syymplypotter

[syymplypotter]

Flirt

Summary: Older!Dean doesn't look at you the way you want him to, but you still like to flirt with him. What happens when you finally push him too far.

Warnings: Smut, Age Gap, Older!Dean x Younger!Reader (but it's sweet). Reader has tattoos??

~~~

You enjoyed flirting with the Winchesters.

Sam understood your game quickly. Maybe it was because he was younger than his brother, he realized almost immediately that your age plus your looks put older guys on edge.

Whenever you'd meet up on the road, a hunt putting you in the same town, he'd watch as you'd flirt with the bartender, the motel owner, the witness. You'd look back at him, a knowing smile on his face as he watched you get exactly what you wanted.

Everything but Dean. The one man who Sam knew you wanted more than anyone. Dean handled you with kid gloves, constantly on edge around you, making sure you were safe with your perceived vulnerabilities. The rest of the year you were a badass hunter who could take anything on by yourself, but the second Dean was around he couldn't see you as anything but a little kid, one who should be as far from a hunt as possible.

Sam understood your flirting, understood that with others it was just a means to an end, with him it was a joke, and with Dean... well he knew with Dean it couldn't be more genuine. But you just wished Dean could see that, or could even realize you were flirting in the first place.

The moment you'd shown up to the motel, a six pack under your arm, a grin on your face, you knew this occasion would be a lost cause. You'd gotten a black eye one week earlier, a ragaru with a crowbar leaving you with a purple bruise all the way to your temple, and while it was significantly less swollen now, it was still obvious. The second Dean had caught sight of you'd he'd sighed, starting on a lecture about keeping safe while you'd looked to Sam with desperate eyes, seeking an escape.

"Did ya kill it? The ragaru?" Sam cut his brother off.

"Easy." You replied with a wink.

"That's our girl!" Sam pulled you in to a hug, you hadn't seen each other for months and he'd missed your jokes.

You handed him a bottle, along with your bottle opener, and he clicked it open easily before handing the opener back. You outstretched another bottle to Dean who looked down at you with a frosty expression, "Are you even old enough to drink?"

"How old do you think I am exactly?" You pouted out your bottom lip, looking up at him with big eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Dean took the bottle and turned away to open it himself.

You looked over at Sam with a worth a try expression. He shook his head at you, a smile forming across his face at your halfhearted efforts.

"I was in the area, Sam texted, I came running."

"As you always do." Sam laughed.

"Only for you, honey." You sat down on one of the beds, kicking off your shoes in one movement as you tapped the space next to you for Sam to join. He did, taking a seat as you looked back at Dean, a firm expression on his face.

He took a sip from the bottle before speaking again, "So what's your plan? You got somewhere to stay?"

"Nah, Sam's gonna let me share his bed, aren't ya Sammy?"

Sam looked over at you with a grin.

"No chance-" Dean spoke before his brother was able to.

"Oh, you want me to yourself?" You bit the end of you finger, a fiery expression in your eyes.

"I'll get you a room." He placed the bottle down on the side table and left without another word.

You sighed, exasperated, laying down on the bed and staring up at the damp ceiling.

Sam laughed at the sight, "You shouldn't tease him like that."

"I'm not teasing! If he asked, I'd share a bed with him any day- or any night-"

"I'm gonna stop you there- That's my brother you're talking about."

You looked up at him, your façade gone, "Well then, how've you been?"

"Dean's been driving me crazy- he's been driving himself crazy! You need to move into the bunker already! I know I ask every time but I don't think either of us will cope by ourselves for much longer."

"What, so he can keep me locked away never to hunt again? No chance! He barely wanted me on this one did you see his face?"

"He only does it because he cares about you-"

"-He does it because he thinks I'm a kid." You sighed again, sitting back up and taking a swig of Sam's beer. He let you without a second thought.

"And you? How have you been? Keeping out of trouble I hope?"

"God you sound like a dad!" You rolled your eyes, but watched as a pained wince flashed over his face, "Sorry. I've been good, and yes, keeping out of trouble, apart from this!" You pointed back to your black eye.

"It hurting still?" He squinted slightly to get a better look at it.

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before." You touched it lightly, the swelling gone, just a bruised mark left. You looked back at him, remembering your news, "Hey! I almost forgot, I got a new tattoo!"

Sam grinned. Your tattoos weren't obvious, most of them hidden away under layers of clothes, but you'd shown him a few on a drunk night some months ago, and you'd always appreciated how much interest he'd taken in them. Not because they were hot, or because they were in scandalous places, but just because he was genuinely interested.

"Show me then!" He laughed.

You hopped up, hiking up the back of your shirt and tugging your jeans down only slightly to reveal the small of your back, looking back at him over your shoulder to catch his expression.

"Looks sick," he looked between your face and the tattoo, "but I don't get having a tattoo you can't see yourself?"

You let go of your shirt and turned back to him, "Thought I'd give Dean something to look at when he finally decides to bend me over and-"

"Stop right there!" Both of you stared at each other for a moment before breaking out in laughter. The door opened again and Dean stepped in holding a key between his fingers. You both burst out laughing again as you looked over at him.

He looked confused for a second, and then just sighed, holding up the key with an outstretched hand, "You're next door."

You looked over at Sam again with an amused expression, taking beer out of the six pack and picking up your shoes from the floor. You left, grabbing the key from Dean on the way out, looking back at him before he closed the door, "Thanks."

--

The next day you were up and out as quickly as you could be, not wanting to keep them waiting, or give Dean any excuse to leave you behind. You were already standing by the Impala, still brushing your teeth, as the two men finally left the motel.

Dean eyed you over quickly, enjoying watching you relaxed, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth as you gave them a lopsided smile. He liked seeing you like this, almost domestic, not that he'd ever admit that to himself let alone to you.

You hocked the toothpaste out of your mouth onto the floor behind you and wiped you mouth with the back of your hand. Sam lent down to give you a side hug as Dean walked past you and found his place in the driver's seat. You followed his lead, climbing into the back.

You and Dean sat in silence as Sam spoke, he started by explaining the case, everything you'd missed before arriving yesterday, what they'd been doing, who'd they'd spoken to. You nodded along, hunting mode fully taking over as you sat serious in the back seat. Then he laid out the plan for the day.

"I'm telling you, she wasn't being completely honest with us, she knows more than she's letting on. I only need five, maybe ten minutes with her and I think she'd be willing to talk to me."

"But there's a cop outside her door?" You pitched up.

"Exactly right." He turned back to you and smiled, "You and Dean just need to distract him for long enough that I can get in there and talk to her, and then we're set."

You looked at Dean, who was watching you closely in the rearview, "Sounds good to me."

You pulled up around the corner of the house and all hopped out, stretching your legs. Sam said his goodbyes, walking round the opposite way to avoid any suspicion. You looked at Dean closely, "What do ya say? I go in, little bit of flirting, see if I can't get the cop away from that door for a bit?"

"I'm not sure that's the best idea." His forehead creased, "I think I should go with you."

You rolled your eyes at his protectiveness, "Right. Well, what do you suggest? You pretend to be my boyfriend, we've broken down and need some help with the car?"

He looked down at himself and then back to you, he didn't have to say anything about the age difference, you knew exactly what he was implying, "I'm not sure that's believable, sweetheart."

He didn't even mean to say the nickname. Something in his brain connecting the word boyfriend and you together pushed it out of him involuntarily. Your stomach still flooded with butterflies, even if you knew it was harmless.

"Well, follow my lead then, I think I have a better idea."

You began to walk away before he could stop you, catching up as you rounded the corner to the house, the cop within sight. He straightened his face, knowing he'd have to go along with whatever you had planned whether he liked it or not.

You marched up to the front door, a meak smile on your face as you tried to act docile, "Hey sorry, do you have a second?" You fluttered your eyelashes at the man.

He was closer to your age than Dean's, not unattractive but not what you were usually into. Well- you were usually only into Dean anyway.

"How can I help?"

"I'm so sorry to do this, we've been driving all night and somethings just happened to the car, we can't seem to work out what's going on and we just need a little help." Dean sidled up next to you as you continued speaking. You held out your hand to the man for a handshake, offering up a fake name you'd used before, and then looked over at Dean, "And this here's my daddy!"

You looked over at him with a grin, a glimmer in your eye only he could see. He didn't want to even begin to do the math on whether that was really possible. He swallowed hard as he looked between you and the cop, before finally relenting and holding out his own hand, "Name's Malcolm."

You almost laughed out loud, the mixture of fake name and the expression on his face too much, but you kept a straight face. You wrapped your arm around his waist, pulling him towards you, "My daddy really ain't much of a mechanic, ya see, it'd be a real big help if you could take a look at it?" You bit your lip, looking the man up and down slow enough that you knew he'd catch you.

You felt Dean tense up beside you, but he didn't say anything.

"Sure, I'll take a look."

You walked around the side of the building, keeping in line with the cop as Dean trailed behind you, trying to catch your eye but you wouldn't let him. You were fully engrossed in the act now, a small touch on the younger man's arm, a lingering look at his lips, you knew everything you were supposed to be doing.

Dean popped the hood for you as he started a mental timer of how long this would have to last before Sam would be done. You knew what an honor it was for Dean to be going along with this, to be using his precious car in the ruse, and you knew you couldn't fuck it up.

"So, this is the engine?" You asked, wide eyed, trying to act perplexed.

Dean didn't like watching you flirt, he never did. Protective, he called it, never jealous. But it was undeniable how much he loved watching you hustle. He almost blew the whole thing with a laugh as he watched you point around the engine, acting like you couldn't tell your alternator from your carburetor. But when your hand landed back on the top of the cops arm, his smile fell again as he swallowed hard.

"Sounds like a fuel pump issue to me." The cop said, turning back to you.

Your doubt almost seeped into your voice, but you let it sounds like naivety, "Fuel pump?"

"Yeah, you and your- ehem- father, could probably just get it replaced by the mechanic in town."

"Ya hear that, daddy?" You looked over at Dean again, widening your eyes to mask your sarcasm, "He says it's a fuel pump issue."

"Does he now?" Dean's jaw clenched.

You turned back to the cop, "Forgive him, he doesn't like to admit how little he knows about cars. Say, how do you know so much anyway?"

Dean watched as you turned back around, looking back into the engine as the man pointed out different sections. He let himself look, it wasn't often that he did, but between the deception and the daddys he couldn't help himself. He looked down at your body, your legs, your ass clad tight in jeans. He let his tongue sit on his bottom lip deep in thought as his eyes trailed over your body.

And that's when he spotted it, as you leant further in, your hand brushing the cop's, he spotted your new tattoo. He swallowed hard. He'd always seen you as innocent. Sure you flirted with guys on cases all the time, but he'd never actually know you to go home with with one. He thought of you as pure, virtuous, maybe even immature. But as he looked down at your tattoo, he felt a growing arousal hit him. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts as quickly as they had arrived.

"Mechanic then?" He spoke up quickly, "I mean, you think we should take it to a mechanic?"

"Uh, yeah." The cop looked back over at him. You spun back, confusion on your face, this really didn't seem like enough time.

"Great, thanks." He held out his hand again for the cop to shake it, clearly a sign he'd overstayed his welcome. Your eyes grew larger: confused, angry.

You leant back into the cop, holding the top of his arm gently to stop him walking away, "Say, if we get stuck in this town overnight, where can I come find you?"

The cop looked between you and Dean, you could tell he'd made note of your black eye, "I'm not sure..."

You bit your bottom lip, letting your hand stroke down his arm, "Don't mind him, really, he wouldn't hurt a fly. Just gets a bit... protective of me sometimes."

He looked back at you, as you fluttered your eyelashes once again. "O'Reilly's Bar, downtown, that's where I tend to head after my shift."

You smiled at him as he pulled away, giving Dean a friendly nod before walking back the way he came. Your face dropped once he turned the corner, looking back at Dean, "What the fuck was that?!"

"What was what?!"

"Sam said ten minutes."

"He said five to ten! We've given him more than enough time!"

You let the hood of the car drop with a small clang. Dean winced slightly at the noise.

You both stood pacing for another few minutes, your jaw on edge as you tried to relax. Then you saw Sam turning the corner and you both let out a sigh of relief.

"All good?" Dean questioned once he was close enough.

"Think I've got everything we need!"

You smiled at him, "Had us worried there for a second. Dean, what was that?!" Now you knew Sam was safe, you could let your chastising begin.

"You have a tattoo." Dean spoke quietly, firmly, out of nowhere.

You let out a loud laugh, "I've got a few, what does that matter?"

"I- you've got a tramp stamp!?"

Sam looked between you and Dean, feeling like he was missing something. It didn't help that you felt like you were missing it too.

"Once again, I don't see how that matters?"

"You're a kid, you shouldn't be getting tattoos you're gonna regret! You can't even see it, what's the point?!"

Sam laughed, "Gives a guy something to look at when they bend her over." He looked at you with a knowing smile and you held back another laugh at his reference.

Dean's face dropped, "You're disgusting, dude, you're old enough to be her-"

He stopped himself, swallowing hard. The word daddy was glued between his lips, you knew it, and so did he.

Sam looked between the two of you, the tension sat between you as you eyed each other over cautiously. "I think I'm gonna walk back to the motel."

The concentration on Dean's face broke, "What are you talking about, that'll take hours."

"I just need to stretch my legs, you guys, uh, go on without me." He locked eyes with you, trying to tell you something with his expression that you couldn't completely understand, before turning on his heel and beginning to walk.

You looked at Dean, who looked at Sam, both of you confused but neither of you wanting to leave the moment. Eventually he slid into the driver's side, waiting for you to get in the car so he could start driving.

You both sat in silence as he drove back to the motel, occasionally glancing over at each other when the other wasn't looking. Eventually he broke, looking over at you, "A tattoo?"

"I've got loads, Dean, it's really not a big deal."

"You're just a kid."

"I'm old enough, Dean." The words were slick with implication. But you didn't want implication, you wanted him. You leant over, placing your hand on his thigh, "I'm old enough."

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenching. He couldn't hide what he felt for you, he couldn't hide his looks when your back was turned, or the way he'd still smell your perfume in the Impala days after you'd left and miss you. But he knew he wasn't right for you, his life filled with too much danger, the distance between you too large, "I'd wreck you, sweetheart."

You knew what he meant, the solemn expression on his face, but it didn't stop you from looking over at him with a glisten in your eyes, "Maybe that's what I want."

There was a silent beat as you both sat in the moment. Then you pulled back, taking your hand off of his leg and sitting back down, eyes on the road. You were at the motel only a few minutes later, both of you shrouded in tension. He shut off the engine and you both sat, staring out the front window, neither of you willing yourselves to move.

He managed to whisper out the words, not looking at you, "You're just a kid."

You sighed and rolled your eyes. You knew he'd never see you how you wanted him to. The words hit you in the gut, winding you for a moment, making it hard to breathe in the small space.

You opened the car door, stumbling out and making your way to your room. Only a few hours and Sam would be back, then you could finish the hunt and get on with your life. Maybe you wouldn't even wait for him, just pack up and go. Yeah, that sounded good.

You heard the sound of Dean behind you, following your footsteps, but you didn't slow down. Frustration kept you moving, not even turning back.

He only caught up to you by the time you reached the doors to your rooms, grabbing your wrist to stop you going any further. You looked down at his hold, and then back to his face, his jaw tensed, worried lines creased into his forehead. He hooked a finger under your chin as he looked down at you, his eyes darting over your face.

He whispered again, "I'm too dangerous, sweetheart."

"I'm used to danger, Dean." You looked back down at his hand. He wasn't gripping you tight, you could push him away if you wanted, but you didn't want that. You wanted him touching you.

"You deserve someone your own age." His thumb reached out, lightly brushing over your bottom lip. You blinked hard to keep yourself composed as arousal flooded through you.

"I don't want anyone else." You replied back, meekly.

"It would never work." His eyes were firmly placed on your lips as his thumb brushed over them, before looking back at you.

You lowered your voice to match his, "I don't care."

He leant down torturously slowly, looking between your eyes and your lips. You didn't want to move, afraid of scaring him off, but you pushed yourself up only slightly onto your tiptoes to help close the gap between the two of you.

And then his lips were on yours. Soft, hesitant at first. They locked together, fitting into place around each other. He savoured the moment, the feeling of your lips. You held your breath as you leant into him, his hand moving to your jaw holding you tight, afraid that if he let go he might lose the moment. He allowed himself to kiss you deeper, his tongue swiping out to your lip, testing the waters, his other hand reaching for your waist, pulling you closer.

He pushed his tongue into your mouth, exploring you, as your own hand came up to his cheek, feeling his stubble harsh against your fingertips. You felt as he let go of your waist, fumbling with his keys as he tried to open the door to the motel without breaking away from you. You placated him for a moment, continuing to kiss him as you listened to the sound of keys jangling, before breaking away from him, allowing him to look at the door and finally get it open. He blinked hard as he looked down at you again, taking you in, the feeling of you still on his lips.

As you looked at him you could see his mind racing as thoughts filled it, his eyes darting over your body, his forehead beginning to crease without him realizing it. You reached out again before his thoughts could get the better of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into the room, your lips back on his, harder, seeking him out.

You were on your knees within seconds, pushing him against the wall and dropping in front of him, fumbling with his belt. His head rolled back instinctively, hitting the wall, as you pulled out his cock, wrapping your mouth around it without a second thought. It took you a moment to adjust to his size, but once you had you began to play with him on your tongue, letting your lips envelope him. And then you pushed your head down, taking him in your mouth, his head hitting the back of your throat as you choked down his salty taste. The sounds of you below him caused his fist to tighten at his side, a loud grunt escaping his lips as he lost all control.

But this isn't how he wanted it, you on your knees praising his cock. What the hell- of course that's what he wanted- but not right now. Right now he needed to show you what a real man could do.

He cupped your cheek gently as you looked up at him. He gave himself one last look at you, swallowing down is cock with wide eyes, before gently pulling you off of him.

You looked at him, confused, as he helped you to your feet, cautious that he'd come to his senses, that he'd tell you it was a mistake. Instead he just let his eyes roam your face.

"Dean, let me keep going-" you wrapped your hand around his cock, desperate for more.

"Next time, darlin'." The idea of a next time set your skin aflame, a flush overwhelming you. "Can I touch you?"

You lead him towards the bed, your lips connected again as you moved, his hands roaming over your body, tugging at the bottom of your shirt. You pulled at your own jeans, desperate to be unclothed as quickly as possible, while Dean broke away for a second to pull your shirt over your head.

He stopped to look down at you as you kicked your jeans off your ankles, taking you in. He'd never allowed himself to look at you like this before, it was always stolen glances, small looks, but now, with you naked except for underwear in front of him, he eyed you greedily. He made note of your tattoos, the ones he didn't know existed an hour ago, as he sought every inch of you, devouring you with his eyes.

He gently guided you down towards the bed, and you pulled him on top of you as you laid down, bodies entwined. He pulled his own shirt off before sinking back against you, skin pressed against skin as he kissed you, his mouth heavier, needier. You guided his head down to your neck, and he kissed messily against your skin. His cock twitched at the idea of putting a hickey on your perfect, innocent neck, of marking his territory.

He let his teeth graze slightly over your skin and you let out a gasp, rolling your head back as your hand combed through his hair. He chuckled lightly against you before biting down, sucking at your neck as you moaned into him. He could feel his cock rock hard in his boxers for you already, and your noises weren't making it any easier.

He pulled back only slightly to catch sight of you again, looking down at your body under him, before looking back to your face, watching him closely, "You're gorgeous."

His finger trailed down your collarbone absentmindedly, and you bit your lip as warmth spread over you. He made easy work of the clasp on your bra and pulled it off of you, his tongue darting out at the sight. Lowering his body down he lightly kissed at your skin here and there as you closed your eyes and relaxed back into the bed, letting the feelings take you over. He nestled between your legs, small kisses dotting your inner thigh, where the desperation to ruin you took him again, and he bit down hard. You let out a small yelp, that quickly turned into a moan as you sunk into the feeling again, his teeth on your skin sending pleasure through you.

He kissed you lightly over your underwear, and you whined quietly, needy. You felt as his finger came up to circle your clit through the fabric, and you pushed your hips up, desperate for his touch.

"You want me, darlin'?" He was half teasing, and half genuinely asking, his eyebrow cocked. You bit your lip as you looked back down at him, nodding enthusiastically. He hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear, dragging them down your legs as he sucked in a ragged breath at the sight of you, completely naked below him.

His lips found your knee, then your inner thigh, working his way up dangerously slowly. You whined again for him, showing him how much you wanted him. He looked back up at you with a creased forehead, "You tell me if it's too much for you?"

You wanted to roll your eyes at his caution, but instead only nodded again as you looked down at him between your legs. He slowly pushed a finger into your entrance, a strangled groan escaping his lips as you moaned, your pussy slick around him. He inched in slowly, desperate to feel you, before pulling out just as slow, dragging out your pleasure. Slow, gentle thrusts as your pussy clenched around him.

"Dean- Please..." You pleaded, all you were able to get out, desperate for more.

You felt as he pushed a second finger into you and you gripped the sheets next to you, his movements still gentle, taking his time to stretch you open. And then his mouth was on you, softly lapping up your juices as his tongue roamed your folds. You let out another gasp, tightening your grip on the sheets.

Long strokes with a flat tongue, desperate to taste as much of you as he could, as his fingers gained speed, beginning to thrust in and out of you with ease. And then his tongue darted out, only for a second, to your clit, testing for your movements, your reaction.

You let out a loud gasp, wrapping your legs over his shoulders, needy for his mouth, for his hands. He began moving his fingers faster, building up momentum as you felt your orgasm rising. He kept lapping you up, his whole mouth on you with deliberate movements as you grinded against him, your rutting only pushing him deeper into you.

And then he curled his fingers, only slightly, continuing to thrust into you as he pressed against your g-spot. You felt your whole body clench up as you came, rolling your head back with a loud gasp as waves of pleasure flowed through you and you pulsed below him. He kept his movements steady, letting you ride out your orgasm as he continued to push his fingers into you.

He felt as you relaxed again into the sheets, coming down from your high with heavy breath, your hand moving down to comb through his hair gently.

He broke away from you for a moment, kissing your inner thigh lightly, "That okay? You okay?"

"Yes, Dean!" You laughed, exasperated, "Fuck, that was good!"

His kissing got messier again as he nipped at your skin, small red marks forming along the inside of your thigh that he kissed lightly, acknowledging his handy work. You went to sit up, reaching down to cup his face, but his grip on your legs tightened, keeping you in place as he continued to kiss against your skin.

He pulled you back down, closer to him, as his face moved back towards your pussy, still sensitive as you continued to come down from your orgasm. And then he dove in again, messier, frenzied, desperate to taste you. His tongue moved rapidly against you, and you rolled your head back again, not expecting the pleasure that rocked your body.

He lifted you towards him, your legs over his shoulders, one hand going to the small of your back to support you as he kneeled upright, pulling your ass off of the bed. His whole mouth was on you as he pushed his tongue through your folds, tasting you, his stubble rubbing against you sending your back arching. He sucked lightly at your swollen clit and you let out a pleading gasp, the feeling almost too much. He broke away for only a second to eye up your reaction before pushing back in, his pointed tongue darting out over your clit, not giving you a moment without stimulation.

He circled your bud messily, desperately, as you writhed below him, another orgasm rising quickly. He didn't relent, his need for you overwhelming any other thought as he continued to savor you. His free hand came up to spread your folds apart as he lapped at you, your wetness practically dripping over his chin as he sucked and licked at you.

"Dean- I'm gonna-" you panted out, rolling your head back into the pillow.

Without a response he focused back on your clit, flicking at it with the pointed end of his tongue. He felt your legs tense around him again and sped up his movements, overwhelming your body.

You came again, hard, grinding into him, a shuddering moan escaping your lips. He continued his frenzied movements as you choked out a desperate gasp, blinding pleasure overtaking you.

His movements slowed in time with you, letting you come down slowly from your shattering high. He rested one hand on your stomach, lowering you back down onto the bed, as he continued to slowly lap you up, staying away from your overstimulated clit. He watched you go limp below him as you sunk back into the sheets, your chest rising and falling heavily.

He kissed your thigh lazily as you came to, looking down at the grin spread across his face. "Y' okay, sweetheart?"

"Fuck-" You looked back up at the ceiling.

You heard him chuckling as he knelt back up, looking down at you, yearning for more. He reached out to lightly brush your clit with his thumb and you moved to clamp your legs together instinctively, earning a tsk out of his mouth as he moved his hand away again, "Sensitive?"

You only nodded in response, looking back at him with wide eyes.

"You ready for more?" He looked down at you, and then at his own cock, desperately hard beneath his boxers.

"Yes, Dean- Please-"

He looked down at you again, and then started to move, "I've got a rubber in my wallet-"

You grabbed his wrist, "Just pull out."

He looked at your body, your gorgeous naked body that he couldn't drag his eyes away from, the dark marks starting to form on your inner thigh and neck. He'd come this far, he'd earned you, but he knew he still had an obligation to keep you safe. "-It's in my wallet."

You rolled your eyes with a smile, shaking your head only slightly as he stood up, pulling off the rest of his clothes and fumbling around in the pile until he found his wallet, pulling out the rubber and ripping the packaging quickly with his teeth. A small pit formed, trying to push away your thoughts of where he was planning on using it, who he'd been planning on using it on. He turned back to you and you pulled yourself up instinctively, rolling over with your ass in the air, arching your back with your head buried down in the pillows, ready for him.

You felt him kneel behind you again, his eyes trained on your ass, the tattoo on your lower back, your pussy still pulsing as he trailed his finger over your wetness, causing you to let out another small gasp.

"Not- not like this...", heavy blinks bringing him to his senses.

You looked back over your shoulder, eyeing him carefully, "I thought you were going to wreck me, Winchester."

He broke his eyes away from your ass finally, feeling triumph at his self discipline, "I want to see your face-"

You swallowed hard at his confession, your mind buzzing as he guided you to lay down again, your back sinking into the sheets as he positioned himself above you, holding himself up with one arm next to your head, his other hand lining his cock up to your entrance.

He teased the head of his cock through your folds, as his eyes traced over your face carefully, watching your for your expression, "You sure?"

"Dean- Please-"

His face darkened, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He pushed into you slowly, his cock stretching you out. You bit your lip, wincing only slightly as you adjusted to his size, but as the pleasure of his movements filled you, you moaned, your shaking hand moving up to his chest as he began to thrust into you.

"You okay?" He watched you carefully.

You smiled in response, pressing your forehead against his, "You're big-"

He half chuckled, masking a genuine question with sarcasm, "Too big?"

"Biggest I've ever had." You laughed lightly, your hand flowing down over his body.

The thought caused a pang of jealousy to hit him, that you'd ever had anyone else, that other men had had you. But as you moaned beneath him, your own hips moving in time with his, guiding him in, he didn't care. Right now you were his, utterly and completely.

He watched your face again, soft grunts escaping his mouth as he thrusted, gaining speed. You felt as his expression tightened, his eyes fixed on the bruise next to your eye. You tried to turn your face away from his gaze but he stopped you, cupping your cheek with his free hand.

Both of you stared at each other for a moment before he pushed his forehead against yours again, "You're mine."

You gasped at the statement, another orgasm rising within you, speeding up your own movements as he began to drive into you harder. His expression softened as his breathing became more strained, "You're mine. And you're safe."

You smiled up at him as you felt your orgasm on the edge, your hands wrapping around his shoulder for leverage as you continued to move under him, your leg wrapping around him to push him into you completely.

You relaxed your forehead against him as you let pleasure dissolve your body, quaking under him as you came. He held his breath as your walls convulsed around his cock, pushing him to his own edge as you leant up for a messy kiss, lips colliding while your orgasm overtook you.

Within moments he was coming himself, breaking away from your kiss to push his face back into your neck, a groan vibrating through him. His thrusting faltered only slightly, and you kept your hips grinding against him as he saw out his release.

You both slowed, panting hard as he pulled his face back in front of yours, small kisses across your cheeks and nose. He kept himself in you for a moment, feeling your walls spasm against his cock as you came down from your high. And then he pulled back out of you again, kneeling in front of you as he pulled the condom off and threw it to one side.

He looked down at you as you closed your eyes, relaxing back down into the sheets below him. He kissed your legs lazily as you lay there, spent. He sucked in another breath, eyes tracing over your body, fixating on the new marks on your neck as his tongue darted out to wet his lip.

"You okay?" He sighed as you sat back up, stretching your body.

You smiled, warmth filling your face, "Yes, Dean, yes I'm okay- more than okay."

He blinked hard, "Sam'll be back soon."

You pouted out your bottom lip, sarcasm dancing behind your eyes, "You think he'll join us if we ask him nice enough?"

Dean's jaw tightened as he rolled his eyes at you, "Put your clothes back on."

You hopped off of the bed, bending down to pick your clothes up off the floor as Dean looked at you, longing still holding him.

You looked back at him over your shoulder as you stood back straight, "You're staring."

"You're beautiful." He climbed off the bed after you, his finger hooked under your chin once again, "You're so beautiful."

A pause. He leant down to kiss your forehead, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "But you need to put your clothes on before Sam gets back. I ain't sharing."

[syymplypotter]

Possibly Boyfriend Material - James Potter x Reader

PART 3 BABY because I have no patience. 2.2K words.

part 1 part 2 <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You weren’t sure who was more angry. Lily at James or you at yourself. 

Once you’d gotten to the dorm that awful night nothing stopped the tears streaming down your face. Sobbing, you told Lily everything; how James had only been doing nice things for you to prove to her he was boyfriend material and how stupid you felt that he might actually like you. 

She had been torn between comforting you or storming downstairs to hex James Potter into next year. You’d managed to talk her down between your gasping breaths, saying that he was probably long gone by now, to a little hole somewhere to mope about his crushed dream.

That night, Lily stayed by your side as you let it all out. You’ve never been more grateful to anyone in your life.

By the morning your eyes were red from crying and sore from lack of sleep, but you finally felt better. You came down to breakfast the next morning fuzzy but full of resolve. James Potter would never make you feel like that again. Ideally, no one else would either but he was a good place to start. 

As the weeks slipped by and the weather grew slowly warmer, you forgot about James. Focusing on school and your friends and the hobbies you loved helped you to appreciate the best things in your life and enjoy your time at school. The only time James was mentioned by your friends was to complain about his latest prank or how long his newest detention was. He was nearly always mentioned in combination with another Marauder too, never on his own. 

Though the memory of that night was painful, it reminded you what was at stake should you ever decide to start loving someone. All in all, you’d done a pretty good job of erasing James Potter from your life.

Him, on the other hand. Well, his life had become consumed by you. 

He guessed that it would not be the smartest thing to approach you outright, so he stuck to doing what he knew best. Silent little jobs that improved your quality of life. But he had to be careful, you’d caught on to it once, you could do it again. 

So he had to get creative.

He would purposely turn in poor essays so you could get better marks than him and feel good about it. Your favourite table in the tea shop at Hogsmeade was always free when you went in, thanks to the charm he put on it. Should you ever wonder down to the kitchens for a late night snack, Filch never caught you. James took the map and the cloak and made sure of it. 

In fact, half of James’ life was spent searching the Marauders’ map to find you and the other was spent scampering off to do another good deed for you when he saw you weren’t there. 

He had no idea how long he’d have to keep this up for, only that he knew he would. Sure this ploy of helping you was originally to prove his worth to someone else, but somewhere along the way he started seeing you. Really seeing you for you and not just as one of Lily’s friends. 

Of course, he had lots of intimate knowledge about you from when you used to hookup, but now he was learning the intricate things that made you tick. How you liked your tea, where your favourite part of the grounds was, your favourite singer, how you loved keeping a diary and how you wrote home religiously every Sunday. 

As he was learning all this, it was impossible for him not to fall for you. He saw the kind, patient, funny person you were and the rest was history. 

The only problem was history had repeated itself. James Potter now found himself head over heels for another girl that wanted nothing to do with him. But if he’d won your heart once, he thought he could bloody well do it again. 

So he’d keep watching and waiting. 

——————————————————————————————————

It was the end of a lazy afternoon when you made your way up to your dorm. Your friends wanted to go to Hogsmeade and you initially started going with them, but soon turned around. Your book had been calling your name from your bedside table and you really wanted to finish it. 

Trudging up the stairs, you vaguely wondered if they’d bring you back some fizzing whizzbees.  

You’d just opened the door to your dorm when- 

“POTTER!” You shrieked, “What the fuck?”

James Potter span around so fast he nearly fell over. 

You stared. He stared guiltily back, one arm behind him, shifting his weight uncomfortably. 

“Um,” He tried to start explaining himself, “Err I,”

You waited. 

“You were supposed to be in Hogsmeade.” He said mumbled eventually. 

“Oh I was, was I?” You said shakily “And you just took this great opportunity to, to what, hmm? Read Lily’s secret journal? Sniff her pillow?” 

He swore, shaking his head frantically. “No baby I, fuck, I swear I’m only here to-“

You didn’t let him finish. “Shut the fuck up,” You snarled. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, like you care.”

James winced. That hurt, because he did care. So much. But he reigned himself in; he’d probably deserved that anyway.

He tried to continue, “No please listen to me, I swear I’m not here for Lily I’m only-”

Once again, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to bother. 

“Then what the fuck could you possibly be here for, huh James, if not for the girl of your dreams?” 

“But I am here for the girl of my dreams.”

That stopped you in your tracks. He held his breath. You took in where he was. Standing next to your bed. From behind his back you saw a flash of colour, he was holding a bunch of your favourite flowers. There was a new blue vase on your bedside table, waiting to be filled. 

You stiffened. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare, not after how upset you were last time. 

Holy shit, last time. 

‘Fuck me sideways’ you thought, ‘here we go again.’

“James,” you said slowly. “You’re not talking about me, are you?”

Dead silence filled the room for what felt like an eternity, yet also not for long enough. 

Then the dam broke.

“Fuck baby please, please just hear me out okay?” He began, talking a million miles an hour. “I know I’ve been so shitty towards you and I’m really really sorry, I’ll never forgive myself, but I’ve also been trying my absolute best, lovie, I swear, to make it up to you. I’ve been doing them again, the little tasks to help you, to show you what I can be. I didn’t want to talk to you because you’ve been so happy and I didn’t want ruin everything so I just thought-“

“Stop,” you said softly, “You don’t need to worry about that.”

He held his breath, chest inflating. Had he actually managed to win you over? 

“There’s no need,” you continued, “Because you already have ruined everything.”

If you looked up despair in a dictionary, a picture of James Potter in this state would be listed as a definition. 

“You fucked my life up. You made me feel stupid. You made me feel worthless. You nearly ruined my friendship with Lily. And now you waltz back in and think a few charitable deeds are enough to make it all okay?”

James’ blood felt like ice. Your eyes were blazing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought you’d never looked more beautiful. 

“Are you still on about the boyfriend thing?” You nearly tugged half your hair out in frustration, “James doing a few nice things does not equal boyfriend material. A partner is someone who is supposed to love and support you in every aspect of life. They’re supposed to be someone you can trust with anything, with your deepest desires and darkest thoughts. They are someone who is supposed to make you feel safe and cared for and wanted.” You finished, “Picking up my hair ties does not equal emotionally supporting me through times when I’ve felt like shit, all thanks to you I might add.”

You were nearly shouting now, “If anything Lily’s been a better boyfriend to me than you have ever shown any capability of being. Why would I waste my time on something like that?” 

Your words hung in the air, in the silence between you two. 

‘Waste your time.’

You were breathily heavily, trying to calm yourself down. James on the other hand, had shrunk into himself, thinking desperately. 

“Now leave,” You said, “Before I call McGonagall.”

He didn’t move.

“Potter.” There was a serious warning note in your voice, but still he didn’t move. 

You took a step towards him to do, you didn’t know what, but it obviously triggered something in James because he tossed the flowers onto your bed and-

And fell to his knees. 

Right here, right now James Potter was laying himself out for you. Putting himself at your feet. Ready to take whatever you would give him, for better for for worse. 

You gasped, unable to think of anything else to do. 

“I know I haven’t demonstrated any behaviour that’s even close to what a boyfriend should be.” He said this line staring at the floor. When you didn’t interrupt him, he dared to look up at you and continued, “But just give me one more chance and I swear,” His eyes were shining, “I swear I will do anything in the world to prove that I can be good to you.”

This promise hung in the air. You let it, mulling over his words. He seemed genuine enough, surely even James Potter couldn’t fake emotion like this but, but you remembered how you felt last time and couldn’t stop the wince that crossed your face. 

James noticed, because of course he did.

“And even if you don’t want me, please just know that I will forever be sorry about how I spoke to you last time,” He said, “And I’m so sorry I made you feel worthless because,” He had to pause to swear under his breath, “you will never be worthless to me.” 

That was it. There was nothing else he could say. He just waited, looking up at you, waiting to hear your verdict. 

On your part, you were experiencing some of the most emotional whiplash of your life. Here was the boy you had dreamed of, begging at your feet to give him a chance. So why were you so hesitant about this? 

You knew why. He’d fawned over Lily for years and years, yet somehow all it took was a matter of months for him to become as equally obsessed with you? You weren’t buying it. But the other romantic side of you was screaming to grab this opportunity by the throat and never look back.

‘Hmmmm,’ you considered, ‘decisions decisions.’ 

James hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed, afraid that any action unauthorised by you would make you angry again. 

You looked down at him. 

Neither of you moved for a long, long time. James’ knees were surely sore but he showed no sign of it. 

You went round and round in your head, should you, shouldn’t you. 

Eventually, you came up with an answer.

“Look at me.”

Spoken softly into the room, but James’ head has never moved quicker. 

“You are not my boyfriend. Not yet.” 

He stared, unblinking, hoping against hope. 

“You’d better prepare yourself for a long haul if you ever want to be.” 

“Yes,” He croaked, “Yes anything.” 

You pursed your lips but said nothing. You’d definitely hold him to that.

You had more to say and you meant to say it but you got so distracted by his damn eyes. Big and brown, so full of hope, devotion and, if you squinted, love to give you that the rest of your words died in your throat. 

Instead, you leaned down and did what you couldn’t remember ever doing. 

You kissed him. 

Gently, softly, his lips plush and warm against yours. He started slightly in surprise, momentarily wondering if this was a dream, before he was kissing you back with everything he had. He tried to put every emotion he felt for you into that kiss, he tried to make sure you could feel the affection through every movement of his lips against yours. He rather thought you could. 

On your end, this was probably the nicest kiss you’d ever had and it was with James Potter of all people. If you’d told this to yourself a week ago, she would never have believed you. 

Needing air, you pulled back, James’ mouth chasing yours. You giggled breathily, putting a hand on his jaw to steady him. He opened his eyes and gazed into yours. 

“I hope you’re a patient man,” You said quietly, thumb stroking his jaw, “You’ve got a hell of a lot of grovelling to do.”

James broke into the biggest smile you've ever seen.

“Baby, I’ve got all the time in the world.” 

AN: my first series over, oh how the time flies

[syymplypotter]

ABHORRENCE // r. black

RATING: R / 4.4K WORDS

Regulus Black x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You and Regulus Black have a longstanding academic rivalry, until a chance meeting in the library alters that relationship.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! PIV (no protection), oral (f!receiving), quickie, public sex, hairpulling, coming inside, degradation, (brief) face slapping, spanking, sort of mean!dom!regulus, sub!reader, (m! + f!receiving) name-calling, fem reader, (brief) mention of blood, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Glory Box - Portishead

---

“Now, can anyone tell me…,” Professor Flitwick started slowly, building suspense for the final question of his extra credit pop quiz. “What, if any, are the limitations to…the Summoning Charm?”

Your hand shot up at the speed of light. The draped robe sleeve around your arm slid down the length of your bicep so quickly that it completely exposed your skin. Cold air brushed against your flesh, sending a chill down your spine. 

Professor Flitwick’s eyes caught yours at the sudden motion of your body. However, his eyes had also flicked over to another boy—a Gryffindor, and…him. As your attention was pulled to the boy sitting at the opposite end of the classroom, you refrained poorly from rolling your eyes at his equal eagerness to answer this question. 

The entire school year had been a back-and-forth between you two: you and Regulus Black. Merlin, even his name irritated you. It made your head fuzzy and left an awful taste in your mouth. Your lips smacked unappetizingly, attempting to force the flavor out. 

And this last pop quiz before the final exams were revved up full force was the last bit of extra points you would be able to pile atop your already flawless grade. No one else in the classroom seemed to particularly care, except for a handful of struggling students and you and Regulus. 

This was how it had always been, though. Regulus and you. Back and forth. Fiery competition blazing between the two of your bodies, never ceasing, unable to be extinguished. Every time his hand rose a fraction of a second before yours, or received more verbal praise from your professors, or scored a single point higher on a test, you swore you could feel your chest concaving in and rotting. It was the worst thing you’d ever felt, falling short of him. 

And, still, nothing quite compared to the rush you felt when you were in competition with him. There had been a few times when you hadn’t been able to resist smiling at him. Was it more of a nasty, prideful smirk? Perhaps. But his returning expression had always made it worth it. Especially when you beat him. Fuck, it felt good. 

“I do feel like we’ve had enough answers from the two of you!” Professor Flitwick chuckled heartily. “How’s about we hear from someone else?”

He put a pointed finger to his fluffy mustache as he debated who to pick, completely skipping over you and Regulus. Your heart sank in disappointment. How stupid. Why were you getting punished for being one of the smartest in class?

You glanced over at Reg. He was just as annoyed. He caught your eye and forced a nasty expression onto his face. He held a fist to the side of his throat and let his head fall over to the side, eyes rolling back and tongue sticking out. You held a giggle back and turned back to the front of the class so as not to let him distract you anymore. 

“Er, well,” the student a few rows in front of you began. “The Summoning Charm can….only be used on items that belong to the caster—”

“Oh! I’ll have to cut you off there,” Flitwick interrupted. “So close! Better study up before your exams. Anyone else?”

Again, like clockwork, both of your hands shot to the sky. Flitwick seemed to deflate at the sight, only wanting the rest of his class to be as invested as the two of you were. 

“Very well,” he sighed, rubbing a hand against his sore forehead. “Let’s hear from…Regulus!”

Your hand clenched midair before dropping back down to your lap. You concealed your anger deep in your jaw, letting it clench every so often as the rest of it boiled in your stomach. Regulus shot you a mocking look before turning back to the professor. 

“Typically, the most well-known restriction of the Summoning Charm, Accio, is that it only works on inanimate objects. You cannot summon a human or animal. Though you could summon something on or around a living being, which could lead to it being forced along with the item.”

“Beautifully done, Black! Ten points to Slytherin!” Flitwick announced, clapping his small hands together rapidly. Regulus glanced over to you with a devilish smirk before settling back comfortably in his seat. 

“I do believe that’s all we have time for today, folk! But, remember: study well, do well! Cram, cram, cram, young Wizards and Witches. You will pass these exams!”

You smiled weakly at his attempt at a pep talk, knowing that you deserved those ten points. Your answer would have been better by leaps and bounds. It would have been worded better or…something. You just knew it would have been better than his. Jerk.

As everyone else rose to their feet and lazily trudged out the door, it seemed that one person made the decision to linger behind, much to your dismay. 

You sighed aloud as you stopped before the tall boy blocking your exit. His familiar waves of blackened hair curtained his face in such a way that cast a bit of a shadow across his smug face. The darkness somehow illuminated the curvatures in his face. Things that hadn’t stood out before were doing so. Your eyes flickered over his eyes, his nose, his lips, and his throat. Then, back up. He watched. 

“Can I help you, Black?” you asked, your voice bored, unconcerned. He scoffed, eyes trailing over the classroom stupidly before falling back on you. 

“Just wanted to see what your plans were for the final exam,” he said. “Got a study group? If not, we could—”

“Let me stop you there,” you interrupted, chuckling meanly. “Just because this is the end of the school year does not mean we need to team up. What we have is a good thing. I hate you; you hate me. We hate each other, and it works nicely. Just let it be where it is.”

“I…yeah, alright,” he said, shrugging as if he were disappointed in your response. You hadn’t the slightest idea why he’d possibly be anything but pleased with your answer. There was no way he was actually asking to work together. He was just trying to get under your skin, as if you needed to work with him to get by. Well, you weren’t falling for it. If he wanted to work with someone, you were sure he could find some ditzy Slytherin girl to follow his every word with his annoyingly handsome face. 

“Okay? Can I get through, please?” you asked.

“By all means,” he scoffed again, moving himself out of the way just enough for you to slide past him and through the classroom door as if he meant less to you than anyone else in the classroom. And why wouldn’t he? The only special thing between you two was the animosity that floated there. He knew that, of course.   

x x x

As the evening began to set in and spread its inky shadows over the castle slowly, you settled in with the plan you’d forged for yourself. For you to study properly, you knew that being alone was the best way for you to do it. That’s how you’d always been. So, besides the obvious, that was another reason Regulus’ proposition earlier was completely out of the question. 

You gathered the materials you’d set out in the last hour, planning your studying schedule to the very tee, ensuring that no detail could have been missed. There was little more important to you than these exams at the moment. The only thing that mattered right now was getting through this school year with damn good grades and a damn good final exam. 

All of your things—quills, extra ink, scrolls of parchment, study guides, textbooks, caffeine tinctures—were shoved hurriedly but neatly into your leather bag. You tossed it over your shoulder and headed out of your dormitory, careful not to bother the other strictly focused and procrastinating, snoozing students. 

With a deep breath, you clenched your jaw and Disapparated, destination pinned to the vast Hogwarts library. With your special permission from Professor McGonagall to be there after hours, you were sure not to be forced out by anyone and sure to be alone. It was the perfect opportunity and scenario for your studying needs. It was almost too good to be true. 

You landed before one of the library doors with a dizzying stamp. Your heels scuffed on the floor as you regained your sense of balance, fingers struggling to hold your bag from spilling its contents onto the floor. “Fuck,” you whispered. You’d never get used to that sensation. 

When you gathered your bearings, you pulled the library door open, letting it groan lowly on its old hinges. 

The library always had a specific smell. It was a soft one that floated easily in the air, filling your nose with gentle memories of growing up within the confines of the castle. The climbing stone walls weren’t an unwelcome confinement, though; they’d always been more like a hug from a comforting relative. You sighed contentedly as you made your way to the back of the enormous room.

There was a specific corner you always liked to disappear into when coming here. It was closed off from the rest of the library, its isolation enforced by the Restricted section that loomed on its edge.

In here, it seemed the calming scent was stronger, the fire was warmer, and living was easier. No matter your needs at the moment, you’d found that coming here made it all just a bit softer around the edges. 

So, when you set all your things out in that perfect, organized way you loved and clung to, you weren’t expecting your perfect oasis to be intruded upon. 

His footsteps were barely loud enough to cause an echo, but they still drew a startled jolt out of you as he stepped out of the shadows. That dark hair scattered just as it always did, and the contrasts of his face remained the same. When the fright dissipated, pure rage replaced it.

“No. No, Black, this is my place! You’re not allowed to study here—go somewhere else!” you demanded, all but stomping your foot and waving your finger. “What are you even doing in here? The library is closed!”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he murmured, shrugging his shoulders as if he weren’t impeding on your immaculately planned evening. 

“You–I…,” you stammered frustratedly, “I have special permission from Professor McGonagall to be here.”

“Oh, good,” he said, sliding his newsbag off his shoulder. “I’ve got permission from Professor Slughorn.” He began to set his things on your table, already sliding some of your carefully organized things around. Your eyes fluttered in fury. It was taking everything in you not to tackle him to the ground and take out months’ worth of anger on his stupid, perfect face. 

“Black, please, please, please leave. I will do anything you want. Just, for once in your life, stay out of my way and leave me alone. I have to study alone, or I won’t do well on this exam. I am begging you.”

“Well, what if I can’t study without someone?” he asked. He was being intentionally dense. You just knew it. 

“That is not my problem,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Besides, I was here first. This library is enormous. Please go pick somewhere else.”

“No.” 

You blinked in surprise. He stared back as if he hadn’t just completely denied your perfectly reasonable request. It took your brain a few moments to compute enough to put a response together. 

“What?” 

“I said, ‘No.’ I don’t want to go. I want to stay here and study with you.”

You couldn’t believe him. Merlin, what had you done to deserve this? Had you stepped on some kind of endangered mushroom species? Had you forgotten to hold the door for an elderly Wizard? You didn’t know, but it was starting to feel like the universe was playing a practical joke on you. It felt entirely unfair.

“Okay, maybe you didn’t hear me,” you said. “I do not want you to study with me. Please leave.” You spoke purposefully slow, laying it all out with your hands, to make sure he got it through his thick skull. You weren’t sure what about that was hard for him to grasp, but he was obviously having an issue with it, because he was sliding the chair across from you out from under the table and preparing to take a seat.

“What the fuck?” you sighed, slamming your hands against your face. 

“If you think about it, we could be an educational force—”

“Reg, please, this isn’t the time for jokes—”

“No!” he interrupted you abruptly. Your hands fell away from your face, shocked he’d raised his voice at you. You’d never heard him speak even slightly louder than his typical mocking purr. “Listen to me for once. Don’t speak, just listen.”

And for once, you did. Your mouth snapped shut as you waited for him to continue. Regulus had never spoken to you like that, and, for some reason, the seriousness under his tone made you want to hear what he had to say. 

“I can’t believe how stupid you are,” he scoffed. 

“What?” you demanded, coughing out a laugh in disbelief. Your eyes bulged as he stared back at you. 

“Did I say it was your turn?” he asked. Your mouth shut once again, cheeks filling with a flush usually reserved only for the embarrassment you felt when called down by a teacher. 

“I thought you were smart,” he laughed. “I thought you were my academic rival—my equal, even, but you’re not half as smart as you look if you really don’t see what’s right in front of you. It’s been dropped at your feet, and, still, you’re blind.”

All you could do was stare. Regulus admitting aloud that he considered you his academic equal was already a showstopper. The boy you knew wouldn’t be caught dead with those words in his mouth. The constant degradation he laid on you for some unknown reason was something entirely different. For one, you had no idea what the hell he was talking about. For two, you were shocked at how neutral you felt at his insults, like he didn’t mean them in the way you’d initially assumed.

He stood astute, fingers perched on the edge of the table in a commanding way as he grilled you. Those familiar shadows on his face had shifted downward, highlighting the carved peaks of his cheekbones and the arrow of his lips. Subconsciously, you licked your lips at the thought. His eyes followed the hasty movement. 

“I don’t do this because I hate you,” he all but whispered. “You think I keep up this rivalry, continue my efforts to be near you, because I hate you? You’re so fucking stupid.” 

Your heart pounded as he stepped around the intricately carved table edge and approached you slowly, as if he were a predator stalking its kill. You swallowed thickly at the way he stared you down. The emotions you were feeling were nothing short of new to you. The only explanation even slightly near to the sensation was that of a deer whose neck was exposed to a ravenous wolf. You felt vulnerable. 

He stopped inches from you. Your heart was beating so loudly you swore he could hear it in the library’s dead silence. His fingers twitched idly by his side as if he were refraining from reaching out to touch you, but you were unsure why he, of all people, would be itching to make contact with you. You couldn’t be sure why you were desperate for him to just do it already. 

“I do all of it just to make sure you see me,” he whispered, his lips parting easily. “Just to make sure you know that no one loves you the way that I do.”

A near-silent gasp broke from your lips before you could stop it. You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. Your vision was centered on the way his collarbone sank beneath his T-shirt, doing everything in its power to avoid his lidded gaze. 

“I do it to make sure you know that I love you so much I’ll hate you if that’s what you want from me,” he whispered, his voice aching with need. His teeth shone against the light in your peripheral vision as if he were wincing at the thought of not having you. “If that’s what you need from me…hatred, animosity, abhorrence—”

Fuck.

You launched forward with one destination imprinted in your mind as if you were Disapparating. Frantic hands curled possessively into the black strands you’d eyed for so long. His silky hair cascaded over your fingers like water, unyielding to your cutting touch. His lips curved over yours dangerously, sucking and biting and gnashing as if that wolf was finally getting his long-awaited meal. 

He split you open with his mouth, claiming you from the inside out. His fingers wrapped the length of your hair around their respective knuckles as if he were luring a ship in by its rope. He clenched his fist tightly, pulling the hair taut by its roots so he could control every ounce of the kiss. An embarrassingly whining moan sank from your lips into his mouth at the sensation of his hand holding your head so steadily. 

“Ah, fuck…loathing…,” he whispered before delving back in. “Detestation…contempt…aversion.” Each pause was flooded with a damaging, evil kiss littered with sharp nips of his canines. 

“Is that what you want?” he groaned against your lips as your fingers slipped down beneath the two of you and meanly gripped him through his trousers. “Fuck!”

“Yeah, that’s what I want from you,” you whispered breathlessly against his mouth. Your foreheads remained pressed together as the two of you took in the gravity of the situation. You weren’t sure when the dislike between the two of you had transitioned into raw desire, but you were unsure if it would ever go back. You were unsure if it had ever been “dislike” in the first place, rather than just misplaced lust. 

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” he breathed. 

“Do we know anything else?” 

He paused for a moment, feeling out your viewpoint on this scenario. If you could force yourself to look directly into his eyes, you’d likely see questioning glances, begging for your consent but swearing not to push farther than you want. But you couldn’t look. Instead, you watched his lips. The way they started to form around words, then stop, and pant, as if this was the hardest thing he’d ever done. 

Finally, instead of trying to find the words to ask you, he simply placed his hand against your hip, and you raised your chin once. Anything he wanted, you’d give it to him. You’d just never say it out loud. 

He placed one hand across your throat, squeezing ever so gently so as to keep you right where he wanted you, while the other lifted your thighs onto your favorite table. Your materials had been long forgotten, scattered across the floor by his sweeping arm. 

“Asshole,” you bit out, slicing your top teeth along his bottom lip. He groaned at the sensation, ripping his mouth away from yours. You watched as his tongue darted out over the curve of his swollen mouth and pulled away, dripping in scarlet. 

“Bitch!” he cried, pressing a finger to his wound. You smirked roughly, rolling your eyes at his patheticism. In spotting your attitude, and in return for the bite, he gripped your hips roughly and spun you over onto your stomach. The wooden table punched roughly into your gut. He slid a swift hand across the curve of your ass, pain like a razor blade following with it.

You cried out at the sensation, gripping against nothing on the smooth, finished table. 

His hands gripped roughly in your hair again, yanking your head back to meet with his shoulder. His face appeared beside you, light stubble scraping along your jawline.  

“Keep your fucking voice down if you want something,” he whispered. “The librarian still patrols even after hours.”

“Fuck you, don’t hit me then!” you argued, wriggling beneath his heavy weight against your back. Your fists clenched uncomfortably between your smushed chest and the table. 

He leaned back and swiped another rough slap across your ass. Though this time, before you could fully let out the responsive cry, two fingers shoved between your lips, muting the sound that leaked out. 

“Don’t fucking test me, baby,” he growled in your ear, his voice rumbling in his chest against your back. 

His free hand slid down the length of your body, searching blindly for the seam of your uniform skirt. When he found it, he began to clumsily attempt to work your hosiery down. However, the angle the two of you were forced in didn’t seem to do it for either one of you, because he growled in frustration and removed his fingers from your mouth. 

His hands gripped your waist once again and flipped you back over so your shoulder blades were pressed into the table this time around. You gasped at the way he handled your weight so simply, as if he were just flipping a test over in class, sending you cruel smirks as he bragged that he was finishing the assignment quicker than you. 

“Gotta be quick, baby,” he whispered breathlessly, as he flipped your skirt upwards and worked your stockings and bottoms down your thighs. You whined aloud at the sudden exposure of your most sensitive area to the cool, library air. He shushed you demeaningly, tapping your thigh in a tutting motion. 

Once you were completely bare to him from the waist down, he wasted no time getting to his knees. He flipped your legs over his shoulders and immediately buried his nose deep within your cunt. 

You screamed aloud at the feeling, fingers curling tightly in his hair, begging to find some kind of purchase. His tongue circled you rapidly, sloppy and needy, as if he were sating an obsessive addiction. 

But, as soon as he was between your thighs, he was gone. A broken whine left you as you mourned the loss of his warm mouth. “Fuck, why?”

“I’ll take my time next time, darling,” he whispered, quickly working his trousers open. “This time, you’ll just have to take what I give you. You’ll take my cock, won’t you?”

A flush ripened on your cheeks as a familiar taste of frustration rose up your tongue concerning the boy. Somehow, even now, he had managed to deny you what you most desired. Only, this time it wasn’t a turn in class or the best grade. So, as childish as it was, you pouted at the loss of his tongue. 

Until his hand smacked lightly across your cheek, pushing it gently to the left. Before you even had a chance to gasp at his fucking audactity, he smacked it the other way. They weren’t hard hits, just enough to remind you that he was controlling this situation and there was nothing you could do about it. And he wore the same smirk he always did when he was stealing the best assignment from you in class. 

“Quit being a fucking brat,” he warned. “You’ll take what I fucking give you. I was just asking because I’m nice. I’m nice, aren’t I?”

You scoffed. He smacked you again. You gasped, laughing in disbelief at the way he was treating you, at the way you were allowing him to treat you. You were never going to live this down. 

Once his trousers were unbuckled and split down the middle, he wasted no time wrapping your thighs around his waist and teasing himself along the length of your core. At the sensation of his warmth where you most needed him, you couldn’t help but roll your head against the table, gasping at the feeling. You wanted to tell him to stop teasing, to get on with it if you were supposed to be quick, but something about the way he controlled your body gave you pause, kept you quiet. You couldn’t question him. For once in your life, you had no words for Regulus Black, only aching moans that rolled off your tongue as he thrusted himself into you. 

And as soon as you got too loud again, he shoved those two fingers back between your teeth, daring you to bite down on them. But you weren’t concerned with that. You didn’t want to push back anymore. The way he felt within you was more than you’d ever been able to give yourself or receive from anyone else, and you were at a loss. Every drag of his length out of you, every curl of his fingers against your tongue, every admission of dismal hatred he felt toward you, it all forced you quieter. 

No matter how hard you racked your academic brain, you could not manage to form any simple sentence. You could only claw out for him and beg for more in the form of gagged whines and muffled attempts of his name.

And Regulus didn’t care. It was exactly what he wanted and more. The smell of your sweat, the cadence of your cries, the scratch of your nails down his chest, the way you tightened around him, the closer he pushed you toward the edge.

And when you finally came around him, gushing over his length and soaking both of your papers, it served as a reminder of how this all started. How he’d managed to wiggle his way into your brain, even in pretending to despise you. And, after all of this was over, you could actually hate him if you wanted to. He deserved it for not telling you how he felt. He wouldn’t mind if you did. He’d love you in any way you allowed him to, as long as it meant you’d let him love you.

---

Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie, @synicaljah, @2dloveshp, @seagull-on-toast

[syymplypotter]

Needy Brat ; MR

Summary: You push your normally submissive boyfriend much too far.

warnings!MDNI : dom!Mattheo, bratty!Reader, power play, rough sex, dominance switch, choking (light), overstimulation, dirty talk, sub-to-dom dynamic shift, established relationship

Word Count: ~3,000

✷　✦　　✦　　☆　*　　•*.　•　*°　　　　　*　　✯　　　·　　　　✵　 •*.

You thought teasing Mattheo would end the way it always did—with him begging under your touch, lips parted in desperate moans, and his hands clinging to the sheets like they could save him.

But tonight?

You pushed a little too hard.

It started in the common room. He’d been patient—so patient—all day. Touch-starved eyes, pretty little sighs when you brushed past, and that subtle pout he wore when you ignored him just long enough to make him ache.

But when you leaned just a little too close to another boy, laughing at a joke that didn’t even deserve a smile, you caught the way Mattheo’s jaw tensed—sharp, silent, dangerous.

One too-sweet laugh. One careless glance at someone who wasn’t him. That’s all it took for Mattheo’s restraint to begin unraveling.

He didn’t say anything—not then. Just sat there, elbow resting on the arm of the leather chair, fingers tapping slowly against his knee like he was counting the seconds before he snapped. His gaze didn’t waver, dark eyes fixed on you like a loaded wand with the safety off. And you? You kept smiling, lips sweet and eyes sparkling like you weren’t fully aware of the line you’d just crossed. But you felt it—the drop in the room’s temperature, the burn of his stare on your skin. You knew you’d just lit a match. And Mattheo? He was already reaching for the fire.

But when you got back to your dorm?

The door slammed behind you with a force that made your chest jolt, the crack of it echoing through the room like a warning shot. A second later, the lock clicked into place with a smooth, deliberate flick of his wand. The silence that followed was thick—so heavy you could feel it in your throat. You didn’t need to turn around to know Mattheo was standing there, jaw set, breath slow, eyes burning holes into your spine.

You turned slowly.

“Everything alright, baby?” you asked, mock-sweet.

He didn’t give you the reaction you were expecting. No blush, no boyish grin.

Just one slow step forward, his eyes dark and unreadable—like a storm gathering just beneath the surface. Gone was the soft, eager boy who craved your attention. What stood in front of you now was something else entirely.

“Funny thing,” he said it with a voice so low it was almost a growl, the words sliding out like dark velvet—thick, slow, and heavy with warning. “You forget—letting you lead is a privilege, not a right.”

You raised a slow eyebrow, feeling your pulse quicken just a little. “I am in charge. You’re my good boy, remember?”

He let out a low, sharp laugh—just once—but it carried a warning beneath the sound.

Without warning, his hands were on you—firm, unyielding. One strong hand snatched your wrists and pinned them high above your head against the cold, unforgiving wall. The other curled around your throat, fingers resting just enough to remind you who was in control—not crushing, but a silent threat that made your breath hitch. Your pulse hammered in your ears, shock radiating through your limbs as the air seemed to tighten around you. The softness you knew in him vanished, replaced by something sharp, fierce, and utterly unyielding. In that instant, the world flipped—no longer the obedient, waiting Mattheo, but a storm barely contained, and you were right in the eye of it.

His lips barely grazed your ear, warm and heavy with intent. “Then why are you trembling?”

Your breath hitched.

“Oh, now you’re quiet?” he whispered, voice dripping venom. “Wasn’t so shy when you were laughing at his jokes. You like making me jealous, sweetheart? You like acting like I won’t remind you who you belong to?”

The whimper left your lips uninvited, high and broken.

“Mattheo—” you gasped, eyes wide, hips shifting without thought, like your body was already surrendering while your mind tried to keep up.

“No,” he cut you off. “You had your fun. Now I’m going to remind you who I am.”

He kissed you then—hard, unforgiving. All tongue and teeth and punishment. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t slow—it was a claim. You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed it greedily, lips moving like he needed to devour you just to breathe.

Your wrists strained in his grip, but he didn’t budge—his hold tight, possessive, unrelenting. Then his knee shoved between your thighs, forcing them apart with practiced ease, and his hips followed—pressing into you with a pressure that made your head spin.

You felt him—already hard, already pulsing through the thick press of fabric—and it made your knees buckle. A low, broken moan slipped from your throat before you could stop it, lost in the mouth that wouldn’t stop kissing you like he wanted to ruin you.

“I always take it,” he spat, voice low and ragged as he rolled his hips with purpose. “Like a good fucking toy. I beg. I moan. I let you do whatever the hell you want. But you forgot something.”

He jerked your wrists higher. “I let you.”

He gripped your jaw hard enough to make your lips part, eyes dark and wicked.

“You think you’re in charge?” he sneered. “Not tonight. Tonight, you’re mine.”

The control—the bite in his voice—lit something filthy inside you, heat surging low and immediate.

He dragged you to the bed and threw you down like you were weightless, ripping your panties down in one rough motion.

His fingers found the heat between your thighs, and he let out a bitter laugh.

“Already soaked,” he sneered. “Tell me—was that for me? Or for him?”

Your lips parted to bite back—but the moment his fingers found your heat, your breath stuttered and the words crumbled into a soft, needy gasp.

He smirked, like he already knew he’d shut you up.

His grin was slow and cruel, like he was savoring the silence.

“What happened to all that attitude, huh? That mouth?”

He leaned in closer. “That’s what I thought.”

There was no pause. No mercy.

His fingers plunged back into you, curling immediately with practiced ease—like he’d memorized every inch of you, like this wasn’t about teasing anymore. This was about proving something.

And he did.

He hit that spot over and over, dragging moans from your throat you hadn’t meant to give him. Your hips bucked wildly, out of sync with your thoughts, but he held you down with one hand and never missed a beat with the other.

“Mattheo—fuck—I’m—”

“You’re not coming yet.” His voice was low, no room for argument as he slid his fingers out—wet, glistening with your essence.

Without hesitation, he pressed them into your mouth, holding your gaze as you sucked on his fingers.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, voice thick with possession. “That’s exactly what a desperate little brat tastes like. Mine.”

You moaned around his fingers, eyes fluttering shut.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, a slow, deliberate move that left your tongue tingling and your nerves raw. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sharp and hungry, watching every flicker of desperation that crossed your face.

“You think you get to tease me?” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “You think you get to have all the control?”

Before you could respond, his fingers were back inside you—this time teasing, sliding just beneath the surface, never quite giving you what you crave. He worked you with maddening patience, curling and pressing, pulling away before you could catch your breath, then circling back again and again.

Your hips bucked helplessly, desperate for the release he refused to give, every fiber of your body trembling with need. You whimpered softly, arching toward his hand, your eyes silently begging for mercy.

“Beg,” he said, voice like a command and a challenge wrapped into one.

Your breath hitched. You opened your mouth to argue—until the tip of his finger brushed against the most sensitive spot, and a shudder ripped through you.

“Say it,” he growled. “Beg for me. Like you always do.”

Your voice cracked on the desperate plea that spilled out, raw and needy, just like every time before—just like he wanted.

And he smiled—dark, satisfied, victorious—because tonight, the game had changed.

His belt clinked—sharp, final. The sound alone made your breath hitch, heart thudding like a drum in your chest. Then came the rustle of fabric, the low drag of his zipper, pants hitting the floor with a soft thud.

And before you could fully register it—before your brain could catch up to your body—he was on you.

He slammed into you in one brutal, possessive thrust, knocking the breath from your lungs. No warning. No teasing. No mercy.

You cried out, back arching off the bed as he filled you in one go—thick, deep, relentless. The stretch burned, beautiful and overwhelming, and your fingers clawed at the sheets, at his arms, at anything you could reach.

Your thighs instinctively tightened around his hips, trying to ground yourself against the sheer force of him, but he didn’t slow. Didn’t give you time. He pulled out halfway, then slammed back in again, harder.

A broken moan escaped your lips, half shock, half pleasure, all need.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice shaky and wrecked, “Mattheo—”

But he wasn’t listening. Not really.

His hand found your throat, not squeezing—just there. A reminder. A claim.

“Is this what you wanted my little slut?” he growled against your ear.

You moaned in response, already close again, your body spiraling from the brutal rhythm and the sheer force of his control.

Just raw, hard claiming.

You cried out, nails clawing at the sheets, but he pinned your hips down with a hand and fucked into you like he had something to prove.

“You act like it’s yours,” he growled, pressing into you with a roll of his hips. “But control? I lend it to you. Because you’re such a good girl for me when I do.”

He eased out, just enough to leave you empty and aching, then flipped you onto your stomach with a firm, unrelenting grip. His hands dragged your hips up into position—and then he was back inside you with one brutal thrust, deeper than before, like he wanted to ruin you from the inside out.

“And now I’m taking it back.”

Your face buried in the pillows, you cried out with every thrust, your body already shaking from how close you were. He knew you too well—mapped you with hands and mouth and memory—and tonight, he was using that knowledge like a weapon.

“Say it,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his hand gripping your hip so tight it’d leave bruises. “Say who’s in control, you needy little brat.”

You shook your head with a breathless, half-mad smile, just to see what he’d do.

His laugh was dark.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Big mistake.

He fisted your hair without warning, yanking you up until your back arched sharply against his chest. You gasped, the sudden change in angle sending a shock of sensation down your spine—

And then he slammed into you.

So deep, so hard, it knocked the air from your lungs and left you seeing stars.

His grip tightened, keeping you flush against him, completely at his mercy. His lips brushed your ear, breath hot and cruel.

“Say it,” he growled, voice low and lethal. “Say who’s in control.”

You whimpered, but your mouth stayed shut, jaw trembling with stubbornness even as your body begged for relief. Your walls fluttered around him, desperate, aching—and still, you held out.

He stilled inside you.

Completely.

The lack of movement was torture. His cock throbbed, buried deep, and you could feel how hard he was—how badly he wanted to move—but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not until you gave in.

“You really want to play this game?” he whispered, dragging his teeth lightly along your neck. “Because I’ll keep you like this all night. Right on the edge. Wet, shaking, stuffed full, but not allowed to come. Not once.”

You whimpered again, a soft broken noise, but still didn’t speak.

His hips rolled—once—deep and slow and devastating. Then nothing.

“You don’t say it?” he murmured. “I pull out. I leave you dripping and begging while I sleep like a fucking king.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, your thighs trembling.

He licked it from your skin.

“Say it,” he demanded again, grinding into you just enough to make you shatter inside—without giving you the release. “Say who owns this body. Say who’s in control. Or I promise you, sweetheart, you won’t be coming tonight. Or tomorrow.”

“You,” you cried out, the words half a sob. “You’re in control, Mattheo—please, I need—”

He buried himself deeper, holding you in place with bruising force.

“Good girl,” he snarled. “Now take it. Every last bit of what you begged for.”

Your orgasm hit you hard—unexpected, violent. You screamed his name, legs shaking, body convulsing around him.

The orgasm ripped through you, violent and all-consuming, your breath punched from your lungs in a scream of his name. Your muscles clamped down around him, your legs trembling uncontrollably.

But he didn’t ease up. He just grinned and thrust harder.

“Too much,” you sobbed, voice breaking, fingers clawing at the sheets.

“Good,” he rasped, hips still grinding slow and deep. “Now you get it. That feeling you give me when you play. Hurts so good, doesn’t it? But you’re strong. You can take it, baby.”

He didn’t stop—couldn’t. Your orgasm still pulsed through you in raw, shaking waves, and he fucked you through every second of it. His grip on your hips was bruising, like he needed the anchor or he’d unravel entirely.

Each thrust was messier now—deeper, rougher, less about control and more about hunger. His breath came hard and ragged against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he chased his own release like a man starved.

“Fuck—fuck, you feel so good,” he gasped, voice wrecked, fingers digging in like he couldn’t bear to let you go. “So good for me baby, so tight.”

He buried himself to the hilt, grinding into you with shaky desperation, the rhythm gone, replaced with pure need. You felt him trembling behind you, felt the tension coil tight in his body like it might snap.

And still, he kept moving. Pushing. Falling apart with you.

You trembled beneath him, every nerve ending screaming with need, your body still raw and sensitive from the first wave. His thrusts slowed, steady but relentless, and you could feel it—the familiar burn beginning to build again, low and slow like a spark growing into a wildfire.

Your breath hitched, hips pressing up into him without thinking, chasing the rising tide of pleasure. Fingers curled into the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as your body clenched tight, begging for release again. The second orgasm was coming—fast and fierce—and you arched your back, eyes fluttering shut, letting yourself fall into it.

Your eyes shut tight, muscles tightening enough to draw groan from his throat as the second wave built fast and fierce. “Mattheo—I’m—” you gasped, voice trembling with the edge of release.

He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, voice low and soothing but still rough with need. “I know, baby. Go ahead. Let go.”

With his permission, your body gave in—arching, trembling, shuddering as your second orgasm ripped through you. Your hands gripped him, your legs clenched around his hips, and your world narrowed to the dizzying pleasure between you.

He groaned deep in response, a guttural, trembling sound that rumbled through his chest and into your skin. His teeth sank into your shoulder, sharp and possessive, marking you like you were his territory. His hands gripped your hips tighter, muscles bunching as his body tensed and then shuddered violently against yours.

His breath came out in ragged bursts, each thrust losing its rhythm as he rode the wave of release. You could feel him pulsing deep inside you, every inch claiming you harder than before, desperate and raw. His voice cracked on a hoarse growl, thick with need and surrender, as he spilled over the edge, dragging you both down into a shared chaos of sensation.

His heavy breathing slowed as he settled next to you, dominance melting into something softer. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair. “Done being the boss for a minute,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Pressed close, you breathe out, “That switch… it flips quick, doesn’t it?” Your words are heavy, your body still trembling.

He smirked, dragging you against him.

“Brat.”

You smiled, limp in his arms. “Still like being my good boy?”

His hand found your throat again—soft this time. “Only if you remember I’m still a man. Not your pet.”

He chuckled softly, the fierce edge from before melting into warmth. His large hands began to roam gently over your skin, fingertips kneading the sore spots—the tight muscles in your shoulders, the ache lingering in your lower back. Each press was firm but careful, like he knew exactly where you needed it most.

A low, contented hum rumbled from his chest, and little moans escaped your lips, but these were different—soft sighs of relief and pleasure, not need or desperation. His touch was steady, grounding, and it made you feel safe in a way no intensity ever had.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with affection. “I’ve got you now.”

You melted against him, letting the tension slip away, replaced by something quieter but just as powerful—a connection deeper than words.

You kissed him, slow and sweet, totally spent. “I’ll behave.”

“You ’d better not,” he whispered.

[syymplypotter]

Bother Me

I wanted soft Theo, sue me

Summary: While waiting for Theo to come back, you take refuge in his bed, aching with need but too shy to ask for his attention. When he returns and finds you trembling with want, he shows you exactly how well he knows your body—and reminds you you’ll never need to ask.

Warnings: language, MDNI, praise kink, NSFW, oral f! receiving, light angst, possessiveness, slight power imbalance, longing, masturbation, intimacy

✷　✦　　✦　　☆　*　　•*.　•　*°　✵　 •*.　·　　　　✵　

The dorm was silent, steeped in shadows, with moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains like spilled silver. It draped itself across the Slytherin green bedding, catching on the faint shape of your body curled into Theo’s mattress—his shirt hanging loose on your frame, your fingers tucked between your thighs, quiet and trembling, chasing comfort in the hollow ache of missing him.

You hadn’t meant to touch yourself. Just to lie in his bed, wrap yourself in his scent, and close your eyes for a while. But the cold space where he should’ve been felt too loud, and the ache between your thighs too sharp. It wasn’t his fault. You knew that. You just needed a moment to pretend. To imagine his hands instead of your own. He hadn’t been cruel with his distance, but it had carved into you all the same. His absence had become a physical thing—and tonight, it bloomed hot and aching under your skin.

His scent wrapped around you like a second skin—herbal and familiar, like mint tea and ink and something just-him that made your head spin. You buried your nose in it. You curled tighter in his bed, the silk of it brushing your thighs as your fingers slipped down, slow and hungry. Across your belly. Between your legs. Like your body had finally given in.

You pictured his touch in place of yours—cool rings dragging along your inner thigh, the press of his knuckles parting you with calculated ease. Not rushed. Not needy. Just sure. That maddening calm in his voice, that slow cadence that made everything feel filthier than it was. “Good girl,” he’d murmur. “You need it that badly, don’t you?” But there was only you. Cold fingers. An aching emptiness his touch would’ve filled so perfectly.

But you weren’t being good, were you? Not when Theo opened the door to the quiet creak of the hinges and the soft, breathy moan that slipped from your mouth—so faint it could’ve been mistaken for a sigh, if not for the rhythm of your hand beneath the covers.

Not when the air changed—like static before lightning—and the mattress dipped with the unmistakable weight of someone else.

Your breath caught—hand still tucked between your thighs—as a tall, unmoving silhouette filled the doorway. The sound of your gasp was swallowed by the thick silence, but your eyes widened, heart slamming against your ribs.

“Theo?” The light bloomed to life with a low hum, and there he stood. Tired, beautiful, and staring at you like the sight physically hurt—like the ache of wanting you had followed him home.

You jolted upright, yanking the hem of his shirt down your legs as if it could erase what he’d just seen. “I didn’t—I didn’t know you were coming back tonight—”

“I figured as much,” he said, voice low and rough. His gaze dragged slowly over the scene—your flushed cheeks, the way the sheets clung to your thighs, your chest rising too fast. “Touching yourself in my bed, sweetheart? Missed me that much?”

You swallowed hard, throat tight as heat crept up your neck—shame blooming warm and slow across your cheeks like spilled wine.

He leaned in, fingers ghosting over your thigh, voice soft—but firm. “You thought I’d be too busy to take care of you? So you came in here, wore my shirt, and touched that pretty cunt all by yourself?”

You nodded, barely breathing, and he exhaled like the sight of you hurt him. His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You should’ve bothered me,” he whispered, eyes searching yours. “I’d always rather be here—with you—than anywhere else.”

His voice curled into your skin like smoke—warm, lazy, dangerous in a way that made your thighs squeeze together. Theo’s hand slipped under the hem of his shirt, where it clung to your hips, fingers gliding up your bare thigh with practiced ease.

His lips brushed your jaw, the edge of a sigh slipping from his chest. “I hate this. Hate that I was gone long enough for you to feel like you had to handle it on your own. That you thought I was too busy for you.”

You whimpered, fingers curling into the sheets beneath you. “Are you mad at me?”

Theo cupped your face, holding you like something fragile. “No, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I’m mad at me—for making the girl I love feel like she had to suffer in silence.”

The mattress shifted as Theo leaned forward, easing you back against the pillows with a gentleness that made your chest ache. His hands found the hem of the shirt, dragging it up with slow, deliberate care—like every inch of skin he revealed was a gift. When the swell of your stomach came into view, his eyes darkened; when he saw the wet patch between your thighs, he exhaled sharply, voice wrecked.

“Well, aren’t you a sight,” he drawls, brushing his knuckle across the wet fabric, making your hips twitch. “You were thinking about me, weren’t you? Touching yourself, pretending it was my fingers.”

You nodded, dazed, back arching when he pressed his mouth just above the waistband of your underwear. A kiss. Gentle. Then another, lower this time.

“I’m going to make it up to you,” he rasped, dragging his nose along your inner thigh. “Every second I left you aching. Every fucking one.”

He peeled your panties down inch by inch, lips brushing your skin like a promise. His breath hitched when he reached the soaked fabric clinging between your thighs. He kissed just above it—then lower—then lower still, until his mouth hovered over your heat. His eyes flicked up, dark and dangerous, his voice barely a whisper.

He gripped your thighs and spread them wider, gaze fixed between them like he was starving. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. My fingers or my mouth?” You gasped, nearly breathless. “Mouth—please, I need your mouth—”

That smirk—that devastating, slow, cocky little curl of his lips—was the only warning you got before he buried his face between your thighs.

It started soft. A single, lazy lick, broad and warm, just enough to taste you. He groaned—actually groaned, low and wrecked—like the flavor of you had knocked the breath out of him.

Then his tongue flattened against your clit with slow, deliberate pressure, and your hips jerked off the mattress before you could stop them.

“Oh—my god—”

He growled into you, the sound low and dark, the vibration pulsing right through your core. His fingers tightened around your thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles against the trembling skin.

“Stay still,” he murmured, lips brushing slick against your folds. “Be good for me now, baby. You waited so long. Let me take care of it.”

And then he dove back in—hungrier this time, like something inside him had snapped. His tongue moved in tight, devastating circles, alternating with sharp, precise flicks that made your spine curve off the mattress.

You could feel the heat of his breath, the wet slide of his mouth, the way he groaned every time your hips moved without permission, like your need turned him on even more.

His lips closed around your clit and he sucked—firm, rhythmic, relentless.

You gasped—high and breathless, your fingers shooting to his hair, gripping tight. He didn’t slow down. If anything, he pressed closer, practically grinding his mouth against you, tongue flicking, lips sealed tight, determined to pull the orgasm from your body one trembling breath at a time.

“You taste so fucking good,” he muttered between sucks, voice hot and wet against your skin. “Messy little thing… soaking my mouth like this.”

You whimpered, legs twitching around his shoulders. And he just kept going.

Like a man possessed.

You cried out—sharp and desperate—and Theo didn’t stop. His tongue moved in slow, devastating circles, each one dragging moans from your throat like confessions.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your clit, lips slick and swollen. “So needy you started without me—now look at you. Falling apart on my tongue.”

Your hips rolled helplessly, guided by his firm grip and the steady flick of his tongue. One of his hands slid up to interlace with yours, grounding you, anchoring you to the bed, to him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, breath hot against your core. “You gonna come already, pretty thing?”

You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I—I’m close, Theo, please—”

“Then give it to me,” he growled, voice gone ragged. “Come in my mouth like a good girl. Let me taste how much you missed me.”

The pressure shattered—white-hot and blinding, ripping through you with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. Your cry broke into a sob, soft and wrecked, as your body jerked beneath him, thighs clamping tight around his head.

Theo groaned, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through your core as he kept licking—slow, firm passes of his tongue, drawing every last wave from you like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop. His hands gripped your hips, holding you still while your entire body trembled, too far gone to care how desperate you sounded.

“God, fuck,” he murmured into you, voice slurred with arousal, tongue sliding through your folds like he was tasting something sacred. He didn’t rush. Didn’t stop. He licked you through it like it was a luxury he’d earned, savoring each twitch of your overstimulated body like a reward.

By the time he finally pulled back, his lips were slick with your release, chin wet, pupils blown wide. His chest rose and fell in sharp, controlled breaths—like it was taking every ounce of discipline not to devour you all over again.

You lay there trembling—panties tangled around one ankle, shirt pushed halfway up your chest, hair plastered to your cheeks. Your thighs were still shaking. But the look on his face was nothing short of reverent.

Like you were divine. Like he’d just fallen to his knees and tasted heaven.

Theo sat back on his heels, chest rising and falling, wiping his mouth with the back of a veined, ringed hand. He looked absolutely undone—curls falling into his lashes, cheeks flushed, lips glossy. Your slick was still glistening on his jaw.

“Still think you had to be quiet about needing me?” he murmured, cocking his head, voice thick and tender.

You gave a breathless shake of your head.

He leaned in, undoing his belt with one hand—slow, deliberate, the sound of leather slipping through loops making your stomach twist. His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“Good,” he said, climbing over you now, undoing his belt with one hand and kissing your throat with the other. “You’re mine to take care of. Always.”

He tossed the belt aside, the soft clink drowned out by your heartbeat thudding in your ears. Shirtless now, Theo leaned in, the weight of his body sinking over you like velvet and heat. His chest brushed yours, slow and deliberate, and you gasped at the contact—at the way his skin seemed to burn into yours. His mouth hovered over yours, not kissing yet, just watching.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes dragged over your flushed cheeks, parted lips, the trembling still dancing down your legs. “Still trembling… all that for my mouth?”

You nodded, dizzy from the aftershocks still rippling through your thighs.

He kissed you like he owned every inch of you—deep, slow, tongue sliding against yours with the lingering taste of you still clinging to his lips. Your whimper melted into his mouth as his hips rolled forward, the thick weight of his cock dragging through your slick folds—hot and unrelenting, not yet inside but threatening.

You gasped when the head nudged against your entrance, and he groaned into the kiss.

“Theo…”

“Shhh.” He nudged your nose with his, voice impossibly gentle even as he rutted against your soaked entrance. “I’ve got you. Just relax for me, yeah?”

He exhaled shakily as he aligned himself, his hand guiding the flushed head of his cock through your soaked folds. It glided so easily—hot and slick and perfect—that his hips stuttered, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck, baby…” he whispered, eyes locked on the way you opened for him, aching and ready. “You feel like heaven.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails dragging over warm skin as Theo sank into you—inch by inch, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. The stretch was sharp, thick and deep, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped, legs trembling around his waist, and he swallowed the sound in a kiss, hips twitching as your heat wrapped around him.

“Always so tight for me,” he panted. “Feels like you were made to be full of me.”

You cried out when he bottomed out, the fullness leaving you breathless, your head tipping back against the pillows. He stilled there, forehead pressed to yours, letting you feel every twitch of him inside you.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You take me so well. Every time.”

He chuckled low, hips pulling back in a lazy roll before driving in hard again.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, voice all silk and sin. “Gets you all worked up when I tell you who you belong to. How good this tight little pussy feels around me.”

His hips snapped forward, hard and deep. “Say it. Say you want me to keep talking.”

“Yes—keep talking, Theo—”

He rolled his hips with a precision that made your toes curl, his cock dragging slow and thick along every nerve-ending inside you before plunging back in—deep, controlled, devastating. You gasped, a strangled, broken sound as the head of him hit that spot again, and again, sending sparks ricocheting up your spine.

“You didn’t even need to touch yourself,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. His mouth found your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin before he sucked, hard enough to leave the threat of a bruise. “You just needed me.”

Your fingers clawed at his back, breath coming in short, helpless pants as his hips rolled harder now—deep, slow, deliberate, the kind of rhythm that drove you mad with how good it felt. The slide of skin, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding, the low groans spilling from his throat—it was all too much and not enough.

You moaned louder as he started to fuck you in earnest—deep, controlled thrusts that made the headboard knock gently behind you. Each movement was reverent but unrelenting, like he was worshipping your body the only way he knew how.

“Christ, you’re so tight around me,” he groaned. “Squeezing every inch—fuck—like you’re trying to milk me already. You feel that? That’s how perfect you are.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, nails digging into his shoulders, your moans broken and breathless. Every deep roll of his hips dragged you closer to the edge, the pressure mounting too fast, too sharp.

“I’m so close—so close—just… keep talking, yeah? I need to hear you—need your voice—”

His thumb swept your cheek as he held your gaze. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

That was all it took. You came hard, body arching off the bed as your orgasm slammed through you like a wave, raw and unstoppable. A broken sob slipped from your lips, your thighs clenching around his hips, nails digging into his shoulders as your walls fluttered, gripping him tight. Theo groaned—guttural and low—thrusting deep, grinding into the sweet spot with every pulsing contraction. “That’s it,” he panted. “Fuck, that’s it—so fucking pretty like this.”

He didn’t last long after that. Your walls were still fluttering around him, hot and soaked and gripping tight, and the sight of you—flushed, wrecked, clinging—pushed him over the edge. His rhythm faltered, a harsh gasp torn from his chest as his cock throbbed inside you. “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—” He groaned deep, slamming into you one last time, spilling hot and thick with a desperate curse. His hips kept grinding, slow and punishing, like he needed to bury it deeper—like he needed you to feel it for hours after.

When he finally stilled, breath warm against your cheek, he didn’t move to pull out—just stayed there, wrapped around you, buried deep, as if letting go might undo everything. He kissed you softly—once, twice, lingering—like it meant something more than just desire. Like it was an apology. A vow.

“You did so fucking good for me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “So perfect. Always.”

Still buried in the afterglow, you wound your arms around him, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Theo’s fingers drifted through your hair like a lullaby, slow and calming, so unlike the way he’d just ruined you. “I missed you,” you murmured, lips brushing his collarbone. He held you tighter, like he’d heard it in his bones.

His eyes softened the moment he saw your face. “I’m not letting you miss me like that again,” he said, voice steady. And you believed him—because even in his roughest moments, he held you like something precious, like something breakable.

Even when you weren’t.

[syymplypotter]

18+ mdni

thinking about locking theo up in a chastity cage…

it starts out as an experiment. you had to literally beg theo to try it out for weeks, and he only agreed (very begrudgingly) since you promised him a mind-numbing blowjob afterwards. in the morning, you help him deal with his morning wood – another condition for his agreement – and then lock him up. it’s feels weird and uncomfortable at first, and theo quietly complains as you make your way towards the great hall for breakfast. you roll your eyes, thinking with great disappointment that maybe he really doesn’t enjoy it, and promise to take it off as soon as possible.

the shift happens suddenly, like a light switch is flipped. at breakfast, one of your friends asks curiously about your new necklace. what is the key for? or is it just a cutesy accessory? theo catches your glance, your coy smile and the deliberate lack of a definite answer, and it drives him up the wall. it’s the moment he realises that people wonder, which makes him think – what if they somehow… know? what if someone looks at the little key resting snugly just below your collarbones and just knows? his cock strains to harden within the bounds of the cage, and it’s a complete mindfuck, because it just can’t. theo’s insanely aroused, and the fact that he can’t get a boner messes with his brain.

by the end of the day, his boxers are completely soaked. he didn’t even know he could drip this much pre until now. every time he catches your smirk that grows more and confident as the day passes, he feels his cock twitch, straining against the metal bars of the cage. every time your fingers absently brush against the key around your neck, he dies inside a little. and you? you’re enjoying yourself, teasing theo to your utmost delight; you sit on his lap during breaks, place your hand on his thigh under the desk during classes, drop things ‘accidentally’ just to bend over right in front of him. but you’re also soaking up the feeling of control you have over theo for once. you can’t help checking him out, taking in his ridiculously handsome face, his pretty curls, his lean, tall form, and knowing that the best (and biggest) part of him is locked up just for you.

when you’re back at his dorm in the evening, he forgets all about the promised blowjob. before you know it, you’re on the bed, and he’s kneeling between your legs, begging to eat you out. his hand automatically reaches towards his aching cock, but he’s met with metal and a slick, sticky mess of his precum dripping all over his thighs and onto the floor. and when he desperately pleads for you to take the cage off so he could be inside of you while his face is buried in your pussy, you know that the experiment turned out to be a huge success.

more.

[syymplypotter]

warnings: smut 18+, slight choking, pet names such as 'good girl', reader is female. Aggressive Dom! Oliver. short, no plot really.

The way Oliver Wood shoves you against his Quidditch locker with his tongue down your throat after a terrible loss to Slytherin- while his teammates are Merlin knows where.

The way his grip on your hips moves up to your breasts as he presses his pelvis against yours while you try to suppress a moan, but you just can't hold it in because his hardening cock rubbing against the growing puddle in your panties is just too much.

The way his lips leave yours to hear your sweet moan, earning a groan from himself as he travels hot, sticky and sweaty kisses down your neck finding just the spot immediately.

"Ollie.. please.." You moaned out, hands finding their way in his short locks gripping on for dear life.

Oliver let out a chuckle, wrapping his hand around your neck applying slight pressure on it. "Ill give you what you wan' sweetheart, but this is about me." Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, his accent coming out so strong. It always does when he's mad, and Merlin..

you ravish in it.

Oliver was now face to face with you, same smirk on his face. "Those damn Slytherins, that fuckass Flint-" The pressure on your neck tightened, not enough to choke you but just enough to make your brain go fuzzy.

"Might've won the game, but they don't get this. They don't get to fuck the hottest witch like I do. They don't get to see these perfect tits, all mine.."

all his..

Oliver finished his rant by smashing his lips back on yours, earning a gasp from you which he took to his advantage to slide his tongue into the heat of your mouth.

You both groaned into the kiss, soon departing after losing oxygen to each other's brain. "Gonna be a good girl f' me?" Oliver asked, removing his hand from your neck to slide down your hips, picking your leg up and swinging it over his shoulder so he can get the perfect feel of your clothed pussy. "yes, fuck- yes Ollie.." You moaned out, looking dead into his eyes- those beautiful eyes.

Oliver gave you a smile before his head vanished beneath your thighs, not to be seen for Merlin knows how long.

[syymplypotter]

you honestly didn’t mean to make it sexy. you meant to clean, actual cleaning. the bunker needed it—months of dust layering every single flat surface, cluttered tables full of open books and weapons that should’ve been stashed or thrown away. even the coffee machine had developed some kind of sticky mystery puddle under it. so you woke up early, put on shorts and one of your cropped tanks—because you thought it’d be hot once you got moving—and dragged two grumbling winchesters into the middle of it.

now, after a lot of convincing, sam’s vacuuming the rugs in the library room with his hair tied up and sleeves rolled, looking entirely too good for someone doing domestic labor; and dean’s carrying a stack of cleaning rags and muttering about child labor laws, even though he’s the one that made the playlist blaring through the speakers.

you’re barefoot, swiping a cloth over the lore table, bent forward just enough that the hem of your shorts rides up with every pass. you catch dean looking for the third time when you straighten up and stretch your arms over your head.“eyes up, winchester,” you say, grabbing the spray bottle again. “unless you’re about to volunteer for dusting duty.”

he smirks, flicks his gaze down again anyway, and shrugs.“can’t help it,” he says. “you bend over in those shorts and expect me to focus on chores? you’re the one setting us up for failure.”

sam sighs behind you. “she said she wanted help, dean. try not to undress her with your eyes every five seconds.” you hear the vacuum shut off. “i’m gonna go wipe down the shelves in the library,” he says, footsteps retreating. “let me know when the sexual tension’s resolved.”

“spoiler alert,” dean calls after him, “it never is.” you laugh quietly and go back to scrubbing the edge of the table. you know alreay know that dean is behind you and you know without looking that he hasn’t picked up a single rag since sam walked away.

it only takes a minute before you feel the warmth of his chest behind you, before his hand lands on your hip. “you know i’m not actually gonna mop anything,” he says, voice low near your ear. you hum and reach to scrub a stubborn mark on the table. “i know. you’re more of a ‘make it someone else’s problem’ type.”

his hand slides down. fingers press under the hem of your shorts, grazing the curve of your ass. “i’m more of a ‘pin the girl to the table and fuck her til she begs’ type,” he mutters, “but yeah. that too.”

you bite your lip and arch your back a little, just enough to press your ass harder into his hand.“if you’re trying to be helpful,” you say, “you could start by wiping this down. i mean, you are already touching it.”

dean groans low in his throat and grabs a fistful of your ass, squeezing hard. you drop the rag, both palms flattening against the wood. he leans over your back,“you think sam’s gonna stay in the library long enough for me to fuck you right here?”

you don’t answer, just push your hips back. he slides a hand down your thigh, then up under the hem of your shorts. his fingers brush the edge of your damp panties and he groans again.“fuck, you’re soaked,” he mutters. “you’ve been dripping since we started, haven’t you?”

“maybe,” you breathe. “you gonna do something about it or keep talking?”

the sharp thud of a book dropping nearby makes you both freeze. you look up to see sam standing at the library entrance, eyebrows raised, cloth in hand, arms crossed. he looks between you, dean’s hand still halfway in your shorts, your hips pressed to the table.“seriously?” he says. “we can’t clean for twenty minutes without someone trying to get laid?”

dean doesn’t move his hand at all,“she’s the one walking around with her ass hanging out,” he says. sam sighs again, but he walks in slowly, his eyes trailing down your back, stopping where dean’s hand disappears under your waistband. “you want me to leave again,” he says, “or join in this time?”

you look over your shoulder, breath caught in your throat. “depends,” you say. “you planning to actually help me clean or just make more of a mess?” sam tosses the rag on the table and steps in closer. “i’ll clean later,” he says, “but only after you cum all on the floor.”

tags below ❤︎

@soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @bruisedfig @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @liiiilsss @that-stanford-girlie @lanasgirlfr @angelicjackles @mostlymarvelgirl @nymphet-quenn @thesevnthseal

[syymplypotter]

hii!! could i request oliver wood yule ball headcannons or a fic related to oliver asking reader to the yule ball?

THICKER THAN A BROOMSTICK | O.W

summary: Quidditch is brutal, but nothing compares to Oliver Wood’s hopeless attempts at flirting—too bad the only person who doesn’t realize he’s asking you to the Yule Ball is you.

wc: 2.1k+

cw: oblivious!reader, reader is on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, down bad Oliver.

A/N: Thanks for requesting!! MWA!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

The Gryffindor locker room always smelled vaguely of sweat, leather, and a little too much pride. You were used to it by now—Quidditch came with its fair share of bruises and bad cologne. And Oliver Wood, your relentlessly intense captain, was the embodiment of both. He was also currently staring at you from across the room, looking at you as if you were a goddess.

“Okay, team! Good practice today!” he barked, a bit too loudly for someone whose voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “Except for you, Bell—next time, aim for the actual goalpost, not my nose.”

You stifled a laugh and sat down on the nearby bench. “In her defense,” you said, removing your glove with your teeth, “your nose was in the way.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Oliver muttered, mostly to himself. You were fairly certain he'd lost all his mental stability somewhere between the third and fourth practice this week.

“So,” he said suddenly, too casually to be natural, “let’s say—hypothetically—you were going to ask someone to the Yule Ball.”

You turned to him, instantly intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, nodding as if trying to convince himself. “What would be the best way to… do that?”

“Ooh. Okay. First of all, don’t use the word ‘hypothetically.’ That’s suspicious. And no stuttering. Confidence is key.”

“Right. Confidence...” He scratched the back of his neck, looking no where near confident.

“Ooooh,” you grinned, loosening your hair from your braid. “Got your eye on someone, Captain?”

Oliver looked like you’d just asked him to strip naked on the pitch. He rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning a Gryffindor-jersey shade of red.

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, eyes darting everywhere but your face. “There’s this girl.”

You gasped, full of exaggerated excitement. “WHO?! Wait, let me guess—Ravenclaw? The one with the really long plaits?”

“No,” he said, smiling slightly, “she plays Quidditch.”

“Ooh,” you said again, wriggling your brows. “Well, you should totally ask her!”

“I’m trying,” he deadpanned. And you just patted his shoulder encouragingly.

“Don’t be nervous! Just go up to her and say, ‘Oi, you. You’re hot. Dance with me.’ Works like a charm.”

Oliver blinked at you.

You blinked back.

“Don’t worry!” you chirped. “You’ll figure it out. I believe in you.”

And then you walked off humming the Weird Sisters’ latest hit, not noticing how Oliver dropped his forehead against the cupboard behind him with a muffled groan.

The thing was, Oliver Wood was not a subtle man. Subtlety was for people who didn’t run 7 a.m. drills and shout “THIS IS WHAT WINNERS DO” while dangling off a broomstick.

But around you? He tried. Really.

You just… didn’t get it.

There was a time where Oliver wordlessly tossed you a small box. It was square, wrapped in crinkled gold paper with an overly dramatic red bow. One of his main attempts on asking you to the Yule Ball.

You blinked at it. “Um. What’s this?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking like he might physically combust. “Just… thought you’d like it.”

You opened it carefully—and gasped.

Inside was a charm bracelet. But not just any charm bracelet. The little pendants were Quidditch-themed—a broomstick, a tiny Gryffindor lion, a chocolate frog, and most tellingly, a miniature golden Yule Ball ticket.

You picked it up, charmed. “Oliver. This is adorable. Did Angelina make this?”

His mouth dropped open slightly. “What? No! I—I spent all week on that—”

“Aww. You should really sell these,” you said, slipping it on your wrist with a grin. “You’ve got such a good eye for girly stuff!”

He groaned and put his head in his hands.

Or, the time when he “accidentally” bumped into you outside Charms, dropping an entire bouquet of enchanted daffodils from his bag, then spent ten minutes trying to explain why his textbooks smelled like a greenhouse.

“Oh, is that for that girl you like?” you’d asked cheerily, nudging his side. “You’re really going all out!”

He gave a weak laugh. “Apparently not enough.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Later that week, he tried again. You were in the library, of all places, tucked between Quidditch Through the Ages and a half-eaten Chocolate Frog. Your brow was furrowed, tongue poking slightly out of your mouth as you annotated a diagram of broomstick aerodynamics like it was the most thrilling thing on earth.

He slid into the chair next to you, trying to keep his voice steady. “Hey. Been thinking about the Yule Ball.”

You didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “Still… haven’t asked anyone.”

You finally turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Oliver, you’ve been talking about this mystery girl for like a week now. Just ask her.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder!” you grinned, nudging his side. “Be romantic. Write a letter or something.”

The idea struck him like a Bludger. That night, he scribbled down a note on parchment, messy but sincere:

You’re brilliant. I like you. You’re the best flier I know and possibly the only person who scares me in a good way. Would you go to the Yule Ball with me? —Someone Who Should Really Just Say This Out Loud

He slipped it into your bag the next morning.

By dinner, you were holding it up like it was cursed. You’d read it three times and then loudly declared, “Okay, who wrote this?” you demanded, waving it at the table. “This has to be a prank, right? Angelina?”

Everyone shook their heads.

A prank?! What in Godric's beard? She thought it was a prank!

You turned to Oliver. “Was it you? This sounds like something you’d write if someone held you at wandpoint.”

His face burned. “Wow. Thanks. No, it wasn’t me.”

“Pity. The part about being scared of me was kind of hot.”

He choked on his pumpkin juice.

A few days later, you were helping him clean up after practice—well, “helping” in the loosest possible sense, mostly tossing broken broom bristles into a pile while he sorted spare Quaffles. You were humming to yourself, twirling your wand, and he watched you for a moment, heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to leave without him.

“I’ve got a question for you,” he said, clearly working up the nerve.

“Shoot.”

“Are you a snitch?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

You blinked at him. “Because I’m fast?”

“Because I’ve been chasing you all year.”

Silence.

You squinted. “Oliver. You're not even a seeker. And was that a pick-up line?”

He groaned, tossing a Quaffle into a crate like it had personally offended him. “Forget it.”

“No, no! I’m using that. That’s going in the Hall of Fame. I’m going to try it on McLaggen.”

“Please don’t.”

By the time the Yule Ball list was due, Oliver had tried everything—letters, awkward compliments, late-night “hypothetical” questions. He’d even brought you a Butterbeer after practice once, charmed so the foam spelled your name. You drank it and said, “Aww, thanks! This must’ve been meant for someone else, but lucky me!”

He had never been closer to quitting Quidditch and fleeing to Romania.

And now, now, you were sitting beside him in the common room, still in your post-practice jersey, hair windblown and socks mismatched, talking about the Yule Ball again like it wasn’t currently eating him alive from the inside out.

You threw a cushion at his face. “Come on! Just tell me who she is already.”

He caught the cushion, clutched it to his chest like it might prevent him from exploding. “She’s… she’s this girl who drives me insane.”

“Cute,” you said, absently braiding a strand of your hair. “Go on.”

“She talks too much. Never takes anything seriously. She flies like she was born with wings. She’s always got mud on her socks and she never notices when someone’s obviously trying to ask her to the damn Yule Ball.”

You blinked. “Oh. She sounds… vaguely familiar.”

“Yeah?” Oliver said, finally standing up, pacing now. “She should. Because she’s YOU. IT’S YOU! I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU.”

You stared. The common room went very still. Even the fireplace seemed to freeze.

“…Me?”

“YES, YOU.” He flung the cushion back at you. “I’ve been trying to ask you for weeks. The bracelet? The daffodils? The letter? The Butterbeer? The way I keep saying I fancy a girl who plays Quidditch right next to you?!”

You held the cushion in your lap, blinking at him in slow, stunned horror. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“Wait. Soooo you like me?”

Oliver groaned so loud it probably woke up the Fat Lady two portraits over. “YES. Godric's beard, YES. I like you. I have liked you since the first time you swore at me for calling extra practice on a Saturday.”

You looked at him—red in the face, fists clenched, somehow adorable even in his panic—and then started laughing. Hard.

“Wait—wait, hang on,” you wheezed, standing. “You mean to tell me this whole time you were trying to flirt with me, and I was just—completely missing it?”

Oliver looked at you like you’d just confirmed his most traumatic suspicion. “YES.”

You giggled again, stepping forward. “Well, I am a bit thick, apparently.”

“No argument here.”

You smacked his arm. Then, a little softer, “So… is the offer still on the table?”

“I—yes!” Oliver stammered, practically tripping over his own breath. “Of course, yes. I mean—unless you're joking, in which case—bloody hell—I’m going to pretend I didn’t just have a minor cardiac episode—”

His words were frantic, uneven, like they’d been building for weeks and had nowhere else to go but out.

And still, somehow, he thought he might be dreaming.

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped forward, grabbed a fistful of his collar, and tugged him down to your height—firm, deliberate, like you’d been meaning to do it for a long time.

“Wood,” you said simply.

He blinked. You were close enough now to see the scatter of freckles over the bridge of his nose. His breath caught in his throat.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear, just enough for him to feel the words.

“You talk too much.”

And then, before he could speak again—or overthink it, or panic, or launch into another charmingly idiotic monologue—you kissed him.

It wasn’t perfect. Not at first. His lips were warm, and the tip of your nose bumped clumsily into his. You nearly laughed into his mouth. Someone, somewhere across the common room, definitely let out a scandalized whistle.

But none of that mattered.

Because the second Oliver got over the shock—the second his brain caught up with the fact that this was real, that you were kissing him—his hands found your waist like they’d been trying to solve that equation for weeks. He pulled you closer, carefully but without hesitation, like he never wanted to let go again.

When you pulled away, his eyes were still half-closed, lips parted slightly like he wasn’t entirely convinced it was over.

“I…” he started, then stopped. Cleared his throat. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

You folded your arms across your chest, trying to act casual even though your heart was beating faster than a Zouwu “Clearly. You froze like I casted a Full Body-Bind Curse"

He let out a half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You kissed me.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight onto one leg. “Don’t sound so offended. I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you!” Oliver said, exasperated, throwing his hands up again. “That’s the whole problem! You’ve got me all twisted up, can’t think straight half the time you’re around—Merlin, I planned seven different ways to ask you to the Ball and none of them included getting kissed into silence.”

You grinned, watching him unravel like the sleeves of your old team jumper. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He huffed. “You’re ridiculous. You know that?”

You plopped down on the couch again, tugging him by the hand until he flopped beside you like a man defeated. “And yet. You still like me.”

He nudged your leg with his. “So. We’re going to the Yule Ball together?”

You turned your head to look at him—really look at him, flushed and glowing from the firelight, jersey wrinkled, hair messy, and smiled like someone who’d just won a championship.

“Yes” you said softly. “We are.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

Oliver laughed and let his head fall against the back of the couch. “Good. I was starting to think you didn’t like me back.”

You smiled, "That would be impossible"

And just like that, Oliver Wood—star Keeper, hopeless romantic, and newly confessed disaster of a crush—beamed at you like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup.

(And maybe, just maybe, he had.)

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[syymplypotter]

GIVING AND RECEIVING // t. riddle

RATING: R / 3.6K WORDS

Tom Reader x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this and this* Tom's been eyeing you for months. He's obviously interested but can't find it in himself to approach you. So, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Slightly dub con, kissing, oral (f!receiving), handjob, dirty talk, sub!tom, dom!reader, slightly mean dom!reader, discussions of other sexual encounters, mentions of slapping (very brief), very slight public intimacy, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC -

test drive - Artemas

---

You hated him. 

Every single fucking thing about him. His stupid dark eyes and the way they caught you in each class, in the hallways, in town. His lips and the way they’d part every time you walked past him, daring you to say something, to demand what the hell his problem was. 

Did he think you were stupid? Did he think you couldn’t see the way he stared you down? Maybe he thought, because of his dark reputation, that he could get away with burning a hole through you with his eyes, but you weren’t the kind of girl to take that shit. Staring was a pet peeve of yours. Take a fucking picture, it would last longer. 

And that was the current problem. 

You sat back in one of the creaky, mismatched chairs set around one of the longest tables at the Three Broomsticks. Your friends were crowded around you, chatting idly and giggling over their too-spiked butterbeers. 

The glass in front of you, however, remained untouched. You were completely sober, arms crossed, leaning against the back of the chair. Your legs were crossed, with your hanging foot tapping impatiently against the table stand. 

Your eyes were locked onto him—Tom Riddle—just waiting for his eyes to glance back over at you like they had been all evening. The minute you and your rowdy friends had walked through the door and found your table, his eyes flickered over to you every few minutes or so.

He sat in a dark corner, beneath one of the small, grimy windows through which the outside light was illuminating his dark hair. Two boys were sitting across from him—random Slytherin friends of his, you supposed. 

And so, you decided to stare at him until he looked back again. You were going to catch his eye and finally challenge him. Enough was enough. You were tired of the rudeness. You didn’t care who he or anyone else thought he was. You were both human beings with equal magic. He was no better than you were, and you didn’t go around staring at him. 

Then, right as you were going to turn away, figuring he’d caught you staring out of the corner of his eye and decided not to look again, his eyes closed in on you once more. When he realized you were staring, his eyes widened slightly and his nostrils flared. Surprisingly, he didn’t look away like he usually did.

He just stared back. His fingers thrummed nervously on the table; one after the other, tapping noiselessly. 

His friends did not seem to notice him looking—they just continued their hushed conversation. 

Your heart pounded in your throat at the prospect of confrontation, but you couldn’t look away. You refused to. If anyone were going to back down from this contest, it would not be you. 

One of your eyebrows quirked, challenging silently. Finally, he looked away, down to his fidgeting fingers where they rested on the table. 

A short burst of breath pushed through your nose as you laughed at his submission. Of course, this was the big, bad Riddle everyone was scared of. He couldn’t even handle a little eye contact. Fucking pathetic.

“I’m gonna use the loo,” you announced to your friend, uncrossing your arms and scooting away from the table. You picked up your butterbeer and took a long swig from it, the overly strong drink already buzzing in your head. 

You crossed the restaurant floor, ignoring Tom’s glare as he followed your body all the way down the bathroom hallway. 

You figured if he were going to say anything, now would be the time, but given how strong he’d been so far, he likely wouldn’t. So, you used the restroom, washed your hands, and examined your appearance in the mirror in complete silence. He never came to the bathroom door.

However, he was waiting in the hallway when you stepped out. 

The dim lighting from the torches and windows barely reached this area of the restaurant. Despite the deep black surrounding you, you absolutely knew it was him. His familiar scent filled your senses as if he were within you. There was no doubt about it.

“Riddle…can I help you?” you asked, crossing your arms. Your eyes flickered over his shadowed face rapidly, trying to force your vision to adjust to the darkness. 

“Can I speak with you?” His voice was soft but strong, as if he wasn’t completely confident in his words. 

“We’re speaking now.”

“Somewhere more private?” he suggested. Shrugging, you agreed and tilted your head toward the end of the hallway where it broke off into a separate alcove with one small window and a few cleaning supplies. 

You walked down to the end of the hall and stepped into the corner. You could see his face a bit more as it towered over you. He was taller than you realized.

“What is it?” you asked. “Come to explain why you stare so much?”

He was taken aback. He scoffed. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” you interrupted, scoffing. “You can never take your eyes off of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he argued, rolling his eyes. “Actually, I wanted to discuss your staring.”

“Me? I’ve only been watching you because I noticed you doing it first. I feel like every time I glance over, you're staring me down like some predatory creature. I was wondering when you were going to say something, considering how rude it is. If you wanted me, you could have just said something.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, teeth clenching slightly. He was beginning to anger. “If I wanted you, I would have approached you. I’m only here now because…because, er—”

He stumbled over his words. It seemed he was unsure why he was here. You weren’t stupid, though. You could see his cheeks beginning to flush and his breath beginning to quicken. 

“Because you want me?” you finished for him.

“No—”

“I’d be willing to bet,” you interrupted, “that if I reached down between us right now, you’d be hard as a rock.”

He swallowed thickly, lips parted, unsure what to say. This was exactly what he’d wanted; he couldn’t lie. But he wasn’t going to let you just know that. He knew that you were aware of his feelings toward you. He’d been anything but subtle. He just hadn’t expected for you to be as willing as this. 

He was Tom Riddle—perfect, top-marked student with a looming reputation that followed him like a dark, pretentious cloud. Everyone knew who he was. The attention he received from every useless professor and snivelling student was the complete opposite of the type of attention he received while at the orphanage. 

Hogwarts and his attitude were meant to conceal his upbringing and help him forget about it. Somehow, though, the way he was treated in school made him remember his time at the orphanage even more. The sudden praise and acceptance always made him reminisce on the degradation and shunning he received while amongst the other orphans. 

So, with your downright refusal to treat him like everyone else in the school did, he’d found that it wasn’t the praise or the degradation or even the connection he was missing from everyone else around him. It was the indifference you gave him. For once, someone didn’t give a shit about him and, for some fucked up reason, that had his knees weak. 

You weren’t clawing for his attention, you weren’t disgusted by him. You were almost annoyed by his acknowledgment of you. And that was perfect. 

You were exactly what he wanted. But this was different for him. Very different. He didn’t understand where or how to start…so he hid it.  

“Fuck you,” he seethed, leaning in closer.

“What’s the point of all of this if you’re not gonna let me give you what you want?” you teased, refusing to pull back from his approaching face. You would not be intimidated by him. 

“And what is it that I want? Because we’ve already established that it is not you.” Lie.

He was so close now that you could feel his breath fanning over your face. His eyes almost seemed to flutter as his lips parted gently. You knew he was going to lean in soon, but you hoped you could string this out just a little longer for his sake. He was certain that he was not going to give in to you, but you knew he would. You almost had him. Just a little more and he’d be like clay in your hands. 

“I think it is me,” you whispered, lips nearly brushing his. His breath hitched in his throat at your proximity. He was restraining himself from touching you, holding his hands back from caressing your skin. 

He shook his head pathetically as a last-ditch effort to insist that you were not what he wanted. You nodded in response to him. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered. He sighed shakily at the pet name. “Let me take care of you.” 

He’d never done this before. Never wanted to. But you were like some kind of drug, intoxicating his senses, filling his head with a heady, hot desire that coursed through his veins. He couldn’t think straight when he watched you day to day, let alone when you brushed past him and your scent filled his nose. 

And what was worse for him was the protection charm you had cast over yourself, rendering his Legilimency completely useless. He could not read any of your thoughts. 

He could not hear any of the sinful plans racing through your mind, deciding what you were going to do with him the minute he gave in. He did not know what you had in store for him, and he was almost frightened. 

And you could tell he was trying, that he wasn’t used to not being able to hear thoughts, because every time his eyes flickered down as if to focus, he would begin to squirm. It was as if his inability to read your mind was making the whole situation better somehow. His lack of insight into your twisted brain only heightened the “indifference” that was turning him on. It made him feel even more insignificant in your eyes. Like you couldn’t be bothered to allow his powers to work around you. He’d never felt like this before. Fuck, he loved it. 

“Tom, look at me,” you murmured, ducking your head to catch his shielded eyes. “Would you like to come back to my dorm?”

His eyes widened at the suggestion. His lips parted, beginning to protest as if he was shocked you’d ask him something so intimate, so inappropriate. When he realized that your expression indicated you were dead serious about your question and weren’t playing a practical joke on him, the blood in his head began to drain into his dick. His hips jerked ever so slightly at the realization that—despite your infamous indifference toward him—you still wanted to fuck him. 

His eyes flickered up, and his jaw ground determinedly. His reluctance to just fall to you was waning fast, and you both knew it. But he was just as stubborn as you were, and he wasn’t going to fail so quickly. His perception of his pride was on the line here. Even if no one else knew that he was seconds away from falling to his knees before you and allowing you to have your way with him, he would always know. He didn’t want to look back and cringe at himself. His narcissistic tendencies always came back to bite him at the ass, particularly when concerning the topic of pleasure.

He’d prevented more than one advancement of lust in his time. He supposed that came with being Tom Riddle. Or, at least, wearing the mask of that particular character. 

Ultimately, that’s what pushed him to do nothing to thwart your decision to slide your hand along the right side of his hips. The notion that he didn’t deserve pleasure or the idea of it due to his ego or reputation, birthed enough anger in him that he was able to ignore the shame coursing through his body. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. You knew it was because his brain short-circuited the minute your hand touched his side, urging his body against the wall just behind him. He was oblivious to anything else that went on externally, or not, once your lips latched to his neck, marking a trail along his ivory skin. 

He stifled a moan by slapping a hand across his lips. His eyes were clenched shut as shudders of lust floated along the surface of his skin. Between the mixture of your tongue, teeth, and lips across him, he didn’t know how quiet he could will himself to be. He was mostly inexperienced with any kind of intimacy. He just hadn’t seen a need for it. 

Of course, there had been a few times where one of his peers from Slytherin house had given him a handjob in the lavatory, but only to get some of the tension off. He’d returned the favor a few times as well. It was only fair. He was nothing if not painfully fair. 

And those particular thoughts were racing through his head as you Disapparated, whisking him away with you. 

He was thinking of how hard it had been to pretend that he was in charge every time he’d receive a “favor.” He’d grab their hair, curl his fingers tight against their scalp, spit out cruel-hearted praise, then walk away when he was done, muttering nothing but cold thanks. 

And he felt okay afterward. He felt mostly satisfied. 

But when you shoved him down atop your satin duvet amidst the empty, silent dormitory, he all but forgot about his efforts to maintain his charge on the situation. His head was rewired instantly. Flashes of your actions and words reminded him of the time he gave favors. 

Their hands clutched tightly around his head as to your fingers curling in his hair and pushing him down between your thighs. Their lips speaking praise, sprinkled with vile names as they fucked his throat as to your voice calling him a perfect slut as soon as his tongue slid between your folds. Their hands slapping viciously across his carved cheek when he attempted to get off on their hard floor beneath him as to you pressing his face roughly into the sheets as soon as you realized he was grinding into the bed while running his mouth across you. 

And when you pulled his arms above him and pinned them to the mattress above him, threatening punishment if he didn’t keep them right there, and yanked his trousers down his legs, he found that he didn’t care about the inevitable shame that would come later. Everything you did to him was too good for him to care about that.

He was bent over the edge of the bed, sprawled out and completely exposed to you. His fingers were gripping into the sheets as he anticipated the sensations that were to come, the ones he’d denied himself for so long. You were trailing your fingernails lightly down his back where you’d tugged his uniform shirt off and abandoned it somewhere on the floor. He was completely naked before you. 

Once he’d finally put it out of his head that he was going to be in charge, he was a very willing, needy partner. He was in a headspace only achievable by someone as pathetic as he was, and it lit you up like a storm from the inside out. He was going to regret doing this because you were certain he’d never stop coming back after this. 

And, when you finally slipped your hands between his legs and wrapped your fingers around his dick, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. 

He all but cried out as your hand began to move around him, beginning the ultimately quick trek to his orgasm. The left side of his face was pressed into the mattress, his fingers threatening to rip a hole in your sheets. His eyes were clenched shut, his jaw slack, and his lips echoing the rough kisses you’d placed on them only moments ago.

Your free hand caressed down his naked back, tracing the lines between each of the marks you’d placed along his skin—deep, reddened bruises that had already started to purple. At one particular flick of your wrist, he pulled one of his hands down to cover his mouth just as he’d done in the Three Broomsticks. 

“C-close…,” he sighed, voice muffled by his palm pressed to his lips. But that wouldn’t be happening. You stopped your movements and stepped away. 

He gasped at the loss, eyes flying open, and torso leaning up to look at you. “What—what was that for?” he sobbed, his hands gripping the mattress, knuckles bleeding white. A hot flush had appeared across his cheeks, and sweat plastered some of his dark curls to his forehead. He looked downright gorgeous. 

“I asked you to keep your hands up above your head, didn’t I?” you cooed gently. You wandered over to the opposite side of the bed where his head had lain. His eyes followed your every step as you approached his face. He had himself propped up with one bent elbow beneath him, his free hand partially concealing his nakedness from you. You scoffed lightly, ignoring his insistence on modesty. 

Your hand reached out and pressed gently against the line of his jawline. Though he’d flinched ever so slightly, he eventually leaned into your touch, his eyes never once leaving you. He looked utterly fucked out though he hadn’t even finished once. In fact, you’d barely done anything at all—a couple kisses and half a handjob. But for someone discovering these things about himself and stepping into a whole new world of sensations, you assumed this was a lot for him to take in. 

Still, you’d asked him to do something and he’d refused. Your gentle, caressing fingers transitioned to a rough grip wrapped around his jawline and pulling his face up as high as he could manage in his current position. He whimpered at the feeling, neck straining against your strong hands. 

“When I ask you to do something, you do it,” you said slowly. “Is that clear?”

He didn’t respond, only looked on openly. His eyes were slicked over as if he were unable to understand the words leaving your lips in his current state. You struggled not to roll your eyes. 

You released his jaw and gripped a fistful of his hair in your other hand. Ignoring his small yelp, you wrenched his head back to look back at you. 

“Tommy, I asked you a question.”

He nodded as best he could with his hair trapped within your knuckles. “It’s clear.”

“What’s clear?” you demanded, your grip on his hair tightening. He fought back a moan. 

“When you ask me to do something…,” he gasped beneath the weight of the lust coursing through his veins. “I…I do it.” 

You could tell it was almost difficult for him to say that, almost difficult for him to fully let the Tom Riddle mask slide off his face. But it did, and if he wanted to continue this thing with you—whatever it was—he’d better be prepared to keep it off. 

You weren’t going to let some Slytherin with a “reputation” fight you off. If he wanted submission, he wasn’t going to find it here unless it was in the form of him on his knees, hanging on your every word. And that didn’t seem to be putting him off. 

So, when you’d pushed his head back into the mattress and pumped your hand along his dick as rapidly as you could, he came quite quickly with an unobstructed, broken moan that reminisced someone a bit different than the dark boy before you. But you didn’t mind. Being able to pull that kind of sound out of this kind of man only fed your ego. 

You’d smirked knowingly after his first orgasm that night and had continued to do so after the other three you pulled out of him. And, by the time you were done with him, he’d looked at you with the most pathetic expression you’d ever seen. 

He’d looked at you, huffing and red-faced, begging you to pretend you didn’t care, that you didn’t give a shit about the impossible pleasure you’d just granted him for the last few hours. Like you didn’t care if he was going to come crawling back for more the very next night. 

And you’d obliged his desparate ass. You’d pulled him out of your bed by his ringing, dark curls and tossed him out of your dorm with his clothes tossed out after him, laughing as he quickly Disapparated to avoid being seen by any passersby. 

And, just as you predicted, he was knocking on your door the very next night, face already flushed and dick already hard, switching his weight back and forth between each foot and asking if you were busy. 

Of course you were, and, of course, you still let him in.

---

Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithidedout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie, @synicaljah, @2dloveshp, @seagull-on-toast

[syymplypotter]

everytime dean winchester cries during sex, an angel gains its wings. it's the praise that gets him. it's always the praise, the gentle way you soothe him with your sweet words. your so soft n warm and his brain has turned to absolute mush, face buried in your neck and him buried deep inside you. it's slow and tender, the way his cock drags against your walls, the way your hands roam his broad back to his lil waist, squeezing his hips and moaning softly in his ear. but the tears don't well up until your mouth starts running.

"feels s'good, baby. my pretty baby, all f'me. jus' like that, so perfect. y'so perfect, dean, so fucking good ohhhh fuck!" and christ, its almost too much for him, his hips stutter and pace speeds up, whining and whimpering into your neck, but it feels so good you can't shut the fuck up. "such a good boy f'me, my baby. y'so beautiful." the tears spill over, he's getting so overwhelmed but he wants more and more and more :(( he tries to respond but all he can manage between soft moans is incoherent babbles and your name over and over, the only thing he can or needs to think of right now is you.

"you like being good for me? y'love me? i love you- fuck, dean! i love you, i love you, i love you-" your orgasm washes over you and god, your poor baby, big fat tears are rolling down his cheeks n his long lashes are damp. he can't help it, can't even help the way he spills into your cunt, whimpering against your warm, soft skin, whining when he pulls out. you feel the hot, wet tears on his cheek and coo at him, cupping his face and pressing a kiss to his temple. he grumbles something against your neck but it trails off, already melting into you.

he's a touch starved little thing, craving your affection and fondness. it isn't hard to love a pretty sight like him, and he loves the way you love him. he loves the way you know how to scratch that itch he has, loves the way you coddle him n call him your baby, the way you like him with an empty head. you love him with an empty head, all floaty n sweet, full weight collapsed on top of you and pressing kisses to your skin as long as he can keep his eyes open. it's real hard though, the way your holding his so lovingly, running your fingers through his hair and rubbing his back, gently stroking his skin with your thumbs. before he gets too sleepy, he mumbles to you "love y'so much, sweetheart. my girl."

[syymplypotter]

nsfw 16. with gang!mattheo 🫢

16. what’s something your partner could wear that would immediately turn you on?

the question almost makes mattheo laugh out loud. it’s quite naive, he thinks, and he’d consider it somewhat endearing if he was capable of feeling such an emotion. he has just the perfect answer for it, though, which is evident by the mean glint lighting up his eyes.

“doesn’t matter,” he says in a low voice, his dark eyes narrowing as he watches your reaction to his words. “anything can be cut off… or ripped off, for that matter. so if i were you, i wouldn’t bother dressing up.”

get to know my aus.

[syymplypotter]

Idk if you’re taking requests but I’d love another poly! Jegulily x reader smut, maybe the boys walking in on reader and Lily 👀

so uh... idk if im good at writing smut but this one is for you love!!! also i am writing this from a hospital bed and my brain is only half working so

Caught

summary:James and Regulus catch you and Lily having some alone time

cw: MDNI. smut, this is kinda pwop, oral (f and m receiving) unprotected piv, cumplay?, swearing, idk this is literally just smut, lmk if anything needs to be added.

word count: 4.2k

Lily couldn’t be more perfect if she tried, her golden shining skin, her blazing emerald eyes, her ethereal copper hair. She was perfect in every sense of the word and you couldn’t believe she was yours. 

How truly lucky you were. You got her all to yourself, yours to hold, to sleep next to, to feel. She was all yours, if only you didn’t share her.

You sometimes forgot that she wasn't only yours. You forgot that you had to share. 

You loved your boyfriends, of course you did. And they loved you and Lily just as much. But there were days, moments that you just had to have her to yourself. You had to allow yourself to give into the pure greed you felt. She was yours, and you were hers.

That feeling, that greed, was especially present now, when she was pulling you upstairs into your bedroom. To be fair, you had been all over her all day, pulling her close and kissing every bit of skin you could reach. You could tell she tried to not let it affect her, but she had her limits. Limits you knew how to push and bend, knew exactly what to do or say to get exactly what you wanted.

Once she had finally snapped and gripped your wrist firmly, pulling you along behind her, you knew you had reached your goal. You got her to fold with a few whispered words and a coy look.

From pulling you behind her to pushing you into the room and onto the bed, every moment was heating up in the most delightful way.  From her lips to her touch, you felt the flame of desire ignite and there was no extinguishing it now. Not as she climbed atop you, not when she lifted your shirt from your body, not when she kissed down your frame all the way to the flimsy material of your underwear that you were left in.

You could live in this moment forever. You could bask in the feeling of her gripping your thighs and pulling them apart, slotting herself nicely between them. 

She slid her fingers into the waistband of said flimsy panties and slid them down your legs and threw them somewhere near the door. She made quick work of diving in, licking a stripe up your core. You groaned at the feeling, her tongue circling your clit over and over.

See, you all agreed that it was fine if two of you broke off every now and then for some quality one on one time. There was no rule against just you and Lily having some fun on your own, the other two didn’t have to be there. But, there was a sort of clause to this, just don’t get caught by the other two. More importantly, don’t get caught by Regulus.

At the beginning of your relationship, you often felt guilty, excluding the other two. That was, until Regulus had you in the shower all alone, growling that if he ever caught you like this with James or Lily, you would regret it. And that intrigued you.

Ever since then, you had yet to be caught, to see exactly what you would be regretting if you were. Now, there had of course been some close calls, but you took pride in yourself for the fact that you were incredibly sneaky and mischievous.

Today, you thought it was going to be one of those times, where you were able to sneak off and not be caught, just like every other time. That was until you heard the click of the door handle and looked just in time to see James and Regulus enter the room.

You saw James’s face spark with confusion then awe as he drank in the sight of Lily on her knees in front of you, lounging on the edge of the bed. 

Regulus looked slightly different. You saw him look from you, to Lily, to the panties on the floor right in front of where he stood, then back to you. All with an unchanging expression. His eyes bore into yours, and you knew that you were fucked now.

“Lily,” you whined, trying to wiggle your hips out of her grasp, but she wouldn’t budge. You tried again, this time trying to push her away.

“I hear them,” she acknowledged. She didn’t halt her actions, if anything, it just encouraged her.

Your eyes were still locked on Regulus’s. His face still void of any shock, any emotion at all really. It was a strange contrast to James’s wide eyed stare and blushed cheeks, now the same deep pink color of his cock which was no doubt hardening beneath his jeans by the second.

With Lily’s continued ministrations, you couldn’t help the small moan that left your lips. You tipped your head back and allowed yourself to drink in the pleasure, whatever consequences be damned. Lily clearly wasn’t stopping, so why shouldn’t you continue to feel good?

You heard Regulus approach, his footsteps along with the wet sloppy noises that came from where you and Lily were attached being the only noises filling the room. He stopped just short of the side of the bed and reached to grasp your face in one of his hands, turning you to face him. You looked up at him and felt your heart rate rise in anticipation, wanting to finally find out what he had in store.

To your surprise, he just leaned down and kissed your lips. It was sweet, soft. He broke away and slid in behind you, helping to prop your body up so Lily could get better access. She took full advantage of this and flattened her tongue, adding pressure to your bud so nicely. 

Regulus again turned your face to kiss you. You craned your neck to the side in an almost uncomfortable angle to reach him. He gave you a few soft kisses before licking along your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for him, allowing his tongue to explore yours. Your tongues danced together, there was no need for a battle of dominance when you both found a rhythm.

Lily seemed to be annoyed that the attention was off of her when she was the one working so hard, so she decided to bring a finger to your entrance and circle it, collecting your wetness before pushing in ever so slightly.

You forgot Regulus, snapping your attention back to her. You met her sultry gaze staring back at you as if tempting you to look away again. You saw her tongue start kitten licking you again and you moaned out, throwing your head back against Regulus’s shoulder. He stayed firm behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle to hold you in place for Lily.

Lily took Regulus’s help and added another finger to your entrance, pumping both in and out of you, curling upwards in the way only Lily did. You lost all your senses, letting out breathless moans and praises of Lily’s name. She felt so amazing. You were becoming undone for her, getting closer and closer to your orgasm.

“You just gonna stand there, pretty boy?,” you heard Regulus’s voice from behind you, "Or are you gonna come join us?”. 

Lily halted her work on you and turned to look over her shoulder at where James still stood, your juices covering her mouth and chin. You whined, not wanting her to stop, but also looked to where your other boyfriend was.

He looked like he was in desperate need of some attention. You smirked, enjoying the fact that he could get this worked up by just watching you three. He stood, a little spacey and breathless. 

You decided to help him out and smiled sweetly at him. “C’mere Jamie, I wanna play with you.” He nodded and moved quickly to be by your side.

Lily turned back to you and winked up at you before continuing. You fought the urge to roll your eyes back, you had to be somewhat coherent for James now. You turned your attention to where the boy was struggling to undo the button on his jeans, too busy watching what Lily was doing. You took pity on him and helped him. 

His eyes flicked to you and gave you an appreciative look. He slid his jeans down his thighs leaving him in just his boxers. You reached up to wrap your hand behind his neck, pulling him into a kiss. His lips were needy against yours, eager for your touch at last. He shimmied out of his boxers and allowed his cock to be free of its restraints.

You took him in your hand, gathering his leaking precum to use as lubrication. You stroked him up and down with ease, pulling away from the kiss to allow his moans to ring through the air. Such sinful moans falling from his lips and you had only just begun touching him. 

Regulus chuckled from behind you, amused with how needy James was. Regulus seemed to reward your actions by attaching his lips to the small space under your ear and sucking, biting. There was surely to be a bright purple bruise there the next time you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Everything was getting too much for you, every action, every noise, every touch, was blending together and you were falling fast. You felt the brink of orgasm approaching. You couldn’t help but moan out, throwing your head back onto Regulus’s strong shoulder. 

Lily’s eyes shot up to yours, looking so sultry yet angelic between your legs, her tongue working her magic. She lapped you up in time with her fingers curling in just the right way, the way that only Lily understood. You were right on the edge, letting out breathless moans and chants of Lily’s name, before she suckled on your clit as her finishing move of her routine, and you were undone.

You felt every wave of pleasure as Lily worked you through your orgasm. “Good girl,” she drawled, giving you the praise she knew you wanted, Regulus doing the same by kissing your neck and shoulder sweetly. You relaxed for one moment, trying to catch your breath, before you heard a whimper beside you.

Your attention turned to the sad looking James at your side. You had forgotten his pleasure when seeking your own, and now he was pouting. You giggled, trying to compose yourself, and peeling yourself away from where Regulus and Lily had you, and crawled into James’s lap. Lily took your spot in Regulus’s lap, lounging lazily as both of them watched you and James.

Facing him, you took his face into your hands and pecked his lips. He tried to deepen the kiss again, wanting to continue where you had left off, but you cood, “Awe baby, I’m sorry. Did I forget about you?” James nodded fiercely, arms tugging you closer to him, trying to feel you everywhere. You could feel his dick so close to your bare cunt and groaned, grinding down on him to elicit the same reaction.

He whimpered and bucked his hips up into yours, dangerously close to entering you.

“Do you wanna be inside me baby? Would that make up for it?” you asked. James was almost shaking beneath you as he nodded and bucked up to meet your core again. You chuckled at his attempt to enter you, but looked to your other two lovers, just to make sure everything was alright.

Regulus had Lily in a similar position that you had just left. She was leaned up against his chest, legs spread for Regulus’s hands to work on her dripping cunt. You let out a short breathless moan at the sight. Regulus was whispering something into Lily’s ear that had her moaning and throwing her head back the same way you were just moments ago. 

James must have had enough of your inattention, because he bucked up into you once again, this time finding his mark. James slipped into you easily due to the wet mess you had become on Lily’s tongue. You both groaned out at the familiar sensation, James stretching you out and you squeezing him in the way he loves. 

Still facing him, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a fast and messy kiss. You both felt that needy desperation and melded together as you connected. James opened his mouth for you and you took advantage by licking into it. He moaned and pushed your hips down onto him even further. You threw your head back and let out a rather pornographic, attention seeking moan, putting on a performance for Regulus and Lily just as much as you were for James.

You started grinding down onto James, back and forth, as he let out soft whimpers. You moved your hips in a silent rhythm, getting James as close to his release as you could without bringing him to the edge. You moved your hips in time with his thrusts, the way you knew he liked, and let him think he was the one in control by allowing him to move your hips back and forth on his cock. He brought one hand up to cup your breast, pawing at it before taking your nipple into his mouth and suckling. You moaned and gripped his hair at the back of his head, tugging just slightly. 

You snuck a look at Lily and Regulus where he had his ring and middle fingers pumping in and out of her at a rapid pace. Lily’s face was twisted with pleasure and ecstasy, eyes screwed shut and cheeks reddening to match the color of her lovely hair. She was going to come undone soon, and you couldn’t wait to hear the beautiful noises she would make. You know that watching you and James was tipping her closer and closer to the edge.

You rocked your hips on James at the same time as Regulus’s fingers sliding in and out of Lily. You cried out, gripping James’s shoulders and squeezing with your nails, no doubt leaving tiny crescent moons indented into his skin. You knew that sent a rush of pleasure down to James cock by the way he twitched inside of you and he let out a gargled moan.

You watch as Lily’s chest heaves up and down, moaning so seductively and making you want her between your thighs again. She let out moans in quick succession, squirming in Regulus’s grasp, legs flailing and hands gripping his thighs, anything to try and get away. But Regulus was all too used to this, and had her tightly against him as he continued his assault on her cunt. Fuck you werent going to last much longer.

In out, in out, in out. You could make out the sweat lining Lily’s chest. You started bouncing on James in time to Regulus now. James whimpered and nuzzled into the crook of your neck, giving you full control without pretending now. Bouncing, bouncing bouncing, closer and closer to the edge. Regulus added his thumb to brush Lily’s clit, and it had her screaming. You nuzzled back into James and slammed your hips down onto his, clenching his cock hard and feeling him spurt into you, moaning your name over and over, kissing your neck and holding you tight into him. You felt so good, wanting, needing to continue to rock your hips onto his, but you didn’t want to overstimulate him, especially when he had been such a good boy for you. 

You didn’t have to wait for long, Regulus was pulling you off of James moments after James was completely coming down from his high. Both you and James whined at the feeling of the loss of each other. You felt the emptiness rush over you, but Regulus had a look in his eye that meant you wouldn’t have to go empty for long.

Regulus laid you down on the bed, smiling down at you. You became suddenly shy at his attention, remembering what he had said all that time ago about being caught, and now here you were, caught, and at his mercy. You were slightly scared, but you needed something, anything from Regulus. You would take the rough punishment, the unfair edging, the nerve-shattering overstimulation, anything.

 “My turn baby,” He said, kissing your clavicle and taking your right thigh and pushing it down on the bed next to your body, giving him unrestricted access to your pussy, still dripping with James release. Regulus reached down between your two bodies and spread James’s cum up and down your cunt for lubrication. You could have cum from just that alone, but he then dipped two fingers into you, curling them upwards and making your back arch, before pulling them out and using James’s cum as lubrication for himself, tugging his cock once, twice, before lining up with you.

You looked over to where James was now between Lily’s thighs, eyes glazed over from pleasure. Lily’s fingers tangled in James’s locks as she used her leverage to grind on this tongue, meeting him lick for lick.

Regulus turned your face back to him, squishing your cheeks so that your lips pouted out. He chuckled at your expression. “Eyes on me now babygirl, yeah?” he said, more like demanded.

You nodded to him, eyes not leaving his, as you felt his tip line up with your entrance. He then pushed in, so slowly. Inch by inch he pushed in until he bottomed out. You had no breath to moan or cry out. He pulled out ever so slightly before thrusting in again. You arched your chest up to meet his and he took this as a sign to speed up a little more.

Still holding your right thigh in place, he thrust into you deeper. You felt every glorious inch of him and forgot about the whole ‘being caught’ scenario… Maybe he did as well. Maybe there was no reason to worry yourself. You let yourself relax and enjoy it all.

You finally got out a strangled moan, encouraging Regulus on. He was slipping in and out so easily, so quickly, that you barely had the right state of mind to notice that James and Lily were now 69ing.

Regulus gripped your thigh with one hand and brought his other to grip your throat, stabilizing himself as he thrust even harder into you. You whimpered, half at the way he was making you feel, and half due to the moans coming from both overstimulated James and Lily.

Regulus squeezed your throat in the most delicious way that made the sides of your vision go fuzzy and all the blood go straight to your pussy. Regulus pounded into you with vigor as he saw your eyes start to roll back into your skull. He was letting out breathless sounds, the only thing close to a moan he would ever let out, while you while you completely let go, moaning and cursing, chanting his name like a sinful prayer.

“Reggie, R-Reggie.” you cried out.

He smirked down at you. “What is it baby?” he asked with fake worry. You could hear the noises that James and Lily were making and you knew you were going to cum for Regulus embarrassingly fast.

“C-could we… switch positions. P-please?” you asked as he continued pounding into you.

Wordlessly he gripped your hips and turned you so that you were on your hands and knees. He pushed down on your middle back so that your tits met the bed and your ass was perfectly on display for him. From this position, you could watch James and Lily with ease. She was on top, riding his face, her juices running down his neck and chest, his cock a deep red, ready to be played with again.

You caught Lily’s eye and for the second time tonight, she winked at you. You turned into a shy mess again, hiding your face in the sheets before you felt Regulus slide his dick up and down your slit, recoating himself to push into you. 

He lined himself up with your entrance yet again, but it was you who pushed back onto him. He let out a low groan and took your hips in his hands. He wasted no time, holding you in place as he pounded into you. You moaned so loudly that you were sure everyone down the block could hear you, but you didn’t care, his cock was too deep, he felt too good. And Lily and James sounded as if they were right there with you, feeling just as amazing. 

“Fuck James,” Lily moaned out, lazily stroking his cock while still riding his face.

Regulus continued thrusting, bending one of his legs to the side of you for better leverage, reaching new depths. You cried out broken moans holding off your orgasm as long as possible, but you couldn’t hold it for much longer.

“I, Reggie, I’m s’close,” you moaned. “Please can I cum?” you still didn’t know for sure where you stood with him, if he was going to rip away your orgasm at the last second for getting caught.

Regulus just breathed out a “Cum whenever you want baby.”

He thrust into you faster now, knowing that you were on the brink. You couldn’t stop it, everything again came crashing down on you. You screamed out, but Regulus shoved your face into the bed to muffle the sound, still fucking into you to chase his own release. 

You couldn’t catch your breath, listening to James come undone next, then Lily right along with him, her high pitched moans reverberating off the bedroom walls. 

Regulus pounded into you for a good while after you had cum, James cuddled into Lily’s lap as they both just watched you take your pleasure.

Your body felt so lifeless as Regulus used it, pounding into you like a doll. You loved it. He was close, his thrusts becoming sloppy and not as coordinated as usual. You decided to finish your performance with an encore. 

“Fuck Reggie,” you moaned out with a scratch in your voice from all the moaning and screaming. “You fill me up so good.”

You felt him twitch, gripping your hips and getting ready to spill into you.

“Merlin, you feel so good Reggie.” you coaxed, trying to get him to cross the finish line like all of you already had.

“You know how to make me feel so good, Y/N.” Regulus said, out of breath and sweat dripping down his temple as he chased his high.

You moaned once more before hitting the final nail on the coffin. “I love you Reggie.” you breathed out.

This completely broke him. He threw his head back, eyes tightly shut as he let out a whimper for you, coating your walls with his hot ropes of cum. You smiled and moaned with him, loving the fact that you got him to make such pretty noises, especially when he is the most reserved out of the four of you.

You confidently whipped around to face him, disconnecting from his cock to connect to his lips with a small peck. He smiled down at you yet again. “I love you too,” he replied softly.

You crawled to where James was laying on the bed, beat and ready to cuddle and sleep. Lily had gone to grab a few towels to wipe off with. You kissed James’s cheek and asked if he had enjoyed himself. He nodded sleepily and you giggled.

Lily took care of James while Regulus grabbed a cloth and wiped your core down for you. You told him you could do it yourself, but he insisted. 

“I thought you were going to be mad at me.” you admitted to him, breaking the comfortable silence that had built throughout the room.

“Why would I ever be mad at you babygirl?” Regulus replied to you, wiping down your thighs where he and James’s cum had mixed and dripped out.

You shrugged but said “Well because of what you said about if you ever were to catch me… I thought that you’d be mad or jealous or something.” you tried to explain.

He chuckled, folding the small towel before throwing it somewhere near the laundry. “Oh baby,” he said, “As long as I am able to join, I’m never going to be mad or jealous.” He kissed the top of your head before slotting himself behind you, spooning you. “That is, as long as I am able to join…”

“I would never not want you to join.” you said to him quickly. “I like when we all have fun.”

“Oh baby,” Lily said, crawling in behind James to spoon him just as Regulus was spooning you. “You didn’t like when it was just me and you?” she teased.

“I did!” you tried to defend yourself. “I just… I don’t want anyone to ever feel left out.”

Regulus cooed at you and kissed your cheek, cuddling into you. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” Regulus said.

“She certainly is.” Lily said, licking her lips and winking at you again.

oh gosh... i will check for spelling and grammar issues tomorrow whenI am slightly more aware of my surroundings but hey, first work of 2025 done!!! please let me know if there is like a glaring issue or anything lmao. please send in asks/requests case i am SO BORED in this hospital ❤️

[syymplypotter]

what are you, her boyfriend? - ron weasley

summary: cormac mclaggen doesn't know how to take no for an answer, so your best friend steps in - as your boyfriend

It was nearly impossible to hold in the grunt of annoyance when Cormac approached you in the common room again. You were enjoying time with your friends, cuddled into Ron’s side in front of the fireplace, and there he was, yet again. You don’t know when his little obsession with you started, but no matter how hard you’ve tried bringing it to an end, McLaggen won’t relent.

“I told you I’m not interested, McLaggen.” Cormac froze a couple of feet away from you, replacing the surprised look on his face with an insufferable smirk. Ron glanced up, furrowing his eyebrows at the older boy. He didn’t know Cormac spoke to you much. And then he was instantly hit with a string of thoughts. You told him you weren’t interested? How many times had he come onto you? And how come Ron didn’t know?

“It doesn’t count if you don’t mean it.” Cormac’s lazy drawl replied, causing you to roll your eyes. “Cormac, if I did like you, I’d have said yes the first time you asked me out, and we’d probably be on our fifth date by now. So trust me, I’m not interested.”

Ron tightened the arm around your shoulders, fingers drawing abstract shapes on your skin to soothe you. He averted his gaze from Cormac to the side of your face, frowning at the clench in your jaw. Unconsciously, you huddled closer to Ron, playing with the fabric of his trousers to distract yourself.

“You’re just playing hard to get. It’s okay to admit you want me.”

Ron shimmied out from next to you, standing abruptly and taking threatening steps towards Cormac. “Are you hard of hearing McLaggen?” The boy flinched back in shock at Ron’s aggressive tone. “Because everyone here can clearly tell that she’s not interested in you. So back off.”

Cormac quickly recovered from Ron’s jab, an insolent chuckle leaving his parted lips. “What are you, her boyfriend?”

It went silent for a moment, everyone waiting to hear your best friend’s reply to Cormac’s question. The ginger squared his shoulders, curtly nodding. “I am, yeah,” Your eyes flew open in surprise, and you refused to look at anyone else in the friend group, knowing they would have identically teasing smiles on their faces. “So you should understand why I don’t like seeing a clapped bloke like you flirting with my girlfriend.”

Ignoring the insult sent his way, Cormac turned his gaze towards you. It wasn’t the usual flirtatious kind, it was dangerous, threatening. “If you really are dating, why didn’t you tell me?” “Well maybe if you actually listened to what I have to say every once in a while, you might have heard me mentioning it.”

You had never mentioned it, obviously. Because you and Ron were in fact not dating.

However, you would be lying if sometimes you didn’t wish you were. For example, nights like these, wrapped in each other’s arms on a couch made for one, or endless hours spent in the library together to finish a single assignment just because you kept getting distracted by each other’s presence.

Ron took one step closer to Mclaggen, their chests almost touching, and he spat “Get out before I see you out, McLaggen.” With a loud scoff, the older boy turned on his heels and trudged to the other side of the common room, where he slumped down on a couch, eyes still trained on you. Ron turned towards you, eyes instantly softening. You stood up wordlessly, a hand curling around his forearm softly to drag him into an empty study room in the common room.

When the door shut behind Ron, you faced him, bringing both your hands up to cup his jaw as you leaned in closer to him. Just millimetres away from your lips, Ron smiled as he realised what was happening, shutting his eyes as you finally melded your lips onto his. He brought his hands up to rest on the sides of your neck, thumb caressing the skin carefully, lips parting to kiss you deeply.

Your tongue met his between your lips, and you trailed your arms downwards to rest on his chest, lips curling into a wide smile that made it impossible for Ron to continue kissing you. “Sorry.” You mumbled when he broke the kiss. Ron shook his head, a smile as wide as yours, foreheads pressed against each other.

“So I don’t wanna sound like McLaggen, but-”

“Shut up and go out with me Ron.”

“Hey! I was gonna ask-mmph-” Ron’s complaints were immediately put to rest when you pulled him back in for another kiss, hands tightly curled around his collar. Ron stumbled into you, body pressing against yours as he snaked his hands around your waist, splaying his fingers on the surface of your lower back.

“Hogsmeade?” Ron asked between kisses, keeping you as close to him as possible as he manoeuvred you against a wall. “Uh-huh.” You replied, gasping softly as Ron forced his tongue back into your mouth. Moaning softly, you pushed Ron away from you by the chest, your lips separating with a loud pop.

“So just to be clear, how long have you liked me for?” Ron’s face flushed a dark red at your question and he instantly reconnected your lips, despite your quiet giggles interrupting you. Twining a hand into Ron’s fiery hair, you tugged at his locks so that you had just enough space between your lips to speak.

“Let me guess.” Ron groaned at your insistence, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. You hummed attentively, trying to make an accurate guess. “Is it-Oh!” Your words were cut off as Ron began harshly sucking on the skin of your neck, bringing a whimper from between your parted lips.

“Okay, I’ll-fuck Ron.” And if it wasn’t clear enough that Ron’s intent was to distract your mind from guessing he’d liked you for years, the smile against your neck told you so.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @potterheadlovespotter, @matcha-kitty13

[syymplypotter]

smash - draco malfoy

summary: draco malfoy? smash. except you say those words a little too loud. wc: 0.9k+

Immersed in the magazine in front of you, you only caught bits and pieces of the conversation Harry, Hermione and Ron were having around you, the great hall otherwise mostly empty. It wasn’t everyday the three of you had free periods together, but when you did, the conversations were always entertaining.

Especially when Harry started complaining.

You halted your focus on the magazine at the sound of Harry’s sassy and oddly loud voice. It was as though he wanted himself to be heard. Hermione scoffed from in front of the boy and you pulled the corner of your page up slowly, pretending to still be immersed in your reading.

“At this point, Malfoy is just following in his fa-” “Malfoy?” You asked, humming apprehensively, “Smash.”

From the slytherin table, sat right behind you, Draco’s head snapped backwards, his mouth parting in surprise before he forced his features into a confident smirk. Theo, Pansy, Mattheo and Blaise held matching looks at the bombshell you dropped so shamelessly.

A silence overtook your three friends at your comment, jaws slack and faces frozen in shock. “What!?” Harry spluttered. You flicked over to the next page, shrugging your shoulders as you scoffed carelessly. “Yeah, you can complain about him all you want, but that is one attractive man.”

“If you felt so strongly about the matter, you should’ve spoken sooner.”

Your head shot up and you slammed your magazine shut at the familiar voice, your eyes widening in panic. Ron, who sat facing you, grimaced at you softly. Clearing your throat, you spun around on the bench, kicking your legs over its side. Leaning your elbows back on the table cooly, you replied “Why would I have spoken sooner if you weren’t around to hear it?”

Draco grinned and you cocked your head to the side, holding eye contact, challenging him to keep your gaze. It was silent as you stared at each other, apart from Theo’s loud exhale and Mattheo’s chuckle before he turned his attention back to his cup of tea. Finally, Draco gulped thickly, eyes momentarily flickering to look back at his friends.

Humming apprehensively, you stood up, tucking your magazine under your arm and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Makes sense you’re not a gryffindor,” You started, eyes trained on Draco as he stiffened up. You leaned closer to him, bringing your voice down to a whisper. “Find me when you’re brave enough to do something about it, Malfoy.”

And with a toss of your hair over your shoulder, you strutted out of the great hall, grinning as you heard a clatter of things behind you. Draco rushed to catch up to you, tripping over his feet as he followed you all the way from the great hall to the girls’ bathroom you dragged him into, pushing him against the wall and pressing your lips to his.

Draco groaned, immediately flipping your positions around so he had you cornered between his body and the stone wall, and he separated himself from you momentarily to ask you “What was that you said earlier?” before moving his kisses down your neck and instantly sucking on your skin to leave bruising hickeys that Harry will most definitely question.

“What? Find me when you’re-”

“No, before that.”

“Um, smash?” Draco chuckled against your skin, trailing his kisses back up your neck and towards your lips. “Would you let me take you on a date before that?” You felt your cheeks go hot at the embarrassing whimper that escaped your lips at his question, but nodded your head nonetheless.

Draco pushed himself off you with a satisfied smile, smoothing his uniform down as he stated “Good. Now, I believe you have a lesson.” You gasped deep in your throat at the realisation that he was correct, hearing the halls outside fill with chatter as students were released from their classrooms.

“Sunday. Hogsmeade.” He told you, pushing the door to the bathroom open and walking past the group of girls who were coming into the room, giving him judgemental looks as he passed them. But then they turned to you, and they were immediately gasping at the revelation of you and Draco being together. You giggled nervously, slipping out of the bathroom when they turned to look at each other, the gossip already beginning to spread.

Meanwhile, in the great hall:

Harry’s jaw dropped lower than he believed possible as he watched Draco stumble to reach you. He shook his head “We cannot let that happen.” Hermione scoffed, “Oh yes we can, and we will. I want all the details when they’re done.”

At the sounds of disgust both Harry and Ron expelled from their mouths, Hermione sighed disappointedly. “Right. I forgot you’re not girls.”

“Hey, Granger!” Hermione turned to the voice that had called out her name and she stared back nervously at Pansy Parkinson, who had a surprisingly welcoming smile on her face. “You can come discuss it with us, if you’d like. I’m a girl, and you’d think they are too based on how much they love the drama.” Hermione laughed whole-heartedly as Pansy nodded her head towards the boys around her with a joking roll of her eyes.

“Will that work if we’re getting different sides of the same story?” Hermione questioned, crossing her arms over his chest in mock rivalry. Pansy hummed, standing up and gathering her belongings. “I get his side of the story, you get hers, then we exchange?” Hermione grinned.

“Perfect. But I think she’ll want to join.”

Pansy winked. “Even better, I want all the filthy details.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies

[syymplypotter]

"Jealous Much?" | D.M

Potter!reader x Draco Malfoy

Summary: You receive a letter with a gift every week, and your brother Harry and his friends won’t stop teasing you about a “mystery admirer.” Little does he know, the sender is the last person he’d ever expect.

A/N: I'm currently in love with potter!reader x draco scenarios. ♡

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It started about a month ago—a quiet little mystery that became your favorite part of the week.

Every Friday morning, just as the Great Hall buzzed with chatter and clinking silverware, a sleek, pale-gray owl swooped down gracefully and landed in front of you. It was never late. And it always brought something thoughtful—something that made your heart race just a little.

The first gift had been a delicate silver charm bracelet, simple but elegant, with a tiny serpent dangling from the chain. The note attached was written in tidy script:

“Something subtle… to keep me close, even when I’m not there.”

The second week, it was a small box of enchanted chocolates—each one shaped like a star, and when you bit into them, they whispered things like, “You’re beautiful,” and “Thinking of you.” The letter that time said:

“A little sweetness to match yours. Don’t share them with Weasley.”

You had giggled at that one, earning a curious look from Harry across the table.

Week three, it was a pressed flower—some kind of rare, deep purple bloom you’d never seen before—enchanted so it would never wilt. The note was shorter that time, but no less meaningful:

“Even something rare and beautiful pales next to you.”

And today? As the owl landed gracefully in front of you, heads turned, and Harry, who had already caught on to the pattern, raised his eyebrows with exaggerated interest. You untied the small parcel and unfolded the parchment first.

It read:

“Meet me tonight. Same place. P.S. You look stunning when you smile at my letters.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you unwrapped the gift—a silver locket. When you clicked it open, inside was a tiny photo of you (one you didn’t even remember being taken) smiling down at something out of frame. Opposite it was a moving image of Draco, eyes soft and a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. Your heart squeezed.

“Alright,” Harry said, setting down his fork and leaning forward on his elbows. “This is getting serious now. A locket? You have to tell me who it is.”

Ron and Hermione both looked up, curious and amused, but Harry was the most relentless.

“I’m guessing—hmm—Ernie Macmillan.”

You rolled your eyes, tucking the locket carefully into your pocket. “Nope.”

“Michael Corner?”

“Wrong again.”

“Hmm…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Zabini? He’s smooth.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Lockhart?!” Harry gasped suddenly, eyes wide with mock horror. “Is it Lockhart? You can tell me!”

“Harry!” you squeaked, swatting at him, your face burning as you laughed.

“Look at her blush!” Harry crowed. “It’s Lockhart. Case closed.”

Ron groaned. “Please, no one wants to think about that.”

That night, you slipped out like usual, heart thudding as you made your way through the secret passage to your hidden meeting spot. And sure enough, there was Draco, already waiting, arms crossed, expression… stormy.

You frowned. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer at first, just glared down at the ground. His jaw was tight, and he seemed to be brooding even more than usual.

“Draco?” you pressed, stepping closer.

Finally, he huffed and muttered, “If your brother keeps talking about other boys, I swear I’m going to hex him into next week.”

You blinked, startled—then burst out laughing. “That’s why you’re sulking?”

Draco scowled but didn’t deny it. “It’s annoying. All day, it’s been Corner this and Zabini that—and Lockhart?! Are you kidding me? I should’ve hexed Potter right then and there.”

You giggled, sliding your arms around his waist. “Jealous, much?”

“Maybe.” Draco didn’t even try to hide it. His eyes were sharp but softened when you reached up to brush his hair back.

“You know it’s only ever you, right?”

That earned a rare, genuine smile. He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, pulling you flush against him like he never wanted to let go.

“Let them guess,” you whispered against his lips. “It’s more fun that way.”

“As long as you remember who you belong to,” Draco murmured, smirking now, possessive but playful.

You laughed, pecking his lips. “Always.”

⸻

The following Friday, you thought maybe things would settle down. But oh, how wrong you were.

The owl swooped in as usual—but this time, it carried a huge box. Bigger than any gift so far. You stared as it dropped the package in front of you with a graceful thud.

“Oh, this is serious now,” Harry announced, eyes lighting up as he grabbed the box before you could. “Come on, let’s see what lover boy sent this time.”

You groaned, but Hermione and Ron were already leaning in curiously, and of course, the Weasley twins—never ones to miss out on teasing—slid onto the bench with identical grins.

Harry opened the box dramatically—and all five of them gasped.

Inside was the most stunning gown you’d ever seen: emerald-green silk, shimmering faintly, clearly enchanted, with intricate embroidery that looked too expensive to even touch. You couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Holy—” Fred began.

“—bloody hell,” George finished.

“Is that designer?” Hermione whispered, eyes wide.

Harry held it up, gaping. “This must’ve cost a fortune! Okay, okay, this is big money. We need to think. Who’s rich enough to pull this off?”

You tried to grab it back, face burning. “Harry, stop—”

“Theodore Nott?” Harry guessed first.

“Nope.”

“Mclaggen?”

“Wrong.”

“Zabini?” Hermione chimed in, clearly entertained now.

“Montague?” Fred suggested, holding the dress up to himself with a wink. “If it is, tell him I want one too.”

“Ohhh,” George added dramatically, “I bet it’s one of those international students. Super rich.”

You groaned, hiding your face. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Fred and George shared a look and started chanting, “She’s getting married! She’s getting married!”

“I am NOT—!"

And then it happened.

A sudden clatter of footsteps, sharp and purposeful, echoed across the Great Hall. Everyone turned—and your stomach dropped.

Draco Malfoy was storming across the room, eyes locked on you, face like thunder.

The table fell dead silent.

“Uh… why’s Malfoy coming over here?” Ron muttered nervously.

Draco didn’t stop until he was standing right behind Harry, towering over him with his arms crossed and that deadly glare fixed in place.

“I’m the one who bought the dress, Potter,” Draco announced, his voice cool but sharp, loud enough for half the hall to hear. “Not the cheap students you’re rattling off like some pathetic guessing game."

Silence.

Harry’s jaw dropped. Fred dropped his fork. Hermione blinked like she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Draco turned to you then, gaze softening ever so slightly. “You’ll look stunning in it, by the way.”

Harry's eyes widen even more, practically bulging out of his eye sockets, as Draco leans in to kiss your forehead.

And with that, he spun on his heel and strode out, his cloak following behind him.

There was a beat of stunned silence… and then chaos.

“MALFOY?!” Harry exploded, whipping around to stare at you. “You’re dating MALFOY?!”

Fred and George howled with laughter, practically falling off the bench.

“Ohhh, this is gold,” George gasped between wheezes.

“Best reveal ever,” Fred agreed, wiping tears from his eyes.

Ron just looked horrified, and Hermione… Hermione slowly closed her book, gave you a look, and said, “I knew it.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “…Well. I guess the mystery’s solved.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[syymplypotter]

ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ..

s. reid x reader

genre: fluff (suggestive..possibly in a way)

c/w: not really, one swear, make out, little suggestive not descriptive

content: bau!reader, bold!reader, reader is obsessed, spencer is blind, at first, they love to kiss, lyrics mentioned

a/n: this is literally based on “I can see you” by taylor swift. so yeah!!! also this is super random and I just wrote this now at 8 a.m so not spell checked all the way!! sorry if it’s bad !!

w/c: 1.1k

if you were being honest, you had a tiny crush on spencer reid ever since you joined the BAU. but since then, it’s grown, a lot. i mean, how could you not? smart, tall, and oh so handsome. but no one knew, you kept it pretty well covered. even if you were, well, desperately in love with him.

but lately, you just didn’t feel like hiding it anymore, well at least not to him. because of this, you grew a bit bolder. every day at work, as you walked past him, a small brush of your shoulder against his, your hand grazing over his lower arm.

for some reason, spencer didn’t notice. or, if he did, he wasn’t showing it. but you wanted him to, it had been too long, he wasn’t reacting the only time you were wishing he did.

how was he not noticing? the small completely avoidable touches? you staring at him across the room? the overly kind and sweet way you talked to him? you knew spencer didn’t have the most experience, but really?

these thoughts were running though your head as you sat at your desk on a sunny tuesday morning. eyes on spencer at his desk across the room. you sighed, furrowing your eyebrows you thought and thought. how were you going to make him notice?

an idea came about, pressing a small smile onto your lips. pulling out a piece of paper, you wrote a small little note.

“meet me tonight, 9:00.” and the name of a local bar, followed by your name and a small heart.

walking past spencer’s desk, you passed the note, it landing on top of his desk and in his line of vision. he looked up at you, going to question it, you simply shook your head, and walked past. hoping that he would, indeed meet you.

as you turned your head back to look at him, you saw him reading the note. perfect, that’s all you needed.

that night after work, you got ready, wanting to look the best that you can. zipping up a little back dress, and fixing your black strappy heels. you finally felt ready, checking the time, 8:15.

after you made it to the bar, getting out of your car, you noticed spencer standing, a bit awkwardly, outside. you smiled, walking up to him.

when his eyes caught you, you swear you saw him suck in a deep breath through his lips. that small action increased your confidence.

“hey..uh- why did you want to meet here?” he asked, clearing his through and ripping his gaze away from your dress and at your face.

you smiled, tilting your head towards the bar’s front door. “let’s go sit down first, yeah?” you say, walking in, you hear him mutter a small “yeah..” as he follows behind you.

the two of you sit down at a bar table, his eyes rack over you again, his voice stuttering, “you, uh, you look beautiful..” he looks down at his usual work attire, “I didn’t know I was supposed to dress up..”

you shake your head, admittedly blushing at his compliment. “you didn’t need to you..you still look handsome.” you say in return.

spencer almost turns bright red, “so um, what’s this about? is the rest of the team coming?” you laugh softly, shaking your head. “no, I wanted to maybe just spend some time with you alone.”

his face scrunches up in a confused expression, “why..?” your smile only widens, “Spence, for a genius you can be pretty dense..”

he looks confused still, so you continue. “I invited you out tonight, just us, I dressed up in an uncomfortable dress and heels, what do you think that means?” you prompt him.

“I-… a date?” he says, unsure. you hum. he shakes himself, “you want to go on a date with me?” he sounds shocked.

you grab his hand from across the table, almost feeling electricity through your interconnected hands.

“is that okay?” you mumble, and he nods, a completely different look in his eye. he stands up, your hands still connected.

before you could understand what was even going on, your back was pushed up against a wall and spencer’s lips were on yours.

his hands were holding your waist, probably tight enough to make bruises, as he kissed your lips. your first kiss with spencer, a thought you shamelessly had many times, you had expected to be soft and tender. This was anything but.

he kissed you hungrily, like he needed you to live, he smiled against your lips when you returned the kiss. groaning into the kiss when you twirl your fingers in his hair, just at the nape of his neck.

he pulls away, his eyes dazed and his breath heavy. “I shouldn’t be kissing my coworker right now.” he mumbles to himself, his hands still placed firmly on your hips.

“maybe..” you started, also out of breath. your voice dropped to a whisper, “I’ll never tell..” spencer eyes raise up to meet yours at your words. he almost looks like he’s debating himself internally.

“fuck it..” he breathes out, smashing his lips onto yours against. the kiss becomes even more desperate than before, the two of you fighting to control the kiss, you eventually let spencer lead. rushing to keep up, your hands trailing down his chest, his still on your waist pulling you closer.

that night, you and spencer kissed, a lot. and going back to your apartment, you did a lot more than that.

waking up curled into spencer’s bare body, felt like heaven. you watched him sleep, tracing his face with a featherlight touch. when his eyes fluttered open, a small grin perched on his face, as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, brushing hair out of your face.

the two of you had work this morning, meaning it was back to being coworkers. you sat up in the bed, spencer following.

you were practically sitting on his lap as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “we..” kiss “have..” kiss “to keep..” kiss “everything professional..” a final kiss “okay?”

he grinned, enjoying the extra attention, “but something’s changed, it’s something, I like..” he grumbles in response.

you nod, “yes, but we can’t act like that at work, okay?”

he huffs, dramatically. “fine…but,” he kisses you again, pulling you even closer to him, as you melt into the kiss, allowing him to pull you closer. he pulled back, placing kisses all over your face.

“needed more of you.. before I have to pretend that you’re just my coworker.” you smiled softly, tilting your head, “I am, just your coworker.”

he raises his eyebrow, shaking his head, “no angel.”

you tilt your head, confused. he smiles, brushing hair out of your face.

“you’re mine now.”