I WANT TO DELETE THAT SHIT OMFG

ʀᴇꜱᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ.

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, p-in-v penetration, swearing, dirty talk, sofa sex, quickie that became a longie, making-out, dry humping, Jace is desperate and he needs to take his frustrations out somehow, theres a brief pussy slap bc it felt right, cream-pie at the end, fully clothed raw dogging; They’re betrothed and this takes place at the start of the DoD, I didn’t make any other specifications cause they were too busy fucking. This is very heavily inspired by his scene in the season finale :3

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

He’d been pacing in his chambers for the better part of an hour with only his thoughts as company. Jacaerys felt useless, to say the least. Useless, needlessly coddled, suffocating between the walls of Dragonstone. He wanted to be of help to his Queen, to fight for the realm on dragonback against the Greens as was his destiny. His calling. Instead, he was made to spectate at council meetings and wait endlessly for a moment that would never come, it seemed. The ‘what ifs’ kept him spiraling, uncomfortable in his own mind, and he found his feet moving before he could consider a destination. He knew where to go. It was too easy not to. And she wouldn’t mind. His hesitance sent a bit of doubt down to his stomach on whether or not he really wanted to bother her, but she would’ve figured out his sour mood anyway. It was better to face up to himself than keep it locked away inside. The hastening of his footsteps echoed off the spacious corridors, and as if she had sensed he was on his way to her, the doors to her chambers were left ajar—just enough for him to see her peaceful face trained down on her book.

His knuckles gently tapped against the threshold, announcing his presence as he entered. His betrothed glances up, looking twice as she realizes who her visitor is. “Good morrow.” She hummed, legs tucked up and under her comfortably on the divan. His pretty brown eyes took in her room, a place he found himself in considerably often. Depending on the circumstances, obviously. And the hour. Everything was kept neat and tidied, but he could still see the traces of her, where she’d made a sort of home for herself. Books and tomes stacked three or four each on various surfaces, the tea she’d left nearly untouched on the nightstand. He loved it. “Good morrow.” Jace responded, gently shutting the door behind him, head tilted back against it for a moment, unable to hide the frustration that had grown in his own chambers. He said nothing. Unsurprisingly, the words caught in his throat on the way out.

She pats the spot beside her on the divan, the book not yet closed, but her attention had shifted from the pages to his furrowed brows. He obeys, crossing the room to sit by her without second thought. His mind had quieted, at least. Their shoulders brush together lightly as he finally manages to say something else. “What are you reading?” She could tell already that something was off with him, but still indulges in his question, turning it over to show him the cover. Something vaguely historic, he catches, but he was too distracted by her soft hands clutching the book to see much else. “I figured I’d better read a bit more to catch up with the talk of war. This one isn’t entirely as dull as I thought it was going to be, thankfully.” With that, she closes it shut, putting it down on the stand beside the divan, shifting her body just enough to face him. “How are you faring, Jace?”

“I’m well enough.” He muttered, leaning back slightly. It was a lie and she saw right through him without much else. “I just…my mother is worried. She’s trying to hide it behind orders but it's catching up to us now. All this.” He was gesturing to the war, of course, fingers tapping in his lap anxiously. “And I can’t help her. She won’t let me help. I don’t know what to do. I’d much rather be out there, making a real difference to tip the scales, and instead I’m stuck here at Dragonstone doing nothing but waiting.” His betrothed nodded along as she listened, digesting his admittance before considering her own words. “You’re restless, dragon.” There was a truth to it, despite the statement mostly being a gentle tease. The corners of his lips lift just a little at the nickname. “I can’t help it. I feel antsy knowing I have the capabilities to do something, and I’m not allowed to.”

“We’re still in the beginning of this war—and you’re the heir, Jace. Even if there was a battle taking place just outside of Dragonstone, you and the Queen must stay here.” He’d heard that a thousand times before from his mother and the members of her small council, and a thousand times he felt undignified—but hearing it from the lips of his bride-to-be, there was no malice or taunt or scold behind her tone. She was reminding him of a painful candor. His safety mattered. “I feel powerless.” He admits, frustration accompanying the embarrassment that came with the insecurity. “I feel like a little boy begging to add his opinion during council meetings. They respect me because I’m the Prince of Dragonstone, her son, not because I’m good at my responsibilities. What good am I in this war if I can’t help my mother get her throne back?” The last few words exited his mouth with bite, self-loathing and irritation cutting him like a double-edge sword.

“You’re wrong about that.” She reaches out to take his arm, her hand wrapping around his bicep as she intertwines their fingers with the other. “Your living and breathing is the strongest power of all. You’re strengthening your mother’s claim by doing just that. I know you want to fight, to do something that matters. But true power is not just grandiose displays of strength or victories in battle, it's also purpose. The meanings behind our choices. People are raising the Queen’s banners—and those are your banners too. They want to fight for you as much as they do for her, because the two of you are the rightful heirs to the throne. The Greens can try as they wish to Usurp what belongs to the Queen, but their actions are unjustified. King Viserys made his choice and he stuck to it until his passing. That is power.”

“All this book reading is making you wiser than me.” He grumbled, although there wasn’t any malice behind it. “I’d still rather be swinging a sword at some idiot knight instead of sitting within these walls looking pretty—but I understand that you’re right.” He concedes, a small smile gracing his handsome face. She chuckles at that. “I’m sure you’d be pretty no matter what, even muddied and bloodied on the battlefield.” She sighs though, glancing out at the daylight swarming into the room through the window, hand still nestled in his. The gentle touch sent goosebumps up his neck, tightening his trousers with every second her warmth continued to seep into his leather doublet. “The meeting is likely starting soon.” Her voice interrupts his thoughts of nipping at the supple flesh at her neck.

Jace groaned aloud, head dropping back against the divan in pure annoyance, good mood spoiled at the reminder. “I’d honestly rather get swallowed by dragonfire than sit in that room for the next three hours, listening to those old fools drabble on about who knows what.” He turns his body—not unlike a roll—to shield his face on her shoulder, unwilling to part from her. “I want to stay here with you, alone and in peace as we were.” She snorts lightly as he inhales deeply, arm snaking around her waist in want. “The Queen will be expecting us, my prince.” She looks down at his dark curls, twirling one around her finger. His breeches certainly tighten now. “...My interests are elsewhere.” He murmurs, annoyed at the thought of being pulled away, face inching closer to her neck until his lips press against her smooth skin. “Jace.” She warned, although there wasn’t as much resistance in her tone as he’d expected, and a quiet sigh flows past her lips. “We can’t be late. That’s disrespectful to the council members.”

“The denial of devouring you because of those ancient rats only serves to make me want to go even less.” He shifts in place, head still dipped by her jugular, hands bracing the back of the divan with newfound purpose, trapping her between the corner of it and his own scalding body. She gasps as his teeth sink into her skin, earning a low sound of pleasure from his throat. “We can be quick if the meeting matters to you that much.” He mutters against her, a slight tease as he nips at her harder this time, his nose nudged into her jaw. “I don’t need to wait until nightfall to make you see the stars, my Lady.” Her remaining restraint crumbles at that, hands coming to undo the lacings of his breeches. “..Fine. But you can’t touch my hair.” He seemed like he wanted to protest at the idea of limited touching, but that gleam in her eye meant she was serious, and it was likely they’d miss the meeting as a whole trying to figure out how to braid her hair that way again. “Okay. Deal.”

His mouth returns to her throat, biting and sucking greedily with reverence, his hands finding purchase at her hips to start bunching her skirts up. “Jace..” She exhales, shuddering at the way he was marking her skin—he wasn’t leaving any stones unturned, and they were going to show. Her fingers plucked at the lacings with success, tugging him closer to her now by the waistline of his breeches. His fists clench around the fabric of her gown, a deep grunt echoing from his chest as his clothed cock pressed into her plush inner thigh. “Gods—I need more.” Jace retracts himself from her neck, pulling her body down the divan, just enough to lay her flat on her back. She wraps her thighs around his hips, a strangled moan failing to come out as he kisses her, pushing himself against her core. He rolled his hips down with a fury, nothing deliberate about it—just to feel something, to get out the pent up desperation he’d felt for weeks since his return.

His tongue explores her mouth with an eagerness that made them both flush, using her skirts as purchase to buck himself harder into her cunt. “You make me this way.” He grunts against her lips. His stomach was already tightening with every bit of friction they could get. “Do you understand? You’re just so pretty and you smell divine—fuck.” Jace grits his teeth, biting at her lower lip. She was a panting mess beneath him, unable to do anything other than take it, digging her nails into his shoulders to cope with how good it felt. His weight pinned her down deliciously, hips still incessant and rubbing against her with enough force to make the divan squeak. It was like music to his ears. “I’m already close just feeling your sweet cunt, my love.” Jace pulls up her gown a bit more, almost up to her ribs, to watch the tent in his pants glide up her glistening folds like a man bewitched. “You need to see it–” He grunts, bracing himself on the armrest behind her head, lifting himself just enough to make a space between their bodies. The sight was a wicked one.

“Look at the way you take me.” He urges, voice hoarse this time, eyes meeting hers from above. “Soaked enough to wet my breeches—and I’m not even inside of you yet.” Her nails dig harder into him, a breathless whine at the disbelief of it all. “Please Jace!” She mewls, shivering, and he grins, snapping his hips against hers with reverence. “Please what, my love? Use your words.” His tone was mocking, teasing, and eager to make her squirm. The quiet shuffling of their clothes was driving her to insanity—and she wanted more than anything to pull it all off, but they had places to be very soon. “I need—Gods! I need you, Jace!” He was more than pleased by that, and he somehow carries enough restraint to stop himself from finishing right there. Jacaerys pulls himself back to tug down his breeches down just enough, his cock momentarily springing back to hit his stomach.

She melts at the sight of his tip—red and leaking shiny precum back toward his shaft. He was the perfect size for her; not too big or too small, and pretty just like the rest of him. Jace hisses quietly as the sensitivity hits him, dipping himself between her folds just to savor the moment. “Mmm look at your pretty cunt, my love. So beautiful.” He murmurs, his own thighs trembling as he slides his shaft through your slick. “Thighs up, sweet girl.” Her eyes roll back as his tip presses into her little bud, the motion agonizingly slow, and she nearly hadn't heard him. She braces her thighs to her chest as much as her bunched up gown would allow, gaze locked on Jace's angled face that was furrowed in concentration. She watches, face reddened, as he spits down onto himself, lubricating the way even though it probably wasn't needed with how soaked she was. Suddenly, his palm comes down on her clit, surprising her with equal amounts of pain and pleasure—she nearly came with a meek gasp of his name, inadvertently yanking his hair. “Jace!”

“Sorry. Couldn't help myself.” He grins, lips meeting hers in a sweet peck. “I want you to look at me when I slip it, love—look nowhere else but right here.” As he guides his tip inside, her breath hitches, captivated by the stretch of him and the glossy brown eyes staring down at her, hazed with lust. A growl erupts from his throat, feeling suffocated now by her walls, and he couldn't get enough. Jace wasn't one to swear often in front of his wife-to-be, but the obscenities flew from his mouth like she was his prayer, sinking himself slowly inch-by-inch. Not that his betrothed was in any better condition. She was clawing at him now, whining and squirming uncontrollably at the delectable sting that came with taking Jace. It hurt so good, and she was sure she'd throw a fit if he dared to pull out for whatever reason. Meeting be damned. Seated fully in her hot cunt, Jacaerys grips the back of her right thigh, pacing himself to allow her to adjust first.

They wait in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, no noise in the room other than their soft pants, and a few breathless giggles as Jace shields her eyes from the attacking sunlight. Silently, she cues him to continue. “Good girl.” He murmurs, starting slowly with gentle strokes that make her stomach warm. “Taking me so well, my love.” He hovered over her still, his other hand braced against the armrest as he watched himself disappear inside of her, a shiver rolling down his spine. “So good.” She mewls, leaking around his cock. Jace leans his head down to connect their lips again, tongue darting into her mouth like he owned her, his free hand taking a greedy handful of her breast through the gown. Moans swallowed down between kissing and breathing, the only sounds that could be heard were the chirping birds and the vulgar slapping of skin as the pace quickened. She could only hope no one would come looking for them—or walk down the corridor even. She couldn't recall Jace locking the door behind him. “I'm close—” He grunts, pulling back from her lips to rock his hips with fervor. “I'm so fucking close, love.”

The divan beneath them was far more noisy now than it had been when they were grinding. Jace had half a mind to let the damned thing break, especially with how tight she squeezed around him, sucking up every inch he provided. Outside, the bells of Dragonstone rang, signaling high noon was upon them—Gods, the meeting. “We need to hurry up!” She pants, thigh hooking around him, just as eager to come. “You promised this would be quick!” Irritation bubbles up in his stomach, and Jace gathers her in his arms, fed up with the thought of having to sit through yet another council meeting. “You want me to hurry up?” He grunts, although it came out as a hiss more than anything, his left foot planting firmly on the floor beside the divan. “Fine.” She couldn't make herself regret her demand even if she tried. Jace stood up straight as a board, his sweet girl being gripped by her gown as he fucked up into her with reckless abandon. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to breathe when her release came, senses flooding with pleasure like she'd been numb her entire life. His cock was hitting that spot like a bullseye, not stopping even after she started yanking on his hair from the overstimulation.

“Do you like it when I hurry, love?” He rasped breathlessly by her ear, one arm around her middle now while his right hand cradled the back of her neck. “You certainly like when I take out all my frustrations on your pretty cunt—Gods, I'm coming. I'm fucking coming sweet girl.” Jace chokes, exhaling sharply through his nose as his hips began to stutter, losing his brutal pace. “Can I come inside of you? Please?!” The beg falling from his plush lips sent a thrill down her spine, and she moaned out her agreement even after he asked twice for confirmation. That's all it takes for Jace to press her into the divan again, fucking her hard, fast, and sloppy, his body laying over hers in the desperation of chasing his release. He buries himself against her chest, coming deep within her as a long, drawn out groan escapes him. The relief was instantaneous; anxiety gone, frustration fucked out of him, and only bliss was left behind. Balls deep, he couldn't tell where she began and he ended. Silence. Rapid breaths. Stilled hips, other than an occasional twitch as they reeled from their orgasms. He lifts his face from her chest weakly, a lazy, sated smile gracing his handsome features. “Sweet girl..” He starts. Her eyes flick up to look at him, equally as spent and satisfied. “Mmhm?”

“I think we're late for the council meeting.”

SHE DID IT SHE JUST DID IT, hope y’all have therapy bc i’m sure we will need it

— moondust ; series

there’s nothing that i can do…

summary: mattheo has always had only one person in the world to care for – himself. when he suddenly realizes that it’s not the case anymore, and his fucked up life can actually fuck up someone else, he doesn’t have a choice but to bury his feelings as deeply as humanly and inhumanly possible.

pairing: mattheo riddle x ravenclaw!reader

cw: 18+ mdni, angst, war, death, violence, torture, physical injuries, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, extreme slowburn, very heavy pining, cursing, drinking, smoking, smut (read warnings for each part)

a/n: this series is going to be a tough pill to swallow emotionally, so read responsibly. no heavy topics mentioned are romanticized. the entire thing is inspired by moondust by jaymes young, the most mattheo song in existence.

…except bury my love for you

PART I

coming soon…

PART II

PART III

PART IV

PART V

PART VI

PART VII

PART VIII

PART IX

PART X

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list

inactive bc wtf is happening w my life

ok tomorrow i will concentrate on posting a new au and read all the works i’m looking forward to read!

i have placed something on you, just beneath your skin, just deep enough that they feel it when they come too close. a whisper of warning, a quiet hum of possession.

i’m actually unwell… this is so beautiful

letter 3 — i cursed the ones who touched you

── . ❥ letters m.list

this letter appeared in your coat pocket. it was not there this morning. you do not remember putting it there.

—

sweetheart,

tell me, have you noticed?

how they forget you so quickly? how their interest in you fades before it can truly begin? have you ever wondered why their affections wilt, why they hesitate when they reach for you, why their eyes never seem to linger long enough?

you thought it was something you did. something wrong with you.

it was never you.

it was me.

i have placed something on you, just beneath your skin, just deep enough that they feel it when they come too close. a whisper of warning, a quiet hum of possession.

they will never love you, because i have decided they will not.

and i do not regret it.

yours, the only one who ever will. t.m.r.

—

💌 this is letter 3 of 6. new letters will appear every few nights. you shouldn’t read them. you will anyway.

✒️ taglist? reblog & whisper his name in the tags to be notified. he will hear you.

| 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!

𐙚 ˙ ⋆.˚ BOYS OF TOMMEN MASTERLIST

➳ navigation. main masterlist.

➳ GERARD GIBSON;

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➳ PATRICK FEELY;

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➳ JOHNNY KAVANAGH;

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➳ JOEY LYNCH;

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➳ AOIFE MOLLOY;

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➳ HUGHIE BIGGS;

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© gibsluv 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢

NINETEEN. phone sex — ghostface!theo

warnings — smut 18+. dubcon. phone sex. coercion. manipulation. guided masturbation. threats of violence. voyeurism.

kinkmas mlist. more.

“so, what’s your favourite scary movie, pretty girl?” the voice echoes through the phone as you swing your legs in the air before resting them on the coffee table. reaching into the bowl of popcorn beside you, you grab a handful and mindlessly stuff it into your mouth.

“uhm…” you think, slowly chewing on the popcorn as you stare into the distance, unsure why you’re still calling with this stranger. you don’t even know what he wants from you— he jumped straight to asking all sorts of random questions, intriguing you with his italian accent before you even had the chance to end the call.

you part your lips to speak, but before any words can come out, his low, ominous voice cuts through the phone again, making you nearly choke on your popcorn at his next words.

“do you always eat your popcorn burned?” your heart drops. a wave of dizziness washes over you as you stare down at the burned popcorn in your hand. panic grips you, your breath hitching as your eyes dart around the room, scanning every window, every shadow.

“listen to me very carefully, princess. if you want to live, you better do exactly what i say, capito?” the unknown man growls through the phone, low and commanding. your trembling body tenses, instinctively curling in on itself to make it smaller, the feeling of being watched sending a shiver down your spine.

“uhm, y—yes…” you stammer, still frantically glancing around, trying to figure out how he’s watching you— but through the reflective windows, all you can see is complete and utter darkness.

“good girl. now… stick your hand in your panties and make yourself feel good, a’ight? start slow.” he orders, causing your eyes to widen instantly, your mind racing, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“i— what!?” you gasp, nearly choking on your own saliva, your grip tightening on the phone until your knuckles turn white from how hard you’re squeezing it.

“oh, you heard me. now do it, before i decide to come inside.” his voice turns more stern now, an edge of menace to it that causes you to instantly obey, reluctantly slipping your hand into your stretchy pyjama shorts and lace panties.

“just like that. look at you… so fuckin’ beautiful.” the deep voice grunts into your ear as you slowly close your eyes, trying to focus despite the unusual situation. to your surprise, your cotton panties are completely soaked, making you feel ashamed and causing your cheeks to flush with embarrassment.

“that feels good, huh?” he growls, observing your facial expression as your slick fingers gently rub over your sensitive clit. you bite your lip in concentration, pleasure slowly clouding your scrambled mind.

“mhm… it— uhm, it does.” you shyly admit, feeling even more embarrassed now as you say the words aloud, before hearing a low, condescending chuckle echoing from the phone.

“obeying a stranger just like that, tsk… never heard of stranger danger, hm? whatever… you’re my good girl now, got it?”

“b—but…” “no buts. you hear the phone ringing, you pick up, capito? it’s not that fuckin’ hard… unless you want me to turn your house into a bloodbath. your choice.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

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

I JUST SAW THIS ??????? GTFO I WANT HIM TO BREAK MY LEGS RIGHT NOW

— this idea is so hot (i might throw up)

— military!theodore nott ੈ♡˳

military!theo. more.

kira is basically cleopatra when it comes to au’s, and i fucking live for it

i can’t wait to f**** this man until 🫣

── .ᡣ𐭩 PIMP!THEO

ᡣ𐭩 pimp!theo – a local pimp whose notoriety goes beyond the city. has his own strip club/house, but sneakily scouts in different ones, luring the girls he deems worthy into his web. has an extensive clientele from around the country, and it’s not easy to get into the circle – he’s very picky. takes care of what he considers his, which are his girls, reputation and money.

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