Saving For Reading On My Day Off - Blog Posts

| Riddle's Temptation

warnings: MDNI, characters are 19+, P in V, fingering, unprotected sex, smut, spanking, scratching, rough sex, age gap.

words: 7,717

The dining room shone with opulence, a sort of grandeur that appeared to be the property of the old money and of long lineages. Crystal chandeliers cast soft shards of light across the walls, while the grand tablecloth lay over a table covered in ivory fabric with golden appliqués. In the ambient soft murmuring of people, conversation trailed into the noise, punctuated by the clinking of utensils against porcelain.

There you were, on the edge of the table, poised, yet paying careful attention to the fellow across the table. Tom Riddle.

It wasn’t just his presence—though he commanded a room effortlessly with his sharp cheekbones, dark hair slicked immaculately, and a piercing gaze that seemed to strip bare anyone it landed upon. No, it was the posture that he inhabited, languorous yet always master of himself, with a charm that was irresistible. Your father had always been telling stories of his intelligence, charm, and cleverness. A trusted confidant, a man of remarkable intellect.

But he was far more than that to you.

The first time you had met him, you were barely out of school, just turned 18. And there was something about the fact that his dark eyes always lingered and, meaning to be critical, knowing and utterly smug, that was just off-putting enough. You had caught him looking at you on more than one occasion, his gaze burdened with a feeling you had the temerity not to reveal.

And tonight, right there next to each stolen look, tucked under the cotton of his every crisp piece, all felt like a game of roulette.

"You've really gone all out with this evening's meal," Tom drawled softly to your father, his rich voice piercing the background a smooth surgeon's blade cutting through steel. “The perfect balance of indulgence and refinement.”

Your father laughed, pride shining in his crinkles. “Coming from you, Tom, that’s quite the compliment.”

You tried to pay attention to the conversation, the flow of other voices in the background. But Tom shifted in his chair, his arm brushing yours ever so slightly, and suddenly the air felt stifling. Your pulse quickened, though you fought to appear unaffected. He looked at you and then, his lips gave a slight tilt into a smug smile and he spoke to you, in a low voice, barely audible.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight, sweetheart.” The epithet sent a tingle up your back and you grabbed for your wine glass, wishing for something to anchor you. He was always like this, weaving a spell of subtle provocations and leaving you teetering on the edge of composure. Dinner flowed, laughter building up as mutual acquaintances reminisced and told tales. You kept a veneer of polite nods, and would get in on the conversation from time to time, but your thoughts drifted far and wide. Each moment spent near Tom felt like a tightening string, the tension building with every passing second.

The tablecloth covered much, draped thick fabric over thighs and knees. Your hand rested in your lap, idly sketching patterns into the napkin that laid out before your thighs. Tom moved forward a little closer, confiding in your father about a future business plan. His hand moved under the table edge as he talked.

At first it was only a very faint stroke, as light as, almost, you thought to be hallucination. But then his fingers pressed firmly against your knee. You stiffened, glancing sharply in his direction. He didn't stare at you, not even comment on what he was doing. His expression remained perfectly neutral, his tone measured as he engaged in casual conversation.

But his hand moved higher.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you reached down from under the table and put your hand over his hand, in vain effort to stop him. His fingers did not slide, but stroking along a focused manner on your thigh. You felt the chill of his ring on your skin, amidst the heat building up in your abdomen.

"Darling," he murmured under his breath, tilting his head just enough so his words reached your ear alone. “Relax.”

Relax? Was he serious? Your father was only inches away, chuckling over something one of the others had said. You were surrounded by people, yet Tom’s touch made the entire room fade into irrelevance.

He squeezed your thigh gently and your stomach churned. His hand didn’t wander further—he wasn’t reckless, not Tom. No, that was computed, a bait to unseat you little by little. His thumb drew small circles against your skin, maddeningly slow, as if testing how far he could push you before you broke.

You turned your head to glare at him, your cheeks burning. At last, he locked his eyes with yours, his face unapologetically serene, yet his dark eyes sparkled with smugness and an even deeper, something unsettling, something that set your heart racing.

“Careful, he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent heat flooding your cheeks. “You wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would you, doll?

The endearment trickled from his mouth like honey and your hand around the glass of your wine became tighter. He smirked, victorious, before finally withdrawing his hand. It was almost as negative not to have his feeling of touch in comparison to having it, as it left your skin with a feel of pricking and your mind in chaos.

Tom leaned back on his chair, perfectly relaxed and went on discussing as if it had never occurred. But when his knee brushed against yours under the table, a silent promise lingered between you.

This wasn’t over.

The rest of the dinner felt like a fever dream. You responded when spoken to, nodded when required, and kept your eyes fixed on your plate far more than necessary. But Tom, in contrast, was infuriatingly rational, and could be very sweet as he spun both jokes and personal stories. He looked just how the upstanding fellow your father worshipped would appear, but you knew better.

At long last the dinner came to an end and the guests made their way down to the adjacent drawing-room to have drinks. Your father went out to chat with a friend by the fireplace, and left you briefly by yourself. And you sighed happily, able at last to let out a full exhalation. But the reprieve was short-lived.

“Sweetheart.”

Instantaneously, the voice was unmistakable, deep and resonant, making a quivering shiver run up your back. You swivelled round to find Tom behind you, his countenance inscrutable, yet his dark eyes flashing with something you dared not to acknowledge.

“I believe we need to talk," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You glanced around, your pulse quickening. The room was filled with people, yet none paid you any mind. He put out his hand and although you knew you should refuse, an entirely unspoken push moved you to accept it.

His hold was strong, his palm was warm as he led you through a narrow passageway to the side of the crowd. The noise of laughter and clinking glasses faded with each step, replaced by the pounding of your own heart.

He came to a halt in front of a door of heavy oak construction, and slid the door open with no effort. The room beyond was dimly lit, a study or library of some kind, its walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books. The air smelled faintly of aged paper and mahogany.

With the door shut with a click, the silence went on and on and on. You faced him, your throat tight, every urge pushing you back a few paces. But Tom stepped closer, his movements unhurried, deliberate.

“You’ve been avoiding me all evening," he whispered under his breath, amusement mingled with a deeper, darker tone. “Was it something I said? Or perhaps something I did?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the speech failed to get out. He took another step forward, his presence overwhelming, and suddenly he was close enough that you could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, the cool glint of his signet ring.

“You shouldn’t have touched me," you managed, though the words came out far weaker than intended.

He cocked his head, his mouth forming the infernal smirk. “No? Then why didn’t you stop me, darling?”

Your breath caught as his hand went up and rubbed a stray piece of hair out of the way across your face. The sensation was warm, almost tender, yet it set your nerves on fire.

What do you think you are doing to me? he intoned, as his eyes lingered at your mouth for only a second before returning mine. “Sitting there, looking so lovely, so untouchable. It’s maddening.”

“Tom—”

He covered the gap between you in one smooth movement and his arms came to rest on your waist.

Your protestations, tentative and feeble, became nothing more than mumble on your tongue as his thumb grazed against your hip, his caress both possessive and forlornly tender.

"Tell me to stop" he choked, his breath a hot caress on your cheek. “If you want me to, tell me now, doll.”

But you couldn’t. The sentences just wouldn't appear, caught in the middle of your brain reels and the tingling, heady draw of his figure. He watched you very closely, his gaze searching, and when you did not answer, he came closer.

His lips brushed against yours, feather-light, testing. It wasn’t enough to claim but enough to ignite. When you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring every second.

His fingers then went from the very centre of your waist to the lower part of your back, pulling you closer and you gave in, every grammatical notion melting away under the power of his hand.

"Sweetheart," he whispered into your lips, his tone husky with control. “You’re going to ruin me.”

The words sent a thrill through you, a dangerous mix of exhilaration and fear. But you didn’t pull away. Intead, you moved in closer, your fingers grasping the material of his suit jacket as if to tether yourself.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor pulled you back into the real world. You pulled away suddenly and breathlessly. Your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Tom stared at you, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of frustration passed through his dark eyes.

“Go back,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Before someone notices.”

He paused, his eyes meeting yours for only a beat longer before backing away. He adjusted his suit, composure returning with disconcerting rapidity.

"This isn't over," he murmured, his voice hushed yet promising.

And as you got out of the room, your heart beating, you realized he was right.

The laughter of the living room enveloped you as a wall when you turned back into the happy crowd, the cheer conflicting with the storm inside you. Your father stood near the fireplace, engrossed in a story that had everyone around him roaring with laughter. There, to the side, Tom was waiting.

A woman hovered near him—a brunette in a sleek, emerald dress that clung to her like a second skin. She was beautiful, poised, and entirely too close. Her fingers brushed against his forearm as she giggled at some joke he made, a laughter which was, clearly, far too rehearsed and too predictable.

Your stomach twisted.

Tom looked unflinching, his dark pupils bouncing for a split second to hers then back to your father's group. However, there was a certain ease in his stance that set off a shock wave of anger in your heart.

You locked eyes on him, and for just a moment, something undecipherable came across his expression. Then his lips quirked into a faint smirk, as though the scene unfolding between him and the woman meant nothing. However, it told a different story when her fingertips brushed against the fabric of his sleeve.

Disgusted, you contort your expression—pain mixed with rage—while you make eye contact with him. His smirk faltered ever so slightly. Good.

“I’m not feeling well," you announced, directing your words to your father but loud enough for the others to hear. “I’m going home.”

Your father glanced at you with concern. “Are you alright? Do you need someone to escort you?”

Tom moved confidently to the side, his voice a silky caress which gave your skin a tingle. “I’ll take her. It’s no trouble.”

You made a sudden right turn, forcing him off before he could get in the position to finish the closing distance. “No, thanks, you said coolly, letting your gaze dart pointedly to the woman lingering near him. “I’m sure you’re busy with far more important matters.”

The silence stretched for just a moment too long, but you didn’t care. Ignoring the response, you turned on your heel and walked away from the room, the pressure of Tom’s eyes burning your back.

When you got there, it was dark in the manor, the imposing hall in shadows illuminated by moonbeams streaming in through the window arches. Your footsteps silently led you to the study, where you had to retrieve a book left there some time ago.

You heaved the massive door open and the smell of old leather and paper welcomed you. But as you stepped inside, you froze.

Tom Riddle sat in the chair near the fireplace, cloaked in shadows, his posture relaxed yet commanding. With one hand resting on the armrest and with the other hand holding a glass of brownish dark liquid that sparkled down in the dim light.

“What are you doing here?" you demanded, your voice sharp as you flicked on the nearby lamp.

The light revealed his face, his expression unreadable but his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “You left so abruptly. I thought it best to check on you.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him see how much his presence unsettled you. “How considerate,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Shouldn’t you be with your date? She might miss you.”

Tom chuckled quietly, a reverberant, resonant sound only added to the annoyance. He swirled the glass in the palm of his hand, staring into you, maddeningly. “She means nothing," he said, his voice calm but edged with finality.

His indifferent manner just made the fire in your chest grow bigger and bigger. "You expect me to believe that?" you snorted as you took another step towards her. “After she practically threw herself at you all night?”

“You’re jealous," he said simply, as if stating a fact.

Your anger surged, hot and unrelenting. Instinctively, you lifted your hand to hit him, driven by the strongest, consciousness of that infuriating smirk of revenge retaken. But he moved faster.

His hand shot out grasping hold of your wrist with a firm grasp before your hand could get hold of it. The force of it jarred you off balance, and he sprang up from the chair in a single contoured turn, towering over you.

“Careful, doll,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t want to test me.”

"Release me," you snarled, struggling to break free from your armrest.

Your chest visibly strained to maintain your composure, yet your gaze never wavered. “You’re insufferable,” you hissed.

A dark smile spread across his lips. “And you’re in need of a lesson.”

Before you could answer, he got back in the chair, pulling you back in a single fluid, easy movement. As you yelped, you saw yourself lying across his laps, your belly against his thighs.

“Tom!" you protested, trying to push yourself up, but his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back, holding you in place.

"You've had a quite a bit of attitude tonight," he remarked, deceptively neutral. His free hand rubbed against the backof your hip, his contact intentional and provocative. “It’s about time someone corrected it.”

“Let me go,” you demanded, though your voice wavered.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Not until you’ve learned some respect, sweetheart.”

His words gave a chill on the back of your neck, a peculiar feeling between anger and an unexplainable type of emotion. He moved just so, his hand sliding up your back in a slow, steady swipe, and his touch set off every nerve it crossed.

“You can fight me all you want," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, “but we both know how this ends."

Tom's hold on your waist squeezed a little tighter against his lap as you wriggled, your heart pounding in your ears.

"Stay calm," he said, his voice quiet but bearing an imperative tone. It wasn’t a shout—it didn’t need to be. The implied control in his voice caused your suffering to fail, your breath to become faster in the freeze.

“Tom, this isn’t—” you started, your voice wavering.

“Isn’t what?" he interrupted smoothly, his hand resting just below the curve of your hip. The heat from the inside of his hand flowed through the fabric of your gown and set even your already frayed nerves on high alert. “Isn’t appropriate? Isn’t deserved?”

Your jaw clenched, refusing to answer. That provoked a barely audible chuckle from him, a sound that was both irritating and seductive.

“I’ve let you push me too far tonight," he said, his hand sliding lower to rest on the curve of your thigh. His fingers pressed gently, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of heat racing through you. “But that ends now.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you spat, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Am I?” he mused, tilting his head slightly. Or are you just terrified that you enjoy it when I run the show?

His words were like a spark to dry tinder, and you twisted in his hold, attempting to wriggle free. But his strength was implacable, his grip firm but not painful, a silent reminder of just how much he held the upper hand.

“Stop squirming,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “You’re only making this harder for yourself, sweetheart.”

Your face burned from the double meaning, and you stared at him over your shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

"And you," he said, putting his free hand gently on top of your thigh, stroking it in a disturbingly slow cadence, “deserve a bit of a lesson.

Before you could think of a comeback, his hand lifted and came down in a sharp yet measured smack against the soft curve of your ass. It wasn't a painful sensation at all, that's more of a shock than such, but it sent a jolt of heat flooding through you nonetheless.

You gasped, twisting to glare at him. “Tom!”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “That was for your attitude earlier,” he said simply.

“You can’t just—”

Another light smack silenced your protest, his touch deliberate but not rough, as though testing your reaction. "I can and I will," he said, voice even, uncanny and unsettlingly composed. “Unless, of course, you’d like me to stop?”

Your heart beat frantically against your ribs in a conflict between outrage and something completely inexplicable. His question floated in the space, a proposition as much as a call.

When you didn't reply, this hand lingered on top of your thigh, his finger grazing in repeated deliberate circles onto your skin. The emotional weight of the movement ran through you, your body saying the millions of words the should be silent.

"Nothing to say right now, hm?" he mumbled, lowering himself to where his lips grazed the hair of your ear. Perhaps, after all, I've finally found a way to tame that sharp tongue of yours.”

You tightened your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. However, when his hand ascended further and his fingers spread across your upper thigh, a soft gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.

"Careful darling," he said in a low voice, his voice sibilant, combining threat and seduction. “I might start to think you’re enjoying this.”

Your head snapped up, and you twisted again to face him, your cheeks flushed with indignation. “I’m not.”

“Liar," he said simply, his lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts infuriating and devastatingly alluring.

His hand settled on your thigh, his grip firm but not cruel, holding you in place as though daring you to challenge him further. His weight on your hand sparked your thoughts to fly into a dizzy spin and every prick of his fingers faded the border between rage and something far more threatening.

The room was silent save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint crackle of the fireplace. His gaze bore into you, intense and unyielding, as though he could see every thought racing through your mind.

"Tell me to stop," he said, for a second time, in a soft but insistent tone. “And I will.”

But you didn’t.

You remained silent, your breath shallow and uneven as his words hung in the air. His challenge was clear, yet you found yourself paralyzed, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to end this dangerous game.

Tom’s smirk deepened as the seconds stretched, your silence speaking volumes. "That’s what I thought," he said, in a tone red with contentment.

His hand, still soft against your thigh, shifted a bit, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate strokes higher and higher. The motion was maddeningly light, his touch both comforting and infuriating, and you hated how your body responded despite your better judgment.

“Look at you," he said softly, his voice low and intimate. “So defiant, so determined to push me away. And yet…" His thumb pressed a fraction harder, a small movement that sent a jolt of sensation racing through you. “…here you are. Perfectly content to stay exactly where I want you.”

Your breath hitched, and you struggled to muster a retort, but the weight of his hand, the steady cadence of his voice, unraveled the edges of your resistance.

"You’re insufferable," you hissed.

Tom chuckled, the voice a low, resonant and smooth rumbling vibration through the air in between the two of you. “You’ve said that already, darling," he replied, leaning down so his breath ghosted across your ear. “It’s almost like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

His other hand then settled flat on the small of your back, pressing you down harder against his lap. The shift in position left you breathless, the heat of his body seeping into yours, and you felt every inch of his cock hard beneath you—his strength, his control, his relentless presence.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" he asked, his voice a low hum that made your spine tingle. “A spoiled little girl who’s never had anyone dare to put her in her place.”

Your eyes flashed with indignation, and you twisted in his hold, trying to push yourself up. “And you think you’re the one to do it?”

His grip tightened slightly, keeping you firmly in place. “Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, his tone laced with amusement, “I know I am.”

Before you could argue, his hand went up once more coming down with another smack against the curve of your ass. The sound was sharp in the quiet room, but the sensation was more surprising than painful—a mix of heat and pressure that sent a flare of something unfamiliar coursing through you.

You gasped, your fingers curling into fists as you turned to glare at him over your shoulder. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted with a faint smirk. “But I think you like it.”

His hand had evened over the point where he had landed as if to comfort it. The contrast left you reeling, your body at war with your mind as every nerve seemed to come alive under his ministrations.

“Admit it,” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent. “You crave this. Someone who won’t back down, who won’t let you hide behind that pretty little mask of yours.”

You tightened your jaw, refusing to provide him with a response. But the way your body betrayed you—the flush in your cheeks, the quickened rhythm of your breath—was answer enough.

Tom's hand moved up higher, gliding over your waist, the feeling of his touch both possessive and calculated. "You can try to win this fight the way you see fit," he said, his voice dropping close to a hush. “But we both know the truth.”

He bent down and his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “You belong to me.”

The words sent a shiver through you, your resolve wavering as the weight of his presence threatened to consume you entirely. Yet, as your physical body did so, your mind refused to yield to that defeat with debilitating obstinacy, refusing to be taken down easy.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze with a glare that was equal parts anger and vulnerability. “You don’t own me," you said, your voice trembling but firm.

His eyes darkened, his expression hardening ever so slightly. “Don’t I?”

The challenge hung between you, heavy and charged, as his grip on your waist tightened imperceptibly. He didn’t strike again—he didn’t need to. The mere appearance of his was quite enough to make you gasp, every caress, every utterance, a preconceived manoeuvre in this ceaseless war of minds.

He shifted his hand, pulling your panties aside. His fingers hovered just inches from where you needed him most, but he didn’t touch—he lingered, waiting.

"I'm not moving my fingers until I hear you say you need me," Tom said, his voice cold and controlled, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that left no room for refusal. He talked in a sharp, calculating tone, as if he enjoyed having the power over you.

Your arousal was evident, as he could perceive your glistening form illuminated by the soft light in the room. You were undeniably wet for him, though reluctant to acknowledge it. "Tom, please…" you uttered.

"Please, what?" he whispered, his fingers drawing closer to your arousal.

"Please, just touch me," you said, having reached your limit with his teasing.

That was all it took. Tom's fingers brushed against you ever so lightly, trailing down your folds and gathering your arousal. "Look at me," he commanded, as he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting the evidence of your desire.

You gasped when his fingers trailed up to his lips, Tom's gaze held yours as he tasted you, evoking a tingle through your cunt.

He withdrew his fingers from his mouth with a soft pop, then tipped them towards your aching pussy. "If I'm doing this, I need to make sure you're ready for me, sweetheart," he mumbled. Softly, he began to slide a finger in, and with a soft whimper, he stretched your cunt.

He cautiously moved his finger, testing your response to gauge if it was too much for you. You wriggled a bit, not accustomed to the sensation, and your cheeks flushed with shame as a gentle moan slipped out of your mouth.

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," Tom commanded. "Let me hear it all." You could feel him growing harder beneath your stomach.

He added another finger, curling them both inside you. That sensation induced a maelstrom of bliss, churning your guts in ways you hadn't even imagined were real. The slow, deliberate movements of his fingers inside you set your body on fire, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. As your moans grew louder, he quickened his pace, each motion bringing you closer to the edge.

"Tom… that feels incredible," you whispered, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment.

You wanted to look at him—at his face—feeling slightly insecure about the unfamiliarity of it all. Turning your head awkwardly, you tried to catch a glimpse of him, despite the compromising position of being sprawled on your stomach across his lap. His fingers moved inside you, pushing you closer to the edge of your climax.

"Not so fast, sweetheart," he drawled, pulling his fingers back and leaving you whimpering in rebellion. Come on, get up," he said softly, and you complied, rising with a few hesitations to your feet.

"Come here, doll," he coaxed, pulling you closer by the waist as you straddled his lap. "Taste this for me—taste how wet I make you feel." He raised his fingers to your lips. You hesitated, looking up into his eyes. The focus of his stare challenged you to disobey him. At last you parted the rim of your mouth and allowed his fingers to enter your mouth.

"That's my good girl," he whispered, a proud grin crossing his lips. Tom's fingers slid out from under your mouth, and a warm sensation that wouldn't go away remained on your jaw as he delicately held your chin. His was a firm but gentle pressure that led your face toward his and his lips captured yours in a lusty, passionate kiss.

He got to his feet and held you tight with his strong arms around your thighs, supporting you while your legs instinctively encircled his waist. Your lips stayed closed, lips and breaths commingled into a sensual kiss increasing in depth with every passing moment. With careful precision, he carried you to the couch, lowering you gently onto the soft cushions. His body moved seamlessly between your legs, drawing you closer as the intensity of the moment surged.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice low and filled with awe as his eyes traced every feature of your face.

Your eyes shifted down to his lips, and a soft heat emanated up to the tops of your cheeks.

"Thank you, Tom," you said, your voice a bit shaky, but full of sincerity.

He shivered at the sound, his breath hitching. "Say my name again," he pleaded, his tone raw with longing.

"Tom," you murmured, the sound a feather against his ear as you brushed your fingers through his strands. Gently, you got entangled in the silky fibres and pulled him towards you until without a space between the two of you the breath of your lips collided in a shorthand of passion and longings.

His lips gently but intensely travelled the whole of your face, never leaving unmarked. He creeped down to your neck, bouncing between quiet, wet kisses and playful, teasing bites that produced chills up and down your spine. Each kiss ignited a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, a sweet ache of longing and excitement. As he continued his journey, his teeth and lips left a trail of delicate bite marks, little symbols of his possessive affection—marking you as his in the most intimate way possible.

He murmured something under his breath, his voice low and unfamiliar, laced with a power you couldn’t comprehend. Even as you were processing it, clothes were vanished, perfectly stacked to the floor, like they'd been conjured up by some force unseen. A shiver ran through you as the cool air caressed your now-bare skin, your mouth falling open in both shock and awe at the sudden display of magic—magic he performed effortlessly, without so much as a wand.

"How–how did you do that?" you stammered, your voice shaking from both excitement and shock.

"Shh," he mumbled, lips grazing yours as he kissed his way slowly down your chest. His hand tightened about your waist, possessively, a feeling impossible to shake, a promise of the marks you’d find in the morning—a reminder of this moment, of him.

His warm lips wrapped around your sensitive, hardened nipple, his teeth grazing it gently before his tongue soothed the spot with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sent a delicious shiver racing down your spine, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, surrendering to the pleasure coursing through you. His eyes lifted, locking onto your face with an intensity that felt almost tangible, tracing every curve, every nuance, as if memorizing you in that fleeting moment.

Your breath caught in your chest as you sensed the heat and pressure of his strong cock pushing hard against your wet little cunt, a sensetion that made a shiver run up and down your spine. His lips broke away your taut, sensitive nipple with a wet plop, leaving it it throbbing and wet from his focus.

Unbroken, his mouth moved on down, the scrape of his teeth grazing your skin as he left a trail of bite marks blooming across your tender flesh.

The sight of his handiwork—of Tom staking his claim in vivid, undeniable marks—made your pulse quicken, a wave of need pooling deep within your pussy. The thought of his mouth exploring every inch of you, claiming you so intimately, pulled a soft, involuntary moan from your lips.

“Enjoying yourself already, doll? His voice was low and teasing, dripping with cocky confidence as his eyes locked with yours. There it was, that signature smug grin on his face, in part arrogant and part intoxicating. “I haven’t even started yet.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a sarcastic remark, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “I hate that stupid smirk of yours," you muttered, unable to stop the small hitch in your breath when his thumb brushed across one of the marks he’d made.

“Sure you do,” he drawled, the grin widening as he leaned in closer.

He paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, his body pressed close to yours, radiating heat. His hand brushed against your hip, grounding you as he lined himself up with your entrance. Slowly, he pressed forward, the slickness of his precum mingling with the evidence of your arousal. The head of his length stretched you in the gentlest way, teasing you as he slid just the tip in and out, building an unbearable tension.

Then, in one swift motion, he pushed all the way in and burying himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness wrenched a soft scream from your lips, your body arching instinctively in response.

The stretch was overwhelming, the sensation brought tears to your eyes, hot streaks rolling down your cheeks, unbidden, as you tried to catch your breath in the midst of him filling you completely.

Tom's face fell into the hollow of your neck, his breath hot and deep on my skin as a deep, booming groan echoed from Tom. The tightness of your pussy around him made him lose composure for a moment. “You’re so tight," he murmured, his voice thick with need.

Instinctively, your pussy clenched around him, and he let out a low chuckle, though his tone was edged with warning. “If you keep squeezing me like that, darling, I won’t be able to stay gentle,” he said, his teeth grazing your neck in a teasing bite that sent a shiver through you.

When he pulled back slightly, his gaze met yours—softened now as he caught the pained grimace that flickered across your face. You felt stretched, almost impossibly so. His brows furrowed with concern, and he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he whispered soothingly, “It’s okay, shh… it’s alright. I’ve got you." The reassurance was a mantra, spoken over and over as his thumb stroked your hip, grounding you.

“T-Tom, it’s too big. I can’t,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with uncertainty. His lips closed into a subtle little smile, and tilted his forehead against yours while his eyes held forth deep quietness. "Yes, you can," he whispered, voice firm and resolute, a vow in the incantation. Slowly, carefully, he moved, his actions deliberate and measured, letting you feel every inch of his patience and devotion.

“I’m going to move now," Tom murmured, his voice low and husky as he drew in a steadying breath. His gaze met yours, darkened with desire, as he crashed back into you. The sensation tore a sharp moan from your lips, the sound echoing in the charged space between you.

“Oh, fuck, Tom." you gasped, your voice trembling as his slow, deliberate movements made every nerve in your body ignite. The initial sting began to fade, melting into a swelling warmth that coursed through you, each thrust drawing you deeper into a haze of pleasure. He moved with an almost reverent tenderness, as though afraid to hurt you, and the care in his actions tightened something sweet and aching in your chest.

But soon, restraint gave way to raw need. His pace quickened, each thrust sharp, deliberate, and impossibly deep. Instinctively, your arms wrapped themselves around his back, grabbing hold of him, and created faint indentations in his flesh.

“Shit,” Tom hissed, his breath hot against your neck. He gasped softly as your nails made their mark upon him, his urge to resist falling apart. Then, with a muttered curse, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. Before you could object, the smooth fabric of his tie wrapped them around you, binding you with a grace that made your heart thud in your chest like a drum.

"As soon as you move your arms I’m stopping," he warned, growling voice. His gaze burned into yours, challenging and tender all at once. He shifted slightly, his hand slipping to your throat, the pressure firm but not unkind. His thumb brushed along your jaw as his eyes roamed over you, drinking in the way your body responded to him.

"Fuck," he mumbled, rolling his head back as he thrust into you again, the impact rippling up his body. Every time he went inside you, you could sense him straining, feel him getting harder, feeling the sensation of himself being consumed by sight and touch of you.

“You look so damn good taking me, princess," he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and need. His movements became almost frantic now, a primal rhythm driven by the way your body welcomed him so completely.

The way he moved, the way his intense gaze locked onto you, and the way he made your entire body hum with pleasure—everything about him was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your breaths came shallow, your body vibrated with the anticipation of the tightening of the coil of your climax within you.

Tom noticed instantly, his sharp eyes catching every telltale sign. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he shook his head, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Not so fast, doll,” he murmured, pulling out of you suddenly. The emptiness was unbearable, drawing a desperate whine from your mouth. He chuckled at your response, a deep, teasing sound that only deepening the ache in your core.

“Tell me, darling,” he croaked, the sound a grating rasp as he drew in and out sharply. He was losing himself, you could feel it—the deliberate control in his movements betrayed by the way his breath hitched when he looked down, captivated by the sight of him disappearing into you. “Are you going to misbehave again?”

“No! I won't, I won't—I swear", you choked, your words choked out into a whisper as the need consumed you. “Please, Tom, please…” You uttered with desperate pleading, almost a gasp, with every syllable wet with yearning.

That's my good little slut," Tom snarled, his voice dripping with dominance as he thrust into you with unrelenting force. The impact sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, pulling a moan from your lips that carried his name like a prayer. Your back arched instinctively, offering him more, needing him to take everything you could give.

"Yes—please, just like that,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation. His hands gripped your hips, strong and possessive, his fingers digging into your flesh as he guided your body to meet his every thrust. The wet sounds of your connection filled the room, each movement driving you both closer to the edge.

His pace quickened, every stroke hard and deliberate, his breathing ragged and shallow as he neared his limit. Without warning, his palm cracked against your ass, the sting sending another wave of heat pooling in your cunt.

“Just like that," he snarled, through gritted teeth, the strain in his voice revealing how close he was. “Such a good girl for me.”

You could feel his control slipping, as his movements became less controlled, more desperate. Wanting to push him further, you tightened around him, squeezing him with every ounce of strength you had.

Fuck," he grunted in a low, breathless tone, barely a human sound. Suddenly, a spark of magic pulsed through the air, unseen but unmistakable. A new sensation bloomed at your most sensitive spot—an invisible force rubbing precise, deliberate circles. The pressure was overwhelming, dragging you to the precipice with dizzying speed.

A scream tore from your throat, his name spilling from your lips as the climax hit you like a tidal wave. Your body shuddered uncontrollably, your release spilling over him, coating him in your ecstasy.

Tom followed moments later, his grip on your waist tightening as he thrust deep one final time. His body quivered, a deep groan pricking through him as he came, his warm cum filling you. His pace slowed, his each shallow thrust until he finally collapsed against you, careful not to crush you beneath his weight.

His breath fanned against your neck as he rested there, the rise and fall of his chest soothing you as the aftershocks coursed through your body. He cradled you as if you were a treasure, bringing you back into the calm feeling of intimacy that remained after.

After a few moments, he slipped off of you, his movements unhurried but purposeful. Stooping to the desk, he reached for a few tissues, putting himself in order first, before returning to clean you with the same meticulous care he always seemed to embody.

You turned onto your side, your gaze drawn to him like a magnet. Tom Riddle was many things—terrifying, enigmatic, commanding—but in this moment, as you watched him, he was utterly human. His usually immaculate composure had unraveled. Sweat beaded on his skin, his dark curls plastered to his forehead. His chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths, and there was something undeniably intimate about seeing him like this—disheveled, undone, because of you.

He returned to your side and knelt down, his sharp eyes softening as they met yours. The shift in his expression made your pulse quicken, your breaths shallow with a nervous kind of anticipation.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate. “Open your legs for me, just a little.”

You complied, the shivering in your body unmistakable as you spread your legs apart. His caress was soft and his fingers touched you with utmost care when he was cleaning you. There was no rush in his movements, only a quiet tenderness that made your chest ache.

Unable to help yourself, you stared at him, the perfection of his features more striking than ever in the dim light. Before you could think better of it, the words spilled from your lips “You’re beautiful.”

He came to a halt, his hand stilling as your sudden confession hung in the air between you. His gaze snapped to yours, and for the briefest of moments, Tom Riddle looked genuinely surprised. His cool veneer cracked, revealing a hint of vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to see.

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and you turned your face away, wishing you could take it back. However, at that moment he smiled—a guttural, deep laugh quite different from the crisp, parsimonious chuckles you'd heard before. It was a genuine laugh, warm and unguarded, and it made your stomach flutter.

“Thank you, darling,” he murmured, his tone laced with humor but also with something heartfelt. He finished cleaning you with the same deliberate care as before, then rose to his feet. Bending down, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

As he turned to dispose of the tissues, you couldn’t help but smile, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. In the silence, the truth of it all settled in: Tom Riddle wasn’t just beautiful—he was devastatingly so, in ways he probably didn’t even realize.

With a soft hum of magic, he made sure you were clean, the warm tingle of his spell a gentle caress over your skin. He went and grabbed something soothing out for you to wear, his actions relaxed, as if utterly at peace with the silences that surrounded him. Carefully, he carried you to your bedroom, his arms steady and protective, and tucked you beneath the blankets with such tenderness it made your chest ache.

As he turned to leave, your hand shot out to grab his wrist. Your grip was weak, but your expression said everything—you didn’t want him to go. A shadow of guilt flickered across his features before he gave you a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and edged with a wry humor, “your father would kill me if he found out about this." He paused, brushing a thumb over the back of your hand, his gaze softening. “How about I stay until you fall asleep?”

Exhausted and too tired to say anything you could only nod, relief flooded through you. At that moment, a smile crept across your mouth as he crawled into the bed next to you and embraced you. His warmth enveloped you, the steady up and down of his chest relaxing you into a feeling of tranquility. He kissed your forehead, the press of his lips lingering for a beat too long, and whispered soft, unintelligible words that carried you into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, there was quiet as soon as you got out of bed. You hadn’t expected him to stay, but his presence lingered in subtle traces—the scent of him still clinging to the pillow where he’d rested. It was heady, a blend of deep, sweet notes of sandalwood and amber, with a subliminal, bracing quality of cedar. You couldn't help but bury your face right into the pillow and take in deep breaths. The smell was unmistakable, his—a mixture that was all its own, as mysterious and alluring as the man was.

A/N: Wow, this took me a while to put together! I'm really nervous about posting it, but I hope you enjoy it!

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hello !! what was ur dreaam !!

a drabble based on my mattheo and enzo dream cause it’s way more fun than just telling you guys about it :]

you aren’t quite sure how you ended up in this particular situation— you try to think back, but the last thing you recall is watching awfully bad horror movies with your two best friends while drinking a few beers. so how the fuck did you end up with each one of them on either side of you, their naked bodies pressed close against yours?

“i— i can’t fucking control myself much longer.” enzo groans breathlessly against the soft skin of your neck from behind, aggressively sucking dark hickeys into your skin. his strong hands are gripping your hips so tightly, as if to compose himself.

“you think i can?” mattheo growls from in front of you, gazing down at you with those pretty brown eyes that seem to have turned even darker now as they hungrily scan every inch of your naked body— his best friend’s naked body.

and fuck, you’re right there with them— you feel every ounce of self-control you had left gradually slipping away, with the undeniable ache between your legs only growing, your body practically trembling with desire.

but it shouldn’t be like this. you promised each other that nothing would ever happen between you— the friendship meant too much to risk. yet here you are, both their hands roaming eagerly over your naked body as you feel their painfully hard erections pressed against your ass and stomach.

“shit. you’re so… so fucking hot.” enzo whispers right into your ear from behind, his hands roughly squeezing your tits and his fingers toying with your sensitive nipples, causing you to let out a desperate, breathy gasp.

you feel the tip of his cock prodding insistently against your thighs, his slick precum warm and wet against your skin— but then his erection suddenly finds its way between them, the grip on your hips tightening even further as he lets out a throaty hiss of pleasure at the sensation, slowly thrusting his cock between your legs.

“enzo!” you call out, a mix of worry and uncertainty lacing your voice, your brows furrowed in concern.

“shhh, don’t stress, pretty girl. i’m not fucking you, am i?” he casually replies with a playful smirk, but his soothing tone instantly calms you down, because he’s right— he isn’t fucking you. this is… fine.

“you’re so fuckin’ cute when you get all stressed.” mattheo teases from before you, your attention instantly shifting back to him. your eyes lock with his as your hands find their way to his broad, muscular shoulders, steadying yourself against enzo’s sloppy thrusts, your mind clouded with both alcohol and desire. you feel enzo’s cock rubbing right against your soaked cunt, and fuck, it’s driving you absolutely insane.

mattheo’s wandering hand then moves down to your core, followed by his fingers slowly rubbing your sensitive, swollen clit, causing your eyes to flutter shut in pure ecstasy. your intoxicated state only heightens the pleasure, your legs trembling helplessly as enzo’s throbbing cock continues to move back and forth between them, your slick arousal dripping down all over it.

“does that feel good, baby? hmm?” mattheo taunts, his fingers pressing harder against the bundle of nerves, causing your nails to dig into the skin of his shoulders as you hum in response, desperately trying to hold yourself up. your hand slowly travels down mattheo’s body until it reaches his aching cock, and he lets out a soft groan the moment you wrap your fingers around it, pumping it faster and faster.

loud, pornographic moans fill the room, and with the pleasure between the three of you only building with each passing second, it’s clear that it’s not a matter of if someone will break, but who will break first…

ੈ♡˳

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

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Santa’s Little Tease

12 Days of Dickmas - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Roleplaying in the new lingerie your boyfriend got you certainly gets spicy👀

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, chars 18+, modern au, dom!theo, bf!theo, dombf!theo, rough sex, anal, slight roleplaying, lingerie, clit stim, slight spitting, spanking, degrading, dirty talk, dom&sub

—Smack smack smack!- The sound of Theo’s heavy palm swatting across your ass echoed around the room. Feeling the burn spread across your cheeks.

Meanwhile, Theo was balls deep inside of your ass. Your bright red and green lace elf lingerie rode up your back as he mercilessly plowed deep inside of you.

Feeling the way your knuckles already started to turn white from gripping the bedsheets so fucking hard. “God— I love fucking your tight little hole-“

Theo physically spat down onto his cock and your ass— getting it even wetter as he used you to his liking. You turned your head back to look at him.

“F-fuck! I love it when you—“

Your words got cut off as you felt Theodore snake his hand around your body, firmly pressing down on your swollen clit. The room swirled with your moans.

The way your body tensed and clenched around his length was driving your boyfriend mad— holding back his climax as much as he could. “What was that? My naughty elf seems to have lost her words hm?”

Taunting you and incorporating the little bit of roleplay from the lingerie he had bought you— You were a babbling mess of bliss. Feeling his fingers run faster on your cluster of nerves.

“I-I— just feels s-so good!”

Managing to squeak out your words, you perked your ass higher for Theodore. Anal was something you both loved and did quite often. Being something of a kink for both of you.

Another loud and hard smack landed on your already reddened ass cheek. Wincing from the pain he railed inside of you even harder. “So good hm, Tesoro?— Dirty fuckin’ girl.”

An orgasm was approaching you— and quickly at that. The mix of anal, clit stimulation, and Theodore’s dirty talk in that thick Italian accent? Fucking Hell—

“Your dirty girl, Teddy— Fuck! Please don’t stop— Please!” You begged your boyfriend who was already drilling into you like a fucking jackhammer. “Stop?— Cazzo- I wouldn’t even think of stopping…Gonna cum for me, hm? Cum for me like the little anal slut you are?”

It was almost too overstimulating— In the best way possible. “Y-yes! Yes— Fuck I’m gonna—“ Your moans turned to screams as you felt yourself hit a very intense and pleasurable orgasm.

Your body convulsed from the euphoria that streamed throughout your body but Theo kept his rough pace, not even a glimmer of him stopping. Wanting you to feel nothing but pleasure throughout your entire climax.

“What’s my girl want hm?— Where do you want my cum?”

Theo asked, still not stopping, still going hard inside of you. Your mascara was practically dripping down your face by now, letting out a little groan before replying. “I- Fuck! I want it inside of me— please…pleasepleaseplease!”

Begging him like the good and obedient little sub you are, your boyfriend couldn’t help but smirk down at the marvelous view of you. “Fuck— Don’t have to tell me twice, bambina-“

Growling out his words, he pounded into you even faster. Something you weren’t even sure was humanly possible. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head while you felt your body go spiritual in a sense.

“Gonna fill up that perfect little hole of yours— my little anal slut- fuck— I’m gonna fill you up, Tesoro— Cazzo-“

On the 10th day of Dickmas we get…Anal, just…Anal hehehe👀🎁

Hope my bbys enjoyed! Thank you for being patient during the holidays and since I’m on vacation!

Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙

Love all my smut sluts so much! Hope everyone had a happy new year💋

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Smutmas 2024 | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Celebrating Him.

Short summary: waking up next to your boyfriend on his birthday has its perks.

Warnings: 18+ only! brief oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, slight begging

A/N: Happy 98th Birthday to this handsome granddaddy. Celebrating Her dropping on my birthday! (soon🤭)

wordcount: 2,0k

Your eyelids flutter open as warm rays of sunshine from outside shimmer onto your face. Something quite unusual at this time of the year. It’s the 31st of December, New Year’s Eve. Tom’s birthday. A smile creeps onto your lips at that thought.

Tom’s birthday. He has always hated celebrating his special day, telling you year after year that you didn‘t need to get him anything, yet you always did. Just like this year. And alongside that, a little treat before you two leave the bedroom.

Slowly, you turn around to face his still sleeping form next to you on the bed. You’ve always adored how pretty his brunette curls looked when he didn’t have them done, messily falling onto his forehead as he sleeps. Normally he’d tell you off for staring at him for a prolonged time, though now? You could do it for as long as you pleased without him noticing. He looks peaceful like this, angelic almost, a stark contrast to his otherwise harsh nature, to how he portrays himself to the outside world. It’s just you who would get to see his vulnerable side on the occasion, such as right now. Only rarely you’d wake before him, mostly he would already be up at his desk, either working or reading the newspaper until you woke.

You appreciate the quiet moments before he wakes. A soft smile graces your lips as he mumbles something inaudible in his sleep. The duvet has slipped slightly, revealing his toned arms and shoulders. His hands rest on the mattress, fingers relaxed and gently curled.

You’d love to caress his soft skin then, trail your fingertips along the inside of his arm up to the crease of his elbow, and back down. Though you stop yourself in time. You decide to let him rest, get his sleep when he can, allow him a slow start to a day he normally despises.

Minutes pass after this, taking in his form as your smile increasingly widens.

Hell, you were a true fool for this man. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“You have been staring at me for an awfully long time, darling.” Tom murmurs then, not bothering to open his eyes.

You sigh softly, your head dropping back onto the pillow. “For how long have you been awake?”

“Ever since you turned around.” He replies quietly, voice still thick with sleep. Normally he would have already gotten up by this point, though now he doesn’t even stir.

“You are impossible,” you whisper, scooting closer to him to place a tender kiss on his full lips with a smile. “Happy Birthday, Tom.”

It’s then when he opens his eyes, his rich, deep brown eyes that draw you right in with their intensity. The eyes you fell in love with in the first place, now locked onto yours, igniting a familiar fire between the both of you. “And you know exactly how I feel about that,” he reminds you, swiping a strand of loose hair from your face, never breaking eye contact.

“Mhmmm. Certainly do,” you murmur against his lips, placing a gentle kiss on them before you continue. “Although you deserve a little treat, don’t you think?”

Tom huffs softly, raising one of his eyebrows knowingly. “And what would that be?”

You grin, revealing his bare chest as you tug the duvet aside, not wasting another second before you swing your leg over his hip, straddling him. “Let me show you, Tommy.” The complaint he was about to make dies in his throat as your lips trail kisses down his neck, starting at his jawline.

Tom hums as your teeth occasionally sink into his skin, hands firmly gripping your waist. You take your time with him, nipping and gnawing at his skin, placing kisses on his chest as you feel him grow hard beneath you. To your surprise he doesn’t stop you, though as soon as you grind your hips along his hardened length, even just slightly so, his arms still you. “Sweetheart.” His eyes lock onto yours, the warning evident in his voice. A gentle reminder not to push too far.

 “What’s the matter?” You retort, innocently smiling back at him, fingertips tracing along his exposed V-line. Goosebumps form on his skin as you do, grip loosening the tiniest bit, and you take the opportunity to move yourself once more, moaning softly as the slight friction sends a wave of pleasure straight to your core. You feel his muscles tense beneath you, and with one swift motion, he sits up, his face a mere breath away from yours, eyebrows drawn together.

“If you think this is how—“ Tom begins, voice laced with growing frustration as he firmly holds onto one of your wrists. Your lips curl up into a smirk, gaze wandering to his mouth as he speaks. Before he can finish, you press a finger to his lips, silencing him mid-sentence. “Shhh,” you whisper, capturing him in another kiss.

“Please let me make you feel good, Tom. Just this once,” you breathe, a plea almost, as you break apart. He glances at you for another moment before he exhales deeply, slowly lowering himself back down onto the soft mattress. “Go on, then.”

His confirmation is all you need before you slip further down the bed, positioning yourself in between his legs, the rest of his clothing long discarded on the floor. You rest your hand on his thigh, muscles tensing under your touch. You take one last glance at his expression, innocently smiling at him before your other hand firmly palms his swollen length. Tom’s eyebrows furrow at the contact, lips parting slightly. When you then softly swipe the pad of your thumb over his sensitive tip, his hips involuntarily jerk up into your touch and a soft hiss falls over his lips. The corner of your mouth tugs up at his reaction, satisfaction flickering in your eyes. You repeat what you did, letting your fingertip brush over the delicate skin once more.

“If you don’t- “ he groans, lowly, eyes falling shut in restraint, “fucking do something, I promise-“

It takes everything in you not to let your enjoyment show. Him beneath you, so desperate for your touch. Something he would certainly seek revenge on later. But for now? He was yours to play with.

You lick a torturously slow stripe along a vein stretching from his base to his tip until you decide to grant him his wish, wrapping your full lips around his tip at first, swirling your tongue around it. Tom’s response, a sharp inhale, cuts through the silence, his fingers tangling in your hair. He doesn’t guide you—barely even holds on to you. As soon as your head moves up and down his dick, a strangled groan escapes him, and you peek up at him through your eyelashes. His cheeks have a faint rosy touch to them, eyebrows furrowed as he meets your gaze. “More— Merlin, you can do-“ a grunt interrupts him as he twitches inside of you, “better than this.”

“The question is, do you deserve more?” you taunt, a small grin playing on your face, briefly stroking him up and down with your hand. “Do it. Before I— make you. Merlin, you wouldn’t want me to make you.” He rasps lowly and with that, you let your head sink down again, as far as you possibly can this time.

You know he is close when his eyes lose focus, chest rising and falling quicker, eyebrows drawing together as his cock twitches in your mouth. You release him then, kissing his tip once more.

“Don’t- don’t you dare stop now.” Tom warns, but before he can do anything, you are undressed, back on top of him. “Not going to.” You reply with a smirk, positioning yourself on his hard length, stiff against his lower abdomen.

And it’s everything—having him beneath you, being in control of his pleasure. Something so foreign to you, fresh adrenaline is racing through your veins at the sight.

“Darling. You are aware of how thin my patience is. I suggest you don’t test it.”

You lean forward, hands splayed across his chest, and then you move. Slowly grinding yourself on his length, coating him with your arousal, moaning as his tip brushes against your puffy clit, a jolt of electricity sent through your body at the contact.

He’s growing increasingly impatient, firm hands guiding your movements as his eyebrows draw together. “Fuck— enough of this,” he growls, having you stop your movements, kneading the flesh of your hips. “Let me feel you properly.”

“Still so demanding when it clearly isn’t in your hand. Say the word.”

The word. Please. Tom Riddle doesn’t beg for anything, and you know it. But today — you would make him.

“You can’t be—“

Your hips grind on him as much as his grip allows you, and you moan, eyes falling shut. “I can get off like this. The question is, can you?”

“Merlin help you. Please— Please let me feel you,” he grunts, jaw clenching at his words.

A smirk creeps onto your lips, pure pleasure coursing through you at his plead. You know you’ve won. Lifting yourself onto your knees, you guide his tip between your folds before you let him split you apart slowly, sinking down on his cock inch by torturous inch. Your eyes flutter close at the sensation, mouth falling open at the blissful stretch on your walls. Tom groans as you take all of him, tip touching your sensitive cervix as you start rocking your hips up and down his length.

Beads of sweat form on your forehead as your thigh muscles begin to hurt, though numbed by the building ache in your lower stomach. “Fuck— just like that, squeezing me so tight.” Tom encourages, his hand kneading one of your breasts as they bounce with your every move.

A guttural groan falls over his lips as he watches his cock disappear into your slick cunt, chasing his own orgasm as he snaps his hips into yours from below, pulling your hips down onto his length.

“You want to come? Stay still, god— stay still and I might just— let you.” You gasp, mind growing hazy as your own climax builds rapidly. Your hands find support on his waist, pinning him down and allowing yourself to sink down on him from a different angle, inevitably having his tip massage that spongy spot inside of you that has you see stars. A loud moan echoes throughout the room as you tumble over the edge, walls greedily clenching around his cock as the shockwaves of your orgasm ripple through your body. The speed of your movements falters and he takes over, pounding into you from below, soon finding his own release deep inside of you with a low grunt.

Both of you still as you are catching your breath, staring at each other as you calm down from your highs. A satisfied smile curls on your lips as you take in his flushed face.

You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, hissing in discomfort as you attempt to get up, your burning thigh muscles protesting against the movement.

“That’s where that smart mouth of yours gets you. Guess you are stuck.” Tom taunts you, hands wandering from your waist to tend to your aching muscles, pressing his fingertips into your skin soothingly.

“Help me, please?” You ask, but he shakes his head.

With one swift movement he flips you over so he is on top of you, teeth sinking into the tender skin of your neck. “We aren’t done here, and you know it.”

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A Lucky Christmas

A seemingly innocent and thoughtful gift turns out to have an unexpected surprise.

heheh more fluff! (Can you tell its my fav to write?), love triangle, lots of impulsivity, slight(?) drugging, mattheo and theo being absolutely whipped, mattheo riddle x fem!reader, theo nott x fem!reder

w/c: 1k

masterlist

a/n: so sorry this took forever to post! got sick and barely got time to sleep between puking sessions, much less write.... ANYWAY, shout out to @leona-hawthorne for proof reading for me!

Mattheo didn’t know how he got himself into this situation. He knew he and Y/n were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. He stayed at school simply to avoid his father, but she refused to give her reason why she decided to stay. The whole thing was weird, especially because she usually looked forward to going home and spending time with her family. 

A few days into break, Y/n wanted to help the house elves decorate the Great Hall, and somehow she and her irresistible smile got him to come with her. So imagine his surprise when Theo, of all people, walks into the hall, ready to help her out too. Mattheo didn’t even know that the Italian was staying as well. Did she ask him to help too?

This girl just has the two of them wrapped around her little finger, and she’s so oblivious to that fact that it’s almost infuriating. 

So now, the three are scurrying around the huge room, hanging tinsel and putting ornaments on the huge tree. Y/n is occupied with draping garland made of popcorn and cranberries across the evergreen’s branches, with the help of some house elves. Mattheo and Theo got stuck with the job of sorting through old ornaments, with the instructions to throw away any broken baubles they might find. However, a wooden one caught Mattheo’s eye. It was engraved with y/n’s favorite flower, and it was just the perfect gift to give to the girl. 

“Psst, Theo,” the brunette hissed, looking around to make sure no one else was within ear shot. Theo turned around, an eyebrow raised. He hummed inquisitively. “You think we can give this to Y/n? She would like this, right?” Mattheo asked, passing the trinket. “You’re better at all the sentimental stuff than me.”

Theo inspected the ornament, nodding. “I think she would. Good find.” He nudged the brunette’s shoulder before waving a house elf over. 

The elf assured the two boys that they never use the ornament anyways, and so Theo shoved it in his pocket. “I’ll go put this in our dorm. We’re almost done here anyway, so you guys shouldn’t miss me much. If Y/n asks, just tell her that I’ll see her at dinner, yeah?” 

Mattheo noded, and the rest of the time spent decorating flew by. He ended up regretting his decision to help, solely because he didn’t get many chances to be with Y/n. He figured the elves must’ve loved torturing him.

By the time Mattheo got back to his dorm, Theo was pacing around. The Italian had the wooden trinket in his hand, holding it in a vice-like grip. 

“You good?” Mattheo asked him, to which Theo responded, “Yeah. Fine. Just jittery. Where's Y/n?”

The brunette gave him a questioning look, but responded nonetheless. “Don’t know for sure, but I would assume her dorm. She said she was tired when we left.” Theo nodded in response, and set the ornament he was holding down, quickly racing out of the shared space. He looked jittery and oddly excited, uncharacteristic of the Italian. 

However, Mattheo decided to shrug it off. He picked up the trinket, turning it over in his hands to examine it. This compulsive curiosity began to morph into a full-blown exploration, his mind focused on the girl this gift was meant for. Suddenly, an abrupt wave of confidence washed over him, making him feel unusually warm and tingly. 

He set the bauble down, eyes flitting toward the door. Maybe he would go and talk to Y/n too, just to have a little chat. Or better yet, he could admit how he feels. He’s had a thing for her for forever, his mind never failing to wander to more romantic places when in her presence. 

His feet moved on his own, carrying him through the castle and to her dorm; and before he knew it, his fist was knocking on her door. It swung open, and he was greeted by a fond smile spreading on her lips when she saw him. He stepped inside, and wasn’t surprised when he saw Theo standing in the room as well.

“Are you here for what I think you are?” Mattheo asked the other boy, to which Theo nodded. “Mhm. I just told her I love her.” 

The other boy’s bluntness surprised Mattheo a bit, since indelicate and direct comments were usually the brunette’s forte. It must just be an odd day. 

“Well,” Mattheo gently took Y/n’s hand, getting her attention, “I feel the same way about you that Theo does. I love you, darling. You’ve been such a bright light in my life.”

Her eyes went wide with surprise, and she went still. Mouth floundering a bit, the girl struggled to form a response. The boys noticed and chuckled, Theo reassuring her. “I'm not sure about Mattheo, but I know I’m not going to make you choose. I just want a chance.” 

Mattheo nodded in agreement. “God no, I wouldn’t dream of putting you through that stress.” Y/n relaxed a bit at that comment, but she was still a bit weary, due to their odd and overly impulsive behavior. 

“You guys are always a bit reckless, Mattheo especially.” She gives him a little nudge. “But what’s up with you two?” 

They both shrug. “Dunno. Just got you this present, which made me think about you a ton. I guess thinking about you so much made me want to tell you?” Theo guesses. “I felt the same way. Hey- did you get that weird rush when you held it too?” Mattheo queried, now invested. 

“Weird rush? What, was it laced with liquid luck?” Y/n asks with a laugh, albeit a slightly apprehensive one. Her comment earned shocked looks from the boys, quickly followed by laughter. 

“That’s it! I didn’t think much of the weird giddiness, though I should have,” Theo said between laughs.

“Nor of the sudden rush of confidence,” Mattheo agrees, his shoulders shaking with amusement. “We should get her a new gift, huh?” 

Theo nodded in agreement, and the group laughed about it for a while. The boys certainly didn’t hear the end of their accidental potion mishap for quite some time, Y/n teasing them about it relentlessly.

Thank you all for your patience while I've been sick! I'm not too happy with this, but I needed to get it out lollll <3

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