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writtendaydreamm · 3 months ago

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The Hospital Gossip Mill

Summary: Y/n and Langdon try to keep their relationship a secret at work, but eventually get caught by their observant colleagues

Author's Note: Based on this submission. Had so much fun writing this, hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you guys think!

*Just put out a sort-of prequel to this! Check it out here

Ding

The elevator doors opened to the ED, and Y/n took a deep breath, bracing herself before stepping out.

Looking at the hospital as one entity, the ED could be seen as the belly of the beast - but really the department was a beast in its own right. It was chaotic, loud, fast-paced, unpredictable. It was madness to put it plainly. But the team down here harnessed all that madness and used it to fuel their ingenuity and creativity. Now she’d never admit any of this out loud, and certainly not to any of the doctors down here - that would sound too much like praise or respect.

What she will admit however is that it definitely takes a certain type of person to go into Emergency Medicine. One rotation in the ED back in med school was all it took for Y/n to decide it was not for her. She felt much more at home in General Surgery. Intense in a different way, the OR was high-pressure and high stakes, it demanded precision and endurance. And she loved every second of it.

Making her way across the floor to find Dr. Mohan, Y/n’s eyes also scanned around for any sight of another resident in particular who forgot his wallet at her apartment this morning. She had texted him to come pick it up during his lunch break, but considering it was now the tail end of their shift and he still hadn’t come up, she knew this was probably one of those days he didn't get a lunch break.

Contemplating bringing it down with her after getting called to consult on Mohan’s abdominal trauma case, ultimately Y/n decided against it. It would be too obvious. Their relationship was still under wraps and she wanted to keep it that way. They didn’t need the hospital gossip mill catching any wind of something going on between her and Dr. Langdon.

Focusing on the task at hand, she went over Mohan's call. The younger resident didn’t exactly deliver the case on a silver platter for her. The patient had no reliable history, incomplete imaging and a vague exam. Not to mention the patient was being combative enough to need restraints.

This’ll be fun, Y/n scoffed to herself.

From what Mohan could tell her, the patient is a 30-year-old male, took a fall during a manic episode, they got a FAST that’s equivocal and a borderline soft belly. There was some free fluid, so it could be a possible mesenteric bleed or the spleen. It could also possibly be nothing, just some muscle tension and a new patient for psych not surgery.

Y/n won’t know for sure till she gets eyes and hands on it herself.

—

“Just to confirm, CT incomplete, guarding when touched, and free fluid but no definitive source?”

“Correct,” Mohan nodded, they stood just outside the room.

“Oh, well don’t make it too easy for me,” Y/n quipped sarcastically, before stepping in.

Inside, she got her first look at their patient - alert but clearly agitated and restrained to the bed rails. Around the room were a few nurses, more than normal for a case like this. Surely just here to help restrain if he gets combative or aggressive again.

“Hi Mr. Harvey, I’m Dr. L/n,” she introduced herself, slipping on a pair of gloves. “I’m just going to check your belly okay.”

Before Y/n could take another step closer, Mr. Harvey had already begun recoiling, pulling on his restraints, not wanting to be examined any further. Playing it cool and calm, Y/n held her hands up non threateningly. She spoke slowly hoping to soothe him just enough to get her hands on him.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to find out what’s hurting you from the inside after your fall.”

“I didn’t fall, I flew,” he corrected her indignantly.

“Right, my apologies,” she said, taking tentative steps forward, continuing to try and build trust with him. “The exam I'm going to perform might be uncomfortable, even painful, but I promise I will try to be as quick as I can. It’s the only way we can check for any internal injuries you sustained on your, uh, flight.”

Despite his face still contorting in a mixture of pain and defiance, the tension in his body seemed to ease. With the belts on his hand restraints slackened now, she figured this was as good as it was going to get.

“I’m going to start my examination, alright Mr. Harvey? You’re going to need to stay as still as possible for me though.”

He didn’t respond, but laid still now. Taking that as permission, Y/n gave the nurses a silent signal to be ready to restrain him should the need arise before she proceeded to assess his abdominal quadrants.

She leaned over Mr. Harvey slightly, gently but firmly palpating each quadrant starting furthest away from the area with reported pain. He was definitely tensing with the applied pressure, even starting to mumble incoherently in his discomfort. As she moved closer to the area Mohan had reported his pain was centered, he began to writhe and twist making it harder for Y/n to continue. But she went on anyway, asking him to remain calm. He probably couldn’t hear her though, the sound of his own voice going from mumbles to shouts drowning her out. She was about to press against his left lumbar region, and just the feeling of her nitrile glove brushing against his skin set him off.

Kicking and screaming, pulling at his restraints trying to break himself free, Mr. Harvey was about to be a danger to himself if he continued like this. Mohan and the nurses stepped in. All four of them tried to hold him down so Y/n could finish her exam, but it only made things worse. Mr. Harvey thrashed even more violently now. Somehow in the heat of things he managed to get a hold of the IV line he was hooked up to and yanked on it, hard.

“Dr. L/n, look out,” Mohan tried to warn her but it was too late.

Before she could even process what Mohan said, Y/n felt a hard, cold piece of metal fall on her head with a thud. Loud clanking followed as the IV stand fell on the floor in front of her.

“Fuck,” she grunted, the pain sending a cold wave of shock all over her body. Immediately putting pressure on the wound, she instructed everyone to get him under control. Pulling her hand back to check for bleeding, Y/n cursed again seeing her gloves covered in red.

From across the bed, Mohan’s eyes widened watching a trickle of blood drip down the side of Y/n’s forehead. “Oh damn, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware,” Y/n snapped in her frustration and pain.

“Maybe you should step out, get that checked. I’ll call down for another consult-”

“I’m fine,” Y/n shook it off, ignoring the pulsing on her forehead. “We need to finish this exam now. If he needs the OR we can’t waste any more time.”

“It looks pretty bad,” Mohan winced, imagining the gash that must’ve been behind Y/n’s hand. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Y/n insisted, growing annoyed at the concern. This was just a little cut, she’ll manage. “Just get him under control so I can finish. And get me some gauze, please. Now.”

—

Dropping off one of the tablets back at the nurse’s station, Langdon heard Mateo and Princess speaking in hushed tones which could only mean one thing - new gossip. While he tried to stay above the gossip and rumors, he just couldn’t help himself from listening in.

“Is it true one of the surgical residents got headbutted by that psych patient that came in earlier. The one talking about flying and shit.”

“No, I think it was a piece of equipment that hit her head,” Princess said, correcting Mateo.

“Well whatever it was, I heard she’s getting stitches.”

A premature smirk spread across Langdon’s face as he assumed the aforementioned surgical resident was Dr. Garcia. For all the shit she gives, he wasn’t going to let her live this one down. Little Miss Knife-happy getting cut on the job? It was almost poetic.

“Who was it?” Langdon asked smugly.

“Dr. L/n,” Princess said.

That wiped the smirk right off his face. Curiosity turning to concern, he tried to get more information about what happened.

“Stitches huh?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested. “It must’ve been a deep wound.”

“Must be,” Mateo shrugged. “I heard Javadi saying she bled through her gauze.”

So Javadi’s on the case? Langdon didn’t want to assume the worst, but he immediately recalled the intern’s first day here. How she fainted about an hour in after seeing some blood. Sure Javadi had gained more experience and hadn’t fainted again since, but it still made Langdon a bit uneasy knowing she was handling Y/n’s stitches.

“Who’s Javadi with right now?” Langdon continued to press.

“Collins, I think,” Mateo said, nodding over to the examination room just opposite to the nurse’s station.

Pretending to check the board for a new case, Langdon stood there at the nurses station for a moment tapping his fingers on the counter idly. Staring at all the columns and rows of patients on the screen, the only case he was interested in at the moment was Y/n’s. But as badly as he wanted to rush across the hall to check in on her, he didn’t want to look too panicked and give himself away. Not in front of Princes and Mateo - those two didn’t need anything else to gossip about.

But the pair of nurses had already shot each other a quick, knowing look as they watched Langdon try, and fail, to slip away from the counter unnoticed towards the exam room Y/n was in.

—

Y/n, Javadi, and Collins all jumped in surprise as Langdon barged into the room suddenly.

Collins looked at him quizzically, not understanding what he was doing here. Despite the bleeding, this was a superficial, clean edge laceration. Closing with simple sutures should do the trick. They didn’t need backup nor did she call for it.

“Collins, Javadi. Just, uh, checking if you needed, y’know any help in here,” he explained unconvincingly.

“No, we’ve got it,” Collins said as she checked to see Y/n was properly numbed before they started suturing.

“Dr. L/n,” he greeted Y/n as casually as possible, trying to sound more snide rather than sorry to see her sitting there on the examination table. “What happened to you?”

“IV stand to the head,” she replied, averting his gaze as he stepped closer, taking a look at her laceration.

She held her breath, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered as she felt his fingertips brush a strand of hair away from the area. It took all her self control to not start smiling like an idiot. This is exactly why she avoided coming down to the ED as much as she could, pushing most of the consults off to Dr. Garcia instead. She just couldn’t hide how she felt around him and it's not like he made it any easier for her - especially not now.

Eyes flitting between Y/n and Langdon, Collins could sense there was something going on there. Expecting some back and forth to ensue between the two, Collins was surprised, almost disappointed when she heard none. Not a peep from either of them. Aside from the sound of rattling tools as Javadi prepped to suture, the room was silent. Weird. A surgical resident was in the room and not a single insult was being thrown? Not even a bit of banter? That wasn’t like Langdon at all. And while Collins didn’t know Y/n quite as well, she knew she was from surgery. And anyone from surgery never missed a chance to take a friendly jab at the ED. Hell, just moments ago Y/n made a comment about wanting to stitch herself up rather then get botched on a rush job.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

As Javadi rolled her seat in front of Y/n, ready to start suturing with a P-3 needle and 5-0 nylon in hand, Y/n could not pass up the opportunity to give the intern a hard time.

“Careful with the bite size alright. This is my face, not a quilt.”

“Right,” Javadi said, forcing out a nervous laugh before swallowing the lump in her throat.

Watching tensely, as Javadi put in the first stitch, Langdon was shocked Y/n let someone aside from herself stitch up that wound, let alone an intern. Collins was right there. She was far more experienced than Javadi and could ensure each stitch would be identical, that the tension was distributed evenly, that the scarring would be minimal.

“You sure you don’t want to do it yourself,” Langdon whispered as Collins stepped back to stand beside him. She shot him a side-eye at the unsolicited suggestion. With this being a teaching hospital and all, the whole point was to have the students learn and practice. The judgement and suspicion on her face had him quickly trying to explain himself. “To show Javadi the proper technique that is.”

While that was a fair point, this wasn't Javadi's first time suturing and Collins was confident in the intern’s abilities to close up a simple laceration like this. Peering over Javadi’s shoulder for good measure, Collins nodded pleased with her work so far.

“No need. She’s doing a great job,” she assured him, before eyeing him suspiciously. “We’re all good here y’know. You can go.”

Langdon opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to string together a good excuse to stay. Taking too long to come up with something that sounded reasonable, Collins spoke up again.

“Or is there a particular reason you’d like to stay?” she teased, cocking her subtly at Y/n.

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head a little too hard. “You’re right, you guys got it all under control.”

Mhm, Collins nodded in agreement, watching him closely as he turned to leave.

Langdon spared one last fleeting, but longing, glance at Y/n before finally walking through the door. And that was all Collin’s needed to validate her suspicions. Oh, those two definitely had something going she said to herself. Charging in here randomly, the uncharacteristic lack of snark, the worry in his eyes, his reluctance to leave. Such obvious tells. Was he even trying to be discreet?

—

The sun was just about to set as Langdon watched, from the far end of the parking lot, batches of the morning shift employees exit the hospital.

He didn’t usually wait for Y/n after work like this. Too many eyes around that might see them together. Although recently they’ve been spending most nights together, either at his or hers, they intentionally drove to work separately despite working the same hours for the sake of keeping their relationship private.

But today they slept in a little later than usual. Maybe her bed was comfier than his or maybe it was just the fact he was in bed with her, but he did not want to leave that bed. Needless to say those extra few minutes laying around together had him rushing out of her door forgetting his wallet on her dresser.

He planned on sneaking away to grab it from her over lunch like she had texted him to, but the ED was slammed. He was lucky that a very grateful patient sent them a few boxes of pizza as a thank-you, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have eaten anything all day.

So today, he waited for her and his wallet, leaning on the trunk of her car. He didn’t expect to be waiting this long though. Looking down at his wrist, it was already 5:19. Y/n was supposed to be off at 5. He was about to give her a call when he spotted her speed walking across the parking lot.

“There you are,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “I was starting to worry you got into another fight with an IV stand.”

“Not funny,” y/n said, shoving his shoulder playfully, smiling despite herself. “Sorry, I took so long. I just lost track of time trying to finish up this report.”

Langdon brushed off her apology. He would’ve waited any amount of time to see her. Especially after today. Since Collins practically kicked him out of the room while y/n was getting her stitches, he didn’t get to check in on her afterwards, to see how they turned out.

“Can’t believe you let an intern suture your face,” he said.

Y/n just shrugged. She remembered what it was like being an intern. Just starting out, wanting to glove up and scrub in on anything she could, trying to get someone to give her a chance to prove herself. And besides, the laceration wasn’t that deep and about 2, maybe 3 centimeters max. It was also, thankfully, close enough to her hairline so any scaring wouldn’t be too noticeable. Any intern should’ve been able to do it. But if she had to choose one from the ED, she was glad it was Javadi.

“She’s Shamsi’s kid. I’m pretty sure she’s been practicing sutures since she was like 10,” y/n joked. Langdon laughed, having seen that mother-daughter dynamic first hand, he suspected there was probably some truth there.

Cupping her face gently, he turned her head to get a better look at Javadi’s handiwork on her forehead. Not bad, he thought pleasantly surprised at how good they turned out. Swatting his hands away from her face, trying to get him to stop fussing over her, she turned the tables.

“What I can’t believe is how you came bursting into the room like that.”

Langdon groaned. In hindsight it wasn’t the best idea, considering they wanted to keep their relationship a secret. But once he heard she was hurt, he couldn’t help himself. He needed to make sure she was alright, to see to it that she was being treated appropriately.

“I was worried. Okay?” he admitted, resting his hands on her waist tenderly. “Mateo was saying you got head butted.”

Placing her hands on his chest, Y/n rolled her eyes at just how fast that news traveled around the hospital. The gossip mill truly never rests. While she was touched by his concern, this put their relationship at risk of being the next big story.

“Collins is so onto us now, I bet-”

A loud revving caught her attention, interrupting her train of thought. Turning around, a black sedan came to pull up right beside them. Immediately, the pair pulled apart as they waited for the windows to roll down revealing Mateo in the driver’s seat.

“Okay lovebirds, when two of you are done making kissy-face, come meet the team at Mulligan’s for a round. You two have a lot of explaining to do,” he laughed, before speeding off.

Y/n and Langdon turned to each other in disappointment - they’d been outed. It was hard to say by who or even when. It could’ve been Collins, today after Langdon came to check on Y/n. Or it could’ve been Perlah who caught the pair walking out of the on-call room the other day. Or it could've been Mateo, just now, as he drove by seeing them all loved up. One thing was for certain though, by tomorrow morning everyone will know. From the OR, to the ED and all the departments in between.

Resignation set in as they accepted their fate. It was inevitable after all. The fact they’d managed to conceal it for this long was quite the accomplishment considering how nosy and chatty everyone they worked with seemed to be.

With sigh, Y/n looked at the bright side. At least now they didn’t have to worry about being seen together. No need to sneak around to hang out during their breaks. She didn't have to keep avoiding come down to the ED. They could drive to work together now too, save some gas and take the carpool lane.

Also trying to find good in all this, Langdon wrapped his arms around her from behind, placing a comforting kiss on the side of her head.

“Hey, at least that Dr. West will stop hitting on you once he knows you’ve got a boyfriend down in the pit,” he said lowly in her ear.

“Oh please,” Y/n turned in his arms to face him, “You’re one to talk! As if all those new travel nurses aren’t throwing themselves at you.”

“Jealous?” he teased, pulling her tighter against him.

“Are you?” she challenged, arms resting on his shoulders naturally,m.

With their faces now just inches apart, drawn together like magnets, there was no fighting the pull between them. Their lips met eagerly, having yearned for this feeling since they last kissed this morning.

So caught up in one another, the only distraction around that pulled them away from each other was the loud, obnoxious emergency alert going off on both their phones. A chemical spill blocked off traffic on the busiest highway in the city - the exact highway both Y/n and Langdon took to get home.

The roads were going to be backed up now that the highway was closed. Langdon hated sitting in traffic, just the thought got him irritated.

“What do you say we take up Mateo’s offer?” he suggested.

“You’re kidding, right?” Y/n asked, thinking he couldn’t be serious. If they went, they’d be walking into a lion’s den full of scrutiny, teasing, and never-ending grilling.

“I say that beats the traffic. It’s just a couple blocks walk. We could have a beer, wait out the traffic, make our debut as a couple?”

She thought about it for a second. He wasn’t wrong. And despite having hoped to keep their relationship private, the thought of walking in on his arm was kind of exciting.

“Alright, your idea, you’re paying,” y/n said, fishing his wallet from her tote, and tossing it to him.

Catching it smoothly, Langdon let out an offended pfft, draping his other arm around her as they walked out of the parking lot.

“I always pay anyway.”

#dr langdon x reader #frank langdon x reader #langdon x reader #frank langdon #the pitt x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt imagine

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cloudwisp · 11 months ago

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𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 · 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦

contents: smut. minors dni 18+. reader wears a nightgown to subtly get the message across. attempt at seduction. lots of teasing and kissing. first time with him. size difference. fingering. borderline overstimulation. no protection. mostly sweet lovemaking but implications of leading to rougher sex. sylus has a huge dick (he is standing at 6’2 after all). 2.9k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ based off of this arranged marriage sylus x wife!reader post but can be read as a standalone. smut writing is never one of my strengths but I had fun with this one!! and I can only hope it’s an enjoyable read to those who were anticipating a sequel 🤍꒱

“Doing a little late night reading?” Sylus glances at your form through his peripheral as you enter his bedroom with a light skip in your steps. He’s perched at the end of his bed with a high profile report in hand, and with a tilt of your head and prying eyes you hover over the document between his fingers as you stand before him. You skim through a few lines before he tosses it aside, murmuring that it’s nothing of importance when something more interesting happens to catch his attention and you feel the heat of his gaze doing you a once-over.

Your cheeks warm and you feel a tad shyness wash over you when he quietly appraises your body clad in a gorgeous silk slip with lace embellishments. He hums in appreciation, a slow smirk curling on his lips before he reaches out to grasp your waist and pull you forward onto his lap. He secures one arm around you to keep you in place and his thumb sweeps over the delicate sleepwear and the bare skin of your thigh in a soft, languid motion. “You’ll catch a cold in just your nightgown, kitten. Or did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to change into something a little more comfortable.” You respond with a coy smile and playful shrug of your shoulder which causes the thin strap to fall from just a whisper of movement. He enjoys your little display and act of innocence if this is your way of telling him that you want to deepen the relationship through shared intimacy like normal marital couples do during this time of night. And truthfully, he’s been waiting far too long for this moment to come but he didn’t expect you to offer yourself on a silver platter. What a sweet and precious wife you are.

“I’m sure you could find something more suitable than a flimsy nightgown.” His knuckles brush up along your arm and hooks the fallen strap around his finger to slide it back into its proper place. “But then, perhaps you wanted to tease me, too?”

You click your tongue in disappointment. No matter what you do he was always two steps ahead of you—it’s thoughtful yet infuriating especially when you want him to act more surprised. “Nothing ever gets passed by you, it seems.”

His large hand slips under the lace trimmings of your nightgown and moves closest to your backside for a firm squeeze. “You should know by now how badly I want you, sweetheart. And with you sitting in my lap, looking breathtaking like that. I’m tempted to just rip this little thing off of you.”

You purse your lips into a small pout that’s adorable to him and grunt in disapproval. “What if this night dress is one of my favorites? Don’t I get a say in what you can and can’t tear?”

He arches a brow as though to challenge you by putting the theory into practice. You keep forgetting that he could read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than proving you wrong at every chance. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it if I did? I’ll buy you new ones. Better ones.”

You mull over at the thought. “Sounds troublesome. I’ll have to keep making these frequent shopping trips.”

“I just mean the nightgown is in the way of me seeing all of you. You’re more than welcome to wear it any other time, but right now… I want it off.”

“Well, it’s only fair you make the next move.” He groans lowly when you shift your weight in his lap and rest your head against him. You drag your manicured finger down his chest and gently flick at the silver chain looped between his collar. “I did come all this way just for you.”

He understood your meaning and leans down close enough so his warm breath fans over your lips when he tilts your chin to look at him. “If you want me to take off my clothes, you’ll have to undress me yourself.” The soft spoken words in his deep voice send a tingle to the back of your brain, and the lingering kiss he places on the corner of your mouth adds a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“Still making me work for it? And here I thought I would be cherished and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” You bring yourself upright and shove him down onto the bed to climb over him and straddle him. He gives you a knowing smirk at the sound of your cute gasp when you feel just how hard he is for you against your clothed cunt. You make quick work of undoing the underlay of buttons tucked beneath the thick fabric of his tailored dress shirt and remove it entirely to reveal every bit of lean muscle. His build akin to that of a spectacularly sculpted marble statue down to the details of his veins on his strong arms.

“Making you work for it is half the fun, kitten. But just remember who will be putting in the most work tonight.” His hand wanders up your thigh again and moves along the curve of your waist, the expensive silk bunches under his touch and he gropes the fullness of your breast. You feel the strap loosen around your shoulder once more. “Are you liking what you’re seeing? You’re allowed to mark what’s yours, you know. But I’d like to be able to mark you as mine too, wife.” His hungry eyes slowly roam over your matching panties and midriff before he returns your gaze.

Your smaller hand covers his knuckles meanwhile his thumb brushes across your nipple and he revels in the feeling of the bud hardening over the material. “You’re just always so straightforward, aren’t you?” You sensually wrap your finger around the other strap that’s perfectly intact and at your cue Sylus glides his hand down to the small of your back and watches as the dress cascades down to your midsection.

“And you’re so beautiful.” You’re a heavenly sight to behold with the way his amorous stare commits your very existence to his memory, particularly the swell of your lovely breasts that’s heavy with lust and begging for more of his attention. He gently reaches for your wrist and his fingers smooth under your palm to bring your hand up to his face. His thumb runs over the wedding band that binds you to him laying a light kiss against your knuckles, then places your hand over his shoulder waiting for your next move.

You don’t waste another second closing the distance between you two and crash your lips against his for a needy and desperate kiss. Your fingers tangle into his silver locks and your heat grinds against him hoping for some semblance of relief from the ache that’s building inside you. You feel him envelop your breasts fully with each caress and tender squeeze and a little bit of nipple play.

Sylus tastes faintly of sweet, tannic notes from the lingering aftertaste of red wine as your tongue meets his through parted lips. His arms and hands alternate between hugging your body and grip tightening on your hips, bucking himself up into your heat. You feel yourself needing more, wanting more and being closer to him so you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and suddenly the sound of fabric tearing reaches your ears.

You muffle in surprise against his lips and push him back just enough to see him wearing a smug expression. “I should’ve known you’d go against my wishes.” You scoff in disbelief and yet there’s a grin playing across your features that betrays your earlier words. You hate to admit he was right from the start—that you’d find the ripping more attractive instead of being carefully unwrapped like you both have all the patience in the world.

Sylus discards the now ruined piece of clothing aside. He lifts you with ease and your back embraces the cool sheets when he drops you down on the mattress and returns to his full height. “I was never one to follow rules. Besides, you look perfect like this.” You support yourself up on your elbows to follow his movements, and any smart comeback you have dies in your throat when he picks up where you left off by unfastening his belt and stripping out of his trousers. His boxer briefs follow suit and he thinks it’s adorable how you look mesmerized from this performance alone.

Your eyes settle on his huge cock. Almost gawking at it and you unconsciously clench your thighs together. It’s perfectly proportioned to the rest of him—long and notably thicker with an upward center curve and a few prominent veins here and there. He flushes a pretty shade of red that’s gradient from the head down and his pubes are neatly trimmed.

“You don’t have to look so scared, kitten.” He rasps an amused chuckle, and he feels you tense slightly when his hand scales up along your knee to your inner thigh and he dips his fingers between your legs. “I’ll take my time with you so you can handle me.”

Your breath hitches when he feels how drenched you are through your panties. He offers a gratified hum, his handsome face and broad shoulders become your main focus as he closes in on you. “Spread your legs wider.” He murmurs into your ear, and as soon as you give him more access he delves into your mouth for a bruising kiss and chases you down onto the bed. His ministrations on your clit feel absolutely sinful yet so wonderful and your arm wrap around his back meanwhile your hand explores the muscled panels of his upper body and the areas that are within your reach.

A string of saliva connects you both then disappears as your lips come apart. But he doesn’t stray far when the exquisite look on your face is a breath away and he pulls your panties aside to collect your arousal with two digits sliding through your puffy folds. Your lustful sounds escape in a warm exhale as soon as he slowly inserts his thick fingers into your tight pussy, and you’re quite the vision arching your back so tastefully.

“Mmh, that f-feels so good, Sylus.” Your eyes glaze over when he steadily pumps in and out of you, curling so deliciously at your sweet spot and he marvels at the way your cunt is greedily sucking in his fingers. There’s nothing else like him, the way he stretches you and reaches the deeper parts and hits the bits you can’t yourself. He adores the breathless sighs and mewls of his name when he pushes you to the edge even more while kissing you senselessly.

“You sound beautiful. I love the way my name tastes on your lips.” You can feel him smirk against you, but you’re too immersed in your pleasure to respond in words that aren’t broken syllables. He trails open-mouth kisses down to your jawline and along the column of your neck, grazing his teeth and softly sucking on your skin until hues of velvet purple form. Your head burrows into the soft cushion of the mattress, hips squirming as your hand clutches onto his forearm from tension coiling inside you.

“M’gonna come soon, Sy—!” Your pretty moans and pants grow heavier each second, and he loves feeling your body quiver when you’re pressed under him. He’s still knuckles deep inside you with every intention of bringing you up to heaven and back down to him. After all, he doesn’t believe in doing things halfway but can’t pass an opportunity to tease his darling wife.

“You’re getting so close already? I barely got started with you, sweetie.” He chuckles lowly yet his cock twitches as precum oozes and leaks down from the slit of his tip. “Don’t hold it in now. Let go and come for me.”

He’s met with your gorgeous o-face when the euphoric bliss courses through your entire body as your walls tighten around his fingers. Your moans turn into squeals and you try to shove his hand away to soften your orgasm but he doesn’t budge from being much stronger than you. The feeling is more than you can handle when your thighs clamp together to stop his movements. But you don’t want the addictive sensation to leave just yet when he borderline overstimulates you, turning you into a trembling and writhing mess.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath when a chortle escapes you from watching him bring his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth for a curious taste. “Mm. Sweet, just as I thought. You did great, kitten.” He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead, and the first wave of your drawn-out release slowly ebbs away. “Don’t you think you deserve one more?” Sylus pulls your soaked panties down your legs and casts them aside, leaving you completely bare under his gaze.

“I should hope so. Been wanting for you to stuff me with your fat cock tonight.” You’re still a little breathless when your finger glides down his toned chest in a sensual and playful manner. He makes a content hum at the sound of that with an upward quirk of his lips.

“What a bold and resilient wife I have on my hands. As long as I have you, I’ll never be bored again.” He gladly hoists your leg to wrap around his waist and spits down, giving himself a few strokes making it slick before aligning himself to your dripping cunt. His precum mixes with the remnants of your previous climax with the heavy drag of his tip from your opening up along your clit. He revels in the way your body responds with a little spasm. “I won’t have you going back on your words now.”

The flutter of your lashes steers away from his deep and enigmatic eyes, a nervous gnaw of your lower lips as you anticipate the painful stretch from taking him. “Go slow, okay? Because you know…” He knew you were implying about his sheer size, and you feel him grab hold of your hand and press your interlaced hand against the bed beside your head.

He captures your swollen lips that feel entirely too sweet and intimate, replacing your worries with a gentle tangle of his encompassing love and adoration that seeps into your soul. “I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. That’s a promise. But you have to let me in first.” Your breath hitches when his aching tip probes your entrance, yet the tension doesn’t leave your body until he tells you to focus on him with the exchange of kisses laced with a growing insistence. “You’ll let me know if it hurts, kitten? I want to make you feel good.”

With that said, your sharp nails dig into his shoulder blade and draw red lines at the burning stretch that feels too much yet so good at the same time. Your soft sighs and whimpers fill the hazy room and he’s fucking you slowly with just the tip to help ease the initial discomfort. He searches your face every now and again making sure you’re okay before he continues, letting out a guttural moan when he slips in a little more with each thrust until he carves his way into you completely.

“You’re in too deep—hah. Feel so full and good.” You shudder when he stills his movements, throbbing cock nestled inside you to the hilt and kissing your cervix. There’s a carnal desire brewing in his stomach seeing you pinned under his weight keeping him nice and warm. He wouldn’t mind spending the entire night with you, any plans and commitments he had prior be damned the moment you swayed in through the double doors. “Want you to m-move, please.”

The sound of your polite begging makes him twitch involuntarily, and he could only imagine what desperate pleas you have in store for him tonight and he’s looking forward to it. When your pretty lips implore him to fuck you faster and harder he won’t be able to hold back. After all, he has always been ready and waiting to give himself to you that aligns with your willingness to accept him. There is no love purer than his, this craving he has reserved only for you. “You know you only have to ask, and I’ll give you everything you want. Just be careful what you wish for, sweetie.”

Sylus chuckles at your cute whine shortly after—such a needy little thing you are. He falls into a sweet and slow rhythm that makes you feel each thrust, the head of his dick down to its shape and following the shaft that caresses the underside of your pleasure endings so incredibly good. Your legs wrap around his back and you pull him in deeper because close just isn’t close enough for you. You need to feel the heat of his body sear against your skin as you hold him, and in turn you feel him squeeze your interlaced hand. “Tonight, you’re all mine. Forget anyone else in the world but me.”

#ᨳ ₊˚ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩.𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus smut #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus lnd #sylus l&ds #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace

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iniquitousyearning · 8 months ago

Text

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe��you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

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nottswitch · 7 months ago

Text

— if you’ve been naughty, you get…

──────────────── 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩. ──

summary: quidditch is a sport that demands strength and stamina, resulting in physical exertion. exertion equals releasing disproportionate amounts of warmth, which, as it turns out, feels better shared.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

cw: 18+ smut, enemies to lovers, rough p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, spanking, choking, degrading, hair grabbing, cursing

wc: 3.1k

a/n: the first fic of the naughty side of the list, so buckle up for the filth!! hope you enjoy <3

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

────────────────────────

The entirety of the Quidditch stadium roared as Harry Potter hovered proudly in the air, the Golden Snitch snug between his fingers. The ultimate rivalry between the houses never ceased to exist, be it on the school grounds or on the pitch, the students from other houses having chosen a side long ago and now discreetly passing galleons to each other in the stands. You craned your neck a bit, your loosely tied scarf sliding off as you watched the players descend onto the ground, the green and silver side clearly trying to get off the pitch as hastily as possible.

Mattheo was, for all intents and purposes, pissed. His nostrils were flared, his breath coming out short and ragged, the exertion from the long-winded game straining his aching muscles. His bat was clutched tightly in his hand, his knuckles almost translucent as he fought the urge to swing it at the annoyingly smug Gryffindors who seemed to be very purposeful with the loudness of their celebrations. A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth – the opportunity was too golden, no pun intended, to have a go at the guy, even though you knew that now, of all times, he wouldn’t dream of holding back. It was a constant push and pull between the two of you, a burning need to kick the other while they were down, and a loss of a very important game was a chance presenting itself on a silver platter.

"Hey, Riddle!"

The sound of your voice made Mattheo grit his teeth, the vibration echoing in his already ringing ears. His eyes briefly darted to you descending the stairs from the top of the stands, the look in them as close to murderous as it can possibly get.

"Don’t," he muttered, continuing to stride across the field, towards the tunnel, where the other players from the Slytherin team had already disappeared.

"Don’t what?"

Your voice was clearly taunting as you approached him, your arms crossing on your chest as you fixed him with a smirk. Unconsciously, your gaze slid down his body, taking in the sight of his Quidditch jersey clinging to him, damp with sweat and accentuating the ridges of his toned abs. You licked your lips, the action coming out of your subconsciousness that craved to feel those abs underneath your palms, although you had yet to admit it.

"Don’t fucking try me right now," Mattheo retorted without sparing you a glance. He was already more than a little aggravated, and the last thing he needed was your teasing and endless quips, combined with the effortless allure you always held despite being an insufferable little cunt. His uniform suddenly felt too tight, which prompted him to take off the green jersey, harshly tugging it over his head with one hand.

Your lips parted ever so slightly as you watched his torso opening up to you in all its firm, built glory. But the muscles weren’t the first thing that you noticed – as much as the view was enticing, it was also not completely new. No, the thing that made your breath hitch was the fact that he was literally steaming, as if he had just left a sauna. Translucent whirls were emanating from his heated body, his skin breaking out in goosebumps in the chilly December air. Mattheo didn’t even shiver, throwing the piece of clothing over his shoulder and flicking the bat from one hand to the other. His pace was firm and purposeful, leaving no doubts about his intentions to leave the Quidditch pitch as quickly as possible.

You had entirely different plans for him, though.

Without thinking much, you followed him into the tunnel leading out of the stadium, barely able to match his long steps.

“Or what?” you called out defiantly, finally reaching him at the price of your breath getting shallow and your heart beating faster than normal. You weren’t one hundred percent sure it was just the effect of walking quickly.

Mattheo stopped in his tracks, nearly making you stumble into his broad back. His eyes closed shut for a moment, his chest heaving as he took a deep breath, feeling his already nonexistent control slipping away with every single sound of yours he heard behind him.

“You will regret it,” he muttered through gritted teeth, not making a move to turn around to look at you – he knew that if he did, he could say goodbye to any traces of restraint still left in him.

“Oh, really?”

You knew you were walking a dangerous line by taunting him like that, but at this point, you couldn’t stop. Was it a sudden surge of bravery, was it recklessness or something else, deeper and yet uncharted, you couldn’t tell. You just knew that if you stopped right now – that was what you’d regret for a long, long time, possibly for the rest of your life. You stepped closer, your chest almost pressing against his back, feeling his muscles tense as your proximity registered in his mind and sent signals through his whole body.

That step was all it took for him to finally snap. In a split second, his hand was wrapped around your throat, pressing you against the wall of the tunnel. A strangled gasp escaped your parted lips, your pulse fluttering wildly as his fingers pressed right on the point, curling around your neck as if he was ready to snap it in half. He probably could, if he wanted to.

“Say another word and find out,” Mattheo hissed, the warm air of his breath brushing against your flushed face. His already dark chocolate eyes darkened further – you swore you could see his pupils dilating in real time, the dimness inside the tunnel failing to hide the mixture of anger and lust swirling in their depths.

“I’m not scared of you,” you whispered, your voice quiet but filled with a strange type of determination. Whatever was happening was something completely new in your dynamic, yet it felt like it had been building up the whole time you spent bickering and trying to get to each other using the power of biting words.

Mattheo’s hold grew tighter around your throat, almost cutting off the stream of much needed air flowing into your lungs.

“You should be.”

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel as his bat hit the floor, thrown away and immediately forgotten about. His newly freed hand gripped your waist, pressing you harder into the wall, the coldness of the surface seeping through the fabric of your winter robes. Mattheo’s body was flush against your front, creating a sharp contrast between the chill of the air surrounding you and his fired up skin, dampening your shirt with small rivulets of sweat dripping off him.

You swallowed thickly, unable to tear your gaze off his face, his dangerously handsome features tense and barely moving. You had no idea what to do with your hands, so they ended up on his bare chest without any real input from your mind, which, you could tell, was slowly turning off anyway. A hiss coming from him once your skin touched his was a surprise, but you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy his reaction. For some reason, you found yourself bold enough to try exploring this newfound knowledge, sliding your hand down his chest, along the firm planes and ridges. Two things happened at the same time: Mattheo’s fingers dug deeper into the sides of your throat, causing a strangled sound to escape your lips, while his other hand left your waist to grab your traveling wrist.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing right now,” Mattheo muttered, and you swore you could hear his teeth grinding against each other. “I’ll show you, though. I’ll fucking show you.”

Next thing you knew, you were lifted off the ground, stuck in the iron bars of his embrace. The instinct in you that still tried to persuade you that this whole thing was wrong made your dangling feet try to hit Mattheo’s knee. This weak attempt at defiance was quickly stopped by his arm moving down and tightly locking around your thighs, stopping your legs from moving altogether.

“Asshole.” You did hear the treacherous breathlessness of your voice, but also didn’t have it in you to care. The heat between your legs was rapidly intensifying, the friction created by your pressed up thighs only making you more desperate for something real, something substantial to quench your undeniable thirst.

A dark smirk appeared on Mattheo’s face, the one that did nothing to soften his expression – it only made him look more like the devil he appeared to be. A second later, his foot was pushing a door you didn’t even know was there, doing the same from the other side once he walked into a dark room that smelled like wood and broom polish. You didn’t have time to think or formulate a snarky response to his actions before you were getting turned around and bent over, Mattheo’s hand pressing insistently on the back of your neck. You barely had time to stabilize yourself against the cold wooden bench that stood at the wall, your scarf sliding off completely and falling to the floor.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, although it was more of a formality, since you made no actual attempt to get up from the new position. Mattheo, of course, took notice of that, his smirk widening a bit.

“This the only thing you can think of?” His voice was cold and mocking at the same time, not failing to send a shiver down your spine – it was huskier than usual, an undertone of desire obvious even to untrained ears. Mattheo effortlessly lifted up the hem of your robes, the rumpled fabric of your skirt splayed across your ass in a way he found sinful. “Where’s the smartass attitude, hm?”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, stinging even through several layers of clothing. Your body jolted forward, a yelp breaking out of your throat both at the unexpectedness of it and a wave of pleasure the smack sent straight between your legs. Mattheo found himself enjoying your reaction, his hand coming up to rest on your hip, fingers curling and pressing into the flesh.

“Fuck y-,” you started to mutter, glancing at him over your shoulder, but another smack shut you up pretty quickly. You could feel the sting, only intensified when his strong hand grabbed a handful of your ass, roughly kneading and squeezing.

“Much better from this angle,” Mattheo murmured, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek as his eyes shamelessly roamed your body up and down. His free hand slid up your back, pushing you to lean further down against the bench until he reached your hair. His fingers threaded through your locks in an almost tender gesture, one so uncharacteristic of Mattheo Riddle, before he yanked your head back, making you hiss from the harshness of the pull.

The warmth of his body enveloped you whole as Mattheo bent over, his flaming chest covering the entirety of your back. A fleeting thought flickered in your mind, that even the warmest robes couldn’t hold a candle to the human heater that was Mattheo after a Quidditch game. As his mouth neared your ear, his hand never stilled on your ass, lifting your skirt up to bunch up at your waist and running over the fabric of your tights.

“Really?” he asked, mockingly, making you want to strangle him and kiss the hell out of him at the same time. Your lips parted when you felt his sneaky fingers pressing between your legs, causing your thighs to clench. “D’you know I can feel you getting wet?” he cooed, brushing his lips against your ear, you were sure, very deliberately. You closed your eyes, unwanted embarrassment making its way to your cheeks, and you just knew the bastard was smirking again. You couldn’t control your body’s reaction to him, though, and your wetness seeping through your tights fully gave you away.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought your smartass mouth could handle better than that.”

Mattheo gave your hair another tug before his hand slipped down, curling around your throat again. His grip was tight, not allowing even a single millimeter of movement, a strangled gasp escaping you once you felt his hips pressing to your ass from the back. His hard-on was firmly planted between your cheeks, straining against his Quidditch trousers, as if he was trying to break through the layers of your clothing.

“But when I’m next to you,” Mattheo continued murmuring into your ear, a malicious smirk giving his words a dangerous hint, “you’re just a bitch in heat.”

“Fuck. You.”

You somehow managed to find words, the ones you couldn’t bring yourself to say before. Mattheo chuckled darkly, feeling your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his thumb – you really weren’t the best in hiding your deepest emotions, though your face still tried to keep its defiant stance.

“That’s the plan,” he answered, as his fingers moved against your covered pussy, the sound of it, though muffled, still embarrassingly wet. Once his torturous movements stopped, you nearly whined, biting your bottom lip in order to save yourself from further humiliation. Your teeth sunken into your lip didn’t go unnoticed – Mattheo licked his own, his hand on your throat lifting you up just a bit, his body heat a fire burning your back.

“Didn’t know having you speechless would be so…” Another smack on your ass interrupted his words, a squeal caused by the mixture of pain and pleasure sounding through the dark room. “…so fucking hot.”

You gained the courage to push your hips back, a satisfied hum rolling out of your mouth as you felt his cock twitch at the friction.

“So damn impatient,” Mattheo whispered into your ear. His own hips bucked forward, forcefully, enough to make your body jerk again. “But you’re lucky, because…”

He suddenly straightened up, roughly pulling down your tights and baring your skin to the chilly air. It was already stinging from the previous slaps, the sensation now stronger as the frost of early winter bit at the sensitive flesh.

“…me too.”

You didn’t notice the moment Mattheo’s trousers pooled at his feet, but they definitely did, along with his boxers. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head when his warm, slicked up cock slid through your folds, making you feel every inch of him, providing the friction you desperately craved. Your entrance clenched, as if trying to suck him in but failing. His tip prodded at your hole, your whole body backing against him in an attempt to finally let him inside.

You didn’t have to wait – a single deep thrust, and he was splitting you open in the best, most mind blowing way possible. Your high-pitched moan was so loud it could be easily heard outside, but you didn’t care – you couldn’t care. Mattheo’s groan matched up in volume, his hands gripping your hips with brushing strength.

“If I knew you’d be so fucking tight…”

He pulled out only to thrust right back in, making you moan so loudly you could feel the air shake around you.

“…I’d shut you up like that every. Single. Time.”

Each word was accompanied by another thrust, each one deeper than the last, even though it was physically impossible – at least you felt like he discovered new depths within you every time. The squelching sounds of your pussy roughly meeting his dick echoed through the narrow space you were squished into, the slapping of your bodies surely making its way into the tunnel behind the door. It was something you’d never felt before – the passion, the lust filling your very essence, consuming and turning your brain into mush.

Mattheo’s palm connected with your asscheek again, making it bounce and ripple. Immediately after, he squeezed the round mound, and you hissed, another sting shooting through your body. His pace was unforgiving, but you didn’t want to be forgiven – if that was punishment, you’d rather be guilty for life. The stretch of your walls around his cock felt like it was tearing you apart and gathering you back in one piece right after, and at that moment you were sure that no one else could fuck you like that.

His hand ended up in your hair again as he tugged you up, making your back press against his chest again. Somehow, it was still just as hot as before, causing you to break out in sweat from the exertion and his body heat seeping through your skin and bones. If the room had windows, they would certainly be fogged up. However, the only foggy thing was your mind, getting more and more dazed as your peak approached.

“You wanna cum, huh?” Mattheo growled, his laboured breath prickling at the sensitive skin of your neck. “Wanna cum on my cock, like the slut you are?”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting that, cumming around him was the only thing swirling in your head. You tried to nod, but his grip on your hair didn’t allow it.

“Words,” he muttered, his teeth clenching as he tried to hold his own orgasm back, determined to make you fall apart first. “The only time I want you to use your fucking words.”

“I wanna– Fuck! Wanna cum on your cock,” you managed to mumble, your cheeks heating up at the fact that you had just given in, had given him control over the pleasure you yearned for.

“Do it, then.”

With another rough slap on your ass, you came, wave after wave making your body tremble and shake. Mattheo was quick to finish right after, his growl bordering on animalistic as he spilled deep inside of you. The warmth of his cum felt like it was etched into your very soul, hot and sticky, your clenching hole squeezing some out to trickle down your thighs. Mattheo could get hard all over again just from the sight alone, but he resisted, pulling your skirt down to cover the delicious view.

For a few moments, you could only try catching your breath, leaning on the bench still somehow holding up in front of you.

“Next time you lose, you know where to find me.” Your voice was shaking, yet already filled with the cockiness of knowing that you, in some way, made Mattheo Riddle lose control.

“Next time I win, you won’t be able to walk for days,” he retorted, his tone bearing something akin to a threat. Or a promise.

#─ ꒰ 𝚠𝚛��𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚊 ꒱ 📜 ˎˊ˗#— naughty & nice ☾#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fic #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin boys fic #1k notes

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spectorgram · 2 years ago

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the letter

theodore nott x f! reader summary: you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased. notes: jealous! theodore nott >>> word count: 1.4k

You would think for a magical school, Hogwarts would have better heating or some heating spell, but the Slytherin dorms are frigid as usual as winter creeps up. You fasten your robe clasps and draw it tighter around you, simultaneously trying to tug your skirt down in a futile way to heat yourself up more. Your knee-high socks only do so much and you pretty much give up on the endeavor as you climb up the stairs and head for the Great Hall.

You’re immediately greeted by the cozy warmth of the hall, spotting your friends, all swathed in green and silver robes and knits. Theo spots you first, sliding over and nearly knocking Blaise off the bench. “Blood hell, mate,” Blaise grumbles as you approach, kicking Theo’s leg lightly.

You slip into the space created for you, right in between Theo and Enzo. You stifle a yawn and ask, “Can someone pass the eggs and bacon?”

As Enzo reaches for both platters, Theo’s eyes zero in on your legs. “How are you not cold?”

You frown. “I am,” you reply, piling your breakfast onto your plate, “but Pansy’s demon cat apparently thought my winter tights were toys and decided to scratch them all up.”

Pansy sighs, “I’ve ordered you new ones, calm down.”

Theo drapes his robe over your legs and you smile gratefully at him. He smiles back and your heart flips. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how beautiful he is — all dark caramel curls and long lashes that frame those devastatingly blue eyes. He’s been your best friend since you started Hogwarts and you knew you loved him at first sight. The longer you’ve known him, the more you’ve fallen for him.

It’s a tale as old as the world itself: you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend but you value your friendship far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Mail’s here,” you hear someone say down the table. You look up to the ceiling, which has been enchanted to look like a sky that’s about to break open and drop snowflakes from its clouds. Owls soar in through the openings at the top of the walls, diving down towards their intended recipients.

“Maybe your new tights are here,” Enzo says.

Pansy adds, “I hope so. Then you’ll stop complaining about it.”

You snort, reaching up to grab a letter dropped by your family owl. You feed her a piece of scrambled egg as she takes off back towards the owlery. You tuck your parents’ letter into the inner pocket of your robe just as another owl swoops overhead, dropping a pale blue envelope on your lap.

“Who’s that from?” asks Pansy.

You shrug, using your butter knife to open it up. As you do, Draco grumbles at Mattheo: “For the love of Salazar, stop hogging the pastry basket.”

You skim over the letter addressed to you. You tilt your head in confusion and Blaise asks, “What’s it say?”

Enzo peeks over your shoulder and his face breaks into a smirk. “‘Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight tonight. Signed, Your Secret Admirer.’” he reads.

“What?” Theo suddenly snatches the letter from your hand. You watch in confusion as his eyes dart back and forth. His shoulders tense and his mouth purses into a thin, hard line.

“You doing okay there, Nott?” Matthew asks, shooting a simpering smile at his friend. Theo sends a glare back but doesn’t say anything, the letter’s paper crinkling under his grip.

Pansy asks, “Are you going to go?”

You hesitate, surreptitiously glancing at Theo, startled to find that he’s gazing at you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. You pluck the letter from him and fold it neatly. “I think so,” you say. “I’m interested to see who it is.”

“Be sure to bring your wand,” Draco says. “Just in case.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan. The conversation shifts into whether anyone was prepared for midterms coming up.

You fiddle with the letter in your lap. Theo’s silent for the whole conversation.

You chew on your bottom lip as you reread the same sentence in your textbook for what feels like the hundredth time. The letter has stuck in your head the whole day. It crosses your mind that it could be a prank or a set-up — it’s not a secret that Slytherin isn’t the most popular House among your classmates — but you know you can handle yourself. You’re more worried about how Theo was acting at breakfast. He didn’t say a word the rest of the meal, not even when Enzo and Mattheo tried looping him into the conversation. He just sat there, sullen and gloomy, and his mood seemed to worsen more when you handed him his robe back and said you had to get to class.

You sigh heavily, trying to play out every possible scenario that could happen between you and the letter writer. You check the clock in the library: 11:45; you need to head over to the Astronomy Tower.

You groan, gathering your things, sliding them into your bag, and making your way back to the Slytherin common room to drop off your things in your dorm. “Cacophony,” you supply to the portrait, which swings open to let you in.

The common room is blissfully silent when you enter, a welcome contrast to the mess of thoughts in your head. You’re about to head down the hall to your dorm when you collide against someone. You huff an apology but when you feel their hand on your shoulder, you look up to see Theo. He looks intense, eyes wide and glinting with sharp determination and his mouth still set in that frown from earlier. “Sorry, Theo,” you say. “Didn’t see you there. Where are you going at this hour?”

“I was going to find you,” he replies.

“Oh,” you say. “Well, here I am. Sorry, I’ve got to drop this stuff off and then—”

“Head to the Astronomy Tower,” he finishes for you, “to meet your ‘secret admirer.’”

You don’t like the way he sneers at the last part of his sentence or the way he uses air quotations. You’re about to respond when he says, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go,” he repeats.

“Why not?”

He pauses before saying, “What if it’s someone just having a laugh?”

You bristle, hurt, and you feel your temper flare. “Is it so damn hard to believe that someone might actually have a crush on me?”

Theo laughs, razor-sharp and incredulous, as if he can’t believe that you’re saying something so outrageous, “No, it’s not.”

“Then why shouldn’t I go?”

“Because I don’t want you to!”

“For Salazar’s sake, Theo, you can’t tell me what to do!”

“I know that!”

“Then are you trying to tell me not to go?”

“Because I bloody like you!”

Your heart stutters to a stop. You can only hear the sounds of both of your labored breathing and you suddenly can’t meet his eyes, trying your best to wrap your head around the fact that your feelings are reciprocated. “How long?’ you ask softly, holding your breath.

“Since first year.”

You blink. “Really?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, “Mattheo’s right; you’re so oblivious.” There’s another beat of silence and he asks, a little shyly, “How do you feel?”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “I like you too, Theo. I’ve liked you since first year as well.”

He echoes your “Really?” and it makes you giggle, “I guess we’re both oblivious.”

He joins your laughter and you let your forehead rest on his chest as your shoulders shake. When it dies down, Theo shifts you off him and lifts your chin with his forefinger, any semblance of coyness gone. You gaze into his ocean blue eyes. Salazar, you could drown in them. He offers a charming smile and he leans close, just a few centimeters away, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyelashes flutter and your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Your lips meet, fervent and desperate, years of yearning releasing like water through a broken dam. Theo hooks his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. You wind your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at his nape. He walks you backward, slipping his tongue into mouth as he crushes you up against the wall. He deepens the kiss and your knees go weak.

Theo moves your bag off your shoulder and drops it on the floor. The letter that rested at the top of the pile of possessions falls out, laying forgotten on the ground.

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott fic #theo nott imagine #theo nott fic #harry potter #slytherin boys #✶ NOVE WRITES

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riaaaxoxo · 1 month ago

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cw ~ minor nagireo, unprotected sex, cucking, spit, size kink, squirting

nagi seishiro isn’t one for leftovers or sharing a girl with his best friend, but when reo offers up his wife on a silver platter, he isn’t one to say no.

“go ahead, she’s all your’s.” reo muttered, seating himself in a chair just by the bed. any deal made with reo never came without strings attached, nagi knew that best of all. but who knew reo mikage got off on being a cuck?

nagi approached the king-sized mattress that presented you— spread out over the bed and nude, with a heavy breath. it’s honestly been a while since he’d last slept with a woman, and it felt as if he’d forgotten everything but which hole to put his dick.

he unzipped his jeans and pulled his boxers down just enough to spring out the heavy girth that was hidden in them. “ahah.. holy shit.. um— a..are you sure you’re gonna fit?” you laughed nervously, your heart beating anxiously in your chest.

“hm? whaddya mean?” nagi hummed, rubbing his tip up to your clit and down to the end of your cunt. “hmmgh.. i—i just mean that… you’re really big, nagi..” you replied breathily, trying to move your hips against his dick.

“oh.” nagi said— pausing for a second before he continued to gather your slick. “don’t worry. it’ll fit.” he simply replied, inserting his tip in experimentally before pulling it out again to keep up his tease.

your fingers gripped the silk sheets from his tip suddenly pushing in. it felt as if the force of gravity had suddenly pushed you down from the very weight of his dick.

reo sat silently in the corner, as if he wasn’t even there. he watched as his best friend teased his wife, ignoring the achingly painful bulge of his own cock.

“hey, nagi.” reo said, “that’s enough teasing. my girl’s wet enough, put it in already.” he commanded. nagi turned back to face reo, his expression was playful as he grinned, but his eyes were observant, watching his every move. nagi’s face was blank, as if he had been completely unaffected from this. even if all the blood that was rushing south said otherwise.

he nodded compliantly, “you got it, boss.” he murmured, turning back to watch as his annoyingly thick girth made its shape in you.

you yelped in pain, hands moving onto nagi’s abs and clawing your nails into his pecs. nagi groaned at your tightness; it felt as if you would tear his dick off if he wasn’t careful enough.

“hey, calm it down…” he muttered through his teeth, his middle and index fingers playing with your folds before clumsily finding your clit in the hopes that you’d loosen up.

you whimpered, reflexively spreading your legs further to make way for nagi’s size. “that’s it.. good job.” he sighed, finally relishing in the tightness. he moved both hands back to your hips and pressed his pelvis against your clit— as if he was trying to fit more of himself into you, all while he waited for you to finally adjust.

you writhed under nagi, feeling as if you were being stuffed to the brim; nothing in the world mattered anymore, not when heaven was already in this room.

your hips circled around nagi, and he took it as a sign that you were ready. he started off slowly, with deep thrusts that kissed your cervix, grinding against you before pulling back and forth once more.

nagi groaned, his eyes were locked in on the way your pussy sucked him in. the sinful squelch every time he pushed in, and the way your tiny cunt stretched around the thick base, and locked around his pink tip, only allowing him to pull out till that point. he was completely enamored with all of it, almost entirely ignoring your loud moans and whimpers.

without even realizing it, he had started railing you— hard. his hands pulled you up and lifted your hips to meet his dick, he was moving you body back and forth as he impaled your tiny hole. the silk sheets that had been pressed and ironed by the maids were completely ruined and crinkled as your body moved along them.

nagi collected a glob of spit and let it drop from his lips to where your bodies were attached. he watched as his spit frothed in bubbles around his dick, making his thrusts smoother.

“nagi! hmffgh!” you cried out, legs waving helplessly in the air as nagi used you like a sex doll. “‘m gonna— nngh.. g..gonna cum! hnf!!” you whimpered, trying to find a way to ground yourself to earth. when suddenly, your hand was taken by reo, who you hadn’t noticed found his way to the bed in the midst of your pleasure.

“yeah? mmgh..” nagi hummed, “go on.. jus’ keep bein’ good ‘nd take it..” he rasped, his throat dry from how silent he’d been.

“hold on.” reo said, laying a palm to your abdomen. he pressed down every time nagi thrusted in, pushing against the bulge on your tummy. “alright, go ahead, honey.”

you squirmed under them, damned be reo and his knowledge of your body all to hell! each thrust just felt more and more intense with how you could feel every edge and vein on nagi’s cock.

and by reo and nagi’s command, you gushed all over him, squirting your essence all over the silk sheets, as well as nagi’s abdomen and the inside of your thighs.

nagi moaned, your insides being stained in white as they tried to force nagi out. his thighs shook, knees buckling under him as he tried to stay sane. but he couldn’t as endless spurts of cum filled your womb, pressing his hips in further, and ensuring that his cum seeps into every bit of your guts that needs filling.

his eyes met reo’s; his eyes were sharp, as if he was telling nagi his time was up. “that was good, nagi. i should show you though just how dirty she can be. you would not believe the orgasms i’ve gotten out of this pretty thing..” reo laughed. nagi reluctantly pulled out— his dick soaked and still semi-hard, and sat down beside your fucked out body, trying to catch his breath.

reo made quick work of his pants and pulled out his erection in almost zero seconds flat. he made his way between your legs and hovered over you to whisper in your ear, “whaddya think, honey? can you take one more ‘nd give nagi a show?” he hummed, offering it up to you as if you had a choice.

but then again, you couldn’t really bring yourself to say no anyways. not when reo was the one who was asking.

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cafelattaes · 27 days ago

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all my heart | geum seongje

summary: a glimpse into what loving geum seongje looks like—messy, soft, deeply yours. and after all these years, he still has all of your heart.

pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader

genre: romance, slice of life

word count: 5.1k

first.

you and seongje had been together for a while now. you'd somehow made it through that rocky stretch hand in hand, and now here you were, college students at different schools, in completely different rhythms of life, but still orbiting each other.

at first, everyone had an opinion. they had plenty to say when you started openly seeing the mad dog of ganghak high. but after a few months, the noise died down. there was simply nothing left to say. you weren't going anywhere, and neither was he.

your parents had been the hardest. not surprised, really. they weren't strict about dating, never hovered too close. but the night they saw him for the first time, walking you home, eyes dark, cheek split, knuckles raw, it was written all over their faces. alarm. disappointment. a hundred questions they didn't want the answers to.

he looked like every bad decision a parent warned their daughter about.

still, they didn't try to tear it apart. maybe because you've never given them a reason not to trust you. you were a good daughter. they hated the idea of him, hated the way he looked at you like the world owed him blood, but they didn't interfere. not yet. not unless they had to. you could feel it hanging in the air though. one day, they'd say they wanted to meet him officially. and when that day came... well. you'd deal with it.

college life came with its quiet perks. one of them being the blessed indifference of your peers. no whispers. no curious stares. no one cornering you to ask what you saw in "that guy". people mostly kept to themselves, and for the most part, you liked it that way. you were finally able to like him without feeling like you owed the world an explanation for it.

which is why it threw you completely off when he showed up. out of nowhere. again.

you had told him you were going out with your friends, just a casual hangout after class. you hadn't bothered to mention where, because you didn't think you needed to. it wasn't like you were hiding anything. but it turned out you didn't even need to tell him. somehow, seongje always found you. like he had a sixth sense for when you were around other guys. or a tracker. you still weren't sure which one it was.

and this time, he didn't just lurk from afar like he sometimes did. he walked straight into the middle of your day and picked a fight. literally.

he didn't like the look of the guys in your group. or maybe it was just the fact that there were guys. you could tell he had already made up a story in his head about who they were and why they were there, and that was enough for him to square up like it was high school all over again. you tried, really tried to pull him aside, to talk him down, to tell him that he was blowing things out of proportion, but he didn't even look at you. like your voice didn't matter once his temper had already started rolling downhill.

and to make things worse, it turned out the guys in your group did have some kind of history with the union. not deep, but enough to make seongje grin like he'd just been handed an excuse on a silver platter.

the tension cracked. words were exchanged. chairs were scraped back. and you stood there, stuck, watching the day spiral while your friends looked at you with wide eyes and quiet apologies.

one of the girls leaned over to whisper, "sorry... the guys shouldn't have egged him on."

but all you could do was shake your head, eyes still fixed on seongje like you were trying to make sense of how quickly things had unraveled.

"no," you muttered, jaw tight. "i should be the one apologizing."

because he came uninvited. he started it.

and it wasn't just the fight, it was the way he completely brushed off your voice when you told him to stop. like your presence wasn't enough to make him pause. like your boundaries came second to whatever score he thought he had to settle. you knew how seongje was, violent, impulsive, always bristling with the urge to break something, but he wasn't supposed to treat you like noise in the background.

he didn't need to protect you from anything today. he just needed to respect you. and right now, he didn't.

the doorbell had been ringing for ten minutes straight.

you'd muted your phone after the fifth message. then came the calls. then knocking. then the doorbell again, rhythmic like he was playing a game. you didn't have to check to know who it was. no one else was that annoyingly persistent. eventually, your patience snapped, and you stormed to the door just to shut him up.

he barely looked relieved when you opened it, like he expected you to slam it in his face instead. his phone was still clutched in one hand, unread messages stacked like unfinished apologies. his hair was a mess, his jacket crooked, but his eyes were locked onto yours.

"...can i come in?"

you didn't answer. just stepped aside.

you didn't say anything as you walked back in either. didn't acknowledge the way he followed you like a puppy that didn't know where to sit. his mouth opened, maybe to try something stupid, but when you shot him a look over your shoulder, he shut up for once.

he settled on the couch. quietly. which was almost suspicious.

you turned, intending to retreat to your room, but the second you passed him, he hooked a lazy finger into your belt loop. the tug was gentle, but it halted your escape. you huffed, glaring down at him, but he didn't even look fazed. he just pulled you in.

you didn't resist, though you did sigh in disbelief as he shifted you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. his arms wrapped loosely around you waist, then his forehead came to rest against your shoulder.

no smirk. no cocky remark. just stillness. he stayed quiet, but it wasn't peace.

it was tension. his arms were around you, but his jaw was clenched. you could feel it, he was holding back, like if he spoke, the wrong words would come out. again.

you sighed and stared straight ahead. "we already talked about this."

his fingers tightened a fraction around your waist. "...i know."

your throat tightened. "i already told you not to pull that shit again, seongje."

"...i know."

you pulled back, just enough to look at him, and he didn't meet your eyes. that alone annoyed you more than the words. it was like he was agreeing just to make it stop. like this whole thing wasn't serious, like he hadn't embarrassed you in front of your new friends, ignored you when you told him to stop, acted like you didn't matter in the middle of it all.

"if you're gonna talk like that," you said, voice sharpening like a blade, "then don't talk to me at all. and don't bother showing up if you're just gonna ignore everything i say."

that landed.

you felt it immediately, the way his arms stiffened around you, the sudden cold edge that cut through his expression. his head lifted slightly, and when he looked at you, his eyes had lost that sheepish desperation.

not angry at you, not quite, but he was frustrated. at the situation. at himself. at the fact that this wasn't going his way. seongje never liked not getting what he wanted. and right now, what he wanted was you to forgive him without making him feel small.

but he wasn't stupid. he knew what would happen if he pushed you again.

you'd gone silent on him before. days of unread messages, no answers, no sightings. it drove him halfway mad.

he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't let that happen again.

"...fine." his tone came sharp, his voice clipped. "i won't do it again."

you narrowed your eyes. that tone—like he was doing you a favor.

you stood up.

he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away, firm but not forceful. he didn't pull, just held.

then, in a voice that barely registered above a breath, he said, "i'm sorry."

you froze. he didn't look at you when he said it. his head was lowered again, gaze locked somewhere near the floor. his grip loosened slightly, as if expecting you to pull away. as if he'd already braced for the worst.

you didn't say anything.

you were still pissed. but still... there was something about the way he said it.

he did not apologize. not to anyone. he didn't believe in it. thought it was dumb. weak. but ever since he met you, he'd been doing a lot of things he never thought he would. giving in. holding back. trying.

and right now, it was written all over him, the struggle, the resentment, the need.

you didn't melt, not entirely, but something in you softened. just a little. because you knew what it took for him to say that word. and how much it killed him to be the one begging to be forgiven.

you stayed still. not because you didn't hear it, but because you did. because it sounded so unlike him that you needed a second just to let it settle in.

then with a quiet motion, his hand slid gently around your wrist, then your waist, coaxing you toward him until you were standing between his knees. he wrapped his arms around your hips, slow and steady, and leaned his head against your stomach.

not a word. just his arms, warm and solid. his forehead pressing into your shirt like he was waiting. not demanding, not begging. just waiting for you to forgive him.

you let out a long sigh, loud enough for him to hear. you weren't ready to let him off easy, not when you had every right to be upset, but you also weren't cruel.

your hand moved slowly to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, rubbing at his scalp in small, deliberate strokes. that was all he needed.

seongje exhaled deeply, almost in relief, and pulled you into his lap again without a second's hesitation.

his forehead met yours, eyes locked on you with something softer than guilt. apology. maybe even gratitude. you could feel it, the way he was turning soft for you, even if he didn't know how to hold it. his rage never vanished, it just curled its way into something quieter.

your hands came up to cradle his face, fingers pressing gently into his cheeks. "i'm serious." you said, tilting his face toward yours so he couldn't look away. "you don't get to pretend like nothing happened. you have to actually try."

he didn't answer. didn't agree, didn't joke. just leaned in closer, and closer, waiting.

you didn't make him wait long.

the kiss wasn't rushed or hungry, it wasn't sharp like most of what existed between you. it was slow and careful. his mouth brushed yours like he still thought you might pull away. you didn't.

he sighed into your lips like he needed the kiss to steady him. and maybe he did.

when you finally pulled away, the kiss still warm on your lips, you let out a breath. not with frustration this time, but something gentler. something that settled deep in your chest.

you stared at him, eyes tracing every detail like you were trying to memorize him all over again. the dark lashes that curled a little too perfectly, the stubborn cut near his cheekbone, the beauty mark under his eye.

"you've got such a pretty face," you murmured, brushing a thumb across his cheek. "makes it easier to forgive you."

that was all it took. seongje flushed so fast it was almost impressive. his whole face went red, the color kept crawling down his neck and all the way to his ears.

"fuck off," he blurted and shoved you off his lap.

you stumbled backward with a yelp. but he was just as quick to shoot his hand out, fingers curling tight around your wrist to yank you right back in.

"fucking—stay still," he muttered, flustered beyond repair. he crushed you against his chest like a feral cat with its prey. his heart thudding hard against your ear, giving away everything he wouldn't say out loud.

you wriggled a little in protest, not really trying to escape. "you are so infuriating," you muttered, breathing out a laugh despite yourself. "you're lucky i love you."

you felt him stiffened. he didn't respond right away. just slumped forward, pressing his forehead against your shoulder like he couldn't take it. like those words short-circuited something inside him.

every single time you said it, he folded like a paper.

his breath faltered against your skin before he bit you. sharp and sudden, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. you jerked against him in surprise, only to feel the swipe of his tongue over the spot like an apology.

"fuck," he rasped, voice rough. "stop saying shit like that."

"like what?" you asked, breath catching. you were still reeling from the bite.

he scoffed, but it was weak. almost like he choked on it. "you know what it does to me."

"so you want me to stop?" you tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. "really?"

he didn't answer, didn't have to. because the look on his face said everything. the ache in his eyes, the way his mouth pressed into a tight line, the way his hands were still gripping your shirt like he was terrified you'd slip away if he let go.

"we're getting sidetracked. you can't just bite me and hope i'll forget."

he scowled. "worked last time."

"it didn't," you lied.

he narrowed his eyes. "then why aren't you yelling anymore?"

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "you are the worst."

eventually, he leaned in again. pressed his forehead to yours like he didn't know how else to be close. like saying sorry with words still felt foreign, but this, this closeness, he could do. you smiled.

"you're so adorable sometimes."

"shut up," he hissed through clenched teeth, burying his face into your neck to hide what little pride he had left. his arms coiled tighter around your waist, every inch of his body pressed close like you were the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

god, he belonged to you in ways even he didn't understand.

you ran your fingers through his hair, rubbing slow circles until his breathing evened out. he melted further, practically boneless in your arms. it would've been funny if it weren't so stupidly endearing.

it was that time of the month again. and like clockwork, seongje was at your beck and call.

it was funny, really, how he responded to your cramps like it was a code red emergency every time. he didn't hover exactly, but he was always there. like a shadow. like a guard dog. like someone who had once made a silent promise to never let you suffer alone, even if the enemy was just your own hormones.

it was during the early months of your relationship, back when everything still felt too new. seongje had texted you one saturday morning, casually demanding your presence like he always did. as usual, he expected you to say yes.

instead, you replied with, 'not in the mood'.

it was short, not your usual way of responding to him. well, unless you were upset.

his call came seconds later.

"what the hell do you mean, not in the mood?" his tone sharp, offended, as if the very idea of you turning him down was a personal attack.

you didn't even flinch. just lay there in bed, clutching your stomach. "i'm on my period. i have bad cramps," you answered, voice flat, tired, unbothered.

then there was silence. total silence.

you pulled the phone away from your ear to check if the call had ended.

"hello? still there?"

"...yeah." his voice was lower now. unsure. "i'm here." he paused. "is there... anything i can do?"

you would've laughed, only if you weren't doubled over from pain. it was obvious he didn't know how to react, probably regretting all his impulsive dramatics from three minutes ago. his brain spiraling now that you dropped a truth too real and too biological for someone like him to handle without mentally imploding.

"no, you don't have to do anything. i'll see you next week once i stop dying."

you had imagined him on the other end, slack-jawed and helpless. no cocky comebacks. no pushback. just stunned silence as he tried to process that there were some things he couldn't fix by throwing fists.

but it turns out he had a way of surprising you.

later that same day, he'd shown up at your doorstep. no warning, no messages. just him, standing there with a plastic bag in one hand, a pint of your favorite ice cream in the other, and the most unconvincing attempt at indifference painted across his face.

you blinked at him, confused. "what are you doing here?"

"well," he muttered, eyes darting away. "didn't say i couldn't show up."

his tone was clipped, almost sulky, but you could see the way his eyes flickered nervously, scanning your face like he was bracing himself for rejection. he stood there stiffly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. ready to bolt if you said the word. instead, you let him in.

you spent the afternoon on the couch. he kept his distance, which was weird, suspiciously well-behaved. seongje didn't like giving you space. physical contact had been his default setting ever since he stopped feeling awkward about it. but that day, he was stiff as a board, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the tv like he was forcing himself to focus on the movie.

you didn't comment. just accepted the ice cream and slowly ate it beside him in silence.

and after a while, once the worst of the cramps dulled, you quietly shifted closer and tucked yourself against his side.

"thanks," you murmured, lips brushing the sleeve of his shirt.

he didn't say anything. just exhaled, and finally let his arm wrap around you. not possessively, not urgently, just enough to keep you close, careful not to press where it hurt.

it was the first time he took care of you like that. the first time he showed that he could. it became a routine ever since.

and now, he was still at it.

seongje was sprawled on the floor in front of you, leaning against the coffee table with a bag of heating pads and snacks. he reached up to hand you a warm bottle wordlessly, brows furrowed like he was the one in pain.

"you look like a kicked dog," you mumbled from your cocoon of blankets.

"i feel like one," he grumbled. "you act like you're dying and i'm just supposed to watch?"

"i am dying."

he rolled his eyes but didn't argue. instead, he sat back and stared at the tv, clearly bored. his leg bounced. his fingers drummed.

"wanna fight?"

you didn't even look at him. "no."

"not even verbally? i could call you something mean."

"you could leave."

"or i could stay and be annoying."

"you already are."

he smirked because you were talking. which meant you weren't mad at him for hovering. slowly, he crawled onto the couch, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to push him off. when he finally wedged himself beside you and laid his head in your lap, you sighed.

"i didn't forget your favorite dessert this time."

"that's called being decent."

"it's called caring, brat."

you snorted. "say that again. i dare you."

he sat up halfway, looking like he might say something bold, but thought better of it and flopped back down.

"don't die. i'll get bored." he muffled.

you laughed quietly. when you leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, his eye twitched, like his brain malfunctioned.

"what now?" he asked suspiciously.

"nothing," you said, lips curving into a soft smile. "i just really like you."

he grunted, annoyed. but the red tint in his ears said everything else.

you both weren't doing anything particularly special. just walking. trees lining the path had turned shades of amber, rust, and gold. seongje walked beside you, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders loose, completely at ease.

it was nice. quiet. comfortable.

and maybe that was why it hit you.

you blinked up at the sky, pale and moody in that late-autumn kind of way, and suddenly felt it settle in your chest—that ache. the one that always came with change.

"we're graduating soon," you murmured without meaning to.

he glanced at you, squinting against the sun. "yeah?"

you hummed. there was no need to elaborate, but your brain wouldn't stop there.

soon you'd walk across that stage. soon you'd be holding a degree in your hands. and what then?

what would you be without exams, without early morning classes, without the label of student tied neatly to your identity like a tag?

what would you do?

what would you be?

would everything change?

you didn't mean to spiral, but—

your eyes flicked toward seongje again. he was half a step ahead now, kicking at a stray pinecone. wind caught the ends of his hair, curling them against his cheek. his profile was all sharp lines and shadows, beautiful in the way he always was, aggressively so.

and just like that, it steadied you.

there was a time you thought you wouldn't make it past the first year. too different. too messy. too much history clinging to his name, and too much doubt hanging in the air.

but now, years later, here he was. still beside you. still loud and reckless and impulsive, but softer. only for you. not always, not overtly, but in the little ways that mattered.

he was still him. but somehow, better.

you didn't notice when your steps slowed. he did.

"you good?" he asked, brow quirking.

"yeah," your voice cracked on the word, embarrassingly emotional. you cleared your throat. "just thinking."

"that's dangerous," you let out a breathless laugh.

"do you ever think about how far we've come?"

he stared at you like you just asked him to solve a math equation. "from where?"

"from where we started."

he rolled his eyes. "you hated me when we met."

"you deserved it."

"no arguments there."

you smiled. "but still. you're here."

something passed over his face then, brief, unreadable. but then he was looking away, jaw shifting like he didn't know what to do with the way your words made his chest feel tight.

you reached out and took his hand.

"thank you," you said.

"for what?"

"for everything."

"you're acting like i'm gonna die tomorrow."

you huffed. "you're impossible."

"and you're sappy."

"only when it comes to you."

he made a face, looked away quickly. you caught the tips of his ears turning pink.

maybe it was the way the sunlight filtered through the orange leaves. or maybe it was just the clarity of a moment where nothing else seemed to matter. but you felt it again.

the weight in your chest. but this time, it wasn't fear. it was peace.

with him, the world felt a little less terrifying. a little more manageable. like no matter what the future threw at you, how uncertain, how intimidating, how vast, he'd still be beside you. loud and annoying and occasionally stupid, but there.

yours.

you linked your arm with his, casual like it meant nothing. then you leaned your head against his shoulder. he didn't say anything. just bumped you gently with his arm.

you two kept walking.

but that was everything you could have asked for.

you were making something simple for the two of you, moving around the kitchen with that quiet ease he'd grown used to. the soft clinks and rustles of your movements, it filled the room like background noise he never wanted to lose.

it was the way your presence still settled into his space like it was meant to be there. even after all these years, it still caught him off guard sometimes. how much of his life had quietly shaped itself around you.

he'd never tell you this, wouldn't even admit it if you pried it out of his skull. but somewhere between the convenience store runs and moments he found you sleeping on his shoulder, something in him had slowed down.

he knew then. fuck, he knew. that this was it for him. that there was no one else, and there wouldn't ever be.

and if he wanted to keep you, if he wanted to deserve that kind of peace, then he couldn't keep living like none of it mattered. something had to give.

not because you asked him to. you didn't, even when he was at his worst. you never looked at him with disappointment, never threw his mess in his face like you could've. you saw him. took him as he was, back when he was still half-feral and too wild to sit still for anything except your voice. that was the thing. you loved him without conditions. and that's what made it worse.

because no one ever asked him to be better. and now he wanted to be. just for you.

so he started small. stopped smoking around you the second he realized you didn't like the smell. you never said anything, but then he noticed the way your nose crinkled slightly when he leaned in too close. you still held his face, kissed him like nothing was wrong. but that was enough. he wanted you to want to be close.

he stopped picking fights for the thrill of it. started actually thinking ahead. he still cracked jaws if someone touched you or looked at you the wrong way, but he wasn't out for blood just to feel alive anymore. not when he had you. not when you made him feel alive more than anything else.

he had something better, something real.

he didn't say anything at first. just watched you from the couch, arms draped across the backrest, hair messy, shirt still wrinkled from sleep.

you were just making breakfast like you sometimes did when you stayed over.

but goddamn, he could barely breathe just watching you move.

there were some moments, fleeting and unpredictable, when the weight of how much he loved you knocked the air straight out of his lungs. when his body didn't know what to do with the feeling, and his heart felt too small to hold it all.

this was one of those moments.

he got up without thinking.

you didn't notice him watching. you were too focused, hands moving with quiet intent, your eyes fixed, lips set in that soft line you always wore when you were busy doing something.

he hovered nearby, restless, pacing, almost like he didn't know where to put himself. until finally, he reached for you, curling his fingers gently around your wrist.

you looked up, and there it was again.

the second your eyes met his, the entire world silenced. your lips parted, breath hitching, because that look in his eyes, it always made you want to cry.

he was looking at you like you were the whole damn world.

and you were.

"something up?" you asked in a quiet voice.

he didn't answer. instead, he gently took your hand, fingers a little clumsy, a little too tight, and interlaced them with his own, like it was the only way he could keep the feelings from spilling out of his chest.

and then, with a quiet breath, he brought your joined hands to his lips.

he kissed your ring finger.

slowly. tenderly. reverently.

not like someone touching skin. but like someone touching a vow.

your breath caught.

he held your gaze. "i don't want anything that doesn't have you in it."

his voice was low. rough. not quite steady. his eyes flickered, not with fear, but something close to desperation. like the feeling was too big, too much, and he didn't know how to bleed it out except through touch.

and you understood.

it was all there. in the way his fingers clung to yours, in the way his lips trembled slightly as they brushed your skin, in the way he looked like he'd shatter if you even thought of letting go.

his face became blurry, but you blinked it away.

you just smiled softly and pressed your forehead against his. "good," you whispered. "you're the only one i want to do this life with."

he exhaled, slow and uneven, like your words reached somewhere deep in him that he didn't let anyone else near.

being with him was never easy. there were days he'd withdraw into himself, frustrated with things he couldn't name. times when you wouldn't understand why he shut down, or lashed out, or made things harder than they had to be.

there were arguments, silence, sometimes it hurt, and it took time to come back from that.

but love like yours and his was never meant to be easy.

it was raw. unforgiving in its honesty. and undeniably real.

you never regretted a second of it. not even the ugliest parts.

and maybe—

maybe he didn't have a ring now. maybe it was still hidden in a drawer, still waiting for the perfect moment.

maybe he'd already gone to your parents, awkward and twitchy and sweating like a fucking idiot, asking for your hand even though the very idea of "asking permission" made his skin itch.

maybe it was the first time in his entire life he had ever felt that afraid.

maybe they'd said yes.

they'd seen it, eventually. what you saw. what he'd become for you. what he would always be.

and maybe, just maybe, he was going to give you that ring on your graduation. when the future is right in front of you, when you'd already proven to the world and each other that you could survive it.

but for now, this was enough.

your forever didn't need a clock.

because he knew that he'd keep loving you like it was still the beginning. like every day was the first time you made his chest hurt just by looking at him.

even when life got dull. even when things slowed down. you'd still have all of him.

always.

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