#tom riddle x !fem

[darkmarkmarauder]

Only Good Girls Get to Cum - T.R.

!warning!minorsdni, mature content, heavy bdsm

Pairing: Husband!Tom Riddle x Wife!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On the bed,” he ordered.

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

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

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

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

The vulnerability sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Only Good Girls Get to Cum."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: father forgive me for I have sinned

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

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇ��: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪ��ꜱ

MASTERLIST

[greece-greecia]

Lesbianaaaaaaas <3

[deadghosy]

How would Slytherin Boys (your pick) react to gn! reader saying "all men are shit except for you" You can pick if it's platonic or romantic.

My sister screamed this at me as a way of apologizing after an argument. And I just found it so funny that I wonder how fictional men would react to it.

Sorry if this is offensive in any way.

“ALL MEN ARE SHIT….except for you.”

HOW THE SLYTHERIN BOYS REACT TO YOU SAYING THIS

Ft. The riddles, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire

Tom Riddle

He just nods. At least he’s kinda glad to know you don’t think he’s the worst of the man kind.

He knows his own gender specie is weird and unthinkable.

“LIKE I CANT BELIEVE HE DID THAT TO ME…UGH!”

“I choose the bear as well.” Tom says while just reading his daily books. Not taking his eye off of the book he is certainly hooked on. You nodded with a huff.

Mattheo Riddle

Just standing there like “🧍🏾Uhmm..I agree?”

He has no idea what happened but at least he likes how you don’t think he’s shit.

“I agree? So who do I need to beat up?”

Draco Malfoy

At first when those words came out of your mouth he was gonna say how he isn’t only form you to beat him at it.

He felt appreciated. So he nodded and asked for what happened to make you say this.

And now he is a drama hungry bitch cause now he is gonna spread false rumors about the bastard who dared to anger

Blaise Zabini

He just nods with a smile

“Glad to know I’m not shit.”

“Of course you’re not.”

Theodore Nott

Nods while listening to you. His mother taught him to treat people with respect. So of course he will listen and want to know who made you this angry.

As soon you give off description and what house he belongs in. It’s game over for that guy

Don’t worry about the shitty man you were talking about. He’s been taken care of darling.

Lorenzo Berkshire

He’s a “girl’s girl” is what you called him when he had agreed the whole way when you said it.

He just sat there and nodded his head as you told him how men are shit.

He felt glad you think he isn’t shitty at least.

Now he can stop overthinking about how he thinks he bugs you too much.

[cardansriddle]

Bound by the Ball- Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tom is determined to make you his date to the ball. The only problem? You have a boyfriend—and you absolutely cannot stand Tom Riddle.

warnings: banter. like a lot of banter. sexual tension. tom threatening reader to get his way? infidelity. 5.5k words i got carried away :)

A/N: I know i disappeared from the face of earth, but got inspired to write this one this week. Love u all, hopefully I won't go MIA for too long again (i probably will).

༻♛༺

Unattainable was not a word in Tom Riddle's dictionary.

He had never bothered to familiarise himself with the word. Why would he? If Tom Riddle was to be described with one word, it would be determined. Had he decided to set his sight or mind on something, he would go to any length to obtain it. He had sicarded the notion of "impossible" long ago.

So it came as a slap in the face when what he thought the easiest of attainable things, became not so easy. Truthfully, Tom had not even wanted a date for the stupid ball in the first place. However, when the Headmaster insisted that the Head Boy must have a date, it was not as if Tom had any choice in the matter. He had begrudgingly began his search. His requirements for his date were simple: Not dimwitted, an adequate dancer, and witty enough to keep up with him.

He was mentally going over the checklist when the sound of his name amongst excited chatter broke his reverie.

"Have you heard? Apparently Riddle is looking for a date for the dance."

The wizard halted and slowed his steps so he could listen to the conversation of the girls in front of him. The redhead squealed at the information.

"No!" She said in disbelief. "Imagine being asked by the Tom Riddle to the ball." The girl sighed as if imagining the scenario in her head. The wizard was suppressing his urge to smirk when suddenly the witch who had been silent all through the entire exchange scoffed out a laugh.

"Would not wish that misfortune on anyone."

The redhead gasped, affronted. "Misfortune? Have you hit your head? It is Riddle we are talking about. The charming, smartest boy in the school Riddle?"

"He might be the smartest wizard in Hogwarts but he has the emotional intelligence of a rock."

The two girls beside you gasped your name in unison but you brushed them off with a chuckle.

"I suppose you think your Montague is better?" The redhead giggled again and the other witch joined her in what Tom realised to be their teasing.

He watched your profile as you rolled your eyes at their antics. "At least Montague has human emotions and is not stone cold. The only thing Riddle has feelings for is his textbooks."

"Yeah, the only emotion Montague shows is drooling after you like a lovesick puppy."

The ginger was quick to correct her friend. "Hungry dog you mean."

"I am not saying he is perfect. He is handsome enough and has the approval of my family. That should suffice."

The redhead groaned audibly. "Ah, yes! The traits which define the very notion of romance!" She exclaimed sarcastically. Before you could retort, Tom's attention was pulled to the call of his name.

"Oi! Riddle!"

Tom abruptly halted in his steps, the echo of his name reverberating down the dimly lit hallway. A low curse escaped his breath as he realized the three girls in front of him had also come to a stop, their shoulders tensed with anticipation. He turned his head sharply to find Lestrange hurrying towards him with determined steps. When the younger boy finally stood before him, a mischievous grin played on his lips.

"We found the perfect candidate for your date." Lestrange's eyes shifted momentarily behind Riddle, prompting him to turn and inspect the source of their newfound audience. Three pairs of eyes were locked onto them, two wide with a mortified fascination, and you, who had recently questioned his emotional intelligence, regarded him with indifferent eyes. It was as if his very presence left you unaffected, perhaps even bored.

Tom arched an expectant brow, though his gaze remained fixed on you. Your brows furrowed briefly, and he could see the realization dawning on you—you knew he had overheard your conversation. Yet, even then, you managed to morph your features into an expression one of displeasure and tugged on your girlfriends' arms.

"Can I help you, ladies?" Tom's voice cut through the hallway, a subtle challenge lingering in his words. His gaze remained fixated on you, waiting for a glance or acknowledgment.

"No. Excuse us," you curtly replied and pulled your friends away. Tom watched your retreating back, waiting for the moment you might glance back at him, but you did not grace him with a second look.

He turned his attention back to Lestrange, his curiosity evident. "Well, who is it?"

"Er... well, she just left..." Lestrange's weak gesture indicated the direction in which the girls had disappeared. Tom's gaze lingered on the empty corridor.

༻♛༺

His gaze had begun to seek your figure amongst the crowded hallways. He was waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike so he could have a plausible excuse to talk to you. But it was as if you had vanished from the castle. He would see your two friends who you were inseparable with walking around without you. It confounded him. Where had you disappeared to?

"Lestrange."

The boy startled at Tom's voice, tripping over his own feet before righting himself. He turned to meet the Prefect's sharp gaze. "Yes?"

"The girl. What do you know about her?"

Lestrange's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "The candidate for the ball?"

Tom heavily resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, Lestrange. Who else?"

"Well, she's very reserved, and is very...picky with who she keeps in her circle, so I have not managed to talk to her. But from what I have gathered, she's from a good, respectable family, excellent grades, and the ball gown she has chosen is not ridiculous."

Tom rose an inquisitive brow. "How do you know about the ball gown?"

Lestrange shrugged. "Shagged her redhead friend the other day and saw her dress laying on her bed." He said as if it was the most obvious explanation. "You would approve." He winked.

Tom resisted the tempting urge to roll his eyes yet again. Depraved and idiotic as Lestrange was, Tom could not deny his questionable ways were effective. "Anything else?"

The boy scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking sheepish. "Er...she may or may not have a boyfriend." At Riddle's heated glare, Lestrange threw his arms up in defence. "In my defence, I knew it would not be a problem for you!"

Tom decided it was not wroth wasting his time to curse the younger boy, so he sighed tiredly. "Get me her schedule."

"Oh, no..."

༻♛༺

He had not anticipated that while on the quest of hunting the girl down, she would come looking for him herself.

"Riddle!" A feminine voice yelled out his name from across the empty corridor. He heard the hasty approaching footsteps behind him as he turned around, and was surprised to see you storming towards him with fury on your face.

He rose a brow in acknowledgement, which seemed to make you angrier. "What the fuck are you doing?" You seethed.

"Taking a peaceful stroll?" He deadpanned.

Your glare intensified at his mannerism, and you crossed your arms over your chest in indignation. "Care to explain why your little Lestrange has been following me around?"

Tom kept his expression neutral, although internally he was cursing Lestrange's lack of talents for being inconspicuous. "Do I look like his father? Why do you assume me responsible for his actions?"

"Do not play dumb with me Riddle." You huffed, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.

"Perhaps he has taken a fancy. How am I to know?" Tom simply shrugged. His nonchalant demeanour only fused your anger more, and you took a step closer to him as you seethed.

"First you eavesdrop on our private conversation—"

"Which was about me, so it's a little contreversial—"

"—and now you've got your goon following me around—"

"Again, why him following you is my problem?"

You threw your hands in the air, seemingly done with his behaviour. "You are insufferable! Merlin's beard, it's like talking to a—"

"Go to the ball with me."

Whatever you were about to say died in your throat, leaving you to blink up at him in stunned silence, trying to process his words. "What?" Was the only coherent thing that you were able to croak out.

This time it was Tom who stepped closer to you, hands stuffed in his pockets as he casually repeated his earlier statement. "Be my date to the ball."

You managed to gather enough of your wits to let out an incredulous laugh. "Have you gone mad? Do I need to help you into the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm perfectly fine." The corner of his lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his presence invading your space. "Now, say yes."

"You can't just demand that I be your date, Riddle." Your voice was sharp with exasperation, still grappling with whatever was going on in his head. "Besides, I already have a date. My boyfriend. Naturally." You added.

"Ah, of course. The dimwit that you can barely tolerate?" He asked smugly, a pointed jab at the conversation he'd overheard days before.

Your lips parted, indignation flaring as you struggled to formulate a rebuttal. "I tolerate him just fine," you finally managed, though even to your own ears, it sounded weak and far too defensive.

"Reputable enough to please your parents, but not skilled enough to please you I would wager." He countered.

"How dare you!" you hissed, your voice rising despite yourself.

Tom tilted his head, his smirk unfaltering. "Did I strike a nerve? My apologies. It’s just hard to watch someone of your... caliber settling for mediocrity."

Your jaw clenched, and despite fighting it, heat flared in your cheeks. You might have not liked Tom Riddle, but that did not mean you did not know just how rare it was to receive a compliment from him. And his words had been a compliment. So of course, it was only natural for you to get flustered. But you would not concede to him so easily. "You are delusional, Riddle. The only thing that matters is that he is far better company than an arrogant, self-important—"

"A self-important what?" Tom interrupted, his tone low and sharp enough to cut. His dark eyes bore into yours, leaving the retort stuck in your throat.

You stepped back, trying to put space between you, but Tom mirrored the movement, closing the gap effortlessly.

"You’re deflecting," he said smoothly, his voice laced with quiet amusement. "If you truly cared for him, you wouldn’t feel so unnerved, you would not struggle so needlessly to list his likeable traits, and you most definitely would not be so willing to have this conversation."

"Willing?" you echoed, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. "Oh, Riddle, it is not my fault you mistook my utter disdain and aggravation for you as interest." You taunted. "As a matter of fact, before you are more mislead, I am done indulging whatever this is." You turned on your heel, intending to storm away, but you barely took a step before a hand shot out, catching your wrist.

"We are not done yet" Tom’s voice was low and composed, but there was a dangerous edge to it, one that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let go, Riddle," you demanded, attempting to yank your hand free.

Instead, he moved faster than you anticipated, stepping in front of you and backing you up against the wall behind you. Your back hit the cool stone, and you instinctively braced yourself with your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

He didn’t budge.

His arms caged you in, palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The smirk on his face was gone, replaced by something darker, more intent.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes flickered around the empty corridor for any passerby. Were you to be caught in this compromising position with a boy, alone in an empty corridor, while courting someone else, you would be utterly ruined.

"Riddle, this is hardly appropriate. Let me go."

"Why should I?" he murmured, his voice velvety smooth as his face hovered far too close to yours. His head dipped slightly, and you froze as his nose brushed against your cheek, a slow and deliberate motion that sent a shiver racing down your spine. "I have got you right where I wan."

"Riddle," you said warningly, though the word came out more breathless than you intended.

His nose trailed downward, skimming along your jawline and then the curve of your throat. You inhaled sharply, your hands curling into fists against his chest, unsure if you were bracing yourself or preparing to push him away.

"Stop it," you tried again.

"Why?" he asked again, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear as he spoke. The warmth of his breath against your neck made your heart race despite yourself. "Because you might start to enjoy it?"

Your breath stuttered when you felt his fingertips grazing along the hemline of your skirt. You knew this was outrageous behaviour, and you really should have screamed for someone, but his fingers left a fire trail and you felt as if you were being put under a spell. You had never felt this alive, this hot, this desperate for—

His lips hovered at your ear, his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Say yes to the ball," he murmured, "and I will make you feel things you’ve never felt before... and never will again."

Your resolve almost faltered, your breath coming in shallow pulls as his words coiled around you like a spell. You could feel the walls you’d so carefully built beginning to crack under his relentless pressure.

Just as the word teetered on the edge of your tongue, a sound broke through the haze. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, drawing closer. The sharp reminder of reality snapped you back to your senses and your eyes snapped open.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you shoved him hard in the chest. He didn’t stumble, but he let you go, a sly, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he straightened to his full height.

"You’re impertinent and unbelievable," you hissed, your voice low but trembling with leftover emotion from what you had just experienced. Without waiting for his reply, you turned and bolted, your hurried steps echoing as you disappeared around the corner.

Behind you, Tom’s laughter followed, low and rich, like a predator enjoying the chase. After all, this was just a game for him. But he had not expected it to be so entertaining.

༻♛༺

Breakfast was a usual affair as you sat across from Adam Montague in the Great Hall, his voice a constant hum in the background as he rambled about Quidditch and the upcoming match schedule. Normally, you’d feign enthusiasm or at least muster the energy to listen politely. Today, however, your thoughts were consumed by a pair of dark, calculating eyes and the memory of hands that had left a trail of fire in their wake.

Tom Riddle. Of course. Somehow amidst your determination to avoid fawning after him like everyone else in the castle did, you had become just like them— with thoughts plagued by him.

Even thinking of his name itself felt like a forbidden secret, heavy and dangerous, lodged deep in your chest and an ache in your head. Yet no matter how much you tried to keep it at bay, the memory of him refused to fade.

You could still feel the ghost of his breath against your ear, the heat of his hand as it crept beneath your skirt, and the way he’d whispered those words—low, commanding, and laced with desires you shouldn’t want to hear.

You shifted in your seat, your skin prickling with awareness as the memory played over and over in your mind. It wasn’t just what he’d done— it was how he’d done it—with utter confidence, as though he already knew how you would respond, how your body would betray you before your mind could catch up.

And he had been right.

The thought made you burn with equal parts shame and longing. You shouldn’t crave the way his touch had made your pulse race, the way his voice had wrapped around you like silk.

"...and if the Harpies can pull off another win, they’ll have a real shot at the Cup this year," Adam said, his voice rising with excitement.

"That’s... great," you murmured automatically, like you always did, though your mind wasn’t even in the same room.

You remembered his face when he’d pinned you against the wall, his smirk infuriating and his proximity suffocating in the best possible way. You’d told him to stop, but deep down, you hadn’t wanted him to. Not really.

The truth clawed at you. The horrifying realisation that no one had ever made you feel the way Tom did in those fleeting minutes. Not Adam Montague. Not anyone.

You glanced at Adam, who was still talking, utterly oblivious to the war waging inside you. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he gestured animatedly, still drolling on about Quidditch. He was everything a good boyfriend should be—dependable, safe, respectable enough for your parents.

But safe wasn’t what you wanted.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t just crave Tom’s touch or his words; you craved the way he made you feel alive. The way he challenged you, unraveled you, almost pushed you to the edge of something you didn’t quite understand but desperately wanted to explore.

And what vexed you the most was the fact that he had done all of that in a matter of minutes. He had made you feel all that with one interaction. Perhaps everyone around you had been right about him and his irresistible charm.

Damn you, Tom Riddle. You thought bitterly.

You realised you needed to escape and clear your head when Adam launched yet into another analysis of Quidditch tactics Harpies could employ to secure the Cup and you felt the walls closing in around you. 

"I just remembered," you blurted, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I wanted to ask Professor Slughorn something about the essay due tomorrow. I will head to class early."

Adam blinked, surprised at being interrupted so abruptly. Then he shrugged, muttering a befuddled 'okay'. Grabbing your bag, you stood, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before turning on your heel and heading toward the exit. The moment you stepped into the corridor, a wave of relief washed over you, though it was quickly overshadowed by the devil himself.

You had not even made it far when his voice cut through the air. "Running from something, or someone?"

Your stomach dropped. Turning your head, you found Tom walking toward you, his stride calm and assured, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

"Go away," you said sharply, quickening your pace.

He didn’t miss a beat, easily falling into step beside you. "That’s hardly polite. Especially since we’re headed to the same place."

You frowned, glancing at him. "What are you talking about?"

He arched a brow, his smirk widening. "We have the same class. Surely you haven’t forgotten?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Of course he would find a way to make your morning even more unbearable. "Fine," you muttered, clutching your bag tighter. "Walk wherever you want, just don’t talk to me."

"Such hostility," he said, his tone light but laced with mockery. "I wonder if Montague would approve of your temper."

You shot him a glare. "Adam has nothing to do with this."

"Doesn’t he?" Tom asked. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding him just now. Tell me, how does it feel to lie to your boyfriend so early in the day?"

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to dignify him with a response. Instead, you quickened your pace, hoping he’d get bored and leave you alone.

He didn’t.

By the time you reached the classroom, your nerves were frayed, and you stormed inside, determined to put as much space between you and him as possible. Sliding into a seat near the middle, you silently willed the rest of the room to fill with other students.

But of course, Tom wasn’t finished. With a deliberate smirk, he crossed the space and sat down in the chair beside yours.

"You’ve got to be joking," you muttered under your breath, refusing to look at him.

"Now, now," he drawled, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Shouldn’t we at least try to get along? After all, we’ll be spending so much time together."

You turned to him sharply, your irritation bubbling over. "What are you talking about now?"

He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his eyes gleamed in amusement. "Oh, nothing." A pause. "Just that the ball is approaching, and I’m a man of my word."

Your stomach flipped, his implication clear. You opened your mouth to respond, but the professor’s arrival cut you off, forcing you to bite back whatever retort you had planned.

"Ah, Mr. Riddle!" Slughorn’s jovial voice boomed as he clapped his hands together. "I trust you’ve been giving the essay topic some thought. I’m particularly eager to hear your take on the use of powdered asphodel in calming draughts. Such a fascinating ingredient! Might you indulge me in what your take is?"

Tom inclined his head, his expression the perfect craft of false modesty. "I believe powdered asphodel is essential for crafting a truly effective calming draught. Without it, the potion’s efficacy in more severe cases is significantly diminished."

You couldn’t stop yourself from scoffing. "Essential? That's an overstatement. Asphodel might enhance the effects, but it risks leaving the drinker overly reliant. A calming draught should ease anxiety, not render someone unable to cope without it."

Tom turned to you, and you immediately regretted speaking up upon seeing the amused smirk plastered on his mouth "An interesting argument, but overly cautious. Without asphodel’s potency, the potion becomes too mild to address real crises. A weak solution is no solution at all."

You narrowed your eyes. "There’s nothing weak about proper balance. Valerian root and peppermint, for instance, can achieve the same calming effect without the risk of long-term harm."

Slughorn looked between you with visible delight, like a spectator at a match. "Ah, how I delight in a healthy debate! Keep at it, you two. This is precisely the sort of engagement I hoped the topic would bring. I look forward to reading both of your essays." He winked and sauntered off towards his desk just as the students began filing into the classroom.

Then, Adam Montague walked in, his steps faltering the moment he spotted Tom sitting beside you. His eyes widened, and his lips parted in confusion. "What the hell are you doing there, Riddle?"

Tom, utterly unbothered, leaned back slightly, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "I wasn’t aware this seat was reserved. Perhaps you should have labeled it, Montague." His tone dripped with mock innocence.

Adam glared, his jaw tightening. "It’s my seat. I sit there every class—next to my girlfriend."

"Ah," Tom replied coolly, glancing at you with deliberate slowness. "Shame you didn’t put a label on her either." He drawled.

Adam’s face flushed, his hands balling into fists. "Get up. Now."

"I do not think I will."

Adam took a threatening step forward, but Slughorn suddenly clapped his hands again. "Settle down, everyone! Time to begin." His cheerful tone left no room for argument.

With a frustrated huff, Adam reluctantly moved to a desk across the room, his glare burning holes into the back of Tom’s head. Meanwhile, Tom leaned slightly toward you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Bit possessive, isn’t he?" He hummed quietly. "Though perhaps not enough. Were it me who had you, I would not let you out of my sight."

You gaped at him, wondering if he had lost his wits. "Excuse me? I am not something to be owned, Riddle."

His hand dropped under the table and you barely suppressed a gasp when you felt it land on your thigh, grazing dangerously high under your skirt. "And yet...I would treat you as if you were my greatest possession."

Heat surged to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, utterly flustered by his words. The quiet intensity of his voice and the sheer audacity of his statement left your heart racing in a way you couldn’t explain. You quickly pushed his hand away without drawing any attention. Desperate to put some distance between you, you shifted your chair an inch or two away from him, the scrape of wood against stone louder than you intended. You kept your focus firmly on the front of the classroom, determined to concentrate on Slughorn’s voice as he began explaining the potion you would be brewing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest flicker of his smirk, as though he knew exactly how much he’d unsettled you—and relished it.

You gritted your teeth and stared resolutely at the blackboard, clutching your quill tightly. There was no way you’d let him see just how much he had gotten under your skin. You told yourself you only needed just enough willpower to get through this class and then you would be free.

And when finally the bell rang, signaling the end of class, you bolted from your seat. You didn’t want to give Tom any more time to—to do whatever it was he was doing to you. You headed straight for the door, but before you could make your escape, you heard Adam’s voice behind you.

"Hey! Wait up!"

You sighed and turned around reluctantly. Adam was quick to catch up, his brows furrowed in confusion. "What the hell was that back there?" His eyes flickered from you to the empty seat beside Tom. "Why didn’t you say anything? You just let him sit there."

You tried to offer a casual shrug, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your pulse was still racing. "It’s not a big deal."

"But he was all over you," Adam said, his voice low with irritation. "And you just—"

"Adam, you're a big boy. I'm sure you do not need me to stand up for yourself." You cut him off, a bit sharper than you intended. "Really. Let’s just drop it, okay?"

He stared at you for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but he finally nodded. "Alright, but this isn’t over. We will talk during dinner." He stated with a frown before turning to walk to his next class.

You had a free period, so you decided you would head to the library to get ahead in your studies. But as always, peace and quiet did not come easily to you. Not when Riddle was concerned.

When you saw him leaning against the wall, patiently watching you, you almost screamed from frustration. "No! Absolutely not. I am not having any more interactions with you. Whatever was going on, is done. Go ruin someone else's life with your presence, and fuck off from mine."

He pushed off the wall, crossing the distance between you slowly, as if a predator trying not to startle its prey. You took a step back with bated breath with each step he took forward, and in a blink, he grabbed a hold of your hand and began leading you away from the corridor. You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but the action just encouraged him to tighten his hold.

"Riddle!" You tried, but he shot you a dark look shadowed by a loose strand of raven-black hair over his eyes. The dangerous glint in his stare sent a chill down your spine.

Before you knew what was happening, he pulled you into a dark alcove, hidden from the gaze of any potential prying eyes. Your pulse quickened at the way he cornered you, feeling his breath against your skin.

"I'm starting to think you have a thing for dark hidden corners." You muttered, trying vainly to distract yourself from his close proximity.

He ignored your comment. "One kiss," he murmured, his lips barely brushing your ear. "And I’ll leave you alone."

You narrowed your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "One kiss?" you scoffed, taking a step back, though he followed, keeping you trapped against the wall. "And what do you think is going to make me give in to this nonsense you're asking me?"

Tom chuckled softly as he slowly grazed a finger along your collarbone. "I don’t think you’ll give in. I think you’ll want to."

Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, but you refused to show it. "I don’t want anything from you." You shook your head, trying to remain defiant. "Stop playing games, Riddle. I’m not some toy for you to use and discard."

Tom smirked, one eyebrow raised. "If I wanted a toy, I’d choose something less... challenging." He stepped in even closer, his body fully touching yours now, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. "But you, you’re more interesting. So, here’s the deal—one kiss, and I’ll leave you alone. After all, you don’t seem to be able to resist me, do you?"

For a weak moment, you hesitated. He was close, too close, and the air between you crackled with an intensity you couldn’t deny.

"I’m not some damsel who will fall for a cheap trick, Riddle," you retorted, though the words were hollow, even to you.

Tom’s eyes darkened, and he reached out, cupping your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye. "And yet here you are, trapped in my web, pretending you don’t want this just as much as I do." His voice was low, intimate, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "One kiss and I promise, then I will let you go."

You inhaled sharply, torn between the desire to push him away and the overwhelming temptation to give in. For the briefest moment, you wondered what it would be like—just one kiss, one taste of what he was offering. He would not back down until he got what he wanted, and you knew that, so you decided to end your own torture by giving in.

"Fine," you muttered, almost against your will, your voice low with frustration. "But just one."

Tom’s smirk deepened as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a slow, almost teasing manner. It started gentle, a light pressure, before he deepened the kiss, and you felt your resolve start to slip away. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer, canting your bodies together, and the action almost made you whimper.

You were not supposed to enjoy this.

Frightened by your own pleasure at the way he had kissed you, you placed your palms on his chest and pushed him. When he pulled away, his eyes gleamed with triumph. "I’ve changed my mind," he murmured, his voice silky. "Go to the ball with me. And I’ll leave you alone."

You blinked, momentarily stunned. "No. No, Riddle, you promised you would stop."

Tom’s smirk was sharp, almost cruel. He suddenly stepped away from you, his form no longer caging you against the wall. "I promised I would let you go. And I did just now. I did not promise anything about the ball."

Your breath caught, your chest tightening. "You can’t—"

"I can," he interrupted, his tone final. "And I will. So, say yes, and I’ll leave you in peace. But if you don’t..." He let the threat hang in the air for a moment. "Or I’ll tell Montague about this little... encounter."

You stared at him, your heart racing, in disbelief over what he was saying—no— what he was threatening you with. Your breath hitched as he leaned closer again, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "And I think Malfoy would be very interested in knowing that Adam’s place on the Quidditch team is up for discussion. One word from me and he’s off the team for good."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a soft, teasing kiss—brief, but enough to make your heart race even faster. When he pulled back, his gaze was firm. "Say yes. Or everything he values will slip right through his fingers."

The silence stretched between you as you hesitated, but deep down, you knew there was only one choice. "Fine," you muttered, your voice small, but the fire in his eyes made your chest tighten. "I’ll go. But only because you’re threatening him."

Tom’s smirk returned, but there was something else there now—satisfaction, and perhaps a touch of something else you couldn’t quite place. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling." He said as he pulled away completely. You watched him walk away, slumped against the wall, completely helpless as his chuckle echoed down the hall.

༻♛༺

[sallowsswan]

Not A Gentle Lover

Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, pure smut, rough sex, p in v, fingering, praising

Summary: Tom pulls you away from what you're doing to have his fill of you...again.

Soo this is my first time trying to write smut, it's not the best and my punctuation is probably messy but I'm still posting this anyway~ Minors DNI 18+ (hides away in shame)

Tom Riddle was not a gentle lover.

He was possessive, obsessed even, when it came to how good your fucking cunt felt when he was buried so deep inside of it. This was the fourth time this week the head boy had sought you out, always without a single sentence uttered. Just those dark eyes boring into yours as he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you away from whatever it was you were doing. You followed behind wordlessly, trying to keep up with his pace as he nearly dragged you to his private chambers.

Once the doors were locked his hand had already snaked its way up inside of your skirt, sliding one finger inside your folds while his thumb plays with your clit. Hissing at how wet you are from just the mere touch he’s burying his head into your neck as he’s pushing you backwards, both of you stumbling until you fall back against the mattress of his bed and he’s towering over you. He slides a second finger inside of your cunt making your back arch up as he begins to pump his fingers in you. The way your walls squeeze around his fingers is maddening, how can something like this feel so damn good? He shows no mercy to your clit, rubbing it till the point he knows you're overstimulated. Your whines turn into cries as tears prick at the corner of your eyes threatening to spill over, until your hips buck against his hand begging for release. But Tom Riddle wasn’t a gentle lover

Instead of giving you your orgasm, he rips it away, leaving you nearly sobbing as he pulls his fingers out and shoves them into your mouth, and you hopelessly suck on them as he’s using his other hand to unbuckle his belt and get his pants down. The way he moves is like a man starved, so desperate and in need. When he’s free from his restraints he’s leaning over you as he pulls his fingers out from your mouth. His hand pulls your skirt up until it’s resting over your hips. There’s no foreplay, no easing into it, he unceremoniously shoves his cock deep inside of your cunt and growls at the sensation of you taking him in. He moves his head burying it into the side of your neck as his hands move down to your thighs gripping them tightly as he spreads you open more. “Good Girl.” Two little words, yet they can carry the pleasure of the entire world in them with how he says them when he’s with you. This was his way of praising you. You were such a good girl for taking his cock in the way you did. Such a good girl for letting him fuck you stupid, and such a good girl for never pushing back with him. Tom Riddle was not a gentle lover, this man was the definition of rough. His hand found its way to your throat as he began to mercilessly thrust himself deep within your cunt, not stopping when you whine or whimper because he knows his good girl can take it. 

And boy do you ever.

You’re left writhing beneath him, hands fisted into the sheets as words escape your head and all that comes out of your pretty little mouth are cries of pleasure mixed with pain. Tom has the skill to fuck you so hard that you’re left sore and wanting more. You already know tomorrow is going to be a rough day for you from the grip he’s got on your thigh and the way it’s making its way slowly toward your hip. With each thrust his hips seem to find more prowess, more power as he rails into you with such an intensity it makes the bed beneath you two shake. He’s growling against your neck, the sensation of his lips vibrating against your skin drives you mad as you can barely make out what he’s saying…is that parsletongue? You wonder if in his state he’s trying to summon the basilisk in the chamber of secrets, or if he’s merely trying to will his own basilisk deep inside of you to stay strong long enough until he’s had his fill.

It was the latter.

Tom proceeds to fuck you like this for hours, in that time the rest of your clothes find their way strewn across his room and with every orgasm he gives you he fucks you right through it. This man is like a tom cat in heat, unable to stop himself until one final grunt escapes him and he cums deep inside of your cunt one last time collapsing onto the sheets beside you. Things stay like that until you both pass out, and when you wake up hours later on your side, and you are sore all over. Your mind is reeling over the events that just happened, you’ve done this with Tom many times now and yet every time you guys finish you end up waking up wondering ‘what have I done?’ ‘Am I just a plaything?’ ‘What does this mean?’

And every time this happens you feel an arm slide underneath your head, and another wraps its way around your waist. Your mind has been so loud that it wakes Tom up hearing the way you’re spiraling inside your head. He presses his body against your back and his lips press against your neck, his touch almost like a feather as he presses a kiss against it making his way up to your ear where you hear his voice rasp out something that shuts your mind off immediately and you relax into him.

“My Good Girl.”

Tom Riddle may not be a gentle lover, but he knows his way to keep you wanting more.

[azrakaban]

A Little Longer - Mattheo Riddle X GN!Reader

A/N: OH MY GOODNESS ME. Sorry I've taken such a long break from writing, if I told you all the things that have happened in the past two months you honestly wouldn't believe me LMAO

Warnings: cursing, yelling, soft Mattheo I think? lmk if i missed anything xxx 

Note! I tried to make this as gender neutral as possible, if I've messed up anywhere, please feel free to correct me! But please do it nicely guys <3

The wind nipped at your face, chilly and biting as you wrapped your scarf tighter around your face. You forced your eyes to look into the swirling sky, where your poor boyfriend, Mattheo, sat frozen to his broom. 

Watching house Quidditch games was the highlight of every month for Hogwarts, but it made it supremely less enjoyable when the weather was unpleasant. And, as a particularly dark cloud decided to let fall a rainstorm, it became decidedly worse.

You craned your neck back to watch him above you, barely hearing whispers of what he was saying as he yelled instructions to his team members. 

Mattheo had been pushing the team hard all season - it being his first year as captain, he did not want to disappoint. You rememered the long suffering look Enzo gave you in the common room when Mattheo was dragging your friends out to train at 7am. 

As you watched, Astoria flew over your head, flanked by two Gryffindor chasers, who managed to throw her off, causing her to drop the Quaffle. She swore, sighing as they sped up towards the Slytherin goalpost before giving chase, but not quick enough to reclaim the Quaffle before another goal was put through the post, making the score 20 - 230 

You noticed Mattheo's expression darken further, and sighed. He would likely be in a bad mood later. 

Your eye was then caught by a sudden burst of movement on the other side of the pitch, where Potter and Draco were neck and neck in a dive for the Snitch. 

Draco raised his hand, victorious with the snitch clutched in his hand, yet the Gryffindor end exploded in cheers. With the score now at 170 - 230, Gryffindor had still won by a large margin. 

The Slytherins around you were all sighing and shaking their heads as they all made their  way out of the stadium. You had agreed to meet Mattheo at the Slytherin locker room, so you made your way there.

 As you approached the door though, you heard yelling. Pushing it slightly ajar, Blaise caught your eye and mimed cutting his head off quickly, clealy telling you to leave. You nodded, leaving swiftly and heading back to your empty dorm. 

About 45 minutes later, Mattheo turned up in your dorm, hair slightly damp from the shower, and, spotting you, promptly came over and lay his head in your lap. 

"Heya bubs." You smiled slightly, looking down at him. "Hey." He mumbled dejectedly.

"We lost." He groaned, messing up his curls. You lifted a hand and started gently playing with them. "Yeah, this time. But there are still going to be other games, you don't lose everything from this game, okay?" You replied soothingly. 

"But it was our first game, my first game as captain, and I blew it. I pushed them too hard, and I blew it." He sighed. "I wanted to win this for them, to prove that I could do this, be responsible, make it work. And it just..." He lifted a hand and let it drop onto your sheets. "I failed them, and it's not even their fault. I yelled at Draco for catching the snitch, even though that was the best thing to do..." 

"You didn't fail your team." You interrupted him. "Sure, you lost a game, Mattheo, but all captains lose games! It's part of playing, you make mistakes, and you learn from them. PLus, you guys were playing into the wind, the Gryffindors had the weather behind them. Now, if you wanna say that the weather is your fault, you're gonna start sounding a little self centered..." You giggled slightly, and an amused huff escaped Mattheo. 

"Yeah yeah, okay, I get it." The pressure lifted off your thighs as Mattheo moved to sit back against your pillows, opening his arms for you. "C'mere sweetheart, wanna hold you, please." He asked, giving you puppy eyes. 

You immediately caved and moved forward towards him, letting him cuddle you like a teddy bear. 

"Thank you."  He sighed after a few moments of holding you, drawing patterns on your back with a fingertip. "What for, silly?" You looked at him, confused. He chuckled slightly. 

"Grounding me, not thinking I'm a dick, just being an all round awesome person to date?" He shrugged. "For letting me rant about this shit." He squeezed you slightly. 

"No worries, idiot." You smiled, kissing his cheek. He gasped in mock horror. 

"Idiot? That's what you call your suffering boyfriend? WOW, okay, WOW, I see how it is." Mattheo mock glared at you, gently shoving you away. 

"Aw come on, don't be like that." You laughed slightly as he pulled you back into his arms. 

"I should go apologise for being a Class A dick to the team shouldn't I?" He sighed, looking at you. 

"Yeah, probably." You nodded, squeezing his hand. Hd pulled you a little closer. 

"Not yet though. Wanna keep holding you just a little longer..." He muttered, pulling you back into the nest of pillows with him.

A/N: Writing was shit, may delete later <3 Sorry for this miserable attempt at feeding u hungry people, love you all!

[natti-ice]

tom eating you out with his parselmouth skills ♡.

18+ mdni

Tom’s tongue game is unmatched. Him being a parselmouth gives him a leg up when it comes to controlling his tongue. He can manipulate and move it around in ways no one else has before. His tongue can flick against your clit so fast it almost becomes a vibrator, he can make you cum so fast without really putting in any effort.

[riddlesgrl]

𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 ୨୧ m.riddle

masterlist. ♡ oneshot.

content warning 18+ mdni, smut, going back to your ex, black fem!reader, explicit language, & toxic mattheo riddle.

summary your toxic ex, mattheo doesn’t like that he saw you flirting with Harry.

The desk scraping against the hard floor was the only thing that could be heard in the secluded classroom. As you were bent over the desk, Mattheo gripped your braids as he thrusted deep inside of you. “He can’t fuck you how I do,” Mattheo said. Those words made you moan as he proceeded to thrust deeper and harder into you.

Earlier, he saw you and Harry flirting with each other. You and Mattheo broke up a month ago, but regardless of that, he didn’t care. You were his. And this had him fuming. He already didn’t like Harry, and seeing you with him pissed him off.

Every time you and Mattheo would come back to each other, he reminded you of that. And truly, no one could ever make you feel the way that he did. So, the next thing you knew, you were getting dragged by your arm into an abandoned classroom upstairs, and Mattheo was pounding into you.

“That’s it baby, I wanna hear you,” Mattheo said. He sped up his pace and his right hand’s grip on your hip got tighter. You winced in pain. You knew that you would be bruised later.

Mattheo loved the way he made you feel just as much as you made him feel. Deep down, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of you with someone else. He always got what he wanted, and you were what he wanted—what he needed. You were his drug and he needed to be intoxicated with you at all times.

“Why do you do this to me? You make me fucking crazy,” His grip on your hair got tighter, pulling your head back. You couldn’t speak, only pant. The roughness of it all only made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your moaning became louder as Mattheo’s pace quickened. You were close. “Teo,” you moaned.

“What? You about to cum, baby?” Mattheo asked in a teasing manner. This made him chuckle. He knew you were. This turned him on even more. If there was a way to get harder than he already was, he definitely would be. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he said as his grip got softer on your hip.

You began to feel the knot in your stomach tighten even more as he pounded deeply into you at an ungodly speed. You knew you would finish any minute now. You were panting and became a moaning mess.

You threw your ass back faster as he thrusted into you. He was already going pretty hard and this only made it feel harder. His tip began to kiss your cervix and this felt so painfully good to you. But you knew this would be dangerous for the both of you.

You felt your legs shake as you came all over his hard cock. “That’s it babygirl, cum for me,” Mattheo said as he kept thrusting into you. He didn’t stop either.

He let go of the grip he had on your hair. You lowered your body so you would now be laying on the desk. You were so senseless that you could barely process anything. All you could feel was Mattheo’s hands on your hips and him pounding into you.

You missed this feeling. You missed how he made you feel. It made you want him back, but you knew the issues that it would come with. You just couldn’t stand being without him. The slightest touch from him would drive you crazy. You wanted to always be his and only his—forever.

After a while, His cock twitched inside of you and you both knew what that meant. His pace sped up and his grip on your hips became tighter.

After a few more minutes, his pace grew slower and his grip got softer again. He let out a moan in your ear and you felt his warm liquid fill you up.

“I swear I will hex him if he looks at you again,” He said in a low tone in your ear. You knew he meant what he said too. He was a man of his word after all.

[mariashakuskus]

三八妇女节快乐！

[darkmarkmarauder]

too much ecstasy - T.R.

!warnings! mature content, drug use, adult themes

pairing: tom riddle x you

summary: Hogsmeade’s notorious burlesque club, The Velvet Serpent, thrums with sin and seduction. A night out with friends, a haze of pills and drinks—the club’s atmosphere becomes intoxicating and so does the tension between you and Tom. 

tonight, it’s not just about what you see, but who’s watching

The Velvet Serpent was more than just a burlesque club—it was the underground heartbeat of wizarding depravity, a place where the drinks were strong, the smoke was thick, and sin dripped from the velvet-draped walls like honey. Slytherins ran the place in every way that mattered, and tonight was no different.

You sat in a dimly lit booth, the air laced with the scent of cigars, perfume, and something sweeter—the afterglow of the little pills you'd all swallowed earlier. X. Molly. Whatever you wanted to call it, the high was pure bliss, rolling through your veins, making every touch, every sound, every glance electric.

Avery Lestrange had his arm draped over a waitress’s waist, whispering something against her ear that made her giggle. Mulciber cutting up the rest of the coke he had into an array of thin white lines on the table, his movements meticulous despite the haze of intoxication settling over them all. Theo had returned, a lazy grin on his face as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, eyes bloodshot red as he offered the joint to Tom.

Tom didn’t even glance at the joint, his focus entirely elsewhere. His fingers tapped an idle rhythm against his thigh, his demeanor composed yet coiled tight, like a predator biding its time.

“You know he doesn’t indulge, Theo,” Avery drawled, smirking as he pulled the waitress onto his lap, her giggle drowned out by the pulsing bass of the club.

Theo just shrugged, taking another slow drag before turning his attention back to the stage.

You felt the pulse of the molly in your veins, emboldening you, making the club lights glow a little brighter, the music sink a little deeper into your skin.

You were so high.

The burlesque stage is cleared, the last dancer stepping off with a teasing wink to the crowd. A new group of girls is ushered up, but the MC’s voice cuts through the music, playful and coaxing.

“Well, well, we’ve got a wild crowd tonight. Who’s got the guts to get up here?”

Laughter ripples through the room. The idea is absurd—getting up there, stripping under the heat of the lights, letting strangers devour you with their eyes.

You scoff, tipping your drink back before smirking. “I should go up there.”

Tom lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head toward you. “You?” His tone is rich with amusement, like he’s indulging the thought for his own entertainment. “No, you wouldn’t.”

You arch a brow at him. “You really think I won’t?”

Tom’s lips curve into something smug, something knowing. “Oh, I know you won’t.”

And that does it.

Because he thinks he knows you. Thinks he has you figured out, like you’re some predictable little thing that exists just within the boundaries he’s drawn for you.

But that molly is hitting now. Hard.

The club lights are nothing but a blur of red and gold as you stand, your pulse thudding in time with the bass. Your confidence is liquid fire in your veins. You feel untouchable.

And the moment you start walking toward the stage, the laughter at the table dies down.

Avery and Mulciber hoot, nudging each other, not believing their eyes. Theo lighting another joint, a lazy grin curling his lips.

But Tom—Tom isn’t laughing anymore.

His gaze sharpens, cutting through the dim haze of the club. You don’t have to look at him to feel the shift, the heat in his stare.

You step onto the stage, fingers skimming the cool metal of the pole, the heat of the lights washing over you. The music changes, something slow and dark, dripping with sin.

And then—you move.

Deliberate. Controlled.

A slow roll of your hips, a teasing tilt of your head, fingers trailing along the curve of your neck as you sink into the music.

Tom is staring.

His jaw tight, fingers curled against his glass, tension coiled in every inch of him.

The silk of your dress pools at your feet, slipping off your shoulders like a whisper, leaving you in the lace bodice beneath. Gasps and whistles ripple through the crowd, but you don’t hear them.

Because you’re looking at him.

His expression doesn’t shift, not in the way you expect it to. No clenched fists, no furrowed brows, no sharp exhale of frustration.

No, Tom Riddle doesn’t react like a man caught off guard.

He reacts like a man who’s watching. Calculating. Deciding.

The moment your eyes lock, the air between you tightens, humming with something dark—something that makes your skin prickle with awareness, makes your breath catch in your throat.

And then, the corner of his mouth twitches. Just barely. Just enough to make your stomach drop.

Your friends are still laughing, still cheering you on, but their voices are distant, mere echoes lost beneath the slow, deliberate way Tom sets down his glass.

He tilts his head, eyes dragging over you with a weight that makes your knees feel unsteady. It’s not lust, not exactly. It’s something sharper. Darker.

Approval.

As if he knew you had it in you. As if he’s been waiting for you to show him.

And fuck, the way he’s looking at you now—like you’ve finally done something worthy of his attention—makes the heat pooling in your stomach burn just a little hotter.

Still, he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t call you over.

Doesn’t have to.

Because now, it’s your move.

The moment your feet hit the floor, you step off the stage, chin high, gaze steady. A challenge in the way you move, in the way you weave through the crowd without sparing anyone else a glance.

Your friends are still talking—laughing, throwing arms around your shoulders, singing your praises—but none of it matters.

You don’t stop until you reach him, until the space between you is too close and not close enough, the scent of his cologne filling your lungs, that unnerving stillness of his presence wrapping around you.

His gaze flicks down—just once, just a slow drag over your body before meeting your eyes again.

“Enjoy yourself?” His voice is smooth, quiet.

A shiver rolls through you.

But you smile. A little breathless, a little too bold. “I think you did.”

Something flickers in his eyes, dark amusement curling at the edges.

He leans forward, just slightly, enough that his breath ghosts against your cheek, enough that no one else notices the way his fingers press, just slightly, against your thigh—deliberate, calculated.

His voice drops, quiet enough that only you can hear—just for you.

"You do love an audience," he murmurs, voice a dark thread of amusement curling around your spine.

Your breath catches, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you tilt your chin, let your smile play at the edges of your lips. "And you love to watch."

He leans back, as though nothing happened at all, lifting his drink to his lips, gaze sliding to Theo as the conversation shifts.

In the weight of his silence, in the way his eyes flick back to you—brief, knowing—before he takes another sip of his drink.

A private acknowledgment.

A silent well done.

Your lips curl as you trace the rim of your glass with one fingertip, letting the moment stretch between you, secret and thrilling.

Because Riddle may think he’s the only one who plays this game.

But tonight, you made the first move.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: ive been rewatching gossip girl again and its SOO good such a comfort show, I took inspo from the first szn when Blair dances for Charles so hot oml

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ !!! check them out

[distantdarlings]

NO ONE LIKE YOU // t. riddle

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Tom Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* (Thank you to @orphicmortala for the request!) After having a very difficult meeting with his followers, Tom decides to take some frustrations out on you. He ends up getting a little too enthusiastic. (Smut, Angst)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (For the first part), piv - no protection, hair pulling, oral - m!receiving, mention of blood, Tom is kind of mean, rough sex, (very slight) pain play, dom!Tom, Reader eventually uses safe word, language, not fully proofread, fem reader (lmk if I missed anything)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Animal - Troye Sivan

- - -

The final light of day flashed through the Head Boy’s dorm room. It cast a honeyed glow around you for only a moment before pitching the whole world into blackness. When the sun disappeared behind the mountains along the edge of Hogwarts, it was always a very quick descent to dark. It wasn’t very gradient, just sudden.

Almost as soon as the light had dissipated, the door flew open, nearly hitting the stone wall behind it. You shot up from the bed you were lounging on. A chilled wind blew in from the hallway, sending wild flickers through the fire in the corner.

“Tom,” you breathed.

The man in question stood in the doorway, fuming silently. His jaw was clenched and ticking, his eyes dark and frenzied. You swallowed thickly at the animalistic energy pouring off of his body. What had happened?

He slammed the door shut behind him, a slight flinch shocking through your body at the loud sound. He stomped across the room, barely paying you any mind. He came to a stop in front of the blazing fireplace. His hands began roughly ripping some papers. You got to your feet.

“Tom?” you called gently, waltzing over to him. Your hands reached out to press a comforting touch to him when he turned abruptly.

“What?” he growled. You stepped back, dropping your hands immediately. He had never looked at you like this before. The fire in his eyes nearly reflected the blaze within the stone in front of you.

“I–I’m sorry, I was just…”

“Darling, I’m sorry,” he sighs, blowing air through his nose. “It’s been a rough day.”

“What happened?” you asked, stepping closer to him again. You wanted to comfort him. A small groan leaves him as he tosses the remains of the shredded papers into the flames. Your eyes flickered to the fiery confetti, wondering what it once had been.

“What was that?” you ask, finally coming to place your hands on his shoulders.

“Nothing, do not worry yourself with matters of the Knights,” he whispered.

“What can I do to help?” you ask, staring up at him with such quiet adoration. His eyes found yours, basking in the innocence pooled within them. He could hardly bear to see you so concerned with him, especially when his anger came from such a vile source. Those pathetic boys tried to impress him by insisting they’d found new information for him and presented it before the whole group. They’d laid out more information of his lowly bringing-up, discussing new details about his mother they may have found.

He’d slammed his fists on the table, demanding to know why they’d been looking into his family history. They had immediately snapped their jaws shut, unsure how to respond. Perhaps they’d thought he’d be happy with them for finding more information on his parents. He couldn’t care any less about his worthless parents. All he cared about was his plans. He thought that had been obvious, but apparently, these boys had thought otherwise. He was in a mind to completely expel them from the group and obliviate them.

“My love,” he whispered, placing a gentle but firm hand beneath her jaw. He’d never loved, and he never would. You knew this well and accepted it for what it was—you and Tom weren’t ‘dating,’ but he was yours, and you were his. It wasn’t necessarily love, but it was in your own way. You couldn’t really explain it, but you both felt it.

“I need you, darling,” he whispered against your ear, placing his lips to the skin there. You felt the electricity humming beneath his flesh. Your lips shuddered a bit in anticipation. You nodded, accepting him into you.

That was all he needed to roughly grab your face and press hot, fast kisses to you. He satiated his every need against your tongue, taking what he wanted. You sighed against his lips, feeling the way he shattered you and held you together.

He walked you back to his bed and let you fall down against it. He kept you pinned beneath his weight, his hands hungry and wanting. They gripped and spared you, leaving hard, peppered bruises in their wake. He was always rough with you, fucking and biting and choking. He didn’t make love, and you didn’t want him to. You’d come to him for the dark passion he exuded through his body. If you’d wanted something gentle, you’d have looked around Hufflepuff. That wasn’t an insult to your house, of course. You just knew exactly what you wanted.

His hands came up to rip the front of your shirt open, ignoring the way a button or two flung across the room. He’d get you a new shirt later. A low groan sounded in his throat as his fingers tightened around your breasts, kneading them with his long, deft fingers. He placed his face against your chest, inhaling deeply and pressing painful bruises on you. You whined at the feeling, beckoning him away from your pained skin.

“Shut up. I’ll do what I want,” he growled, continuing to mark you as painfully as before. His sharp teeth seared into your flesh, pulling blood to the surface and occasionally past it. When he finally pulled away, a small drop of bloodied saliva dripped from his lips as if in slow motion. You sighed at the visual, the heat beginning to pool rapidly between your legs.

He crawled up your body, quickly unbuckling and pushing his belt through the loops in his trousers. When it was free, he slid the button through its slit and shoved his pants down to his knees. He dropped his bottoms and released himself against his stomach. The hot skin was reddened and beating with his heart. You gasped at the sight, wanting to feel him within you so desperately.

“You know what to do,” he groaned. He curled fingers into your hair, roughly shoving your face toward him. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, watching as he panted in anticipation. His pupils were blown wide, and his lips were parted, a hint of your blood still tattooed over his perfectly white teeth. Fuck, he looked gorgeous.

As your tongue came forth to swipe over his length as slowly as he’d allow you to, you realized you wouldn’t be finishing with him anytime soon. He intended to go as far as you could and then some. The anger built up in his chest was enough for seven men, and he loved nothing more than taking it out on you.

“Ah, you perfect fucking girl,” he groaned as you took him completely into your mouth. Despite his size, you did your best to push him to the very back of your throat, allowing him to caress you in places you’d never been touched before. His hands were tight against your scalp, forcing you to stay completely still as he bucked his hips into you. It wasn’t comfortable at all, but the feeling of being able to please him had you staying planted in place.

“You always take me so well,” he sighed, head angled toward the ceiling. Your thighs pressed so tightly together you thought they might combust. He was so perfect. “No one like you, no one like you, no one like you…” He mumbled endlessly, pushing those words into your brain.

You wanted him so badly—all you could think about was him. All you could see, smell, hear, taste was him. He surrounded you, forcing you to take him in every way you could. Every sense was blinded by him. And that was just how he liked you—drowning in him.

He pulled you from him before he could finish. He wanted to finish within you, just as he always did. You knew him well enough to turn yourself around and ready yourself to accept him. He tended to follow a bit of a pattern when fucking you, one you’d started to catch on to. He never had to ask you for anything anymore; you just did it.

He flipped your skirt over your ass, revealing the lack of bottoms beneath. Another groan left his lips as he placed his fingers over you, working every part of you apart like clockwork. He moved you open, lathering you in your arousal, marking your insides with his claim.

When he removed his hand from you and placed both of them on your hips, you bit your arm, preparing for him to split you down the middle. No matter how often the two of you had sex, you seemed to never adjust to his size. He always had to move as slowly as he could to work you apart gently. Perhaps you were a bit more sensitive down there than others, but he was always patient. Except for today, it seemed.

With little more than a brief hesitation at the start, he slid himself into you all in one go. A strangled gasp left you at the feeling. He wasted no time beginning to pound himself into you. He cared nothing of the pathetic whines and screams coming from your lips. Your hands white-knuckled the sheets as you begged him to slow down, to be gentler, anything. He didn’t fucking care. He wrapped a hand into your hair, using it as a bit of leverage. He was going to take out every bit of pent-up frustration on this tight cunt.

“Fuck, Slytherin!” you shrieked, the tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. He stopped immediately, his hips halting inside you. As if he was in a daze, Tom blinked rapidly and shook his head a bit. It felt as though he had been under a spell, the way he had been fucking into you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He gently pulled himself out of you, a pitiful whine leaving your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Hearing him say those words alone was enough to convince him how serious the situation was. Tom didn’t say sorry unless it was to a professor or to generally get someone off of his back. Usually, it was fake. This time, it wasn’t, and it rushed out of his lips before he could stop it.

He gently wrapped himself around you, slowly turning you and laying you back against his pillows. He kicked his pants down the rest of his legs and slipped the both of you beneath his comforter.

The cool green satin pressed softly against your hot skin, softly soothing it. He laid himself down behind you, his soft breath barely tickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Hesitantly, his hand slid over your stomach. It seemed as though he wasn’t sure exactly how to comfort you, but was trying his best.

“Darling?” he whispered against your back.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he said. “I’m sorry that I…I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”

A soft sigh left you. You’d never had to use your safe word with Tom before—had never even wanted to. Every aspect of the way Tom fucked had always intrigued you. The ways he handled you as if you were nothing to him but an outlet for his pleasure, the way he insisted on doing everything, the way he was genuinely concerned about your pleasure, despite himself. It often left you breathless.

Tonight, however, had been different. You felt less than you usually did when beneath him. Usually it was a nice feeling; like you were smaller, something for him to take care of. But tonight you’d felt pure hatred coursing through his body. You were scared that it was directed toward you.

“It’s not that, Tom,” you sighed. “I was worried that you were angry with me.”

His hands gently wrapped around you and helped you to turn toward him. His eyes watched you sternly. He wanted to put any affection that had built up inside him completely into you.

“I have never been angry with you—I was angry with my worthless fucking followers, always insisting they ruin my life in the most embarrassing ways possible.”

“Why would they do that?” You gasped, shocked that they’d even think of doing such a thing.

“They think that they’re helping or something,” he scoffed, jaw clenching. You could feel the anger radiating off of him.

“I’m so sorry,” you sigh, slipping your eyes shut. “I hope I didn’t upset you further—it was just a bit too much, I suppose.”

He nods understandingly, saying nothing more. The quiet and safety you felt when with Tom had you falling into a particularly deep sleep. Though you tried to fight it off, you could feel Tom’s eyes on you, watching as you slowly drifted off.

The last thing you remembered before slipping fully into sleep was Tom’s hand gently against your cheek, his cold thumb caressing a hair away from your face.

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt (if you would like to be added to the tag list, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)

[deadghosy]

SLYTHERIN BOYS WITH AN ADHD!GF

Requested by: @lovemelikeyoulovemusic

A/N: ima slightly write it off my experience of adhd but remember that everyone’s adhd experience is different! 🫶🏾

Tom Riddle

You two are a good opposite duo 🫶🏾

He loves how you rant to him about anything really. He’s listening while somehow reading the book he has

When someone tries to tell you to be quiet. Immediately the room feels a chill.

He may not be pda like you, but he shows his caring side in a different light.

Mattheo Riddle

You like shenanigans, he does shenanigans.

You two are a match made in heaven! ☺️💗 honestly when you stim happily and tap your fingers around. Immediately he shows the same exact energy

He knows you can’t focus well, and shit he can’t either sometimes.

But he will always help you!

Theodore Nott

Is always interested in what you like

Could easily be distracted with you, as long as it doesn’t happen in class

He does find it creepy when you just stand there not blinking..for a long time.

Your sudden burst of energy always gives him serotonin.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Always gives you his hand when you need something to occupy yourself.

Your “out of no where mood swings” either of your period or just the random switch confuse him. But he is supportive.

He understands how you space out a lot and just think about things. He finds it adorable.

He understands how you can’t seem to focus. So he teaches you in a way that you are able to focus and memorize other than give up on you like idiots would.

[cardansriddle]

Dance of Shadow and Desire - Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

gif not mine

Summary: Once, they were friends—until his ambition turned him into the Dark Lord. Years later, he appears on her doorstep, bleeding and unrepentant, his obsession with her as fierce as his thirst for power. Caught between her lingering feelings and the monster he has become, she must decide between her feelings and letting him go.

warnings: angst with a happy(ish?) ending, dark tom but he's bbg. also older tom but he's not a snake yet dw. 3rd person POV,

A/N: I've always wanted to write something with older tom and this one has been sitting in my drafts for ages. i decided to post it bc why not! lmk what you guys think and if i should write more for older tom! (and before you ask, I'm sorry but not writing a part 2 for this)

༻♛༺

The rain drummed lightly against the windows as she sat in her worn armchair, a steaming cup of tea forgotten on the table beside her. The Daily Prophet lay open on her lap, the bold headline screaming of another attack.

The Dark Lord Strikes Again: Ministry Scrambles to Counter Riddle’s Forces.

Her chest tightened as she read the words, the familiar name sending a chill through her veins.

Riddle. Tom Riddle. And to think he had been her friend once.

She closed her eyes, and despite fighting it, memories reluctantly started to flood back. Late-night study sessions in the Hogwarts library, debates over spells and theories, and the way his sharp mind always seemed a step ahead of everyone else's. He had been ambitious, yes, she knew that, but there had been a charm to him, a warmth she had once believed was genuine.

They had been close, or at least as close as anyone could be to Tom. But as the years passed, she had watched him change. His ambition darkened, his charm became manipulation, and his thirst for power grew insatiable. 

She started heard whispers of his experiments, his fascination with immortality, and the growing fear he inspired in his peers he called friends. She had tried countless times to steer him away from his path, but he had brushed her off with a cold finality she would never forget. She had been helpless as she watched the boy she loved so dearly descend into madness. And thus, by the time they left Hogwarts, the distance between them had become a chasm.

And now, years later, here he was again, not in the flesh but in the headlines of a paper detailing his reign of terror. She folded the Prophet with a trembling hand, her heart heavy with a mix of anger, sadness, and a faint, unwelcome pang of longing for the friend she had lost.

She sighed, tossing the paper aside and wrapping her robe over her nightgown tighter, trying to get rid of the goosebumps on her skin. Though they had little to do with cold, and more to do with what she had just read.

She was startled out of her stupor by knocking on her door. It was urgent, sharp, and completely unexpected. Her eyes glanced at the clock above the fireplace, and her brows furrowed as she wondered who would dare show up unannounced past midnight at her door.

Her fingers immediately clutched the wand she had set at her table, and she stood, beginning to approach the door warily. She debated whether if she should even open the door, considering the hour, yet worried that one of her friends might have gotten in trouble, she twisted the doorknob.

When she opened it, the sight before her made her wonder if she was having a nightmare.

A figure in black stood on her doorstep, his robes soaked and clinging to his tall frame The crimson stains seeped through his clothes, smearing the pale skin of his hands and dripping from a gash across his temple. For a moment, the hood of his cloak obscured his face, but then he raised his head.

Those familiar features, now sharper and more menacing, stared back at her. His face had matured, losing the boyish charm she once knew, replaced by a cold, calculated intensity. But his eyes—those piercing, dark eyes—had not changed. They bore into her with a mix of exhaustion and something darker she dared not name.

She froze as if someone poured a bucket of ice over her head. It was him. She had been reading about him mere minutes ago, the feared Dark Lord whose name terrified the wizarding world, and now he stood at her doorstep as if summoned by her very thoughts.

The storm raged behind him and despite the obvious pain coursing through him due to his wounds, something in his gaze sharpened, his complete focus narrowing to her as though the rain, the blood, and his injuries were inconsequential.

“You…” Her voice faltered, and she tightened her grip on the doorframe. "How...what are you doing here?"

Tom leaned heavily against the doorframe, his hand gripping the edge for support. "Do you plan to let me bleed out on your doorstep?” he asked, his voice even deeper and colder than she remembered.

Swallowing her shock, she blinked a few times to confirm she was not hallucinating. Her gaze roved over his dark hair, plastered against his forehead and disheveled in a way that was so unlike the controlled and immaculate boy she recalled.

"Did you expect me to welcome you with open arms after...everything?" She breathed out incredulously, looking at him with wide eyes, trying, desperately yet vainly to ignore the strings being pulled taut at her heart just at the sight of him before her. “You have no right to be here,” she added, her voice trembling with anger.

His gaze sharpened, the intensity of his focus making her feel as though she was the only person in the world. Despite his injuries, his voice remained calm, unyielding. “I expected you to act with the practicality I know you possess.”

“Reason? You are unbelievable.” She scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. “The reasonable thing would be to turn you away and report you to the Aurors.”

“And yet,” he said, taking a deliberate step closer, though his movements were clearly labored, “you haven’t done that." As soon as the words left his mouth, a cough roughly racked through his chest and he swayed on his feet.

She faltered, her grip tightening on the doorframe. His words stung because they were true. She hated the way he always seemed to know exactly which string to pull. Every instinct screamed at her to shut the door. He was dangerous. He had become something monstrous, far removed from the ambitious boy she once knew at Hogwarts. But the sight of his blood and the faint tremor in his hand stirred something in her. 

The rain continued to pour around them, each drop a reminder of how absurd this situation was. His drooping eyelids were the only warning she got as he almost collapsed, and she flung her arms around his middle to catch him. Despite everything, she found that she could not let him bleed out in front of her eyes. Worse, she still cared about him.

"Do not think for a second this means I’ve forgiven you.” Her voice was tight with resignation as she helped him into her home. He didn’t fully collapse, though he looked like he might. Instead, he moved with deliberate slowness with her help until they reached her large couch by the fireplace.

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, even as he winced with pain. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She made sure he was fully situated before she busied herself fetching a potion and bandages, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze following her every move. She knew whatever had caused him this much harm would not be so simple to fix with mere Wiggenweld potion or basic healing charms.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she murmured quietly, setting the supplies on the table beside him. “Especially not like this.”

Tom gave a faint, humorless smile. “Life has a way of surprising us.”

She bit back a retort at that, deciding to focus on the task at hand instead. "Show me."

Tom did not need to be instructed twice, as he moved to peel away his robes in order to expose his wounded back. He kept trying to hold in the winces every time he moved, and against her better judgement, she reached to bat his hands away and instead do the job herself. She removed his robes first, putting it away carefully so his blood would not stain her furniture. Then, she began slowly peeling away his shirt that had stuck to his skin after being soaked in his blood for so long. He suppressed a shiver at the feel of her cold fingertips grazing his skin, and she inn turn suppressed her urge to let her eyes wonder over his shirtless form. She had far more important matters in her hand.

The gash across his back was long and bloody. She could immediately tell it was not a wound caused by any weapon, but by dark magic. The edges of it were jagged, charred black which was the first giveaway of its cause. It was deep, angry, and refusing to heal fully even as she muttered counter-curses under her breath.

“This will take time,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile calm between them.

He didn’t reply, merely tilting his head to allow her better access. She could feel him watching her from the corner of his eye, even as she tried to focus. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed a cooling salve into the wound, but she forced herself to steady them.

Once the magic had been neutralized as much as she could manage, she began to wrap a bandage around his torso. His skin was pale, marred by other scars she hadn’t expected to see, each one a testament to the battles he had fought—and most likely won.

Her hands brushed against his sides as she secured the bandage, and she felt his muscles tense beneath her touch. She glanced up instinctively, though she could not see his face fully.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice low and almost… gentle.

“I’m not,” she lied, looking away quickly as heat crept into her cheeks.

He let out a faint hum of disbelief but said nothing further.

When she finished wrapping his torso, she moved to settle in front of him so she could focus on the gash on his temple. The blood had dried, crusting around the edges of the wound, and she carefully wiped it clean with a damp cloth. Her fingers brushed his hair back from his face, wet and unruly from the rain, and she noted absently how much longer it had grown since their school days.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, but he was watching her again—always watching. She could feel the weight of his gaze as she worked, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked finally, her voice tight.

“Because you’re still the same,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of the usual bite she had come to expect from him.

She paused, her hand hovering above the wound. “And you’re not,” she replied, her words laced with both sadness and bitterness.

He smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “No. I’m not.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint patter of rain against the window. When she resumed cleaning the wound, his gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it intensified, as though he were trying to memorize every detail of her face.

“You could have not let me in,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.

“Yes, I could have." She replied simply, and wondered if perhaps she should have.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, though it was filled with something that felt dangerously close to regret. “You always did see more in me than anyone else,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Her hands stilled briefly, but she quickly resumed her work, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Maybe I was wrong.”

For the first time since he had arrived, he looked away.

Suddenly she was overcome with a burst of courage. "You can still stop this, you can—"

“I didn’t come here for a lecture.” He snapped.

“Then why did you come here?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, his words sent a chill down her spine. “Because you’re the only one I trust.”

Her hands stilled, the bandage halfway wrapped around his arm. “You trust me?” she repeated, disbelief coloring her tone. “After all these years?”

His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unyielding. “You’ve always been different,” he said, as though that explained everything. “You see the flaws, but you don’t flinch. You never did.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong. But the truth was, a part of her still saw the boy she once called a friend. And that part of her was why she hadn’t turned him away.

Her hands fell at her sides, and she tried to search his face but she could decipher what he was feeling. "Tom..."

It was as if the utter of his name was his last straw before he was undone. “Stop.” His voice was quiet but firm, and not for the first time, it carried something she couldn’t name. A plea, maybe, hidden beneath the layers of steel. “Nothing is going to deter me from my path.”

“Even if it means losing everything? Losing everyone?”

He tilted his head, studying her as though the answer should have been obvious. “I have never really had anyone or anything. Except you.”

Her throat tightened at his words, but she managed to croak out a reply. "And you lost me."

His eyes flashed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in the couch, rested his head and closed his eyes. “Perhaps not,” he said finally. “But you’re here now.”

The weight of his words hung between them like a storm about to break. Before she could respond, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’ve watched you,” he admitted, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “For years, I’ve watched you. Wondering if one day you’d join me." He paused, "Hoping.”

She crossed her arms, holding his gaze. "You mean standing beside you while the world burns?"

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "If that’s how you choose to see it."

"That's a lonely prospect." She retorted.

The flickering firelight cast shadows over his sharp features, making him seem both human and monstrous. "Lonely," he repeated, almost mockingly. "You think I don’t know what loneliness is?"

"I think you chose it," she said quietly.

Tom's eyes flashed, a dangerous spark of anger igniting in them. "I didn’t choose it," he hissed. "I embraced it. Because weakness is what binds people to one another. And I refused to be weak."

"Strength doesn’t mean shutting everyone out," she shot back. "It doesn’t mean destroying everything good in your life. You used to know that. At least I thought you did."

For a moment, she thought she saw something crack in his carefully composed mask. His voice lowered, almost a whisper and he chose to disregard her comment. "I told myself that you just needed time," he admitted. "But then I started hearing things. Rumors that you’d settled down, moved on. That you were happy." His gaze met hers, unflinching and intense. "Do you know what that did to me? The thought of someone else taking what I’d decided was mine? I was ready to kill, but then I found out the rumours were false."

She laughed, but it was hollow, her disbelief bleeding through. “Do you even hear yourself? That is not love."

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Call it what you want. It’s all I’ve ever had to offer.”

She shook her head. "But it's—"

“Me,” Tom interrupted. “It’s who I am. And you’ve always known that.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as she tried to find her footing amidst the storm of his words. He wasn’t just offering her a place beside him—he was offering her the only version of himself he knew how to be. And for a shameful moment, she wondered if that was enough.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said finally, her voice breaking under the weight of her own plea. “You could still—”

“Still what?” he asked, his voice colder now. “Change? Turn back? Forget everything I’ve fought for?” His tone softened then, laced with something dangerously close to vulnerability, though his expression remained steely. “No matter what you say, I won’t stop. I can’t. Don’t you see?” His jaw tightened as though the words were difficult to force out. “You’re the only person I’ve ever had even the faintest semblance of care for—of love for.”

The word hung in the air between them, so foreign coming from his lips that she almost didn’t believe he’d said it. Her throat tightened, her body frozen under his piercing gaze.

“And if anyone,” he continued, his voice darkening, “anyone so much as thinks of taking you from me, I’ll kill them. You know I will.”

A shiver ran down her spine at the conviction in his words, the raw ferocity in his voice. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “You don’t love me— you just want to keep me caged.”

His nostrils flared, his expression twisting in frustration. “Why don’t you understand?” His voice cracked, sharp and raw, and before she could react, his hands shot forward, grasping her face.

She gasped, the suddenness of the gesture sending her heart racing. His hands were cold against her skin, but his grip was firm, unyielding, as though he feared she might slip away. His dark eyes bore into hers, and for the first time, she saw something she couldn’t quite name in them—a mix of fury, desperation, and something heartbreakingly human.

“I would burn the whole world just to keep you warm,” he said, his voice a low growl that reverberated through her chest.

Her breath hitched, the words crashing into her like a tidal wave. She could no longer hold her tears, and was helpless as they trailed a wait trail down her cheeks.

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, trapped by the sheer force of his presence.

And then, with a gentleness that was almost cruel, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the tears streaking down her face. He wiped them away with his mouth, his touch at once tender and consuming, sending a shudder through her entire body.

“Tom…” she whispered, her voice breaking as his lips trailed down the curve of her cheek. She didn’t know if it was a plea or a warning, but the moment the word left her lips, he silenced her with his own.

The kiss wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, fervent, as though he were trying to etch himself into her soul, to claim her in a way that words never could. His fingers tightened slightly on her face, pulling her closer, his breath hot and unrelenting against her skin.

She tried to resist, her mind screaming at her to pull away, to end this before it consumed her entirely. But her body betrayed her, melting into his as though it had been waiting for this moment, despite everything. Despite the pain. Despite the danger.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. His hands didn’t leave her face, his thumbs brushing over her skin in a way that made her heart ache.

Her voice cracked as she spoke. “When you’re healed, I’ll tell you to go.”

His hands stiffened slightly, his grip faltering for a brief second before it steadied again. "And I will come back again. And again."

She ignored his words. “For now,” she continued, her voice breaking under the weight of the moment, “I’ll let myself have this.”

She leaned into him, closing her eyes against the storm raging both outside and within her. For now, she allowed herself to relish the fleeting comfort of his touch, even as she knew it was a mistake. Because when the storm passed, when he was gone, she’d be left with nothing but the ashes of what once was—until he would come back to reignite it until she gives in.

༻♛༺

[voxslays]

TOIL AND TROUBLE — TOM RIDDLE

SUMMARY: Things you do absentmindedly that Tom secretly admires—even though he claims to ‘hate’ them. PAIRINGS: Tom M. Riddle x Reader. A/N: Soft!Tom, Tom is future Voldemort, takes place before marauders.

✮ When you call him ‘Tommy.’ Tom claims to despise it. It’s unprofessional for a future Hogwarts professor dark lord, isn’t it? Although, it brings a warmth to his heart he can’t quite comprehend. Why is it, when you cal him such a repulsive, childish nickname, he feels ‘butterflies’ in his stomach?

✮ And as of late, he can’t bring himself to make you stop—not like he used to. Don’t get me wrong, Tom still finds the name repugnant and absolutely abhors it coming from anyone but you—however, he decides he can make exceptions for you every once in a while.

✮ When you pull him away from his ‘dark’ studies. He is studying those horcruxes for a reason. If he’s to one day become one of the greatest dark wizards of his time, he needs to know this stuff. He doesn’t like it when people meddle in his business, although he finds it endearing that you care so much.

✮ Like that time when you secretly spied in on his ‘dark lord’ meeting and called him cute. Cute? Did you seriously find someone who was being enveloped in the ancient dark arts, cute? Well apparently you did, and no matter how hard Tom tried, he couldn’t help but think about you for the rest of his lonesome evening.

[greece-greecia]

My girls ❤️

[megwritesriddles]

MDNI 18+ !!!

Tom Riddle is the type of guy you would assume would never go down on you, but it turns out he’s OBSESSED with being between your thighs. It’s a total power thing for him, taking you apart until you’re trembling and panting and pleading. He wouldn’t never admit it to you or himself, but he’s crazy for the way you taste, eating you out almost every time you hook up. You let him believe it’s just about power, but the way he looks up at you while he feasts on you lets you know the truth. If you ever denied him his favourite meal, there’s no telling how he’d act…

You might find yourself waking up in the Chamber and not getting out for a while…