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cass101 · 24 days ago

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congratulations on reaching 1k, my sweet girl mar! ❤️💖❤️💖

how about some smutty tutoring with the grumpy x sunshine trope (maybe with a hufflepuff! reader?)? 🔥

i think these two will go well with the trope:

“you get like this every time we study—tense and nervous. is it the topic or the company?”

“keep your voice down. or don’t. let them hear.”

and any class will do! i don't have a particular one in mind. the same goes for the kinks! go wild 👅

hehe, thank you, i love you 💋

1k celebration | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ʜᴜꜰꜰʟᴇᴘᴜꜰꜰ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆꒷꒦˚˖ Sweet Like Honey.

Short Summary: Tom Riddle doesn’t appreciate you not paying attention during his tutoring lessons—especially not if all you do is staring at him and his hands.

Warnings: 18+ only! DUBIOUS CONSENT. semi-public, fingering, praise, hand kink. Tom Riddle is a menace.

A/N: shoutout to my dearest wife @dearmisshoney for being the only one to request Tom’s Tutoring correctly. I love you. Have a whole 2,5k word fic as a gift.

wordcount: 2,5k

You’d always only seen the good in everyone.

That’s just who you were. Your sweet smile and open-minded personality had always only had a positive effect on others—and helped you make many friends over the years at Hogwarts.

Everyone seemed to love and appreciate you—praising you for your kindness and optimistic energy.

But still, there was one student who you couldn’t win over, no matter what you tried.

Slytherin’s prefect—Tom Riddle.

Every project you had done together was solved in silence. You’d blamed yourself for it for a very long time. Thought that your approach was wrong, that you’d given him the wrong impression.

But God, he wouldn’t even let you explain—instead, he cut off every conversation you tried to start.

At some point, you gave up. Let him be. You only worked with him if you really had to. The strange tension and awkwardness you felt whenever he spoke to you made you want to rip out your hair strand by strand rather than have another conversation with him.

You just couldn’t understand how a single individual could be this unapproachable and closed-off.

—

You’d just come back from Dumbledore’s office.

And you felt like throwing up. Literally.

You pleaded for someone else. Anyone, really—because there surely must be another student that could explain that one Defence Against the Dark Arts topic to you. Someone that wasn’tTom Riddle.

But Dumbledore only crooked an eyebrow, telling you there was no one else, and—if you didn’t wish to fail—you’d have to accept the offer.

Well, fuck.

—

You’d never been as prepared for a tutoring lesson in your life. It felt as though you’d mastered the topic all by yourself before the first session. All the hours and headaches you’d accumulated over the past week would have to pay off today.

Normally you wouldn’t have done this. Drowned yourself in work just so you wouldn’t have to take any more tutoring lessons. Your skin crawled at the mere thought of having to spend two hours with that arrogant prat—but it was too late. You’d done this to yourself.

What frustrated you even more—the fact that now, even without his help, you’d manage to pass.

Though not wanting to disobey the headmaster’s orders, you still showed up. Books and notepad in hand, leaning against the cold stone wall as you waited for him.

Nervously picking at your nails, you didn’t even notice Tom making his way towards you—not before you glanced up, that is.

He came to a halt right in front of you, one of his hands casually tucked in his pockets, the other holding a textbook.

Defence Against the Dark Arts for Beginners.

You were in your last year.

“I see you are able to make it in time—if it is for your benefit, of course.” Tom muttered, strutting past you into the library.

No hello, nothing. You hadn’t spoken in weeks, and still, he managed to get on your nerves with the first thing he said to you.

“That was one single time. And I had a good reason, Riddle.” You whisper-yelled after him, but he didn’t respond. Didn’t even wait for you to follow him either.

You inhale a deep breath before you too enter the library, trying to maintain your usual positive mindset—but God, it was more than difficult with him.

It was pre-exam season, meaning it was packed with students. Not even Madam Pince was able to keep control of the situation—it was all a mess, and your motivation to study had dropped to an all-time low at that point.

You knew his usual spot was to the left of the library, simply because the more useful books were stored on that side. Though, every seat was occupied. So, to his visible dismay, he had to settle for the only table for two that was left. Which happened to be in the first aisle, with a somewhat clear view of the center.

Obviously this spot was disliked. It was distracting. Every other minute someone walked past, or the librarian hurried down the aisle finding or returning a book.

“You are aware I am not a beginner, right?” You finally asked as you got seated, and he opened the book he’d brought—completely disregarding the material you had taken with you.

He didn’t even grant you a glance, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “Dumbledore described your situation as—let’s say—quite severe. To catch up until your exam, you will have to follow a strict study plan. Mine.”

Now, you were certain he knew you didn’t need this. It was just another act of humiliation.

You didn’t quite know what bothered him this much about you. Never had you met a person this infuriating and insufferable.

Still, you clenched your jaw and decided to follow along. If anything, you did this to satisfy Dumbledore. No other reason.

An hour had passed, an hour wasted. It was nothing new. He’d repeated the basics of the basics. And him, having shifted in his seat slowly over time, now sitting so impossibly close—so close, you felt the vibrations of his voice in the air—didn’t help the situation.

Although you hated him with all you had, you couldn’t quite deny the fact that Tom was one of the most handsome students—and with him mere inches from your face—you got an even better view of his features.

How the muscles in his jaw flexed whenever he spoke, the beauty mark on his cheekbone, the gel in his hair. Veins standing out beneath his skin when he reached to turn the page.

Although they were quick glances—he noticed them. Of course he did. The sweet little Hufflepuff next to him, acting oh-so-sweet and innocent next to her friends. But whenever he was around—your energy shifted. He recognized it all too well. Tom never cared about the chocolate and roses he received on Valentine’s. Too many to count, too many rejections to give out.

It was curious. All these cards, all these names. But never yours. Every single year he’d almost waited for your name to come up. It never did.

You were different in your own way—trying to deny him as best as you could. But he saw right through you.

He cleared his throat, and you were torn from your thoughts, from studying his features. "You get like this every time we study—tense and nervous. Is it the topic or the company?"

It felt as though a knot had formed in your throat. Impossible to swallow, suffocating you. Blood rushed to your cheeks, feeling them heating up.

You shake your head, briefly. Packing your books in a hurry. “I am— feeling unwell. Perhaps we could— continue another t-time?”

Tom huffs at that, his chocolate brown eyes meeting yours for the first time that afternoon. Suddenly you felt quite dizzy.

“Aren’t you here to learn something? It’s quite rude to leave now. Especially after you have so thoroughly examined my facial features as I was trying my best to get you back on track for your exam.”

You definitely felt like dying now.

“I— I don’t think this is a good idea, Riddle.” Your legs shook as you tried to stand up, but something—something that you soon recognized to be the warmth of Tom’s hand—anchored you to the wooden bench you were sitting on.

“Stay,” he said. An order. Voice low, barely above a whisper. He was still looking at you. Even as his eyes seemed to bore into the side of your face, you didn’t return the favour. The warmth of his palm on your bare thigh, resting just below the hem of your skirt, and him studying your face just like you had done to him mere moments ago—had you contemplate every life choice you had made that led you to this.

Tom, on the other hand, was enjoying himself. Your trembling fingers, clutching tightly around the books you had brought, your jaw, clenched tightly. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. His sweet little Hufflepuff. So sweet, you could very well challenge the honey he had at breakfast that very morning.

“A-alright, uhh— where were we? I remember you saying something about— oh—“

You had tried your best to ignore the hand on your thigh as you forced your brain to remember what he had said before you got lost in your own thoughts. A fatal mistake, looking back now.

It was about the effects of Crucio you believe and— well— that was all you managed to recall until his hand slipped higher. Not a mistake, definitely not. Because it stayed there. It felt hot against your skin now, as though it was trying to burn you. Your breath caught, and you choked on your words.

“Yes?” Tom said, more softly this time. “What was it that I was explaining?”

“Umm— Cru— Crucio and its long-term effects, and—“

His hand travelled further up your plush thighs, now slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt. Squeezing gently.

Yeah, you lost the plot again.

He lifted his hand slightly, reconnecting his palm with your flesh in a soft slap.

“Go on.”

You inhaled sharply, almost a sob.

“A-about curses and how we defend ourselves against them. H-how to reverse their e-effects—“

Tom nodded, his second hand lifting your leg, draping it over his—spreading your legs before his fingertips wandered up the inside of your thigh with the gentlest touch.

He kept your leg firmly pressed against his, even as you tried clenching your thighs together—to escape the sensation of his touch.

Tom leaned in then, slowly, his tone gentle as his lips brushed the shell of your ear, placing a soft kiss on it. “Too much?”

Any coherent thoughts had long left your brain. Shaking your head erratically was the only answer you gave him. The only answer he needed.

Two of his fingers worked their way beneath the waistband of your panties, having you hold onto the edge of the bench you were sitting on—knuckles turning white from how tightly you were gripping it.

His eyes studied your expression carefully as he first explored along the soft lace, then slipped deeper—one of his fingers finding your swollen clit, drawing soft circles on it.

You gasped, immediately covering your mouth with your hand—afraid someone might hear you—your fingers closing around his wrist, momentarily stilling his movements.

Tom waited, and as you relaxed, your fingers slipping from his wrist—he dipped between your folds, a low, throaty groan falling over his lips as he felt your arousal coating his finger.

“‘S that all because of me, hm? All wet just from staring at my hands.” He drawled, fingertip circling your entrance, dipping inside half an inch before withdrawing again. “You like my hands?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, gently rocking your hips to meet his touch. Tom hummed in approval, leaning in again to place a kiss just below your jaw.

“But what— what if someone sees us?” You asked, nervously glancing around you—but even those worries faded when he finally entered your slick heat, massaging your walls with precision that had your eyes roll to the back of your head, precision you wanted to hex him for.

“Then we will have a lot of fun in detention, sweetheart.” He teased, a second finger prodding at your entrance—too pushing inside.

“Now, tell me the most important reversal spells—if you stop, I stop.”

If you weren’t so far gone, you’d probably smack one of your books on his head.

“There’s— Finite Incantatem—“

His long, slender fingers pushed deeper, until the second knuckle, when he curled them—and you swore that for a second you saw stars dancing in front of you—another soft moan slipping from your lips.

“It ends— minor curses and— the effect of some hexes,” you continue, trying your best to play off any suggestive gasps as breaths—but you failed terribly at it.

In the meanwhile, his thumb made its way to your clit, rubbing gentle circles on the sensitive bud—which, again, had your concentration falter.

He stopped, and you whined in frustration—you needed this, and he knew it.

“S-sometimes you can also— use Episkey—“

At this point, you just told him anything you knew. No matter if he had mentioned it that day or not, you wanted to please him enough to grant you your release. And he did—ironically enough, he sped up, angling his thrusts just right when he heard students walking down the aisle. You didn’t notice them.

“Tom— oh God, Tom—“ you whimpered softly, thighs trembling as he brought you right to the edge, the knot in your stomach wound tight.

“There’s someone coming. Keep your voice down. Or don't. Let them hear." He murmured, thumb pressing down on your clit again—enough to send you over, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your walls pulsed rhythmically around his digits, which didn’t let up.

Not even when two Ravenclaw girls of your year walked past you. You saw them, yes. Yet, you weren’t able to hold back his name, accompanied by a small gasp.

Lucky for you, they didn’t notice.

Only when you whimpered in overstimulation did he withdraw his fingers, bringing them to your mouth. You opened without a second thought, tasting your own slick on his skin as your tongue worked to clean his fingers.

“That’s a good girl.” He purred, hand dropping to his side, pressing a kiss on your temple before he let go of your leg.

Tom let you catch your breath, briefly, before he decided it was “smart” to use the rest of your time. Knowing damn well you weren’t able to concentrate. Not now, that the realisation of what you had just done set in.

Those two hours passed faster than you had thought they would.

And when you left the library, looking at him—taking in the smug grin on his face you knew all too well from whenever he got what he wanted—he handed you a small piece of paper.

You recognized it instantly.

A detention ticket. For tomorrow afternoon. With him. For three hours.

“Before you ask. That’s for your skirt—school rules say below the knee. This one is clearly not long enough—although I doubt you don’t already know that.”

Your eyebrows furrow. That fucking—

“I hate you, Riddle.”

He turned, winking. “See you tomorrow, honey.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | 1k celebration. <- event masterlist.

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cass101 · 3 months ago

Text

you know-

Im not gonna shut up about it actually - you season 5 spoilers so if you're not insane and didn't consume that season at the speed of delirium scroll now

But season 1 and the way the story was told was truly a testament to the way Joe saw the world and the way he stole Beck's voice the entire time and THAT is why she came across as bland and boring and irresponsible and messy in the first season and why she was so unsympathetic to so many (not me but some of y'all know who you are) because she WAS Joe's trope and she only existed because he SAW her in season one - her light was only applicable when we saw it shine on him and he was so fucking good at making it seem like he was the only thing that drew out her radiance and creativity and fucking brilliance and everything else in her life diminished her, Joe diminished her and capitalized off her insecurities to do so. He championed breaking women down so he could try to be the one to "build them back up"

And the above being inherently untrue is why she haunts him so much because the reality is - Joe was the one who was absolutely nothing special without someone's light shining on him and Beck shone SO fucking bright

But then!!!!! Season fucking five!!!!!! We finally, FINALLY, see Beck through the light of someone who looked up to her!!! Who ACTUALLY saw her!!!! For her brilliance, for her kindness, for her light. We saw the fact that Guinevere Beck touched so many lives and she drew people in to the point where her impact stayed even when she wasn't aware of it.

Guinevere Beck is the perfect showcasing of a character who's light draws good people in to bask and bad people in to corrupt and/or diminish and capture. Joe wanted to capture her light and steal her intelligence - he never would've written in the first place if not for Beck and her creativity - he had to steal her voice to give himself one. Joe was a pro at playing feminist and him claiming to be Zelda to Beck's Fitzgerald is a PERFECT example because in THAT lies the most insane metaphor that Joe sees himself as the visionary and Beck as the one capitalizing off him - the way he accredits himself for Beck's essays about Peach, accredits himself for Beck's novel, accredits himself for all of Beck's success and beauty. Painting himself as the victim at every turn when in reality, Beck was always Zelda and Joe was always stealing from her the same way Fitzgerald stole from his wife.

And in the end, he's the one who lost anything interesting about him. Louise gave Beck back the most important thing, her voice, her writings, and she took away from Joe what never should've been his in the first place. No one will ever read his legacy because he doesn't deserve to have one, but EVERYONE will read Beck's and know the truth and THAT is the most glorious ending i could've hoped for

Season 4 was such a clusterfuck horror show of what happens when misogynistic men are so good at undermining women by convincing them they are feminist and season 5 was all about the power of women finally seeing the light and coming together to save each other and take back their voices

Joe stole from every single woman he came across AND the show being so starkly in his head even stole sense from the audience so to have the wrap up be a collective wake up and criticism of societies willingness to forgive and romanticize bad men made me shed several tears.

He lost his voice because nothing about it was his in the first place - he was NOTHING without all of those women

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