#this shift was very weird and made no sense

[raleighrador]

This is a post that occasionally blazes like neon in my memory.

This is both a very interesting perspective shift - that I think I would be challenging to write and fun to read - but it also (to my mind) illustrates something fascinating about a lot of fanon portrayals of the Jedi.

Many “pro” Jedi stories and posts (by which I mean the loosely homogenous set of ideas that posits the Jedi were not in need of serious reform, mostly did everything ok/well, and that Anakin specifically just didn’t quite get what they were putting down) play with the idea of “found family”. Many stories linger on how Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had a father/son dynamic and hence the intensity of their feelings.

A lot of these stories use this lens of “family” to illustrate the best aspects of the Jedi.

What OP illustrates - and what I think a lot of “pro” Jedi and Jedi “critical” posters and writers miss when they speak past each other - is that the entire frame of reference of “family”, “parent”, “sibling” would be almost entirely foreign and alien and inexplicable to the Jedi. By design. By careful maintenance of their internal culture.

Anakin cast his relationships in familial terms because he - like almost every person in history - understood family as the basic building block, the essential language, of relationships. Obi-Wan mimicked that out of affection for Anakin, used language he knew Anakin would understand even if he himself did not, but I highly doubt he ever even thought about “brother” or “father” as a category until he met and started raising Anakin.

And none of the other Jedi did either.

Can you imagine how weird that is? How genuinely alien? It runs counter to the most basic instincts of humans, almost all mammals, and many other animals.

Writers projecting “found family” dynamics should do so and enjoy them and I’m happy for you because this is all made up mental Lego that we can play with as we choose.

But you are (in my mind) totally misunderstanding what the Jedi are and just how alien (in the literary as opposed to literal sense) their culture is.

Even people who seem to be most positive about the Jedi are only able to do so by recasting them in terms that we - humans in the real world - understand but that would be totally lost on the Jedi themselves.

tired of jedi characters comparing their relationship to their master with a parent-child dynamic. they dont KNOW that dynamic!

give me more jedi comparing a non-jedi's familial relationship to that of an apprentice and a master - at least that would make sense!

jedi going "yeah, an adult who guides and protects you and you're supposed to listen to them? yeah thats a master- oh, your mom is like that too? neat :)"

more jedi not really understanding non-jedi family dynamics. more jedi being horrified at the concept of someone being rejected or mistreated by their parent, because "why did they choose to have you then???"

there's a lot of interesting parallels between master-padawan dynamics and parental/familial dynamics. i just want to see more of the comparison going the other way.

[gem-de-lune]

Daily Vibe Check 11/11

Some of yall were saying that 1111 seems very special, and I agree after doing this read today!

Seunghan

Knight of Pentacles

Today it seems as though he is being very patient. Honestly this energy is very...different than usual. Leading me to believe he has been in direct contact with something that has solidified such a perspective. The Knight of Chalices tried to come out while I thought about this. I will revisit this later.

But generally, these are good vibes, and a sign of hard work and endurance. He is willing to wait for good results and feels good about how he is approaching the situation.

Sungchan

Ace of Wands

With the Ace of wands I believe he is very excited for something. This card came out quickly before I even asked him what's up lmao. Just by saying his name it flew out. This adds to that sentiment. I think there has been some news delivered to them because as you may notice while I go through the members, he energy has shifted slightly as they are a lot less "accepting passive waiting" and more so dreaming, excitement, satisfaction. This stands true for Sungchan. He is actively throwing himself into this news or new endeavor. Generally good vibes today.

Anton

Knave of Wands

This has a similar vibe to Sungchan, except he seems to be a bit weary over getting too excited. Still, this is very naiively active and exciteable energy. The Knave here symbolizes a lot of thrill to the situation. There may be fun sides as well, but Anton seems to have some anxiety, or maybe he is distrustful of the messemger sending the good news. Either way, the energy is still generally good. He is just anxious.

Eunseok

Knight of Chalices

Lol so here with the Knight of Chalices, I had mentioned earlier that this tried to come out during my pull for Seunghan as well. This, to me, indicates that Eunseok and Seunghan may be interacting closely today and on the same wavelength. It seems they are bringing something to the table for each other that is much needed; being supportive physically and emotionally.

Focusing on Eunseok, today is very good energy for him. He is feeling a lot more expressive and open and able to relax a lot more than he may normally. At the same time, he is very pointedly not alone in doing that. Both his and Seunghan's cards are also knights. I really do think they are in direct, prolonged contact.

Wonbin

5 of Swords

This was a little weird. It seems that Wonbin feels very thrilled about something himself, but is acknowledging that others may not feel the same and is concerned about this a little bit- more so annoyed than actually feeling bad. The vibe is like "lol get over it" but it's a clear bitter acknowledgment. This is the first time he has really been particularly bitter towards any party while I read for him. I pulled the 9 of Pentacles while thinking over this and confirming this was how he felt (which i did not keep and will discuss later) and then 6 of Wands (victory) when revisiting to finalize the take. He is feeling victorious and laughing at the people against him right now. Good vibes, lmao.

Shotaro

4 of Chalices

To me, it made sense why Shotaro went when he went in this order because it makes his card make a lot more sense. I think that everyone is desperate for the good news, for a resolution. I think that Shotaro is really not satisfied with this. I don't see this in a harsh way, but in a semi playful or maybe sarcastic way. Kind of like, "And why couldn't you do this before??" He is not acknowledging any effort being put in to relay whatever news was received. And/or he may not even be satisfied enough with the content altogether. Is he feeling not good? No. He is just annoyed.

Sohee

9 of Pentacles

So, going back to Wonbin- I also pulled this card when clarifying if he really felt that way before. Since Sohee got this card, I think they are sharing very similar feelings today. Sohee is very satisfied with something/some news received, and if feeling like he can finally sit down and breathe without going crazy. He feels as though things are falling into place.

Bottom of deck:

The World

Very very strong vibes here. The end of a cycle and the beginning of the new. The energy surrounding them all right now is seriously giving "flipping to the next chapter".

I also want to note the fact that I kept on seeing the Chariot (7) card every time I split the deck to bridge shuffle.....👀👀

Final Notes:

This "good news" i spoke of seems to be something that is a good omen. But to be very clear, this news was not something that was 100% the outcome, the verdict, nor what was to happen. In simple terms, it's like if you are writing a paper and turn it in to peer review and everyone tells you great news that it's looking really good. That doesn't mean your professor will find it very good, too. It just means that there are some active things working in your favor.

So here, it seems there are some things that SM has expressed to the members that have lifted their spirits. Some take this at face value with caution, and others are taking it as positovely as possible. But this is not the end all be all. It is just the beginning and a good sign.

Please continue to boycott as usual and support Seunghan.

[zahri-melitor]

Finished Batman: The Knight.

Oh my god is this a good comic. It very much reminded me that Zdarsky and I are on very similar wavelengths in terms of what we look for in a story. This felt like, no joke, someone had picked my brain of what I expected to see and had envisioned existed during the events of Bruce's training quest, and presented it to me on a platter, divided between 9 separate masters, each chosen and elaborated out of various hints and suggestions over the years.

It wasn't perfect; some of these mentors and masters were in effect standing in as a summary of multiple known characters with these skillsets, while others altered and shifted earlier versions of this history to fit better. But it made for a coherent update, and cleaned up a lot of pre-Crisis and early post-Crisis conception of this period that no longer fitted together as neatly, and sorted out the timings, and made it make sense.

For instance, we know there are multiple single blow techniques, from various secret masters. Shiva knows most if not all of them, and we know of several different masters and traditions who have them (O-Sensei, Richard Dragon and Ben Turner: the Leopard Blow; Legless Master: the Whispering Hand; Master Kirigi: the Vibrating Palm Strike). Shiva also knows The Scapel, The Wind Through the Reeds, The Lion's Paw, Wave and Shore, and the Skullcrack.

But Bruce doesn't need to learn all of those in the course of this story. He needs to learn one, as a representation of that period of his education. And so Master Kirigi got pulled forward to be the representative of the set.

We got more Henri Ducard, and a Ducard that was back to his pre-Flashpoint version. We had Giovanni Zatara and Zatanna. We had Lucie as a stand in for Selina's teachers. We actually got two teachers in the realms of 'stupid shit Bruce has done to his brain': but in this case we got to offset Hugo Strange (who could not trick Bruce, and who must always fundamentally know who Bruce is even as nobody believes him) with Daniel Captio, who is allowed to train Bruce in weird mental techniques and stands in for everyone else (Professor Milo. Dr Hurt. Whoever convinced him to do the Thögal Ritual. Etc etc)

It was elegant. And I don't think it needed any more of Ra's and Talia in it than it had; indeed what we got was a tight compression of some Denny O'Neil and some Mike Barr Ra's story themes into the underlying fundamental origin of the relationship, but not a full discussion of all its features. There are so many more stories out there further elaborating on their many conflicts.

Also Zdarsky does love Tim so much and had fun with parallels and I laughed several times in issue 10 because apparently we were playing Like Father Like Son. Love some good family theming going on in Al Ghul conflict.

It's just been such a while since I had the experience of sitting down and reading a story that in many ways felt like something I had already believed, but had never seen spelled out, and knew that how I wanted it to go in my head contradicted some known comics beats. This smoothed those contradictions out and gave me how I had wanted to conceptualise all of this.

[callistocalavarni]

shifting to the 60s

hii I havent posted in a while, I've been trying re group from multiple shifts while getting my life back in order but I think I'm back.. Anyway I have a bunch of stories from so many places I'd like to share and im currently working on how I want to post them. But I don't see a lot of storytimes so I think it would be fun to share some. So i'm gonna rant about some shorter ones here.

shifting with sleep paralysis

I wanted to talk about this shift because it stuck out to me and I can't stop thinking about it.. I had shifted about 2 times in the span of 30 seconds. For a whole week back in October I was waking up at 3-5 am in the morning without being able to go back to sleep. So as you can guess I woke up at around 4 am and was restless. At around 6 am I got tired again so I started my method and I know people say that symptoms don't exist but in the time that I have shifted all I can say is that I disagree.. Anyway, one moment I was saying affimations and then the next I woke up all tingly and in a weird sleep state I've never been in before. I didn't even say to myself I wanted to shift I just did. It was like my mind was on autopilot. Didn't say affimations, didn't go through my script in my head, didn't even try to use the 5 senses. I just started seeing myself in 1st person and what I would be doing in my dr without any forethought and shifted. The first shift, I was on a track running with a couple of men and we all were wearing 60s running wear. I had an orange and red tank top with matching orange shorts. It had felt like there was an orange filter in this reality.. if that makes sense. I was on the track about to run and I just recall looking around laughing.

When I shifted to this moment its like I felt my consciousness leave my body; Which is the weird part because I've never really experinced this before. It felt like I was being pulled up by something and all I could hear was constant noise. I don't even know what noise I was hearing it was like someone was screaming right in my ear or veryyy loud ringing/static. The noise was SO loud. I was in the middle of sprinting when I shifted back because I thought I was the one making the noise, I thought I was screaming..Thankfully it was not me. But When I came back I was still In that state and I could look around me but my eyes were still closed. It's like I was seeing everything from a different perspective. There was a spider crawling on my wall right next to me when I shifted back so I freaked out and the noise got even louder ! The spider was leaving black spots all over my wall,, I could not figure out what was going on in the moment ( when I was writing this in my journal I figured out it was sleep paralysis ) It felt like I was tripping on a bunch of pain killers when I shifted back. I still couldn't move so I shifted again to the same reality but this time I was in the shower... the noise got even louder. The noise made it feel like a bad trip and I ended up shifting back here to try and stop it. It took my like an hour to get out of sleep paralysis. Unlike the method, this reality was very enyjoyable. It felt like a Nina Brodskyaya song, I lived alone and I was successful. I think I worked at a cigarette company, which is ironic because I hate smoking. But I don't know for sure as I didn't stay long enough to find out.

Lumari is a country I scripted, Forlina being one of its nations.

This reality was late 70's early 80's and one of my favorite drs. I stayed here for about a year. I was in Forlina living in an all girls home. Forlina gives free housing to students so I moved out of my parents house to start collage. About six girls are given a room to share together, don't worry they are pretty big. I loved our room. It had big sliding windows that gave a view of the tropical forest. We each had sunken in beds, some girls who were home sick shared beds for a couple of weeks. It took me a while to get use to the amount of noise in the morning. There was this one girl who would blast music on the radio while getting ready. I only had to worry about this sometimes because I woke up pretty early. Art was one of my classes and the professer would make the class times either 7 am or 9 pm which also took me some time to get use to. idk the guy was kind of weird. I rode my bike everywhere here. I miss being able to ride down a bike trail and see the ocean. I've been thinking about shifting back here for some time. I might post more about this reality in more detail later.

<3

[algumaideia]

Frank in son: Nico is a little weird but he is a nice guy and a good brother to Hazel.

Frank in after Nico is rescued from the jar after living a lot of extremely traumatic experiences: He is so creepy, I cannot stand being near to him, ugh he makes me shiver.

[brionysea]

if mike was straight, stranger things would've ended after season 2

[tomatoluvr69]

What’s up tumblr hope you had a super fun leap day. sparkle on. big news my first seed start sprouted while I was at work ✨

[natsmagi]

hi again

[houseofwolvess]

trauma is fucking weird. why did i panic because the room got too cold

[shiegra]

super brief thoughts on Li Su Su

I feel like I ragged a little on her in the last post and I want to clarify - I find both her book and show counterparts fascinating. While I do love the uneasy-frenemy banter in the books between Li Su Su and Tantai Jin, where they always know the other is up to something and all their repartee has the edge of a knife even as they grow to have a strange understanding and twisted fascination of the other deeper than anyone else’s -

The narrative as it stood, this serial oft-travelogue in that subgenre of batshit action and over the top characters, would have been harder to sell on screen. I think they made an excellent choice to focus on Tantai Jin as a more complex, nuanced character and build up his personal journey. While the webnovel’s fast pace and action could carry the roadtrip adventures as they meandered back to main plot, both budget and the need for consistent overarching story structure complicate that for show.

(I also think this politely avoided some incredibly Unfortunate Implications regarding people with antisocial personality disorders due to the in-your-face allegory lol.)

In doing so they had to change up her character, and possibly played it safe due to genre conventions leaned into her directness to keep the plot moving. (Given the care and energy with which they fleshed out the two biggest secondary female characters.) But it’s also fascinating to me because even her lighter show characterization feels like it’s calling back to book characterization - but book characterization from the second dream, of her younger mischievous fairy self before the weight of apocalypse crushed her into what she is in the opening of the book.

(Plus on just a personal level maybe partly due to early fandoms I had and neglected female characters there, female characters with somewhat messy writing but who are so fascinating to explore the implications and potential layers of are like catnip to me.)

[incognit0slut]

Pretty bunny

PART 1 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Sub!Spencer x Playboy Bunny!Reader Spencer doesn’t know what to do when he recognizes you from his favorite adult magazine.

Content: (18+) 3k, boobjob, male oral, public space, and Spencer being insecure of his size but we love him just the way he is, right? a/n: "WE LOVE PRINCE CHARMING REID!" We say in unison while we hold hands and continue to chant over and over again

Issue number: 662. Date: June 2009. Centerfold, pages 36 through 42, draped in nothing but the iconic bunny ears.

Spencer shook his head. No. There was no way it could be you. There was no way the same Playboy bunny he had masturbated to was casually picking up a book in this quiet library. But there was something unmistakable about you. The familiar curve of your back, the subtle sway of your hips, the way your ass rounded perfectly as you reached further down the bottom shelf.

His pants tightened uncomfortably.

It really was you.

Dear god, what were the chances? Spencer had only come to this library on a whim. It was supposed to be a simple day—run a few errands on his free day, pick up groceries, maybe find a new book to keep himself occupied. But what he didn’t expect was to come face-to-face with the very woman he had spent far too many nights thinking about. The same woman whose body he knew too well, even if you didn’t know him at all.

He shifted nervously, trying to focus on anything else—the books, the shelves, the smell of old pages—but his eyes drifted back to you. His gaze lingered on the neckline of your blouse dipping low as you bent further, revealing the soft curve of your breasts.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip.

“Can I help you?”

Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he noticed you staring at him.

“No,” he rushed out, the word falling through his lips like autopilot. "I was, uh, looking for a book."

Your brow raised slightly. “I didn’t know I was part of the collection.”

He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, and he looked away, trying to think of a response that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“No, no, that’s not—of course you’re not… I—” He stopped, realizing he was only digging himself into a deeper hole. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You straightened up, and he took in a sharp breath when your hips shifted slightly, brushing against the shelf as you moved.

“I wouldn’t say uncomfortable. Curious, maybe.” You crossed your arms. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who goes around staring at women in libraries.”

“I don’t,” he blurted out, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended. The way your crossed arms subtly pushed up your breasts only made it harder for him not to gawk at your chest. His gaze briefly flickered downward before snapping back to your face.

“I don’t,” he repeated in a voice he hoped sounded more confident than he felt. “You look… familiar.”

“Familiar? Have we met before?”

Of course not. Well, to you at least. He, on the other hand, had seen you more times than he could count. In photos, in dreams, in moments he’d rather not admit. “I… might have seen you in passing.” It was the truth. Sort of. “I didn’t expect to see you in a library.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I guess I don’t seem like the reading type to you, do I?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I just didn’t expect to run into someone like you here.”

“Someone like me?”

"You know, someone who’s, uh, famous.”

He instantly winced when the words tumbled out, regretting how awkward and clumsy it sounded.​

“Ah,” you said with a knowing smile. “So you do recognize me.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes darting to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but directly at you. “I… yes, I do. And I’m sorry,” he added, his second apology in less than five minutes. “I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

Your smile deepened, clearly enjoying his discomfort, but not in a cruel way—more in the sense that you found his awkwardness oddly charming. “It’s fine, I’m actually used to it,” you told him, uncrossing your arms. “And I don’t mind being recognized by someone as cute as you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “…cute?”

“Adorable,” you emphasized. “What’s your name?”

You called him cute. Cute.

What was his name again?

Oh. Right.

“Spencer.” He cleared his throat nervously. "I’m... Spencer."

“Spencer,” you repeated, and he could hear the way your voice softened, almost breathless, like you were savoring the sound of his name as it slipped from your lips. “It suits you.”

His tongue swiped along his bottom lip. “It does?”

“Mm-hmm. It has a nice ring to it.” Your eyes flickered down to his mouth for a split second before meeting his gaze again. "Strong, but gentle. You seem like the type of guy with those traits."

Spencer felt a wave of heat run through him. “I—I wouldn’t say that...”

“Well you are,” you continued, leaning in just slightly. “You seem gentle, but there’s more to you, isn’t there?”

“I… I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

"Oh, come on," you said with a teasing grin, your eyes flickering over his features as if trying to read the depths of his thoughts. "You've got that sweet, quiet thing going on. Like you're trying to be all polite and proper... but there's something else, isn't there?"

His eyes darted at the edge of the bookshelf. “No. I’m just… me.”

"Just you? Somehow, I don't believe that. I think there's a side to you that doesn't come out very often. Maybe you're not so innocent as you let on. Or maybe..." Your voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe you're not as gentle as you seem."

There was a flicker of panic in his eyes as he tried to laugh off your words, the sound coming out strained and awkward.

“I’m really not that…”

But you didn’t let him finish. You leaned in closer, just enough that he could feel the heat of your body, your breasts brushing lightly against his chest.

“Not that what?” you pressed. “Not that innocent, or not that gentle?”

His pulse pounded visibly at his throat. “I... don’t know what you mean,” he said, but you could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

“I think you do,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing just barely against his. You watched as he stiffened, his shoulders momentarily tensing as if the slightest touch sent a shock through his whole body. You smiled, leaning in just a fraction closer. “I like you.”

You felt his breath hit your face as he let out a strangled sound, almost a gasp, and the warmth of it urged you on. Your hand gently found its way to his arm, fingers tracing a path down to his wrist.

“And I think,” you continued, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You might like me too.”

Spencer couldn’t find the words to respond, he couldn’t even breathe properly. How could he when your sweet scent filled his senses? How could he when he had imagined what it might be like to touch you, to have you this close, and now it was real?

He took a deep, calming breath to steady himself, but his heart was pounding violently against his ribcage, and his mouth had gone completely dry. Your fingers trailed down his arm, lingering for a moment before slipping under his hand to guide it firmly to your waist.

He was sure he could combust right on the spot.

“Tell me something, Spencer,” you murmured. “Did you like my pictures? The ones in the magazine?”

He tenses under your touch. His pupils dilated even further, his grip tightening on your waist involuntarily.

“I—uh,” he breathed out, his voice almost breaking, eyes darting away as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze. But you didn’t let him retreat. You shifted slightly, pressing your soft breasts more firmly against his chest. His gaze flickered back to your cleavage.

“Come on, I bet you did. I bet you… enjoyed them.” You let the implication linger. “Didn’t you?

His eyes fluttered close. Enjoyed felt too innocent for what he'd felt, what he'd done. He didn't just enjoy those photos—he devoured them. He touched himself, imagining you sprawled in front of him in that same pose. He fantasized about you, dreamt of your pretty face, the sultry look in your eyes, the way those cute bunny ears framed your hair but left everything else bare.

He grew even more painfully hard at the thought, and you could feel his his arousal pressed against your hip. A soft laugh escaped your lips.

"Spencer,” you cooed, his name rolling off your tongue effortlessly. "What ever are you thinking?"

He tried to shift away.

“I-I’m not—” he started, but every word he tried to speak died on his lips the moment your hand brushed against his stomach. He felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“You’re not?” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles clenched under your touch, before drifting even lower. “Because it seems like you've got something on your mind. Or..."

Your fingers passed over his belt buckle, grazing the edge of his waistband.

“Somewhere..."

You hovered over his bulge.

“…else."

Without hesitation, you palmed his erection, feeling the full hardness straining against the fabric. He sucked in a sharp breath. “W-What are you—”

You brought your lips to the shell of his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin. “I think you know what I'm doing."

Spencer's eyes glanced to the side, as if anyone might appear around the corner at any second, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when your hand was moving slowly along his length.

“We… we can’t,” he managed to choke out. “Someone could—could see us."

“Hmm? Should I stop then?” You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Do you want me to stop, Spencer?”

The hesitation in his eyes was unmistakable, but so was the desperation. Brown orbs stared helplessly back at you. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes when every part of him screamed no. So he opted for silence, hoping that his lack of protest would tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.

You understood him clearly, so you pressed your hand more firmly on his bulge, fingers teasing the sensitive outline through his pants. The shape of him grew even more defined as you moved slowly, teasingly, with just enough pressure to make him gasp.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

His grip on your waist tightened.

“Y-yes,” he managed to breathe out, eyes half-closed as he gave himself over to the sensation.

"I bet I can make you feel even better.”

Without breaking eye contact, you began to sink slowly to your knees, hands sliding down his body. You let your fingers trace down his hips as you came face to face with the unmistakable outline of his arousal, your gaze still locked on his as a smirk danced on your lips.

An IQ of 187 was hardly enough to process what was happening now. Every neuron in his brain fired wildly, trying to make sense of the rush of sensations, the heat of your touch, the intensity in your eyes.

How was this even real?

You let your lips hover for a moment, teasing him with the anticipation before you pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his cock. He let out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” you whispered soothingly, your fingers working at the straps of his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle was faint as you loosened it, pulling it free with a soft hiss of leather. “We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Your fingers brushed against his waistband, eyes looking up at him all doe-eyed, wide and innocent, though everything about your touch was far from it.

He was going crazy. You looked so sexy, so pretty, yet so impossibly cute in that moment, like the very picture of temptation wrapped in innocence. His mind couldn’t help but flicker back to those pictures—the pictures—where you wore nothing but those bunny ears, your gaze so similar to the one you were giving him now.

He watched as you slowly peeled down the fabric, and found himself holding his breath. The cool air met his hot skin as his cock sprang free, and for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

Because Spencer knew he was different. He wasn’t like the other men you’d surely encountered, who knew their way around a woman like you, who were confident, who didn’t hesitate. And then there was the matter of size. He couldn’t help the thoughts rushing through his mind, wondering if you’d find him lacking, if he measured up to whatever experiences had shaped you into the woman that knelt before him now.

But a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you wrapped your hand around his cock.

“You’re so…” You let out a small, appreciative laugh, your thumb brushing over his tip. “God, everything about you is cute, isn’t it?”

Spencer struggled to steady his breath, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as your touch made it impossible to think clearly. You leaned closer, eyes still locked on his, and your tongue darted out to give a teasing kitten-lick along the base of his cock.

“Not too big,” you teased, dragging your tongue up the underside, tracing every ridge.

“Not too small…”

You let your tongue travel upward until you reached the tip, where you sucked gently, swirling your tongue around him in circles that had his legs shaking.

“You’ll fit perfectly.”

A pained groan fell through his lips. “Fit… where?”

You let go with a wet pop, his cock twitching as the cool air replaced the warmth of your mouth. Holding his gaze, you let your fingers move to your blouse, slowly undoing the buttons one by one. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you staring.”

Then in one sudden, fluid motion, you tugged your bra down, letting your breasts spill free. The movement made them bounce slightly, the soft curve of your flesh catching the light, and Spencer’s eyes went wide.

His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out, just a strangled groan as his cock twitched visibly. The sight of you was too much for him to bear. He couldn’t decide where to look, his gaze flickering between your breasts and your face, like he was afraid to miss a single second of this moment. He followed your movement with wide, hungry eyes as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your chest.

“See?” you teased, pressing his length firmly between the soft, warm flesh of your breasts. “Perfect fit.”

His pupils dilated with full-blown lust as you started to move, slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your warm, soft flesh sliding around his cock. You squeezed your breasts tighter together, the pressure creating a delicious friction that had him biting back a groan, his eyes glued to the way he disappeared and reappeared between your curves.

Up. Down. Up. Down. The head of his cock glistened as it emerged at the top again, only to slide back down into your cleavage, leaving a hot, wet trail along your skin.

“God… oh god,” Spencer choked out, his voice strained as his hips bucked slightly with each thrust. His eyes squeezed shut briefly, only to flutter back open as if afraid to miss a second of what was happening. His mind was a mess of disjointed thoughts, desperately trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before him. But all rationality was drowned out by the way you moved, the soft squeeze of your breasts around him, and the warm, slick glide of your sweat-kissed skin against his length.

He felt himself spiraling, the pleasure climbing higher, and all he could think was how good you looked, how perfect it felt, and how badly he wanted to paint his cum all over your face.

“Look at you all worked up.” You leaned forward slightly, letting the tip of his cock brush against your lips as it emerged, just the barest whisper of a touch. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

His fingers dug even deeper into the shelf, nails scraping against the wood. His voice was raw, almost desperate, as he let out a strained, “Please.”

With a satisfied smile, you lowered your head just enough to let your tongue flick out, circling around the head of his cock as it emerged from between your breasts, tasting the salty-sweet bead of arousal that had formed there. His hips slammed forward.

“Mm,” you hummed softly. “You wanna use me now, Spencer? Is that what you want?”

His grip on the shelf finally faltered, and you could hear the whimper in his throat, the way he bit down on his lip to keep from making a sound that would echo in the library. “Yes,” he gasped. “Please, I… I need to…”

“Go on,” you coaxed him, squeezing your breasts tighter around his length. “If you want it, take it. Use me.”

The moment those words left your lips, his hips jerked forward. The movement was sharp, desperate, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He fucked himself into the tight, slick warmth of your breasts. He stammered incoherently, half-formed words falling from his lips, barely audible over the sounds of his ragged breaths and muffled whimpers.

“Please, I—I can’t… I can’t—oh god…”

He finally snapped, his body trembling violently as the sensation ripped through him, the pressure too intense, too overwhelming. His hips bucked wildly, thrusting desperately into the warmth of your body, lost in the heat, in the wetness, in the need to let go completely—

And then, everything vanished in an instant.

He jolted awake, eyes snapping open, his chest heaving as he took in his surroundings. No longer surrounded by warmth, no longer on the brink of release. Just the quiet stillness of his bedroom, sweat beading on his forehead, heart pounding in his chest, sheets tangled around his body… and the magazine lay open beside him, your image staring back at him mockingly.

Bunny ears perched on your head, delicate breasts spilling over, legs spread wide apart.

It took a few seconds for Spencer to catch his breath. He glanced down at himself, his eyes trailing to his painfully hard arousal, noticing the wetness seeping through his boxers and sticking to his skin. The rush of disappointment and adrenaline twisted sharply in his chest as reality hit him.

It was just a dream.

An embarrassing, all-consuming, impossible dream.

[nezuscribe]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 12.6k

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

part two

slytherin!gojo masterlist + jjk masterlist

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

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

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

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

And you loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You momentarily caught her eyes.

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

You loved Hogwarts. Most of the time. 

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

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

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

But the Slytherin house seemed…forbidden. 

At least for you, anyways. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This can’t possibly be happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mudblood  

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You try to hide your surprise. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid, you repeated in your head. 

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

“You’re leaving?” 

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

You note his green quidditch robes and muddy boots. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t do much talking, you decide. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“Can I see what you’ve written?” 

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

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

Wordlessly, you pass it over to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked, eyes narrowing. 

“...and?” 

Your head tilted to the side, confused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, playing with your fingers. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What if the libraries closed?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo snorted, rolling his eyes at the prospect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saturday’s the quidditch game?”. 

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

“…and?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Right…so I’ll be here.” 

Now it was his turn to blink slowly. 

Was this really that hard to understand?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything alright?” You asked. 

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

—

Transfiguration the next day went by oddly silent. 

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head. 

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

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

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

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

Strange. 

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

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

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

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

“Eight. Be there.” 

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost trip. 

And you need to learn quidditch.

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

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

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

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

Which could only mean that…? 

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

“We’re going…up?” 

He snorts, nodding as he ushers you to move. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, following along. 

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

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

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

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

“All that’s left is the seeker-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, his brow raised even further. 

“You know him?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

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

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

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

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

But none of that mattered now, not that you-

“Where are you going?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does he care? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo looks different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s there?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

(part two)

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

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 04 - Nipple Sucking]

Pairing: Brat to Good Boy!Jungkook x Mommy Domme!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU

Kinks: nipple sucking, breast worship, thigh grinding, clothed sex, vaginal fingering, cumming in his pants, subby boy tears, drool, he accidentally bruises her nipple from being too eager, he is a lil brat at the beginning and bites her nipples jfsdjf, masochist!Jungkook, tongue spanking, hair pulling, subspace, cuddling & praises for aftercare

Wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: this is inspired by anonie’s idea this was actually not planned to be included in kinktober at first but i suddenly felt the unbearable urge to write this and so i did <3 have fun besties i’m a whore for him

You and Jungkook have been arguing. It wasn’t a terrible fight, nor a very burdening one, but it was still a fight. You say that Jungkook was in your magic kitchen and messed up the papers on your desk, while he insists that it wasn’t him. You know for a fact however that it was him and that he is being stubborn. You know because you noticed the ink stain on his shirt from accidentally dunking it into your inkpot. 

“I don’t understand why you want to keep up this stubborn farce.” 

“It’s not a farce, it’s fact. I didn’t mess up your papers.”

“So you were in my magic kitchen?” 

“Ye- No? No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“Mhm sure and I’m the queen of the moon.” 

Jungkook huffs out air, pouting. 

“Even if I was, theoretically, it doesn’t mean I was the one who messed up your papers. Maybe they were already messed up when I got there.” 

“We’ve been over this, Kookie. How the hell did the ink stain get on your shirt then?” 

“It’s from the love letters I was writing to you.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you. Flirting isn’t gonna work right now”, you say, but chuckle.

Jungkook grins boyishly, closing the distance between you and him.

“What’s a few papers anyway, right?” he says, fluttering his lashes at you.

“No, no stay away, you stubborn walnut.”

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Yes, you are. You’re even more stubborn than I am.”

Jungkook gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls.

“You take that back.”

“I’m taking it back once you admit that you were in my kitchen and messed up my papers.”

Jungkook sits down on the sofa and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He pouts, looking to the side like a sulking baby.

The thing is. You weren’t angry, nor really frustrated. In some weird way, you were amused. The fight is silly and so obviously not taken seriously by either party. In a peculiar sense, it almost feels like flirting. You and Jungkook find yourselves in a weird yet exciting dance of “who breaks first?” and you know exactly how to break him. 

You begin opening the front lacing on your dress. Jungkook notices from the corner of his eyes, shifting on the sofa as inconspicuously as possible. 

You sometimes like to wear pretty dresses from earlier time periods when at the estate. Your dress today consists of an outer layer and a flowy under dress. You let the outer dress fall to the floor, stepping out of it. 

Jungkook shifts again, clearing his throat. He turns his head further to the side, acting as if he can’t see you. 

Your under dress is made of a very thin cotton fabric, making it so perfectly translucent at the parts of your body which were more sinful than the rest. Yes, we are talking about your nipples and pubes here. Jungkook has a very hard time not looking at you. The collar of your under dress is closed with a ribbon. You open it as you strut to Jungkook.

You straddle his lap. His meaty thighs tense, jaw tightening. 

One skilled move and the dress slips down your shoulders, revealing your chest to him. 

Jungkook tries to turn his head even more but you stop him, nudging him to face you with two fingers gripping his chin. 

His eyes ghost over your breasts but flit up to stare at your face obsessively. Even now he is stubborn enough not to admit that you have him charmed.

“Do I really have to force you to confess, sweet one?” you say, caressing him under his chin. Your eyes race between his.

“I didn’t mess up-”

“Hush now”, you silence him, stuffing your nipple into his mouth. 

Jungkook mewls in surprise, eyes widened and hands stretching from his body. One second, two. He whimpers and sucks, eyes falling closed and hands grasping your waist. His thighs tremble as his body makes sense of the almost drug like effect your nipples have on him. 

“There we go”, you get out, playing with his hair, “now you can’t lie anymore. You’re so much sweeter like this.” 

Jungkook breaks away, craning his neck.

“I’m not ly-”

“Pssst.”

You force his head down and shove your other nipple into his mouth. Jungkook keens, sucking on it instantly. He drags his hands up your bared back, tickling goosebumps to the surface. 

He feels good. Really good. His touch is so gentle while his mouth is so eager. He is still trying to hold back, to pretend as if he wasn’t utterly into this, but his mouth begins to betray him. He sucks but he also licks. Very sloppily and messily. And whenever he licks, he lets out a throaty purr, thighs tensing under your weight. 

Jungkook changes sides, sliding his hands to your breasts to hold them. His tongue darts out, circling your nipple quickly while his fingers knead the flesh. 

“That’s good. Your mouth is put to so much better use like this. It’s too pretty to be used for lying.” 

“Shut up”, Jungkook murmurs and takes your nipple between his teeth to tug. 

“Ah, hey”, you gasp, arching your back. 

He grins against you. This little shit has the audacity to grin after biting your nipple. 

You can’t let him get away with it. You twist a bundle of his hair and tug. Jungkook’s head tilts back, revealing his boyish grin and cloudy eyes. His lips are glossy from spit. 

“Did you just bite my nipple, you little brat?”

“And if I did?” 

“Then I might need to punish you.”

His grin turns into a smirk, his eyes glimmer. He slides his fingers to your nipples and pinches them both.

“Ah”, you flinch in surprise.

He chuckles, pinching them again. 

“Hey, brat”, you gasp, slapping his hands away. 

He laughs, looking so pleased with himself.

“That’s it. Tongue out.”

Jungkook obeys, sticking it out as far as possible. He can’t wait to have your nipples on it. Except that you don’t give him what he craves, you give his tongue a spank. 

“Ahng”, he lets out, pulling it back instinctively. So you grab him by his chin and pull him closer, spanking his tongue as you do. 

His wet muscle trembles and tenses. He mewls and sticks it out some more, accepting the next spank with a tense of his entire body. It was a tense of pleasure, the kind which builds up fire in one’s stomach. 

One last spank and then you soothe it by dragging your tongue over it. Jungkook moans, fingers cradling the back of your head and lips closing around your tongue to kiss you. You kiss him back for one second, two seconds. No longer than that. It makes him desperate. Good. You like him desperate. 

“Mhm”, you hum and pull him down into your chest by holding his cheeks between your thumb and fingers. 

Jungkook returns to heaven in a mewl and his mouth wide open to take you in. He holds your breasts, wasting no time this round. He sucks as much of your softness into his mouth as he can fit, then moves his head back so you would slip out of him again. He sucks the entire time, resulting in pressure around your nipple so wonderful you sigh his name. 

Jungkook purrs, repeating what he did on your other side. His name falls from your lips a second time, your hips grind back and forth on his thigh. 

You had a fight once, didn’t you? Jungkook can barely remember. Neither can you. The charged tension which is still present keeps reminding you however. You want each other like crazy yet are too proud to give in already. That’s good though, means that Jungkook can suck on your breasts until you are sensitive.

“So good. So much better than when you’re bratty.” 

Jungkook loves being punished though. He has a thing for it. He bites your other nipple and tugs. 

You squeal and writhe, instantly pulling him away by his hair. 

Jungkook looks up at you, grinning goofily.

“You did that to yourself, Mommy.” 

“Do I have to punish you again?”

Jungkook sticks out his tongue and nods his head. Look at him waiting so eagerly. He wants to be punished and you want to punish him, but where is the fun in a punishment that is wanted?

No, you are going to ruin him another way. You lift your butt from his thigh to make up for the difference in height between his lips and your chest. Once in position, you slap your tits on his tongue, watching in delight how his eyes roll back and his mouth goes slack. You lift yourself and slap his tongue again then change sides to repeat it with punishing strength. 

Jungkook moans, tongue shaking under your nipple. He curls the tip each time you are in contact with him, trying to get a feel of you that way. It is so good because he is shaking so much when does.

You lift yourself and slam down, pressing yourself closer afterwards to grind your nipple over his tongue. 

He gurgles out a sound of need, fingers dimpling your hips as he grips you desperately. 

You’ve got him. You wrap your arm around his head and push, smothering him with your breasts. Jungkook moans, sinking his face into them gladly and when you keep him there? He swears he actually spills into his pants. He moves his head from side to side as his eager mouth begins trying to be everywhere at the same time. His tongue is just as restless, wetting your entire chest as he swirls it over you aimlessly. He just loves to be like this. It is so obvious that he is currently worshiping your tits with no goal in mind. All that he lives and breathes for, are your breasts. And that he can use his mouth on them. 

“So good, such a good wet mouth you have. So good” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. You rock back and forth, coming to realise that there is something missing. You instantly make up for it by dropping down on his thigh again, pulling his head with you to make sure he wouldn’t leave your chest. 

Jungkook lets you move him gladly, mewling into you as he mouths at your tender flesh eagerly. He is so dizzy. You smell so good and feel even better.

You rock your hips, moaning in bliss now that there is finally something that brings you pleasure. Now granted, Jungkook’s mouth already feels like heaven, but you want even more. His warm, wet mouth and  his strong thigh in contrast. It is so good. 

He is wearing a pair of white cotton pants today, they are oversized and comfortable and they feel so good against your warmth. Just a little rough, but still soft enough, also perfectly thin to let his body heat through. How goddamn addicting.

“Fuck this is so good now that you’re quiet. So good”, you moan, fingers feeling up his scalp and neck while Jungkook mewls into you, licking you eagerly. 

He doesn’t even want to be really bratty anymore. Okay, maybe he tries it a little by grazing his teeth against your nipple but one corrective tug on his hair and he already gives up on it, burying his face in your softness with a defeated keen. His tongue soothes what he wanted to bite, his drool runs down your breasts but instantly gets slurped up by him.

“So good, fuck…” you moan breathily, hips dancing on him eagerly. 

You didn’t truly think about the concept of grinding for pleasure before you met your lovers. How could something like that be fun? You were wrong. You were very wrong. You could honestly jump them all day every day. It is so addicting to find pleasure this way, to use their bodies until you find your highest peak.

Today is such a day. You can’t get enough of the friction and the pressure and how little movements are enough to build pleasurable tension in your stomach. 

Jungkook is gone as well, high on a different kind of drug. He loves quarrelling with you when it is so obvious that it wasn’t serious. He loves it because he can be bratty and tease you and therefore get punished. He also loves the tension and how you look at him when you pretend to be annoyed. He loves it, but he can’t win against your breasts. He feels submissive and stupid and good. So good. As if he never ever wants to be bad again. 

He whimpers, glossy lips sucking on your right nipple helplessly while his fingers grasp your hips. He sucks with such eagerness that hot electricity shoot through you. 

“Is that nice?” 

He nods his head, changing sides because he doesn't want to neglect even an inch from your perfect chest. 

“Nice enough to confess your sins?”

Jungkook makes a sound. 

You twist his hair and pull, denying him of the only heaven he craves right now. 

“No please”, he gets out, looking up at you teary eyed and pouty lips parted. His cheeks are flushed, his dark hair messy. “Please.” 

“How much do you want it?”

“So much, please.”

“Then confess.”

He mewls, shaking his head. You stop it with a thug of his hair. You lift your hips, guiding your nipples to his lips. He moans and opens his mouth, drooling in anticipation. He is panting quicker the closer you come. 

Stop. 

Jungkook tries to make up for the last inch of distance but you hold him in place by his hair.

“No please”, he squeaks out, spilling tears. He looks agonised and tortured, fighting your grip helplessly. 

You cradle your right breast in your hand and move it around, showing him what he can’t do right now. 

He pulls an expression of pain, letting out  a sound which borders a sob.

“Confess and I’ll make all of this go away.  The pain, the withdrawal, you can be freed of it.”

“Mommy please.”

“I know sweet one, I know”, you coo, caressing his cheek, “Mommy can help you, but you have to be honest with me.”

Jungkook sobs softly, squeezing his eyes shut. You broke him. 

“I lied. I ruined your papers. I, I tried to look for a pen and, and accidentally knocked over the inkpot with my sleeve. I’m sorry.”

“See? Doesn’t the truth feel so much better?” 

“Please”, he cups your tender breasts, eyes widening in pleading, “please I did what you asked of me.” 

“You did. Go ahead then”, you allow him, letting go of his hair.

Jungkook takes the freedom instantly, burying his face back in your breasts with a loud moan. He squeezes them together in his hands, sucking and nibbling on you hungrily. 

“Fuck, that’s so good”, you sigh, rolling your hips against his thigh. You bury your hands in his hair and drop your head against his own head, closing your eyes. “You feel so good, sweetie. Keep going.” 

Jungkook agrees with a mewl, slipping his hands under your dress so he could hold your bared hips. No more fabric, he needs the sensation of your warm, soft skin. No panties. Sometimes in long dresses you go pantieless. Jungkook traces the naked paths where normally a piece of cotton would sit with tingling fingers. So soft. All of you. 

“Why are you so soft, Mommy?” he mewls into you, lips trembling as they suck on your left nipple.

“You’re so sweet”, you sigh, smiling blissfully. You scratch his scalp slowly, melting in his touch. “Ah fuck”, you breathe, hips desperately trying to search for more friction. You are dripping on him, soaking his pants. It feels good, but starts to feel like not enough. You feel so empty, so goddamn empty. 

He notices that you are using his thigh to pleasure yourself. His pants leg became very wet all of a sudden and your sweet scent tickles his nose. He wants to come up for air and ask if you feel good, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to miss even one second of your chest. But he has to. You are restless as if you are searching for more. 

“Is it enough?” he asks, mouth barely gone from your chest.

“I don’t know, I ahm.”

“Lift your hips, Mommy.” 

You follow his wish. Jungkook wiggles his arm under you so he can rest his hand on his thigh. He turns his palm up and sticks two of his fingers up. 

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck, baby, holy fuck”, you babble, claiming what he offers instantly. You sink down on his fingers, pulling him into your chest at the same time. 

You yelp in pleasure, Jungkook matches your enthusiasm, moaning into your chest  as he takes your nipple back inside. Your walls are throbbing and trembling around his digits, taking him in eagerly.

“Holy fuck, Jungkook”, you croak, arching your back and twisting his hair. 

This is finally scratching that itch. You are so stuffed, so goddamn full of him and it’s heaven. You chase the explosions of pleasure with eager rocks of your hips, filling the silence with moans and gasps. Like this, your clit is grinding on his lower arm while your spots inside are grinding on his fingers. They are so long, so perfectly girthy and groomed.

“Jungkook baby. Baby, this is so good, holy fuck”, you moan, dropping your face into his soft hair. 

“Mommy”, the word is muffled and barely audible, his mouth is sloppy and restless on your chest. Even more than before. It is as if he was experiencing more pleasure as well, as if this is scratching his itch as well. 

Truth is, it feels like that for him. You are so wet and so warm around his digits and so goddamn fucking soft. Jungkook goes insane because of it, lost enough in you that his own mind is betraying him and he swears that he can feel you on his cock. It’s impossible because he is crammed into his pants, but it feels like it. Wet, soft, warm. 

“Mommy, soft. Mommy”, he whimpers, curling his fingers desperately.

“Urgh fuck”, you get out and drop into him, forcing his back to fall against the sofa cushions and for your nipple to leave his lips. “Sorry.”

“Is okay”, he mumbles, free hand rubbing your back and eager mouth sucking on your breasts in the new position. 

“Curl them again.” 

Jungkook obeys, moaning with you when this makes you shake and keen. Your hips move on him sloppily, your pussy keeps tightening around him. 

“Fuck baby”, you rasp, grabbing the pillow edge and twisting it. 

Jungkook spills tears, thighs shaking under you and cock throbbing in his pants. Your heart is racing like crazy. He can hear it, feel it too. He tries to get to it with eager sucks and wiggles of his head. It not only forces his lips and tongue to grind against your nipple but his nose as well. You are so sensitive at this point, you genuinely can’t feel any difference between stimulation on your clit and your nipples. 

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, urgh fuck”, you chant, convulsing and shaking on him. You are close. Dangerously close. 

Jungkook knows that you are feeling so ruined by it that he can barely move his mouth. He is ruined, running on nothing but you and everything that happens to your body when you are experiencing pleasure. Your raised pulse, your choppy breathing, your higher body heat and the array of sweet scents. He also swears that your skin becomes even softer than usually, contradicting the spots where the electricity is bundled. Your nipples hard and swollen, your clit enlarged and throbbing, your folds heated and engorged. So soft yet so plump in pleasure. Jungkook swears this is heaven and he promises silently to never ever be bratty again (he will be bratty again).

He curls his fingers and knows that this was it.

“Jungkook, baby”, you get out, tensing up as your pussy begins throbbing and clenching. Your voice pitches, coming out as squeaks and mewls. Your fingers twist his hair and hold him oh so close. This is so intense that you can’t see as it happens. Every single spot of concentrated pleasure was set off, forcing your entire body to be engulfed in flames. 

Jungkook’s eyes roll back even closed. He sobs, truly sobs, losing against the warmth. He orgasms in his pants. No touch, no grind, no lick just your breasts and your pussy on his fingers was enough. He accidentally bruises your nipple from sucking too aggressively, free hand leaving a bruise on your waist as well. You don’t mind, riding the waves with him until you both come down together.

“Oh god, baby”, you get out, slipping off his fingers. You nudge them down into a relaxed position, sitting on his hand. You grind as slowly as possible, wanting to enjoy the warmth and pressure just a little longer. 

Jungkook calms down in twitches of his body and little whimpers into your chest as he mouths at your breasts tiredly. He is so ruined, head dizzy and vision blurry, and your chest comforts him beyond comparison. 

“How…” You clear your raspy throat. “...how are you?” 

“Good”, he squeaks and shakes, sobbing softly as he hugs you closer, “feeling submissive.” 

“Mhm”, you scratch his scalp soothingly, holding him safely, “good boy. You were such a good boy. Let it happen, you’re safe with me.” 

“Mommy.”

“My good boy. You made me feel so good.”

He agrees with a nod of his head, hips twitching up. It calls your attention. You need to check something.

“Can Mommy touch you for a moment?” 

He nods his head.

You cup his clothed and softened cock, squeezing it a little. Jungkook whimpers, hiding deeper in your chest to handle the overstimulation. 

“Just as I had thought. You came in your pants. It’s soaking the fabric.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay, sweetie. Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“So much.”

“Then that’s all that counts.” You give his soft dick one last caress then use the hand to ruffle his hair. “My good boy.”

Jungkook tugs his hand free and wraps both arms around you in a tight hug. He whimpers, dimpling your skin as he practically tries to melt you with him.

“I’m sorry for ruining your papers. I want to fix it, please.” 

“Mhm, we’ll find a solution together. But for now, hush, okay?”

“Okay, oh god. Can we hold each other? Please, Mommy.” 

“Of course, my baby.” You melt into him, resting your cheek on the crown of his head. “Let’s relax like this.” 

“I love you so much ” 

“I love you too, my baby. So much.“

[rogueddie]

There are a lot of rumors about Eddie Munson. From his sexuality, to his religion, to him being some sort of supernatural creature.

Steve doesn’t put a lot of merit in most of them. They’re usually just bullshit people make up to entertain themselves with whilst beating down on the weird kid. Steve thinks it’s boring… usually.

He’s seen enough weird things happen around Munson to know that something isn’t right. Something about him is unnatural. And Steve is staying clear out of the way of whatever the hell he is, or whatever the hell he’s messing with.

Unfortunately, his friends haven’t gotten the message.

“Do it at your own house!” Steve complains, though he makes no move to stop them. He’s sure it’s nothing, that it’ll only lead to an annoying clean-up job, but there’s a nagging sense of dread writhing in his gut. “This shit is bull anyway.”

“If it’s bull then what’s the problem?” Tommy counters.

“Because none of you dickheads are going to help clean this shit up!”

“I promise to help you clean up,” Carol says. “There. Problem solved. Right?”

"It's still stupid," Steve mutters, glaring at the janky make-shift pentagram they've made. "And a bad idea."

It's drawn on nine pieces of paper- they wanted to draw it big on the floor, but Steve had but his foot down. He lets them use some of his moms candles as a compromise.

With the lights off, sitting with the two of them in a circle, it suddenly feels too real. Even Carol looks suddenly nervous.

Tommy is the only one still smirking, though Steve is sure that it's forced. His voice shakes a little as he begins reading off the paper he'd torn out a library book. His Latin is clunky.

At first, nothing happens.

Long enough that Carol says, "did you even say it right?"

"Yes, it even has-" Tommy starts.

The candles all blow out, suddenly. The light Steve had left on in the kitchen flicks off too, plunging them into complete darkness.

After a horrible moment, where they're still and silent, Carol yelps.

"Don't grab me, Tommy, that's not funny!"

"I didn't grab you."

"Wh- Steve?"

"No," is all Steve can get out.

"I'm turning the lights on," Tommy says. "This is ridiculous."

Steve listens to his footsteps and, when he sounds like he's almost at the light switch, he yelps.

"Fuck this," he says.

"What the fuck, Tommy!" Carol yells when they both hear him running past them. She's up on her feet immediately, chasing after him.

He wants to scream after them, plead with them to come back, that they shouldn't be abandoning the circle.

But, the same gut instinct that insists he stay where he is, keeps his mouth shut. Everything in his being is telling him that if he leaves, if he speaks first, horrible things will happen to him.

Something tuts, like a parent admonishing a child.

The living room light flicks on, so bright that Steve has to blink a few times to clear away the white spots.

Eddie Munson sits in the space they left empty.

"Someone didn't read the terms and conditions," he snickers.

"What..." Steve pauses, clearing his throat. "What are the, uh... terms and conditions?"

"Oh, they're simple, really. Look," he holds up the page Tommy had read the incantations from, pointing to the little paragraph at the end. "They even translated it to English! But all you need to know, big boy, is that you are A-OK."

"And... Tommy and Carol?"

"Eh, they're fine. Lucky, really. I'm trying to relax up here. I'm only gonna pay them back with a minor curse or two. Nothing lethal."

"Fuck."

"We haven't even got to you yet!" He spins around so hes laying on his belly, resting his chin on his palm. "You didn't technically summon me so you can just tell me to leave... or."

"Or?"

"Deal with no consequence, baby. One wish, whatever you want, free of charge. Well... I'd want your silence about the whole... summoning thing. Let's consider that payment."

He doesn't need his gut or book to warn him that it's a bad idea. Munson could be lying, easily. There could be fine print. It's a bad, very bad idea.

"There's... definitely no consequences? I won't, like, go to hell for this?" Steve finally asks.

"Do some charity work for a week, you'll be fine," he says, waving his hand around. "What do you want, King Steve?"

"Could- could you make someone love me?"

"Oh, ho ho ho! Who's the unlucky lady who said no to you?"

"No, it... it's not like that. I mean, um... my mom."

Munsons smile drops. The temperature drops with it, making a chill run up Steves spine.

"Your mom," he repeats.

"They're busy like, all the time," Steve automatically defends. "And they're barely here so, uh... of course they wouldn't- I mean, it's normal, right? You can't love a stranger or... whatever. It's fine. It's just... I don't know."

"Steve..." Munson pauses.

He groans, throwing his head into his hands, dramatically. He almost immediately flings his head back up, hair flying everywhere, giving Steve wide and pleading eyes.

"I can't make people fall in love or any shit like that. I can make illusions, that's it. Love is, like... way out of my jurisdiction."

"I- I'm ok with an illusion. Like, just one day or something."

"Steve, baby, you're breaking my heart."

"Please?"

"Jesus- ok!" Grumbling, Munson shifts so he's kneeling. "And in return, you won't say shit about any of this. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Great. Ugh. This next part is... weird."

"What do you mean, weird?"

"It's weird, I don't know. Deals about, like, love are sealed with a kiss."

"You're joking."

"Nope, and that's not even the weird part. Now, come on and pucker up, let's get this over with." He gestures for Steve to shuffle closer, waiting until they're sat close enough that their knees almost bump together. "You can still change your mind. Anything at all, Steve. Anything."

"I thought you wanted to get this over with?"

"On your head..."

Munson leans forward, kissing him. It's just a peck, simple and easy. No big deal, right?

Steve feels possessed. It's like someone lit a match in his stomach, leaving him lightheaded and confused. He's not sure how he ends up in Eddie's lap, clutching onto his shoulders, desperately trying to lick into his mouth. He feels so-

He wakes up in his bed, the morning light blinding him.

"What the fuck..." he mutters to himself, grabbing at his throbbing head.

At first, he thinks he's hungover. That he'd just had a weird dream... but he's wearing the same clothes. And, sat on his stomach, is a guitar pic. It's got 'corroded coffin' written on it too- Eddie's band.

"Steve!" He hears his mom call. "Time to get up!"

He scrambles out of bed, dashing down the stairs.

She smiles when she spots him, so bright and warm. She even raises an arm, laughing when he practically throws himself into her side and hugging her tight.

"Morning, sweetheart. Good dreams?"

"Yeah. Yeah, great. But, uh... I feel sick."

"Oh no," she frowns. She puts her hand to his forehead, cooing when she brushes his hair out his face. "Is it your stomach?"

"Yeah. Just... might be better to stay home today. If that's ok?"

"Of course it is. I'm sure we can find something fun to do together, yeah? How about we get a vhs movie, hm?"

"I'd love that."

"Great. Well, if you're feeling up to it, I've made breakfast." She steps away, plating the food she's cooked up. "Oh, did I ever tell you about Paris? It was beautiful, you would have loved it. We should bring you, next time we go."

Steve can't stop smiling. He's sure that his cheeks will be aching by the end of the day.

He'll have to thank Eddie- as soon as he can even think about him without blushing. He'll need to ask if it's normal to still feel... affected, even after the deal is done.

Part of him knows it isn't the deal. Part of him is too curious about how Eddie will react.

[irisintheafterglow]

it's all me, just don't go (meet me in the afterglow)

summary: satoru is jealous but refuses to admit it.

wc: 1.2k

cw/tags: gojo x reader, arguing, miscommunication, angst/comfort, established relationship, lowercase because this was originally going to be a short answer to a request but ended up being 1k+ words (oops)

note: welcome back gojo nation, today i offer angst that started as a fluffy co-parenting megumi prompt and turned into...this. based on the jealousy prompts from @creativepromptsforwriting !! hope you enjoy :D

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

"you think i'm jealous? jealousy is not in my vocabulary, babe."

"mhmm, sure. you're not jealous and the sky isn't blue," you fire back without hesitation. what started as a petty argument was beginning to boil your blood a little too hot for comfort, and you couldn't pinpoint why. thoughts poked around in your mind of your boyfriend's arrogance, the need to be the best, and simultaneous fear that you were going to leave him. but, in true satoru fashion, he chose to be an enigma instead of communicating.

"i'm literally the strongest being in existence," he argues and you catch your eye twitch in the rearview mirror. "what would i have to be jealous about?" a part of you wanted to just slam on the brakes to see if he'd go flying forward but decided against it because of the other occupants in the car. as much as they tried to act like they weren't listening, the two kids in the back weren't very good at hiding their snickers of amusement. "like, really. i'm super hot, i'm super strong, i've got the voice of an angel-"

"i'm just saying, satoru. your behavior back there was...weird. i didn't like it," you mutter.

"and i didn't like how that guy was looking at you like you were some kind of dessert in a pastry shop," he counters. "i just...it's fine. you don't get it." your stomach churns unexpectedly at his tone and there's a sharp pain in your heart that you don't anticipate. you know he didn't mean it, but the sternness of his voice was sounding more hostile the longer you talked with him. it made your face hot, not in that butterflies and daydreams kind of way that he normally made you feel. this feeling was foreign and intense, a sensation that made you want to curl up and hide. it was the same feeling as when you were about to exorcise a curse.

when you were about to fight.

"what's that supposed to mean?" the atmosphere of the car changes in an instant and you can feel the effect your five words have on every occupant of the vehicle. megumi and tsumiki's gazes dart upward, eyeing you nervously while a robotic stiffness shoots through satoru's body. "what do i not get?"

"it's nothing," he grits through his teeth, but you're too angry to back down.

"it's not nothing, so spill it," you say and his jaw clenches. "why are you so jealous of some dude at the grocery store?"

"i said i wasn't jealous."

"your actions are saying otherwise." you start relying more on your instinct to drive you back towards jujutsu tech because your brain was starting to shut down.

"what, you don't believe me? why don't you just trust me?" he's on the verge of shouting at you. he never shouts at you. it terrifies you and it makes the two kids in the second row shift uneasily in their car seats. you don't know what else to say; your mind was preoccupied with not crashing the car and trying not to cry from the stifling pressure in the car.

"i-i don't like you right now," you force out. it's the wrong thing to say and you can sense satoru snap before he does.

"please, be my guest. go with your little cashier if you like him so much better," he spits and your body moves before you can register what it's doing. one minute, you're driving down the street toward the school; the next, you're turning into the nearest mini-mall parking lot, putting the car in park, and slamming the driver's side door behind you. you don't know where else to go, but all you know is that you can't stay in that car with satoru when he's like that. he'd never do anything to hurt megs or tsumiki, but being on the road in such a compromised mental state wasn't safe for any of you. so, you start walking.

the sun was nearly down and you knew it would be faster if you just sucked it up and drove the rest of the way, but something about this petty little fight was bringing up memories you didn't want to rehash. after you make it past the first stoplight, the telltale hum of your car's engine pulls up next to you, coming to a stop while you continue in the direction of the school. punching the hazards button, he jumps from the driver's seat onto the sidewalk to call after you, but you shake your head.

"babe. babe, please get back in the car," he pleads and you keep walking. "i'm sorry. please, come back in the car. i'll drive us the rest of the way and we can talk."

"it's fine," you state firmly without looking at him, "i'll walk back."

"i made a mistake. please, please come back in the car." he gently grabs your wrist to stop you and you shoot him a brutal glare from the corner of your eye, seeing him deflate in real-time. "please." smaller footsteps approach from behind him, and your senses snap back into place when you see that megumi and tsumiki followed satoru out of the car.

"he was stupid," tsumiki says and her brother nods in agreement, "really stupid."

"and if you're walking back to school, we're walking with you," megumi declares and the sentiment is enough to finally get you back in the passenger seat, staring out the window for the few agonizing minutes remaining of the drive. once you've turned on the tv and stuck a frozen dinner in the oven for the two children, you make your way to the bathroom to wash your face of its still-burning sensation. you've just finished drying your face in front of the mirror when he trudges in like a kicked puppy. you feel him before you see him, his arms wrapping around your torso and his face disappearing into your neck.

"i'm so sorry," he whispers and you swallow a thick lump in your throat. "i'm so sorry for what i said and what i did and how i made you feel. you were right; i was jealous. just...seeing you live out such a mundane scene as buying groceries reminded me that you could have anyone you wanted." you turn to face him with a puzzled look.

"what do you mean, anyone i wanted?"

"you could be with anyone you wanted," he says quietly. "anyone but me."

"oh," is all you can choke out before you pull him as close as humanly possible, holding him so tightly that he'd be a fool to think you would ever want anyone else.

"you could have any life you wanted," his voice breaks against your skin. "not one where our best friends die before they reach 20 or disappear off the face of the planet. you don't need to have this one. you don't need to stay with me."

"has it ever occurred to you, satoru," you murmur, "that maybe i want to stay with you? forever and after that?"

"why would you do that to yourself?"

"loving you is not a burden, gojo satoru. i would find you in any lifetime and i would love you in every single one," you vow and your chest aches when he sniffles softly.

"i don't deserve you. i really don't."

"maybe you do, maybe you don't, but that's not up to me to decide. so, it doesn't matter because i'm staying."

"you'll stay?"

"forever and after that."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[purplesuitcowboy]

cw: dubious consent, fauxcest, double penetration, free use

"I don't have any cash on me," her stepfather, Thomas, told the frazzled young man at the cash register.

"But, I have this,” he said. He jostled the young women who stood beside him for emphasis. Quinn offered up weak protest from behind the ball gang in her mouth. She hated when he did shit like this. Ever since he’d figured out that she’s dabbled in selling nudes online, how he was able to tell if was her when she hadn’t even shown her face was beyond her, he’d been strong arming her into all sorts of shit under the threat of disclosing her little business endeavor to her mother.

Her mother had always been a bit of a prude and if she found out, Quinn would be kicked out of the house for sure and her sizable inheritance would be reduced to 0. She was sure that she could find a place to stay if she got kicked out but losing out on her inheritance was simply not an option. She gone along with his demands which had started as head in the parking lot of his job and had quickly ballooned out of proportion from there.

As it turned out, Thomas was a bit of a kinky bastard but he couldn’t live out his fantasies with her mother so he used her instead. Quinn was almost positive that Thomas preferred it that way. Even before their little agreement, he’d always told her that she had a body built of sex and that she’d make a man very happy one day. This had been very, very weird then but she had ignored it. He made her mother so happy that Quinn had just written off his comments as personality quirks. They hadn’t been. They were the truest expressions of his wishes and desires.

In a sick way, she was perfect for him. She was just as much as a freak as she was, got just as turned on by their slinking around as he did. She just had the good sense to be ashamed and embarrassed by it. Quinn tried not to think about the fact that she was helping her step-father cheat on her mother. Surely, finding out that this had been happening behind her back was worse then Quinn selling her nudes online. Either way, she was a coward because she said nothing and continued fucking her mother’s husband.

Quinn was trapped between her step-father’s bulk and the edge of the counter. Already, she could feel the beginnings of his hard on against her ass. Thomas held her tightly, securing her arms behind her back. He pushed her towards the counter, forcing her to lean awkwardly over it. The precarious position highlighted her generous bust which was barely being contained by her the low neckline of her short dress. Her hardened nipples could be easily seen through the thin material. She briefly made eye contact with the cashier but quickly averted her gaze, deeply embarrassed by the situation. Despite her embarrassment and shame, she feel heat begin too bloom between her legs as she felt the cashiers eyes on her tits. She didn’t have to see his face to know that he liked what he saw. In her minds eye, she could already imagine these men sharing her body, fucking her holes and filling her with their cum. She shifted, rubbing her thighs together.

"Oh, I'm not sure I can..I don't, uh,..."

"Come on," he paused, squinting at the young man's name tag. "Gordon? Damn, what did your parents give you an old man name like that for? Anyway, you're gonna pass up a fuck with a pretty young thing like my stepdaughter here. You like girls don't you, son?"

The young man nodded, rendered completely speechless by the situation. He saw a lot of weird shit during his shifts at the convenience store -especially during the late shift- but this was really taking the cake. He thought that the pair were odd when they walked in but he hadn’t thought much of it until they’d gotten to the counter.

"Well then give 'em a feel,” the old man jeered. “You're gonna make her feel bad if you don't. You're gonna make her think somethings wrong with her tits. You don't want that do you."

Thomas pulled down the top of Quinn’s dress, freeing her tits from their confines. Roughly, he grabbed one of her breasts, massaging it with his hand. Quinn whimpered in response. With Thomas’s grip on her loosened, she freed one of her arms and used it to prop herself up on the counter. Hesitantly, the cashier reached forward to gently fondle one of Quinn’s tits.

“Come on, kid!” Thomas exclaimed. “Grab it like you mean it. None of that pussy shit now.”

The cashier nodded and with renewed vigor, grabbed Quinn’s breasts, kneading them with his hands. Her eyes fluttered shut and she seemed to push her tits out as if offering herself up to him. The edge of the counter dug into her hip but she barely noticed. Gordon could feel his dick harden against his thigh as he fondled her. Her skin was soft beneath his finger tips, and her nipples were red and rosy like the cherry on top of an ice cream sunday. Looking at them, at her, made his mouth water. Emboldened, he leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking it and rolling it with his tongue. Quinn moaned, drool gathering on the ball gag and dripping down her chin to her chest. Thomas watched as the cashier lavished Quinn’s tits with attention. He slipped a hand between her thighs, fingers gently rubbing against her slick folds. He loved have easy access to her pussy so she rarely wore panties around him. Another whine escaped Quinn’s lips as she tried to rock her cunt against his fingers.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you baby. Your little pussy is so wet,” he told her, voice almost loving.

He plunged two fingers into her cunt, slowly pumping them in and out. His hand was quickly covered in her juices as he continued to fuck her with his fingers, first one and then two and three. Gordon paused his ministrations and cocked his head to the side, watching enrapt as the older man fingered Quinn’s cunt. His fingers were shiny with her juices as he pumped them in and out of her hole. With every attempt to pull out, Gordon could see the walls of her cunt tightly clenched around his fingers, seemingly unwilling to let them leave the hot, wet channel. If Gordon had any blood left in his body, it had all rushed to his cock. It throbbed painfully in his shorts begging for attention. He’d been hard for a while but it was becoming almost unbearable. He let go of Quinn’s tits and pushed her out of the way so he could hop the counter to join them on the other side. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Thomas stopped finger fucking Quinn’s pussy to watch the cashier volt over the counter to join them. He took a step back and, tugging at her hip with a wet hand, pulled her back to give the young man room to stand.

Eagerly, Quinn leaned towards the cashier. She braced herself on him, holding onto his hip with one hand. With her other hand, she pulled down the zip of his shorts and pulled out his harden cock. Her eyes widened as she admired its size and thickness. The cashier reached for the ball gag, pulling it out of her mouth. Her eyes locked onto his, she took his thumb into her mouth, running her hot tongue along the tip and sucking on it lightly.

“Fuck” the cashier said, breathless.

Dutifully, Quinn took his cock into her mouth. The cashier groaned, as his cock was enveloped by the wet, heat of Quinn’s mouth. She took him deep until the head of his cock tapped the back of her throat. Her eyes watered but she didn’t gag, instead, she breathed heavily out of her nose trying to steady her breathing.

“Atta girl,” Thomas told her. “Show him how well I’ve trained you. Fuck her throat, son. Don’t worry. She can take it.”

She seemed to gurgle something in the affirmative. He placed his hands on the top of her head and steadily began to fuck her throat. Thomas was right. Quinn forced herself to relax and use her. After a couple of thrust, she pulled her head away, gasping for breath, before she took his cock back in her mouth. As she serviced the cashiers cock, Thomas helped himself to her pussy. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. Giving himself a few strokes, he lined himself up with her cunt. He rubbed his shaft against the lips of her pussy, coating himself in her juices, before he slowly began to push his thick cock into her waiting hole. It didn’t seem to matter how much he fucked her, her cunt felt as tight as it had the first time that he’d had her. He groaned as pushed inch after inch into her cunt until he was seated to the hilt. The two men quickly found a good rhythm using her body, one pulling out while the other pushed in and vise versa.

Adjusting her hold on Gordon, Quinn steadied herself on one hand so she could slip the other between her legs to rub at her tender clit. It didn’t take long before she was writhing and cumming on Thomas’s cock. As she came, her cunt tightened around his shaft and Thomas quickly found himself emptying his load into her cunt. Gordon came soon after. He tried to pull out of Quinn’s mouth to cum on her chest but she held him tight forcing him to cum into her mouth. He pulled out of her lips and she opened her mouth, showing him his load on her tongue before she swallowed.

“You’re not done are you?” she asked, looking up at the cashier with big doe eyes.

The cashier looked down at her, a look of awe on his face. Surely, she was a succubus or some other worldly being. He’d never met a woman with the sexual appetite this one seemed to. He worried that she would suck his soul out of his cock and that he would happily let her do it. Sharing her with her stepfather was a bit strange, but he’d cum so hard it hardly seemed to matter at that point as long as he got to fuck her again. Thomas laughed behind her and slapped her ass, earning him a squeak of surprised from Quinn.

“Horny slut.”

“Please?” she said to the cashier, ignoring her stepfather. “I want to have your cock in my pussy.”

“He can fuck your pussy but I want to fuck your ass while he does it.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay,” Gordon responded, eyes never leaving Quinn.

Thomas pulled out of Quinn’s cunt and unceremoniously picked her up off of her feet. The head of his cock teased her asshole. She reached down and helped to push his cock into her hole, toes curling as his cock filled her ass. Thomas held her with her back again his chest and his hands on her ass. Her legs were open showing off her cunt, still leaking Thomas’s cum, to Gordon’s gaze. Thinking with his lower head, Gordon stepped between her legs and pushed his cock into her waiting hole. Between her juices and Thomas’s left over cum, Gordon’s cock slid in easily.

“Oh my god,” Quinn said with a groan, closing her eyes and learning her head back on Thomas’s shoulder.

“So… fucking…tight,” Thomas said, reeling from the sensation of her ass clenched around him with the additional tightness added from Gordon’s cock in her cunt.

Thomas and Gordon scrambled to adjust their shared grip on her body. Thomas adjusted his grip on her ass and Gordon grabbed hold of her thighs. Working together, they worked to bounce Quinn on their cocks while also attempting to thrust into her holes. It was an awkward process but it felt so good that it didn’t even matter. Quinn had never felt so full in her life. She felt as if any moment she might just combust. It was painful and uncomfortable but so pleasurable.

She opened her eyes and lifting her head off of Thomas’s shoulder, leaned forward to capture Gordon’s mouth in a kiss. He swiped at her bottom lip with his tongue and she opened up her mouth, allowing him to intertwine his tongue with her’s. He was so wrapped up in kissing her that he stopped thrusting which made it much easier for Thomas to hammer his cock into her ass. With a free hand, Quinn reached down to rub her sensitive clit. She moaned against Gordon’s lips as she came. Her body went ridged in his arms as she rode out her orgasm. Greedy, she continued to furiously rub her clit, pushing herself to another orgasm.

“Fuck,” Thomas exclaimed as he felt her clench around him. “Fuck!”

Her asshole was so snug around him that he could hardly move but it was fine, the rhythmic clenching of her hole as she orgasmed guided him to his release. He stood there for a moment, reeling from the sensation. Finally, he braced himself and slowly pulled out of her ass. His cum leaked out of her hole in the absence of his cock but he used his thick fingers to fuck it back in.

Frank no longer right behind her. Gordon lowered her to her feet and turned her, bending her over the counter so he could finish himself off. Frank’s softening cock seemed to wake back up at the sight and he stroked it idly while he watched Gordon roughly pound her from behind until he came deep in her cunt. Gordon took a step back and the two men admired the sight of Quinn’s sloppy, cum covered holes.

“So, I’m good to take the cigarettes, right?”