How i be reading smut wth a straight face in bed
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How i be reading smut wth a straight face in bed
SWEET | theodore nott
word count: 7,336
summary: (includes smut) you and theodore have been friends since 4th year, and are like peas in a pod. there's nothing that can separate the two of you. so when theodore becomes increasingly jealous at the attention you're receiving after your glow-up the summer before 7th year, he decides he needs to take matters into his own hands.
authors note: i lowkey hate this i can't lie... but i really just wanna get all of my stuff out since i'm not going to be able to write NEARLY as much for essentially the whole summer :( anyway hope u all enjoy this!
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Everyone knew Theodore Nott was good-looking, in that effortless way where he never had to try to get other people’s attention and affections. Even so, he never let his ego swell, and never really paid attention to his or other people’s looks. He gave his hair a good tousle in the mornings, and that was that. He just assumed that’s what everyone else did. When his friends would rank girls in their year from prettiest to ugliest, Theodore could never give his opinion. He didn’t have one. He simply just never thought about those sorts of things.
Most people were surprised when the two of you became friends in 4th year. You weren’t ugly, no, but let’s just say you weren’t exactly a head turner. But none of that mattered to Theodore. That’s why your friendship with him was so refreshing. He understood you on a level that no one else did, because he saw who you were past your physical features that everyone else saw as unflattering or as flaws. He appreciated you for your humor and wit, the way you read people’s emotions easily, how you can turn any bad situation into a good one from sheer mindset alone. You were more of a side character to the rest of the world who viewed him as the main one, but the two of you were best friends, and that was all you guys needed.
The summer before you and Theodore’s last year at Hogwarts changed everything. Theodore had spent his summer with family in Italy, as he always did. But you were in for a change. Instead of heading to London like you did every summer, you and your girlfriends took a trip to visit the beaches of France. London was always awfully dreary and bleak, so imagine everyone’s surprise when you came back to Hogwarts looking tanner and… different. Very different.
Your personality remained the same, your carefree spirit still shining through. Your laugh, your friends, your brain, all worked the same. But everything about you, physically was different. You knew something was different immediately when Mattheo, Theodore’s best mate, actually asked you how your summer went when you met up with them in the train car on the way to Hogwarts. You almost choked on your water when he acknowledged your existence seemingly for the first time in the 3 years you had known him.
It was just a few weeks into the school year, and you were already receiving a bountiful amount of attention from boys. Boys, who in previous years had either ignored you or avoided you. Suddenly, everyone wanted to be your Potions partner. Everyone wanted to talk to you during meals in the Great Hall. Even girls were trying to recruit you into their social circles, acting like they were close with you or like they had been friends with you since forever. You didn’t mind the attention, no, but Theodore did. He hated it.
He knew it was selfish, but he had always thought of you as his best friend, and his best friend only. Even though he had a line of people waiting to be his friend (or more), he couldn’t stand the thought of you replacing him with someone funnier, more interesting, more deserving to be your best friend. He hated himself for every punch he felt in his gut when you smiled at another girl or waved at another boy. He hated himself even more for how weak he felt, and how he had no power to stop it.
But most of all, he hated himself for falling victim to this new charm of yours. He hated himself for noticing when your smile would linger on him, when your crinkled eyes would shine as they looked at him. He hated himself for watching you from across the room, just like every other bloke was now doing. He hated himself for not being able to control the blush that lingered on his cheeks every time your hand grazed his forearm or your foot touched his under a table. Theodore felt like he was losing his mind.
He knew he was bound to break, at one point or another. This tipping point just happened to be after the opening quidditch match of the season. Slytherin lost to Hufflepuff, out of all houses, which had only rubbed salt in the wound for Theodore. He had spent almost every second of the game focusing more on making sure his facial expressions didn’t look weird to you instead of catching the actual snitch. Of course, everything that he wanted to go right went wrong, and he ended up almost face-planting into the grass a multitude of times. After the match, he was absolutely pissed, mud stains everywhere and a clear look of frustration painted across his face. All he wanted was to see you and talk to you. So when he found you casually chatting with a Hufflepuff who’s face looked way too smug in Theodore’s opinion, he swore he could’ve exploded with anger. He wanted nothing more than to punch that smirk off of the Hufflepuff’s face. That would teach him a lesson.
“Hey,” Theodore murmurs from behind you right beside your ear, his glare fixed on the Hufflepuff as a sort of silent threat. You touch her, you’re dead.
“Theo!” you jump, startled as you turn your head around to look at him. “Where the hell did you come from?” “We need to talk,” Theodore says simply, paying no regard to your question at all, turning all of his attention towards you. The Hufflepuff opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Theodore’s hand is on your arm, dragging you away firmly, your steps stumbling before eventually falling into rhythm next to his.
Theodore eventually drags you into the locker room, and you immediately shut your eyes, afraid of seeing something you shouldn’t. “Theo- I can’t be in here-”
“Who was that?” Theodore interrupts sharply, disrupting your train of thought. “And open your eyes. There’s no one here. The match ended ages ago,” he says bitterly, as if all of the time he had spent looking for you was somehow your fault.
You follow his command, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Ow- Theo!” you exclaim after yanking your arm out of his grasp. “Merlin, he’s just some guy I met in Potions. What has gotten into you?” As soon as the words fall from your lips, you start to notice his weariness, how taught his body stance is, and the dirt stains all over his uniform. Your heart starts to feel heavy with sympathy, but the moment is quickly broken.
“Just some guy?” Theodore repeats your words dryly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “He was looking at you like you were some piece of meat.” He rakes a hand through his damp hair, messy from flying, and exhales sharply. An Italian curse slips out from under his breath: “Stronzo.”
“Look,” he mutters, suddenly avoiding your eyes. “I don’t care who talks to you or whatever, but don’t just stand there smiling at them like that.”
Your eyes narrow, and you start to get defensive. “Since when do you dictate my choices?” you shoot back, feeling utterly confused by his difference in behavior. Theodore stiffens at your words, his dark eyes flashing with some emotion that you can’t quite name—hurt? Frustration? You can tell he doesn't like the tone in your voice. Not one bit.
“I’m not dictating anything,” he snaps, but it lacks its usual edge. “I just… fuck, bambina…” His tone makes you feel weak in the knees, your hand subconsciously grabbing his wrist to support him. He drags a hand down his face, exhaling hard through gritted teeth. Seemingly for once, Theodore, the guy who always has a snarky comeback or cold dismissal ready, is struggling to find words. “Since when do you let random people talk to you like that?” It comes out more vulnerable than intended, possessive without him meaning it to be.
“People just come up to me,” you answer defensively, crossing your arms over your chest as if ready to start a fight with him. “I don’t know. You’re the one who’s the expert on this kind of stuff.”
“Oh, don’t start,” Theodore mutters, his voice tighter than he intended. He forces himself to breathe, to catch his breath, to chill the fuck out. The way you crossed your arms with a protective and guarded stance, because of him, made an ugly feeling twist in his stomach. “Merlin, everyone is noticing now.” He seems to finally look at you properly, his dark eyes looking into yours. He has new freckles on his face now, probably from summer days in Italy that you hadn’t been a part of. It mildly irritates you, that even just standing there, pissed off, he looks unfairly good. Your throat goes dry.
“It’s just… weird,” is all Theodore can manage to say. This isn’t even about the Hufflepuff anymore.
“I think it’s weird too,” you say slowly, not really seeing where Theodore was trying to go with this. “But, it’s not like it changes anything between us. Right?”
It hits him then, as he looks at your clueless expression, that you haven’t changed at all, even with the new attention. It hits him like a bludger to the chest: you have no idea. No idea that he’d been watching. Noticing. Wanting.
“No,” he says a little too quickly, a little too stiff. “Of course not.” Yet, his eyes betray him. Dark and stormy with something unspoken as they flick over your face one more time before darting away again to the wall behind you. You awkwardly shift from one foot to the other, not really knowing what to say. This is uncharted territory for you—it had never been awkward with Theodore before. Even though you had both literally just agreed that nothing had changed, it feels like something has. You can tell that Theodore noticed the shift to awkwardness and hesitation as well, and that just made you feel even worse. This quiet tension between you two is completely foreign. You’ve never felt uncomfortable or cautious around him before, or second-guessed words or silences.
Theodore clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Wanna smoke?” he blurts out suddenly, jerking his chin toward the exit. You stifle a laugh, nodding a yes, and a tiny, relieved smirk tugs at his mouth. Typical Theodore, breaking the silence by asking for a smoke break. Although it did make the moment feel less gauche and more natural. “Let me get out of my uniform real quick.”
Once Theodore is wearing his robes, the two of you walk to your usual nook—a dimly lit alcove half-hidden by a stone arch. Theodore leans against the wall, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering you one first. You hold the cigarette between your fingers and between your lips, leaning slightly forward so Theodore can light you up. The small flame that emits from his silver lighter casts shadows across his sharp features, and you can’t help but notice the haunting sort of beauty that he possesses. The routine feels familiar, safe. Something the two of you have done countless times before. You haven’t told a soul, but these memories of smoking with Theodore in the oddest places are some of your most cherished ones.
After Theodore lights his own cigarette, he takes a deep drag before exhaling smoke through slightly parted lips. For a second, the two of you just stand there, silent but comfortable again, the tension from earlier easing with each shared breath.
“So, do you want to talk about the shit show of the match you just had, or no?” you ask calmly, watching and waiting for his reaction through the smoke. He only scoffs, rolling his eyes, but it lacks real annoyance. It’s akin to exhausted resignation.
“Fuck no,” he mutters, tapping ash onto the stone floor. “I swear, my broom was possessed by some spiteful pixie or something.” He takes another drag before adding dryly, “Draco cheered so hard when I almost ate shit in mid-air.” The mental image of Draco laughing at Theodore makes you giggle. Or maybe it was just the nicotine in your bloodstream now. “Bloody stupid move, too. I should’ve just stuck to basic formations.”
You shrug. “Taking risks is fine. I’m sure you’ll do great next time. Malfoy’s a bitch, anyway.” Theodore snorts at that, smoke curling around the two of you as he smirks at your bluntness. Merlin, have you missed this. Talking to Theodore about everything and nothing, feeling completely at ease with him.
“Sì, absolutely,” he agrees, taking another lazy drag. “Draco’s got the personality of a moldy sock.” His insult makes you chuckle, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you start to concentrate on blowing rings with the smoke of your cigarette. Theodore watches you, mesmerized, as your rings curl and float between the two of you like ghostly hoops. It’s stupid. So stupid. But there’s something oddly comforting about this situation—the quiet shared smoke, the way your fingers hold the cigarette so gracefully and with practiced ease. It all makes his stomach do a traitorous little flip.
He quickly looks away before his thoughts can take root any further. “Show off,” he mutters instead of grabbing your body closer to his to kiss you senseless, which is what he really wants to do.
“You’re the one who taught me that, idiot,” you murmur, smiling up at him through your hooded eyes. Theodore’s breath hitches as he realizes how close the two of you really are, almost touching, and suddenly, the small space between the two of you feels charged.
“Oh, did I now?” Theodore plays dumb, but his voice comes out lower than intended. Rough around the edges. His words along with the teasing lilt in his voice make you subconsciously press your thighs together. He shifts slightly, accidentally-on-purpose closing that last inch so that his chest presses lightly against yours. You can feel his warmth through his robes. Merlin, this is dangerous. How can something as simple as leaning on each other feel like foreplay?
“You did,” you retort, swatting his shoulder gently with your free hand. “Don’t play dumb.” Theodore lets out a quiet huff of laughter, caught, yet he doesn’t bother to deny it. Instead, he just stays there, close to you, smoke curling into the air between you two like lazy whispers. It’s nice. Maybe even too nice. The kind of peace that makes your chest ache because it feels different now, the familiarity tangled up with something new and terrifyingly fragile.
Theodore takes one last drag before discarding the butt of his cigarette, his dark eyes fixed on your lips as you take another puff. “Wanna ditch dinner?” he murmurs, one hand moving to tuck a stray curl of hair behind your ear. His touch is so soft it makes your heart stutter. “I’ve got firewhisky in my dorm.”
You chuckle, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re just trying to avoid your friends so they can’t make fun of how badly you played today,” you tease softly.
“Maybe,” he admits shamelessly, nudging you softly. “Mattheo wouldn’t shut up about it. Called me ‘Disastro Nott’ twice already.” He plucks your finished cigarette from your fingertips, discarding it the same way he did his own. He has this habit of always finishing what you started, which you honestly find endearing. “Plus, I’d rather be with you anyway,” he adds, quieter now.
A cheeky smile adorns your face, his small confession making your heart swell. Despite all of the attention you’re getting from others lately, you still only glow under Theodore’s recognition and no one else's. “Let’s go then?” you say softly, interlocking your pinky with his, a habit you can’t seem to break since forming it sometime during 4th year when Theodore had to drag you away from a stray Puffskein that you wanted to smuggle back into Hogwarts and keep as a pet.
“Let’s go,” he responds, already turning to lead the way. The two of you walk close together, no rush or pretenses, your arm brushing against his with every step toward the dungeons. Just the usual flowy chatter that you will never tire of.
Once you step inside his dorm room, Theodore kicks the door shut behind you. His area of the room is typically messy, with clothes strewn over his chair, a half-empty bottle of cologne sitting on his desk, posters for Italian football teams peeling at the corners off the wall. Stepping into his space is like seeing all the layers of him, unfiltered and laid out. You always feel honored every time you’re let in to see something so personal.
He beelines straight for the small trunk under his bed where he kept most of his prohibited items, pulling out a bottle of amber firewhisky for the two of you to share. “Come here,” he mutters, and of course you follow without hesitation, sitting down next to him on his bed. You watch him twist off the cork with practiced ease, your gaze intense as he takes a swig straight from the bottle. “No glasses. We’ll have to drink like this.”
“Fine with me.” You take the bottle from him, taking a sip and wincing as the liquor slides down and burns your throat. “So, do you sneak girls into your dorm to do this often, or what?” You hand the bottle back to him, taking off your outer robe and throwing it somewhere across the room, the alcohol and your vicinity to Theodore making you feel warm. His gaze flickers to your legs, your skirt hiding close to nothing, and he quickly looks away, his throat bobbing with a controlled restraint.
Theodore scoffs at your words, as if they’re the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. Though, it’s not even a weird question to ask. Everyone knows that Theodore is nothing short of a ladies man. He has women fawning at his feet, waiting at his beck and call at any hour of the day. But he’s never paid attention to them before. He only pays attention to you. “This shit is for me and Mattheo. Occasionally Pansy if she needs a pick-me-up.”
Pansy. Her name makes your heart twist uncomfortably in your chest, yet you avoid dwelling on it. You hate the thought that Theodore might prefer other girls over you. But that’s just because he’s your best friend. Right?
You take the bottle as he hands it back to you, taking a larger swig this time. Swallowing is a challenge. Theodore moves to lean against the headboard of his bed, his long legs stretching out behind you as you sit on the edge of the bed. He watches you drink, and notices everything. The way your throat bobs as you swallow, how your nose scrunches slightly at the burn.
“You alright?” He asks quietly, not about Pansy, but about this. About sitting so close on his bed like it was normal when everything felt anything but. You bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret later.
“I just… I mean, maybe it’s just me. But don’t we feel, like, disconnected lately?” Theodore watches you turn your gaze around to him, and the thought of him being so wrapped up in his own stupid jealousy, noticing everyone else looking at you, that he hasn’t even considered how you might feel, makes him sick. He grabs the bottle from your hands, placing it down on the nightstand next to his bed, before he gestures you over. He contracts a leg so that you can move to sit in between them, setting it down again once you’re in the middle.
“Yeah,” he admits roughly. “We do.” One of his hands grabs your wrist gently to rub his thumb over your pulse point, as a soothing gesture. Your heart is beating fast.
“Do you– I mean, do you not…” you hesitate, not sure how to articulate your words properly without sounding like an insecure girlfriend. “Do you not like me anymore? Do you not want to be as close?”
Theodore’s facial expression twists, as if he can’t even fathom your words ever being true. “No,” he says fiercely, a bit too loud and immediate. Then, quieter, with his jaw clenched, “Merlin, it’s the opposite. I’m…” he trails off, fingers flexing uselessly against the bed sheets, his grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly, as if he never wants to let go. How can he put this into words? That he’s been losing his mind over how hot you’ve gotten? That every guy looking at you made him want to punch something? Instead of explaining, he speaks simply. Truly. “I miss us.”
You look down at where his hand is holding your wrist so tenderly, and you get the sudden urge to throw yourself onto him. It was definitely a bad decision on your part to mix your substances. Your thoughts are running wild, and you feel like you can’t control them. “I do too,” you whisper, feeling shy all of a sudden as you start to pick at the sheets under you with your free hand.
Theodore reaches out without thinking, calloused fingers under your chin, gently tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Look at me,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. It lingers there for half a second too long to be considered casual, before dropping his hand like you burned him.
You tilt your head to the side, a clear look of confusion painted on your face. “Are you drunk or something?” Theodore lets out a short, breathless laugh.
“After a few sips? No, tesoro. I’m just… fuck.” He rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes finally meeting yours again. “I just missed this. Missed you. All summer.”
You can’t help yourself as you lean into him, settling into the familiar warmth of his body, his arm instinctually wrapping around your figure as you lean your head on his shoulder. You want to blame your behavior on the alcohol, on the nicotine, but deep down you know that this is your desire, your choice. “I missed you all summer too. I wanted to be in Italy with you.”
“Should’ve brought you,” he mutters into your hair, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.”
“I would’ve loved that,” you whisper, fully committing to your act as he helps you settle on his lap by putting your side onto his chest, the firewhisky burning a pit in your stomach and definitely giving you more confidence than usual. It feels painfully natural, the physical closeness between the two of you.
“Sei così bella,” Theodore whispers into your hair, his other hand tracing slow circles on your hip, his touches igniting a fire across your body, pooling low in your stomach.
“Translation, per favore,” you mumble, utilizing a phrase that Theodore had taught you years ago when you asked to learn parts of his native language. Your request made Theodore feel like the happiest man on the planet, but it also surprised him that it was possible for someone to care about him and understand him so deeply to the point of trying to learn something that he held close to his heart. He adores the fact that you remember.
You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his natural scent making you feel woozy. “You’re drunk,” he says in a stupidly fond voice, your closeness completely short-circuiting his brain. “You’re so cute when you speak Italian.” His fingers trail up to tangle gently in your hair, just playing with the strands. This whole scene is so fucking domestic it makes his chest ache.
“Shut up.” A warm blush climbs up the back of your neck, and you hide your face in his shirt. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m trying.” You can feel the rumble of Theodore’s chest as he laughs, deep and warm.
“Never,” he murmurs, stroking your head softly, caressing you as if you were some sort of pet. He isn’t making fun of you; if anything, it’s the opposite. The way you’re trying so hard for him sends a dose of pure joy straight through his heart.
“So what did you do all summer?” You ask, lifting your head off of his shoulder to be able to look at him, your hands on either side of him to prop yourself up. “Forget about me?” You can’t help but lean in subconsciously, your desire to be closer to him only heightened by the liquid courage coursing through your body.
You can feel Theodore’s entire body locking up the second your eyes met his, an almost pained look painted on his face. “Of course not,” he says softly, and you can feel yourself drowning in his eyes, in his presence, almost losing yourself in the process. “I thought about you every day, amorina, you know that.” You and Theodore had written to each other all summer, as the two of you always did every year. His letters detailed his adventures with his family, to what kind of snack he had on a random hike. But he never failed to mention how badly he missed you. It was your favorite part of each letter he’d write.
“Then why didn’t you tell me to come?” you huff, rubbing your eye with one of your hands, fighting the urge to yawn all of a sudden. Being with Theodore always made you feel safe, and therefore, sleepy. “France got boring after a while.”
“I didn’t think you were missing me like that,” he admits, his own hand brushing your cheek reverently. His tone has an air of vulnerability to it, as if he’s unsure of your affections. The tension is palpable; you can practically feel its presence physically straining between the two of you, your bodies pulling each other in like magnets. It feels impossible to stop yourself from wanting to be close to him, from wanting him to pay attention to you. At the end of the day, even with all of the new affections you’ve been receiving from others, you’d give it all up in a second just for Theodore to stay your best friend.
“So you’re admitting in person that you missed me, then?” You can’t help but tease him, feeling the weight of his words physically manifesting on your face in the form of a blush. Theodore’s eyes glint in the light, his smile deepening into a smirk as he grabs your hips, his thumbs tracing the skin under your shirt, giving you goosebumps on your arms.
“Of course. I missed you a lot. Every day. I’ll never be ashamed to admit that.” His voice is low, the look in his eyes scarily real and unguarded, as if he’s baring his heart out for you to do whatever you want with it. The atmosphere turns even more tense, even more charged, and you can feel your heart about to beat out of your chest. This closeness isn’t exactly new—the two of you had cuddled before, shared tiny spaces together, teased each other for years. But this energy was unlike anything you have experienced before, with him and in your life in general.
You whisper Theodore’s name softly, heart pounding as you watch him watch you with wide eyes. “Are you okay?” You can feel his chest quickly rising and falling, a sharp exhale through his nose at the sound of his name on your lips.
“No,” he confesses, voice gravelly. He lowers his head slightly, chest pressing against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. “I’m not okay.” His nose nudges your cheek, his hot breath trailing down your neck sending shivers down your spine. “I want you.”
“You have me,” you reply innocently, your mind not able to catch up to the pace in which Theodore was now setting for your relationship. “You always have. Since fourth year.”
Theodore’s breath catches, because until now, he hadn’t realized that “having you” could mean this. That “having you” could involve his hips grinding softly against yours, his lips grazing your jawline, his eyes drinking in this vulnerable side of you that no one else was ever able to see, that your shared history didn’t need to stop at the occasional smoking rendezvous, or studying in the library, or you cheering him on at quidditch matches.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the spot behind your ear, inhaling your vanilla scent that was seemingly always stuck in your hair, feeling absolutely drunk off the high your presence is providing. “It’s making me crazy.”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” you whisper breathlessly, boldly, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips touch your skin, your hands helplessly gripping his forearms. You’re not sure if you should push him away. You don’t want to.
“So, you’re admitting you’re mine, then?” He moves to be eye-level with you, and you can feel his long lashes fluttering against your cheekbones, his nose nudging against yours. The golden specks in his eyes shimmer in the warm lighting, and you swear you can melt right then and there, the endless abyss of his irises pulling you into the point of no escape.
Before you can even come up with a response that isn’t I love you so much it hurts, Theodore gingerly, hesitantly, presses his lips to the corner of your mouth. His eyes are open, watching your reaction, a silent question of if this is okay, if this is crossing any boundaries, and you have to stay calm, pretending like this isn’t what you’ve been praying for since you were 14.
But his lips also bring you back to Earth. What was this? Theodore Nott? Your best friend? Kissing you? You’re stuck in this state of shock where you’re unable to kiss him back but also unable to shove him away. Theodore can feel your hesitation the second his lips half-meet yours, and he breaks the almost-kiss just as fast as he initiates it, his forehead moving to rest against yours.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Too much?” Theodore’s whole body is tense with restraint now, giving you every chance to push him away. But Merlin is he hoping that you don’t. He’d dreamt about this.
Your eyebrows furrow with anxiety, your teeth chewing on your bottom lip to try and calm yourself. You look deep in thought. “Are you just, like, taking advantage of this situation? Because I’m here?” Your voice cracks. You can’t help it. This onslaught of emotions has taken you more off guard than you were prepared for. “Is this all I mean to you? Just an easy hookup? And then we can just forget about it or something?”
Theodore recoils from you like you’ve slapped him. “No,” he replies immediately, his voice sharp with offense. “Fuck no.” He removes his body from yours entirely, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his back towards you, as if he can’t even bear to look at you after what you just said, running both hands down his face. “Amore… Dio, I’ve liked you. For months. This isn’t–” a frustrated growl escapes him. “This isn’t some random shit.”
You immediately follow him, sitting up on the bed next to him, propping yourself up with your hands behind your back. “I… I don’t understand, Theo. I thought that we’re… best friends.” He turns to look at you, his expression wrecked, equal parts frustration and exposed.
“We are. Fuck, that’s the whole problem.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I want to stay your best friend, but I also want to kiss you with everything I have in me. I don’t–” another rough pause. “I don’t know how to do both.”
You slowly crawl towards him, your hands eventually making their way into his lap, your body propped up on your knees. “Let’s just try,” you whisper almost helplessly. You’re going through the same dilemma as him; it’s not like you want to change your dynamic, exactly, but the physical pull you feel towards him is undeniable, your need and desire for him overcoming any rational thought. You’ve always felt this pull towards Theodore, loving his attention and loving his touch. What would the harm be in seeing where things go, if things would turn into something more?
Theodore’s hands hover uncertainly at your hips, wanting to touch but needing permission first. “Yes,” he whispers back with no hesitation, leaning in slowly. “We can… try.” Then, his lips meet yours again—softer now, more exploratory. A test run of something that could either ruin or change everything.
You sigh softly into the kiss, tilting your head to deepen it. You shudder when Theodore’s hands land on your waist, steadying you by pulling you into his lap again, your legs straddling him. You can hear your heartbeat loudly in your ears, and you feel almost lightheaded because of how giddy you are that this is finally happening. This is definitely uncharted territory for you; you’ve only ever kissed one other boy before, back in 5th year, and it was a total shit show. But kissing your best friend? It feels so good, and so right.
Theodore groans into your mouth as you deepen the kiss, his grip on you tightening and pulling you flush against him as he drinks in everyone one of your shaky breaths, all of your tiny shudders. It all goes straight to his already hard cock, the one you can feel under your skirt between your legs. You feel absolutely not in control of yourself, your body taking the lead as you helplessly grind onto him.
“You taste sweet,” he mutters in between kisses, sliding one hand to cradle the back of your neck and angling for better access like this was something the two of you had been doing forever, something familiar and normal. You can only whine as he kisses you, his nimble hands gracefully undoing your tie, throwing it somewhere before slowly unbuttoning your shirt, exposing your pink bra. “Matches the color of your cheeks,” he teases, eyes darkening as he drinks in the sight of a part of you he’s never seen before. “You’re so beautiful.” His hands slide up your bare stomach, calloused thumbs brushing over the lace—teasing, but not rushing, every touch of his extremely deliberate.
“Theo,” you whimper, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth to ease the tension you were feeling, your hips subconsciously jumping slightly. “Don’t tease.”
“Can’t help it. You’re too pretty to not be toyed with,” he mutters, palming your right breast through the lace. His thumb circles your nipple, teasing the hard peak as his other hand slips under the fabric to pinch it directly. You can feel his cock strained against his sweats beneath you, and you can’t help but moan at all of the sensations mixing together, your hands squeezing on the area between his shoulders and neck.
“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, eyes blown wide in admiration, drinking in every sound you make and every tiny twitch. Theodore can feel your tension, the way you jump at every touch, the tight clench of your body. “You’ve never been touched like this before, have you?” The question makes you blush with embarrassment, but the feeling quickly subsides as he kisses you gently, reassuringly. “Tell me what feels good,” he whispers against your lips. “Please, bambina? Let me make you feel good. Let me make you feel things you’ll never be able to feel with any other man.”
Fuck. Your pussy clenches around nothing, your head in the clouds as you nod helplessly, because if he didn’t touch you more and now you feel like you might die. “It feels so good,” is the only response you can give, whining every time his fingers flick your nipple or massage your breast in his hand. Theodore’s chest swells with pride and the dangerous urge to ruin you so fucking good.
“Brava, my good girl,” he praises softly, before dipping his head to replace his fingers with his mouth. His tongue swipes over your nipple, his hand pulling the lace to the side before sucking hard, one hand still working your other breast. You gasp at the new sensation, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding even harder onto him, desperate for friction, the pleasure filling your senses. Every moan and movement that he elicits from you goes straight to his aching cock, so hard it’s physically hurting him. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel like this. To feel so good you could pass out.
Every rut of your hips against his throbbing cock makes him groan, the feeling of your wet heat through fabric almost too much to bear. “Dio, you feel that?” he rasps, lifting his head to watch you unravel. Your skin is damp from his mouth, glistening in the light, your nipples peaked and pretty. He slides a hand under your skirt, palming the soaked gusset of your panties. “You want more?” he asks almost mockingly, as if you aren’t completely wrecked and pliant on top of him.
You can’t say anything but his name, over and over again, as your head falls onto his shoulder. Theodore flips your skirt up for better access, not even bothering to take it fully off. “I-I feel weird,” you say powerlessly, the arousal growing in you with every passing second. You can feel Theodore’s breath coming faster and faster as he revels in the way you fall apart for him.
“Weird good, hm?” he assures you, nipping at your shoulder before his fingers slip under your panties, two of his fingers sliding through your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, circling your clit slowly with his thumb. “You’ve soaked me already, principessa.”
“Oh, Theo!” you exclaim, moaning softly as he toys with your clit. You’ve never felt any sensation like this before, and your toes curl as you buck your hips closer to his hand. “Fuck,” you whimper, legs shaking with purse desire. Theodore clearly loves the sounds you’re making, biting down harshly onto your collarbone or neck every time a desperate whimper leaves your lips.
He presses two fingers inside your cunt without warning, curling them just right as his thumb keeps working your clit. “Just like that, baby,” he coaxes, watching your face contort in pleasure. “Squeeze my fingers, tesoro. You’re doing so well.”
You whimper his name, biting your lip as your pussy clenches around his fingers. “Feels– ngh, feels tight.”
“I know,” Theodore murmurs, kissing your jaw as he pumps his fingers, stretching you just right, touching a part of you that you yourself hadn’t ever reached. Your virgin cunt is clenching around him like a vise, and it takes every ounce of his self-control to not flip you onto the bed and fuck you properly. “Relax, amorina,” he murmurs, slowly adding a third finger. You moan loudly at the intrusion, the sting of pain only adding to your pleasure.
The coil in your stomach becomes tighter with every passing second, your hips wildly chasing the pleasure that only Theodore can provide. “I-I feel weird, Theo. Please.” You don’t even know what exactly you’re begging for, only that you feel so dangerously close to something, only that you might float away if not for your hands digging into his shoulders, grounding you.
Theodore, on the other hand, knows exactly what you’re begging for. “I’ve got you, baby. You can cum, I know you can.” He curls his fingers against your g-spot, his thumb still rubbing circles onto your clit. Your back arches, your head tilted back as the coil in your stomach snaps. A borderline scream tears from your throat as you orgasm violently, for the first time, on his hand. Theodore holds you through it, fingers still working your pulsing walls gently as you cum. As he watches you, he vaguely thinks to himself that he’ll never be able to forget the way your cunt milks his hand, the way your skin shines with sweat, the way your mouth parts to form a perfect ‘O’ shape as you cum with his name on your lips.
“Good job, bella,” he praises, kissing your chest as you calm down from your high, holding you through the aftershocks as he pulls his fingers out with a slick pop. “You did amazing,” he whispers into your ear before kissing you softly. And then, simply because he can’t help himself, he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.
“Theo,” you hiss, grabbing his wrist to try and stop him, but feeling too tired to use any of your strength. “That’s revolting.”
Theodore responds only with a smirk. “No, you’re delicious. I love how messy you are for me,” he teases as he licks the last of your arousal off. You shove his shoulder gently, your face red with embarrassment.
“Will you shut up?” you grumble, letting your body collapse against his. You feel limp, boneless, spent. Theodore’s lips find yours again, and he kisses you slow and lazy, different from the hungry ones earlier. You can taste yourself in his mouth, and you should find it disgusting, but you don’t. If anything, you find it hot.
Theodore breaks away just enough to murmur, “you okay?” His free hand strokes your back soothingly. You can tell he sees how wrecked you feel, your eyes heavy with drowsiness, your mind clouded with the aftermath of pleasure.
“Mhm,” is the only reply you can manage, your body completely reliant on Theodore’s to be able to sit upright. You know you should probably be thinking more about the implications of this event on your relationship, but the only thing you can think about is how good it feels to be able to touch Theodore in this intimate way and have him touch you as well. You feel fucking estatic.
“That was good, no? And with just my fingers.” You scoff, burrowing your face into the crook of Theodore’s neck, letting him pick you up and set you down onto his bed.
“You’re so cocky.” But as soon as your head hits the pillows, all of your sassy remarks escape you, the feeling of tiredness quickly overcoming you. Theodore laughs unguardedly and brushes the hair out of your face, hovering over you as he watches your eyes flutter shut.
“You should focus more on resting than insulting me, you know?” Theodore murmurs, laying down on his side next to you, admiring the blissed out look on your face, the flush of your body, your exposed skin.
You turn your head towards him, opening your eyes to make eye-contact. “But what about you?” You gesture to his painfully hard cock, still straining under his sweats.
“It’s not for you to worry about, amore,” Theodore says kindly, pressing a soft and gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll let you take care of me next time, hm?”
Your heart swells. “Next time?” you whisper breathlessly, wide eyes looking up at him. Theodore has always loved this about you—that your emotions are always painted so clearly on your face. You’re the definition of an open book.
“What, are you not interested?” he murmurs seductively, his dead eyes searching yours yet again, a devilish smirk painted onto his face.
You huff, cheeks puffing out as you shake your head. “Why do you always have to tease me?” Theodore chuckles at that, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he breathes in your scent again, now mixed with the distinct smell of sex. You cannot wait for the next time Theodore ruins you.
“Sorry, bambina. You’re so sweet, I just can’t help it.”
tom riddle x reader, gloryhole!au
w/c: 2.8k
tags: 18+, smut (piv, oral, fingering, anonymous sex)
tom sits at the head of the dining table, looking at all of his followers: the knights of walpurgis.
lestrange, black, avery, rosier, and malfoy. . . who is staring at him with a stupid little smirk on his face.
“you are all dismissed,” tom says, clasping his hands together.
one by one, they all file out of the room - all of them except malfoy. again, what could he possibly want?
“can i help you, abraxas?” he asks coldly.
“no, not at all, my lord.” abraxas grins. tom is smart enough to see something foolish lingering beneath his follower's expression. “you see, i am in no need of assistance. it is not about what you could do for me, but what i could do for you.”
“what could you possibly have to offer me, abraxas? other than your gold - but must i remind you there are five other purebloods whose vaults i have access to?”
abraxas puts his hands in his pockets, letting out a sigh. “it is just you seem rather - tense, my lord. i only say this out of concern for your health and well-being. us - all of your dutiful followers have noticed it.”
tom clenches his jaw as he tries not to cast a crucio. “tense - how?”
abraxas purses his lips and shrugs, “i mean, lestrange and rosier can barely walk after their latest punishment - and that was not even their fault. you used to be far more lenient.”
tom feels a wave of anger wash through his mind, “are you questioning your lord's decisions?”
“no, my lord.” abraxas looks down sheepishly.
“then do not bother me about such nonsense again, lest you would like to join lestrange and rosier.”
“of course, my lord. i apologize for overstepping.” he then pulls something out of his coat pocket: a slim, vibrant pink business card. he places it on the table and slides it over to tom.
abraxas gives him sly wink, “but, just consider it,” he smirks, “thank you for your time, my lord.” he then saunters out the door with his stupid gait.
as soon as tom hears the door click shut behind him, he hesitantly picks up the card.
the sinful witches lounge! no disillusion spells needed ~ your secrets are safe with us.
ten galleons for door entry, twenty galleons to relax with our lovely witches ;), and fifty galleons for a private room.
prices are non-negotiable, and the usage of magic inside our establishment is strictly prohibited.
1445, knockturn alley.
he scoffs under his breath. did abraxas just give him the business card to a brothel? he should have expected nothing less from a malfoy - promiscuity was in their blood.
tom casts an inferno towards the card, watching the paper disintegrate into small pieces of ash.
he was going to be the most powerful wizard in the world. he does not care about being tense, and he has no time for frivolous activities such as sex. abraxas deserved an hour of torture for even having the confidence to suggest such a thing. and besides, tom’s reputation was far too high to risk being seen there.
his brain fumbles for a second, but abraxas is a malfoy, coming from generations of aristocrats, and he is presumably a frequent customer, so clearly there was no risk of sullying his reputation - no, no, he would not disgrace his dignity by going to such a place. . .
☆
tom stares up at the dingy building in front of him. to be fair, it looks inconspicuous - just another dark building in knockturn alley. he has his cloak covering his head, but he doubts anyone who frequents these streets would care about seeing him here.
he pushes the front door open, and the inside looks just like the outside: dark, dingy, and dilapidated. nothing like the obnoxious pink business card.
he sees a young witch sitting at a reception desk, prices are listed on the wall behind her, like it is some sort of cafe.
she’s smacking on muggle gum, flipping through a magazine.
tom clears his throat.
her eyes slowly trail up, and when they meet his, a large smile grows on her face. “well, hello there, handsome.”
he gives her an awkward nod as he pretends to look at the prices behind her.
“you look awfully nervous, are you a first timer?”
tom swallows his pride and nods. “yes.”
“mmkay.” she raises a brow and leans over the desk. “so, for starters: no face concealments.”
tom reluctantly pulls his hood back, holding back a scowl.
“was there something specific you were looking for today?”
tom did not even know why he came here today. he supposes he just wants to see if the recommended methods of stress reliefs were accurate, but how did that translate to picking a public or private dance?
the woman takes his silence as answer, “private room it is then. you look a little too conservative for all the public stuff.”
too conservative?
“sixty galleons, please.” she smiles, sticking out her hand. “and absolutely no refunds, obviously.”
tom grumbles, fishing through his pockets for his satchel of gold. he pulls out a handful of galleons - more than enough - and places it on the table.
the woman grins happily, pocketing the gold.
she sits up from behind the desk, gesturing for him to follow her. she leads him to a plain oak door, but once she mutters an incantation with her wand, it transfigures into a ruby red entryway.
when she swings it open, a loud bass immediately reverberates through his entire body. tom hesitantly follows, and is surprised to see how much larger the space is.
it is absolutely packed with people. various men and women are sitting at tables - laughing, dancing, drinking. and of course there is a large stage in the centre, with more than enough strippers on poles.
the woman laughs when she notices his ogling, she motions for him to keep coming.
she brings him to the furthest corner of the building where there is a beaded curtain leading to a hallway.
there are multiple doors, and she brings him in front of the first one on the left. there is a name card on the door - he reads your name out mentally, it sounds unfamiliar.
“a few rules: one, no magic, if that wasn’t obvious. if even a lumos is cast, you will automatically be hexed and ejected from the building. two, be respectful of that lovely lady on the other side of the wall or you will be cursed.” she hums for a moment, thinking. “i believe that’s all.”
“enter whenever you’re ready, and have fun, of course.” she winks at him before departing.
tom clears his throat as he enters the room. his mouth immediately goes dry when he sees you.
the only part of you thats visible is your lower half - but you are entirely bare and open. there’s not a single inch of skin that is not visible to his eyes.
you are on your back, and both of your legs are hoisted in the air, spreading you wide. tom nearly groans when he sees the condensation collecting between your legs.
well, this was not what he was expecting. he finally understands how men get away with coming here, the intimacy rooms are entirely anonymous.
“hello.” he says because he is a respectful young man.
“hi.” you reply, your voice is slightly muffled from the other side of the wall.
tom takes a tentative step forward, only a foot away from you. he feels like an idiot, he does not even know where to start or what to do.
“can i touch you?” he asks softly.
you giggle, "isn't that why you're here?’
he huffs out a laugh; he supposes that is true.
his shaking hands come to rest on the back of your thighs, trailing up to your calves, feeling the smoothness of your skin.
“your hands are so cold.” you whisper.
“sorry,” tom reluctantly pulls his hands away.
“i can warm them up for you. . .”
“i thought magic was prohibited?”
“it is,” you say slyly, “i want you to warm them up in my cunt.”
tom freezes, it is like your words had some sort of spell on him, because all of a sudden every single ounce of blood falls straight to his groin, where he can feel himself rapidly hardening.
his hands slowly come down to the back of your thighs once more, trailing them down once they meet the crevice of where your thighs meet your hip.
he leans down to get a closer look, and he does not know what possesses him, but he parts his lips and lets a glob of saliva drop from his lips. it lands directly on your clit, and tom brings his thumb to follow, rubbing his saliva into your wetness.
you let out a surprised gasp in response, and he takes that as an invitation to start rubbing firm circles on your clit.
“is this what you meant?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“yes,” you moan out.
he then lowers himself to his knees in front of you. he is grateful for the wall, because he would never be caught dead on his knees for someone.
tom opens his mouth slightly as he just stares like a stupid virgin. he watches your cunt twitch as his hot breath fans across your folds.
he leans forward and hesitantly licks your clit, groaning when the taste of your arousal hits his tongue. he is immediately hooked. his second taste is an open mouthed kiss on the entirety of your cunt, his jaw flexing as he keeps licking.
you are anything but silent on the other side of the wall, loud moans of yes, please, yes, fill tom’s ears.
he is not stupid, so he takes that as motivation to keep going. he moves his hands to your hips, using them as leverage to pull you closer to his face.
his tongue does not rest, and his continues circling it around your clit, once in a while flicking down to your hole. your wetness slowly starts to increase, and your cunt has really just turned into a mess. tom cannot believe that he did not do this sooner, he might have just found a new hobby, because it truly is better than simply fucking a witch.
your moans increase in volume, and tom takes that a sign you are getting close. he lowers his tongue to your hole, entering it with a firm push, and the same time, he brings his thumb back to your clit rubbing in a delightful pressure. his tongue goes in and out and in and out, and you clench down as you scream, finally climaxing.
but, tom does not stop, he keeps fucking your hole with his tongue, and his thumb refuses to stop abusing your clit. he is absolutely entranced, and he does not think he could stop if he wanted to.
finally, when your legs begin shaking, and your words turn into a blabbering sob, does he finally pull away.
“was that good for you?”
“yes, yes, please fuck me now.”
tom bites his lip as he rises to his full height once more. his hips are perfectly aligned with yours. he stares down at the obvious tent in his slacks, as he comes forward to press himself against you once more.
as soon as your cunt comes into contact with his clothed erection, you begin using your hips to eagerly grind yourself against him. the mess between your legs is surely soiling his expensive trousers, but tom cannot find it in himself to care.
he lets out a choked gasp as your hips roll against his.
“you feel so good.” you moan.
tom loses himself in the sensation of you giving his cock attention, it has been months since tom has indulged in anything remotely sexual, and he’s not sure how much longer he will last if you keep this up - and he has not even properly fucked you yet.
“wait,” tom whispers.
his hands drop to his belt, immediately undoing it, before tugging down his pants and boxers together. his cock springs up, flushed red at the tip. he has never been this hard before.
he strokes himself once before dragging his tip between your folds, purposefully applying pressure to your clit, before dragging it down to your entrance. yet, he still does not push inside, instead repeating his ministrations, dragging himself up and down.
“stop teasing.” you murmur.
and before you can say anything else, tom slips into you fully. with how wet you are there is practically no resistance as he rests his cock balls deep inside of you.
you gasp at the sudden intrusion, and tom has to stop himself from groaning at the sensation. his hands come to your hips, gripping your flesh so tightly his knuckles turn white. he needs some form of leverage - something to hold onto and ground himself so he does not immediately cum.
“move.” you say.
“you are quite bossy,” tom laughs, shaking his head.
you whine, “please.”
begging does seem to always do it for tom. he slowly retracts his hips, waiting until only his tip remains before entering once more with a deep thrust.
you both moan at the same time, and tom continues with his slow and deep thrusts. with every movement of his hips, he hears the squelch of your arousal and his precum mixing together.
when your legs start twitching, he increase his pace, beginning to fuck you in earnest.
“your cunt is worth so much more than sixty galleons.” he whispers, bringing his thumb to your clit once more.
you moan in response, as he begins to rub circles on your clit, continuing to thrust into you, pushing your body backwards with the roughness of his movements.
“i’m close,” you whisper, feeling the precipice of your orgasm approaching.
“fuck,” tom says.
he does his best to restrain his orgasm, as he fucks you harder and resumes his movements on your clit. your wanton noises increase in volume, and before he knows it he feels an intense rush of liquid coating his cock, and your cunt clenches down on him firmly, nearly trapping him in place.
he refuses to stop his movements, elongating your pleasure while chasing his own orgasm.
“are you going to cum in me?” you ask innocently.
“do you want me to?”
“yes, please.” he nearly moans at that. “i want you to fill me up.”
again, it is like your words have some sort of magical effect. his balls tighten and he feels like he is floating when he finally releases in you. his hips continue moving absentmindedly, stuffing you with more of his cum.
you are both breathless for a few seconds, and tom reluctantly pulls back. this is what he had paid for after all. he tucks himself back into his pants, and watches your swollen, red cunt begin to drip with his seed.
his hand comes to your folds once more, you flinch in response, but he ignores your protests of being too sensitive as he rubs his cum into you.
“how much do i have to pay to see your face when i fuck you?” he murmurs.
☆
abraxas attends the next meeting with a buzz of anxiety.
he realizes now that he was possibly being a bit too overzealous when he suggested the witches lounge, but it truly did come from a place of honest concern for someone he cares about.
his throat bobs as he enters the formal dining room. he is not entirely sure what he is expecting: perhaps tom will crucio him, hex him, or even send an avada his way.
but, his eyes nearly widen when he sees tom smiling at a joke rosier makes. and it was not one of those polite, strained smiles tom often did, abraxas could actually see his dimples.
what the bloody hell. . .
“abraxas,” tom says, still smiling, “it is nice to see you have joined us today.”
“of course, my lord.” abraxas tentatively sits down, trying his best to conceal his bewilderment.
he sits awkwardly at the table, his hands folded in front of himself. he is far too nervous to engage in any sort of conversation.
“abraxas,”
“yes, my lord?” he swallows a breath, trying his best to appear collected. he is waiting for the crucio, or the punishment. tom is surely about to send him on another terrible mission to moscow.
“thank you,” tom says casually, lifting his glass of whisky.
the rest of the wizards around them look perplexed as the all exchange confused glances - but abraxas knows. tom really did take his advice. and it seemingly worked because he does not think he has seen tom look this relaxed since first year.
before he can stop himself, he laughs. “any time, my lord.”
a/n: i’m so sorry this is just a horny mess
I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF
This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.
Then bring me luck
the day after I posted this last time I was notified that I was selected for a really cool mentorship gig and got an unrelated glowing review at work
Hey Potato, cure my -ing cold so I can have a good time while away.
Here's the potato. Make what use of it you will. :)
God I need this so bad for my Midterm so please let this work again for me.
I could use some luck
in waiting on college acceptance letters. PLEASE GOLD POTATO.
I figure there's no harm in trying lol
For Far Too Long
Roommate!Bucky Barnes x afab!!Reader
Summary: After 5 years of being single, you find your new roommate worming his way into your strictly planned routine. Suddenly, you aren’t the only one pulling all the weight, and you’re not sure what to do about it. The guard you carefully placed around your heart feels close to breaking, and you’re surprised to find you aren't entirely opposed. One romance novel and one rehearsal dinner later… the truth will come out.
warnings/tags: No use of Y/N. Post-college roommate AU. Not canon compliant. Mentions of romanogers or whatever their ship is called. Roommates to lovers. Idiots to lovers. Brief mention of the notebook by Nicholas sparks (cited in APA bc I didn’t know how to cite that in fanfiction lmao). Hyper independent!Reader. Anxious!Reader. Mention of past relationship. Light trauma and attachment styles. Angst because it’s my drug of choice. Smut (I’m scared). Soft!Dom!Bucky. Praise and dirty talk. PinV. Unprotected smut- please do not treat this like a sexEd class. Oral (F! Receiving). Fingering. He has a kink for taking care of you? Idk let me know if I missed anything.
MDNI !!! 18+
wc: 10k
Disclaimer: first time writing smut this detailed. Go easy on me, or don’t. I’ll be anxious about posting this either way lol. Proofread by me and only me (I have no friends to talk abt this with so like we should totally be mutuals tehe)
if you have never approached someone and asked for their number or sent the first message on a dating app you're not allowed to complain about a top shortage btw.
lethal read
how i feel reading smut in the morning like it’s the newspaper
Hey can you guys reblog Cheeseburger so he can take a sunbeam nap on lots of blogs. No other reason I just want you guys to see him.
RAW & OLDER
18+ | MDNI - masterlist
PAIRING: (ex)boyfriend’s dad!bucky barnes x female!reader SUMMARY: you catch your boyfriend cheating on you with another girl at your neighbour’s halloween party. bucky barnes, his hot and thoughtful dad, is ready to take care of your broken heart. WARNINGS: she/her pronouns for reader; mentions of reader's family; reader wears a skirt and makeup; original characters; (ex)boyfriend’s dad!bucky; age gap (reader’s in her mid 20s; bucky's 40+); cheating; light angst; emotional hurt/comfort; lots of praises and pet names; smut; size difference; soft dom!bucky; slight jealousy; slightly possessive!bucky; big dick bucky organization (🙂↕️); dirty talk; nipple play; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); mention of reader being on the pill; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; riding; caught in the act (the ex boyfriend overhears them 🤪). WORD COUNT: 14.4k A/N: I was too excited to wait until tomorrow, this was my first dilf!bucky story after all 😭 hope you'll enjoy!
I always feel so bad after oversharing thing with people like could you please delete that from your memory and pretend you never heard anything
i’m still here btw
Je fête mes 2 ans sur Tumblr 🥳
Pretty little Problem PT. 1
Band Member! Theodore - Masterlist
MIDNIGHT RECIVER UNIVERSE - Master list
You and your brother, Mattheo, had three rules:
1. You can’t hook up with anyone from his frat house, and he can't hook up with anyone from your sorority
2. Don’t do anything that would jeopardize you families reputation. No rumors, videos, or scandals.
3. Absolutely no dating each other's best friends. Ever.
Those three rules are the absolute most important rules that you kept sacred in your sibling bond. Rule number three wasn’t tempting at all to Mattheo since your best friend was a lesbian, but his best friend has always been charming.
Theodore Nott had never been tempting to you, always seeing him in the brotherly light. From seeing him form a band in your parents' garage to seeing him play his first show on an actual stage, you’ve never seen him in any other way.
The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber still lingers in your strongest memory; Mattheo laughing as he wiped grease off his hands onto Theodore’s pristine white shirt. Theodore hadn’t even flinched, just grinned and flicked Mattheo’s ear before tossing him the car keys. "Your turn to drive, shithead," he'd said, and Mattheo had whooped, peeling out of your parents' driveway like a maniac. You’d been crammed in the backseat, knees knocking against Theodore’s as the wind whipped through the open windows. That was years ago, back when the three of you were still figuring out who you were, back when rules were just jokes scribbled on napkins.
Theodore had always been there, a constant like the chipped green paint on your childhood dresser or the way Mattheo stole the last slice of pizza without asking. You remember him bent over his guitar in your garage, fingers bleeding from practicing too long, his voice rough from singing until dawn. You’d bring him coffee he never drank, just let it go cold next to his amp while he muttered lyrics under his breath. He never thanked you, but he’d always slide the aux cord your way when you walked in, like an unspoken truce.
The first time you saw him on a real stage, sweat dripping down his temple under the hot lights, you’d felt something twist in your chest, not attraction, just pride. Like watching your brother’s best friend finally become something more than the boy who slept on your couch after parties. Mattheo had elbowed you then, grinning. "Told you he’d make it," he’d said, and you’d rolled your eyes because of course Theodore would. He was relentless like that.
Now, standing in the crowded frat house with a red solo cup in hand, you see him across the room: Theodore, laughing at something Mattheo just said, his head thrown back, throat exposed. The sight is familiar, comforting. Then his eyes meet yours, and for the first time in eighteen years of knowing him, something weird forms in your chest.
You chose to ignore it, opting for a nice, classic hook-up - a thing you do when you can't figure out your feelings. Being the Sorority President of Kappa Kappa Alpha was always a tough job; it was tough being the daughter of someone in politics, but hook-ups were easy, responsibilities weren’t. As president, you had strict rules to follow; rules that kept your reputation intact, rules that kept your family’s name clean, rules that kept your brother happy. Rules you were currently breaking, with Theodore fucking Nott.
You weren’t sure when it happened, when the lines blurred between friendship and whatever this was, but now his hands were on your waist, his lips tracing the shell of your ear as he whispered something filthy that made your knees weak. The worst part? You liked it. You liked the way his fingers dug into your hips, liked the way his breath hitched when you dragged your nails down his back, liked the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
Mattheo would kill you if he found out. Not because Theodore was his best friend, but because Theodore was Theodore; reckless, unpredictable, and entirely too good at making you forget the rules. You could already hear his voice in your head: "You know better." But right now, with Theodore’s teeth grazing your collarbone, you didn’t care.
The music pounded in your chest, the bassline syncing with your racing heartbeat as Theodore pulled you closer, his grip possessive in a way that made your stomach flip. This was a bad idea. A terrible, horrible, delicious idea. And when his lips crashed into yours, you stopped thinking altogether.
You had originally planned to go after Jason Grace, a smart, charming blond. He was bisexual and currently going on and off with Percy Jackson, your ex-boyfriend, so you figured he'd be safe; no feelings, just fun. But when you downed your drink and headed to the bathroom to freshen up, you bumped into Theodore. It started with regular friendly conversation, then escalated to lingering touches, and before you knew it, you were pressed against the bathroom sink, his thigh between yours, his fingers tangled in your hair.
The bathroom door was locked, but the music from the party still seeped through, muffled laughter and shouts making you hyperaware of how reckless this was. His lips traveled down your neck, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the taste of your skin. You gasped when his hand slipped under your skirt, fingertips brushing the lace of your underwear. "We shouldn’t," you breathed, even as you arched into him. He chuckled against your pulse point, voice rough. "Then tell me to stop." You didn’t.
Theo had always been good with his hands; guitar strings, drumsticks, the way he could fix anything with a roll of duct tape and sheer stubbornness, but nothing compared to the way they felt on you now. Every drag of his fingertips sent sparks up your spine, every bite of his teeth made your toes curl. You were drowning in him, in the scent of whiskey and cheap cologne, in the way his body pinned you to the counter like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
His hands slide up your thighs, under your skirt, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. You let out a shaky breath, nails digging into his shoulders as he pulls them down just enough to expose you, just enough for his thumb to brush against the slick heat between your legs. "Fuck," he mutters, forehead pressed against yours as he rubs slow circles that make your hips jerk forward. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, but Theo catches it anyway, his grin predatory. "Louder," he dares, voice low. "Let me hear you."
The sink digs into your back, cold porcelain against your feverish skin, but you barely notice. Not when Theo’s mouth is on yours again, kissing you like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting years for this. And maybe he has. Maybe you both have. His fingers push inside you, curling just right, and you gasp, thighs clamping around his wrist. "You’re so fucking wet," he growls, nipping at your jaw. "Been thinking about this? About me?" You don’t answer, too busy chasing the pleasure building in your stomach, but he already knows. The way your body responds to him says it all.
Outside, someone bangs on the door, shouting about needing to piss, but Theo doesn’t pause, doesn’t even flinch. His free hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat as his fingers work faster, deeper. "Come on," he urges, breath hot against your skin. "Let go. I wanna feel you." And god, you do, your vision whites out as you clench around him, muffling your cry against his shoulder. He swallows every sound, every hitch of your breath, like he’s committing it to memory.
When you finally come down, trembling and boneless, Theo pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from kissing, and for a second, you forget why this was ever a bad idea. He spins you around swiftly, bending you over the sink, fisting your hair as he pulls your head back. "Look at yourself...so messy for me, and I only just used my fingers. Do you want my cock next? Or should I leave you aching?" His voice is rough, edged with something darker than teasing; possessive, almost cruel in its certainty that you’ll cave.
You grip the sink’s edge, watching your own reflection; cheeks flushed, lipstick smudged, Theodore’s fingers still slick between your thighs. The rational part of your brain screams that this is a disaster, but the way he presses his hips against you, hard and impatient, silences it. "You wouldn’t stop," you breathe, and he laughs, dragging his teeth over your shoulder. "Try me." You don’t. Instead, you reach back, fumbling with his belt buckle, and his groan vibrates against your spine.
He slaps your hand away, "Use your words," he growls, his grip tightening in your hair. The sting makes your breath hitch, and you can see the dark amusement in his eyes as he watches your reaction in the mirror. "Say it," he demands, pressing his cock against your ass through his jeans, the heat radiating even through the fabric. Your throat works around the words, sticky with humiliation and desire, "I want you to fuck me." His grin is sharp as a blade, victorious. "Good girl."
The buckle clinks as he undoes his belt, the sound somehow louder than the music outside. His jeans slide down just enough, his cock springing free, thick and already leaking. He spits into his palm, stroking himself once before lining up, the blunt head pressing against you. You whimper, bracing against the sink, but he doesn’t push in, just teases, dragging the tip through your slick, torturously slow. "Please," you gasp, and he chuckles, low and dangerous. "Please, what? Be specific." You hate him. You want him. "Please fuck me, Theo."
He sheathes himself in one brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs. Your back arches, fingers scrambling against porcelain as he sets a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder into the sink. The mirror rattles, your reflection blurring wild eyes, parted lips, Theo’s hands leaving bruises on your hips. He leans over you, lips brushing your ear. "You feel fucking perfect," he rasps, and you believe him, the stretch bordering on pain, the fullness stealing coherent thought.
Somewhere in the back of Theodore's mind, he's concluded that he absolutely loves mirror sex. He loves the way your body looks pushed up against his, loves the way your lips part around silent gasps when he hits just the right spot, loves the way your fingers claw at the sink like you're trying to hold on for dear life. He shifts his grip, one hand wrapping around your throat, not tight enough to cut off air, just enough to remind you who's in control, while the other slips between your thighs, fingers circling your clit in time with his thrusts.
The sound of skin slapping against skin mixes with the muffled bass from the party outside, the rhythm filthy and relentless. Your legs tremble, your vision blurring as pleasure coils tight in your stomach, but Theo doesn't let up, doesn't let you catch your breath. "Look at you," he grits out, forcing your gaze up to the mirror. "Look how fucking wrecked you are." And you are, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, his fingers working you closer and closer to the edge until you're sobbing his name, and then he pulls his fingers away and stops moving his hips. "Not yet," he murmurs against your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to sting.
The denial is torture, your body clenching around him, desperate for release, but he holds you still, panting against your back. "Beg," he demands, voice rough. You hate how much you want to obey. "Please," you whimper, arching into him. "Please let me come." He groans at that, his grip tightening on your throat. "I want to watch you fuck yourself onto me," he growls. "Show me how bad you need it."
You rock your hips tentatively at first, then a sharp stinging sensation blooms on your cheek. Your eyes widen. Theodore just fucking slapped you. "Harder," he snaps, and humiliation burns through your veins, but it just makes your sopping wet cunt squeeze around him tighter. You move faster, watching yourself in the mirror, the way your tits bounce, the way your lips tremble as he controls the angle with brutal precision. Theo's breath comes ragged against your ear. "That's it, take what you need." His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he lets you use him; lets you chase your own pleasure while he watches with dark satisfaction.
The pleasure builds like a wildfire, spreading from your clit up through your stomach until you're gasping until you're so close you can taste it, and then Theo suddenly pulls out completely. You nearly scream, whirling around to glare at him, but he's already dropping to his knees. His hands yank your thighs apart before his tongue laps up your mess in one slow, filthy stroke. You collapse backward against the sink, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he eats you out like a man starved. Rough, relentless, sucking your clit until your legs shake. The first orgasm crashes into you so violently you almost knee him in the face, but Theo just growls and pins your hips down, refusing to let you pull away until he's wrung every last tremor from your body.
You're still spasming when he flips you onto your hands and knees over the bathroom tub, your stomach being propped up by the edge of it, his cock slamming back into you with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. Theo fucks you like he's punishing you; like he's trying to brand himself into your fucking DNA, and you take it, nails scraping against tile as he pounds into your oversensitive cunt. Someone bangs on the door again, yelling about needing to use the bathroom, and Theo snarls, "Fuck off," before biting down on the back of your neck, marking you in a way that'll be impossible to hide later.
Theo's rhythm falters when he gets close, his thrusts turning erratic, his grip on your hips bruising. "Tell me who you belong to," he demands, voice shredded raw. You don't answer—can't, not when every nerve is lit up like a live wire, so he slows to an agonizing stop, pulling out until just the tip remains. "Say it," he growls, and you sob, pushing back against him, desperate. "Yours," you gasp, and he rams back into you with a groan so deep it vibrates through your bones.
The mirror fogs up from your panting breaths, the scent of sex and sweat thick in the cramped space as Theo finally let's go, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a curse muffled against your shoulder. He doesn't pull out right away, just stays buried deep, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your trembling thighs. "Do you want another drink?"
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Teach Me, Mr. Harrington | Part 1
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summary: teacher!Steve x virgin!fem reader, you’ve been held back a year and will do anything to graduate, that includes Mr Harrington.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, dives straight into descriptive smut, m receiving oral, mentions of gagging, choking, spit, talks of deep throat. Dom!Steve, kinda?? Swearing, male masturbation.
word count: 2666k
If someone had told you a year ago that you were being held back instead of graduating, you wouldn't be surprised, but had they mentioned you'd be sucking Mr Harrington's dick for extra credit, you'd have your mind blown.
"You're all dismissed," Mr Harrington called out as the bell rang loudly, causing chairs to drag out against the carpet and people to bolt over to the door, creating a line of chaos.
You stood up and got out of your chair, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.
"Not you," he pointed, staring up at you from his stack of exam papers, "I need a word."
The door slammed shut.
You let your bag slide off your shoulder, hitting the floor with a heavy thud that echoed in the now-empty room and sat back in the stiff wooden chair, sighing loudly and narrowing your eyes at Mr Harrington. He knew you needed to get home and attend your study session for Math; holding you back wasn't going to get you any closer to passing your first module.
"Mr Harrington, can we make this quick? I really need to get going, I've got a study session that I told you about-"
Mr Harrington slowly walked over to you, circling your desk like a shark, closing in on the distance until his strong cologne overpowered your senses. He pulled the glaringly bright white sheet of paper from behind his back and pushed it firmly towards you against the dark wood, keeping two fingers pressed firmly on the edge, as if he was pinning a trapped insect. "Do you think this is acceptable?" he said in a low huff.
You locked onto the top corner of the paper, your eyes widened, and your lips parted at the angry 'F' circled in thick red ink. There was no way you had done so badly on a test about human anatomy; you were the sharpest tool in the box amongst everyone else in this class as a resit, so how could you receive such a shit grade?
You stared down, your breath hitching in your throat. Your lips still parted, but no sound came out. It had to be a mistake; a cruel joke. You were the one who actually read the textbook while the rest wrote dirty jokes and doodled crude drawings.
"Is this a joke?!" you asked honestly, "I know that I got everything right, everyone else managed to pass, and some of them don't even know how to turn on a fucking oven-"
Mr Harrington moved with a sudden, quiet grace, pressing his index finger to his lips. "Shh," he murmured, the sound more a command than a request.
He walked around to stand directly behind you. The weight of his palms settled onto your small shoulders. His touch was heavy and warm, pinning you against the back of the chair. You could feel the heat radiating through your vest top. As he leaned over, his breath brushed against your neck, and he whispered into your ear, "The difference between you and them is that you're a virgin, aren't you?"
Your cheeks started to burn, and your pulse thrummed behind your ears; it was no secret that Mr Harrington had a catalogue full of sexual experiences with numerous women, but it was a secret that you were a total virgin; you hadn't even been kissed.
"H-How did you know?" Your stutter betrayed you, causing you to break out into a sweat.
Mr Harrington didn’t pull away. Instead, he inclined his head, the tip of his nose grazing the soft dip of your neck. You froze. "I can practically smell it on you," he breathed, his voice gruff "They answer with the rhythm of experience. You? You just recite what you've heard."
He moved away and walked over to his door; the click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in his classroom. When he yanked the thin curtain shut, the hallway light was completely cut off, plunging you into the heavy, amber-hued dimness. He returned in front of you, his eyes studied you carefully, slow and possessive, reading into every late-night thought and shameful fantasy you’d ever had of him.
"Come here," he growled, unbuckling his belt and pulling the leather through the loops with a slow, rhythmic hiss that made the tiny hairs on your arms stand up.
Your heart began to race, and you quickly did as you were told. Mr Harrington grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into him. He collided with you, his hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head back; his kiss a hungry, possessive claim that tasted of salt and heat. Your first kiss was your fucking sex-ed teacher, not a clueless boyfriend or rose-tinted first crush.
"You've never done that before, either, have you?" Mr Harrington unzipped his trousers and backed away, sitting down on his desk chair, the leather sighing as he sat, exposing the outline of his large and erect cock that throbbed through his red boxers.
"No, I haven't," you answered honestly, your words brittle.
"Be a good girl and kneel in front of me." He didn't blink, and his eyes remained locked onto you as he pulled out his throbbing cock and started slowly pumping it.
-
"Held back? Are you serious?" you argued with your principal, slouching in the old, cracked leather chair.
"You just need to pass your maths." The principal didn't look up from your file. He gestured toward Mr Harrington, who sat in the corner looking far too comfortable in his blue jacket and cap. A year ago, he’d been just another hire for the little league, and now he was holding your future.
Please don't make me his fucking baseball assistant.
You could already picture yourself hauling heavy equipment under the beaming September sun while Mr Harrington flirted with the single mothers and babysitters.
"Luckily for you, Mr Harrington is willing to take you on," Principal Higgins continued, finally meeting your eyes. "In return, you'll receive the extra credit needed to drag you across the finish line."
You shook your head and let out a cynical laugh, "If you think I'm going out onto a pitch and-"
"May I?" Mr Harrington didn't wait for you to finish, his eyes still fixed on you. He leaned forward, the sunlight catching the silver whistle around his neck. "You won't be on the field. You'll be in my Sex-Ed classroom. But we aren't talking about the birds and the bees." He paused, his gaze turning clinical. "We dive into the wreckage of trafficking and the reality of abuse. It’s a crash course in the darker side of the Hawkins community. If you want to work in the community, you need to know what 'vulnerable' actually looks like."
-
You sank to the floor, your knees dug into the rough and scratchy blue carpet as you watched him masturbate, something you had never seen anyone do before. Mr Harrington smirked and bit his lip, focusing his gaze on your mouth.
"How do I look?" he asked, still pumping his length.
Mr Harrington looked utterly mouthwatering, exquisite, handsome... he looked powerful.
"Perfect." You blurted out, unable to take your eyes off his hand, gripped tightly around himself.
"Do you want to make me feel good? To gain that extra experience?"
The smallest bead of pre cum slipped out of him, and he slowly spread it across the head of his cock with his thumb, making the skin beneath glisten. You nodded your head quickly, rather eager to take it in your hands... to feel another person in such an intimate way.
"I do," you replied, "so badly."
Mr Harrington let go of his shaft and grabbed your hand, pulling you over to him. He cupped his hand around yours and placed it around his erection, slowly closing your fist around it, hard. He started to guide your hand, up and down, up and down. Your heart began to thump again, and the redness crept back across your cheeks and up to the tips of your ears.
"Fuck," he moaned out, finally letting go "just like that,"
You continued to copy his example, pumping his length and feeling it throb in your hand. Aside from being utterly huge, his skin was perfect and incredibly soft; you wondered what it would be like to rub it against your face, your lips... to feel it inside your mouth. Mr Harrington's gaze switched from hungry to focused. He was completely starstruck by your reaction, your innocence, and the twinkle of eagerness and mirrored hunger in your eyes.
"Mr Harrington, I want to feel you..." you spoke up, making eye contact, "I want to feel you in my mouth."
Mr Harrington couldn't believe his luck, and he felt his own heart thump in excitement. You wanted him.
"Come closer then, sweetheart." He purred.
You followed his orders and inched yourself closer to him, hovering over what would be your dinner. Mr Harrington once again brought his palm to your head and tangled his fingers into your hair, pulling you that close to him, your lips grazed the head.
"Open wide."
Opening your mouth, Mr Harrington pushed you down, his large length invaded your mouth, and you started to splutter; there was no way you could fit every inch inside of you, but that didn't matter for now. He tasted salty and lightly soapy, and his skin against your tongue felt as soft as silk.
Mr Harrington kept his grip on your hair, guiding you once again, up and down, up and down, as you gently sucked on his engorged dick. Your lips and cheeks were beet red and covered in your clear saliva and spit. Mr Harrington's eyes follow your every move. He looked incredibly comfortable and relaxed in his sleek and crack-free leather desk chair, and as he leaned back, he brought you down further on his length, taking more of him in. You started to gag and dribble.
"That's it," he moaned, "choke on my dick, that's a good girl."
The sight of his mouth opening and groaning in pleasure made your clit go fluttery, and pairing that with his pet names and dirty talk, you could feel your underwear dampening. How you ended up on your knees when moments earlier Mr Harrington was standing next to your desk, handing back your paper with a ridiculously low grade felt surreal, but looking back, he had given you signs all month that he was intending to take you.
It started with a smirk after agreeing to sit his class for extra credit, the type of smirk that spread across his face from ear to ear, spelling out Trouble.
-
You sat there in silence, 'fuck, I probably should've begged to be a baseball assistant after all.' Letting out a sigh, you gave in and shrugged. You needed to get out of Hawkins High and fast; being held back a year would already delay your career and college opportunities.
"Alright, fine." You said quietly, Mr Harrington stared at you, a wolfish smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth, showing the glint of his perfect teeth; you were exactly where he wanted you.
"You'll be taking my class three times a week, and there are always more opportunities to develop in my class. I'll be seeing you after the summer break."
Mr Harrington stood up, his chair scraping against the floor and shook firm hands with Principal Higgins and left. You followed him out as he high-fived and greeted students spilling out of their classes. There was so much to think about, being held back, having to retake Maths, and now having three classes a week with Mr Harrington, which seemed easy enough compared to everything else. From what you heard, the lowest grade was always an easy B. Nobody failed his class.
“How hard can it be?” You whispered into the empty hallway, the sound swallowed by the slamming of lockers and cheering amongst students. You adjusted your bag, unaware that the easy B you were chasing was about to cost you a hell of a lot more than just a few hours per week.
-
Long laces of saliva hung from your mouth, dribbling down Mr Harrington. He gripped your hair tighter and faster, making you squeal out loudly against his touch.
"Fuck, I'm sorry, baby." he released his grip slightly but still kept you held down, "I'm getting carried away... I want to finish in your mouth so badly."
Your eyes widened at the thought. What were you meant to do if he did that?! Spit? Swallow? Hold it in your mouth until he tells you what to do?
Tiny beads of sweat spread across Mr Harrington's forehead, and his perfect white shirt was now full of creases. "Can you make me do that?" he sounded needy, desperate.
You nodded and tried to smile as you carried on sucking and slobbering on his shaft.
Mr Harrington started to thrust into your mouth, bucking his hips wildly. You scrunched your eyes shut and tried to keep your mouth as still as possible. Your lips were red, tingling and reaching a new level of numb; you were sure that Mr Harrington was going to destroy your tiny mouth. You were shocked that you almost took him in all the way on the first dunk.
"Keep doing exactly that," He groaned deeply, "don't stop."
Not giving up, you followed his orders and maintained speed and intensity, up and down, up and down. Mr Harrington arched his back in his chair and drew his eyebrows together as his lower jaw dropped open, showcasing his glistening tongue. You could feel the strong and rhythmic throbbing of his shaft against your tongue, and a fast shooting of warm liquid hit the back of your throat before the rest of it slowly oozed out and filled the back of your mouth. He slowly pulled out of your mouth as you relaxed your tired jaw, you swallowed his seed and licked your lips.
Mr Harrington's eyebrows raised, and he tilted his head to the side, grinning. "I'm impressed," he said happily, masking his sudden exhaustion. He let go of your hair completely and carefully untangled his fingers, leaning over to his side, he pulled out a handful of tissues from the box on his desk. He then gently brought the tissues to your face, wiping all of your hard work and his help off your cheeks, chin, and delicate hands.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked softly, his hungry eyes melting with concern.
"You didn't, I promise," you replied gently, finally standing up with weak and sore knees.
Mr Harrington meticulously cleaned himself up with more tissues and pulled up his red boxers that were damp from your saliva, whilst he pulled up his trousers and buckled his belt. You slowly and wobbily walked over to your desk and picked up your F-graded paper, bringing it over to him, feeling proud of your physical.
"I think this needs re-grading," you said quietly, blushing a little.
Mr Harrington shook his head and didn't acknowledge the paper, "It needs re-writing," he sighed, "your deadline is next Wednesday."
"A-Are you serious?"
"Next Wednesday, and between you and me, call me... Steve, now get going or you'll miss the rest of your math study."
You scrunch up the paper in your fist and spin on your heel, swinging your bag over your shoulder. You reach for the door handle and pull the door open, almost clumsily falling backwards as it was still locked. Steve chuckled and walked over to the door, unlocking it and opening it wide for you.
You burst out into the corridor, the cool air flowing through your hair, and you quickly ran out of Steve's classroom. Your mind raced quicker than your steps, you couldn't stop thinking about the sound of his moans, his pleading, the taste of his cum and the feeling of him thrusting in and out of your mouth. You didn't know much about what you missed in Math Study, but what you did know was that your world just became a hell of a lot bigger with Steve.
End of Part 1
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