Y/N sat slouched in her gaming chair like a queen reigning over the wreckage of her own terrible life choices. Her desk was a warzone: a half-devoured bag of sour gummy worms bleeding sugar crystals onto her mousepad, an empty Monster can hanging perilously off the edge like it was contemplating a dive. It was 2:47 AM—her Minecraft world basked in the gentle glow of its pixelated sunrise while the sky outside her window remained an unforgiving void of flickering fluorescent light. Her avatar stood motionless on a mountaintop, entirely forgotten, as she launched—midstream, mid-manic episode—into a barely coherent retelling of how that morning, a homeless man sold her what she thought were regular gummies.
Spoiler: they were not regular.
“No, like—actually, chat. Chat. LISTEN to me,” she slurred, voice hoarse after an uninterrupted hour of caffeine-fueled storytelling. Her words tumbled out in a frenetic mess, like she’d snorted punctuation. “I was high. Not ‘heehee I’m giggling at the ceiling fan’ high. No. I was gone. On the floor. Ugly crying. Full-body sobbing. Because I swear to God—I swear—I could hear colors. Like, synesthesia on crack. I could feel the emotional backstory of magenta.”
user: you’re such a stressful human being user: how is she still alive is my question
user: every day you wake up and choose confusion. user: i feel sorry for the people who raised you
She blinked at the screen, unbothered, chewing absentmindedly on a gummy worm. “You feel sorry for the people who raised me?” she asked, gesturing to herself like a Victorian ghost bride. “I’m the one who had to live this. I’m the protagonist here.”
Then suddenly—mid-chew—her eyes widened like she’d been smacked by divine revelation. “Wait—WAIT, chat. Holy shit.” She flailed an arm out, narrowly missing her mic stand. “While I was high off my goddamn mind, right? I got on Tumblr. Like, actual Tumblr. 2013-core. Cigarette gifs. Blue filter. Girl with eyeliner crying in a bathtub energy. And I saw—Jesus, I saw this man.”
She leaned in, eyes wide with unblinking intensity.
“The most rideable face I have ever seen in my life. Like—Greek god meets backwards caps. I wanted to mount him and thank him for existing in the same timeline as me.” She said, completely straight face.
user: HELP?? user: here we go again user: are you okay
user: girl said ‘rideable’ with her whole chest. user: everyday it's something new
Still deadly serious, she fumbled under a pile of tangled cords and snack wrappers for her phone, nearly knocking over her water bottle in the process. “No, chat, hear me out. I didn’t even get a name. It was one of those feral Lana Del Rey moodboard accounts. Like—run by a 12-year-old who thinks lipstick on a cigarette butt is profound. No tags. No credits. Just him.”
She brandished her phone like it was a sacred relic, reverent and unhinged all at once. “Look. I took a screenshot. I haven’t reverse-image searched it because I don’t trust Pinterest, and I refuse to let Google into my delusions. Since the whole Ai thing. So chat, I am summoning you. Help me find him. My mystery man. My cosmic Tumblr soulmate.”
user: YO NO FREAKING WAY user: WAIT WAIT I KNOW HIM
user: IS THAT PETE???? user: SHE’S IN LOVE WITH PETER OMG user: this is so much worse than the 2hollis era user: my two universes just collided
She squinted at the screen, genuine confusion scrunching her face. “Pete? What the fuck do you mean Pete? Who the hell is Peter? Why do you guys say that like I’m supposed to know him? Did I fall in love with a man who’s... famous?”
user: girl pls he’s not famous he’s like niche internet user: streamer user: he streams games I think? or like tech stuff?? user: he looks like a frat
She froze, slack-jawed. “Oh my God. Did I fall in love with a micro-influencer kind of thing?”
user: YES user: remember when she tried to date a barista bc he liked Bladee user: or when she made a whole slideshow about 2hollis user: don't bring 2hollis up, we were doing so good😔
She slowly turned her head toward the oversized 2hollis poster on the wall behind her, its edges curling like it was trying to peel away from the chaos. “First of all,” she said solemnly, voice full of mock outrage, “don’t ever slander my husband like that again. That man is my white tiger. That wasn’t a phase. That was a religious reawakening.”
user: white tiger😭 user: girl u have no business being this unserious user: I love this stream I’m never leaving
Y/N let out a sigh, rubbing her temples like she was dealing with divine punishment. “Okay. Okay. Listen. Chat, you now have one job: find Peter. Find Tumblr Pete. I don’t care if you have to comb through cursed reblog chains or the dark archives of weheartit. I need answers. I need closure. I need to know if I fell in love with a tech nerd or influencer or frat bro or whatever the fuck he is.”
user: ma’am you are once again being delusional in 4K user: someone get this woman off Tumblr
₊❏❜ ⋮ ❝𝑾𝑬𝑩𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑪𝑯𝑺 𝑰𝑺 𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑬.❞
Peter had been mid-match in Apex, fingers flying across his keyboard with the kind of effortless focus that only came from hundreds of hours of practiced chaos. His mic crackled softly as he rattled off overlapping commentary, switching topics with the speed of a fever dream. One moment he was talking about the unspoken lore of Pathfinder's backstory, the next he was spiraling into a tangent about how time travel would actually work in a closed-loop paradox. Mid-sentence, he pivoted yet again to discuss whether LEGO bricks or magnetic spheres made better fidget tools during queue times.
He glanced toward the chat for the first time in ten minutes and immediately froze.
The messages were coming in at lightspeed, faster than his mod bot could filter. Entire paragraphs were being obliterated by the sheer volume of collective hysteria. Pings, caps lock, emojis—his screen was a digital riot.
“What the hell is going on in here?” he muttered, brow furrowing. “Guys—seriously—who the hell is Y/N and why are all of you suddenly talking about marriage? Did I miss a memo? Did someone start a cult while I was looting death boxes?”
He leaned closer to his webcam, squinting like it might reveal secrets. “Is this another one of those weird internet matchmaking campaigns? Like the time you tried to ship me with that lolibate VTuber who only streams Animal Crossing while whispering and calls people daddy?” His voice grew more incredulous by the second. “Do I look like I belong in that pipeline? Do I give off ‘man who simps for anime waifus’ energy to you?”
user: NOOO Y/N IS AN IRL STREAMER TOO user: SHE’S SO FUNNY AND PRETTY LIKE ACTUALLY
user: she said u have a rideable face and honestly? she’s not wrong
Peter blinked. A beat passed.
“I—okay, Jesus Christ,” he said, choking on a laugh that sounded half-panicked. “Can we keep it family friendly in here? I have nephews who could be watching this. Kinda.”
He rolled up his sleeves as he spoke, an unconscious movement—too casual, too practiced. He didn't notice the chat reaction spike until it was too late.
user: THE FOREARMS ARE OUT user: HE’S ROLLING UP THE SLEEVES
user: he's blessing us, guys pls behave 🙏🙏this only happens once a month
Peter sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys have issues. Deep ones. Like shared hand-fetish brainrot levels of issues. Whatever happened to just playing video games and vibing?”
Still, curiosity gnawed at him. He adjusted in his chair, muttering to himself. “Fine. But I’m not clicking any links. You guys lost that privilege after trying to get me to sign up for OnlyFans for my elbows by tricking me into thinking it was a Twitch extension.” He opened a browser tab with deliberate precision. “I’ll do this myself. Like an adult. With agency.”
His fingers moved fast over the keyboard.
“‘Y/N… Twitch streamer… rideable face.’” He paused mid-type, grimacing. “God, those words should never be in the same search bar. This is going to haunt my algorithm forever.”
He hit enter. The thumbnails loaded instantly. He froze.
There she was—paused in a preview frame, caught in the kind of chaotic moment that screamed 2:14 AM energy and irreversible life choices. Her camera was tilted just slightly off-center. Behind her, LED lights glowed like a cyberpunk rave. The remnants of a Monster can and what looked like the corpse of a gummy worm bag were strewn across her desk. Her expression was wild. Unfiltered. Eyes wide with the kind of manic streamer energy that could only come from a complete lack of sleep and absolute comfort in front of an audience.
She looked unhinged. And beautiful. In a way that was all presence—flickering and immediate and and magnetic.
Peter clicked.
The video stuttered for a split second before snapping into live motion. Her voice filled his headset instantly, fast and expressive and borderline unhinged.
“Chat, I need this man. I need him like—spiritually. Cosmically. Emotionally. Biblically.” She waved her phone toward the camera, and on the screen was—him. An image from his last TwitchCon, looking off-camera mid-conversation, hand resting thoughtfully against his jaw. He looked caught off guard, which was probably why the photo had gone viral in the first place.
“He looks like if a sad film bro and a STEM major had a child who exclusively wore NASA shirts and has emotional damage he channels into hat collections. Like if unwashed academia was a person. I just want to grab him by the collar and ask if he’s emotionally repressed or just like that. And then kiss him.”
Peter went very still.
A beat of silence passed. Then another. He leaned back slowly in his chair, lips parted in something between horror and disbelief. The chat exploded.
user: never knew I needed this user: STREAM COLLAB SOON???
user: you said “women scare me” but THIS ONE you should marry user: he was supposed to be mine😔 user: @/user sybau 🥀
Peter dragged his gaze to his camera, the corner of his mouth twitching like he didn’t know whether to laugh or hide under his desk.
He stared into the lens like he was Jim Halpert in a mockumentary about a man being aggressively seduced by the internet.
“Okay,” he said finally, voice cracking slightly. “So I’m… not sure if I’m flattered or if I should file for emotional whiplash.”
"But, uh... she’s kinda insane. And funny. And—uh. Yeah. Pretty. So. I might DM her.”
He paused again, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
“…Should I? I feel like I’d either fall in love or get bullied into the ground. Or both.”
And then, because he was Peter Parker—nerd, comfort streamer, and certified disaster—he gave the camera a helpless grin, eyes wide and earnest.
“Okay, chat. Be honest. Am I cool enough for her?”
"a kick to the teeth is good for some; a kiss with a fist is better than none."
word count: 54,496.
summary: a ravenclaw with a surly attitude and sharp tongue. a slytherin with a cocky smirk and sarcastic flair. combine them together and you get a catastrophic mixture of academic rivalry, witty banter, and late night gelato.
author's note: this series is a love letter to theodore nott. kiss with a fist was my first every scary deep dive into the world or multichapter fics and for that it will forever hold a special place in my heart.
♫ kiss with a fist - florence and the machine. nav. more theo.
kiss with a fist - florence and the machine
baby said - måneskin
high enough - k. flay
bohemian rhapsody - queen
me and the devil - soap & skin
w.i.t.c.h. - devon cole
it's nice to have a friend - taylor swift
people i don't like - upsahl
only love can hurt like this - paloma faith
the way i loved you - taylor swift
18 - one direction
those eyes - new west
we made it - david hugo
please see a new and improved landing page for kiss with a fist. can't believe my baby is coming up on it's two year anniversary it feels just like yesterday ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆
girllll I absolutely LOVE ur theme it may be one of my faves I’ve ever seen. so cute and unique!! looks like we’re already moots but hiiii :D i’m happy to be moots! I haven’t been very active lately but plz interact and tag me in anything you want :b <3 - spella
HIII YOU ARE LITERALLY SOOO SWEET. THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR THE THEME COMPLIMENT AND ILL DEF TAG YOU ONCE I FINALLY START WRITING (i’m going insane thinking of how to start one)
synopsis. your love for the paranormal and the cursed led you to a more than deadly night with a tormented spirit. desire has a price, and tom never plays fair.
pairing. cursed doll! tom riddle x reader
content/mdni. NON-CON. SOMNOPHILIA. fem!reader, cursed doll!tom, evil spirit!tom, cruel!tom, dom!tom, possessive!tom, selfish!tom, blood play (cuts), MONSTER-FUCKING FR, mentions of gore, choking, missionary, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), tummy bulging, hair pulling (m receiving), mentions of cunnilingus and fingering (f receiving), dry/wet-humping, teasing, degradation, pet name (darling, good girl, filthy little thing), tom wants to kill you, raw sex, creampie, bad ending.
word count. 4.6k
a/n. saw a reel with the masked guy from the boy and it reminded me of tommy. i haven’t watched the movie/series tho, so don’t come for me! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
you were definitely the weirdest human he had ever encounter.
even now, from his carefully chosen place on your wardrobe, leaning against the wall, he still couldn’t understand what is wrong with you.
for starters, you bought him — a presumably cursed doll — at the antique shop two streets away from your apartment without any dare or blackmail being involved. tom still refused to believe your smile that day, the day you spot him in the shop, was a genuine smile of happiness.
it was soon confirmed to be true, as you video-called one of your girl friends that very night to boast about your new gorgeous and possibly cursed doll. to a mortified and disgusted pansy. her reaction was more natural to tom than your own.
his new owner was a weirdo for sure.
if that wasn’t strange enough, you also placed him in your bedroom.
in your private sacred space.
you did not use him as decoration for your living room — like most people do. you didn’t drop him in the attic or the basement, places he was fairly familiar with. heck, not even the balcony.
your. bedroom.
you joyfully put him atop of your dresser, next to a few jewelry boxes and books, close to the wall so his heavy head — carrying that porcelain mask — wouldn’t shatter after a nasty fall. you also offered him a lovely view of your huge bed, spread right before his eyes.
and a lovely and intimate view of you.
tom riddle, the ruthless cursed spirit who bears the heavy mask of his sins, takes care of his victims fast. trapped in that useless doll body, he uses less-physical methods to deal with them. invading dreams, creating nightmares, carrying worrying whispers and words of dread to the owner’s ears… he makes their deaths look like an unfortunate accident.
their life force is all that matters to him.
you? you somehow evade all these. even as shadows warp around your sleeping form, even as shadows of your familiar furniture twist into an angular, sharp, foreign claw, even as the monstruous hand looms over your pretty naked neck. you sleep.
sound. unwavering. pleasant.
his malicious whispers do reach your ear, but they only make you giggle. you merely sprint between rooms, smirking at your other haunted objects — which were not actually cursed, from what tom could sense — and asking them which one chirps in your ear such sweet words.
“tommy, my beautiful boy. was it you?”
you’d crane your neck at him, grasping his doll body and pushing him so close to your curious eyes… he swore you almost touched his mask with your sclera.
but after days and days of failure, tom riddle realized what was so peculiar about you: you were a single woman with an insatiable sex drive.
he was graced with first-row seats to your masturbation sessions; you were always so needy and desperate, fingering that drooling cunt of yours, rubbing your aching clit on a pillow until your legs gave out, or even toying with your pussy with the help of a vibrator until you squirted all over your bed sheets.
your dreams were also all filthy and wet; there was no space for his nightmares and death-impending omens in that dirty mind of yours.
and tom riddle was exasperated.
“ugh– ah–”
there it was again, another night when you whither and whine in your bed under the influence of nasty lust-filled dreams.
your eyes were shut tight, your limbs all scattered around the disheveled bed sheets. your thin blanket was thrown aimlessly across your lower half, barely covering your naked legs and your pantie-clad bottom.
“y–yessss…”
incoherent mumbles continued to spill from your parted lips, filling the silence of the night and taunting poor tom and his previous attempts at stealing your life force.
your nails were scratching and digging into the mattress, while your legs spread further. pushing the blanked up the plush of your ass, tom now had a clear view of your covered pussy and your shiny wet spot. even if he wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t, as your hips rocked themselves back into the empty space, chasing relief.
if only he was strong enough, he would materialize and strangle you to death for once.
“please, ohh–”
you sounded so pornographic, mewls and whimpers and random clusters of words just combining into a mesmerizing chant. if he were in his human form, he would definitely have a bodily reaction — a thick, prominent cock print right against the zipper of his pants.
but he was just a doll.
… a cursed doll though.
tom threw away everything he previously planned for you and extended his malicious aura, briefly shaking all the furniture pieces around your room. then, just like last time, the shadows on the walls were sucked up into the doll and turned into a sharp claw-like hand.
it was completely dark, created from a sturdy yet misty substance; the fingers, long and slender, adorned with hauntingly pointy nails, were more visible than the forearm.
this creation was truly cursed.
the hand loomed over your twitching body, its first trajectory being your throat. it was so soft and inviting, your skin almost begging to be gripped and ravished. but tom tempered his desires and dipped the mist lower, right next to your pussy.
the air around the cursed limb was cold. that sudden change of temperature, applied so closely to your heating center, made goosebumps rise all over your skin, made you sigh in pleasure even in your dreamland.
tom dared to get closer, press the pads of his fingers against your wet spot. he could feel it — the flimsy material of your panties, all sticky with a creaminess he barely remembers. sloshing the material around, more and more of your wetness spread, making your cloth barrier stick to your folds and barely act as a protector.
fucking hell, she looks delicious.
tom hasn’t felt such lustful desire in so long. but now, when his hand was rubbing all over your cunt, pressing and prodding against your pulsing hole, pinching your hardened nub and making your hips jolt into his touch… he needed more.
his sharp nails scratched at your inner tights, desperate to be let in. the lines were thin and perfectly traced on your skin, and the fine lines of blood just pulsing to life looked stunning on you.
the sting of the cuts only made you moan louder into your pillow, muttering pleas against it and pushing your hips into the air yet again.
shit, i can’t finger her with that.
tom wouldn’t have thought twice if it was someone else, really. what does it matter if he fingers you with his sharp nails and makes you bleed internally? what does it matter if you get hurt by him?
it does matter, because he doesn’t want to do that.
he doesn’t know why, but tom does not split your insides into a bloody mess. he just sneaks his misty claw underneath your drenched panties and, with direct contact, rubs fast circles onto your pulsing clit until you cum.
you spill all over his hand like a good girl, not once repulsed by his monstruous touch. you don’t even wake up, blissfully unaware you just came because of a curse’s hand. you just turn over, continuing your sleep like nothing happened.
tom wished he had a mouth to taste you.
•••
but something shifted.
tom felt it the moment your orgasm hit — the moment your slick gushed warm over his claw, the moment your thighs shook with such desperate hunger, as though you were feeding off of him.
the air in the room shimmered, making the shadowy hand disperse.
it was unlike any other time he’d taken energy from a human. this wasn't death he was drawing in — it was life, depraved and pulsating, dripping with heat and sin.
your lust made him stronger.
it poured into him like wildfire, dancing at the edges of his cursed porcelain shell, cracking it from the inside out.
the mask trembled. a sound like bone cracking echoed faintly in the still room.
an uneven fissure split down its center.
tom twitched.
not the shadows around. not the diluted mist. him. the doll body, cursed into paralysis, spasmed with a jolt of real power. for the first time in decades, he felt his limbs move.
he gasped — faint, dry and hoarse, in a throat that hadn’t drawn breath in over half a century.
and then, it happened again. your hips twitched in your sleep, a little whimper breaking from your throat as your thighs pressed together. still so sensitive. still damp with the sticky aftermath of your orgasm. still dreaming.
tom could feel it. that energy. it clung to the room like perfume and sulfur, soaked into the sheets, threaded itself into the shadows. it was feeding him. worshiping him.
another small crack split across his mask. the doll’s chest shuddered. his arms, once stiff and useless, flexed with a sick pop of movement. then his neck — god, the satisfying stretch of a joint rotating after years of stillness. something inside him growled as he pushed against the barrier of his prison.
she made me stronger.
the thought came not with rage, nor with confusion. no. tom embraced it with terrifying clarity. it was always hunger that drove him — but this was different. your hunger had looped around his own. you craved, and so did he. and in your sleep, in your sopping, vulnerable arousal, you offered him something no other soul had given.
life.
the cursed doll body shattered in a silent explosion of shadow. splinters of old wood and dusty porcelain were sucked into the darkness like dead leaves in a storm, disappearing from this world altogether.
all that remained was the mask.
the mask — and a man, now standing next to the dresser.
tom was towering and pale, twisted muscle over graceful limbs. dark, almost too dark, hair curled at his temples in gentle waves, damp with sweat and cursed energy. his body was sculpted like a statue, lean and precise, long fingers twitching at his sides.
bare. entirely bare, save for the cursed mask still fixed to his face.
a cruel thing. blank, white, expressionless, but for the empty hollows where his eyes glowed faintly beneath. it wasn’t painted — no. it was bone-like and seamless, fused to him with dark magic, with agony and shame and sin.
he moved closer, silent and smooth, like a predator in the pitch-black stillness of your bedroom.
you shifted on the bed again, that thin little shirt of yours riding high, shaping to the curve of your waist. your thighs still glistened, legs sprawled and soft, pliant with sleep and satiation. the room was warm from your body heat, thick with the scent of sex.
tom stood now at the foot of the bed, watching you.
he should kill you. that had always been the plan. that had always been his purpose.
and yet…
his cock was hard. painfully so. he could feel it pulse at the sight of your parted lips and the soft rise and fall of your breasts. he could feel the weight of your orgasm in the air like incense, and it made him ache.
you’d fed him, intentionally or not.
and now, he was flesh again.
"such a filthy little thing." he whispered, voice hoarse.
it wasn’t loud enough to wake you. not yet.
he stepped closer, bare feet ghosting across the hardwood floor without a sound. he reached out one hand — still long-fingered, no longer a misty claw, but flesh. pale skin, knuckles flushed with blood, sharp nails now trimmed and human.
he hovered over your throat.
the heat of your body radiated upwards. your pulse fluttered against your skin, fast and frantic. even in sleep, you knew something was watching.
tom leaned closer. but he did not press his hand down on your neck like he should.
he dragged it slowly, softly, from your throat to your collarbone… down between the covered valley of your breasts. hovering over you like a dark god, a monster made man by your own depravity.
his fingers curled, brushing the edge of your shirt. it had ridden up your body in your restless movements, now nicely exposing your stomach and the elastic waistband of your panties — those poor ruined panties, soaked with slick and shame.
you whimpered again, your hips shifting, your thighs clenching as if still chasing friction in your dream.
“so greedy.” tom whispered, voice like a lament, low and old, yet full of sharp pleasure. “you give yourself so easily. and yet…”
he trailed a finger along the inside of your thigh, grazing softly over the surface cuts his claw left. the blood was no longer runny, yet the pads of his fingers managed to get stained by that gorgeous shade of red.
“…you don’t know who you’re feeding.”
tom riddle. he was here. real. awake. alive again because of you.
but the mask…
his hand reached towards it on instinct, curling around its edge — only to stop. the ancient magic pulsed beneath his fingertips, a stark, screaming warning.
someone else has to remove the mask.
he growled, low in his chest. frustration laced with lust. the mask itched like a wound. it burned. but he couldn’t take it off. he couldn’t be free of the curse completely.
not unless you chose to unmake the curse yourself.
his frustration bloomed, tightening in his chest and sinking down to his aching cock — flushed and rigid, twitching in the thick heat that clung to your room.
you had no idea what you’d done, what you’d awakened. your skin glimmered with sweat and sleep, and your thighs parted in lazy invitation as if your body already sensed his arousal.
tom let out a ragged breath, the porcelain mask creaking as his jaw flexed beneath it. you… you were so open, so willing, even in your unconsciousness. his fingers gripped the edge of the mattress, blunt nails digging in, and then–
he slipped onto the bed.
the weight didn’t stir you. you were floating somewhere deep, still dreaming of being touched, still mewling quietly as your hips gave those needy little tilts. tom’s hand traced your thigh with more vigor, fingertips ghosting along the curve until they met the material of your ruined panties. slick had soaked through the cotton, cold and wet and heavenly.
he pressed his human thumb to your clothed cunt and felt it throb.
you gasped softly.
your back arched away from the mattress, and that was enough — enough invitation for him to part your thighs further, to press himself between them. he crawled up, one slow inch at a time, until he was nestled between your warm and plush thighs. his cock droop lower and rested against your core, hard and heavy, smearing precum across the sticky fabric of your underwear.
a moan slipped from his mouth, stifled by the porcelain.
he throbbed against you, dragging his cock along your clothed cunt — back and forth, slow, sinuous ruts that had your hips responding even in sleep. your slick mixed with the clear wetness leaking from his tip, making everything impossibly slippery and filthy.
tom bit down a groan and pressed harder, rocking against your clit in desperate rolls.
“fuck–” the word was cracked, feral. “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
you whimpered.
your legs shifted around him, instinctively wrapping at his hips, pulling him closer. he nearly collapsed against you with the force of it. the movement made his cock slip beneath your drenched panties, caging his throbbing cock underneath.
and gifting tom the sweet feeling of your warm bare cunt.
tom braced himself over you, panting now, a man on the edge of madness. his hands gripped your thighs, possessive and reverent, his thumbs digging into the soft skin above your knees as he spread you wider.
“i could tear you apart.” he growled. “split you open. make you scream.”
but he only rutted harder outside of your pussy, cock sliding along your slit in steady, greedy thrusts. every drag of the swollen head over your clit made your hole twitch with desperation. your panties, weighted down by the combined arousal, felt heavenly on his sensitive tip, each rock of his hips widening the bulging form of the material.
and he knew you were close again. his voice was barely human now, breaking and desperate.
“i would eat you alive if i could.” he snarled. “bury my face in your sweet, sinful cunt and lap it all up until you sob.”
but the mask wouldn’t let him.
that damn mask — sealed by his own sins, fused to his soul. his mouth could not touch you. he could not taste you.
he sobbed once, the sound ragged and low and filled with longing. his thrusts slowed, dragging his cock over your cunt again and again, clinging to the edge of release.
he wanted to cum.
he wanted to bury it inside you, flood your insides, mark you with something real. but not like this — with you unconscious, unaware.
not yet. not until you beg for it.
tom exhaled hard, sweat beading at the base of his throat beneath the mask, his hands trembling where they held your thighs apart. every muscle in his body was alive with tension. with hunger. and yet he waited; because as much as he wanted to ruin you, to defile every inch of you while you lay helpless and pretty beneath him… he needed you awake.
he needed to see you beg.
so he moved his hand, slowly, and this time — he gripped your throat.
your body jolted, the shift immediate. your back arched, breath catching in your lungs, a panicked little gasp slipping from your lips. your hands groped weakly at the sheets, thighs tensing around his waist. his fingers tightened, not cruelly.
no. not to hurt.
just to hold. to wake.
“wake up.” tom hissed, his voice low and coaxing and cruel all at once, fingers flexing around your neck.
your eyes fluttered.
and then — they opened.
wide. glassy. dazed. confused.
you blinked up at him, body still sluggish with the heavy fog of sleep and orgasm. for a moment, you just lay there beneath him, staring into the void of the mask — at those inhuman eyes glowing behind it. your brows furrowed; your lips parted.
“…tommy?”
he laughed — a dry, bitter sound, cock still grinding just enough to keep your cunt wet and twitching beneath him. “not dreaming anymore, darling?”
you shivered, pupils expanding. he could see the moment the haze of fear touched your features — your gaze darted downwards to the way your thighs were spread open around his hips, to the heat of his bare cock pressed against your ruined pussy. the realization hit you in waves: the wetness; the closeness; him.
and then, your hands slowly rose.
but you didn’t fight him.
no. you cradled his wrist where it held your throat. your lips trembled, but not with fear.
“…you’re real.”
tom didn’t answer. didn’t have to. the air between you was already too thick with the truth. you swallowed — a struggle, with his fingers still curled around your neck — but then you whispered your devious desire.
“please… fuck me.”
tom grunted, pleased with your words, hips jutting with more force against your cunt, tip bumping into your perky clit over and over again. you arched your hips again, this time with volition, dragging your cunt along the underside of his cock. your lips were parted in invitation, your voice thick with desperation.
“fuck me.” you whispered again, softer this time, almost reverential. “i want you to. need you to.”
he groaned again, deep and guttural, his cock twitching violently between your folds. his fingers released your throat only to drag down your chest, trembling. one hand slid under your shirt, cupping a bare breast, squeezing until you moaned. the other dipped between your legs again, thumb brushing over your ruined panties — still soaked, still hot.
you were so ready.
he leaned closer, his breath brushing your lips even through the mask.
“say it again.” he demanded. “beg nicely for it.”
your eyes didn’t waver. your hips rocked up once more, desperate and sweet and oh so willing.
“please, tom… please fuck me. make it real.”
he whispered your name — a sound of victory and hunger — and in one swift motion, he pressed his fingers over your panties, redirecting the head of his cock down to your entrance.
tom pushed in without a second thought, feeding you his cock in one swift motion.
you gasped — loud and broken — fingers clenching the sheets as he sank into you. he was thick, hot, impossibly deep from the first thrust. the stretch was unbearable and perfect, making your back jump off the bed as your cunt fluttered helplessly around him.
“fuckkkkk.” you breathed, voice ragged. “you’re– you’re inside me.”
tom hissed, driving forward until his hips met yours, bottoming out with a brutal final thrust. your pussy clenched hard in response, pulling him in like you didn’t want to let him go — and you didn’t.
his hands gripped your thighs again, holding you still, your slick leaking out around his cock, dripping down onto the sheets. the heat of you was overwhelming. he was growling — snarling really — each roll of his hips grinding deep, deliberate, as if he wanted to carve his shape into you.
and he did, the bulge in your tummy taking his form with every sharp thrust.
he wanted to own every soft, trembling inch of you.
“feel that?” he panted, voice thick and trembling behind the mask, hand jumping from your leg to your tummy. pressing down on his shape, making your eyes roll back in pleasure.
“you’re mine now, darling. every inch, every drop of you.”
you whined, nodding feverishly, your hands rising to grab at him. your nails dragged over the cold, painted porcelain of the mask before slipping into his hair and slightly tugging at it.
but it wasn’t enough.
you needed him.
all of him.
“i want to s–see you.” you moaned, your cunt squeezing around his cock as you said it. “i want to see your face.”
tom stilled.
for a heartbeat, he just loomed over you — panting, trembling, the muscles in his arms shaking with restraint. then, slowly, he reached up, hands quivering, and wrapped his fingers around your own, pushing them towards the edge of his mask.
“take it off, darling.”
he encouraged you, voice dripping with venomous honey. he disguised his liberation moment into an intimate activity reserved just for you. and you, so mesmerized by tom, did feel special as you gripped at the porcelain and lifted it completely off his face in one go.
it felt heavy in between your palms, but the weight was soon forgotten as your eyes finally met the face of your devilish man. his face was pale, drawn tight with lust and hunger. his eyes — dark, glowing, cursed — were locked on you. his mouth, twisted with need, curved into a smirk of longing and disbelief.
“beautiful.” you breathed.
and that’s all it took.
tom slammed back into you, his now-unmasked mouth crashing against your throat, teeth dragging down your skin — lapping and biting across the purple marks his vengeful fingers left — as he fucked you like a man possessed. his cock pistoned into you, deep and relentless, wet slaps echoing off the walls as your arms fall back on the bed, over your head.
“tom– fuck, fuck, fuuuck–”
you cried out, sobbing his name, legs clinging to him like salvation. your pussy squeezed around him, milking every inch, every thrust. and when he growled against your ear, you screamed for him, over and over again.
“mine. say you’re mine.”
“yours, yours, tom, i’m yours–!”
he came with a shattered groan, burying himself to the hilt, flooding your cunt with sticky cum. his arms gripped you tightly, keeping you caged beneath him as you shook through your own release, sobbing into your pillow.
with his vision cleared, now no longer obstructed by the damned porcelain, tom admired the mess he had made of you. your panties, still wet against your pussy, were now painted in creamy white from both of your releases. your shirt was bunched up over your tits. your hair was completely ruffled, sticking to your skin from all the sweat.
but something else caught his attention — the mask, still sitting untouched between your weakened fingers, shining almost horrifyingly back at tom. and then he felt it, the way more of your energy poured into him, just like before.
he was still cursed. the mask was still his.
tom exhaled raggedly, head falling to the crook of your neck where he licked the sweat from your skin. you whimpered, blissed-out and pliant, legs loose around his waist, arms limp above your head. your cunt still pulsed around him, every flutter making more of your combined release spill out.
but he was restless.
the curse still gnawed at him.
your warmth, your blood, your pleasure — all of it fed him, but not enough. not truly. his hunger was deeper than skin and sin. it was soul-deep.
and the mask, even discarded, still laughed silently at him from the bed sheets. still had control over his spirit.
no.
that won’t do.
“darling.” he whispered, his voice now like velvet soaked in venom. “you look so perfect like this… so full of me.”
you sighed, soft and dazed, your fingers twitching slightly around the cold porcelain you still held unawarely.
“mm… tom.” you murmured, voice sleepy and ruined. “i feel… strange. warm.”
“i know.” he cooed, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. “you’ve given me so much already. but there’s one more thing i want…”
you blinked slowly, like a doll winding down, your eyes barely focusing.
tom leaned in, his cursed, beautiful face only inches from yours. his mouth hovered above your lips, breath sweet with the scent of lust and something darker.
your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation — waiting for his kiss.
but he didn’t give it.
instead, his hand moved.
in one graceful, eerie motion, tom slid his hand over your jaw, fingers gentle… before curling tightly under your chin, tilting your head back.
and then — slowly, deliberately — he dragged the porcelain mask down.
over your hair.
over your eyes.
over your mouth.
your eyes snapped open in alarm as the bone-white surface pressed down on your face like stone, like a curse latching onto flesh. you gasped — but the sound was swallowed by the mask's power as it crept across your skin, hollow and hungry.
“no– tom, wait–!”
your fingers twitched once. then again.
then they stopped.
your body stiffened — then softened.
tom watched, his breath shuddering as your skin took on a soft, plush-like texture. the glow of life dimmed in your eyes as they glassed over, mouth shut down in a slightly curved line.
the curse flared out his body like fire. his hunger — his unending need — was suddenly satisfied. your entire life force poured into him in a hot, radiant flood.
freeing him.
he looked down at you — at the perfect doll lying beneath him, hair still messy atop of the mask, shirt still weirdly draped over your miniature and lifeless body.
and he smiled.
“oh, my darling.” he whispered again, voice hushed with something sinister yet triumphant.
he cupped your porcelain face and pressed a tender kiss to your glossy forehead.
“you’ll stay like this for now. but don’t worry… i’ll wake you again.”
tom gathered you in his arms — his beautiful, cursed doll — and held you close, cherishing you like you did with his doll form.
hiii love your work!! how about a bodyguard!mattheo + nsfw 1?
no pressure 😋🫶🏼
1. tits or ass?
“really? you could’ve asked anything, and you chose this?”
mattheo looks at you with the usual unreadable expression on his handsome face. though, his eyes do give your body a scan, as if he’s searching for the right answer at this exact moment.
“thighs,” he says after a few moments of thinking, like the answer is obvious, and you should’ve guessed it already. his gaze lingers on your thighs for a second, as if confirming that he did, in fact, tell the truth. mattheo’s thoughts briefly drift away, though he conceals it well, just like the fact that the front of his black cargo pants is starting to tent.
“no teddy!” you popped his hand off the mouse, undoing his horrid choice of a wall color.
theodore nott had never played roblox, despite the expensive setup in his apartment. you, however, played it all the time.
and now, you were sat up in his lap watching him click around trying to build a house in Bloxburg. and boy, was he terrible at it.
“pillars don’t go there, when have you ever seen a pillar right in front of a wall?” you questioned, reaching your hand back over to the mouse.
he scoffed, annoyed by your constant hate towards his lime green barely functioning home, “all the time!” a reasonable amount of annoyance lingered in his voice as he glanced down at your hands clicking all sorts of random keys.
you looked away from the screen to look him in the eyes, your feet over his right leg and head just leveled with his neck due to the way you were sitting.
“listen if this is what our future home is going to look like in the future, my dreams are completely crushed!”
he sighed, “my dreams are crushed too, this house is beautiful, you just don’t see the vision!”
you giggled slightly, “the couch is hot fucking pink theo, of course I ‘don’t see the vision.’”
he rolled his eyes, “who knew my girlfriend was such a hater.”
Where Mattheo tries and fails to bake you a cake for your birthday without using magic. (ft. Post-wizarding war Mattheo Riddle AU.)
Content: fluff, slight angst - happy ending, suggestive but no smut.
A/N: This fic is dedicated to my lovely wifeyy. Belated birthday fic based on one of her fave songs, Beautiful Day by U2. @pizzaapeteer The world is better because you’re in it. Mwah.
✿ Masterlist | ✿ Mattheo Riddle Masterlist | 1k words
It was another attempt that ended in flames. Mattheo breathed hard as the final spray of extinguisher coated the kitchen in white, until all that was left was the charred remains of his pride.
Colourful curses spilled from his downturned mouth that had long lost its usual smirk. With his other hand, he gripped his wand as tightly as he held on to this unbeatable challenge.
“You know, I wouldn’t be mad if you used your magic to make me a cake,” you told him, not for the first time. “You get a free pass.”
“But you can’t have a muggle birthday with a cake made from magic,” he argued, not for the first time either. “I want to prove that I’m more than just some wizard.” He admits, his voice drifting quietly towards the end of his sentence. His vision blurred as images from the past haunted him.
It was never easy being the son of the dark lord, and it was even worse when the war broke out. It was devastating to hear the cries of someone you had once laughed with. You can prepare for war all you want and still never know what you’re getting into until you’ve lived through it - bruised and bloodied. He swears his heart is still beating, but something in him died during that time.
Save for minor conveniences, like locating his misplaced sketchbook or reheating coffee that had gone cold, Mattheo Riddle had sworn off magic and exiled himself to the muggle world after the war.
He simply wanted to see the world, to find things that were more magical than what wands could conjure. And travel he did. He visited ancient sites, growing an unexpected fascination for muggle history in ways he never would have just by looking at old books in Hogwarts.
It was him and his sketchbook against the world. Pages stitched together to remind him of his adventures.
If he looked back, he’d laugh at how funny life could be. He had grown up in a manor, attended balls in great halls, and yet his life had changed at a simple, ordinary cafe.
It was there that he met you, his barista. There was a warmth in your smile and a twinkle in your eyes that saw him as someone whole, someone worthy. No one had looked at him like that in ages. He nearly forgotten how it felt.
Of course, he quickly recovered from his gaped mouth and stunned silence with a flirty remark. You were nothing at all like the girls who kept his bed warm through his travels, fun yet forgettable. They often asked him to stay, but he was always insistent on the next location to cross off his map. The next scenery to fill his sketchbook.
Looking at you, however, he wanted to stay. Even if you didn’t ask him. It was strange, he thought. For the first time, the idea of staying didn’t scare him. If anything, he felt he was getting into a whole new adventure.
And Salazar, you had exceeded his expectations. Five minute conversations at the cafe soon turned into lunches together. Dinners turned to nights stayed over, secrets spilled in tearful confessions, laughter shared over inside jokes, and all the peaceful days in between.
He told you about his past, shared his darkness, while looking into your eyes each time with the wild hope that you would still look at him like you did the first time. Like he belonged. Like he mattered. Like he was someone you could love. And you did.
You still do. So damn it, the least he could do was bake you a cake for your birthday.
“You are already more than a wizard,” you approach him, standing up your toes to toussle his curls and bring his attention back to the present. “And you’re already sweeter than the cake,” you replied, grinning, “so why don’t I just have you for dessert?”
His signature smirk is back as he turns around so that your back is to the kitchen counter and he places his arms on either side of you, locking you in. He leans closer and you smell a hint of his soap and cologne tinged with the scent of burnt bread.
“Oh, I am most definitely your dessert. I’m your after party,” he says in a low voice, making your heart race and your toes curl. “But we’ve got to have something else to show our friends, huh?”
He is places a soft kiss on your neck and you melt into him. He brings you closer to him for a hug, his hands tracing the small of your back.
“Matt, I swear just one more of that teasing and I will rip your clothes off,” you threaten him, and he damn well knew you could make good on that threat.
He chuckles, “maybe that’s what I want.” He raises an eyebrow as he leans back to look at your face again and you exhale, both disappointed and relieved at the distance.
“But what I want more,” he continues, “is to make you a cake.”
“Okay, if you won’t use magic then, would you let me help you?” you offer as a compromise.
“That wouldn’t be fair then,” he replies.
Your brows furrow, “why not?”
“Because you are the most magical thing that’s ever happened to me,” he confesses, his eyes sincere despite his usual smirk.
You slap his shoulder playfully, ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks. “We’ll be here in the kitchen until my next birthday if we don’t get a move on things.”
He relents, grabbing your apron by the fridge and helping you put it on. “Aye aye captain.”
“I’ll get diabetes from your words alone, you know?” You say, gathering the ingredients.
“And I know just the cure,” he remarks, “if you don’t want sweet then we’ll have a dose of spice.”
Later at the party, in between pizza and wine, you exchange smirks. Somewhere within your fridge sits a birthday cake made without magic.
After an hour of flour-covered sex, you both figured that the non-magical cake didn’t have to made by your hands specifically. And so his promise had been fulfilled with cake from your favourite place, and it was the best thing Mattheo had bought that month.
Alt summary: Mattheo Riddle tries and fails to be horny lol.
summary: when getting your mind off your tasks at a slytherin party, another death eater sees you. you find out, you have more in common than you thought. death eater!theo x death eater! reader (cursing, mentions of making out/straddling seamus finnigan 😨, sort of emotional…)
a string of saliva separated the kiss, the warmth of his lips still lingering on yours as you took deep breaths to cool down from the heated kiss.
seamus finnigan sat just under you, his breath heavy and something too familiar stirring in his pants just beneath you.
his cheeks were a bright red, you colored lip gloss leaving a tint on his lips.
the party was packed with a combination of gryffindors, slytherins, and ravenclaws to celebrate the win against hufflepuff in the latest quidditch match.
you, who had a shitty week juggling tasks for the lark lord, poured a good amount of shots down your throat and ended up straddling the half blood in the slytherin common room.
it was the only sense on relief you had, you both couldn’t think straight for completely different reasons.
“I-I have to pee,” seamus spoke, his chest rising and falling at an intense rate.
you simply nodded, rolling off of him and slumping yourself onto the cushion next to the seat he had previously been in.
you watched him walk off, not expecting a return due to the large crowds and packed bathrooms filled with people doing things that weren’t exactly intended to be done anywhere but a bed.
you dusted your dress off, standing up and pulling it down so it just passed your upper thigh.
you stumbled through the crowd, smiling at any recognizable girl you saw as you made your way out of the packed slytherin common room and into an empty outdoor corridor.
your heels clicked against the stone, your dress riding up at you strutted to one of the many openings in the wall. a small sigh escaped your lips, taking in life and how truly miserable you’d forever be.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” a stern, cold voice broke your silence. it was recognizable — though you couldn’t quite put your finger on exactly who it was. you turned nonchalantly, used to the random insults thrown at you.
theodore nott.
fellow death eater, big fucking jerk.
you couldn’t admit he was your least favorite person to walk the earth around anyone — you were only taught to hate muggleborns.
“nott.” you responded coldly, reverted your gaze to the starry night sky as he angrily stormed over to where you were. you didn’t see it, but you could hear his shoes touch the ground every step he took.
“practically fucking a halfblood in the slytherin common room? what the fuck,” his voice was angry, though his face didn’t show a sign of emotion. almost like he was taught to not crack. to not show how he was feeling.
you turned, looking at him. he was now barely five feet away from you, his face still straight and his voice still raised.
“you know what he would do if-“
“i don’t fucking care what he thinks! if he wanted to kill me he would’ve three years ago,” you shouted back, trying to calm yourself down.
his eyes filled with something more than anger.
concern.
but he continued.
“you’re stupid as fuck, okay? you’re setting yourself up to fail! haven’t even completed your tasks. pfft, pathetic.” he chuckled lightly, shaking his head.
you stared at him, tears threatening to touch your warm face. you tried to speak, but you couldn’t muster up the words.
he smiled, nodding, “a fucking death eater crying, insane considering who you support.”
his voice was cold, as if he was projecting onto you. this time you found the words, you spoke up.
“i don’t fucking support him!” you shouted, louder than before. your voice was shaky as it echoed through the corridor, escaping through the wall openings.
the look on his face finally cracked, a look of confusion plastered. then, he cracked a small smile as if he’d figured something out.
“did you forget who you are?” he laughed, genuinely laughed at his own joke.
you stammered, searching for an answer without spilling something you’ve kept deep down. buried from every other death eater, buried from everyone.
“you don’t know me,” you shook your head, tears started to spill out the corner of either eye.
he shrugged, “oh but i do.”
you couldn’t contain yourself, you knew you needed to tell someone. tired of being doubted, tired of your hurt being downplayed.
“my parents died for him!” you sobbed out, covering your face to prevent him from seeing the many tears messing up your previously perfect make up.
you knew you wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t drunk, but you continued.
“all this time,” you stopped, wiping the poor attempt of covering the dark mark on your arm off, and pointing at the exact spot.
“i-i was born with it. my parents died, the died for him. h-him! and instead,” you laughed through the tears, a sarcastic, saddening laugh, “he thought this would be their reward. marking their child, making her apart of his army without even thinking about what she would want! you all are fucking pathetic for supporting someone as stupid and uncaring as him!” you choked out, your tears streaming down your face as snot bubbled in each nostril.
you stumbled back, finally looking him in the eyes.
his face was no longer stern, cold and emotionless.
it was soft.
caring.
“and every time my tasks get done, i fucking lie! i don’t-i don’t do them on my own!” you turned to shouting now, tears still rolling down your face and staining your chin.
“and you have no right to complain about who i support like you don’t too!” your voice was filled with anger when you shouted.
he stared.
for what felt like an hour.
“you aren’t sober,” was the first thing he said to break the silence.
as if it mattered more than the previous argument.
you shook your head, wiping your tears, “thank you for pointing that out nott,” you smiled sarcastically.
he remained silent a little longer, glancing outside before finally speaking again.
“my parents died for him too.”
it felt like the world stopped for a moment.
all this time. the times where he was hard on you to get what you needed to get done, to stop slacking. he was going through the same thing as you, neither of you knew it yet.
“but i wasn’t born with the mark, I kind of wanted it in their honor,” he scratched the back of his neck, “and when draco first joined, felt like i truly had someone there, y’know?”
“yeah, I know.” you looked over at him, tears no longer streaming.
synopsis. theo wishes to surprise you with a pixelated version of yourself in his favourite video game. catching him by surprise, all blushing and fumbling over his half-finished creation, you decide he needs a little hands-on guidance. a lap-bound lesson in accuracy was in order.
pairing. nerd! theodore nott x reader
content/mdni. fem!reader, established relationship!au, nerd!theo, shy!theo, even loser!theo, respectful!theo, geek!theo, soft!theo, yearner!theo, sub!theo, selfless!theo, tit worshipping, dry-humping, slight size kink, teasing, edging (m receiving), slight praise, dirty talk, name-calling (amore, good boy, baby), no piv, theo cums in his pants, we love whiny men, theo loves you a lot
word count. 2.8k
a/n. cute nerdy boyfriend theo is a MUST. he babbles about a video game i don’t know much about, so that bit might be inaccurate. he also wears glasses because why not! ANYWAYS. let me know your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are appreciated.
“theo, what are you doing?”
your voice, so sweet and sultry, latched with mischievous intent, hit his half-covered ear and made him jump in his gaming chair as if lightning struck him. his headset shook atop of his head, trembling slightly against his glasses and pushing them down the bridge of his nose.
the lenses, now only half-way sheltering his blown-out eyes, allowed the blue light of the computer to shine against his greenish orbs.
but only for a moment, as his hand sprang up to his monitor and closed it instantly.
“n–nothing.”
“nothing? then were you staring at the black screen this whole time?”
you did not believe his obvious lie, squinting your eyes and pursing your lips at him in an attempt to convince him to tell you the truth. your nerd of a boyfriend loved playing video games, so you assumed that’s what he was doing right before you made your presence evident.
the suspicious part was his rush in shutting down his monitor, as well as the slight flush of his face and his fidgety pupils.
“y–yes.”
god, he was so cute, so obviously affected by your words and actions. theodore was avoiding your piercing eyes, even going as far as pushing his gaming chair away from you to stand his ground.
too bad his desk stopped his escape only after traversing a few inches.
“teddy, you know i don’t like liars.”
you were teasing him, feigning faux disappointment, as you closed in like a predator on its prey. you leaned forward and gripped the armrests with your hands, successfully caging a blushing and twitching theodore in his gaming chair.
“i–i know, amore…”
his voice was low and whispery, on the verge of giving up his strange scheme and giving in to your inquiries.
his adorable stutter, a clear sign of how weak he was for you, made you smirk for a moment; but you soon hid the smile, keeping that annoyed façade for the rest of the interrogation.
his eyes, previously glued to anything else but you, were enchanted by the close proximity and moved on their own, now staring at your gorgeous face.
that gorgeous face of yours he adores.
“then?” and you didn’t say anything else, only lowered your face closer to his as you arched your eyebrow.
waiting for theodore to reveal the truth.
theo swallowed hard. his adam’s apple bobbed, glasses slipping further down as he tried and failed to make himself small in the chair. you were too close; your breath ghosting against his cheek, your scent doing dangerous things to his poor brain.
he whimpered. whimpered.
“i–i wasn’t doing anything bad, promise.” he said, eyes flickering between your still puckered lips and the exposed skin of your throat.
“i was just–… just–” he scrunched his eyes shut like that might save him from you. “just playing monster hunter…”
you arched your brow more, cocking your head at him.
that wasn’t it.
“is that supposed to be the part that embarrasses you, teddy? you play that all the time.”
“no!” he burst, voice cracking slightly. “no, i mean— yes, i was playing that! but that’s not why i shut the screen… i just–" his hands came up, defensively, waving in front of him like he could shield himself from your teasing.
“it’s because i–i spent the last hour trying to make the character look like you.”
your silence nearly killed him.
“i mean– you’re just really pretty, and i thought it would be cool to, like,… have you there? in the game? fighting monsters with me?” he tucked his chin down, cheeks now a dangerous crimson, voice shrinking to a whisper. “she even has your hair. i… spent ages getting it right.”
you stared at him, then reached out one hand and tilted his chin up with your fingers. his glasses were now seated on the tip of his nose, letting you see those eyes full of adoration.
“you made a hunter version of me?” you asked, amused warmth curling into your tone.
he nodded frantically yet carefully, making sure not to kick away the hand you had on his jaw. you could see the way he was relaxing into your touch now that he registered the positive undertones in your voice.
“she’s got the dual blades. and— and she’s wearing the cool armor from the nargacuga alpha set because you’d look so badass in it. i gave her your eye shape and color and— i named her after you, too. i just– i didn’t want you to see because it’s still not finished.”
he went on and on about the customization he did on your character, enumerating names of weapons and armors you had no clue about. but the glimmer in his gaze and the passion on his lips told you enough about his work.
theodore nott loves you so much, and he has his… special ways of showing that.
“theo…” your smile cracked through that fake annoyed expression, your little play now abolished due to theo’s strong infatuation for you.
he looked up at you like a kicked puppy, lips parted, pupils wide. “please don’t be mad. i just… i really, really like you. and i want to fight monsters with you.”
instead of replying to him, you only dipped your head lower and placed a small peck on his lips.
it was short, but so so sweet, your fruity lip balm making theo’s hands jump from their initial place and cup your face lovingly. he chased your lips, wishing to taste them again, but you turned away from his face.
only to plop down in his lap unannounced and make him let out a small whine. again.
“can you show her to me?”
theo made another noise, like a squeaky hinge, halfway between a gasp and a protest. his hand, now reaching behind your back to steady your body in his lap, made your chest press nicely against his.
it was all too much for his poor heart. it took him a few seconds to answer back.
“y–you wanna see her?”
you nodded, already reaching for the mouse before he could stop you. “well, yeah. you spent all that time making her look like me, didn’t you?” you turned back to look at him, voice dropping into a sultry tone.
“what, is she naked or something, baby?”
“n–no!” he squeaked fast, flushing deeper, like the word alone was too much. “it’s not– i wouldn’t– she’s just… she doesn’t look exactly right yet.”
you clicked open the monitor, using the button theo pressed previously. the screen came to life with a flickering light, some undistinguishable roars echoing from theo’s headset, but your attention was immediately captured by the figure standing confidently on the screen.
your hunter character.
she was decked in jet-black armor, twin blades sheathed at her hips. you turned her around using the mouse, but the controls were unknown to you, so the character didn’t do much else under your command.
theo’s hand — bigger than yours — covered your hand over the mouse and gently guided you to zoomed in on the face to see his work.
oh, he definitely did his best. her hair was identical to yours, somehow matching the cut you had. the face features were also no doubt shaped after your own, looking extremely beautiful under the dim light of the customization menu.
but when you zoomed back out, something was a little off.
you leaned back into theo’s neck, letting your breath fan across his naked skin and making goosebumps raise all over. even such mere gestures made blood shoot to his cock, the tame bulge of his sweats swelling with need.
he was putty for you.
“she’s cute.” you said softly, scrolling to rotate the full-body model. “but you didn’t get the body right.”
theo tensed beneath you; you hit the nail on the head. “i–i tried to–…”
“my chest is definitely not that size. and my thighs are– well, they don’t look like that.”
“i messed it up! the sliders were really confusing–” theo gasped, ashamed of his incomplete creation, afraid he might have insulted you.
“you want to get it right?”
you turned to look at him, expression amused, but voice soft. he nodded instantly, like he was being thankful for your merciful offer.
“i want her to look just like you. perfect. i mean– you’re already perfect.”
you grinned, slow and sly, and took his free hand in yours.
“then let me help you.” you guided his trembling hand up, gently placing it along the curve of your boob. theo’s breath stuttered audibly, thighs stiffening below you.
“you need to feel the dimensions, make sure it’s accurate.”
theodore let out a broken, needy little sound that he tried very hard — and failed — to conceal.
“i… i want it to be perfect.” he repeated again, his thumb twitching slightly near your nipple, eager to press down on it through your shirt, yet also too embarrassed to be selfish with your body. “for you.”
“yes, baby, do it for me.”
theo whimpered as you pushed your chest firmer into his palm, his long fingers twitching over the swell of your breast. he squeezed gently, like he always does; so careful, so attentive to your reaction and pleasure.
his cheeks were on fire, lips parted as though even the act of breathing was too much.
"you're s–so soft…" he murmured like he wasn’t even aware the words had slipped out, fully entranced by your tits. "so much softer than the affordances in the game…"
you giggled against his ear, grinding just a little in his lap to fuel his movements. his hips bucked up involuntarily, the outline of his cock thick and aching under the thin fabric of his sweatpants. you rolled your hips again — slow and steady — your clothed pussy brushing along the hard bulge pressing against you.
theo let out another broken moan, low and desperate.
“you can press harder, baby.” you whispered into his ear, your lips grazing the blushing shell. “don’t you wanna get the sliders just right?”
a throaty sound escaped him — somewhere between a moan and a plea. his other hand moved away from the mouse and came up, hesitant and trembling, cupping your other breast like he was holding something fragile.
his fingers flexed. squeezed.
his hips jerked again, so needy and uncontrolled.
“god, i–i love them.” he confessed suddenly, breath hot and broken. “i think about them all the time, i can’t help it.”
you rocked your hips again, smirking into his flushed neck, loving the messy state theodore was in.
“i know you do, teddy. i can feel how much you love my tits.”
and oh, he really couldn’t take it. his mouth dropped open, breath hitching with every rut of your hips and every sinful press of his fingers. his cock throbbed under you, painfully hard and barely constrained in his sweats.
you nipped at his ear. “want to feel them better, baby?”
his answer was a strangled whine and a harsh squeeze of your breasts. theodore was so eager to feel your bare boobs beneath the pad of his fingers.
your fingers curled around the hem of your — his — shirt, slow and teasing. theo’s eyes were glued to your chest like it contained the secrets of the universe. he even readjusted his glasses, pushing them to their initial place with a flick of his middle finger.
and when you lifted your shirt over your head, baring yourself completely for him, he made a sound so high and broken it barely qualified as human.
“oh–” he gasped, glasses fogging slightly as he instinctively leaned forward. his hands hovered, unsure, trembling with restraint.
you were his girlfriend, yes, but you were also the most beautiful woman he had laid eyes on.
he couldn’t just put his hands on–
“you can touch, theo.” your voice was a murmur, low and encouraging, as you guided his palms up. “i want you to.”
that’s all it took.
the moment his hands met your bare skin, theo melted.
his fingers spread wide, cupping both of your breasts with a kind of quiet admiration, his thumbs brushing lightly over your hardening nipples. he shuddered, mouth falling open, like he could feel every heartbeat through his palms.
“you’re… you’re perfect.” he whispered. his thumbs moved in slow circles, respectful and delicate, and when he dared to squeeze a little harder — when he felt the way your nipples stiffened completely under his touch… he groaned.
your laugh was soft, breathless. “not yet, baby. i need you to focus. don’t you wanna make her really accurate?”
theo whimpered and nodded, swallowing hard as he leaned in, pressing a tentative kiss to the swell of your breast.
“i’ll get everything right, amore.” he promised into your skin, looking up at you from beneath his glasses, flashing you the prettiest puppy eyes. “every… every single detail…”
when his tongue darted out, wetting your nipple, you moaned softly. and theo responded like you’d just awarded him with divine blessings: both hands massaged your tits more eagerly now, careful but undeniably hungry, and his lips latched onto your nipples with newfound confidence.
“just like that, teddy.” you murmured, threading your fingers through his messy curls. “that’s how you learn…”
his glasses slipped a little more as he suckled and kneaded, completely overwhelmed and absolutely dedicated to your chest.
he was a goner.
and you kept grinding — slow and teasing — against the thick bulge in theo’s lap, feeling how stiff he was beneath his sweats. how every careful thrust of your hips made his hands twitch on your tits, made his lips stutter against your skin.
his mouth was wet and hot and needy, worshipping every inch of your chest like he’d been dreaming of this moment for years — he was always like that. and you loved it.
you loved your sweet, nerdy teddy with his shaky hands and a soaked spot darkening the front of his grey sweatpants.
“a–amore.” he whined, words muffled against your breast, his voice vibrating against your sternum. “please, i c–can’t–”
“shhh.” you cooed, stroking your fingers down his flushed neck. “you’re doing so well, baby. don’t stop.”
you rolled your hips again, harder this time, your clothed pussy dragging firm and slow over his cock. theo’s whole body jolted — he even bit down on your nipple by accident, making you gasp in pleasure — and then he whimpered, low and so so desperate.
“feels so good.” he choked out, blinking rapidly behind foggy lenses. “i–i love it when you use me like this.”
“you love letting me ride you like this, teddy?” you asked, brushing your lips against his jaw, feeling the way his hips trembled under yours. “love letting me hump your cock until you can’t take it anymore?”
he nodded helplessly, his curls damp against his forehead, glasses slipping lower with each rock of your hips. “yes, yes, please. i–i wanna be your good boy, even like this, i–”
you pressed your body closer, your tits soft against his cheeks, lips brushing his ear as you grind down harder.
“you’re gonna cum for me like this, baby. just from my pussy rubbing on your cock. gonna soak your pants for me, right?”
“oh fuck.” theo gasped, hips jutting up into you uncontrollably. his head dropped back against the chair, headphones crashing down onto the floor. his mouth was parted in a perfect circle as his fingers clenched at your ribcage. “i–i’m gonna–”
“do it, teddy.” you whispered against his ear. “cum for me.”
and theo did — with a broken, strangled moan, back arching slightly, body going limp beneath you. you felt the heat of his release immediately, the sudden dampness rushing through his sweats as he came hard in his pants, his thighs trembling and his fingers clawing helplessly at your torso.
his glasses slipped clean off his nose, caught only by the swell of your cleavage.
“oh my god.” he breathed, flushed and panting and wrecked. “i–i came in my pants. i’m–”
you kissed his cheek, sweet and warm. “i know, baby. it was so hot.”
he melted, burying his face in your chest again, still gently stroking your tits like they were the only things keeping him grounded.
“i’ll… i’ll clean it up.” he whispered bashfully, voice muffled against your skin. “just– gimme a minute. i think i died.”
you laughed softly, threading your fingers through his curls, carefully placing his glasses on top of his head. “you did perfect, teddy.”
he just nodded, breathless and dazed. and completely in love.
I just bought a letterman jacket that kinda looks like Gryffindor and it got me thinking about how the Weasley boys would react to seeing you wearing something of theirs?
HOW THE WEASLEY BOYS WOULD REACT TO YOU STEALING THEIR CLOTHES.
characters included: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Bill Weasley, Percy Weasley
wc: 877
thank you for your request❤️
Fred nearly trips over his own feet the moment he sees you walk into the room wearing one of his jumpers. It’s slouchy and oversized on you, the sleeves covering your hands, and it looks so natural he could swear it was made for you. He smirks, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back and takes you in. “Well, don’t you look absolutely criminal,” he says with a cocked brow. “Wearing my jumper like that and not even asking? You trying to drive me mad, love?” There’s a glint in his eye, teasing but clearly captivated. He walks over slowly, tugs the collar just a bit with his fingers. “I want it back, but I’d rather see you steal it again tomorrow.”
George doesn’t say a word at first. He just blinks at you from across the Gryffindor common room, his mouth hanging slightly open as you laugh at something and curl up on the couch in his hoodie. It’s not just any hoodie—it’s the one he always wears during late-night invention sprees, and seeing it on you almost knocks the wind out of him. He strolls over and sits beside you, bumping your shoulder lightly. “That’s mine, y’know,” he says, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But it looks loads better on you.” He lets his fingers play with the cuff of the sleeve as you sip your tea. “Honestly, I’d let you keep every jumper I own if it means I get to see you like this more often.”
Ron walks into the Burrow’s kitchen and just stops. You’re at the counter, back turned, in his worn Chudley Cannons jumper—the one with a tiny tear near the hem and the faded lettering. His ears go red immediately. “Blimey,” he mutters, completely forgetting what he came in for. When you turn around and smile at him, his heart does an actual somersault. “You’re wearing my jumper,” he says, dumbly, then rubs the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically force the blush down. “I mean—not that I mind. Just… looks nice. You look really nice.” He shuffles closer, clearing his throat. “You can, um, keep it if you want. Or wear it. Like. Often.”
Charlie catches you in his sweatshirt one cool morning when he returns from the yard, still smelling of smoke and leather. It’s a sanctuary-issued piece, faded from sun and ash, and you’re sitting on the porch swing reading like you’ve always belonged there. He walks up quietly, rests a hand on the back of your chair and leans in with a lazy smile. “Borrowed something, did you?” he says, voice low and rough from the early air. You glance up with a grin, and he chuckles. “Keep it, sweetheart. Looks better on you anyway. Plus, I like knowing something of mine’s wrapped around you when I’m not.” He plants a kiss to the top of your head before heading inside, his heart a little lighter than it was before.
Bill notices right away when you come out in one of his favorite band t-shirts—soft, worn, and obviously not meant for you but fitting in that perfect, relaxed kind of way. He gives you one slow, appreciative look, eyes lighting up like he’s just spotted treasure. “Well, hello there,” he says, striding over. “Is that my shirt? Because if it is, I might just need to propose on the spot.” He slides his arms around your waist and smiles against your cheek. “Something about you in my clothes does dangerous things to me, you know. You’re lucky I’ve got some self-control. Barely.”
Percy is absolutely stunned when he sees you in one of his Oxford shirts, clearly plucked from his neatly folded collection. It’s buttoned messily, half tucked in, and you’re curled up with a book on his couch like you belong there. He adjusts his glasses, clears his throat three times, then finally says, “That’s mine. That shirt—it’s one of my best.” But his voice isn’t annoyed, just surprised. “Though… I suppose it’s alright. You look very—uh, scholarly. Smart. Elegant.” He sits beside you awkwardly, his hand brushing yours as he adds quietly, “It’s nice. I like it. You should borrow my things more often.”
2087
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
dailybridgerton
