#voldemort x harry potter

[faithsoneluv]

i want sb to look at me the way tom looks at harry.

(/j i know the context yada yada BUT HHHHWNW CHRISTIAN'S SMILE??)

[consumedshadow-mysticmc]

Behold the 2012 cringe

“Hey, I just met you and this is crazy; but I’m your horcrux, so shag me maybe.”

[secretshipgirl]

No, because I don't think people realize how lucky we are that Voldy doesn't have emotions.

I mean, imagine what would have happened if Moldemort had empathy? He still would have killed Lilly and James bc they disobeyed him, but. Harry. He did nothing wrong.

If he had taken him in, changed his last name to Riddle, it would been over. Like, he would have all the best things, would know spells and parseltoung by 9, and would probably act like a quiet version of Draco, just waaaaaaaaay more dangerous and intimidating. He'd never know about the prophecy, he wouldn't trust Dumb as a door, he'd be sadistic and cruel, and the Wizarding world would have been doomed. Their savior was already practicing unforgivable curses at 10, how would he save them from his own father? The person that raised and cared for him his entire life? Answer, he wouldn't. He'd rule over muggles and mudbloods along side him, happy as can be.

And if you want to make it REALLY fucked, Voldy may just decide to marry him. Make him his officially. Make sure Harry didn't know how wrong it was. Groom him. And watch as the whole Wizarding world lost hope completely.

I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THIS, OKAY!?

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #55: Harry Potter, but make it Roaring Twenties

In what is possibly my most terrible idea yet, I've been contemplating all those HP fics which insist that if only Tom Riddle had been raised correctly, he'd never have become Voldemort - or would have at least gone about his goal in a more sane fashion. I tend to agree with this idea, as the idea that anyone is born evil seems incredibly naive.

Yet if I was a time traveler desperate to save my society, I don't know if I could take that same position - yes, I sincerely believe that no one is born evil, but am I willing to risk the future on the chance I'm wrong? Or: what if a female!Harry Potter traveled back to the 1920s to prevent Tom Riddle's birth?

aka the Mother Dearest fic

Just imagine it:

Female!Master of Death!Harry Potter has witnessed the end of British Wizarding society. Voldemort is not solely at fault for it - magic has been declining for generations, as Dark and Light become unbalanced, but he definitely speeds the process along. Hyacinth (as we shall call her moving forward) decides to travel back in time to 1925 with the intent to prevent Voldemort's birth, which should hopefully provide Wizarding Britain time to restore the balance.

Hyacinth takes on the identity of 16-year-old Hyacinth Peverell, the only survivor of a fire at the Peverell Estate - and thus heiress to a grand fortune, but for the moment in the care of her paternal grandmother's brother, a retired professor living in Greater Hangleton.

The Riddles, being rampant social climbers, encourage Tom Riddle Sr to get close to her - which she somewhat bemusedly allows on the basis that keeping this Riddle close will prevent Merope from getting the chance to drug him with love potion.

(Not, of course, that Merope is around anymore. A quick spell or two saw Marvolo and Morfin kill each other off in a "drunken" altercation and the underage Merope taken away by the Ministry. But Hyacinth is covering all her bases.)

Meanwhile, Tom Riddle does his best to seduce Hyacinth Peverell, which results in the pair being wed in early 1926 and a pregnancy announced not long after.

On December 31, 1926 Hyacinth gives birth to their son - Thomas Tristian Riddle. Though it takes Hyacinth a few months to realize it, her son bears the soul of Voldemort from her original timeline, with his memories largely locked away until he's old enough to process them, circa 7-11 years old.

This is originally where I thought of ending a short one-shot... but then I thought, why not lean into the unhealthy, creepy element that would surely arise between a Voldemort obsessed with a witch who was once his prophesied downfall and who is now his loving mother? I'm not just talking codependent here but full-on Electra Complex, with a heavy layer of Child Supplants Parent directed toward Tom Sr for abandoning Merope in the original timeline.

Hyacinth becomes pregnant with a daughter in 1931? She's suddenly widowed when Tom Sr dies in a car crash with his mother. Tom Sr's father makes a drunken pass at Hyacinth while morning his wife and son? He's found to have committed suicide a few days later, leaving Tom Jr heir to his estates. Hyacinth gives birth to a daughter, Daphne? Well, Tom Jr restrains himself to keeping most of his mother's attention on him, but the threat is always there.

For added terrible fic factor, Hyacinth should be aware of what her son is doing and subtly encouraging it, having been almost as obsessed with Voldemort in the original timeline as he was with her and not realizing how much she'd miss her beloved enemy after he was gone. Perhaps she should have even ensured she'd get pregnant with Tom Jr at the precise time he would have been conceived originally, having decided that she couldn't bear not to have him in the world despite that being her whole raison d'etre for coming to the past. Hell, perhaps her whole marriage to Tom Sr should be a way of trying to fill the void Voldemort left in her life to begin with.

That's all I really have - just the idea that what could have been a very creepy one shot could easily evolve into an incredibly creepy full-length fic depending how hard one wants to develop and explore the layers of obsession and unhealthy mother-child relationship. Depending on how twisted you make Tom Jr as a child with a whole soul and Hyacinth after how many centuries of being the undying Master of Death in a dying magical world... well, there's a lot of room to play.

Bonuses include: 1) Tom Sr's father being the result of an affair between his mother and Marvolo Gaunt's father. He's unaware of the relationship, but it's enough for that thread of magical heritage to pass down Tom Jr in his new body regardless; 2) While we're at it, let's make Tom Sr's mother the third-generation descendant of a cast-out Black squib; 3) Hyacinth pretending to be your average 1920s upper-class housewife by day while secretly moving through magical circles by night, subtly pushing a pro-Grey, pro-greater secrecy agenda at the great and powerful of the magical world; 4) The suggestion that Voldemort's madness came as much from his muggle father's family as his inbred mother's: Tom Sr's father should express psychopathic tendencies, Tom Sr himself should be something of a sociopath, and Tom Sr's mother should be as much a Black as it's possible to be without magic; and 5) As much I can't believe I wrote this as the author can humanly manage.

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you ever do anything with this genuinely terrible fic idea.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[dresyreads]

Chapters: 14/14 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, Other Character Tags to Be Added, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Teddy Lupin Additional Tags: Serial Killer Tom Riddle, Crime Scene Investigator Harry Potter, Murder, Gore, Gift Giving, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Tom Riddle is besotted, harry potter needs a break, a long, long break, Writing this when I'm bored, be gentle I'm fragile and this is just for fun, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I apologize in advance, someone gets set on fire so uh, Tom practically cock-blocks himself, lots of inaccuracies probably, Something that could be considered non-con happens between Bellatrix and Tom, Hedwig is a long haired dalmatian ;w; Summary:

Tom Riddle is a serial killer, and Harry Potter is the object of his affections. He kills people as gifts for Harry, and leaves a card for him with each "gift".

Harry Potter is a crime scene investigator, and he most definitely does not appreciate the gifts. --- DO NOT TRANSLATE WITHOUT PERMISSION

[reggieblk]

Chapter 8. Horcruxes (of 16) of equals in life (partners in death) is out ! 

Fic summary :  

When Sirius died Harry's whole world crumbled.

Amidst grief and anger, one may find that hope and love can be found in the most unexpected places.

For Harry, that came in the form of Voldemort offering him a home.

-

A story of grief, healing, learning and magic. But most importantly, this is a love story.

I hope you all like it! I know this was a long awaited topic in this fic! :) xx

[larallott]

Being Tom Riddle's girlfriend includes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[zvdvdlvr]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Tommy?” 

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

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

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

     “I’m not-“

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

      You blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lqpinss]

regulus writing “when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more,” to the dark lord is so heartbreaking from a jegulus standpoint ‘cause… reg, baby.. if you knew who said match was…

[butternutt613]

Just Tom Marvolo Riddle casually corrupting Harry

[sherbet-powder]

happy (belated) birthday, lord voldemort!!

(I spent so many hours slaving away for this I swear)

[faithsoneluv]

i don't think people understand how hard it is not to ship tomarry / harrymort because what do you mean they're borderline canonically soulmates. what do you mean they're PROPHESIED to each other. what do you mean they're literal parallels, had the same childhood circumstances but turned out the exact opposite. what do you mean harry's the embodiment of the light side and tom's the embodiment of the dark even though they're so, so similar. what do you mean they both have common names even though they themselves are anything but common. what do you mean they have uncountable amount of bible references that apply strictly to them, what do you mean harry makes sure to mention tom's the handsomest in the room whenever he sees him and apparently likes their connection. what do you mean their wands share the core of the same phoenix and therefore literally can't kill each other even if they wanted to. what do you mean harry wanted to give him another chance despite everything he's done, what do you mean tom offered him his hand, what do you mean harry killed tom at the same age except the order of the numbers is reversed. what do you mean harry's eyes are the same colour as tom's favourite unforgivable (avada) AND the colour of his house, what do you mean TOM'S eyes are the colour of harry's favourite defence spell (expelliarmus) and the colour of his house. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY ARE EACH OTHER'S OTHER HALF. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HARRY IS LITERALLY TOM'S SOUL??? 😭

NOT TO MENTION THESE THINGS AREN'T EVEN FANON LIKE...? lmk if i missed something though.

[rilowizardshaddow]

Harry: I'm so glad the destiny got us together.

Tom, who stalked Harry throughout all his Hogwarts years until he knew everything about Harry before he made their first encounter seem like an accident: Yes...

[pasukiyo]

BOUND TO ME

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

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

 She was foolish to think she could ever resist him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 And yet…

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Please. Let sleep come. 

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

 Snickering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 He snickers. 

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

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

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

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

 “I—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Silence. 

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

 When will he strike? 

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

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

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

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

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

 Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGLIST:

@your-nanas-house

@sallowsarchives

@michelle-26

@iamthejam

@lyis

[reine-de-la-lune]

tom: *speaking in parseltongue* SSsSsSsS harry: take that back! *starts to fight in parseltongue* tom vs harry: SsSsSsSSSSSssss sssSsssSSS walbura: what the hell are you guys talking about? orion: i have no idea abraxas: they're flirting

[dresyreads]

Chapters: 115/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Merope Gaunt Additional Tags: Alpha Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Young Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Smitten Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts Together, Omega Harry Potter, Female Harry Potter, Merope Gaunt Lives, Merope Gaunt Raises Tom Riddle, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Marriage, Love, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Childbirth, Family Feels, Stillbirth, Sibling Incest Summary:

Raised by a single mother, young Tom Riddle is determined to make his way in the magical world. His life changes when he begins his Hogwarts years and meets the one whom he is destined for. The romantic tale of how Tom Riddle mates and marries Harriet Potter. Updates each Saturday!