#slytherin boys x oc

[nevereverthem]

HP one-shot : 😳 [Theodore Nott x OC] 😳

Warnings : smut!, dirty talk

Length : 3k

One nice angle...

Mirror, my beautiful mirror

They’re sitting on Theodore’s room floor. Sarah’s straddling him, frantically bucking her hips over the bulge forming in his trousers. The little chat they were having quickly turned into a make out session that got quite out of hand…

Theodore runs a hand on her head, grabbing a handful of hair. He yanks her head back to have a look at her face. Her cheeks are flushed, pupils dilated, she’s panting. Her eyes meet his and she doesn't shy away. She’s staring right at him, lips parted, no intention of stopping her movements. When Theodore bucks his hips up a little more roughly, she lets out a high-pitched whimper, head tipping back and eyes closing.

This vision drives him madly hungry for her. He forcefully pulls her lips to his, kissing his woman with all the fervour he has in him.

She is incredible! The way she gives in her pleasure with such confidence, with such trust in him. She’s beautiful! He’d like to fulfill all of her desires for the rest of eternity if it meant seeing her like this every time. An eternity of sexual slavery to this woman would be the heaven he’s dreamed of for as long as he can remember.

The kiss is sloppy due to their frantic motions, though they capture each other’s mouth with lips, teeth, tongue, anything to get some contact.

When Sarah manages to bite and pull at his lower lip for one long moment, they lose themselves in each other's eyes. His piece of flesh goes back in place as it escapes the cage of her teeth. Time seems to stop, just like their movements. They’re frozen in the instant, staring at each other with loving gazes, eyes filled with passion and lust.

Theodore lifts a hand up to her cheek, slowly sliding it on her skin until his fingers brush against her ear, catching it in between his fingers. His breath blows on her lips, which he can't stop looking at.

_ I love you.

At his words, Sarah leans closer, capturing his lips in the softest press of lips.

When they part, they join foreheads, both sighing in contentment.

_ I love you too.

They both can't help but smile childishly. Whenever they say these words to each other, it makes them want to kick their feet, even in this particular situation.

They kiss again, softly, exchanging their mutual feelings through skin and saliva.

A few seconds later, it’s hungrier, more fervent, passionate…

Sarah passes her fingers through Theodore’s brown locks, scraping his scalp with her nails. A low groan escapes from the man’s lips, satisfying the possessive instinct of the woman who starts grinding on him again. When her motions become rapid, she pulls back from his lips, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing heavily.

The friction is so good that she forgets where she is and what’s happening. She’s absentmindedly grinding on his member, arms lazily wrapped around his neck, panties damp. She rubs her clitoris on his shaft through the fabric, bucking her hips at a steady rhythm. She lets out a moan each time their hips meet. She doesn't care how ridiculous the sounds she makes can be. All that she cares about is the pleasure she’s getting from that sole action.

Every single one of her cries makes him lose his mind. He could come just by hearing her voice, perturbed by the waves of pleasure she’s experiencing. Fully clothed, rubbing against each other… Theodore wants more, always more. He’s burning under his robes. He needs to take them off, take hers off…

_ Stop.

Sarah hardly hears his voice, responding with just a sound, her head buried in the crook of his neck.

_ Honey, stop.

_ Nnnoo…

She tries to grind harder against him, a warm sensation building inside of her. Disappointedly enough, strong hands grip her hips to keep her still. She leans back, brows furrowed in annoyance.

_ I was close…

Her whining complaint almost makes him feel pity for her, though he can't hold back the grin that forms on his face. Edging wasn't part of his intentions, but he gets satisfaction from the result all the same. Theodore grabs her chin in between his fingers, pulling her face to his, just a few inches away. His steel gray eyes pierce through her emerald ones.

_ I’ll make you cum as hard as you want, my love. Don't you worry about that…

He talks in an authoritarian voice, his other hand leaving her hip to caress her bra-lees nipple through the fabric of her shirt.

_ … I’d like you to be naked though…

Sarah breathes shakily, trying to focus on his sentences. The feeling of his fingers playing with her breasts, and his burning gaze take all the free space of her mind. She tries her hardest to keep from grinding back on him. She can feel him getting harder with each second passing and she’d just want to use it appropriately.

Theodore innocently tilts his head to the side, still staring into her eyes.

_ …Can I have that?

He glances at her lips, her eyes, then her lips again, holding back the urge to lap at her reddened flesh.

_ I love seeing you enjoy yourself. It’s hot…

Images of her play in his mind and he gulps at the memory. The sound reaches Sarah’s ears, and it strangely wets her underwear even more.

_ … but I wanna touch you, the real you, not with all of this fabric hiding your beauty.

Rolling her nipple in between his middle and index finger, he pulls a little, earning a silent moan coming from the woman’s throat.

The desire displayed in the tone of Theodore’s voice makes it all worth the loss of release. She quickly gets rid of her robes and starts attacking her shirt’s buttons. She’s cut short by Theodore gripping her wrists.

_ Tut tut tut. Don't rush it.

His voice is now only a whisper. He’s learned only a few weeks ago that inflicting himself with frustration gets him the best hard-ons. Patience, holding back from devouring her whole… It’s infuriating, but so damn arousing at the same time…

He observes her face for a while, her confused expression softening when he finally runs a finger over her visage, his eyes following his movements. He then slides down on her throat and chest area, caressing the exposed skin resulting from the unbuttoned part of her shirt.

_ I want to unwrap you like a gift.

Sarah shivers at the thought, goose bumps forming on her arms.

_ You're the gift destiny’s given me. I’m taking good care of it, of you.

Saying the last part, Theodore’s gaze moves back to hers. She’s got a desperate look on her face, eyes pleading for touch. Her breathing is ragged from all of his talk. Her clitoris’ throbbing, her knickers are ruined and the feeling of his erection twitching against her entrance is just too much for her.

_ Theo… do something, please. Anything.

The desperation in her voice is enough for him to finally grant her wish.

_ Up.

She obeys immediately, getting to her feet, knees sore from staying bent a bit too long.

She doesn't have time to worry much since she’s being lifted from the floor by hands grabbing her thighs. Theodore leads her to the nearest desk, stopping just in front of it.

He puts her down, turning around to face the mirror on the other side of the room.

_ I want you to see how beautiful you are.

He slowly starts unbuttoning the rest of her shirt, eyes focused on his work.

Sarah can't take her eyes off the mirror, watching him undress her with gentle touches. Her shirt’s fully opened now. Her boyfriend tugs on the fabric to pull it out of her skirt. He slides it down her shoulders, removing it completely. He then does quick work of his own shirt, pressing his chest flushed against her back. His gaze back up to their reflection.

_ Look at you…

He stares at her reflected body with burning eyes, his erection brushing at her back. His hands slide from her shoulders to grab her breasts, twisting her nipples with wanting fingers. Theodore nuzzles at the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent. Sarah’s head falls back, low moans escaping her mouth.

_ Nuh uh. Eyes open, sweetheart.

She looks back at the mirror, facing her man’s devoted stare. Her chest is heaving under his touch and she starts grinding behind, trying to get some friction from the hard-on pressing against her ass. He lets her, joining her movements, eliciting louder moans coming from her throat. She wants more…

Without any prior warning, she turns around to grab his trousers, unbuckling his belt. She’s carefully slow in her movements, hoping to please her boyfriend’s desire of “gift unwrapping”. The pace of her motions seems to be satisfying since he patiently watches her work with a look of adoration on his face.

When she unzips his trousers, Theodore stops her. She looks up at him with a worried expression. She doesn't want to be denied, not now, not again…

Luckily for her, the man slides a hand in his boxers to free his hard member from the torture of underwears. Sarah instantly grabs his sex with her hand, firmly closing around it.

Theodore releases a relieved breath of satisfaction, automatically bucking his hips up, jerking himself off in the warmth of her hand.

Sarah can't help but giggle at his reaction, an amused smile growing on her face.

_ I thought you wanted it veeeery slow…

Theodore freezes a second, shaking his head disapprovingly. He grabs her neck with both hands, eyes dark, pulling her into a rough kiss. She is not using his own words against him! He nibbles her bottom lip, moving to her neck to suck dark marks on her skin. One of his hands leaves her neck to lift her skirt up and grab her ass, digging his nails into her cheek. Sarah lets out low moans, melting under the sensations. She rubs her thighs together, trying to get some friction. Her knickers are soaked. She has stopped masturbating him.

_ That's what I thought.

Theodore has made his point… She can't argue with him in this situation. He pulls back.

When she comes to her senses again, he gently slaps her hand away, making quick work of unzipping her skirt that falls to the floor. He then grabs her by the hips, approaching his mouth to her ear. He whispers a spell and in a snap of a finger, both their bottom clothes disappear and a condom appears on his penis. She has no time to be shocked since she’s being turned around to face the mirror again. She’s fully naked, her naked boyfriend also pressed on her back. His arms are wrapped around her middle. He’s peppering kisses on her shoulders, worshiping the gift offered to him. He reaches her neck, licking the parts where he left hickeys. She likes it but she’s got enough softness. She needs more…

Sarah bends forward, hands on the desk. She arches her back to rub her ass against his shaft.

_ Theo…

The man in question looks up at her through their reflection, a mischievous grin on his face.

_ Eager?

She nods, her juices already dripping from her cunt,

_ You promised me…

The sound of her pleading voice makes his member twitch against her beautiful ass cheeks. He doesn't answer. Instead, he grabs his member and aligns it with her entrance, coating it with her wetness. He pushes a few times to rub himself against her clitoris. She lets out low whimpers. Theodore is fighting the urge to fuck her stupid since they started making out, and now’s the time… Satisfied by her wanting pleas, he finally pushes inside of her, hands locked on her hips. Sarah lets out a shaky sigh of discomfort. He lets her get used to him before slowly pushing further until he’s fully inside.

_ I always keep my promises.

One hand grabs Sarah’s breast and fingers brush against her sweet spot. The remnants of pain are long forgotten. She moans in pleasure under his touch.

When Theodore feels her push against him, he takes it as permission to start thrusting in her. He starts slowly then picks up the pace.

Sarah’s head falls forward, breathing heavily, high-pitched moans leaving her lips.

Theodore can't take his eyes off of her, but there's a little detail bugging him. His hand leaves her breast to grab her chin, lifting her head up to the mirror.

_ Look at me.

He stares at her face. Her cheeks are flushed, mouth open, half-lidded eyes. Her breasts’ bouncing in rhythm with his thrusting. That’s definitely his favourite angle of hers.

_ Fuck, you’re hot.

Sarah can't help but moan louder at her boyfriend’s comments. She's not one to dirty talk, though being on the receiving end is so exciting to her.

Theodore keeps a steady rhythm, eyes focused on their reflection in the mirror. He blesses the day he decided to rearrange the furniture in his room.

_ You feel so good, baby... I promised to make you come. You want it?

It’s not even a question to Sarah. She pushes back harder, taking him in further. She whines in frustration. His sex feels good in hers but she needs more friction on other parts…

Theodore knows exactly what to do. His hand slides back to roll her nipple in between his fingers, his other hand rubbing circles on her clitoris.

His girlfriend’s breathing fastens, her moans louder. Theodore presses harder on her sweet sport, thrusting languidly inside of her. Her head falls back, eyes closed. For some funny reason, slow movements tend to make her go crazy. Frustration?

_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck… aah! Don't stop. Don't you dare stop!

Her shameless whimpering pleas make him lose his mind. He holds back from pounding into her. He wants to see her break before getting his way with her. The contractions of her walls around his member make low groans escape his mouth. He lets some of his animal instincts take over.

_ You’re a slut, you know that? You’re a filthy little slut, fucked stupid, thirsthy for my cock and desperate to come.

Just a second, his hand leaves her nipple to brush a strand of her hair away, licking the helix of her ear. Sarah shivers, responding to his words and action with a strangled moan.

Theodore tries again.

_ Slut…

His woman moans again…

The realisation makes a wicked grin grow at the corner of his mouth. He wasn't sure of the response she’d have to degradation. He’s glad he discovered a new kink of hers.

_ Aw, you like that? Bad words make you cry?

He presses harder on her clitoris.

_ FUCK-

Sarah cries out, her head tipping back on his shoulder. She can't stop whimpering, she's so close to her release… She concentrates on the sensations, clenching around his cock.

Theodore can't help but moan as loud as she does.

_ Keep clenching around me like that and you’ll make me come, baby.

His fingers play with her nipple, while his others rub against her sweet spot in the best unholy way. A few more strokes, and she finally comes around him, mouth agape, a final moan leaving her lips.

Theodore doesn't stop, he’s close and wants to come inside of her. Sarah’s overstimulated. Her legs shake uncontrollably, she whines under the overwhelming sensations. Theodore’s heart aches at her sobbing complaint…

_ Just a little more…for me...

He presses even harder on her clitoris, earning a whine coming deep from his girlfriend’s throat.

_ I know, I know, baby.

Her walls clench around his member yet again and she can't stop whimpering.

_ Just like that-

The tightness around him and the sounds she's making are what get him to his breaking point… One more thrust and he’s coming in a shaky groan, emptying himself in the protection. His head jerks back before falling forward in exhaustion.

When he looks back at her, he notices a few tears running down her cheeks. He instantly feels bad, his high fading…

His right arm wraps around her middle, hand caressing her side. He rests his chin on her shoulder, steadying his breathing. He gently kisses her shoulder, eyes narrowed with concern.

_ You’re okay?

Sarah can only nod, not enough strength to speak.

Theodore wastes no time, immediately lifting her from the floor, bridal style. She instinctively crosses her wrists behind his neck, suddenly feeling sleepy.

He walks them to the shower, putting her down on the tiling, leaning against the cold wall. The fresh sensation calms her.

Theodore starts the water, which wipes away her remaining tears. He pulls her in a tight embrace, gently caressing her back. He feels her relax in his hold, reassuring the voices in his head.

_ I…

Sarah looks up, her gaze is far from hurt or accusation. She seems at peace, enjoying the feeling of her man's skin against hers. She runs a finger on his chest, playing with the drops of water running down his stomach.

_ I don't really think you’re a slut.

The precision he felt the need to add makes her giggle. She wraps her hands around his neck, pulling him in a tender kiss.

_ I know.

She smiles bright at him, resting her head on his chest, eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat.

It’s all the reassurance Theodore needs. He hugs her tighter, planting a kiss on her forehead. He has no idea how he managed to get her in his life. He can never be sure if he deserves to be with her, but he’ll do everything and anything in his power to make her happy.

He’s never letting her go. That’s lucky. She has no intention of ever leaving.

The End.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi,

Today's July the 17th and it's my 25th birthday!

I wanted to write a little idea I had and it ended up being a 3k long story... Anyway 🙄

Honestly, I didn't edited much and it might be full of mistakes weather it's grammar or vocabulary or whatever... BUT, I just wanted to damn post. x)

I hope you enjoyed it. ~

Feel free to drop likes and comments ~

Also, if you have requests... 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Harry Potter Masterlist

[lovingxe]

im working on a fic thing of like my previous years at hogwarts leading up to my 7th (which is whn i shift in) and its completely based on my dr and will be oc bc its me duh but im totally interested if anyone is into me posting it somewhere (probably not here bc id hate to find oc x character on tumblr) but i might post it to AO3 or wattpad if anyone is interested in reading it 🫶🏻

[bab3tte]

Tempus

𓆩II𓆪

Part 𓆩I𓆪

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x OC

Summary: In a wizarding world, it is a rare event when a witch is born with the ability to manipulate time. These witches are known as Tempuses. The last known Tempuse was born in the 16th century, but due to her powers, the Ministry of Magic became scared and imprisoned her in Azkaban. After her release from Azkaban, she experienced much pain and suffering. Out of fear, they burned her alive. one thing is certain: when one Tempuse is killed, another will be born.

Warnings: None

Wattpad: Bab3tty

Pattern Banner from: @cafekitsune

The first few days are always weird, but trust me, it can not be weirder than mine. First, I bumped into a group of friends, accidentally poured pumpkin juice on Blaise, and then stairs took me somewhere else. Finally, the Potions class. I have to say this class is very gloomy, I kind of like it. It has greenish stone walls. Few desks filled with potion equipment. Walls have the most commonly used ingredients overall it's beautiful. I was observing a room when suddenly the door opened.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class as such I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle sense and exact art that potion-making is" To be honest I thought that was quite obvious since the subject is called potion. When Elizabeth took out her parchment and started looking at stuff around Snapes mind suddenly went elsewhere.

The year 1971

Lily was looking around the classroom, smiling at everything that made her fascinated. She nudged "Look at that flower. It's beautiful" you could sat that Lily was very observant cause that jar was sitting behind a big cauldron "that's asphodel, it is a type of lily but has a bad meaning" Who would've thought Severus snape was interested in such flowers. "it's still beautiful".

End of flashback

Snape definitely does not like my brother. The way he looks at him makes it quite obvious. As expected, Harry already got in trouble.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" asphodel sounds... Oh wait it's a type of lily, and it's associated with death and graves. That behaviour is pure evil. How dare he remind us of our dead mother?

"Respectfully professor, I don't think it is right to ask first-year student questions which you know he won't be able to answer"

"And why is that Miss L'orange?"

"Because he grew up without magic, Plus that potion is an advanced one and Is not taught until the sixth year"

"Looks like we got miss confidence here, 5 points to Slytherin for your bold actions, now back to our first lesson"

Months have passed since I stepped foot into Hogwarts, and I have to say that Hogwarts is very pretty during every hour of every day.

"Hey, L'orange or Potter, which one do you rather?" Turning around, I saw the same blond boy the one that was in Olivanders.

"Whatever you rather, we've met before haven't we?" he is very familiar looking but I don't know why

"Yes back in Olivanders. My name is Draco, Draco Malfoy."

"Elizabeth L'orange but you already know it"

"Malfoy! Are you coming?" snape was calling him from the classroom

"I got to go, private lessons, since I am so good in potions I study many advanced things" With that Draco walked off, is this boy mental? When I walked into the great hall Harry, Hermione and Ron were waving at me so I sat at Gryffindor's table.

"We need your help, Eli," Harry said in a confused voice

"So Eli I heard you are pretty good at history of magic we need help, have you heard anything about philosopher's stone?"

"No that kind of topic is not in Hogwart's normal library, you have to look through the restricted section, now I have to go back to my table I promised to meet Pansy, see you later?" I met Pansy on the first day, turns out we are roommates, all other dorms were full except ours, and there are only us, while in other dorms there are four people so I consider myself pretty lucky. After dinner, I was wandering around in the dungeons when I heard some weird sounds "White, Time, change, prove" It was like a ghost was speaking, and when I followed the sound I came to a wall. Seriously? A wall. Looking around a bit on one brick I can see there is something white "Lumos"

ᚾ . . . ᛈ . . . ᛞ . . .

"no, no, no don't disappear, where is this parchment" I started scribbling what I saw onto a parchment, if anyone walked by they would think that I was crazy. Looking at them I recognized them as ancient runes, but slowly they disappeared and just as I was about to touch the wall voice called me

"L'orange what are you doing out of the dorm" Great timing Malfoy.

"I was going to a common room" I started walking while eyeing the wall "By the way Malfoy, you shouldn't point out one's mistake while you are doing the same thing, good night". Moron Is probably thinking no one is allowed to give him any kind of insult. As soon as I walked into the dorm I went towards Pansy

"do you know anything about runes?"

"no, why?"

"oh I was just interested I like the thought of knowing ancient runes"

"Oh I don't know a lot but I know most of the books that have full information are in the restricted section" I desperately need to speak with Harry, we could go into the restricted section together he will get his job done I will get mine.

"thank you goodnight pansy" Slytherin dorms are very pretty in calm colours, only sound you can hear is of the lake it is especially nice when it rains droplets going into the lake and hearing those sounds while fire cracking is quite nice, helps me get a good sleep.

Morning, at the dinner hall

"Harry! Are you guys staying over during Christmas break?" I said as I sat around the trio, making my sandwich.

"Only me and Ron are staying" Harry said with a sad face.

"Okay I have an idea. While Hermione is at home, we can go into the restricted section, I need the ancient Runes book, and then I will help you find stuff about philosopher's st Deal?"

"Deal. "three of them said at the same time. Okay, Christmas is in 15 days, so that gives me time to do my Hogwarts assignments these days, so I will be completely free during Christmas break. Elizabeth turned out to be an amazing student, outstanding everyone in almost all subjects, which made Hermione quite annoyed. As professors said, she had quite a passion for a potions DADA and the history of magic. So good that she also went to private lessons, The only one who refused it was Snape, saying that they should not make her think like she is some kind of good wizard as he said to himself "Maybe Lily gave her some talents but no daughter of potter would be good enough in potions". As days passed, she became better and better, dealing with every challenge Snape would give her.

Finally, the day Elizabeth was desperately waiting for came 25th December. She was alone at her dorm since Pansy went back to her home, alongside her friend group. When she woke up she found a few presents that surprised her as she looked through the present she found a few tags, "from Molly – it was a knitted sweater, from Pansy, I know this is your favourite flower, and also peace of your mother can be with you – a necklace of lily of the valley, from harry and ron, - sweets and chocolates From hermione- A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, exclusive version"

she smiled sweetly at the present before running off to breakfast.

"So tonight we will meet up near the library, I will bring my invisibility clock, and we will find books and leave" Harry said as Ron nodded his head.

"invisibility what?"

"oh I got it this morning. The note did not say who it was from, but I know it belonged to our dad" My dad is cool.

"I will go to Hagrid's hut to pass the time" It was snowing outside, and I couldn't believe how beautiful Hogwarts can be in every season "Hagrid!"

"ei hello Eli" Hagrid's hut was very warm on this chilly day "I just baked e' " they taste real badly, but I have to eat it

"thanks hagrid, can I ask you something?" As soon as I said that, Hagrid's face became stressed. "is there a possibility you know anything about runes appearing on the walls of Hogwarts?" hagrid turned around.

"um, er, no... er... I don't think so" he stated while patting his dog. "Hagrid please I need to know it..." Plus, I have some good pumpkin seeds to gift you"

"er... okay... okay... there was a time when Tempuses were walking around Hogwarts, it was their sign, their language of contact with each other, usually tempus ghosts contacting one and... that's all"

"what's a tempus?

"I can't tell ya a lot, Eli. Found that out yourself "I gave him his pumpkin seed and made a mental note to find information about tempuses in the restricted section.

"thanks hagrid" We spent a few hours talking as usual he was telling me about dragons and animals in the forbidden forest. The time finally came.

"Harry, Ron, where are you" I whispered

"over here" they were under an invisibility cloak... wow that's cool, I went under It, oh god, I can't wait to get this thing off me. "here we are" looking around sections "A, B, C, D, E.... R here it is "Runes and their meaning" and I need T... T.... T... "how to find tempuses, what are they and how to deal with them" Looking through the pages, I finally found my answers

"ᚾ - necessity, the rune of fate, symbolizes need, patience, and determination at the same time. You have a pressing task ahead of you... ᛈ -  Perthro is considered very mysterious, The rune says that something new will come into being...ᛞ - The process of concept becoming realized, paradoxical truth" Okay I guess this will make more sense after I read about tempuses...

"Eli quick someone is coming" I did not have any choice so I stole a book about Tempuses and ran off with them, I accidentally took a different path, but I got to the dorm safety. Now I finally have time to uncover the truth.

© bab3tte 2023

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 4th. mattheo - virginity loss / corruption kink.

PART TWO | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.

summary: pls read part one first for a lil buildup. also. im laughing at myself bc there was a perfectly good bed…right there…

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, virginity loss, PIV, so much dirty talk, so much patience from mattheo, (more of a realistic virginity loss bc it’s not always easy), praise!!!!, slight degradation, fingering, multiorgasm, handjob, best friends lil sister trope.

Mattheo Riddle was so accustomed to this. The pulse of adrenaline in the dead of night, the quiet hum of anticipation stretching every second longer than it needed to be. You weren't naive to that, not to him, nor the danger he carried so effortlessly in his stride. He wore it like a second skin.

But you—you were not accustomed to it. Not to any of this.

So when you pushed open the door to the room of requirement a little over ten-minutes later, you hadn't been sure what you were expecting to find. Something darker, maybe. More foreboding. But when the room revealed itself before you—silent, draped in soft moonlight that pooled over the bed with a window wide and open, spilling that pale silver fog across the floor—you almost laughed.

Too perfect. Too on the nose, like the castle itself had been watching you both for months and had decided this was the moment it would indulge you.

"You're late." Mattheo's voice cut through the quiet.

His back was to you, suit jacket discarded on an old oak desk against the wall, dark curls falling just above his collar as he stood by the window, eyes fixed on the lake. The moonlight made the ripples dance, just like the tension in the room.

You took a step toward him, silent.

He turned, finally. His eyes met yours and you saw it—the hesitation, the way his gaze moved over you, slow, cautious. He took in the way the light draped itself over your shoulders, moving lower—and it was as if for the first time, he allowed himself to see you fully, all the details he had so tried to ignore, now right in front of him. He drank them in.

You gave him a small, nervous smile, hoping it would ease the weight of his stare. "I didn't realize you were the type to keep track of time."

He moved closer, but not close enough. Not yet. His breath was tight, chest rising and falling too fast. The space between you felt like a chasm, though it was barely there at all.

"You've a lot to learn, little girl," he teased, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though it did nothing to mask the conflict in his eyes. It was meant to disarm you, but it only made the air heavier. His jaw tightened. "You're sure about this?"

"Quite sure," you breathed, stepping closer, close enough to admire the sharp line of his jaw, the soft stubble. "You're the one who's hesitating."

"I'm not hesitating," he muttered, though the roughness in his voice betrayed him. He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this with you. His best friend's little sister. He wanted to give you every chance to stop this, to walk away. "Just trying not to rush this—rush you."

You let out a small huff, your hand moving up to find his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Mattheo Riddle was nervous.

"You've been making me wait for months," you whispered. "I don't think a little rushing would hurt."

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on your hand as it trailed over his chest, lower, teasing. Every touch was a flame against his skin, every breath between you a match struck in the dark. He wanted you, more than anything, but the weight of it—the wrongness, the danger—clawed at his conscience.

His hand caught your wrist, intending to stop you, but his fingers lingered against your skin. Frozen.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, the words thick in his throat. "Your first time should be—"

"My choice," you interrupted, pressing closer, your body flush against his, your lips brushing his jaw as your hand slid lower, teasing the edge of his belt. "My virginity is mine to give, Mattheo. And I want to give it to you."

He shuddered, your words settling, sinking into the dark space that held you both captive. His hand found your hip, the other threading through your hair, gently tugging your head back to expose the soft skin of your neck.

"You’re not thinking straight," he rasped. "You'll regret this..."

But even as he said it, his hands tightened, pulling you impossibly closer.

"I'll regret nothing." Your fingers slipped lower, grazing his crotch, moving with nothing but instinct and need. Biting your lip, you felt the outline of him, hard and aching under your palm, and squeezed—he grunted, snapping his hips, and you throbbed. "Shit, Mattheo..."

"You are—fuck..." Mattheo's voice was a ragged breath, the words drawn out like he'd been holding them back for months. "...such a little tease."

You let go as quickly as you'd squeezed, and he growled against your skin, fingers tightening in your hair. Your hands found his face, pulling him in, crushing your lips to his. You moved with intent, pushing him back until his thighs hit the edge of the desk, and he groaned again—this low, guttural sound that sent a thrill through you.

You smirked into the kiss, tasting his frustration, savouring the way his defences cracked open. When you pulled back, his chest was heaving, lips swollen, eyes dark with want.

"I learned from the best," you whispered, teasing as your fingers slid down, finding the buckle of his belt. He watched you, every breath uneven, as you worked at the latch, pulling the leather free. "You've had months of fun tormenting me," you continued, moving to the button, the zipper. "Kissing me, only to say it was a mistake. Grabbing my ass every chance you could. Talking sweet when my brother wasn't looking..." your smirk deepened, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "...it's my turn now."

His pants sagged around his hips as you undid them and he cursed under his breath—his brain was struggling to catch up, like he couldn't believe the sudden shift, couldn't quite fathom the boldness with which you undid him.

Until—his hands were on you, spinning you around, your back hitting the desk with a thud.

"You think you're in control here?" His fingers slid up your hips, dragging your dress along with them, baring your skin to the cool air. "You think you have any goddamn idea what you're doing?"

You shuddered—you'd never seen him like this before—there was something feral in the way he moved, now, something sharp in the way his hands worked. His thumbs hooked around your panties and in one swift motion, they were gone—torn down your thighs before he urged you back onto the desk, parting your legs with his torso.

You were breathless, chest heaving, pulse thrumming wildly. His presence consumed the room, and for a moment, it was all you could focus on—the intensity of him, the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes.

You stared up at him, mind empty, until—

Smack.

His palm came down on your inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of sensation straight to your cunt. Your skin stung from the contact, but that wasn't the part that made you gasp. It was the heat, the way it surged through your veins, flooding your abdomen in a slow, aching pulse. You liked that.

"I asked you a question." His lips brushed against your ear, breath warm as he leaned in. "Two, actually."

You couldn't think, mind swimming—the press of his body, the rough timber of his voice, the weight of his hands as his fingers teased, climbing higher, brushing closer to the ache between your thighs. You sucked in a breath, trying to recall what he'd asked, trying to focus anything but the fire he was lighting in you—

But then, his fingers slipped further, closer, just barely brushing your slit, and your hips jerked involuntarily, chasing that touch.

"No—I don’t—“ the shame in the answer barely mattered. His fingers were so close, so close. "Gods—I just know I want you—"

"That's all you think about, isn't it?" He smirked, lips falling to your neck, tongue tracing the places he knew would wreck you, each soft, wet press making you whimper despite yourself. "You don't care about anything else..." his fingers slipped lower, dipping between your folds—and you cried out, shameless, the sensation unlike any other you'd ever felt. "…not the consequences, not the risk...you just want me…”

Your nails dug into his back and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wetting his fingers in your arousal before gliding back up to your clit and tracing over it.

"Oh—Gods—" you whinged, moaning into his shoulder.

Mattheo’s hands were experienced—that much was certain. Those fingers knew exactly how to move, precisely how to trace light, delicate circles over your clit that made you twitch, squirm— nerves stripped as you took in the new sensation. It wracked every inch of you, and you could feel him savouring your helplessness, drawing out every ounce of tension that had been building between you for months.

“You’re soaked.” You could hear the disbelief in his voice. “...filthy little thing for me, aren't you?"

"Gods, Mattheo, yes—" your eyes rolled, thighs twitching against his hand. "I am—ohh—"

"Yeah?" His tongue traced a slow, wet path up the side of your neck, teeth dragging over your pulse. "You like this?"

His words were enough to make you want to scream, but no sound formed—just a low, broken moan that spilled from your throat, raw and shameless.

"Answer me," he murmured. "You ever orgasm from this before? Hm?"

"No—" your voice choked, trembling as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to look at him, something like shame pooling in your stomach. "Oh, fuck—"

"No, what?" His fingers pressed harder, circles growing faster, more insistent, and his voice—Christ, his voice— "I asked you two questions, little slut. Keep up. You wanted this."

"Yes—mmf—I like it—" you whined, the words a desperate spill from your lips, too flustered to form anything coherent. "And no—Gods—you're the first to...to touch me like this..."

He figured as much but the admission tore through him nonetheless, his teeth sinking into your shoulder with a groan—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, a bruise, a reminder. His hand dipped lower, a finger pushing inside you without warning, pressing deep into your slick heat, and you cried out, your body tightening, pulsing around him, vision swimming.

"And this?" His voice was a smirk against your skin. "You let anyone else inside you like this?"

You knew he already knew the answer. You both did. He was reveling in it—the way he had you, trembling, helpless. You'd never heard him like this, never heard him so crass, so unfiltered, and the way he spoke made your whole body flush with heat.

"No." The word was a strangled moan, barely a breath. "Gods—Mattheo—you already knew that—"

He crooked his finger inside you, and your back arched, the stretch unfamiliar yet mindnumbing, his thumb working your clit. You felt teeth nipping at your earlobe, a hum into your eardrum—his body thrumming with the satisfaction of finally, finally letting himself have you where he wanted.

"Perhaps I did." He added another finger, curling them inside you, his teeth scraping along your neck in a smile. The groan that slipped from your lips was desperate, pained in its pleasure, your body reacting to every new inch of him. "Fucking hell—you can barely take two..."

Your head shook, words failing you. "Gods—Mattheo—I...fuck..."

A low grunt rumbled from his chest, his fingers moving quicker, slick with the evidence of your desire. "Feels good?"

"Yes—" you moaned, breath hitching, vision blurring as he pumped his fingers in and out, building something inside you that you couldn't name, something new, something overwhelming. "I feel—oh, gods—something...happening—"

"You feel something?" His voice was mocking, drenched in that innocent, teasing tone that had you falling apart. "Yeah? What's happening, princess?"

You couldn't find breath, couldn't form the words to answer him. The pressure inside you was mounting, intensity unbearable, your body tense and straining toward an edge. You clung to him, breathless, desperate for more, desperate for something, anything—

"I don't—" your voice broke as his fingers curled deeper, wetness flooding between your thighs, his thumb relentless. "Pressure—fuck—so much—"

He nodded. "Yeah? Pressure in that pretty stomach? Feels fucking good, doesn't it?"

"Fuck—yes, yes," your lids fluttered. "S’good—"

"You're so close." He watched you, drunk on your downfall, and smirked as you neared the edge. "You're going to cum for me."

Sanity shattered in your throat—words trapped, swallowed by the tension, leaving only the soft, unbridled whimpers you once might've once found embarrassing. But there was no shame now, not when you were this close, the pressure coiling tighter in your core, ready to burst.

"Ohh—" you managed, lungs sputtering, head tipping back. The sound of your voice, the way you moaned, was foreign, unfamiliar to your own ears. "Gods—oh fuck-"

"I know," he cooed, sweet like sugar. "I know."

You were a mess. Too close, too overwhelmed—everything was him. His scent, the heat of his skin, the feel of his fingers working that magic that had your body convulsing before you could even cry out, before you could process the way your vision blurred with the force of it. The climax hit like a wave crashing over you, and your moans were swallowed by his kiss, his lips on yours the second your body tightened, shaking against his hand.

He was relentless, rough and insistent, kissing you like he wanted to devour you whole—drowning out the world as your body pulsed around his fingers. You’d never felt such an intense sensation, lava coursing, replacing the blood in your veins. His breath stuttered against your mouth, a low groan vibrating through him, the sound making your spine tingle.

"F-fuck," he muttered, pulling his fingers from you, glistening and wet. "Messy little thing."

The words sent a shiver through you, not just from their meaning but from the way he said them, like something perverse, intimate. Your chest tightened with the warmth of them.

"You—" you panted, trying to find your voice. Blinking through the haze of lingering bliss. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" He chuckled your name against your neck, lips brushing a path to your ear. "Because you might fall in love with me?" His teeth grazed the sensitive spot under your lobe, along your jawline. "Oh wait...you already have."

"Shut up," you whispered, stomach flipping at the way he said your name, the way it dripped from his mouth like honey. "Have not."

"I've known for a while, you know," he mused, his voice so low, so quiet. "Don't think I haven't seen it—the way you look at me." He kissed your skin again, working his way up, each press of his lips something sacred, moving closer to your mouth. "The way you can't get enough of me."

You could kill him for it, for the way his words sunk into your bones, making all the feelings you've buried rise to the surface, pulling you under. He just had to go there—had to milk every inch of your composure out of you, because it's not enough for him to have you disarmed physically—sexually—he needed to have you disarmed emotionally, too.

Perhaps the worst part of it all is how right he was. Arrogant bastard.

"Stop talking," your hand drifted down, grazing the bulge in his pants, your fingers slipping under the waistband, rubbing him through the thin fabric of his boxers. It was reckless. You've never done this before, but God, you wanted to. "Stop talking and teach me."

The room tilted—the world off its axis. His breath caught, choked in his lungs as he grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his—his kiss wild, his tongue insistent, running along your gums and wrestling with yours for control.

"Fuck," he groaned into your mouth as you tugged his boxers down, freeing him, your hand wrapping around him. Hot. Hard. "Wrap your fingers around it, princess. Gentle strokes. Just like that."

Your heart stumbled at the sound of his voice, thick, raw and open. You tightened your grip, stroking him slowly, experimentally, and he hissed through his teeth, a groan vibrating through his chest.

"You're so big," you murmured, forehead against his, the words spilling out without thought. "So thick..."

"Fucking minx," he moaned. "Stroking me and telling me how big I am—fuck—you're not as innocent as everyone thinks."

"Only you know this," you whispered, your hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, pulse soaring as he groaned. "Does it feel good, Matty?"

"Fuck—Christ—" his breath was jagged, words ripped from his throat like they barely wanted to come out, hips jerking mindlessly. "Tighter, mm—little tighter—"

Your cunt throbbed—each whispered invocation of a god not his own, of something he didn't believe in, forced a shudder through you. That's how you knew. Knew how lost he was. He’d no mind left at all if he was muttering muggle gods.

"Like that?" Your fingers squeezed around him, your gaze burning into his as you looked up through fluttering lashes.

His face was a storm—flushed, eyes half-shut—but at your voice they opened and flicked down to yours, and for once, there was no arrogance, no mockery in that stare. Just raw, primal need, burning so fiercely it made you ache. His hips rocked, desperate for more. Painfully. A hole in his chest torn wide open for you to see, and he didn't care. Couldn't care.

"Yeah—shit—just like that," he gritted out, grip on your hips bruising, but you welcomed it. Needed it. "Fast learner, aren't you?"

"You're a good teacher," you whimpered, a sound that was barely yours as his fingers slipped between your thighs, finding your slit, teasing you open again. "Oh—"

"You've always been a little teacher's pet," he groaned, thrusting into your hand as he slipped a finger inside you. The stretch made you wince, pleasure and pain blurring into something that sent sparks behind your eyes. He watched you, gaze molten. "Fuck—it’s gonna hurt, you know that, right?"

The ache spread through you, but you didn't flinch. "I know," you whispered as his thumb found your clit, making you gasp. "I trust you."

"I know you do." His voice dropped, eyes dark and soft at once as he pushed another finger inside. "You know you’ve always had me wrapped around your fucking finger. You know I care about you—“

His words were too much, pressing on something fragile inside you, and you pulled him into a kiss to shut him up—deep, desperate, drowning. Your hand tightened on his length, the heat between you flaring, and you moaned against his mouth, shaking with the need for more.

"I want you," you breathed, each syllable shivering on your lips as you clenched around his fingers. "I've wanted you for months—"

Months? No, it had been years. Years of wanting, needing, watching from afar, heart in your throat. Years of avoiding anyone else because no one was him. You knew he’d felt the same and it killed him. It wasn't logical, wasn't supposed to be like this—not with you, not now, not his best friend's little sister, not him whispering sweet, dangerous things while knuckle-deep inside your virgin cunt.

It was as if you both shook those thoughts from your minds at once. You’ll think about the implications later.

"You've got me," he rasped, hips grinding involuntarily against your hand. "Just—fuck—don't hate me after this."

Hate him? The very idea was laughable, absurd. You could never hate him. Not even in those moments you tried, not even when he deserved it.

"I could never hate you," you murmured, drawing him closer, lips trembling against his. "Just—please—"

Something shifted in his eyes, and he knew. Knew what you needed. What you both needed. You were vulnerable, trembling, but you trusted him—completely. You’d been in his life for so long. You knew he’d never hurt you. He could see it your eyes, the trust, the in the way your body bent to his touch.

"Alright," he said softly, a hand running up your body to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Alright."

His fingers slid out of you, leaving you bare and breathless, and you swallowed. This was really about to happen.

"Lay back," his voice cut through your haze. "Legs to your chest."

The command wrapped around you like a vice, tightening the anticipation, and you fell back on your elbows, staring up at him as you raised your legs. Vulnerability crept in, making your thighs tense, but Mattheo was there, spreading you open with firm hands, pressing himself against your slick. His eyes were locked onto yours, all that self-assurance gone, melted into something more human—something raw, unguarded.

You could feel it; the vulnerability of this moment stretched between you both—the distance you'd maintained for so long, the careful walls you'd built, were nothing now. He was in too deep, and so were you.

"Stop me at any time," he whispered, his voice a raw rasp, eyes meeting yours. "Just breathe.”

He leaned down until his lips ghosted over yours, and you kissed him like the world might collapse if you didn't. He guided himself against you, the press of him at your entrance an unbearable ache. He was hot, hard, huge—and despite the wetness slicking down your thighs, your body resisted, too tight, too unsure of this.

You whimpered, instinctively trying to pull away, but he stayed, pressing kisses to your hair, your temple, whispering something that sounded like comfort but burned like fire. It hurt more than you expected, more than any of the fantasies you had dared to entertain.

Doubt curled through your chest, what if you couldn't take him? What if—

"M-Mattheo..." his name broke in your throat as you clutched his arm, nails digging into his skin. He tried to push in again, but your body resisted. "It—you—you can't fit..."

"Shh," his lips ghosted over yours, his hand slipping through your hair, trying again, moving slow, controlled. "You're just—so goddamn tight—"

The way he said it sent a spark through your veins. It was filthy, shameless, and it lit you up from the inside, despite the pain. No one had ever spoken to you like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears pricking as he tried to work you open.

And then—he was in.

"I-it hurts," you hissed—pain lighting up your spine as he worked his cockhead inside you, pushing against the resistance of your walls. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, each inch a battle. The pressure was unbearable, the sting so sharp it was paralyzing. "Oh, fuck, Mattheo—"

He groaned, a sound from deep within his chest, his head bowing, sweat creeping over his brow.

"Shhh, I know—I know..." he murmured through shredded cords, fighting to maintain control as his hips paused, barely halfway in, just enough to make you feel like you might break. "S'okay...you're doing so good..."

It was overwhelming—the fullness, the ache that felt like it might split you in two. And yet, beneath the pain, something else stirred. His words, soft and rough all at once, made the sensation bearable, turned the hurt into something else. You focused on his voice, on the way he stroked your hair, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Why—mmff—gods..." you could barely speak, the words tangled in your throat. "Why do you have to be so big—"

A strangled laugh escaped him, though his eyes stayed shut tight, his jaw clenched—cock twitching inside you.

"I don't—fuck—know." His fingers brushed your lips, covering your mouth gently. "Don't go talking like that—not right now—"

You might have laughed, too, if your body wasn't so taut, strung tight with tension and pain and something far more profound. He was barely inside you, his words making your insides clench, drawing another groan from his lips at the squeeze.

His hand held your jaw, palm pressing lightly over your mouth, enough to breathe, to speak—

"Why—" you knew what he meant, knew the warning in his eyes, but you couldn't stop yourself. "—not?"

His breath hitched. "Because—" he swallowed hard, words coming through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening around your jaw, a warning in his grip. "Because—fuck—your mouth will get you in trouble."

Oh. That was what he meant.

"But—oh fuck—you're so...big..." the words slipped out before you could catch them, a disgruntled moan falling from your lips as he sank all the way in, filling you so completely it was dizzying. The pressure, the heat, the sensation of being pried open—it was all too much, and you cried out, unable to stop the sound from spilling out. "Ohhh—so big—"

"I said, fuck," he cursed, hand clamping firm over your mouth now as his body shuddered, as he ground his hips gently into yours. "—don't say that."

It was too late. You didn't need to say anything further. He could feel it—he could feel everything in the way you clenched around him, barely letting him move—so goddamn tight it was almost painful—he could feel it in the look in your eyes, in the trembling of your body beneath his.

"I can feel you thinking it," he grunted as you squirmed beneath him, every movement making him twitch inside you, drawing another choked groan from his throat. "Merlin sakes—"

You knew he wasn't used to this. To slowing down, to drawing out the tension like this, to the maddening slowness of every motion. He wanted to lose himself, to break you open hard and fast, to take and give and take again until both of you shattered into something unrecognizable. But he couldn't—not with the way your eyes glistened, not with the way you gasped and whimpered as he filled you.

"No talking," he sucked in a breath against your neck, his hips rolling into yours in slow, unbearable waves. "Only if you need me to stop."

He was breaking. So were you. Every thrust was an exquisite kind of torture—an ache that twisted and stretched, dulled only by the flick of his fingers against your clit. His lips pressed along your neck, kissed along the line of your jaw, groaning with each deep, patient push, carving his way into you as you clung to him, your mind floating through the fog of pain into something different—something overwhelming.

Your head fell back. “Oh—Oh gods—“

Each gasp felt like it might be your last as that something built deep inside you, tight and unfamiliar, an ache that didn't hurt but begged to be released. And he felt it too—Mattheo felt it, the way your body pulsed beneath his, the way you tightened around him like you couldn't bear to let him go.

"Bloody fuck—are you—are you going to—" his words were ragged, broken. He couldn't finish the thought, couldn't hold himself together. "Are you—"

“Mattheo—” your voice trembled, a breathless moan as your back arched, pressing into him, your body seeking more. The pain was null now, replaced by an overwhelming pressure, something tight and aching and good—you felt every inch of him inside you, every pulse of his cock as he moved, slow but relentless. “Mattheo—oh gods—”

"Fuck—" he bit down, teeth sinking into your neck as his fingers swirled your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. "You're gonna make me—"

You choked because there was no space for words, no breath for anything but the raw sound of your bodies—moans, gasps, ragged inhales tangled together as you both hurtled towards something inevitable. The light of the moon radiated the man above you and that was all you could register other than the rising crescendo of your climax—something so intense it scared you, almost broke you apart—your body seizing, trembling, as his fingers pressed harder against your clit, as he thrust deeper.

And then, there was only one more blink until you shattered beneath him, the orgasm tearing through you in oceanic motion, muscles clenching around him so tightly he could barely move—and then he was there, too, his body jerking as he groaned into your skin, his release ripped from him in jagged gasps as you milked him without mercy. He slumped on top of you, fingers digging into your skin, the two of you pulsing together in the aftermath, the room spinning, your bodies still trembling from the force of it.

The world was slow to return, the roar of sensations fading into something quieter, softer. The weight of him on top of you was grounding—his forehead pressed against the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Neither of you moved for a long while, just basked in the silence, kind that settled in after something irrevocable had passed between two people.

And then, Mattheo pushed up, enough to meet your eyes. Your chest ached at the softness inside his own.

“Are you—” he swallowed as he drank you in, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the flushed cheeks. His words hung in the air as if he didn’t know how to finish the question.

“I’m okay,” you nodded, voice hoarse. “I’m good.”

Mattheo nodded too but didn’t move, still buried inside you, just taking you in. Then, gently, he shifted, pulling back with a slow, careful movement that made you wince slightly. The second he’d pulled out, you felt different—more aware of the vulnerability you’d just laid bare, more aware of the line you two had just obliterated into absolute shambles.

“You sure?” he asked, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—

You nodded again, the smallest smile pulling at your lips, though your heart was still racing, the enormity of it all sinking in.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m sure.”

His jaw tightened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“This changes everything, doesn’t it?” His voice was barely audible, like he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

Of course he was thinking it too—how could he not? This was no longer something you could pretend didn’t exist, no longer something you could hide behind banter and stolen glances and secret kisses.

“Yeah,” you breathed, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the heat still radiating from his skin. “It does.”

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Theo: I cut my finger

Y/n: I can kiss it, so it'll get better

Theo: That works?

Y/n: Yeah, my mum used to do it when I was little

*later*

Theo: I need you to punch me in the mouth

Draco: Fucking finally

[undisclosedproxy]

Possessive, obsessive, aggressive T.R T.N M.R

Summary: A movie night where secrets get revealed with Y/N and the boys.

Popcorn flying through the air, laughter filling the homely manor and the television playing a long forgotten movie. This is how good life ha been living with the boys. Y/N was currently sitting on the warm carpeted floor in between Theodores legs, Tom was sitting to the right of them, comfortable on his own seperate arm chair and Mattheo to the left of them, taking up most of the couch sitting in the most annoying way so that he was touching both Theodore and Y/N.

”You should have heard her screaming Y/N” Mattheo laughed loudly basically wheezing at this point, ready to pee himself from laughter.

”Okay it’s not that funny. All we did was hook up and then she woke me up screaming, she was supposed to leave already.” Theodore said shooting a fake glare in Mattheos direction with his icy blue eyes. He continued to sloppily try to braid Y/Ns piece of long brown silky hair.

”You’re right. It wasn’t funny it was obnoxious. Actually it was downright absurd, only the lowest of the low human beings with that level of IQ-“ Tom started going on a very angry rant, most of the time everyone doesn’t know what he’s talking about when he has these moments of his temper betraying him.

”Come on tom, calm down a little bit?” Y/N asked with furrowed brows and a slight pout. She didn’t mind when Mattheo and Theodore start their friendly banter but sometimes Tom just doesn’t get the hint, or pick up on social settings vibes.

Tom huffed and looked away, he didn’t want to admit it but he cares about what she thinks. They all know it too.

”You pricks are both so fucking in love with Y/N, at this point it’s disgusting.” Mattheo chuckled loudly as he continued to throw popcorn at Tom. Mattheo draped a foot over Y/Ns head. She shot him a glare and smacked his foot with her free hand, the other trying to help Theodore braid her hair.

”Do not start.” Tom warned him with a harsh look as Tom continued to put the popcorn Mattheo keeps throwing at him in a trash bag.

”Oh, do not act like you weren’t going absolute crazy when she brought a guy home.” Theodore yelled extremely loudly for no reason which was so random. Y/N looked up at Mattheo with a confused look, then back up at Theodore who was fiddling with her hair trying to detangle the matt he had made.

”No i didn’t!” Mattheo screamed back obviously lying. He was trying to cover for himself in front of Y/N.

”You dickheads did too!” Mattheo yelled pointing at Tom and Theo. As he jumped up, the popcorn falling onto the floor, the popcorn kennels already in the expensive carpet. Tom groaned loudly obviously already knowing he is going to be the one cleaning that up.

“Well. We did not hex him.” Theodore said sassily as he crossed his arms with a huff, giving up on trying to untangle the braid.

”Yes.” Tom said dryly agreeing with Theodore.

”IT WAS LITERALLY YOU WHO HEXED HIM!” Mattheo screamed at Tom, Mattheo was met with Tom staring at him blankly.

”oh.” Tom said nonchalantly,

Everyone stared at him with a concerned look on their faces.

”Is this why no boys ever come back over after the first date?” Y/N asked with a dumb founded look on her face.

”Yes.” The boys all answered in the same nonchalant tone and all at the same time.

”You guys sound like a cult, i’m leaving.” Y/N said as she gets up off the carpeted floor from in between Theodores legs. She walks up the stairs while flipping them off as they stared at her blankly.

”Her ass is so fat.” Mattheo said while so obviously staring. He was met with eye rolling from Theodore, but obviously he was staring too because he had to re arrange his pants, and Tom just looking at him with a disgusted look as he grabbed a pillow and put it over his crotch as he huffed once again.

[sweetimmoral]

the gentle shuffling beneath the sheets distracts tom from his reading. he turns to look at the bed. no, stare at the bed, as if his concentration is going to make your sleepy head visible to him like magic.

"tom?" he hears your tiny, sleepy voice call out.

"oh, i'm here" he calls out reassuringly, trying to sound a bit more reassured than how he feels himself. you hummed in response, a smile on your face evident in the tune.

it made his heart skip a beat.

he had never let anyone sleep over in his dingy apartment above burke's. it was more of a cupboard with creaky floors that smelt like old paper and a bit of earl grey. it smelled like tom. you liked that, you told him, and that he needn't be ashamed. the economy is in shambles after the great war, you said as you cupped his face. he could only manage half a smile to respond to that.

in the morning he'd expected you to disappear from his bed. to be gone. and never return.

as he held your face the night before, he was almost reciting his disappointment. ever since he'd met you he'd been waiting for you to leave him. waiting. anxiously. not hoping, no, never hoping. it's just that you're too good, to sweet for someone so cruel and unlovable.

in some twisted metaphor, he felt his cold, long fingers warm up as they soaked some of the warmth of your pretty face. he let himself feel it. the heat. the fact that you were so real, as real as the blood flowing through your body, as real as the part of you he kissed with his tip just moments before. he let his fingers wander down south to feel just how and where he had ruined you. caressing your swollen parts with his dexterous fingers, holding his breath a little when he found his cum there. actual. tangible. there you were. and it was all real.

his hand settled comfortably on your waist after its restless roaming. he didnt want to wake up and witness the guilt he'd feel for going against every principle of his. the giant wall he'd been making around himself had no entrance, then how did you manage to comfortably reside in the broken castle ruins it protected – his heart? at least he could be assured that you would never leave. never.

and he'd resent you for this cruel trespassing forever.

[thecharacterchronicler]

Bloodline (Part 1) || Ominis Gaunt x Reader || Smut

Outline: Your family arranged for you to marry Marvolo Gaunt. Fortunately, your best friend Ominis steps up and makes sure to save you from such a fate.

Word count: 4’515

Warnings: English isn’t my first language so possible misspelled or misplaced words, arranged marriage, abusive families (mentioned), first time s*x, friends to lovers and explicit smut.

(( Part 2 - Please )) - (( Part 3 - Heirloom )) - (( Masterlist ))

The familiar flip-flap of owls entering the great hall through the windows resounded in Ominis’ ears, excited chatter rising from the students sitting at the tables as, one by one, they received their mail. The sound of paper falling on a wooden surface nearby piqued his curiosity, he didn’t receive letters often, nor did you or Sebastian but an envelope had unmistakably landed in front of one of you.

Your clothes rustled as you moved to take the paper in your hand, tearing apart the top of the envelope as your owl took flight again, its wings almost grazing Ominis’s hair on its way back to the owlery.

Despite the noise of other students all around, Ominis distinctly heard you take a sharp inhale of air, your silence as you read the letter addressed to you feeling somewhat tense.

“Is everything alright ?” He asked you, but you didn’t reply right away, too focused on whatever you were reading.

He waited a few more minutes, noticing the way your legs grew restless and your movements became agitated. You were sitting at the opposite side of the table from him and your foot bumped into his a few times as you nervously readjusted your posture.

He was too polite to insist and didn’t want to push you to share something you might want to keep for yourself, so even though he was dying to question you about the mysterious letter you had received and why its content seemed to upset you, he simply cleared his throat to remind you that he was waiting for an answer to his question.

“It’s a letter from my family.” You explained, with a slight tremble in your voice. “They say that they arranged a partnership for me, effective immediately after graduation.”

“A partnership ? You mean some kind of professional training ?” Sebastian asked, before biting into an apple.

“That would be an internship.” Ominis corrected him, shaking his head. “I think she meant something more intimate than that.”

“Like… A relationship ?” Sebastian inquired, still munching on his fruit.

“A marriage.” You stated, defeated.

“I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

“I am not.”

“It’s common for wealthy and powerful families such as hers to arrange weddings, especially if it’s a matter of keeping their bloodline alive and pure.” Ominis explained, a shiver running down his spine. That was something his family did too, they were obsessed with maintaining the quality of their bloodline, suitable matches were carefully chosen, sometimes within their own family members.

“It’s more of a business contract than a marriage.” You added, with a sigh. “And my parents are making it very clear that I don’t have any say in the matter.”

“Do you know who’s the lucky fiancé, though ?” Sebastian asked, seemingly taking such terrible news lightly. Way too lightly. It was a tragedy, really. You deserved better than to be forced into a loveless marriage under the pretense of keeping a bloodline going, securing the pride and superiority of the worst kind of wizards to exist. Maybe Sebastian couldn’t quite grasp the gravity of what you had been asked to do but Ominis knew all too well how you must feel, being robbed of your free will and freedom by a controlling and corrupted family.

“It’s Marvolo Gaunt.” You answered, bluntly, before getting up from your seat on the bench and leaving the great hall in a rush. Although Ominis couldn’t see, he felt the intensity of your gaze piercing right through him, until you were no longer in the room.

His chest tightened and his body tensed at the sound of his older brother’s name. Marvolo probably was the most cruel wizard he knew, aside from their father. Although they shared the same blood, the same family and the same education, Ominis wasn’t afraid to say that his brother was immensely deranged and should have been locked up in Azkaban a long time ago, like the rest of his family actually. The only reason rules didn’t apply to them and they were free to commit the most vile and cruel crimes without facing punishment was because they were Gaunts, descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin and held more power and wealth than any other family of wizards in the country.

And now you were going to be one of them.

He couldn’t imagine you, taking part in the cruel acts his family committed for fun. And if you didn’t, they would find a way to punish you for it, just like they had punished him in the past. The Gaunts were dangerous, and you needed to stay away from them, no matter what.

Ominis stood up, reaching for his wand to guide his steps through the corridors and halls of the castle. He needed to find you and he knew his wand would know exactly where to take him. He was racking his brain, trying to find a solution to save you from such a doomed fate as he followed mindlessly the path his wand indicated. Eventually, he found himself outside, in a narrow courtyard. Wind rustled through the leaves of a nearby tree and caressed his face, sending a cold shiver through his body. He couldn’t feel any rays of sunshine warming his skin, meaning it must be a rather cloudy afternoon. He could hear the sound of water moving in the fountain at the center of the courtyard, birds singing in the sky… And soft muffled sobs. His wand twitched, tugging him in your direction.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Ominis told you, once he was standing in front of you. He could hear the sobs shaking your body as clear as day but still felt compelled to bring his hand to your face, wiping the warm teardrops away from your cheeks with his thumb. “Marvolo really isn’t a suitable match for you.”

“It’s alright, I knew this day would come eventually. I was just hoping my parents wouldn’t force me into this as soon as I was done with school.” You replied, another teardrop falling from your lashes and rolling down your cheek..

“There must be something we can do about it.” Ominis said, instinctively brushing off the fresh tear from your face. “What if you were engaged to someone else ?”

You laughed although you didn’t find anything amusing about the situation.

“During my seven years here, no one ever courted me, no one attempted to ask me on a date, I have no other prospects. And you know as well as I do that my parents shouldn’t risk angering the Gaunts.”

Ominis furrowed his brows. You were right, if your parents broke their promise to marry you off to one of his siblings, they might not make it out alive. If his parents had arranged for you to be wed to Marvolo, it meant they considered your blood pure enough to perpetuate their dignified bloodline. It was a rare occurrence, usually no one was deemed worthy enough so chances were that they’d do everything in their power to ensure that you’d become a Gaunt now that they had approved of you.

If you broke the arrangement to be with someone else, a wizard of lower class and reputation, his father would take it as an offense and you’d have to pay for such a daring act. If you married Marvolo, then surely he would take advantage of you and of your obligation to satisfy your family and his, he’d be cruel and violent, he wouldn’t care about you and would never treat you with the respect you deserved… There was only one option left.

“Marry me.” Ominis stated, determined.

“What ? What are you saying ?” You spoke, dumbstruck by the sudden suggestion.

“My parents want you to ensure the purity of our bloodline, your parents want you to earn the status and power that come with my last name… So marry me instead.”

“Ominis, you don’t have to. I can’t ask you to do that for me, that’s…” You argued, shaking your head.

“It’s a matter of time before my parents arrange a wedding for me too. I think I’d much rather be married to someone I consider a friend than a stranger they would have picked for me. So really, you’d be the one doing me a favor.” Ominis continued, his heart beating faster as he spoke. He knew it was a good idea, it would save you from Marvolo, from his family and, despite being a Gaunt himself, he would do his best to treat you well. He would never hurt you, never mock you, never give you any reason to regret choosing him instead of his brother…

So please, say yes.

His mother adjusted his tie. She told him that the all black suit she had gotten tailored made for him suited him better than anything he ever wore. She said it brought his blue eyes out, and that everyone would be able to tell that he was one of the heirs of the Gaunt name. Ominis wasn’t sure what was meant to be a compliment and what was meant as a jab, but he simply nodded at everything she said.

By the time he walked down to the garden of the imposing manor, his mother’s arm looped in his, he felt dizzy with anxiety. His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to burst out at any minute. His ribcage felt so tight around his lungs that he could barely breathe correctly, and the more time went by, the more sweaty his hands became.

He could hear the chatter of the numerous guests his parents had invited as they took place around the lectern that had been placed at the very center of the garden. The familiar smell of roses tickled his nose, meaning the white rose bushes must be in full bloom in this season. He could feel the sunshine on his face and the warm summer air on his skin. It was a beautiful day on the gloomy manor.

His mother let go of his arm, leaving him standing on his own in front of what he imagined was an impressive audience of grumpy wizards. He still couldn’t quite catch his breath and, the moment the ambient chatter died down, his throat instantly felt constricted and his body tensed up.

He heard the whispers among the crowd and the footsteps approaching in his direction. It was unmistakably the way of walking of a man, confident and determined while the lighter steps next to his were more hesitant. In the past seven years, Ominis had memorized the sound of your steps. He also could recognize your smell in a crowd and knew exactly how soft your skin felt under his fingers. He could tell if your hair was up or let down from the way you touched and played with it and he knew that the quiet, almost imperceptible breaths you let out meant that you felt nervous. He knew all of this and more yet, he had no idea what it felt like to kiss your lips or hold you in his arms and that felt awfully wrong, considering what you both were about to do.

The man that had accompanied you walked away, leaving you standing with Ominis in front of prying, curious eyes. You didn’t say anything to each other, too busy trying to not pass out from how anxious you both felt. The contract was written and placed on the pupil in front of you, its tricky clauses oozing with dark magic.

It wasn’t just any contract. It was a cursed one, meant to bind you together forever. The words til death do us part took a different meaning as you signed your name at the bottom of the page, knowing that if you ever tried to leave him, you’d most likely be instantly killed by some kind of dark spell that probably was forbidden to cast. The promises you made by signing this contract were definitive and the consequences if you failed to hold them were deadly. At the very least, you both could feel thankful that you weren’t making such vows to a complete stranger.

Ominis signed the parchment too, the ink dripping from the quill dark red like blood. The contract was sealed with applause and illegal magic, making you his wife. For the rest of your lives.

The dinner that followed the ceremony was dull and mostly boring, a display of Mister Gaunt’s power and a lecture on his narrow views about muggles and mudblood wizards, as the guests listened quietly to his speech, nodding in agreement every once in a while. Eventually, Ominis took his leave, pretending that he was exhausted from the events of the day. You excused yourself too, glad to find him waiting for you in the hallway.

He knew the manor he grew up in in details and could navigate it without the help of his wand. He guided you upstairs, through the dark corridor that led to his bedroom. He opened the door for you, letting you step inside first before following you in and shutting the door behind him. He had never had any guest in his bedroom before and that realization made him feel uneasy. He knew that the servants kept his room neat and tidy - just how he liked it - but he wasn’t sure of what you were going to think about the ancient desk he sat at to write his letters to Sebastian, or the books that lined the shelves of bookcases that reached the ceiling. And what about the four poster bed he slept in, he had always found it large and comfortable but suddenly he worried it might be too small to share with you.

“Once we move into our own home we’ll be able to sleep in separate rooms. But for now, I think it’s better if we share mine.” He said, hoping that you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable here until then.

To convince his parents to let him marry you instead of his brother, he had pretended he was madly, irredeemably in love with you. At first, they didn’t like it, saying that love made men foolish and pushed them to their demise but, eventually, they came to the realization that him wanting you so badly would serve the purpose of continuing their bloodline. Many heirs could be born from such desires.

Now that you were here, in the intimacy of his bedroom, he couldn’t help but think about it. How amazing it would be to kiss you, touch you, make you his as everybody expected him to. But he wouldn’t do it. Mainly because he was a gentleman and had promised himself that he would never, ever, disrespect you. And also because he was determined to not give his parents the satisfaction of having any heirs from him. The Gaunt bloodline was poison, corrupted with dark practices and immorality. Sooner or later, one of them would cause unforgivable chaos in the world, so he was determined to prevent it from happening anyway he could.

“I’m sorry that you had to do this.” You told him, taking a closer look at the books on his nightstand. You sounded sincere, as if you felt guilty that he now had the privilege of calling you his wife. “You should have been able to marry someone you love.”

Ominis had never felt anything remotely close to what was described in the books he read for someone, nor did he experience the crushes Sebastian so often had on a random person every once in a while. The only woman that had somehow interested him was you. He cared about you. And maybe it was an acceptable foundation for a marriage.

“You should have been able to do that too.” You sat on his bed, your wedding dress crunching up above your legs. He approached, heart hammering in his chest. “But for what it’s worth, I consider myself lucky to call you my wife.”

You smiled and reached out to take his hand in yours. His palms were sweaty, as per usual when you were around, but you didn’t seem bothered by that, pulling him so that he’d sit on the bed next to you.

“Do you mind if I try something ?” You asked him, a bit hesitantly. He took a sharp inhale of air, his body straightening up with sudden tension. In appearance, he seemed quite uncomfortable to be sitting so close to you, and even more now that you had asked him such a question, but he nodded despite hating being unsure of what to expect.

You moved closer, slowly. Your scent tickled his nose, he knew it by heart, he had fell asleep more than once to the faint perfume you left on the common room’s couch pillows, usually prompting him to dream of you. He felt your soft, warm breath caress his skin, indicating that your face was inching impossibly close towards his. He held his breath as you pressed your delicate lips to his, giving him a chaste kiss to seal your union, far from prying eyes.

He kept his eyes closed when you moved away, conflicted emotions passing on his face. He wasn’t expecting to feel so many tingles in his stomach after such a light and short kiss, yet even now that you had moved away, he still felt millions of butterflies tingling under his skin. He left out the breath he had been holding, taking just enough air to say your name, softly.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to know what it felt like.” You apologized, and he knew from the sound of your voice that you must be blushing.

He had wondered what it would feel like to kiss you too, more than he’d like to admit. A friend shouldn’t be curious about such things, it felt wrong to him, like he was betraying you by having such intimate thoughts about you. He hated how conflicted he felt whenever he woke up with an erection because he had spent the night dreaming of you touching him, and he hated how his primal instinct sometimes took over and he’d end up brushing against your chest or your back under the pretense that he couldn’t see what he was doing. He shouldn’t feel so desperate for his friend to kiss him again, and surely he shouldn’t want to be given permission to explore the body of his friend in details… But perhaps, if such desires weren’t acceptable between friends, they could be considered reasonable ones to have for his wife…

“Don’t apologize, we’re married now after all.” He gulped, feeling the temperature of his body rising. “Kissing is one of the many things that will be expected from us.”

You moved, suddenly growing agitated next to him. He could hear the rustle of the fabric of your wedding dress, the sound of clasps being opened and knots getting untied. He didn’t dare to move, not even breathe, as he carefully listened for a clue as to what you were up to. Then, he felt your hands on his chest, slowly undoing the buttons of his vest, one by one.

“What are you doing ?” He asked, his breath catching in his throat when his hands, resting on his lap, brushed against your bare thighs.

“Another thing that is expected of us.” You simply replied, now dragging his vest down his shoulders, before repeating the same actions to remove his shirt. He heard your surprised, yet quiet, gasp and the way your breathing became labored at the sight of his chest. He felt your fingers tracing the lines of his abs, brushing against the blond hair under his navel and grazing the elastic of his pants.

He said your name in a whisper, wanting it to be a warning but coming out like a desperate plea. You shouldn’t be touching him like this, not because it was what your families required of you. You should only do it because you wanted to. So he knew he had to stop you before it went too far, before he wouldn’t be able to refuse, before his body was set ablaze by his repressed lust for yours otherwise, there would be no way of stopping him anymore. He would consume you. Worship you. Devour you. And his promise to never disrespect you would be just a distant memory already, because none of the things he wanted to do to you were respectable.

But you weren’t making it easy for him to keep his word. Your hand was still tracing the lines of his chest like he was some kind of sculpture you were admiring, taking in every detail like he would. And when you moved to sit on his lap, straddling him and trapping him between you and the bed, he tensed up and groaned.

He brought his hands to your hips, telling himself that he’d gently guide you off of him so that he’d be able to remain a gentleman and not take advantage of the admirable loyalty you had for your family with your determination to complete your marital duties right away, but when he felt nothing but your warm skin under his fingers, when you leaned forward to press your naked chest against his and plant another soft kiss on his lips, the remaining of his will power to resist you dissolved.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, we’re friends.” He said, because that was what he usually told himself whenever he thought about you while rubbing himself in the shower. Except he wasn’t the one gripping on his erection this time. You had easily opened up his pants and now the evidence of his desire for you was held tightly in your hand. Your thumb stroked the tip of his erection, spreading the clear drop of precum that had escaped from it over the sensitive pink skin.

“We’re not friends anymore, Ominis. We’re married.” You corrected him, your words destroying the only argument he had to convince himself to not behave like some kind of wild animal as he couldn’t seem to stop his hands from exploring your naked body. “I wasn’t allowed to organize my wedding, chose my dress or invite my friends… Don’t rob me from having a beautiful wedding night. Please.”

His erection twitched in your hand. You were asking so nicely, so politely, for something so intense and passionate, it made him even harder. He put his arm around your waist, securely holding you as he removed you from his lap and laid you down on his bed with a strength you never expected him to have.

“Are you sure this is what you want ?” He inquired, holding himself above you with his hands gripping the headboard, his pants and underwear down to his knees.

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, with a shudder of excitement.

“Very well.” His voice was low, revealing just how badly he wanted this too. He placed a hand on your knee and followed the path all the way up to your core. He could feel the wetness and warmth coming from your center, begging for his attention. He traced the slit between your legs a few times, making you gasp with anticipation. Then, he pushed a finger passed your entrance, your whimper resounding in his ears. He moved his hand in a back and forth motion, not really aiming to pleasure you this way but trying to memorize a path he couldn’t see.

He took his finger out, bringing his hand back to his impatient cock. He wiped your wetness over his tip, mixing it with the fresh drops of precum that coated his skin. Once most of his hard length was slick and sticky, he brought his tip exactly where his finger had been, rubbing it between your wet folds to gather even more moisture before finally pushing it inside you. He heard you gasp loudly and he did too, the tightness of your cunt taking him by surprise.

He easlily managed to slide even deeper, burying his entire length inside of you with a satisfied sigh. He could hear your panting breaths, your soft cries in reaction to his movements inside you and the way you moaned his name, encouraging him to rock his hips against yours a few times.

It was nothing like he had thought it would be. His hand had never made him feel as good as you did, your warmth, wetness and tightness around him were intoxicating. The most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.

He slowly pulled himself almost all the way out, only to shove himself back in with more force. He could feel his tip hitting deep inside you, pleasure building in his abdomen with each of his quick pushes.

The sounds you made were music to his ears, the way you reacted to each of his thrusts was delightful, better than what he had imagined in his most vivid fantasies. He never expected you to be so loud, perfectly showing him how good he was making you feel. He increased his speed and you moaned even louder, practically crying out his name.

He felt your legs closing around his waist, keeping him close while your nails dug into his back, the whole bed shaking in rythym with his movements. Was he too rough ? How could he not be ? It was impossible to be more gentle when the pleasure he felt with each thrust kept intensifying, he was going to lose his mind, chasing the feeling, building it up until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You cried out one more time and your body tensed up, tightening around him so viciously that he finally reached his climax, instantly filling you up with his release. You kept your legs around him, your body spasming with intense pleasure as he struggled to catch his breath for a moment, his thoughts slowly coming back into order.

He waited until your body stopped twitching to remove himself, feeling your shudder as he pulled his spent erection out of you. You still were softly panting, your chest rising and falling under his hand while the other still clasped tightly the headboard. He leaned over, easily finding your lips from which breathless gasps still escaped. He kissed you, gently, as a way to apologize for losing control of himself and felt relieved when you returned his kiss even more fervently.

He moved to his side, lying down next to you to give you enough space to catch your breath but you inched closer, nuzzling your naked body against his in a cuddle that felt even more intimate than what he had just did to you.

“Thank you.” You said softly, sounding truly happy. Ominis smiled, his fingers absently caressing your back, playing with strands of your now messy hair. “I’m glad to have you as my husband.”

Husband. The word turned in his head, reminding him that you now were officially a couple. Mrs Ominis Gaunt; his best friend, his wife, his lover… His.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

Next in this series;

[cruxxio]

How The Slytherin Boys Hold Your Hand

(don't ask why theo's ring is in a different finger and how many rings in mattheo's finger during yk)

[rottenherbs]

MASTERLIST

Updated (hopefully) after every post <3

// Requests open! ((Just for a little hehe. )) requests for new pieces or the next chapter to any piece 🤍//

Much love, Saige

Ron Weasley:

The Sorting Game

The Strong One

Flower Boy (NSFW)

Distracted and in Dismay

NYE Headcanon

Fred Weasley:

Opposites Attract

Slumber

Just A Squib (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) (pt.7) (pt.8)

Hopeless crush! HC's

Sure Thing

Lover

Matchmaker (pt.2)

NYE Headcanon

Secret relationship! HC’s

Something Batty

Time For Me?

Off The Pitch (pt.2)

George Weasley

Stolen Sweater and Stolen Heart

Inebriated! G.W HeadCannons

Trouble Maker

A Weasley Holiday(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)

Lost to family

NYE Headcanon

Saint Like

Smoking Hot

Harry Potter:

Eager for each other (NSFW)

Lost and Found

Boyfriend! HC's

Taken Seriously

Love Language! HC’s

Hidden In Plain Sight

Rumors and Lies

NYE Headcanon

Draco Malfoy:

A Promise Worth Keeping

Seating Arrangement (pt.1)

Seating Arrangement (pt.2)

Overprotective

Trouble In The Library

Swapping Secrets and Spit (NSFW)

“I will get him to smile again” (p.1) (p.2)

The Muggle Way

Rest

The Hound

Christmas with Muggles

NYE Headcanon

A Couple Firsts

Secret Relationship! HC

Hermione Granger

NYE Headcanon

Neville Longbottom:

From Night One

Cedric Diggory

Coming soon <3

[slytherinsprincesss]

Sebastian: Hey MC, are you busy Saturday around 3?

MC: No? Why?

Sebastian: What about you Ominis? Are you busy Saturday at 3?

Ominis: No Sebastian, I’m not.

Sebastian: Perfect, because I am! You two go ahead to get butterbeer without me. Enjoy your date ;)

MC: did he just-

Ominis: yes, he did just set us up.

**I feel like Sebastian would be a great wingman to Ominis (when he really tries)**

[nevereverthem]

HP one-shot : partners / friends

🫱 [Mattheo Riddle × Draco Malfoy] 🫲

Warnings : none.

Length : 2k

We need to talk...

It's your decision

Imagine if Mattheo Riddle, the son of Voldemort, was studying at Hogwarts as a young ‘spy’. Nobody knew about his real identity, except from the insiders. Draco, being a newbie death-eater, was now aware of his classmate’s status. He already respected the guy, but it got ‘worse’ when he learned who he was.

Today, Mattheo sent him a note to meet in an abandoned part of the castle. When the clock ticked, Draco was exactly where he was asked to be, anxiety crippling in his chest. He knew the dark lord had a mission waiting for him, and he feared the time had come, that he had sent his son to deliver the message.

Mattheo was standing right next to a window, gazing outside, observing the night sky. “You came.”

Draco kept a fair distance from him. “Of course I did!” He sounded way too scared for his own liking. He cleared his throat. “I mean… Why am I here?”

“I would like you to help me.” His monotone voice prevented the blonde from guessing his intention.

“Anything!” Again, a bit too loud. “Hum… whatever he wants me to do.” Deep down, he wished it was just some stupid teenager drama that he honestly missed. It was all so trivial and comforting compared to the shit tone of terror it was to live with a mad man creeping around in his house.

Mattheo continued. “The request is not from my father. It’s from me.”

Draco’s brows furrowed in confusion. He hesitated a second. “I… what’s the matter?”

“I’m in a relationship.”

The blond let out a slight huff, relieved and intrigued by his declaration. “And..?” When Mattheo revealed the name of his lover, Draco could not believe it. His eyes grew wide. “But she’s-”

“Muggle-born?” His eyes finally met Draco’s. They were dark, filled with a dozen feelings that the blonde couldn't distinguish. “Don't you dare give me the mud-blood speech, or I'll rip your tongue out!”

Draco pressed his lips together, shutting his mouth. He gulped loudly, freezing in place.

“You’re not allowed to judge me for something you don't even believe in yourself.”

Draco tried to argue but he was cut short. “Oh please, quit your shit! I noticed how you look at Granger when you think no one's watching. You’re like a child fighting the urge to eat the snack his parents forbade him to.”

The boy looked utterly offended, a false expression of disgust tore his face “I don't like HER! She’s-”

“What!? Smart, pretty, sassy and powerful? The last time I checked, it sounded like your type of girl!” Draco was silent. “She’s also reasonably wealthy for a muggle. If her parents were born with magic you would already be dating her.” The blond opened his mouth to intervene. “Maybe not… but you’d be a bit nicer to her.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s easier to destroy the things you want, rather than admit it hurts to know you can never have them, right?”

Draco held his gaze but he just couldn't speak. Memories of the few past years appeared in his mind. He saw the day Potter refused his handshake. When he first mocked Weasley, and picked on Granger… He felt powerful. That got him allies to mess with other students, laughing at them and causing trouble. Now that he was in all this… he couldn't even tell them… It wasn't fun, it wasn't what he wanted anymore… Did he ever want it? Yes, he did… but it didn't feel right anymore…

As if Mattheo could hear his thoughts, he continued. “I ignore people. It doesn't mean I do them wrong. You, on the other hand, did a pretty great job at being a jackass. I heard bullies are just bastards who want attention. That may be the case for you. Although, I’m sure witnessing a bunch of murders cured you. Am I right? It doesn't feel as right to pick on the weaker as it did before?”

Draco looked away. His body itself refused the discussion.

The dark-haired continued his monologue as if he was by himself. “Muggles aren't that bad. You may think I'm crazy or brainwashed by ‘love’, but don't get mistaken. It's not because you’ve been told to hate some kind of people your whole life that it’s right to do so. They're okay. Some are kind, others are egotistical assholes. It’s just like our own world! I must say, you wonder how they manage to live this old without magic, knowing how clumsy they can be. It's pretty impressive.” He seemed lost in his thoughts, info-dumping about an interesting subject of his. “You’re one of the best students here, right? You enjoy learning.” The blonde looked back at him, frowning in confusion. “If you just took the time to learn a few things about them, you’d realise how mistaken we all are…”

Draco huffed, faking exasperation. “Are you trying to recruit me on Potter’s side, or is it a way to test my loyalty? If that’s the case I-”

“Maybe I'm like him. I’m hateful and cruel… but I won't fight for the same shit as my father does!” Draco was lost at this point, lost between fear, disbelief and incredulity. “You think I enjoy watching him kill innocent people? Never have, never will.” Draco’s nails digged in his palm. “I know you don't either. I saw the expression on your face. You tried hard to be a total jerk. You definitely succeeded, no problem with that. But I know you're not a murderer.”

Draco tried to remain composed. “If I have to-”

“Could you kill her? The muggle-born you supposedly hate!”

Picturing Hermione, badly injured, struggling in a pool of her own blood… He felt his throat close on itself, restricting the oxygen’s entry…

Mattheo didn't stop. He had to make his point, had to make him understand. “Could you even kill Potter, or the Weasley? Could you look them in the eyes and tear the life out of them? Could you actually cast the spell and end their life with your own wand?”

That sole idea made panic increase his breathing. A strangled sound slipped out of his lips “I-”

“It’s no use lying to me. I'm not asking you if you have to, or if you sometimes want to. Could you actually do it?” He needed an answer.

Draco held his gaze again. He didn’t want to be perceived as weak. He was not. But he knew Matt was right. As much as he grew to hate the trio and their little lot… he couldn't go that far… he probably went already too far… but there was a line he would be incapable of crossing… mur- just the thought of the word made him sick to his stomach. Tears gathered in his eyes when images of professor Burbage being executed right before his face passed in his mind… He shook his head the slightest that he could, a subtle movement that Mattheo caught.

He nodded in return, noticing the reflection in the boy’s shining eyes. “You can call me weak if you please, but I do think the girl I'm with makes me stronger every day. She makes me so strong that I'm ready to turn against my own father for the first time…” Draco was thoroughly listening. “We’ve shared a whole lot of things, but she's never seen me cry.” At that remark, the blonde tried his best to blink his own tears away. “I can tell or hear the most heart-wrenching thing in the wizarding world, and I wouldn’t shed a single tear. I physically can't.” Draco wished he had the same ability. It would have saved him a lot of sleepless nights. “I know you do. You’re not as discreet as you think when you sneak into the bathroom at night. Some may think you’re going for a midnight wank or something, but we both know that what we’re in suppresses this kind of fancy from our body.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, nodding in agreement.

“So, please do. Do cry all you can. You're feeling something important and I don't want you to push it away.”

Draco received the advice and didn't add anything. No response. No comment. He wasn't planning on crying more than he already was, but maybe this would help him feel a little less ashamed the next time he did. Strangely enough, Mattheo also went mute. Maybe his mouth felt dry from all the talking. The boy just went on a full monologue about rights and wrongs…

After a moment, it was Draco who broke the silence. “You… your girl, she doesn't fear for her life?”

Mattheo was pulled out of his thoughts. “About?”

The blonde sighed heavily. “I’m sorry to remind you but… you're the dark lord’s son.”

Mattheo looked away. “She doesn't know…”

“But-”

“I know. I’ll have to tell her. She's gonna know anyway. It’d be better if I'm the one breaking the info…”

“I wouldn't say ‘better’. It’s a shock when you find out.” Draco reminisced about the day he first saw Mattheo at a death-eater meeting. He was across the table, sitting right next to his father, Volde-...

“Yes… I just hope not to sound like a manipulative muggle-hunter traitor if I tell her myself…”

The mutual understanding floated in the air…

“What will you do if she… rejects you when she knows?” Draco asked.

The boy responded with no hesitation. “I’ll leave her alone.” Draco felt the need to object but Mattheo was faster. “Wouldn't you have doubts about your partner if you just learned they were actually related to a dangerous association led by a genocidal monster who’s actually their own father?”

The blonde’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He couldn't deny it. Then he asked. “...What are you gonna do?”

“I don't know. I’ll prove myself to her. I’ll stop him. Whatever I have to do…” He sounded determined and sure of himself. He had nothing planned for now, but the sheer resolution that emanated from him was enough to believe he would never go back. “Will you help me?”

Draco was shocked when he heard the question. That was his request then… the reason they were standing in a dark corridor in the middle of the night…. Was he ready to switch sides? Was Matt asking him to join Potter’s little group or what? Absolutely not! The implications were making him nauseous, but… Was he actually gonna make it on this side? Would he be able to do whatever the dark lord was to ask him?... He already knew the answer… His parents? His dad was far long lost when Draco was just a child… When he learned about all of this… he remembered conversations he eavesdropped that didn't make any sense at the time… now everything was perfectly clear. His mom… She was sucked into the same beliefs and probably was doomed to the same path… though he was certain he had noticed something… He wished he could know… know what to do… know they were all gonna make it safe and sound… One particular moment lit up in his mind. It was a Christmas Eve night, when he was only 9. He remembered it perfectly as if it was yesterday. His mom was actually baking, the muggle way, now that he thought about it, while his dad was casting spells away to decorate the manor… He knew things could never be this way again… but he would do anything to feel this relaxed and carefree just for one second. He had to try… He would also prove stupid Potter that he was no better than Draco Malfoy! And that detail was non-negligible.

Mattheo was waiting for his answer. They were not going to dethrone his father, just the two of them, that was for sure. However, he knew that Draco could have sensitive information. The boy was the embodiment of ‘walls have ears’. Plus, obsessed with Potter as he was, he would be able to gather information on the other side’s intentions.

Draco lifted his head, staring into Mattheo's eyes with the same determination he displayed a moment ago, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Where do we start?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi,

This is a little idea that I had and wanted to share. ~

I never expected it to be this long, but here I am with a 2k random idea. 😌

I hope you enjoyed it. ~

Feel free to drop likes and comments. ~

XO

Update : Do you want a sequel?

Harry Potter Masterlist

[houseofceline]

My Pretty Girl - T.N.

Foreign Touches and Breakfast in Bed

Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott

Warnings: Asshole Theo?

Summary: You wish you never woke up.

Author's Note: Hey guys! It's been a while, sorry for the wait but here it is!

< 6

__________________

“How much did you even drink last night?” Cho cringed holding your hair back as another round of vomit spewed out of you and into the toilet. You could feel your head pounding as you sat on the bathroom floor trying to calm yourself down. Waking up to a hangover and your period may be the worst combination known to man, or really women. Thankfully there were no classes today. 

“Too much,” you breathed in and out, making sure there was nothing else coming up. 

“Come on, we need to go to breakfast, you need to eat something.” Cho tried helping you up as you gripped onto the sink for support. 

You were not ready to go out in public like this. Bed hair, snippets of last night makeup look in the form of smothered mascara on your cheek, and a million knives stabbing your uterus. Definitely not a pretty sight. Plus, you did not want to see any of the boys after last night incase of something embarrassing you might’ve done while out of it. 

“I don’t wanna go,” you groaned as you flopped on your bed and curled up into a fetal position. 

“You have to eat something Y/n,” Cho spoke softly as she ran her fingers through your hair, trying to flatten it. 

“I’ll eat later.” You grumbled closing your eyes, menstruation already tiring you out. 

“I’ll be back,” Cho said as she left the room, but you were too tired to say anything as you slipped away to dreamland.

___________________

A foreign touch on his chest causes Theo to stir awake in confusion. 

What the hell.

He blinked a few times, allowing his vision to clear up.

Seeing the fake blonde from last night he groaned. 

“Why are you still here?” He mumbled, swatting her hand away from him as he scooted further away from her. 

“What do you mean baby? We don’t have classes today silly,” Hannah replied as she sat up, still nude from late night activities. 

“Right, so the last thing I want on a free day is to see your face. Get out.” Theo mumbled hoping she’d leave so he could sleep so more.

“Theo baby, don’t be so mean,” she spoke, reaching out for him again causing Theo to sit up in a huff. 

“You know the deal, you were supposed to be out before I even woke up,” he ignored the nasty feeling of her calling him cringey pet names. 

“Theo we don’t have to be like this.”

“My name is Theodore,” he stated as he got up and got dressed. 

He sighed as he picked up her clothing items off the floor and threw them at her. 

“I’m leaving since you won’t. But I advise you to wake up before Malfoy does, you know he doesn’t like you.” Theo said as he walked out, ignoring the gasps of surprise when her bra landed in her face. 

What an annoying girl. 

He walked to the Great Hall, deciding that he might as well grab breakfast since he was awake. 

“Did you fuckers seriously eat all the sausages?” Theo scoffed as he took a seat in front of Mattheo. 

“What the fuck did you want me to eat? Those nasty ass muffins?” Blaise replied as he passed a goblet of orange juice to him. 

“HEY! They’re not nasty,” Lorenzo spoke up with crumbs falling out of his mouth. 

“Buddy you’re getting it all over me,” Mattheo shoved the boy next to him with a scoff before glancing over at Theo. 

“Fun night huh?” Mattheo raised a glass towards the bruise-like mark on Theo’s neck. 

“Fuck are you serious?” Theo groaned as he rubbed the side of his neck. 

“I knew I’d regret it, she’s been so possessive lately,” Theo rolled his eyes as he continued eating breakfast. 

“Well I mean you’re always going back to her, maybe she thinks something will happen between the two of you,” Mattheo responded while Theo laughed in response. 

“She’s a Hufflepuff, you know only Slytherin girls are worth dating.” 

Mattheo frowned as Lorenzo looked up from his breakfast.

The whole table fell silent as Lorenzo finished chewing his muffin, “Y/n’s a Ravenclaw. I don’t think she lacks anything compared to Slytherin girls.” 

“Yeah in fact I think she looked better than any Slytherin girl last night,” Mattheo mumbled, causing Theo to look up in surprise. 

“She was there?” He gaped, suddenly feeling like he was going to throw up. 

Lorenzo rolled his eyes knowing that Theo had no right to even care if she was there or not. Mattheo and him had begun to care for the girl as if she was their baby sister and at first they were rooting for Theo, but now they weren’t so sure anymore. They had thought that she could be the one to make Theo better. After all it was him who had shown interest first, it was him who had begun to change because of her. She was the first girl Theo had ever described without using compliments that didn’t mean anything. Never spoke about how hot her body was instead ranted to the two boys about how angelic her face looked while she studied and how she smelled like flowers and vanilla. Not only cared about what was on the outside but on the inside as well, bragging to the boys about how talented she was and how cool her nail designs were. That is the same boy who had his eyes set on someone else last night, and the thought of it even made Lorenzo want to either cry or punch him. 

“Yeah but don’t worry, she didn’t need your company,” Lorenzo scoffed as he continued to eat his breakfast again. 

Lorenzo isn’t the type of person to show any resentment or hold any grudges, so Theo definitely knew he might’ve messed up. 

But before Theo could say anything, a familiar face approached up behind Mattheo and Lorenzo. 

Following Theo’s gaze the two boys turned around and greeted the girl. 

“Chang! What’s up?” Lorenzo greeted happily, a complete 180 switch in tone. 

“Hey boys, I’m grabbing breakfast for Y/n since she doesn’t feel well and I thought seeing your faces would cheer her up,” Cho explained as she showed them her plate of chocolate chip muffins. 

Theo furrowed his eyebrows, “Is she okay? Is she sick?” 

Cho rolled her eyes at the boy who caused her best friend to come back to the dorms sobbing her eyes out. She didn’t even know Theo that well but as she watched Y/n clutch her heart as she cried in her arms, she felt as if the boy had broken her heart as well. 

“She's fine as if it’s any of your concern,” Cho brushed Theo’s questions away as she avoided any eye contact with him. 

Lorenzo and Mattheo didn’t bother coming to his defense but instead got up and grabbed some juice and fruit before following Cho. 

Theo looked down at his plate and suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. Blaise sighed before patting his mate’s back in comfort while Theo pushed his food around. 

Maybe he deserved that. 

[iatnen]

Good ol’ staring contest

The game lasted 11 secs (new record) and Sebastian cheats every single time (trust)

Bonus

I was going to add this part but then I got embarrassed while drawing it so I couldn’t bring myself to finish it

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 23rd. tom riddle — wet dreams, house rivals.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom’s been infiltrating your dreams, and you decide it’s time to call him out on it.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNIIII, coercion!!!!, dark!tom, mind manipulation, religious undertones, gryffindor!reader, enemies if you squint, fingering, squirting, begging, dream sex, tom riddle is his own warning, so much praise, dirty talk, verbal sparring.

You've never been a heavy sleeper. Even as a child, the smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, a shift in the walls—would jolt you awake. For years, you chalked it up to some ingrained survival instinct, some form of trauma response to whatever part of your childhood still haunts you. You got used to it.

But lately, it isn't sound that’s been waking you. It isn't movement or foundation shifts, either. It's the dreams.

Dreams—strange, lucid, intense dreams of him. Always him. Dreams that make you feel like you're drowning, like you're flying, like you've found a new level of intoxication that you'd never imagined possible—and each time the dreams wake you up, the sheets (and whatever bottoms you may have been wearing) are always soaked, and your thighs are always shaking.

It's maddening.

They feel too real to be anything but a violation, his presence bleeding into your subconscious regardless of how much you try to fight it. You know it means something is wrong. You'd tried to rationalize yourself into going back to sleep, telling yourself it's just hormones or some form of stress, but you're too smart to believe your own excuses.

You know it's more than that.

He's haunting you in your sleep—in the most unexpected way. The dreams are always lucid enough that you can feel it—you can feel him—his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his dick bullying your fucking cervix and his magic on your clit—leaving behind nothing but hunger. Hunger that's so intense it makes you want him in a way it almost scares you.

You tell yourself you hate him, you've always hated him—but denial only lasts for so many days, as you realize you can't look at him or talk to him without the dreams forcing their way to the forefront of your mind, making you remember the feelings and the sensations and how much, despite hating him, you want them to be real.

You wanted to believe it would pass. That this was nothing but a phase, a trick of your overactive mind. But deep down, you knew the truth. Tom Riddle has wormed his way into your head, into your dreams—out of spite—and he's not letting go.

So after a hell of a week of this—with damn near zero hours of sleep—you decide to seek him out. To put an end to this madness. Once and for all.

It takes every ounce of courage and Gryffindor-like reckless bravery you can scrape together just to go through with it, but somehow you do. Somehow, you make it across the castle, make it to his door. You're in your pyjamas, for Merlin's sake. It's 1 a.m., and the slick still coating your thighs from what had to have been your tenth lucid orgasm in a matter of a week is a humiliating reminder of why you're even here at all.

And when the door opens, you have the strange feeling that he's been expecting you, even as he makes a great show of acting surprised to see you, looking you up and down with a lazy, smug glance that makes your pulse quicken so viscerally you lose the last shred of sanity you were pathetically clinging to—

"What the fuck—" you prowl forward without hesitation, forcing him a step back into the room. "—are you doing to me?"

Even if you're not imagining some form of surprise in that smug little smirk, he does his best not to let it show.

"Me?" He says, all pretend innocence, flicking his hand out to shut the door behind you with some spell you don't care to name. "You'll have to be more specific."

You glare at him, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he looks in just sweatpants and an oversized shirt—because of course, even casual looks like this are a weapon in his arsenal.

"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," you snap, and you're not sure if it's your lack of sleep or some form of desperation-fuelled bravery, but you're suddenly invading his personal space, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder. "You're fucking haunting me—"

He blinks. "I’m haunting you. And how am I doing that?”

There's a part of you that knows it's a trap—that this is probably exactly what the smug bastard in front of you has been wanting, but your brain is so deprived of sleep and your body is so starved of respite that you decide 'fuck it'—you want answers, and you're going to get them.

"You're in my dreams," you say, bluntly, forcing an exhale alongside it. "You've been in them every night for a week straight. I haven't slept a bloody minute."

That's when it happens—the tiniest flash of amusement in his eyes, so brief you might've missed it if you weren't ready to tear his fucking throat out.

"You're accusing me of giving you dreams?" He asks, in a tone that makes you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and make him cut the bullshit, and you can't tell how much of your own expression is irritation and how much is lust. "You think I've somehow managed to invade your mind?"

"Don't be condescending," you spit, trying to focus on the spot between his eyebrows that makes the heat in your core roar the least, "and don't act like you're incapable. As much as I can't bloody stand you, we both know damn well your mind magic is strong enough to do this to me—"

"Mind magic," he echoes with an amused snort, "you think I'm doing some kind of mind magic to invade your dreams, is that it?"

He's so damn good at this, you think—infuriatingly good. The way he's playing it off like the idea is absurd, completely laughable—

"Fucking precisely.” You can't hide the heat from your voice. You don't care to try. "These aren't just dreams. They're—they're strong. I feel you. Your hands, your tongue, your—"

Dick. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

And the bastard just smirks, like he's reading your mind anyway. Like he knows. That glimmer in his eyes—arrogant, insufferable—only confirms it.

"Hm," he says with something bored, running a hand through his hair. "Your subconscious—"

"It's not a bloody subconscious thing," you cut him off, uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to feed you. "It's you. You're invading my dreams—I feel you—my body fucking feels you—"

He laughs at that. Like some sick, sadistic freak. He actually laughs—

"Listen to yourself." He says, with a mocking tone that makes you want to shove him. "Are you that desperate to hate me that you're pinning your dreams on me?"

"Hate doesn't even begin to cover it," you spit, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. He shifts slightly, his back brushing the wall. "You've got a hell of an ego, but even you have to know this isn't something I'd want. I wouldn't put you in my dreams willingly if you paid me to do it—"

He hums, smirk never faltering, if anything it fucking grows at the tirade.

"You've been dreaming of me for a week," he points out, coolly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. "And now, here you are—standing in my dorm in the middle of the night, dressed like this." He takes a step toward you, now. "Do you know what that's called, sweetheart?"

Your lungs hitch at the pet name. Your mind is at war with your cunt and it's losing—

"Delirium?" You choke out, noticing another flash of something in his eyes as the gap between you closes. "Insomnia? Sleep deprivation?"

He gives you a mocking arch of the eyebrow.

"No," he says, in a tone that makes you seethe. "It's called obsession."

"Oh. The irony," you can't help but hiss at him, heart pounding because he's in your space and you're in his and this shouldn't be getting to you the way it is. "It's rich, coming from you, that you'd put that on me when—when you've been mindfucking me every goddamn night—"

"Mindfucking you?" He repeats, almost lazily, as his gaze drops, sweeping over you—your pyjamas, the clear lack of bra, the flush creeping up your neck. "Is that what you think I've been doing? You think—"

The way he doesn't even deny it—doesn't argue the accusation—makes your blood boil in a way you can't control.

"It's the only explanation. You've been—you've been—" you cut him off but your sentence falters because his gaze is moving so deliberately, dragging over you like he's cataloging your weaknesses, and the anger curdles into something raw and desperate. "God, Tom, I just need it to stop. I'm so fucking tense and tired. I'm so wound I can't even focus—I'm wet all the time—"

His eyes snap up to meet yours at that, and he gives you a look you can't even begin to interpret. You bite your tongue, realizing the words that left your mouth just a moment too late to pull them back, and you know you've lost the upper hand in this, somehow. You feel the ground slipping from under you and you hate the way your body shivers as he takes another slow, deliberate, step forward.

"Is that what you are?” He wets his lips. "You've come all the way here, in the dead of night, in your pyjamas, half out of your mind with exhaustion because you're wet. Isn't that right?"

You know better than to answer, though you feel yourself walking straight into the trap he's set.

"Piss off," you snap, but the bravado in your voice is paper-thin as he takes another step forward. He's so close now that his scent overwhelms you—leather and spice, something sharp and smoky that makes your head spin. You recognize it, of course you do; it's the same as in your dreams, and the familiarity makes your knees feel unsteady. "You're—"

"Don't act so offended," he leans closer, his voice a low murmur, quiet, almost silky as it wraps around you, and suddenly you barely remember what you were so pissed off about. "You can't even deny it. I made you cum tonight, didn't I? In your dreams."

Your teeth grit. "You know you did—"

He takes one more step and now you're backed right up against his desk—and gods, Tom's tall, so much taller than you—and it feels like he's looming over you, caging you in.

"Mhm." There's a flash of triumph in his eyes as you lose your words. He leans down, breath grazing your ear just as he brings two fingers to your temple, pressing the pads against it. "Let's watch, shall we?"

Watc—oh no.

A cold sense of dread washes over you as you catch on to what he's insinuating, merely a second too late—

"Tom—"

He whispers something, something that pulls you under, and the next thing you know—in a flash of consciousness you didn't even consider possible—you're staring at yourself inside a dream you remember all too well. A dream sequence where you're moaning and trembling beneath him, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in unabashed pleasure as he drives into you, hips snapping with thrust after thrust after thrust—

And it's one thing to have felt it in the safety of your dreams, in the dead of night when you woke slick and desperate, clenching around nothing. But this—this is visceral. You can't look away because it's projecting inside your mind: the flush blooming across your chest, the arch of your back, the way your lips part with every desperate breath. You hear the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth, mingling with his low, guttural grunts—and worst of all, you can feel it.

You can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you, as if he's giving it to you now.

"Mm," you hear him hum from infront of you—it's too much—you're lost in the memory, the dream, and it's a strange, voyeuristic, intimate experience to watch yourself and him like that. "You're worse off than I thought."

You’re gripping the wood of his desk so hard your fingertips are numb, heart flying out of the room as his hand slowly slides from your temple down to your jaw, holding you in place—

"Stop it." You manage to hiss at him, trying to force some semblance of control back into yourself—the last thing you need is to start melting against this bastard. "Tom—"

"You feel that?" He murmurs, breath brushing your neck, and you can't even focus on anything but the sensations he's forcing through your memory—seeing him above you, feeling him inside you. "You do, don't you? This is exactly what you've been feeling all week, isn't it?"

You want to snap at him, cuss him out, but oh god—

"Damn you," you hiss, even as his hands slide down to your hips—and it almost feels as if he's touching you twice, as if there are two sets of hands on your body. "Fuck, Tom—"

"Mm, you look good from this angle," he murmurs, and you fucking keen as you watch, in your mind, his hands slide over your stomach, pushing up your shirt and exposing your tits, groping as he fucks you. You keen as you feel it. "You love this, don't you? You want this."

"I—" you gasp, trying to convince him, or yourself, or goddamn anyone. Still fighting some invisible battle between resistance and submission because you hate that he's right. "I—god, what are you doing to me—"

"What am I doing to you?" He whispers, and you're not sure if the question is rhetorical, or if he's giving you permission to ask it. "I'm not doing anything that you aren't letting me do."

Your knees feel like they're about to buckle, and it's taking all your strength just to stay standing because the pleasure playing out in your mind is pouring into your veins and you can't even fathom how it's possible but you can't do anything to fight it—

"Oh, god—" you moan, unbridled, your physical body slumping back onto the desk as you feel the slick between your thighs, growing with every goddamn thrust. "Oh my god—"

He takes the opportunity of you slumped back against the desk and instantly leans down, bringing his lips to your ear—

"Not even god could keep your legs underneath you." His hand creeps up your thigh. "You're helpless."

"Helpless," you repeat, with a shaky gasp, and you hate how much the word turns you on. This is the first time you've ever been called helpless, and you're not even sure that you care. He's got you in his clutches, he's winning, and it's so infuriating and so goddamn perfect. “Tom—please, please touch me. I need to—fuck—"

You feel his lips brush the skin of your neck in a way that has you trembling with want, but—fucking hell, that's not what you need—you need his hands on you, you need him to just—

"What do you need?" He cooes, and there's a sly tone to his voice that makes you want to throw yourself at him all over again. "You need to cum?"

You moan, low and needy, writhing against the desk because this fucker—he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s got the upper hand here and you want it back. You want—

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "I need you to—I fucking need you—inside me—"

As soon as that leaves your mouth, the dream fades from your vision and he's urging you to lay back. There's a soft thud as he places a hand on the desk next to your head, and he leans down, bringing his lips back to your ear, and you can't remember a time when you've ever wanted anyone else this bad.

"I'm touched," he murmurs, fingers slipping to the waist band of your pyjama pants, "that you want me that bad."

"I hate you," you manage to gasp out, but that's a lie, and you think he knows it. His fingers on your skin as he pulls your pants down make you ache for him, and you're struggling to not make another sound that will give him ammunition. "Why do you have to—"

"Why do I have to what?" He asks, and you know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. "Tease you? Make you helpless?"

Your pants get hardly half way down your thighs before he decides it's enough and slides a finger through your soaked slit, and you can't hold back the moan that tears itself from your throat.

"Fuck, you're soaked.” He hisses through his teeth. “You've been sitting in your dorm for days, hm? Dreaming of me touching you, wishing you could touch yourself without thinking of me—do you want to cum, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you gasp out, and you're not above begging at this point. "Yes, god, please—I want to fucking cum—"

"There we go," he cooes, and he's enjoying this more than you'd like to acknowledge. "You know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?"

"I'd say at least a week," you throw back, in a vain attempt to keep a shred of your dignity, but that's hard when he's circling his fingers around your clit and your body is jerking against the desk beneath you. God you really are helpless. "Because that's how long you've been plaguing my head, giving me wet dreams like some goddamn incubus—"

He chuckles at that, and you hate him a little less when he slips two fingers inside you, "You think I'm a demon?"

"You certainly act like one," you choke out, because he's crooking his fingers and your mind is going fuzzy and he's not going to let you get the upper hand back, even for a second. "Fuck—oh, yes, yes, yes."

"You've got me all wrong," he says, with a smile that would be boyish if it wasn't so sinister. "Demons come to punish you. I'm here helping you get that relief you've been needing so badly."

"Just want t-to help me," you moan as his long fingers work you open, thumb brushing your clit, "out of the kindness of your heart—"

"Out of the kindness of my heart,” he repeats, with a mocking tone, and it's the way he murmurs those words that's making your thighs clench around him until he grabs the fabric of your pjs bunched around them and pushes your legs up to your chest, working his fingers impossibly deeper. "Out of the goodness of my soul—it's what I do, darling, I'm known for my benevolence—"

"You're a good man," you know he can tell you're being sarcastic, but his fingers are filling you so fucking full you're nowhere near ready to start a fight again when you're this close to losing your goddamn mind on his desk. "You're such a good man, Tom—“

"Mhm," his breath tickles your ear. "What else am I?"

"So good with your fingers," you're moaning, and he's going to get a bigger ego than he already has. You're too far gone to care. "God, you're so good, I'm going to—"

"Yes, you are," he answers, and it takes you a second to realize that he's not correcting your words anymore. He's simply telling you that you are, in fact, about to fall apart for him. "Give it to me. You've earned it."

You almost want to snap back at him, you almost try to, but you're so far gone the words don't form on your tongue and you're not sure you'd be able to fight the fire pooling in your stomach.

"Oh, fuck—“

He doesn't even let you finish that, he just dips his hips down, bringing his hand that's not buried in your slick up to cover your mouth, muffling those strangled screams before they spill out and echo down the hall—

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Be a good girl. Let it all out for me."

And it's that; that stupid combination of cooing warmth and the phrase 'be a good girl' that sends you over the edge, and you're muffling your gasps and moans and screams against his palm because gods, what would happen if someone heard you? What would happen if people realized what Tom Riddle was doing to you—your house rival, your sworn enemy—

"There we go," you're falling apart and he's watching you as if he owns you, as if this is where you belong—writhing beneath him, release squirting out around his fingers. "Ride it out for me. Such a good girl, you needed this so bad, I can tell you were aching for this."

You're struggling to say anything back, the only thing that comes out is a strangled moan of his name, and you've always known how bad he was, heard from other girls how good he could be with his hands, but this—you've never had this, never been this before.

"Such a fucking mess," he's murmuring, his voice low and rough and so goddamn beautiful. “How'd that feel? Hm?"

"So—so good," it feels like the words are being forced out of your throat, and you're struggling to think with enough clarity to form anything that's not an embarrassing moan of how much you needed this. "Needed it, need more, I—"

"More?" He murmurs as he slips his fingers free, and he's bringing his other hand up to your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he brings his soaked fingers to your lips. "Greedy girl."

You're not thinking about the implication of him calling you that, you're not thinking about how you should fight back, you're not thinking about how much you hate him—you’re just thinking about the sinful taste of you on his fingers, when they press against your tongue. Without a second of hesitation you suck them clean, tasting yourself, and it's obscene. You're obscene. But you don't care, it just makes that ache in you grow worse—you need more, you need him.

Dear god, what happened to you.

“So good," he murmurs, the praise dripping like honey from his tongue. You hum and he exhales. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You'll find me tomorrow?" You repeat, as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and you're struggling for air, your chest heaving beneath your rumpled shirt. "What are you going to do, come into my room?"

"I'll come into much more than your room," he says, with a laugh that dances with promises of sin. "Now go. Before someone finds you here."

You push yourself up on trembling arms, pulling your pants up your thighs, your heart hammering in your chest because—god, that was incredible, you want more of it, and you can hardly even believe it happened. With a breath, you force yourself to move.

You look back at him as you get to the door. Your legs are shaking and you're not going to hold it against yourself for needing the wall to support you as his eyes rake over you, the corners of those lips curled up his signature smirk, and you want to hit him so goddamn bad—but then he speaks, like he read your mind, and it snaps you out of it—

"No dreams tonight." He says. "Scouts honour."

"You're no boy scout," you throw back, and your voice is a little breathier than you'd like. "And this changes nothing."

He smiles, slow and languid and knowing. "Of course."

You want to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping off his tongue, but you're worried that if you stay here any longer the only words on your tongue will be 'do it again'.

"You just owe me." You say as you crack the door open.

"I owe you," he agrees, and you think that his smile is just a little too genuine—like he would give you anything you wanted, just for another taste of that. “I'm keeping score, darling. Sleep well."

You hate him for calling you that, you hate his stupid smile, you hate the way he knows he's got you.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’re going to make him pay.

"Good night," you mutter, and then you open the door and slip out into the hallway.

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Y/n: I don’t really like people, but you’re okay, I guess.

Theo: I'm your boyfriend.

Y/n: Huh, so that's why.

Theo: