#Tom riddle has me on my knees

[mommyslibrary]

TEENA AKSKSKDNDNND

Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck I am so unwell akskdkdkdkr yet again…YET AGAINNNNNNNNNN you hit us with an amazing smutty masterpiece 🥵

I fuckin loved literally EVERY SINGLE PART OF THIS AND IT SHOULD BE FRAMED AKSKSKDJDJD

I’d highlight parts but it would be the whole fic istg skskdjdjdn ily and i loved this sm and istg ill become a tom girl from this fic alone

Behind the Mask | Tom Riddle

Summary: Tom hates you. Well, he hates how attracted he is to you. And that attraction is deeply explored at a masquerade ball one lust-filled night.

TW: 18+, mdni, chars 18+, smut, rough sex, blindfolding, dom and sub, biting, PIV, f!masterbation, choking

Word count: 4.1k

Animosity.

Perhaps that was the only word to describe the relationship between you and Tom Riddle. The two of you had hated one another for as long as you could remember. He was too charming, too manipulative. And you? You were just another mudblood, or so he called you. 

The best thing that happened to you was graduating from Hogwarts. You no longer had to see Tom–or so you thought. It was exactly three years later when you wandered into Borgin and Burkes. 

Borgin and Burkes was not exactly your normal place to shop but this afternoon you were required to go for your boss. He had encountered a dark magic object, a book he didn’t want in his bookshop. You, desperately needing work, were not exactly in a position to say no.

You walked into the store expecting to get rid of the book quickly and leave but there he was. Tom Riddle. He was still handsome as ever but God, the hatred. It was strong. You thought, perhaps, you were over it but just the sight of him brought it all back. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t serve mudbloods here,” Tom said immediately at the sight of you. The hatred was still there for him as well. You slammed the book on the table and turned to walk out without a single word.

You’d take whatever money you had saved up and give it to your boss yourself. You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as Tom for more than a minute. 

Two weeks later, you were getting ready for a masquerade ball of a close friend of yours. You needed this. Desperately. Time away, drinks with friends. It was supposed to be fun. And it would be. Oh, it would be so incredibly fun. 

“Can you just drop it already?” Your friend asked as the two of you finished up your make-up. You had been going on about the meeting with Tom yet again. It was still bothering you. There was just something about seeing him again that brought up a stir of feelings inside of you.

“He called me a mudblood!” You shouted back as your hands messed with your hair. Your friend had enough. She stood up, smoothing down her dress before shrugging her shoulders.

“Like he hasn’t before? Come on. Let’s just forget about Tom and go have fun.” She held her hand out, waiting for you to take it. 

You thought about not going. You thought about giving up on it all and just heading home. But it was a masquerade ball celebrating the turn of the season. And you were never one to turn down fun. You took her hand and walked down to the party, letting go for a moment so you could tie on your mask.

There were plenty of people at this party, more than there should have been. Word got out and everyone started inviting this friend and that one. Strangers brushed past you dressed in various forms of masks. Some were more covered than others. Some were completely unrecognizable. Anyone could be here. And anyone was here.

Tom Riddle had spent the last two weeks thinking of you. The sight of you walking into that shop was one he never imagined he’d see but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Tom had always hated you, of course, but it wasn’t a deep-seated hatred. It was a hatred that stemmed from his unusual desires for you. He hated how much he wanted you. He hated how fucking attractive you were. 

There were rumors of a party, a big one. Tom had heard of a few professors that would be there from Hogwarts. He was desperately trying to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position and saw this as an opportunity to try and weasel some schmooze in. Maybe a few would put a good word in for him but he had to go about it carefully–as he did with everything in his life.

Tom was a meticulous person. Nothing he did was spontaneous. Everything was carefully, planned out. There were intentions behind every action, ill-willed or not. Spontaneity was not his specialty. 

He walked into the party wearing a mask. Nothing special for the occasion but, years from now, that mask would be so well known to the community. It would be a mask that sparked fear and traitours behaviors; however, tonight it was just a mask for Tom to hide behind while he stalked out his prey. 

You were a few drinks in by the time Tom arrived. You weren’t completely drunk but inhibitions were lowered. You were laughing with your friends when one of them pointed out a masked man standing in the corner. The mask seemed to be staring right at you. 

You brushed it off–surely he wasn’t staring at you. There were hundreds of people at this party. He could be staring at anyone. As the night went on, however, you noticed how the masked man kept popping up here and there. Across the dance floor as you danced. On the opposite side of the bar when you got drinks. He seemed to be everywhere.

Tom was searching for professors, looking for people he could convince to get him the job he desired when he suddenly saw you. Your hair, your tight little dress. It was driving Tom mad. All that talk of him being meticulous and planned out, all of it went out the window the second he saw you. 

He could do nothing but watch you. Were you here with someone? A man? If so, who? Who could fuck you better than Tom Riddle could? 

Fuck.

Tom hated himself for thinking that but he hated that he wanted to prove that thought to you even more. He stalked you most of the night before finally noticing you moving up some stairs. Again, Tom was never a spontaneous person. Everything he did was thought out. Everything. 

Tonight, though. Tonight was an exception. You were an exception. 

Tom followed up the stairs, half-expecting to lose you, when he finally saw you standing at the entrance of what looked to be a bedroom. While Tom was being spontaneous, you had planned this out. If this masked man was truly following you, you wanted to see the lengths he would go.

“Can’t get enough of me, can you?” You asked teasingly as you stood in the doorway. Your voice had a slight drunken giggle to it. Tom was annoyed by your cockiness, your forwardness. He simply nodded his head in the mask as he walked forward a bit.

“Cat got your tongue?” You asked again, realizing how silly you sounded. You wanted to curse yourself under your breath but the masked man's hands were suddenly on your waist, pushing you into the room.

There was hardly time to talk, to think. The door shut behind the two of you and you heard the lock clicking without hands being used. Whoever this man was, he was a skilled wizard, and for some reason, that turned you on even more.

“What are you going to do to me?” You squeaked out meekly. Tom said nothing as he continued walking forward until you were pressed up against the edge of the bed. Your knees were forced to bend at the bedframe and your bottom fell onto the mattress.

Tom stared down at you, tilting his head slightly as his piercing dark eyes peered at you from behind the mask. The eyes almost looked familiar to you, but you couldn’t place it. Your hands rested on the edge of the bed as you looked up at the mystery man.

“Nothing.” Tom finally spoke, changing his voice to a lower tone. He hoped the familiarity of it would slip your mind and it did. You had no idea who this man was but he was exciting you.

Tom leaned down just a touch as he grabbed your wrist. He moved your hand between your legs and forced them open. He pushed your hand until it was up against your warm and wet core.

“You’re going to do it to yourself.” He demanded as he took a few steps back. You kept your hand on the spot where he left it, frozen from the demand. Tom crossed his arms over his chest, still staring at you through that damned mask. 

“Open.” He spoke coldly, your legs immediately spreading open. You weren’t sure if it was your decision or his magic but either way, you opened. You leaned back just a touch, pulling up the skirt of your dress so he could get the full show. Your hand started to do circles over the material of your soaked panties.

Little moans escaped your lips before you pulled your panties to the side, pressing your fingers between your wet slit. You were soaked, feeling nothing but pleasure from the intensity of the situation. 

Tom watched as you locked eyes with him from across the room. He could see the pleasure growing on your face, your fingers moving faster. It felt good. Too fucking good.

You didn't know it but you were currently touching yourself to the man you hated most in this world. A type of degradation without words–the mystery of it driving Tom more insane than the act itself.

“Faster,” Tom demanded and you did exactly as he said. Your fingers circled faster, little circles enlarging that already swollen clit of yours. Tom’s cock was hard, pressing against his pants. Nothing ever turned him on but you? Fuck. You did insane things to him and his length. 

It was taking everything in him to not touch himself as well. Your fingers started to move faster as you fell back a bit on one elbow. Your moans were growing, your legs shaking. Tom could tell you were getting closer to that perfect release.

But you wouldn’t finish. No. He wasn’t about to let you feel that pleasure so soon. He looked at your hand and, without using his voice, the word stop echoed through your mind. Your hand immediately stopped and your eyes widened. What the fuck was that?

He took a few steps closer and your heart was beating hard against your chest. What was he going to do? The unknown of this entire situation only makes this moment hotter. You peered at him through your dainty little mask before he stood right between your legs.

His hand reached up and untied your mask and revealed your face. There it was. The face he hated to desire. The face he hated to think about. The face he hated to dream of. It was his most hated face and yet the one he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind. Tom absolutely loathed how much he thought of your face. Your lips. Your throat. 

No words were said. You were frozen, unable to speak. Tom was just trying to make sure you didn’t know who he was. He reached his hand up, his thumb dragging down your bottom lip as he watched your chest rise and fall from the heavy breathing.

“Perfect.” He whispered, not even meaning to. He meant to keep that thought in his mind but it slipped out in spoken word. And now you knew how he really felt. This complete stranger found you to be perfect. Maybe it was all the drinks you had but this felt exhilarating, intoxicating. 

As Tom’s thumb slid off of your lip, he moved to his pointer finger. It traced your jawline before moving down the side of your neck. He didn’t stop. He traced every inch of you as if he were making a map of your body and all the places he was going to devour. 

“Wh-what do you want?” You finally managed to ask, wondering why he stopped you from finishing. Was he going to fuck you? You wanted him to. This absolute stranger. You reached up for his mask and he quickly grabbed your wrist with a force that frightened you. 

“Don’t,” Tom demanded in that same low tone he had been using. His grip seemed to tighten around your wrist and your desires started to turn to fear for a second. What the fuck were you doing? This was someone unknown to you, or so you thought. He could do anything to you. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“I-I’m sorry.” You stumbled on your words and Tom was enjoying seeing you so scared, so timid. A smirk was growing under his mask as your eyes stared up at him with fear. There was something so insatiable about this, having total control over you and your body. 

“Do you want this?” Tom asked through a low tone, his muffled voice barely escaping his mask. Your mind was racing with thoughts. Did you want this? You nodded your head without truly thinking about what he was asking.

“Are you sure?” Tom asked once more as he started to lay you back on the bed. He grabbed your other hand, pinning it above your head, and hovered over you. “Because once I start, I’m not going to stop.” 

The words sent a shiver down your spine. This was your chance. If you didn’t want this, truly didn’t want it, you just had to say the word and he would let you go. 

“I want this.” 

Fuck. 

That was it. You were in for it. There was no turning back now. You were about to be destroyed in this random bed by this random person and, honestly? You were excited for it. 

Tom didn’t need to hear anymore. He flicked his finger at your dress and it instantly unbuttoned. How the hell was he so good at this? The more of your body that was exposed, the stronger the fire grew inside of him. 

You were quickly becoming the oxygen he needed to breathe. As much as he hated you, he really fucking needed you. He ripped off his shirt and that’s when you saw just how toned his body was. You reached up and traced his abs for a moment as you noticed how heavily he was breathing. 

You wanted to taste him, to feel his lips on yours but he wouldn’t take off that damned mask. He let your hands travel to his belt and you slowly started to undo it. Every movement felt like a pause in time. It was as if time ceased to exist in this other world you were living in. 

His pants slid down and his length bulged out of his underwear. Your eyes widened at the sight of it. He was big. No. Not big. Enormous. No wonder he could be so demanding. 

Tom kept his mask in place while his hands ran through your hair. It wasn’t in a loving sense, or even a longing sense. It seemed to be in a sense that said ‘I can’t believe I’m about to fucking destroy you’ and that, more than anything, turned you on.

“What are you going to do to me?” You managed to ask, in a timid and shaking voice. That confidence you had? Gone. You wanted this–gods you wanted this–but you felt so incredibly submissive to this undisclosed man. There was no challenging him and you both knew that.

“The question should be…” Tom started to say in that deep and low tone as he reached for his tie that was lying with his shirt. He pulled it up over your eyes, tying it around you so that you could see nothing before dropping his lips to your ear and whispering, “...what am I not going to do to you, darling?” 

This. Fucking. Man.

Now with your eyes covered, he could finally remove his mask. And he did. His eyes took in all of you, your naked body lying on the bed. The blindfold over your face. The position of you, so submissive and wanting. He hated it. No, he hated how much it turned him on.

He moved his lips to yours and hovered just for a moment before pressing them together. You tasted fucking heavenly, something that only pissed him off more. Why did you have to be so damn perfect? His tongue swirled with yours and you let out soft little moans which only caused his cock to twitch. 

Tom moved his lips to your neck, biting as he did. There would be marks but that was Tom’s plan. He wanted you to see them. He wanted you to wonder who was putting their teeth into your skin. He wanted you to inadvertently think of him every time you saw those little marks. And he was going to put them over your entire body.

His teeth traveled down to your hardened nipples, biting them with a roughness that made you gasp. You weren’t expecting such a thrilling sensation, pain, and pleasure to mix so well together. 

“W-wait!” You started to say as he bit your other nipple, surely leaving marks everywhere. Your hands went for your blindfold and Tom quickly grabbed your hands. He pinned them together, quickly whispering a spell to tie them with rope. Your heart was racing, your mind rushing with thoughts.

“You agreed to this and I told you, once I start I’m not stopping,” Tom growled in that low tone that was starting to sound a little more familiar. You still had no idea who this was but it had to be someone you knew. The way they were treating you? It was someone you knew.

With your hands now tied, you had no control. This man, this mysterious figure, he had complete and total power over your body. And you loved it. You absolutely fucking loved it.

Tom moved further down your body, licking here and biting there. He made it to your thighs and pushed them apart. His teeth dug into your skin, leaving more marks on your inner thigh. Would you touch yourself the next time you saw these marks? Fuck. Tom hoped you would. He really fucking did. 

“P-please…” You begged, whimpered. A smirk grew on Tom’s face as he heard your little voice. The fact he had your body squirming under his touch only made his cock ache more for you. 

“Please, what? Use your fucking words.” He demanded and god, that voice. It was so familiar. It sent a pit into your stomach, your heart beating against your chest with an aching feeling. There was something so known about it and yet you had no idea who this was. 

“Please...the biting…” Your voice escaped your lips with the softest sound. Tom was getting annoyed. Annoyed that this turned him on, annoyed that you weren’t being more clear. 

He bit down onto your thigh a bit rougher this time, his darkened eyes glaring into your face as he did. He saw the shocked look, the mix of pleasure and pain, the way your body squirmed and writhed with pleasure. You liked this. No, you fucking loved this. 

“Stop!” You finally shouted, loud and echoing off the walls. Tom sat up and was impressed by your sudden demanding tone. He looked down at your slit and slowly ran a finger through it. You were soaked. 

“You’re saying stop and yet…” he moved his fingers up to your lips, tracing them over your mouth until you opened up, “...you seem to enjoy it.” 

His fingers slipped into your mouth until you tasted the cold metal of a ring. It was large. There was some sort of emblem on it but his finger was out of your throat faster than you could make out what it was. 

“Tell me you enjoy this,” Tom whispered as he watched his finger drag out of your mouth. Your body was shivering underneath him. So exposed. So open, vulnerable. 

“I like it. Love it. I-I want more.” You spoke with a shuddered breath. Tom sat you up and slipped behind you. He opened his knees while holding you in front of him so that you both faced the same direction. Your legs slipped between his and it wasn’t long before you felt his length teasing your entrance.

His pre-cum soaked tip was aching for you, craving you. He wrapped his arm around your waist, holding your body tightly against his before slamming his cock deep into you. The second he did, his eyes rolled back into his head.

That had never happened before.

He started to thrust, opening his eyes only to see the two of you in the mirror across the wall. He watched as your face gave away the amount of pleasure you were in. The blindfold was tight across your eyes but–fuck–the sensations you were feeling were otherworldly.

“F-fuck! You–fuck–you feel amazing!” You moaned as Tom’s cock pressed deeper and deeper into you. He started thrusting harder, his teeth sinking into your shoulder for a moment. Another mark. Another giveaway that he had destroyed your perfect body. 

“Praise me.” He groaned into your ear as he continued thrusting. He reached his free hand up, wrapping it around your throat as he watched the way your tits bounced with each thrust in the mirror. You were a mess. And Tom fucking loved it. He loved how much he had ruined you at that moment. And he was only just starting.

“You're so big! S-so good! I–fuck–I c-can barely take it!” You praised as you were told. Your hands were still tied together, sitting in front of you as Tom watched the way your body moved with ecstasy in the mirror. 

He could feel his orgasm getting closer. Tom had fucked before, of course he did. But this? This was so different. It was like a whole new experience all together. He had never felt himself wanting to finish so quickly. It drove him insane.

His hand wrapped tighter around your throat, squeezing it until you could hardly breathe. He thrust a few more times before pulling out and pushing you down onto the bed so that you were on all fours.

Tom slapped both hands onto your ass, more marks. More territory was claimed. You held your hands out in front of you as your face pushed into the bed. Tom raised your hips before sliding back into you. 

“I’m going to count to three and you’re going to finish,” Tom demanded after thrusting a few times. Could you even do that? Cum on demand? You were about to find out. 

“One..” 

He pushed deeper into you, pulling your hips higher so that he was hitting every perfect little spot in your body.

“Two…” 

That voice. That fucking voice. God, you knew it. You knew you knew it. And for a second, a split second, you thought of him. Tom. No. It couldn’t be. Could it? 

“Three…” 

The second you thought of Tom, the second his face flashed across your mind, you finished with the heaviest orgasm you had ever experienced. You squirted, something you had never done before, letting juices coat his length and stroll down your legs. 

The sight of it, the sight of how fucking messy you were, it was enough to make Tom finish as well. He slipped out of you and stroked his length until he spread his seed all down your back and your ass. 

As you collapsed onto the bed, you went to pull off the makeshift blindfold but your hands wouldn’t move. Why weren’t they moving? 

“Can you take these off of me?” You asked but no response. You heard a door shut and suddenly, you could move. You ripped the blindfold off along with the ropes and looked around the room. You were alone. Was this some insane fever dream? 

You quickly looked down at your body, seeing how naked you were. You glanced up into the mirror and that’s when you saw them, the bites. They covered your body. The marks were everywhere. The softest little smile grew on your face as you watched yourself.

Tom, meanwhile, was already slipping out of the party. He hadn’t accomplished what he wanted while there but what he got was so much better. He got you. He destroyed you. He marked you. And fuck. That was all he needed.

You went home that night and fell into the bed, slowly pulling the tie out of your pocket that the man had left behind. You couldn’t get the thought of everything out of your mind. Who was he? And why was that the best sex you had ever had? Your mind went back to Tom but surely it wasn’t him. Was it? 

Your fingers were tracing over the tie, your mind racing with thoughts. And that’s when you saw it–the initials that made your stomach drop. TMR.

[zriasstuff]

This is a kinda random request but how would the sytherin boys react when they see boxers in your room assuming it’s another guys when it’s actually yours. I wear boxers so i just randomly thought of this. 💗💗

This is actually fire, I gladly imagined how this situation would play out. Although some things go similarly, I tried to differentiate their reactions and actions a little bit. Enjoy this crack :)

Slytherin boys x reader

How come you’ve been in a relationship for some time already and they don’t know that you wear boxers ? God knows, maybe they’ve just had a rough day and all critical thinking tends to fly out the window. Jealousy and fear of losing you are hard emotions to control…

Theodore Nott:

when Theo sees them, he aggressively cups your face and pierces your soul with his hunter like eyes all of a sudden

“that’s one skinny bastard that you’re fucking behind my back, does he even have a dick?”, he refers to your own boxers, that are obviously a few sizes smaller

“Tell me, how come you’re such a slut that having me isn’t enough? you actually have to find yourself a side bitch?”

it took some time to recover from his harsh scolding, but soon enough your brain worked again and spat out the right words

Theo backs up in shock when hearing your explanation that made a lot of sense

As a returning favor he should get a scolding too for immediately jumping to conclusions and not communicating properly, but they’re all a bunch of hotheads anyway

It all turns into a funny anecdote though, which also serves as a reminder for him to trust his girl

Tom Riddle:

as soon as he sees them lying around somewhere his expression becomes stoic, brows furrowed just the tiniest bit and lips pursed

of course you noticed even the slightest change, so you reach for his hand to ask him what was wrong. you remember though that sometimes he just gets stressed because he has so much to think about

without properly getting to know the situation he would want to insult and intimidate you, he immediately fumes and threatens: “you are dead to me, and you are going to regret this”

his words and tone especially made you want to cry, you felt yourself curling up, standing beneath his tall frame, not even knowing what you did

he was not only mad at you, but also at himself for letting his guard down, which led to him being played like a fool. there was nothing more important that his self worth and dignity to him

still, you begged and whined for him to stay and when you finally understood that he saw “another guys” boxers on your floor, you actually scoffed and remained speechless for a while

although he was slightly paranoid that you might be lying to him, he saw how distressed you were when he wanted to break up, and that’s something you can’t fake (he still is very wary though, and has to pretend he didn’t just imagine ways to kill and torture “the other guy”)

Mattheo Riddle:

like his brother, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone hurting him, only the other way around

especially with his abandonment issues too this makes him jump from zero to one hundred

but unlike Tom he actually wants to hear your side, to decide how he should handle this and scorned at you: “for fucks sake, you’ve been cheating on me? I don’t know if you thought I was never going to find out, but keeping his bloody boxers is just disgusting. You care to explain?!”

He even picks them up from your bed, and throws them into a corner, shooting them and you a disgusting look

You don’t appreciate his attitude at all, and if that boy knew that he just threw your own boxers, he’d be down on his knees

You can’t take this seriously and tell him ��never seen a girl wear boxers?”, that made things so awkward, and Mattheo quickly apologizes, hopefully you’d forget about this…

Draco Malfoy:

His jealousy promptly get the better of him and he thinks about all the idiots that have tried hitting on you, or ever liked you, which one of them was it?

He couldn’t believe that anyone was worth jeopardizing your relationship, but apparently so

Grabbing you close to him, while pointing at the boxers, he growls “so whose are they huh? Carter? Lewis? You better tell me it’s not that stupid Potter”

While you’re talking, he is still so mad that isn’t even hearing everything that you’re saying, he physically couldn’t calm down when thinking about you jumping into bed with someone else

He would take the boxers too, observing at them closely, and then somewhat sneered “I didn’t know girls also wore boxers”

Draco wouldn’t necessarily be a fan, but came to the conclusion that what you wear under your clothes really wasn’t any of his business

At some point he also wants to see what you look like wearing them, and they actually looked kind of cool

Blaise Zabini:

just like all the others, his thoughts immediately jump to violence, for instance how to get the other guy admitted into the hospital wing

but something makes him stop and think—why wouldn’t you even bother to hide them somewhere? did you think he was so incredibly blind, or did you actually have nothing to hide?

Still his temper gets the best of him and accuses you of being “shameless” and asks if you were trying to insinuate that he “wasn’t good enough” because you’re wrong and he can fuck you better than anyone else

He always thought that everything was going well, so you being unsatisfied was really the last thing he expected

Fortunately everything gets resolved quite easily since you reassure him, and you even tease him about his jealousy

For the rest of the night, Blaise in fact proves that he can fuck you the best. That was the best apology for doubting you in the first place

Lorenzo Berkshire:

He gets extremely upset and has an outburst too, but with a hint of self consciousness, asking you how you could do this to him, when he’s always trying his best

Enzo also relies on guilt, wanting to make you feel like absolute shit, he says stuff like “i gave up being a player for you because I love- loved- you so much, but apparently you see me as nothing

You have to try your hardest to make him see how ridiculous he was being, and he demands you tell him how you would never cheat on him

Seeing you in your boxers for the first time also makes him smirk, you could really rock anything

[iniquitousyearning]

can you please write something about tom being tied up!!!! please please!!!! i know you would write this so well🥹

hejsjahshs uhm okay this could go many different ways but if you read my fic ‘this is your punishment’ i feel like reader from that fic would be looking to get revenge and what better way to disarm tom than to take away the one thing that man needs more than anything? control.

“what is this—what are you—“ tom’s voice dies off as you tighten the magical bonds around his wrists, tugging him back snug into the chair he’s so adorably trying to slip out of. it’s laughable really, the way you turned the tables back onto him and just how much he fucking hates it. “this isn’t funny. you don’t want to start this with me—“

with a flick of your finger, his tie is between his teeth and his pitiful threats are muffled—as useless as his squirming. with a smirk, you take a step back from where he’s seated, drinking him down in all his glory under the dim lighting inside his dorm. you’ve never seen him like this. vulnerable. the way his muscles flex against his shirt as he squirms, brows pinched and jaw tense—

it’s intoxicating.

”c’mon, tommy…you didn’t really think i wouldn’t get you back, did you?” your fingers find the buttons of your shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. his squirming stops as soon as you move to the second button, chest heaving as he watches you—your pulse soars, spurred on by the way his eyes burn your skin. “look, you’re talented—so bloody good with spells, i’ll give you that. but i think you forgot that i’m good too.”

at that, his eyes narrow and his head tilts just slightly—you slip the last button free on your blouse and let the fabric fall free from your shoulders, black-laced breasts bared to those raging midnight eyes.

“we’re more alike than you thought, tommy. you underestimated me, and that carelessness is the reason you’re sitting there, and i’m standing here.” you step closer again, leaning forward until you’re bent before him, breasts spilling out of the thin lace barely containing them— “a pity, isn’t it?”

he groans into the tie, and you see it—the way he’s warring with himself, not sure where to let his eyes settle—bouncing back and fourth between your tits and your smirk laden lips, hiding behind the irritation as if letting you know he loves this would mean losing.

tom riddle has never been a good loser.

“yes, such a pity.” you nod to yourself, pursing your lips. he is beautiful—beautiful in a way that is far past disastrous but when he’s stuck like this, tied up before you, he’s tamed in a way you know isn’t possible otherwise. all that danger, held back by a silly little spell. “though, i have to say…what’s even more pitiful, is the way you’ve been denying yourself.”

you slip a finger under his jaw, urging his chin up until his eyes have no where to look except into yours. you can’t believe how bold you’re being.

“you could have fucked me, you know. merlin knows i wanted it.” you whisper, free hand slipping down to his knee. “but you chose a spell. because you’re superior, right? a man above impulse?”

he grunts against the fabric in his mouth when your fingers tease timidly up his thigh—you glance down just as he shifts his legs, spreading them wider, pants tight in the crotch as his body betrays him.

you shush him, tutting. drunk off the power trip. “i know. you’re so disciplined, tommy. the rest of us could only wish to be as strong as you.”

salazar save you—you’re playing with matches, biting your lip, unable to look away. you can’t tell forsure but the outline of him looks monstrous under this shitty lighting—and you remember now, just how much you hate this game.

but regardless, you’ll play along—after all, he’s the one that made the rules, who are you to break them?

“look at you,” you whisper, fingers slipping higher, dangerously close. you graze his bulge and his hips twitch, his head almost falling back until you slip your fingers around his jaw, holding his eyes to yours. “you’re so hard.. and i’ve barely touched you…when’s the last time you got off, huh? when’s the last time you’ve fucked?”

AKSJAISHSJ OK I CANT WRITE BLURBS IM SORRY THIS GOT AWAY FROM ME BUT—

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Sadism

Tom Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: oral(male receiving), shoe humping, spanking, kinda toxic tbh

18+ Minors DNI!

Oh, you really pissed him off this time. You meant to annoy him a bit. Just enough for some angry sex hopefully. But it blew way out of proportion. You were just harmlessly flirting with a guy to make him jealous and that was going to be it. But unfortunately, the guy didn't take the hint after you stopped and tried following you and touching you, and long story short, Tom has his first wver detention for cursing the boy.

"All you wanted was for me go get rough with you, and look how that turned out." He lectured as he spanked you. Your eyes were filled with tears from the pain, your ass stinging and agitated. "You got me in detention, you know? All because you wanted to make me jealous."

"I'm sorry!" You cried out after another harsh spank.

"Not good enough." He said and pushed you off of his lap as he stood up. You got onto your knees and looked up at him, just like a kicked puppy. "You're gonna make this up to me, doll. Or I won't be touching you for a long time." You audibly whimpered at his words from his harsh tone and nodded. Without another word, he undid his belt and pants, pulling out his cock and pressing it to your lips in a silent order to suck it.

You didn't wanna piss him off more, so you obeyed and took him in your mouth, taking him as deep as you could before pulling back.

"If you wanna get off tonight, you're gonna have to do it with my shoe." You paused at his words. His shoe? He pressed the toe of his shoe to your cunt and you understood immediately. This was a power move to humiliate you. But you were desperate enough to take it and humped yourself on his shoe as you sucked his cock.

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[nottswitch]

— 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥.

summary: you had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section. however, the outcome might not be something you had originally planned.

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

cw: 18+ smut, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), throatfucking, gagging, mentions of nausea (no actual vomiting), slight choking, orgasm denial? ignoring?? I think that’s all, if I missed anything, let me know!

wc: 3.3k

a/n: listen. listen. this man has been in my head for the last month, and recently he decided to come into my dream? that’s just rude, so that’s what you get as revenge. this fic is also a result of my pent up frustration at life rn, so do with that what you will. also, this is my first time ever writing smut and writing for tom, so pls let me know if it’s any good and if I shall continue on the path. enjoy <3

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You had finally done it.

You had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section with him. After the whole month of begging almost every day, he agreed, albeit awfully begrudgingly, but you were on cloud nine nonetheless. He told you some stuff about his late-night visits to the library from time to time, but you were always burning for more information, considering your own striving for knowledge. He always said the same thing, that he appreciated your effort, but if you could stop trying to make him abuse his Prefect’s power and possibly lose himself the position, it would make both of your lives easier. But you persevered and were finally reaping the rewards, sitting next to him at the table, with a stack of ancient books in front of you, sometime far after midnight.

What you didn’t expect, though, was how absolutely fucking irresistible he would look merely existing. The books were taken out, the first one was flipped through and now they sat on the table, long forgotten, as you just stared at Tom, almost devouring him with your eyes. To be fair, the sight of him was truly divine – his face calm and concentrated, hovering over a particular book he had been studying for the last week, distracted simply to switch to his journal and take another note. His hands resting on the table, holding a quill, scribbling down lines with his exquisite handwriting… They were sinful, those hands. You had to get ahold of at least one. His left hand was in the process of mindlessly caressing the corner of the book with his middle finger when your hand slowly creeped towards it. You lightly brushed your fingertips along the outer part of his hand. No reaction. You started drawing circles along the whole area, skimming along his wrist and thumb. Nothing. You decided to go further and began intertwining your fingers together.

Finally. A sigh.

And he didn’t even look. His hand grabbed yours and put it away, back on the table. And nothing, absolutely nothing changed about the focused expression painted on his face. That was really annoying, but also… hot, in a way? Almost as if he was playing hard to get. You were already aroused just by looking at him, but his silent rejection made you nearly desperate. Your panties were pretty much soaked, and he, quite literally, barely lifted a finger.

Before you could gain control over your hand, it moved dangerously close to his thigh. You put your hand a little above his knee and gradually advanced higher and higher up his leg. Only when you were caressing his inner thigh did you hear another sigh. Tom raised an eyebrow and turned his head a couple centimeters in your direction, his eyes still on the book.

“What?” he asked, the tone of his voice only ever so slightly irritated. His composure remained intact. He wasn’t even fazed by the fact that you were so close to grabbing him through his pants.

“You look so handsome like that, you know?”

You made your best attempt to lace your voice with saccharine seduction. Your hand kept stroking his inner thigh, inching further and further up with each stroke. The only thing he did was thoughtlessly nod, as if he forgot about your existence immediately after asking the question.

You started getting frustrated and even more turned on. You moved your chair closer to his and began caressing his shoulder, brushing your fingers along his neck when they reached it. You slowly moved down to his back and arm, your nails applying some pressure on his body so that he could feel them scratching his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. It had always been one of the rare things to grab his attention, and it worked this time as well. He sighed, closed the book with his finger between the right pages and turned his head to you. His expression was that of mild annoyance, his eyebrow raised again.

“What exactly was the reason you’d been begging me to bring you here? Would you care to remind me?”

You lowered your gaze and your hand on his shoulder stopped, but just for a second. Then you continued, thinking that there was no return at that point and at least you had a chance, now that his attention was on you.

“Knowledge,” you admitted.

“And what kind of knowledge are you trying to soak up right now?”

His eyes flicked towards your hand still massaging his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and shifted in your chair at the mention of the word “soak”. But it was time for drastic measures. You stood up to crouch next to him, so that your mouth was right at the same level as his ear. Your hand moved to his inner thigh again, traveling up to his crotch and back. You felt him harden under your touch and the mere fact brought you immense amounts of satisfaction.

“Come on, Tom, love, we both know what I want right now,” you started whispering, your lips nearly touching his ear. “You. I want you. On the table, on the floor, against the wall, it literally doesn’t matter. If you don’t take me right here, right now, I will die.”

The look on his face didn’t change in the slightest when he grabbed your throat with his right hand and guided you from his left to his front, tightly squeezed between him and the desk. You stayed in your half-crouched position, trying your hardest not to tremble in the knees. The corner of Tom’s mouth lifted ever so slightly while he silently studied your face and body. His grip on your throat tightened when he lifted up his hand, causing you to straighten your half-bent legs. He shot a commanding look at his lap and, guided by his hand, you climbed there, sitting down and sighing as you could finally relax your already aching knees. But your state of relaxation didn’t last, as he abruptly spread his legs, causing yours to shoot open as well and your ass to be left hanging in the air. In order not to fall to the ground, you had to lean back on the desk, propping your front upwards, towards him.

His hand moved from your throat to the hem of your skirt. With quick and methodic movements Tom rolled it up, tucking it behind the top part of the skirt, and spread your thighs even further with a firm press of his thumbs. You felt a heatwave of embarrassment wash over you as he evaluated the state of your panties, an amused smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. A spot of wetness was wonderfully visible and on display. His eyebrow went up and down as he looked up at you, brushing his thumb in a feather-like touch along the still covered surface of your cunt. You threw your head back, partly because you didn’t want to meet his eyes, partly because your own eyes rolled to the point you couldn’t see in front of you and you could barely hold in a moan as myriads of goosebumps spread throughout your body just from this simple touch.

“Look at me.”

Tom clearly didn’t appreciate the lack of eye contact. You clenched your jaw and looked back, met by the sheer intensity of his stare. The stare that had all the power in the world to melt you into a puddle at any given moment. He brushed his other thumb over the same place again, watching your face carefully as you tried to keep your composure. Didn’t help. Your bit your bottom lip, but a sound escaped you nonetheless. Tom’s smirk widened.

“Let’s see,” he quietly muttered, pulling your panties to the side. Your cunt was already slicked and throbbing, which was even more embarrassing, because he looked like he was an inspector evaluating the goods. The smirk faded from his lips as his finger rubbed against your folds, barely spreading them apart and not reaching the clit to provide the much-needed sensation. You couldn’t help throwing your head back again, almost drawing blood from the pressure of your teeth against your bottom lip.

“I said. Look. At. Me.”

Tom uttered every word in a clear, emotionless voice, but it was the very thing that meant trouble. You looked back and the intensity of his stare only grew exponentially. He reached your face with his hand and grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, squeezing them, so that your lips formed into some sort of a pout.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Keep looking until I say you can stop.”

You quickly nodded, intimidated by his frigid dominance. His hand went back to your cunt. He slid his fingers deeper between the folds, lightly brushing against the clit. Your hips jerked up as they tried to follow the path of his fingers, but his other hand held you firmly in place, not allowing a single extra bit of pleasure. He slid them back once more and then the middle one slipped inside you, up to the very base. A jolt of pleasure shook your body, as strong as the feeling of disappointment when he quickly removed the digit. You tried to whine but another look from him quickly shut you up. Tom raised his hand, rubbed his index, middle finger and thumb together and then separated; a sticky string of your wetness was a connection between them and a blatant manifestation of your arousal.

“Soaked. Just like I thought.”

The slightest hint of a smirk returned to his lips as his fingers reached your mouth.

“Open.”

Each of his words was stern, not leaving room for any disobedience. You opened your mouth and Tom pushed two fingers inside, pressing at the entrance of your throat and instantly making you gag. He kept his fingers there for a moment while you clutched the desk behind you to stop your body from shaking as you kept gagging, but not daring to push his hand away. A couple seconds later, when he saw you were on the verge of giving up, his fingers slowly traveled back out of your mouth. You tightly wrapped your lips around them and sucked your slick off, knowing that it was exactly what he wanted you to do. After leaving your mouth his fingers cupped your chin, as his thumb glided over your lips, covering them with the rest of your wetness.

“Now,” Tom leaned back on the chair, looking you up and down, his voice suddenly smooth and enticing, but his gaze still intense, “I see you are rather bored here with me, doll.”

When he said the word, you knew that the next part wouldn’t be so much for your pleasure as it would be completely for his. It wasn’t a meaningless pet-name for him, no, it held value. It meant that you would be treated exactly like a doll: mindless and limp. He saw your eyes widen at “doll” and a faint smirk was on his lips again: he was aware of the connotation and so were you.

“And to save you the trouble of a wandering mind, I am pleased to announce that I have a much better use for a doll like you.”

He waited to continue for a minute, letting you absorb the information and your thoughts fill with speculations. His hand brushed a stray hair from your forehead, him seeming just like a caring boyfriend for a moment.

“Kneel.”

You slowly stood up from his lap, feeling your stretched out limbs relax and almost fail to hold you up, and lowered down to your knees in front of him. From this point of view, he was even more attractive, compellingly so; it was worth it standing on your knees on the cold stone floor of the Restricted Section just for this sight alone. He slowly started unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, almost as if he wanted you to enjoy the show. You drank up every single movement of his slender fingers as he pulled down his pants and underwear just enough for his cock to bounce right out, against his lower abdomen.

“You like what you see, doll?”

You fervently nodded, your mouth salivating just at the thought of being able to suck him off right then. He saw the fire in your eyes and scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is no ordinary pleasure that I want from you now, doll.”

He beckoned you to move closer and you eagerly did, your face just mere centimeters away from his length. Your breath quickened as you thought about the implication of “no ordinary pleasure”.

“Now, give me your hands, doll.”

You lifted your hands and he wrapped his belt around them, tightening it to the point when it started to hurt and you knew it would leave deep marks on your wrists. Then, you tried to position yourself in a way that would allow your hands to support you, but you could only reach the floor with your fingertips.

Tom ran his fingers through your hair, in a touch almost gentle and soothing, and then suddenly yanked you up and forward, straight onto his cock, thrusting his whole length into your mouth, the tip reaching the very back of your throat. You lifted on your knees and violently gagged at the feeling, your hands inadvertently flying up, trying to push back, but the belt didn’t let you make any substantial impact. He held you firmly in place while you kept quivering and making gagging sounds, him clearly enjoying seeing you in this state. Slowly, you adjusted to his cock filling your whole mouth and your body went weak as you lowered back down, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You tried to look up with just your eyes, not being able to move your head; it hurt too much, so you lowered your gaze, the only thing in front of you being his lower abdomen. As you tried to shift in your place, you felt a whiff of the chilly library air against your soaked panties and the sensation drove you nearly through the roof.

“Now, doll, you have to stay like that while I keep going with my work. A fair warning out of the goodness of my heart: it might take a while.”

You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this could continue for another hour or two. Your head was held back by the edge of the desk cutting into your nape, so you weren’t able to move at all. You were completely at his mercy, he could do literally whatever he wanted, but he chose not to do anything. As soon as he let go of your hair, he went straight back to his book, taking notes as if nothing had happened.

Time went by painfully slowly. The constant feeling of him in your mouth and throat overwhelmed you to the point when you started to twitch at times, shifting your weight to get any semblance of friction against your aching core. The position you were in didn’t allow that at all, your head being stuck firmly between the desk and his body. The most irritating thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that Tom ignored you completely, fully absorbed in whatever kind of studying he was doing. You tried to get his attention a couple of times by producing incoherent sounds and trying to tighten your lips around him, but you quickly understood that there was no use. You tried counting seconds and minutes, but your mind gave up when you reached fifteen. The only things you could think about were his cock and getting something, any type of pressure on your clit. Your wetness soaked through your panties and, you were pretty sure, was dripping down your thighs, creating a small puddle on the floor underneath you.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you finally heard the book shut. You almost shuddered at the sound, your pupils dilating and your breath accelerating, probably close to the speed of light. Tom leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at you with one of his smirks of the devil himself. His hand ruffled your hair, pulling at it to slightly lift your head up and shove it back down, as if he was trying to gauge if you were still alive. At the sound of your muffled groan he raised his eyebrows, amused.

“The doll has some life left in her. What a pleasant surprise. You look perfectly splendid like that.”

You groaned again, the sound coming from somewhere inside your chest. You desperately wanted to look up, but your head was still pressed in its place. Tom scoffed, messing with your hair once again.

“The time has come for some more… customary activities of ours, don’t you think?”

As if you could answer. You tried to nod, but the edge of the desk only further cut into your nape, making you wince in pain.

“The doll seems to agree. Pleasure.”

He moved the chair a bit further from the desk. With more space you could finally properly breath, so you shifted in your place, your stiff legs aching as you had to follow the movement of the chair. Tom’s hand gripped your hair and pulled you upwards, releasing almost the entirety of his length from your mouth apart from the tip. The sudden emptiness made your throat clench and you felt nausea building up rapidly, although the feeling had no time to develop as you were quickly shoved down again, your nose nearly crashing against his body. Tears gathered in your eyes sprayed all over, your lips stretched even more than they already were and you prayed the corners of your mouth wouldn’t crack. The tension building up in your core was begging to be released as you were being thrusted up and down again and again, the tip of his cock stroking the back of your throat again and again, causing you to produce the most sinful gagging sounds known to man. You tried to balance on your tied up hands, but your fingertips just barely brushed against the floor as your whole body moved in unison with your head. Tom barely made any sound, a heavy breath occasionally escaping his lips. He threw his head back, his eyes closed, while you took him whole at the mercy of his hand.

At last, you felt his thrusts speeding up, sensing his release. After a couple of especially violent ones he let out a quiet groan, and you felt his hot semen filling you up and spilling down your throat as he pressed you all the way down. Your breaths were heavy but barely audible, his cock still stuffing your mouth to the brim. Tom heaved a deep sigh as you felt his grip on your hair loosening. You didn’t dare to move until he pulled you up, lifting your head with his finger on your chin, looking straight into your eyes. Your vision was blurry from tears, more of them running down your face and dripping down to the floor as they slid off your jawline. Your lips were swollen and you couldn’t properly close your mouth yet, panting in quick and dry breaths. Tom smirked, taking in the sight of your utter destruction.

“A broken doll. Truly a sight to behold.”

He leaned back on the chair again, pulling up his underwear and zipping the pants. Then, he bent down, taking your hands gently in his and undoing the belt. His fingers made their way across the deep red marks on your wrists, caressing them with utmost attention.

“You have been a very good doll for me tonight. Now, what do you say to spending the night in my dorm? The doll has to receive her rightful reward.”

[cruel-seduction]

Please stay?

Summary - Y/N never expected to fall for Tom Riddle—let alone be dragged into his cold, calculating world. Their relationship is anything but conventional, full of manipulation, games, and secrets. But when Y/N begins to pull away, refusing to let herself become just another piece in Tom's twisted plan, the truth about their connection forces both of them to confront feelings neither of them ever expected. Can Tom learn to love in his own way, or will his obsession with control destroy everything?

Glimpse - His knees hit the ground, his gaze locked onto yours, something unspoken hanging between you both. His hands twitch at his sides, his breath slow but measured. And then—in his own way—he gives you what you asked for.

"I will never be the person you deserve," he murmurs, voice rough, edged with something unreadable. "But I will treat you as you deserve to be treated. I will try my best"

It’s not perfect. It’s not a romantic declaration. But it’s Tom. And for the first time, he is trying.

a/n - Hello, my certified cutie red flags!!! In the starting the reader will look like a pathetic person with no self respect but trust me it gets much better. AFTER ALL you know your worth. And I can’t write about a girl with no self respect. I am so sorry 😔😔😔. Divider Credit goes to @bernardsbendystraws.

The sky is heavy tonight. The kind of oppressive, ink-black stretch of nothingness that seems to press against the castle like a living thing. Even the stars refuse to shine, swallowed whole by the thick storm clouds slithering across the heavens. A biting chill cuts through the air, sharp and merciless, the lingering dampness from the afternoon rain clinging to the stone walls of Hogwarts like an unshakable ghost.

You pull your cloak tighter around you, fingers numb from the cold, but it’s not the weather that unsettles you. It’s him.

Tom Riddle walks beside you, his steps eerily soundless against the damp grass. His dark robes move like liquid shadow, effortlessly blending into the night, making it seem as if he’s not walking at all but simply materializing forward with each step. You used to take comfort in the way he carried himself—like a king, untouchable and certain of everything. But lately, certainty feels like something slipping between your fingers, something you can no longer grasp.

You steal a glance at him, watching the way the dim torchlight from the castle catches on his sharp features. There is something unnervingly perfect about him—his pale skin unmarked by time, his high cheekbones carved by something otherworldly, his expression unreadable as ever.

You wonder if he’s even real.

Because lately, it feels as though you are losing him.

He’s always been distant in a way no one else could be, keeping the world at arm’s length with cold, calculated detachment. But with you, it has been different. Not soft—Tom Riddle is not a man who indulges in softness—but something just as fragile. Something that could almost be mistaken for tenderness if you weren’t careful.

It was in the way he let you closer than anyone else, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long when you spoke, the way his hand would ghost over your wrist as if grounding himself. It was in the way he would listen, truly listen, in a way he never did for anyone else.

But now? Now, his patience frays faster. His touch lingers less. Now, when you reach for him, you are met with nothing but air.

You don’t confront him. Not at first. Instead, you try harder.

You remind him of the quiet moments. You stay up late to help him study, even when he doesn’t ask. You sit beside him in the library, carefully passing him books before he even has to request them, anticipating his needs before he speaks.

You let your fingers brush against his when handing over a quill, searching for the ghost of something that once was.

But it is never returned. His touches are colder now, calculated in a way that makes you feel like a pawn rather than something cherished. There are no more absent-minded gestures, no more moments where his hand finds the small of your back without thinking.

And still, you do not speak of it. Instead, you watch.

You start noticing things.

The way his jaw tightens when you linger too close. The way his fingers curl ever so slightly when your voice is too gentle. The way his dark eyes, once alight with intrigue when they settled on you, now hold nothing but unreadable emptiness.

It is suffocating. The slow unraveling of something you never had words for, slipping from your grasp with every passing day. Tonight is no different.

You sit beside him in the dim candlelit corridors, your books spread out between you both, but it is silent. Too silent. Tom Riddle is many things—brilliant, ruthless, endlessly composed—but he is not quiet instead he is sarcastic.

But now, he reads in absolute stillness, the flickering candlelight carving harsh shadows across his face. You watch him, fingers curled tightly in your lap, your throat tightening with every second that stretches between you.

Say something. But you don’t. Because you’re afraid. Afraid that if you speak, the truth will slip past his lips— That you are not enough. That you were never enough.

So, instead, you say, “You’re tired.” It’s an offering, a small piece of normalcy, an attempt to breach the invisible wall between you. His dark lashes lift as he glances at you, his expression unreadable. Then, after a pause— “I have work to do.”

His voice is smooth, effortless, but there’s something clipped beneath it. Something that makes your chest tighten. You swallow. “You should rest.” A flicker of something crosses his face, but it’s gone before you can name it. He exhales slowly through his nose, setting his book aside with deliberate care.

“I don’t need rest, Y/N,” he says, and for the first time in days, you hear something sharp beneath his words. Frustration. At you.

You should leave it alone. You should nod, change the subject, let him be. But you don’t. Because you can’t take it anymore. You tilt your head, voice quiet but firm. “Then what do you need?”

A second of silence. Then— His gaze darkens, his entire body tensing, as if you’ve just asked something he’s unwilling to answer. But he doesn’t have to. Because you already know. You can see it in the way his fingers tighten on the armrest, in the way his throat works around words he doesn’t say.

He is slipping from you, and neither of you knows how to stop it. And for the first time, the weight of it crushes you whole. And you left. 

Hogwarts always hums with whispers.

They slither through the corridors like living things, curling around corners, tucking themselves into the spaces between students. You’ve never paid them much attention.Until now. You’re not looking for it, not eavesdropping, not chasing ghosts through the castle. But sometimes, the truth finds you whether you want it to or not.

The voices are hushed, just around the bend in the empty corridor. You wouldn’t have stopped if not for one single, cutting syllable— "Riddle."

Your stomach tightens instinctively. Not because of fear, but because it’s been weeks of this—of something shifting between you, of watching him slip through your fingers like water, of knowing and not knowing all at once. So you listen. "...come on, you really think he gives a damn about her?" A laugh—low, smug. "Riddle doesn’t care about anyone. She’s just another pawn in his little empire, like the rest of us."

The words should bounce right off you. They should feel absurd. A reach. A lie. But the response— Tom’s response— Never comes.

No denial. No sharp, clipped correction. Not even an ounce of amusement. Just silence.

And somehow, that silence is a knife through the ribs. You don’t even realize you’re backing away until your heel catches the stone step behind you. The sound barely registers. The hum of students in the distance is nothing but static. All you can hear is the echo of that damning silence ringing in your skull.

He let them believe it. He let them reduce you to something disposable, something useful, something beneath him. And he said nothing.

It’s not fire that burns through your veins. Not a dramatic, gasping devastation. It’s cold. Cold like the winter frost clinging to the stone walls. Cold like his fingers when they stopped lingering against yours. Cold like the way he looks at you now—like he’s forgotten how to be anything else.

You find him that night.

Not because you need him to deny it. Not because you need reassurance or soft-spoken words to piece you back together. But because you refuse to let him walk away from this without owning it.

The Room of Requirement is dimly lit when you step inside, your breath steady, your fury simmering just beneath the surface. He stands near the towering shelves, his back to you, his long fingers curled around the edge of an open book.

He doesn’t turn around. He felt you the moment you stepped inside. You know he did. The air thickens. Silence stretches between you, sharp and suffocating. You let it fester for exactly three seconds before you speak.

"Tell me I was just a game to you." His fingers still on the parchment. "Tell me," you continue, voice low, controlled, "so I can walk away."

Nothing.

Not a single breath of a response.

Your jaw tightens, nails biting into your palms. "No clever words? No manipulation? Just silence?" You let out a sharp laugh, one that barely contains the bitterness bleeding into your chest. "How strategic of you, Riddle." His posture remains perfect, unaffected, as if your words barely graze him. But you know him better than that. You know what to look for.

The faintest twitch of his jaw. The way his fingers tighten just so on the book’s spine. He swallows. Then, slowly, he closes the book, placing it back onto the shelf with calculated precision.

You cross your arms, raising an unimpressed brow. "Say something, Tom. Anything. Unless you’d rather me assume the worst."

He finally turns.

His dark eyes meet yours—still unreadable, still calm, but beneath it, something lurks. Something careful. Controlled. He steps forward. You don’t move. The dim light of the torches casts shadows across his face, making the sharp angles of his features even more devastatingly severe. He looks like something sculpted from darkness itself—something untouchable.

But you’ve touched him. You’ve known him.

Or at least, you thought you did.

His gaze drops to your lips for half a second. Then, back to your eyes. He studies you like a puzzle, as if trying to find the exact shape of your anger. Then, quietly— "You seem upset."

You laugh. The sheer audacity of it knocks the air from your lungs. "Brilliant observation, Riddle," you sneer. "Ten points to you." His expression doesn’t shift. He waits.

You shake your head, stepping closer, refusing to be the first one to look away. "So? Is it true? Have I been nothing but a convenient distraction for you?" Another unbearable beat of silence.

You expect an argument. A deflection. A game of words where he twists things back on you, makes you doubt what you heard. Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s good at.

But instead— He gives you nothing. No lies. No truths. Just silence. The emptiness of it hollows out your chest more than any cruel confession ever could.

And suddenly, you understand.

Tom Riddle is a man who will never be honest about what he cannot control. He is a man who will never let himself be seen—not fully, not in the way you thought he had let you see him.

And the worst part?

You don’t know if he’s staying silent because he doesn’t care. Or because he does.

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to let it show. Instead, you tilt your chin up, exhaling slowly through your nose. "Right," you murmur. "Got it."

You turn, walking toward the door, forcing every step to remain steady, to not betray the way your ribs feel like they’re caving in on themselves. Behind you, Tom remains motionless. Watching. Silent. He doesn’t call after you. He doesn’t stop you. But he also doesn’t tell you to leave.

And that, somehow, makes it worse.

The halls of Hogwarts had never seemed so cold.

You’ve always known how to handle Tom Riddle. How to wear your strength like armor, how to make sure your words cut sharper than a blade. But now… now it’s different. There’s something behind his silence—something that gnaws at you more than any insult could. So you change.

You work harder. Push yourself to exhaustion in every class. You’ve always been brilliant, but now you push it further, always one step ahead, one move too sharp. You stop seeking his approval. You stop trying to meet his gaze.

You mirror him.

Cold. Detached. Untouchable.

If he can be like that, then why can’t you?

You don’t need him. You tell yourself that, every time the ache in your chest grows too heavy to ignore. You can’t allow yourself to need someone like him—someone who would so easily abandon you in the name of his control. You don’t need his warmth, his approval, his twisted little games.

Instead, you dive deeper into becoming something else—something better than him. You perfect the art of indifference, make it so tight you can’t feel a thing. The way you look at people changes, the way you speak shifts. You’ve learned to show no weakness.

Tom notices.

He watches from the shadows, silent and calculating, as you slip from his grasp. You used to be so sharp, so fiery,funny, sarcastic, cheerful, a force he couldn’t ignore. But now? Now he watches as you become a replica of everything he despises in himself, not that he will ever say it out loud. Hardened. Detached. Unreachable.

It pisses him off more than he wants to admit. He doesn’t want you like this. He never wanted you like this. He can’t stand it. The way you hold yourself back. The way you don’t show anu ounce of feeling

He hates it. And he hates that you think you have to change, to become something you’re not, just because of him. 

He tries to fix it.

Not with words. Not with warmth. Not with care. No. He tries to pull you back in the only way he knows how—through control. He corners you after classes. Put his hand on the door before you can leave. Block your path in the hallway. His presence is suffocating, but you don’t flinch.

You don’t even look at him. His eyes narrow, his lips tightening into a thin line. He can see the walls you’ve built. He can feel how cold you’ve become. He hates it more than he hates anything else.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, voice laced with a mix of frustration and something darker. But you don’t answer. You don’t even look at him. You just walk past, ignoring him like he doesn’t even exist.

And it drives him crazy.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. He’s Tom Riddle—he’s always been able to control everything, everyone. But you? You’re slipping. Slipping through his fingers, and he can’t get a hold on you anymore.

It infuriates him. The fact that you don’t need him. The fact that you’ve become this stranger he no longer understands.

But you? You don’t even care.

In the end, he’s left standing there—staring at your retreating form, realizing he’s losing you in the only way that matters to him: control.

And for the first time in his life, Tom Riddle feels something that isn’t power. Something sharp, unfamiliar. Something he’s never had to acknowledge.

Love? Care? Fear?

The days stretch on in silence between you and Tom. You don’t speak to him. Not a word, not a glance. You’ve locked yourself away in your routine, pushing forward like nothing has changed, though everything inside you feels fractured.

Tom doesn’t seek you out immediately. But it's not because he doesn’t care. It’s because he doesn’t understand it—what this is, what you are, how you’ve slipped so easily through his grasp.

People don't walk away from him. They never have.

He’s Tom Riddle—his name alone commands respect. Authority. Power. People cling to him. They crave his approval like a drug. His cold, calculating nature and the control he exudes make it impossible for anyone to slip away. But you? You’ve walked away, and that doesn’t sit right with him.

It unsettles him in a way he cannot even begin to articulate. He’s used to being the one with the upper hand, used to manipulating the people around him until they bend to his will. But this—this—is different.

And for once, he’s left standing there, unable to do a damn thing about it.

Tom watches you from afar.

Every moment you ignore him, every second you smile at someone else, every time you don’t acknowledge his presence—it stings. He watches you from across the courtyard, from the hallways, from the edge of the shadows.

It drives him mad. The way you’re slipping from him. The way you don’t need him.

And worst of all?

He can’t control it.

It’s late one night, the library unusually quiet, and there you are, sitting alone, exhausted. The stress of the past few days hangs like a weight on your shoulders. Your hands grip the edges of the book in front of you like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And then, like some predatory shadow, he’s there. Tom Riddle.

You don’t even look up. You already know he’s standing there, that familiar presence looming over you.

“We need to talk,” his voice breaks the silence, cool and commanding.

You don’t bother to look at him. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” you reply flatly, not willing to spare him a glance.

Tom doesn’t take rejection well. He never has.

He doesn’t wait for your permission. In a single fluid motion, he slams your book shut, his hand still resting on it as his dark eyes bore into you. His voice is low, dangerous, like a storm brewing on the horizon.

“That’s not an option,” he says, a quiet rage simmering beneath the surface.

Your patience snaps. You look up at him now, your eyes blazing with fire. “I am not one of your followers, Riddle. You don’t get to control me,” you spit the words out, each one a jab.

Tom’s jaw clenches. His expression tightens with something you can’t quite place, but it’s raw—almost desperate. “That is not what I’m trying to do,” he says, voice tight, controlled, but something beneath it betrays him.

“Then what are you trying to do?” You stand, the fire in your voice only intensifying. “Because I don’t know what I was to you, Tom. A game? A challenge? Something to entertain you fucking dick—”

“Stop.” His voice cracks like a whip, and it cuts through the tension, sharp and unforgiving. He takes a step closer, a flash of something unfamiliar in his eyes, but he doesn’t reach out to you. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t move to claim anything.

“I never lied to you,” he says, and the words seem so damn final. “I never played you.”

“But you let them think you did,” you counter, your voice small but vicious in its accusation.

Silence falls. The kind of silence that feels like it could shatter everything in the room. He doesn’t deny it. Not this time.

He’s done it. He’s let the whispers—let the rumors—fester in the air, letting them become truth in the eyes of everyone else. The things they said about him. About you. About how he doesn’t care.

And this is where Tom falters.

For the first time in his life, he’s standing there, feeling something—but it isn’t control. It isn’t power. It’s raw. It’s human. And he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

You stand, ready to leave, but before you can take a single step, his hand catches your wrist.

It’s not a harsh grip. Not a demand. Just a touch—one that shouldn’t feel as damning as it does.

"Don’t go."

It’s not an order. It’s not manipulation.

It’s a request.

A quiet, almost broken thing.

And that stops you cold.

Because Tom Riddle does not beg.

Your breath is uneven as you turn back to him, searching his face, looking for some flicker of deception, some indication that this is just another game, another tactic to keep you under his thumb. But what you find isn’t calculation. It’s not cold control.

It’s something raw. Something real.

"Give me one good reason," you whisper, your voice dangerously close to cracking.

For a moment, he just stares at you, something shifting in his dark eyes—something unreadable, something vulnerable. And then he says the words that shake you to your core. "Because I don’t know how to be without you."

It’s not flowery. It’s not poetic. It’s just true.

Tom Riddle does not understand love the way normal people do. He doesn’t offer promises of forever, doesn’t whisper pretty words into the air like they mean nothing. But he understands you. He understands this.

And for him, admitting that he needs someone? That’s bigger than any declaration of love could ever be. Your chest feels tight, emotions threatening to drown you, but you force yourself to stay steady. He has cracked something inside himself, something he has never dared to expose before.

But it’s not enough.

"Then be better," you tell him, voice firm but not unkind.

His fingers tighten around your wrist, his breath a little uneven, but he nods. He doesn’t promise—because promises mean nothing without action. You slide your fingers between his, lacing your hand with his. "Come with me."

The Room of Requirement shifts and bends to your needs, pulling from the deepest corners of your desires, your emotions. When the door materializes, you push it open and step inside, pulling him in with you.

The room is bare. Empty. Except for a single tulip in the center of the space.

The air is thick with unspoken words. Tom watches you carefully, as if trying to decipher some grand meaning behind your every move. You step forward, plucking the tulip from where it rests, before turning back to him. You hold it out to him, the petals soft against your fingertips. "Get on your knees."

His dark eyes flash. Tom Riddle does not kneel. But then again—Tom Riddle has never cared about anyone enough to chase them, either. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. You don’t move. You don’t waver.

His jaw tightens, tension coiling through his frame. But then—after what feels like a lifetime—he does it. He lowers himself. Slowly. Controlled.

His knees hit the ground, his gaze locked onto yours, something unspoken hanging between you both. His hands twitch at his sides, his breath slow but measured. And then—in his own way—he gives you what you asked for.

"I will never be the person you deserve," he murmurs, voice rough, edged with something unreadable. "But I will treat you as you deserve to be treated. I will try my best"

It’s not perfect. It’s not a romantic declaration.

But it’s Tom.

And for the first time, he is trying.

You kneel in front of him, pressing the tulip into his palm. His fingers close around it carefully, as if he’s never held something delicate before.

"This is your last chance, Riddle," you whisper, voice laced with finality. "Don’t waste it."And in that moment, as he holds onto the single flower like it might shatter in his grasp—he knows he won’t.

[deadghosy]

How Slytherin boys react to sister! Reader dating:

Warning: boyfriend house not specific, google translated Italian, protective brothers & stalking

Ft. Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire.

The Riddle Brothers

“WHAT??” Mattheo yells as Draco had told him that you were dating Someone. The thing was that you haven’t told him first.

Why didn’t you tell him..cause now he’s frowning and venting to the oldest riddle that’s reading a book.

“TOM! Our baby sister is dating someone, but she hasn’t said a single thing…I swear what if the guys bad..”

“We could easily kill him. So why worry brother?” Tom says looking up. But it was clear that Tom was mad that you haven’t told him. You always tell him things, so to the point you haven’t told him made him a “little” angry.

Mattheo and Tom looked at each other and nodded as they left the Slytherin common room.

You were walking with your boyfriend when all of a sudden you felt eye burning in the back of your head. You turn around and there you see only mattheo because of course Tom is invisible.

“Mattheo…why didnt you turn invisible when clearly she’s glaring at you.”

“Tom, stfu.”

Draco Malfoy

Ima make your boyfriend here as potter cause it’s definitely gonna be funny.

Straight up gets so dramatic to his knees, screaming for someone to kill him as he sees you dating his enemy. How could you betray him?! Your big brother is devastated

After dinner, he drags you to the common room and becomes a mother hen as he lectures you about how “terrible” pottah is.

“He’s a terrible person! And a Gryffindor. End of presentation…got any questions.” Draco says with a raised up brow

“Yeah, only one. Can I go to sleep now…”

Theodore Nott

IM SORRY BUT HE’S GONNA PULL OUT THE ITALIAN

“Mi stai spezzando il cuore qui sorellina... non puoi uscire finché non sono morto...” (you’re breaking my heart here lil sis you can’t date til I’m dead)

“ALLORA COME CAZZO USCIREI? SONO SOLO UN’ORA IN RITARDO DOPO DI TE?” (Then how the fuck would I date I’m only a hour late after you)

I feel like he would do the hand gesture, 🤌 yeahhhh…..

During the months he would try to give you the birds and the bees talk when you obviously know what it is, and you’re running away from him.

Of course he won’t stalk you, he’s too much of a good brother to do that to you. So you are lucky

But one word that your boyfriend is hurting you verbally, physically, or emotionally. He’s hurting him 10 times bad.

Lorenzo Berkshire

“I wanna meet him.”

“WHY YOU LOOKIN AT ME LIKE THAT?!.”

His soft face turned serious when you told him you’re dating someone. Because you thought Lorenzo would react happy for you.

He’s literally acting like a father as he has the boyfriend in front of him, wand in hand as his smile was tight. “So, I heard your dating my sister. Why?”

Pulls out the “why do you wanna date my daughter/sister” card😭😭

If the boyfriend passes, he’s welcome. If not, find a better boyfriend.

[lushaletta]

the objective and persuasive / theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

warnings: swearing

summary: a tale of forbidden romance through the eyes of a lovesick theodore nott

a/n: what is this?!?! ivy actually WRITING??? unheard of! anyway.. i still do not have my ipad so my tom riddle miniseries will be on hold for a bit :( i still have more i wanna say for it! in the meantime, you may have some horrible writing in the form of my theodore nott debut! lorenzo zurzolo fine ASFFF okay bye enjoy

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

Theodore Nott is very intelligent. Maybe he’s a slacker. Maybe he puts off homework until it’s being collected during class. Maybe he has a bad habit of poor time management. But what Theodore has never been is stupid.

So why is he still here, hopelessly barking up a fruitless tree?

“Please, I just want to be with you,” he’s slurring, drunk on too much whiskey and a side of love.

You cup his face in your hands, wondering how in Merlin’s name you have Slytherin’s smartest boy with his knees on your feet, fingers clinging onto yours. It’s truly senseless; for he knows the circumstance. He knows what will happen if this is taken further. He knows it cannot be.

And yet, his hands drop to your sides, running up and down as they ride up your dress. “It’s impossible, Theo,” you say, matter-of-factly. You’ve always been quite the objective.

You swear his eyes gloss over. “Bella— oh, God, I can’t. Why don’t we make this fucking real? Be my girlfriend already.”

A sigh escapes your plush lips, the smeared makeup on it looking much nicer to Theo knowing it’s he who ruined it.

“Don’t be difficult. For my sake.”

He throws his head down, grip tightening on your hips, “What about my sake? It hurts. It hurts so bad. I just need you.”

“You need sleep.”

Theodore will regret this all in the morning. He will come to his senses and remember all the reasons a relationship with you would be futile. But for now, he’s fallen at your feet, begging like only a fool would.

And it’s hard. So hard to keep your composure. To not pull him up and into your arms and avow him forever.

Your gaze darts away quickly. You’ve had your fair share of alcohol as well and your judgement is beginning to cloud. His face wouldn’t help anything.

“I am yours. I promise. If the issue is that you doubt my loyalty, you don’t have to. I’m devoted,” he drawls, searching your eyes for any sign of weakness. He finds none.

“Theodore, please, get up,” you urge, pulling on his fingers and willing him to stand— to make it all a little less painful.

He’s firm. “Not until we try and make this work. Not until you promise.”

To crumble sounds appealing. You’d rather be the pile of mush on one’s feet than the villain to resist. Your resolve is shattering, piece by piece, with every word that leaves his mouth.

“Theo, we’ve been over this.”

He tightens his grip on your hips. “I don’t fucking care what my father has to say about it! I’ll fucking kill him! I’ll do anything for you to consider me.”

Again, you pull him up, hoping he’ll stand. At first he’s resistant, and then he sees the look you’re giving him.

He’s finally upright, now towering over you and still you don’t feel any smaller. He’d give you control if you only parted your lips to say so.

You clash against him, pulling him in for a kiss he didn’t expect. He half-thought you’d turn him away but with your haphazard attempts at silencing him, he should’ve known. He’s always been quite the persuasive.

Theodore grabs your face, swishing his thumb over your cheek with adoration to rival Romeo’s with Juliet. He’s holding you as if you’re going to disappear.

You scoff at the thought, like you’d ever disappear on him. You’re in knee-deep, letting his right hand travel your back, sending shivers down your spine and heat to your stomach.

“I love you, Theo.”

And while it’s not a promise to try, the man takes what he can get.

[little-diable]

"Angel" He calls me – Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

Listen, this is fucked up – even I was unsure where this came from. But I ain't sorry for it, I know y'all will love this, you filthy heathen (i love you). Shamelessly inspired by the song "The Fruits" by Paris Paloma. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Her mother accuses the reader of preparing a satanic ritual, so she hopes that Priest Riddle can free the young girl from the devil's grasp. What a shame that the young priest is even more cunning than the Devil himself.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, smut in a church, heavy dub!con, choking, wax play, blood play, Tom being Tom, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (about 2k words)

My love, are you the devil? I would worship you instead of him, I have no time for confession, for I'm too busy committing sins

“Priest Riddle!” Her mother’s shrill voice echoed through the empty church, repeated with every further step she took. (Y/n) struggled against her mother’s grasp, feet dragged along the cold ground as if she prayed that the floor would open up, that something or someone would crawl from the eternal darkness to hold onto her, rescue her from the hell she would experience any moment now. “Priest Riddle!”

The tall man appeared after another loud call of his name, concern tugged on his features, a facade her mother instantly seemed to buy into; a facade (y/n) instantly saw through. Priest Riddle was a devilish handsome man, a man so handsome he easily fooled those who clung to him, distracting them from his sinful character. 

“Mathilda, (y/n), what is going on?” His bright eyes carried concern as he looked at (y/n)’s mother, concern that changed into something dark the second his gaze found (y/n)’s. Her mother’s torture was nothing against what he’d do to her, that much she was certain of after all those confessions she had been forced through – confessions that had ended with her knees having a carpet burn, with her ass bruised, and her jaw pulsing in pain from being stretched open. 

“She’s gone insane, I’ve found her worshipping the devil! He has his dark grasp on her, oh you have to free my girl, you’re my only chance of finding help for her sinning soul, Father!” Tears dripped from her mother’s eyes, tears (y/n) silently cursed. She had done no such thing, all she had done was read a book Priest Riddle had borrowed her, one of the few interests both shared – Latin prayers her mother had mistaken for satanic rituals as (y/n) had tried to pronounce the words. 

For a second, he studied (y/n), the annoyance she couldn’t shake, the wide pupils he had grown all too used to, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers at the excitement now thumping through his veins. “Leave her with me, Mathilda. She’s in good hands. I’ll take care of our girl.”

"Angel“ he calls me, does he know that I'm falling from a precipice that I tripped off long ago?

“Rituals, huh?” Her mother had left the church seconds ago, leaving the two of them behind. (Y/n)’s skin prickled, she was fighting against the need to scream, to throw a tantrum against her mother’s foolish behaviour. All because of him. 

“This is your fault! She heard me read that prayer book of yours.” Within seconds he stood in front of her, ringed hand wrapped around her throat. Her heart was pounding, blood rushing through her veins, he could feel (y/n)’s fast pulse against his fingertips, a sensation that left the man smirking. 

“My fault?” The way he spoke the words, with a voice so raspy and deep, (y/n) didn’t manage to stop her body from reacting, her thighs from trembling and her walls from clenching around nothing. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, all they did was stare at one another. “My fault, really, (y/n)?”

“I,” her words got stuck in her throat as he squeezed, cutting off her strength to pronounce any words. Priest Riddle always enjoyed silencing her, showing her how much power he held over her. (Y/n) was shoved backwards as he let go of her, watching her fall onto the stone stairs leading up to the altar. 

“You see, (y/n), your mother may think I’m the saving grace, the voice of reason, but I think you know better, don’t you? There is no saving left for you, no grace I can give you. The Devil would have tried to save you, what a shame that I’m not him.” Angry tears welled up in her eyes, tears that began to drip as a laugh clawed through him. There was no escaping him, no matter how much her mind begged her to run, to never return to these unholy walls, her body craved his touch, desperate for everything he could offer. 

“Undress, lay down on the altar, for me.” It took (y/n) a second to snap into motion, to undo the buttons of her dress with shaky fingers. Not once did her glassy eyes leave his frame, not as she stood naked, not as she slowly heaved herself onto the altar, not as she watched him alight the red candle placed next to the Holy Bible.

“Do you remember what John teaches us, (y/n)? He tells us: Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. But tonight you will sin, tonight you will offer yourself to the devil, even though he will never have you. He fears me, and he will fear my precious toy once I’m done with you.”

“In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” He was standing behind the altar, with his ringed fingers holding onto the burned candle. (Y/n) was forced to watch him tilt the candle, letting the wax drip down onto the valley between her naked breasts. She hissed at the sensation, torn between excitement and fear, and yet she craved more. 

“Princeps gloriosissime caelestis militiae, sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritalia nequitiae, in caelestibus.” Priest Riddle’s voice didn’t carry any emotion as he spoke the lines of the prayer to Saint Michael, a prayer used in exorcisms, a prayer he used to mock her now. The candle kept dripping, one by one the drops of wax marked her body, leaving (y/n) moaning as his cold hand joined the wax, touching her hardening nipples with a smirk growing on his lips. 

“Veni in auxilium hominum, quos Deus ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno. Te custodem et patronum sancta veneratur Ecclesia; tibi tradidit Dominus animas redemptorum in superna felicitate locandas.” No longer did (y/n) try to keep her moans bottled in, she arched her back off the altar as he added more strength to his touch, tweaking her nipples as the wax dripped onto her stomach. It felt as if he was making an offering, sacrificing (y/n) for the sins they had committed together, giving her up for his eternal salvation. 

“Deprecare Deum pacis, ut conterat Satanam sub pedibus nostris, ne ultra valeat captivos tenere homines, et Ecclesiae nocere. Offer nostras preces in conspectu Altissimi, ut cito anticipent nos misericordiae Domini, et apprehendas draconem, serpentem antiquum, qui est diabolus et Satanas, et ligatum mittas in abyssum, ut non seducat amplius gentes. Amen.” The last drop of wax fell as Priest Riddle ended the prayer, tossing the blown-out candle aside to press his lips against (y/n)’s. Both moaned in unison as her fingers began to work on his belt, needing to free his cock with the silent hope that he’d fuck her on the altar spurring her on. 

He twitched in her grasp, a sensation so familiar, she found herself relaxing, giving her mind a few seconds to relax. Seconds he used to study her with danger laced in his gaze, danger that deepened as her eyes were drawn to his throat, watching him rip his silvery necklace from his neck. The necklace twinkled in the dim light, momentarily entrancing (y/n) as if she was studying a rare gem, an offering only God would make. 

“We have been bound together for months, you are my possession, and you will do as I say, you will let me lead you till I no longer think you’re worthy of my time.” He tightened his grasp on his necklace, and without another warning, he ran the sharp edge of the cross along his skin, instantly drawing blood. Blood so red, it looked like sacred wine, richer than Jesus’ blood, more powerful than any other offering.

He wiped his bleeding thumb along her lips, letting her taste the copper staining her skin like a tattoo made for eternity. They held eye contact as she parted her lips, letting her tongue lick his skin clean, unable to stop her moan from clawing out of her. She was nothing but a toy, someone he used to pass time with, someone to fuck whenever his body called for excitement – and she loved it, every fucked up second of their time together. 

Priest Riddle let go of her to position himself between her thighs, his fingertips dug into her skin as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Soon he’d fuck her, soon he’d remind her that she was his – his only. 

You're faithless, for you pitched me, against your holy father and it seems that I am winning

Without giving (y/n) any chance to prepare herself, he pushed into her, forcing his cock into her tightness. Her arousal allowed him to move without any struggles, moving as if their bodies had been made for one another. In some fucked up way she could have found something romantic in this, claimed in a church for all holy and unholy eyes to see, but the darkness he emanated was enough to keep her from thinking these thoughts. 

Months ago when this had happened for the first time, (y/n) had been frightened, not knowing what the man would do to her. But after the first of many orgasms had wrecked through her, she had felt like Judas, the backstabber, the liar she had been turned into. No longer held back by the fear of sinning, rather giving in – all for the promise of being punished by Priest Riddle. 

“Even the devil wouldn’t take you in, a soul filled with sins that even He would turn his back on. I’m your only rescue.” He panted his words as he buried himself deep inside of her, eyes staring down at her. Without stopping his movements, his hips from snapping against hers, he pushed the cross past her lips, forcing her to hold it between her teeth. (Y/n) could still taste his blood – heightening her senses as her walls fluttered around him. 

She hated herself for enjoying this, for being at his mercy with her legs spread and her back arched. He only spoke the truth, he was her only chance of guidance, the only one to cling to as the others had left her behind, engulfed in darkness. Her saving grace, the poison she was addicted to, the bruising grasp she couldn’t shake. 

“Cum for me, show them that there is no chance of rescuing you from me.” With the cross held between her teeth, she moaned for him. (Y/n)’s orgasm wrecked through her, leaving her shaking and panting beneath him. But the priest kept moving, searching his own high with his fingertips digging into her skin. 

A heavy moan rumbled through Priest Riddle as he came, imprinting himself on her walls without giving her a warning. Once again marked by the man who called her his own property, once again marked by the devil’s most brutal brother. 

“I need you on your knees, it’s time to beg for His forgiveness, (y/n).” 

……

Translation of the Latin prayer: 

St. Michael the Archangel, illustrious leader of the heavenly army, defend us in the battle against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of darkness and the spirit of wickedness in high places.

Come to the rescue of mankind, whom God has made in His own image and likeness, and purchased from Satan's tyranny at so great a price.

Holy Church venerates you as her patron and guardian. The Lord has entrusted to you the task of leading the souls of the redeemed to heavenly blessedness.

Entreat the Lord of peace to cast Satan down under our feet, so as to keep him from further holding man captive and doing harm to the Church.

Carry our prayers up to God's throne, that the mercy of the Lord may quickly come and lay hold of the beast, the serpent of old, Satan and his demons, casting him in chains into the abyss, so that he can no longer seduce the nations. Amen.

[aethon-recs]

This Week (x2) in Tomarrymort (15 – 28 February 2025)

We close out February with these lovely updates, including a beautiful set of completed fics highlighted just below 🤍 In the meantime, I've also been very slow at going through my inbox, but I will try to make a dent in it over the next few weeks, apologies for the slowness!

*

Tomarrymort Completed Fics

The Word of Your Body by @ictyn (E, 20k, complete)

Twenty years ago, Harry's childhood sweetheart and the love of his life Tom Riddle left him to seek immortality. Harry, unwilling to move on or let go, lives the long lonely years haunted by the memories of his lost love. To pass the time, he becomes a professor, his hope for a reunion with his lost love growing dimmer with each passing of the seasons. Until, one Christmas, Harry returns from visiting friends and family to find a box and a letter waiting for him in his chambers.

amortentia by parasin (M, 4k, complete)

It had been an accident— this he would swear for as long as he had breath to swear it. The other details had long since grown fuzzy, and Harry could no longer remember the memory, liquid and unfairly sliding through his cupped fingers, quite precisely. Or, Tom gets dosed with amortentia.

Sidetracking a Dark Lord by @allthesmilesxo (E, 37k, complete) 

Tom has been plagued by headaches since creating a horcrux the year before, but still had a successful summer "meeting the family". He arrived at Hogwarts anticipating another school year filled with conquest and social domination, only to be thrown off by newcomer Harry Gaunt, who showed up with his eye on Tom and an agenda of his own.

je ne m'y soumets pas (I will not submit to fate) by @phqyd-roar (E, 93k, complete) 

All Voldemort has ever wanted is glory, and the world on its knees. But prophecy tells him of a boy who will be his equal. Voldemort's single-minded obsession with killing Harry Potter grinds to a halt when he discovers what Harry is. Killing him isn’t an option. But sparing him reveals a weakness Voldemort never knew he had. What begins as a battle for power becomes a struggle with something far more dangerous: attachment. As Harry challenges everything Voldemort believes, the Dark Lord must decide what he truly fears more: death, or love.

*

Tomarrymort One Shots 

One Shot | Snapped by @phqyd-roar

One Shot | he's the one to blame by @known-concepts

One Shot | to give and to take by @known-concepts

One Shot | What Has Been by @known-concepts

*

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 5 of Follow where she goes by @mosiva

Chapters 14 and 15 of Strings of Fate by @solelyseeking

Chapter 25 of What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by @telelli-writes

Chapter 19 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapters 15 through 17 of Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic

Chapters 3 through 8 of thimble of the banshee by @houndsofheaven

Chapters 1 through 3 of Amortentia by Nati_the_Alien

Chapter 11 of No Encouragement Necessary by @duplicitywrites

Chapter 22 of the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3

Chapter 11 of Fetters of the Damned by @sc0rpiflow3r

Chapters 12 through 15 of the whole wideness of the night is for you by The_Side

Chapter 22 of Hole in the Wall by @elddrmot

Chapters 19 and 20 of you speak of the devil (like he's not your friend) by @amuria

Chapter 11 of Dreams Beyond Blood by @hikarimeroperiddle

Chapter 9 of the night is cold in the kingdom by @girl-with-goats

Chapter 5 of exitium by @leafsandstarlight

Chapter 9 of Fool me once by @holaolla1

Chapters 11 and 12 of Part Two - To Grow a Heart by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapter 147 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 3 of Time Traveling Tomfoolery by @corpium

Chapter 54 of Terrible, But Great by @isalisewrites

Chapter 11 of we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands by @boyneptunee

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.”

The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

—

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

—

FIFTY-THREE EXCERPT:

White rushed out, surrounding Tom; the edges were distorted, sharp and tinged with a hint of black. Dumbledore stood beside Harry, who looked exactly as the boy who Tom had met on the train. An odd, wrinkled creature lay near their feet.

A voice cried with joy, “My baby!” and a woman with flaming red hair threw her arms around the memory of Harry.

“Harry, my boy, listen to me, the longer you stay here, the more people will die,”said Dumbledore. “You must go back to fulfill the prophecy.”

“Fuck the prophecy,” snapped the woman, glaring at Dumbledore as she hugged Harry even tighter.

He has her eyes. It’s her… his mother, but that’s impossible. She died—

The memory rippled with distortion, pieces of it breaking and cracking, the edges growing darker with ink. A headache bloomed within the center of Tom’s forehead. The images flipped from crystal clear to out of focus, voices becoming muffled. A number of adults he didn’t know—though, two of the men bore resemblances to Alphard and Quintus—gathered around Harry; they greeted him with love and adoration.

And then… a terrible voice spoke, raspy and low; it crawled up Tom’s spine and set his soul on edge. He knew this voice—he’d heard it when the dementors had almost taken Harry’s soul. He hadn’t known what the voice had said, but it was unmistakable. This voice… who was it?

‘If you go with them, you can’t save him.’

A tall being materialized behind Harry; the creature on the ground wailed. Tom’s soul screamed in agony, twisting, crying, wanting nothing more than to flee from this being’s presence. Tom dropped to his knees and clapped his hands over his ears. Its voice reverberated through the memory, but its words warbled in Tom’s ears. The being loomed over Harry, its unnatural smile never moving, stalking Harry as if he were prey.

“What do I have to do?”

“You must fix this abysmal timeline.”

What is this being? Who has the power to send someone back in time like this?

“If you can do that, well… Master, then the timeline will shift. These souls here will be reborn into a world with no Dark Lord.”

“I’ll do it,” said Harry.

He didn’t even hesitate. He just… accepted it.

The macabre smile of this hideous entity widened to an unnatural stretch. “You please me, Master.” 

What?

The memory vanished, as did the overbearing pressure of that being. Tom slowly got to his feet. They were in a graveyard now, the sky dark as a fog settled over. Harry, back as a child—god, he’s still so young—was locked behind a massive gravestone. The memory was wispy, some of the edges missing. There was a splash and Tom turned around to see a man groveling at a cauldron, whimpering in pain as the stump of his wrist bled out.

The cauldron bubbled.

A bare, sallow monster with red serpentine eyes rose; the sight chilled Tom’s blood.

“Robe me.”

The memory flickered to a moment of a duel, red and green spells clashing in a brilliant blast; it created a familiar golden dome above Harry and the serpentine man. Brother wands—wait, Harry said we had brother wands. That means… The child and the monster battled—no, Voldemort was torturing Harry with a familiar white wand; a grown man versus a child was no fair fight. The whirl of memories came in a blur, streaks of light in the mind’s eye. The scene was there a second, before it melded into a forest—a new memory.

That wand… It’s mine, isn’t it? That monster was holding my wand. 

That monster… 

It really is me.

“No—let me see all of it,” said Tom sharply, his heart broken in half. Disgust and horror threatened to choke his lungs. Bile coiled in his throat. “It’s worse, isn’t it? Harry, don’t hide it from me—don’t protect me from this. Show me.”

Show me this putrid side of myself.

He believed him. He believed Harry. And, oh, how did it hurt.

The Forbidden Forest hung over them like a shade of dementor.

“Harry Potter.”

It was cold, dark, and suffocating. The memory of Harry stepped forward, blood and dirt staining his muggle trousers. Tom’s protests died in his throat. A crowd of wizards in skeletal masks, cackling madly, were gathered around their lord.

His wand isn’t out. Why isn’t his wand drawn?

“The Boy Who Lived.”

Draw your wand. Fight him.

The memory of Harry let out a low breath. He locked gazes with those red eyes. The tension that had roiled around him relaxed as a powerful resignation came over his stance.

“Come to die.”

Harry, draw your fucking wand.

Pity glowed emerald in those eyes.

NO!

Green flared out around them. The connection between them broke and the solidness of their surrounding rushed back into his senses, overwhelming him immediately. Tom staggered away from Harry, legs weak and shaky. Harry reached for him, gripping him by the underarm with concern in his bright eyes—those eyes—and all for him. 

“Tom!”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

i remember you mentioned Harry loves spending time with Diary bc of his connection with Voldemort (or i think so) but what about Voldemort in his head? does he loves it or not? i also think after death-and-rebirth he kinda feel more lighter and even sad about it

Like, it's canon Harry likes to just hold the diary becouse he feels drawn to it, even before knowing how it works:

Harry couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he didn’t just throw Riddle’s diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him, almost as though Riddle was a friend he’d had when he was very small, and had half-forgotten. But this was absurd. He’d never had friends before Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that.

(CoS, Ch13)

That's an actual quote from the book.

Also, later on, Tom has to literally spell out that he's Voldemort because Harry was just completely unwilling to accept that his new BFF Tom who he might have a baby crush on is evil:

“Tom — Tom Riddle?” Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face. “What d’you mean, she won’t wake?” Harry said desperately. “She’s not — she’s not — ?” “She’s still alive,” said Riddle. “But only just.” [...] “Are you a ghost?” Harry said uncertainly. “A memory,” said Riddle quietly. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.” He pointed toward the floor near the statue’s giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry [...] For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there — but there were more pressing matters to deal with. “You’ve got to help me, Tom,” Harry said, raising Ginny’s head again. “We’ve got to get her out of here. There’s a basilisk . . . I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment. . . . Please, help me —” Riddle didn’t move. [...] But his wand had gone. “Did you see — ?” He looked up. Riddle was still watching him — twirling Harry’s wand between his long fingers. “Thanks,” said Harry, stretching out his hand for it. A smile curled the corners of Riddle’s mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly. “Listen,” said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny’s dead weight. “We’ve got to go! If the basilisk comes —” “It won’t come until it is called,” said Riddle calmly. [...] “What d’you mean?” he said. “Look, give me my wand, I might need it —” Riddle’s smile broadened. “You won’t be needing it,” he said. Harry stared at him. “What d’you mean, I won’t be — ?” “I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter,” said Riddle. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.” “Look,” said Harry, losing patience, “I don’t think you get it. We’re in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later —” “We’re going to talk now,” said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry’s wand. Harry stared at him. There was something very funny going on here. . . .

(CoS, Ch17)

Like, it takes Harry forever to get to the realization something is wrong even though Tom steals his wand and says mysterious evil shit because Harry was so desperate to keep Tom as his friend.

I mentioned here, how Harry does like his mental connection to Voldemort in DH in a way because it gives him a sense of purpose.

Harry is the one to decide they should be wearing the locket after he sensed life from it:

“Can you feel it, though?” Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he held it tight in his clenched fist. “What d’you mean?” Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry. After a moment or two, Harry thought he knew what Ron meant. Was it his own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart? “What are we going to do with it?” Hermione asked. “Keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it,” Harry replied, and, little though he wanted to, he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his robes, where it rested against his chest beside the pouch Hagrid had given him.

(DH, Ch14)

He's also the one of the trio that insists they should be wearing the locket even after they learn of it's effects, while Hermione suggests that maybe they really shouldn't:

“Hmm,” said Hermione, looking down at the heavy gold locket. “Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent.” “We are not leaving that Horcrux lying around,” Harry stated firmly. “If we lose it, if it gets stolen — ”

(DH, Ch15)

Ron is also against wearing Horcruxes, while Harry didn't seem to mind keeping the cup in his pocket:

Harry pulled the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had just taken off and set it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice. “At least we can’t wear it this time, that’d look a bit weird hanging around our necks,” said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

(DH, Ch27)

So, yeah, I think Harry definitely could feel his connection to Tom and the various Horcruxes.

I do think, once he comes back to life, he feels emptier, like a part of him is gone in a way. He'd feel lighter like a weight was taken off his shoulders, but I think he'd also feel off and aimless. I talked about it more here.

It's why I think Harry should've gone back for 8th year, I think getting his NEWTs and the familiar environment at Hogwarts would do him good after everything. Give my boy a break.

[mrsmikaelsxn]

Muggle Activities

masterlist

pairing: tom riddle x female reader

warnings: fluff, kissing, a snippet of protective/jealous tom

summary: you finally convinced tom to go to a carnival with you

a/n: guyss i have a small something planned when i get just a few more followers and im excited :) also i have no clue what the cost of the wristbands are so i just made up a price.

song: best song ever - one direction

"I cannot believe I agreed to this," Tom aggressively sighs.

"You did it because you love me." You stand on your tippy toes and kiss his cheek.

He lowly grumbles something along the lines of, "Yeah, yeah."

You were wearing a pastel blue, knee length sundress. Along with a matching pastel blue ribbon holding your hair back behind your head.

Tom was dressed in black dress pants and white button up. His put his hands in his pants pockets and you grabbed his elbow, pulling him to the ticket stand.

The elder woman looks at you two, "Hello."

You smile at her and fidget with one of the rings on Tom's finger. "Hi! Um, may we please have two wristbands?"

"Sure, that'll be $65."

You go to take the money from your purse but Tom grabs your wrist and shakes his head. He pulls his wallet out and hands her the money.

Before you came, you and Tom went to change some of your wizard currency into muggle money.

You sigh and look at him, "Why do you never let me pay. I feel bad, you're always spending money on me."

He leans over as the lady moves to grab the wristbands. "Who's to say I don't enjoy spoiling you, darling?"

You blush and mumble, "Well, thank you."

"Alright, here you go, enjoy."

You thank the woman and excitedly move away from the stand to put the bands on. "May I see your wrist, sir?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He holds out his wrist and you put it on, he then does the same for you.

"Alright! Where should we go first?"

Tom looks around and shrugs, "I don't know, you're the one who's familiar with these things."

"Hm, let's start with... Zero Gravity!" You grab his hand and start walking towards the ride.

"Do we have to go on rides?" Tom practically whines. "Why not those things over there?" You look at him and see him watching the carnival games. "Muggles think this stuff is fun?" Tom asks as he looks at the ride that swings back and forth as people scream.

"Yep! Oh and don't worry we'll do the games. After a few rides," you grin. "Come on."

You make it to the line and to your surprise, the line was decently short, so you were able to get onto the ride quickly.

You two stand next to each other and the ride starts a minute later, spinning so fast that you two are pushed back against the padding behind you.

After it stops, you two walk off and stand out of the way. "So! How was your first ride experience?"

"It was... nauseating. I don't know what the point of that was."

"I think it was fun!" You bounce on your feet and look up at his hair which got a bit messed up.

You reach your arms up and comb your fingers through his hair, neatening it.

"If anyone else were to touch my hair, I-"

"You would use an unforgivable curse, blah blah blah."

"You know me too well," he gives you a boyish grin. He puts his arm on your shoulders and turns you. Running his fingers through your hair and tightening your bow.

"Thanks, love," you kiss his hand. "Okay, next let's go on the swings!"

He nods and follows you like a lost puppy, although if anyone were to say that they wouldn't have a tongue to say anything again.

You two show your wristbands and find your seats. The ride begins and the swings start going around as it rises into the air. Tom has to admit it's a good view since it's nighttime and everything is lit up.

It spins for about two more minutes before slowing and going low again. When it's stopped you turn to Tom, "That was great, wasn't it?"

He shrugs as you both unhook the straps, "I don't know if I would use that word, but it wasn't bad." You walk over to him and take his hand in yours, walking through the exit. "Where to now, angel?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "How about that roller coaster?"

He looks at where you're pointing and starts to shake his head immediately. "No. Abso-bloody-lutely not."

"Come on Tom! It's not that bad." You start pulling him and you look back at him, "It's practically the same things as the Gringotts Mine Cart."

"I suppose."

You wait a bit on the line and get put in your own cart. You hold his hand and put your free hand on his bouncing knee. "Don't be nervous, love."

He scoffs, "I'm not nervous."

You narrow your eyes at him, "Mhm."

The ride starts and you go all directions at a great speed. It goes in loops and goes up before it drops.

You look over at Tom and see his eyes closed. You smile and poke his cheek. He opens his eyes and looks at you when you laugh, "You're so cute."

He doesn't have time to scold you for calling him cute because the cart takes a sharp turn before going back to where you started.

The man running the ride comes and lifts the bars. You two step out and go down the stairs. "That was amazing," you lean against Tom's side.

"Whatever you say, darling."

"Okay, why don't we get some cotton candy and then play a few games. It's already 10:45."

"Okay," he kisses your head. You two walk over and purchase two cotton candy and then walk to one of the games.

"Tom! I need to win a fish! The poor things are probably miserable in those tiny bags."

"Okay only one though because I don't think Hogwarts allows pet fish."

"Bloody hell," Tom says holding two large buckets full of bagged fish.

"I can't leave them to die in there!"

"As much as I love how caring you are, was winning thirty-four fish necessary?"

"Yes, Tom. That lady was nice enough to let me play for almost twenty minutes. Okay! Next game."

You two walk up to the game with darts you throw to pop small balloons on the wall.

You smile at the guy working the game. He seemed about your age. "Hi!"

He looks up from his phone and Tom places the buckets on the ground. "Hey," he says, lips curving into a small smirk.

"Mind if I play once?" You ask, handing him a five dollar bill.

"Not at all," he winks and hands you three darts. You hand two to Tom and keep the last one.

Tom throws his, popping two balloons. You throw the last one and pop a balloon.

"Great aim," the guy says. "Pick whatever."

You glance around, spotting something before turning to Tom. "That looks like Novalie," you beam at him, referring to your owl. Tom looks behind you and sees the guy looking quite low in a place he certainly shouldn't be.

He turns you around and wraps an arm around your shoulder while he glares at the guy, "We'll take the owl," he says coolly.

The guy grabs it and hands it to you with a charming smile. He opens his mouth but Tom cuts him off, starting to walk away. "Let's go, sweetheart."

You glance back at the guy who's watching you two walk away. "Bye, thank you! Oh, the fish!"

"I'll get them, wait here." Tom walks over and picks up the buckets. You see him lean over and mumble something to the guy who looks like he's seen a ghost.

You hit his arm when he gets to you, "What did you say to the poor guy?"

"Nothing," he says.

"Didn't look like nothing to me."

"Nothing that you should hear."

"Tom."

"Don't 'Tom' me. We should get going, don't you want to get the fish a thing to live in?"

"A fish tank?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, luckily I saw a place called 'PetSmart' on our way here. I'm going to buy so many decorations for it."

You two walk to the car and put the fish on the floor in the back. You two sit down and as soon as you put your seatbelt on, Tom's lips are on your.

He puts his hand on the back of your neck and holds you in place.

You put a hand on his arm and the other on his shoulder. He bites your bottom lip and you lightly gasp. He slides his tongue in your mouth and slides his against yours.

You kiss him for another few seconds and then pull back breathing heavy. "Goodness me, Tom."

"I love you, you know that?"

You furrow your eyebrows, "Of course I do. I love you, too."

"You wouldn't leave me, right?"

"Tom," you peck his lips. "Never in eternity would I leave you."

"Okay. Let's go get that fish tank," he puts a hand on your thigh and starts driving.

[iamnmbr3]

I'm pretty sure I followed you a long time ago when I was in Marvel fandom and I'm delighted I found you again!

I remember that you had great fic recommendations and seeing that you're in hp fandom too just makes me so happy! I just finished the books (I would have read them long ago, but they were banned at my home) and I'm knee deep in drarry now and I completely understand the hype for those two idiots.

Do you have lists for long (I'm talking+80k) fics I could start with? Preferably gay/lesbian parring 🙏 and thank you in advance

Oh wow what a lovely ask! Thank you so much and welcome back!

You can check out my fic rec tag here for a ton of good recs. Here are a few good ones to get you started - mostly drarry with some other excellent ship and gen fics thrown in as well for good measure.

Running on Air by eleventy7 (words: 74,880 | rating: T | Drarry)

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Amulette d'amour by The_Carnivorous_Muffin, Vinelle  (words: 105,428 | rating: unrated | Tom Riddle/Alphard Black)

Tom is commissioned to repair a magical amulet.

Nero su bianco by zuzallove (words 40,507 | rating: E | Drarry)

September 1997. Hogwarts is under the regime of Voldemort and the Carrows. Finding himself alienated by both his friends and his supposed enemies, Draco puts quill to parchment, and writes letters. He addresses them to the only person he can think of, as Hogwarts rapidly falls into chaos and ruin: Harry Potter. He goes to great lengths to ensure the letters are never discovered, and he’s pretty certain he’s done a great job. Until the day of his trial.

Ouroboros by Metalomagnetic (Words: 258,416 | rating: E | Voldemort/Tom Riddle)

A strange man adopts Tom Riddle and it is not his father, as Tom desperately wants to believe. Stranded in the past, Voldemort once again comes to the conclusion he's the only one he truly needs.

At Your Service by Faith Wood (faithwood) (words: 95,752 | rating: E | Drarry)

Hogwarts students are in danger; Harry is determined to save them all. There's only one thing he knows for certain: Draco Malfoy is somehow involved.

you've got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass (words: 20,730 | rating: M | Drarry)

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want. He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

The customer is always right by Metalomagnetic (words: 7,200 | rating: unrated | gen)

In the summer of 1945, Caractacus Burke hires a new assistant to help with the shop. His son doesn't know what to make of Tom Riddle, the young charismatic man that doesn't seem to mind working hard for just a handful of coins.

Your Friend, James by TedwardRemus (words: 5,330 | rating: T | Lily/James)

It is the summer before their 7th year, and Lily and James spend the entire holiday writing letters to each other as their relationship slowly changes from friends to something more.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (words: 70,045 | rating: E | Drarry)

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

of all my demon spirits by basketofnovas (slashmarks) (word: 1,730 | rating: T | Gen)

After the end of term, Ginny gets a new diary and struggles with the events of her first year.

War Paint by provocative_envy (word: 18,876 | rating: E | Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger)

It was small, slim, about the length of her hand; the leather cover was soft, the sewn-in binding was crisp, and the thick vellum pages were empty. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' was printed in ancient, flaking gold leaf across the front. He had been a Slytherin, a prefect, and head boy in 1944. She had checked. [ ALTERNATIVELY - Hermione finds Tom Riddle's diary. ]

The Unwinding Golden Thread by The_Carnivorous_Muffin   (words: 50,260 | rating: T | Gen)

In his fifth year Tom Riddle discovers his destiny and meets the cold, alarming, and bizarre transfer student Harry Evans. But sometimes things unravel in ways we do not expect.

Denude by Faith Wood (faithwood) (words: 4,172 | rating: E | Drarry)

This is a HBP AU. It's set a few days after the Sectumsempra scene and takes the story in another direction, asking the question: "What if the Sectumsempra scene had a greater impact on Harry and Draco?" Harry and Draco are sixteen. In medias res beginning. Non-linear storytelling.

[hp-hcs]

don't believe you've done yandere blaise yet, so here am I requesting for us all (because I can't be the only one who wants to see your take on yandere blaise) as always do whatever you'd like chuck a theo in there if you'd want - yxdls

OH NO I FORGOT TO WRITE ANYTHING FOR MY LIL GUY BLAISE AAAAAAAAA

yandere! blaise zabini headcanons — gn! reader

i don’t think i uploaded anything yesterday so expect more from me later tonight

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blaise is not the worst yandere you could be stuck with. he’s not harmless, but he’s also not as controlling and possessive as the others

he’s not violent the way yandere theodore or mattheo would be. he’s much too refined for brutish fighting like that. what if he got blood on his clothes? no. blaise zabini has class, thank you very much.

but he’s got lackeys. a whole score of ‘em. just grunts to do his dirty work for him.

honestly, he wouldn’t even notice your existence until you give him reason to.

maybe you get paired together for a project. you go to sit with him at his table and then he’s just like 🫵😐🤌💍

as soon as he’s got his sights set on you? ✨you’re fucked!✨🌈💖

no getting out of that now! have fun!

this man has got no concept of a personal space bubble.

always touching you in some way. holding hands, a hand on your lower back, touching knees under the table at dinner

his love language is buying you really expensive gifts, and giving you things with his initials on it

he gives you his signet ring with his family crest after like two weeks of knowing you.

(cause he knows the relationship is gonna last)

((mostly cause you don’t have a choice))

he’s not like…a bad yandere as in, doesn’t care about his partner’s feelings (*cough* @yanxidarlings’ cormac mclaggen *cough*)

he wants- no, needs you to like him

if he has to pay you off or threaten you to do that, c’est la fucking vie

he’s also more of a…delayed possessive guy, if that makes any sense

like, if another guy talks to you or gets a lil too friendly, he won’t immediately beat his ass

but if he goes missing the next day? pure coincidence dw abt it babe

he’s a good guy, in all honesty. just kind of…clingy

absolutely treats you like royalty (we love a deifying king 😌🫶👑)

(i’m not saying walk him like a dog, sis, but-)

also this man is little spoon i don’t make the rules

would 1000% fall asleep lying on your chest 👌

on a yandere scale of zero to tom riddle, blaise is a solid four

not bad, all things considered 🤷‍♂️

[yichuuonvenus]

Star Pupil

Professor!Tom Riddle x Reader

~Description~

Professor Riddle has always had you on his radar.

~Warnings~

Dubious consent, manipulative, Vaginal fingering, age difference

You always thought Professor Riddle was a little out of the ordinary. He was too young to be a professor but too old to look like a student. 

All you knew was that he would show some interesting behaviors as the school year progressed. He wasn’t out of the norm since he was the Dark Arts professor but he held a lot of intrigue with some of the materials in class—specifically the unforgivable curses.

The interest he had in them should’ve frightened you, as it frightened a lot of other students, but you couldn’t help the excitement that would rush over you when Professor Riddle spoke of all the things that each unforgivable curse can do. 

You always tried to hide that part of you but your professor always had a way of bringing it up to the surface… 

He was very attentive to those students who were willing to drive deep into the subjects. 

You weren’t one of those students but you didn’t fly under Professor Riddle’s radar. 

He noticed after every test you had in class you would flunk out of them. You honestly didn’t know why. You tried to study like everyone else but it always seemed as if the tests were off. Yours always seemed to be different from everyone else’s. 

You thought yourself to be crazy at the thought but for every test that you took the same F would be beautifully drawn on it and a slight smirk from Professor Riddle as he passed them out. 

“It seems that you are failing my class…” Professor Riddle said. His voice was always so smooth and velvety like he was singing every word. 

You wanted to roll your eyes at him but you refrained from it. You knew better than to anger the teacher whose class you’re failing. 

“It appears so,” you said crossing your legs and folding your hands over your knees. 

You noticed your professor’s eyes following the movement. Blood was rushing throughout with arms and you could hear your heartbeat. You were sure Professor Riddle could too. 

“There’s a way I could help you pass the future ones and exempt the ones you failed,” his voice almost purred.

You slightly narrowed your eyes. Your hands were fiddling on the edge of your skirt. You could feel a tremble wash over your legs. Professor Riddle only smirked at that. That same smirk he would give you when he passed your test. 

“What… what do you mean?” You stammered. 

“What do I mean?” He playfully taunted. “I would help you to better understand the material out of class.” 

He stood up from his desk. His fingers trailed the medals and achievements he won at Hogwarts. He slightly frowned at a speck of dust that he picked up from his greatest medal. 

“After the first couple of tests, I just thought you had the standard test anxiety but as the semester progressed... You seemed to not understand what I’m teaching at all,” he continued, walking around the room with his hands behind his annoyingly good posture. 

You held your breath as he started to near you. He never speared a glance but you couldn’t help but feel like you were prey to a big predator. 

“I was very disappointed at first. You were becoming one of my favorite students. So quiet and nimble. Such a bright mind. I would hate to see it go to waste. But then I thought of something that you could truly excel at an opportunity of sorts.”

You slightly flinched at the feel of his arms. You could see him out of your peripheral, and you could see that same smirk on his lips. 

“What would I have to do?” You faltered. 

“There there,” he chuckled. “It’s nothing dangerous. You just have to give me. You.”

You swore you didn’t hear the last part. It was like the world went silent for a moment and all you could hear was your breath. You barely knew what happened next but you came to when you felt his lips on your neck. You didn’t reply at least you don’t remember if you did or didn’t. You were too entranced by his soft lips. 

You gasped as his hands traveled down your frame. They stopped at your waist rubbing you down carefully. 

You felt like you were being swallowed whole. Your professor was kissing you like you were his lover. 

You gasped when you felt his hands traveling to your thighs. He chuckled when you gasped at the feel of his fingers inching your skirt higher and higher. 

“Why don’t you spread your legs from me?” He asked so politely you just complied without a second thought. 

“Such a good girl… always listening to your professors.”

Your legs opened and his fingers edged your underwear. You felt them pull it to the side. The air was cold against your burning sweaty skin so were his fingers. You sucked in a harsh breath as one finger entered you. 

Slowly so very slowly did his finger enter you. So agonizingly slow thrusts practically had your chair soaking. 

You felt him hum on your shoulder at the light gross squelches that could be heard throughout the room. 

His head lay in the crook of your neck making him have a good view of his fingers. 

“You’re doing so good… but if you’re truly a good student I could enter another one in,” he sighed. 

You nodded your head immediately. 

“I-I’m a good student,” you croaked. 

That same smirk, you knew all too well, grew on his handsome face. He said no more and carefully added another finger. They were much thicker than yours and a lot longer. 

They hit a spot in you that had your hands griping your chair. You could feel your hands grow numb from how tightly you held the chair. 

You felt that same overpowering sensation grow within you. His fingers went faster and his other hand started to cup your throat. Not gripping it tightly but the hold wasn’t loose either. 

It was like he was holding your face to stay where it was so you wouldn’t look away at what he was doing to you. 

He started to use his thumb to rub your clit. It was the final push that sent you over the edge. You gushed and moaned all from his fingers. 

“There she is… my precious student,” he gasped with you. 

He held you there for some time before gently lifting you by your waist. He rounded the chair and sat down sitting you on his lap. 

Small twitches kept passing through your body until you eventually calmed down. A small smile graced Riddle’s lips. It was very different from his ever-knowing smirk. 

“You did excellent…” he breathed. His lips were close to your ear causing a shiver to rush through you. “Are you ready for your next test?”

Without any hesitation, you nodded and that same smirk, you’ve come to expect, came back ever so slyly.