#lord voldemort x reader

[wondernimbus]

protector — tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x female!reader

prompt: tom doesn’t quite know what that strange feeling is inside his chest.

please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

They had no idea why, but she was off-limits.

They could harm and terrorize and badger every single person in the castle that they wanted, but unless they wanted to be found in the dungeons either petrified or with their skin turned inside out, they had to stay away from her; the half-blood in Ravenclaw whose brain teemed with endless unconventional ideas and had far too many of them for anyone to ever understand. The students of Hogwarts had many names for her. The weird one. Lady Looney. Some just called her crazy, and they weren't afraid to say it to her face.

But the Knights of Walpurgis—the band of cold, ruthless Slytherins under the command of the handsome Tom Riddle—weren't allowed to lay a single finger on her. They were not allowed to speak both of her and to her. They were only barely permitted to look at her, as long as they didn't do so in Tom's presence.

And they had no idea why.

But they knew better than to go against Tom. They knew what he was capable of—had seen it unfold far too many times right in front of their very eyes. They were well aware that if any of them ever dared do something to displease him, they would suffer unimaginable consequences, most of which involved torture, and in some cases, death. And for some unknown reason, Tom Riddle was willing to inflict those consequences onto anyone who hurt [Y/N]. 

The entire castle knew of how odd she was and almost half of the students mocked her for it. Tom couldn't terrorize half of the school—not without drawing unwanted attention to himself. So he only did so to a select few. Caroline Dover, who had publicly humiliated [Y/N] in the Great Hall, could not utter a single word to anyone for two whole weeks and was said to have started screaming in her sleep. No one knew why. Derek Higgins, who had jinxed [Y/N] in the hallway and made her head double in size, left Hogwarts two days later for no apparent reason. Rumor said he'd left for Durmstrang. And just like Caroline Dover's odd behavior, no one knew why.

But Tom's followers did. They knew that he had lured Caroline Dover into the dungeons and tortured her there for what must have been four entire hours—the poor girl had writhed on the cold stone floor, calling for help that did not come as Tom stood over her with his wand in his hand and a bored expression on his face.

Similarly, Derek Higgins was lured to the dungeons and had suffered the same fate—if not worse. Caroline was a pure-blood, but Derek had Muggle parents, and for this Tom had made sure to carve the words "dirty blood" on his shoulder blades using his wand, after which Derek was tortured into the night.

All because they hurt an odd girl from Ravenclaw.

—

[Y/N] didn't know it, but hidden in the shadows almost wherever she went, there lurked a boy.

A boy whose heart should have felt nothing—had felt nothing for as long as he could remember—but sped up in his chest whenever he saw her. And it wasn't out of anger or fear or the horrific satisfaction he'd feel from inflicting pain—no, it was something that he couldn't quite place. Something other than every other negative feeling he'd felt his entire life. Something he couldn't quite put a name to.

A normal person would have called it love. But Tom Riddle was far from normal, and he had no inkling of what love was, or what it felt like.

A normal person would have acted on it and confessed; they would have gone up to the person, cheeks tinged pink, and with butterflies flitting around inside their stomach, they would have admitted to fancying them. If they got lucky, they would someday lay in bed with them, limbs tangled around each other's as their eyes glowed with the embers of entire galaxies, murmuring words of affection that only one another could hear.

But Tom Riddle was far from normal, and he acted on that odd, nameless feeling inside his chest by brutally torturing anyone who dared to hurt her. A part of him hoped that she noticed. Desperately. He yearned for her attention, even if he didn't want to admit it—he hoped that one day she'd look up from the book she always clutched in her hands, find his eyes in the shadows, and.. do something. Anything. 

She never did. And Tom was okay with that.

He was okay with protecting her without her ever knowing, and without him ever realizing why. That odd feeling inside his chest was telling him to, so he did. He killed and tortured and ruined people for her; for the strange half-blooded Ravenclaw that could never defend herself even if she tried.

[atypicalamortentia]

Riddle's Diary || Tom Riddle

Synopsis - A few days into your last year at Hogwarts, you wake up to find an unusual diary nestled between your class books. After uncovering its secret, the diary very quickly becomes the only thing you can think about.

Warnings - SFW.

Notes - All characters a 18+

Word Count - 4k.

[Caffeinate Me]

You weren’t exactly sure where the diary came from. You had woken up one morning to find it neatly nestled between your class books on your bedside table. You had asked around Hogwarts to see if anybody had put it there, alas nobody had owned up to placing it in your belongings. 

The diary itself was plain black and made of leather. The unrecognised name of ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ was written in gold on the bottom of the very back of the diary. As you studied the diary, your first instinct was to flick through the pages but when you did, you saw they were all empty. It was as if the diary was brand new. Unused. You shrugged and placed the diary neatly back where it had been and went about your day as usual, forgetting all about it until you returned back to your dorm room that evening. 

When everybody had gone to bed and you were sure everybody was asleep, you grabbed the diary and made your way down to the common room where you sat at a desk facing a window, looking out at the clear night sky. You admired the diary for the second time today and sighed. “Where did you come from?” You muttered to the diary. You opened it to the middle page and inspected the lining of the book. You were looking for any evidence that there had been pages ripped out, but the lining of the diary remained intact suggesting that there hadn’t been. Just as you were about to close the book and head back to bed, words appeared on the page in front of you:

Hello. 

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut tightly before reopening them and looking at the page the words had appeared on. There was nothing there. “I must be going mad,” you whispered to yourself. You were about to close the diary once more before words appeared on the page again:

No, you’re not going mad. 

Then, as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared without a trace. You picked up the diary and looked closely at the page. 

My name’s Tom Marvolo Riddle. What’s yours?

You gasped loudly. What sort of magic was this? You watched as the words disappeared from the page before you looked at the ink pot that sat neatly on the corner of the desk you were sitting at. “Am I really going to do this?” You asked yourself before picking up the feathered quill pen and writing your name on the page of the diary. You waited for a few seconds, not sure what you were expecting to happen but just like the words you had seen, your name simply disappeared from the page. In its place was a response:

That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. 

The words were gone and the page was yet again blank. Did a diary really just call you pretty? You shook your head once again and allowed the quill in your hand to glide across the page as you wrote your reply: 

What is this book?

You waited a few seconds before a response came. 

My diary.  

“But why would somebody enchant a diary?” You asked aloud to yourself. 

So I can live forever. 

“Oh,” you frowned at the words on the page. Whatever it was, whoever it was, they could hear you speak? This was magic you had never encountered before, nor even knew was possible. You didn’t respond to the diary and instead looked out of the window as your mind whirled with possibilities. You still didn’t even know where this diary had come from and now you were up in the middle of the night talking to it? When you finally looked down at the page, you saw another sentence:

It’s late. You should go to bed beautiful. 

You closed the diary without writing a goodbye. You were shaken and confused. “It is late,” you mumbled to yourself looking at the grandfather clock situated in the corner of the common room. This all had to be one weird dream. You would wake up in the morning to no diary that could hear you or write to you and you’d tell your best friends about it and you’d laugh about the weird dream. Yeah. That would happen. You grabbed the diary and stood up, making your way back to the girls dorm and climbing back into bed. You placed the diary back where it was when you found it and fell into a deep sleep. 

You were the last to wake in the morning and the first thing you did was look for the diary. There it was, right where you left it. So it wasn’t a weird dream? You opened the diary and waited for words to appear, but none did. “Maybe I was just so sleep deprived I imagined the whole thing,” you whispered to yourself. You waited for a few more moments and still no words appeared. “What am I thinking?” You groaned and threw the diary onto the bed before getting ready for the day to come. 

Your first class of the day was potions. It was probably your favourite class, but as you sat and listened to Professor Snape drawl on about various different potions you just couldn’t concentrate. No matter how hard you tried. Your mind kept lingering back to the diary and the night before. After potions class you had a free period. You tended to sit in the library and study, but yet again you couldn’t concentrate. You found yourself sneaking back to the common room and acquiring the diary, placing it in your bag before going to your second, and final, class of the day. You found yourself peering at the dairy in your bag throughout the lesson through the corner of your eyes, not paying attention to the Professor that was trying to teach you Defence Against The Dark Arts. The lesson was soon over and you evaded your friends to head back to the common room in an attempt to communicate with the diary once more. You sat at your bed, pen in hand, and began to scrawl onto the page in front of you.

Was I dreaming last night? 

You waited a second and before you knew it, the words you wrote had disappeared leaving a response in its wake. 

No. 

Your eyes widened and your heart began to thump desperately in your chest. You shook your head and watched as the words left the page until it was blank once more. You were about to write back about how insane this was but the diary beat you to it. 

You think this is crazy, don’t you?

You nodded and cried out, “yes!”  

It’s not. It’s magic. 

“Well duh,” you groaned loudly. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Your friend's voice came from the other side of the girls' dorm. You panicked and snapped the diary shut before throwing it under your pillow just in time for your friend to walk in. 

“I’m fine,” you said, blinking rapidly at her. 

“I heard you say ‘yes’ extremely loudly,” she looked around the room realising nobody else was in there but you. “Who were you talking to?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You frowned and shrugged, making up a quick lie. “Just thought of the answer to some homework I have. Been thinking about it for days and it finally came to me.” 

“That’s… good…” Your friend said slowly before backing out of the room leaving you alone yet again. When you were sure she was gone, you grabbed the diary back from under your pillow and opened it. 

Ashamed of me?

The diary wrote. You raised an eyebrow and wrote back instantly. 

You’re a diary. 

That’s not a no. 

You scoffed. You weren’t ashamed per say, just confused. It was a damn talking diary! You needed to find out more about the diary before you let people see you with the damn thing. You sat crossed-legged on the bed, pen in hand, and continued to talk to the diary. 

So. Tell me about yourself.

The diary responded instantaneously with a counter question:

Why don’t you tell me about yourself, pretty girl?

You rolled your eyes. Out of all the magical things you thought would make a blush rise to your cheeks, a diary certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Stop calling me “pretty girl”. 

Why should I?

You bit your bottom lip as you wrote back furiously. 

You don’t know what I look like. 

Are you sure about that?

You paused and looked around the room. Surely your friends weren’t pulling a prank on you with this diary were they? When you didn’t answer, the diary continued to write to you. 

Why don’t I show you who I am? 

Your heart continued to beat rapidly in your chest and before you knew it, you were being sucked into the diary. You looked around the room and recognised it as your dorm room. The diary was nowhere to be found and so, not sure what had happened you smoothed down your uniform and began to walk out of the room. Things looked exactly the same and you made your way out of the common room to the grand staircase. There, you saw a man with curly hair and the most piercing brown eyes standing at the bottom of the staircase. He looked on as someone was taken away, covered by a sheet - someone had died? You didn’t recognise the man and his robes were slightly different to yours and it was then that you realised you were in a different time era. The cogs were turning in your head when suddenly you were interrupted by a voice you were familiar with. “Tom?” You looked to see Professor Dumbledore standing in front of the man, shielding his view as the body was wheeled away. 

“Tom?” You asked loudly, but nobody turned to look at you. “Tom Marvolo Riddle?” 

“What’s happened Professor?” Tom asked Professor Dumbledore who looked on sadly, placing his hand on the man’s shoulders. 

As the pair talked, you walked next to Dumbledore and waved a hand in front of his face. When he didn’t acknowledge you, you began to realise what was happening. These were memories. Tom’s memories to be exact. The two began to fade away and suddenly you were left alone in the corridor before you were sucked back out of the diary and onto your bed. You blinked a few times and looked at the diary that lay on your bed. “What the hell was that?” You asked yourself, opening the diary to the first page. 

That was a memory of mine, my dear. You see, I used to be a student at Hogwarts. 

You raised an eyebrow before picking the pen back up and scribbling back. 

Used to be?

Yes, used to be. A long time ago. 

“That explains why I didn’t recognise you,” you said, knowing that the diary would respond to your mumbling. 

Exactly. Who could forget a handsome face like mine?

The diary replied. You yet again rolled your eyes and scoffed. The diary wasn’t wrong though, he was extremely handsome. 

What are you thinking about?

The diary asked. This made you think about what you were thinking about and instantly you shook your head as if trying to shake the thoughts from your brain. 

Nothing. 

Came your response. You continued to shake your head, not allowing the thoughts to re-enter your mind of Tom Riddle. You bid your goodbyes before closing the diary and placing it back under your pillow - not allowing the diary time to say goodbye. 

An hour had passed since you last spoke to the diary and you were already itching to talk to it again… To talk to him again. Despite having your friends around you, sometimes you felt like an outcast. Somebody who didn’t belong. This diary was making you think… Was making you feel. “This is ridiculous,” you whispered to yourself as you walked down the hall to the Great Hall. You opened the large doors to the Great Hall and were met with crowds of people gathering around their house tables, eating away at the large feast that was spread out across the long tables. 

“Y/N!” Your friend called, standing up and waving her arms to catch your attention. “Over here!” You smiled weakly at her and walked over to your house table, settling down next to your friend. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you all day!” 

“I erm…” You whispered, looking down at your skirt. “I’ve not been feeling well. I’ve been in the girls dorm for most of the afternoon, just resting.” 

“Are you feeling better?” Another one of your friends asked you, to which you just nodded a response. “Good.” 

You began to eat the food on your plate silently as you continued to think back to Tom Riddle's memory. There was no denying that if that man was Tom Riddle, he was extremely handsome. Charmingly handsome. His brown eyes were inviting as he looked past Dumbledore at the gurney the covered body was laying on. They twinkled as if they were harbouring a deep secret, one you were sure you could get out of the diary if you asked. 

“Y/N?” Your friend shouted, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you, grabbing your attention from your thoughts. “I said have you done the potions homework?” 

You looked at your friend with a mouthful of food and shook your head. Gulping the food down, you began to speak. “When is it due? I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what Y/N?” Your friend hissed silently. “This is our last year for goodness sake! Get your head in the game or you’ll fail your exams!” 

You straightened your body and nodded. “You’re right.”

“I know,” she smiled, brushing off her shoulder playfully. You turned back to your food and continued eating in silence as your friends around you chattered and laughed. Before you knew it, you were making your way back to the common room quickly, alone yet again. You walked up the moving staircases, being careful not to get trapped on the revolving stairs as you hurriedly made your way back to your dorm. You got into the girls dorm and slammed the door shut behind you. When you realised you were alone you walked over to your bed and picked up your pillow revealing the leather diary you had been thinking about non-stop for the last twenty-four hours. You could tell in your gut that this diary was going to become a problem for you. You picked it up and sat down on your bed opening the book. 

Did you miss me?

Your eyes widened at the words on the page. 

No.

You lied. 

Liar. 

No.

This continued for several minutes before you gave in. 

I suppose I missed the company you seem to bring me. 

You wrote. Your heart was yet again thumping in your chest as you scribbled the words on the empty, yellow parchment. 

How cute.

Cute? You wouldn't exactly call it ‘cute’. It was more sad than anything. Talking to a diary, memories of somebody from the past as opposed to your kind, caring and loving friends. You gripped the diary tightly between your fingers, folding the book ever-so-slightly. Your leg was bouncing off the floor as you thought about what to say to Tom next. Alas you didn’t have to think before more words were scrawled on the page. 

How was your day?

“My day?” You mumbled to yourself, grasping the pen tightly in your hand as you began to write back. 

My day was okay. I haven’t been able to concentrate on my studies today. 

And why is that?

“This damned diary,” you said loudly. You placed the diary, open, next to you gently on the bed and stood up. With your head in your hands, you grasped your hair and pulled ever-so-slightly whilst groaning in frustration. 

What is it about my diary that is so distracting to you, my dear?

You looked down at the diary on your bed and sighed. You picked it up again and replied. 

It’s like having a constant friend in my bag. 

You didn’t have to wait long for Tom’s reply.

A friend?

“Yes, a friend,” you whispered in a hushed voice. 

But, that’s a good thing isn’t it? To have a friend with you at all times, no matter where you are. No matter what you do. 

You thought for a moment. You supposed it was a good thing, but again you knew this diary was going to become a problem for you if you kept it. 

I have to give your diary away.

You wrote on the empty page after much deliberation. 

NO!

Tom replied. There was an urgency in his writing. The capitalisation of the letters sent your heart into a frenzy. This diary, this Tom Riddle, had been in your life for roughly twenty-four hours now and you were already starting to feel attached. 

Why do you have to give my diary away, pretty girl?

You bit your bottom lip as you ran the pads of your fingers across the parchment. The words dissolve off the page in the blink of an eye. The thought of that handsome boy in the memory calling you a pretty girl brought a blush to your face. You shook your head. You couldn’t be thinking like that. You didn’t know a thing about this Tom Riddle, about this diary. 

We should meet.

The words flashed on the page. 

“Meet? How could we possibly meet?” You asked the diary, confusion laced your voice. 

Magic. 

Came the reply. In an instant you were sucked into the diary yet again. You stood up off the bed and brushed yourself off, taking in the room around you: you were in another memory. There was movement in the corner of the room and your eyes shot to the darkness of the room's corner. A figure loomed in the shadows and your heart began to thump, your ears began to ring and your legs began to shake. Were you trembling out of fear? Out of anticipation? You weren’t quite sure. 

“I’ve been very anxious to meet you,” a voice came from the shadows. Stepping into the light, the curly haired male from the first memory stood in front of you. 

“T-Tom?” You asked, ears still ringing. 

The man took a few steps towards you, a twisted smile graced his lips as he spoke confidently in response. “Yes. It’s me.”

“H-How is this even possible?” You asked. You were breathless as Tom continued to stalk towards you. 

“It’s simple magic really,” Tom replied. He was now standing mere feet away from you and you could truly admire his features in the girls dorm light. “Have you been as anxious to meet me as I have to meet you?”  

You shook your head as your throat ran dry. You gulped down a lump and spoke, trying your best to sound unaffected by him. “You’re just a memory.” 

“I may be just a memory, but that doesn’t mean I’m not real,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to yours. He looked deeply into your eyes before his gaze dropped down to your lips and back up to your eyes again. “It doesn’t mean that what I don’t feel is real…”

“What do you mean?” You asked softly. 

Tom brought a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. His face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on the side of your face. It was warm, intoxicating almost. You felt your heart flutter as his hand dropped from your hair and to your hand that rested next to you. He held it up to his heart which you could feel beating in tandem with your own. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I feel Y/N.” 

You shook your head a ‘no’ as he spoke to you, lips gracing your ear seductively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pulled away from your face and stood up straight. Brown eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room, staring into your soul. “Liar,” he whispered, a chuckle escaping his lips. 

“Tom…” You whispered breathlessly. You sucked in a breath and moved closer to him, touching his shoulders gently with shaky hands. “I can touch you?” 

“Of course you can,” Tom smirked. “And I can touch you.” He responded with a hand ghosting your hip, pulling your body closer to his. Your heart was skipping beats at his touch and you looked up at him. “I can even kiss you, if you want me too.” Tom’s hands cupped your face as he brought it closer to his own, gaze flickering down to your lips seductively. 

“Why would you kiss me?” You whispered to him, eyes burning into his own. You desperately wanted to look away out of embarrassment, but you kept strong. 

“Because I’m in love with you,” he said so nonchalantly. 

Your eyes widened and you stepped back at his words, visibly recoiling. “Excuse me?” You asked, raising your eyebrow. 

“You heard me,” Tom replied as he dropped his hands from your cheeks and gripped onto your hip, earning a squeak from you. “I’m glad you found my diary.” 

“I didn’t find it,” you whispered. “It was placed in my belongings and was there when I woke up the other morning.” 

Tom hummed and with his free hand, stroked his chin. “Fate has brought us together then, my love. Together, we can do it.”

You pulled away from Tom’s grasp and looked at him with confusion on your face. “Do… What?” 

“Open the Chamber Of Secrets, of course,” Tom replied. The Chamber Of Secrets? What on earth was the Chamber Of Secrets? Your face must have asked the question before you could vocalise it, and Tom chuckled. “You don’t know about the Chamber Of Secrets?” You shook your head. “What are they teaching you at this forsaken school,” Tom said whilst rolling his eyes. 

“Magic,” you answered softly. 

Tom continued to roll his eyes at your answer but he leaned in closer to you once more, his breath fanning across your face causing your entire body to shiver in anticipation. “Will you help me?” He asked. Without even thinking, you found yourself nodding a simple ‘yes’. Tom pulled away from your ear and smirked down at you. “Good. Good. We shall waste no time and get to work immediately.” 

“Okay…” You nodded slowly. You looked into Tom’s eyes and felt your palms get sweaty almost instantly at the way he was looking at you. There was a hint of need there, possession maybe. Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite place it. 

“About that kiss,” Tom whispered huskily, stepping one step closer to you so that he was now invading your personal space. “Would you like it?” 

Before you even thought about it, your head was nodding a ‘yes’. Tom was grinning at you, licking his lips before he placed them on yours softly. You whimpered the second his lips touched yours but melted into the kiss almost immediately. You felt Tom’s hands rest on your hips, gripping tightly and pulling you flush against his chest protectively. Tom wasted no time in deepening the kiss, pushing you backwards until your back hit a wall behind you. You were suddenly trapped and wouldn’t be able to get away from him if you wanted to. Your cheeks were on fire as you felt Tom bite down on your bottom lip between his teeth before he pulled away and looked at you. 

“How was that?” He asked breathlessly. His arms had fallen from your hips and were now resting on either side of your head as he leaned above you against the wall. 

“Best fake kiss I’ve ever had,” you whispered, voice low and nervous. 

“I think it’s time I return you to your time,” Tom said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I just wish I could keep you here with me… Forever.” 

You blushed furiously at his words and before you knew it, you were being transported out of the diary and you were sitting back on your bed in the girls dorm. The diary was once again open and a few words were sprawled on the page for you to see:

Come visit me again soon sweetheart. 

[turvi]

Im requesting a tom riddle fic where he is dating the reader and like how that would look like. Make it fluffy but not to a point it’s unrealistic for him

Tom twirled his wand carelessly between his long fingers staring at Y/n who was paying more attention to the potion in front of her than him.

He couldn't take it anymore and placed his want below her chin, the same wand that had obliterated students, to make her look at him. "Your time is up."

Y/n barely parted her lips to argue when he interrupted her again. "My darling it is of no use arguing with me. So wrap this up and come with me. I will be waiting outside." With that, Tom walked out of the classroom not giving her a chance to talk.

Y/n quickly picked up her books haphazardly and jogged to catch up to Tom. Tom smirked and kept walking as she tried to catch up to him. He turned around and gave her a mocking smirk. “No rush darling. Take your time please.” 

She rolled her eyes. That made Tom stop in his tracks and looked at her coldly. “Do you have a problem darling?” Y/n gulped as he walked towards her, she tried to take long breaths to calm her beating heart in fear he might hear them. He grabbed her jaw making her look at him. “The only time I want to see your pretty eyes roll is when I make you feel good, got it precious?”

Y/n quickly nodded and froze when she felt his lips on her cheek. "Good girl." Tom took her hand in his, it felt colder than usual. As they made their way through the corridor Y/n noticed how the students made way for them, avoiding Tom like a plague, averting their eyes away from him.

An uncomfortable feeling started making home in her heart. Yes, Tom was ominous but as she spent more time with she felt there was something more... dark, something dangerous.

"What are you thinking, precious?" His honey-like voice brought Y/n back to reality to realise they were standing in front of his dorm. His tone was loving again.

"Nothing." Her voice was barely audible, but he heard her. His slender fingers caressed her chin. Y/n felt a shiver run up her spine when she looked into his eyes. Not an ounce of innocence in his brown irises were found. He looked so determined.

"You are right my darling." Y/n's eyes widened when he whispered these words in her ear. She wondered if he really heard her thoughts. "I did, precious. I always know what you are thinking. But that is good. Because we have nothing to hide from each other." She stayed still in shock as Tom kissed her jaw.

Her breath hitched when he stopped kissing her jaw, his teeth was right near her pulse. She could see his pupils dilate.

Y/n L/n in that moment realised she will never understand Tom Riddle but she will stay with him as he burns the world

A/n: THIS IS SUPER LATE. I am so sorry honestly I am moving to UK and it has been a rollercoaster. Thank you for being patient

[starsofjewels]

HPQD: Birthdays

‘Sometimes in the journey you can forget the purpose of the trip.’ Me, rn, trying to sound fancy.

MASTERPOST

 ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

It’s my birthday on an undisclosed Libra date (wish me happy birthday pls I need the attention), and so I present to you this post, because I haven’t done a QD in MONTHS. And as much as I love Greggie… Hot werewolf man. That’s it.

Requests and other funnies are comings, this was just for the sillies.

 ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

CONTENT: Not much, for once. Mentions of sex in Fenrir's paragraph (because of course), LV being a toxic (overly controlling etc).

INFO- Each DILF has a birthday quality rating and a best gift given rating. Be underwhelmed.

Approx 1k words: Very lil pookie baby.

Barty Crouch Sr- Traditional and Well-Planned:

He’s a simple man with very limited needs, in terms of it. In fact, you probably won’t even know when his birthday is until the day-of, and his sisters send him cards. That being said, your birthday is a completely different game. It’s easiest for him to show affection through material gifts, so expect flowers, jewellery, and anything that you’ve had your eye on over the course of the year may mysteriously appear in a gift basket at some point during the day. Barty will go through all the motions of the birthday, he’ll take you for dinner, then the theatre, and the day after you’ll have a small family gathering. He has it arranged very far in advance, he likes to be planned. It becomes your little tradition, and you’re oddly alright with that.

Birthday Rating: 6/10 - Solid, non-spontaneous.

Best Gift: That pair of overly expensive shoes you swore you didn’t need and he told you he wouldn’t buy… He still bought them. 7/10: -3 points for lying.

Fenrir Greyback- Woodland Chaos:

Do you remember participating in/ watching kids organise things for Mother’s Day? This exact vibe. He’s not very good at remembering small things: what to bring home from the shops, which day it is, that sort of thing. He’ll get the date right, but the day wrong. Cue panic when he realises your birthday is today, and not tomorrow. But, living in a forest and being a canonic pile of muscle has its advantages. He’ll hunt a few deer, maybe steal a cow from one of the farms a few miles out and you’ll have a lovely, if slightly meat-central, birthday barbeque. It is very rushed and something will be forgotten, but it’s very sweet. He does remember to get your presents well in advance, though.

Birthday Rating: 4/10- Buy this man a calendar, please. Points for getting your gifts, though.

Best Gift: Birthday sex. My man goes all out. 100+/10.

Rufus Scrimgeour- Money buys Happiness:

Let’s not forget Rufus is making bank as Minister. Let’s also not forget this man lives to get you whatever you want, whenever you want it. And what does a princess who has everything receive for her birthday? It started as whatever you wanted, but when you, like any self-respecting individual involved with an extraordinarily wealthy man, refused to take his money, it became an extended weekend trip to an undisclosed area of Europe. He’s Minister for Magic, and that comes with a certain level of international respect, especially as the famed War Minister. And so, you get a little trip to do some shopping, he’ll get a hotel with soap which has a higher net worth than you do, and when your next birthday comes around he’ll fight with you again over letting him buy you a present.

Birthday Rating: It’s a free trip to somewhere that isn’t GB- 10/10.

Best Gift: Cultural street food. A quiet night underneath street lighting, sitting in a park, with nothing really to say. A romantic, simple date. 8/10- It’s a coin flip whether or not you get food poisoning.

Lord Voldemort- Sweet or Creepy?:

We can be perfectly honest with ourselves, this is a judgement-free space… Tommy is creepy, he’s creepy as a kid, he’s creepy as a snake-talkin’ teenage hoodlum, and he’s creepy as a snake-lookin’ adult hoodlum. Isn’t that why we love him? You have, and always will have, guards with you at any time you’re not in the house, and this includes in the gardens, he’s not taking any chances. What this means is that he has two, or maybe even three, loyal, skilled men to watch over you. Anything you look at, or touch, or even mention in passing, will be recorded down and probably, eventually bought- Kind of like Barty, but in a depersonalised, slightly violating way. Your birthday dinner is about as cold and unfeeling as most Death Eater meetings are, but you get alcohol and attention, so who are you really to complain? As Dark Lady, there is a point where your personal life becomes a state affair, and this is one of them. But, if you’re good, he’ll give you a little picnic- Just the two of you, and maybe the children. It’s sweet, and a reminder that somewhere in him, there’s a heart which beats.

Birthday Rating (state affair): 3/10- I mean, who’s really complaining about free alcohol and wearing a pretty dress? +1 points for getting catering.

Birthday Rating (personal life): 9/10- Thought is put into it. It is sweet and simple, and you can forget your duty for just a moment.

Best Gift: A live Guinea pig (or other rodent of your choice- See the pets episode). 9/10- He feels bad about a snake eating the last one, so you get Nibbles. Nibbles does as his name suggests, and nibbles you when you first handle him. -1 point.

Igor Karkaroff- The Feast:

High Master does, at its very name suggests, require an awful lot of work, especially out of class time. He could work all day (not that he does) and still have more to do on overtime. His office is quite comfortable, though, so he shan’t particularly complain about it. That being said, living in an isolated mountain-castle in the middle of nowhere reduces the chances he’ll take you to a nice restaurant and a luxury hotel- There is no Hogsmeade equivalent for Durmstrang, remember- So, what do you get? A feast. You get a feast. And I don’t mean a tiny pizza slice and a fruit cup. Boars will be found, honey-mead will run like water, and there will be at least 4 days off for everyone to recover from the hangover. You are the best teacher this school has ever had, after all, you deserve a treat.

Birthday Rating: 10/10- (He has the Planning Committee organise and arrange the entire thing and then puts his name on it. It’s alright, you’ll get them a card).

Best Gift: More robes and/or pelt blankets- 6/10. It might sound a bit boring, but you do live in a literal mountain landscape, so it’s quite practical. +2 points for cosiness.

[larallott]

Being Tom Riddle's girlfriend includes:

Possessive: Tom has an intense need to claim what he considers his, and you are no exception. He keeps you close and makes sure everyone knows you belong to him.

VERY jealous: Tom’s jealousy runs deep, even though he tries to hide it. The mere thought of someone else trying to get close to you drives him mad.

Very protective: He’s always alert to any possible threat. Even if you don’t ask for it, he’s there to ensure no harm comes your way.

He won't admit it, but he likes lying on your chest because it relaxes him: Even though he would never confess it, in moments of intimacy, he enjoys resting his head on your chest. It brings him a rare sense of peace.

He likes when you run your fingers through his hair: He finds an unusual calm when your fingers play with his dark hair, though he would never admit it openly.

He doesn’t show affection in public: In public, he avoids displaying affection. He doesn’t want anyone to see him vulnerable, as it would ruin his image and make him seem weak.

He helps you with your exams: Even though he’s reserved, his intelligence is something he shares with you when needed. He guides you and ensures you excel in your studies.

He likes you sitting on his lap while he reads: When he’s absorbed in his books, he invites you to sit on his lap. He enjoys your closeness as he immerses himself in his reading.

Forehead kisses: His kisses are subtle and soft, especially on your forehead. They are his quiet way of showing affection and protection.

He wraps you in his cloak when it’s cold without saying anything: On cold days, he silently wraps you in his cloak, letting you feel his care and protection without a word.

He watches you sleep (tenderly): Although he would never admit it, in the quiet moments while you sleep, he allows himself to watch you with tenderness. His face softens, and for a brief moment, he looks almost human.

He loves leaving hickeys on your neck, collarbone, or anywhere: Marking you is his way of ensuring everyone knows you belong to him. He leaves hickeys as a visible reminder of his claim.

His kisses are slow but gradually become possessive: At first, his kisses are slow and deliberate, but they quickly turn more intense and possessive, as if each kiss is a reaffirmation that you belong solely to him.

[iris-qt]

For You, Only

You find it on an ordinary Tuesday.

A flower — but not one from any Hogwarts greenhouse you recognize. Its petals shimmer faintly under the torchlight, an impossible color somewhere between pearl and starlight, perched neatly atop your Charms textbook like it had simply grown there.

You glance around the common room.

No one looks your way. No snickering pranksters. No dreamy admirers writing sonnets in the corner.

Just…stillness. Homework. Whispered conversations. The crackle of the fire.

You touch the stem carefully. The bloom doesn't wilt under your fingers. If anything, it leans toward you.

There’s no note. No explanation. Just the flower: strange and perfect and left for you.

You glance around again, slower this time. Watching.

The prefect flips a page in his book. A few younger students argue over wizard chess.

No one watching. No one smiling. No one suspicious.

You tuck the flower carefully into your satchel, pretending you aren’t blushing like a fool.

You tell yourself it’s probably some Herbology project gone wrong. A mistake. A coincidence.

But later that night, as you fall asleep with the flower resting in a jar by your bedside, you can’t shake the feeling that someone had meant for you to find it. Someone who was watching.

And somewhere, deep inside Hogwarts’ winding halls, someone is.

And he is smiling.

...

The flower doesn’t wilt.

Days later, it sits proudly on your bedside table still glowing faintly, still leaning ever so slightly toward you whenever you look its way. You've poked it with your wand, whispered spells at it, even tried to press it between the pages of your Charms textbook, but it refuses to die, or even droop.

By Friday, you’ve convinced yourself it must be magical. And whoever gave it to you… well, they knew what they were doing.

You tell yourself you aren’t waiting for something else. You tell yourself you aren’t looking around every corner. (You are. You absolutely are.)

So when you find the book, you nearly trip over your own shoes.

It’s sitting right on your usual library chair: old, leather-bound, the title too faded to read. A piece of parchment sticks out from the top like a crude bookmark.

You glance around wildly. Madam Pince is hunched over the circulation desk, scribbling furiously. A few students mutter in the back, heads together over a shared essay. No one’s looking at you. No one seems to care.

Heart hammering, you slip into the chair and pull the parchment free.

It’s not a love note. It’s not even a full sentence.

Just two words, written in an elegant, slanted hand:

"For you."

You stare at it. Then the book.

Slowly, you crack the cover open. It smells like old paper and wild places, filled with poetry, the kind that sinks into your ribs and stays there.

You clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a ridiculous little squeal. Someone left this. Someone knew.

You immediately whip around in your seat, heart racing. Your eyes catch on Eddie Clearwater from Herbology leaning against a shelf across the library. He’s not looking at you. He’s arguing with someone over a potions chart. But still. He is sort of nice. Sort of...awkward.

You eye him suspiciously. Maybe it’s Eddie.

He did let you borrow his notes once. And he wears shoes that squeak. You did hear squeaking earlier.

You huff a laugh into your sleeve, cheeks burning. It’s definitely Eddie.

You don’t see the real culprit, the boy lingering in the deep shadows between the Divination and Dark Arts sections, arms folded, an unreadable expression on his sharp, beautiful face.

Tom Riddle watches you tuck the book into your bag. He watches you smile to yourself.

And though he feels a sharp, unfamiliar twist of irritation at your spectacularly wrong guess, a part of him, dark and greedy and pleased, already wonders:

What will I leave her next?

...

You make a point to smile at Eddie Clearwater in the corridor the next morning.

It’s not even a romantic smile. More of a polite, thank-you-for-the-poetry-book smile. But Eddie looks so bewildered that he crashes straight into a suit of armor, sending a clattering echo through the hall.

You wince. Maybe not Eddie, then.

Still, you’re sure the gift-leaver is someone sweet and bashful. Someone harmless. Someone ordinary. That certainty lasts exactly twenty-four hours. Because the next night, tucked neatly into your bag between your Arithmancy notes, you find it:

A pendant. No — not just a pendant.

It hums faintly in your hand, cool and heavy, the chain finer than spider silk. In the low candlelight, the stone at its center gleams dark red, almost alive. You don’t need a textbook to know it’s enchanted, powerful, old.

Tied to the chain is a tiny scrap of parchment, the same slanted hand as before:

"To keep you safe."

Your stomach flips.

This isn’t something a clumsy boy from Herbology would have access to. This isn’t even something a professor would hand over casually. You glance around the common room, heart rattling against your ribs. No one’s paying you any attention except, for the briefest second, a pair of dark eyes across the room.

Tom Riddle sits by the fireplace, alone as usual, a book balanced on one knee. His expression, as he flips a page, is unreadable. You tear your gaze away, feeling suddenly foolish.

Tom Riddle doesn’t notice girls. Everyone knows that.

(But you also can’t help remembering how the pendant's stone glinted ... the exact color of his eyes when they catch the firelight.)

You clutch the pendant tighter, heart hammering. The pieces aren’t fitting together, not yet.

But you have a sinking feeling they will. Soon.

...

You hatch the plan over pumpkin juice and poor life choices.

It’s simple. Elegant. Foolproof, really. You’ll pick a spot, somewhere quiet but public enough to not seem suspicious. You’ll leave your books unattended, just so, like bait in a snare. Then you’ll wait, hidden, to catch whoever it is, and you can put this ridiculous mystery to rest.

Easy.

So you choose the far alcove in the library, the one with the broken sconce and the creaky chair. You pile your books just messily enough to seem believable. You arrange yourself behind a nearby shelf, heart thudding like a war drum.

And then... you wait.

Five minutes.

Ten.

You fiddle with the hem of your robes, nerves sparking. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe you should—

A faint sound breaks the silence. Soft footsteps, so quiet you barely catch them.

You press yourself against the bookshelf, breath held tight in your chest. Someone rounds the corner. Not Eddie. Not some shy sixth-year with ink-stained hands.

Tom Riddle.

Tall. Composed. Unreachable, like some terrible and beautiful thing from another world.

He moves toward your abandoned books without hesitation, as if this was always the plan. You peek, just barely, between the shelves.

He glances once over his shoulder (you almost faint on the spot), then slips something between the pages of your topmost book. Something small. Another note?

Your heart skitters. You’re so distracted you almost don’t notice—

For the briefest second, after leaving the gift, he pauses. Looks at the flower, still alive, tucked carefully in your bag. Looks toward where you’re hiding.

His lips curve in the slightest, most devastating smirk.

He knows.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a tiny, horrified squeak. And then, like a dream dissipating, he’s gone. You stumble out from behind the shelves, heart a frantic, tangled mess. The flower glows softly. The poetry book hums faintly in your bag. And tucked between your Charms notes, on fresh parchment, another line of that beautiful, slanted handwriting:

"You're cleverer than the rest. I hoped you would be."

You press the note against your chest, dizzy. This isn’t some bumbling, blushing schoolboy. This is Tom Riddle.

And he's been watching you.

...

A/N: what a man

...

[op1umeyes]

Tom Riddle didn’t know what to do when you didn’t show up to classes for the day. Not only that- but you don’t have the decency to at least tell him that you were not going to attend the classes that you had no problem attending for the past six years.

     So he does what any rational person does and shows up at your dorm. It was a privilege to be head girl, and you were more than happy about having your own room- and you had excitedly showed Tom your room the second you had it decorated. And being your… unofficial boyfriend and head boy, Tom supposes it was his duty- to the school- to find out why you were not reporting to classes or handling your responsibilities with the precision and efficiency that Tom had grown fond of.

     When you finally opened the door after a full minute of knocking, Tom raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at you. His eyes- critical as usual- sweeped up and down your figure thrice before determining that you hadn’t gotten out of bed at all during the day. “It is past dinner time. What could have possibly deterred your appetite?”

     Tom’s attempt at a joke made your jaw set. “I’m ill,” you croaked, going to shut the door.

     Tom’s foot wedged between the wood frame and thick door before it could shut with a thud. “You are not ill.” Your cheeks weren’t flushed with fever and your skin didn’t have the mild green tint it usually had when you were sick. “What’s ailing you?”

     You sighed and leaned forward a tad- enough to ease the onslaught of cramps that had been terrorizing your body for the past ten hours. “My uterus, Tom. That’s what’s ailing me,” you snipe.

     Tom’s eyes narrow. “You’re menstruating? It’s a week early,” he tells you.

     Your eyes droop with pain and sleep. “Shut the door when you’re done gawking at my miserable, ailingform,” you request weakly as you turn and limp back to your king sized bed.

     It shouldn’t have surprised you that Tom shut the door a minute later. He wasn’t really empathetic and it wasn’t his problem you were curled up in your bed, going in and out of sleep to try to handle the constant waves of pain. But at the same time… you had hoped.

     Fickle, fickle hope. You tried not to let tears well up in your eyes at your own disappointment. You cursed yourself and your uterus as you wordlessly charmed your small throw pillow to radiate warmth to place against your stomach. 

     Tears dripped from your eyes as you tried and, eventually, dozed back off into a dreamless sleep. Your arms were wrapped tightly around the charmed pillow as you clung to the warmth (pathetically wishing it was Tom you were clinging to instead of a damn pillow).

     Your door opened just when you were falling into heavy sleep. You groaned and wanted to berate whoever had disturbed your pity party. When you sat up, you ignored the shooting pain in your entire lower body and squinted at-

     “Tommy?” 

     The man grumbled at the nickname. “When have I ever left you by yourself during this time?” He closed the door with his foot because he had things that you couldn’t see in the dark lighting in his hands.

     He set a few vials of a shimmering wine red on your abnormally large nightstand- along with an actual bowl of soup, a spoon, a container of chocolate, raspberries, and cherries: your favorite snacks. “Tom…”

     Tom uncorked a vial of the swirling potion and handed it to you. “Bottoms up, darling,” he ordered as he warmed the soup up with a wordless spell. When you placed the small vial back in his large hands he handed the bowl to you. “Eat.”

     “I’m not-“

     “Do not,” Tom interrupted you, “tell me that you are not hungry. If you want to keep that pain killer down, I expect you to eat at least half of that bowl.”

      You blinked.

     Tom fussed over the state of your room as you ate. He levitated clothes nack into your dresser, blankets in their appropriate places, and tended to the variety of plants you had perched all over your room. Tom almost scoffed- you took better care of the plants then yourself.

     “I’m done,” you finally spoke up. Tom turned and strode over to you. “I- Put me down!”

     Tom carried you the short distance to the bathroom. “Do what you must, then you’re going to bed.” When you stared owlishly at him, he rolled his eyes. “Why are you so surprised that I’m taking care of what is mine? Go,” he gestured toward the bathroom and gave you the eyes.

     Tom carried you back to the bed when you had dried your hands. He slipped under the covers of your bed after you, wrapping a loose arm around your waist. “Get comfortable.”

     You placed his hand over the part of your stomach that had been giving you the most pain. His breath fanned your ear and neck as he exhaled slowly. Tom’s lips pressed a featherlight kiss to the side of your neck- so light you questioned if you had imagined it in your tired state. “Good night, Tommy.”

     “Sleep well, darling,” he murmured in reply.

[pasukiyo]

BOUND TO ME

demon!tom riddle x female!reader word count: 3,851 warnings: smut, mirror sex, dub-con, edging, orgasm denial, p in v sex synopsis: there is an entity, a monster, a demon living within her mirror. the mirror, which had found its way into her bedroom above her father's butcher shop peculiarly, is the only place he can be seen, only place he can be felt...

 His whispers slither through her bedroom in the shadows and to her ears, coiling like a python around her throat. 

 She was foolish to think she could ever resist him.

 The evidence of her attempts lie in fragments of broken glass on the floor and when he laughs, she imagines he has the tongue of a serpent, gooseflesh creeping down her arms when he hisses. 

 “Foolish girl,” he whispers in the dark and she shivers because she knows he is here, knows he is close, and knows he is seething. “You thought you could wash your hands of me.”

 She hugs the sheets closer to her chin, squeezes her eyes shut, willing slumber to take her into its arms, thinking maybe it will save her from him. Still, she is cold because he is there and he’s right: she is a fool. She’s foolish for thinking she could will him away in the first place. Foolish for thinking smashing the mirror, his portal into her world was enough to keep him away. 

 “You severely underestimate me, and your stupidity will be your demise. You think there is anywhere in the world you can be where I won’t find you? I am always with you. You are bound to me,” she recalls him once saying into the night, many moons ago. ��Besides, let’s face it: this tether between us turns you on. You lie to yourself every time you think you do not want me, and your body proves you wrong every time.”

 Her teeth chatter inside her mouth and she has to sink them into the inside of her cheeks to quell the noise. All is quiet in her bedroom but she knows he must be there, looming, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He is a basilisk— and she knows how perfectly she will break for him, should he so much as breathe on her. 

 She is vulnerable now, in her nightgown, doing her very best to not weep while she clutches the bedsheets to her chin, praying sleep will take her away. She is entirely too weak, too feeble to be trusted, should he come closer, should she feel his breath rolling like smoke down her flesh, should he touch her. Even now, her body aches to betray her. 

 Remember how well he pleases you, a low, oily voice sounds from somewhere within. A dent forms between her brows and her breath shakes, lips trembling. You long to be touched, even now. Look at you, already dripping from the mere thought of being taken. 

 She squeezes her thighs closer together, trying to rid herself of the ache at her center as if to prove her own body wrong. 

 She does not want this. She does not want him. 

 And yet…

 “And yet, here you lay, wishing for some silly mercy, thinking it will keep me away.”

 She nearly leaps from her skin at the voice, her eyes snapping open as she pushes herself upright. She pants, glancing wide-eyed around her bedroom, searching for him, for any trace there could be. The only thing that moves is her heaving chest and the curtains over her window, blowing wistfully in the wind. 

 She trembles, following the moonlight to where it shines on the floor, on the shattered remains of her mirror. She presses her lips together and inhales, trying to reassure herself that she is safe, that he cannot get to her now, his only gateway being broken. He cannot harm her now. He cannot break her with his touch, for not even a fingernail will scratch her, not even his breath will grace her skin. 

 Her eyes flutter closed and she takes another deep breath and when her eyes open again, there is nothing in her darkened bedroom save for the moonlight. 

 She is safe. She has nothing to fear. She is alone but she is safe. She is safe. She has nothing to fear. 

 It is eerily silent, save now for her soft murmurings of assurances beneath her breath as she settles back down into her mattress, slowly pulling the sheets back to her chest. She tries to tame her uneasy heart, staring into the moonlit wooden ceiling above and when she believes she is ready, she closes her eyes, praying again that sleep will come. 

 Please. Let sleep come. 

 She thinks for a moment she must really, truly be at peace when she hears nothing irregular, nothing to warrant terror. She puckers her lips and blows one more spout of air out before she allows herself to relax further into the bed. Certainly sleep should come a little easier now. 

 Snickering.

 Her eyelids snap back open when she hears his snickering, curling like vines around her ears, its thorns piercing through her skin. Her heart pounds against her chest and she pushes herself upright again, searching her bedroom for him. Still, everything is as it was before, everything down from the dark ceiling to the dresser to the curtains billowing in the wind to the shards of—

 Her lips press themselves together and tremble, her eyes widening and limbs shaking as she peers down to the shards of glass scattered along the floor. She sees him there, broken fragments of his face but he is there and he is laughing at her, mocking her for her sheer stupidity. 

 “You are even more of a fool than I initially took you for,” he snickers and she whimpers, shaking, unable to move. “I told you your stupidity would be your end.”

 She watches in a mixture of horror and anticipation as the fractured pieces of glass on the floor move, little pieces coming together in the wooden frame of the mirror, now sat upright. The last thing she sees is his stare, his wickedly dangerous stare fragmented by cracks in the glass before she closes her eyes, unable to face what will come next. 

 She hears scraping against the floor and then nothing— everything goes still again, as if she’s alone, as if he is not there. 

 She would not fall for her own stupidity again. He is there. She knows it. She’s uncertain whether he’s close or far but he is just there, existing in the same space she is. 

 She presses her lips tighter together, her eyes remaining closed, her heart stuttering in her chest. All she hears now is her own breath and her uneasy heart but still, she does not open her eyes. 

 And then a hiss, just like a python’s, coils around her neck, around her throat, circling all the way back to her ears, “your fate rests with me. You belong to me, you are bound to me. Do not resist your desire— it calls to me while you weep, proclaiming you do not want me.”

 A fingertip against her throat is what makes her eyes snap open. She yelps when his hand locks around her throat, her own instinctively reaching for him. He leans in close behind her and there, at the base of her bed sits the mirror and there is where he is, looming behind her like a shadow, dark face split with a wicked grin.

 “You feel it now already, don’t you?” He hisses into her ear before his lips graze her neck and her lips fall apart, gasping for the air he’s stolen from her lungs. 

 She is at his mercy, quite literally in the palms of his hands, her fate his to break and mend as he pleases. It’s terrifying— and yet, a part of her finds it equally electrifying, teetering on the edge between peril and pleasure. She curses herself, condemns herself for how easily she is swayed, how easily she is broken. 

 Perhaps this is solely the reason why the mirror found her, why it chose her, why he chose her. She is weak. She is ungrounded. She’s a masochist in every sense of the word, despite how desperately she’s tried to deny it. She’s in love with the way he makes her feel, in love with the way he talks to her, touches her, takes her. It’s painful, it’s humiliating, it is blasphemy, is what it is, her desire for her demon. 

 Tom is her shame, he is everything about herself she wished to forget and wished to unbecome. He must have sensed this, all those moons ago when his mirror found its place into her tiny bedroom above her father’s butcher shop. He sensed this ruthlessness, this ferality, this desire she’s kept stowed away that’s been bursting at the seams, eager to be unleashed and he did just that, giving her an outlet to indulge in all her darkest of fantasies. 

 Really, what he is doing should be seen as a mercy, a gift. 

 Nobody could ever please her the way Tom does, after all. 

 “You desire me already, don’t you?” He purrs with a voice as slick as oil, dripping with derision. She watches the mirror, shivering as his hand drops from her throat and she gasps for air as he traces a path from her collarbone to her chest with the tip of his forefinger, skirting the neckline of her nightgown. She feels it and it is there, existing in her mirror yet, he is not quite there in her world. Her wide-eye gaze fixes on the mirror, her only way of knowing who and what it is making her feel this way.

 “Here. You feel it here,” he whispers, that fingertip of his tracing a circle around the peaked nipple over the top of her gown, right over her stuttering heart. It beats for him and he knows it, can feel it beneath his finger. She watches through the mirror as a corner of Tom’s lips curve in a smirk, his hungry stare finding hers through the glass. 

 “And you feel it…” he trails off, the fingernail of that forefinger suddenly no longer human, but a talon, like the sharp claw of a crow and he uses it to tear a line from the center of her neckline, all the way down to her skirt. She yelps, looking down at her bodice as her gown rips at the hand of an invisible force and it is not until she feels his warm palm against the bottom of her belly, dangerously close to where she burns most for him. “…here as well.”

 He presses down on her belly, not much but enough to have her teetering on the edge of utter madness, muscles locked in anticipation. She tosses her head back and Tom snickers again as she whimpers, feeling herself pulse where she wants, no, needs him most. He rubs circles into the flesh below her belly, inching closer to her core agonizingly slow, nearly enough to tip her over the brink of insanity. 

 “How greedy you become, by the mere touch of my hand– the hand of a monster, as you put it, yes?” He sneers, his breath rolling like smoke down along the expanse of her neck. She peers back up at the mirror, watching as he dips his mouth to her collarbone, feeling his breath, his lips as they graze against her skin. It sends shivers slithering down the coil of her spine and now she knows her basilisk has her under his spell now.

 Her chest heaves against his arm as Tom teases her, his fingertip stroking back and forth along the bottom of her belly. He clicks his tongue, almost pitiably when he pulls his hand away and she whimpers, nerves uneasy due to the lack of his touch. 

 “But that’s not all you want, is it?” He whispers coolly into the space between them, his voice rolling over her skin and leaving chills in its wake. She glances back to the mirror, watching his dark gaze as it disappears behind her head, reappearing on the other side of her face. She feels him breathe against her other ear, her lips trembling, her core aching. “You long to be burned from within, to be branded, for me to take what is rightfully mine and mark you so even dear old dad will know of your treachery.”

 Tears that have since merely pooled in the bottom of her sockets begin to shed, drop after drop sliding down her cheeks as she tries to find a balance between her fear and desire. She knows she will not be able to resist him, not tonight, but she still has some sense of honor. She will not be weak. She will face him with courage, however little. 

 Tom sneers at this. He clicks his tongue again, “poor thing. Is that not what you want? To be claimed for everyone to see?” He asks, the tip of his finger drawing circles in the valley between her breasts. She shudders beneath his touch but still, she hardens her gaze, mustering enough courage to meet his dark, melting stare. The corners of his lips curve and he chuckles, “bold little thing. You wish to be fucked.”

 His hand finds her chin and she yelps as his fingertips press down into her cheeks. He forces her gaze to lock on his through the mirror and she watches as his other hand slashes clean through the rest of her nightgown, leaving her completely exposed. The moonlight glistens on her skin as his hand forces her thighs apart, her sex glistening crudely in the starlight. 

 “Look at this,” he snickers, dipping his middle and forefinger between her thighs, brushing against her slit, enough to coat them evenly in her slick. Her toes curl and she gasps, tossing her head back where it bumps into his shoulder. “So ready to be tamed. Bred, potentially.”

 She thinks she will die from anticipation. It started as a simple flame, kindled in the pit of her belly but it has since blossomed into a blazing inferno, strong enough to make her feel like she is melting from the inside out. His graces against her skin were little bits of coal plunging into the depths of her inferno and she erupted in turn, like a volcano breaking from its dormancy. 

 Tom brings his fingers, covered with the evidence of her desire, to her lips, forcing them into her mouth and she moans around them, swirling her tongue greedily, like a starved wolf around them. He breathes and it sounds more like a growl, dropping the hand gripping her chin to slap her aching clit, her body jolting as if struck by a crack of lightning. 

 “Yes,” he purrs. “So desperate to be filled. I wonder though, will this greedy cunt of yours be ready for my cock?”

 She merely stares at him, hoping her look is pleading enough for him. 

 He snickers. 

 She swallows as he pulls his fingers away from her mouth. 

 “I believe you are fully capable of speaking,” he sneers. “So use your words.”

 Her mouth opens and closes, her mind numb, void of anything that does not involve impurity. She blinks helplessly at her own reflection, brows knitting when she finds her gaze again. He clicks his tongue, “pity. I cannot give you what you want if you do not ask for it.”

 Her mouth suddenly feels dry, the words she tries to muster like sandpaper against her throat and tongue. Her cheeks burn in shame as she tries to say something, to produce any sort of sound. 

 “I—“

 “Nicely,” he interrupts, his voice like a crack of thunder in her otherwise still bedroom. “Ask me nicely.”

 She purses her lips, willing herself to breathe, at least, she best she’s able to manage. The tip of Tom’s forefinger circles mindlessly just above her clit and it pulses, aches, screams for mercy.

 She swallows down her shame, every ounce of honor left in her. This will have to be mercy enough. 

 “Please,” she begins, her voice ashamedly high, feeble. “I… I need to feel you.”

 Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to relent so easily. Or perhaps he was merely teasing her. 

 She does not feel him and when she looks into the mirror, she does not see him, uncertain if he is even there at all. A cold creeps along her legs, trailing up her hips to her arms where her weary bones catch a chill, locking her in place. She hears nothing but her own breath, her own heart beating against her chest. Her stare locks on the mirror at the foot of her bed because she knows this is not the end— he is still here, a predator in the dark, circling his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. 

 Silence. 

 She thinks a cold perspiration has begun to bead at her forehead. Her brow furrows, the pressure so intense in her head and when she looks at herself in the mirror, she can see the prominent outline of a vein on her forehead. A gasping hiccup escapes her chest as more tears stream down her face, praying this torment will come to an end soon. 

 When will he strike? 

 She hears something move to her left and she yelps, the hair standing erect on her arms and neck but it is only her curtains, blown just a little harder by a sudden strong gust of wind. She wills herself to breathe again, focusing on slow inhales and exhales as she turns again to face the mirror. 

 Before she can even make sense of what she sees, before a gasp or a cry or a scream can reach her tongue, she is pushed forward until her face is smushed against the mattress. She yelps into the bed, feeling her torn nightgown being ripped from her body before she feels something, someone, a force behind her, pressing against her ass. As soon as she feels he is there behind her, she feels the length of him press into her entrance, filling her up with a single primal thrust. 

 Her knuckles bend around her bedsheets and she cries out into her mattress, too muffled to have possibly been heard by anyone outside of her bedroom. She expects there to be pain at her center where she is split open, just barely managing to fit the entire length of him inside of her but all she feels is bliss— burning white hot bliss. 

 “That’s right,” he coos somewhere behind her ear, another angry thrust making her grip the sheets tighter, her fingers on the bed and his long, warm hands gripping her hips being her only anchor. “Lose yourself in me. Forget who you are and think only of me.”

 It is not difficult when her mind is already dough, each seething, primal thrust of his hips against her ass molding her into different shapes, twisting every single thought inside her brain until they are solely his name. 

 Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom. 

 “Tom!” She yowls, trying to lift her head from the sheets but being forced back down by his hand gripping the tendrils of her hair, using them as reins to hold her down. 

 “You thought you could rid yourself of me,” he hisses, ramming his cock harder inside of her, bruising that delicate spot so deep inside her where no man ever reached before. “What were you going to do had you succeeded? Hm? Found yourself a husband? Let him have you like this? Let him fuck you full of his little bastards?”

 She’s nothing to say and even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to. All she can think is how good she feels, how well it feels to be so completely and utterly lost in this bliss, to be wrapped around her monster, her demon, her shame’s cock. She can hardly even focus on the words he speaks now. 

 Using the grip he has on her hair, he lifts her head and when he tells her to open his eyes, she can just barely make out his face beside hers through the reflection of the mirror. Her vision is blurry and with each piston of his hips, more stars dot her eyes but she still obeys, unwilling to let go of this pleasure she feels now for even a second. She is just as he says she is— she is greedy, she is ravenous, she is an animal. 

 Perhaps, they are much more alike than she’d care to admit. 

 “Did you think you’d find yourself another man who could make you feel as good as you do now?” Tom asks, his voice dripping with oily derision and she hangs on every word he says, breathing in his voice like a vapor. “There is no one else in this world good enough for you. No other man could do the things I do to you and you know it.”

 He drops her head and it falls pitifully back to the mattress. She cannot find it within herself to muster enough strength to lift it back up so she simply clutches the sheets as each thrust becomes angrier, more feral. 

 “How can you be so stupid?” He growls as he ridicules her, taking her so deeply, so hungrily that she cannot even bring herself to feel shame, her humility never once even crossing her mind. Her eyes roll back and her body is practically limp in his hands, a weak, pliant mess held together by a demon’s cock. 

 She feels so close to the edge she quite literally bursts into tears, soaking the bed sheets beneath her face. Her release is blinding white light that seems so close, a mere arm’s length away. Tom’s growl is like a roar as he spills himself inside of her, so deep she thinks she can feel him in her belly— and it might very well be true. 

 It’s just what she needs to come. She loses control of her body, the trigger of her orgasm the last thing she needs to release. Her finger curls around that trigger but just before she can pull it, his cock is gone, leaving nothing but his seed that oozes out of her cunt like rivers of hot magma as evidence for their deed. Tom drags her head up by her hair, forcing her to face him yet again through the mirror. 

 She hates him. A million curses materialize on the tip of her tongue but none come to fruition, not when she meets his gaze, so intense, it pierces through her skin like sharp ice that frosts over her bones. 

 “Did you think you’d get to come?” He clicks his tongue, feigning pity. “Poor thing. Unfortunately, as far as I’m concerned, insolent little brats do not deserve to be rewarded. Perhaps when you learn to behave, you will earn your release.”

 He lets go of her hair and she cries as her face meets the mattress again and her bedroom grows cold again and she knows that this time, he is truly gone. 

 And when she finally gathers enough strength to look at herself in the mirror, there her reflection was— staring back at her, toppled over, fucked out, and alone. 

a/n: its been so long since i last wrote for tom and i had just finished my rewatch of Nosferatu and then this thing was born LMAOOOO i hope you all enjoy it though 🤭

🪞 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! your feedback is always appreciated 🫶

TAGLIST:

@your-nanas-house

@sallowsarchives

@michelle-26

@iamthejam

@lyis

[heavenlybodies333]

Saints & Sinners - T.R.

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

word count: 2.9k

Pairing: Tom Riddle x you

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

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

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

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

Tom fucking Riddle.

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

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

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

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

The boys were waiting. And he would be there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom Riddle was nowhere to be seen.

Where the fuck was he?

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

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

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

“You’re in my way, princess.”

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

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

Why that arrogant bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t do shit about it.

And that? That was the best fucking part.

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

And you? You were made for it.

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

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

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

Orion wanted you. Always had.

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

Tom Riddle was.

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

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

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, everything happened at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Riddle—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: attached to him like a whorecrux

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[mrsriddles-blog]

His Obsession | T.R

Pairing: Slytherin Fem Reader X Tom Riddle

WC: 8.4k

Warnings/Notes: Mild language, smut, stalking, breeding kink, obsessed Tom, CNC?, pregnancy, etc.

Summary: You happen to have a so-not-secretive stalker who’s taken on an obsession with you…

You are an obsession (you are an obsession)

I cannot sleep (I cannot sleep)

I am a possession (I am your possession)

Unopened at your feet

There's no balance (there is no balance)

No equality (no equality)

Be still, I will not accept defeat (be still, I will not accept defeat)

He stood in the corner of the dorm, one that wasn't his own, but yours. He snuck in after he was sure you had fallen asleep. This was the first time he had gone as far as to sneaking in your dorm—at least while you were in it.

You had kicked most of the blankets off so that they laid at the end of your bed. There was a thin sheet that covered one of your legs, but the other laid on top of the sheet. The moonlight lit the room perfectly so that he could see you.

You wore a white tank top with black lace underwear. His eyes were still on your face, peaceful as you slept. Your eyelashes were against your cheeks, your plump lips parted as your breathed softly, unaware of the watching eyes on you.

His eyes trailed down the column of your throat, a place he has imagined his lips and hands many times. It was slender...and untouched. He wanted to touch it...mark it and make it pretty. He wanted everyone to see that you were claimed, that you were his.

His eyes fall lower, onto your chest. Your nipples had pebbled against the thin cotton and he took in a stuttered breath. Your breasts were spilling out the top as well, the tank top a few sizes too small, but clearly this was a comfort top of yours.

He noticed the tank top had ridden up, revealing the soft skin of your belly. He takes in a deep breath as he imagined it swollen with his child. He notes the soft curves that lead to the dip to your wide hips. He burns it into his memory.

You stir a bit, but you simply roll over. His eyes fall on your ass, big and round and perfectly accentuated by the black lace. His eyes roam over your thick thighs, noting the soft bare skin. You stir again, forcing yourself to keep your eyes closed as you feign sleep.

Someone was here.

You could feel it. You weren't necessarily scared, maybe slightly alarmed, but you had a feeling you knew exactly whom it was.

You were well aware of your stalker around the school. Tom Riddle thought he was subtle and secretive of the way he watched and followed you. But, you caught on. He's was quite obvious after all. But, instead of confronting him about his staring and following...you let it continue. You loved it.

You loved to egg him on. You moan softly as you slowly sit up, rubbing your eyes. Tom had grown tense where he stood, hoping to god you didn't look to much into the shadows.

"Bloody hell, it's so hot." You mutter to yourself.

It was actually quite nice in the room, but you decided you wanted to tease him. Maybe he'd come out of the shadows tonight and play.

You pull the tank top off, tossing it on the floor before lying back. You turn on your side, closing your eyes as you felt his eyes burn into you.

He stared at your breasts, the pebbled nipples that seemingly called out to him. He needed to leave before he lost control. But, he knew he needed to wait until you fell asleep.

I will have you, yes, I will have you

I will find a way, and I will have you

Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly

I will collect you and capture you

Just as he thought you had fallen asleep, you moan in annoyance again. He stands up straighter from where he had leaned against the wall. You sit up, propping yourself against the headboard.

You could feel the change in the air. You could feel his nerves. You knew exactly what he was thinking. You knew he was waiting until you fell asleep to leave, but you weren't ready for him to leave. You wanted him to play with you.

You trail a hand down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach before slowly sliding your hand down your panties. You moan softly, rubbing the sensitive ball of nerves.

He had grown even harder as he watched you play with yourself and he clenched his jaw, clenching his fists in his pockets as he fought the urge to go to you—to claim you.

You take your panties off, now frustrated they were in the way. You toss them on the floor, in the direction of where he stood. He looks down to where they have landed, right in front of him. He leans down slowly as he keeps his eyes on you as he grabs them. He stands, feeling the wetness on them.

Your breaths became faster as you got closer to reaching your high. You curl your fingers, hitting a spot you were unaware of—one that sent your eyes rolling back as you moaned out loud as you came.

You fell back against your bed, unconscious from the pleasure. You had always been quite sensitive to pleasure, only touching yourself twice before tonight. You were a virgin and didn't even know what pleasure could really be.

Tom was awed with how you came apart. Now, he wished he was above you so that he could be fucking you, making you feel pleasure, but so he could see you unravel.

You were beautiful.

He steps closer to the bed, knowing how risky it was, yet he felt like he couldn't leave without doing this. He cups your cheek, gently tracing your bottom lip. You moan softly, your lips parting. He gently sticks his thumb in your mouth, your lips wrapping around it as you sucked on it slowly before your mouth barely opened.

He pulled his thumb back, a trail of salvia left in its wake. He groans softly as he sucks the thumb you just had. He traces a hand down the column of your neck, down the valley of your breasts, over your belly before reaching where your hand laid limp between your legs. Two of your fingers glistened with your release and he gently grabbed your wrist, taking your two fingers in his mouth.

His eyes flutter closed, tasting your sweet release blossom over his taste buds. A taste he knew he was forever going to be addicted to. He lets your fingers free from his mouth, before disappearing to your attached bathroom. He grabs a rag, wetting it before going to carefully and gently clean you up.

He went back to the bathroom, putting it in the bin. He got to the doorway as he hears your soft moan. He sees you slowly sitting up. You found yourself wanting to touch yourself again, now wanting his touch.

He watches your fingers delve back between your wet folds. He bites his lip, watching you from a different angle, one where he saw your glistening folds from the pale moonlight.

"Oh god." You moan, your eyes squeezing shut.

He smirks, loving how sensitive you were. He couldn't wait until he got to experience your sensitivity with you. He could already imagine you getting all sensitive and worked up over it.

"T-Tom." You moan, not meaning to, but now you imagined it was him touching you.

His lips part in surprise as he watches you. It wasn't long before you were falling apart, realizing you moaned his name. You weren't embarrassed long as you passed out once again. He grabbed the rag, cleaning you once more and sucking on your fingers to experience your heavenly taste.

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

You awake to your alarm this time, naked and a bit sore down there from your activities late last night. You smile slightly, knowing he cleaned you up both times. You stand and get dressed in your white button up blouse, grimacing slightly.

Your family wasn't poor, but they also weren't rich. You were lucky to get your books for the year. Buying new clothes was a speciality in your household. So, the blouse was a bit small and couldn't be buttoned all the way. This one was the blouse you tried your best not to wear because it was buttoned right at your breasts. So, anyone could see your breasts that were beautifully accentuated by your lace bra. Thankfully, they couldn't see the bra.

Your blouse hasn't gotten that small just yet. You pull on your "school girl" skirt, another thing you didn't like to wear often as you rather wear you black ones that fit just right. Your "school girl" skirt was short and you were lucky if you didn't flash anyone if you bent over too much.

It was a green plaid style though, suiting your house colors which you liked. You pull on your white knee socks and your black Mary-Janes. You brushed your hair before you decided to pick up your clothes from last night that you had thrown when you got a little bold.

You found the tank-top, but not the panties. You knew you threw them right in his direction and you realized that he must've taken them. You smile slightly before grabbing your messenger bag. You walk out of your dorm, heading into the Common Room.

Tom sat with his friends where they normally sat. You fought not to make eye contact with him or to stare at him. You could feel his eyes on you though.

His eyes were on the blouse that he knew was a few sizes to small. He clenched his jaw, not happy that other boys would see his girl like this all day. Not to mention the skirt you wore.

"Good morning, Mary-Ellen. Are you ready to head to breakfast?" You ask, a polite smile on your face.

Your friends were already at breakfast, but Mary-Ellen was a first-year that you had taken under your wing. She was more advanced than most in her year, and she was a year younger than everyone, but everyone bullied her. Until you stepped in and now you protected her.

"I'm not really hungry today." She mumbles sadly, laying her head down on her arms that were folded on the table.

You frown, taking a seat across from her. You quietly cursed her brother, Avery—one of Tom's friends—who acted as if he had no association with her.

"What's going on, Mary-Ellen?" You question.

"I don't wanna talk about it." She grumbles.

"Mary-Ellen, we agreed that 'wanna' isn't a very polite word. We also agreed that we don't keep secrets from each other. Now, tell me what is bothering you. I'm sure we can fix it." You say, smiling softly at her.

"Avery, are you ever going to treat that little sister of yours, right? She truly thinks you hate her." Lestrange mumbles, watching the interaction between you and Mary-Ellen.

"No one would judge either. Your smart. No wonder she's smart." Abraxas says.

Avery looks at Tom who was already looking at him. He raises his eyebrows before rolling his eyes.

"Avery, she's your sister. Treat her like one rather than icing her out because you're embarrassed she has more brains than you." Tom says.

"There's this boy who keeps picking on me." Mary-Ellen murmurs.

"A boy? Who is this boy?" You ask.

"Someone." She mumbles.

"Mary-Ellen." You warn sharply.

"It's Samuel." She mumbles.

"And what is Samuel doing?" You question.

"It started with him throwing pebbles at me, then taking my school stuff and holding it away from me...but now he keeps trying to lift my skirt up randomly. He also keeps telling everyone we are dating and we had snogged in a broom closet." She exclaims upset, tears welling in her eyes.

Avery's jaw clenched, his eyes going to the doorway where Samuel so happened to enter. You happened to notice as well, Tom putting a hand out to stop Avery.

"Samuel! Come here, please." You call.

"Yes, Miss. Y/l/n?" He questions.

"I want to know why you are picking on, Mary-Ellen." You say expectantly.

"What are you talking about?" He lies.

"Samuel, please do not lie to my face. I don't like it and it's disrespectful. Be honest, so that we can properly figure this out. I've heard you've thrown pebbles at her, taken her school books to tease her, and then you're trying to lift her skirt. Not to mention you are spreading false rumors around the school. Do you know how rude that is? How do you think all of this has made Mary-Ellen feel? Do you know how much trouble you'll get in if this reaches a Professor or the Headmaster? This isn't okay behavior." You scold.

"I just wanted her attention." He mumbles.

"Samuel, whether you wanted her attention or not, that wasn't an appropriate way of gaining it. You've really upset Mary-Ellen. I hope you haven't done this to other girls either. It isn't polite. It is rude and disrespectful. If you wanted her attention, alls you had to do was approach her and talk to her. You didn't have to tease her, lie about her and harass her. I think you owe someone an apology." You say.

"Mary-Ellen, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was hurting your feelings. I promise I'll stop. I'll tell everyone it was just a rumor. I just really wanted your attention...I think your really pretty and I got really nervous about talking to you." He admits, his cheeks flushing red.

"It's okay, Samuel. Just don't do it again or I might have to hex you." She teases.

You smile, watching the two who ultimately end up going to breakfast together. You look at the time and know you won't have time for breakfast. You stand swiftly, smoothing your skirt out before leaving the Common Room.

Tom dismissed himself from his friends, following you from a distance. He was confused, noticing you were taking a different route. You stop in the middle of a corridor, feeling him following you—watching you.

"I can feel you following me and watching me." You say softly.

He stays in the shadows, watching you with curiosity. You smile, looking down at the ground.

"Maybe next time you'll play too? I could feel you watching me last night when I played with myself...and this morning my favorite pair of panties were gone." You say softly.

He swallows hard, a tent appearing his pants. You offered an invite for him to play with you. Not to mention, you were well aware of his eyes on you last night and you simply played with yourself before his eyes.

You carry on walking, aware he was following you still. You reach your class, slipping inside and hoped he'd make it to his class on time.

He did, per usual. He was waiting for Potions, where he hurriedly rushed to before leaving a note on your desk. He walked out and found Abraxas. He walked in with Abraxas to see you at your desk reading the note.

My Obsession,

Are you daring the devil to play? Naughty girl. You knew I was watching all along. If I had known, I would of feasted upon your heavenly taste between your legs. I might have snuck a taste from your fingers, a new addiction of mine. You can have your black panties back once I've claimed you as mine.

You smile slightly, noting how he knew he was obsessed with you and not to mention he tasted you. Your cheeks flushed red at the thought of his mouth around your fingers. You tuck the letter away before the Professor began to assign groups. He apparently decided to switch it up and do boy-girl and to try and have people work with people they normally don't.

You were partnered with a Gryffindor boy, your work station in front of Tom's and his partner who was a Slytherin girl you've seen sometimes.

"So, Y/n...are you single?" Leon asks.

"Yes...but I'm not actively looking for a relationship. Sorry." You say distractedly.

Tom sat behind you, glaring at Leon. He knew he hadn't claimed you just yet, but he was sure it was quite obvious he liked you. He was satisfied with your answer though which made him feel a tad bit better, but he was still pretty pissed off.

"Can I ask why you aren't looking for a relationship?" He asks.

"I'm not so sure it necessarily pertains to you. Sorry, but I just don't understand why your pushing the matter more than it needs." You say softly, not wanting to come off as rude.

"I'm interested in you. Your a nice girl who's smart and who's apparently not looking for a relationship." He says.

"I've got my eyes set on someone already." You say.

"In that case, I'm sorry. I should have known. It's quite obvious." He says.

"What? What's quite obvious?" You ask, turning your full attention to him.

His eyes fall on your chest, before you cleared your throat and he looked up.

"It's just...Riddle is always around you no matter where at." He says.

"Oh, he and I aren't together." You say, smiling like a lovesick fool as you turn back towards the cauldron.

"I never said you both were together. I just meant it's quite obvious you both like each other." He says.

You stay quiet, surprised he'd say that. You finish up the potion, waiting until Professor Slughorn could come over.

"Brilliant! As always!" He praises, putting a hand on your back as he looks at the potion.

"Thank you, Professor." You murmur, your cheeks flushing red.

"Of course. You go on and take a seat. Leon, you clean all of this up." He says before walking away.

Class was over not before long and you stand, grabbing your bag before you quickly hurry away. You could hear Tom trying to get through the crowd of people, sensing his growing annoyance as he tried to catch up with you.

You smile slightly, ducking down another hallway, before taking a different way to the Great Hall. You find your normal seat, getting sucked into a conversation either Katherine and Mirabelle.

"He's staring again." Katherine whispers with a smirk.

"When isn't he?" You chide, smiling back at her.

"I bet if you got up right now, he'd follow you." Mirabelle said.

"He probably would. I have finished my dinner, so maybe I'll test the theory. Once I get to the door I'll turn back and wave to you two. How's that?" You suggest.

"Go." Katherine urges excitedly.

You stand, smoothing out your skirt before making any other move. You shuffle down the bench so you wouldn't have to climb over it and risk flashing someone. You start to walk to the doors, pausing before turning back to wave to the girls who wave and send you kisses. Tom had stopped all movements and stood there waiting for you to walk out of the Great Hall.

You walk out, ducking into a dark corner. You see him step out, looking up and down the hallway. He curses before walking right past you. You wait until he's gone before going left where you take the long way to the Slytherin Common Room.

You walk in, just as he walked in from the direction of the girls dormitory's. You give him a polite smile, walking past him towards your dorm. The door was partially opened which it wasn't like that earlier today when you left.

I feed you, I drink you by day and night

I need you, I need you by sun and candlelight

You protest, you want to be

Safe, oh, there's no alternative (there's no alternative)

He stood in the corner of your dorm again and he watched as you slept soundly. Tonight, it was rather hot in the dorm, so you were in a tank top that had ridden up just below your breasts and another pair of lace panties, this time dark green.

The blankets had been kicked to the floor long ago and he was running his eyes along you almost continuously, trying to burn your soft curves into his memory. You moan as your eyes flutter open.

You could feel him again.

You slide the tank top off, throwing it in the direction you knew he would be. You shimmy your panties down your legs, tossing those in his direction as well.

They hit him in the chest, and he caught it effortlessly. You smile inwardly as you didn't hear them hit the floor. You gasp as a bundle of silk is thrown onto your bed. You grab the little note and open it.

My Obsession,

Put this around your eyes as a blindfold, then I'll come play with you.

You set the note on your end table, excitement coursing through you as you lightly trace the silk. You were dripping between you legs at this point, but nonetheless, you put the blindfold on.

Tom steps out of the shadows, walking around the room slowly. You let a shaky breath out, your ears straining to hear his soft footsteps. He stops at the end of your bed before he slowly climbs up. You let another shaky breath out as you feel him getting closer and closer to you until your breaths were mixing together.

His hand caresses your cheek, before kissing you softly. You hum softly, kissing him back. You gasp as your hands are pinned above your head against the headboard. He ties them there before his lips were back on yours.

His hand slides from your cheek to your jaw to your throat. He gives it a little squeeze, feeling your body jump from surprise. You relax and he smirks.

He lets his other hand roam, grabbing a handful of your breast, a moan eliciting from you. He pulls his lips from you before his hands trace over the rest of your curves. He moves your thighs further apart before kneeling between your parted thighs. He breathes in deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as your sweet smell of arousal.

"Please." You plead, opening your thighs wider.

He smirks, before his head was burying itself between your thighs, feasting upon your mound. You moan, your legs moving over his shoulders. You tug at your wrists, hoping to free them. You could feel the knot building in your stomach already.

His tongue was sinful and worked meticulously. He dove his long, slender fingers into your dripping cunt repeatedly, the squelching sounds along with your moans and pleads for more filling the room. You tighten around his fingers and he thrusts his fingers a few more times, lifting his head to watch you fall apart. He curls his fingers, watching your mouth fall open, a loud moan coming free as you arch your back, pushing yourself into his hand.

He thrusts his fingers slowly through your orgasm and you fall limp. He smiles, knowing how sensitive you truly are now. He leans down, licking you clean before he sits up and unties the binds on your hands and your eyes.

He moves to the corner of your dorm where he stands as he waits for you to awake. He had a plan, but that went to hell the moment his fingers were buried into your dripping cunt.

Your face appears again, I see the future there

But I see danger, stranger beware

Of circumstances in your naked dreams

Your affection is not what it seems

You were awake, but you hadn't opened your eyes yet. You could feel your hands were free and the blindfold was off, but you found yourself excited yet fearful of opening your eyes. You knew he was there still, but something about his energy right now made you feel off.

"Open your eyes, naughty girl. I know you're awake." He whispers.

You slowly open your eyes, looking at the ceiling before slowly pushing yourself up. You look around, and he steps out which catches your attention.

Tom Riddle, being illuminated by the pale moonlight watched you with a charming smile. You knew it was Tom, but seeing him now kickstarted your nerves.

"Tom." You breathe softly.

"Y/n." He murmurs, stepping forward.

You squeeze your thighs together, feeling your cunt throb as you watch the way he carries himself.

"You've been stalking me." You say softly.

"You've loved it." He points out.

"But I shouldn't have." You admit.

"No, you shouldn't have, but you're a naughty girl. You too have dark desires and wants, don't you?" He asks.

"Y-Yes." You whisper.

"Tell me, what do you want right now?" He asks.

"I...I don't know." You lie, turning your gaze to the end of your bed.

"Don't lie to me or I'll have to punish you. Be honest." He spats.

A part of your brain was screaming at you to run, that this man was dangerous, but another part of you loved the danger. You wanted to be in the presence of this man every waking hour of yours if you could. Your eyes flicker back up to his narrowed ones.

"I want you to claim me." You say softly.

His lips part, surprise etched upon his features only momentarily. His lips were moving to a small smile before he slowly begins to strip off his clothes. You watched intensely, realizing your imaginative brain hardly did any justice for this man.

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

You are an obsession, your my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

You lay back, a soft breath leaving you as he crawls over you, his eyes slowly taking you in. Your (hair color) was sprawled around majestically, framing your face. Your (eye color) stared up at him, innocence and desire swirling in their depths. Your plump lips were parted, waiting for his next move.

"You are so beautiful." He murmurs, tracing your jawline with his index finger.

"Thank you." You whisper, your nerves bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

"You are mine, Y/n. I don't think you truly realize the severity of that, but you are mine. It's in your best interest to steer clear of any males or I may have to kill them for fraternizing with what's mine. Especially, after tonight." He says, serious and calm.

Your heart raced, your mind and body trying to tell you how dangerous this man is, but you shoved that all away. You focused on him and your excitement, the adrenaline pumping through you and your desire for him.

"What if I just stick by your side after tonight? Or would you think I'm clingy?" You question.

"Never. I want you by my side for the rest of eternity. In the waking hours, I want you with me, but even in the hours of the night I want you by my side." He says.

"Then I'll be by your side." You breathe.

"My obsession." He whispers, sinking his hard cock into you slowly.

Your lips part, as if to say something or maybe to express your pleasure you felt right now, but no sound came out. Your eyes look up into his to see he too felt this amazing feeling you felt. It was heaven. He rocks his hips back and forth, sinking into your tight cunt. You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

My fantasy has turned to madness (has turned to madness)

And all my goodness (and all my goodness)

Has turned to badness (has turned to badness)

My need to possess you had consumed my soul

My life is trembling, I have no control

"Tom." You moan, as he sinks the rest of his cock into you.

"Shhh, I know. I know, darling." He murmurs.

"F-Full." You stutter out.

"Shhh, I know. You're doing so well for me right now, darling." He whispers.

"V-Virgin." You whisper.

"I know, I know...I'll be gentle until you tell me you want more." He murmurs.

He thrusts were slow, although a part of him—a messed up, sick part of him—wanted to be fast and rough with you. He wanted your nails digging into his skin, your tears falling down your cheeks, and your cries and blubbering, music to his ears.

However, he knew it'd be painful and no pleasure for you. He wanted you to experience pain, yes, but he wanted it to be pleasurable for you.

He watches your face that was still adjusting to his size. He knew you were a virgin simply from the way you acted. So innocent. Yet, he also has been obsessed with you for years. So, he knew it may take you a bit to adjust to his size. Not only is this your first time, but he is well aware that he is bigger than the average size.

He ducks his head to your neck, leaving little kisses. He left a quick little bite to see your reaction, only to hear your soft moan as you pushed his head closer to your neck.

He left more bites, his tongue soothing over the sting before he left a soft kiss there. He sucked on a spot on the nape of your neck, his teeth nipping at it as he let it go. He left more marks, loving your soft neck covered with his claim.

"Tom, I need more." You breathe.

He leans back, watching your face before pulling his hips back and slamming forward. Your back arches off the bed, a cry of pleasure leaving your lips as your eyes roll back. He places a hand on the headboard in front of him, the other resting beside your head as he thrusted fast and hard into you.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed off the walls, the bed scraping against the floor, your cries and mewls for more were all music to his ears. You tighten around him and he knew you were close.

"T-Tom, if I pass out...keep going. I can still feel it and it's even more heightened." You say, somehow managing to babble it out.

"Of course, darling. It's because you aren't necessarily passed out. You're not necessarily awake, but you're also not asleep. Your body is just overwhelmed from the pleasure." He murmurs.

Your open your mouth to respond as the coil in your stomach comes undone. You cry out, you back arching off the bed against as your nails drag down his back, your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. He clenched his jaw as you squeeze around him, but he keeps thrusting into you.

You were limp, but his lips part from surprise as little soft moans left your lips. He could feel his own high catching up with him, but he prayed you were awake to see him come undone.

You were slowly coming to, a lot faster than normal, and your eyes flutter open. You could feel your body feeling the pleasure ten times more than it had before you orgasmed. You had no words. You could only moan and cry out for more as you held him closer.

Your eyes were watching how he moved above you. His body was coated in a sheen of sweat just as yours. Everytime he slammed back inside you, the muscles in his arms, abs and chest would clench. His hair was damp, dangling in his dark blue eyes that were watching you. He looked like he could care less from a glance at his face, but in his eyes you could truly see how much this meant to him.

He groans, his face scrunching up as he comes with his last thrust inside of you. Your lips part, no sound passing them as you felt the most amazing feeling ever. He slowly thrusts to ride out his high before pulling out of you. He lays beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he kisses your forehead.

He pets your damp hair, thinking about all the things he's wanted with you. Now, he can have them. He glanced at your belly and smiles slightly, imagining it swollen with his heirs.

I will have you, yes, I will have you

I will find a way, and I will have you

Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly

I will collect you and capture you

You had fallen asleep, your hand rested above Tom's heart, your head tucked in the crook of his neck and your legs entangled with his. This...was exactly as he had imagined it.

He found himself dozing off, feeling tired for the first time in a very long time. Tonight would be the best night of sleep he has ever had and he knows it's because he has you. You were the first one awake, but you weren't in any rush to wake Tom up or to move for that matter.

It was Saturday, meaning you both could sleep in late. Even if you both missed breakfast, they'd have lunch or snacks in the Great Hall for anyone.

"You're staring." Tom mumbles, his eyes still closed.

"You're handsome, how could I not?" You ask, a soft smile on your lips.

His lips twitch before they were tilting up. He opens his eyes, looking over you lazily from where you were now sitting up next to him.

"You look stunning in the mornings too." He breathes, almost like he was in shock.

"Oh stop it." You mumble, your cheeks flushed red.

"I mean it, you are beautiful." He murmurs.

"I...I...I'm not quite sure what to say." You admit quietly, looking down at the bed in shyness.

"You don't have to say anything. Come here." He says, opening his arms.

You climb onto his lap that was covered by the thin sheets, letting his arms settle around you. He kisses you softly, cupping your cheek. His tongue glides across your bottom one, silently pleading for your lips to open. To his luck, they did. His tongue slides into your mouth, his movements becoming more urgent as he tugs you closer to him, his teeth clattering with yours.

His hands slide from your hips to your ass, pulling you closer to him. You moan softly, your hands getting lost in his hair.

He pulls away, looking you over slowly, his eyes falling on your stomach. Oh, how he wanted to see you swollen with his child. He moves the sheets, revealing his hard cock. Your pupils dilate, his words washing away as you begin to sink down into his hard cock. You moan, rolling your eyes up to his, the both of you getting lost in the pleasure.

"You both have been around each other most of the time and she still doesn't know of your plans?" Abraxas asks.

Tom sighs, running a hand over his face. He knows Abraxas may have a point as you and him have been together for four months now, but he wasn't convinced whether you'd freak out or not.

Not to mention, the sneaking around over the summer so you both could hang out was ridiculous. Apparently, your parents dislike Tom immensely for no reason. At least to your opinion. Tom is sure they know he's a half-blood which would mean they have similar views to him which means you could have similar views as well.

Abraxas rambled on and Tom stared at the window, his thoughts back on you. You had returned to your home for the weekend as your parents had requested, so he found himself missing you immensely. Two days apart was the longest you both have been apart...since being together.

It was your guys' year seven and were two months into the year now. The cold, chilly weather was approaching at full force and that only meant the holiday season was as well.

"T-Tom, can I speak with you?" You ask quietly.

His head snaps to the left, seeing that you stood in the doorway of the Common Room. His eyes run over you, looking for a sign that you were hurt as he could tell you were upset.

"You're back early. Is everything okay?" He asks, standing and striding towards you.

You take his hand with one of your shaky ones, silently leading him to your dorm. You close the door, leaning your head against it as you think of the best way to approach this. Tom noticed you had more bags in your room and he turns to you confused just as you had turned and leaned your back against the door.

"Darling?" He asks.

"Tom...my parents said I either needed to break up with you if I were to continue living with them. Or...if I were to stay with you...then I would be cut off and kicked out of the house." You say quietly.

"Are you trying to break up with me?" He asks calmly.

"No! Tom, can't you see! I chose you! Because I love you! Yet, I won't have anywhere to go after school. And I need a place to go, Tom. I can't be homeless." You exclaim.

"Darling, we will find a place. You won't be homeless. I would never let that happen. We will figure it out." He says.

"Tom, we need to figure this out fast. I'm pregnant. Roughly a month. We can't raise our child on the streets of London. We need a home." You stress, tears welling in your eyes.

His lips part with surprise as he looks at your stomach. He knew something had been different about you lately. You've had a glow to you that he can't get over.

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

Tom eyed you from where he sat at a table in the library. You had gotten up to find another book, but his eyes were on your swollen stomach. He was more than obsessed with you pregnant. He told you and himself that you were going to be pregnant again and again.

You felt as you were ugly pregnant, but with the way Tom was constantly eyeing you and ravishing you any moment of the day, you knew you must've looked pretty in his eyes. When you first started to show, he was dragging you to your dorm, empty closets or empty classrooms to ravish you at least five or six times a day.

It's definitely been a challenge for you to keep up with Tom, but you adored him. Now, you were roughly seven months and only had roughly two weeks until graduation. Tom had been a bit more spacey recently, trying to make sure everything is sorted out once you both graduate. But, that didn't mean he didn't have time to sneak off with you and to ravish you while telling you how beautiful you were.

He cut it down to maybe once or twice a day—if you were up to it of course—as he didn't want to hurt you or the baby.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you continued to read the book you had found. You rest a hand on your belly, grimacing as you feel pain. You have an appointment today, the first since you went before you left your parents as you've been to embarrassed.

The stares and whispering had grown too much for you to bear, so you hid away most of the time if you could. However, you were sure Tom said something and made threats as most of that has come to an end. He was the one who actually fought with you about having an appointment.

"Everything okay, darling?" Tom asks, standing behind you as he rests his hands on your hips.

"I-I don't know if this is normal...I've never felt this before." You whisper, a hand on your belly.

"Everything okay?" The librarian asks, coming over to you two.

"I think something's wrong. This doesn't feel right." You say panicked.

She steps forward, ignoring Tom's narrowed eyes as she places her hand on your belly. Her face softens as she looks at you, a soft smile on your face.

"Oh dear, this isn't bad. This is good, really good. This is your baby kicking. I'm surprised it hasn't started earlier. Tom, you should have a feel." She says, taking her hand away.

Tom's eyebrows furrow before he places his hand on your bump. He jumps slightly before placing his hand back on your belly.

"Does it hurt?" He asks.

"Not really. It hurt a bit at first, but now the baby is kicking in a different area. It doesn't hurt as bad here." You say quietly.

"I'll leave you two to it. If you ever have any questions, don't fret to ask dear. I've got three of my own." She says, smiling softly before leaving you both.

"He's quite strong." Tom murmurs.

"He could be a she." You chide, rolling your eyes up to his.

"It's a boy. I can feel it." He says.

"Okay then." You mumble, rolling your eyes as you look back down at your book.

"You've gotten quite the attitude the past few days and I'm not so sure I'm having it." He says calmly.

"And what would you do about it?" You asks.

"Spank you. Push you to the edge over and over again. Make you want my cock, but I won't give it to you. I'd make you so sorry that you'll be begging at your knees for my forgiveness. So, tell me...are we going to straighten up our little attitude problem, or am I going to have to punish you?" He murmurs into your ear.

You were tense, your panties wet with arousal. You wanted to say something snarky, but with how horny you've been yourself because of the pregnancy hormones...you weren't so sure you were going to risk that.

Not to mention, Tom was true to his word—always. If he wanted to prove a point to you, he'd prove his point and he'd prove it pretty goddamn well. You could be on your knees and it wouldn't be enough. He's sadistic and he likes you like that. Maybe if you threw tears in the mix, he might cave—might as the keyword—but even that wasn't a solid might.

"I'll start behaving." You mumble.

"Good girl." He whispers, leaving a soft kiss on your neck before walking back to the table.

He watches as you move a hand to your belly again, looking down at it with a soft smile. You whisper something to your belly, something he wishes he heard, but instead he watches you with awe.

He knew you'd be an amazing mother. You've tried all you could to learn about your pregnancy, but you've come to learn that all pregnancies aren't the same. Each experience is unique and special. You've found you have to learn what works for you and you've got to find what is the right fit just for you. Tom has admired your growth and strength during your pregnancy.

He knows you don't feel beautiful pregnant, but he thinks otherwise. Everytime he looks at you, he sees a goddess whom he worships. He's already decided he wants to see you pregnant several more times after this.

You wobble over to the table again, his smile widening as you struggle. He stands, helping you sit before pushing your chair in. He's learned to love how dependent you've became. He loves to help you. He likes feeling needed by you. Even if it's simple tasks just because it's hard for you to walk sometimes.

"Tom." You murmur.

"Yes, darling?" He asks, looking you over slowly.

"I think I'm going to miss it...you know...being pregnant and all. I've really grown to like the baby bump. It's an intimate feeling knowing that there's a baby growing in here and I'm helping it grow by eating and whatnot. I think I'm going to be really sad to see the bump go." You admit.

"Darling, don't be sad. I plan to get you pregnant several more times. I love how beautiful you look pregnant. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I laid eyes on before, but when I saw you pregnant...it was like I was staring at a goddess." He says.

"What if you don't like me after I'm pregnant though? My body is going to change, a lot." You sigh, looking down.

"Y/n...darling, look at me. You are going to be beautiful, so beautiful. I wish you could see what I was seeing everyday. Sure, your body may be different. But, you spent months growing a life in there. How magical is that? I think it's quite extraordinary what you're doing. I know most women can do this, but you're mine and I think everything you do is extraordinary. But, I'll always think you're beautiful and I hope one day I can make you see how beautiful you are." He says.

"Tom, I wish you knew how much I love you." You say, your eyes stinging with tears of love.

You knew he wasn't the most emotional person. He's told you before, he never expected that he'd gain feelings for someone. He truly thought he was incapable of feeling—until you. At first, he simply thought it was an infatuation that turned to an obsession that later turned into his burning love for you. He doesn't say it often, but when he does tell you that he loves you, you take it and hold onto that moment.

"You tell me every day, darling. So, I think I have an idea." He murmurs, offering you a sly smile before looking back down at his book.

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

You are an obsession

"Tom...aren't they perfect?" You murmur, looking down at the twin boys you had hours earlier.

Tom was staring at you, the way you looked at your sons with so much love and care already. His eyes fall to your lips which were stretched into a soft smile as you looked down at your boys. He watches you gently stroke one's cheek before looking back at your face.

"Yes. Perfect." He murmurs.

"Tom! I'm talking about our sons, not me." You scold, your cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

"I know! They are perfect and so are you. Mattheo definitely favors your more. I'm kind of jealous he's going to be so fetching as he grows older." He says.

"Oh shush, you. Tom favors you and I think both of our boys will be quite fetching once they grow older. It's definitely in their eyes." You say.

"God, I want you pregnant again." Tom murmurs.

"Tom! Let's wait until we at least get these two out of diapers! We are going to have our hands full." You exclaim, laughing slightly.

Tom takes Mattheo so you can feed the fussy Tom who hadn't wanted to take a bottle earlier.

"Please get out of diapers soon so that I can put another sibling in your mommy." Tom whisper.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle! He is a baby! Shush! You can't talk to him like that." You scold.

"Like he'll remember that. If he does, we have bigger problems on our hands." He says.

"Tom, shush. I love you, but shush." You say, laughing softly.

He smiles slightly, enjoying that sound from you. He watches as you look back down at Tom with a soft smile. Mattheo starts to squirm and he looks down at the boy. He smiles slightly, lifting a hand to swipe some of the hair out of his eyes.

Mattheo lifts a hand, his tiny hand wrapping around Toms pinky. Mattheo's brown eyes look up into Tom's blue ones. A big gummy smile appears on his face before he sneezes. Tom huffs out a quiet laugh, looking back down at the boy who snuggled closer to him. He leans down slightly, leaving a soft kiss on his head.

"I love you, Mattheo." He murmurs.

He looks up to see you staring at him with a big smile. You could tell he was embarrassed by showing his love for his son publicly, but you stick your hand out to him. He takes it, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"I love you." You murmur.

"I love you." He says, looking down at you with intense eyes.

He looks over at the fussy baby in your arms. He leans down, place a soft kiss on Tom's head as the baby lifted a hand and rested it on Tom's cheek, looking into his blue intense eyes with his identical ones.

"I love you, Tom." He murmurs.

He sits back, watching as he snuggled closer to you, seeming content now. He looks back at you, leaning down and leaving a soft kiss on your lips.

"I love you more than words, darling. I can't even begin to express how much I love you, nor how much I care. I know I struggle to show you those acts on a day to day basis, but I want you to know you truly mean the world to me." He murmurs.

"I know, love. I think I say it enough for the both of us. I appreciate all that you've done for us. I love you so much and I can't wait for our eternity together." You say softly

You are an obsession, you're my obsession

[your-nanas-house]

Voldemort x malfoy reader where he’s in desperate need for an heir so he ‘does’ the reader over the large dining table with a lot of ‘yes my lord’

Love it, sorry if it took me so long 😭

Yes, my Lord

◇ Pairing: Lord Voldemort X Malfoy!Reader

◇ Warnings: age gap (both off age but it's a clear big age gap), smut, HEAVY DUB-CON, public sex, p in v, wet spell (dunno if it exists but I use it every time 😬), breeding kink, creampie... just Tom Riddle, the death eaters watch them

◇ Summary: The dark Lord was ready to have heirs.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. The writing is pretty shitty, 'M so sorry and it's kind of dark.

Her eyes snapped up as soon as the dark lord pronounced her name in a strange tone, she wasn't exactly following the whole monologue that the now former Tom Riddle was gifting his followers. So she was oblivious at the topic connected to her name.

As she carefully scanned the room, her father, Lucius Malfoy, spoke with a worried expression on his face “B-But… my lord, she—” he tried, shutting his mouth as soon as the red eyes of the dark wizard glared slowly at him.

“I made my choice, Lucius… do you have anything to add?” He asked in a calm voice as he leaned closer, receiving just a head shake… the blonde man too scared to defend his own daughter in front of the older wizard.

When Voldemort called her name again, moving his slender fingers to indicate her to move closer.. she got up, her body shaking softly and sweating due to the fear and panic she was feeling at the worried expressions of her family.

She inhaled loudly as soon as the cold fingers of her lord brushed the side of her neck, traveling slowly down to her hips… making a grin appear on his face as her skin reacted with goosebump.

“Y/n, Y/n, Y/n… my poor little dove,” Tom cooed, moving his free hand in her hair before taking a firm grip and bending her down on the wooden table, a loud thud echoing in the room.

Every gaze was now staring at them, some were concerned, others worried and complacent… as Y/n's eyes started filling with tears, shutting tightly as the cold slender fingers lifted the skirt of her dress so that they could rest on her covered ass cheeks.

“My little dove, you know why I'm doing this, right?” Her lord cooed again, starting to knead her flesh harshly “I need a young cunt with a body that could carry strong heirs in it, hm” he continued while covering her now naked lower half with his cape, which swallowed the sinful act perfectly.

The death eaters had just a perfect view of the young witch’s face which showed clear fear and worry.

They could see Tom’s hand moving under the cape, silence except for noises of metal caused by his belt hitting the floor… sounds that made them stare more intently.

Some started to look away while others kept focusing on them, admiring how the older man leaned down to whisper in her ear something that remained between them before her front body hit the table harshly.

A loud whimper escaped her mouth as soon as she collided with the wooden surface, her hands grabbed into whatever she could reach as an uncomfortable whimper broke the silence.

A soft light of a spell appeared from under the fabric and little time after that her whole body jolted forward, her head hitting the table as well.

Given by the dark lord’s expression of pleasure and hers of pain the dark wizards knew that was happening.

His movements were clear and the noises loud, his thick long cock kept forcing her walls open, as he pulled almost completely out so that his tip was the only thing inside of her.

Soft whimpers kept leaving her pretty mouth, tears kept running down her face wetting her young skin as she took everything her idol was giving her.

“Take it” Voldemort hissed, holding her flat against the table while snapping his hips forward, his cock hitting her cervix in a painful but pleasurable way as hisses kept leaving his mouth.

The Parseltongue sent shivers down her spine, those hiss and smooth noises kept swirling in her head, making her wetter than usual and almost too submissive.

It was her first time, Tom knew it, and he was enjoying it way more than he should… his breath getting heavier and heavier as he moved faster and harder not really carrying to make her cum or her pleasure.

“Going to take my heir!” he hissed, his tongue daring out to lick the skin of her ear shell sinfully

“I’m gonna fill… you.. up” he added, speaking after each thrust, as he smirked evilly when her body started to shake due to the intense feelings.

Her mind was telling her how wrong the whole situation was while her body kept reacting positively— her voice even cracked softly due to his fast thrusts… making it get higher while she continued to repeat the same answer as a mantra.

The young woman's eyes rolled back as her lord cupped her breasts through the fabric of her dress, squeezing and kneading them roughly to continue the now pleasant assault.. now a bit sloppier since he was reaching his own peak.

Y/n was on the same path, and after a particularly hard thrust, her body spasmed and her jaw dropped open…. her walls clenched around his hard and veiny cock, allowing Tom to finally release inside of her. Thrusting his hips to get it deeper inside of her before slowly pulling out.

A soft sigh of satisfaction escaped his mouth, his slender hands moved under the cloak as well, assuring that his seed wouldn’t leave her body.

Both were still breathing heavily as the young witch took a couple of deep breaths, falling slowly down, her bare knees hitting the cold floor of her family Mansion.

“Lovely… You have such a wonderful and useful daughter, Lucius” The dark lord murmured in a mocking tone, petting softly her hair while staring deeply in her father’s eyes, who was still at the table

“Make sure she will be there next week, for the next… encounter” he ordered, taking a grip on her hair to move her head easily, so that her eyes could meet his piercing red ones “I will see you later, dove”.

His voice was smooth and tempting, a contrast to the rough actions that just happened… his caress feeling almost soft and loving even if his stare was just communicating pure possessiveness and domination.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter

[deadghosy]

⊹˖✧°⋅

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲!𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐗 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Sugar daddy!Tom who would take you to fancy dinners.

Sugar daddy!Tom who pay for everything. He’s your sugar daddy, and you’re his baby.

Sugar daddy!Tom who does show off his expensive ice watch when some other bloke tries to impress you.

Sugar daddy!Tom who could definitely buy out a shop for you if you asked.

Sugar daddy!Tom who just hands you his black card. Don’t worry baby, he’s got himself and you all covered.

Sugar daddy!Tom who would paid for all your hair & nail appointments. You name it, he’s got it paid in an instant.

Sugar daddy!Tom bringing you to his business trips. He has to spoil his baby that’s always by his side.

He could possibly buy the world for you. Hell, he spoils you rotten.

He’s buying you Prada, Chanel, any brand you like. Just tell him and he’s buying it for you.

The cold type of sugar daddy that makes you beg for him to buy you something. He loves when you beg.

The type of sugar daddy to help put on your heels or any shoes on your feet.

When it’s your birthday, it’s never plain at the least. He’s always surprising you every time.

Your wardrobe is decked out in any outfits of fashion. Say thank you to him.

He always has reservations at the fanciest restaurants ever.

Buys your most expensive shit ever so you can flex how both have a good future husband.

[atypicalamortentia]

The Forest || Lord Voldemort

Synopsis - You're Harry Potter’s twin sister, and the scar on your forehead proved as a constant reminder of that but now, it was burning more than it ever had and you knew he was out there… watching you.

Warnings - NSFW. Dub-Con.

Notes - Characters are aged 18+!

Word Count - 3.6k.

{Caffeinate Me}

Leaves falling from the trees pepper the forest floor beneath your feet as you walked deeper and deeper into the abyss. You are Harry Potter’s twin sister, and the scar on your forehead proved as a constant reminder of that, but now, it was burning more than it ever had and you knew he was out there… watching you. A crunch of leaves came from behind you, and you twirled around on your heels quickly coming face-to-face with that pale monster from your nightmares. “Hello darling.” Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat as he sauntered over to you without a care in the world. The smell of smoke and leather was overpowering as he stood before you. 

“What do you want?” Your voice faltered, your fear clearly evident both in your words and your face. 

“Oh come now,” Voldemort smirked. “That’s no way to talk to your beloved, is it?” 

“My beloved?” You asked, narrowing your eyebrows. The thought alone made you feel sick. Voldemort just chuckled at your question. 

“Yes. Your beloved. You may not realise it yet, but you will.” 

Your brows furrowed even more at his words, and the sheer audacity of them. He had tried to kill you when you were a baby and now he was calling you his ‘beloved’? You couldn’t help but scoff at his words, a little bit of laughter leaving your throat as you rolled your eyes. “What do you want?” You asked again, this time sounding more confident than before. 

“You, of course.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice was laced with confusion and intrigue. 

Voldemort took another long stride towards you until now he was right within your personal space. “I want you. I’ve come to take you, to make you mine.” 

Your eyes widened yet again and you shook your head violently. “I will never be yours.” 

“You must be naive if you truly think that,” Voldemort whispered, his voice low and husky, hitting your ear just right to send shivers up your spine. 

“I’m not naive,” you spat. 

Voldemort’s breath on your face was hot and overwhelming. Surprisingly, his breath smelt minty, almost as if he had been chewing on a mint moments before this encounter. He leaned into your ear, whispering. “Oh my dear, you’re more naive than you realise.” 

The colour drained from your face as his breath fanned across your ear and cheek. He pulled away to stare into your eyes, his icy gaze bore directly into your soul and you couldn’t help but shudder in response. “You’ve been watching me,” you say to him after a few moments of silence. 

“Watching you? Yes, I have been watching you, and for quite some time now.” 

“Why?” 

Voldemort began to circle around you, a tactic he knew would work to make your nerves shoot on edge the second his body left your line of sight. His hand rested on your shoulder and moved to the other almost gracefully as he walked around you. “You intrigue me, young Potter. You’re nothing like your brother.” 

“We are different people,” you snapped, turning your head to finally follow his movements. 

“I know that, my dear.” 

“Stop calling me that.” 

“And why should I?” He retorted. 

“Because I’m not your ‘dear’,” you spat back. 

“Not yet,” he grinned. His grin was toothy and it was enough to send even more shivers down your spine. Eventually, he reached the front of your body after completing a painfully slow circle around you and stopped dead within arms reach. “Tell me, Y/N, are you afraid of me?” You don’t even get a chance to say ‘no’ before he interrupts you. “Don’t lie to me.” Another gulp leaves your throat and all you can do is nod at him. You’d be stupid to say you weren’t afraid of Voldemort. He had been after you and your brother for the past 10 years. He grins widely yet again and reaches a hand out to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear, making you shy backwards until you hit a tree. Voldemort stalked towards you, almost as if he were a cat stalking a bird, and placed both of his hands on either side of the tree right next to your head. He had you boxed in now. There was nowhere you could run, and if you tried he would surely make you suffer the consequences for even trying. A pale white hand with extremely long fingernails came up to cup your right cheek, bringing your face closer to his. His aroma was certainly something you hadn’t expected and it was almost intoxicating. You had to shake your head lightly to remind yourself that this man was a monster. And not just any monster, he was the Dark Lord. As if able to read your mind, Voldemort let out a dry chuckle from his throat. “It’s okay to give in to me, darling. Things would be a lot easier if you did.” 

“I will never give in to you,” you snapped, moving your head away from his hand. 

Voldemort sighed slightly, clearly disappointed with your answer. “Oh my love, you will.” His hand fell down from your cheek to your hip, holding you tightly with an iron grip. You winced at the slight pain in your hip from his hold and tried to break free, but to no avail. “Tell me, what’s going through that pretty head of yours right now?” 

A hiccup threatened to erupt from your throat before you finally felt confident enough to answer the Dark Lord. “I’m thinking about how I could kill you right now.” 

Another dry chuckle left Voldemort’s lips. “Kill me? Now, now, is that really necessary?” He still wore that annoying grin on his face and it was obvious that he wasn’t the least bit fazed by your threat. 

“Necessary? Yes.” 

“And what makes you think you could kill me, little one?” He asked, intrigue in his voice. You shrug lightly, unsure of how exactly you would kill him. You could use his own forbidden curse against him, but you were no Dark Witch. At your shrug, Voldemort laughed. A hearty laugh as if you had just told him the most hilarious joke. This frustrated you even more and you struggled against the grip he had on your hips. “You couldn’t kill me if your life depended on it.” 

“I’d give it a good go,” you seethed through your teeth. Your eyes turned into little slits as your face scrunched up in anger. 

“I could kill you right now, darling, and nobody would come to save you,” he threatened, his laughing coming to a halt. “Does anybody even know you’re out here? All alone?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. You shook your head ever-so-slightly. Of course nobody knew you were out in the forest, alone, in the dead of night. Voldemort grinned yet again and let one of his hands loosen their grip on your hip to retrieve his wand from the inside of his robe. Another breath hitched in your throat as he pressed the tip of his wand to your neck, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Your life was flashing before your eyes; all the mistakes you made, the bad decisions, everything. He laughed viciously as he saw the tears in your lower lash line. “Oh don’t be so dramatic,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “Do you really think I would kill you?” 

You blinked rapidly, snapping yourself out of your trance. With a wobbly voice, you responded. “Yes.” 

Voldemort huffed; however, the tip of his wand remained pressed against your neck. “I’m not here to kill you. I told you, I'm here to make you mine.” At his words, he trailed his wand down your neck, across your collarbone and down the front of your blouse stopping just above the waistline of your skirt. His movements had been slow and seductive as he grinned down at you. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a heat pooling between your legs, that your body was betraying you at the evil man stood in front of you. “I can smell you,” he whispered huskily, inhaling the air around the two of you. “Your arousal. It smells so sweet.” 

“I’m not aroused,” you snapped back, although you knew that he knew you were lying. 

“Oh? You’re not?” He asked casually, another smirk forming on his face. “So if I was to dip a finger down your underwear now, you’d be as dry as a bone?”

“It’s called discharge,” you reply harshly. Voldemort just chuckled at this. He knew you were lying to his face, but he wouldn’t pull you up on it just yet. It was only a matter of time before you fell into his arms and he knew this. “What’s so funny?” You snapped. 

“Nothing,” he smirked, waving a hand in front of your face. “I just find it… cute how naive you are.”

“I am not naive!” Voldemort continued his devilish grin at you, one of his hands still grasping your hips tightly while the other remained on his wand stationed just above the waistband of your skirt. He leaned in close to your right ear before nibbling at your lobe. Your breathing was now heavy as his teeth skimmed your skin, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Fuck. Why was your body betraying you? You felt a jolt of electricity surge through your body as his teeth continued to work at your earlobe, smirking at the noises you were making. 

“You make such beautiful sounds, my love,” he whispered, pulling away from your ear slightly to look into your eyes. Immediately you looked away to the left, trying to force the slight blush that was rushing to your cheeks away, or trying to make it so the Dark Lord wouldn’t notice the effect he was having on you. Voldemort wasted no time in kissing your jawline, grunts of approval leaving his lips as your body buckled against his. “Keep making them for me.” 

“N-No,” you manage to stammer out. The heat in your cheeks flushing down your body, settling into a dull ache between your thighs. 

“No?” Voldemort asked, raising an eyebrow at you. He pulled away from kissing your jaw for a moment to watch the expression on your face, one filled with confusion. 

“No,” you repeat more confidently. You puffed your chest out, your breasts pushing against his chest. This action sent Voldemort’s mind into a spiral and his grip on your hip tightened. 

He looked down at the tip of his wand resting just above the waistband of your skirt. “Take it off,” he murmured. 

“What?”

“Take. It. Off.” Your eyes widened like a deer in headlights as his words processed in your brain. Your heart was hammering against your chest and for good reason. The Dark Lord was telling you to take your skirt off. You went to shake your head in protest, but his grip tightened further. “You don’t have a choice, sweetheart. Take it off.” Your hands shakily made their way to your skirt's waistband, thumbs hooking underneath before pulling it down hesitantly. His hand moved off your hip to give you the means to pull down the item of clothing. You looked up at Voldemort to see him staring at you with a predatory gaze, his wand now tucked delicately back into his robes. Once your skirt pooled at your feet, Voldemort wasted no time in turning you around so you were now facing the tree. Both of his hands now rested on your hips before he felt up your plump ass, squeezing your cheeks together in the palms of his hands. Mumbling something under his breath, Voldemort ripped your underwear from your body and allowed the tattered fabric to float silently down to the forest floor - your pussy now on full display for him to see. You cringed at the fact, and at the feeling of your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. 

You wanted to scream, to shout for help, but when you opened your mouth no words were able to come. You found yourself wanting this. One of his feet nestled between your own, forcing your legs apart and ripping a gasp from your throat. Then, a pale slender finger made its way between your thighs, collecting some of your wetness before rubbing slowly at your puffy clit. Already, your knees began to shake. The feeling of pleasure already filling your body and the Dark Lord had barely even touched you. A chuckle brought you out of the little bubble you were in. “Ah, you’re singing so sweetly for me.” 

“Shut up,” you grumbled, pathetically attempting to close your legs. 

Voldemort just laughed darkly in response, his foot staying firmly in place in order to keep your legs wide open. His finger strummed at your clit almost expertly, pushing you to throws of ecstasy that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Are you going to cum from this?” Voldemort asked, a shit eating grin on his face. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to stop yourself from biting back a harsh response and instead just nodded. “Your pussy is so needy. I already know it’s pulsing for my cock.” 

At his words, a cry of pleasure left your lips and your knees began to buckle beneath your weight. Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave and tears of shame and pleasure fell down your cheeks. The Dark Lord continued his fingers' ruthless assault against your swollen clit until your moans came to a halt and he knew your orgasm had subsided. You were breathing heavily, hands spread out and palms digging into the bark of the forest tree you were facing as if holding on for dear life. You were about to move when you heard the unbuckling of a belt, and the zip of a zipper. Then you felt something heavy and hard pressed up against your ass cheeks. He was big. 

Voldemort let his hand grasp the base of his large cock and positioned it at your soaked entrance. Without hesitation, or warning, he pushed the engorged head inside of your cunt forcing a moan to fall from your throat. He whispered praises into your ear as he slowly forced the rest of the inches inside your warm walls and came to a halt, politely giving you a moment to adjust to the foreign sensation invading your body. You took a shaky breath and nodded, giving the Dark Lord the go-ahead to continue. And he did. Mercilessly. His hips snapped against yours and it was as if the world had finally fallen into place for him. This was where he needed to be, forever. Voldemort’s hands grasped your hips tightly as he pounded against you, hitting that sweet spongy spot inside that had you seeing stars already. Nobody had ever fucked you this good, but you’d be damned if you’d say that out loud. “Fuck, you feel so tight,” he growled against your ear, nails digging into your hips. Surely there would be noticeable marks on your hips by the time he was finished with you. “I know you haven’t been fucked for a long time. You think I wasn’t watching you? This whole time, I’ve been in the shadows watching everything you do. Watching everyone you talk to.” At his words, your walls tightened even further, constricting around his cock. This told him everything that he needed to know: you were enjoying this. “Do you like that? The thought of me watching you?” He asked. You nodded your head pathetically, but Voldemort growled in response. “Use your words, my love.” 

“Yes,” you gasped out, nails dragging down the bark on the tree in front of you. 

“Good girl.”

His praise sent a shockwave through your core and you already felt your second orgasm approaching. You felt ashamed. Ashamed that the man who had tried to kill both you and your brother when you were just babies was making you cum. Ashamed that his cock was drilling in and out of your tight hole. Ashamed that you were loving every moment of it. One of Voldemort’s hands moved from your hips to cup your covered breast, bouncing with the force of his thrusts. He squeezed tightly, another moan slipping past your pursed lips. 

“I-I can’t!” You cried out, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder. 

Voldemort brought his lips to yours, smashing against yours and immediately slipping his tongue inside of your mouth. His tongue wasted no time in fighting for dominance and his hips never faltered, his rhythm almost out of this world. Your heart continued to beat out of your chest but the second his lips attached to yours, you felt it stop for a second. He groaned into your mouth as your cunt fluttered around his cock, signalling how close you were to your release. He kissed you feverishly, almost desperately before pulling away. A string of saliva connecting your lips. “You can’t? You can’t what, my sweet?” Voldemort asked, a dry laugh on the tip of his tongue. 

“I can’t cum again,” you whimpered, your body already feeling as though it was going limp against his. 

He continued to thrust against you at an ungodly pace, his cock threatening to spill his own release inside of you at any minute. “You can. I can feel it. Play with your clit,” he demanded. Almost immediately one of your hands fell from the tree in front of you to between your legs, playing with the throbbing bundle of nerves. The second your fingers touched the little bud, it was like a dam breaking. Your entire body shivered with the force of your orgasm, a cry-like scream of Voldemort’s name falling from your lips. Your cunt quivered around his cock, which in turn caused the Dark Lord to spill his seed deep inside of your womb without hesitation. “Fuck Y/N,” he growled, almost angrily. His hips continued to mash against yours, albeit slower, as his creamy cum filled you. Your eyes widened as you realised he had cum inside of you without warning you first, and rage filled your senses. When his cum had stopped pouring inside of you, Voldemort pulled out of you and took a step back admiring his spend which was already dripping from your tight hole. “You look so beautiful like this.” Voldemort used a hand to spread your ass cheeks apart to truly admire the mess he had made before zipping himself back up into his trousers. He tapped your ass cheek with the palm of his hand and grinned at you. 

When he made no attempt to move, or do anything but look at you, you bent down to pick up your skirt and tattered underwear from the forest floor. Shame and fear bubbled in your gut. Now he had gotten what he wanted, was he going to finally kill you? You turned to look at him once you were decent again, taking note of the way he stared at you. There was a hint of an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t quite recognise. “So what? Are you going to kill me now?” You asked bitterly. 

“Kill you?” Voldemort asked, snorting as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. You nodded your head in response. The Dark Lord shook his head. “No. You’re mine now and nothing can change that. You will meet me here again, tomorrow night. At the same time.” 

Your heart dropped, and yet simultaneously beat quicker with excitement. Was this the beginning of a love between good and evil? “I will?” You asked, voice trembling. 

“Yes, you will. And if you don’t there will be consequences, my love.” You didn’t even want to ask what the consequences would be. You knew with it being a threat from the Dark Lord himself that it couldn’t be anything good. You simply just nodded your head in understanding. “Run along then, my dear. But don’t forget, I’ll be watching you from the shadows. Don’t be telling anybody about tonight. I shall know everything.” 

You nod your head and look towards the castle grounds before looking back at Voldemort, almost as if asking for permission to run off. When he nodded his head, you bolted for the castle, desperate to flop into your warm bed where you knew you would be out of harm's way. You hadn’t even gotten halfway to the castle and you could feel the warmth of the blankets smothering you. When you arrived back at your dorm, everyone was already asleep. It made it much easier for you to sneak back inside undetected and avoid the questions of “where have you been?”. You quickly pull on a pair of underwear, throwing your torn ones underneath your pillow to throw away in the morning and got into your comfiest pair of pyjamas. Your bed was so warm and welcoming after everything that you fell asleep almost immediately. When you woke up the next morning, your body was sore. You had woken up to being the only one left in the dorm room and took the time to inspect the countless fingermarks peppering your hips - they were certainly as clear as day, and you knew you couldn’t let anybody see them. There would certainly be questions as to who would leave such marks on you. But the main question was, would you rendezvous with Voldemort again as he had instructed?

[turvi]

Promises

All images taken from Pinterest

Severus has been given the responsibility to protect Y/n who has been plagued by The Dark Lord's nightmares again but Y/n has her own secrets that had drawn Tom's attention towards her. Will Severus be able to protect Y/n or will the Dark Lord get to her.

DM me if you wanna get tagged for the next parts

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[starsofjewels]

HPQD: Pets

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This has been in my drafts for a hot minute, and I feel like it's time to have the second installment of the HPQD series before I start writing smut pieces 🤭. Enjoy xx

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MASTERPOST

Content: Language (Fenrir)

Barty Crouch (Sr)- Cat:

Contrary to popular belief, Barty will melt if you adopt an animal together. He grew up with dogs, as any good pureblood heir should, and a variety of kitchen cats and their numerous kittens. The moment you bring up wanting a pet he’ll scoff, and tell you he wants something that will be useful, and not simply another waste of food; an owl, perhaps, something bred to work. Of course, that’s not to say he won’t come with you to the pet shop, and the animal rescues, so that you don’t “make a foolish decision”. That is until the two of you come across a little kitten on one of your many trips to professional breeders. A perfect, grey little thing with darker stripes on her, the domestic tiger Barty would tell the breeder, who didn’t find it particularly funny. You have to take this cat home, you insist you do, and Barty agrees, more than happy to bring home his fluffy, weak little grey tiger. He spends countless amounts of money on this cat before it even sets foot in your house: the best, softest cat beds, the most expensive food and drink bowls, and luxury pet food that you are certain costs more than your trips to the market. It makes him happy, though, and you cannot deny him the pleasure of cradling the kitten in a towel and setting her down in your living room to explore your home, treating the thing as he would his own, human, child. You name the creature Lily (as in the tiger lily flower). Barty thinks he’s being quite clever, you say nothing. Lily, in true cat fashion, is not particularly stable in her showing of affection. She prefers you, but that may be because Barty’s office is quite cold, and he never lights the fireplace. Still, upon occasion Lily makes her rounds around the house, and you hear Barty talking to her as though she both understands and cares what he is saying. The cat, as it turns out, is a terrifyingly good mouser, and has even managed to snatch up a rat on occasion; you will never tell Barty how funny it is when he shrieks, finding a mouse running wild in his office, shrieking out for dear life.

Oh, Merlin! Darling, darling, come quick- There’s a mouse in the office! No, no I am not afraid of it, thank you, but I have work to do- And they carry all sorts of diseases. Can’t you teach Lily to leave them outside?

Fenrir Greyback- Tortoise:

The problem with Fenrir and certain animals is- well- wolves are natural predators. Cats? He will bark at it, make no mistake. Rabbits? Hamsters? Birds? You have about a day to bond with your precious pet, before it becomes nothing more than memories, feathers and fur. You suggest a dog, a new addition to his pack, he stares at you, half-offended: 

I’m a wolf! That’s essentially slavery, I can’t own a dog!

And so, you are left with limited options, and very little hope that you will ever find the pet of your dreams, much less something fluffy and cuddly. Fenrir attempts to fulfil your demands- Letting you snuggle him in his werewolf-y form. But he’s not always a wolf, and there’s a certain level of unnerving sentience when he looks at you, and licks you in some animal form of a kiss. By chance, one day at the office, you somehow end up in a conversation about one of your coworkers’ new tortoise, bought as a birthday present for her son. Just as you begin to question who would give a seven-year-old a rock with legs, you realise that a tortoise might just be the perfect animal for Fenrir, it comes with its own helmet, designed to keep it safe from predators. Your search for a tortoise ends in the local reptile shop, when you discover one no larger than your hand available for rehoming; a rescue tortoise, if you will. The operation to install a terrarium in your shed requires the assistance of a few of Fenrir’s Death Eater acquaintances, who teach you how to arrange the enchanted self-heating stones, and how you should properly assist the tortoise when it hibernates.

It takes Fenrir three full weeks of working in the shed to realise that his new companion lives there, and he freaks, like a child discovering a spider. He relaxes, eventually, in mild discontent that the reptile is taking over his space. He names him Lazy Fuck, but you call him Timmy. You can’t tell your new reptile-enthusiast friends the poor thing has such a name, after all.

God, does it do anything? All it does is sit around and eat that lettuce, lazy fucker- I have a name for him, Lazy Fuck! It suits him, doesn’t it? Well… you can call him Timmy, I’m calling him Lazy Fuck. 

Rufus Scrimgeour- Hunting Hounds:

Rufus is a little more serious when it comes to animals. He is a rather busy man, and his duties as Minister are much more important than taking care of a pet. After all, it wouldn’t be fair to leave the poor thing alone all day, and who knows how many nights, whilst you attend galas and dinners, and all of the perks that come with being the Minister’s little companion. You beg him for a dog, looking into doggy daycares close to the Ministry. A dog would need to be cared for whilst you are away, after all.He asks why you can’t just have a cat, or something small, and you give some vague response. 

Rufus caves solely on envy. 

He takes a weekend in the north, hunting, where one of his friends is accompanied by a small group of beagles. Because of those dogs Rufus does not win the competition they hold every hunt, and decides he must have his own pack of, much better, hounds. He gets himself a group of English pointers, which come in different, distinguishing colours, so he can tell them apart. More than likely, they all have classical names, from mythology, which he assures you are very well thought out- Think Marcus and Minerva, for the Roman gods of war and victory respectively. The house comes with ample space for the pointers to run about in the mornings and evenings, and upon disturbingly close inspection he eventually settles for a “luxury” dog care facility, the same one copious other ministers use for their own pedigree dogs. Rufus is rather happy with these dogs, but he quickly realises that it was you who begged for an animal, and he is not one to deny you. He comes home one day with a little, long haired dachshund, dressed up with a bandana in your favourite colour, and those tiny shoes rich people tend to buy for their dogs, named Frank Furter, of course. He will give in to the sausage puns, as long as they remain reasonably discreet, and you never tell people the dachshund has a surname. Frank stays with you in the house when Rufus goes out for his trips, running up to you with the prey his powerful siblings bring as though he helped.

I know you were upset the pointers are for my hunting, so I brought you a present. Look, don’t you love his little legs? He’s cute, isn’t he? Just like you, my love- here, I’ll put him down for you, why don’t you get to know each other?

Lord Voldemort- Guinea Pigs:

The Dark Lord’s household is cursed by snakes. He speaks to them in the darkness, large and small, and they come to him, as requested. They never hiss or bite in any way untoward, but you still find them everywhere. And it is not fair. He can call for serpents at any time, and yet you still have no pet to call your own. Nagini is long gone, returned to the ancient jungles, and mother to a clutch of snakes almost as large as she. He has his own history with animals, and not a pleasant one. As sure as you are that Lord Voldemort has matured from his days as the orphan, pre-magical Tom Riddle, something leaves you unsure. There is something odd about his behaviour, as he coos at the grass snakes who appear in the garden, and sneak into the warmth of your kitchen over the winter. Enough is enough, you deserve a pet too. 

Your home has ample outbuildings you can use to your heart’s content. He has no reason for them but simple storage, and merely batting your eyelashes and asking for one for your personal use will get you exactly what you’d like.

And you would like pets.

The Dark Lord puts his head to the table and groans when you ask him for animals. Eventually, he hands you pamphlets and brochures for all of the best Guinea pig breeders in the country. You may find it strange, but he has his reasons: Hamsters are irritating and die in odd ways, cats and dogs require too much attention, and he will not let you disgrace the name of serpents by trying to put one around your neck and wearing it as a statement piece to freak out Lucius Malfoy.

You get two female Guinea pigs- One black and white, the other brown and white, with fluffy hair you could brush if you so wanted to. They are named Lolli and Pop, and you will never explain why your new animal friends have such odd names; you just think it’s funny, but you pretend there is some deep-seated meaning as to why. 

The Death Eaters find it hilarious that the Dark Lord owns a pair of Guinea pigs, and even more hilarious when you begin fashioning tiny robes for your pets, complete with a selection of hats. He doesn’t particularly mind, not now that his followers have made it a point to give him Guinea pig-related items as opposed to candles and jewels. He has saved a small fortune on food and toys for your pets, after all.

Ugh- Another luxury grooming set from the Rookwoods. Is this amusing because of your little rats, or because I am hairless? Both? I thought as much. Put this with the others, and be thankful the money you are saving me on products for those infernal beasts is greater than a little childhood teasing. They said thank you? They cannot talk, dear.

Igor Karkaroff- Class Fish:

Igor despises all animals. He will accept no debate or argument on this. He hates them. There is no heartwarming moment when you bring him a stray dog and he falls in love with it, or an orphaned owlet you raise together- No animals. Full stop. You have very little options, as he will find a pet in your home in a matter of hours, and have you send it back from whence it came. But, you realise, he has no power over your classroom or your office. He may be High Master, but your rooms are yours to decorate as you see fit, and you want an animal. It doesn’t take very long to decide on either a reptile or something aquatic- Small rodents are noisy, and not much fun to play with during the day, anything too big is off limits completely. You think of a bunny rabbit, but it would be cruel to keep the poor thing in a tiny cage, when it should be out roaming the grass. It comes down to the popular vote of your upper classes, who all decide you should have an aquarium. Fish are more relaxing to look at, apparently. Working in a school with students whose pocket money amounts to more than your entire yearly salary comes in quite handy for acquiring an aquarium, an impulsive purchase from a boy’s mother, brought to you from years in their cellar, and very quickly you begin to amass a collection of items for said fish: live plants, gravel and even the fish itself. One of your juniors brings you a beautiful, red and pink betta fish in a little bag, and you are more than happy to take him in. Igor knows you’re up to something, now that you’ve barred him from entering your classroom, and have sworn all of your students to complete secrecy. He won’t ask, he assumes you’re having a moment, and are doing something odd- His current bet is painting your classroom orange.  

Although you are a little sad that your betta fish cannot live with any fishy friends, you understand that the creature will probably turn violent, and you cannot handle the possibility of explaining a fish massacre to a collection of twelve-year-olds.

The name of your new pet is put up to vote, again, and they decide, in shockingly agreeable fashion, that  it will be called Igor Sharkaroff, one of your personal favourite name options, and the one you voted for. 

Igor, unable to handle the mystery any longer, forces himself into your classroom, only to be met with his namesake fish. He rolls his eyes, tuts to you in words you know are swears and leaves, never to speak of the fish again. 

Until he finds out you've named it after him. 

Yes, I know I told you the classroom was yours to decorate, but I did not mean this! Ugh- No, the name is not funny, it’s a disgrace... Alright, it is a little bit funny, but I am not burying that thing when it dies. What do you mean, fish funeral?

[jmliebert]

Tom Riddle as Your Husband ♡

you’re his trophy wife, living in the golden cage

he doesn’t just want you, he owns you

in public, his charm is magnetic, his hand resting on your back, his smile perfectly in place. But behind closed doors, his gaze may turn cold and distanced

when he hurts you, he swears it’s the last time. he kneels, his lips brushing your hands with fervent, desperate kisses. but he never changes, not really

when you’re too kind to another man, his grip on your hand tightens, the metal of your wedding ring pressing painfully into your pale skin

every anniversary, he presents you with an extravagant bouquet of red roses

he can vanish from the manor for days, leaving no explanation behind. yet, he always have to know exactly where you are

what's strange is no matter how cold he’s been, when he sleeps, he pulls you close, with a need that edges on desperation

“I thought of you when I saw this.” - and then he places the finest, most elegant things in your hands

likes to hear you say his name

brushes his fingers along your cheek, his touch almost tender, but his eyes are dark

even when he’s not with you, his influence lingers—everyone knows whose wife you are

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

hello love, you can find more of my works about tom ♡here♡