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Jealousy and Ardor

The tower's magical clock read 9:17 p.m., and the Slytherin common room was at its busiest. There was enchanted music floating in the air, a faint scent of liquor hidden in perfume bottles, and the constant murmur of conversation and laughter mingling among the greens and blacks of the room.

And Elizabeth was smiling.

Smiling that lopsided, long-lashed, "I don't seek, but if you find me, beware" smile of hers.

Pansy watched her from a sofa, holding a glass of fiery whiskey, her lips painted a flawless dark red, but her eyes blazing with suppressed fury.

Because Elizabeth was laughing with Blaise. Again. Blaise damn Zabini, the one who always leaned too far in when he spoke to her, who played with strands of her hair as if he didn't know Elizabeth was his. Pansy's. Only his.

"You're clutching the glass as if you wanted to grind it into dust," Daphne said mockingly from beside her.

"And if I did, what would it be?" Pansy muttered without looking away. "Have you seen the way she looks at him?"

"She's being kind," Pansy shrugged. "That's what happens when you have someone so irresistible. Others want her."

Pansy snorted.

"But they shouldn't."

They couldn't. Because no one else knew how Elizabeth blushed when she was aroused by slow caresses on her waist. No one knew her voice when she whispered "Don't go yet" right after they'd secretly kissed behind the greenhouses. No one else had heard her laugh, her nose wrinkled, and say, "I love you, Parkinson. I love you enough to let you destroy me."

And yet, there she was. Laughing with someone else. Touching his arm.

And that was enough.

She stood up from the sofa with feline determination. Her heels clicked on the stone floor as she crossed the room, and when she reached Elizabeth, she gently took her elbow and pulled her towards her.

"Can we talk? Now."

Elizabeth looked at her in surprise, but the intensity in Pansy's eyes left no room for doubt.

Wordlessly, she followed her down the back hallway that led to the empty girls' dormitory.

The door slammed shut.

"Pansy, what are you doing?" Elizabeth asked, sounding tired.

"'What am I doing'? Really? Is that your question?" Pansy's voice sounded agitated, but not from anger… from pain.

Elizabeth crossed her arms.

"If it's about Blaise, we've talked about this. He's my friend. Nothing more."

"He was touching you! You were laughing with him as if… as if you didn't have me. As if I meant nothing."

"Do you think so?" Elizabeth asked, moving closer slowly. "After everything we've done? After everything you are to me?"

Pansy swallowed. She was close to tears, but she wouldn't. Not in front of her.

"I can't stand it," she whispered. "I can't stand seeing how everyone wants you, how everyone wants to steal you from me. Because yes, I know I'm difficult. I know I'm not the perfect girlfriend, but you're the only good thing I have. And I'm terrified of losing you."

The silence was like thunder stopped in midair.

And then Elizabeth kissed her.

A firm, intense, almost desperate kiss. She pushed her against the door, one hand on her waist, the other on her cheek.

"You won't lose me," she whispered against her lips. "Never. Not even if you scream at me, not even if you bite me, not even if you hate me for a few minutes. I'm yours, Pansy. Completely."

The lump in Parkinson's throat erupted, and he kissed her back as if that kiss could erase the jealousy, the fear, the anxiety.

Their hands clasped. Their breathing quickened. Their clothes were soon disheveled, buttons undone, lips reddened from so much contact.

The bed creaked under the weight of both of them, the green sheets covering anxious skin. There were no words, only muffled moans, messy caresses, and glances that said, "I'm here," "Don't leave me," "Only you."

And when it was all over, when only their bodies remained entwined in the darkness, Pansy whispered in a broken voice,

"I love you. And it scares me so much I don't know what to do with it."

Elizabeth smiled against her neck.

"Then don't do anything. Just… keep loving me like that. The way only you know how."

Pansy closed her eyes. Clinging to her.

And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to feel safe.

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What would Pansy Parkinson be like as a girlfriend?

✧ 1. Jealous and protective to the extreme Pansy doesn't share. Ever. It doesn't matter if someone just smiles at you in the hallway or if another Slytherin passes you a note. Pansy notices EVERYTHING, and she doesn't hesitate to make it clear with a venomous look, a subtle comment… or a direct scene, if she crosses the line.

"It doesn't matter if it was just a smile, Elizabeth. I smile at you. I touch you."

✧ 2. Obsessive… but adorably chaotic She won't admit it, but she thinks about you all the time. She sends you scented notes with tiny glitter charms, steals your scarf to sleep in, and wears lipstick that color you said you loved. And if you're having a bad day, she might sneak into Snape's office to bring you a special potion just because "I hate seeing you down."

✧ 3. A diva just for you With others, she's arrogant, critical, and demanding. But with you… she's vulnerable. She disarms. She stops worrying about her image and sits with you in her pajamas to tell you her deepest insecurities, her fears, her wounds.

"Do you think it's stupid if I tell you… I never felt good enough for anyone until you looked at me like that?"

✧ 4. You are her weakness She can easily make fun of anyone, but when you get angry at her or ignore her, she breaks down. She tries to pretend she doesn't care, but eventually she melts, seeks you out, apologizes in her own way (sometimes dramatically, sometimes with a silent kiss).

✧ 5. Intense kisses, dangerous glances Pansy loves attention, but she only seeks your real approval. She's the kind of girlfriend who does her makeup just for you, who looks at you with melting intensity, who takes you by the waist in the middle of a Slytherin party and kisses you in front of everyone without a care in the world.

"Jealous of whom? They just look at me. You're the only one who touches me."

✧ 6. A relationship of shared power With Elizabeth, the relationship would be like a constant duel of stares, sarcasm, and passionate moments. Pansy loves feeling in control, but melts when Elizabeth equals or surprises her. She loves attention, but even more when it's returned with intensity.

✧ 7. A secret (at first), but later… proudly yours Maybe at first she hides it, not because she's ashamed, but because she's afraid of ruining it. But when she realizes that what she feels is real, Pansy becomes the most loyal, loud, and devoted girlfriend anyone could have. She'll defend you with nails, spells, and everything she has.

💬 PHRASES PANSY WOULD SAY TO ELIZABETH: “Do you know why it bothers me so much to see you with her? Because you're my weakness, and I hate that anyone knows it more than me.”

“I don't care about anyone else. You can kiss me or you can break me… but only you.”

“I don't care if this hurts, if it burns, if it ends. All I want is for you to be mine while it lasts.”

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A sincere love

The Slytherin common room was empty except for the fire crackling in the grate. It was almost two in the morning, and everyone had already gone to sleep… except for you, sitting with an open but unread book, staring at the reflection of the flames on the green tiles of the vaulted ceiling.

And then, as if summoned by your own thought, Draco Malfoy came silently down the stairs from the boys' dormitory, wrapped in a black silk robe, his blond hair disheveled and his gray eyes darker than ever with shadows.

"Can't you sleep, or are you waiting for me?" he asked, with that arrogance of his that always hid something else.

"It's not all about you, Malfoy," you replied, raising your eyebrow with a smile.

He approached slowly, without breaking eye contact. He was the kind of boy who made even the air stop when he entered a room. And you… you were no longer sure if that annoyed you or fascinated you.

He sat down next to you, very close. Close enough so that his knee touched yours.

"You're a bad liar," he whispered. "You always look at me like you want to rip my soul out."

"And you?" you murmured. "Why do you always seem to want to touch me, but never do?"

His expression changed. His eyes darkened, but he said nothing. He just leaned toward you, irritatingly slow, as if he wanted to give you time to repent.

But you didn't.

His lips brushed yours, first as an accident, then as a need. It was a slow kiss, heavy with suppressed desire, with nights without saying anything, with crossed glances in class, and sarcastic comments disguised as interest.

Draco Malfoy kissed you as if he didn't know how to apologize for everything he felt, but he did anyway.

His hands found your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You let him. His mouth lowered to your neck, and you sighed, dropping the book to the floor. The silence was filled with quickened breaths, the touch of fabric and skin, and caresses that felt like unanswered questions.

"We could get into trouble," you whispered, your head resting on his chest.

Draco laughed, a soft laugh that only you had heard.

"Since when has that stopped us?"

"Draco…"

"Don't say anything. Not now," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Just… stay. Tonight, just you and me. No last name, no reputations… Just you. Mine."

And you were.

For that night, between green velvet cushions and the crackling of the fireplace, you were Draco Malfoy's. And he was completely yours. No pride. No masks. Just desire. Just you.

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What would Lorenzo Berkshire be like as a boyfriend?

✧ 1. Gentleman on the outside, storm on the inside Lorenzo always maintains an impeccable facade. He knows what to say, how to move, how to make you feel like you're the most important person in the room… without even raising his voice. But inside, there's a fire: jealousy, desire, a need for control, and a constant struggle not to be too intense.

“Do you think I'm calm? You have no idea the chaos you unleash on me just by looking at me.”

✧ 2. Extremely possessive… but silent He won't make a scene. He doesn't shout, he doesn't lower himself. But if someone else looks at you or touches you, his smile turns icy and his eyes are pure venom. He'll lean in close, put a hand on your waist, and let everyone know you're his without saying a word.

“They can look at you all they want, love. But they know they can't touch what belongs to me.”

✧ 3. Dark romantic He's not into flowers or sweet letters. But he'll leave you a note with his perfume among your books. He'll wait for you in the rain just to keep you company in silence. He'll call you "my ruin" with a dangerous smile.

His love is poetic… and deeply addictive.

“I don't believe in soulmates. But if there are any, I'm doomed to you.”

✧ 4. Intelligent, sarcastic… and cruel to others With others, he's relentless, ironic, and rude. But with you, he's gentle, patient (to a point). Only you can calm his fury with a kiss, only you can stop a cutting comment with a glance.

“If only you knew how easily I turn to ash when you touch me.”

✧ 5. Seductive like a slow poison He doesn't need to shout his attractiveness. He stares at you, approaches slowly, and speaks with that low voice that makes your heart race. He's elegant, sensual, with that air of “I know you want me, but I'm not going to make it easy for you.”

“Don't run away from what you already know you want. Admit it… I poisoned you from day one.”

✧ 6. He doesn't give away his heart easily… but if he does, it's yours forever Lorenzo is afraid of falling in love because he knows that when he does, he'll become completely vulnerable. But if he can trust you, he'll give you everything: his time, his soul, his darkness, and his light.

“I don't promise to be perfect. But I swear I'll never love anyone else like I love you.”

✧ 7. Jealous of the memories he didn't share with you He'll ask you about your exes, about the ones you liked before. He'll smile… but inside, he'll squirm. Because he wants to have been the first, the only, the forever.

“And he made you laugh like that too? Forget it. I don't want to know.”

✧ 8. Willing to burn for you If you love him, and he knows it… there are no limits. He'll defend you even from himself. He'll do anything to protect you, even if he has to hurt himself in the process. His love is loyal, fierce, and almost tragic.

“I don't care if you destroy me. Just tell me you're going to stay.”

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What would Draco Malfoy be like as a boyfriend?

✧ 1. Proud, but insecure at first Draco isn't used to showing vulnerability. At first, his pride may seem like arrogance, but it's actually a way of hiding deep insecurities. If he falls in love, he goes out of his way to prove he's worthy of you, even if he doesn't always know how.

"I don't need you to save me, Malfoy." "I know. But I want to do it anyway."

✧ 2. Jealous… very jealous Draco Malfoy can't stand the idea of sharing your attention, especially if another boy gets close. He may become sarcastic, sharp, or even humiliating with the other boy (more than with you), because he doesn't know how to handle his emotions when he feels someone is threatening what he considers his.

"Him again? What, does he make you laugh more than me now?"

✧ 3. He silently loves you (more than he admits) Draco feels much more than he says. He's the kind of boyfriend who watches you sleep, remembers what you hate eating, and leaves you letters when he's too embarrassed to say it out loud.

"I'm not good with words. But everything I have… I'd give it to you."

✧ 4. Protective to a fault He comes from a family that values control, power, and what's "his." When he loves you, he cares for you as if you were part of his legacy. If someone hurts you, don't hesitate: he'll use his influence, his family name, and even his wand if necessary. But he can also become overly controlling if you don't set boundaries.

"No one looks at you like that. No one touches you. Not if I'm still breathing."

✧ 5. He changes for love (but it's hard for him) Draco would grow as a person thanks to you. With you, he would learn that he can be more than a Malfoy, that love isn't weakness, and that being vulnerable doesn't make him any less of a man. He wouldn't change immediately, but your love would make him better.

"I used to care about no one but myself… until you looked at me like I was worth more."

✧ 6. Expensive… but sincere details At first, Draco would use his money as a way to show his love: expensive gifts, jewelry, exclusive books. But over time, he would learn that what you really want is his attention, his time, and his affection.

"I know it's not enough. But I want to give you the best of me. Even if I don't know what that is yet."

✧ 7. Passionate and demanding Draco is intense. When he falls in love, he wants you all to himself. His kisses are strong, his caresses desperate. He can be dominant, but also very tender when you let down his walls.

"Tell me you're mine. That's all. I need it."

✧ 8. A Scarred Lover Let's not forget that Draco comes from a rough childhood, a pressured adolescence, and an internal struggle. As a boyfriend, he'll let you in on those issues… but only if he truly trusts you.

"Don't look at me like that… I'm not a hero." "I never wanted one. I just want you."

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[snetofed]

What would Theodore Nott be like as a boyfriend?

✧ 1. Reserved but Attentive Theodore might not be the most vocal about his emotions, but he's always observing. He knows when something's bothering you even if you don't say it, and when he notices, he doesn't ask a thousand times, he just acts. He shows up with your favorite hot chocolate or takes you out of the castle to walk through the gardens when he notices you're overwhelmed. He reads your silences like others read books.

"You don't have to explain it to me… just stay here. I'm not going anywhere."

✧ 2. Silent (but Deadly) Jealous He won't make a scene in public, but if someone stares at you too long… his jaw tightens, his eyes darken, and his posture changes. One glance is all it takes for the other person to back away. He'd never force you into anything, but his need to protect what he loves is instinctive.

"I don't care if he was just talking to you. That jerk knew what he was doing."

✧ 3. Loyal to the death Theodore is someone who chooses very few people, but when he does, it's forever. If you're his partner, you're his priority. He defends you even when you're not present, and although he's cold to the rest of the world, he lets his guard down with you.

"You can trust me. Even if everything burns, even if everything collapses, I'll stay."

✧ 4. Passionate… when no one is looking In public, he may seem calm. But in private, he looks at you as if you were his religion. Every kiss, every caress, every touch… is filled with an intensity he doesn't show to others.

His love isn't superficial; it's a contained fire.

"You drive me crazy. No one else, you understand? No one. Just you."

✧ 5. He protects you even from yourself He knows that sometimes you push yourself too hard, that you doubt yourself, that you compare yourself… and he hates that. So when you're broken, he doesn't lecture you; he hugs you and holds you, as if his mere presence could absorb your demons.

"I don't need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you."

✧ 6. Trust built over time Theodore doesn't trust easily, so opening up to you was difficult for him. But now that he has, he shows you parts of himself that no one else has seen: his fear, his past, his sensitivity. Sometimes he runs away emotionally, but he always comes back. Because what he feels for you is stronger than his need to protect himself.

"I'm learning not to run away. For you. Only for you."

✧ 7. He looks at you as if you were his refuge And even though he doesn't say it every day, every time his eyes rest on you, his expression softens. As if he finds in you a calm he never had.

"You're the only part of this world I don't want to lose."

[snetofed]

I'm afraid to feel

Warning: Just a little jealousy, sweetness, boyfriends, Theodore Nott - femina.

It was a mild October evening when Elizabeth entered the Great Hall laughing with Lorenzo Berkshire, and Theodore Nott's thin, nervous fingers gripped the spoon as if it were someone's neck.

"With him again?" Draco murmured, raising an eyebrow from beside her.

"None of my business," Theodore replied tersely.

But it was. And she knew it. And the problem wasn't that Lorenzo was around. It was the way he looked at her. The way he laughed with her. The way Elizabeth seemed to forget that the night before she had been in his room, with his shirt on, kissing him as if the world were about to end, as if she didn't remember how he fucked her hard and she moaned, remembering that she was his.

"Have you told anyone yet?" Blaise asked.

Theodore looked away. He didn't answer.

No. Because he didn't know how to love out loud. Because his way of caring was silent.

But what she was feeling at that moment… wasn't silent.

That night there was a small impromptu party in the Slytherin Common Room. Nothing official, but there was music, enchanted glasses, sweet smoke from some miscast spell.

Elizabeth entered wearing a dark green blouse and red lipstick. The conversation paused for a second. Some boys stared at her more than they should have. Including Lorenzo.

And Theodore stood up as if summoned.

"Do you dance?" Lorenzo asked, overconfident.

Elizabeth smiled. He hesitated.

"I don't know if…"

"Of course not," Theodore said, appearing behind her, like an elegant and furious shadow.

Everyone looked at him. Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.

"Since when did you decide for her, Nott?"

"Ever since I kissed her at night, I heard her moan my name between her lips and I entered her, Berkshire," he spat with venom in his voice.

Absolute silence.

Elizabeth turned, her eyes wide.

"Theo…"

He grabbed her wrist. Not forcefully, but decisively.

"With me. Now."

And without another word, he dragged her upstairs, straight to her room.

The door slammed shut. Elizabeth slipped from his grasp.

"What the hell was that? Have you gone crazy?"

"Me? Am I crazy? He was ogling you, Elizabeth!"

"Don't touch me like you belong to me when you don't even acknowledge me in front of others!"

That sentence hit her straight in the chest.

"Do you think I don't recognize you? Do you think I don't love you just because I don't shout it out?" You're the only fucking thing I care about in this damn castle!

"Well, it doesn't seem like it! Because you're hiding! Because you're holding me back!"

They fell silent.

The air was heavy. Their gazes filled with everything left unsaid.

And then he walked toward her. Firm stride. Burning gaze.

"Do you think I don't desire you? Do you think my blood doesn't boil when I see you with someone else?"

His hands reached her waist. His breath brushed hers.

"I'm jealous, Elizabeth. Jealous of every fucking idiot who looks at you. Because I have you… but I can't stand that you don't realize what you mean to me."

"Then tell me," she whispered, trembling. "Say it out loud."

He looked at her, his eyes burning.

"You're mine. And I'm not sharing you with anyone."

And he kissed her. With fury. With hunger. With everything she'd been holding back.

Elizabeth responded with the same desperation. Her hands tangled in his shirt, her lips pressing against his, their bodies pressed together as if they existed only for each other.

They fell onto the bed between kisses, whispers, barely contained gasps.

They didn't need to say anything else that night.

Because in every caress, every glance, every touch… they said everything.

Hours later, Elizabeth was lying on Theodore's chest. The room was dim, lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.

"Are you going to tell the rest… that we're something?" she asked softly.

Theodore was silent for a moment. Then he looked down, stroking her hair.

"Yes."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"I don't want anyone else to think they can have you."

Elizabeth smiled. He placed his lips on her neck, barely touching it.

"You need to trust me more."

"It's not that," he murmured. "It's just that when I look at you… I know I don't deserve that much. And yet, I have you. I'm afraid of losing you."

She held him tighter.

"You won't lose me, Theodore Nott. Unless you let go."

He held her as if it were the last day on earth.

And that night, for the first time, he slept peacefully.

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[snetofed]

Welcome to my blog!!

What it's about: My blog is about "Hogwarts" (not really the Slytherin boys) but if you ask me for another character I'll try.

Warning: This blog contains depraved sexual content, including men and women, profanity, alcohol, drugs, and much more. I hope you like it, but I'm just warning you because there is sensitive content. ⚠❗⚠❗❗🥵

---For the videos you will need an x.com/?lang=es account---

Master list:

Mattheo Riddle:

A boyfriend like Mattheo

A wild night

Tell me you don't love me and I'll leave

I hate Mattheo Riddle

I give you my heart

A great party, a great girl

Don't you dare walk away

Theodore Nott:

What would Theodore Nott be like as a boyfriend?

My love and enemy

Why didn't you tell me?

Is that what you think of me?

I'm afraid to feel

Draco Malfoy:

What would Draco Malfoy be like as a boyfriend?

A sincere love

Lorenzo Berkshire:

What would Lorenzo Berkshire be like as a boyfriend?

Blaise Zabinni:

What would Blaise Zabini be like as a boyfriend?

Pansy Parkinson:

What would Pansy Parkinson be like as a girlfriend?

Jealousy and Ardor

Slytherin: net content

Brotherhood of friends

Videos (content for adults only):

[snetofed]

Hello my followers, sorry I was away for a while, my sincere apologies but we're back with lots of content… I hope your support continues…

[snetofed]

A wild night

Warning: (Sex, female and male orgasms, female oral, jealousy, party alcohol)

Elizabeth entered the common room as if the world were spinning in slow motion. She was wearing a short, fitted, dark dress. The waves of her hair brushed her back, and an enchanted gleam in her eyes made her stand out from everyone else.

Mattheo, sitting in the corner of the velvet sofa, holding a glass, spotted her before anyone else. His gaze burned into her like a wildfire.

"Fuck…" he murmured, still staring at her.

"What?" asked Theodore, sitting next to him.

Mattheo just raised an eyebrow and smirked, without responding. It was obvious: he'd seen her. And the rest of the world disappeared.

Elizabeth greeted Pansy, poured herself an enchanted drink with black bubbles floating on top of the glass, and, glass in hand, walked straight toward him.

"You'll burn down the common room with that look," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Only if you sit on my lap," Mattheo replied, his words trailing slowly. His voice was husky, and that half-smile made him look dangerous.

Elizabeth smiled cheekily. She turned around slowly and sank right between his legs, her butt bumping into his enormous cock, the only thing separating them being their clothes, crossing her legs elegantly.

"Don't tempt me, Riddle," she whispered near his ear. "We're in public."

"And when did that ever matter to you?"

His voice in her ear was liquid fire. And his hands around her waist didn't help. They were surrounded by friends, but they seemed to have a bubble of their own. One where only the two of them existed.

Where it didn't matter, and Mattheo could fuck her right there in front of everyone. After all, he was so arrogant that he was fascinated by the idea of being seen penetrating his girl.

Hours passed, and the group of snakes sat on the armchairs.

Draco proposed a game.

"Truth or Dare," but the Slytherin version. If you don't answer… you take two. If you lie… well, you know." Theodore enchanted a bottle to glow when it detected lies.

"Wonderful," Elizabeth murmured, feeling Mattheo absentmindedly stroke his fingers against her thigh. She was pretending not to notice, but her skin was on fire.

The bottle spun. It landed on Mattheo.

"Have you ever loved anyone other than Elizabeth?" Pansy asked, with a mischievous smile.

Silence. Mattheo met her gaze. He didn't laugh. He didn't hesitate.

"No."

The bottle didn't glow.

Elizabeth glanced at him, feigning indifference. But her chest was pounding.

Later, the bottle landed on her.

"Did you ever think Mattheo was too much for you?" Lorenzo asked.

She looked at him. He frowned, attentive.

"Yes," he replied.

The bottle didn't shine.

Mattheo leaned his forehead against her shoulder and sighed.

"Idiot," he murmured.

"I love you anyway," she replied, without turning to look at him.

The music slowed down. Sensual. The enchanted green lights shone with a deeper hue.

The party fragmented. Some were dancing, others were laughing, others were sprawled on armchairs, half asleep or kissing someone they didn't quite remember.

Elizabeth stood up from her spot.

Mattheo followed her.

She turned just as they stood in front of the fireplace, away from the noise. Only the shadows of the others floated in the distance.

"Why are you following me?"

"Because you've been tempting the devil all night," Mattheo murmured, moving closer. "And that's me."

"Tempting you? Or just existing?"

"Both."

They stared at each other. At an impossible distance.

And then he held her waist, tightly but not harshly. He pressed her against him. His eyes didn't lower to her lips. They stayed on hers, reading her. Challenging her.

"You know what you're doing, Elizabeth," he said in a deep voice.

She brushed her nose against his. Almost touching him. But not kissing him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He laughed, barely, in that husky voice that made even the air feel heavier.

"You're lying. But I'll let it go… for now."

Mattheo led her to his bedroom; the night was tense and charged with passion between them.

Upon entering, Mattheo pushed her against the door while kissing her fiercely. The girl let out small gasps that drove the brown-haired boy crazy.

Little by little, the kisses intensified as he lifted her by her fat thighs so that her legs wrapped around him, pressing his hard cock against her femininity.

"Shit… you're so wet, and we haven't even started," the boy said, his pupils dilated with desire, as he laid the girl down on his bed.

The kisses began to slowly descend from her neck to her chest. The boy, drunk with desire, removed the dress that had provoked him all night, barely covering the ass of the sexy girl lying on his bed.

Her womanhood was so wet it could easily fit a cock. His cock, she needed it. She felt the brunette boy's fingers brush against her womanhood.

Instead of removing her panties completely, I gently pull the crotch of her thong to the side to run the tip of my tongue over her clit.

"Matty…" the girl moans, and that's all it takes for Mattheo's self-control to break.

I place my palm firmly on her pelvis to hold her in place while I continue licking her.

The girl pulls back the sheets to watch, and the guy pauses long enough to say, "You're going to cum in my mouth, princess." And then he goes back to work, licking her faster.

Her arms flail at her sides, her fingers searching for something to hold on to and resting on the bed as her hips begin to rock toward the brunette boy's tongue.

When he pumps two fingers in and out of her, she screams, "Yes, yes, YES!" Her shrieks and shivers say he's found the perfect spot.

Her G-spot…

"There you are, baby," the boy says as he pumps and licks her womanhood.

Her legs flail on either side of his head, even faster than usual. They tense as she moans through her orgasm, clenching around the fingers that continue to fuck her.

The boy licks his fingers, filled with her fluids, savoring her, and kisses her, giving her a taste of his own essence.

Mattheo moves on top of her, pulling down his pants. She, still affected by her recent release, helps him pull down his boxers.

He finally penetrates her, letting out grunts at the sensation of being inside her, yearning for him all night.

She feels him enter her hard and strong, so deep she could feel him in her belly, but she was overcome by his ferocity.

She couldn't stand the overstimulation and came for the second time that night. The boy took a few more thrusts, but his fluid spilled inside the pleasure-drunk girl.

"Honey, can you hold out for one more round?" the boy said as he lay down beside her, stroking her hair.

The night would definitely be long…

Denying him support cost me work

[snetofed]

Tell me you don't love me, and I'll leave.

Mattheo Riddle x Elizabeth Custer – Jealousy Breakup | Enemies of Pride

Setting: Slytherin common room, late afternoon/evening. Tense silence. The few students present know when not to linger.

Mattheo was waiting for her, sitting on the common room sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the flames. Shadows danced across his tense face, his set jaw, his fists clenched.

Elizabeth walked in, unaware he was there. She was smiling, still laughing at something Lorenzo Berkshire had said to her in the hallway. But her smile faded as soon as she saw Mattheo's gray eyes fixed on hers.

"May I know what the hell you were doing with him?" he said without preamble, his voice low, restrained, dangerous.

"With whom?" he asked, even though she already knew.

"Don't play with me, Elizabeth. Berkshire." He touched your arm. He whispered something to you. And you smiled as if—

"Because he played a trick on me! Merlin, Mattheo, are we really going to do this again?"

Mattheo jumped up. The sofa creaked behind him.

"Again? Do you know what it feels like to see you flirt with everyone but me?"

Elizabeth took a step back, but her gaze didn't waver.

"I wasn't flirting. You're seeing things where there aren't any!"

"I'm not blind, Elizabeth! I know you. I saw you. And don't look at me like this is some nonsense. You're mine! And if you're acting like you're not, then don't come looking for me!"

Silence.

Too sharp a phrase. A gaping rift.

"Is that what you think I am? A possession of yours? An object you can put in a drawer when you're in the mood?"

"It's not that, and you know it!" he growled, frustrated. "It's just that I can't… I can't stand the thought of anyone else touching you. It pisses me off. It sickens me."

"So that's your problem, not mine."

"Oh, yeah? Because you never do anything to calm him down." Always with your little games, your smiles, as if you wanted others to look at you. As if you enjoyed keeping me on edge.

"I'm not responsible for your insecurities, Mattheo!"

He gritted his teeth. His gaze hurt more than his words.

"Maybe you should be with someone who doesn't get sick with jealousy, then."

Elizabeth felt something break inside her.

"Maybe so," she whispered.

Silence again.

A cold one. Deadly. One that they both knew would change everything.

Mattheo looked at her as if his chest had frozen.

"You can't say that. Not after everything."

"I can't continue loving someone who suffocates me," she replied, trembling, but firm. "Who distrusts me every time I smile."

He looked at her. He swallowed. His eyes no longer held fury. Only… defeat.

"Are you going to leave me for this?"

"No. I'm leaving because this… isn't love. At least not one that's good for me."

Mattheo took a step closer. Desperate.

"Tell me in my eyes. Tell me you don't love me."

Elizabeth bit her lip, her voice breaking.

"Don't do this to me…"

"Tell me," he whispered, as if that could ward off the pain.

She looked at him.

And said nothing.

Silence.

That silence said it all.

Mattheo nodded, backing away as if the wall were closing in on him. Then he turned, grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa, and left without another word.

Elizabeth was left alone. Standing. Trembling.

And when she heard the stone door close… she cried.

[snetofed]

-Sometimes the problem is that your heart doesn't want to admit what your mind already knows.

things are coming…

[snetofed]

i love tumblr.. like u could be reading a smut fanfic and you go to the comments and a girl be saying “ someone do this to me” or “ smb fuck me like that” and a girl replies saying “ ofc mama” or “ i’m otw!” like we all are so comfortable and freaky w each other and we don’t really know each other?😭 i love y’all fr, no judgement here bc we are all quite literally the same?😭

[snetofed]

I don't know how, but you have a gift for writing hahaha

Take What You Need

Summary: After a very bad day you seek comfort in your boyfriend, who lets you use him as you need.

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, language, praise kink, oral f!receiving, faceriding

✷　✦　　✦　　☆　*　　•*.　•　*°　　　　　*　　✯　　　·　　　　

It was well past curfew when you finally found yourself standing outside the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, the corridor dim and quiet, lit only by flickering torches casting gold across the ancient stone. Your hand hovered just above the wall, fingers trembling slightly from the cold—or maybe from nerves—as you stared at the familiar patch of stone, willing yourself to knock. The silence was thick, broken only by the faint drip of water in the distance and the tight pull of your own breath in your chest.

You’d tried, truly, to let the day go. But the weight of it refused to leave, heavy in your chest like damp wool, suffocating in its silence. Every time you closed your eyes, your thoughts surged forward—sharp and unkind, refusing to let you rest. Your jaw had been clenched for so long it hurt to open your mouth, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking beneath the blankets. So you slipped out. Past curfew, past reason. Drawn like gravity to the one place where you didn’t have to pretend you weren’t unraveling.

You needed something solid. You needed him.

Like a lifeline in the storm, something steady to hold onto when everything inside you threatened to unravel.

After your second knock, Theo opened the door. Bare-chested, the soft curve of his collarbone and lean muscles caught the flickering light, making him look impossibly effortless—dangerous and breathtaking all at once. His hair a messy halo around his head, eyes still thick with sleep but flickering awake and fully alert when he caught sight of you standing there, bathed in the warm flicker of the corridor’s torchlight.

He said nothing—just moved aside with a quiet urgency, letting you slip inside. The door shut softly behind you, and almost immediately the crushing weight of the day pressed down so hard you had to steady yourself against the cool wall.

You remained frozen, breath shallow, muscles tight like coiled springs, eyes unfocused as you stared into the dimness ahead, your thoughts tangled and heavy in the silence.

Theo didn’t push or prod—he never did. Instead, he slid up behind you quietly, his presence steady and grounding. His fingertips traced a feather-light path along your arm, warm and reassuring against your chilled skin. “Long day?” he murmured, voice low and soft, like a quiet invitation to lean on him.

You gave a small, tired nod, barely meeting his gaze.

He leaned in, the heat of his breath ghosting over your neck like a whispered promise. “Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, voice caught somewhere between tired and fragile.

He didn’t push. Instead, his hand settled gently on your waist, steady and silent.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist like a tether to steady you, turning you until your eyes locked with his—deep pools of quiet understanding, where no storm inside you could hide. His gaze was a soft harbor, unspoken words swirling between you like a gentle tide.

Without thinking, your hands wove into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if to catch a fragment of calm. Your lips met his in a fragile, breathless brush—an unvoiced plea for solace, for warmth to quiet the ache inside.

His lips met yours with an aching kind of reverence, hands settling at your waist like they belonged there. Theo kissed you like he meant it—slow, unguarded, his breath trembling just slightly against your cheek. The warmth of his palms bled through your shirt, anchoring you in the quiet between heartbeats. And something in you broke open at the tenderness, at the softness no one else ever saw from him. It was so rare. So real. You fell into it like gravity.

A soft sound escaped you—needy, broken—and his grip at your waist tightened instinctively. “What do you need, sweetheart?” Theo asked, voice barely more than a growl against your lips. His breath ghosted over your skin, the heat of it sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t answer with words. You pushed him—slow but firm—your palm flat against his chest, the rise and fall of it unsteady beneath your touch. He let you guide him without resistance, watching you with something dark and reverent in his eyes as you backed him toward the bed.

And he let you.

He always had this quiet sort of strength—this calm, dominant presence that never faltered. But tonight, he gave it up without resistance, letting you press him back until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He sat without a word, legs spread slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

He knew.

“You gonna take what you need, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low and heavy with the sleep you pulled him from. His lips curled just slightly. “Gonna use me till you feel better?”

You climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling him with your breath shaky and eyes dark. Your hands cradled his jaw like you couldn’t stand not touching him, and then you kissed him—hard and hungry, nothing careful left in it.

Theo groaned into your mouth, his fingers pressing into your thighs like he wanted to hold on tighter—but he didn’t. He stayed still. Letting you take. Letting you have him.

“Take what you need, princess,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to let his forehead rest against yours. “I’m yours.”

Your breath stuttered, caught somewhere in your throat, and suddenly your body was moving—grinding down onto him like you were starved for it. Your clothed heat dragged along the length of him through his sweats, slick fabric sticking to your skin, the pressure sharp and dizzying. Your thighs were shaking, barely holding you upright, and still you moved. You didn’t even realize how tightly your desire had been wound inside you until it started to unravel all at once—under his voice, under his stillness, under the way he just let you take.

Theo’s hands stayed soft at your sides, a quiet presence against the trembling of your thighs as you ground against him—your rhythm broken, desperate. His cock was thick beneath his sweats, every movement dragging your soaked sleep shorts across the damp cotton. The friction made your clit throb, made your chest rise and fall too fast. You clung to his shoulders, fingers digging in, body flushed and burning in your thin shirt. You felt overwhelmed—by want, by heat, by how still he was beneath you. It wasn’t just lust. It was the way he gave himself to you in that moment—held nothing back, just let you take, let you feel. And you didn’t know how to come down from that kind of high.

“Fuck—” you choked out when his thigh flexed beneath you, the pressure hitting your clit just right through your soaked shorts.

Theo let out a broken breath, his voice rough. “Yeah? That feel good, princess? Use me. Ride it just how you need.”

You whimpered through clenched teeth, grinding down in shaky, desperate strokes—your pussy dragging over the curve of his thigh again and again, leaving wet streaks behind. You could feel how soaked you were, cotton clinging to your folds, clit catching with every pulse of pressure.

You needed more.

Your fingers trembled as they scrabbled at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in a rush. The cool air hit your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat flooding Theo’s eyes—dark, hungry, jaw clenched tight like he was fighting the urge to touch you right then and there. But still, he stayed still, letting you take the lead even as every inch of him throbbed with want.

Your fingers trembled as you peeled off your shorts, stepping out of them without looking. The thin cotton panties that stayed were soaked through, sticky and warm, stubbornly stuck between your thighs. Every slight shift sent wet fabric brushing over your sensitive folds, heightening the ache you couldn’t ignore.

His gaze dropped to where your hand met his wrist, and Theo’s breath hitched sharply. “Fuck…” The word was raw, thick with need.

You pulled him closer by his wrist, pressing his hand flat to your hip. “Touch me,” you begged, voice low and ragged. “Please. I need you.”

That was all it took.

His hands slid up your sides, warm and steady, fingers splayed wide to take in every inch of your bare skin. When he cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushed and rolled your nipples with a practiced, teasing touch that made your breath catch and your hips press forward involuntarily. The soft moan you released was his reward, the sound of you already falling apart beneath his hands.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered, leaning forward to mouth at your chest, licking slow lines across your skin until your head fell back.

But still—you needed more.

You shifted back just enough to settle your knees on either side of his hips, then moved forward slowly, your bare skin brushing against his shirt as you lowered yourself until you were straddling his chest.

His breath hitched.

His eyes flicked up to yours, wild now, lips parted.

“You sure?” he asked, voice gravel-thick, hands sliding down to grip your thighs. “I won’t stop you.”

You nodded, mouth dry. “Please.”

Theo smirked against your skin. “Always so polite, aren’t you?”

Theo didn’t hesitate.

Leaning back against the pillows, Theo’s breath grew shallow as you settled fully over him, your hips resting just above his mouth, panties soaked and clinging tightly. With slow, deliberate fingers, he tugged at the edge of the fabric, peeling it aside with care, revealing your glistening folds inch by inch. His eyes never left yours, full of hunger and devotion.

“Take what you need, princess,” he murmured again, voice thick with desire—his words shattering every last restraint you had.

You sank down slowly onto his mouth, your slick heat pressing against his warm, eager tongue. A moan tore from your lips as he traced slow, deliberate circles along your soaked slit, every flick of his tongue sending fire racing through your core.

Theo groaned low and deep beneath you, the vibration of his voice humming through your core like electricity sparking to life. His warm tongue traced a deliberate, slow stripe from your slick entrance up to your swollen clit, teasing every sensitive nerve ending along the way. You shivered as his breath hitched, his mouth closing over your clit with a sinful, focused suction that pulled at you, drawing a sharp, breathless moan from deep within your throat. His hands gripped your hips firmly, steadying you as his tongue flicked in slow, torturous circles, worshipping you with an intensity that left you trembling, utterly undone beneath him.

You cried out, your body shuddering uncontrollably as urgent waves of pleasure washed over you. Your hands slammed against the headboard behind him, gripping it tight, nails digging into the wood as you ground down harder, desperate and unrelenting. You rode his mouth with wild abandon, every desperate movement pressing your slick heat against his eager tongue, as if you were starving for the taste, the touch, the connection.

Because you were.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, lips slick and warm, coated with your slick as his tongue flicked and swirled. “You’re so good for me, baby—so fucking perfect. Taste so sweet.”

You whimpered, breath catching in your throat as you ground down harder, hips rolling with desperate need. Your thighs trembled beneath you, muscles quivering from the relentless waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Every slick, heated stroke of his tongue sent shivers radiating out, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, barely enough to keep you alive.

Every nerve ending blazed with fire, sending sharp pulses through your trembling muscles. Your fingers dug into the headboard, knuckles whitening as your body moved of its own accord—wild, desperate, and utterly uncontrollable.

“Theo—fuck—” you gasped, voice breaking on the edge of surrender.

He groaned deep and guttural beneath you, his mouth tightening as he sucked harder, tongue swirling with practiced devotion. Every flick, every press of his tongue was soaked in hunger—he lived for this, for the way your body reacted to him, for the way your moans filled the room and wrapped around him like a spell.

You could feel it—the way his muscles tensed beneath you, the subtle shiver that ran through him when your hips jerked against his mouth, and the possessive grip his hands had on your hips, anchoring you as he lost himself in worshiping your body.

Then it hit you—hard and fast.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, ripping through every fiber of your being. Your breath hitched, throat tightening as your body seized in pure, raw ecstasy. Waves of pleasure pulsed relentlessly from your core, spreading through your hips, thighs, and down your legs. Your cunt clenched fiercely around his tongue, trembling as it spasmed in rhythm with the wild pounding in your chest.

You cried out, loud and desperate, thighs locking tightly around his head, holding him like a lifeline as the pleasure burned through you. It was overwhelming, consuming—every nerve ending fired at once, leaving you breathless, undone, and utterly his.

Theo didn’t stop. His tongue never faltered, moving with relentless worship as your body convulsed beneath him. You were gasping, trembling uncontrollably—hips bucking and jolting, desperate to chase the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing through you. The overstimulation built, every nerve screaming in delicious agony as you rode him hard, clinging to the dizzying edge he expertly pushed you to.

Only when your movements grew erratic, your breath ragged and shallow, did he finally ease up. His hands slid up from your hips to rest on your lower back, fingers splaying wide to steady you, grounding you gently.

Theo’s hands slid from your hips to your thighs, fingers curling around you with tender strength. Slowly, carefully, he guided you down, easing your weight off his face as you shifted forward. Your bare skin met his warm chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“You okay?” he whispered, fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you curled into his warmth.

You nodded slowly, the tight knot in your chest loosening with every steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “Better,” you murmured, voice soft but sure, finally feeling safe enough to sleep in his arms.

“Good,” he murmured softly against your shoulder, warm breath sending a comforting shiver down your spine. “You take care of everyone else—I'm always here to take care of you.”

You didn’t answer.

You just kissed him—soft and slow and grateful.

And Theo held you close, arms wrapped around your waist, as if he’d never let go.

[snetofed]

VISIBLE PROOF

he hadn’t meant to make it a habit. hadn’t meant to get obsessed. but the first time theo felt himself through her belly, everything changed. there was something so fucking filthy about it—so visceral and undeniable—that it rewired his brain. because she wasn’t just taking him. she was showing him, proof pressing up under his palm, hot and swollen and his. maybe it was the broom cupboard under the Quidditch stands, or the bruises on his knuckles from the match, or the cigarette smoke still lingering between them—but something in him snapped. and from that moment on, it became a need. he’d chase that bulge like a drug, whisper filth in her ear as he guided her hand down to feel it too. to feel him.

pairing: Theodore Nott x reader

genre: smut with no plot whatsoever, obsession kink, bulge kink, post-match filth, Hogwarts era

tw: MDNI 18+, explicit sexual content, bulge kink, public sex (broom cupboard), praise kink, size kink, cockwarming, overstimulation, fixation/obsession, possessiveness, dirty talk, soft roughness, visible outline kink, slow & deep thrusting, aftercare, Slytherin boy ruin-you energy, emotional intensity through sex

The first time Theodore realized he could see himself inside her, feel it—pressing up against the delicate wall of her lower abdomen—it hadn’t been planned. It happened by sheer, glorious accident. They were fucking in a cramped, dimly lit broom cupboard tucked beneath the Quidditch stands, the air thick with sweat and adrenaline, the roar of the crowd still ringing in Theo’s ears. His knuckles were scuffed from the match, his jersey half peeled off, cigarette dangling from his lips as he thrust into her with the kind of desperate, post-victory hunger that left no room for mercy.

She was bent over, one hand braced against the wooden shelves, the other clawing at his thigh, and he was buried in her to the hilt, every inch of him consumed by the heat of her body. His hand slid instinctively over her stomach, slick with a sheen of sweat, and then—he felt it. A firm, distinct pressure beneath his palm, shifting ever so slightly as he rolled his hips into her again. He paused, lips parting in shock, a low breath escaping him.

“What—?” she whimpered, gasping as he stilled. Her brows knit together, frustration edging her tone until he pushed back in, deliberately slower this time, dragging himself along her soaked walls. That’s when he felt it again—the hard outline of his cock bulging through her soft belly.

“Holy fuck,” Theo breathed, voice laced with awe, almost reverent. The cigarette dropped from his fingers, forgotten, and his hand pressed firmer against her skin, wide palm flattening over the swell. “Baby. Baby, feel that,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked as he caught her trembling hand and guided it down. Her fingers hesitated, then pressed in, and she gasped—eyes wide, lips parted, moaning as her own touch traced the thick, unmistakable outline beneath her flesh.

“That’s me,” Theo whispered, almost in disbelief, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hips snapped forward again, and this time he kept his hand there, feeling the way she molded around him, how her body gave and swallowed and took him so deep he could make a visible mark. The sight, the sensation, the reality of it drove him mad—his pace quickened, rutting into her with a growl while he pressed down harder, obsessed, greedy, like he needed proof that he was really that far inside her.

From that moment on, it became a fixation. A ritual. No matter where they were—her bed, the showers, an abandoned classroom after hours, sprawled across the Slytherin common room couch when no one else was awake—Theo always found his hand slipping down to her belly. No matter the position. He’d lean over her when she was on her back, his dark eyes locked on her face while he rocked into her and flattened his hand over her abdomen just to feel it. When she rode him, he’d grab her wrist, shove her fingers down with his, and whisper in her ear, “There. Right there. That’s where I am, baby. You feel me?”

Sometimes, he’d just stay there inside her, unmoving, just to watch it. To feel the pressure. The raw, primal proof that he was in so deep he could leave a mark even without pulling out. And if he thrusted just right—slow and deep and rough—he could make that bulge more prominent, could make her cry from the fullness, from the sheer filth of it. He loved it. Lived for it. Because it wasn’t just about possession—it was confirmation. He was under her skin. Tangible. Claiming her in a way no one else ever had.

And she loved it too. The way her eyes glazed over every time he pressed her hand there. The way she clenched around him tighter when he whispered how good it felt to be buried so deep.

Theo was addicted—to the bulge, to the feeling, to her. Every time he chased it, it was like chasing a high. A beautifully obscene reminder of just how thoroughly he could ruin her.