Summary: Tom wakes you up in the middle of the night to "talk about your paper" ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Tags: nipple play, munch tom, magic theory I made up, gf stealer tom, Legilimency, parseltongue lisp, bondage, probably voyerism,
a/n: posting this so im motivated to finish pt 2 !!
We weren’t betrothed but it didn't make our relationship any less real.
After months of being potions partners, murmuring encouragement and advice to each other, Malfoy finally took the next step. When Abraxas Malfoy greeted you in the great hall with a bouquet of roses, you were completely bewitched. Now, he guides you by the arm classroom to classroom. The perfect gentleman. His courtesy, confidence, and respectfulness was always extended to you. Even if his parents didn't approve of you as a final match, they still welcomed you to the manor and treated you befitting to a Malfoy heiress.
Snuggled up in your emerald green silken nightgown, you studied Abraxas’ profile. As he lays on his back and unleashes his burdens to you, the candle light highlights his blonde eyelashes and pointed nose. Hoping to soothe his worries, you drape yourself across his chest, you trace the embroidered ABM on the pocket of his matching pjs.
“Dont lose sleep over the future, Brax.” You reach for his pale fingers and grasp them. “Everything will work out for us!” With a sleepy smile, you try to coax him from his anxiety and go to bed.
“I know, darling, but with the ministry-”
You never meant to, but you snapped back at him. “The ministry doesn’t matter! Are we graduated? Do you suddenly need employment? Please, Brax, it’s late!”
“Sorry darling, you’re right. Let’s just go to sleep.” Abraxas sighs, obviously miffed that you cut off his nightly rant. Silky yet strong arms wrap around you as you get situated. He turns so that you may spoon, his left arm under your pillow while the other tucks under your chest and pulls you tightly against him. Abraxas buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath.
“Father is pushing me too hard. A perfect heir would bend and strengthen under the weight.” His grip tightens. “I can’t let it break me…” When his voice cracks, so does your heart. Grabbing his right hand from your chest, you bring it to your lips.
Kissing his thumb you whisper, “You are strong!”
Another on his knuckle, “Worthy.”
“You shall bring your family a most promising future, my love.” And you kiss the center of his palm before settling it on your heart. Abraxas’ body relaxes just a tad.
“Goodnight my love.” Within minutes, he's fast asleep. Listening to Abraxas night after night, when he shares his frustrations and fears with you, is frankly, heartbreaking. At least, you have to pretend it is.
Behind you, Abraxas is asleep and unaware. As you lay awake, like most nights, you ruminate about your relationship. How being connected to him opened so much of the world to you. Yes, you were pureblooded, just as he was, but not of the sacred 28. Your blood had bought you status, not riches. But on the arm of Abraxas Malfoy, you had both. People actually acknowledged you as more than chattel, not another pureblooded princess, ready to breed. It may have been cruel to use him… Actually you knew it was. But the way people were forced to listen to you! Even as a date to the Slug Club Christmas party, you got a chance to make connections. A chance to show off that you were a witch with a brain. The conversation you had with the Head Archivist of the Library of Alexandria was mind opening!
More than proud to be the second in your class, you took life very seriously. There was no way you could settle for the future society believed you to be on track for. Thinking of the marriage mart, birthing heirs, and being a doting mother put a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t for you.
Merlin, sometimes you could only hopelessly wonder why you weren’t a man. It was so unfair that they automatically were accepted, promoted, and respected. Like always, you can’t help it as you roll your eyes at the thought that Tom Riddle is top of the class thanks to his dick and balls. He didn’t have to parade around in dead-end relationships to get people to even look at him. He was also insufferable.
One of the main reasons you loved being potions partners with Malfoy so much was because it prevented the routine pairing of you and Tom. Being the top two students in the class, the most vocal in class, and often debating with each other and baffling professors - you always got paired up. Beery clearly tried to push you and Tom together. Slughorn, Merlin, he was a force. Slughorn probably thought that you and Tom would create the next generation of genius wizard babies, and wasn’t very subtle about it. So, yes, having to explain every potion to Malfoy like he was 5 was a small price to pay.
While on the subject, your brain couldn’t resist bringing up the years of being desk buddies with Tom Riddle. How at twelve, you thought he was so smart and so charming. When you were first years the two of you talked about everything - magic, spells from the library, stories, gossip. Well, actually he was more of a good listener.
And he was so handsome. Honestly, the most annoying thing about Tom is that he refused to date anyone, so you got stuck with Malfoy. Merlin, what an obtuse prick he was. Tom was such a more powerful wizard than Malfoy. Better in every way.
Wait, what? You shake your head in confusion. Squeezing your eyes tight and exhaling, you wiggle a little before sinking back into Abraxas’ chest. He hums in his sleep and buries his face in your hair. He talks a lot, but you cannot deny how cute he is. Deciding to try to turn your brain off and go to sleep, you think about your usual bedtime thoughts.
Mentally, you peruse Hogwart’s library, reading titles as you walk down the aisle. History of Ancient Magick catches your eye. Grabbing it, you continue until you find Dead but not forgotten: A Wizard’s Guide to Obsolete Magick. You always managed to work out your papers before you fell asleep, it was calming, categorizing and organizing information into paragraphs. Professor Binns was horribly boring, but that didn’t dampen your love for History. As he droned on in the background, you read and annotated the textbook. You found that the curriculums were oddly similar - as each was only a brief overview of history chopped into 7 sections. The only difference being the level of analysis and allowance of “darker” themes.
Anyways, your fingers close around a particular scroll named Unseen and Unheard: How Ancient Wizards Utilized Silent Magick. Tucking it away into your elbow, you turn on your heel and head for the study tables in the back of the library. Picking your table by the window, you sit down and crack open the first book you grabbed. Before you read it, you check the card, a habit of wanting to know who had checked the book out before you. The first name is dated from 1866 and the last was Tom M. Riddle, 1944. Even mentally, you can’t help but groan and roll your eyes. He’d probably read every book in the entire library by now. Of course Tom had gotten his hands on this one. His big hands. Those fingers of his, the way they were always covered in ink, like he was too impatient to let it dry before tracing back over his words. How the only color on his skin was a fine spattering of freckles, giving him the most elegant and perfect complexion. Oh, and how those freckles landed so perfectly on his face, drawing attention to his mouth and cheekbones.
The sound of Malfoy’s curtain opening makes you jerk awake. It’s been pulled back maybe a foot and Tom is standing there, peering down at you.
“What did you do for your conclusion on Binn’s paper?” He whispers down at you.
“About the analysis of the adaptation of magick.” You try to get your eyes open and stare at Tom confused.
Tom rolls his eyes and tries again, “Get up, tell me what sources you’re using.” He extends his hand to you. Feeling a bit more awake, you try to get up, but remember that Abraxas is still lovingly wrapped around you. Tom stands by and watches as you try to remove Abraxas’ arm, but he holds you tighter. Forcing you to kind of pry him off of you…
Finally free of his loving grip, you grab Tom’s hand and slip out of bed. The dorm is dark and all the curtains are shut tight besides Abraxas’ and Tom’s. Impatiently, you are pulled across the gap into Tom’s bed.
At first, you just sit against the headboard, mirroring Tom. But, after he reaches around you and ensures his curtains are shut, he readjusts until he is simply laying on his side and facing you. He’s comfortably under his covers, only his upper half is visible. You sit there confused, looking at Tom, in his small white undershirt, seemingly tucked into bed, with one arm bent and propping his head up, the other resting on top of the blanket.
“Your paper…?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, right.” Accepting that you are awake, you answer him. “I’m looking into the research about the connection of accidental magic with silent magic. Did you know it is just as likely to complete a task you do habitually with accidental magic as it is with silent? Like, the only difference is that its almost completely opposite amounts of effort. Silent requires so much effort, years of practice and a lot of self-discipline. But accidental is primal, it will save you, it can give you what you really need. Let’s say it’s 15,000 years ago and you’re cold. No one waved a wand and said, ‘Inscendio!’” You paused for a deep breath and realized how much you’ve been talking with your hands. Tom follows your gaze and catches your train of thought. A low laugh rumbles from his chest as he just examines you.
“You know it isn’t due ‘til May?”
“So what? You say that as if your’s isn’t finished!” you shoot back. Tom considers this.
“True. I guess I just forgot that you never shut up about History.” You can see the mischievous glint in his eye.
Poking him in the chest, you knowingly ask, “Like you don’t do the same about DADA?”
Tom stares at you and gently grabs your prodding finger. “So, what?” The glint is gone and you are surprised at the shift in his tone. You’re used to him trying to agitate you, push you into some debate. This is almost daring? As you pull your hand back, Tom doesn’t let go. His hand follows yours back to your hip and rests there. Just as gently as before, his hand moves to your hip then squeezes.
“I think Binn’s is going to give you a recommendation when we graduate. I heard Slughorn talking about it.” Tom reveals. This news is crazy - Professor Binns was known for never writing professional recommendations. Even if his curriculum was lazy, he still was well renowned for simply teaching everyone for the last 200 years. A good word from him was extremely rare, but valuable.
In your excitement, you leaned towards Tom and got more comfortable. Accidentally mirroring him again, you also failed to notice how his hand shifted to your knee as you got talking.
“If he does that I can work in any fucking archive I want!” Disbelief painted your face. “You know when I asked Slughorn if he would do it at my career counseling last year, he said it was impossible.”
“Something must have swayed him.” Tom smiled and drank in your expression, just as much as he enjoyed sliding his hand up your thigh.
“Yeah,” you softly respond. A soothing silence washes over the two of you. Somehow, it isn’t awkward as you watch Tom just as intensely as he watches you. Remembering before, your eyes catch on the freckle under his left eye, then automatically dart to his mouth, where another freckle sits just to the right of his bottom lip… His angular face becomes amused while you take him in. The hand on your hip pulls a little, inviting you to come closer to him. So you scoot, grabbing his arm to help pull yourself along. Under the thin material of his sleep shirt, Tom’s arms are lithe and smooth.
Inches apart, no one says anything as hands slowly explore. Typically, you were elbow to elbow at your desks, or elbow to ribs when he was annoying. But now there’s no need for the intellectual contest, both of you are learning in silence. Tom’s left hand trails up your side until he is able to caress your face. And again, when he gently pulls, you move towards him. His chocolate brown eyes are pouring into yours. When your noses touch, he tilts his head just slightly to the right and closes in to brush his lips against yours. Suspended in the moment, you intimately examine Tom’s irises. How they’re ringed in black, with tiny golden ridges. Long black eyelashes that are to die for frame them perfectly, and his eyebrows are perfect, just like his whole face, and I bet even his-
You flinch, feeling a little dizzy. A small headache throbs behind your ear and you catch a small smirk on Tom’s face. He rubs his thumb across your cheekbone assuringly before pulling you in for a real kiss. Melding your lips together, a sigh escapes when you feel something deeper. As he goes from kissing you tenderly to insistantly running his tongue along the seam of your lips, you respond in earnest. When your tongues touch, you open your eyes and find Tom admiring you. He takes your shock and doubles it, sucking on your lip and biting it. A small sound leaves you and he swallows it, keen on making it happen again. In between heavy kisses, he peppers your lips with pecks.
Feeling weakened, you let him cradle your head in his hand and lean further into his flurry of affection. You push your tongue into his mouth until your teeth click. Tom clutches your cheek and kisses you feverishly. All you can perceive is the cycle of swollen tips, his tongue, and teeth against yours. When you pause and take a breath, the fog breaks and you consider each other.
Now, Tom’s eyes are darker, the brown encroached by his pupils. “Kiss me more,” he orders. His hand pulls your lips back to him and his arm tucks around you. It’s easy to melt into his embrace, letting him lead you. His heated kisses make you go limp in his arms, overwhelmed by the touch. Giving you a breather, Tom draws back and plants kisses down your throat. They’re hard and Tom sucks just enough to where you know your skin is marked. Arching your back and pressing into him, you turn into his kisses, begging him to go harder and harder. Once Tom’s lips have reached the spot between your neck and shoulder, he bites down. While you are gasping and shuddering under him, he tugs the collar of your nightgown aside, and continues to your chest.
It doesn’t take much for you to snatch Tom’s hand from your collar and guide it to your breast, encouraging him to massage at his will. He takes the cue instantly. His large hands are able to cup your entire breast, pushing it up so he may leave wet kisses at your cleavage. Your other hand sinks into his curly brown hair, grasping it while holding him closer and closer. Tom briefly releases you, only to push at your shoulder so you can lie on your back. He moves with you, shifting so his leg is draped over yours and he is on top of you. One of his hands is massaging your breast and the other is rubbing your nipple all while Tom dutifully worships you. Through the silk, his touch is cloying, almost giving you a buzz. You ache for more.
All you have to do is grab his wrist and whine and Tom stretches the collar of your nightgown and pulls your breasts out. Before gravity can settle them, he presses his thumbs over your nipples and brings them together. Flicking back and forth, as if your nipples were light switches and he wanted you on, he collapses into your bosom. Soon, his lips are replacing a hand and instead of the increasingly rough flicking, his tongue is now swirling around your nipple. Sometimes he breaks away with a pop, his swollen lips no longer holding suction to your breast.
You squirm under his ministrations, smother him in your chest, and try not to moan so loud.
“Merlin, Morgana, and fucking Mordred!” you try to pull Tom back by his hair but he refuses to unlatch. Trying again, you yank him back, and Tom looks at you dumbly. His lips are red, swollen, his face is smeared with his own spit. When you don’t say anything, his eyes drop back to your breasts and he bites his lip. Seeing as he’s gone stupid, you grab him by the hair again and bring him in for a fierce kiss. You force your tongue into his mouth and swirl around him, until he awakes from his daze and returns your effort. He pushes back into your mouth and you suck on his tongue, drawing a groan from him. This encourages you, sucking a little more before biting his lip and finally pulling back.
Tom’s eyes are not only nearly black, but heavily lidded. Tom Riddle would never slur his words but it was very close when he whispered, “I want you to list the knights of the round table next.” Then he dove back down to your breasts and pressed a knee in between your legs. This time, when he sucked and bit and you rolled your hips, there was friction. A strangled cry left your lips and Tom rocked his knee into you, making it harder to keep quiet. His mouth was marking your skin with prayers, eternally grateful to pay homage to you. The sweep of his tongue combined with grinding on his knee made you see stars. Feeling your body tensely arch into Tom, your deep breaths bury his face into your chest. Mean fingers clench your nipples, the pain pushing your head back in ecstasy. His knee follows the pace of your shudder until it stops and he is just softly kissing you everywhere.
“You never listed them,” he reminded you. Your already weak body sunk deeper into his arms as you sighed with dismay.
Turning away from him, “Don’t make me think, Tom.” The knee pressed against your center twitched, making you whimper.
“If you’re going to make a mess on my pants, at least do what I say.” You feel his nose dig into your cheek, but still ignore him. Tom continues to rock his knee against your center and you jump, not being able to hide your reaction.
One of his hands turns your face until you are cheek to cheek and he can whisper in your ear, “Just lissten.” A shudder runs down your spine but you still resist.
His irritation is palpable.
“You know it, slut, list them for me.” Your head whips towards him at the insult.
He leaves small kisses on your cheek, all the way to your ear, and whispers, “The knights of the round table my love, lissst them.” The tingle of his breath on the shell of your ear makes you flush. With a stuttered breath, you do as he says.
“Sir Lancelot.” He rewards you with a kiss under your ear.
“Sir Galahad.” His teeth run across your collar bone and you take a sharp breath.
“Sir Percival.” With his open mouth, Tom sucks the swell of your breast until it hurts.
“Sir Bedivere,” you whimper and he blows cool air on the bruise.
“Sir Kay.” Swollen lips engulf your puffy nipple and suck.
“Sir-” a moan breaks your recitation and when you halt, Tom tenses. He appears back in your face and gets close. Sweaty foreheads collide and you study each other. His hair is a right mess, his cheeks are so wonderfully pink, and his skin is shining with sweat. You want to keep thinking about how beautiful he is but he interrupts you, rather bossily.
“Say it again.” he orders.
Confused, you start again. “Sir-” his mouth muffles the rest. It takes a second for you to realize what he means. You can’t help the small laugh.
“Well then, sir, shall I continue?” you inquire, smiling cheekily. Tom graces you with a smile and kisses your cheek. Then he scoots back down to continue where you had left off.
It’s hard to talk with his mouth back on your nipple, but you manage. “Sir Tristan.”
“Sir Bors.” Tom gives you a chase kiss on your stomach.
“Sir Gareth,” comes out as a gasp because Tom is kissing in a sinful line from your hip to the soft curls between your legs.
He stares up at you and says, “Good job, now thank me.” And with him looking so angelic with his mouth so close that his breath is sending a chill over your center, you do. Tom doesn’t react the way you want though. He draws back and bites your inner thigh. When his eyes pan back to yours, they’re irritated and you recognize where you went wrong.
“Thank you, sir” you purr. Tom’s arms wrap around your thighs until his hands are splayed across your hips. His nose bumps into your pussy and you can feel his body inflate as he breathes in. When he breathes out, he dives in.
Tom moans when he tastes you. He teases your slit before pushing past your lips and finding your clit. He laps at it eagerly and you have to grab his hair in your desperation to get him to slow down. Dark eyes zero in on yours and watch as you melt in his mouth. The eye contact only breaks when he slides his face down into your cunt. Using his tongue to penetrate and his nose to nudge against your clit, Tom goes to town. His hands grasp your hips as they buck and try to redirect them so he can get deeper.
If you had a single sane thought in your brain, you would feel bad about smothering Tom in your pussy as you ride his face. But he must be as stupid as you are, because he obviously loves it. Apart from the wet sounds of him being completely engulfed in your wet heat, he's moaning and muttering to himself. It's all incomprehensible under the moans leaving your own mouth.
One hand leaves your hips and replaces his tongue. Fingers glide into your pussy, the only resistance being your walls clenching around him. As your body reacts, Tom goes still, and gives you a knowing look.
“Thank you, sir,” and his fingers curl inside of you. They push at just the right spot to make you almost scream. The back of your hand barely conceals it. Suddenly in tandem, his tongue and fingers fuck you perfectly, causing your body to practically float off the bed. Genuinely having to hold you down now, Tom keeps kissing your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you. Stars reemerge in your vision and he works you through the pleasure. After your orgasm, Tom rises back into your vision.
You beat him to the punch, “Thank you, sir.” And just cause, you pull him in for a kiss.
However, Despite that, Tom doesn’t look pleased. You cannot fathom why.
“I’m sure you’ve done all that with Malfoy already.” He sneers at you. Tom’s games are tired, so you just cross your arms and wait for him to get it all out. Of course, an indignant addition was coming along.
“I deserve a new experience.” As the idea appears to process on his face, you aren’t so sure you’re happy to let this pass. Tom has a wicked smile as he quietly opens his curtain and ushers you out of his bed. He leads you around the side, near the end of Abraxas’ bed.
And he opens the curtain.
Looming over you, Tom asks a question that you know only has one answer, “Are you a good girl who listens?”
Unsure of what will happen next you swallow, “Yes, sir.” Tom’s eyes flash and he flourishes his wand. He casts silencing spells, a notice me not, and something else, who knows. Tom’s hands grab you at your neck and waist and pull you in for a kiss. You can feel his hard length pressing into you and you’re hoping you know what’s coming next. Giddy, you follow his guiding hands and spin for him. He walks you up until your hips are against the foot of the bed, steers your hands until they are wrapped around the bed posts. Wiggling your ass, you hope to tempt him to tear your clothes off already, but he has other plans.
Tom whispers, “Incarcerouss.” Phantom ropes bind your wrists to the bed posts. Tom pushes your back forwards, until you are bent over the bed. Then he grabs your hair and pulls your head back until your eyes focus and you realize you are staring at Abraxas’ sleeping form, sweetly clutching your pillow.
Anxiety kickstarts your heart and when you tug at the ropes, panic sets in. Tom watches this and his only consolation is, “As long as we’re quiet, we’re fine, my love.” You feel his fingers grab the hem of your silken nightgown and slide it slowly until its bunched around your waist.
Closing your eyes, you try to forget that Abraxas is right infront of your face. In the darkness, your body relaxes. The heels of your feet inch farther apart as you spread your legs.
A dark chuckle comes from Tom. “You were mad I called you a slut and now you’re doing this…” A finger runs along your slit, he finds it dripping wet. He takes his time teasing your already sensitive pussy. Lazy fingers sit there while you grind against him. The word slut echos in your mind. You could hear the smile on his face when he said it. Something thicker than his finger bump into your pussy and your mind goes blank. All you can think of is the cool wood biting into the front of your thighs and Tom’s throbbing head dipping into your cunt.
A hum of contentment leaves Tom’s lips as he slides his cock through your folds.
“I bet you’ll love this,” he promises. Hands grip your ass while he snaps his hips into yours. He buries himself to the hilt and your pussy barely manages to stretch with him. The bed shakes with his thrust and there is no holding back your small scream. Both you and Tom stop, watching Abraxas, waiting for a reaction.
He’s still asleep. Tom watches you tense up, remembering all over again the consequences of moaning. The dread of waking Abraxas up, getting fucked by his best freind, is too much. Before you can start pulling at your wrists and protesting, Tom unburies himself and sets a nice pace. The newfound pleasure of his hard cock finally fucking you just as you needed it makes you completely forget about Abraxas. All over again.
The bed is rocking but you can't find it in you to care. Tom’s hand is pushing your face into the blankets, maybe trying to muffle you, all while slamming his hips into yours. Drunk on the pleasure from the rhythmic pounding, you dont notice the scene before you until Tom pulls you up by your hair again.
Abraxas is awake, clutching the blanket to his chest and watching you in horror. It’s plain on his face. Before your brain can process the damage you must be doing to him, Tom says, “Don’t be so upset about this Malfoy, you’ll love it.”
if you enjoyed lmk so i can finish the next part !! ( its tom x abraxas x reader !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! )
