My mom and her friends wanted to see me, so they took me out for high tea 🥹 AND THEN! Mr. Soph took me to this fancy ass restaurant and a park afterward to watch the sunset as a surprise
Hi. I've completely lost motivation to write for kinktober (yay), as I'm not too much of a smut writer myself. So I do apologize if the fics in my masterlist aren't out by the end of October. I'm doing my best, but it seems unrealistic now to try to finish it all before the 31st.
grammatically if my punctuation is ever wrong, i prob did it on purpose. i put commas where i want and replace one punctuation with another if i decide it feels right
but if my SPELLING is ever wrong? oh god nightmare nightmare please tell me so i can fix it AH
MDNI!!! draco malfoy x fem!reader, thigh worship, manhandling, dry humping, slight exhibitionism (outdoors, possibility of being caught), praise, possessive behavior, established relationship
w/c: 1255
a/n: another first! never written draco before either... and thank u to the wonderful @i-await for helping me edit!
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Tonight’s date was meant to be simple. Pumpkin carving, a hayride, maybe some apple cider donuts. You should've known nothing is simple with Draco.
The hayride’s engine had shuttered. Coughed. Died. The two of you were left stranded in the middle of a field lit only by lanterns, the atmosphere strangely romantic. The rest of the group had left, hoping to find their way back. That had been twenty minutes ago, leaving you and Draco alone among the orange leaves and grass.
“Bloody useless muggle contraptions,” Draco spat, kicking one of the wagon’s wheels. His blonde hair glinted in the moonlight, a few loose strands falling over his forehead as he ranted about the group you’d been traveling with. “What kind of morons leave two people stranded while leaving for their own hopeless expedition?”
You bit back a smile, leaning against the wagon’s railing. “It’s a pumpkin patch, Draco. Not the wilderness.”
Your boyfriend’s sharp gaze turned to you, his lips twitching into something between a smile and scowl. “Forgive me if I don’t find that comforting.”
You shrugged, pulling your coat tighter around yourself to fight the crisp breeze. But even with the cold air, warmth settled low in your belly every time you looked at him. The sharp cut of his jaw, the tilt of his chin, the way his hands flexed as he shoved them into his pockets. He never failed to look aristocratic in a way.
“Standing here sulking isn’t going to fix the engine,” you pointed out, tone teasing.
“And what exactly would you have me do?” Draco drawled, stepping closer until his shadow engulfed you. “Want me to wave my wand and summon a mechanic?”
You gave him a pointed look, and he rolled his eyes, muttering about ‘stupid no magic zones.’ But his annoyance dissolved as his gaze focused on you again, roaming over your face. The heat in his eyes made your cheeks burn.
“You’re enjoying this, huh?” he asked, voice low.
“Maybe a little,” you admitted, lips spread in a shit-eating grin. Draco shook his head, though he was smirking.
“Alright, get over here, trouble.” He extended a hand, stepping back.
You blinked at him, utterly confused. “Why?”
“Because, if we’re going to be stuck here, we might as well have fun. Dance with me.”
You laughed, even as his tone left no room for argument. “Here? There’s no music.”
The blond shrugged, his hand still outstretched. “We don’t need music. Come on. You told me once you wanted to dance under the stars like in those movies you watch.”
His words sent heat flaming in your cheeks, and before you could think better of it, you took his hand. His fingers closed firmly around yours as he pulled you flush against him. He smirked, free hand curling around your waist.
He began to sway you, breath curling against your ear as he hummed a tune. The field’s lanterns cast a golden glow over you two, the world outside of this moment disappearing along with your worries. It was almost too intimate, but the weight of his gaze felt like a warm blanket as he guided your movements.
“Not so bad, is it?” Draco said softly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
You were unable to answer, throat tightening as his hand slid lower to your hip. His touch was confident, commanding, leading your body to the rhythm of his steps.
However, your boyfriend wasn’t content to keep his touch innocent for long.
His fingers trailed down your thigh, gripping the skin with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me, trouble,” he whispered, voice rough as his thumb rubbed arcs over the skin peeking out between your skirt and boots.
Heat followed his touch as his fingers moved higher until they reached just under your skirt. Fingertips teasing your inner thigh, the slowness of his advances made your legs tremble.
“Draco,” your voice was barely a whisper, heart hammering. He pulled you closer, stopping you mid-sentence as his thigh pressed between your legs.
“Shh. Let me enjoy this,” he murmured, still smirking as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His hands wandered with purpose, sliding up your thighs to grip them firmly, lifting you off your feet as if you weighed no more than a feather. Your body is already responding to him, the strength of his hold making your stomach flutter, arms coming around his neck for balance.
You gasped as he settled you against him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His body was solid and warm beneath you, making you press against him.
“Feel that?” he mused, tone teasing as he pressed you against his thigh. “Already trembling. I bet you’re soaked, too, trouble.”
The friction was maddening, the rough denim of his jeans pressing against the most sensitive part of your body. He shifted slightly, the movement creating a delicious pressure that left you breathless, head spinning with want. A lantern flickered somewhere, casting shadows over his face, but the hunger in his eyes wasn’t going anywhere.
“Someone could see—” you protested, but the idea of being caught seemed to only spur him on.
“Let them,” he murmured, smirk turning into a full-fledged grin. “They should see how perfect you look when you come.”
You squeaked in surprise, and his hands tightened on your hips in response, pressing you harder against him. His fingers dug into your flesh, guiding you to grind against him as he murmured praises into your ear. The rough material of his jeans, combined with the firm muscle beneath, sent so much pleasure up your spine it was almost too much. You had to bite your lip to keep from crying out.
He tutted, and when he spoke, his voice was low and commanding. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”
His words were like scissors to the last thread of your restraint, a soft moan escaping you as the tension built. Every roll of your hips made your mind fuzzier, the world narrowing down to the moment and the mounting pleasure between your thighs.
You couldn’t have stopped the next moan that came from you even if you’d tried. Head falling back, the pleasure built, sharp and all-consuming as it neared its peak. Draco’s grip on your flesh never faltered, his thigh flexing between your own as he drove you wild.
“That’s it,” he murmured, tone dripping with honeyed satisfaction. “Let go for me, trouble. There you go.”
Your orgasm hit you like a wave, consuming you with a force that left you shaking in his hold. A soft whimper left your lips, and Draco’s grip held fast as pleasure swept through you.
The sounds you made echoed through the pumpkin patch, carried by the wind; though your boyfriend never let go, holding you steady. In a rare gesture of tenderness, he stroked over your thighs, touch gentle as ever.
Once you caught your breath, his eyes gleamed with triumph. “Told you we’d have fun.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You’re insufferable, y’know that?”
“And yet here you are,” he replied, voice warm with love and amusement as he kissed your temple. The world felt hushed except for the distant rustle of leaves. Nothing from before mattered. Not the hayride’s broken engine, the empty field, not even your earlier worries. Only him, this moment, and the intimacy between you two.
MDNI!!! insane Tom x fem psychologist!reader, corruption kink, strong (and flipped) power dynamics, spanking, punishment, degredation, I am not responsible for your media consumption.
w/c: 1444
a/n: first time writing Tom AHHH
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Today’s session began as normal. Pen poised, you sat in your normal chair, watching Tom as he sat opposite you. Those dark eyes of his always seemed to peer into your soul, his voice clipped as he indirectly answered any questions you throw at him.
“You ask if I fear control,” he says, restating your previous words with a tilt of his head. “What about you, doctor? What happens when the rules you cling to are ripped from your hands?”
By reflex, you stiffen, gripping your notebook like it can shield you from his piercing gaze.
Professionalism.
Neutrality.
Both things you remind yourself you must keep hold of. But Tom leans forward, as if maneuvering to peer behind the mask you wear.
The pressure is like a physical force pinning you down, the weight of your patient’s attention like nothing you’ve felt before. You clear your throat, forcing that practiced air of detachment into your tone.
“This isn’t about me, Tom. This appointment is about you and your healing.”
“Wrong,” he corrects. “This appointment is about exposure therapy, is it not? You say it helps people face their fears. So why don’t we start with you? Show me I have nothing to be afraid of.”
You don’t even notice how close he’d moved until the scent of something clean permeates your senses. When he plucks the pen and paper from your hands, you startle, fingers curling around air as you try to grab your supplies back. To no one’s surprise, you fail as Tom sets the stationery aside.
“You live off rules and routines, do you not?” His voice is a whisper as he leans in close, lips curving at the corners in a knowing smirk. “What ever would you do if I just happened to take them away?”
Your breath catches in your throat as you remind yourself of everything you must retain.
Professionalism.
Neutrality.
Unfortunately for you, your words clog in your throat along with oxygen. Tom’s smirk widens into a full smile – sadistic, cruel, taunting. As if he’s watching for the exact moment you completely give in and unravel.
He knows it’s imminent. So do you.
Your pulse hammers in your ears, louder than the two-tone ticking of the nearby grandfather clock. Logically – ethically – you should redirect. He’s your patient. A deathly handsome, quite charming one, but a patient nonetheless.
As if he knows what you’re thinking, Tom takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to see the look on his face. You’re a puzzle he’s already solved, and he wants you to know it. But before you can summon words, Tom speaks first.
“You’re panicked, aren’t you? Knowing I don’t give a shit about your little rules. But that’s what freedom is, doctor. It’s raw, terrifying.”
Your heart hammers beneath the carefully constructed facade you put up, the press of his hand igniting a fire in your bones you’ve never experienced until now. His fingers tighten on your chin, thumb brushing over your lower lip in a mockery of comfort. Senses alight with feeling, you could feel the heat from his skin, the calluses that spoke of a life filled with hard work and ambition. Those chocolate brown eyes of his bore into yours, taking in every minute movement you make.
“And now you’re trembling,” he observes, tone amused. “Don’t think I can’t feel it, Doctor. You’re not the best liar.”
As he speaks, Tom’s free hand slides down your neck, fingers playing with the buttons of your blouse. “You’re a woman of your word, yes?” He asks, tugging at the flimsy fabric. A button pops off. “Show me that letting go is nothing to be afraid of.”
You know this is wrong. It’s a line you’d swore you’d never cross.
Yet you’re frozen, unable to stop him as he continues popping buttons off until you’re left in nothing but your bra. Cool air kisses your skin; a stark contrast to the heat gathering in the air between the two of you.
When Tom’s mouth crashes against yours in a bruising kiss, it makes the world blur into something void of everything you’d built it upon. The kiss isn’t gentle in the slightest. It’s claiming, conquering, demanding your surrender and unmaking. He tastes like coffee and something fresh, maybe mint. It’s the taste of a man who knows nothing but his own domination.
He pulls back from the kiss, leaving you breathless and stunned, mind blank for once. His lips curl into a smirk once again, taking in your helpless state.
“Look at you, a ‘professional,’ reduced to just this already.”
Shame flows through you, caught between the instinct to fight back and the undeniable pull of his presence. You open your mouth to speak, managing a small, “This isn’t…” But the rest of the words catch in your throat. His head tilts in response.
“Isn’t professional?” He finishes, tone mocking. But there’s something else beneath it, something that promises consequences if your defiance continues. “Is that what you were going to say, Doctor?”
Before you can respond, he stands, letting go of you fully. His presence fills the room, hot and oppressive. He gestures to you, “Stand up.”
You hesitate, your brain screaming at you to stop this. To remember the principles you’ve built your career on.
Professionalism.
Neutrality.
Unfortunately, though, the way he looks at you, expectant, as if he knows you’d comply, has you obeying. As you stand, he steps closer, his body heat undeniable and crushing.
“Good girl,” he purrs, guiding you to bend over the nearby desk with a firm touch. Your mouth is dry, the complete opposite to the current state of your cunt. His palm trails down your spine, and when he reaches your ass, all his touch serves to do is light your lower belly on fire. Your skirt bunches around your waist as he flips it up, fingertips a tease against your skin.
You register the sharp crack sounding through the room before you register the stinging pain blooming over your ass. “That was for not listening at the start. And this,” another slap, “Was for fun.”
Your nails dig into the desk, hips pushed against the wooden edge. A moan threatens to spill from your lips as he kneads the reddened skin, but you bite your lower lip to stifle it.
“Don’t hold back,” Tom persuades, his hand hovering over the skin he just laved punishment over. “I want to hear you. That’s part of exposure therapy, isn’t it? Letting go. Facing your fears.”
His hand comes down again, and this time, a soft cry slips past your lips.
“There it is.” His voice is filled with satisfaction, “Learning already.”
The next few strikes are quick, each one sharper than the last. He only stops when you’re trembling beneath him. “Overwhelmed yet, Doctor?” He asks, tone full of condescension and possession.
Although you shake your head in response, your body betrays you, shaking with the effort of holding yourself together. His deep chuckle fills the room. “Lying again. You’re terrible at it, have I told you that?”
His hand slides beneath your skirt, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your panties. “Soaked,” he muses, voice dripping with mockery. “And you expect me to believe you’re not enjoying this?”
Once again, your body betrays you, arching into his touch as his fingers linger over your clothed clit.
“Tom-” You manage, half a plea for more and half a warning.
“Shh,” he soothes. However, the smirk on his face tells you he’s not going to be gentle in the slightest. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Without further preamble, he pushes your panties aside, two fingers immediately slipping into your soaked heat. The unexpected intrusion makes you gasp, nails digging into the edge of the desk as his fingers begin to curl. He works you with ruthless precision, hitting the spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice falsely reverent as he watches you climb toward your high. “Already falling apart, and I’ve barely started. Such a dirty whore, aren’t you?”
Tom quickens his pace, causing the pressure in your gut to build even further. “Don’t you dare hold back,” he warns, voice cruel again, “I want to see you break, slut.”
And break you do. The orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your back arching. Tom doesn’t stop, even as you cry out, your voice raw and for once, unrestrained. Only when you’re shaking, tears threatening to fall from the intensity of it all, does he stop.
“Too much?” He asks, smirking. You nod. “Good. You’ll learn to take more.”
