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#tom riddle fic
patrophthia · 5 months
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Hello! Could I request tom being soft and clingy. Thank you and Your stories are awesome!
hi! thank you for reading my work!!!
magic word | tom riddle
pairing: tom riddle x reader
genre: fluff, slight jealousy, humor, established relationships, OOC tom
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Contrary to popular belief Tom Riddle loves physical touch —only if he’s the one insisting it of course. And, especially when he’s just tiniest bit jealous. 
“Tom?” You ask, feeling him lazily wrap himself over you tighter. “I need to use the bathroom.” 
“No you don’t,” he murmur, tone annoyed. 
“Yes I do,” you tell him, watching as he kept his eyes on the book in his hand. “I need to go.” 
“You wouldn’t be needing to go if you were with Creevey,” he snickers, not releasing his grip on you. 
You bite back a laugh at his words. “This again?”
Two days back, Creevey had made the mistake of asking you out on a date with Tom just a few feet behind him. And though the two of you weren’t exactly public about your relationship, most of Hogswart knew to not try anything on either of you. 
Poor Creevey who build up the courage to finally ask you out after five (or was it six?) months of fancying you, only to be flat out rejected not by you, but by your boyfriend.
Who —for the first time ever— kissed you in front of everyone before turning to ask him, quite charmingly you might add. “Did you need something, Creevey?” 
You could only hope that he’s handling his heartbreak well. Because, your boyfriend was taking it worse than him (probably) by clinging onto you and bringing him up any possible chance. 
“Whether I’m with you or Creevey, I’ll still need to pee,” you sigh, “It’s human nature.” 
“So you admire you’ve thought about being with, Creevey.” Tom eyes Nagini, their eyes meeting with a sly understanding. “Is he going to be a problem?” 
“What are you going to do? Hurt him?” It’s quiet, Tom’s eyes meeting you as if he was asking whether you were testing him. “If you hurt him, I’ll bite you.” 
“And if I liked to be bitten?” 
You huff, squirming under his arms. “I’ll fight you.” 
He moves away from you slightly, long limbs still wrapped around your frame. “I can take you.” 
“Please,” you huff again, this time pouting as you try to ease him off of you but to no avail. “I really have to go, Tom.” 
His arm loosens its grip on you, still tight enough to cage you into his chest. “Say the magic word.” 
“Please?”
“You’re so close, my love,” he tells you, shaking his head as he prompted you on, “try again.” 
“I love you?”
A low chuckle vibrates from his chest. “I love you too,” he says, “but no, how about adding something to your first try?” 
“Please, my love?”A firm head shake, dark hair flailing against your pillow. 
“Please, baby?”
You learn then that even the head boy likes to be babied from time to time, pressing a quick kiss before releasing you from his arms and legs. You shuffle out of bed, yelling back at him. “Since when did you like being called baby?” 
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theostrophywife · 2 months
Text
little dove.
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pairing: tom riddle x reader.
song inspiration: if u think i'm pretty by artemas.
author's note: can't believe this is my first tom fic, but please know that this man awakens the feral, unhinged side of me. let me slytherin to your chamber of secrets and ride that basilisk tommy 😏
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This was a stupid, idiotic, and terrible idea. 
Unfortunately for you, those were the conditions in which Harry and Ron worked best under. In your defense, you tried to talk them out of the prank, but the boys were determined to leave their mark. You suppose you could’ve told Hermione, but you didn’t want to interrupt her date with Draco. When it came to talking sense into their thick skulls, you were completely and utterly alone. 
After much argument, you finally accepted that you weren’t going to get anywhere with Harry and Ron. The only thing you could do was supervise their reckless pursuits and minimize the damage as much as possible. So here you were, sneaking into the dungeons under the cover of darkness. 
“This will be the best seventh year prank yet,” Ron whispered as he trailed close behind. “Fred and George are going to be so jealous.” 
“If we don’t die from the cold first,” Harry quipped sarcastically, slightly shivering underneath the invisibility cloak draped over the three of you. “The Slytherins really take the whole cold-blooded thing quite literally, don’t they?” 
You huffed in response, trying your best to muffle your steps. “Can we please focus on not getting caught? We need to be in and out of the dungeons before the prefects start their patrols.” 
The boys nodded as you inched further into the serpent’s nest. Luckily, the corridor that housed Professor Snape’s office was empty. You held your breath as you began to unravel the wards protecting the entrance. You had to give it to him, Snape was incredibly thorough when it came to his security measures. Good thing you were an expert on unlocking charms. 
With a final flick of your wand, the door gave way and creaked open. Ron and Harry wore matching grins as the three of you spilled into the office. Closing the door behind you, Harry’s green eyes crinkled with mischief. 
“Let’s get started.” 
Surprisingly, Harry and Ron’s half-arsed plan was actually coming together. The three of you worked in silence, the boys handing you paints and supplies at the snap of your fingers. After a few more strokes, you flicked your paintbrush over the wall and cocked your head to examine your work. Nearly every single surface of Professor Snape’s office was covered in your illustrations—technically vandalism according to wizarding law. 
The drawings, imbued with the same magic that powered the moving portraits, depicted caricatures of Professor Snape, all of which scurried like rats along the walls, hurtling globs of paint at one another. The head of Slytherin house was going to have a fit when he saw what you’d done to his office. You almost wished you could be there in the morning to witness the look on Snape’s face when he uncovered your masterpiece.
“Bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he packed up the paints and brushes. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Y/N.” 
Harry chuckled and nudged your shoulder. “See? You do have a taste for trouble, after all.” 
You rolled your eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me clean up so we can go.” 
As you carefully wiped the office of any trace of the three of you, Harry suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. You looked up, ready to scold him for idling, but fell silent when you saw the panicked expression on his face. 
“What is it?” you asked quietly. 
Harry held up his hand and slowly opened the door, peeking out into the darkness. A muffled clicking that sounded an awful lot like footsteps echoed from the corridor. “Do you hear that?” 
Ron cursed lowly. “The prefects must’ve started their rounds early.” 
You peered over Harry’s shoulder and felt the color drain from your face. “It’s not the prefects,” you said, swallowing thickly. “It’s the Head Boy.” 
Both the boys swore under their breaths. You steeled yourself, knowing that panic was not going to get you anywhere. As quietly as possible, you retrieved Harry’s cloak and beckoned the boys underneath it. 
“We’re so fucked,” Ron mumbled. 
“No, we’re not,” you chided sternly. “Get under the cloak and don’t make a sound.” 
Harry scooted in beside you, clutching the invisible fabric over his shoulders. “Do you have a plan?” 
You nodded. “Run like hell and don’t get caught.” 
“That’s a bloody terrible plan!” said Ron. 
With a glare, you tugged the redhead underneath the cloak. “Then please, let us hear your brilliant idea, Ronald.” Ron stayed quiet, his freckled face etched with fear. “That’s what I thought. Now stay close and for Merlin’s sake, try not to stomp around like a damned erumpent.”
Stupid. 
Idiotic. 
Terrible. 
Every ounce of apprehension you felt earlier that night came rushing back as the three of you cowered in the darkness. It was pitch-black in the corridor, but you didn’t dare cast lumos for fear of getting caught. Thankfully, a small light up ahead provided you with a vague sense of direction. You remembered passing the lit emerald sconce on the way down. All you had to do was get back to the entrance without running into the head boy. 
The glimmer of hope became clearer and clearer as you neared the stairs that would lead you out of the dungeons. You were so close. Barely a few metres away from freedom. 
Just as you thought you were safe, Ron knocked into a table, sending one of the snake sculptures guarding the alcove to the common room tumbling. The marble cracked against the concrete, breaking into a million pieces just like your hope of escaping. 
“Run!” you huffed, urging the boys to go on. 
A solid plan if you hadn’t been nearly blind in the dark. You could hear the shuffling of footsteps beside you. Three sets belonging to you, Harry, and Ron, while an unknown fourth inched closer and closer. Whoever it was wasn’t running, but they were definitely in pursuit. 
You stumbled through the dark, nearly tripping over your own feet. From up ahead, you could hear Harry and Ron urging you on. As you broke into a sprint, paints and brushes came spilling out of your satchel. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve abandoned your art supplies, but leaving them behind would fully incriminate the three of you. In the time it took to pick up the damning evidence, you stopped hearing your friend’s voices. 
It would’ve worried you, but in all honesty, you were relieved. If you could no longer hear the boys, then that meant they made it safely out of the serpent’s nest. A feat in itself given their track record. Those two couldn’t be inconspicuous if they tried. Without the need to worry for them, you were confident that you’d be able to slip out undetected. 
In hindsight, you were perhaps a tad bit overconfident. You were great at sneaking around, but apparently not good enough to slip the head boy’s notice. As soon as you started to creep past the dormitories, you ran into a wall that hadn’t been there before. 
Except it wasn’t a wall. 
It was a strong, firm chest. A chest that belonged to none other than Tom Riddle. 
Leave it to your terrible luck to run straight into the arms of the scariest boy in the castle. 
Determined not to cower, you lifted your chin defiantly and faced Tom head on. “Head Boy,” you greeted in acknowledgment. 
Emerald eyes unflinchingly surveyed you, that intense green stare sweeping from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Beneath the faint glow of the Black Lake pouring in through the stained glass windows, you could’ve easily mistaken Tom Riddle for an angel. He looked like an illustration straight out of the Sistine Chapel. Beautiful, intricate, perfect. 
Yet utterly terrifying. 
Danger prickled at your skin as Tom’s lips curved into a sinister smirk. “My, my, what do we have here? A little dove out of her cage.” 
You bristled as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his voice a seductive caress. It was low, husky, and a little rough around the edges. Just like its speaker. Tom plucked a paintbrush out of your satchel and examined it between his fingers. “I saw what you did to Snape’s office. Quite artistic, aren’t you?” 
A part of you considered denying it, but it would’ve been a futile attempt. There was paint splattered all over your skirt and flecks of it were already drying on your skin. Tom had quite literally caught you red handed. The only thing you could do was to own up to it and face whatever consequences came as a result of your foolish actions. 
“Are you going to turn me in to the headmaster?” 
Tom shook his head, his brown wavy hair falling over one eye. “Not until I catch your two helpers.” 
Panic seized your body. It may be too late for you, but Tom hadn’t seen either Harry or Ron. There was a chance they could come out of this unscathed. 
“I was alone,” you declared with your chin held high. “There was no one else with me.” 
Anger contorted Tom’s handsome features. Those emerald eyes lit up in flames as he backed you into a wall, bracketing each side of your head with his arms as he leaned down. You tried not to cower under the intensity of his stare, but gods was it hard. Tom towered a good foot over you and as if that weren’t intimidating enough, he also blocked every possibility of escape with his body. 
“Don’t lie to me, little dove,” Tom growled, tilting your chin up with one hand. “I heard three sets of footsteps running through the corridor.” 
You swallowed thickly, praying to Merlin to grant you the ability to flawlessly lie your arse off. “I swear, it was just me. No one else. I did it all by myself.” 
Tom hummed as if unconvinced. “Well, you’re certainly on your own now. Your idiotic friends left you down in the dungeons all alone. Don’t you know that dangerous things lurk in the dark around here, Y/N?” 
“Like I said, I was alone.” 
“So it appears,” Tom said, flashing you a smile that told you he was the most dangerous thing lurking in the dungeons. “Poor little dove wandering the serpent’s nest all on her own. Hasn’t anyone told you that us Slytherins have teeth?” 
“Why?” In an idiotic surge of courage, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could pull them back in. “Do you plan on biting me, Tom?” 
Tom grabbed your jaw roughly, making you whimper in surprise. “Insolent girl. You’ll learn your lesson soon enough.” 
Without warning, he grabbed you by the elbow and started dragging you down the corridor. At first, you were certain that Tom was taking you to Dumbledore’s office, but as the minutes ticked by, you realized that you were going in the opposite direction. If anything, he was leading you right into the heart of the dungeons. 
Tom’s grip tightened to the point of pain as he guided you up a set of twin staircases, practically flying up the steps on the right side, which you assumed led to the dormitories. It had a similar layout to the Gryffindor common room, except instead of leading into the towers, the narrow hallway opened into an intricate maze in the lower levels of the castle. 
Nestled into the underbelly of Hogwarts was a large, dark room that was surrounded by more stained glass walls that looked out into the Black Lake. A school of fish swam by as Tom ushered you through the door, which he promptly locked behind him with a series of complicated spells you had no hope of deciphering. 
You were trapped. Alone in a room. With Tom Riddle.
Upon closer inspection, you surmised that this had to be his private suite. It was twice as large as your dorm back in the towers and extremely private. A luxury that only the Head Boy and Head Girl enjoyed. 
“You’ve been very bad, little dove,” Tom reprimanded. "You deserve to be punished, but I’ll tell you what. Give up the names of your accomplices and I might find it in my heart to go easy on you.” 
His drawling voice echoed in the bedroom as he leaned back against his desk, twirling his wand between his fingers. The look he leveled at you is enough to awaken your fear. Plus another emotion that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. 
Merlin, Tom was sizing you up like he was the lion and you were the helpless deer frolicking through the meadow. You steeled yourself and doubled down on your lies. 
“There was no one else, Tom.” 
He smirked as though you’d given him the answer he’d hoped to hear. Tom stopped twirling his wand, tucking it away in his back pocket as he stalked over to you. “Very well, then. I suppose you’ll just have to endure their punishments too.” 
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. It occurred to you that while you had your wand, you were completely and utterly defenseless against Tom. It should’ve scared you shitless, but instead you felt a strange sort of thrill as he came closer. “What…what sort of punishment?” 
A smirk curved at his lips as he fisted your hair between his fingers and tilted your head back to meet his gaze. “I think you know, babydoll.” 
Heat ignited in your veins as your tongue darted out to sweep across your bottom lip. “This is crazy,” you whispered. “Shouldn’t you be telling Dumbledore? Snape? Someone in charge?” 
“I’m the one in charge,” Tom growled as he shoved you against his bookshelf. Your back hit solid wood, disturbing the neatly organized tomes behind you. “You snuck into my dungeons, under my watch, and defaced my home. I will dole out your punishment as I see fit.” 
“And if I refuse?” You asked, hoping that you emulated the bravery that your house was infamous for.
Tom pressed his body against yours, leaving barely a hairsbreadth between you as he flashed you a feral smile. “It’s laughable that you still think you have a choice.” 
“I could scream bloody murder. Wake the entire castle up and alert everyone that you're holding a fellow student against her will."
“You could,” Tom mused as amusement flickered in his eyes. “But we both know you won’t.” 
“What makes you so sure?” 
“You’d never risk such a scandalous act to go on your record. First vandalizing Professor Snape’s office, then sneaking into the Head Boy’s dorm after curfew? You’re on a downward spiral, aren’t you, little dove?” 
“I didn’t sneak into your dorm. You dragged me in here.” 
“Please,” Tom said with a scoff. “Let’s not pretend that you don’t want to be here. I’ve been watching you, you know. The perfect little Gryffindor good girl. You think you have everyone fooled, but not me.” You groaned as he pinned your hips in place, sliding his thigh between your legs. 
“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me in class? Bending over in that tiny little skirt of yours hoping I’ll glance your way? Leaving the buttons to your blouse undone so you can give me a view of that lacy red bra? Biting your lip when you’re thinking dirty thoughts about me in class?” 
You flushed at his spot on assessment. Tom might be right on the mark, but you weren’t about to admit that to him. Not when your pride was on the line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 
“Dirty little liar.” Tom whispered against the shell of your ear. “You know, your mental shields are impressive, but it’s like you can’t help yourself when I’m around. You’re practically broadcasting your filthy fantasies every time we’re in the same room.” 
Fuck. 
This was bad. 
This was really fucking bad.
How many times had you sat in class staring at Tom while thinking the filthiest, dirtiest thoughts about him? Tom bending you over a desk. Tom slipping his fingers under your skirt. Tom making you scream with his head between your thighs.
All this time, he had complete access to those dirty daydreams.
“That’s right, doll. You may be a powerful occlumens, but you’re no match for my legilimency.” He chuckled darkly, caressing your jaw. 
A heavy pressure weighed down the constraints of your defenses as Tom poked around in your mind, teasing and taunting as a lover would. The act of him prodding around in your subconscious was oddly sensual, mixing pain and pleasure together as he waited for you to yield. 
There’s no use hiding now, Tom whispered into your subconscious. I’ve already seen inside your mind, doll. And your thoughts are just as fucking filthy as mine. 
Glimpses of your deepest, darkest fantasies flashed through your mind. The images were a never ending rolodex of filth and smut. Tom fucking you like his perfect little slut. Tom panting above you as he spread your legs. Tom working you with his fingers until you were a sobbing, whimpering mess. 
He was right. You were shameless. 
But so was he. A new image of you on your knees while Tom unbuckled his belt, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as you stared up expectantly took center stage. Since it was from his point of view, you could only assume that he was showing you one of his fantasies. It was oddly satisfying. Tom was basking in the depravity with you, sharing his equally fucked up thoughts. 
“Tom…” you breathed, leaning into his touch as he continued to pin you against the wooden bookshelf. 
“Not Tom,” he grunted gruffly. “You’ll address me properly from now on, little dove.” 
This was so fucked up and yet so hot at the same time. You were so turned on you could hardly speak. “Yes, sir.” 
“That’s better, doll.” Tom declared with a smirk. “Now that I’ve been inside of your head, I plan on being inside you in every other way as well. Starting with that pretty little mouth of yours. On your knees, little dove.” 
A strange sense of deja vu washed over you as you knelt onto the floor. The concrete nipped at your knees, but you welcomed the pain. It kept you centered as your body buzzed with anticipation. You watched as Tom unbuckled his belt, deft fingers slowly sliding his boxers down as he gripped himself with one hand. 
With a smirk, Tom brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, looking down at you with lust blown eyes. “Open wide, babydoll.” 
Tom pumped himself slowly. The sight of his cock made your mouth water, your head spinning and dizzy with desire as you tried to calculate how you were going to take all of him. The tip of his cock glistened with precum as he rubbed over it. Tom was thick, long, and absolutely delicious. You groaned as he rubbed his head over your lips, the salty taste of his arousal resting on your tongue. 
“I won’t ask again,” Tom warned. “Be a good girl and open your mouth. I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.” 
“Yes, sir.” 
A satisfied smile graced his handsome face before he shoved his way in. Your lips parted for him, opening your mouth wider as you accommodated his size. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 
You nodded obediently, eyes filling with tears as you took Tom all the way back. He fisted your hair in one hand and rocked against your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. A garbled sound crawled out of your chest, but it was soon silenced with Tom’s impatient thrusts. 
“Fuck,” Tom cursed. “So wet and warm. Such a perfect little throat. What a pity that I’m about to ruin it.” 
Ruin was an understatement. Tom fucked your throat with precise thrusts, angling deeper and deeper and groaning as you gagged on his cock. He was so deep that you could feel him bruising your tonsils. The more he abused your throat, the wetter your pussy got. You were practically soaked as you moaned on his cock, sucking your cheeks in and bobbing your head up and down to take more of him. 
“Such pretty noises,” Tom said, his fingers curling through your hair to the point of pain. He tugged at your scalp, forcing you to meet his eyes as you sucked him off. “If your mouth feels this good around my cock, then I can’t even imagine what your cunt will feel like.” 
You groaned in pleasure, making Tom’s eye roll back from the vibrations. Controlled, compulsive, and perfectly composed Tom Riddle was fading before you, replaced by a man driven only by his base desires. He was an animal lost to lust and so were you. 
Tom squeezed your throat, groaning when he felt himself moving beneath his grip. “Your throat was made to be fucked, doll. You like that, don’t you? You love it when I’m rough.” 
You struggled to nod in acknowledgement, saliva sloppily collecting in the corner of your mouth as you continued to let him use you for his own pleasure. Tom chuckled at your pathetic attempt to respond. “Don’t bother answering, little dove. You won’t be able to speak when I’m done with you anyways.” 
The filth flowing effortlessly from his mouth made you clench your thighs together. Tom threw his head back, those pretty curls tousled and plastered against his sweat soaked skin. A moan tore through his chest as he got closer and closer, fucking into your mouth with reckless abandon. He chased after his orgasm, shuddering as he spurted hot ribbons down your throat. 
“Fuck. You see what you do to me? Swallow, doll. Every single fucking drop.” 
The fantasies that you’ve been harboring for the past few years finally came to fruition, but none of it came close to reality. Tom was a fucking god. A masterpiece coming undone above you. You’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. All the artwork in the world would’ve paled in comparison to witnessing Tom Riddle at his most vulnerable. 
In awe and wonder, you looked up at him with mascara streaked eyes, tears and saliva staining your face. Tom hauled you to your feet and claimed you with his mouth. The taste of him was still on your lips, but Tom didn’t seem to mind as he parted your lips with his tongue. The kiss was neither sweet nor innocent. It was dark and dangerous and there was an edge of possessiveness in the way he demanded your submission. Almost like he was marking his territory. 
Tongues, teeth, and lips met with a clash as Tom carried you over to his desk. His books and journals clattered to the ground as his teeth grazed the column of your throat. The taste of him was intoxicating and you licked, sucked, and nipped at every inch of skin he allowed access to. You gasped into his mouth as Tom parted your legs, not bothering to warn you as he palmed your soaked panties. 
Your core clenched as he slipped a finger inside of your pussy. A squelching sound filled the room as Tom added another digit, pumping you full and fucking you with his middle and pointer fingers as you begged for more. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tom studied you like one of his books, with meticulous precision and alarming intensity, pouring all of his efforts and attention into making your body sing. 
It wasn’t long before that familiar warmth singed your veins, your moans growing louder and more desperate as you clawed at Tom’s back. You were so, so close. You were practically riding his hand as he brought you closer to the precipice. Just when you were about to come, Tom pulled away and denied you the orgasm. 
“Don’t be mistaken, doll. This is still a punishment.” Tom said as you whined from the loss. He silenced your complaints by bending you over his desk. 
“Tom, please—“ You clawed at the wood as he lined up and filled you with one sharp thrust. “Oh my fucking gods.” 
Tom gripped your hips, the slap of his skin against yours echoing in the room as he fucked you from behind. He was relentless, thrusting in and out and arching your back while he railed the absolute life out of you. It wasn’t long before you were getting close again. The sharp angles of his thrusts had him hitting all the right spots, making your knees weak and your pussy sensitive from the roughness of his actions. Sensing that you were close, he rutted into you, letting that tension uncoil before ripping the orgasm away from you once more. You whined, fresh tears soaking your cheeks as you chased after that high. 
“Like I said, this is still a punishment,” Tom taunted, slowing his thrusts to a snail’s pace. “That’s two orgasms I’ve taken from you, which leaves you with two more. Four for every wall you defaced. It should be twelve, given that you had help, but I’m in a forgiving mood. I think I’ll just spank the other eight out of you instead.” 
With your head bowed, you wiped the tears off of your cheeks and braced yourself. You knew that he was telling the truth. To Tom, this was mercy. You should’ve found it sadistic, but you fucking loved it. Maybe you were a masochist. Whatever the case may be, it seemed like the two of you were a match made in heaven. 
“I’ll be good,” you whispered hoarsely. Your throat was still raw and sore from earlier. “I’ll happily take the punishment. I promise I’ll be good, sir.” 
Tom chuckled darkly, relishing in your submission. His hand came down with a hard smack against your right ass cheek, making you jolt from the contact. Before you could recover, he repeated the action on the left. 
“That’s two,” Tom said proudly. “Can you count out the rest, babydoll?” 
You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip every time his large hand came down on your ass. His rings bit into the soft flesh of your skin, but it was a delicious sort of pain. One that you could easily become addicted to. 
Three. Tom tugged at your hair. 
Four. Teeth nipped at your shoulder. 
Five. Fingers curled around your throat. 
Six. Hips slammed against you. 
Seven. Lips trailed down your spine.
Eight. Moans echoed in your ears. 
When Tom slipped his fingers down to your clit, your eyes rolled back so hard that you saw fucking heaven. “It’s not a punishment if you’re enjoying yourself so much, little dove. I can feel you creaming my cock. You look so innocent, but you’re just a filthy fucking slut for me, aren’t you?” 
“Yes sir.” 
“So. Fucking. Perfect.” 
Tom emphasized each word with a thrust and worked your clit faster and faster, bringing you to the edge. This time, he didn’t pull back. Tom let the orgasm build until it threatened to wipe you out entirely. White hot heat coursed through your veins as stars exploded behind your eyes. You whimpered through the intensity of the orgasm. After being denied four times, the pleasure ripped through your body so fiercely that you nearly blacked out. 
“Fuck, let me fill you up,” Tom growled. “Take it, doll. I want you dripping with my cum.” 
“Yes, yes, oh gods. Please cum inside of me, sir.” 
Tom released a guttural grunt, gripping your hips in place as he filled you to the brim. Nothing in the world compared to the sensation of Tom filling you with his warm, wet cum. You glanced behind you and found him staring intently as he slipped out of you, stuffing his cum back into your pussy as it dripped down your folds. You bit your lip, utterly aroused by how fucking sexy this man was. 
His gaze met yours, a proud smile curving against his lips as he swept you off your feet and into his arms. “I think I’ll keep you, little dove.” 
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1K notes · View notes
ash-whimsicalfanfic · 10 months
Text
Obsession
Tom Riddle X Fem OC/Reader
Word Count: 5K
Warnings: Mild language, Graphic, Smut, Toxic, Possessive, Protective, Angst, Fluff, Suggestive, Anger…
Prompt: Y/N Black is a mystery to many. She isn’t interested in making friends, only her studies. However, unbeknownst to many, one boy has piqued her interest——Tom Riddle. Little did she know, he had an obsession with her.
Sidenote: I did use some spells from the vampire diaries just for the heck of it. I may do a part two, but I’m not sure if it really needs it. I’ll leave it up to you guys!
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Everyone seemed more chattier than usual. Maybe it was the upcoming Yule Ball or maybe it was because holidays were approaching. However, you hated the buzzing chatter, the obnoxious shouting, and all of the crowded halls. You had tried to go to the library as an escape from this madness, but everyone had infiltrated the library even.
You were the Scrooge that everybody was painfully aware of as you stormed through the halls with your books clutched to your chest. If you were a Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor, they would have laughed at the irked expression on your face. However, knowing you were a Slytherin strikes fear in many.
Not to mention you were a mystery to many. You were oh so quiet, along with a freakishly amount of smart, and an unearthly amount of beautiful. You chose to stick to yourself, choosing to not make any friends. You instead chose to have acquaintances in case a group project popped up, however you normally managed to worm your way out of that so you could work alone.
That was how you preferred doing things, alone. Other students have given up on trying to befriend you, seeing it as pointless. Guys would still try and ask you out, but their advances failed. They hadn’t noticed that your interest was piqued by a boy already. However, it seemed that he was just like you.
Tom Riddle was a handsome young man with jet black curly-ish hair and dark brown eyes that looked almost black from afar. He was fairly tall and had a lean look. His face was always blank…passive as he studied or walked through the halls or even when he was with his group of “friends”. They were his followers in his mind, not his friends. To anyone else, they saw them as a happy friend group.
You had noticed the things that anyone would pick up about Tom from afar, like his intelligence. Tom excelled in all of his classes, in fact he was tied at the top of the year with you. He too was introverted, preferring to be alone and in silence. For someone as passive as Tom, you noticed things he did. When he was judging something, he’d lean back in his chair, occasionally quirking an eyebrow as if he was impressed or annoyed.
When he was in a rather intuitive or creative mood, his eyes seemed to be a lighter shade of brown and he would get carried away in his journal. When he was thinking, he would zone out on his journal or something in the room.
You noticed that he’d clench his jaw until a muscle there ticked when he got angered. When he was annoyed, he had a tendency to sigh.
“Y/N!” Narcissa calls.
She stood among Tom Riddle and all of his “friends”. Tom’s eyes find you who was clearly irritated. You had made your way through the crowd and head towards her.
“Yes?” You ask.
“Hey, that is no way to talk to your favorite cousin.” Narcissa scolds.
“Who said you were my favorite?” You ask.
“It’s because it is me.” Bellatrix grins.
“Not you either.” You mutter.
“Moving on, have you seen Sirius or Regulus?” She asks.
“I’m not their keeper, Narcissa.” You mutter.
“They said they were meeting up with you.” She says, sighing in frustration.
“Well they didn’t. I need to get to class.” You mutter.
Before you could go, Bellatrix grabs your upper arm in a tight grip. You turn back to her with a clenched jaw as Narcissa steps back, muttering an “Uh-Oh”.
“Leaving so soon, cousin?” She mocks.
“Bellatrix, I’m warning you now to let go or you will regret it.” You warn calmly.
“What will you do? You're all goody two shoes, yet your in Slytherin. I think that dumb hat sorted you into the wrong house.” She says.
You pull your wand free, pointing it at her as you mutter “Stupefy”. You roll your eyes as she flies backwards through the crowd.
“If I wouldn’t get expelled, I would definitely crucio you or use the killing curse on you for your information. However, nothing is stopping me once we graduate.” You say, before turning and leaving the group stunned.
Tom smiles slightly as he watches you walk away, finding himself even more intrigued with you than he originally was. Call it an interest or maybe an obsession at this point. He liked to watch you when he could. He noticed things about you that he was sure no one else noticed.
He knew you were a quiet and mysterious girl, but underneath that “innocent” mask you wore, he knew there was a strong woman with a dangerous mind. You were far from innocent and today proved that more so to him. To anyone else, you were that innocent girl. However, when you let your guard down if you were stressed or angry or irritated, he could see the danger swirling in your (eye color) eyes.
He lets his smile fall, regaining his composure before turning back to his group. Bellatrix was back on her feet, a scowl on her face as Narcissa helped hold her up. He watches as Sirius and Regulus join them.
“What is wrong with you?” Sirius asks.
“Your bloody sister is what is wrong! She used stupefy on me!” She snaps.
“How pissed off did you make her?” Regulus chuckles, shaking his head.
“You both told me you were meeting with her about becoming a follower. Yet, she hasn’t seen either of you all day. So, where were you both off to?” Narcissa snaps.
“Have you seen how mad she can get? We learned not to mess around when she gets mad, Issa. When she is mad, she will take down anyone in her path. We’ve learned how to avoid making her mad. So, you go have that conversation with her because I rather not get crucio’d again.” Sirius says.
“Wow.” Avery mutters.
“She may be quiet and keeps to herself, but Y/N is a ticking time-bomb when you make her mad. She is intelligent, and maybe too intelligent for her own good. She also liked being stronger than others in magic, so that is why she studies so hard. However, because she is so antisocial and introverted, even as a child before Hogwarts, she took her studies serious, so she doesn’t understand fun. She is boring.” Sirius says.
“I bet she hasn’t ever shagged anyone, or snogged! A sixth year and a virgin! That is embarrassing.” Bellatrix cackles.
That further piqued Tom’s interest about you.. He found himself having more thoughts about you, both innocent and sinful thoughts. However, his sinful thoughts changed to the exception of you being a virgin. That made him feel a possessiveness over you he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about. However, he knew that the idea of you being with anyone else was sickening to him. You were his, you just didn’t know it yet.
Your studies past fairly quickly and you were heading towards the Great Hall. You sit at your normal spot, Regulus sitting next to you. Tom sat a table down with his “friends”, however his focus was on you. Regulus gently closed your books, pushing them away.
“Eat, then study.” He stresses softly.
As irritated as you were about him taking away your books, you listened. Tom quirked a brow, finding himself wondering if it was often you got so distracted by your studies that you didn’t take care of yourself the best. His eyes roam over you slowly, noticing the dark circles under your eyes along with the thinning face of yours. So, it was often, he thought.
“Y/N! My favorite sister! How has your day been?” Sirius asks as plops down across from you.
“What do you want?” You ask, sighing as you pushed your food around on your plate.
“Nothing to do with studies I hope, she is taking a break to eat.” Regulus stresses.
You close your eyes as the two start to argue, resting your chin on your hand. You open your eyes when Regulus stands, his voice getting louder.
“Enough!” You snap, the two instantly quieting.
It had gotten the attention of those around your table. You take in a slow breath before letting it out, regaining your composure before looking between your brothers with a blank look.
“You two bicker like a bunch of children. This is our brief moment to be able to hang out, however you both don’t know how to push aside your differences because you both are too hot-headed and irrational.” You rant.
You snatch up your books that Regulus had pushed away from you earlier and stood from the table as you left the Great Hall.
Tom watched you leave before looking between your brothers, before his eyes fell on your plate of untouched food. He puts some food in his bag, going unnoticed and decides to leave himself. He made his way to the library, heading to the forbidden section where he assumed you’d be. He feels a brief moment of pride flare in his chest, right about where you had gone. He clears his throat and you look up from your notes.
“Here. I noticed you didn’t eat.” He says.
His voice surprised you. It was deep, soft and mysterious. He pulled out some food he took from the Great Hall and handed it to you.
“Thank you.” You murmur.
He nods, going to leave and you begin working on your studies again. You sigh as a loud group comes into the library.
“Would you allow me to show you a place I like to go?” He asks, looking back down at you.
“I don’t see why not.” You admit, gathering your stuff before standing.
You follow behind Tom, not quite sure where he was taking you. You knew of his quest to become the Dark Lord. Some of his followers had big mouths, so you heard more than everyone thought you knew. They assumed you were clueless about his current quest and they all were tip-toeing around who would be the one to break the news to you. However, you knew. You knew more than them in fact.
He looks around, making sure there was no other students or professors in the hall before a door appears in the wall. Your lips part from surprise as he ushers you in, following behind you. You looked around the empty room in awe.
“The Room of Requirements…I’ve heard of it and I’ve looked everywhere for it.” You mumble.
“Yes, I searched for this room for awhile myself. I later learned that the room only will appear in great need.” Tom explains, seeming rather smug about finding it.
“The room seems to know you quite well…and you seem to know the room quite well too. Otherwise, the door wouldn’t have appeared because I’m sure my studies are not in great need.” You say, turning back to him.
You feel a heat spread across your body as you catch his eyes on you. The dark eyes slowly trail over you, mapping out your body. His eyes stop on your blouse where you had a few buttons undone since you were alone and had started to get a little hot in the confined aisles of the forbidden section in the library.
He steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you. You look up, not realizing that he was this tall. He puts a hand out and gently grasps your hip before trailing it up your side. He tugs on the middle of your blouse, revealing more of your cleavage, before he starts undoing the remaining buttons.
“That and maybe because I am in great need of you.” He murmurs, leaning down to trail his lips along your neck.
You shiver, feeling a trail of goosebumps being left behind from the ghost touch. His hands find your shoulders where he pushes the robes off before pushing your blouse off along with it. He leaves a soft kiss on your racing pulse, before he pulls back to look down at you.
You were left in a dark green lace bra, and he tsked quietly, approving the way they made your breasts look. The bra seemed to work as a push-up bra, but really Narcissa had gotten you the wrong size this year.
His eyes trail over your stomach, noting the soft curves he would be sure to feel later. His eyes focus on the short school-girl skirt, also Narcissa’s doing. You didn’t fret much about it as you knew you’d wear your robe more often than not. You were wearing knee high stockings with a pair of mary-janes.
“The school girl skirt, hmph, your just asking to be fucked, aren’t you?” He asks, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.
“Tom.” You say breathlessly.
“Leave the skirt on, but take your panties off.” He orders.
He begins unbuttoning his own shirt, watching you. You were frozen in place before you start to work the panties down. He held a hand out, looking at you expectantly. Your shaky hand places the matching dark green lace panties into his hand.
He balls it up and sticks it in his blazer pocket. You watch as his long, slender fingers work his belt off. Your eyes focused on his veiny hands.
“Hands and knees.” He says.
You slowly drop to your knees, turning over, no longer able to watch his next move. You get on your hands, moving so you are on your elbows. You arch your back down, sticking your ass out more.
Tom licks his lips slowly, swallowing hard as he watches you get into the position. He inhales deeply, watching as you arch your back. He puts a clenched fist to his mouth, lightly biting himself, not quite sure if this was really happening. The skirt hid nothing. He could see the big globes that he found himself really attracted to. He never would have taken himself as an ass man.
His eyes trail further down to see your glistening entrance. He pushes his pants off before he gets on the ground behind you. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, before he finds himself tracing down your spine lightly. You shiver unintentionally, however he enjoyed the effect he on you.
“How bad do you want me?” He murmurs into your ear.
“Please, Tom.” You whisper as you push your hips back.
“Pathetic. Do you want my cock or not?” He asks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and roughly jerking your head back.
A breathless moan fills the thick air in the room as a heat spreads across your scalp. He clenches his jaw, feeling himself twitch from the sound he heard. It was the beginning of a beautiful symphony, one he didn’t realize how much he’d become crazed for.
“Tom! Please! I need you!” You cry, feeling frustrated that he wasn’t touching you where you wanted to be touched.
He smirks, gently grabbing your hips. He uses his other hand to guide himself into your dripping entrance. He groans, your walls immediately grasping onto him, suffocating him. You moan lowly, your hands grasping at the stone floor as your eyes flutter shut.
“Fuck.” He curses, working himself in and out of you slowly.
“Tom, please.” You plead, pushing your hips back.
“Is my cock the first one you’ve ever had?” He asks, his eyes burning in the back of your head as he awaited your response.
“Yes! Please, Tom!” You cry.
He couldn’t help the grin across his face. He heard it, but he wasn’t sure if maybe you just kept them out of the loop. But, knowing he was the one to take your virginity was exhilirating to him.
“I better be the only cock you have here. You are mine.” He warns.
“Yes! I-I’m yours, Tom!” You moan as he starts to move at a faster pace.
“I’ll kill any boy who dares to be with you, because you are mine! I’ll punish you if I see you talking to some boy.” He growls, his hips now savagely moving.
You cry for more, your soft and loud moans were music to his ears. He breathed heavily along with you as held onto your hips tightly. Skin smacking echoed in the room and you heard his soft groan which sent you coming. He groans louder as you clench around him, coming around him.
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You stood on shaky legs, buttoning up your blouse and grimacing as you feel your shared climaxes slowly leaking out of you. He grasps your chin, looking at you with a stern look.
“Keep it in. I want you to know who fucked you.” He says.
“Tom, I need my panties.” You say as your cheeks flush.
“Find another way to keep it in.” He says, before focusing back on straightening himself out.
You pull your blazer on along with your robes before grabbing your books and hurrying out. You reach the Slytherin common room, Narcissa and Bellatrix looking up from their game of cards. Sirius and Regulus’s backs were to you.
“Oh my god, you got shagged!” Narcissa exclaims with a grin.
“Who was it?” Bellatrix asks.
“Yeah, I’d like to know.” Sirius seethes, taking in your disheveled hair and the hickeys on your neck.
Narcissa looks at your knees to see that they were scraped up, but you choose to ignore your brothers and cousins as you make your way past them. Regulus laughs, yelling “Atta girl!”
A small smile graces your lips at your little brothers comment. He too was protective of you, but he knew you inside and out. He and you were far closer than you were with Sirius. You get to your dorm and think of showering, but then your mind wanders to Tom. Keep it in…
You pull on a pair of fresh panties as you change into your nightware. You found yourself tossing and turning for a long while before you fell asleep. By the time it was time to wake up, you were exhausted. You could sleep in, but that ruins your morning routine.
You go to the shower, grimacing at the burn in your stomach. It was now that you realized you didn’t eat once yesterday. You finished up in the bathroom before pulling on a black lingerie set. You gasp as your door opens and Tom walks in.
“I knew you’d be awake.” He says, his eyes slowly roaming over you and some of the bruises he had made from where he held you still.
“Tom, what are you doing here?” You ask, grabbing a random robe and pulling it on.
“I’ve seen it all, darling. I wanted to tell you no more skirts.” He says and you look at him confused.
“I…Is it because how short they are?” You ask.
“That and the school girl skirt should be meant for my eyes when we are alone. Do you understand?” He asks.
“I…yes, Tom.” You say quietly.
He grins, looking at your neck where you had several hickeys before he leaves. You frown and look at the outfit you had prepared for this morning. It consisted of a school girl skirt.You sigh, grabbing a dark green skater skirt that ended a little about mid-thigh. There wasn’t much you could do about the length of your skirts until you went shopping again.
You grab your button up blouse and your Slytherin tie. You grab the blazer and sigh when you see dust on it. You hang it back up, deciding you will have to clean it later because you don’t have time now.
You pull on your knee socks and mary-janes when there was a knock at your dorm door. You open it and see it was Narcissa.
“I came bearing gifts.” She says.
You open the door and she guides you to the small vanity as she begins to help you cover the hickeys on your neck and jawline.
“So, who was it?” She asks.
“I’m not sure if I’m ready to say who it was yet.” You murmur.
“Did he force you? I’ll make him suffer the worst ways imaginable.” She says seriously.
“No, no, he didn’t force me. I’m just not sure what is happening yet. I don’t know if it merely was just another shag to him or if it’ll turn into something. However, he’s being a little controlling of what I wear, mainly my skirts.” You explain.
“I feel like I already know who this is.” She says, sighing.
“Who?” You ask.
“Tom Riddle?” She asks.
“Oh…how did you know?” You ask.
“Tom is…many things. I don’t know if he is capable of love and a relationship. He is a very possessive man. And I mean to the extent that it isn't healthy. He is ill-tempered and easily jealous. Not to mention he can be obsessive too. I personally think you should put some distance between the two of you and let things die down. I don’t know what his intentions are, but I’m sure they aren’t good.” She explains.
“Alright.” You say quietly.
You were quite sure how to feel. But, you knew Narcissa meant well and you also knew that she knew Tom better than you. You trusted her advice almost as you trusted Regulus’s.
“All done.” She says.
“Thank you, Issa.” You murmur and she nods.
She leaves you to your thoughts and you realize you need to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. You gather your books and make your way out of your dorm in a daze. You head to the Great Hall and see everyone was already there. You ignore the burning stare that you knew belonged to Tom Riddle.
“Hey, you okay? You seem out of it? And your running late.” Regulus says.
“Oh, I’m fine. I think I’m just in need of food. I realized I didn’t eat once yesterday.” You explain.
“Y/N/N, you’ve got to take better care of yourself. I will start treating you like I did the first year.” He warns.
“I know, I know, and I promise I’ll do better.” You sigh.
“Why is Riddle staring at you? He seems pissed.” He whispers.
“Oh, who knows.” You sigh, briefly glancing at Tom.
Tom was staring at your neck where your hickeys would be, but thanks to Narcissa, they were no longer there. You managed to eat some of your food before it began to make you feel sick. You felt suffocated with Tom glaring daggers into you and Sirius was no better.
“Stop it.” Regulus warns Sirius.
“I want to know who it was.” He snaps, looking back at you.
You clench your jaw, narrowing your eyes at him as you take a slow breath in and let it out. You pull your wand out and keep your hand rested on the table, so you don’t draw anymore attention to you.
“Keep glaring, brother and watch how fast you end up in the hospital wing.” You warn lowly.
“Guys.” Narcissa warns.
“Who is he?” He growls lowly, leaning closer to you.
“Oh shit. Take cover!” Regulus says, going under the table.
You reach forward, grabbing Sirius’s tie and pull him closer as your face heats from anger.
“Astronomy tower, now.” You grit out.
He stands and storms out and you stand as Regulus pokes his head out.
“Don’t kill him please.” He pleads.
You storm out of the Great Hall, wand in hand as you make your way towards the Astronomy tower to see him already there and waiting.
“Who is it!?” He snaps as you both circle each other.
“Sirius, it’s none of your business. Stop trying to act like the older and protective brother. Stop acting like you care!” You snap.
“I do care! You're my sister.” He snaps.
“Guys. Let’s try to keep calm.” Narcissa says as she walks in with her group.
“Yeah, let’s just hug it out and make up.” Regulus says.
“I want to know who has my sister acting like a tramp.” He snaps.
“Oh no….oh no! Oh no! Back up, back up, back up!” Regulus says as he pushes everyone back.
“Bombarda!” You fast and Sirius curses as he tries to dodge the mini explosion you casted his way.
“Confundo!” He shouts, but you dodge it.
“Everte Statum.” You cast, watching as he flies back against the wall, his wand falling in the process.
You walk forward, grabbing his wand before looking down at him.
“Impulsa Animositas!” You snap, gaining confused looks from around the room.
“I…Y/N, have you been creating spells again?” Regulus asks cautiously.
“Again?” Narcissa asks alarmed.
“What did you do to me?” Sirius snaps.
“Say something mean. To any of us.” You say, smirking.
“What the hell did you do to me you crazy bi—ow!” He exclaims after feeling a jolt of electricity go through you.
“Just as I assumed. This spell will zap you everytime you try and say something mean.” You say.
“That’s child’s play you idiot!” He snaps before groaning.
“Hm. This isn’t. Lihednat Dolchitni.” You cast.
His hands find his throat as he try’s to breath. You clench your fist tighter, watching how he struggles more before you wave your hand and it stops. He leans forward, breathing heavily.
“Tread carefully, brother. I have far more up my sleeve than you wish to believe.” You spat.
“You…you will get in so much trouble for creating spells. Regulus and I told you that you need to stop.” He breathes heavily.
“Then keep your mouths shut otherwise I’ll make you suffer in the worst unimaginable ways.” You say.
With that, you turn and walk past the group who seemed shocked. You head back to the Great Hall, gathering your items before heading back to your dorm. You were too upset and riled up to do anything. So, instead you hurry to your dorm and lock the door.
You pace frantically, running your hands through your hair. You let a breath out that you hadn’t noticed you were holding.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. Everything is okay.” You mumble to yourself.
The lock on your door clicks, so you turn and see Tom. He closes the door back and turns to you with that normal passive and cold look.
“That was…impressive.” He says.
“Tom, I really rather be alone right now.” You mutter.
“Why cover the marks I left? I left them for a reason.” He says, his voice hardening as his eyes turn several shades darker.
“I didn’t want to walk around with them showing. People would have said something and I don’t want to deal with that. Plus, I rather the school not know I was your play thing.” You mutter harshly, turning your back to him.
“Who said you were a play thing because I don’t recall ever telling you that?” He snaps.
“Tell me this, Tom. Are you one for commitment? Would you be in an exclusive relationship? Huh, tell me that!” You snap harshly as you turn to face him again.
“I can do commitment. Before, I’d say no. However, for you I am willing to do it. I’m willing to be in an exclusive relationship as you call it. Because I can’t ever get you out of my head! You are all I can focus on! It’s so…so irritating, yet I love it at the same time.” He growls.
“Tom, there are going to have to be some rules set in place if we are to do something. Like the skirt thing this morning. I only wear skirts.” You say.
“Fine. Wear your skirts, well not the school girl ones, however I can’t promise that some asshole won’t end up dead for looking. You are mine.” He snaps.
“Okay, and what about the marks?” You ask.
“You shouldn’t care what anyone says. You never have before, so why care now? I want people to know that you belong to me. I want the guys to realize that you aren’t a possibility anymore. You are mine.” He says, closing the distance between you both.
You look up as his hand wraps around your throat. He tightens his hand and you let a shaky breath out as you clench your thighs.
“You barely know me.” You mumble.
“I know more than you think, darling. You piqued my interest. When that happens, I tend to learn everything I can.” He murmurs, brushing his nose against yours before kissing you softly.
You hum, moving your hands to his hair. You whine when he pulls back, a smirk on his lips.
“What does that mean? How have you learned about me if you just started speaking to me yesterday?” You ask.
“Because I might be a bit obsessive when it comes to learning of the things that interest me. I won’t stop until I know everything.” He says.
There was banging on your dorm door and you sigh, going to walk past Tom, but he loops an arm around your waist.
“Who is it?” Tom asks, annoyed.
“It’s Bella, me and Regulus. Is Y/N in there?” Narcissa says.
“Well go away. I’m about to fuck my girl.” He snaps.
Your face heats up as you cover your mouth to hide your gasp. Narcissa gasps, Regulus laughs and yells for you to get it while Bellatrix throws a fit.
“We are not doing anything! We are just talking!” You exclaim.
“Talking, huh?” He says, quirking a brow at you as he slips a hand beneath your skirt.
You let a shaky breath out as he trails his hand up your thigh. He gets to your underwear, sliding two fingers beneath the lacy fabric.
“Tom.” You mumble.
“Talking and yet you're so wet for me. Do you want my cock again?” He asks, sliding a finger in you.
Your eyes flutter close and he grins widely, loving the way you reacted to his touch. You were the violin and he was the violinist. He played you so gracefully and loved the beautiful symphony that came from your mouth. It was his greatest obsession.
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anawritez-posts · 2 months
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𝗕𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗘𝗺𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲:
summary: Tom comes back to see you asleep on top of his blankets. A/N: because I sleep like this, I had to be my delulu self and write about it.
masterlist | taglist
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The dim light of the common room cast a warm glow on the tapestries and ornate furniture. Y/N lay peacefully on Tom Riddle's bed, her face buried in the softness of his pillows. Tom entered the room, his sharp features softened by the sight of her. He rolled his eyes when he saw her sprawled across the bed on her stomach, above the blankets.
"Doll," he sighed, crossing his arms, "you can't possibly be comfortable like that."
Y/N stirred, blinking her eyes open to see Tom standing there. She stretched, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "It's too hot in here," she mumbled.
Tom smirked, "It's your own fault for wearing a jumper in this weather." He approached the bed, bending down to press a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Y/N grinned and reached out to pull him closer. "Well, I was waiting for you, you know."
Tom arched an eyebrow, "Oh, were you now?" He teased, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. He slid under the covers and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace. but Y/N begins to kick off the blankets still hot until he embraced her. "I was trying to put the blankets on us."
Y/N groaned playfully, clinging onto him tighter. "Too much effort."
He kissed the top of her head, "Lazy." But his tone was affectionate.
She grinned, her eyes fluttering closed. "Your cold skin is perfect, though."
Tom chuckled again, a low sound that reverberated through his chest. "Well, if you're comfortable, then I suppose my efforts were not in vain."
She nuzzled into his chest, sighing contentedly. "Mmm, much better."
Tom chuckled, feeling her warmth against his cool skin. "I can't let you freeze," he murmured, his fingers gently tracing patterns on her back. "Are you comfortable now sweetheart?."
Y/N nodded sleepily, her grip on him relaxing. Tom chuckled again, a low sound that reverberated through his chest. "then I suppose my efforts were not in vain" Tom continued to hold her close, the quiet of the room enveloping them. As she drifted back to sleep, a small smile lingered on her face, knowing that in Tom's arms, she was finally comfortable and safe.
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cardansriddle · 1 year
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Teach Me - ( tom riddle x fem!reader )
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part 2
Summary: Feeling awfully inexperienced, you ask Tom to teach you how to kiss.
Warnings: friends to lovers trope. old-fashioned mindset because it's the 1940s. sexual tension. implied smut but no actual smut.
A/N: It's 4 AM and I had to quickly write this idea before I could lose motivation. I love this "teach me how to kiss" trope so much so let me know your thoughts abt this!
buymeacoffee <3
༻♛༺
Tom's low voice carried around you as you lay your head against a tree, eyes shut closed to enjoy the serene atmosphere of the day. You barely paid attention to the meaning behind the words he was reading from his book, instead letting the soothing voice lull you to a relaxed state.
You adored these little moments with him. Your friendship with Tom Riddle was an unexpected one, yet not unpleasant. Whatever had bloomed between you two was unique, and you cherished whatever attention he could give you because you knew it was only you that received these rare moments with him.
"I'm bored." You suddenly interrupted him mid-sentence, huffing and opening your eyes to stare at the thick branches above you.
"What do you want me to do about it?" The wizard asked dryly, causing you to turn your head towards him. The sight of his profile greeted you, and you enviously traced your eyes over the perfect slope of his nose and the sharp edges of his jawline. Truly, it was unfair that he had been blessed with such pretty features.
"Maybe we should put aside the book? We've been reading almost every day now." You suggested, continuing to stare at him while his gaze remained glued to the pages of the book. "Tom."
"Hm?"
"You are not even listening to me!" You hit his arm at his offensive behaviour. The action seemed to snap him out of his trance and he met your gaze at last, eyes dark and holding an expression of bemusement. "This is dull. Let us do something else."
"Do what?"
You shrugged. "Talk?"
He seemed to contemplate his options, knowing if he kept reading you would persistently annoy him until he could no longer focus but if he complied with your request, he would at least receive peace of mind. With a tired sigh, as if he was trying to appease an insolent child, he snapped his book shut and turned to face you fully, causing you to smile in triumph at your small victory.
"Well, talk then." He gestured with his hand for you to speak, but you only glared at him.
"No. I always talk. Perhaps you should tell me about one of your adventures. Or stories. Anything."
He almost whined your name in protest but you hushed him. An idea came to your mind, something that you had been meaning to question him about, and you sat up eagerly. "You could tell me what Xavier and Avery were talking about yesterday? Remember? Before you told them to shut up?"
Tom only stared at you, his lips beginning to quirk up in a half-smirk. "Those are not for your innocent ears. Or any ladies' for that matter."
Instead of discouraging you, his words only caused your curiosity to grow. "Oh come on, Tom! I thought we told and shared everything with each other." You pouted, eyes pleading for him to indulge you in those secrets.
"You must stop." He tried to warn you but you decided to settle your head into the curve between his neck and shoulder, to attempt and soften him enough for him to speak.
"Walburga always talk about stuff like that. We are not as naive as you men think us to be."
He scoffed and averted his eyes down to his closed book. "Walburga does more than talk about it and I would advise you to steer clear from her presence."
"Did Xavier and Walburga lay together?"
He stiffened, and you lifted your head up from his shoulder to look up at him. He seemed lost, not knowing how to direct the topic of conversation elsewhere.
"I wonder what it feels like." You continued voicing your thoughts out loud, missing the way his head turned towards you swiftly, entranced by your genuine and clueless curiosity. "I mean I do not know what exactly transpires between man and woman but I can imagine the—"
His hand grasped yours on your lap, halting you before you could finish your trail of thought. "We should not talk about this topic any further." Although his voice was as gentle as he could allow himself to be when with you, you could detect the finality in his tone.
"But—but Tom! Would you tell me?"
You observed him as he clenched his jaw. "When the time comes, your husband will tell you and show you."
"But I wish for you to tell me. Do you not think my future husband would prefer me to know what I am doing at the very least? What if my terrible inexperience will bother him?"
He was quiet, staring at you with a flurry of emotions in his eyes. Something about his gaze caused your cheeks to redden and you opted to look down at your fiddling hands on your lap.
"Perhaps you could teach me something." You muttered after a long minute, not daring to meet his stare.
Tom's heart began beating unevenly beneath his robes. All of a sudden he felt too warm, too suffocated in his clothes. Tom was not pure by any means. He did not care for honour or propriety. Nor did he care for the foolish yearnings of men and women. He had indulged in those acts before, once or twice just to attempt to satisfy his body's urges. But he never actively sought it out. And he never particularly enjoyed it. But with you in front of him, so close to him that he could feel the scent of your perfume, he was just a regular man. And he had never felt desire the way he did at that moment.
"Stop." He said with a hoarse voice, and he cursed himself lightly before clearing his throat and repeating the word. "This is highly inappropriate."
"Show me just one thing. Please? Please, Tom?"
His pants tightened and his breathing got shallow. If you kept pleading him and uttering his name with such need surely he was bound to break. Surely no one would fault him for sealing his lips and yours—
No. He berated himself.
"Tom?" You moved closer, your knee bumping his thigh—
Before he could resist, his hand slid to grab your jaw. "You are being insufferable. I am holding myself back to protect your honour and yet you insist on me breaking my resolve."
"One time won't hurt anybody. Please?" With your last plea, and with a confidence you were not aware you possessed, you climbed over him to straddle him, sliding down until you were settled in his lap comfortably.
Tom froze underneath you. He could only stare up at you sitting so innocently on his lap as if you were born to be there and attempt to blink away the very ungentlemanly, very filthy thoughts from his brain. But how could he? With you pressed up against him, with only a few layers of clothing separating you, how could he banish those indecent images away?
"Teach me how to kiss." Your small voice filled his head again and how could he deny you anything when you were a pleading and desperate mess for him?
"Just once." He muttered with his last remaining resolve, no longer able to resist the pull that was urging him to close the minute distance between you. He moved to press his lips against yours and before you could respond, he retreated to gauge your reaction, only for you to whine and eagerly reconnect your lips back together. The grip on your hair grew tight, and he fought with himself to maintain control. But it seemed you had other plans as you needily pressed against him, the kiss no more gentle, but intense and messy.
Your body felt as if it was set aflame from the inside, and you would gladly burn alive if it meant you could experience this for the rest of your life.
His hands slid to grab a hold of your waist, and he lifted his hips up to grind the straining material of his pants against you. You gasped into his mouth at the action, and he did not miss the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. You moved your hips against his, feeling him hard underneath you. He groaned, the low sound travelling straight to your core.
"We should stop." He muttered between kisses, and your hand moved to take a handful of his hair and pull at it, causing him to look up at you with dazed eyes. "Or I will not be able to control myself."
"Don't you dare stop."
He moved his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing kisses along your throat before you felt his teeth bite into your flesh.
"Tom." You murmured his name in pleasure, rolling your hips against him once more to feel that pleasant ache between your thighs once again.
Suddenly, you heard the snap of a twig from somewhere behind you, and you pulled away from Tom in horror to look back over your shoulder. One of the Slytherin boys you did not recognize was standing there, eyes on you with an expression of bewilderment.
He had caught you in a compromising position. This was not appropriate. If he said anything about this situation, you would be ruined. You quickly removed yourself from Tom's lap and stood shakily on your legs.
Hesitantly, you looked at Tom, and he was staring at the boy with cold indifference as if this situation was not severe. Feeling embarrassed and utterly horrified, you did not utter another word before you rushed away from the place, desperate to return to your dormitory.
You worried that the boy would tell everyone of what had occurred, people would gossip about your ruination, but most of all, you felt betrayed that Tom had just sat there and done nothing.
If only you stayed long enough to witness Tom obliviating the boy, perhaps you would not be in such distress.
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mrsriddles-blog · 4 months
Text
His Obsession | T.R
Pairing: Slytherin Fem Reader X Tom Riddle
WC: 8.4k
Warnings/Notes: Mild language, smut, stalking, breeding kink, obsessed Tom, CNC?, pregnancy, etc.
Summary: You happen to have a so-not-secretive stalker who’s taken on an obsession with you…
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You are an obsession (you are an obsession)
I cannot sleep (I cannot sleep)
I am a possession (I am your possession)
Unopened at your feet
There's no balance (there is no balance)
No equality (no equality)
Be still, I will not accept defeat (be still, I will not accept defeat)
He stood in the corner of the dorm, one that wasn't his own, but yours. He snuck in after he was sure you had fallen asleep. This was the first time he had gone as far as to sneaking in your dorm—at least while you were in it.
You had kicked most of the blankets off so that they laid at the end of your bed. There was a thin sheet that covered one of your legs, but the other laid on top of the sheet. The moonlight lit the room perfectly so that he could see you.
You wore a white tank top with black lace underwear. His eyes were still on your face, peaceful as you slept. Your eyelashes were against your cheeks, your plump lips parted as your breathed softly, unaware of the watching eyes on you.
His eyes trailed down the column of your throat, a place he has imagined his lips and hands many times. It was slender...and untouched. He wanted to touch it...mark it and make it pretty. He wanted everyone to see that you were claimed, that you were his.
His eyes fall lower, onto your chest. Your nipples had pebbled against the thin cotton and he took in a stuttered breath. Your breasts were spilling out the top as well, the tank top a few sizes too small, but clearly this was a comfort top of yours.
He noticed the tank top had ridden up, revealing the soft skin of your belly. He takes in a deep breath as he imagined it swollen with his child. He notes the soft curves that lead to the dip to your wide hips. He burns it into his memory.
You stir a bit, but you simply roll over. His eyes fall on your ass, big and round and perfectly accentuated by the black lace. His eyes roam over your thick thighs, noting the soft bare skin. You stir again, forcing yourself to keep your eyes closed as you feign sleep.
Someone was here.
You could feel it. You weren't necessarily scared, maybe slightly alarmed, but you had a feeling you knew exactly whom it was.
You were well aware of your stalker around the school. Tom Riddle thought he was subtle and secretive of the way he watched and followed you. But, you caught on. He's was quite obvious after all. But, instead of confronting him about his staring and following...you let it continue. You loved it.
You loved to egg him on. You moan softly as you slowly sit up, rubbing your eyes. Tom had grown tense where he stood, hoping to god you didn't look to much into the shadows.
"Bloody hell, it's so hot." You mutter to yourself.
It was actually quite nice in the room, but you decided you wanted to tease him. Maybe he'd come out of the shadows tonight and play.
You pull the tank top off, tossing it on the floor before lying back. You turn on your side, closing your eyes as you felt his eyes burn into you.
He stared at your breasts, the pebbled nipples that seemingly called out to him. He needed to leave before he lost control. But, he knew he needed to wait until you fell asleep.
I will have you, yes, I will have you
I will find a way, and I will have you
Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly
I will collect you and capture you
Just as he thought you had fallen asleep, you moan in annoyance again. He stands up straighter from where he had leaned against the wall. You sit up, propping yourself against the headboard.
You could feel the change in the air. You could feel his nerves. You knew exactly what he was thinking. You knew he was waiting until you fell asleep to leave, but you weren't ready for him to leave. You wanted him to play with you.
You trail a hand down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach before slowly sliding your hand down your panties. You moan softly, rubbing the sensitive ball of nerves.
He had grown even harder as he watched you play with yourself and he clenched his jaw, clenching his fists in his pockets as he fought the urge to go to you—to claim you.
You take your panties off, now frustrated they were in the way. You toss them on the floor, in the direction of where he stood. He looks down to where they have landed, right in front of him. He leans down slowly as he keeps his eyes on you as he grabs them. He stands, feeling the wetness on them.
Your breaths became faster as you got closer to reaching your high. You curl your fingers, hitting a spot you were unaware of—one that sent your eyes rolling back as you moaned out loud as you came.
You fell back against your bed, unconscious from the pleasure. You had always been quite sensitive to pleasure, only touching yourself twice before tonight. You were a virgin and didn't even know what pleasure could really be.
Tom was awed with how you came apart. Now, he wished he was above you so that he could be fucking you, making you feel pleasure, but so he could see you unravel.
You were beautiful.
He steps closer to the bed, knowing how risky it was, yet he felt like he couldn't leave without doing this. He cups your cheek, gently tracing your bottom lip. You moan softly, your lips parting. He gently sticks his thumb in your mouth, your lips wrapping around it as you sucked on it slowly before your mouth barely opened.
He pulled his thumb back, a trail of salvia left in its wake. He groans softly as he sucks the thumb you just had. He traces a hand down the column of your neck, down the valley of your breasts, over your belly before reaching where your hand laid limp between your legs. Two of your fingers glistened with your release and he gently grabbed your wrist, taking your two fingers in his mouth.
His eyes flutter closed, tasting your sweet release blossom over his taste buds. A taste he knew he was forever going to be addicted to. He lets your fingers free from his mouth, before disappearing to your attached bathroom. He grabs a rag, wetting it before going to carefully and gently clean you up.
He went back to the bathroom, putting it in the bin. He got to the doorway as he hears your soft moan. He sees you slowly sitting up. You found yourself wanting to touch yourself again, now wanting his touch.
He watches your fingers delve back between your wet folds. He bites his lip, watching you from a different angle, one where he saw your glistening folds from the pale moonlight.
"Oh god." You moan, your eyes squeezing shut.
He smirks, loving how sensitive you were. He couldn't wait until he got to experience your sensitivity with you. He could already imagine you getting all sensitive and worked up over it.
"T-Tom." You moan, not meaning to, but now you imagined it was him touching you.
His lips part in surprise as he watches you. It wasn't long before you were falling apart, realizing you moaned his name. You weren't embarrassed long as you passed out once again. He grabbed the rag, cleaning you once more and sucking on your fingers to experience your heavenly taste.
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
You awake to your alarm this time, naked and a bit sore down there from your activities late last night. You smile slightly, knowing he cleaned you up both times. You stand and get dressed in your white button up blouse, grimacing slightly.
Your family wasn't poor, but they also weren't rich. You were lucky to get your books for the year. Buying new clothes was a speciality in your household. So, the blouse was a bit small and couldn't be buttoned all the way. This one was the blouse you tried your best not to wear because it was buttoned right at your breasts. So, anyone could see your breasts that were beautifully accentuated by your lace bra. Thankfully, they couldn't see the bra.
Your blouse hasn't gotten that small just yet. You pull on your "school girl" skirt, another thing you didn't like to wear often as you rather wear you black ones that fit just right. Your "school girl" skirt was short and you were lucky if you didn't flash anyone if you bent over too much.
It was a green plaid style though, suiting your house colors which you liked. You pull on your white knee socks and your black Mary-Janes. You brushed your hair before you decided to pick up your clothes from last night that you had thrown when you got a little bold.
You found the tank-top, but not the panties. You knew you threw them right in his direction and you realized that he must've taken them. You smile slightly before grabbing your messenger bag. You walk out of your dorm, heading into the Common Room.
Tom sat with his friends where they normally sat. You fought not to make eye contact with him or to stare at him. You could feel his eyes on you though.
His eyes were on the blouse that he knew was a few sizes to small. He clenched his jaw, not happy that other boys would see his girl like this all day. Not to mention the skirt you wore.
"Good morning, Mary-Ellen. Are you ready to head to breakfast?" You ask, a polite smile on your face.
Your friends were already at breakfast, but Mary-Ellen was a first-year that you had taken under your wing. She was more advanced than most in her year, and she was a year younger than everyone, but everyone bullied her. Until you stepped in and now you protected her.
"I'm not really hungry today." She mumbles sadly, laying her head down on her arms that were folded on the table.
You frown, taking a seat across from her. You quietly cursed her brother, Avery—one of Tom's friends—who acted as if he had no association with her.
"What's going on, Mary-Ellen?" You question.
"I don't wanna talk about it." She grumbles.
"Mary-Ellen, we agreed that 'wanna' isn't a very polite word. We also agreed that we don't keep secrets from each other. Now, tell me what is bothering you. I'm sure we can fix it." You say, smiling softly at her.
"Avery, are you ever going to treat that little sister of yours, right? She truly thinks you hate her." Lestrange mumbles, watching the interaction between you and Mary-Ellen.
"No one would judge either. Your smart. No wonder she's smart." Abraxas says.
Avery looks at Tom who was already looking at him. He raises his eyebrows before rolling his eyes.
"Avery, she's your sister. Treat her like one rather than icing her out because you're embarrassed she has more brains than you." Tom says.
"There's this boy who keeps picking on me." Mary-Ellen murmurs.
"A boy? Who is this boy?" You ask.
"Someone." She mumbles.
"Mary-Ellen." You warn sharply.
"It's Samuel." She mumbles.
"And what is Samuel doing?" You question.
"It started with him throwing pebbles at me, then taking my school stuff and holding it away from me...but now he keeps trying to lift my skirt up randomly. He also keeps telling everyone we are dating and we had snogged in a broom closet." She exclaims upset, tears welling in her eyes.
Avery's jaw clenched, his eyes going to the doorway where Samuel so happened to enter. You happened to notice as well, Tom putting a hand out to stop Avery.
"Samuel! Come here, please." You call.
"Yes, Miss. Y/l/n?" He questions.
"I want to know why you are picking on, Mary-Ellen." You say expectantly.
"What are you talking about?" He lies.
"Samuel, please do not lie to my face. I don't like it and it's disrespectful. Be honest, so that we can properly figure this out. I've heard you've thrown pebbles at her, taken her school books to tease her, and then you're trying to lift her skirt. Not to mention you are spreading false rumors around the school. Do you know how rude that is? How do you think all of this has made Mary-Ellen feel? Do you know how much trouble you'll get in if this reaches a Professor or the Headmaster? This isn't okay behavior." You scold.
"I just wanted her attention." He mumbles.
"Samuel, whether you wanted her attention or not, that wasn't an appropriate way of gaining it. You've really upset Mary-Ellen. I hope you haven't done this to other girls either. It isn't polite. It is rude and disrespectful. If you wanted her attention, alls you had to do was approach her and talk to her. You didn't have to tease her, lie about her and harass her. I think you owe someone an apology." You say.
"Mary-Ellen, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was hurting your feelings. I promise I'll stop. I'll tell everyone it was just a rumor. I just really wanted your attention...I think your really pretty and I got really nervous about talking to you." He admits, his cheeks flushing red.
"It's okay, Samuel. Just don't do it again or I might have to hex you." She teases.
You smile, watching the two who ultimately end up going to breakfast together. You look at the time and know you won't have time for breakfast. You stand swiftly, smoothing your skirt out before leaving the Common Room.
Tom dismissed himself from his friends, following you from a distance. He was confused, noticing you were taking a different route. You stop in the middle of a corridor, feeling him following you—watching you.
"I can feel you following me and watching me." You say softly.
He stays in the shadows, watching you with curiosity. You smile, looking down at the ground.
"Maybe next time you'll play too? I could feel you watching me last night when I played with myself...and this morning my favorite pair of panties were gone." You say softly.
He swallows hard, a tent appearing his pants. You offered an invite for him to play with you. Not to mention, you were well aware of his eyes on you last night and you simply played with yourself before his eyes.
You carry on walking, aware he was following you still. You reach your class, slipping inside and hoped he'd make it to his class on time.
He did, per usual. He was waiting for Potions, where he hurriedly rushed to before leaving a note on your desk. He walked out and found Abraxas. He walked in with Abraxas to see you at your desk reading the note.
My Obsession,
Are you daring the devil to play? Naughty girl. You knew I was watching all along. If I had known, I would of feasted upon your heavenly taste between your legs. I might have snuck a taste from your fingers, a new addiction of mine. You can have your black panties back once I've claimed you as mine.
You smile slightly, noting how he knew he was obsessed with you and not to mention he tasted you. Your cheeks flushed red at the thought of his mouth around your fingers. You tuck the letter away before the Professor began to assign groups. He apparently decided to switch it up and do boy-girl and to try and have people work with people they normally don't.
You were partnered with a Gryffindor boy, your work station in front of Tom's and his partner who was a Slytherin girl you've seen sometimes.
"So, Y/n...are you single?" Leon asks.
"Yes...but I'm not actively looking for a relationship. Sorry." You say distractedly.
Tom sat behind you, glaring at Leon. He knew he hadn't claimed you just yet, but he was sure it was quite obvious he liked you. He was satisfied with your answer though which made him feel a tad bit better, but he was still pretty pissed off.
"Can I ask why you aren't looking for a relationship?" He asks.
"I'm not so sure it necessarily pertains to you. Sorry, but I just don't understand why your pushing the matter more than it needs." You say softly, not wanting to come off as rude.
"I'm interested in you. Your a nice girl who's smart and who's apparently not looking for a relationship." He says.
"I've got my eyes set on someone already." You say.
"In that case, I'm sorry. I should have known. It's quite obvious." He says.
"What? What's quite obvious?" You ask, turning your full attention to him.
His eyes fall on your chest, before you cleared your throat and he looked up.
"It's just...Riddle is always around you no matter where at." He says.
"Oh, he and I aren't together." You say, smiling like a lovesick fool as you turn back towards the cauldron.
"I never said you both were together. I just meant it's quite obvious you both like each other." He says.
You stay quiet, surprised he'd say that. You finish up the potion, waiting until Professor Slughorn could come over.
"Brilliant! As always!" He praises, putting a hand on your back as he looks at the potion.
"Thank you, Professor." You murmur, your cheeks flushing red.
"Of course. You go on and take a seat. Leon, you clean all of this up." He says before walking away.
Class was over not before long and you stand, grabbing your bag before you quickly hurry away. You could hear Tom trying to get through the crowd of people, sensing his growing annoyance as he tried to catch up with you.
You smile slightly, ducking down another hallway, before taking a different way to the Great Hall. You find your normal seat, getting sucked into a conversation either Katherine and Mirabelle.
"He's staring again." Katherine whispers with a smirk.
"When isn't he?" You chide, smiling back at her.
"I bet if you got up right now, he'd follow you." Mirabelle said.
"He probably would. I have finished my dinner, so maybe I'll test the theory. Once I get to the door I'll turn back and wave to you two. How's that?" You suggest.
"Go." Katherine urges excitedly.
You stand, smoothing out your skirt before making any other move. You shuffle down the bench so you wouldn't have to climb over it and risk flashing someone. You start to walk to the doors, pausing before turning back to wave to the girls who wave and send you kisses. Tom had stopped all movements and stood there waiting for you to walk out of the Great Hall.
You walk out, ducking into a dark corner. You see him step out, looking up and down the hallway. He curses before walking right past you. You wait until he's gone before going left where you take the long way to the Slytherin Common Room.
You walk in, just as he walked in from the direction of the girls dormitory's. You give him a polite smile, walking past him towards your dorm. The door was partially opened which it wasn't like that earlier today when you left.
I feed you, I drink you by day and night
I need you, I need you by sun and candlelight
You protest, you want to be
Safe, oh, there's no alternative (there's no alternative)
He stood in the corner of your dorm again and he watched as you slept soundly. Tonight, it was rather hot in the dorm, so you were in a tank top that had ridden up just below your breasts and another pair of lace panties, this time dark green.
The blankets had been kicked to the floor long ago and he was running his eyes along you almost continuously, trying to burn your soft curves into his memory. You moan as your eyes flutter open.
You could feel him again.
You slide the tank top off, throwing it in the direction you knew he would be. You shimmy your panties down your legs, tossing those in his direction as well.
They hit him in the chest, and he caught it effortlessly. You smile inwardly as you didn't hear them hit the floor. You gasp as a bundle of silk is thrown onto your bed. You grab the little note and open it.
My Obsession,
Put this around your eyes as a blindfold, then I'll come play with you.
You set the note on your end table, excitement coursing through you as you lightly trace the silk. You were dripping between you legs at this point, but nonetheless, you put the blindfold on.
Tom steps out of the shadows, walking around the room slowly. You let a shaky breath out, your ears straining to hear his soft footsteps. He stops at the end of your bed before he slowly climbs up. You let another shaky breath out as you feel him getting closer and closer to you until your breaths were mixing together.
His hand caresses your cheek, before kissing you softly. You hum softly, kissing him back. You gasp as your hands are pinned above your head against the headboard. He ties them there before his lips were back on yours.
His hand slides from your cheek to your jaw to your throat. He gives it a little squeeze, feeling your body jump from surprise. You relax and he smirks.
He lets his other hand roam, grabbing a handful of your breast, a moan eliciting from you. He pulls his lips from you before his hands trace over the rest of your curves. He moves your thighs further apart before kneeling between your parted thighs. He breathes in deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as your sweet smell of arousal.
"Please." You plead, opening your thighs wider.
He smirks, before his head was burying itself between your thighs, feasting upon your mound. You moan, your legs moving over his shoulders. You tug at your wrists, hoping to free them. You could feel the knot building in your stomach already.
His tongue was sinful and worked meticulously. He dove his long, slender fingers into your dripping cunt repeatedly, the squelching sounds along with your moans and pleads for more filling the room. You tighten around his fingers and he thrusts his fingers a few more times, lifting his head to watch you fall apart. He curls his fingers, watching your mouth fall open, a loud moan coming free as you arch your back, pushing yourself into his hand.
He thrusts his fingers slowly through your orgasm and you fall limp. He smiles, knowing how sensitive you truly are now. He leans down, licking you clean before he sits up and unties the binds on your hands and your eyes.
He moves to the corner of your dorm where he stands as he waits for you to awake. He had a plan, but that went to hell the moment his fingers were buried into your dripping cunt.
Your face appears again, I see the future there
But I see danger, stranger beware
Of circumstances in your naked dreams
Your affection is not what it seems
You were awake, but you hadn't opened your eyes yet. You could feel your hands were free and the blindfold was off, but you found yourself excited yet fearful of opening your eyes. You knew he was there still, but something about his energy right now made you feel off.
"Open your eyes, naughty girl. I know you're awake." He whispers.
You slowly open your eyes, looking at the ceiling before slowly pushing yourself up. You look around, and he steps out which catches your attention.
Tom Riddle, being illuminated by the pale moonlight watched you with a charming smile. You knew it was Tom, but seeing him now kickstarted your nerves.
"Tom." You breathe softly.
"Y/n." He murmurs, stepping forward.
You squeeze your thighs together, feeling your cunt throb as you watch the way he carries himself.
"You've been stalking me." You say softly.
"You've loved it." He points out.
"But I shouldn't have." You admit.
"No, you shouldn't have, but you're a naughty girl. You too have dark desires and wants, don't you?" He asks.
"Y-Yes." You whisper.
"Tell me, what do you want right now?" He asks.
"I...I don't know." You lie, turning your gaze to the end of your bed.
"Don't lie to me or I'll have to punish you. Be honest." He spats.
A part of your brain was screaming at you to run, that this man was dangerous, but another part of you loved the danger. You wanted to be in the presence of this man every waking hour of yours if you could. Your eyes flicker back up to his narrowed ones.
"I want you to claim me." You say softly.
His lips part, surprise etched upon his features only momentarily. His lips were moving to a small smile before he slowly begins to strip off his clothes. You watched intensely, realizing your imaginative brain hardly did any justice for this man.
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
You are an obsession, your my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
You lay back, a soft breath leaving you as he crawls over you, his eyes slowly taking you in. Your (hair color) was sprawled around majestically, framing your face. Your (eye color) stared up at him, innocence and desire swirling in their depths. Your plump lips were parted, waiting for his next move.
"You are so beautiful." He murmurs, tracing your jawline with his index finger.
"Thank you." You whisper, your nerves bubbling in the pit of your stomach.
"You are mine, Y/n. I don't think you truly realize the severity of that, but you are mine. It's in your best interest to steer clear of any males or I may have to kill them for fraternizing with what's mine. Especially, after tonight." He says, serious and calm.
Your heart raced, your mind and body trying to tell you how dangerous this man is, but you shoved that all away. You focused on him and your excitement, the adrenaline pumping through you and your desire for him.
"What if I just stick by your side after tonight? Or would you think I'm clingy?" You question.
"Never. I want you by my side for the rest of eternity. In the waking hours, I want you with me, but even in the hours of the night I want you by my side." He says.
"Then I'll be by your side." You breathe.
"My obsession." He whispers, sinking his hard cock into you slowly.
Your lips part, as if to say something or maybe to express your pleasure you felt right now, but no sound came out. Your eyes look up into his to see he too felt this amazing feeling you felt. It was heaven. He rocks his hips back and forth, sinking into your tight cunt. You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.
My fantasy has turned to madness (has turned to madness)
And all my goodness (and all my goodness)
Has turned to badness (has turned to badness)
My need to possess you had consumed my soul
My life is trembling, I have no control
"Tom." You moan, as he sinks the rest of his cock into you.
"Shhh, I know. I know, darling." He murmurs.
"F-Full." You stutter out.
"Shhh, I know. You're doing so well for me right now, darling." He whispers.
"V-Virgin." You whisper.
"I know, I know...I'll be gentle until you tell me you want more." He murmurs.
He thrusts were slow, although a part of him—a messed up, sick part of him—wanted to be fast and rough with you. He wanted your nails digging into his skin, your tears falling down your cheeks, and your cries and blubbering, music to his ears.
However, he knew it'd be painful and no pleasure for you. He wanted you to experience pain, yes, but he wanted it to be pleasurable for you.
He watches your face that was still adjusting to his size. He knew you were a virgin simply from the way you acted. So innocent. Yet, he also has been obsessed with you for years. So, he knew it may take you a bit to adjust to his size. Not only is this your first time, but he is well aware that he is bigger than the average size.
He ducks his head to your neck, leaving little kisses. He left a quick little bite to see your reaction, only to hear your soft moan as you pushed his head closer to your neck.
He left more bites, his tongue soothing over the sting before he left a soft kiss there. He sucked on a spot on the nape of your neck, his teeth nipping at it as he let it go. He left more marks, loving your soft neck covered with his claim.
"Tom, I need more." You breathe.
He leans back, watching your face before pulling his hips back and slamming forward. Your back arches off the bed, a cry of pleasure leaving your lips as your eyes roll back. He places a hand on the headboard in front of him, the other resting beside your head as he thrusted fast and hard into you.
The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed off the walls, the bed scraping against the floor, your cries and mewls for more were all music to his ears. You tighten around him and he knew you were close.
"T-Tom, if I pass out...keep going. I can still feel it and it's even more heightened." You say, somehow managing to babble it out.
"Of course, darling. It's because you aren't necessarily passed out. You're not necessarily awake, but you're also not asleep. Your body is just overwhelmed from the pleasure." He murmurs.
Your open your mouth to respond as the coil in your stomach comes undone. You cry out, you back arching off the bed against as your nails drag down his back, your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. He clenched his jaw as you squeeze around him, but he keeps thrusting into you.
You were limp, but his lips part from surprise as little soft moans left your lips. He could feel his own high catching up with him, but he prayed you were awake to see him come undone.
You were slowly coming to, a lot faster than normal, and your eyes flutter open. You could feel your body feeling the pleasure ten times more than it had before you orgasmed. You had no words. You could only moan and cry out for more as you held him closer.
Your eyes were watching how he moved above you. His body was coated in a sheen of sweat just as yours. Everytime he slammed back inside you, the muscles in his arms, abs and chest would clench. His hair was damp, dangling in his dark blue eyes that were watching you. He looked like he could care less from a glance at his face, but in his eyes you could truly see how much this meant to him.
He groans, his face scrunching up as he comes with his last thrust inside of you. Your lips part, no sound passing them as you felt the most amazing feeling ever. He slowly thrusts to ride out his high before pulling out of you. He lays beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he kisses your forehead.
He pets your damp hair, thinking about all the things he's wanted with you. Now, he can have them. He glanced at your belly and smiles slightly, imagining it swollen with his heirs.
I will have you, yes, I will have you
I will find a way, and I will have you
Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly
I will collect you and capture you
You had fallen asleep, your hand rested above Tom's heart, your head tucked in the crook of his neck and your legs entangled with his. This...was exactly as he had imagined it.
He found himself dozing off, feeling tired for the first time in a very long time. Tonight would be the best night of sleep he has ever had and he knows it's because he has you. You were the first one awake, but you weren't in any rush to wake Tom up or to move for that matter.
It was Saturday, meaning you both could sleep in late. Even if you both missed breakfast, they'd have lunch or snacks in the Great Hall for anyone.
"You're staring." Tom mumbles, his eyes still closed.
"You're handsome, how could I not?" You ask, a soft smile on your lips.
His lips twitch before they were tilting up. He opens his eyes, looking over you lazily from where you were now sitting up next to him.
"You look stunning in the mornings too." He breathes, almost like he was in shock.
"Oh stop it." You mumble, your cheeks flushed red.
"I mean it, you are beautiful." He murmurs.
"I...I...I'm not quite sure what to say." You admit quietly, looking down at the bed in shyness.
"You don't have to say anything. Come here." He says, opening his arms.
You climb onto his lap that was covered by the thin sheets, letting his arms settle around you. He kisses you softly, cupping your cheek. His tongue glides across your bottom one, silently pleading for your lips to open. To his luck, they did. His tongue slides into your mouth, his movements becoming more urgent as he tugs you closer to him, his teeth clattering with yours.
His hands slide from your hips to your ass, pulling you closer to him. You moan softly, your hands getting lost in his hair.
He pulls away, looking you over slowly, his eyes falling on your stomach. Oh, how he wanted to see you swollen with his child. He moves the sheets, revealing his hard cock. Your pupils dilate, his words washing away as you begin to sink down into his hard cock. You moan, rolling your eyes up to his, the both of you getting lost in the pleasure.
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"You both have been around each other most of the time and she still doesn't know of your plans?" Abraxas asks.
Tom sighs, running a hand over his face. He knows Abraxas may have a point as you and him have been together for four months now, but he wasn't convinced whether you'd freak out or not.
Not to mention, the sneaking around over the summer so you both could hang out was ridiculous. Apparently, your parents dislike Tom immensely for no reason. At least to your opinion. Tom is sure they know he's a half-blood which would mean they have similar views to him which means you could have similar views as well.
Abraxas rambled on and Tom stared at the window, his thoughts back on you. You had returned to your home for the weekend as your parents had requested, so he found himself missing you immensely. Two days apart was the longest you both have been apart...since being together.
It was your guys' year seven and were two months into the year now. The cold, chilly weather was approaching at full force and that only meant the holiday season was as well.
"T-Tom, can I speak with you?" You ask quietly.
His head snaps to the left, seeing that you stood in the doorway of the Common Room. His eyes run over you, looking for a sign that you were hurt as he could tell you were upset.
"You're back early. Is everything okay?" He asks, standing and striding towards you.
You take his hand with one of your shaky ones, silently leading him to your dorm. You close the door, leaning your head against it as you think of the best way to approach this. Tom noticed you had more bags in your room and he turns to you confused just as you had turned and leaned your back against the door.
"Darling?" He asks.
"Tom...my parents said I either needed to break up with you if I were to continue living with them. Or...if I were to stay with you...then I would be cut off and kicked out of the house." You say quietly.
"Are you trying to break up with me?" He asks calmly.
"No! Tom, can't you see! I chose you! Because I love you! Yet, I won't have anywhere to go after school. And I need a place to go, Tom. I can't be homeless." You exclaim.
"Darling, we will find a place. You won't be homeless. I would never let that happen. We will figure it out." He says.
"Tom, we need to figure this out fast. I'm pregnant. Roughly a month. We can't raise our child on the streets of London. We need a home." You stress, tears welling in your eyes.
His lips part with surprise as he looks at your stomach. He knew something had been different about you lately. You've had a glow to you that he can't get over.
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
Tom eyed you from where he sat at a table in the library. You had gotten up to find another book, but his eyes were on your swollen stomach. He was more than obsessed with you pregnant. He told you and himself that you were going to be pregnant again and again.
You felt as you were ugly pregnant, but with the way Tom was constantly eyeing you and ravishing you any moment of the day, you knew you must've looked pretty in his eyes. When you first started to show, he was dragging you to your dorm, empty closets or empty classrooms to ravish you at least five or six times a day.
It's definitely been a challenge for you to keep up with Tom, but you adored him. Now, you were roughly seven months and only had roughly two weeks until graduation. Tom had been a bit more spacey recently, trying to make sure everything is sorted out once you both graduate. But, that didn't mean he didn't have time to sneak off with you and to ravish you while telling you how beautiful you were.
He cut it down to maybe once or twice a day—if you were up to it of course—as he didn't want to hurt you or the baby.
You could feel his eyes on you, but you continued to read the book you had found. You rest a hand on your belly, grimacing as you feel pain. You have an appointment today, the first since you went before you left your parents as you've been to embarrassed.
The stares and whispering had grown too much for you to bear, so you hid away most of the time if you could. However, you were sure Tom said something and made threats as most of that has come to an end. He was the one who actually fought with you about having an appointment.
"Everything okay, darling?" Tom asks, standing behind you as he rests his hands on your hips.
"I-I don't know if this is normal...I've never felt this before." You whisper, a hand on your belly.
"Everything okay?" The librarian asks, coming over to you two.
"I think something's wrong. This doesn't feel right." You say panicked.
She steps forward, ignoring Tom's narrowed eyes as she places her hand on your belly. Her face softens as she looks at you, a soft smile on your face.
"Oh dear, this isn't bad. This is good, really good. This is your baby kicking. I'm surprised it hasn't started earlier. Tom, you should have a feel." She says, taking her hand away.
Tom's eyebrows furrow before he places his hand on your bump. He jumps slightly before placing his hand back on your belly.
"Does it hurt?" He asks.
"Not really. It hurt a bit at first, but now the baby is kicking in a different area. It doesn't hurt as bad here." You say quietly.
"I'll leave you two to it. If you ever have any questions, don't fret to ask dear. I've got three of my own." She says, smiling softly before leaving you both.
"He's quite strong." Tom murmurs.
"He could be a she." You chide, rolling your eyes up to his.
"It's a boy. I can feel it." He says.
"Okay then." You mumble, rolling your eyes as you look back down at your book.
"You've gotten quite the attitude the past few days and I'm not so sure I'm having it." He says calmly.
"And what would you do about it?" You asks.
"Spank you. Push you to the edge over and over again. Make you want my cock, but I won't give it to you. I'd make you so sorry that you'll be begging at your knees for my forgiveness. So, tell me...are we going to straighten up our little attitude problem, or am I going to have to punish you?" He murmurs into your ear.
You were tense, your panties wet with arousal. You wanted to say something snarky, but with how horny you've been yourself because of the pregnancy hormones...you weren't so sure you were going to risk that.
Not to mention, Tom was true to his word—always. If he wanted to prove a point to you, he'd prove his point and he'd prove it pretty goddamn well. You could be on your knees and it wouldn't be enough. He's sadistic and he likes you like that. Maybe if you threw tears in the mix, he might cave—might as the keyword—but even that wasn't a solid might.
"I'll start behaving." You mumble.
"Good girl." He whispers, leaving a soft kiss on your neck before walking back to the table.
He watches as you move a hand to your belly again, looking down at it with a soft smile. You whisper something to your belly, something he wishes he heard, but instead he watches you with awe.
He knew you'd be an amazing mother. You've tried all you could to learn about your pregnancy, but you've come to learn that all pregnancies aren't the same. Each experience is unique and special. You've found you have to learn what works for you and you've got to find what is the right fit just for you. Tom has admired your growth and strength during your pregnancy.
He knows you don't feel beautiful pregnant, but he thinks otherwise. Everytime he looks at you, he sees a goddess whom he worships. He's already decided he wants to see you pregnant several more times after this.
You wobble over to the table again, his smile widening as you struggle. He stands, helping you sit before pushing your chair in. He's learned to love how dependent you've became. He loves to help you. He likes feeling needed by you. Even if it's simple tasks just because it's hard for you to walk sometimes.
"Tom." You murmur.
"Yes, darling?" He asks, looking you over slowly.
"I think I'm going to miss it...you know...being pregnant and all. I've really grown to like the baby bump. It's an intimate feeling knowing that there's a baby growing in here and I'm helping it grow by eating and whatnot. I think I'm going to be really sad to see the bump go." You admit.
"Darling, don't be sad. I plan to get you pregnant several more times. I love how beautiful you look pregnant. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I laid eyes on before, but when I saw you pregnant...it was like I was staring at a goddess." He says.
"What if you don't like me after I'm pregnant though? My body is going to change, a lot." You sigh, looking down.
"Y/n...darling, look at me. You are going to be beautiful, so beautiful. I wish you could see what I was seeing everyday. Sure, your body may be different. But, you spent months growing a life in there. How magical is that? I think it's quite extraordinary what you're doing. I know most women can do this, but you're mine and I think everything you do is extraordinary. But, I'll always think you're beautiful and I hope one day I can make you see how beautiful you are." He says.
"Tom, I wish you knew how much I love you." You say, your eyes stinging with tears of love.
You knew he wasn't the most emotional person. He's told you before, he never expected that he'd gain feelings for someone. He truly thought he was incapable of feeling—until you. At first, he simply thought it was an infatuation that turned to an obsession that later turned into his burning love for you. He doesn't say it often, but when he does tell you that he loves you, you take it and hold onto that moment.
"You tell me every day, darling. So, I think I have an idea." He murmurs, offering you a sly smile before looking back down at his book.
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?
You are an obsession
"Tom...aren't they perfect?" You murmur, looking down at the twin boys you had hours earlier.
Tom was staring at you, the way you looked at your sons with so much love and care already. His eyes fall to your lips which were stretched into a soft smile as you looked down at your boys. He watches you gently stroke one's cheek before looking back at your face.
"Yes. Perfect." He murmurs.
"Tom! I'm talking about our sons, not me." You scold, your cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.
"I know! They are perfect and so are you. Mattheo definitely favors your more. I'm kind of jealous he's going to be so fetching as he grows older." He says.
"Oh shush, you. Tom favors you and I think both of our boys will be quite fetching once they grow older. It's definitely in their eyes." You say.
"God, I want you pregnant again." Tom murmurs.
"Tom! Let's wait until we at least get these two out of diapers! We are going to have our hands full." You exclaim, laughing slightly.
Tom takes Mattheo so you can feed the fussy Tom who hadn't wanted to take a bottle earlier.
"Please get out of diapers soon so that I can put another sibling in your mommy." Tom whisper.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle! He is a baby! Shush! You can't talk to him like that." You scold.
"Like he'll remember that. If he does, we have bigger problems on our hands." He says.
"Tom, shush. I love you, but shush." You say, laughing softly.
He smiles slightly, enjoying that sound from you. He watches as you look back down at Tom with a soft smile. Mattheo starts to squirm and he looks down at the boy. He smiles slightly, lifting a hand to swipe some of the hair out of his eyes.
Mattheo lifts a hand, his tiny hand wrapping around Toms pinky. Mattheo's brown eyes look up into Tom's blue ones. A big gummy smile appears on his face before he sneezes. Tom huffs out a quiet laugh, looking back down at the boy who snuggled closer to him. He leans down slightly, leaving a soft kiss on his head.
"I love you, Mattheo." He murmurs.
He looks up to see you staring at him with a big smile. You could tell he was embarrassed by showing his love for his son publicly, but you stick your hand out to him. He takes it, sitting on the edge of your bed.
"I love you." You murmur.
"I love you." He says, looking down at you with intense eyes.
He looks over at the fussy baby in your arms. He leans down, place a soft kiss on Tom's head as the baby lifted a hand and rested it on Tom's cheek, looking into his blue intense eyes with his identical ones.
"I love you, Tom." He murmurs.
He sits back, watching as he snuggled closer to you, seeming content now. He looks back at you, leaning down and leaving a soft kiss on your lips.
"I love you more than words, darling. I can't even begin to express how much I love you, nor how much I care. I know I struggle to show you those acts on a day to day basis, but I want you to know you truly mean the world to me." He murmurs.
"I know, love. I think I say it enough for the both of us. I appreciate all that you've done for us. I love you so much and I can't wait for our eternity together." You say softly
You are an obsession, you're my obsession
1K notes · View notes
your-nanas-house · 3 months
Note
Voldemort x malfoy reader where he’s in desperate need for an heir so he ‘does’ the reader over the large dining table with a lot of ‘yes my lord’
Love it, sorry if it took me so long 😭
Yes, my Lord
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◇ Pairing: Lord Voldemort X Malfoy!Reader
◇ Warnings: age gap (both off age but it's a clear big age gap), smut, HEAVY DUB-CON, public sex, p in v, wet spell (dunno if it exists but I use it every time 😬), breeding kink, creampie... just Tom Riddle, the death eaters watch them
◇ Summary: The dark Lord was ready to have heirs.
◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. The writing is pretty shitty, 'M so sorry and it's kind of dark.
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Her eyes snapped up as soon as the dark lord pronounced her name in a strange tone, she wasn't exactly following the whole monologue that the now former Tom Riddle was gifting his followers. So she was oblivious at the topic connected to her name.
As she carefully scanned the room, her father, Lucius Malfoy, spoke with a worried expression on his face “B-But… my lord, she—” he tried, shutting his mouth as soon as the red eyes of the dark wizard glared slowly at him.
“I made my choice, Lucius… do you have anything to add?” He asked in a calm voice as he leaned closer, receiving just a head shake… the blonde man too scared to defend his own daughter in front of the older wizard.
When Voldemort called her name again, moving his slender fingers to indicate her to move closer.. she got up, her body shaking softly and sweating due to the fear and panic she was feeling at the worried expressions of her family.
She inhaled loudly as soon as the cold fingers of her lord brushed the side of her neck, traveling slowly down to her hips… making a grin appear on his face as her skin reacted with goosebump.
“Y/n, Y/n, Y/n… my poor little dove,” Tom cooed, moving his free hand in her hair before taking a firm grip and bending her down on the wooden table, a loud thud echoing in the room.
Every gaze was now staring at them, some were concerned, others worried and complacent… as Y/n's eyes started filling with tears, shutting tightly as the cold slender fingers lifted the skirt of her dress so that they could rest on her covered ass cheeks.
“My little dove, you know why I'm doing this, right?” Her lord cooed again, starting to knead her flesh harshly “I need a young cunt with a body that could carry strong heirs in it, hm” he continued while covering her now naked lower half with his cape, which swallowed the sinful act perfectly.
The death eaters had just a perfect view of the young witch’s face which showed clear fear and worry.
They could see Tom’s hand moving under the cape, silence except for noises of metal caused by his belt hitting the floor… sounds that made them stare more intently.
Some started to look away while others kept focusing on them, admiring how the older man leaned down to whisper in her ear something that remained between them before her front body hit the table harshly.
A loud whimper escaped her mouth as soon as she collided with the wooden surface, her hands grabbed into whatever she could reach as an uncomfortable whimper broke the silence.
A soft light of a spell appeared from under the fabric and little time after that her whole body jolted forward, her head hitting the table as well.
Given by the dark lord’s expression of pleasure and hers of pain the dark wizards knew that was happening.
His movements were clear and the noises loud, his thick long cock kept forcing her walls open, as he pulled almost completely out so that his tip was the only thing inside of her.
Soft whimpers kept leaving her pretty mouth, tears kept running down her face wetting her young skin as she took everything her idol was giving her.
“Take it” Voldemort hissed, holding her flat against the table while snapping his hips forward, his cock hitting her cervix in a painful but pleasurable way as hisses kept leaving his mouth.
The Parseltongue sent shivers down her spine, those hiss and smooth noises kept swirling in her head, making her wetter than usual and almost too submissive.
It was her first time, Tom knew it, and he was enjoying it way more than he should… his breath getting heavier and heavier as he moved faster and harder not really carrying to make her cum or her pleasure.
“Going to take my heir!” he hissed, his tongue daring out to lick the skin of her ear shell sinfully
“I’m gonna fill… you.. up” he added, speaking after each thrust, as he smirked evilly when her body started to shake due to the intense feelings.
Her mind was telling her how wrong the whole situation was while her body kept reacting positively— her voice even cracked softly due to his fast thrusts… making it get higher while she continued to repeat the same answer as a mantra.
The young woman's eyes rolled back as her lord cupped her breasts through the fabric of her dress, squeezing and kneading them roughly to continue the now pleasant assault.. now a bit sloppier since he was reaching his own peak.
Y/n was on the same path, and after a particularly hard thrust, her body spasmed and her jaw dropped open…. her walls clenched around his hard and veiny cock, allowing Tom to finally release inside of her. Thrusting his hips to get it deeper inside of her before slowly pulling out.
A soft sigh of satisfaction escaped his mouth, his slender hands moved under the cloak as well, assuring that his seed wouldn’t leave her body.
Both were still breathing heavily as the young witch took a couple of deep breaths, falling slowly down, her bare knees hitting the cold floor of her family Mansion.
“Lovely… You have such a wonderful and useful daughter, Lucius” The dark lord murmured in a mocking tone, petting softly her hair while staring deeply in her father’s eyes, who was still at the table
“Make sure she will be there next week, for the next… encounter” he ordered, taking a grip on her hair to move her head easily, so that her eyes could meet his piercing red ones “I will see you later, dove”.
His voice was smooth and tempting, a contrast to the rough actions that just happened… his caress feeling almost soft and loving even if his stare was just communicating pure possessiveness and domination.
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Taglist:
@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter
431 notes · View notes
pasukiyo · 1 year
Note
Omg i just read "wrapped around your finger" and JDJLDKSKS it was so good 🤤🤤 could you maybe do a part 2 where tom asks mr and mrs Lestrange to marry her and they're completely baffled and tom is just wildly in love (smut is appreciated)
𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | tom riddle
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tom riddle x f!muggle-born reader 7,072 words warnings: smut, prejudice against muggle-borns. notes: reader is hufflepuff, this can be read as its own imagine, but it is part two to this fic. i would suggest you read part one for more context. summary: it’s been a few months since the lestranges’ famed christmas party. a month before graduation, tom riddle comes to a realization that you are what he wants. he doesn’t care about anything else, all he cares about is having you and how powerful you make him feel.
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 “Tom… we have… to get… to class,” she managed to say between kisses, his hand in her hair, the other resting on her hip. He kissed her deeper, taking the moment and stretching it out as far as he could until she tapped his shoulder, signaling that it was really time to go. He pulled away, his chest heaving as he panted, and he gazed down at the Hufflepuff girl he had pressed against the door of the broom closet. 
 His hand dropped to the nape of her neck and he could feel the heat as it crept up her skin as she straightened her robes, pressing her fingers to her lips where the phantom of his kiss still lingered. He didn’t move, only let his gaze linger on her before finally, she broke the silence that had since ensued. 
 “Tom… I have to get to Transfiguration…”
 “Can I see you tonight?”
 She blinked and stared up at his handsome dark eyes, still visible even in the dim broom closet. She shifted beneath her weight, “I don’t know, Tom. I have to study for my Potions…”
 “Please.”
 She knew she wouldn’t be able to resist when he used such a tone, and she mentally groaned, damning him for having such an effect on her. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and nodded, swiping the hair on either side of her face behind her ear. He kissed her temple when she did, and he dropped his head so that his lips could ghost over the shell of her ear, shivers slithering like snakes down her spine. 
 “Meet me in the Astronomy Wing tonight.”
 He began to back away and out of the closet, her hand in his all the way up until it naturally slipped out, and she smiled. “Alright,” she agreed, and he hummed in approval. “Excellent,” he said before turning to stride off down the long corridor, and she stepped out of the broom closet to watch until he disappeared around the corner, heat searing her cheeks. 
 She hugged her Transfiguration book to her chest as she touched her lips with her free hand, barely managing to contain her smile before she spun around on her heel and headed for the Transfiguration Courtyard. Clara Wingrave, a fellow Hufflepuff with brown skin and shoulder length, curly black hair joined her side as they approached the doors leading out to the courtyard, and she smiled at the girl. 
 Clara tilted her head as they stepped outside, the corner of her lips curving into an amused smirk. “You seem quite happy,” Clara said, and she flushed, brushing hair back behind her ear. “Do I?”
 “Yes, you do.”
 Clara looked around the courtyard as they strode through, making their way for the Transfiguration classroom. When she was sure nobody else was around to eavesdrop, she leaned into her friend’s shoulder, her lips close to her ear. “Who’s the boy?”
 She blinked and stopped walking altogether, taken aback by what Clara had been asking. Clara giggled behind her hand as she turned to look back at her astonished friend. “Oh, come on. Why are you acting so surprised?” Clara asked, and her friend shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean by boy,” she replied, hugging her books tighter as she began to walk again, but Clara still stuck to her side, teasingly prodding her finger against her shoulder. 
 “Don’t act coy. I know love when I see it,” Clara chuckled as they entered the Transfiguration classroom where most of the class already was, and they took their seats beside each other. Clara leaned in closer as they set the things down, and she furrowed her brows as she gazed at her friend. Clara grinned, “you’re in love.”
 Scarlet embarrassment burned her skin and she crossed her arms on the desk in front of her, hiding her face between them. Clara laughed again as she turned to face her, eyebrows pinched. “Have I been that obvious?” She asked and Clara rolled her eyes, leaning in and putting a hand over the top of hers. “It concerns me that you don’t think you’ve been obvious,” Clara whispered and she groaned, resting on her elbows to hide her face in her hands. 
 Clara leaned back in her seat and laughed again, “so, who’s the lucky boy?” She asked again, and she peeled back her fingers to peek at her friend between them. Neither she or Tom had told anyone about their relationship, neither daring to risk outing themselves to her brother, mostly in fear that she’d be tormented to no end. 
 But she could trust Clara. She knew she wouldn’t dare spill her secret to anyone else, so she leaned in, cupping her hand around Clara’s ear, shielding her lips away from everyone else as she told her friend her secret. “Tom Riddle,” she murmured her lover’s name, and when she leaned back into her seat, Clara’s lips were ajar so wide her jaw may as well have been on the ground. 
 “You’re snogging the Head Boy?” Clara asked, perhaps a little too loudly for her comfort, so she swatted her friend’s shoulder, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t make me Obliviate you,” she warned, and Clara shook her head, her laugh coming out as more of a breath. “No, no I just…” she leaned back in her seat, tapping her fingers on the top of the desk. “Wow. I just wasn’t expecting that.” 
 She tilted her head, curious. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She inquired, and Clara shook her head again, moving her hair out of her face. “Nothing, it’s just…” she rolled her bottom lip around between her teeth, contemplating her words. “…he just doesn’t seem the type to… date, you know? I’m just surprised, is all.”
 She hummed, nodding as she relaxed back into her seat. She could definitely agree with Clara there, she never imagined Tom going out with anyone before, much less to be the one he was seeing. She could only imagine how other people saw him, especially students who weren’t of Slytherin House, considering the people Tom was usually seen hanging around with didn’t have the brightest of reputations— her brother especially. 
 But she knew he wasn’t like her brother and his gang. Tom Riddle could never be like that. 
 “I thought so too but…” she trailed off as the Professor began her Transfiguration lesson, and she leaned into Clara’s side to whisper, “he surprised me too.”
 And Tom always did. 
 Later that night, she tread carefully through the corridor leading to the Astronomy Wing, the sky bruised with a dark purple, slowly morphing into black above. She searched the hallway for Hogwarts’ Head Boy, painfully aware of how close to curfew it was. Unfortunately she was not a prefect, and she didn’t dare risk detention so close to the end of her last year. 
 She paced back and forth, searching for her lover and his dark head of hair, mentally cursing as she leaned back against the wall. She couldn’t see him anywhere, and although she knew it was unlike him to forget, but still, she couldn’t help her impatience. 
 It wasn’t until she felt a pair of hands grab her waist and tugged her back that she yelped, turning in the arms of her sudden captor to gaze into the dark eyes of Tom Riddle. 
 “Tom!” She squealed, pushing her fist against his chest, stumbling back when he removed his arms. “You scared the living daylight out of me!” Tom held her hand gently, his touch so light it felt barely there, and if it weren’t for his warmth, he may as well have been a ghost. He leaned down to press his lips to the top of her knuckles, all the while gazing up at her through hooded lids. 
 “Apologies,” he murmured against her skin, giving her hand a firm squeeze when he stood back up. “And I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting. Ran into Professor Slughorn, you see.”
 She pressed her lips together and hummed, stepping closer to where Tom stood with his back against the wall, slithering her arms around his middle. “I can only imagine what he’d want to talk to you about, Head Boy,” she tittered as she rested the side of her head against his chest, feeling the tension in her muscles unravel when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his lips on the crown of her head. “Hilarious,” he muttered, his kisses working down her face and to her lips, and he hummed against them before pulling away, taking her hand in his. 
 “I want to show you something,” he said, beginning to lead her down the hall and up one of the large, spiral staircases. She furrowed her brows when they reached the top and he led her down the corridor only to stop at the end, turning back around to face her. 
 “Where are we going?” She asked, curious when his eyes shone, even in the darkness of the castle. “Just trust me,” was all he said before he paced back and forth down the corridor, exactly three times. She watched him in bewilderment even as he turned to gaze over at her and gestured for her to come forth.
 It was then that her eyes set upon the wall in front of him. She was certain there hadn’t been a door there before. 
 She blinked a few times, convincing herself that it must be her eyes that were tricking her. Tom released a breath that could pass as a laugh as he approached, grabbing her hand once more. ��I don’t think anyone else in the castle knows about this room,” he murmured as he led her towards the door, and she watched as his opposite hand cradled the knob and twisted. 
 “This…” Tom said as she gazed around the room full of just… things. Things everywhere. Every type of thing imaginable. “…is the Room of Requirement.”
 She raised an eyebrow over to him, glancing back into the room of things. “The Room of Requirement?” She murmured, admittedly skeptical. “And you think we’re the only ones in the castle who knows about it?”
 “I’m certain,” he reassured, palm against the small of her back, his opposite closing the door behind them. “Way I see it, the other imbeciles at this school are much too ignorant to find this place.” She turned to glance at the door, eyebrows knit together. “But why wasn’t the door there before? What…” she shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
 Tom approached and grabbed either of her shoulders, letting his palms soothe down the length of her arms all the way down to her wrists, and back up. She relaxed in his touch’s wake, but still remained curious, skeptical, even. “This place only shows up when you’re in need of it,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were against the shell of her ear, his breath icy hot, frosting over her bones and making her body shudder. “Can you guess why I invited you here tonight?”
 He leaned away to catch her eyes, and she felt all tension in her bones melt away when their gazes met. She pressed her lips together and drew near again, their faces so close their breaths were becoming one in the same. “I think I may have an idea…” she whispered, her glance fleeting between his irises and his lips. 
 And Tom couldn’t resist any longer.
 His lips surged into hers, like two violent waves in the sea in the midst of a storm. His hands were everywhere from her waist, to her hips, to her thighs, back up her chest all the way to the sides of her neck, creeping up until they cradled her face. She whimpered against his lips when he pressed himself closer to her, feeling her center throb and ache for more of his touch. 
 “Tom,” she whispered when he pulled away for air, his fingers tangled in her hair as he backed her into the wall, his forehead falling against hers. Tom’s lips were back on hers in an instant, and she moaned when he pulled away, his thumbs swiping over her closed eyelids to coax her into opening them. And when she did, his dark eyes were staring right back, and she was quick to get lost, falling deeper and deeper into his void. 
 “You’ve no idea how much I think about you like this,” he whispered, “I can never stop thinking about you.”
 And he kissed her again, this time with much more fervor, for Tom could never fully relate to her in words how he felt. But he could kiss her, and he could kiss her good. And when he kissed her like this, she was like water in his hands, free to be warped and manipulated in whichever way he pleased. 
 Tom loved this about her. 
 He loved how in control he felt when he had her like this, how he knew that she was totally and completely his. She could lose herself in him, and he knew it. 
 It drove him absolutely insane. 
 Her chest heaved when she panted as his kisses ventured down her jaw and to her throat, sucking dark marks into her skin. Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his robes when she gripped either of his shoulders, her knees wobbling and threatening to give out beneath her when his fingers curled around the hem of her skirt beneath her robes. 
 “I don’t…” she began, breathless as Tom’s kisses trailed back up to her face, finding her lips again. “…I don’t suppose the Room of Requirement believes we require a bed?” She managed to ask between toe-curling kisses, and Tom’s smile grew like a crescent against her lips. He gazed down at her, his eyelids hooded over his irises. 
 “I think we’ve managed quite well without beds, don’t you?”
 She hadn’t much time to laugh before his lips were back on hers, his fingers working open her robes, letting them slide down her arms until they pooled in a black heap on the floor. Her shirt was the next to go, his kisses trailing down to the tops of her breasts as he worked the clasp of her bra, letting it, too, slip from her shoulders. Her hands were in his hair as he sucked marks onto either of her mounds of flesh, his fingers curled around the hem of her skirt, tugging it down her thighs until it dropped to her ankles, and she was quick to kick it away altogether. 
 One of his palms soothed down her waist, around the curve of her hip until it could snake its way between her thighs and she gasped when his fingers traced a line up and down her slit, her slick making his skin glisten. Her eyelids peeled open just in time to catch Tom’s dark, hooded stare, his pink lips pressed together as the tip of his forefinger prod against her pearl, her body quaking in his wake. 
 “What do you want?” He asked lowly, the tip of his nose touching the top of hers as he looked down at her. “Enlighten me.” She whimpered when he circled around her clit, her back arching off the wall, her chest heaving into his. “Tom,” she whined. “Stop being such a tease.”
 He kissed his way back to her ear, his smirk evident against her skin. “Haven’t I told you I expect an answer when I ask you something?” He whispered coolly, ice frosting her skin at his words. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? I thought you were better than that.”
 She mewled when he applied just a little more pressure on her nub, her fingernails etched so deep in the fabric of his robes, she was sure to have torn through. “M’… m’sorry I… I just want you,” she managed to breathe out, his breath like fire as it fanned over the side of her neck. “I… I want you to… please,” she whimpered when he teased her entrance. “Just want you to fuck me.”
 “Hmm,” he hummed, flattening his middle and forefinger down against her slit, rubbing up and down once again. Her chest heaved as she panted, tears falling down her cheeks like a river stream. Tom gazed at her now and could no longer help how his heart burned when he saw her like this, how it stuttered in his chest with the overwhelming feeling of desire. 
 It was then that Tom Riddle decided that he was going to marry this girl. 
 “That’s what you want?” He asked in a low murmur, removing his fingers from her sex, and she flushed when she caught a glimpse of how they glistened, even in the dimness of the room of things. She nodded, watching as he unfastened his robes, slipping the noir fabric down his shoulders, letting it join the sea of clothes on the floor. She watched his fingers as they unbuttoned every single button on his shirt, the way his veins showed through his flesh, and watched as he tugged the material off his torso. 
 There he was again. Tom Riddle was a beauty unlike any other, beautiful in his own, entrancing way. Tom was like wine, and the more she drank him in, the harder she found it harder to resist. She couldn’t, she realized, it was impossible to resist him when she knew he was utterly and completely hers. As she watched him tug his trousers down his legs, she felt her heart flutter in her chest. 
 She still couldn’t believe she could call him hers. 
 Tom’s hands were on her again and oh, she could feel his cock as it pressed against the inside of her thigh, and one of his hands slithered down to wrap around the back of it, lifting it up so he could have access. His other rested on her hip, his dark gaze surging back into hers, drawing her in, keeping her and holding her there. His lips were but a mere inch away from hers, and she fought the urge to kiss him again. Instead, she inhaled a shaky breath, waiting for him, letting him make his move. 
 She hissed when she felt the tip of his cock prod against her entrance and she felt herself throb, yearning for more of him. The hand that had been resting on her hip ascended to cradle the side of her face, the pad of his thumb soothing just underneath her eye. Her bottom lip trembled, the moment so tender she thought she’d melt to the floor and join the heap of clothes beneath their feet. 
 “I love you,” Tom said at last, and she blinked, feeling crystals of tears weighing heavy on her lashes. She was so lost in his irises now, venturing further into his ravines of darkness, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. All she saw was him, all she felt was him, her heart burned with him. 
 And he burned for her too. 
 Tom Riddle loved her. 
 One of her hands weaved through the dark hair on the back of his head, feeling his tendrils between her fingers, her breath shaky as she inhaled again. Her other hand rested on the side of his neck, his skin so warm, melting like wax into hers. 
 “Oh, Tom,” she sighed, her voice wet like her tears. She tugged him forward until his forehead was on hers, each breath she took one of his own. “I love you too.”
 And she gasped when he pushed himself inside of her wet, throbbing heat, hissing between the crevices of his teeth at how good she felt. He’d taken her so many times since Christmas Eve in the Lestrange Manor, so many times that he’d honestly lost count. But still, he could never get enough of her or this feeling. He was drunk on it, intoxicated by her. He could no longer bring himself to fear it any longer, for this burning for her only made him feel stronger. 
 She threw her head back against the wall as Tom picked up his pace, his thrusts steady and even but hard and heavy all the same. She gripped his hair tight, so tight she felt a small worry in the back of her mind that she was hurting him. But Tom didn’t care. In fact, he thrived off of the bittersweet pain of her fingers tugging at his scalp and her nails etching crescent moons into the flesh of his shoulders. It only made him burn more, made him want her even more. 
 He was so deep now, his tip was hitting the spongy part so far inside of her with every single stroke of his hips, and she cried, her sobs permeating the Room of Requirement. Tom even resisted the urge to moan himself, considering no one would be walking in on them and she just felt so good. He gripped her thigh tighter as he lifted it up just a little higher to get a better angle, and her back arched off of the wall yet again, her erect nipples grazing his chest. 
 “Tom!” She shrieked at a particularly hard thrust, her fingers so deep in his skin now she was certain he’d bleed. She felt her walls clench around him and through pursed lips, Tom groaned, his eyelids fluttering closed as he relished this feeling of feeling so infinite. “I think I’m… oh, Tom… I think I’m close…”
 Tom’s eyelids peeled open and with his hand not supporting her thigh, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze back into his. “Is that right, darling?” He whispered, and she nodded, her teeth sunk into the pillowy flesh of her bottom lip. “Does it feel good?” He asked and she nodded, groaning at another especially hard thrust. “Oh, yes,” she moaned, cradling the back of his head closer to hers, their foreheads pressed up against one another again. 
 Tom felt his hips stutter and his member pulse when she clenched around him again, her heat so tight and warm he knew he was bound to break any moment now. His eyes remained fixated on hers, and every time she closed her lids or looked away, he was there to fix her gaze back onto his. 
 “I want you to look me in the eyes…” he began, thrusting harder and harder and harder, “…while you tell me how good I make you feel. Tell me how good you feel while you come.”
 While her vision blurred with tears, she could still make out his dark eyes through watercolors, still feel the intensity of his stare without really even seeing it. Tom was so deep now, his cock coaxing her orgasm out of her, encouraging her to let go. She could feel the bundle of tension knot at the pit of her stomach, pulsing and begging to be unraveled. 
 She was like a glass wall shattering when she came. 
 She cried and gripped Tom tighter as she released, telling him how good he felt through incoherent blubbers, not sure if she was even really making any sense. “T… Tom!” She shrieked as her body shuddered and quaked against his, his hands the only things keeping her grounded. “You feel… so… it feels… can’t… I want… Tom!” She sobbed, his chest glistening with her tears as they dropped like rain on his skin. 
 Tom was rocking harder into her now, chasing his own high as he fucked her through hers, his eyes never once leaving her bleary ones. His head rolled against hers and his nose brushed against her own, but never once did he dare tear his gaze away from hers. There was something so intimate about staring so deep into his lover’s eyes in their most vulnerable moments, so mesmerizing about losing one’s self in another’s irises. He felt so powerful when he looked at her, so in control and in his element. 
 Even when he came, Tom still felt the strongest he’d ever been. 
 Tom still remained inside of her even as they both came down from the force of their highs, their hearts beating to the same drum against one another. Tom held her close to his chest, craving the warmth her body produced, yearning for the touch of her skin. She hummed at the feeling of his fingertips absentmindedly tracing shapes into the small of her back, her lips curved into a smile as she lifted her head from his shoulder to peer up at him. 
 For a moment, neither said anything, only looked at one another. But their gazes held every unspoken word, their gazes held understanding, their gazes held love. 
 Tom never anticipated falling in love. He never felt it was a priority or a necessity, never thought it was in the cards for him anyways. He didn’t think it was necessary on his road to power, in fact, he used to think love was but a mere obstacle, something to blind him, to throw him in for a loop. 
 But love like this was none of those things. 
 As a child, Tom could never imagine that love could be so powerful. But when he found her that Christmas Eve and held her and had her, he felt infinite. He felt like the most powerful being in the universe, like she was the missing piece of his puzzle. And he had found her. 
 Tom couldn’t give a damn what Tiernan Lestrange or Clarence Avery or Liam Mulciber or the others would think of her. He couldn’t even care about her muggle-born status, he couldn’t care about any of those things. There wasn’t much that Tom cared about other than himself in this world, but he cared about her. 
 And that was all he needed. Himself and the girl in his arms. 
 It was not even a month later that they graduated Hogwarts, and Tom wasn’t sure how to feel. For seven years, Tom had known he belonged somewhere, and for seven years, he had a home. Hogwarts was in fact the only home he’d ever had. 
 But now that he was older, Hogwarts would no longer be his home. He resented that. 
 He knew he would stop at nothing to get the job he so desperately desired, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and he knew Professor Dippet would be a fool to turn down the best Defense Against the Dark Arts student Hogwarts had ever seen in all his years. But where would he go if the Headmaster was foolish enough to turn him down? He couldn’t stay at the orphanage, and he hadn’t any money to buy himself a home.
 Although Tiernan and the others all celebrated and laughed all around him, Tom couldn’t bring himself to do either of those things. Instead, he searched through the sea of bow graduated Hogwarts students, past the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors until his eyes set upon the particular Hufflepuff he always found solace in. 
 And found that she was already staring back. 
 She smiled when their eyes met, and although Clara Wingrave’s arm was wrapped around hers, tugging her back to celebrate with the other Hufflepuffs, she couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes away from the former Head Boy across the room. 
 Because she, too, could only find solace in him now. 
 She had no home, the Lestrange Manor was never a home to her, and now that she had graduated from Hogwarts, she hadn’t anywhere else to go. Hogwarts was her only home, the only place she knew she truly belonged. Where would she go now?
 But when she found Tom Riddle all the way across the Great Hall, when she met his dark and intense stare, she knew she still had a home somewhere. Her home was Tom Riddle. 
 And just like the first day she saw him, sitting on the stool at the front of the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted into his House, she knew that wherever Tom Riddle was, was where she wanted to be. 
 “My father’s already got a job lined up for me at the Ministry,” Clarence Avery was saying to Tom and the rest of their friend group as they packed their things in the Slytherin dorm. Tom had very few belongings, far less than the others, but he still took his time packing them. It was still bittersweet, leaving Hogwarts. “Mine too,” Dolohov was saying as he heaved his briefcase off his bed, sighing down at the mattress that had been his all year. “You know, I have to say, I’ll miss getting a good night’s sleep on a Hogwarts bed.”
 The others talked and talked but Tom Riddle was listening to none of it. His mind was still on the future, and on his lover. He had meant it, all the way back in the Room of Requirement when he thought he wanted to marry her. He wanted to marry her. He would marry her. 
 Perhaps they could build a home of their own together once he became the Dark Arts professor and she, whatever job she desired. Perhaps she’d support his dream to become the most powerful wizard of all, maybe they could even have their own little family, perhaps a son and a daughter to continue Salazar Slytherin’s bloodline. 
 The future remained unknown, but only one thing was for certain. Tom Riddle was going to whisk that girl away, away from the Lestranges and give her the life she deserved. Perhaps there would be a happy ending for them after all. 
 “What about you, my Lord?” Tiernan Lestrange asked as he gripped the handle of his briefcase. Tom turned to look at the group of boys now turned men behind him, realizing he was the only one unfinished with their packing. Calmly, he gathered the rest of his things and placed them nearly in his briefcase, letting the locks snap shut before gripping the handle and heaving it off the bed. 
 Tom turned to face them, his face expressionless, void of any emotion, the face they had all grown accustomed to. “I’m going to apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job,” he replied, sauntering past them and exiting the dorm room for the last time, the rest scurrying to follow close behind. “Of course,” Liam Mulciber hummed. “Dippet would be foolish to turn you down, my Lord.”
 “Yeah. You are the best student Hogwarts has had in years, perhaps ever,” Rosier agreed, and Tom said nothing more as they made their way out of the Slytherin common room, out of the Dungeons, up the Grand Staircase and out of the castle. 
 Tom searched through the crowd for his lover as they made their way to Hogsmeade Station, coming to no avail. Tom tried to not show his disappointment as he waited along with the rest of Hogwarts’ students for the train to arrive, Lestrange and the others laughing and pushing each other around. 
 “So, what’s the mudblood going to do now that she can’t pretend to be one of us at Hogwarts?” Tom could hear Nott ask, and he turned his head immediately as Lestrange snickered, shrugging his shoulders. “Dunno. Personally, I hope mother and father throw her out on the street,” Lestrange sniggered. “Now, that’d be very full circle. Wasn’t wanted then by filthy muggles, isn’t wanted now.”
 Tom never tried to show his anger unless it be in private, and Lestrange and the others had grown used to seeing their Lord rage in private, although they still trembled at the idea of it. But it was unlike him to show it around others, in fact, in all his time at Hogwarts, Tom never once showed emotion to this extent around anyone else. 
 So when he towered over Lestrange and grabbed the collar of his shirt, the boys jumped back, the hair on the back of their necks sticking straight up. Tiernan Lestrange’s eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets as heads turned their way, students gasping at this strange display of anger from Hogwarts’ former Head Boy. 
 “I do not want to hear you speak of her that way ever again,” Tom warned lowly. “Or it’ll be your head. Is that understood?”
 Tiernan Lestrange was trembling in Tom’s grasp, and all he wanted to do was shrivel up into a ball and wither away beneath his Lord’s dark, intense stare. His lips fell open with the intent of speaking but nothing could come out, so instead he nodded excessively, his bottom lip trembling. Tom held his collar for a few moments longer before shoving the boy away, turning back to face the tracks as the train approached, picking his briefcase up from the ground. 
 “Good,” he muttered as the train doors opened, and he stepped inside, the others following close behind, Tiernan Lestrange hanging back, trying to catch his breath. 
 She could see her adopted brother from across the station, her eyes wide as Tom stepped on the train, leaving Tiernan to catch his breath alone. She’d never seen Tom do such a thing before, and although she certainly was not mad that her “brother” had been put in his place, she couldn’t help but wonder what it was that had provoked her lover. 
 Her mind was thrown off its course as she heard her name being called, and she turned to face Clara Wingrave as she elbowed her. “Come on!” Clara tugged at the sleeve of her friend’s dress. “Don’t want to miss the train now, do we?”
 She smiled weakly at Clara. She would, in fact, not mind if the train forgot her. 
 She complied though, grabbing her suitcase and heaving it up the steps into the train, handing it to the conductor before following Clara down the walkway and into one of the compartments. 
 She sighed as she settled herself down into her seat, gazing out the window at Hogsmeade Station. She hoped this would not be the last she’d see of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade. 
 Her future was uncertain, she had no idea what the Lestranges would do with her when she got back. Perhaps they’d make her a maid, or perhaps they’d kick her out of the manor altogether. 
 She wasn’t sure which she preferred more. 
 Her mind drifted to Tom, what his plans were for after Hogwarts. She knew he desired the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, and there was no doubt in her mind that he’d get it. But what about her? What could she, a muggle-born with no money, do? She had nowhere to go, no home to go back to…
 …all she knew was that she couldn’t go back to living like a pile of rubbish with the Lestranges. 
 She found herself longing to know what Tom was thinking, if the future he had planned for himself had her in it. She hoped it did, because she wanted him. She wanted him to be her future.
 “Hey, did you hear what I said?”
 She blinked up at Clara, her expression softening in apology as she shook her head. Clara pressed her lips together, brushing her curly hair back behind her ears before folding her arms over her chest, leaning back in her seat. “Perhaps you should get some sleep,” she said. “It seems you need it.”
 She knew her friend was right, but still, she frowned in apology as she leaned her head against the wall of the train, her eyelids feeling heavy over her eyes. 
 “I’m sorry,” she said and Clara shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. “No need. I’ll wake you up when we arrive at King’s Cross.”
 When they arrived at King’s Cross station, Tom was one of the first to leave the train. He turned back towards the train as he watched the students leaving all of the exits, uncaring when his group joined him at his side as he searched for the girl. He couldn’t even bring himself to care when Mr and Mrs Lestrange approached, greeting Tiernan and the others before greeting Tom. 
 “Tom, my boy!” Mr Lestrange bellowed as he clasped a hand around Tom’s shoulder, giving him a firm shake. “How nice it is to see you!” Tom turned to give the Lestranges a small friendly smile and nod, turning back towards the train. “It’s a pleasure to see you too, sir,” he said, distracted. 
 “You know, you’re welcome to stay with us over the summer,” Mrs Lestrange said, wrapping an arm around Tom’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze. “I’m sure my husband can arrange a job for you at the Ministry, if you’d like.”
 Tom still searched the exits, longing for even a glimpse of his lover. His heart was pounding, all he wanted right now was her. 
 “Certainly!” Mr Lestrange exclaimed. “Way I see it, the Ministry would be lucky to have someone like you on board.”
 Tom was suffocating. Where was she?
 “Tom?” Mrs Lestrange asked, circling around to stand before him, cupping either of his cheeks. Mr Lestrange joined her at her side, eyeing him up and down in concern. “Are you alright, son?” He asked. “You seem a bit ill.”
 What Tom wanted to say was on the tip of this tongue, and he could no longer hold it all back, letting the words slip out of him like vomit. 
 “Can I marry your daughter?”
 To say the Lestranges were surprised would be the understatement of the century. Mrs Lestrange gasped and removed her hands from his face, grasping the scarf around her neck instead. He could see Tiernan and the others out of the corner of his eye as they gaped at their Lord, but were unable to protest or speak against him. 
 Not after what he did to Lestrange back at Hogsmeade Station.
 “What? I…” Mrs Lestrange was struggling to find words, to even form a coherent thought. “I’m sure that there are… other more suitable girls other than my… my…” 
 It was then that Tom saw her, his lover, step out of the train in a simple teal dress, cinched at the waist by a brown ribbon. Tom’s expression softened at the sight of her, and her eyes found his, her heart pounding when she noticed her adopted mother and father standing beside him, incredulous looks upon their faces. Tiernan and the rest of his friends were there too, sharing uncertain gazes with one another. 
 Despite all this, Tom reached out for her, and she gazed at him, hesitant. They had kept their relationship a secret thus far, and were they really about to expose themselves in front of the Lestranges? 
 But Tom gazed deeper into her eyes, and for the first time, she felt like he was pleading with her, pleading with her to take his hand. So she did. 
 Her shaking hand slipped into his and he clasped his fingers around hers, tight and warm. He helped her down the rest of the steps of the train, guiding her into his side as he stared up at the Lestranges, the Mother and the Father’s faces lips agape. 
 She didn’t dare look at them any longer. 
 “I want to marry her,” Tom said again, and she tensed at his side, feeling her heart stop for a moment. This was why the Lestranges look as though they’d been to Azkaban and back? She glimpsed up at Tom and when he looked down at her, she knew he seemed the most sincere he’d ever been. 
 He wanted to marry her. He wanted her to be a part of his future. 
 She felt like she’d burst into tears any moment now. Her bottom lip quivered the longer she looked at him and through her watery gaze, her lips curved into a smile. Tom let his gaze linger on hers for a moment longer before turning back to Mr and Mrs Lestrange. 
 “Son…” Mr Lestrange began, staring uncertainly between Tom and his adopted daughter. “…I’m afraid she hasn’t been entirely honest with you. She’s… you see… she’s a mu—“
 “I understand perfectly well who she is,” Tom interrupted, his voice cold, his stare blank but intense. Mr Lestrange blinked, for once at a loss for words. “And I do not care what you think of her.”
 Mrs Lestrange scoffed, a hand over her chest. “Tom, do you not see? She’s a mudblood, she’s filthy!” She exclaimed, gesturing towards the girl. “I’m afraid I cannot let you ruin your bloodline for this… for this…”
 “Don’t you dare speak about her that way,” Tom warned in a low voice, and behind him, Tiernan Lestrange trembled, very well remembering the way his Lord spoke to him back at Hogsmeade Station. “I think I can determine who is filthy and who is not very well.”
 Mr Lestrange’s glare hardened as he took a step forward in front of his wife, staring at Tom. “Do not dare speak to my wife like that,” he warned, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. “This is the mudblood’s doing, isn’t it?” He asked, his finger now pointing at her. She gripped Tom’s arm tighter, and Tom stood up straighter, clear that he wasn’t backing down. “This… this behavior of yours… it’s because of her, isn’t it? Because that’s all mudbloods are good for, ruining perfectly good—“
 “I would watch your tongue if I were you, Mr Lestrange,” Tom warned, his voice low and menacing. She swore that even the Father shuddered where he stood at Tom’s tone. “You don’t know what kind of people may be listening. You don’t know what some people are capable of.”
 Mr Lestrange blinked as Tom gazed down at the girl on his arm, feeling his heart burn brighter than it ever had before. “I’m going to marry her,” Tom announced again, no longer a question, no longer asking. She could feel tears stream down her cheeks. 
 She was leaving. She would never have to even step foot inside the Lestrange Manor again. Tom Riddle was her ticket to a better life, and she knew it. 
 Tom turned to gaze at Mr and Mrs Lestrange again, a small knowing smile creeping onto his lips that made them tremble. 
 “And you’d do well to remember this day when you are bowing down at my feet, begging me for my mercy.”
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a/n; IM SO SORRY I TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE THIS i was having a bit of writers block but i got coffee this morning and it made me want to write lol hope you all enjoy this one! i don’t like it as much as part one but hey, i finished it at least lol
| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |
@darkmoviesquotespizza @upsidedownspidey @michelle-26 @lyis 🥹🫶
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lexamiele · 13 days
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My Best Friend's Brother
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Tom Riddle x Reader
Word count: approx. 7k
Summary: Mattheo Riddle has been your best friend since you were both sorted into Slytherin, and you secretly have a thing for his older brother. Then, your friends pull Tom into a late-night game of Truth or Dare. What could go wrong?
Warnings/be aware: she/her reader, ooc!Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle isn't Voldemort just the mysterious Head Boy, one short description of violence/wounds, alcohol consumption, Mattheo smokes cigarettes, one Dramione mention, "you're the only one allowed to touch him" trope, possessiveness, no blood purity ideologies in this fic
A/N: Yay, first fic on this blog is up! I had so much fun writing this. I didn't picture myself ever making a Victorious reference in a Slytherin boys fic but whatcha gonna do. Writing best friend!Mattheo was such a good time, I think he'd be such a fun bestie.
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Since your first day at Hogwarts, Mattheo Riddle had been your best friend.
            You remembered that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express well. You were a Muggle-born who didn’t know the first thing about magic or Hogwarts, who shyly sat in a train car by yourself reading your school textbooks and trying to figure out what you were about to walk into. Then the compartment door opened and a boy with sparkling hazel eyes and floppy brown curls stumbled in, laughing, shoved by one of his friends. Figuring that they’d dared him to go talk to the weird kid reading by herself, you’d rolled your eyes, but he’d ignored your attitude and introduced himself nonetheless. He asked you why you were sitting by yourself and you were honest, telling him that you didn’t know anything about magic and you were trying to figure it out. In stunned silence, you watched as he chuckled before explaining that you didn’t have to have it all figured out – half of his friends didn’t, and most of them had grown up in the wizarding world with two magical parents and all magical friends. Then, he let you practically interrogate him about all things magical until it was time to change into your robes and arrive at the castle. He patted the seat next to him in invitation when he hopped into a boat and the rest was history.
            “Slytherin!” When the Sorting Hat cried out your placement to the Great Hall, Mattheo was the only cheer amongst a sea of polite claps, and your nerves disappeared when you looked over to your new house table and saw him hollering joyfully. After you joined him at the table, he introduced you to the rest of his friends – Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Theodore Nott…
            “And this is my brother, Tom. He’s older and wiser, so if you’ve got any questions, ask Tommy Boy over here.”
The elder Riddle’s eyes finally strayed from the pages of the book he’d been reading at the sound of the unwanted nickname, glaring at his younger brother before glancing toward you. You immediately felt the air leave your chest. He was absolutely striking, with darker curls than Mattheo and piercing green eyes that contrasted starkly with his brother’s hazel. His expression was focused and intense and you were paralyzed in his gaze.
            “There’s no need to be afraid of my brother, by the way,” Mattheo said later as the two of you stood in line, following your Prefect to the Slytherin dormitories with the other students. “He likes to think he’s intimidating, but he’s really just a big nerd.”
            “Oh, I’m not scared,” you responded, and he looked at you in confusion. “Just…a little caught off guard, that’s all.” He shrugged, and you were relieved that he believed you. You didn’t know much about boys, but you suspected that your brother’s attractive wouldn’t go over well.
            As you grew older, you only grew closer to your little group of Slytherin friends. You’d gone on your fair share of dates, had your first kiss with Theo on a dare, and loved and lost a few times, but you’d never quite been able to shake that feeling that Tom gave you, like he could see right through you. It didn’t help that he’d transformed from striking to downright gorgeous with age – his face had hardened into sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline, accompanied by that same piercing green stare he’d always had. He’d become a truly upstanding Hogwarts student, always put together and responsible without a hair out of place, keeping the rest of the student body in line as Head Boy. His intense and commanding nature made him even more attractive to you, but even when he paused his studies and Head Boy duties to sit about with his brother’s friends, it seemed like he was a million miles away, eager to remove himself from the group’s antics. When your friends had dared you and Theo to kiss, he’d rolled his eyes in disgust, scoffing incredulously when you’d actually gone through with it.
            Yet, he’d also developed an oddly gentle demeanor towards you…at least compared to the way he treated the rest of the students at Hogwarts. When you visited the Riddles’ house for the first time during the summer after second year and their parents were hostile towards you, Tom laid a hand on your shoulder and told you to pay them no mind. During your third year, you finally gotten the hang of Potions – your worst class up until that point – and he nodded appreciatively every time you announced to Mattheo that you’d earned another O on an assignment, assuring you that the class was quite difficult and you were doing well. While in your fourth year, the Yule Ball came around, and a nasty older girl in Slytherin teased you a few weeks before the event for not having a date yet. When Tom overheard, he told the girl off harshly and took points from his own house just to punish her.
            “Sadie Burke is a nasty creature,” he muttered darkly, pulling you aside after reprimanding her. “Don’t listen to a word she says, okay?” He cleared his throat. “Do I need to tell my brother to get his act together and take his best friend to the Ball?” Your face reddened and you looked at the floor, embarrassed that he was under the impression that you couldn’t find a date.
            “No, I…honestly, I’ve already turned down a few offers,” you said quietly. It was true – Zacharias Smith had creeped you out and you knew that Michael Corner had only asked you to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. Besides, even if you knew that he wouldn’t, you’d been carrying a slight flame of hope that Tom would ask you. “Maybe I should’ve accepted. But Enz agreed to be my backup anyway, with his girlfriend off at Durmstrang and all. So no need to badger your brother,” you added with a hesitant grin. Tom let out a sigh.
            “I was hoping Mattheo would take you,” he groaned. “I’m sick of him turning up to these things with girls he won’t even bother to learn the name of.” You laughed in spite of yourself. I hoped my brother would ask you out wasn’t exactly what you’d been hoping to hear, but Tom was right about one thing – your best friend was quickly becoming a menace in the relationship department.
            “It’s so annoying!” you agreed. “I feel bad for them – he never treats them poorly or anything, but he’s got the attention span of a fish. There aren’t that many girls here - at the rate he’s going, by next year he’s going to have to double back and go for a second round with some of them.” Tom chuckled slightly, a smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth.
            “I want to start warning them off, just to see what happens.” He paused for a moment, then frowned. “He’s never tried any of that with you, right?” You wrinkled your nose in disgust.
            “Ew, no!” you objected with a giggle. “Neither of us think about each other like that.” An indiscernible look passed across Tom’s face for a moment before he met your gaze again.
            “Good.” He walked away, brushing past you and leaving you with chills where his hand touched your shoulder as he moved.
            You’d ultimately gone to the ball with Enzo and had a blast, though you felt a pang of envy as you watched Tom escort some other Prefect in Ravenclaw. You saw her around the Slytherin common room a few times after that, but apparently Tom’s solitary nature ultimately won over and she disappeared like the many other girls who’d begun to realize that he was attractive. That, you realized, was the difference between the Riddle brothers. Both (objectively) stunningly handsome, but Mattheo was at least willing to humor the girls who were interested in him for a while. Tom had no interest, giving even the few girls who’d managed to drag him out to Hogsmeade the cold shoulder after one date.
            As you witnessed this from the sidelines throughout your fifth year and saw no evidence that he’d change, you decided that your crush on him had to go. So you went out on dates yourself, snogged Theo, and found a boyfriend, and when that didn’t work out, another. But when that boyfriend cheated on you, Tom walked in on you sobbing on Mattheo’s shoulder in the Slytherin common room. The next day your newly ex-boyfriend wound up in the Hospital Wing with gnarly open sores all over his body, unable to remember what had happened. Not even the professors had seen a spell like it before. Mattheo confessed to you that evening that he recognized the spell as one his brother had invented.
            “Why would he do something like that?” you asked, confused.
            “I may have mentioned to him at breakfast that I was going to fight the bloke,” Mattheo admitted. “He hates when I get detentions, thinks it smears the family name.” Your best friend rolled his eyes. “I guess he was worried that I would get caught.”
            It was sick and twisted, but your brain flashed between believing Mattheo’s explanation and wondering whether Tom’s actions meant that he felt something for you. Even though you knew it was wrong, the thought of Tom being vicious and protective over you made you even more attracted to him then you already were. In spite of your best efforts, you entered your sixth year with another major crush on him. It was one of the few points of continuity in the whirlwind that was your first NEWT year, really. Between studying for your increasingly difficult classes, homework assignments, Quidditch matches and Hogsmeade weekends, and the eternally raucous parties that your best friend threw in the Slytherin common room, you barely had time to get a word in edgewise with your life. But two things remained: your Slytherin friend group and your feelings for Tom Riddle.
            “Y/N!” Pansy hissed one fall night of your sixth year as you lay in bed, ready to fall asleep. You rolled over, squinting at her in the darkness. “Mattheo just sent me an owl.” The bird flapped out of the open window and into the pitch black air as she spoke.
            “At this time of night?” you groaned, rubbing your eyes. “What does he want?”
            “He still has some Firewhiskey from the party last night,” she whispered. “He wants us to come down to the common room with Nott and Zabini and them so we can finish it.”
            “Ughhh,” you groaned. “Pans, we’ve been drinking all weekend. Didn’t you want to get up early and go to Hogsmeade tomorrow?”
            “It’s fine, we can go in the afternoon,” she reasoned. “We should kill the Firewhiskey before Snape or some Prefect finds it.”
            “Fine,” you sighed. “Daph!” you hissed, launching your pillow across the room at Daphne, who was laying in her bed half asleep.
            “Whaddya want?” she mumbled, snapping up and rubbing her eyes.
            “Drinks in the common room, you in?”
            “Yeah, yeah,” she whispered with a yawn. “Let’s do it.”
            When the three of you stumbled down to the common room, you found the boys sitting about, passing a couple of half-empty bottles around, the room illuminated only by the green light of the lake and a small lamp that the boys had lit. Draco and Blaise sat back in armchairs while Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Theo sat on the floor, taking swigs of Firewhiskey.
            “I wish we had some coffee with this,” you groaned as Theo passed you the bottle and you plopped down on an upholstered couch. Pansy joined you while Daphne perched herself on the arm of Blaise’s chair and he slipped an arm around her hips. You glanced at Pansy and the two of you rolled your eyes. Those two just needed to start dating already. Carefully, you took a swig of whiskey from the bottle in your hands, coughing slightly at the burn in your throat before passing it to Pansy. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of a mixer?”
            “Couldn’t nick anything from the kitchens,” Mattheo explained as he accepted the other bottle from Draco. Pansy rolled her eyes.
            “Please,” she scoffed. “With you, there’s always a way. You just like to feel edgy, drinking it straight and having a cig.”
            “Now that you mention it,” he responded with a smirk, pulling a paper out of his pocket and starting to roll a cigarette.
            As you continued to pass the bottles around with your friends, you felt your head getting lighter and warmth spread across your chest. Pansy cast a Silencing Charm on the common room so you all could talk without attracting any attention from outside or those in the dormitories and you relaxed, your slight apprehensions about getting caught fading away. You all laughed and played Never Have I Ever, the very targeted prompts revealing exactly how well you all knew each other.
            “Never Have I Ever snogged some Ravenclaw at a party and then been paired up with the same guy in Potions the next day,” you said, staring pointedly at Daphne. She grinned and drank as the rest of your friends laughed loudly. It was a legendary story in your friend group, and the partnership had gone on for months. Finally, Blaise banned the guy from Slytherin parties until he requested a change, and he promptly did so. Whether it was out of fear of missing the legendary parties or of Blaise himself, you weren’t sure, but he’d been reluctantly allowed back in.
            “Never Have I Ever ditched my mates to hit on some girl,” Enzo chimed in, frowning at Mattheo. Everyone laughed again as Mattheo shook his head and reluctantly accepted the charge, pulling his cigarette from his lips and taking a swig from the bottle.
            “You guys are so dramatic,” he groaned.
            “You do it all the time, Matty!” you protested lovingly as he passed the bottle. The others nodded in agreement. “We’re having a great time in the Great Hall or at Quidditch or whatever and then some girl waltzes up to you and poof, I suddenly don’t exist to you or her.”
            “Don’t come at me for my W rizz,” he objected, crinkling his nose at you.
            Theo frowned. “What…what does that mean?”
            “Never Have I Ever used the phrase ‘W rizz’ in conversation,” you joked, shaking your head as Mattheo took another drink from the bottle in his hand.
            “Never Have I Ever caught feelings for someone in the group,” Draco cut in smugly. You rolled your eyes. He was way too proud of himself for someone who’d only avoided crushing on one of his friends because he’d been pining after Hermione Granger for three years straight. You giggled and watched Daphne and Blaise drink, as well as Enzo and Pansy, who’d had a short-lived fling after the Durmstrang girl had chucked him. Then Pansy passed the bottle to you and you paused, your face turning red.
            “Well, who counts as someone in the group?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. With the Firewhiskey in your system, your internal filter wasn’t quite up to scratch. Your friends collectively turned to look at you and Pansy and Daphne raised their eyebrows. They were the two out of the group who knew that you were…intrigued by Mattheo’s older brother. Meanwhile, Draco scoffed.
            “Y/N, Nott absolutely counts as someone in the group,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. You smirked.
            “Sure, he counts, but he doesn’t qualify for the feelings portion,” you reasoned. “We only kissed on a dare. No offense, Theo,” you added, glancing at your friend.
            “Oh, none taken,” he responded airily. He typically went for girls in other houses anyhow.
            “Anyway, back to who counts,” Draco said dryly, “Who do you think? Everyone here. Me, Zabini, Berkshire, Nott, Matt, Pans, Daph. Can’t think of anyone else who would.”
            “Right,” you replied, passing the bottle without taking a drink.
            “Wait, who were you thinking counted?” Mattheo asked, raising his eyebrows. You felt your face heat up even further.
            “Oh, you know…other Slytherins.”
            “Such as…” he prompted and you laughed, shaking your head as the others watched your exchange curiously.
            “None of your beeswax!” you protested, hurling a throw pillow from the couch in his direction as he let out a yelp of protest and tried to bat it away from his face. “No one included in the prompt.”
            “Come on,” he whined, pouting at you as he threw the pillow back. “I’m your best mate, you’ve got to at least give me a hint.”
            “Not to mention the rest of us,” Enzo complained. “I’m not used to being left in the dark.” Your stomach flipped nervously as you felt Mattheo’s curious eyes on you. You’d managed to prevent him from catching on to how you felt about Tom for this long – you couldn’t mess up now.
            Suddenly, the conversation was interrupted by a creaking that emerged from the common room entrance. You and your friends sat bolt upright, glancing around hurriedly.
            “Someone’s coming!” Pansy hissed.
            “No, I never would’ve guessed,” Mattheo retorted, quickly stoppering the liquor bottles with a flick of his wand. “You all,” he continued, gesturing at you, Pansy, Daphne, Draco, and Blaise. “Get down on the floor. I’ll put out the light. It’s probably some other degenerate out past curfew, but I don’t want to have to share the liquor if they see us.” You all obliged as he waved his wand again and you found yourself hiding in the shadows.
            Footsteps echoed through the room as you sat frozen with your back pressed to the couch, not even daring to stick your head up to see who they belonged to. You breathed a sigh of relief as they drew closer to the stairs, but tensed once again as they bypassed the steps to the dormitories entirely and instead continued into the depths of the common room.
            “Mattheo et. al., you can come out now,” a familiar voice drawled, and your heart rate sped up. Tom. Not just some degenerate…the actual Head Boy. He must be coming back from patrols. You and your friends rose hesitantly as Mattheo re-lit the lamp. Your eyes caught Tom’s through the shadows before his gaze quickly switched back toward his brother. “I can smell that horrendous cologne you wear from the doorway.” He turned back to the group. “It’s very foolish for you all to be breaking curfew, especially at this hour.”
            “Tommy, come on,” Mattheo began with a cheeky grin. “You wouldn’t report your brother, would you?”
            “That depends,” Tom replied evenly, raising his eyebrows. “Do you all have alcohol?” Panic rose in your chest and you flushed under his scrutiny. Sure, he was hot, but he could also totally report you and get you detention. Frantically, you shook your head as you tried to kick the bottle of Firewhiskey nearest to you under the couch. “Don’t try to hide it,” Tom ordered, holding you in his piercing gaze and sending shivers down your spine. He held out his hand, his rings flashing silver in the light of the lamp. “Give it to me.” You retrieved the bottle and handed it to him, shaking ever so slightly. To your confusion, he unstoppered it. “Thank Salazar,” he groaned, stepping forward and sitting down on the couch. “I need a drink, it’s been a long day.”
            Your friends let out audible sighs of relief as they realized that Tom wouldn’t report you all to Professor Snape. “Don’t ever mess with me like that again!” Mattheo complained, sitting back down on the floor. Tom raised his eyebrows.
            “I could actually report you, if you’d prefer,” he responded dryly and Mattheo frantically shook his head. Tom scoffed. As your friends slowly began to relax and return to their seats, he smirked, catching your eye. “I really got you, huh?” You blushed, pouting slightly.
            “That was mean,” you murmured softly and he let out a chuckle as you sat back down on the couch where you’d been before – which just happened to put you right next to him. As Pansy returned to her old spot, you were squished closer to him and you felt your cheeks heat up more. His self-satisfied expression was annoyingly hot.
            “Doesn’t anyone have a glass around here?” he asked, his lip curling slightly as he regarded the bottle in his hand.
            “Who do you think we are, bro? Adults?” Mattheo retorted and Tom rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He took a deep swig from the bottle before passing it to Draco, then leaned back against the sofa, throwing the arm nearest to you over the backrest. It was the most relaxed you’d ever seen him.
            “So what happened today that drove you to drink?” you asked, intrigued, as bottles began to move between your friends again. Tom rarely even came to Slytherin parties – the one time Mattheo had managed to drag him, he’d gotten irritated and left not even an hour in – and you’d never seen him drink outside of meeting with professors at Three Broomsticks. You were surprised that he was able to down the whiskey with so much ease.
            “Idiots on patrols,” he spat in annoyance, his lip curling again. “All sorts of people out of bed, and everyone acting outraged when I took points. These slow patrols full of people who want to argue are cutting into my studying time—“ He paused as you received a bottle from Pansy, took a heavy swig, and passed it to him. He drank deeply once more before passing it on. “—and NEWTS are just months away.”
            “Have another drink, big bro, you need some balance,” Mattheo cut in with a mischievous grin. “We can’t have you going grey from stress, now.”
            “Yes, advice from Mister Time Management himself,” Tom sneered. “Tell me, how ever do you balance all the girl-chasing with the partying and the nicotine addiction?” Mattheo just laughed, flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the floor.
            “All I’m saying is that you just got here,” he replied, grinning as he handed his brother a bottle. “You should probably catch up to the rest of us.” The rest of your friends watched with curiosity.
            “With pleasure,” Tom drawled, and to your surprise he took another heavy drink. After he finished, he passed the bottle to you. Not to be outdone, you chugged some yourself before handing it back to him. He took a final swig before passing it on in the other direction. He raised his eyebrows at you after doing so. “It’s not a competition.”
            “Why?” you teased, emboldened in your tipsy state. “Scared I’ll drink you under the table?” He scoffed.
            “In your dreams.”
            “Okay losers, more Never Have I Ever?” Mattheo announced, glancing around at the others. You nodded your assent, but Pansy disagreed.
            “I’m bored of that,” she complained. “Let’s play Truth or Dare.”
            “Ooh, let’s do that,” Daphne agreed eagerly.
            “Okay, everyone for Truth or Dare?” Mattheo asked and you gave a hesitant thumbs-up. Truth or Dare with your friends tended to get a bit…chaotic. But you could use some chaos tonight. The others nodded.
            “You all are twelve,” Tom drawled, taking another drink. Pansy pouted in his direction, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll play.”
            “Okay, since you suggested it Pans, truth or dare?” Mattheo began with a mischievous grin.
            “Dare,” she responded immediately, sitting up in anticipation.
            “Alright…I dare you to leave the common room, do a lap around the dungeons without getting caught by Filch, and then come back.”
            As the game continued, you relaxed into the couch, listening to your friends play. Your head was starting to feel heavy from the alcohol and, with a nervous glance at the boy next to you, you rested it on his shoulder. You half expected him to ask what was wrong with you or push you off, but he didn’t. Instead, he lowered his arm from the backrest of the couch and wrapped it around your shoulders, leaning back so that you could more easily rest on him. You watched, giggling, as Enzo stood on his head and attempted to chug Firewhiskey, spewing it out of his nose and toppling over onto his back instead.
            “Great try, Enz,” Theo managed to get out in between gales of laughter. “Who’s next?”
            “Y/N.” You sat up, suddenly alert. “Truth or dare?” Enzo asked, a mischievous grin on his face as he straightened himself out.
            “Um…truth,” you replied. You didn’t have the energy to stand up, and you definitely didn’t want to be asked to do something ridiculous in front of Tom. Besides, doing anything would require his arm to not be around you, and that sounded awful.
            “Great, well, I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’d love to know which Slytherin you were talking about during Never Have I Ever.”
            Your eyes widened and you felt your whole face turn red as the boys turned to watch you with amusement. Pansy and Daphne, on the other hand, acquired similarly shocked expressions, and you saw them both trying to subtly glare daggers at Enzo.
            “Who’s this Slytherin?” Tom chimed in before you could say anything.
            “Oh, just some fortunate lad that Y/N fancies,” Theo replied smugly, clearly enjoying your embarrassment.
            “Oh, I’m intrigued,” Tom drawled in response, raising his eyebrows at you. Your face turned even more red, if it was possible, and you violently shook your head.
            “Nope,” you declined. “I’ll drink. I’m not doing that one.” You reached towards Mattheo for the bottle, but he didn’t oblige.
            “Come on, Y/N,” he said gently, a slightly hurt look emerging in his eyes. “I’m your best friend – we’re all your best friends. Do you really not trust us enough to tell us?”
            You wished with all your heart that you and Mattheo could actually telecommunicate, because the glances you were shooting him clearly weren’t explaining anything. “I just…don’t want to talk about this right now,” you insisted.
            “Ughhh, you already picked the easy one anyway!” Draco protested. “Just say it and get one with it, it’s not like we’re going to tell him.”
            Saying it right now would be telling him, you idiot, you wished you could shout. Instead, you stubbornly shook your head again. “Nope. We always play this game as Truth, Dare, or drink. I’ll drink.” Finally, Mattheo passed you the bottle and you took what you hoped was a deep enough drink to satisfy your nosy friends. “Okay, Enz, you can ask someone else, since I didn’t do it.” This pacified Enzo well enough and you pulled your knees up to your chest, curling yourself into Tom’s side as you listened to Blaise reveal his first Hogwarts crush – Marietta Edgecombe, apparently. Tom wrapped his arm around you again and unconsciously began playing with the edge of your pajama shorts that hung around your outer thigh. Goosebumps ran across your skin at his touch and you struggled to conceal just how euphoric you felt from being close to him.
            Finally, after several rounds of the game, Mattheo fixed Tom in his gaze. “Brother.”
            “Yes?” Tom responded dispassionately.
            “Truth or – wait a second, why are you two cuddling?”
            The entire group seemed to turn their focus to you two at once and you wanted to curl up in a ball and hide, your eyes widening. Tom, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care, and he kept his arm around you as he held his brother’s gaze.
            “She’s had quite a lot to drink, I suspect if I wasn’t keeping her on the couch she would have fallen off of it by now,” he responded in a bored tone. Your heart sank. Had you been reading too much into all of this? Was he just looking out for you, like you were some other duty for him to check off his list? You sat up, hoping to prove that you were fine. “Anyway, you were saying?”
            “Truth or dare, brother?”
            “Dare.” Mattheo grinned.
            “I-“
            “Wait a second,” Blaise interrupted. “I have a great one. Call it a…punishment for noncompliance, if you will.” Your stomach flipped nervously as Mattheo’s eyebrows raised. “Let me intercept this one?”
            “Let’s hear it,” Mattheo agreed. Blaise smirked. You glanced at Tom, who appeared unimpressed.
            “Well,” Blaise began, giving the two of you the closest thing to an evil grin that you’d ever seen, “It seems that a whole slew of problems could be solved here. Riddle, you’re looking for a great way to relieve some stress. Y/N, if that bloke you’re into is too embarrassing to tell us about, then you definitely need to get over him. Ergo, I propose…Seven Minutes in Heaven. Between the two of you.”
            You froze, your eyes wide as everyone turned to look at you and Tom for what felt like the fiftieth time that night.
            “We are not getting in the closet like we’re dolls that you children want to make kiss,” Tom sneered, frowning at Blaise. “Give me the whiskey, I’ll drink.”
            “No, no more drinking!” Draco protested with a laugh, leaning forward in his chair and blocking Enzo as he moved to pass the bottle. “This is getting boring. I agree with Zabini, you two have been way too friendly tonight.” He pointed at a broom closet in the corner. “Get in that broom closet, I don’t care what you do, just don’t come out until we say so.” Tom raised a single eyebrow.
            “If you want us to go stand in a broom closet for seven minutes, fine,” he said evenly, standing up. You followed his lead, accepting your fate. “Enjoy the show,” he drawled as he followed you into the closet, shutting the door behind you.
            You’d been in a broom closet before alone, and as tight as it had been by yourself, it was unimaginably more cramped with someone else in there too. You and Tom stood chest-to-chest with barely anywhere to go as tension rose in the air. Frankly, you were at your wits’ end. Finally, Tom had acknowledged you, held you, been so gentle and kind to you for more than a few moments only to brush it all aside, only for some stupid dare to ruin it. And now? Now you had to stand around in a broom closet for seven minutes of awkward silence with the boy you’d had it bad for since first year. You’d had too much to drink, you were tired, and before you knew it, you were crying.
            “Hey. Hey,” Tom’s voice cut through the silence. He waved his wand and light streamed from it, finally illuminating the room. You covered your face in embarrassment – you couldn’t believe you were crying in front of one of the most notoriously intimidating people at Hogwarts, let alone someone you fancied, and whose opinion you cared deeply about. But you felt his hands wrap around your wrists and slowly, gently, he removed your hands from your face. “Why are you crying?”
            “I’m…really tired,” you managed to get out with a sniffle, figuring that was the easiest way to explain it.
            “Hey,” he murmured wiping your tears with his thumb as he looked down at you, his hand cupping your cheek. “Don’t let them get to you. They can’t actually tell us what to do, you know. We can leave if we want. Do you want to leave?” You shook your head.
            “I’m just frustrated,” you responded softly. “They can be really nosy sometimes.”
            “They should trust you,” he said, letting his hands fall to your shoulders. “I’m sure you have your reasons for the things you don’t want to tell them.”
            “I do.” You let your head fall against his chest, then paused, recalling an old conversation with Mattheo. “Does that…bother you? Matty told me that you aren’t always the most…touchy person.” A soft chuckle resonated through the broom closet as he wrapped his arms around you, stroking your hair gently.
            “That doesn’t apply to you.” His raspy voice was hushed, almost a whisper, but you heard it clearly. You felt your heart beat faster. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t.”
            After a pause, you opened your mouth again, your voice almost a whisper.
            “I wasn’t drunk enough to go falling off the couch, you know.”
            “I know.”
            You looked up at him, his eyes as enthralling as ever, so dark in the dim light that they looked like the glow of the Black Lake. Daring to explore, you reached your hand up and gently brushed the side of his face, your palm tingling as you laid it to rest at the base of his neck, your fingers twining in his curls.
            “But you didn’t even want to do this…” you trailed off softly, your insecurity showing its face. His expression hardened.
            “I didn’t want to go into a closet with you for some dare,” he said firmly. “I want you. Salazar, I always have.” Your heart raced, and you hardly dared to believe what you were hearing. “But if we’re going to do this, I won’t go back. It can’t be for a stupid dare.”
            “I’ve wanted you since the moment I first saw you,” you confessed. “No matter how hard I try not to, Tom.”
            “Who’s this idiot you fancy then?” Tom murmured, his intense stare utterly intoxicating as his hands moved to your waist and his thumb traced your hip, the edge of his ring pressing into the bone. “I want to make you forget he ever existed.” You giggled softly at the irony, glancing down at the floor and in response, he took your jaw in his hand and brought your eyes back to his. Your stomach flipped eagerly as you felt his strong grip and you wondered how in the world someone could feel so much like danger and safety at the same time. “Will you let me make you forget him?”
            “That would be difficult, considering that I’m currently in a broom closet with him,” you replied, a mischievous smile pulling at your lips. Desire danced behind his eyes as they stared back into yours. He released your jaw and moved his hand to the back of your neck, his other one coming to rest on the small of your back.
            “Well then,” he whispered teasingly, a smirk growing on his face. “I suppose we still have six minutes or so.”
            The second his lips connected with yours, you were addicted.
            You’d fantasized about Tom Riddle kissing you a million times and yet, nothing could compare to the real thing. He tasted like Firewhiskey and sharp mint and the fierceness of the kiss, of the way he held you in his arms, made your heart race. His hands roamed across your body, exploring your skin, as his tongue parted your lips, making you whimper softly. He let out a moan, his fingers tracing the bare skin of your thighs as his other hand wrapped around the side of your neck possessively.
“Tom…” His name escaped your lips as his touches grew more intense with need.
 Your noises of pleasure seemed to fuel him, and he moved forward until your back collided with the shelves behind you. He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around him as his lips continued to work against yours. You whined in disappointment when he broke the kiss, but it quickly became a moan of pleasure as his lips moved to your neck, making your whole body tingle with desire.
“You’re perfect,” he groaned breathily, staring into your eyes. “You’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” you whimpered as he sucked on your neck, giving you the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. “All yours.”
            Six minutes later, you were breathing heavily and your neck was covered in hickeys when a knock at the door snapped you back to reality.
            “Uh, guys? You can come out now,” echoed the hesitant voice of Enzo Berkshire.
            “Yeah, we’re sorry about the dare,” Pansy called. “It was a really stupid joke.”
            “Maybe if we ignore them, they’ll go away,” you whispered, and Tom, appearing as though he hadn’t even heard the disturbance, continued to kiss and suck at your neck and collarbones, determined to further mark you as his.
            “OH, EW!”
            The two of you looked up to see the door open, Mattheo staring at the scene in front of him in horror.
            “You guys literally dared us to!” you immediately protested as Tom turned around to glare at his brother. You snatched the nearest item – broom polish – off the shelves and hurled it in the general direction of your best friend.
            “I didn’t object, that’s different than being the one who issued the dare,” Mattheo complained as the broom polish container smashed on the floor behind him. You struggled to straighten yourself out before the rest of your friends saw you. Smoothing your hair, you stepped out of the broom closet and back into the common room. “I didn’t know you were going to – that’s my best mate, bro!”
            “You introduced me to her,” Tom replied evenly, a smirk dancing on his lips. “From my angle, you only have yourself to blame.”
            He wrapped his arm around your waist possessively as the two of you moved back towards your friends, retaking your seats. If they’d been shocked when they saw you laying your head on his shoulder before, it was nothing compared to now. Pansy was openly gaping at the hickies on your neck, the room completely silent.
            “Yes!” Daphne exclaimed, finally breaking the tension. “I knew it! Pans, you owe me five galleons and a trip to Gladrags tomorrow.”
            “What?” Enzo exclaimed in confusion, just as you cried, “you two were betting on us?”
            “Just about whether you two would get together before or after Christmas,” Pansy clarified. “We both knew you would figure it out eventually.”
            “I had a little more faith,” Daphne added smugly.
            “Wait,” Enzo stuttered. “I’m confused. So is he…?” he trailed off, pointing at Tom.
            “The mystery Slytherin? Yes,” you admitted, blushing slightly. Tom pulled you in closer and you draped both of your legs over his thigh.
            “Ohhhh! That makes so much sense,” Draco blurted suddenly, making you laugh.
            “And they knew?” Mattheo exclaimed, looking back and forth between Pansy and Daphne like he’d been kicked.
            “I’m so sorry, Matty,” you said sincerely. “They figured it out themselves at the beginning of the year. I wanted to tell you, I really did, it was just harder…”
            “…because he’s my brother,” Mattheo finished. “I get it.”
            “I wanted to tell all of you, I really did,” you assured your friends. “I just wasn’t ready to tell Matty yet, and then he showed up,” you continued with a laugh, gesturing at Tom, “and there was no way I was about to drop that on him in a middle of late-night Truth or Dare.”
            “Uh, yeah,” Enzo nodded, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I messed up big time.”
            “It’s okay, Enz, I forgive you,” you replied gently. “It was just the weirdest circumstances ever.”
            “Guess who didn’t mess up big time, though?” Blaise cut in, grinning as he pointed to himself. “Blaise Zabini, matchmaker extraordinaire!” Daphne promptly swatted him in the back of the head with a pamphlet for the Gobstones team that sat on a nearby end table.
            “This did not happen because of you, but in spite of you locking us in a closet for nearly ten minutes,” Tom remarked, glaring at Blaise through narrowed eyes.
            “Hey, clearly you made it work,” Blaise retorted, gesturing at your hickies as you stuck out your tongue at him. “Put that tongue back in your mouth, I’m not Riddle.”
            “If you’re such a matchmaker, why can’t you matchmake yourself?” Pansy joked, gesturing between Blaise and Daphne. He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed as Daphne flushed.
            You relaxed against Tom’s chest as your friends continued to talk and joke. The conversation became progressively more unfollowable as you all finished the last of the liquor, maintaining your tipsy state. Once the bottles were empty, Mattheo Vanished them with ease.
            “How is it that you got a T on your Transfiguration OWL, but you can always manage it to get yourself out of trouble?” Tom groaned at his brother, leaning his forehead into his hand in frustration.
            “Because I’ve got my priorities straight,” Mattheo replied with a smirk. “We could talk about your indiscretions too, you know.”
            “You mean hexing that cheating Ravenclaw bloke?” Tom asked. You glanced up at him in surprise, watching his eyes grow dark for a moment before his face softened as his gaze met yours. “I’d do it again,” he said, turning back to his brother.
            “Yuck,” Mattheo retorted, scrunching up his face in disgust. “Thanks for finally showing an emotion, you can go back to the way you were now.”
            “Matty!” you protested jokingly, pouting at him. “Don’t you want your brother to be sweet to me?” He grinned.
            “Of course I do,” he responded with a chuckle. “Although, quite frankly, I don’t know what you see in him.” Tom frowned. “I just hope he knows that if he ever hurts you, he’s going to get the same beating I was about to give that Ravenclaw.”
            “I’m quaking,” Tom retorted dryly. “And unlike some of us, I have no interest in maintaining a list of romantic casualties.” He paused for a moment, his attention occupied as he gently played with the ends of your hair before turning back to Mattheo. “Speaking of which, I hear yours are in such numbers that they’re considering forming a school club for themselves.” Mattheo laughed good-naturedly before making a face.
            Your friends talked for a few more minutes, the sentences growing progressively more incoherent as everyone struggled to resist the call of sleep. They began to splinter off, wandering back to the dormitories, as your own eyes fluttered shut. You felt totally at peace until Tom gently shook you awake.
            “I’ll just sleep here,” you mumbled and you heard him chuckle as he kissed your forehead.
            “No, you’ve got to go sleep in your bed,” he corrected bemusedly. “I’ll tell you what. If you go sleep in your bed for me, I’ll take you out wherever you want in Hogsmeade tomorrow, how does that sound?” Your heart skipped a beat as you sat up quickly. An actual date with the guy of your dreams. He watched you, a grin emerging on his face, as you nodded eagerly.
            You barely managed to stay awake for long enough to climb into bed, but as you did, you felt your chest fill with warmth, your mind flashing back to the feeling of Tom’s lips on yours as you closed your eyes. It had been a long, confusing road to get here, but it was so worth it in the end.
He was the one for you.
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tomriddleslove · 1 month
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Repent.
✩ Tom Riddle x F! Reader
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Summary: The one where Tom is confronted by the golden girl of Hogwarts, and he confronts a rather ugly truth. Hatred and desire are very similar things, and Tom can’t tell which one he feels. Alternatively: As Hosier once said “The only Heaven i’ll be sent to, is when i’m alone with you.”
A/N: GRRR WOOF WOOF WOOF
Maybe smut in p2 if people want it?
Songs: Talk - Hozier
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The elder Riddle boy found it ridiculous to think he’d be standing here, promoting the very school he had subjected to many terrors, schmoozing with the same snobby, stuck-up wizards and witches for hours on end. His mouth ached from being held in a permanent welcoming smile, and the corners of his lips turned upwards in an uncharacteristic manner.
The role of Head Boy came with countless benefits. For one, he was adored and respected by many, something that was absolutely vital to Tom. Similarly, it also helped preserve his image greatly. No one would question Tom if he was roaming the halls late at night, for he was simply upholding his duties. It became an excellent cover for his now frequent trips to the restricted section of the Library.
There were other less beneficial but still preferable upsides. He got his own room, as the Head boy and the Head girl got their own private quarters. He could be excused from meaningless activities such as the mandatory health education days, if he convinced Headmaster Dippet that his time would be better spent elsewhere. Truthfully, there weren't many negatives to being Head Boy.
Having to spend his valuable holiday time dressed in a rather suffocating suit, promoting Hogwarts as one of the best schools to new prospective parents, was not a part of his role that Tom enjoyed. But if this is the small inconvenience he would have to put up with twice in his one year as Head student, then so be it.
There was, of course, you. That was perhaps the worst part of the job. Having to work alongside you. Tom loathed you, more than he did the average person.
You pranced into the school, having only joined in the 6th year. Within a week of your arrival, the teachers could not stop raving about the prodigy that they had the pleasure of teaching. Your hand shot up before Tom’s, and your marks were almost always higher by 1 damned percent. It wasn’t just enough that you had stolen Tom’s spotlight, no, you made sure you were front and centre in every field. Tom excelled in academics, you excelled in everything. From sports to extracurriculars, no one stood a chance if you were there.
But perhaps what infuriated Tom the most, was that you were nice. People adored you, and you naturally managed to captivate everyone with a sort of charisma that had teachers and students alike stumbling over one another for the chance to speak with you. You had it all, with absolutely no flaws.
Tom didn’t have a valid reason to hate you. With the others, he could attribute his hatred to their foolishness, their stupidity, or their overall incompetence. But you? There was nothing. It was irrational to hate you - the golden girl of Hogwarts, and that was what infuriated him more. It betrayed every rule he held himself to; he always had to be logical and meticulous.
Tom seethed inwardly as he watched you effortlessly charm yet another set of parents, your smile radiant and your words smooth as silk. He couldn't deny your talent or your intelligence, but it grated on him nonetheless. You were a constant reminder of everything he wanted to be but couldn't quite attain.
It wasn't just the fact that you outshone him in every aspect; it was the way you did it with such ease, as if it were effortless for you to excel in every endeavour. Meanwhile, Tom had to meticulously plan and scheme for every bit of recognition he received, always calculating his next move to stay ahead.
His eyes rake down your form, taking in the deep red dress that you wore. No doubt the finest silk draped over your body, a sort of blood red that caught under the dim lights of the chandeliers. Drawing the eye and commanding attention wherever you went, the fabric flowed gracefully around your figure, accentuating your curves in all the right places without revealing too much.
You were undeniably stunning, yet another thing to add to a list of your perfections. You handled the disgustingly leering eyes of the elder Wizards, who came to talk to you, with grace.
A damned Gryffindor too, as though your very presence wasn’t offensive enough.
Gods, he hated you. He really did. Your mere presence was enough to set him on edge, a fire burning through his veins that could never seem to be quenched no matter how hard he tried. He runs a hand through his lightly gelled hair, walking over to the far side of the Great Hall. With the rest of the attendees being otherwise engaged in conversation, he grabs a glass of champagne, knuckles white as he grips the delicate glass stem and drains it in one go. He sets the glass back down and sighs before plastering a fake smile on his face, manoeuvring through the crowd.
As Headmaster Dippet ascended the small stage at the front of the great hall, a hush fell over the crowd. He cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles before addressing the gathered guests.
"Good evening, esteemed colleagues, parents, and students," he began, his voice carrying easily across the room. "I would like to extend a warm welcome to each and every one of you to our annual open evening here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The assembled guests murmured their acknowledgements, and Headmaster Dippet continued, his tone warm and welcoming.
"We are delighted to have the opportunity to showcase the many wonders of our esteemed institution to you all," he said, gesturing expansively to the grand surroundings of the great hall. "From our esteemed faculty to our talented students, Hogwarts prides itself on providing a world-class education in the magical arts."
A ripple of polite applause echoed through the hall, and Headmaster Dippet smiled warmly before continuing.
"I would like to take this opportunity to express my deepest gratitude to all of our dedicated staff and volunteers who have worked tirelessly to make this evening possible," he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd. "Their commitment and dedication to our beloved school are truly commendable, and we owe them a debt of gratitude for their efforts."
Another round of applause filled the air, and Headmaster Dippet nodded in appreciation before raising his hand for silence once more.
"And now, my dear guests, I invite you to partake in the festivities," he said, his tone lighthearted. "Our talented orchestra awaits to serenade you with their delightful melodies, and I encourage you to take to the dance floor and enjoy the evening's entertainment to the fullest."
With a final smile and a gracious bow, Headmaster Dippet stepped down from the stage, leaving the guests to mingle and enjoy the rest of the evening's festivities.
You look over at Tom and find he’s already looking at you, a shift in his gaze when you lock eyes with him. You see him sigh, and motion to the large area of floor which had been dedicated to dancing. The very face of the school, the two of you step up, and dark green clashes with deep red, the serpent and the lion front and centre. Your hand finds his, cold and unwelcoming, and his other comes down to rest on your waist, fingers brushing against silk.
The melodic hum of the violins echo through the hall, watchful eyes on the two of you. Your steps were hesitant at first. Gradually, as you found your footing, your movements became more fluid, if not entirely harmonious.
“Smile, Riddle. At least make it seem like you’re happy to be here.” You mutter lowly, only for his ears. He clenches his jaw, but ultimately he knows you are, as always, right. A small smile graces his lips, looking down at you as he speaks harshly under his breath.
“I’m not happy to be here.” He snaps, and a smirk tugs at your lips as the two of you continue dancing, harshly whispering to one another.
Tom's eyes bore into yours with a fierce intensity, his jaw clenched in barely restrained anger. Yet, despite the tension that simmered between you, you refused to back down, meeting his gaze with a lazy smirk of your own.
"Is that so, Riddle?" you retorted, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with undeniable challenge. "Because it seems to me like you're doing a splendid job of pretending." You quip sarcastically.
His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with a forceful urgency that sent a shiver down your spine.
Tom's lips curled into a sneer, his voice dripping with venom as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" he hissed, each word punctuated by a sharp edge of contempt. "But you can't hide your true nature forever, no matter how hard you try. I'm just waiting for the day that perfect facade of yours crumbles.”
Your smirk only widened at his words, a glint of amusement dancing in your eyes as you leaned back slightly, meeting his intense gaze with a challenging one of your own.
"Ah, but dear Tom," you countered, your voice silky smooth despite the tension crackling between you. "I don't need to hide anything. Unlike some people, I don't have dark secrets."
"And what exactly do you mean by that?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.
You simply chuckled, a sound filled with smug satisfaction as you leaned in to whisper your reply. "Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, Riddle," you murmured, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all, it's not like your plans are a well-kept secret."
For a split second, Tom froze, his eyes widening in surprise before a mask of cold indifference settled over his features. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he snapped, his tone icy as he pulled away from you, his grip on your waist loosening slightly.
“Oh of course not. I’m all the more intrigued to see how it will all play out.” You hum, an infuriatingly smug grin on your face as you look up at him, as bold and blunt as you've ever been.
Tom must admit he’s somewhat suprised. You seemed so demure and polite, he had never expected such directness from yourself.
The song comes to a close, everyone applauding as you meet Tom’s stare head-on, refusing to break away. You go to walk away when his hand wraps around your waist, pulling you back into him with terrifying force as the orchestra begins playing once more, with everyone else joining in.
The sudden tug at your waist caught you off guard, your breath hitching as you found yourself pulled back into Tom. His grip was firm, almost possessive.
"What do you think you're doing, Riddle?" you demanded, your voice tinged with a hint of apprehension as you struggled against his hold.
But Tom's expression remained impassive, his eyes boring into yours with a steely resolve that sent a chill down your spine. "Dancing," he replied curtly, his tone clipped as he held you close, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
He leans in closer, breath fanning against your ear as he speaks.
"You do realize you're playing with fire, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice laced with a dangerous edge.
“I’m not afraid of being burned.” You remark back quickly, meeting his frustrated gaze with a teasing one of your own.
Tom's lips quirked into a sardonic smile at your response, a flash of something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Perhaps you should be," he murmured, his voice low and tinged with a warning tone.
You let go of Tom as the music comes to a close and he doesn't immediately pull you back. You look at him for a second more before tearing your gaze away and disappearing into the crowd.
Silly, silly girl.
Tom pursues straight after you, murmuring half-assed apologies to the couples he shoves past. The serpent slithers through the crowd, far in over his head, desperate for a glimpse of that red.
As Tom finally catches sight of you weaving through the throngs of people, his frustration mounts, fueled by the relentless desire to confront you. Without a second thought, he pushes past the last couple blocking his path and quickens his pace, determination etched into every line of his face.
"[Name]!" he calls out, his voice cutting through the din of the crowd. But you don't stop, your figure disappearing around a corner just ahead.
Refusing to be thwarted, Tom breaks into a sprint, his heart pounding in his chest as he closes the distance between you. Finally reaching the corner, he turns sharply, only to find you standing just a few feet away, your back pressed against the cold stone wall of the corridor.
A smirk plays at the corners of your lips as you watch him approach. "What's the matter, Riddle?" you taunt, your voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Can't keep up?"
Tom's jaw clenches, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface as he comes to a stop in front of you.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous.
You tilt your head to the side, a mocking smile playing on your lips. "I don't have to think, Riddle," you reply, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I know."
A flicker of annoyance flashes across Tom's features, but he quickly masks it with a cold indifference. "You may be clever, but you're also reckless," he retorts, his voice icy as he takes a step closer, crowding your space.
"And you're one to talk," you shoot back, your voice laced with a challenge.
Without warning, Tom closes the distance between you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist with a forceful grip.
Before you can react, he's dragging you down the corridor, his steps purposeful as he leads you to the nearest empty classroom. You stumble along beside him, caught off guard by his sudden aggression.
He shoves open the door, pulling you inside with him as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, fumbling around for a desk as Tom slams the door shut, He turns to you, breathing heavily as he takes a step forward, forcing you to back up into the desk behind you.
“What do you know.” He utters, voice low as he clenches his jaw.
"I know enough," you reply evenly, meeting his intense gaze with unwavering defiance. "I know that you're not as invincible as you think you are. Though you’re certainly trying to get to that point."
A flicker of anger flashes across Tom's features, his eyes narrowing as he takes another step closer, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. "You know nothing," he retorts sharply, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation.
You should feel ashamed, you should avert your eyes, but you cannot help but feel thrilled at the sight of Tom so angry, a familiar flutter in your stomach as he looks away, his jaw clenched.
The corner of your lips turn upwards into a provocative grin, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip.
Tom lets his gaze stray downwards for one second and he knows he’s fucked.
Completely and utterly done for. He’s fallen for the most stupidly infuriating, brainless, primal emotion of them all. Tom Riddle, who is smart, manipulative, and cunning, has lost his cool because of lust.
How utterly pathetic.
The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling with a mixture of disgust and arousal. He hates you, despises every fibre of your being, and yet, that only seems to fuel the fire burning inside him.
You remain silent, observing him carefully as you are not privy to his innermost thoughts.
For a moment, there's a palpable silence between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. And then, without warning, Tom's hand shoots out, grabbing your chin with a bruising grip as he forces you to meet his gaze.
"You don't know anything," he hisses, his voice low and dangerous.
You don't have the time to even think of a response because Tom’s lips are crashing onto yours, replacing every single thought in your head with him and him only.
It's more angry than it is anything else, mouths clashing against one another in a punishing kiss. His grip on your jaw is bruising, a stray hand coming down to rest against the curve of your thigh and push you up so you're sitting on the desk.
He kisses you with fervour, as though he’s trying to steal the oxygen from your lungs and snuff the life out of those damn eyes.
You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer as you meet his kiss with fervour, your lips moving against his with a desperate need that borders on reckless abandon.
“Tom,” You murmur, a gasped plea as your nails dig into his bicep. He pays it no mind, lips coming down to press open-mouthed kisses to your throat.
It's maddening, the way you've managed to unravel him with just a glance, a touch, leaving him stripped bare and vulnerable in your presence.
But even as he loses himself in the heat of the moment, a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminds him of the danger you represent. You know things, dangerous things, secrets that could unravel everything he's worked so hard to achieve. And yet, in this moment, none of it matters.
His rationale and will is eroded to nothing, consumed by the need to possess you fully.
Your hand wraps around his tie, tugging him slightly as you lean back, breaking the kiss. You gaze down at him, green tie wrapped tightly around your hand, and Tom wants to groan at the interruption, though he refuses to give you the satisfaction of doing so.
“Lust is a sin, you know?” You hum, lips slightly swollen and red as you keep Tom in place, a smirk tugging at your lips.
Tom didn’t care. He wasn’t religious. He didn’t believe in God. Tom didn't care about the concept of heaven and hell either. If being with you meant risking damnation, he was more than willing to take that chance.
“So is Lying. Greed. Hatred. Jealousy.” You list, tugging at Tom's tie with each word, pulling him lower and lower until he’s the one looking up at you. You lean back on your palms, crossing your legs as you narrow your eyes.
“Quite the sinner, aren’t you?” You hum, your voice laced with amusement.
Tom is done for, looking up at you with his mind filled with nothing but a visceral need for you.
“Perhaps.” He mutters, his voice strained.
He reaches out for you but you tut, placing a heel on his shoulder as you forcefully push him down, forcing him onto his knees in front of you with his tie still grasped firmly in your hand. The action causes your dress to slip slightly where the slit occurs in the side, revealing a glimpse of your skin so close to Tom’s face that he can’t tear his eyes off of it. A devious grin graces your face, tilting your head as you pull your plush lip between your teeth.
“Do you believe I won’t get into heaven?” Tom murmurs, stupidly playing into this game of yours as he looks up at you.
You laugh, low and mocking as you look down at him.
“Oh Tom, at the rate you’re going at I’ll be the closest you ever get to paradise.”
Tom may have been strong, but he was only human, and mankind was prone to crumble in the face of temptation.
“What do you suggest I do then?” He growls, his voice a low rumble filled with frustration and desire. You smirk down at him, relishing in the power you hold over him, knowing that you've managed to unravel the facade of control he presents to the world. With a flick of your wrist, you release his tie from your grasp, allowing it to fall limply against his chest.
Your heel remains as it is, pressing down firmly on his shoulder to ensure he remains in the same position as you speak, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Repent.”
Repentance is not something he's accustomed to, nor is it something he's ever considered. But in this moment, with you holding all the cards, he finds himself willing to entertain the notion, if only to appease the insatiable hunger gnawing at his soul.
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@schaebickel @mildlyuninformative @gillyweeds @anti-hero03 @lillywildly @multifandom-worlds
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pearlstiare · 1 year
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Real footage of Tom Riddle on Hogsmeade after his date with Y/N - NEW FLASH *he got a kiss*
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patrophthia · 8 months
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Heya, I don't know it's already done or not but can you please write about the egoistic yandere Tom Marvolo Riddle with a hugeeee obsession and love🤔 on introverted half blood slytherin y/n who doesn't give a f*ck him and his looks like other girls of Hogwarts!🫠
thank you for sending this in, i was really hesitant on writing this bc i’ve never wrote anything like this before so i hope you like it!
know you better | tom riddle
pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader
warnings: yandere!tom, very obsessive and delusional way of thinking, death, even more delusions
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To fall in love with you was the easiest thing Tom has ever done. All you had to do was merely be in the same vicinity as him and he’d found himself more than just head over heels over you. 
For you to fall in love with him on the other hand, that surely was one of the hardest things he had to do in life. You don’t look at him —not because, unlike the others, you didn’t dare to but because you weren’t interested in him. You don’t offer him a smile when he greets you good morning. You don’t throw yourself at him when he turns a blind eye when he catches you sneaking around the castle at night. You don’t care for him. 
And quite honestly, it is driving him insane. What is it that everybody has that he doesn’t? Why does everyone else get to see you smile when you won’t even turn in his direction? Why won’t you just admit you want him as much as he wants you? 
Though you don’t show it, Tom can read between the lines. He thinks —no, he knows that you’re acting indifferent to play hard to get. He knows you want him, you just won’t admit it.
He tries to be a gentleman about his intentions at first, sliding up to you whilst you hover your cauldron during potions. He calls out your last name cautiously, careful to not startle you; he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he accidentally hurts you. You turn to him, a small frown appearing on your lips. “Riddle?” 
He skips the formalities, not bothering to beat around the bush. “Would you like to go out this weekend?” 
You fix him a look, and then, “no.” 
You didn’t hear him right. That’s what he tells himself. Or maybe he’s confused, because why wouldn’t someone want to go out with him? Tom clarifies himself, “I meant on a date.” 
You turn back to your cauldron, ending the conversation as is. “No.” 
He was certain that you’re playing hard to get now. That was until one of his goons —Malfoy, that was his name, started noticing that Tom’s eyes tended to wander whenever you were in the same room as him; until Malfoy tells Tom exactly why you’d said no. 
“Macmillan, that’s his name. Walburga says they’ve been going out for a few months now.” You have a boyfriend? No, no, that can’t be right. There’s no way you had a boyfriend when you were so clearly playing hard to get with Tom this entire time. 
Was it because your ‘boyfriend’ was holding you back from your true love? Or were you using this ‘boyfriend’ as bait? Had you known that it was time for Tom to create his next Horcrux and had needed a new sacrifice? How thoughtful of you to take care of these little things for him. 
Luckily Tom’s smart, he’s known to be smart, and he’s smart enough to read you like an open book even though you won’t spare a second of your time on him. He admires it, how hard you’re playing this role of not caring for him when you’re clearly as indicated with him as he, you. 
He’ll take up on your offer, he thinks as he sets out towards his chamber. The Basilisk is a dear friend of his, it’s even dearer when it does these things for him. In Parsel tongue, Tom says his order. “Kill Macmillan. And be careful not to hurt her.” 
The Basilisks set out first, setting off after the aforementioned man; Tom a few steps behind. It isn’t hard for him to follow his dear friend, it leaves a wet trail in its wake for him to follow and it’s even easier for him to know when his friend has done its job from the scream you let out. 
Tom’s clever enough to hide behind the corridors as he waits for his friend to return back to his home. His heart aches to hold you as you scream time and time again, asking for help and he reminds himself to reward you for your amazing acting. 
With the way you’re so desperately clinging onto Macmillan’s body, you almost convince him that you genuinely cared for Macmillan, like Macmillan really was someone you were in love with. But he knows you, he knows you better than you know you. And he knows you love him. 
So he schools his expression to one of worry, if you were really playing the part then he should be a good sport and play it with you. “What’s wrong?” He asks you, not sparing a glance at Macmillan’s frigid body. 
“This —this thing, it came and it—” you stutter out, hiccuping out each word as you swiped at your eyes. Tom places a hand on your own, removing your grip on Macmillan’s body and ignores it when you flinch at his touch. “—it, I don’t know what it did but next thing I knew he was— he was gone.” 
Oh poor you, he sympathises. Such a good girl for him to play your part so well. He pries your other hand away from Macmillan’s body and wraps his arm around you. “It’s okay,” he offers, pressing your face against his chest. “It’s okay, I’m here now. I’ll keep you safe.” 
You sniffle, pulling away from him slightly. And when he realises that you could see the red glow in his eyes, neither of you mention it; for you were too afraid of the man holding you, and he too in love for something so trivial to take part of your conversation.
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— from bee: this is so so new to me,, i hope you liked it!
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fatesundress · 6 months
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⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader
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summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.
tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice because lots of heavy jealousy tropes are misogynistic icks fo me, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc
note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.
word count. 4.5k
request. yes!
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He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.
He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees? 
He does.
Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.
You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles. 
You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy. 
It’s all just buzz.
Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.
Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.
It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge. 
What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?
It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.
So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.
You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”
Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.
You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.
(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)
With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.
But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs —  and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.
So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.
The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close. 
His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.
The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.
“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.
“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“No, we haven’t.”
He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”
“Pleasure.”
You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.
He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.
His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.
They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.
But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.
You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.
In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence. 
Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here. 
No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.
So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay. 
You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest. 
To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.
“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”
“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.
“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.
“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”
“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”
The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.
“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”
She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.
“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”
You engage with detached interest. “Really?”
And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.
“Do we have any classes together?”
You blink up at him. “No.”
“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.” 
His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.
You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled. 
“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.
His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.
“Did you hear me?"
“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”
You’re not sure you believe that. 
You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —
Tom is gone. 
Your breath is caught.
“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”
You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”
He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.
“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.
“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.
“That was talking.”
“But you’re —”
“Belby.”
He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you. 
Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.
Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.
“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”
Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”
Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd. 
The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.
“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"
He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.
“I'm being what?"
“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."
Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"
“Did she?” you hiss.
“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”
“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”
“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”
He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.
Oh.
Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.
“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”
He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”
“So we’re in agreement.”
He hums a non-answer.
Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.
Interesting he’s still playing.
You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.
“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.
You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”
His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.
With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.
“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.
The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.
“Tom...”
He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.
Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.
“Tom —”
“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.
Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.
His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you? 
One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.
The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there. 
You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.
As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this desperate creature, writhing and panting, trying in vain to satiate herself with a simple finger — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.
Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty. 
And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.
His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.
Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.
You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.
“What… What?”
“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.
And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.
“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”
“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”
Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.
His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”
You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.
“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”
“Please?” he echoes mockingly.
“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.
And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.
He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.
Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.
It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him. 
He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.
When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.
He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.
It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.
His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.
You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.
Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.
Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.
“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.
When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.
He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.
You give them to him.
Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.
The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.
Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.
You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.
He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him. 
This time it does.
You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.
You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.
It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.
Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.
You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.
He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.
“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”
He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”
He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”
Now it’s your turn to glare.
He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.
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taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]
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clementexix · 7 months
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Soulmate
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Tom Riddle never believed in such ridiculous thing called soulmate until he met you. No, you did not change his mind; you made him believe you were his only soulmate in this reincarnation. Tom used to despise the idea of having someone know him so well but then you came and turned his life upside down, from a cold-blooded murder to a man who knew how to love. As if he was put under the love potion as his mom used to be; yet, deep down Tom knew his life had become a real mess since he first laid his gaze on your figure. While all eyes were on him everywhere he strode, you were too immersed in a muggle literary book to notice an attention-getter like him. And that piqued his interest. The moment he saw you from across the room, he felt something wrong was gonna happen but little did Tom expect he would fall hard for this weird girl. You drove him crazy without even trying. Sometimes, Riddle thought about eliminating you for his own sake but whenever you softly smiled at him, he unconsciously melted. As if he could not hold himself back in front of you. He occasionally asked what had happened to him but then, something hit him. You were his soulmate. Only his soulmate could make him feel like that. Tom wanted to deny but the more he was with you, the more he could vainly run away. He soon got used to having you around, wrapping you around his fingers and showing you his most vulnerable side, which were privileges only given to his soulmate.
"Somehow," - Tom said in a hushed tone while carefully stroking your soft hair, tried not to wake you up from your slumber, "-it's not ridiculous at all."
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beekeepingageissome · 5 months
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Me when alabaster skin dark-haired men
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#tomriddle#kazbrekker#jd#
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cardansriddle · 4 months
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Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)
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Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.
Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).
A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little &lt;3
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.
The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him. 
Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour. 
The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside. 
He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.
"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.
It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. 
Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.
She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.
He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."
"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.
"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet— 
It was her perfume, he realised with a start.
He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it. 
He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle. 
Muggle.
He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind. 
The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.
She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.
His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left. 
The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer. 
The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.
“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”
“Black coffee,” he replied curtly
She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.
“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised." 
He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this." 
Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"
His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.
But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."
She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine." 
"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers. 
The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to. 
Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book. 
He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him. 
"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done." 
He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped. 
"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."
He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something. 
Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
He returned the next day.
She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up. 
Tom placed the book on the counter. 
"You finished it in one day?"
He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader." 
She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"
He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.
"Why do you read it so often?"
"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."
He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat. 
"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality." 
Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum." 
She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."
He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."
Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."
Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse." 
He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse." 
"But—"
"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.
Yes.
"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."
He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say. 
He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
Two weeks passed with no sign of him.
And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface. 
She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.
When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee. 
She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September. 
When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin. 
"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"
"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."
"Do you study in a boarding school?"
Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."
"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."
"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened. 
"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.
"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.
She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."
He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze. 
"Are you alright?"
Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.
She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision. 
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?
"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.
Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind. 
But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her. 
And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).
He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed. 
But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.
Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.
He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.
Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink. 
It was maddening. 
She was maddening.
He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)
As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.
An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)
Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.
She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination. 
Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?
It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.
“Hello.” 
“Hi.”
He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.
“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there. 
“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling. 
While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.
He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration. 
“It’s five minutes until closing time.” 
She would not be swayed so easily then. 
Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses. 
The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.
“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.” 
“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?
“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.” 
“Tom, I do not think—”
He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”
Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”
“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”
She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.” 
Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf. 
Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.” 
Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster. 
As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.
She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk." 
Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed. 
"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. 
She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."
"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."
She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances." 
An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.
Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?
All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.
"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.
She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."
"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.
"Yes!"
"Fuck your apology." 
Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.
Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like. 
Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. 
She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her. 
As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see. 
He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.
"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat. 
"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them. 
"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight. 
She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to. 
He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."
She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.
No going back.
⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 
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