#tom riddle smut

head boy tom riddle having his own publicly claimed compartment on the hogwarts express like he’s had every year since he was a fourth year.

no one touches it. no one dares to even knock. the blinds are drawn shut on the way to and back from hogwarts at the start and end of each school year. students gossiped all the time since he’s officially — unofficially — put his name on that specific spot.

they talk about how much he values his privacy.

about how he might be jerking off.

but this year, things were different. for the first time, he let someone else inside with him.

you.

and of course, people speculate. it’s rather scandalous, isn’t it? for a boy and a girl who were dating to be alone, shut together in a small space, not a sound coming from inside?

some try to peek in to find out. nervous first years search for empty seats and older students steer them away from their doom, whispering stories like they do every year in the corridor like tradition, one after another chiming in on the mystery of riddle’s compartment. some say he’s simply studying up for the new school year beforehand to be ahead like always. others say he’s finally found a partner to share his so called sexual escapades with.

but, there is simply no way, right? golden, head boy, respectful prodigy, polite gentleman, saint riddle would never do that to a girl on the train to hogwarts, would he?

he would never be sitting silently with his legs crossed and a book on his lap in that compartment on the express, humming to himself in thought as he read through an issue for the new curriculum, turning a page every once in a while with one hand.

…while the other sat squeezed just between your shut thighs and inside your soaked panties beneath your skirt, long fingers curling and thrusting in and out of your sopping little hole absentmindedly as you squirmed in your seat beside him, panting and whimpering quietly like he said to while clinging onto his arm, hips humping your cunt against his digits desperately while he paid you no mind whatsoever.

tom riddle was always a good multitasker, and he’d need the skill to balance work and pleasure for this coming year. so, he is doing just that — diligently taking care of his academics and dutifully assisting his girlfriend who was just so pent up after not having seen him all summer.

poor thing.

out there, they all say he’s either studious or debauched. tom riddle thinks: why can’t he be both?

after all, it was just his responsibilities as head boy(friend).

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

wordcount: 1,2k

“No, stay— stay like this.”

It’s the first thing you hear when you stir awake in the middle of the night. You try to move—but something, or rather someone, is making sure you have no choice but to stay trapped beneath them.

“Please, no—“ panic rises in your chest as you struggle under their weight—but it’s no use.

“Shh. It’s me. Be good and stay still.”

Tom Riddle is not a jealous partner.

Why?

Because jealousy is shallow and juvenile- a sign that one is unable to control their emotions, and an implicit admission that they believe they are not as good as the person they envy.

As someone who receives outstanding grades, glowing praise from every professor, a former prefect, and a Head Boy with a myriad of achievements, jealousy is beneath Tom Riddle. It's a weak, sentimental indulgence he simply cannot afford. A frivolous behaviour he refuses to entertain.

So if you decide to provoke him- to test or rile him up as a way to draw his attention- he'll not give you the satisfaction of starting a scene.

He'll remain steadily calm throughout Transfiguration as he observes the way your hand purposefully lingers and grazes against Rosier's whilst exchanging notes.

He offers no objection when you choose to partner up with Abraxas instead for a Potions assignment, despite the fact that he's Slughorn's star student. He simply returns to his cauldron, stirring with measured precision whilst mentally noting how close you've drifted to the blond, playfully flicking moondust onto his side of the bench.

As the day wears on and evening settles over Hogwarts with students gathering in the Great Hall, Tom cuts at his roast beef and sips from his goblet with his usual composure. Beside him, you laugh a little too enthusiastically at Mulciber's moronic joke and drawl, "Oh Mulciber, you're too funny."

You take a bite of the food from your plate, discretely glancing sideway towards Tom who sits primly with an impeccable posture by your side. Nothing. Not a clench of his jaw or a clipped remark. Not even a tightened grip on his drink.

If he notices your transparent attempts, he hides it well. Tom merely dabs his mouth with a napkin before rising from his seat, quietly excusing himself to retire early for the night.

His departure sends a small pang of disappointment stirring deep in your stomach. Had you really spent the entire day orchestrating schemes to make him jealous...only for him to remain completely unreactive?

Does he even care at all?

By the time you return to the Slytherin common room, the dungeons are veiled with a misty blanket of pale moonlight, serene and utterly quiet with only the distant trickle of a fountain and the occasional breeze of the castle's ghosts travelling about.

At this time, most of the girls' dormitory has fallen asleep, except for the dull, incremental rhythm of a grandfather clock. You're just about to crawl into bed when you spot it.

A small note written in a familiar, elegant script rests neatly atop your nightstand: "Come to my dorm. It'll be wise to not keep me waiting- T.M.R"

Back arched in a humiliating position, smudged mascara streaks down your cheeks, mingling with a broken stream of frustrated yet blissful tears. Your face is buried in his pillows, and the firm grip he has on the back of your neck does little to stifle the string of pleading noises that slip from your swollen lips.

"P-Please Tom-" You whine with a wet sniffle, the sound slightly muffled but loud enough for him to make of your request. "Too big...t-too much"

Tom's hips snap against yours, maintaining the same brutal and unrelenting rhythm he'd set from the moment he's sunk into you. Really, you should be glad he's even decided to fuck you tonight. After you publicly embarrassed him and whored yourself around his confidants and closest friends, you've given him every reason to be rough.

He wraps your hair around his hand and delivers a small but sharp tug that pulls your head up from the pillows until you're close enough to feel the warmth of his breath hit the shell of your neck. "What was that, hm?" he asks, his voice dripping with faux sympathy as he meets you with a particularly rough thrust that draws a broken moan. Tom tuts, "Too much for you? You want me to slow down, is it?"

Just as you’re about to answer, his hand that had been gripping your hip comes down on the curve of your ass with a loud smack, leaving behind a blooming sting that makes you tense.

"Ah! Please, Tom! Please-"

"Can't hear you, love. Not over the slicked sound of you taking me so well. Don't you hear that? How wet you are for me?" Tom angles his hips, watching you closely as he deepens himself to hit that spot inside you even more intensely. Plap. Plap. Plap. You don’t think it’s possible to feel this full.

His grip on your nape adjusts to wrap around the base at the front of your neck instead, squeezing just enough to manipulate your breathing but not enough to cut off your airway entirely. You gasp at the change, especially when Tom pulls out until only the head of his cock remains before slamming back inside, sheathing himself fully and feeling as your walls flutter and struggle to accommodate him, even now.

Seeing the tears on your cheeks, hearing the desperation in your voice, and feeling the way you're squeezing around him tighter like a vice only makes him harder in a sickening way.

"No more words?" Tom taunt, "Have I fucked you dumb on my cock? Pathetic."

Another smack lands on your ass, the sound reverberating through the room he'd purposefully chosen not to cast a silencing spell on tonight. Smack. Then another. Smack. And another. Smack. Let them hear, Tom thinks. All of them. In fact, they're probably rubbing and palming themselves to the sound of you being thoroughly wrecked right now. Knowing that only he gets to have you like this fuels him further.

"You thought you were so clever, didn't you? Parading around in that short skirt, leaning across the benches and laughing at their mediocre attempts at joking." Your vision has blurred at this point, thighs beginning to quake as your lips tremble. "It wasn't cute." Tom breathes out a dry laugh. "It made you look cheap and desperate, love."

Tom tightens his hold on your hair, your scalp now slightly sore as he yanks harder until your back is pulled against his firm chest. "We're not done yet. Don't you dare black out on me." His cock drills in and out of you, almost as if he wants to mould your pussy to remember the shape of him. At this point, your words have long transformed into incoherent babbles and discontinuous noises. You can feel it- the familiar pressure of climax building and building and building between your legs.

The hours stretch and pass by in a blur, and you've quickly lost count of the number of times you've come undone on his cock. A small patch of sticky mess has formed beneath the two of you on the mattress.

Finally, seeing your limp and fucked-out state, Tom releases a low grunt and buries himself to a hilt before spilling inside you- deep, warm, and full- before pulling out and leaving a messy trail seeping out from your sore cunt, slowly dribbling down your thighs. Your body collapses tiredly onto his mattress.

Tom gathers a smeared mix of your cum, commanding a low "open your mouth" before sliding his slicked fingers past your lips and pressing it against your tongue. "Remember how this tastes the next time you decide to do something this foolish." His expression softens only slightly as he brushes away your tears and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ears. "Never again will you test me."

The soft caress of his thumb is a stark contrast to the hours spent before as a reminder. "Nod if you understand."

Slowly, you do. A languid nod as exhaustion settles over you, making your eyelids heavy and droopy as the tension begins to fade.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, "If you want my attention, you need only ask. But you have it. Always."

Tom Riddle is not a jealous partner.

At least that's what he tells himself. And maybe, just maybe, there's a small part of him that knows it's not entirely true. After all, lying is another trait for the weak of mind.

A/N: First Tom Riddle fic bc there's a criminally low number of authors writing for him so... yeah! If it’s not the best it’s cause I wrote it half asleep

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

REGULUS BLACK

THEODORE NOTT

TOM RIDDLE

DRACO MALFOY

MATTHEO RIDDLE

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

• A lost puppy? No. A lethal predator in silk robes.

tom was never one to show when he liked someone, he liked to feel in control. you however, made it extremely difficult for him. everything you did bothered him. especially when you thought you could just talk and laugh with whoever you wanted to. he didn't understand why you needed someone else in your life, only you should be laughing and talking to him. the others didn’t deserve that. only he did.

its the main reason he hates when your out of his sight and reach for to long, he has no idea what your doing, or who your talking to, and that angers him. thinking about someone looking at you for to long sent a pit of fire in his stomach. so it wasn't his fault that he followed you around everywhere like a lost puppy. you made him like this. it was your fault, he thought.

"sit next to me." tom had pulled you over to the empty seat next to him before anyone else in the class had a chance to sit there. you went to say something, but you couldn't even get your words out before he started pleading with you in that silken, lethal tone of his for you to to just sit there with him.

"please, I don't really understand this lesson." he did tho, he was top of the class.

he wanted to make you feel like you had a choice to sit next to him or not. to make you feel like "its only logical" to sit next to your best friend and give him the help he so desperately needs.

it wasn't a choice tho, you never had a choice.

to you? you were helping your best friend.

to him? it was proximity control.

he loves to eat - r.w

ron weasley x f¡reader

oral reader receiving

im not one to make posts ab other characters but sometimes ideas just pop into your head and this was one of them, enjoy this lil drabble

something about the way he knew exactly what he was doing, and knew it drove you crazy.

it’s no surprise to anyone that ron weasley has a habit of eating whatever he pleases, scarfing his food down as quickly as it appears on his plate; what? he’s hungry.

the first time you found your way stumbling back into ron’s dorm, his hands roaming your waist as he kissed you hungrily you didn’t expect it to go in the direction it did. of course a heated makeout session was a gateway to something more, however when he pushed you back onto his bed and kneeled down between your legs, eyes on yours for the permission to do exactly what he wanted to do..

Truth or Dare - Slytherin Boys

pairings: Draco Malfoy x female reader; Tom Riddle x female reader; Mattheo Riddle x female Reader; Theodore Nott x female reader

summary: A late-night game of Truth or Dare in the Slytherin common room takes a sinful turn when you become the center of attention.

CW: Smut, MDNI, group sexual tension, dirty talk, teasing, kissing, alcohol consumption, power dynamics.

The firelight casts long shadows across the Slytherin common room, illuminating the four wizards lounging on the expensive green sofas. You sit cross-legged on the plush rug, feeling distinctly out of place among the snakes' effortless cool.

"Truth or Dare," Mattheo declares, passing around a bottle of firewhiskey. "But we're playing by my rules. No boring questions, no pathetic dares."

You take a small sip, the liquid burning a path down your throat. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

Draco smirks from his position opposite you. "Don't worry, princess. We'll go easy on you... at first."

Theo chuckles, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. "Speak for yourself, Malfoy. I've been waiting all semester to see our little angel squirm."

Tom, silent until now, fixes you with an intense gaze that makes your stomach flutter. "Let's begin, shall we? Mattheo, you start."

Mattheo grins. "Theo, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Theo says without hesitation.

"I dare you to kiss the person here you've had a crush on since last year."

Theo's eyes find yours as he leans forward, a predatory smile spreading across his face. He moves slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you're frozen in place. His lips brush against yours, soft at first before deepening into a kiss that's surprisingly tender. When he pulls back, your cheeks are burning.

"Blushing already?" Draco drawls. "And we've barely started."

Your turn comes next, and you nervously choose truth. "What's the most adventurous place you've ever had sex?" Mattheo asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I haven't," you admit quietly, avoiding their gazes.

Four pairs of eyes widen in disbelief. "Never?" Tom asks, his voice dangerously low.

You shake your head, your cheeks flaming. "I... I haven't done much of anything."

The boys exchange looks, a silent understanding passing between them. "Well then," Draco says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "We'll have to fix that."

The game continues, each question and dare becoming progressively more daring. You watch as Mattheo takes off his shirt, as Draco admits to fantasizing about you during class and as Theo describes his favorite sexual positions in graphic detail.

"Your turn, princess," Draco says, his eyes gleaming. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," you squeak, your heart pounding.

"When was the last time you touched yourself?" he asks, his voice smooth as silk.

Your cheeks burn as you mumble your answer. "Last night."

"In your bed?" Tom presses, leaning forward. "Or somewhere more adventurous?"

"My bed," you admit, feeling a throbbing between your legs that has nothing to do with the firewhiskey.

"Did you come?" Mattheo asks, his eyes dark with desire.

You nod, unable to meet their gazes. "Twice."

A collective groan fills the room. "Fuck," Theo mutters, adjusting himself in his trousers. "That's it. I can't take it anymore."

He moves to kneel before you, his hands resting on your thighs. "Truth or dare, angel?"

"D-dare," you stammer.

"I dare you to let me touch you," he says, his voice husky. "Just through your clothes. Nothing more."

You nod hesitantly, and his hands begin to explore, tracing patterns on your thighs, moving higher with each pass. Your breath hitches as his thumbs brush against the edge of your panties.

"So responsive," he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. "I wonder how wet you are right now."

"Enough," Tom commands, his voice sharp. "It's my turn."

Theo reluctantly pulls back as Tom moves to take his place. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," you whisper, your voice trembling.

"I dare you to sit on my lap for the rest of the game," he says, patting his thigh. "And you're not allowed to move unless I say so."

Your heart pounds as you comply, settling onto his lap. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You can feel his hardness pressing against you, and a soft gasp escapes your lips.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Following orders so well."

The game continues with you on Tom's lap, each question and dare pushing you further. Mattheo dares Draco to kiss your neck and you shudder as his lips trail fire across your skin. Theo dares you to describe your ultimate fantasy, and you blush as you admit a secret desire to be dominated.

"Interesting," Tom murmurs, his hand tightening on your hip. "Very interesting."

When it's your turn again, you choose dare without hesitation. "I dare you to let each of us kiss you," Mattheo says, his eyes gleaming. "Properly this time."

Tom shifts you on his lap, turning you to face him. His kiss is demanding, possessive, leaving you breathless. When he pulls back, Theo takes his place, his kiss gentler but no less intense. Mattheo follows, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. Finally, Draco pulls you into his arms, his kiss slow and sensual, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam your body.

"Look at you," Tom murmurs as you return to his lap, your lips swollen and your eyes glazed with desire. "Already so wrecked, and we've barely started."

"Please," you breathe, not even sure what you're asking for.

"Please what?" Draco asks, his voice husky. "Tell us what you want."

"I... I don't know," you admit, your body trembling with need.

"Let us help you figure it out," Theo suggests, his hand finding your thigh.

Tom shifts you again, positioning you so you're straddling his lap. "Use my thigh to get yourself off," he commands softly. "I want to feel you come against me."

Your cheeks burn as you comply, moving hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as pleasure builds. The others watch, their eyes dark with desire as they encourage you with filthy words and praise.

"That's it," Mattheo encourages. "Use him, angel. Show him how much you want it."

"So beautiful," Theo murmurs. "So responsive. So perfect for us."

"Come for us," Draco demands. "Let us see you fall apart."

Tom's hands grip your hips as you move faster, chasing your release. "That's it," he groans. "Come for me. Now."

With a cry, you shatter, waves of ecstasy washing over you as you collapse against Tom's chest. For a moment, the room is silent except for your heavy breathing.

"Perfect," Tom murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Absolutely perfect."

Something about how he eats you. Tenderly, violently, ardently.

In most things in life, he seemed to enjoy the fine line between pleasure and pain. The same was true here. When he went down on you, there was always a certain roughness to it—squeezing, sometimes a sharp slap, the hard press of his hands around your hips holding you exactly where he wanted you.

But most of all, he loved to bite.

At first, he would only graze his teeth over your clit. You could feel the full line of them dragging lightly across it as he slowly turned his head. There was a particularly sharp one, a canine, that would make you twitch.

All the while, his eyes would remain fixed on you, not a care about you dripping on his chin, a knowing look on his face. He knew exactly what it did to you.

The sensation was overwhelming—sharp and electric, just enough to leave you trembling from the intensity of it. He loved to focus on that little part of you, that part that could cause you to fall apart. To come undone.

Then he would bite—lightly at first. A sudden interruption in the pleasure.

You could feel the smile against you when he did it.

Your hips would jerk instinctively, trying to pull away. His hands tighten immediately, gripping your hips and pressing you harder into the bed.

“Stop that,” you’d gasp.

You felt the low vibration of his laugh against you.

He would intertwine one of his hands with yours to settle you. He continued anyway, each bite a little firmer than the last, testing your reaction, watching the way your body tensed beneath his hands. He loved the feeling of it pulsating. The little bundle of nerves against his enamel. His fingers would drift possessively along your lower stomach, almost in admiration.