#vampire tom

[x-junwrites-x]

Reader Gets Turned into a Vamp

Tom x Reader

Summary: Tom and Reader used to be a pair of monster hunters with a specialty in hunting vampires. Of course, as life would be unfair to the two of you, Tom got turned into a vampire many years ago by Tord. Throughout the years, Tom would always keep away from you. A flat-out refusal to get near enough to be enticed by your blood. He can only do so much to protect you this time when Tord as coven leader decides to pay your shop a visit and get rid of Tom's distraction so-to-speak. In the end, reader gets turned into an immortal leech, the kind that Tom promised you would never be.

Tw: mild blood and injury, minor violence, near character death

Tom slammed through the door, the ache in his shoulder barely even registering. He let out a snarl at the offending vampires that turned to lunge at him as soon as he barged in, using his jowls to rip the throat of one young rogue. The other was quickly pacified with a swift slash to his throat along with a kick in the groin. The only goal in mind was to get to the alluring scent of blood upstairs. The shop that you worked in was in ruins, shelves knocked over and broken glass vials crunching underneath his feet as he charged through the hall. He got to the base of the stairs, hearing whimpers of other wounded rogues in the middle of the stairwell. Tom cursed, knowing that Tord’s men were already there. When he caught wind of a small group of vampires rounding on your side of the town you lived in, he knew he had to get to you even through the consequences.

Once he reached the second floor all he had to do was round the corner to find Tord looming over Tom’s prized possession. You were limp in the arms of the coven leader, neck bared by the strong grip that the vampire had on you. His sharpened claws were careful with the fragile flesh of your neck, thumb feeling for your fluttering pulse under the frigid skin of his finger no doubt. Tom felt a growl bubble out from his chest without meaning to, gaining the attention of his superior. His head snapped up in search of the source of incompetence, piercing red gaze finding Tom’s trembling figure. 

“Ah, Thomas. How rather surprising to see you, especially since I am certain that you were stationed elsewhere.” The last bit of the sentence was made into a hiss as his red glare got sharper. “I thought we were clear that you were to go on a coup with Patryk’s division” 

“And I thought,” Tom could feel the anger inside of him start to boil over as he advanced onto the elder’s space, “we were clear that they were to be kept unharmed.” Tord’s grip on your neck tightened, Tom noticed how your brow furrowed as a low whine found its way from your throat. 

“Ah, yes, well. They seem to be your weakness and I can’t be having any weak links in my coven. You are of great use to me, Thomas. You will serve to bring me the position of reigning elder in the community, therefore I have to get rid of any distractions.” He sniffs, body moving to turn back to the mortal in his hold. Tom saw the way Tord’s fangs elongated, flashing red eyes narrowing as he was about to bite your jugular. A growl bursted out of his chest as he barreled towards his sire. The other man seemed to expect this already, side stepping carefully over the floorboards to be a few feet away. 

“Come now, Thomas. I do not recommend fighting me right now when the blood moon is out no less.” 

“I would be able to contend with you then, Tord.” Tom glowered at the other. Tord’s smug face faltered, brows furrowing into a stern glare.

“The gall you have to claim you’re as strong as your sire is laughable. You insult me. Now, shut up, and stop being a pest.” The elder seethed with a flick of his wrist towards Tom’s form. The other vampire felt a sudden pressure on his neck, shouting as he was flung back into the far wall. The portraits that were hanging fell to the floor just as he slid to the floorboards after them with a groan. He rubbed the back of his head, vision blurry as he tried to focus on the form of the tall vampire again before he was flung back to the other wall. He heard Tord huff out a small chuckle at the sight, the noise only fueling Tom’s anger. 

He took to his feet, the hair on the back of his neck raising as he sidestepped another one of Tord’s force attacks. As an Ancient, he was able to do weird magic like that. It frustrated Tom to no end sometimes. With little fanfare, Tom took the wall closest to him to push himself at Tord. Just as he was about an arm’s length away, he tilted on his heels, dodging Tord’s nasty swipe. He could feel the air move above his head where Tord’s claws ripped through the air. He didn’t hesitate to clamp down on his coven leader’s exposed shoulder with his own elongated fangs as the other man recoiled back for another attack. The vampire snarled, gasping as Tom flung his head back, nearly pulling Tord’s shoulder with him had it not been for Tord clawing at his face. Tom let go, using his leader’s brief stupor to move back, grunting as he dodged another attack before dashing to your side. He heaved you up in a bridal carry, ignoring the angered shouts of the other as he rushed to leap out the window. 

He didn’t turn back to look at the shop again as he continued to run through the forest at the edge of the town, ignoring the screams and cries he heard from the rest of the burning buildings. Although he was a vampire and didn’t need to breathe, it felt as though the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body was making his chest pinch tightly. Might’ve been the anxiety that suddenly crept up on him. He didn’t stop running until he got to a clearing. The big blood moon was the only thing that was illuminating the scene, its orange glow basking everything in an eerie light. 

He let out a breath, shifting you in his hold so that he could gaze at your face as he placed you down on the patch of grass. Tiny little yellow flowers had sprouted over the spring mornings, their delicate petals sagging underneath the body that lay atop them. He muttered a curse as he brushed some stray hairs from your face, his attention being snatched by the moving form of his lover as your eyelids fluttered open.

“Tom…?” You groaned out, sitting up among the ticklish grass. The movement elicited a sharp gasp as you felt a sharp pain erupt in your abdomen. Tom moved closer to you, holding your hand to his chest as he shushed you gently.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, a little bewildered. He hadn’t smelled any blood from you throughout the time that he was at the shop. Your parted lips formed a grimace as you moved a hand to press against your lower stomach, fingers coming back drenched in crimson.

“What?” You faltered, feeling your hands start to shake from the realization. The pain seemed to increase tenfold once you knew that you were bleeding. It felt like being torn apart from the inside. Tom stared at your drenched hand in strange horror as the scent of your blood elicited a burning desire to clamp his fangs over your pulse point, wherever he could get a taste of that delicious blood.

“I wasn’t hurt before, wh-what’s going on?” You whined as more pain shot up your spine, causing you to clamp your jaw tight. Tom shook his head to clear the unnerving thoughts. Now was not the time. He hovered over your form, gently coaxing you to lean further back so he could get under the clothes that covered your middle. He winced at the sight of the blood that seemed to just seep from your skin, unable to find a cut or laceration that would cause it. 

“It hurts so much.” Your eyes clamped shut as you held onto his buttoned shirt, your fist curling tighter around the fabric. His hand went to cover yours. Thinking about it more, it dawned on Tom that it could be Tord’s magic. He could feel the fire inside of him strike up again as he realized it was the coven leader’s doing. Through all that he’s done for the man, is this any way to repay him. Tom’s free hand reached to cup one of your flushed cheeks as tears collected on your bottom lashes.

“I think this is Tord’s magic.” His murmured words rang clear in your head as your eyes widened in realization. It made sense that it was ancient magic, it felt like you were burning.

“Tom,” you panted, blearily feeling Tom’s hold on your hand tighten over his chest, “I think i’m gonna die.” The grass below you was wet with blood, a sick feeling beginning to claw in your chest at the sight. If your head were any clearer, you would be moving away from the poor flowers. Tom sat stockstill, the crease in his brow pinching tighter before he was swallowing. Your eyes fluttered, feeling fainter as the moments passed. You looked over at your immortal lover, finding beads of sweat on his brow. Your lips parted to ask what he was thinking about, words escaping you as thoughts of your impending death hit you. If you knew you were going to die today, you would've given the cat that was always at the shop’s windows a feast.

“Hey…” You began softly, his grip on your hand tightening as his head shot up from where it had dropped against his chest. His expression looked troubled as he looked at you. It didn’t settle your nerves at the moment. He held a finger to his lips, head tiilting from side to side as if listening. Tom’s head swiveled to look around the clearing. You tried following his gaze but the sharp pain returned, eliciting a gasp from you. 

“They’re coming.” Tom’s tone sent a shiver down your spine as he pressed against your prone form, one arm cradled you to his chest while the other began to reach down to press against your wound..

“I don’t want to go, Tom.” You whispered, feeling his head shift to look at you as black spots began dancing in your blurry vision.

“Hey, stay with me.” His tone finally showed worry as he tilted your head towards his face. You could feel your eyes start to close, beginning to get comfortable in his hold. Even though your immortal lover was a vampire, he was still warmer than the cold of your bed you had to face every night. He started saying a few more words, panic seeping into his pleading but you couldn’t really understand it.

 He could save you, but it would put too much of a risk on both of you if either person died without the other.

“My love,” He tried, palm finding your chest. His own slow heartbeat thudded away in his chest as he felt the way yours was beginning to grow faint. Fingers skimmed over your warm skin, fingertips feeling the slow vibrations of the only thing that kept him going. “Love, look at me, come on.” Tom swallowed back the lump in his throat as your head tilted towards him just a little. 

“I can save you, you just have to trust me.” He could almost feel your hand tighten over his own weakly. He gave a slight chuckle at the warmth he suddenly felt. The noises of the coven were getting louder, no doubt sourcing the smell of blood in the air as they hunted for the two of you like hound dogs. The beasts that they were. That he was.

Tom took a breath as he caressed your face with his icy hands, moving some loose strands of hair aside before caressing your neck with his thumb. Your heartbeat was a dull thing now underneath warm skin. He closed his eyes as his fangs elongated, the hunger that had been simmering under his skin this whole time finally resurfacing again. It was harder to control this time. Focus, his mind hissed, he had to remember that this was a transforming bite. He had to put intention behind the force of his jaw, not only to feed but to have you drink his blood as well. 

He moved back enough to look at your closed eyes. Just like this, he could pretend that it was one of those slow mornings the two of you shared so long ago, when he was able to hold you closely without having to worry about rules or his own bloodthirst to satiate. Never with you. It was never supposed to be you. You were supposed to be kept out of this life as the monster that he was, but you were stubborn. 

This was the last time he was going to see you as a human. He brought his mouth to the crook of your neck. His hunger was a roaring thing now, willing him to bite into delicate flesh and drink from the source that he’s been wanting to claim ever since he turned. His lips sealed over your neck to lay an open mouth kiss to the skin before letting his fangs plunge over where your pulse was the strongest. Tom felt you jerk in his arms as a surprisingly lucid yelp escaped your lips, the action causing him to almost falter before the taste of copper saccharin blood coated his tastebuds.

In an instant, he felt the monster inside him snap as power surged through him like a lighting strike. A feeling of near orgasmic euphoria washed over him, a deep seated groan slipping from his mouth, eyes fluttering closed. His hands trembled as he clutched onto your form tightly, gulping copious amounts of blood as he tried quenching the immense hunger that burst from the pit of his very being before snapping out of it. He shuddered at the sight of all the blood smattered over the collar of your shirt, raising his shaky wrist to a bloodied fang. He sliced his own pale skin, bringing his bleeding wrist down to your parted lips. Tom watched intently as you took small gulps, the furrow in your brow never leaving as your face began losing some of its glow. He knew it would take a little before the transformation was complete so he took the chance to lick around the puncture wound on your neck once more, saliva closing the bite marks until they were small indentations. A rush of endorphins suddenly surged through his body, making him gasp at the flurry of emotions he was bombarded with that surely weren’t his own. He looked down at you, watching as it almost seemed like you were sleeping. Even so, he was still experiencing this rush of emotion. If he focused hard enough, he could sift through them, finding tendrils attached to you in some way. Somehow he knew. Is this what being a sire was like? Just as quickly as they came, it seemed like they were dispersed somewhere in his mind. It felt like they had been tucked away carefully in the back of his head somewhere, leaving him a little dizzy.

He was probably dazed over the thought that he had finally put a claiming bite on the one person he promised he would never put one on. He thumbed the wound gently, a lick of strange arousal finding its way from the pit in his stomach at the thought that you bore his mark now. He grunted at the intruding thought. A snap of a twig made him snap out of it completely, putting him on edge. Just across from the clearing, he could see the flashing red eyes of a very angry coven leader. Tom made sure to step in front of your prone form as he took to his feet, meeting Tord’s fiery gaze head-on.

“Thomas,” a seething growl found its way in the tense air of the cold night. Tom shifted, shoes crunching in the loose dirt that had been kicked up by his scrambling earlier. The action caused Tord to pause his advancement, eyes boring into your limp figure on the grassy plane just at Tom’s feet. “What have you done?”

“I saved them.” Tom panted, feeling his fangs elongate again as Tord tried getting near. 

“You sired them?! You seething imbecile. You dare sire someone under my leadership. There are rules, Thomas.” Tord hissed, flicking his wrist so that the rest of the coven came out from the clearing’s edge, previously covered by the shadows the trees provided. Tom took a step back at the sight of them all. Their eyes were glowing red as they closed in. 

“Take the fledgling away before they turn feral.” Tord grunted, flicking a wrist towards Tom while he was distracted by Paul and another vampire who came closer to you. “And you, you will be punished for this, Thomas.” He sighed as Tom squirmed in his invisible grasp. His feet didn’t touch the ground as Tord teleported the whole coven back to the dwellings of the grand castle all the villages around feared.

“No! Don’t take them away from me!” Tom growled, jaws snapping at a vampire that was passing by with you in tow. Your face was still slack, still unconscious from the vast changes your body was facing. Immortality sure was a heavy thing to bare. Tord tutted at the display. 

“Oh, Thomas. How pathetic you are. Here’s hoping that they won’t cause much trouble in the dungeons. It would be a shame if I had to cast them into the sun so prematurely.” He gave a smirk as Tom froze, mouth snapping shut as he watched you be taken down the winding halls. Tord laughed sinisterly at the look of sorrow that crossed Tom’s face for a second before an icy mask took its place. “Now, let us discuss the terms of your punishment, yes?” He says as he turns towards the opposite side of the castle with a struggling Tom in his hold.

The end.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Gonna shamelessly piggyback on the gorgeous art~

Vampire Voldemort/Tom ficlet under the cut.

Vampirism would never be Voldemort’s preferred form of existence, but needs must.

It’s unfortunate that the Ministry seized his body for examination instead of burying him – or even putting his corpse on display, he merits at least that much. But alas, when his back-up plan finally kicks in (well, the horcruxes were his initial back-up plan, but hardly the only one. One can never be too careful when it comes to ensuring one’s continued survival), he’s on an examination table surrounded by Aurors and Unspeakables. Not ideal for making his escape, especially when he’s weak and disoriented.

He manages to latch onto the nearest mage and drink enough of their blood to mount a defence and get to the exit, but being a vampire is different enough that he’s taken down before he makes it more than two steps through the door. How humiliating.

So now, here he is, tucked somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry with guards posted just out of sight, interrogated frequently on such matters as who his Death Eaters are, the extent of his crimes, what he knows (far more than these dunderheads can comprehend), and on and on. He gives them nothing, unless it doesn’t matter anymore and will just frustrate them to know. Then he provides more detail than they would ever want. Their methods of information extraction are laughable, anyway.

They only try to starve him to death once. After he rips through the wards and bars containing him and drains one of his guards dry, they don’t try it again. Now, they bring him some kind of blood in pouches once every few days. It sustains him, but that’s about all that can be said for it. He doesn’t feel hungry, per se, but too long without blood makes a headache pound behind his eyes and worsens his already irascible nature.

He’s certain he could escape this cell if he wanted to, but it’s taking him far longer to adapt to being a vampire than he had expected. His magic functions differently, his senses are heightened and inconsistent, and he’s unsure what his reaction to sunlight will be. (Or even regular indoor lighting – it’s kept quite dim in this corridor.) He’s willing to be patient and make his move when the time is right.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It’s during one of the Minister’s occasional visits – as though he has any respect for the position and will give up his secrets more easily – that he appreciates his intensified sense of smell for the first time.

(His guards could stand to brush up on their cleaning charms. They don’t appreciate it when he shares this knowledge with them.)

It’s enticing, the fragrance, and strong enough that it almost feels visible, wafting down the corridor from the open door. He feels himself drawn to the scent, only stopping when he hits the bars. It takes a fair bit of self-control to resist pulling them apart and pursuing the delicious smell. “Who walked by just now?”

“That isn’t of any concern to you,” Shacklebolt says flatly.

One of the Aurors snaps, “We’re asking the que–”

“Bring them here,” Voldemort commands. “Or we’ll find out exactly how well these new wards will hold up against me.”

His ability to enthral the Aurors guarding him might be limited by the amulets they wear, but the fact that it still affects them at all seems to terrify them more. One looks to the Minister, hands shaking; he races off once he gets the nod.

Shacklebolt attempts to stare him down, which would be more impressive if he’d been able to do it before Voldemort had his metaphorical wings clipped. Once he realises Voldemort has no intention of engaging in a childish staring contest, the other man chats quietly with the remaining guards.

The Auror returns, looking pale and pinched. “Er, Minister Shacklebolt…”

“Who is it?”

The Auror slides his eyes over to Voldemort before returning to meet the Minister’s gaze and shaking his head.

The look is telling. He makes an educated guess and calls out, “Harry Potter.”

After a brief pause, the tense, angry silence is shattered by the thud of footsteps rapidly approaching before the boy skids to a stop before Voldemort’s cell, panting for breath and looking horrified and enraged by what he finds.

“What the hell is he doing here–”

“Harry, wait–”

“He’s alive?!”

“Let’s go talk about this–”

“Hello again, Harry Potter,” Voldemort cuts in. “So kind of you to finally visit me.”

“How in Merlin’s name did you survive?” Potter shouts, sounding a touch hysterical.

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.” A rather transparent ploy, but the scent of the boy’s blood has his head reeling. And, well, Potter has never needed a sophisticated touch to lure him in.

Shacklebolt snarls at him and quickly raises the silencing barrier that prevents him from being heard beyond the walls of his cell. What a pity.

He says, “I’ll see you soon,” ensuring his mouth moves deliberately enough for the message to get through even if it can’t be heard. Potter’s brows furrow at him, eyes aflame, before he follows the Minister down the corridor, irately demanding to know everything.

No matter. If Shacklebolt thinks Potter won’t find a way back here, he doesn’t know the boy at all.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It takes four days before Potter skulks out of the shadows around Voldemort’s cell. 

Voldemort knows from the moment he enters the corridor, even if he can’t see the boy getting closer. Wild, black hair and a lumpy jumper emerge from under an invisibility cloak directly in front of his cell, just inside the sound barrier. Clever boy.

“Come now, you’re not afraid of me, are you?” he taunts. “I’m no danger to you from in here. You can step closer.”

A vampire’s power of suggestion works just as well as the Imperius does against Potter. He’d expected it, but the boy’s mental resilience remains irritating.

“Did you seriously think that would work?” Potter says incredulously.

“I have so little entertainment, I’m not in a position to be picky,” he mockingly laments. “In any case, congratulations. You’ve exceeded my admittedly low expectations of you.”

“Tosser,” the boy mutters, before demanding, “What are you doing here?”

He raises a judgemental, nonexistent eyebrow. “Well, when the Ministry offered me room and board in perpetuity for the low cost of my freedom and privacy, how could I refuse?”

If looks could kill, Potter might actually have a chance at putting him in the ground permanently. “You know that’s not what I was asking,” he snaps. “How are you here, alive?”

Voldemort observes the boy for a moment. Deep bruises under his eyes, still too skinny – no one at home to notice if he goes missing.

“I propose a trade,” he says, moving ever so slowly closer towards the bars. “I have something you want, and you have something I want. Surely we can come to a mutually satisfying agreement.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” Potter grits. 

“Isn’t it obvious? Your curiosity, Harry Potter, would put the proverbial cat to shame. You have questions.” Voldemort reaches out and wraps a hand around one of the bars. “And I have answers, if you’re willing to barter for them.”

Potter considers this, looking torn. Voldemort is confident the boy's need to know will win out. And he's correct.

“What do you want?”

“Something that I am certain will answer at least one of your questions. Come closer and you’ll find out.”

That nets him an unimpressed look. “I’m not stupid, you know,” Potter says. 

“No, you aren’t, but you are rather gullible at times,” he replies with a grin. 

“You are such a prick,” the boy says, almost wonderingly. “Fine. How are you alive? I saw you die. I checked your pulse, even.”

“You want to know how I am alive,” he says mysteriously. “How do you know that I am?”

Potter gives him a flat look. “Well, the whole walking and talking thing kind of gave it away.”

“Animate and alive are two different things,” he corrects.

“You pedantic–” the boy begins cursing, before pausing and considering the words more closely. Voldemort smiles and ensures his fangs are visible. “You’re a vampire,” Potter concludes quietly. 

“Thirty points to Gryffindor,” Voldemort mocks.

Potter is still staring at him, and he can almost see the dots connecting in the other’s mind. “What you want is the answer… You want my blood?!”

“Oh, well done, Harry Potter. We’ll make a scholar of you yet.”

“Absolutely not,” Potter says firmly. “You really must think I’m stupid, if you think I’d let you bite me.”

“Where’s your sense of fairness? I’ve answered some of your questions, but you won’t keep up your end of the bargain?”

“You want to kill me!”

“Not anymore,” he maybe-lies. He’s fairly certain the prophecy lost its relevance once he died at Hogwarts. If so, he’s not particularly fussed about what happens to the boy now.

Potter shouts, indignantly, “Like I’d believe that!”

And, well, he can’t blame Potter for his scepticism. He has spent the better part of eighteen years repeatedly attempting to kill the boy. But that’s neither here nor there.

“You made a trade with me,” he reminds the boy. “It’s hardly my fault that you failed to clarify the terms of the deal beforehand.”

“Fucking…” Potter tugs on his hair, looking frustrated. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to kill me.”

Voldemort gives him an indulgent look. “I swear.”

“I can’t believe this…” the boy mutters. “How…?”

“Give me your hand.” He’s close; he’s so close…

Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else and giving Voldemort a warning look, Potter slowly slides his left hand between the bars. Voldemort pulls the boy’s wrist towards his mouth, ignoring the wary glare boring into the side of his head, and bites down.

Finally.

He feels like he’s been starving for years – a feeling made all the more intolerable by the complete lack of hunger he’s felt since his bodily resurrection. Slaking his thirst for the first time is revelatory – if he’ll experience this transcendent feeling each time he drinks, he finally understands why vampires accept the troublesome aspects of their nature.

He drinks deep, revelling in the euphoria coursing through his veins. On the periphery of his awareness, he can hear the boy making noise, but the wards will prevent the sounds from escaping. He feels Potter’s other hand pushing at his shoulder, his face, and wonders whether he should kill the boy here and now.

But he’s not so lost in bloodlust that he forgets how disappointing the Auror was when he’d drank from her. The taste of her blood was barely different from the blood bags they give him. Perhaps, much like the scent of his blood is rare, the intoxicating taste of Potter’s blood is equally uncommon. He can survive with the blood of others, but…

Existence is so much more enjoyable with little luxuries to break up the monotony.

So he stops before the boy’s blood levels fall dangerously low. Potter will even be able to walk out of here, if a little unsteadily. If this becomes a regular thing (and he hopes it will, until he makes his escape and can steal the boy away to feed on as he pleases), he’ll have to recommend Potter bring blood replenishers.

He floats back down to earth slowly, enjoying the warm, effervescent feeling filling his body and mind. When he opens his eyes again, he sees he’s not the only one affected.

Potter is leaning heavily against the bars, left arm limply hanging from Voldemort’s grasp, and panting like he can’t catch his breath. His face is flushed – though the unflushed sections of skin are decidedly paler than usual – and his body keeps twitching. Perhaps he’d taken too much blood. Or the boy is having an adverse reaction.

Voldemort licks the bite wound to help speed the healing – can’t have his portable meal bleeding out, after all. As his tongue slides across the boy’s wrist, Potter whimpers. Needily.

Hmm.

That recontextualizes the boy’s other physical cues.

“Why Harry, did you enjoy that?” he asks, exhaling an unnecessary breath over the damp flesh of Potter’s wrist. A low, soft moan and a glassy-eyed glare are his only response.

This could be entertaining.

He passes Potter’s hand back through the bars and watches the boy straighten up on wobbly legs. 

“May I offer some assistance–”

“No!” Potter gasps, pushing away from the bars, though his hand remains firmly gripped around one to hold himself up.

“Very well. I appear to have taken more than was fair for the questions you asked, and you’re in no state to ask any more at the moment,” Voldemort says smugly. “I’ll be sure to answer a few extra queries for you next time in exchange.”

“Next time,” Potter says, a slight rasp to his voice. From the frown on his face he means it to come out angrily, but the breathiness makes it sound more like a promise.

Voldemort reaches through the bars to take the boy’s invisibility cloak from his pocket and fasten it around his neck, pulling the hood up as he says, “Yes, next time. Until then, Harry Potter.”

Potter lingers outside his cell for a minute, likely gathering himself for the walk back, before Voldemort hears his slightly unsteady steps moving away.

He starts to think of all the avenues this opens to him – and all the fun he can have while he waits for the opportune moment to leave here.

After all, Potter will be back.

[saintfire]

[tuserlivia]

🧛🏼 VAMPIRES + SUNGLASSES 😎 Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997) Twilight (2008) Only Lovers Left Alive (2013) Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) Near Dark (1987) The Twilight Saga: New Moon (2009) The Hunger (1983) Wednesday (2022-) Interview with the Vampire (2022-)

[agarfield]

Feed on what you will. Rats, chickens, poodles, I'll leave you to it and watch you come around. But just remember, life without me would be even more unbearable. — Tom Cruise as Lestat de Lioncourt in Interview with the Vampire (1994)

[classichorrorblog]

Interview With The Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles (1994)

[salembehindbars]

Me every fall

[cheezy-whizz]

shout out to homicidal homoerotic toxic best friendships in movies, gotta be one of my favorite genders

[yeahiwasintheshit]

[borderlineee14]

He's asking nicely

Reference:

[six-demon-bag]

there is no heterosexual explanation for this

CHRIS SARANDON as Jerry Dandrige JONATHAN STARK as Billy Cole FRIGHT NIGHT (1985) dir. Tom Holland

[sam-reid]

Evil is a point of view. God kills indiscriminately, and so shall we. For no creatures under God are as we are, none so like him as ourselves.

Lestat de Lioncourt

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (1994) | INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022- ).

[viperify]

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

˚.☾⋆✧ Blood Lust.

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

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

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

wordcount: 3,2k

You wake.

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

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

It’s 23:50.

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

Your eyes shoot open.

You had checked all the windows before going upstairs.

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

He isn’t here. 

Or better—he hasn’t come back.

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

In that moment, realisation hits you.

It’s a full moon.

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

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

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

So you do.

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

Darkness.

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

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

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

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

So you kept it.

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

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

The emergency kit. In the kitchen.

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

You shouldn’t be scared. It’s Tom.

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t reply.

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

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

“Run.”

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

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

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

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

After all, you are still his favourite prey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. What else.

You sigh. “Yes, I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No more talking back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are ovulating.”

“I know, I—“

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

Merlin help you.

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

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

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

“Fuck—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All yours.”

tags: @belladonnaheartsthemoon, @riddlebella, @jo1818

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

[saintfire]

There is no stronger force than that of a girl’s desperation to write about her male hyperfixation.

[asmogorna]

life is too short. turn your random favorite musicians into vampire high schoolers from an early 2000s cartoon series. make them friends. have fun with it

As you could guess I couldn't get THE vampire trio drawing out of my head .. had to do something about it .. because I like having fun

Bunny, Gee and Sunny !! Look how fun

A thing me and @saturday-byte were thinking about for the past couple days !!

@bellasboneyard also tagging you in this miss Bella, since you reblogged my other post on the topic 😸

Sunny and Gee are only photogenic when they don't know there's a camera on them

[bloodofakashainme]

Happy 264th Birthday to the baddest bitch to ever walk this earth — Mother, Father, and everything in between — The Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt🩸

-

Thank you for teaching us that it is more than okay to crash out, be evil, bipolar, and cunt simultaneously! We love you LDL🧛🫶🏾