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dreamcubed · 5 months ago

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guilty as sin? | tom riddle x reader

song; guilty as sin? [taylor swift] pairing; mattheo's brother!tom riddle x fem!reader genre; f2l, best friend's brother, (not so) unrequited love, angst, hurt comfort, smut word count; 3,7k timeline; subsidiary eighth year warnings; swearing, pining, references to war, references to tom and mattheo's childhood trauma, unprotected sex, piv, fingering, nightmares, wet dreams summary; your uncontrollable feelings for the brother of your best friend, mattheo, led you to feeling incredibly guilty— even though you had never even touched tom's skin

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"what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?"

MINORS DNI! 18+ content.

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The roaring waves of emotion tucked neatly into your soul hadn't always been around— well, that was obvious, you weren't born with them. Never would you have felt such passion as a newborn only caring for your mother's touch. Not even did the infatuation transpire when Mattheo first introduced you to his elder brother, Tom, back in first year. He was a year older, but he had still been but twelve, and nothing but an awkward prepubescent boy. Salazar, that had changed.

It must have been fourth— or maybe fifth— year when the first ripple of a wave emerged, looking upon Tom sat reading in the Malfoy Manor library one Christmas when Mattheo had invited you over. The cascading glow of light from the fireplace warmed his cold features, and you realised that he was growing into a man: a gorgeously enchanting man. He was nothing like his brother in manner. Where Mattheo was wild, rambunctious, and dirty, Tom was calm, organised and ever-polite. Their similarities were restricted to three things: their last name, their intelligence, and their looks. Even so, the slight difference in features cemented itself as the slight difference in your type.

Mattheo was like your brother, but Tom had never seemed like anything remotely close to that, despite how you came to know him more as the years went by. To him, though, you were probably like an annoying younger sister— the friend of his younger brother's who was always irritating and made said brother twice as unbearable.

You resolved to your dreams and fantasies of Tom, occasionally attempting to date others and feeling guilty the entire time because all you could do was think of another man. A man who had never even kissed you, never once brushed against your skin, never flirted or been anything more than polite. And, the worst part was Mattheo.

The last thing you wanted to do was betray him, make him feel like you preferred his brother over him— the person who had been there for you at your worst and made you feel your best. Guilt consumed every vein in your body, forcing you to seal away the sea storm safely into your soul. But as the waves grew stronger, the dam grew weaker. One of these days, you would crack, and you had no idea how such a scene would play out.

It was your last year of Hogwarts now: a subsidiary eighth year for which you had elected to return. Upon the demise of their father, Tom and Mattheo had moved out of the Malfoys and into Riddle Manor, where they were grateful to know that their father had never lived. Mattheo had come back with you to Hogwarts, but Tom already had his NEWTs, and was settling into a new job at the Ministry. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed.

But one thing stayed the same: Tom getting more goddamn gorgeous every year.

Christmas came both too quickly and too slowly, with you and Mattheo packing your bags to return to your homes for the season. Like usual, you laughed and bickered on the train, but your lingering guilt was heightened on that particular day. Just the night before, you had experienced one of the most vivid dreams that you had ever had about Tom, resulting in you waking up sweating and with a pool of heat between your thighs. You felt awful, almost crying when you realised, which hadn't gone unnoticed by Pansy.

"What's wrong, babe?" she had asked, looking over from the vanity where she applied her makeup.

"I did a bad thing in my dream," you mumbled.

"Don't stress," she said calmly, "There's no such thing as bad thoughts— only your actions talk."

Her words were currently the only thing keeping you from breaking down in front of Mattheo: your best friend should be the only one to know your biggest secret, yet he was the one person you couldn't tell. Well, perhaps that was a lie— the one person you couldn't under any circumstances tell was Tom.

For all you knew, Mattheo would take the news well. You just didn't want to risk it. Not when there was so much at stake.

"I'll owl you, okay?" he said when you parted ways at the train station, "Make sure to come visit."

"I will," you smiled, "See you, dickhead."

He grinned.

Salazar.

***

The cool air from your open window curled around your skin in a delicious sensation, contrasting perfectly with the warmth of the man above you. You heard a chuckle escape his lips as he delicately pushed up the hem of your large sleep shirt and let his fingers brush against your thigh.

"You're so pretty," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you, engulfing you in a magical feeling.

His thumb moved softly against your thigh, tracing something that you couldn't make out.

"Mine."

***

It was still dark out when you jolted awake, the fresh imagery of your dream washing over you and forcing you to sob. The tears poured uncontrollably as the ache in your heart seared: the ache of loving someone who you could never have so deeply, so unconditionally. How had you managed to break your own heart?

Maybe it was the late night hysteria, or maybe it was the consequence of years of pent up feelings, but you decided there and then that you had to tell Mattheo. He had to know— he deserved to know. So, before you could change your mind, you forced yourself out of bed, still in a fit of tears, and pulled on joggers. In a flash, you had apparated outside Riddle Manor, a grand yet gloomy building that screamed status and power.

An ugly sob wretched its way out of your throat as you approached the door, reaching a shaky hand up to rap three firm times. You hadn't checked the time, but Mattheo was always up late, with a body clock so dysfunctional it put the government to shame.

"Y/N?" a voice said curiously as the door swung open, revealing the man who had inadvertently caused you all these problems, "Are you okay?"

That question was the gateway for more tears to flood out of your blurry eyes, and you damn near stumbled into the house when Tom stepped aside to allow entry.

"Where's—" you sobbed, "—Mattheo?"

"He's... pre-occupied," Tom said carefully, and that was when you noticed the sound of loud moaning coming from upstairs through the ringing in your ears.

You sank on to the floor as your body violently jerked with the waves of your upset.

"I've told him a million times to use a silencing charm," he sighed, "I'll be right back."

In the time he was gone, the moans ceased to nothing, and you knew it wasn't because Tom had gone in and told Mattheo to stop. That was the last situation he would want to interact with his brother in, and you felt the same.

"Get up off the floor, come through to the living room," Tom said delicately, helping you up and guiding you out of the entrance hall, "I'll get you some tea, okay?"

You kicked off your shoes and curled up on the sofa as he prepared your drink, trying to silence your horrific sounds which only caused your body to shake harder.

"Here you are," he returned, placing a tea tray on the coffee table and sitting opposite you, "I know we're not as close as you and Mattheo, but you can talk to me."

Shaking your head hurriedly, you mumbled, "Can't."

"I won't judge you, Y/N."

"You don't get it," you choked out, "It's because of you."

Tom stilled, evidently trying to process your sudden outburst that had shocked even you, "I'm sorry, have I hurt you in some way? It wasn't intentional."

You covered your face with your hands, feeling the sticky warmth on your cheeks and moisture in your eye ducts. "You haven't done anything," you finally said, "It's me. It's my fault."

"I'm not following."

"No one knows," you bravely tried to meet his eyes, "No one can ever know."

With a deep sigh, he stood up and moved to sit next to you, tentatively wrapping an arm around you so as to pull you into his embrace. Never had a nice gesture been so excruciating for you: everything from his scent to his kindness was all you had ever wanted, but not like this. Still, you let yourself unfold in his arms, grasping on to the material of his jumper and burying your face in his chest.

He held you for a minute or two of painful bliss, until you cautiously pulled back, wanting to create some distance. When his forefinger pressed under your chin and forced your eyes up to meet his, you felt your barriers dissolve. What should have been a willing feeling, wasn't, as you felt your mind and innermost thoughts lay bare for Tom to weave through. Every erotic dream, every lingering touch, every discreet glance: it all presented itself to him nicely in a slideshow that was never meant to be seen.

Tom retracted his finger from your face and broke the eye contact, turning away from your horror-struck expression. Violated didn't even begin to cover how you felt— he had no right to pry into your head, and yet you were still grateful that finally the feelings weren't your burden alone to share.

"I see," he said simply, looking straight ahead.

"Don't say anything," you pleaded quietly, "Please."

"To Mattheo?"

"Yes, but—" your breathing stuttered, "Don't say the words of rejection. I can't hear them."

An eyebrow of his quirked as he glanced back at you, but he remained silent.

The moment was interrupted by bodies stumbling loudly down the stairs, and then the sound of the front door opening as voices said their goodbyes. When the door had been shut again, Mattheo appeared in the entrance of the living room with flushed cheeks and a bare chest.

"Y/N! When did you get here?" he then noticed your tear stains, "Oh my Salazar! Are you okay?"

"'M fine," you mumbled, standing up, "Just gonna go home."

Mattheo reluctantly let you leave. The second the door had closed behind you, however, he was cornering his older brother. "What did you say to her?" he spat, anger making him clench his fists.

Tom merely rolled his eyes. "Calm down. She was already crying when she arrived."

His statement made Mattheo back off, as he chewed his lip in thought. "And you comforted her?"

"Since you were otherwise occupied, yes."

"Okay," the younger man relaxed his shoulders, saying a stiff, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Tom said sarcastically with a raised an eyebrow, "You might want to have a chat with her, though."

"About what?"

"It's better if you hear it from her."

***

You were a little confused as to why Mattheo had insisted that the two of you go out for drinks the next night, but ultimately you accepted, sitting at a table in a pub with him. The table was characteristically sticky and shiny, with your rum and coke sat on top of it opposite Mattheo's pint.

"What happened last night?" he asked after exchanging pleasantries.

"Oh, nothing," you replied dismissively, "Just a bad dream." Well, it hadn't been bad per se.

"Tom told me I should talk to you."

Your eyes widened, "Did he say about what?"

It was a relief to see Mattheo shake his head, "He said it was better I hear it from you."

A sigh escaped your lips as the reminder that you intended to tell him last night popped up in your brain. To your unpleasantness, you decided that now was as good of a time as any. "Yes. I... suppose it is."

"Tell me," he prompted, "You can trust me with anything, you know that?"

"I... have feelings for Tom."

Mattheo looked dumbfounded.

"Well, that's a lie—" you scrunched your eyebrows, trying to find the words, "I'm... in love with him."

"Have you two been—?"

You cut him off, quickly saying, "No, no! I've never acted on it... it's been years. I tried to suppress the feelings, I swear! But they just get stronger and stronger as time goes on and I feel like I'm going crazy. I feel so guilty— I don't want to betray you!"

As you finished your rambling, Mattheo remained silent, processing the information that you had just provided him.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"You've been in love with my brother for years?"

You nodded your head shamefully.

"And you never acted on it because of me?"

You nodded again.

Mattheo let out a deep sigh, his fingers interlocking with each other as he rested his elbows on the sticky surface. "Does he know?"

"As of last night, yes."

"Does he return your feelings?"

"I told him not to tell me if he does or not."

"You should've told me sooner."

"I know."

"Y/N," he began, running his hand through his hair, "You didn't need my blessing to date him."

Confusion crept up on you, "I just didn't want you to think I chose your brother over you when we've been through everything together."

"Maybe I would've thought that a few years ago," he admitted, "But we're adults now.

Your mind clouded with possibilities of what Mattheo was saying to you.

"You can date who you want. But if he breaks your heart, I will kill him."

You chuckled to yourself, "I don't even know if he reciprocates... but thank you, Teo. You're the best friend anyone could ask for."

He smiled softly at you, "Hey, maybe one day we'll even be related."

***

Receiving Mattheo's blessing had never seemed possible to you, never appeared attainable, so you had never dared to dream what you would do if you did receive it. Thus, you found yourself sat on your bedroom floor, anxiously fidgeting as you attempted to figure out how to approach Tom. He knew you liked him, so you supposed the first step was complete, but how were you meant to actually make a move? What if it was all for nothing? All those years of pining and anticipation boiled down to him feeling nothing towards you.

Had Mattheo told Tom that he was cool with it? Did that mean all you had to do was wait around for Tom to close the distance?

Too many unanswered questions lingered.

You can't remember when you decided to write a letter, as you only snapped out of your daze as you signed your name, staring down at the parchment of love confessions and yearning.

Dearest Tom,

I never thought that the day would come where I would openly be able to confess to you. Mattheo gave me his blessing, but what does that matter if you don't see me the way I see you? But, after all these years of you haunting me so stunningly, I have to do this. With any hope, if it's rejection I face, I will be able to move on.

Don't ask me to pinpoint when I first fell for you, because I don't know. It crept up on me over the years until all I dreamed and thought about was you, even when I was seeing other people. Guilt has been my dominating emotion for so long that I am not used to no longer feeling it. This likely won't come as a shock, as you saw the state I was in the other night when I found the confession wretched from the vault in my heart. Forget about that, please, and consider this the one true confession.

Every sensation in my body is elicited by the thought of you— we've already done it in my head. My imagination, along with every bone in my body, tells me that you have already written "mine" on my upper thigh. Because I am yours, even if you aren't mine. I have always been yours: not Mattheo's, not any of my exes', just yours.

And for that reason, I suspect I am guilty as sin, for the emotional cheating I have involuntarily committed.

Am I allowed to cry?

Yours forever & always, Y/N L/N

You folded it, pressed your wax seal, and gave it to your owl before you could second guess yourself. That was when the rippling waves of anxiety came, forcing you to pace back and forth and wait for some kind of— any kind of— response.

***

It was late at night when a knock sounded on your door, and your heart raced as you guessed who it was coming to pay you a visit. With shaky hands, you delicately padded over to the door and opened it, to see the bane of your existence and owner of your soul stood with furrowed eyebrows.

"Mattheo gave his blessing."

Those were his first words: a statement of a recently established fact that had changed your entire world. You nod hesitantly, frozen in place.

"Your letter," he murmured, making you realise he had the parchment clutched tightly in his hand.

Your eyes locked on to the piece of paper as your grip tightened on the door.

"Well, are you gonna say something?" he asked.

"I've said all I have to say," you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.

Tom let out a sigh, stepping closer to you, "You've haunted the back of my mind for years— the figment of an annoying younger brother's best friend, and everything I want to forget."

You gulped, unsure what he was insinuating with his cryptic words.

"But I can't forget you," he sighed, "Not just because of how often I see you, but because you're the culmination of all my highest hopes and darkest desires."

His hands found your hips and settled there comfortably: your skin tingled under his touch, the ripples of his warmth cascading across the ocean of your body.

"I want you," he said quietly, "So badly, it hurts."

As if acting on instinct, your resolve snapped at those words, and you slammed your lips on to his. The dam had broken, and the strong currents of emotion were plummeting forward in a whirlwind of passion.

Tom returned the kiss eagerly, his hands exploring every curve and inch that you had to offer him, and it wasn't long before you were hurrying up the stairs to your bedroom, blinded by lust and love. He pushed you back on to your bed, his mouth moving to graze along your neck, eliciting soft gasps from you. His fingers worked their way under the hem of your nightie, pushing your panties aside and teasing your wet folds. The real thing was so much more electric than any of your dreams and desires: his very presence was igniting a roaring flame within you.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his deft fingers finding your clit.

"All for you," you replied breathlessly, "Always for you."

He expertly worked your core, appearing to know every angle and the exact amount of pressure required, as if his life purpose in sex had been to learn how to best please your body. You moaned as he moved more quickly, working you up to the quickest orgasm you had ever been blessed with.

"Fuck, Tom," you moaned, "Feels so good."

"You like that, darling?" he chuckled, riding you through your high, "We're just getting started, hm?"

When he removed his hand from your cunt, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him into kiss you again, drunk on the sensations he provided you. "Fuck me, Tom," you mumbled, "I need to be one with you."

He laughed darkly, "Since you asked so nicely."

It took way too long for him to unbuckle his trousers and release his dick, despite the fact he did it as quickly as possible, working in a frenzy off of the same desperate craving as you. However, the wait of many heart-aching years became worth it when he entered you for the first time, every curve and vein of his cock moulding your walls perfectly, like you were made for him.

"Oh, my-" you gasped out, writhing when he applied pressure to your clit to make it easier for him to slide all the way in.

"You feel incredible," he groaned, staying still for a few moments, basking in your precious warmth, before slowly beginning to move.

Where Tom normally found himself being a meticulous and calculated person, he instead found himself losing all sense inside of you: his thrusts were sloppy and ragged, drawing sounds out of you that he mirrored with guttural moans. His thumb carelessly pressed over your clit, making you feel as if you were ascending from the mattress. This wasn't fucking— this was love-making. Sensual, sloppy, and passionate.

And so, Tom was near his release quicker than he had ever been, his typical stamina long lost in the haze of you. You were no different, building up to a second release as you felt Tom lose even more control: it wasn't long before he was releasing inside of you as you came once more, panting as he collapsed on top of you.

"Fuck, you're so amazing," he murmured, "How did we hold back all these years?"

You laughed tiredly, "I don't know, but I can't hold back ever again."

He agreed with a hum. "Y/N," he propped himself up on his arms, "I love you. It killed me the other night when you told me not to tell you if I returned your feelings."

"It killed me to say it," you smiled, "I love you too, Tom."

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written; 23/06/2024 —> 31/07/2024 published; 31/07/2024 edited; —/—/——

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