#tom's apology: are you over it yet?

[dracomort]

Hi :-) can I ask 7, 19, 22, and 29 (or if that’s too many, then whichever is most interesting to you!)

Ship Ask Game (answering for The Travelling Cabinet universe Taco).

Thank you for your ask! I'll answer 7, 22 and 29 for this one.

7. Who is the more romantic one?

Draco is by far the more classically romantic person. He loves the idea that he fell in love with the first person he met in the 40s (just... doesn't love the reality that it was literally Voldemort), and he adores the thought of being both the giver and receiver of grand acts of romance. His problem is that he knows Tom would find such gestures stupid, wasteful and suspicious.

Part of maturing for Draco is recontextualising what 'romance' is beyond the saucy novels he pinched off his ex-girlfriend as a fifteen-year-old. Once he realises that someone committing a massacre for you is, in fact, a grand act of romance, and that stealing significant artefacts for your significant other is their idea of peak romance, he'll be a lot more satisfied 😌. And once Tom realises Draco wants flowers pinched from the Hogwarts greenhouses, there will be no unhappiness in their relationship on that front.

22. How do they apologize after arguments?

Both of them are terrible at apologising. Which is good, in a strange way, as in that regard there's no imbalance.

Tom doesn't tend to take Draco's tantrums seriously because drama occurs with him on a daily basis. If the upset continues for more than a day or two, then he'll actually start trying to solve the problem. If the problem is unsolvable—like, 'i'm upset that you're not upset that a theoretical future version of you did X'—then he draws a blank. Mostly he waits till Draco forgets he's angry. Draco is the quick-to-boil, quick-to-cool type of kettle. He likes to give the silent treatment but can never maintain it for very long because he enjoys the sound of his own voice too much.

I've been trying to think of a scenario in this universe where Tom would expect an apology, but none have sprung to mind. He's got a high tolerance for Draco's brand of annoying, having spent seven years with spoilt, stuck-up purebloods for housemates, and besides that, I don't see Tom putting much stock in apologies. Actions over words.

29. What is something they can never agree on? How do they meet in the middle?

So, there's the obvious one—the just and humane way of disposing of Muggles. Tom's views are utterly unaltered, no matter how much other growth he might have done over the course of the fic. Draco, having gained perspective and maturity from 1) seeing Muggles tortured to death at the Manor, and 2) actually meeting and talking to them through his adventures in the 40s, is less keen on the 'slaughter them all' strategy. However, he has zero chance of ever convincing Tom, because Tom (rightfully) believes Draco knows nothing about Muggles compared to him.

Now, moving on from homicide to a very mundane couple problem—I think they'd have irreconcilable differences in their attitudes toward managing finances. Tom has the penny-pinching financial anxiety of a poverty-stricken Great Depression orphan, Draco has the carefree spending habits and inability to budget of any filthy rich pureblood. Once Draco finishes his traineeship, probably the healthiest way forward for them is a joint account for expenses and separate savings accounts 🤣

[moonstruckme]

absolutely live for ur roommate!james could you maybe write one on him meeting some of readers friends for the first time or calling james to pick u up after a girls night 😇would love to see him finally feel “included” in our life like we are in his

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: alcohol

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

James is so absorbed in the football match on his phone that when there’s a tap on the window next to his face, he jolts halfway across the center console and squeaks like he’s twelve years old again. 

You’re beaming outside the car. Your shoulders shake with quiet, un-self-conscious laughter, so it’s impossible for James to be any kind of upset. Still, he makes a show of huffing a little as his own smile spreads. He reaches over and opens his door. 

“Sorry,” you say. You don’t look it, so he lets you off the hook for your over-apologizing. 

“Who do you think would drive you home if I had a heart attack?” James asks. He’s somewhat breathless, either because of the scare or the easier-than-usual grin still fixed on your face. 

You lean against the side of his car and roll your eyes. “Oh, your heart’s too healthy to be in danger of attacks.” 

“What are you doing on this side of the car? You’re the passenger, you know.”

“Okay, listen.” You give him a very intentional look. It’s more eye contact than he’s used to from you, and it makes his guts go all twisty in a surprisingly nice way. “It’s completely up to you, of course, but I think I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.” 

It clicks into place. “You’re drunk.” 

“Not very.” Your grin is a short fall from impish. Your eyes sparkle. God help him. “But you’re about to be.” 

James feels his eyebrows float up. “How do you figure?” 

“Because I’ve come to collect you. If you want.” 

“To collect me…where?”

“Inside,” you say, as though this should be obvious. You tip your head towards the restaurant. “We’ve just closed, and we have so much wine. Pleasepleaseplease, James, come in.” 

“Okay.” He’s letting you tug him from his car before he knows what he’s agreed to, only that one please will always be enough to get whatever you want from him. “Alright, love, but doesn’t your manager mind that you’re drinking their wine?” 

You let loose a bark of laughter, loud and sharp and totally unlike you. “Tom? Yeah, right.” 

Tom, James learns quickly upon entering the rowdy atmosphere of your workplace after hours, is younger than the both of you, hardly old enough to serve alcohol and yet managing the restaurant. And the wine isn’t stolen, necessarily, but the fortunate leavings of a wealthy customer who bought more bottles than his table could handle and then left nearly all of them. 

Everyone who’d been on the night shift is strewn about the empty restaurant. Servers and busboys and dishwashers all perched on stools, standing behind the bar, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on tables. You take James by the hand, first reclaiming the bottle of wine you’d evidently stored behind the host’s station and then leading him around the room to introduce him to various coworkers. His hand feels warm and tingly. You have an easy repartee and a million in-jokes with the servers, but even the kitchen staff seems to adore you. As they rightly should, James thinks. It’s obvious you’re as kind and considerate here as you are at home, and he feels a bit silly for not having been able to picture you in this place so clearly before now. 

Art is working with you again tonight. It’s embarrassing, the warm wave of relief that James feels when he notices you don’t pay him any extra attention. He makes a mental note to extend his offer of a ride home more often. Every time your hand starts to slip from James’, you readjust your grip before he can even think of doing it himself. Suits him just fine; ever since your mugging incident, suddenly James is in this weird place where he always wants a hand on you.

You say his name, and then the lip of a bottle is being pushed against his lips. 

“You haven’t had hardly any.” You look like you’re trying to pout, but your eyes are smiling. 

James takes the bottle from you. He looks you in the eyes as he takes a sip as if to say, Happy? It’s barely enough to warm his throat. “I am still driving us home, you know.”  

The pout is getting better. “I know, but I’m trying to be fun for you. You don’t have to drive us if you don’t want to! You’re always the one doing the nice things.” 

“Oh, don’t.” His tone is fonder than he means for it to be, but luckily you’re too tipsy to mind. “You’re plenty fun. You do nice things for me all the time.” 

“Yeah, but not enough to balance out.” You make your eyes big and pitiful. James feels fortunate this isn’t a skill you seem inclined to utilize sober. “Obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—Jamie, don’t hold back because of me, please.” 

His stomach does an impressive flip. He doesn’t think you realize you’ve called him that, doubts you’d have done it under normal circumstances, but his nervous system cares not for rationalizations. He wants desperately to hear you say it again. 

You beam as James lifts the bottle to his lips again, taking a few hearty gulps. You both end up walking home that night, but you wake even before James to go retrieve his car in the morning.

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ How Would The Slytherin boys React After you tell them you’re pregnant:✦ 」

[Mattheo Riddle-Theodore Nott-Lorenzo Berkshire-Draco Malfy-Tom Riddle]

•Mattheo Riddle

1.Silence: You blurt out the news, a nervous flutter in your chest. Mattheo stares at you, processing the information. Don't panic! This is his initial shock absorbing mode.

2. More Silence: You try again. Still, silence. Don't take it personally; his mind is racing a million miles a minute.

3. The Disappearance Act: By evening, Mattheo might be MIA. Don't fret! This is probably him needing some space to grapple with the news. (Don't chase him to Knockturn Alley, though.)

4. Awkward Return: When he finally returns, you launch into a "what-are-we-going-to-do" speech. But wait! He cuts you off...

5. "Hey, it's okay” : Mattheo might surprise you with a calm demeanor. This doesn't mean he isn't nervous, but he's trying to reassure you (and maybe himself).

6. "I want it too." : Prepare for a confession! Mattheo, the king of nonchalance, might admit he wants this, with you. This might be followed by an apology for his earlier silence."Sorry, I was just shocked earlier. Shouldn't have reacted that way."

7. Confusion Reigns: "You're not mad?" you finally manage to ask, a sliver of doubt lingering.He might confess he's clueless about the whole "No," he says, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "It's just... I never thought about this stuff. Family, kids, the whole shebang. But if I'm gonna do it, I want it to be with you."  _Cue the tiny butterflies in your stomach._

8. "But with you.":He might clarify that while the whole baby thing is new, having it with you? That's something he can do.

9. Protectiveness Unleashed: Expect a shift in Mattheo. He might become fiercely protective of you and the little one on the way. (Just don't tell him it's "nesting" if he starts building a barricade around your house.),Mattheo will hover over you, insisting you take prenatal vitamins and threatening to glare down any stranger who bumps into you. It's annoyingly sweet.

10.The (Slight) Freak Out (Because It's Mattheo): Don't get too comfortable yet. There will be moments of panic. Mattheo might blurt out something about not knowing the first thing about raising a kid, or how motorbikes suddenly seem like a terrible idea. Just remind him that you're in this together, crazy as it may be.

•Theodore Nott

1. Reality Check?: Theo might blurt out, "Are you sure?" It's not doubt about your love, but the sheer unexpectedness of it all. Breathe, and calmly confirm with that positive blood test result.

2. Freak-Out Time: Picture a cartoon character with smoke billowing from their ears. That might be Theo, internally freaking out. Don't worry, it's normal (though maybe not that dramatic).

3. Parental Apocalypse?: "Your dad will kill me!" Theo might shriek, envisioning a future father-in-law wielding a shotgun.

4. Waterworks Warning: Tears might well up in your eyes, a mix of emotions swirling. He will put everything beside and try to comfort you.

5. Protective Streak: Expect a dramatic shift. Theo, the notorious rule-breaker, might turn into a fierce protector, ready to shield you from any and all perceived threats.

6. Reassurance Renaissance: He'll rush to your side, muttering reassurances like "Hey, I'm here" and "I'll be here every step of the way." "I might be freaking out internally, but I'm not going anywhere."

7. "We" is the New Word: The "me" might temporarily disappear, replaced by a constant "we." He might start talking about "our baby" and "what we need to do.".

8. Fear is a Two-Way Street: Theo might confess he's scared too. Don't be surprised; fatherhood is a big leap for anyone. Reassure him you're in this together.

9. Facing the Future, Together: Theo might not be known for responsibility, but this news could be a turning point. He might surprise you with his determination to navigate this journey with you.

10.A (Slightly Chaotic) New Chapter: Yes, there will be challenges. But with Theo by your side, even the most chaotic moments of pregnancy and parenthood can turn into an unforgettable adventure (well, maybe not all the diaper changes).

•Lorenzo Berkshire

1. Record Scratch Moment: "Excuse me, what?" Lorenzo might look like a record player with a skipped track. Don't worry, the information overload will clear soon.

2. Baby Talk Confusion: He might blurt out, "Pregnant? Like...with a baby, like a real baby ?"

5. The F-Bomb Symphony: Brace yourself for a chorus of "Oh fuck!" Lorenzo might panic a bit, but hey, at least he acknowledges the reality.

6. Apology Avalanche: Prepare for a barrage of "I'm so sorry for putting a baby on you." It's not guilt-tripping, just Lorenzo's awkward way of expressing concern.

7. Decision Time: He might cut through the tension with a simple, "Okay, what do we do?" Don't be fooled by his bluntness; he's ready to face this together. He might surprise you with a genuine, "I want it. Do you?" Expect a hint of nervousness, but mostly a determination to be a part of this.

8. Family Gathering Fiasco: Prepare for a potential meltdown when it comes to telling your families. He might blurt out, "I'm pregnant!" before you can correct him. Just take a deep breath and handle the announcement yourself later.

9. Overprotective Overload: Expect Lorenzo to morph into your personal bubble wrap. Lifting a box? Forget it. Climbing stairs? Hold on, he's got you. You might need to remind him you're not made of glass .

10. Google Goes Dad Mode: One night, you might catch him researching "how to take care of a pregnant woman" , “ How to be a good dad “ on his phone. Aww, just don’t cry you will freak him out again.

•Draco Malfy

1. Denial is a River in Egypt:  His first response? "You're lying." Don't panic. This is classic Draco, clinging to disbelief. Prepare to show him the pregnancy test, the blood test… anything to pierce his denial bubble.

2."Look Away, Not At It!": He might stubbornly refuse to even glance at the evidence. Don't take it personally; it's his defense mechanism malfunctioning.

3. Accusatory Tirade: Brace yourself for a verbal explosion. He might accuse you of lying, of trapping him, of using his family name. Remember, fear often masquerades as anger in Draco's world.

4. Protection Spells on His Pants?: He might insist he used every protection under the sun. Don't get into a magical contraception debate. Just try to explain accidents happen.

5. The Ejector Seat Option: Draco might bluntly tell you to leave. It's a knee-jerk reaction, not a reflection of his true feelings (hopefully!).

6. Standing Your Ground: Here comes the hard part. You tell him you're keeping the baby, with or without him. This might be the first crack in his emotional armor.

7. A Continent Away From Chaos: Fearing his reaction and the uncertainty of it all, you flee to another country. Girl, we feel you! But remember, you're not alone in this.

8. A Connection You Can't Deny: Despite the fear, you feel a powerful bond with the tiny life growing inside you. This little one deserves a chance, and you vow to protect them.

9. The Redemption Knocks: Two months later, a frantic pounding on your door jolts you awake. You open it to find a desperate Draco, his face etched with worry.

10. A Malfoy Regret-Fest: He confesses he searched everywhere for you, regret gnawing at him. When he learns you fled, the dam breaks. He apologizes profusely, begging you to tell him you kept the baby.

A Second Chance, Malfoy Style:

Relief washes over you as you nod, tears welling up. He wipes them away, muttering, "It's still ours. I'm so sorry. I'll never hurt you or our baby again." A genuine plea hangs in his voice.

“ Do you still love me?“ A shaky nod escapes your lips. He pleads for forgiveness, for a chance to be part of this family he never knew he craved.

This might be the start of a rocky but redemptive journey for both of you. Draco, beneath his icy exterior, might surprise you with his capacity for love and growth. Just remember, keep a communication charm handy – navigating fatherhood with Draco will likely be an… interesting adventure.

•Tom Riddle

1. The Stoic Facade: Don't be surprised if Tom remains eerily calm. His usual mask of control might slip not an inch, leaving you wondering what's going on behind those eyes.

2. Tears: A flood of emotions might be coursing through you, but Tom? His reaction might be a chilling calmness. This doesn't mean he's unfeeling, just that he processes things differently.

3. Misinterpreting Your Distress: Seeing you cry, Tom might jump to a chilling conclusion. "Is having a baby with me that terrifying?" Here comes the part where you clarify.

4. Guilt by Association: A quick "No, no!" will hopefully ease his worry. But then you blurt out your fear – you're both too young.

5. Age is Irrelevant: Tom operates on a different timeline. Age is just a number, and power? That's the real currency. He might say, "It's not about age, it's about power."

6. Power Trip for Three?: Brace yourself for a Tom Riddle monologue about the immense power your child could possess. He might see it as an extension of his own ambitions, a prodigy groomed for greatness.Don't be afraid to voice your anxieties. When you say, "Tom, I don't want my baby to be part of your plans," he might actually listen.

6. A Promise, Riddle-Style: “I promise you, I will keep them safe. I will keep you safe." But remember, Tom's definition of "safe" might not align with yours. Stay frosty.

7. Your Fears Take Center Stage: Tears welling up again? This might be the moment it dawns on Tom that you're not thrilled about the power angle. He might try to reassure you, but...

8. Promises with a Price: Tom doesn't give anything without expecting something in return. Be prepared for him to outline his expectations for your role in his grand plan.

9. A Tug-of-War for the Future: This is where things get interesting. Do you submit to his vision, or do you fight for a different future for your child? The choice is yours.

10. A Dance with Darkness: Having a child with Tom Riddle is a gamble. He might be a captivating presence, but remember, his path is paved with darkness. Are you willing to walk it with him?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[zriasstuff]

Slytherin boys x reader (kinky shit vol.2)

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, orgasm denial kink (?), not proof read, long lost trashy & horny draft from my wattpad era (a moment of silence for that), cringe, enjoy ?

(not that anyone rlly cares, but i thought I’d at least pull this out since i haven’t posted actual writing in 1,5 weeks, vol.1 in case you’re curious)

Mattheo Riddle:

Mattheo was incredibly skilled with his mouth, knowing just where to flick his tongue and how hard to suck on your clit to make you melt. Shaking and squirming, you’d grab onto his curly hair, and he would hold your thighs over his shoulders and bury his face deep within your sweet cunt. Always licking up every drip coming from your precious cunt and sucking his fingers clean after stretching you out.

Eventually he figured that he could make you even needier by removing himself for a few seconds. In response you would desperately pull his head closer to your cunt and whine him “don’t you dare fucking stop now”, but he’d just tease your entrance by slowly licking stripes, so you wouldn’t be able to reach your climax.

It was torture, yet you have to admit he made it worth it. “Please Matty keep going”, you’d plea, “plea- please just pleasee”, you’d just repeat that as often as you could, but he enjoyed seeing you on edge.

Tom Riddle:

It’s his favorite form of punishing you for when you act bratty towards him, or when he’s in an angry mood in general, which is quite frequently. His practice of orgasm denial involves painstakingly long teasing until your cunt is all worn out and until you basically can’t think properly anymore. All your thoughts just revolve around one thing, riding out your orgasm completely without feeling as if something was being ripped away from you instead. Tom always fucks you first, pulling out just when you’re about to cum. Instead he releases himself all over your thighs, and leaves you to your own devices. The more needy you become, the longer he’ll torture you to see your breaking point. He has a dildo his size, which he’ll fuck you with, always pulling out just when you’re about to cum. It was an endless circle, even bringing out tears in you because it’s too unbearable and you just desperately want to experience that intensive orgasm. Usually he doesn’t let you have it though. Because of that you become unbelievably horny during the next few days, wanting Tom to use you and fuck you in any sort of way, but of course he’d rather watch you squirm and whine under him. “Should’ve thought twice before being a brat”/“Only good girls derserve to cum”/“You look so pathetic, begging for my cock”

Theodore Nott:

Instead of the popular silent treatment you gave to Theo sometimes when you were mad, you also enjoyed seeing him all fidgety and out of control. “Please don’t do this”, he’d beg, but it would all be in vain. Once you decided to bounce up and down on his swollen cock, he couldn’t keep it together anymore. You didn’t allow him to grab your tits, nor to cum. Once you rode his cock long enough to get you close, you got off of him and fingered yourself in front of him until you made a mess of the sheets. His cock would just leak precum from watching you get off, but he was gonna try to not disobey you. He wasn’t allowed to cum until you gave him explicit permission. After you rode him, he was most likely a swearing mess, desperate to touch his own cock and replicate what you do to him. “That’s what you get for making me mad”, you’d tell him and he’d apologize about a thousand times. Sometimes, out of pity, you then satisfy him by allowing him to touch himself, but other times he wouldn’t be so lucky and had to wait until the next day possibly. “I swear I’ll never do it again”, he whines or “Please I’ll do anything”

Blaise Zabini:

He knows that you enjoy your orgasms way more when they’ve been delayed because then they’re just so much more intensive that way. So, when you do it, he obviously wants to make you feel good, even if that means making you feel incredibly bad, even if it’s in a good way, for a moment. His cock was big by all means, it stretched you out perfectly and fit you just right. So after he comes inside you, he makes you cockwarm him instead of pulling out completely. This way he’ll watch you struggle to not roll your hips because if you did you’d try to get him to hit your g-spot. Then, all of a sudden, he’d grab your waist, make you straddle him, and control your body movements with his hands on your waist. Blaise will pull down, and thrust into you from under you. You can’t help but let out a series of cries because Blaise pounded so deep into you that you were sure you’re insides would never recover. Although he’s lying down, he’s still the one in control, so any pleasure you get is decided by him. “Not yet babe”/“Hold on a little longer ok” As you finally get to have your orgasm, it’s the most intense yet satisfying feeling in the world.

Enzo Berkshire:

Broken was the only word to describe Enzo when he was suffering from not being able to cum due to having a cock ring on. You used it for punishing him sometimes, for unintentionally flirting with other girls, but also just for fun and to spice up your bedroom activities. It vibrated his inflated cock, but also restricted it from shooting out his sweet release. The entire room would be filled with Enzo’s variations of noises, begging and whines. “How much longer”, he keeps asking while making filthy sounds and “I can’t keep it in anymore please” he’d always plea. Enzo would also always come close to tears, though he definitely enjoyed the sinful mix of pleasure and pain too. There were also several intensity settings on the useful cock ring and any time he’d swear, you put it higher. He was entirely under your control, and anything he did would result in his cock just suffering longer from the prolonged torture. You watched him squirm in his bed, completely naked, and even humping the bed at times to get some sort of friction, but that never ended well as you would set the vibrations even higher. His cock was so close to coming, yet only measly drops of precum came out. It was truly a sight.

Draco Malfoy:

Combined with public factors, orgasm denial is your favorite way of watching your boyfriend struggle to keep it together. Otherwise everyone would find out what an obedient boy he was for you, totally unlike the usual bad boy persona he puts on. When all your friends hang out around the common room couch, near the fireplace, a blanket always covers you two. It’s normal, since everyone shares a blanket with either a friend or partner. The twist comes when you slyly slide your hands all the way down to his crotch and rub him through his pyjama pants first. Draco always inhales sharply, knowing he’ll have to be on his best behavior. He shifts all the time, trying to secretly hump himself on the palm of your hand, acting like a stupid fuck toy. So, to tell him to cut it out, you lightly squeeze his length, sending him a warning sign. He should remember that you were the one in control. When you decide he deserves it, you start massaging his cock, pumping it ever so slowly and circling your thumb over his crown. As soon as you hear the grunts, signaling that he can’t keep it in any longer, you slide your hands out of his pants again and act as you were. Draco’s own pleasure had to wait until you were in private, until then he’d quietly whine “Please let me cum, pleasee”/“I swear I’ll do anything you want”

[ana-reblogsposts]

𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - When Y/N finds herself at odds with a classmate, her unlikely protector makes sure no one else dares to challenge her. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Saw a headcanon on how Tom would act if you're ever in a fight.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The corridor thrummed with a tense energy, alive with whispers and glances as Y/N and a Ravenclaw girl stood face-to-face, locked in a fierce argument that had begun over a simple disagreement in Potions class. What should have been a passing spat about a misplaced ingredient had somehow snowballed into a stubborn standoff, each girl unwilling to back down.

The Ravenclaw girl’s face was flushed with anger, her jaw set as she spat, “Maybe if you actually paid attention to your own work, you’d understand why I’m right about this.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing with icy resolve. “Or maybe you’re just too proud to realize you’ve made a mistake,” she shot back, her voice calm but cutting. “You didn’t even double-check your notes, did you?”

A murmur ran through the crowd, students glancing back and forth between the two girls like spectators at a duel. A few stifled gasps hinted at the onlookers’ anticipation, waiting to see if anyone would get the upper hand. But just as the Ravenclaw girl’s mouth opened, ready with her next retort, her words faltered.

Her eyes darted nervously over Y/N’s shoulder, widening. The spark of defiance in her expression dwindled as she seemed to shrink back, looking as though she’d rather be anywhere but there. Y/N frowned, about to question the girl’s sudden change in attitude, when she caught sight of a familiar figure approaching from behind.

Tom Riddle had entered the corridor, his presence as commanding and cold as ever. His gaze swept over the scene with an unreadable calm, landing on the Ravenclaw girl and pinning her there in silent intimidation. The air around them seemed to grow heavy, as though he alone commanded it, and the crowd fell into an anxious hush.

Tom gave the Ravenclaw girl a subtle, dismissive tilt of his head. His message was clear: leave. The girl’s bravado vanished in an instant, and she managed only a quick, nervous nod before she gathered her things, muttering a barely coherent apology, and practically fled down the corridor. The crowd didn’t linger long after, some students averting their eyes as they slipped away, others glancing at Tom with wary admiration, before dispersing altogether and leaving Y/N and Tom alone.

Y/N took a deep breath, turning around to find Tom watching her with a faint, almost amused smirk, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“What did you do?” she asked, folding her arms, her tone one of exasperation tinged with curiosity.

Tom shrugged, feigning innocence, his expression infuriatingly calm. “I didn’t do anything,” he replied smoothly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Y/N rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Right. Because she just happened to change her mind the moment you showed up.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but his smirk deepened, his eyes flickering with a playful light as he took a step closer, regarding her with that same knowing look. “You know,” he said softly, his voice low, almost teasing, “the only person you should be fighting with is me.”

Y/N raised a brow, her arms still crossed. “But we’re not fighting?” she replied, her voice defensive.

His gaze sharpened, and he arched an eyebrow with an amused tilt of his head. “Aren’t we?” he murmured, his tone challenging, yet the hint of amusement in his eyes suggested he was enjoying the exchange far too much. She caught the hint of a smirk on his face, one that told her he’d gotten exactly the reaction he was looking for.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, letting out a soft huff as she crossed her arms tighter. “Fine,” she muttered, her lips twitching with an unwilling smile. “Maybe we’re… debating. But that doesn’t mean you need to chase everyone else off.”

“Debating?” he echoed, leaning in slightly. His voice dropped lower, a dangerous warmth in his tone. “If this is what you call debating, I’d hate to see what happens when we’re truly at odds.”

Y/N’s heart skipped, but she held her ground, refusing to back down. “You still don’t need to defend me, Tom,” she replied, though the firmness in her voice wavered under his intense gaze.

He tilted his head, giving a slow, almost casual shrug. “Maybe not,” he said, his voice a quiet murmur, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t.” The words were soft, almost an afterthought, but there was a possessive edge beneath the surface, a quiet claim that left no room for argument.

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she tried to ignore the flutter in her chest. “So, what, you’re just going to scare off anyone who dares to argue with me?”

Tom’s lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Only the ones who don’t deserve your attention,” he replied. His voice was casual, almost playful, but the steely resolve in his tone betrayed the quiet possessiveness he refused to openly acknowledge.

Y/N scoffed, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “You know, this whole overprotective thing—it’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” He arched a brow, his eyes softening slightly. “I’d think you’d be used to it by now.” His voice lowered, and the cool amusement gave way to something deeper, something dangerously close to affection. “After all,” he murmured, his tone carrying a rare hint of warmth, “I’ll always be there to remind them that you’re not theirs to challenge.”

Her breath caught, his words leaving her momentarily speechless. There, beneath the layers of cold indifference, she caught a glimpse of the quiet, possessive loyalty he kept hidden from the world. She could feel the depth of his words—the way he would always stand by her, even if it meant he’d never voice his feelings directly.

Finally, she managed, “So… that’s your way of saying you’ll always be there to ‘debate’ with me?”

His smirk softened, a rare warmth flickering in his eyes. “Something like that,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper, as if the words were meant only for her. The unspoken promise in his tone left her pulse racing.

They stood in the quiet corridor, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them, until he gestured toward the library. “Shall we?” he asked, his tone returning to its usual calm reserve, though his gaze lingered on her with unmistakable fondness.

With a sigh and a faint smile, she nodded, falling in step beside him. And as they walked down the hall together, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath Tom’s cool exterior lay a silent devotion he’d never admit—and that, despite her protests, she didn’t mind it one bit.

[vacationbimboschool]

No room for Professionalism

Professor!Tom riddle x Fem!reader (18+)

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Content below: smut, oral (female receiving), fingering , public sex. reader is 18, Riddle is 26.

Words: 1.4k

Professor Riddle sat at his desk, quietly reviewing papers, while you remained in your usual seat, wondering why he had asked you to stay after class. Your leg bounced nervously beneath the table as you anxiously awaited his words.

After a moment, he rose from his desk and moved to stand before the furniture, leaning against it with his arms crossed. His cold gaze met yours.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Professor Riddle remarked, shaking his head with a hint of disapproval. “Two failed tests, and you still haven’t managed to stay awake during my lectures.” His tone was laced with disappointment, yet remained as monotone as ever. Your gaze dropped to the surface of your desk, overwhelmed by guilt and shame for your poor performance.

“My apologies, Professor. I’ve been trying my best… but if I’m being honest, I just haven’t had the motivation to keep my grades up recently,” you admitted.

Though your words were entirely truthful, Mr. Riddle was unmoved. He strode toward your desk, hands clasped behind his back, and leaned over it, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you like a predator eyeing its prey.

“Perhaps we need to find a more…” He paused, his gaze briefly flicking to your lips. “…effective method to keep you awake,” he finished, his voice low and laced with an unsettling calmness.

Your heart raced at his words. You were acutely aware of his position as her professor, yet couldn’t shake the sense that his intentions might be more than academic. You crossed your legs in an attempt to steady yourself, trying to dispel the inappropriate thoughts that flashed through your mind.

“What do you have in mind, Professor?” You asked, your voice trembling as she struggled to maintain eye contact.

A faint chuckle escaped him before he responded, his tone tinged with amusement.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he said, his gaze lingering on your crossed lega.

Your stomach dropped as you felt too vulnerable, caught in such a way, yet you still decided to play innocent. “Uhm… I’m sorry, Professor, I’m not sure what you mean,” you said, unable to maintain eye contact with him.

Riddle’s eyes narrowed as he smirked slightly.

“Don’t play innocent now. Come here; I’ll show you.” He raised his hand, his two fingers making a beckoning motion. You did as instructed, standing and walking toward him.

You paused before him as he studied your features intently, his hand moving up and down your shoulders until it settled on your waist. Your breath quickened, a flush blooming on your cheeks as Tom murmured, “What do you think I mean now, sweetheart?”

You were left speechless; your cheeks were redder than roses. You looked him in the eyes, unsure what he had in store for you next.

“Sir….” You whispered, their faces closer than ever.

His hand gently took your jaw, pulling you closer for a gentle kiss. His lips lingered as he pulled away, leaning his forehead on yours. “How’s this?” He asked in a teasing way, waiting for you reply.

Still in a bit of a shock , but also completely turned on, you looked up at him before shyly whispering “it’s perfect, sir”. Professor Riddle’s lips turned to a teasing smile as he uttered “you drive me mad with the way you look at me;you know that?”

He smirked, looking at the way your pupils grew wide, all from his touch. “Beautiful-“he whispered beneath his breath.

His fingers reached up to your blouse and unbuttoned one button at a time. Your breath hitched as he unbuttoned your blouse. The sight of his hands, his fingers adorned with silver rings, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you, making your stomach flutter.

His lips started moving against your jaw and neck, as his fingers pulled your blouse from your shoulders and to the floor.

His lips found your collar bone, and your fingers found solace in his hair. Small moans escaped from your lips as he left small love bites along the way.

Riddle’s hands worked on the clasp of your bra, removing the last thing that blocked him from you. His breath against your skin. “I have wondered for so long what you looked like. How lovely you were.”

You looked up at him once more, a wave of confidence washing before you “now you have me all to yourself.”

His lips found yours in a gentle and passionate kiss, his tongue parting your lips for him to explore as his hands caressed and explored your curves his hands grabbed your ass, giving it a squeeze. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”.

Breathless and completely blinded by the sight before you, you quickly nodded your head as you answered him. “Yes, professor.”

He smirked as he picked you up, putting you on the desk. You were now eye to eye with him, your hands finding themselves on his chest,

“Hmm. I like a girl who obeys.”

His hands went to your thighs, massaging them gently as you moaned his name, trying to stay quiet as they were still in class.

”You sound so beautiful moaning my name-“ he whispered. His hand moved up her thigh, her skirt moving to your hips, his fingers teasing at the hem of your underwear, taking his sweet time.

You grew more and more impatient as you just wanted him to touch her “Tom, please”

“Please.. what, baby? Use your words. Tell me what you want.” He whispered as he rubbed you through your underwear, earning a reaction from you. “Fuck- just- do something please” you sighed.

”Patience, sweetheart. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

His other hand grabbed onto your waist, kissing your stomach. You weren’t sure what came over you as you impatiently, but sensually, pushed his head down to where you needed him the most.

“Such an eager little thing.” He was still playing it cool, but you could see the excitement on his face as his head was being pushed down.

“Please.” You whined once again before he finally gave in,pushing your underwear to the side, and licking one long stripe across your core

You gasped in pleasure as your back arched slightly. loving the sight before him, he wanted to see you squirm in pleasure, especially with the knowledge that anyone could just walk in at any moment, seeing what he is doing to you.

Riddle then gently placed your legs on his shoulders as he asked you to just relax. He pressed a gentle kiss to your core before his tongue darted out, slowly and teasingly licking up and down your folds.

He hummed in approval as your hands tangled in his hair, the vibrations sending a shiver through your body, which made him increase the pace of his tongue, flicking it against your clit and sucking on it gently.

Riddle could feel you growing more and more aroused under his touch, and it only spurred him on further as his finger slipped into your entrance, curling it against your sweet spot as he continued to devour you with his mouth. “Oh my gosh…” you whimpered as he worked on you.

The relentless assault continued, his finger pumping in and out of you while his tongue worked wonders on your sensitive bud.

He could feel her getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling under his touch, but he still kept his mouth on you, lapping up your juices as you came, his own arousal growing with every passing second as the fabric of his trousers strained against his erection.

He slowly crawled up till he faced you again, kissing you, tongue slipping in your mouth, making you taste yourself.

It didn’t take long until your gaze was on his trousers, noticing his clear arousal.

His eyes flickered “see something you like?” He smirked.

You met his gaze, slowly nodding as your hands trailed down his torso, intent on reciprocating his attentions. However, his hands swiftly intercepted yours, slapping them away as he stood, leaving you perplexed, uncertain as to why he would deny you.

“Not today, darling,” he murmured, his tone cool as he gestured for you to sit back up.

You complied, sitting upright and adjusting your uniform, awaiting his next command. “You’re free to go,” he said with an air of casual authority, as he hasn’t just eaten you out in his classroom, “I expect to see you after class on Thursday.” He offered you a soft, almost professional smile.

“I won’t disappoint you, Sir”.

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Hope you guys enjoy this one, as it is my first time writing any kind of fan fiction! Lmk 😊

[writingsbychlo]

LAST TIME | tom riddle

summary; things just aren’t right between you and tom. when you suggest a break up, however, tom is ready do anything to make it work.

word count; 4153

notes; honestly pure smut. I say tom is willing to do anything but what tom does is just give some really good orgasms. and somehow, it’s still better than 90% of men out there, so.

“You… want to break up?” The clock in the room seemed to tick louder than ever, the seconds dragging on longer and longer as Tom stared at you in disbelief. There was a bottle open between you, two glasses of whiskey poured but neither of them touched, as he stared in shock. “Why?”

“Because this isn’t working, Tom.”

He picked up his glass now, taking a heavy gulp from it, his brows furrowing as his throat bobbed, until only the empty Crystal was back on the table. He filled it up again. 

“Tom—”

“Just let me think for a second.” You sighed, his gaze flickering over to you, and he softened for just a moment. “I’m trying to work out what to say.”

“There is nothing to say—”

“There has to be!” He slammed an open palm down on the wood, the table rattling and your drink shaking in its glass, his mumbled apology belaying his regret as he glared. At you, at the wall, at the clock still loudly tickling the seconds by. “Why?”

“Because this isn’t—”

“Don’t say this isn’t working. It works perfectly for me, so if it’s not working for you, tell me why. Tell me what I did, what I can do.” You reached for your own glass now, sliding it across the table and taking down the contents in one. Pushing the empty glass toward him with one finger as your throat burned, he filled it up, cupping your hand and pressing the glass into the other. “We fight all the time, I get that. But you love the fight, I know you do. But you’ve never—you yell, I shout, we fuck it out and we’re fine. This isn’t right, you don’t sit here calmly and tell me you want to break up, so tell me what to do.”

“I can’t tell you, Tom. I don’t know. I just know I can’t do this anymore.”

“But why?”

Exasperation burned through your veins, the words ‘It’s not working’ sitting on the tip of your tongue, and you had to bite it to stop them from coming free. 

“I want to work through it. I want you to tell me every goddamn little thing that’s wrong. We’re not leaving this room until it’s right, do you understand me?” His fingers curled on the tabletop, a fist forming, nails no doubt digging into his palms, and you sighed. He may be making it sound like demands, but you both knew it was a question, a desperate plea not to give up on him. The kind of desperation you’d never heard from him before, and it was the only thing that made you stay. “Please.”

“I’ll stay, Tom. I’ll talk, but I make no promises, because I just don’t see this working out.”

“I’ll make it work.” There was so much conviction in his tone that you almost found yourself believing it. “First issue.”

“Tom—”

“First issue.” He insisted, and you ran a hand down your face. 

“Okay, fine.”

And just like that, the night melted away. Hours slipped by in a blur of petty arguments, Tom’s eyes boring into your own as he fought and conceded, edging closer and closer to you throughout the night. 

You resisted for only so long, the first drink gave you the confidence to tell him that you needed more. His cold attention wasn’t enough, you needed love and passion, you needed his vulnerability and his emotions, you needed his trust and his confidence to take down those walls. 

The second drink gave you to confidence to yell, shouting about the kisses he denied you in public, the affections you dreamed of that he never delivered, the activities he got up to that he’d never tell you about. The friends he kept a secret. The times he’d disappear from you for days only to reappear with no word, yet demand to be a part of every single aspect of your life. 

The third brought you closer, barely resisting his advances as you fought tears, fought anger, fought every overwhelming emotion that was almost spilling out. 

The fourth brought peace. The fourth brought silence, whispered promises you were inclined to believe, as he all but crawled and knelt. He begged for forgiveness, a sight never before seen for Tom Riddle, when your stubbornness reared a new, alcohol-filled strength, urging you towards the door to leave him behind. 

The fifth brought solace and warmth. The fifth brought the end of the argument. 

The firewhiskey was almost gone, a comfort flooding through both of your bodies enough to loosen your lips beyond the hesitation you both held, and you knew if you drank anymore, all progress would be lost. Swiping up the bottle from the table and putting the stopper back in, you took it towards the shelf, feeling Tom’s eyes track your every movement through his dorm. 

You placed it back within the cabinet, its rightful place between the other vintage bottles, displayed proudly like it wasn’t contraband to be hidden, his arrogance never more prominent. For some reason, you loved that. It had always been one of the things that had attracted you to him, his intelligence, his confidence, his sexy self-assuredness, but it just wasn’t enough anymore. 

As you slowly walked back toward your seat, Tom’s calloused hand wrapped around your wrist, bringing you to a halt by his chair. Another soft tug, and he was bringing you down across his lap, arm snaking around your waist to hold you close to his chest. 

“Tom…”

“Babydoll…” His whisper was lost to the air between you, a space that was closing as he leaned in. Slowly, slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you couldn't. Everything about him was your weakness, you’d never been able to leave him, not since the day you met him all those years ago, and you’d never be able to leave him now. “Let me back in. Love me again.”

“I do still love you, Tommy.”

“Then let it be enough. Trust that I’ll do whatever it takes.” His lips met your cheek, suddenly, firmly, over far too quickly as he rested his head on your own. “I know I’m hard to love, but if you do love me too, then please trust me.” 

Another kiss, your hand cupping his jaw, a whimper slipping free as he pulled back again. 

“Have some faith in me.” 

Another kiss.

“Don’t leave me.”

“Kiss me, Tommy.” You sighed, tugging him forward and crashing your lips against his. He didn’t hold back, mouth slanting with your own as he sat up in the chair, holding you tighter to his body. His mouth was insistent, forceful and commanding just like every other part of him, lips coaxing your own apart until you were panting softly into his mouth, his tongue slipping through to tease your own. 

He tasted of whiskey, faint traces of coffee and sugar, a heady mix that you were drowning in. His hands traced slowly across your body, dragging and gripping, tracing like he was trying to memorise you, in case it was the last time he ever got the chance. 

You wanted more, you needed more, hands in his hair, messing up all those pretty curls and tugging him closer as you tried to twist in his lap. Unsuccessful, your legs still dangling over one of his as you sat sideways, a whine slipping free. To get more you’d have to stand, your hand raking seductively down his chest, nails scratching through the fabric of his shirt. You stood, or tried to, barely making it onto shaking feet before he was nipping at your lip with a cut-off grunt and tugging you right back into his body. 

In one swift moment he was standing, cradling you sideways in his arms and carrying you across the room. A second later, you were lay on the bed, head pillowed by the quilts as he finally pulled back. 

Those hands kept exploring, knees bracketing your body as he pushed your shirt up, up, up. He kissed at every newly exposed patch of skin, all across your stomach and over your breasts, reverent and tender, tongue swiping across your skin until you shivered, lips promising his love into your flesh. Until, you were sat up, slipping the top over your arms and letting him cast it away to the floor, his mouth working across your jaw, head tipped back to let him. 

Your own hands went to his back, scratching down until you caught the hem, far less care and far more desperation as you yanked and tugged, pulling at the shirt until he was reaching behind his head to help you strip him of it, your fingertips falling back to the bare skin of his chest. Firm, warm muscles twitched under your touch, your back hitting the bed again as his mouth collided with your own, backed into the sheets and surrounded by every inch of him, his presence filling the room, filling the air you breathed. 

“Tom…”

His grip shifted, one hand leaving the bedding to skim across your hip, under your body to the flat of your back, and lower. Cupping your arse he lifted your hips, just enough to slot himself between, and oh, delicious pleasure as his hips rocked into your own. Straining through the thick denim of his jeans, Tom pressed his hard cock into you, dragging every torturously clothed inch over your damp centre, ruined panties catching on the material and twisting, making it all the more thrilling. 

He did it again, and again, your bodies rolling together, clothes the only barrier keeping you apart as his mouth claimed your own. Moans and whimpers bounced off of every wall, each deep, grunted sound he let out was like a high, ricocheting along your body and making your head spin. 

“Fucking hell, babydoll,” His words were choked out, foreheads slick where they pressed together, panting breaths washing over your cheeks as he kept you moving against him, even as you became weak, even as the pleasure made you tremble, nearing that precipice already. “You’d walk away from this? Don’t you feel the way I do? You’re in my blood like a goddamn drug.”

Then, it was all ripped away, a pathetic wail falling from you as hot pleasure became cold disappointment, your hips dropped back to the bed. One of your shaking hands was cupped in his own as he pulled away, enough to sit up, kneeling between your spread thighs and dragging your hand to his chest. 

Under solid muscle, his heart pounded, fast and irregular, beating like a drum. “For you, alright? This beats for you, and you alone.”

Like a knife through the tension, the haze was severed, a refreshing touch of cold on your sex-addled mind. Climbing up, into his lap as his hands gripped your hips, your own reached for his face, tugging him into the most tender and loving kiss you could muster in the heat of the moment. 

His tongue slides over your own, your nails rake down his chest as you settle into his lap where he kneels, both of his hands kneading your ass. He shudders, your fingers grazing along the defined lines of his abs, and his breathing starts to shallow as your fingers press along the bulge in his jeans. 

Bucking up, his lips stop working your own, letting you take control of the kiss as his strength starts to wane, your teasing touches along his cock making him squirm underneath you. Squeezing him through the denim, he moans into your mouth, loud and unashamed, and your smirk makes him bite at your lower lip until you gasp. 

“I’m— fuck, I’m really trying to be romantic here, to make love to you, take it slow. You’re making that real fuckin’ hard for me.”

“I can feel how hard I’m making it for you, Tommy.”

It was unfair, perhaps, to taunt him so much when he was only doing what you’d asked, to show his affection rather than just assume you knew, to love you properly, but that's not what you wanted right now. Right now, as you’d stared him in the eye and faced the possibility of losing him, you just wanted him, in his rawest form. 

“Tom, baby—”

“Stop teasing me.” He all but growled the words, hips rolling into your palm now as you squeezed with rhythm, one of his hands slipping beneath the layers of your clothes, sliding over your ass from behind until one fingertip circled your dripping entrance. “Stop teasing me, or you won’t come for hours, do you hear me? I’ll make you cry and beg and scream, I’ll drive you to the edge of your goddamn sanity the way you make me, and maybe I won’t even let you come then.”

With those final words, he plunged a single digit inside of you, your back arching against his chest as he hummed, lips tearing apart as your body bowed to his. Pumping slowly, he left peppered kisses along your exposed collarbones, his other hand trailing teasingly up your spine, undoing the clasp of your bra with a flick of his fingers. 

Jerking it free from your body shakily, he let out a primal noise as you threw it away, lips wrapping around one nipple, teeth tugging the taut bud. 

“Oh, fuck, Tommy…”

“That’s right, doll. Moan my fucking name.” He did it again, a second finger slipping inside of you, chasing out every sentient thought you had. 

Your fingers were shaking as you reached for his jeans, tugging at the button and zipper until you could get them down. Finally, you pulled him free from the confines, and relished in the sound he made against your skin as you swept your thumb over the dripping head of his cock. 

Sitting there, half in his lap as he finally brought you closer and closer to your ruined orgasm, you pumped his cock slowly, nuzzling your nose against his own, feeling the beat of his heart against your hand on his neck. Steady, thumping, a beat just for you as he promised. 

His skin was wet under your touch, hot and soft and slick, your fist sliding over him, twisting just how you knew he liked. He may know your body like the back of his own hand, but you knew him too. You knew every trick that made him weak, every touch and spot that you could exploit to bring him to his knees before you, if you so wished. Tom Riddle may scare everyone away, may put on his façade to the world, but he was your lover, your heart and soul, and he bared himself to you alone in this vulnerability. 

Tracing your thumb over the head, you squeezed his cock, another bead of precum, dribbling from the slit and lubricating his skin under your palm. His mouth left your skin, head tilted back. Those pretty brown curls were already plastered to his forehead, sex and love hanging heavy in the hot air, and when your eyes locked with his half-lidded ones, you knew you weren’t going anywhere. 

Like a silent oath, one he could read in your gaze, he knew it too. It would never be so easy to leave, to walk away from him, from this. Things may need to change, but you’d work through them together, because you couldn't just leave him. 

Your lips slammed together once more, passion and promise, sealed between your mouths as he moaned your name against your tongue. 

It was just like that, with his body swearing his dedication into your flesh with every touch that you came, crying his name as you unravelled around his fingers, letting him whisper and coax you through it. Your body was shaking in his, leaning into him for support, his lips at your temple. 

“Was that good, doll?”

“So good, Tommy.” Your breathless bliss was short-lived, before you could process it, he was pushing you backwards one hand on your chest firmly pressing you into the sheets, and a smirk on his lips as he looked down at you. 

“Good, it’s only getting better from here.”

His movements showed no gentleness as he tore at the rest of your clothing, your body half dragged down the bed as he stripped you bare. Heat roared through your veins and a blush coated your cheeks, the same way it always did when he manhandled you in such ways. He stripped off his own clothes, nearly tearing the fabric from his body until he was as gloriously naked as you were, every inch of pale, scarred, perfect flesh exposed to you. 

His grip on your thighs was bruising as he pressed them apart, hardly giving your foggy mind a moment to process, giving your body no chance to truly settle, before he was on his stomach before you, tongue swiping up the evidence of the orgasm he’d just wrung from you in his lap. 

You jolted, one hand flying to his hair as the other gripped the sheets in your fingertips, a scream on your lips as he lapped the flat of his tongue across your sensitive clit. “Tom, oh, fuck!”

He moaned in response, the feeling buzzing across your skin as your hips ground up against his face, every part of your scrabbling for purchase as you sank into the pleasure of it. He went again and again, fingers gripping your thighs, holding them parted for him, before finally, he sucked your clit between his lips, and you sobbed out an attempt at his name. 

“Tom, fuck, fuck— I can’t—”

“Oh, let’s not lie, doll.” He pulled back, a sharp smack across your clit, a skittering pain that made you clench around nothing, so hard you swore you’d cramp, “We both know you can, and you will. You’ll come all night if I decide it. Now, be a good girl.”

“You’ll be the death of me, Tom Riddle.” Your words were stuttered out between heavy, panted breaths, and he chuckled as he resumed his work. The dark declarations of adoration were always something he had loved, especially when he had you on his tongue, driving you mad. 

Over and over he worked, kissing, licking, sucking, biting, until your eyes were rolled back in your head, writhing in the sheets, dripping just for him to lap it up, his name like a mantra, all you could think of. Your climax teetered on the brink, your hips rolled up unto his face, chasing with such wanton need that all shame went out of the window and your fingers twisted where they were buried in his dark hair. 

“Tom, I’m—”

“Gonna’ come? You there already, doll?” You would feel embarrassed for his taunts if you weren’t so needy, like a bitch in heat, and you just nodded. A whine slipped free as he pulled back, tears in your eyes threatening to come free as you were denied once again. The bed dipped, and before you could curse, before you could hate him for taking it all away again, his thick cock parted your folds, slamming into you in one quick thrust, and you exploded. 

His hips rocked, ever so gently, dragging out your orgasm until the flutters of it faded, leaving only blissful peace in its wake. Your hands hooked under his arms as he fisted the bedding on either side of your head, kisses left on your collarbones until your body finally calmed down, and he let his mouth trail up to your own, lips brushing. 

“You belong to me, do you understand that? Just like I belong to you.” His body shifted, hips rolling back, until he was barely inside of you anymore, only for a single, deep thrust to have you crying his name, digging your nails into his flesh, praying for anything. “I’m all yours.” 

Another thrust, another cry, scratches down his back that made him hiss in excitement. 

“I don’t care how I prove it to you, I’ll carve your name into my goddamn skin if I must, whatever it takes for you to see it.”

He kept it up, the deep pace, the meaningful words, all whispered into your ear as he sucked bruises into your skin, marking you as his the way he promised he’d mark himself too. Your love with him was brutal, it was harsh and sometimes cold, but nobody loved hotter than Tom did either. 

If you asked him to, there’s no line he wouldn't cross, nothing he wouldn't do for you, and his dedication showed. It showed in the way he fucked you, holding your gaze and stopping until you looked back to him, fighting the roll of your eyes to the back of your head, or the shaking of your body so hard you could barely breathe. It showed in the hand that slipped up your skin, fingers sealing around your throat as he began to lose control, fucking without sense as he chased his own high, your core squeezing around him so tight he could barely spit out his curses and praise before losing to the end too. 

It showed in the way he hugged your body to his, skin to skin, everywhere you touched as his release filled you, dripping and escaping around his cock as he fucked the both of you through the final moments of shared ecstasy. 

It showed in the way he collapsed down on top of you, all walls gone in these few moments, shaking as much as you were as his body smothered your own. Your hand in his damp hair, the other stroking up and down his back as he continued to whisper mindless adoration and poetic love in your skin, kisses and touches that made you understand his devoted worship. 

“Tommy…”

“Right here, doll. M’right here with you, I’m all yours.”

He lifted himself at last, balanced on one weak elbow to look at you, smiling in that way only you ever saw as you tentatively brushed plastered curls away from his forehead. He leaned in, a peck left to your lips before he pulled out, wincing apologetically at the grumble that left your lips as he did. 

“Let me get something to clean you up, alright? I’ll be back.” 

You knew he would, he always was, and only moments later, he was reappearing from the bathroom with a cold cloth, parting your thighs much more gently now, and wiping your sensitive skin clean. “We forgot protection.” You mumbled, one hand coming up to rub across your forehead, too tired to care much now but a problem for the morning. 

A problem he didn’t seem to appreciate, only smirking as he cleaned himself off, before pushing one hand over your stomach. “Maybe I should knock you up, I’d like to see you leave me then.”

“Tom!” His joke was not well received, even if his raspy laugh at your chastisement warmed your heart, your arm thrown over your eyes to block him out, to relish in peaceful darkness. The dirty cloth hit the floor somewhere with a squelch, another problem for the morning, as he tugged the covers out from under your body, collapsing down beside you a moment later and tugging them up over you both. 

Then, he was peeling your arm from your face, rolling your head to the side to look at him. Gone was the smile, gone was the laughter, a serious look on his face as he studied you carefully. 

Tom shuffled a little closer, delicately brushing hair from your brow before settling a hand along the curve of your waist. 

“I like it when your cheeks get all rosy after. You look so pretty when you're glowing, just for me.” Your scoff was cut short by his lips, tugging you in until your naked body was pressed back up to his own, that palm scraping over your soft skin to hook your thigh up over his hip, and your arm lay over his shoulders lazily. “Something is telling me this isn’t over. Tell me I’m right?”

“I love—.”

“Tell me you’re staying.” He knew you too well, his grip around your waist tightening holding you to him like he feared you’d slip away. “Don’t tell me you love me unless you plan to keep doing it.”

His gaze pierced into your own, face still like stone but worry painted in his eyes, and you nuzzled your nose against his own. He bumped back, once, insistently. “I love you, Tom.”

He sighed, heavy and happy and bumped your noses together once again. A small smile pulled on his lips, and he nodded slightly as his eyes fluttered closed. “I love you too.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though. I’ll still make you work for it.”

“I’d expect nothing less from a future Riddle woman.”

[cruel-seduction]

Tom Riddle Headcanon || 18+

(୨୧) 6’3 | Tall, intimidating, and he knows it. He’s tall, but not towering—it’s the kind of height that lets him loom over you just enough to make you uncomfortable in the best way. His presence is magnetic, commanding, like he’s taking up more space than he actually does. (You think you can hold eye contact with this man without second-guessing your life choices? Good luck.)

(୨୧) Lean, but it��s that sharp, calculated kind of lean. Like he was sculpted out of pure ambition and dark magic. His cheekbones? You could slice your finger on them, and his jawline looks like it was chiseled by Salazar Slytherin himself.

(୨୧) He doesn’t have He’s not bulky—oh no, Tom believes muscles are for people who need to physically overpower others. His strength is in his mind, but don’t mistake that for fragility. He’s all sharp edges and taut sinew, like a blade just waiting to cut. Tom has power. Subtle, unassuming strength that hits you when he casually pins someone to the wall or clenches his fist during an argument, making every vein in his forearm pop. (And suddenly you’re wondering if you enjoy being terrified of a man.)

WE LOVE A MAN WHO COULD STRANGLE US WITH ONE HAND AND STILL LOOK PERFECT DOING IT!!!! 

(୨୧) Abs? Oh, he has them. But they’re not flashy gym-bro abs—they’re carved out of years of silent rage and perfectionism. You’d only see them under candlelight, the shadows teasing you just enough to make you question every moral fiber in your body.

(୨୧) Tom doesn’t work out. Ever. He’s too busy reading ancient texts and rewriting the definition of “overachiever.” Yet somehow, he has the kind of body that looks like it was sculpted by dark magic itself. His posture is impeccable, every movement deliberate and precise, like he’s constantly two steps ahead of everyone else.

(୨୧) Long fingers, veins visible, nails always perfectly kept. These are the hands of someone who can cast a killing curse with chilling accuracy—or caress your skin like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

(We LOVE a man who could both destroy and cherish us with the same hands!!!)

(୨୧) His face? The blueprint for the resting evil smirk. He doesn’t even have to try to look dangerous. One glance, one slight quirk of his lips, and suddenly you’re doing whatever he wants without thinking twice. (You: “Why am I holding this cursed object?” Tom: “Because I asked nicely.” …And now you’re smiling like an idiot while the Horcrux slowly sucks away your soul. Love that for you!)

(୨୧) Hotness Level: Nuclear

Tom doesn’t just walk into a room—he owns it. His hotness isn’t in your face; it’s insidious, sneaking up on you until suddenly you’re wondering how you got trapped in his web.

His energy? He doesn’t need to ask for your soul. You’d willingly hand it over while thanking him for the privilege.

And when he’s angry? Oh, you feel it. That piercing stare, the slight tilt of his head, the way his voice drops an octave just to let you know you’ve made a very, very big mistake.

THERE’S HOT, AND THEN THERE’S TOM RIDDLE HOT—THE KIND THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO APOLOGIZE FOR BREATHING TOO LOUDLY.

(୨୧) A Walking Manipulation Manual Tom doesn’t ask for things. He makes you want to give them to him. Every glance, every word is carefully calculated to pull you into his orbit. He’s not just charming—he’s dangerously compelling. (One conversation with him, and suddenly you’re questioning your entire moral compass. Like, “Oh, you want me to help you break into the Restricted Section? Sure, Tom. Anything for you.”)

(୨୧) Validation is His Drug Let’s be real: Tom craves approval like it’s oxygen.Tom will deny it to his last breath, but he needs to be the best. He doesn’t just want to succeed; he wants to be the only option. It’s not enough for him to win—everyone else has to lose. (And don’t get me started on how he reacts to praise. Compliment him in the right way, and you’ll see that flicker of pride in his dark eyes before he schools his face into that unreadable mask again. We love a secretly vulnerable king.) He’s spent his whole life proving he’s better than everyone else, and it’s not just for pride—it’s because he doesn’t know how to not seek validation. He thrives on being the teacher’s pet, the top student. Maybe it’s because he never got his parents validation. But trust me when I say he is a bitch for teacher’s validation. (But let’s be clear: the second you start overshadowing him, he’ll knock you down a peg faster than you can say Avada Kedavra.)

(୨୧) Control Freak Everything about Tom screams precision. His desk? Immaculate. His spells? Flawless. His plans? Perfectly executed. He doesn’t just like control—he needs it. Chaos makes him itch, which is ironic considering he’s the embodiment of quiet destruction. (And He will make sure you’re oriented too) 

(୨୧) Manipulative but Subtly Possessive He doesn’t say you’re his. No, Tom makes it clear in subtler ways—like the way he rests a hand on your back just as someone else looks at you too long. Or the cold, sharp glare he gives anyone who dares speak to you without his permission. (A man who makes you feel like a queen while also terrifying everyone else around you.)

(୨୧) Unyielding Ambition Tom doesn’t just want success—he wants power. He wants to be remembered, revered, and feared. He’s the guy who’ll smile sweetly at a professor while planning to steal their research for his own gain. He has a goal. He will do anything to get there. Anything can include from threatening someone to killing someone. He is, as poet says a psycho. 

Tom Riddle | The Duality

(୨୧) The Charm is a Weapon His voice? Silky smooth, with just enough edge to keep you on your toes. He’s polite, refined, and utterly disarming. But behind that charming smile is a predator watching his prey. (You’re falling for him, and you don’t even realize it until it’s too late. And honestly? You don’t even mind.)

(୨୧) Dark, Brooding, and Mysterious Tom’s the guy sitting alone in the library, surrounded by ancient tomes, quill scratching quietly against parchment. He’s untouchable, aloof, and yet somehow you can’t stop staring. (You just know he’s plotting something, and you want in on it. Even if it’s dangerous. Especially if it’s dangerous.)

(୨୧) The Possessive Gentleman He’ll hold the door open for you, pull out your chair, and offer you his arm as you walk. But don’t be fooled—this isn’t just gentlemanly courtesy. This is Tom Riddle subtly marking you as his. (Imagine him offering you his coat and then hexing anyone who dares comment on it. THAT’S the energy.)

Tom Riddle|| Personality 

(୨୧) He’s the Most Dangerous Kind of Asshole—Polished and Calculated Tom isn’t like Mattheo, who might yell across the hallway for a laugh. No, Tom is refined, cold, and deliberate. When he doesn’t like you, you won’t hear him shouting about it—he’ll make you feel it. He’ll dismantle your self-esteem with just a few carefully chosen words delivered with a sharp smile. (“A shame you couldn’t understand the assignment. I suppose not everyone’s meant for greatness.” Translation: You’re an idiot, and he’s better than you.)

(୨୧) He’s Addicted to Control Every aspect of Tom’s life is planned. His work is immaculate, his appearance is flawless, and his ambitions are unshakable. He thrives on structure because chaos reminds him of what he came from—something he’s desperate to leave behind. Don’t ever try to surprise Tom; he’ll take it as a personal offense. He hates unpredictability because it’s the one thing he can’t manipulate.

(୨୧) A Master of Masking His True Self Tom can charm anyone. Teachers adore him. Classmates admire him—or at least pretend to, because who wants to get on Tom Riddle’s bad side? He wears his “perfect student” persona like armor, and it’s nearly impenetrable. (But let’s be real, you know he’s sneaking into the Restricted Section at 2 a.m., whispering spells under his breath like it’s his birthright.)

(୨୧) Unhinged Beneath the Surface Tom doesn’t snap in loud, dramatic outbursts. No, his anger is a quiet, simmering thing, so much worse because you never see it coming. He’ll stare you down with a look so cold you’ll swear the temperature dropped, and then suddenly— “I suggest you choose your next words carefully. You won’t like what happens otherwise.” (And when he does lose it? You better pray you’re not in the blast radius because that’s some “destroy-everything-in-sight” level fury.)

Tom Riddle | Relationships and Obsession

(୨୧) Emotionally Unavailable, But Intensely Possessive Tom doesn’t do feelings. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He views relationships like he views everything else in his life: something to control. But when he does fixate on someone? It’s all-consuming, suffocating, and terrifyingly intense. He won’t shout “you’re mine” from the rooftops. Instead, he’ll show it in the way he glances at anyone who gets too close to you, the subtle squeeze of his hand on your waist, the icy calm he maintains when someone dares flirt with you. (“You’re being watched, princess. I’d think twice before entertaining fools like that again.”)

(୨୧) Manipulative in the Most Beautiful Way Tom has mastered the art of making you think his darkest ideas are your idea. He’ll twist your words, your emotions, until you’re second-guessing yourself and believing that he’s the only one who truly understands you. (“You don’t need them. They’ll only disappoint you. I’m the one who’s always been here, haven’t I?”) (Yes, it’s toxic, but are we complaining? Nope. Absolutely not.)

(୨୧) Softness is Reserved for You and You Only Tom is cold to everyone—except you. When it’s just the two of you, he lets his walls down just enough to show you glimpses of the boy beneath the monster. He’s still composed, but his voice softens, his touch gentles. He’ll sit beside you in the library, his hand brushing yours as he murmurs, “You’re brilliant, you know. Far more than they deserve.” (That’s right. You’re his weakness, and we’re eating that up like it’s our last meal.)

Tom Riddle | Dark Habits and Quirks

(୨୧) Obsessive Overachievement If Tom gets less than perfect marks on anything, he’ll lose sleep over it. He’ll re-study every detail of the assignment until it’s engraved into his mind. (If you try to comfort him, he’ll glare and say, “Mediocrity is unacceptable.” …Okay, Tom, calm down.)

(୨୧) No Time for Fun or Friends Tom doesn’t “hang out.” He doesn’t do parties or casual drinks with the boys. His version of “fun” is solving an ancient magical riddle or perfecting a spell no one else has dared attempt. (Though I imagine he secretly finds your mundane activities fascinating. He’ll pretend he’s annoyed, but he’s watching you decorate a cake like, “How… how does one enjoy this?”)

(୨୧) Petty in the Most Refined Way Tom won’t call you out in public, but he will ruin your life in ways you don’t even realize until it’s too late. (“Oh, did you fail the test? Strange. I suppose all that time gossiping didn’t leave you much room to study.” Cue his perfect grade plastered on the board.)

(୨୧) Refuses to Eat Like a Normal Human Being He’s the type to skip meals because he “doesn’t have time for such trivialities.” When he does eat, it’s methodical, quiet, and eerily polite. (You could be scarfing down chips, and Tom’s over here delicately slicing his food into perfect pieces. Honestly, it’s infuriating and hot at the same time.)

(୨୧)  When Tom Realized He Was in Love Tom was the last person to admit he was capable of love. He didn’t need it. In fact, he despised the very idea of vulnerability. At first, he simply enjoyed the control, the power he had over you, the way you seemed so easily ensnared in his web. But then something changed.

It wasn’t dramatic. No hearts aflutter, no sudden epiphany. Instead, it was little moments—the way your laugh made his heart tighten, the way his thoughts lingered on you when he was supposed to be focused on his next conquest. It started to feel like something deeper. The first sign? He found himself doing small things for you, things that felt personal—that were not for his image, but just for you.

Like when you were late for a class, and Tom “accidentally” got your notes for you—notes he knew you didn’t need but knew you’d appreciate. Or when he made sure the books you wanted were always ready for you in the library, despite the fact that he despised wasting his time on “mundane tasks.” He would act as if it was no big deal, but his eyes would linger on you a moment too long, watching you with a touch of something he refused to name.

(୨୧) When He Realized He Loved You

Tom didn’t have some grand epiphany. It was a slow, torturous process of denial. But the moment he knew? It was after you smiled at him after a particularly heated argument about something inconsequential. You stood your ground, refused to back down, and still looked at him like he wasn’t the monster he feared he was. He walked away, but later that night, when the castle was silent, he whispered the words into the dark, testing them out as if saying them aloud would make them feel less… dangerous. "I love her."

(୨୧) His “Confession” Was Terrifyingly Intense

Tom doesn’t stumble through his words like Mattheo might. No, when Tom confesses, it’s calculated and deliberate—but still deeply unsettling.

“You’ve done something to me,” he said, his voice dangerously low, his gaze piercing. “I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about you. And I won’t. So you’re going to stay by my side, because that’s where you belong.”

(Translation: We are gonna stay together forever. And we belong with each other. )

(୨୧) Tom’s Denial and “Caring” Moments When Tom started feeling what people call “love,” he fought it. He refused to let himself admit it, convinced that emotions were a weakness. He never said “I love you”—not in the way that other people did. Instead, it was subtle. Insidious. He’d show his affection in the smallest, most frustratingly subtle ways. He wouldn’t bring you flowers or offer grand gestures. No. Tom’s “love” was found in the way he’d drag you into the darkness of the restricted section when no one was watching, the way his fingers brushed yours for a split second before he pulled away, pretending he didn’t want to touch you.

And he definitely wouldn’t say “I love you” unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t need to. His actions spoke louder.

But then, one evening, it just… slipped out. You were sitting together in his private little corner of the library, your laughter echoing in the otherwise silent space. Tom, for once, seemed genuinely relaxed, his usually tense frame at ease. He was looking at you, his gaze dark but softened—something that wasn’t there before.

“You... make everything easier,” he muttered, almost to himself. When you raised an eyebrow, he didn’t immediately elaborate. Instead, he just leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he added, “It’s ridiculous how much I care about you.” and you just smiled and pecked his lips.

There was no "I love you," not in so many words. But you heard it, and it made your heart do something strange—flutter, maybe? But you weren’t sure if you were imagining it because Tom's voice was still so casual. Like everything he said was just... a matter of fact.

(୨୧) Praise Where It Matters Most

Tom doesn’t throw compliments around lightly. When he says something nice, it’s like being struck by lightning. His words carry weight.

“You’re brilliant,” he’d murmur, his voice low, his gaze intense. “More than anyone else here. Don’t ever let them make you think otherwise.”

(And yes, you’d be a puddle on the floor because Tom’s version of praise feels like a rare, precious gift.)

(୨୧) Tom’s Trust and Relationship Dynamics Here’s the thing: Tom doesn’t get jealous. He’s above it. It’s not in his nature. If you’re his, you’re his, and no one dares to get in the way. He doesn’t need to question your loyalty, because in his mind, the moment he chose you, he is gonna trust you more than anyone. For him you’re never at fault but the other person is gonna die. It’s not that he’s insecure—it’s that he knows you would never cheat on him. Why would you? You have everything you could ever need in him.

He doesn’t even feel the need to keep tabs on you, though don’t get it twisted—he is watching, but he does it from the shadows. If you’re not at his side, he trusts that you’ll come back. You always come back. And if you don’t, well… that’s where things get a little interesting.

He’s not showing you off like Mattheo might; he’s staking his claim.

If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, you’ll feel the shift in his demeanor immediately.

“Do they think they’re worthy of your attention?” he’ll whisper, his tone deceptively calm. “They’re not. Let me remind them.”

(Spoiler: He will. And it won’t be pretty.)

(୨୧) Acts of Service, But Darker

Tom will do things for you, but it’s always with a hidden motive. Did someone upset you? He’ll “take care of it.” Did you want something rare or hard to find? He’ll get it for you, no questions asked.

“Consider it handled,” he’ll say with a ghost of a smile. But you know better than to ask how he handled it.

(୨୧) The Gaslighting Is Unreal

If you ever try to put distance between you and Tom, he’ll make you question everything.

“Why would you leave? After everything we’ve built together?” His voice will crack just enough to make you hesitate.

And when you falter, he’ll pull you back in with a kiss so intense it leaves you breathless, murmuring, “I can’t lose you. Don’t you see? You’re my weakness.”

(୨୧) First Kiss

It happened in the library, of course. You were studying, lost in your notes, and he was pretending to read while stealing glances at you. He didn’t plan it, but you looked up and caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head with that infuriatingly perfect smile.

He leaned in before he could stop himself, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips met yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was intense, consuming, like he was staking a claim. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured before returning to his book as if nothing had happened.

(୨୧) The Reality of Tom Riddle’s Love

With Tom, everything is earned. He doesn't just give his heart away, and certainly not without demanding something in return. But for you? You’ll always have his trust. You’ll always have his attention. You’ll always know that beneath that cold exterior, he’s obsessed.

Tom Riddle | Intimacy and the Smut

(୨୧) With Tom Riddle, intimacy is an art—meticulous, calculated, and suffused with a dark intensity that leaves you trembling in its wake. He isn’t one for rushed encounters or fleeting passions. No, when Tom takes you, it’s deliberate, almost ceremonial, like he’s claiming something he already knows belongs to him.

(୨୧) The Build-Up Foreplay with Tom is a slow burn, a game of control that he always wins. He knows exactly how to make you crave him without even laying a finger on you. His voice, low and commanding, is enough to send shivers down your spine. He has this way of leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs things that are simultaneously a praise and a promise.

“You look exquisite when you’re begging, darling,” he whispers, his hand ghosting along the curve of your neck, stopping just short of touching you fully.

Tom thrives on anticipation. He’ll spend what feels like an eternity trailing his fingers across your skin, watching your reactions with a sharp, almost predatory focus. Every gasp, every arch of your body—it’s all cataloged in his mind, stored away for when he decides to unravel you completely.

The way he kisses you is enough to leave you breathless. It’s not hurried or frenzied; it’s controlled, methodical. He tilts your chin up with a single finger, his lips slanting over yours with a precision that makes your knees weak.

When he finally touches you, it’s overwhelming. His hands are strong, commanding, but there’s a certain reverence in the way he holds you, like he’s savoring every inch of your skin.

(୨୧) The Act Tom is not gentle, but he’s not reckless either. He knows exactly how to toe the line between pleasure and pain, how to push you to the edge without ever letting you fall. He’s all about control—his control over you, your body, your mind.

His stamina is almost otherworldly. Where others might falter, Tom thrives, his focus unwavering as he pushes you past your limits. He doesn’t stop until you’re completely spent, your body trembling beneath his, your voice hoarse from calling his name.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his tone laced with dark amusement as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Falling apart so beautifully for me. Are you even aware of how perfect you are?”

He loves to whisper things into your ear, things that make your cheeks flush and your heart race.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and commanding. “Every part of you. Do you understand that?”

And when you nod, he smirks, his lips ghosting over yours.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm.

(୨୧) Pet Names and Praise Tom isn’t overly creative with pet names, but the ones he uses are potent.

Darling: His go-to, spoken with a dark edge that makes your knees weak.

My love: When he’s feeling particularly possessive, usually whispered against your skin.

Good girl: Said in a way that makes your heart race and your mind spin.

Perfect: Because to him, you are, and he never lets you forget it.

(୨୧) Roughness and Domination Tom doesn’t shy away from being rough. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his teeth graze your neck in a way that makes you shiver, and his pace is relentless. He loves the way your body reacts to him, the way you cling to him, desperate and needy.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. “I know you can. You’re stronger than you think, my love.”

And when you finally break, when you can’t hold back the cries of pleasure that spill from your lips, Tom smirks, his satisfaction evident in the dark gleam of his eyes.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers, his lips pressing against your temple. “Always so perfect.”

(୨୧) Aftercare Despite his roughness, Tom isn’t cruel. Once the heat of the moment has passed, he softens ever so slightly. He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak volumes. He’ll run his fingers through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender, and press soft kisses against your forehead.

“You did well, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Rest now. I’ll take care of everything.”

And he does. Because while Tom Riddle might be a lot of things—manipulative, calculating, and intense—when it comes to you, he’s nothing short of devoted.

[mioakem]

the tubbo and dream stream breakdown

tubbo asks about why he didn’t apologize for the r slur in the original stream

-dream responds saying emotions were high and he kind of apologized in around the middle of the stream. then talks about nicholas cantù and saying that he did not think that because cantù said it he could as well but more that he was mad that cantù could say it without backlash and he couldn’t. says he’s not a hypocrite and that he’s always stood by that you shouldn’t say slurs

-tubbo says he wishes he said that to begin with

-dream agrees and starts saying that he’s very impulsive and is working on getting better on

tubbo talks about the clips used of him in dreams video and criticizes him for only using clips of tubbo agreeing with him and putting the clips in before he even plays tommy’s video. says that it makes it sound like dream is trying to make tommy see ridiculous

-dream says that tommy didn’t mention the grooming stuff in the video and said that he wanted to mention it at first because that was his big issue with the whole situation. also admits to not watching tubbos streams fully

-dream says he’s not trying to ignore tubbos points but rather that he was responding to tommy and not focusing on tubbo in the video- says he’s a trustworthy source and he wanted to put an unbiased perspective at the beginning

-tubbo asks again why he chose to do that at the start before tommy said anything (the original question)

-dream talks about how he edits videos in chronological order and how before tommy made his video tommy and his friends have been joking about him being a pedo. admits to crashing out over it

-tubbo says that it paints an impression that makes it seem like tommy is insane cause even his own friends don’t agree with him

-dream asks how he recommends to change it

-tubbo says to present the argument your countering before presenting your point

-says if he included tommy’s video then it would be repeating what he said at the beginning since dream addressed the r slur at the beginning of his video

tubbo asks why dream didn’t mention the 3 hour stream he did in the video

-dream says he mentioned it once when he was talking about praising tommy for the smp. he said that the video was condensing what he said on his stream in a more consumable way so he didn’t feel the need to talk about the stream

tubbo questions why dream asks about context for sexism and mentions how tom brought up george and caiti

-dream says that he separates them, says that he talked about the reaction to caiti and then says that him and his friends were sexist behind the scenes

-tubbo says that it’s the same thing and says that he’s calling dream sexist because of the caiti situation

-dream says tommy is talking about behind the scenes

-tubbo yet again says that it relates and also says that the behind the scenes also refers to calling both ludwig and robbo’s friends whores

-dream says he knows nothing about ludwig’s friend and talks about what ludwig talked about on his stream the other day. says he asked ludwig to elaborate and who it was and then says how he talked about Robbo. says that robbos claims that he called a girl a whore and got slapped was a lie and robbo blew it out of proportion. then goes back to ludwig and said that ludwig didn’t wanna say who it was and that makes it hard for dream to figure out how to navigate the situation. says that ludwig said that he called a friend of his a whore outside a club when he was drunk and dream says that the only time he has ever used that word is jokingly in private to his good friends

-tubbo asks if that’s the case then how come two separate people on two separate accounts are making those claims

-dream says robbo’s claims was during the cantù situation and it’s all lies and doesn’t matter and should be thrown out because robbo was supporting cantù. he reiterates how he only says it in private to friends and how after cantu he doesn’t say it anymore and how he can’t imagine himself saying that word so it’s hard to believe that he called the girl a whore. he said that he tried to talk to the girl but again, ludwig wanted to keep her info private. dream says that it’s hard to tell what’s true and what’s not

-tubbo reels it back to the original context of “what’s the context”

-says that tommy provided no context

-tubbo says the context was what happened with george and caiti

-dream said that it’s two separate parts of the video (bro just talk about caiti she’s not gonna bite). says that it’s two different claims and that he’s talking about the internets reaction to caiti was sexist

-tubbo says he thinks to continue saying they’re two separate things when they’re complaint about the same issue is strange because it’s not difficult to assume that the negative reaction to caiti came from dream and george’s community

-dream again asks what he did that was sexist

-tubbo says that it’s the fact that he did nothing during the caiti situation and let his community attack her

-dream said he’s had multiple discussions about it. he said it’s not in his video because it says “the internets reaction” and also because it’s not a situation he’s hiding from and he’s talked about it before and how tommy is opening old wounds and making it into a personal attack when it’s a very complex situation. says it’s not a him and tommy thing. he says that he wouldn’t be friends with sexist people

-tubbo again brings it back and asks if he doesn’t want to talk about caiti since it’s old then how come he brings up so many old clips

-dream says it’s different because it involves himself. he says again that he wanted to stick to him and tommy

-tubbo says that how come since he has involved himself in the caiti and george situation then how come he didn’t include it

-dream says that his personal feelings don’t matter in the situation compared to george and caiti’s feelings. again says the video is about him and tommy

-tubbo says it’s weird to say he wasn’t involved when he was

-dream says that since tommy said the internets reaction

-tubbo says that the internets response comes directly from his response to it. he says that his initial involvement felt sexist. he says that dream getting involved with the knowledge about how dreams community is can lead to people believing dream is sexist due to his community (it gets weird at this part dream keeps talking over him)

-dream says it’s not a situation you can discuss in full. he says that he was there so he felt like he had input regarding the situation. he says he doesn’t support and harassment or hate and again says it’s very complex. says that there was a large part of the internet on both sides

-tubbo brings up the transcript which directly corresponds dreams groups reaction to the caiti situation with sexism

okay never mind in done with this summary dream is pissing me off i hate this sexist piece of shit fuck this man

[shawnxstyles]

man-handled

DATE: DECEMBER 4, 2023

summary: you get a little caught up in your boyfriend’s muscly arms and can’t help but imagine what it would be like if he man-handled you.

request: i thought it was but i guess not??

words: 5.1k

warning: SMUT (f- receiving (multiple orgasms, oral, fingering, throat-fucking), m- receiving (oral), slight daddy/sir kink, degrading, name-calling, dirty talk), language, and probably the shittiest ending ever

note: i’m so tired y’all

mafia!tom x reader

–

You weren’t usually like this. You weren’t known for being so horny to the point where you can’t think straight. You were known to be quiet, shy, and even a little innocent. But sometimes Tom brought out the worst in you. But you learned to like that side of you. The secret, dark, and dirty side that only Tom could unveil from you. Watching you unfold and come undone–no pun intended–gave Tom a deep sense of growing pride.

Every day he made it more obvious that he was the only one and that there would never be anyone else for you.

What was causing you to act so strange was a new obsession for you. You had been with Tom intimately numerous times, but he never failed to pleasure you immensely. You two have explored each other’s bodies inside and out, yet your mind still found things to obsess over. Currently, it was his arms.

His arms.

They were usually covered with different brand-name suits, all varying from gray to black. The sleeves always wrapped around his biceps snuggly, hinting at only some of his bulkiness. Usually, the sight of him in his suits when he left for work had you thinking about how hot he looked overall. But as you watched him leave this morning, your eyes couldn’t stop fixating on the packed muscle you knew was hiding under the black suit’s sleeves.

You’re not sure, but you think this newest obsession started last night by complete accident. That accident being Tom’s overwhelming dominance and control when he was fucking you.

Although you were on the quieter and more innocent side, it amazed both Tom and you that you were secretly fucked in the head just like him. You hadn’t even known it until you stumbled upon Tom. Sometimes, you think that he molded you to indulge in his kinks and fantasies, but he’s never forced you to do anything. If anything, it’s always you shyly asking him to do something more when a dirty thought pops into your head. He always makes sure to degrade yet praise you in the most addicting and twisted way.

Last night, while you and Tom were simply watching a movie, things got heated (it was never just going to be a movie). Tom had gotten home early and just wanted to relax. But the makeout between you two got hotter and you both got needier. When you moved yourself to his lap, gently rocking into him, his strong hands forced you to stay still. You remembered the bruises present on his knuckles and wondered if they still hurt when he squeezed your hips. You whined into his mouth before he picked you up easily, throwing you over his shoulder as you squealed.

“Always so greedy.”

Tom has picked you up and threw you over his shoulder before. Maybe the other times he was gentler about it, afraid to hurt his little princess even if you were completely okay with it. But that night, he didn’t seem to give a fuck. He had a difficult day at work, the evidence clear on his wounded hands, so maybe he took some of that aggressive out on you. After he had brought you upstairs, you were extremely drenched as his bulky arms tossed you on the bed.

But after that, he apologized for being so rough. He explained how he had a tough day and he was sorry for taking it out on you. It resulted in long, sweet, loving sex that you adored all the time because you got to see the part of him that no one sees. Just like that secret part in you that only he sees. Except, you weren’t yearning for his softness after being man-handled. No, you were looking to be fucked. Hard. You wanted it rough, messy, degrading, and straight sinful. The nastiest scenes flooded your mind through the night, hoping that you could relive one of them with Tom. As he fucked slow into you last night, your eyes couldn’t remove themselves from his bulging arms holding himself over his head. You watched as the muscles would work and his veins would pop out when he did a push-up, and it had you clenching around him pathetically.

What were you going to tell him when he came home?

For the rest of the day, you wandered around the house needily. You cleaned, you read, you reorganized, but nothing distracted you enough from your fucked-up thoughts and the pulse between your legs. One part of you felt ashamed for hiding it from Tom, but the other half of you didn’t care. It felt like you had your own little secret that no one knew. But then again, you really wanted to tell him because you wanted to see the results. And feel them…

When it was late into the evening, seemingly later than when Tom usually returns, you sighed to yourself. You brought yourself to bed, too worn out from your own desires nagging you down all day. If only Tom didn’t have a rule about touching yourself while he was gone, you would have been able to handle your dirty situation all by yourself. But no, Tom had to be insanely controlling and sexy about everything, just making your situation even harder to deal with. Just as your bare feet slip into the comforter, you hear the hefty front door open. Your head shoots up, instantly on high alert of Tom’s arrival. Just when you thought your body was relaxing, the sound of his approaching footsteps seem to heighten your hormone levels, veering away from homeostasis once again.

Tom peeks his head through the ajar bedroom door, body hunching over the door handle. He doesn’t say a word until he realizes that you are in fact awake, opening the door wider. He skulks closer to you, his body bulky and stoic just how you remembered it being this morning when he left. His hands at his sides had those infamous cuts and bruises that you always wrapped with bandages. He never wanted you to, you demanded that you do. Your heart pounds as your tummy tickles, wishing he could read your mind and just handle you the way you want him to with those bruised knuckles.

“Missed you today, Princess,” his thick hand rose to caress the hair on your head. You feel yourself lean into his touch, yearning it always no matter how intense or soft. You always craved to just feel him.

“Missed you too, Daddy. So much,” your hand reaches up and encloses around his wrist, squeezing softly. His hand gently pulls away as he sits beside you on the bed, and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact.

“What d’you do today?” Tom asked simply and softly, genuinely curious about your day. But finally with him next to you, your mind has gotten all fuzzy, and you feel like you’ve forgotten every word you’ve known. Your eyes haven’t drifted away from his arm since he pulled away from you, mind encompasses in the way he moves.

“I cleaned. I reorganized the shelves in your office. Oh, and I read too…”

Tom tried to listen to your dull list of activities, but he couldn’t help but notice how distracted you seemed. Maybe you were tired from all the chore-like things you did. But your eyes weren’t blinking as they started at his chest, clearly hazy with something. Something familiar.

“Yeah? And what did you read?”

“Um… I don’t remember,” your head started to tilt to the side as you licked your lips, lost in whatever thought was clouding your mind currently. Tom’s mouth curved just the slightest bit up at the airheaded state of you, wondering if you could be anymore adorable. The fact that you didn’t remember what you read, knowing you love reading, is what stood out to Tom the most. Something was obviously off, Tom just couldn’t figure it out yet.

“How was work? Do you need me to patch you up?”

“Work was stressful. People don’t listen and then ask why m’so harsh. And idiots like to go behind m’back and take stuff from me,” Your eyes fall onto his wounded hands.

“S’not nice…”

“Not nice at all, huh?” Tom reaches up to caress your face ever-so gently, not wanting to touch you too much with his open cuts.

“Come on. Let me fix you up. Please?”

Now, how could Tom ever say no to you?

–

Sometimes, Tom could be stubborn. Like right now, where he refused to sit down while you tended to his wounds because he’s saying that it won’t take long enough to sit. You want to roll your eyes in annoyance, but you don’t want him to see your attitude and punish you later. Or maybe you do…

He had his suit jacket off now and just his crisp, white buttoned shirt rolled up to the elbows. The skin that was untouched was smooth under your delicate touch, but his scars and fresh cuts, which were most likely old ones reopened, were rugged. You dabbled light pressure as you wiped away dry blood with the wet cloth, not afraid of hurting him because he barely blinks when he punches someone. He surely wasn’t phased by his girl cleaning up his damages like a little puppy trying to lick themselves better. That’s exactly what your touch felt like—little puppy licks and gentle pawing.

And when you applied the cooling ointment, his pain was eased, but he doesn’t think it was from the cream. No, he is a firm believer that you are his medicine. Your words, your touch, your soul was healing. Although he was your opposite in every way and he hurt people for a living while you mended people’s aches with your mere presence, he could never hurt you. Never.

So, when you’re all finished wrapping his hands with that rough cloth that’s an excuse for a bandage (it was all he had stored), he’s shocked by your blunt statement. You were rarely blatant about anything, especially when it had to do with sexual situations.

“Why did you apologize to me last night?” You just threw your words at him, hoping he caught them. He didn’t know that when you were fixing him up you were ogling his arms like a child in a toy store during the Christmas season. His veins were green, constant exploitation of work causing them to pop out more. He looked delicious and it made you crave him more than ever. Even more with his ripped up hands. You wanted the roughness and pain and the power to be instilled on you. You wanted him to take his particularly hard day out on you. Tom blinked, silently leading you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He tried to recall exactly when he apologized to you, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Clearly, work had gotten to his head too much.

“I don’t remember what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, darling,” Without a thought, he begins unbuttoning his shirt with his bandaged hands. He looked like something of a fancy man mixed with an underground boxer. Not the type of fancy that shows off his money, but the type that’s humble and real and works hard for what he wants. A man who made himself. And that’s exactly who Tom is; someone who built himself.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you’re under the spotlight. But you took a breath. “Last night, when we were having… sex… you apologized for being really rough.”

He flatly hums, indicating that you need to continue while he buttons his shirt. You could just faint from his sculpted, stony beauty that was hidden behind a few buttons and fabric. Unlike his knuckles, his skin was smooth and untouched besides his scattered tattoos. He had faint scars that you could barely see unless you were looking really hard (which in your case maybe you were). His build and figure used to intimidate you, but now, you’re just awed.

“Well… I kind of liked when you were rough…” Your words dragged out, especially as your head tilted down to face your lap in embarrassment. “You’ve never really been like that before and it caught me off guard, but in a really good way! I didn’t realize I wanted something like that until… yeah.” You weren’t embarrassed that you were attracted to your own boyfriend’s man-handling, but by the fact that you had to admit that to get what you wanted. Sometimes, you wish he could just read your mind, but life wasn’t a movie or a book, even if it felt like that from time to time with the life you live. Dating a mafia man was insane to visualize–those things only really happened in books. Or so you thought.

“You did?” You softly hummed, nodding your head. You could feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest. You didn’t think Tom would reject you. That’s not why your heart was beating faster than its usual tempo. You were anticipated and your organ couldn’t help but be thrilled at what was to come. “You liked when I took my day out on you? Liked when I was a little mean?”

You crossed your ankles that had been hanging off the bed, biting your lip. You nodded, maybe a little too quickly, because you got slightly dizzy from the movement along with your amped hormones. You had that beat in your chest, but you also had that throbbing pulse in your lower body that has been aching since you watched him leave earlier that day. In the most Tom-way possible, he stalks over to you, torso bare while his trousers remain on. He’s slow and calculated, and it makes you even more anxious. When your eyes finally look up at him, he’s glaring down at you with blown-out pupils, a darkness swirling with the brown color of his irises.

He’s close to you now, inches away from touching you. But he doesn’t. You hear the clink of his belt loosening around his waist before it’s adoring his hand. His quick movements cause the leather to slap your bicep, making you gasp, but what he doesn’t do is apologize. You’re not sure if what he did was purposeful. Did he want to startle you and show you how rough he really could be? You never lingered too long on the idea of him using a belt on you, but if Tom was going to be man-handling you more often, then the thought would probably be more recurring. Tom shrugs off his pants as if they’re a bother, and by the large bulge outlined in his briefs, it seems as if they really are.

You hadn’t even realized you were licking your lips until Tom’s hand came up around your throat, thumb pulling it out. He tucks his thumb into your mouth, gripping it tightly.

“Drooling over m’cock and I’m not even fully undressed yet,” he removes his thumb before lightly tapping your cheek. “On your knees. Need to fill that filthy mouth.”

The devil on your shoulder wants to be a brat and not listen to him, but you’ve been craving this all day. If Tom knew what you wanted–which he did–his punishment to you would just be not giving it to you. And that’s not your ideal plan at the moment. So, you slide off the edge of the bed and onto the floor at his feet. The first thing he does is spread your thighs open with his ankle.

“You don’t get to squeeze y’pretty little thighs together while sucking me off. That’s rude, pet. Get as wet as you want, but if you close y’legs, you’re not comin’ tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Your hands were waiting anxiously by your sides, clawing at the skin on your thighs. Your pussy was already clenching around its own wetness, unable to close due to his new limit.

“It talks,” his tone was sinister and demeaning. The kind that would make someone’s eyes twitch and hands fist in an argument out of irritation. But his works were fueling some type of sick need inside of you that needed to be sedated, and this seemed to be the only way to do it. And you didn’t mind it one bit. You fucking loved it. “Who knew such a slut would be so obedient?”

You knew better than to respond to that rhetorical question. Instead, you patiently wait for his smirk to rise in cocky pride before he finally slips off his briefs. Like every time you’ve seen his cock, it’s pretty. You didn’t know they were supposed to look so yummy and dream-like. He was smooth with inklings of hair scattered down at the base and his tip was a cute coral color that grew an angry red when he was hard. From the looks of it, he was pretty hard. His tip was leaking that delicious pre-cum you were dying to taste, even if you’ve had it thousands of times before. Having to sit and stare at his glory without touching was some type of punishment, you think.

His hand latches onto the base and the other grips the back of your head. He pushes you closer, tapping your cheek with his tip. You suck in a breath, readying to take him.

“You know what to do if it’s too much. And it will be.”

Tom shoves his cock into mouth once you’re open wide enough. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size or explore his prick like he usually does. This time he’s quick and harsh like he’s trying to beat some type of record. But he’s still just as calculated as he always is, and you know he’s not just going to come fast because he can. Most men do that all the time when they want to get off briskly, but Tom wasn’t like that. He liked to take his time and appreciate the moment, edging you both just a little to make it a little fun. He always edged himself more though, forcing orgasms out of you before you would even touch him.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing, trying to grasp the pleasure he is holding from you. Hands clawing at his meaty thighs until your nails break the skin barrier. Moans attempt to escape your mouth, but are instantly shoved right back down your throat from his thick cock. Tom drills into you with no mercy, causing saliva to cascade down your chin in long strings. The muscles in your jaw ache from their open stance, begging for a break that you would never get. If it was too much you could easily tap his thigh a few times and it would all be over, but that’s exactly what you don’t want. You love that he came home after a stressful day and you could make him feel better. You didn’t want your limitations to restrict his maximum abilities when you secretly wanted more to begin with.

“Look at you letting me fuck this throat. This whiny, little throat and your filthy mouth. Always so fuckin’ needy for it,” his grip on your hair intensified, stilling your head from any movements you might subconsciously make. You’re not surprised when the tears finally start to leak from your eyes, rolling down your face in wavering streams rather than small rivulets. “I’m so big I made you a crybaby. That good, sweetheart?”

There were no words that were able to leave your stuffed mouth, only rumbles of moans that vibrated around his cock so dirtily that his head was falling back. Deep, guttural groans emitted from his rough throat, his movements never faulting. Even when you feel the tip of him twitching in the back of your mouth, he doesn't stop.

“Take it. I’m going to come and you’re going to take it. All you wanted was to be a storage for my cum, right?” Tom’s words were cruel and degrading, but they were the exact thing that got you off. Your stomach churned in lust, feeling a bit neglected, yet pleasured by him fucking your mouth.

He was going all out tonight and you didn’t want anything less. Tom didn’t even give you a warning about when he was coming, he just wanted you to take it. And who were you to defy him? When ropes of his much-needed release fired from his prick, you made sure to swallow every drop. He slowly removes himself from your mouth as your jaw aches immensely. Saliva and cum were lathered around your chin, coating your lips with the taste of him. Your hand lifts up to massage your jaw as you look up at the flames of lust in Tom’s eyes. You notice that there’s slight hesitation; he wants to default back into a caring lover rather than a dominant one. But even with the soreness in your jaw, you manage a smirk to let him know that you’re fine. You’re more than fine, and you’re more than ready to continue the rest of the night. You know that it will be your turn soon too at some point, right? That throat-fuck was torture for your sopping cunt. You’re mind-dizzyingly horny.

“What’s the matter? Your lip is all trembling and wet,” You didn’t even notice him stuff his prick back into his pants because you were so mesmerized by the taste left on your tongue and the ache in your jaw. He leans down, nearly level with you on the floor, but still hovering over your head. “Just like your pussy I bet, hm?”

Your entire body shivered from his words as if a frozen wind cascaded through the bedroom, but at the same time, your skin has never burned so fiery. His hands were quick to fit under your arms, lifting you up to your feet. When your thighs met again, they squeezed tightly to rid the incessant throbbing between them. You knew you were just soaking wet too–the kind that reached all the way to your bum once Tom laid you flat on your back. The kind that would drip onto the bed sheets if you were positioned on all fours with your rear up in the air. Tom loved to do every which way with you, but he was keen on watching your scrunched-up face relax once you came. The way your nose would wrinkle and eyebrows furrow, mouth just wide enough to slip a finger or two through. Which, of course, Tom would take advantage of. But right now, he wanted to taste you.

It had been such a long day, full of busyness and rage-work. He didn’t mind having to punch a face or two daily, especially when they wronged him significantly because then he got to do more than just a punch. The only part he hated was seeing your face in the aftermath. When he’d come home, he would see you all delighted to see him back and well, just for your expression to drop in concern at his wounds. Whether it was his hands (it was usually his hands), arms, chest, or even his face, you were relentless about fixing him up. Tom’s resistance was nothing to you, so eventually, he would just sigh and let you aid him. You had something of a magic touch because only you could make Tom feel better. Nothing like the doctors he had occasionally visited as a child or even his mother’s kisses. And now, his knuckles may be bruised and may be bandaged, but that would never stop him from taking care of his girl. Especially when his girl got all shy about wanting to be man-handled. He thought you were the most adorable thing really.

Usually, Tom would gently lay you back on the comforter and make sure you had a pillow underneath your head. This time, he didn’t even hesitate to throw your willing body like a ragdoll on the bed. The gasp you let out was practically a moan. His invasive, manly hands shredded your bottoms down your legs without a care in the world. You’ve never seen him so aggressive with you, but God, if it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. You had been craving this type of fucking, and now that you have it, well, you might just pass out from how good it’s all going to feel.

“This slutty little pussy,” he growls, thumb circling your throbbing clit. He can feel the way it swells underneath his rough touches, and he can hear the way your breath gets caught in your throat. You were always so delicate to him, like you would break if he held you too hard. But while you were soft, you were also strong, which is why Tom was able to treat you like this and you wouldn’t shatter like thin glass. “So weepy and wet. Who knew you were such a cock whore, hm? Or is it just for me?”

“You. Only you.”

Tom knew it was only for him. And of course, you knew it was only for him. No one has ever gotten you as wet as Tom has, and no one has pleasured you nearly as much. He strived to satisfy you until you begged him to stop, which no one had ever come close to doing. Every past partner you’ve been with always had to use lubricants because they couldn’t make you wet enough. You were always ashamed and embarrassed, but then you realized that’s how they should feel. Their performances are minuscule and rubbish; compared to Tom’s, they don’t stand a chance. But you didn’t bother with those past “lovers” anymore, because you had your one and only right in front of you. Or more like right in between your legs with his head on your thigh.

“Right. I’m feeling a bit hungry. You’ll let me eat, won’t you?” He widens your legs, forcing them to spread so you can’t suffocate him with your thighs. Lewd whines spill from your mouth as his breath hits your pussy, warm and close. “Oh, wait, I’m making the decisions.”

His lips lock onto your clit, sucking on the nub. You don’t conceal the moans that instantaneously begin to slip out of you like a mantra. He changes his rhythm, going firm and fast, and then slow and calculated. It was addicting, and it left you clawing at the bed sheets and curling your toes. His tongue swirls through your folds, collecting your juices and prodding inside of you.

No man has eaten you like Tom has. When they did it, they did it as if it was a chore. Tom does it as if it’s a reward.

He cherishes you, honors your body with his hands and mouth while also showing you who’s in control. It’s these things that make you utterly obsessed with him, thinking about him for twenty-four hours even when you see him at the start and end of every day. You were obsessed with the way his tongue was licking into you, desperate to consume every drop of your wetness until you were drained. His thumb returned to its home on your clit, pressing and holding as it throbbed beneath his finger. Your head spun as if you were drunk on a carousel, but it wasn’t nausea you were feeling. No, it was the ecstasy of pleasure building up inside of you as you approached your high.

“S-so close. Fuck—”

A slap to your inner thigh caused you to squeak into the heated air. Tom never cared when you cussed before, but the fact that he did now was another little turn-on that just got added to the list. Seriously, what was wrong with you?

His mouth popped off of you, thumb never letting up on your clit. He cleanly slides his middle finger through your slick folds, easily curling it inside of you. Even with his wounded and wrapped hands, his thrusts are flawless and perfectly paced. The sandy texture of the bandage occasionally itches your inner thigh, adding a delicious stimulation to your skin. As he pumps his digits inside of you, you are aware of the muscles in his arms flexing, which makes you clutch tightly around him.

“Oh, what’s got you so tight?” You groan at his words, not responding clearly. “Don’t be a brat.

“Your a-arms,” You can’t help but moan as he curls his fingers inside of you again.

“Yeah?” he hovers his body over you now, one arm supporting his bulky weight right beside your head. It was exactly like how you had remembered it and you didn’t even have to tell him. His bicep was next to your head, pulsing and working to keep him up right. You could feel and hear him grin and grunt every time you squeeze tightly around his fingers. “You’re the filthiest fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen. The way you’re taking my fingers I just know you’re wishing it’s m’cock.”

Your skin was on fire. Your hair was a mess. Your head was going to evaporate into a cloud of lust. And your body was an oozing waterfall. That’s the only way to describe how you felt.

His transitions are natural and effortless as if he could do it with his eyes closed because he’s mapped your body out so well. But no matter how many times you’re with him, you’re still withering beneath him, shaking until your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. He tilts his head, licking his lips before whispering in your ear deeply.

“Since you’ve been crying for it all day, come. Go ahead. Soak my fingers. Soak the fuckin’ sheets.”

You topple over your orgasm into a pool of pleasure, indeed soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. As your body becomes hypersensitive, you wiggle away from his touch, only for him to hold you in place. He snatches your hips, stills them roughly with a press of his bandaged hands.

“I’m not done here, sweetheart. For this one, I want you to be as quiet as possible. Can you do that? Or are you inclined to let the neighborhood know who is making y’come this many times?”

Tom was incessant about making you come a magnitude of ways that night, all with specific rules. One with no touching, one with no moving, one with no moaning. It was a rollercoaster of crying and orgasms. To say you were exhausted was an understatement, but you’ve never felt more refreshed and satisfied.

You were so tired that when Tom left to begin your aftercare, you had passed out on the messy bed sheets.

—

i rushed the ending so much, but i felt bad that i’ve posted in so long and i’m just so busy that i never have time to write anymore

taglist:

@motheroffae @noa217 @nelly-belly97 @spidermanffh3000 @rugbeat3000 @mysticdaisy21 @emilyparkerholland @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @theslayerofthevampires @breaxthing @eatshitanddiee @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3

crossed out= not able to tag

[tomssexdoll]

Torn Apart

PAIRINGS: Tom 2010 x Female reader

CONTENT: ANGST + SMUT + FLUFF

SYPNOSIS: Tom and Y/N had a huge fight, he had been distant for days, barely spent any time with her and treated her badly. One day she had enough, after yet another fight she decided to leave, having had enough of his bullshit, being gone for days.

A/N: if you want to be tagged or i accidently missed your tag comment on my pinned masterlist <3 cred for divider: @grlselle

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (riding), eating out, teasing, edging (m!recieving), arguing

Tom wasn't being a good boyfriend, not being like he usually was, the kind and sweet guy I loved, he was being cold, distant and snappy. Whenever I tried to ask what's wrong I'd be given the cold shoulder or when I tried to spend time with him he'd snap at me.

I confronted him one day, walking up to him and gently touching his shoulder, "baby..are you sure you're ok, you've been acting so different lately.." I said softly, not wanting to trigger a reaction out of him.

He turned to me, his expression cold and distant, "I'm fine...leave me alone, alright?" he said, his voice harsh and abrupt, "I don't need your concern right now.." he grumbled. I decided to ask the question I had been wondering for weeks, "there's another woman, isn't there? That's why you've been acting so cold..." my voice trembled slightly, my emotions getting the best of me.

"Oh my god! Jesus christ Y/N!" he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "you always come to that fucking conclusion don't you?" he yelled, "well can you fucking blame me? I can't even get a small hug from you, you haven't fucked me in 4 weeks!" I yelled back, my anger now taking over.

"What if I'm just stressed, upset, have you ever considered that, or are you always this selfish?" he hissed, his words cold and harsh. I stared at him in disbelief, "are you kidding me..." I scoffed, "I'm selfish? Oh so, all the checking up, concerned notes and packed lunches were because I was being selfish? Great.." I rolled my eyes and turned around, getting ready to leave.

"Fuck..." he muttered, realizing how much of an asshole he was being, "I'm sorry baby..I just-" I cut him off, "no, I'm done with your bullshit, I'm fucking leaving, don't come looking for me and don't text me.." I was so sick and tired of it, why should I have to put up with his bullshit?

He realized the gravity of the situation and rushed to my side, spewing out apologies and begging for another chance, fuck! Please baby don't go, I'll do anything, anything baby!" he clung to me, trying to drag me back. I ignored him and packed a small bag, rushing out the door and speeding away in my car. As expected he blew up my phone with texts and calls, each text as pathetic as the other.

I stayed at my apartment for the meantime, wanting to teach him a lesson he'd never forget. For days I didn't return his calls or texts, just leaving them unopened, always listening when another one came in. Reveling at the sight of his desperation.

As more days passed and it had been a week since I saw him, he started to send longer, more pleading messages, even leaving voicemails. Becoming more desperate to win me back. He sent me flowers, teddy bears and gifts, trying to make up for all he'd done.

One day, he finally showed up at my apartment, looking dishevelled and tired. He rung the bell, waiting and then knocking loudly, "please baby..I know you're in there, just talk to me please.." he whined, as much as I wanted to be petty, the pain in his voice killed me and as soon as I knew it, I was walking towards the door and placing my hand on the doorknob.

I stopped for a second, contemplating my decision. I sighed and opened the door, looking up at him. His eyes lit up as he saw me, his heart pounding in his chest. Without a word Tom stepped inside and pulled me into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around my possessively. "I'm sorry baby...I'm so sorry..I was an idiot, I can't bear you ignoring me like this, I love you..I need you.." he grunted, his voice thick with emotion.

I just stood there, listening to his cries, "I was a fucking idiot..a selfish idiot, I promise I will never treat you like that again baby please..." he buried his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin. I walked to my couch with him, gently sitting down. He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself down.

He sat down on the coffee table in front of me, "just talk to me..please, I miss hearing your voice.." he begged, leaning forward, his voice soft, "look at me, angel. Please. I just want to see your face, talk to me...tell me anything.." he choked out a sob. I slowly looked up at him, he let out a slow breath and his shoulders instantly relaxed just from my eye contact, it was reassuring.

"God...I've missed you. You have no idea. Can I...can I touch you? Just your hand..please.." his eyes were so hopeful, so desperate. I sighed and nodded, "fine..just my hand.." he slowly reached out, his fingers wrapping around my hand. He brought it to his lips, kissing my knuckles gently. He turned my hand over, pressing soft kisses to my palm.

He heard me suck in a breath, and looked up at me, his eyes filled with emotion, "my love.." he continued to kiss my palm, his touch gentle and loving. He nuzzled against my wrist, inhaling my scent. He felt me shift slightly and hope flashed in his eyes, "can I...can I sit by you..." he asked softly, not wanting to scare me off.

As soon as I nodded my head he quickly moved to sit beside me on the couch, still holding my hand. He brought it to his lap, resting it on his thigh, gently rubbing my palm. He snuggled close to me, his shoulders pressing against mine.

I noticed his eyes drifting to my chest, focusing on my cleavage that was ready to burst out of my tight top, then I noticed the tent in his pants, raising an eyebrow and looking at him again. He blushed deeply, his eyes flicking down to where my hand rested on his thigh. "Sorry.." he murmured, "can't help it..you're just so..you" he chuckled awkwardly.

I gently palmed his cock, he let out a low moan, his arms wrapping around my waist to keep me in place. He buried his face against my neck, his hot breath fanning across my skin, "angel....please..don't fucking tease me.." he panted, his hips bucking up to meet yours, "please.."

I moved my hands towards his belt, slowly, ever so slowly taking it off, torturing him even more. I threw it aside and slid his pants down, reaching into his underwear and slowly taking his cock out, giving it a few slow strokes. He threw his head back, his mouth open in a silent scream. His fingers dug into my hips as he thrusted into my touch. "Oh baby..please..I'll beg..I'll do anything..just please..." he was babbling, his mind fogged with desire, "I love you.." he groaned.

I smirked at his desperation, I leaned in and kissed him, continuing to stroke his aching, throbbing cock. He moaned into my mouth, his kiss passionate and desperate. He thrusted into my hand, his whole body tensing, "gonna...gonna..please tell me to...tell me to stop.." he was so close, his voice breathy and broken.

But I didn't, I kept kissing him. As he was about to cum, I pulled away. His eyes shot open and he let out a whine, "what....no baby..no no no.." he clung onto me, trying to move my hand back. I pried myself off him and got up, taking my jeans off to reveal my black thong.

"You don't deserve to cum..not after all you did.." I smirked, his eyes widened at the as he took in the sight of me. He growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, trying so hard to not just take me over the coffee table. "Why...what are you.." he panted, sweat beads forming on his forehead. "Please don't torment me.." he was begging, his voice hoarse with need, "come here.." he lunged at me, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me close.

He buried his face against my stomach, "please...please..I'm begging you, let me...let me..oh god.." he trailed off, his voice muffled against my skin. "Let me touch you..please.." I looked down at him, never seeing him so...so whiny..so desperate and needy..it kind of turned me on, "worship me.." I said, a sadistic groan forming on my face.

He nodded frantically, his eyes wild with desire. He kissed and nuzzled my stomach, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch me. He kissed my thong-clad pussy, his lips pressing against the fabric. "I'll do anything for you.." he rasped out.

He wrapped his arms around my thighs, holding me in place as he buried his face against my pussy. He kissed and licked at my thong, his nose pressing against the fabric. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with devotion, "let me serve you..please baby.."

I furrowed my eyebrows and pushed his head away, sitting back down on the couch, "no licking" I covered my pussy. He whined and urgently crawled to me, grabbing onto my thighs and burying his face in my lap, his tongue desperately trying to part my thighs and find my cunt.

"Please...please..please.." he begged, over and over. I chuckled softly and spread my legs, "fine.." his eyes lit up and he practically ripped my thong off with his large, rough hands. His tongue flicked out, lapping at my folds, before dipping inside me.

He brought a hand up, his fingers joining his tongue in pleasuring me, "I'm worshipping you, baby. I'm worshipping every inch of you..you're my goddess.." he groaned against my pussy, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure. "Fuck!" I whined, my submission starting to seep in.

He curled his fingers inside of me, stroking that special spot inside me, my moans encouraging him. His tongue swirled around my clit, sucking it gently, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as I felt my release approach.

He wanted to make me cum, to show how much he loved me. "Tom! Oh fuck!" I gasped, sliding my hand down and desperately trying to grab onto his hair, his braids not giving me any hope. I grabbed the bottom of his braids and tugged, moaning loudly and shoving his face further into my pussy.

Tom grunted encouragingly, his arms wrapping around my thighs to hold me in place. He was fully committed to his task, his face drenched with my essence. He could feel me tensing up, my voice reaching a fever pitch, "TOM!" i yelped, "that's it baby, fucking cum, cmon!" he grunted, egging me on.

He doubled his efforts, his fingers curling inside of me now at an intensity I didn't know was possible, his eyes determined and focused on making me cum like I had never before. His tongue flickered against my throbbing nub, bringing me to a level of pleasure I'd never experienced before.

He felt my walls start to flutter around his fingers. He sucked my clit hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over it as he finger fucked me furiously. He wanted to prolong my pleasure to make this moment last. "Cum baby, cum for me now!" he yelled, panting uncontrollably.

"Yesss!" I screamed, whining loudly and tugging on his braids even tighter, he didn't care about the pain, only focusing on making me cum. My scream of ecstasy filled the room as my orgasm crashed over me. He groaned loudly against my pussy, feeling juices flood his mouth. He continued to lap at me, helping me ride out my high.

He chuckled softly and pulled away, "so good...fuck.." he looked up at me, "let me fuck you...please, I'm fucking aching.." he pleaded. I grunted and patted the spot next to me. He rushed to sit down and basically shed his clothes off, now completely naked.

His toned abs on display, my pussy throbbing at the sight. I climbed into his lap and I gently ran my hand down his chest, meanwhile he tugged on my shirt and took it off, along with my bra. His mouth practically watered at the sight of my round, full tits, so perfect and soft.

As he dipped his head to get a taste I smacked him gently, "ah ah ah! Have you earnt it?" I asked sternly, his eyes flashed with heat. He loved this side of me, "please...baby cmon..I'll earn every inch of you, first i'll worship your beautiful breasts.." he leaned down again, more gently this time, pressing a soft kiss to my cleavage.

I hummed in approval, giving him more access. He took one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking gently as he rolled the other between his fingers. He alternates between the two, making me moan softly, my eyebrows furrowing as he kept lavishing attention on both of my breasts. He was in heaven, worshipping my perfect tits, "so beautiful baby. So perfect.." he groaned.

After a few more minutes of Tom worshipping my tits, I finally spoke up, "you've earnt my pussy baby..you want me to ride you, hm?" his had snapped up as soon as he heard my words, his eyes blazing with desire, "yes, baby. Please. I want to feel you ride me, I want to watch these gorgeous tits bounce as you take my cock deep inside your tight pussy," he groaned, sliding his hands down to cup my ass.

I nodded and smirked, I hovered over his hard, throbbing cock, slowly lowering myself onto him, soft whimpers escaping my lips as I took inch after inch. His hands gripped my hips tightly as I sunk down on him. His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering closed at the intense pleasure, "oh baby..you feel so good, so hot, so wet...." he grumbled.

I bit my lip and started to move my hips, his hands slipped from my hips to my thighs, his fingers digging into my flesh as I begun to move. His hips thrusted up to meet me, his breath growing heavier with each passing moment. "Just like that, baby..oh god.." he rolled his eyes back, my hips now slamming into his as I picked up my pace.

His hands glided up to my breasts, kneading the soft flesh as I bounced on his cock. He pinched my nipples, adding to the pleasure, his thick cock filling me completely. "Yess..." he hissed, "faster, harder...take what you need, use me. I'm all yours..." he moaned lowly.

His eyes rolled back in his head, his whole body tense as I rode him with wild abandon. He grunted with each thrust, his cock buried deep inside me. Suddenly, he sits up, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me into place as he fucks up into me at a brutal pace.

"Ah! Tom, I thought I sai-" he growled and cut me off, "shut up...I fucking need you baby, you're so fucking good.." he groaned, shoving his face into my tits again and sucking on them as he pounded into me relentlessly.

I whined and held onto him tightly, moaning into his ear. He buried his face into my neck, his teeth sinking into my skin as he fucks me with relentless force. He's close, so close. He can feel his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside me. "Fuck, baby..I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna fucking cum inside you," he panted, "cum with me...cmon.." he reached down in between my legs and started to furiously rub my aching nub.

"Holy fuck, Tom!" I practically screamed, my arms tightening around his neck, bringing us closer together. He smashed his lips into mine and kissed me passionately, swallowing my cries as he stilled, burying himself deep into me before he filled me with his release, his body shuddering.

He continued to move his hips in short, jerky thrusts, milking out every last drop, his fingers never slowing down, "i'm so close! Go faster!" I whined, he instantly complied and repeatedly slammed himself into me, my orgasm crashing down, waves of pleasure coursing through my body.

He groaned at the feeling of my pussy clenching around him, burying his face into my neck and slowly sinking back into the couch, holding me tightly. "Fuck baby...that was amazing.." he sighed heavily, lifting his head and giving me a sweet kiss.

"You didn't even let me be in control.." I crossed my arms, he chuckled and placed a soft kiss on the tip of my nose, "sorry baby, can't help it" I smirked and rolled my eyes playfully.

"But seriously baby...I'm really sorry for how I treated you.." he sighed "it was nothing short of unacceptable and I'm fucking ashamed, you know I love you so much..so..so much" he gently kissed my cheek.

I sighed, the memories flooding back. I was hurt, really hurt but I knew he was sincere, the look in his eyes telling. "I am so..." he punctuated every word with a soft kiss to my face, "so...so.. sorry...baby.." he looked up at me, "you deserve so much better, better than what I've been giving you, I love you so much.." I smiled and gentle cupped his cheek, "I know baby, I know you're sorry and I'll forgive you but if it happens again..." I trailed off.

He nodded and sighed, taking my hand in his and placing a soft kiss. "I promise I'll be better..."

tags: @ballhair @bills-wife-1 @bkaulitzlover

tags: @ella1289 @billsdolliest @tomscumdoll

tags: @tomsfuckdoll @tomkslut @miyukafujii

tags: @itsangelll

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Regret

Pairing: DarkTom Riddle x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Lying is a flaw that Tom doesn’t appreciate.

WARNINGS: Toxic relationship.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Dedicating this to @insectgf cause she's Tom's no.1 fan 😋

--

You nervously wring your hands as you peer around, eyes searching for movement near the dimly lit dungeon entrance.

The way to the Slytherin Common Room.

You've been waiting for just over half an hour, anxiety building up and infesting your thoughts while you hold vigil in hopes of finding Tom.

You should have never behaved like that. An act of pure stupidity and recklessness, that’s what it was.

Going to Hogsmeade in the company of a few girls of your dorm.

It was a rare occasion, something you never did before, and you had only relented after much begging and convincing from the girls. A dumb decision – one that led to a dreadful aftermath.

You should’ve known better. All of your joyful chatter and laughter at The Three Broomsticks immediately ceasing once you spotted the distinct lean figure of Tom seated in a distant table, surrounded by his friends, his brown-eyes fixed on you.

No surprise or shock in his gaze, only cold anger irradiating from his handsome features.

Something almost comprehensible given how you had explicitly told him you’d be spending all afternoon in your dorm, offering the poor excuse of a headache.  

And now here you are. Scared, shaking like a leaf, waiting for the chance to apologize and beg for forgiveness.  

You're so pathetic.

The time drags by, and you lose track, feeling as if you’ve been waiting for an eternity. But your efforts pay off when the door opens, revealing Tom.

Your heart leaps at the sight and fear clouds your mind when he offers you nothing but a quick murderous scowl that immediately turns into one of composed indifference before walking away past you, barely acknowledging your presence.

You gulp, hurrying after him as he walks with long strides through the empty corridors.

“Tom?”

“Tom…please.”

The boy ignores your numerous calls, but you keep your hasty pace even when it has you short breathed as Tom quickly charges through the stairways and halls.

“Tom, just listen to me.”

“And why should I listen to anything you spew out of that filthy mouth of yours?" his snarl scares you as he suddenly turns. "It appears that lies and deception is all I can expect from you.”

You wince, barely opening your lips before Tom walks away, choosing to stare blankly at a wall.

The confusion in your mind dissipates as a large door materializes on the door and only then you realize that you’ve reached the 7th floor.

The Room of Requirement.

You hesitate for a moment but proceed to follow Tom as he opens the door with a loud bang. Your existence remains ignored and you take a few small steps inside the room, unsure of how to bring Tom’s attention.

“Tom?”

For a moment, the possibility of Tom disregarding you again was present, and you fearfully awaited as the seconds went by without a proper reaction from Tom.

He inhaled sharply, fingers tightening before he relaxed.

But when he finally turned to face you, you almost wished he hadn’t.

The venom that darkened his face had your heart faltering, his eyes narrowing into thin slits that held nothing but anger and frustration. He almost looked like a snake.

You felt yourself turning smaller at the sight, suddenly unsure of how to speak.

“I-“

“Trust is a rather curious thing.” he says with his voice oddly serene, “An invisible yet very powerful bond, one that defines the nature of one’s relationship. That’s how I perceive it.”

“So, tell me. How many times?”

You look at him, confused.

“Tom-“

“How many times did you break my trust?” he repeats himself, brows contorting with annoyance, “How many times did you sneak behind my back to meet up with those filthy mudbloods?”

“I- Only this time.” you tearfully admit, lowering your gaze to the floor as Tom angrily hisses something in that strange snake language of his. “I swear, Tom. I-I’m so sorry.”

“Just this once? And why should I believe your unreliable words? You seem to be very determined in breaking my trust, so tell me why should I consider any of what you say to be true?”

Your lips shake when you bring yourself to look at Tom, tears burning in your eyes.

“But, …” a minuscule sob cuts you off, much to Tom’s irritation, “it is true. It was only this once, Tom, I swear on my life! I never lied to you before, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom, I really am!”

The intent with which he examines your pitiful face sets you on edge, heart plummeting against your ribs as you don’t dare to say a word.

“Prove it.”

“Prove wha-“

“Prove me that you won’t repeat this act of disloyalty. Assure me how sorry you are.” the way his eyes glint with a new cruel motivation has a shudder running down your body, aware that nothing good will come out of his proposition.

“Perform the Cruciatus Curse. On yourself.” his lips curl at your bewilderment, clearly enjoying taunting you.

This time, the tears overflow and slide down on your face pitifully and you look at Tom, silently begging him with your eyes.

But there’s no empathy in his face. Only a vile purpose.

“Go on, do it.” he takes a step forward, his tone borderline threatening despite how lightly he speaks. “You can either punish yourself or I’ll do it for you.”

“Because I assure you that in the end, you will suffer.”

[thebiggerbear]

"I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that." - Dean Winchester Prompt Response

Summary: You and Dean refuse to speak to one another after an argument and Sam has finally had enough.

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting (#941). I loved writing this but I always love it when it comes to Dean. 😊 And of course, I couldn't resist when it came to Sam in the end. Brothers, gotta love 'em. ;)

Thank you to my beta @rieleatiel for her services. You rock, girl!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader; Dean Winchester x Female!Huntress!Reader

Warnings: mentions of implied sex

Word Count: 1449

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

Dean Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You can also read on AO3

"I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

Soldier Boy version ✨ Beau version ✨ Jenny version ✨ Jason version ✨ Tom version ✨ CJ version ✨ Rachel version ✨ Anael version ✨ SDV Leah version ✨ Alec version

Dean snuck a glance at you only to quickly look away when you looked up from your lore book. In return, you snuck a peek at him but pretended you were looking at something else when he lifted his head from one of the hunter’s journals he’d found in storage. 

Sam had watched this infuriating dance happen at least twelve times by now and it was getting on his last nerve. At first, he thought it was hopeful. Then heartbreaking. Now it was just damn aggravating, more so because he knew his older brother was being his usual stubborn self. All he needed to do was come out and apologize already, and Dean knew that yet still refused to budge an inch.

You and Dean had gotten into an argument during the last hunt. He’d been upset that you had taken on three vamps by yourself—something you had done back in your high school days, along with killing other creepy things that slithered out of the dark. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, which you had proven multiple times, and you knew when to ask for help. Dean didn’t want to hear it, claiming you could have been killed had he and Sam not been close by. You both dug in your heels no matter what Sam said, and you two were still at an impasse, giving each other the silent treatment. Still, that didn’t stop the longing glances Dean gave you when you weren’t looking, or the sad looks you gave him when he was none the wiser. It was driving Sam nuts. He had never met two people who were so stubborn—aside from his parents, of course—and now that he thought about it, stubborn or not, you and Dean were well-suited for one another.

“You know,” Sam broke the silence. “At some point, you two are going to have to talk to each other again.”

Dean shot him a surreptitious glare. You had no problem offering a withering glare of your own.

“Look,” Sam continued. “Y/N is right, she can take care of herself and if she needs our help, she’ll say something.” At your triumphant smile, Dean’s gaze darkened.

“No one asked you to butt in, Sammy,” he warned.

Sam nearly rolled his eyes. “If I don’t, this won’t get resolved because you both are too hard-headed to make the first move. Y/N,” Your eyes darted over to him. “My idiot brother won’t say it but the reason he got upset is because he’s scared.”

Dean’s free hand clenched into a fist and he gave a subtle shake of his head. Sam ignored him and continued, “He’s scared something is going to happen to you and he won’t be there to stop it. That’s why he freaked out that night. He’s not trying to tell you what to do or be a controlling jerk. He just wants you to be safe, that’s all.”

You bit your lip and turned your attention to Dean, who suddenly seemed very interested in the book in his lap. “Is that true?”

After a moment, he ground out, “Yeah. It’s true.”

You stood up, letting the book in your own lap fall to the ground with a heavy thud, and made your way over to Dean. You ripped the book out of his hands, tossed it to the floor, ignored Sam’s irritation at your carelessness with such old tomes, and crawled into Dean’s lap, his hands instantly coming around you to support you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned down to kiss him. You felt him immediately begin to relax under your touch and only when his lips were completely pliant and moving with yours did you pull back, staring into his green eyes.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me that?”

He slid his hand up your back and to your hair, tenderly rubbing the strands between his fingers. “I don’t know. I just… That vamp had you in a hold and it scared the crap out of me when I couldn’t reach you fast enough. What if he had gotten more of a drop on you? What if—”

You gently placed your fingers against his lips, stopping him from finishing that question. “He didn’t. I killed my first vamp at 12, took out my first nest when I was 16. Hunting’s in my blood just as much as it is yours. I know what I’m doing.” You ran your fingers through his hair reassuringly, scratching at his scalp, and watched him lean into the touch. “But if you want, we can talk about it. We’ll come up with a plan that makes you feel better and works for both of us. Okay?”

He gave you a dopey smile that melted your heart. The magic touch had worked; the tension from before had finally lifted. “Okay, baby. Sounds good to me.”

You kissed him again, this time with a little more passion. “You know what else sounds good?” You murmured to his lips when you both needed a breath.

Those green eyes you loved so much immediately lit with an all-too familiar fire. “Do tell.”

You leaned in and whispered your plan into his ear, making sure Sam wouldn’t overhear. By the time you pulled back, he was grinning like crazy. Clearing his throat, he helped you off of his lap and back onto your feet as you both turned to face Sam, a mischievous smirk fighting its way onto your face. You knew that would get him going.

“Actually, I just remembered I left the…stove on in the kitchen. And Y/N here has to go call Jody to…give her an update on the case and how it’s going.”

Sam gave you both a look; he wasn’t buying it. You turned and gave the same look to Dean. He really hadn’t come up with anything better than that? “I hate you.”

“You have a weird way of showing that,” he teased, subtly rubbing up against you and smirking. This man was so lucky you loved him.

You shook your head and looked away, your cheeks growing hot. The bastard was turning you on even more and he knew it. It’d been almost two weeks, the longest you’d gone without since — well, since meeting him.

Sam was the one to clear his throat this time. “Whatever. Happy you both are talking to one another again. Now, go do what you’re going to do but just not in front of me, please. Okay? And you’re welcome.”

Dean shot Sam a look but he was too happy to care what Sam was intimating about his being the one who settled things between the two of you. He gave his younger brother a wide smile. “If you need us, we’ll be…” He trailed off, gesturing to the hallway that led to the rooms.

“Oh my God,” you muttered in embarrassment as you grabbed his hand and pulled him after you.

“Oh, hey!” Sam yelled. “Keep out of my room this time, Dean. I mean it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean called back.

You had just turned the corner when Dean immediately had you up against the wall, kissing you passionately and picking you up, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. When you pulled back for air, your brow furrowed in confusion at seeing Dean move past his door. “Dean,” you panted. “Where are you going? You just passed your room.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

“Okay, then where are you taking me?”

His smirk was so wicked you knew what the answer was before he said it. “Sammy’s room.”

“Dean, are you kidding me? No!”

“Relax, we won’t be in there long.”

“You know how upset he was last time and he just said—”

Dean came to a stop and kissed the crap out of you, effectively silencing you. You may have been a little dazed when he finally let you get some air. “He’s got the better bed and I want the very best for you, baby.” He then gave you a salacious smirk and leaned in. “Plus I know how much you love that headboard.”

He waggled his eyebrows at you as certain memories replayed in your mind. You were able to hold onto that headboard for a long time, it held you up well, and same for Dean…oh shit. Sorry, Sam.

“What are you waiting for?” You bit out impatiently, slipping your tongue into his mouth and swallowing his chuckle. As he walked you into Sam’s room, shutting and locking the door behind him, you made a mental note to later google the hell out of this headboard and find one for Dean’s bed.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

[ana-reblogsposts]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - When Y/N’s rushed morning leaves her hair down, Tom Riddle finally gets the chance to approach her, revealing a long-kept admiration.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Based on a scene I saw on tiktok from the book Bosses Secret by Serene. 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The morning sun barely peeked over the towers of Hogwarts when Y/N burst out of her dormitory, running down the empty corridors, half out of breath already. She’d never woken up so late—her hair still hung loose in soft waves around her shoulders, and her robes were hastily pulled on over her uniform. She didn’t usually look like this; she was used to a neat bun or braids that framed her face perfectly. But today, she hadn’t had the time to fuss over any of that.

As she rounded a corner, clutching her bag tight to her side, she nearly collided with none other than Tom Riddle. Tall, poised, and sharp as ever in his crisp prefect’s robes, he glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. Y/N felt her cheeks warm immediately. She wasn’t sure why it had to be him she bumped into, but somehow it felt both horrifying and… oddly thrilling. This was Tom Riddle, the infamous and admired Slytherin prefect who practically commanded respect from everyone he passed, herself included.

“Sorry, Riddle,” she blurted, trying to catch her breath. She began to stammer, unable to look him in the eyes as she tugged at the sleeves of her robes, feeling entirely disheveled. “I know I’m a mess and—”

“Y/N, right?” he interrupted softly, his gaze fixed on her. Before she could finish her apology, he reached out and gently brushed his fingers through a loose curl that had fallen over her shoulder. The touch was light, and he seemed almost curious, as though it was a move he’d planned but never dared to make until now.

For a split second, she froze, her heart hammering at the unexpected closeness. His gaze softened ever so slightly as he held the lock of her hair between his fingers, studying it as if it held some kind of secret.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice lower, just for her. “You look beautiful like this, by the way.”

A surge of warmth flooded her cheeks, her eyes widening as she looked up at him, unable to find her voice. She had never seen Tom look at anyone the way he was looking at her now—intensely, yet with a touch of softness. And it was the first time he’d ever even spoken to her.

“You… you think so?” she managed, a bit taken aback.

His lips quirked into a small, rare smile as he dropped his hand back to his side. “Yes. It’s… refreshing,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I’ve seen you every day, and yet I feel like I’m only really noticing you for the first time.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, and she couldn’t suppress a small, shy smile of her own. There was something almost surreal about this moment, standing in the empty hallway with Tom Riddle, her hair loose and unkempt, while he looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

“Well,” she said, still a little flustered, “I can’t promise I’ll look like this again.”

“Perhaps you don’t have to,” he replied smoothly. He glanced down the corridor, his usual unreadable expression flickering back into place, though his eyes still held a hint of warmth when he looked back at her. “Just… don’t rush off too quickly next time.”

And with that, he gave her one last, lingering look before turning and continuing down the hallway, leaving her standing there, her heart racing and her thoughts a chaotic, breathless blur.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik gets caught playing his favourite sport: Price Watching.

cw: sad Nik is sad; pining, wingman Laswell.

"What're you smiling at?"

"Hm?" Nik dragged his eyes away from where the captain was giving his briefing to the rapt attention of the gathered operators to give Laswell the side eye.

She raised an eyebrow.

"He did the thing," Nik said, unhelpfully.

"The thing."

"Da, the thing he does."

"Nik, Price does a lot of things..."

"You know," he grabbed the straps of an invisible carrier vest, rolled onto his toes and thrust his hips a little at the air, the movement rippling up the length of his torso in a perfect imitation of the captain currently gesturing over a map table at the front of the room, "the thing."

She smacked a hand over her mouth to stifle the guffaw and ended up blowing an undignified half-raspberry into her palm. Sergeant MacTavish raised his eyebrow at her before returning his attention to Price's briefing. She glowered at Nik.

"Laswell, that was very unprofessional," Nik breathed, amused.

"That's rich coming from you, I thought I was the only one who had noticed that," she hissed back in the practiced method of a woman used to keeping her voice hushed in the earshot of others.

Nik hummed and let the conversation lapse as John continued to walk them through the jump and intended target. Nik had read the file four times over and already forwarded his questions ahead of time. As they progressed onto assignments, he leaned towards Laswell again. "You are right. There are a lot of Price things."

"Oh?" She smirked. "Go on."

"When he finishes, he will tap the lieutenant once on the chest with a flat palm as he is standing closest."

She shook her head at him, her smile soft. "Nik..."

"I am right, you'll see."

"What else?"

"He blinks rapidly when he smiles. It is..." He trailed off, but Laswell had the creeping suspicion that the word 'beautiful' or even 'cute' had been about to come out of Nik's mouth. "And he twitches his nose before he drinks his coffee."

"Have you thought about asking him out for a coffee rather than watching him drink it from afar like a peeping tom?"

"He would say no."

"To a coffee?"

"Not to the coffee."

"Somethin' to add Nikolai?" Price called over from the front, and the sternness in his voice made both of them snap to attention.

Nik cleared his throat. "Nyet, captain. Only explaining the exfil to Laswell in simpler terms."

"Leave it 'til I'm done, I'll take any questions at the end."

Laswell nodded tightly and then kicked Nik's shin when Price returned to his explanation. "Asshole."

"Da."

"I'll tell him, you know."

"No you will not."

She sighed. They lapsed into silence again.

Nik continued to watch Price with the same open, adoring expression he thought was camouflaged by the crowd of soldiers around him. Laswell had seen that look on him so many times and yet Nik had never tried to progress his adoration beyond pining from afar. She couldn't understand it; they were perfect for each other. Whipsmart intelligence, bloody minded, grumpy in the morning, mischievous, scars behind their eyes... the list could go on.

"You should ask him out," she whispered.

"I am too old for him."

"Now you're just making excuses..."

Someone had the audacity to shush her and she turned to give them the stink eye only to come face to face with the colonel. Alejandro raised an eyebrow and she gestured her apology with two raised hands before turning back to face the front.

She watched as Nik went to receive the written answers to his enquiries to review before the flight, and waited for Price to head off to his office before she approached Nik again. He was studying the note closely, far longer than necessary. "Handwritten," she said meaningfully, her eyes darting over the notes in Nik's hands.

The briefing concluded and Price... did exactly what Nik had said he would do; one pat on Lieutenant Riley's chest as he dismissed the gathered operators to their assignments. Nik raised both eyebrows and pressed his lips together at Laswell in the most comical 'told ya' expression she had ever seen.

"Da."

"You can't torture yourself like this forever, Nikolai."

"Lucky for me that I do not have forever."

"Macabre, even for you."

He sighed, folding his note from Price carefully so that he could tuck it inside his jacket. "Everything beautiful in my life is taken from me, Laswell. My family, my country. If I keep him at a distance, then there is a chance I will not lose him too. Let me have... this."

"This is yearning and agonising from afar while he's oblivious. It doesn't seem like much."

"It is enough."

"There are no guarantees, not in this life."

"This is true."

She stared at him in hopes of more, but he only looked back placidly. "Coward..."

"Da."

She sighed and threw her hands up, exasperated. "One coffee, Nik. What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could fall in love with me."

"Jesus."

This was going to be a project, wasn't it? Well, what was it that Price said? In for a penny, in for a pound.

[spideyhexx]

oct. 24 - bloody, bliss, belt and billy

Saccharine!Billy Bonney x FemaleReader

mdni!!! wc; 3.4k cw; guns, death, blood, bloodplay, fingering

kinktober 2024 masterlist

saccharine masterlist (this is standalone!!!)

a/n; very happy to bring saccharine back :) i love these two so much, fyi some dialogue is taken from s2ep5!!! Enjoy you lot and preemptive apologies ig

Fuck Buckshot. Like seriously, fuck him. And Murphy. And Jesse. And the whole lot of those guys who are after your Billy. 

Not yours. Yours in theory. 

He doesn’t know yet. 

They are after you too and all of the guys who run with Billy, but you couldn’t give a fuck. If Billy the fucking Kid died at one of their gross hands, you would be seeing red until you were riddled with bullet holes. 

It’s an unfortunate thought. 

You always thought about him getting killed. He would typically brush it off when you bring it up to him. Billy was prepared to die and you hated it. But any ounce of the topic leaving your mouth, he would brush you off and redirect you. 

In hindsight, he could give a small wave of his hand and you would be distracted from your initial thoughts. By his hand. 

And thoughts of his hand.  

Anyway, fuck Buckshot. 

It was a no-brainer that Murphy sent him out to the hideout you and the rest of the gang have been holed up in for the past week. How did they find you all? You’re unsure. There was a rotation of being a lookout and none of you have seen any of Murphy’s guys. 

You all were unlucky indeed. 

Being truly scared by something was not in your blood, but Buckshot left chills in your damn bones. Not as good of a shot as Billy, but Buckshot was still good and he was ruthless. A kind of violence you only read myths about but you have seen with your own eyes what that grimy man was capable of. 

Buckshot had approached your little hideout alone. He’s at a distance, but George recognized him the moment he saw the lazy movements of a man sipping from a flask while on his horse. 

It’s a slow, but urgent rush of moving inside the small house after Billy. Billy’s jaw is tight. Not that you are looking at his jaw. 

But your eyes naturally fall on him in the adrenaline rush of a possible shootout. It can’t be that bad, can it? It‘s seven on one, and the odds are in your favor, but a flash of Billy’s chest destroyed with bullet holes did not help your stomach. 

He moves closer to the small window, and you and Tom trail quickly behind him. “Do you think-”

“Shh,” Billy hushes you and the restraint you hold on rolling your eyes should earn you a clap from him. 

“He already knows we’re here,” you mumble and Billy only gives you a momentary glare before he’s watching through the small window again.

He raises his rifle, and cocks it, keeping it aimed right at the bumbling man coming down from his horse, his fingers gripping the weapon with an ease only Billy could have. 

Your fingers twitch at your gun in your holster, but you don’t pull it out yet. Your shoulder brushes his arm and Billy shakes his head ever so slightly. 

The nerve of this fucking man. A brush and he’s shaking his head at you. If you weren’t fearing for potential lives lost, you’d smack the back of his head to really get a reaction. 

You can vaguely hear George’s words to Buckshot, wondering why he’s here, how he found you all. Billy is impossibly still besides his jaw clenching. 

“I come to capture the Kid…alive or dead,” Buckshot says in the distance your eyes refocus out the small opening of the house. Your hand tightens to the handle of your gun. If Billy is miraculously not quick enough, you’ll get this done for him. 

It’s annoying that you’re distracted a few seconds by Billy shifting up closer to the window, his fingers clenching and then relaxing on his gun, keeping it pointed, ready. You’re especially attracted to his finger near the trigger and the slight tenseness in his voice as he mutters, “C’mon Georgie, move.”

When you look back over, George is as calm as ever, stating his ground, though you echo Billy’s words in your head. Buckshot starts to laugh though, sending more chills up your spine. Your heart beats fast as he quickly pulls up his rifle. 

A flurry of guns raising and cocking fills the air. You go to do your own, but Billy stops your hand, then returns his to his gun. Your brow furrows at him and he doesn’t look back at you. 

By the time you look back out the window, Buckshot is shooting at George. 

A gasp leaves your lips and shots ring out, Tom grabbing your arm to tug you down out of sight of the window. You hear Billy’s gun go off once, and twice, and the anguished sound of pain from outside the house. Your friends are getting shot. 

You pull your gun out.

Buckshot yells out, “Billy! You fuckin’ coward, where ya at!?” 

You peek from the doorway to asses who’s hurt, only to feel someone’s hand grip at your collar and pull you back. 

Billy. His face is screwed in annoyance and he pulls you back completely out of the way as his voice booms, “Y’all stay here! It’s me he’s after.”

Your eyes widen as you process his words, “Bonney!”

“No,” Billy all but pushes at your head so you stay on the ground and away as he nears the doorway,  “Buckshot, hold your fire!”

Maybe you’ll kill Billy before Buckshot has a chance. You stare daggers into him, but stay put on the wooden floor. His eyes quickly glance at you, before he yells, “I’m comin’ out!” 

Your brain scream at you to lunge forward. Grab to his leg! Pull him down with you! Barrel yourself in front of him! But your limbs don’t work. The chills that went up your spine reached your head then flowed back down your entire body, leaving you frozen and breathing heavy as you watch Billy hold his hands out. 

“You can take me alive,” he shouts over to Buckshot, stepping slow out of the house. Bouts of worry fill your chest and you force yourself to move the slightest bit to be able to watch him. 

“Puttin’ my rifle down,” Billy continues, slowly setting his gun against the nearby post of the house. Some of the other men scatter to get into better positions and you take that opportunity to give yourself the final push to bring you to your feet. 

You move out of the small house as Billy continues his small steps towards Buckshot. Your hand firm on your gun, staying crouched down enough to hide yourself and have a good eye on Billy. 

“It’s just you and me,” he calls out. Your gaze stays strictly on his back, his broad shoulders tense as he holds his arms out in surrender. What the fuck is he thinking, you wonder, and you’re already coming up with ways to berate him later for this if he doesn’t get killed. 

Buckshot rises from his hiding spot, then you feel a heat spark deep in you. It’s so quick, you should have expected it, but Billy pulls his gun from his holster like lightning and shoots at Buckshot, getting him right near his hip. 

Billy stalks forward with his gun raised and you subconciously clench your thighs together, your back to the post, but head turned to watch every single one of Billy the fucking Kid’s movements. 

He cocks his gun just as Buckshot fumbles for his gun, but the man stands no chance as Billy fires off again. 

Billy’s steps quicken until he can drive his booted foot to Buckshot’s wrist as he was reaching for his rifle, “No, leave it,” Billy spits out and you find yourself inching closer to the scene, gun at the ready in case Buckshot gets an upperhand. 

But who are you kidding? 

You can feel Billy’s sneer almost as if it’s directed at you. His boot digs into the man’s wrist, as Buckshot garbles out a, “fuck you,” at Billy. His hand holds his gun with less tensity than you would expect, but that’s because Billy is all confidence. All of his actions are met with no hesitation and full bravado, enough to make you roll your eyes back and look away from him to collect yourself. 

You can’t look away for too long.  

Billy kneels down and grabs at Buckshot’s free arm to keep pressing him down, his voice gruff, “You lookin’ for me? You lookin’ for me huh?” 

All Buckshot does is laugh like the evil son of a bitch he is but you can’t focus on him. The man on top of him, the man on top of him cocks his gun and he jams the barrel to Buckshot’s mouth, “Here I am.”

Billy squeezes the trigger, killing Buckshot in that mere instant. The beating of your heart almost hurts your chest as you stare at him, mouth parted and hand loosening on your own gun. 

The man chokes for a few seconds and Billy removes his hands from him, panting. His head lifts and his eyes lock to yours. For those few moments Billy looks at you, you see the pure violence and ruthlessness swimming in his bright eyes. It should scare you, and it does, but it also excites a part of you that you wish did not exist. The same part of you that’s brutal. 

His eyes flit to your lap, where you had not realized your hand was awfully high on your thigh. You feel yourself heat up, and move your hand quickly, holstering your gun, but he’s already looking away, gaze back down at Buckshot. You’re locked in as Billy spits on his corpse before he stands back up.  

Spits. 

Your eyes flutter and you swallow down hard, barely catching the sound of some of the men walking over, but when your eyes focus again, Billy’s stalking off towards the thicket of trees ahead, alone. 

A push of adrenaline surges you onto your feet and you jog after him, ignoring any of the looks from the others. 

“Billy!” 

He stops short and you almost bump into his back. Well, you purposely let yourself bump into his back. It’s a little chilly outside but he’s warm. 

A sigh leaves him and he turns to face you, his typical blank look challenges that violence still swarming in his eyes, but you center your attention to the blood on his face. Then drop your gaze to the blood on his hands. The redness shouts out it’s danger in a wordless manner, you know Billy, but who is this Billy? This Billy that kills without a moment’s hesitation and is not looking bothered in the slightest that he’s got another man’s blood on him. He must be bothered, you know that. His fingers twitch at his side and the blood on his pointer finger calls your name. His other hand still holds to his gun. 

Get it together, cowgirl, you think to yourself. Fuck that, you think immediately after. You grab his gun from him and stuff it into his belt. Billy does nothing to stop you. 

His brow raises. “What?”

“That was really fuckin’ stupid,” you mutter. In your head, you said it louder and with a bitterness to your voice, but no matter how hard you could try, it was not gonna come out that way. 

His jaw tightens and he looks off to the side at nothing in particular, then back to you. His eyes rake down then back up to your face. The familiar chill runs through you, but not a scared one. 

“Maybe, but it’s done. Go back to the guys, see if they need help,” Billy says, his voice still rough, nodding towards where you both came from. 

“Haha. You’re not gettin’ rid of me like that, Bonney, you know that,” you tell him with a touch of that bitter tone you were hoping to give him. You step closer to him to almost be chest to chest. He doesn’t flinch or move. 

“That was stupid. Buckshot is-was a good shot and he coulda easily gotten you and then killed all of us right after ya! You’re lucky you’re such a good fuckin’ shot too because-”

“Cowgirl. Slow. Your. Roll,” Billy says, his voice a bit lower, head tilted down enough to meet your gaze head on. 

You grit your teeth. The indifference on his face makes your blood boil and your underwear get wetter but that’s besides the point, “No! In fact what was that stunt ya pulled in the house? You know I can handle my own and you grab me and pull me back? You push me away when I was gonna help? Billy fucking Bonney, how many times do I-”

His chapped lips from the incoming cold winter press into yours and you would not have it any other way. 

It’s the…second? Third time he’s kissed you? It’s better by a million each time. The force in which Billy grabs your face, digging his bloody fingers to your cheeks and bruising your lips with his own leads to the filthiest thoughts you think you’ve ever had. This violent man that you deem yours, a little bloodied, none of it his own. Rugged and roughly giving you his all through just a mere kiss? 

You give him back as much as he gives, pressing to him and fisting your hands to his vest, until you remember why you were telling him off and you push at him. “No!”

Billy blinks at you with a dazed look in his eyes and he shifts his gun belt, as if to hide the growing bulge in his pants. 

It was that easy. 

“Oh fuck you,” you grumble, stomping back closer and slamming your lips back to his. You don’t think about the blood now staining your cheeks or the slight metallic taste that gets in your mouth when you bite on Billy’s lip. His groan is enough to suffice and quench the way you were angry at him. 

Still, you mumble to his lips through kisses, “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” he says, backing the two of you up until you’re up against a tree. His lips trail down along your jaw, nipping at the skin, his hands awkwardly not holding onto you. 

“Billy, just touch me.”

“They’re dirty.”

You roll your eyes. “Billy you already touched my face, I don’t care about the fuckin’ blood.”

To prove your words, you undo the buttons of your trousers, then grab his wrist, pulling his hand down the front of your pants. For a second you’re afraid he’ll reject this. You have yet to do something as much as this with him, but your body is aching. Your feelings beyond being angry or worried about him, but feeling fucking alive at the way he killed Buckshot. 

He doesn’t hesitate.  

Billy the fucking Kid. Man. He’s a man. 

Billy moans and leans his forehead to your cheek, his fingers dipping into your underwear and sliding against your cunt to get a feel for you. 

“I would watch you kill that motherfucker over and over again if you did it that way,” you whisper to him with a harsh breath as his fingers circle your clit, like he knows your body already despite having never touched it like this. 

“This is sick of you,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek and lingering his lips there. You don’t point out to Billy that although it may be fucked of you to enjoy this while his fingers are bloodied with someone else’s blood, he may be just as sick for kissing near the blood stain on your cheek and promptly licking over his lips to let the blood into his mouth. 

You want to call him out for it so bad, but he eases his finger into you just right, breathing hot on your face. 

“Oh…fuck,” you whisper, glancing down, your knees almost buckling as he starts to slowly thrust his finger into you, and you catch the side of his bulge, more prominent than you may have ever seen it, straining to his trousers and begging for your attention. 

“Bonney, can I-”

“Yes,” he cuts you off, taking his finger out just enough to add a second. You bite your lip to stifle your moan, your hand finding the outline of his cock and palming him, giving him some sort of friction that he clearly needed because Billy adjusts his arm and begins fucking his fingers quick up into you. 

Billy nods to your cheek when you whimper, “I know, I know, I knew you’d get so fuckin’ wet for me, Cowgirl, but…fuck you’re dirty, fuck I got his fuckin’ blood…,” Billy can’t finish his words because he has to muffle his own noise, pressing his face into your hair and nuzzling his nose at your temple. 

“You…you spit on him,” you mumble and Billy shakes his head against you, curling his fingers and massaging them in you to get you to whimper. He likes that sound, you deduce. 

“I spit on him,” Billy repeat and his free hand shoots up to your jaw, holding your face up and he spits on your lips before you can open your mouth to receive it. It makes his eyes flutter and his forehead rest to yours, his fingers making quick work even with the restraint your pants give. You can both hear the sound, how wet you are and how his palm slaps to your cunt with each thrust. 

He knows you can’t focus on rubbing him, but what you are able to do is enough in the moment. Your thumb rubs right at his tip over his pants, feeling the wet spot forming the more you press into it. You can barely look at your Billy, though that’s all you want to do. All you want to do is look at the man. 

He squeezes your jaw and kisses the corner of your mouth, a sweeter kiss than you’d expect in the moment as you clench around his fingers and resist screaming out his name. Another time. 

“Gonna come on your fingers, Billy,” you shudder, and he quickens the pace, brow furrowed and eyes locked intensely on your face. 

“Make ‘em more of a mess, go ahead, please,” he whispers, a desperation wafting from his voice and his hips bucking your hand. What sends you over the edge is his thumb just barely slipping to your mouth, the taste of blood filling your senes as you spasm on his fingers, and bite your cheek hard enough to draw your own blood. 

You’ve never felt this blissed out. Your legs almost buckle, but Billy presses against you enough to keep you standing as his fingers work you through the orgasm, his breath panting and his nose finding your temple again, where he leaves the softest kiss, you almost would not notice it.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, his fingers slipping out of you and then pulling from your pants. His fingers surely are a slick mess, the remnants of blood still there and the wet spot on the front of his pants bigger than when you first saw it. 

You stare at him. He stares at you. Your breaths aren’t returning to normal, but you cannot look away from him. 

“I didn’t want you to get hurt either,” he blurts out, referring most likely to why he pushed you back earlier.

“No shit.”

He straightens up and shakes his head. He would roll his eyes at you, you’re sure, but he doesn’t. 

You slap at his chest but he grabs your wrist, “Hey!”

“Don’t ever remind me of this,” he tells you in a low voice. You frown. Was this him rejecting you? That it was a mistake all along? That he acted on some weird impulse and did not care to continue this despite the constant-

“About this part,” he mutters, awkwardly gesturing to his pants.

Your Billy. 

Your lips start to quirk and he squeezes your wrist tighter, “Cowgirl, No. I said no.”

“One sentence,” you beg, even adding a little whine. Just for him. 

He tries to give you a stern look, but his shoulders slump and he shifts on his feet, “One.”

Letting yourself smile, you take a deep breath, “You must reallyyyyy fuckin’ like me if you come that easily, Bonney. And-”

“Ah Ah Ah,” he interrupts and puts his palm over your mouth, but you can see the hint of a smile on his lips, and the violence gone from his eyes. 

Your Billy.