tomriddlehyperfixataion

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

To have and to hold - Tom Riddle(son of voldy edition) x Reader - Part 2 of 2

Summary; you were arranged to marry Tom Riddle-son of Voldemort. its been...nice, but theres an expectation that looms over your heads. children.

Part 1

=

A sort of… domesticity had settled between you and Tom. You cooked breakfast, he washed dishes, he made lunch, you charmed the sponge to start washing the knives, you both made dinner, and you always got dessert for both of you, every night.

And every night, you settled into your old bedroom, side by side, wrapped up in each other's arms because sleeping apart felt wrong. And it had only been a month since the wedding.

“You know, I had a massive crush on you back during school,” you say bluntly one morning while Tom made the morning tea/coffee-he drops the spoon, coughing out the spit he inhaled.

“and-why was this important to say now?” Tom asks, looking at you over his shoulder, his hair a mess, a cute sight, you liked his hair without all the gel in it, it felt like seeing under the mask his father made him wear.

You only shrug. “we’re married,” you said, as if that was a proper answer and Tom rolled his eyes, hiding the pink flush of his ears as he put sugar and cream into your morning drinks.

Tom sat beside you at the breakfast nook table, setting your mug beside your plate of French toast, fresh cut strawberries, and ham. “that doesn’t mean you have to blurt out your high-school crush on me,” Tom grumbled, his ears turning red as he sipped at his coffee.

You only grinned, you were comfortable with him now. “who said the crush went away?” you teased and Tom scrunched his nose at you, his cheeks matching his ears.

Just as he was about to respond, an owl-Tom’s fathers-flew in, leaving a letter in front of Tom and then the black owl flew back through the open window. Tom stared at the letter, glaring lightly. You went quiet, knowing whatever was in that letter wouldn’t be good.

Tom picked up the letter, broke the seal, and pulled out the paper. He quickly read it and groaned. “He’s wondering if we’ve, made him heirs, yet,” Tom grumbled, his face still pink-tossing the letter to the side. You picked it up and read it.

It was very formal, no affection, just straight to business.

“He really wants grandkids huh?” you half joked, knowing what Voldemort really wanted was heirs, children to mold to his image just in case he was destroyed again and needed bodies to keep up the ‘dark lord’s reign’ thing until he was resurrected again.

Tom only scoffed, stabbing his fork into his strawberries with a dark glare. Your half smile fell, clearing your throat as you tossed away the letter. “He just wants more to control, more bodies to fill his army, those with his blood to carry on his legacy, even if he never dies.” Tom grumbled, glaring at the table.

He pushed away his plate, taking his coffee with him as he stood, and left the room, leaving you behind at the table, feeling more out of place than you ever had.

-

A week passed, words hadn’t been spoken-Tom slept in an adjacent room. Until you had enough, you were bloody married for fucks sake-with a strong expectation for you to be pregnant by honeymoon's end, and you both swore to try and make this work, to be friends if anything.

You didn’t want to barge into his face though, you didn’t want to make this an argument. you wanted to talk.

You made chocolate croissants and coffee, bringing it all on a tray to the sunroom where Tom was. He was still stiff, his jaw tense as he read a book in his lap, but he wasn’t really reading. Just staring at the same page.

“We should talk,” You said, firmly, but softly. You stepped into the room, setting the tray on the table beside the chair he sat on. he spared it a glance, and then a second one, before turning his gaze towards you.

“About?” he asked, coldly, taking a cup of coffee.

“Us, the letter,” you said, sitting in front of him, leaning forward to rest on your knees. Tom froze, eyes locked onto his book. “Okay-look-we both made a promise to try to make this okay between us, to-be friends at least, but I can't try if you don’t let me in. I'm sorry if my joke didn’t land well-I overstepped.” You said earnestly, trying to catch his eye.

Tom sighed, closing his eyes.

“im sorry, for avoiding you,” he murmured, setting his coffee mug down. “I just…don’t want to bring children into his world.” Tom admitted quietly. “even with him dead for 14 years, his shadow loomed over Mattheo and I since the days we were born, I was his direct namesake, his heir.” Tom scoffed, running his hand through his hair, messing it up. “I hated it, still do, and even now-so far away from him; he still tries to control me, to control my legacy.”

You didn’t know how to respond, staring at Tom as he clenched his fists, glaring at the softly sunlight floor of the sunroom. “Maybe…we take a little control back?” You said quietly, rubbing your thumb against the ceramic of the mug you held.

Tom glanced up at you, brow raised. “Maybe we make the choice, to have kids, its our choice-because we want them. Not because he wants them, but because we want a family. We can move, my family has secret manors they used during the war, I went to them all the time-my mom and I did, to keep me safe. Maybe…maybe we could do the same. Besides, we couldn’t fake it, or tell them we tried and it didn’t work; they had us both tested for fertility months ago,” you rambled and Tom slowly nodded.

“so…you propose we have kids…not because he wants it, but because we do?” Tom said slowly and you shrugged, that was the basics of it. “…do you want kids?” Tom asked, and you felt your cheeks flush, and nodded.

“i…well…yeah, I do,” you murmured, picking at your fingers now. Tom turned his body-his knees brushing against yours.

“with me?” he asked, as if it was a wild idea. Not the kids thing, the him part. You nodded again. Tom furrowed his brows, as if he couldn’t comprehend it. You scoffed, getting up from your chair and plopping in his lap-much to your delight-Tom turned as red as a Gryffindor scarf and his hands were instantly frozen beside your waist.

“Tom, you’re very pretty, we’ve known each other for decades now, we’re married, and I do for a matter of fact-like you, and am attracted to you.” you said, softly but not without confidence, drawing your hand up to twirl his curls around your finger. “if I was having kids with anyone, you’re my first choice.”

“Even with the prospect of their grandfather?” Tom choked out, high pitched. You grinned, leaning down, nearly kissing him but not, his breath blew across your lips.

“Like I said, we can ignore that part, just for a little bit.” You murmured, watching Tom’s reaction carefully, when he remained frozen and red, you climbed off him. “Just something to think about Tom, I wont rush you for an answer,” you said softly, leaving him alone once more.

-

A week later, you were in the kitchen, stress baking-one of the few things you did by hand instead of flicking your wand and letting magic do your thing. There was just something so satisfying about eating something you made with your hands. It was warm, so you were making something that you could just stick in the chilled cabinet(you envied muggles and their fridges, far more convenient, microwaves too.) and you were in a thin cotton button up and your underwear, too hot for anything else.

You heard footsteps and then they stopped-right in front of the kitchen doorway. You looked over your shoulder, chocolate smeared on your cheek from wiping your face of sweat, and hands covered in peanut butter and powdered sugar.

Tom was staring at you, his face turning pink. “Afternoon,” you said, turning back to your peanut butter pretzel and powdered sugar mixture-pouring the butter in to bond it all together.

“Mm,” Tom hummed, slowly walking closer, his eyes drawing up and down your body, from your bare legs to your neck peeking out of the popped collar of your shirt, his shirt. “What's that?” He asked, not at all meaning what you were making-he saw the lacy edge of your underwear peeking through the hem of his shirt.

For how hard he attempted to look in control, aloof, he was still weak to his wife wearing his shirt with nothing else but her underwear. And it was deep green. If it wasn’t so hot-he’d assume she was deliberately seducing him.

She wasn’t, she didn’t work that way-she was warm and those panties were breathable.

“peanut butter pretzel squares, no bake, they just set in the chilled cabinet and then I cut em up, a good summer sweet.” You said, distracted as Tom walked closer, freezing up as his hands found your waist. “Tom?”

You whispered, looking over your shoulder at him, eyes fluttering as his lips met the nape of your neck. “Tom?” you said even quieter, shifting back as his hands drew down your waist to your hips-tugging you closer to him.

“I've been thinking about what you said,” he murmured, squeezing your hips. “mmhm?” you hummed, closing your eyes, feeling your body heat rise. “I do want children, with you, not for my father, but for us,” Tom said against your neck, and you felt the tension finally leave your shoulders-you’d been so scared you overstepped again. Tom twisted you around, backing you up against the counter, and you wished you hadn’t used your hands for the peanut butter mix-you couldn’t run your hands through his hair.

“Hands down, love,” Tom murmured, lips finding the length of your neck, scraping his teeth against the curve of your jaw, smirking as you gasped-keeping your hands on the counter. “I wouldn’t want me to get messy,”

With that; you smacked your hands on his face-getting peanut butter, pretzel, butter, and powdered sugar in his face and hair. He made a sound unbecoming of the son of the dark lord-closing his eyes and wrenching his head away as you cackled “We were having a moment!” Tom yelled-but not bitingly, he was laughing.

“And I made it funny! The opportunity was too good!” you cackled, reaching for his face again but he quickly jumped back, hands out towards you like he was fending off a wild animal. “Here kitty kitty, kitty” you cooed, grinning like a wolf and Tom’s eyes widened as you grabbed the bowl of peanut butter mix-and he bolted.

You loaded up the mix with some water to make it not so hard and ran after Tom, giggles filling the halls as you enacted a game of chase. He was fast, but you had deadly aim.

He turned a corner, peeking back around only to get splattered in the face, sputtering as he tumbled, wiped the peanut butter from his eyes, and kept running. “Come back here!” you said with a peal of laughter.

This went on for a solid 10 minutes, Tom running, and you throwing peanut butter mix at him. By the end of it all-there was peanut butter everywhere and Tom was absolutely covered in it, his hair looked like a toddler had gotten to it. “okay, okay, I yield.” Tom groaned, dropping to lay down in the grass outside, the battle having been taken to the gardens in an attempt to escape.

You giggled, dropping the bowl on the soft grass. Your hands were absolutely covered and your feet were sticky-having nearly ate it several times to keep up with Tom. You dropped beside Tom, breathing heavily along side him, looking up at the dusk colored sky-the sun slowly setting.

“I've never done that before,” Tom admitted, staring at a star that appeared in the sky-venus, he thinks it's called. “ran around, like a child, without worry.” You slowed your breath, taking deep heavy ones, before looking at him. “The manor was too stiff for that, I think I played tag with Draco and Mattheo once, when they were 3, Mattheo knocked over a vase, we got in big trouble; I had to take responsibility. Never played it again.”

You let out a slow breath, moving your hand to hold Tom’s, Tom scrunching his nose at the feel of peanut butter and pretzels. “our kids will be able to break windows and not get in trouble,” you said softly, Tom smiled.

“they’ll run around and scream,” he mumbled, already imagining it.

“they’ll play tag, and hide and seek, and break a vase with a quaffle,”

“ill help them hide it from you,”

“ill find out and pretend to get mad,”

“then they’ll all get ice cream.”

“and your father wont know them.”

Tom turned his head to look at you, your eyes reflecting venus above, strong, confident, sure.

He smiled.

“They won’t know him.”

-

…

“So,” you mumbled, patting your hands on your bare thighs, the two of you just about naked, sitting across from each other on your bed, you wore your bra and panties, Tom in his boxers, also awkwardly sitting. “uh…do you know how to do this?” you asked and Tom chuckled, shaking his head.

“Uh, no, never did it before,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing as you hummed.

“But you seemed confident earlier, in the kitchen?” you pointed out and Tom groaned, his ears turning pink.

“I-was just-you know…hormones,” Tom grumbled, crossing his arms. You giggled then and the tension eased between you. You scooted closer-resting your hands on his thighs. His cheeks turned pink and his hands found your waist.

“We’re really doing this?” he asked softly, his eyes darting to your lips and you nodded, not speaking any further as you leaned in-Tom met you in the middle-and you kissed.

It was slow, a little unsure. Tom’s hands left your hips to cradle your face, his lips moving against yours-gaining confidence as he sat up on his knees a little, making your head tilt up. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against your lips and you opened easily, gripping his waist as his tongue pushed against yours.

It was new, unsure, a little messy, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from flying down your spine and the heat building in your gut. Tom slowly tilted you back against the mattress, one hand still cradling your face, the other moving down to graze the side of your torso-holding it firmly.

The kiss grew more intense, your body rolling against Tom’s and he let out a soft groan-you could feel him against you-you rolled again, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hips met yours-again and again and again. He groaned softly again, kissing you between heavy breaths, grinding against you as you eagerly met him.

“Tom,” you breathed out and his hand left your waist to pull at your panties-you lifted your hips, the thin fabric discarded easily-soon his boxers were gone too. No protection, nothing holding either of you back, just the two of you, and the promised future.

You let out a long, low breath as he sank into you for the first time-it was a pinching feeling, but it eased into something…so much better. Tom let out a weak noise in your ear that made you shudder, trailing your nails down his back as he began to move-holding himself up to look at you, his brows furrowed, mouth open as he thrust into you.

He said your name, softly, with feeling-it made you tear up and you dragged him down into a kiss, moaning his name as his intensity increased. “yes-yes-keep-yes-“ you gasped, writhing beneath him as he kissed your jaw and neck, biting down on your shoulder-his brows pinching tight as he snapped his hips against you, again and again, feeling his gut tighten with pleasure.

He said your name again, a low groan that sounded so filthy you might cum then and there.

His hand left the mattress beside your head, grabbing your face to kiss you; passionate and deep, groaning into your mouth as his hips stuttered-rolled-and he came inside you. At the same time you did, moaning into his mouth as your orgasm rolled over-sparks running up and down your spine several times before it eased out.

Tom pulled away-not completely-he rolled gently, keeping himself inside you, holding you tight to his chest, breathing heavily as you lay against him, sweat beading down your back.

“fuck,” Tom breathed out, smiling as you laughed quietly. “we’re doing that again,”

You laughed again, moving to straddle him-his hands finding your hips. “we’re doing that again tonight,” you said with a grin, squealing with laughter as Tom yanked you back down.

-

The ‘official’ honeymoon ended a month later and you both sent letters to your respective parents. From Tom, it was only a few words. ‘she’s pregnant’. And you, sent a little more love in yours. ‘im pregnant, we’re happy, we’ll be leaving the vacation manor-all my love’

And then you both packed your bags you’d only half unpacked and left the manor your parents gave you, after all-you needed somewhere the dark lord wouldn’t find easily-and with a easy Fidelius Charm with Tom’s younger brother as the secret keeper(Mattheo was the farthest thing from their fathers son,) you and Tom found a nice home in a muggle area, somewhere in surrey in the countryside area-far away from anyone.

It was a nice cottage, two story, and with some magic it was fixed right up and warded to protect anyone from getting in within the next 10 miles. There was a small town right down a long dirt road with quaint shops and a farmers market every weekend.

It was perfect.

And you began to fall in love, and Tom did too.

-

You attempted to roll over in your sleep, but found the bowling ball on your belly to be In your way. You groaned, feeling like crying-you hadn’t gotten a normal sleep in months now. You had to sleep on your left side, with your legs tucked up a bit and with several pillows supporting it all.

If it wasn’t for the fact you were a side sleeper, this would’ve been hell-unfortunately-past the first trimester-it had been hard to do all the rolling over you usually liked to do.

Tom sleeping beside you every night helped a little bit-especially for mornings like this-when he was already up and running, bringing you your morning cup of tea to help with nausea and help you out of bed because Merlin forbid your baby let you get up normally anymore.

“Morning,” You mumbled, still half asleep-leaning into the warm kiss he pressed to your cheek, feeling him chuckle against you.

“Morning love,” He whispered. He smelled freshly showered and warm, and it was perfect for the cold spring morning. You hummed in response, grabbing his hand as he offered it-letting him help you up.

You waddled around him, heading straight for the bathroom like you did every morning for the last 6 months. Tom smiled, his heart growing another two sizes at the sight like it did every morning. He returned to the kitchen to finish making breakfast, smiling again when he felt arms around him and a baby belly against his side.

“The dark lord's heir; making pancakes, the world is surely in shambles,” you mumbled against his side, lips against his sweater-clad shoulder. Tom chuckled, turning and kissing you warmly.

“He’d kill me now if he saw this,” Tom snorted, finding humor in the gruesome truth. You only huffed, rubbing your head against him before sitting down at the table, resting your head in your fist as you blearily blinked away the rest of your sleep-smiling as Tom set the pancakes in front of you with a smoothie.

He’d come well adept at using muggle items, like blenders, the microwave, a hand electric mixer, and even changing the hallway lightbulbs. It was a sight to see-one that very much guaranteed a 2nd baby when you were all good and ready after this first one.

He’d built muscle over the months, all from not using his wand-trying to be undetected while his father gained power all over the UK. It suited him well, he wasn’t beater buff or some sort of body builder-but he was more confident in himself, he had muscles to back up his magic in case it failed.

It made both of you feel safer, after all, wizards were kinda shit outta luck if they lost their wands, having a good right hook made up for it.

“Thanks,” you murmured as he moved away, tossing a straw into the smoothie and taking a deep drink, humming at the sugary sweetness of the strawberry and the mellow tones of the banana.

He joins you at the table a moment later, with his own plate of pancakes and coffee, caffeinated. You glare. Tom smirks, taking a long drawn out sip. You glare more, and Tom’s smirk widens to a mean grin.

“You’re evil,” you grumble, stabbing your pancake, and Tom chuckles.

“Dark lords heir,” he joked.

-

Late April, labor hits and it hits you hard. You’re crying and Tom’s trying to keep you calm and walking until the midwife arrives, a muggle midwife with a wizarding husband, Tom’s already prepared pain killer potions and the bedroom was sterilized and ready. “you’ve got this love, you got it,” Tom said, rushed, worried, his voice shook; his hand held tight in yours as the other kept you balanced on your waist.

You let out a long sobbing cry as another contraction hit-they were getting closer. “okay-okay-lets go,” Tom rushed out, practically carrying you to the bedroom-getting you ready as the midwife barely arrived just then-she was already rushing getting everything set up. “have her supported,” the midwife ordered and instantly Tom jumped to do his job, sitting behind you and holding you close and in the right position.

He gave you another safe dose of the painkillers, but it didn’t stop you from sobbing. “It hurts, It hurts,” you cried against him, face red and soaked with tears. Tom shushed you gently, kissing your shoulder. “You got this love, nothings going to happen to you or the baby, I promise-I wont let it.” Tom said against your shoulder, holding your hands and letting you break his bones if that’s what it took to help the baby out.

20 minutes later, she’d arrived, a little baby girl with a piercing cry. “She's so ugly,” you cried through your laughter, filled with relief and happiness. Tom couldn’t stop staring, his eyes watering with tears, and they slipped down his cheeks-unable to stop them.

“Here she is,” the midwife cooed, handing her over to you, and you instantly fell so deeply in love that it would be impossible to break. A little girl, all yours, wrinkly and red and perfect.

“Hi, baby,” Tom whispered behind you, his hand reaching around you to brush his fingers against her tiny face. her whines slowly ceased, and Tom buried his head in your shoulder. “She's perfect,”

“Completely,” you whispered, kissing her head, leaning back against Tom.

-

May 2nd 1998. Tom had been gone for only a few days, a week maybe, Voldemort had found the both of you-having ripped into Mattheo’s mind to find the cottage. Tom was given a choice, follow his father, or watch his child die.

Tom choose the life of his daughter above freedom. So he left, like a man going off to war, with the clothes on his back and wand in hand, kissing you softly, and then Arella’s little head, she was only two weeks old, not even knowing he was leaving-asleep in your arms as you watched the love of your life leave, not knowing how he’d return.

So when news of Death Eaters attacking Hogwarts hit the news, you waited anxiously for anything else. The dawn arrived, and you still waited, Arella asleep in her bassinet, only a few feet away.

You were so scared.

You turned as the door opened-and there he stood.

He was smiling-worn down and battered, but smiling. “He’s dead,” Tom croaked out and you raced into his arms-he held you, strong and tight. “He’s dead, completely, he’s not coming back,”

“Potter won?” you asked softly and Tom nodded against you, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. It was so good to be with you again, at home, with your baby girl only a few feet away.

He held you for a long time, then finally went to shower-after that, Arella didn’t leave his arms for hours. You couldn’t believe it, Voldemort dead. But it was all over, in the newspapers, on the news radio-Voldemort was dead, with a body this time. Potter had won, it would be a long road to recovery, but light had broken through the dark clouds.

You looked over your shoulder, smiling at Tom as he watched your baby girl sleep, gently rocking the bassinet with happy, tired eyes.

The happy ending you two had wanted was finally here.

-end-

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

don't let the candle go out

tom riddle

x gen!reader; poc friendly

masterlist

word count: 1,692

summary: after being hit by a blinding spell in a DADA class, tom riddle takes it upon himself to remain by your side in the hospital wing. neither of you know why.

author's note: my official return i guess? pls lmk how you feel about my writing style now. i've taken a writing course since i last posted (holy crap, that was a year ago) and i think it may have changed it for the better but idk ??

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The world disappeared in a flash of white.

It wasn’t pain that struck first – it was light. Blistering, sharp light. Like staring into the sun through broken glass. The spell had been meant to confuse, a disorientation hex thrown wildly in the heat of dueling practice. But it struck you full in the face before you could shield.

You cried out, stumbled, dropped your wand.

And then – nothing. Not light. Not shadow. Not even the glow behind your eyelids. Just... darkness. Not figurative, not poetic. Just black, thick and absolute, like ink spilled behind your eyes.

Voices blurred around you. Panic. Running feet. The copper tang of magic clung to the air like smoke. 

“Miss – stay still, stay still –”

Hands gripped your arms. You couldn't tell who they belonged to. You clung to the sound, any sound, something to ground you. Something to stop you from floating away into the blinding darkness that was your new reality.

Someone whispered your name. Another voice – cool, clipped, too calm. The kind of voice that could hush a room with a word.

“Let me.”

The Hospital Wing smelled of lavender and clean linens. The air was warm and dry, but the inside of your skin felt cold. Down to the core, it was like your very bones were made of ice. The blood that ran through your veins was ice water. Darkness still clung to your eyes like silk soaked in ink.

“Temporary,” Matron Bagnall had said. “The spell overcorrected the optic nerves. Vision should return by morning.”

That was hours ago.

You didn’t know what hour it was now. Only that your world had narrowed to the mattress beneath you, the soft clink of glass vials, and the unbearable silence.

Until it broke.

Footsteps. Quiet, deliberate footsteps. Measured like rainfall.

You sat up too quickly; your head spun. “Who’s there?”

A beat of silence. Then, the same voice you heard earlier before you passed out.

“It’s Riddle.”

Tom Riddle. Of course. Head Boy. Predictable. 

You exhaled. Not in relief. Not quite dread either. Something stranger.

A chair scraped softly against stone. He sat beside your bed.

“Did they make you come?”

“No.”

“So... what? Head Boy duties?”

A pause. “I volunteered.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“I watched you fall.”

You didn’t know what to do with that. Was the Head Boy Tom Riddle showing compassion?

“A lot of people watched me fall. It was a double Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.”

“And yet,” he murmured, trailing off. It was unspoken that no one else had showed up to wish you well, despite the multitudes of students that watched you crumple. Even your well meaning professor was absent at your bedside. You tried not to care. You failed.

You hated how your fingers trembled.

The moment you tried to feel around your bedside table to find your wand, you knocked it onto the floor. The soft clatter felt like a scream in the quiet.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

You froze.

“I’ll hand it to you.”

Careful, you reached out, and his hand met yours in the dark. It was cold. Not quite unpleasant; it was precise, and clinical. He guided your fingers around the wand’s familiar curve. His thumb brushed your knuckles before releasing.

“There,” he said softly. His voice was unfamiliar, even to his ears.

You drew your hand back to your chest. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He stayed for hours.

Reading, mostly. You recognized the crisp flick of turning parchment, the occasional tap of a quill in thought. He didn't make a noise when he moved. Didn't sigh, or shuffle, or fidget. There were no questions, no chatter. Only the rhythm of breath and pressing feeling of presence.

“I thought you didn’t believe in wasting time,” you said at one point.

“I don’t.”

“So this isn’t wasting time?”

“You ask too many questions.” You could feel his eyes on you. An unpleasant tingle ran up your neck, like it was being grazed by cold, dead hands.

You tilted your head toward where you imagined he sat. “You’re deflecting the question. What are you doing here if not to fulfill Head Boy duties?”

“Someone had to.”

It was another deflection, but you let it go. If there was one thing you knew about Riddle, it was that he wouldn’t bend for you. No amount of pestering or prodding would elicit anymore of an answer.

The candlelight made the room smell of wax and something else. Floral? Perhaps sea salt, it reminded you of the days you spent by the ocean.

“Describe it to me,” you implored. “The room. The light.”

He was quiet. Then, just when you thought he had decided to continue on ignoring you, he spoke.

“There are four beds visible from where we’re sitting. You’re in the second from the left. The curtains are drawn open. The moonlight’s weak tonight – clouds over the Ravenclaw Tower. But there are candles. Dozens. Matron Bagnall lit them before she left.”

“What color?”

“The wax is beige, the flame is like an orange peach. The kind of light that made people look softer." You wondered what Riddle looked like now, with his features softened in the candlelight. You tried to imagine it. But the dark swallowed it whole.

“Is that what I look like now?” you asked, only half-teasing.

“You look paler than you usually do,” he replied. “But not weak.”

Silence fell upon the room again. But you didn’t hear the flipping of parchment pages like you usually did when he decided to tune you out.

He spoke again. “When you fell, your hands shook before your knees did.”

You turned your face away, suddenly aware of how he was seeing you. For a moment in time, you had forgotten that he had his vision. He was not as vulnerable as you. “That’s... poetic.”

“I notice things.”

“Do you always help the people you notice?”

“No.”

You didn’t ask why he made an exception for you. You knew he wouldn’t answer.

Later, when you couldn’t sleep, you asked him to read you whatever parchments he was flipping through.

"You don't have anything better to do?"

"Clearly not."

And so he relented and read you the manuscripts he was translating for Professor Merrythought. You didn’t recognize many of the words – archaic and spiraling like old runes – but his voice was steady, smooth, with edges like pressed velvet. Precise, but softened by the hush of night. You listened, head tilted toward the sound.

“I like your voice,” you said quietly before thinking.

“I know.”

Of course he did. There was nothing you could hide from Riddle.

The candles burned low, but you could still feel the slight warmth on your skin that emanated from the small flames.

"I never thought I'd be afraid of the dark," you murmured, voice much more vulnerable than you expected. You weren't sure why you had allowed yourself to get this way around the formidable boy. Sure, he was charismatic and had a silver tongue he could use to get just about anything he wanted, but you didn't think that was what it was.

You decided to blame it on the migraine you were currently battling. The pressure between your temples could be your scapegoat for the time.

“It isn’t the dark that frightens you,” he said matter-of-factly. "It's what you think is hiding in it."

You felt the air shift. He’d moved closer. You reached out instinctively. To push him away or pull him closer, you no longer knew. Fabric brushed your finger tips. Wool. The lapel of his uniform.

"I still can't see." You said the obvious, like filling the silence would somehow force every other tension out of the room.

"I know."

And a hush fell again, but not an uncomfortable one like before. The space between sound felt like the kind that lives between stars.

"Will you stay until morning?" It was as much of a question as it was a plea. You didn't know Tom Riddle, not really. He was as much of a stranger to you as a muggle in America was to your pureblood-prejudiced grandmother. But, you had the feeling that he was a stranger to everyone but himself. Somehow that it seem like you knew him better than you truly did.

But, despite having only spoken to him a couple handfuls of times, he was there when you were at your most vulnerable. Though you wouldn't like to admit that you were almost entirely reliant on eyesight, it was true. To have him there while you dozed made your chest warm in a way that was twin to security.

He didn't answer beyond a vague hum. But when you woke, light pressed against your eyelids. Pale, soft, golden. You opened your eyes and blinked away the blur.

It returned slowly–the shapes, the color. The blur of stone walls. The outline of the window. The flicker of dying candles.

And beside you, in a chair he never left: Tom Riddle. Asleep.

His head tilted forward slightly, brow relaxed, lips parted just a little. One hand rested near yours on the edge of the mattress, fingers curled inward clutching a phantom wand.

You studied him in silence.

The coldness was still there. The calculation you saw always lurking in his eyes. But in this moment – bathed in low light, guarded by sleep – he looked untouched by the cluster of personas you suspected lived beneath his skin.

He stirred.

You blinked again. "I can see." You voice was hushed. Subconsciously, you wanted to keep him asleep. Asleep, where he was untainted and unguarded.

His eyes opened slowly.

"Good," he said, sitting up straight.

You smiled. "Thank you."

He shook his head. "Don’t thank me."

You tilted your head. "Then what should I do?"

He stood. You watched him walk toward the door, silhouette sharp against the growing dawn.

"Riddle."

He paused.

"Thank you." You said again.

He didn’t turn. But his voice was quieter than it had been all night. "Don’t mistake me for someone who cares."

Then he was gone.

But the space beside you was still warm.

And the candles hadn’t gone out.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

To have and to hold - Tom Riddle(son of voldy edition) x Reader - Part 2 of 2

Summary; you were arranged to marry Tom Riddle-son of Voldemort. its been...nice, but theres an expectation that looms over your heads. children.

Part 1

=

A sort of… domesticity had settled between you and Tom. You cooked breakfast, he washed dishes, he made lunch, you charmed the sponge to start washing the knives, you both made dinner, and you always got dessert for both of you, every night.

And every night, you settled into your old bedroom, side by side, wrapped up in each other's arms because sleeping apart felt wrong. And it had only been a month since the wedding.

“You know, I had a massive crush on you back during school,” you say bluntly one morning while Tom made the morning tea/coffee-he drops the spoon, coughing out the spit he inhaled.

“and-why was this important to say now?” Tom asks, looking at you over his shoulder, his hair a mess, a cute sight, you liked his hair without all the gel in it, it felt like seeing under the mask his father made him wear.

You only shrug. “we’re married,” you said, as if that was a proper answer and Tom rolled his eyes, hiding the pink flush of his ears as he put sugar and cream into your morning drinks.

Tom sat beside you at the breakfast nook table, setting your mug beside your plate of French toast, fresh cut strawberries, and ham. “that doesn’t mean you have to blurt out your high-school crush on me,” Tom grumbled, his ears turning red as he sipped at his coffee.

You only grinned, you were comfortable with him now. “who said the crush went away?” you teased and Tom scrunched his nose at you, his cheeks matching his ears.

Just as he was about to respond, an owl-Tom’s fathers-flew in, leaving a letter in front of Tom and then the black owl flew back through the open window. Tom stared at the letter, glaring lightly. You went quiet, knowing whatever was in that letter wouldn’t be good.

Tom picked up the letter, broke the seal, and pulled out the paper. He quickly read it and groaned. “He’s wondering if we’ve, made him heirs, yet,” Tom grumbled, his face still pink-tossing the letter to the side. You picked it up and read it.

It was very formal, no affection, just straight to business.

“He really wants grandkids huh?” you half joked, knowing what Voldemort really wanted was heirs, children to mold to his image just in case he was destroyed again and needed bodies to keep up the ‘dark lord’s reign’ thing until he was resurrected again.

Tom only scoffed, stabbing his fork into his strawberries with a dark glare. Your half smile fell, clearing your throat as you tossed away the letter. “He just wants more to control, more bodies to fill his army, those with his blood to carry on his legacy, even if he never dies.” Tom grumbled, glaring at the table.

He pushed away his plate, taking his coffee with him as he stood, and left the room, leaving you behind at the table, feeling more out of place than you ever had.

-

A week passed, words hadn’t been spoken-Tom slept in an adjacent room. Until you had enough, you were bloody married for fucks sake-with a strong expectation for you to be pregnant by honeymoon's end, and you both swore to try and make this work, to be friends if anything.

You didn’t want to barge into his face though, you didn’t want to make this an argument. you wanted to talk.

You made chocolate croissants and coffee, bringing it all on a tray to the sunroom where Tom was. He was still stiff, his jaw tense as he read a book in his lap, but he wasn’t really reading. Just staring at the same page.

“We should talk,” You said, firmly, but softly. You stepped into the room, setting the tray on the table beside the chair he sat on. he spared it a glance, and then a second one, before turning his gaze towards you.

“About?” he asked, coldly, taking a cup of coffee.

“Us, the letter,” you said, sitting in front of him, leaning forward to rest on your knees. Tom froze, eyes locked onto his book. “Okay-look-we both made a promise to try to make this okay between us, to-be friends at least, but I can't try if you don’t let me in. I'm sorry if my joke didn’t land well-I overstepped.” You said earnestly, trying to catch his eye.

Tom sighed, closing his eyes.

“im sorry, for avoiding you,” he murmured, setting his coffee mug down. “I just…don’t want to bring children into his world.” Tom admitted quietly. “even with him dead for 14 years, his shadow loomed over Mattheo and I since the days we were born, I was his direct namesake, his heir.” Tom scoffed, running his hand through his hair, messing it up. “I hated it, still do, and even now-so far away from him; he still tries to control me, to control my legacy.”

You didn’t know how to respond, staring at Tom as he clenched his fists, glaring at the softly sunlight floor of the sunroom. “Maybe…we take a little control back?” You said quietly, rubbing your thumb against the ceramic of the mug you held.

Tom glanced up at you, brow raised. “Maybe we make the choice, to have kids, its our choice-because we want them. Not because he wants them, but because we want a family. We can move, my family has secret manors they used during the war, I went to them all the time-my mom and I did, to keep me safe. Maybe…maybe we could do the same. Besides, we couldn’t fake it, or tell them we tried and it didn’t work; they had us both tested for fertility months ago,” you rambled and Tom slowly nodded.

“so…you propose we have kids…not because he wants it, but because we do?” Tom said slowly and you shrugged, that was the basics of it. “…do you want kids?” Tom asked, and you felt your cheeks flush, and nodded.

“i…well…yeah, I do,” you murmured, picking at your fingers now. Tom turned his body-his knees brushing against yours.

“with me?” he asked, as if it was a wild idea. Not the kids thing, the him part. You nodded again. Tom furrowed his brows, as if he couldn’t comprehend it. You scoffed, getting up from your chair and plopping in his lap-much to your delight-Tom turned as red as a Gryffindor scarf and his hands were instantly frozen beside your waist.

“Tom, you’re very pretty, we’ve known each other for decades now, we’re married, and I do for a matter of fact-like you, and am attracted to you.” you said, softly but not without confidence, drawing your hand up to twirl his curls around your finger. “if I was having kids with anyone, you’re my first choice.”

“Even with the prospect of their grandfather?” Tom choked out, high pitched. You grinned, leaning down, nearly kissing him but not, his breath blew across your lips.

“Like I said, we can ignore that part, just for a little bit.” You murmured, watching Tom’s reaction carefully, when he remained frozen and red, you climbed off him. “Just something to think about Tom, I wont rush you for an answer,” you said softly, leaving him alone once more.

-

A week later, you were in the kitchen, stress baking-one of the few things you did by hand instead of flicking your wand and letting magic do your thing. There was just something so satisfying about eating something you made with your hands. It was warm, so you were making something that you could just stick in the chilled cabinet(you envied muggles and their fridges, far more convenient, microwaves too.) and you were in a thin cotton button up and your underwear, too hot for anything else.

You heard footsteps and then they stopped-right in front of the kitchen doorway. You looked over your shoulder, chocolate smeared on your cheek from wiping your face of sweat, and hands covered in peanut butter and powdered sugar.

Tom was staring at you, his face turning pink. “Afternoon,” you said, turning back to your peanut butter pretzel and powdered sugar mixture-pouring the butter in to bond it all together.

“Mm,” Tom hummed, slowly walking closer, his eyes drawing up and down your body, from your bare legs to your neck peeking out of the popped collar of your shirt, his shirt. “What's that?” He asked, not at all meaning what you were making-he saw the lacy edge of your underwear peeking through the hem of his shirt.

For how hard he attempted to look in control, aloof, he was still weak to his wife wearing his shirt with nothing else but her underwear. And it was deep green. If it wasn’t so hot-he’d assume she was deliberately seducing him.

She wasn’t, she didn’t work that way-she was warm and those panties were breathable.

“peanut butter pretzel squares, no bake, they just set in the chilled cabinet and then I cut em up, a good summer sweet.” You said, distracted as Tom walked closer, freezing up as his hands found your waist. “Tom?”

You whispered, looking over your shoulder at him, eyes fluttering as his lips met the nape of your neck. “Tom?” you said even quieter, shifting back as his hands drew down your waist to your hips-tugging you closer to him.

“I've been thinking about what you said,” he murmured, squeezing your hips. “mmhm?” you hummed, closing your eyes, feeling your body heat rise. “I do want children, with you, not for my father, but for us,” Tom said against your neck, and you felt the tension finally leave your shoulders-you’d been so scared you overstepped again. Tom twisted you around, backing you up against the counter, and you wished you hadn’t used your hands for the peanut butter mix-you couldn’t run your hands through his hair.

“Hands down, love,” Tom murmured, lips finding the length of your neck, scraping his teeth against the curve of your jaw, smirking as you gasped-keeping your hands on the counter. “I wouldn’t want me to get messy,”

With that; you smacked your hands on his face-getting peanut butter, pretzel, butter, and powdered sugar in his face and hair. He made a sound unbecoming of the son of the dark lord-closing his eyes and wrenching his head away as you cackled “We were having a moment!” Tom yelled-but not bitingly, he was laughing.

“And I made it funny! The opportunity was too good!” you cackled, reaching for his face again but he quickly jumped back, hands out towards you like he was fending off a wild animal. “Here kitty kitty, kitty” you cooed, grinning like a wolf and Tom’s eyes widened as you grabbed the bowl of peanut butter mix-and he bolted.

You loaded up the mix with some water to make it not so hard and ran after Tom, giggles filling the halls as you enacted a game of chase. He was fast, but you had deadly aim.

He turned a corner, peeking back around only to get splattered in the face, sputtering as he tumbled, wiped the peanut butter from his eyes, and kept running. “Come back here!” you said with a peal of laughter.

This went on for a solid 10 minutes, Tom running, and you throwing peanut butter mix at him. By the end of it all-there was peanut butter everywhere and Tom was absolutely covered in it, his hair looked like a toddler had gotten to it. “okay, okay, I yield.” Tom groaned, dropping to lay down in the grass outside, the battle having been taken to the gardens in an attempt to escape.

You giggled, dropping the bowl on the soft grass. Your hands were absolutely covered and your feet were sticky-having nearly ate it several times to keep up with Tom. You dropped beside Tom, breathing heavily along side him, looking up at the dusk colored sky-the sun slowly setting.

“I've never done that before,” Tom admitted, staring at a star that appeared in the sky-venus, he thinks it's called. “ran around, like a child, without worry.” You slowed your breath, taking deep heavy ones, before looking at him. “The manor was too stiff for that, I think I played tag with Draco and Mattheo once, when they were 3, Mattheo knocked over a vase, we got in big trouble; I had to take responsibility. Never played it again.”

You let out a slow breath, moving your hand to hold Tom’s, Tom scrunching his nose at the feel of peanut butter and pretzels. “our kids will be able to break windows and not get in trouble,” you said softly, Tom smiled.

“they’ll run around and scream,” he mumbled, already imagining it.

“they’ll play tag, and hide and seek, and break a vase with a quaffle,”

“ill help them hide it from you,”

“ill find out and pretend to get mad,”

“then they’ll all get ice cream.”

“and your father wont know them.”

Tom turned his head to look at you, your eyes reflecting venus above, strong, confident, sure.

He smiled.

“They won’t know him.”

-

…

“So,” you mumbled, patting your hands on your bare thighs, the two of you just about naked, sitting across from each other on your bed, you wore your bra and panties, Tom in his boxers, also awkwardly sitting. “uh…do you know how to do this?” you asked and Tom chuckled, shaking his head.

“Uh, no, never did it before,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing as you hummed.

“But you seemed confident earlier, in the kitchen?” you pointed out and Tom groaned, his ears turning pink.

“I-was just-you know…hormones,” Tom grumbled, crossing his arms. You giggled then and the tension eased between you. You scooted closer-resting your hands on his thighs. His cheeks turned pink and his hands found your waist.

“We’re really doing this?” he asked softly, his eyes darting to your lips and you nodded, not speaking any further as you leaned in-Tom met you in the middle-and you kissed.

It was slow, a little unsure. Tom’s hands left your hips to cradle your face, his lips moving against yours-gaining confidence as he sat up on his knees a little, making your head tilt up. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against your lips and you opened easily, gripping his waist as his tongue pushed against yours.

It was new, unsure, a little messy, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from flying down your spine and the heat building in your gut. Tom slowly tilted you back against the mattress, one hand still cradling your face, the other moving down to graze the side of your torso-holding it firmly.

The kiss grew more intense, your body rolling against Tom’s and he let out a soft groan-you could feel him against you-you rolled again, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hips met yours-again and again and again. He groaned softly again, kissing you between heavy breaths, grinding against you as you eagerly met him.

“Tom,” you breathed out and his hand left your waist to pull at your panties-you lifted your hips, the thin fabric discarded easily-soon his boxers were gone too. No protection, nothing holding either of you back, just the two of you, and the promised future.

You let out a long, low breath as he sank into you for the first time-it was a pinching feeling, but it eased into something…so much better. Tom let out a weak noise in your ear that made you shudder, trailing your nails down his back as he began to move-holding himself up to look at you, his brows furrowed, mouth open as he thrust into you.

He said your name, softly, with feeling-it made you tear up and you dragged him down into a kiss, moaning his name as his intensity increased. “yes-yes-keep-yes-“ you gasped, writhing beneath him as he kissed your jaw and neck, biting down on your shoulder-his brows pinching tight as he snapped his hips against you, again and again, feeling his gut tighten with pleasure.

He said your name again, a low groan that sounded so filthy you might cum then and there.

His hand left the mattress beside your head, grabbing your face to kiss you; passionate and deep, groaning into your mouth as his hips stuttered-rolled-and he came inside you. At the same time you did, moaning into his mouth as your orgasm rolled over-sparks running up and down your spine several times before it eased out.

Tom pulled away-not completely-he rolled gently, keeping himself inside you, holding you tight to his chest, breathing heavily as you lay against him, sweat beading down your back.

“fuck,” Tom breathed out, smiling as you laughed quietly. “we’re doing that again,”

You laughed again, moving to straddle him-his hands finding your hips. “we’re doing that again tonight,” you said with a grin, squealing with laughter as Tom yanked you back down.

-

The ‘official’ honeymoon ended a month later and you both sent letters to your respective parents. From Tom, it was only a few words. ‘she’s pregnant’. And you, sent a little more love in yours. ‘im pregnant, we’re happy, we’ll be leaving the vacation manor-all my love’

And then you both packed your bags you’d only half unpacked and left the manor your parents gave you, after all-you needed somewhere the dark lord wouldn’t find easily-and with a easy Fidelius Charm with Tom’s younger brother as the secret keeper(Mattheo was the farthest thing from their fathers son,) you and Tom found a nice home in a muggle area, somewhere in surrey in the countryside area-far away from anyone.

It was a nice cottage, two story, and with some magic it was fixed right up and warded to protect anyone from getting in within the next 10 miles. There was a small town right down a long dirt road with quaint shops and a farmers market every weekend.

It was perfect.

And you began to fall in love, and Tom did too.

-

You attempted to roll over in your sleep, but found the bowling ball on your belly to be In your way. You groaned, feeling like crying-you hadn’t gotten a normal sleep in months now. You had to sleep on your left side, with your legs tucked up a bit and with several pillows supporting it all.

If it wasn’t for the fact you were a side sleeper, this would’ve been hell-unfortunately-past the first trimester-it had been hard to do all the rolling over you usually liked to do.

Tom sleeping beside you every night helped a little bit-especially for mornings like this-when he was already up and running, bringing you your morning cup of tea to help with nausea and help you out of bed because Merlin forbid your baby let you get up normally anymore.

“Morning,” You mumbled, still half asleep-leaning into the warm kiss he pressed to your cheek, feeling him chuckle against you.

“Morning love,” He whispered. He smelled freshly showered and warm, and it was perfect for the cold spring morning. You hummed in response, grabbing his hand as he offered it-letting him help you up.

You waddled around him, heading straight for the bathroom like you did every morning for the last 6 months. Tom smiled, his heart growing another two sizes at the sight like it did every morning. He returned to the kitchen to finish making breakfast, smiling again when he felt arms around him and a baby belly against his side.

“The dark lord's heir; making pancakes, the world is surely in shambles,” you mumbled against his side, lips against his sweater-clad shoulder. Tom chuckled, turning and kissing you warmly.

“He’d kill me now if he saw this,” Tom snorted, finding humor in the gruesome truth. You only huffed, rubbing your head against him before sitting down at the table, resting your head in your fist as you blearily blinked away the rest of your sleep-smiling as Tom set the pancakes in front of you with a smoothie.

He’d come well adept at using muggle items, like blenders, the microwave, a hand electric mixer, and even changing the hallway lightbulbs. It was a sight to see-one that very much guaranteed a 2nd baby when you were all good and ready after this first one.

He’d built muscle over the months, all from not using his wand-trying to be undetected while his father gained power all over the UK. It suited him well, he wasn’t beater buff or some sort of body builder-but he was more confident in himself, he had muscles to back up his magic in case it failed.

It made both of you feel safer, after all, wizards were kinda shit outta luck if they lost their wands, having a good right hook made up for it.

“Thanks,” you murmured as he moved away, tossing a straw into the smoothie and taking a deep drink, humming at the sugary sweetness of the strawberry and the mellow tones of the banana.

He joins you at the table a moment later, with his own plate of pancakes and coffee, caffeinated. You glare. Tom smirks, taking a long drawn out sip. You glare more, and Tom’s smirk widens to a mean grin.

“You’re evil,” you grumble, stabbing your pancake, and Tom chuckles.

“Dark lords heir,” he joked.

-

Late April, labor hits and it hits you hard. You’re crying and Tom’s trying to keep you calm and walking until the midwife arrives, a muggle midwife with a wizarding husband, Tom’s already prepared pain killer potions and the bedroom was sterilized and ready. “you’ve got this love, you got it,” Tom said, rushed, worried, his voice shook; his hand held tight in yours as the other kept you balanced on your waist.

You let out a long sobbing cry as another contraction hit-they were getting closer. “okay-okay-lets go,” Tom rushed out, practically carrying you to the bedroom-getting you ready as the midwife barely arrived just then-she was already rushing getting everything set up. “have her supported,” the midwife ordered and instantly Tom jumped to do his job, sitting behind you and holding you close and in the right position.

He gave you another safe dose of the painkillers, but it didn’t stop you from sobbing. “It hurts, It hurts,” you cried against him, face red and soaked with tears. Tom shushed you gently, kissing your shoulder. “You got this love, nothings going to happen to you or the baby, I promise-I wont let it.” Tom said against your shoulder, holding your hands and letting you break his bones if that’s what it took to help the baby out.

20 minutes later, she’d arrived, a little baby girl with a piercing cry. “She's so ugly,” you cried through your laughter, filled with relief and happiness. Tom couldn’t stop staring, his eyes watering with tears, and they slipped down his cheeks-unable to stop them.

“Here she is,” the midwife cooed, handing her over to you, and you instantly fell so deeply in love that it would be impossible to break. A little girl, all yours, wrinkly and red and perfect.

“Hi, baby,” Tom whispered behind you, his hand reaching around you to brush his fingers against her tiny face. her whines slowly ceased, and Tom buried his head in your shoulder. “She's perfect,”

“Completely,” you whispered, kissing her head, leaning back against Tom.

-

May 2nd 1998. Tom had been gone for only a few days, a week maybe, Voldemort had found the both of you-having ripped into Mattheo’s mind to find the cottage. Tom was given a choice, follow his father, or watch his child die.

Tom choose the life of his daughter above freedom. So he left, like a man going off to war, with the clothes on his back and wand in hand, kissing you softly, and then Arella’s little head, she was only two weeks old, not even knowing he was leaving-asleep in your arms as you watched the love of your life leave, not knowing how he’d return.

So when news of Death Eaters attacking Hogwarts hit the news, you waited anxiously for anything else. The dawn arrived, and you still waited, Arella asleep in her bassinet, only a few feet away.

You were so scared.

You turned as the door opened-and there he stood.

He was smiling-worn down and battered, but smiling. “He’s dead,” Tom croaked out and you raced into his arms-he held you, strong and tight. “He’s dead, completely, he’s not coming back,”

“Potter won?” you asked softly and Tom nodded against you, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. It was so good to be with you again, at home, with your baby girl only a few feet away.

He held you for a long time, then finally went to shower-after that, Arella didn’t leave his arms for hours. You couldn’t believe it, Voldemort dead. But it was all over, in the newspapers, on the news radio-Voldemort was dead, with a body this time. Potter had won, it would be a long road to recovery, but light had broken through the dark clouds.

You looked over your shoulder, smiling at Tom as he watched your baby girl sleep, gently rocking the bassinet with happy, tired eyes.

The happy ending you two had wanted was finally here.

-end-

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

g'damit there was one dadmort fic i read where the scar horcrux raised Harry for the early years, to the point of Harry calling him dad n stuff, and then blocked off all of Harry's memories of him for his protection and then years later when Harry dies-he remembers it all and brings that soul piece back to life with him and i think scar Horcrux helps defeat voldy, someone help me find it im desperate it was a solid fic

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

quick late night outfit sketches for mr riddle

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

idk guys maybe this inspired the sequel to 'The Diary of Tom Riddle'

Foolish temptation

when you have too many ideas but no clue how to write them so you get @descendantofthesparrow to draw em

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Foolish temptation

when you have too many ideas but no clue how to write them so you get @descendantofthesparrow to draw em

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

i dunno what to write

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

tom riddle and his horcruxes

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

⋆☀︎｡Curses of heart part 1

⋆☀︎︎︎｡Beast!Tom Riddle x Beauty/nanny!reader

Summary::You get a new job. The lord is cold and distant.

Warnings::Nothing Sirius yet.

You’ve never liked early mornings.There’s something deeply offensive about being awake before the sun is.If it were up to you, the day would start around ten, maybe eleven. After a proper lie-in. After tea. After your brain has decided to rejoin society.

But no. Children,especially magical ones, don’t care if you’re a night person with a taste for silence and solitude.They scream. They levitate. They blow up things in the house.

You haven’t had much quiet lately.Since leaving Hogwarts, you’ve worked as a live-in nanny. It wasn’t what you planned to do, exactly, but you were good at it. You had patience and magic. You understood children better than you understood adults, and that seemed to matter more than your NEWT scores.

So you took a position. Then another and another.It's been ages since you took your first job. What was it? 7 years? Your bags always half-packed, moving between wizarding homes.

It’s not a bad life.

You’ve stayed in mansions, cabins, enchanted cottages with sentient rose gardens. You've made babies laugh in five languages and sung lullabies. Parents love you because you’re efficient and never in the way. Children love you because you listen.

Still, it's lonely sometimes.

You get to watch babies grow up and then you have to leave.You’ve grown used to temporary. You keep everything minimal, even your luggage.

You’ve never liked early mornings.But today is different.

You’re up early, kettle whistling, suitcase half-zipped at the edge of the bed. A stack of freshly cleaned uniforms folded with surgical precision, wand tucked neatly into the side pocket of your coat.

You like being prepared. Even for the jobs that don’t make sense. Like...this one...

Because this one didn’t come through a telephone. It was through a letter.

The letter didn’t arrive by owl.It simply appeared one morning. Neatly folded on your windowsill, sealed in deep crimson wax, with no sign of how it got there. No magical burst.Just... there.

The parchment was thick, old, with a faint scent of smoke and ink. The handwriting was sharp, elegant.

“A child of great importance requires care. Your name has been given. You will be collected Thursday evening. Do not be late.”

No signature nor name.You stared at it for hours before replying.You’ve worked for strange people before, but this wasn’t strange. Just secretive.

It’s nearly time.You’ve checked the letter three times, even though it didn’t say much. Just the pickup time, Thursday, exactly 6:00 AM.

You glance at the clock.5:58 AM.

Your chest tightens.Still nothing outside. Minutes pass by,then you hear it.The soft purr of an engine outside your window.

A black car.Waiting at the edge of the curb, its windows darkened.You step outside with everything you need in your hand.The evening air biting through your coat.

The door opens by the hand of the driver.

He’s tall. Thin. Old.Dressed in black from head to toe, his coat perfectly pressed, buttons high at the collar like something out of a Victorian novel. His hair is slicked back, dark and neat, and he wears gloves despite the mild weather. His face is expressionless.

“Miss Y/N.”

“...Yes,” you reply, clutching your suitcase. “That’s me.”

He takes the luggage from your hand wordlessly and places it in the trunk.Then he opens the passenger door.

“Please. We are on a schedule.”

The interior is pristine. Velvet seats. Cold air. It smells faintly of ink and old books.

As the door shuts behind you, you glance at the man behind the wheel.He hasn’t looked at you once since you entered.

“Do you work for…the person I'm going to work for?” you ask cautiously.

“I drive.

You raise an eyebrow, but say nothing.And with that, the car pulls away from the curb.

The car glides silently through narrow streets, then out toward winding, tree-lined roads.The driver’s posture hasn’t changed since you stepped into the car. Back straight,eyes fixed on the road. Completely still, except for the occasional, precise movement of his gloved hand on the wheel.

“So... do you, um... always pick up the nannies?”

“No.”

You try again. “Have you had this job for a long time?”

“Long enough.”

You nod slowly, eyeing the side of his face. He looks like something between forty and fifty.

“And what exactly should I expect when we get there?” you ask.

His jaw tenses slightly, but his voice remains cold and unreadable.“The child is young. That is all you need to know.”

You stare out the window. Trees flash past.You try one last time.“Does the house at least have proper heating?”

This time, there’s no answer. Not even a glance. Just more silence.You sink back into your seat with a sigh.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath. “Guess I’ll find out the hard way.”

The road began to narrow.You sat forward slightly, peering through the front windshield.

Perched on a hill, half-devoured by ivy and shadow, the manor rises out of the mist.Not quite a castle. Not quite a home,just stone.Cold windows. Twisting towers. An iron gate yawning open ahead of you as the car approached.

It looked like something out of a Shirley Jackson novel.

The driver finally speaks, voice flat and final as the engine slows.“We’re here.”

You exhale, not realizing you’d been holding your breath.“Lovely,” you murmur. “Very warm. Very inviting.”

He ignores your sarcasm and steps out, retrieving your suitcase with the same eerie precision as before. You open your own door, because of course he doesn't, and step out onto the gravel, your boots crunching softly in the silence.

The gate creaks shut behind you.The heavy wooden door creaks open before you can knock. You stood frozen at the sight and not just because of the building.

Tom Riddle stands ahead of you.

You’ve seen his name in old yearbooks, whispered in Hogwarts corridors, and once or twice in more unofficial circles.He’s only a year ahead of you, but you never crossed paths. Or maybe you did, and he never bothered to notice.

Now, here he is. Standing in the hallway. He's tall, straight-backed, dressed in black from collar to toe. His dark eyes flick up briefly to meet yours, sharp and unreadable.

You glance down at your suitcase, then back up at him.He doesn’t even glance your way.For all his power, for all his dark reputation, you’re the stranger here.

“You must be the nanny,” he says, voice low and precise, like a statement rather than a question.

You nod soflty,but he doesn't smile back.“Delphini needs care. You will do your job. There is little time for pleasantries.”

His gaze sharpened.“Miss Carrow will assist you. She knows the house, the child, the routines. Follow her instructions.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks deeper into the manor, footsteps echoing in the silence.

You’re left standing there,trying to make sense of what just happened, when you hear soft, hurried steps approaching,and a faint clinking of metal.

A woman appears from a side hallway, slightly hunched, but quick in her movements. Her grey hair is gathered in a loose bun.She wears layered, lavender-toned robes that have clearly seen better days, but are clean and well cared for. At her hip hangs a ring of mismatched keys and small pouches that clink and jingle softly as she walks.

She stops in front of you with a warm smile."Ah, you must be the new girl!" she says brightly, eyes lighting up. “Poor thing, he didn’t say two words to you, did he? Well, don’t mind Mr. Riddle. He means well.

She extends a hand, small and wrinkled, with faint ink stains on the fingertips.

"Mrs. Carrow. I manage the house." She winks."You’ll get used to the manor."

You blink, caught off guard by her warmth.“I—thank you. It’s... big.”

She chuckles, already turning and waving for you to follow."It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Come on then, love. Let’s get you to your room before the stairs change their minds again."

You follow her up a narrow staircase, the wood beneath your feet creaking in protest.Candle sconces flicker to life as you pass.

Mrs. Carrow hums a little tune under her breath, keys jingling softly at her hip.“Truth be told,” she says over her shoulder, “I wrote the letters.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“The ones you got,” she says. “The job offer, the instructions. Well, Mr. Riddle dictated the general idea, of course, but he insisted they be concise.”She glances back at you with a knowing smile.

You raise an eyebrow. “That explains a lot.”

Mrs. Carrow chuckles. “Yes, dear. If it had been up to me, I’d have included a little more warmth.”

She lowers her voice.“But alas, the Dark Lord’s version of hospitality is efficiency.”

You snort softly.

“Anyway,” she adds, coming to a stop before a carved wooden door, “this’ll be your room. It’s one of the warmest. Plenty of light in the morning, and close enough to the nursery that you’ll hear her when she cries.But not so close that you’ll go mad.”

Mrs. Carrow smiles gently as she opens the door, stepping aside for you to enter.You take a few careful steps inside.

It’s not grand, but it’s comfortable. High ceilings, warm-toned walls, an old wardrobe with brass handles, and a bed that looks far softer than you expected. A small writing desk sits by the window.

The air smells faintly of lavender.Behind you, Mrs. Carrow places your suitcase by the foot of the bed.

“I’ll let you settle,” she says kindly.

You give her a quick nod and she pulls the door shut behind her with a soft click.

You sit on the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.

What exactly have you gotten yourself into?

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

— Full Circle by tetsurashian ♡

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

sketches for a snippet from full circle

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

𝓢𝓾𝓷𝓫𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓭

Description: Despite you telling him he needs to wear sunscreen, Tom doesn't listen and ends up, well, sunburned.

A/N: Soo I was on vacation and didn't bring my computer with me, then had early mornings at work which meant no late night writing (aka when I do my best work), so here's a cute lil fluffy fic.

A warm summer breeze blew in through the open window, gently ruffling your sheets and causing your hair to start tickling you on your forehead, just annoying enough to wake you up. You yawned, brushing your hair back and still half-asleep as you rolled over, flopping onto your stomach and feeling sleep slowly start to pull you back in. You’d spent all day with Tom at the lake and were completely exhausted from it, though it had been completely worth it. 

You had nearly fallen asleep again when somebody started shaking your arm and whisper-shouting your name. 

“Wake up,” it hissed. “Wake up now!” 

You jolted from your doze, already reaching for your wand before a hand grabbed your wrist. 

“It’s just me!” Whoever it was sounded irritated.

You froze, looking up at the owner of the voice in your dazed state of sleepiness. 

“Tom?” 

“Yes, it’s me. Who else would wake you up in the middle of the night?”

“No one, but definitely not you- ‘early bedtimes’ and all that.” You pointed out, running a hand through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix it. Tom insisted on going to bed early, though he really did schoolwork or read some dark and foreboding book. Him waking you up in the middle of the night was definitely not normal- usually he’d just slip in your bed silently and be there when you woke up in the morning.

Tom sighed dramatically and you smiled to yourself, propping yourself onto your elbow.

“So what are you doing here?” you asked. 

“I’m red.” 

The statement caught you off guard. 

“You’re what?” You repeated. He wasn’t making any sense right now. Or maybe you were still sleeping and this was some weird dream.

“I said, I’m red.” 

“Uh… did someone jinx you?”

He scoffed. “You think I’d let someone jinx me? I just woke up like this!” 

“You woke up red?” You clarified, to which Tom let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Yes! Don’t you still have ears?” 

“Sorry, but my boyfriend running into my room in the middle of the night to tell me he’s suddenly red is giving me pause,” you retorted, but rolled over to flick your light on. When you turned back to face Tom, your hand flew to your mouth. He was, in fact, red. 

“Oh Merlin,” you bit back a laugh. His face was a sort of pinkish-red, and the hue got darker down his arms. His chest and stomach, however, were completely red and he was utterly- 

“Sunburned,” you said in delight. “You’re sunburned!”

Tom looked disgusted. “What,” he asked, “is a sunburn.” 

“It’s what happens when you spend too much time out in the sun without-” you smirked- “sunscreen.”

Tom had refused to wear any sort of sunscreen before going swimming today, declaring it was a “useless Muggle invention” and that he didn’t need to waste his time putting it on. You had tried to tell him otherwise, but he hadn’t listened and now it appeared he was paying the price. You had to admit you were a little satisfied in what had happened after he refused to listen to your warnings. 

“You’re joking.”

He stared at you, and you stared right back with a smile. 

“Nope.”

You kept your teeth clenched to keep yourself from laughing, but Tom spotted this immediately. 

“It’s not funny,” he said, to which you let out a little snort. 

“No, definitely not,” you agreed, biting the inside of your mouth as your smile grew bigger. 

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Tom warned you, and you burst out laughing. 

“I can’t help it!” You exclaimed, doubling over. “You told me you didn’t need sunscreen and-” you looked up at him again and started laughing even harder. “And now you’re like that!”

Tom glared at you for a few seconds more before turning on his heel and stalking towards your bag laying on the floor. “Where is it?” he grumbled, digging through the bag. 

“Where’s what?” You asked, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down so you wouldn’t start laughing again. 

“Sunscreen!” he exclaimed, finally extracting the bottle.

“What are you doing?” You said, eyes wide as you climbed out of bed and hurried over to him right as he squeezed a huge amount of sunscreen out of the tube- “Tom!” 

“What?” He looked up, annoyed. 

“You can’t-” You let out an incredulous laugh, taking the bottle from his hands and closing it. “It doesn’t work after you’ve been sunburned!” 

“That’s absurd! What do they expect?”

“Probably for you to put it on before being out in the sun, like the instructions say,” you countered, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the bathroom with you. 

“So I’m doomed to be red?” he asked, looking at you morosely. 

“Tom, it’ll fade,” you assured him, opening the cabinet drawer for your bottle of aloe vera once you had instructed him to wash the sunscreen off his hand. “It’ll just sting for a bit. Thankfully-” you held up the aloe vera bottle- “this is a lotion and it’ll help.” 

He sat down as you poured some of the lotion onto your hands, beginning to smooth it across his burned skin.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled after a minute. “Why can’t there be a spell to fix it?” You smoothed the aloe vera lotion over his shoulder, working it gently across the skin. 

“Why don’t you invent one?” You suggested, to which Tom rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, and be known as Tom Riddle: the great sunburn fixer.”

“Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Hey, I’m the one with the aloe vera right now. And don’t think I won’t pour this entire bottle onto your face if you keep antagonizing me.”

“Point taken,” Tom relented after another eye roll. 

Once you’d helped him put the aloe vera on, you stood next to him in the mirror as he surveyed himself. The lotion had left a slightly glossy residue on him so now not only was he red, but he was also-

“I’m shiny.”

You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. 

“Oh Merlin, this is going to be a great story to tell,” you shook your head as Tom continued to survey himself in the mirror. 

“I can’t believe I’m sunburned,” he grumbled. “This is not going to happen again.”

“Looks like you’ll have to wear sunscreen then.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Taglist (comment to be added/removed): @viperify @m-mally

removing @chamolore because it looks like their account was deactivated

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

You-Know-Who has posted a new chapter of my favorite fic, so I decided to follow up with her and post some new artwork.

I can't decide which version I prefer, so I'll just post them all.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 | 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - After three sleepless days of missions, magic, and war, Tom Riddle returns to his dormitory exhausted, bruised by the weight of his legacy, and longing for the only person who softens his edges. He finds Y/N asleep in his bed, wrapped in his sweater, and for the first time in days, he lets himself collapse. Tom drops his mask, calls her “baby,” and forgets, just for a moment, that the world expects him to be cold.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - This was inspired by one of those ‘he’s the type to…call you baby’ for Mattheo but I made it about Tom. I needed to write something soft before the storm hits, because oh, sweetheart, you’re not ready. All the Horcrux fics are dropping today.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - Baby girl finally learned how to make dividers.

The door creaked softly as Tom Riddle pushed it open, exhaustion weighing down every inch of him like a curse. His shoulders sagged beneath his pristine robes, now wrinkled and soot-smudged.

His tie hung loose, undone somewhere along hour thirty-six. His eyes, normally so sharp and commanding, were dulled with weariness.

He stepped inside his dormitory, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Three days.

Three days of covert missions for his father.

Three days of endless strategy meetings, diplomatic threats wrapped in velvet words, and dark magic that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Three days without sleep. Barely eating. Wand clenched in a death grip.

And all he wanted all he needed—was her.

His eyes flicked to the far end of the room.

There she was.

Y/N, curled up on his bed, tangled in his blankets, one of his sweaters swallowed around her frame. Her face was tucked into the pillow he never let anyone else touch. Her breathing was soft, steady.

His entire chest ached at the sight.

A gentle ache. The good kind.

The only kind he knew when it came to her.

Tom exhaled, as if just seeing her let some impossible weight fall off his shoulders.

"Baby..."

The word slipped from his lips before he could catch it.

She stirred slightly, eyes blinking open. "What did you just call me?" she murmured, voice sleep-heavy and teasing.

Tom blinked slowly, unbothered, already slipping off his coat with clumsy fingers. “Mmm. Don’t start,” he mumbled, half-dragging himself toward her. “Too tired.”

Y/N sat up, a smile tugging at her lips as she scooted over to make room.

“You never call me baby,” she said softly, watching him collapse beside her, burying his face in her shoulder like it was his only source of life.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered. “I have a reputation.”

She laughed quietly and wrapped her arms around him, letting him press his entire body weight into her like a man finally allowed to crumble.

Tom let out a slow, shaky breath against her neck, his voice rasped from disuse. “You smell like home.”

“You are home, you idiot,” she whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at her his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, but soft. So, so soft.

“Do you know how many people I threatened today?” he murmured.

“How many?”

“I lost count.”

She smiled. “Sounds like a productive day.”

His lips twitched tiredly. “You have no idea.”

She brushed the hair from his face gently, and he leaned into her touch like it was magic all on its own. His hand found her waist, sliding beneath the oversized sweater to press his palm flat against her skin grounding, real, hers.

“I missed you,” he said, and he said it without shields, without calculation, without pride.

Just truth.

“I missed you too,” she whispered, kissing his temple.

Tom melted.

“I hate the world,” he said, closing his eyes. “But I really like this.”

“What? Me?”

“Everything about you,” he said, so quietly it barely counted as sound. “Your voice. Your skin. Your magic. The way you steal my clothes. The way you always leave your shoes in front of the door and I trip over them every night. Even when you're not here.”

She laughed into his hair.

“And if you ever tell anyone I said any of that,” he murmured sleepily, curling into her, “I’ll hex you.”

“You’re so romantic when you’re sleep-deprived,” she whispered.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, warm and slow. “Love you.”

Tom’s voice was slurred with exhaustion, but his answer was instant.

“I Love you more.”

And within moments, his breathing evened out — arms wrapped tight around her, finally safe enough to sleep.

Because the world could keep taking and tearing and demanding.

But she would always be the place he came back to. Even the Dark Lord’s son needed somewhere to rest.

And for Tom Riddle, that place was her.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

requests ooopeeeen im bored :p