oneshots | ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
KEEP TALKING, PROFESSOR!
SUMMARY: sucking off Professor Riddle while he's talking to a student. that's the summary. have fun. ;)
WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT. nasty nasty stuff. messy blowjob. exhibitionism, rough oral m!receiving, teasing, slight dumbification, he watches you in the mirror, choking on it, MESSY blowjob again bc I MEAN it, wtf is wrong with me genuinely, reader LOVES gagging on it, cumming in mouth, face slapping, cockwarming
AUTHOR'S NOTE: sometimes I question my sanity while writing these. then I get horny. then I remember yall love me. then, I hit the post button.
wordcount: 3,1k
Your knees ache, dark bruises blooming beneath the thin skin above your joints as you scrape against the rough, worn-down wooden panels of his study. You`ve been here for no more than twenty minutes—not wasting time with unnecessary talking before you sank to your knees and crawled underneath his desk, eager fingers fumbling with the metal of his belt.
Whatever this is between you two—it has shifted into something more than originally intended.
Just once, he said. One time, to improve your grade—he'd sworn to it. To himself more than to you. But one time didn't just stay one time. After two weeks of trying to convince himself he didn't crave you as much as you craved him, his resolve finally shattered.
That very day, he ordered you to stay behind after class ended, and not two minutes later, you were bent over his desk at the front of the classroom, skirt bunched around your waist, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising grip as his cock slid inside you with one ruthless thrust.
Since that moment, visits in his study have become rather routine than exception—at first, every two weeks. Now, you visit him nearly every day—late at night, when the girls in your dorm are soundly asleep, you slip from beneath the soft warmth of your duvet, cover your pyjamas with your robes, and hurry down the dark, eerily quiet corridors until you reach his study.
Just one issue today—you've been invited to a birthday party of one of your friends after dinner, and you couldn't possibly miss out on that just for the sake of your secret rendezvous with your professor.
However, after seeing him in class earlier today, his new suit fit his beautifully sculptured body to perfection—you couldn't resist. Your thighs pressed together beneath the surface of your desk, and for the rest of your lesson, the only thing on your mind was his pretty cock stuffing you full.
Needless to say, you've been aching for him the rest of the day, and when classes finally ended, you did not even bother returning to your own dorm. Instead, you looked to your left and right before taking the corner leading to the professor's residences and, with four brief knocks—as you agreed upon—announced your presence.
The door flung open with the help of a wandless spell muttered by him, not bothering to interrupt his work for your sake.
Tom knew what you came here for. Knew it the second your gaze lingered on him for too long during class, watched as your thighs clenched together whenever he so much as looked in your direction.
Needy girl.
For you to come here earlier than usual was no surprise. For you to sink to your knees before even speaking a single word wasn't either. So, he lets you do as you please without speaking a word as he continues correcting essays.
The first sound you earn from him is when you work his zipper open and free his already semi-hard cock from the confinement of his trousers, eagerly wrapping your hand around his girthy length—a low growl reverberating from the depths of his chest, dick pulsing to life in your hand.
Professor Riddle isn't a man you can impress easily. Not with outstanding performances in class, and certainly not by being bold and loud—but you, you have found a way.
An incredibly filthy one.
It was your idea to place a mirror opposite his work desk. Your idea to only wear your tiniest skirts and thongs when paying him a visit.
And Tom—he's quickly grown quite fond of your proposition for various reasons.
While he still pretended to focus on the paper in front of him when you entered, as soon as you sank to your knees, he straightened his gaze, watching as you crawled underneath the table on all fours. Your skirt slipped up far enough for him to see it—the red lace thong he left in a box beneath your duvet as a present now slick and soaked with your want for him.
This is the exact reason why he loves this goddamn mirror so much.
Beneath the table, you begin stroking him softly—not tightly enough for it to feel good, but enough to get him hard for you. His cock twitches in your hand, a pearly bead of precum rolling down his flushed tip.
From the corner of your vision, you see his arms still, the faint sound of his fountain pen adding corrections to the essay in front of him fading into silence. That's when you know you've got his full attention on you—on the feeling of your hand pleasuring him, on your reflection in the mirror as you wriggle your ass for him.
"Concentrate, professor." you murmur, collecting the wetness on the head of his cock with the tip of your tongue, humming in approval at the familiar taste. "Wouldn't want you to make a mistake, hm?"
"Quiet," he replies almost instantly, voice raspy, his cock now pulsing and rock-hard in your palm. "Finish what you've started, brat."
His left hand drops to his lap, finds your hair, and pulls you closer—an unspoken warning not to get too brave with him. At the same time, he flips up your skirt with his fine leather shoes again, which slipped down the curve of your ass.
"Now, arch your back and get to work. Want to watch how wet you get just from sucking me."
You do as he says, of course, one hand on his thigh, the other tightly wrapped around his base as you guide the first few inches of him past your glossed lips. He groans lowly when he feels your wet, hot tongue circle the sensitive head of his cock, relaxing back against his chair, his pen slipping from his hand, eyes fluttering closed.
God, he needs this after today.
You take him deeper then—eager to taste his hot cum on your tongue.
But then—just as you're about to choke around him for the first time that evening—two sharp knocks echo from the door to his study.
He tenses instantly, and you draw back in surprise. If anyone sees you two like this, you are in trouble. Big trouble. You inch closer to him beneath the desk, sitting in between his legs in order to make as little of you visible as you can—but clearly Tom isn't satisfied with that solution.
"Hide yourself in the closet," he hisses beneath his breath, watching the door handle as the person knocks another time. "Now!"
You roll your eyes at that, because the closet in his study is fucking tiny—but you decide to listen for once. Or at least, you want to listen for once—however, before you get to do so, the door flies open, and an exasperated student of the second year bursts inside, losing a few papers on the way, stopping right before his desk.
"Professor Riddle, I have something urgent to discuss!"
You sit back down, breathing out a relieved breath. He didn't see you at first glance, thank Merlin and thank whatever gods Muggles believe in.
Tom must be equally relieved, easing the tension in his muscles slightly. He clears his throat before he speaks. "What is it, Mr. Flewett?"
The younger student goes on to explain said urgent matter—and you have to keep yourself from giggling and subsequently getting yourself caught. His very urgent matter is the project due in two days. He's asking—begging—Tom for an extension.
The student must be new here. No one else would dare even think of asking Riddle this—or bursting into his study without permission.
He's talking on and on, without a single break. Trying to explain how busy he's been, that he hasn't yet started with the preparation. Making it worse for him without even meaning to do so.
This is good, you think—he's so caught up in his own problem, in his nervousness, that he doesn't notice you at all, neither as a soft laugh escapes your lips when Tom relaxes fully, and you can clearly imagine the disinterested look that must be etched into his features currently.
His hand finds your hair again then—tugging at the roots gently, shutting you up.
The student is still talking.
And your professor's cock? Twitching right before your lips and so fucking hard, his tip is glistening with precum.
What a terrible waste.
An idea comes to your mind then—lips curving into an evil little smile. This will be fun.
You arch your back again—skirt still bunched around your waist, lace of your panties damp with arousal. The sight of it earns you a low growl from him, shifting slightly in his seat.
The student stumbles over his next words, but keeps talking, explaining, apologising.
Poor Tom—he must be so damn bored. So why not spice it up a little?
Your fingers hook into the lace of your panties, slowly, teasingly easing them down your thighs until they're just above your knees, where they're bent on the floor—your soaked pussy now perfectly angled towards the mirror.
Because you know his eyes are on your reflection in his mirror, not on the student pleading with him to grant him extra time for his project. Riddle stills completely at the sight right before his eyes—but he keeps his composure. For now.
With a relaxed, bored voice, he answers his student that it's not possible to extend the due date. That this is his own fault, a missed chance for a good grade when he is already failing his class.
Tom is so good at this. So awfully talented at keeping his voice steady, his expression neutral and strict, even when his cock is leaking precum, the thick vein on the underside pulsing, practically begging for your lips and mouth. So good at answering nonchalantly, while every hidden part of his body is telling an entirely different story—hand in your hair tightening to a level that's bordering painful, thigh muscles flexing beneath your touch.
Another pearl of precum forms on top of his pretty cock, and this time—this time, you can't resist.
Your face is mere centimetres from his dick, and you close the distance within less than a second, swiping your tongue over the wet, reddened head of his cock, letting the taste of him flood your senses, thighs clenching.
Tom hisses, his hips barely staying seated with much effort on his side. He fucking hisses, not quietly either—shutting the student's rambles up effectively.
His fingers stay buried in your hair—but he doesn't make a move to push you away, instead, he keeps you right there.
"A-Are you alright, Mr. Riddle?" the younger student manages, voice trembling, as do his legs not a metre away from you.
Tom takes his sweet time to respond to that. Moments that must feel like hours to the guy pleading with him, probably already realising his mistake. In the meanwhile, your tongue darts out again, brushing over his tip with short kitten licks, essentially having his hips buck into your touch.
"Yes, yes, I am." Tom grits out, eyes focused on the mirror behind the student, watching you tease him. "We will speak about this matter later—you're dismissed."
From the periphery of your vision, you catch the blonde guy shake his head. "But professor, this is urgent… I—"
You decide it's a good time to wrap your lips around the aching head of his cock, suckling gently, one hand wrapped around his thick, throbbing base—slick with your spit and precum—the second cupping his balls, massaging gently.
"Later," I said." Tom responds, voice shaky. The student gulps, taking a cautious step backwards. "Can you not see I am quite occupied?"
Poor guy. Probably thinking this is because of him.
He nods then, retreating towards the door. "Yes sir, my deepest apologies."
When Tom doesn't spare him more than a strict glance, he leaves in a haste, the door falling shut behind him.
Tom pulls you off his cock with a wet sound the second the lock clicks.
"Dumb little girl," he murmurs, glaring down at the innocent eyes you're offering him. "I expect you to make this up to me later—now, finish what you've started. And show me, with extra effort, just how sorry you are."
"I am not sorry, though." You say decidedly before you spit on his cock, watching it cascade down the side before taking him back in your mouth.
He pretends he didn't hear you. For your sake.
The thing is, you like it messy—and Tom, Tom loves it messy. He adores how filthy you sound with him stuffing your mouth full, when you drool around him and soak him with your spit. Undoubtedly though, his favourite part is when you let his cum dribble back onto his cock and watch it drip down to his balls, mixing with your saliva before you suck it back in and swallow the mess you've created.
He fucking loves how nasty you are for him.
Right now, he's observing you bob your head up and down his length, gagging around him each time his tip hits the back of your throat—the vibrations having his fingers fist your hair more roughly, groaning lowly.
"Mmm, y’ taste so good," you mumble around his cock denting your cheek, sucking eagerly. He twitches inside you at that, hissing when your hot tongue swipes over the crown of him.
"You have a filthy mouth on you, darling." Tom replies, guiding your head down on his length until you choke—keeping you there for a little longer before he lets you catch your breath.
You smile up at him, then. "You love it, professor. Don't pretend it's any different."
The next few minutes, you gradually increase your pace—keep him lodged in your throat for longer, spluttering around him before you withdraw and wet his cock with your spit, licking it back up before your lips close around him again, and you repeat the process.
Your hand leaves his thigh, wandering between your own instead—gently rubbing circles around your neglected, puffy clit, spreading your folds as you run two fingers down your slick slit.
"Fuck," Tom's head dips back at that view. Your glistening, slick-coated pussy on display for him while you make the filthiest sounds sucking him off, gagging and moaning around him.
He is embarrassingly close. Already.
The things you are doing to him…
…And the things he will do to you in return…
"Should have you write an essay on how to pleasure a man," he rasps, hips jerking upwards when you choke around him again, allowing him to feel the vibrations of your muscles. He hisses lowly, wetting his lips at the slick sounds your fingers are drawing from your cunt.
You ease off of him for a second then, blinking up at him innocently.
"Would you let me pass—," you ask him, licking a thick stripe up the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock, holding eye contact while you do so. "—professor?"
"Fuck—" he responds, groaning in pleasure when you suck him back into your warm mouth. "With an Outstanding, even."
Professor Riddle has never once given anyone the highest mark—claiming that no work can ever be perfect. It simply doesn't exist for him. Never has.
"Mmmmh," you purr, suckling on his oversensitive tip, purposely keeping him right on that blissful edge he's currently teetering on. "Generous."
He shakes his head, cock throbbing inside your mouth, your head sinking down on him until your nose is pressed against his lower abdomen. "No. Well deserved."
You quicken your pace at that, and he growls, gritting his teeth, jaw clenched tightly—he is going to come. He is going to fucking come so hard, you'll fucking struggle with it.
When both of his hands fist your hair, pushing you down on his pulsing length, you know he is going to spill down your throat any second—and when your throat closes around the invasion, and you struggle against his grip, he finally does.
Accompanied by a string of mumbled curses, he empties himself deep inside your mouth with thick, hot ropes of white cum, making you swallow around him eagerly before he lets you go.
You pull off him, sucking in deep breaths as you cough violently, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his flushed tip.
When your breathing slows down, an eager grin spreads on your lips. You dive back in—tongue cleaning your thick spit and the remnants of his cum off his cock, making nasty, slick sounds.
"Come here," he grunts, chair screeching against the wooden planks of his floor as he lifts you onto his lap, kissing your lips and wiping the drool from your chin. "You are a nasty fucking girl. Y'know that?"
Your head dips to press a kiss to his tense jaw. "Only for my favourite professor. With the others I am good. Mostly."
SMACK!
Your head whips to the side at the sharp impact his palm makes with your cheek, leaving behind a blissful sting, coaxing a moan from your lips.
"Sit down on it," he orders, dark brown eyes leaving no room for argument as they flick from your own to his hardening cock mere inches from your slick pussy. "I don't want to hear another word from that filthy mouth until I am done correcting these essays."
Your head turns to find a huge pile of papers on his desk.
No fucking way.
"But I am invited to a birthday party," you pout, fighting the hold he has on you—without success.
He huffs a laugh, lifts your hips, and sinks into your weeping, pulsing hole with one single, vicious thrust—then, lodged deep in your warm, velvety walls, he averts his attention back to the paper he left abandoned on his desk around half an hour ago.
"You will not move a single inch until I am done here with you, sweetheart. Even dumb little girls like you have to learn that every action comes with its consequences."
little funfact: I rushed through writing this as I am currently at a birthday party posting this. yep. you heard that right.
thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3 — masterlist. | oneshots.
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