in return, giving him a kind smile. Though he noticed it didn’t meet your eyes. Exactly three minutes and thirty-seven seconds later Rafe opened the door on the passenger side of the backseat. Your legs are met with the crisp autumn air and for the first time you realize that though it’s only been a few weeks since your accident, the world outside of your hospital room seems to be going on without you, without a second thought about you. Rafe can see how nervous you are in the murky waters of your eyes, so he does what he does best — he provides a distraction. That’s what he hopes this day will be. He hopes this day will give you a tiny fraction of the joy you deserve to feel. He’s only seen glimpses up close, but he knows how special you are. He knows you’re too good for him and far too good for this world.

“Hello beautiful!”

He greets you emphatically and you smile wide at him.

“Hi, again.”

You giggle in response.

“Sit tight, I'll get you out in just a sec.”

He says and you nod, watching him through the small window at the rear of the truck as he lifts the wheelchair from the bed of it and returns to your line of sight again.

“You ready, pretty girl?”

He asks and you nod, scooting toward him with the small amount of muscle on your right side that’s still able to help you in your movements.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

He coos, coaching you until you’ve slid your bottom to the middle of the bench of the back seat. Your breathing is labored when you’ve reached this point and his eyes soften at the sight. You’re trying so hard and you’re stronger than he could ever be, mentally and emotionally. So, again, he does what he does best – this time, swooping in to aid you.

“That’s good, you did so good. Let me do the rest, yeah?”

You nod in response to his question, though you know that it’s not really a question and that when it boils down to it, he would’ve done it anyways. His torso leans in to the inside of the truck and he places one hand under your knees and one around your shoulders.

“Put your hands around my neck, okay?”

He commands softly and you give him the reassurance he’s looking for with a nod. Before you know it, you’re airborne, leaning your head onto his shoulder for the brief moment before he places you down into the wheelchair. He kneeled down, adjusting the leg rest so your injured leg could sit comfortably, grabbing the pillow from the car and placing it underneath your injured limb. He stood and you smiled at him.

“Thank you, Rafe. You’re kinder than I deserve.”

You muttered, eyes casting down to where your hands rested on your legs. You were surprised as his thumb and forefinger met your chin, pulling your eyes toward his.

“One of these days, I'll prove to you that you deserve far more than I can give.”

He says, your chin still between his fingers, his thumb moving up to stroke your plump bottom limp. You look at him doe-eyed, struck with wonder at the fact that he’s saying it to you and not to some other beautiful girl, one more deserving of the kind of love that he has to offer. He’s so pretty, you think. Pretty eyes, pretty smile – pretty boy – your mind spouts out at your gazing.

“Let’s have a good day, yeah?”

He asks, bringing you back to earth. Your breath is caught in your throat, so you only manage a nod in response to him.

“Almost forgot.”

He said smiling, leaning into the passenger seat of his truck and grabbing a blanket before placing it over your legs and closing the doors of his vehicle. You were thankful.

—

The surprise couldn’t have been better, in fact, you’re glad you hadn’t known prior to this moment that Rafe had scored two tickets for a tour at a museum you’d only dreamt of seeing in person; the metropolitan museum of art. You’d meant to go so many times since you moved to New York, but sadly between your busy schedule as a teacher and your inability to time manage, you’d never made it. But, this – now, you’d managed it with a hunky boy at your side. You felt like you were dreaming as Rafe pushed you up the handicapped ramp. You admired the columns at the front of the entrance, its architecture something you’d seen photographs of for so many years, yet now, you realized they were truly larger than life, larger than you’d ever imagined. It made you feel uniquely human to gawk at the stone as it stood and as you smiled to yourself in reverence and awe at this day just as it began, Rafe knew he had done the right thing by bringing you here. You needed this — you needed joy.

You’d made it through admission quickly, the foyer of the building as beautiful as you had dreamed of. There were people bustling all around you as Rafe pushed you even further and further into the room. Your senses were almost lost underneath the bucket of chaos, but you looked up and for the first time saw the beautiful architecture of the foyer ceiling. It was something that again, you’d seen hundreds of photos of, but the beauty of seeing it in person was truly overwhelming. You were jolted from the thought as Rafe parked your wheelchair near the center of the room where a giant plant played the role of a centerpiece and benches sat just below it. He locked the wheels before kneeling in front of you.

“How’s your leg feeling, sweetheart? Do you need any medicine before we get started?”

He questioned, removing the blanket from your left leg to take a look at the swelling himself.

“The pain isn’t bad, I think the ice helped on the way over.”

You spoke, giving him a hopeful smile.

“How about some ibuprofen, then? Just to keep the swelling down.”

He questioned, his doctor mind working in overdrive even outside of the hospital to ensure your safety.

“Okay.”

You agreed, accepting the pills from his hand as he reached into the bag Jenny packed that lay draped across the bars of your chair and pulled out a water bottle for you to swallow it down with. You swallowed them smoothly, watching as Rafe gave your leg one more once over and fluffed the pillow it sat on before covering you with the blanket once again.

“Good girl. You ready?”

He asked, his smile meeting his eyes in excitement and you nodded, hoping you’d never forget what he looked like when he did that. When all this was over and you were no longer under his care, you hoped you’d never forget that smile.

—

Rafe pushed your chair forward into the first exhibit in your path, Van Gogh’s Cypresses, with a map of the museum in his hand. It was quiet between the two of you, uncertainty looming in the air of what the day would bring, if you’d let the other in. You didn’t make much of it, observing your surroundings as you were rolled forward. You’d heard about this exhibit coming to the museum in the form of an email newsletter from the met and you’d thought about coming so many times, but again, time got away from you. You were sure never to let that happen again once you were healed and the initial fear of living dissipated just as you knew it would. Your eyes traced over the painting; the stark contrast of the evergreen trees the exhibit was based around paired with the night sky sent chills down your spine.

“Do you know what Van Gogh found so remarkable about the cypress trees?”

You finally questioned him, breaking the silence as he parked your chair in front of a giant painting. Your eyes traced over it; the stark contrast of the evergreen trees the exhibit was based around paired with the night sky sent chills down your spine.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

He smirked, locking your wheels and kneeling down beside you, seeing it through your lens. He wanted to see everything through your lens. He looked to you with a pure smile, one you were sure that only he was capable of and you aren’t sure but you felt immense peace.

“Well, he found the trees beautiful and eternal and ethereal and much like most artists do, he looked to other art. But, noticed that no one had captured them quite the way he saw them. So, he set out on a mission to do it himself.”

He smiled at your analysis, knowing that your years of reading and teaching must’ve led you to this conclusion.

“I didn’t know that, thank you for teaching me something new.”

He replied and as sweet as his words were, you couldn’t help the shrill of embarrassment crawl up your spine, its force so strong, your body seemed to curl into itself where you sat.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

He asked, afraid you were in more pain than you were letting on. For a brief moment, he wondered if this outing was a mistake, if he was hurting you, rather than helping you for his own selfish motives.

“Nothing, I'm sorry if I sounded like a know-it-all. I have a bad habit of doing that. I’m sure you know lots about Van Gogh, you have a fucking medical degree for crying out loud.”

You stuttered out quickly and he couldn’t help but smile at how flustered you’d become.

“Hey — look at me.”

His voice is soft as he commands your attention and you follow his instructions.

“I might have a medical degree, but I don't know everything. In fact, there’s a lot I don’t fucking know – like an absurd amount. If it doesn’t have to do with bones or a joint, it’s actually quite foreign to me.”

He uttered, watching as your eyes moved back and forth over his face, like you were committing it to memory. Little did he know, you were.

“Listen to me. You and I, we’re both separate people with faults and quirks. We met by the brutality of the universe, right? I want you to forget about all of that. Today, I want you to forget about the accident, forget about our relationship, forget about the hospital. Today, we’re a girl and a guy at a museum. I know the contents of your medical chart, but I want to know what makes you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts, y/n. I want to know you. So, I’m gonna walk away for five minutes and when I come back, we’re going to start over, yeah?”

His words made a lump form in your throat, its width as big as a beach ball.

“Yeah.”

You whispered in response. You didn’t hear Rafe walk away but you knew that he had by the quiet amidst you in a room full of chatting people. The next thing that gave him away was the fact that his presence gave you a warmth that you couldn’t describe and in the short stent that he was away from you, you longed for it. You wondered if he’d come back at all.

“So, do you come here often?”

Your favorite voice boomed over your shoulder.

“U-Uh no, it’s actually my first time. You?”

You replied, a smile hiding behind your plump lips.

“I come about once a year. Can’t say I’ve ever seen the likes of your beauty here, though.”

He spoke and you giggled at the cheesy one-liner that he pulled out of his docket. For the first time since he’d returned you met his blue eyes.

“Are your pick-up lines that bad with everyone or am I getting special treatment?”

You asked him, chuckling. He wore a sly grin at your giggle. It was the first time he’d really seen you laugh and he was sure that he wanted it to keep happening – for forever.

“You’re getting celebrity treatment. I pulled that one from the deluxe package.”

You laugh boisterously in unison.

“So – very cheesy stranger, can I ask who you are?”

You questioned him.

“That’s a loaded question, pretty girl. But, here goes nothing. I’m the guy who smiles when it rains, thunderstorms help me sleep. Libraries are my safe haven. I went to college at UNC and moved here with my college sweetheart. My favorite author is John Steinbeck. I’m a doctor, I came from a broken home, my sister is my best friend, I hate anchovies, and I broke my hip in a motorcycle accident when I was fifteen.”

He replied.

“You had me at the anchovies. Nice to meet you, very-cute stranger boy. I’m y/n and I feel like I've known you my whole life.”

The words you uttered were like music to his ears.

“Tell me, y/n, who are you?”

He asks and your mouth tips up in a smirk.

“I'll tell you what, show me around your favorite places here and I'll tell you everything you want to know.”

You said with a smirk.

“Negotiator and briber. I love it. You got yourself a deal, beautiful girl.”

He replied, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, pushing your chair away from the Van Gogh exhibit and into the direction of art that was unknown to you. You were sure that no matter what, you never wanted to forget this moment, this purity, this bliss — no hospital rooms or surgeries or medicine, just you and the man you were falling in love with. Together.

—

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kquil · 17 hours ago

Text

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER EIGHT

08 : PASTRIES

CHPT. SUM. : Alpahard comes for a visit and you help the Belbys run their shop while Damocles focuses on the wolfsbane potion. Everything appears to be going as planned.

LENGTH : 9.7k

TAGS : OG Walburga is a scheming bitch ; Orion is an absent and neglectful father ; Alphard is a good uncle who loves his nephews ; Reader just girl bossing it ; Ruth and Damocles are couple goals ; Reggie finally being happy and very baby

CONTENT WARNING : talks of divorce

A/N : I'm posting this now to give it a week before I post the 9th chapter on February 1st -- you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little late on that update though because I'm currently out of commission from the most horrible cold/flu I've ever had (╥﹏╥) -- please send your thoughts and prayers because I haven't had a peaceful night's sleep the last two days and I swear this impromptu post is also a part of the delirium I'm experiencing

← PREV. 07 : INVESTIGATIONS | SERIES M.LIST

14th September 1971 | 12 Grimmauld Place

Walburga throws a fit, trapped in the abyss of your mind. She’s furious, seething from your menacing intrusions upon her life and secrets. It was frustrating and annoying beyond belief! The intricate web she had just begun to create was unravelling before her very eyes, and she could do nothing but watch! She had meant to secure a different future with her forming web; impervious to the imminent cycle of life she had witnessed that fateful day months ago. She had made one fatal mistake in all of her meticulous planning and preparation, labouring over an ancient ritual that would guarantee full obedience from her two boys. And, rather than force her mind and ideals over the thoughts and actions of her two sons before their fates began to set permanently, she was being made to fall under the thoughts and actions of another individual, you.

Being forced to watch you take over her shoes has been Walburga’s own personal hell. It’s far more painful knowing that she has no say over what you do. She’s limited to only watching, watching and agonising over her perfect plans being torn to shreds. The love and kindness you were showing her sons was unbecoming, going completely against her values on the way a mother should parent. It’s clear that you know nothing about how to raise two young boys born into the most ancient and noble house.

Walburga’s resentment grows and grows by the day. As a prisoner forced to share her identity and existence with someone who goes against her beliefs, it is unbelievably torturous. She screams ‘NO!’ and ‘STOP!’ at every offending action you take, all of which seem to be the exact opposite of her true self. Openly showing affection? Her sons will only grow clingy and burdensome. Being open to conversations? Growing boys should only speak when spoken to and not dare question the things being told to them for their own good. Cooking without magic? (Cooking at all!) There’s a house elf to fulfil that role. Thinking about your foreign behaviour has anger quickly bubbling up from her stomach. You’re so foolish!

But there was hope…

After every major fainting spell Walburga has induced, your unconscious body has left your thoughts and mind completely silent and open to her reclaim. Dwelling in the dark depths when all is silent, Walburga can feel a ticklish sensation from afar. And it only grows ever palpable after every major blackout. A wicked smirk touches her lips as she reaches forward and feels the wisps of connection between the floating space she was suspended in and the tangibility of the physical world.

One powerful, familiar thought moves her fingers a centimetre. It was small but a big step forward. The solid material she registers at the edges of her nerves -–the feeling of bedsheets atop a solid mattress— was alien in its distance and bizarre for its unfamiliar yet known sensation. It was like returning to something and your brain had yet to recognise the perception as one that was formally commonplace.

However, just as Walburga was wrapping her mind around that singular, grounding feeling, it was suddenly ripped away. Once again, she was surrounded by an empty coldness, suspended in an unfeeling space. Despite the frustration that quickly mounted inside her, it was accompanied by a resolve that plastered itself solidly in her chest, a determination to bide her time and remain patient. She will wreck terror and havoc when times are right and after she’s deteriorated your hold, she’ll regain full control once more.

It will only be a matter of time…

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

You wake up to a familiar scene and sigh sadly. The ringing in your head is a powerful one, an annoyance that makes the sun rays falling through the gaps of the curtains feel like a knife to your eyes. Reaching for your wand, a silent swish fills the gaps, shutting away the sun and reducing the sting in your eyes to something you can easily blink away. The curtains act like a filter for the light outside, partially bringing a soft, green radiance into the room.

At the sight of your youngest curled up against you once again, you lean down and affectionately kiss his crown, “I’m sorry, little love,” although you kept your voice to a quiet whisper, it’s enough to raise Regulus from the warm abyss of slumber. Your little prince sits up and rubs his eyes as you admire his adorable image.

“Good morning, my darling,” you comb his hair back from his tired eyes and lean close with a lowered, soft voice; an intimate moment between mother and son, “did I worry you again?” Regulus nods silently and launches himself into your arms as you apologise over and over.

The night before, Kreacher had been open about another blackout you’d experienced. And, although Regulus was grateful, he was anxious all night long. It never fails to make his heart jump to his throat. He remembers your still—far too still—body laying in bed, in a room entirely separate from his father’s. You look at peace but it wasn’t a comfort; you didn’t appear to simply be asleep, rather, you looked more deathly… he dreads to even think back on such thoughts. He’s only comforted by the sound of your steady heartbeat and soft breaths so he wastes no time in reaching for his blanket and sleeping beside you, close enough to hear the rhythm of your heart and the melody of your breathing.

“A-are you feeling sick?” that wasn’t the real question he wanted to ask, you can see the truth in his pleading, sweet eyes. Are you afflicted by some sort of incurable disease that cannot be stopped?

Regulus closes his eyes to savour the kiss you press into his forehead, “I’m perfectly healthy, my little love. Please don’t worry too much,” you pull away to cup his face tenderly in your hands and thumb over the softness of his cheeks.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” you nuzzle his nose with your own and the tense, fretful atmosphere is washed away by your shared giggles.

Kreacher soon appears with a tray of breakfast and another phial of magenta liquid. You eye the offending potion for a hard second but before you can groan, Kreacher is already lecturing you.

“Mistress must drink! Must must must!” he insists with beseeching eyes, urging the phial into your hands.

“Let me, at least, have some breakfast first, Kreacher,” you try to set aside the phial and reach for the breakfast tray instead while Regulus suppresses a laugh at the scene. He couldn’t believe his mother felt the same way about healing potions as wizarding children and newly appointed witches and wizards did. It was amusing to see a reflection of childishness in his mother, who had always been so cold and unfeeling.

“No!” Kreacher pulls the breakfast tray away from you, insistent on having you drink the potion before any food, “Potion first, Mistress!”

“FILTHY ELF! DISOBEYING COMMANDS! I TAUGHT HIM BETTER THAN THIS– LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO MY SERVANT!” Walburga’s shriek makes you wince, and Kreacher takes it as the sign to draw back and apologise for his loudness while Regulus balances comforting you and the spiralling house elf.

“Kreacher is deeply sorry, Mistress…” Kreacher suppresses his guilty thoughts in favour of his mistress’ well-being. Going into another one of his many anxious episodes won’t be helpful to you. “Please drink,” he cups his hands around your own to fold over the phial once more. His large, watery eyes, silently plead for you and lift in relief when you finally agree and down its disgusting contents.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” you smile at the elf who finally sets the breakfast tray on your lap above the covers.

“Mistress is w-w-welcome…” he stretches out the syllables of the unfamiliar word, appearing unsure over its usage but his tense shoulders immediately sag in relief as soon as he sees yours and Regulus’ kind smiles. You had been urging him to use the word for quite some time and are happy to see that he was finally confident enough to begin trying it. Hopefully, after this first try, he’ll be more confident in using it in the future. Sending you a thankful smile, Kreacher handles the empty phial and disappears after wishing you and his young master Regulus a good morning.

“Kreacher looks happy,” Regulus comments absentmindedly before taking a bite of toast. Once again, the two of you are sharing breakfast in bed and you lovingly wipe away stray crumbs from the corners of his smiling lips, “I like him even more when he’s like this!”

Melting from his sweet words and the brightness in his eyes, you nod in agreement, “Me too,”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Finally out of bed and roaming the house, you notice Orion’s missing jacket from the hallway coat rack and call for Kreacher.

“Master Orion asked for his healing potion, Mistress,” Kreacher shuffles his feet and wrings the hem of his shabby clothing between his hands. It appears that he too is uncomfortable with Orion’s reappearance, although, you suppose your husband had suffered long enough. Calculating the time in your head, you resist the urge to sigh sadly. Three days. The poor fool. You hoped he would have lasted longer than that but you suppose it was fun to see him suffer while it lasted. It was karma working its best under the hand of a spiteful wife.

“I see…” you patiently search for the house elf’s eyes before asking the important question, ”Did he say ‘please’?”

After a pause, Kreacher finally nods, “Eventually, yes, Mistress,” Kreacher looks unsure, probably remembering the tense exchange he had with the patriarch, however, it’s soon swept away by your smile and gentle pat against his bald and wrinkled head.

“Well done, Kreacher,” the house elf’s ears wiggle in glee and you see a shy smile creeping up from under his long nose.

18th September 1971 | Muggle London

“You’re excited,” you giggle at the sight of your youngest practically skipping along beside you.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Uncle Alphard. Sirius and I always love it when he comes over,” you smile at his response, happy to know that there was an adult figure he and Sirius felt safe around; Walburga and Orion were definitely not a safe place for themdespite being their parents. “I’m happy you two aren’t fighting anymore,” although Regulus beams up at you, you couldn’t muster an equally bright smile in return. What did that mean? You were positive that Alphard only got into a serious fight with Walburga when he supported Sirius running away at 16. Perhaps this was a lead-up to that?

“Me too, dear…” For the moment, you keep your questions to yourself. The books and movies kept the relationship between the Black family rather vague so you’ll pick up the clues along the way. For now, it’s better to focus on your darling son and the precious memories you’ll make despite the modest outing to the French bakery. “What do you think we should have for afternoon tea with your uncle? Hm? I’m thinking of English breakfast,”

“That sounds great, mother!”

“And for snacks? What would you like to have on the menu?”

“Butter scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam,”

“Of course, a classic. Anything else?”

“Chouquettes, Macarons, Eclairs, Madeleines, Mille Feuille, Profiteroles!” all French baked goods.

“Goodness,” you exaggerate your reaction and smile at the light giggles it draws from Regulus, “All of our teeth will be falling out by the end. How about we include some finger sandwiches too? We can buy fresh bread and assemble them at home,”

“No crusts?” Regulus asks without hesitation and your heart warms; you love knowing he feels safe and secure enough with you to speak freely.

“It’s the only time crusts are not allowed,” you wink and silently awe at how his beaming smile seems to get even wider. Many depictions of Regulus made him a stoic and cold character but seeing his bright disposition and childish mannerisms was a delight. You prefer him like this. And you want to keep him this way forever, such a motherly sentiment. All you have to do is make sure he doesn't feel forced to abide by the toxic pureblood family rules and beliefs. Instead, you will gently nurture his interests, gently guide him whenever he feels lost and make sure he always feels supported. And you will do the same for Sirius.

Happy and content, the two of you walk into a lovely French bakery with high spirits. The warm atmosphere and welcoming fragrance of freshly baked goods leave you both enraptured and salivating at the mouth – it was hard to resist not getting a bit of everything. Together, you pick out the best-looking pastries to box up before selecting a loaf to be pre-cut and packaged for your convenience. The bakery staff were very helpful and were more than happy to oblige with every request. They also lovingly cooed over Regulus, who partially hid behind your long skirt, though this only seemed to make them all the more awed by him. His softly spoken gratitude was what had pushed them over the edge, and you could only laugh as they offered an extra macaron for him. Regulus was a very sweet boy and looked very much like a prince, so you didn’t blame them for their swooning.

“They liked me, Mother,” Regulus shyly addresses as you make your way home. He holds the wrapped-up, pre-cut loaf under one arm as his other holds onto your spare. As a gentleman, he insisted on carrying both the boxed pastries and loaf but you argued against it, insisting on wanting to hold his hand; the equally shared burden was your compromise. You think it was the best option, really — the best of both worlds.

“As they should, my baby has all the irresistible charms,” your open praise makes him shy into the folds of your skirt once more and you suppress an adoring coo.

“You really think so, Mother?”

“I know so, little love. I’m confident in this for your brother too,” you fake an exasperated sigh, “I’m going to have my hands full in the future. You two are going to be such heartbreakers, I’ll have girls constantly knocking on my door with tears in their eyes,”

Regulus giggles as he looks up from your waist, eyes sparkling from your playful antics, “I won’t do that to you Mother, I promise,”

“But it’s not about intention, you see,” you eye him with a kind smile, “when someone falls in love, they fall in love, there’s no saying ‘no’ to it. And with two very handsome, exceptional sons, well…” you let his thoughts silently complete the rest of your sentence and resist reacting to the adorable pout that forms on his lips.

“I’m very sorry, in advance, Mother,” his sincerity draws out a laugh but you’re filled with pride, regardless. Honesty is a great trait to have.

“That’s very sweet of you, thank you, darling,”

In anticipation of Alphard’s arrival, you and Regulus help Kreacher make finger sandwiches and brew the tea. The closer the time ticks to two in the afternoon, you ask Regulus to help you prep the tiered dish rack while Kreacher dresses the teapot with a tea cosy. By the time Alphard arrives via floo network, the reception room is already well prepared, clean and proudly displaying a delicious tea spread.

“Uncle Alphard!” Regulus cheers and launches himself at the square-jawed man who steps out of the green blaze, exiting your fireplace. He is smartly dressed in a black three-piece suit and polished oxford shoes. His hair is gelled back in a flattering style of frame for his handsome face — straight nose, shapely lips, piercing eyes and level brows. It makes you wonder if he was dressed in his work attire or not. Tea should be a comfortable occasion, especially when hosted by family, for family. What did he even work as?... You hardly know anything about the man, so you have to keep yourself alert to any potential hiccups you may accidentally let slip. You’re supposed to be his elder sister, after all, you should know more about him than his name.

“Good afternoon, Regulus,” Alphard grins at his nephew after visibly shaking off his shock. Never before had he seen his youngest nephew so high-spirited. Their greetings were also usually much more formal than this, distant and dispassionate. This type of behaviour was strongly discouraged by his sister, so the sudden change was rather suspicious. Alphard, however, wanted to believe in Regulus’ sincerity for the sake of such a sweet boy. He instinctively looks around for Sirius but remembers all too quickly that the eleven-year-old was in Hogwarts for his first year, hence the primary topic of his arrival.

“Welcome, younger brother,” you smile warmly at him, ignoring the look of surprise that he doesn’t attempt to cover up. At least he manages to dip his head in a hesitant nod of acknowledgement, “Let's head to the reception then shall we? Orion won’t be joining us, I’m afraid,” you don’t see it but Alphard releases a muted sigh of relief, easily veiling his real emotions by smiling warmly at Regulus, who walks close beside him.

All furniture that occupies the reception room stylistically matches one another. They’re all made of dark walnut wood, embellished with elegant silver accents and dark green leather. The central table has a dark leather sofa on one side and two grandfather chairs with swirling arms on the other. There’s a decorative fireplace on one side of the room with a drab oil painting hanging above the mantle and the only light source is from the open window, occupying the far right wall upon entering.

“Can I sit next to Uncle, Mother?” Regulus politely asks, not wanting to separate from his uncle but also not wanting to make you feel excluded.

“You can sit wherever you wish, little love,” you smile softly, sitting in an armchair and watching as Regulus eagerly pulls Alphard to sit on the sofa with him. Your youngest is already chatting his uncle’s ear off about the snacks featured on the tiered dish rack. This then led him to talk about your morning visit to the bakery, where he had charmed the staff to offer an extra macaron.

They ‘really liked him’ and now his ‘mother is very worried’, why? Because he’ll ‘become a heartbreaker one day’. Alphard listened intently, still shocked but eager to listen to his nephew who he had never seen so bright and secure. Every few seconds, however, Alphard would look towards you for signs of any rising anger or frustration, compounding into an explosive outburst. He was familiar with that. He was familiar with your disapproval. However, there wasn’t a single trace of any negative emotion on your countenance. Rather, your eyes were full of affection and warmth, directed at Regulus while sipping your tea, silently listening to their exchange. Never before had he seen his eldest sister look so… content.

Pausing for breath, Regulus finally remembers the occasion and flushes adorably. His face is much rounder, healthier looking, Alphard notices and is shocked when you allow him to have a small plate to pile on his share of the delicious selection of goodies on the tiered dish. The majority of which were rather sweet to taste. He didn’t know his sister to be one who encouraged the regular consumption of sugar because you would only allow it for special occasions such as Yule and birthdays. Not wanting to startle his nephew, however, Alphard bites his tongue and distracts his racing thoughts by pouring his tea.

“Milk and sugar?” Alphard asks, bewildered at the options freely offered on the coffee table. You had long forbidden milk and sugar to be part of afternoon tea after finding how his tastes had affected your two sons’ preferences.

“Of course,” you voice as if he had been crazy to question you, “everyone is free to make their tea however they wish,”

Alphard follows Regulus’ lead and freely makes his tea… just the way he likes it. With lots of sugar and lots of milk. If you were going to test him, he was going to test you right back and readily anticipate your outward, shrieking protests. However, there were no shrill screeches or ear-splitting lectures over how muted, milky and sugary he liked to have his tea. Rather, Alphard, heard you giggle. His older sister. Giggling? The world must be coming to a terrifying end! Slack-jawed he looks up and stares wide-eyed at your cheerful smile.

“I see you and Regulus have similar preferences in tea,” Alphard shares a sheepish look with his nephew, “How refreshing. It makes me wonder how good it must taste for the both of you to enjoy tea the way you do,” another giggle.

Regulus happily offers his cup, “You can try some of mine if you want, Mother,” Smiling at his nephew’s kindness, Alphard is even more awed by your drastic change in behaviour.

“That’s very sweet of you, little love, thank you. But, how’s about I finish my cup first and I’ll see about having a sip of yours if you have any left?”

“Alright!”

The happy atmosphere wasn’t something Alphard was used to, especially not from his older sister. However, he was grateful for his nephew’s happy disposition. His sister’s strict education and harsh manner of child-rearing left plenty of room for worry but, no matter what seems to have changed, provided that his nephews stay happy and safe, Alphard would happily keep his many questions to himself. Perhaps this was maternal instincts finally taking over. He dare not interrupt by drawing attention to it.

When there’s a lull in the conversation and everyone takes a sip of their tea or a bite of their selected treat, you begin to investigate the relationship between the original Walburga and Alphard. You weren’t impervious to Alphard’s shocked expressions in your periphery; admittedly, it was admirable of him not to make a scene out of his staggering surprise at your ‘odd’ behaviour. It’s fair for him to believe you’re still his original, bigoted sister. You can only speculate that he wasn’t drawing attention for Regulus’ sake and you admire him for that.

“Alphard,” he hums in acknowledgement, setting down his cup and reaching for a madeleine, “how is your work?” your question makes him visibly freeze up but the moment he realises Regulus is watching, he smoothly eases back into normal, less robotic motions.

“It’s been well,” you can tell he wants to leave it at that, satisfied to leave the topic there. However, you were not and kept silent, quietly pushing him into answering further, “...the office has been operating normally. My client is dealing with a relatively common case of discrimination based on pregnancy at the workplace,” he’s a solicitor then. And practising mostly in employment law, it seems. “And before you say anything about women needing to better plan their pregnancies and how a woman needs to be at home with her husband rather than working, I want to remind you of the company,” his voice is firm and he’s plainly referring to Regulus being present, therefore dubbing the subject matter sensitive. However, his insinuations on the original Walburga’s dogmatist beliefs make you visibly disgusted and it pulls on his interest. Never had he seen his sister look so abhorrent to the views he knew she supported.

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort. I appreciate that you’re doing good work for the people who need it—”

“Even for a half Veela?”

“Everyone deserves to be fairly represented in a court of law, dear brother. And please don’t interrupt me again, Regulus should find quality, male influence in his uncle, please demonstrate the appropriate, good manners for him,” Alphard is surprised by your sharp eyes and firm demand. You had always been demanding but never to this degree, never to such a reasonable degree, and never without raising your voice. Yet, your voice has remained level, only adjusting for firmness.

How odd… Alphard doesn’t know whether to laugh mockingly at your hypocrisy or dare to feel hope for the positive change he’s beginning to see in his sister.

“...I apologise,” Alphard nods to you before turning to Regulus, “I didn’t set a good example Reg, I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay Uncle,” Regulus beams up at him, happy to be referred to by the affectionate nickname his uncle hadn’t been able to call him in many months.

“Why not ‘Reggie’?”

“I’m sorry?” Alphard looks genuinely perplexed by the change in behaviour. You had always strongly reprimanded him for daring to call your sons by any affectionate nicknames as you wanted your boys to stay faithful to their full birth name — it was a source of pride, after all. To be named after the stars and be in the most ancient and noble house, their names were sacred and it was a mockery to shorten despite it being done with affection. But now you were supporting it?

“‘Reggie’ is a cuter nickname,”

“Reg is good— cute enough, it’s short and sweet,”

“But Reggie is cuter than Reg,”

“Both are cute,”

“...Reggie is cuter, though,”

“Let’s agree to disagree. I will keep calling him Reg and you call him Reggie,” the boy in question was a healthy shade of red now. For a lighthearted argument to centre around him like this wasn’t what he anticipated happening but he was happy to see his mother and uncle getting along harmoniously. Not once have they raised their voices or forced the other to leave the room in a huff. This was nice… Sirius would have really liked this. Maybe Regulus should send another letter, even if his brother has yet to reply to his previous one.

“What nickname do you call Sirius?” you ask, voice soft and eager to continue the topic of your sons. This was another new side Alphard was seeing to you, his usually cold and unfeeling sister had never been one to perpetuate gossip surrounding her sons, and yet, now you were so eager to— and on a topic that is so innocuous and unproductive. But it was a good change, one that he’s sure will be a good influence on his beloved nephews.

“Siri,”

“That’s perfect,” you smile into the lip of your teacup and sip, “we can agree on that front,” Alphard actually manages to chuckle and nod along. He had prepared himself for a harsh and loud argument, not this but he dare not complain; this was a very pleasant surprise. He even dares to feel confident in re-addressing a long taboo topic.

“...You feel I do good work as an employment lawyer?” he begins, hesitant, his hands beginning to shake. The suddenly nervous man opts to set his cup down and wipe the sweat from his hands along his trouser-covered thighs.

“Of course,” you wonder where the conversation is going.

“And what of my extracurriculars too?” he avoids your eyes and your mind flashes with a memory of a young Alphard nervously standing before his elder sister, his small hands curled into fists on his knee-length shorts. This man is your younger brother now. However, you can’t help but think that Walburga cared deeply for him despite their strained relationship, judging from the fond memory that had flashed behind your blinking eyelids. In the depths of your mind, you imagine she still likens him to his much younger, toddler self, an endearing but common trait in an older sister.

“Extracurriculars?”

“My voluntary work with the less fortunate, typically with other magical beings,”

You frown when you finally realise what had caused the strain between brother and sister. Walburga had belittled and strongly protested against a man who only did good. A man of justice. This was the man who favoured Sirius in the original timeline because they shared the same sense of justice and the need to rebel against their bigoted family.

“I’m sorry Alphard,” you look into his eyes with such sincerity that Alphard feels as though he could cry. He had grown up admiring his sister but the instant he had begun to think for himself and see the unfairness of her skewed views, he swears he had felt his first ever heartbreak. His sister, who he had loved and admired so much, who he thought of as an amazing person was not who he thought she was and the revelation was earth-shattering. It broke his heart all the more when he saw his younger brother Cygnus follow in her footsteps. “I’m sorry for all the past unsavoury comments I said to you about your profession, and on what you have chosen to do with your life and beliefs. I was wrong, the way I thought of the world was wrong. I’m truly sorry for who I was before. And I want to assure you that I am no longer that person. I think what you’re doing is truly wonderful and this world needs more people like you in it. My boys need a good uncle like you to help raise them with good values and sense for the world,”

Alphard looks at Regulus, eyes wide with shock, his mind reeling and needing something to ground him, to confirm that the shock he was feeling was reasonable, but to hope for the best and to trust in his sister’s words again was feeling too much at that moment. All he needed was Regulus’ reassuring smile, and that was exactly what his young nephew faced him with, as if to say ‘It’s alright uncle, you can rest assured now,’.

“Why….” Alphard slowly turns his attention back to you, “why did you change your mind?”

You smile to yourself, “For my sons, of course. They deserve the world, the least I can do is be a good mother to them,

“You’re the best mother in the world!” Regulus protests as your eyes humbly close.

“Let’s not lie to ourselves and completely forget what has happened. I have hurt many people with the way I used to act, for believing in the things I used to believe. What’s worse is that I have hurt those most dear to me and those who I should have taken better care of… I’m very sorry Alphard, I don’t think I’ll be able to express how truly apologetic I am. It wasn’t right of me to hurt you that way,”

Blinking back tears, Alphard musters a crooked smile, his voice slightly shaky but his heart light and chest warm, “Apology accepted, dear sister,”

“You said you wanted to talk about something important, little brother?” you wanted to move on from the topic, but Alphard no longer knew if he had the right to express his worry. After witnessing your change in demeanour first-hand, the weight on his shoulders was finally lifted, and his chest didn’t feel so heavy.

“...after the sorting ceremony, I was worried about Sirius and Regulus – they are my nephews, after all. I wasn’t confident in their safe treatment at home,” Regulus looks to his uncle with an appreciative smile, earning an affectionate ruffle of his hair.

Smiling softly, you take his implicit criticism with grace. It wasn’t even your doing but you move forward with it anyway, “thank you for worrying about them but, as I said, I am a changed woman,”

Alphard smiles into his teacup and hums in contentment, “I can see that… I’m glad – you’re also no longer against my profession and my extracurriculars. The moment you accepted my request to come over for tea, I was somewhat relieved but getting to see your change myself was even more of a relief,”

“I’m sorry again, for the past. I don’t know what on earth was the matter with me,” your slight jab at the original Walburga has the witch throwing a muted tantrum in the back of your mind. It’s quite hard to resist smiling wickedly at how easy it is to rile her up.

“No matter…the past is in the past,” Regulus nods and readily agrees.

“I’m really happy Sirius got into Gryffindor. In his letters, he says how happy and at home he feels there,” Regulus’ eyes shine with such pride, it was easy to smile with him. Alphard is comforted by the thought of his eldest nephew having a good start away from home and, atop that, being supported by his mother and brother. He holds no hope for Orion however, many of those in the family have heard of his inappropriate behaviour at Hogwarts. It was unbecoming from the patriarch of the most ancient and noble house. That was why many assumed why he had not made any public appearances at the Wizengamot for a few days, using sickness as an excuse in his letters to the office.

“Which Hogwarts house would you like to join, Reg?” Alphard asks, curious. Judging from your displays of changed temperament and child-rearing, he assumes and hopes his youngest nephew no longer admires the idea of going to Slytherin as he’s known his sister and Orion to have ceaselessly enforced onto the two.

Growing shy, Regulus looks to his lap and picks at his fingernails nervously, “I don’t know… as long as I’m happy and feel at home, that’s all that matters, right, Mother?” Regulus looks to you for assurance and smiles when you nod with fondness in your eyes. A slight tension leaves Regulus’ small shoulders immediately and he settles back into the sofa with a silent sigh of repose, Alphard following closely behind his nephew. What a relief.

The interactions and conversations with you have been quite a shock but in the most pleasant sense. Alphard no longer felt his fingers tensing at the thought of writing a letter to his eldest nephew. They had already exchanged some letters and Alphard was concerned that the assurance within Sirius’ written words was nothing but something to cover up the tensions at home from his sorting ceremony. What a relief to know that it was all true. Sirius did feel happy, he did feel supported and he did miss home. If Alphard’s own mother acted the way you did, with soft affection, fond eyes and a warm touch, he would miss home too.

Light conversation and the peaceful atmosphere continued until Regulus had to do his scheduled piano practice. Regulus politely excused himself while Alphard stared in wide-eyed confusion and awe as another miracle played out before him: you showing open affection for your son by kissing his forehead in front of company before he promptly left for his piano. A silence draws out as you wait for the distant sounds of piano playing to continue your conversation. This time, however, you aim to finally put your central plan into action, one that you were finally seeing the answers to when Alphard revealed his profession.

“What do you specialise in as a solicitor again?” you begin.

“Employment law, sometimes corporate and civil law too,” Alphard states nonchalantly, closely examining your face, his heart beating faster at the implications of your lack of a strong reaction. He supported the change in you but you can tell that he has yet to fully believe in the dream world that was playing out before him.

At the sudden look of worry on your features, Alphard leans forward with concern, “What’s wrong?"

Sighing heavily, you set down your teacup and lean back, "Do you know anyone working in Family law?”

“Naturally…” he answers, his silence carrying a question as he stares at you with a raised brow.

“I want a marital separation from Orion… and I want to take the kids – it’s not safe for them here with him around,”

Alphard nods and immediately begins to hatch a plan. It was a natural mode of work he had refined throughout his years as a solicitor, “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave…and I think I may know of someone who you can talk to. They’re a half-blood specialising in family law, who actively pushes for similar laws being passed for muggles to be transitioned into the wizarding world,”

That sounded like the perfect lawyer for you, “I would really appreciate that Al, thank you,” you say the nickname without thinking and are ready to rush out an apology but stop in surprise when you see the warm smile on Alphard’s face.

“You haven’t called me Al in years… you must really want to leave your husband,” he teases, trying to distract from his choked-up voice and tear-filled eyes. You laugh airily and nod as he joins, the happy atmosphere contagious between you. This was the type of relationship Alphard had always wanted with his sister. It was a shame that it only came about now when you’re actively experiencing rough times at home with Orion.

Before leaving, Alphard goes to Regulus, momentarily interrupting his piano practice to say goodbye. His youngest nephew insists on escorting him to the fireplace with you to properly wave him off and he doesn’t protest. That was the first time Regulus had ever seen his mother and uncle wave goodbye happily, sharing a warm smile and promising to see each other again soon.

This would definitely be worth writing another letter to Sirius.

6th October 1971 | Belby’s Potions and Ingredients

“Thank you again for helping out my husband and me,” Ruth smiles softly at you, setting aside her embroidery momentarily, not wanting to draw too much attention to her weak, shaking hands.

“It’s not a problem at all,” you look over to where Regulus’ legs were sticking out from where he sat examining some bottled potions, unable to help your smile as you and Ruth sat behind the counter together, “I’m only sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I’m afraid I can’t trust Regulus to be home alone even with his tutor Peony as a deterrent,” Ruth’s brows furrow at the implication of your words and reaches for your hand as a silent comfort. It isn’t the right time to pry into your home life, Regulus was such a happy child and she knows it’s all because of you; you’re doing your best to protect him as a mother should and that was good enough to you it seemed. In the meantime, she’s satisfied with offering a quiet consolation.

“You’re doing more than enough,” the two of you share a small, knowing smile and you thank the gods for Ruth’s kind and gentle disposition. It’s been rather lonely despite you having the best sons to look after. You’ve often found yourself aching for a friendship and you’re confident you’ve found one in Ruth.

“Thank you, Ruth,”The shop bell rings as a customer strolls in and greets you at the counter, “Good afternoon, do you happen to have any dried nettles?” you greet the man kindly and readily offer your help.

“You can find them in the second aisle down and can have your pick between whole leaves or the powdered sort,” you helpfully offer your guidance while Ruth returns to her embroidery.

The man thinks to himself for a moment, “Which would be more effective for umm…curing boils?” he looks rather bashful at the confession but you provide no judgment. Thinking for a moment and giving Damocles’ simplified shop notes a look through, you finally give the anxious man his answer.

“Both are equally effective. Only the crushed nettles mean for a quicker brewing time as they will turn the potion green much quicker,” the man nods along to your suggestions, eyes slightly shifty, probably eager to brew his boil curing potion at home, “Or you can purchase the potion itself, and save yourself the trouble,” a relieved laugh escapes the man.

“I’ll go for that then!”

“You’ll find the potion on the back wall, it should be blue,” he nods eagerly and thanks you before rushing to the back wall of the shop.

“Goodness, you’re a natural potions shopkeeper,” Ruth giggles beside you, her eyes tired but full of life.

“Why thank you, madam,” you bow at the waist exaggeratedly and grin, “I’ve actually been reading up on some potion books so that I can be of some help for Damocles,” Ruth tucks her chin in and bashfully avoids your eyes.

“It’s so very kind of you to help someone like me,”

“None of that,” you tut and hold her hand in the same comforting way she had held yours mere moments ago, “You are not allowed to refer to yourself in such a way, you hear?” Ruth is hesitant but nods anyway. You guess it’s her attempt at not causing a fuss but you’ll accept it.

The man returns with the boil curing potion at hand and the purchase is done smoothly. You have to hand it to the glamour you placed on yourself; without it, you’re sure many customers would leave without so much as taking more than two steps in the door — you wouldn’t have been any help to the Belbys at all. Wanting to protect Regulus’ identity as well, you’ve also fixed him with a glamour too and ensured you still look like mother and son.

“I see that you’re looking rather well despite it being only one day after the full moon,” you comment, brightening Ruth’s expression with a smile.

“Damocles is incredible!” her eyes sparkle as she talks proudly of her husband’s achievements, “The recent changes he’s made to the potion have made it so that I don’t feel as anxious during my time under so I don’t feel as mentally exhausted atop being physically drained. I think he said something about a stone. A wishing stone?”

You hum and nod in understanding, “the moonstone then,” she confirms with a soft gasp of remembrance, “That’s wonderful news, Damocles must be really happy,”

“Yes, but he is not yet satisfied…” she huffs and scowls, however, her delicate features don’t make the emotion appear quite as menacing on her face; she makes it look rather sweet actually, “I swear that man adores being sleep deprived and overworked. It’s worrying…”

“Maybe that’s his real aim,” you wink at her perplexed appearance, “I’m sure it’s healing to the soul for a man to experience his beautiful wife’s sincere worries for his well being,”

Ruth blushes a deep red and looks away, but you still manage to see the smile playing on her lips, “oh you!” The two of you giggle together as Regulus comes bounding over with a grin on his face, holding up a small sprig of dried lavender that’s tied together at the stems with a rough string.

“Mother, this smells lovely, you should smell it too,” he holds up the lavender and watches eagerly as you lean on the counter to smell it.

“You’re right, it smells very soothing,”

“I want our house to smell like it,”

“Oh? That’s easily done,” you turn to Ruth with a smile, “would it be okay to purchase your entire stock?”

Ruth’s jaw drops, “You want our entire stock? B-But that’s so costly!” if Ruth’s jaw could have dropped any lower, it would have dropped to the floor when you merely shrugged your shoulders. As if buying an entire stock of one ingredient didn’t put a dent on your finances.

“We have a rather big house and Reggie wants our whole house to smell like lavender, so we need everything you have,”

Regulus smiles as you both turn to him, “It really is a very nice smell,” Ruth can’t say no to you both and smiles gratefully. She knows your hidden motive. You were already helping the couple so much but you couldn’t just stop there, you also had to purchase from them too.

“May I, at least, offer a family friend discount?” Ruth barters and watches as you turn to Regulus to ask for his opinion.

“Should we accept, Reggie?” you tilt your head thoughtfully, “Should we accept paying less for this hard-working couple’s labour?” Regulus shakes his head ‘no’.

“That wouldn’t be fair Mother, nor polite,”

“Spoken like a true gentleman,” Regulus beams up at you and Ruth awes at the young boy’s innocence, “How is my son so well mannered?” it was supposed to be a teasing remark but Regulus, accustomed to your teasing now, is quick to reciprocate with his own.

“It's because I have you, Mother!”

“Oh!” you heat up at the cheeks, “I think I’ve taught you some bad habits, Reggie,” Regulus doesn’t deny the statement and laughs with Ruth at your flustered expression.

Once Damocles finally decides to take a break from brewing in the back room and analysing his previous notes, he sits beside Ruth and leans his head against her shoulder. But not before softly kissing her cheek. It was a timely break as no customers came to purchase anything and there was a quiet lull in the shop’s activities. Wanting to give the couple some privacy, you take the time to go on a small mission with Regulus, similar to the bakery run you did for his uncle Alphard. This time, however, those baked goodies will be for Ruth and Damocles. They both deserve some good tea and snacks. You try not to take too long and opt for only a small collection of pastries, some sweet and some savoury as you don’t know their preferences.

“I hear you’re purchasing our entire stock of lavender without our prestigious family-friend discount,” Damocles presses as soon as you and Regulus return, avoiding the temptation of the pastries you had brought back.

“The lavender smells really nice,” Regulus explains, “and I thought it would be good for the house to smell like it,”

“Precisely, Damocles,” you grin when you see the potioneer’s eyes soften at your youngest’s beaming smile. “I only want to fulfil my Reggie’s wishes. And I also agree that the lavender smells lovely,”

“A-at least let us offer the discounted price,“ he’s almost pleading.

“Nonsense,” you huff and cross your arms with slightly narrowed eyes, though not too threatening, “are you saying I can’t afford to pay full price?”

“O-of course not, Lady—”

“Then I’m paying full price and that's final.”

Damocles falls back into the chair you had once occupied as Ruth comfortingly rubs his shoulder, “I told you it was no use arguing, dear,”

“I suppose not…” Damocles looks at you with searching eyes before huffing a laugh and shaking his head. “Alright then, since you’re so insistent,”

“Wonderful! Now, you two need to eat, I’ll brew some tea in the back. Do you like French Earl Grey?” you ask, moving to the backdoor as Damocles lifts Regulus onto the counter.

“We don’t have french earl grey?”

“I bought you some while I was out,” the couple shake their heads in disbelief once more before Regulus pulls away their attention by running through the collection of goodies you’d both purchased. The French early grey you had brewed was a new taste to the couple, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one.

“Is that rose?” Ruth asks with wondrous eyes as Damocles smiles beside her, lovingly admiring her sweet expression.

“Yes, french early grey adds rose petals to the blend. Do you like it?”

“Very much,” Ruth beams and takes another long, savouring sip while Damocles leans over and whispers that it’s one of her favourite essences to have in anything palatable.

“And she loves Turkish delight,”

You can tell that Damocles didn’t want to take a break for too long, his eyes often drifting to his backroom door and his fingers twitching uneasily on his lap. If it weren’t for Ruth, you don’t think he would have allowed himself to finish his tea or his pastry. But thanks to his loving wife, he was willing to reach for a second and third pastry. The entire time, Damocles was drawn all the more to her, often checking her likeness for the pastries she wanted to try in the small spread, even offering her several bites of his own. He also worried often for her health and well being, always being the first to jump in making her feel more comfortable, either by fetching a blanket to keep her fragile frame warm or pillows to keep her posture upright. They’re truly a match made in heaven, you’ve never seen a more compatible pair. And you’re happy Regulus was a witness to it all. Seeing their close bond and equally loving dynamic would help enforce in his mind what healthy relationships look like.

“When you finish your break and before you return to brewing, may I have a word in private with you, Damocles?” you ask, partway through your pleasant tea break.

“Of course,”

As you step aside with Damocles, he’s already launching into an oration of gratitude. There’s clear appreciation in his eyes and stance as well as his words. “I’ve been able to get a hold of ingredients I couldn’t even dream of working with. I can’t even begin to express how life-changing your help is to both me and Ruth, thank you. I actually have some hope that I can manage to pull this off,” he laughs to himself humbly, in disbelief of his own words.

“I have full faith in you, Damocles. I know you can do it, the boundless love you have for your wife will ensure that you succeed,” he blushes slightly at your words but doesn’t deny anything.

“I haven’t been able to send you the updated reports yet, would you like to take the duplicate notes from my lab?”

“I’d appreciate that but I have something I want to talk to you about first,” Damocles nods, reminded of your earlier request and the reasoning behind it, “I just wanted to ask what you plan on doing after you’re successful with the potion,”

His voice goes quiet but his smile is beaming, “You really have that much faith in me?”

“Yes, I do,” your voice is stern as the potioneer’s eyes grow slightly distant, looking over your shoulder where Ruth is happily chatting with Regulus, who remains seated atop the counter still in his glamours, “You’re the only other person who’s believed in me so strongly other than my wife– not even my own family…”

You pat his shoulder comfortingly, “You’re an incredible potioneer and you adore your wife, I know you’ll go through the ends of the earth for her alone, you can make this potion work for her,”

Damocles nods with a grateful smile and finally answers your earlier question, “In all honesty, I haven’t given it much thought… the natural direction I’d go with the potion would be to present my findings to the ministry so that it may be mass-produced and given to werewolves in need of it,”

You’re shaking your head in disagreement before he could even finish his thoughts, “I strongly argue against that,” your words strike confusion in the potioneer. He’s sure his findings would prove helpful to many werewolves and you can see the belief in his eyes but do your best to convince him otherwise. It’s important that he knows where you stand in all this so that you bring him to the same level and see eye to eye on the matter.

“Do you know about the werewolf code of conduct?”

“Yes, of course,”

“It requires registering as a werewolf to the ministry and vowing to never bite any innocents and locking yourself away during every transformation,” you begin to explain, gauging where his knowledge stands.

“I know that,”

“And do you know anyone who happily registered as a werewolf to the ministry?” Damocles can’t answer confidently, rather, he stays silent. “Did Ruth register? Would you like her to?”

“…N-no…” Damocles hated that he couldn’t trust in the ministry but they‘ve proven nothing when it comes to the protection and fair treatment of other magical creatures, especially werewolves.

“I know the plan I want to carry out will only further perpetuate the stigma against werewolves and lycanthropy but the ministry has already proven that they cannot be trusted or relied upon in the matters of lycanthropes. I am, at least, confident in providing some help, do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” his voice doesn’t waver and you smile.

“You’ll be sacrificing a great reward, I’m afraid,”

“How so?”

“Surely discovering a treatment for lycanthropy will grant you an Order of Merlin as a reward…”

“I don’t care, so long as my wife is safe and happy and as long as we can actually help people like her, I’m willing to follow your plan,” as before, his voice doesn’t waver and you’re confident in his words. He’s a good man.

“Then it shall be!” you share a firm handshake. If only Harry had met an adult as capable and reliable as Damocles… you’re sure he wouldn’t require such dependence in the future, however, not in the future you’ll be creating, at least. And you’ll make sure of the same for his parents and all their friends —- all characters you love and wish only the best for. And it’ll all start with your two beautiful sons.

9th October 1971 | 12 Grimmauld Place

Tucked away in your home office, you look over the notes you’ve made on your current plans, avoiding the pages you’ve filled with notes on the secret parlour only for the Black family ladies’ use. You know it’s something you’ll need to confront very soon, in the meantime, however, you were perfectly occupied by current projects you were hard at work on.

Damocles sent you the report he duplicated from his most recent findings and Ruth’s improved condition following the full moon. Not only was he a loving and dedicated man with a passion for potion making, but he was also brilliant in his report writing. He kept his notes concise and easy to read by providing clear categories of the specific things he wanted to track. From your side of the research, reading up on potions from the Black family library, you had written him a letter back with suggestions on how to make the potion more potent. One such suggestion was his use of the Mandragora, Mandrakes. Rather than mandrake leaves, you encouraged him to use the body of a mandrake instead. It’s a little pricier than just the leaves, but it was nothing you couldn’t afford. The dragon blood was something you were having trouble with, however. It wasn’t cheap, and, having to look ahead at the wolfsbane potion’s mass production, dragon’s blood would be an annoying ingredient to include financially. So you promised to look for alternatives that might be able to give the same effect. You were even willing to look into ‘muggle’ books for a potential alternative.

After securing Damocles’ opinion following the future success of his wolfsbane potion and having some back and forth with Alphard on the family lawyer, he had been easing into setting up a meeting with you; you’ve started looking at properties all over the UK. You have a good idea of what you want to look for. However, the primary, most important criteria for these properties to have were that they don’t belong to the Black family. And so, you neglect the wizarding properties completely and look into muggle properties instead. The price wouldn’t matter, although you wanted to secure a separate line of income first so that Orion remains unsuspecting of your efforts to escape him; you don’t want any additional tensions happening at home, especially with Regulus still here. As soon as Regulus begins to attend Hogwarts, however, you’ll finally put things into action. Until then, you have a little under a year, which you hope will be good enough.

A squeaky pop shifts the air to your right, and Kreacher appears with a tray of tea and biscuits, “Mistress’ tea is ready,” he presents with a smile, wordlessly making the arrangement float up and make a home for itself atop an unoccupied portion of your desk. Smiling at the house elf, you nod in thanks and express your gratitude. Wanting to appease you further, he gestures to his big ears and informs you of an owl that sounds to be arriving very soon. With a nod and a soft word of gratitude, you walk to your window and open it up in anticipation of the delivery.

Sirius’ owl was the first to arrive and you figure it’s a response to one of Regulus’ many letters. Seeing your eldest son’s familiar handwriting addressing the letter to his little brother makes you smile, and urges you to write him one soon as well. Thanking the sweet barn owl, you offer her a perch and kindly ask Kreacher to fetch it some feed as a reward. The second owl that arrives is much smaller and carries a package as well as a letter. The parcel is only small and its wrappings are a buff brown, held together with some twine. The letter is addressed to you and you have a pretty good idea of what it may be.

You give the letter a quick read-through and smile with a nod before opening the small package to reveal a golden band. Its inner face is engraved with runes, and it easily fits onto your pointer finger. Before returning to your desk, you give the small owl a bowl of feed as a reward, too. Seated back at your desk, you pour yourself some tea and take a generous drink with the ring still on your pointer finger.

“Mmmm~” you hum in satisfaction, “tastes like strawberries,” It’s been a few weeks and those two have already made such amazing progress. You expect nothing less from the same two people who were able to enchant Sirius’ protection pin. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to rope in the goblins to craft this ring. It’s only a simple design because it’s the prototype but you plan on making a more decorative line of these to sell. For now, you have yet to test it against an actual potion but you dread to think about waiting for another blackout to do so. With a thoughtful hum, you return to your office and place the letter at the centre of your desk, planning to write a response later on. For now, you’ll deliver Sirius’ letter to Regulus —you’re sure he and Peony won’t mind the interruption and that he’ll be happy to receive Sirius’ response.

NAVI. | SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 09 : ... →

A/N : I'm so sorry, my darlings, for taking so long to update this series (ó﹏ò。) I know I promised monthly updates but with Christmas and then New Year straight after, I was pretty occupied (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) Nevertheless, I hope you lovelies enjoyed this chapter!ヾ(。✪ω✪。)ｼ I promise there will be more of Sirius in the next chapter since we hardly had any of our baby in this one

#sirius black #regulus black #alphard black #walburga black #orion black #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fix it fic #marauder era #reader insert #mother reader #isekai au #divorcing orion black series #the black family #the black brothers #sirius and regulus

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3liza · 2 days ago

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speaking of drugs i got my 250mg mexidol recently and i am a firm believer in this stuff. reviewing my posts here on tumblr from 3+ years of taking it on and off, the difference in POTS symptoms, pain, nerve pain specifically, and brain function is really stark. and i think larger doses (250mg as opposed to the smaller 125mg pills) are better. mexidol will keep me awake if i'm trying to go to sleep, so i have to be careful when i take it, but about an hour after a 250mg pill i will physically warm up and be able to take off the heavy sweaters and coats i usually have to wear indoors in any room under 75F. i start remembering things ive been struggling to remember, like words i couldnt recall or memories of events that i had forgotten. and most interestingly it seems to have restored my spontaneous idea-having. it's pretty normal for artists and writers and musicians to just have concepts or "paintings i would like to do" or "this would be a good plot for a story" come to them randomly while sitting around, i dont think every creative works that way but i think most of us experience it when our brains are running well. that brain function, which usually is one of my most reliable brain functions, has gotten extremely bad for me in the past ten years from what i assume is childhood TBI catching up to me, postviral neurological damage from covid and other stuff, general allostatic load, etc. mexidol doses seem to be correlated with Having Ideas, which is really interesting.

all of which is expected behavior based on mexidol's mechanism of action, which is a systemic antioxidant that increases blood perfusion throughout the entire body and is able to cross the blood brain barrier. i'm very interested to see what comes of the recent patent announcement in Canada as hopefully more research will be done in English.

#blog #drugs #mexidol

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rejectedbytheempty · 2 days ago

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All Day and All of the Night

pairing: simon riley x f!reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.7k

cw: references to kidnapping (no actual kidnapping)

synopsis: you wake up in a strange man’s room wearing his shirt after a night out and chaos ensues

Before you even open your eyes, you feel a painful throbbing at the base of your skull. You groan as you roll over onto your back, putting your hands on either side of your face as if it would soothe the pounding in your head.

The last thing you remembered was thinking that one more shot wouldn’t hurt and that it was the weekend anyway, what’s the worst that could happen? You guessed that there were many more drinks to follow, but nothing you could recall. you managed to peel your eyelids open, half-crusted with leftover mascara.

The room spun slightly as the world came into view and you resisted the urge to lean over the side of the bed and empty your stomach from the vertigo.

“Christ”, you muttered, your voice hoarse and painful.

Rubbing at your throat, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and looked out into your room. Only... it wasn’t your room.

It felt as if ice water splashed down your back as the haze from your hangover was won over by a new feeling: fear. Looking down, you saw that instead of the clothes you wore to the club last night, you were in an oversized army green t-shirt. Now you really felt like you were going to throw up, and you did, managing to scramble over to a trash can before last night’s dinner could be spewed all over the carpet.

After a few dry heaves, you figured the worst was over and you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Now that the wave of nausea had lessened significantly, you started taking stock of your situation.

You were in a sparsely decorated room, a couple of books sitting on the desk, and a dresser nestled in the corner of the room. That, and the cologne smell that was wafting off the shirt you were wearing meant that you were in a man’s room.

Although your mini skirt and low-cut top were nowhere to be found, you did note that you were still wearing the same bra and underwear you had on last night. And it didn’t seem like there were any marks on you or any indication that you had been touched beyond the obvious fact you had been changed into different clothes.

Suddenly, you realized that your phone was nowhere to be found either, instilling you with a new sense of panic.

“Shit!” you muttered softly, searching under the covers and crouching to look below the bed frame. You looked over at the door, and since you didn’t have your phone or any way of knowing where you were, you supposed you were going to have to try the door.

You cautiously stepped over to it, reaching out for the handle like it was some kind of cursed object. You shrieked loudly in shock when the handle turned abruptly and the door swung inwards.

In stepped a behemoth of a man, with white scars running across his face, almost like how the sky looked in a lightning storm. The scar on his lip deepened as he frowned, looking directly at you. You were frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare at him like a deer in headlights.

“What are you yellin’ for?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice.

“W-what?” was all you could manage to say.

He stepped closer, shutting the door behind him, “You squawked like a chicken when I opened the door.”

You swallowed thickly, “You scared me.”

He seemed to soften at that, his brown eyes losing some of their edge as he took in your situation. You probably looked a mess, remnants of makeup still on your face, your hair mussed up from sleep, and a shirt about two sizes too big hanging off your frame, just barely covering the lace panties you had on.

To be fair, if he was the one who took off your clothes, then he had already seen them so it wouldn’t really faze him if he saw the black lace poking out. Not that those semantics really mattered to you when he was standing there and staring you down.

“Why am I here?” you asked suddenly, unsure where you got the courage to speak from.

He blinked at you and then his mouth twisted into a mischievous grin, “You mean, you don’t remember?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, as it seemed like this conversation was slipping away from your control by the second, “I.. uh, maybe, maybe not.”

His grin grew even wider at your words, then he started laughing, actually laughing in your face. You folded your arms across your chest, face turning into a scowl. Kidnapper or not, he was being rather rude.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

He shook his head, still laughing softly, “Oh, nothing. Just that you got pretty wild last night.”

Your angry expression faded slightly, you let your crossed arms fall down from your chest to your midsection, “I was?”

He nodded, “Oh yeah, climbing on the bar, singing along to all the songs, even if you didn’t know the words.”

You gulped, feeling your face flush slightly, “I.. might’ve done that, I’m not sure.”

He nodded, and you noticed that he was enjoying this, the sick bastard. “Mhm, and you kept saying that you were, quote, going to remember this night forever! unquote.”

Your hands had now fallen at your sides as flames licked up your cheeks at the mentions of your antics. You looked down at the ground as you asked him, “So, how did I end up here?”

“After the bartender cut you off, you threatened to sue him and then you tried to punch him. I stepped in, pulling you off of him and wrangled you out of the bar. I was gonna get you an Uber or a taxi but you wouldn’t let go of me. Even after you threw up.. on the both of us.”

You looked up at the last sentence, suddenly realizing why he had changed you out of your clothes. It all made sense, and as he was describing last night to you, some fragments and pieces of your memory came back. Although, you wish they didn’t. You hid your face in your hands, groaning slightly, both from your memories and from the pain of your headache coming back with a vengeance.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry” you said through your hands, not even wanting to look him in the eyes.

There was a pause for a moment and then he said, “It’s alright, couldn’t just leave you to be by yourself like tha’ at the bar, who knows what coulda happened?”

You managed to take your hands off your face and look back up at him again, “Thank you, seriously. If there’s any way I can pay you back or-”

He put a hand up to stop you, shaking his head, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, how ‘bout you let me make you breakfast, hm?”

You weren’t sure if you could keep it down, but you nodded anyway. Who were you to refuse his offer when he had already done so much for you?

“Right then, it’s settled. Why don’t you freshen up some and breakfast should be ready by then?” He pointed to the hall, “the next door is the guest bathroom, has some toiletries for you to use.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

He nodded gruffly and left the room. You shut your eyes forcefully, feeling the roar in your ears at the pressure. “Fuckkkkkkk” you let out a long sigh. After scrubbing your hands down your face, you decided to follow his directions and headed to the guest bathroom. You figured that maybe after you splashed some cold water on your face, it would turn out that this was all some horrible dream.

It wasn’t a dream like you were hoping but you were grateful for the toothbrush and toothpaste, finally cleaning the taste of bile from your mouth. Digging through the cabinets, you found a new package of travel deodorant and some hair products that you also made use of. You also found a container of paracetamol and quickly took two to ease the pounding in your head.

Looking in the mirror you saw death staring back at you, but at least the person you were looking at didn’t smell so much like vodka anymore.

He was right, when you walked into the kitchen he had just finished up breakfast and was setting out two plates with plentiful servings. You took a seat at the kitchen table across from him and after he picked up his fork and started eating, you looked down at your plate.

He had made you two fried eggs with runny, orange yolk, toast slathered with butter, strawberry jam dripping down the sides, and some browned sausage, covered in a light sheen of oil. Hesitantly, you picked up the piece of toast, taking ginger bites out of fear the food would come rushing back up.

After eating about as much as you could stomach, you washed it all down with the glass of orange juice he had set out for you. When you looked up you saw that he had raised an eyebrow at your still half-full plate but said nothing about it.

He gestured his head towards your plate in a silent question of ‘you gonna eat that?’ You shook your head and he eagerly took the plate from you, scooping your leftovers onto his own portion.

As he began digging into the spoils, you broke the silence, “Sorry, I’m not sure if you told me yesterday, or not, but what’s your name?”

He swallowed the bite he was chewing and shook his head, “I didn’t tell you yesterday, you were too busy puking on my leather jacket.” You winced at that but he continued, “The name is Simon. Simon Riley.”

You nodded, it was a fitting name, you supposed. In turn, you shared your name and he hummed in acknowledgement, “I know.”

At your confused expression, he elaborated, “I had to close your tab at the bar, needed to know your name so I.. may have looked at your driver’s license,” he at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed for going through your personal items. You weren’t really sure what to say. On the one hand, you were grateful he closed your tab for you, but he also invaded your privacy.

You settled on ambivalence for his actions, “Thank you, I guess?”

“You’re welcome” he said, around a mouthful of toast. You just barely hid your expression of disgust. As nice as he was, he didn’t really have any table manners, and must be limited on human interaction based on your short conversation with him.

“So,” he asked after he wiped his mouth clean, “were you there with your friends?”

“Yeah, we were having some kind of girl’s night.” He frowned at your words, “And your friends let you go on like that?” You opened your mouth to defend them, but at that moment, you couldn’t really think of anything to defend them.

For one, they watched as you got blackout drunk, and instead of making sure you got home, they let some random man take you home? You hoped they at least had the decency of texting you this morning and asking if you were okay. Speaking of, where was your phone?

“Did I still have my phone on me when.. well, when we went home together?” He nodded, “I put it on a charger last night, should be fully charged by now.” He pointed to an outlet in the entryway where your phone sat on a small wooden table next to a scratched up old iPhone, that looked so outdated that you wouldn’t be shocked if it was the first model Steve Jobs came out with. You laughed audibly but quickly covered your mouth when you realized what you had done.

“Right, what’s so funny, then?” he asked.

You turned to look over at him, and grinned, pointing at his phone, “This yours?”

He nodded, “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

You laughed again, “I’m surprised this old of a model still works!”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “Of course it still works, wouldn’t be using it if it didn’t.”

You shrugged, “Guess so, just maybe think about buying a phone from the past decade, yeah?”

He just grunted and shook his head, “Don’t need one with all those fancy gadgets and whatnot, if it works, it works.”

You took your phone off the charger and walked back over to the table, “Whatever you say, Simon.” He scoffed in response but seemed more amused than actually angry at your teasing. You smirked at him but then turned your attention to your phone as it powered back on.

Must’ve died last night, then, good thing Simon charged it, you thought.

You did have a few texts from your friends, as it turns out, but not the worried ones you were hoping for. They were all from last night, something along the lines of ‘met this cute guy, see ya!’ and ‘hope you have fun with that total hunk you left with.’ “Assholes,” you muttered under your breath as you scrolled through the thread.

You weren’t expecting them to babysit you, but maybe a little check on you would’ve been nice. What if you had been drugged, or Simon had been a kidnapper? Your death could’ve ended up on a true crime podcast sandwiched between a distasteful comment on how hot your kidnapper was and a Hello Fresh ad break.

“Not good news, I take it?” Simon asked.

Your scowl did make it pretty obvious, and you sighed, “Yeah, not good. I mean, it’s like they didn’t even care if I made it home last night!”

He hummed in response. He was not a man of many words, you had discovered.

“I mean, seriously, I can’t even count the number of times I’ve held their hair back when they puked behind the bushes, or gotten them home when they overdid it on the tequila, and how do they repay me? By leaving me in the dust, that’s what.”

You were genuinely fuming now, as if last night had woken up years of pent up rage. “They never appreciated me, they never invited me places unless they wanted to have someone DD, they always hung out without me, and they constantly asked for money without even paying me back for the other times I had lent them money!”

It was silent in the kitchen for a moment, then Simon laughed, “Good on ya, luv. Knew they were wankers anyway.”

You helped Simon clean up the dishes, even though he had emphatically insisted you didn’t need to, he finally relented when you had explained that it wasn’t fair that he do all the cooking and all the cleaning.

You both made quick work of the chore and as you wiped your sudsy hands on your shirt, you remembered that it was not, in fact, your shirt you were wearing.

“By the way, where did you put my clothes?”

“Laundry room, put them in a plastic bag on top of the washer. Figured you would want to wash it yourself, considering most girls have some kind of preference for drying or not drying, or the temperature of the load.”

Hm, someone cooked here.

“Oh, thank you. Just.. I figured I wouldn’t stay around long enough to do laundry at your place, and since I wanted to not get catcalled the second I stepped outside, I’d prefer if I had some kind of pants. Do you think I can maybe borrow one of yours?” You asked hesitantly, you felt like you had already overstepped a million boundaries and here you were asking the poor man for more things.

He nodded, “Sure, I think I have some old sweatpants in my closet that are too small for me now. You can have those. You can keep the shirt, too, I have about a dozen of the same kind.”

You brightened, “Thank you, so much. I mean, seriously, you’re like an angel or something.” He froze, blush spreading faintly across his cheeks, “Not an angel” he muttered softly, “but you’re welcome.”

a/n: ok i’m ngl, the other night when i couldn’t sleep, i wrote this on my notes app and it kind of got away from me.. do you guys think i should continue this or naw?

shoutout to @asknit for editing my late night ramblings 🙏

the dividers were made by @aquazero !!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader

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