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viperify · 2 days ago

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OH YESSSS I have been waiting for this one. soooo good as always baby.

shadows that stretch too far. too dark. too familiar.

I love this sm.

"hello, little one," tom murmurs, voice velvet and ruin, sinking into your bones.

UGHHHHH. drooling.

"i saved him for you." his knee parts your thighs, and you let him. "and now, you’re going to show me how grateful you are."

yes, sir. 🫡

"you did miss me," he purrs, mocking, triumphant.

fuck yes I did. bf just aint doing it like you and yk it

"you can fight it all you want," he breathes, lips ghosting over your ear, his hands gripping your hips harder, pulling you against him with every thrust. "but you’re already fucking yourself on my cock, aren’t you?"

SKJDSKFDKSF this. this is it. this is heaven.

"perfect," he murmurs, voice dark and sated, his fingers dragging down your thigh, spreading you open again, just to admire the mess he’s left you in.

this is so hot. like... ugh.

MY GOODNESS I loved every second of this. never stop blessing us. my fucking talented wife man. 🩷

PART II: WEAR MY NAME

you tried to escape him. pretended he wasn’t real. ignored the way the mirrors whispered, the way the shadows stretched, the way something unseen touched you in the dark. but now he’s here—watching, waiting, stepping through the glass and back into your world. you should run. you don’t.

warnings: DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU VALUE YOUR SANITY. dead dove: do not eat. smut, fingering. You are being watched. dub-con, marking/claiming, overstimulation, size kink, degradation/praise, predator/prey, choking (light).

part 1 au more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

it starts with the mirrors.

at first, it’s easy to ignore.

a shape in the reflection when you aren’t looking directly at it. the faint sense of something standing behind you, just past the edge of your vision.

shadows that stretch too far.

too dark.

too familiar.

you tell yourself it’s exhaustion. stress. your mind holding onto the trauma, twisting it into something that feels real.

but the mirrors aren’t the only thing.

it’s the touch, too.

the way your body shivers at nothing—a cold breath against your ear, the brush of fingers along your waist, the faintest pressure against your throat.

like hands that aren’t there.

like a presence you can’t shake.

"you’ve been acting weird," your boyfriend says one night, voice groggy with sleep. his fingers graze your bare hip under the duvet, warm, grounding. "are you alright?"

"yeah," you murmur. lie.

he hums, already drifting off again, pulling you closer into his heat. but even as he holds you, your body remains tense, waiting, braced for something unseen.

something inevitable.

you stare past his shoulder, into the darkened mirror across the room.

nothing.

you exhale. force yourself to close your eyes.

but you feel it.

the weight of a gaze.

the press of something cold and unknowable, lingering just out of reach.

watching.

waiting.

and when sleep finally takes you—

you dream in shadows.

you’re in your flat.

alone.

or at least, you should be.

the air is thick. cloying. the lights flicker, the shadows curling at the edges of the room like smoke, shifting, breathing.

you tell yourself it’s a dream.

it has to be.

but you don’t wake up.

your feet move before you register it, carrying you towards the mirror in the hallway. your fingers tremble as you reach out, touching the cool glass—

and he is there.

not a reflection. not a shadow.

him.

tall, poised, dressed in black, the same knowing smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

"hello, little one," tom murmurs, voice velvet and ruin, sinking into your bones.

your pulse stops.

you stumble back, but there’s nowhere to go. the wall meets your spine, cold and unyielding. your chest heaves, your mind screaming at you to wake up, wake up, but tom only tilts his head, watching you, drinking in your panic like it amuses him.

"i told you," he says, stepping forward, out of the mirror, into your space, into your world.

his hand catches your chin, fingers cold as death itself, tilting your face up.

"you didn’t think you could run from me, did you?"

your breath shatters in your throat.

"you’re not real," you whisper.

his smile sharpens.

"oh, little liar," he murmurs, thumb dragging along your bottom lip, pressing in, forcing your mouth open just slightly.

your stomach twists. heat coils low, unwanted, unbearable.

because you remember.

the way he felt inside you. the way he owned you, the way he ruined you.

"this isn’t happening," you breathe, barely a whisper.

tom hums, the sound low and pleased, fingers slipping lower, ghosting down your neck, your collarbone, lower still.

your body betrays you.

he sees it.

"poor thing," he purrs, leaning in, lips brushing against your ear, breath cold and cruel. "you really thought i’d let you go?"

his hands settle on your waist, gripping, fingers pressing into flesh.

"i saved him for you."

his knee parts your thighs, and you let him.

"and now, you’re going to show me how grateful you are."

his grip tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, your body melting against him despite yourself.

"tom—"

he shushes you, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, pressing just enough to make you feel it, enough to remind you that he’s in control here, not you.

"you keep saying my name like it means something," he murmurs, gaze flicking over your face, watching every twitch, every flicker of fear, of need. his fingers slip lower, slow and deliberate, trailing down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

"but you’ve already given yourself to me, haven’t you?"

your breath hitches, your whole body tensing before you even feel his touch.

because you know what’s coming.

he does too.

he wants you to.

"so warm," he breathes, fingers brushing against your slick heat, teasing, not quite giving you what you need. "so obedient."

your thighs clench, but his knee presses between them, keeping them apart.

"don’t be shy now," he taunts, voice mocking, smooth as silk, his fingers spreading you open, just barely pressing inside before retreating, denying you, making you chase the feeling.

"i want to hear you."

his thumb brushes your clit, so light it’s unbearable, and you whimper, your body betraying you completely.

his dark eyes gleam. he loves it.

"that’s it," he breathes. "such a desperate little thing. you missed me, didn’t you?"

you shake your head, but the lie doesn’t even reach your lips before his fingers slip inside you, slow and devastating, his palm grinding against your clit.

you cry out, hips bucking into his hand, body reacting before your mind can even catch up.

"oh?" his smirk sharpens, watching you come apart so easily, so quickly, his fingers dragging against every sensitive part of you, fucking into you deep and slow and merciless.

"you did miss me," he purrs, mocking, triumphant.

your cheeks burn—with shame, with need, with something worse, something deeper, something you shouldn’t want but do.

"look at you," he murmurs, lips ghosting along your jaw, your throat, your ear, pressing wet, biting kisses against your skin.

"trembling for me."

his hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, keeping you where he wants you as he fucks his fingers into you, faster now, his touch relentless, devastating, perfect.

"you can fight it all you want," he murmurs, voice low, ruinous, his breath curling over your lips.

"but your body already knows who you belong to."

his fingers curl, and pleasure spikes through you, sharp and unbearable, your body tightening around him as you choke on a gasp, as your vision goes white, as your world shatters beneath his touch.

you’re still shaking, still breathless, when he pulls his fingers from you, dragging them through your slick heat one last time before bringing them to his lips.

he licks them clean.

"perfect," he murmurs, smirking when your thighs clench again at the sight of him tasting you.

you know what’s next.

so does he.

you swallow hard, your whole body burning with the memory of how he felt inside you, how he filled you, stretched you, owned you completely.

his voice is low and cruel and full of promise.

"we’re just getting started, little one."

his belt clinks, the whisper of leather sliding free, and your whole body tenses, heat curling deep in your stomach.

he notices. of course, he does.

"nervous?" he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

his cock presses against you, heavy and thick, dragging through the slick mess between your legs, teasing, spreading you open just enough to remind you how easily he can break you again.

you swallow hard, forcing your voice steady. "you wish."

he laughs softly, mocking, knowing.

"oh, little one," he breathes, nudging the head of his cock against your entrance, pressing just slightly, just enough to make you ache.

his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still, keeping you where he wants you.

"i don’t have to wish for anything."

he thrusts forward, burying himself inside you in one slow, devastating stroke, stretching you open, filling you completely.

your head tips back, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your body shudders beneath him, your hands gripping at nothing, at him, nails digging into his arms as he doesn’t move, just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him.

"fuck," he groans, his voice low and ragged, his fingers digging into your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. "so fucking tight. taking me so well."

he stays still for another second, just long enough to make you squirm, whimper, arch into him.

then he moves.

his first thrust is slow, deep, dragging his cock out of you before snapping his hips forward again, making you cry out, making your body tighten around him, making your vision blur with pleasure.

"that’s it," he murmurs, his grin sharp, dangerous, his pace slow but merciless, grinding deep, hitting exactly where he wants, exactly where he knows you need him.

"you can fight it all you want," he breathes, lips ghosting over your ear, his hands gripping your hips harder, pulling you against him with every thrust.

"but you’re already fucking yourself on my cock, aren’t you?"

you choke on a whimper, hips rocking instinctively, chasing the friction, the pressure, the unbearable heat building inside you too fast, too much.

he sees it, feels it, fucking loves it.

"so desperate," he murmurs, voice dripping with mockery, watching you unravel beneath him, helpless, already broken, already his.

"so eager."

his hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles, making your whole body tremble, making your thighs clench around him, making you sob his name.

"so fucking perfect," he groans, picking up his pace, fucking into you harder, sharper, rougher, making sure you feel every inch of him, making sure there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed.

his lips brush your jaw, your cheek, before settling at your ear, his voice low and dark and inescapable.

"tell me," he breathes, his cock throbbing inside you, his fingers fucking relentless on your clit.

"tell me how badly you need me to fill you up."

your breath shatters, pleasure coiling tight, unbearable, your body already so close, so gone, so completely fucking ruined.

"fuck, tom—"

"tell me."

his hips snap harder, his teeth scrape your throat, his hand tightens on your hip, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"beg me for it."

your vision blurs, pleasure spiking, your whole body arching into him, taking everything he gives you, giving him everything you have left.

"please," you gasp, desperate, mindless, gone, nails dragging down his arms, clinging to him, pulling him deeper.

"please, tom—"

"that’s my girl," he groans, thrusting into you harder, chasing his own release, fucking you exactly how you need, exactly how you begged for.

"you’re mine," he breathes, voice thick, dark, ruined, his pace losing rhythm, turning desperate, wild, merciless.

"mine," he growls again, his body tensing, his cock throbbing deep inside you, and then he finally lets go, slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you, hot and thick and completely inescapable.

you barely register your own release—blinding, shattering, consuming—your whole body shaking beneath him, clinging to him, every nerve lit with fire, with pleasure, with ruin.

for a long moment, neither of you move.

his breath ghosts against your ear, shaky, uneven, his fingers still gripping your waist, still keeping you where he wants you, still deep inside you, making sure you take every last drop of him.

and then—

his lips brush your throat, slow, lingering, almost… possessive.

"perfect," he murmurs, voice dark and sated, his fingers dragging down your thigh, spreading you open again, just to admire the mess he’s left you in.

"so fucking pretty like this," he breathes.

you shiver.

his hand slides back up, fingers curling around your jaw, forcing your gaze to his.

his lips twitch into a smirk.

"you wear me well."

your breath is shaky, body still trembling, still weak and ruined beneath him, the table digging into your stomach, his cock still buried inside you, still keeping you full, still holding you in place.

but he isn’t done.

his hand ghosts lower, fingers trailing across your stomach, your hips, pressing lightly against your inner thigh.

"a perfect mess," he murmurs, admiring the way your body still twitches from aftershocks, the way his cum slowly drips from between your legs, slick and filthy and undeniable.

"and all mine."

you shudder, your breathing uneven, and his fingers curl into your hair, not to pull—just to hold.

his lips brush your ear, soft, barely there, but his voice is dark, thick, ruinous.

"tell me, little one," he breathes.

his hips shift slightly, and you whimper, your body still too sensitive, still stretched, still aching in the best way.

his smirk deepens.

"did you really think i’d leave you after this?"

your stomach twists.

"this was just the beginning."

his fingers tilt your chin up, forcing your gaze back to his, making sure you see the hunger still lingering in his dark, endless eyes.

"you’re not done with me yet."

his smirk sharpens, something darker curling at the edges of his lips.

"and i’m certainly not done with you."

your heart stutters, heat flooding through your veins, a dangerous mixture of dread and something else, something you don’t want to name.

tom leans in, his nose skimming your jaw, his voice nothing but a whisper of a promise against your skin.

"i hope you weren’t planning on waking up just yet, little one."

and when he moves again, when his fingers slide back between your legs, when his cock hardens inside you, ready to take you all over again—

you realise he’s right.

you’re not waking up.

not until he’s satisfied.

not until he’s done with you.

and tom riddle is never done.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

you see him too, don’t you? the mirrors never lie.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶

#this is a masterpiece #just like everything else you write #my dearest darling #ilysfm #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle fic

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viperify · 7 days ago

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oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☾₊⊹ To The Moon n’ Back.

Short Summary: This year you’ll spend another ordinary Valentine’s Day, all by yourself. Or that you think—until you receive a mysterious letter.

Warnings: 18+ only! soft impact play, brief fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, also this is kinda ooc!Tom bc how do I make this man engage in Valentine’s Day activities.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day!!! 💋🩷

wordcount: 2,4k

Tom Riddle does not do love.

So why is it that every time you walk past him, his heart beats just a little bit faster?

He’s done everything to distract himself—drowning himself in books, studying more than what is usual, even for someone called Tom Riddle.

Yet, you never fail to leave his mind. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get the thought of you—specifically your lips on his—out of his mind.

By sweet Merlin, that’s the worst part of it all.

──

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Safe to say—you aren’t interested in a relationship.

So it shouldn’t bother you that all of your friends are out with their partner. But it does, your chest tightening at the thought of spending another night alone on a day that’s meant to be celebrated with your loved ones. It’s always been like this though, they’ve had their fun, and you—well, you stayed behind.

You decide to head to bed early. Right after dinner, which was awfully boring with none of your friends around, you make your way back to your dorm. Or try to, at least. Because as soon as you turn the corner, someone bumps into you.

Not just anyone—Tom Riddle. Head boy, former prefect, top student in every class, teacher’s favourite, award winner… you could go on like this for hours. There is probably nothing in this world that he hasn’t achieved—except for finding a Valentine’s date, it seems.

“I am sorry,” you mumble as you crouch down to pick up a piece of paper he has dropped. And it’s really not that you wanted to know what was written on it—it must have been the familiar number that caught your eye—the number of your dorm to be exact.

Though slightly taken aback, you hand him the paper—or better—he rips it from your hands. For a moment when his lips part slightly, you think he might want to say something in return—maybe apologize for bumping into you—but nothing ever comes.

So you leave, shooting him a weak smile.

It’s not like you expected an apology from him. He has his close circle of friends, all of whom are from renowned pureblood families. Even if you wanted him to like you, look at you the same way you’ve looked at him for years, it wouldn’t change a thing. Tom Riddle was unreachable. Any girl that has ever been interested in ended up getting rejected, and you wouldn’t be one of them.

Yet, the rich scent of his perfume lingers, the way his eyes flickered to your lips for a brief moment imprinted in your mind. His hands brushing over yours briefly, feeling his warmth, the warmth you’ve been craving to feel on your skin—

You shake your head. You’re interpreting too much into it.

──

Tom curses himself for almost blowing his cover.

After hours of contemplation, hours of sitting in front of a blank piece of parchment, he finally writes something down.

My dear—

He scoffs. Pathetic.

Scrunching up the paper, he discards it on the wooden floor of his dorm.

I hope this letter finds—

Definitely not.

Please meet me at the Astronomy Tower tonight at—

Please? Who is he to beg? You should be the one begging for— fuck.

Twenty crumpled-up pieces of parchment later, Tom’s had enough.

He opts for something shorter.

Astronomy Tower. 9pm. Don’t be late.

Perfect.

──

You are tucked under your duvet, putting the romance novel you had started on the nightstand. It was only 8pm, but with nothing else to do, sleep didn’t seem like the worst option. Soon enough, your eyelids flutter closed, and you drift off to sleep.

Though, it isn’t too long before a sharp knock on the glass of your window wakes you. It’s your owl, delivering a letter. Quite an unusual time for you to receive something, yet curiosity gets the better of you, and you open your window to get it.

No sender.

Reluctantly, you tear the envelope open, and your eyes skim over the words written on the parchment.

“Astronomy Tower. 9pm. Don’t be late.” You whisper, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. You don’t recognize the handwriting as anyone's you know, and as soon as you wipe over the words, the ink smears, vanishing, leaving you with an empty parchment.

At first, you are quite unsure whether to go. There’s no name on the letter, and especially on a day like today, there will be stricter enforcements of the curfew rules. Though, knowing yourself, you would have probably gone anyway. Even on a day like this, the moon and the stars are the only company you crave.

So you change, folding your PJs neatly on your bed, putting on the first skirt you find—though as soon as you step out of your dorm, you regret your decision. Tonight is cooler than usual, a soft breeze brushing past your skin, having you shiver. It’s too late to turn around, though. So you make your way, walking the route you normally take when you sneak out past curfew.

As you ascend the stairs to the tower, a figure leaning against the railing catches your attention. Only when you take a few steps closer do you recognize who it is. The brunette curls are unmistakably Tom’s, and for a moment your breath catches in your throat, halting your movements. Knowing that he is most likely on his patrol, you turn around to return to your dorm, but as you do just that, his voice stops you.

“You came.” He remarks quietly, without turning around.

It is him.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “Riddle, if this is some kind of—“

“Come closer.”

You walk forwards then, though reluctantly, and lean against the railing next to the brunette. It’s silent between the both of you for a while before he speaks up again.

“They fascinate you, don’t they?” He asks subtly, staring into the distance of the night sky. You follow his gaze, taking in the stars and moon on the otherwise pitch-black horizon. “You watch them each night when you can’t sleep.”

You turn your head then, looking at him briefly. You want to ask how he knows, yet you decide to keep it to yourself. Instead, you answer honestly.

“It’s a rare constant in my life. They help me calm down, especially after a long day.”

He gives you a soft nod in return, and silence returns between the both of you, left with owls howling in the distance. There’s still snow on the ground, and it must be below freezing temperature, because when another cool breeze brushes past you, you shiver, scrunching up into yourself.

“Why am I here, Riddle?”

Tom finally turns towards you then, a spark of something softer shimmering in his otherwise so strict chocolate-brown eyes, and he takes a measured step closer.

“You didn’t have any other plans tonight, did you?” He asks, in a way that’s implying he already knows the answer—because what does he not know—and you shake your head no.

“Then that is why.”

You part your lips to question him but are interrupted by his hand reluctantly reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your cheek, trying, testing, before his hand wanders to your neck. His thumb draws small, soft patterns on your jaw, and you tense slightly at the contact. He stops then momentarily, watching your softened expression, but when you don’t complain, he continues.

His gaze flicks to your lips, the air between the both of you growing thick with tension as he slowly leans in. Your surroundings fade into a blur, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

Tom Riddle is kissing you.

The kiss isn’t what you’d expect of someone like him—it’s soft, tender, your lips moving in sync as his second hand rests on your lower back, pulling you closer.

Soon enough, he has you pressed against the railing, lips only parting from yours when a soft moan falls over your lips. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, then he goes back to kissing you as his fingertips trail up the soft skin of your thighs, stopping at the hem of your skirt.

“Okay?” He murmurs, waiting for a verbal agreement before turning you around, adjusting your position with a firm grip on your waist. He bunches the skirt around your hips, delivering a soft smack to the round curve of your now exposed ass.

A soft whimper falls over your lips, and you slightly lurch forward at the contact, but he is quick to reposition you, pulling you back to him.

It is most likely the choice of your underwear that has him go silent, fingers softly tracing along the lace of your burgundy thong, though he is quick to rid you of the last piece of fabric covering your lower body. Tom makes you step out of it, crouching down to lift your leg. You only faintly notice that he puts it in his pocket, and time to complain is sparse because his hands are back on your exposed skin within a second, cutting off your thoughts.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, drawing a soft mewl from your lips, “even more so than I thought.”

Another gentle smack, and you feel his hand gently massaging your thighs before they wander up further. He doesn’t proceed—he waits, lingering there for just a moment.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.” He instructs, his voice soft, and you obey, parting your thighs to allow him better access. A whimper escapes your lips when Tom fully presses himself against you, making you feel the problem you’ve caused him.

His hand leaves your thigh, traveling up until he reaches your already soaked heat, humming as his fingers swipe through your folds, collecting your arousal. One finger slips inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, and you can’t help but buck your hips into his touch.

A second finger enters you, stretching, preparing you for him. You appreciate it—but all you want is to finally feel him.

“Riddle, please— I need you.”

His fingers withdraw then, hand wrapping around your throat instead, tilting your head backwards as you feel his hot breath ghosting over your ear.

“What’s my name?”

“Tom, God— please let me feel you, Tom.” You croak out, whimpering in defeat.

He lets you go then, the sound of him undoing his belt cutting through the night. “Good girl. Sounds so good when you say it.”

He casts a warming charm on you, a pleasant heat spreading through your body, and the next thing you feel is his tip nudging against your soaked entrance, slipping inside of you with a single, slow thrust. He groans when he’s inside of you completely—and it might be the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

He’s told you to stay quiet—though that order is quickly forgotten when he sets a steady rhythm, fingertips pressing hard enough into your skin to leave bruises. He stretches you perfectly, filling you completely with every snap of his hips, knuckles turning white from how hard you are gripping the railing. The sound of your skin colliding with each thrust fills the air, accompanied by your moans and whimpers and occasional low groans from the man behind you.

“Spread your legs a little further for me, love.” Tom breathes, hand slipping between your legs once more as you do. Again, he finds your sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing the bud in slow, circular motions.

As your moans grow louder, walls clenching around him, he angles his thrusts slightly differently, his tip brushing over your most sensitive spots inside of you.

“Oh— Tom, don’t— don’t stop, fuck—“

His palm lands on your ass once more, but this time you arch your back into his touch, thighs trembling at the electrifying sensations shooting straight to your core.

With one of his hands on your waist, pulling you back into the sharp snaps of his hips, the other wraps around your throat again, pulling you flush against his chest. Like this he is able to reach even deeper, tip brushing against your cervix with every thrust, providing you with the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

“Fuck— squeezing me so tight. That good?”

You only manage a nod in return, eyelids fluttering close as you near your climax, walls fluttering wildly around his invading length.

“Open your eyes and look at the sky when you come, darling.”

So you do.

With one last high-pitched moan, you tumble over the edge, hot, white pleasure rushing through your veins as your cunt clamps down around him, his hands on your hips as they stabilize you when your knees are about to give in.

Soon after, your mind still hazy with the aftereffects of your own orgasm, he empties himself inside of you with a low groan, hips stuttering as he is buried to the hilt, making sure you take all of him.

Both of you stay like this for a while, catching your breath. Only when the warming effects of the charm he casted on you wear off does he pull out of you slowly, drawing a soft whimper from your lips at the loss. He fixes your skirt for you, takes care of his appearance before his arm wraps around your waist, helping you stand upright.

“I will need that back,” you say, pointing to the lace half hanging out of his pocket.

He tucks it away completely then. “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes, leaning back against the railing.

A slight smirk plays at the corner of his lips but fades as he studies you in the faint glow of the moonlight, his expression turning more serious.

“Did so well for me,” he says after some time, voice soft again, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You blink in confusion. Surely he didn’t—

“I wish you could see yourself the way you see the stars and the moon.” He goes on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are worthy of love.”

You shake your head. “Tom—“

Before you can protest, he presses his lips on yours, cutting off whatever words you were trying to form.

“I want you to teach me,” he exhales then, wrapping his coat around your shoulders, “how to love. Teach me how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

this was requested by my lovely @riddleswhcre 🩷 thank you so much for requesting baby!! you already know I am not particularly happy with how this turned out, but I hope it was still somewhat alright. <3

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #tom riddle fanfiction #slytherin boys #harry potter

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viperify · 7 days ago

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Aw you are welcome baby!!! I am glad u liked it💋🫶🏻

brb sending some pretty tulips for my pretty girl🤭 hope u r having the best day ever so far <3

LOVE U SM🩷

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚ෆ Tulips And Kisses.

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

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

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

wordcount: 1,0k

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

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

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

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

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

“I might have something else, too.”

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

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

“This.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

#kissing u #my baby #next time its gonna be my hand on ur thigh… just saying #viperify loves riddleswhcre <3 #tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle fanfiction

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viperify · 8 days ago

Text

this version of Tom will always have me in a chokehold.

A Tom Riddle who can’t quite understand the feeling blossoming in his chest each time you walk past him.

Love. Is that what it is?

During his time at Wool’s, he never experienced love and tenderness—so after escaping the terrors of the orphanage, he was left broken, desperately trying to fix both the person he was and wanted to become.

Love is not something he expected to deal with—in fact, he was certain he was incapable of feeling it wholly.

And then you came. Making a mess of everything he thought he had figured out about himself. Stealing his breath each time he merely saw you.

Clear as day, he had to make you his. After the night on the Astronomy Tower, things between you change—at first, he’ll subtly enter your life. Walking you to classes. Tutoring you. Just being there.

For a very long while, there is no more physical contact.

You give him time. It would start with your hands grazing over his ever so lightly during your tutoring sessions, his thumb softly drawing circles on your thigh during classes.

Later, when the both of you share yet another night on the tower, you kiss again. Gentle, soft, full of care for each other’s needs. His fingers tangle in your hair, making sure you stay like this just a bit longer—and oh how he has missed the feeling of your lips on his.

Tom Riddle was never meant for love.

But for you—he would try his best to change that.

6am thoughts. So tempted to make more parts out of this now.

Thank u for reading and reblogging <3

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☾₊⊹ Til’ The Moon n’ Back.

Short Summary: This year you’ll spend another ordinary Valentine’s Day, all by yourself. Or that you think—until you receive a mysterious letter.

Warnings: 18+ only! soft impact play, brief fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, also this is kinda ooc!Tom bc how do I make this man engage in Valentine’s Day activities.

A/N: Happy Voldemort’s Day to everyone celebrating.

wordcount: 2,4k

Tom Riddle does not do love.

So why is it that every time you walk past him, his heart beats just a little bit faster?

He’s done everything to distract himself—drowning himself in books, studying more than what is usual, even for someone called Tom Riddle.

Yet, you never fail to leave his mind. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get the thought of you—specifically your lips on his—out of his mind.

By sweet Merlin, that’s the worst part of it all.

──

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Safe to say—you aren’t interested in a relationship.

So you leave, shooting him a weak smile.

You shake your head. You’re interpreting too much into it.

──

Tom curses himself for almost blowing his cover.

After hours of contemplation, hours of sitting in front of a blank piece of parchment, he finally writes something down.

My dear—

He scoffs. Pathetic.

Scrunching up the paper, he discards it on the wooden floor of his dorm.

I hope this letter finds—

Definitely not.

Please meet me at the Astronomy Tower tonight at—

Please? Who is he to beg? You should be the one begging for— fuck.

Twenty crumpled-up pieces of parchment later, Tom’s had enough.

He opts for something shorter.

Astronomy Tower. 9pm. Don’t be late.

Perfect.

──

No sender.

Reluctantly, you tear the envelope open, and your eyes skim over the words written on the parchment.

“You came.” He remarks quietly, without turning around.

It is him.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “Riddle, if this is some kind of—“

“Come closer.”

You walk forwards then, though reluctantly, and lean against the railing next to the brunette. It’s silent between the both of you for a while before he speaks up again.

You turn your head then, looking at him briefly. You want to ask how he knows, yet you decide to keep it to yourself. Instead, you answer honestly.

“It’s a rare constant in my life. They help me calm down, especially after a long day.”

“Why am I here, Riddle?”

Tom finally turns towards you then, a spark of something softer shimmering in his otherwise so strict chocolate-brown eyes, and he takes a measured step closer.

“You didn’t have any other plans tonight, did you?” He asks, in a way that’s implying he already knows the answer—because what does he not know—and you shake your head no.

“Then that is why.”

His gaze flicks to your lips, the air between the both of you growing thick with tension as he slowly leans in. Your surroundings fade into a blur, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

Tom Riddle is kissing you.

The kiss isn’t what you’d expect of someone like him—it’s soft, tender, your lips moving in sync as his second hand rests on your lower back, pulling you closer.

A soft whimper falls over your lips, and you slightly lurch forward at the contact, but he is quick to reposition you, pulling you back to him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, drawing a soft mewl from your lips, “even more so than I thought.”

Another gentle smack, and you feel his hand gently massaging your thighs before they wander up further. He doesn’t proceed—he waits, lingering there for just a moment.

A second finger enters you, stretching, preparing you for him. You appreciate it—but all you want is to finally feel him.

“Riddle, please— I need you.”

His fingers withdraw then, hand wrapping around your throat instead, tilting your head backwards as you feel his hot breath ghosting over your ear.

“Ask properly. What’s my name?”

“Tom, God— please let me feel you, Tom.” You croak out, whimpering in defeat.

He lets you go then, the sound of him undoing his belt cutting through the night. “Good girl. Sounds so good when you say it.”

He’s told you to stay quiet—though that order is quickly forgotten when he sets a steady rhythm, fingertips pressing hard enough into your skin to leave bruises. The sound of his hips meeting yours with every thrust fills the air, accompanied by your moans and whimpers and occasional low groans of the man behind you.

As your moans grow louder, walls clenching around him, he angles his thrusts slightly differently, his tip brushing over your most sensitive spots inside of you.

“Oh— Tom, don’t— don’t stop, fuck—“

His palm lands on your ass once more, but this time you arch your back into his touch, thighs trembling at the electrifying sensations shooting straight to your core.

“Fuck— squeezing me so tight. That good?”

You only manage a nod in return, eyelids fluttering close as you near your climax, walls fluttering wildly around his invading length.

“Open your eyes and look at the sky when you come, darling.”

So you do.

Both of you stay like this for a while, catching your breath. Only when the effects of the charm wear off does he pull out of you slowly, drawing a soft whimper from your lips. He fixes your skirt for you, takes care of his appearance before his arm wraps around your waist, helping you stand upright.

“What about my underwear?” You ask, pointing to the lace half hanging out of his pocket.

He tugs it inside completely then. “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back against the railing.

A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his lips but fades as he studies you in the faint glow of the moonlight, replaced by a more serious expression.

“Did so well for me,” he says, voice soft again, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You blink in confusion. Surely he didn’t—

“I wish you could see yourself the way you see the stars and the moon.” He murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are worthy of love.”

You shake your head. “Tom—“

Before you can protest, he presses his lips on yours, cutting off whatever words you were trying to form.

“I want you to teach me,” he exhales, wrapping his coat around your shoulders, “how to love. Teach me how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

#help.#screaming crying throwing up #my baby #tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut

369 notes · View notes

viperify · 8 days ago

Text

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚ෆ Tulips And Kisses.

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

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

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

wordcount: 1,0k

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

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

“I might have something else, too.”

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

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

“This.”

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

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

204 notes · View notes

viperify · 8 days ago

Text

I cannot express how incredibly grateful I am for every single one of you🥹 these four months I have been on tumblr have brought me so much joy, seeing people love and appreciate what I create is so fulfilling🙏🏻

I don’t think I’ll have time to do a celebration of any kind, life’s super busy at the moment, but I’ll work on some kind of about me post so y’all get to know me a little better :3

#so so so thankful #love you all so much #free kisses for everyone

31 notes · View notes

viperify · 8 days ago

Text

dont make me cry😭😭

I am so happy you liked it, I did try my best😔🙏🏻 love u love u love u sm bub happy valentines day my lovely wifey💋💋💋

come kiss rn u dont need Tom u only need me🥵

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☾₊⊹ Til’ The Moon n’ Back.

Short Summary: This year you’ll spend another ordinary Valentine’s Day, all by yourself. Or that you think—until you receive a mysterious letter.

Warnings: 18+ only! soft impact play, brief fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, also this is kinda ooc!Tom bc how do I make this man engage in Valentine’s Day activities.

A/N: Happy Voldemort’s Day to everyone celebrating.

wordcount: 2,4k

Tom Riddle does not do love.

So why is it that every time you walk past him, his heart beats just a little bit faster?

He’s done everything to distract himself—drowning himself in books, studying more than what is usual, even for someone called Tom Riddle.

Yet, you never fail to leave his mind. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get the thought of you—specifically your lips on his—out of his mind.

By sweet Merlin, that’s the worst part of it all.

──

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Safe to say—you aren’t interested in a relationship.

So you leave, shooting him a weak smile.

You shake your head. You’re interpreting too much into it.

──

Tom curses himself for almost blowing his cover.

After hours of contemplation, hours of sitting in front of a blank piece of parchment, he finally writes something down.

My dear—

He scoffs. Pathetic.

Scrunching up the paper, he discards it on the wooden floor of his dorm.

I hope this letter finds—

Definitely not.

Please meet me at the Astronomy Tower tonight at—

Please? Who is he to beg? You should be the one begging for— fuck.

Twenty crumpled-up pieces of parchment later, Tom’s had enough.

He opts for something shorter.

Astronomy Tower. 9pm. Don’t be late.

Perfect.

──

No sender.

Reluctantly, you tear the envelope open, and your eyes skim over the words written on the parchment.

“You came.” He remarks quietly, without turning around.

It is him.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “Riddle, if this is some kind of—“

“Come closer.”

You walk forwards then, though reluctantly, and lean against the railing next to the brunette. It’s silent between the both of you for a while before he speaks up again.

You turn your head then, looking at him briefly. You want to ask how he knows, yet you decide to keep it to yourself. Instead, you answer honestly.

“It’s a rare constant in my life. They help me calm down, especially after a long day.”

“Why am I here, Riddle?”

Tom finally turns towards you then, a spark of something softer shimmering in his otherwise so strict chocolate-brown eyes, and he takes a measured step closer.

“You didn’t have any other plans tonight, did you?” He asks, in a way that’s implying he already knows the answer—because what does he not know—and you shake your head no.

“Then that is why.”

His gaze flicks to your lips, the air between the both of you growing thick with tension as he slowly leans in. Your surroundings fade into a blur, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

Tom Riddle is kissing you.

The kiss isn’t what you’d expect of someone like him—it’s soft, tender, your lips moving in sync as his second hand rests on your lower back, pulling you closer.

A soft whimper falls over your lips, and you slightly lurch forward at the contact, but he is quick to reposition you, pulling you back to him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, drawing a soft mewl from your lips, “even more so than I thought.”

Another gentle smack, and you feel his hand gently massaging your thighs before they wander up further. He doesn’t proceed—he waits, lingering there for just a moment.

A second finger enters you, stretching, preparing you for him. You appreciate it—but all you want is to finally feel him.

“Riddle, please— I need you.”

His fingers withdraw then, hand wrapping around your throat instead, tilting your head backwards as you feel his hot breath ghosting over your ear.

“Ask properly. What’s my name?”

“Tom, God— please let me feel you, Tom.” You croak out, whimpering in defeat.

He lets you go then, the sound of him undoing his belt cutting through the night. “Good girl. Sounds so good when you say it.”

As your moans grow louder, walls clenching around him, he angles his thrusts slightly differently, his tip brushing over your most sensitive spots inside of you.

“Oh— Tom, don’t— don’t stop, fuck—“

His palm lands on your ass once more, but this time you arch your back into his touch, thighs trembling at the electrifying sensations shooting straight to your core.

“Fuck— squeezing me so tight. That good?”

You only manage a nod in return, eyelids fluttering close as you near your climax, walls fluttering wildly around his invading length.

“Open your eyes and look at the sky when you come, darling.”

So you do.

“What about my underwear?” You ask, pointing to the lace half hanging out of his pocket.

He tugs it inside completely then. “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back against the railing.

A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his lips but fades as he studies you in the faint glow of the moonlight, replaced by a more serious expression.

“Did so well for me,” he says, voice soft again, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You blink in confusion. Surely he didn’t—

“I wish you could see yourself the way you see the stars and the moon.” He murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are worthy of love.”

You shake your head. “Tom—“

Before you can protest, he presses his lips on yours, cutting off whatever words you were trying to form.

“I want you to teach me,” he exhales, wrapping his coat around your shoulders, “how to love. Teach me how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

#my baby #appreciate and love u sm #thank u for reblogging and ur feedback :(( kissing u #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #slytherin boys #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys smut

369 notes · View notes

viperify · 9 days ago

Text

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☾₊⊹ To The Moon n’ Back.

Short Summary: This year you’ll spend another ordinary Valentine’s Day, all by yourself. Or that you think—until you receive a mysterious letter.

Warnings: 18+ only! soft impact play, brief fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, also this is kinda ooc!Tom bc how do I make this man engage in Valentine’s Day activities.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day!!! 💋🩷

wordcount: 2,4k

Tom Riddle does not do love.

So why is it that every time you walk past him, his heart beats just a little bit faster?

He’s done everything to distract himself—drowning himself in books, studying more than what is usual, even for someone called Tom Riddle.

Yet, you never fail to leave his mind. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get the thought of you—specifically your lips on his—out of his mind.

By sweet Merlin, that’s the worst part of it all.

──

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Safe to say—you aren’t interested in a relationship.

So you leave, shooting him a weak smile.

You shake your head. You’re interpreting too much into it.

──

Tom curses himself for almost blowing his cover.

After hours of contemplation, hours of sitting in front of a blank piece of parchment, he finally writes something down.

My dear—

He scoffs. Pathetic.

Scrunching up the paper, he discards it on the wooden floor of his dorm.

I hope this letter finds—

Definitely not.

Please meet me at the Astronomy Tower tonight at—

Please? Who is he to beg? You should be the one begging for— fuck.

Twenty crumpled-up pieces of parchment later, Tom’s had enough.

He opts for something shorter.

Astronomy Tower. 9pm. Don’t be late.

Perfect.

──

No sender.

Reluctantly, you tear the envelope open, and your eyes skim over the words written on the parchment.

“You came.” He remarks quietly, without turning around.

It is him.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “Riddle, if this is some kind of—“

“Come closer.”

You walk forwards then, though reluctantly, and lean against the railing next to the brunette. It’s silent between the both of you for a while before he speaks up again.

You turn your head then, looking at him briefly. You want to ask how he knows, yet you decide to keep it to yourself. Instead, you answer honestly.

“It’s a rare constant in my life. They help me calm down, especially after a long day.”

“Why am I here, Riddle?”

Tom finally turns towards you then, a spark of something softer shimmering in his otherwise so strict chocolate-brown eyes, and he takes a measured step closer.

“You didn’t have any other plans tonight, did you?” He asks, in a way that’s implying he already knows the answer—because what does he not know—and you shake your head no.

“Then that is why.”

His gaze flicks to your lips, the air between the both of you growing thick with tension as he slowly leans in. Your surroundings fade into a blur, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

Tom Riddle is kissing you.

The kiss isn’t what you’d expect of someone like him—it’s soft, tender, your lips moving in sync as his second hand rests on your lower back, pulling you closer.

A soft whimper falls over your lips, and you slightly lurch forward at the contact, but he is quick to reposition you, pulling you back to him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, drawing a soft mewl from your lips, “even more so than I thought.”

Another gentle smack, and you feel his hand gently massaging your thighs before they wander up further. He doesn’t proceed—he waits, lingering there for just a moment.

A second finger enters you, stretching, preparing you for him. You appreciate it—but all you want is to finally feel him.

“Riddle, please— I need you.”

His fingers withdraw then, hand wrapping around your throat instead, tilting your head backwards as you feel his hot breath ghosting over your ear.

“What’s my name?”

“Tom, God— please let me feel you, Tom.” You croak out, whimpering in defeat.

He lets you go then, the sound of him undoing his belt cutting through the night. “Good girl. Sounds so good when you say it.”

As your moans grow louder, walls clenching around him, he angles his thrusts slightly differently, his tip brushing over your most sensitive spots inside of you.

“Oh— Tom, don’t— don’t stop, fuck—“

His palm lands on your ass once more, but this time you arch your back into his touch, thighs trembling at the electrifying sensations shooting straight to your core.

“Fuck— squeezing me so tight. That good?”

You only manage a nod in return, eyelids fluttering close as you near your climax, walls fluttering wildly around his invading length.

“Open your eyes and look at the sky when you come, darling.”

So you do.

“I will need that back,” you say, pointing to the lace half hanging out of his pocket.

He tucks it away completely then. “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes, leaning back against the railing.

A slight smirk plays at the corner of his lips but fades as he studies you in the faint glow of the moonlight, his expression turning more serious.

“Did so well for me,” he says after some time, voice soft again, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You blink in confusion. Surely he didn’t—

“I wish you could see yourself the way you see the stars and the moon.” He goes on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are worthy of love.”

You shake your head. “Tom—“

Before you can protest, he presses his lips on yours, cutting off whatever words you were trying to form.

“I want you to teach me,” he exhales then, wrapping his coat around your shoulders, “how to love. Teach me how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

369 notes · View notes

viperify · 9 days ago

Note

hey my dearest babykins! would you do me the honor of writing a Valentine’s Day story featuring me and the one and only, most magnificent, and incredibly handsome daddy Tom Marvolo Riddle?

hey my dearest wife! Anything for you. 💋💋

Coming in around 1h!!!

#mwah #thanks for requesting lovely #viperify loves riddleswhcre <3 #🦢⋆⭒˚.⋆mail

7 notes · View notes

viperify · 9 days ago

Note

KISSING HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

HAPPY VALENTINES SOPH!!! 💋💋💋

3 notes · View notes

viperify · 10 days ago

Text

THE WAIT IS OVER ugh FINALLY

This was so so so incredibly hot Mary😩😩 I won’t be getting over this any time soon🥵

a thin red thread, wrapped tight around his finger, extending across the room. - leading straight to you.

Soulmates🏃🏼‍♀️

in a blink, he had you against the bookshelf, the wood pressing into your spine. his fingers wrapped around your throat, not tight, just enough to hold you in place.

ok. Drooling over this.

"try again," he said, and before you could react, his palm met your cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control.

NOW WE ARE TALKING. (I love face slapping sm. ugh.)

"good girl," he groaned, voice strained. "just like that— fucking perfect."

fuck fuck fuck. I am weak.

he wiped a thumb over your cheek, collecting his mess before smearing it against your lips. "filthy," he murmured. "but you like that, don't you?"

God, yes.

THIS WAS SO FUCKING HOT LIKE WHAT??? ugh. I need this man so bad, but first and foremost I need my lovely author of this masterpiece to come over rn and spend Valentine’s Day with me😩💋🫶🏻

the red thread of fate — tom riddle

the red thread of fate was meant to be an unbreakable bond. tom riddle refuses to believe in such foolish magic—until it ties him to you.

warnings: smut, oral(m receiving), face fucking, slapping.

──★ ˙a/n ̟ !! happy valentine’s, my loves. i just had to make tom suffer a little <3 enjoy. and as always, let me know what you think!

au more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

there was never a moment of peace between you and tom riddle. from the very first day at hogwarts, the rivalry was cemented in stone—sharp words exchanged in potions class, relentless competition in transfiguration, and an unspoken war to prove who was superior. he was brilliant, untouchable, impossibly composed. but so were you.

“riddle,” you sneered, dropping your books onto the desk beside him.

he barely looked up. “what a pleasure it is to suffer your presence yet again.”

“shame you won’t feel that pleasure when i surpass you on slughorn’s next exam.”

his quill stilled, and for a second—just a second—you saw something flicker behind his eyes. amusement? irritation? whatever it was, it was gone as soon as it appeared. “bold of you to assume i wouldn’t obliterate you in the rankings yet again.”

“bold of you to assume i wouldn’t hex you before that happens.”

the dynamic was always the same—verbal sparring that bordered on dangerous, tension thick enough to be cut with a knife. neither of you backed down, neither willing to surrender the title of the best.

but tonight, none of that should have mattered. because tonight, the slytherin common room was hosting its infamous valentine’s event, and tom riddle had no interest in foolish displays of romance.

—

“i cannot believe you’re actually here.”

abraxas malfoy’s voice was laced with disbelief as he lounged beside tom, watching students gather around the dimly lit room, the enchanted candles flickering with a strange, almost anticipatory glow.

“i’m observing,” tom replied smoothly, arms crossed.

“observing what? desperate fools convincing themselves that some ancient magic will tell them who they’re meant to be with?”

“something like that.”

“if this thing actually works, you’re bound to get matched with someone unbearable.” abraxas smirked. “imagine if it’s rosier. or worse, slughorn himself.”

tom shot him a pointed look, unimpressed. “you’re insufferable.”

but before abraxas could reply, the room dimmed further. a hush fell over the crowd as the enchanted candles flared, filling the air with a soft, golden glow.

red threads of fate began to appear, weaving through the room like delicate strands of silk.

soft gasps. nervous laughter. whispers of awe.

tom remained motionless, indifferent—until he felt it.

a warmth curling around his pinky.

his breath stalled.

slowly, cautiously, he lifted his hand.

and there it was.

a thin red thread, wrapped tight around his finger, extending across the room.

leading straight to you.

your eyes met his, wide with the same realisation.

tom exhaled, something dark curling in his chest.

this could not be happening.

and yet, it was.

—

later, in the library, you toyed with the red thread between you, letting it wind between your fingers. “still ignoring me, riddle?” you mused, voice barely above a whisper.

tom didn’t look up from his book, but you saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. “you mistake silence for tolerance.”

you tugged on the thread lightly, watching as his fingers twitched. his breath hitched, just slightly, before he set his book down and met your gaze, dark eyes unreadable.

“do that again,” he murmured.

your smirk widened. you twisted the thread between your fingers, pulling it taut, and something flickered in tom’s gaze—something dangerous.

in a blink, he had you against the bookshelf, the wood pressing into your spine. his fingers wrapped around your throat, not tight, just enough to hold you in place. his lips ghosted over your ear.

“you think this is amusing?”

“i think you like it.”

a dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “on your knees.”

you hesitated, reveling in the way his grip tightened slightly, in the silent command that burned in his gaze.

“try again,” he said, and before you could react, his palm met your cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control.

your breath hitched, and tom smirked. “there’s a good girl.”

he undid his trousers with slow, deliberate ease, just enough to free himself. his cock was flushed, leaking with precum, the sight of you kneeling before him only fueling his arrogance.

“open wider,” he murmured, voice thick with command.

you did.

he slid himself past your lips, the weight of him heavy on your tongue. he groaned softly, leaning back, one hand braced above your head against the bookshelf, the other tangled in your hair, guiding your movements.

“just like that,” he muttered, voice tight, his head tipping back. “merlin, you look so much prettier like this.”

you hollowed your cheeks, teasing, taking him deeper, revelling in the way his fingers tightened against the wood, his control slipping, just a little.

and then—he took over.

his grip in your hair turned punishing, his hips snapping forward as he fucked into your mouth, ruthless and demanding. the sounds were obscene, his breath ragged as he forced you to take his cock deeper, pressing himself to the back of your throat. your hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into his skin as he used you, face-fucking you without mercy.

“good girl,” he groaned, voice strained. “just like that—fucking perfect.”

he didn’t stop until he was close, until his breath stuttered, until he pulled out at the last second, spilling over your face in hot, thick streams. you gasped for breath, satisfaction curling in your stomach at the way he looked down at you—disheveled, utterly wrecked.

he wiped a thumb over your cheek, collecting his mess before smearing it against your lips. “filthy,” he murmured. “but you like that, don’t you?”

your smirk was slow, smug. “admit it, riddle. you do too.”

his jaw clenched. “this changes nothing,” he muttered, though his pinky twitched with the thread still binding you together.

“sure, riddle,” you teased, licking your lips. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

but you both knew the truth.

this changed everything.

tom lingered for a moment, his breath still uneven, his eyes burning into yours as if trying to convince himself otherwise. his lips parted, but whatever sharp remark he had planned died before it reached his tongue.

the thread between you pulsed, a silent taunt, a reminder that no matter how much he fought it, he was already ensnared.

you watched as his fingers twitched again, the smallest movement, betraying him. he clenched his jaw, straightened his robes, and stepped back—but not before you caught the hesitation in his gaze.

“we’re not finished,” he muttered.

a smug smile played on your lips. “we never are.”

and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, but the red thread between you only pulled tighter.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

tags ❥ @s0rc3r3r @cypherpt5fttaehyung @kqliie

#like. the face slapping?#the cumming on our face?#UGHHHHH #so so so good.#viperify loves riddleswhcre <3 #tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x reader

306 notes · View notes

viperify · 10 days ago

Text

AHHHH thank u so much!!! 🥹🥹 I am so happy you liked it :3 🫶🏻

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

˚.☾⋆✧ Blood Lust.

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

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

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

wordcount: 3,2k

You wake.

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

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

It’s 23:50.

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

Your eyes shoot open.

You had checked all the windows before going upstairs.

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

He isn’t here.

Or better—he hasn’t come back.

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

In that moment, realisation hits you.

It’s a full moon.

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

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

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

So you do.

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

Darkness.

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

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

Tick-tock.

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

So you kept it.

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

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

The emergency kit. In the kitchen.

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

You shouldn’t be scared. It’s Tom.

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t reply.

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

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

“Run.”

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

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

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

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

After all, you are still his favourite prey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. What else.

You sigh. “Yes, I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No more talking back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are ovulating.”

“I know, I—“

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

Merlin help you.

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

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

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

“Fuck—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All yours.”

tags: @belladonnaheartsthemoon, @riddlebella, @jo1818

#vampire!Tom loves u too #and I love you as well.#so much love #mwah mwah #feedback reblog <3 #viperify loves riddlebella <3 #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #tom riddle fic #harry potter #slytherin boys

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viperify · 10 days ago

Text

I am glad😈

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

˚.☾⋆✧ Blood Lust.

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

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

wordcount: 3,2k

You wake.

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

It’s 23:50.

Your eyes shoot open.

You had checked all the windows before going upstairs.

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

He isn’t here.

Or better—he hasn’t come back.

In that moment, realisation hits you.

It’s a full moon.

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

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

So you do.

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

Darkness.

Tick-tock.

So you kept it.

The emergency kit. In the kitchen.

You shouldn’t be scared. It’s Tom.

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

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

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

He doesn’t reply.

“Run.”

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

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

After all, you are still his favourite prey.

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

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

Of course. What else.

You sigh. “Yes, I do.”

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

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

“No more talking back.”

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

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

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

“You are ovulating.”

“I know, I—“

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

Merlin help you.

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

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

“Fuck—“

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

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

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

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

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

“All yours.”

tags: @belladonnaheartsthemoon, @riddlebella, @jo1818

#me too ngl.#vampire!Tom and me 🤝🏻#feedback reblog <3 #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #tom riddle fanfiction

378 notes · View notes

viperify · 11 days ago

Text

MY DEAREST WIFE🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

thank you so much for ur reblog and I am so glad u enjoyed it!!! 🥹🥹🥹 (I am only happy with what I write after it’s gotten ur approval)

yk I had to do the ovulation thing. My bad.

as always ilysm, thank u for taking the time to give feedback and read!!🥺💜 literally RUNNING 🏃🏼‍♀️ to u rn.

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

˚.☾⋆✧ Blood Lust.

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

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

wordcount: 3,2k

You wake.

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

It’s 23:50.

Your eyes shoot open.

You had checked all the windows before going upstairs.

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

He isn’t here.

Or better—he hasn’t come back.

In that moment, realisation hits you.

It’s a full moon.

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

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

So you do.

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

Darkness.

Tick-tock.

So you kept it.

The emergency kit. In the kitchen.

You shouldn’t be scared. It’s Tom.

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

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

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

He doesn’t reply.

“Run.”

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

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

After all, you are still his favourite prey.

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

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

Of course. What else.

You sigh. “Yes, I do.”

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

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

“No more talking back.”

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

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

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

“You are ovulating.”

“I know, I—“

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

Merlin help you.

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

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

“Fuck—“

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

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

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

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

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

“All yours.”

tags: @belladonnaheartsthemoon, @riddlebella, @jo1818

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