SlytherInky

last trigger warning: blood and knife play!!!!

The air in Malfoy Manor was thick with smoke and a certain danger. Dim candlelight flickered against the cold stone walls, casting eerie shadows that slithered and coiled like restless phantoms. The scent of burning firewood mixed with something metallic - blood, perhaps, or the ghosts of past violence still clinging to the foundation of the house. It filled your lungs, a suffocating reminder of where you were and what was at stake.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Or rather, you were - because the Order had sent you. A secret mission. You had volunteered, knowing the risk, knowing that discovery meant death. 

The polyjuice potion had done its job just enough to let you slip past the entrance undetected. But now, you were slowly starting to look like yourself again.

With quiet steps, you moved through a grand, dark hallway. There was no room for fear, no time for hesitation. The Order needed information, and you needed to find them. You have sworn it, you promised it.

After turning around a few corners you reached the end of the corridor. The long dining hall appeared ahead, its towering double doors cracked open just enough to offer a glimpse inside. You could see them - dark figures gathered around a table of polished ebony, their faces half-obscured by the flickering glow of a huge chandelier. 

You crouched lower, pressing yourself against the door as you tried to get a clearer view of the room’s inside. You were able to recognize Lucius Malfoy on one side of the table, his pale fingers drumming idly against the surface of the table, his expression impassive, unreadable. To his right, Bellatrix Lestrange leaned forward, eyes gleaming with a twisted sort of glee, her lips curling as she spoke in hushed tones, her excitement barely contained. Others surrounded them on the tabel - men and women whose names were whispered with fear, whose hands were stained with the blood of countless innocents. Each one a devoted servant of the Dark Lord, each one willing to kill without hesitation.

Your eyes darted across the room, searching for anything - any scrap of information that could help the Order. Snippets of conversation drifted toward you, hushed murmurs of destruction and conquest. 

Hogsmeade. Thursday night. The attack was coming. 

The hairs on your arms stood on end as a deep voice murmured details. You swallowed hard. This was the information that you’d have needed, but the Order needed more details. If you could just get close enough, listen in a little longer-

Suddenly a sharp pull at your shoulder made you lose balance, made you drop your wand out of fright. Your body was wrenched backward, the sudden force nearly tipping you. A gasp strangled itself in your throat as something wooden pressed under your chin - a wand.

Before you could react, a firm grip lifted your body back onto your legs and shoved you into the shadows, slamming you against the wall, the rough stone biting into your back. A hand closed around your throat, not quite choking, but firm, unyielding. Your pulse roared in your ears, panic clawing its way into your chest.

“Who,” a voice drawled, low and dangerous, “are you?”

Your vision swam as your captor’s face came into focus - sharp, angular features framed by dark hair, eyes like flint locked onto yours with a mix of suspicion and cruelty. You knew that face. You had seen it before.

Mattheo Riddle.

The words you needed for an answer tangled on your tongue, every possible excuse dissolving in the face of his piercing stare. You could still hear the murmurs from the dining hall, the shifting of robes, the scrape of a chair. If they heard the scuffle, if they saw you, it was over.

Mattheo’s grip tightened slightly, his fingers pressing against your skin in a silent warning, a reminder of the power he held over you in this moment.

“I’ll ask you again,” he murmured, his voice slow, deliberate, his wand pressing harder beneath your chin. “Who. Are. You?”

You swallowed hard. You had to answer him. Now.

“Y-Y/n,” you answered, your voice not nearly steady.

“Ah,” he breathed, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. His dark gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, like a predator assessing its prey. “And you're hiding beside the door because...?”

“I- I was just-” you started, but he silenced you with a quiet tsk, shaking his head with almost lazy amusement, though the sharpness in his eyes told another story.

“Don’t lie to me.” he murmured, his voice a low purr, teasing - but beneath I was something dangerous. “I don’t like being lied to.”

He started trailing his wand along your cheek, the movement almost delicate, a contrast to the ruthless grip still holding you in place. He dragged the tip up to your temple, tracing invisible patterns against your skin, the pressure just enough to make your pulse quicken. It felt deliberate, like he was branding you, claiming this moment as his own. 

“So,” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “I suggest you start talking.”

Your mind raced. A lie had to be quick, convincing. Something he would believe. 

“I was sent to, uh, to ensure no one was eavesdropping,” you lied smoothly, forcing a small, nervous chuckle. “Looks like I wasn’t doing a very good job, was I?”

Mattheo's eyes flickered with something unreadable. You couldn’t really figure out what exactly it was. Curiosity? Suspicion? 

He studied you for a long moment before tilting his head slightly, his wand still pressed firmly against your temple. You just stood there, hoping you would get out of this situation alive. But as for right now, you had no idea on how you would do this, since your lie wasn’t the most convincing one.

“Is that so?” he mused. “Then tell me - who sent you?”

You hesitated just long enough for him to notice, his smirk deepening as though he had already caught you in a trap.

“Well?” he prompted, his voice a mockery of patience. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

You had to think fast. Say the wrong name, and you were dead. Say nothing at all, and you would be probably dead as well.

You took a deep breath. Then, with as much confidence as you could muster, you met his gaze.

“Dolohov,” you said.

Mattheo’s grip on your throat loosened slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. 

“Dolohov, huh?” he repeated, rolling the name on his tongue like he was tasting it. “Interesting.”

He studied you for another agonizing moment before exhaling sharply, stepping back -but only slightly. His wand remained trained on you, his dark eyes still alight with suspicion.

“Fine,” he finally said. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

Your stomach dropped as he grabbed your wrist with a smile and started pulling you down the corridor.

Straight toward the dining hall. Straight toward the other Death Eaters.

“No- no, wait,” you stammered, panic surging. 

Mattheo stopped and turned around. His grip on your wrist now pulling you a little bit further to him.

“You have five seconds," he whispered, voice barely above a murmur, but the threat in it was suffocating. "Five seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t drag you into that room and let them decide what to do with you."

You could hear your own heartbeat. It pounded in your ears, in your throat, in every inch of your body. 

“Four seconds.” Mattheo murmured.

What could you possible tell him? What would convince him? What would make you not fail your mission?

“Three seconds,” his voice was frightening.

Panic. Your breath hitched, your mind scrambling for something anything that would keep you from being dragged before the others.

“Two seconds,” Mattheo whispered, his voice a dark caress against your skin.

Desperation clawed at your chest. If he took you into that hall, it was over. You had to say something.

“One.”

Fuck. 

“Dolohov he would,” You tried to start off your sentence. “he would be furious if you exposed his... informant,” you finished, your pulse racing at the gamble you had just made. 

Mattheo raised his eyebrow again, but his grip on your wrist remained ironclad. His dark eyes scanned your face, searching for any trace of deception. You tried to keep your expression steady, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as you could.

“Dolohov’s informant?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mock. “How very interesting.”

You had no idea if he believed you, but he wasn’t dragging you into the dining hall just yet, which meant you still had a chance. Right?

“Let’s say I believe you,” he mused, tilting his head as he stepped closer. His voice was measured, his gaze sharp, studying every flicker of your expression. “Why haven’t I heard of you before?”

Shit. You haven’t thought this far. Your mind stuttered, scrambling for a convincing excuse once again.

He came closer to you now, his presence pressing against you like a shadow that knows too much. Every inch of him radiating suspicion, and you could feel the weight of this sinking into your skin. 

You swallowed. “Because - uh, Dolohov prefers his informants to remain unseen,” you said, forcing your tone to stay calm.

“Unseen,” he echoed, testing the word on his tongue.

You moved on before he could uncover the cracks in your lie. “Do you think he’d be pleased if he found out you dragged me in there and exposed me?

Mattheo’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. You had struck a nerve, planted a seed of doubt. He clicked his tongue.

“Well then,” he murmured, “I suppose we should talk alone first. Just you and me.”

Before you could react, he pulled you forward. This time in another direction as he did before, steps quick and purposeful. He led you down a corridor, away from the dining hall. Relief flooded you for a brief moment - until he wrenched open a door and shoved you inside a small room.

The room was dark, lit only by a few flickering candles on the walls. The air was used with the scent of cold cigarette smoke and something metallic. The moment you stumbled inside, the door slammed shut behind you, and Mattheo’s wand pressed firmly against your back.

“Chain yourself up,” he ordered, flicking his wand toward the cold stone wall where metal shackles hung ominously.

What? Your breath hitched. “You can’t be serious.” 

His laughter was low and amused. “Oh, I’m very serious. Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

You narrowed your eyes, standing your ground. 

"No," you said firmly. You definitely wouldn’t be doing this. No way.

Mattheo's smirk disappeared, replaced by something far less amused. "No?" he echoed, taking a slow step toward you. "You think you have a choice?"

Your pulse pounded. You were scared, you couldn’t deny that. But you also knew that if you showed him that fear…  so you lifted your chin defiantly. "I’m not chaining myself up for you."

His wand flicked with a sharp movement, and before you could think about it, the metal shackles snapped to life. They shot forward, clasping around your wrists with a cold finality, pulling you back against the stone wall. Your hands now uselessly captured above your head. A sharp gasp left your lips as the iron dug into your skin, the magic sealing them tight.

He stepped closer to you.

 “Now,” he whispered, “let’s talk, shall we?”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, despite the racing of your heart. You had to keep strong, had to keep your real motive hidden, had to stay loyal towards the Order.

“What do you want to know?” you responded to him.

His smirk returned. “Everything.”

 “I- I told you. I was sent to observe. To make sure no one was listening.”

A sharp pain flashed through your cheek, as he immediately after your answer hit the side of your face. 

“Liar.” he snarled.

The sting of the slap radiated across your face, pain blooming beneath your skin. Your breath hitched, and for a split second, your vision blurred. The cold shackles bit into your wrists, keeping you trapped, keeping you at his mercy.

Mattheo leaned in, his fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face toward him with almost a mocking gentleness. 

“There it is,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a smirk as he studied you like some animal. “That look in your eyes. Fear.” He dragged his thumb across your bruised cheek, slow and deliberate. “I was wondering when it would show up.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing the words you wanted to throw at his face on your tongue. You couldn’t afford to provoke him, not when he already held all the power.

 “You think you can lie to me and get away with it?” His voice was soft, almost a purr, but there was no mistaking the threat laced within.

You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, despite the quickening of your pulse. “I told you the truth,” you said, keeping your voice even.

“No, see, that’s the problem, love,” Mattheo chuckled as he lit himself a cigarette. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You just stood there. Unable to do anything, you slowly began to realize that your lie wouldn’t convince him anymore. 

His wand suddenly flicked again, and this time, an invisible force wrapped around your throat. Your body stiffened as the magic curled around your skin, pressing, waiting.

“Tell me,” Mattheo continued, tilting his head as if he was truly curious. “When did Dolohov start recruiting sniveling little spies?”

“He- I- I mean I-”

“Ah, ah.” Was what he said, while blowing some smoke of his cigarette into your face. “Think very carefully before you speak, darling. Because the next lie you tell? I’ll know.”

He was right, you knew that. But telling the truth wasn’t an option. If you confessed the truth - that you were with the Order, that you had come here to spy, to listen - you were dead. But if you kept up this charade and he saw through it, he wouldn’t just kill you. He’d enjoy dragging it out. But what of you would just endure, he would eventually let you go. Eventually lose interest and let you stay alive. 

You decided to say nothing.

Mattheo looked at you, awaiting an answer. He exhaled almost disappointe, while blowing even more smoke into your direction.

“Such a pity,” he murmured, before suddenly releasing the magic on you. Your body sagged in the shackles, relief washing over you for the briefest moment - until you saw the glint in his eyes.

 “You see, I don’t have time to play games,” he said, his tone casual, almost bored. “And I hate it when I don't receive what I want”

You heard him, but your brain was refusing to understand the implications. Then you saw him turn around, throwing his used, still fuming cigarette to the ground and grabbing something from a drawer.

You were unable to see what he held in his hand as he came back. It was too dark. 

He was getting closer and you could suddenly see- In his hand, a glinting blade caught the dim light with deadly clarity. 

Your blood turned to ice.

A jolt of fear surged through you, panic clawing at your throat. You wrenched at the shackles with desperate strength, but the iron only dug deeper into your skin.

“You still chose not to talk?” Mattheo asked. His dark gaze burned into yours, his pupils constricting, an unspoken dare. "Fine."

He brought the blade to your cheek and started drawing an invisible pattern. 

“See?” he said. “No blood yet,” he whispered in your ear. “And it’s not like I don’t enjoy a little.”

His lips ghosted along your neck, his breath warm against your skin, igniting a trail of shivers that left you frozen in place. A cruel contrast—such a gentle touch, yet laced with unspoken menace.

"You could tell me the truth, you know," he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper against your ear. "That’s the only thing that’ll get you out of this room alive."

Your pulse pounded like a war drum. The truth meant betrayal—of the Order, your friends, your family. But a lie? A lie meant your life. And he would know. He always knew.

Your throat felt parched, every breath a battle. You swallowed, forcing down the fear that coiled in your chest.

"I told—"

The words caught, strangled before they could form. As if your own body refused to let you lie again.

"Try again." He said lecturing, shaking his head in mock disappointment. 

His fingers pressed just enough to make you lift your chin, his grip firm but deceptively gentle. His eyes pinned you in place, daring you to defy him.

“Try,” he repeated “again.” His voice was softer now. Almost coaxing. Almost patient.

But you knew better.

Your heart pounded so violently you swore he could hear it. Your body screamed at you to survive, to say anything that would make him let go. But your mind - your heart - knew that some things were worse than death.

“I- I told you the truth,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a weak defense, one even you didn’t believe.

His lips quirked upward, just slightly. Not a smile. Amusement, maybe. Or disappointment.

“Lying doesn’t suit you.” His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath your skin. “And yet, here you are, still trying.”

The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken threats. Then, as if deciding something, he exhaled and leaned closer, his mouth just beside your ear.

“I’ll give you one last chance,” he murmured. “Tell me what I want to know… or I’ll find a different way to make you talk.”

His fingers trailed down your arm, slow, deliberate. A warning.

Panic coiled tight in your chest. There was no easy way out of this.

And you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold your ground.

The blade suddenly flashed in the dim light, you felt him pressing against your neck. A cold line of steel.

“Once you understand,” he purred, “that I’m the one in charge here... it will go much faster.”

He pressed the blade against you. 

The pain was quick and sharp, and you couldn’t help but yelp in shock. The blade bit into your skin with deadly precision, leaving a thin, stinging line along your neck. You gasped, your lungs burning. 

Mattheo was watching you, his gaze almost clinical. 

“You have a choice,” he murmured, letting his blade drop to your collarbone, the tip tracing circles against your skin. “You can talk, or you can scream.”

The blade pressed a little deeper, his meaning clear.

Your breaths came in short gasps, the pain burning through your veins.

“Not very appealing choices, I know,” he admitted, his voice conversational, as if discussing the weather. “But I can assure you that your voice will grow tired. The screaming will stop eventually. It’s only a matter of time.” 

You felt your warm blood dripping down your cleavage, rolling over your arm, to your hand, and then, to the ground. 

Your knees were shaking, and you couldn't keep this position much longer. What if you just told him? 

He paused, as though he was just a bit disappointed at your lack of reaction.

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You should know something, love,” he whispered. “I always break my toys in the end.”

The knife dug deeper into your collarbone, a burning line of pain that flared with every heartbeat. Your vision blurred at the edges, dark spots swirling in front of you.

“Choose,” he murmured in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Choose now.”

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as the searing sting of the blade sent another jolt of pain through your body. The blood was warm, trickling down your skin in slow, deliberate streams, and Mattheo was watching it like his trophy.

"Choose," he repeated.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and burning. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to give in. Mattheo would carve his way through your lies like he carved through flesh.

But you couldn’t betray the Order. You needed to fight.

“Do you really think Dolohov would appreciate you doing this to his informant?” Your voice came out steadier than you felt, though laced with exhaustion. “If he finds out you left me here bleeding, he won’t be pleased.”

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, his lips curling at the corners as he tilted his head. He dragged the tip of the knife across your collarbone, this time not deep enough to wound, but enough to remind you it was still there. 

“You’re persistent,” Mattheo whispered, as he continued to dig the blade a little bit deeper again. “I’ll give you that.”

Your entire body trembled, your breath uneven as you felt the blade through you skin. You had been trained for this - to endure, to resist, to never break. But they had never prepared you for him.

Mattheo wasn’t like the others. He didn’t just crave control. He relished it. He delighted in the game, in watching you squirm, in stretching the moment to its breaking point, drawing out every flicker of fear, every crack in your facade. His gaze burned into you, drinking in every slight tremor of your body, every shallow breath. He was enjoying this.

Your mind whirled. You had held your ground for as long as you could, but your options were slipping through your fingers like sand. If you gave in now, if you spoke, would it even save you? Or would it simply excite him further, whetting his appetite for more?

His smirk deepened, reading your hesitation like an open book. “I can see it, you know,” he mused, his voice a velvet murmur. “The fight in you. It’s slipping, bit by bit. You want to hold on, but you’re wondering if it’s worth it.”

His blade dipped lower. “You’re wondering if I’ll let you go if you tell me what I want to hear.”

You clenched your jaw, forcing down the panic clawing its way up your throat. Stay silent. Stay strong.

“I knew the moment you opened that pretty mouth of yours, that you were lying.” He leaned in, his lips a whisper away from your ear. “But I like watching you try. I like watching you break. And when you do - when you finally let that last bit of defiance slip - I want you to remember that it was me who took it from you.”

His fingers pressed into your bruised cheek, tilting your face toward him. “I will ask you one last time. And we see if you dare to lie again.” His gaze bored into yours, searching, demanding. “Who. Sent. You?”

Your blood running down from your wounds was warm, almost comforting. Your breathing on the other hand was ragged, the pain unbearable. Every nerve in your body screaming at you to end this, to stop the pain before it got worse. 

You had no more lies left. You had spun them as carefully as you could, but he had unraveled them with ease, pulling apart the threads of your deception until you were left exposed, raw, and bleeding in his grasp.

The truth clawed at your throat, bitter and shameful. The Order would have wanted you to be strong, to endure the pain. But the Order wasn’t here. You were.

And you wanted to live.

A tear slipped down your cheek, mingling with the blood that had already dried on your skin. You hated it. Hated him for making you feel this weak, this desperate.

But he had won.

You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat before forcing the words past your lips.

“The Order,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, barely audible. Shame burned through you, hotter than the pain of your wounds. Your lips trembled as you forced the words out. “The Order of the Phoenix sent me to spy.”

Mattheo stilled. His grip on your chin tightened, his fingers pressing cruelly into the already bruising skin. For a moment, he said nothing, only staring at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher. Then, slowly, his lips curled into victorious smile.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” His voice was velvet, a whisper of triumph against your skin. “I knew you had it in you. Or rather – you had nothing left.”

He released your chin with a sharp flick of his fingers, stepping back as he twirled the knife between his fingers. His gaze swept over you, from the wounds he had inflicted to the rawness in your eyes.

Then, without warning, he reached for your wrist. With a slow, deliberate movement, he unlocked one of the shackles, the heavy metal clinking as it loosened. For a fleeting second, your right arm fell limply, relief flooding through your aching muscles. But just as quickly, his fingers clamped around your wrist once more, dragging it forward with a vice-like grip. Before you could even process what was happening, the cold edge of the blade pressed against your palm, its sharp surface biting into your tender flesh.

You barely had time to brace yourself before the pressure increased. A sharp, searing pain shot through your hand as the blade sliced, dragging with excruciating slowness. Each motion was agonizingly precise, deliberate in its cruelty. Your body tensed, every muscle rigid, but you bit back the scream threatening to rise in your throat. He wanted that. He wanted to hear you break.

Instead, you gasped, sucking in shallow, shaky breaths as the realization dawned. He wasn’t just cutting. He was carving.

You choked on a gasp as pain exploded through your hand. The blade sliced, dragging deep and slow, the sensation sending sharp shocks up your arm. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a scream.

He was carving a word. The realization dawned through the haze of pain.

S P Y

The letters burned into your skin, each stroke of the blade deliberate, each movement a branding of your betrayal. You bit down hard on your lip, tasting blood, refusing to cry out.

When he was done, he stepped back, wiping the blade on a silk handkerchief as though he had merely dirtied it with ink, rather than your blood. He glanced at his work, nodding in satisfaction.

“There,” he murmured. “Now you’ll never forget what you are.”

Your body was trembling, from pain, from exhaustion, from the icy fear pooling in your stomach. Your blood dripped onto the cold floor, the word carved into your skin like a brand.

Mattheo straightened, tucking his blade away. His expression remained unreadable as he stepped toward the door, his wand twirling between his fingers.

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left.

The heavy door slammed shut behind him, and the lock clicked into place.

You were alone.

A shaky breath left your lips, your entire body sagging against the wall. The one shackle still held you in place, your left wrist aching from their tight grip. Blood pooled at your fingertips, dripping steadily onto the stone floor.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. The pain, the weight of your failure, the crushing realization that you had given him what he wanted.

No.

No. You couldn’t let it end like this.

The Order still needed you. You had to do something. You had to get out of here.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you reached up with your freed hand, fingers trembling as they fumbled at the remaining shackle. The metal was slick with your own blood, making it difficult to grasp, but you forced yourself to work through the pain. Every movement sent jolts of agony through your carved palm, but you bit down on your lip and twisted at the rusted lock. The metal dug into your skin, but then-

A snap.

One of the shackles loosened just enough.

Adrenaline flooded your veins. You yanked harder, biting down against the pain, using everything you had left. It took everything in you, but finally, with one last agonizing pull, the shackle fell away. Your left hand was free.

Your body collapsed to the floor, but you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain that burned through your limbs. Your mind screamed for you to move, to flee before he returned.

The door. You stumbled toward it, trying the handle. Locked. Of course.

Your eyes darted around the dimly lit room, searching desperately for anything you could use. And then you saw it.

A dagger. Left behind, forgotten on the small wooden drawer.

You lunged for it, gripping the handle with blood-slick fingers. With all the strength you could muster, you jammed it into the door’s keyhole, twisting, forcing, willing it to give way.

A crack. The lock splintered, and the door creaked open.

Freedom.

You slipped into the corridor, breath held, body screaming at you to move faster. Every step sent another wave of pain through your hand, your ribs, your wounds, but you pushed forward. You had to.

The manor was quiet now, the silence heavy and absolute. As you crept forward, your breath hitched when you glanced toward a narrow, dust-covered window at the end of the hall. It was pitch black outside. Way past midnight. The world beyond was dark, the moon barely casting its pale glow through the thick clouds. 

You had no idea how long you had been in that room. Time had slipped away while you were trapped, suffering under Mattheo's cruel hands. He was gone now, but you knew better than to believe you were free.

He wouldn’t let you go. Not yet. Not ever.

You ran, the shadows wrapping around you like a shroud, but his voice clung to your skin, slithering into your mind like a venom you couldn't shake.

"I always break my toys in the end."

But you weren’t broken. Not yet.

Still, the dread sat heavy in your chest, because you knew the truth.

He would come for you.

One day.

© SlitherInky 2025 Do not copy, repost or translate. (Reblogs are welcome <3)

The bookshop was quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet—the kind that wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softened by the rustling of parchment and the occasional murmur of an interested customer. No, this quiet was heavy. It sank into the wooden floorboards, curled in the dim candlelight, pressed against the corners of your mind like a lingering ghost.

Outside, Diagon Alley was a different place than it used to be. The cobblestone streets were no longer filled with bright chatter or carefree laughter. The war had left its mark on everything, from the shattered windows of still-abandoned storefronts to the wary glances exchanged between passing witches and wizards.

You exhaled softly, running a hand over the spine of an old book, your fingers trailing over the gold-embossed letters. You should have been used to it by now—this new world, this fragile attempt at normalcy. You told yourself you were moving forward, that working here, in the tiny bookshop nestled between a half-repaired apothecary and a closed-down broom maker’s stall, was proof of that.

But some nights, when the silence stretched too long, you wondered if you were just hiding.

The bell above the door chimed softly.

It was late—too late for customers, but you looked up anyway, expecting to tell someone you were closing soon. Instead, your breath caught.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim light of the shop. His hood was drawn back now, and even in the flickering glow of the candles, you could see how pale he was. How tired. But beneath the exhaustion, there was something else. Something magnetic.

"Y/N," he murmured, stepping further inside. You didn’t expect him to recognize you after all this time. But he did.

You swallowed hard. It had been years since you last saw him—back at Hogwarts, before the war turned everything to dust. Draco Malfoy had always been arrogant, distant, wrapped in privilege and sharp edges. You had noticed him, of course—how could you not? There was something magnetic about him, something intriguing beneath the sneers and cold indifference.

But now, standing in your bookshop with the night pressing in behind him, he was different. The arrogance was still there, but it felt strained, the distance less like a choice and more like a shield. His sharp features were worn with exhaustion, his once-perfect composure just slightly unraveled.

And yet, despite everything, he was still intoxicatingly attractive. Perhaps even more so now—raw, untamed, and dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with his name.

"Didn’t think you’d still be around," he said, his lips curling into something that almost looked like a smirk. "Figured you’d have left for a shinier life somewhere else."

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. "Not all of us had the option of running, Malfoy."

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before he laughed—a quiet sound, amused but lacking real mirth. "Fair enough."

You studied him, taking in the sharp lines of his face, the faint bruising beneath his eyes. He looked worn down, but even like this, there was something about him. Something alluring.

You shook your head slightly, breaking the spell. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

His gaze flickered around the empty shop, lingering on the books stacked in uneven piles. "I was just… passing through."

"Liar."

His eyes snapped back to yours. For a second, something unreadable flickered across his face. Then, instead of snapping back, instead of defending himself, he did something unexpected. He smiled.

It was slow, effortless, and gods, it was dangerous. "Alright," he said, tilting his head. "You got me."

You hated how your stomach twisted at that.

"I don’t have anywhere to go."

You didn’t react at first. You just blinked, trying to process his words. You knew things were bad for him—you’d heard the whispers, the murmurs about the Malfoys falling from grace. But somehow, you never thought Draco Malfoy would ever be desperate enough to admit it out loud.

And yet, here he was.

For a moment, you considered telling him to leave. That it wasn’t your problem. That he had made his choices, and now he had to live with them. But the words didn’t come.

Instead, you sighed. "You can stay at my place tonight."

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Just like that?"

"Don’t make me regret it," you warned.

He chuckled. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The walk to your flat was quiet, but Draco kept close to your side, his presence a steady warmth against the chill of the night. You were hyperaware of him—the way he moved, the way his fingers occasionally brushed against yours as you walked.

"Not bad," he mused when you finally reached your flat. "Could be worse."

You snorted, unlocking the door. "It’s not Malfoy Manor, but it’s cozy."

He stepped inside, glancing around. "Cozy," he repeated, as if testing the word. Then he turned to you, eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. "I like it."

You swallowed hard. Something about the way he was looking at you sent heat curling through your stomach. He was close now, too close, and you could smell the faint scent of rain on his clothes, the warmth of his skin.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice softer now. "For this."

You opened your mouth to say something, but then—

His fingers brushed against your wrist. Light. Barely there. But it was enough to make your breath hitch.

"I never realized," he said, tilting his head slightly, "how beautiful you are up close."

Oh.

Your heart stumbled in your chest. "Malfoy—"

"Draco," he corrected smoothly, his other hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "If we’re going to be sharing a space, we might as well use first names, don’t you think?"

You should have stepped back. You should have told him to stop. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself be pulled into the slow, deliberate way he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel your pulse pounding as his fingers trailed along your arm, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your ear.

You didn’t.

And that was when everything changed.

Because in the next breath, something sharp pressed against your back.

Your wand. He had taken your wand.

Your eyes snapped open, realization hitting you like a slap to the face. But before you could move, Draco stepped back, his own wand raised. His expression was unreadable, but his grip was steady.

"I really am sorry, love," he said smoothly. "But I need the money more than I need a place to stay."

And then he flicked his wand.

"Stupe—"

You moved before he could finish.

Years of instinct kicked in, and you lunged forward, grabbing his wrist before he could complete the spell. The shock in his eyes was brief—then you twisted, knocking the wand from his hand with a sharp strike.

But you weren’t fast enough.

Draco recovered in seconds, and before you could grab your wand, he moved. Faster than you thought possible, he grabbed your arm, twisting you back against the wall. Your breath left you in a sharp gasp as he pressed forward, pinning you in place with the weight of his body.

"Nice try," he murmured, breath warm against your ear.

You struggled, but his grip was firm. He was stronger than he looked, and the sheer confidence in the way he held you still sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re full of surprises," he mused, tilting his head. "I almost underestimated you."

"Get off me, Malfoy," you gritted out, your pulse racing.

He smirked. "And if I don’t?"

Your hands twitched, fingers itching for a weapon, for anything to fight back. But Draco was already one step ahead, his body pressing you firmly against the cold wood of the wall.

"I should have known you'd be a fighter," he murmured, his tone almost admiring. "Makes this more fun."

His eyes flickered down to your lips for half a second—so brief you almost missed it. Almost.

The worst part? You didn’t hate it.

And he knew.

"Now," he murmured, leaning in just slightly. "How about we make a deal, love?"

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your spine. Your pulse pounded in your throat, a mixture of anger, adrenaline, and something far more dangerous—something you refused to name.

"You really think I’d trust you after this?" you snapped, testing the strength of his grip. It was no use. He had you right where he wanted you, and worst of all, he knew it.

Draco chuckled, low and smooth. "Trust is such a fragile thing, isn't it?" His thumb brushed over your wrist, the touch almost gentle. "But let’s not pretend this is just about trust."

Your breath caught and his smirk deepened.

"Oh," he mused, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I see. You like this, don’t you?"

You glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Draco leaned in closer, until his lips were just shy of brushing against your ear. "I can feel your heart racing," he murmured. "Is it fear? Or is it something else?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Draco," he corrected smoothly. "You were saying it so sweetly just moments ago."

You gritted your teeth. "Let me go."

"Hmm. Tempting offer," he drawled, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrist. "But see, I have a dilemma. I could let you go… or I could keep you right here, exactly where I want you."

He shifted his hold, pinning your hands above your head with one swift movement. The motion pressed his body flush against yours, and your breath hitched involuntarily.

Draco noticed. He noticed everything.

His free hand drifted down, fingers grazing your jawline, then lower, tracing the exposed skin at your collarbone. The touch was barely there, light enough to send a shiver through you.

"You don’t hate this as much as you want to," he murmured, his lips barely an inch from yours now. "Do you?"

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Your fingers curled into fists, but not to fight. Your breath stuttered, and the warmth pooling in your stomach was a traitorous, infuriating thing.

Draco tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he had just figured out.

"Admit it," he whispered, his breath teasing against your lips. "You want to know what it would be like, don’t you?"

You did.

You hated him, you hated the way he was holding you, hated the fact that he had turned this whole situation into something twisted.

But you wanted it anyway. And he knew.

His lips grazed against yours, soft and teasing. It was barely a kiss, but your pulse leaped at the touch.

"Mhm," Draco hummed. "That’s what I thought."

The way his hands moved then was smooth, practiced—like he had done this countless times before. You didn’t have a chance to resist as he swept aside your skirt, baring your legs. His touch was swift, deliberate, and despite yourself, you felt your pulse pound in response.

Draco’s fingers stroked over the outside of your underwear with a smoothness that left you breathless. 

It felt good—really, really good. Your hands were still pinned above your head, but now you were leaning into him, your legs trembling. He picked you up, putting you down on the kitchen counter next to you. Draco leaned into you, making your back arch slightly as he kissed you roughly. His right hand pulled down your underwear, allowing it to drop to the ground. 

Draco pushed one knee between your legs and you gasped from the contact. He smirked and slipped his knee even further between your legs. He pushed up against you, with the fabric of his pants rubbing against your pussy. You gasped and arched further. Your breathing became quickened and your cheeks turned pink. "I adore how hot you are for me, love," he purred.

His mouth slowly made his way down to your pussy. He started by kissing up your thigh. He used his hands to spread your legs even wider. You felt your pussy start to drip and he noticed, "so wet for me," he grinned.

He then placed his mouth on your pussy. You cried out from his touch. He stuck his tongue out and licked your pussy slowly. His tongue brushed over your clit and your entire body stiffened. "Oh my god," you moaned.

He started licking your clit harder. He took his fingers and slipped one inside of you. Your moans became loud and filled the room. His fingers moved up and down inside of you while his tongue moved in circles around your clit. The feeling of your orgasm built up inside of you and you tried to hold it back. You didn't want to cum already. But then he slipped another finger inside of you and your legs started to shake. He picked up the pace of his tongue on your clit and the orgasm was coming.

"Draco, I'm going to cum," you moaned. He groaned in response and that's what sent you over the edge. You exploded in pleasure as the orgasm hit you. "Oh Draco, fuck!"

He pulled away, "what's that, love?" he smirked, "are you asking for more?"

You nodded, "please," you begged.

He chuckled and kissed up your thigh until he reached your pussy again. He licked your pussy some more while slipping his fingers back inside of you.

"God, you taste amazing," he moaned, "you're so wet for me."

He then put his fingers on your clit and started rubbing. You moaned in pleasure. His fingers slid around your clit and you could feel another orgasm building up inside of you.

"Oh fuck, oh Draco," you moaned loudly. 

He smirked, "cum for me love, cum all over my fingers."

At that, your body stiffened and another orgasm hit you. You started to cum all over his fingers. He watched with a grin as the orgasm continued to wrack your body.

Your body shook and your breathing became ragged.

He then stepped away from you. You panted as you looked up at him. He smirked down at you, "did you think I was done with you love?"

You stared at him, your eyes widening as you realized what he meant. He pulled away completely, leaving you panting on the counter. His face was smeared, and it was hot. He slowly pulled down his zipper and pants, revealing his cock. It was big. It was so big that it made you feel self-conscious.

But Draco didn't let you dwell on those thoughts. He continued by pulling off his shirt and you were distracted by the sight of his abs. They were perfect. He smirked at you, leaning even further over you, his cock pushing up against your pussy. It was hard and it felt good. You started to drip even more, excited for this to happen. He smirked as he felt your juices dripping over him.

"Good girl. This is how I like it."

He then gripped his cock and started to rub it against your pussy, making you moan.

"You want this? You want my cock inside of you?" He asked, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it around your pussy.

You moaned loudly, "yes please, god yes."

He smirked, "beg me for it. Ask me nicely and I might give you what you want."

You stared at him. "You expect me to beg you after you almost robbed me?!"

He gripped your hair with one hand, pulling your head back. His expression changed into one of anger, "I'm your master for the night, so do as you're told or I will punish you," he warned.

You shivered at the threat. You had never felt so turned on in your life and decided to give in.

"Please Draco," you asked, "let me feel your cock inside of me."

“Good girl.”

He slowly thrusted himself inside of you, making you gasp at his size. He pushed in further, making your back arch from the feeling.

"Oh Draco, oh fuck!"

He started to move inside of you, slowly at first then quickly. You tried to push back, but he stopped you. "No, love," he chuckled. "Take it like a good girl." 

He moved his cock up and down, filling you completely and hitting all of the right spots.

He turned you around, so you were facing away from him. He then pushed his cock inside of you again, starting up a racing pace. You cried out at the feeling. He held onto your hips as he pounded into you. His right hand grabbing your hair, making you arch. His cock felt amazing inside of you, it stretched you to your limit but still fit perfectly.

"Fuck, oh god," you cried out.

He then reached around with his left hand, placing his finger on your clit. He rubbed it as he continued to pound inside of you. You cried out, overwhelmed with pleasure.

"Draco!" You screamed.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast, it wracked your entire body and left you shaking. Draco continued to fuck you through the orgasm until you were at your limit. 

His grip tightened on your hair, pulling you even further into his thrusts. His breath stuttered and you felt his cock thicken inside of you as he came. His cum filled your pussy.

"Fuck," he moaned as he came. "Oh god, it feels good."

He then pulled out of you, leaving his cum dripping down your legs. Your mind was foggy from the pleasure and you couldn't think straight. Your body laying half collapsed on the counter.

 "Come on, love," he mused. "Your bed awaits, or have you forgotten that I'll stay the night?"

© SlitherInky 2024 Do not copy, repost or translate.

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall glittered with floating snowflakes, their icy shimmer mirroring the wintry magic that seemed to overtake every corner of Hogwarts as Christmas drew near. The castle, cloaked in frost and decorated with festive garlands, felt like a living fairytale. Students bustled through the hallways, their laughter mingling with soft hum of Christmas carols. 

You found yourself walking through the long, drafty corridors of Hogwarts, surrounded by the lively chatter of your friends. The scent of winter followed you as your boots clicked softly against the stone floors. It wasn’t long before your small group reached the familiar classroom door, which led to your last class of the day. 

You threw your books onto one of the tables with an audible thump. Taking your seat, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Just one more period, then you could hurry back to your common room and get changed. After that, it was nothing but a relaxing night with friends until the feasts tomorrow. 

The minutes ticked by at a snail’s pace. Professor Binns was droning about yet another goblin rebellion. The rhythmic monotony of his lecture, coupled with the soft scratching of quills and the occasional whispered exchange between students, created an almost trance-like atmosphere. You found your gaze wandering to the frost-covered windows, your quill tapping absentmindedly on your parchment as your thoughts drifted far from the lesson at hand.

As you reached for your inkpot, a folded piece of parchment appeared on your desk. You blinked, certain it hadn’t been there a moment ago. Glancing around, you noticed nothing suspicious — no one looking your way, no hint of a culprit. Curious, you unfolded it, your heart skipping as you read the delicate handwriting.

Meet me tonight by the Christmas tree in the courtyard.

The note was unsigned, and your mind raced. Was this some sort of prank? Or something more… genuine? Your fingers grazed the edge of the parchment, tracing the loops of the handwriting as if they could give you a clue. It didn’t look like anyone’s you immediately recognized, and yet, there was something familiar about it.

For the rest of the lesson, you couldn’t focus. Who had sent the note? And why?

As you packed up your things at the end of class, your eyes darted toward the front, where Theodore Nott sat, his sharp profile illuminated by the pale winter light. You couldn’t help but remember a time when the two of you had been inseparable, sharing your deepest secrets during late-night conversations in the common room. But somewhere along the way, things had shifted. He’d grown distant, his easy smiles replaced by guarded glances. Now, he seemed as disinterested in you, as you had been in the lesson.

The evening couldn’t come fast enough. As you slipped out of the common room and made your way to the courtyard, the air was crisp and tinged with the scent of pine. The massive Christmas tree stood in the center, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and glittering ornaments. Your breath formed clouds in the chilly air as you hesitated, half-wondering if this was all a mistake.

“You came.”

The voice startled you, low and soft. You turned to find Theodore Nott standing behind the tree, his hands tucked into the pockets and his face half buried in his green and silver scarf.

“It was you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, stepping closer. "Yeah. It’s me. Look, I know I’ve been… distant. And I’m sorry."

You blinked, unsure of how to respond. "Theo, why?"

He hesitated, his breath visible in the cold air. "I… I didn’t know how to face you anymore. It’s not an excuse, but I was scared. You mean more to me than anyone else, and I thought… if I kept my distance, maybe it would hurt less if something went wrong."

He fell silent, and for a long moment, you simply stared, your thoughts whirling. His words had knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you feeling like you were suspended in time. 

"Theo," you said at last, "what are you talking about?"

He let out a frustrated sigh, as if he’d already said too much. 

"I have feelings for you y/n. Ever since we were first years. I thought we were just friends, but I want you to be more," He paused. "I thought you would have left me if I had told you."

His confession hit you like a wave, and for a moment, all the confusion and frustration of the past months melted away. 

"You’re an idiot," you said, still in shock of what he had just said.

"I know. But I’m here now. And I want to make it up to you."

Before you could reply, he gestured toward the castle. "Come with me. I… I want to show you something."

Curious, you followed him as he led you through the snow-covered grounds and into the dungeons. The familiar green glow of the Slytherin common room greeted you as Theo ushered you inside. The space was quiet, as most of the students had left after the last lesson to go home for the holidays.

"Wait here," he said, disappearing for a moment. When he returned, he held a small box and motioned for you to join him by the window. Snow had begun to fall outside, the flakes dancing against the dark sky. He opened the box to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a polished emerald dangling.

"Merry Christmas," he murmured, his eyes meeting yours.

You took the necklace, your fingers brushing his. "Theo, it’s beautiful."

He smiled softly. "Not as beautiful as you."

The words hung in the air, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned closer. His lips met yours, warm and soft, as the snow fell gently outside the window. In that moment, all the distance, all the questions, faded away, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the promise of something new.

As you pulled back, your chest felt fluttery and your lips tingled with the memory of his touch. 

"I- I think that’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever had."

"I’m glad," he murmured, taking a step closer, "but I can make it even better, if you let me."

Without thinking, you reached for him, and he met you halfway. Your lips were still tender from the previous kiss, but as they brushed together, they seemed to spark with new energy. This time, his lips moved more insistently, his tongue seeking yours out. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the heady taste of each other. His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you felt the kiss deep in your stomach.

"Theo," you moaned. The sound seemed to encourage him, his arms wrapping tighter around you as his mouth trailed down your throat. His breath ghosted across your skin, raising goosebumps.

The sight of his teeth biting your lip made you moan, and suddenly you felt hungry for more. More of what had been hidden from you for so long. More of what you wanted from him at this very moment. Your tongue swirled with his, tasting him. Your mouth was so hot and wet from his saliva. 

“You’re blushing,” he said, pulling slowly away from the kiss. His voice was low and teasing.

Your cheeks burned even more at his words, and you crossed your arms in a feeble attempt to look composed. 

“I am not,” you shot back, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as he straightened and took a step closer, closing the distance between you. His hand reached up, brushing gently against your cheek, and your breath hitched at the contact.

“You’re a terrible liar, Love.” he murmured, his thumb grazing your jawline.

Before you could formulate a reply, Theodore moved again, this time slipping one arm behind your back and the other under your knees. In one smooth motion, he lifted you off the windowsill.

“Theo!” you exclaimed, instinctively clutching at his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

His smirk deepened, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “You looked like you were about to collapse. Can’t have you fainting after one kiss, now can we?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the warmth of his arms around you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the heat rising to your face made it hard to string words together. “I wasn’t going to collapse,” you muttered, but your voice was softer now, more uncertain.

“Sure you weren’t,” he said, clearly unconvinced as he carried you through the common room.

The space was quiet, the usual chatter and footsteps absent. The remaining Slytherins were long asleep, leaving only the two of you under the dim, flickering green light.

When Theodore reached his dorm, he nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside. His room was tidy, almost minimalistic, with a faint scent of cedarwood and parchment lying in the air.

He lowered you onto his bed with care, his hands lingering just a moment longer than they needed to before he straightened. But instead of stepping away, he sat down beside you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight.

“There,” he said softly, his tone lighter now. “Safe and sound.”

You pushed yourself up slightly, your gaze flickering between his face and the faint pattern of shadows on the wall. 

“You really didn’t have to carry me,” you said, though your voice lacked the sharpness you’d intended.

“Maybe not," He took a deep breath, "But I wanted to. I want to adequately apologize for my behavior the last months. May I?" He asked, leaning forward. 

Your heart began pounding in your chest.

“Yes,” you replied.

His mouth met yours, this time without hesitation. He pushed you against the pillows. His hands roamed your body, his lips making their way down to your thighs. He was seeking your consent, and you found yourself wanting to give it, to give him every part of you.

You trembled at the sensation, his lips and tongue sending shivers up your leg. His fingers kneaded into your thigh, pressing gently into your muscle. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your reactions.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Mhm,” you repeated while nodding, not trusting yourself to say anything more.

Theodore’s fingers tightened around your thighs, his thumbs trailing across the seam of your trousers. Your head tipped back at the touch, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured. “I want you to see me. See how much I love this. See what I’m giving you.”

His thumbs brushed higher, grazing against your pussy. You felt your breath catch, your thighs quivering. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his tongue tracing delicate circles on your skin. The sensation made you quiver, your legs falling open for him. He hummed his approval and teased your slit with his fingers, drawing slow circles around your clit. 

“Theo,” you moaned, your hips twitching.

He kissed his way up your thigh, nipping at the crease before gently pulling at your pants and underwear. You lifted your hips for him, allowing him to slide them off. The cool air tickled against your skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of his mouth.

When his lips closed around your clit, you gasped, your whole body clenching. He groaned at the sound, his fingers joining his mouth as he rubbed you in slow, deliberate motions. Your head rolled back, and you could feel your legs trembling, your toes curling against the mattress. 

“Feel good?” He asked between kisses.

“Yes,” you gasped. "god yes."

He growled softly and slid one finger inside of you. “How about now?”

Your hips arched at the intrusion, your body clenching around him. 

His tongue swirled against your clit as he fingered you, his strokes slow and deep. Your pussy clenched around him, your vision blurring. You were close to the edge, your breath quickening with every stroke of his tongue, every movement of his fingers. 

“Theo, I’m-“ you gasped, but couldn’t finish before your orgasm overtook you. Your back arched, and you cried out, the feeling ripping through you. You felt like you were falling apart, the sensations too powerful to bear. 

Theodore withdrew his fingers and licked them clean. 

"You taste delicious," he moaned. "Like sweet cream and vanilla." 

He kissed you deeply, allowing you to taste your pussy on his tongue.

You laughed, the sound weak. Your body was still buzzing from his touch, the memory of it still echoing in your senses. 

"You're a bastard," you said, but there was no heat behind your words.

Theodore smirked, his eyes glinting. "So I've been told." He leaned back, his gaze sliding down your body.

You noticed then that he was still dressed. His robes had slipped down in the heat of the moment, revealing a tantalizing slice of his collarbone. The sight sparked an ache in your stomach, and you suddenly, desperately wanted to see him — really see him. 

“Take off your clothes,” you ordered, your voice low and commanding.

He blinked, his eyes wide. “Really?”

You nodded, your pulse thrumming. "I want everything of you Theo."

Without a word, he reached up and began to unbutton his shirt. He undressed slowly, deliberately, each movement almost agonizing in its slowness. When the last button was undone, he shrugged the garment off and let it fall to the floor.

Your breath caught at the sight of him — his chest was broad, his abs tight and defined. He looked even better than you’d imagined, his body lean and toned. A trail of dark hair dusted his chest, trailing lower to disappear beneath his trousers. 

Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, but you didn’t move. You wanted to savor this, to commit every detail of him to memory.

With a smirk, Theodore reached down and began to undo his trousers. They slid down his hips, revealing a pair of dark boxers and a bulge that left no doubt as to his arousal. You swallowed, your mouth dry at the thought of his cock inside you. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmured, glancing up at you.

You nodded wordlessly. “Yes.”

He slipped out of his boxers, his cock springing free. It was long and thick, the head flushed red with arousal. He stroked himself slowly, his fist moving in long, lazy motions.

“Come here, Love,” he murmured.

You obeyed, reaching out to take his cock in your hands. Your palms were warm against him, the skin hot and velvet-soft. You stroked him, your hands moving in tandem with his. His head tipped back at your touch, a groan escaping his throat.

“Fuck y/n,” he rasped, his voice low.

You moved down, your tongue swiping across his tip. He was hot against your lips, salty and musky. You licked him slowly, tasting him thoroughly as you worked your way down his shaft. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath coming in short, quick gasps. 

You took him between your lips and sucked, moving slowly as you took him deeper. His fingers tightened in your hair, guiding you as you bobbed on his cock. Your tongue slid down his length, swiping at the tender skin. He let out a loud moan at the sensation, his hips jerking. 

Suddenly he pulled your head back. 

"Get naked for me, Love." he growled. "I want to see your body."

You obeyed, stripping the garment off and tossing it away. The room was warm, but a shiver ran down your spine as his eyes traveled your body. 

He ran his fingers over the necklace he had just gifted you, trailing down over your small, pebbled nipples. You let out a soft gasp. "You're perfect," he groaned. "Lay back on the bed."

You did as he asked, sliding back on your elbows and spreading your legs for him. His eyes ran down you, his breathing speeding up. He gripped his cock in one hand, trailing the hand through your legs. You gasped, arching up into the touch. He felt so fucking good against you.

Theo let out a soft moan, pushing inside of you. The feeling was overwhelming.  He stretched you out, his thickness rubbing against your inner walls. You let out a small cry at the intrusion. He paused, looking up at you. 

"Are you okay?" he rasped.

"Fuck, yes," you moaned while nodding.

He pushed deeper inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust before pulling back and thrusting slowly inside of you again. Your whole body lit up with pleasure at the feeling of him moving in and out of you. His hips were quick, his strokes deep and strong. You could hear the slap of his skin against yours and the wet sounds of him fucking you. 

"I will never let you down again," he moaned. "I promise."

His thrusts sped up as he fucked you, pushing deeper inside of you. He pulled your thighs wider apart, groaning as he watched himself disappear inside of you. 

"Look at how pretty you look taking my cock," he gasped.

You met his eyes, the connection making you burn up with desire. His gaze ran over your body, taking in every detail. 

He pulled you up to him, your legs wrapping around him as he sat on the edge of the bed. He pounded into you, thrusting in deep and strong strokes. His hands ran down your back to grip your ass, lifting you up and down on his cock. You felt like he was holding you together, like you would fall apart if he let go of you. 

He brought his mouth to yours, kissing you passionately as he fucked you. You felt overwhelmed by his touch. He was consuming you. Your whole world was centered on him and his touch.

"I'm going to come," you cried out.

He grunted, his pace quickening. You felt his cock twitch inside of you as your pussy clenched, your orgasm waving through you both. He filled you with his come, your pussy clenching around him for more. Your chest heaved as you gasped for breath, your vision blurring as pleasure overtook you. 

When your body relaxed, he leaned down and kissed you. "Merry Christmas, Love." 

You smiled at him, pulling his face to yours. 

"It sure is." You kissed him again, softer this time. "Thank you."

He pressed a last kiss to your forehead before he almost inaudibly whispered in your ear

"I love you."

© SlitherInky 2024 Do not copy, repost or translate.

You want more? My Masterlist

It was a chilly Friday evening at Hogwarts, the autumn air had an earthy scent of falling leaves. The Great Hall buzzed with the usual chatter of students enjoying dinner, their laughter and conversation mingling with the occasional hoot of an owl delivering mail. You sat at your houses table, your hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, trying to summon the energy to face another evening learning for your O.W.L.s. Your friends chattered beside you, their voices a comforting hum in the background.

You looked around. Across the room sat Mattheo Riddle surrounded by his usual group of girls admiring him. He was the center of attention. As always. But you couldn't blame them, he looked perfect. His dark hair fell in unruly waves across his forehead, his sharp jawline accentuated by a smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face. You had never spoken to him directly, but imagined him with you a million times. His perfect, soft lips against yours and-

“Y/N, are you even listening?” your friend nudged you playfully, breaking your trance.

“Huh? Sorry, what?” you asked, snapping your attention back to the present.

“I said we’re heading to the library. Are you coming?”

“Yeah, sure,” you replied absentmindedly, your eyes drifting once more to him. Mattheo caught your gaze this time, his smirk deepening as he raised an eyebrow. Your cheeks burned, and you quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

The walk to the library was brisk, the castle corridors echoing with the soft murmur of passing students and the occasional distant clatter of Peeves causing trouble. The flickering torchlight danced along the cold stone walls, casting long shadows as you and your friends made your way toward the towering double doors of the library.

Pushing them open, you were met with the familiar scent of parchment and the faint musk of aged wood. The library was quieter than usual, most students still lingering in the Great Hall or in their common rooms for the evening.

Your friends quickly claimed a table near the back, setting down their books and chattering softly about the topics they planned to review. You followed, dropping your bag onto the worn wooden surface and sinking into one of the chairs. The weight of your textbooks almost crushed you today and you sighed, resigning yourself to another evening of diagrams, definitions, and endless notes.

Yet, as you pulled out your wand to light the tip for better reading, you couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of being watched. A subtle, prickling awareness danced along the back of your neck. You tried to ignore it, brushing it off as exhaustion or the aftereffects of your earlier encounter in the Great Hall.

But as your fingers absently flipped through the pages of your Potions textbook, your eyes flickered upward, scanning the quiet aisles of bookshelves. There, leaning casually against one of the towering shelves near the Restricted Section, was Mattheo Riddle. His dark eyes gleamed with a knowing glint, and the shadow of that infamous smirk curved his lips.

You froze for a heartbeat, wondering if he’d followed you here—or if it was just an weird coincidence. Before you could decide, Mattheo tilted his head slightly, as if inviting you to figure it out for yourself. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he turned and disappeared between the rows of books, leaving you to wonder whether you should stay in your seat or follow where curiosity might lead.

Well, what could go wrong?

You decided to take a chance, and followed.

With a careful glance to be sure your friends were preoccupied, you set down your wand and quietly slipped from the table, following the path where Mattheo had vanished.

The soft glow of the library's enchanted lamps barely lit the shadowy aisles as you ventured deeper into the maze of bookshelves. The faint sound of Mattheo's steps against the floor guided you, steady and deliberate, until it stopped altogether. Your heartbeat quickened, a mix of apprehension and curiosity flooding your senses.

"Looking for something?" Mattheo’s voice drawled, low and smooth, cutting through the stillness like a blade. You turned sharply, your breath hitching as you found him leaning against one of the shelves, arms crossed over his chest. The dim light softened the sharp angles of his face, but the intensity in his dark eyes was anything but gentle.

“I, uh…” you stammered, trying to piece together an excuse, but words failed you. His smirk widened, and he straightened, closing the distance between you with a few casual steps.

"You’ve been watching me," he said, his voice teasing but laced with something darker, something that made your stomach flutter and knot at the same time. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Your cheeks burned, and you dropped your gaze to the floor. "I wasn’t—"

“Oh, you were," he interrupted, his tone light but his presence overpowering. He tilted your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "And it’s cute."

His words sent a spark through you, a strange mix of embarrassment and thrill. “What do you want, Mattheo?”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “What do I want?” he repeated, as if tasting the words. "You.”

The confession hung heavy in the air, stealing the breath from your lungs. Before you could process it, he added, his voice softer now, “I’ve always thought you were cute, you know. The way you try so hard to keep to yourself, like you’re invisible. But you’re not. At least, not to me.”

His words were unexpectedly tender, his gaze softening for a moment as he studied your face. A warmth spread through you, melting away some of the tension in your chest.

“You know, I really don't care about the other girls. They're too easy to get. You, on the other hand," he paused, his eyes drifting down, studying the curve of your neck and the dip of your collarbone. “You look at me like you want to be devoured by me. And that makes you very intriguing, Y/n."

The sound of your name in his mouth was a revelation. It rolled off his lips, smooth and velvety, the vowels deepening into a growl at the end.

"Why are you telling me this now?” you whispered.

Mattheo stepped closer, his scent—woodsy and faintly spiced—enveloping you. “Because I wanted to,” he said simply, his voice steady. “Because I think you needed to hear it.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was almost gentle, but his eyes darkened as they lingered on yours.

The softness in his expression hardened into something sharper, hungrier. His hand slid from your face to your back, pulling you against him in one swift motion. The sudden closeness left you breathless, and before you could protest or even think, his lips crashed onto yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was demanding, possessive, and sending shockwaves through your body. His hands gripped you firmly, one on your waist, the other threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your mind spun, torn between shock and the undeniable heat of his touch. This is what you've been dreaming of. His lips moved against yours with an intensity that left you breathless, his presence overwhelming every sense. It was as if he wanted to consume you, to claim you entirely in that moment.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his dark eyes blazing as they locked onto yours. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you baby?” he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with something dangerous. His thumb brushed your swollen lower lip, his gaze following the movement with an almost predatory focus.

"Look at you—your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen, and fuck, I just know that you want me, don't you?”

He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, his hand tightened in your hair, yanking your head back as his mouth descended on your neck. A gasp tore from your throat, and before you knew it, you found yourself sitting on a small table pushed against one of the bookshelves. The wood dug into your thighs, but you barely registered the discomfort. You were too caught up in the sensations flooding your mind and body.

Mattheo’s teeth grazed your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips and tongue danced along your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You clutched at his shirt, your nails digging into the fabric as his lips traveled down to the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Oh god Mattheo,” you gasped, unable to hold back the moan that threatened to escape.

"Shhhhh quiet darling, or the others will hear you," Mattheo whispered against your skin. He smiled against your neck, and a shiver ran down your spine.

"And I know you’re just dying for my cock, aren't you, princess?”

“M-Mattheo, w-we shouldn’t,” you tried to protest, your voice breathless. But Mattheo didn’t let you finish. He pulled up your skirt, pushing it to your waist in one swift motion.

His free hand found the front of your underwear and, with a wicked smirk, he rubbed over your pussy. "Oh, my little angel, you're so wet for me," he purred, his eyes burning with lust as he looked into yours. "Fuck, I've wanted you since the day I saw you."

His hand pulled back, and he slipped his fingers into the top of your panties. You watched in disbelief as he licked his fingers clean, the sound making you even wetter for him. Then, before you knew it, his fingers were back against you, rubbing your clit in soft circles.

"Fuck, Mattheo," you moaned again, unable to help it this time.

He knelt down on one knee, his head now perfectly aligned with the height of the table. His other leg remained on the floor and his free arm held you tightly against him.

"Say it louder," he growled, his fingers moving faster, rubbing harder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—oh god!"

With a dark smirk, he pulled his fingers away. You yelped in surprise. He grinned at the expression, and then his head dipped below your waist.

"Oh fuck," you gasped as his tongue found your clit.

The pleasure was unlike anything you've ever felt. You gasped again as his tongue flicked over you again, your hands threading through his hair. You couldn't help it as you tugged on his hair, pressing his tongue against your clit as hard as you could.

But Mattheo was one step ahead of you. He pulled away, leaving you panting. "My little princess wants more, huh?"

"Oh fuck—please, please, Mattheo." Your voice cracked as you begged him for more.

Mattheo grinned up at you, his tongue licking his lips. "Say please again."

"Please," you gasped. And before you could say another word, his mouth was back on your clit, sucking and licking. His fingers found your entrance, and he shoved two inside of you.

“Oh god, oh god—oh fuck!" Your voice rose in pitch, and you clutched his hair again, pressing his mouth against you as hard as you could.

But before you could come, he pulled away again. He stood up and grinned at the look on your face. You looked down at him and noticed a large bulge had formed in his pants.

"Fuck, you look hot like that," he murmured, looking you up and down. "but you need to wait until I let you come."

Mattheo undid his belt and pulled at the button of his pants, undoing them with one quick move. His cock was hard and bigger than you expected, the tip already dripping with precum.

"I want to hear you say it," he said while he pulled his cock out, stroking it slowly. "Beg me to fuck you, princess."

"I—oh god—Mattheo—please fuck me—" you gasped out in a string of words, desperate to have him inside of you.

He smiled as he came closer to you, pushing your legs apart and placing himself between them. You held onto his shoulders as he shoved your underwear aside with the other arm. He teased the entrance of your pussy with his cock, making you squirm in his arms. He pressed a kiss to your ear, his hot breath making goosebumps rise up on your arms.

"You want my cock, don't you baby?" he asked under his heavy breath, and you nodded. "Then say it."

"Yes-" you gasped.

"Not like that, princess," he murmured. "I want to hear you beg me."

"Please—" you said again, the word slipping out in frustration. "Fuck me Mattheo—please, fuck me."

"That's my good girl." He growled as he shoved his cock into you, filling you completely. You cried out in surprise at the sudden stretch, and Mattheo paused for a second, giving you time to adjust. Then, he pulled out of you, and pushed back in with more force than before. His movements started slow, but soon became harder and faster.

He kissed your lips, and then your neck again, his teeth nipping at you every so often. The sensation of him inside you, his mouth on you, his hands on your skin, was almost too much to bear.

"Mmmm, god you're tight," He moaned, pushing his cock even further inside you. "You feel so fucking good, you know that princess?"

"Fuck Mattheo—" you cried out again, the orgasm starting to build. You tugged on his hair again, and he moaned against you.

"You're mine now," He whispers in your ear, as he started to increase the pace. "You're mine, and no one else’s—"

You felt his body tense against you, and his thrusts became faster and harder. His mouth pulled away from your neck and pressed against your ear again.

"God, you take my cock so well, do you?" he groaned out. "Yes, you’re a good girl—fuck—"

He trailed off, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic.

"Come for me, princess—" Mattheo growled, one of his hands reaching down to rub your clit. "Show me what you always wanted."

Your orgasm crashed through your body, almost as if it was waiting for him to say something to make it happen. You screamed out in pleasure as your body tightened and shuddered around his cock, the sensation of it throbbing inside of you too much to bear.

"Fuckkk—" he hissed as he pushed his cock as far into you as possible. You felt him shoot inside you, his hot cum filling your insides.

He stayed like that for a minute, his cock pulsating inside of you, as if savoring the moment. Finally, he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and exposed.

"You’re fucking amazing. You know that, right?" he said as he fixed his clothes. You watched in awe as he buttoned up his pants and pulled his belt around him. You had never seen anything so sexy in your life.

You said nothing, unsure how to answer. He smirked and then pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, helping you dress yourself back up.

“Do you think sombody heard us?" You asked, suddenly worried.

"Maybe." He paused and then cupped your face, his smile softening into something softer. "But maybe I surrounded us with a quietness spell."

© SlitherInky 2024 Do not copy, repost or translate.

The stone corridors of Hogwarts were colder than usual that morning, and my hurried footsteps vibrated through the hallways as I clutched my books to my chest. The hands of the   grand clock in the tower were unforgiving; no matter how hard I tried, time simply didn’t bend to the will of a frazzled student.

I was late.

Again.

The door to Professor Snape’s Potions classroom appeard ahead, its heavy oak surface etched with shifting runes that seemed to mock my tardiness. I hesitated for a heartbeat, my hand hovering over the iron handle. There was no way he hadn’t noticed my absence. Professor Snape was known for his strict demeanor and his nearly magical sense of punctuality—or rather, his ability to detect a lack thereof.

Bracing myself, I pushed the door open.

“Ah, Miss Y/n,” his voice greeted me before I even stepped inside. It was cold, precise, and carried the weight of both disappointment and expectation. The professor stood at the head of the class, his long, dark robes flowing like shadowy currents around his feet. His silver-rimmed spectacles glinted ominously in the light of the floating lanterns above.

“I see the concept of time continues to elude you.”

“Professor, I—” I began, but he raised a pale hand to silence me. The twenty-something pairs of eyes from my fellow students—half curious, half pitying—burned holes into my back as I stood there, wishing I could melt into the stone floor.

“Spare me the excuses. You’ve disrupted my lesson.” He gestured sharply towards the rest of the room, where the students were grouped into pairs. Each pair had a cauldron before them, bubbling with the early stages of a potion I didn’t recognize. “Since you seem so keen on making your own rules, let’s see how well you fare when paired with someone you’re… less familiar with.” My stomach sank. 

No. No, no, no. Please, no.

“Draco Malfoy,” he called, his voice like the toll of a bell. “You will work with Miss Y/n for today’s assignment.”

My eyes widened in horror as a murmur of amusement spread around the room. The Slytherins, Draco included, seemed especially amused.

Slytherin. It was not my house.

I didn’t want to be stuck with that spoiled brat.

But before I could protest, I was being marched across the classroom and deposited at a table in the back, where the notorious Draco Malfoy was lounging in his chair. His hair was silver, his face chiseled in the manner of an angelic creature, and his gaze was icy, grey-blue. When his eyes met mine, his lips curled into a mocking smile. I took my seat beside him, ignoring the smirks and whispers around us.

“Now,” Professor Snape continued, his focus shifting back to the class at large, “you have exactly one hour to complete the Draught of Shadows. And remember—this potion is highly volatile. Mistakes will not go unnoticed.”

Perfect. Just perfect.

Draco Malfoy—my crush since forever—was sitting next to me. I’d fantasized about being this close to him more times than I cared to admit. But not like this.

“Here,” he said, shoving the parchment toward me. His tone was smooth but held a sharp edge. “You’ll do the measuring. And the stirring. Basically, all of it.”

“Uh—what?” I stammered, blinking at him. I’d barely sat down, and already he was bossing me around?

“You heard me,” he said, leaning back in his chair with infuriating nonchalance. He stretched out his long legs under the desk, taking up more space than necessary. “You don’t want to mess this up, do you?” His smirk was equal parts cruel and devastatingly charming.

“Fine,” I muttered, pouring the first ingredient into the cauldron with shaky hands. “But you could at least help.”

“I am helping,” Draco said, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. “I’m supervising. For your sake, and the sake of the people around us, you’ll do as I say.”

I shot him a glare, but he just raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my flustered state. My stomach churned with frustration, but I said nothing and continued with the potion. I told myself this was fine—better than fine, really. This was the most interaction I’d ever had with him. Even if he was being infuriating, he was still talking to me.

By the time I added the powdered obsidian, though, my patience was wearing thin. “Stir faster,” he said, his voice dropping into an almost amused drawl. “No, not like that. Clockwise. Honestly, Y/n, are you trying to ruin this?”

“Or you could stir Mr. Know-It-All” I snapped before I could stop myself. My face flushed immediately.

"What was this?" he said. But I couldn't answer him. Or else I would have told him to fuck off. 

"Y/n," he said softly, but his voice was tight with anger. "I'll ask you one more time—How did you just call me?" 

His hand was resting on the edge of the table, the tips of his fingers curling and uncurling as if he wanted to hit me. 

"I'm sorry!" I burst out. "I didn't mean that. I was frustrated, and it slipped out." I was blushing even more now, my fingers trembling on the wooden spoon.

There was a moment of silence. The bubbling of the cauldron was almost deafening, the silence in the room heavy. Professor Snape's sharp eye was on us, and I wondered if he'd overheard.

"You better," Draco muttered, his voice soft and rough at the same time. My eyes flickered to meet his, and I felt a thrill of fear mixed with excitement. I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but he stopped me immediately.

"Shut it. Don't make things worse." My mouth shut with a snap. 

The rest of the class passed in a blur of shame, frustration, and occasional, sharp corrections from Draco. He didn’t say a word about what had happened, but it hung in the air like a cloud of tension. I stirred the potion until it turned to a deep silver, then carefully poured it into glass vials as Professor Snape had instructed. I glanced at the clock, relief washing over me; it was almost time to go.

“Excellent,” Professor Snape said as he approached our table. His eyes scanned the finished product on the table before him, lingering over each of the five vials of Draught of Shadows. “Well done, both of you.” 

Yes of course. Now that Ass gets my praise, even though he has done NOTHING but order me around. And be mean. But at least the class is over. As the Professor walked away, I started to pack up my things.

“Don’t.” Draco's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist in a cold, unforgiving grip.

I stared up at him, a shiver of fear running down my spine. “What?”

“Don't pack. We're not done here.” His voice was dark, his gaze intense. Then his attention shifted to the rest of the classroom, where his friends were gathering their things. “Excuse me for a moment,” he told them, before his fingers tightened around my arm, and he yanked me out of the classroom.

My feet struggled to keep up with his, stumbling slightly as he dragged me through the corridor. I couldn’t believe it. Where were we going?

The answer came when he pushed me into a room I recognized immediately—the Slytherin common room. The door of his room slammed shut behind us, the heavy wood reverberating through my bones as Draco released my arm. My heart was pounding.

“You were a very disobedient little girl in class today,” he drawled, his back to me as he leaned against the closed door. His voice was low and rough. “Do you know what happens to little girls who can’t behave themselves?”

“No—” I whispered, my stomach sunk. “I—”

But before I could finish, Draco was striding toward me, his movements fluid and predatory. I gasped as he pressed my body harder on the door, his hand grabbing my chin.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his tone almost hypnotic. I felt my gaze drawn to his, my body responding despite itself. The heat of him against my front was almost overwhelming. My vision blurred for a moment, his face swimming in my mind like a half-remembered dream.

But the haze was shattered by his next words: “Now, you’re going to learn your lesson.”

His fingers dug into my jaw as he forced me to stare into those piercing grey eyes. His grip was unyielding, and I could feel my breath coming in shallow gasps as his hand slid down my chin to my throat, choking me. I felt a rush of fear, but it was underscored with excitement. My blood hummed in my veins like a warm river, my cheeks burning under his gaze.

“Tell me you’re sorry,” he demanded, his voice dark. “Tell me you’ll be a good girl from now on.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his. My voice was barely audible. “I’ll be good,” 

"What else?" he asked demanding.

“I won’t be disobedient.”

The words tumbled from my mouth like a confession. 

“Mmm,” he murmured, his gaze tracing over me. “I want to see you apologize.”

"Undress yourself and get on you knees." he ordered softly.

My cheeks flushed, and I hesitated, my mind in a daze.

He raised an eyebrow. “Now.”

My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, my vision blurring around the edges. I peeled off my shirt, tossing it aside, and slid off my skirt. The cool air of the room danced over my skin, and I shivered.

“Panties,” he prompted, his voice low and dangerous. My pulse raced as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down. There was something about the way he looked at me—something that made me want to obey him. 

I knelt on the scratchy carpet, my heart pounding. How the hell did I end up here.

But the thought was short-lived as Draco’s hands settled on my shoulders, his cold fingers digging into my skin. I watched as he reached for his belt, sliding it free with a metallic jingle. The leather creaked as he wrapped it around my neck, pulling it tight with his left hand. My breath caught in my throat.

“I am going to teach you your place.” His gaze was burning, his eyes pinning me “You’re a good little slut,” he whispered, his voice making me shiver. “Aren’t you? Tell me.”

"Yes Sir"

“That’s more like it.” His right hand wrapped around the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Now,” he purred. “What do you say to me?”

“Thank you, sir.” I felt something inside of me shudder, some last vestige of resistance falling away under his touch.

“Good girl."  His hand tightened in my hair as his other hand started stroking my cheek. The belt around my throat relaxed. His thumb caressed my bottom lip as he murmured, "Now open up." The roughness of his voice made my heart jump. The command made my head swim.

“Open,” he repeated, his voice sharp this time.

I slowly parted my lips. Then, without warning, he shoved two fingers into my mouth.

"Suck them," he growled. I moaned in response, the sound muffled by his fingers. His left hand tightened painfully in my hair as he pulled my head back. My eyes watered. "Suck them." he repeated, shoving his fingers deeper.

I obeyed, sucking and licking his fingers eagerly. He watched me with a satisfied smirk. It only made me hotter, making me suck his fingers harder.

He pulled his fingers from my mouth and unzipped his trousers.  My mouth fell open as he pulled out his cock, hard and thick. The sight alone made my pussy clench in anticipation.

He grabbed my hair, forcing my head back as he positioned his cock at my mouth. He gave me no warning, shoving his cock down my throat with one smooth motion. I gagged on his cock as he started pumping in and out. My throat ached as he fucked my face, tears streaming down my cheeks. I struggled to breathe around his cock, since the belt tightened around my throat, was restricting my breath as well.

He pulled out, letting me catch my breath before shoving back inside me. He held me there, his cock buried deep in my throat. I gasped for air as he fucked my face.  His grip on my hair was unyielding as he used me for his pleasure. The belt tightened as he thrust into me again. My lips were stretched tight around his cock, saliva dripping down my chin. He was ruthless in his use, uncaring of my pleasure. All I was, was a hole to fill with his cum.

He started panting, his thrusts speeding up. "Good girl," he groaned as he fucked my mouth. "Such a good little slut." My pussy ached to be fucked, but I knew I had to wait. My mouth was for him. "Take it all," he growled.

His fingers tightened in my hair as he rammed deep into me. I felt his cock pulsing in my throat as he filled my mouth with his cum. The salty taste of his cum was my only reward as he filled my mouth. I swallowed his cum down greedily, lapping at his cock with my tongue. His moans of pleasure sent shivers through my body as he used my mouth to clean off his cock. His softening cock slipped out of my mouth, his cum still dripping down my chin.

"Such a good little whore." he purred, stroking my cheek with his thumb. "If you do something stupid again, remember that I know how to punish you. And next time, it will be much worse."

© SlitherInky 2024 Do not copy, repost or translate.