#tom riddle x !fem

[darkmarkmarauder]

You Look So Pretty When You Obey - T.M.R.

!warning!minors dni: bdsm/punishment

Summary: You’re Tom Riddle’s perfect little plaything—whether you like it or not. Punished, degraded, and bound, you’ll do whatever it takes to get his attention… even if it means begging for discipline. He loves making you squirm, testing your limits with every cruel move. But don’t think you can escape—because once you’re in his grip, he’s never letting go. 

Enjoy the torment.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥���� 𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧? 𝐎𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞—𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞—𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐘/𝐍 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭.

𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒆. 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

"𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆." 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲.

"𝐍𝐨𝐰."

𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡, 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?" 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲. "𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭. 𝑨𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭? 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧?"

𝐘/𝐍 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬. 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬. 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧.

"𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒔𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒚," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩. "𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒐, 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖?"

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

"𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭," 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. "𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡."

𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐘/𝐍 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧—𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐒𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤. ��𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐘/𝐍 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲.

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐈𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞? 𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰.

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡.

𝐍𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, "𝐀𝐦 𝐈 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮?"

𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬. 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐩, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒆𝒅 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞.

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧—𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝐀𝐡.

𝐒𝐨 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

"𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈?" 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤.

𝐀 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐀 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞.

𝐀 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚����𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐘/𝐍 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲—𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧—𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐞.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐧.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦—𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐩, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

"𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝑻𝒐𝒎," 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞.

𝐀 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 ��𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.

"𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕," 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐡. "𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡."

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞?"

"𝐈𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐢𝐭?" 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞." 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧. "𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒕."

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐘/𝐍 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰—𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫.

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘/𝐍 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐈𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝.

"𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔."

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩. 𝐀𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

"𝑵𝒐𝒘."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

"𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫," 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐘/𝐍 𝒕𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭. "𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐦, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥."

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭, 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.

"𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲," 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐀 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤. 𝐀𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞.

"𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲," 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. "𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰…" 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝—𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲.

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠."

𝐀 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨��𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐭𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. "𝑷𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈," 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤. "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞?"

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠—𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠.

"𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?"

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?"

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝. "𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝐎𝐡, 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕." 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥. "𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞," 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝. "𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. 𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟."

𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

"𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞," 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝, "𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐥𝐲.

𝐀 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦—𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭—𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝," 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐲. "𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. "𝐖𝐡𝐚���?"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮—𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭?"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲. "𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒕, 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆."

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 ��𝐚𝐰 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞."

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. "𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞.

"𝐏𝐮𝐭. 𝐭𝐡𝐞. 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦. 𝐨𝐧."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤, 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. "𝐒𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟." 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫.

𝐈𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐮𝐩. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭—𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝.

"𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲?" 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲. 𝐀 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤.

"𝑨𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕."

𝐇𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐀 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐝.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. "𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝, 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬—𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭?

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭.

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐩, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝑺𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬.

𝐀 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐮𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞.

"𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞?" 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫.

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧. 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

"𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝐒𝐨 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧. 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞?"

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡, 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.

"𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨, 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞?" 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝. "𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮?"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐋𝐨𝐰, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝.

"𝐎𝐡, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈," 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, "𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. 𝐒𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐒𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐝. "𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝.

"𝐎𝐡, 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟."

𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩, 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤.

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭, 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐧. 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡—𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖?" 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝. "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐨𝐦? 𝐀𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐞?"

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐎𝐡, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐫. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭."

𝐀 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐥 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲—𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲—𝐬𝐩𝐮𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐝.

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥���𝐜𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

𝐈𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨��𝐚𝐥. "𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞? 𝐎𝐡, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 ��𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠—𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬. "𝐈’𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬?" 𝐇𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. "𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫.

"𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲, 𝐓𝐨𝐦."

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐭. "𝐎𝐡, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?" 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲."

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. "𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮."

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞."

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

"𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ." 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤-𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥. "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬? 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤, 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞?"

𝐘/𝐍 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐰. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫. "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮?"

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠.

"𝐏𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠," 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝐒𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐒𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭?" 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. "𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. "𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞?"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝. "𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠." 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠."

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧."

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞."

𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞—"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝.

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠."

𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫.

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐞��𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. "𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭—"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬. "𝐓𝐨𝐦."

𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧?

𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: okay so this lowkey ended up more kinky than I wanted it to BUTTT i couldn’t stop writing it so I kinda just went on and onnnn

so I’ve decided I want to make a smut pt 2 for disarm me or detention again but idkkkj SCHOOL IS SOO HARD im ignoring all my hw cus this is more fun lol

happy reading friends;)

MASTERLIST

[nottsangel]

Tom riddle being low key obsessed with your ass. That’s it. That’s the request.

tom’s hands always instinctively wander towards your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before possessively resting it there. he doesn’t care where you two are— even when in the presence of others in the slytherin common room, his hand trails down from the small of your back, down to the plump flesh. “tom! we’re in public.” you hiss through clenched teeth, eying him with a stern, disapproving expression on your face. “i am aware. no need to state the obvious.” he replies icily, not even bothering to meet your gaze as his piercing eyes remain fixed ahead.

and during sex, his favourite position is for sure doggystyle, with your hands tied behind your back by a cute, pink ribbon. he’d push your head deeper into the plush pillows with one hand, while the other harshly smacks your ass until the red imprint of his hand is visible on your delicate skin. his brutal, relentless thrusts leave your head spinning as you drool all over the satin sheets, his hand possesively squeezing the soft flesh of your ass. “mine. you’re all mine and mine only.”

ੈ♡˳

[megwritesriddles]

I Despise You ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 1 - Angry Sex. Reader is the Head Girl and Riddle is the Head Boy, Riddle likes to push Reader's boundaries until it all boils over. Minimal plot but a smidge anyway.

Tags: Angry sex, P in V, Fingering (fem receiving), Unprotected sex, Magic as birth control, Enemies with benefits, Arguing (which is badly written oops), Attempt at angst, Tiny bit of sexism from Riddle, Reader is wearing a dress (I imagined one of those Sabrina Carpenter babydoll dresses lol), Head boy Riddle, Head girl Reader, Historical inaccuracy.

Word count: 3.4k

all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: First installment of Kinktober and first post on tumblr!! woo!! please show me some love if you like it!! I am terrible at writing arguments because I hate confrontation irl oops!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

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Being appointed as Head Girl was supposed to be the best thing to ever happen to you. You’d been working toward it since at least the third year and it was all you ever seemed to hope for. It was meant to be an achievement that you and your friends would all celebrate, perhaps head down to the Three Broomsticks and spoil you with free drinks for the night in honour of your achievement. But, life wasn’t so kind.

When your position as Head Girl was announced all you had received from your friends were pitying looks, all due to the pesky little detail of who had been announced as Head Boy to serve alongside you. Tom Riddle. Tom. Fucking. Riddle. Of course, Professor Dippett had had to announce his name first, meaning you hadn’t even gotten a second of enjoyment from your appointment. He had stood up smugly at the Slytherin table, basking in the cheers from his house, flashing a charming smile to the room as he made his way to the front of the hall. For the first time in your life, at that moment, you had prayed that Head Girl would not be you. It was. Your name was called, your house applauded and your legs carried you over to Riddle’s side. He grinned down at you, that little glint of mockery in his eye that you could only see from this close. You wanted to punch him, that would surely lose you the Head Girl position and solve this problem, but you had your future to think of. You had repeated that to yourself all that night as you and Riddle had been whisked off to the staff room to be briefed on your positions and given your badges. Riddle was the picture of charm, laughing with the various professors that came to speak with you, you just sat there, smiling falsely, looking a little like you’d just been hit over the head with a plank. You felt like it too. Your lifelong dream had just been turned into something poisonous. Really, you thought to yourself as Slughorn guided you through the corridors to the Head’s quarters, you should have seen this coming. They weren’t supposed to appoint two students from the same house, so logically, if you were picked for Head Girl, it was only ever going to be Riddle at your side. You wondered why you hadn’t considered this before, it was so obvious with hindsight. You scowled at the back of his and Slughorn’s heads as you ascended some stairs, them chatting together jovially, making your blood boil.

Slughorn shows you the small common room, enough seating for about four people, a fireplace, and a little kitchenette with some stools, decorated with opulence. It would all have been very nice if it hadn’t been for Riddle standing there commenting on the lovely brass crests. The separate rooms were your biggest comfort, both off of little halls from the common room in different directions. You could hide in there from him, you told yourself over and over. You didn’t have the headspace to be impressed by the beautiful ensuites with golden-tapped baths, just wanting Slughorn to leave so you would no longer have to listen to Riddle’s disgustingly smooth voice. Eventually, Slughorn did leave the two of you to go to bed. As he shut the common room door, you could see Riddle’s mouth opening from the corner of your eye. You darted to your room before he could get the words out, slamming the door, relieved to find all your things already there. You collapsed onto the bed and sighed. The nightmare was only beginning.

The hands on the clock point to 3:30 am. It’s a Monday morning, you have a meeting with Dumbledore in just a few hours, but sleep is impossible. He has friends over again. The deep bass of their voices reverberates through the walls of the common room. They’re chatting and laughing like always, most likely drinking too, you’ve spotted them with whiskey a few times. You seethe with anger in your bed, just last week you had kindly approached him, and not for the first time, about this issue. You had emphatically asked him to be considerate of you and your time. He had placated you like always.

“Yes darling, I didn’t realise we were being so bothersome, won’t happen again,” he had soothed, but of course, it was happening again right now. You kept somehow getting caught in his charms, the very ones you had been immune to for so long. It had to be the sleep deprivation he was causing, that was what was making you melt a little whenever he called you darling or smiled just so, in the way that used to make you feel sick. In the dark of your room, you lie on your side and curse inwardly. Reporting him had crossed your mind many times, but you knew he would just charm his way out of it, like he did with everything. Your ears rumble with another deep laugh from the group of men in the other room and you’ve had enough. Throwing off your duvet and stomping to your bedroom door, you fling it open and head into the common room. He sits reclined leisurely in an armchair by the fireplace, his sleeves rolled up and tie loose. His ankles are crossed, resting on the coffee table in front of him, he chuckles at something, you couldn’t care less what, the firelight dancing over his face. He hasn’t noticed you, but across from him on the opposite armchair, his friend, Avery, straightens up and grins at you. His eyes drift over you, you realise instantly that you stomped out here in only your nightgown and socks and flush lightly, but stand your ground.

“Riddle!” you bark, surprising even yourself with the viciousness of your tone. This brings his attention to you effectively. His other two friends turn to look at you over the back of the sofa, Riddle doesn’t even straighten up when he looks up at you, smirking in a self-satisfied way that makes your insides twist oddly.

“Hello darling,” he speaks smoothly. “You look a picture tonight,” he lets his eyes drift up and down your figure without shame. You go red with anger and embarrassment.

“Doesn't she just?” One of his friends, Rosier, comments with a mocking chuckle. This sets you off.

“Out!” You screech. All the boys look taken aback by the intensity of your outburst. “Out, out, out!”

“Fine,” Riddle hisses in an infuriatingly calm tone. “You lot should go, you heard the Head Girl,” you hear the mocking tone in his voice, suggesting he thinks you’re hysterical. You stand there with your fists clenched, staring the men down as they get up and head for the door, feeling ridiculous but not wanting to show any weakness. Once they all leave and shut the door behind them, the two of you fall into silence for a moment. He’s watching you, but not in the leering way from earlier, he almost looks impressed with you. You avert your eyes from the closed door onto his face, he’s leaning forward now, with his elbows on his knees. Just when you’re considering simply turning to leave, he speaks up. “Happy now, darling? You’re really no fun, we were only talking,” his eyes fix on yours, burning deeply. You scoff indignantly.

“It’s nearly 4 am Riddle, you know I have a meeting in the morning, I have brought this up to you countless times and–”

“Yes, but you don’t seem to understand that I simply don’t care to keep you happy, darling,” he grins. You let out a frustrated yelp.

“You are unbelievable! How were you ever chosen for Head Boy when you're this insidious? You don’t deserve it!” You snap. This stirs something in him. His eyes darken and he stands up from the armchair.

“And you do, do you darling?” he asks slowly, stalking toward you. “You’re the picture of perfection, aren’t you just?” You’re not sure what to say to this, any answer seems wrong like it’ll give him reason to dig into you further. Your mouth opens and shuts for a moment before you settle on a shrug. Your hands flex in the fists they’re tightened into as a smirk spreads over his face. “You don’t seem so high and mighty from here,” he chuckles, stopping in front of you. He has several inches on you and you’re forced to look up at him. “You look lovely in this little nightie,” he comments with a grin, reaching out to trace the lace at the strap with the tip of his finger. You jolt away instantly, glaring up at him.

“Don’t you dare touch me! And don’t you dare comment on my looks!” You hissed, smacking his hand away. His eyes darken even more at this.

“And don’t you dare smack me,” he growls. “I was merely paying you a compliment,”

“Like hell you were!” You scoff. “You’re trying to make me feel small,” he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“If the shoe fits,” he grins. You scowl, shoving at him without thinking about it. He stumbles back slightly, looking momentarily bewildered. When he realises what you just did he surges for you. He grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you into the wall. You let out a small oof sound as you collide with the wall, surprised it didn’t hurt more than it did. For a moment, you wonder if he had avoided hurting you until you look up and see the fire in his eyes, then you wonder if he wishes he had just killed you. “I would have rather had literally anyone as Head Girl than you, you are the bane of my existence,” he snarls, gripping your shoulders hard.

“I’m the bane of your existence? I don’t have friends over until the small hours of the morning! Imagine how I feel!” You spit back. You can tell he’s barely listening to you.

“You are insufferable! You’re the only person who doesn’t fawn over the sight of me and it’s you that I get stuck with for the whole year!” he scoffs. “I will not let you control my lifestyle!” he adds angrily. “I will not bend my life to make you happy! I am not subservient to anyone and I never will be!” you roll your eyes exaggeratedly.

“You are ridiculous,”

“I despise you,” he hisses venomously. “You’re always everywhere I am, you’re always following me around, tailing me in every subject, you had to go for this position when I’ve had my sights locked on it since first year!” He pushes you back into the wall again. “Are you happy now darling? You got Head Girl and now we’re both miserable! You must be thrilled!”

“You think I’m following you around?” you sneer. “How full of yourself are you that you think me going for Head Girl was about you? You seem to think you’re the centre of everything, but in my life Riddle, you are just an inconvenience, you are nothing,” you seethed. Something flashes in Riddle’s eyes, his jaw working.

“I am nothing?” he demands. “I am nothing?” he’s shaking now and you’re sure he’s about to hex you or punch you, his eyes flick between yours, his whole body coiled tight and ready to pounce. Instead, his lips are suddenly on yours, thrusting your head back against the wall. You yelp in surprise, your eyes wide, the back of your head hurting from being pressed into the hard surface. He kisses you without a single hint of affection, kissing you like it’s a punishment, a way of muzzling you, but Merlin, somehow it feels good. He’s grabbing at you, taking fistfuls of your nightgown in his hands. You find that you’re kissing him back, that you have been practically since his lips met yours and that you’re doing so eagerly. Your head is spinning as his arms wrap around you and he pulls you harshly to him, the hard planes of his lean body pressing against you. Your arms snake around his neck and he lets you yank at his hair. He’s kissing you so hard that you’re practically tipping backwards. Your tongues rub against each other as you kiss frantically. He’s leading you to the sofa, throwing you down and then settling above you. He props himself up, his hands on either side of your head. You both take this moment to catch your breaths, staring intensely at each other as your chests rise and fall rapidly. “Am I still nothing?” he growls, a little breathless. Once again, you don’t know what the right thing to say is. One of his hands moves down and starts to push up the hem of your nightdress, revealing your thighs to his devouring eyes. You grab him and kiss him again instead of talking, just as hard and unforgiving as before.

You feel your nightdress being bunched at your waist and hear the faint sound of a zip being pulled down. You kiss him harder, nipping at his bottom lip harshly and scrunching your eyes shut. He just groans in response, pushing down his slacks haphazardly, his other hand keeping him propped up above you. You’re suddenly awfully overheated, both from lying on the sofa in front of the blazing fireplace and from the realisation of what he’s planning to do to you. Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to let him fuck you on the sofa in the common room? Riddle? The man you’ve hated for years? The man who has been deliberately antagonising you for the past several weeks, and especially tonight? Your hands are resting on his stomach, and you connect the dots in mild horror that you’ve been unbuttoning his shirt without even realising it. You feel completely out of control of yourself, you’ve never acted this way before. You gasp in surprise when you feel his fingers pressing against your core through the fabric of your underwear. His fingers rub roughly, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through you. You whine slightly, feeling him smirk against your lips. You scratch at his chest a little in retaliation. He grunts, you can’t tell if he likes it or not and it bothers you. His fingers hook into your underwear and start to tug down. This is your last chance to back out, to throw him off of you and run away, but you find yourself unable to do anything but writhe and cling to his shoulders. The underwear is discarded on the floor and he is using his free hand to spread your thighs open, you flush deeply as he pulls away from the kiss to look down at you. You can feel how wet you are and you hate that, based on the smug little grin on his face, he knows it too. Your cheeks are burning as he reaches down, using two fingers to spread your folds. He lets out a needy sound by accident and it’s your turn to gloat. He flashes you a glare and plunges a finger into your tight heat in revenge. This makes your back arch and your lips part and he smirks back at you.

“So wet…” he comments, self-satisfied, his finger creating obscene squelches as he pumps it in and out of you slowly. You snarl at him, lashing out in embarrassment. You grab at the tent in his boxers, feeling him rock-hard under the fabric. He frowns in embarrassment, withdrawing his finger from you which makes you whimper a little. “You’re asking for it now, darling,” he growls. He’s scrambling to rid himself of his boxers. His tip is quickly prodding at your entrance and you gasp and arch slightly. He glides against you for a moment, his tip rubbing deliciously at your clit, seeming like he’s waiting for something. Then, he’s plunging into you. You let out a pathetic little cry and he grins. “Does that feel good?” he coos mockingly as he fully seats himself inside you. You both gasp for breath as your tight heat embraces him. It does feel good, torturously so, but his mocking tone irks you.

“I hate you,” you growl up at him as he lowers himself onto his elbows, his face right above yours. He scowls, panting slightly.

“I hate you too, believe me,” his arms wrap around your shoulders, keeping you in place. He buries his face in your neck and starts to nip as his hips begin to rock harshly. His thrusts are hard and punishing, slow, withdrawing almost completely and then slamming forward, just short of painful. You whine and grab at his back, letting your nails dig into him, he doesn’t seem to mind. He speeds up, grunting loudly against your neck. He pulls back to watch as you move along with his thrusts, your eyes scrunched shut and lips parted with desperate whines. He pants, his hot breaths washing over your face. He speeds up even more, growling like a crazed animal. “Look at you, falling apart under me, what would your friends think?” he taunts. Your eyes squeeze tighter shut, a wave of shame passing through you that somehow heightens your pleasure.

“Shut the fuck up,” you whine. You hear him laughing mockingly. You muster your strength and clench your walls around him. His laugh morphs into a choked groan at the sensation, his hips stuttering. He was more affected by this than you expected, his pace now brutal as he fucks into you, clearly desperately chasing release now, rather than focusing on playing mind games on you. His lips meet yours again and you kiss back. It’s clumsy and sloppy, given how fast he’s moving, but it just heightens everything you’re feeling. “You gonna come already?” you mock as you feel him faltering in his thrusts. He groans angrily against your lips.

“I despise you,” he hisses shakily, propping himself back up so he can thrust into you more relentlessly. You return the sentiment, but it’s a little half-hearted now between whines. You cry out when you feel his thumb on your clit, rubbing hard. He seems oddly determined to have you orgasm before he does, perhaps to humiliate you, but it feels so good that you can hardly complain. He grunts loudly, you can tell he’s trying to goad you, but his speech is incoherent between sounds of pleasure and the slapping of skin against skin. You feel it building up and you can’t deny yourself the pleasure, you don’t try to hold back. However, he still falls apart first. His hips stutter then stop entirely and he groans loudly, you feel his seed spilling deep into you, warm ropes painting your inside. His thumb doesn’t let up its rubbing and it allows you to also reach your release. You pulse around his oversensitive cock and he gasps and whines pathetically, but continues rubbing you through it until all the aftershocks are over.

He remains propped above you, catching his breath for a while, his head hung low. You both whine slightly as he withdraws from you slowly, leaving you with a pop. He takes a shaky breath, staring at his essence that trickles out of you. You just stare at the ceiling, unsure what to do now. You feel the sofa dip as he reaches down to the floor, his chest touching yours as he lowers himself gently. He grabs his wand from his trouser pocket and props back up. He mumbles a spell, cleaning you of his essence and eliminating the chance of pregnancy. It pleases you a little that he took care of it, rather than leaving it up to you. He moves, sitting back on his haunches between your legs, lowering the hem of your nightdress to cover you back up. You stare at each other silently for a moment as he tucks himself away.

“This changes nothing between us,” he asserts, narrowing his eyes at you. You want to laugh at that, as clearly everything has just changed in some way, but you know what he means.

“Yeah, it changes nothing,” you repeat with a sigh. He glances over at the fireplace for a moment, before his eyes flick to the clock on the mantelpiece.

“Now chop chop, don’t you have that meeting with Dumbledore?” he grins. Your eyes widen and then you kick at him in frustration, realising what he’s done. He just laughs. “You better figure out a way to cover those hickeys quickly,” he smirks. You whine indignantly, burying your head in your hands.

“I’m going to kill you!”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

xoxoxo

[greece-greecia]

Lesbianaaaaaaas <3

[leona-hawthorne]

۶ৎ boyfriend’s brother!mattheo eating you out while tom’s in the shower

boyfriend’s brother mattheo x fem reader warnings ; 18+ mdni, oral f!recieving, fingering, cheating boyfriend’s brother mattheo moodboard

navigation. au collection. m.list. bfb!mattheo.

you don’t know how it got this far. or maybe you do. 

you don’t even have time to think, not when mattheo’s got you exactly where he wants you—sprawled out on tom’s bed, your thighs trembling in his grip, his mouth pressed against your cunt like it’s his last fucking meal. his tongue is relentless, messy and eager, flicking against your clit before dragging down to fuck into you, obscene sounds filling the room with every desperate, sloppy lick.

“mattheo—” your voice is a strangled whisper, your fingers pulling at his curls, like you’re not sure whether you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer.

“oh, now you remember my name?” he taunts, pulling back just enough to look up at you through dark lashes. his chin is glistening with your arousal, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “that’s funny. thought it was ‘tom, tom, tom’ with you.”

“you’re a dick.”

“mm. but i’m the one with my tongue on your pussy, not him.” he punctuates his words with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, swirling it over your clit just to hear your breath hitch. “what does that say about you, sweetheart? you know my brother’s right there.”

panic flares in your chest, your head snapping toward the bathroom door. tom’s still in the shower, the sound of running water muffling everything, but not enough. not if you keep making noise like this. “mattheo, we—we can’t—”

“we already are.” his voice is thick with amusement, fingers digging into your thighs as he tilts his head, dragging his tongue in slow circles around your clit. “fuckin’ soaked, princess. all that talk about how much you love my brother, yet look at you.” he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, all mockery, all smug satisfaction. “letting me eat you out on his bed.”

your stomach tightens, shame curling through you, but not enough to stop you from rocking your hips against his mouth when he slides two fingers inside of you, curling them just right. your back arches off the mattress, a broken moan slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

mattheo tsks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his lips are shining with you, his chin dripping, and the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach flip. like he owns you. like he’s already won. “so fuckin’ easy,” he mutters, pumping his fingers slow, deep. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing light, teasing circles that have your thighs shaking. “thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

“fuck you,” you hiss, but it comes out breathy, wrecked, and he grins.

“yeah, we’ll do that too.” he buries his face between your legs again, tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, and your hands fly to your mouth, desperate to muffle the moans spilling from your lips. but he’s not having it. he yanks one of your hands away, pinning it to your stomach, his other hand still gripping your thigh open. “don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growls. “i wanna hear you. wanna hear every little sound you make.”

your head tips back against the pillows, your free hand twisting in the sheets. “mattheo—oh my god—”

“c’mon, princess. cum on my tongue,” he urges, voice thick with hunger, with something darker, something possessive. he sucks your clit between his lips, and the coil in your stomach snaps, pleasure slamming into you so hard you forget everything—where you are, who you’re supposed to be loyal to. the only thing that exists is mattheo’s mouth, his hands, the low, satisfied chuckle he lets out as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

he doesn’t stop until you’re squirming away, too sensitive, your breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes gleaming.

he leans over you, caging you in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “go clean yourself up, princess. wouldn’t want tom to see you like this, yeah?”

and just like that, he’s gone, slipping out the door like he was never there, leaving you wrecked, panting, and stained with the taste of betrayal.

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[deadghosy]

How would Slytherin Boys (your pick) react to gn! reader saying "all men are shit except for you" You can pick if it's platonic or romantic.

My sister screamed this at me as a way of apologizing after an argument. And I just found it so funny that I wonder how fictional men would react to it.

Sorry if this is offensive in any way.

“ALL MEN ARE SHIT….except for you.”

HOW THE SLYTHERIN BOYS REACT TO YOU SAYING THIS

Ft. The riddles, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire

Tom Riddle

He just nods. At least he’s kinda glad to know you don’t think he’s the worst of the man kind.

He knows his own gender specie is weird and unthinkable.

“LIKE I CANT BELIEVE HE DID THAT TO ME…UGH!”

“I choose the bear as well.” Tom says while just reading his daily books. Not taking his eye off of the book he is certainly hooked on. You nodded with a huff.

Mattheo Riddle

Just standing there like “🧍🏾Uhmm..I agree?”

He has no idea what happened but at least he likes how you don’t think he’s shit.

“I agree? So who do I need to beat up?”

Draco Malfoy

At first when those words came out of your mouth he was gonna say how he isn’t only form you to beat him at it.

He felt appreciated. So he nodded and asked for what happened to make you say this.

And now he is a drama hungry bitch cause now he is gonna spread false rumors about the bastard who dared to anger

Blaise Zabini

He just nods with a smile

“Glad to know I’m not shit.”

“Of course you’re not.”

Theodore Nott

Nods while listening to you. His mother taught him to treat people with respect. So of course he will listen and want to know who made you this angry.

As soon you give off description and what house he belongs in. It’s game over for that guy

Don’t worry about the shitty man you were talking about. He’s been taken care of darling.

Lorenzo Berkshire

He’s a “girl’s girl” is what you called him when he had agreed the whole way when you said it.

He just sat there and nodded his head as you told him how men are shit.

He felt glad you think he isn’t shitty at least.

Now he can stop overthinking about how he thinks he bugs you too much.

[azrakaban]

A Little Longer - Mattheo Riddle X GN!Reader

A/N: OH MY GOODNESS ME. Sorry I've taken such a long break from writing, if I told you all the things that have happened in the past two months you honestly wouldn't believe me LMAO

Warnings: cursing, yelling, soft Mattheo I think? lmk if i missed anything xxx 

Note! I tried to make this as gender neutral as possible, if I've messed up anywhere, please feel free to correct me! But please do it nicely guys <3

The wind nipped at your face, chilly and biting as you wrapped your scarf tighter around your face. You forced your eyes to look into the swirling sky, where your poor boyfriend, Mattheo, sat frozen to his broom. 

Watching house Quidditch games was the highlight of every month for Hogwarts, but it made it supremely less enjoyable when the weather was unpleasant. And, as a particularly dark cloud decided to let fall a rainstorm, it became decidedly worse.

You craned your neck back to watch him above you, barely hearing whispers of what he was saying as he yelled instructions to his team members. 

Mattheo had been pushing the team hard all season - it being his first year as captain, he did not want to disappoint. You rememered the long suffering look Enzo gave you in the common room when Mattheo was dragging your friends out to train at 7am. 

As you watched, Astoria flew over your head, flanked by two Gryffindor chasers, who managed to throw her off, causing her to drop the Quaffle. She swore, sighing as they sped up towards the Slytherin goalpost before giving chase, but not quick enough to reclaim the Quaffle before another goal was put through the post, making the score 20 - 230 

You noticed Mattheo's expression darken further, and sighed. He would likely be in a bad mood later. 

Your eye was then caught by a sudden burst of movement on the other side of the pitch, where Potter and Draco were neck and neck in a dive for the Snitch. 

Draco raised his hand, victorious with the snitch clutched in his hand, yet the Gryffindor end exploded in cheers. With the score now at 170 - 230, Gryffindor had still won by a large margin. 

The Slytherins around you were all sighing and shaking their heads as they all made their  way out of the stadium. You had agreed to meet Mattheo at the Slytherin locker room, so you made your way there.

 As you approached the door though, you heard yelling. Pushing it slightly ajar, Blaise caught your eye and mimed cutting his head off quickly, clealy telling you to leave. You nodded, leaving swiftly and heading back to your empty dorm. 

About 45 minutes later, Mattheo turned up in your dorm, hair slightly damp from the shower, and, spotting you, promptly came over and lay his head in your lap. 

"Heya bubs." You smiled slightly, looking down at him. "Hey." He mumbled dejectedly.

"We lost." He groaned, messing up his curls. You lifted a hand and started gently playing with them. "Yeah, this time. But there are still going to be other games, you don't lose everything from this game, okay?" You replied soothingly. 

"But it was our first game, my first game as captain, and I blew it. I pushed them too hard, and I blew it." He sighed. "I wanted to win this for them, to prove that I could do this, be responsible, make it work. And it just..." He lifted a hand and let it drop onto your sheets. "I failed them, and it's not even their fault. I yelled at Draco for catching the snitch, even though that was the best thing to do..." 

"You didn't fail your team." You interrupted him. "Sure, you lost a game, Mattheo, but all captains lose games! It's part of playing, you make mistakes, and you learn from them. PLus, you guys were playing into the wind, the Gryffindors had the weather behind them. Now, if you wanna say that the weather is your fault, you're gonna start sounding a little self centered..." You giggled slightly, and an amused huff escaped Mattheo. 

"Yeah yeah, okay, I get it." The pressure lifted off your thighs as Mattheo moved to sit back against your pillows, opening his arms for you. "C'mere sweetheart, wanna hold you, please." He asked, giving you puppy eyes. 

You immediately caved and moved forward towards him, letting him cuddle you like a teddy bear. 

"Thank you."  He sighed after a few moments of holding you, drawing patterns on your back with a fingertip. "What for, silly?" You looked at him, confused. He chuckled slightly. 

"Grounding me, not thinking I'm a dick, just being an all round awesome person to date?" He shrugged. "For letting me rant about this shit." He squeezed you slightly. 

"No worries, idiot." You smiled, kissing his cheek. He gasped in mock horror. 

"Idiot? That's what you call your suffering boyfriend? WOW, okay, WOW, I see how it is." Mattheo mock glared at you, gently shoving you away. 

"Aw come on, don't be like that." You laughed slightly as he pulled you back into his arms. 

"I should go apologise for being a Class A dick to the team shouldn't I?" He sighed, looking at you. 

"Yeah, probably." You nodded, squeezing his hand. Hd pulled you a little closer. 

"Not yet though. Wanna keep holding you just a little longer..." He muttered, pulling you back into the nest of pillows with him.

A/N: Writing was shit, may delete later <3 Sorry for this miserable attempt at feeding u hungry people, love you all!

[natti-ice]

tom eating you out with his parselmouth skills ♡.

18+ mdni

Tom’s tongue game is unmatched. Him being a parselmouth gives him a leg up when it comes to controlling his tongue. He can manipulate and move it around in ways no one else has before. His tongue can flick against your clit so fast it almost becomes a vibrator, he can make you cum so fast without really putting in any effort.

[cardansriddle]

Dance of Shadow and Desire - Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

gif not mine

Summary: Once, they were friends—until his ambition turned him into the Dark Lord. Years later, he appears on her doorstep, bleeding and unrepentant, his obsession with her as fierce as his thirst for power. Caught between her lingering feelings and the monster he has become, she must decide between her feelings and letting him go.

warnings: angst with a happy(ish?) ending, dark tom but he's bbg. also older tom but he's not a snake yet dw. 3rd person POV,

A/N: I've always wanted to write something with older tom and this one has been sitting in my drafts for ages. i decided to post it bc why not! lmk what you guys think and if i should write more for older tom! (and before you ask, I'm sorry but not writing a part 2 for this)

༻♛༺

The rain drummed lightly against the windows as she sat in her worn armchair, a steaming cup of tea forgotten on the table beside her. The Daily Prophet lay open on her lap, the bold headline screaming of another attack.

The Dark Lord Strikes Again: Ministry Scrambles to Counter Riddle’s Forces.

Her chest tightened as she read the words, the familiar name sending a chill through her veins.

Riddle. Tom Riddle. And to think he had been her friend once.

She closed her eyes, and despite fighting it, memories reluctantly started to flood back. Late-night study sessions in the Hogwarts library, debates over spells and theories, and the way his sharp mind always seemed a step ahead of everyone else's. He had been ambitious, yes, she knew that, but there had been a charm to him, a warmth she had once believed was genuine.

They had been close, or at least as close as anyone could be to Tom. But as the years passed, she had watched him change. His ambition darkened, his charm became manipulation, and his thirst for power grew insatiable. 

She started heard whispers of his experiments, his fascination with immortality, and the growing fear he inspired in his peers he called friends. She had tried countless times to steer him away from his path, but he had brushed her off with a cold finality she would never forget. She had been helpless as she watched the boy she loved so dearly descend into madness. And thus, by the time they left Hogwarts, the distance between them had become a chasm.

And now, years later, here he was again, not in the flesh but in the headlines of a paper detailing his reign of terror. She folded the Prophet with a trembling hand, her heart heavy with a mix of anger, sadness, and a faint, unwelcome pang of longing for the friend she had lost.

She sighed, tossing the paper aside and wrapping her robe over her nightgown tighter, trying to get rid of the goosebumps on her skin. Though they had little to do with cold, and more to do with what she had just read.

She was startled out of her stupor by knocking on her door. It was urgent, sharp, and completely unexpected. Her eyes glanced at the clock above the fireplace, and her brows furrowed as she wondered who would dare show up unannounced past midnight at her door.

Her fingers immediately clutched the wand she had set at her table, and she stood, beginning to approach the door warily. She debated whether if she should even open the door, considering the hour, yet worried that one of her friends might have gotten in trouble, she twisted the doorknob.

When she opened it, the sight before her made her wonder if she was having a nightmare.

A figure in black stood on her doorstep, his robes soaked and clinging to his tall frame The crimson stains seeped through his clothes, smearing the pale skin of his hands and dripping from a gash across his temple. For a moment, the hood of his cloak obscured his face, but then he raised his head.

Those familiar features, now sharper and more menacing, stared back at her. His face had matured, losing the boyish charm she once knew, replaced by a cold, calculated intensity. But his eyes—those piercing, dark eyes—had not changed. They bore into her with a mix of exhaustion and something darker she dared not name.

She froze as if someone poured a bucket of ice over her head. It was him. She had been reading about him mere minutes ago, the feared Dark Lord whose name terrified the wizarding world, and now he stood at her doorstep as if summoned by her very thoughts.

The storm raged behind him and despite the obvious pain coursing through him due to his wounds, something in his gaze sharpened, his complete focus narrowing to her as though the rain, the blood, and his injuries were inconsequential.

“You…” Her voice faltered, and she tightened her grip on the doorframe. "How...what are you doing here?"

Tom leaned heavily against the doorframe, his hand gripping the edge for support. "Do you plan to let me bleed out on your doorstep?” he asked, his voice even deeper and colder than she remembered.

Swallowing her shock, she blinked a few times to confirm she was not hallucinating. Her gaze roved over his dark hair, plastered against his forehead and disheveled in a way that was so unlike the controlled and immaculate boy she recalled.

"Did you expect me to welcome you with open arms after...everything?" She breathed out incredulously, looking at him with wide eyes, trying, desperately yet vainly to ignore the strings being pulled taut at her heart just at the sight of him before her. “You have no right to be here,” she added, her voice trembling with anger.

His gaze sharpened, the intensity of his focus making her feel as though she was the only person in the world. Despite his injuries, his voice remained calm, unyielding. “I expected you to act with the practicality I know you possess.”

“Reason? You are unbelievable.” She scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. “The reasonable thing would be to turn you away and report you to the Aurors.”

“And yet,” he said, taking a deliberate step closer, though his movements were clearly labored, “you haven’t done that." As soon as the words left his mouth, a cough roughly racked through his chest and he swayed on his feet.

She faltered, her grip tightening on the doorframe. His words stung because they were true. She hated the way he always seemed to know exactly which string to pull. Every instinct screamed at her to shut the door. He was dangerous. He had become something monstrous, far removed from the ambitious boy she once knew at Hogwarts. But the sight of his blood and the faint tremor in his hand stirred something in her. 

The rain continued to pour around them, each drop a reminder of how absurd this situation was. His drooping eyelids were the only warning she got as he almost collapsed, and she flung her arms around his middle to catch him. Despite everything, she found that she could not let him bleed out in front of her eyes. Worse, she still cared about him.

"Do not think for a second this means I’ve forgiven you.” Her voice was tight with resignation as she helped him into her home. He didn’t fully collapse, though he looked like he might. Instead, he moved with deliberate slowness with her help until they reached her large couch by the fireplace.

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, even as he winced with pain. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She made sure he was fully situated before she busied herself fetching a potion and bandages, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze following her every move. She knew whatever had caused him this much harm would not be so simple to fix with mere Wiggenweld potion or basic healing charms.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she murmured quietly, setting the supplies on the table beside him. “Especially not like this.”

Tom gave a faint, humorless smile. “Life has a way of surprising us.”

She bit back a retort at that, deciding to focus on the task at hand instead. "Show me."

Tom did not need to be instructed twice, as he moved to peel away his robes in order to expose his wounded back. He kept trying to hold in the winces every time he moved, and against her better judgement, she reached to bat his hands away and instead do the job herself. She removed his robes first, putting it away carefully so his blood would not stain her furniture. Then, she began slowly peeling away his shirt that had stuck to his skin after being soaked in his blood for so long. He suppressed a shiver at the feel of her cold fingertips grazing his skin, and she inn turn suppressed her urge to let her eyes wonder over his shirtless form. She had far more important matters in her hand.

The gash across his back was long and bloody. She could immediately tell it was not a wound caused by any weapon, but by dark magic. The edges of it were jagged, charred black which was the first giveaway of its cause. It was deep, angry, and refusing to heal fully even as she muttered counter-curses under her breath.

“This will take time,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile calm between them.

He didn’t reply, merely tilting his head to allow her better access. She could feel him watching her from the corner of his eye, even as she tried to focus. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed a cooling salve into the wound, but she forced herself to steady them.

Once the magic had been neutralized as much as she could manage, she began to wrap a bandage around his torso. His skin was pale, marred by other scars she hadn’t expected to see, each one a testament to the battles he had fought—and most likely won.

Her hands brushed against his sides as she secured the bandage, and she felt his muscles tense beneath her touch. She glanced up instinctively, though she could not see his face fully.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice low and almost… gentle.

“I’m not,” she lied, looking away quickly as heat crept into her cheeks.

He let out a faint hum of disbelief but said nothing further.

When she finished wrapping his torso, she moved to settle in front of him so she could focus on the gash on his temple. The blood had dried, crusting around the edges of the wound, and she carefully wiped it clean with a damp cloth. Her fingers brushed his hair back from his face, wet and unruly from the rain, and she noted absently how much longer it had grown since their school days.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, but he was watching her again—always watching. She could feel the weight of his gaze as she worked, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked finally, her voice tight.

“Because you’re still the same,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of the usual bite she had come to expect from him.

She paused, her hand hovering above the wound. “And you’re not,” she replied, her words laced with both sadness and bitterness.

He smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “No. I’m not.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint patter of rain against the window. When she resumed cleaning the wound, his gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it intensified, as though he were trying to memorize every detail of her face.

“You could have not let me in,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.

“Yes, I could have." She replied simply, and wondered if perhaps she should have.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, though it was filled with something that felt dangerously close to regret. “You always did see more in me than anyone else,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Her hands stilled briefly, but she quickly resumed her work, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Maybe I was wrong.”

For the first time since he had arrived, he looked away.

Suddenly she was overcome with a burst of courage. "You can still stop this, you can—"

“I didn’t come here for a lecture.” He snapped.

“Then why did you come here?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, his words sent a chill down her spine. “Because you’re the only one I trust.”

Her hands stilled, the bandage halfway wrapped around his arm. “You trust me?” she repeated, disbelief coloring her tone. “After all these years?”

His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unyielding. “You’ve always been different,” he said, as though that explained everything. “You see the flaws, but you don’t flinch. You never did.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong. But the truth was, a part of her still saw the boy she once called a friend. And that part of her was why she hadn’t turned him away.

Her hands fell at her sides, and she tried to search his face but she could decipher what he was feeling. "Tom..."

It was as if the utter of his name was his last straw before he was undone. “Stop.” His voice was quiet but firm, and not for the first time, it carried something she couldn’t name. A plea, maybe, hidden beneath the layers of steel. “Nothing is going to deter me from my path.”

“Even if it means losing everything? Losing everyone?”

He tilted his head, studying her as though the answer should have been obvious. “I have never really had anyone or anything. Except you.”

Her throat tightened at his words, but she managed to croak out a reply. "And you lost me."

His eyes flashed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in the couch, rested his head and closed his eyes. “Perhaps not,” he said finally. “But you’re here now.”

The weight of his words hung between them like a storm about to break. Before she could respond, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’ve watched you,” he admitted, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “For years, I’ve watched you. Wondering if one day you’d join me." He paused, "Hoping.”

She crossed her arms, holding his gaze. "You mean standing beside you while the world burns?"

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "If that’s how you choose to see it."

"That's a lonely prospect." She retorted.

The flickering firelight cast shadows over his sharp features, making him seem both human and monstrous. "Lonely," he repeated, almost mockingly. "You think I don’t know what loneliness is?"

"I think you chose it," she said quietly.

Tom's eyes flashed, a dangerous spark of anger igniting in them. "I didn’t choose it," he hissed. "I embraced it. Because weakness is what binds people to one another. And I refused to be weak."

"Strength doesn’t mean shutting everyone out," she shot back. "It doesn’t mean destroying everything good in your life. You used to know that. At least I thought you did."

For a moment, she thought she saw something crack in his carefully composed mask. His voice lowered, almost a whisper and he chose to disregard her comment. "I told myself that you just needed time," he admitted. "But then I started hearing things. Rumors that you’d settled down, moved on. That you were happy." His gaze met hers, unflinching and intense. "Do you know what that did to me? The thought of someone else taking what I’d decided was mine? I was ready to kill, but then I found out the rumours were false."

She laughed, but it was hollow, her disbelief bleeding through. “Do you even hear yourself? That is not love."

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Call it what you want. It’s all I’ve ever had to offer.”

She shook her head. "But it's—"

“Me,” Tom interrupted. “It’s who I am. And you’ve always known that.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as she tried to find her footing amidst the storm of his words. He wasn’t just offering her a place beside him—he was offering her the only version of himself he knew how to be. And for a shameful moment, she wondered if that was enough.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said finally, her voice breaking under the weight of her own plea. “You could still—”

“Still what?” he asked, his voice colder now. “Change? Turn back? Forget everything I’ve fought for?” His tone softened then, laced with something dangerously close to vulnerability, though his expression remained steely. “No matter what you say, I won’t stop. I can’t. Don’t you see?” His jaw tightened as though the words were difficult to force out. “You’re the only person I’ve ever had even the faintest semblance of care for—of love for.”

The word hung in the air between them, so foreign coming from his lips that she almost didn’t believe he’d said it. Her throat tightened, her body frozen under his piercing gaze.

“And if anyone,” he continued, his voice darkening, “anyone so much as thinks of taking you from me, I’ll kill them. You know I will.”

A shiver ran down her spine at the conviction in his words, the raw ferocity in his voice. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “You don’t love me— you just want to keep me caged.”

His nostrils flared, his expression twisting in frustration. “Why don’t you understand?” His voice cracked, sharp and raw, and before she could react, his hands shot forward, grasping her face.

She gasped, the suddenness of the gesture sending her heart racing. His hands were cold against her skin, but his grip was firm, unyielding, as though he feared she might slip away. His dark eyes bore into hers, and for the first time, she saw something she couldn’t quite name in them—a mix of fury, desperation, and something heartbreakingly human.

“I would burn the whole world just to keep you warm,” he said, his voice a low growl that reverberated through her chest.

Her breath hitched, the words crashing into her like a tidal wave. She could no longer hold her tears, and was helpless as they trailed a wait trail down her cheeks.

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, trapped by the sheer force of his presence.

And then, with a gentleness that was almost cruel, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the tears streaking down her face. He wiped them away with his mouth, his touch at once tender and consuming, sending a shudder through her entire body.

“Tom…” she whispered, her voice breaking as his lips trailed down the curve of her cheek. She didn’t know if it was a plea or a warning, but the moment the word left her lips, he silenced her with his own.

The kiss wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, fervent, as though he were trying to etch himself into her soul, to claim her in a way that words never could. His fingers tightened slightly on her face, pulling her closer, his breath hot and unrelenting against her skin.

She tried to resist, her mind screaming at her to pull away, to end this before it consumed her entirely. But her body betrayed her, melting into his as though it had been waiting for this moment, despite everything. Despite the pain. Despite the danger.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. His hands didn’t leave her face, his thumbs brushing over her skin in a way that made her heart ache.

Her voice cracked as she spoke. “When you’re healed, I’ll tell you to go.”

His hands stiffened slightly, his grip faltering for a brief second before it steadied again. "And I will come back again. And again."

She ignored his words. “For now,” she continued, her voice breaking under the weight of the moment, “I’ll let myself have this.”

She leaned into him, closing her eyes against the storm raging both outside and within her. For now, she allowed herself to relish the fleeting comfort of his touch, even as she knew it was a mistake. Because when the storm passed, when he was gone, she’d be left with nothing but the ashes of what once was—until he would come back to reignite it until she gives in.

༻♛༺

[riddlesgrl]

𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 ୨୧ m.riddle

masterlist. ♡ oneshot.

content warning 18+ mdni, smut, going back to your ex, black fem!reader, explicit language, & toxic mattheo riddle.

summary your toxic ex, mattheo doesn’t like that he saw you flirting with Harry.

The desk scraping against the hard floor was the only thing that could be heard in the secluded classroom. As you were bent over the desk, Mattheo gripped your braids as he thrusted deep inside of you. “He can’t fuck you how I do,” Mattheo said. Those words made you moan as he proceeded to thrust deeper and harder into you.

Earlier, he saw you and Harry flirting with each other. You and Mattheo broke up a month ago, but regardless of that, he didn’t care. You were his. And this had him fuming. He already didn’t like Harry, and seeing you with him pissed him off.

Every time you and Mattheo would come back to each other, he reminded you of that. And truly, no one could ever make you feel the way that he did. So, the next thing you knew, you were getting dragged by your arm into an abandoned classroom upstairs, and Mattheo was pounding into you.

“That’s it baby, I wanna hear you,” Mattheo said. He sped up his pace and his right hand’s grip on your hip got tighter. You winced in pain. You knew that you would be bruised later.

Mattheo loved the way he made you feel just as much as you made him feel. Deep down, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of you with someone else. He always got what he wanted, and you were what he wanted—what he needed. You were his drug and he needed to be intoxicated with you at all times.

“Why do you do this to me? You make me fucking crazy,” His grip on your hair got tighter, pulling your head back. You couldn’t speak, only pant. The roughness of it all only made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your moaning became louder as Mattheo’s pace quickened. You were close. “Teo,” you moaned.

“What? You about to cum, baby?” Mattheo asked in a teasing manner. This made him chuckle. He knew you were. This turned him on even more. If there was a way to get harder than he already was, he definitely would be. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he said as his grip got softer on your hip.

You began to feel the knot in your stomach tighten even more as he pounded deeply into you at an ungodly speed. You knew you would finish any minute now. You were panting and became a moaning mess.

You threw your ass back faster as he thrusted into you. He was already going pretty hard and this only made it feel harder. His tip began to kiss your cervix and this felt so painfully good to you. But you knew this would be dangerous for the both of you.

You felt your legs shake as you came all over his hard cock. “That’s it babygirl, cum for me,” Mattheo said as he kept thrusting into you. He didn’t stop either.

He let go of the grip he had on your hair. You lowered your body so you would now be laying on the desk. You were so senseless that you could barely process anything. All you could feel was Mattheo’s hands on your hips and him pounding into you.

You missed this feeling. You missed how he made you feel. It made you want him back, but you knew the issues that it would come with. You just couldn’t stand being without him. The slightest touch from him would drive you crazy. You wanted to always be his and only his—forever.

After a while, His cock twitched inside of you and you both knew what that meant. His pace sped up and his grip on your hips became tighter.

After a few more minutes, his pace grew slower and his grip got softer again. He let out a moan in your ear and you felt his warm liquid fill you up.

“I swear I will hex him if he looks at you again,” He said in a low tone in your ear. You knew he meant what he said too. He was a man of his word after all.

[nottswitch]

— 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥.

summary: you had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section. however, the outcome might not be something you had originally planned.

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

cw: 18+ smut, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), throatfucking, gagging, mentions of nausea (no actual vomiting), slight choking, orgasm denial? ignoring?? I think that’s all, if I missed anything, let me know!

wc: 3.3k

a/n: listen. listen. this man has been in my head for the last month, and recently he decided to come into my dream? that’s just rude, so that’s what you get as revenge. this fic is also a result of my pent up frustration at life rn, so do with that what you will. also, this is my first time ever writing smut and writing for tom, so pls let me know if it’s any good and if I shall continue on the path. enjoy <3

» navigation ; masterlist ; tom m.list ; how to request

You had finally done it.

You had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section with him. After the whole month of begging almost every day, he agreed, albeit awfully begrudgingly, but you were on cloud nine nonetheless. He told you some stuff about his late-night visits to the library from time to time, but you were always burning for more information, considering your own striving for knowledge. He always said the same thing, that he appreciated your effort, but if you could stop trying to make him abuse his Prefect’s power and possibly lose himself the position, it would make both of your lives easier. But you persevered and were finally reaping the rewards, sitting next to him at the table, with a stack of ancient books in front of you, sometime far after midnight.

What you didn’t expect, though, was how absolutely fucking irresistible he would look merely existing. The books were taken out, the first one was flipped through and now they sat on the table, long forgotten, as you just stared at Tom, almost devouring him with your eyes. To be fair, the sight of him was truly divine – his face calm and concentrated, hovering over a particular book he had been studying for the last week, distracted simply to switch to his journal and take another note. His hands resting on the table, holding a quill, scribbling down lines with his exquisite handwriting… They were sinful, those hands. You had to get ahold of at least one. His left hand was in the process of mindlessly caressing the corner of the book with his middle finger when your hand slowly creeped towards it. You lightly brushed your fingertips along the outer part of his hand. No reaction. You started drawing circles along the whole area, skimming along his wrist and thumb. Nothing. You decided to go further and began intertwining your fingers together.

Finally. A sigh.

And he didn’t even look. His hand grabbed yours and put it away, back on the table. And nothing, absolutely nothing changed about the focused expression painted on his face. That was really annoying, but also… hot, in a way? Almost as if he was playing hard to get. You were already aroused just by looking at him, but his silent rejection made you nearly desperate. Your panties were pretty much soaked, and he, quite literally, barely lifted a finger.

Before you could gain control over your hand, it moved dangerously close to his thigh. You put your hand a little above his knee and gradually advanced higher and higher up his leg. Only when you were caressing his inner thigh did you hear another sigh. Tom raised an eyebrow and turned his head a couple centimeters in your direction, his eyes still on the book.

“What?” he asked, the tone of his voice only ever so slightly irritated. His composure remained intact. He wasn’t even fazed by the fact that you were so close to grabbing him through his pants.

“You look so handsome like that, you know?”

You made your best attempt to lace your voice with saccharine seduction. Your hand kept stroking his inner thigh, inching further and further up with each stroke. The only thing he did was thoughtlessly nod, as if he forgot about your existence immediately after asking the question.

You started getting frustrated and even more turned on. You moved your chair closer to his and began caressing his shoulder, brushing your fingers along his neck when they reached it. You slowly moved down to his back and arm, your nails applying some pressure on his body so that he could feel them scratching his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. It had always been one of the rare things to grab his attention, and it worked this time as well. He sighed, closed the book with his finger between the right pages and turned his head to you. His expression was that of mild annoyance, his eyebrow raised again.

“What exactly was the reason you’d been begging me to bring you here? Would you care to remind me?”

You lowered your gaze and your hand on his shoulder stopped, but just for a second. Then you continued, thinking that there was no return at that point and at least you had a chance, now that his attention was on you.

“Knowledge,” you admitted.

“And what kind of knowledge are you trying to soak up right now?”

His eyes flicked towards your hand still massaging his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and shifted in your chair at the mention of the word “soak”. But it was time for drastic measures. You stood up to crouch next to him, so that your mouth was right at the same level as his ear. Your hand moved to his inner thigh again, traveling up to his crotch and back. You felt him harden under your touch and the mere fact brought you immense amounts of satisfaction.

“Come on, Tom, love, we both know what I want right now,” you started whispering, your lips nearly touching his ear. “You. I want you. On the table, on the floor, against the wall, it literally doesn’t matter. If you don’t take me right here, right now, I will die.”

The look on his face didn’t change in the slightest when he grabbed your throat with his right hand and guided you from his left to his front, tightly squeezed between him and the desk. You stayed in your half-crouched position, trying your hardest not to tremble in the knees. The corner of Tom’s mouth lifted ever so slightly while he silently studied your face and body. His grip on your throat tightened when he lifted up his hand, causing you to straighten your half-bent legs. He shot a commanding look at his lap and, guided by his hand, you climbed there, sitting down and sighing as you could finally relax your already aching knees. But your state of relaxation didn’t last, as he abruptly spread his legs, causing yours to shoot open as well and your ass to be left hanging in the air. In order not to fall to the ground, you had to lean back on the desk, propping your front upwards, towards him.

His hand moved from your throat to the hem of your skirt. With quick and methodic movements Tom rolled it up, tucking it behind the top part of the skirt, and spread your thighs even further with a firm press of his thumbs. You felt a heatwave of embarrassment wash over you as he evaluated the state of your panties, an amused smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. A spot of wetness was wonderfully visible and on display. His eyebrow went up and down as he looked up at you, brushing his thumb in a feather-like touch along the still covered surface of your cunt. You threw your head back, partly because you didn’t want to meet his eyes, partly because your own eyes rolled to the point you couldn’t see in front of you and you could barely hold in a moan as myriads of goosebumps spread throughout your body just from this simple touch.

“Look at me.”

Tom clearly didn’t appreciate the lack of eye contact. You clenched your jaw and looked back, met by the sheer intensity of his stare. The stare that had all the power in the world to melt you into a puddle at any given moment. He brushed his other thumb over the same place again, watching your face carefully as you tried to keep your composure. Didn’t help. Your bit your bottom lip, but a sound escaped you nonetheless. Tom’s smirk widened.

“Let’s see,” he quietly muttered, pulling your panties to the side. Your cunt was already slicked and throbbing, which was even more embarrassing, because he looked like he was an inspector evaluating the goods. The smirk faded from his lips as his finger rubbed against your folds, barely spreading them apart and not reaching the clit to provide the much-needed sensation. You couldn’t help throwing your head back again, almost drawing blood from the pressure of your teeth against your bottom lip.

“I said. Look. At. Me.”

Tom uttered every word in a clear, emotionless voice, but it was the very thing that meant trouble. You looked back and the intensity of his stare only grew exponentially. He reached your face with his hand and grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, squeezing them, so that your lips formed into some sort of a pout.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Keep looking until I say you can stop.”

You quickly nodded, intimidated by his frigid dominance. His hand went back to your cunt. He slid his fingers deeper between the folds, lightly brushing against the clit. Your hips jerked up as they tried to follow the path of his fingers, but his other hand held you firmly in place, not allowing a single extra bit of pleasure. He slid them back once more and then the middle one slipped inside you, up to the very base. A jolt of pleasure shook your body, as strong as the feeling of disappointment when he quickly removed the digit. You tried to whine but another look from him quickly shut you up. Tom raised his hand, rubbed his index, middle finger and thumb together and then separated; a sticky string of your wetness was a connection between them and a blatant manifestation of your arousal.

“Soaked. Just like I thought.”

The slightest hint of a smirk returned to his lips as his fingers reached your mouth.

“Open.”

Each of his words was stern, not leaving room for any disobedience. You opened your mouth and Tom pushed two fingers inside, pressing at the entrance of your throat and instantly making you gag. He kept his fingers there for a moment while you clutched the desk behind you to stop your body from shaking as you kept gagging, but not daring to push his hand away. A couple seconds later, when he saw you were on the verge of giving up, his fingers slowly traveled back out of your mouth. You tightly wrapped your lips around them and sucked your slick off, knowing that it was exactly what he wanted you to do. After leaving your mouth his fingers cupped your chin, as his thumb glided over your lips, covering them with the rest of your wetness.

“Now,” Tom leaned back on the chair, looking you up and down, his voice suddenly smooth and enticing, but his gaze still intense, “I see you are rather bored here with me, doll.”

When he said the word, you knew that the next part wouldn’t be so much for your pleasure as it would be completely for his. It wasn’t a meaningless pet-name for him, no, it held value. It meant that you would be treated exactly like a doll: mindless and limp. He saw your eyes widen at “doll” and a faint smirk was on his lips again: he was aware of the connotation and so were you.

“And to save you the trouble of a wandering mind, I am pleased to announce that I have a much better use for a doll like you.”

He waited to continue for a minute, letting you absorb the information and your thoughts fill with speculations. His hand brushed a stray hair from your forehead, him seeming just like a caring boyfriend for a moment.

“Kneel.”

You slowly stood up from his lap, feeling your stretched out limbs relax and almost fail to hold you up, and lowered down to your knees in front of him. From this point of view, he was even more attractive, compellingly so; it was worth it standing on your knees on the cold stone floor of the Restricted Section just for this sight alone. He slowly started unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, almost as if he wanted you to enjoy the show. You drank up every single movement of his slender fingers as he pulled down his pants and underwear just enough for his cock to bounce right out, against his lower abdomen.

“You like what you see, doll?”

You fervently nodded, your mouth salivating just at the thought of being able to suck him off right then. He saw the fire in your eyes and scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is no ordinary pleasure that I want from you now, doll.”

He beckoned you to move closer and you eagerly did, your face just mere centimeters away from his length. Your breath quickened as you thought about the implication of “no ordinary pleasure”.

“Now, give me your hands, doll.”

You lifted your hands and he wrapped his belt around them, tightening it to the point when it started to hurt and you knew it would leave deep marks on your wrists. Then, you tried to position yourself in a way that would allow your hands to support you, but you could only reach the floor with your fingertips.

Tom ran his fingers through your hair, in a touch almost gentle and soothing, and then suddenly yanked you up and forward, straight onto his cock, thrusting his whole length into your mouth, the tip reaching the very back of your throat. You lifted on your knees and violently gagged at the feeling, your hands inadvertently flying up, trying to push back, but the belt didn’t let you make any substantial impact. He held you firmly in place while you kept quivering and making gagging sounds, him clearly enjoying seeing you in this state. Slowly, you adjusted to his cock filling your whole mouth and your body went weak as you lowered back down, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You tried to look up with just your eyes, not being able to move your head; it hurt too much, so you lowered your gaze, the only thing in front of you being his lower abdomen. As you tried to shift in your place, you felt a whiff of the chilly library air against your soaked panties and the sensation drove you nearly through the roof.

“Now, doll, you have to stay like that while I keep going with my work. A fair warning out of the goodness of my heart: it might take a while.”

You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this could continue for another hour or two. Your head was held back by the edge of the desk cutting into your nape, so you weren’t able to move at all. You were completely at his mercy, he could do literally whatever he wanted, but he chose not to do anything. As soon as he let go of your hair, he went straight back to his book, taking notes as if nothing had happened.

Time went by painfully slowly. The constant feeling of him in your mouth and throat overwhelmed you to the point when you started to twitch at times, shifting your weight to get any semblance of friction against your aching core. The position you were in didn’t allow that at all, your head being stuck firmly between the desk and his body. The most irritating thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that Tom ignored you completely, fully absorbed in whatever kind of studying he was doing. You tried to get his attention a couple of times by producing incoherent sounds and trying to tighten your lips around him, but you quickly understood that there was no use. You tried counting seconds and minutes, but your mind gave up when you reached fifteen. The only things you could think about were his cock and getting something, any type of pressure on your clit. Your wetness soaked through your panties and, you were pretty sure, was dripping down your thighs, creating a small puddle on the floor underneath you.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you finally heard the book shut. You almost shuddered at the sound, your pupils dilating and your breath accelerating, probably close to the speed of light. Tom leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at you with one of his smirks of the devil himself. His hand ruffled your hair, pulling at it to slightly lift your head up and shove it back down, as if he was trying to gauge if you were still alive. At the sound of your muffled groan he raised his eyebrows, amused.

“The doll has some life left in her. What a pleasant surprise. You look perfectly splendid like that.”

You groaned again, the sound coming from somewhere inside your chest. You desperately wanted to look up, but your head was still pressed in its place. Tom scoffed, messing with your hair once again.

“The time has come for some more… customary activities of ours, don’t you think?”

As if you could answer. You tried to nod, but the edge of the desk only further cut into your nape, making you wince in pain.

“The doll seems to agree. Pleasure.”

He moved the chair a bit further from the desk. With more space you could finally properly breath, so you shifted in your place, your stiff legs aching as you had to follow the movement of the chair. Tom’s hand gripped your hair and pulled you upwards, releasing almost the entirety of his length from your mouth apart from the tip. The sudden emptiness made your throat clench and you felt nausea building up rapidly, although the feeling had no time to develop as you were quickly shoved down again, your nose nearly crashing against his body. Tears gathered in your eyes sprayed all over, your lips stretched even more than they already were and you prayed the corners of your mouth wouldn’t crack. The tension building up in your core was begging to be released as you were being thrusted up and down again and again, the tip of his cock stroking the back of your throat again and again, causing you to produce the most sinful gagging sounds known to man. You tried to balance on your tied up hands, but your fingertips just barely brushed against the floor as your whole body moved in unison with your head. Tom barely made any sound, a heavy breath occasionally escaping his lips. He threw his head back, his eyes closed, while you took him whole at the mercy of his hand.

At last, you felt his thrusts speeding up, sensing his release. After a couple of especially violent ones he let out a quiet groan, and you felt his hot semen filling you up and spilling down your throat as he pressed you all the way down. Your breaths were heavy but barely audible, his cock still stuffing your mouth to the brim. Tom heaved a deep sigh as you felt his grip on your hair loosening. You didn’t dare to move until he pulled you up, lifting your head with his finger on your chin, looking straight into your eyes. Your vision was blurry from tears, more of them running down your face and dripping down to the floor as they slid off your jawline. Your lips were swollen and you couldn’t properly close your mouth yet, panting in quick and dry breaths. Tom smirked, taking in the sight of your utter destruction.

“A broken doll. Truly a sight to behold.”

He leaned back on the chair again, pulling up his underwear and zipping the pants. Then, he bent down, taking your hands gently in his and undoing the belt. His fingers made their way across the deep red marks on your wrists, caressing them with utmost attention.

“You have been a very good doll for me tonight. Now, what do you say to spending the night in my dorm? The doll has to receive her rightful reward.”

[darkmarkmarauder]

Detention, Again? - T.M.R.

!warning! dom!Tom/sub!reader

Summary: You thought detention would be like any other—until Tom Riddle made it clear that this was no ordinary punishment. Alone in the dimly lit classroom, you stand before him, every inch of his presence exuding dominance. Tom’s presence is commanding, his gaze unsettling, and your every move is under his scrutiny. As the tension between you grows, you quickly realize that this is more than just a lesson in obedience; it's a lesson in submission.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒃𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲—𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤, 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝒔𝒐 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐄𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

“𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐘/𝐍?” 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝒖𝒏𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒕 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧. “𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟? 𝐎𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧?”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞. 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥.”

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝. “𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞.” 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐮𝐩 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. “𝐎𝐡? 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐓𝐨𝐦?”

𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐰—𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥.

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧,” 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐰. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. “𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭?”

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝. “𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝—𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫—𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞.

𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥. “𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞.”

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. “𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐮𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠.

“𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐞?” 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝—𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐘/𝐍 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭? 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭.

“𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞,” 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫, “𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐲 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲?”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞, 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐀 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬.

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐝.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤.

“𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞,” 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 ����𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐭, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧. “𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞.”

“𝐎𝐧𝐞?” 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬.

𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐲, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫.

“𝐎𝐡, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. “𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕?”

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬—𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒌.

𝐘/𝐍 𝒚𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒆𝒅, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐩 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫.

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐨,” 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. “𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞… 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞?”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩, 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲.

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. “𝐎𝐡? 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐰?” 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. “𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭.”

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒌—𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧.

𝐘/𝐍 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅, 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐀𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐮𝐩, 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲-𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

“𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞,” 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦. “𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐈?”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞. “𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞.”

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝒕𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧—𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐤.

“𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫.”

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

“𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞.”

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

“𝐒𝐢𝐱.”

𝐁𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐘/𝐍 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐢𝐭.

𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫.

“𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡. “𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤.

“𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞.”

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.

“𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞, “𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: sigh. i cant. like. someone plz kill me and reincarnate me during riddles era at Hogwarts. plz.

I am ignoring homework becauseeeeee writing this is more fun, I think I want to make a part 2 smut to this

ily friends happy reading ;)

MASTERLIST

[nottsangel]

Yk what I feel like everyone says Tom Riddle wouldn’t eat u out. I am the only one that thinks that he loves it. He’s a whole MUNCH

and the reason he loves it is because it’s all about power to him. he’ll hold you down, strong hands firmly gripping your trembling hips as he fucks you with his tongue until you’re screaming and coming all over his face. he’ll probably have you tied to the bed as well, ensuring there’s no way for you to move or push him away as he takes his time with you for hours. and obviously after you reach your orgasm, still shaking from the intense release, he won’t stop— he’ll overstimulate you until tears stream down your face and you feel another orgasm nearing already.

“you’re only making this harder for yourself so stay still. i’m not done yet.”

“tom, i can’t—“

“you can. and you will.”

he sucks so harshly on your sensitive, swollen clit— it got you whimpering and whining, desperately wanting to push him away out of instinct yet also wiggling your hips in a way that gets you closer to your orgasm before you cum all over his face once again— but certainly not the last time that night.

ੈ♡˳

[megwritesriddles]

In the Middle of the Night (In My Dreams!) ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 21 - Somnophilia. Riddle has to figure out a way to keep Reader happy and covering for his ever increasing duties outside of the castle. What initially starts as a transaction escalates when they're both more willing than he expected, leading them to explore the slightly more forbidden together.

Tags: Somnophilia (consensual), Mildly dubious consent, Fingering, Hand jobs, Oral sex (f and m receiving), Friends with benefits, Denial of feelings, SoftDom!Riddle, HeadGirl!Reader, Manipulation, Faking an illness (chronic fatigue is very real, he's just a lying POS, only briefly mentioned).

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!!

Word count: 5.1k

all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: Okay so despite this poll (sorry), I edited this into a less dark kinktober fic and will then release a much darker (non-con elements) part two after I finally finish kinktober!! This works as a stand alone if you're not into reading that kinda stuff (which I totally understand, ily dw)!! It just felt too dark for kinktober... even tho I literally have non-con as the prompt for day 25.... idk okay!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

PART 2 COMING SOON !! (but works as stand alone)

���⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The moment the two of you had been announced as Head Boy and Girl at the start of the year, Riddle knew he had to get on your good side. Not only for the purposes of professional engagements and living in the same quarters but also because there would be a lot he’d need from you. Last year, he had found a flaw in the enchantments around the castle, discovering that apparition in and out of the castle was in fact possible, so long as you did so from the room of requirements. He has started attending to business outside of the castle regularly, rallying supporters in closed-off magical communities, among trolls and elves. He also searches for artefacts and researches dark magic when he finds the time, visiting isolated collections owned by old eccentrics who he is able to charm easily. He’s made himself a busy life outside of Hogwarts which he’s determined to keep up in order for his plans post-graduation to go as smoothly as possible. Which is where you come in. 

He leaves for these expeditions every weekend, but obviously, he’s not actually allowed to leave the castle. He has to ask you to cover for him if anyone asks where he’s gone. He concocts a rubbish story about having chronic fatigue and having to rest all the time he can, and that he can’t possibly be disturbed while he’s resting as he’s taking special potions for sleep. It’s all a lie, playing on your empathy, which he knows you have droves of, something you are widely admired for. He tells you that he’s horribly embarrassed about it and doesn’t want anyone to think he’s incapable of being Head Boy because of it, so asks you to cover for him if anyone asks about him. You give him those big sympathetic eyes and agree, workshopping a litany of excuses with him. He almost feels bad with how seriously you’re taking this, how much you want him to feel okay, even though you’ve never liked him much before. Almost. It won’t happen a lot either way, he’s told his ‘friends’ that he will be out of reach and very sternly told them not to question, so they won’t poke around, and anyone else who needs him won’t need him often. He makes a show of being very tired in the evenings in the common room the first few weeks you live together. Soon after, he drops the charade and you don’t seem to notice the falsification happening right in front of you, continuing to cover for him every now and then when it comes up. You even comment optimistically that he seems more energetic lately, to which he smiles.

“I suppose so, yes, it must be that I can finally get the rest I need, thanks to you,” he says smoothly, proud of himself for taking this as another opportunity to keep you pliable. You seem overjoyed to be helping.

In return, he keeps you sweet. At first, he merely observes you to get an idea of what might keep him on your good side. Then, he starts showing up for you. He brings your favourite pastries from breakfast (you have a bad habit of sleeping in, which sometimes makes him wonder how you got this job, but alas), accompanied by a coffee just how you like it. Complimenting you whenever you try a new hairstyle or dress up nicely on weekends. The first time he’d done it, he’d commented on a trim you’d gotten to your hair over the weekend in Hogsmeade. You were baffled, saying no one had noticed a thing all day. He sensed that you found the fact that he was the only one to notice odd, but he couldn’t help being observant. He told you as much, and you just smiled. He makes sure to do any favours you ask of him, so you can’t throw his refusal back in his face in case you want to stop helping him, he needs something to hold over your head. It’s never much, perhaps helping you with a bit of schoolwork, listening to a speech you’ve prepared for Head duties or just jostling the logs in the fireplace of the common room when the flames die down. He’s surprised you don’t ask for more, considering that he starts asking for a lot from you. 

His schedule outside of Hogwarts gets complicated, requiring him to head out occasionally in the middle of the week. You always cover for him, insisting to professors that he’s ill in bed, even though it’s clear by now that you’ve realised he’s actually missing during these periods. Your enthusiasm over helping him out has dwindled as you get the sense you’re being played, but he treats you well enough that you seem to assume the best intentions. How naive. Having someone so respected by the professors, the head girl herself, lying for him, he knows, is the only reason he’s been getting away with it for this long. He’s ‘sick’ far too often and never seen at the hospital wing, never requesting any medicine or showing any symptoms. He wonders what you think he’s doing when he’s away, doubting you could guess the truth, but you never ask despite your increasingly suspicious looks, which he appreciates. He likes you, you’re discreet, a surprising trait for such a goody-two-shoes as you are. He spends more and more time with you in the common room in his free time, charming you and winning you over, making sure he’s there if you need a favour or a ‘friend’ to talk to. He finds you to be intelligent and likeable, you’re funny, even if he prefers a bit of a darker humour than you have. There are silences as you sit together where you stare at him while he works on whatever schoolwork he deems most important that day, he knows you’re formulating all sorts of theories, your brain turning as you try to make a guess.

“I appreciate you being discreet,” he says simply one night as you sit together, working separately on assignments. The statement is followed by a silence in which he is tempted to look over at you to see your reaction but resists the urge.

“I don’t suppose you’ll ever tell me what you’re up to?” It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out as a statement. You already know he won’t, and he knows it too. No matter how good you’ve proved to be about covering for him, if you knew the true nature of what he was up to, you’d run. Tattle before even letting him explain, which really wouldn’t help either way. He turns to you, extending an arm. 

“Come here,” he nods his head in his direction. You look confused, and he doesn’t blame you for feeling that way, he isn’t affectionate with anyone. He makes a point of never being seen as being soft, which is easy given he isn’t soft for anyone. But he knows the type you are, so sweet and kind, the type that you can be won over with a little affection. There’s no one here to see either of you anyway, he can risk it this once. You slowly scoot into his side and he wraps an arm around your shoulders. He brushes an errant strand of hair from your face and holds you to his side. “I really do appreciate it, I’m always here if you need anything from me,” he whispers. You look up at him and nod. “Good,” he hums. You spend the rest of the night pressed into his side as you do your homework, it’s odd, but he’s warm and solid, and most girls at Hogwarts would kill to be in your position, so you let it be. It becomes a fairly frequent scene, the two of you snuggled up by the fire, especially as the days grow colder and colder. His hands like to wander, brushing places they probably shouldn’t, but you never stop him or say a word, letting your own hands wander a little too. You don’t talk about it, not with him or with anyone else. You know without words that he doesn’t want it to leave the room. It’s just another secret you have to keep for him. 

He starts having the need for more frequent meetings with his little group of in-school followers, the Knights of Walpurgis, as his plans get closer and closer to their time of fruition. The Head Common Room is the perfect place to host, spacious and completely secret, except for from you. He knows he has to sweeten the deal once more to have you leave the common room for long periods in the evening. So one night, while the two of you study together snuggled up, he kisses you. You’re alarmed but immediately kiss back. He knew you would, every girl in the damn school would, but it still feels like an unexpectedly simple triumph. His hand grips your jaw, not allowing you to move away, not that you’re trying to. Your hand gently cups the side of his neck, keeping him close as his tongue carefully breaches your lips, slightly surprised by how willing you are for him. He has a multitude of things he’s considered doing to you, but for tonight, he has to stick with something focused on your pleasure. He doesn’t mind, pleasuring you is an act of domination in its own right. By the end of the night, he has you sat between his legs, your back to his chest as his fingers thrust in and out of you. You squirm and mewl in his ear, your head thrown back on his shoulder, as he holds you securely with an arm around your middle, fucking you on his fingers. He’s high off of the fact he has you completely nude apart from your socks before him, while he’s still fully dressed.

“There we go, darling,” he purrs in your ear, gently pressing his lips to your jaw. “I bet you’ve wanted this for quite a while, haven’t you?” he teases, grinding the heel of his palm against you as his fingers press in and out. You must have, given how quickly you’d let him strip you down, manoeuvre you into the position he wanted, just how soaking wet you’d been from a couple of strategic words of praise. He’d wrongly assumed you’d be a little more prudish, but he was pleasantly surprised otherwise. “I want you to do something for me,” he whispers, slowing his movements a little so you can focus on his words. You whine softly in protest and he smirks. “Tomorrow evening, could you make yourself scarce for… let’s say three hours? Starting from… six thirty?” his fingers caress your inner walls torturously lightly, almost tickling, making you squirm unhappily.

“Where would I go?” you exhale.

“Library? Walk the grounds? Astronomy tower? I don’t mind, darling, as long as you’re not here,” he kisses behind your ear softly. He expects some questions or protests, but none come, only a simple nod. He’s a little surprised how easy things are with you, although it may have a lot to do with how his fingers are currently buried deep in your cunt at present, he concedes to himself. But you’re always easy, always helpful, so willing to give him the benefit of the doubt even though you were more than smart enough to know better. “That’s a lovely girl,” he smiles against your skin. He hesitates, unsure whether to reveal the transactional nature of his kindness toward you, but he feels he must assure you somehow that it will be worthwhile. “I’ll reward you accordingly, I promise. You’ll hurry back to me at nine-thirty, won’t you? I’ll be missing you by then,” he purrs, trying to further pull the wool over your eyes with some flattery. He straightens up to look down at you, your head still resting back on his shoulder. “Won’t you?” he prompts again, kissing your forehead. You nod, giving him a pleading look and bucking your hips helplessly. You want him to keep going, feeling half-insane from his unmoving fingers filling you up.

And that he does, finger-fucking you through two mind-blowing orgasms that night, showering you with ever more ridiculous praises as the night goes on. It’s unclear whether you’re losing your mind to the pleasure and not understanding him, or if he’s just spewing every compliment he can possibly think of. Once you’re thoroughly debauched, he helps you into your bed as your legs are too shaky on their own, laying you down and kissing you goodnight with a slightly stilted tenderness. You watch him in quiet confusion as he retreats from your room, feeling satisfied and yet completely confused. 

It becomes a bit of a routine, whenever he needs you to stay away from the common room, or otherwise go out of your way for him, he pulls you into his lap in the evening and tugs down your underwear, pleasuring you expertly. Soon, it becomes harder to tell, as he begins to get you off every night, whether he’s after something or not. You don’t know if it’s just his efforts to make sure you don’t forget to think of him positively, you’re far from oblivious to the fact you’re being bribed, or if he’s just enjoying it at this point. He stretches out your encounters more and more, especially when you start returning the favour, using your hand on him while he does the same to you. You’re pleasantly surprised how aroused he gets just from fucking you on his fingers, always at least half-hard by the time you can get your hands on him. When he introduces his mouth into the equation, you’re sure he’ll be asking something big of you soon. But he doesn’t, nothing new comes up, other than you also beginning to use your mouth on him. He seems to love it, so you suppose it must have been motivation enough. He likes to take his time, to make you feel helpless and desperate, not seeming to care if it leads him to spend long periods of time kneeling before you, which was something you were certain he would have never been caught doing for anyone.

It’s a nice relationship in Riddle's opinion, he gets off and he gets what he wants from you. You make yourself scarce and Riddle is able to conduct his meetings in peace in a perfect setting. Whether you’re using mouths or hands, it’s always intensely pleasurable. He grows attached to the sight of you on your knees before him, his cock deep in your mouth as you look up at him with those wide innocent eyes. You’re amazing with your mouth, and usually willing to get on your knees whenever he’d like you to. It’s a perfect arrangement in this way. He loves to hold you down and make you scream using nothing but his tongue. Some of his friends say that eating out a woman is demeaning, but he never feels more powerful than when he has you crying and begging. He loves to make you beg, long-forgotten is the fact he’s meant to be doing this just to keep you sweet, just to manipulate you into helping him. He’s lost in it now, and no matter how selfish he gets in bed, you keep covering for him, seeming to misinterpret him as generous rather than intensely power-hungry. It works well for his purposes, so he lets you think of him as a giving lover.

He’s a little surprised that you haven’t asked for any exclusivity or any indication of whether he’s bringing in other girls at the times he asks you to keep away. He’s not, of course, but he doesn’t understand why you don’t care to ask. He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, but deep down it does bother him, every other girl he’d ever been involved with, even briefly, had asked to be his one and only. You’re a sweet girl, the type he assumed would fall in love with him the moment he first got his hands on (and in) you, but you haven’t indicated this in any way. He knows you’re not seeing any other men because he keeps an eye on you whenever he can. Even having gone so far as to cancel a meeting with a tradesman in Diagon Alley to stay back and watch you while you think he’s away. Nothing. You go about your day as normal, come back to the common room and curl up to read your book. Just before bed, you attempt to get yourself off and fail, pouting through your night routine. You can’t do it without him, he notes smugly. He wishes he could come help, but he can’t without revealing his spying. By the time he gets back legitimately, you’re fast asleep. Given all of this, he still doesn’t understand why you’re not asking him for a commitment. It’s not that he wants to commit to you, he doesn’t like the idea of being tied down, even if he currently has no interest or energy to pursue anyone but you, but the fact you haven’t asked drives him nuts. You seem happy to get off with him and go to sleep without asking a single question. He lingers in your doorway, watching your frame rise and fall under your blanket with slow breaths, wondering about you.

He’s surprised when you bring it up. How you’d felt his presence in your doorway while you’d been asleep, despite not being fully awake. He explained that he’d been wanting to help you out (his own evasive phrasing) but that you’d been visibly asleep so he’d left instead. At your expression, he asks you teasingly if you’d have liked him to do it anyway, his teasing smirk only growing when you blush and nod. And so a system was set, he tells you to sleep on the sofa in the common room if you’d like his attention during the night, as he has a habit of waking up in the middle of the night to fetch water. You agree and you proceed together like normal for the next few days, pleasuring each other in the evenings when he isn’t busy. Every night, even on nights he wasn’t actually waking up naturally, he would come into the common room to check for you. For a long time, you’re not there, and he’s a little frustrated with you. Why dangle such a tantalising idea in front of him if you never meant to go through with it? He’d been a perfect gentleman, telling you that you could say no if the idea made you uncomfortable, but at the time, you’d seemed apprehensively excited about it, yet now, nothing. His eyes stay glued on your door as he goes about getting his water each night, wishing he could go in there. He tries his best not to show his disappointment when he spends time with you in the daytime, not wanting to come off as pushy and drive you away. He needed you to like him, staying on your good side was non-negotiable and pushing you on a matter like this was generally frowned upon. About a week and a half later, he trudges from his room to top up his glass and sees a lump under a blanket on the sofa. It’s you.

He immediately slows and lightens his footsteps, not wanting to wake you as it would ruin the fun. He hadn’t had time for you the last four days, between increasing stakes when it came to schoolwork and closing in on a magical artefact outside of it, he’d been gone for everything but class and sleep. He creeps over to you, seeing your peaceful face squished against the velvet throw pillow. You must have missed him, he thinks, since you started your little mutual arrangement you’ve never gone more than two days without each other before, mostly because Riddle found himself quite insatiable. He’d always told himself he was uninterested in matters of the flesh, that he enjoyed indulging but could easily control himself, and that he was only doing what he was with you to manufacture a sense of closeness and keep you in the palm of his hand. Yet, he had to admit that he doesn’t usually go so far for the purposes of manipulation and that he never would have done this in the first place if he hadn’t found you attractive. He was unwilling to sacrifice his own happiness for his manipulation, beyond a bit of necessary flattering drivel. So when he’d allowed himself into this arrangement, even simply under a pretence, he had quickly lost control of it and become ravenous for the sensations you could offer. He watches your parted lips as you breathe softly. Gently, he rolls you onto your back, waiting to see if you wake. You don’t. He slips the plush blanket down your body and exposes you to his eyes. You’re dressed in a sweet feminine nightgown and he finds the look to be sweet on you, fitting. You were a perfect thing to corrupt. Yet, he smirks to himself, you had agreed to this, you were already corrupted, so desperate for him that you wanted him even in your sleep. Surely you did want exclusivity from him, you were just trying to appear laid back to not scare him off. You could be endearingly shy like that at times. Yes, you agreeing to this was surely evidence that you wanted more from him than you had. That you needed him.

He slowly and cautiously shifts you around until he can settle comfortably between your legs. His hands run up and down the soft skin of your thighs, keeping a close eye to see if you stir. He wonders if you’re really such a heavy sleeper, or if you’re merely pretending not to have woken for his benefit. At the moment it doesn’t matter to him, you seem asleep enough, and if you are conscious, you’re hardly objecting. He pushes up the hem of your nightdress and grins at the sight of you already bare for him, with no underwear in sight. Naughty girl, he thinks to himself as his hands skim up and down your inner thighs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss just above the little patch of hair shielding the part of you he wants most. He would love to tease you and draw it out more, but he doesn’t want you to wake before he can explore the more intimate aspects. He carefully lies down, guiding one of your supple thighs over his shoulder, spreading you open for his eager eyes. You’re already a little wet, he wonders if it’s from his teasing now, or perhaps your dreamy anticipation. He knows he can get you wetter easily. He uses two fingers to gently spread you open even more, revealing the sensitive pearl nestled within your folds. He blows lightly on it, making you twitch a little. He grins.

Still trying to let you stay asleep for now, he leans in and very gently touches his tongue to your bundle of nerves. You sigh softly in your sleep but don’t seem to wake. Your dreams are turning sticky-sweet, you begin to feel warm and floaty, but you’re not conscious enough to register this change properly. You squirm slightly and moan as his tongue gently swirls around your clit, not touching to keep you just bubbling below waking. Your breath is hitching softly, and little noises are leaving your throat. He can tell you’ll wake soon unless he stops, but he figures he doesn’t mind. He wants to see your face when you wake up to his head between your legs. Will you be shocked to start with? Or immediately eager and accepting? He was oddly thrilled to discover this. Your hands slide away from where they rested on your stomach, trying to grab something as he starts to lap at you just a little faster, your breath hitching a little more, exhaling shakily. He’s surprised you’re still asleep, he’s tempted to use legilimency on you to discover what you’re dreaming of. Your face is flushed and your lips parted blissfully, so he figures it’s something nice. His tongue slides up and down between your slick folds, the familiar taste of you spreading across his tongue as you become more and more aroused. He gently kneads the skin of your hip, pulling you a little closer to his mouth, trying to coax you awake without startling you too much. Your eyelids flutter, but you remain asleep, whimpering quietly. He focuses the tip of his tongue on your clit, making the stimulation just a little more intense, watching for your reaction intently. Your fingers tangle into the crumpled blanket by your side, curling into the plush material, and he knows you're on the very verge of wakefulness. He smirks, gently suckling your clit into his mouth. 

This rips a loud moan from your chest, which in turn makes your eyes snap open. You try to sit up, blinking blearily, looking a little bewildered, trying to make out shapes in the dim moonlight, to understand why you feel lost in a haze of pleasure. Riddle's hand moves, splaying out on your stomach, pushing you back down and holding you there. Your eyes snap to him, he grins up at you from between your legs, looking unbelievably smug, his eyes glinting in the light of the moon. The sight of him between your legs, the knowledge of what he’d been doing while you’d been sleeping, coaxes another moan from your lips. He eases up a little now you’re awake, going back to gentle teasing licks against your bundle of nerves. Your heart pounds and you breathe rapidly, partially reeling from the sudden awakening, but mostly just feeling amazing. You lie back against the sofa, trying your best to get your bearings while he continues smothering you with unrelenting bliss. He pulls back for a moment, though he instantly replaces his mouth with his fingers, not giving you a moment to think. 

“Naughty girl, sleeping without underwear to give me access,” he purrs, his voice rumbling in a self-satisfied manner. You giggle sleepily. You had done that, hadn’t you? He smiles up at you. “Was it a nice awakening, my darling?” he murmurs smoothly, leaning back in to continue his dedicated licks. You whimper softly, your hips twitching before he holds you solidly in place, tutting against your sensitive skin.

“The best awakening, so unbelievably arousing,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, watching him work his magic between your legs. He hums against you. He knows this of course, this was quite possibly the wettest he’d ever had you, only increasing since you’d woken up and become conscious of what he was doing. Your hands slide into his short curls as he works, usually, he might complain about this, but you’re still a little sleepy, and he decides to let it go. You sigh pleasurably, your hooded eyes locked on him. His eyes look up to meet yours as he begins to suckle on your clit once more. Intense pleasure floods over you, your head lolling back, your hands tightening slightly in his hair. You let out a string of desperate moans, moans he’s become intimately familiar with over the past few weeks. You’re close and he intends to get you there, to show you how much you need him, to remind you that you can no longer achieve this alone, if you ever could. He doubles down on his actions, gripping your hip a little tighter to keep you firmly in place. “Oh… Tom!” you plead, trying to grind your centre up into his face. You could get so desperate sometimes, Riddle tuts to himself. “Please,” you beg, anticipating his desire to tease you and hoping to get ahead of it. You need this, badly, he hasn’t been around to help you for days, and the scenario was driving you mad with lust. He’s uncharacteristically gracious, not relenting, continuing to lavish you with exquisite sensation, building you up and up. You look down again, and as his eyes meet yours, the coil in your belly snaps. Your whole body tenses, your back arching off of the sofa, a guttural cry escaping you. He holds your hips in place, continuing his assault as you ride out the climax. Tears gather in your eyes and you feel a little humiliated by how intensely this is affecting you. 

After several desperate sobs, you finally collapse back, your hands slipping from his hair. You take several deep breaths as he withdraws from between your legs, sitting up to look down at you. He grabs a tissue from the coffee table, wiping his mouth and discarding it haphazardly. You smile tiredly, and you feel exhausted by your sudden wake-up, but completely heavenly at the same time. You stare at each other for a moment. It’s an oddly domestic moment. You’ve never seen him in his pyjamas before, a matching shirt and trousers, made of silk or some other such soft material, the type that’s popular with the rich Slytherin boys. His hair is a little curly naturally, this you did know from him getting back to the common room on rainy days, but is now slightly messed up from your hands in it. You cover yourself back up, tugging the hem of your nightdress back down as he watches. He looks almost sweet, he has been sweet to you, in his own way. He reaches over and touches your flushed cheek, rubbing it softly with his thumb, unsure whether he’s trying to prove his effect on you, or just wishing to touch you. 

“I’ll have to think of something to ask of you in exchange for doing that,” he jokes a little unnaturally. You laugh honestly. 

“You didn’t already have something?” you tease, moving to sit up. He smiles, enjoying the way you see through him, just enough to prove you’re not stupid, but not enough to compromise any plans. Perhaps that’s why you haven’t asked for exclusivity with him, you’re not stupid like the others, whether you want it or not being irrelevant to the facts. The facts that were feeling more like theories lately.

“No, believe it or not,” he chuckles, pushing your hair behind your shoulder. “But it’ll be easy enough to think of something,” he pulls you onto his lap and kisses you goodnight. “You always find a way of being useful,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

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[distantdarlings]

NO ONE LIKE YOU // t. riddle

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Tom Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* (Thank you to @orphicmortala for the request!) After having a very difficult meeting with his followers, Tom decides to take some frustrations out on you. He ends up getting a little too enthusiastic. (Smut, Angst)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (For the first part), piv - no protection, hair pulling, oral - m!receiving, mention of blood, Tom is kind of mean, rough sex, (very slight) pain play, dom!Tom, Reader eventually uses safe word, language, not fully proofread, fem reader (lmk if I missed anything)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Animal - Troye Sivan

- - -

The final light of day flashed through the Head Boy’s dorm room. It cast a honeyed glow around you for only a moment before pitching the whole world into blackness. When the sun disappeared behind the mountains along the edge of Hogwarts, it was always a very quick descent to dark. It wasn’t very gradient, just sudden.

Almost as soon as the light had dissipated, the door flew open, nearly hitting the stone wall behind it. You shot up from the bed you were lounging on. A chilled wind blew in from the hallway, sending wild flickers through the fire in the corner.

“Tom,” you breathed.

The man in question stood in the doorway, fuming silently. His jaw was clenched and ticking, his eyes dark and frenzied. You swallowed thickly at the animalistic energy pouring off of his body. What had happened?

He slammed the door shut behind him, a slight flinch shocking through your body at the loud sound. He stomped across the room, barely paying you any mind. He came to a stop in front of the blazing fireplace. His hands began roughly ripping some papers. You got to your feet.

“Tom?” you called gently, waltzing over to him. Your hands reached out to press a comforting touch to him when he turned abruptly.

“What?” he growled. You stepped back, dropping your hands immediately. He had never looked at you like this before. The fire in his eyes nearly reflected the blaze within the stone in front of you.

“I–I’m sorry, I was just…”

“Darling, I’m sorry,” he sighs, blowing air through his nose. “It’s been a rough day.”

“What happened?” you asked, stepping closer to him again. You wanted to comfort him. A small groan leaves him as he tosses the remains of the shredded papers into the flames. Your eyes flickered to the fiery confetti, wondering what it once had been.

“What was that?” you ask, finally coming to place your hands on his shoulders.

“Nothing, do not worry yourself with matters of the Knights,” he whispered.

“What can I do to help?” you ask, staring up at him with such quiet adoration. His eyes found yours, basking in the innocence pooled within them. He could hardly bear to see you so concerned with him, especially when his anger came from such a vile source. Those pathetic boys tried to impress him by insisting they’d found new information for him and presented it before the whole group. They’d laid out more information of his lowly bringing-up, discussing new details about his mother they may have found.

He’d slammed his fists on the table, demanding to know why they’d been looking into his family history. They had immediately snapped their jaws shut, unsure how to respond. Perhaps they’d thought he’d be happy with them for finding more information on his parents. He couldn’t care any less about his worthless parents. All he cared about was his plans. He thought that had been obvious, but apparently, these boys had thought otherwise. He was in a mind to completely expel them from the group and obliviate them.

“My love,” he whispered, placing a gentle but firm hand beneath her jaw. He’d never loved, and he never would. You knew this well and accepted it for what it was—you and Tom weren’t ‘dating,’ but he was yours, and you were his. It wasn’t necessarily love, but it was in your own way. You couldn’t really explain it, but you both felt it.

“I need you, darling,” he whispered against your ear, placing his lips to the skin there. You felt the electricity humming beneath his flesh. Your lips shuddered a bit in anticipation. You nodded, accepting him into you.

That was all he needed to roughly grab your face and press hot, fast kisses to you. He satiated his every need against your tongue, taking what he wanted. You sighed against his lips, feeling the way he shattered you and held you together.

He walked you back to his bed and let you fall down against it. He kept you pinned beneath his weight, his hands hungry and wanting. They gripped and spared you, leaving hard, peppered bruises in their wake. He was always rough with you, fucking and biting and choking. He didn’t make love, and you didn’t want him to. You’d come to him for the dark passion he exuded through his body. If you’d wanted something gentle, you’d have looked around Hufflepuff. That wasn’t an insult to your house, of course. You just knew exactly what you wanted.

His hands came up to rip the front of your shirt open, ignoring the way a button or two flung across the room. He’d get you a new shirt later. A low groan sounded in his throat as his fingers tightened around your breasts, kneading them with his long, deft fingers. He placed his face against your chest, inhaling deeply and pressing painful bruises on you. You whined at the feeling, beckoning him away from your pained skin.

“Shut up. I’ll do what I want,” he growled, continuing to mark you as painfully as before. His sharp teeth seared into your flesh, pulling blood to the surface and occasionally past it. When he finally pulled away, a small drop of bloodied saliva dripped from his lips as if in slow motion. You sighed at the visual, the heat beginning to pool rapidly between your legs.

He crawled up your body, quickly unbuckling and pushing his belt through the loops in his trousers. When it was free, he slid the button through its slit and shoved his pants down to his knees. He dropped his bottoms and released himself against his stomach. The hot skin was reddened and beating with his heart. You gasped at the sight, wanting to feel him within you so desperately.

“You know what to do,” he groaned. He curled fingers into your hair, roughly shoving your face toward him. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, watching as he panted in anticipation. His pupils were blown wide, and his lips were parted, a hint of your blood still tattooed over his perfectly white teeth. Fuck, he looked gorgeous.

As your tongue came forth to swipe over his length as slowly as he’d allow you to, you realized you wouldn’t be finishing with him anytime soon. He intended to go as far as you could and then some. The anger built up in his chest was enough for seven men, and he loved nothing more than taking it out on you.

“Ah, you perfect fucking girl,” he groaned as you took him completely into your mouth. Despite his size, you did your best to push him to the very back of your throat, allowing him to caress you in places you’d never been touched before. His hands were tight against your scalp, forcing you to stay completely still as he bucked his hips into you. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but the feeling of being able to please him had you staying planted in place.

“You always take me so well,” he sighed, head angled toward the ceiling. Your thighs pressed so tightly together you thought they might combust. He was so perfect. “No one like you, no one like you, no one like you…” He mumbled endlessly, pushing those words into your brain.

You wanted him so badly—all you could think about was him. All you could see, smell, hear, taste was him. He surrounded you, forcing you to take him in every way you could. Every sense was blinded by him. And that was just how he liked you—drowning in him.

He pulled you from him before he could finish. He wanted to finish within you, just as he always did. You knew him well enough to turn yourself around and ready yourself to accept him. He tended to follow a bit of a pattern when fucking you, one you’d started to catch on to. He never had to ask you for anything anymore; you just did it.

He flipped your skirt over your ass, revealing the lack of bottoms beneath. Another groan left his lips as he placed his fingers over you, working every part of you apart like clockwork. He moved you open, lathering you in your arousal, marking your insides with his claim.

When he removed his hand from you and placed both of them on your hips, you bit your arm, preparing for him to split you down the middle. No matter how often the two of you had sex, you seemed to never adjust to his size. He always had to move as slowly as he could to work you apart gently. Perhaps you were a bit more sensitive down there than others, but he was always patient. Except for today, it seemed.

With little more than a brief hesitation at the start, he slid himself into you all in one go. A strangled gasp left you at the feeling. He wasted no time beginning to pound himself into you. He cared nothing of the pathetic whines and screams coming from your lips. Your hands white-knuckled the sheets as you begged him to slow down, to be gentler, anything. He didn’t fucking care. He wrapped a hand into your hair, using it as a bit of leverage. He was going to take out every bit of pent-up frustration on this tight cunt.

“Fuck, Slytherin!” you shrieked, the tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. He stopped immediately, his hips halting inside you. As if he was in a daze, Tom blinked rapidly and shook his head a bit. It felt as though he had been under a spell, the way he had been fucking into you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He gently pulled himself out of you, a pitiful whine leaving your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Hearing him say those words alone was enough to convince him how serious the situation was. Tom didn’t say sorry unless it was to a professor or to generally get someone off of his back. Usually, it was fake. This time, it wasn’t, and it rushed out of his lips before he could stop it.

He gently wrapped himself around you, slowly turning you and laying you back against his pillows. He kicked his pants down the rest of his legs and slipped the both of you beneath his comforter.

The cool green satin pressed softly against your hot skin, softly soothing it. He laid himself down behind you, his soft breath barely tickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Hesitantly, his hand slid over your stomach. It seemed as though he wasn’t sure exactly how to comfort you, but was trying his best.

“Darling?” he whispered against your back.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he said. “I’m sorry that I…I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”

A soft sigh left you. You’d never had to use your safe word with Tom before—had never even wanted to. Every aspect of the way Tom fucked had always intrigued you. The ways he handled you as if you were nothing to him but an outlet for his pleasure, the way he insisted on doing everything, the way he was genuinely concerned about your pleasure, despite himself. It often left you breathless.

Tonight, however, had been different. You felt less than you usually did when beneath him. Usually it was a nice feeling; like you were smaller, something for him to take care of. But tonight you’d felt pure hatred coursing through his body. You were scared that it was directed toward you.

“It’s not that, Tom,” you sighed. “I was worried that you were angry with me.”

His hands gently wrapped around you and helped you to turn toward him. His eyes watched you sternly. He wanted to put any affection that had built up inside him completely into you.

“I have never been angry with you—I was angry with my worthless fucking followers, always insisting they ruin my life in the most embarrassing ways possible.”

“Why would they do that?” You gasped, shocked that they’d even think of doing such a thing.

“They think that they’re helping or something,” he scoffed, jaw clenching. You could feel the anger radiating off of him.

“I’m so sorry,” you sigh, slipping your eyes shut. “I hope I didn’t upset you further—it was just a bit too much, I suppose.”

He nods understandingly, saying nothing more. The quiet and safety you felt when with Tom had you falling into a particularly deep sleep. Though you tried to fight it off, you could feel Tom’s eyes on you, watching as you slowly drifted off.

The last thing you remembered before slipping fully into sleep was Tom’s hand gently against your cheek, his cold thumb caressing a hair away from your face.

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[leona-hawthorne]

۶ৎ riding boyfriend’s brother!mattheo in your room

boyfriend’s brother!mattheo x fem reader warnings ; 18+ mdni, unprotected p in v, face slapping, choking, dirty talk, finger sucking (?), cheating boyfriend's brother!mattheo moodboard

navigation. au collection. m.list. bfb!mattheo.

mattheo's fingers dig into your thighs, the heat of his palms branding your skin as you grind down on him, the weight of what you’re doing lost somewhere between the haze of arousal and the sharp edge of knowing you shouldn’t. knowing this is wrong. knowing you’re on top of your boyfriend’s brother, his hands gripping your ass like he owns it, his cock buried so fucking deep you can barely breathe.

"you should be fucking ashamed of yourself," he murmurs against your skin, voice dripping with mockery, his breath hot where it ghosts over your jaw. his fingers are bruising into your hips, keeping you where he wants you, dragging you down onto his cock at a pace that has your nails digging into his shoulders, useless in stopping him.  

"shut up," you hiss, even as your thighs shake from how deep he is, even as your body betrays you and clenches around him like it’s starved for it. mattheo chuckles, low and taunting. 

and then it happens. a sharp knock at the door.

“love?” tom’s voice is right there, on the other side of the wood. “why is the door locked?”

your heart slams into your ribs, your body going rigid as mattheo smirks up at you, completely unbothered. he’s still inside you, still hard, and now his hands are sliding up your waist, like he’s daring you to move, daring you to react.

tom knocks again. “are you in there?”

mattheo fucking smiles.  

you barely register your own voice when you respond, breathless and high-pitched. “y-yeah! just—just changing, tom, one second!”

mattheo’s amusement is damn near palpable. you can feel the low laugh rumbling in his chest, the way he’s seconds away from ruining you, from saying something that will have your entire life crumbling at your feet. without thinking, you slap a hand over his mouth, the other wrapping around his throat in a desperate attempt to shut him up.

“don’t,” you whisper with wide eyes, your voice just loud enough for him to hear, just soft enough that tom won’t.  

his lashes flutter. he fucking moans. it’s quiet, muffled against your palm, but you hear it. you feel the vibration of it against your skin, the way his adam’s apple bobs under your fingers as his smirk deepens, those dark eyes gleaming with something downright depraved.

and then his lips part, his tongue flicking out to drag wet heat against your palm.  

your stomach twists.  

"you don’t want him to hear, huh?" he mumbles when you pull your hand away, smug and cruel, eyes dark with something lethal.  

"obviously," you snap, but you already know you’ve fucked up, because mattheo's grin stretches wide like a predator who’s caught its prey, head tilting against the pillows as he watches you, eats up the way your chest rises and falls, the way you’re still fucking seated on his cock while your boyfriend stands just outside the door.  

"gag me then," he taunts, his voice nothing but pure sin. "if you’re so desperate to keep quiet."  

it’s the way he says it. so easy. so casual. like he isn’t already pushing every single fucking limit. like he isn’t already unraveling you piece by piece. you snap before you can think twice, shoving your fingers into his mouth, pressing down against his tongue in warning.

his reaction is immediate. his lips wrap around them, a hot, wet heat as his tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, teasing like he has all the fucking time in the world, making a show of it just to watch your face twist in something you refuse to name. your thighs involuntarily twitch where they’re straddling him.  

his lashes flutter, gaze hazy as he watches you, eyes so fucking smug it makes you want to slap him.

so you do.

your palm collides with his cheek, the sharp sound of it echoing through the room. mattheo groans, half-lidded eyes darkening as his hips jolt up into yours, dragging a choked noise from your throat. his hands tighten on your waist, his nails biting into your skin as his smirk deepens.

“oh, you little minx,” he murmurs around your fingers, voice rough, wrecked.

“you’re fucking sick,” you hiss, but your thighs are trembling and he fucking knows it.

“oh, i know.” his hands slide lower, squeezing your ass, dragging you forward until you can feel every inch of him pressing into you. his breath fans against your skin, words thick with satisfaction. your saliva covered fingers draw out of his mouth. “but i also know that you fucking love it.”

your breath stutters. your chest tightens. because he’s right. you do. and when his grip tightens and he pulls your hips down again, forcing you to move, forcing you to keep going, your resolve shatters completely.

“tell me, baby,” mattheo purrs, rocking into you slow, teasing, dragging the pleasure out until your fingers are curling against his jaw. his smirk is still there, lazy, smug, victorious. “are you sick too?”

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.