riddlebella

[riddlebella]

the cup one looks like he's gone batshit ngl

horcrux family photo

[riddlebella]

inexperienced Ominis? FUCK YEESSS 😮‍💨

i was looking for a tom riddle one but i'm not complaining 🙏🏻

Hi bub!!!

I was thinking experienced!reader X inexperienced!Ominis who secretly (pretty obviously actually) has a crush on her. When she then catches him in the undercroft touching himself while whispering her name, she decides to help him…

| Whispers in the Undercroft

Masterlist

[Ominis Gaunt x Reader]

warnings: MDNI, characters are 18+, handjob, oral(m receiving) inexperienced!ominis x experienced!reader.

words: 1,5k

a/n: ehehehe mar... i had so much fun writing this for you pookie! i hope you enjoy my first time writing ominis and i hope it's good!

The quiet corridors of Hogwarts carried an eerie stillness after dark, and the Underroft—hidden away from the prying eyes of the castle’s inhabitants—was a sanctuary that few knew existed. It was your sanctuary, a secret haven where you could gather your thoughts, away from the whispers and mundane chatter of daily life. Recently, however, you’d noticed that someone else had taken to retreating here. Ominis Gaunt.

Ominis had always intrigued you. He was reserved, with an air of refinement that stood out amidst the chaos of your peers. His pale eyes, though sightless, seemed to see through to one’s very soul. And though his demeanor was often stoic, you’d caught moments when he faltered in your presence—a slight flush of his cheeks, the way his hands fidgeted with his wand, or how his lips parted as if to speak only to close them again.

Tonight, curiosity had brought you here earlier than usual, your steps light and deliberate as you descended into the secret chamber. You’d expected to find solitude but instead were met with a sound that made you pause mid-step. A low, muffled groan drifted from the corner of the room, a sound so intimate it made your breath catch. You stepped closer, heart pounding, and the sight before you rendered you motionless.

Ominis stood near the stone wall, his back turned to you, one hand braced against the cool surface. The other hand moved with a rhythm that left no room for misunderstanding. His head was bowed, pale strands of hair sticking to his forehead as he whispered—your name. The sound of it, so soft yet laced with yearning, sent a shiver coursing through you. He hadn’t noticed your presence, too lost in his own world of desire.

Your first instinct was to retreat, to give him privacy, but something rooted you in place. It wasn’t just the sight of him—vulnerable and utterly entranced—but the realization that this carefully composed young man, who always seemed so composed and aloof, had been harboring thoughts of you. It was intoxicating.

“Ominis,” you called softly, your voice cutting through the silence.

He froze. His movements stilled, and his head whipped around in your direction, face pale with horror. “I… I didn’t hear you come in,” he stammered, his voice shaking as he adjusted his robes hastily, his hands trembling. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” you said, stepping closer, your tone calm and deliberate. “You don’t need to explain anything.”

His lips parted, but no words came. His face was a mix of mortification and desperation, his pale cheeks flushed a deep crimson. You stopped a few steps away from him, giving him enough space to breathe but close enough that he could feel your presence.

“Ominis,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost coaxing. “You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?”

“I… yes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His head bowed, and his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I… shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t apologise,” you interrupted gently, closing the distance between you. Your hand reached out, brushing against his arm, and he flinched at the contact before stilling. “It’s alright, Ominis. You don’t have to hide how you feel.”

His breath hitched, his sightless eyes turning in your direction as if trying to read your expression. You stepped closer still, your hand trailing up his arm to rest against his chest. His heart thundered beneath your palm, its rapid rhythm betraying his nervous anticipation.

“Let me help you,” you offered, your voice low and inviting.

His lips parted in shock, his head shaking slightly. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” you assured him, your hand slipping to take hold of his. You guided him to sit on the edge of the cold stone bench, your movements deliberate yet gentle, giving him time to process. His breathing quickened, but he didn’t protest, his hands gripping the edge of the seat as if it were the only thing grounding him.

Kneeling before him, you looked up, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and trembling lips. He was beautiful in his vulnerability, his usual composure stripped away to reveal the raw, unguarded man beneath. Your hands moved to the folds of his robes, fingers deft as you unfastened the fabric to reveal the source of his tension. His body responded to your touch, the evidence of his longing plain and unyielding.

You let your fingers trail along his length, exploring him with an almost reverent curiosity. He gasped at the contact, his hips jerking slightly as his hands gripped the bench tighter. “Relax,” you whispered, your tone soothing as you leaned forward, your breath ghosting over him.

Your lips brushed against him, tentative at first, testing his reaction. His entire body tensed before relaxing into the sensation, a low groan escaping his lips. Encouraged, you took him further, your tongue tracing over his cock in deliberate, slow motions. You relished the way his breathing hitched, how his head tilted back, and the quiet murmurs of your name that spilled from his lips like a chant.

You kept your movements measured, savoring each reaction you drew from him. Your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, complementing the rhythm of your lips as you alternated between soft, teasing touches and firmer strokes. His hips shifted slightly, his body seeking more of the pleasure you were so expertly offering.

“You feel incredible,” you murmured between motions, your voice low and filled with heat. Your words seemed to drive him further into his haze, his fingers flexing against the bench as if he were trying to maintain control.

“I… I don’t…” he started, his voice trembling, but the words dissolved into a gasp as you shifted your angle, focusing your attention on the places that made him shudder the most. “Please…” he whispered, his tone pleading, though even he didn’t seem certain of what he was asking for.

“I’ve got you,” you reassured him, your free hand reaching up to intertwine with his. The touch grounded him, his grip tightening as he surrendered completely to the sensations. You could feel the tension in his body building, the way his breathing grew more erratic, and the soft, desperate noises escaping his lips became more frequent.

But you didn’t rush. Instead, you took your time, prolonging his pleasure as you explored every inch of him with your tongue and hands. The air was thick with the sounds of his labored breaths and the quiet murmurs of your name. When you finally quickened your pace, it was with purpose, each movement calculated to push him closer to the edge while still holding him there, teetering in that delicious state of anticipation.

“You’re doing so well,” you praised, your voice like a soothing balm against the intensity of his experience. His entire body trembled under your touch, his head tilting back as he let out a broken moan.

Finally, when you sensed he couldn’t hold back any longer, you pushed him over the edge, your movements unrelenting as you guided him through the climax. His release came in shuddering waves, his body arching as he let out a raw, unguarded groan. You stayed with him, your touch gentle as you eased him back down, your hand stroking soothing patterns along his thigh.

As his body stilled, you lowered your hand, brushing your fingers lightly against his tip. A glistening trace of him lingered on your skin, and before he could react, you brought your finger to your lips, letting your tongue dart out to taste him. The heat in his cheeks deepened, his breath catching audibly.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and embarrassment.

A sly smile curved your lips. “Tasting you,” you said simply, your tone carrying a playful edge. You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re sweeter than I expected.”

His jaw slackened, and he swallowed hard, his fingers tightening their grip on the bench as if he weren’t sure what to do with himself. “I… I didn’t know,” he murmured, his voice tinged with wonder.

You reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face, your touch lingering. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Ominis,” you teased gently. “But I’m more than happy to teach you.”

When it was over, he slumped against the wall, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You sat back on your heels, watching him with a soft smile as you adjusted his robes back into place, your fingers lingering briefly on his trembling hands. His cheeks were still flushed, his expression a mix of exhaustion and wonder as he turned his sightless gaze in your direction.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but sincere.

You reached out again, this time cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “Anytime, Ominis,” you replied, your voice gentle but laced with a promise. The connection between you, once unspoken, now felt undeniable.

[riddlebella]

December 31, Voldemort's birthday (though not in time)

HB to lord💦

[riddlebella]

Barty: Don’t worry, I’ve got a few knives up my sleeve.

Regulus: I think you mean cards.

Evan: He did not.

Barty, pulling out knives: I did not.

[riddlebella]

finally finished this piece😪 it's been in my gallery for two months lol

what if i make that my new profile picture🤔

[riddlebella]

a need 😮‍💨

"you're so fucked up for liking this" as they pin you down and force themselves inside

[riddlebella]

"would you let me bite you, baby? make you bleed a little, pretty please?"

I NEED THAT MAN SO FUCKING BAD IT HURTS 😩

daydreaming about the way mattheo riddle fucks. it's not just sex, it's a whole experience. he wants to be sure it's something you're going to fantasise about again, "open those eyes, pretty girl, look at me. remember me so you can picture me properly next time you touch yourself." mattheo likes to take his time, he likes to make it a little messy, he likes to have you gasping and begging, sheets scrunched up in your hands as you leave puddles on his bed because it just feels so damn good. he wants a ring of your lipstick around the base of his cock before he makes you cream on it, he wants your slick on his chin and his fingers and all down the insides of your thighs. he wants to watch his own cum dribble out of you before pushing it back in and smirking at your whines. "hold your legs open, so I can stuff it all back in. you'll keep it all nice and safe, won't you? 'course you will." he wants you shaking so hard your muscles tense up, he wants to come so hard himself his voice is hoarse and he's shining with sweat as his eyes roll back. because he's not a selfless lover, he's just so damn good his selfishness doesn't matter. "fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby. you've got such a perfect cunt." not when edging himself so it feels all the better means multiple orgasms for you, not when watching you cry and whine because it makes him so hard also means he makes you feel things you've never felt before. not when making you scream his name so loud people can hear because he loves to let everyone know means you also get an earth-shattering orgasm. mattheo will fuck your throat and come on your face just to tell you how pretty you look as he lets you suck it off of his fingers. he'd let you scratch your name into his back, or press a sharp heel to his chest, as long as he can inflict a little pleasurable pain too. "would you let me bite you, baby? make you bleed a little, pretty please?" he likes to leave his mark, messy, scratches and bites and hickeys and little fingertip-shaped bruises. he likes to slap your face and your arse and your clit, he likes to push your thighs open so far they ache and bend you into positions you couldn't even imagine before, he likes to press down on your stomach as you some just to make it tighter for himself, and so much more intense for you. mattheo riddle fucks like a man possessed.

[riddlebella]

this picture is forever ingrained in my mind

[riddlebella]

christian coulson i love you and even though there's so little about you and you have no other relevant roles besides tom riddle and it's so hard to find your other movies youre still the man with the sweetest smile ive ever seen

[riddlebella]

i love this LMAO

harry in these travel time fics hahsjeekm

Also, first EVER animation, hopefully it's not that bad :,,,)

[riddlebella]

His teeth bite down on your shoulder with such ferocity you'd think he wanted it to bleed

needy tom, bites and raw sex? FUCK YES.

👆🏻me when needy Tom

another masterpiece, I can't even begin to describe how much I loved this— damnit it's like you know exactly what to write to make the reader go fucking FERAL 😭😭

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 31st. tom riddle — breeding kink, raw sex.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom has a dream about fucking you raw, and decides it’s time he ditches the self-restraint.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, needy tom riddle, fingering, slight begging, desperate sex, PIV, creampie, incoherent babbling/dirty talk, breeding kink, literally the most feralized and needy and pathetic tom i have ever written .

You wake up to the feeling of Tom at your back, sometime within the early hours of the morning. 

Not an unusual occurrence, per say, but you're vaguely aware of the fact that the desperate way he's gripping your waist and pressing against you isn't just par for the course—something's off—and you don't get to wonder or question what exactly it is because within a second he's pressing his lips to your neck, murmuring your name, and stealing your cognitive function before you even get the chance to wake. 

"What—" you manage to get out, just as his hand slides up the front of your shirt and his lips continue mouthing against your neck. 

"Hm?" He murmurs, as if he's doing nothing unusual, as if you aren't completely aware he's pressed up against you like an animal in heat.

"Are you," you're struggling to get the words out as his lips graze the spot on the nape of your neck that makes your breath catch. "Okay?" 

He stills for a moment at that, before he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat, as if the question is almost funny somehow. "Should I not be?"

"I just...mmf—" a whole body shudder goes through you as his hand reaches the underside of your breasts; palming, squeezing. "You seem—different." 

"Different," he echos against your neck with a smile. "In what way?"

"Uh, needier—oh," his hand slips from your chest to the front of your pyjama pants, grinding his erection against your ass. "What's—gotten into you—"

"You, of course," he husks, and the fact that he can be cocky while he's practically pinning you to his chest is the perfect bloody summary of him. "Who else?"

"Well—I mean—" the words leave your lips in a hissing moan as his hand, that beautiful, steady hand—slips under your waistband and wastes no time in finding your clit, long fingers swirling tight little circles against it. "What—ohhh—" 

"You do know that you're asking way too many questions," he whispers, teeth nipping at your ear lobe as he runs his index and middle fingers down your slit. "I'd rather you be moaning my name as opposed to doing a million cross-examinations on my behaviour."

Well, that certainly shuts you up, at least on the verbal side of things—because the gasp that leaves your lips is not entirely something you can control, considering the fact that you're suddenly very aware of just how badly he seems to need you right now.

"I think that was progress," he croons between open-mouthed kisses, absentmindedly making you shiver and jerk as his fingers resume rubbing and massaging your clit. "Good girl." 

You whimper faintly at that, and you wish you could hate the way you react to the praise on principle only—but that's kind of hard to do when it's him, and he's doing the praising in the first place. So instead, you just try to keep any kind of higher brain function intact, regardless of it being a losing battle at this point.

"I just need you," he practically groans, and it's the strangest thing to hear him say when he's usually just fine being all smug and self-composed. "I need to feel you, now."

It's the closest thing to him pleading that you think you've ever heard, and the guttural moan you let out as he slips one of those long slender fingers inside your embarrassingly slick cunt is the closest thing to feral as you're sure you've ever been. 

"Need," you whimper as your hips jerk, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it's a sound you've made and not some kind of vocal fry of his. "Need me, why?" 

He doesn't answer right away, not in words—just sucks your earlobe into his mouth in a way that makes you want to scream. "You're not usually this difficult." 

"M'tired." The argument is weak, at best, but you're not exactly in any kind of frame of mind to try and make sense of the situation. "And you're—intense—"

"Yes," he murmurs, that smug tone still needling your eternal irritation. "And if you must know, it really is because of you. I had a dream about you." He punctuates the sentence by slipping a second finger into your slick heat, and you barely manage to keep a whimpering moan inside that you just know he would love to hear. "Fuck. It was a beautiful dream." 

He bites at your ear again, and it occurs to you that the desperate edge to his voice might have something to do with just how good the dream of you felt—or how badly he'd clearly wanted it to be real. 

You suddenly need to hear every goddamn detail. 

"Felt you for once, without protection," he tells you, as if reading your mind, and you whimper at what you're pretty sure is a pretty profound confession. "Even better than I thought you'd feel—fuck—"

"You're not the only one who's thought about that," you manage to get out, and you're not even being coy about it—at this point you're simply trying to deal with the realization that Tom Riddle having a wet dream about you is apparently enough to turn you into a pathetic, drooling mess. "But you are the one who's always been insistent on using condoms."

Oh, the low growl he lets out at that is a dangerous sound—it's low and guttural and it makes you realize that there's a very real chance this is going to go somewhere you might have trouble walking away from. 

"Yes, well," he pauses, and you can practically feel the fire in his eyes. "I'm just realizing I might have been a bit of a fool."

"You, admitting you're a fool?" You somehow give a half-assed scoff at the idea as you try to hold onto your sanity. "I think hell just froze over."

He laughs at that—actually laughs, and it does strange things to your insides to have it directed at you. 

"Maybe I'm just in a very specific sort of mood." 

"Oh?" You manage to raise an eyebrow. "And what kind of mood is that?"

"The kind of mood," he says, in an almost growl that you're trying to interpret through the haze of trying not to moan, "where I throw all reason out the window. The kind of mood where I forget all self-restraint."

"That's a dangerous thing, coming from you," you choke out, because that is true, but you're only half-thinking through your words before you say them, half your brain stolen by the curling of his fingers inside you, massaging your slick walls. "You don't usually—"

"Never," he cuts you off, like he's fully aware of just how different this is and trying not to admit it. "Until you."

Well, you don't know what to say to that—because you know him, and you know he doesn't usually lose himself in things like this, not like he's apparently doing now. 

"Oh?" You gasp, as his thumb sweeps over your clit, making your eyes roll. "So I've made you reckless." 

His answer comes in the form of a low, grunting sound of agreement, his grip on your body shifting a bit as he pulls you back tighter to his chest, rutting his erection against your ass. 

"You've done more than that," he murmurs with a sigh right in your ear as his slick fingers slip out to draw wet little circles against your clit. "Fuck it. I need to feel you—please, let me fuck you right. No protection."

Oh sweet Mother of Merlin.

There were a lot of words in that sentence that you were fucking sure, just a minute ago, were entirely out of the question for him. Not a soul on god’s green earth could have prepared you for the feeling that utterance just invoked—and you can't help but let out a helpless, wanton groan in response—his fingers driving you directly to the very edge of climax—

"I need a word out of you," he grits, and you realize then that you're both at the mercy of something he can only half control as he ruts against you again, his fingers slowing as if he's edging you— "please." 

You wish you could give him something teasing, snarky, maybe even witty. Something to needle him for just how beside himself he is, something to call him out for the feralized broken thing he's seemingly been reduced to. 

But you can't, because your climax is right there, and he's moving his fingers too slow, denying you of it on purpose—

"Yes," you whimper, the word like an answer to a prayer you hadn't even known you were praying for, and you realize somewhere behind your consciousness that you're desperate and aching inside for so many reasons, all of them because of him. "Please, fuck. Please, do it—I need—to cum—"

And at those words—that plea—the need in them, there's no stopping the sound that tears itself out of his throat, and before you can even think he's jerking your pyjama pants off your thighs—

"Wanna feel it—" he hisses as he frees himself next, tugging you against him and lifting your thigh toward your head. "Need to feel you cum when I'm inside you."

Oh, and at this point you're begging that you'll survive this. 

You're at his mercy, as you've been before, but in a completely different way—one that seems to be fueled by whatever animalistic thing is driving him today, and you're left with no defense besides the knowledge that he's doing this because if he didn't, he may just lose his goddamn mind. 

And for as much trouble you generally get into by enjoying him being cocky and in control of the narrative, this—this is something you've never once experienced. Tom on the edge of falling completely apart in his need for you, desperation and need taking a front seat to his usual restraint and control.

He's between your thighs before you can blink, and then he's pushing in. "Oh, fuck."

It's a sensation that's completely different when there's no barrier between you, and you're pretty sure that if it wasn't for the fact that the animal in his chest has risen to the surface, taking you by the throat, you would have gasped out in a moan so loud it woke the entire fucking country—but somehow, someway, you manage to tame it. 

His face buries in the crook of your shoulder, and it's a sound of guttural relief as his breath goes shaky and unsteady right in your ear.

"Feels so good," he whispers as he sinks in—as his thick, throbbing dick disappears into your greedy cunt. "Too good."

'Too good' feels like the exact wrong thing to say right now, at least in your mind, because you're pretty sure you'll take the fact that this feels so good you're scared it might kill you to your grave. 

"Oh my god." You manage to get out the words through the haze, and you're barely even sure what you're saying, your head thrown back against his shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around your throat. "Oh my god, Tom." 

He responds with a shaky curse of your name, and you’re absolutely certain somewhere in you is exploding, something in your gut is coiled so tight it's like holding in the biggest possible secret of the world that you're desperate to scream to someone—

"So wet. So tight. I'm never starving myself of this again." It's a confession that steals your breath, and you struggle to keep breathing, struggling with trying to keep your world from spinning away as he starts to make shallow, languid thrusts into you, free hand slipping down to your clit. "Let me feel it. Let me feel it all."

You keen. "Fuck! Please."

It's the only word you can manage in a half-hysterical moan, your hand grabbing onto the one he's wrapped around your throat as if he's saving you from certain destruction, as if he's the only lifeline you'll ever find—and maybe, you think that's okay, because you're so used by him in so many ways that right now you don't even want another.

"T-tom—" his fingers swirl your clit in perfect time with his thrusts and you're clenching so tight your entire body is almost stiff. "Tommmm—I'm fucking—"

His teeth bite down on your shoulder with such ferocity you'd think he wanted it to bleed, and you're not even sure it's intentional as his body tenses against yours, tugging you back like he's trying to crush you into his chest. 

"Yes. Yes," he hisses again, and it's broken. "Please give it to me."

'Please give it to me' are the best five words you've ever heard from his mouth, you think with the quarter of your brain that’s still functioning—and it's like you've been waiting for permission without realizing it, because you feel fireworks going off behind your eyes a moment later. 

"Oh fuckk! Yes, yes, oh!" 

You cry out, so loud you'd be nervous about someone hearing you if the pleasure wracking your body wasn't so powerful you're pretty sure you're going to feel it all the way into next week—and there's a sound like something coming undone against your skin as his teeth dig deeper into your shoulder, a sound that's like a low, guttural moan of your name before he shutters something in half-broken words you're not even sure he's meant to.

"Oh yes—god, you're tight—fuck—"

You can't answer him, but it doesn't matter, because a moment later it's all painfully forgotten with the way he lets out another moan against your shoulder—

"That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. Just like that."

It's the pet name that does something to your insides, twisting them up in a way you can't quite parse through the haze, but it's enough in the moment to make tears prick unbidden at the corner of your eyes as he jerks against you, his breaths coming in shaky, heavy pants against your skin as his own climax draw closer, and there's no way this wasn't something you both needed that neither knew how to ask for. 

"Tom," you manage to whimper, and it sounds like a prayer of your own creation. "Tom—"

It's like he needed to hear you moan his name like that in a way that's primal—because in that moment his hand moves from your neck to your hair, and he clenches his fist into it, pulling, and it's enough to make a shattered moan force its way out of your chest and up to your throat. 

"M'close. Mmm. So fucking close," he hisses against your skin. "M'gonna—fill this tight cunt."

And god, it should be alarming, because you've always been careful, careful, careful—because you've always known the risks, the consequences, but right now you're having a hard time remembering why you ever thought it was a terrible, terrible idea to let him do this. 

"You're—Tom—you—"

"I know,” he groans, and it's like a plea, as if you're saying something out loud that he doesn't want to admit he knows— "just take it. Let me—fucking breed you."

There's a moment where your chest seems to constrict violently at that, where you're almost sure you must have a heart condition because it feels like skipping a beat is the under-explanation of the century, but it's gone as quickly as it came, and god if it wasn't as profoundly hot as you know it shouldn't be. 

“Jesus—Tom—“ there're a lot of things you know you should be saying, things you'd planned to say—or not do, as the case may be—but the only thing that leaves your lips at this moment is, “please."

And he doesn't know if it's a plea or a prayer, but either way it’s all the same because there’s no stopping the sound that leaves his lips as your answer sinks into his brain, as the meaning sinks into his bones: the low, guttural, primal sound of a man losing pieces of himself in something that he doesn't care to stop. 

"Oh—" he chokes out. "Oh god—"

It's like it's taking him like he wants it to, stealing him up in a way that both makes him feel both more whole than he's ever been and like he's lost more of himself than he can possibly cope with at every other moment all at once, and you're pretty damn sure you'll be the only thing that survives it, in the end— 

And then, he explodes. "Fuck—"

It's a choked-off sound that tears violently into the room without his permission, one that claws its way out of his chest and up his throat in a way that feels simultaneously like falling into and being pushed off of a cliff straight into oblivion—

"Mmm yes. Yes. Take it—" he's twitching inside you, hips trembling as he pumps his release deep within your walls. "Fuck. Fuck yes." 

There's a million and one responses to everything he's done and said in the last few minutes that dance on the tip of your tongue, but you're not entirely sure you have the mental capacity to do more than manage a shaky whimper at this point, and all you're even remotely sure you can do is respond to his own moans and gasps with ones of your own. 

"Tom," you whimper as he finally slows. As you both work to catch your breath. "I wish you had dreams like that more often."

He just laughs, a breathless, unsteady thing.

"That's my fucking girl." He mutters. "All mine."

[riddlebella]

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY BABY giving you all the kisses xoxoxo 😘😘🤍🤍 i love youuuu thank you thank you thank you for being so lovely happy 2025🥳

OMFG AM I DREAMING??

HAPPY NEW YEAR EM!!! 💗💗💗

I wish you a great year bby!! I love you more 💗💗 thank you for being the best writer ever!! happy 2025 my dear, I'll always be here loving your work and loving you!! 💗💗

[riddlebella]

The birth of envy

Friday, December 31st, 1926.

Last Protocol of the Year.

This evening, a young woman came to us to find shelter from the icy cold winds blowing across London, a snowstorm has been raging for multiple days already, yet today it had been exceptionally bad. The streets were unusable during the morning hours, traffic stuck for hours. Without questioning how the woman even made it to our humble orphanage, miss Cole had ordered us to take in the pregnant lady.

Minutes after arriving, she suddenly began clutching her womb, and miss Cole’s and I‘s gaze met, both knowing exactly what was happening—She was having contractions, but by the look of it, she’s had them for a while already, the young woman not looking surprised by it. I swiftly ushered our children into their respective rooms, not wanting to scare them with a potentially difficult childbirth. Meanwhile, Miss Cole had already helped the young miss to a spare room.

When I joined them, the poor woman was grasping onto anything she could reach, my coworker patting her pale skin with a cool cloth. This was not the New Year’s Eve we had expected, yet we couldn’t just abandon a fellow woman in such a vulnerable position. We both quietly wondered why she would seek medical care in an orphanage and not a hospital, but maybe, we thought, she was unable to continue to the nearest hospital.

The labor was a difficult process for all of us, the babys head simply wouldn’t push through, and the miss grew weaker and weaker on us. Having already been in an unfortunate condition upon arrival, we had expected it.

Another push from her, yet the child would slip back in. I wanted to help, but it was too dangerous. I felt enormous pity and anxiety throughout the labor, we were scared that neither her nor her unborn child would survive. She was so young, barely 19 it seemed, yet her body had been weakened, her spirit broken down, and her will for life was barely there. A shiver ran down my spine, not only from the howling wind, but also from her condition. Emaciated, a hollow face, and she generally seemed confused and uncomfortable by our presence.

After another hour, the moonlight being our only light source at the time, i could finally see it—the head was now fully out, and with another push, a surprisingly healthy baby boy had been born. He immediately began to cry, feeling cold and disoriented, much like his mother. I swaddled the sweet child in my apron, as we didn’t have anything else to shield the boy from the cold, and handed him over to his awaiting mother. I began crying, not out of relief, but pity for both the child and the young girl. She was bleeding heavily, and I knew she wouldn’t pull through. Had we had a doctor, maybe, she would have survived. Yet the baring labor was too much for her brittle body, the color fading from her thin face by the second. She rubbed the boys cheek, continuing to look at him as it it was a farewell. I think that she, too, knew that her life would end soon.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle”—she whispered quietly, speaking up for the first time during her short lived visit.

That’s the name she chose for the newborn—named after the boys father and maternal grandfather. Yet before we could ask her about the father’s whereabouts, her brown eyes closed for the last time, a tear rolling down her cheek. It seemed like the deceased mother had nobody in her life to support her. Maybe that’s why she came here, to ensure her child had a home.

She died, yet the boy lived. What a tragedy, something that will haunt us for the rest of our lives.

As if he sensed her last breath, the boy grew restless seconds after her passing. Not me or miss Cole were able to console little Tom. He cried for hours, trying to reach out for someone that was no longer there, his face visibly stressed. It broke our hearts, so we have decided to take him in, despite the shortage of food and supplies we have left.

I wonder how he will live with such knowledge of his mother’s passing.

- Annaliese Brown.

[riddlebella]

Another happy birthday at the orphanage, this time with a kidnapped companion (the bunny lives until Ms Cole tells him to give it back)

[riddlebella]

[riddlebella]

i need these two soo bad 😮‍💨

theodore nott + mattheo riddle incorrect quotes insp

[riddlebella]

i was at my bf's house and noticed a jegulus reference (am I going to die drowned?)