#Tom riddle drabble

[nottsangel]

Tom riddle being low key obsessed with your ass. That’s it. That’s the request.

tom’s hands always instinctively wander towards your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before possessively resting it there. he doesn’t care where you two are— even when in the presence of others in the slytherin common room, his hand trails down from the small of your back, down to the plump flesh. “tom! we’re in public.” you hiss through clenched teeth, eying him with a stern, disapproving expression on your face. “i am aware. no need to state the obvious.” he replies icily, not even bothering to meet your gaze as his piercing eyes remain fixed ahead.

and during sex, his favourite position is for sure doggystyle, with your hands tied behind your back by a cute, pink ribbon. he’d push your head deeper into the plush pillows with one hand, while the other harshly smacks your ass until the red imprint of his hand is visible on your delicate skin. his brutal, relentless thrusts leave your head spinning as you drool all over the satin sheets, his hand possesively squeezing the soft flesh of your ass. “mine. you’re all mine and mine only.”

ੈ♡˳

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Hiiii! May i have 🍂 Enemies to lover trope with Tom riddle please? (possible hufflepuff reader where she's the opposite of Tom, cheerful, sweet, she's naive, but snaps at him one day because she's tired of him being passive agressive.. if that makes sense) thank you so much my love!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ bubbling emotions

synopsis: you finally snap at tom riddle in potions class, tired of his constant belittling—only to find yourself confronted by him afterward. but instead of more cruelty, he offers something unexpected: respect content warnings: emotional distress, reader overwhelmed author's note: hey angel ♡ thank you so much for requesting! <3

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,137

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you tucked the letter from your parents into your robes, trying your best to push the weight of its words aside. They meant well, you knew that, but it didn't stop the sting from settling in your chest. Your brother was always the top of his class. We expect nothing less from you.

You bit your lip, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay as you made your way to Potions class. You had always been the type to keep a smile on your face, to greet everyone with a cheerful demeanor—even when things felt overwhelming. But today… today was different.

As you slipped into the classroom, you spotted your potions partner: Tom Riddle. His sharp gaze flickered toward you briefly before returning to the textbook in front of him. His usual cold and indifferent expression never wavered.

Great. Of all days…

Professor Slughorn began the class, instructing everyone to pair up and begin the day’s assignment—a tricky potion that required precision and teamwork. You glanced at Tom, hoping for some semblance of civility between the two of you. But of course, it didn’t take long before his usual comments began.

“You do know dragon blood isn’t part of this, right?” Tom’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he watched you with narrowed eyes, clearly unimpressed by your every move.

You gave a forced smile, trying to maintain your usual upbeat attitude. “I know that, Tom.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying how much he was getting under your skin. “And those roots—don’t chop them. Crush them. Honestly, do you even pay attention in class, or are you too busy making friends with everyone?”

Your hands trembled as you crushed the roots, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Not today, not today, you chanted in your head, trying to keep calm. But he just kept going.

“I don’t know why Professor Slughorn keeps pairing us together,” Tom muttered. “It’s clear you’re more suited to Herbology than Potions. Or perhaps Charms—something simple enough for a—”

“Enough!” You slammed the pestle down onto the table, your voice shaking with emotion. “I’ve had enough of your stupid comments, Tom!”

"I’ve had enough of you!" you burst out, voice breaking. "I might be cheerful and positive, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak. I’ve been trying my best, and you—" You jabbed a finger at his chest, "you don’t get to tell me what I am!"

Tom blinked, momentarily taken aback. It was rare for anyone to stand up to him, let alone you—the ever-smiling, ever-naive Hufflepuff. But you weren’t finished.

"You think you know everything, don’t you? You think being cold and calculating makes you superior, but guess what? Being kind takes strength too. And maybe if you weren’t so consumed by your own darkness, you’d see that!"

The room went silent, every student turning to look at you. Even Professor Slughorn paused in his lecture, his eyes wide with surprise. You never yelled. You were the happy, positive one. The sweet Hufflepuff who always had a kind word for everyone. But now, the tears you had been holding back were threatening to spill over.

Tom stared at you, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. But he quickly masked it with his usual disdain.

Without another word, you grabbed your bag and stormed out of the classroom, ignoring the whispers that followed you. The second you were out of sight, you let the tears fall, your pace quickening as you hurried through the empty halls.

You had tried so hard. Your parents' expectations, your constant need to prove yourself, and then Tom—the boy who always seemed to find a way to belittle everything you did. It was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You found yourself in an empty corridor, leaning against the cold stone wall as you tried to steady your breathing. The tears still flowed, but you didn’t care. For once, you let yourself feel the weight of everything.

“Running away isn’t going to fix your mistakes.”

You turned to see Tom standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, that same infuriating smirk on his face. How had he found you so quickly?

“Leave me alone, Tom,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes.

“Why should I?” he replied, taking a step closer. “You’re the one who stormed out like a child.”

Your temper flared again, and you shot him a glare. “Because I can’t stand you!” The words came out harsher than you intended, but they were true. “You think you’re better than everyone else. You constantly belittle me, make me feel like I’m useless, and I’m tired of it!”

For the first time, Tom’s smirk faltered. He took another step toward you, his voice quieter this time. “You’re not useless.”

You blinked, surprised by his sudden change in tone. “What?”

Tom’s jaw clenched as if he was struggling with what to say next. “You’re… infuriatingly cheerful, yes. And naive. But…” He paused, his dark eyes locking with yours. “But you’re not useless.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. This was not the Tom Riddle you were used to—the one who constantly mocked you.

“I only criticize you because you could be better,” he continued, his voice low. “You have potential, but you waste it on trivial things.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “So, what? You’ve been insulting me because… you think I have potential?”

Tom let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re not as dull as the rest of them. That’s all I’m saying.”

You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. The tension between the two of you was palpable, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You could still feel the sting of his words from earlier, but there was something else there now—something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Tom…”

Before you could say anything else, he stepped closer, his gaze intense. “I don’t hate you. But your optimism—it’s infuriating.”

You let out a small laugh, despite everything. “I’ve noticed.”

There was a long pause as the two of you stood there, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable anymore. Finally, Tom spoke again, his voice softer than before.

“Perhaps… I could tolerate it. Your cheerfulness.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Was he—was this Tom Riddle trying to make peace with you?

“And maybe,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips, “I could tolerate your endless criticisms.”

Tom’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, and for a moment, you thought you saw a glimmer of something warmer in his cold demeanor.

“Well then,” he said quietly, “it seems we’ve come to an understanding.”

You nodded, the weight on your chest finally lifting just a little. Maybe things between the two of you weren’t so hopeless after all.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[darkmarkmarauder]

Only Good Girls Get to Cum - T.R.

!warning!minorsdni, mature content, heavy bdsm

Pairing: Husband!Tom Riddle x Wife!Reader

Teasing your husband during dinner was a mistake. You knew it the moment you felt his sharp gaze on you, the silent warning in his eyes. Tom Riddle is not a man to be disrespected—not in public, and certainly not in private. Unfortunately for you, some lessons need to be learned twice.

The moment the heavy wooden doors shut behind you, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the world, you knew you were in trouble.

Tom hadn’t spoken a word since dinner, but his silence had been deafening. You’d seen the way his fingers twitched when you ran your foot up his leg beneath the table. The way his jaw clenched when you whispered filth into his ear between courses. The flicker of something dark in his eyes when you sucked your dessert off your spoon just a little too slowly.

Now, standing in the dimly lit bedroom, you finally had his full attention.

“I do hope you enjoyed yourself tonight, my love.” His voice was smooth, dangerously calm as he shrugged off his outer robe, draping it over the chair beside the fireplace. “You put on quite the show.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence, though your pulse quickened when he took a step closer. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. “No?”

Faster than you could react, his hand was around your throat, pressing you back against the wall. He didn’t squeeze—yet—but the weight of his palm was enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine.

“You forget often, my wife” he murmured, his thumb dragging along the column of your throat. “I allow you freedom. I indulge you. But you will not embarrass me in front of my men.”

You wet your lips, your breath coming in short gasps. “I think you liked it,” you whispered, watching his pupils darken. “I think you enjoy punishing me just as much as I enjoy provoking you.”

His grip tightened for just a second—a warning—before he let go entirely.

“On the bed,” he ordered.

You hesitated, just to test him, and in an instant, he had you spun around, your cheek pressed against the wooden post of the bed. His hand came down sharply across your ass, the sound cracking through the air. You gasped, the sting blooming through your skin.

“I said,” he growled, his voice dangerously low, “on the bed.”

You obeyed, crawling onto the mattress, heart pounding. Tom was not a man who tolerated disobedience, and you had spent the entire night pushing him. You knew exactly what was coming.

He stood at the edge of the bed, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing the veins in his forearms. His wand was in his hand, twirling between his fingers, and with a lazy flick, invisible bindings wrapped around your wrists, securing them to the headboard.

The vulnerability sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Tom climbed onto the bed, kneeling between your parted thighs. His hand smoothed over your hip before delivering another sharp slap to your ass. You gasped, your back arching involuntarily.

“Tell me, my love,” he mused, his fingers trailing up your spine. “Did you think I wouldn’t make you pay for your little performance tonight?”

You bit your lip, but the smirk playing at your mouth betrayed you. “I was hoping you would.”

He chuckled, dark and indulgent. “Oh, I know.”

Without warning, his fingers pressed between your thighs, feeling the slick evidence of your anticipation. He hummed in approval, his other hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“That's my girl” he murmured, sliding two fingers into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. 

You sucked on his fingers, letting your tongue swirl around them, watching the way his eyes darkened, his breath coming just a fraction sharper.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled his fingers from your mouth and entered them inside you. The stretch made you let out a whimpered moan, your body jerking against the restraints. He set a punishing pace, curling his fingers just right, his thumb pressing against your most sensitive spot.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a desperate moan slipping from your lips. “Tom—”

His hand wrapped around your throat again, pressing down just enough to make you focus. “Try again.”

“My Lord,” you gasped, the title tasting like surrender on your tongue.

He smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear. “Good girl.”

Without warning, his mouth was on you, hot and unrelenting. He licked a stripe up your core before sealing his lips against you, sucking with a wicked precision that made your entire body jolt. Your legs trembled, pulling against your restraints, but there was no escape—not from him, not from the overwhelming pleasure he forced upon you.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured against you, dragging his tongue through your slick folds. “So needy for me.”

Before you could even catch your breath, Tom moved, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, his strong arms locking you in place as he pressed you against the wall.

And with that, he fucked you—hard, deep, ruthlessly—the way he bounces you, shifting his grip to adjust as he starts to move, has you gasping. With every upward thrust, you can feel his cock filling you completely. 

You can feel his breath on your skin, his lips close to your ear, his voice rough with desire. "Look at you," he growls, tightening his grip on your waist as he shifts, bouncing you harder, faster. His eyes trace the way your body moves, the way your tits bounce with each thrust, and it’s driving him insane. He can barely keep his composure, the way your skin trembles beneath his hands, the way your hair falls in disarray, clinging to your flushed face, only heightening the urgency in his every motion.

His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and filled with raw desire. "You’re so fucking tight." he groans. 

His grip on you tightens, and the intensity of his thrusts deepens, his cock hitting you in just the right spot. Every movement has you gasping, your body riding him with desperation.

Your head tilts back, lips parting on a breathless moan. “i-i’m gonna cum.” 

The pressure builds, hot and overwhelming, your head tipping back against the wall as he picks up the pace, each bounce rougher, deeper. The coil inside you winds tighter, his name slipping past your lips like a desperate prayer. He feels it—the way you clench around his warm cock. And just when you think you might fall, he growls against your ear, voice dripping with command.

"Only Good Girls Get to Cum."

Pulling out, he sets you in front of him on your knees. His cock hard and wet from penetrating you. You would've been angry, furious even but it was clear to you this was your punishment. 

When you finally take him into your mouth, he exhales a low, satisfied groan, his fingers tangling into your hair as he guides your movements.

The weight of him on your tongue, the way he controls every inch of you, the soft, ragged sounds of pleasure he makes as you hollow your cheeks—it’s almost enough to make you forget your own denied release. Almost.

He thrusts deeper, fingers tightening in your hair, and when he finally comes undone, his pleasure painted across your lips and you licked them clean. 

The way he looks down at you—dark eyes flashing with ownership, jaw tight with restraint—sends a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your stomach.

"Enough games," he growls, before effortlessly lifting you further up, your legs instinctively tightening around him. He turns, the distant sound of running water reaches your ears as he carries you towards the shower. His eyes never leave yours—dark, intense, and full of hunger.

"Time for round two," he whispers, his lips curling into that smug, dangerous smile. "And this time, I’m not going to be so patient."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: father forgive me for I have sinned

LMAO but srsly tho.. anyways hope u enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[nottswitch]

⋆˙⟡♡ VENUS IN SCORPIO

venus in scorpio keeps their walls up at all times, not letting anyone past the cold, unfeeling facade. but beyond the mask lie raw passion and power. if a scorpio venus lets you in, but you end up toying with their emotions instead, you can expect yourself to end up on the receiving end of their… displeasure.

tom riddle x reader

warnings: 18+ mdni, brat taming, face slapping, choking, hints at oral (m receiving)

nav // event / more

"on your knees."

"no."

you stand defiantly, arms crossed on your chest as you regard tom with narrowed eyes. you see the slight clench in his jaw, and the little movement fills you with pride. it’s not often that he reacts to all the bullshit you seem to be constantly pulling, but this time, you might’ve gone too far – and you’re enjoying it far too much for your own good.

"i could make you," he says calmly, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, yet there’s an undeniable strain to his voice. no one else would notice, but you’ve known tom for far too long not to. "i will make you."

you scoff, lifting up your chin to look more confident, even though tom’s intense gaze is doing a great job at pinning you down. "you can try."

tom doesn’t have to be asked twice. with two long strides, he walks up to you, his eyes flicking up and down your body for a split second. next thing you know, his hand is wrapped around your throat, fingers tightly curling into your tender flesh as he tugs you down. your knees give out without much resistance, roughly thumping against the floor – would’ve hurt more, but a rug provides a cushion.

"you just love being a brat, don’t you?"

your breath gets stuck in your throat as you take a sharp inhale, yet your defiance doesn’t seem to fade away just yet. you look up, taking in tom’s features, pulled together in a small scowl. good, you think, you’re getting a reaction.

"how did you know?" you ask, letting a smirk tug at the corner of your lips – you just know it will irritate him more, which is exactly what you want.

tom tilts his head to the side a bit, bringing his free hand to your face. his thumb glides over your bottom lip, the gesture almost tender, before it’s suddenly pulled away. a sharp slap lands on your cheek, but his hand on your throat doesn’t let your head fall to the side. you hiss, biting your lip to stifle a sound, but the effect can’t be ignored – heat starts coiling low in your stomach, and you clench your thighs together, searching for friction.

"stop that." tom’s foot shifts, pressing at your knee to stop your legs from getting any closer to each other. you try again, but his stance is firm, his foot firmly on the floor, unmoving. his fingers dig further into your neck, tugging you closer to his crotch. you can see the bulge that’s starting to form there, and a smirk is back on your lips, your eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him again.

"what if i don’t?" you ask, your voice just a little shaky, just a little treacherous of your own arousal. tom’s expression doesn’t change, but you can feel his hand moving before his palm connects with your cheek again, leaving a budding yet strangely pleasant sting in its wake.

"then i’ll make you. over and over again."

[shyamanuensis]

angel - t.r

a little angsty - just a random vibe i had in my head. idek.

It was a mistake. You shouldn’t have called him. Fuck – out of every single god damn contact option you had listed and available in your phone his name shouldn’t have even been there anymore, but your fingers made the subconscious decision to bring that kind of familiarity back into your life which you really, really didn’t need right now. You weren’t sure what you were thinking as you listened to the dial tone; rest of the world fading away into oblivion. Hell – were you even thinking. However somewhere between your boyfriend trashing the apartment because you unintentionally mentioned a memory about your ex-husband and having tears stream down your face as vulnerability kicked in; Tom was there. It had taken little more than a sniffle and the uncomfortable mumble of his name which should have tasted like poison against your tongue but instead; much sugarier and sweeter, to get him over. He’d left work abruptly. You hadn’t bothered to check the time, but you could tell from his attire. He only ever wore grey on Tuesdays. Heather in pattern with a black tie which you’d often joke about matching the intensity of his eyes.

The apartment looked as if a hurricane had swept through it. Cutlery thrown into the walls damaging photographs you’d curated of your new life with someone you now weren’t so sure about. The furniture had been flipped. Front door torn from its hinges laying in the corridor. Tom had to step over it to get in and standing there, in the middle of the living room you were with an arm curled across your stomach, the other resting above it to bite at your nails as if you were doomed. He shouldn’t have been here. He shouldn’t have been here. He shouldn’t have been here. But you were so fucking glad that he was. With eyes glazed over; you let out a sigh as he approached and fell against his chest the second you were given permission to do so with an arm tucked almost protectively around the back of your shoulders. The two of you stood in silence for what felt like not long enough before he asked in a hushed whisper if you were okay although you didn’t answer. The cut on your lip and bruising just below your right eye told Tom everything he needed to know.

Your whole life it seemed you knew nothing else but toxic and here you were dragging virulent pasts and retrospections in for comfort, compassion, consolation – as if Tom’s presence was just amenity. He asked if you were hungry – you shook your head. He asked if you wanted space – you didn’t answer. He suggested you sleep – you said no. He proposed you get yourself cleaned up – you reluctantly walked towards the shower. You knew better than to leave the door open. You knew better than to call his name. You knew better than to coax him beneath the warm cascade of water. You knew better than to vilify yourself – decry the opportunity; re-infatuate yourself with him. You couldn’t help it though. The both of you were worse than moths to flame when it came to one another, and he felt so fucking good, and you just needed the reassurance of adoration that suddenly having him back around in your life made you immediately crave.

Your lips barely left his between the bathroom and the bedroom. He was gentle. Tender. It felt somewhat new but not unwanted. Perhaps he’d always been this way, but it had taken up until now for you to realise. He kept your close; wiping away the tears which you continued to cry that he couldn’t understand but somehow still gently provisionally guilty for. Tom’s breath was warm; your body trembling, his touch possessive, your whispers of rapt with what was happening delightful, ecstatic, enthralled. Kisses pressed to your lips, over your chin, down your throat, across your chest just like he always use to. You felt yourself go weak; his dominance stronger as waves of ecstasy crashed through you. Through him. Together. Searching your bedside second drawer – he knew you better than to bother with the first; you felt a once acquainted band of metal slip down onto your ring finger and the moment just consumed you.

Tom hinted that you should sleep. You hesitated to fight his suggestion. The way he watched over you as you drifted off slowly into a slumber – exhausted from the affairs of the day was a sight that broke his heart for only the second time in his life, he was afraid. Twirling and sliding his fingers through your still dampened hair, he muttered to himself that you looked like his perfect fallen angel and that he’d be back – just needing to seek out a certain someone, make some calls and craft out his perfectly torturous revenge.

[mistress-riddle]

tom’s confused when you approach him at the end of the year during his moment of rest before the school repopulates with the students coming back for the second term of the year. you’re giddy, smile wide on your glowy face, hands behind your back as you walk with a pep in your step and he puts down his book with a sigh to greet you properly.

“[name], what can i do for you?” he asks with a polite smile.

you press your lips together in contemplation before presenting him with a box “i made you a little something.”

curiosity blooms in him and he uncrosses his leg, leaning forward as looks at the box “is that so?” he hums “what’s the occasion? christmas was last week you know.”

“yes i’m aware.” you purse your lips at his slightly snarky remark and push the box further towards him to hold in his hand “it’s just a little something i put together, here you go!”

you place it in his unoccupied extended hand, the other holding the book to keep his page marked when your fingers linger slightly as they brush past his skin and you feel heat rise up to your ears so you retract your hands and clear your throat.

“anyway, i’ve got some things i need to do, bye!” you quickly turn around and head out. toms expression remains questioning as his head shifts from following your retreating figure to the cute blue box you’ve placed in his hold.

a tiny warmth which feels somewhat like excitement blossoms in tom as he stares at the box, placing the book on the seat, he opens the box on his lap and stares at the cake with writing that says

“happy 18th birthday, tom <3”

he realises you’ve given him a victoria sponge style cake and he lets out a little chuckle of disbelief. his eyes notice the note, he pulls it out to read.

i’m not a stalker, just observant (it’s the dessert i’ve seen you eat the most).

happy birthday riddle, i hope you have a good one.

— yours truly,

[name]

he catches a whiff of your perfume lingering on the letter and a lipstick mark on the back which elicits an involuntary smirk from him.

[rafesslxt]

✧.* 𝑻𝑶𝑴 𝑹𝑰𝑫𝑫𝑳𝑬 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵

[ aftercare ] ― If you two are in a relationship he would kinda worship you – like I don‘t see him being in a relationship with just "some" girl so when he settles for one she is THE one – so he would clean you up after sex and make sure you‘re ok and have everything you need

[ body part ] ― I see him with a smaller girl (not weight but height) and he kinda loves that you just reach up to his chest or shoulders and he can look down at your titties from above HAHHAHAH

[ cum ] ― Tom would come so fast when he has you under control somehow and you submitting to it completly moaning his name and do as he says - seeing his cum dripping out of you is a big ego boost

[ desires ] ― he wouldn‘t show but it turns him on when you act like a brat and talk back so he knows he has a reason to punish you

[ experience ] ― he would have experience here and there but not too much since he‘s more laid back and I think many girls would he more afraid of him or not like that cold side of his

[ first time ] ― his first time would likely be all about him and his needs - expect if he‘s with his girlfriend and she‘s a virgin too

[ grooming ] ― i see him completly shaved can‘t explain why tho

[ horny ] ― his sex drive is high but not as high or important to him like the rest of the slytherin boys - he would try to hide it a little to not seem too weak or out of his control

[ intimacy ] ― he‘s not the biggest romantic but if he really loves you he would try here and there "don‘t dare to tell this anyone."

[ joker ] ―bro idk what u say but he‘s 100% not joking during sex and If you would you would get a strange look from him

[ kinks ] ― omg literally everything that has to do with control - breeding kink, controlling your mind while having sex, tying you up to the bed or your hands behind your back while pounding into you from behind. He loves choking you, punishing you, teasing you, slight pain kink, orgasm denial on you, edging you

[ locations ] ― he‘s not a pda type so he prefers to do it in the bedroom where you are safe from anyone seeing you naked

[ masturbation ] ― he doesn‘t do it that often only if he‘s single and the pressure get‘s too much or he can‘t think straight anymore due his horniness

[ no go ] ― he‘s not into submitting to you

[ oral ] ― Tom would prefer receiving but also give sometimes knowing you love it so he would only do it If you were a very good girl

[ positions ] ― you over every possible furniture with him fucking into you from behind and holding your hands back. He would love If there is a mirror in front of you two so you could see him fucking and controlling you.

[ quickies ] ― he would to them here and there but not often cause he enjoys taking his time with you.

[ rounds ] ― his stanima would be good but not as good as the once from the boys who do quidditch. He‘s not that active so I think 2 rounds and then a little break

[ secrets ] ― i think he secretly loves your teasing in public and your dirty whispers into his ear even tho he says he hates it since it‘s not appropriate

[ toys ] ― he doesn‘t use them neither on you or himself and if he ever catches you with one you‘re in for a loooong night

[ underwear ] ― his favorite color on you is green especially when you‘re from another house and "betray" your color

[ volume ] ― he‘s not too vocal, just a few groans and grunts when you squeeze around him or come on his cock - you on the other hand are vocal and he loves it to hear you moan his name and beg him

[ watch ] ― he would NEVER want to watch someone other have sex with you and also not you touching yourself. If he ever catched you doing that he would punish you

[ xxx ] ― he wouldn‘t watch porn and I think he would find it weird

[ yearning ] ― he would lure them in with his charming and good talking skills so he wouldn‘t even have to do much he just has to find one who isnt scared or shy

[ zzz ] ― not too tired but also not full of energy. He would read a few pages to you before he falls asleep after you

[ you don‘t have to agree this is the way I see Tom, you can have another opinion and still be right ]

thanks for reading & supporting 🤍 my masterlist and taglist

xoxo sarah <3

[rxsilabeth--er]

What about Tom Riddle, who just lingers in corners and watchea through shadows and reader who likes to sneak up on him?

:)

Hello? Yes, thank you for the request! More of a drabble now, I suppose, but it's still so cute!! Okay bye-bye!!

Tom dating someone like you, says a bit about his fucked up life. Okay, leaving that, I'm just imagining him standing there in the dark reading a book and out of nowhere a little squirrel climbs up on him making him scream like a girl and fall over while Abraxas tries to stifle his laughter because it's you...you.

He gets constant heart attacks from you because he never knows where you're going to sneak up and jump on him from,

but he adores your nonetheless, even though he got his first white hair at 11. And it only got worse from his first meeting with you.

I imagine you both met when he was sitting in a train compartment, and you popped out of a bag and sat down like nothing was wrong.

, and he was ready to jab his wand in your eye?? Because wtf?? Huh??? Poor boy was so scared and confused, his inner voldy died in that moment for a good few hours.

He is now equipped with her safety hazards which are his hands so he catches you when he can, which is half of the times you sneak up on him, poor thing is scared to death by it.

He cannot count how many white hair he finds a day after you sneak up on him... He's gonna turn 50 by the time he's out of hogwarts, poor thing..Don't get me started on the way you hide in shadows

Imagine him freaking out because he saw your beady eyes staring at him while he's working with his basilisk..

© rxsilabeth--er.Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading and if you like this check out my blog!

[lushaletta]

the dark lord and his distraction / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, swearing

summary: you distract tom from his plans. and he hates it.

a/n: this is my pt. 2 to the lamb and her wolf! idk if i like this but i kinda do but Arghh idk. there will prob be a part 3. love u guys!

read part one here!

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

“Hello!” you chirp, skipping over, books in hand.

Tom’s not looking for company. In fact, he was actively avoiding it. He couldn’t continue to be distracted by you. He had work to be done, meetings to be held. But he’s a weak man recently. “Hello.”

You set your things down and lace your arms around his neck suddenly. He’s absolutely horrified. “Thank you for your help studying, Tommy, I’ve passed my exam with full marks!”

He clears his throat and you leave a patch of goosebumps in your wake. “You’re welcome,” he drawls. “You wouldn’t have to spend so much extra time revising if you’d only paid attention in class.”

Tom knows you’re merely a distraction, an inconvenience to be ignored. Deadweight to his plans. You��d be a mistake. It’s obvious what he should do. He should send you off on your merry way and end whatever friendship has blossomed between you, so you at least have a chance at living. For someone so obsessed with immortality, Tom knew he was a dead man the moment you strut into his life, all smiles and Mary Jane’s. But he’s selfish, and so you were dead right with him, that very minute.

He doesn’t like anything you bring. He doesn’t like the reactions you elicit from calling him Tommy and he doesn’t like how you make him happy. Or hopeful. There is no hope for him. He’s destined to live a half-life and he doesn’t like that he wants to make you live that life too.

And you’re not entirely stupid. You know there’s something strange about him and that’s exactly why you come every day with your books and snacks. You’re curious. He’s haunting— a concoction of allure and fear and it’s all but enticing. “Well, who wants to do that? You’re a far better teacher.”

His face casts the ghost of a smile. “Don’t you have chess club in 15 minutes?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there,” you say, easily. Then the realisation dawns on you: You’ve never given him your schedule. “Wait a second,” you laugh. “How do you know that?”

He holds an even tone. “Not hard to guess.”

You blink. Change the topic. “You’re very pretty, you know?”

His knees almost give out and he’s seated comfortably on a chair. “Thank you,” he whispers, trying hard not to sound surprised. He’s not unaware of his good looks, but how anyone could be so casual about it is beyond him.

You’re an aberration, he thinks. No, he’s sure. You write notes in the margins of his textbooks and fall asleep on his shoulder. And when you do so, you let out the cutest little snores and purr. Like a fucking kitten. It drives him to insanity and even deeper into his spiral.

“No, like, you are super pretty. It’s kind of otherworldly.”

He’s not too sure what to say. He’s never rendered speechless by anyone, but fuck, you’re his exception to just about everything. Instead, he stiffens and breathes out a small, “That’s kind.”

Your cheeks dimple and Tom swears he sees his future. But that’s crazy. He has to remember who you are and hell, who he is. He’s the Dark Lord, evil, no matter how you see him in that pretty head of yours. And you’re a filthy Mudblood.

It’s been two days and he hasn’t seen you anywhere. He’s starting to think there *is* no cure to his hysteria because he acts crazy in both your presence and absence. He thinks about you too much in both. He’s looked everywhere; in all your classes and even your dorm that he’s managed to find.

He’s about giving up. There is no point because you’re meant to be temporary.

“Hi,” you say, breathlessly as you appear behind him, startling him into oblivion. He’s a skilled Legilimens so he should’ve heard your thoughts as you creeped up, but he was too busy with his own about you.

He conceals his relief and narrows his eyes. “You have been gone.”

You look a little disheveled but beautiful as ever. Tom doesn’t sweat, but it feels like he’s going to. “Family stuff. You know how it goes!”

Tom doesn’t know how it goes. He’s used to abandonment and lonely holidays. He doesn’t know how it goes but he knows how it feels to dread the Christmases and Easters and summers because all he can look forward to is disappointment.

He winces. You notice and cringe. You don’t know much about his family but judging by that reaction, it’s no good. “Mm,” he manages. It’s silence for a bit. Comfortable silence. He’s secretly relishing in your company. “I didn’t like it when you were gone.”

What a fucking tool.

The corners of your lips curl into a soft grin. “You are adorable!” you giggle. He’s mortified.

You haven’t really told any of your friends about your blooming acquaintanceship with Tom Riddle. After all, he’s not really known for his friendliness. But you trust Camilla. And you’ve used up the last of your excuses for bailing on meals to study with him.

“Riddle. Are you joking me?”

Your eyebrows quirk up. “No. He’s a breath of fresh air from the Hogwarts hustle. Not much of a talker though. I do most of that.”

She smiles a little like it’s expected of you but it fades once she refocuses. “He doesn’t like us Muggleborns, you know.”

“That’s silly.”

“Only true. I heard Mulciber whispering about it. Like, they really don’t like us. No wonder he’s such a git towards me in class.”

“Have you ever actually spoken to Tom, though?” You fold your arms over your chest. You’re not too sure why you’re being defensive.

“Well, no—“

“That’s what I thought! You don’t give people chances, Camilla. You rely on gossip to fuel your opinions,” you spit.

Camilla puts her hands up in surrender and starts talking about the cute Ravenclaw boy she’s planning to ask out.

“Oh! And I think Murphy fancies you! He asked me to ask you how you felt about him.”

You thought about him for a moment. He’s nothing special but he’s attractive and you’re honestly willing to give it a shot.

Tom is fuming, hearing what you think. Listening from around the corner and it’s creepy and borderline stalker-ish but he’s begun to feel a strange protectiveness over you. Frenzy and all that.

So, yes. You’re merely a distraction, an inconvenience to be ignored. Deadweight to his plans. But… you were a desire. A selfish, greedy desire.

And Tom always gets what he wants.

taglist for this series! @helalokithor @mli345 (can’t find ur blog so sorry!!) lmk if u want to be added!

[nottsamor]

blood sucking creature — tom riddle

summary : tom cares for you, and he expresses it wonderfully.

tom riddle x vampire!reader, follows the stereotype of vampires being pale asf and having long dark hair.

tom riddle knew there was something special about you. no, it wasn't just the fact you looked other wordly beautiful, enough to gravitate his attention towards you. but, that was already an achievement, as tom found it far too foolish to associate himself in such manners. but, he couldn't resist you. no matter what.

your long dark cascading hair flowing along your back, your almost ghostly white skin—enough to make a man wonder how pale someone could be. or, was it your sharp canines? tom noticed everything about you, he analysed you deeply since the start. to him, you were a mystery he had to uncover.

and in the end, he did. he found out your big secret. in the dark night sky, the moon's light reflecting against the lake's surface, he found you. injecting your teeth in a random gryffindor's neck, holding him as if he was your only source of living, sucking him dry of all the blood he possessed. leaving him there, passed out.

you see, tom found two secrets that night—the first, why the med wing frequently had visitors with bite marks in their neck, and second of all, your secret. about how, you were a blood sucking monster.

but tom wasn't afraid. no, far from it. he found himself attracted to you, and soon enough, you two formed a friendship. and, slowly, you didn't exactly know how—but something called a relationship blossomed between the two of you.

he was cold at times, of course. he was hiding numerous secrets from you, you knew that. but you already knew about the chamber of secrets, or him being the heir of Slytherin as you had helped him uncover that factor.

but today, you were in pain.

your mind felt dizzy, you felt cranky and snappy. you were hungry. incredibly hungry. but, you had no blood stock left. and you could not seduce any man out into the forest to drain him of his blood, as dippet and dumbledore were getting suspicious of all the slytherins, and specifically, you. with the rise of students getting admitted in the med wing with bite marks, he had enforced strict rules in the school. and strict curfew, no one was seen in the beautiful halls in the night.

and so, you were in tom's dorm room. and these were one of the rare moments you two shared physical touch, as the both of you were sat on his bed, him against the headboard as you were in his lap, tears prickling in your eyes as your arms wrapped around his neck, nuzzling your head in his neck.

"It hurts so bad, I'm so hungry." your voice cracked, nuzzling yourself deeper into tom's touch. he sighed, rubbing your back in a way that provided comfort. he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, speaking quietly. your vampire senses were particularly sensitive at the moment, and any loud noise could trigger you. hence why, he decided to speak quietly. "i know, darling, i know."

when suddenly, he got an idea. he pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes. "suck on my blood." your eyes immediately widened, "are you crazy? that's gonna seriously drain you! plus, im not gonna suck on your blood, you're my boyfriend!" you exclaimed, as if the idea was simply blasphemous.

"id be a worser boyfriend if i simply stayed put and watched you in suffering. and, im not such a fragile being that i would be drained, my love. im offering you my blood, i cannot watch your writhe in pain." he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

you frowned, biting your lip, still not convinced. "but.." you got cut off, tom's index finger pressed against your finger lightly, which forbade you from arguing. you sighed, the pain was increasing by the minute, and seeing his pretty neck on display, getting his permission to even suck on his blood, was getting to you.

"f—fine. this is a one time thing, alright?" you gulped, tom nodding in satisfaction that you accepted. he tilted his head to the side, exposing more of his neck to you. you directed a gaze at his neck, then into his eyes which still stared at you in something you would call... perhaps fondness.

and then, you attacked. your sharp teeth bit into the side of his neck, greedily sucking onto his sweet red blood. tom did not even show even the slightest sign of pain, he only brushed through your dark hair, seeming unbothered.

a few moments passed, and you finally pulled away. there was the very noticeable bite mark, covered with dry blood. you looked into his eyes, mouth slightly covered in blood. and even in that moment he did not find you ugly, he found you quite beautiful in fact.

your fingers lightly traced over the mark on his neck, "you know that stays right?" you said quietly. tom merely shrugged, "i will have to find ways to re pay the favour." he looked into your eyes. and in that moment, you knew. you wouldn't be anywhere else then here. in his arms, where he made sure you were protected, and did not feel any harm.

[easterbonnet]

Tom Riddle Headcanons

Fluent in multiple dead languages and otherwise unknown languages

Extremely clean and neat, very orderly

His favourite time of year is when autumn turns to winter

Likes the dark

Hides all sorts of dark magic and forbidden books under his bed

Smells like he just got out of the shower, mixed with something dark, like leather books or wood

Doesn't really blink much

Often sits by lakes/rivers and just watches the water

Enjoys heavy rock/metal music, but also classical

Only drinks water that is ice cold

Left handed

Infatuated by literature and books

Prefers cold, dark weather

His hair is always perfect naturally, even if he just woke up

His favourite colour is dark green, but with a kind of metallic tinge

Savoury > sweet

Has a very neutral and calm resting face

Painted his nails black at least once

Always smartly dressed

Has cold hands

Enjoys watching rain run down the windows

Doesn't need much sleep to function

Is partial to a herbal tea

Thoroughly interested in history

Has extremely neat handwriting

Smoked once but found it pointless so never did it again

Talented at drawing

Keeps a journal, where he writes daily accounts in extreme detail - also keeping a list of anyone that has ever wronged him in any way

Rehearses most of his conversation, to the point where he has a go to 'basic conversation'

Folds his clothes and hangs them neatly, never strewn across the floor

Very much like a magpie in the way he likes to collect shiny, valuable things and keep them close to him like a nest

A master at playing the piano, sometimes composing his own music

Throws things when he's angry

[nottsangel]

Yk what I feel like everyone says Tom Riddle wouldn’t eat u out. I am the only one that thinks that he loves it. He’s a whole MUNCH

and the reason he loves it is because it’s all about power to him. he’ll hold you down, strong hands firmly gripping your trembling hips as he fucks you with his tongue until you’re screaming and coming all over his face. he’ll probably have you tied to the bed as well, ensuring there’s no way for you to move or push him away as he takes his time with you for hours. and obviously after you reach your orgasm, still shaking from the intense release, he won’t stop— he’ll overstimulate you until tears stream down your face and you feel another orgasm nearing already.

“you’re only making this harder for yourself so stay still. i’m not done yet.”

“tom, i can’t—“

“you can. and you will.”

he sucks so harshly on your sensitive, swollen clit— it got you whimpering and whining, desperately wanting to push him away out of instinct yet also wiggling your hips in a way that gets you closer to your orgasm before you cum all over his face once again— but certainly not the last time that night.

ੈ♡˳

[iamgonnagetyouback]

autumn songs: sweater weather with Tom riddle x reader (mostly themed around “I hate the beach but I stand in California with my toes in the sand”) and how tom kinda hates some of the things reader likes but will deal with it and enjoys making her/them happy

(and MAYBE a mood board based of it if you’re feeling good! Ofc you don’t have to)

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀────۶ৎ sweater weather

synopsis: you manage to drag tom out of his beloved hogwarts and into the california sun, determined to get him to enjoy something other than books and ambition. he complains the whole way, grumbling about inefficiency and sand, but as the night falls and the waves roll in, maybe—just maybe—he doesn't mind it as much as he claims content warnings: tom being tom, reader forcing sunshine and happiness onto a brooding dark lord in training, some soft, rare tom moments (beware, he might actually tolerate fun) author's note: thank you so much for the request, maddie! i hope you like it doll ♡ you can find the moodboard here ￫ ⟡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,174

The idea of forcing Tom Riddle out into the sun was one you were determined to see through, no matter his whining and the pointed glares he kept throwing your way.

He might be brilliant and ambitious, but for this one summer break, you had managed to pull him out of the castle and into California. The two of you had spent most of your sixth year listening to Tom’s incessant rants about the necessity of seclusion and the unparalleled wisdom of spending every holiday at Hogwarts to prepare for “the inevitable challenges ahead.” But none of that sounded remotely as fun as sand, surf, and sunsets.

So, with some strategic pleading and well-placed persuasion, you’d convinced him to take this trip.

“How bad could it be?” you’d thought.

Well… now that you were twenty minutes into a sun-drenched California hike, with Tom huffing like he was being forced to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you realized exactly how bad it could be.

“This is my life now,” he announced, his aristocratic accent thick and his voice laced with an absurdly tragic tone. “I have climbed this hill and now I will die upon it.”

You snorted. “Shut up, Tom. We’ve only been hiking for twenty minutes.”

He shot you a sharp glare, dark eyes narrowing as if you’d personally insulted his very existence. “Twenty minutes is precisely nineteen minutes too many,” he said, looking as though he could wither the hill itself with his displeasure. “Have you heard of Apparition, darling? One small effort, and we’d be there.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your backpack and grinning over your shoulder at him. “You know I don’t have my license yet,” you said with a shrug. “And I don’t know why you’d want to break the Ministry’s rules anyway.”

His lips twisted into a smirk. “I never did find the Ministry’s rules particularly sensible.” He raised a brow, his voice taking on a sarcastic note. “No doubt they would rather enforce trivial regulations than allow anyone to enjoy a semblance of efficiency.”

“Well, too bad!” you said cheerfully, hiking up a bit higher and delighting in the exaggerated sigh he gave as he followed. “Efficiency isn’t always the point. Sometimes, you hike and take in the scenery.”

Tom’s answer was a long, slightly disgruntled silence, though he dutifully followed your lead.

For all his complaints, he didn’t turn around. In fact, every so often, you’d catch him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if the sight of you grinning in the sunlight intrigued him more than the trees and the path. He could grumble all he wanted, but the satisfaction of having him with you was more than enough to ignore his protests.

Finally, after a considerable amount of “nonsense walking,” as Tom so eloquently put it, you reached the beach. The late afternoon sun bathed the sand in a golden glow, and you ran ahead, tugging Tom along by his wrist.

“I hate the beach,” he muttered, looking around with a slightly disdainful expression as his polished shoes sank into the sand.

“You’ve never even been to the beach, Tom,” you said, laughing. “How could you hate it?”

“Because it involves sand, saltwater, and screaming people,” he replied, lifting his chin as if these were the most detestable elements imaginable. “Hardly an ideal setting.”

“Okay, drama king,” you teased. “Maybe try enjoying it?”

With a sigh of utmost resignation, he let you lead him closer to the water. The waves rolled in gently, brushing up against your feet. Tom grimaced, nudging his toes in the sand experimentally as if it were a potion he wasn’t quite sure he’d brewed correctly.

“It’s not so bad,” you insisted, nudging his shoulder with yours.

After a beat, Tom’s expression softened ever so slightly. “If by some miracle I end up enjoying myself,” he said, smirking, “I’ll expect full credit for my resilience.”

“Duly noted, Tom,” you said, smiling. You turned away and started to set up for the evening, collecting bits of driftwood and stacking them near a little bonfire pit you’d found.

To your surprise, Tom joined in, carefully arranging the wood into a neat pile. He’d made quite the show of his displeasure, but you could tell he was warming to the idea of being here with you. Once the bonfire was going, the beach felt even more magical. The sky was streaked with hues of pink and orange as the sun dipped lower, and the sound of waves was peaceful, almost lulling.

When a cool breeze swept through, you shivered slightly, and before you knew it, Tom was already slipping his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders.

“There,” he said simply, his voice softer than usual. “One less complaint you could levy against me.”

You smirked up at him. “I wasn’t complaining. But thank you.”

He nodded, watching you closely. For a long moment, you just sat beside each other, gazing out at the ocean. The fire crackled beside you, and you thought you saw Tom relax a little, his shoulders loosening as he let the warmth of the flames chase away the chill.

“Maybe it’s not… entirely horrid,” he admitted grudgingly, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“I’ll take that as high praise from you, Riddle,” you replied, grinning.

He shook his head, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “Only you could find pleasure in such simplicity,” he murmured, though there was a softness to his tone.

You chuckled. “It’s not simplicity, Tom. It’s just… enjoyment. You don’t always have to be thinking about what’s next, you know?”

Tom was silent, his gaze flickering from the water back to you. And for a moment, you thought he might argue—go off on some long monologue about ambition and purpose. But instead, he just nodded, his gaze lingering on you a bit longer.

As the evening deepened, you watched him relax more, caught in quiet, peaceful moments. Even if he’d complained the entire way here, there was something about watching him find even a moment of enjoyment that made the entire trek worth it.

“You know,” he said quietly after a while, “if you insist on these… excursions… again, I suppose I could tolerate another.”

You looked up at him, surprised and grinning. “You mean that?”

He raised a brow. “Don’t get carried away,” he said, though there was a hint of a smile as he spoke. “I only mean that next time, I’ll be more prepared for such… inconveniences.”

“Like the beach?” you teased.

“Precisely,” he replied, deadpan. “I may even bring earplugs.”

You both shared a quiet laugh, the warmth of the fire flickering between you. He might not have loved the beach or the hike, but seeing the small, rare smile on Tom Riddle’s face made it all worth it.

And for that evening at least, it was just you, him, and the sound of the waves washing against the shore.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[darkmarkmarauder]

Saints & Sinners - T.R.

!warning!minorsdni, bdsm, drugs/alcohol use, violence

word count: 2.9k

Pairing: Tom Riddle x you

Slytherin’s annual Saints & Sinners party was the only night of the year where indulgence wasn’t just encouraged—it was expected. And you were in the mood to sin.

The lace clung to your thighs, the delicate garters stretched taut as you adjusted the clips, breath hitching when Bellatrix pulled the corset strings even tighter. “Fucking hell, Bella—”

“Oh, shut up,” she snickered, giving the laces one last vicious tug. Your tits nearly spilled over the top. Perfect. You weren’t one for dressing up. Even on a good day, your tie was loose, your uniform skirt wrinkled from the way you constantly tucked your legs under yourself in class. It wasn’t that you didn’t care—it was just that other things mattered more.

Like staying up all night with a certain someone, legs spread over his lap, lips bitten raw, thighs trembling.

Tom fucking Riddle.

It was stupid, honestly. The way he occupied your thoughts, the way he got under your skin. How he acted like he owned you but refused to say it outright. And you let him—again and again and again—because you liked how it felt, let him hurt you.

The mirror reflected a version of yourself you barely recognized. Lips slicked with gloss, a dark kohl rim lining your eyes, skin glowing under candlelight. You looked fucking dangerous. Bellatrix stepped back, admiring her work before smirking at you. “Merlin, you’re a whore,” she teased, smoothing the fabric over your chest.

“you love it,” you mused, smacking your lips together before turning to grab the bottle of Firewhiskey off your desk. You poured two shots, handing one off to Bella. “To bad decisions.”

“Only the best kind” she grinned, clinking her glass against yours before throwing it back. The burn in your throat was nothing compared to the way anticipation curled in your stomach.

The boys were waiting. And he would be there.

Not that you were dressing like this for him. Of course not. It wasn’t as if you were picturing the look on his face when he saw you like this. Or thinking about the way his fingers would tighten around his glass, his jaw going rigid. It wasn’t like you wanted to drive him mad, to make him jealous—totally, absolutely not.

“Alright,” you said, grabbing the bottle of Firewhiskey from the desk. “One more before we go.”

Bell laughed, biting her lip. “Oh, you are trying to die tonight.”

Maybe. But if you were going to Hell, you were going in lace and stilettos.

Bellatrix linked her arm through yours as you both stumbled through the corridors, the alcohol already making you lightheaded. You barely noticed when you arrived at Malfoy and Nott’s dorm, pushing the door open without a care.

The boys were already there, draped across the sofas in tailored black, a haze of smoke curling in the air—every last one of them looking like sin incarnate. But one was missing.

Tom Riddle was nowhere to be seen.

Where the fuck was he?

Bellatrix, unfazed, made a beeline for Malfoy’s stash. “Abraxas, give me the strongest shit you’ve got. No downers.”

You laughed, watching her dig through his collection of illicit substances. Your mind wasn’t on whatever poisons she was about to ingest. No, your mind was on Tom, and how utterly ravenous you were for his attention.

Oh. You had spoken too soon. A presence at your back. The heat of a hand on your waist, firm fingers moving you aside. And then—his voice, dark and smooth as ever.

“You’re in my way, princess.”

Your breath caught. His touch was fleeting as you swallowed hard, turning to watch him stride past you as if you weren’t even there. He greeted Nott and Rosier, taking a drink from Bellatrix without so much as a thank you before sinking into the sofa. His eyes flickered up at you, dark and unreadable.

And then, as if daring you—he dragged his gaze down, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your hips, your tits, the garters at your thighs, the sheer stockings hugging your legs.

Why that arrogant bastard.

You strode toward him, your heels clicking against the floor and You plucked the drink from his grasp without asking, bringing it to your lips. The burn of whatever the fuck it was nearly made you choke. Definitely not firewhiskey. Maybe absinthe. Maybe something worse, you had to keep yourself from gagging.

“That drink is filthy,” you muttered, handing it back.

Tom looked up at you lazily, his gaze trailing from your lips, down your throat, lower, lower—until it settled exactly where you wanted it to.

“Yeah,” he murmured, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t say that’s the filthiest thing in here.”

You didn’t let your smirk falter. Oh, if only he knew how much that pleased you instead of pissing you off. Instead of answering, you turned on your heel and walked away. You knew he was watching. Knew he was drinking in the sight of your ass, barely covered by the sheer lace of your dress, the same one he’d bent you over just last week, fingers buried in your mouth to keep you quiet while he ruined you.

He couldn’t do shit about it.

And that? That was the best fucking part.

The party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of firewhiskey, expensive cigars, and the underlying electricity of debauchery. The Saints & Sinners party was a tradition as old as Slytherin House itself—an exclusive, unhinged, beautifully depraved event where only the elite were welcome.

And you? You were made for it.

Everywhere you turned, Slytherins and their carefully selected company indulged in the wicked excess of the night. Mulciber and Avery had a table littered with shot glasses and cigarette ash, their laughter curling into the heavy, perfumed air. Lestrange was already drunk, leaning too close to some Ravenclaw girl who looked both delighted and terrified. Realizing you didn’t see Tom again was irritating, whatever, you had better things than to wait for him.

Instead, you turned your attention to Orion Black, the heir to one of the oldest, wealthiest pureblood families—gorgeous, arrogant, and so desperately in love with the idea of you. He had been since your fifth year, and despite his best efforts, the boy couldn’t hide it for shit. He was the type of man who thought he was subtle, but the way his gaze would drop to your lips, the way he’d adjust his robes every time you so much as breathed in his direction? Pathetic, really but useful nonetheless.

You leaned in closer to him, your lips barely brushing his ear as you reached for the bottle on the table, pouring yourself another shot. You could feel his sharp inhale, his knuckles going white around his glass.

Orion wanted you. Always had.

But he wasn’t the one you wanted to suffer for it.

Tom Riddle was.

Orion stares. His hand hovers at your waist like he’s debating whether or not he has permission to touch you. The answer is no. But he doesn’t need to know that just yet.

“You look—” He swallows hard. “You look fucking insane.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

His jaw is tight, fingers flexing at his sides. He’s trying so fucking hard to act like he’s not losing his mind over you, over the way you’re looking at him like he might actually have a chance.

It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic.

“Yeah.” His voice is rough, “You know you do.”

You smile. Sweet, slow, your eyes looking up at him through your dark lashes. Then, just because you fucking can, you reach out and drag your fingers along the collar of his shirt, adjusting it like you actually give a fuck about the way it sits against his throat.

You didn’t let it linger for too long. Pulling your fingers away, you felt his body stiffen, eyes widening in disbelief.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. Tom Riddle.

He was standing a few feet away, lent against a green marble pillar. The moment he saw you looking, his expression darkened, lips curling into that sly, twisted smile that always made your pulse race. There was no hiding the way you felt about him, no pretending like you weren't aching for the chaos he brought.

All the while, Orion had been talking—what about, you weren’t sure. Something about how he could drink more than anyone else, something about how Mulciber had nearly passed out last year after five shots. You let him, pretending to listen, nodding along as the alcohol warmed your stomach, making you feel light, untethered.

Orion, ever the oblivious fool, hadn't caught onto the shift. His eyes darted from you to Tom, confusion flickering over his face.

“Riddle,” he said, his voice caught somewhere between confrontation and panic, trying to get Tom’s attention but clearly nervous about how he might react. "What the hell are you staring at?"

You knew it wasn’t Orion Tom was watching. His eyes were only on you, and that was exactly where you wanted him. But that’s when Tom spoke, his voice cold and laced. “Really, Black? This is what you’ve been reduced to? Bragging about alcohol tolerance to impress a girl who isn’t even listening to you?”

Tom didn't look away, his lips twisting into something darker, amused. "You're out of your depth, Black. You might want to sober up before you start making a fool of yourself."

Orion’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists. "Fuck you," he spat.

You rolled your eyes, trying to intervene. “Tom, come on, don’t start. It’s not that serious.”

But Tom had already made up his mind. He smirked, eyes flashing with amusement, and spoke low, just for you and Orion to hear. "No, it’s not serious, is it? Just a drunk idiot thinking he can impress someone who doesn’t want him."

Orion wasn’t having it. His face flushed red as he moved to shove Tom, anger and alcohol clouding his judgment. The movement was so fast, so reckless that you barely saw it coming.

And then, everything happened at once.

Orion’s fist swung toward Tom, but with a speed you could never hope to match, Tom, sidestepping with perfect reflexes. You should’ve been paying attention, but you weren’t. You were too focused on Tom’s eyes, the way he moved.

The next thing you knew, you were staggered by the force of a punch hitting your cheek. Pain shot through you, sharp and stinging. You blinked, disoriented, blood trickling from the cut on your face. You barely registered the explosion of anger on Tom’s face as he turned on Orion.

"You fucking moron," Tom hissed, stepping forward, his fist connecting with Orion’s face with a sickening crack. "Get the hell out of here before I make you regret it and next time, try hitting the person you were aiming for."

Orion, groaning from the impact, staggered back, but it was Abraxas Malfoy who appeared next, ready to diffuse the situation. He didn’t seem surprised by what had happened, but he stepped in, pulling Orion away with a knowing look in his eyes.

Tom’s eyes were on you, though. The anger that had surged through him now simmered into a possessive kind of fury. He reached out to you, his hands gentle but firm as he cupped your face, inspecting the cut that was already starting to bleed.

“You alright?” he asked, voice now soft.You blinked up at him, the alcohol still fogging your brain, the sharp sting of pain mixing strangely with the warmth in your veins. “M’fine,” you muttered, then frowned when you saw his hand. “Your knuckles.”

Tom let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he studied you. “You just got punched in the face, and you’re worried about me?”

You hummed, barely registering when his arm slid around your waist, steadying you as your balance wavered. “I mean…it looks bad.”

He rolled his eyes, but the amusement didn’t leave his face. “You’re ridiculous.”

He paused, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The hallway was quieter, only the distant pulse of music vibrating through the walls. His hand never left your waist as he guided you down the corridor, fingers pressing firmly, possessively. When he pushed open the bathroom door, he pulled you inside, locking it behind him with a sharp click.

“Sit,” he ordered, and before you could protest, his hands gripped your hips and lifted you with ease, setting you on the counter. The cool porcelain kissed your thighs, and only then did you realize how exposed you were—your dress had ridden up, bunching at your waist, baring the delicate lace of your lingerie. The only thing keeping it from rising higher was the corset cinched tight around your torso.

Tom didn’t react immediately. His expression remained impassive as he grabbed a clean towel, wetting it under the tap. It wasn’t until he turned back that you noticed. He wasn’t looking at your face.

You smirked, the alcohol making you bold. “My eyes are up here, Riddle.”

His jaw twitched, but he said nothing as he stepped closer, dabbing gently at the cut on your cheek. You winced at the sting, but it was nothing compared to the heat burning through you. His free hand trailed down, fingers along the inside of your thigh, barely brushing where you needed him most. The contact made you whimper softly, shifting forward, desperate. “Something the matter princess?”

You didn’t answer, just bit your lip and rocked your hips toward his hand. He slipped his fingers beneath the lace, running two along your slick folds, groaning at how wet you already were.

Grabbing your chin as he kissed you softly, not preparing you for when he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them in just the right way to make your back arch, a broken moan spilling from your lips. He fucked you with his fingers, slow and deliberate, dragging it out, making you squirm. You moaned against his mouth, your own hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard. His cock pressed insistently against your thigh through his trousers, and you were suddenly desperate. Your hand fumbled for his belt, desperate, tugging, and he smirked at your impatience. But he didn’t stop you. If anything, the sight of you like this—drunk, needy, desperate for him—only made him harder.

You barely registered when you slid off the counter, sinking to your knees before him, yanking at his trousers until you freed him. He was thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip, and fuck, you wanted him.

You wasted no time, licking a stripe up his length before taking him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. A sharp inhale above you, and then his fingers were in your hair, gripping tight guiding your movements as you sucked, licked, let saliva spill down your chin. He watched you with that same unreadable intensity, his own breath ragged as he fought to keep control.

“Look at you,” he grunted, voice strained.

You moaned around him, taking him deeper, the feeling of his cock stretching your throat making your thighs clench. He pulled you off him suddenly, yanking you to your feet before spinning you around, bending you over the sink.

The sound of fabric tearing filled the small space, and you gasped as cool air met your bare skin. He had ripped your corset clean off, along with your panties, leaving you completely exposed.

“Fuck, Riddle—”

A sharp slap to your ass made you whimper, and then he was lining himself up behind you, teasing you with the head of his cock. You tried to push back, but his hands gripped your hips, holding you still.

“So impatient,” he murmured, amusement laced with something darker.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the mirror, eyes burning with frustration and need. “Then do something about it.”

His grip tightened. And then he slammed into you, stretching you wide, knocking the breath from your lungs. You cried out, fingers gripping the edge of the sink, barely able to hold yourself up as he set a brutal pace, fucking you hard enough that the mirror shook. His hand wrapped around your throat pushing your head up to look at yourself in the mirror. Seeing him behind you, the way he moved your body as he thrusted into you, his biceps flexing as he tightened his grip on your waist. The only sounds in the bathroom were your moans, his grunts and the filthy slap of skin on skin. He reached around, fingers circling your clit, pushing you closer, closer—cunt clenching as you came hard around him, crying his name out loudly. Tom groaned, thrusts turning volatile before he buried himself deep, cumming inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing. As his lips ghosted over your shoulder, almost gentle, soft. A contradiction to everything he was, or at least tried to be.

“Saints and sinners indeed,” he said, voice still thick with pleasure.

You laughed, breathless, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Guess we know which one you are.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: attached to him like a whorecrux

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[nottswitch]

hii !! so for the celebration thingy ;

number: 3. character: tom riddle aesthetic (from the wheel) horror academia.

im ok w smut ! :) also have a good day

hey babes! thanks for sending a request, hope you’re having a good whatever time of the day it is for you 🤍 so, at first i wanted to reply and say that it’s me who’s supposed to choose the aesthetic, but i just really wanted to do this one with tom, because it fits so well!! so, your aesthetic is…

— horror academia

(reflects the difficulty and laborious workload of real academia, manifesting in the spooky, grim, dark, and monstrous horror ambience)

» navigation ; masterlist ; tom m.list ; how to request ; 1k celebration

18+ smut

"baby."

tom’s clenched jaw and a small sidelong glare he shoots your way shows that he still very much doesn’t appreciate the pet name. you sigh, and your hands that have been massaging his shoulders move further down his body, over the planes of his chest, making the woolen fabric of his sweater wrinkle under your touch. his body doesn’t relax in the slightest.

"can you please-"

"not tired."

tom’s voice is firm and cold, but you hear the slightest bit of exhaustion there. you know he’s lying; as much as he adores keeping up the facade of being unbreakable, you‘ve known him long enough to see the signs: the shadows under his eyes, barely there, but noticeable under the dreary lighting in his dingy apartment; the way his hand shakes around the quill ever so slightly as he scribbles down some words you don’t understand (and don’t really want to).

you sigh again, somewhat frustrated, because of course he’d never admit to being out of it. slowly, you sink down onto your knees, crawling underneath his desk. he doesn’t even seem to notice, his eyes already in another huge crumbling tome.

your hands travel up his thighs, softly kneading the tense and undoubtedly cramped muscles. that seems to bring him out of his studious daze, and he leans back, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. you give him a small shrug and tug at the elastic of his cotton pants. he runs his hand over his face, slightly shaking his head.

"not in the mood,” he mutters, but you know he’s lying again. that’s what his hardening cock is telling you, anyway. you shake your head back and still your hand over the bulge that has formed at his front. several long seconds pass before he finally, finally leans against the back of the chair.

you let out a breath of relief and pull his pants down to his knees, met with the sight of his cock springing out against his lower abdomen. kissing up his length, you look up at him through your eyelashes only to see him close his eyes and tilt his head back, his lips parted and letting out short breaths. finally, he relaxes.

your tongue starts swirling around the tip, and you hear a moan from above. it’s quiet and soft, but you know what it means: he’s really, really tired. he barely ever moans, but right now, your tongue seems to be coaxing sounds out of him. feels nice.

when your mouth envelops him completely, tom gasps. when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, he lets out a ragged breath. his thighs take up the entirety of the narrow chair seat, so his hands hang slack, twitching every time your tongues makes a particularly firm movement. another moan breaks out of him as he spills down your throat, his whole body going limp above you.

"baby-"

"no."

"okay, tom. let’s go to bed? please?"

"not tired."

playlist

❥ you should see me in a crown by billie eilish

❥ so take this night by black lab

❥ shattered by trading yesterday

❥ born to burn by the neighbourhood

[shyamanuensis]

arguments - t.r

Arguments with Tom aren’t uncommon. In fact; they’re almost a daily occurrence. The both of you rather stubborn. Head strong. Obstinate. Not ever wanting to back down – because that would be proof of weakness – a word not in your vocabularies. There’s a sick pleasure you both take in riling each other up. Eyes locked, lips pulling into subtle smirks whenever one takes a jab at the other. Satisfaction? No, neither of you do it for satisfaction; this little cat and mouse game of ‘who can outdo the other’ has its own advantages. For Tom mainly. Which well – let’s be honest, it isn’t fair; but you’re not one to really complain about it. When the last student has been dismissed from class – when the corridors are empty; that’s when he strikes. You should be meeting up with your friends, with your boyfriend, to study but no… Tom has you bent over the closest desk the two of you can manage to find. Wrists pinned painfully low against your back. Skirt lifted; panties slid to the side – he fucks you senseless; no rhyme, no reason, no restraint. You go from talking back to being a wet nonverbal whimpering mess whos knees go weak; eyes roll – the perfect little fuck doll. “Good girl.” “You take it so well.” “You like that huh?” “Just wait until I’m done with you.” Each phrase earns little more than a choked mewl. You try your hardest to catch your breath; knowing that once he’s done with your cunt, that pretty cock of his will be ramming down the back of your throat and you begin to salivate at the idea. Cheeks blushing a harsh pink; same colour as your ass when he spanks you. Yeah – Tom will let you argue with him any day – every fucking day. only because he knows he can use it to his advantage. ((MDNI))