Idea for smutty request: virgin Eddie who has never even eaten a girl out so he asks if he can practice by eating reader’s pussy…. Ofc reader says yes cos she’s had a crush on Eddie for forever
a/n: I’ve been working on this for months. So for that, I apologize!
warnings: reader with titties, cunningulus, mentions of a shitty ex-partner. I think that’s it. Please let me know if I missed anything.
“You sure?”
“Ed—.”
He held up his hands in defeat, licking his lips anxiously. “I just wanna — I don’t wanna fuck this,” and he gestures between the two of you, “Up. Our friendship. You know?”
“I know.”
Eddie stares at you, deep brown boring into you as if looking for a flicker of doubt. There was none. Your friendship with him meant the world, and when he approached you with his request, well. You could never deny him anything. Your heart stammered and you could feel your cheeks heat, but you agreed.
His room had always been a safe space. The smell of old spice, burning wood, and Marlboro’s infiltrated your lungs, causing the tension in your body to uncoil. Ever the gentleman, Eddie made sure to clean up for you, have bottled water on the bedside table and extra pillows at the ready.
You started to shimmy out of your shorts, but Eddie’s hands replaced yours, fingers caressing every bit of skin as it’s revealed. “You’re so fucking pretty,” his tone is awe-struck as if he’s seeing you for the first time. Thighs squeeze together and he takes note, a sly little smile curling his lips. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
“Nothing.”
He lifts a brow.
“Promise. Just never been referred to as ‘pretty’ before.”
The metal head blinks at you slowly as if he can’t process what you’re saying. “Not even Chad or whatever-the-fuck that dick ex’s name is?”
You shake your head.
“Asshole.” Eddie declares, strong hands finding yours, fingers threading together. “If you were mine… I’d tell you every damn day. You’re gorgeous. Not that you need my or anyone else’s validation.” His eyes soften, “Thank you for this.” It’s the first time you see a hint of vulnerability cross his features cutting through all the bravado. It makes your chest squeeze with affection.
He wastes no time, peeling away your underwear. You resist the urge to slam your legs together, shyness taking over. “No hiding,” as if he can read your thoughts, his eyes are the softest brown, pools of warmth you could get lost in.
Eddie kisses along your thighs, nipping gently, experimentally. Your breath hitches and he chuckles, hot breath fanning over you. A whine emits from the very back of your throat. “Sensitive little thing, ain’t ya?” He licks his lips before he leans forward, kissing directly onto your seam, head buried between your legs. He nestles his nose against the thatch of curls there, breathing in your scent.
Eddie’s breath is warm, the flat of his tongue dares to spread you apart for him, flicking upward toward your clit. He’s slow, calculated, watching your expressions for some guidance.
“Jesus Christ,” you moan, he takes a part of your labia into his mouth and sucks softly, humming around you , “you’re - you’re sure you’ve never done this b-before?”
You can feel him smile against your cunt, before his tongue dips, finding your entrance. You gasp, hands grabbing those wild locks of his, tugging sharply. He groans, deep and reverberating, the muscle curling inside of you, working in and out, searching for that spot. You grind your hips down, desperate for more friction. “God, Eddie - fuck -!” It doesn’t take much before you’re arching off the bed.
“Mmmhm.” He’s drinking you down, lapping and slurping at everything you have to offer. A calloused thumb finds your neglected clit, circling it in tandem with the actions of his mouth. Your own hangs open, spewing expletives, moans, praises, gibberish and Eddie revels in it.
The coil in your stomach snaps sooner than you’d like and you’re cumming, clenching around his tongue while white hot pleasure burns through you. He continues, working you through your climax until you’re pulling him off, tears streaming down your face. You both lock gazes, his cheeks are rosy, lips covered in your spend, eyes heavy with lust. As for you, your face is covered in a light sheen of sweat, your body flush.
Eddie makes his way up to you, caging you in between his arms, hair falling in curtains to frame his face. He reaches up to wipe away a stray tear.
It’s just the two of you against the world, all panting breathes and longing gazes.
He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. For a second you feel a pang of fear that maybe he was having second thoughts. That this whole thing was a mistake and you should just forget it.
“Can I kiss you?” He finally asks.
You blink owlishly.
“Or - or we can not do that - that was a stupid suggestion, forget I said any- .”
Infinity is often interpreted as the largest numerical magnitude to exist. And while that fact may be true in theory, infinity is better defined as the endless division of infinitesimally smaller and smaller values. One can be separated into half, half to a quarter, and so on, until the space between fractions almost ceases to exist.
Almost.
Gojo is a lot like infinity. Blame it on his technique, sure, but you suspect it runs much deeper than that. His actions never reach an end; instead, each one sinks further and further into your skin, fangs so small you barely feel them until it’s too late and the venom irreversibly invades your veins. He’s chipped away at you, piece by little piece, until you are the opposite of infinity; you are nothing.
On a surface level, most would say you have it pretty good. You (are trapped in) live in a huge home, filled with opulent furniture and all the luxuries you could ever want. You’re (expected to) allowed to cook meals for the two of you, including your favorite dishes. You still have (basic rights) privileges, such as free roam of the house, your own selection of clothes, access to the television and your phone (minus the ability to call or text, of course), even outdoor time with Satoru’s supervision. Why would you ever need to leave?
You had escaped, once.
Calling it an escape would be generous. Nothing ever happens without Gojo’s knowledge, without Gojo’s permission. How foolish you had been, to think you could evade his Six Eyes. Despite weeks of planning, he’d dragged you back home within the hour.
The chains hadn’t been removed for an entire month after that, and their lingering presence on each post of Satoru’s bed serves as a constant reminder that they’ll never rust.
Currently, you’re in the (not your, nothing is ever truly yours anymore) house’s lofty kitchen now, preparing dinner for his return home from work. Glancing up at the clock, you see it’s nearly time for him to arrive. You click the stovetop on and place a pot of water over the open flame, watching the blue fire flicker. Your thoughts immediately go to Gojo’s eyes, twin infernos of endless blue. Those eyes never seem to close, never seem to be too far from your own. They have the ability to lock you in place and throw away the key forever.
Moments later, the sound of the door opening and closing, along with the click of multiple locks, echoes from the hallway. Long, casual footsteps alert you to his presence behind you. His velvet voice, so languid and carefree, fans your ear as he settles his hands on your hips. “There’s my girl. Already making dinner for me?” He places a surprisingly chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Missed ya, baby.”
You add rice and a bit of salt and stir the pot in front of you in silence. When did you stop fighting him on that? On losing your full name to simple titles like girl and baby? The old you would have gagged at those pet names. The old you that kicked and bit the hand of your captor like a rabid animal, always fighting for freedom.
His grip tightens when you fail to immediately respond, though you hear him force a light tone to his voice. “What, curse got your tongue?”
Tension immediately floods your muscles. Gojo is a vain man; your silence maims his huge ego, something the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer will not stand for. You must react. “No, Gojo. I was just lost in thought, is all.”
You worry your lip when the quiet drags on. “I-I’m sorry?”
Gojo barks out a laugh, but his smile is strained and all fangs. “Back to Gojo again, huh?”
A mistake you notice too late. The spoon falls from your grip as you turn your head slowly. He’s still wearing his blindfold, but you know those infinite abyssal eyes are currently boring into your soul, daring you to speak. “Ah, no! Satoru, I mean—”
“Shh, baby. I get it.” His hands move to your shoulders, which he begins to massage. “Is it because you’re mad at me for neglecting you?”
To an outsider it may sound like he’s teasing, but you know all too well the creep of annoyance laced into his deepened, husky tone. “Or are you just being a brat?”
Swallowing, you place a hand on his toned forearm in an attempt to calm him. You feel him practically melt into the touch. “Truly, ‘Toru, I’m fine.” Your honeyed tone makes you sick, but you’ve learned it can subtly manipulate your captor in the right setting, usually this domestic fantasy world of his. “You’ve been so busy with work, and my mind has just been wandering. Why don’t you go sit while I finish up with the food?”
He hums absentmindedly, fingers swirling patterns across your abdomen. “I have a better idea…” Hot breath caresses your ear, eliciting a shiver. “Let me make it up to you.”
A deft hand snakes its way down the back of your bare thigh, barely ghosting across your skin. You can feel him, solid as a rock, yet you know there will always be space between you. He can touch you, but you’re powerless to do the same.
Just like in everything else, you can’t hold a candle to him. Your cursed energy is inconsequential, a tiny spark against his infinitive well of power.
Talk of your innate cursed ability is a topic you actively choose to avoid. Your technique, when activated, allows you to briefly control the thoughts and consequent actions of a single individual—but only after you’ve kissed them. And it often backfires tremendously, with the kiss causing overwhelming feelings of obsession or insanity in the receiver. From more than enough uses you’ve learned to see it as more of a curse in and of itself, and one you prefer to keep hidden.
Especially from the man behind you. Gojo—Satoru, you correct yourself—has enough twisted love that you wouldn’t dare try to possess his thoughts. The mere idea makes your throat tighten with panic.
Satoru’s technique, on the other hand, causes every nerve ending along your skin to explode as his hand falls beneath your skirt and skate across your barely clothed core.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he groans. “Are you wet for me, baby?” Before you can respond, Satoru easily moves your panties aside and spears you with his middle and ring fingers.
The invasion makes you jolt instantly. An involuntary gasp leaves you as he presses deeper, his fingers sheathed to the knuckle. You hate how your walls immediately tighten around him, slick with your arousal. No, you don’t want this, but Gojo gives you no choice in the matter but to practically ride his hand as he lifts your skirt with his other hand to get a better view.
“I’ll never get tired of this.” His thumb passes over your clit, pulling yet another shameful moan from your lips. Your tense demeanor only causes your pussy to accidentally squeeze him tighter, spurring him on. You try to pull your thighs together, but Satoru wrenches them apart easily with his other hand. “Oh, no, none of that. This pussy is mine.”
You squirm, grasping for something to get you out of this mess. “Satoru, stop, the food will burn—”
“Forget it,” he commands, ripping your skirt off. “We’ll order takeout after.”
Your heart drops. “After…?”
“Aw, you thought I’d stop here?” His condescension floods your ears. “No, babe, I’m only just getting started with you.”
His persistence, like infinity, has no end.
Without warning, Satoru removes his fingers from your core and swings you over his shoulder, smacking your bare ass and wrenching a yelp from you. You blanch when you realize he’s carrying you to the bedroom.
“Wait, Satoru—!”
You are unceremoniously thrown onto the bed, said white-haired sorcerer towering above you. He pounces immediately, locking your limbs in place. Satoru must see the fear, the readiness to engage in fight or flight, across your face, because he brushes a tender hand across your cheek to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he teases, but it somehow sounds like a threat. His fingers, still coated with your arousal, hook around your thong and slide it down your legs. “You’re acting like this is our first time or somethin'.”
Oh, it was far from the first time that he had touched you or been inside of you. But something about today, about this time, sends fear skittering across your whole being. Perhaps it’s all the reminiscence lately, or the fact that your thoughts drifted to your innate technique for the first time in weeks. Panic sinks its claws into you.
Breath ragged, heart pounding, you grab his face in both hands and react without thinking; for the first time since he kidnapped you, you willingly kiss Satoru Gojo and activate your technique.
Satoru immediately reacts, deepening the kiss and pressing you more firmly into the mattress until you feel as if you’re nearly suffocating.
Release me, you project into his mind, threading a hand through his white locks and squeezing hard.
The world suddenly goes very, very still.
Satoru freezes. Slowly, painfully, he parts his lips from your own and straightens his arms against the mattress to hover above you once more. His breath comes out in jagged huffs. The only sound that remains is the unending tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall, bringing you closer to your doom.
For a second, you almost believe your technique worked.
That is, until he quickly sheds his blindfold, and you are meet with those stunning, terrifying, brilliant, paralyzing blues. He whispers your name with a foreign stillness that chills your bones to ice. “Do you…have a cursed technique?”
What an idiot you are to have thought you could sneak past Satoru Gojo’s barriers and Six Eyes. You can’t touch his physical form; why would his mind be any different?
It takes all of your willpower to withhold the panicked, hysterical laugh threatening to escape you. “Look, I can explain—”
Satoru leans back on his knees, one hand carding through his hair as he looks up to the ceiling. “God, babe, I knew you could see curses and harbored cursed energy, but here you go surprising me!” He laughs, a gleeful chuckle that has you reeling.
“You’re not…mad?” you dare to ask, inching your knees towards your chest. Maybe your technique failed, but you can still buy some time and get into a safer position.
Satoru gazes down at you, head tilted and a full grin on his lips. “Mad? Baby, why would I be upset when for the first time in our relationship, you were the one seducing me?”
Oh, no. No no no no no.
Grabbing your ankle, he drags you back to a supine position, your pussy on full display for him. He licks his lips at the sight. “Plus, you trying to get inside my head was cute and all. Weak, but you gave it your best!” He laughs again, and you realize that he never took you seriously, not even for a second.
The thought should enrage you—it would have infuriated the old you—but all you can manage now is a low whine as his hands go for his belt.
Satoru pulls himself free, his already hard cock pulsing in anticipation. Precum beads at the tip as he lines himself up with your entrance. “What was it you asked me for? Release, right?”
Your eyes bulge at his implication. “Wait, Satoru, I didn’t mean—!”
You barely have time to react as he buries himself in you completely. A choked sob bubbles up your throat as you breath through the stretch of him.
Satoru moans in ecstasy as he begins a steady pace, thrusting mercilessly into that squishy spot deep inside your core that has you seeing stars.
“Kiss me again.” It’s light and breathless, but it’s an order, not a request. Fear makes you comply immediately, though your kiss is a hesitant, timid thing compared to your earlier attempt to sway him.
He’s having none of that. No, Satoru had a taste of your affection, and now he’ll tolerate nothing less than your full reciprocation. If only you could truly peer into his mind and see that no amount of your cursed energy would change him; your being was already permanently imprinted on his brain. You were his perfect doll, held in the palm of his hand.
Nails rake down his back as you arch against the mattress. Every time he thrusts, he grinds against your clit, and you feel yourself chasing your finish. You hate this, you want it to stop, but you can’t help—
“Please, Satoru,” you plead without thinking, meeting his limitless eyes. You feel yourself drowning in them, a blue sky that never ceases.
For a split second, his rhythm hesitates. “…Say that again,” he whispers, almost reverently. “Beg for me.”
You’re not quite sure what you’re asking for. “P-please, I can’t take it anymore, please let me—!”
“Choose your next word carefully,” he warns, voice shifting to a low growl as his hand moves to your throat, adding ever so much pressure.
Tears streak your vision. The embarrassment of your technique failing and the lewd position he has you in all crash down upon you, and another piece of you breaks. “Please let me cum,” you concede.
To your dismay, his pace slows, and you cry out in protest as your orgasm fades. “I just need you to do one more thing for me, baby.” He leans into your neck, nipping and sucking at all your sensitive spots, torturing you even further. “Tell me you love me.”
Alarms should be blazing through your head, but the fog of your arousal clouds your judgement as you seek your climax.
That piece of your soul he took shatters into a million shards as you whisper, “I love you, Satoru.”
The two of you shatter simultaneously. You register all too late the warmth invading your core as Satoru pumps his cum deep inside you.
He’s never come in you before.
Your name is murmured over and over like a prayer against your neck—or maybe it’s a curse. You jolt in overstimulation when he pulls out and bends down to place a kiss against your puffy folds. “So good for me, baby. This perfect pussy belongs to me.”
He kisses you a final time, long and slow. When he pulls away, a languid smile sweeps across his features. “You’re all mine, (Y/n). Even your mind.”
With the use of your innate technique, you’ve dug your own grave for good. Satoru will never let you go now.
SUMMARY: Max can't be in labor. He isn't due for two more weeks! Besides, he only has one more day before he can go on paternity leave. What's the worst that could happen?
Max groaned when he woke up that morning. It was his last day at work before he went on paternity leave and it could not come soon enough. He was still exhausted, having gotten no rest last night with those stupid Braxton Hicks keeping him up.
He sat up in bed, legs spreading to make room for his heavy belly, hanging low between his thighs where it rested on the mattress. He gave it a small rub, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure that had been making his back ache.
The baby felt low. Too low, considering he wasn't due for another two weeks, and he certainly wasn't having his baby today. It was especially noticeable once he swung his legs over the side of the mattress and stood up. There was so much pressure in his hips. He could feel the baby's head resting in his pelvis, and his belly seemed to drop even lower once he was upright.
He didn't think there was any reason to be concerned of course. He read that this was all normal when you were approaching his due date, and therefore everything was fine.
He waddled over to the dresser, struggling to get his pants on since his round middle prevented him from bending over far enough to properly grab the waistband. He managed to get them over his hips, and buttoned just under the swell of his belly, but his shirt wasn't so easy. The fabric stretched tightly over his gravid middle, like it could barely contain the swell underneath, and no matter how many times he pulled it down, there was still a small sliver of skin sticking out underneath.
Another wave tightened across his middle, low and deep, making him pause with a soft whimper. He braced a hand on the dresser, breathing through it short puffs like he'd read online. “Not now,” he muttered between gritted teeth. “You’re so not on schedule.” The pressure was different this time… insistent, like the head was pressing right into cervix. He shot a nervous glance toward the bed. “Nope. Still two weeks. We’re not doing this today.”
He cradled his belly, trying to wade through the rest of the contraction, but it was so low his arms could barely reach underneath it.
The wave passed after what felt like an eternity, leaving him tired and sore as he stood there holding his swollen middle. He shifted his weight on his legs, trying to get comfortable, but the ache in his hips and back seemed to be spreading.
It was too much. Max lowered himself gingerly down onto the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth as he did. “You're just preparing, you're just preparing," he repeated quietly to himself, but his anxiety was rising. This wasn't happening today. It couldn't. Not before he went on paternity leave.
Before his belly had a chance to retaliate, he grabbed his car keys and headed out the door. He wasn't up to eating anything for breakfast. His stomach felt full enough as it is, and the cramps were making him nauseous.
The drive to work was uncomfortable. Every bump and pothole in the road sent a sharp ache through his middle. He could feel how low the baby was resting, heavy and cumbersome between his hips. His stomach was pressed up against the steering wheel, and his baby didn't like being cramped up in the cat, continuously rolling and kicking. His hands felt clammy wrapped around the steering wheel, and after a particularly rough bounce as the car hit a large crack in the road, he found himself whimpering as he rubbed soothing circles against the side of his belly.
He moaned through three contractions during the twenty minute drive to work.
"Come on… come on," Max panted between clenched teeth, one hand gripping the wheel, the other pressed low against his belly as another contraction rolled through. His knuckles whitened with each passing second.
The office parking lot had never looked so far away.
He barely made it into the building before doubling over by the elevator, breath coming in short gasps. "Nope. Still not doing this," he whispered shakily to himself, pressing both hands under his bump like he could somehow hold things in. But deep down? He knew his baby might have other plans.
By the time he reached his desk, he had to pause for another contraction. He gripped the edge of the desk, leaning heavily on his arms, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched. His coworker looked up from her computer, raising an eyebrow. "You okay, Max?"
Max forced a weak smile, trying to sound casual through the pain. "Yeah, just… Braxton Hicks," he lied, rubbing at his lower back. "Nothing to worry about."
It was a lie, and a bad one. His coworker could tell. He looked like a wreck- pale and sweating, with one hand clutching at his belly. But she didn't press the issue further. She likely assumed he was just having run-of-the-mill pregnant-guy issues: back pain and nausea and the like.
He sank heavily into his office chair, trying to focus on his work instead of the contractions that were definitely just Braxton Hicks.
But as the morning passed and work demanded his attention, it became harder and harder to hide the pain. Every twenty minutes or so, a contraction would rear its head, and Max would have to bite back a groan. His coworkers kept shooting him concerned looks, but Max brushed them off, continuing to pretend that everything was fine.
"Paternity leave starts tomorrow." He whispered to himself. "Paternity leave starts tomorrow."
His water still hadn't broken. As long as his water was intact he could still convince himself this was all false labor.
After another hour of rolling his hips at his desk and staring at report sheets, he decided this wasn't working. He needed a minute to be able to moan through the contractions, sway back and forth, and rub his belly with no one watching. Then he'd be able to collect himself and get through the rest of the work day.
He shuffled into the bathroom, locking the stall behind him with shaky hands. Leaning forward on the toilet seat, he finally let out a low moan as another contraction hit- deeper, longer than the last. His fingers dug into his thighs, and he could feel how low the baby was now… almost too low.
"Please… not yet," he breathed between gasps. But his body wasn't listening.
"Mmmmm." He moaned, rolling his hips in slight circles. "Mmmmph. Ooooohh. Oh no. Not now baby. Please not now. You've still got two more weeks."
The woods had always drawn her in. Even though Dia worked in Detroit her home was in a suburb of it, and a short 20 min ride from her home could take her to beautiful woodsy parks. Dia would come to them at times and sit by the water to clear her mind or gain inspiration for her next project. The woods had always been peaceful to her, to sit and listen to the bird song and water. A superstitious part of her mind always told her to leave as the sun sets and to never stay after dark. Nothing good ever came of being in forest-like areas after dark, and Dia has always been one to listen to her gut.
~~
Dia never really expected much from the small town of Farnbury. She mainly moved there to evade the Detroit police. Not like she ever stopped her killings though, a part of Dia knows she’ll get caught eventually. The red string of her fate tightening around her neck with every life she takes, and the blood on her hands gets stickier than a spider's web as her killings continue. She has resigned herself to the fate of getting caught eventually, but that doesn’t mean she’ll go down easily. Hiding and covering her tracks, she’ll get rid of as many people that ruin the world as she can. Even if they’re people she once thought of as friends.
TW: No major archive warnings apply, although there is some swearing.
Summary: Ever since Jude received her soulmark she’s been waiting with bated breath to meet and consequently strangle her soulmate. When she finally does find him, however, there’s more than one surprise in store for her.
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Word Count: 2,478
Chapter 3: I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift
Jude’s sense of triumph didn’t last long. Whatever had happened between her and Cardan on that pitch in the dark had triggered an unholy reaction in him and if she’d thought being the object of his bored torment earlier had been painful, things had now reached a whole new level.
What had started as petty insults and childish bullying now appeared to have escalated into a declaration of war.
Case in point: Today’s Potions class had been about the process of brewing a Cure for Boils. Jude had turned her back on her potion for one moment to check her textbook for the next step and then twisted around to find her previously yellow potion turning an angry fluorescent green, bubbling and frothing furiously before overflowing over the sides of her brass cauldron. Amidst the chaos, the only other thing she registers is the flash of vibrant cerulean hair out of the corner of her eye.
Nicasia. She had done this somehow and definitely at Cardan’s request.
Distracted by the realization, she doesn’t notice that her hands are instinctively reaching for the cauldron before it is too late. Searing, agonizing pain shoots up her right arm and she lets out a scream. Through blurred eyes she makes out a head of white hair rushing her and what looked like Taryn trying to push her way through the gathering crowd to get to her side.
“What is happening here?” Professor Snapdragon surveys the scene, brows raised as Jude clutches her burnt arm to her chest.
“Jude’s been burnt, sir,” Lil tells him rather unnecessarily as she makes her way to Jude’s side with Taryn right behind her.
“I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire,” the professor said tonelessly, sounding more exasperated than concerned.
Jude’s head snaps up at the accusation. She scans the faces of all her classmates standing around her and finds who she was looking for. Cardan’s face is expressionless but Jude would swear that there was amusement in that slight tilt of his lips. Nicasia stands next to him, bringing her delicate hand up to her face to cover her exaggerated yawn when she notices Jude glaring at her. The amusement on her face is obvious.
“You - You did this you son of a bitch,” Burnt arm forgotten for the moment Jude lunges forward in Cardan’s direction only to be pulled back by someone tugging on her robes. She whirls around to shoot daggers at whoever it was that was restraining her but Lil simply shook her head imperceptibly and refused to budge. For someone so petite she was possessed of a freakish amount of strength.
“Miss Duarte! Such language will not be tolerated in my class. 5 points from Slytherin.”
Jude is too angry and in too much pain to care about the injustice of her situation and the angry murmurs from the rest of the Slytherins.
“Now then, Miss Duarte - the younger one - take your sister to the infirmary please, and get Madam Grima to give her some Burn-Healing paste. The rest of you, back to your seats.” With an effortless flourish of his wand Professor Snapdragon clears away the mess around her cauldron before turning away with a swish of his robes and heading back to the front of the class.
The other students part like the red sea and Taryn steers Jude towards the doorway. Abruptly, she stops, twists her head back to look directly at Cardan, and between tightly clenched teeth hisses, “You’ll regret this, Greenbriar.”
The gauntlet had been thrown and the games had truly begun. The words on her chest seem to sting the way the palm of her left hand does when she makes a fist and sinks her fingernails into it, promising herself that she would teach Cardan Greenbriar a lesson if it was the last thing she ever did, soulmate or not.
~~~~~
“Jude! You ok, babes?” Lil disembarks from her broom at lightning speed, rushing up to Jude and gently taking her arm to inspect it.
“I’m fine,” Jude grimaces at the slight remnant of pain that flares when Lil brushes up against a particularly hurt spot but she really is feeling better for the most part. Madam Grima had said that the bright orange healing paste would take at least 12 hours to properly cure the burns and had insisted on keeping Jude behind in the infirmary for a majority of the day, hence why she had only shown up for the second half of quidditch practice.
She’d spent most of her time confined to the bed plotting ways to get back at Cardan.
Enough was enough.
There was only so much of Cardan’s bullshit that she was willing to tolerate, and Taryn or no, Jude was done with letting him walk all over her the way he did with everyone else. And maybe a small part of her anger was because of the whole soulmate situation. It killed her that he would get to go live his life with the woman carrying his words whilst she would forever remain an object of disgust in the eyes of the man who’d said hers.
“Duarte, heard you got sent to the infirmary today! You should feel free to skip today’s session,” Fand yells from her position at the quidditch loop.
“I’m alright, just a little sore!” Jude yells back.
Fand assesses her for a moment and shrugs in a fine-then-do-what-you-will sort of way before going back to showing Zoe Tatterfell precisely how to direct the quaffle through the loop.
The familiar feeling of being high up in the air again is so comforting that the slight throb of her wounds seems to go numb and she closes her eyes against the later afternoon sunlight falling on her face, a refreshing change from the sterile whiteness of the infirmary.
“Alright Jude, now that we’ve ascertained that you're ok, it’s time to plan our revenge.”
The words surprise her, not because of the resolution with which they were delivered but because they had come from Van’s mouth. He had always been the most reserved member of his friend group and even though Jude had spent a lot of time around him, Garrett and Lil, she hadn’t thought that Van would be this pissed off on her behalf.
An odd glow fills her chest and it only spreads further when Garrett pulls up to hover next to them on his broom and says “Personally, I’m thinking we should get rid of all of his beloved hair, make him walk across the castle to the Infirmary bald until a Hair-Gro potion fully restores it.”
“Actually,” she grins, “I think I’ve thought of something with a more special brand of humiliation.”
The Special Brand of Humiliation required quite a bit of planning ahead, as well as some rather advanced research. Thankfully the spellbook titled ‘Prankster Spells and Wishing Wells’ that Lil had (rather alarmingly) stashed away in her dorm room provided the information that their Sixth Grade Charms textbook did not and barely a week after the Potions incident, Jude’s plan was set in motion.
It began the way all good pranks did; with a diversion. With a subtle wave of her wand and a tiny whisper during Charms class, Lil sets fire to the little tuft of black hair that always fell over Van’s face.
Of course, it’s only an illusion spell, a pyromaniac’s party trick that Lil was scarily good at casting; harmless and more for show than anything else but it had the desired effect. Van’s exaggerated shriek is loud enough to draw not just Professor Randalin’s attention but also the startled stares of the rest of the class.
Acting quickly, Jude clutches her wand discreetly within the folds of her robe and casts the Nonverbal spell that she’d been practicing in the privacy of her dorm room for the past few days, gleefully savouring the sweet taste of revenge. Cauda, she thinks furiously, unsuccessfully trying to conceal the laser glare she is currently directing at Cardan, two desks away from her.
For one heart-stopping moment, it looks as if the spell isn’t going to take effect. Van’s hair has been rescued with one flick of Professor Randlain’s wrist, and people are turning back to face the owl feathers on their desks that they had been attempting to incinerate before the diversion.
Jude’s heart sinks.
And then, she spies it. A tuft of black hair peeking out from under Cardan’s robe, not unlike the hair falling over Van’s face that had so recently been in fake mortal peril. Wild laughter rises up in her chest fighting to break free, and her wide grin tells Garrett all that he needs to know when he silently turns to confirm her success with a raised eyebrow.
Cardan Greenbriar has a tail.
She has just given her soulmate slash nemesis a tail .
“Uhh, Cardan?” Pippa Bramble, a Ravenclaw with freckles and a generally cheerful disposition pipes up from her position at the desk behind Cardan’s.
“Yes?” It was amazing really, how much condescension he could fit into one syllable.
“You-You have something sticking out of your robes.”
Cardan appears unimpressed but a cursory downwards glance makes him stiffen imperceptibly. There it is, swaying back and forth like some sort of bizarre and hairy pendulum, getting faster when he starts to panic.
Jude watches the blood rush to his cheeks, his jaw clenching tightly enough to cut stone, and maybe she’s a slightly deranged masochist because all she can think of is the inevitable moment when he will look up at her, hurling invisible knives and promising revenge with invisible sparks flying angrily around him. The thought doesn’t incite fear within her as it should. Instead, she’s almost excited.
It takes a moment for things to register but within minutes the class erupts.
“Is that a tail ?”
“Omigosh, it’s swishing .”
“Ew, that’s disgusting. ”
Gleeful shouts and italics fly across the room and it is complete chaos, but even amidst the sea of yelling teenagers Jude’s attention is fixed on the boy in the middle of it all, the center of attention as he so usually is, except this time it wasn't intentional.
His focus is now trained on only one thing, one person, the cause of his fury and embarrassment; her . He’s finally singled her out from the rest of the crowd and it’s just what she anticipated, except, more. The invisible sparks coming off of him are so incendiary she almost feels burnt.
A shiver runs up her spine and she turns away, breaking the hold that those ebony eyes had her in.
“Looks like your crazy plan worked after all,” Lil appears at her side out of nowhere, a flash of little white teeth showing through her grin.
“Nice one, Jude,” Garrett appears on her other side to perform their special handshake plus fist bump combination under the desk whilst Van continues to pat at his hair like the secret drama king that he is.
Professor Randalin manages to calm the class down eventually, waving his wand around in an attempt to get them to part so he can get to Cardan. Cardan, who is standing stock still, an imperceptible rock hurling pure fire at anyone who dares to laugh at him.
Slowly, people seem to recall that he is the youngest son of one of the oldest, most powerful wizarding families, and bit by bit the amusement starts to fade, replaced by pure sympathy for whoever it was that pulled this genius but suicidal prank.
Jude’s suspicions that she is a masochist are confirmed when she senses her classmates’ trepidation and still feels no fear. This was war and she was determined to win.
~~~~~
Cardan’s tail continues to swish in the infirmary for the next 24 hours. One of the things that Jude had so appreciated about the spell she’d used was that it required at least a day to fade off and that there was no easy way to remove the tail otherwise. Those 24 hours were the best hours of her life and there was an extra spring in her step when she and her friends headed to the quidditch pitch for practice. The Ravenclaws had just completed their session and they were very noticeably missing a member.
News of the morning’s antics had spread across the school like wildfire, even faster than her Potions incident, although the story had somehow gotten so warped that the general consensus was that Cardan’s entire lower half had been transformed into that of a donkey instead of just a tail growing on him. It was a rumour that Jude joyously held hostage in her head, coming back to it whenever she wanted to relive the day’s events.
Later in the privacy of her empty dorm room, she brings it back to the forefront of her thoughts to gloat over like a beloved pet when Taryn quietly enters the room, alone for once, no Sophie or Surin attached to her side.
“Hey, sis,” she says, coming to sit next to Jude on her plus mattress, gracefully tucking her feet beneath her thighs on the forest green bed sheets.
“Hey. What’s up?” Taryn rarely ever sought Jude out and when she did it was usually for a reason.
“I heard you had a rather eventful Charms class today.”
Taryn had elected to drop Charms after her O.W.Ls, so whilst Jude was carrying out her revenge plan her twin had been at her Arithmancy lesson. It was another reason why Jude had chosen to cast the spell during Charms class where her twin wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on her. She’d known that if Taryn knew about her plan she would do her level best to persuade her that she should give it up and keep her head down, and the last thing Jude wanted was to have to deal with her younger sister’s criticism.
“Yeah, some genius gave Cardan Greenbriar a tail.” Play it cool, she tells herself.
“Right.” There’s something in Taryn’s tone that makes Jude want to hide her face behind a pillow before she gives everything away.
There’s a long pause in the room, a little more awkward than is normal.
Taryn plucks at a stray thread sticking out from the curtains hung around Jude’s bed. “Just a tail? I heard something about donkey hooves too.”
“Nah, just a tail. It did swish though.”
“Ah well, if it swished I suppose I can be satisfied, even if there were no hooves.” They share a grin, each of them facing a mirrored version of themselves. So completely alike and yet so different.
~~~~~
That night Jude dreams of a boy with ebony eyes and curls, a donkey tail waving behind him, occasionally brushing his hooved feet. She smiles in her sleep.
~~~~~
A/N - I’m back! Sorry about the wait, to anyone who’s actually keeping up with this fic. I got a bit busy with exams and quite a few recent debating tournaments.
Anyways, I am aware that this chapter was extremely dramatic but honestly I think it’s pretty in character for these two. Let me know what you think in a comment or ask and notes and reblogs are always appreciated.
Alrighty, I haven’t posted my writing in a while. But, here we go. (It’ll be a while before I post this to ao3 so..)
alternative title: look after you /// sokka baby daddy modern au! (If you’ve seen the show then perfect! If not then it’s alright!)
word count: 1500
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“Are you sure we got all the decorations?” Aang asks, almost fumbling with a bag of gifts to uphold Katara’s banner. “We need decorations, gifts and—“
Toph mumbled something under her breath before taking the gift bags. “Maybe next time I’ll read the list so we’re sure. But, Sugar Queen isn’t picky plus we got the big stuff!” Toph exclaimed, rushing up the stairs hoping it cleared some of Aang’s anxiety. She did attempt several times to talk Aang out of his harmless crush before Katara left to study abroad. Sure, she teases him the most out of everyone but she cared too much to see him fall deeply when it wasn’t reciprocated.
“Yeah, Toph you can read the list,” Aang’s eyes squint as he realizes Toph’s statement. “I fell for it again,” his face falls but he doesn’t hold it for too long before he chuckles watching Toph poke her head over the banister sticking her tongue out at him.
“You gotta get up a bit earlier to beat the blind bandit,” Toph smirks, as she nudges at him realizing he didn’t have his keys. “You left your keys again didn't you?” She rolls her eyes kicking at his shared apartment door with Zuko and Sokka.
“You don’t even get up early, and you snore loudly at that,” Aang complained. The plan was as follows: Aang spends the night at Toph so they could run errands for Katara’s return. “I could hear your snoring in the other room,” Aang inhaled his breath to make a rattling sound and ended it off with slow beats.
Toph shrugged her shoulders. “My apartment, therefore my snores live there too,” They could hear Zuko and Sokka shuffle on the other side of the door. “What’s taking these idiots so long?” Toph raised her foot above the ground to kick at the door again before Zuko appeared on the other side preparing to scold her.
“Aang, next time tell Toph don’t kick at our door. Toph, quit kicking the door,” Zuko’s arms were folded across his chest and his grey shirt and plaid pajama pants both had very large wet spots with little specks of white in the area. “We have a bit of a problem,” Zuko ushered them inside, removing the few bags out of Toph’s hand. As they followed Zuko through the living room which was in shambles—there was an open diaper bag, infant clothes scattered between the couch and chairs. The bright blue car seat remained parked near the couch with a small elephant blanket draped over it.
“I didn’t know me spending the night with Toph meant being replaced with a roommate,” Aang felt Toph wrap her hands around his arm as he guided her over the remaining baby items on the floor.
“Who let you two have a baby and why?” Toph yelped out after nearly tripping over a baby’s instrument that was left on the floor. “I’d sit down but I’m assuming there’s nowhere to sit!”
“Toph, that’s not helpful,” Aang replied, “We need to be supportive,”
“I’m sure this mess isn’t helping this baby either. Which one of you messed up? You should return the baby back!” Toph rested her hands against her hips. “If I get a milk stain on my new shorts you owe me!”
“Don’t blame me,” Zuko fussed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sokka’s the one who—“
Sokka burst out of their bathroom down the hall, his damped clothes were glued to his body. But, as for the tawny-toned, round-faced infant in his arms, she was having a fit of giggles. “That’s not funny, Kita,” He swayed with Kita wrapped in the towel as reached for Sokka’s disheveled hair on his shoulders. “Zuko, I thought we agreed on not assuming who sweet little Kita belongs too? Now, if you want to be helpful pass me a onesie,”
“Sokka, you can’t be serious!” Zuko grabbed the nearest blue onesie from the couch. “The blue round eyes are a give away,” He flung the piece of clothing with one hand while Sokka stepped back in the bathroom.
“She could be Aang’s daughter then?” Sokka replied walking back to the common area. “Did you get everything for the party?”
“Party aside, Sokka, you have to take responsibility. Kita even inherited Yue’s bright colored hair. What would Katara say?” Aang raised an eyebrow. Sokka and Yue didn’t end on bad terms from Aang's perspective, they just stopped understanding each other. It was a mutual break-up. He didn’t want to throw Katara in this situation to belittle him but she’d be a lot harder on him than they were currently being.
Sokka began pacing back and forth with the seven month old. He knew the possibilities were very high that she was his. He hadn’t seen Yue in almost two years, he wouldn’t have ran if she told him the truth. But, abruptly dropping off a seven month old girl in the middle of the night with documents wavering her rights over wasn’t the best way either. There were even a couple of notes on who he could call, and a ton of ultrasound pictures. He certainly wasn’t a teen, but at twenty-three years old he was a little shaken up. “I’m scared alright, there you have it. Tell me how'd you react? I’m all ears,”
“Sokka, it’s perfectly normal to be scared,” Zuko reassured, patting at Sokka’s shoulders. “We’ll help you figure this out and you need to tell your family,”
“Thanks, I really appreciate that,”
“Oh, I was just thinking of what Katara would say but I do agree if that helps,”
“You should’ve kept that to yourself, Hotman,”
“What did I tell you about calling me that Aang?”
“It’s a good nickname! How come Toph is the only one who gets to do them?”
“I don’t even like when she calls me Sparky,”
“If we’re getting new nicknames can Snoozles be changed?”
“No, that’s not at all what we’re doing!”
“But, you just said you didn’t like your nickname!” Aang and Sokka complained in unison.
“While you three debate over that, give me little Wolfie,” Toph moved the diaper bag to the floor, while relieving her from Sokka’s arms. Kita occupied herself by grabbing at Toph’s face or stuffing her own fingers in her mouth. “You guys can start setting up the decorations,”
“Did you just con us into doing all the major work?” Aang yelled from the kitchen pulling out the hammer and nails for the banner.
“Possibly,” Toph shrugged, holding her hands out for Kita to smack. “Plus Zuko has to start the cooking, and Sokka has to clean this mess up,”
It took about two hours for them to really get everything moving. Toph was focused on keeping little Kita busy, she enjoyed babies for the most part they were hand-ons with everything after a certain age. However, Auntie Toph had drawn the lines at changing dirty diapers. She did enjoy hearing Sokka, Aang and Zuko argue over whose turn it was to change the foul mess.
While the plan was for Katara to be surprised by her closest family and friends she had others plans herself. There was an issue with scheduling for another passenger on the plane so Katara had sneaky swapped tickets. She contacted Suki, who now becoming the middle didn’t want to ruin the surprise on both sides and found ways to stall.
Yet, while picking up Katara and Sokka’s relatives and making a few final rounds to the stores couldn’t beat the surprise of waiting for them at the apartment.
“I’m so excited! It’s been four months since I’ve been with everyone, I hope I didn’t miss anything,” Katara exclaimed. “You know I was really worried about going,”
Hakoda pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. “You needed to branch out on your own,” He felt prideful in both of his children everyday, they were vastly different but carried the same level of ambition to succeed.
“Yagoda contacted me all about your work. I can’t wait to hear it from you, now let’s get inside,” Gran-Gran commented, pulling Katara in for another hug. “But, as proud as I am of you, I missed you two much.”
Suki couldn’t get a chance to knock on the apartment door before Zuko opened it revealing a sleeping Sokka on the couch with Kita resting on his chest. While Aang and Toph both slept next to each other in the corner.
The Southern family and Suki held the same confused gaze. “It’s a lot to explain,” Zuko tried to say. What he really wanted to do was grab hold of Katara after not seeing her for so long, but that could wait.
“Suki?”
“Yes, Katara?”
“Please, pour up those cups of Cactus Juice,”
“Does anyone else want a cup?”
“I’ll take one, I need to be real comfortable for this story,”
“Dad, are you gonna let her drink Cactus Juice?”
“Honey, we’re all going to need it for this story,”
