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fatesundress · 2 months ago

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⭑ lessons in wanting. tom riddle x reader

summary. “you try so hard to be in control, and yet in this one thing, you can’t.” “can you?” of course you can; your will has been steel as long as you’ve had it. you could walk away now if you wanted. but you step forward. and tom understands.

tags. 18+ MDNI, explicitly fem afab reader, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, academic rivals, pureblood reader, she is WEIRD okay i can’t do y/n stuff anymore she’s just got some issues, poor parental relationship, she probably needs a therapist but so does tom so it’s like pedmas basically, students have individual dorms for the sake of smut you're just gonna have to suspend your disbelief ok. tom has a bursary i don't know, fingering, cunnilingus, first times, freak4freak

note. HAPPY TWO YEARS OF FATESUNDRESS! i think the time between when i last wrote smut + the knowledge that i now have moots who are aware of this account and that it is me (GO AWAY!!!!) have worked in agonizing synchrony to give me the worst writer’s block of my life. every word typed felt like it was being spoken directly into a confessional booth. i may never write smut again. we move.

word count. 7k

It started as a natural pastime. Your name rose above his, his rose about yours, bouts of envy crossed bouts of pride and fizzled into renewed initiative. The goal in all of it was the same as it had been since you were a child: to do your best, and be sure your best was better than everyone else’s. Your parents endeavoured to see you to live up to your station and you made it your job to do just that. The fear was instilled in you young — that an ancestral name could draw as much scrutiny as glory if it wasn’t tended well.

So you tend to it. You just have no idea when doing your best morphed specifically into doing better than him.

At some point, though, the importance of the latter supplanted that of the first, and now you wade through your academic achievements drenched in bitterness and lumbering under their weight. A wet, sulking cat, Annette would call you. Congratulatory confetti has become an itch, and ovation a headache. No prize compares to the instantaneous stiffness of Tom Riddle’s shoulders at the call of your name on the top of some comparatively irrelevant list. Nothing is quite so sweet as your smile when you watch the muscles roll negligibly back into place, a little crack of his neck as his perfect posture is resumed, and, God — is he ever not performing?

Inspiration is inspiration. Your good grades don’t care why they’re good.

“Apprenticeships will open in the spring,” you say in a needless hurry, foot tapping under the table, two books open on either side of your breakfast, “which means I need to start planning which ones to try for.”

“I assumed you were trying for them all,” says Annette, her brow raised curiously. She drizzles an impressive amount of syrup over her plate.

“Of course I’m trying for them all. But I have to decide which one I actually want.”

“That should be an issue for when you’re sorting through acceptance letters, shouldn’t it? You’ll pass every test they give you, you don’t have to decide right now.”

“My parents will want an answer. Besides —” Your gaze zeroes in on his figure at the Slytherin table — “I want to know which one will bother Riddle the most.”

Annette blinks, dumbfounded. “I always wonder if I missed the part where he maimed you in first year or something. You know you don’t need to prove yourself to him, right? He’s intimidated enough as is, even if it doesn’t show.”

But you want it to show. What prize is worth more than that? What better proof of your prowess than to beat him in a way that visibly hurts?

You shrug, but it’s tense. “I’m not above admitting the maiming’s been done to my ego. To you, anyway — don’t tell anyone I said that.”

She continues to stare incredulously at you while the tines of her fork stab a pancake. You should know better than to think she would.

“It was somewhat motivational at first,” you sigh, relenting somewhat, “And sometimes it’s still fun, but I mean, he’s just so… Merlin, he’s so…”

“Good.”

Your agreement is a face plant and groan into your textbook.

It’s Defense Against the Dark Arts then.

Two months later, with eyes sunken by the sleeplessness of a winter holiday with your extended family and a new year rampant with work, you prepare. DADA is Hogwarts’ entry into several Ministry fields — auror, DMAC agent, virtually anything in the Department of Mysteries — but you know the position Riddle is vying for is within the castle walls. Everyone knows that. You have no interest in it, but if a poxy little office at Hogwarts is his heart’s desire, far be it for you not to make him sweat for it.

So you let him take notice. Your notes are sprawling with counter-curses, your textbooks with addendums, even your wrists — when parchment is sparse — are bleeding with the ink of cursory reminders: advanced concealment charms, manticore trails, sustained langlock. You have no idea what knowledge is expected on the test, so you reassert your knowledge of all of it.

The day Tom realises your intention, there’s all but a tic in his jaw to prove it. Good enough for you.

He’s returning a bottle to the potions cabinet while you’re feeling proud of yourself, when he stops behind you, barely clicks his tongue at your open notebook, and remarks tonelessly, “Manticore skin isn’t resistant to freezing spells.”

You tilt your head, mouth agape. He’s already gone.

“I think I might actually aim for DADA professor now,” you tell Annette that night, scowling, stomach-down on your four-poster with your head in your hands. “I mean genuinely, out of spite. I don’t want him to have it.”

Her reflection glares at you as she puts her hair into curlers. “You’ve officially lost it.”

“You didn’t see him, Nettie! He was so smug about it —”

“Which you are not.”

“Ugh.” You’re almost shaking. It’s objectively embarrassing. “The galleons I would give to see him fail at something, just once…”

She flops onto her bed and waves off the light. “Best of luck with that, darling.”

Luck is not what you need.

You’re certain he’s sped up his studies in some regard for the fact that your name remains firmly below his in DADA for the next three weeks. It’s always been his best subject, yes, but there should be some degree of fluctuation. That’s the game. You cross him only for him to push harder and find his way back, and vice versa. But ever since your stint in Potions, he’s immovable. And yet, if his efforts have indeed doubled, he doesn’t show it at all.

Tom Riddle is impervious. You’re starting to think he’s not entirely human.

There’s something exhilarating, typically, about competing with him — about even being entertained as contest. You won’t deny you’re impressed by him as much as you’re frustrated; that he’s managed to climb so high from the strange, quiet boy you remember in your early years, a muggle-born with nothing to his name — he’s still completely amiss, wrong inside in a way you can’t quite deduce, and you do vow to best him, but that isn’t nothing.

The usual exhilaration is lost in his refusal to give you so much as an inch. There’s no fight. You’re in the library day in and day out, your parents have been made aware of your newfound interest in DADA which means the course is set, and Tom doesn’t even have the decency to seem annoyed.

You avert his stolen glance when he enters that evening after dinner, in the slim hours before curfew when most would rather study in their common rooms. Minutely straighter, you cross your legs and jot something down in your notes.

He chooses to sit at a table directly in your line of sight. The prick.

It takes fifteen minutes and profound effort to fully re-immerse yourself in your work, and then your knee taps the edge of the table in rapid focus rather than frustrated distraction. In the last free hours of the night, you write five thoughtful pages assessing the many theories on Patronus forms and causality. The moonlight is soft on your cheek, your hand clamps down on a yawn, and you feel almost sated. Riddle aside, the research is good. You almost understand his interest. You almost don’t glance at him at all (except when he rummages through his bag for new ink, or another student departs and your eyes are pulled to him by no fault of your own but the tug toward movement) or wonder with your head stubbornly down whether he’s glanced at you at all.

He clears his throat. He’s standing at your table (since when?), a brow raised in scrutiny at your notes. On instinct you tuck them into your book. “Did you need something?”

His mouth tugs at the corner. “The library is closing.”

Oh. Lips pursed, you nod, slightly ruffled, but you'll be damned if he knows that. “Right. Thanks."

He waits for something more, but you only start to tidy your work.

“Were you working on the Patronus Charm?” he asks.

Catch.

“No," you say obviously, because it's an insult for him to think you'd need to. “I was studying theories on the Patronus Charm."

“I fail to see the distinction.”

Bite.

“A reflection of your cursory judgement," you say through a tight smile, yanking your bag over your shoulder and standing up.

There’s a hint of dryness in his tone, a flicker of his brows going up at your reaction. You offered too much. Still, he answers with a smile either more honest than your own, or more believable in its deception. “Allow me to walk you back.”

Reel.

Or do the muggles call it hook, line, sinker?

Oh, but how soft his voice is when he’s caught. He would be so good at being kind if he could mean it.

“I’m quite fine on my own,” you answer stiffly, striding past him.

“Shall I pace myself ten steps behind you as we walk in the same direction, then? That’s rather inconvenient for us both."

You don’t appreciate how even his derision is masked in charisma, like it’s lighthearted, like you’re friends. It’s starting to feel somewhat manipulative — that he plays the part so well you might have begun to doubt yourself were you a few cells lighter in the head. Fortunately, you are not. You scowl away the imprint of doubt like the most bitter of women, ironically antithetical to your parents’ desires for you (which are, of course, still a factor in why you’re doing all of this): that you be a wise, accomplished, pretty pureblood heir sans disposition of an ired spinster.

It’s not your fault, really. It’s just Tom.

“Do as you like,” you tell him, and he would like, apparently with great interest, to walk with you.

His shoes click smoothly on the stone, so much sleeker and finer than the ones you remember he wore once, and he doesn’t allow you the reprieve of silence.

“You’re markedly more interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts this term.”

How does a sentence so innocuous feel so much like winning? Because he cares. He noticed — he cares. God, you’re pathetic, but it sparks to life two realizations and a question.

There is a game at play here.

He’s playing it too.

How long has it been going?

It doesn’t matter. You bury your glee, admittedly overeager and underlaid with exhaustion.

“Apprenticeships will be filling soon,” you hum noncommittally, “I realized I overlooked the subject.”

“I wasn’t aware you overlooked anything.”

You raise a brow. “Apparently so, unless you’ve been looking too much.”

“My apologies,” he says unapologetically, “I only meant to say you’re otherwise astute. I’ve a tendency to find my compliments lost in my presumptions, but then most people don’t notice that either, so perhaps I was right.”

“Or perhaps you presume as excessively as you look.”

He smiles. There’s nothing kind in it. “Do you resent the observation itself or that I’m the one making it?”

“Are you arguing with me?” you ask dumbly, but if a bullet-point list of Things Tom Riddle Does Not Do is in the making, and he’s already offered you self-deprecation, self-awareness, and addressing the unspoken, then arguing plainly should be next. There are far dumber things to ask.

He doesn’t look to agree, and he’s still smiling insufferably. “Not at present. Best of luck with the apprenticeship.”

The door to your common room sighs open with his muttered passphrase. You hadn’t even realized you’d arrived. He doesn’t glance back at you once as he enters, disappearing into the men’s dormitories before you have half a response conjured. Of course, you dwell on it all night, considering a hundred worthy rebuttals to be better prepared next time.

Next time is not for another two months.

Exam season is approaching with a pace rapid enough to stir even the more careless academics among your peers. Quidditch has taken pause, the library is full each night, and a few professors have opened their offices an extra hour or two for additional assistance. You take them up on it often. If you weren’t sleeping before, you certainly aren’t now. Your eyes are bloodshot as a teething vampire’s — a creature for which you now know more than you’d ever cared to before — and your hands jittery with an age beyond your own. You are, effectively, destroying yourself. It makes your parents incredibly proud.

Their letters urge you through the season, stern reminders of potential arrangements to marry and social events dotting every weekend of the summer, that a witch who’s devoted so much of herself to her studies must finish with something to show for it. It’s support in the loosest definition, but it’s what you know. Annette, fortunately, has also come around to your chosen field (though she continues to remind you your reasons are ridiculous), and so you persevere, entangled with the Dark Arts in a way that you never imagined you’d actually enjoy. The predicament is horrible, of course; you would have done well to retain the information from the past near-decade of studies instead of cramming it for a quick runner-up mark.

Is there a way to blame this on Tom? You’ll find one.

He’s an efficient puppeteer, you’ll give him that. The wane and wax of his interest stirs at a nascent hunger in you. He knows exactly how much to offer before rescinding it. His approval, and better yet his ire, are somehow more desirable than that of your pureblood competitors. They were always going to be a challenge. Tom was owed nothing, and had taken it anyway.

If Annette could hear your thoughts she’d urge you to write a love letter and get it over with. Internally, you argue with this imaginary accusation.

This time it’s the common room, half-empty as moonlight spills into the lake, and he takes the seat opposite yours without greeting. He settles softly. You stiffen, finger at the corner of your current page. You hover over a chapter on Ekrizdis until the letters blur.

“You weren’t at dinner,” he finally says.

“Am I your charge?” you respond without looking up.

You’re giddy. You cannot let it show on your face. His observation alone is an admission of defeat that you will not mar by feeding into it.

“Technically the entirety of Slytherin house are my charges.”

“Then you should at least pretend to remain impartial.”

“Perhaps you could teach me so that I might improve, beginning with pretending to read to appear indifferent.”

You glare at him over the edge of your book and set it down quite forcefully on the table. You cross your legs. You cross your arms for good measure. The huff of air is not for display — he’s just incredibly annoying.

And he smiles. Barely.

“I don’t think I need to teach Tom Riddle the art of pretending,” you say coolly, “Nor do I need his lecture.”

“Meaning?”

“Ah, see? Now you’re pretending to be stupid. I think you understand exactly what I mean.”

“And you’re pretending to have enough interest in Defense Against the Dark Arts to pursue a career in it.”

“You obviously have some assumption you’d like to share, so by all means, do.”

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get my attention.”

You scoff up a laugh. “If I were, I’m sure I’d be thrilled. You’re here. I evidently have it.”

“And what do you intend to do with it?”

He’s serious. Serenely, slow-blinkingly serious.

It’s a preposterous question, for one, and you’re momentarily stunned by the urge to interrogate what answer he wants, rather than consider the truth. And you think maybe that is the answer: to make him want what only you can give him. The evidence of it is sitting in front of you. You’ve pushed beyond curiosity and into fixation. He wants to understand and you want him to be driven mad by it. There is nothing else to ‘do with his attention.’ This is it.

Your lack of response only spurs him on. “How far are you going to take this?”

You don’t know. Merlin, you have no fucking idea, because you don’t know what you want. A petty contest should not induce an identity crisis, but — how far are you going to take this? The outline of your life is all but preordained: you’ll graduate, you’ll attend the obligatory summer social rituals, you’ll sit through idle conversation with potential marriage matches like the muggle women of last century, and you’ll work in any field you like because you’re good at everything and not particularly interested in anything.

DADA is… different. You’re not too fussed about the performance of it in the way most aurors are, waving their wands with the most impressive spells they can think of. It’s the subtleties not taught in your curriculum that have been fascinating. The history of how these spells came to be, the origins of the monsters and by extension the necessity of new protections, the mastery of invention, of bestial capture, of strenuous research compiled over millennia; the core of the subject is phenomenally understated, and for that reason understandably overlooked.

And maybe professor at Hogwarts is not your highest aspiration — that’s still the game — but you’ve craned your neck over too many tomes in the past few months to dismiss the entirety of your study as summer refuse.

“How far can I take it before you stop me?” you ask instead.

He smiles. “I don’t intend to stop you.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“What? Watching you struggle, for once, to keep your place beside mine? No.”

He says it with such certainty that your cheeks go hot. Like it’s so absurd to imagine you could ever get to him.

“Say what you like,” you press, defensive, “but you’ve come to me twice now, and I know your intrigue is never without suspicion. Do you vanish from the library merely to study more frantically alone? Do you go there only to sit in my line of sight?”

“Do you watch me?”

Embarrassment has a habit of making you angry. Some might say it stems from entitlement. You don’t really care. With all of the etiquette you’ve spent your lifetime absorbing swiftly discarded, you rise from your seat, grab your book, and tell him with the words a bit uncanny to fuck off.

Admittedly, a few more seconds and you might have come up with something less inarticulate and more befitting your station.

Barely halfway across the carpet, you stop, laugh, turn on your heel and laugh again, because how dare he? “You came here just to inform me of my absence at dinner, you absolute — you watch me!”

You stomp off again, passing by his chair when he speaks.

“I do.”

Your heel snags on the tassels of the carpet. The book is comically heavy. There’s a gust of wind, underground, in a room with no open windows, for the first time in the thousand years since its construction. These are the reasons you stumble. There is no correlation between those two words and your feet slipping out from under you.

And yet, you don’t fall. Only in the most blatant sense is crisis averted.

When his fingers balance you by the hip, it is well and truly not because it’s Tom that you react. You’d swear the same thing under Veritaserum and hear the words spill out true: touch is touch. Human beings who have long gone without it will respond when they finally get it, no matter the person. A shudder. A reflex. An instinct to lean in or out, and yes, this time it’s in. That’s all it is; Tom’s instinct — uncharacteristically kind, perhaps — to wrap his hand around whatever will steady you, with fingers long and pressure firm.

You suck in a breath, goosebumps darting across the sliver of skin exposed by your raised jumper. It’s not because it’s Tom that you react. It is absolutely because it’s Tom that you react like this.

This, to be clear, is not much. For a woman accused of obsession, you’d hold up decently under Annette’s scrutiny now. It is the aforementioned shudder and horripilation at his sudden touch, a fleeting little gasp like opening a door and finding it a few degrees colder than expected, but you hardly tremble in his hold like a vestal damsel. And you are technically exactly that, so what does it matter? Tom Riddle certainly hasn’t been busying himself between anyone’s legs with all the time he doesn’t have, and if he had you would have known, because everyone would have known, and all things considered it’s a bit strange to wonder with such defensiveness at someone’s hypothetical virginity, but describing Tom’s as hypothetical at all is honestly a testament to your generosity.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t need to be much. All it takes is the moment of hesitation before pulling away to become aware of the point of contact. Not that it’s owed or wanted or reviled in any way, but that it had not existed before and now it does. And this, in every tangible way, changes nothing, but in his eyes, slipping away with apology, you understand quite ridiculously that it might change everything. Now it exists, and that means it could exist again.

The thought doesn’t take long to ruin your life.

In fairness, you’ve done a great job of ruining your life all on your own, and this is really a footnote in a very long list, but the ink bleeds through the rest. You are stained by awareness, itching through spring allergies and schoolwork and preparations for graduation. It’s there under everything: the knowing. Some irrational anticipation for a thing you can’t name. Tom hands you a beaker in Potions and you’re actively avoiding the brush of his pinky like you’re five years old and newly horrified at the prospect of cooties. The knowledge goes both ways, of course — Tom is too perceptive not to have noticed the change began with his fingers on your skin — but you’re not so egotistical to imagine it’s as ruinous for him as it is for you.

God, you hope it is.

May comes. Sun bursts through Scottish rain, pulling you (by Annette’s hand) to study in the courtyards for the final stretch of your final term. Your mother sends flowers and well-wishes wrapped in delicate warnings. The message is in her letter as delicately as it wafts through your dormitory in a bouquet of anemone and cosmos: anticipation and order: this is it. Her reminder resides in a charmed vase on your windowsill, red as a blister.

The tests for the various apprenticeships offered to graduating students are not so dissimilar from the ones you took in your earlier schooling, and Annette wasn’t wrong in assuring you you’d pass them easily. Of course, you won’t be told until the summer that you’ve passed them, but you know. You don’t falter for a moment. Not for the Ministry’s trials or the Alchemist’s League or St. Mungo’s Healer’s Apprenticeship. It’s half an effort to surpass their expectations; the worst consequence at the end of each day is a sore wrist.

At night, you lie in bed and wonder if it’s the lack of competition. There’s no board to track your name on, and no one you respect who wants the positions you’re seeking anyway, and you’re hardly seeking them yourself, and — is it respect? Is that what you feel for Tom?

You don’t know. The more you succeed, the less you seem to feel at all.

By June, you’ve exhausted every trial but the undesirables, and the charm on your mother’s flowers has begun to falter. Red petals wilt to brown on your windowsill.

So when a hollow morning rises where you decide to do something you want, with no one else to tell you to want it, you do it quietly, because you’re not sure you know how to do it any other way.

It’s a Sunday. The halls are quieter, dispersed now that there’s light outside to relish in, and there’s no need to tiptoe like you’re out past dark, but you may as well. The post was pinned outside Tomes and Scrolls. The vellum was fittingly thin and ecru, with no flourishments or golden frame. And there you went, and here you are, and it feels like a belated teenage rebellion to even entertain something so simple.

The test is half spoken and half defensive. None of the spells are extraordinary displays of magic, but practical — examples of what you might need to know should you ever encounter the odd danger in a field study. The recruiter is old. His skin is sun-spotted and honey. He wears fabrics of great texture and colour, with seams worn from years of use, and in his eyes you see the glint of everything he has seen. There’s so much of it. He isn’t a paid lackey of some magical superior, reading from a script designed to buy you too. He is a living extension of his study. There’s no contest, and so there’s no prize, and for once, absolutely fucking nonsensically, you want. You feel something.

In the courtyard, with your textbook open beside you, Annette picks wildflowers in hues of yellow. You empty your mother’s vase and fill it with them instead.

“It’s an archivist position,” you tell her quietly, like it’s a secret, “or — it’s a bit complicated. There are archives in the shop, but the job is field archaeology? He studies the birthplaces of magic, old battlefields and castles and — I don’t know. I liked it.”

Annette laughs, shaking her head.

You sulk. “You think it’s ridiculous.”

“Stop,” she scolds, but her smile is still there. “I think it’s fucking brilliant, actually.”

“What?”

“You’re doing something just because you like it. It’s been a long time since you’ve done that.”

You bite your cheek. “So I should take it, if I get it?”

Annette deadpans, your name flat and accusatory when she speaks. “If you don’t take this job, I’m going to kill you.”

Ear-to-ear, you grin.

In the last weeks of school, you write only a brief letter to your parents and await a howler each morning at breakfast. You receive none. There’s only a slip of parchment too small to fill an envelope, falling over your first meal of June.

We’ll discuss it when you’re home, your mother says. Sincerely is how the message ends, but you wouldn’t call it that.

Shoved swiftly into your pocket, you find you care less than you probably should.

The repetitive ritual of saying goodbyes and see-you-laters becomes tedious when you’re unsure who falls into which category. You gift your favourite professors small tokens of gratitude and wish them well. Courses dwindle to the summer-steady pace of a curriculum at its bittersweet end, with nothing but a week’s worth of exams to keep you here. It’s nice. To sit in the sun over shared notes and reminisce, to wonder whose faces you’ll know long enough to see age, and who will filter to this moment in time.

Tom is under one of the trees, shaded from the sun and kissed by the breeze. You can’t place which one he’ll be to you.

It’s harder to decide this than the archivist post. Annette, like she’s been waiting for you to come to a conclusion she had years ago, is the one to push you. There are no threats of murder this time, but her glare instills fear enough. Now you’re here, pacing a corridor you had to charm to get to, which feels ridiculous already, but — you can want more than once, can’t you? You can have more than one thing, for no selfless reason, or selfish reward, and with great risk to your pride.

So you knock. A moment passes. You think your heart is going to burst from your chest.

The door to Tom’s dormitory opens and he looks exactly how you imagined he would, late at night, alone and still half-performing. He’s taken off his blazer, at least, folded over the back of his chair, quill propped on an ink pot and candles softly dancing. His tie is absent. You try not to let your eyes drift too far down from his undone buttons, but — so is his belt. He’s as dishevelled as you’ve ever seen him, and the surprise that flickers across his face is still gone too soon.

You swallow. Sense would inform you that this is where a greeting goes; you don’t provide him with one.

“I’m not going for your post.”

Tom straightens somewhat. “You’re not.”

“No.”

“Just like that?”

“It wasn’t quite that simple, but yes, I suppose.”

“So that’s the answer, then? To how far you’d go?” he asks, chin raised, “Right to the end only to not follow through — It’s unlike you.”

“It’s not like that,” you protest, because it isn’t, you’re not giving up or handing him anything. “I didn’t know if I wanted it or not. Now I know I don’t.”

“And what did you want?”

“I wanted it to bother you.”

“Why?”

You sigh. “Does it matter now?”

“Well, for once you came to me. I’m assuming it was for more than to tell me the job is mine.”

“The job isn’t yours yet, Riddle. Some other poor sop might still take it out from under you.”

“I’d curse them for it. Why did you come here?”

“Would you have cursed me?”

He says your name, softly, a warning to steer you back in place. He’s smiling, so slightly you wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t trained yourself to notice everything about him. “Why did you come here?”

You know he won’t ask again.

“Because I didn’t know what I wanted, and now I do, and for a while it was bothering you, and then it became bigger than you. I don’t know when that happened.” You shake your head, aware of the insanity of your confession. “I like the work. It was unnerving at first; I’ve almost forgotten how to like anything without some greater reason, and now the reason is just me, and somehow I — I still wanted to tell you. In the spirit of learning to want things properly, I suppose. I was looking for your name under mine all week. ”

“Your overconfidence is characteristic enough to rule out possession.”

“Please, I was one assignment away from taking your spot and you know it.”

“You still haven’t told me why.”

“Because I like it when your jaw clenches,” you say miserably, if everything is to come out now, “or your shoulders go taut. I like when you try to pretend I don’t get to you, and fail.”

“Why?” he breathes. It’s different from the last.

“Because it’s involuntary. You try so hard to be in control, and yet in this one thing, you can’t.”

“Can you?”

Of course you can; your will has been steel as long as you’ve had it. You could walk away now if you wanted.

But you step forward, and Tom understands.

“Tell me you want to keep it, and I’ll let you," you whisper, and it comes out a bit jagged, like the line you're both treading. “But I’ll give you mine if you don’t.”

He clenches his jaw. There's a second. An inch. His breath on your skin, still guarded, but with eyes flitting down to your lips.

“What do you want, Tom?”

There is a literal threshold now, your feet at the line of his doorway, and his hand slips from the frame as if by accident. You know better than that. The space is open to slink beside him, to cross the threshold, to take his silent offer.

“Oh,” you inhale, mouth twitching not to smile, and his body is close enough now to relish the warmth of his hitching breath. “I think I know.”

You hear it again when he kisses you.

The technicalities of a kiss are lost to it, like he’s breathing life into you, and you’d think of it clinically because you’ve known it no other way — to succumb to a wave and wake up to new air blown from mouth to lung, the practiced rhythm of resuscitation — only this isn’t that. There’s no purpose to it but the feeling, sprawled under him and still standing, the door slammed shut, the clumsy brush of noses. You’re surrounded, solid at all sides.

It's a good thing he's already dishevelled and in no position to complain if he wasn’t, because your fingers wind through the gaps between his buttons, the eager jumping of his pulse where you find his heart. That does nothing to save you, however — you entered this room pristine. Any mess made of you will inarguably be by his hands.

And a mess of you he does make.

“Tom," you sigh between kisses, and you feel his smile on your lips before you see it.

Tom. Not Riddle.

“What was that?”

“Shut up," you hiss, fingers (very deftly, you must say, for the way his hands are travelling down your back) prodding at the uppermost buttons to pop it free. It seems to be resisting. Fucking nuisance. You yank it clean off.

“You're a mess,” he tuts.

He’s a mess. He's wild, half-unbuttoned and reckless, all of his careful restraint broken to splinters, and you’re kissing him like you’re starving, damn the whole thing.

But when have you felt like this? When have you been kissed like this? When have you wanted, simply, and had? Never.

“What are we doing?” you ask with a disbelieving laugh, like it’s only dawning on you now that you were raised not to do precisely this with men like him.

His answer is low in his throat, warm where his mouth drags down yours. “Don’t you know?”

“You always answer a question with a question.”

“You ask too many.” He glances up at you, and the look in his eyes is devastating. “Let me.”

It’s a request even if it isn’t spoken like one, so earnestly not Tom in its honesty that any reason urging you to deny him is lost to the satisfaction of a thing like that. Neither of you, who seem to know everything, know this.

You barely breathe a yes but he’s so close that it doesn’t matter. He hears you, he knows, and he’s mouthing along your collar while his fingers work on your buttons.

“You’ll have to tell me what you like,” he says at your chest, pressing kisses lower and lower. His teeth drag where he finds your leaping pulse. One of his hands slips your blouse off your shoulder.

“Will I?” you murmur dizzily, clasping a hand in his hair.

Goosebumps trail after his fingers, drifting along the swell of your breast. His smile presses against newly exposed skin. “Another question?”

The bra slips down and you’re half-bare before him, strangely uninhibited, warm with anticipation at what you’ve been taught to find terrifying, because Tom is too. Because he’s studying every inch of you as it’s revealed, as if you are something new to be learned as he wills himself to learn all else. This, you’ll let him best you in. This you will not argue.

He inches down, one knee on the floor before the other, and you can’t imagine that’s the way these things usually go — the positioning seems strange for what you know is meant to be done — but you keep your word. You card your fingers through his hair and watch as his gaze raises higher with every inch he sinks lower.

“You’re insatiable.”

He kisses your stomach. “For you.”

“For everything.”

“Mm.” He lifts your skirt around your waist. He nips your stockinged thigh. “For you.”

The intimacy of his gaze wracks through you, and you shudder, careening over him, hastily gripping his shoulder for purchase. Instinct bids you follow him down, but he stops you. Holds you still. And his hands trace the shape of your thighs to your hips, the elasticity of the stocking band tested when he hooks a finger beneath it and pulls.

“Tom,” you say, as equally a warning as it is a demand.

You expect his chastisement, but he’s preoccupied, gazing at every stretch of you revealed as he tugs your stockings down. He’s half-knelt now like he’s posed to propose, and he abandons his pursuit momentarily for the buckle of your heels. Guides your foot to rest on his knee. Softly, slowly, slips the rest of your stocking free. Discarded, he kisses the bare skin of your ankle with his eyes still on you.

Context fills in the gaps of your inexperience as his lips trail higher. You pull gently at his hair, coaxing a little noise from him that makes you stutter. “What are you doing?”

Tom tilts his head. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I — No, I — it just isn’t what I… Where did you learn about this?”

His hands snake up the backs of your thighs, finding the last remnant of silk that separates you. “I didn’t.”

The implication is overwhelming. There’s no cause to draw, no attempt to master something read once but never tried, no game. He just wants you.

You nod at an unasked question, and the silk falls. Tom’s breath quickens. Flustered, heart pounding, you look up and away at anything but him — his stack of texts, an engraved chest, the emerald canopy of a bed far more appropriate for this. He digs into your hips for your attention. A breath of your name nearly sighed. You meet his waiting gaze.

“Look at me,” he says.

He leaves no time for you to flush and hide away from him. His fingers slide between your legs. There was a word you imagine meant to come out of your mouth but you can’t remember it. His name is all that you find.

And that he is unpractised in this doesn’t mean he doesn’t endeavour to learn, with every quickened breath, shudder, grasp of his hair, what you like. And you suppose he asked you to tell him, but he didn’t ask you how. He hears you well enough, a moan when he finally presses into you. There’s a moment to adjust, an overwhelm at the newness of it, and then you’re sighing like you could melt, held up by the desk behind you and his hand pressing into your hip.

His mouth follows quickly. You understand without any pretext that this is exactly what he wanted.

“Tom, I —”

He does nothing but shush against you, his finger curling, his lips sinfully wet. You arch back, fumbling at the desk. It’s an effort you’re losing to remember to look at him, but his grip tightens when you stop, and he hasn’t stopped once — every time your head lulls back to him, he’s already looking. His eyes are half-lidded, blocked from all light but the warm silhouette of the candles behind him, and it chokes a gasp out of you. You think, in the haze of your desire, that you want to make him feel like this too.

And then the thought is gone with all your others. Another finger slides against you, works its way inside so softly, curls right beside the next one. He pulls away from you for a moment, teething the skin of your thigh, licking the mess he’s made. You’re shaking. You can’t look at him. You can’t, you can’t —

His breath fans over you for a second, tongue dragging, and you’re arched halfway onto the desk now, so he relents, pushes you up by the hips so you can sit, spreads you wider to accommodate him. It’s different. He’s deeper somehow. You whine into nothing, bucking against him. He throws one leg over his shoulders and you copy with the other.

“Please, I need —”

“I know.”

His voice is hoarse — you feel it as much as hear it — and faintly, impossibly, you catch a tone of restraint in it. There’s no restraint in what he’s doing to you. You can’t imagine what more he could possibly be withholding. But you slip a trembling leg from his shoulder and understand, hard between his legs where your foot just briefly brushes against him. You gasp as his motions stutter and you’re shoved back in place.

“Tom, you can — ah —”

Apparently not. He repositions you again and that’s all the answer you get, thighs wedged apart, fingers pulled free and digging wet into your hips to pin you there. You make a sound of protest at the emptiness, but it provides his mouth new access. It’s like he’s trying to consume every part of you he couldn’t already, and you want him to. You’ll let him. You understand with his tongue, drinking greedily from you: here’s the restraint gone. All of it.

It breaks you. The crash gleams like a kaleidoscope, so dizzying to every sense that you can only hold onto him and pray. And you might be sighing brokenly through it, but your voice is gone to the feeling. Tom doesn’t stop for a second; if anything it spurs him on, and you are limp to all sensations, his notes spilled across the floor where you’ve been splayed on the desk for him.

You’re panting as you come down, and he’s suckling softly at the skin of your inner thighs again, hands rubbing soothing shapes above your knees. You look down at him. He still hasn’t looked away.

“You’re…” You don’t have words for him. You fall back against the desk again.

“Mhm.” You’d mistake his patient mumble for something sweet if you didn’t know him any better.

“Maybe you should be a teacher.”

Tom breathes out a laugh, lips still trailing down, his reverence overwhelming. He doesn’t seem ready to part from this. You think you can convince him.

“All right, fine,” you say breathlessly, “help me up.”

He raises a brow.

“What? It’s my turn.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle fic #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle smut #tom riddle oneshot

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digitaledemocratie · 7 months ago

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Harnessing Zero-Knowledge Protocols for Modern Authentication and Privacy

Introduction Zero-knowledge protocols represent an intriguing paradox in the realm of cryptographic technologies: they enable one party (the prover) to demonstrate knowledge of a secret to another party (the verifier) without disclosing the secret itself. Originating from foundational work by Goldwasser, Micali, and Rackoff, these protocols have evolved into powerful tools for secure…

#blockchain #blockchain referendum #Blockchain Technology #blockchain voting #Digital Democracy #e-democracy #e-participation #e-voting #Secure Voting #zero knowledge #Zero knowledge proof #Zero Knowledge Protocols #ZKP

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crypto28ro · 3 months ago

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Zero-Knowledge Proofs în Bitcoin: Securitate și Confidențialitate Avansate

Introducere Bitcoin a revoluționat sistemele financiare prin introducerea unui mod descentralizat de a efectua tranzacții, bazat pe o tehnologie blockchain transparentă și securizată. Totuși, această transparență, deși esențială pentru integritatea rețelei, ridică probleme privind confidențialitatea tranzacțiilor și a datelor financiare. În acest context, dovezile cu cunoștințe zero…

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vamptarot · 10 months ago

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Ten Things That Are F### Cool About You | PAC

pile one pile two pile three

how to choose a pile . . . choose which picture you are most drawn to or close your eyes, breath and read the one your eyes land on! ᡣ𐭩

— ⭑.ᐟ today I saw a pick a card that not only pissed me off but also disgusted me due to how mean the reader was in every single pile. I checked. their egoistic approach annoyed me. instead of spreading hate, I wanted to remind you why you are an awesome person. not proof read.

pile one : - cold drink !

𐙚 : the high priestess, eight of wands, nine of wands reversed, death

bottom of the deck: five of wands

♡ ⢷ why you are so cool

1. You always research about a topic before talking about it! I think this is very cool because a lot of people spread misinformation without even knowing it and that’s why fake fun facts exist. You are not like that though! You feel a sense of responsibility and thirst for knowledge, which in itself makes you a reliable person. - and source! -

2. You protect those who cannot stand up for themselves and I think that is very cool! Usually, you might have a hard time standing up for yourself but if it’s someone more vulnerable than you then you will give your all. You will raise your voice, yell, make valid arguments and even fight if necessary. - This differs person to person but the imaginary I am getting is protecting children, animals, women and young teens (from creeps to be exact) -

3. You work on yourself and enter new beginnings even if it’s scary at times, it can be hard and scary but that doesn’t make you back off from actually trying your best to become someone that you can be proud of. There is always a sense of hope within you that is very admirable.

4. You know how to keep privacy! A lot of people don’t, and don’t value it as much as they should. Having a healthy boundary with privacy is a privilege not many realise they have.. also, if you happen to share an intimate moment with someone you don’t run your mouth but rather treasure it as a memory as a form of respect.

5. Some people in this pile have temper issues, obviously, don’t take it if that doesn’t apply to you but I am seeing that for those of you who can resonate with that you are doing a really good job keeping it under control. You are not a hot headed person.

6. You are very experimental with looks! I do think this makes you a very beautiful person, because there are several things that suit you and look cool on you. If you like taking pictures I hope you know that you look beautiful and gorgeous in each one of them, one day you will look back at them with a smile even if you didn’t like that one thing because at least you gave it a try.

7. Zero judgment detected in your soul. Seriously, you could be the sort of person that never freaks out at people’s ‘hear me out’s but rather just go ‘yep, I get why you are into that’ even though you have no attraction to whatever character or person they said. You get their point, it’s just not one that you will make.

8. My fashion babies in this pile are slaying each and every time! You could take dressing fashionable in a seasonal manner mildly seriously. You don’t expect everyone to do it, but it’s most definitely something you take a lot of joy in. It’s really cool, your style is a 10/10. - Yes, even if you change it up often. -

9. Even if you are anxious you can do things so incredibly well. You remind me of a video I once saw of a girl with anxiety making a phone call, her hands were shaking uncontrollably the whole time but she didn’t stop being polite and kind. I think that’s you. Even in moments of being scared, you are kind to people.

10. You have such a beautiful voice. I mean your singing voice, but if you are not confident in that this could of course mean your regular speaking voice too. There is something comforting and yet bittersweet about your voice. It makes people feel home at times when they are sad.

— ✮⋆˙ die with a smile - bruno mars & lady gaga , ‘good luck babe’, 2003 , enha photoshoots , guitar injuries (from the string breaking) , white dahlias , glitter videos (those 2021 ones) , ‘good luck, charlie!’ , wavy hair , not well known ethnicity , taurus , capricorn , pisces

that’s all my beautiful pile one! I do think you happen to be very shy, but I do hope that you know that you genuinely have so much love to offer. there is much more to you than what you show the world, but I think you already know that. thank you for reading

paid readings

pile two : - peace sign ! ✌🏻

𐙚 : page of pentacles, eight of swords reversed, queen of wands, five of pentacles reversed, page of cups reversed, the star reversed

bottom of the deck: judgement

♡ ⢷ why you are so cool

1. YOU THINK YOU ARE SO COOL AND MYSTERIOUS BUT YOUR HEART IS FULL OF LOVE AND KINDNESS 🫵🏻 YOU TREASURE YOUR LOVED ONES AND WOULD RATHER SACRIFICE YOURSELF THAN TO EVER SEE THEM SUFFER !!YOU ARE SENSITIVE AND LOVABLE !!!!!!!!!

2. After all that you have went through you are still here and you are still standing. All that happened but rather than it destroying you completely or bringing you down you allowed yourself to heal and I am very proud of you for that.

3. Your judgement of people are very great! Of course if you don’t like someone of have mean thoughts of them you will keep it to yourself in order to not upset anyone, but you are still really good at telling their personality by their behaviour. Other people might not know but you do.

4. You are a secret little romantic! I bet it makes you shy to express your emotions outward and so freely. Truth to be told, you want to experience so much romantic things and wish to think of them without experiencing negative emotions. This makes you cool because even though you have a hard time with it, you know it’s a part of you and accept it.

5. You are so kind to animals, take care of them and most people reading this pile have a pet too. I think animals are just naturally drawn to you regardless of what they are. - as in pet, stray or wild animal. - It’s like they know they can be safe with you.

6. ‘You can slap a bitch if you need to’. Literally, that’s what I heard.. and I think most people here take pride in it too right? Just make sure to not get into unnecessary fights. It’s not what makes you cool though. It’s that you keep to your word. If you say you are gonna do it, you really will.

7. A lot of you find comfort in the stars and moon. In an aesthetic sense, but also there is a deep sense of appreciation for them that not many people have. They just put you in awe. If you are into astrology you have such a deep and profound understanding of it. One that not many people have.

8. Honestly, your view of life is sort of clouded and not completely “whole” but that’s alright. Exactly because day by day you do your best to learn and never turn an opportunity to see life from a wider perspective down, even if you might have done this in the past.

9. You are sooo talented, and you don’t even realise that. You are amazing in creating things; anything that is physical. This is especially true if you like jewellery, as I think designing or just making your own craft is something that you would/could enjoy doing if you put your own unique twist into it. It’s just something that makes you feel alive.

10. You are so confident! Even if you might not always feel like it, on the outside you always appear confident and aware of your surroundings. Someone composed who wants to present themselves in the best way possible. - You probably pay a lot of attention to your posture. -

— ✮⋆˙ ‘I don’t even wanna do this anymore’ , homework from 1 am ‘til 4am , 9 to 5 , jean purses ? , ditto - new jeans , a bent photocard (of whoever) , 7 - JK , stars , something about the four seasons ? , fave colour = red , ‘letta’ , cappuccino & frappuchino , friendly banter , 111 , 1212 , 2011 , sagittarius , aries , leo

i am sorry for yelling at you at the first point my pile 2 but some younger people in this pile - esp teenagers - like to put on a mean girl persona when that’s not them at all. what’s the point of that? you can’t please people with someone you are not. I sincerely wish that’s something you will remember my sweethearts. thank you for reading

paid readings

pile three : - megaphone !

𐙚 : three of wands, six of swords, knight of pentacles, justice, king of swords, the lovers

bottom of the deck: five of pentacles reversed

♡ ⢷ why you are so cool

1. You know when to walk away from a situation, which is unironically awesome. Like sure this could be considered a negative trait but you aren’t toxic with it. You just simply know your worth.

2. You have a person you are in love with for several years now right? At least, most people in this pile do. You have unwavering loyalty and love in your heart that no one can take away from you, no matter what. I think that’s very cool.

3. You treat children really well! Which should be a given, but many people are way more mean and cruel hearted than what children should deserve. After all, they are humans too and fragile ones at that. You are very responsible and a safe space for them. I wholeheartedly believe that’s cool.

4. When you call people out, you do so with evidence. I do like that a lot, you don’t just accuse people but rather keep collected and calm even if you are angry or despise the situation that you were put into.

5. Did you ever take a look at your side profile? You are quite ethereal, you have such an unique beauty to you. I do also believe that you look beautiful in your home country’s traditional clothing style:

6. You are stubborn, but not in a sense of annoying people or being selfishly caught up in your desires. This is a stubbornness that is found in people with leader like qualities, that people can rely on. You are stubborn in a sense of wanting to create a better future for yourself and those around you who you deem to deserve it. - bc let’s face it, some humans suck. -

7. I am sorry if this sounds weird, but your hand is always occupied with something. You are a very busy person, even if you might not believe so. You gotta do this, and you gotta do that. You have many interests, hobbies and responsibilities too. Yet you manage to juggle them so well, it’s hard to guess when you are stressed out.

8. Whenever you are around you light up people’s day and mood. You are such a sunshine child, people love to have you around. Even if you believe that’s not the case, people do appreciate you a lot more than you realise.

9. If you have a love for photography I hope that you know that you have a beautiful talent. You are amazing at taking pictures, making them pretty and seeing the beauty in every single little thing even if other people might not be able to do so.

10. You are really good with finances and saving up despite the anxiety it causes you. Give yourself a pat on the back because that is not something many people are able to truly say about themselves. Many people in this pile were raised in a way to appreciate money but not let it consume you, which I think you nailed pretty good!

— ✮⋆˙ somewhere over the rainbow - israel kamakawiwo’ole , early 00s & 10s hawaii , crying at night , daydreaming for hours , ‘thank goodness ‘ , my little pony , new hyper fixation , heat , ten to five , hair being washed by someone else , flamingos , pimples ? , papaya - sorry, ik gross to mention right after , pink skincare bottles , 555 , juliet , lucifer , 10th house

my dearest little lamb your energy was the calmest, sweetest and most welcoming out of all the piles. I am truly happy that you decided to read my pac / participate in it. it was truly a pleasant experience to channel for you 🫶🏻 thank you for reading

paid readings

#tarot #tarotblr #tarot community #tarot blog #tarot reading #free tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a number #spirituality #astroblr #paid readings #free tarot reading #astro community #what else do I tag #y’all isn’t my king so handsome on those pics bc I think he is #idk just enjoy reading

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 month ago

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Hiii!! Here for the 'ask and receive' thingy you're doing! I'm thinking allure!MATZ (maybe seonghwa focus? 😏) with the prompts 120, 122, 214, 220, 221, 224. What do you think?? Love your fics btw 💕💕

➯a/n: OOOUUUH WHAT DO I THIIINK ? i think- shit, where'd my clothes go ? kkkkk its about time i did some pure smut in this universe !! thank you very much and enjoy <33

Allure

Scent of You

❥Park Seonghwa x fem reader x Kim Hongjoong

120 + 122: "faster, faster — please ! " + "just like — oh, fuck ! just like that ! "

✫彡wordcount: 2.6k

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut, a/b/o au

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: 214: cnc, 220: manhandling, 221: creampie/breeding, 224: knotting, predator/prey chase, clothed/naked dynamic, outdoor sex, double penetration, pet names, dirty talk, multiple creampie, this adds almost zero to the plot/universe imma be real; they just fuckin, not proof read

♫Allure Soundtrack♫ "Just howl all night, like we got nothing to lose." &TEAM, Scent of you♫

♡masterlist !♡

MINORS GO AWAY

˚➶ ｡˚

It's been a long time since your adrenaline was so high.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your ears, in your finger tips — in your cunt.

The chilly fall air burns your lungs as you push yourself. You're so far into the woods and away from the farmhouse that you wouldn't be able to find your way back even in the broad daylight; forget about doing it now, in the middle of the night with only the moon to guide you.

Good thing Seonghwa is hot on your tail and ready to drag you back home after he catches you.

His footsteps crunch the fallen leaves as he makes his way to catch up with you; not even trying to be quiet in his pursuit. Both of you know that he's faster, that he's eventually going to get you. But that doesn't matter. That's, in actuality, the whole point.

He and Hongjoong opened up to you a few months ago, about how they had some... peculiar interests. Things they wanted to try. Things their wolves wanted to do. At the top of that list, just below 'breed' — was 'hunt.'

It's no secret that alpha's are more in tune with their wolves natural instincts, their natural urges. The stronger the wolf, the stronger the urges. And you happen to have two very strong alpha's as your mates.

Seonghwa is the strongest wolf of your entire generation, he was the first born. When you agreed to this, he literally howled with joy at the fact that he would be able to chase you down and 'earn' what he took.

Hongjoong was just as excited, he nearly pounced on you then and there.

You can't lie. It's fucking exhilarating. Your wolf is prancing in your head at the knowledge that your mates are hunting you down with the intention of knotting you as roughly as they please.

You catch yourself by grabbing onto a tree as a lighting fast shadow crosses your vision up ahead, making you stumble. Hongjoong, it had to have been; because Seonghwa is still right behind you — oh, fuck.

You're tackled, Seonghwa's arms wrapping around you tightly and pulling you on top of him before you can collide with the dirt. "You cheaters!" You pant as you fall over him bonelessly, "he cut me off."

"We got you fair and square," he growls as he grabs the back of your sweater collar. Not another second is wasted as he riiiips the clothing down your back, "there wasn't a rule saying we couldn't corner you. Should have thought of that, Omega."

You gasp as the cold air hits your torso, exposed as he yanks the fabric off your arms. A yelp follows, having been pulled straight up and off him by Hongjoong.

He shoves you belly down onto the ground, "you're just so naive, Dolly~" He giggles, yanking your bottoms down. Not even bothering with your shoes as he pulls your pants off you. "Didn't you realize only one of us was behind you?"

"Get-" Your mind comes back to you after your initial shock of being caught and nearly stripped so fast, "get off me!" It's a little less convincing than it could be, but that's because you want them just as badly as they want you. Your ankle is immediately caught by a clawed hand as you go to kick at him, his other-worldly sharp nails threatening to press into your skin.

"I don't think so." He smirks as you look over your shoulder, wide eyes meeting his blackened ones. "You're ours. If you didn't want this, you should have ran faster~"

His words, although you know they are truly nothing but play pretend, make your heart thud in your chest harder and harder. You know you can end this with a single word. But you don't want to. "Wh- what are you gonna do?"

"We're gonna fuck you," Seonghwa's voice echos in the woods with a deep, dark purr laced in it as he stands infront of you.

The full moon is shining bright through the trees behind him, casting you in his shadow as Hongjoong plays with your hair teasingly.

"And you're gonna take it like the good little Omega that you are."

You couldn't respond even if you knew what to say as Hongjoong uses his claws and cuts your bra off of you, his palms immediately on your breasts as he grinds into your backside, making your jaw drop.

"Maybe, if you behave," Seonghwa hums as he crouches, red eyes locked on yours, "I'll give you my puppies."

You want to beg, 'please, please, fill me up!' Instead, you give him your best pout, finding yourself slipping more and more into the role of helpless prey. "You perverts..."

"Ah, we're the perverts?" Hongjoong chuckles as he continues to grind his jean clad bulge against your panties. The texture is so rough and nice. That, along with the chase — has you soaking through the fabric.

He sits up, holding you down by your shoulders as he leans his head back and takes a deep, purposeful breath in through his nose. "Mmmm," he bites his lip. You smell so tempting. So delicious. "You smell that, Baby?"

Seonghwa smirks at his question. Of course he does. "Hm? You mean that sweet smell of our Omega's cunt begging for us?" You whine, genuinely embarrassed. Curse their stupidly strong senses.

"I bet I could slip right in." Hongjoong's words make your eyes widen, and Seonghwa grins darkly, kneeling in front of you and leaning right to your face.

"I bet so too. I bet she'll let you right in~ Her pussy is telling the truth, even when her mouth is lying."

"No!" You try to push yourself up, only succeeding in pushing your ass against Hongjoong's bulge and making them laugh.

"Oh, yes, Dolly~" He unbuttons his bottoms and is hurrying to free himself while you struggle lightly beneath him. "I'm not a very patient man, you know that by now."

"Hongjoong, Hongjoong, wait! Wait a second, please!"

Seonghwa grabs the back of your neck, tilting his head as he looks down at you. "What? Why should we wait? Hm?"

"Y- At least stretch me out..." You feel so filthy for the words that leave your lips; but the harmonious rumbles from your Alpha's tell you that you definitely just did something right.

In truth, you were already more than ready to take one or even both of the them. They'd been teasing you for hours before the moon rose and the chase began.

They didn't want to hurt you, after all — not that badly.

"Oh," Hongjoong lets out an amused breath from behind you. You're just as into this as they are, slipping more and more into the game. "I'll stretch you out, alright."

He shoves your panties down your thighs, barely giving him enough room to slam into you. And slam he does. Knocking every thought from your head and your breath along with it as he settles his member as deep as possible.

It was only a slight hint of pain, the rest of what you were feeling was pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Seonghwa could see it in your face. Your brows pushed together and your eyes glazing over as small howl gets broken off in your throat. "That's it, Starlight," he breaks the facade with a soft praise, cupping your trembling jaw. "Let our mate fuck you in the dirt like the animals we are."

"F-uuuuck!" You scream as Hongjoong begins hammering into you, his growls reverberating off of the trees around you. Even as he gets lost in the clenching grip of your heat, he's careful with his claws as he grabs onto your shoulders; pulling you up to your knees.

"Hongjoong, be gen-gentle!" Don't be gentle. Don't be gentle. Fuck me like the Alpha you are.

His eyes roll back into his head as your thoughts reach him.

They reached Seonghwa as well, who now cups your face with both hands and squishes your cheeks together roughly. "Gentle? You want gentle? Too fucking bad, pup. You're gonna take us like the Omega you are."

Oh, you could faint. They're always rough. It's in your nature. But this is all new and dizzying and making you drip around Hongjoong's pistoning cock.

Seonghwa is grinning like a madman as you gulp, he can hear your heart thrumming like crazy as he comes closer. He shoves your face in his shoulder and holds you there with one hand while the other grasps onto your hip and guides you to start pushing back on Hongjoong.

"Fucking hell-" The blond hisses, his clawed hands wrapping up in your hair and holding onto you tightly. Not pulling, just grounding himself with you roughly as Seonghwa pulls you back and forth to meet his hard thrusts.

You wail into his shoulder, biting his hoodie and letting out a pathetic growl.

Hongjoong is continuing their tradition of trying to mold the shape of his cock into you so that Seonghwa can do the same and see which sticks longer. He's hitting every deep, sensitive part of you as he slips in and out at a brutal pace with the help of your shared mate.

"Just like that, Baby," Hongjoong purrs deeply, one of his hands finding his on your hip and settling on top of it. "Just like —" A breath hitches in his throat as you tilt your hips, and he's suddenly pounding into you impossibly harder while holding you at the new angle. "Oh, fuck~" He laughs breathlessly, "just like that!"

You slap your hands against the ground to cope with the new and intrusive feeling of him pushing himself somewhere... deeper. "Joong!! Too deep!" Every thrust is making his fat tip kiss the entrance of your womb. Don't stop. Don't stop.

"Cum inside of her," Seonghwa groans as he lets go of your head, eagerly yanking at his belt and locking eyes with the near feral man inside of you. "Lube her up nice and good so we can knot her together."

"Wha-aaaah," you squeal as Hongjoong pushes your face to the ground, one cheek to the dirt and your back arched deeply. His hand is on your other cheek, pining you to the ground with your ass in the air as he fucks you like he needs to breed you more than he needs to breathe.

It's almost like he does. As his pleasure slams into a peak almost as violently as he's slamming into you — he doesn't even realize he's holding his breath as he's shooting his load deep inside of you.

Not until Seonghwa's hand finds his shoulder, and he unlatches his jaw to snap at him before he realizes that's his mate too.

"Easy, tiger," Seonghwa smiles devilishly as he pushes back Hongjoong's hair, "aren't you gonna let me in?"

Fuck, yes, he is.

Hongjoong reaches down and tucks his arms under your shoulders, yanking you up as you whimper, "hurry, Alpha... Need you~"

Any part of you that was trying to hold onto the act is gone, your wolf is demanding to be knotted full by your mates. And they are more than eager to comply.

A small yip from you makes Seonghwa chuckle, watching you be jerked around with a primal satisfaction settling in his gut. Even though he knows, in reality, you wanted them this whole time — there's something so satisfying about the way they've gotten you so pliant and begging for their knots.

Your panties, still caught around your knees, stop your legs from opening all the way as Hongjoong lays back with you on top of him. He twitches inside of you, reaching around and using his claws slice the fabric. "Open up for your Alpha's, Dolly~"

As Seonghwa climbs over you, stroking his member slowly as he eyes you like a predator, Hongjoong holds your thighs and spreads you wide.

"Pretty Omega wants our knots, hm?" Seonghwa hums as he grips your jaw with his free hand, leaning over you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Yes..." You answer breathlessly, blinking at him slowly and letting a pout form on your lips.

"Fuck — how can I say no to that?"

Your wail echoes in the silent night, your head thrown back and your small fangs gritting together as he all but shoves his bulky tip into your stretched hole. Hongjoong is panting like a dog underneath you, his eyes squeezing shut in focus as he forces himself to retract his claws. When he's successful, his fingers immediately find your clit; bombarding you with pleasure and sending mixed signals to your brain.

Seonghwa is stretching you out in an incredible and punishing way as he joins your mate inside of you, Hongjoong is flooding your body with dopamine. All of your wolves are noisy beyond belief in your mind as they howl with joy at being so undeniably close.

You hadn't come to expect gentleness from the eldest alpha, and you aren't surprised in the slightest bit that your chase had worked him up. He only gives you a single split second, while he grabs ahold of your hips, before he's done waiting and starts rutting into you.

You and Hongjoong are equally wrecked as Seonghwa grinds against him rough and deep inside of you, the sounds of his previous release squelching while being pounded back into you stirring him on.

He uses his grip on your hips to drag you up and down, his lip snarling upwards as he growls, "our perfect Omega takes it so good-"

Hongjoong is growling louder than he is now, cutting him off as he starts thrusting in time with how he moves you. "Faster."

"We don't want to break her~" He laughs lowly as the younger wolf's pout.

"She can take it," Hongjoong whines, "right, Dolly?" He rubs his hands up your torso, abandoning his teasing of your clit now that you're falling apart on their lengths.

You nod quickly, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto you. You find Seonghwa's hoodie; grasping it tightly in your fists as you look up at him. "Faster, faster — please! Please, Alpha!"

You know just how to press their buttons by now — which is exactly why you get just what you asked for.

Faster. Harder. They're animalistic in the way they take you. You can hardly think. But you don't have to. All you have to do is take it and revel in it.

A small howl leaves your pursed lips as your back arches off of Hongjoong's chest, thrusted about by their intense in-and-out and only held in place by Seonghwa's rough hands on your hips.

Your claws are dug into his hoodie, the tearing sound going completely ignored because the feeling of Hongjoong's knot swelling up and making the space they occupy even snugger.

"You gonna take it, Starlight?" Seonghwa hums a moan as he leans over you completely, crushing you between them, "gonna have our puppies?"

"Yes! Yes, pl-ease!"

Your yowl as Hongjoong's knot finally locks up inside of you — spurting even more hot cum — is muffled as Seonghwa latches his lips to yours. He keeps you right there, kissing you heated and messy as he copies the younger alpha's actions; stuffing you beyond completely and finally making that burning pleasure inside of you snap.

He rubs your stomach softly as you tremble and convulse with ecstasy, smiling against your lips as he feels their knots inside of you.

When he pulls away, he rest his head in the crook of your neck — purring loud and proud as he kitten licks at your mating mark. Hongjoong is rumbling happily below you, his arms wrapped around your waist softly and eyes closed blissfully.

"Such a perfect Omega," Seonghwa purrs, "we're so lucky."

˚➶ ｡˚

#stars ask and receive #request #ateez #ateez smau #ateez smut #ateez matz #matz x reader #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #smut fic #allure

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codezeros · 2 years ago

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oddyseye · 2 months ago

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I honestly wanna know ur opinion on this person’s post. They claim to be a “classicist” who has read the Odyssey and the Iliad but post this shit 👇

https://www.tumblr.com/persephoneist/732354140801482752/i-hope-i-dont-come-off-as-rude-by-responding

https://www.tumblr.com/persephoneist/775558500525948928/you-all-need-to-accept-that-many-people-who-have

https://www.tumblr.com/persephoneist/775867799335747584/genuine-curiosity-where-does-it-say-that

You already know I ran to my keyboard like I was being chased by the Erinyes when I saw this absolute brainrot of a post.

First of all, “classicist” my ass. If you are out here ignoring context, cherry-picking translations, and casually accusing Odysseus of cheating based on vibes rather than textual evidence, then you are a classicist the way my left sandal is a philosopher.

Second of all, I’ve talked about this before. Loudly. Repeatedly. Aggressively. And yet people like this keep crawling out of the academic slime pit thinking that quoting “ceased to please” in English means they’ve uncovered some buried truth the rest of us are too dumb to see. Spoiler alert: they have not 1. Odysseus Having Sex With His Prizes In The Iliad? WHERE. Is. The. Evidence. There is zero indication Odysseus ever slept with his war prizes, let alone that he had a “young pretty” one Agamemnon wanted. In Book 1 of the Iliad, Agamemnon threatens to take Odysseus’ “geras” (prize), but it’s a bluff, a tactical flex to reassert dominance after losing Chryseis. Nowhere does it say she’s young, pretty, or even exist beyond the threat. It’s entirely plausible Agamemnon’s yap is based on Odysseus being seen as non-threatening. A safe choice to insult. You think he’s marching into Achilles’ tent right away? No, he’s poking at the guy who might let him.

And also, let’s not forget that later tradition gives Odysseus Hekuba as a spoil. Hekuba. An elderly woman. So your lil’ theory about him going for nubile war prizes? Wrong. Not everyone was out here chasing teenage concubines.

2. Calypso And “Consent” (Or The Myth Of It). I have ranted about this:

https://www.tumblr.com/oddyseye/777098689028177920/i-want-to-know-your-opinion-on-people-who-think?source=share

Long story short:

(For proof, read the post itself).

This person said “I’ve read it in Greek.” Cool. So have I. And the Greek is not on your side, boo.

3. Circe Was Also SA. The only reason this one's debated is because people keep squinting at the text and thinking “well, they seemed okay after.” Stockholm Syndrome isn’t consent, babes. Circe turns his men into pigs. She is a witch. She uses potions. She beds him the first night as part of a power transaction. It IS complicated, but it is NOT romantic. And what mortal can say no to a goddess who just turned his bros into livestock?

I translated the speech of Hermes myself:

πῇ δὴ αὖτ᾽, ὦ δύστηνε, δι᾽ ἄκριας ἔρχεαι οἶος, χώρου ἄιδρις ἐών; ἕταροι δέ τοι οἵδ᾽ ἐνὶ Κίρκης ἔρχαται ὥς τε σύες πυκινοὺς κευθμῶνας ἔχοντες. ἦ τοὺς λυσόμενος δεῦρ᾽ ἔρχεαι; οὐδέ σέ φημι αὐτὸν νοστήσειν, μενέεις δὲ σύ γ᾽, ἔνθα περ ἄλλοι. ἀλλ᾽ ἄγε δή σε κακῶν ἐκλύσομαι ἠδὲ σαώσω. τῆ, τόδε φάρμακον ἐσθλὸν ἔχων ἐς δώματα Κίρκης ἔρχευ, ὅ κέν τοι κρατὸς ἀλάλκῃσιν κακὸν ἦμαρ. πάντα δέ τοι ἐρέω ὀλοφώια δήνεα Κίρκης. τεύξει τοι κυκεῶ, βαλέει δ᾽ ἐν φάρμακα σίτῳ. ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ὣς θέλξαι σε δυνήσεται: οὐ γὰρ ἐάσει φάρμακον ἐσθλόν, ὅ τοι δώσω, ἐρέω δὲ ἕκαστα. ὁππότε κεν Κίρκη σ᾽ ἐλάσῃ περιμήκεϊ ῥάβδῳ, δὴ τότε σὺ ξίφος ὀξὺ ἐρυσσάμενος παρὰ μηροῦ Κίρκῃ ἐπαῖξαι, ὥς τε κτάμεναι μενεαίνων. ἡ δέ σ᾽ ὑποδείσασα κελήσεται εὐνηθῆναι: ἔνθα σὺ μηκέτ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ἀπανήνασθαι θεοῦ εὐνήν, ὄφρα κέ τοι λύσῃ θ᾽ ἑτάρους αὐτόν τε κομίσσῃ: ἀλλὰ κέλεσθαί μιν μακάρων μέγαν ὅρκον ὀμόσσαι, μή τί τοι αὐτῷ πῆμα κακὸν βουλευσέμεν ἄλλο, μή σ᾽ ἀπογυμνωθέντα κακὸν καὶ ἀνήνορα θήῃ. "Where now, unfortunate one, are you wandering alone through the hills, without knowledge of the land? Your companions are there in Circe’s halls, confined like swine in crowded pens. Have you come here to free them? I do not think you yourself will return home; rather, you will stay here, just like the others. But come, I will save you from these troubles and protect you. Take this good herb and go to Circe’s halls—it will guard your head from the evil day. And I will tell you all of Circe’s deadly tricks. She will prepare a potion for you and mix drugs into the food. But even so, she will not be able to bewitch you, for this good herb that I give you will prevent it. Now listen closely: when Circe strikes you with her long wand, then draw your sharp sword from beside your thigh and rush at her as if you intend to kill her. She, terrified, will urge you to lie with her. At that moment, do not refuse the goddess’s bed, so that she may release your companions and take care of you. But make her swear a great oath by the blessed gods that she will not plot any other evil against you, lest she strip you bare and render you weak and unmanned."

ἡ δέ σ᾽ ὑποδείσασα > "She, being frightened …" In ὑποδείσασα, the participle is feminine singular, agreeing with Κίρκη, and still carries that base meaning of shrinking back. However, depending on context, one might stretch it to mean something like:

"flinching"

"recoiling"

"shrinking back"

"hesitating"

"drawing back in surprise"

She is not necessarily cowering or submitting in the way a powerless person would but rather reacting with alarm, possibly in shock or surprise. The gods and goddesses had immense power, so their "fear" would not look like human cowering. It is more about a momentary acknowledgment of danger. Her reaction is more about the shock of Odysseus not playing by the usual rules (as a guest, a mortal, or a person who is absolutely not supposed to be a threat to her) and being forced to confront his aggression directly. Hermes even says Circe will demand to sleep with him:

Odysseus later also goes to the palace of Circe “with a heavy heart” right after being told by Hermes he has to bang her, sooo...

Oh, and while we’re at it?

NOTHING—I repeat—NOTHING in the actual Greek Odyssey says that Odysseus and Circe slept together more than once. No line. No implication. No “oh but they were together for a year so obviously—” No.

So she swears an oath. He eats. Then we get ONE. BED. SCENE.

That’s it. That’s the whole sex.

We don’t get a montage. We don’t get “many nights passed in delight.” We don’t even get a participial phrase implying repetition. Just one time. After that? They feast. He stays. She gives him advice, he chills, the men are healed. But sex is not mentioned again. Not even alluded to. He’s not crying, sure, but he’s not exactly lusting either.

Although my GOAT Chapman does have an amazing take on this:

^ My own old rant on what Chapman said about this scene!

So...why were they there for a year, besides what Chapman claims?

Because Circe was helpful as hell.

Girl had knowledge. Girl told them how to survive Scylla and Charybdis and gave detailed sea maps before Google Maps existed. They didn’t stay because Odysseus was bewitched by the ✨thighs✨. They stayed because he was recovering and she was prepping them for round two of Hell Voyage.

4. “I’ve read the Greek” Is Not a Personality Trait! Congrats on reading a language most of us study out of sheer obsession and spite. That doesn’t give you a free pass to twist the meaning of compulsion, ignore centuries of scholarship, or act like everyone else is a moron for acknowledging sexual violence in antiquity. You are not revolutionary. You are just loud and wrong.

Fidelity in Odyssey isn’t about who Odysseus slept with, it’s about who he stayed loyal to. And he stayed loyal to home. His oikos. And Penelope is the representation of his oikos.

#the odyssey #greek mythology #odysseus #greek texts #homer odyssey #homer

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