#tom riddle appreciation

[bekkandaa]

thank you for your analysis of him!! it's very interesting. especially the part where you mentioned him being a romantic because he's objectively perceived as a cold, cruel, emotionally unavailable person (which he was) but he clearly found grandiose motivations and purposes to justify his crimes. how self-aware do you think he was? and if he was made aware of the outcome of his quest for power, would he do it nonetheless? realistically what would it take for him to have a moral crisis or question his values? was he aromantic and repulsed by human connection by nature or did he actively suppress whatever humanity was left...or maybe just try to be perceived as not needing it? sorry for asking so many questions. i could spend hours attempting to unravel tom's psyche.

thanks in advance

Hello Anon! Thank you for your questions. I want to address the first few in a different post, because I have a few different answers I want to discuss and don't want this post to run on forever. Is Tom Riddle Aromantic?

Before we delve into the intricacies of Tom Riddle's capacity for Romantic love, it is important for me to mention that we'll be disregarding the plot point of his inability to love due to his parents' love potion thing. Instead, our focus will be purely on his psyche and the effect that has on his ability to love. ( Because that's what this blog is for, and the whole love potion thing is silly in my humble opinion)

To address whether Riddle's beliefs and upbringing contribute to an aromantic disposition, I think we first have to consider his own capacity for romantic love. I'll be discussing his capacity for romantic love through the fact of his narcissism, a topic I've explored before here.

Riddle's psychology can largely be understood through the lens of pathological narcissism. While all humans present a public façade, for a pathological narcissist, the gap between this façade and their concealed self is particularly stark. Riddle's charm was a strategic tool to attract admirers who could feed his sense of self. This façade protects the false self from exposure, maintaining his grandiose self-image and fuelling his delusions.

Emotional intimacy is typically outside a narcissist's comfort zone as they are disconnected from their true feelings, driven instead by the need to uphold their grandiose persona. Narcissists often idealise their partners' admirable qualities, using them as a mirror for their own grandiosity. In this context, love becomes a means to an end—a way to support their self-image, making romantic love a form of supply for a narcissist.

Narcissists possess many qualities such as social confidence, likability, and charm, which are optimal for initiating relationships. However, these are coupled with traits like low empathy, a tendency to use others to maintain their false self-image, and overall self-centeredness, which are destructive to functional relationships. A narcissist's partner is usually objectified, unable to retain their own autonomy within the relationship. If the partner shatters the narcissist's illusion, they may become the target of contempt for disrupting the narcissist's grandiose perception they created of their partner. Essentially, the goal of such a relationship is the complete obliteration of the partner's autonomy.

Despite these challenges, it is important to recognise that narcissists can and do love, although their love sometimes differs from a healthy, unconditional relationship. Following this logic, Riddle is capable of romantic love, but it would most likely be an unhealthy relationship where his partner is more objectified than valued as a person.

Having established Riddle's capacity for love, we return to the question of his potential aromanticism. Possible reasons include:

Repulsion by human connection by nature Active suppression of any remaining humanity Intentional portrayal of himself as above human needs

While I do not believe Riddle was innately repulsed by human connection from birth, he likely developed this repulsion through his upbringing. His identity and beliefs were deeply intertwined with his blood status. Discovering his ancestry to Salazar Slytherin inflated his ego and sense of self, fuelling his delusions about an "idealised parent image." However, learning about his Muggle father shattered these notions, inducing an identity crisis and internal conflict. This conflict manifested in his actions, such as punishing his father and changing his name.

Rejection by the family he sought further shattered his grandiose self-image, deepening his mental breakdown. This rejection likely made him feel repulsed by the human connection he sought, leading him to view himself as above such needs. Despite his heritage being a construct to fuel his false-self, the search for a parent and creation of an "idealised parent image" is common among children lacking parental figures. This behaviour signifies Riddle's inherent humanity and need for connection, which he suppressed following the shattering of his idealised image.

According to Freud, human behaviour is more influenced by the unconscious mind rather than the conscious one. The unconscious mind, filled with painful memories, tries to protect the conscious mind by hiding them, influences attitudes, behaviours, and character. For Riddle, the painful memories of his corrupted heritage resurfaced, despite his unconscious mind's attempts to hide them. He then attempted to eradicate his past self, exemplified by his transformation into Lord Voldemort and his agenda concerning blood status.

This brings us to the final point: in eradicating his past, Riddle attempted to portray himself as devoid of human needs through his new persona, Lord Voldemort. ( in all honesty he done the opposite by doing that, just really announced his fear of his own humanity and his disgust of it.)

These points, stemming from his past, suggest that Riddle is most likely aromantic. While he is capable of love, albeit in an unhealthy way, he sees himself above the need for it and suppresses any potential need under the guise of repulsion due to the rejection he faced. TLDR : Tom Riddle is in fact Aromantic, and that was more or less caused by him getting his feelings hurt and choosing to suppress / act like he does not need humanity at all. Just going back to Anon at the beginning talking about how Riddle was a romantic, (which he was, it's a universal fact at this point) I do think it's hilarious how he chose the most 'teenage girl' items for his horcruxes. Diary boy really wanted to go all out and I can respect it.

[silverbriseis]

my favorite type of tomarrymort is actually Voldemort at the ripe age of 70 discovering feelings of true love compassion towards Harry and suddenly acting like a giddy teenage girl who writes about her crush with added hearts in her diary

[sofoulandfairaday]

we know about your bella/black sisters fancasts - what about voldemort? and rodolphus?

Sorry for taking so long to get back to you, anon, but I saw something earlier that sparked my inspiration for this reply.

So. The thing is that I am very particular about fancasts, especially for the characters you mentioned and despite my active research, I still can't settle for a definitive choice for most of these.

Both Rodolphus and Voldemort to me look exactly like @giblimort drew them, I wouldn't change a thing.

I still haven't found a man that feels like Rodolphus to me. On the other hand - and I will fucking die on this hill - the Dark Lord's best fancast is Italian actor Matteo Martari.

This man is Lord Voldemort. He's tall, handsome in a very particular (non-conventional?) way, with very high cheekbones, and a very defined jaw. Also - and English-speaking people won't share this otherworldly experience BUT - the latest season of Cuori was playing earlier as I went to the kitchen and in that he's particularly emaciated and thin looking and I did a whole-ass double take and GAPED. Lord Voldemort indeed. (Also: daddy)

I'm still missing a fancast for younger Tom, who should be someone more conventionally handsome imo.

[devdevlin]

Ayyyyyyy I love Peremo! I have two questions, kind author (who also breaks my heart, but in the best way jajaja).

How does Tom view sex with Hermione? Does he want to make it good for her, on any level? Or is it merely possession/claiming? I read and re-read (🙈) their first intimate scene together, and am wondering why he went down on her, which is a very giving act.

If Epilogue-Peremo-Tom acquired a time-turner, to which point would he go back to, and what would he do differently?

Eee thank you so much! Sorry I’ve taken so long to get back to you on this, I am v unorganised 🫶

To answer your questions,

(1) I imagine Tom to be the sort that takes pride at being good at everything he does, and that includes sex. Peremo Tom in particular, I see getting a sadistic sort of pleasure out of Hermione’s forced/reluctant pleasure.

(2) Hmm well it would depend on which time throughout the epilogue that he acquired the time turner. But generally, if he was limited by only being able to go back several hours, then he probably would’ve used it to be two places at once for the murders, or for stopping Hermione’s attempts to escape sooner. Or… maybe just for watching himself with Hermione lol 😏😏

[salvatorebennett]

on the topic of kai parker and tom riddle I must admit that bonkai and tomione are sister ships to me

[oscarisaacss-wp]

12 DAYS OF GIFMAS… DAY 1, an upcoming story idea: NO TIME TO DIE, A Tom Riddle Era Fanfiction.

1943 IS VALÉRIE CLEMENTINE-MACMILLAN’S YEAR.

She can feel it in her bones, clawing at her ribcage like a promise dying to be kept. This year, her dream of becoming an investigative journalist will come to fruition — this year, the opportunity arises to begin an internship at the Daily Prophet, and she would be a fool to miss it.

As the star reporter for the Hogwarts Herald, Valérie knows her resume is outstanding. It doesn’t matter that she’s forced to deal with air-headed, brainwashed boys who don’t know a semi-colon from a parenthesis (seriously, she’s concerned for their futures), because Valérie is good, and she has a mission: to scope out her next story (nobody will look twice at her if she hasn’t made five headlines by Christmas).

Her latest scoop? A centuries-old legend about a secret chamber and a mythological monster hiding somewhere in Hogwarts Castle. Nothing big.

Except, Valérie isn’t the only one taking interest in the rumors suddenly buzzing about the fabled chamber. Tom Riddle, Slytherin prefect, teacher’s pet, and encyclopedia of Things That Are Probably Dangerous, won’t fucking leave her alone.

So, whatever. He’s interested. Half the school is. When Tom offers to assist her in investigating the chamber in order to help her reach her deadline, Valérie declines (since when has Tom Riddle cared about anything other than himself?). However, the potential outcome begins to outweigh her concerns, and before she knows it, Valérie accepts his help with the promise of all credit for the story remaining hers.

But here’s the thing about Tom: he’s not only interested in solving a mystery. He’s interested in using it. And Valérie Clementine-Macmillan is now not only interested in solving the mystery of the chamber, but also that of Tom Riddle.

If her instincts are correct, Tom Riddle isn’t just charming or brilliant — he’s something much worse. But hey, at least it’ll make a killer headline.

(“Hogwarts Prefect Turns Out to Be Dark Wizard, Local Ravenclaw Blames Her Terrible Taste in Boys.”)

So, here she is: Valérie Clementine-Macmillan, accidental accomplice to potential genocide. What could go wrong?

i. spotify ii. pinterest iii. wattpad (coming soon)

[sadnessunderthebridge]

Hello, my beautiful handsome gorgeous people

I am in need of some good Harry Potter fics.

I am not very picky though and as long as there is dumbledore bashing I am usually happy.

Although I would much appreciate grey or dark Harry, like he's kinda just living for himself instead of for war.

If you have any suggestions, please let me know.

Thank you,

A lonely potterhead in need of fics

P.s. most any ship is allowed.

[zerogravityinq]

Tom: we must divorce

Dick: what why??

Tom: I was on front desk rotation and a bloke came in and said he had a cucumber up his rectum and immediately I went 'i would say you are in a pickle but it seems the pickle is in you' STOP LAUGHING DICK MY MEDICAL CAREER IS AT STAKE HERE

[enha-doodles]

Omg guys tysm for 700 followers 😭😭😭 I didn't check it so I'm late but I'm so thankful to everyone 🥹🥹🫶🏻 I kinda wanna do an event , if anyone has any ideas lmk :) I'll be posting another slytherin boys reaction in a few hours <33

[bekkandaa]

I loved that analysis on Tom! I was wondering if you would say that Tom is more of a psychopath or a sociopath?

Hello Anon, thank you for your question! (For anyone who has sent in asks, don't worry I'll get around to them eventually! There's quite a few I want to go in depth about and there's actually quite a lot of them. My spare time to answer them is limited but I will eventually get around to it!)

Honestly, labelling Tom Riddle as a psychopath is something I avoid entirely. In fact, I refrain from labelling anyone as a psychopath. These terms, though extremely popular in literature and media, are outdated. (I do, however, feel as if it's important to note these terms are valid and do exist in forensic and legal terms, but they aren't used in clinical settings anymore.)

The terms " psychopath" and "sociopath" are nowadays associated with Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD), particularly when discussing distorted or lacking moral understand and specific behaviour patterns. Using those terms as a diagnosis on its own has always been pretty controversial back to the 80s if I remember right. They judge individuals based on their behaviour rather than their symptoms, which is unsurprising based on their origins in forensic psychiatry. They were initially coined to describe criminally deviant behaviour.

Clinically, we use the term ASPD when diagnosing and treating individuals. This condition is listed in DSM, and approximately 2-3% of the population actually meet the diagnostic criteria for ASPD. Antisocial Personality Disorder shares many traits with what was traditionally termed for sociopathy and psychopathy, which is why we use them as more symptoms than a diagnosis.

This is why in one of my previous posts (this one), I refer to psychopathy as more of a trait when referring to Riddle rather than a diagnosis, but to answer your question, he absolutely has it as a trait. I actually think I go into it in the post I linked, if not, my apologies. The day the media starts to use the correct terms is the day Voldemort gets his nose back. (unfortunately never.)

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Dating the Slytherin boys (+ Harry) ▪ HEADCANONS

Requested: No

Characters: Mattheo Riddle, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Regulus Black, Harry Potter (+ y/n)

Warnings: NSFW mentions, English is not my first language

A/N: I'm not sure I like this but here we go. However I have to say I like Regulus' one so I might turn his version into a one shot one day (when uni won't be killing me slowly). This will include also the pre-dating/flirting stage as well. SORRY FOR THE TYPOS. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Enjoy! ^^

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @anawritez-posts @pumpkinchee @alwayslatetothefandoms

Mattheo Riddle:

His feelings for you probably confused him at first 

If he falls first, he either won’t let you know or will do everything to get your attention (‘Hey, y/n, come sit here, the seat is free!”, “y/n, do you mind helping me with the homework for Snape? I can’t bloody do it”, “How about we go to Hogsmeade, just you and me?”, “you look beautiful, y/n”)

Your love for him always calms him when he gets anxious or when he’s upset, especially after his father comes back

Will tell you things he never told anyone

Would rather spend time with you than with his friends

Is terrified something will happen to you because of his father 

VERY jealous, but trusts you

Despite easily getting angry, he can’t get mad at you. Even during arguments 

LOVES sleeping in your arms or when you just hold him

He's crazy about your body

Loves showering with you, and we both know how it often ends

HOT, passionate sex

Will randomly eat you out without expecting anything in return (doesn't mind if you return the favor, though)

100% calls you "baby" or "love" all the time

Doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of him as long as you love him

Your love makes him feel lighter and stronger

You're his whole world

Feels bad when he hears someone criticize you for dating him 

Always makes sure you don’t overwork yourself, and makes sure you get enough sleep, water and food, and comforts you when you're anxious

Holds your hands when he's anxious or stressed

Will listen to anything you have to say 

Crazy about your perfume

Theodore Nott:

Struggles to express his love or feelings in general, at least in the beginning 

Has never done serious relationships before, and it may cause some trouble in your relationship, as you end up believing he doesn’t care about you

It causes many fights, and the last one will be the first time he says ‘I love you’

Always goes to you for comfort 

Loves sleeping with you in his arms, or cuddling, and with time he can’t sleep without you

Loves watching you sleep 

Loves having you on his lap

Always gets you great gifts (even randomly)

“Well, it thought it was pretty, and…it reminded me of you.”

Will fight any guy who is rude to you or acts like a creep 

Very jealous (trusts you, doesn’t trust others)

Doesn’t mind PDA at all, will gladly hold your hand or kiss you in public

Always has a hand on your waist or his arm around your shoulders 

Very supportive in everything you do, even when he doesn’t understand it/isn’t really interested in it

Isn’t very good with comforting people (mostly because he's not used to it), but will hold you and listen to you as long as you need, can even give you advice/reassurance 

Every compliment/'I love you' you say melts his heart and means much more to him than he shows, same goes for anything you do for him

Loves doing fun things, even if it’s just throwing snowballs at each other during winter (which ends in loving kisses, just savouring the joy of being together)  

Love getting in a pool with you and playing "childish" games during summer

Any form of intimacy means A LOT to him 

He's used to hooks up and "fucking" but it takes him a bit of time to have sex with you (despite being crazy about you and your body) because you mean everything to him and with you it's really making love instead of just "fucking"

The first time is loving and slow yet passionnate (eye contact at all times, hands holding, desperate kisses from him), and it gets a bit rougher and passionate the next times (but aftercare, which he isn't used to, is always on point and keeps getting better)

Is secretly very insecure, and is terrified you will leave him (especially for another “better” guy) 

Craves your touch and your love but won’t admit it

His boggart is probably you being dead alongside his mother

Will tell you sweets things in Italian

Very clingy in private - and also in public with time

With you he learns to be happier and discovers a happier side of himself he didn't know he had

Loves you much more than he actually shows at first 

Will often say you're all he has (and means it)

But with time, you have no reason to doubt his love and he’s the perfect boyfriend

Blaise Zabini:

Probably will court you like the gentleman he is

He doesn’t trust people easily and might be a little distant (while always polite and kind) in the early stages of your relationship 

But with time he becomes very warm and smiles a lot

Always kisses the top of your hand or your forehead 

Doesn’t do much PDA except for holding hands and kisses on your forehead

However in private he’ll 100% cuddle you and hold you

Dates in parks or restaurants  

Get you flowers at least once a month

Will always defend you against others 

One of his love languages is acts of service

Lorenzo Berkshire:

You either were friends before dating or he fell in love with you at first sight, there is no in between

Takes you on fun dates (arcade, funfair, theme parks) 

Can be shy at the beginning, which will make it a bit hard for him to talk about how he feels about you

Movie nights where you two eats lots of snacks and sweets while cuddling 

Always smiles when you enter a room

So supportive 

Loves when you're on his lap

He has no problem with PDA

Quickly willing to meet your family if you agree

He’s a great listener and mostly gives good advices 

Loves taking naps with you 

Always makes you sure you get enough sleep, water and food

Won’t let you get yourself into dangerous situations

Loves to go anywhere with you, no matter the activity and even if he just follows you around 

Many pet names

If you're Muggleborn or grew up among Muggles, he will totally ask you questions about the muggle world

Passionnate sex, will get rough if he hasn't seen you in a long time or if it's angry sex after he got jealous

His aftercare is the best, and he's always thankful you trust him enough to have that form of intimacy with him

Draco Malfoy:

Won’t flirt at first with you but keeps wanting your attention

Tries to seduce you with expensive gifts, and is a bit taken aback when you say it doesn’t work

Continues to get you gifts, but will make sure they match your interests/tastes, and keeps expensive gifts for your birthdays and Christmas (even though he’d like to get them all year for you) 

At first he doesn't show any weakness in your presence

With you he’ll learn patience and to focus of more positive things, and also to stand up to his father

Takes you on dates every chance he gets

Will ditch his friends to spend time with you

Probably makes Crabbe and Goyle carry your bags or do things for you

So proud to be dating you, it might even make him more arrogant

Gets grumpy when jealous but after a kiss on the cheek he’s back to his normal self 

Will invite you to his home and write you nearly every day during holidays

Hates it when Harry or any Gryffindor boy tries to talk to you

Surprisingly has no problem with PDA

Loves when you come to see him play during Quidditch matches

Tom Riddle:

Oh boy

It started with him admiring/watching you from afar, for a reason he can’t understand

SUPER confused by what he feels for you and why

Will probably try to get closer to you through homework or through books if he sees you read one

Will know everything about you, and will secretly follow you, saving you if you’re in danger with you never knowing who saved you

Crazy about your perfume, so much so that it makes him steal one of your clothes just to be able to smell it anytime he wants

After a while, he’ll spend most of his time with you without ever admitting he likes it

Will probably let you know his feelings for you after he cast a spell on a guy for being a creep with you 

Won’t let another man touch you

Will ask Mattheo for advice to be better or to make you fall in love with him

Will do your homework without hesitation, even if he pretends that he hates it, and will leave explanations so you understand his answers/his work

No PDA except for holding hands or your hand under his arm, but will make sure to stay close to you at all times 

Is a surprisingly good listener 

VERY jealous, but surprisingly isn’t mad or suspicious at you

“Did you enjoy having his attention? Do you wish for me to show you how my attention is better?” 

He doesn't stress over homework or stuff like that, so he finds it ridiculous when you do (learns with time to be more understanding)

Will let flowers in your room with a note on it

Pretends to not care about the gifts you get him for his birthday or Christmas but it actually means so much to him as no one ever got him any gifts before 

Nothing the others say about him gets to him, but he gets angry when he hears someone say that you deserve better than him

As book!Tom who grew up in an orphanage: he's secretly insecure about his background and the fact that he’s poor, and thinks you deserve better 

As Voldemort: Might be torn between continuing his goals for power or spending a simple life with you; is aware you’ll leave him if he gets on a darker path 

As Voldemort’s son: would do everything to protect you from his father, and if he’s forced to get the Dark Mark, he will makes sure you don’t know 

Possessive kisses 

Would hurt anyone who does you wrong

Borrows money from Draco to take you on dates or to get you gifts, as he feels like you deserve the nicest things, even though you keep telling him his mere presence is enough

May feel a little bit guilty that he can’t properly show you his love like “normal” boyfriends do 

Won’t admit it but considers you the only good thing in his life, and if he ever lost you he’d get on a dark path

Won’t cuddle at first, but if you wake up first you’ll find him sleeping close to you, with at least one of his hands touching you

Always notices when you don’t eat, sleep or drink enough

You’re the first (and only) person he will feel romantic love for

He has a bit of sexual experience before, but with you it's completely different - once you guys have sex for the first time, he becomes obsessed with your body and how it makes him feel

Loves fingering you

"You like it, dove?"

Even if you guys don’t work out, he won’t ever be with somebody else 

Would ask your parents for you hand in marriage, but honestly it's just out of politeness, the only answer that matters to him is yours

Regulus Black:

Like Blaise, he was raised the old fashioned way

Acts coldly towards everyone except you, his tone and eyes gets warmer and kinder when talking/looking at you, and you’re the only person he’ll smile at

You were his best (and only) friend and he has been in love with you for years

He hides his feelings very well, but one day you start dating someone else (thinking Regulus doesn’t share your feelings) but he can’t bear it and confesses his feelings

Always defends you

He’ll take you on restaurants or picnics dates, always bringing flowers

Mostly fine with PDA (holding hands, hands on your waist)

Thinks he’s very lucky to have you

Probably already starts thinking of marrying you during your last year at Hogwarts 

A bit jealous, but can’t stand it when Sirius tries to talk to you

Will gladly do your homework with/for you

Loves it when you sleep in each other’s arms, loves feeling you close

Loves it when you call him “Reggie” (only you is allowed to)

Will literally do everything you ask him to

You’re everything to him

Can’t stay away from you for long

Will get worried if you’re five minutes late

Always calls you “sweetheart” or “love”/”my love” 

Slow, romantic sex most of the time but sometimes he needs to be rougher

Thanks to you he’ll feel lighter and he will become kinder

You’ll even make him change his views on blood purity and stand up to his parents, and with time he gets closer to Sirius thanks to that (and you) 

If that doesn’t change and he still joins Voldemort, he’ll leave you a letter before going to the cavern, saying how much he loves you and how much you mean to him

Harry Potter:

Don’t expect any pet names from him, but he might create a nickname with your name (like he calls Ginny ‘Gin�� in the Cursed Child) 

His love languages are fierce protectiveness, loyalty and a patience he didn’t knew he had

Has no problem with PDA because he doesn’t care about what other people think  

Loves cuddles

Rarely gets mad at you, and feels guilty when he does

Mostly gets mad at you when you hurt yourself (for example during Quidditch) but it's also because he was scared for you

Hot kisses in private

Will be jealous if he sees you with another guy 

He’s passionate in a lot of things he does, and it includes you and everything you do

Will fiercely defend you again anyone, can even throw hands

Gets FURIOUS when Umbridge hurts you during detention, and will cuddle you for hours and do everything he can to make the pain disappear

Knows people are mean to you during fifth year because you're dating him and he hates it

During that year the only peace he feels is when he's holding you or when you sleep in his arms (it's also the only time he doesn't get nightmares)

Very supportive 

Loves getting you gifts 

You make him feel SO happy, he’ll just keep smiling for no reason 

Gets more and more clingy with time

Always write to you during the holidays (you always invite him to come to your house)

I'm not sure about sex while you guys are at Hogwarts but he 100% feels lust for you, there will definitely be hot making sessions when you guys are alone in a dark corner of the castle and it often ends up with you against the wall with your legs around his waist while he kisses your neck and caresses your legs

However sometimes he just can't stop himself and will eat you out (even maybe finger you at the same time), and will be proud when you come

Any act of service you do for him means a lot

You're always worried about him when he's at the Dursleys but he reassures you that he's fine

Comes to you in the middle of the night if he has a nightmare and generally comes to you for comfort or to rant 

Needs you more than ever after Voldemort comes back and after Sirius’ death 

Misses you like crazy during his quest for Horcruxes, and he can’t bear the thought of something happening to you 

Might struggle to show it, but he knows and is thankful of how patient and comprehensive you are with him, and that makes him want to be the best boyfriend he can be

Terrified Voldemort might hurt/kill you

Want to be tagged? Just use my Ask-Box and I'll gladly add you!

Masterlist

Next projects

[sparsilees]

can we talk about how harry james potter appreciates the finer things in life? if tom riddle is a magpie, harry potter is a niffler.

an hour into wee harry’s freedom from the dursleys’ clutches, his newfound riches barely warm in his pockets, and he’s decided on a solid gold cauldron

and what are all his riches good for if not treating himself and his new, first ever friend to every kind of sweet on the trolley?

third year, he ponders the wisdom of splashing out on a firebolt and solid gold gobstones, but very admirably chooses to be a responsible spender

harry spots shiny gleaming metal, and he makes a beeline for it. then he proceeds to shell out thirty galleons without blinking an eye because niffler he may be, he also has a heart of gold

it’s no wonder he never misses a tiny, fluttering gold sphere zooming through the air

[iniquitousyearning]

tom riddle. | everyone has their vices

summary: tom riddle tells you he jerks off (and more) to relieve stress. just….in typical tom fashion.

word count: 2k

tags: 18+, suggestive content, so much tension you’ll choke on it, frustrating subliminal tom riddle (though reader is just as stubborn), flirting, masturbation insinuation, make out sesh.

"But how?”

Tom inhaled sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he prepared to reexplain for what felt like the hundredth time. "Because, the slightest distraction or doubt can result in consequence—as I said previous. A momentary lapse in any of the areas we covered will result in splinching."

You blinked, staring at him like he'd spoken an alternate language. The late night and the relentless focus on Tom's face for the past four hours had blurred everything into a haze and dulled his voice into a monotonous hum, blending with the soft rustle of parchment and the distant lapping of the lake against the window. He could see it—your disconnection, the way his words slipped past you like water through fingers.

He exhaled, slumping back in his chair, a hand raking through his dark hair in frustration. "Should we call it a night?"

"Probably," you muttered, your gaze drifting to the window behind him, the surface of the Black Lake rippling under the moonlight. "You've overloaded my brain. I stopped comprehending two hours ago."

You felt Tom's eyes narrow slightly as he studied you—you must have looked a mess. Strands of hair had fallen out of your ponytail, your uniform shirt was half undone, and there was a dullness in your eyes that spoke of more than just exhaustion. A week bedridden with the flu had set you back, and now, despite Tom's best efforts, you felt like you were drowning.

He knew you were stressed beyond measure—you were normally not like this.

"You need to relax," he said, the words landing with the flatness of an undisputed fact. "You won't retain anything in the state you're in."

"How can I relax when I'm two weeks behind? And exams are next week?" Your voice cracked with the weight of your frustration as you leaned your elbows on his desk, burying your face in your hands. "I'm helpless, Tom. I know you know it."

"Would I be sitting here wasting my time if I thought you were helpless?" He watched you, almost clinical in his intensity as he spoke—tone matter-of-factly, devoid of any false comfort. It cut through your despair with ease. Tom Riddle never did anything without purpose; if he was here, it meant he believed you were worth the effort. "My suggestion is that you reset your brain," he continued, his voice steady like his fingers as he shut the textbook between you. "Take a walk. Have a cold shower. Jump in the lake. Whatever you need to do to decompress."

The simplicity of his suggestions almost made you laugh, but it was the kind of laughter that would easily turn into tears if you let it. Tom had a way of stripping everything down to its most basic form—of cutting through your stress and chaos and presenting you with a simple, unvarnished answer.

You were a mess, and he was telling you to fix it—no coddling, no pity, just a clear-eyed assessment of the situation. And somehow, that was exactly what you needed to hear. You appreciated him for it.

"Decompress, huh. I don't believe I've ever done such a thing." You leaned back in your chair with a lopsided grin, arms crossed. "Is that what you do? Jump in the lake?"

Tom let out a huff, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in what was almost—almost—a smile.

"Something like that."

Interesting—Tom Riddle, always so composed, every inch of him meticulously put together, as if the mere idea of stress was a foreign concept. You couldn't imagine him spiralling, not the way you did—frankly, you couldn't imagine him ever feeling overwhelmed at all.

The curiosity gnawed at you, wondering what he did to unwind—what rituals or habits did the untouchable Tom Riddle indulge in when no one was watching?

"Something else, then?" You pushed it further, gently, your eyebrow arching just slightly.

For a moment, his gaze flickered, something dark and inscrutable passing behind his eyes. You knew he was considering your words, debating whether to indulge your curiosity or keep you at arm's length. Such a fascinating creature he was—all brick walls and boarded windows—you had a feeling he was going to shut this down.

Until, he leaned forward.

"If you're asking if I have habits—I suppose I do," he said, your eyes drawn to the way his lips moved, the way his voice curled around each syllable. "Habitual things I do to—relax, let's say."

You hummed and pulled your lower lip between your teeth as you considered him—fighting to hide your amusement. That was the biggest personal moment you've had out of Tom Riddle since the day you met him in first year where he told you his name.

"Well, isn't that a revelation," you teased, toying with the edge of your skirt. "Just the mere insinuation that Tom Riddle has to do something to relax—as though he's not always cool, calm, and collected like he lets on."

His lips curled slightly at your words, his gaze dipping briefly from your eyes to your mouth, trailing lower in a slow, deliberate sweep that brushed over your chest before landing back on the desk.

Your brain buffered, tingles in the wake of his wrath. He picked up his quill, spinning it idly between his fingers. 

"Everyone has their vices—if they don't, they end up like you," he said, his tone laced with an ambiguity that made you wonder just how deep his ran. "Perhaps it's time you found some."

You scoffed, leaning further back in your chair, the fabric of your shirt pulling tighter across your chest. You forced yourself to ignore the visceral reaction your body had as you caught the brief flicker in Tom’s gaze—the way his eyes darted up to the movement before he quickly masked his expression.

For a moment, you thought you might be imagining things, but the tensing of your thighs betrayed a reaction you couldn't quite shake.

"And what are yours?" You asked after a moment, your voice softer now. Tom Riddle was many things, but he was not a conversationalist—and yet here he was, indulging your curiosity instead of shutting it down. He was humouring you, and you intended to make the most of it. "Decompressing with bland tea and ancient tomes? Sneaking into the Restricted Section when no one's looking?"

“Mm, no.” Tom let out a snort, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips— "I’d say my vices are less...pedestrian, than all that."

The quill in his fingers stilled—the change in his demeanour was subtle, though you felt it in the air—electric, making your pulse quicken. He traced the edge of the feather with the tip of his thumb, the motion slow and deliberate, and you found yourself inexplicably distracted, fighting the urge to shift in your seat.

Why in Merlin's name was that so damn captivating?

"Less pedestrian?" You echoed, curiosity at an all-time-high. "What do you do, then, Tom? Dance naked by the light of the full moon?"

"I should hope not," he laughed—a low, rumbling sound that resonated in the pit of your stomach as you giggled alongside him. The quill twirled again in his fingers, the motion languid, almost hypnotic. "No, I'd say my vices are more...private. Less suited to polite company. Perhaps I should let you guess since the mystery of it seems to fascinate you so."

The look he gave you made you stiffen, a challenge—no, a dare—clear in his deep, dark eyes. Your thighs involuntarily reacted again—less suited to polite company?

"I believe I've already made several guesses," you tried to compose yourself with a shallow inhale. "I'm quite at a loss."

He shook his head, stifling his grin. "Clearly, you lack imagination."

"Clearly, you enjoy being cryptic." You shot back, unable to stifle yours.

At that, he hummed—it was obvious your stubbornness was as entertaining to him as it was aggravating. Perhaps you could say the same. He set the quill down, his eyes on yours as the fingers of his free hand began to tap idly on the desk—and then his gaze dipped again, tracing the curve of your lips before drifting lower, a slow, deliberate path that made you tense.

For a moment, you wondered if the tension in the air was all in your head. Was he always this adventurous with his eyes?

"When the mind is under strain," he began, his voice smooth, clinical, "it's a result of an excessive influx of neural signals. Synapses misfire, disrupting cognitive function. A basic physiological response." He watched your reaction closely, as though gauging the impact of his words. "To address such a state, one must reestablish control over these neural pathways. To be direct, I find the most efficacious methods involve tasks that stimulate the senses without being emotionally or physically taxing. A simple, repetitive action can suffice—something arbitrary enough to encourage the subconscious to lose focus."

You fought the urge to scowl at his change in speech—Tom knew damn-well just how overwhelmed your brain was—and then continued to recite scientific jargon as if it were his full-time occupation.

You’d almost be mad if it weren’t for the fucking words that stuck to the inside of your ears—stimulate, repetitive, lose focus—

"You're a walking textbook, aren't you?" You continued to play it off—you didn't want to make assumptions—you hated the way he danced around the edges of things, never quite saying what he meant. "Be specific."

Tom's grin grew as he leaned in slightly, his fingers stilling on the desk between you. "I find tasks that involve the hands particularly useful. Something that can be repeated in a smooth, steady rhythm, with little conscious thought required. The ability to lose oneself in the pattern is key."

Merlin help you—the atmosphere in his dorm had changed with those words; the air turned viscous, cloying, each breath sticking in your throat like syrup—hands, steady rhythm, lose oneself—the words pulsed with implication, even if it was buried under layers of his typical, infuriating ambiguity.

He was absolutely referring to—no—no assumptions—

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "So...knitting?"

The words tumbled out, a weak attempt at humour to cut through the tension, but they hung lifeless in the air—as hollow as the chuckle that rumbled from Tom's chest.

His eyes traced over you, lingering in a way that made your skin prickle. "Not exactly."

"Hm. A different kind of needlecraft, perhaps." You shifted in your seat, trying to inject a semblance of nonchalance into your posture.

But you weren't fooling him—you never had—

"How much longer are you going to play coy?" He murmured, the amusement clear from light-years away.

Heat surged up your neck, the flush burning across your cheeks, betraying you—"how much longer are you going to continue holding your tongue?"

Your voice came out sharper than intended, laced with a challenge you barely felt capable of meeting. You and Tom had always been cordial, the slight suggestive comment here and there, mostly from your end. But this—oh, this was different—this was uncharted territory.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "Would you prefer I do something else with it?"

Oh, fuck yes you would—

"You're being obtuse," you practically choked out, though the words lacked the bite you intended. "Entirely vague."

"I'm being clear," he countered, his gaze never wavering. "But you're being obstinate—willfully ignorant to my meaning because you refuse to acknowledge it without me saying it outright."

The air between you dissipated—you tried to grasp for a coherent thought, something to regain your footing, but your mind faltered, stumbling over the implications of what he was saying. His eyes never left yours—and you watched them deepen in colour, black pupils eating away the rich brown of his irises, darkening with something that made the room feel unbearably small.

You could feel the heat rising in your body, pooling low in your belly. How did he do this to you? How did he turn you inside out with nothing more than words and that infuriating, knowing smile?

"Tell me," you breathed, hating how desperate the words sounded, "what do you do with your hands, Tom?...how do you use them to relieve...stress?"

The second those words left your lips you realized what was truly happening here—Tom Riddle never did anything without intent—every word, every pause, every smirk, was a thread in a web he was weaving, intricate and inescapable. He'd led you here, gently, subtly, with the barest hint of force, and now that you were caught, you realized that you wanted this.

Needed it.

And it was clear he did too. Otherwise you'd never have gotten to this point—he wanted you to push, to dig deeper—your stomach twisting as you watched Tom wet his lips, but there was no smirk on them this time.

Only something intense—jaw set, eyes focused—

"I think we both know what I do with my hands," he whispered, the double entendre clear in every syllable— "you knew exactly what I was insinuating the moment this started."

Your breath snagged in your throat, a tremor running through your entire body as the warmth pooling in your belly began to spread, sinking lower, threading through every nerve. Your vision narrowed, centering entirely on him—his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his presence seemed to devour the room, leaving no space for anything else.

And then, you nodded, the movement barely there—a subtle acknowledgment of your understanding.

"Do you touch yourself, Tom?..." the words escaped you, a soft, breathy whisper that you could hardly believe were your own. "Or do you touch someone else?"

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze, suspended in the intensity of those questions.

The world narrowed to the point of his gaze, the sharp line of his jaw—the reality of where you were, what you were doing, almost seemed to blur—trapping you both in a moment that felt surreal, like a scene caught in the still frame of a film. Never—never—had you imagined a conversation like this with Tom Riddle, hardly your acquaintance, the untouchable genius of the school.

And yet here you were, heart pounding, every nerve on fire, and Merlin help you, you were going to wring every drop of this out for as long as you could.

He swallowed, and you watched the movement, entranced. "Depends on my level of stress."

Tom's expression was unreadable—except for the subtle tension in his shoulders as he leaned back, spreading his legs a fraction wider, the fabric of his dress shirt straining against the flex of his biceps—

"...and how stressed are you right now?" You whispered, reckless, without a trace of restraint.

Tom's throat bobbed with another swallow, a gesture so simple yet so charged that it sent your pulse roaring in your ears.

"Quite," he murmured, his voice taut, stretched thin. "The past four hours have been rather taxing—wouldn't you agree?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up, escaping before you could stop it. You tried to steady yourself, drawing in a slow, shaky breath. You had never felt so intensely aroused and frustrated in your life, and you knew, without a bloody doubt, that he was perfectly aware of it.

"Are you trying to imply l'm the cause of your stress?"

"On the contrary," he said, his gaze raking over you, his eyes dark and hungry, as if you were something to be consumed, devoured whole. "I'm saying you've exacerbated it. Though I'll concede a fair share of the responsibility—as it is mine, after all."

"How kind of you," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to maintain composure. "To admit your own fault in the matter."

"I'm a kind man." His voice was a low purr, the kind that seeped into your bones, making your blood thrum with anticipation. "I like to take responsibility for my shortcomings."

Yes, yes—so very kind—

"Then take it."

The words left your mouth before you could second-guess them, a challenge thrown into the thick, suffocating air between you. The tension was a living thing now, colled tight, ready to snap, turning your insides into a churning mess of want and need.

Tom arched an eyebrow.

"Take it?" He echoed. "And what exactly do you want me to take, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart.

The pet name rolled off his tongue with a casual ease that sent a flush of heat straight to your core— the simple word wielded like a weapon, striking you down with its intimacy. There was no denying the power that name held over you, especially when coming from his lips.

"The responsibility..." you whispered, the words trembling as they left you, barely more than a breath. "…for your..." you hesitated, your eyes locked onto his as you finally said, "…shortcomings."

For a moment, everything hung in the balance—until, oxygen extinct, Tom leaned forward, closing the space between you until he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with your own.

Curse this fucking desk between you.

"My shortcomings," he repeated, his eyes flicking to your lips. "Is that all I should take responsibility for?"

"Are you suggesting..." you leaned in as well, the distance between you shrinking to a breath—your gaze drawn to his own mouth—the plush of it, how bad you wanted to feel it against yours, "...there's something else you wish to take responsibility for?"

Said mouth curled into the faintest hint of a smile and witnessing the shift this close felt dangerously religious—as though you'd experienced something sacred not many have before—part of you knew you did.

"Many things," he whispered, the sound soft as velvet, dangerous as a blade. "The list is long and varied..."

The heat in your body was painful—you had never been this close to him, never felt the full weight of his presence bearing down on you like this. His cologne—faint, rich, and so distinctly Tom—overwhelmed you, the same scent he'd worn since you first met him.

It was infuriating, how everything he did was so subtle, simple—yet so fucking intoxicating, so irresistible.

"...I'm not quite sure where to start." His eyes flicked back to yours.

Every word that fell from his lips was a new form of torture, his dark eyes pinning you in place, searing into you. The heat radiating from his body made you want to retreat, to find air, to find space—but the thought of putting any distance between you was unbearable, the need to be near him overriding everything else.

You'd rather lose consciousness than pull back.

"Why don't you start..." you whispered, tilting your head, your teeth grazing your bottom lip. "By fixing the insatiable ache in my curiosity...the one you created when you mentioned how you use your hands...to relieve stress..."

He exhaled, the sound rumbling from his chest like a growl and you could almost imagine that if he parted his lips, you'd glimpse fangs behind them right now—you'd never seen him like this—his gaze predatory, fucking ravenous, and it was as though he could devour you whole if he so chose to.

But you knew better. Tom Riddle would never be so crude. His methods of torment were deliberate—Methodical. A slow depletion of your senses until you're gasping for something only he can give you.

Then, in a voice that was all gravel and silk, he whispered, "is that all that's aching...your...curiosity?"

"Gods no—"

But you never finished that thought—because in an instant, his hand was tangled in your hair, pulling you forward with a force that sent you careening over the desk and into him—Tom Riddles lips crashed against yours, and it was like drowning, his tongue invading your mouth, stealing your breath and dragging all ounces of your cognitive ability along with it.

You were half out of your chair, caught in the gravity of him, unsure if your legs were even working, or if it was his grip alone that held you upright. His free hand found your wrist, pinning it to the desk as his mouth worked you with a fervour that made your head spin. The kiss was incendiary, a wildfire scorching its way through every nerve in your body, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake—the intensity of it, the sheer, unrelenting pressure of his lips on yours, made you wonder how you survived this long without it.

All the heat in your blood pooled low, deep between your thighs, an ache so profound it threatened to consume you. Tom Riddle was about to show you precisely how he used his hands to relieve stress, and Gods, if that wasn’t the only thing you’d ever needed right now.

[viperify]

plssss g🙈 I really gotta teach u how to love Tom at any time. SEE HOW HOT HE IS???

I am so happy u liked and thank u sm for taking ur time to reblog n give feeback🥹 love u sm!!

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚. 🂼 Losing Game. | pt 2

Short Summary: Tom tells you to meet him in the Potions classroom—something quite unusual on a Friday evening, especially the day you get to know you lost the second bet as well…

Warnings: 18+ only! impact play, fingering, slight choking, unprotected p in v, praise, cum play, creampie

A/N: I should have studied instead of writing this. I didn’t. I need Tom to make bets with me next.

wordcount: 2,0k

read part 1 before! <3

You should know it is not just another ordinary tutoring lesson. Not at 8pm on a Friday. Not in the potions classroom he claims to have the right to use as a head boy. Especially not on the day you got your exam results back—the one you should have outscored him on—but, again, didn’t.

The truth is, you didn’t intend to. Didn’t even try.

Not because you didn’t want to—by any means, even now that your relationship has improved, you would still gladly take any chance to humble him.

But what he had told you—what he’d want from you in case you lost again—stuck with you. The tone of his voice, the smug expression on his face—the one that, since childhood, has made you want to wrap your hands around his throat—sends your mind spiraling. Keeping you up at night, having you press your thighs together as his words replay in your head.

If I outscore you tomorrow, I get to fuck you—properly.

Thoughts you never expected you’d have played in your mind—not about him. Not about Tom Riddle, the person you are supposed to despise.

So, naturally, when he tells you to meet him that evening, not in the library like usual but in the Potions classroom—you can’t help but think.

Assume.

Expect.

You get ready. Scrambling through your drawer until something catches your attention—a matching set of lace underwear. You contemplate. If this is just another tutoring session, you’ll feel pathetic, but if it’s not…

You decide to put it on.

It’s already dark when you leave your dorm. One hour before curfew means most people are in their respective dormitories, allowing you to reach the classroom without being seen. A flicker of hesitation forms in your chest when your hand touches the cool metal of the door handle, but after a second, you push it down and step inside.

Your eyes scan the place as you walk further into the only faintly illuminated place, but there is no sign of him. Cauldrons and open textbooks on one of the desks are the only things that catch your attention, and you assume it might just be another ordinary tutoring session after all—

“Delusional, you said?”

You shriek as his words cut through the silence, turning around to face him, but you don’t get the chance to respond. His lips are on yours just a split second later, stealing your breath away while his hands make quick work of your robes, carelessly dropping the freshly washed fabric to the floor. You make a low sound of disapproval at that, but he doesn’t stop, fingers now hastily working at the buttons of your blouse—never breaking the kiss.

He wants you bare in front of him, no, needs to finally see what you have been hiding from him until now, feel your gorgeous curves without the barrier of clothes. To mark you as his.

Tonight he would finally get to touch you properly, not like the first time he had you on your knees in here, not like the countless times he had you pressed up against bookshelves in the library during your tutoring lessons since then, kissing down your neck like a man starved.

A cool breeze sends a shiver down your spine as the last piece of fabric falls to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your underwear—and by then he must have realised, because he just stares at you for a short moment, eyes wandering over your exposed skin with the same spark in them as he had at the party.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Tom muses, his thumb tracing along the waistband of the lace adorning your hips. “You lost on purpose,” he adds, fingers tilting your chin upwards so you are forced to meet his gaze. “so I’d fuck you.”

You feel your cheeks heating up—because deep down you know he is right, and that you shouldn’t have underestimated how quickly he’d find out about it. Still, you refused to admit it, shaking your head.

“No, I—“

Slap.

Before you can even finish your sentence, his palm comes down on the side of your face, not hard enough to hurt, merely leaving a slight sting that feels, if anything, more pleasant than painful. Only when his hand caresses over the spot he has just struck do you look back up at him, darkened eyes staring down into yours.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Before you know it, his hand is wrapped around your upper arm, dragging you towards the middle of the classroom, bending you over one of the desks so your upper body is flush against the cool wood.

Your breath catches as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, fingertips brushing over your inner thighs, slowly travelling up until he reaches the damp fabric of your panties. Tom’s second hand presses down between your shoulder blades, making sure you stay exactly where he wants you as his fingers slip beneath the lace, pushing the material to the side. He huffs at the sight of your cunt, already glistening with arousal, not yet touching you—but thinking of how he will ruin you tonight.

“Tom—“ you whimper weakly, instinctively trying to close your legs at how exposed you feel, bent over in front of him as his palm brushes over your cunt, feeling your need for him. But he doesn’t allow it—his leg stays firmly between yours, keeping you spread open for him.

“Too late to be shy now, sweetheart.” He mocks, fingers slipping between your folds, gathering your arousal as he trails lower, teasingly circling your entrance before he pushes inside, drawing soft moans and gasps from you. He knows just how to curl them to have your back arch, working you open, preparing you for him.

“So wet for me already. Been thinking about this the entire day, haven’t you?” He drawls, withdrawing his fingers before he brings them to your mouth, fingertips pressing against your lips as he asks you to part them for him. “Taste yourself. Taste your shame.”

Reluctantly you obey his command, allowing him inside until you feel him press against your tongue, tasting yourself on his skin. He waits for you to pull back, to tell him he’s ridiculous like you have done so many times—but it never comes, instead, you swirl your tongue around his fingers, cleaning yourself off him just like he told you to.

And that’s when he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

The next thing you hear is his belt dropping to the floor with a thud, and you turn your head to watch him undo the zipper of his trousers, meeting his eyes—eyes that shine with a dark hint of satisfaction. His fingers then travel down your spine with the faintest touch, tugging at the waistband of your panties until they too fall to the ground, left to pool at your ankles.

And then, you feel him. Pressing against you before his tip slips between your folds, coating himself in your slick, faintly brushing over your swollen clit—teasing you, testing your restraint even as you try to buck your hips against him, chasing any friction you can find.

He wants you, needs you just like he knows you need him—but he craves to hear you beg for him, he longs for you to finally shatter and submit to him.

“You think you deserve it yet? Beg for it, beg for me to give you what you want.”

“Fuck you, Riddle.”

A harsh slap on the curve of your ass sends your body jolting forward as far as the wood beneath you allows you to. “And here I thought we were over that name.”

“Tom— fuck, please. Please, I want to feel you,” you whine, too lost in the ecstasy of his touch to complain. His fingers tangle in your hair, yanking your head back as he leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your skin.

“Again.”

You are aware he is toying with you, shamelessly using the position he has you in to prove his point—prove that he is in power. And yet—

“Merlin, Tom— please.”

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes, allowing you to rest your head on the desk as he aligns himself with your slick entrance, hands finding a firm grip on your hips, which you know will leave bruises for you to remind you of him—his touch. You feel him pushing past your resistance then, splitting you apart around him with the most blissful sting.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, burying himself to the hilt with one sharp, calculated thrust that has you cry out, knuckles turning white from how hard you are holding onto the edge of the desk.

And when his hips are flush with yours, feeling how tight and warm you feel, wrapped around his length so perfectly, a low groan spills over his lips, grip on your hips tightening as if he wanted to stay there forever.

Only when you manage a soft, desperate “please” does he finally move, torturously slowly pulling out of you, letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock before snapping his hips forwards, burying himself deep once more.

“So greedy.” Tom growls, giving you one more teasing roll of his hips, enough to make you whimper before he sets a steady rhythm, pulling you back against him with every thrust. “Who would have known.”

Your walls clench tightly around his length as he repeatedly brushes against your most sensitive spot, one of his hands wandering underneath you, finding your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive bud.

Your whimpers and moans only spur him on, seeing how your legs tremble. His hips snap against yours mercilessly—almost as if he had a point to prove.

“Feel you clenching around me,” he rasps, hand leaving your clit to wrap around your throat softly, tilting your head backwards. “Come for me. Make a mess, sweetheart.”

It’s the nickname that has you finally tumble over the edge, his name falling over your lips like a prayer as you do, the coil in your lower stomach finally snapping. Your walls eagerly pulse around his cock, drawing a muffled groan from the brunette behind you, his fingertips digging into your flesh at the added sensation.

He fucks you through your orgasm and its aftershocks, never letting up his pace until your body goes limp on the desk, soon spilling himself deep inside of your cunt, painting your walls white with his warm release.

Tom’s chest rises and falls with every deep breath he takes, leaning over you.

“Okay?” He whispers, wiping a strand of hair from your face, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

“Okay.” You reply weakly, thighs trembling, his cock still buried within you. A satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, placing another kiss on your shoulder before he gently pulls out of you.

A soft whimper falls over your lips as he leaves you empty, hearing him get dressed as you lay boneless on the rough wooden surface. He returns to your side afterwards, his hand tenderly running up your inner thigh.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “so pretty with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

Normally you’d complain, run your mouth, but now—you just hum in agreement, too exhausted to find a snarky comeback.

He laughs softly at your state, two of his fingers gathering his release, pushing it back inside of your sensitive walls. “Can’t let anything go to waste, can we?”

Tom helps you up then, steadying you when your knees are about to give in. Handing you your clothes, he lets you put them on, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“From now on, no more bets. You are mine.”

And when you wake up in his bed the next day, his arm protectively wrapped around your waist—you know he wasn’t lying.

Thank you for reading!! Feedback is as always appreciated <33

[zriasstuff]

Them watching you get ready <3

Slytherin boys x reader fluff headcanons (warning:delulu asf)

the collage isn’t the best, but at least you have all 6 faces now

It’s date-night, but you seem to be taking quite some time to get ready…

Tom Riddle:

Let’s be honest for a second and admit that if you were taking your sweet sweet time, he’d curse at you because everything has to go according to his schedule (i even doubt that he’d do the whole “date-night” thing, but that’s a separate issue)

He’d turn more impatient by the second and barge into your dorm/bathroom without knocking

Tom would rush you so badly and keep telling you to hurry up while rolling his eyes

While you’re doing your makeup he’d pick up each product with disgust and tell you that you look just fine

When you tell him that you need more time, he tells you that there wouldn’t be a date anymore if you didn’t follow him, besides he’d lecture you on your poor time management

Eventually he drags you out with him and dryly compliments you like “see, i told you you look good” (but innerly he enjoyed that you put in effort and wanted to look good for him, even if it took some time)

Mattheo Riddle:

He wouldn’t rush you when you tell him you need more time, instead he’d take advantage of watching you get ready

When you choose your clothes, he’d encourage you to do a little fashion show for him and he would tell you that you looked perfect in every single one

He would tell you to choose a short and tight dress though, we all know why ;)

During make-up he is totally one of those guys who say “it’s all the same shade”, and in reality it’s like maroon and bright red

As a joke he’d also apply some of the products, but wipe them off immediately because he feels too emasculated

When you ask him if you could do make-up on him some day he’d simply reply “sure, but then i would get to do whatever i want with you”

Draco Malfoy:

When you offer him to watch you get ready, since you still aren’t done, he immediately accepts

Draco totally loves seeing you get ready too because during your relationship he has spoiled you so much that half your closet/vanity is basically from him

Since he grew up close to his mother, he has actually spent a lot of time in his childhood going to barbers/salons/boutiques with her

So from that he has gained excellent taste, even helps you with styling your hair, and helps you pick out accessories

He knows how long this stuff can take, so he just takes the time to make you feel beautiful and confident, showering you with compliments and pecks “you look so good in the things i buy you darling”/“you are always so gorgeous and sexy”

Theodore Nott:

He wouldn’t mind that you were not on time, the date started the second he saw you, so you getting ready was just time that you could spend together too

You are afraid it takes away the surprise factor at first, but it’s not a big deal to him

When you start to change into different outfits, he’s always there to help you undress/unzip the dresses, taking the opportunity to smoothly move his hands down your body

That would just eventually turn into a makeout session though, you just couldn’t resist when he was being that touchy and ravishing too

It takes quite some time for you to actually get ready in the end because he always distracts you in the process, but in the end you would both have had a fun time

Blaise Zabini:

He’d be quite chill and sit on your bed when you tell him to wait, just watching you get ready at your vanity

He would maybe be a little bit annoying—asking you every three seconds if you were ready to go, and he would say “you literally look the same as always, what’s the point of all this”

Eventually he liked watching you more and more though, notice the difference, and carefully pay attention to everything you did

He’d learn to appreciate both your natural and “full-glam” beauty and just observe you with interest

As soon as you were done he’d immediately kiss you (ruining your lip-combo sadly) and his lips would be stained, and he’d be smiling, fascinated by your beauty

Lorenzo Berkshire:

When you tell him to wait outside, he’d respect that at first, but would grow impatient eventually

So, he goes up to you and tells you that he would like to be a part of the process

Opposite to Mattheo, he’d actually be down to you putting make-up on his face for fun (he’s fully convinced that he could pull anyone with or without makeup)

To be honest, he didn’t care much about what you put on because you looked hot in his eyes either way, but he knew the more interested he acted the more appreciative you’d be

Looking at you with puppy-eyes at all times is his specialty, and when you’re finally done he looks at you like you’re an angel fallen from heaven

[riddleswhcre]

────۶ৎ hoe

tom riddle doesn’t know how to be gentle. good thing you don’t want him to be.

warnings: smut, degradation, choking, dom!tom, creampie, mild dumbification, brat-taming.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: inspired by i love you hoe by 9lives & odetari. enjoy <3

more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

"you love it when i fuck you like this, don’t you?"

his voice is silk and venom, curling around you like a curse, like a promise. tom riddle isn’t gentle. tom riddle doesn’t know how to be gentle.

his fingers are wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy, just enough to make you feel owned. he’s got you bent over his desk, robes bunched up around your waist, legs shaking, drooling over his cock as he bullies his way deeper, harder, rougher.

"oh, look at you," he purrs, his free hand sliding down to slap your cunt, sharp and wet and obscene. you jolt, moaning high and desperate, and his grip on your throat tightens.

"you’re fucking soaked," he chuckles, dragging his fingers through the mess he’s made of you, bringing them up to his lips, tasting you like it’s nothing, like it’s casual, like it doesn’t make your head spin.

"such a desperate little whore," he breathes, teasing the tip of his cock over your slit before pushing back in, slow and deep, too deep, stretching you wide around him.

you can’t think, can’t breathe, all you can do is take it, take him, take the way he ruins you over and over again.

"bet you’d let me fuck you in the great hall, wouldn’t you?" his smirk drips arrogance, teeth grazing your ear. "right on the dining table. let everyone see who you belong to. let them watch while i split you open on my cock."

he pulls out just to slam back in, knocking the air from your lungs. you sob his name, clutching at the desk, but he only laughs, cruel and beautiful, fucking you through it.

"say it," he orders, voice dark, dangerous. "say you’d let me use you however i want. say you’d let me fill you up in front of everyone, let them see my cum dripping out of you."

your moan breaks, body clenching around him, and he groans, low and wrecked.

"fuck—" he snarls, hips snapping against yours, pace brutal. "filthy little thing. you love it, don’t you? being fucked like a whore. being used."

his hand snakes down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy circles, dragging you closer and closer and closer—

"come for me," he growls. "make a mess on my cock. prove you’re mine."

your body obeys before your brain catches up, pleasure ripping through you, white-hot, blinding, your cunt fluttering around him, sucking him deeper.

his hips stutter, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt, filling you, claiming you, making sure you’ll be dripping with him for hours.

he stays there for a moment, breathing heavy, forehead pressed against your shoulder, before he’s moving again, already hard, already ready to ruin you all over again.

"oh, you thought i was done with you?"

his fingers tighten in your hair, jerking your head back, his smirk sharp, wicked.

"think again."

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.