#Tom Riddle x reader

[eva105]

I hope... No one minds if I add a vampire hunter D... Okay..?

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

A fathers love

Summary- The story between one Dark lord and his only son, Mattheo Riddle. And the first time Mattheo calls for his father when he's in trouble.

An idea inspired by a batfam fic and @anawritez-posts :3 is mostly a fic about Voldy and the relationship between him and his first born son Mattheo.

minor Tom/young Voldy x Reader, mostly just in the background-you can make up your own story for them and if they're romantic or not.

warning; Tom Riddle/Voldemort, heart aching fluff and angst, blood, injury.

=

Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had never exactly expected to be a father, not once as he grew up without one, or when he murdered his father, or even when the world began to know what the name Voldemort meant-and began to fear it.

But a ruler needed an heir, so he convinced an old cohort of his, (y/n) (l/n), to be the mother of his heir. It gave her plenty of benefits, being under his protection, being the mother of his child, and being known as his dark lady because with her becoming the mother of his heir-came certain pureblood expectations, so of course he married her.

After marrying her, came his first-born son Mattheo, who he allowed his last name because Voldemort had never exactly thought of a proper wizarding last name so Riddle would have to do for now.

Birth was…stressful, not just for his wife, but for Voldemort as well-who hadn’t exactly realized that the death of his mother had affected him so badly that he was…scared that (y/n) would die giving birth to Mattheo. But she was fine, and Mattheo was a little red wriggly potato of a newborn.

“Healthy lungs,” (y/n) commented, exhausted and happy, looking down at his firstborn in her arms that was crying as hard as he could with his new functioning lungs. Voldemort nearly cringed if he wasn’t staring in near awe.

He made that, they made that, they made a tiny little human. (y/n) looked up at him, examining the impossibly surprised and soft expression the dark lord was making, he was knelt beside the bed, staring at Mattheo who was cradled in (y/n)’s arms. “Would you like to hold him?” (y/n) asked and Voldemort swallowed, for the first time, scared of hurting somebody.

“Should I?” Voldemort asked, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable and (y/n) nodded, sitting up to place Mattheo in Voldemort's arms, who took him so gently it was almost comical. “Support his head, just like that.” (y/n) murmured, Voldemort slowly leaning back on his heels as he looked down at the tiny being in his arms-who had quieted as soon as Voldemort had taken him.

“He’s so small,” Voldemort murmured, his brown-red eyes staring down at the baby boy in his arms, warmth he never thought could’ve existed blossoming in his chest. The love of being a father.

-

Except, Voldemort isnt very good at showing love, considering he had never been shown it all his life. He had very few examples of a fatherly figure, he had Slughorn, he supposed, but he didn’t count Slughorn as a good example-considering how he hated Slughorn's coddling of him, though he did enjoy the praise.

So, Mattheo grew up going to his mother for all of his needs, which Voldemort was fine with, he didn’t know how to communicate with the boy, who was quite emotional-his heart on his sleeve unlike Voldemort, who had been emotional when he was young-but he was mean spirited, Mattheo was soft, like his mother.

Voldemort didn’t exactly try to stop the softness that Mattheo had in his heart, because while Mattheo didn’t know it, even the dark lord was weak to Mattheo’s doe eyes he gave when he wanted something from his mother.

Mattheo, however, grew up thinking his father didn’t exactly, care about him. The dark lord was distant and quiet, never showing affection even to his wife, Mattheo’s mom. This made Mattheo believe that he was only an heir to Voldemort, a means to an end, because his friends-or his future followers as the dark lord deemed them-all had relationships with their fathers, while they were stern and maybe a bit mean sometimes, they were still fathers, caring and loving, and when he was young, very very protective.

One time he saw Lucius call out for his dad when he scraped his knee and Abraxas had been next to him quicker than anyone could even say expelliarmus. It had only been a scrape too, and yet Abraxas had scooped up the 7-year-old and carried him into Malfoy manor, away from where he and Mattheo had been playing quidditch.

Mattheo always wondered what would happen if he called out for his father? If he started crying and called out for ‘dad’?

Mattheo, for the longest time, thought he’d never respond, that he had better luck calling for death itself to save him, because Voldemort would never care about anyone that much.

Right?

-

Mattheo hit the floor with a crack, groaning as his shoulder flared with pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, dripping off his lip and down his chin. He’d been assigned to a mission, either by his father or some other higher-up death eater, like Lestrange or something, but it was a stupidly dangerous mission, trying to convince the trolls of the western mountains to join his father's cause.

They hadn’t exactly reacted well to Mattheo’s offer, be it strained since he hadn’t exactly wanted to be there, so here he was, being thrown like a doll by mountain trolls.

He rolled onto his back, his vision blurry as he looked up at the trolls just a few feet away, one stomping up to him-raising its club high. Mattheo’s wand wasn’t in reach-blending in with the sticks and leaves on the forest floor, his heart seized in his chest.

Was he going to die here? Would he never get to see his mom again?

Would he never finish his Hogwarts education?

Panic bubbled in his throat and tears burned in his eyes-breathing heavily and quickly as he tried to scramble back. It came out by accident, the breathless cry of a scared 15-year-old who needed to be saved.

“D-Daaa-ad!!” The word was interrupted by blood in his throat, choking on it, making his voice quiet and almost pitiful.

The troll close to him didn’t even get the chance to arch down the club-because a swirl of strong black smoke and a blast of green lightning interrupted it. “AVADA KADAVRA!” a familiar voice bellowed, killing another troll-the shock wave from the two mountain trolls hitting the ground blowing Mattheo’s hair back as he sobbed on the ground, his shoulder in flaring pain and his chest hurting as he took shallow breaths between sobs.

He opened his eyes-seeing Voldemort-face twisted in rage-turn away from the mountain trolls that were fleeing. His father’s face went pale-paler than usual-and he rushed towards Mattheo, dropping his wand as he dropped to his knees beside his only son, carefully scooping the young boy into his arms, his head cradled in his elbow.

“Mattheo,” Voldemort breathed out, his eyes wide with worry, his jaw clenched as he looked over Mattheo for any injuries-finding many.

“Dad-“ Mattheo choked out, his hand tight against his father's sleeve-he doesn’t even remember the last time his father held him like this but right now he cant bring himself to try to remember-right now, he’s scared, he’s hurt, he needs his dad.

And his dad is right here, holding him, killed for him, protected him.

Mattheo doesn’t even know where he came from, how he knew Mattheo called for him, how he knew where Mattheo was. Perhaps Voldemort had followed him, perhaps it was fatherly instincts, perhaps magic.

It could’ve been anything, and Mattheo didn’t care, because his dad had come to save him-just like he always wanted.

“i-I’m-sorry,” Mattheo blubbered out as Voldemort found his wand and began enchanting healing spells under his breath, trying to reverse the worst of the damage.

“What?” Voldemort asked, his brow furrowed as he looked at Mattheo’s face. “Mattheo-no-“

“I shouldn’t be crying-I’m not a baby-I should’ve-been able to handle it,” Mattheo stutters out-fat tears rolling down his face-he hadn’t cried in front of his father in many many years.

Voldemort shushes him, it’s awkward and new, a copy of what his mother did when Mattheo got upset, but it’s still there-a gentle coo and a warm hand that brushed away blood and tears on Mattheo’s face. “Do not apologize, never apologize, you’re my child. You weren’t supposed to be on this mission in the first place,” Voldemort murmured, scooping his son completely into his arms, Mattheo clinging to his father’s robes.

Mattheo furrows his brows at his father’s words. He wasn’t meant to be on this mission? “I meant for this to be for Mulciber, who even told you to do this?” Voldemort said, it was a rhetorical question, but Mattheo answered anyway and Voldemort’s jaw clicked in anger. “I shall deal with him later, where is your wand?”

Mattheo sniffed and looked around, still in his father’s arms-which feels so odd-but finds his wand on the floor and his father grabs it, and in a moment he apparated them back to the manor-his mother already rushing down the stairs as Voldemort carried him through the threshold of the main foyer.

“I’ve got him,” Voldemort calmly said to his wife, who nodded, her fingers brushing through Mattheo’s hair as he leaned towards her-his eyes closed as he felt blood drying on his face.

 He’s set down in his room on his bed and his father personally sees to his medical needs, wiping up blood and fixing bones that were broken from when he’d been tossed to the ground by one of the mountain trolls.

It’s quiet, awkwardly quiet for a long time, Mattheo watching as his father, Voldemort, patched him up-his brown-red eyes intense as he waved his wand, charming the slice in Mattheo’s hand to heal up and close.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Mattheo admitted softly, too scared, too shy, to look at his father, who froze at Mattheo’s words. His brows furrowed, looking up at his son.

“Why not?” Voldemort asked, putting his wand away and sitting next to his son, their shoulders only a few inches apart.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Mattheo said softly, looking down at his hands. Voldemort swallowed, he knows he’s been a very distant parent, barely interacting with his son over the last 15 years-not since Mattheo was a toddler and needed his father much more than he did now.

Voldemort struggles with his words, but he has to let Mattheo know how much he really cares.

“I never expected to be a father,” Voldemort admits, wringing his hands between his knees. Mattheo looks at him, his eyes wide-realizing what was happening, his father was opening up to him. “But upon making myself the dark lord, a ruler of the wizarding world, I knew I would need an heir. I married your mother because an heir needs a mother-and she was the only one I was comfortable with, making an heir with. I…” Voldemort swallowed, rubbing his brow.

 “I never expected you. I watched you be born, I was terrified your mother would pass while giving birth to you, like my mother had, but she didn’t-and you had arrived. You were so small,” his voice becomes quiet, his gaze distant, fond. “I was terrified I would hurt you by holding you, but your mother insisted. Holding you for the first time-i…I never knew what it meant to be a father, I hardly know how to be one still but…when I held you for the first time, you were no longer my heir-you were my son. My very first love. I’m…I’m sorry I’ve failed to show it all these years.”

Mattheo can feel the lump in his throat, and he takes a small breath; he can't help but leaning forward-wrapping his arms around his father, and for the first time since he was a toddler, his father hugs him back.

Mattheo’s mother watches from the doorway, smiling softly before walking away, knowing her husband and son had finally connected once more.

-end-

[iris-qt]

𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎 / 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔

ꜱʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ ʙᴏʏꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛ

I. Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo freezes mid-bite of his chocolate frog, giving you the kind of look someone reserves for a talking cat. "You can’t pay the what now?" he says, mouth still half-full.

When you repeat it, his eyebrows shoot up so high they practically disappear into his curls. "Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve been paying the rent this whole time? Babe, what rent? Where are you sending this money? Do I need to send the lads to go 'talk' to someone?"

You insist you’re serious, and he bursts into laughter so loud it echoes around the room. He’s clutching his stomach, tears forming in his eyes. "Oh, this is rich! Next, you’ll tell me you’ve been working overtime at Flourish and Blotts to afford my ‘extravagant lifestyle.’ What’s next, huh? Selling cauldron cakes on the side?"

When you try to keep a straight face, he leans forward, his expression deadpan now but his voice dripping with sarcasm. "No, seriously, though. Should I sell my broom? Start knitting scarves for a Galleon a pop? Maybe I can busk on Diagon Alley…play the ukulele or some crap. People love that."

By now, you’re wheezing with laughter, and he just shakes his head, smirking. "Merlin, Y/N, if your acting career doesn’t work out, at least we know you’ve got a future in comedy. But seriously…rent? That’s cute.”

By now, you’re gasping for air, struggling to hold it together, and Mattheo’s smirk only grows wider as he watches you. He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing tone. "You know," he says with a glint in his eye, "If you really need help with the rent... maybe I could offer you a private lesson in how to make some extra Galleons."

II. Theodore Nott

Theo looks up from the chessboard he’s been meticulously studying for the last half hour, an eyebrow raised in mild confusion. "What do you mean you can’t pay the rent?" he asks, his tone calm but with a dangerous edge of skepticism.  

You repeat it, adding a dramatic sigh for effect.  

He blinks slowly, as if trying to process whether you’ve gone mad or if he missed some critical detail in your relationship. "You’ve... been paying the rent? Since when? Because I distinctly recall handling all of that."  

When you insist, he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers like he’s analyzing a particularly tricky potion. "Alright, either you’ve been scammed by an exceptionally creative con artist, or this is your latest attempt to distract me from beating you at chess."  

You pout, staying in character, and he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N, do you even know where the rent money comes from? Because I can assure you, it’s not your side gig selling those questionable potions on Etsy.”  

The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights a grin. Finally, when you can’t hold back your laughter anymore, he rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Honestly, I need to start charging you rent for all this nonsense. At least make it worth my while.”  

As you finally break into laughter, Theo sets his chess pieces down with a dramatic sigh, his eyes softening just a bit. He leans in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. "You’re impossible," he mutters, his voice a little quieter now, though there’s still a teasing glint in his eyes. "But you know, I wouldn’t have it any other way."

He gives you a small, almost shy smile, then leans back in his chair, his usual cool demeanor returning. "Now, let’s see if you can distract me enough to win this game."

III. Draco Malfoy

He would look at you like you’ve gone MENTAL

“Haha funny joke, y/n,” he rolls his eyes, going right back to reading his book and munching on his green apple.

When you reiterate it, Draco squints at you, lowering his book slightly, the crunch of his apple freezing mid-chew. "Excuse me? You what?" he says, a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice.

When you repeat it again, this time with extra drama, he sits bolt upright, his apple rolling forgotten onto the table. "Wait, wait, wait…you pay the mortgage? Since when? Did I suddenly get amnesia and forget we’re Muggles now? Because last I checked, the Manor doesn’t even have a mortgage!”

He grabs his wand, waving it theatrically. "Accio sense, because clearly you’ve lost yours!”

You keep the act going, insisting you’re serious, and he just gapes at you like you’ve declared you’ve taken up dragon wrestling as a hobby. Finally, he narrows his eyes.

“Y/N, love, if this is about that handbag you wanted last week, just say so. No need to concoct elaborate tales about rent payments. Merlin’s beard, you're ridiculous.”

When you burst into laughter, he leans back in his chair, scowling but unable to hide the faintest smirk. "I’m marrying a lunatic," he mutters, reaching for his apple again. "At least the lunatic has good taste in handbags."

IV. Blaise Zabini

Blaise looks up from his cup of espresso, one perfectly arched brow lifting as he tilts his head at you. "I’m sorry, darling. Did I hear that correctly? You can’t pay the rent? You mean the rent that I, Blaise Zabini, the man with seven vaults at Gringotts, didn’t even let you look at, let alone contribute to?"

You double down, trying to sell your story, and he exhales slowly, setting his glass down with the exaggerated care of a man trying to keep his composure. "This is new. Tragic, even. Shall I sell the antique Italian sofa to keep us afloat? Or, Merlin forbid, cut back on the imported silk sheets?"

When you keep insisting, he leans back, crossing his arms and giving you a slow once-over, his lips twitching with amusement. "You know what? You’re right. It’s all gone. We’re destitute. Better start knitting socks and selling them on Knockturn Alley. Maybe I’ll start charging Draco for advice. He’s overdue for paying his mate tax.”

Finally, when you burst into laughter, Blaise smirks, shaking his head and snaking an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "You’re lucky you’re cute, Y/N. If anyone else tried this nonsense, I’d have them banned from my flat and my life. But you? You get away with everything.”

V. Regulus Black

Regulus doesn’t even look up from his book, clearly too absorbed to even register your words at first. But when you repeat it, his eyes flicker briefly to you, a quizzical expression crossing his face. "Wait, what do you mean you can’t pay the rent?"

You try to explain, going for maximum drama, and he sighs, setting his book down with a soft thud. "Y/N, darling, I pay the rent. I handle everything. You’re telling me you’ve been struggling to pay it all this time?" His tone is flat, not even slightly concerned, just bemused. "I’ve already transferred the payment for the month. Did you forget?"

You continue the joke, and Regulus glances at you again, narrowing his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to convince me that you…you…have been paying the rent? Did you somehow think I’d believe that, or did you just want an excuse to create drama?"

He picks up his book again, unfazed. "You’re lucky you’re charming, because if anyone else tried this, I’d seriously reconsider their grip on reality." He sighs with exaggerated patience, "Don’t you remember? I’m the one who handles the bills. The whole thing is already sorted. No need to panic, love."

When you can’t keep it going anymore and laugh, he glances up once more with a slight smirk, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Y/N, your attempts at theatrics are as bad as your cooking. At least make the drama more believable next time.”

As you laugh, Regulus's serious expression softens just a touch, and he leans over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re impossible, you know that?" he mutters, but there's a warmth in his voice. "If you ever do run into a problem, though... just tell me."

You smile, and he sighs, shaking his head with a hint of affection. "I swear, you’ll be the death of me." But there’s a small, barely noticeable smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the kind he only gives when he’s not trying to be all stoic and mysterious.

VI. Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle doesn’t even flinch when you announce that you can’t pay the rent, simply pausing for a moment before his sharp, calculating gaze turns to you. "What are you on about?" he asks, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of annoyance. "You’ve been paying the rent? Since when did you even have the opportunity to pay it?"

When you repeat it with exaggerated seriousness, he leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, clearly trying to make sense of it. "I’ll admit, you’re certainly creative...but no. I’ve always taken care of the bills. I don’t recall a single instance where you were involved in such matters."

You continue the joke, and he chuckles darkly, though it’s clear he doesn’t fully buy it. "If this is your attempt at gaining attention, it's a poor one, darling. Do you think I’m so easily fooled?" His tone softens just slightly, a flash of something that could almost be affection in his eyes.

He stands and steps toward you, leaning in just close enough to make you feel his presence, but not too close to be truly comforting. "Next time you need a distraction, don’t go around pretending to pay rent," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear ever so slightly. "It’s beneath you. If you need something, ask. But don’t insult my intelligence."

When you finally start laughing, Tom smirks, his eyes glimmering with something softer, though it’s well hidden behind his usual cold demeanor. "You’re insufferable, Y/N. And that’s probably why I... let you get away with it."

A/N: Thank you to @fanfics4ever for this idea ♡

[inksoakedparchment]

SLYTHERIN BOYS REACTING TO CHRISTMAS MUGGLE MOVIES + THEIR FAVS

THEODORE NOTT:

༯ you’re a huge Marvel fan, which he doesn’t really like but when you put on the ‘Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Special’ he falls in love with the movie. middle of the movie he starts kissing your neck and you two have sex while the movie plays in the background. he really loves Marvel now especially this Holiday Special one.

MATTHEO RIDDLE:

༯ he hates christmas movies, but you two got a deal yesterday. if he watches a movie with you, he get a very special present on christmas day. so you choose ‘Bad Santa’ which catches his attention and after the movie he tastes you. it becomes his fav movie.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE:

༯ he loves you. especially when you are in christmas mood, always smiling and he’s doing everything to keep you in this mood. so he watches with you, your favourite christmas movie; ‘Home Alone’. it becomes his fav because of your loud laughters.

BLAISE ZABINI:

༯ he really loves you, but he hates your christmas movies, so you decide to watch ‘Mr.Grinch’ with him and he falls in love with this cartoon movie.

DRACO MALFOY:

༯ you REALLY love horror films especially christmas horrors. ‘Terrifier 3’ which is became your fav this year. you force your lovely blonde boyfriend to watch it with you again and it also becomes his fav because you two laugh at the “scary” scenes.

TOM RIDDLE:

༯ you force him to sit down and choose a christmas movie and ‘Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas’ catches his attention. you just watch him how amazed is he and after that he’s gonna force YOU to watch it with him on repeat.

collab w @sunkissedscribbles

taglist: @sunkissedscribbles @kandis-mom @idkkkkkkk123lgb @nottslvttt

[lizziesangel]

TOM RIDDLE - soulmates don’t exist PT. 7

SDE MASTERLIST - x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: everything changes for you when snape gives you a certain memory. will you be able to do the task that dumbledore has given you?

WORD COUNT: +4.7k

GENRE: angst-ish (but not really)

CONTENT WARNING: soulmate & time travelling

to be added to taglist

The sun filtered gently through the glass panes of the greenhouse, casting soft patterns of light across rows of exotic plants and herbs. Herbology class was well underway, and you were elbow-deep in soil and greenery alongside Lucas, who had somehow managed to turn a simple pruning task into an elaborate plan for early retirement.

“Added some lacewing flies and a bit of powdered root of asphodel to this,” he said, pointing to the strangely wriggling plant in front of him, a devil’s snare cutting, “We could probably start our own illicit potion business. Think about it—retirement by seventh year.”

You laughed, wiping your hands on a cloth and shaking your head. “I’m not sure Professor Garlick would be too thrilled if we used her greenhouse as our secret lab.”

Lucas sighed, putting a hand over his heart with exaggerated disappointment. “Ah, the crushing weight of responsibility. We could’ve been legends, Y/n.”

“Legends for getting expelled, maybe,” you said with a smirk as you carefully pruned a particularly thorny stem.

Professor Garlick approached your table, smiling approvingly as she noticed your progress. “Very good, you two! Lucas, Y/n, keep up the excellent work. And do try not to let the devil’s snare strangle you,” she added with a wink.

Once she moved on, Lucas leaned closer to you, whispering, “Imagine the scandal—two young potioneers with enough galleons to buy a private island in the caribbean.”

“You’d probably find a way to ruin it,” you teased, nudging him as you moved to another plant. “And besides, there’s more to life than mischief, you know.”

Lucas gave you an exaggerated gasp, as if you’d said something offensive. “More to life than mischief? Sacrilege!” he shook his head, feigning disappointment. “How did I end up with a friend who has such… practical dreams?”

“Pure luck, Lucas,” you replied with a grin.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “Fine, we’ll stick to legal Herbology pursuits—for now.”

As the hour went on, you and Lucas worked in comfortable silence, tending to the plants and whispering snatches of gossip about other students when Professor Garlick wasn’t in earshot.

After class, as you gathered your things, you noticed a few Slytherins nearby, casting glances your way. Lucas noticed too, and his expression shifted to something slightly annoyed.

“Why do they always look at us like that?” he muttered, tightening his grip on his bag. “You’d think they’re plotting our downfall or something.”

You shrugged, amused. “Maybe they’re intimidated by your incredible potion-business ideas.”

Lucas grinned. “Obviously. The Slytherins can sense power and ambition from a mile away. They’re jealous.”

The common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday evening, the fire crackling softly as you curled up in your favorite armchair with a book balanced on your lap. The faint chatter of students coming and going was a distant hum in the background, and for once, the usual chaos felt like a comforting lull.

You were only half-paying attention to the words on the page, your mind drifting to the slug club party later that evening. The dark purple dress you’d bought with Lucas hung neatly over your trunk upstairs, waiting for the moment you’d finally have to face the reality of being Tom Riddle’s date. It wasn’t exactly something you could forget, but for now, you tried to focus on your book.

Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the story, a familiar, weighty thud landed on the armrest of your chair. You looked up to find Shadow—your mysterious cat—perched beside you, his green eyes blinking at you like he’d been there all along.

“You,” you muttered, putting the book down and reaching out to scratch behind his ears. “You’ve been missing for days. Where have you been?”

Shadow didn’t answer, obviously, but he let out a soft purr and nuzzled against your hand as if to make up for his absence. You smiled, feeling a strange wave of relief at his return. Even with his habit of disappearing, shadow always seemed to reappear at the moments you needed him most.

“There you are!” Maeve’s cheerful voice rang out, and you looked up to see her, Alicia, and Lilith coming through the portrait hole. Lucas trailed behind them, holding a box of what looked suspiciously like contraband sweets from Honeydukes.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Maeve said, flopping onto the couch across from you. “Lucas said you were probably reading, but I thought you’d already started getting ready for the party.”

“Not yet,” you admitted, scratching shadow under his chin. “Trying to delay the inevitable.”

“Inevitable?” Alicia repeated, raising an eyebrow as she plopped down beside Maeve. “You’re going as Tom Riddle’s date. That’s not inevitable—it’s gossip gold.”

“Or terrifying,” Lilith added quietly, her brown curls bouncing as she sat cross-legged on the floor near the fire. “I mean, he’s… scary.”

“She’ll be fine,” Lucas said, waving his hand dismissively as he dropped the box of sweets onto the table. “If anyone can survive an evening with him, it’s Y/n. She’s practically unshakable.”

You gave him a dry look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’ll need it,” he replied, smirking as he popped a chocolate frog into his mouth. “But seriously, it’s just a party. Plus, you’ve got the best dress in the castle. Riddle will look like a second thought next to you.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” you said, rolling your eyes. “As long as I outshine the future dark lord, all is well.”

Your friends laughed, and for a moment, the tension you’d been carrying all week eased. Shadow hopped off the armrest, stretching lazily before curling up at your feet, his purring filling the space between your banter.

“So,” Alicia said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin, “Are we all meeting up after the party to dissect every awkward detail?”

“Obviously,” Maeve said, grinning back. “This is too good to miss.”

Lucas sighed dramatically. “You know, sometimes I think I’m the only normal one in this group.”

“Normal?” you shot back, arching an eyebrow. “You’re the one who suggested starting a black-market potion business during herbology.”

“She’s got you there,” Lilith murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Lucas huffed, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Fine. But if Riddle tries anything shady, I’m hexing him. Rules be damned.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, smiling despite the knot of nerves tightening in your chest.

Shadow let out a low, rumbling purr as if to say he agreed, and you scratched his ears again, feeling oddly comforted by his presence. No matter what happened tonight, at least you wouldn’t be facing it completely alone.

You stood in front of the mirror in the Gryffindor girls’ dorm, smoothing out the dark purple silk of your dress as you took a shaky breath. Tonight was the slug club party, and while part of you was excited for the evening ahead, while a heavier feeling lingered underneath—a strange mix of dread and curiosity about spending the night as Tom Riddle’s date.

“Okay, let’s see it! Give us a twirl” Alicia’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned, showing the full length of your dress to your friends. Alicia’s grinned, her green eyes lighting up as she clapped. “You look stunning, Y/n! Riddle’s not gonna know what hit him.”

You rolled your eyes but did as she asked, spinning in your dress. The fabric flowed around you, brushing your ankles, catching the soft glow of the room’s candlelight. It was simple, but elegant, and it felt… right. Yet there was still a knot of nerves coiling in your stomach.

Lilith, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed, gave you an approving nod. “Seriously, you look incredible. And if he doesn’t appreciate it, well… he’s an idiot.”

“Or, you know,” Maeve said with a smirk, “He’s just Tom Riddle, and he doesn’t appreciate anything.”

“But, honestly, Y/n, you look amazing,” Maeve added, standing back to admire her friend.

You let out a laugh, trying to mask the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “Thanks, guys. but… it feels weird, you know? like, I want to go and have fun, but with him?”

“I just…I don’t know. I kind of want to go, but… Riddle as my date? It’s… complicated.”

Alicia laughed, shaking her head. “You think? He practically just told you that you’re his date, didn’t even ask if you wanted to go with him. Sounds about right for him.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t exactly give ‘polite,’” Lilith agreed, her brows knitting together. “But you don’t have to be around him all night, y’know? Stick with Lucas and his date. He’ll be there, and you can just make a night out of it.”

You sighed, playing with the hem of your dress. “That’s the plan, honestly. But… Riddle just has this way of… getting under my skin.”

Maeve snorted. “I mean, he’s intense. I can see how he’d get under anyone’s skin. But look, just… don’t let him intimidate you, yeah?”

Alicia leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And if he starts acting all dark and mysterious, just give him one of those looks you do. The one where you look unimpressed by everything.”

You laughed, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, I think that’ll be my go-to tonight. I’ll probably need it.”

Lilith smiled softly, her eyes filled with warmth and a hint of pride. “We’re serious, though. You don’t owe him anything, okay? He’s your ‘date’ because he decided he is, but that doesn’t mean you have to feel pressured. It’s just one night.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a mix of gratitude and reassurance. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Maeve hugged you quickly before stepping back. “You won’t have to find out. We’ve got your back—even if we’re not there. and if Riddle gives you trouble, just remember: you can handle yourself. No one messes with our girl.”

Alicia gave you a little nudge toward the door, grinning. “Go knock ‘em dead, Y/n. you’re going to have an amazing time—even if Riddle is… well, Riddle.”

You took a deep breath, smoothing out your dress one last time. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

As you left the room, your friends called out goodbyes and last-minute pieces of advice, and you felt a small surge of confidence. Yes, he was intense, and yes, he had a way of unsettling you in ways you couldn’t quite explain. But tonight, you had friends who had your back, even from afar.

The castle was alive with energy as you walked through the halls, your heels clicking softly against the stone floor. Lucas was by your side, his usual mischievous grin replaced with a faint look of concern. “Don’t worry, Y/n,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. “If things get too weird with Riddle, you know I’ll be there to pull you out.”

“Thanks, Luca,” you replied, though the tightness in your chest told you there was no simple escape from whatever would unfold at the party. “But if things get too weird, I might just disappear into the punch bowl.”

Lucas laughed, but his gaze lingered on the door ahead. “If you need a distraction, I’ve got the best one in mind. I’ve already got some tricks up my sleeve for Slughorn.”

Before you could respond, a figure emerged from the shadows near the entrance to the party. You felt your heart skip a beat when you saw him—Tom Riddle, tall, imposing, his dark eyes catching the flickering light as he leaned casually against the stone wall. For a moment, everything seemed to slow, as if the world itself had taken a collective breath.

Riddles’s gaze flicked over to you the second you stepped into his line of sight, his lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smirk. He didn’t even spare Lucas a second glance.

“Ah, Y/n,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, yet carrying an underlying sharpness that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “I see you’re finally ready for the evening.” his eyes never left yours as he spoke, completely ignoring Lucas standing beside you.

“You look... okay, Y/n.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow, a frown tugging at his lips. “You could at least say hello, Riddle. It’s called manners.”

Riddle’s gaze flicked briefly to Lucas, but only for a moment, barely acknowledging his presence before returning to you. “Manners, Creevey?” he repeated, his tone bored, as if the concept didn’t interest him in the slightest. “You’ll excuse me if I have more... pressing matters to attend to.”

Before Lucas could respond, Riddle stepped closer to you, his presence suddenly overwhelming as he reached out and took your arm, his grip firm and possessive. “Shall we?” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Your breath caught in your throat as he began to lead you away from Lucas, his fingers warm against your skin, his touch sending an unexpected jolt through your chest. the tension in the air thickened as he pulled you further into the grand hallway, the buzz of the party growing louder.

“Hey, don’t forget about me!” Lucas called after you, his voice laced with an edge of irritation.

Riddle didn’t even look back. “Of course, we wouldn’t want to forget about your entertaining presence,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. The way he said it made you feel as though you were already stepping into a different world—one that was far removed from Lucas and your friends.

As the two of you approached the doors of the party, you felt a sudden surge of nerves, your heartbeat picking up its pace. It was as if the walls of the castle were closing in around you, the weight of Riddle’s gaze heavy on your back.

When you stepped into the grand ballroom, Slughorn was waiting near the entrance, his jovial expression lighting up as he spotted you. “Ah, here they are!” he boomed, his round face flushed with excitement. “The charming Y/n and our guest of honor, the ever-elusive Tom Riddle!”

Riddle’s lips curled into a tight, enigmatic smile as he bowed his head slightly. “Professor,” he said smoothly, his voice as calm and controlled as ever. “I’m honored to be here.”

You gave a tight smile, not sure whether to feel nervous or irritated by the way Riddle was behaving—calm, collected, but almost too detached for comfort. Slughorn beamed at you both, clearly enjoying the spectacle of the night.

As Slughorn led you further into the room, introducing you to a few other guests, you felt Riddle’s fingers gently tighten around your arm, pulling you just a little closer to him. “Don’t get too comfortable, Y/n,” he murmured lowly, his breath brushing against your ear. “I’ll be the one to decide how comfortable you get tonight.”

You shivered involuntarily, a mixture of annoyance and something else you couldn’t quite identify flooding through you. You managed to keep your voice steady, though your pulse raced in your ears. “And if I don’t want to play by your rules?”

Riddle’s smile deepened, his eyes dark with an unreadable emotion. “You’ll learn to, eventually,” he said with a soft laugh, the sound sending an icy chill down your spine. “We all do. It’s just a matter of time.”

Your breath hitched.

Before you could reply, Slughorn was back at your side, beaming at both of you with a glass of champagne in his hand. “Ah, the perfect pair! Tom, Y/n, you two are going to be the highlight of tonight, I can feel it!” he said, his voice booming above the music. “You’re like a shining star, Riddle,” he added, addressing Riddle with an exaggerated wink. “And Y/n, my dear, you’re simply glowing tonight. Glowing, I tell you!”

You gave a tight smile, feeling Riddle’s gaze still lingering on you as Slughorn chatted animatedly, clearly enjoying the attention. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something possessive, something dangerous—that sent an uncomfortable shiver through you. The feeling was unmistakable.

The room was buzzing with energy, the soft clinking of glasses, the low hum of conversations, and the elegant swirl of music filling the air. Slughorn, as usual, was floating between groups, effortlessly charming everyone around him. You, however, found yourself slipping away from the crowd, subtly scanning the room in search of someone.

Lucas had been acting unusually off tonight, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with something more subdued. He’d mentioned earlier that someone had asked him to the Slug Club party, and ever since, he’d been on edge, occasionally glancing across the room as if he were searching for someone.

You couldn’t help but wonder who the mysterious person was. It had to be important if it was causing Lucas, the master of wit and sarcasm, to lose his usual calm. You caught sight of him standing near the punch bowl, chatting with Cressida and Maeve, but his gaze was fixed elsewhere—across the room.

You tried to focus on the scene, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being drawn into a curiosity you couldn’t fully explain. Trying to mask your distraction, you turned your attention back to the room, but your gaze involuntarily flicked toward Lucas again.

“This is getting a bit sad to look at, don’t you think?” Riddle’s voice was smooth, his tone oozing amusement as his sharp eyes locked on you. He was standing so close now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “I’ve been watching you watch him. Curious about who he's looking for, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, trying to ignore the sudden prickle of unease as his words seeped into your mind.

“How about I save you the trouble?” Riddle continued, a slight smirk curling on his lips as he leaned in just a little closer, his voice low and chilling. “His name’s Jace Fenwick. A sixth-year Hufflepuff. Somewhat popular, though a bit of a loner when it comes to socializing outside his little friend circle.”

You stared at him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “How do you even know this?”

Riddle ignored your question, continuing with unsettling ease. “Fenwick doesn’t really have the best reputation. You see, his father’s a wizard who supports the ‘dark side’, though he’s kept it quiet—surprising, considering the family’s connections. He’s been known to flirt his way into getting what he wants, but never quite manages to hold anyone’s interest for long. He’s been eyeing Lucas for a while, though I suppose you could say the feeling is mutual. He’s the kind of person who likes to think of himself as a knight in shining armor, always trying to rescue the underdogs, but really, he’s just after the thrill of the chase.”

Your pulse quickened as you tried to absorb the torrent of information Riddle was throwing at you. “Why would you even know all of this?”

Riddle’s gaze darkened, his eyes glittering like polished stones in the dim light of the party. “I observe, L/n. It’s a habit of mine,” he said casually, almost too calmly. “You should really stop wasting your time wondering. It’s a little too obvious.”

You weren’t sure if his words were meant to unsettle you, or if he was simply indulging in his usual method of rattling people. Either way, it worked. You felt your heart beat a little faster, a strange mix of irritation and discomfort swirling in your chest.

“Did you even ask Lucas if he wanted you to interfere with his personal life?” you shot back, trying to keep your composure.

Riddle raised an eyebrow, his expression never faltering. “If I didn’t interfere, how would you ever know the truth about anyone, hmm? Especially a person like Lucas Creevey.” He paused, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper as he added, “It’s not exactly a secret that he’s not as invincible as he likes to believe.”

You swallowed thickly, biting back a retort. You didn’t need to hear more about Lucas’s life from him. The unsettling calm with which Riddle delivered his revelations made you uneasy. He wasn’t just reading people; he was dissecting them with ease, like a magician pulling apart the strings of a carefully crafted illusion.

“And here you are,” Riddle continued, his gaze never leaving you as if savoring every word. “All caught up in someone else’s drama. Does it bother you? To see the people you care about distracted by their own petty games? You’ve become rather… fixated on him, haven’t you?”

Your lips pressed together into a tight line. “I’m not fixated,” you said sharply, though your tone wavered slightly under his stare. “Just concerned.”

“Of course,” Riddle said, his voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Concerned. How noble.” He straightened up then, his posture almost regal as his eyes lingered on you. “Tell me, Y/n, are you always this… naive?”

“Do you see someone else in him?”

Yes. Harry.

You blinked, your mind spinning with the tension that had suddenly thickened between the two of you. His words, while meant to provoke, felt like something much darker, as if there were a deeper meaning lurking beneath them. You couldn't tell whether he was mocking you or simply enjoying the control he seemed to hold over the conversation.

Before you could respond, he offered you one last lingering glance, his lips curling into that knowing smirk.

“Anyway, the party’s waiting. You should enjoy yourself tonight,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “But don’t forget—I always know more than you think.”

With that, he turned on his heel, walking away as though he hadn’t just stripped away every ounce of comfort you'd felt about tonight.

As you watched him leave, you couldn’t help but feel unsettled, the fragments of his words replaying over and over in your mind. He knew too much. And, strangely, you couldn’t decide whether that terrified you even more… or intrigued you.

The party was winding down, the soft strains of music from the orchestra fading into a low hum, and the chatter of students gradually thinning as they gathered their coats and prepared to leave. You had spent most of the evening trying to keep your distance from Tom Riddle, still wrestling with the unsettling pull he had on you and the fear that he was, in fact, the very creature you had learned to despise—Voldemort.

But despite your best efforts, your gaze had often strayed toward him across the room, the way he carried himself with such eerie confidence, the way his dark eyes seemed to lock onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Every time you tried to leave his orbit, he would reappear, always speaking in a way that left you breathless, or even more confused than before.

Now, as the party came to a close and the last guests began to file out, you tried to make your way to the door, hoping to slip away quietly and forget the unnerving conversation you’d had earlier. But just as you turned the corner of the corridor, you found yourself face-to-face with him.

Riddle stood there, his figure silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. His eyes glinted in a way that made your heart skip a beat, and you froze, instinctively taking a step back.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice was smooth, almost too calm, like he’d been waiting for this moment. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “I was. But it’s getting late, and I—”

“I’ve been studying you, Y/n.” Riddle’s words cut through your excuses, his tone suddenly serious, leaving you no room to avoid him. “You’re different. In a way that’s difficult to ignore.” His gaze flicked over you, the piercing, calculating intensity making you feel exposed, like he could see right through you.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you swallowed hard. “What does that mean? What are you talking about?”

“You’re not like the others,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. “You’re not easy to read. You don't act like the others in your little group. There's something beneath the surface, something…” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully, “…intriguing.”

Your breath hitched at his cryptic words, a mixture of confusion and wariness settling in your stomach. “I don’t know what you’re implying, Riddle,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way he was looking at you made it difficult to concentrate.

“I think you do,” Riddle said softly, his voice almost a whisper, like a secret just between the two of you. “But you won’t admit it. Not yet.”

You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Something in his voice, something about the way he was speaking, felt like a challenge—a game he was playing at your expense. But despite your growing unease, a strange part of you was compelled to hear him out.

“Stop playing games,” you said, trying to hide the uncertainty creeping into your tone. “What do you want from me?”

Tom took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t want anything,” he said, his voice low and tinged with something darker.

“At least, not yet.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could form the words, he reached out, his hand brushing your cheek with an almost unnerving gentleness. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as your body responded to his touch against your will.

“And what if,” he began, his voice now a mere breath, “I wanted to see what would happen if I took a little more than I should?”

Your stomach twisted, and you could barely process his words before he closed the space between you, his lips crashing against yours in an unexpected, forceful kiss.

Time seemed to stop. Your thoughts scattered, leaving you dizzy and breathless as you stood frozen for a moment, your body in complete shock. His lips were soft yet demanding, pulling you into a kiss that was far too consuming for your mind to catch up with. The weight of his presence—his power—pressed down on you, and for a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to melt into it, unable to tear away.

But as soon as it had started, he pulled back, his eyes dark with something unreadable, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His fingers lingered on your cheek, tracing the outline of your jaw as if he were memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch.

You blinked, still reeling, your mind in a whirlwind. Your breath was ragged, your chest rising and falling unevenly, and you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. But as your heart hammered in your ears, you realized one thing clearly—nothing had felt the way you thought it would. You had expected revulsion, disgust, fear. Instead, something different stirred inside you, something both thrilling and terrifying.

“You really are a puzzle, Y/n,” Riddle said, his voice now softer, more deliberate. “I think I’m starting to like the challenge.”

Your mind raced, trying to process his words, the kiss, and the way your body still felt the lingering effects of his touch. But then it all came rushing back—he was Voldemort. The person you were supposed to hate. The monster who had caused so much pain and suffering.

And yet, you couldn’t deny the fact that he’d kissed you.

But you didn’t have time to think about it. The hallway seemed to close in around you, and you found yourself taking a hesitant step back, your thoughts a jumbled mess. The weight of the moment hung in the air, thick with tension and unanswered questions.

“You’ll understand in time,” Riddle said, his voice almost teasing as he took a final, lingering glance at you. “I promise you, Y/n—this is far from over.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless, confused, and aching in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

The world around you felt too heavy as you tried to collect yourself, but one thing was certain—everything had just changed between you and Tom Riddle.

i am SO SORRY it took so long to update 😓😓- go to taglist request to be added, otherwise you will NOT be added

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[tomriddleswhcre]

| Dark Tendrils of Obsession

warnings: MDNI, characters are 18+, manipulation, toxic relationship.

words: 3,757

The library of Hogwarts was a sanctuary for the restless. Silent, endless shelves of books stretched to the horizon, offering knowledge to those who sought it. It was here that you first felt the weight of his gaze.

Tom Riddle sat a few tables away, his dark eyes never quite leaving you. There was an elegance to him, a sharpness in his posture, and a magnetic pull in his quiet demeanor. He was polite at first. Courteous, even. His smile, restrained yet charming, made you feel special in a way that was both intoxicating and unsettling.

“Reading about alchemy, are you?” His voice was velvet, smooth enough to slide under your skin.

You nodded, too startled to respond immediately. “Yes, just... curious about the theories.”

“You’re different from the others,” he said, leaning closer. “They’re shallow, concerned only with frivolous pursuits. But you—” his eyes locked onto yours—“you have depth.”

From that moment, he was always around. Offering help with your studies, sitting next to you during meals, escorting you through the dimly lit halls. At first, you appreciated his company. He was brilliant, charming, and so utterly captivating that it felt impossible to resist his pull.

But then, the cracks began to show.

Tom’s affection turned possessive. He didn’t like you spending time with your friends, brushing off your protests with a quiet, “They don’t understand you like I do.”

When you mentioned a friend from another house in passing, his smile faltered. “Why waste your time with someone so... beneath you?”

One evening, you found yourself cornered in the library. Tom’s usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by an intensity that left you breathless.

“I’ve seen the way they look at you,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Do you think they care about you? That they’ll ever truly see you for who you are?”

“Tom, you’re overreacting,” you said, trying to step back, but his hand caught your wrist, holding you in place.

“I’m the only one who truly understands you,” he insisted, his grip tightening. “The only one who ever will.”

As the days turned into weeks, Tom’s influence over your life became suffocating. Your friends began to distance themselves, confused by your increasingly erratic behavior. Every time you tried to push back against Tom, he would find a way to twist the narrative, leaving you questioning your own sanity.

“You’re imagining things,” he said one night, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I only want what’s best for you. Why can’t you see that?”

His words burrowed into your mind, planting seeds of doubt. The world felt smaller, darker, and the only constant was Tom. He was always there, watching, waiting, his presence both a comfort and a torment.

One evening, after yet another fight, you found yourself in the Astronomy Tower, the wind whipping around you as you tried to catch your breath. The weight of his love, his obsession, was too much to bear.

“Thinking of escaping me?” Tom’s voice cut through the night like a blade.

You spun around to see him standing there, his eyes alight with something dangerous.

“Tom, I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“You can’t leave me,” he said, stepping closer. “You belong to me.”

There was a madness in his eyes now, a fire that consumed everything in its path. And yet, there was also a tenderness, a desperation that made your heart ache.

“I’m the only one who can save you,” he said, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “The only one who will ever love you this much.”

In the end, you couldn’t fight him. His love was too powerful, too overwhelming. It wrapped around you like a vice, crushing and consuming until there was nothing left of the person you once were.

But as you fell deeper into his embrace, a part of you wondered if this was what love was meant to feel like—devastating, all-encompassing, and utterly inescapable.

And Tom, his lips brushing against your ear, whispered the words that sealed your fate. “You’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you away from me.”

Tom’s touch lingered, his fingers grazing your cheek with a gentleness that belied the ferocity in his eyes. The stars above bore witness to the storm between you—a clash of your desperate need for freedom and his relentless obsession.

“You don’t have to fight this,” he murmured, his voice soft now, almost hypnotic. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I would give you the world, but you have to let me. You have to trust me.”

You shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his presence. Your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch even as your mind screamed for distance. His hand slid to your neck, the pad of his thumb brushing your pulse.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Tom’s voice dropped lower, seductive and commanding. “This connection between us... it’s undeniable.”

Before you could protest, his lips captured yours. The kiss was anything but gentle—desperate, possessive, consuming. It was as though he was trying to claim every part of you, to mark you as his in a way that no one could ever undo.

The weeks that followed blurred into a haze of stolen moments and forbidden touches. Tom’s obsession seeped into every corner of your life, his presence a constant shadow. But beneath his calculated control lay a smoldering passion that ignited every time you were alone together.

One night, he cornered you in an empty corridor, his dark eyes burning with a fire that made your knees weak.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You’re in my mind, my veins... you’ve consumed me.”

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, the air crackling with tension as he pressed you against the cold stone wall.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I...” The words stuck in your throat, your mind battling against the pull of his intensity. But when his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, a moan escaped before you could stop it.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

It wasn’t long before his desire for control extended beyond your emotions. He wanted all of you—your body, your soul, your very essence. And when he took you to the Room of Requirement, its walls shifted to reflect his dark desires: rich, crimson drapes, flickering candlelight, and a bed that seemed to beckon you into its velvet embrace.

“Do you know what you do to me?” Tom asked, his hands slipping under your robes, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His lips found yours again, softer this time but no less insistent.

As his hands explored your body, his whispers became more fervent, his love both a worship and a torment. He touched you like he was afraid you might disappear, every caress a promise that you were his and his alone.

When he finally laid you down, his gaze bore into yours, an intensity there that made your heart race. “You’re mine,” he repeated, the words a dark oath. “Every part of you belongs to me.”

Tom’s obsession bled into every intimate moment, his need for you growing darker and more insatiable. He didn’t just want your love; he wanted your submission, your surrender. And as much as you fought against him, there was a part of you that found solace in his embrace, in the way he made you feel like the center of his universe.

But beneath the passion, there was always the shadow of his control. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a reminder that you were his—not because you chose to be, but because he had willed it so.

And as he held you close, his lips tracing patterns over your skin, you realized that escape was no longer an option. You were bound to him, caught in the dark, inescapable web of his love.

Tom’s obsession had become your prison, but you weren’t the same timid figure you once were. Something within you stirred—a fire forged from the ashes of his suffocating love. You began to play his game, to lean into his desires and make him believe he had won.

It started with the smallest acts of defiance cloaked in submission. The way your fingers lingered on his collar when you adjusted it for him, the way your lips brushed his ear when you whispered. You learned how to wield his obsession, turning it into a weapon.

One night, in the privacy of the Room of Requirement, you made your boldest move yet. The room had shifted into a lavish chamber, the flickering firelight casting shadows on Tom’s sharp features. He sat in an armchair, his posture commanding, his dark eyes watching your every move.

You stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. His gaze darkened as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

“You think you own me, Tom,” you whispered, your fingers tracing his jaw. “But maybe I’ve let you.”

His lips curled into a smirk, his hands resting on your waist. “You belong to me. You always have.”

Your hands slid to his shoulders, then his chest, fingers brushing against the faint pulse at his throat. His breath hitched as your lips found his neck, kissing and biting just enough to make him groan.

“You’re intoxicating,” he murmured, his voice unsteady for the first time.

You tilted his chin up with your fingers, your lips ghosting over his. “Then let me intoxicate you.”

As he surrendered to your touch, his usual vigilance wavered. His hands gripped your hips, his focus entirely consumed by you. It was then, as his head tilted back and his eyes fluttered shut, that you made your move.

Your hand slid to your wand, hidden beneath the folds of your robe. Summoning every ounce of courage and precision, you pressed it to his temple.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of triumph and regret. His eyes flew open, confusion flashing across his face just as you murmured the incantation.

“Obliviate.”

Months Later

Freedom tasted sweet, though it was laced with an undercurrent of fear. Tom Riddle, once your captor in every sense, now passed you in the halls with an air of detached curiosity. His memory of you—the obsession, the intimacy, the darkness—was gone.

At first, you didn’t believe it. You expected him to lash out, to corner you and demand answers. But days turned into weeks, then months, and Tom remained oblivious.

You began to rebuild your life. Friends returned, laughter felt genuine again, and the oppressive weight of his presence faded. But a part of you never truly relaxed. You knew that if Tom ever remembered, his wrath would be unstoppable.

It happened one day in the library. Tom sat alone, his fingers skimming a page of a book as his expression darkened. A flicker of something familiar crossed his face—a spark of recognition, of understanding.

Memories came rushing back like a tidal wave, each one sharper than the last. The feel of your body against his, the fire in your eyes, the way you whispered his name—and the betrayal.

The anger boiled within him, but he didn’t act immediately. Instead, he watched, waited, planned.

It was late at night when he found you sneaking through the halls. The moonlight streamed through the stained glass, casting patterns on the stone floor as you moved silently, clutching a book.

“Out past curfew, are we?” His voice was low and taunting, the sound freezing you in place.

You turned slowly, your heart racing as you saw him standing there, his Prefect badge glinting in the dim light. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something dangerous.

“I—was just returning this,” you stammered, holding up the book as if it would shield you from him.

Tom’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Breaking the rules, are we? That’s a detention, I’m afraid.”

Before you could protest, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. His touch was firm but not painful, his grip unrelenting as he led you through the dark halls.

“Tom, I can explain,” you started, but he silenced you with a sharp look.

“Oh, you’ll explain, alright,” he said, his tone dripping with menace. “You’ll explain everything.”

He brought you to a small, hidden room—a Prefect’s storage room rarely used. The door shut with a thud, and the silence that followed was deafening.

“I remember,” he said simply, stepping closer. His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed his fury. “I remember everything.”

You took a step back, but he advanced, backing you against the wall.

“You thought you could erase me? Take what was mine and walk away unscathed?” His voice was dangerously low, his hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

“Tom, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I had no choice—”

“You had every choice,” he snapped, his other hand gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. “And you chose to betray me.”

His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice a mix of anger and something darker. “But you didn’t account for one thing: I always get what I want. Always.”

His hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leaned closer. “Do you know what I want now?”

Tom’s grip on your wrists tightened, his face mere inches from yours. His breath was warm against your skin, yet the fire in his eyes chilled you to your core.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” His voice was a low growl, dangerous and laced with venom. “Erasing my memories, taking away what’s mine. Do you think that could ever stop me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t a kiss born of love or tenderness; it was fury incarnate. His mouth moved against yours with bruising force, his hands sliding to your waist, pinning you against the cold wall as though he wanted to imprint himself onto your very soul.

Your heart raced as your mind warred with your body. His touch was fire, scorching and unyielding, and yet some traitorous part of you leaned into him, matching his intensity.

Tom pulled back suddenly, leaving you gasping for air. A smirk curled his lips as he studied your dazed expression. “Pathetic,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mockery.

He stepped back, smoothing his hair as though the encounter hadn’t affected him in the slightest. “You’ll learn, in time, not to cross me. And when you do, you’ll beg for my forgiveness.”

With that, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving you alone, trembling with a mix of anger, fear, and confusion.

True to his word, Tom made your life a living hell. He was calculated in his cruelty, never overt enough to be caught but always precise in his attacks.

Your friends began to distance themselves, their once-warm smiles replaced by wary glances. Whispers followed you wherever you went, rumors planted by Tom’s silver tongue. Professors scolded you for assignments that mysteriously went missing, and your once-perfect quillwork was replaced by jagged, ink-stained parchment.

Every glance from him in the corridors felt like a blade to the chest. His smirk grew wider with each passing day, as if he was savoring your descent into isolation.

By the time you reached your breaking point, you felt like a shadow of yourself. That night, driven by desperation and rage, you stormed into the Prefect’s dormitory, your fists trembling at your sides.

The door slammed open, and there he was. Tom Riddle sat on his bed, shirtless, his pale skin glowing in the candlelight. A book rested in his hands, though his gaze lifted lazily to meet yours. A knowing smirk played on his lips, as if he’d been expecting you.

“Ah, here she is,” he drawled, closing the book with deliberate care. “The little rebel finally comes crawling back.”

“Stop it!” you shouted, your voice cracking. “You’ve done enough, Tom! Please—just leave me alone!”

He raised an eyebrow, setting the book aside as he leaned back against the headboard. “Leave you alone?” he echoed, mockery dripping from every word. “You didn’t seem to mind my attention before.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you dropped to your knees, the weight of everything too much to bear. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words trembling on your lips. “I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have erased your memories.”

Tom stood, his tall frame towering over you as he approached. The smirk on his face widened as he looked down at your tear-streaked face.

“Oh, you’re sorry now?” he said, his voice low and mocking. “And what, exactly, are you sorry for? For betraying me? For thinking you could escape me? Or for underestimating just how much I could destroy you?”

Your sobs grew louder, and you shook your head. “I’ll do anything,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just stop... please.”

Tom crouched in front of you, his hand gripping your chin to tilt your face up to meet his. His dark eyes burned with satisfaction, a predator reveling in the surrender of his prey.

“Anything?” he repeated, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

You nodded, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed your lower lip.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice soft but deadly. “You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have crossed me. And now you’re here, on your knees, begging me to forgive you.”

He straightened, his hand sliding into your hair. The motion was firm but not painful, his fingers tangling in your locks as he pulled your face closer to his waist.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, “if I gave you the chance... would you dare to do it again?”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as his grip tightened.

“Good,” he said, his smirk widening. “Because I can promise you this—you’ll regret what you did for the rest of your life.”

Tom’s smirk deepened as he held you there, his grip firm but deliberate. The tension in the room was suffocating, his presence overwhelming. You felt his eyes boring into you, watching your every move, every tremble of your body beneath his power.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with disdain. “The once defiant little thing, so bold, so eager to stand against me. And now?” He tilted your head slightly, his fingers tightening in your hair. “You’re exactly where you belong—on your knees, apologizing like the pathetic creature you are.”

Your lips quivered as you tried to speak, to muster any kind of retort, but the words failed you.

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. “Don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

He pulled you back slightly, forcing you to look up at him. His expression was unreadable now, a dangerous mix of triumph and something darker, something almost tender.

“You said you’d do anything to make this right,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek. “But you can’t undo the damage you’ve caused. You can’t undo the months I lost—the nights I spent consumed by thoughts of you, not understanding why I felt so... incomplete.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice cracking.

His hand slid to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he leaned closer. “I don’t think you understand what sorry means,” he said, his breath ghosting over your lips. “But don’t worry—I’ll teach you.”

He straightened abruptly, releasing you and stepping back. His smirk returned as he crossed his arms, watching you struggle to compose yourself.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

You hesitated, your legs trembling as you pushed yourself to your feet.

“Good,” he said, his tone approving. “Now, take a good look around this room. Do you know what it represents?”

You shook your head, unsure of where he was going.

“This,” he gestured to the dark, intimate space, “is where you’ll come when you need reminding of who you belong to. Of who you owe everything to.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Don’t think for a second that this is over,” he continued, his voice growing softer, more dangerous. “You’ve unleashed something in me, something that won’t stop until I’ve had my revenge. But I’m not in a hurry.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against your arm, making you flinch.

“No,” he murmured, his lips inches from your ear. “I’m going to take my time. I’m going to make you regret what you did in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Tom didn’t let up. His torment became more personal, more intimate. He would appear at the most unexpected times, his voice soft and mocking as he reminded you of your place. He continued to twist the people around you, isolating you further, but now he did it with a calculated cruelty, ensuring that you felt his presence even when he wasn’t there.

And yet, there were moments where his anger seemed to waver, replaced by something almost... longing. Late at night, when he cornered you in an empty corridor or brushed against you in the library, his touch would linger, his gaze softening for the briefest of moments.

You hated yourself for noticing. Hated yourself more for the way your body betrayed you, responding to his closeness despite everything he’d done.

One night, after weeks of torment, you found yourself summoned to the same secluded room where this all began. Tom was waiting, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to sit.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone deceptively calm. “Perhaps I’ve been too harsh on you. Perhaps I should offer you a chance to redeem yourself.”

You frowned, unsure of his intentions. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Prove to me that you’ve learned your lesson. That you understand what it means to be mine.”

Your heart sank as you realized what he was asking.

“And if I refuse?” you whispered.

His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, you won’t refuse. Because you know what’s waiting for you if you do.”

Whew, this one took me quite a while to finish! Hope you enjoyed that manipulative mf, Tom—hehehe.

Your likes and reblogs mean the world to me—thank you so much! Love you!

devider from @cyberangel-graphics :>

[evajzcks]

my life would be better if people started using this beautiful man as tom riddle in fanfics

ok i wrote something for him!!!!! 👇

[viperify]

Smutmas 2024 | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ʀᴏꜱɪᴇʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

I Appreciate You.

Short summary: After some persuasion, Tom joins you for Christmas dinner. Only then he finds out your parents haven’t exactly treated you well and seizes the opportunity to show you what it means to be truly appreciated.

Warnings: nothing, just fluff (for now…)

A/N: I have entered a bad case of writing block halfway through this, so I cut it short. I AM SORRY. I’ll take a day or two off and write a pt 2☹️

wordcount: 1,6k

Tom and you have been friends for a while – or rather study accomplices, as he would call it. Though lately, you have grown closer. Oddly close, at least if you knew Riddle, who wasn’t one to interact with others unless it served a purpose. You have known that from the beginning, so it never really appeared to you why he would be different towards you exactly – but you weren’t going to complain about someone tutoring you after all – someone who was equally as smart as pretty.

“You forgot pearl dust.” he sighs in disappointment, not looking up as he fidgets with his quill. “Tom it’s been two hours, my head is a mess. Let’s take a break?”

His gaze flicks from his quill to your eyes and stares at you briefly before speaking up. “I don’t take breaks. If you want me to keep being generous enough to help you, you do it my way.”

That’s how it goes every single time. You don’t argue against it – you just do what he says. The desperation to become better at Potions is greater than your ego after all and you have also come to notice it is better not to talk back to him. The last time you did, he wouldn’t even speak to you for two weeks after.

Tom clears his throat and you return your focus to the present. “It’s been an unnecessarily long time since you have started staring at me. Focus on your textbook.”

“Right, right! Sorry.” Your cheeks heat up and you repeat the brewing process from the beginning.

After what feels like an eternity, he is satisfied – as much as he could be. Tom obviously is never fully satisfied, always has something to criticize that you didn’t do right, something he says you would need to work on the next time you two meet to study.

There was always going to be a next time.

As you two pack up, you see house elves working on the Christmas decorations just outside the library, putting up a pine tree and some red and golden ornaments. It’s the Thursday before winter break, and you would soon go home to spend the time with your family. They have told you to bring a friend, though all of them have declined so far. You would just go alone. Until – well, you think about Tom.

“Uh, I actually have one more question.” You start, turning to face him. He raises his eyebrows expectantly signalling you to continue. “Soooo, I have been wanting to ask you whether you wanted to join me for Christmas dinner at home. My parents have asked me to bring someone along.”

“We aren’t friends. Besides that, I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

That’s exactly the answer you assumed he’d give, but you weren’t going to give up that easily. Your family has been talking about him often lately, about the Gaunt family, purebloods just like you. All the things they say you don’t understand anyway. It’s been like that since you were born, they always favoured your older brother over you. You have stopped arguing against it.

“Come on, Tom! It’s just a dinner, one evening. I know you don’t usually leave Hogwarts for Christmas break, I just wanted to give you the opportunity to meet my parents. They have been talking about you.”

He contemplates for a moment then. He is aware that his family, at least his mother’s side, has caught people’s attention. Apparently also the Rosiers’. Rosier family, part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It would only be to his benefit to get to know them personally. And he hated admitting it, but lately - he has found himself strangely intrigued by you. A smart girl, who wouldn’t normally need his tutoring, not if he didn’t tell you to come back every week for another lesson.

“I suppose I will think about it. If I decide for it, I will join you at the train station.”

Your lips curl into a bright smile. “Thank you, Tommy! You are the best.”

He sighs. “How often have I told you to stop calling me that?”

“Sorry, sorry! I am just super excited to introduce you. They have been pestering me with questions about your mother’s family.”

You swear you see a slight spark in his eyes at the mention of his mother, though his usual stern expression returns just a second later. “Have a good evening.” he replies and leaves you behind at the library without saying another word.

-

There has not been a single sign of Tom when you board the train. Secretly you have hoped he would come and join you, though as soon as you leave the station you find yourself at peace with the fact you’d be going home alone for the break. The scenery shifts as you look out of the window, a thick layer of snow covering the otherwise green Scottish Highlands. You see deer scavenging for any grass they can find, scraping at the frozen ground with their hooves, the nearby hares’ white winter fur blending in perfectly with the scenery.

There aren’t too many students in your wagon, meaning you get to have a compartment all for yourself. Just like normally, your eyes grow tired, voices around you turning into a blur, and you fall asleep.

It wasn’t long until someone clearing their throat, taking a seat next to you woke you again. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asks, and you turn to face him.

Your face lights up at the sight of the person in front of you. “Tom! I am so happy you decided to come along!”

“I suppose it’s a welcome opportunity to connect with another renowned family.” he replies, and you nod, though slightly disappointed. “Of course.”

The rest of the journey, both of you don’t speak much. It’s a weird energy between you, something you don’t quite recognize. You are glad – as glad as you could be, knowing your family awaits you just outside – when the train arrives at your station. Both of you get off, and your mother’s and father’s faces light up at the sight of, not you, but Tom. They greet him first, ask him how the journey has been.

It’s only when you arrive at home that they ask you to help prepare dinner while Tom’s being shown around the manor. Even at dinner they won’t let him be and you wonder whether it was a good decision to bring him home with you.

In a moment of silence, your mother first looks at you, then at him. A smile forms on her face, something you only rarely get to see and you wonder what may be behind it.

“We are so glad you have decided to join us. Our daughter really couldn’t have chosen a better boyfriend.”

Oh.

You feel your heart drop in your chest at her words. They must have misunderstood the situation. Your cheeks heat up and you see Tom’s face changing into one of confusion.

Trying to save the evening, you quickly try to explain. “No it’s- we are not-“

“I am pleased to hear I am meeting your expectations.”

Tom’s words cut you off, and for a moment you aren’t sure whether you have heard him correctly. You blink a few times and shoot him a confused look, and he smiles at you.

Smiles.

You nod quickly, lowering your gaze onto the plate in front of you as you feel your cheeks heat up. For the rest of the evening, you don’t say much, even when you all gather around the Christmas tree. They ask questions about your relationship, which only Tom answers. He sits next to you and as the night progresses, his hand wanders up your lower back, snaking around your waist. You visibly shiver at his touch but decide to play along.

As soon as everyone has excused themselves to bed, you move away a little, escaping his grip. “Tom, I am sorry, they must have completely misunderstood.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“No really I-“

“Sshhh.” he whispers, his face inching closer to yours then, capturing you in a tender kiss. His hand rests on the back of your head, softly pressing you against him. You inhale deeply as you break apart, your eyes trailing up from his lips to his eyes. It’s only the candles on the Christmas tree that shine a dim light on both of your forms, yet you are able to make out the changed look on his face.

“We shouldn’t.” you murmur, shaking your head.

“I see the way you look at me in the library. And you perfectly know why I want to keep meeting you. Yet both of us are too stubborn to admit it.”

Though you hate to admit it, he’s right.

“I just didn’t think you would like someone like me.”

Tom huffs. “You never acknowledge your worth, and I suspect that is what your parents have taught you. They don’t see your potential. They diminish your achievements. Why do you let them?” he asks, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I have stopped caring a long while ago. You know how it is.”

Tom doesn’t reply after that, though his hand continues running up and down your back soothingly. You stay like this for a while, until he slowly turns his head, facing you.

“I will show them what it means to appreciate you.”

His voice is low and controlled as his face is a mere inch away from yours, his breath warm on your skin.

“I will show you what it means to be appreciated.”

[little-diable]

Merry Christmas, pet - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

It’s close to Christmas so I decided to let these two celebrate in the best way possible. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader visits Priest Riddle on Christmas morning to properly celebrate

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, religious connotations, public/in a church

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (1k words)

The sound of her boots meeting the snow covered ground filled the air, focusing on the crunching snow. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself as the wind picked up, letting snowflakes rest on her cold cheeks while she moved closer towards the church.

A sigh of relief left her as she stepped into the warm church, shaking off the snow lingering on her before calling out his name. The scent of incense and burning candles guided her closer, wrapping itself around (y/n).

“Priest Riddle?” She called out again, placing down her coat and bag on one of the benches. It didn’t take him long to appear, stepping into the room with a soft smile lingering on his lips, eyes moving up and down her frame.

“Merry Christmas, (y/n). What brings you here?” He came to a halt in front of her, letting the scent of his cologne clash against her, high on the smell. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her bag, pulling free the box of cookies she had baked for him late at night.

“I wanted to bring you this, a small Christmas gift.” An unfamiliar softness swam in his pupils, leaving her to grin in excitement. The two of them had a strange relationship, tiptoeing along the edge whenever they were alone. He was corrupting her, and yet she didn’t back down, enjoying the way the priest toyed with her.

“How sweet of you, (y/n). But you could have waited until our evening mass.” He placed the box down before turning back to her, hands finding her waist to pull her flush against him. (Y/n)’s hands automatically found his chest, palms pressed flat against his black dress shirt while her eyes flickered between his white collar and his dangerous eyes. She could only wonder if the snake slithering through Eden looked like him, charming, set on fooling those who didn’t see through his game.

“I didn’t want to wait that long, wanted to see you much sooner.” The raspy chuckle leaving him made heat pool in her stomach, forcing her thighs to press together while he tightened his grip on her. Priest Riddle’s thumbs stroked along the fabric of her dress, enjoying the way her breath hitched in her chest like it always did when he touched her.

“Such an impatient girl. What should I do with you, huh?” One of his hands found her chin, holding it with an iron grip while his lips found hers. The relieved sigh rumbling through (y/n) only pushed him closer, deepening the kiss. Priest Riddle turned them around, sinking down on the wooden bench to pull her into his lap, spreading her thighs for his wandering hands.

It didn’t take long for him to rip her tights, brushing his fingertips over the soaked fabric of her panties. Her moans filled the empty church, echoing off the high walls that seemed to stare down on them with judging eyes. (Y/n) pressed herself further against his fingers, hoping that he would switch to his cock rather soon.

“What do you wish for, (y/n)? Tell me.” She fumbled with his belt, hoping that he’d understand what she wanted from him. But the man didn’t give in, waiting for her to speak up. She freed his hard cock first, wrapping her nimble fingers around him before finding her voice.

“I want you to fuck me, Priest Riddle. That’s all I want.” He hummed in agreement, allowing her to pump him a few times before she positioned herself over his cock. Their eyes held contact as she sank down on him, groaning at the feeling of him perfectly filling her.

A sound so sinful not even the devil could have created it left them in unison, guiding them as she moved on top of him. Almost absentmindedly her hand found the cross dangling from his neck, similar to the one dangling over the altar behind (y/n), staring down on the priest who had corrupted a once sweet girl.

“Atta girl, look at you, such a perfect pet for your priest.“ The moan leaving (y/n) made him chuckle, sinking further into the bench with his hands tightly supporting her. Her teeth had a tight grasp on her lower lip, close to drawing blood as red as the blood that had clung to the saviour's body, a river of thick substances mixing together as death and life fought for the upper hand.

“Hold on.” Her dazy mind struggled to pick up on the command, arms finding their way around his neck. Priest Riddle carried her towards the altar, setting her down on it without pulling out of her. (Y/n) trembled as she clung to him, arms and legs wrapped around the tall man who now fucked her with ferocious thrusts.

“Oh god, you’re so big.” She could feel him deep inside of her, hitting all the right spots with every thrust. No shame clung to them, all too used to giving in to their lust within these holy halls, spurred on by the sinful thrill. His ringed hand held onto her throat, thumb running over her jaw to pull her in for a teeth-clashing kiss.

Her walls fluttered around his cock, knowing that she was about to fall over the edge with a call of his name. Priest Riddle parted from (y/n)’s lips to stare down on her, enjoying the sight of her pleasure-drunken features all too much. The adrenaline thumping through their veins began to spiral, forcing them into a new dimension as they came at the same time.

The priest imprinted himself on her walls while she sobbed his name, clinging to him as if he was the only one she could trust and seek guidance from. Neither of them let go as they tried to catch their breaths, eyes holding contact.

“Merry Christmas, pet.”

[girlfromflor]

obsessed(stalker)!tom riddle x reader | a/n: i am obsessed with this man, once again.

the overachiver, top of the class, boderline obsessed with everything!tom riddle who first heard about the maradeurs map from mattheo, who was complaining about the fact that "the weasley twins never get their parties ruined by the professors because of that bloddy map".

obsessed!tom riddle, who steals the map for about 3 hours from the twins dorm and puts it back in place, only so he could spend weeks trying to replicate the spell behind it.

obsessed!tom riddle, who finally manages to make a map himself and doesn't tell a soul, so he can keep on tracking your every move.

obsessed!tom riddle, who suddenly knows all your classes, your favorite spots around the castle, and actually makes a schedule of your rotine so he can make sure you're in the right place at the right time.

obsessed!tom riddle, who becomes your very observant and attentive friend. he had an enviable intuition and seemed to guess right your every move. you thought it was so nice to have someone paying so much attention to you like that.

so obsessed!tom riddle turned friend, becomes your protective boyfriend.

a protective boyfriend!tom riddle who keeps an eye on every single guy that crosses your path on campus.

protective boyfriend!tom riddle, who asks "what were you and neville talking about after your DADA class?" with fake curiosity enveloped in every syllable and you wonder how he knew you talked to neville at all.

protective boyfriend!tom riddle who you know would never risk anything happening to you. he's so smart and hardworking to achieve his goals and since he invested so much time to make sure you're always okay, you don't mind his questionable antics.

beacuse after all, your protective boyfriend tom riddle makes you feel safe.

[nottsangel]

— hp porn links ੈ♡˳ 16k celebration.

warning: 18+ only. these are twitter links that contain porn videos. these are not fics.

includes: theodore nott, mattheo riddle, draco malfoy, tom riddle, lorenzo berkshire, pansy parkinson, fred weasley, george weasley, ron weasley and harry potter.

nav . m.list . drabbles m.list

— THEODORE NOTT

brother’s bsf!theo fucking you in your room

sex with toxic!theo after a fight

dealer!theo fucking you in his car

bf!theo using you as a stress reliever

— MATTHEO RIDDLE

roommate!mattheo fucking you while everyone’s asleep

missionary with mattheo in his dorm room

bsf!mattheo helping you relax after a long day

classmate!mattheo fucking you against his desk

— DRACO MALFOY

enemy!draco fingering you in the bathroom

draco pounding into you from behind

dom!draco spanking you when you misbehave

draco sneaking into your dorm room late at night

— TOM RIDDLE

dom!tom fucking your throat

rough sex with tom after you’ve been needy all day long

bf!tom fingering you

tom waking you up in the middle of the night

— LORENZO BERKSHIRE

roommate!enzo fucking you in your room

makeup sex with bf!enzo after an argument

dom!enzo fingering you

reverse cowgirl with bsf!enzo

— PANSY PARKINSON

making out with bsf!pansy

gf!pansy eating you out

pansy fingering you in the bathroom between classes

sleepovers with bsf!pansy

— FRED WEASLEY

bsf!fred eating you out

morning sex with roommate!fred

bf!fred fucking you after you flirt with someone else

riding fred’s face after a stressful day

— GEORGE WEASLEY

bf!george breeding you full

baking with bsf!george

morning sex with roommate!george

george fucking you raw after you pull the condom off

— RON WEASLEY

jerking off sub!ron

riding classmate!ron after class

ron fucking you against the wall

sleepy sex with bf!ron

— HARRY POTTER

needy harry fucking your thighs

missionary with harry

dom!harry fingering you from behind

shower sex with bf!harry

[sp7-mr]

[poltoreveur]

I can’t fix him but I could fuck him.

[actually-mentally-ill]

[natti-ice]

18+ mdni

Me: “fuck, I need his cock”

Him: *is literally just words on tumblr*

[slytherinslut0]

jealousy. | slytherin boy headcanons

author’s note: im completely unhinged, as always. no surprise there. love me some angry snake men🥵 please enjoy.

-your boyfriend sees another guy flirting with you in the hall.

Draco Malfoy.

Sees you from down the hall as he’s walking with his friends.

“You know what, guys, I’ll catch up with you after.”

Would literally ditch his friends to make his way over, collecting himself as saunters up to you and mystery man.

Would instantly grab your ass, no hesitation, grip firm enough to bruise. When you gasp, caught off guard, he’d shift his arm up and around your shoulder, pulling you against him.

“What’re we talking about?” He’d sneer.

His voice would be laced with feign interest, smirking down at you with blaring eyes before shooting daggers at the boy.

He’d simply chuckle at you when you tell him nothing, just school stuff, leaning down to place a possessive kiss on your cheek as he grabbed your hand.

“Wonderful. let’s head to class, yeah?”

He’d pull you away from that dude, shooting him another look meant to kill, a silent warning not to fuck with him.

Finally gets you alone in an empty corridor or bathroom; would waste literally no time at all before pushing you against the wall and grabbing your neck/jaw.

“Who the fuck was that, hm?”, “he was practically eye-fucking you…give me five good reasons why i shouldn’t have him expelled or hexed into bloody Azkaban.”

He’d be furious, but he’d also know that you’d never choose some other guy over him, so he’d soften once he hears the innocence in your tone.

“You’re mine, princess,” he’d loosen his grip, kissing you softly. “Say it.”

Blaise Zabini.

Was listening to music while walking down the hall, instantly rips out his headphones the second he sees you laughing a little too hard with some dude he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t necessarily stop walking, but he’d definitely slow his pace, kind of just watching, not wanting to interfere but also not wanting to look creepy stalking you from a distance.

When the guy doesn’t leave, he’d tired of waiting, saying “fuck it”, before marching over naturally.

This man is so fucking cool calm and collected he’d just saunter right up and join in, making himself at home.

He’d practically take over the conversation because he’s literally just that chill in every situation, seamlessly fitting right in, so fucking charming and loved by everyone.

You’d kind of just end up staring at him, smiling in silent awe, knowing that this was his way of asserting his place, letting the guy know what the fuck was up.

After the dude leaves he’d just causally look at you, smirking that charming smirk, wetting his lips as he hooked an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, leaning down for a kiss.

“Ain’t no one getting you without getting me too, babygirl.” He’d murmur against your lips. “let that be known, right now, forever, always.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

Would literally stop everything. The second he’d see you laughing and smiling he’d be completely unable to focus on anything else and would completely zone out of any conversations with his friends.

Would get like super anxious and flustered pretty much immediately.

Wouldn’t want to intrude so he’d just kind of hang back, wait for you against the wall and try not to stare too much.

His adorable little cheeks would flush, and he’d know he seemed utterly ridiculous so he’d try to busy himself with his shoelace or something while he waits.

You’d quickly cut off the conversation and move over to him, instantly being able to tell that he’s overthinking.

He’d smile at you, though you could still see the concern on his features.

“Who was that guy, darling?”

You’d tell him he was just a friend from class, no one special at all, pulling him in for a hug and giving him a quick smoochie on the cheek.

“Don’t worry enz, no one could ever take your place.”

He’d blush, trying to play it off. “Sorry love, I know you’re my girl.”

You’d take his hand, squeezing him hard, never wanting him to doubt that for a second. “Only yours baby, forever.”

Mattheo Riddle.

“Who the fuck-“

Would literally whip his bag at Theo, hastily shoving through the crowded hallway with blazing eyes, tunnel visioned as he tried to figure out where the fuck this dude found the audacity.

You wouldn’t even have to turn around to know he’s there, you’d be able to literally feel the anger radiating off of him.

You’d already know exactly where this was heading, but you’d also know there was no attempting to stop him because it’s pointless. Everyone in the school knows that.

Matty does what Matty wants, and right now, he wants to fuck up this guys face for even thinking about flirting with you.

You’d simply look up at him, noting his tensed jaw and his dark eyes as he glances between you and the dude, before fixing back on you, wetting his lips before he says,

“Is this fucker bothering you?”

Unable to help it, you’d smirk, shaking your head as you calmly attempted to talk him down.

“No Matty, he just asked if he could borrow my study notes-“

He’d heard more than enough.

“Study notes? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so,”

Without giving the guy a chance to react, he’d reach for his collar, shoving his back against the wall, teeth barred and face contorted in a snarl as he’d hiss:

“Bother my fucking girlfriend again and the only study notes you’ll need are the ones on how to drink out of a fucking straw, understand?”

Not interested in the response, he’d shove the guy away, eyes softening instantly as he moved back over to you, thrusting a hand through your hair as he kissed you like it’d been a hundred years, right in the middle of the hall for everyone to see.

And judging by the intensity in his grip, you’d already know, later that night, he’d be extra fucking sure to ask you who the fuck you belong to while he’s fucking you.

When he finally pulled back, he’d smirk at you. “Some bloody nerve on that guy, huh?”

You’d just shake your head and laugh, taking his hand as the two of you headed for class.

Theodore Nott.

He’d spot you from down the hall, his eyes instantly narrowing, gaze darting around as though he was missing something, as though this was some sort of sick joke.

Surely, this dude is mentally unwell, right? There’s no fucking way that he’s-

Doesn’t bother to think about it for even another fucking second, instantly shoving through the crowd to make his way over.

Proceeds to wrap his arm around your waist, other hand finding your jaw and pulling your lips to his before you could even process it.

Would proceed to full-on make out with you in front of the dude, and I mean tongue and all, his grip on your jaw so tight you’d know exactly what he was trying to do.

His hand around your waist might even slip lower, grazing over your ass, and then that’s when you’d attempt to gather yourself and push him back, completely embarrassed.

He’d just shrug, smirking down at you before he’d finally acknowledge the guys’ presence with literally nothing more than a glare meant to kill.

“Move along,” he’d say to the guy while pulling you away, grip tighter than ever. “This one’s fucking taken.”

As soon as he got you alone he’d be damn sure to remind you that you’re his, and only his, making you beg and whine his name before he fucked you like you deserved the pain.

Tom Riddle.

“AVADA KEDA-“

Lowkey kidding but not really.

No one would even dare because that man would make it clear as fucking day what would happen if they tried.