#sub!tom

The gentle tunes of Christmas music travelled through the narrow alleyways, coming from a nearby holiday market, and accompanied the both of you as you hung up the last few ornaments. 

“Just the bows left,” you exhaled a breath of satisfaction, eyes swaying around the room. Stockings hung on the chimney, the pine tree’s branches and needles glowing warmly beneath the fairy lights, and a content-looking Tom, whose eyes met yours lastly. 

He nodded with a gentle smile and tied the satin fabric around one of the branches where you couldn’t reach, while you took care of the lower part of the tree. The sun had long set behind the horizon, and you were more than glad when only three ribbons remained at the bottom of one of the boxes. 

Tom moved to grab one of them, however, instead of placing it on the pine branches, he took a step closer and tied it around a strand of your hair. 

“They are more beautiful when you wear them,” he murmured, his warm, brown eyes peeking down at yours. The corner of his mouth lifted into a soft smile as he took in your pleased expression, and his hand, which had just held the ribbon, wandered down the side of your cheek, gently cupping your face.

He took a second or two to simply admire you—slowly brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone before he leaned in, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and then connected his lips with your own. 

It was a slow, sensual kiss. Not rushed like the many you’d shared these past few weeks in the rush you found yourself in every single day due to the holiday season. While intended as the most calm and quiet time of the year, many people just like yourself would perhaps call it the opposite. 

Whether it was gathering your presents, decorating, work—it all drained your energy much faster than you would have wanted it to. This dark and foggy weather did its part too, of course. When you stepped outside your front door in the morning, the sun hadn’t risen yet, and by the time you returned in the evening, it was nighttime again. 

For Tom, it was even worse. Due to his position in the Ministry, he had to wake up earlier than you and often returned after 8pm—too, exhausted, although he did not show it. 

You’d almost gotten lost in thoughts and the sensation of his lips gently moving against yours when he pulled away just a few inches, waiting for your eyes to blink open and meet his again. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured then, thumb still drawing patterns on your skin. 

“Me too, Tommy.” you replied, rising to your tiptoes to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “So much.” 

His fingers reached to open the knot of the ribbon in your hair, but you stopped him—instead, you too reached for one and secured it to his dark curls. 

As you did, your breath fanned over the side of his face and neck, and although involuntarily so, he shivered at the feeling of it. Of how close you stood to him, the familiar warmth your body radiated, and, of course, your sweet, concentrated face as you tied the fabric to his hair. 

The knot that had formed in his throat had wandered to the pits of his stomach by the time you were done, and an entirely different sensation blossomed there when your lips brushed over his jaw, holding onto his arms as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“You’re so cute when you blush, Tommy.” you whispered, your expression morphing into something softer, more intimate. “It matches the colour of the ribbon in your hair.” 

He did not reply with anything other than a soft hum under his breath, one arm around your waist pulling you closer, pressing you up against him as his lips met yours once more. 

Still soft, still Tom—not expressive with his needs, rather putting yours first. 

But, so close to him, you felt what he needed, what he was craving. 

“So needy,” you purred as you parted, perfectly reading the darkened colour of his eyes and his fingers, curled into fists at the side of his body—trying to control himself and be good for you. “Sit down on the couch. I’ll be right there.” 

Tom did as you said, of course. He did not often argue with you—and most definitely not when he knew what you’d planned. 

Grabbing the last ribbon from the cardboard box, you too made your way to the cushioned living-room couch. Though, in place of sitting down beside him, or, how he’d imagined—astride him—you dropped to your knees onto the carpet. 

Deep breaths. Tom wanted to look at you, he really did—but he was afraid that if he did, he might come just from the sight of you on your knees before him. It had been too long—too long since he’d last gotten to feel you properly, be able to touch you, or just enjoy a moment of peace. And now, you expected him to do just fine as he was about to experience all the above at once? 

He couldn’t, he— 

“Eyes on me, Tommy.” you whispered, swiftly undoing his belt and the zipper of his trousers. “Be a good boy and look at what I am going to do to you.” 

At some point, you’d be the death of him. Tom had never been more certain of anything in his life. 

God, he should have run as soon as he saw those damned eyes which had drawn him in from the first moment on. 

Charms class, somewhere in the second week of September of your first year at Hogwarts—he remembered it as though it just happened yesterday. 

His eyes wandered to yours in the meantime, and he regretted it in an instant. The look painted across your features did only do little part of his whole nervous system lighting on fire—your hand, dipping beneath his trousers and underwear, did the rest. 

Fucking hell. 

You did not grant him a second to catch his breath and regain his composure, though—no, you loved him like this. Undone, whimpering, and squirming just from the slightest touch. You needed this like he needed you. 

When your hand circled him, he was rock-hard already. You hummed, and then, swiftly looped the smooth satin around his girth, creating a ribbon just like you had done countless times on the branches of your pine tree. 

Tom’s last sane thought had long left his mind, and he did not interrupt his concentration to question you. 

If you wanted him like this, you’d have him. 

“All done.” you smiled, eyes lifting to his, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. “My pretty boy. The prettiest I could’ve ever wished for.” 

He nearly sobbed when the pad of your thumb brushed over the swollen head of his cock, collecting the pearly bead of precum that had formed at the top, and smeared it down the length of his tip. 

His hips bucked at the sensation, but it only made it worse—he thrust up into the loose grip of your hand and groaned. 

“Please,” he croaked, voice low and broken.  

Poor boy. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” you asked, repeating the same movement you’d just completed. “You know you’ll have to be more specific if you want me to do something.” 

“Fuck— please, please let me— let me feel you, darling.” 

Tom was so sweet when he begged, utterly unravelled, you almost wanted to prolong his torture for at least a little—but today, after all he’d done to help you, you’d be merciful. 

And you too had missed this too much to wait any longer. 

Your head dipped, tongue darting out to circle just the top of his length—never breaking the eye contact between you two. 

You were going to ruin him. 

His hand flew to your hair as soon as your lips wrapped around him, just his tip, and you suckled gently on him. 

“I can’t— I can’t, please—” he whimpered, second hand searching for yours, intertwining them. 

“Can’t what?” you asked innocently as you kitten-licked the very top of him, still watching every single spasm of his muscle, catching every broken groan spilling over his parted lips. 

“Can’t— take it,” he managed finally, and oh, you were sure he couldn’t by the way he was twitching even under your soft grip, while you only focused on his tip. 

“Hmmm,” you murmured, swirling your tongue around him, which, again, had a low, throaty groan escape him, head tipping back against the cushioned couch. “But you will, won’t you? I decorated you so beautifully, Tommy. Be the good boy I know you can be. Can you do that for me?” 

A sharp, half-sob, half-inhale split through the short-lived silence between you, and when he nodded, you continued. 

Continued his torture that had driven him to the very edge of his usually controlled self. 

Never again would he go this long without this—he'd come home during his few breaks if he had to. Every day without you was a waste. Every day without feeling you, touching you, pleasing you—was the cruellest form of torture he could fathom. 

Although, you, teasing and suckling at merely the head of his cock, came a close second. 

You’d tightened the fabric around him just a little, still working him with your tongue. He wouldn’t get more than this—in fact, you knew he didn’t need more than this. The salty taste of his precum had long spread to your taste buds, and by the way he was holding onto your hand for his dear life, you were certain it wouldn’t take him much longer. 

Oh, you loved how pathetic he was for you. Only for you. 

“Dar— darling, I am going to— please, fuck— I—” 

You did not get to tell him to hold back for a little longer—because just a split second later, his hips stuttered, thrusting halfway into your mouth as he spilled himself on your tongue. Warm and sticky before you swallowed it gleefully, licking him clean until he pulled you off, whimpering in overstimulation. 

Rising from the floor, you settled on his lap like he had imagined you would. Your hand gently brushed one of his dark, messy curls from his forehead before you leaned in to kiss his bite-swollen lips, then cupped his face, having him look directly into your strict, challenging eyes. 

“Ribbon stays on. You did not ask, Tommy.” 

Yes, you definitely were going to be the death of him—and that, perhaps, already tonight. 

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3 — masterlist. | winter event.

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Rhythmically rolling your hips against his left you softly humming from the pleasure at your core, holding back the smirk threatening to twist your mouth upwards as you watched Tom barely hold it together.

His head was thrown back, mouth hung open and eyes glassy as you continuously dragged your panty-clad pussy over his straining bulge. Having been at this for what felt like hours, your needy, dribbling cunt had soaked through your panties, staining his grey trousers darker than what his precum alone could’ve done.

Slick and pre leaked from your bodies and mixed at the point you met, soaked through your clothes and left behind a sticky, filthy mess.

Dragging your swollen clit harder over his erection only added to the ever-growing pit of need in your stomach, the increase in pressure pulling a strangled moan from your lips.

Tom’s body reacted before his brain, hips bucking against your core from below in a needy fashion, hands flying to your thighs to hold you still and spread you wider. He thrust upwards in relentless succession, eyes squeezed shut and fingers digging into the soft flesh as if he were trying to fuck you silly through your clothes.

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this—” he practically mewled, the breathy, needy sounds leaving his lips becoming higher and higher in pitch the more desperate he became.

While you were enjoying watching his control slip, the stiffness of his cock bullying your sensitive nub over and over through the fabrics separating them was making it hard to focus.

“Oh fuck,” the whiny, keening words left you as his cockhead caught on your pudgy clit, having to press your hands down on his chest to stay upright as need ached hotter in your body.

“Don’t, I’m— a-ah…”

Through his rutting and incoherent babbling, you could feel the pathetic twitching of his bulging cock between your folds.

A soft, breathy whimper fell from your lips, driven by the continuous throbbing of your own sex and the musky smell of arousal as he rubbed up against you.

“Tommy…”

That was all he needed. His eyes snapped open to look into your half-lidded gaze, the lust reflected at him enough to push him over the edge.

He was so close...

Chains of curses tumbled from his lips as his eyes rolled back, unable to hold yours any longer as the overwhelming knot in his stomach finally snapped.

A hot release of warmth spilt from deep within him, not even getting the chance to warn you before it happened.

Tom arched his back into you, feeling the intensity of the throbbing from his dick, letting pleasure take him over. It was hot, desperate, and messy, his cock pulsating with every pathetic spurt of his release. He was losing his mind, spilling into his pants with a deep groan that made your head spin and pussy clench.

He suddenly felt inexperienced, like he’d just touched himself for the first time again, powerless to the swollen, sensitive flesh that would twitch and leak just from being a little too close to a pretty girl he didn’t care for. But it wasn’t any girl doing this; it was you who was making him wet himself with cum like a pitiful virgin.

You could feel the warmth spreading beneath you, his pretty brown eyes filled with so much pleasure they couldn’t even look at you properly as he made a mess of himself.

The hot, sticky fabric beneath you, and needy cries of bliss from Tom, only encouraged you to keep chasing your own pleasure, grinding on him through his orgasm.

Only when his whiny pleas reached your ears — practically begging you to stay still as the beginnings of overstimulation started short-circuiting his brain — did you listen.

Despite this, he was panting beneath you and bucking his hips erratically, trying to pull your thighs even further apart as if to get closer to your drooling cunt, contradicting his pleas for you to stop.

You had to quickly try and catch your breath before slapping the hands he had on your thighs, getting him to loosen his grip so you could pull away from where he was so sensitive.

A string of dribbled arousal connected your clothed sexes as you pulled back, kneeling above him with trembling thighs and skirt bunched around your waist. You stared at his mess, pants dark and sticky from where you’d been grinding against him, wetness spread over his crotch and between his thighs from soiling himself with cum.

His hair was messy, dark waves stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his cheeks and ears were flushed a deep pink as he panted beneath you, matching your own shuddering breaths. But he wasn’t looking away; despite cumming in his pants like a boy just starting puberty, his eyes were glued to you. Glued to the space between your slick, shimmery thighs.

“C’mere,” he murmured breathlessly, finally recovered enough to break the silence, not looking away from your soaked panties. They were sheer with absolute arousal, sticking to your pussy like a second skin. “Wanna taste you.”

He stretched forward slightly to cup the back of your thighs, encouraging you forward in an amatory gesture.

Almost kneeling above his head now, you looked down at him. He was so gorgeous like this, face flushed and hair a mess beneath you.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” A concerned expression adorned your face, even as your arousal dribbled down your thighs and your clit throbbed in anticipation.

Tom just lazily smirked up at you, hands shifting to rest between your arse and lower back.

“Just relax,” he purred, pulling you closer to sit on his face.

A small whimper slipped from your lips as you felt his hot tongue slowly drag over your panties.

Seeing no point in fighting it, you sighed, sinking your full weight onto his face. If his deep groan of approval was anything to go by, vibrating pleasantly against the nerves between your thighs, you knew he wouldn’t have given you a choice but to enjoy it regardless.

From that alone, you knew. You knew he was going to drag it out for as long as possible.

I spent way too long tryna make this post look pretty.

Not too happy with the writing, but oh well.

For example, spending some of your rare free time with your boyfriend, who just so happened to explain what Binns had left off with before he dozed off minutes ago—and looking unfairly handsome during it, too.

“It was during the 14th Century Wizarding Economic Bubble—in 1474, to be exact—that a goblin named Gringott founded the bank which was later named after him.” Tom explained, browsing through the pages of his textbook to find the corresponding chapter.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, drawing patterns and small figures on your desk, the surface already marked up from all the other same, boring lessons of the past school year. While students were highly encouraged to report damage to school furniture, the desk you had chosen at the very beginning of the semester was rarely occupied—it was all the way at the back, and since your professor did not make the effort to speak up during the limited minutes he was awake inevitably left students no choice but to take front seats.

It wasn’t that you needed a teacher for any subject anyway. Most of the time, Tom was more knowledgeable than any scholar Hogwarts could possibly ever recruit.

“Are you even listening? I assume this might be worth knowing for our next exam,” he muttered softly, interrupting your train of thoughts by shoving his textbook right in front of you and pointing towards the text passage he had apparently already known by heart.

Your gaze wandered from the drying black ink on your desk to your boyfriend next to you. For a long moment you just lazily stared at him—his features were molded into a genuinely concerned expression, and you had to stifle a laugh at the sight. He tried over and over again to convince you that the information you missed out on was of value, but deep down you and he both knew you’d most likely never need any of this again—your professor’s motivation being the best indicator.

“I am listening, just keep talking,” you yawned, though still trying your best to conceal your disinterest in the topic. Without further thought, Tom continued, not sparing his textbook a single glance while he enthusiastically preached the history of Gringotts to you.

And you almost, almost nodded off—until a more than inappropriate thought came to your mind and you realised that you very well could utilize the time you’d still be stuck in here.

Gently, you put your quill down and inched your hand closer to his, placing it atop—which immediately made him forget what he was just so passionately explaining to you. Your eyes sparkling with challenge, you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a low purr. “The exam. You’ll let me copy off you anyway, won’t you, Tommy?”

The heat of your breath ghosted over the side of his face, and Tom flinched slightly at the insinuation behind your words—he recognized the tone with which you said it all too well.

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment—feeling tingly and warm, the sweetest rosy colour spreading all the way to his ears. His beautiful brown orbs widened for a moment before he cleared his throat and quickly dropped his gaze to the words in his book, flipping the page hastily.

“Yes,” he quipped, soft and barely audible before he spoke up louder again, eager to change the topic. “So— Gringotts has been managed by goblins since it was established, except during the— uhh— late 1500s when— the Ministry took over. This did not change until…”

Your lips curled into a subtle smirk as you studied his features, suddenly all tense and nervous, the earlier confidence vanished as he rambled on about the new topic —and it was then, when he shifted in his seat, that another idea popped up in your head.

And you really should’ve just forgotten about it—however, it wouldn’t leave your mind, no matter how hard you tried to focus on his words instead. Entirely forbidden, and if anyone caught you, you’d be lucky not to be expelled—but God, the mere thought of it sent a wave of adrenaline rushing through your body, straight to your core.

“Tom, look at me.” you murmured, your smooth and soft voice causing yet another short-circuit in his brain, and he stumbled over his words before he reluctantly met your eyes.

“You are so adorable when you’re flustered.”

 “I am not—“ he quickly shook his head, but his face only grew a darker shade of red, inadvertently confirming your point.

And now, you pretty much had him where you’d wanted him. Too shy to even look at you, fingers trembling as he skipped to the next chapter.

Just a little more teasing.

You inched closer to him, body pressed against his as your hand wandered to his leg and you pressed a gentle kiss to his warm cheek.

“Oh, but you are. And I think I have a better idea of how we could pass time,” you whispered, eyes quickly glancing at the very-asleep Binns before they returned to his. Your hand slowly but surely made its way up his thigh, head dipping to place another kiss on the side of his neck.

Tom almost choked on his breath when he realised what you meant. “Here? The lesson will end soon and—“

You squeezed his thigh. “Yes, here.”

He glanced around nervously, briefly stopping when one of the students turned around to give someone a small piece of paper. “What if— someone sees us?”

The corner of your mouth curled into a teasing smile, and you grazed your knuckles over his heated cheeks. “What’s then, Tommy?” 

But before he could respond, your lips brushed against his tense jaw and the shell of his ear. “Are you afraid someone may see just how needy you are for me? How much you want this?”

The heel of your palm caressed the dent in his trousers as you said it, and a small, yet sharp sound slipped from his lips, even as he tried focusing on anything but you and your ministrations—and yet, he failed miserably.

“Please,” Tom rasped before he could stop himself, small and broken, and already chasing after your touch when you removed your hand.

“Please, what? Please make me feel good? Please stop teasing me? I will need words, Tom.”

Your touch returned to the strained material of his dress pants, gently trailing along the outline of his hardened cock until his head tipped back slightly, knuckles white from how tightly he clutched at his chair. 

“Please— please don’t stop.”

“There you go. As you wish, sweetheart.” A triumphant smile spread across your face, fingers deftly working open his zipper just enough so you were able to free him from the confinement of his trousers.

“Sweet— sweetheart,” His breath trembled when your hand wrapped firmly around his achingly hard cock, resting hot and heavy in your hand before you set a slow and gentle rhythm, your eyes never once leaving his. Tom was barely able to conceal the little sounds of pleasure he was making, face flushed, dark curls fallen over his forehead.

He resembled a broken mess, and you’d barely gotten started. 

His eyes were straining to focus on your surroundings, on students glancing at the clock at the front of the classroom, on your unmoving professor—watching them cautiously.

“Relax. Be a good boy and let me make you feel good, hm? That smart brain of yours needs a break sometimes too,” you drawled, voice soothing as you grasped his face and turned his head towards yours, away from the others.

Finally, when his conflicted eyes met yours, his body sank back against the chair. Slow but tight pumps had his eyelids flutter closed in no time, lips pressed together tightly as slick sounds began emerging from beneath the desk.

And oh, how you loved when he let his guard down for you—even here, even in a classroom full of people, he let you have your way with him. Just because you wanted it—and as long as he breathed, you’d get what you desired.

Neither when you sped up did he make any effort to stop you. Instead, he bit back his quiet gasps and groans, letting you have him completely—all vulnerable and exposed, trying his hardest to stay quiet for you.

But you’d always been one for testing his limits.

“Fuck— don’t—“ he half-shrieked, legs pressing together and eyes blown wide when you tightened your grip, rubbing your palm over the head of his cock—though he regained his composure almost immediately, too afraid someone might have heard.

“Shhh. Quiet.” You offered a cheeky grin in return, and repeated what you’d just done. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

Tom only managed a croaky “yes,” his muscles straining to keep him seated—fighting the urge to thrust up into your hand with every ounce of restraint he had left.

However, the end of the lesson approached quicker than you thought, and it would only be a matter of time until students started shoving their unused books back inside their bags and heading towards the exit—which happened to be right next to your desk.

“If you want to cum, then do it now,” you muttered, squeezing him tighter and picking up the pace. “Or will you let everyone see just how pathetic and needy you are for me?” 

Tom quickly shook his head, chest rising and falling in quick succession as he braced himself for the inevitable. You really were cruel enough to have him teeter on the edge while your classmates were eagerly awaiting the end of the lesson, already packing up.

“Then cum for me, pretty boy. Be good and look at me when you do,” you murmured, focusing the movement of your hand entirely on the flushed and swollen head, his precum coating your palm as you teasingly rubbed over the sensitive skin—all while your other hand pumped up and down his length, so tight it almost hurt.

He was so close, twitching and pulsing in your grasp as his head leaned back, no longer able to stop himself from thrusting up into your slick hand. Just a moment later he tensed, hissing lowly as thick ropes of cum spurt from his reddened tip, coating your hand and his length with his sticky, white release.

You hummed with satisfaction, stroking him through his orgasm as you slowly watched him go limp against the chair. “There’s a good boy—making a mess all over himself and me, hm?”

Your movements didn’t stop even after he was done, giving him a few more pumps until his hand clutched your wrist and a soft, trembling whimper escaped his parted lips. 

“Please, no more.”

You let go of him then, smiling softly as you kissed his cheek again. Your eyes dropped to his trousers and the very visible stains on them, huffing a soft laugh.

“Tell me the spell to clean you up, sweetie.”

But you should’ve known Tom was nowhere in the right mind to even think about spells right then—he stuttered a few incoherent words, none of them resembling a spell even in the slightest.

And you could have done it yourself too, of course. It was one of the first spells you learned years ago—but this, this was perhaps the most fun part about the game you were playing with him.

“Concentrate. You can do it. You are a smart boy after all, aren’t you?”

When he didn’t reply, you teasingly brushed the pad of your thumb over his still-sensitive tip—a ghost of a touch, really—yet it startled him, almost choking on his breath before he gasped out an answer.

“Scourgify” 

Students were already getting up and starting to leave when you cast the spell. Instantly, his sticky release was cleaned from your palm and his cock, the stains on his trousers vanishing in the blink of an eye. You barely had time to tuck him back in before they began walking past you, chattering loudly about how useless this lesson was.

When everyone besides you two had left, you turned towards him again with a pleased smile on your lips.

“What were you talking about again?”

“I— I don’t remember.”

“Perfect.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | kinktober.

You weren’t quite like others, and as desperate as he was to turn you to him, he was just as intrigued by your feistiness. 

Too often had he tried shutting out inappropriate thoughts about you as he lay in the single bed of his prefect’s dorm, yet failed miserably every single time. Gave in to temptation. To lust.

You were the only person making him weak, making him feel. 

And you weren’t even aware of it.

────

Your intuition had rarely been wrong. Behind the lines of his indifference and restraint, there had to be something softer—something no one had yet reached.

Perhaps, it was possible to tame Tom Riddle.

At least for one night. One time, just for you.

And the opportunity presented itself on a silver plate just a few weeks later. No unnecessary sulking, no blowing your cover.

No, instead he blew his cover—without even realising it.

While his ambition and endurance had gotten him where he was—top of the class every year, prefect, school representative—it came with its many responsibilities. 

And just so, you happened to come across one of his few mistakes.

He’d left the library in a hurry, packing up and storming out without once looking back—leaving behind the book you’d watched him carefully hide on a chair beneath the table.

Quickly checking whether anyone was watching, you got up from your seat and hurried to get the item he’d forgotten to take with him. Without even taking a closer look at it, you stuffed it into your bag and continued your study session as though nothing had happened.

And just as you had thought—within the next five minutes, he came back to get what he’d left behind.

However, the book was gone from where he’d left it.

Tom turned around, scanning the library for other students—and of course, the only person who’d have seen him hide his prized possession—was you.

He debated whether to confront you about it—but, in the end, decided against it. If you hadn’t taken it, he’d have to lie to you. And Tom Riddle was a terrible liar—when it came to you, that was.

So, instead of confronting you, he turned to leave again without sparing you so much as a glance.

Good.

────

Minutes after he disappeared behind the tall, wooden entrance for a second time that hour, you hastily shoved your study material in your bag and hurried past students and professors towards your dorm.

The second the door locked behind you, you scrambled through the contents of your bag and pulled an old black leather book out of it. The edges were dented, and it had a very distinct smell—one you’d expect to find in an old, long-abandoned basement.

When you turned the book—imprinted in golden letters—it spelled his name. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

His diary.

Initially, you felt horrible for even opening and reading it. It was private, and reminded you of the time you stole your sister’s diary just to read about her secret crush—and this, well, felt somewhat the same.

────

It was just a few days later that week on Friday when your conscience threatened to eat you alive—and so, just a few minutes shy of midnight, you gently tugged your silk duvet to the side and slipped into your shoes. You grabbed the diary from where it was lying on your desk, wrapped your robes over your pyjama, and finally exited your dormitory.

A cool breeze brushed past you as you headed towards the Slytherin boys’ dormitories, and for a moment, you paused. It could have waited until the morning, you supposed—but you were already risking detention by sneaking around the castle past curfew, and if someone caught you on the way back without even having handed back the diary, it would’ve all been for nothing.

So, with a slight frown on your face, you kept on walking.

The prefects’ dormitories were all the way at the back, and luckily for you, it did say the name of the student outside.

You hesitated before knocking, and your mind sped through all possible scenarios. Clearly, you’d overstepped boundaries—and judging by his expression when he realised it was gone that day in the library, he surely wouldn’t take it lightly.

Though, even after having knocked twice, there was no answer—and it was only a minute later when you realised as to why.

Prefect’s duties.

You’d already turned to leave when you bumped into something that was most definitely not the cold surface of the stone walls but rather the warm and firm chest of—you looked up—Tom Riddle.

For a moment he seemed to be as distraught as you at the unexpected encounter—but just a mere second later, his mask was back in place, and he took two steps backwards.

With a lifted brow, he studied your outfit—baby pink pyjamas and your house’s robes wrapped around your shoulders. Not quite what he expected to see when he ended his shift, yet he wasn’t exactly complaining.

Not until he remembered that he was, in fact, still a prefect.

“What are you doing outside your dormitories at this late hour?” Tom asked you, a rather unamused expression etching into his features.

“I have something of yours that you might want back,” you answered, trying to sound as confident as you could before revealing the diary to him.

The sight of his diary in your hands hit him like a ton of bricks.

His diary. In your hands.

Tom was quick to snatch it from you. “Where did you get it from?”

Well, there was that. It was too late to come up with a lie, so the truth had to do.

“You left it behind in the library. A few days ago.”

A condescending sneer formed on his face, and at this point you were sure you’d be sitting in detention for the rest of the school year.

“And you did not think of returning it to me any sooner?” He spat, fingers curling tighter around the spine.

“I am sorry, Tom. I know I should have,” you apologized, but he merely scoffed. It stayed silent for a minute that seemed to stretch on eternally until his eyes returned to yours, softened now.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Did you read it?”

You nodded softly.

“Return to your dormitory. It’s late.” He walked past you and pushed down the handle of his own.

The cold bit at your skin, and yet you felt like there was more to say. That you weren’t done—not yet.

“Shouldn’t— shouldn’t you give me detention?”

He huffed a laugh. “Go.”

You did nothing as such—instead, you shook your head and took a few steps towards him. “It’s okay, you know. What you wrote.”

His eyes locked onto yours the very second you finished the sentence, and for just a moment you could feel the want radiating off him.

“Are you really this desperate for a punishment?” Tom said through gritted teeth, voice laced with something closer to disappointment rather than anger.

“No,” you murmured, finally closing the gap between the both of you.” “I want to apologize. It wasn’t the right thing to do.”

“I can always obliviate you. There is nothing more to be discussed between us.”

A soft smile crept onto your lips. Your hand slowly reached out—and when he didn’t draw back, your thumb gently caressed along his cheekbone. You studied his expression closely—he tensed under your touch but did nothing to stop you.

And so, you leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I am so sorry, Tom.”

He didn’t find his voice to reply—not soon enough. You smiled at him once more and finally retreated, figuring you’d give him space. But before you could even make the corner, hurried steps echoed behind you, and soon enough you were spun around and pushed up against the rough surface of the wall behind you, the gasp that was about to spill from your lips silenced with a fierce kiss.

When you parted, you placed a small peck on his jaw before your eyes returned to his. “Not quite what you’ve written about, is it?”

Tom shook his head. Countless nights had he sat at his desk and noted down pieces of his restless mind. How he envisioned you, how slick and warm you’d feel around him—and especially how good you’d look on top of him.

His diary was his mind laid bare. He’d made himself vulnerable by writing these thoughts down, even though they were never intended to be read by anyone other than him.

But you have read them. All of them.

“If I remember correctly,” you started, the corner of your mouth twisting into a slight smirk, “you wrote about how ‘Tommy’ would sound if I said it. Or how badly you wanted to be called my good boy.”

His lips curled into a slight smirk at your words, and for a moment he didn’t say anything. Let it sink in. Let you realise you had just given him precisely that.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, but before you could escape his intense gaze, his hand closed around your wrist. “Come with me.”

Tom led you back towards his dorm through the dark corridor, shutting and locking the door with one swift flick of his wand after you entered.

The second the lock clicked, his back hit the wall with a sharp thud—your lips moving against his before he could even register what was happening.

And he surely wasn’t going to complain now.

“Want me to show you then,” you murmured, trailing kisses along his jaw, “how I’d do what you’ve been writing about?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Please.”

Please.

You weren’t sure whether you had heard it right—but the look, the softness in his eyes—told you all you needed to know. You’d just heard him say please for the first time since you met him at the sorting ceremony years back.

And this simple word shouldn’t by any means have had an effect on you—but hell, you’d be a fool to say it didn’t. There was something beautiful about hearing it come from him. Raw and unhinged—matching the fire behind his eyes as he stared down at you.

You gently tugged the emerald-green tie from his neck, fingers slowly working the buttons on his plain white shirt open before you peeled it from his body—revealing his toned chest.

"You trust me, yes?" you asked him again, and when he hummed in agreement, your fingers found the zipper of his trousers, working them open. Never once did your eyes leave his, and when they slid down his legs, alongside his underwear, you pressed your lips to his—silencing the gasp that was about to spill from his lips.

"Sit down on the bed and lean back. Can you do that for me?" you whispered against his lips, gently pushing him towards the bed. You tossed aside your robes in the meanwhile and kicked off your shoes.

When he had gotten himself comfortable, you joined him and settled between his thighs—and for the first time that night, your gaze dropped to his cock. Carefully, you reached out and wrapped your hand around the thick base, offering him a single, light stroke. 

His reaction was nothing less than mesmerizing. You watched as his eyes fluttered closed, his hands fisting at the bedsheets, muscles tensing under your feather-light touch.

Still, you sensed there was something off. His shoulders stiffened more than they should have, jaw clenched tight. You pulled back and straightened yourself. “What’s wrong? If you changed your mind, that’s all right, I can—“

“Go on.” Tom interrupted you, meeting your eyes. “Don’t stop.”

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you first.”

He sighed in defeat, finally relaxing his muscles as he let himself sink further into the mattress. “I have never done this before.”

Oh.

For what must have been the first time, you saw vulnerability behind his eyes when he looked up at you. No longer the cold and controlled prefect you knew. And you should have known. Fucking hell, you should have smelled it from a mile away. Of course he hadn’t.

“That’s not a problem at all. I’ll take it slow and make you feel good, is that okay?”

Of everything you could have said, Tom hadn’t expected you to be understanding. Why? He didn’t know. You didn’t accuse him, didn’t blame him. Your voice brought the kind of comfort he had always craved, yet never received.

“Yes,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s fine.”

“Just relax for me.” You offered a reassuring smile before your hand returned to his achingly hard cock, wrapping more firmly around him as you set a slow rhythm.

There was no haste behind your movements, only slow and gentle strokes that made his hips buck into your hand and his head drop back into his pillow as he tried to focus on anything but what was actually happening—he feared he was going to embarrass himself in no time if he’d looked at you just once.

“How am I making you feel?” You purred, but it wasn’t a question you needed an answer to—you could tell. Especially when he didn’t even seem to register your question in the first place. You squeezed tighter around him warningly, and he groaned.

“Fuck— amazing. So fucking good.” Tom stuttered, and as did his hips—chasing every bit of pleasure you offered him. His tip was flushed in a deep pink colour, pulsing and drooling with need, coating your skin as you dragged your palm over his tip.

“Oh my— Merlin, please,” he whimpered in a broken voice, knuckles turning white at how tightly he was gripping the cotton bedsheets, shivering slightly.

Noted.

“Extra sensitive— right here, am I correct?” You said tauntingly, thumb gently brushing over the crown of his tip, collecting a bead of precum. His eyes shot open at the contact, hissing as his abdominal muscles tensed, having to hold himself back from stopping you with the last bits of strength he had left.

You repeated the movement. “Shhh. Be a good boy and stay still for me, hm?” 

You only saw him nod from the corner of your eyes before your head dipped, and you wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around the sensitive skin—and Tom swore he saw heaven’s gates opening right before his eyes right then. Never had he felt anything close to this, never had any sensation completely taken over his mind and shredded his sanity to irrecoverable pieces—but this did it. Your lips around him, feeling the comforting warmth of your mouth as you worked him closer and closer to that relief he’d been so desperate for ever since you bumped into him earlier that evening.

And you noticed it too. How his cock pulsed and twitched under your tight grip, how the salty taste of precum flooded your senses.

“Please,”  he begged, darkened brown eyes watching you now. “I can’t— can’t hold it any longer. Please.”

You felt his muscles straining beneath you, and you knew he was close, so, so close. And yet—you pulled away before he could spill inside of your mouth, leaving him right on the edge of his climax. He looked up at you dazedly when you straightened yourself, leaving his aching cock to rest against his lower abdomen, pulsing with need in the absence of your touch.

“W-what are you doing?” He rasped, eyes following your form as you slid off the edge of the bed, tossing your pyjama to the floor and stepping out of your panties.

“Did you think I’d let you cum that easily?” You smiled, swinging one leg over his so you sat astride him. “No no. You are going to cum inside me—when I say so. Understood?”

He gave a short nod, even though he wasn’t actually paying attention. You were sitting on top of him. Bare. Your arousal already soaking his skin beneath you. It made his mind spin more than he’d ever admit—and God, you were so much more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Gorgeous curves he would need more than a lifetime to explore and worship properly. Soft skin pressing against his own.

Fuck.

You’d long taken the hint. Reaching out, you closed your hand over his, and guided him towards your waist. “You can touch. Touch me, Tommy. Be my good boy and touch what belongs to you.”

Tom gently squeezed at your waist, hips, thighs. Carefully, as though you were made of porcelain. As though he was scared to break you—as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Ready?” You asked him, dragging your hips against his—eliciting another soft groan from his lips.

“Yes, please.” He replied softly. It’s all you needed to hear before you lifted yourself slightly, positioning his tip at your entrance—and, with one slow movement, sank down on his length.

You bit back a moan at the delicious stretch on your walls, planting your hands on his chest to steady yourself once you’d taken all of him. “Look at me. Open your pretty eyes and look at me.”

He did as you said, although painfully so. His jaw was clenched tight, every single muscle in his body wrung tight at the feeling of your warm walls enveloping him. The sensation was overwhelming, to say the least—and he was almost angry with himself that he’d missed out on it for so long.

One of your hands cupped his face, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip. “What were you thinking about all those lonely nights you described in your diary? Tell me. Tell me what you imagined me doing to you.”

Tom’s brain was a hazy mess, and it took more strength than he had to answer in a full sentence. “You. On top of— argh— me. Making me feel good, just like— this.”

“Like this?” You repeated, gently rocking your hips against his as you brushed one of his thick brown curls from his forehead. 

His eyes rolled back at the movement, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gasped out a reply. “Yes— God, yes.”

You lifted yourself a few inches, just to sink down on him once more. “Then be good and still for me, is that okay, sweet boy?”

But you didn’t wait for a reply—instead, you rocked your hips against his, gently at first, though quickly increasing your pace. Soon enough, soft and broken groans spilled from his lips, fingers trembling as they held onto your hips. And God, never would you have thought Tom could look any prettier than he already did—but clearly, you were mistaken. His gorgeous brunette hair stuck on his damp forehead, cheeks pink and flushed, trying his best to hold back from cumming too soon.

But as soon as his eyes met yours, begging—no pleading with you—you knew he’d lost the battle.

“Please, I can’t— please let me cum,” he gasped, cock twitching inside of you as his fingertips dug into your skin. “Please let me cum inside of you, I have been good— so— good.”

“Come, Tommy. Give me all of it, and don’t you dare hold back.” You encouraged him, leaning over to press your lips to his.

And so he did. His hips stuttered underneath yours, spilling inside of you with a low growl. Letting himself go for someone—for you—for the first time ever. Showing vulnerability. It felt foreign and strange—but mostly, pleasant. 

Although you hadn’t cum, he left you feeling warm and full—and pleased. More than pleased.

His lips were still quivering when you lifted yourself off his softening length and disappeared into the attached bathroom to retrieve towels for the both of you. With a few gentle rubs, you cleaned the sweat from his forehead and your combined arousal from his lower body—only then taking care of yourself.

After you’d tossed the towels on the bathroom floor, you dressed yourself in your pyjamas again and returned to his side.

His eyes flicked to yours, and instead of expressing satisfaction, they were riddled with guilt. “You haven’t— I would like to—“

“Shhh,” you hushed him gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead before guiding his head into your chest. “You did so well for me—rest now. We have a whole lifetime of opportunities left to catch up on making each other feel good, hm?”

“We do?” He asked, breathing in your scent.

“Yes, Tommy. We do.”

However, only the next morning when he woke up and took you in—still asleep and cuddled into his chest—did he truly believe you. 

also a biiiig thanks to @yuunarii-arii @juliet-017 and @dearmisshoney for helping me with this. I love u guys sm🥺

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.