#tom riddle works

[iniquitousyearning]

tom riddle. | this is your punishment

PAIRING: tom riddle x fem!reader

SUMMARY: prefect tom riddle catches you breaking the rules again, and this time decides to provide a different type of punishment he’s certain you won’t soon forget.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

TAGS: 18+, SMUT MDNI, dubcon (entirely consensual), dom!tom, brat!reader, BDSM (light), intense humiliation kink, sexual punishment/ forced orgasm, inappropriate use of magic/spells, clit-stim orgasm, begging.

You had thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes to dance with disaster. Thirty minutes to dodge destruction. Thirty minutes to descend into the depths of the library, infiltrate the restricted section, slip the book on occlumency you clandestinely borrowed back into its rightful place, and ascend back to your dormitory before the harbinger of your nightmares—Head Prefect Tom Riddle—emerges from the prefects' bathroom and winds his way back down to the dungeons.

Thirty minutes felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat. The weight of impending doom pressing down on your chest as you crept through the darkened corridors, each shadow a lurking menace, each creak of the ancient floorboards a deafening scream that could betray your presence.

And though the stakes were disastrously high, you weren't entirely worried; you knew Tom Riddle's schedule as intimately as the lines on your palm, and he was nothing if not a creature of habit. But of course, there was always the chance. The slim, terrifying possibility that he might deviate from his usual routine. And being caught by him was the absolute last thing you needed right now.

Every second felt like a blade poised above your head, ready to drop at the slightest misstep. It was no secret that Tom Riddle had it out for you. By now, it was practically etched into the very stones of Hogwarts, a fact as immutable as gravity. Everywhere you went, every step you took, he was always there—watching, waiting, eager to catch you in some transgression.

The relentless scrutiny was exhausting. The number of detentions you'd served was staggering, the punishments you'd endured endless. Not to mention the droning, entirely condescending lectures and disappointed yet gleeful stares he always made sure to give you as he personally hauled you to Dumbledores office.

It was all bullshit, and certainly had nothing to do with your frequent rule-breaking or constant sneaking around. No, of course not. You most definitely never toed the line. You were as innocent as they come. As pure as the driven snow. In your mind it all boiled down to the fact that Tom Riddle had it out for you, plain and fucking simple. A personal vendetta written into the fabrication of his identity.

Because even if he did. Even if he did somehow manage to track you and uncover your clandestine activities by just being the perceptive cunning bastard that he is, there are certain things that simply defy logic. Some occurrences that just don't add up.

There are just some instances that can't be explained, save for the simplest conclusion: Tom Riddle has been inside your mind for months.

And that was precisely why you sought out the book on Occlumency—you needed it. Needed to learn how to block Tom out because if he wanted to play mind games, you were determined to play better. You were determined to keep up.

You knew Tom took pleasure in continually getting one step ahead of you, and as much as it utterly ticked you off—perhaps a twisted part of you enjoyed being caught by him—savoured the banter you shared including his threats that next time he'd take matters into his own hands, since even Dumbledore was growing tired of your antics. Perhaps you revelled in provoking him, in defying him like no other student dared, relishing the thrill of the chase.

Perhaps you simply loved to hate him. Because he was always so goddamn good at everything, always in control. It was maddening, intoxicating, and you couldn't deny the rush it gave you. His perfection was a thorn in your side, and yet, you craved it, sought it out like a moth to a flame, even if you'd never admit it.

Not to yourself, and most definitely not to him.

As the night droned on, you managed to make it to the library unscathed, slipping into the restricted section unseen. Everything was going according to plan, not a soul around to forsake you. And yet, just as you slipped the book back onto its origin shelf, you heard a distant yet distinct voice, accompanied by the determined clacking of perfectly polished dress shoes.

"—ah, yes. I believe I informed him that I would have an answer by tomorrow evening."

That voice. You could never fucking mistake it.

"—well, yes, Mr.Riddle—but he said—"

"No matter." The footsteps ceased. "You'll both await my determination until tomorrow's eve. Continue pressing and I will see to make you wait two more."

The bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill over onto the floor beneath you. His arrogance had always been a towering monument, casting shadows that seemed to suffocate all reason. Sure, he was the brightest star in the firmament, undeniably brilliant with features rivaling the gods themselves—chiseled jawline, captivating dark eyes—practically born to bask in his own glory.

Yet, for all his outward perfection, his self-assurance bordered on the verge of the grotesque.

"—yes, o-of course, Mr. Riddle..." you stifled a distasteful scoff. You weren't sure how that individual was even standing with such lack of spine. "—t-thank you, sir."

You didn't stick around to hear a response or the lack thereof. The voices were far enough to keep you breathing but close enough to damn near make you faint because you knew he was most likely just outside the iron gates. You couldn't afford to ponder the improbability of his presence or the surrealness of your predicament. You had to move—deeper, further out of sight.

Which was going perfectly well until you rounded a corner with a little too much intensity and collided directly into a small round table. The sharp screech of wood against wood cutting through the thick silence like a blade, echoing ominously in the vast, dim library. Panic seized you, every nerve electrified, as if the table's cry had been your own.

And it was roughly ten devastating seconds after this that you heard the creak of the iron gates opening behind you, and those same polished footsteps drawing forward with haste.

Fucking hell.

You'd spent enough time in the Forbidden Forest to know how to keep your calm, to know how to effectively avoid being noticed—how to silence your footsteps and slip around obstacles without leaving a trace, how to mask your scent with earth and leaves, how to blend into the shadows to avoid becoming prey to the creatures that lurk in the depths. Yet, the only predator you'd never been able to successfully evade was the one you were currently running from.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

A shadow that clung to you, a hunter whose senses were always sharper, whose instincts were always keener. No matter how well you hid, he always seemed to find you, as if he could sense the very beat of your heart.

Tonight—to your naive surprise, was no different.

"Think you can hide from me, do you?" Tom's voice slithered through the narrow gap between the shelves, smooth and dark as midnight. "Not quite stealthy enough, I'm afraid."

You pressed your back against the cold wood, trying to steady your breathing, but his words seemed to wrap around your throat, squeezing the air out of your lungs and replacing it with something dizzying.

"Why don't you come out, little snake?" He purred, his footsteps drawing closer, each one a death knell. "We both know how this game ends."

Little snake. Two words that rooted you to the spot. It was impossible, inconceivable that he could know it was you. Yet the nickname, the venomous familiarity of it, left no room for doubt.

You slipped around the corner, the two of you making calculated moves like chess pieces. Your board was one of evasion, his one of domination. The gates were in clear view now as you paused to determine his position, silently mapping the space between here and there, certain that if you ran fast enough you could make it—if you moved quietly enough he wouldn't know which direction you were heading.

"You're only making this worse for yourself, darling." Arrogance so thick you weren't sure how he wasn't choking on it. And as much as you detested it, something about it sparked heat between your thighs. "You know I always win."

With the desperation of a cornered, wounded animal, you decided you were done playing and began making a silent yet brisk path toward the gates. You knew you could get about three shelves deep before you needed to take cover again. The silence was deafening, urging you to move faster.

And just as you were about to reach your next hiding spot, just about to duck back in between the shelves, a sudden sensation of pressure coiled around your ankle, cementing you to the spot.

"What the f-"

It was as if the very air had turned to iron, suffocating you with its weight. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared down, disbelief flooding your senses. The once innocuous carpet beneath your feet now glowed with enchantment, its fibres twisting and contorting, snaking around your ankles and climbing steadily up your calves.

"There she is." It was an echo from behind you, deep vocal inflection choking you with its pride. "Always so deliciously predictable.”

The fibres wound tightly around your upper calves, constricting tighter against your leggings as you squirmed, struggling to free yourself. Tom appeared beside you with a leisurely saunter, his smirk so smug it seemed almost tangible.

Your frustration bubbled over into a groan of disbelief. "You charmed the fucking carpet?"

"Of course," Tom replied. "Why do things the hard way when magic can do it for you?" He stepped closer, his eyes roaming over you, drinking in your entirety, running the tip of his wand up your arm. "You should know, little snake, I always find a way to catch my prey."

You watched as two dark eyes dipped low, lingering over the thickness of your thighs, fighting against the tendrils of the enchanted carpet that had now crawled tightly around them. You certainly felt like captured prey, tangled in a web of his making, awaiting his next move—and he certainly didn't miss how tantalizingly prepared for him you were, like a gift waiting to be unravelled.

"Impressive, Riddle—you've really outdone yourself this time," you spat the words through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to smack his wand away, battling the unwanted heat pooling in your core. It was the way he was looking at you. The way you wanted him to keep doing it. "Guess you can add 'carpet tamer' to your long list of accolades now, huh?"

Tom huffed, a glint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes as he forced them up to meet yours. The corners of his lips curled upward in a smirk, every pore radiating control. He looked at you as though you were a puzzle he had already solved, a game he had already won.

"Now now, darling, no need to be so dramatic." His free hand reached up and grasped your jaw, kinking your neck back as he stepped closer to you. "Though, I think 'little fucking brat tamer' might be the more notable achievement to add to the list."

Your stomach leapt, your teeth sinking into your tongue for a moment as you fought to gather your sanity. Your defiance was draining like sand in an hourglass.

"Hm." You huffed, the grip on your jaw firm as steel. "Quite the mouthful."

"So I've been told," he shot back, his eyes glinting like shards of glass under the dim light. "You'd know all about mouthfuls, wouldn't you?"

"You fucking wish." You hoped he did.

His smirk deepened, his fingers digging into your skin like iron claws. You could tell he was amused by you, as though you'd just delivered the punchline of the century, as though you were the world's most revered stand-up comedian. It was maddeningly infuriating and dangerously captivating all at once.

"Still wielding that weapon of a tongue, even when you've so clearly lost." He remarked with a click of his own tongue, releasing his grip on your jaw. Stepping back, his eyes devoured the sight of his spell tangled around your thighs. You caught the tension in his jaw before his eyes snapped back to yours. "Tell me, little snake, do you know why I admire this spell so much?"

Your gaze remained fixed on him, anticipation crawling over your skin like a colony of ants as he scrutinized you. You offer him a shake of your head, a scowl etched deep on your features. "Can't read your mind, Riddle. Not everyone is a skilled Legilimens like yourself."

Tom's chuckle rang out, swallowed by the thick tension in the air, suffusing the oxygen you desperately tried to gulp down. He moved to circle you, and you felt his presence looming behind you, his body brushing against yours like a whisper in the wind. One hand found your hip, however softly, as though he was reluctant to touch you.

"It's a very versatile spell, darling," he dismissed your sass, his voice stripped of all emotion as his lips hovered closer to your ear. "The best part being...I know exactly how to manipulate it to get you to listen."

Words withered on your tongue, attitude wilting in your lungs, and oxygen fleeing from your veins—never to return. Tom's looming presence behind you was enough to make your chest constrict, but his words—his words were a different beast altogether. In the countless times he's caught you, never once did you imagine yourself here, like this, with him.

And never once did you imagine yourself enjoying it this fucking much.

"One might describe it as remarkably adaptable, catering to a multitude of desires..." his hand floated away from your hip, his fingers subtly dancing—the coils responding to his ministrations and slithering higher up your thighs. "And you, little brat, have a plethora of desires at this moment, do you not?"

Your jaw nearly smacked the floor as you watched him command the spell without the aid of his wand. You felt your stomach twist into an iron knot, something heating your blood to flame. Perhaps you underestimated him, perhaps you-

"F-fuck-" you gasped as the charmed fibres slithered between your thighs, coiling higher and higher, wrapping around your waist and ensnaring your arms at your sides. The pressure on your cunt sent your head reeling, your entire body quivering. "Tom...what..."

You know Tom is just beaming with satisfaction, the tremor in your voice eliciting a low growl from deep within him as his hold on your hip resumes, his lips teasing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"Speak up, little doll, articulate your thoughts," he murmured, his words dripping with cunning like poison. "I know you possess an abundance of them."

You suppress a groan, squirming in a futile attempt to free your wrists, to move against the relentless hold. The heat of Tom's presence behind you has your senses in a frenzy. Your head spinning, your body silently yearning for more. You despise how much you're enjoying this, whatever this even is.

You whimper, lids fluttering. "This...this isn't fair..."

"Neither is disobeying the rules every fucking chance you get—but here we are," his hand brushed against your thigh, fingertips barely grazing, his voice drifting further from your ear. "You should understand, this is all your own doing...the charm merely responds to your desires, adapting to fulfill them.”

That insufferable bastard. The list of descriptors you'd use to paint his portrait would stretch longer than the very library you're standing in, and then some. Every time you think you've unraveled his mysteries, he unveils another layer that exposes just how brilliantly twisted he truly is. How charming. How intoxicating.

You loathe him, relish in despising every fiber of his being. Yet you can't deny the fact that he outmaneuvered you, in the most tantalizing manner imaginable.

But still, you attempt to deny it. "That's...that's not..."

He muses. "Isn't it?"

Tom withdraws his hand from your thigh, and almost immediately, you ache for its return, the absence of his touch leaving you yearning. Caught off guard by the tendrils of the charm exerting pressure against your core, teasing over your clit, you squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip to stifle any sounds.

"It appears you have a penchant for challenging me..." his voice is a certain murmur. "It seems the charm knows precisely why.”

All the smugness of a deity himself, a walking, talking colossus among mere mortals. As inevitable as the sunrise each morning. It made you want to bare your teeth at him, but instead, all you could manage was a groan, struggling against the pleasure his charm inflicted upon you.

"I'm not quite certain what you would deem a fitting punishment..." he continues, voice as deep as the depths of your desire. As dark as an all encompassing black hole. "—given the countless ones you've endured in the past months, which have clearly taught you nothing."

You groan again, your head bowing as you gaze down at the tendrils of the enchantment, ensnaring you in the clutches of a man with teeth of diamonds, fingers like razor-sharp claws. It'd been a relentless dance of dominance between you for years, a battle of wills that always seems to end in his favor.

You despise how he effortlessly wields his power over you. How he has so easily read between the lines of your story—knowing precisely the effect he has on your body, knowing exactly what you crave.

You fight back a moan. "Mmmff—fuck..you..."

Tom maneuvers his mouth to your ear, his presence pressing against you from behind, the ghost of his breath caresses your skin as he whispers;

"You wish you could."

Beautiful, insufferable bastard.

"Fuck," you huff through gritted teeth, sweat gathering behind your neck, fingernails biting into your palms as you clench your fists, still battling against the overwhelming pleasure. "Get out of my head.."

You feel a low chuckle resonate against your back, its vibrations stirring something primal within you, his fingers grazing against your side.

"Do you truly believe this is mere manipulation, little snake?" Tom's touch begins to ascend, feather-light and elusive, barely registering against your clothes as he presses closer behind you. "I am intimately acquainted with your desires, darling. I've been privy to them for months." You can almost taste the smugness in his voice. "The truth is fairly simple—you crave me, and you despise yourself for it."

Tom takes a deliberate step back, circling around to stand before you, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. Your breath comes in rapid gasps, your skin flushed with desire, and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him. You yearn for more of him, yet you resist acknowledging it, even to yourself.

It's as though he can see your thoughts, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in. "You'd go to any lengths to avoid admitting it, wouldn't you?"

"Gods—" he's right, and you hate him for it. “Mmmf.”

Tom hums softly, his lips barely suppressing a smirk as he steps closer to you. He reaches up, his fingertips brushing against your skin as he tilts your chin, compelling you to meet his gaze.

"How about we try a simple question?" His dark eyes bore into yours, their depths ablaze with a devilish glint. "Do you wish it to stop?"

You're rendered speechless. The egotistic side of you wants you to say yes—while the other, larger part is consumed with an insatiable hunger for more, for him. The charm swirls over your clit, applying increased pressure against your leggings, causing you to bite down on your bottom lip again to stifle a desperate moan. You couldn't answer him if you tried.

Tom's eyes roam over your face, not willing to miss a thing. "Use your words...tell me what you need..."

The sensation against your clit intensifies further, as if dancing to the rhythm of his words. You can feel his gaze boring into you as the heat between your thighs surges, and you realize you're on the brink of climax. And Tom knows it.

"Fuck..." your hips twitch involuntarily—torn between craving more friction and fleeing from it—your mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. Tom brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, his gaze fixed on his own movements, and you feel yourself unraveling, succumbing to the scorching intensity of his eyes—two dark pools of permanent ink. "Tom...please..."

His grip tightens. His jaw clenches. "Say it."

Shame courses through your veins, searing your skin like molten lava, the prickling sensation drowning you. You're on the verge of climaxing from an enchanted carpet, a manifestation of his spell, and the humiliation threatens to consume you.

"I need you-" you gasp, the words tumbling from your lips in a pitiful plea, desperation sinking its claws into your soul. So close...too close. "Please—please, I—I don't want to cum from this—I..."

Oh, but you do. You most certainly fucking do though the mere thought of admitting it feels like a dagger twisting in your gut. Tom's eyes glint with amusement, his head cocked slightly as he regards you with a faux expression of pity, as artificial as the plastic plants in the common room.

"I've truly made a mess of you, haven't I?" His hand glides down from your face, tracing a path along your neck, lightly grazing over your collarbone. "Tell me what you want from me."

Gods, you ache to strike him—yet crave to kiss him and cry out his name with equal fervour. Your defiance lies shattered, a broken relic at your feet.

You peer up at him, pleading. "Please, Tom, please touch me—I need you..."

A smirk toys at his lips, his fingers slipping under your jaw once more to hold you steady as he leans in closer.

"Touch you?" His voice is like a loaded gun, his fingers the bullets—intent cocked and ready to annihilate, but instead he taunts you, keeps you on edge, pressing the barrel against your temple just to see the look in your eyes. "You want me, the man you so madly fucking detest, to touch you."

You lack the strength to command him to go to hell, but oh, how you wish you did. Just to witness his reaction, to see what he’d do next. Despite his appalling self-assurance, you can see behind the mask—see how he is genuinely taken aback by your submission, as though he never expected you to surrender, to confess your desire for him.

"Tom, please..." you beg, trembling with anticipation, your impending climax a rapidly swelling tide. "I want you...I want you to make me cum—you-you win."

Tom pulls back from your ear to regard you, his gaze fully focused this time. He takes in the sight of you—trembling, panting, wide-eyed before him—his expression conveying complete contentment in simply observing you as you struggle to persuade him to touch you.

That familiar taunting grin lingers upon his lips, uncontainable, and you know he's relishing this moment far too much.

"I know," he says softly, his thumb tracing your jawline as his hand falls to your neck. "I always do, don't I, little doll..."

His voice drifts over you like smoke, thick and intoxicating, wrapping around you in a dizzying embrace. The intensity of the charm wavers slightly, granting you a momentary reprieve to catch your breath as Tom leans in, so close that you can feel his exhales caressing your lips. Your head spins, every sense overwhelmed by his presence.

"But you deserve this—" he continues, his voice a rumble like thunder through your veins. "—you deserve to be humiliated like this, to break for me without my hands ever touching you." His mouth hovers just millimeters from yours, taunting you with its nearness. "This is your punishment, little doll...and you're going to take it."

The pleasure between your thighs swells once more as the charm resumes its sinuous movements and you can't suppress the moan that escapes your lips, mingling with the groan of utter frustration. All you can do is stare at him.

Tom hums, amused. "Because you revel in it, don't you? Being a little disobedient brat..."

Your eyes glaze over, your pulse soaring as Tom's breath once again brushes against your parted lips. The ache for him is almost unbearable, as if he's injected something into your veins, rendering you unable to function without him. It's maddening, in the most exquisite way imaginable.

"You're-ohh-fuck.." your voice comes out as a moan, low and breathy, the words trailing off as the charm adds pressure to your clit, stars dancing at the edges of your vision. "Gods..."

"There we go, just as I like you,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your jaw. "Unable to unleash that pretty little mouth. Perfectly shattered for me."

You clench around nothing, yearning to scoff. "Mmmf—never..."

Tom chuckles at your feeble attempt at defiance, though the sound carries a hollow, half-hearted quality. You both know you've passed the point of return. His fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, until his palm cradles your face, his thumb brushing gently across your lips.

"Is that so?" He murmurs softly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Well then, go ahead...let that pretty mouth run wild...prove that your defiance is more than just an act..."

The way he wields his power has you teetering on the brink of madness, and you despise the fact that you've revelled in every torturous moment of it. You long to snap back, to wield your tongue, to curse him—anything to grasp onto even a shred of control. But every fucking word is a struggle, every moment not focused on your breathing is an achievement.

You squeeze your eyes shut, channeling all the energy you have left. "You...you're such an...arrogant—mmf—I...I hate you..."

"Mhm. You hate me." He cooes. "And yet, here you are..." his voice is as soft as feathers, as warm as the morning sun, the unmistakable taunt laced within. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, slipping between your teeth. "...falling apart for a mere spell, begging for me, for my touch..."

You feel Tom's thumb pressing against your tongue as you whimper. You attempt to speak, to convey something, but instead, you find yourself instinctively sucking lightly against his thumb in response.

"Mm." Tom's brow lifts slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. He seems pleased with your reaction. "A much better use for that mouth."

You're beyond caring about the way he's taunting you, how he's systematically humiliated and debased you, stripping away every ounce of defiance without ever even touching your skin. Tremors wrack your body from the overwhelming sensations, rendering coherent thought nearly impossible.

Your head lolls to the side, constrained by his hand, as waves of pleasure crash over you, your climax approaching rapidly and dangerously.

"Fuck-I'm..." you manage to squeak, his thumb still nestled in your mouth. "Mmmf-"

Tom's eyes darken with satisfaction as he watches you unravel, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, a silent command for you to keep sucking. The enchantment continues its relentless assault—tightening around you, swirling over your clit and amplifying the pleasure until it's almost unbearable.

"Go on," he murmurs, his voice a blend of silk and steel. "Let go for me. Show me just how much you need this."

Your body trembles violently, your muscles tensing as the climax rips through you. You can't hold back the moan that escapes around his thumb, your entire being consumed by the intensity of the release that you've desperately fought off for so long. Tom's grip on your jaw tightens, keeping you in place, ensuring you can't escape the exquisite torment he's orchestrated.

"There it is," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Perfectly broken, just for me."

Your eyes are squeezed shut so tightly it's almost painful, his thumb buried in your mouth muffling any sounds of pleasure that threaten to escape. The evidence of your desire pools between your thighs, your embarrassment stripping you raw as you slowly begin to return to reality, the spell gradually losing its grip around you.

You struggle to find your breath, your thoughts, your sanity, but Tom doesn't grant you much reprieve before he's tugging your head back towards his, forcing you to focus on him.

"You should see yourself." He withdraws his thumb from your mouth, trailing the remnants of saliva over your cheek as he assesses you. "You're a vision."

You try to summon the strength to argue, to reclaim some semblance of defiance, but the attempt dies in your throat, unable to comprehend the fact that those words sounded like a fucking compliment. Your body is trembling with the aftershocks of your climax, and you can only manage a soft whimper. He looks at you as if you are his masterpiece, perfectly crafted and beautifully ruined.

"Remember this, little snake," he whispers, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Remember how easily I can break you. How much you crave it."

You exhale slowly as you feel the charm dissipate, the carpet settling back into its rightful place at your feet. Tom's hand falls away from your face, but the tension between you remains palpable, neither of you daring to make a move.

"And as for the book," he adds, his eyes flashing to the bookshelf behind you, the one home to the Occlumency text you borrowed. "You may want to keep it. You're not nearly as skilled as you think you are."

And with that, he smooths out his uniform and strides past you without a second glance.

thank you to my babies @doremimosasol and @pizzaapeteer for proofreading this. means the world to me🖤

[lightningant]

ronmort 1950s meetcute

addendum:

[juliet-017]

Incommensurate - T.R.

Tom Riddle x fem!reader

Minors DNI!!

Warnings: dubcon (consensual sex under imperious curse), begging, unprotected p in v(? Kinda? Tom casts a spell so?), cream pie, tit play, pussy slapping, degradation, slight spanking

Synopsis: As Tom starts to feel a slip in control he becomes harsher with you, more distant as well. It's bloody tortuous, the growing distance and silence between you both driving you crazy. Making you bring up a proposition that you wouldn't have thought of prior.

A/n: yeah so.. here's this instead of that mattheo work (you guys can thank my wife @viperify for that). Side note, I might js get rid of my current wips on my nav as well so I feel less tied down?? Idk but I have so many old drafts I need to get through. Anyways enjoy!!

w/c: ~1.5k

Tom liked control, it was obvious from the way he bossed his mates around, not even scared that they'd retaliate or leave. It was.. fascinating to say the least. You pondered on whether it was because of his time at the orphanage in his formative years, he didn't speak of it much but you presumed that being a charge there wouldn't be anything close to fun.

You'd still give him shit, teasing him for being so bossy at times. A few times when you two had sex you'd fight your way on top for a few seconds before he'd roughly push you off and take to fucking you doggy style, your face shoved into his bed.

Normally things were fine, he'd take your taunts in stride, fucking your attitude out of you till your throat was raw from either screaming or being used.

**

You've noticed how he's been acting.. off lately. Snapping more, not taking kindly to anyone mouthing off. Not even the first years could escape his wrath.

He wasn't vulnerable so asking him right out wouldn't do anything in your favor. Observing him overworking himself, skipping meals as a result, and falling back into old habits.

You start slowly, trying to give him massages or attempting to pull him into bed. When none of it works you decide to just be blunt.

“Tom? What's wrong?” You ask from your perch on his bed, lying down as he studies.

“Nothing. Why.” He responds coolly, barely sparing you a glance. Hunched over, elbows on his desk as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“You're tense.”

“I always am.”

“Not this tense.”

He scoffs, finally looking over at you. “What do you want?”

“The truth. Or I'm going to sleep in my room tonight.”

You both know it's an empty threat, but Tom gives in. “You're too good for me.”

You freeze, trying to read his expression, grasping for a response.

“You can't leave me, you know.”

“Yeah… I know.” You murmur, sitting up and debating on approaching him. “M’yours, Tom.”

“Hm, you think your words matter? Fascinating” He scoffs, rolling his eyes before looking back at the open book at his desk.

It's unfair how wet his words made you. Especially when they're degrading.

You wait a second before getting up, leaning up against his desk and toying with his wand.

“Just what do you think-” He starts harshly, reaching out to take his wand back before you leap away.

“Remember that one night, where you mentioned wanting me to just be even more.. submissive?” You hum, raising a brow.

“How could I not? You were even more of a fucking brat afterwards.”

You grin, still playing with his wand and waiting for him to get the hint. And oh the rush that goes through when he does, moving quickly and towering over you, yanking his wand out of your hold. “And just how are we going to go about that, hm? Never can get you fucked out enough to just go along with it anyways.” He mutters, backing you into a wall, lifting your chin up with this wand.

Your stomach flips as you look up at him, hesitating before continuing. You know you've seen him cast it before so.. what's the big deal, right?

“The imperious curse.” You reply quickly, spatting the words out before giving yourself a second to think. You watch his reaction, studying

He smirks, and you can’t help but melt. “You sure? You know I won't relinquish it every five seconds to check on you, right?”

You nod. “I know. Just.. same rules as usual, m’kay?”

He nods, running the wand down your body, watching your face. “Ready?”

“Uhuh..” You nod, looking up at him, feeling his wand press to your temple.

Before you know it you feel otherworldly, listening to his simple hypnotic commands. Opening your eyes and kneeling like he commands. It shouldn't make you even wetter but it does.

Kneeling whilst undoing your shirt, your bra. Your mind foggy as you finish stripping. He strips too, finally removing his boxers before hold an open palm in front of you. “Spit.” He instructs smoothly, catching your saliva, using it to stroke himself, becoming even harder. “Open.”

You comply, opening your mouth, letting him find refuge in your mouth. He almost immediately gives you all of him, not even giving you a second to adjust, mindlessly drooling around his cock. Grasping your hair he thrusts, allowing you to go slack jawed as you moan around him.

He isn't sure if it's out of pleasure or defiance, but he ignored it, focusing on his release. Tom reminds himself that you agreed to it when he came so deep inside your throat that you had no choice but to swallow.

Pulling out of your mouth slowly, Tom watchs himself leave you with a pop, your eyes glassy and tearful. Only making him even harder than before. Leaning against the wall as he catches his breath. “Such a good little thing.” He praises quietly, patting your head before brushing your hair back as he looks down at you.

He steps out of the way, almost admiring you. “Crawl over to the bed.” He instructs softly, your body moving without a second thought.

You make your way over to the bed, getting on all fours whilst Tom walks around it. The silence painful, listening to Tom as he ends up behind you, squeezing your ass before landing a sharp slap.

Whining you look over your shoulder, feeling him grab your hips and pull, causing you to lay mostly flat save for your hips holding your ass slightly up.

“Beg for it.” He hums, his voice tantalizing whilst his shadow looms over you. “C’mon be a good girl and beg straight from the heart.”

“Please Tom, I need you.” You whine, the words leaving you effortlessly. “I'll always need you, please.”

He ruts into you with one deep thrust, groaning. “Such a good fucking slut, so tight f’me.” He groans, slapping your ass again as he thrusts, leaning over you to pin your wrists to the bed. “My favorite little fucktoy.”

You moan loudly, feeling him hit deeper than ever, hitting your cervix. The bit of your coherent mind grasps the concept that it'll be bruised by morning, but you can't bring yourself to care.

“Fucking love your pussy.” He groans, gripping your wrists even tighter as if fighting to ground himself, his thrust growing messier as his manicured nails dig into you like some animal. “C’mon be loud.” He encourages you, squeezing once more.

“Mm Tom,” you gasp, head to the side as you try to rut your hips. “So.. fuck, so deep.” You moan, practically screaming, the curse not letting you even try to muffle it. Your face heats in shame.

“That's it, such a good girl, letting everyone know how good I fuck you.” Freeing your wrists he wraps an arm around your waist, causing you to kneel as he still thrusts in and out of you, his free hand reaching down to play with your clit. Heat forms in your lower stomach at that, only making you more desperate.

His one hand now slides up to play with your tits, your moaning and arousal only seeming to turn him on even more. “Fuck, you're close aren't you? I can feel it, you and your greedy little cunt.” He growls into your ear, slapping your clit and causing a shot of pleasure to run through you. He gives you another slap, a sort of warning. “Answer me unless you want me to stop, that is.”

“Yes’sir.” You whimper, nodding. “I'm close.” You moan, trying to match his pace but deciding it best to go limp, allowing him to use you like the doll you are.

Lost in a bliss you barely hear his command, too dazed to even fully comprehend. “Cum for me.”

You weren't prepared for the earth shattering orgasm that wrecks your body, feeling Tom finish deep inside of you, feeling him coat your cervix you let out a small squeal.

Laying you down, Tom slowly pulls out. You hear him mumble something, the curse lifting as you look around in slight shock.

Tom hushes you immediately, gently pulling you into his hold. “You okay?” He murmurs, pulling your head against his chest and casting a charm to clean the both of you. You presume the other is a contraceptive. “It wasn't too much, was it?”

Nodding you hum, too dumbed out to even think of how to word it. “Nice. It was nice letting go for once.” You murmur, lifting your gaze up. “You liked it too, right?”

Tom lets out a warm chuckle, a rare commodity. “Course I did, got to have you all dumbed out on my cock, not able to mouth off.” He mutters, giving your hair a light tug as he takes to playing with it. “But I don't want to make it a common thing, if you do want to do it again that is.” He hums.

“Course I do.” You hum before the scent of sandalwood alongside Tom’s warmth, lulls you off to sleep.

[enha-doodles]

please do a slytherin boys reacting to you being a hufflepuff pls

SLYTHERIN GUY'S REACTION TO YOU BEING A HUFFLEPUFF | ✧⁺。

Pairing : (Mattheo , Tom , Theodore, Lorenzo , Draco) x reader

Notes : okay so now only Slytherin left and next will definately be an enhypen post , it's been too long since I posted something for them 😭

Warnings : not proofread , written in a hurry my bad guys

MATTHEO RIDDLE

Mattheo's smirk widens as he gazes at you, unable to contain his amusement. "Well, well, well, my dear Hufflepuff," he begins, his tone playful yet affectionate, "aren't you just the epitome of kindness? It's like you're allergic to anything even remotely sinister." He chuckles softly, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "But fear not, my sweet, for I'll be your guide through the shadows. Together, we'll navigate the dark corners of Hogwarts, with your innocence as our secret weapon." He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Who knows, maybe you'll even rub off on this Slytherin and teach me a thing or two about being... less evil." He winks, his playful tone laced with genuine fondness for you. "But until then, let's just enjoy the ride, shall we?" You can't help but laugh at his teasing, feeling a surge of affection for the charming Slytherin who's captured your heart.

TOM RIDDLE

Tom rolls his eyes at the mere mention of Hufflepuff, muttering about the insignificance of a house that values kindness above all else. He's determined to toughen you up, constantly pushing you to shed your soft exterior and embrace the cold, hard reality of the wizarding world. "Kindness is a weakness, darling," he'll growl, his gaze steely as he lectures you on the importance of ambition and cunning.

He'd manipulate you by turning you against your friends because in his eyes you are born to evil that's why you ended up with him , your friends are the wrong influence "And those so-called friends of yours? They're just wolves in sheep's clothing, waiting to take advantage of your sweet nature. But fear not, my dear, for I'll always be here to protect you" He's there even if it means scaring away every potential suitor with a well-timed glare.

THEODORE NOTT

Theodore can't help but chuckle at the irony of your Hufflepuff allegiance, but it's all in good fun. He'll mock you mercilessly, recounting every Slytherin victory over Hufflepuff in Quidditch or other competitions. Yet, despite his teasing, Theodore knows when to concede defeat, his love for you outweighing any petty house rivalry.

"Alright, alright, my little badger," he'll sigh, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I may be a Slytherin, but you've got me wrapped around your little finger. Just promise me you'll stop bringing up that time Hufflepuff beat us in the House Cup. It still stings, you know."

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

He'll even go as far as pretending to roar like a ferocious dog lion - oh the irony , whenever someone gets too close, much to your amusement.

Lorenzo can't resist the urge to baby you at every turn, his heart swelling with pride whenever he looks at you. He'll hover protectively by your side, his arm draped over your shoulders like a shield against the world. "My sweet little badger," he'll coo, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'll protect you from every danger, real or imagined. No one's laying a finger on my precious Hufflepuff, not while I'm around."

DRACO MALFOY

Draco's annoyance is as evident as ever, his aristocratic features twisted into a perpetual scowl (his resting face actually) as he begrudgingly accepts your Hufflepuff allegiance. He'll grumble about the stupidity of your house, his annoyance palpable in every word he utters. "Hufflepuff" he'll mutter under his breath, as if the mere mention of the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

But despite his disdain, Draco can't help but crave the princess treatment you're all too willing to provide. "Fine, Hufflepuff," he'll huff, crossing his arms in a dramatic display of annoyance. "But don't think for a second that I'm not expecting extra cuddles to make up for it."

。　　　　���　　　　⁺　 　 　。

[viperify]

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

˚.☾⋆✧ Blood Lust.

Short Summary: When you stir awake in the middle of the night, you notice Tom hasn’t come back home. Strange noises downstairs lead you to investigate, but what—or who—will you find as you do?

Warnings: 18+ only! Vampire!Tom, hunter and prey, biting, marking, blood play, nipple play, incredibly feral Tom Riddle, breeding kink, choking, praise, unprotected p in v, implied murder (side character).

A/N: FINALLY it’s out. Thank you so much for your patience, life’s a mess atm. Love you, always <3

wordcount: 3,2k

You wake.

Not by choice, but rather from the sound of a window shutting forcefully somewhere downstairs. You still, holding your breath as you listen intently, however, you are left waiting. All you can hear is complete silence. Silence that feels almost eerie now, in the dark. When you hear nothing suspicious for another minute, your focus shifts.

It must be around midnight, you think, and a quick look at the clock confirms your assumption.

It’s 23:50.

Then you hear it—the wind. You exhale sharply, closing your eyes again. It’s just the wind, you tell yourself. The wind must have shut a window downstairs. And just as you are about to drift off to sleep again—

Your eyes shoot open.

You had checked all the windows before going upstairs.

Your arm searches for something next to you—someone. However, a few taps later, and you realise the bed is cold and empty, sheets in the same place as they were when you went to bed.

He isn’t here. 

Or better—he hasn’t come back.

You sigh in defeat, sitting upright on the soft mattress, the silky sheets crumpling under the shift of weight on them. Your palm covers your mouth as you yawn, slipping into your slippers you placed next to the bed. Your legs carry you towards the nearby window, and you rest your hands on the ledge as you glance into the starry night sky, which is clearer than usual today.

In that moment, realisation hits you.

It’s a full moon.

Another loud noise has your body tense involuntarily, tearing you from your thoughts—this time it’s something shattering on the ground, similar to a glass. You walk towards the door, about to turn the key when your arm drops again.

Every fiber in your body tells you no—stay in bed, don’t go and check. Why would you? Tom isn’t home, and if there really was someone, he wouldn’t want you to get yourself in danger. Right?

You shake your head. But there is another voice inside of you, clearer than your own, telling you to check—

So you do.

You turn the key in the lock, pushing the handle down before peering through the gap.

Darkness.

A sense of relief washes over you, and you step outside, a small candle in your left hand lighting your way. The wooden planks creak under your feet, and you stop every few steps to listen—but all that greets you is silence, silence that carries an intimidating undertone.

Even as you walk down the stairs, there is nothing too unusual. The dim glow of your candle does little to illuminate your surroundings, and it really does a better job exposing yourself to any possible intruder than the other way around, but it’s better than nothing. Finally, you reach the lowest level of your shared home, stepping onto the cold marble floor tiles.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

A shiver runs down your spine as the ticking of the living room clock has you stop momentarily, an eerie tension forming in the air, growing thicker the closer you get to it. You have been wanting to get rid of the clock for a while, telling him how irritating the ticking is, especially when you pass it at night—but he is oddly attached to it.

So you kept it.

With the help of the flickering candlelight, you are able to make out an object on the floor near the living room—your favourite vase—that had dropped and shattered into a hundred small pieces. You sigh softly, crouching down to pick up the pieces, however, soon the inevitable happens—you cut yourself.

A sharp hiss spills over your lips as the porcelain breaks your skin, a drop of blood running down your finger. You curse yourself for not being more careful, looking around to find something you can wrap around the wound.

The emergency kit. In the kitchen.

Standing back up, you make your way, though you don’t get far before your breath catches in your throat and your body freezes in place. A pair of glowing, scarlet eyes advances towards you, their intensity burning through the night’s darkness better than any candle in your possession would.

You shouldn’t be scared. It’s Tom.

However, something about his presence feels different today. The energy he radiates seems stronger, needier. More feral, more unhinged. More dangerous.

Before you know it, he is there, right in front of you.

Though the light of your candle dims when he stands before you, it doesn’t take long for you to take in the state of him. Pupils dilated wide, intently focused on you, his breath coming out in short, ragged huffs. And there is blood. So much blood. The crimson color staining his lips and chin, seeping into the white cotton fabric of his robes. His eyes wander, stopping at the bleeding cut on your finger before they trail back up—slowly.

“Tom?” you whisper, eyebrows drawn together in confusion—and fear.

He doesn’t reply.

Instead, he reaches up to your cheek, brushing over the soft skin ever so lightly, barely even touching you at all. His thumb then wanders under your chin, slowly tilting your head up so you are met with his glowing red eyes. Still, he doesn’t speak—instead, he leans in, his lips meeting yours just to place a singular, feather-light kiss on them. Enough to make you taste what he’s been up to—although you’d rather not think about it. His hand leaves your cheek, grazing over your jaw and throat until he stops at your neck, pulling you in closer.

When his fingers press down on your pulse point softly, feeling your elevated, rushed heartbeat under his touch, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. Tom’s head dips then, his hot breath skimming over your ear, the tension between the both of you building rapidly. And then, a small, an almost too silent huff leaves his lips—

“Run.”

Now, obviously, this isn’t meant to be a game for you to win. It has never been. With his heightened senses and supernatural strength, you cannot escape him, and you never will. Both of you are aware of that. But the thrill of it all—it is intoxicating for both of you. So whenever he does tell you to run—you are more than happy to obey.

So you take a step back, and his arm drops to his side. One more quick glance at him, how his chest rises and falls in anticipation, how his lips are slightly parted, revealing his sharp fangs—

And then you run, as fast as your legs carry you.

He gives you a head start, knowing you won’t make it far either way. It’s dark, but he doesn’t need light to find you. The smell of your fresh blood in the air is enough for him to locate you, even if you were a mile away. He could distinguish your blood from a thousand others, and God, he would always find you.

After all, you are still his favourite prey.

With that thought, he turns to leave the kitchen, following the soft sound of your heartbeat. He can feel how quick it beats, trying its hardest to supply your body with enough oxygen. The closer he gets to you—now walking up the stairs—the stronger the scent of your blood becomes. The more he craves you.

You shriek quietly as the door to your shared bedroom flies open, your breathing stilling in an attempt to keep him at bay for just a little longer. Though you know it’s over when you hear a low scoff from outside of your closet, the door opening as a strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you out.

“Too easy,” he growls, lips crashing onto yours, capturing you in a heated kiss. “Too fucking easy.” Suddenly his hands are all over your body, practically tearing your clothes off your body. The buttons of your blouse pop off the fabric, clattering as they hit the floor, rolling off. You barely have time to complain before you stand bare before him, and his hungry eyes are drinking you in.

Tom takes a step closer, and you squirm slightly as his cold hand softly trails over your delicate skin, pulling you in as he reaches your waist. “Been thinking about you all day. Now you are mine.” He purrs, smirking against your lips before he kisses you again, biting down on your lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from you.

“Who— who was it?” You breathe, gaze lowering to the bloodstains on his clothes, a sly grin forming on his face at your question.

“Remember Knockturn Alley? How his eyes lingered on you?” He answers, trailing kisses along your jaw.

Of course. What else.

You sigh. “Yes, I do.”

“Mhm.” He mumbles, lips back on yours, not giving you the chance to question him further.

Never breaking the kiss, he pushes you backwards until you are sprawled out on the now cool, silky sheets, not wasting another second before he joins you. One hand softly wrapped around your throat, he tilts your head to gain better access to your neck, his ragged breaths hot on your skin as his head dips, greedily trailing kisses along your jugular vein.

Your soft moans only seem to spur him on, sucking marks into your skin, your neck, collarbone, and breasts until you are nothing more than a whining mess beneath him. Only then does he pull back slightly, humming lowly in approval as his glowing eyes wander over the artwork of bruises he’s left behind on your skin.

He savours the way you melt under his touch, so good and pliant for him, anticipation building at the thought of finally tasting you. “Doing so well for me,” he mutters, brushing a strand of hair from your face, before dipping back down to continue his ministrations.

Then, for the first time that night, you feel his fangs on your skin, grazing over your neck ever so lightly—a gentle reminder of what’s to come, of the flaming hunger beneath his composure. Your body twitches at the contact, breath coming out shakily as you cling onto his shoulder, feeling his muscles under your touch.

A smirk creeps onto his face at your reaction, placing an open-mouthed kiss directly onto your pulse point. “So afraid,” he drawls, tilting your head just a tiny bit more, before you feel his pointed teeth again, not yet piercing your skin, but lingering, waiting.

“I am not—“ you try to defend yourself, however, his palm closes over your mouth, cutting you off.

“No more talking back.”

As his instinct takes over, you feel it. The familiar sting of his fangs sinking into the tender flesh of your neck, drawing the first drops of blood with a breathy groan as he tastes you on his tongue, some of it trickling down onto the sheets and your cleavage. A cozy warmth spreads through your body, easing the pain, intensifying the pleasure he is providing you with.

“Tom— oh God—“ you whimper, hands tangling in his brunette locks, softly tugging on his roots as he continues feeding on you, soft sucking noises filling your shared bedroom as he greedily drinks your blood, a tingling sensation spreading through your body.

But before he gets too lost in the ecstasy, he pulls back with a low growl, fangs forcefully retracting from your neck. For a moment he just glances down at you, chest heaving with ragged breaths. “Taste yourself,” he breathes, head dipping down until he’s a mere inch away from your lips. “I want you to taste yourself. How fucking sweet you taste for me.”

He doesn't give you much of a choice, because as soon as you open your mouth to voice your complaint, his lips are on yours, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your senses. His hand tightens around your throat, cutting off just enough air to leave you dizzy, while the effects of his bite send your mind spiraling. Your knuckles turn white from how hard they are gripping the sheets, your body struggling to process the overwhelming sensations all at once.

But there is something you do notice. Very clearly even.

How painfully hard he is. How he can’t help but grind himself against you.

“T-Tom, please,” you whimper as he slowly pulls back, admiring the mess he’s left on your lips, thumb shakily swiping over them.

“You are ovulating.”

“I know, I—“

He groans. A low, almost desperate sound somewhere from the back of his throat. “Fuck, sweetheart. You know I can’t— fuck— hold back. Not when—“

Merlin help you.

Your hand is on his neck, never breaking eye contact as you pull him closer once more. Shaking your head, you place a kiss on his tensed jaw. “Don’t hold back.”

Another sharp inhale, and his hand is back around your throat, pressing down, not to restrict your airflow, because you can breathe very well—as well as you could breathe under the effect of your vampire’s bite—but rather your blood flow.

“Don’t wish for something you cannot handle,” he warns lowly, but you shake your head again. “God, Tom, please— I need you, just— take me.”

“Fuck—“

With your mind already blurry as a result of his bite, you only faintly notice the sound of his belt hitting the wooden planks of your floor with a thud, followed by the rest of his clothes. Before you realise it, he slips between your thighs, body pressing flush against yours. His lips wrap around your nipple, gently dragging his sharp teeth over the sensitive bud, drawing a sharp gasp from you at the intense sensation, which sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

It doesn’t take long until you feel him prodding at your soaked entrance, pressing another kiss to your lips before he pushes inside of you with a low groan, and it’s rough, it’s careless, mirroring his burning hunger for you. He doesn’t wait, no, he buries himself to the hilt with one singular, powerful thrust, tip brushing against your sensitive cervix, your brows drawing together at the sudden, sharp yet delicious stretch on your walls. A choked moan rips from your lips, body arching beneath him, which is apparently sign enough for him to pull back slightly, only to thrust back inside harder.

His head dips, breath hot against your neck as he continues sucking and biting marks into your skin before his fangs break through your flesh once more, a low, satisfied hum falling over his lips as he stills his hunger on his favourite human—you.

He soon sets a steady rhythm, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his tip brushes over your most sensitive spot with every thrust. The flickering candlelight in the otherwise dark room illuminates the sharp features of his face each time he raises his head to take a breath, your blood dripping down his chin over the sides of his neck.

“Can’t get enough of you, fuck—“ he groans, picking up his pace when he hears your soft moans, his fingertips sinking into your waist, hard enough to leave bruises as he pulls you back into his thrusts, stopping your body from moving forwards with every snap of his hips.

Few things in this world can make Tom Riddle lose his self-restraint.

But the way you squeeze him so tight, walls fluttering as you try to accommodate his length, soft whimpers falling over your lips, all while the flavour of your blood has his mind spinning with pure ecstasy—certainly has him on the verge.

Because fuck—you are just so gorgeous, he thinks. Covered in his marks and his only, painting a canvas of his lust on your body, he just needs you to be his, forever. The bite would come, the bite to turn you into a vampire yourself, but for now—he’ll still savour the irreplaceable taste of your blood. Instead, he’ll make you his in other ways.

Tom’s eyes darken at the thought, lips slightly parted, and suddenly he has a desire other than satiating his primal hunger for your blood—he wants, no, needs to fill you—stake his claim on you.

You can practically feel the last bits of restraint he has left fading, messily feeding on you while he buries his cock deep within your walls with every sharp, perfectly angled snap of his hips into yours, deliciously dragging over all the right spots as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Too much, Tom— please—“ you whimper, just as your consciousness threatens to slip, ears ringing and vision growing cloudy. He is barely able to stop himself in time from draining more of your precious blood, fangs tearing from your skin with a low, guttural groan. He tilts your head then, having you meet his strict, intense gaze. “Not yet, look at me. Fuck— look at me as I fill you up.”

Only with half-lidded eyes do you manage to do so, legs weakly wrapped around him as he takes what he needs, mercilessly slipping in and out of you, his brunette curls sticking to his damp forehead as he chases his release.

“You are going to be good for me and take it,” he pants, thrusts growing more erratic as you feel him twitch inside of you.

“Every.” thrust “Last.” thrust “Drop.” thrust

“Yes— fuck please, Tom.” You gasp, and with a few more sharp snaps of his hips, he spills his release deep inside of you, groaning lowly as he paints your walls with thick, white ropes of his cum.

You too come undone with a weak shudder of your body, your walls fluttering around his length, hands slipping from his shoulders. Pleasure and pain melt into one, stars dancing in front of your eyes as your vision grows blurrier with each passing second.

Tom lets you regain your consciousness, staying situated between your thighs, his cock still buried deep within your walls as he gently laps his tongue against the puncture wounds on your neck, cleaning most of the dried crimson liquid from your skin.

The next thing you remember is his fingertips tenderly massaging shampoo into your scalp, warm water surrounding your sore body as he has you resting against his chest in the bathtub. The scent of fresh rose petals and orchids fills your nostrils with a deep breath of yours. You hum softly, eyes fluttering closed again, letting him take care of you.

A flicker of satisfaction sparks in his eyes as he dries you off in front of a mirror, gently patting the towel over the bite marks and bruises he’s left all over your cleavage.

“So gorgeous, covered in my marks. And all mine.”

“All yours.”

tags: @belladonnaheartsthemoon, @riddlebella, @jo1818

—

thank you for reading! <3 feedback and reblogs are appreciated. 💜

[sweetimmoral]

the gentle shuffling beneath the sheets distracts tom from his reading. he turns to look at the bed. no, stare at the bed, as if his concentration is going to make your sleepy head visible to him like magic.

"tom?" he hears your tiny, sleepy voice call out.

"oh, i'm here" he calls out reassuringly, trying to sound a bit more reassured than how he feels himself. you hummed in response, a smile on your face evident in the tune.

it made his heart skip a beat.

he had never let anyone sleep over in his dingy apartment above burke's. it was more of a cupboard with creaky floors that smelt like old paper and a bit of earl grey. it smelled like tom. you liked that, you told him, and that he needn't be ashamed. the economy is in shambles after the great war, you said as you cupped his face. he could only manage half a smile to respond to that.

in the morning he'd expected you to disappear from his bed. to be gone. and never return.

as he held your face the night before, he was almost reciting his disappointment. ever since he'd met you he'd been waiting for you to leave him. waiting. anxiously. not hoping, no, never hoping. it's just that you're too good, to sweet for someone so cruel and unlovable.

in some twisted metaphor, he felt his cold, long fingers warm up as they soaked some of the warmth of your pretty face. he let himself feel it. the heat. the fact that you were so real, as real as the blood flowing through your body, as real as the part of you he kissed with his tip just moments before. he let his fingers wander down south to feel just how and where he had ruined you. caressing your swollen parts with his dexterous fingers, holding his breath a little when he found his cum there. actual. tangible. there you were. and it was all real.

his hand settled comfortably on your waist after its restless roaming. he didnt want to wake up and witness the guilt he'd feel for going against every principle of his. the giant wall he'd been making around himself had no entrance, then how did you manage to comfortably reside in the broken castle ruins it protected – his heart? at least he could be assured that you would never leave. never.

and he'd resent you for this cruel trespassing forever.

[scribbledlovenotes]

distracted. p.t.r

mdni. professor tom riddle. good grades. bad distractions. age-gap sex.

Months. For months you’ve trapped within the flickering candlelight of the libraries restricted section, parchment and quill in hand as you scribble down notes, pretending to care about the intricacies of advanced magical theory. It’s a ridiculous assignment for a stupid class and the only reason you’re even committed to finishing it is him. Your obsession. The one thing that causes your heart to race and forces your thighs to clench uncomfortably beneath your desk. Him. Professor Riddle. Potentially the one and only reason you returned back for your seventh year. You can’t get enough. Come to notice it; either can the other female students around you from the whispers you’ve heard them speak.

He’s forever tailored to perfection, the robes which drape over his lean frame as intoxicating as the silken menace of his voice as he discusses topics such as the ‘seduction of power linked to dark arts’ or your personal favourite, the ‘elegance of a well cast spell’, as if the words were a spell themselves. You’re hooked; lustful. He knows it, surely. Those dark, melted chocolate eyes of his catch yours just a little too often. Lingering with a heat that feels like what you presume legilimency would as he peels back the subtle layers of your restraint.

It was last Tuesday, after a lecture on the morality of the dark arts that left your head spinning that he stopped you as you gathered your textbooks and piled them neatly into your arms. His presence standing before you was polished yet predatory. Almost like a knifes blade wrapped in velvet. The curve of his smirk; stealing your breath.

 “I’d like to discuss a recent essay you submitted”, Professor Riddle explained, taking his time to fold a piece of parchment between his fingertips tat you couldn’t for the life of you, pull your gaze from. The simple movement almost ritualistic in practice. “Come to my office tomorrow evening. Any time after 6.”

Your heart lurched at the proposal; frantically thudding against the inside of your chest as you felt the back of your neck warm up with a scarlet style fever you’d potentially have to see a nurse about. Every sensible part of you knows that this is just a student-professor discussion. Nothing more, nothing less. However you can’t help but wonder. Should you agree, should you tell anyone, should you brag, should you mention something to your absolutely oblivious Hufflepuff boyfriend who you loved dearly but ugh – god, he was fucking useless when it came to feelings. Your wants. Desires. Needs.

“Of course, Professor”, you responded with a small smile; innocently tucking some hair behind your ear which you flicked up on and over the back of your shoulder. “Um, should I bring my boyfriend? He did help me with the paper. Perhaps he could learn something.”

The question came out as pure innocence whispered from between your gloss coated lips as you’re waiting, patiently to try and catch any look or expression that might give away a little more than what Professor Riddle already has; but the shadow in his eyes that transpires like a storm is gone in a blink, as his smile sharpens. A chuckle, rumbling just at the back of his throat. “Just you will suffice. I prefer… focused discussions.”

And with that; the air crackled as if there had been some kind of sudden declaration of a silent challenge.

This evening; the castle is as quiet as the fields of Scotland midwinter as you climb, step by step the stone staircase to Professor Riddle’s office. The air surrounding you on the way thickened by the scent of burning ensconces and a shimmer of magic which leads the way. You knock against the hard wood door before his voice commands you to enter. As the door creaks open, he’s revealed to be sitting behind a desk – quill in hand, grading papers as the roar of the fireplace lights up the office almost.. romantically.

Professor Riddle’s features are sharp. More so now than when you see him during class. He looks absolutely devastating in what he’s wearing; robes hooked up on a wall behind him, the crisp white shirt he’s wearing pulls to sit exactly as it should on his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms twilled with a quiet strength. You swallow harshly, eyes tracing up one particular vein that you notice beneath his skin almost poetically and he gestures to the chair across from him as you hesitate before taking a seat. The office’s intimacy – shelves of tomes, trinkets and artefacts on display in a curated yet chaotic fashion closing in like a charm you might just become.

“Your essay”, he begins, picking up the work almost delicately off a pile of others before he hands it to you, “…is bold. I’ll give you that. Yet your research clearly lacks precision.”

You gaze down at the essay; eyes taking in the corrections and question marks scattered over it in a dull, red ink – the grade scribbled into the top corner something you’re vaguely satisfied with but Professor Riddle is clearly not. You attempt to stammer out some kind of response; some knitted reply as an excuse for work you were actually content with, yet you notice from the corner of your eye the way he rises from his seat. His critique a pretence to a game you know you both shouldn’t be playing, yet as he circles around the desk, coming around to where you start, you can’t help but note that each step seems deliberate. Like a wolf closing in on a lamb or in this case, a snake on a mouse which is desperate to feast.

“You have potential”, he murmurs as his steps stop behind you. he’s standing close enough that you can feel his breath graze the back of your neck. “…but clearly you’re distracted.”

Your pulse hammers; skin beginning to gleam with a soft sweat that coats your brow and a thin line down the nape of your neck. You’re suddenly grateful that you never told your boyfriend about coming here; about this little meeting – just that you’d see him tonight, as always for a little alone time and well…

“I’m not”, you manage as a response. Words clear. “Distracted – that is.”

Professor Riddle’s hands find your shoulders as he scoffs a chuckle; running down to the small of your back, burning through your robes. He leans in; lips to your ear, his voice sounding like that of a velvet hex. As his fingers trace along the curve of your skin; slow – possessive, you feel a slick heat that you want to curse away blooming between the chaffing of your thighs.

“Aren’t you? Well..”, he gently guides you up onto your feet, pushing you forward so that you’re pressing against the edge of his desk as he cages you in, body warm pressed up against you. “I still think I’m right. You see that’s a perk to teaching. With a little experience, you begin to learn to read a classroom and see through masks that students prevail while hoping to fool you… and you dear, most definitely, are, distracted.”

A hand slips up beneath your skirt, finding the dampness of your underwear which his fingers push aside with ease and before you know it, both skilled and merciless; he parts your folds, a slick drag up towards your clit that rather quickly swells with need. It’s a blend of a gasp and a choke that escapes you. You lean forward; hands clawing at the wood of his desk and as his fingers continue to circle exactly where you need them, your body trembles; like a wanton secret of his to please.

What follows? That’s a blur. Professor Riddle twists you around; his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that’s bruising. One that tastes like a rich red wine. He manages to muffle your gasps with a firm hand as he undoes his belt with the other and before you know what you’re doing yourself, you shift back and lift onto his desk – lips parted; eyes glued to that wicked smirk he wears before they drop down to his waist, taking in full view of his cock; thick, glistening, that he pumps twice before pressing against your entrance with a friction and tease.

You shouldn’t have. You’re not meant to. Either way, you whisper a desperate ‘please’, and without any patience as what he’s known for, Professor Riddle shifts your thighs further apart to wrap lets around his waist as he fills you with a single deep thrust that takes your breath away. The office falls into silence. You fall back onto the desk. A bottle of ink is spilled. Papers go flying. You hear a quill crack beneath you but couldn’t care less. His thrusts are both torture and bliss. Each movement a revelation. It’s forbidden; it’s fucking perfect. Your thighs split further as he grasps at the soft flesh and you bite down on a knuckle to try and keep yourself quite; relishing the fact that he’s thorough and rough, satisfying. Not quite like your boyfriend.

You hear him spit; saliva hitting your clit which he draws out a series of wand motions you – you know them, they’re the unforgivables and yet you couldn’t care. Your cunt begins to clench around him. You claw a little further at his desk. The desk lamp gets knocked over; you hear the bulb shatter as you cry out a moan through gritted teeth and your back arches up as he spills out inside of you. A warmth flooding in but also dripping down your legs as he withdraws – the both of you breathless.

“Much improved”, he mutters, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear almost tenderly before he taps a teasing slap against your clit as a reminder of what’s just happened. It’s about a minute before you can stand. A minute before you make yourself look a little more decent that you just had been. A minute for your cheeks to swell down from a harsh red to a soft peachy pink and by this time, Professor Riddle has already returned to his seat.

“Same time next week. We can discuss any course work you might be struggling with.”

Is that an offer, or a request? You fix your hair; running your hands through it before you lick your lips and nod. Unable to shake the feeling of what’s just happened.

“You’re an exceptional student. Just – don’t get distracted.  Wouldn’t want you being dissatisfied; it’s a shame about the boyfriend.”

Ugh – that prick. He’d been inside your head the whole time.

“Yes Professor”, you respond as you make your way towards the door to exit; making a mental note to keep this little rendezvous to yourself forever and ever and e—

“Tom.” He corrects you. “Professor Riddle is merely a formality we must maintain within the classroom.”

Fuck. Why’d he have to wait until seventh year.

[blackcider]

Harry wasn't sure how to explain this situation...or if he even wanted to. What was he supposed to say?

Hey mom, dad, I somehow, in some way, I'm not sure how either, I ended up sleeping withMinisterofMagicTomRiddleandnowIdon'tknowwhattodobecauseheisreallyhotbutheisdefinitelyanasshole.

So Harry decided his best course of action was to just not tell anyone. Especially since there was no way that would happen again.

But it did.

Many more times.

Before Harry even knew five months had passed and it felt like he spent every other night with that insatiable octogenarian...the sexiest 80 year old in the world, but still??

At least Harry had kept to the other part of his self deal? He hadn't told a single soul that he was sleeping with-was it a relationship? courting? whatever it was, there was definitely sex-the Tom Riddle. He had planned to keep it that way, and it stayed that way...at least until that happened.

It was a normal Friday evening in the Ministry, and Harry found himself in the Minister's embrace. Which, in Harry's opinion, was quite a comfortable place to be. The Minister's hands traced circles on his waist as his lips bit and sucked the flesh of Harry's neck. Harry...well, Harry happily welcomed it all, moaning as the older man sucked harder.

It was a good time as any, it was late, and almost nobody stayed this late, even less used this elevator. The air was electric, their arousal and magic surrounding them, hoping, waiting for the moment it all spilled into ecstasy. They hadn't heard the bell of the elevator door opening, so entranced in each other.

"H-Ha-Harry?"

Both heads snapped to the choked out whisper.

There, standing in front of the elevator doors was his godfather, the biggest gossip in the Ministry-possibly world-, the crazy cousin of Crazy Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius Black.

Britain would know before the sun set.

[itsevansart]

sketch

make my day by reblogging and not reposting!

[sumerek]

.the head boy.

[iamnmbr3]

So it’s kind of implied that the accidental part of Harry and Voldemort’s connection is one sided - i.e. that they’re both connected but only Harry gets flashes of Voldemort’s life without actively trying to go into his mind but not the other way around. But imagine if it was both ways and Voldemort who has so long been cut off from humanity and from normal mortal life sometimes randomly got to experience Harry going about his daily business and doing normal things like eating and talking to people and feeling the sun.

[delineate-creates]

Day 17: Journal

[juliet-017]

Kisemis - T.R.

Prefect!academicrival!Tom Riddle x prefect!fem!reader

Minors dni!

Warnings: Dumbification?, oral m!reciving, throat fucking/deep throating, face slapping, hair pulling, begging?, exhibition, few uses of y/l/n, degradation, I tired to make it house neutral the best I could but it might allude or lean to diff houses with diff lines I write so apologies (+ Gryffindor bias), Let me know if I missed anything

Synopsis: Being a prefect whilst holding an academic rivalry with another is excruciating, constantly at eachothers throats, witty banter back and forth. Until one night you find yourselves alone, causing for new feelings to trickle in, only causing more anger and confusion.

a/n: I've been writing so many smuts so fast so I hope this one's up to par as well! Also first time writing oral so hopefully this is good! Also I might write a part two to this piece, it feels deserving plot wise. & apparently the title derived from homestruck, I am not in that fandom at all so uhm if anyone in it is problematic I am not apart of that!

Wc: ~2.3k

Masterlist

The library air was warm and dry, a strict contrast to the damp and cool air from the majority of the castle. You were exhausted, your third night in a row, having volunteered to take the spot of another prefect or two who were feeling unwell.

It was a mistake. A terrible mistake.

You took to sitting up against a table, leaning back against it, and closing your eyes. A chill runs up your spine, the feeling of being watched, unable to spot a person you blame it on a ghost.

Pushing off the table you continue your search, a faint glow from your wand illuminating the space ahead of you. Heading towards the restricted section first, deciding that most unruly students would take advantage of the night to explore those forbidden scrolls before even touching a book that's out in the open. Besides - most in the library after curfew would've fallen asleep whilst studying and they deserved some grace… right?

While heading deeper into the restricted section you hear whispers. Just one voice.

The aroma of sandalwood and spices hits you, alongside a woodsy scent. The signature scent belonging to none other than Tom Riddle. It's easy to hate how fast you pinned that. Hesitantly, you linger around a bookcase, trying to figure out if he's alone or scolding a student.

“Show yourself,” He speaks up before you can even make a decision, wondering how he heard you. “I know you're there so might as well make it easy on yourself.”

With a breath - as if you can get in trouble for patrolling - you round the corner. “Ah, y/l/n, on patrol duty again tonight are you?”

“Couldn't say the same for you, Riddle. I’d’ve thought you'd be busy catching up on your beauty sleep.” You snub, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

“Hm, could say the same for you. You need it after all.” He hums coldly, his usual smirk playing on his lips. “Now go on, I'm sure you have a student to catch and scold.”

“Well, I’d like to know what you were doing yourself, Riddle. Can't you study in your dorm?” You retort, taking on a quizzical look while approaching him, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You blame them on anxiety, after all, he has a few inches on you and his way to stock for your liking. Emotionless, to put it simply.

“Well, I could, but here's the fun in that?” He replies, almost amused in his tone as he closes the book when you get closer, sliding it into his bag. “There's no risk in that.”

You eye the book as he bags it, brows furrowing. It's stupid to question him, he’ll just lie, or tell you to shove him off. But what's the harm in trying? “What were you reading?”

“Oh please, like I'd still you.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes and putting the strap of his bag on his shoulder as if to depart.

“Did I say you could go anywhere?” You ask, voice sharp as if you're scolding a first-year. You immediately regret it, but decide that there's no going back now. “I'm the prefect on duty tonight, not you.”

Tom's brows raise, shaking his head and chuckling in amusement as he sets the bag back down. “Well looks like someone decided to be a bit brave tonight.” He remarks, looking you over like a piece of meat.

It makes you squirm.

“Did a Professor even give you permission to come in here?” You press, tilting your head to the side, deciding to just fake it. Hoping that feigning enough bravery will give you some.

“Like you'd actually tell Slughorn I'm in here.” He drawls, swiftly moving and standing right in front of you, forcing you to tilt your head back. “Go on, love,” he taunts. “go on and tell old Sluggy.”

Your expression sours, trying to figure out how to word your response. “I won't be telling him, because you have him wrapped around your finger. I can go straight to Dippet, you know.”

“Oh but you wouldn't do that, would you now?” He presses, reaching back and coiling some of your hair around his finger. “You know that I have the majority of the faculty in my favor.” He hums.

You glare ignoring how the proximity makes you shift, how him playing with your hair makes you want to either push him and run away or drop to your knees and-

“Got you there, didn't I y/l/n?” He taunts, an amused huff escaping him.

“No. I'm just..” You start, biting your lip momentarily. “Am I not allowed to bide time?” You ask rhetorically, trying to keep up the farce. “After all if I won't be getting an answer to my question I should be allowed to give all the silence I want. So what were you doing?”

“Studying.” He hums, tugging on the strand slightly. You wonder if he does this with.. everyone, or something like this to manipulate people, make them unsteady and easy to guide.

“Studying what?”

“None of your business.”

“C’mon, I'm just curious.”

“You just love sticking your nose in everyone's business, don't you?”

“I just want to know what you're studying for Riddle. Is it the next Herbology exam? Perhaps arthrithmaticy, or potions?” You blabber, knowing damn well what you're doing but enjoying pushing his buttons, watching him tick, drawing actual emotion out of him. “Am I not allowed to ask questions?”

Quickly, his hand goes to the back of your head, grappling your hair tightly. “No. But you should learn when to shut your mouth.” He growls, towering over you with ease.

You flinch, looking at him with wide eyes, trying to ignore the fire in your lower abdomen. Your throat runs dry, you have half the mind to come up with an excuse to flee.

“What are you doing out alone anyways? Prefects are supposed to patrol in groups.. aren't they?” He tsks, looking down at you and taking in your expression.

“Hughes said it would be faster this way,” You reply quietly, a whisper, looking anywhere but at his face.

“Eyes on me.” He grumbles, his free hand grabbing your cheeks and squishing them together, demanding eye contact. “Who would've known it just took this to shut you up.”

“You just caught me off guard,” You reply, words muffled, barely audible.

“Hm, what was that?” He taunts, letting go of your cheeks, his hand moving to your shoulder as he forces you down. You resist for a moment before the pull on your hair burns to a point that you have to comply. “Couldn't hear you while thinking about my cock down your throat.”

And that? Perfect, cold, calculating, Tom Riddle talking about fucking you? That shut you up even more, looking up at him with wide eyes as you try to think of a response, a slick growing between your thighs.

“You like the thought of that, don't you? Putting your mouth to better use?” He continues mockingly, unbuckling his belt and looking down at you, his eyes searching for an answer.

You nod, looking up at him, tempted to just undo his trousers yourself. “Please,” You murmur, looking up through your lashes.

Brows raised he huffs, undoing his trousers with his free hand, pulling his boxers down as well. His cock already hard, slapping his lower abdomen. Tom strokes himself, only making himself harder as he looks down at you. “Open, tongue out.” He instructs, watching you with a hungry gaze.

You comply, pathetically soaked at how he's treating you, looking up at him as he taps his tip on your tongue. Tasing his salty precum before he pushes into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

He starts with a steady pace, using a table to support him as he takes to fucking your throat, using his leverage and grip on your hair to hold you still while he thrusts. “Throat’s so bloody tight,” He groans, stalling and holding your nose up tight against his pelvis, making you gag before going back to his former thrusting motion. “You look so much prettier with my cock down it.”

You groan around his cock in protest.. or maybe pleasure, brain desperate for oxygen. Tom’s thrusts grow sloppier, desperate. It's almost worth the oxygen deprivation and occasional degrading comments. He speeds up again, his expression contorted, the lewd sounds of your gagging and his frowning filling the library.

You're shocked when he pulls out of your mouth, having thought he'd make you swallow every last drop. The shock subsides when he cums on your face, the thick white substance covering your cheek, running down slowly and dripping onto your robes.

“What the fuck, Riddle!” You hiss, voice a bit dead from the assault on your larynx. “This is brand new!”

A slap to your face shuts you up, making you whine. “Need me to fuck your face again? Clearly, I didn't do it well enough if you're still running your mouth.” He asks, tugging your hair. “Maybe I should, after all, Hughes doesn't seem to care about his fellow prefect's safety.”

“I told you, I agreed-” Tom takes his chances, pressing his tip against your lip when you speak.

“There's better uses for that mouth than witless conversation.” He spats, tapping his cock on your lip prompting you to open it.

You comply, feeling him fuck your throat even harsher, this time making it more painful by bobbing your head with no regard. “Look at you, such a good girl when it comes to cock.” He praises mockingly, speeding up as you gag and choke, finishing in your mouth this time. “Swallow,” He instructs, slowly pulling out of your mouth while watching you do so.

You comply, swallowing it all, looking up at him and not daring to speak. This time, Tom pulls you up harshly by your hair, pinning you up against a bookshelf. His chest to your back, he delivers wet kisses to your neck.

Whining at the sensation you wiggle your hips backward, chasing some pleasure, and Tom complies just enough. Reaching around his hand travels under your skirt to toy with your clothed clit, feeling your wetness through your panties. “Look at you, finally shutting up, all dumb from my cock, aren't you?”

You nod weakly, moaning softly whilst feeling your underwear being pulled down, pooling at your ankles. “Should've thought of this sooner.” He mutters, palming himself before teasing your entrance, growing hard once more. With one slow thrust, he pushes into you, making you feel as if you're being split in two, grabbing onto a self on the bookcase.

You barely have time to adjust before he sets a ruthless pace, a bruising grip on your hips as he thrusts in and out of you reducing you to a moaning and whimpering mess.

“Look at you, finally shutting your mouth. Being such a good slut,” He grunts into your ear, biting at your neck now.

“I hate you.” You whine, the old bookcase shaking as he continues his assault on your cervix.

He scoffs, reaching around with one hand to lightly hold your throat, the other bracing himself on the bookcase. “Sure didn't feel like it when you were letting me use your throat, and she doesn't feel like it now. All wet and willing.” He spats, quickening his pace.

A book falls, and you whine and make a weak attempt at an escape, ceasing when you realize how trapped you are. “What? Scared someone's going to hear? That a ghost or the librarian is going to pop around the corner?” He taunts, continuing.

You curse the bookshelf for being so old and weak as another one falls, moans escaping you as Tom picks up the pace as if willing someone or something to hear and investigate. You dig your nails into the wood, desperate as you start to rock your own hips, meeting his own in an attempt to get more pleasure. “Greedy girl,” Tom chastises, his hand that was previously on your neck traveling down to draw circles on your clit.

“Gonna cum on my cock,” Tom pants out, you're not sure if it's a question or a demand but you nod anyway. The circles become messier, heat forming in your lower abdomen as you start to clench around him.

Before you know it white hot pleasure courses through you, knees buckling slightly as your hips weakly still rut. Shortly after, Tom finishes as well, cumming deep inside of your walls, panting.You barely register your ankles being lifted, feet moved.

You look around, noticing the books that fell, shame coming to your face when you realize what just happened. Who you were just with. Quickly you turn around to look at him. “You bastard, Tom Riddle, you-” You start, walking towards him as he heads back to his bag.

He stops turning and glaring at you, smirking, eyes shimmering with amusement. “What. Are you upset I showed you the night of your life?”

You open your mouth to argue before he hushes you. “I'd be careful with your words, doll. Last thing you want is for your throat to be even more raw tomorrow.”

You cross your arms, pouting. “Now if you'll excuse me I have to get to my dorm. Some of us value our sleep.” He remarks before brushing last you to leave.

You sulk for a moment, trying to figure out what just happened. How you let it happen. It's not till you're actually settling your robes to depart and continue patrolling till you realize you're missing something.

The prick took your underwear.

Edit: uhm okay so this fic is blowing UP anyways if you want tagged for future parts please comment so! Thank you so so much for all the support!! 🩷

[ariddle-diddle]

I needed a break from the more serious stuff. I plan to make a whole series of doodles with Tom & his future Horcruxes.

I don't know what to say in defence of my horrid sense of humour, Tom Riddle making hotdogs at a local convenience store. He allegedly puts nasty concoctions into the ketchup and poisons all of his customers (Classic Tom!)

[enha-doodles]

slytherin boys reacting to their darling being from Ravenclaw?👀

SLYTHERIN GUY'S REACTION TO YOU BEING IN RAVENCLAW | ✧⁺。

Pairing : (Mattheo , Tom , Theodore, Lorenzo , Draco) x reader

Note : tysm for requesting i hope you like it , Hufflepuff is next 🕺🏻🕺🏻

Warning : not proofread, my jokes lmao

MATTHEO RIDDLE

Being with Mattheo is like living in a perpetual comedy sketch. Every time you dazzle him with your Ravenclaw wit, he can't help but playfully roll his eyes and joke about feeling like a first-year struggling with a broomstick. "Seriously, babe, how do you do it?" he'd exclaim, his amusement clear in his eyes. "You've got more brainpower than a room full of Hogwarts professors, and here I am, struggling to remember which potion turns a mouse into a snuffbox."

Despite his self-deprecating humor, you can see the genuine admiration in his eyes, knowing that he's completely smitten with your cleverness. And hey, if being the smart one in the relationship means you get to see that adorable look of amazement on his face, then maybe being a Ravenclaw isn't so bad after all.

TOM RIDDLE

Tom, on the other hand, is a different story altogether. With his competitive nature and Slytherin pride, he can't stand the thought of being outsmarted by anyone, especially his own girlfriend. Every time you happen to know something he doesn't, he's quick to brush it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, so you think you're the expert now, do you?" he'll say, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Just remember who's supposed to be the genius in this relationship."

Despite his competitive edge, you can't help but find it amusing how seriously he takes it all. After all, who knew that trivia night with your boyfriend would turn into a high-stakes battle for intellectual supremacy?

THEODORE NOTT

Theodore, on the other hand, couldn't be more different. He absolutely adores your cleverness, finding your sassy remarks and witty banter completely irresistible. "My darling beauty with brains," he'll say, flashing you a charming smile. "You keep me on my toes, love, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

With Theodore, every conversation feels like a game of verbal chess, with each witty comeback and clever remark only adding to the sparks flying between you. And hey, if being a smartass means getting to see that adorable grin on his face, then sign you up for Ravenclaw house forever.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

Lorenzo, with his laid-back demeanor and sharp sense of humor, finds your intellect both amusing and slightly irritating at times. "Do you ever turn that brain off, or is it just permanently stuck in overdrive?" he'll tease, though there's a fondness in his eyes that tells you he wouldn't have it any other way.

Despite his occasional annoyance, you know that he secretly loves your quick wit and sharp mind, even if it means enduring the occasional eye roll or sarcastic remark.

DRACO MALFOY

And then there's Draco, the epitome of Slytherin arrogance and charm. While he may grumble about your Ravenclaw intelligence, secretly, you know he's secretly impressed by your cleverness. "Bloody hell, can't you dumb it down a bit ?" he'll joke, though there's a hint of genuine awe in his tone. "But hey, I guess it's better than having a girlfriend who thinks Quidditch is a type of biscuit."

With Draco, every conversation feels like a battle of wits, with each snarky remark and witty comeback only adding to the undeniable chemistry between you. And while he may be a bit of a brat at times, you wouldn't have him any other way. After all, what's a little friendly rivalry between Slytherin sweethearts?

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　 　 　。

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚ෆ Tulips And Kisses.

Short Summary: Tom makes sure you start your birthday in the best way possible.

Warnings: 18+ only! oral f!receiving, fingering, praise, slight overstim

A/N: Happiest Birthday to my lovely wife aka @riddleswhcre!!! May you have the best day ever… here a little treat to get you started ;)

wordcount: 1,0k

A soft kiss to your forehead wakes you, eyelids fluttering open slowly. Weak sun rays fight their way through the cloudy mid-February sky, a soft warmth spreading through your body as they touch your skin.

“Good morning, darling.” a voice beside you drawls, smooth like velvet, your lips curling up into a smile when your eyes meet his gaze. Tom presses a tender kiss to your lips then, swiping a strand of hair out of your face.

“I brought you these,” he murmurs, revealing a bouquet of tulips he’s been hiding behind his back. “Your favourite.”

“Tom, these are beautiful,” you whisper, sitting upright on the bed to get a closer look. They are a soft pink colour, decorated with Gypsophilas, wrapped in foil with a pink ribbon on one side.

“Beautiful flowers for the most beautiful girl.” He answers casually, stroking your hair as you lean into his side. Then he kisses you again, sitting down beside you. He smirks against your lips, pulling back slightly as his eyes meet yours.

“I might have something else, too.”

You lift an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “And that is?”

He then gently pulls the sheets off your body, slipping in between your thighs.

“This.”

He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee next, tugging on your silky white shorts, urging you to lift your hips for him. When you do, they are quickly disregarded on the other side of the bed, and his fingertips graze along the lace of your panties while he trails soft kisses up your inner thigh.

“Don’t tease,” you whine, earning a smug grin from him as he looks up at you from between your legs. His thumb trails lower then, a low groan falling over his lips as he feels the already damp patch on your panties, swiping over the soaked fabric.

“So eager for me. Good girl.” He purrs, tracing over your clothed clit softly, watching as your face contorts in pleasure, hips bucking against his touch. Small pleas fall over your lips, hands tightly gripping at the sheets as your thighs tremble in anticipation.

Tom loves to have you like this—all worked up, whining and begging for him. Normally, he would tease you for longer, take his time, make you earn his touch. However, today, his focus lies on you and your pleasure.

So he doesn’t tease you any longer, ridding you of your panties. His thumb swipes through your soaked folds just a second later, first slipping one, then a second finger inside you, curling them with precision. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as his head dips, tongue lapping over your clit before his lips wrap around the swollen bud, gently sucking on it.

“Oh— oh fuck, Tom—“ you hiss as he drags his teeth over it, a firm hand keeping your thighs open for him. His fingertips brush over your most sensitive spot with every thrust of his hand, and before you know it, a familiar sensation forms in the pit of your stomach.

He mumbles something for you inaudible against your bare cunt, the vibrations of his voice pushing you to the brink of ecstasy, your walls greedily clenching around his fingers. The knot in your lower abdomen winds impossibly tighter, your breath coming out in short, ragged huffs. “Let go, darling.” Tom encourages you, briefly withdrawing from your clit only to lick and suck on it harder when his lips wrap around the puffy bud once more.

With his fingers picking up pace, you soon enough tumble over the edge with a shaky moan, thighs trembling as he works you through your orgasm perfectly, not leaving up until your body goes limp beneath his touch.

Vision still blurry, mind hazy with the aftereffects of your orgasm, you don’t realize he doesn’t have any intent of stopping just yet—only when his fingers slowly drag against your sensitive walls again, you whimper softly, small “no’s” spilling over your lips as you shake your head.

“You can take it,” he whispers, his thumb softly circling over your sensitive clit, “be good for me and take it.”

You nod, reluctantly, relaxing against the soft mattress underneath you. Tom doesn’t waste much time before his head dips between your legs again, tongue swiping through your folds before he finds your clit, gently, teasingly lapping on it. His arms keep your thighs parted for him, pinning you firmly underneath him when you try to squirm away from his touch.

You squeal when his lips close around your sensitive bud, fingers tangling in his dark curls. He doesn’t let up, not even when you tug on his hair—which he normally does not allow. Tom’s working your body like magic, every thrust of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge, and just when you think you can’t do it, you can’t put up with the overwhelming amount of pleasure—

“Too much— fuck Tom, too much!” You cry out, though, your body betrays your words. Your hips roll against his touch instead, chasing the pleasure even as you whimper in protest. And there you are again—eyes rolling to the back of your head, walls trembling around him.

“Mmmh. Come for me, pretty girl.” He mumbles against your skin, enough to send you over the edge. The waves of your orgasm wash over you, even stronger than the one before, your entire body spasming in pleasure as you come undone around his digits once more.

Your head sinks back into your pillow, cunt weakly pulsing. He slowly withdraws his digits as you come down from your high, leaving you empty. You don’t notice him leaving as you lay there, boneless, mind still spinning. Only when he returns with a wet cloth, wiping between your legs, a soft whimper escapes your lips, and you meet the gaze of his chocolate-brown eyes. You watch him intently before he sits down beside you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”