#anyway if i have children it's over for you bitches | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sp0o0kylights · 5 days ago

Text

Part one here:: link

"oh i dunno if Im going to finish this" I say, right before the plot ate me. anyway this was too big to post in full to tumblr. If you want the full, completed fic (with bonus Fun Fic Facts tm) it is finished and up on A03 here:: link

TW vomiting, drug use

Eddie is good.

Eddie is kind.

Eddie does not run over Henderson’s bike, laying haphazardly in Harrington’s pristine driveway, even if it would make him feel better.

He does slam his van into park with enough force to make the brakes squeal, which he decides is an excellent way to announce his appearance to the entire neighborhood.

It’s a move he’s pulled countless times. Charging in and making a scene meant people forgot that he couldn’t actually fight for shit, and equally, took their attention off whatever their original target was.

Which in this case, was Eddie’s too fucking nice freshman.

The rage pulsing through him is white hot and all encompassing, and it’ll get him through a lot--but the switchblade he carries ensures everyone’s safety in these little matters.

It makes him brave.

Braver than he should be really, but Eddie spent the entire drive over here chain smoking out the window while prepping for this little confrontation and the more he’d thought it all over, the madder he got.

That a washed up jock thought he could still take advantage of actual children.

Nevermind Hellfire, or Henderson ditching, or Sinclaire’s ranting.

This was about their relationship with Harrington.

A picture has been building in Eddie’s head. One that’s only gotten clearer after today, and one he will be putting an end to, because he doesn’t believe for a second Harrington has a headache.

Henderson might always be the smartest person in the room, but he’s dumb as hell socially. Too honest, too blunt, and frankly, too goodhearted.

That makes him easy to take advantage of.

Sinclair was worse--the guy was too easy to guilt trip.

It was a noted issue with his ranger, and apparently, himself, and Eddie could easily see how Harrington could have twisted the idea of some ridiculous life-debt to keep Lucas in his clutches.

Even Mayfield, Billy Hargrove’s former stepsister, was wrapped up in Harrington enough to have a go at her own friends over him!

She wasn’t even one of his flock, but Eddie was her neighbor. Saw how her mom was barely home. How she was practically raising herself, head down, doing her best not to ever let people see her cry.

Yeah.

Wouldn’t exactly be difficult for a guy like Steve Harrington to swoop in and take advantage there.

Wheeler clearly wasn’t a fan and Eddie can only come up with reason after reason as to why--King Jackass had the poor kid’s entire friend group under some kind of--of sick spell.

Well.

Eddie was here to break it.

Even if it meant storming into the King’s castle by himself and calling him out on his shit.

Nobody fucked with his people. Especially not douchebag, washed up jocks.

He’s up to Harringotn’s ridiculous double doors in a flash, banging hard on the wood with a closed fist, positively fuming and uncaring of who sees.

Surprise, surprise, it’s Henderson who opens it.

“Eddie?” He says, blinking up at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing. “What are you--hey!”

Hey, because Eddie’s pushed past him, storming into the house.

“This has gone on long enough.” He announces, loud as he ever has been. “Where the hell’s Harrington?”

Henderson, frustratingly, does not weep or throw his hands up in celebration of Eddie’s incoming rescue.

Which is fine--Eddie hasn’t broken the spell yet.

Unfortunately he is bitching, in that infamously annoying tone of his.

“Dude, shut up, Steve’s pills really only work for like, an hour--”

“Fantastic, he’ll be clear headed for our little talk.” Eddie tells him, head sweeping left and right as he looks for his target. He’s been in Casa de Harrington a few times before to deal, but it was always at night.

He can now say with perfect honesty that the place looks worse in the bright light of the day.

“Was that Eddie?” Sinclair calls, and Eddie orients towards him instantly, storming down the hall.

It doesn’t take long to find the kid.

Lucas is standing in a kitchen larger than Eddie’s entire trailer, a too-large pink apron drowning his frame.

He turns, revealing the front of the thing has ‘Whisk Taker’ written on it in syrupy white font.

(Baking puns. Disgusting.)

“Are you cooking?” Eddie accuses with a sneer, though his disgust isn’t aimed at the freshmen.

This is exactly what he was afraid of finding.

Lucas just stares at him. “Uh--yeah?”

“What did I say about too many people, Munson?” Mayfrield spits angrily. It takes a second to locate her--the kitchen is enormous and far too white--but eventually Eddie realizes she’s perched up on a counter next to the largest sink he’s ever seen.

For a second, Eddie thinks that’s just where she’s chosen to sit. Then she moves, and he realizes she’s washing and drying a series of water bottles.

He never in his life thought he’d witness Maxine Mayfield willingly do someone else's dishes.

“Someone get me Harrington.” He’s not trying for anything dramatic, but his voice must sound dangerous because all three freshmen stop dead, eyes wide as if he's just spoken in tongues.

He zeroes in on Dustin with a glare. “Now.”

Who huffs, throwing his hands up in the air like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here.��

“Absolutely not--we just got Steve to sit down. He’s been following me around the house insisting I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing!”

“Because you are.” Steve says, voice dripping with calm condescension as he appears like a wraith in the doorway. “And I know you’re all into the whole dungeon game, Munson, but this is a little dramatic, even for you.”

Eddie whirls to face him, already vibrating with fury. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s treating them like his personal minions. What’s next, Harrington? Gonna make them re-shingle the roof? Paint your house? Wax your car?”

Steve gives him a flat, almost disbelieving stare. “Do you seriously think I had Henderson miss your game just so I could lounge around while he’s doing chores?”

Eddie doesn’t bite, too busy unloading. “Oh we can both see it’s more than that.”

He doesn’t notice the way Steve’s jaw tenses, or how his hand creeps up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple.

“Anything else you want done, Harrington? Maybe make ‘em mow the lawn?” Eddie sneers. “Or teach ‘em to plump your pillows just the way you like—”

Steve finally snaps, pushing himself upright. “You know what Munson, you're right,” he says, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. “I’m clearly a terrible person they need to be rescued from so--”

He cuts himself off with a hiss, eyes squeezing shut as his hand goes to the side of his head, and spits out his next words like they hurt.

“You can play the good guy and take them all home.”

Dustin, with an exasperated sigh, steps between them. “No,” he tells Steve sternly, as if managing an unruly child, before spinning on his heel to say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone--to Eddie.

(Jackass freshman can’t even appreciate when they’re being actively rescued!)

“Eddie, I promise that this isn’t what it looks like.”

For anyone else it would sound like a plea, but Henderosn somehow makes it condescending.

“We can explain, alright?” Dustin says, raising his hands as though coaxing a skittish animal. “Will you let us explain? Please?”

Eddie glowers.

“You clearly do not, in fact, know what this looks like. Because if you did,”

Eddie can make himself menacing and he does so now, pulling on every single year of drama and theatrics and lying to cops he’s had, pushing his shoulders back and making his body tall.

“You would know that it looks like a guy who peaked in high school is forcing a bunch of fourteen year olds to do his bidding.”

He takes an aggressive step towards Steve, boots thunking hard on the floor. “And that isn’t happening on my watch.”

“Aren’t you like an extra super senior?” Mayfield says, arms crossed over her chest.

“Irrelevant!” Eddie swats the air in her direction, as if to physically bat away her words. “I’m still in high school and I’m not emotionally blackmailing a bunch of kids into waiting on me hand and foot while I fake a headache!”

“Oh ew.” Max’s nose scrunches in disgust, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring on her face. “That is not what’s happening here.”

“Were you even listening earlier?!” Lucas says, like he can’t quite believe Eddie is this dumb.

(His character will be the next to die, so Eddie swears.)

“I did.” Eddie points a finger at him, triumphant. “I heard all about how he’s tricked you into thinking you owe him a life-debt!”

“A what?” Harrington’s squinting, like he’s struggling to follow along what is happening. It’s a halfway decent sick act, Eddie will give it to him, but he knows the facade will drop in a moment.

As soon as the asshole loses his temper and decides to try and throw Eddie out, he’ll switch from the Poor Me act into the usual pompous, rich dick on a rampage persona.

“How he’s saved you all, convinced you and Henderson that you’re in debt to him.”

“Could we just---please stop yelling?” Steve says in the background, heel pressing hard against his eyes.

Then winces like his own voice hurts his head.

“What the hell, Eddie?!” Dustin’s cut across the room, stepping in between the two older teens. “Where did this even come from!?”

“Guys.”

“The mouths of babes, Henderson. Which you would know if you witnessed Sinclair’s rant instead of missing out because King Dickhead demanded your presence at his castle!”

“Guys.” Steve’s voice abruptly takes on a weird tone, and it’s only Mayfield’s eyes popping wide that has Eddie realizing something is wrong--right before Harrington shoots past him, noisily hurling in the sink.

“Gross!” Max shrieks, throwing herself off the counter.

Harrington aims a shaky middle finger in her direction.

“I just washed those bottles Steve, I'm not washing them again!” Mayfield rants, but she’s not fooling anyone. Not with the way she’s already edging back towards him, like she’s afraid he might fall over.

(Worse, like she might try to catch him, as if Harrington’s broad, barbarian-like shoulders wouldn’t flatten her instantly.)

“Al-’right.” Harrington slurs a moment later, still panting over the sink. “Everyone--out. Now.”

“Steve--”

“Nope. Making it worse. Out.”

He manages to stand and turn, leaning hard against the counter and for the first time since this all started, Eddie looks at him.

Properly, and not through the lens of righteous fury.

Harrington’s pale.

The shirt he’s wearing is stained with sweat marks, his sweatpants clearly old and worn for comfort rather than style.

His hair…

Eddie has never seen Harrington without his infamously perfect hairdo, and the messy, slick waves plastered to his forehead is more of a shock then him vomiting in the sink.

He’s got his hands pressed hard against his eyes again, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belay he’s likely in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.

In short, Harrington looks like absolute shit, and Eddie, maybe, possibly, the tiniest bit believes he actually has a migraine.

Well, it was that or he was really committed to the bit…

The tense silence that has befallen them all is ruined when Harrington makes a ‘hurk.’ noise.

“I’m going to throw up again.” He decides after a moment of contemplation, before whipping back around to the sink and doing just that.

“Steve’s right.” Mayfield decides suddenly, over all the nasty noises. “We should leave.”

“I’m almost done cooking!” Sinclair protests, as if Harrington isn’t presently throwing up the contents of his stomach.

“You’re almost done burning things, you mean.” Max mutters, but her words can’t hide the blatant concern written all over his face. “I don’t think he’s going to keep anything down.”

“He needs us to finish what we started.” Dustin argues passionately. “You know how bad he gets, he’s not gonna be able to get up in an hour!”

(A clear exaggeration, because Harrington looks like he’s not gonna make it across the kitchen unassisted.)

“What I need is for everyone to stop talking so fucking loud.” Harrington moans, before appearing to give up on life entirely.

He sort of sags against the counter, resting his head against his arms while bent double, as if that would help things.

It was at this point that Eddie had the most unfortunate realization that he might be the asshole here.

Because Harrington looks rough--and if he actually does in fact, have a migraine, then Eddie has done nothing but make it worse.

(Very likely the freshmen have as well, given Dustin is incapable of talking in anything other than a loud yell, and the smell of Lucas’s burnt food has permeated the air.

Mayfield seemed to have accomplished a small amount of actual work, at least.

…If Harrington managed to miss throwing up on the water bottles.)

“Look,” Harrington interrupts with an audible, thick swallow.“You guys did great, and I appreciate the uh, help. I’m fine, I promise, you can all go home. Munson,”

He doesn’t turn, but his voice does change into something that’s half pleading, half demanding.

“Can we please fight about this tomorrow? Or next week?”

“No fighting!” Dustin shrieks, which has the effect of making Harrington cringe into the counter--and that is what finally kicks Eddie over.

Bows to the instincts that now want to wrap up Harrington in a blanket over the ones that want to strangle him, (though both are very much at odds in his head with each other.)

“We can put a pin in it.” He says, all the venom dropping out of his voice, already knowing what’s going to happen next and hating himself for it.

Even at his absolute worst, Eddie has never been able to resist trying to fix a problem he’s been presented with--or turn down someone who needs help.

Harrington, clearly, needs help.

“You heard him.” He tells his freshman, then immediately holds up a hand when all three try to protest at once.

“Ah-ah, inside voices.” He himself uses a harsh whisper, and then has to fight not to laugh aloud when all three abruptly eye him like he’s lost his head.

He probably has.

(Fucking King Steve.

No one who is that much of a douchebag should ever look that pathetic without deserving it, it’s against the Munson doctrine.)

“Henderson, have you done anything actually useful while you’ve been here? Like, say, getting a warm washcloth?”

“I--oh.” Dustin’s on the defense instantly, but for once actually listens before he finishes his sentence. “Uh. No.”

“Go do that then.” Eddie instructs, making sure to keep his voice quiet and even.

“Sinclair, toss out the eggs, then take the garbage out so it’ll stop stinking up the place. Mayfield, see if these windows open. Harrington…”

He pauses, watching as Harrington tries to gather himself, moving slowly and deliberately like even breathing hurts. His entire appearance is grating Eddie’s nerves—not because he doesn’t care, but because he does, and that’s infuriating.

“Go lay down, man.” He finishes lamely.

He expects the freshmen to listen to him. Knows they will, in his heart of hearts, even if they bitch back, because that’s just how things are when he decides to take charge. So few people truly want to, that others are often relieved when he does.

Steve Harrington is not most people.

If he argues, he could very well tip things out of control again, which means Eddie is likely going to have to force the trio of fourteen year olds out of the house.

Henderson and Sinclair he can manage but Mayfield…

Thankfully, Steve pushes off the counter with a groan, muttering something under his breath, but slowly making his way toward the couch without any other protest.

The freshmen exchange glances, all of them looking just as unsure as Eddie feels. Like they’re waiting for instructions now that their default leader is down for the count.

He clears his throat pointedly.

“Hello? Did I not give you marching orders?” He bats his hands at them. “Go march!”

Mayfield mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “hypocrite” but thankfully, does as asked.

“Are you gonna give us a ride home?” Henderson asks as he finally starts moving around--hopefully to get a damn washcloth.

“You got yourself here, you can get yourself home.” Eddie scoffs back, taking stock of Harrington’s kitchen.

He eyes the line of pain pills laid out on the counter, quickly noting not one of them is anything that would help with a sneeze let alone a migraine.

Typical.

“Why not?” Dustin disappeared down a hallway, but the fact Eddie can still hear him plain as day speaks to his ability to keep quiet. “You have your van, don’t you?”

“Because I’m not leaving when you three are leaving.”

It’s an absentminded comment, given his mind is elsewhere.

Weed may be his bread and butter but he does have a handful of more serious things on offer.

Of those things, one or two have some fun little unexpected side effects, and if Eddie recalls Rick’s yapping right, one of said things was stopping headaches.

Said magic little mushrooms might even be in a pocket or two, here, if he remembers right…

“Wait, you're staying here?” Lucas protests, far too loudly.

"Ssszzhh!" Eddie hisses, drawing out the sound dramatically, mostly for the sake of cutting off whatever protests were coming his way.

“No arguing. Your beloved King clearly needs a nap, and that means you’re all off duty. Unless," he adds with a raised eyebrow, "you intend to watch him sleep?"

Dustin looks torn, but mutters a quiet, "No," his eyes shifting sideways like he's weighing the logic.

"Good. Then if you’re all finished…?”

He waits for the nods he knows are coming.

“Excellent. Now leave." Eddie says, pointing towards the door.

They hesitate for a second, but then finally begin to shuffle out, the door clicking quietly behind them.

And just like that, Eddie’s left standing there, watching Steve breathe shallowly on the couch--with a washrag over his eyes.

(At least Dustin managed that.)

He could leave now.

Should leave, really. Giving out drugs for free is not exactly a good business move and Steve will no doubt sleep the headache off without it. But Eddie’s feet don't seem to agree with him, rooted in place as his gaze lingers on the sharp line of Steve's jaw, the slight twitch of his brow every time a muscle aches.

Feels the pull, deep in his gut, to provide the relief he knows he can give.

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s moving, crossing the room toward him.

“Munson?” Harrington squints up at him as he registers his presence, washcloth nudged upwards by shaky fingers. “Why’r you still ‘ere?”

“Because I’m stupid.” Eddie mutters, right before realizing he actually said that outloud.

“What?”

Thank God for Harrington’s headache.

“You look terrible, man.” Eddie says slightly louder. “That hair of yours is so flat I think your crown’s gonna fall right off.”

He’d meant it as a joke--spoke it like one, but it seems to snap Harrington out of his pity party.

The sigh that blasts out of him is a whole body affair, and gets his feelings across better than his words do. “I get it. You thought this was something else and it wasn’t. Not the first time that’s happened.”

He turns, cheek scraping against the fabric of his shirt, red rimmed eyes squinting against the light to look at Eddie.

“You got your laugh in, so you can go.”

There’s defeat in his voice. Like he’s accepted this might as well have happened.

(Like he’s just as beaten down as anyone Eddie has ever saved.)

“I didn’t stick around to laugh.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, and that somehow, makes the next part easier to say.

“I honestly thought you were messing around with Henderson and Sinclair, and I uh, I’m used to being the only person who gives a shit. When that kind of thing happens.”

Harrington grimaces.

“It’s okay.” he mutters, eyes sliding closed once more. “Most people still think I’m an asshole.”

His tone has gone odd again, wrecked and rasping, migraine clearly trumping whatever strong feelings he had on the matter.

And the stupid thing was, Harrington himself was never really an asshole.

Sure he went along with the assholes, and he definitely egged them on if not outright participated in some of the lower tier shitty activities, but he wasn’t the guy slamming people into lockers.

(Eddie, in fact, has a hazy memory of Steve telling off Hagan for doing said locker slamming.)

It didn’t make him a good guy--he’d had slung too many insults around to get that label--but in the rankings of assholery, his was of the average variety.

Which means that Eddie cannot logic himself out of his own stupid desire to help.

Even if he really, really wants to.

“Yeah well, even assholes need assistance sometimes, and since I kicked your help out, it’s on to make up for it.”

“No offense,” Steve slurs tiredly, “but I don’t think you’re any quieter than Dustin.”

A smile ghosts over Eddie’s face.

“I live in a tiny ass trailer, Harrington. Trust me, I know how to be quiet. I simply choose not to be.” He moves, slow and careful, until he’s seated next to the fallen King on his stupidly huge (and very uncomfortable) couch.

Steve’s eye follows him over, staring up as he white knuckles his sweatpants, washrag sitting crooked on his forehead.

“I’m not sure I’m not gonna throw up again.” He admits after a moment.

“And that right there is one of the things I can help with. Provided,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, “that you don’t mind taking a more recreational route for your recovery?”

“....are you offering me drugs?”

“I am indeed.” Eddie confirms with a real smile, plucking the offending baggie out of a pocket.

“You ever done shrooms, your majesty?”

Steve huffs a quiet noise that might have been a snort, had he put any effort behind it.

“How is that going to help?”

“Be-cauuuuuse,” Eddie draws the words out, still a showman even if he is doing his level best to talk as quietly as possible, “shrooms are what we call a psychedelic, and those are pretty well known among certain circles as the headache healer.”

Provided one took the medicinal amount and not the down-the-rabbit-hole amount.

Harrington’s eyes are back open, only this time they’re looking at Eddie’s fingers the same way a dog looks at a nail trimmer: concerned and not entirely unsure it wasn’t going to bite him.

“I’m not…” He cuts himself off, frowning.

“You’ve bought plenty of my weed, Harrington. Trust me this isn’t any different.” Eddie tells him.

Isn’t offended in the slightest--this reaction is pretty typical for people who have only smoked the ganja.

Even the ones who asked to try for something with a little more ‘umph.’

“S’not that.”Steve admits quietly. “I uh. Had a bad trip. While back.”

“Ah, gunshy.” Eddie says it without a lick of judgment, because Eddie’s been there.

Or rather in the shower, at two am because he accidentally spilled LSD on his hand and promptly tripped balls for 48 hours after.

“I’ll hang around a bit, if you like.” He offers casually. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”

He gets another huff-snort as Harrington’s watery eyes return their attention to him.

“And what are you going to do if they do go sideways?”

“Put you back together again.”

Eddie knows his grin is crooked, but can’t help it. He’s thinking about Humpty Dumpty and the King’s Men.

Somehow he doesn’t see Steve Harrington cracking that easily—at least, not without putting up a good fight—but drugs did worse things to better people.

“It really helps?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Doubtful.

Eddie presses his hands to his chest. “Scouts honor.”

“You were not a boy scout.” Steve tells him, but he’s struggling to sit up anyway, looking game.

“Alright, so how do I do this?” He asks, though he’s already halfway down again, propped up on his elbows.

“First, you lay back down, and I’ll brew it into tea,” Eddie explains.

“Tea?”

“Well, you could eat them straight, but I don’t think they’d taste too great. Not that I wouldn’t mind watching you try.”

Steve scowls. “Sadist.”

“Guilty,” Eddie replies, biting back the urge to sing-song it, keeping his voice down and steady. “Just a heads-up: they kick in fast, but I’ll go light on you—nothing like the ‘fun’ dose for the usual crowd.”

Which is how he ends up back in the kitchen, this time making tea and humming to himself, before offering the final brewed concoction to Harrington.

Who downs it like a shot, because he’s a fucking frat-bro at heart.

“I didn’t find a teacup for you to do that.”

Between a full-body shudder and a dramatic grimace, Steve chokes out “Not gonna lie I didn’t think we owned a teacup.”

“What, do you think I just have them in my van?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

Which is kind of hysterical, and something Eddie may be doing--not that he’s telling Harrington that.

“And now we wait!” He announces instead of rambling about teacups, nearly clapping his hands together before he remembers the migraine Steve is soldiering through with surprising grit.

Eddie himself would have turned into a whiny mess, so he can’t help but admire the guy’s restraint.

“Waiting to see if I hurl again, you mean?” Steve mutters, flopping backward onto the couch. “That tasted like battery acid.”

“Think it’s coming back up?”

“No clue.”

They sit in silence for a second, then Eddie pokes, “Maybe it’s best if you crash in your room, man. You look like death warmed over, and this couch sucks.”

An understatement, if there ever was one. The fucking thing didn’t seem to be made for people to actually sit on.

Reluctantly, Steve pulls himself up, heading toward his room. Eddie tags along, snarky grin covering the way he holds his hands out in case the jock ahead of him slips on the stairs and takes them both out.

(Unlike Mayfield, Eddie does not pretend Steve doesn’t outclass him weight wise. The man was built like a brickhouse, and he has to fight to keep his eyes up toward Steve’s hair instead of on his ass.)

Thankfully, he’s saved from all R-rated thoughts by the sheer horror of Harrington’s bedroom.

“Harrington, I’ve found the source of all your migraines.” Eddie tells him, tone as serious as he’s ever been.

“Ha-ha.” Steve deadpans, stepping into his plaid fucking room.

“I’m not kidding, I’m getting a headache and I’ve been here less than five seconds.”

The whole place truly is a nightmare--like someone took one of those plaid hunting jackets and themed an entire room around it.

Fucking rich people.

“Trust me, it’s not the wallpaper.”

“Given how you’re weaving on your feet, I think it’s safe to say I don’t trust you at all.” Eddie tells him, half helping half dragging Steve towards the bed.

It’s a comfy looking thing and Harrington falls into it gratefully, immediately crawling under the covers.

“You know where to find me?” Eddie asks him, refusing to think Harrington snuggling up in his bed is something cute.

“Yeah?”

“Good. Hit me up next time your head gets bad. I’ll make sure to keep some of this,” He shakes the little baggie, “on hand.”

Steve’s pulled the covers all the way up past his chin, but he moves it down a little to properly cock an eye at Eddie.

“Dare I ask what you're gonna charge for that?”

“Let’s call it a fair trade for all those times you’ve driven the freshman home from Hellfire.”

If Steve even recalls this conversation, that is. Eddie hadn’t exactly given him the “fun” kind of dose, but then, he himself has never tested out what dose is needed to cure headaches rather than simply having fun destroying one's own ego.

He supposes that’s something he and Harrington both will have to test, between them--because Eddie meant it when he offered the drugs for free.

No one deserves to suffer from the kind of migraine Harrington clearly had.

“Think you’re good to drop off.” Eddie tells him, after making sure Steve is happily content in his bed.

Checks his watch to make sure enough time has passed to safely call it, before beginning to attempt his way out of Steve’s god-awful bedroom.

Which of course, is when Harrington reaches out, looping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist.

It freezes him in place.

In a moment that is so utterly selfish and stupid that Eddie will loudly insist it was a hallucination should Harrington ever dare ask about it, he turns his palm and moves so that he’s clasping Steve’s fingers with his own.

“Thanks. For all this.” Steve whispers, as they hold hands for a moment.

Eddie squeezes his fingers against the younger man’s before he moves to make his retreat, flashing a peace sign over his shoulder as he goes.

“Anytime, big boy.”

Anytime.

xxx

The thing no one tells you about creating a doctrine, is that at some point or another, someone’s going to hold you to it.

In Eddie’s case it’s four very pissed off teenagers.

He has a gold medal in mental gymnastics and a silver in denial. Left on his own devices he could easily excuse everything that happened yesterday.

Reclassify the fallen King as pathetic, and the kids' weird loyalty to him as a holdover from his babysitting days.

Blame their nosy-ness on them being involved in Harrington’s life, and happily go back to mocking their relationship with renewed vigor because now he’s not going to handwave their behavior as being afraid of Harrington.

Nope, they clearly and willingly, have attached themselves to the King, which means Eddie gets to make fun of them for life.

Pity they don’t leave Eddie to his own devices.

In fact, the little shits hit him up first thing in the morning, early enough that he's’ a little suspicious that the boys slept over at Max’s trailer.

“We’re not done talking about Steve.” Mayfield tells him and given the determined (Henderson) angry (Sinclair) and put out (Wheeler Jr.) faces glaring at him from over her shoulder, Eddie figures his chances for getting out of this conversation are slim to none.

“Good morning to you too.” He snarks, voice gravel-deep with sleep. “What do you little shits want?”

“I literally just said.” Max rolls her eyes so hard he thinks about commenting that they may stick back there, only to decide that makes him sound too much like a teacher for his liking.

(Besides if they get stuck, he’ll have an excuse to whack her on the back of her head without getting murdered for it.

…well.

An attempt at an excuse, anyway.)

“And who says I have anything I want to talk about?” He fires back, leaning a shoulder against the old metal doorframe.

Just because he understood what they wanted didn’t mean he was going to make it easy.

“Would you just let us in?”

“No.”

“Eddie.” Dustin whines, and Eddie redirects his frown his way. “Come on.”

“Well I suppose if you say it that way,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “No.”

“Steve’s sick, you asswipe.” Max snaps angrily.

“I know,” He volleys back, brightly sarcastic. “I saw him yesterday.”

Because it’s Mayfield, she matches him tit for tat, a mimicry of his sarcastic drawl entering her voice. “Good! You get to see him today too.”

And just like that their little ambush makes sense.

(He’s got to find a new way to get the damn kids to fear him, clearly his usual menacingness just isn’t cutting it anymore.)

“And why would I do that?”

He’s done his good deed. He helped Harrington out, and even offered free drugs to help him get his migraines under control.

Checking up on the guy was overkill.

“We were gonna do it, but someone let it slip that Steve was sick.” A cutting glance is given to Henderson, who makes a face but otherwise holds his ground.

“And his mom called everyone else's parents with instructions that we leave him alone until he feels better.”

“So now if we go over there,” Sinclair finishes for his girlfriend, “we get grounded.”

Which neatly answers every question that just popped into Eddie’s head.

The threat makes sense for the boys--Eddie’s met Claudia Henderson and though she has that bubbly, easy to confuse nature of suburbanites everywhere, there was an undercurrent in her eyes of someone who knew more than she was letting on.

Or perhaps, someone who simply knew what they wanted, and was happy to settle and wait for it.

Likewise the Sinclair and Wheeler parental units seem to want to keep in her--and Steve’s, no doubt, given he carts their kids around--good graces.

Given Mayfield’s mom wasn’t even home last night, her participation in this farce does not make sense and Eddie narrows his eyes at her in warning.

“I fail to see how this is my problem.” He says instead of directly calling her out.

She knows he knows, and he’s smart enough to figure out how to relay that without saying it directly.

(An action taken out of respect for surviving a bad home life, and absolutely not because he’s terrified she’ll crawl through his window to enact revenge in the middle of the night.)

“It’s your problem because you owe him one.” she tells him firmly. “And us.”

Oh no he does not.

“How so?” He challenges with a snorted laugh.

“You did kind of storm into his house and yell a lot.” Sinclair points out. He’s doing better at speaking up, Eddie realizes with a twisted sense of pride and dread.

Not quite so easy to steamroll after his outburst yesterday.

A part of him hopes that sticks around--Sinclair needs a spine, and not just because Mayfield will keep running circles around him until he grows one.

The rest of Eddie is pissed off that he decided to get one now, when it directly impacted Eddie’s Saturday morning sleeping plans.

Leave it to these dickheads to use a good deed against him.

“Look--we can’t make sure he’s okay. You can.” Mayfield steps up to jam a painted fingernail in Eddie’s chest. “He won’t let us do anything that will actually help him. You, he can't stop.”

He does not take a step backward and thus lose all the cool points he has left in the eyes of the younger Hellfire members, but only because he’s already leaned up against the doorframe.

He bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl instead.

“We made it worse.” She admits, voice sharp. “And I don’t know how to make it better, but you seem to be able to, so congrats Munson--you get to go again!”

Which gets Eddie’s back right up.

He pushes off the doorframe, ready to tell Mayfield--and all his little dipshits--right off, except this is when Wheeler Jr., of all people, decides to add in his two cents.

“If you don’t go, no one else will.” He looks off to the side while he says it, arms crossed tight across his chest and spitting the words out like he's admitting to a crime. “Robin’s not coming back until Monday and Nancy's got some stupid thing, so you’re literally the only person who can go.”

Well just stab him in the heart, why don’t you.

“What are the chances of you fucking back off to whatever hole you crawled out of if I refuse?” He asks, already knowing that he’s done for.

Accepted his fate, because he knows what it’s like not to have someone to rely on, when you need them the most.

“Zero.” Sinclair and Henderson chant as one.

“Well then.” He tells them with the biggest, most put upon sigh he can manage. “Guess you got me in a box here.”

Mayfield grins at him.

It reminds him vaguely of a shark.

A bloodthirsty, slightly demonic, mean shark.

“Good. Go get dressed.”

“Oh I’m doing this right now, am I?” He complains, but he’s already moving to go back into his trailer.

“We’re not leaving until you do!” Mayfield yells at him.

Eddie slams the door in her face.

(He’s never adopting freshmen again, as long as he fucking lives.)

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poppy-metal · 4 months ago

Note

baby daddy older art…. after his divorce he went on a wild night out, and slept with thing young hot thing he picked up at a bar. it was supposed to be a one night stand, but you get PREGNANT, and now sexy man has to be in your life FOREVER. begs you to keep it even though you’re young and have your life ahead of you, and if you do he will make sure you live in luxury for the rest of your life. you were going to keep it anyway, but his promise makes it so much easier. hes coming to every doctors appointment, he makes you put his number on speed dial, he brings you anything you ask, because you’re carrying his child. decided it’s easier if he lives with you, because he’s seen your apartment and he doesn’t want you or his kid living in such a place, and then he can be available at all hours of the day. he’s so good to you, so kind and sweet and good and he doesn’t have to do this at all, you can help but fall in love with him. but he doesn’t feel the same. it’s a strictly mother of his child relationship. he is very blatant about that. no blurring of boundaries, you are the mother of his child and that’s all. it’s purely practical why he lives with you, because if you’re both ok with it it’s best for the baby to have both parents. that’s all you think it is. you keep your love inside, because he’s such a good man, and to even be around him is a gift. he’s given you more than you could ever hope for, it would be selfish to demand feelings too. that’s what makes him so wonderful, he’s doing this all for a girl he doesn’t even love. and his child, yes, but richer men have done less for their children and the mothers of their children. little do you know, he has to prevent himself from touching you constantly, because you’re a young girl he’s gotten in trouble and he would be the worst man in the world if he also made you think you had to put out to stay with him. no, he had done enough. all he could do now was to provide for you and your child. until………

save me responsible art who accidentally knocked me up save me,,,,,, okay but imagine you're a few months into the pregnancy - you have a prominent bump now and parts of you are getting more and more tender and achey. your breasts for one, have gotten alot more sensitive.

you're in a mood over it - not snappy but just noticeably uncomfortable. when art comes over to stock your fridge like he's been doing, you're in nothing but an oversized shirt and some tiny sleep shorts. art already has his heart beating fast, pumping in his chest. he tries to stay respectful, notices how you're nit wearing a bra and feels his cock twitch. he thinks to ask you about what's got you looking so blue as a way to distract him from your body but it ends up doing the opposite.

“my chest.” you tell him, frowning. his eyes are drawn down despite himself. “pregnancy body I guess, they're just really tender and like… stiff.”

your nipples are certainly stiff, art thinks. swallows. concern nips at him. he knows it's unavoidable, but he doesn't want you in pain.

“are they hurting you?”

you nod, reaching up to cup them yourself and art tries not to choke on air. you wince.

“its like a sore muscle or something. squeezing them feels good but I feel like I don't have a good enough grip.” you flush when you realize you're essentially fondling yourself in front of him and drop your hands. “sorry. it's not your problem. I'll live!”

you usually love having him around for as long as he'll stay, but you're in such pain you just wanna take an advil and take a nap. he doesn't deserve to hear your bitching.

art feels bad. this is half his responsibility and he has to deal with 0 of the aches and pains. hed siphon it from you if he could. he works his bottom lip between his teeth, face already turning pink before he even says the words.

“I could help.”

you blink at him, confused at first. “help?”

arts ears are red now. his fingers flex at his sides. he imagines them on your tits and has to inhale.

“I mean - my hands might. they might feel better. if you want, obviously. I just hate to see you in pain.”

so that's how you end up with your back to his broad chest. leaned back as his hands hover at your waist over the shirt. you're all flushed, both of you, but you reckon his hands really will help. they're so sturdy looking. and you remember how they felt on your bare skin. those slender fingers, those palms. with that in mind you place your hands over his and slip them under your shirt - “direct contact will probably help more.” you explain, half because it'd true and also because it's an opportunity to feel his hands again - and you won't waste it.

arts whole body is burning. hot. he says, “right.” because his brain is rather fucking blank the second his hands make contact with your skin. you're so warm and soft. just like that night. except his baby is inside you now.

he cant help it. he has to feel over your bump. skims his palm over the taut muscle of your belly where it extends out. he's kind of awestruck.

“have they kicked?” he thinks he'll pass out if he feels it.

you shake your head. “I'd tell you if they did. I know you'd want to feel.”

his heart warms. he caresses your belly. “I would.” he confirms gently. “I want to be there for everything.”

you bite your lip. sigh when his hands start trailing up your body. you dont know if he's purposely being sensual about it, or if he's just being respectful about the way he handles your body. it feels so good. it feels natural. his palms cup the side of your tits first, and you gasp.

“sorry.” he says - starting to pull away and you quickly shake your head.

“no.” you tell him. “no it feels good - dont worry about being too gentle. it's alot of pressure …. “

he breathes out and touches you again. grips you'd breasts in his hand and tries not to lose his mind. he's doing this to help you. you're in pain. this isn't about him.

but god, you're so fucking soft. he can feel your flesh squeeze between his fingers. feel the stiff peaks of your nipples. he massages your tits like that for a second, just cupping and pressing against your tits with slight pressure, steadily building the more you sigh in approval.

he's so big behind you. big chest at your back big hands groping and gripping your fat and heavy tits.

“that feels so good.” you tell him, and if you have a whine in your voice well it's his fault for having such good hands.

“im glad.” he chokes out. fuck. he's throbbing in his jeans. hard and thick and he's remembering how your tits felt pressed against his bare chest when he'd been inside you- deep in your tight wet little cunt - you'd been so vocal under him, sweet and cloying and he vividly remembers how the nipples he's currently pinching, felt in his mouth, under his tongue. remembers them bouncing in his face when he'd had you a second time, on his lap, riding his cock so fucking eagerly.

his brain is all fuzzy with the memories of that night. the message becomes less about relieving you of any pain and just about feeling your body in his hands. you can feel his pecs move against your back as he breathes in and out - his touches becoming less hesitant and more demanding - he squeezes getting more aggressive and dominant. sexual.

your cunt throbs, your little clit having a heartbeat. you've become so fucking - horny lately. you have to touch yourself everyday - your hormones all over the fucking place. being touched like this isn't helping. you feel soaked and wet between your thighs. downright sticky with it.

you want to reach down and rub yourself. the pounding of your pussy has become even more painful than the throb in your breasts earlier.

“im so horny.” you say - the confession ripped from your chest. said kinda desperately, hopelessly. arts hands pause on your tits and you lean back against him, pushing it, testing. “it hurts so bad, art. all these pregnancy hormones - no matter how much I touch myself it's never enough. I need to be filled.”

“jesus.” he leans his forehead against your shoulder. he tries to find that thin thread of control, but he can't. it's gone. probably broke the second he felt you in his hands again. “you can't say things like that….”

“but it hurts.” you whine. shift around. “hurts right now.”

you sound near tears and fuck, he fucking hurts too. he's been holding himself back for so long, ignoring his needs - resiting you. he can't even remember why.

“c’mere.” he tells you, and then he's turning you around in his lap, nd you're straddling his lap, feeling the hard length of him through your clothes and he kisses the gasp right out of your mouth. you moan into each other. his hands grip your ass, rock your tender little pussy against his cock and the friction makes your eyes roll back.

“please.” you gasp against his mouth, your belly just big enough to put and inch of space between you. your hand tugs at his jeans - “please make it better - I need your cock -”

“the baby -” he pants but doesn't stop you from yanking his jeans down, lifting his ass to help you, even.

you shake your head, “that's not a thing.” you giggle - “and it helps with - with all the pain I'm feeling - promise -”

all he has to do is slip your sleep shorts to the side like panties - because you're not wearing any - and sink you down onto his cock - his head falls back when he feels that melting pot of a pussy around him. sucking, tender, soft, tight - squeezing him so fucking good.

he grips your ass even harder - “your pussy is so good, baby - “ he plants his feet, braces to bounce you on his dick- “im gonna make you fucking cum.”

#ask #frens <3 #tehehe #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut

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misserabella · 6 months ago

Text

Filthy Rich

Spencer Reid x Fem! reader PT.1

pt2! pt3!

✧ Synopsis;; Spencer Reid was filthy rich, for he was royalty. Handsome, charming and a gentleman, a dream dressed in pure silk for any kind of woman. But not you.

✧ y/n is a mere slave of a nobel family who just turned 22. On the night of the prince’s royal ball she is dragged against her will to this dance just to be used as a coat rack for the purses and coats of the family ladies, who, of course, treat her like absolute sh’t, to the point where they could agreed to hand her over for a generous amount of gold.

“Just name your price, sweetheart.”

“Screw you, my prince.”

Just how lucky you were for had caught the

prince’ s attention!

< enemies to lovers 3

17th century royalty! inspired by bridgerton!

CW;; this series might include 18+ content (details will be given at the start of each new part uploaded) MINORS DNI AND SKIP!!!

WARNINGS PART ONE: mention of blood, abuse, cursing and slave trafficking.

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

WORD COUNT;; 2k!

Her faced seemed to tell everything: she hated it.

She hated everything. From the music, to the little stupid shoes that clacked against the floor. The floral scent, the wine, the giggles… She hated the ton*. Every single one of them,

Everything. It was a goddamn nightmare.

“y/n! You are letting my coat slip! Do i have to tell you how much it costs?! If you dare let it touch the floor I’ll take the money out of your poor allowance to pay for a new one!” one of the misses glared at you, hitting you in the face with her closed paper fan, its gemstones leaving marks on you cheek.

“We might as well do it anyways, since her filthy hands have touched them already!” her sister laughed, grabbing your face in between her gloved fingers and digging her nails in your skin. “Don’t you think so, y/n? What? Cat got you tongue?” they giggled.

“Children, children!” the woman of the house hushed them with a sweet smile. “You shall never touch her!” she said, taking of the gloves out of her daughters hands to give her a new pair, with a sweet smile telling one of the servants of the castle to burn them. “God knows what she might infect us with!” she laughed, her offsprings following her.

God, you hated her. Her and her stupid daughters. With their stupid dresses and stupid painted faces.

You glared at them, your grip tightening around their belongings, holding your stare and your head up even when the woman stared back at you, her face scrunching in disgust and anger.

“Who do you think you are staring at?!?!” she suddenly yelled, catching the attention of those who enjoyed drinks and company around her, not waiting a mere second to rise her hand and slap you to ‘show you your place’. You took the hits, the metallic flavor of blood filling your mouth due to the continues smacks and hits with the back of her fan. “You filthy ungrateful bitch, you dare stare at us, who give you food and a bed?! I should’ve let you died out in the cold, in the dirt, where you belong to!” you gritted your teeth, your eyes down to the floor as your free hand made its way to your bottom lip, where you felt the skin split, the crimson of fresh blood tinting your frail skin.

“Fucking fussock*.” you cursed her under your breath, loud enough for her to perfectly hear you.

“What did you say?!” her free hand gripped your long and matted locks, making you look into her enraged eyes, her other hand rising up to hit you once again.

Your eyes closed as you expected a new slap, which surprisingly enough never came. The sound of multiple gasps filled your ears and when you opened up your eyes once again, your stomach sank at the sight of…

“Your highness!” everyone suddenly diverted their eyes to the floor, including you, your mistress and her daughters bowed in his presence, the wrist of the first of them all gracefully and softly held by the prince’s, who let her go with a kind smile.

“Is everything alright?” his voice tested the waters, his tone low and soft as the silk he dressed in, his hands jeweled in golden rings joining and intertwining in an elegance you never had witnessed.

“Yes, your highness.” the woman stuttered, showing a nervous smile. “Our slave just seemed to…, misbehave, your highness.” your eyes travelled trough his tall and magnificent demeanor. His fern green suit matched perfectly with the caramel of his skin and his brown and perfectly combed curls.

Your eyes quickly darted always as he had caught you staring once he had turned to you. He fought the lopsided smirk that urged to grow in his lips, stepping closer to where you stood.

He took a glance at the ragged clothes that hid your bruised and malnourished body, probably due to the family’s treatment under your care, your matted hair, cut up hands…

His warm touch spread on your skin as he took your chin in between his thumb and index finger, softly trying to rise your head up, but you denied him, in a harsh turn of head freeing yourself from his touch before giving him a glare.

A new wave of gasps filed the air as you stared right into his eyes, him holding your glare.

You didn’t care if he was a noble or pure royalty. Those ‘pure blood’ were all the goddamn same. With their leather shoes and gold jewelry, fancy words and silk dresses and suits. Their appearance was only a pretty facade that hid the ugliness of their insides.

You hated all of them. Might as well just get your head off as soon as possible.

“You slave! How is it ye dare to stare at the prince, soon king?!” a brunette and tall man talked, you recognized him as the pince’s right hand, but only with a wave of this hand, he stood silent beside the prince.

“Huh…” the smile he had been trying to fight off finally took place on his gracefully sculpted face and full rosy lips. “Interesting.” once again he took a soft grasp to your face, this time not letting you go even if you fought him off. His eyes took everything your face offered him, from your perfect nose to you long eyelashes and your beautiful fierce eyes, which stared at him with pure hatred and anger. “How much?” he suddenly asked, still not drifting his eyes away from you.

The woman stood frozen in place, just like her daughters.

“What does your highness mean with…-”

“How much would you want for her?” he cut her off, the deadly silent that fell on the salon almost giving you chills.

What was he saying?

“Your highness, I can’t…” she was short of breath and words. “I surely doubt thee would want her under your care, she…”

“I don’t care about any of it. Name a price.” everyone was shocked by the situation. Buying and selling slaves was something quite common, that’s how your current ‘family’ have got you, but this…

The prince? Has he gone nuts?

“Your highness, I don’t think…” the prince’s counselor stepped in, shutting up once again as soon as he gave him a glance.

“50 gold coins.” the woman suddenly blurted out, everyone’s jaws dropping at the audacity of the woman and such large figure.

“Mother!” her offsprings whispered-yelled. Not believing her words.

50 gold coins?!

You scoffed, smirking at such nonsense, not noticing the staring of the prince due to your reaction.

She wished you were worth that much. He would never…

“Make it 150.” he closed the deal.

“Your highness!” the counselor exclaimed, completely alarmed.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Gideon.” he hushed the man with his soft hazel eyes.

You watched as the woman who once abused you and starved you for days fainted due to the prince’s words and his daughters kneeling down to help her followed by some of the nearby guests, fanning her pale sleeping face.

You too felt like fainting.

“Hey, eyes on me, sweetheart.” the prince caught your attention once again, when your eyes met a smile growing on his lips. “All you need to do from now on keep your eyes on me.”

“Get off of me!” you screamed at the servants that tried and strip you out of your clothes, pushing their hands away. “I said stop!”

“Miss, they’re orders from your highness.” one of them spoke, her blue eyes soft on you. “He wanted us to help you bathe and and get rid of your dirty clothes.” she explained.

“I don’t care about what he said.” you scoffed. “If he wanted me undressed so fast why isn’t he the one taking my clothes off?” they all gasped at your words and no respect to the prince.

You didn’t care though, they were all the same anyways. Always reaks* that just wanted to have women swoon at their feet. Maybe that’s why he had bought you, just to use you when his cock got cold.

Suddenly, the door on your back opened, the heads of the servants quickly lowering as your eyes met the prince’s.

“Oh, fantastic…” you muttered. Just what you needed at the moment.

“You heard her, ladies. You are all dismissed.” he smiled at every and each one of them, bowing and moving aside with a swing of his arm on the door to let them out, all of them bowing and giggling.

And weren’t you just right?

“Great. And what do I have the honor of your highness’ presence for?” you sarcastically inquired him once he had closed the door behind his back, noticing…, ‘Gideon’ outside. “Got too excited due your new acquisition to just wait?” you mocked him.

“I heard you were putting up a fight.” he smiled, ignoring your words whilst looking at you up and down. “Is there something not to your liking, perhaps?”

“‘Not to my liking’?” you scoffed. “I can’t believe you.” you shook your head, grasping at your locks as you stared at him in disbelief. “How about this whole goddamn situation? I mean, look at this!” you pointed out everything that surrounded you, the whole bathroom with a gigantic bathtub of quartz, marble floors and pillars… “A few hours ago I was being used as a coat hanger in your ball and now I’m in a bathroom with the prince, who, surprisingly enough, bought me for 150 golden coins god knows why?!” you exclaimed.

He stared at you with a funny look in his eyes. His back against the door as his eyebrows raised at you.

“What.” you spit out, a glare in your eyes.

“Nothing, is just that…” he stepped closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t seem to…, respect me.” he frowned, his voice low. “Not like all of them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, your highness, for not being another dog licking your leather boots.” you bowed, more of his steps growing closer to you until his thumb took your chin, rising your head up so you could meet his eyes, his face stood serious for a couple of seconds, before a downside smirk grew on his factions. “Why haven’t you cut my head off yet?” you inquired him, not really understanding his behavior. By the way you treated him, any other prince would have already gotten you to the guillotine.

“Why shall I?” he answered with another question, his thumb caressing the wound on your bottom lip, the still fresh blood that stood on it staining his thumb as you hissed in pain, getting away.

You stared at him in confusion.

Yeah. He was absolutely nuts.

“The water will go cold if you don’t get in soon.” he said, drifting off the matter while whipping off your blood from his thumb with his handkerchief. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off those ragged clothes?”

“This is the only dress I’ve had, sir.” you said, his eyes meeting yours.

“What’s your favorite color?” you frowned at his sudden question, which made absolutely no sense. He made no sense. “Crimson, like the purest blood? The forest’s green? The ocean’s blue, perhaps?”

“I’ve never seen the forest nor the ocean, sir. I’ve never left the capital. Though I find the sky’s blue on spring pretty wonderful, not sure it does justice to the ocean’s.”

“It doesn’t.” he said, sitting in the edge of the bathtub, his fingers taunting the warm water. “The ocean is cold, and fierce…, untamable. But it can also be warm, and calm, and soft.” he tried to explain, and from your point of view it didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense but you found it…

“It must be beautiful.” you said, him flashing you a soft smile before nodding.

“It is.” he got up clapping his hands together before looking back at you. “Well then, you should really hurry up, the water is perfect.”

“I already told thee, this dress is the only-“

“You won’t need it anymore.” he cut you off.

“And why is that?” you inquired, his steps growing closer to you.

“Because from now on…” he said, catching one of your locks in between his fingers. “You belong in this castle.”

To be continued…

*fussock; a lazy fat woman…, a frowzy old woman.

*the ton; the ton actually refers to English high society during the Regency era, and encompasses every aristocrat from the royals to the gentry.

*rake; ‘rake’ is used to describe an immoral, hedonistic young man circulating in high society.

#spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!readr #criminal minds #spencer reid cm

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lilgoblinbitch · 7 months ago

Text

Gossip 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

part two here

a/n: i based this fic on this post here! i might make a part 2 because i have some ideas in the back of my head of how i think this story could end up going eventually, but idk if i will write it yet. we'll see! also i made up the two random alexandrians in this story :)

summary: rick overhears you and some alexandrian women gossiping, and he decides to confront you.

warnings: 18+, alcohol consumption (reader gets drunk).

wc: 1.5k

MDNI

“Spencer does not like me, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You scoffed, taking another sip of the pinot. This was your second glass, and your head was starting to buzz.

Two Alexandrian women became well acquainted with you, offering you a bottle of wine and some dinner after your first week in Alexandria. You decided “why the hell not.” You never really had great friends before the apocalypse and the only ones you had were the group you came in with, so it wouldn’t harm you to make more.

“Oh honey, did you not notice the way he was ogling you at Deanna’s party?” One of them asked — her name was Shannon. The other woman, Vivian, slightly chuckled, taking one last swig from her glass. She nodded, muttering something in agreement.

You sighed. “Even if he was checking me out, it’s not like I care anyway...”

The two women paused simultaneously, looking up at you with ‘bitch, HUH?’ written on their faces. “Y/n, Spencer is a beautiful man! He’s tall, handsome, and he’s around your age I believe,” Vivian gushed. You scowled, displeased at the comment.

You took another gulp from your glass, emptying the contents down your gullet and then setting it on the kitchen island. After licking your lips clean, you said, “Well, frankly, I don't really care if I’m being quite honest.” Your mind swirled with inebriated thoughts; you sort of had a love-hate relationship when it came to alcohol — it either made you perfectly giddy and sociable or very angsty and erratic. But that’s what it did to most people, anyway. Right now, it was making you angsty. “I have someone else on my mind.”

“Oh, my! Okay, who is it?” Shannon asked, her and Vivian both on the edge of their chairs anticipating what you were about to say — well, what they expected you to tell them, that is.

You thought for a moment; should you tell them? It seemed like they lived for that kind of gossip. But that could mean that they might spill your secret, and you weren't exactly ready for that. “I’ll tell you another time. I’m tired, gonna head to bed,” you stated, yawning as you got up from the stool you were seated on. The two women groaned in disappointment, like children who failed to convince their parents to take them to disney world.

After your friends left you strutted out of the kitchen, about to head upstairs when you heard a door open and shut. Instinctively you ran back to the kitchen to grab a knife to defend yourself from a possible intruder or walker, but before you could your body collided with something, or rather someone.

You cursed and looked up at the culprit; it was none other than Rick Grimes. “Rick, what the fuck! I could have stabbed you!” You scolded him, picking up the knife that clattered on the ground.

“You forget we live together?” He teased, taking a step back to get a good look at you. Your eyes were glassy and eyelids heavy — a telltale sign that you were drunk. Rick had experience pulling over a few drunkards back in his day as a cop, so he knew immediately without even having to smell the alcohol oozing from your breath that you weren’t sober.

You pushed a strand of hair out of your face, swallowing the excess saliva forming in your mouth. You mentally scolded yourself for drooling over a man, but this one was just too beautiful to not gawk at. The sound of Rick clearing his throat snapped you out of your trance and brought you back to reality. “No, no. I didn’t forget. I just…”

“You’re just drunk, right?” He chuckled, turning his head to look at the empty bottle of wine sitting on the dining room table. You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of your lip while trying to think of a plausible excuse.

“Look, I only had two glasses. Shannon and Vivian from a few houses down brought us a casserole and some pinot. Girls’ night. Sue me, Rick.” You slipped past him and headed to the kitchen, Rick hot on your tail. “There’s leftovers in the fridge, if you or Carl want any,” You said without turning around. When you got to the kitchen sink you started washing the dishes, but you frowned slightly, looking back up at Rick with worrying eyes.

“Shit. Did I wake the kids? Is that why you’re down here?” You turned off the faucet, wiping your hands hastily on a dry towel.

Rick shook his head. “No. Only I heard you. But you weren’t very quiet, and when I heard them leave that’s when I came down here,” he explained, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Your heart picked up its pace. ‘How much did he hear?’ You wondered. You pursed your lips and your eyes floated around the room, quite obviously avoiding his intense stare. He made you nervous. That sheriff always made you nervous, and part of the reason was because you were so utterly attracted to him.

Finally you brought your eyes back to his icy ones, which were studying your body. You blushed and bit your lip again — it was a nervous habit you could never seem to break. “You got a stain–” Rick pointed to the red stain on your shirt, just below your breasts, “Right there.”

You looked down at the stain, it was wine — dark red wine, at that. And you were wearing a white tank top. How convenient.

You looked back up at him, snorting in slight amusement. “Guess I shouldn’t have worn white, huh?”

He let out a low chuckle, showcasing his pearly smile. God, he was pretty. “Thought you knew better than that, Y/n,” he joked, standing back up fully to make his way over to you. Okay, now your heart was really beating fast.

When he was finally in front of you, face to face, you gulped. He smelled like the forest after a rainshower, and somehow he always did; it engulfed you like a tsunami. You berated yourself for getting so worked up over the smell of him, and just him in general. He was your leader, your friend. And he asked you to live with him and his children because he trusted you. Why were you acting like a cat in heat? ‘It’s the alcohol’, you convinced your mind, it had to be…

The silence was too loud. You had no idea what Rick was thinking right now; frankly, you never did. His poker face was always unreadable. But your tipsy brain gained a few confidence points, letting smugness wash over you.

“Whatcha thinking about, Grimes?” You shifted your weight to one leg and batted your lashes at the man in front of you. He only grinned, then glanced away momentarily only to stare back into your eyes.

“Y’know, I overheard the conversation,” Rick started, his chest steadily moving up and down as he breathed. One of his hands gripped the counter while the other was glued to his hip. Your eyes trailed up and down his tanned veiny arms, taking in his manliness.

“Mhm. And?” You kept your composure, not wanting to let Rick taunt you; you knew you talked pretty loud when you were tipsy or drunk but it’s not like you said anything negative about him or anyone.

“You girls like to gossip, huh?”

“Well, yeah. We’re women,” you joked, cracking a smile and trying to ease the tension a bit. “What are you trying to get at?” Rick never bothered to indulge in any girl gossip you, Rosita, and Maggie used to partake in, so why was he so invested now?

Little did you know, he was always invested in literally anything you had to say.

Rick licked his lips and exhaled through his nose. “Heard you talking about liking someone. Is it anyone I know?”

He smirked when he noticed how red you turned. Your face would have matched the stain on your shirt if it was a few shades darker. “I– I don’t…” Of course now was the time to choke on your words, right when you were using every fiber of your being to keep your poise in check. But goddamnit, Rick just had to be a sly and cocky bastard.

“I don’t remember even saying anything about that, Rick.”

His smirk never faded. You wanted to slap it off his face, then kiss the hell out of him.

He tilted his head to the side a bit, furrowing his brows as if to challenge your statement. “Really?”

You nodded and crossed your arms right over the stain. ‘Deny, deny, deny,’ You repeated in your head.

But he didn’t buy your bullshit. He brought his hand to your cheek, fingers barely grazing your skin as if he was afraid he’d scare you away. Your breath hitched in your throat and subsequently dropped your arms to your sides, separating your lips to say something. However, nothing came out.

“Well, I think I know your secret, Y/n. Answer seems pretty clear to me.” His voice almost came out as a growl from how low and raspy it was. Goosebumps awakened all across the surface of your body. You were tongue tied.

“I’m the one on your mind, aren’t I?”

525 notes · View notes

kquil · 2 months ago

Text

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER FOUR

04 : BEGINNINGS

CHPT. SUM. : beginning new things is always fun. getting to know your sons, them finally being able to experience having a loving mother, sirius going to school, and you planning for everything that was yet to come so that everyone gets to the happy ending they deserve.

LENGTH : 11.8k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; orion being a bad father ; original walburga being a nuisance ; reader being an amazing mother and an amazing cook ; regulus has food preferences ; brotherhood between sirius and regulus ; marauders spotted in the wild ; sirius and regulus being precious babies ; reader disrespecting walburga ; mentions of infertility ; mentions of divorce ; lots of future planning

← PREV. 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) | SERIES M.LIST

9th August 1971

It, surprisingly, took very little to get past Orion on the topic of changing Sirius and Regulus’ private tutors. However, when you truly looked at his workaholic tendencies, your initial surprise should have been the more startling reaction — of course, he wouldn’t care, he’s too fixated on the happenings with his position on the Wizengamot to be aware of much else, discounting the protective wards he put up around the property. Nevertheless, it was good news for you and your boys. Finally, they would be getting more suitable tutors, who catered to their learning needs in a more digestible way. You had only recently sent out the notice, though, so you don’t expect many replies to be coming in soon. Your only wish was to have fallen into this universe sooner, that way you would have had more time with Sirius before he left to attend Hogwarts as a first year.

Walburga didn’t have a formal occupation other than monitor her boys so having Sirius leave for his first year would mean less work for her and, subsequently, you. However, it’s not as if she needed the money; she’s the matriarch of an incredibly privileged family, meaning that her financial worries are close to non-existent. Both, the affluent family fortune and her lack of professional ambitions have you stumped, it’s something you’re not used to at all. Perhaps that’s why she’s so obsessed with control and the activity of her two sons; it’s not healthy and you don’t even want to attempt to understand what she was thinking—

“Of course you won’t!” Walburga snarls from the depths of your consciousness, her tone dripping with malice and a hint of something sinister. “I don’t expect someone who failed at becoming a mother to understand the right and true tribulations of bringing up children,”

“…how did you know that?” you ask aloud, no longer satisfied with simply trying to call for the bitch - Walburga’s - attention in your head. She didn’t seem to want to reply, which only made your blood boil; her prolonged silence, the trigger to releasing your rapidly escalating rage. How dare she?! How dare she strike you where it hurts the most, only to turn completely unresponsive when you demand answers, “Answer me!” Thick tensions fill the room when she does not answer, the silence suffocating and poisonous. Taking a slow, deep breath, you engage control over your anxious heart and trembling hands once more.

Work. You need work. Something to focus on so that you don’t dwell on memories that will only bring you heartache. It worked before so it’ll work for you now. It had worked so well, in fact, that you were able to build an empire out of it, perhaps you could replicate the same results this time.

“Screw you then, ugly pig, I have more important matters to attend to anyway,” pulling out a drawer, you scatter your notes across the desk and move with fretful fever but, also, enthusiasm above them. No matter the change of environment, you can always trust in your habits to push you forward. Walburga mainly worked on keeping the boys in line as the official matriarch of the Black household but that’s all her world revolved around, she had no hobbies or any close friends other than her relatives whom she communicated with, somewhat, regularly. With a guilty ache in your chest, you kept a gradually growing stack of letters in the bottom-most drawer of the hard oak desk, not yet knowing how to respond to people you barely knew. However, you suppose their relations to a character like Walburaga make it slightly easier to ignore their communications. The affiliation doesn’t warrant your precious time. If you could send a passive-aggressive email, you might be more willing, but the extended process of having to write out the letters and then send them via owl wasn’t worthwhile.

The priority on your list of important affairs is ensuring your boys’ happy and safe future. Sirius will not have to choose between Regulus and his friends, he will not suffer being blasted off the family tree, he will not have to be ashamed of his family, he will not have to witness his close friend’s death through another’s betrayal, and he will not be forced to go to Azkaban. Similarly, Regulus will not have to suffer Sirius abandoning him, he will not have to face his prejudicial parents alone, he will not be forced into getting the dark mark, he will not have to make the sacrifice he had to make at such a young age, he will not die a miserable and lonely death, and he will not be forgotten! You will make sure of it.

Coming into the world as a Harry Potter and Marauders fan, you’re well-equipped with all the knowledge required to make the right decisions. The only problem is that the Marauders era has been a largely vague timeline that most of the fandom filled in for themselves so you’ll have to tread carefully. This will require meticulous planning, a steady rise to power and a conglomeration of useful allies to help set your plans into motion. Modern-day knowledge and business etiquette will serve you well here. You’ve survived toxic work environments, won in the race to riches, and dealt with all manner of manipulative, sexist swine you could ever think to encounter. If you play your cards right, you’re sure to win.

“As if a muggle like you could conquer the wizarding world!” Walburga finally makes her appearance once again. And, of course, it’s for the sake of belittling you whilst making your head throb painfully from her distasteful screeches.

“Shut up,” you hiss unapologetically, resisting the urge to smirk, “Unlike you, I know the future—” breathing the words aloud brings a blaring, singular thought to the front of your mind. The vision you witnessed at the Owl Emporium replays in your head once more…

How in the world did Walburga know about the biting habit of Sirius’ future owl?…

Several moments pass achingly slow as you anticipate the aggravating screeching of Walburga to return. When no such wailing occurs or interrupts your train of thought, your mind immediately begins to spiral.

How could Walburga remember being at the Emporium, shopping for Sirius’ first year at Hogwarts when she had yet to go shopping with him in the first place? They couldn’t have already gone, right? Orion would have said something if they were being inefficient enough to go a second time. That or the boys would have definitely made some comment…

This felt like an urgent matter that needed your immediate attention but you had to prioritise other things for now. It’s not like the original Walburga was going to give you the answers you needed so it wasn’t any use pressing on the matter. It’s best to turn your focus and efforts elsewhere. Peering back at your scattered notes, you raise your newly acquired wand and utter the crafting spell you had learned recently.

“Libeligare,” As you wave your wand over the desk, activity springs forth. In a flurry of animated pages and whistling currents in the air, your disordered notes compile themselves appropriately before binding themselves into a fresh notebook. It doesn’t have a hard cover and you debate on transfiguring a decorative letter set piece into one but think against it. This will do nicely for the moment.

Finally, all your detailed plans are in one place.

10th August 1971

With nothing better to do and desperate for a decent meal, you address the home-cooked meals situation. Every dish served at the Black household was so unappetising and bland, that you couldn’t believe that the family was one of the most influential and richest families to exist in the wizarding world. You’re beginning to believe that the Blacks were the type of family to indulge in unpalatable spreads with the reasoning that they refuse to eat the same meals as those lesser than them. How childish. Even in your city-centre penthouse, you ordered take-out frequently and ate ordinary home-cooked meals that were comforting and warm. The memories make you compare all the meals you’ve had in Grimmauld Place and blanch abhorrently. This wouldn’t do, especially for your growing boys. They need to be well-fed so that they grow up healthy and strong.

“Mistress!” Kreacher shrieks behind you, making you jump and spin around all at once. The hunched-over house elf dashes through the kitchen space clumsily and with much vigour, he pulls painfully at his drooping ears as his eyes bulge out from seeing you, his mistress, the matriarch, in the kitchen cooking! Without magic!

“Don’t be so dramatic, Kreacher,” you chuckle softly and turn back to your food prep, “I’m just trying to cook an easy breakfast for my boys,” if you could truly have it your way then you would cook enough only for you and your two darling sons to eat. Orion would have to sort his own plate. But you’re not divorced yet so you suppose this is a compromise you’ll have to make.

“I-It is not mistress’ job, let Kreacher do it—!” the house elf, reaches forward to take the kitchen utensils from you but you’re too swift.

“I want to cook the food Kreacher,” you argue and continue pottering about the kitchen as if it was just another Tuesday morning, all while Kreacher follows you around helplessly. He’s clearly stuck between letting you have your way or forcing you to let him cook instead. Both felt wrong in different ways considering his position as the house elf, and he was brought to a standstill. The poor guy looked ready to throw himself off a cliff from the indecision and panic.

Having sympathy for the elf, you call to him over your shoulder, “Kreacher can you please pass me the eggs?” this feels like a good even ground to dance on. Soon enough you’ll be teaching Kreacher how to finally relax. Kreacher appeared happy to finally be doing something but as soon as he hesitantly handed over the eggs, he was back to being anxious all over again. Even though you are the matriarch of the household, you supposed you’ll have to share the kitchen with a very distressed house elf for the foreseeable future.

For the rest of the morning, you’ve asked Kreacher to help you with crisping up the beacon, cleaning the mushrooms, opening up the can of beans, toasting the bread and laying out the table. No more tasteless, boring porridge for breakfast with no toppings, today you’re serving a Full English. Admiring the spread, you thank Kreacher for his assistance before undoing your apron and putting the finishing touches to the dining table just as the rest of the family make it down for breakfast.

“What is all this?” Orion asks in slight surprise when catching sight of breakfast for the day, “Is today very important?”

“No,” nonchalance keeps your tone controlled just as your precious babies walk through the door and hop into their designated seats at the table, one more enthusiastic than the other, “I’m just tired of plain old porridge every day,”

“Porridge is delicious,” Orion defends.

“Every day?” from the look in his eyes, you don’t know whether or not you’ve bested him so turn a serene smile his way instead, “I can always ask Kreacher to make you porridge if you really want,”

Orion takes a moment to observe the full, vibrant plate of bacon, toast, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, sausages, black pudding, scrambled eggs and beans. If he takes any longer to play indecisive, the food will get cold and your precious babies are waiting on his dainty, princess-ass to make a decision— can you hurry the fuck up?! you want to scream at him. Every meal is started after his first bite (the pretentious, narcissistic douche) so he needs to make up his mind quickly or else you’ll lose yours waiting around!

“…it’ll be a waste, this will do,” he finally picks up his knife and fork to begin eating and you have to reign yourself in before you roll your eyes too noticeably at his conceited behaviour. Your babies behave better than him. The prick!

Turning to your boys, you observe Sirius and Regulus digging into their own meals before finally taking a bite out of yours. It felt good to see their eyes light up like that, especially Sirius’ — it makes you want to giggle at how obviously he had been wanting to devour his beans and toast the instant he laid eyes on them.

Breakfast continues pleasantly as everyone enjoys their meal until you begin to notice some peculiar movement in the corner of your eye. You try to be as subtle as you can, considering the uncommon calm that has fallen over the dining table; it isn’t usually this comfortable around the table so you wanted to preserve the ambience as much as possible. The source of your curious gaze was Sirius and Regulus.

Covertly, Regulus sneaks spoonfuls of his scrambled eggs onto Sirius’ plate, who proceeds to eat up his younger brother’s share as quickly as possible. Regulus was doing this willingly despite this morning’s breakfast being the first appetising meal he’s had yet. It won’t be the last either. However, from the way Sirius is scarfing down the food whilst trying to remain as silent as possible, it wouldn’t be surprising if Sirius eventually suffers from a stomachache later on. You wonder what could be the matter with the scrambled eggs. Was the seasoning off? Kreacher helped taste test every element of the meal and gave his stellar praise for your unrealised culinary skills so you’re more than a bit confused at the scene. After swallowing all remnants of food in your mouth, you gently raise a question.

“Regulus?” your youngest freezes up immediately, making your brows furrow but still, you continue in a soft voice, “What’s wrong?” Deep in your chest, you feel your heart clench in worry at the deer-in-headlights expression plastered across Regulus’ cherubic face.

You are met with only silence, “do you not like your eggs, darling?” you try meeting your youngest’s eyes but he’s terrified to even face your direction. Instead, he’s firmly steered his gaze down to his lap and keeps it there, frozen in place.

There’s a slam of the table and everyone stiffens. At the head, Orion stares disapprovingly at Regulus, who begins to tremble like a leaf, “How rude!” the patriarch spits with such force and bite that his saliva lands halfway down the lengthy dining table. He’s so scandalised by his son’s behaviour that the cold from his freezing gaze drops the temperature in the room lower than it already is. “How many times have we talked about this Regulus? Finish your plate at once or else it’ll be the last meal you eat today!”

“He’s not being rude!” you counter, flying out of your seat and making your way to Regulus, “And he shouldn’t be forced to eat something he doesn’t like nor punished harshly for disliking something,” Crouching down, you position yourself to block Orion from Regulus’ line of sight despite his frightened doe-eyes remaining transfixed on his lap. His small hands are turned into small, knuckle-white fists, gripping fiercely at the fabric of his trousers. A paralysed statue of fear incarnate, your little boy doesn’t deserve this! If you could ‘Avada Kedavra’ Orion’s pathetic, prissy ass, you would in a heartbeat.

From your peripheral, you notice how Sirius had placed a comforting hand over one of Regulus’ closed fists and the sight made your heart bloom with pride and joy — seeing how well they take care of each other was so heartwarming. “Tell me what’s wrong, Reg…I promise I won’t get mad,” you make sure to keep your voice in a low whisper so that only your son can hear but also loud enough that Orion’s distant grumbling is disguised.

“Do you not like eggs?” your prompting remains gentle and patient, hoping for a fraction of understanding. That’s all you really want.

Sensing no antagonistic feeling in your tone, Regulus finally wills himself to speak, although barely audible from insecurity, “I….I don’t like scrambled eggs…”

“No? What about them don’t you like?”

"They feel weird in my mouth, I don’t like chewing them,” he explains shyly, his confession dripping with shame. His grey eyes look into your own remorsefully and, before he can utter an apology, he is stopped by the shaking of your head.

Smiling warmly, you pat his small hand and voice your reassurance, “That’s a reasonable preference to have. Do you not like the texture?” Regulus nods in confirmation as his small, tense shoulders slowly ease up, “Do you not like eggs at all or do you like them cooked in a particular way?”

Regulus’ eyes widen with surprise. Never before had his mother been so attentive to his preferences like this. On the contrary, His mother was always the first to make him feel embarrassed for his picky tendencies when it came to food, especially over dishes that make him lose his appetite entirely, oysters and shellfish being the main culprit. He really didn’t like them at all. Many times, they were the appetiser to multiple-course meals hosted by pureblood, elitist wizarding families so Walburga was determined to season her son’s palettes early on in life. It was good etiquette to eat such foods and to know how to eat them properly. If he didn’t display appropriate dinner etiquette at the table then he is lesser, he is unworthy of the Black family name and blood running through his veins, he is unbecoming of his heritage, he is a disgrace—

“I can cook eggs in many other ways,” you suggest thoughtfully, voice remaining soft and comforting, “I can fry them for you? Or I can boil them? Do you like your yolk runny or firm?”

Regulus, spurred on by your softly placed questions feels the corners of his lips tug upwards, “fried eggs, please…”

His innocuous answer makes you beam, “with a runny or firm yolk, darling?”

“Runny, please,” Regulus finds your bright expression infectious and begins to smile a little wider too. Over the slope of his little brother’s small shoulders, Sirius is grinning from ear to ear; finally, Regulus isn’t going to be forced to eat something he doesn’t enjoy. The elation makes Sirius’ chest swell as his heart pinches slightly at the memory of his little brother retching up the contents of his stomach in the bathroom. Those disastrous, past meals started badly and they ended badly too. Peering at you with smiling eyes, Sirius knows that he won’t need to worry about that any more.

“Of course, right away," you’re eager to leave and fix up Regulus’ plate but you also worry about leaving him with Orion at the dinner table; your husband wasn’t too pleased with Regulus having preferences — the pretentious prick could choke on his food and die for all you cared, “how about we go to the kitchen together?” you offer smoothly as you begin to stand, “that way, you can watch me cook and make sure I do them just the way you like it,” smiling brightly, Regulus nods and easily offers his hand for you to hold, “Siri, would you like to come?” if one brother was coming with you so was the other.

“Yes please!” Sirius happily walks to the kitchen, hand-in-hand with Regulus, whose other hand is fully wrapped up in your own.

From the head of the table, Orion stares with his mouth agape at what he had just been a witness to. What was happening to his wife?!

11th August 1971

Sirius and Regulus stand by the fireplace, waving off their newly appointed private tutor as they floo away before eagerly making their way to your home office. Usually, their session catch-ups would make the two freeze up and drag their feet along the plush carpets of their family’s proud home but not now. Ever since your irregular activities leading up to your fainting spell and subsequent switch in demeanour, they’ve felt safer and happier at home. But only around you, their father still frightened them. The patriarch’s grey eyes swirled with a mounting turbulence that they would greatly prefer to avoid so they quickly make themselves scarce around him but not around their mother. Not anymore.

“I can’t wait to show Mother my cursive practice,” Regulus has a skip in his step as he walks beside his older brother, who beams at him proudly.

“Yeah, you’re getting really good at that Reggie,” Sirius praises, a slightly envious tone edging into his words, but it all remained playful, “say, how do you do your swirls so good?”

“Practise!”

Sirius rolls his eyes at his younger brother’s cheek, “There has to be a secret to it that I don’t know about,” Regulus only giggles at his older brother’s shortcomings. This had been a rare happiness to experience at 12 Grimmauld Place but, gradually, it was becoming common between the two brothers. Suddenly the walls weren’t so drab, the furniture not as boring and the decorations not as hauntingly placed. The atmosphere was much brighter as sunlight always seemed to pour magnanimously in from the windows.

“Sorry Siri,” from Regulus’ free-flowing, tuneful words, he isn’t sorry at all but Sirius can never will up any hatred for his younger brother. They’ve been through it all together and now that their recent joys were also being shared, of course, they would partake in harmless teasing — teasing that was usually frowned upon by their mother but was no longer a worry. They can’t remember the last time their mother frowned — the two greatly prefer this new version of their mother’s expressions much more.

As they approach your office door, the brothers’ footfalls quicken and they barely catch themselves from bursting through the door without knocking. But not before they catch sight of your figure through the crack of the doorway. Curious about your activity, Sirius hushes his younger brother softly and holds him back so that he can lean forward to observe your figure closely. Inspired by his older brother’s nosiness, Regulus leans forward also and the two peer at you through the doorway crack.

You’re not at your desk but are, instead, seated on the plush, cushioned seats of the emerald sofa placed in front of your desk. Black robes and other familiar attire are piled up beside you on one side while the other gradually assembles the neatly folded aftermath of your sewing…embroidery? Was there even a difference? Nevertheless, you had a needle and thread in hand without your wand or the use of magic in sight!

“Mother’s sewing your name tags herself,” Regulus concludes in a whisper following a muted gasp of surprise.

Sirius’ eyes widen ever so slightly, “and she’s not using magic…” he doesn’t know how skilled you are at sewing but Sirius doesn’t care, the gesture alone is enough to make his chest swell. Even his face began to warm up from the heat climbing up his neck as it tried reaching his ears.

“…do you think she’ll sew my name tags too? When I start my first year, I mean…” Regulus asks shyly, the clear insecurity in his timid voice making Sirius slightly defensive.

“Of course, she will,” he huffs before grinning widely, “and if we tear up our uniform ‘accidentally’ I’m sure she’ll sew those up herself too!” Regulus doesn’t know whether he likes or dislikes his brother’s train of thought but smiles anyway; he’s just happy thinking about his mother paying as much attention and care to his first-year robes too. He can’t wait until he starts attending Hogwarts as well.

Finally willing themselves to stop eavesdropping and return to their earlier task, Sirius and Regulus straighten their posture before knocking on the heavy wooden door. They don’t have to wait terribly long for an answering call to grant their entrance.

“Come in,” you set your tools aside and smile when the door reveals your babies stepping into your office, “hello, my darlings,” from your periphery, you spot the time on the clock face and jump into conversation with them, “how was your tutoring session? Did you like your new tutor?”

“Yeah!” the two answer simultaneously and with the same amount of enthusiasm — it makes you smile with content. Happiness looks good on them; their characters shine brighter and their faces are more child-like. They’re honestly the cutest little boys you’ve ever seen and now they’re your sons to love and protect.

“That’s wonderful news,” you open your arms for each of them to jump into, “Tell me all about it,” you’re just about to magic away the robes and sewing equipment so that they can sit beside you but not before you spot Sirius inspecting your handiwork, “I’m afraid I’m not the best seamstress,” your confession comes out bashfully, “I should have had Madam Malkins sew the tags on for me—”

“No!—” Sirius interrupts, looking almost offended that you would consider such a thing, “I like your sewing,” you raise a brow and, together with Regulus, inspect your uneven, treasure map trail of stitches before turning to the eldest brother once more.

“Are you sure, darling?”

“Yeah, only you can do the stitching on my uniform, no one else,” his firm answer makes your embarrassed expression melt into a warm smile.

“Alright then,”

“Thank you, Mother,” he gives you another hug that you happily return.

“You’re welcome, my dear,”

Looking over your plans, you sigh in restrained frustration. This is going to be a little hard. Yes, you know what to do but it’s all about recruiting the right people, trustworthy people and ones who are right for the role you’re choosing to give them. There’s a lot on your plate too, with your most urgent goal being divorce. You’re convinced that it isn’t going to be easy, considering the controversies that will surround the separation of a prominent wizarding house. The laws surrounding marriage, divorce and custody at this time are also largely unknown to you. Thankfully, you’ve had the privilege of living in a modern ‘muggle’ society where marriage and custody laws were pretty equal and fair. Perhaps there’s a book you can read up on about these things. For now, it’s a safe bet to say that custody will favour Orion as a man in the 1970s — it’s better to over-prepare than be underprepared for any outcome.

Despite the importance of this particular undertaking, you’ll have to wait until both, Sirius and Regulus, are attending Hogwarts to commence the divorce proceedings. You don’t want your boys to be front-row witnesses nor do you want them to rollercoaster through the typical, rough emotions of children caught up in their parents’ divorce. You’ve been through that already… and you barely made it out on the other side. You’re an adult and they’re just children; if you can protect them from the brunt of it, you will.

A stray thought pushes forward into your consciousness — it would be too optimistic to confidently wager on the boys siding with you. Although under abusive parenting, children are very loyal and you’re benefiting from that loyalty now; even though Walburga was incredibly cruel to her sons, they were still eager to give you a chance as soon as you took over and began treating them kindly. You need to be cautious. The silver lining of it all is that you’ll, at least, have some time to prepare affluently before starting the separation process. That, on its own, however, will require another bout of planning.

Saving Regulus is another priority on your list. That requires getting rid of the Horcruxes and killing off snake-faced Voldy but you don’t want to be too hands-on with that, especially because you’re not very adept at casting spells yet — there’ll be more experienced and more willing people (Aurors) who would be able to handle this type of mission. All you have to do is pull the right strings and connect with the right people. Eyeing another task on your list, you spot a small connection and smirk to yourself. The nib of your quill dips into a pot of ink and bridges two of your obligations.

“This could be quite beneficial on both ends,” if you play your cards right…

Making some more careful notes, you gradually begin to piece everything together. But then there’s the issue of Sirius being sent to Azkaban. It’s healthy to have faith in yourself but if someone’s life and wellbeing are in danger, especially if it’s your son’s, you need to have a second, third and fourth plan at the ready. There needs to be a second, third and fourth plan for Regulus as well. Luck and misfortune will always have some influence on the dice you roll, there will never be an exception to that. You’ve learned this enough times in your previous life already, not just in business but everything else too.

Your quill stops and rests beside your plans as the cogs in your brain turn with more purpose. Sirius still needs to become an animagus and Regulus needs to learn how to be a strong enough swimmer so that he can cast a spell to repel the Inferi. It would be beneficial if they both become well-equipped in duelling. That’ll require your lack of interference (maybe even your support) until Sirius’ fifth year, getting Regulus sorted with swimming lessons and encouraging both on their Defence Against the Dark Arts skills. You make a quick note of both solutions and their reasoning before linking both back to your list of obligations.

The progress you’re making with these intervention plans is making headway. You just hope that you won’t tip the scales too far so that what little control you currently have slips right through your fingers and you’ll be left floundering.

20th August 1971

You’ve fully taken over the cooking for all meals and your boys are looking much healthier. It warms your heart every time you see them happily eating your cooking, it was hard work keeping up with the pantry inventory, planning meals and catering to their individual tastes but it was good work that filled your heart with so much content, you hardly felt the fatigue creeping into your bones.

Regulus isn’t a picky eater, he simply has a preference for some foods over others. He doesn’t like his eggs scrambled, only fried and with a runny yolk; he can’t stomach oysters or shellfish; he doesn’t like pulp in his juice and he’d rather eat a raw onion than have any trace of offal trimmings in his food.

Sirius can practically eat anything and does so healthily, however, he’s more of a savoury person, leaving Regulus to own the sweet tooth palette by himself. Both adore cheese and you often create mini charcuterie boards for them to snack on. It was so adorable. There was plenty of time on your schedule to assign towards aesthetic food presentation so you’ve mastered the creation of salami roses. You’ve also found that Sirius prefers caramelised onion chutney to go with his mature cheeses whilst Regulus goes for a sweeter fig chutney.

Currently, you were making them their own mini charcuterie boards. Both were displayed on a circular board with their favourite chutney at the very centre, held in a small ceramic container. And, with decorative prowess, you place their selection of meats, cheeses, crackers and grapes around it.

“Do they look good Kreacher?” the house elf peers over the countertop surface and gives an affirming nod with a barely noticeable smile.

“The young masters will be very happy, Mistress,” helpfully he suggests bringing the carefully prepared boards and crust-less finger sandwiches up to the boys’ study room for you but you shake your head.

“Thank you, Kreacher, but I think I’ll bring up the food this time,” you’ve met their new private tutor several times already but she was always so tense around you; you’re determined to improve her impression through some good old exposure therapy. “Please prepare some tea and bring it up as soon as you’re done,” with your wand and a softly uttered ‘locomotor charcuterie boards and sandwiches’, the items lift into the air just slightly and you begin to move them out of the kitchen.

“What tea should Kreacher be brewin’ this noon, Mistress?”

“Oolong would be lovely today. Be sure to brew some Earl grey for Orion too but deliver the Oolong to us first please,” Kreacher’s struggles with your utterance of the polite ‘please’ persists but he continues with his set tasks regardless. The hunched-over house elf has noticed you’ve been prioritising the young masters much more than Orion recently; whenever you want to do something thoughtful, you always think of your sons first. Only last minute do you finally remember your workaholic husband and leave the snack preparations for Kreacher to fulfil and deliver alone. It’s a peculiar shift in attention, the wrinkled elf admits, but seeing his young master Regulus so happy, he doesn’t complain. Kreacher also admits that he’s growing a slight, mutual fondness for the elder Black brother, the two share in their love for Regulus and loyalty to you; now they’ve become friendly acquaintances. The house elf is a little happier and much more willing than ever before to stay loyal to his mistress and young masters’ sides. And Master Orion too, of course.

Making your way up the stairs, the pretentious cow stuck in your head makes her presence known with inconsequential complaints.

“You’re spoiling those boys far too much!” Walburga shrieks and immediately makes your temples pound, “Sirius and Regulus don’t need this much attention, if you continue this they’re going to grow up soft and weak and unable to carry on the Black family name with the proper dignity and class!” For the sake of avoiding the horrid healing potion Kreacher’s having you consume after every fainting spell, you’ve been training yourself to build up as much resistance to her incessantly obnoxious yapping as much as possible — you’re getting there but you still need some practise. Currently, you are traversing the stairs so you’re taking every step with extra caution.

“Bitches should be seen and not heard,” her confounded gasp doesn’t escape you, “so kindly shut the fuck up,” the sarcastic cheerfulness in your tone makes her gasp once more and, like a coward, makes herself scarce. It seems as though you’ve gotten better at shutting the shrew up but she has yet to acclimatise herself to your shameless disrespect towards her. Hopefully, she never gets used to your comments; it’s always such a pleasure being able to render her utterly speechless.

With a pleased smile, you give a soft knock on the boys’ study room before entering. The boys gasp happily as soon as they see the levitating charcuterie boards and the plateful of crust-less sandwiches float closer and closer.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I think you all deserve a lunch break,” the boys cheer and happily dig in while you face their tutor with a small smile, “please feel free to have as many sandwiches as you want, we have plenty on offer,” her smile is hesitant and slightly trembles under your hold so she’s quick to look away and fix her focus onto the plate of sandwiches — her own, personal reprieve from having to interact with you.

Peony Knight. She’s an incredibly timid individual who seems to be in her element only when teaching children rather than in the company of said children’s adult parents — she has yet to look you in the eye for an extended period. Her head is an organised plight of feathery, strawberry-blonde hair and her eyes are a pair of opal pendants, so brilliantly blue but incandescent with a kaleidoscope of other jewel colours. Her resume was astounding but her family wasn’t very notable so you could only imagine her surprise when she received your response to her application with a test run of her skills. It was important to you that she comes from an uncommon house and family, you didn’t want to draw too much attention over switching tutors. At her tutoring trial run, she started very shaky but eventually found her confidence when focusing on your two boys rather than your lurking figure from the corner of the study. She was a good runner-up and quickly became the perfect choice when your boys showed favour towards her – the other candidates appeared to have been more affected by your presence in the room and taught the way they thought you wanted them to.

“She’s nice and patient,” Regulus commented when you went to him after her trial lesson.

“I like the way she explains things,” Sirius added beside him.

That was all you needed to hire her as their private tutor. Peony’s timidity of you as an authority figure played in her favour very well.

Hidden within a thick pile of stacked parchments and a small mountain of miscellaneous scrolls, you found Walburga’s carefully curated curriculum for the boys and handed it over to Peony. Walburga would know better than you what would be useful for her sons to learn. However, you were surprised at the amount of ‘muggle’ topics on her curated list. Admittedly, you were only expecting foundational wizarding lessons maybe on wands or classic pureblood etiquette so your shock was justified. Walburga’s reaction, however, wasn’t.

“I teach them proper pureblood etiquette myself, you useless girl! And how can I expect my sons to grow up well if they aren’t taught the basics?! They’ll be able to advance as better wizards of the Black family that way. Moreover, muggles stick to and remain in the basics so don’t get smug with me, you filthy mud-blood!” Walburga screeched without restraint and with much offence after your initial revelation, leading to another fainting spell — the disgusting bitch…

In addition to Peony’s private tutoring, you’ve taken to providing your own private lessons to the boys, much to their surprise and slight hesitancy. However, as soon as you began the extended lessons after their usual morning session with Peony one day, they’ve since grown to love it. This didn’t happen every time, however, only on Tuesdays and Fridays. Today was one of those days, a Friday, and you’re so excited to see their reactions to what you have planned.

Their schedules typically consist of Peony coming over a couple of hours before noon and she teaches them for two or three hours sessions every day except weekends. Mondays were for English language and literature (wizard and muggle), Tuesdays were for Economics, Numeracy and Financial literacy, Wednesdays were for French and Cursive handwriting practice, Thursdays were for muggle sciences (basic biology, physics and chemistry) and Fridays were for history and philosophy (wizard and muggle).

You reserve the fun lessons for your boys with yourself as their teacher. These were composed of lessons that typically challenged their problem-solving, creativity and other fundamental skills to set them up with a good foundation for school and life in general. This included fun puzzle-solving, art (in every medium the boys wanted), some written/scenario problem-solving and role-play scenarios. The first Friday you did this, you had the boys act out from rough, child-friendly scripts you drafted inspired by the Shakespearian play, Macbeth. It seemed like an innocuous lesson but you wanted to gauge their ethical understandings and reasonings.

Throughout the scenes, you would spontaneously make them freeze frame to ask prompting questions that typically go along the lines of, ‘what would you do in this situation?’, ‘do think that was the right thing to do?’, and ‘why did you think your character did this even though they knew it was wrong?’. Both engaged very well with their own perspectives on the situation.

At one point they got into a small argument that you needed to break up due to slightly differing standpoints on the scenario. It became slightly more heated than you expected but you were thankful for the opportunity to teach them how to communicate well with each other despite their differences. The lesson ended after that because tensions were still high and they were equally very stubborn about who should apologise first.

It was going to take more than one lesson to be able to make them understand the rules and the importance of healthy communication, but that was to be expected. This was just the beginning so you’re hoping that if you stay consistent with fostering their ethical reasoning, communication and problem-solving skills, they will be able to remain brotherly despite their opposing Hogwarts houses. In the end, you made them apologise at the same time (to the count of three) and had them hug it out before telling them to say one thing they like about the other person. Evidently, they weren’t used to your new way of doing things and making amends but they (grumpily) did as they were told — and looked absolutely adorable doing it, their pouty faces were too much to bear!

Approaching the two boys indulging in their individual charcuterie boards and occasionally exchanging bites of their share, you kneel between them and begin pleasant conversations about their current lesson.

“Are you two having fun so far?” you could practically see Peony stiffen up like cement behind you, just from the telling gasp she lets out in the background. Being so high-strung isn’t going to be good for her health so you hope she gets used to your presence soon enough. You do feel slightly apologetic for her but she needs to know that people can change no matter how drastically. Hopefully, she takes this opportunity to grow some confidence in herself too. Someone so intelligent should walk with broader shoulders and a higher chin.

“Yeah! Did you know Pythagoras had a cult?” Sirius was practically bouncing in his chair.

“No, he had a school of very intelligent mathematicians and musicians,” Regulus countered after swallowing his bite of cracker, cheese and grapes.

Sirius rolls his eyes but immediately jumps into another topic, “he discovered the theory of pitch which is surprising coming from a guy who’s scared of beans,” he cracks himself up laughing at the statement.

Again, Regulus interjects in defence of the philosopher, “he wasn’t scared of beans,” the two brothers exchange narrowed stares, “He just believed that beans were the vessels for dead people’s souls and didn’t want to disrespect them by running through a bean field,” a small argument ensues but you don’t act, instead, you watch as a bystander in the hopes that your presence alone can keep them in check. If you ever feel the need to jump in at some point, you will.

All too well, Sirius and Regulus remain aware of your lingering attendance to their quarrel and make the silent agreement to not escalate things too far. For a moment, they share a knowing look after briefly glancing your way and glaring at each other once again. You watch them huff and inhale a slow, shaky breath. They actively turn their voices down whilst continuing with their argument. It didn’t seem to go anywhere but both concluded it with less heat and more of a calm acknowledgement of each other’s differing sides.

“Two people can have different opinions and still be friends. They only need to respect that the other person holds a different view and that it doesn’t make them a bad person,” they remembered your sage advice from their first extracurricular lesson with you. It was a massive shift in perspective to their growing minds and the impact it had on both of them was enough to permanently imprint the message into their heads.

Unprompted, you lean forward and press a kiss to each of their foreheads, Sirius first and then Regulus, “I’m so proud of you two,” you watch as their cherubic cheeks flush an adorable, pink hue. Sirius scratches the back of his head bashfully whilst Regulus fiddles with his pen, both of them equally biting back a small smile from the praise, “you remembered what I taught you,” they look upon your elated smile with shy fulfilment as they nod slightly. “Another person’s opposing opinions might be something we don’t share or appreciate as much as they do but…” they lean forward ever so slightly, wanting to consciously heed your elaboration on the topic, “hearing or witnessing a different view will expand our perspective on the world and help us grow as people. We need to keep an open mind for these sorts of things because they can teach us so much. It might be hard to do sometimes, but I want to ask you two for a small favour,” they nod silently, not questioning or hesitating at your words, fully trusting in your sensible knowledge — their mother was always a brick wall when it came to the opinions of others, they couldn’t penetrate her, especially when it came to opposite views on blood purity so, to see her encouraging such undogmatic behaviour, is peculiar but in a strangely motivating way. They find that they want to do whatever it is that you want to ask them to do no matter what, “I want the two of you to try to understand the other side of any argument or opposite view. The world isn’t as black and white as we think it is. We have to try to be understanding and empathetic people. There may be reasons someone sees the world a certain way and even if we don’t agree or like their opinion, the least we can do is try to understand them. Just try. That’s all… that’s enough,”

It was a lot to take in and it was a lot to ask of such young minds that were still developing. But you weren’t asking for them to be perfect at it. All you want them to do is try.

“Alright, Mother,” Sirius nods with solid determination in his eyes.

“Whatever you wish, Mother,” Regulus says at the same time, also glowing with resolve.

Smiling happily, you bring them into a group hug, your arms easily curling around their small shoulders as you press another kiss to their temples, “you don’t have to be perfect, just try,“ you reiterate in a whisper, “I’m so proud of you, my darlings, you make mommy so happy,” you don’t see it but you feel their bright smiles press into your neck from either side as they return your embrace and nuzzle their faces into the junction of your neck and shoulders.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Their lesson ended a few minutes ago and, like routine, they wave off Peony at the living room fireplace while you set up the study with all the things you planned on having them do for the afternoon. You asked them if they wanted to take a break before your lesson but they said they were happy to begin right away. They were able to detect the sparkle of excitement in your eyes as you left after their lunch break and were now filled with the same eagerness to begin your lesson.

Setting up their table with tools, aprons and a protective mat warmed your heart. You had planned so many things to do with your future children in your original life, read so many books and attended so many talks, lectures and groups on how to be a good mother that your heart was finally able to heal the scars that resulted from the infertility diagnosis you were slammed with years ago. You felt like a failure, not only as a mother but as a woman to be told that. It wasn’t until you were able to recover from that debilitating news that you finally began to consider adoption. It took years and years and the building of a corporate empire to finally get to that point but then, you were doomed once more. At the centre of a collision in the busy city streets, you lost consciously accepting your fate only to end up here…it was all quite a blessing really. Now you have two beautiful sons to call your own and to love with all of your heart. As an added bonus, they’re also two of your favourite characters from the Harry Potter universe.

You could barely contain your excitement when you heard a small knock at the door to the study. They were here.

“Come in, darlings,”

Stepping into the room, Sirius and Regulus gasp in awe and begin jumping on the spot ever so slightly from feverish anticipation. In your outstretched hands were two small, grey aprons, one displaying Sirius’ name and the other Regulus’ along the upper seam of the apron’s breast pocket. Without being asked, they step up to their aprons and reach forward to put the article on themselves. As they do so, you announce what you will be doing for the afternoon.

“Clay sculptures?” Sirius almost squeals in excitement as Regulus bounces on the balls of his feet.

“We’ve never done that before,” Regulus chimes as you kneel behind him to help with tying up his apron, eventually moving on to redo Sirius’ clumsy knot as well.

“It’ll be fun,” you giggle, “fun and messy,” Sirius appreciates the hint of mischief in your voice and rushes to take a seat at the table with Regulus toddling along close behind him. You take a seat too and begin to talk them through the little sculpting tools they have beside them, the small mountain of clay at their disposal and the use for the bowls of water within reach.

Regulus is listening but he can’t help glimpsing down at his stitched-on name tag every few seconds or so. His chest feels warm and so so tight that he feels like he’s about to burst. You had hand-stitched his name tag onto the apron yourself. He recognised the inexperienced, inconsistent stitches but he thinks it’s the most beautiful display of embroidery he has ever seen. There’s also the revelation that Regulus didn’t need to wait to go to Hogwarts to know that you would be attentive enough to do the same thing for his clothes as you did to Sirius’. He feels special and he loves the affectionate attention you were giving him, all the motherly love he and his older brother had always dreamed of experiencing was finally happening, not only through kind words but in warm hugs, soft kisses and silent acts of service too. He feels a surge of wanting to do well in everything, from studying to writing to eating to sleeping — all of it! He’ll do well in all of it. He only wants to make you proud.

“Let’s begin with rolling out a piece of our clay,” you start, encouraging them to get messy, keep their clay hydrated and not worry about the state of their tools because you’ll all be washing them at the end together. After that, you had them make little balls using their hands and then roll out one ball into a flat sheet using their small rolling pins. With another ball, you instructed them to attempt making it flat using their hands instead, which helped you explain that moving around the clay with their hands makes the clay easier to mould.

“Have you two been learning about muggle sciences?” you gently ask as the two go about flattening their spheres a little more so that they can carve patterns into them using their small wooden tools.

“Yeah, I like the one called physics,” Sirius grins, eyes still focused on his clay.

“Me too!” Regulus chimes and the two brothers grin at each other, which makes you smile.

“That’s very good,” you nod, spotting an opportunity, “so where do you think the heat comes from when we roll out our clay?”

“From our hands,” Sirius immediately answers.

“That’s right, anything else?”

The question is open for the two of them but Regulus is the one who answers next, “From all the moving around,”

“Brilliant, my darlings,” you praise and they grin pridefully.

“Now, can you name the types of energies those are called? If you’ve learned about them, that is,” The brothers look at each other before beginning to ponder separately. The silence draws on so you decide to give them a little help, “What are all the energies called?” They do just fine with regurgitating the ten different energy types and that seems to be enough to prompt Regulus.

“The moving around is kinetic energy,”

Sirius jumps to answer as well, “and our hands transfer the thermal energy,”

“Good good!” you give them a small round of applause, which they bashfully smile at, “you two are so clever!… What did I hear about this ‘transferring’ of energy, Siri?” your question comes out in a nonchalant tone.

“Peony says that energy is stored and transferred,” Sirius answers, “and that they sometimes turn into another type of energy,”

“I see,” you look down at your own clay spheres and sheets, “where is the thermal energy from my hands coming from?” once again, they’re silent, “I think this can link to biology, specifically our biology,” that gets the cogs in their brains turning again and you can’t help but coo at their adorable thinking faces.

“It’s from…” Regulus begins, immediately catching both yours and Sirius’ undivided attention, your eyes equally encouraging him to continue with his answer, “It’s from the energy in our food,”

Eyes sparkling with delight, you prompt him once more, “And what energy is that called?”

“…Chemical!”

“Good job!” Sirius claps for his brother’s success and reaches up for a high five that Regulus happily hits and once again, they’re grinning at each other.

“What about for the movement?” This was a trick question but your boys are clever so you have full faith in them. Regulus already answered his share so he silently backs out from the arena by looking up at Sirius who begins to ruminate. “…well the movement has to come from somewhere, doesn’t it?” you thoughtfully point out, beginning to play around with your clay and trying to look innocent about it despite it being a definite clue.

“It comes from us!” Sirius explains and looks down to play around with his clay too. You stay silent as you let him think and reach the conclusion on his own but you’re already so so proud of their intelligent displays, “…so it’s the same answer, it’s also from chemical energy…” he seems unsure from his tone but the minute he looks up to meet your eyes, the smile on your lips and the applause from you and Regulus has him beaming.

“My sons are so so clever! I’m very proud of you both!”

That was enough of that — you only remember so much from your younger science education — so you move on to teach them about hatching and being able to stick two pieces of clay together with a little bit of water in order to make a small box with no lid. Thankfully, that was the final thing you intended to teach them before letting them make their own creations.

“Now, you can make whatever you want with your clay. After this, I’ll bake them so they become solid, and then, we can paint them together. If you run out of clay, just ask and I’ll get you some more,” the two buzzed in their seats from the excitement and you were just as eager to let them loose with their creativity. “You can also make more than one thing but limit yourself to just two or three, please. Also make sure that whatever you make suits a function, it can be anything at all; you can even get some ideas from this muggle book on clay crafting,” you present them with the children’s clay craft book and place it where they can easily reach, “don’t mind getting the edges dirty, as long as the main text and pictures aren’t too muddied up by clay, it’s fine. It’s supposed to get used earnestly anyway,” they smile at your proactive reassurance but only Regulus goes for the clay book while Sirius goes about making his desired creation right away.

For a while, Sirius cannot decide what to actually make. His speediness into action makes his younger brother peer over at him anxiously quite a few times but his initial unease gradually fades when he realises his older brother keeps changing his mind, flattening a scarcely sculpted creation just as quickly as he begins a new one. You don’t want to interrupt their independent creative flows and get to work on something you’ve already planned to create, a modest gift for your darling boys.

Some time goes by in silence before you call for Kreacher to play one of the vinyls you managed to buy from a record shop when out on errands to muggle London. You had bought several along with the gramophone at the shop. When you first bought it home, the boys were eager to find out what it was and spent a lot of time happily winding it up so that you could all listen to the records together. It would have been preferable to get the electrical one but it would have been useless in the predominantly magic-operated house.

“Great choice, Kreacher,” you smile at the house elf who nods timidly by the gramophone and promptly disappears when he feels as though he is no longer needed. The Beatles’ Abbey Road album plays in the background as the soundtrack to your clay sculpting session for several songs-worth of minutes before you finally get up to independently ask the boys about what they had chosen to make. ‘Oh! Darling’ sings in the distant corner as you kneel beside Sirius and quietly ask about his creation and what its function would be. In a whisper, he replies without turning to look at you, far too focused on his creation to divert any significant attention from it.

“I’m making plant pots,” he begins, his pink tongue slightly poking out of the corner of his mouth, “for the cooking herbs you said you wanted to grow in the kitchen, but I’m also making one for Reggie since he says he wants to grow a plant in his room,” after his nonchalant explanation, your heart soars. It would be a fair assessment to say that Regulus has spoken to him about exploring gardening. You didn’t know your youngest wanted to grow a green thumb but it was a pleasant surprise — you’ll see about taking him to a muggle plant shop soon, you don’t quite trust wizarding plants in the household. A succulent or mini cactus would be a good choice.

Pressing a kiss onto Sirius’ cheek, you whisper a soft thank you and praise his thoughtfulness before moving on to Regulus. For a moment, the elder brother wishes he could grow out his hair so that you are less likely to notice his flushed cheeks and red-tipped ears. You also kneel by Regulus’ side to whisper the same questions about his creation.

“I’m making a little jewellery dish for your rings and necklaces and earrings, Mother. And I’m also going to make one for Siri since he’ll be getting the family ring when he’s older. Sirius’ one is going to be star-shaped because he’s named after the brightest star and yours is going to be heart-shaped because…well…” Regulus can’t finish his sentence as his blush floods his entire face with heat. But he doesn’t need to finish his explanation, he’s said all you needed to hear to coo over his thoughtfulness and press a kiss to his cheek also. They’re such sweet boys. That bitch Walburga was blessed to have them and yet she mistreated them so much, they didn’t deserve any of that. Tender love and care is what they truly deserve and that will be your sole mission and life’s purpose for this existence.

“What are you making, Mother?” Regulus asks unprompted when you finally sit back down by your humble creations again. The youngest’s question makes Sirius perk up and eye you with interest, his grey eyes flicking between you and the carefully shaped clay by your hands.

“I’m making little star-shaped pendants for my little star boys,” smiling at their flustered expressions, you elaborate further, “I’m going to poke a hole near the top point so I can thread it through a chain and you can wear it as a necklace or a bracelet — you can choose,” you show them one with a carved ’S’ on it, “this one is for Siri,” next you present the one with an ‘R’ on it, “and this one is for Reggie,” they beam in happiness at the getting such a personalised gift from you and continue their clay projects with new-found vigour.

It was relatively easy to create the small star pendants so, inspired by Regulus’ creations, you proceeded to craft minimalist ring bands, one each of you. Sirius’ you carved the same sort of archaic patterns as that of his wand, for Regulus, you did simple lines with an occasional dot and for yours, evenly placed mini daisies. At first, it was purely for making sure that Regulus didn’t feel left out from Sirius getting the family ring but, looking at your modest creations, your magnate mind begins to manifest an innovative idea you’re itching to begin. Your schedule is going to fill up very quickly and soon — there isn’t a chance that you’ll wait on this.

1st September 1971

Today couldn’t have crept up on you quickly enough. One minute you were settling into a cosy routine with your darling sons and now you were sending the eldest away for wizarding boarding school. It was happening too fast and your heart was constantly breaking from being torn between freely letting him go and childishly begging him to stay so that you could spend as much time with him as possible. Even the novelty of rushing onto platform 9¾ through the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10 couldn’t keep the tears from filling your eyes. However, your unhappiness and woe were quickly wiped away when Sirius expressed muted sadness at the idea that his father was too busy to see him off to Hogwarts. That morning, try as you might you couldn’t convince Orion to be there for his son. The git was lucky Sirius had interrupted your argument to express his acceptance and neutrality over the situation or else you would have clocked the pretentious asshole’s jaw. You would be surprised if the hypothetical punch landed hard enough to dislocate both of his temporomandibular joints. He would be eating through a tube if it weren’t for your little boy’s interruption but you’ll be sure to sink your teeth into your git of a husband as soon as you get home.

Regulus seems to be whispering something to his older brother as they share a hug of goodbye. There was plenty of time for Sirius to get onto the train - you made sure of that - and you promised to wave him off as the train left the station so none of you were in any rush to leave the other. You kindly smile down at their wholesome interaction, completely drawn in by their innocence and heartfelt brotherly love for each other. Their relationship was worth preserving and building up. You were once saddened by Sirius and Regulus’ torn apart brotherhood but now, you’ll be devastated if your sons ever broke their bond like in the movies and books. So distracted by your loveable sons’ endearing display, you miss the shocked looks you were receiving from fellow parents of other children who were also boarding to attend Hogwarts — they simply couldn’t believe it!

Everyone knew the matriarch of the Black family. However, the very picture of her now was not what was to be expected. Rumours of her cold and unsympathetic disposition appeared as slanderous lies when they took in your warm smile and fond stare, looking solely upon your two sons. It was well-known amongst the wizarding community that the famous Black family’s eldest son, Sirius Black, would begin attending Hogwarts this year. They expected to see a conceited and substantially reserved display of the family by the platform but not… not this! This is something for the papers! Had the matriarch of the most ancient and noble house of Black always looked this beautiful and kind? Surely not!… But their eyes weren’t being deceived, they were seeing the truth! Many gasped and openly stared, thankfully hushed down by the nosiness of the platform, whilst others didn’t know how to interpret the display and opted to avert their eyes.

Around his small wrist, Sirius keeps your clay star pendant around his wrist, which had been painted a deep black per his request while the ’S’ is marked with metallic silver paint. He has such good taste for aesthetics despite his young age. Every day there was something new to be proud of him for, no matter how little. You love being a mother!

“Oh darling, I’m going to miss you so so much. You must promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, don’t be scared about making friends,” you look him in the eye as you say so, combing your fingers through his hair and pushing away the curling locks from his forehead, “they’re going to love you just as much as I do,”

“Me too, Siri,” Regulus’ soft interjection brings out a mutual laugh from you and the eldest Black brother. Sirius brings Regulus into another hug that you are also brought into.

“And if they don’t like you then they can suffer having none of those mini pies I baked for you,” the two of you share a smirk and a wink. Sirius had requested some shelf-stable foods to bring such as his favourite chutney, jams and jerky, all homemade by you, especially for him. Of course, you didn’t say no. You even suggested bringing along something yummy for the train ride despite already providing him an allowance to spend on the trolley.

“Regulus and I will write to you as often as we can so be on the lookout for our letters, okay?” he nods, eyes already sparkling from the anticipation and thought of receiving mail by owl solely for him. A letter addressed only to him, with his name on the envelope, and meant only for him to read — his feverish anticipation was to be expected. He couldn’t wait for his first letter.

“I’ll write back just as much, promise!”

“Good because if you don’t,” you scold playfully as Sirius bites back a cheeky giggle, “I’ll go to Hogwarts and demand a written letter back myself, I’ll bring Reggie with me too so that’s twice the heat you’ll be under young man, don’t forget,”

“Never,” Sirius whispers as he throws himself into your embrace once more. There’s never going to be enough hugging to satiate your aching heart, nor squash the sadness of watching your baby grow up too fast but, knowing the mischief and fun he’ll be getting up to, makes you almost giddy with excitement. You want to read all about it in his letters home!

As much as you’d like to have said your farewells for longer, Sirius still needed to board and needed help with his luggage. Thankfully there were plenty of staff to help him lug it all around, which you smiled gratefully for. They seemed stunned by your courtesy but tipped their caps in acknowledgement and whispered a quick ‘thanks’ in return, regardless.

Stepping back from the platform with Regulus at your side, the two of you try to follow Sirius along the train compartments as closely as you can until you finally see him settling into a box by himself. You wonder if he’ll be meeting his fellow marauders soon — god! You wish you could see them as adorable 11-year-old babies like your Sirius right now.

Regulus toddles up to be closer to the window, opposed to the thought of separating from his brother and tries to hold one last conversation with Sirius as everyone waits for the train to depart. To hear him clearer, Sirius reaches up to open the window. Smiling at the pair fondly, you almost miss a heart-stopping sight. From your left peripheral, you spot an untameable mess of dark hair and round hazel eyes sparkling in jubilation, framed with an adorable pair of round glasses — you barely withhold your gasp of surprise. But all too soon, from your right, you glimpse a head of neatly trimmed but slightly grown-out brown hair, belonging to a rather spindly boy swamped under a cosy autumn-brown jumper. On his softly curving jaw is a light, nicking scar and when he turns his head ever so slightly, you see another more prominent scar marked across the pudge of his cheek. You’ve seen a wild, baby-ish James Potter and Remus Lupin. Almost all of the marauders were spotted getting onto the Hogwarts Express but do you even want to see the final member? No! Of course not! It was then that you noticed sandy-blonde hair weaving through the crowds of parents wishing their children farewell – a last-minute attempt at getting onto the train on time. Behind him, he is followed by a similarly blonde woman, his mother. Goodness, both share such startling similarities, both have curved edges to their silhouette, pink cheeks and sea-blue eyes. They looked like an adorable pair and you had to admit that Peter’s portly appearance made him incredibly endearing for his age. They looked like an ordinary, harmless mother-son pair, much like you and your boys…

A whistle pierces through the station and snaps you out of your daze. Finally turning back to your Sirius, your eyes tear up again for the umpteenth time that day. Regulus had rushed back to your side, clinging onto the long, black skirt of your dress with one hand as he used the other to wave goodbye. Silently, you mouth an ‘I love you’. He isn’t as surprised as when you whispered the same affection to him whilst still on the platform so he was able to mouth it back — ‘I love you too, Mother,’ — your heart pinches. Picking Regulus up, you sit him on the curve of your hip and wave Sirius off together. You see the slight shimmer of tears in Sirius’ eyes too just before the train moves too far and takes Sirius away with it.

You miss him already.

SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 05 : SIRIUS : FIRST DAY →

A/N : surprise! goodness, this was a really big chapter hehe~ i hope you darlings enjoyed the read! i also would like to gently remind everyone that i am no longer doing taglists but to be notified whenever i post something, please follow and turn on notifications for reblog side account: @thekqipond where i will be reblogging every new fic as soon as i post it! the reason i was able to post this chapter a month ahead of my official come-back in October was to test my taglist solution and the order of chapters i want to post by Christmas ;) i hope you enjoy!

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

#marauders #marauders fic #marauders era #marauders era fix it fic #the marauders era #mother reader #sirius black #regulus black #the marauders #divorcing orion black #dob : series

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qwimblenorrisstan · 28 days ago

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Reaching | Rhysand x Reader

Day 8: Growing Pains w/ Rhysand

Summary: Your mate isn't the same after coming home from Under the Mountain, but despite how frustrated you get, you'll keep reaching out your hand.

Word Count: 863

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, dying kids, implied rape, depression, murder, just heavy angst tbh

A/N: i feel like I just took 20 melatonin so I’m gonna post this and hope it’s good then crash out, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

You know being a High Lord meant he would be busy, and he’d been busy before Amarantha had happened, before she’d changed him, but never quite so…occupied.

Before, he’d made time to fit you into his schedule, shifting things around to make sure you were cared for and felt at least loved in your relationship. The bond remained open, flowing between the both of you at all times.

And then he’d been gone for 50 years. All because of some stupid party he’d insisted on attending while you’d been mildly under the weather with a cold.

It had been hard on you. The bond too far apart, not even the slightest touch being able to reach him, and you heard nothing from him.

At first, you’d been literally clawing at the doors of the House of Wind, Azriel and Cassian having to physically hold you back from going to Under the Mountain and finding Rhys, even if it meant being killed by some tyrannical queen over the territory.

It had driven you mad.

You’d then gone nonverbal for a few years, nearly refusing to eat or drink at all, stuck in your head all day anyway. It was only when the last decade rolled around that you rose from your depressive slump, throwing yourself into training with Cassian and Azriel, getting stronger day by day.

When he’d finally come back? You could’ve cried from happiness and relief that he was okay, that he was safe and physically unharmed.

You had cried quite a lot.

He had stood stiff as a board while you’d sobbed around him, holding him close, closer and closer while the rest of his family had celebrated, his Court celebrating as well.

But he hadn’t been the same.

You didn’t know what they’d done to him, what Amarantha had done to him, but he wasn’t the Rhysand you’d grown to love.

He didn’t make time for you in his schedule. In fact, he seemed to almost purposefully ignore you and try not to see you. You wanted to have a movie night, or just be near him in his office, or even have a simple stay-at-home date night? That was too bad. He had a meeting, or the paperwork was urgent, or he didn’t have enough time for it right then.

Except he never had time.

Conversations were short. Nothing meaningful or lasting, just little one-word answers, if he didn’t just act as if he hadn’t heard you at all. And conversations through the mating bond weren’t even there, considering how he kept the bond cemented shut and had since the day he’d arrived home. Not a tug of emotion, not a hint of feeling or words or even memories, nothing.

He laid next to you in bed but didn’t seem present. He faced away from you, curling up into himself, often waking up with the room covered in darkness, sweat soaking his skin, breathing erratic as he would flinch away when you tried to touch him, or even comfort him at all. Only silence and distance seemed to work.

You felt bad for trying to pressure him. He’d gone through more than you could imagine. You’d heard the whispers and rumors of what he had done Under the Mountain, the part he’d played to stay alive.

Warming that bitch’s bed.

Slaughtering children.

Shattering minds and bodies.

And that wasn’t even the worst he’d had to do. You understood he needed time, and you felt terrible for being so frustrated, but that’s why you were frustrated.

You kept sitting and waiting for him to come around, to crack, to eventually open up and he never did. Almost a full year passed, and still no sign of it. No sign of anything.

That cold, empty shell remained.

And so the two of you grew apart.

He slowly grew more into the cold ruler persona he displayed in Hewn City, face unchanging, eyes blank, expression flat. His people in Velaris stopped smiling at him in the streets. They only stared and stared and stared, not knowing what to think of what their once beloved High Lord had become.

You figured that it was better not to get reattached anyway. Not with a possible war brimming on the horizon, conflicts that could easily wipe him or the entire Court out. It would be better to save yourself the pain, really, the heartbreak you’d go through.

You eventually started sleeping in separate beds.

You stopped trying to pull him out of his office. If he wanted to sit in that chair all day and rot away doing paperwork, then he could. You weren’t going to try and order him around like a stern parent disciplining their child.

He could wallow in whatever was left of himself. You’d done it for almost forty years, maybe it would take him twice that amount of time. Maybe it would take him forty times forty years to finally open back up. Maybe he never would.

But even as you maintained your distance, you weren’t going to give up, just quietly remaining on the sidelines.

Giving him space to sort himself out.

And you kept reaching out your hand.

Tags:

@hawke1917

@angstober

#writers on tumblr #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #angstober #angstober 2024 #rhysand angst #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand #acotar angst #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #azriel acotar #cassian acotar

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fl100r · 2 months ago

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♡JEALOUS KING♡

Katsuki 𝖡𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗀𝗈𝗎 𝗑 Top! 𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

WARNINGS: SMUT with plot, Bakugou teasing u, cream pie, male orgasm, blowjob, standing sex, public sex, degrading Bakugou.

-King Bakugou x Butler! reader.. world in a historical fantasy setting, being gay is a scandal might get killed if u gex say, so Bakugou want to suck M/N's cock but gets cock blocked. ages: Bakugou (25), M/N (27)

"I love you.."

"my apology dawg, the world kinda homophobic rn."

"so what? I'm gay for you."

"were gonna get cancelled no cap lil bro."

"Just put ur cock in my mouth bro."

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭

You and Prince Bakugou have been childhood friends for as long as you can remember. His mother visits your orphanage often, donating funds to support your education. Bakugou noticed you immediately when you first met. You were the quietest person he had ever encountered, rarely showing any emotions, even to him. One day, during an event his mother was hosting, where orphans and other children from the kingdom competed in fun challenges, there was a two-person team competition. Without hesitation, Bakugou grabbed your arm. You had been standing by the food table, quietly enjoying your favorite snacks.

"Old hag! I want to team up with him!" Bakugou shouted, raising your hand as he held it up. "But I don’t want to join," you mumbled, confused.

"Too bad! You're joining anyway!" Bakugou glared at you, leaving no room for argument. He didn’t even know why he wanted to team up with you—he just felt some strange connection, like there was something about you that intrigued him. The competition turned out to be a boat race. Bakugou sat in front, his expression irritated as usual, while you were seated at the back. Your stomach grumbled, still craving more food. You absentmindedly grabbed the paddles on either side of you, glancing back toward the food table one last time. Before you could dwell on it, the horn blared, signaling the start of the race. Bakugou surged forward, paddling furiously, far outpacing you. It was clear he was practically carrying the team through the competition, while you struggled to keep up.

You ended up doing nothing during the race, leaving Bakugou to handle everything on his own. Naturally, he won, and he jumped up in excitement, shouting about how he was the best.

As you tried to head back to the food area, Bakugou grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling you back to his side. He threw an arm around your neck, holding you in a loose headlock. "Ahaha! You're all just extras compared to me and my sidekick!" he boasted, grinning widely. Irritated, you sighed. "Erm... can you please let me go?" you asked, turning your head toward him. Bakugou looked down at you, only to freeze when he realized how close your face was to his. His cheeks flushed slightly as he stared at you.

You managed to slip away from Bakugou’s hold, leaving him behind in the boat, still a bit flustered. Without saying a word, you casually walked over to the food table, grabbing a plate and piling it with your favorite snacks. As Bakugou stood there, frozen and flushed, still processing the moment, you made your way back to the orphanage, seemingly unfazed by the entire ordeal.

✦───── ❝ Years Later ❞ ─────✦

"Your Majesty, please wake up. You still have paperwork from last night," you said as you opened the curtains, letting the morning sunlight flood into Bakugou's room.

"Son of a bitch..." Bakugou grumbled, turning away from the sunlight and refusing to face the open curtains. The insult was clearly aimed at you. "I don’t have a mother, so I wouldn’t know if she is a bitch or not, sir," you replied calmly. "Anyway, sir, please get up." Before you could finish, Bakugou reached out and grabbed your collar, still lying down as he pulled you closer. "Listen here, you tea towel tyrant! I don’t care about the paperwork from last night—it’s already irritating me! Now leave me alone before I have your head chopped off!" Bakugou growled, his face now uncomfortably close to yours. You wrinkled your nose and muttered, "Ugh… sir, your morning breath… I’m sorry." Bakugou’s face flushed in embarrassment, and he swung a punch in frustration. You quickly backed away, dodging just in time.

"Sorry, sir, for stating a simple fact, but you really do need to get ready," you said. "I’ll start your bath." You walked into his bathroom, turning on the golden faucet and letting the tub fill with water. While the tub filled, you went into his bedroom and sorted through his closet, picking out clothes for him. After selecting his outfit, Bakugou entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "I'll prepare breakfast, sir!" you called out as you made your way down the gorgeous hallway. Statues of Bakugou’s ancestors lined the walls, and you passed by them on your way to the kitchen.

As you chatted with the chef, who was busy preparing Bakugou’s excellent breakfast, you busied yourself in the kitchen, making tea for him. Once the meal was ready, you carried it to the long dining table where Bakugou had already seated himself in the far chair. You placed his meal in front of him and poured a cup of tea, setting it down beside his plate.

You motioned to the other servants to assist Bakugou while you began to walk away. However, as you started to leave, Bakugou tugged on the black suit you were wearing from behind his chair, where he was eating his breakfast. "No, you stay here," he said firmly. You tried to protest, but Bakugou was insistent. As you waited for Bakugou to finish his breakfast, you motioned to the other servants to take over your chores. You knew that since you became his butler, Bakugou didn’t want you to leave his side, so you had to find ways to manage your tasks while remaining close to him.

One of the butlers handed you a stack of envelopes, which you took and began to read aloud for Bakugou while he continued eating his breakfast. "Sir, there’s an invitation from the Todoroki royal family. They’re hosting a celebration ball for the crowning of Shoto Todoroki, the youngest sibling of the Todoroki family. You should consider going—" Bakugou cut you off, his eyebrows furrowing as he sipped his tea. "No. I’m not going to some stupid coronation."

You tried to convince him, but Bakugou wouldn’t budge. His temper was well-known, and despite your efforts, he remained adamant. You knew that aligning with the Todoroki family or showing them some respect could be beneficial, especially given his many enemies. Ever since his parents had died a few years ago, Bakugou’s demeanor had only worsened, making him even more difficult to manage.

You rubbed your temples in frustration. "Maybe… sigh, I could come with you, sir. The ball is tonight. I can clear my schedule if that’s fine with you—"Bakugou cut you off but, of course, he agreed. He then went about his daily routine, snapping his fingers to motion you to follow him. You sighed, following him like an irritated dog.

One of Bakugou's routines was horse racing in the woods near his castle. As he mounted his usual horse, you sat at a nearby table, lost in your thoughts while watching him. Suddenly, Bakugou’s voice cut through your reverie. "Hey, peasant! Come over here!" Bakugou yelled, summoning you to join him. As you approached, he handed you some gear that looked like it was meant for horseback riding. "Sir, I can’t ride a horse," you said, holding up the gear. Bakugou climbed onto his horse and replied, "You’re riding with me. Put on the gear and get back behind me." He looked at you with his usual furrowed eyebrows, always seeming annoyed.

You sighed again and put on the gear. As you tried to climb onto the horse, you managed to successfully get on and position yourself behind Bakugou. However, just as you settled in, Bakugou grabbed your shirt and pulled you closer to him, forcing you into close contact with him.

You tried to get comfortable, but before you could, Bakugou kicked the horse into motion. The sudden movement shocked you, and you instinctively looked for something to hold onto—anything other than Bakugou. But as you started to slip, you had no choice.

You quickly wrapped one arm around Bakugou’s waist, your face pressed against his left shoulder. Glancing to Bakugou, you noticed him smirking, as if he knew this was going to happen all along. You glanced around and realized just how deep into the forest you were. The horse started to slow down, eventually coming to a stop. You tried to remove your arm from around Bakugou’s waist, but before you could, he grabbed it, pulling you closer as he leaned back into you. His head was now resting against your chest, making the situation even more awkward at least for you.

You both sat there in silence, Bakugou cuddling against your chest while you looked around, trying to avoid the awkwardness. Bakugou kept squirming, shifting around until he reached for your other arm, wrapping it around himself, pulling you even closer.

For you, it was an incredibly awkward position, but Bakugou seemed unfazed. You kept your gaze fixed on the forest, not wanting to face him. As you noticed the sky deepening into a rich orange, you remembered the ball. "Oh, right, we must get ready for the ba—" you started to say, but before you could finish, you felt something rubbing against your crotch. Your face flushed in embarrassment as you realized it was Bakugou, his body the closest to you. He was rubbing his backside against you, seemingly unaware—or perhaps he just didn’t care. He didn’t say a word, continuing his subtle movements.

"Sir, ugh... stop, you know this is forbidden... ergh," you panted, trying to keep your composure. Bakugou didn’t miss a beat. "What’s forbidden? I’m just sitting, M/N," he said with a smug tone, clearly enjoying the situation. You gritted your teeth. This royal bastard—he knew exactly what he was doing, As you tried to keep your composure, Bakugou reached his hand onto your crotch, rubbing even harder.

You panted softly, trying to regain your breath when you heard a distant voice.

"Your Majesty! Where are you? You need to get ready for the ball!" one of the maids called out, her voice echoing through the forest.

Bakugou immediately stopped and, with a quick motion, urged his horse to head back toward the castle. Once you reached the stables, Bakugou dismounted with ease.

"Get M/N ready too. He’s coming with me," Bakugou commanded, still smirking as he walked off.

"Sir, M/N, can you get off the horse?" the maid asked hesitantly.

You cut her off, "Go inside. I’ll go in when I’m ready," you said, still sitting on the horse. This bastard got you hard. Embarrassed, you hesitated to get off, not wanting the maids or other servants to notice your situation—especially since they loved to gossip.

He’s going to get you killed someday.

✦───── ❝At The Ball ❞ ─────✦

“Presenting the new king of the Frostflame Empire! Shoto Todoroki!”

The ball was in full swing, with everyone dancing and chatting. Bakugou was mingling with his friends, while you stood in the corner with the other servants.

“M/N!” a familiar voice called out. It was Midoriya.

“Hello, Sir Midoriya—” you began, but Midoriya cut you off with a nervous laugh. “Oh, come on... you don’t need to call me that, ahah.”

Even though you and Midoriya had been childhood friends and remained close, his status as a hero made you feel compelled to address him formally. To this day, you still considered him a friend.

“Midoriya, how’ve you been lately?” you asked.

Izuku was momentarily surprised by the change of subject but quickly responded with enthusiasm. “Great! I recently got engaged to Uraraka!”

As you continued talking, you found yourself smiling at one of Izuku’s funny jokes. You missed your friends from the orphanage and felt a pinch of nostalgia. However, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching you intensely. You tried to brush it off, but before you could think much of it.

Bakugou suddenly stepped between you and Midoriya. “What the hell are you doing, Deku!” he shouted.

Izuku looked surprised. “W-What?? I was just talking to—”

Bakugou cut him off, continuing to argue and insult the nervous hero despite Midoriya’s attempts to defuse the situation.

Seeing the commotion, you quickly intervened, pulling Bakugou away from the scene and guiding him into a large, empty hallway. “Sir! What are you doing?! You know people are going to gossip about this—especially talking like that to everyone’s favorite hero! Have you lost your mind?!” you yelled at him quietly, trying to keep the confrontation discreet.

"I've been trying to keep your image from getting destroyed! You seriously can't just calm down for one second, sir? Fucking hell..." you said, frustration evident as you covered your face with both palms. You didn't notice Bakugou had already dropped to his knees and was trying to get your belt off. "Sir, what the fuck are you doing now?" you demanded, bewildered by his sudden action. "What does it look like, dumbass?" Bakugou retorted, successfully removing your belt and now zipping down your zipper. pulling out your cock out, started to lick it up and down. You panted in frustration, at the same time feeling aroused.

As you looked around your surroundings, trying to see if anyone was watching this scene, you turned around until— Bakugou took your cock fully into his mouth, him gagging on it. This made you even more frustrated. "You fucking bastard—" you said, grabbing Bakugou’s blonde hair and pulling him closer to your cock, God his mouth is warm. You thought as he sucked your cock faster, holding your hips as you put your hand onto a wall to support you as Bakugou went faster.

"Augh.. goddamn it, you're gonna get me killed.." you said to him as he sucks your cock faster, basically begging you to cum inside his mouth. "Augh!- Fuck.." as you climax filling Bakugou's mouth with your semen. You panted, sweat already beading on your forehead.

As you look at Bakugou, he has your semen on his cheeks as he tries to get all of it into his mouth don't wanting it to be wasted, "Get up…" you said to Bakugou. He stood up, but before he could say anything, you grabbed his neck and pinned him to the wall beside you, pressing your lips against his. He struggled a bit, but eventually, he calmed down, his hands resting on your shoulders. You pulled away, panting. "Pant… Is this what you want..?" you asked, before kissing him again, but this time more roughly.

You pulled away again, your face now against the side of his neck. You kissed and bit it as you spoke, "I've been trying to survive and not get killed because of your reckless actions, rubbing against me, grabbing my cock without my permission, even sneaking into my room at night just to relieve yourself."

Bakugou’s face blushed the moment you said that last part, clearly embarrassed. He looked away from your eyes, but you grabbed his face, making him look at you. With his eyes watering, he gazed at you. “You seriously frustrate me Sir.." you began to unbuckle his pants, still pinning him onto the wall. as Bakugou's pants dropped on the marbled floor, You turned him around, so now his back was facing you. you put your tip onto his hole, rubbing on it, teasing him as he whimper. "you son of bitch.. please.. eurgh.."You grabbed his neck, pulling his arched back against you. "Come on, sir, that’s not my name. You know it…" rubbing you cock onto Bakugou's hole, teasing him even more as your tip closer to get inside him, "Argh... P-Please M/N.. Sir, please just..- Agh!-" you put your cock inside him. you didn't let him take adjust of your size as you quickly slamming your hips into him. "Argh! Argh! Haah.. M/N-" you covered his mouth with your hand, mumbling him.

“Shut the fuck up, would ya?.. I don’t want both of us to get beheaded because of your moaning, F-Fuck.." As you rested your head on his left shoulder, you look down to his harden cock seeing already white liquid out of his cock. "Did you already fucking cum?.. Goddamn, are you really That pent up? Eheh.. S-Shit.. I'm close.." you grabbed Bakugou's cock, started stroking it fast. You looked at Bakugou’s face, his eyes rolling back and drool already dripping onto your hand. "Disgusting.. you should really see yourself right now.. Sir.." You slightly giggled, "Insulting Midoriya, Argh.. Making a scene, Damaging your already broken Image, for just my cock.." you felt wet in your hand, it's Bakugou's semen, he came again. "Cumming again sir.. F-Fuck.. Get ready for my mine then.." As you pin Bakugou onto the wall harder, you slamming your hips again and again onto him. you feel your climax close, "Argh!...Stand still.. ergh.. G-Goddamn it you're shaking.." you slammed your hips onto Bakugou releasing your semen into him.

Both of you were panting and sweating as you zipped your pants up cleaning yourself up. “Shit… we gotta go, sir, Before someone finds you like this.." You grabbed Bakugou's pants from the floor and put them on him, Bakugou went limp against your chest. “Sir, come on, wake up from your fantasies. We’ve got to go.” He tried to walk but failed, falling into your arms. You sighed. “We’re not doing this again. Ever." you said, "Hey! Not my fault you went rough on me! you Tea Towel Tyrant.. Tch." You grabbed Bakugou and carried him as if he were a damsel in distress. You headed in the direction outside, making your way to the carriage driver. You avoided the ball entrance, where many people were gathered, and took the long way instead.

Don't want any one to know that you just Slammed your hips and Came into your King, "Tch.." you rolled your eyes, avoiding eye contact with Bakugou, just focus on going Home instead.

✦───── ❝In the Carriage ❞ ─────✦

You closed the door behind you and sat beside Bakugou. "Urgh your semen is dripping out of me.." Bakugou said, Looking out the window of the carriage, you were lost in thought. You had just done something so sinful and unforgivable that you were sure you’d be killed if anyone found out about the scene you and your king had just made in that hallway, You kept thinking about it over and over. until Bakugou Touching your clothed cock. You sighed. "Seriously..?" you said, looking at him with disappointment. He avoided eye contact with you, instead staring out the other side of the window where he was sitting.

you rubbed your temples, but didn't move his hand away instead let him be. you get closer to him, and whispered "if you keep doing that, I might just fuck you in front of a mirror." You knew your king very well. You knew he hated seeing his vulnerable self in the mirror. But that didn’t stop him. Instead, he brought himself closer to you, essentially cuddling you.

You sighed, the threat failed at your favor. "What am I gonna do with you Sir.."

✦𓆩♡𓆪Thank you for Reading! 𓆩♡𓆪✦

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thebibliosphere · 10 months ago

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It's an ingrained reflex in me to apologize for my living space not being perfectly neat and clean (thanks, mum), but it's so funny when I do it with my friends who have children.

"Sorry," I say over Facetime, "I didn't have time to clean up before you called. Anyway, there's the tree. Ignore the mess."

And all my friends with kids are starting at my slightly cluttered space with tears in their eyes because it looks amazing to them. Like bitch you live like this? Holy shit! You can see the floor! You're living the dream!

Meanwhile, my childhood trauma is screaming that we can't let people know we sit, and also, there's a smudge on the windows that people are definitely going to see and judge me for.

A smudge, which, of course, my mother sees the instant my camera connects and feels the need to point out because why comment on the beautiful, glittering tree when you can focus on an insignificant imperfection and let it consume you 🫠

#this is why I'm fucked #well #it's one of the reasons #but it's a very big one!#hidden in case family are snooping #tw parental issues

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autumnmobile12 · 3 months ago

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All right, here's the thing about the Todoroki fire-users.

Most forms of glass melt at a temperature of 1,400°C to 1,600° C.

Orange flames have a range of 1100°C to 1200°C.

So unless either of them can exceed the 1400°C threshold and get into the white flame range (1300°C - 1500°C), Shouto and Endeavor cannot melt glass.

But with a blue flame that burns 1,400°C-1,600°C, this bitch sure can.

So now that in the Ambush Simulation AU I've revealed Nine and his entourage are the LoV, imagine the opening scene of Heroes Rising:

Whichever henchmen they've hired to transport the cargo in that car chase scene are careening down the highway, the Pros are in pursuit...and so's the Vanguard.

Car accidents caused by the fleeing villains have put Rock Lock and company out of commission, but Shimura's motorcycle can maneuver through just fine, so he and his passenger are still in the game like it's a Greek chariot race. Nobody really knew the Vanguard was going to make an appearance, nobody knows how they got the info on what was happening, but hey, they're provisionally licensed and can operate under Pros now, so no one's going to complain about the extra manpower on their side.

So my thoughts and prayers are with the poor driver of the armored vehicle whose sole job is to focus on the road. He just wants to survive the night without getting arrested, his comrades can worry about the Pros behind them, he's more concerned about the Pros blockading the road in front of them, one of whom is Endeavor. He's not paying attention to that loud thunk he heard on the roof.

Things are already looking a little sticky...

...and then this crazy bastard appears in the windshield and starts melting the glass. Not breaking it; it's too thick to break without a weapon. Just slowly melting it so the poor guy has enough time to contemplate and regret some key life choices.

(There's a very specific image in my head here and it's the drowned corpse scene from the anime Ghost Hunt if anyone's familiar with that one.)

Anyway, the getaway driver just panics and veers over the guardrail and down the mountainside as it goes in the film, which pretty much leaves Shimura to stop his bike and stare alongside Endeavor down at the path of destroyed vegetation in horror as the sound of screeching metal fades to silence.

Shimura: ....

Endeavor: .... *slowly turns to look at Shimura*

Shimura: *doesn't look up* Hey, don't look at me. You created that monster.

...

And recall that scene ends with Endeavor heading down the hill to investigate the crash and finds Hawks already there:

Touya: What's the situation with my leg? It feels like it's either been broken or impaled.

Hawks: Actually, it's both. That's an...impressive compound fracture.

Touya: All that and I only got a busted leg? *sits up* Oh, no wait, fuck, there's two of you and Endeavor's multiplying.

Endeavor: *fed up* ....scared me to death, you shit for brains. Where's the League?

Hawks: I think they managed to warp out at the last minute. Genius here is the only body I found breathing or otherwise.

Touya: *cackling* Shut the fuck up, Feathers!

...

Shimura: You have got to stop smiling like you regularly devour the souls of small children and their pets.

Touya: *adrenaline wearing off, pain finally setting in* I have no idea what you're talking about.

Rock Lock: *standing over both of them* Exactly what was your plan back there?

Touya: Obviously, I was thinking I could get control of the steering wheel. Not my fault the driver had the nerves of a dandelion. Also, I'm not the one who thought chasing down an armored vehicle with four-door sedans was a good idea, so why I am the only stupid one here? Now everyone be quiet, my head is splitting and I just suffered the indignity of being carried away from an accident by my father.

Endeavor: Carrying you was easier when you were four.

Touya: The last time you carried me is when I was four!

#my hero academia #touya todoroki #hawks #endeavor #heroes rising #ambush simulation #alternate universe #offshoot #tenko shimura #dabi #keigo takami #enji todoroki #shigaraki tomura #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #league of villains #vanguard action squad

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planetnini · 1 year ago

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PLEASE DON'T SAY YOU LOVE ME !

࿔･ﾟ*࿐ You kept catching glimpses of Suguru around even after his death. Thinking it may have been a trick on your mind, you brushed it off but when someone that looks and sounds exactly like him shows up at your apartment, you have no other choice but to take matters into your own hands... that is until you find out that he still might be in there.

pairing. geto suguru x gn!reader

tags. angst,, like seriously angst (this hurts so much please listen to me), the first half is a trick there is no happy ending, shibuya arc spoilers!!! (kenjaku is a bitch), violence/fighting (i get a bit descriptive sorry) and of course,,, major character death :)

word count. 2.8k

notes. this idea came to me one night and bambi encouraged me to write it so here it is. i hope no one kills me for this, i also can't believe this is my first official fic of jjk... anyways, get ready to (c)rumble, thank you! <333

“I thought I told you not to worry about me.” you said, phone tucked on your shoulder holding it to your ear as you took the grocery bag from the old lady giving a curt nod and smile. You moved the bags in one hand and pulled the phone out from your shoulder, pressing it against your ear.

“But then what else would I do?” Satoru whined, masking his concern with a playful question as you walked to the crossing, going to take the usual route home.

“Go bother someone else.” you teased.

Going for the dramatics you heard him gasp through the line, “You are so mean.” he replied and you don’t have to see him to know he is pouting.

You chuckled, stopping in your tracks as you glanced over the scenic route through the park contemplating to take the long way home. Your attention is suddenly turned to the children with their parents, chasing each other around.

Your heart stuttered.

The mere sight elicited thoughts about your future; the plans you had come up with; the dreams you’d wish to share with Suguru that were torn away from you. The burdens of the jujutsu world were too much to handle alone, and you just know that if you were just a bit more attentive, you could have saved him.

“You need to be reminded that you’re not the only special grade sometimes.” you said, glancing at the way the soft cerulean of the sky weaved with a beautiful light orange. The sunset reminding you of days when Suguru would take you out after missions together.

“Do you think you’re stronger than me?” he chimed, and you rolled your eyes at his comment. Satoru was always like this but you knew that his voice was laced with worry and concern.

“I’m going to hang up.” you threatened as your feet move against their own will, deciding to take the long way home today. The cherry blossoms danced along with the wind, falling beneath you on the concrete as you continued down the path.

It is quiet for a moment and you think Satoru has hung up on you in response to your comment but when you hear him sigh, you can’t help but do the same.

It has been a rough few years for everyone, especially for Shoko, Satoru, and yourself. Not only had you lost your best friend the first time but you also had to lose him another time.

“Are you still there?” he interrupted your thoughts.

“Yeah.. I’m still here.” you replied as you let out an exhale, kicking some pebbles along your path.

“Are you still seeing him around?” he questioned, words picked out carefully.

You sighed, “you make me sound insane.” you responded as you stood at the traffic light waiting for the cars to pass by. Your eyes moved to the blossom leaves falling atop your head and on your clothes.

“I never said you were insane Y/N.” he grumbled and you can’t control the way your whole body relaxes at his words. You knew Satoru cared for you deeply and you had always appreciated it even if you didn't really show it. He had always kept an eye out for you, even before Suguru’s death, and while he was a handful, you knew he always had good intentions. “It wasn’t easy to be there." he added.

You thought back to that day where Satoru insisted you stay back as he went to find Suguru but one look at you and he caved. You wanted to go to find newfound peace but seeing him in this state did nothing for your closure, it only made your heartache worse.

Seeing him smile at you like he did the first day you met had sent butterflies all throughout your body.

Everything about him- every minuscule detail about him- had been exactly as you had remembered. He still had the same sweet and playful look in his eyes. He still had the same goddamn smile. He was still the same person you fell in love with all those years ago so it hurt. You cried, wept, and tried to be strong as you thought about the moments shared with him and how cruel it was that this was where you ended up.

You leaned down, and kissed his cheek as tears adorned your cheeks. Holding his hand and with three tight squeezes- a sign of sorry that you established as your relationship blossomed- he closed his eyes, prepared for the worst as a tear rolled down his face, and then he took his last breath.

“Satoru…” you uttered, completely speechless as you tried to clear your head, “I wanted to be there.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Do you think it’s possible?” he questioned, uncertainty laced in his voice.

“That what Satoru? That by some miracle he’s alive?” you replied immediately regretting it.

It wasn’t just you that had to grieve the loss of Geto Suguru, and as much as you wanted to just go about your day without thinking about it, guilt would eat away at your bones for not constantly thinking about him.

“i’m sorry.” he sighed and you felt your heart clench at his apology. Why should he be apologising? It was unfair that grief was making you behave this way and you knew that sooner or later you'd need to talk to someone about it.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I just don’t think my mind will let me forget it...” you sighed as you continued to walk slowly to your apartment.

The line is quiet and you don’t know what else to say. You don’t expect Satoru to even reply to you.

“You don’t have to forget. You can just live with it.”

Shoko had once told you that 'grief was love with no place to go' and while you hadn’t really understood it then, you did now. It was a way to understand the emotional ruins of grief as a continuation of the love you once had, even if the object of that love is no longer a part of your life. In a sense, Satoru was also telling you the same thing. He acknowledged that moving on didn't mean erasing the past and staying stagnant in the moment, but recognised that you can continue living a meaningful life whilst also carrying the grief with you.

You thought you were losing your mind and that seeing Suguru everywhere was a curse but maybe it was the world's way of letting you know that he was finally at peace. As you walked up the pathway to your apartment in a comfortable silence, you thought about his and Shoko’s words.

Every single day you would return home to a place void of any remnant of Suguru. A place that is supposed to offer comfort now did the opposite but today felt different. Maybe it was a step towards another way of living and it wouldn’t be so hard to live with the grief.

“Where are you now?”

“Outside my door.” you spoke as you used a key to unlock the door.

“Okay. I’m glad you got home safe," he remarked, "I'll see you tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

“Stay safe.” he said and you know what he means.

“Love you too.”

You hung up the phone and took off your shoes before tossing everything onto the kitchen island and groaning as you stretched your back and neck. You turned to open the fridge, “Whoever you are, you have ten seconds to run before I kill you.”

You wouldn’t say you were the strongest, your abilities were nowhere to be compared to Satoru but everyone deserves a second chance, right? You let the entity decide its own fate. Don't say I didn't warn you...

“So... you’re the infamous Y/N.”

That voice…

Your feet were frozen in place and you could feel your own heart sink into the pit of your stomach. There were words stuck in your throat as the nauseous feeling crept up and threatened to spill from your lips. This can’t be right…

What felt like minutes passed by as you processed what, or rather who you just heard. The way your name rolled off their tongue was foreign. Was it really who you thought it was? Your mind must be going through it right now and although you know it’s not possible, you can’t help but hope it is who you think it is as you turned around.

“Suguru?” you uttered, eyes wide as the tears brimmed the edge of them as you stared at the man in front of you.

“Bingo!” he chuckled.

You begged yourself to snap out of it. This was clearly a sick and twisted transformation technique but your heart betrayed you, standing there and not making a run for it.

“You’re probably thinking this is some illusion but thanks to your friend, I was able to obtain this body without much trouble.” he smiled and you felt goose bumps crawling up your arm at the strange sight. Despite how much this man looked and sounded like Suguru, you knew this was not the case at all.

Your jaw clenched, “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, standing up from your sofa as he trudged towards you, “My cursed technique allows me to transplant my brain into anybody," he explained and you're heaving as you tried to keep your rage at surface level, "I have access to all of his memories, his skills, and whatnot."

You don't have it in yourself to attack just yet.

"He lived a long time without you in his life but somehow," he paused, "you take up almost every single memory.” he sounded frustrated and the tears threatening to escape your eyes do so- whether he was telling the truth or not, they still hurt you immensely.

“So why are you here?” you growled as your body allowed itself to move again and maintaining eye contact with him as you focused all your energy to charge your technique.

“You are a hindrance to my plans.”

His weakness.

You released your cursed technique at him immediately and launched him across the room and as you moved to the table to grab your phone. One of Suguru’s cursed spirits wrapped around your hands and restrained you and using your abilities, you managed to get away from it. You shot him a look as he tilted his head with a smile, “I gave you ten seconds to run but I have something else settled for you now” you snapped as you continued to use your technique to your advantage as you continued to fight him.

You would say that against Suguru, it had always been a close call of who would win in a fight but this time it felt difficult. Who was this guy?

You continued to attack the man, fighting back with all your might. He wasn’t actually Suguru, so you didn’t feel the need to hold back. He caught you off guard with a calculated move and knocked you to the floor. You saved yourself from further injury as you used your arm to break the fall, but you managed to hit your head on the furniture with your head in the process.

You winced pushing yourself off your elbow as the man walked towards you with his hands in front of you as he tried to force you up by the throat, “Suguru...” you managed to say before he could grab you.

Before you can even process it, there is a twitch of his hand that came up to his throat, choking himself as his fingers pressed down against the side of his throat, ultimately stopping himself from putting a hand on you.

Your eyes widened as your breath caught in your lungs. Was he still in there?

Kenjaku’s eyes widened, as his vessel- Suguru’s body- fought against him, and a laugh that used to be full of joy now sounded like nails on a chalkboard as it echoed through your apartment, “This is impressive!" he spoke, amused at the action.

By no means was Geto Suguru still alive, but protecting you had become muscle memory; it was an instinct that has embedded itself deep within his soul, one that Kenjaku would never truly be able to understand..

You are still on the floor, blood dripped down the side of your head as you moved up from your spot. Using your technique, you try and catch him off guard by putting all your strength into your next move, attacking him when he least expects it, “In all my years, I have never seen anything quite like this and it is all because of you.” he cackled.

“It sounds like somebody is scared.” you taunted, smirking at the imposter to try to size him up.

“Well, let me tell you this,” he cleared his throat, “When a part of the original host reacts, you know what that means?”

“What?” you seethed, jaws clenched as you waited for him to finish his sentence.

“He’s still in here.” he whispered, and t had caught you off guard.

You wanted to attack but instead your heart sabotaged your next move allowing Kenjaku to have the upper hand. You struggled to react as you felt the pain of something on your left side and suddenly, you are on the floor gasping for air and you can feel him hover over you.

He pinned you down to the floor and slammed you against it to stop you from struggling but you were already incapacitated so what was the point?

In terms of physical strength, Suguru would always win by a landslide and this is when you wished you had taken your training more seriously.

There was a visceral reaction that tears at Kenjaku as he has you in his hands which entertains him once again, “You have some nerve calling yourself a special grade sorcerer,” he sneered, “Are you holding back?”

You looked up at him and tried your absolute best to move but the pain is too much to handle. You clenched your jaw as your breathing became erratic, “You will find no peace, so long as you live.” you choked out.

He laughed and wrapped his hand around your neck tighter, his right hand reaching over to your hand- you don’t know what he expected from you now that you’re bleeding out. "You're hilarious," he rejoiced as his hand intertwined with yours, “So let me make this easier for you. Just think about him...” Kenjaku needed you to suffer so that he could shake Suguru’s will to its core, stripping anything left he had. You don’t know what you expected but then you felt a gentle squeeze.

One.

You forced your eyes open to look up at the man who squeezed your hand. It seemed that he was unaware at the action. This guy said he had all of Suguru’s memories so was he just doing this on purpose? Is this Geto Suguru or is this the imposter that is using his body?

“It is honestly so sweet just how much he loved you after all those years apart.” he chuckled.

Kenjaku continued to put pressure around your neck with one hand, feeling the exact opposite of what Suguru was probably going through- an intolerable, gut-wrenching pain, without exaggeration. He can’t do anything but squeeze his hand in yours again.

Two.

You can’t fight back, you have no will. Even if by some miracle, how could you possibly hurt the man in front of you? The man you once loved...

“Is that why you’re not fighting back? Do you love him too much to hurt him?”

Suguru’s soul pleaded.

He wondered why he couldn’t be strong right now for you and resist but it was no use. You could see a tear falling from his face now as the final fragment of his soul tried its best to push through.

Three.

You’re choking. You can't swallow. You can't breathe. You can only see the man you loved in blurry vision from the lack of oxygen and through tears. He was sorry...

“I… I.. forgive.. y-” you choked out, voice restricted as Kenjaku forced himself to push through with his execution, tightening his grip.The finality of it all settled deep within his soul as Kenjaku watched the life leave your eyes as you took your last breath.

A tear rolled down your cheek and your existence on the Earth came to an end.

Suguru was not really gone but he might as well have been. He will exist for a long time knowing that he was the one that killed you and that he couldn’t do anything to stop it either.

It was on that night for the first time that Kenjaku felt the overwhelming amount of agony from his vessel. His soul ached, cried, and wailed that night, longing to be with you but he couldn’t- that was just how things were meant to be for you two.

You hoped he knew that you forgave him and that you would love him endlessly but as for now, you would wait...

tags! @stsgluver

i made y/n a special grade user because they could easily take down suguru if they wanted but just didn't do it hahahahahah

1K notes · View notes

just-another-author-i-guess · 2 years ago

Note

More Judd smut?

More Judd smut yay (,:

Tags: fem! Reader, porn with a little plot?, what the fuck is hormone monster dialogue, everyone is horny fr, Nick and Andrew are creeps, but also scared of Judd, and very curious, questionable babysitting?, smoking, participating in the act of “getting stoned”, smoking inside, use of the word simp un-ironically, Judd gives super useless dating advice, not so safe sex, please use protection! please do not read if you’re uncomfortable with smut(,:

Summary: you and Judd are the designated babysitters for the night.

Read my OG Judd story? Here

Author’s note: hi gang (,: I remember when I was like “mental illness funny haha” but it’s really not funny anymore 🥹 I know I disappear all the time,, and I don’t even wanna apologize this time lol. But anyways, this has been brewing in my docs for like MONTHS and now I’ve come back, humbly offering you another Judd smut since the other one is surprisingly popular. Eat well, my children

The one where Judd gives dating advice

4,4K words

(Note, Judd is so cute and I love him :,)

“I don’t care about those horny little shits, I’m just saying they’re old enough to fuck off and do whatever they want. I don’t want my pissstain of a brother hanging around you, your sister is also fucking weird—“

You gently elbowed him. “—You’re fucking weird, Judd. And the kids aren’t really that bad, you’re a bit dramatic, babe,” you said, and he angrily grumbled something in response as he slammed the microwave shut. The microwave made a noise, and you watched the third batch of popcorn slowly expand and start to pop.

Unfortunately for Judd, your parents had collectively decided to go out the day you had promised him a date. Mr and Mrs Birch got a coupon for a recently opened Thai restaurant and decided to invite yours, Missy’s and Andrew’s parents out for dinner, making you the designated babysitter of the night. Leah had ditched the whole ordeal, and Judd was planning to ditch as well until you sent him a picture of your tits and told him he could still come over if he behaved.

With Maury clouding his judgement, there was no fucking way he could say no to that.

So now, he was stuck making popcorn for a bunch of middle schoolers. Not to mention he had a pretty bad track record with the kids, they were all absolutely terrified of him. Except of course Jessie, who was deeply in love with him. He grunted in annoyance, turning around to face you with his arms crossed over his chest.

He had been muttering complaints under his breath ever since you started setting up for the movie. He was absolutely livid that the kids stole away his one-on-one private time with his girlfriend, but for you (and your boobs) he tried to somewhat restrain himself.

“Judd, baby, look at me,” you stepped out in front of him, reaching up and gently rubbing his cheek, forcing his attention on you. “I know this is not ideal. But, if you play nice, I have a little something for you when the kids go to bed,” you purred, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

He grabbed your waist, kneading the soft flesh in his big hands. Even though he looked intimidating as all hell, not to mention he absolutely towered over you, he was wrapped around your pinky finger.

He leaned down and buried his face in your neck. “It better be good, slut..” he grunted, brushing his lips over your neck. You slapped the back of his head, feeling him frown against your skin. “I said behave, bitch-boy.” Your tone was sharp, and he knew not to push you any further.

“Fine, alright. Whatever.” He grumbled, hugging you closer to his body.

It was precisely 7’oclock when the kids arrived. Jessie was still in her room, not wanting to hang out with you and Judd alone; she had refused to come out after your parents left.

Surprisingly, Judd was the first at the door. He grinned evilly. “Welcome to purgatory, you little shits.” He said, looking down at the 8th graders menacingly. “Bitch! Your sister's dumb friends are here!” He called over his shoulder.

You huffed audibly. “Are you gonna let them in or what, numbnuts?” You called back to him, pouring the last packet of popcorn into a bowl.

He frowned and stepped aside, letting the now pretty frightened kids inside. Missy walked in first, smiling nervously at Judd, then came Andrew and Nick.

Nick was about to step inside, when Judd put a hand on his shoulder. The younger boy stopped dead in his tracks, praying to whatever god he could think of that his brother would let him off easy. “I didn’t do anything! Judd, I swear, please let me go!” He shouted, voice breaking multiple times.

A ghost of a smirk crossed Judd’s face. “Don’t try shit, or I will rip your tiny dick off and force it down your throat. Got it, asslicker?”

Nick swallowed thickly, frantically nodding his head. Of course Judd had picked up on his brother's crush on you, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

“Y-You got it, Judd!” He confirmed, panicked chuckles escaping him.

“Judd. Let him inside.” You stomped up to them, looking so livid you scared Judd back into being nice as you crossed your arms over your chest. Nick looked away quickly, a pink flush covering his face and neck.

Judd pushed Nick inside with a frown, once again not being able to refuse you. The kids looked on in bewilderment as the intimidating teen seemed to slightly cower under your glare, complying to your will. He looked down at them with something akin to shame, before following after you like a lost puppy.

The kids were in complete shock. Had Judd been fucking possesed?

You called out to Jessie, telling her to come out of her room, before dragging Judd back into the kitchen.

“Y/nnn! Can you start the movie already?” Jessie whined loudly.

A bit of shuffling could be heard in the kitchen. ”I-In a minute! We’re just fixing some drinks!” You called out, voice slightly shaky.

“.. do you really think they’re getting drinks?” Missy asked, after an agonising minute of silence. The kids sat stiffly on the couch.

You had told them to make themselves at home, but none of them were able to really calm down with Judd in the house.

Jessie scoffed. “Does it sound like they’re getting drinks? My sister's kind of a slut if you haven’t noticed.” She spat.

Nick rolled his eyes. “So is Judd.”

The two of them weren’t able to get over their jealousy of your relationship, somehow not yet registering that they didn’t stand a chance with high schoolers.

“Come on guys, that’s not a very nice thing to say,” Missy said nervously, glancing at the kitchen door.

“Jessie, do you think it’s possible I can get a glass of milk? I feel very dehydrated right now,” Andrew muttered, wringing his hands.

Jessie sighed and Nick immediately began explaining in detail how Judd would murder him. But ultimately, after a long and intense discussion, the kids decided to venture into the kitchen.

“You promised to be nice,” You said over your shoulder, holding Judd’s hand as you pulled him to the kitchen.

“I am nice.” He huffed, letting go of your hand and instead reaching out to grab your waist. He gently lifted you, setting you down on the counter top before stepping in between your legs. For a moment you thought he would lead it somewhere, but your face morphed into a gentle smile when he buried his face in your neck, hands gently rubbing up and down your sides.

You softly stroked his hair, making the angry agent of chaos visibly relax as he melted into your touch. “You didn’t even last ten seconds,” You muttered, immediately recognizing his actions as jealousy.

He breathed out against your neck, and you couldn’t help but softly laugh at the tingly feeling. “It was nice enough for me to make the popcorn, do you want me to fucking hand feed them too?” He grumbled, straightening up so he could glare down at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Calm down there, Mr. grumpy-pants. All I ask is that you remain civil for the night, or at least until the movie’s over,” You gave him your very best puppy dog eyes, reaching up to gently brush your hands over his jaw again. Reluctantly, he leaned into your touch, fighting to keep his angry glare.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t deny how absolutely soft he was for you. Your touch calmed him like no other, not even horror movies or tormenting the neighbourhood made him feel as gleeful as when you touched him.

He hummed in response, not really registering what you said, too focused on your touch. His own hands travelled from your waist to your thighs, gently squeezing. You let out a soft little sigh and instantly Maury appeared.

‘What? What’d I miss? You’re gonna fuck?’ The hormone monster asked, observing the situation. ‘Oooh! You should totally have a quickie, let’s see how many fingers you can stuff in her before the kids find out!’ He grinned, shaking Judd by the shoulders.

“Shut the fuck up.” Judd growled, making Maury let out a series of horse laughs. ‘Oh ho ho ho! At least get a good feel of her boob, we need something to get through the movie!’ He said dramatically, before patting Judd’s head and walking off in search of new entertainment.

Judd thought about it for a moment, before slowly sliding his right hand up your tummy until he could palm one of your tits.

“Judd,” You said, placing your hand over the one he had on your chest, but not removing it. “You gotta behave, alright? Just for tonight. And you can touch aaall you want after, I promise,” You said, finishing the sentence with a long kiss to his cheek.

“Fuck. Okay, fine.” He relented, removing his hand from your boob and intertwining his fingers with yours instead. He leaned in, pressing a series of wet kisses to your jaw and neck.

You hummed happily, half closing your eyes until you caught movement somewhere over Judd’s shoulders. You immediately straightened up, opening your eyes fully only to make eye contact with four completely stupefied middle schoolers.

The kids were too stunned to speak, literally.

Andrew was stammering incoherently, Nick seemed to find the ceiling very interesting, Missy and Jessi had both turned completely red in face but for very different reasons.

“Oh. Hello,” You said awkwardly, pushing Judd away and jumping off the counter quickly.

Your boyfriend in question let out a disappointed grunt, murderously glaring down the kids but keeping quiet. You all stood in complete silence for a few, agonisingly long seconds, until Andrew finally spoke up.

Still wringing his hands, the preteen stepped slightly closer to you. “Y/n, I’m very sorry to interrupt. But could I maybe get a glass of milk? It would really help with my nervous stomach—“ You cut him off before he could go into further detail about his digestive system and smiled warmly at him.

“—Of course. Why don’t you follow Judd back into the living room, he’ll start the movie for you and then I’ll be right out. Okay?”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under.

Judd bore holes through your back with his eyes, as you turned to open the fridge. “O-okay! Once again, thank you Y/n,” Andrew said, seemingly relieved.

Slowly the kids turned to walk out the kitchen, drizzling out one after the other. Jessi bore a somewhat mischievous smile, walking a bit slower on purpose in hopes she could walk next to Judd. Your boyfriend sighed heavily, uncrossing his arms and following after the kids. He was slowly coming to realise that he had no other choice, than to be a slave for a gang of middle schoolers.

The kids were again stiffly seated on the couch, this time with Judd sitting in the far end. Jessie had glued herself to his side, shamelessly sitting as close to him as possible. He was sure he would accidentally hit her if he moved his arm just the slightest.

He was holding the remote, quickly flicking through movies on netflix as the kids fought over what to watch.

“Shut the fuck up.” He barked. “I’ll find you a good movie,” And by “good movie'' he meant the absolutely goriest horror flick netflix had to offer.

Judd grinned sinisterly as he chose a movie, looking over to see the kids all sporting comically shocked expressions.

Andrew carefully glanced at Judd. “Excuse me, Judd, but are you sure this movie is suitable for children?” He asked.

“Y-yeah. Doesn’t that say you have to be sixteen..? My mom said I shouldn’t watch scary movies until I feel ready,” Missy added.

Nick didn’t say anything. He was scared enough of his brother already to disagree openly with him, and he also didn’t want to seem like a wimp in front of Jessi.

“It’s about time you little pussies grow up. Be quiet and just watch the fucking movie,” Judd said, as mischievously as his monotone voice would allow him to sound.

Jessi nodded gravely. “Yeah, guys. Shut up. It’s just a movie,” She said, looking up at Judd with big eyes for approval. He only grunted, pressing start on the remote.

Within the first few minutes, Andrew and Nick were clinging to each other. Missy was curled in on herself, watching the movie through her spread fingers. Judd grinned evilly, satisfied with his choice as he started digging through his pockets.

He was quick to dig up a lighter and half a blunt. A bloody jumpscare in the movie made Jessi jerk and grab onto Judd’s arm, slightly shaking. He sighed deeply, annoyed, but let it slide. He lit the blunt, throwing his feet up on the coffee table and tilting his head back as he inhaled deeply.

“Judd, I told you not to smoke inside,” You grumbled, returning to the living room with drinks and even more popcorn. Judd raised his head slightly, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Shut up,” He simply said, gesturing to the way Jessi was clinging to him.

You had to stifle a laugh, quickly setting the snacks on the coffee table and handing the milk to Andrew, who reached out to take it with a shaky hand, refusing to look at the tv.

Upon noticing the lack of space on the couch, Judd beckoned you to his lap. You happily sat down, Jessi giving you a disturbed look as your body gently pushed hers away.

“What the hell are we even watching?” You asked, Judd shrugged. “Dunno. Summer camp massacre something,” He said, handing you the blunt as you got comfortable on his lap.

You took a long drag, nuzzling into Judd as his hands came down to hold your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Guys,” Missy suddenly whispered, eyes glued to you and Judd. “Is that.. Marijuana.. As in drugs?”

Judd chuckled, you could feel him move beneath you as you struggled to keep from laughing yourself.

You said the only appropriate answer you could scrape from your brain; “Well.. Yeah.”

Missy’s eyes grew to sorcerers. “You can’t do that! Marijuana is a gateway drug! It could mess up your brain- Oh fudge! It could mess up my brain from inhaling secondhand!”

This time you couldn’t conceal your giggle, handing the blunt back to Judd as you leaned forward. You smiled softly at the younger. “Don’t worry about it, Missy. You’re way too smart to be corrupted by secondhand smoke,” You said. Missy nodded reluctantly, a small smile appearing on her face as she accepted the compliment.

“Mom will actually kill you,” Jessi mumbled and you fondly ruffled her hair. “She won’t if you keep your mouth shut.” You teased, as she scowled at you. Her eyes quickly left yours, to blatantly stare at Judd as he blew clouds of smoke out his nose. He truly looked like an angry dragon, staring at the movie screen with furrowed brows.

Jessi went bright red, looking away immediately when Judd turned to meet her gaze. You grinned, ruffling her hair again before relaxing back into your boyfriend. Judd gave another annoyed grumble, but soon relaxed himself.

Somehow, the kids managed to be quiet for the duration of the movie as you finished the blunt and most of the snacks.

Jessi fell asleep against you, having ended up clutching your hand for safety (probably from the masked killer on screen). Missy fell asleep against Andrew, the two huddled in a pile. Nick had slid down from the couch, attempting to hide from the movie but ending up sleeping under the coffee table.

By the time credits came on screen, you and Judd were the only ones awake. Pleasantly hazy from the smoke session, you turned your head to smile at him.

“You were so good. I like nice Judd,” You muttered, leaning up to press a soft, slow kiss to his lips.

He immediately deepened the kiss, claiming his price. In a horny daze, his hands migrated to your butt and his tongue invaded your mouth. You sighed, a bit too loudly and let your own hands wander. Over his shoulders, rubbing down his chest and abdomen till eventually they rested just over his belt.

The hiss that escaped him as your hands pressed to his crotch, definitely did not go unnoticed and you responded in kind by moving from his lips, messily gliding wet kisses down his jaw and neck. You bit him playfully, but still hard enough to leave indents in his perfectly smooth neck.

‘Oooh, baby!’ Right on time, Connie appeared at your side. She purred like a cat, curling around you and Judd on the couch. ‘Why don’t you hurry and jump right on up on that delicious dick of his? You know he can make you feel reeeeeaaaal good,’ She drawled.

Barely acknowledging her, you dumbly nodded in agreement.

‘Hurry, dumpling! Don’t got much time before the kiddies wake up,’ She urged you, poking Jessi with a long fingernail, and indeed, your sister was starting to stir.

You could only let out a frustrated huff. Judd had your hair fisted in one hand and your hip clutched tightly in the other, helping you rut yourself against his growing bulge in long, hazy strokes. He felt good, you felt good, everything felt so, so good and moving away from the heavenly friction could not be more of a bother.

You leaned forward a bit, which came with resistance considering his tight grip on your hair, and whined lowly in his ear.

Gently, you nosed at his cheek. “Judd.. the kitchen. C’mon,” You breathed.

He retaliated by grinding up into you, much harder than before, allowing you to feel the entirety of his now, very hard, length. You moaned loudly in response.

“We need to.. the kitchen— they’re waking up,” It was a difficult task to form the right words, with the increased amount of pleasure, so you scratched his shoulders, gently, to get your point across.

Leaning in, he captured your lips in a hard kiss, licking into your mouth with such fervour your head was spinning. He let go, biting down on your bottom lip and dragging it back before pulling away completely.

“Stupid fucking kids,” He gritted, tongue swiping over his lips, plump from kissing.

Heaving, you bit your bottom lip and batted your eyelashes at him in a most sultry display that was sure to make Connie proud. A sinister grin spread across his face, when he got an idea and he let go of your hair in favour of kneading your ass in both his hands.

“I’ll fuck you on the table, slut, be grateful.” It was a demand, but you didn’t mind because right at that moment, nothing truly sounded more pleasing than getting railed on the dining table in your mothers kitchen.

A shudder went through you at the thought, warmth slushing in your belly and still, you grinned coyly at him. “Only because you were so well behaved. I’m starting to think you actually like them, Juddy-Wuddy?” You said, motioning to the four kids as you cooed at him.

You got him with that one. Watching with glee as his jaw clenched and he sent you a look that could only mean one of two things; he was going to kill you or plow you until you could no longer walk. You highly suspected the latter.

Your boyfriend scoffed. “It’s almost cute how damn smart you think you are, huh? You fucking bitch.” He glowered. He despised when you called him that, one of the many terrible nicknames you had overheard his mom call him, and he always fell right into your trap.

Before you could start to respond, he was rising from the couch, hands manoeuvring under your thighs to lift you up with him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, legs tighter around his waist to keep his clothed cock pressed up against your core, and nuzzled your face into his neck.

His hands were warm on your thighs, so big they almost covered them entirely when he spread his fingers. You latched onto his neck again, engraving lots of little purple marks, just how he liked it.

His response came as a strained grunt, as he barreled into the kitchen and dropped you on the corner dining table.

The table was cold, you squealed as your thighs dragged along the cool surface and Judd wasted no time, leaning over you and pushing your skirt up to expose your panties.

A sinister grin spread across his face when he found your panties were already damp and soaked, his award for being a prime example of a boyfriend this evening.

You bucked your hips, mewling for attention and hoping he would be quick to relieve you of the throbbing between your thighs.

He laughed, low and husky as he watched you writhe on the table beneath him. Your lips were swollen and plump, a deep blush covered your cheeks and your hair was messily spread out over the table’s surface. His dick ached.

‘Boi-oi-oi-oing!’ Maury was right behind him, a wild smile split his face and he let his tongue hang out, looking more like a rabid dog than a hormone monster.

‘C’mon! Shove your fist inside her, she obviously wants it!’ Maury barked, shaking Judd by the shoulders. The teen shook him off, grumbling a threat as he returned to the task at hand.

You heaved in a breath, tongue coming out to wet your lips again. “Judd, I swear to god, do something—“ You pleaded, desperately.

“— have patience. And shut the fuck up.” Judd grunted, long fingers creeping towards the wet patch on your panties. Then, he pressed down, right in the middle of the wetness where your much neglected clit sat.

Gasping, you reached out to grasp his bicep. He pressed down again, keeping his thump there and swirling it in circles. You gasped and whined his name softly, the wet fabric glided over your most sensitive part so well it was hard to think about keeping quiet.

He was quick to silence you with a kiss, however, as his left hand finally, finally, left the wet patch to pull your panties off. You helped him shake them off, too focused with the cool air blowing on your hot core to notice how he crumbled up your panties and stuffed them in his back pocket.

You begged for him again, whines disappearing into his open mouth as he kept it slotted over yours.

He shushed you, putting his weight on his right hand as he leaned in further between your legs, suddenly stuffing two fingers into you, in one smooth motion. You cried out so loudly and desperately that not even Judd’s wet kisses could conceal it, he gave you another rough thrust of his fingers in retaliation.

Your eyes were half closed, lips forming an ‘o’ as he pulled away from your mouth to bite at your neck. His fingers reached a depth that your own could not, hitting a softer, mushier spot in your pussy that had you seeing stars each time. He was so rough with his thrusts too, working quickly and effectively to bring you to ecstasy and making the table rattle slightly. You could only pray that the slight scraping on the tiled kitchen floor could not be heard in the living room.

What was much louder, however, were your own loud gasps and breathy moans of your boyfriend's name. The closer you got, the louder your pleas became.

Judd bit your neck again, hard enough to turn the skin purple. “I said, be quiet, bitch.” He groaned into your neck, panting slightly as the pace of his hand increased.

You tried, but really couldn’t. The lewd squelching sound and the rapid stroking of his two fingers against your g-spot had you mewling and bucking against him. And it certainly didn’t help, when his thumb pressed down on your clit as well.

His slender fingers didn’t create much of a stretch, but you knew he was preparing you for his monstrous cock and because his fingers were so deliciously long the waiting time was never disappointing.

You could vaguely hear Connie bustling about in the background, shouting her encouragement and coaxing you to tell Judd all sorts of lewd things. You didn’t listen, you couldn’t when you were so, so close to your breaking point.

With your body on fire, liquid pleasure in your veins, your toes curled and you tilted your head to allow Judd better access to the unmarked parts of it. He graciously took the opportunity, returning his grip on your head to position you just how he wanted.

Your thighs clenched around Judd’s arm, lip trembling as your eyes crossed in pleasure. “Judd..!”

And then he was pulling away, you whined desperately in the process, only to be silenced with a large hand slapped across your mouth.

“I told you to be quiet, bitch.” He snarled, his voice now so deep and feral it made you shiver. He squeezed your cheeks together, a bit of drool escaped your mouth and smeared on his hand, as he pulled you to a sitting position. “Didn’t I?”

Your pussy throbbed, clenching around nothing at both the rough treatment and being so suddenly void of stimulation.

With your cheeks squished together, you couldn’t respond, so you opted for frantically nodding your head, softly whining out for him. You needed him inside you, and it had to be now.

You rutted yourself against the table, slick following you and making a trail on the wooden surface, it felt good, but definitely not as good as Judd’s cock would feel.

“Pw-pf..a..e.. Pwase!” You begged him, hands wandering towards his belt, feeling him up and unbuckling his belt buckle. You gasped quietly, he was so hard it had to hurt and the feeling of him pressed to your palm made you clench around nothing again. Despite the layers of clothes between you.

He moaned, but reached down to gather both wrists in his free hand and pinning them together. “You think you think you deserve that? After all the fucking noise you made?”

You cried out and nodded. Judd grinned sinisterly. “You’re so pathetic, you little slut. You know that?”

You wanted to kick him, or at least insult him back but the throbbing in your cunt and the fact that his words only made that throb so much worse, made it quite hard to do so.

Then, he leaned in, resting his chin on top of your head and inhaled your hair deeply. “You’re my little slut.” He grunted and, oh, you could have cum right there.

You nuzzled into him, burying your head where his neck became his chest and started leaving small, wet kisses.

He didn’t let go of either your wrists or mouth, instead he barked one simple order; “Off.” and brought your bound wrists towards his crotch again.

You didn’t need to be told twice, immediately getting to work and shoving both his pants and underwear as far down as your position would allow you to grab at his dick.

Hissing in pleasure, he pulled you closer to him. He was throbbing and warm in your hand, heavy and so swollen the head had almost turned purple, you tried lifting yourself up, tried to get just the tiniest bit of friction.

You pumped him slowly, he was sticky with pre-cum already and he dropped his head into your hair again, burying his face into you with a strained groan. He, too, was close to his breaking point.

Letting your wrists and cheeks free, he opted to grab under both your hips, lifting them up to hover above his dick. You let go of him, fingers coming to scratch at the table as he did the remainder of work for you and you fell back on the table.

“This what you want?” He grunted, thrusting experimentally and nudging his cockhead against your swollen little pearl.

“Yes.. yes, yes! Please, Judd, it hurts, I need it..!” You blabbered, cheeks puffy and face screwed up as you felt your empty pussy ache with anticipation. Only your boyfriend's dick could ease the twang in your lower belly.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, face set in stone and brows drawn together as he finally thrusted into you, filling you so completely in that one thrust, that you suddenly felt too full.

The bit of pain from the wide stretch you felt melted into white-hot pleasure almost as soon as it appeared and when Judd pressed a bit more into you, his hip bones meeting yours, you came instantly.

You cried out, overwhelmed by the sudden and immense pleasure. Judd cursed, rather loudly and tried pressing further into you, holding you flush against him as you clenched uncontrollably around him. You were even tighter now, so tight it almost hurt and so he waited for you to ride out your orgasm, breathing heavily.

“Shit.. fuck you! Ah!” He nearly whined at the feeling, blunt nails digging into the plush flesh on your hips.

Panting, sobbing and sighing, you slowly came down from your orgasm, not at all ready when Judd suddenly started thrusting again. You were already overstimulated, but the wide stretch and feeling of his cock inside felt so heavenly.

You couldn’t help the never-ending mantra of his name that escaped you, matching each of his violent thrusts. He wanted you to feel him as deep as possible, you knew, and he made sure of it. Leaning in over you to hit you at a deeper angle, pressing down on your belly as he fucked you to see himself bulging through.

“Judd, m’so full,” You slurred, digging your nails into his shoulders, as deep as they would go. He grunted a response, sweat gathering on his dark brows; “You gotta be quiet, baby.” He was strained as he spoke, teeth clenched and warm breath fanning your face.

Then, he squeezed under your thighs again, sliding you towards the edge of the table. “Spread your legs.” He demanded gravelly, and you easily complied. He pressed himself to you further, barely pulling out after each thrust, but doubling the force in which he thrusted.

The table scraped loudly against the floor, you whimpered and tried to quiet yourself, face heating as the room filled with squelching sounds that definitely didn’t leave anything to the imagination, should anyone overhear.

Already, you started to tighten around him again, your thighs quivered as you did your best to keep them apart. Judd noticed almost immediately, bringing his thumb down upon your puffy clit.

“C’mon pretty girl, cum for me again,” He panted and you followed suit, before you could cry out, though, he captured your lips with his own, chest pressed to yours.

You sobbed into his mouth as his tongue licked flames into you, clutching him to you. His thrusts became irregular, driving you into the table until he couldn’t hold out anymore. He moved to pull out, but you stopped him, keeping him pressed against you. “Don’t.. they’ll see— in-inside.” You panted into his mouth, and almost immediately felt a slush of warm liquid fill your lower belly.

Judd grit his teeth tightly, jaw fully clenching and breath heaving. His green eyes were dark and glazed, he straightened up a little, raising himself on his forearms to look down at you.

You were drooling slightly, makeup a bit smudged as you laid out on the table, revelling in the feeling of complete satisfaction and Judd’s cum filling you.

He waited a while to pull out, watching with interest as your tummy swelled ever so slightly from the combining force of his dick and his spend.

“You’re fucking horrible at being quiet,” He eventually stated.

You puffed out your cheeks, sitting up and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “It wasn’t me who made the table move,” you countered.

Judd’s hands ventured up your back, holding you to him. “You whine like a bitch in heat,” He countered, monotonously, in the most endearing way he could possibly put it. Because honestly, he loved the sounds you made.

Maury clapped him on the back and barked something at him, reminding him that the two of you were indeed not alone and he pulled out of you. You sighed as he slipped out, feeling your combined liquids leak out a bit as well.

He was quick to pull his pants and boxers up, turning from you to fetch a roll of paper towels. As he always did, he insisted on cleaning up for you.

You had asked him about it once, getting the lame response of; “I like to keep my things clean.”

Fixing your skirt to cover yourself, you found that your panties were nowhere in sight and fixed Judd a look.

Your boyfriend shrugged. “This is your house, just get another pair.” You blew a raspberry at him. “I’m actually gonna run out of underwear because of you.”

He didn’t care, it was quite obvious, so you kissed his jaw and jumped from the table, to get yourself a new pair. Judd didn’t miss his chance to roughly squeeze your ass as you walked past him.

Nick awoke to a strange sound. The loudest being the scraping of something on the floor, then he heard you cry, loud and continually as though you were in pain.

Immediately he sat up. The room was dark and the tv static, he drowsily looked around, his four friends sleeping soundly on the couch. Andrew moved his foot, coincidentally pinning Nick down with it. Groggily, he sighed and pushed Andrew off him.

He swayed a bit as he stood up, rubbing his eyes to get the sleep out of them. His brother and you weren’t anywhere to be seen, the spot where you previously was sitting now occupied by Jessi, sleeping in a starfish position.

That was when he heard the sound again, the scraping and then the desperate gasping. This time, though, he heard his brother’s raspy voice as well. What the hell was going on?

‘Judd and Y/n are wrestling,’ Suddenly his temporary hormone monster, Tyler emerged from the kitchen with a disturbed look.

“What?” Nick was way too tired to process something like that.

‘They’re rolling around on the table! Like this!’ Tyler got on top of the coffee table, and started intimidating something that definitely did not look like wrestling.

Tyler noticed Nick’s confused expression. ‘Yeah! And she keeps crying and saying his name— like, like this!’ The monster proceeded to do an utmost terrible impression of you calling for Judd and Nick cringed. ‘— and then, Judd told her to shut up and called her a slut! I think he’s gonna get her in a chokehold. I wouldn’t put my money on Y/n, though, she’s not even trying to fight him off—‘

“— Yeah, I don’t think they’re wrestling, Tyler.” Nick deadpanned, cutting the deity short. He felt his face grow increasingly red, as your sounds grew. Now, even he could hear you beg Judd for all sorts of lewd things.

‘Oh.’ Tyler blinked a couple of times. Nick shivered, he definitely did not need to hear his brother bone his girlfriend (on whom he had a crush) or explain the situation to his hormone monster.

The two of them remained in uncomfortable silence for a while, Nick pacing back and forth to clear his head of any inappropriate thoughts that Tyler was coaxing him into, once he had figured out the situation.

Eventually, Nick settled on waking Andrew.

“Andrew,” He pushed his friend and whispered again. “C’mon, wake up, Andrew,”

The latter mumbled something incoherent, adjusting his glasses in his sleep. Nick groaned and shook him, not relenting. “I never peed in that pool!” Andrew woke up shouting, and Nick tumbled back in surprise.

“What?” Nick hissed. Andrew looked about wide eyed, seemingly as groggy as Nick. “I— what?” Andrew repeated. He blinked at his friend slowly, not yet aware of the circumstances.

He pulled Andrew from the couch, and put a hand over his mouth. “Listen,” He whispered, and watched as his friend's expression turned from annoyed, to confused, to very very startled.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god!” Andrew stammered. Nick removed his hand. “Is that— are they?” His head snapped from Nick to the kitchen entrance and back again.

The shorter nodded once, stiffly. “What do we— do we do anything? We could go back to sleep before Judd— oh god, what if they find out we heard?”

Nick turned to his panicking friend, determination clear in his eyes. “We need to go see for ourselves.”

Andrew’s eyes grew impossibly larger, to the size of sorcerers. “What? No! No, no, normally I come up with those kinda terrible ideas— are you okay, Nick?” He put a clammy hand to Nick’s forehead, fauxingly checking his temperature.

Nick clicked his tongue, annoyed, and waved his friend’s hands away. “Think, Andrew! You have a crush on Y/n, I have a crush on Y/n, haven't you imagined her like that a lot of times, anyway? We can just look, really quickly,”

“Uuhh, I— I don’t know,” He stammered, eyes flicking to the kitchen door.

Nick sighed. “I’m going to go look.” His statement was final, as he marched off. Andrew wrung his hands, definitely not unaware of his own desire to see what his two designated babysitters were up to, and his legs seemed to follow after Nick all by themselves.

The two stopped by the door, neither daring to actually peek inside yet.

“Judd, m’so full,”

Both boys stiffened at the sound of your voice, breathy and begging and definitely not how you usually spoke to them.

Then, Judd grunted; “You gotta be quiet, baby.” Followed up by a harsh command of; “Spread your legs.”

Nick swallowed, and Tyler pushed him further towards the door, squealing at him to look. Suddenly, his previous courage had completely disintegrated and he looked at Andrew, panicked.

The other was just as alarmed, sweat beating his forehead as the scraping sounds picked up and they realised the weight of the situation.

They stood there for a while, completely perplexed, having been so scared off by your vulgar statements that neither dared to move. Andrew shut his eyes tightly, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he heard Maury in the room as well. He was barking orders at Judd, all of which went completely ignored, and cheering the two of you on.

Then, after what felt like aeons, the noise quieted down and the two preteens listened as you had a quiet conversation. Judd was way less mean, when he talked to you in private, they both noted. Only when you went off to get another pair of briefs, did they realise their mistake. But it was too late for them to move, instead they both stood there with rapidly beating hearts, faces bathed in red with sheepish expressions as you exited the room.

You stuck your head out the entrance first, yelling in surprise when you caught sight of the two boys. “Oh my god.” You breathed, then realising that they probably heard most of what just went on.

Caught red handed, you couldn’t bear to look neither of them in the eyes. You straightened, quickly walking past them and holding your skirt tightly around your bottom.

Levelling your voice the best you could, you called to them over your shoulder; “Judd’s in the kitchen, if you need anything,” You squeaked, bounding upstairs to your room before they could properly take in your dishevelled appearance.

Nick panicked, now they had to go in the kitchen, or suspicion would surely arise. He grabbed onto Andrew’s sleeve, willing his legs to move and take the final few steps into the kitchen.

Into the dragon's den, where Judd, the dragon resided.

“H-hi. Judd.” Nick stammered. Judd had his back to them, raiding the fridge for anything to drink. You had only stocked up on diet sodas.

The older teen acknowledged them with a grunt, not bothering to turn before his drink-mission was complete. The two boys stood awkwardly in the middle of your kitchen, waiting for whatever reign of terror Judd would have prepared for them; but none came.

Judd slammed the fridge door shut, and to their total surprise, threw each boy a Diet Coke. “Need anything else?” He drawled, sauntering to the table and slumping down in a chair. He opened a coke for himself and got comfortable in his chair, downing almost the entire can in one go.

Andrew and Nick shared a glance, and simultaneously inched towards the table. The two of them sat down quietly, still waiting for Judd to scare them away.

But he was completely out of character, for once, he looked kinda relaxed. Albeit a bit sweaty and tousled, but as calm as Nick had ever seen his older brother. His eyes lingered on Judd’s neck, where he bore a collection of teeth indents, smudges from your lipstick and hickeys.

The three sat in silence for a bit, listening as the light under the cabinets buzzed and eventually Judd got up to fetch another soda.

“You want any more?” He asked the two, and they politely declined. He shrugged and returned to the table with a new can.

Nick fiddled with the top of his can, eyes flitting around the room nervously. “Judd. Can I ask you a question?” He dared not look up as he spoke, keeping his eyes planted on the table.

Judd grunted, his way of saying ‘go ahead.’

“Why are you being so nice to us?” The question visibly caught Judd a bit off guard, he stopped drinking for a brief moment, thinking the question over before his stoic exterior returned.

“Y/n wants me to be nice to you. She likes you small assholes,” He shrugged.

Andrew looked at the older bewildered. “Y/n told you to be nice to us?” He asked, voice cracking as if he couldn’t believe his own ears.

Judd frowned. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” He snapped.

Andrew swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah. Sorry,”

“But— I mean, why? She’s not even here, and, you usually don’t listen to anyone,” Nick was unrelenting, now past the point of caring if Judd would beat him up for asking questions.

A pregnant pause wove through the room, as Judd thought about the question. He still looked considerably less angry than usual, but his features were set in a frown and his brows drew together and made it look like he was planning something sinister.

“I do what she says because I love her.” He said eventually, glaring off into space as he thought his answer over.

Neither of the two boys could believe their ears. The Judd Birch had just declared his love publicly. It must have been the post-nut clarity.

When they failed to respond, he continued on; “Sometimes you gotta do dumb shit, even if it’s fucking annoying, to keep a girl.” He mumbled, still deep in thought. Had the situation been different, Nick would have found it quite funny to hear Judd talk about such tender things in his gruff voice.

Andrew leaned over the table, adjusting his glasses. “Is— Is that how you get a girlfriend?”

At that, the corners of Judd’s lips moved upwards ever so slightly. He turned fully to them, a wicked look in his eyes. “That’s how you get laid, numbnuts.”

Then Nick cut in; “But what after? What if I like this girl, and I really wanna touch her boobs, but I also want to talk to her. I mean just talk. Because she’s smart, and funny, and really nice,”

Judd dug through his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and opened the window on the wall behind him. He stuck one between his lips, and offered the pack up to the boys.

“We’re twelve.”

Judd merely shrugged and lit his own cigarette. “If you wanna touch her tits, you gotta talk to her first. And don’t be a little creep. Charm her and shit,” He explained.

Nick deadpanned. “Charm her?” Judd was everything but charming. It would forever remain the greatest mystery to him, how his brother managed to pull any girls at all.

Andrew pushed up his glasses. “Actually, what Judd is saying is true. You need to make her feel as if you care about her—“

“—I do care about her!” Nick protested.

Judd flicked a bit of his cigarette off over the window still. “Then it’s easy. Just talk to her, pussy.” He inhaled a long drag. “If she’s into small pricks, you’ll be just her type.”

The younger pouted. “Not funny, Judd.”

Judd cackled, lowly, sinisterly. “Then, how do you know if a girl likes you?” Andrew asked.

“She lets you touch her tits.”

Nick sighed. “C’mon, Judd! There has to be more to it— I mean, you have a girlfriend, so you obviously know.”

The eldest grunted and exhaled smoke through his nose. He thought for a bit before replying; “I was at a party, and I saw this girl, Y/n, and she was really fucking hot. Is really fucking hot,” He fixed the two middle schoolers a pointed look. “So I talked to her, turns out she’s really fucking sweet too. And when you meet a girl like that, all the rest comes naturally,” He finished his explanation, a bit smug as the two boys looked at him in wonder.

“Not to offend, b—but haven’t you dated lots of girls? How’d you do that?” Andrew asked.

Judd put his cigarette out in his, now empty, coke can. “Sure I have. You can also just fuck girls, but it’s a lot more fun if you like them,” He said.

“How do I do that, then? Do I have to talk to her too, even if I don’t like her?” Andrew was a bit eager now, but Nick had to admit that he was also itching for answers.

“No matter what, you gotta talk to her. Maybe not for long, and if you just wanna fuck, you have to say the right things,” He said, and then quickly added. “But don’t do that. I don’t want you two turning into little dicks,”

“Then.. What if you’re already friends with her?” It was a bit of a jump in topic, but Nick had to get answers, and right now was probably the only time he had the opportunity to ask.

Judd snorted. “You want to fuck one of your friends out there?” He cackled, motioning to the living room.

Nick turned red very quickly. “No.”

“Fuck, you’re a little simp!” The eldest was finding Nick’s personal troubles a little too funny, and he huffed, glaring at his brother. “But all the rules still apply. Be charming, talk to her, and don’t be a creep.” Judd eventually added, nodding at his brother.

“Thank you, Judd.” Nick muttered, and he meant it.

“Yeah, thank you, Judd,” Andrew echoed.

Judd grunted. “Yeah, whatever. But don’t, ever, spy on me and Y/n again. I mean it. Or I will gut both of you like fucking fish.”

Hi, hello,, thank you of making it this far!

Originally, I wanted to label this “16+ do not interact if you’re younger” but honestly I ate shit like this tf UP when I was 13 💀 idk if I made Judd a little too OOC, sorry big mouth writers ☹️✋ I hope you enjoyed, though

Small rant + update; tumblr has been acting up on my phone lately, idk what I did to make it so laggy lately, but I have to post from my computer now ),: ALSO I’m so mad I keep forgetting that the cursive I make in Google docs doesn’t work in tumblr ahhhhHHHH so I had to go over the whole thing again, I’m pressed

And anyways, I’ve been working on a really big project for a while now, it is literally my baby, and it’s a Loki x reader because I finally watched some marvel movies lol, I’ll wait with posting it till it’s completely done bc rn it’s kinda a mess (and not nearly done) but if anyone would be interested in beta reading the first 5 chapters please don’t hesitate reaching out to me!

You are wonderful! Thank you for reading <3

Request something? HERE!

Tags? @dlfvrr (this was the only instance I could find of someone wanting to be tagged in my Judd stuff, please reply to this if you do want to be tagged)

#big mouth #judd birch x reader #judd birch #judd bitch fr #judd birch smut #i hope this is okay #hormone monster #I love Judd #mental illness awareness #author needs sleep

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