#broom closet practice

[divana-aa]

A list of closed practices

African & African Diasporic Traditions

Hoodoo / Rootwork

Voodoo (Vodou / Vodun / Voudou)

Santería (Lucumí)

Candomblé

Palo Mayombe

Ifá

Indigenous & Native Practices

Native American / First Nations Spirituality

Mexican Curanderismo (Certain Aspects)

Brujería (Certain Aspects)

Asian Spiritual Practices

Some Aspects of Taoist Magic

Certain Hindu Rituals & Tantra

[aliteralactualfactualgremlin]

This close to just painting my own tarot deck

[searenbound]

I really want a nice pretty altar that is intricate and eye catching but I have to stay in the broom closet for safety reasons so a seemingly nonsensical doom pile it is for now

[vixxenlove98]

Back to the craft

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part three | the prequel

➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ word count: 4.5k ➸ tags: mdni! minimal nsfw, fluffly, poly relationship, relationship beginnings, blossoming love, s1 act 1, no mention of y/n, alcohol use. ➸ notes: so excited to get this out! had a fun time giving this relationship history and i spent way too much time overthinking whether the ending was too rushed or if it was too self-indulgent... and then i realized its a fic so i get to do what i want LOL! pls let me know if you would like more parts, or if you want some drabbles about this specific trio. i would really appreciate it.🥹

<- part 2

You had always been academically gifted. Rising to the top of your classes each semester, pushing aside anyone in your way. Especially for a young woman, who had been accepted into the Academy before you had even finished your secondary schooling – a gifted student with the proudest of parents and professors.

Born with an influx of ambition flowing through your veins, knowing from a young age your duties to the world. It took more than wordy false promises to make a difference to Runeterra, it took action. That’s why you vowed to help Zaun.

What better way to take action, than to help those who had been long forgotten about. You were smart enough to see the way the city had been tossed aside, forgotten about, while Piltover only continued to grow and thrive. There was sickness festering underneath, people dying because of the less-than living conditions and poverty that swallowed it whole.

There were many days when you wondered if it was too much, if you, as a topsider, could actually make a difference. Would anyone want your help? The bigger question being – how were you going to help?

Then, you met Viktor. 

That was when your ambition rose higher than ever. A smart, young man a handful of years older than you – a man from Zaun himself. The youngest assistant to the dean, a title that was hard to come by, and rather jealousy inducing.

You’d weaseled your way into his life quite easily, finding him in the halls and striking conversation whenever you could. He was polite, and good at slipping away when your attention became overbearing. You couldn’t help your over-excitement for a scholar from the undercity. Someone who matched your levels of ambition. Someone who was able to teach you about the place that had been nothing more than whispers and off-hand comments by your peers.

You fell in love. Quickly, and hard.

Viktor, too. It was your smile, your innate excitement, the genuine intrigue you had of him and how he was able to share the experiences of chronic illness with someone who wasn’t just a damned doctor – someone who understood the pain. How could he not fall in love?

Viktor found himself appreciating you more and more with each passing day, wondering when you’d sneak through the halls to find him to share your newest revelation.

Wondering when he could be expected to be pulled into a broom closet so you could ravage his lips with your own. He hadn’t been so experienced with romance until you appeared in his life, content with focusing on his studies at the academy. You changed the trajectory of his life—and so had Jayce.

-

”Hextech?” You raised an eyebrow, sitting on a stone bench within the academy courtyard and holding a half-eaten apple in your hand, “I don’t know. Sounds… unstable,” you murmured honestly, looking between Viktor’s eyes as he stood in front of you. You took another bite, the sweet flavour calming you.

You had to admit, as much as you were uncomfortable with this new scientific breakthrough, so to speak, you had never seen Viktor quite this excited about anything.

“Precisely,” Viktor said, eyes practically shimmering as he spoke to you, “that’s why you’re going to help.”

“No way,” you huffed, standing on your feet and waving him away, “you just told me that all the work got confiscated, how the hell would I even help?” You spoke in a hushed whisper, as if Heimerdinger himself was listening in to the conversation.

“Eh, confiscated is a loose term,” he said, taking a step toward you, a gentle hand on your shoulder. You tensed at the touch, turning your head from his gaze and shaking your head adamantly.

You had morals, and perhaps you listened to the dean a bit too much at times. Science was incredible, but ethics were important, and the explosion was proof that it was an unpredictable type of magic. If Heimerdinger made the call that hextech was unsafe, a yordle with decades over your own experiences, then you should listen, no?

“It has the capabilities of helping more than just the city,” he urged, fingers tightening on your shoulder, “Please. Let us show you.”

Those words tugged at your heartstrings, leaving you conflicted as your heart yearned to know more. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily as your mind reeled at all the possibilities.

The first image to pop in your mind was the proper union of Zaun and Piltover, an incredible feat that no one could ever pull off. No more distinction between the two – just one beautiful place to live. Your dream.

Could hextech really be the key?

“Fine,” you sighed, crinkling your nose and opening your eyes, “but I’m under no obligation to like this Jayce guy, he sounds like he doesn’t know how to properly take care of his research.” You looked up at Viktor through your lashes, watching the way the corners of his lips curved into a small smile, “Why are you smiling like that?”

—

“Crank it!” Jayce exclaimed from his chair, eyes full of childlike wonder, as Viktor stood at the chalkboard, crossing through equations and murmuring about the research he was still properly acquainting himself with.

You, however, stood next to Jayce, chewing hard on your bottom lip as your partner agreed with his words.

It all seemed fine, plausible, even. Yet, you remained apprehensive.

“And it if it doesn’t stabilize, what then? Part two of the great blue explosion that destroyed your apartment?” You asked, eyes focusing on the man sitting, his honey-coloured eyes shining as they watched you. Your stomach twisted tight, hating the way he made you fill with butterflies.

You knew him for less than twenty-four hours, and he already had you twisted around his fingers. Gods.

It was completely unfair to be caught between them both.

“It’s worth a test,” he was adamant, then a sigh left his lips, “but we don’t have access to my equipment.”

“Which is being destroyed tomorrow,” Viktor murmured, eyes back on the chalkboard and fingers touching his chin as he was lost deep in thought.

You jumped when Jayce stood quickly, the chair he sat on nearly toppling over.

“What?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Viktor cringed, looking over his shoulder at Jayce, “Sorry. I meant to tell you.”

You could sense the way Jayce was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, his breath hitching in his throat as he rambled on about how it was his life work, how they could show the council the equations to show them the proof. There had to be something!

But Viktor was right, proof wasn’t reliable on paper. They needed physical proof. A real test.

“We can’t do it without the crystals. The enforcers took them all, they’re gone,” Jayce ran his hands over his face as he collapsed onto the chair once more, deflated from the situation.

Your hand rested atop his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, much like Viktor did with you when you were overworked. Jayce flickered his gaze to you, those puppy-like eyes offering a silent ‘thank-you’.

“Mhm,” Viktor hummed, “locked away in Heimerdinger’s lab,” he continued, eyes settling on you.

“No,” you were quick to know where he was going with this, “Count me out, we are not breaking in.”

“She’s right,” Jayce said, eyes widening, “you heard the council, if we’re wrong–”

“Better be right then,” Viktor interrupted, and Jayce’s eyes sparkled with possibility.

You felt a tightness in your chest, shaking your head as you took a step back. The two of them spoke back and forth, but you hadn’t been listening. Just as you reached the boiling point, you turned on your heels and took a step away, but Jayce was quick to turn his attention back to you. He stepped forward, hand grabbing your wrist, and you felt your heart jump up into your throat.

“Stay,” he pleaded, hand tightening.

You huffed a loud sigh through your nostrils, brows creasing together and lifting. Gods, why did he have to be so goddamned charming? You hardly noticed the curious look that Viktor gave you two before rolling his eyes and turning back to the chalkboard. The smirk on his lips well hidden.

“Fine!” You snapped, pulling your arm from his grip, “but if we get caught I’m telling everyone that you two made me do it. I am not taking the fall for this.”

Jayce grinned, a toothy smile that lit your cheeks aflame, “Deal.”

You stayed a few feet behind the two men, arms crossed over your chest, as you careened through the halls quietly. You were hardly a rule breaker, in fact, usually a stickler for keeping peace. It was in your nature, like many topsiders.

When the three of you reached the door, you felt panic rising as footsteps echoed down the hall from where you had just come from.

“Shit,” Jayce whispered, “hurry.”

Viktor was fiddling with the keys, fingers filtering through them until he found the one for Heimerdinger’s lab. With practiced ease, he slipped the key into the door lock, twisting back and forth until it clicked.

Both you and Jayce were standing side-by-side, watching a flashlight in the distance, pointing in your direction, but too far to pick up on the three figures breaking in.

Viktor opened the door, and they stepped inside, but you were frozen. Unable to tear your gaze away from the enforcer that had been doing patrols and walking right toward you.

“Ah!” You gasped when there was a harsh tug on your arm, stumbling into the laboratory and crashing against Jayce’s chest. Viktor closed the door behind you without even the slightest creaking – a perfectly silent entrance.

“You've never broken a rule in your life, have you?” Jayce smiled, eyes watching you with curiosity as you pulled away from him yet again. You opened your mouth to answer but Viktor cut you off.

“She is a law-abiding citizen,” he answered, supporting himself on his cane as he walked further into the lab, looking around for the confiscated equipment.

“Can you guys keep it down? They’ll hear us.” You whispered, pushing past Jayce. Annoyed, and thankful the redness on your cheeks wasn’t visible in the darkened room.

“Huh,” Jayce grinned in response to Viktor, walking behind you as he looked around the lab, “you’re not kidding.”

“Shut up.” You hissed.

Settling in the lab, you stood off to the side, peering at some of Heimerdinger’s books as Jayce scrambled to find the pieces of his work. You listened to the sounds of the electrical whirring as he welded the parts back together, lost in thought as your fingers traced over the spine of a book.

A hand lifted to the small of your back, startling you for a moment.

“Sorry,” Viktor murmured, eyes watching you.

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, smiling as you leaned against him. Silence grew between you two as you slowly dropped your hand from the bookcase. You glanced at Viktor, biting down on the inside of your lip in habit, “Do you think hextech really has the strength to help people? Like us?”

Those honey-eyes softened as they flickered over your nervous expression, and he nodded, “I do.”

With a deep inhale, you tried to let go of your apprehension to the situation. This was for the best. If you wanted to reach your dreams, you had to run over a few toes, right?

“It’s all here,” Jayce called from his spot at the table, pulling the goggles off of his face and turning to look over at you two.

Viktor held up a blue hextech crystal to you, one from the handful that was confiscated, and when you offered him a questionable look, he insisted with the forward movement of his hand. Slowly, you reached out and took it in your fingers, feeling the rigid orb press against your skin.

This was it.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before making your way to Jayce, who had been looking at you two with a small smile.

“Here,” you said, offering the crystal with an open palm as you stood next to him, Viktor coming up beside you.

Jayce reached out, taking the crystal, but not without a lingering touch to your hand. Viktor took notice, a sparkle in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed as you watched in curiosity as the hextech crystal was placed into the machinery.

It glowed a bright blue hue, sparks from the crystal illuminating the room. You had never seen anything so beautiful.

“It’s time to crank it!” Viktor said excitedly as he snapped close one of Jayce’s notebooks he had spent time looking through the past few days, looking in front of you and toward Jayce.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He asked, growing uncertain as Viktor sucked back a breath and shook his head.

“Do it,” you interjected, eyes wide as you stared at the beauty of the hextech. The inner scientist in you couldn’t be tamed any longer, you needed to see what this could do. It was almost addicting, and you couldn’t look away. It had sucked you in completely, “you have to try.”

They shared a look between each other, swallowing lumps down their throats. Viktor leaned forward, pressing the button of the machine, and it began to spin. It gained enough speed that it created a constant blow of wind that pushed your hair back wildly – electric currents flying wildly.

“I don’t think it’s going to hold!” Jayce said loudly, the electrical crackling of the machine deafening all other noses, “look at the buildup!”

“The resonance will stabilize it, trust me,” Viktor returned, sharing a thoughtful look with Jayce, an attempt to calm him.

You, however, were unable to look away. You stared at the wild glows of blue, a smile on your face, and blissfully unaware of the enforcers that were making their way up to the laboratory after seeing the blue light shining from the windows of the lab.

Moments later, the chaos settled, and you gasped with a big smile, hands slamming on the tabletop, “this is incredible!” You exclaimed in awe, watching as it stabilized.

Viktor smiled to himself, his hand finding your back yet again, “told you it would work,” he said encouragingly, eyes flickering to Jayce, “all yours.”

“It’s never done that before,” he murmured to himself, unable to tear his gaze from the slowly spinning crystal that sent waves of electricity to the surrounding runes, “...alright. Here we go.”

Hesitantly, he reached to the button Viktor had pressed, twisting the knob several times, so the surrounding runes began to spin and orbit the crystal.

You watched expectantly as Jayce twisted it over and over, creating different pathways for the crystal to spark energy. You couldn’t help but lean closer, even when the out flowing electricity stung your cheeks.

What the three of you hadn’t expected was a surge of energy to blast out, nearly toppling you all and breaking the lab’s windows. Within the impact, you fell right into Jayce with a yelp. Strong arms wrapped around you as he reached for the knob, and you clung to him, face buried into his chest.

The energy was strong, and for a moment you prepared for the untimely death of three scientists who just wanted to change lives. How fitting.

Then, the glass from the window flew back into place, as though time around you reversed, causing a brief moment of respite and enough time for Jayce to push forward and slam his hand on the button. The crystal fell back into place, and you were all able to breathe.

Slowly, you peeled yourself away from Jayce, feeling around your face and body to make sure your body was still completely intact.

“Incredible,” Viktor beamed, smiling, “we need to try again.”

You and Jayce shared a look, silently agreeing that it was now or never. And for you, there was no more backing out.

This time, you took a few steps back, not wanting to be caught up in the aftermath of a worse explosion, but still curious enough to peek over their shoulders. As you settled back, you swore you heard sounds coming from the hallway, but it was hard to tell over the crackling sounds of the hextech.

Pressing your ear against the door, you closed your eyes to focus, and you gasped.

“Someone’s coming,” you told them, hands holding the doorknob tight, “you better hurry.”

Viktor took a few steps to the door, sliding his cane through the handles of the door so it was snug, “better than nothing.”

The two of you shared a startled gasp, the rattling of the door loud when the enforcers reached the door and began to hit it with force, kicking and yelling for you to open up. Heimerdinger was with them.

“Stop this lunacy at once!” He called from beyond the door, and your gut twisted in guilt.

A few more heavy kicks and the door creaked.

“They’re almost through,” Viktor said, turning around back to Jayce’s side, “no pressure.”

“That sounds like pressure!” Jayce yelled, working hard to synchronize the runes with the knob. He looked over his shoulder at you, who was now pressing against the door with your weight. With each kick of the door, you huffed, doing your best to keep them from pushing it in.

A rather heavy kick caused you to stumble, but you got right back to it, watching over your shoulder as Jayce closed his eyes and focused on the hextech. 

Your attention was pulled back to the door when the cane cracked, and you tried to push against the door, but it was no use. One more kick and you’d be goners.

But the hextech won.

The sound of another surge pushed you against the door, and you panicked at the intensity that felt like it was going to crush you, and then suddenly… you were weightless. You turned to Jayce and Viktor, eyes wide, as you all had begun to float up into the air.

After one more kick, they broke inside, but the surge reached them, too. They stumbled back, while you had started laughing.

It was incredible, absolutely incredible.

“Excuse me, underfoot,” Heimerdinger spoke, pushing past the enforcer and stepping inside his lab, gasping when his eyes landed on you three.

You were nearly touching the ceiling, floating with your belly to the ground and caught slowly spinning between Jayce and Viktor. Your giggles erupted into a fit of laughter, unable to control it as you twisted around in the air. 

Jayce flicked a piece of metal, where it floated through a glowing blue orb that was just above you, and it shot out right at Viktor. You collectively gasped, taking everything in.

This was magic and science blurred together, a medley of perfection. Hextech worked. You did it!

“Will you please stop hovering?” Heimerdinger spoke, looking up as you spun your body around, touching and prodding at debris.

It was like swimming, you were able to push yourself, and you accidentally collided against Jayce, the two of you sharing a laugh. You couldn’t quite place it, but as your eyes caught his, you felt something – like a mutual intrigue of each other. Was attraction too strong of a word? Your cheeks reddened, matching his own, then he cleared his throat and turned his gaze away.

“I’m not sure how to do that, sir,” Viktor finally responded, pushing toward you both and smiling as the three of you moved around together smoothly, not touching. Floating. Feeling free.

Like all things in life, it didn’t last. The surged power of the hextech settled, and thankfully it was a smooth descend that kept you three from any broken bones.

Viktor had been wrangled by Heimerdinger, only after a good verbal lashing that included you and Jayce. Blabbering about the rules, ethics and how dangerous this was. At the end, your partner had been whisked away for damage control, trying to explain everything and to keep any of you three from penalties and punishments.

It left you and Jayce to clean up, gathering everything together into the back area of the lab, still in awe over everything that had happened.

Once finished, you stepped out into the brisk night air first, somehow still chipper enough to bounce down the steps while Jayce hustled behind you. You hadn’t been so inclined to do goodbyes, but he stopped you with a hand on your wrist, much like earlier. It sent a shiver up your arm.

“Wait,” he said, and you faced him, battling the redness that crept up your neck as you tried to remain composed, “will you stay?” he asked, grip loosening on your wrist, “to help us, I mean.”

“With the hextech? Of course,” you answered, rolling your eyes playfully, “Who in their right mind would see that and not want to explore it? That was incredible, Jayce. You should be really proud of yourself.”

A smile lifted at the corners of his cheeks, the compliment doing wonders to the insecurities that lie deep within him.

“Wanted to make sure,” he eventually said, dropping your wrist as you both ventured away and into Piltover, toward your homes, “I like you. Well, I mean – you’re good to have around. Smart, you know.”

A giggle bubbled up, a hand lifting to your mouth to try to stifle it, “you’re a dork, just like Viktor.”

Jayce smiled at you, biting down on his bottom lip as the two of you ventured down the streets together, “how long have you two been together?”

The question was quick to fluster you as you met Jayce’s curious gaze. You wondered if the question accidentally slipped out, and you could ignore it, but you could tell he was waiting for an answer.

“Oh, uh, just a couple of months. Officially.” You answered shyly, hands clasped behind your back as you walked side-by-side.

“That’s nice,” he murmured, “...so, has he always been so absurdly intense about science? Don’t get me wrong, I like everything about his ambitions, he’s a great guy for even wanting to help me. He’s just—“

“Surprisingly eccentric?” You laughed, nodding, “when he gets excited about something, it’s like his brain goes haywire. I suppose that’s the way of being an ambitious innovator”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Jayce smiled, quietly admiring you in the moonlight. Studying and memorizing everything he could.

The two of you ended up walking around aimlessly, indulging in small chatter as you shared your hopes and dreams. You shared nearly everything you could about your life, and he told his story about him and his mother, and how that sparked his discovery towards hextech. It was easy to talk to Jayce, to get lost in his voice – he was just so damned kind.

Nearly an hour passed when you finally approached your apartment, which was rather close to the Academy. The two of you had simply taken a few detours around the neighbouring streets.

“Trust me, if you want to get on the dean’s good side, then you need to…” your voice drifted off when your eyes settled on a certain individual sitting outside on a stone bench. Broken cane in his hand and looking up at the sky. “Viktor!” You called out, rushing ahead, “if I had known you were coming back to mine, I would’ve hurried back.”

He turned to look at you two, raising a curious eyebrow and smirking as Jayce slowed his pace behind you, “I have only been here a few minutes, it’s all right.”

You dug around for your keys in your pocket, walking up to him and outstretching an arm for support as he stood. He could walk relatively okay without his cane, but you still enjoyed the way he would lean on you. It became habitual between you two.

“I should leave you both to it,” Jayce cleared his throat, giving an awkward wave as you two ventured toward the apartment.

“Why don’t you come in?” Viktor asked, motioning for him to follow.

You looked up at him in interest, figuring the two of you would be falling asleep the moment you got inside. Nonetheless, you went along with it.

“No, no, it’s late. I don’t want to overstay–”

“Come inside, Jayce. We don’t bite.”

Viktor was convincing enough, or perhaps Jayce had too much of a soft spot for him because he was quick to accept the invitation.

It ended up being a great night, the three of you crowding around your kitchen table. Drinking some nicely aged wine you had hidden away for only the most important occasions. You celebrated your shared success and discussed everything hextech, the possibilities and what you hoped it would provide. You shared laughs, especially as the night went on, and you had all begun to feel a bit delirious at times as the sun began lighting the sky above the horizon and the wine settled in your stomachs.

“Well, I hate to be the one to end the night,” you smiled, sleep beginning to win its war over you, “I’m tired and sore, I should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I should get back to mine, or, what’s left of it,” Jayce agreed with a dampened chuckle, eyes flickering out of the window to gauge the time with the colour of the skyline.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” The question fell from your lips much too quickly, unsure if it was your overt politeness or an underlying desire that lead it, “if you’re okay with that.” You shot your gaze to Viktor.

It felt like hours, but the few seconds you took to share a look said lots. A silent agreement about your shared feelings for Jayce.

“Sure,” he answered. A shy smile tugged at your lips, and your lover turned back to Jayce.

The man seemed a bit uncertain, and maybe a bit too tipsy to understand the looks thrown at him. His amber eyes jumped between you two, “I’ve intruded far too mu–”

“Stay.” Your voice mixed with Viktor’s almost too perfectly, in complete synchronization.

“Okay.”

The night became a blur. It was Viktor who had led you both to the bedroom, the wine clouding all judgment from the three parties and allowing you to just be. To indulge in each other without wondering what would come next. To allow yourselves to act on attraction and lust with nothing holding you back.

“I’m glad you stayed,” you murmured, lips lingering along the stubble on Jayce’s jawline. Viktor, who was behind you, peppered kisses along your bare shoulders.

“Me too,” Jayce breathed in response, hands careening your naked body and intertwining with Viktor’s fingers with they met over your hip.

“Let’s stop talking,” Viktor mumbled with a quick nip at your skin, the confidence in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Jayce wasn’t quite certain how he managed to be wrangled in by you both, but he wasn’t going to complain. Not when, for once, everything felt right.

[artytaeh]

as promised, here's a treat for my mattheo riddle girlies ‹3 i hope you like it and feels ?? canon ?? because i honestly think that this is sooo matt coded. anyways! tysm for all the love and support. 🌷

warnings : obvious explicit mentions of sexual content, meant for +18 readers; read at your own risk.

’⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 : 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌.﹙★﹚

﹙★﹚ in one word, mattheo riddle is messy. that's the way that mattheo loves the most: messy, passionate, nasty, almost impulsive. a mess of feelings and urges alone.

despite seeking for his own pleasure, mattheo prides himself as someone who can satisfy both himself and his partner.

WHEN EATING YOU OUT, mattheo doesn't hold back. incapable of sticking to something for a long moment, he's a mess— running his flat tongue between your lips, then kissing your nub with a loud wet sound; mattheo doesn't care at all if the lewd sound of his lips and mouth on you rival your own moans. he's here to ravish you, so take it without complains, yeah?

more often than not, mattheo is one to use both his fingers and mouth. languidly kissing your core, almost messily making out with your clit, mattheo stretches you out with his fingers, scissoring the tight walls before curling upwards— you swear that each time he does this, you can feel him smirking against your sensitive skin.

empty bedroom, broom closet, locker rooms aftee quidditch practice; mattheo riddle doesn't give a flying fuck.

he's loud and vocal, deal with it. what's there to be embarrassed about? let the whole school know how much mattheo loves to drop to his knees for his girl.

honorable mention that no one has the balls to make a clownery comment about it. mattheo sent assholes with broken noses to the infirmary wing for much less.

mattheo isn't one to spread your legs while eating you out. he wouldn't make your legs tired right in the beginning— the slytherin needs them strong, not sore, to keep up with the way he'll manhandle you afterwards.

besides, mattheo is insanely addicted to the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, making him feel the warm and smooth skin of those inner thighs almost suffocate him, from his place between your legs.

non ironically jokes about that being the most heavenly way to die. mentioned it once during a conversation with his friends— about dying like this. with honor—, his smug expression deeply contrasting with your embarrassed one.

whenever possible, nevermind if he's having you sat on a desk, chair, or standing up against a wall with him on his knees for you— mattheo finds a way to have one hand pleasuring you, in sync with his eager tongue, and the other sneakily on your chest.

his fingers barely give attention to your nipples; he's so not sorry, but there's no way that mattheo can help himself— his hand cups your bare breast, yanking the bothersome bra downwards or pushing it upwards, anything to have his palm on that soft skin that drives him insane.

groaning, with his face buried in your middle, mattheo squeezes your chest with a greedy touch. damn right that all of you belongs to him.

﹙★﹚ : SOME KINKS OF HIS, might include:

⋆ spitting : mattheo has heard and ignored comments that refer to this as something disgusting; he can't help it— to him, this is so hot. definitely has a thing for spitting inside your mouth, whenever you're facing him, underneath his heavy body. would also spit on your core before being inside you, or eating you out. prefers to be the one giving, instead of receiving; even so, mattheo would find it hot if you did so on his cock, before giving him a handjob or using your mouth.

⋆ biting : all i say is, good luck. mattheo riddle can't properly put it into words, however, his love for bodies who look a bit more chubby, where his hands can grab and squeeze, are also enthralling to him because there's a lot of room to bite. thighs? he'll spend a long time there, even if mattheo doesn't have the intention to take it further— he just likes the feeling of your skin inside his mouth, biting into it! neck too, which can be a nuisance sometimes; you never know if mattheo is burying his face on the crook of your neck because he's sleepy or in the mood of creating more bruises there. hard bites. like, the ones that hurt like a bruise after a few days.

⋆ choking : this man loves to have a hand around your neck, as if it is a collar that dictates his ownership over you. his hand there, fingers curling around the skin of your neck that he positively filled with bruises, so easily cups your jaw, keeping your face on his direction, facing him. this same hand is the one that is quick to slap your face a couple of times, hitting your cheek with his fingertips— enough to make it sting for brief seconds, not really bruising your face.

well, the same can't be said about your hips, thighs and ass. mattheo doesn't hold back there.

⋆ anal : would do his best to convince, or at least tempt you into trying it once with you. even so, should you not feel comfortable with it, mattheo would happily hold on to what he can do instead— if your limit are plugs, and you accept to wear it sometimes, mattheo is already over the moon.

hungrily licks over it while using his fingers on you, his wet muscle feeling the skin of your rim and the cold metal of your plug, pressuring his fingers on it. would want to do it in positions that gives him a good vision of the plug inside you, thumbs brushing over the skin of your asscheeks and the toy deep inside your other hole. it drives him crazy.

however! if even plugs aren't something that you'd feel comfortable with or want to try, mattheo accepts that he wasn't able to make the idea tempting for you. and, like a good loser— which doesn't apply to quidditch— mattheo will be more than happy with what he can get. which means, leaving a mess of handprints, finger marks, vicious bites and hickeys on your asscheeks.

⋆ not a rope bunny : even though being tied up or doing so to his partner is something that some people view as, well, something to spice up a relationship— mattheo doesn't perceive it that way at all. even the thought of having you tied up isn't charming to him; if anything, mattheo might pin down your wrists with his hand for a moment, but that's as far as it goes, with restricting touches; because mattheo, too, loves the feeling of your hands on him.

and let me tell you: this man would hate being tied up. what do you mean he can't touch you? mattheo can promise to hold back from thrusting up or switching positions, to be in control— but please don't prevent him from touching you. mattheo would look at you so genuinely sad, that he can't cup your chest or feel the skin of your thighs, much less get your ass squeezed by his greedy, warm hands. :(

⋆ biggest victim of cockwarming : no, not even for a bet. mattheo wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. for starters, why would he entertain the idea of not moving at all? mattheo is all too starved and hungry for you to be still; he might hold on for a few moments just to satisfy your requests, but ultimately, his patience will run out and he'll show you how it's a hundred times better to do something about it.

⋆ ¹overstimulation : believe it or not, mattheo wouldn't purposefully overstimulate his partner. however, when intentional, only happens if mattheo wants to prove a point, usually fueld by jealousy— because whatever guy you were laughing with, couldn't possibly making you tremble and fall apart on his arms like this, right? and yet, mattheo might also be tempted to use this as a punishment for bratty behavior.

⋆ ²edging : rarely ever does this to his partner; mattheo enjoys bringing pleasure to you, not finding satisfaction on depriving you from an orgasm if he's got you so close, so high for his touch alone. rather than torturing you, mattheo finds more enjoyment on the sight of having you coming undone on his fingers, tongue, or cock. coaxes and encourages you to do so as well, having little to no care over clothes, sheets or surfaces getting wet.

HOWEVER, mattheo is one to dealy his own release. mattheo riddle is addicted to the feeling of pleasure given by you; your hands, mouth, the feeling of slipping inside you— mattheo never wants it to end.

strategically finds ways to last longer with you, by switching positions, giving him a few seconds to calm down, if he feels like he's almost there. won't ever leave you unsatisfied; even if he finishes before you, and can't go on, then mattheo is more than happy to make you come in another way.

⋆ experimentalist : mattheo let's you do anything and everything to him— leaving little room to things that he would never be tempted to try out. is there something you want to try? perhaps a new kink in the list? he's all for it, like a puppy trailing right behind you.

so you want to use him like a toy? suit yourself; mattheo is already on the process of stripping out his clothes, moving to lay down on the bed. something more risky? his fingers intertwine with yours, that devilish mind of his already thinking about time, place, and what he'd love to do with you. unironically, mattheo riddle would even let you put a bow on it, if you so much as asked him to do it. there's practically nothing that he shies away from doing with you.

⋆ blood / knife play : listen. if mattheo's kinks were to be explain with an iceberg, this one would be on the bottom of it. mattheo knows how bad this sounds— that the sight of blood can spark some worse assumptions about him, that are already as bad as they can get. even worse if he explains how charming it sounds for him, how it gets him hot and bothered, the idea of carving his initials on that pretty smooth skin of yours.

m.r. two letters, ones that he traces in random trees around school, when he's feeling bored of his friends' conversation. m.r., easy to write, due to previous practice.

it's a terribly territorial, even possessive craving of his; mattheo riddle can't excuse that urge that resonates deeply within him. and if you indulge this fantasy of his, or ask to do the same to him? mattheo wouldn't live for the embarrassment of how hard that would instantly get him.

﹙★﹚: FAVORITE POSITIONS. .ᐟ

⋆ REVERSE COWGIRL is a favorite of his, specifically for the heavenly sight of you, watching you struggle as he relaxes against the mattress. enjoying the show, his eyes darken as he watches you struggle to bounce on his shaft— feeling, admiring each time that your ass harshly meets the skin of his groin, prominent with each movement of your hips. no doubts that mattheo will smack your ass if your rhythm falters even for a second.

⋆ PRONE BONE, as soon as mattheo gets you as comfortable as you can get. fixing a pillow under your hips to make it easier for the two of you— not only getting you to arch your back, presenting your rear to him, but also to improve your comfort before he takes it all on you.

⋆ AGAINST A WALL works all too well for mattheo, as someone who prides himself on his strength and muscles, having a build that allows those obvious lines marking his four pack abs.

( mattheo would die right there and then, if you ever used them. as in, giving up on using any pillows to rub and grind against him instead, letting mattheo feel how wet he gets you over his firm skin. would have the best smoke of his life as he watches you, murmuring praises and encouraging you to use him as a toy. )

(...) ⋆ not just in bed, but in general— mattheo riddle loves displaying how strong he is; how much weight he can take and strength he has. the first he showcases with you on his arms; the latter he wordlessly brags with each dislocated jaw that comes from his doing. so carrying you and lifting you off the floor is a favorite, almost instinctive, action for mattheo.

sometimes he's so into this, that he won't seek for a surface— not even a bloody desk, much less the comfort of a sofa or bed— pinning you against the wall. his hands lower down your body, feeling the curve of your waist, giving a greedy squeeze to your bottom, until his hands settle for the back of your thighs, easily hoisting you up from the floor. it's nothing for mattheo to have you in this position for a while— he's bloody thankful for it. his hands greedily squeeze the skin at hand, pressing himself between your legs, grinding your middle with his bulge.

⋆ not really a position itself, but mattheo goes INSANE for DRY HUMPING. this man loves nasty, messy sex; creaming his pants as you grind on his clothed bulge, feeling you getting wetter and wetter until your underwear becomes a mess on top of him— it gets mattheo every. single. time.

﹙★﹚: PREFERRED PLACES. .ᐟ

the privacy of a bedroom is one that mattheo can't ignore, or deny, given his previous experiences. doesn't really mind if the two of you do it in yours, or his dorm— however, mattheo has a slight preference for his dorm room, because he knows where to find what he needs, which drawer, which nightstand, reaching for it blindly.

HOWEVER, mattheo isn't one to pass an opportunity, and being one to indulge his desire and need over you, passing by as an exhibitionist isn't something that mattheo is scared to do.

⋆ locker rooms, specifically right after practice or a quidditch match. if mattheo had to choose a place, then he wouldn't need to think a lot about this one. as someone who has a lot of pent up energy, there's something about him being all sweaty from giving his all as slytherin's beater, then riding the adrenaline off on — in — you.

⋆ ... bonus points if it happens inside a shower stall, the two of you hidden by a single curtain, moans and groans muffled by the sound of water falling down your bodies.

⋆ empty classrooms, strategically used during key moments of day or nightime, when there's the reassurance that it won't be used anytime soon in the next couple of hours. mostly during meal time, given that even professors would be too busy on the other side of the castle. there's something about bending you over an abandoned desk or getting you sat up on the currently unused professor's desk, for mattheo— he can't exactly say if it's about the thrill of breaking unwritten rules, or the way it somehow challenges their authority.

⋆ broom closets, which mattheo would preferably only use for the sake of a make out, during those days that your routines don't seem to match, for some cruel reason. if he misses you too much, separated due to different classes, different schedules, mattheo will steal you for a few minutes to get much deserved kisses. aching for the feeling of his skin against his again. however, it rarely develops into sex— the most it might get to, is giving him a blowjob or mattheo using his fingers on you; otherwise, broom closets are too tiny, too uncomfortable for more.

which mattheo had to accept, after almost getting caught because in the middle of his enthusiasm, mattheo knocked off a few brooms on the floor.

﹙★﹚ MORE RANDOM HEADCANONS :

if you asked him whether mattheo prefers ass or boobs, he'd say that HE CHOOSES BOTH. now, if you pressured him into choosing just one— mattheo seriously takes long minutes to decide. full on blank stare into nothingness, barely blinking as his mind uses all of his concentration to do the mathematics of which part of your body he prefers. after long minutes of indecision, chooses your ass, almost mourning it, as if mattheo would wake up to never stare at your chest again.

THE TYPE OF SLAP YOUR ASS AT ANY GIVEN CHANCE. mattheo riddle loses his life, but never a joke. mattheo riddle might be yelled at by you, but won't miss the opportunity to indulge that guilty pleasure of landing a smack on your ass.

TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. doesn't shut up for the life of him; vocal, because he wants you to know how good you make him feel, and would love it if you do the same.

would learn HOW TO BE GENTLE now that he's dating, given that mattheo loses himself to the intense feelings of craving and desiring you. you blink, and suddenly mattheo is carrying you to the bed, about to remove your shirt and already on his third hickey.

SO INTO THE IDEA OF BEING SLAPPED. initially, mattheo thinks that he'd be fucking pissed if a girl dared to lay a hand on him — he can sent bigger assholes flying through the astronomy tower, who the hell are you to hit him, chipmunk? — but then. then he gets a slap from you.

dark eyes become wide, staring at a spot on the floor as his face barely moves to the side, feeling the tingle of a slight pain on his cheek. mattheo looks back to you; instead of yelling at you or being pissed at what you did—

he's horny. seriously, mattheo might find reasons to make you angry at him, so that he can marvel at how hot you look while you're furious at him, craving another slap like a bloody giggling teenager.

RARELY ACTS SUBMISSIVE, yet would let you take control if you wanted to be the one leading this time. however, mattheo has the hardest time to keep his hands to himself, or be the one to set the pace.

⋆ wouldn't tell a soul, but he jerks off the most at the memory of that time you rode him, and while bouncing on his cock, your hand hit his cheek, giving him a slap for trying to hurry the pace. you could swear you saw his pupils dilate.

doesn't mind for QUICKIES, AND HONESTLY LIKES THEM ALL THE SAME. there's something about being hidden by your skirt, and pulling your panties to the side, only to know that he's probably dripping right to that soft fabric, preventing it from lewdly trailing down your thighs. call him a pervert— mattheo is just a man with some territorial issues.

and that's probably why MATTHEO THINKS THAT IT'S SO ATTRACTIVE to still have some clothes on. he's obsessed for the sight of your body, at any given chance, and yet— ripping most of the buttons from your shirt, clothes are pushed and pulled up, down or to the side. your bra is tugged upwards so that his mouth can tease the now bare chest, fingers already on their way to lift your skirt and pull your underwear to the side. mattheo craves the sight of you so desperate for him, the same way that he's desperate for you too, both not wanting to wait any moment longer.

A WHORE FOR TOUCHES ON HIS HAIR AND SCALP. mattheo didn't care much for his hair before, until the curly shape of his dark hair became pretty to his eyes, and wanted to take the chance of such genetics to make himself look handsome. with that said, mattheo riddle wants to leave your bed with a mess of a hair— from tugging, pulling, pushing, having your fingers running through it, or massages, rubs on his scalp. having your nails scratching (not painfully. have mercy?!) on his scalp makes this man whimper.

speaking of things that make mattheo riddle whimper: KISS OR LICK OVER THE SCARS ON HIS CHEST, and you'll see how much of a mess he'll be under your lips. the skin there is so sensible, not to mention how intimate it feels, to have his previous injuries being the center of your attention, pampered and kissed so gently.

GOES INSANE IF YOU TRACE his v-lines with your tongue. literally has to grip something to hold back.

﹙★﹚ ANGRY SEX, is something that once in a while, mattheo would like to have with his partner.

mattheo is amused at the sight of his partner angry at something, whenever it doesn't root from a confrontation with mattheo that got him annoyed as well.

the argument would escalate until he's almost yelling at your face— the moment your noses almost brush together, so close, with anger radiating from both of you— mattheo loses it and shuts you up with a kiss, putting an end to the argument. after this first heated kiss, mattheo pulls away, staring into your eyes for any hint that you are too angry to kiss him, or if you don't want him to touch you / continue what you were doing.

it's hard to insist on keeping up the argument given that between yelling at each other for another ten minutes, or having him roughly thrusting into that spot that makes you see stars— well, usually, you choose the latter.

becomes missionary if the argument continues, nevermind how the pleasure makes his mind dazed with foggy thoughts. it's doggy with his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face to bury on the mattress or the comfort of a pillow, whenever mattheo can't deal with your attitude, or has had enough of the argument. doggy it is, when it's to shut you up.

even if the argument still gnaws an ugly feeling inside yours or his mind, mattheo will pull you closer to him anyways, head over his heart, fingers running through your hair. a silent way to reassure you, and mostly himself, that it'll be okay, and a fight isn't what's going to separate the two of you.

it's a terrible terrible idea to tease mattheo by keeping your underwear on. oh, so you think it's funny to grind on him with those panties of yours? that's so funny, that mattheo will rip them too. during those days that he's too dizzy with need for you, you can anticipate grief over the underwear you're wearing. and mattheo is not apologetic at all— he keeps all of these conquered prizes on the last drawer of his desk. throwing those panties away? no, no. mattheo has a better use for them.

should anyone ever touch them or find out his dirty secret, mattheo might just be tempted to break someone's fingers. what? those are his and your panties! comunism! only between the two of you!

this man has no money left for cigarettes; mattheo will be begging theodore to share them with him, because guess what! he does have to pay for property damages.

which means, giving you money for each damaged underwear from his impatient, greedy hands. sometimes, going out to hogsmeade involves shopping for more underwear— this, while mattheo is just outside the store, smoking a cigarette as he waits for you.

he'd tell his friends that it's because he wouldn't be caught inside a lingerie store. the truth is that you have forbidden mattheo from entering one with you— this man is a tall child. a tall, menacing child.

panties would be flying, his hands would cup bras and say in a way too loud tone that: 'babe! these are your size! trust my hands, i know how your pretty tits feel like.'

worse than that, mattheo would try to speed up the process. such a thing means that he'd have a pair of panties hanging on his index finger —imagine the tiniest piece of cloth, in the most vibrant, awful tone possible— as he yells: 'princess, what about these?' with the stupidest smile because mattheo thinks that he's really funny.

so, yeah. no shopping together for underwear and lingeries. mattheo is on timeout from those.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[lady-of-moths]

Lingerie HCs - Sanji, Ace, Law, Zoro

Word count: 300

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Sanji: 

Over the moon with whatever type of lingerie you wear, but above all, with the fact you did all that for him.

Assures you it's not necessary, but he certainly appreciates it

Will probably get a nosebleed

Will feel up every inch of you body trying to commit every little detail to memory forever

Is thoroughly convinced he's the luckiest man alive 

(One shot: Electric Blue; WC: 8,200)

Ace: 

Is curious about edible underwear

Loves to see you in lingerie from time to time - the skimpier, the better 

Hint at wearing lingerie under your clothes and he'll follow you to the nearest bedroom or broom closet instantly

A nice set of lingerie will get his motor running in no time. After that, be prepared for him to rip it off you with his teeth. As nice as the lingerie may be, he finds that it often gets in the way and would much rather have you in your birthday suit - he's practical like that.

Law: 

Claims he doesn't care about it, but it's clear it does things to him every time you wear it

Will grumble about you distracting him from work

Big fan of lace and spandex

Sees it as a distraction and a tease, and will tease the everloving fuck out of you in bed to punish you for it. Hope you know how to beg.

Zoro: 

Zoro doesn't really care about lingerie, I'm sorry. He doesn't really see the need for all the frills.

Can be quite dense about it, so hinting might not be enough. He’s more the "If you wanted to get fucked, you could have just said so" kinda guy (who said romance was dead?)

He’ll definitely let you wear it if you want to - it’s a ‘he gets off on you getting off’ kinda thing. 

Will still tease you about it though. Loves to see you get flustered. 

Tag list:

@bitchimasnake-sss

@captainportgasdace

[kings-highway]

Ukai and Takeda in a secret relationship bc of workplace rules; Daichi and Suga in a secret relationship because of not wanting to disturb the teams equilibrium; Asahi and Noya in secret relationship due to anxiety and everything being new; Tsukki and Yamaguchi in a secret relationship bc privacy is important; Kageyama and Hinata in a secret relationship bc they're embarassed.

Everyone so absorbed in hiding their relationships that they keep fumbling incredibly obvious clues about the other relationships.

*Tsukki and Yamaguchi, accidentally stumbling in on Daichi and Suga in the broom closet, frantically smoothing down their clothes*

Daichi: hahahaha this looks bad we were just...... uh.....

Suga: Cleaning! And I... accidentally spilled cleaner. Thats why I was helping him change.

Daichi: ....yes, that.

*Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, who stopped listening the moment they set foot in here frantically trying to figure out an excuse for what they were doing coming into the closet 20 minutes after practice*

Yamaguchi, panicking: Ok. We're here to count brooms.

Daichi, whose more concerned about getting out of this without questions and doesnt realize how crazy that is: hahha yeah there's like six.

Tsukki: Thanks.

[my-castles-crumbling]

candy - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 209

"I swear," Lily murmured to James, frowning as they both put their heads together and stared across the common room at Sirius and Remus, "they're together."

"Nah," James disagreed easily, shaking his head. "Pads tells me everything. He would've told me that! Plus, just because they're practically on top of each other doesn't mean anything! I slept in Sirius's bed last night and we're not snogging!"

Lily gave him a withering look. "I'll never understand the way the four of you work. But I'm not talking about right now. That's normal for you lot." She gestured to where Sirius was laying on Remus's lap while the other was playing with his hair. "I'm talking about what I saw earlier!"

"What'd you see earlier, Lils?" James asked disbelievingly. "Because unless they were hooking up in a broom closet, I really think-"

"Remus gave Sirius some of his chocolate," Lily interrupted, smirking triumphantly.

James gasped, unable to find words. Remus never shared his candy with anyone. Ever. "Shit," he mumbled, completely defeated.

"Yes. So. Five galleons if you please," Lily grinned, holding out her hand.

And James just handed her the coins, unsure if he was annoyed, happy, or a bit flustered by the look Lily gave him. Perhaps all three.

[thatinwardhell]

winner’s spoils | s. crosby

rating: explicit, mdni

wordcount: 3.8k quickie lol. had to get this out after Certain Videos surfaced

warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap, oral sex (m receiving) (its facefucking!! be advised!!), no reader orgasm, slight?? gender roles just in case. more in a symbiotic sexy way than “go make me a sandwich”

notes: sigh .... after a 3 YR LONG hiatus from any fic writing !!!!!!! it was the four nations that brought me back. pls send in requests !!!!! i'd love to keep writing more lol. vvvv happy 2 be back !!!!

He’s standing above you, legs spread wide, Colossus of Rhodes, but twice as tall and thrice as golden from where you kneel in front of him.

His hand, still wet, still sticky, from the champagne that slid down it, crystalline, only minutes before, is running through your hair, moving it, manipulating it any which way he pleases. He can, of course he can; he’s Sidney Crosby, Sidney Crosby who’s just added yet another trophy to his gratuitous spoils of war, who, even after all these years, still proves his dominance. Aging though he may be, it never fails to knock your knees, to put warm honey between your legs at the sight of him so easily evincing his overwhelming ownership of the young men whose pointed hits and on-ice jeers seem to roll off his back, reminding the world of his complete and total domination. Not that you needed a reminder. 

Your hands fiddle with the drawstring at the waist of Sidney’s hockey pants, pawing relentlessly at them, desperate to unearth the reward you know awaits you beneath them, and the jock you so frequently call disgusting (something about it puts that old, familiar ache in your tummy though: the thing is nearly as old as you are, and you throw a pathetic, watery-eyed glance up at Sidney at the thought that he has been this good at what he does longer than you’ve even been alive. He’s already looking when you do.) 

Sidney seems to take pity on you; precious girl, he usually says in moments like these, but tonight – no, he seems to crave your tongue, your mouth, in more ways than one. You pant, watching with a sense of wonder as he makes a show of pulling the string apart with the sort of practiced effortlessness that only comes with his age. He takes both of your wrists in each of his hands, gently, his calluses scratching the supple skin of your inner wrists, perfumed just for him, only for him, leading them to the waistband of his jock, leaving them there. He wants you to do it, and this is a capitulation that does not go unnoticed. Traitorous pride blooms in your chest; that Sid needs you so badly, so wantonly, that his infamous and over-practiced stoicism seems to slip after his big wins flatters you to no end, and it stokes a different, softer emotion in you at the thought that he needs you at all. You nuzzle the newly-exposed skin of his thighs in appreciation of this small surrender as you draw down his jock, inch by torturous inch, either ignorant or tactless to the party which still rages outside. 

It’s a wonder Sid even found the broom closet at all, a private corner in the midst of a monsoon of alcohol, and spit, and sweat. It’s a wonder they’re not missing him yet, but a man has needs, and though he seems to walk on water like a god, Sidney is just that: a man. You know this better than most, you think, but your one-track mind is thrown off-kilter instantaneously: you have finally found your prize. His cock springs free, and it is just as good as you have imagined. 

Sid blushes from the tips of his elven ears to his long, sloping nose to the thick, muscled cord of his neck at your unabashed appreciation of him, of all of him. You are too enthralled to notice he thinks, but, though you are thrown into a sea of awe at the sight of Sid’s cock no matter how many times you’ve seen it, you know he needs it: he’ll never say it out loud, no, never, but in moments like this, he needs you to tell him he’s good, without the need for words, without touch, by sight alone, in regards to more than his performance. 

You run your nose along the column of it, and your giving to him gives into an act of selfish self-gratification at the heady, virile scent of him. Sid’s all man, and he makes you dizzy with it, mouth dropping open and little pink tongue peeking out to whet both your appetite and your lips, preparing for the Herculean task of taking all of Sid into your mouth. But not now – not just yet. No, now, he is all yours, all yours to stake claim over, completely yours in the tiny broom closet he had dragged you into, the need boiling over in those hazel eyes you love so much. Usually, Sidney insists on showering before he takes you all for himself, but you love this, perhaps more than the musky bergamot soap he always uses postgame. 

Your vinous desire finally blots out your stalwart want to simply appreciate him like this, though – you have never been good at resisting Sid, though he might say the same of you (your pride simmers even higher, at this thought.) You give him as his grip tightens in your hair, reeling briefly in the doglike panting that reverberates through the room, permeated with the desperation only you can bring out in him. 

Your tongue peeks out once again, pressing tiny kitten licks to the very base of his shaft, to the very beginning of the impressive length that you swear inspires the pure and uninhibited supremacy he seems to exert over others. You often tease Sid about his big dick energy, drunk off the blush that rises to his stubbled cheeks at your flattery, but it couldn’t be farther from a mere act of adulation. You’re bad with measurements, and he’s never given you a number, but you know it takes half an hour of prep with his fingers, his sinewy tongue to fit it in, that, after your months, years together, the stretch of him still punches a half-gasp, half-grunt from your lungs that no other man has ever inspired. 

“C’mon,” Sid half-pleads. His accent seems to get stronger like this, though he’d object to you calling his tone a whine. This tugs another sigh from you, your eyes caressing the bright red maple leaf that adorns Sid’s chest. He seems to be Odysseus now, returning home from battle, to you, Penelope, his one and only, or you his Cleopatra and he a bloodied Mark Antony. He fights for his country, his pride, and, drenched in sweat, returns to you for the womanly comfort he can only find in you, for his spoils of war. More fluid drips from the hot, damp seam of you, but you ignore it easily. Sid will take care of you – he always does. Later, he will see the red silk, the cherry lace that covers his prize, but for now, the only thing that interests you is pleasing him. 

You oblige him easily – this is what you can give to Sidney, after so long and so much of him giving to you. All at once, he’s in your mouth, and his head is back against the racks of cleaning supplies that will inevitably be completely vacant, if the sounds of Team Canada’s celebrations outside give any clues. 

You run your tongue experimentally along the thick vein which runs all along his shaft, up to the swollen head of him, now bright pink with anticipation in the back of your throat. Slowly, surely though, you draw back, dragging your slick lips along Sid’s length until you reach the very tip. Just as quickly, you sink down to the base, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at this familiar intrusion, but you only look up at him the way he loves so much. Both of Sid’s hands drop, now, to your cheeks, caressing them, his callused fingertips tracing the shapely, gentle slopes of your face. 

“Beautiful girl.” Sidney sounds wrecked, in the way only you can make him, gentle and tender just for you, even as he dominates you so thoroughly, so completely. He gives you a pointed look, wordless, but so intimate, so intense that you know what it means. Though you try to nod as best you can, he would know, even in the darkness of the cramped broom closet, even from miles and miles away, that you have said yes to him, that you’re enthusiastically giving your mouth to him, the last in a long line of tributes from those the conquered tonight. 

Sidney thrusts those fucking hips with a miniscule fraction of the power you know he’s capable of, the pure, raw energy contained within the corded muscle of his thighs, his hips, and now it’s not just the slight lack of air that’s making you dizzy. He draws back, allowing you a momentary reprieve before his cock once more breaches the damp cavern of you, this time harder, more powerful. 

Eyes half-lidded, you will him to do more – to take from you as much as he pleases. Sid could take from you everything you have, and you’d still offer more on hands and knees, ass in the air, and, though nausea bubbles in his stomach at the thought of taking anything from you, the offer sits implicitly in his hands, a reminder of your complete and utter devotion. To drive this home, you apply the most suction you can manage in your present position to Sidney’s cock, still sitting heavy, impish on your tongue, and this draws a wrecked moan from him – a moan! Your revelry is brief, cut by a slight cough as he buries himself even deeper, the thickets of hair at his base enveloping your nose. 

Sidney doesn’t flinch at the sound – neither do you. He knows your body better than you do, and, even in the throes of his pleasure, he knows you can take more, wills you to do so, already so tender, so brutal. 

He pulls out once more, and you ache for the loss of him, mouth clinging to the scant bit of him that remains in the relentless warmth, the unforgiving smoothness of your mouth. Sidney looks down at you once more, asking for the last time, with the last scraps of his self-control, for what he knows you will give him. 

You offer up your love easily, as easily as breathing comes in sleep, knowing that, even despite his age, his money, his undeniable success, he still needs this, your reassurance, from you – you drag your nails down his thigh, he groans, and begins to thrust the way you know he can. 

The hot, wet drag of Sidney’s cock against your lips, the pleasure-pain of him hitting your gag is intoxicating. He’s outside himself – you’re grateful, foggily, for the volume of the music outside, of they’d hear the desperate grunts, the sound of skin on skin on skin, Sidney’s panting, as the thighs that not thirty minutes ago propelled him across the ice at speeds and velocities unimaginable to you now propel his cock to where he needs it most. 

Time seems to slow, or speed up, drifting into the amorphous, pleasurable fog you float in. You revel, hedonist, in the feeling of his heavy balls against your chin, the force of his thrusting pushing your head back and forth, relentlessly, a tiny buoy bobbing in the unforgiving and complete story that is Sidney Crosby. He holds you fast, though, as he always does, large hands that once rested solely on the plushness of your ruddy cheeks now banded across your face, thick, brawny fingers now digging into the base of your skull, so gentle, so terrible all at once. 

The veins on the underside of him pulse, and you feel them against your lax tongue – you drag it, softly, across the quickened river of blood that sits just underneath the tan skin of him, worshipful. He grunts, appreciative, at this, urges you with the caresses of his calluses against the soft expanse of your skin, your hair, to do it again, and again, and again. You oblige.

Sidney permeates every atom in the tightly-cramped broom closet, too small even for the cleaning supplies contained within it, smaller yet for the heat of two bodies, hardly even flesh, a mess of spit and sweat and sticky, sweet-smelling filth, dripping down your face and landing on the floor with a wet sound. His body is so hot, burning so brightly with the adrenaline typical of wins like these, wins he hasn’t touched with the ruggedness of his fingers in so many months, now within his clutches, now brought under a banner of blood red and snow white, his victory so absolute no one, not in the farthest stretches of obscurity, could deny it. 

The power of him overwhelms you, the scent of him, the feeling of his thighs, spattered with a layer of brown hair and now soaking with saliva, under your palms, a psalm for your taking. The musk of sex is overwhelming – you pity the poor worker who walks in here to clean up after your debauchery (you, briefly, remember the absurdity of your situation: it reads like cheap pulp fiction, at times, you think, that only so many months, years now, he had descended on you, delivered you from the dregs of your monotonous, menial, laborious job and into his arms. You would happily open your mouth, your legs, your arms to him as thanks for this epiphany, but he refuses every time; he says the look in your eyes is enough, the brush of hair and skin and the very thought of your shared bed far too much for him already.) 

But you can smell him, feel him all over, a woman possessed – Sid gives as much as he takes, like this, though he doesn’t know it. You hope he doesn’t notice the way you grind yourself against your heel, the red silk already so soaked through with arousal now completely ruined, only a memory of your decadence in the broom closet. Surely, he would insist that you climb on top of him, to let him run his tongue over the folds of you until you scream and pound at his chest, screaming mercy, mercy, mercy, as he’s so fond of doing, but you’re happy, perfectly happy, like this, serving him. He hates to hear it, makes him feel his age, the power imbalance that infrequently, but profoundly, informs small bouts of jealousy or solitude. But you like to serve him, yes, especially when he’s like this. 

Sid’s so utterly debauched, so lost in himself that even if one of his teammates were to enter, they would hardly recognize their usually so measured captain, completely drowned in the throes of his own pleasure. Sidney’s cheeks, already prone to the kind of ruddiness that inspires poetry or paintings, are flushed a bright cherry red, dotted with sweat and the remnants of champagne, dripping down the long, curved line of his nose (you’d like to lick it off, to suck the liquid from his skin and revel in the salt and the musk of his sweat, the bitterness, then the sweetness of the champagne. But alas, your mouth is occupied.) His salt-and-pepper hair is mussed up in a manner only Caravaggio could imagine, every curl so perfectly askew, which seems to be a habit of your boyfriend’s and one that, admittedly, inspires bouts of desire similar to Sidney’s in you, all over him in the dusk when he comes home, or in the early morning before he leaves. The plush pinkness of his bottom lip is worried to pleasantly between his bottom teeth and the top ones and, had you been more lucid, you would have been able to identify the ones he pointed out to you as implants, replacements for the ones that had been knocked out by one Flyer or another while you were still learning your alphabet. 

Sidney’s thrusts are ragged now, are getting deeper, faster, more desperate, his grip on your head that much more intentional, maneuvering your face the way he wants you. He makes you wonderfully lightheaded like this – so completely and thoroughly possessed. You love being his toy, like this, to sit on your knees and please him, almost as much as you like for him to do the same, to press a worshipful mouth to your ankles, your calves, your thighs, then the part of you he loves very most, apart from your eyes, maybe your laugh or the shape of your teeth, the feeling of your smile; if not what he loves the very most, the one he serves – the one thing that puts ‘Captain Canada’ himself on his knees. This is a secret pride of yours, one that you tell no one, one that is kept safe in the depths of you until Sidney is away on a roadie and his side of the bed, still smelling of that bergamot and musk, is getting cold. 

But he’s close – you know, you know, and you resist smiling around the heady, intoxicating weight of him. You know him so intimately, you think, you could know his orgasm even if blindfolded with your hands behind your back. You like to think you could coax one from Sidney the same way, but you’ll have to wait, to bide your time. Your ears ring with it, watching the way Sid’s crows’ feet bloom across his cheeks, disturbing the stubble there, the way that, when he grimaces like this, teetering on the edge, his dimples pop out, digging graves in his cheeks. 

Sidney’s fingers are doubly hot against your scalp now, dangerously lecherous as they clutch the base of your skull tighter still, pulling you even deeper into him, your nose buried in the wiry brown hair at the base of him. On the precipice of ecstasy, he misses the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth vibrates at the smell of him, all sweat and manhood, the way you like him, completely in control, yet so entirely under your thumb. You hear a familiar hymn on Sid’s tongue, vaguely, and wonder if he’s been talking this entire time, if you’ve just been so enthralled in the scent of him, the wires of his thighs under your hands, that you missed the oh fuck baby oh fuck yes yes take it fuck yeses. He’s teetering, desperate, flailing for it, grasping at straws as he thrusts deeper still. 

You want him to come, want him to give the reward of his spend so badly that you’re suffocating on it. You’re grinding on your own foot so hard it’s almost painful, desire controlling every movement, every gyration of your hips against your heel, pushing into the floor rolling your swollen clit with the daftness you’ve realized is inherent with orgasms not provided to you by Sidney. You won’t cum like this, certainly, but you don’t need it, no, not when you have him like this. 

You slide the viscous hot pleasure of your tongue along the vein on his underside and he breaks. 

Sidney tenses, your hair now taut between his fingers, pulled to its limits, your face pushed as far into his pelvis as it can go, now suffocated in the truest sense of the word in the man who stands above you, so powerful and so destroyed all at once. His pink mouth is dropped open, completely lax, and you can see the edges of his teeth, where they meet the softnesses of his own mouth, the pink tongue, the reddish gums, the pale pink roof of it, and his eyes have screwed shut, now only two tiny, puckered hints of eyelash and supple, thin skin, barely covering the dark bags which have accumulated under his eyes. Stress, you think, maybe sleep, but, then again, no, he’s always good about that. No worry. You have your ways of keeping him in bed when you need to, of keeping him exhausted in all the ways he wants the very most. He gives smaller, tiny thrusts as the heat of him spills down your throat, and you hum at the taste. Sidney eats well, so virile, so fecund, that he tastes good, strong, heady, and a base, animal part of you revels in the smaller thrusts, the taste of him, pines the loss of his cum; he could be thrusting like that in you, keeping his spend inside of you, where it belonged, where it’d carry on his progeny better than TNT or ESPN could. 

Sidney eases, taut muscles now weak, so spent you swear you can see his legs shake. It’s an illusion, you know, knowing that his legs, so well accomplished, can hold his weight under much more pressure than any orgasm. But you stroke your pride this way, like to think that you can make him weak, can make him strong whenever you please. His hands slips from your hair, returning to your cheeks, where he turns your head back up from where you hadn’t realized it had slumped. The amber of his eyes is so soft, looks so brown in this light, rather than the greenish they look in the bright lights of the media room or the fluorescence of the rink, so much like pools of dark water, undiscovered, unthinkable to anyone but you.

“Swallow for me.” Sidney is so soft like this, so disparate from the man who can level men twice his size without a second thought on the ice. He could crush you between his thumb and his finger, so easy, like this, but he doesn’t. 

You listen, swallow him the way he likes you to, so you keep some of him in you until the next time he can have you. 

“Good girl. My best girl.” Sidney says, so quiet anyone else wouldn't have been able to hear it, said for your ears only. He brushes his hands once more over your cheeks, wiping away sweat, stray tears that may have fallen with the tenderness only he’s capable of. “C’mere, give me a kiss.” 

You oblige him easily, but act as if it’s a chore – you shrug, roll your eyes as you rise uneasily from your feet, steadied into Sidney’s arms at the first sign of unsteadiness, huff a little for dramatic effect. 

He laughs, a soft, easy sound, wraps his hands once more about your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours. Sid’s yours, like this, all yours, away from the cameras, from his teammates, from the rink, and you revel in the softnesses of his mouth, the plush of his lips and the slight scratch of his five-o’clock shadow, and everything else falls away, quickly, easily, just like this. The party persists outside – they’ll have to miss him for a minute more.

[surfingrealities]

It started with a drunken one night stand.

You and Theodore swore it was just that. You slept together because you both were absolutely hammered and didn't know better.

Your friends would've believed that explanation and went on with their days, if they didn't notice the way you two began disapearing into empty broom closets together at the random. If they didn't notice the bedroom eyes you two gave one another, the way you two began spending more and more time together.

The fact you two were hooking up was obvious. Like you weren't even trying to hide how obsessed you were with eachothers bodies.

Yet you two thought you were being secretive about it. You thought nobody knew.

The group was sick of you two sneaking around, wanted nothing more to catch the both of you in the act so you would have to admit to actively sleeping together.

So they did.

- - -

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the dorm room. The green comforter of your bed pushed to the floor, sheets all jumbled up.

"F..Fuck!" You practically screamed, as Theodore thrusted particularly hard into you. Your back arching against him as your hands desperately gripped your sheets. Face stuffed into your pillow.

Theodore's hands gripped your ass, purposely trying to leave handprints. The idea of marking you always got him so worked up.

"Thats it.. Take my cock just like that, princess."

He growled out, grinding his hips into yours with every thrust.

The head of his cock kissed so perfectly against your g-spot it drove you mad. Everything was so fucking perfect. You felt that coil in your lower abdomen tighten.

"So close.. Mmm.. Oh! I'm so-.."

You tried to warn, causing him to rub one of his hands up and down your back to sooth you. Not once slowing his pace as he felt you tighten around him.

"I know, pretty.. Let go for me."

He mumbled, knowing just a few more thrusts would take you there.

The dorm room's door creaked open, causing Theodore's head to cock to the side and look over. His pace hesitated for a second, before he scoffed at the sight of your friends and focused on you again.

Noticing you hadn't heard the door, he picked his pace back up, one of his hands sneaking down to play with your clit.

He didn't care if your friends watched, infact, good for them. All he knew was the fact nothing was going to stop him from making his girl cum.

-

I really should stop writing at night. Tired drabble, just wanted to get the idea off my mind.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Theodore Nott talking dirty in Italian to fem reader who doesn’t know Italian but finds it super hot, with a smutty ending?

Yes! I love this idea. I think he'd love it a lot if you didn't speak Italian, just so he could tease you more. Also, I used google translate, so idk how accurate it is, but hopefully it works.

Dirty Talking

Theodore Nott x F!Reader

Warnings: Oral(Male receiving), cussing, unprotected sex, creampie.

18+ Minors DNI!

You always loved when your boyfriend would talk in Italian. Something about the way it sounded and rolled off of his tongue just did something to you. He could be saying anything in Italian and you’d want him to just take you right there as he kept talking.

And Theo noticed. He wasn’t stupid. He saw the way you would blush ever so slightly and press your thighs together. He just never said anything because he liked watching your reactions and he knew you’d try to stop your reactions if he mentioned them.

But when he was arguing with Draco about the quidditch practice as you all were heading back up to the castle, he slipped into Italian as he cursed him out. You suddenly got flustered and blushed. Theo noticed this, forgetting about the argument with Draco as he waved him off, dragging you away into a broom closet. He was frustrated and needed a release and he could tell you were turned on.

“Theo, what are you doing?” You asked as he closed the door behind you two.

“Ti scoperò.” He said into your ear as he pushed you against the wall, pressing kisses down your neck.

“Wait, what?” You asked, your brain trying to catch up with his actions as he spoke Italian.

“Ti scoperò. Sii buono con me.” He said before kissing you. It was rough, a hand in your hair and another on your waist. He pulled back and pushed you onto your knees, undoing his pants. “Così bello.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You said, but you could feel how wet you were becoming.

“You love it, though, don’t you, cara mia.” He smiled down at you as he pulled out his cock. “Aprire.” He said as he tapped his tip on your lips as he grabbed your hair.

You had no idea what he was saying, but you opened your mouth and he pushed your head down his cock until you gagged. He let out such a hot moan before guiding your head up and down his cock, tears building in your eyes as you held onto his thighs.

“Così dannatamente sporco. Look at what you do to me, principessa.” He moaned. “Mi prendi così bene.”

God, his fucking deep voice with those words. You didn’t even care what he was saying, it just sounded so good, so filthy to you.

“Merda. You’re so fucking good to me.” He said before pulling out of your mouth and up off the floor. He pushed down your panties before turning you around to press your front against the wall. “You’re so fucking wet from me talking in Italian, huh?” He slipped his fingers through your folds, feeling how soaked you were.

“Yes, fuck! Yes, it’s so good.” You moaned.

“Così sporco.” He said before removing his fingers and teasing your folds with his cock. “You want me to fill you up, mi amore?”

“Yes, please!”

“Who knew a little Italian would get you all slutty for my cock.” He teased before thrusting into you. He covered your mouth before you could make a sound. “Stai zitto. You want everyone to hear?”

He started thrusting, using his free hand to wrap around your front, holding you closer to him. You were moaning and crying out into his hand, your hands holding onto the wall for support.

“Così buono. You’re taking me so well.” He said quietly in your ear before kissing your neck. His chest was pressed against your back, trapping you against the wall as he kept fucking into you. “Do you wanna cum, principessa?”

You nodded against his hand, moans only getting louder as he angled his hips slightly to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

“Sei così avido. Sei così sporco. Lo adoro.” He said, moving his hand that’s wrapped around you to play with your clit. The combination of his dick inside you, him playing with your clit, and the Italian were enough to have you cumming in mere moments, trembling and crying out into his hand. “Brava ragazza. Good fucking girl.” He praised, helping you ride out your orgasm. “You gonna be a good girl and let me cum in you?” He asked as his thrusts sped up, chasing his own orgasm. You nodded against his hand again, whining and whimpering as he overstimulated you. He cussed as he came, slipped between English and Italian as he moaned in your ear, filling your pussy with his cum. He removed his hand from your mouth and pulled out, slipping your panties back up with a smile as he kissed your cheek. “Guess I found another weakness, huh, cara mia?” He teased.

[bettymylove]

jealousy

pairing: theodore nott x reader

content: it's pure smut 18+

a/n: just a dream i had

theo was practically rutting into you,not letting you even process what was happening.

you were pushed against a random door of a broom closet in which you were dragged in by your beloved boyfriend who had mercilessly started fucking you without saying anything.

"what does that fucking ravenclaw want with you darling?" theo but growled in your ear.

he was fuming and you just realised what it was about, theodore nott was jealous.

"are you jealous, teddy?" you asked even though you knew the answer.

"what does it fucking look like of course I'm jealous, someone laid his filthy hands on my girl" he fastened his pace and you couldn't help but clench at that.

"it was harmless baby, he knows I'm yours" you tried to calm him down.

he turned you around your face facing the door his hand pressing on your head pounding into you even faster.

"I don't like when people touch what's mine, especially you"

you had reached your high and he knew it urging you to come before he spilled inside you.

he fastened his pants back up and began to leave.

"you're gonna leave me like this teddy?"

"I'll be 10 mins, wait for me"

you asked him where he was going,leaving you like that and his answer was simple "to beat him up"

[oh-phoenixx]

"Broom"/"Practice" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 250 words

-

“Why is Potter watching us?” Mulciber asked Regulus, his tone filled with disgust.

“I don’t know,” Regulus answered through gritted teeth. 

Truthfully, Regulus did know why Potter was watching them. For the past few weeks, they had been meeting in empty classrooms, broom closets, the Room of Requirement; really, wherever they could be alone. They couldn’t stay away from each other. Every time James had tried to talk to him in front of anyone else, though, Regulus had acted as if he didn’t even know him. Regulus imagined that this was why James was currently sitting in the stands during Slytherin’s quidditch practice.

“I’ll get rid of him,” Mulciber said with a malicious glint in his eye.

“No!” Regulus said, too quickly and too loudly. “Er, I’ll deal with it.”

Regulus got on his broom and flew up to the stands. James grinned up at him from where he was sitting as Regulus approached. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Regulus whisper-shouted.

“Watching my boyfriend play quidditch,” James told him, shrugging.

“Your-” Regulus gaped at him, his cheeks turning a shade of crimson not so far from the other boy’s tie. “I am not your boyfriend.”

James wasn’t deterred, and continued smiling at him. Regulus could feel his anger fading despite himself. He sighed and got back on his broom.

“Just go, okay? My team doesn’t appreciate having the Gryffindor captain watching us.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

Regulus had to take a moment to collect himself before he could go back down towards Mulciber and the others.

[theemporium]

cece! pls james potter post quidditch game shower smut. thinking about his sweaty pecs and big hands and thick thighs. ily, ty 🤠

god he makes me so😵‍💫thank you for requesting!🖤

.

For most players, the second the final whistle blew and the game was over, they were hit with a wave of exhaustion that made them want to just kick back and relax and maybe enjoy some downtime with their friends.

Not your boyfriend though, he was anything but. 

The second the final whistle blew, it was like James took a hit that just sent pure, raw adrenaline coursing through his body until he was practically bouncing off the walls. Regardless of the outcome of the match itself, he was always buzzed and bouncing and ready to work off the extra energy before he joined the rest of his friends in celebrating. 

There had been many ways James learnt to deal with the extra energy. Maybe an extra half an hour or so on the broom after everyone else headed off to the locker rooms. Maybe doing a few laps of the quidditch pitch until his legs felt like jelly and he couldn’t run any longer. Maybe even trying to convince the other boys to take a last-minute gander through the woods with him if possible. 

However, he found far more enjoyable ways when he started dating you. 

You always thought James was dramatic about his post-match energy bursts but now—now you knew they were anything but a joke.

“Fuck, baby, I-I can’t!” 

The hot water was spraying down on your heated skin but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as your nails dug into your boyfriend’s back, your head falling back against the tiles of the locker room showers as he pounded into you.

He had been insatiable the second he got his hands on you after the game. First, in the supplies closet whilst all the players cooled down in the locker room. He had your hands in his hair and your thighs squeezing his ears and he could barely keep himself from coming in his trousers. Then, he had you against the lockers, cheek and tits pressed against the cool metal as he pounded in you from behind, mocking the way you whined and begged to kiss and claw at his sweaty, toned torso. You barely caught a glimpse of it before his chest was pressed against your back.

And now you were in the shower, his cock ramming into you and his arms straining as he practically fucked you like a toy. You could barely stand but James wasn’t done. He wanted you, he needed you, even if it meant bouncing you up and down on his cock like his own personal fleshlight. 

“One more f’me, baby,” he groaned, every muscle in his body straining as he held back his approaching orgasm. “Just one more. You just look so pretty, darling, it’s like winning the match all over again.” 

“James,” you whined, feeling the way he tensed as your nails raked down his skin before he let out a low moan that echoed through the empty showers around you. 

“That’s my girl, mark me up,” he growled, his eyes glued on the way your eager cunt took his cock, hitting deep with each thrust. “Want everyone to know who I belong to.” 

“Me,” you gasped out, holding onto him as tightly as you could. “You belong to me.” 

“I’m all yours,” James groaned, pressing your bodies close together as the sound of skin on skin bounced off the walls. “Gonna fuck you like I belong to you. Think I can get another few outta you, love. What do you say? Gonna let me fuck this pretty cunt like a winner? Gonna let me show you what being yours means?” 

“Please, Jamie,” you moaned, your eyes falling shut as your body jostled with each thrust of his hips. “Show me everything.” 

“Gonna show you the world, gorgeous.” 

He had you sprawled over the bench twice before you even left the locker rooms.

.

[fayesia]

Day 4 - dubcon

"Snake" - Sirius x slytherin!reader

ִֶָ𓂃˖ ִֶָ✰࿐ warnings - rough sex, dirty talk, thigh riding, breeding kink, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, no aftercare, petnames "bunny"

ִֶָ𓂃˖ ִֶָ✰࿐ wc - 1.1k

Everyone knew that you, a Malfoy, loathed the filthy blood traitor Sirius Black.

But no one knew the way he had his mouth and hands all over you in this small cramped broom closet, hidden in the winding hallways of forever changing directions by the moving staircases.

"Wait-Black stop-hmph"

You were shut up by the force of Sirius' hands pulling you chest to chest with him, one of his hands winding up your back to yank a fistful of your hair. Whining out your hand came forward to slap at his chest, but he dismissed your movements quickly with his other hand.

"Stop fucking fighting, little slut acting like she doesn't want this after practically begging for it with these clothes."

You thought the denim mini skirt was cute. It was never something your pureblood parents would allow you to wear at home, and it perfectly matched with your soft pink lace adorned singlet that read babygirl. Sirius seemed to disagree, as the mere sight of you in Hogsmeade had him using the table to cover his crotch. A rather large bulge under his jeans forming, similar to the one he had right now with the close proximity between the two of you.

His mouth canvased across the expanse of your jawline and neck, his teeth scraping against your skin, drawing out near sinful moans from you. Moving his hands beneath your top, he caressed the small of your back up to the middle of your spine, a whimper almost drawn out of you. Sirius' head bent down until your noses were almost touching, his eyes focused on your own, and you couldn't bear to look away. As he knee slid between your thighs, your denim skirt easily rode up your waist.

"Do you really want me to stop babydoll?"

"No"

You answered almost simultaneously with the movement of your hips, the contact of your pussy against the rough material of his jeans through your panties had you wet. Smirking against your jugular, you heard a huff of amusement come from Sirius' mouth.

"Don't think this fucking means anything Black"

"Oh no of course not I would never think anything of the way your cunt is soaking my jeans as you hump my thigh like a fucking dog in heat"

Blushing ferociously you grumbled at Sirius to shut up, continuing to ride his thigh you had finally found the perfect angle to rub your clit. The coil inside you tightening as you softly moaned out, a noise Sirius took immense pleasure from, his hard cock almost painfully yearning to be free from his jeans. Right as you neared your high, you dug your nails into Sirius' shoulders, digging harder when he removed his thigh from your thighs before you could even come.

"What the fuck- no that's it. If you can't fucking get me off I'll just find someone else to do it. I'm sure your brother Regulus can make me feel a lot better than your needle sized dick."

Finishing your rant you looked up at Sirius' face.

Fuck.

You made a mistake.

That rant ended up with you being bent over, panties pulled to the side, as Sirius had one hand pulling a fist of hair and another pushing your back into a deep arch. His cock was also deep. Pounding brutally inside of you as you whined at him to wait. Hands scrambling to push him away as well as grip onto a nearby shelf for balance. The stretch was painful which your face showed but Sirus didn't notice, or rather, he didn't fucking care, it was one way to prove you wrong about your "needle sized dick" comment. Something he didn't appreciate at all.

"You think anyone can fuck you like this. Only I make you a slut. Fucking whore for this cock aren't you"

You couldn't even get the words out, the start of one was quickly finished with various gasps and moans uncontrollably coming from your mouth.

"You wanted this though didn't you. Riled me up and put this whole show on so I would fuck you like a proper bitch"

"N-ugh-no no-didn't fuck ah"

"N-n-n dick made you so dumb you can't even fucking speak can you"

Sirius mocked you, and shamefully, you tightened around his thick length at his words, your noises only increasing alongside the ferocity of his movement and foul words. He roughly pulled you away from the shelves, turning you so that you were facing him before swiftly entering you again. Your pussy had gotten used to the stretch but the sheer length of him penetrating you from a different and deeper anger made your limbs weak. Enough so that Sirius was able to lift your top, continuing to thrust inside of you, and grope your breast. The supple flesh was ravaged by his long nimble fingers which found themselves busy with your nipples, tweaking the soft buds until the hardened.

"Fuckin' stupid babygirl huh, is that what you liked to be called when you bend over for every snake"

Your head moved side to side, Sirius had rendered you speechless suffice for the quiet noises still coming from you.

"Bet you're a cumslut for them too, you let them fill you up, let them breed you with their little pureblood devils"

"Ngh-no-never let them.."

"Fuck. But you'll let me yeah. Cause you want me to. Fill you and use you like the cumslut you are, turn you into my favourite breeding bunny. You want that don't you babygirl?"

Sirius' thrust were more furious as he ranted about cumming in you. Your back was growing sore from rubbing against the worn out wood as well as your neck which was forced to bend at an angle where you could see sirius' cock enter in and out of you. His dick was rubbing against that perfect spot in you as you furthered tightened around him almost cutting off the circulation to his cock. The noises he let out were now almost anamilistic, sounding like an angry canine marking its territory. Which is exactly what he was going to do.

"Gonna cum inside yeah, pump you full of my blood traitor babies."

"Sririus wait-"

But it was too late. His head had already dropped back to face the ceiling, and he was groaning out without a care as to who could hear him. Warm thick liquid was coating your inner walls, which you could barely react to from the body shattering climax you were experiencing. Left shaking in Sirius' arms from the feeling of your liquid mixed together dripping out of you as he pulled his now limp dick out.

"Look at you now fucked stupid. And you think my brother could've fucking done that, god you're pathetic."

His eyes glared at you as he used his wand to fix himself to look presentable before leaving the closet and closing the door behind him with a harsh slam. You were left leaning against the wall with your top flipped up and you skirt bunched around you waist, Sirius' cum still leaking out of you.

No, his brother would never do this.

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