#aka my fics

[choccy-milky]

part 3 to my modern AU 💞🍺 (part 1 / part 2)

[nvuy]

doctor, doctor — veritas ratio

summary. you’re the worst person ever, distract him from his work, beat him at chess, and yet doctor ratio still can’t seem to hate your presence as much as he lets on.

notes. “nvuy please update your fics” NO.

my favourite person ever informed me that when owlbert lists all of ratio’s degrees, chemistry is not one of them, so i thought that was funny. but anyway i always lowkey forget ratio exists but then he appears in game and i go Good Lord and then go about my day. that man’s arms do something to me.

warnings. suggestive content, one intense make out session, you’re a freak LMAO, ratio thinks you’re a freak too, this is lowkey crack, i wrote this tipsy, gn reader but you do wear lipgloss.

“Hi, Doctor.”

Veritas’ fingers slid against the screen like nails on a chalkboard. A headache was already starting to form behind his eyes, and he squeezed them shut for a moment before he unwillingly opened them again.

“Yes. Good evening to you.”

Keep the pleasantries. Don’t yell. Don’t throw a punch. Don’t slam another book on anyone else’s head.

You sat down in the seat beside him with a purple soda can in your hand. “Whatcha doin’?”

Veritas cleared his throat. “I’m working.” He glanced up at the top of his screen. “And, judging by the time, you should be working as well.”

You weren’t even listening, choosing instead to pick up a stray notebook that he’d left on the desk. The page was filled with scribble and stupid math symbols—actually, that was not scribble. That was just his handwriting.

Gross. You grimaced at the page before you turned it. The next page, and the next, creased and scarred with harsh pen markings, looked undoubtedly the same.

“Work is for losers,” was all you remarked. You obnoxiously sipped at your drink.

Ratio scoffed. “How you even landed a position working for Madame Herta is beyond me. You are clearly a liability.”

You snorted. “I got hired because I’m sexy and smart.” You were picking at your nails, painted a deep purple like his hair. “You’re only here because Miss Asta needed help. After her problem is solved, you can go back to moping about how you don’t have a chemistry degree.”

You watched his jaw visibly tighten. His teeth gnashed together, and you swore you could hear them grinding behind his lips.

“It is a work in progress,” was all he said.

“Yap, yap.” You made a talking gesture with your hands. “I’m the professional here. That’s why Miss Asta made me lead chemist.”

Such a shame your ego overshadowed such a pretty face.

“What do you want?” he asked, trying to return to his notebook.

“I want to play chess.”

“I’m busy.”

You blew a raspberry. You punched him playfully in the shoulder. You almost hurt your knuckles bopping his bicep. “You’re just scared you’ll lose.”

His glanced up so quickly you swore you heard his neck crack. He raised an eyebrow in a challenging gesture, as if daring you to repeat yourself.

You only stared at him expectantly.

“One game,” he rushed out, face reddening in frustration. The look he gave you could’ve killed, but you knew him better than that. His strangely jacked physique wasn’t built to maim, and if he wanted to smack you with his tablet, he would’ve done so already. “And if I win, you will leave me alone.”

“Mmm, okay.” You shrugged. “And if I win, I get a kiss.” You tapped your cheek twice.

Veritas reeled back. Then, taken aback, he spluttered, “that’s all?”

You took another sip of your drink.

Then, you blinked. “Yep.”

Ratio, too, reciprocated, blinking wildly as if he hadn’t even processed what had come out of your mouth.

You grinned at him, eyes crinkling below your lashes as he eyed you down like he was viewing a sample through a microscope.

Then, he sighed. “Fine.” He tapped away on his screen. One of his floating gadgets projected a holographic chessboard onto his desk. “I suppose somebody has to dull that ego of yours.”

You leaned back in your seat and waved him off lightly. “You can go first.”

The chessboard flipped, and the white pieces faced him.

*ೃ༄

“Hey, does this thing have speech detection?” You leaned closer to the board. “Knight to B4.”

As expected, the small porcelain knight upon the board moved forward into its newly assigned position.

Ratio scoffed, clearly irritated. His fingers tapped idly against the desk. “You are so frustratingly lazy. It’s a miracle you get your work done, and such a shame it impedes your potential brilliance.”

You only made another talking motion with your hands. As he thought long and hard about his next move, you yawned. He took everything so seriously.

No wonder he was so jacked. He was constantly tense. It probably counted as a workout.

“You think I’m brilliant?” you asked with a smile.

“I think you have selective hearing.” Finally, he moved one of his pieces forward. “But, yes. Miss Asta speaks highly of you.”

“Aww. I’ll give her a smooch later.” That was a relief to hear, actually. Sometimes you worried if she’d boot you out of your position because of your tardiness. It was good that she still wanted you working in the station, despite lagging behind on reports and important meetings.

When you glanced up from the board after telling a pawn to move forward one space, Ratio’s eyes caught yours before he briskly looked down at the hologram once more.

Ratio was trying to read the board. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Just what are you doing?”

“Winning.”

“You are not winning.”

“Sure I am.” You leaned back in the seat once more. “Checkmate.”

Veritas’ eyes snapped up to gawp at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Checkmate,” you repeated. “I know I’m distracting. I have that effect on loser nerds with big egos.”

Veritas was staring at the board again. He was trying to piece together your previous moves, as the holographic board began to play in reverse. He was no cheat, no, never, and you didn’t expect him to do it as you were watching either, but it was clear as day.

He lost.

Your tongue carded along the rim of the soda can. “L-O-L.”

“This doesn’t even make sense,” Veritas mumbled, fingers rubbing circles into his temples. “You didn’t even have a plausible strategy.”

“Yeah, I did.” You placed a defensive hand over your heart. “You just don’t know it, because I have such a great poker face.”

“Chess doesn’t warrant a poker face.”

“Well, then, if you’re not willing to know my genius strategy–”

“No.” Veritas glared at you. “You will tell me.”

“Sure. I’m more worried about my reward, though.”

The look he gave you made you howl with laughter. It was a twist of his lips into something unsavoury as if he’d just swallowed a shot of vinegar. His brows knitted together and those unfairly long dark lashes casted a jagged shadow over his cheeks.

The chess board disappeared with a small noise and the screen returned to normal.

You leaned forward, batting your own lashes at him.

Veritas, after displaying a shaky grimace on his lips, met you halfway and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to your cheek.

You looked offended when he pulled back.

You whined. “What was that?”

“Your reward,” he argued.

“You just brushed your lips on me. Do you kiss everyone like that?” You were quite literally sulking, more so to get on his nerves.

It was working.

You swore you noticed a vein twinge on his temple. “I don’t just kiss anyone, thank you. Especially not over a game of chess.”

“You’re not getting my genius strategy, then.”

“Fine.”

This time, when his lips went for your cheek again, you turned your head.

Veritas let out an embarrassing noise that you’d never forget.

When he tried to pull away, clearly flustered and radiating so hot you were convinced he’d combust right there in his chair, you locked a hand in his hair.

Flustered for a moment, he then returned your enthusiasm ten fold, large hands curling around your waist and keeping the excited jittering of your legs still.

“Somebody will see,” he mumbled against your lips quietly.

To address his concerns, you dipped down lower in your seat behind the wall of his desk. Anyone that was watching would look away if they knew what was good for them.

Pulling away from his lips proved difficult. You caught the taste of his evening coffee, as well as the scent of cashmeran, and something that smelled faintly of chestnut and the smoky smell of a nice warm fireplace.

“You smell nice,” you whispered. Your voice was slightly hoarse. “What’re you wearing?”

The grin you had stretched on your face said it all.

Veritas snarled against your lips. “A physics degree.”

His lips hit your teeth when you grinned. “Can’t taste better than a chemistry degree.”

“You are horrible.”

Your hand crept along the waistband of his pants, feeling along the ribbons and the sleek expensive material. It was like cotton, but somehow even softer against your fingers, as if the thread count was bordering on six-hundred.

He reeled back when he finally processed the feeling of your fingertips slipping below his clothes. “Watch yourself.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” He made no effort to remove your hands, so a finger then hooked beneath the border of the hole over his chest. “Come ‘ere, Doctor.”

The light in your eyes was almost as intimidating as when you pressed your lips back into his, this time firmer, as if you were trying to mould your skin to his.

His skin was surprisingly warm for how cold he behaved. His scent was addicting. Freshly printed books and a warm winter’s night.

It tore a low and pleasant groan from your throat.

Surprisingly, he did not push away when your lips slipped from his mouth and traced the line of his jaw.

Instead, he sighed defeatedly and angled his jaw for you. You hummed, clearly content.

“Enjoying yourself?” he mused.

“Mhm.” You wondered whether he’d let you suck a bruise beneath his ear. “You’re soft. For a man.”

Veritas scoffed at that. He would insist that you were softer, but he instead bit his tongue. Of course he was soft. He took care of his skin, and he didn’t waste his life away drinking that filth you called soda.

He usually hated that artificial grape flavour, but he supposed the taste of your lips helped quell the awful amount of sugar still resting on your tongue.

He stiffened beneath you. He hadn’t even realised you had crawled into his lap. “Are you leaving marks?”

“Yep.” Your lips had dipped down to the base of his neck to stain the thin stretch of skin there.

“Oh, you–!” His eyes squeezed shut when your teeth carded along his jugular in warning.

The poor man looked two seconds away from a heart attack. His pupils almost turned to slits. He couldn’t tell whether he wanted to push you away or draw you closer. It was a mix of heat and blur that made his vision swirl with colour.

He felt unreasonably dizzy. He was grateful he was still sitting at his desk, for he was sure his knees would have given out beneath him otherwise.

Your lips pulled back for a moment. Sticky. He could smell a tinge of kiwi fruit from the gloss smeared over your lips. He was sure it was lathered all over his jaw like thick paste. The remaining hour of his shift would be a mix of rushing the rest of his report, and trying to scrub your makeup from his face.

Part of him wanted the stains to stay there, as unprofessional the thought was.

His silent brooding while your thighs warmed his were interrupted by approaching heels. Black kitten heels, to be exact, with a dark pinkish plum soles. He recognised her footsteps from miles away.

His heart stopped.

“Um… Doctor Ratio? I’m just receiving word that– oh my stars!”

Too late.

Veritas sprang from his seat, shoving you back into your own chair, much to your chagrin. Your hand fell from beneath the material of his shirt.

The damage had already been done, however.

Poor Lead Astronomer Asta stood frozen, face red, holding a clipboard with way too many pink highlighted paragraphs on the paper.

Veritas awkwardly cleared his throat, and tried to wipe the sticky gloss off his lips. “The report will be with you in an hour.”

Asta merely blinked at him. Her cheeks were brighter than her hair.

Her eyes then flitted towards you. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

You waved. “Hey, queen.”

Then, she nodded once in a greeting, squeaked an, “okay, thanks,” to the doctor and then rushed away, still hot in the face.

You could see the uneven rise and fall of Veritas’ chest. You were sure his heart was racing beneath his skin; yours was exactly the same, maybe arguably even quicker.

“Terrific.” Veritas turned his head to ridicule you. Scary for a dude with lipgloss smeared all over his face. “You’ve traumatised the poor girl.”

He heard you sigh. “I was just getting started.” You slouched in your chair, defeated. You checked your watch, noticing the giant seven tick over. “I’m hungry.”

“Eat, then. It’s dinner time.” He sat back down in his chair after he was sure he’d cleaned his face of your makeup.

“I was having dinner.” You finished the last of your soda and tapped at the can absentmindedly with your nails. “And was just getting to dessert.”

“You have an awful tongue.” He waved you off with his hands, fed up. “Now, shoo. I’m busy.”

“You’re so boring. What do you do for fun? Read?” He opened his mouth to answer, but you stopped him before he could embarrass himself even further. “Don’t answer that.”

Veritas rolled his eyes.

Instead, he chose to ignore you and pull the data back up onto his screen. His handwriting is still the most horrific thing you’ve ever seen, but it’s almost fascinating watching him write like that.

It’s just a line that only he can understand. Like his own nerd language.

You found it sort of hot.

Your eyes darted over to the bathroom door. “Hey, Doctor… What about–”

His eyes flared, and his grip on his pen grew tighter. He almost split a hole into the paper. "We are not having a rendezvous in the bathroom, nor will I be coming home with you.”

"Aww."

"But, for what's its worth, I commend your bravery in asking such a bizarre thing."

Ooh, praise. Lovely. "Eh." You clicked your tongue and leaned forward to kiss the side of his hair. “Worth a try.”

When you pull away, he does not look up, but his cheeks are tinged a lovely pink.

[i-like-to-look-at-your-back]

*random battle thoughts*

Inspired by All You Had to Do Was Ask by bad_at_everything

[taichissu]

gives taichi a tiny kiss on the forehead before i send him off to the factory of eternal suffering and unavoidable damnation

[aerequets]

the b99 scene of "quick kiss me so we don't get caught"

[madisoncounty]

"This is her curse. In each life she makes the best of a bad situation, finds love where anyone else would settle for icy tolerance, makes everything work for however long she has and every damn time it is taken away and- In the next life, she promises, in the next life she will do better."

from the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed by @electricbluebutterflies

[slow-reader-reads-books]

disciple Shen Jiu au except time is a circle and so upon his death post Bingge torture he wakes up as some random half demon (a baigujing/white bone spirit maybe?) orphan with the name Chun Shi and has his own system forcing him to reenter Qing Jing Peak as a disciple. Not knowing when in time he was born, thinks he's going to enter in the same generation as he did previously but instead finds himself in the same gen as Ning Yingying, Ming Fan, and Luo Binghe, and his own self is their Shizun!

He quickly tries to latch onto Ning Yingying. Unfortunately Luo Binghe has the same idea, and Ming Fan and their Shizun end up abusing the both of them for their proximity to her and for having the gall to even try to succeed. Binghe and Chun Shi grow to hate each other but share a strange camaraderie shrouded in competition.

And then their Shizun has a qi deviation, and Chun Shi, who is Shen Jiu, knows that thing is not himself.

He nervously and stressingly observed the changes and the immediate change in this Shizun towards Luo Binghe. With himself though, this Shizun seems to not recognize him at all. Before, Chun Shi never had plans to divert the fate of Shen Qingqiu, as he himself is Chun Shi, all he needs to do is save his own hide. He may be stuck on the peak thanks to his System but otherwise he can self-preserve to his hearts content.

But this "Shen Qingqiu" is different, and did nothing to build the demise that will face him in the future at the hands of Luo Binghe.

But this Luo Binghe seems dedicated to giving back a hundred fold the small kindnesses that he is now receiving, shamelessly worming his way into Shen Qingqiu's side. Chun Shi is not so motivated...

But he's always been invested in preserving the livelihood and face of Shen Qingqiu. He construes it as an extension of his selfish self preservation, it's not because he's grown greedy for the shelter and guidance and attention of this imposter peak lord who did nothing to deserve his position. He merely wants to know he could prevent his old fate, yes that's it. Nothing else.

And if he can outcompete that little beast of a shixiong for Shizun's affections, then that's an even sweeter plus! He seethed whenever he perceived a loss against him, and Ning Yingying has seemingly caught on to their rivalry, but Chun Shi, Shen Jiu, is a sore loser and won't let Luo Binghe win against him this time.

Shen Qingqiu, Shen Yuan, off to the side is merely charmed by this seeming mob character that's probably been influenced by his own actions into becoming a more prominent fixture of Qing Jing Peak and merely sees this as enrichment for a disciple Luo Binghe. If he has a training partner on his level, won't that promote further growth? So of course he'll invite both into the bamboo house, even if it becomes a little cramped. Brotherly companionship is valuable in these sorts of settings after all!

Eventually the Immortal Alliance Conference comes, and somehow they're both demons??? But the System only forces him to chuck Luo Binghe down into the Endless Abyss?? System I know Bingge has his destiny to achieve but isn't this blatant favoritism!? In what direction, Shen Qingqiu doesn't know, but either way Luo Binghe is gone to them, his loyal filial lotus dead, but Chun Shi, an evergreen pillar of a pine tree, stays by his side.

Chun Shi is gleefully grateful. Guilt twinged in his heart a bit for unknown reasons, but he knew he could nurture his dear imposter self back into happiness. If he's happy, then they can continue their life, both stuck on Qing Jing Peak as they are.

And when the time comes, he can protect him against that grown wild animal they used to keep as a pet, or even properly domesticate it as a gift to Shizun, yes that will do. Leash and chain it to the mountain peak as a little lap dog of a plaything for his husband. What a nice thing to look forward to.

[bahoreal]

Question for fic writers!

[doodlesforfics]

Ghosts? As my therapy animals? More likely than you think. by @bamboozledeagle3 is probably the first fic of Pet Blob-ed Jason that I actually read (despite seeing that concept floating around). I absolutely adore it ;D had to doodle the image of Jason getting blob-ed

some more meme-y doodles ;p

[lover-of-mine]

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Sneaky Link 💙 (Toxic!Student!Gojo x Professor!MILF!Reader FWB 18+ One Shot)

“You know you want this.”

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Black!Fem!Reader (Teacher x Student/FWBs to Lovers)

Synopsis: You’re a stressed-out mom and college professor who has been swamped with your job and mommy life lately. You’re so knee-deep in your work and kids that you need some kind of release. Unfortunately, you’re not finding any of that in your husband, but luckily, that’s what Gojo Satoru is here for…even though he’s way too young for you and is your student.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Professor!Reader; College Student!Gojo; College AU; MILF!Reader; FWBs/Fuck Buddies; Toxic!Fuckboy-ish!Gojo; Switch!Gojo (MDom + msub); Switch!Reader (FDom + fsub); Infidelity/Cheating; Oral (Giving + Receiving); Some Analingus; Body Worship; Deepthroat; Facefucking; Spit Play; Pussy Drunk!Gojo; Cock Drunk!Reader; Daddy Kink; Mommy Kink; Multiple Positions (Doggy, Missionary, From the Side); Dirty Talk; Possession/Ownership; Scent Marking; Cum Play; Breeding; Unprotected PIV; Raw Creampie; Facial

Writer’s Note: I was listening to SWV’s “You’re The One” & got an idea for this. I love me some toxic!Gojo 🤤 Enjoy! -Jazz

********

You never knew how loud a man could get until your husband orgasmed.

Usually, you’d find this sexy. You love vocal men. You love your vocal man. All of his slutty moans, gasps, and groans that bounce off of your bedroom walls would usually trigger your nut quick.

“Cumming!” he moans, hovering over you, his face glistening in sweat as he rails into you like he’s trying to wake the neighbors with the knocking headboard. “Fuck, baby, I’m cumming! Cum with me! Are you cumming with me?”

But instead, you lie there underneath him like a dead fish, just staring and not moaning or orgasming like you should be. Like you used to. “Uh-huh,” you reply.

Even as his handsome face screws up the way you like, you don’t find it even remotely attractive. It isn’t like your husband isn’t a sexy man. Every time you go out, you catch the wandering eyes of women and men alike who ogle at your man despite the ring on his finger and being the father of your beautiful twins.

But what they don’t know is that the sexy man they all want for themselves is dry in the sheets. What they don’t know is that he isn’t attentive or a good listener when it comes to doing what you want and need to achieve pleasure. What they don’t know is that your marriage that seems so perfect and amazing actually isn’t.

Case in point, when your husband finally orgasms, gripping the headboard and pausing to cum while buried deep inside of you, he doesn’t even notice how quiet and stoic you are. You are not enjoying yourself yet he is completely oblivious to it. Just like he is every night…or any night he decides to fuck you, that is.

Finally, he lets out a shudder and a satisfied smile stretches across his mouth, a sign that the sexy was more than satisfactory. He pecks you on the lips and rolls over onto his back, lying naked beside you while you lie in your beautiful gown from tonight’s date night. You didn’t even take off your dress! That’s how unsatisfied you feel and how much you didn’t want any kind of sex tonight.

“Wow,” your husband sighs. “That was amazing, baby.” He turns to you, a sparkle in his eyes. You don’t look at him, instead staring at the ceiling. “Mmm-hmm,” you hum.

He moves in close and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his sweaty chest. “I’m so glad we were able to do this,” he chuckles. “I know we’ve been pretty busy with work and the banquet tonight was tiring, so it’s nice that we always get time to have sex.”

‘On your time, that is,’ you sourly think.

“Yeah,” you say instead. “It was…okay.” Your husband ironically catches onto your bored tone and sits up, his flaccid dick hanging between his thighs. “Okay?” he parrots, confused. “But we tried that position you’ve been wanting to try! Y’know, the one with your legs up and your head hanging off the bed?”

You play with a loose strand on your gorgeous dress that you bought a month in advance for your husband’s work banquet.

The banquet you went to tonight and shucked your kids off to your parents for.

The banquet you were hoping your man would get drunk at, notice how sexy you look, and use all of tonight without your children home to make you cum your brains out.

And even though he did agree to do a new position for the first time in months, it didn’t feel any better. You felt no kind of enjoyment. “Well, yeah,” you say. “A-And it felt good, but—“

“But what, Y/N?” He sighs, sounding tired of your shit. You’re tired of your shit too, but also his. “I thought we had managed to squash this finally after our dry spell.”

Dry spell. You nearly scoff. Is he still convinced that this dry spell is moistened now? You glare at him, not liking his tone or his blasé attitude towards your needs. “You only noticed that it was a ‘dry spell’ because I wasn’t sucking your dick anymore,” you snap.

This has been happening for the past couple of months, especially since the beginning of spring semester. You’re a college professor working at one of the most prestigious Ivy League universities in the country, so half of your time is given towards work. And if your time isn’t given towards work, it’s given towards your two beautiful yet chaotic 5-year old twins.

You are married to a bigtime corporate lawyer, going on year six. They’ve been six years full of love, happiness, and great communication. But lately, that communication has been waning thin because of work. Your hubby is a very busy man, constantly at work juggling cases and sometimes working on the weekends when he should be spending time with you and the kids…especially with you.

Ever since the spring semester started for you, things have gotten worse with the stress of grading assignments and exams before your senior classes graduate. Your head is filled with planning things for the next month: planning class lessons, grading, what to fix the kids for their school lunches, etc.

You are drowning in your stress! All you want to do is be with your man. Hug him. Kiss him. Have him put you in the mattress again and again…but that’s barely been happening. He’s always tired or asleep when you’re in need of attention. And when you do get the attention you crave, it’s lackluster and half the time you end up making yourself cum when he rolls off to sleep.

It wasn’t always like this. Your sex used to be amazing, filled with connection and intimacy. Now it’s just…nothing. The fact that he doesn’t listen to what you want or even attempt to try is even worse. He is too busy for you and it’s starting to piss you off.

But not enough to hit up the one guy you know can get the job done. Not enough for that at all! So you roll your ass over and tend to your irked husband. “I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around him. “It’s not you, baby; it’s me. It’s just stress from work and the kids an’ all.”

And that’s the truth, though you left out that you’re also pent up, horny, and sexually frustrated. However, your husband embraces you back, so you don’t say anything to ruin your cuddling session.

After a while of soft kisses and snuggling, your hubby gets out of bed and steps over his suit that he quickly stripped off as soon as you got back here an hour ago. “You wanna shower with me?” he asks, putting his bathrobe on.

You open your mouth to respond with an excuse not to, but your phone ringing on the nightstand gives you one. “Uh, in a minute,” you reply. “I’ve gotta take a call.”

He nods and gives you a smile which makes you feel horrible. He truly is a great husband, but your throbbing pussy and rising libido tell you differently. Once he leaves, you answer the call to the one person who can truly understand your dilemma. “Answering my call at 10 PM on a Friday night?” She asks. “You either fought your man or the sex was bad. Good evening, Ms. L/N.”

“Hi,” you chuckle, quickly looking at the bathroom door where your man disappeared. When the water starts running, you speak louder. “And no, it wasn’t bad. It was just….average.”

Your friend laughs despite your pain. “Well, be happy that he at least had the time to reciprocate this time. Did you cum this time?”

“Uh….” You contemplate whether to lie or tell her the truth. If you lie, you’ll feel bad for doing so, but if you’re honest then she’ll berate him like she always does. Finally, you sigh and give in. “I tried, but no. There was zero trying on his end.”

Your friend isn’t happy to hear that. “Please tell me you didn’t fake it this time,” she groans. “If he’s embarrassed, let him be embarrassed!” You roll your eyes at the mention of you faking your orgasms for your husband at one point to appease him. You do things for the ones you love. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh. “I did as you said and kept quiet, but he didn’t even mention it!”

You put a hand on your forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “I took the kids over to my parents’ place for some time alone after the banquet. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with this.”

“Well, you could always come out with me and my man tonight,” your friend suggests. “They’re having this special called Freaky Fridays at the bar we like. You could meet a nice guy there.”

You can’t even picture yourself getting out of bed to get into your sexy clothes and cheat. You’ve done that already. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ve had enough drinking for one night.”

“Oh, how was the fancy banquet, by the way?” Your friend excitedly asks. “You looked so fuckin’ good tonight! If I were your hubby, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” You laugh at her referring to your photos on Twitter of you at your husband’s work party. Something about his firm celebrating their 50th year in business.

“Maybe I should’ve married you then,” you giggle. “It was fine, but all I could think about was gettin’ fucked in the bathroom. I tried to initiate a quickie before we left, but he wasn’t having it.” You sit up, ignoring the insistent throb of your clit and the need to get your vibrator out of your nightstand if not use your fingers.

“Plus I still have grading to do over the weekend before next weekend when graduation starts.” Your friend dramatically groans at the mention of your work.

“Girl, you’ve been busy since the beginning of the damn semester!” she scoffs.

“That’s the life of a professor,” you chuckle, taking your hair down and running a hand trough your curs/twists/locks/waves/braids. “And to make matters worse, I’m extremely horny.”

“That’s why I said come out and meet somebody!” your friend says. “But then again, maybe you don’t need that. You’ve still got Mr. Long Dick on speed dial, don’t you?” She giggles knowingly despite you cringing on the other end.

“Don’t even mention him,” you sharply warn her. “I told you before: what we had was just a fling and it should’ve never happened. That’s why I ended it. Plus, he’s my student!”

“Not for long!” she argues. “He graduates in a week, Y/N! And he’s a grown-ass man! He wouldn’t have agreed to fuck you if he couldn’t handle it.”

You squeeze your eyes to try and will away the thought of ‘Mr. Long Dick’ with his snow-white hair, alluring blue eyes, charming smile…and his long dick. His long, thick, perfect dick. And his sensuous, pink lips. And his tongue and fingers that he absolutely knows how to work.

Gojo Satoru. Straight A student, athlete, and renowned fuckboy. He has every girl and guy on campus going crazy for him. Yes, he is perfect. Yes, he is good in bed. But he is also too young, has community dick, and is one of your senior students.

You made the mistake of having a five-month long sexual relationship with him that you quickly ended last month before finals month. It first started when the chill of November came and your bedroom problems with your husband got bad to the point where he was sleeping at his brother’s place.

Gojo was always a flirt and made it clear to you that he had a thing for you—always complimenting your hair and outfits; holding the door for you and flashing you pretty smiles; always making excuses to stay after class or meet you in your office to discuss assignments.

You didn’t realize that he truly wanted you until he was in your office one day and happened across a photo of you and your twins together. “They’re beautiful,” he commented, smiling at them. Then he turned to you, his gaze soft and intimate. “Just like their mother.” You swear you’ve never been so wet before, your panties becoming soaked under your pencil skirt.

That was also the day you kissed him. Overcome with lust and desperation that your man wasn’t fulfilling, you stood up and planted one on him which he happily embraced. His kiss was electric and passionate, his hands soft and happily wandering your ass and hips. But you didn’t have sex in your office. Instead, you invited him over that night when your husband was at a work dinner and your kids were sleep.

There, in your marital bed, he fucked your brains out and made you realize how good young dick is…or maybe that’s just his. He made you cum three times before he left, keeping your panties in his back pocket when he did. For the next five months, you would see him behind your husband’s back.

You’d fuck him in your office. In his dorm room when his roommate was gone. In your house on your lunch hour while your husband was out and your kids were at school. In hotel rooms. In empty classrooms. It was the most alive you’ve felt in a minute…but despite how good it felt, it was also wrong, so you cut him off last month.

“No,” you sternly say. “Sure, Gojo was a good time, but it was inappropriate. Besides, who the fuck would I be fucking my own student? He probably would’ve started asking me to bump his grades up.”

Your friend, of course, goes to argue, but the bathroom door opens and you quickly jump up like your hand is in the cookie jar. “I’ll call you back,” you say and quickly hang up the phone. Your husband comes out in his robe, smelling of soap and cologne.

You watch him walk over to his closet and take out some fresh clothes. “Uh….where are you going?” You confusedly ask. He turns to you, putting on his shirt first. “Got a call from one of my working buddies,” he explains. “I forgot about this bar crawl my job is throwing just for my company. It’s the mandatory after-banquet after-party.”

You scowl at him, knowing he’s lying. “Mandatory?” You scoff. “There’s no such thing as a mandatory after-party. You just wanna go just to go.”

He shoots you a look as he drops his towel before putting on some boxers and jeans.

“Well, metaphorically, it is mandatory because of my position, just like the banquet was,” he argues. “And even if it isn’t literally mandatory, what’s the big deal?”

This is another thing you dislike about your husband: his inability to put aside his own wants. You do it all the time for him! “Well, I thought you were gonna stay here for a while so we could watch a movie or cuddle,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your bosom. ”Y’know…spend time together without the kids.”

You hope he’ll see how upset you are and reconsider. But he doesn’t. “Well…I’ve gotta get dressed, babe. Everyone is waiting for me.” And to add flame to the fire he’s already started, he scowls at you while buttoning his jeans. “And I just spent an hour here trying to make you cum!” he continues.

You gape at him, silently seething. So now it’s your fault. “Never mind,” you sigh. “Forget it. I’ll just grade these assignments.” Immediately, you shut down and scoot to the edge of the bed to dig into your nightstand for fresh panties.

Your husband realizes how bad he fucked up and quickly rushes to apologize. Like he always does, but never delivers. “Don’t be like that,” he huffs. “I’m sorry. I was gonna ask for you to come with me if you’d rather put the grading on the back burner tonight.”

He moves to sit next to you, shirtless and still damp from the shower. “Or I could stay here,” he continues. “You’re right—we should be spending more time together.” He puts an arm around you, willing you to look at him.

You do and instantly, you feel tired. Tired of doing this dance. You try to talk about your needs, you argue, you get angry, you fight, you stop talking, he apologizes, and then it starts again.

“No,” you say. “Go ahead and go. I’ll be here when you come back.” Your husband furrows his brows at you. “You sure?” he asks and you kiss him to silence him, cupping his face. “Yes, my sexy lawyer husband. Now go and tell your work buddies about how good I looked tonight.”

You share a laugh, another kiss, and all is forgiven (at least to your husband, it is). You watch him get dressed and begin to get a head start on grading, pulling out your laptop and glasses while still in your dress. By the time he is ready to go, you’ve already finished grading two papers.

Once he leaves, you regret it. Your horniness rears its ugly head once you are alone. Your pussy throbs insistently in your panties, desperate to be touched. You know that nothing you do for it is going to work, so you take a shower instead. You strip off your dress, jump into the cold water, and wash off tonight. You even squirt on some perfume to make yourself feel better.

But nothing works. While in the shower, all you think about is being held against the wall and railed by your Mr. Long Dick.

So you try other remedies to distract yourself with: a glass of wine; more grading; watching TV; calling your folks to check on the kids, reading a book, etc. But nothing. Fucking. Works. All you can think about is sex. Specifically sex with your FWB. Finally sick of your shit, you give in to your urges and toss your book aside before reaching for your phone.

You scroll down to your contacts until you get to “Tarou 💙” (the blue heart added by him). You couldn’t even bring yourself to delete his number, too emotionally tied to the dick to do so. You decided to keep him on call just in case. You’re so glad that you did now.

Taking a deep breath, you hit his contact and bring the phone to your ears. After three rings go by, he picks up. The first thing he does is chuckle, the silky, sexy voice making your stomach flutter. “Well, this is unexpected,” he chortles. “I thought you weren’t ever gonna call me again. You told me last time was the last time.”

You bite your bottom lip, your heart thundering in your chest. “Things change,” you impatiently reply. “I need you over here now. Are you busy?” You get right to it, not wanting to lose your nerve.

Gojo pauses for a moment, obviously surprised by your random call. “Uh…no,” he finally answers. “Just with Geto and Shoko, but they can watch the rest of this movie without me. I’m guessin’ he’s gone?”

You grip the phone to your ear, swallowing your shame. “You know he’s gone.”

Once again, Gojo pauses, weighing his options. “I’ll be over in ten,” he says and you sigh in relief. “Leave the door unlocked.”

You hang up and immediately begin to prepare for your dick appointment, leaving your phone on the bed. You replace your shirt with a sexy, satin slip and slather on some body butter to make your skin silky and soft. You put on lipgloss and spray on more perfume. You pour yourself a glass of wine to relax yourself. Then you venture downstairs to sit and wait with the door unlocked.

As time passes, you begin to feel sick with shame and second guessing. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe you should call Gojo to go home.

But before you can get up to go back upstairs for your cell, you hear a knock on the door. Your blood pressure nearly shoots through the roof. “It’s me,” Gojo says through the door.

That makes your blood pressure even worse. “C-Coming,” you stammer. Slowly, you slink off of the couch and walk to the door. With a shaky hand, you grasp the doorknob and yank it open like you would yank off a band-aid.

And there he stands: six-foot something and looking sexy leaning against your doorway in a leather jacket, jeans, and white tee that is way too tight on his toned upper torso with a gold chain on his neck that you want to yank on and kiss him. He smiles at you, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Hey, you,” he greets you. “I’ve missed you.”

You feel your stomach flutter at the sight of him, the sound of his voice, and his scent. He always smelled so expensive and sweet from the combo of his cologne and body wash. “I’ve missed you too.” The words come out naturally.

Gojo smirks, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Mmm, I bet,” he replies. At the sight of your frown, he laughs. “I’m kidding. Just wanted to see that sexy eye roll.”

“No jokes, please,” you sigh. “I feel worse even hittin’ you up again after I said I was done. Just come in before I change my mind about this.” You open the door further and let him come in before swiftly shutting the door. He walks into the empty living room, his hands in his pockets. He is quiet. Too quiet.

You don’t blame him for being awkward. It’s been a month since you’ve seen each other or talked. “How are the kids?” he finally asks. You nod, giving him a small, thankful smile for asking. “Good. They’re not here.”

He nods understandably though he didn’t ask. “Would you like a drink?” you ask, nodding at the bottle of wine sitting on your coffee table. “I’ve got juice, water…” He shakes his head, instead stripping off his jacket and placing it on his lap as he sits down.

He leans back against the couch, his long legs spread like the slut he is. “Come sit,” he says, patting the seat next to you. His inviting eyes and smile welcome you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. So you sit down next to him, thigh to thigh, the slight touch making you scream inside.

Gojo wriggles his hands, obviously thinking to himself. “Sooo I don’t know if this question is allowed, but why did you call me over tonight?” He glances at you questionably and you flush with shame. “You know why,” you quietly retort. “You just wanna hear me say it.”

Your student smirks playfully at you. “Can you blame a guy?” he chuckles. “A gorgeous woman hittin’ me up late at night would be any young guy’s fantasy.” You passively shrug, not wanting to be any young guy’s fantasy except his…for tonight, at least. “I’m guessin’ things didn’t go well with the hubby? I thought that dress would’ve worked on him too.”

You look at him, confused, and he sheepishly shrugs. “I may have seen your pics on IG,” he chuckles. “Sorry for bein’ a stalker.”

Though you should be irritated by this, you’re not. Maybe it’s your arousal clouding your judgment, but you find this hot. “He…tries,” you sigh. “But he doesn’t listen and that’s the problem. You do.”

Gojo’s eyes flash with something familiar: passion. Something that has been seriously lacking in your sex life and missing in your husband’s eyes. You turn to your student and fuck buddy, holding his eyes with yours. “Listen to me very carefully,” you firmly say. “Just to be clear, this is just sex. I need something and I’m sure you do too, so we’re just giving it to each other. This isn’t a relationship and I’m not leaving my husband for you.”

Gojo’s brows rise at this statement. “I didn’t think you would’ve,” he chuckles. “Honestly, I can’t see myself playing daddy to your kids though they are adorable.”

“This is the last time,” you continue. “You graduate uni in two weeks which means we’ll never have to see each other again. You fuck me, help me get my nut, and then you leave. No cuddling, no calling, none of that. My husband cannot find out you were here.”

It is the same as it has always been, except this time is the last time. It has to be.

“Am I understood?” you ask lowly. The handsome, young man cocks his head to the side, searching your face for something. You try to keep your face as firm as possible, needing him to understand how serious you are.

Finally, he gives you one of those charming smiles that get your knees weak. “Absolutely, miss,” he purrs. Relief floods your body and you immediately reach for your glass to down the rest of your wine. “Good,” you exhale. You lower the glass down and then turn to him, beaming.

“Now fuck me,” you quietly demand.

You don’t have to tell him twice. Immediately, he wraps a hand around your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. You eagerly accept it, even crawling into his lap which he happily accepts by hooking your thighs over his to straddle him. You wrap your arms around his neck like a koala bear and press yourself flush against him, your thighs open and your panties gliding against his fabric-covered cock that you feel is already hard.

Gojo has always been a good kisser. He has the softest, juiciest, pinkest lips you’ve ever kissed in your life. His kiss is slow and passionate yet sloppy. His tongue swirls with yours as you softly moan into each other’s mouths, appreciating the way you taste. His kiss is full of longing and yearning, his hands gripping your ass and thighs as they hike your slip over your hips.

You grind your pussy down into his hard-on, earning a moan of pleasure into your mouth. You pull away from him, staring down into his hooded eyes. “Upstairs,” you exhale. “Please.”

Quickly, Gojo wraps his arms around your waist and hikes you up against him before picking you up and carrying you upstairs to your bedroom. He knows the way like the back of his hand having been here many times before. When he walks in with you, he kicks the door shut with the back of the foot and walks over to the bed before tossing you down.

You giggle slightly as you bounce on the mattress right before he pounces onto you. He begins peppering your body in wet, soft kisses—your lips, your neck, your chest. You run your hands through his soft, white locks of hair, moaning and arching your back at his touch. “I still can’t believe you wanted to see me again,” he murmurs. “I swore you never wanted to talk to me again.”

You sit up and watch him slide down to his knees in front of you, peeling your slip up to reveal your naked breasts and panties. “That’s because you started talkin’ ‘bout me leaving my husband for you,” you breathlessly retort.

Your slip comes up and over your arms, discarded onto the floor. His blue eyes tick up to meet yours as he kisses your stomach, a brow raised. “Correction, miss,” he chuckles. “I said to date me. I never said you had to leave your husband. I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

His hands reach up to grope your tits, gently molding and massaging them. As he does this, his teeth lightly nibble at your thighs while attempting to drag your panties down your legs. You moan at the feeling of his fingers pinching your nipples, the sensations making your back arch off of the bed. “Gojo, fuck,” you exhale.

He finally gets your panties off and drags them down your feet one after the other before giving you a cocky grin, your drawls hanging between his teeth. He then lets them fall and pushes your thighs open, biting his lip at the sight of your sobbing, wet cunt, so puffy and pretty for him.

“C’mon now, baby,” he whispers. “Why would I ask you to break up such a lovely marriage for me? Is my dick that good?” He leans in, pressing teasing kisses to your pussy lips and clit that cause sparks of pleasure to explode in your body, coursing through your muscles. “You really wouldn’t stay with your man and just date me?”

He looks up at you between your thighs, his long, white lashes fanning his cheeks. Suddenly, his tongue slithers out of his mouth to toy with your clit and all coherent thoughts and words are stolen from you. “N-N…Oh, fuck yes,” you moan, tilting your head back in ecstasy.

He chuckles, his hot breath making your cunt throb. “Guess I‘ll have to convince you a little more.” He suddenly sits up and yanks on your ankles, pulling you closer to him. “After all, it’s been a month since we’ve been together. We’ll have to make up for lost time.”

“God, Satoru!” You whine. “Just shut the fuck up and use your mouth on this pussy instead.”

He stares at you, shocked by your outburst, and then begins to laugh. “Someone’s eager,” he chuckles. “I like my women eager.” He stares back down at your pussy, tutting at the beautiful, brown rose petals of yours. “Aw, look at my girl,” he coos. “So wet…so lonely. Your hubby ain’t take his time with you tonight, huh?”

He leans in and begins finally tasting you, though his tongue strokes are slow and deliberate to tease you. Make you insane. You can feel yourself quickly becoming impatient, your body squirming for more. “Satoru,” you whimper.

He instantly stops and you realize your mistake when his sapphire eyes pierce into yours, as firm as his tone: “Sorry, who?” He asks, narrowing his brows at you.

You swallow hard, that forbidden name you only call him at the tip of your tongue. “Daddy,” you whisper. “Please just give it to me.”

A pleased smile stretches across Gojo’s lips and he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Gladly.”

And the man damn near dives into your pussy, slurping at your juices and sucking on your clit with his pillowy-soft lips. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your entrance while swiping his nose against your clit and sucking on your sensitive, little button, his hands pinning your thighs apart as far as they will go. You are losing it, your voice box turned on autopilot so your mouth makes whatever noises it feels like.

“God, yes, yes, yes!” You moan. “Right there, ‘Tarou, fuck, right there!” His hot tongue, tinged with cool metal from his tongue piercing, swirls about over your slit and pussy lips, making a mess of your pussy.

“Right there?” He teasingly asks. “Not right here, baby?” You then feel his finger gently probing you, slowly slipping inside of you and aimed upward to rub against the underside of your clit. “Ain’t you weak here?” He chuckles, his tongue still working its magic on your clit.

Your eyes roll back like you’re possessed as your thigh clamp around his head, desperate to keep him where he is. “Fuck,” you whine. “How the fuck are you so good at this?”

Gojo chuckles, feeling cocky and proud at his work. “Only for a needy pussy like this,” he hums. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed this pussy.” He pauses to spit on your cunt, letting it drip with a copious amount of saliva before slurping it back up. “Obviously, she’s missed me too,” he chuckles. “Look how wet she is for me.”

He spits on you again, this time letting it drip down to your ass. You feel his tongue there, the hot, wet sensation making you gasp as his tongue travels from your asshole up to your pussy. “Satoru,” you whine. “Don’t be so nasty.”

His eyes twinkle at you, ever the mischievous man he is. “But you love me at my nasty, baby,” he pouts, his bottom lip poking out. “Don’t you?”

And then he shows you that yes, you do. You really fucking do. When he moves his hands under your ass to hold you up and eats your pussy like he would a bowl of spaghetti, you nearly lose your shit. You grip the sheets and shamelessly grind your hips against his mouth, riding his face as he finger fucks you and eats you out.

This is it. This is what you’ve been missing with your husband. This is what you needed. He listens to your words and your body, paying close attention to how you respond to his movements. He keeps gliding his finger in and out of you while he sucks your clit, quickly bringing you to your peak. Shit!” You gasp loudly. “Satoru, baby, you’re gonna make me cum!”

He pulls away from your clit only to command you to do so. “Do it,” he growls. “Give it to me, baby girl. Give me that fuckin’ cum.” His eyes lock with yours and you are suddenly put in a trance as you stare into his ocean blue gaze. “Let go for me,” he purrs, his words just as hypnotizing as his eyes. “I’ve got you now.”

And like a puppet on a string, you do as he commands. With a loud scream-like moan that echoes throughout the bedroom and would no doubt wake your kids if they were here, you cum all over Gojo’s mouth, squirting down his throat and on his pierced tongue. He greedily slurps it all up, teasing your sensitive pussy until he can feel it throb in your mouth, pleading with him to stop.

But he doesn’t. He makes it a point to continue to eat you out even through your orgasm, making it last longer than it should. Your back arches so hard that you’re afraid that it will snap. Your vision blurs, fat tears sticking to your lash line. Your words become slurred and jumbled as you beg Gojo stop: “S-Satoru,” you whimper. “Please���oh, fuck, please! S-Stop! I-I can’t…oh, I can’t…it’s too m-much.”

Fortunately for you, he finally stops and stands between your thighs, his chin and mouth glistening with your cum. He gently takes his finger out of you and sucks on it, staring into your eyes as he does. “Betcha man can’t make you cum like that, can he?” He breathlessly chuckles. He then raises his brow at you, a smirk on his lips. “You’re sure this can’t work between us?”

You ignore him, suddenly feral at the sight of seeing your juices glistening on his lips. Immediately, you sit up and cup his face between your hands before mashing your lips passionately with his, tasting yourself. You taste so good coming off of him.

Then you pull away and stare into Gojo’s twinkling, pussy drunk eyes. “Shut up and take off your clothes,” you growl. “Stand at the edge of the bed.” Once again, he doesn’t need you to tell him again.

With quick fingers, Gojo strips off his shirt, leaving his toned body up for your full indulgence while he works on his pants. The sound of his belt buckle loosening and his zipper coming down excites you, making your stomach and pussy flutter in tandem. A small, excited smile crosses your lips as you watch him strip, his arms, stomach, and pecs making your cunt clench around air.

After his socks and shoes are off and on the floor, off goes his underwear. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, he peels down his briefs and his long, thick cock slaps against his stomach. He is already dripping with precum for you, the pink head glistening with it.

Immediately, you crawl to him on your knees and wrap one hand around the base, noticing how much prettier your nails look wrapped around him. “Look at you, so hard for me,” you purr. “I’ve missed this pretty cock so much.” You begin to stroke him, pumping him up and down while using your other hand to gently massage his balls.

Gojo instantly reacts to your touch and furrows his brows in pleasure. “Ah, shit,” he hisses. “M’sensitive, baby.” You continue to touch him, pulling delicious whimpers and low moans out of you. You smile, feeling powerful and oh-so sexy. “Perfect.”

That’s another thing you love about Gojo: he isn’t afraid to let you take control. He is a big time switch—sometimes taking control of you, but also letting you take the reins and submitting to you. You can’t get enough of it. The power you feel making this beautiful man writhe and beg for you to make him cum is like a drug to you. Your husband would never even imagine doing this for you.

That’s why you give Gojo the best blowjob of his fucking life as a thank you. It is sloppy, passionate, and absolutely amazing judging by his facial expressions and the sounds he makes. He watches you suck and slobber eagerly on his cock while your hands pumps him up and down through slitted eyes, the sight almost too much for him. His moans are almost high-pitched and slutty, the sounds doing so many delicious things to you.

“Mmm, shit, Y/N, that’s good,” he groans. “Let me fuck your mouth already, c’mon.” His hands clench at his sides, desperate to grab your head and force his dick deeper down your throat. You pull away, narrowing your eyes at him. “Um…who?” You sharply ask.

He gnaws on his bottom lip, a blush on his cheeks. “M-Mommy,” he murmurs. “Please let me fuck your throat. I wanna be such a good boy for you.” Those are the magic words. The embarrassing words that your husband wouldn't even think of uttering.

You smile, pleased. “Okay,” you giggle. “Just don’t cum. Save all of that for me.” He nods, a delighted twinkle in his eyes. “Yes, miss.” You then take him back into your mouth and allow him to wrap a hand around your hair before he begins thrusting his hips and fucking your mouth.

With each thrust, he goes deeper and deeper, his cock quickly filling up your throat. You accommodate to his girth and length by opening your throat up more, breathing through your nostrils as Gojo pumps away, using your mouth like he would a pocket pussy. You hold his hips and drag your nails down his toned thighs and stomach, indulging in his muscles.

The sounds coming from Gojo’s gorgeous, pink mouth are sluttier than you’ve ever heard them. He is loud and unashamed, his face screwed in pleasure and his white locks of hair sticking to his forehead. “Fuck, Mommy, m’gonna cum!” He gasps. “Have to…pull out!” Quickly, he does so, leaving you to breathe.

As he pulls away, a string of saliva connects from his cock head to your bottom lip that is coated in spit and pre cum. He begins to slowly stroke his cock, heavy and glistening in his hand, as you wiping your mouth and lick it off your hands. “Mmm, good boy,” you praise him. “You didn’t cum for me at all, but you did leave me a preview.”

Gojo is losing his self control, his hand quickly speeding up on his shaft. “Tell me what you want,” he begs. “Please or I’m about to fuckin’ bust.” You could easily watch him blow his load for you and get off just from that, but no. You want more. If this is the last time, you want to go out with a bang.

You sit up and place your hands on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Lay back and let me fuck you,” you whisper, taking a nibble of his ear. “I wanna ride you.”

As quick as a flash, Gojo jumps onto the bed and leans back, quickly getting into position. He spreads his thighs for you and aims his cock upward, right where you want it. Once you straddle him, he lets you take the reins while he holds onto your hips for balance. “Easy now, mama,” he coos. “Take it slow. You look so beautiful up there.”

You smile, his compliment making you feel warm all over. He never fails to make you feel gorgeous despite your body after your kids and your older age. You take a hold of his dick and begin to grind against it first, nudging it up against your pussy and between your slit.

Looking into his eyes, you slowly press the tip to your entrance and slide him in, emitting a gasp from the both of you. You don’t stop there. You do more, taking it inch by inch, grinding against him as you do. “God, Satoru,” you moan. “You’re so…so—“

”Big?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. “Thick? I know that’s how you like it, baby. Just take it slow. After all, this is the last time.” He holds your hips and stares up at you, locking your eyes with his. “Do what you want with me. I’m all yours, Mommy.”

And you do. You brace your hands on his chest and squeeze his pecs as you begin to slowly ride him, alternating between grinding and bouncing on top of him. You can’t describe the feeling you feel as you feel his cock plunge in and out of your body, disappearing and reappearing from between your thighs. “God, Tarou, yes!” You moan. “You’re so fucking good!”

Gojo watches you, ogling your jiggling tits and pretty face blissed out above him. You look down at him, watching him struggle to take you. You giggle, cupping his face in your hands. “Does it feel good, ‘Tarou?” You cooingly ask. “Is this pussy too much for you?” You roll your hips back and forth, rubbing your clit as you do.

The sight is too perfect for Gojo and he bites his lip, holding himself back from cumming right there. “Fuck, b-baby,” he moans. “You’re makin’ this so hard for me. Tryna���hold back…fuck!” He grips your hips tighter as you continue to ride him, quickening your pace.

It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to rise, making you ride Gojo’s cock like it’s stolen. “I’m gonna cum again,” you warn him through a gasp. “Want you to cum with me, ‘Tarou. Fill me up.”

Though Gojo is a moaning, whimpering mess underneath you from how good and tight your pussy is, he doesn’t cum. Instead, he grabs your ass the way you like and fucks you back, hitting that spot you love again and again. “Cum for me, Mommy,” he begs. “Please, please, please cum for me. Cum all over that cock.”

He begins to babble—“Please, pretty girl, gimme that cum, fuuuck, please, please”—and his words, soft pants, and moans tip you over the edge. You become aggressive, rolling your hips forward and back, Gojo’s hand now on your clit and working it until you finally cum. “Fuck, ‘Tarou, yes!” You whine as you finally reach your second orgasm, making his cock wet and sticky with your cum.

Your mind goes blissfully blank for a few seconds as your second nut courses through you, making you sink your nails into Gojo’s pectorals and slow your riding as you ride out your orgasm. When you look down at him, he stares up at you almost lovingly, his cock still hard inside of you. “You…didn’t…cum,” you gasp out.

He shakes his head, smiling. “No,” he states. “‘Cause I wanted to watch you first. I wanna finally cum inside you when I’m fucking you stupid…with your permission, of course.” His eyes flash with a fire that you know that only you can put out. You feel that same fire blaze within you.

Your need to be held down and fucked takes over, making you willing to take whatever Gojo gives you. You hold his gaze with yours, gently rolling your hips to persuade him further. “Then do it,” you demand. “Take me, put me however you want me, and fuck me, Satoru. I want you to take control this time.”

Those ocean blues darken and a devious, sexy smirk crosses his lips. “Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles and before you know it, you’re being flipped onto your stomach. Gojo slides off of the bed behind you and grips your ankles, yanking you all of the way to the beside toward him. You squeak and giggle as he does, loving his strength and how unafraid he is to be rough.

You immediately assume the position: hands and knees, your back arched and ass in his face. “So,” he says, his voice dipping an octave, “you want me to take control now, hm?”

Smack! His hand comes down onto your asscheek, making it jiggle. The sharp sensation makes you gasp, your toes curling at the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure. “Such a nasty girl,” he sighs. “Gettin’ wet over one little spanking. You really are touch-starved, poor baby.” His hand slides down to massage your ass while his cock slides up against the puffy, wet lips of your pussy. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, his lips at your ear. “I’ll help you. Just do everything I say, okay, mama?”

Feeling his breath fan across your face and his cock slide against your slit makes you want to do anything he wants. And you will. You turn to him, staring at him over your shoulder the way he loves. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimper. “I will.”

That’s all Gojo needs to hear. After planting a kiss on your lips and another smack on your ass, he positions his cock and in one swift motion, slides back home inside of you. “Oh, fuck,” he moans while you let out a gasp, gripping the sheets below you. He doesn’t start off slow either. Instead, he gets right to it, pistoning his hips against your soft, jiggling ass with full intention of making you cum again.

“Fuck, ‘Tarou, sh-shit!” You moan, your knees and arms quickly becoming weak with the force of his thrusts. “Daddy, wait! D-Don’t…oh, fuck!…don’t go so fast! Ohh, my God!”

Gojo cackles at your pathetic stammering and babbling in between your moans and gasps as he drives himself into you again and again, gripping your hips so tight that his fingers dig into the fleshy parts of your ass. “Why?” He puffs. “I’m tryin’ to make you cum. And after all, we don’t know when your man will be home.”

He pauses mid-stroke to hike his leg up on the bed and continues to drive his cock into you, making your jaw fall slack at the deep angle. Every time he thrusts, his balls slap against your clit, filling your body with absolute pleasure. His hand swoops around your neck and squeezes, tight enough to make you feel restricted but not enough to cut off your breath.

“Or do you want him to come in and see you like this?” He teasingly asks. “You want your hubby to see you get this pussy stuffed by your side dick?” He tilts your head up by your neck, emitting a choked moan from you.

“I betcha do,” he giggles. “I bet you want to get caught with your boy toy…show your dude how a real man fucks a woman.”

Your eyes shut and you see your husband walking in under your lids. His expression is written in shock and horror as he watches Gojo pound into you, his wife, from behind, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. You hate to admit it, but the idea of that makes you even wetter.

Gojo continues with that breakneck, agonizing pace, alternating between fast, short pumps and long, slow strokes that make you see stars. His other hand leaves your hip to rub your clit while he continues to choke you, moaning about how pretty you look for him getting railed by his cock.

You feel your third orgasm rising, your pussy tightening around his dick while that knot in your core begins to tighten as well, signaling your end. “Yes, ‘Tarou!” You cry out. “Fuck, m’almost there! I’m almost—“

Your words are cut off when Gojo suddenly stops, putting an end to the symphony of moans and skin slapping against skin. You look over your shoulder at him, confused. “W-Why’d you stop?” You pant. The white-haired hottie smirks at you. “Because I wanna see your pretty face when you cum,” he answers.

He then flips you over onto your back and slides between your thighs, standing between them. Without waiting for you to give him permission, he slides into you again and tosses your leg up, your painted toes pressed against his hard chest. His thrusts now are slow, long, and deep, his cock stroking your pussy walls and making you arch your back.

Your mouth falls open, soft moans and gasps leaving your lips that Gojo relishes. He can’t believe how good you look taking him, your soft titties bouncing and your pussy sliding up and down his dick. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he pants. “Your man is so fuckin’ lucky to have you all the fuckin’ time. What the fuck is wrong with him?”

You think he’s pretty too. His face is flushed and glinting in sweat, his white locks sticking to his forehead. His eyes are dazed with lust and pleasure as he stares down at you taking his cock so well, his brows furrowed as if he’s in pain. You’ve never seen him look prettier than now, completely pussy drunk off of you.

“Fuck me, ‘Toru,” you beg, tossing your arms over your head to grip the sheets. “Fuck me and make us both cum. Do it like you won’t do it ever again.”

Gojo shifts into another mode immediately. It’s like your plea has pushed some button inside of him that makes him shift into a setting where he is merciless, pounding into you with every intention of either A. Making you cum or B. Breeding you with his baby. Or both.

You bounce and jiggle on the bed as he fucks you silly, making the bed creak and moan underneath you. He looks so good on top of you, his white locks hanging in his face, his blue eyes dark and blown with lust. “Really though,” he growls. “What the fuck is wrong with your man to not fuck you like this every night, hm? Why does he neglect such a perfect slut like you?”

He pauses to turn you on your side, hooking your knees to your chest before grabbing your ass and drilling your shit from the side. You are a hot mess—moaning, gasping, crying out for more, your hair unkempt, your skin coated in sweat, and your thighs dripping with your juices and Gojo’s pre-cum, making your pussy a lot sloppier than before and easier for him to fuck as much as he wants to.

“But that don’t better,” he continues. “Because I’m your man now. I’ll fuck you like this any time, any day you want, baby.”

He gives your ass another smack as he continues to fuck you. “You know you want this,” he says, a smirk on his face. “You know that I’m the one for you, Y/N. You know you want me…you’d even want my baby.”

Your loud moaning pauses as his words process. You look up at him, not sure if he’s playing or not. “W-What?” You gasp.

Ding!

You turn your head to look at your phone sitting beside you. You stretch one arm across the bed to grab it, but Gojo beats you to it. While still stroking your shit, he reads the notification and his brows raise. “Huh,” he says. “Looks like your baby daddy is home. He just pulled in.”

“What?!” You shriek, your words breathless and broken as your fuck buddy continues to put you into th mattress like your husband isn’t home. “Gojo, he’s back! H-He’s in the driveway!” You try to push him off, but he pins you down, tossing your phone aside. He goes faster, harder, using your pussy like he would a fleshlight.

He has never gone this hard or this fast before, gripping your ass and hips so tightly that you’re sure he’ll leave bruises. ”What are you doing?” You attempt to ask.

“Don’t move,” he demands. “I need you to cum with me first.” He leans down to press his face into your ear, rutting into you like a wild animal. You grip his back and shoulders for dear life, holding on tightly and moaning into his ear while you sneak a hand between your thighs to furiously rub your clit. “God, ‘Toru, yes!” You moan. “Fuck, right there, ah!”

“You’re mine,” Gojo pants into your ear. “You’re all fuckin’ mine, you understand me?”

Even in the haze of pleasure and above your mingled moans, you can hear the sound of your husband’s car door opening outside and him chatting with the neighbor. Fear bursts inside of your stomach, somehow making your pussy clam tighter around a feral Gojo. “Satoru, please!” You beg. “He’s coming!”

“So am I,” he groans. “But not until you do. Tell me what I wanna hear and I’ll make you cum, pretty girl. Look into my eyes and tell me you wanna be mine.” He leans up to stare down at you, his blue eyes transfixing and hypnotizing you as his giant hands knead your tits and ass.

You stare at him in horror. You want to cum, yes, but to do that, you’d have to tell him everything he wants to hear. Therefore, ruining your marriage and your vows…but then again, you already did that. “N-No!” You shout, delirious.

Gojo frowns and immediately slows down, his thrusts shallow and slow. “No, you don’t wanna cum?” He asks. That devious tinkle in his eye is there as he continues to slowly fuck you, teasing you.

A choked hiccup leaves your mouth, tears wetting your eyes. You can’t take this. This is torture. So you swallow your pride and let yourself break: “Goddammit!” You sob. “I want you, ‘Tarou! I wanna be yours! I’ll be your baby, your slut, your girl! I’ll be whatever you want me to be! Just make me cum!”

A wide, gigawatt smile crosses Gojo’s handsome face. “Good girl,” he chuckles. “Now give me that fuckin’ pussy.” He grips you and speeds up his thrusts, putting his whole back into it, his cock drilling your wet cunt over and over and over again until…

”Cumming!” You whimper. “I-I’m gonna cum!” Gojo’s lips part as he pants and groans at the feeling of you squeezing around him. He leans down, wrapping a hand around your throat. “Kiss me,” he demands. Without waiting for you to do so, he leans in and captures your lips in a sloppy, moan-filled, open-mouthed kiss.

Instantly, you are creaming all over his cock, his kiss swallowing your moans and gasps of release as your body tenses and writhes in his arms. With a few more thrusts and a high-pitched moan, Gojo empties himself into you, a stream of cum leaving his heavy balls and entering you hot, wet pussy, making you quiver and tremble against him. The orgasm is tense and dizzying, stealing your sense of self for a moment.

You then hear your husband’s footsteps click against the brick walkway outside to the front door. Suddenly, you are brought back to reality and to the man you just let fuck you raw that isn’t your husband, but your student.

You don’t get a chance to say anything though because Gojo gently slides his cock out of you. You look down, realizing that he’s still hard. He wraps a hand around himself and begins to vigorously pump his cock in your face, his hand turning into a flash with how fast he’s going. “Not yet,” he growls. “Gimme that pretty face. I want my nut all over that gorgeous mug.”

You don’t say a word and you don’t even move. You can’t. Your body is too exhausted to do so that you just lay there, helplessly watching Gojo jerk himself off in front of you, his pretty face screwed in pleasure and his lips pressed together in concentration. “Thaaat’s it,” he hisses. “That’s my good girl.”

And with a low groan, Gojo gives you a second orgasm, sending ropes of his cum all over your face and mouth. Your lips part in shock, causing some droplets to get onto your tongue. Some also fly onto your stomach, tits, and ass, coating your skin in cum. His cum. You can smell him all over you, marking you as his.

Gojo sighs in relief, his muscles loosening and a light chuckle leaving his lips. He releases his cock, soft and coated in your mixed cum, and tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Now that was a nut,” he whistles. You don’t say anything, still too exhausted to do so.

Jingle-jingle.

You hear your husband’s car keys and then the lock on the door clicking open. You gasp, immediately sitting up and looking at the closed bedroom door. Both you and Gojo look at each other, panicked. “Shit,” you say in unison.

“Honey, I’m home!” Your husband shouts. “I bought you back something!” Like fire has been lit under your ass, you jump off of the bed while Gojo grabs his clothes, hurrying to put them on. “U-Uh, wait, baby!” You shout. “I-I need to get dressed!”

You yank your slip off of the floor and toss it in the hamper beside your closet, unseen and unheard of. You turn to Gojo hurrying to get dressed, quickly pulling his shirt over his head. “Hide under the bed,” you whisper. “I’ll distract him and then you leave.”

Gojo nods and Quickly, you dress into a T-shirt and some gym shorts, checking to make sure all traces of sex are gone, including the nut on your face (thank God you keep baby wipes in your night drawer). You even take your laptop and glasses back out to make it seem as if you were working this entire time. Once everything looks okay, you fix your hair and walk to the bedroom door to greet your husband.

But with your back turned, Gojo makes no move to actually get under the bed.

Too late to realize this, you open the door and smile up at your husband back from a night out. “Hi, honey,” you sweetly say. “How was the party?”

He gives you a smile and takes something from behind his back: a bouquet of colorful, sweet-smelling flowers. “I bought you these,” he says. “I wanted to apologize for…Gojo?”

His eyes trail behind you to meet the young man standing behind you. You turn, horrified to find your fuck buddy still standing there but fortunately dressed. “Hey there, sir!” He politely greets your husband like he didn’t just fuck his wife stupid in their marital bed. “Sorry to show up like this. I had to drop off a last-minute assignment to Ms. L/N and she invited me over with no problem.”

He walks over to shake your husband’s hand like his wasn’t just spanking your ass or wrapped around your throat. “Oh,” your husband says. “Well, I hope everything is worked out now.” He returns Gojo’s handshake. “Oh, it is!” He answers. “Isn’t it, Ms. L/N?”

You feel his hand sneak behind you to grab a handful of your ass. You bite back a squeak, instead forcing a smile. “Y-Yeah,” you stammer. “Everything’s fine now.”

Your husband doesn’t look the least bit suspicious which makes things worse. “Well, good!” He says with a smile. Gojo drops his hand from your asscheeks and gives you both a smile. “I’ll be taking my leave now,” he announces. “Thanks again for your help, Professor. I really appreciate it.”

Unbeknownst to your hubby, he shoots you a wink and walks past you to exit the room. You can feel the walls that had begun to close in on you begin to widen a bit, making you feel like you can breathe again, until—

“Oh, Gojo!” Your husband says, stopping the young man in the hallway. “You can look for me at the graduation ceremony. I look forward to seeing you at the firm.”

You blink at him, confused. “Firm?” You cluelessly ask. “What firm?” Your husband and Gojo stare at you, making you flush. “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” He questions. Gojo gives him a smile and a playful laugh. “I was gonna let her know at the ceremony.”

“Gojo recently got a full-time job at my firm and he’ll be working in my department!” Your husband joyfully states, passing you the flowers. “He starts next month in June with the training. He is quite an intelligent young man, so we intend on keeping him.” He shoots Gojo a proud smile, but your student is too busy smiling at you.

This smile isn't’ at all nice though. It is devilish, almost as if the devil has jumped into Gojo’s bones. “That means you’ll be seein’ an awful lot of me around,” he deviously says. “I’ll see you soon, miss.”

And as he turns to leave, you see in his back pocket your soiled panties.

You watch him go, standing there with your husband's flowers and your student’s cum still dripping down your thighs. ‘Oh, no,’ you lament to yourself. ‘What have I done?’

“Uh, sweetie?” Your husband’s voice drifts to your ears, sounding almost far away. “Why is the bed all wet? Did you take a shower?”

So much for ‘the last time’.

THE END.

[aka-indulgence]

Too much thinks for brain

[sophiphi]

Guys. GUYS. listen to me- kate carter is a natural brunette. no i’m not just saying that because daisy edgar jones has brown hair naturally, there’s a picture of young kate and her mom that is shown in the scene where she comes back home. I caught it on my second rewatch. I mean ofc you could chalk up her darker roots to it just being a dirty blonde but no, she really is a brunette.

Which brings me to this thought- I wonder what Tyler’s reaction (along with the others ofc) would be when they see Kate with brown hair. Let’s say her blonde dye was growing out enough for her to decide to dye it back. Maybe she does it when she went back to NY for a bit before going back to Oklahoma. Will there be chaos? Definitely. Will Tyler Owens get a heart attack? Duh. Like, imagine the possibilities guys, hellooo

[ad7red]

Hey!! Can I have Peter and his gf who's not rlly smart but catches a mistake Peter made in his hw and teases him but he doesn't mind? Thanks xx!

smarty pants | peter parker.

bf!peter parker x reader

this has been sitting in my inbox for a WHILEE i am sorry!

not proofread, no warnings

-

you had just bombed your math quiz and you could not feel any worse. math just wasn’t your thing, ela or history? sure, but math and you were never getting along. and that was a fact.

the only person who might’ve been able to raise your spirits was your one and only genius vigilante boyfriend, peter. which led to you vigorously knocking on his apartment door like you did many times, expecting to be greeted by a familiar peter, instead being met with his aunt may.

“hey, there sweet pea! peter won’t be home for a while, but would you like to come in and wait in his room for him?” you nodded while thanking her, being in his room would help remind you of him.

she walked you to his room, though being here so many times you know the place like the back of your hand.

when you walked into his room you were welcomed with messy algebra homework as well as half-done history homework scattered all over his desk.

you hopped down onto his undone bed and patiently waited for peter to come back to tell him all about how math was the worst subject known to man.

-

after what felt like forever you finally heard the bedroom door creek open, with the curly head following.

“hey, sunshine? how are you?” he said while placing a kiss on top of your forehead. you pouted before responding, and that’s when peter knew he was in for a doozy.

“terrible! peter, i failed my math quiz!” flapping your arms up and down for emphasis. peter patted your shoulder, his way of saying ‘i’m sorry’.

“c'mon, it can’t be that bad” peter was sorely mistaken. it was that bad.

“i got a 25%.” he made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, as though it physically hurt him to hear that grade.

“i mean, whose bright idea was it to come up with trigonometric functions? when will i ever use that in my entire life?” you began to rant. the grade was irritating you considering you’ve never gotten lower than a c in math.

“okay, come show me what you need trouble with.” peter said while pulling you up from his bed and leading you to his untidy desk.

you told him what was confusing you and he thoroughly explained it, but you couldn't seem to focus with that history homework on his desk.

“it's italy.”

“what..?”

“which country did the renaissance begin in? you said germany but it's italy.” he quickly scanned over the question again, skimming over the small paragraph before it.

“you got me, good job smarty pants!” he wasn’t sour or bitter about it all. if anything, he was happy, he knew how much it would mean to you if you corrected the smartest person you knew.

“i am a bit of smarty pants aren’t i?” and with that both you and peter started to explode in a fit of giggles.

-

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 5.4k words]

Never before had he really met a Muggle-born. He had no idea how naïve they were. How unprepared. Certainly, his family said they, and Muggles in general, were inferior, stupid, barely worthy to be at Hogwarts. Barely worth existing. But you weren't any of those things. You were just afraid.

In which, against the wishes of his staunchly pure-blood supremacist family, Ominis Gaunt befriends you, a naive Muggle-born Hufflepuff, and his life inexplicably changes.

Or, what happens when a pure-blood from an anti-Muggle family falls in love with a Muggle-born?

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant.

[NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: familial abuse, blood/ injury, torture, fantasy prejudice/ racism.

1: Strawberry Laces

He calls you Gibberish, because sometimes that's all you speak.

In first year, Ominis remembers crossing your path after the Sorting ceremony. You, a shaky little Muggle-born, near no knowledge of the magical world and its machinations, and the depths of its cruelty. You, who only enjoyed wonder in everything: every moving painting, the candles that floated untethered, and the way the air hummed with something else, something ethereal. He remembers hearing your distinctive voice in the foyer outside the Great Hall.

He remembers how you, somehow, managed to get lost.

Your upbeat curiosity pealed like a bell amongst the sombre tension of the first-year Slytherins. For some reason, your hair is what Ominis remembers best. Later he would find out it was thick, bouncy wild curls pinched into two pigtails at the side of your head, but the first thing he recalls is the smell, faintly of something saccharine.

"You're in the wrong place."

A pause, presumably as you realised he was addressing you. "Aren't we going to the form rooms?" you asked, that high-pitched voice like birdsong at dawn. It was hard to forget, given the nervous squeal you made when you were called up to be Sorted. It was already ingrained into his head.

"You're meant to be going to the Hufflepuff common room," he said, frowning. Form. What was a form? He pointed his wand at the Hufflepuffs heading the other way through the hall. "Your house is over that way."

"Oh!" You giggled, a sickly sweet noise, and headed over. "Thanks!"

How did you even get them mixed up? Ominis still doesn't know. He didn't think about you again until the next day, when term officially began Charms. By chance, he was seated next to you. That smell again, that voice.

"Have no fear, Master Gaunt," cheered Professor Ronen, "I will be giving you more practical assignments, so you don't have as much writing to do."

That was some consolation, he supposed. Practical assignments played to his best strengths.

When Ronen moved on to check Adelaide's technique, Ominis heard your chair squeak. Heard the hiss of your clothes as you peered over. Something rattled on your face – glasses.

"It's... Ominis, right?"

He pursed his lips, displeased at the interruption. "Can I help you?"

"You're an actual wizard?"

"... What?"

"I mean, you know, you were born into this magic thing."

A pure-blood, is what you meant. "Yes. What of it?"

"That's great, because I just wanted to know... erm... which way around does the wand go?"

That had to be a joke. "You can't be serious."

"S-Sorry, I swear I'm not pulling your leg." Pulling your leg? You laughed nervously. "It's just— my wand is a little crooked, and it doesn't have a handle, like yours— so I don't actually know if I'm holding it the right way up or not, and I don't want to blast myself in the face."

A wave of that saccharine soap again. Ominis wrinkled his nose and continued practicing Wingardium Leviosa. Swish and flick. "Can you really not tell?"

"No..."

You sounded genuine. Not joking.

Hmm. Never before had he really met a Muggle-born. He had no idea how naïve they were. How unprepared. Certainly, his family said they, and Muggles in general, were inferior, stupid, barely worthy to be at Hogwarts. Barely worth existing. But you weren't any of those things.

You were just afraid.

"It's the tapered point that's the end."

"They're both thin."

"Let me feel it."

You hesitated. "Feel— it?"

"Well I can't look at it, can I?"

Another moment of hesitation. An intake of breath.

"Oh!" You nearly blew out his eardrums. "Sorry. You're blind!"

"Well spotted."

"I didn't notice."

"I figured."

You made an indignant noise and handed it over. His senses immediately flooded. It was an intimate sensation, to hold someone else's wand, especially that of a near-stranger. To feel the springy wood beneath his fingertips, the coarse grains of the wood. A light wood, airy. He was no expert on wands, and certainly no Ollivander, but he'd been touching and feeling things long enough to recognise details most sighted people would miss.

Yes, it was crooked, an odd shape for an odd person. He drew his thumb up the wand's janky spine.

"That's the top." He held the handle and offered it back to you. "There."

"Brilliant. Okay." You took the wand back. Cleared your throat. "Here goes then. Wingardium Leviosa!"

Something shifted beside him. A soft fabric drew up against his leg, raising higher and higher, past his head—

"Wait," Ominis spluttered, "is that my satchel?"

"It didn't— oh!" Panic fluttered through you. "No, no, no! Stop, wand! Un-Wingardium Leviosa! Erm, Spellus Stoppus?"

He didn't know how you did it, but even when he told you the right orientation, still you managed to point it the wrong way, the tip facing the bag by his chair, and Professor Ronen had to instruct you on the correct way by using chalk to mark the right end – after he got Ominis' bag down from the ceiling.

There are so many things he still doesn't understand about you.

Weeks into first year, when he'd learnt to adapt to your strange, Muggle quirks, your funny language and unwittingly explosive efforts in other classes, the two of you were doing homework on the lawn with Ominis' Slytherin dormmate, Sebastian Sallow. Sebastian thought you odd, too, but he had more exposure to Muggles than Ominis did – certainly more than the anti-Muggle disdain he received at home – and quickly warmed to your jolly attitude.

"It's strange. My dad hears all the confectionary chatter from America. Apparently this thing called peanut butter is making waves over there now." You grounded the sugar quill with your teeth – Ominis could hear it like a second heartbeat. "Doesn't that sound disgusting?"

"It does," marvelled Sebastian. "Butter and peanuts? What a strange combination."

"I know!" You rolled onto your back – and Ominis caught it again. Your scent. So intrinsically tied to you that every fresh wave made him feel comforted somehow. "You can't just put those two things together!"

"Your soap," Ominis blurted, and the conversation paused so abruptly that his cheeks heated. "What is it? It doesn't smell like anything I know."

"Oh, yes." Your voice was contemplative, sheepish as you pushed up your glasses. "I brought it from home. It reminds me of my family. Smells like our confectionary shop."

That didn't answer the question, and by his expression, you knew it.

"It's strawberry laces! You know? They're strawberry-flavoured, and they look like laces..."

"What in Merlin's name is a strawberry lace?"

"It's a type of candy! They're chewy and sweet!"

"Are they laces for your shoes?"

"No! That's just the shape of them."

Sebastian leant over crinkly parchment. "Do you mean red liquorice?"

"Yes!" You belted it so loud Ominis fell back. "Sorry! Sorry, yes. Red liquorice. That's its proper name."

"Then why didn't you call it red liquorice?"

"... Because it's strawberry laces. That's what we call them. It's my favourite treat."

"But that makes no sense! Why not just call it what it is?"

"Is it a Muggle thing?" Sebastian asked.

"No." A beat. "Maybe?"

Ominis scoffed. "You talk so much nonsense I can barely understand you sometimes."

You spat out your tongue. "Oh yeah, Ominis Gaunt? Mister, I Cast Whoopy-Doopy-Goopy to make your Thingimajig Ringadingdong?"

He spluttered, exasperated. "I don't sound like that! That's— that's just gibberish!"

"... Wait, is gibberish an actual language? Because goblins speak Gobbledegook, so..."

Sebastian howled with laughter. Your naivety was kind of adorable.

"The only one who speaks gibberish here," Ominis said, going back to his wandwork, "is you."

"Hmph!" You enunciated your indignation with such purpose. "Then maybe I'm fluent!"

And you were. You still are.

Neither Ominis nor Sebastian let you live it down, and the effects rippled throughout the first years. Sebastian's sister Anne found you adorably strange and joyfully brazen. Your Hufflepuff housemates enjoyed your humour and shenanigans. Even outside of your mismatched little groups, others in the the year, like Amit Thakkar and Garreth Weasley, thought you were a hoot, the silliest Muggle-born they'd ever met. Gibberish was your native language, and they all agreed. Soon everyone gave you the nickname. At one point it became Gibby. You pouted at each mention at first, but you grew fond of it eventually – then wearing it like a badge of honour. You adopted it, made it your own.

And even into second and third year, when the magical world became more familiar, you were Gibby.

Of course, you were never Gibby when Ominis wrote home. You were never anyone. It didn't take Ravenclaw wisdom to clock that his friendship with you was never considered proper. Pure-bloods, you learnt as quickly as he did, were the superior blood-status, and Muggle-borns the dregs left to rot at the bottom of the scummy barrel. That Mudblood was a slur of the lowest calibre. Ominis was shrewd enough to lie by omission in his letters back home, when his parents demanded to know about his friends and alliances. He simply never mentioned you at all, and all your adventures were given to Sebastian.

That didn't stop them from finding out.

"Who is she?"

Father had marched him to his study, made him sit. Even though a fire roared in the hearth, the place was cold, a slick tar against his skin. Even in the plushest chair, a high-back velvet with curling arms, he was the most uncomfortable he'd ever been. Even though he was blind, he could feel his parents' gaze like the tips of a thousand knives, pressed to the soft flesh of his throat.

"She's— no one."

"Don't lie to me," snapped his father. His mother was silent but complicit, by the way she paced from wood to carpet to wood again. "Edwin Malfoy said his son mentioned you frolicking around the school with some Hufflepuff. A Muggle-born."

There was no way he could deny it. Damn Peregrine Malfoy. They weren't in the same year group at school; why did he have to mention you at all? Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? It had been three years already – what was another four?

Ominis contemplated what to say, urging his fingers to still, his toes to flatten. He could not betray his fear, betray the sudden rising heartbeat, the clamminess of his palms, nor the pure, unadulterated dread that roiled through him.

"It's— it's just Gibby," he forced out as calmly as he could.

"Gibby?" shrilled his mother.

"Not her real name," Ominis said quickly. "It's actually—"

"But she's Muggle-born?" his father demanded.

"Yes, but—"

"Have we taught you nothing, boy? Muggles, and their filthy spawn, are weak. Muggle-born magic is diluted, and therefore they are not worthy to wield it."

His mother was sobbing in the corner, like this extended hand of friendship he'd given to you, this supposed error, was grievous enough to tear a hole through her heart.

"Our bloodline is sacred. We are descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin himself! When you choose to associate with these disgusting Mudbloods," he spat the word, "you are sending a message that these interlopers can take our land, our magic and our privileges. They can encroach on what is rightfully ours. Did you know they used to burn witches? Even though, in every way, we are superior to them?" His father drummed impatient fingers on the marble mantelpiece. Each clack sent more and more terrified shivers down Ominis' spine. "A good thing Noctua went missing. Spending too much time with her addled you. Now we must have a more formal hand in your education."

Ominis didn't know how to respond to that. How could they say that about Aunt Noctua? "What do you—?"

A knock at the door cut through his words – Ominis immediately recognised the knock's low timbre. His older brother. Marvolo. Panic rendered him paralysed.

"Come in," called his father.

Ominis heard his brother's footsteps. Heard the cruelty of his smile.

"Is it time, Father?"

"Yes. Take him downstairs."

Ominis didn't speak. There was no point. Marvolo, of all his older siblings, was the cruellest, an exact replica of their father who despised Muggles and Muggle-borns, despised Noctua, and revered the family name and the bloodline as divine, rather than simply blood and sinew and a surname. His grip on Ominis' shoulder was hard enough to draw blood, curled into the muscle like claws.

They all went downstairs, silent. Ominis had never been to this part of the house before – sometimes, when the moon was highest, when he stowed quietly to the kitchens for a midnight nibble, he heard screaming. At first he thought it his imagination, the night playing tricks on his keen senses.

When he descended into the cellar, he realised for the first time that it was not the night's whims having their fun. The dark, after all, had never been so wicked to him before.

The smell was the first thing that hit him. A strong, tangy scent, coppery and unpleasant. Blood. He couldn't help a sharp intake of breath, which only left the taste on his tongue. The chill was second, as bone-deep as a tundra. By the echo of breath, the ceiling was low and poorly lit, for his father cast a Fire charm at the braziers besides the doorway.

There was a ruffle of cotton. A low murmur. Marvolo's grip ceased, and he roughly shoved Ominis forwards.

"Do you know what's in front of you?"

Tremoring, Ominis reached for his wand. In the time he'd bought it at Ollivander's, it had become something special to him. A way to navigate the castle, yes, but it was much more than that. Almost sentient. It seemed to know how he was feeling and how to react to it, just as it did now, pulsing like a wild heartbeat beneath his fingertips. At eleven he'd been sceptical of the phrase 'the wand chooses the wizard', but now he believed there was truth in it. His wand had shown him that magic was in the air, all around him – all he had to do was draw on it.

He reached out, trying to fit together the scattered pieces of feedback. The ruffles and strangled breaths and scratch-scratch of rope. The cold, as sharp as the ice they used to keep fruit and meat fresh. The overwhelming smell of blood and dirt.

"Is—" He shouldn't have second-guessed himself, not with his family present, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing, smelling, tasting, what he was potentially beholding. "Is that a person trussed up?"

"You missed an important factor," said his father. "This is no person. This is mud."

A Muggle.

The Muggle whimpered. There was some gag around their mouth, and yet Ominis deciphered every note of fear.

"But this is dangerous!" He went to hide his wand, but Marvolo's hand stopped him. "You shouldn't have brought—"

"We can do what we want," Marvolo said. "We're Gaunts, little brother, and this scum before you requires humbling."

Ominis swallowed bile. Perhaps errantly, your voice hummed in his mind then. Your laugh. He imagined hearing it. Imagined it was you tied to the floor.

"No," he said at once. "I won't do it."

"The Cruciatus Curse has been used to subdue our enemies for centuries." Pride flowed through his brother's words. "You should be overjoyed to have this opportunity. Your siblings and I were thrilled with our first Muggles."

They've tortured innocent people before. All his brothers and sisters – they'd all done it.

"But— I can't hurt them. T-They've done nothing wrong to me. They're just—"

"They are worms beneath our boots, and their very existence is an abomination." Marvolo gave him a rough jerk. "I taught you how to use Crucio."

Yes, but Ominis swore it was only for self-defence.

When he didn't reply, Marvolo spoke, "So cast it now, on the Muggle."

Ominis shook his head. Fear and panic ran his mouth dry. "I can't."

"You will, or so help me, boy, you'll be a disgrace to the family," muttered his father. "Cast it."

"No."

"Cast. It."

"I won't."

Marvolo's laugh rang out. "I didn't realise your spine was made of cotton, Ominis."

But Ominis was made of steel in that moment, for he couldn't imagine a better reason to defy his family than for the sake of Muggles and Muggle-borns. For you.

"I won't cast it."

"Then you clearly need some encouragement." And before Ominis could even process what that meant, Marvolo yelled, "Crucio!"

It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Pain, as he understood, was simply a reflex of the body to let the brain know something, somewhere, was wrong. A warning sign to cease whatever behaviour was causing it.

This was pain with no epicentre. There was no singular point that was bowing to the most pressure. This was all-encompassing and never-ending. This was his stomach and chest and heart, his brain and lungs, from the tips of his fingers to the knobs of his shoulders and knees and the ends of his toes. Every part of him, alight, doused in oil and set on fire through the concentrated rays of the sun.

Nowadays he doesn't remember that moment very clearly. The anguish was so great, he must've blacked out once or twice. Marvolo held it for a long time, longer than he needed to ingrain his foul teachings. All Ominis does remember is the pain, so acute that words fail to describe it, even to this day.

And the thought, back then, that his family could cause such pain, tore something inside him he would never be able to stitch back up.

When his brother released the curse, Ominis was curled up on the floor. Something wet lay beneath his cheek. Perhaps sweat. Perhaps spit. Perhaps blood, his own or the Muggle's. Perhaps even piss, for the curse had been too much for his bladder to handle. Every nerve ending on his skin was trembling. He'd let go of his wand somewhere in the room, and even now he couldn't sense it, like the pain had burned a hole where instead should be that bond.

"That is a Gaunt," said his father, pride sugaring his tone. "Your brother didn't hesitate."

Marvolo's voice was warm with mockery. "I have no qualms using the Cruciatus Curse on you, little brother, if it will teach you a valuable lesson."

What lesson could that possibly be? In the dizziness, Ominis couldn't untangle what the crucial moral was. It was a puzzle he couldn't solve, and perhaps never would.

"Would you like me to cast that on you again?"

"No!" Ominis managed to weep. He dribbled as he did, and shame burst through him. "N-No, please."

"Then get up," Marvolo hauled him to his feet, whether he was ready or not, "and cast it on someone who really deserves it."

Ominis is ashamed of the memory that follows. Sometimes he wishes he could alter it, pull it out of his mind like brittle thread and snap it into pieces, but then he wouldn't remember the valuable lesson he did learn that day. That his family were a cruel peoples.

And, as he raised his wand at his victim, that he was cruel now too.

"Crucio!"

Back near the end of third year, Ominis had found you climbing a tree on the school grounds. The wind was high and fretful – like his nerves, hearing you so far up, that carefree giggle carried on the current like bird's wings.

"Is that you, Gibby?"

"Ominis!" you chirruped. "You have to come up. The view is great!"

"I bet it's really swell."

"Sorry, sorry! I mean— oh, just come up! It's amazing, I promise!"

"You know you have a broom, right?" he called up, exasperated. "It's much safer than climbing trees! Where you could fall."

"I know! But this is all I've got back home, so I'd better get used—"

You let out a noise. The tree rumbled. There were four hard knocks that sent terror through him like lightning and a sudden thump on the ground like a knife to the gut. He rushed over to where you were crying out, breathless with pain. He'd never heard such a keening sound before, not in a physical, raw sense, where he could almost feel it himself. Pain that was almost too burdened to bear.

"Ugh, you're so foolish!" He nocked his wand skywards and sent out a flare. Hopefully someone would see it. "What have you hurt?"

You were in too much agony to reply – something had to be broken.

"I'm going to feel you, okay?"

You made a straggled noise he took for consent and pressed a hand to your arm. It came away wet. Blood. A broken and torn arm for certain then. You wheezed, too. Perhaps a broken rib. He pressed gently around, searching for the worst sources of pain through the leaf-ridden folds of your robes and shattered remnants of your glasses, but only when he reached forwards, felt the wetness around your upper lip and cheeks, did he realise you were choking from the blood of a broken nose.

He'd never felt a face before, not anyone outside his family. Yours was smaller than he'd expected. Your presence was so loud, so vivid, he'd expected you to match it physically as well. Even in the state that you were he could smell that sweet soap, and for some reason had the sudden urge to touch the rest of your face, explore how you were made, how the world shaped you.

"I'm going to staunch the bleeding." Instead he dispelled the thoughts and pointed his wand, enunciating as clearly as he could, "Episkey!"

A whip-like crack. You shrieked, but after a moment, your hysteria calmed, and he wiped the blood around your nose with his sleeve.

"I—" Tears filtered your winded voice. "I can't... move... my leg."

"It's probably broken too, like every other bone in your body," he retorted sharply. Good thing he'd had advance tutoring for healing spells. "I told you it was dangerous."

"I know," you bleated.

But his anger dissolved. There was no point rubbing it in your face. Whether he was right, or whether you had come down the tree perfectly well, you would've done it anyway.

"Can you last until someone comes to help?" he mumbled, lowering his tone.

"I can last."

"Good. I'll wait with you."

"Promise I... won't look into the light."

Ominis wrinkled his nose. "A sight joke now? Really?"

"No, no... it's a Muggle saying— never mind." A weighted pause. "Thank you."

He scoffed. "For being right?"

"Yes," you said softly, an admission. "But also... for being my friend."

Madam Blainey hurried over eventually and carted you away, cooing over your injuries, admonishing your actions, and Ominis stayed at your side until you drank every last acrid drop of healing potion, and you were fast asleep in the infirmary wards, at peace.

Even though you were silly, frivolous, an oddball who spoke fluent gibberish, he never wanted you to be in such pain again. He certainly couldn't imagine being the cause of it.

Which is why he swore on that day, after the Muggle had long since collapsed on the cellar floor, after his father and mother and brother delighted in his first successful cast of Crucio, that he would never again cause anyone such agony. Least of all you.

So in fourth year, he did his best to ignore you. To create a wide berth. And to find a way to escape his family.

He hung out more with Sebastian, even though his friend was slowly changing, ambitions growing. Both of them were equally matched in many things, like academics and opinions, and with Anne taking suddenly ill, trapped within the bindings of a unknown curse, Sebastian had his own demons about finding her a cure. They explored more outside – the countryside was huge, after all, and Ominis had always found the place intimidating for someone who couldn't see any of it. They lounged in the Undercroft more often – their own hiding spot to where they could escape the stress of school and home life and the increasingly pressing threat of a goblin rebellion. Mostly, Ominis went there to avoid you.

Sebastian quickly noticed you were missing from these adventures, though. Nothing much escaped his notice, even when his sister's illness consumed him – too shrewd to forget the giant girl-shaped gap in their homework brainstorming sessions, or learning questionable jinxes, or snacking on magical sweets. Ominis eventually confessed to what he'd had to do over summer – and what he would do to keep you safe.

"Very noble of you," Sebastian said, the wide, open walls of the Undercroft echoing his voice. "But you didn't have a choice."

"I did." Ominis shot at the dummy, again and again, to channel his frustration. "I chose to hurt that Muggle. I chose to cause them pain. And I couldn't have done it if I didn't want to."

"What else were you supposed to do then? Let your family hurt you again?"

"I should have! What I did to that Muggle... they're probably dead now..."

"Your family would've killed them regardless."

"That doesn't make it better!"

Sebastian yanked Ominis' shoulder, obliging him to stop, to listen. "You're being ridiculous. Your family forced you to hurt that Muggle. Now you're going to self-destruct an entire friendship because of them?"

Anguished panic stripped his insides raw, but he fought to contain it. "If they'll do that to some random person they found on the street, think what they'll do to her! My family isn't like yours, Sebastian. I can't risk Peregrine Malfoy telling on me. I won't."

Sebastian let out a singular, dark chuckle. "Don't you worry about Pretentious Perry. I'll sort him out." He exhaled, softening. "You ignoring Gibby isn't going to do anything but make you both upset. She's tenacious, and too loyal to us. She's just going to keep demanding an explanation until we give her one."

"Then she's going to be disappointed for a long time. Tell her whatever it takes to keep her away from me."

"You can't—" Sebastian let out a frustrated grunt. "You can't make me the mediator between you two."

Ominis turned back to the dummy. "I'm not asking you to. I don't care if you want to be her friend, but I won't. For her sake."

"Yeah? And what about yours?"

Ominis didn't have an answer for that.

He did manage to avoid you all autumn term. An excruciatingly difficult task, because teachers often paired the two of you together now – your chaos matching Ominis' order perfectly well. But he was cold to you, callous when you pried, outright mean when you demanded. You were as tenacious and loyal as Sebastian warned though. No matter what Ominis said, how rude he was, you never gave in.

Eventually the cold shoulder was all he could give emotionally. He was tired of drawing from the hatred that welled inside him, and turning it on you.

Over Christmas that year, Sebastian invited Ominis to stay with his family in Feldcroft, and Ominis agreed. So did the Gaunts, who knew the Sallows, albeit poor, to be a well-bred family, though perhaps less aware of Sebastian's more radical opinions on Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was good to see Anne, too – even sick, weak, body breaking down piece by piece by the curse, she was spirited and stubborn and filled the feminine void that was missing between him and Sebastian.

But she wasn't you. She could never replace you.

"Have you heard from Gibby?" she asked on one of her good days, when Solomon Sallow was mucking out the horses. She was tucked in bed still, wrapped in thick cloths and furs whilst the boys played Gobstones by the foot of her bed. "I miss her enthusiasm for Muggle sweets."

Before Ominis could speak, Sebastian declared, pouring on the smarminess, "They're not talking anymore."

"Oh?" Her curiosity was directed at Ominis. "Why?"

"We fell out," Ominis said through a clenched jaw, hoping his tone was enough to quiet Sebastian. "Nothing else to it."

"You and Gibby? Falling out? What did you do wrong?"

"Why do you assume it's my fault?"

"Because Gibby would sooner stake her own heart than argue with you."

Neither twin pressed, so Ominis didn't answer. Later that week, however, her prodding questions changed to sympathetic disagreement, and he suspected Sebastian gave her enough information to infer his reasoning. Unfortunately, Anne's thoughts on the matter aligned with her brother's, and though she frequently tried to convince Ominis of this fact, most of the time he couldn't stand to listen to it, and he simply walked out of the house.

She would never understand his decision. They did not have his family.

When Ominis returned to Hogwarts for the spring term, however, knowing Anne was partly right about leaving you in this middling state, he resolved no longer to hide behind feeble excuses. Sebastian was slowly seeking solace in the Dark Arts, something Ominis rejected vehemently, but even then there was safety with Sebastian's status that there never was for you.

He had to protect you by any means necessary. That meant it was time to end the friendship for good.

So it wasn't surprising when, on the first day back, he entered the Undercroft and found you standing there.

"Colloportus!"

The lock behind him clicked, the grille sealing shut. This infuriated him to no end – four years and your naivety still preceded you.

"You know I can cast Alohomora—?"

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand flew from his grasp, clattering somewhere to his left.

"That was excessive."

"Was it?" you challenged, coming up to him. Strawberry laces. "You've had the whole of Christmas to think about what a meater you've been, and I'm not going to let you start the silent treatment again."

Meater. Context was a useful thing at filling in Muggle-vocabulary-shaped gaps.

"How did you find this place?" he asked.

"I followed you, last term, when you were not talking to me."

"Why don't, for once, Gibby," he snarled, "you mind your own business?"

"You are my business!" you yelled – and there it was, the first inkling of pain. "Last year you were my best friend. You and Sebastian, and Anne too. Now she's sick and I haven't seen her in months, you refuse to talk to me and Sebastian won't tell me why!"

Ominis pushed out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Sebastian had done a terrible job at warding you away. Yes, you had spent more time with other people in your year, like Adelaide and Evangeline and Arthur, and Garreth, Leander and Cressida and even the new girl, Natsai Onai. But still you crawled back to him.

"Like I said, it's not your business."

"I'm not accepting that answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting."

"Is it me?" you flung out. "Did I say something wrong? Did you get fed up with me copying your homework? Or showing Natty around? I know you pretend to despise everyone in that house. Or maybe it's personal? Have I been annoying? Do I smell bad?"

You never smell bad. He opened his hand. "Give my wand back, Gibby."

To your credit, when he asked for the thing that helped him make sense of the world, you retrieved it, no resistance, and placed it into his waiting palm. The brief touch sent a pleasant, unwanted current tingling through his skin.

"Is it family?"

Ominis snatched his hand away. "No."

"It is. It must be. You stayed at Feldcroft all Christmas." You softened. "You know you can tell me anything—"

"Butt out, Gibby."

"Ominis—"

"No. Listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once. I'm tired of picking up the pieces after you. I'm tired of your clumsiness and your stupidity. I'm tired of holding your hand and coddling you. This world is cruel, and since you haven't learnt it yet, maybe you will now. You don't need me, and I certainly don't need you. So leave me alone." Then the word slipped out, unbidden. "Mudblood."

Your gasp was drawn out, a long inhale that sucked all the light over an arid horizon. Ominis immediately regretted it. He'd caused that Muggle physical pain, he'd been a silent bystander as you fell off that tree in third year, but emotional pain, the crossing of a line that could never be turned back upon, the shattering of your heart into pieces no spell could mend... that was worse than any Cruciatus Curse.

"T-Take that back," you demanded, holding back a sob. "Y-You take that b-back, right now!"

He didn't. All he did was turn around and cast the Unlocking charm. The grille lifted.

You sniffled. Tears splattered onto the stone. In that moment, your sweetness had been stolen, your brightness dimmed. All because of him.

"You're a beast, Ominis Gaunt," you yelled as the lift churned into motion. "I wish I'd never met you!"

And he left you there, knowing you were right.

[NEXT] [Amazing art by Giselann, Divider credit]

[devilcatdarling]

If there was no one else who would make the vessel atone for its sins, then it would do so itself