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[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☾₊⊹ The Moon to my Stars.

Short Summary: After your shared night on the Astronomy Tower, he seems to avoid you. When you do meet him again—things between you two change, and it turns out loving Tom Riddle is harder than expected.

Warnings: 18+. angst, fluff, smut. fingering, unprotected p in v, soft!Tom; so soft it probably counts as ooc, slight choking, creampie, panty-stealing, author is deeply in love with this man and is utterly delusional.

A/N: I have officially lost my sanity trying to hide my utter devotion to this man. Thank you for sticking around.

wordcount: 2,6k

part 1: ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ.

Days pass. Some long and exhausting, some filled with studying and revising. Your mind is occupied, clouded by the stressful nature of exam season—yet, Tom never leaves your mind. It even goes as far that you need physical distance from your textbooks—because that one night on the Astronomy Tower overshadows your every rational thought.

At this point you go outside, fur-lined winter boots leaving shallow footprints in the last remnants of the thick snow layer that once covered Hogwarts’ grounds. You tell yourself going for a walk will take your mind off your worries—whether it be the exams or him. In truth, it does the exact opposite.

Oddly enough, the scenery, seemingly frozen in time, reminds you more of him than it should. The unforgiving cold, hibernating nature, deer and other wildlife scavenging for anything edible under the freezing blanket of snow. Sun barely strong enough to make it through the clouds, occasional cool breezes sending shivers down your spine.

And yet, there is something beautiful about it.

Something you crave, something that makes your skin tingle, lets you stay just a little bit longer.

Something that makes you long to feel his touch again.

You haven’t spoken to him since he led you back to your dorm, coat still snugly wrapped around your shoulders. Back when he told you to have a good night. To dream well. To dream of him.

You hadn’t fallen asleep with a smile in a very long time before that night.

But now, doubts cloud your mind. You haven’t seen him in classes since—and he isn’t one to miss lessons. Was he deliberately avoiding you? He might have realised he made a mistake. Your spent night was a mistake. You were a mistake.

It shouldn’t mean this much to you—after all, you’ve hated him ever since you started Hogwarts. But what he told you felt special—felt real.

And when you arrive back in your dorm from your walk, passing by his coat that he hasn’t yet demanded back, you can’t stop yourself. Shutting your eyes when your hand brings the thick, woven fabric to your nose, inhaling his scent, his cologne. Sandalwood and amber—so unmistakably him, reminding you of what he told you when he wrapped it around your shoulders.

I want you to teach me. Teach me how to love you the way you deserve to be loved.

“And I want to try. But you need to let me.” You murmur to yourself, slowly letting go of the fabric and returning to your studies.

You don’t get anything more done that day.

And fuck, it frustrates you. So much, you once again lay in bed, sleepless.

You toss and turn, and as nothing seems to help, you get out of bed with a sigh.

Fetching your own coat, you leave your dorm, looking both ways down the hallway to make sure you’re alone, and then, with quick, yet quiet steps, you make your way towards the Astronomy Tower. You haven’t been back since that day.

It’s another freezing night, chilly breezes of wind brushing against your cheeks as you lean against the railing—the clear sky revealing what you came here for in the first place—the stars and the moon.

Minutes later, you’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t even notice the faint footsteps of someone approaching—not until that certain someone is standing right next to you, that is.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He remarks, voice controlled as he keeps a safe distance. “It’s cold out.���

You huff slightly at his words, recognizing the scent of his perfume even from a few metres away.

“Is that the only thing you care about, Riddle?” You reply coolly, not turning to face him. “What about me breaking curfew rules? You do usually take your job as prefect very seriously.”

Tom doesn’t answer, and for a few minutes, there’s silence between the both of you.

“You have been avoiding me.” You finally state, your breath visible in the cold night air.

He breathes out, a deep, long exhale as though he’s been preparing himself for this moment.

“I thought it’d be better this way. For both of us.”

You turn to him then, eyes scanning his face—the moonlight’s glow highlighting his sharp features, conflict visible in his eyes.

“Better?” You repeat in disbelief, taking a step backwards. “Right.”

His head sinks, eyes closed as he debates what to say next.

“I told you,” he rasps, fingers curling tighter around his wand, “I can’t. I don’t know how to—”

“You can’t what?” You cut him off. “Let someone in for once? Let someone behind that wall you build around yourself?”

“It’s not that easy,” he sneers, too turning towards you. “I wasn’t brought up like you. I don’t know how to show affection, how to manage— whatever this is.”

“Slowly, Tom. With patience. I am willing to help, you just need to let me.”

After a few seconds, he nods, slowly.

You don’t talk much after this, both of you sitting down, staring into the distance.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He questions after a while, fidgeting with his wand.

A subtle smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “I should be,” you reply. “Shouldn’t you be on patrol?”

He huffs. “I should be.”

After that night, things change. Tom tries to be there, subtly at first. Leading you to classes, tutoring you. Though you don’t speak often, he is there. Random shared nights on the Astronomy Tower after you have memorized his prefect schedule—Mondays and Thursdays.

You’d sit next to each other, watching the sky. Each time a little closer. Occasionally talk. Each time a little more. You could feel him getting more comfortable, opening up, telling you more about himself— his childhood.

It changes the way you view him entirely.

That behind his hard shell, his cold exterior, there’s this little boy in the orphanage—who was never understood, never cared for, never loved.

“You didn’t deserve this, Tom.” You say. You don’t know what else there is you could possibly tell him to make it alright—because there is nothing.

“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore now.” He replies.

It’s silent for a long time between you two after that.

“I am here for you, always.” You murmur after a few minutes, eyes flicking between your and his hand.

You contemplate for a moment.

Yet, almost involuntarily, your hand carefully inches closer until it finds his. The moment you touch him, you feel him tense, and you wait, giving him the time to draw back—but he doesn’t. Your hand—quite cold in contrast to his—tightens its grip then, and you again sit there in silence for a while.

“You are freezing,” he remarks quietly, thumb softly swiping over your index finger, “we should go back inside.”

So you do. He leads you back to your dorm, wishing you a good night—just like the first time. You want to ask whether he would like to have his coat back—but when you turn around, he is already gone.

You aren’t too sad about it—after all, it still smells like him.

—

Your nightly meetings have become a routine. He never lets you wait more than five minutes before he sits down beside you, joining you as you watch the stars. You talk about everyone and everything. And shit—the more he talks—his perfect voice—the more you crave his lips on yours again.

One night, when saying your goodbyes, you both stare at each other for a little too long. You get lost in the depths of his beautiful, dark brown eyes, and you don’t even really notice him getting closer until his hand brushes against yours.

“Shouldn’t— shouldn’t you be on patrol?” You murmur, eyes dropping to his lips for a split second, his face now mere inches away from yours—and he’s so tense you can quite literally feel the doubt radiating off of him.

He huffs softly, his voice coming out as a faint whisper.

“I should be.”

And then, he closes the gap, lips brushing against yours, first gently as to give you space and time to move away, but as you don’t, instead lean into his touch—with a firm, yet gentle hold on your neck, he pulls you closer. He takes his time with you, as though he wants to savour your taste, memorize how your lips feel against his, your soft breathing, your warmth—

Before you know it, his hand is wrapped around your wrist, dragging you after him. Not to your dorm, but to his. Just after the door closes, his lips are on yours again—not so gently this time, instead filled with hunger, lust.

“Tom,” you breathe, eyes meeting his as you part. “Are you sure?”

“I am if you are,” he replies, and it only takes a nod for his hand to tangle in your hair, pulling you in for another kiss, leading you to his bed.

As the back of your knees meets the edge of his bed, he gently guides you down with him until your body is caged between the mattress and himself. His eyes scan your face for any discomfort, any sign you want to stop.

But you don’t want him to stop.

Instead, your fingers clutch at his robes, pulling him down for another kiss.

He takes his time with you. Not quick, not rushed, not rough like last time—stripping each piece of clothing off your body with care, exploring, watching your every reaction.

And God, how you have missed his touch.

After he’s removed the last piece of fabric on your body—your lace panties—he looks up at you. The storm in his deep, brown eyes drawing you right in as he is nestled between your thighs. Then you see it—for the first time—a completely unfamiliar expression plastered on his face. Features softened to an extent you aren’t sure it even is the Tom Riddle everyone else feared you are dealing with. Eyes not having their usual harshness to them, lips curled into an almost-smile. And if you weren’t really, really delusional and completely mesmerized merely by the sight of him so eager for you, you would think—he looks as though he felt for you just as deeply as you did for him.

He lowers his head to press a single, gentle kiss to your inner thigh, one arm keeping you spread open for him. In the same moment, you feel two of his fingers gently swiping through your folds before they press against you, entering your already slick walls without much effort. A gasp from you is accompanied by a shaky breath against your thigh from his side as he hilts himself knuckle-deep, curling his fingers perfectly to brush against your most sensitive spot inside of you.

“Please— God, please, Tom.” You whimper, bucking your hips against his hand—anything to get him to move.

“Shh. You told me to take it slow. Want to take it slow with you this time.”

So, gently, he withdraws again, thumb drawing lazy circles on your clit as he sets a steady rhythm, fingers pumping into you slowly, his other hand making sure you stay spread open for him.

And although it’s slow, almost too slow, you feel the familiar knot in your lower stomach tightening, whimpering as he trails kisses down your inner thigh.

“You think you are ready for me?” He asks, eyes meeting yours.

“Yes, Tom. Please, I need you.”

He’s undressing so quickly it’s hard to follow, first the thud of his belt hitting the floor, then piece after piece of his clothes discarded somewhere near the bed. Apparently you aren’t the only one who’s been craving this.

He’s kissing you again when he’s done, leaning over you, your legs wrapped around his waist—feeling his tip swipe through your folds, collecting your arousal before he nudges against your entrance.

“Please, Tom.”

His restraint shatters.

He pushes inside of you, slowly, splitting you apart on his length. You gasp at the stretch, quickly muffling the sound with your lips on his once more.

You don’t want it to stop—you don’t want him to stop.

“God, you are tight,” he breathes shakily, wiping a strand of hair from your face. “Feel so good wrapped around me like that.”

He pauses briefly when he’s buried to the hilt, letting you adjust for a moment before he pulls out halfway, thrusting back inside.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “This okay?”

More than okay.

“Tom— please—”

Concern is visible on his face. “I didn’t hurt you last time, did I? I thought I might have.”

It’s sweet. So sweet he cares. But God, not now. Not now when he’s so deep, ridding you of any sanity you have left. You just need him to move.

“Tom. Please.”

He nods, exhaling another shaky breath, finally, finally setting a steady rhythm. Your nails dig into his back, urging him closer, deeper, anything.

More, more, more. You need more of him.

You haven’t realised how starved of his touch you were until now.

He knows, he can sense it. Hips snapping against yours faster, reaching deeper, pushing into you just at the right angle—you want to ask him how he knows all of this. How he can be so perfect at everything he does, how he can be so infuriatingly handsome—

“I am going to— fuck, Tom—“

Lips on yours. Hand around your throat, pressing down just tight enough to make you feel light-headed. Other hand kneading at your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingertips.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

You shatter. Break. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm rips through you, walls fluttering wildly around his thick cock, milking him. Your thighs tremble, keeping him close, keeping him right where you need him—buried deep inside of you.

He fucks you through it, helping you through your aftershocks, and with a final, deep thrust, he spills inside of you, his release painting your walls white.

Both of you stay like this for a while. Silence as your fingers swipe through his dark curls, over his back, keeping him close. So close. You don’t want to let go when he finally gets up.

Tom comes back with a wet towel, cleaning between your thighs before he hands you your clothes.

And you would put them on—if there wasn’t something missing.

“Where are my panties?”

His lips contort into a smug grin.

“Don’t know what you are talking about.”

You sigh.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.” Yes, full name. “That’s the second pair.”

He doesn’t do more than smile, getting into bed beside you, arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.

Well, in that case. One more pair lost wouldn’t mean the end of the world.

It’s just a few minutes later when you feel your eyelids getting heavy, ready to drift off to sleep, lying on his chest.

You feel him place a soft kiss on top of your head.

“I love you.” He whispers, and suddenly you think you may already be dreaming.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I love you too, Tommy.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[viperify]

Mary pleaseeee lmao ilysm.

and yes I wrote a drabble. I DID IT.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REBLOG AND FEEDBACK yk I love and appreciate u sm wifey. Kiss kiss kiss + a vampire kiss on your thighs.

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𖤝 bite marks.

Vampire!Tom, who messily drinks from your thighs until you’re on the verge of passing out—just to reward you with the most mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasm you’ve ever had.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

warnings: 18+, blood kink, biting, marking, oral f!receiving, fingering, slight dub con ig, vampire tommy who can’t get enough of ur soft thighs ;)

Tom is very serious about taking his time with his favourite meal—you.

Fangs lazily dragging over your already hypersensitive skin, drawing weak whimpers and whines from your bruised lips.

Bite marks here, bite marks there—you are certain both of your thighs are fucking covered in them. Small drops of blood trickle onto your once white bed sheets, staining them a crimson color—your beautiful, expensive satin bedsheets you spent a fortune on—and yet, the dizzying effect of his bite keeps you from complaining.

“Tom— no more, please, can’t— can’t take it,” you breathe shakily, palm half-heartedly trying to push him away.

But you aren’t there yet, and he knows it. He knows you can give him more, you can take more.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He purrs, voice still thick with the same hunger as when you just started—and it’s then that you know you are in for a long night.

And so, he finds a spot that he hasn’t tried, hasn’t bitten.

Although they are getting rare.

A single tear falls down your cheek as his sharp teeth sink into your flesh once more, groaning as he tastes the coppery flavour of your sweet, sweet blood—his favourite.

Fingertips digging into your thigh, pinning it to the soft mattress beneath you as though you were his last meal—greedy gulps filling the air, tongue lapping over the fresh wound.

And you can do nothing but take it.

When he finally withdraws—blood staining his lips and chin crimson—his eyes meet yours.

Scarlet eyes, burning through the darkness of the room. You look back with half-lidded eyes, ears ringing, fingertips tingling, dizzy because of how much blood he’s taken from you. Your eyes blink slowly, vision blurry, almost too blurry to notice the satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

“Did so well for me,” he drawls, moving to lean over you—without ever breaking eye contact.

His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your senses as soon as his skin touches yours. And what he does to you—whether it’s a side effect of his many, many bites, or the sweet sting caused by them—you cannot deny the aching feeling building in your lower stomach.

Legilimens, vampire— you should know better than to think he isn’t aware. Almost ready to drift off to sleep, you don’t immediately notice him between your legs again. Tom offers a raspy hum against your thigh when he feels the wet patch on your panties, gently swiping over it with his thumb—and suddenly, reality crashes down onto you.

A soft mewl leaves your lips, instinctively pressing your thighs together—only for Tom to spread them further apart.

“Look at you, all needy for me.” He purrs, pushing your lace panties to the side, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eyes, flickering briefly. “You have done so well. Now let me give you something back, hm?”

A soft nod from your side is all it takes before his tongue delves between your folds, groaning as he tastes your arousal—a deep, low sound you usually only get to hear whenever he’s greedily gulping down your blood.

His hands are firmly wrapped around your thighs, keeping you all spread open for him while he takes his time with you.

No haste.

As if you haven’t already lain sprawled out in front of him for what must be hours.

When his lips finally wrap around your puffy clit, two of his fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you perfectly, curling just right—you feel like you might actually not fucking survive this.

Your hips involuntarily buck against his face, telling him even without words you need more, need to come.

“Greedy girl. Come on, do it. Break for me.”

Tom knows what you like, what you need. Pointy teeth gently brushing over your clit, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot with each deep, rough thrust.

And then you do break.

Orgasm crashing over you in waves, walls clenching down tight around his digits. All the pent-up pressure releases at once, and for a moment you swear you see stars.

Even with your thighs shaking, broken moans spilling from your lips, he doesn’t stop—drawing out your high for as long as he can. It’s as though he enjoys this as much as you do.

Fuck, he probably does. At his complete mercy.

“That’s it— good girl.”

Only when you whimper in overstimulation does he slow down and finally sit back.

Looking at the mess he’s made of you.

Covered in his bite marks, blood mixing with the leaked arousal on your thighs, chest heaving as you lay boneless on the soft mattress—entirely spent.

“You are art like this, darling. My very own canvas—all for me, forever.”

He takes care of your wounds, cleans the dried blood on your thighs and the sheets, wiping a strand of hair from your face before he places a kiss on your forehead, finally laying down beside you.

“Forever, Tom.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[viperify]

second of all, i apologize for the incoming spam of notifications

second of all, I don’t mind at all.😋

[viperify]

first off, theme

first off, I love you.

[viperify]

honey ml!! 🥹

thank u sm for reading and ur feedback darling!! I appreciate it sm🫶🏻

wanna recreate?

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𖤝 bite marks.

Vampire!Tom, who messily drinks from your thighs until you’re on the verge of passing out—just to reward you with the most mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasm you’ve ever had.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

warnings: 18+, blood kink, biting, marking, oral f!receiving, fingering, slight dub con ig, vampire tommy who can’t get enough of ur soft thighs ;)

Tom is very serious about taking his time with his favourite meal—you.

Fangs lazily dragging over your already hypersensitive skin, drawing weak whimpers and whines from your bruised lips.

Bite marks here, bite marks there—you are certain both of your thighs are fucking covered in them. Small drops of blood trickle onto your once white bed sheets, staining them a crimson color—your beautiful, expensive satin bedsheets you spent a fortune on—and yet, the dizzying effect of his bite keeps you from complaining.

“Tom— no more, please, can’t— can’t take it,” you breathe shakily, palm half-heartedly trying to push him away.

But you aren’t there yet, and he knows it. He knows you can give him more, you can take more.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He purrs, voice still thick with the same hunger as when you just started—and it’s then that you know you are in for a long night.

And so, he finds a spot that he hasn’t tried, hasn’t bitten.

Although they are getting rare.

A single tear falls down your cheek as his sharp teeth sink into your flesh once more, groaning as he tastes the coppery flavour of your sweet, sweet blood—his favourite.

Fingertips digging into your thigh, pinning it to the soft mattress beneath you as though you were his last meal—greedy gulps filling the air, tongue lapping over the fresh wound.

And you can do nothing but take it.

When he finally withdraws—blood staining his lips and chin crimson—his eyes meet yours.

Scarlet eyes, burning through the darkness of the room. You look back with half-lidded eyes, ears ringing, fingertips tingling, dizzy because of how much blood he’s taken from you. Your eyes blink slowly, vision blurry, almost too blurry to notice the satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

“Did so well for me,” he drawls, moving to lean over you—without ever breaking eye contact.

His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your senses as soon as his skin touches yours. And what he does to you—whether it’s a side effect of his many, many bites, or the sweet sting caused by them—you cannot deny the aching feeling building in your lower stomach.

Legilimens, vampire— you should know better than to think he isn’t aware. Almost ready to drift off to sleep, you don’t immediately notice him between your legs again. Tom offers a raspy hum against your thigh when he feels the wet patch on your panties, gently swiping over it with his thumb—and suddenly, reality crashes down onto you.

A soft mewl leaves your lips, instinctively pressing your thighs together—only for Tom to spread them further apart.

“Look at you, all needy for me.” He purrs, pushing your lace panties to the side, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eyes, flickering briefly. “You have done so well. Now let me give you something back, hm?”

A soft nod from your side is all it takes before his tongue delves between your folds, groaning as he tastes your arousal—a deep, low sound you usually only get to hear whenever he’s greedily gulping down your blood.

His hands are firmly wrapped around your thighs, keeping you all spread open for him while he takes his time with you.

No haste.

As if you haven’t already lain sprawled out in front of him for what must be hours.

When his lips finally wrap around your puffy clit, two of his fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you perfectly, curling just right—you feel like you might actually not fucking survive this.

Your hips involuntarily buck against his face, telling him even without words you need more, need to come.

“Greedy girl. Come on, do it. Break for me.”

Tom knows what you like, what you need. Pointy teeth gently brushing over your clit, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot with each deep, rough thrust.

And then you do break.

Orgasm crashing over you in waves, walls clenching down tight around his digits. All the pent-up pressure releases at once, and for a moment you swear you see stars.

Even with your thighs shaking, broken moans spilling from your lips, he doesn’t stop—drawing out your high for as long as he can. It’s as though he enjoys this as much as you do.

Fuck, he probably does. At his complete mercy.

“That’s it— good girl.”

Only when you whimper in overstimulation does he slow down and finally sit back.

Looking at the mess he’s made of you.

Covered in his bite marks, blood mixing with the leaked arousal on your thighs, chest heaving as you lay boneless on the soft mattress—entirely spent.

“You are art like this, darling. My very own canvas—all for me, forever.”

He takes care of your wounds, cleans the dried blood on your thighs and the sheets, wiping a strand of hair from your face before he places a kiss on your forehead, finally laying down beside you.

“Forever, Tom.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[viperify]

STOP GASLIGHTING MY HEIGHT

Gaslighting? Is being small and getting called small gaslighting?? 🤭🤭

[viperify]

thank you so much jas, ily🫶🏻

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𖤝 bite marks.

Vampire!Tom, who messily drinks from your thighs until you’re on the verge of passing out—just to reward you with the most mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasm you’ve ever had.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

warnings: 18+, blood kink, biting, marking, oral f!receiving, fingering, slight dub con ig, vampire tommy who can’t get enough of ur soft thighs ;)

Tom is very serious about taking his time with his favourite meal—you.

Fangs lazily dragging over your already hypersensitive skin, drawing weak whimpers and whines from your bruised lips.

Bite marks here, bite marks there—you are certain both of your thighs are fucking covered in them. Small drops of blood trickle onto your once white bed sheets, staining them a crimson color—your beautiful, expensive satin bedsheets you spent a fortune on—and yet, the dizzying effect of his bite keeps you from complaining.

“Tom— no more, please, can’t— can’t take it,” you breathe shakily, palm half-heartedly trying to push him away.

But you aren’t there yet, and he knows it. He knows you can give him more, you can take more.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He purrs, voice still thick with the same hunger as when you just started—and it’s then that you know you are in for a long night.

And so, he finds a spot that he hasn’t tried, hasn’t bitten.

Although they are getting rare.

A single tear falls down your cheek as his sharp teeth sink into your flesh once more, groaning as he tastes the coppery flavour of your sweet, sweet blood—his favourite.

Fingertips digging into your thigh, pinning it to the soft mattress beneath you as though you were his last meal—greedy gulps filling the air, tongue lapping over the fresh wound.

And you can do nothing but take it.

When he finally withdraws—blood staining his lips and chin crimson—his eyes meet yours.

Scarlet eyes, burning through the darkness of the room. You look back with half-lidded eyes, ears ringing, fingertips tingling, dizzy because of how much blood he’s taken from you. Your eyes blink slowly, vision blurry, almost too blurry to notice the satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

“Did so well for me,” he drawls, moving to lean over you—without ever breaking eye contact.

His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your senses as soon as his skin touches yours. And what he does to you—whether it’s a side effect of his many, many bites, or the sweet sting caused by them—you cannot deny the aching feeling building in your lower stomach.

Legilimens, vampire— you should know better than to think he isn’t aware. Almost ready to drift off to sleep, you don’t immediately notice him between your legs again. Tom offers a raspy hum against your thigh when he feels the wet patch on your panties, gently swiping over it with his thumb—and suddenly, reality crashes down onto you.

A soft mewl leaves your lips, instinctively pressing your thighs together—only for Tom to spread them further apart.

“Look at you, all needy for me.” He purrs, pushing your lace panties to the side, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eyes, flickering briefly. “You have done so well. Now let me give you something back, hm?”

A soft nod from your side is all it takes before his tongue delves between your folds, groaning as he tastes your arousal—a deep, low sound you usually only get to hear whenever he’s greedily gulping down your blood.

His hands are firmly wrapped around your thighs, keeping you all spread open for him while he takes his time with you.

No haste.

As if you haven’t already lain sprawled out in front of him for what must be hours.

When his lips finally wrap around your puffy clit, two of his fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you perfectly, curling just right—you feel like you might actually not fucking survive this.

Your hips involuntarily buck against his face, telling him even without words you need more, need to come.

“Greedy girl. Come on, do it. Break for me.”

Tom knows what you like, what you need. Pointy teeth gently brushing over your clit, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot with each deep, rough thrust.

And then you do break.

Orgasm crashing over you in waves, walls clenching down tight around his digits. All the pent-up pressure releases at once, and for a moment you swear you see stars.

Even with your thighs shaking, broken moans spilling from your lips, he doesn’t stop—drawing out your high for as long as he can. It’s as though he enjoys this as much as you do.

Fuck, he probably does. At his complete mercy.

“That’s it— good girl.”

Only when you whimper in overstimulation does he slow down and finally sit back.

Looking at the mess he’s made of you.

Covered in his bite marks, blood mixing with the leaked arousal on your thighs, chest heaving as you lay boneless on the soft mattress—entirely spent.

“You are art like this, darling. My very own canvas—all for me, forever.”

He takes care of your wounds, cleans the dried blood on your thighs and the sheets, wiping a strand of hair from your face before he places a kiss on your forehead, finally laying down beside you.

“Forever, Tom.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[viperify]

Hii, I love your stories and writing style. I was wondering if I may request a oneshot about barty Crouch Jr. ? If you do not feel comfortable to write about it, that's completely alright.

Have a nice day! <3

hi babe!!! Thank u sm, you’re such a sweetheart🥺💖

I am afraid I don’t currently write for barty, I am so sorry!! I don’t think I could do him justice the way he deserves :(

[viperify]

“to love tom riddle, it is to let the monster in you feast.

and for tom riddle to love, it is to let the monster in him sleep.”

screaming crying throwing up. beautiful. all of it.

pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease could you possibly write a short little headcanon list/ oneshot for tom riddle? can be about whatever, i seriously have not been able to think of anything good lately !

i love u 🥺 here’s a weird little piece i wrote last night in a haze of cold medicine for falling inlove with tom.

title- boy left wanting.

——————————

you don’t just fall in love with tom riddle.

you placate him the way you would a fire across the moor — keeping yourself far enough to not be burnt but close enough to feel the heat of the molten and know it’s only a matter of time before it spreads. engulfs. because tom riddle, above all else, is not a man to be snuffed out. not one who fades into a haze of ash and shadows. he’s persistent. and when he has his mind made up, it’s only a matter of time before you find his flames have spread under your feet, and began licking up your ankles.

your chest swells with the ache of it before your heart does. it’s the knowing that comes first, slow and awful:

you are going to burn for this.

for a while he exists in your life like a secret—kept not out of fear, but perseverance. reverence. the kind old gods would carve into marble and bury under cathedral floors, whispered only when the wind feels brave enough to announce the contradiction he’s become.

he holds holy in his palm in a way no unholy man should. and each time, you meet him like a confession: late, guilty, yet lacking in shame.

there is no kindness to him. not the usual degree, not the kind people wear in pleasantries. he offers up what he knows, when he knows he can, and presents it to you in fractions until he’s confident you’ll mathematize it all. he’s patient. he listens. listens so sharply it feels like you’re being taken apart with silk gloves. but it’s the only way he knows.

he says your name like it’s a hypothesis. something he can comprehend. study until he memorizes the fragments of each syllable that formalize it.

“you’re not afraid of me,” he says, long into night.

your breath fogs in the winter air. the frost doesn’t touch him.

“you want me to be.”

his mouth curls—not quite a smile, not quite mockery.

“i want you to be right.”

———————

you find that he doesn’t touch you the way lovers do when they want to claim. he touches you the way curiosity does when it wants to understand. tempered. fingers ghosting your thigh in the library when you lean too close. calloused palps tracing the edge of your sleeve like he’s charting the thread count. he longs to know. know the way you exist here in physical and there in ethereal. it’s the only way he can learn to trust.

he knows you’ll let him, so he doesn’t ask for permission. he just waits.

waits until your breath is too shallow and your skin too loud. until you’re blinking up at him with morning dew dotting your lashes, softened like spring.

everything is paced. every gesture a move calculated in test how of you’ll react. so when he finally does touch you in full, pressing his palm to your chest, it isn’t to hold. it’s to feel your pulse against his hand and say,

“how curious. you aren’t afraid, and still it stammers.”

you don’t fall in love.

you dissolve.

sugar left in the rain. you become the softness he can swallow. the throat he doesn’t slit. the mercy he never believed in.

and for a while, he tries.

tries to keep his hands folded. tries to keep the act up for as long as possible. tells himself you are a study, not a weakness. that your laughter doesn’t stain the walls of his dormitory. that your absence doesn’t hang around his shoulders like the curls against his neck.

but you see it.

in the way his flames cool when you speak. in the way he stares at you during duels, like he’s checking to see if you’ll flinch. if you’ll run. you never do. and that terrifies him more than anything.

because you, unafraid you, who matches him step for step, breath for breath—you make him feel possible. humanized in ways he has never known as the self-made god trapped inside the boy left wanting.

he tells you truth, quiet and unmade, “if i loved you, i would destroy you.”

you hum against the curve of his throat, mouth warm on his skin. “maybe that’s the only way i’d believe it.”

he just huffs. as if he’ll never forget it. “maddening girl.”

and that’s how it happens.

not with flowers. not with vows. but with time and ruin and restraint. with the realization that love, like his, is its most beautiful when it’s on the kept on the premise of understanding. that perfect balance.

you don’t fall in love with tom riddle. you stand still and let the tide take you.

to love tom riddle, it is to let the monster in you feast.

and for tom riddle to love, it is to let the monster in him sleep.

[viperify]

👆🏻all of the above.

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𖤝 bite marks.

Vampire!Tom, who messily drinks from your thighs until you’re on the verge of passing out—just to reward you with the most mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasm you’ve ever had.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

warnings: 18+, blood kink, biting, marking, oral f!receiving, fingering, slight dub con ig, vampire tommy who can’t get enough of ur soft thighs ;)

Tom is very serious about taking his time with his favourite meal—you.

Fangs lazily dragging over your already hypersensitive skin, drawing weak whimpers and whines from your bruised lips.

Bite marks here, bite marks there—you are certain both of your thighs are fucking covered in them. Small drops of blood trickle onto your once white bed sheets, staining them a crimson color—your beautiful, expensive satin bedsheets you spent a fortune on—and yet, the dizzying effect of his bite keeps you from complaining.

“Tom— no more, please, can’t— can’t take it,” you breathe shakily, palm half-heartedly trying to push him away.

But you aren’t there yet, and he knows it. He knows you can give him more, you can take more.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He purrs, voice still thick with the same hunger as when you just started—and it’s then that you know you are in for a long night.

And so, he finds a spot that he hasn’t tried, hasn’t bitten.

Although they are getting rare.

A single tear falls down your cheek as his sharp teeth sink into your flesh once more, groaning as he tastes the coppery flavour of your sweet, sweet blood—his favourite.

Fingertips digging into your thigh, pinning it to the soft mattress beneath you as though you were his last meal—greedy gulps filling the air, tongue lapping over the fresh wound.

And you can do nothing but take it.

When he finally withdraws—blood staining his lips and chin crimson—his eyes meet yours.

Scarlet eyes, burning through the darkness of the room. You look back with half-lidded eyes, ears ringing, fingertips tingling, dizzy because of how much blood he’s taken from you. Your eyes blink slowly, vision blurry, almost too blurry to notice the satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

“Did so well for me,” he drawls, moving to lean over you—without ever breaking eye contact.

His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your senses as soon as his skin touches yours. And what he does to you—whether it’s a side effect of his many, many bites, or the sweet sting caused by them—you cannot deny the aching feeling building in your lower stomach.

Legilimens, vampire— you should know better than to think he isn’t aware. Almost ready to drift off to sleep, you don’t immediately notice him between your legs again. Tom offers a raspy hum against your thigh when he feels the wet patch on your panties, gently swiping over it with his thumb—and suddenly, reality crashes down onto you.

A soft mewl leaves your lips, instinctively pressing your thighs together—only for Tom to spread them further apart.

“Look at you, all needy for me.” He purrs, pushing your lace panties to the side, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eyes, flickering briefly. “You have done so well. Now let me give you something back, hm?”

A soft nod from your side is all it takes before his tongue delves between your folds, groaning as he tastes your arousal—a deep, low sound you usually only get to hear whenever he’s greedily gulping down your blood.

His hands are firmly wrapped around your thighs, keeping you all spread open for him while he takes his time with you.

No haste.

As if you haven’t already lain sprawled out in front of him for what must be hours.

When his lips finally wrap around your puffy clit, two of his fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you perfectly, curling just right—you feel like you might actually not fucking survive this.

Your hips involuntarily buck against his face, telling him even without words you need more, need to come.

“Greedy girl. Come on, do it. Break for me.”

Tom knows what you like, what you need. Pointy teeth gently brushing over your clit, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot with each deep, rough thrust.

And then you do break.

Orgasm crashing over you in waves, walls clenching down tight around his digits. All the pent-up pressure releases at once, and for a moment you swear you see stars.

Even with your thighs shaking, broken moans spilling from your lips, he doesn’t stop—drawing out your high for as long as he can. It’s as though he enjoys this as much as you do.

Fuck, he probably does. At his complete mercy.

“That’s it— good girl.”

Only when you whimper in overstimulation does he slow down and finally sit back.

Looking at the mess he’s made of you.

Covered in his bite marks, blood mixing with the leaked arousal on your thighs, chest heaving as you lay boneless on the soft mattress—entirely spent.

“You are art like this, darling. My very own canvas—all for me, forever.”

He takes care of your wounds, cleans the dried blood on your thighs and the sheets, wiping a strand of hair from your face before he places a kiss on your forehead, finally laying down beside you.

“Forever, Tom.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[viperify]

not sure if this is tmi, but i thought of “bite marks” while having sex

1. tmi doesn’t exist in my vocabulary.

2. that’s… hot.

[viperify]

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𖤝 bite marks.

Vampire!Tom, who messily drinks from your thighs until you’re on the verge of passing out—just to reward you with the most mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasm you’ve ever had.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

warnings: 18+, blood kink, biting, marking, oral f!receiving, fingering, slight dub con ig, vampire tommy who can’t get enough of ur soft thighs ;)

Tom is very serious about taking his time with his favourite meal—you.

Fangs lazily dragging over your already hypersensitive skin, drawing weak whimpers and whines from your bruised lips.

Bite marks here, bite marks there—you are certain both of your thighs are fucking covered in them. Small drops of blood trickle onto your once white bed sheets, staining them a crimson color—your beautiful, expensive satin bedsheets you spent a fortune on—and yet, the dizzying effect of his bite keeps you from complaining.

“Tom— no more, please, can’t— can’t take it,” you breathe shakily, palm half-heartedly trying to push him away.

But you aren’t there yet, and he knows it. He knows you can give him more, you can take more.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He purrs, voice still thick with the same hunger as when you just started—and it’s then that you know you are in for a long night.

And so, he finds a spot that he hasn’t tried, hasn’t bitten.

Although they are getting rare.

A single tear falls down your cheek as his sharp teeth sink into your flesh once more, groaning as he tastes the coppery flavour of your sweet, sweet blood—his favourite.

Fingertips digging into your thigh, pinning it to the soft mattress beneath you as though you were his last meal—greedy gulps filling the air, tongue lapping over the fresh wound.

And you can do nothing but take it.

When he finally withdraws—blood staining his lips and chin crimson—his eyes meet yours.

Scarlet eyes, burning through the darkness of the room. You look back with half-lidded eyes, ears ringing, fingertips tingling, dizzy because of how much blood he’s taken from you. Your eyes blink slowly, vision blurry, almost too blurry to notice the satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

“Did so well for me,” he drawls, moving to lean over you—without ever breaking eye contact.

His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your senses as soon as his skin touches yours. And what he does to you—whether it’s a side effect of his many, many bites, or the sweet sting caused by them—you cannot deny the aching feeling building in your lower stomach.

Legilimens, vampire— you should know better than to think he isn’t aware. Almost ready to drift off to sleep, you don’t immediately notice him between your legs again. Tom offers a raspy hum against your thigh when he feels the wet patch on your panties, gently swiping over it with his thumb—and suddenly, reality crashes down onto you.

A soft mewl leaves your lips, instinctively pressing your thighs together—only for Tom to spread them further apart.

“Look at you, all needy for me.” He purrs, pushing your lace panties to the side, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eyes, flickering briefly. “You have done so well. Now let me give you something back, hm?”

A soft nod from your side is all it takes before his tongue delves between your folds, groaning as he tastes your arousal—a deep, low sound you usually only get to hear whenever he’s greedily gulping down your blood.

His hands are firmly wrapped around your thighs, keeping you all spread open for him while he takes his time with you.

No haste.

As if you haven’t already lain sprawled out in front of him for what must be hours.

When his lips finally wrap around your puffy clit, two of his fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you perfectly, curling just right—you feel like you might actually not fucking survive this.

Your hips involuntarily buck against his face, telling him even without words you need more, need to come.

“Greedy girl. Come on, do it. Break for me.”

Tom knows what you like, what you need. Pointy teeth gently brushing over your clit, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot with each deep, rough thrust.

And then you do break.

Orgasm crashing over you in waves, walls clenching down tight around his digits. All the pent-up pressure releases at once, and for a moment you swear you see stars.

Even with your thighs shaking, broken moans spilling from your lips, he doesn’t stop—drawing out your high for as long as he can. It’s as though he enjoys this as much as you do.

Fuck, he probably does. At his complete mercy.

“That’s it— good girl.”

Only when you whimper in overstimulation does he slow down and finally sit back.

Looking at the mess he’s made of you.

Covered in his bite marks, blood mixing with the leaked arousal on your thighs, chest heaving as you lay boneless on the soft mattress—entirely spent.

“You are art like this, darling. My very own canvas—all for me, forever.”

He takes care of your wounds, cleans the dried blood on your thighs and the sheets, wiping a strand of hair from your face before he places a kiss on your forehead, finally laying down beside you.

“Forever, Tom.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[viperify]

AHHH this was so hot bub!!! I am down bad for some breeding kink and for u.

"no more begging? no more please, professor?"

JSDFNDSJDJFHI yeah ok im dead already.

and tom follows, spilling inside you again, grinding his hips deep to make sure every drop stays where it belongs.

Fuck fuck fuck yes please.

"one more," he purrs, dragging a single finger through the mess between your thighs. "just to make sure."

Anything you say, sir.

"filthy whore," he hisses, and the magic in his voice pulses through your bones, curling tight around your lungs.

On my cellular device??????

"you'll stay like this until I'm satisfied," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear. "until you're so full of my cum you'll never forget who you belong to."

Umm so. MARY!?!??!??!

KJDSJSDF I need more ASAP. This was everything. Now come here and fix the mess u’ve made of me.

────۶ৎ honeyed venom

— professor!tom riddle x reader

you shouldn’t be here. not like this—not bent over your professor’s desk, body ruined from the hours he’s spent claiming you. but tom isn’t finished. not until you’re full, not until he’s sure his cum sticks, not until you understand that you belong to him.

warnings: smut, breeding kink, overstimulation, use of parseltongue, degradation & praise, marking, choking, desk fucking.

𓏲 ࣪₊ ❥ 𓂃 more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

the chamber is cold, the stone beneath you rough, unyielding. you can barely breathe, your limbs weak, your mind hazy with the hours he’s spent pulling you apart.

but tom is never satisfied.

his hands, hot against your trembling skin, keep you in place, pressing you deeper into the hard surface of the chamber floor. his cock is still hard, still buried deep inside you, throbbing as he watches the mess he’s made of you, the sticky cum dripping between your thighs.

"so full of me," he muses, dragging his fingers through his cum which is dripping out of you before pressing it back inside you. "but—" he thrusts slow, deep, making you whimper—"we can’t have you spilling it, can we?"

you can’t answer him. not when he’s still fucking into you, not when every thrust sends another shockwave of pleasure through your exhausted body.

but tom thrives on that.

"nothing left to say?" he taunts, smirking against your skin. "no more begging? no more please, professor?"

his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to look at him. his dark eyes gleam with wicked amusement.

"pathetic little thing," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "you asked for this, didn’t you? crawled into my office, begging to be fucked, to be bred."

his pace turns brutal, dragging another broken cry from your lips.

"mine," he hisses, low and guttural, parseltongue curling around your spine like a serpent’s coil.

the magic consumes you, twisting inside you, and suddenly, the pleasure is too much. your climax rips through you so violently it makes your vision blur.

and tom follows, spilling inside you again, grinding his hips deep to make sure every drop stays where it belongs.

his breath is warm against your ear, his fingers still wrapped around your throat like a collar. then his lips ghost over your skin, his voice velvet and venom.

"we’re not finished, darling."

your body is barely holding itself together, wrecked and trembling, but tom is not done. his hunger is insatiable, his cock still hard, his eyes gleaming with something ravenous.

so he moves you.

with a lazy flick of his wand, the air shifts, the damp chill of the chamber bleeding into the heavy, intoxicating warmth of his office. parchment and ink replace the scent of ancient stone, the dim candlelight casting shadows against the towering bookshelves.

then he drops you onto his desk, spreading you open beneath him.

"one more," he purrs, dragging a single finger through the mess between your thighs. "just to make sure."

and then he’s thrusting back into you, stretching you all over again.

your legs are shaking, body limp against his desk, but professor riddle isn’t done with you. his grip on your hips is still firm, his cock still buried deep inside you, thick with his own release.

"oh, darling," he croons, dragging his fingers along your spine, mocking your trembling. "surely you’re not tired already."

you whimper, but he just laughs—low, rich, cruel.

"pathetic." his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling your head back so he can see the dazed, wrecked expression on your face. "and yet, you asked for this, didn’t you? crawled into my office like a desperate little thing, begging to be fucked."

his cock twitches inside you, still hard, and you swear you could cry.

"professor—"

his hand clamps over your mouth.

"oh, no, no more whining." his grip shifts, fingers wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. "you wanted to be bred, didn’t you? wanted to feel me fill you, use you exactly as I please."

his other hand slides down between your legs, fingers slipping through the mess he’s made of you, pressing down where he’s still buried so deep.

"filthy whore," he hisses, and the magic in his voice pulses through your bones, curling tight around your lungs.

he starts moving again, slow and deep, each thrust pressing you against the hard wood, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls in a way that makes you see stars.

"you’ll stay like this until I’m satisfied," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear. "until you’re so full of my cum you’ll never forget who you belong to."

he fucks you through another orgasm, forcing it from you with punishing thrusts and whispered parseltongue, until you’re trembling, sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure. and still—

"again," he commands, not slowing, not stopping. "you can take it, darling. and if you can’t," his fingers dig into your hips, possessive, relentless, "then I’ll make you."

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[viperify]

hello 😊 i don't know if requests are open, but would it be possible to have a mar x honey smut drabble??? lots of spanking and dirty talking 👉👈

please make it extra sticky and wet! thank you 🥰

Hello!😍 Thank you so much for requesting! I’ll be dropping it into your inbox asap ;)

[viperify]

DJFHSFDH mary my wifey :((

Thank u sm for ur reblogging and ur feedback, yk it means the world to me!! don’t ever go on break again bitch

also pls u r so funny these reactions have me💀

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⊹ ݁˖ Lesson Learned.

Short Summary: An unlocked door to the Restricted Section after curfew turns out to be a trap rather than an invitation. One that you, after all, don’t mind having fallen for.

Warnings: 18+ only! degradation, size kink, marking, Tom Riddle is actually decent at dirty talk?, unprotected p in v, creampie, weird sex position bc I am losing my sanity

A/N: Thesis defense on Monday. Send help.

wordcount: 1,5k

Saturday, 10 pm.

One hour past curfew—a time you’d normally be in your dorm, maybe studying, though more likely sleeping.

However, your routine has changed. It’s been a month or two since you needed a book. One single book to study for Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Curfew this, curfew that—you had never broken a single school rule before, and being pretty certain it was Gryffindor’s turn for patrols in that part of the castle, you figured you’d be let off with nothing but a reprimand if caught anyway. So, you decided to sneak out.

And you were right—until you made it to the library, nothing unusual had happened.

First, you couldn’t believe your luck when an unlocked door to the Restricted Section led you right where you needed to go, so without further hesitation, you took your chance. However, just when you found what you were looking for—footsteps.

Not faint footsteps in some other part of the spacious library—no, heading in your direction, and definitely not far enough to still make a run for it.

Turns out it wasn’t the Gryffindor prefect keeping an eye on the library that night but Slytherin’s.

You sighed.

Tom fucking Riddle.

After scolding you for what felt like hours, he finally concluded with his prefect-catchphrase. “What do you see as an adequate punishment for breaking curfew rules?”

You expected anything—detention, being reported to the headmaster, anything to humiliate you, knowing his ways of dealing with rule breakers.

You expected anything but what he actually wanted from you.

When you didn’t answer, his signature smirk crept onto his lips, the one that you knew oh-too-well. The one he used whenever he got exactly what he wanted.

“On your knees.” He said finally, voice strict and void of any emotion.

An order you, for whatever reason—back then, probably in fear—obliged.

And since then—let’s just say, it’s become a thing.

You and him.

Saturday nights.

The first time was part of his condition not to report you. “Come back next Saturday, and I might just forget about this.”

So you did.

And the Saturday after—out of sheer curiosity—too.

You remember his eyes, flashing faintly in the darkness of the library when he spotted you waiting for him that night—door again left unlocked. Just half a minute later, he had you bent over one of the wooden desks, skirt left pooling at your ankles, panties merely shoved to the side before he slipped inside of you with one singular, quick thrust.

He’s put you into positions you hadn’t even heard about. He fucks fast and carelessly, tightly gripping your hair, thrusting into you as if he has a point to prove.

Then, outside of your little rendezvous, he acts as though he doesn’t even know you. Doesn’t even spare you so much as a glance. He puts on this perfect mask that he wears so casually, the one that makes Tom Riddle seem like just any other student.

But he isn’t just any other student.

You know it.

He knows you know it.

—

Again, you are mindlessly strolling through the dark and empty library, collecting dust on your fingertips as you walk through the many aisles of the Restricted Section. Not particularly looking for anything but rather waiting—waiting for him to bend you over the next best furniture, to maybe even only push you to your knees to suck him off and then leave without another word.

You shouldn’t even fucking enjoy this.

Although, even when he doesn’t seem to prioritize your pleasure, he manages to give back each time. In these few weeks Tom has already learnt how your body works, what you need in order to feel good—and though he would never admit it, you do notice how his brows draw together whenever you clench around him, how he groans ever so quietly when you come undone around him—how your pleasure only heightens his.

Then—

“You are a desperate little slut, aren’t you?”

Your head snaps to the side as you hear a voice—his voice—from behind, torn from your thoughts as you turn to face him, his tall frame towering over you.

“Wh—“ you start, originally to complain about his choice of words, desperately trying to deny the feeling building in your lower stomach. But you are cut off by his lips crashing onto yours, stealing your breath away as he captures you in a fiery kiss.

The next second he’s got you pinned between him and the bookshelf behind you, your hands already fumbling with his belt. Tom’s hands meanwhile wander from your waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze that makes you yelp.

Trousers barely past his hips, and he’s closing the gap between the both of you again. You feel him pressed against you—through the fabric of his underwear, already hard and thick, throbbing in anticipation.

“Jump,” he urges, supporting you with his hands on the back of your thighs, helping you wrap your legs around his waist. He’s got you pinned against the bookshelf as he frees himself, eyes briefly locking onto yours, those beautiful, dark brown eyes that you swear have so many stories to tell. But he doesn’t waste time. A gasp falls over your lips as he splits you apart with one rough, harsh thrust, the stretch overwhelming at first—it always is.

“Fuck— you are tight like this—“ he rasps, groaning against your neck as his head dips, allowing you—and probably himself as well—to adjust.

“Not— wasting time today. Got another girl waiting for you already?” You ask half-heartedly, accompanied by a small wince, and although you don’t actually mean it, the words seem to draw his full attention to you.

His eyes darken slightly at your words, lips curling into a possessive grin.

“Just you today, darling.” He replies casually, giving you the slightest thrust. “Jealous?”

“Never— fuck—“

Another thrust—half of his length this time—cuts you off.

“You can take it,” he reassures, gaze briefly dropping to where you are connected. “You’ve always taken me so well.”

And then, he pulls out—almost completely, just to push back inside. You whimper-moan, sign enough for him to keep going—slow at first.

This position makes everything more intense—bodies pressed against each other, though still half-clothed, his cock stretching you in ways you weren’t sure you could handle. You swear he is bigger like this, if even possible—and fuck, the feeling of pain and pleasure slowly bleeding into one has your mind spinning, blanking out.

You cling onto him, nails digging into his robes, ankles locked behind his back as he starts to thrust deeper. He notices you tensing up. Of course he does. Tom notices everything, always. Every little detail. And it fucking infuriates you.

“Shh. I know. Breathe, you have to breathe for me.”

Instead of your usual witty comebacks, you for once follow his command.

Fucking hell.

His lips are all over your neck, sucking marks into your skin that you’d have to cover up for days to come, but you are too far gone to care. Only when you finally relax, walls fluttering around his length, he continues. Fast. Harsh. Unrelenting.

“That’s a good girl. You feel perfect wrapped around me like this, squeezing me so tight.” He murmurs against your lips, breathing heavily as his hips snap against yours, bookshelf creaking behind you as the sharp wooden edges bite into your back.

You can only do so much as nod, your own pleasure building rapidly in the pit of your stomach. His lips are on yours once more as he reaches between the both of you, thumb finding your clit—and you lose it. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins as your climax washes over you—walls clamping down tight around him—so tight that he also doesn’t last much longer.

With a throaty groan, he empties himself inside of you, painting your walls white with his release, hips flush against yours as he wrings out every last ounce of pleasure for the both of you.

Then, silence, apart from a few heavy breaths.

“Don’t your friends miss you?” You ask after a minute, sarcasm evident in your voice, wiping a dark curl from his forehead.

He huffs. “You offer quite acceptable company.”

With that, he helps you to your feet, his length slipping out of you, the sudden emptiness making you hiss.

“Fuck— but we are not— friends, Riddle.”

A smirk decorates his sharp features. “That’s right. You are my little toy, coming back to me despite knowing I am going to fucking ruin this cunt over and over again.”

You roll your eyes as you pull up your skirt, legs shaking, the ache between your thighs growing with each second—you just know you are going to be sore, so damn sore. “I fucking hate you.”

He laughs at that. Laughs.

“My dorm, next Saturday, same time.” Tom says, voice back to strict and controlled, his perfect little mask back in place as he turns to leave.

“I am running out of ideas how to fuck you in here.”

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

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[viperify]

mar stop making me horny 😤😩

keep going

I am actually never gonna stop what about that🫵🏻

[viperify]

i may not be a tom girl (yet) but i am definitely a mar girl 😏😏❤️

I am definitely a honey girl🥵