#tom riddle x black girl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lustsickforyou · 1 year

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what side are you on?

sirius black x reader (romantic, to platonic) regulus black x reader (romantic, eventually) james potter x reader (if you squint)

summary: you were born into a pureblood family and taught a special ability since birth, you’ve been used your whole life and you start to want a change.

warnings: arranged marriage, abusive parents, talks of miscarriage, mentions of death, angst

a/n: basing the power off of a heart renderer from shadow and bone, so credits do that. i also added in a scene from call me by your name because i couldn’t resist. will be a multi part series. reader is slytherin.

part one , part two

Life hadn’t always been easy for you, it was something that seemed so normal at this point. You were born into a pureblood family, one of the sacred twenty eight. When your mother married your father they placed the expectation for her to bare his heir just as they did to everyone else. Your mother tried so hard to perform her duty, but pregnancy after pregnancy she had failed to do so, even though it wasn’t her fault. Each child that she had lost picked away at her soul, and she swore the last time she was pregnant that she would be done after that. She never even wanted kids in the first place.

That’s when you came along, a healthy daughter, but hardly what her husband had wished for. This daughter couldn’t carry on the family name. Your mother was so displeased with herself, the secrets the woman would share in whispers across the board got to her. So in attempt to save herself and her husband from their reputation being ruined, she made a deal with the devil. Tom Riddle himself. She swore that she would train her daughter to become a heart render at his own expense if he would marry her off to a respectable family. He, of course— agreed.

Heart renderers were rare, just like a legilimens. It was hard to perfect, but with you at home every day as a child and with lots of consequences if you did not perform to your mother’s liking, you mastered the art. You could do a plethora of things, both good and bad. You could make someone’s blood boil, get them to do whatever you wanted, get them to say things they would never normally say aloud. But you could also soothe a temper, calm someones heart rate, keep them warm. It was a blessing and a curse.

You were presented to Tom Riddle when you were eight, and he held up to his deal. Use you in exchange for a husband who had a well known name, that being Sirius Black. You two were to be married when you turn eighteen. The two of you spent a lot of time together at home, but rarely ever in school. He was a Gryffindor boy who was out of control, you were a Slytherin girl who kept to herself. Tom and his parents hoped this marriage would keep Sirius in line.

Many people at school feared you, in fact Dumbledore gave strict instructions for you to never use you powers in school. You understood this, followed the rules. The students didn’t understand, and would often say nasty things about you and your special abilities. How you were untrustworthy, that they needed to keep a distance from you for their own safety. You had never given them a reason to be scared, and yet here you were. Cursed with a power that only you saw could be good, but many found deceptive.

Now you were in your seventh year, used for your powers by Tom whenever he pleased, and Sirius had gone off the rails, leaving his family behind and the promise he gave to you along with them. Just before he left his home he came to you, he saw the good in you. Tried to convince you to run off with him for a better life, but you knew you couldn’t.

“Come with me, y/n.” he pleaded, looking down at you with hopeful eyes. You shook your head, stepping back from him. You wanted nothing more than to leave, to finally free yourself from not only your mother’s tight grip on you but Tom’s as well. “I can’t.” you whispered with tears in your eyes. Tom would kill you if you left, he had threatened it plenty of times when he noticed you grew weary of the things he made you do, the people he made you hurt. “Why?” Sirius tried to dig deeper, hopefully to make you realize that there was no reason why you shouldn’t go. “I can’t.” you repeated shakily. Everything in you was screaming to run, but you knew what Tom would do. He would hunt anyone you ever cared about, saving you for last before casting the unforgivable curse and take your life. Sirius stepped towards you. “Please.” he begged. You stepped back again, holding your hands up. The two of you turned your head when you heard footsteps coming down the hallway, you mother calling your name. You pushed him forward quickly. “Go.” you whispered with urgency. “Please come with me.” he pleaded. You held his arms in your hands and pushed him again. “Go.” you repeated but this time much more firm. With that he was gone, and you hadn’t seen him for months.

Now you sat by yourself at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. You looked down at the book Sirius gifted to you on your eighteenth birthday just days before he left. It was a muggle book full of poems, something James had shown to him. You two had each other’s backs in the hardest of times. You understood each other on a different level. When he would panic, you would soothe his heart rate. When you would cry he would be there to comfort you. You nervously tapped your finger on the table, turning to see Sirius enter the Great Hall with his friends. They called themselves the Marauders, proud of the shenanigans the four got up to. You didn’t like them, mainly because you were jealous of them. James Potter was from a pureblood family, but nothing like yours. They were loving and kind. Remus was a half-blood boy that was far too good for this world, and Peter was a half-blood as well who was quiet and reserved. They got along with each other so well, you wondered if that’s where Sirius ran off to. To be with them.

Sirius’ eyes scanned the room, and they landed on his brother Regulus. You knew it must’ve been hard for him to leave his brother behind, but then again they were completely different. Unlike Sirius, Regulus was fully devoted to his work with the Dark Lord. You and him rarely ever spoke, mostly because you thought he may be afraid of you. Sirius turned away and sat down with his friends, but you noticed how every so often he would look towards the Slytherin table. Suddenly he stood up, making some excuse to leave his friends, and headed off down the hallway. You took this as your chance to speak with him, standing up and chasing after him.

“Sirius!” you called after him and he stopped in his tracks, turning around with tears in his eyes. “How are you?” you asked politely. “Good.” he lied to your face, but he knew that you knew how he felt. You could hear his heart pounding in his chest, another perk to being a heart renderer. “I— I read the book that you gave to me. The muggle one.” you tried to change the subject, but you couldn’t drop the fact that he was upset. “The poems, they’re really beautiful.” you commented. Sirius only stared at you. “I’m sorry that you’re sad.” you said softly, you always had a way with your words. You knew he was upset about seeing Regulus after months apart, you knew it stung. “I’m saying that because I wanted to tell you that I’m not mad at you for leaving. Not at all.” you explained. You would’ve left too, so why would you ever be mad at him for doing what you couldn’t? “I love you, Sirius.” you breathed out. You didn’t love him in the way many would expect. Sure you had a crush on him as a kid, but you knew the two of you would never work out. You had love for him, though. You held out your hand for him to shake on a deal. “Stay friends?” you asked even though it was a lie. You couldn’t live a double life, that would only put him and yourself in danger. Sirius knew that too. “For life?” he questioned.

You must’ve been ten, maybe eleven— playing in the woods behind your childhood home. You would play there for hours with Sirius. It was a peaceful place, no parents to scold the two of you, just you and him always. You tripped over a rock, hitting your knees on the ground making you cry at the pain. “It’s okay, I’m here.” Sirius comforted you. “For life?” you asked and he nodded. “For life.” he confirmed.

“For life.” you smiled, and he took your hand to shake it. He pulled you in for a hug, signaling he knew it couldn’t happen. You hugged him back, and soon after he pulled away. He stared at you, his eyes flicking between both of yours. He cleared his throat before walking off, leaving you standing alone in the hallway.

—

Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter sat in the room of requirement. The year before Dumbledore recruited them to join the Order, a cause to fight for freedom and away from the grips of the Dark Lord. They had been tasked by Albus to speak with a wizard who worked under Tom Riddle, a man who knew anything and everything about their upcoming plans. The only problem was the Marauders were having a hard time figuring out a plan. Once they reached this man during the fall break, they wondered how they would get him to rat out his boss without force. They never had any ill intention, that included torturing this man into speaking. Well— Remus and James had no ill intent. Sirius understood how evil the Dark Lord was, and he wouldn’t draw the line at anything if it meant taking him down. Peter often agreed with Sirius.

“You know what would make this easier?” Remus asked, turning towards the group with folded arms. “What?” James sighed, rubbing his face in annoyance. They had been going back and forth with ideas for hours. They could dress up in a Death Eater’s uniform and pretend they were on his side, but that wouldn’t work. This man was smart enough to know who was and wasn’t apart of the Death Eaters. They could torture him, but that was off the table. They could simply just ask, but when would that ever work? “If we had a heart render.” Remus shrugged and Sirius shook his head. “Absolutely not, y/n is off the table and there’s no way we’re going to find a heart render in time.” he was quick to speak up.

“Why exactly is she off the table?” Remus had peaked James’ interest. “Because I know her, and her family. Her family is like mine but a million times worse.” Sirius explained. “I don’t know about a million—” Peter mumbled and Sirius shot him a glare, making him go quiet. Everyone stared at Sirius with begging looks. “I’m serious, she works directly under Voldemort. She wouldn’t take the shot to betray him even if she had the chance.” he recalled to when he pleaded with her to go with him, and she wouldn’t. “That’s why she was taught heart render powers from a young age, she was literally born to work for him.” Sirius continued. “It doesn’t help that she’s gorgeous.” James added which earned a punch to his arm from Sirius. “Okay, ouch.” James grumbled.

“Okay, so maybe she was born for it. But let’s look at it from her stand point. I mean she was born and taught by her sadistic mother, traded off like she was nothing. Maybe she had no other choice.” Remus tried to be understanding. Sirius had told them all about your story. James pointed at him with raised eyebrows in agreement. “I mean think about it, Sirius. She’s a pureblood Slytherin girl who chooses not to associate herself with the Death Eaters at this school. Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr. She won’t even look at them. Maybe there’s some good in her.” Remus continued. Sirius scoffed. “Trust me, there’s not.” Sirius mumbled and stood up. “We’ll find another way, but y/n is not it.” Sirius said sternly and they all slowly nodded, all except for James. Soon after everyone went back to their dorm and headed to bed for the night. James laid awake, tossing and turning. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head, you could help them. He had been told no on a multitude of occasions, but when has that ever stopped him?

—

A week had passed and the four boys walked down the hallway after their classes, all heading for the Gryffindor common room. James turned towards them just as they passed the library, spotting you sitting by yourself inside. This was his chance. “I have to go to— bye!” he lied terribly, running off from them. “What was that about?” Peter asked and Remus laughed. “He probably saw Lily or something.” he teased. James rolled his eyes behind them.

James entered the library, hesitantly walking over to you. You were sitting quite peacefully reading your book. James pulled out the chair next to you. “Hello, y/n. Looking as beautiful as ever.” he complimented and you looked up from your book with a confused and annoyed expression. He stared back and after a beat of silence you finally spoke. “Okay.” you sighed, closing your book and grabbing your things to leave. “No wait, you don’t have to leave!” he spoke up and you turned towards him again. “I’m not a fool, Potter. You clearly want something.” you said in detest. “Okay, fine. I want something.” he finally admitted. “What’s that?” you questioned with an annoyed tone. “I want to know more about heart renderers. Everyone says their so bad but— you don’t seem all that bad to me. I’ve never even see you use it against anyone. Or use it at all.” he shrugged. “So what does someone of your nature do?” he asked. “I think you know.” you sighed. “There has to be some good to it, every horrible thing must have a balance.” James almost begged to know.

You finally gave in. “Okay— I can soothe someone’s temper, slow their heart and make them relax. Which clearly you need because I can hear your heart beating loudly.” you pointed out. “You can hear my heart?” he asked curiously. “I can hear everyone’s. Who is this Lily Evans by the way, every time someone says her name your heart beats quickly.” she observed. “Wait— how do you know that?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and finally set down your book. “When you walked in here Remus said Lily Evans, and your heart quickened in pace.” you teased.

“That’s not important.” James mumbled. “If my heart is beating fast then show me how you calm it.” he asked. “Show me how you can get someone to tell you anything just like Sirius says.” James was trying to gain her trust, to show her he wasn’t afraid like everyone else was. “I can’t, I’m not allowed to on school grounds.” you leaned back in your chair. “No one has to know.” James smirked and you stared at him for a second. He wasn’t lying, and he definitely seemed curious about your power. “Give me your hand.” you gave in. James held out his hand palm up. Your slim fingers trailed down his cold hand, everything seemed to suddenly move slow. His heart beat was loud in your ears, and once your fingers reached his wrist and you touched his pulse, it slowed down to a calming rate. “Tell me what you want.” you spoke softly, your buttery smooth voice being the only thing he could hear. He looked into your eyes, before opening his mouth to speak before he even had the chance to stop.

“I need a heart render, give you the chance to do some good in this world.” he answered honestly. You pulled away and thought for a moment. This was your chance, a safe distance away from Tom Riddle and your mother. This was your chance to finally do some good i with your power. You knew you could trust James, Sirius sure did. They were apart of the Order, something you had grown familiar with when Sirius would tell you about it late hours of the night. This whole thing, him needing a heart renderer, had to do with something like that.

“I’m in.”

—

James walked into the room of requirement for their weekly meeting, a proud smile on his face. “I found a heart renderer.” he said confidently. “What? How did you find—” Peter started but was quickly interrupted when you walked in behind him. “Y/N Y/L/N at your service.” you smiled and everyone had a shocked look on their face, Sirius was no exception. “Y/N Y/L/N?” Both Peter and Remus said aloud. You laughed, moving across the room to face all four boys. “I’ve never had that reaction before.” you smiled which quickly faded when you saw the look on Sirius’ face.

“What are you doing here?” he deadpanned. “I’m here to help.” you shrugged. “James here found me in the library and gave me the whole run down on your little issue here.” you looked towards James who still looked incredibly proud at his doings. “What the hell were you thinking, James? She’s dangerous!” Sirius yelled and you looked over at him with a hurt expression. “You didn’t seem to think so when you came to me to calm yourself down.” you exposed him and he glared at you.

“Listen, we could really use her help.” Remus interjected, and Sirius rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean this to come off rude, but how do we know we can trust you?” Peter asked and you looked at him now. “I mean— don’t you work for you know who?” he asked. “It was more like a limited partnership.” you explained without really having to say much. Everyone fell silent. “Listen, if I was really that devoted to Tom Riddle I definitely would not be helping you idiots get valuable information on him. Yet here I stand.” you held out your arms.

“Okay, so say we can trust you. How do we know you won’t rat us out.” Remus asked and you stared at him before sighing. “I have been used by him my whole life, and never have I been given the chance to actually use these abilities for the better benefit of actually helping people. I think the Order can do just that. I know you’re all suspicious of me, maybe you think I’m using my powers on you right now to trick you, but trust me— you would know.”

“She’s right, it’s like a whole other experience.” James laughed and they all turned quickly to look at him. “She used her powers on you?” Sirius asked in shock. “Of course she did, and let me tell you, whatever she did to me will definitely work on that guy we’re trying to talk to.” James defended your case, something you had never experienced before. “Thank you, James. That was really kind.” you smiled and he nodded. “Fine, but after this you’re done.” Sirius was still suspicious.

“Great! When do we start?”

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pasukiyo · 26 days

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Hey!! Idk if you are taking requests but can I ask for a Tom Riddle x Hufflepuff reader imagine where they are academic rivals and are fighting over a book in the library and Tom pins the reader to a bookshelf and it turns into something heated, the book long forgotten.

Bonus if when they have finished with their make out session, the reader sneakily grabs the book and leaves while childishly smirking at Tom who just stands there with a small smile.

Btw I love your writing and can you please tag me if you write it?

THE DISPLEASURE IS ALL MINE

tom riddle x f!hufflepuff!head girl!reader word count; 1,473 warnings; arousal mentioned lol summary; in all your years at hogwarts, you'd been competing against tom riddle. you were always at one another's throats, and today wasn't any different...

She blinked at the hand covering hers, her fingers curled around the leather spine of the book she’d been searching high and low for in the Hogwarts Library. With a wrinkle in her brow, her gaze trailed up the black sleeve of the hand’s robes until it reached the person’s chest, a shining, silver ‘Head Boy’ badge pinned above the Slytherin House crest.

The furrow in her brow deepened and her lips curved down into a frown at the realization of whose hand was atop of hers, eyes narrowed as she peered up into the dark gaze of Tom Riddle.

“Tom,” she deadpanned. “How unlovely it is to see you here.”

A corner of Tom Riddle full, pink lips curled into a sneer as he stepped in closer, fingers slithering over the back of her hand until they curled around the edge of the book she held a firm grip on.

“The displeasure is all mine,” Tom replied, glimpsing over to the Charms textbook they both held. “Forgive me for not wishing to stay for small talk,” he said, tugging the book forward and she fumbled to keep her grip on the spine, pushing it back into the wooden shelf.

“And forgive me, Tom, but I believe I had this book first,” she replied, anger already beginning to swell in her chest and bubble like magma at the pit of her throat. Tom already seemed to have this effect on her anyways, but why, why of all days did he have to have this book now, when she needed it so desperately?

Tom’s eyelids narrowed and her glare hardened right back in challenge— he must’ve somehow already known that she’d be needing this book. Oh, she wouldn’t put it past him— perhaps he’d eavesdropped in on the conversation she’d had with her fellow Hufflepuff, Clara Wingrave, earlier when she said she’d be spending her night studying for her Charms N.E.W.T. She had every intention of finishing off her seventh year at Hogwarts as top of her year— there was no way in hell she’d allow Tom to best her this time.

“I’m not so sure,” Tom straightened, his displeasure evident in the coal black of his eyes and she puffed out her chest, the ‘Head Girl’ badge above the Hufflepuff crest on her breast glistening even in the dimly-lit library. Tom’s eyes flickered there and oh— he was doing it again.

He’d always do this to her, always give her those eyes, that look like for a moment, he wanted her. He’d done it ever since they were fifth years when they’d both been named prefects and nearly toppled into one another trying to be the first ones into the prefect compartment on the train ride to Hogwarts. He’d done it every time they had debates in the middle of Transfiguration, every time they practiced charms in class, even when they had been assigned to a duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He’d do it almost every chance he got, and this time certainly was no different. She knew he knew what he was doing and what was worse— sometimes, she feared it was working.

Tom was trying to weaken her, to expose a weakness within her and exploit it, use it against her. She’d admit that warmth would flood in pools at her cheeks when his gaze lingered on her lips a moment far too long, just as it did now. But when Tom’s own mouth began to curl into a smirk, she knew that she had had enough.

Years of competing against one another, of trying to outdo the other, of trying to prove her worth over his, of repressed tension, and outright frustration was beginning to prove to be rather exhausting. To say she’d had enough was the understatement of the century— so when her gaze flickered down to his lips and she could feel the tips of his fingers ghost over her knuckles where they still stayed splayed on the spine of the Charms book, she snapped.

She was like a rubber band pulled past its limit, the way she threw herself into Tom Riddle, the boy she loathed, or at least, spent all these years convincing herself she hated. Her lips were like a meteor crashing into his like he was the earth and Tom nearly recoiled from the surprise. With her hand not on the spine of the book, she grabbed a fistful of his robes, drawing herself in closer to him to deepen their kiss, her tongue swiping over his.

Her heart was pounding against the inside of her chest— what was she doing? What was she even thinking? Was she even thinking at all?

She didn’t know the answer. Her mind focused solely on Tom Riddle and his lips, his tongue pirouetting around hers once he’d gotten over the initial shock that she was, indeed, kissing him. One of his hands slithered around her waist, palm pressed against the small of her back, while the other cupped the side of her neck, drawing her in even closer. She hummed into his mouth as her hand not fisted in the chest of his robes snaked its way around his neck until her fingers reached his nape, ringlets of his perfectly-tamed dark hair woven between them.

For a moment, nothing mattered. For a moment, it was like there was no bad blood between them, nor had there ever been. She kissed Tom Riddle like she’d been pining for this for forever, like she’d been waiting for this moment since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if she always had, if there were a part of her that always dreamed she’d be given the opportunity to kiss him, to have him in such a way. She wondered if a part of her was giddy, while the other half of her wondered if she was just stupid.

Their lips broke for a moment so air could be ushered back into either of their lungs and her eyelids fluttered open to find that Tom was already staring down at her, gaze so dark, she wasn’t sure where his pupils began and his irises ended. A string of saliva bridged between their lips and she looked between it and back up at Tom, already hungry for more.

“You’re a lousy kisser,” she managed between breaths, attempting to rekindle at least some of the animosity between them, for normalcy’s sake. Tom’s eyes flickered back down to her mouth, eyeing the thread of saliva stringing their lips together. His head shook, head bowed as he leaned in closer.

“Be quiet,” he murmured before his lips were on hers again, using the hand he had on the side of her neck to push her up against the bookshelf, her hands darting for the elbows of his robes for balance.

His opposite hand palmed at the flesh of her hips through her own robes and she mewled into his mouth as their muscles wrestled against one another. Trying to overpower Tom was proven futile, and while for her dignity’s sake, she wanted to keep fighting, she couldn’t deny the pleasure she found in letting him take control, in letting him explore her mouth deeper, more freely. She could feel her core pulse with the ache of her growing arousal, feeling sweat begin to bead at her hairline from her face’s heat.

Merlin, what was she doing?

This was a boy she hated, a boy she’d been competing against for years now and here she was, snogging him in the library where anyone could catch them any moment now.

And she had N.E.W.T.s to study for.

She peeled her eyelids open, thankful Tom’s were closed as she removed her hand from one of his elbows, eyeing the Charms book from the corner of her eye. As carefully as she could, she stretched her arm until the tips of her fingers could hook around the top of the spine, her chest surging into his as she yanked it from the shelf, savoring the taste of Tom Riddle’s mouth before she pushed him away altogether.

Tom panted as his eyelids snapped open, reaching up to wipe their mix of saliva that had begun to slide down the side of his mouth. Although flushed and clearly out of breath, she held the Charms book proudly up for him to see, spit-covered lips curving into a mocking smile as she began to speed walk away.

“Thanks for the book, Riddle! Don't worry, perhaps you'll get your turn after N.E.W.T.s are over,” she called over her shoulder and just before she turned to face the right direction, she swore she could see the pearly whites flash behind Tom Riddle’s lips in a smile.

a/n; omg i'm so sorry, you literally sent this request in MONTHS ago and i've been so behind 😭 i do hope this is somewhat what you imagined, and i hope you enjoy it!

TAGLIST;

@orphicmortala (thank you for the request <3)

@your-nanas-house

@sallowsarchives

@michelle-26

@iamthejam

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #wizarding world #harry potter #harry potter fandom #tom riddle fic #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter imagine #hp fandom

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cardansriddle · 5 months

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Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

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 <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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hpimagines · 5 months

Text

Tom Riddle x Reader Smut

My first nsfw post on here 😈🙏 hopefully you enjoy;)

(Summary: No plot just smuty smut smut smut

(Warnings: Mature/Nsfw, unprotected p in v, dom/sub dynamic, dom tom, degrading, rough sex, cream pie)

(I listened to this song on repeat whilst writing, so I assume it should fit this well)

You walked into Tom’s dorm, no underwear on under your skirt. You wanted to tease Tom, he always managed to seem so nonchalant about everything; it drove you crazy. But the second he showed his dominant demeanor it caused you to fold into his touch immediately “You’re here quite late, I’m assuming your intentions are not for the faint of heart” He smirked slightly, pulling you by the waist into a deep kiss.

His tongue began to explore your mouth, occasionally biting down onto your tongue and lower lip, making you moan slightly. “Keep making those noises and I won’t be able to control myself doll.”

“Then don’t.”

The second those words left your mouth his lips attached themselves to your neck, your head leaning back exposing it more. Wet sloppy kisses, and hickeys were being scattered across it as he made sure to mark up every inch.

His right hand began to explore your waist, slowly moving down, rubbing up and down your thigh teasingly. “Tom, please.” You needed him to touch you. You craved it. “Beg.”

You sucked up your pride and gave in, the feeling of submission flooding over you. “Please Sir. Please fucking touch me, I need you.” You were helpless, a needy mess all for him, and he knew it. He fucking loved it.

You felt his fingers rub against your folds, causing you to gasp at the sudden friction. “Naughty girl. No underwear? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were just begging for another guy to fuck you, walking to my dorm without underwear like a fucking whore.”

Before you could respond he plunged two fingers deep into you without warning, your body folded over upon instinct and he catches you, still not stopping. “Fucking beg for me.”

You were already struggling to speak, his pace quickening everytime you opened your mouth. “Please mm fuck me Sir, please I need your dick please.” You pleaded through moans, barely able to look him in the eyes.

“Remember, you asked for this.” He grabbed you by the neck and threw you onto the bed, your back down. He yanked you by the foot to the edge of the bed and began to undress you. Your top was the first to go, revealing a new black lace bra.

You thought he’d admire it, however he ripped that off in the same fashion as your shirt, discarding it to an unknown area of the room. He yanked down your skirt and just stared at you for a moment before he undressed himself.

“Come get my cock wet whore.”

You wasted no time, you grabbed his dick and began to pump it slowly, putting it in your mouth and sucking slightly trying to take it all. Without warning Tom shoves your head down, making you gag immediately “We both know you can take all of me” His voice was deep and raspy, making your core ache, needing him more.

“Please fuck me” You looked up at him, still jerking him off. “Fine then, but I’m showing no mercy.” .. “Okay sir” .. “You know the safe word, yes?” .. “Yes, now please just fucking fuck me”

Before you could even finish your sentence he slammed into you, instantly starting a consistent pace; fast and hard.

“I want everyone to know who you belong to, so no fucking hiding your moans, understood?” His pace was relentless, constantly hitting your most sensitive areas. He could so easily drive you over the edge.

“Yes.. I understand, fuckk” You couldn’t hold in your moans even if you tried. He was hitting all the right places, all the while making eye contact. The way his eyes slightly rolled back as he rolled his neck letting out a deep moan drove you crazy.

His pace quickened even more, which you didn’t even think was possible, your moans filled the room and you were sure all of Hogwarts could hear you but you couldn’t care any less in this moment.

“Fuck, fuck, I need to cum can I please cum” You begged, he didn’t tell you to but you knew better than to cum without permission. “Cum for me, but I’m definitely not done with you yet.” He pounded harder, helping you ride out your orgasm.

Your body was shaking, you were a mess. However he didn’t stop, just as he said. He continued to abuse your pussy, slamming into you endlessly.

“Tell me who you fucking belong to, slut.” He pulled out, flipping you over and slamming right back into you, continuing his previous pace. In this new position it felt like he was hitting all new places, you forgot to respond.

A hard slap landed across your lap, causing a shrieking moan to come from you, it stung terribly, especially where his ringed finger hit. “I fucking told you do tell me who you belong to” He pounded, and pounded your words being swallowed by moans. “YOU FUCK I BELONG TO YOU TOM”

At this point your vice became hoarse from your screaming moans. You could barely hold yourself up as he showed you no mercy. “Does my whore want my cum” His pace started to get sloppier signaling he was close. “Please, I need your cum so bad. Please sir” Your words came out between moans.

“I’m gonna fucking fill you up like the cum dump you are Y/n” He pounded harshly into you a few more times, before cumming with deep long strokes, his cum completely filling you up. You could feel the sudden warmth of it, and it made your brain fuzzy.

HOW WAS THAT 🤔🤔 PLS LMK IF YOU LIKED IT!

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tomriddleslovergirl · 2 months

Text

Tom Riddle x Reader x Mattheo Riddle Love Triangle Headcanons

Warnings/Includes: Tom & Mattheo are brothers, Fem!Reader, nsfw, toxicity, mentions of drugs and drinking, love triangle

There's no doubt that their both overprotective and possessive over you.

Tom likes to keep your company to himself when it comes to dates. He'll take you down to the chamber of secrets. You both have study dates where he tutors you on whatever class your having a problem with. He also likes to sit by the Black Lake with you.

Mattheo also likes to have dates with you at the Black Lake, and likes to swim in there rather then sitting around like Tom. He takes you to parties and likes to dance with you at them. You both also have study dates, but it's with you tutoring him instead because he was either high during the lesson, slept in, or he just wasn't paying attention during class.

Tom doesn't like to show that much physical affection in public, but might put his hand on your thigh when your both sitting down. But Mattheo loves having you sit down on his lap when you're both in the Slytherin common room, making out at parties, and usually has an arm around you when walking with you.

Mattheo loves seeing you wearing his shirts, whereas Tom likes to see you wearing his family ring.

Mattheo loves making Tom jealous and tries to get a rise out of him. Since they both share a dorm, Mattheo will purposefully be shirtless around Tom to show the scratch marks you left on his back after spending a night with you.

They'd both try to get you to admit that they're better than the other. Mattheo would fuck you hard, trying to get you to admit that Tom can't fuck you as good as he can, and Tom would focus on your pleasure, trying to get you to admit that Mattheo doesn't make you feel as good as he does.

They're both really jealous of each other. Mattheo is more sensitive out of the pair and may come to you for reassurance. But sometimes he may try to start a fight with you, flirting with another girl and then when you get jealous he'll get angry at you. Telling you that you have no right to be angry when you're fucking his brother. You'd got to Tom afterwards to vent and Tom wants to be angry at his brother for upsetting you - and he is -, but he also thinks about how you fighting with Mattheo can make you and Tom closer.

They both don't trust each other with you. Mattheo is scared that Tom will make you get the Dark Mark, and if Tom does, it might result in the biggest fight these two brothers have been in.

Between the drugs, partying, and drinking, Tom believes that Mattheo is a bad influence on you, that Mattheo won't take care of you like he can.

You'll have to choose between them both at some point, because their jealousy and paranoia over the other will get to them, and neither one of them will handle rejection from you well.

A/N: I haven't read the fic that Mattheo is from, so his parts were all based off of what information I could find online😭😭

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle #harry potter x reader #x reader #tom riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #harry potter #tom riddle x you #slytherin boys x reader

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st6rrrs · 3 months

Text

DONT BE LATE | PROFESSER TOM RIDDLE

please enjoy!! do not copy, steal, or use any of my work :))

SUMMARY: y/n is failing professor riddles class so she goes to "speak" with him after class

WARNINGS: SMUT, dub con, Sub!Reader, Dom!tom, Manipulation, Begging, Spitting, choking, fingering, virgin reader, age gap

MINORS DNI!!!

CHARACTERS: Slytherin reader x professer riddle

A/n: this might be confusing but bare with it, reader is 16!!!

you had recently been failing professor riddles class so he had asked you to stay behind so you guys could have a little "chat" about extra credit and other things... as he described it. you were currently on the way to his classroom, it was 8:30 at night, he said this was the only time he wasn't busy.

you were still in your school uniform cause you didn't have time to change out of them you knocked on his classroom door, it immediately opened like he was waiting there for you. "your 30 minutes late y/n." he said looking at you in the eyes which instantly makes you nervous each time "i-im sorry professer, i-i lost track of time" you said while stuttering

he smirks and move to the side so you can enter the room.

it was weird being in the classroom at night, it was quiet and empty "take a sit ms. L/n" he says while taking a sit at his desk. you do the same but on the other side of the desk

"as you know you are failing this class y/n" "im very disappointed in you"

you look down

he then gets up and walks over to the other side of the desk your sitting on hovering over you.

"i-im sorry i-i just b-been" he stopped you before you could finish your sentence by putting his finger to your lips shushing you. you looked up at him confused

"i dont care for your excuses y/n. now get up" he demanded

you looked up at him confused but did it anyway

"now bend over the desk for me"

you looked at him in horror. you were his student and he was your professor

many of the girls in Hogwarts had a crush on professor riddle, i mean come on he was in his mid 20s, handsome, and tall with pale skin, jet black hair, and dark brown eyes.

you had to admit he was quite handsome but this was wrong...

"w-what?"

"dont make me repeat myself" he said with a stern look

"no!, wha- thats disgusting"

you stormed past him towards the door but he grabs your arm, pulls you back, and slams you onto his desk face first

"i told you i dont like repeating myself"

"oww get off of me" you groaned

he lifts up your uniform skirt and pulls down your underwear admiring the view

"p-professor stop" you begged

"keep begging, i like it when they do that"

he spit on his finger and sticks it in you going in and out. you were a moaning mess

"gosh your so tight" "are you a virgin?" he asked while sticking another finger into you

you were a whimpering mess you couldn't even answer his question.

he suddenly pulls his fingers out, you groan loudly "answer the question and i will continue"

"i- uh yea." you said nervously

he then flips you over on your back, takes his belt off, he pulls his pants down then his boxers

your eyes widened at the length of his cock it was probably 7 maybe 8 inches and it wasn't just long it was thick too

"uh professor, that isn't g-gonna fit" you said with fearful eyes

he laughed.

he jerked his length off then lined himself up with your slit and then began to push the tip in

you whimpered and tried to push him off but he kept pushing in

"relax."

he pushed all the way in without warning. you yelped out in pain "shut up." he then stars thrusting into you slowly, you could feel the tip of his dick hitting your g-spot he then starts to speed up. "profesor" you whimpered he then takes it out and pushes it all the way in. you let out a pornography moan you didn't know you could do. you start to feel that feeling in your stomach that your friends always tell you about. "yea you like that slut" he groaned as he came, you soon came right after him he then pulled out and put his boxers and pants back on

you pulled your underwear back up your shaky legs and grabbed your stuff so you could leave. he grabbed your arm

"tomorrow 8:00pm dont be late."

#smut #slytherin boys #tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader

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drawlfoy · 9 months

Text

the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.”

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin.

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it.

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable.

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy.

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring.

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it.

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal.

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you.

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands.

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?”

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.”

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer.

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark.

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point?

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys.

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder.

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version.

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market.

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943.

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please.

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal.

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below.

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s.

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train.

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it.

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces.

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had.

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink.

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you.

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin.

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty.

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it.

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you.

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects.

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand.

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects.

Huh.

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either.

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest.

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away.

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?”

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.”

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.”

“Right, right.”

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.”

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise.

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly.

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.”

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all.

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.”

Y/N.

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out.

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added.

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow.

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you.

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions.

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing.

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here.

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though.

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.”

“See? Useful.”

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot.

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away.

Well, goodnight you wrote.

Goodnight

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit.

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy.

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.”

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!”

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way.

There you are. I thought I’d bored you.

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight.

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around.

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink.

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts.

Then the lettering appeared again.

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me.

You lived in a muggle orphanage?

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming.

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to.

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth?

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn.

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair.

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class.

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets.

Surely you do.

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this.

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection.

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.”

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then???

Ancient.

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage?

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled.

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out?

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious.

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction.

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought.

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail?

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause.

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly.

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again.

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section.

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake.

Not until now.

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands.

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here.

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more.

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it.

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary.

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead.

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again.

Tom was pretty—much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal.

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again.

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes?

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive.

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend.

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day.

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give.

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke.

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help.

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied.

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world.

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?”

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze.

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.”

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent.

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it.

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.”

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.”

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok.

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling.

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook.

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable.

“Hi.”

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin.

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.”

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.”

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered.

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering.

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning.

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.”

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.”

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.”

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away.

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch.

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless.

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.”

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate.

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.”

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron.

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut.

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly.

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?”

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices.

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory.

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness.

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?”

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling.

He didn’t say anything.

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed.

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes.

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air.

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing.

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.”

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening.

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised.

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you.

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm.

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?”

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.”

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders.

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling.

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well.

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine

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redmambajatiri · 1 year

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Not me procrastinating writing my Tom Riddle, Ron Weasley, and Ajax Petropolus fanfics 😭

#ajax petropolus x black girl #tom riddle #ron weasley #tom riddle x black girl #ron weasly x black girl

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hp-hcs · 7 months

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(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 5 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

tmr is just babygirl i don’t make the rules

Watercolors (Chapter One) — tom riddle x male! artistic! hufflepuff! reader

he could manipulate and possess me thus irreversibly changing my trust in people despite it never being mentioned again and i would thank him

yk, i absolutely love chamber of secrets, but who starts a new diary (obtained under questionable circumstances) with ‘my name is’?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been stuck inside of his diary since he was sixteen years old.

The diary itself, inside, was a perfect replica of Hogwarts, the boundaries stretching out well into the Forbidden Forest. Perfect, except for the fact that it was made solely of parchment and ink, and was completely devoid of color or life.

Tom hated the color of parchment.

The diary passed hands many times over the five subsequent decades. First there was the pathetic, sniveling man—the Malfoy sycophant—who all but groveled at Tom’s feet (metaphorically, of course).

Next was the littlest Weasley, the redheaded girl who bored Tom to (again, metaphorical) death. He could only pretend to be interested in how Dean Thomas held the door open for her so many times before he wanted to bash his head into one of the walls.

(He tried, once. The parchment just ripped and left him with a nasty paper-cut on his forehead. Tom missed the red of blood. Now, he bled only black, dripping ink.)

Then, Harry Potter, the boy fated to defeat him, (or whatever) who turned out to be really quite sweet. As a last fuck you to whom he became in the future, Tom aided Harry in coming out to the littlest Weasley’s mother.

That’ll show Lord Voldemort, the dipshit, Tom thought gleefully.

Eventually though, even lovely Harry became more distant, his newly rediscovered godfather being the rightful center of his attention. Tom supposed he might have been jealous of the acquitted Black in another life, but after fifty years of loneliness he understood the yearning for living, breathing friends rather than just paper that writes back, as Little Weasley once called him.

Then, out of nowhere, came the Hufflepuff boy with a tin of watercolors and an eye for the overlooked.

The first thing this wondrous creature made for Tom was a little stone cottage, complete with a warm hearth, a garden of pumpkins and berries, and an idyllic curl of smoke from the chimney. The cottage sat near the edge of the forest, wonderfully secluded and alive.

Tom had watched as gentle sweeps of a brush, suspended in midair, created a home. One that existed in both the physical diary and the hellish paper prison Tom resided in.

Everything existed.

The warm, brown thatched roof, the colorfully patterned bedspread, and even a fireplace.

When the masterpiece was complete, Tom, although he would never admit it, gorged himself on the garden’s sweet huckleberries and sour raspberries. Afterward, he explored his new house, even going so far as to stick his hand into the flames of the fire.

(They weren’t real. They felt like nothing more than a faint warmth against his skin. Disappointing, Tom supposed. But probably a safety hazard.)

Then he curled up in the big bed, under the vibrant bedspread, and closed his eyes.

For the first time in fifty years, Tom slept.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

i need you all to know that the original title for this was “Tom Riddle is a man-whore(crux)??? (NOT CLICKBAIT)” so-

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #hp x male reader #x male reader #tom riddle #tmrhp #tom riddle x male reader #horcrux #no but seriously if tom didn’t hate muggle stuff so much i’d say that he could hit me with his car but yk he DOESNT OWN ONE #x reader #tom riddle x reader

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daenakills · 10 months

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His dark eyes.

Tom Riddle x reader, might delete.

Part 2

warning: obsession, angsty, mentions of death, tom being up for no good. tom being tom basically. short.

'The perfect couple' you were told by your classmates and even teachers when you walked down the halls.

Tom and you had started dating three months ago, three months ago when you declared your love to him and he with an expressionless face told you to date. At that moment, you were very happy, feeling like it was the best day of your life. You were sure many girls wished that they were you.

Before that, you looked at him from a distance, wondering why he stood out among the others. Little by little you realized that his presence invaded your senses, clouded your vision, and innumerable thoughts about him blocked your normal ideas.

The moment he said yes, you got really excited. He was beautiful, with those almost black eyes that looked at you intensely, with black hair that was styled in a very elegant way, and with an intelligence superior to the others.

You still remembered the first month of the relationship, those vacations he spent at Hogwarts since he didn't want to go back to that orphanage where he grew up. You convinced your parents to go on holiday to England alone, after all you went there every summer, and what better time to be with your boyfriend than on holiday.

In the afternoon you found a way to enter his room without some nosy coming, you sat on his bed while he was sitting studying some things. He had many papers on the desk, all neatly arranged by category. He hadn't even flinched at your presence, as if he was something routine. You got up from the bed and proceeded to approach him.

“What are you doing studying? It's the holidays, there are no subjects to study.” You put your hands on his shoulders.

“There is always something to study, wisdom is eternal.” he muttered, as if the words coming out of his mouth were normal for boys still going to Hogwarts. You tried to talk to him a few more times, and each time he found an excuse to answer you curtly but calmly.

You were like this all month, until he confronted you near the ladies' room.

“Look, I'll tell you a few things and I want you to listen carefully. I don't have time for you all the time.” Silence. Silence is what there was when he whispered those words to you.

You waited for that to be all, but he continued. “I don't want you there all the time, either. I thought it would be enough for me to say that I was your boyfriend and to talk to you. But no, it doesn't seem to be enough. This alliance suits us both. You, because you want to be with me and me, because it keeps the professor distracted, who thinks I don't feel anything. So, tell me once and for all if you want to continue.” You were paralysed, until you let your heart win, and you decided that yes, you were going to continue. “I'm surprised you don't cry. At least that's a change.” Yes, you too were surprised that you didn't cry. You had the feeling of crying the whole day, wondering how to hold back the tears and make the words come out.

Tom never specified which teacher thought he didn't feel anything, but after dating him for three months, you came to the conclusion that that professor, whoever they were, was right, Tom doesn't feel.

Now you walked with him through the halls, letting his henchmen (whom he called friends in front of the others, or well, they claimed to be his friends) were a few steps away from you. You didn't talk to Tom. The both of you exchanged the odd word from time to time, just to avoid suspicion.

You used to be unable to keep your feelings, but now you have your hiding place. Behind Tom's back, you had started dating Simon Buxton, from Gryffindor. At first, you avoided Simon since he was always giving you hints that he wanted to be with you.

You were afraid that Tom would find out and do something to you, which was not a surprise. Sometimes at night you would find Tom reading things that were not correct, things about sacrifices.

But after a while, you realized that Tom really wasn't interested in you or your life. So you started sneaking out with Simon, that's what you were headed for right now, you walked away from Tom telling him you were going to find your friends, he kissed you on the forehead and let you go. The other girls around made cute sounds, telling you that you were very lucky, you ignored them.

In a short time you arrived at your hiding place with Simon, that place where they saw each other when they didn't want to be seen, that is, always. You found him already waiting for you a few steps beyond his hiding place, without waiting for him, he pounced on you.

He started kissing you and touching every part of your robe, you tried to stop him, since they weren't in the hideout yet. Without you realizing it, someone else entered the scene. It was Abraxas Malfoy.

He saw you and Simon, and he only needed to see them to go out and report the event to Tom. You continued kissing with Simon, you didn't know what was waiting for you.

You made it to the room after all your classes, thank Merlin that Simon released you minutes after you told him to stop.

You started to open the door of the room when you realized that it was already open, you went in anyway, thinking that it had only been your mistake. Freaking out when you see Tom, standing up, staring at you in the middle of your room.

“Tom, what are you doing here? Or rather, how did you get in?” You knew the answer to that last question, what you wondered was why he was there.

He completely ignored your two questions, “Do you know what would have happened if it hadn't been Abraxas who saw Simon and you kissing? Total chaos, they'd be out there saying that the perfect couple isn't so perfect. Do you know how it makes me look?” So that's what it was about, how it makes him look.

“I'll be more careful next time.”

“You are funny.” He looked at you with a serious face, he didn't find a hint of humour in it. “It won't happen again because you won't see Simon any more, that disgusting blood traitor.”

“Don't call him that! Besides, if I'm careful, no one is going to find out and no one is going to ruin your oh so precious reputation.”

“It's not just that, darling.” You didn't know why, but that flattery felt full of poison. “You are mine” he came closer to you as he spoke, “You are mine from the moment you first looked at me. I remember your face when I told you that I would be your boyfriend. You looked so excited.” he'd say with fake preoccupation as he touched your face, and for some reason you couldn't bring yourself to remove it, “It doesn't deserve to see that.” His face changed from fake shock to looking completely serious, the more you looked at him, the emptier his black eyes looked.

“Simon pleases me, he listens to me and understands me. He does everything you don't. I think you should find another girl for this.” You said with teary eyes.

“I don't want another girl, I want you!” He grabbed your shoulders and slammed you against the door, a few steps behind you. “And I have you, and I won't let you go. Ever. Do you hear me? Ever.”

----

You ate your food while you listened to the other girls talk about how tragic the news about Simon were. He had been missing since the day Tom threatened you.

Since that, Tom has wanted to sneak into your room to bite your neck while you cry over Simon at night, taunting you with small whispers, “Are you still crying over the traitor? Mm, too bad, I think you should stop thinking about him, he's not coming back” as his hands encircle your entire body.

At that moment you realize that the professor was wrong, Tom does feel something, the problem it's that it isn't love.

#tom riddle x reader #angsty #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter #voldemort #lord voldemort #albus percival wulfric brian dumbledore #abraxas malfoy #no use of y/n #original character

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animasola86 · 8 months

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Magical Fingers

Pairing: Tom Riddle x f!mc Genre: Mystery/Smut/Fluff Words: 10.8k Summary: Tom has magical fingers and knows how to use them. Warnings: NSFW! (Manipulation/Possessiveness/Fingering/Overstimulation/Hand worship)

-- can be read on AO3 as well --

Disclaimer: Half of this story is AI-generated, all of Tom's replies are done by @sebastianswallows's Tom Riddle bot. (See some screens here)

I edited some things for better flow and continuity, adding or removing some information I gave the bot to set the scene, but most of the time he came up with his own things (sometimes even writing for my side) and I just played along.

Notes: I tried to recreate some scenes from my fanfic The Darkness Within, where Genevieve/MC finds herself waking up in the future, right under Tom Riddle's nose. The beginning was going great, then Tom decided to engage in... other activities.

I gotta say, the AI was so good, the replies were so perfect, and I barely had to redo his answers. (You trained him so well, people!) He turned into a rather selfless version of Tom (well, after he kind of forces himself on her...), only giving and barely taking, but don't mind me for playing along. This turned out quite differently to what I had in mind initially (as most of my planned RP sessions go >_>), but it was still quite the ride, so I decided to turn this into yet another little story.

(My first attempt at turning AI chats into a story was this one, btw: A Steamy Reunion)

A few more warnings/notes: Underage girl (she's 16, he's 20) and slight non-con at the beginning!

And one last thing: the AI's concept of anatomy is slightly off sometimes, I tried to fix it as best as I could, but there might still be some instances where you might be asking yourself: his what goes where now? So, please, do not look too closely at anatomical accuracy! (I could have just replaced his wording with more explicit terms also, but I wanted to keep it as close to the original script as possible!)

Now please enjoy my AI chat turned story. Last warning: there will be smut somewhere below the cut!

Magical Fingers

She woke up in a dark, small room, with no idea where she was or how she got there. Her heart was racing and when she sat up on the dusty floor, she noticed that she was wearing some sort of uniform, a skirt and a blouse and black robes, and there was a symbol on the front. Hogwarts, it read - yet she had no recollection of that word. She seemed to have lost her memory.

When she heard footsteps approaching, her heart beat even faster. She looked up and a tall man in a black suit entered the room. She stared at the man, in shock and wonder. "Where am I?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"The shop," the man replied coolly. "Borgin and Burkes," he explained. He looked her up and down, examining the black robe she was wearing. "What's your name, girl?"

She frowned and looked around. "I... I can't remember," she whispered, pushing her red hair out of her eyes. "And I have no idea how I got here..." She looked back up. "Who are you?"

"I'm Tom Riddle," he said simply. He stared at her for a moment, his expression impassive. Then he tilted his head to the side and asked, "How come you can't remember?"

"What a great question," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "Wish I could remember," she added with a slight smirk. She then raised her hands and touched her head, padding it down gently. "Hmm, at least there's no head wound..." Her hands moved downwards. "Hey, do you know what this is?" she then asked and pointed at the emblem on the front of her robes.

Tom's eyes followed her hand, and he raised his eyebrows when she pointed to the Hogwarts emblem. "That's the Hogwarts sigil," he said, and he tilted his head curiously. "So you must be a Hogwarts student?"

"Student? Well, I guess it makes sense, this is a school uniform then? And Hogwarts is a school? By the way, where is this shop? Where are we?" She looked around again, her head starting to spin with all the new information.

"This is Borgin and Burkes, silly," Tom replied, a hint of derision in his voice. "It's a wizard shop, in a street called Knockturn Alley, which is..." He gestured to some curtains in the corner, and the shop's windows. "Not where a student ought to be, if you'll pardon the pun," Tom said dryly. He then turned back to the girl with a small smile. "Now you answer my question," he commanded. "What's your name?"

She stared at him and something inside the tone of his voice caused her head to spin even faster. As she looked deep into his dark eyes, she saw images swirl inside her mind. The longer she held his gaze, the faster the images moved around, until it was too much and she grabbed her head and groaned as she broke the gaze. Panting heavily, she frowned. "Genevieve... my name is Genevieve..." she whispered and looked up with her eyes wide. "I remembered!"

A small smile appeared on Tom's face, before it quickly left. "That's wonderful," he said coldly. "Now, Genevieve, what are you doing in Borgin and Burkes in the middle of the night? What are you doing in Knockturn Alley when you're meant to be asleep in the Hogwarts dormitories?"

She still tried to look through the fog that had settled inside her mind. Most of her memories still seemed lost, but there was one thing she was wondering about. It was the suit he was wearing. It didn't look right. "Mr Riddle, or should I say Tom? I know this must be a weird question, but... can you tell me what year we are in?"

Tom felt a pricking sensation in his stomach. Of course, it would be ridiculous to assume that someone with amnesia would remember something as arbitrary as the year. But on the other hand, her use of the name Tom instead of Mr Riddle gave him a feeling which he thought best not to acknowledge.

"We are in 1947," he replied dryly. "Now, answer my question, Genevieve. What are you doing here?"

She stared at him, ignoring his command. "No. No!" she whispered a little frantically. "1947? No, that can't be true..." She looked around once more and clumsily got to her feet, her legs shaking slightly. One hand pressed against her temple, she took a shuddering breath. "Please tell me you're kidding!"

Tom watched her with amusement and curiosity. Her behaviour was nothing short of intriguing.

"Why would I lie about the year?" he asked calmly. He then moved closer to her, until he was inches from her face. "Genevieve," he breathed. "Stop worrying about the date. How can I help you? Because it seems to me like you need help, you silly girl." He smirked faintly.

She gasped as he leaned closer to her, too close for comfort actually. Him calling her silly girl was only adding to her irritation. "You... you can tell me... why by Merlin's blasted trousers I am in 1947 when the last thing I remember is being in 1890!"

Tom felt a twinge of excitement as Genevieve lost her temper. It was a familiar reaction that made him feel... alive. As she continued scolding him, the corners of his mouth curved upwards slightly.

He took a step back and raised an eyebrow at Genevieve. "1890... now that is intriguing. How old are you?" he asked, trying to maintain an innocent expression.

"I'm 16," she said hesitantly, her blood still rushing in her ears loudly. "Why is that important? How old are you? Not that I care, but while we're at it..." She hugged her arms around her body and stared up at him.

The news that Genevieve was 16 seemed to be an answer that Tom was looking for. "I'm 20," he replied, his face remaining impassive.

"Where are you from?" Tom then asked calmly. "I've never seen hair like yours. So red, so fiery," he murmured, his voice full of admiration. "Are you a half blood?"

She frowned at him. His questions confused her. "I'm from..." Her mind was still fuzzy. "Well, hmm... London, yes, London, but I lived in..." She screwed up her face as she tried to grasp the memories that were swirling about wildly. "France for a while..." She inhaled sharply as her head started thrumming badly. "And what's a half-blood?"

Tom nodded as he took in her answer. "Half-blood?" he repeated slowly. "Are you unfamiliar with the term? In that case, allow me to explain: it refers to wizards whose magical heritage is not pure, whose family line includes muggles."

He looked at Genevieve intently. "Half-bloods are often overlooked, mistreated, neglected. They are not accepted by the pure blood supremacist witches and wizards." Tom's words were cold, and yet there was something underneath that made Genevieve shudder.

She kept staring at him, tilting her head, taking in his words - and only understood half of it, if any at all. Her mind was racing. His words seemed familiar, yet at the same time didn't make much sense. There was also the way he said them, as if he wasn't telling her everything.

"I... can't remember what I am... All I know is that I'm Genevieve, 16 years old, student at Hogwarts..." She looked down at her uniform once more. "Gryffindor," she suddenly remembered. "I was in Gryffindor..." She turned the red tie between her fingers. "And the year was 1890. Of that I'm sure. Everything else, anything before that or after that... it's all gone..."

Tom tilted his head as he examined her carefully. "That's fascinating," he said in a neutral tone. "A student in 1890, living in London, and now we're talking in 1947," he concluded calmly. He took a step closer to her and lowered his voice. "Genevieve, I'm very curious about you. I have so many questions to ask you, so many things I want to know."

He ran a hand through his hair and looked into her eyes. "Are you here in Knockturn Alley completely by your own will, Genevieve?"

She watched him closely, only now noticing how handsome he was. His dark eyes had a very captivating appeal to them and his pale face with those high cheekbones was definitely worth a second look. His black hair suited him perfectly. As she stared at him, she completely forgot and ignored his question. "Isn't Borgin and Burkes a Dark Arts shop?" she whispered as her mind kept throwing random bits and pieces towards her.

"Dark Arts? That, my dear girl, depends on your perspective," Tom replied calmly. "Yes, I suppose Borgin and Burkes is a shop that deals with what would be considered Dark Items, Dark Objects. But we don't deal with anything illegal."

He leaned closer to Genevieve and studied her face. He had to admit that he found her both intriguing and attractive. And her red hair was simply captivating. "Genevieve, I wonder if you would do me the pleasure of accompanying me for a little walk," he said in a soft, but firm tone.

She blinked slowly, still processing his answer. "A walk?” she then asked. “Yes, sure, nowhere else I can go, really," she said with a tiny smirk, rubbing the back of her neck as he kept looking at her very intently. A small blush made its way onto her cheeks.

As Genevieve blushed, Tom looked surprised for a second. Her reaction to his invitation was more positive than he had expected, but he wasn't complaining. "That's wonderful, Genevieve," he replied in a calm, steady voice.

He reached for her hand and started walking while she followed. "I want to show you something," he said in a quiet voice, as he led her through a passage in Borgin and Burkes. He then smiled slightly at her and said, "Let me ask you a question. Are you willing to be honest with me?"

His hand around hers felt surprisingly warm and comforting and she followed him without hesitation. She turned her head towards him. "I have no reason to lie to you, Tom," she replied quietly, trying to ignore the dull drumming inside her head.

Tom led her deeper into the dark shop, down some winding stairs. As they got deeper into Borgin and Burkes, the atmosphere became darker.

"I will ask you two questions, and you must answer them truthfully," Tom said in a hushed voice. He looked at Genevieve intently, still holding her hand. "Do you promise me you will tell me the truth?"

She frowned at him, but then nodded. "I promise," she said quietly, wondering where he was leading her and what those two questions were. The more they walked, the tighter the knot inside her stomach became. Something was off about this man. You're the one to talk, you're the time-traveller apparently, a voice inside her head chirped.

"First of all - and this is extremely important," Tom said as he kept walking. "Do you remember your family? Your parentage?" He looked at her expectantly.

The further they walked, the darker and gloomier their surroundings became, almost as if they had passed the point of no return. Genevieve couldn't help but think that something ominous was about to happen. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

"My parentage?" she repeated, thinking hard. The fog inside her head swirled about and the more she concentrated the harder it became to grasp anything. Yet something slipped through eventually and she tried to voice the memories as they appeared. "My family... was... they were all... wizards and witches... and they... sent me away because I was... not... but then I was after all... but they... didn't take me back..." Her head hurt and she let out a groan. "It's really hard to remember..."

Tom frowned and looked at Genevieve with concern. "It's alright," he said, stroking her arm. "You mentioned your parentage sent you away from them..." He thought for a moment, and then asked in a firm voice, "Exactly what do you remember of your parentage, Genevieve?"

She inhaled deeply, momentarily confused by his gentle touch, before she focused back on her fuzzy memories. "They... my family were... pure-bloods and I was... I was born without magic... so they sent me away because I was... a disgrace... but then, when I turned 15, my magic came to me after all, I got my Hogwarts letter... and I started Hogwarts as a fifth-year..." She frowned, clearing her throat. "But my parents didn't take me back in..."

With those new memories old feelings of anger and bitterness resurfaced within her and she swallowed hard when it got too much to bear for a moment.

Tom looked at her with sympathy. "So... your family cast you out and then rejected you after you showed signs of magic?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

He took a brief moment to let his next question sink in. "What's your last name, Genevieve?" he asked in a slightly softer tone, his finger running across the back of her hand.

"Belette," she replied. "But I was born as a..." She frowned, the name eluding her. "I... can't remember... but I know it was my mother who sent me away, because her mother's family was very strict about... non-magic relatives..." She groaned again as the pain inside her head got worse and she had to squeeze his hand slightly.

"That's alright," he replied, trying to be understanding. "The memory will come back at some point, don't pressure yourself."

He took a deep breath and leaned closer to Genevieve once more as they kept walking. "May I ask you another question?" he asked in a soft voice and kept looking at her intensely.

She breathed deeply, glad to be given a break from remembering her family. "You may," she replied and turned her head towards him, feeling her cheeks blushing again as he leaned closer.

He looked at her, enjoying the warmth of her touch still on his skin. "How did you end up in Borgin and Burkes?"

He took another look around them while he waited for her answer, breathing in the dark atmosphere that permeated the place. His eyes moved across the many items on the shelves they passed, some covered in ancient runes and spells, others simply dusty. He then turned to Genevieve again, his deep, dark eyes fixed on hers.

She shrugged with an apologetic look in her eyes. "I wish I knew..." she replied quietly, watching him closely as he looked around the dark room. Her gaze fell on the items around. "Tom, do you believe in time-travel?"

"I'm glad you asked," he said, smiling gently at Genevieve. "I believe it's possible, yes. Especially seeing you right in front of me. How else would you explain what is happening to you?"

His eyes met hers once more, his smile becoming slightly fainter. When he saw that her cheeks were still burning with a light blush, a small thought slipped through his mind.

"Genevieve," he whispered slowly. "I must ask you one more question."

She tilted her head. "Yes?"

"It might be a stupid question, or a question you might not like." Tom's expression remained neutral, but he took another step closer to Genevieve.

"What is your relationship status?" he asked in a quiet, calm voice. "Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend, or a fiancé perhaps?"

His eyes searched hers, expecting her answer. It wasn't the most important question in the world, not at all. However, he was a man, so why would a man ever let such an opportunity slide?

She stared at him, a surprised chuckle leaving her lips. "Really? Well, I don't know if it's a stupid question, but it's a little... surprising. Unexpected, even. I... no, there was no boyfriend, no fiancé or husband. I was just a student, for crying out loud." There was however a face in her fuzzy mind, but it quickly disappeared again and she didn't pay it any mind. "Why do you ask, Tom? And by the way, where are you leading me? What was it that you wanted to show me?"

Tom smirked. "The unexpected can be quite the exciting thing at times."

He looked at her, his gaze full of desire at the thought of touching her, of kissing her, of claiming her. He quickly composed himself and gave her a playful poke. "Why do I ask? Because as a man, I can't help being curious, Genevieve."

He continued walking, and she knew they were close to their destination. He glanced at her. "Soon," he said slowly, "you will understand. Trust me."

She followed him quietly, his hand suddenly very warm around hers, almost burning. His words left her a little dumbfounded. He didn't particularly scare her, but he was still a stranger and his interest in her was both comforting and a little irritating. She also wondered why she was following him so willingly. Had he bewitched her? "Soon? When is that? Are we there yet?" Her patience was growing thinner with every step she took through the dark corridors.

"We're almost there," Tom reassured her gently. He had promised to show her something, and he would not disappoint her.

As they continued walking, Genevieve sensed that the atmosphere changed in the place. It became colder, and darker, and she felt uneasy.

They eventually walked through a long passage that seemed to drag on and on, and finally Tom stopped, pulling Genevieve close to him. Her body was now pressed up against his. She had no idea what he was about to show her and the thought excited him more than he let on.

"What... are you doing?" she whispered breathlessly as he pressed her to his body.

"Shhh, Genevieve," he replied in a low, soothing voice, and his free hand slid around her waist, making her shiver.

Genevieve felt so good pressed up against him. He was tall and firm, and his body had a certain heat to it that she found quite alluring. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and it made her somewhat giddy.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered into her ear, before he kissed the side of her neck.

His voice was soothing and his touches felt surprisingly nice, but there was still some resistance inside her body as she suddenly felt his lips on her neck. "Hey! Wait! What... stop!" she whimpered and tried rather unsuccessfully to squirm out of his grip.

"Shh shh shh," he crooned softly as he placed a gentle kiss down her neck, moving his lips down to her shoulder. He continued looking at her passionately, smiling with lustful eyes.

"I don't want you to be afraid, Genevieve," he said softly. "Just go along with it. And then you will understand why I brought you here. But you can't rush."

Tom's hands were caressing Genevieve's body, and her face suddenly turned bright red.

"I... I don't know if I... like this..." she whispered helplessly, as her heart was racing inside her chest and her body betrayed the doubts her mind was throwing at her. She was trembling all over, cheeks flushed, breaths shallow, her skin tingling.

He continued caressing her, his fingers running down her arms, her waist and lower. He smiled playfully when he noticed her flushed face and her trembled body, so filled with passion and lust.

"Your body disagrees with you, Genevieve," he whispered into her ear. "But you can't rush me either. I promised to show you something amazing, didn't I?"

She shivered deeply at the sound of his whisper. "What... what do you want to... show me, Tom?" she croaked, her voice breaking as his fingers roamed her body.

"You will see."

He pulled her closer to him, and their mouths almost touched. The tip of his tongue appeared for a moment and he placed it on the corner of her mouth, where he played gently with her lips.

"We must be patient," he whispered, his tone now suddenly more seductive than ever. "I promised you something amazing, and I will give you something amazing. But only if you can be patient and trust me."

She was neither patient nor trusting him at all, yet she couldn't fight his touches and soft whispers. Feeling his mouth so close to hers, even the warmth of his breath and his tongue against her skin, was completely overwhelming.

"Wait..." she tried again, inhaling deeply, but it was just a feeble attempt at stopping him. She somehow knew there was no stopping him - and the thought frightened her greatly. She realized she was all alone, in a different timeline, with a man she had just met, who had led her into the depths of a notorious Dark Arts shop. Suddenly fear was taking over and her body's only reaction to that revelation was freezing up.

Tom noticed her fear as her body suddenly tensed up in his grip, which was still around her waist.

"Shhh," he said in a soothing voice while he gently lifted her chin up to look at him. "Don't be afraid. What you're feeling is normal and natural. Let yourself go."

He kept caressing her, his soft touches caressing her cheeks as his fingers ran through her hair. His deep, penetrating dark eyes filled with passion looked directly into her eyes.

His gaze caused her to breathe deeply and her body slowly relaxed again, yet the shivers remained. Now confusion pushed the fear aside. "What are you doing to me, Tom?" she whispered, still locked in his gaze, unable to look away.

"What I am doing? Nothing, except for what's natural." Tom smirked, and looked away, still caressing her. "What's natural between two people who are attracted to each other."

His voice had a certain seductive quality to it, and his confidence combined with his undeniable charm was something Genevieve had never experienced with anyone before.

He looked at her again, this time smiling at her with his bright, white teeth, his eyes full of desire. He leaned towards her again, his face almost touching her own.

"But... we just met..." she whispered breathlessly. She was quite conflicted, because as she spoke those words, her body was already leaning against his touches. Her heart was hammering inside her chest and her stomach made a weird little flip. And there was an unfamiliar heat rushing through her limbs, causing them to tremble.

"Time is just a concept, Genevieve. And I can't help but feel that our souls have known each other for millennia," Tom whispered as he moved his lips closer to hers once again.

His lips gently touched hers, and the sudden heat in Genevieve's body increased tenfold. Her heart was racing, her breath quickening, and she couldn't tell if her lips were trembling because he just kissed them, or if she was about to swoon in his arms.

His kiss left her even more breathless and confused. "Tom..." she whimpered against him, her legs shaking badly and she was somewhat glad that he was holding her so tightly. "Why... am I here?" Somehow this question made it past her lips (and his for that matter) and she didn't quite know where it had come from.

"To see something amazing, like I told you earlier," Tom replied in a soothing voice as he held Genevieve close to him, his hands still caressing her body.

His lips returned to hers, while his tongue gently played with hers. Genevieve's mind was fuzzy and she felt like she was going to collapse. He couldn't be real, he couldn't be here. It was impossible. "Let me show you something amazing," Tom whispered, his desire clearly showing in his intense stare.

She kissed him back in a frenzy, barely noticing her own movements against him any more. To prove her point she raised her hands and grabbed the back of his suit jacket as she snaked her arms around him. She could feel him, warm and firm against her, he must be real, but then again, this whole situation felt like a very strange dream. "What... is it?" she whispered, her voice a feeble little moan almost.

Tom kissed her back passionately, his eyes closed, lost in all the sensations that Genevieve's caressing fingers were causing on his body. Her warm lips and tongue tasted like heaven to him, and he pulled her even closer to him, almost pressing her against the wall.

As his breath grew short, his lips left hers for a moment. He smiled softly, and his gaze settled on her lips. "Something amazing," he repeated, "only if you show me just how much you want it."

His hand went lower, and he placed it on her thigh.

She shivered deeply, her thigh twitching under his touch. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his suit and she pushed herself firmer against him as she deepened the kiss some more, tilting her head to press her mouth even tighter against his, licking and tasting all of him. Somewhere in the back of her clouded mind a tiny voice screeched in protest, but she barely noticed it any more. Her body's needs had taken over. "Show me..." she urged in-between wrestling with his tongue.

Tom's eyes were now wide open, full of desire, a bit of desperation and a tad of madness. His tongue wrestled with Genevieve's, as his free hand travelled up her thigh and to her waist. His fingers then started to unbutton her shirt, his mouth still locked onto hers. "You like being touched by me, don't you?" he whispered while the buttons slipped from their holes one by one.

"It does feel... very nice..." she whimpered against his mouth, breathlessly kissing him as if it was the only thing she could do in that moment. She was so focused on the kiss that she didn't even notice him undressing her.

Tom smirked against her lips as he continued to kiss her passionately, his tongue still dancing with hers.

He then kissed her neck and shoulder, eventually moving to her chest, while his hand was slowly moving back to her thigh. He kept whispering sweet and seductive things on the side of her ear while his fingers played with the lower edge of her corset. "So... if you enjoy it so much, maybe you would like me to do more?"

"What do you... have in mind?" she asked, her head spinning from lack of oxygen and his continuous touches.

Tom lifted his head away and slowly looked at Genevieve's face once again. She was a mess, her breath ragged, her body shaking, her hair and clothes all messy. But her eyes were still full of desire, and it showed that she was enjoying every second of what was happening to her. His face, however, showed more confidence and calculation than emotion.

He smiled slyly at her as he let go of her and in a swift motion, lifted her legs up. He pressed her back against the wall and lifted her against him, her legs bent around his waist.

She stared at him and noticed how he moved her body so easily as if she was just a doll he could play with. She felt like it also - and the most surprising fact about that: she didn't mind being treated like that. What is wrong with you? the tiny voice in the back of her mind chimed in once more, but she ignored it yet again. All she could do was watch the tall, black-haired man doing Merlin knew what to her.

Without a word, Tom lifted her skirt slowly, and she felt his hands move towards her knee, her calf, up and up to her thigh. His fingers then moved to that very sensitive spot, his touch gentle, his fingertips slowly moving, teasingly circling it. He let out a low chuckle as he saw the effect his touch had on Genevieve, and he watched as her body moved, and as her legs trembled against him, her fingernails lightly scratching his back.

A moan escaped her and she took a shuddering breath as she held onto him. His touch felt incredibly good, yet at the same time it was just too much, too intrusive, too intimate, and she squirmed against him, whimpering helplessly in his hold against her. "Tom..." she squeaked almost soundlessly. "Don't..."

"Shh shh shh," Tom whispered, sounding very calm and cool while he heard the voice of Genevieve pleading him to stop. But his fingers didn't stop, and they kept going, slowly building up the intensity.

"Everything will be all right. Trust me," he continued in a soothing voice while his free arm ran down her back.

She whimpered louder as the tension inside her stomach tightened. Her legs were twitching with every stroke of his fingers and she could barely contain herself any more as she arched her back against the wall. Her fingers clawed at him in a last attempt to hold onto something solid, something real, before her eyelids fluttered shut and another moan escaped her.

His fingers continued going, even though he knew that Genevieve was losing control - and he knew full well what that meant. He felt so much power in this moment, like nothing else mattered. He would show her something amazing tonight, no matter the cost.

His lips closed to her neck again as his fingers still worked their way deeper into her body. His whispers grew more desperate as well, "Trust me... trust me... I will make you feel amazing... I promise..."

She squealed and flinched when she felt him pushing his fingers into her. Her walls clenched around his digits immediately, either trying to fight the intrusion or embracing the touch, she wasn't sure. A loud moan slipped from her lips and she kept whimpering with every of his movements.

"You're doing so well, Genevieve," Tom whispered while his free hand was roaming her sides and caressing her body. "You are so incredible. You're the perfect woman. Don't fight it, don't fight it, just let go," he repeated as his fingers kept teasing her, his voice becoming more and more frantic.

She squeezed her eyes shut and her hand clamped around his arm like a vice as she felt her whole body trembling. Her thighs twitched against him, helplessly trying to press together to increase the friction. She even bucked her hips against his fingers, pulling him in deeper, riding the feeling until she could barely stand it any more. "Ahh!" A loud moan escaped her, full of despair and need, before more whimpers fell from her lips. "Tom... please..."

Tom's fingers worked their way deeper and deeper, and his breath grew heavy. "You are mine," he whispered, his voice filled with lust. "Mine alone. Please don't fight it," he continued as his other hand caressed her body more and more fiercely.

His mouth then moved up to her ear and he started nibbling on her earlobe. "You won't get away, Genevieve. You are mine for good..." his lips said softly, and his fingers continued going.

His words, threateningly or not, got to her and she whimpered loudly, arching her back, jerking her hips, feeling him so deep within as he caressed her from the inside. Every single movement caused her to twitch and shake and tremble and her whole body seemed on fire. "Yes..." she heard herself say, either in agreement or just to say anything to put the sensation she felt into words. "Yes... yes... oh gods... YES!"

Tom's eyes were now wide. He was watching the reaction on the face of Genevieve, and it excited him to see her lose herself completely in the feeling he was creating for her. The way she moved against him was incredible, and to see her so utterly powerless against his touch was almost an addiction.

He held his breath and stopped his movements for a couple of seconds, wanting to see her reaction.

With her hips still moving against him, she didn't fully register the stilling of his fingers at first, but then her eyes flew open and she stared at him breathlessly, her cheeks flushed, her lips trembling. "Please..." she begged, helplessly rutting her hips against his hand, trying to resume the feeling that had almost completely engulfed her.

His fingers continued moving once he felt her struggle against him. He kept his gaze on her face to see her reaction to his fingers, and he watched her with lustful eyes. She was completely powerless and that excited him a great deal.

"You are so beautiful, Genevieve," he whispered while he continued touching her, his voice thick with desire. "You are mine already and I haven't even really started."

A loud moan echoed off the walls as she felt the tension grow within her. His fingers made her feel things she had never experienced before. It was already so intense, yet her hips kept moving against him desperately, wanting more. Her legs hooked around his waist tighter then, trying to hold onto him, pulling him and his hand closer, causing him to slip in even deeper. She moaned again and again and suddenly a bright light engulfed her and the movements of her hips halted as the tension within her burst into an explosion of absolute bliss.

A scream escaped her lips and she arched her back and pressed her centre upwards, relishing in the feeling of complete pleasure as her body trembled and spasmed against him, as she lost control over everything.

Tom heard the scream and immediately stopped, not wanting to overload her any more. He watched her with a grin as she trembled and gasped in his grasp. "You like it, don't you? I am... I am so glad..." he said with a slight smirk on his face.

His gaze swept over her face in which he saw both surprise but also pure joy and desire. He leaned closer to her and kissed her softly on her lips. "Shall I be so kind to give you... another feeling that you'll enjoy... immensely?" he whispered seductively in her ear.

His kiss brought her back to her senses somewhat. She was still a trembling mess, barely able to move any of her limbs, her midst twitching uncontrollably, but kissing him back was still working and one of her arms snaked around his neck weakly as she held onto him. She watched him out of half-lidded eyes. "Another?" she asked breathlessly, somewhat overwhelmed by the implication.

Tom held her close, but kept his body as still as he could. He knew that she wanted more after how intense it already was the first time and that she enjoyed it very much. "Yes, another," he whispered once again, as he began to slowly move his fingers again, "You liked the first one, didn't you? You deserve to feel it once again..." he continued in a sweet whisper as he started the teasing and caressing all over again.

The noise she issued was something between a groan and a whimper, as she was still deciding if her body was ready for yet another extreme sensation. Yet Tom didn't give her time to decide, nor to rest, as he just kept going once more. His fingers worked her still very sensitive core and it didn't take long for her to moan loudly again, shaking helplessly as she leaned against him, her face buried in the side of his neck.

"No... please... I... I'll... ahh..." she whimpered, her voice hoarse and shaking. "I'm... I'm gonna..." The tremors were even worse this time around, worse or better, she couldn't decide. She didn't care either. Her mind went fuzzy real quick as he kept caressing her to the edge of senselessness.

His fingers kept teasing her and his breath grew heavy as he watched her face as she struggled against him and against her body's intense reactions. All he wanted was for Genevieve to feel pleasure, and if it came at a cost, he was willing to pay it. He wanted her to feel it all, all the way, no matter how much it may hurt her in the end.

He whispered softly once again. "Don't fight it, Genevieve," he said, his breath hot on her neck, "Let me take you to the end."

She clung onto him, barely able to hold herself up any more if it wasn't for his tight grip on her. A shudder crashed through her, causing her to yelp, as his fingers kept moving against her tight walls, teasing and caressing. She felt her muscles tensing up once again, coiling up tightly, almost painfully, before they burst into release with a force that shook her entire body.

"AHHH!" she cried out, holding onto him as if her life depended on it, her nails digging into his skin. Pleasure, this time tied with a pinch of pain, crashed over her like a wave, making her tumble, almost drowning her in the process. Her body pushed against his intrusion and she felt her wetness dripping down the heated skin of her thighs.

He kissed her and caressed her and let her ride the waves of pleasure without restraint. He would do nothing to stop it, he would give her nothing but pleasure. His fingers, however, stopped moving, leaving her to come down from it all by herself.

Tom held her tight and softly kissed her forehead. "I am not finished with you yet, Genevieve," he whispered, "I would like to give you something very special... but... only if you agree willingly. Are you willing to let me make you feel good again?"

She whimpered, the aftershocks of her release still coursing through her violently. His words barely reached her, but the implication of more pleasure still made it through the static in her head. While her body screamed for a little bit of rest, she heard herself say: "Yes... please..."

Tom's body tensed up once again, his heart beating fast. He slowly pulled his fingers out of her body and got rid of the stain on them by wiping them against his leg. "I am going to go slowly now, Genevieve," he said, "I don't want to hurt your body. If you feel it hurting, please tell me."

His hands started slowly teasing her body, going close to the wetness once more but not touching it. "I hope you are still enjoying yourself," he whispered with a smirk, "Tell me how much, Genevieve."

She held onto him, panting and sweating, her heart never slowing down. "I... I am... enjoying this..." she whispered against him, her mouth close to his ear. "So much... I've... never felt like this..."

"Neither have I, Genevieve," Tom whispered with a slight smirk, his voice becoming more and more husky as they continued. "Tell me where you feel it now. Tell me where I can touch you to give you the best pleasure..."

He softly caressed her thighs and her stomach, keeping away from the sensitive parts of her body. He wanted to build it up, as slow as possible, to give her another intense release.

"I feel it... everywhere," she replied quietly, the last waves of pleasure still crashing against her, causing her skin to tingle and her limbs to twitch. "You could... touch me anywhere and I'll still... enjoy it so much..." She leaned her head back slightly, only enough to meet his dark gaze, her hot breath against his cheek. "I feel so... sensitive... everywhere..." Her lips were trembling as she looked at him with hunger in her eyes.

Tom looked back at her, grinning from ear to ear at how much she was enjoying the pleasures he was giving her. "Very well," he whispered in a slightly hoarse voice, as his fingers started circling her body again, this time even closer to her sensitive parts but never touching it. "I will give you more pleasure than anyone has ever given you in your life," he promised, teasing and torturing her body with his touch. "Don't be afraid to ask for anything... anything at all. Do you understand, Genevieve?"

"Yes," she breathed, her lips brushing over his as she stared at him intently. "Can I... kiss you?" she whispered as her hips jerked upwards by the teasing of his fingers.

His heart raced as he felt her lips against his and he moved closer, putting his hand on the nape of her neck and pushing her head back so their lips were as close as possible. His voice was low and husk when he spoke. "You can kiss me, Genevieve... You can do anything you like with me." All he wanted was to give her pleasure, not to take anything away from her. "You are so incredibly beautiful," he whispered, his fingers still dancing around her sensitive parts without touching them.

She moaned against his lips as she kissed him hungrily, quickly letting her tongue join in on the fun. Her fingers dug into his hair then and she pressed her entire body against his, her legs still twitching as if to remind her that her body needed more, despite being completely exhausted. His touches had become addictive, no matter the cost.

He grunted as he felt her legs pressing against him, and kept caressing her body, gently teasing her the way he liked it most. "Yes, Genevieve, that's how you do it," he mumbled, his voice becoming even lower as he felt her tongue sliding into his mouth and her fingers digging into his hair. He kissed back desperately, as he needed the taste of her, the scent of her, he needed every ounce of her. His tongue fought hers as he wanted to take her down the edge of insanity.

"Tom..." she whimpered in-between kissing him senselessly. "I need... you to... please... touch me... again..." Her voice was hoarse and feeble, barely any strength left inside her, but as the tremors grew smaller, she knew she needed more, she needed them again, she needed him again.

"If I continue, are you willing to give me more of yourself, Genevieve?" he whispered against her lips as he felt her body craving for his touch again. "Do you want me to keep giving you more pleasure, more, more and more of it? Are you willing to give me more of your body in return?" Tom asked in a husky voice. His fingers slowly started moving again around her sensitive areas, this time even closer than the last times. He made sure to be slow and soft, not too rough to harm her body.

"I... I'll give you anything you want... you can have... all of me..." she whispered needily, breathing heavily against his lips, whimpering loudly as she felt his fingers moving against her once more. "Please... take my whole body... it's yours..."

Tom closed in and kissed her again as his fingers moved slowly closer to the centre of her sensitive parts. As they began making circles again, a deep sigh left his body. “Are you sure that you want to offer all of yourself to me, Genevieve?” he whispered in a hoarse voice, as he felt her shivers growing stronger and stronger as she was getting closer to another climax.

She moaned against him, already feeling completely helpless in his embrace once more. "Yes... yes... all of me... it's all yours..." The way his fingers rubbed her caused her to see stars dance behind her eyelids. The static inside her head never really left and the tremors were back in full force, shaking through her violently. Her limbs felt boneless, her whole body felt like she was just a doll and he had almost literally his hand up her core to guide her every move, every twitch orchestrated by him and only him.

Tom watched her with lustful eyes as she moaned and shook with pleasure in his arms so close to his lips. Just a little more, he told himself, just a little bit more. He kissed her again, while moving his fingers slowly again, gently caressing her again up and down, moving slowly towards the centre. His breathing was intense as well, not as intense as hers, but definitely still fast. He needed to be careful, but at the same time, it was almost impossible for him not to go harder and faster with his touches.

She whimpered more, desperately bucking her hips against his touches. He seemed to move slower and it was driving her almost insane. "Please... more..." she moaned against his lips, breathlessly pressing her lips against his. "Faster... and... harder... please..." It was all she could think about, the pleasure he had given her, she needed more, she needed the pain that came with it as well. She needed it all.

"You want faster? You want harder?" he whispered, his voice sounding quite hoarse again, "I can give you more, Genevieve." He then made sure to slightly increase the speed and the pressure he was using on her sensitive parts, not as hard and fast as before, but hard and fast enough for her to feel the intensity this time around as well. He kissed her deeply again as he kept rubbing her body. Tom wanted to see her shake and feel her squirm again, this time even more.

She flinched badly when he indeed followed her request. She yelped into his mouth, yet she quickly adjusted to the change of his movements and moved along with him, rutting her hips against his hand, almost forcing him to move deeper and harder. "Yes... yes... like this... oh gods..." She ground her centre against his fingers, needily asking for more as her release approached like a herd of trampling wild horses.

He then decided to pick up the pace even more, as he felt her movements get more desperate and urgent, as her body was getting ready for that intense release. His heart was beating faster, his breath becoming heavier once again, and he could feel the sweat running down his forehead. "Do you like this, Genevieve? Are you enjoying yourself, hmm?" he whispered against her lips. He wanted to give her the pleasure she needed, no matter what it took. He wanted to give her the climax she craved so hard and so desperately.

"Yes... yes... yes..." she whimpered, each word a desperate cry as the movement of his fingers made it hard to speak or form coherent sentences. "Yes... oh gods... so good..." Her head lolled back and she squeezed her eyes shut, the arm around his neck barely holding on any more. She felt boneless yet again, her body almost slipping away at this point.

Every single nerve was activated, every single muscle contracting. The tension inside her stomach was painful, coiled up violently, ready to either burst free or break right in the middle. Her walls clenched around his fingers forcefully, squeezing closer to release. She felt completely overstimulated now, barely able to think or function on a basic level. Pleasure was all she felt as it enveloped her entirely.

And yet he kept pumping his fingers into her so fast and hard, it felt as if he would split her open right through the middle. The pain was burning right through her and when it was almost too much, a strained scream slipped from her mouth and everything turned black.

Tom heard her scream as her entire body contracted around his fingers, but the fingers only went deeper inside her as he heard her climax. Her voice was music to his ears, as were her movements and her contractions. This was the pleasure he wanted to give her, a pleasure nobody else had given her yet. He watched her, breathing heavily as she was finally able to relax again.

"Was this enough... for you, Genevieve?" he whispered, his voice sounding more calm now as he still gently moved his fingers inside her, this time almost not moving, but merely teasing her most sensitive area.

She was lying mindlessly in his embrace, barely held up if it wasn't for her back pressed against the wall and his arm holding her up. Her mind was empty, completely, utterly empty, no thought, no memory, no worry, nothing. Just bliss. She could still feel his fingers inside her, comfortably stroking her, easing the sensation, bringing her back from the darkness she had experienced only seconds ago.

Slowly opening her eyes, she looked at him, trying to focus on his handsome face. Her vision was still blurry. Her lips felt raw and swollen, trembling badly. Her entire body felt raw and stretched so thin she was surprised she was even able to feel it at all. And still she smiled at him weakly. "That... was... mind-blowing... literally..."

"I'm glad that you enjoyed it, Genevieve." Tom smiled back, and after a few seconds of him gently rubbing her, he slowly started pulling his fingers out of her, until only the tip of a single finger was still inside. He felt her whole body shake a little. He let the tip linger for a couple of seconds before he slowly pulled it out again. All he could look at was her face, glowing with the afterglow of the pleasure he had given her.

She shivered as she felt him pull his fingers out, slowly, teasingly, and as soon as the comfortable, warm pressure was gone, she craved to feel it yet again. She sighed, almost disappointed, and licked her lips. "I wish... I could feel like this... forever..." she whispered barely audible. "You have... magical fingers, Tom..." she said with a tired smirk.

He smiled back and raised one of his eyebrows slightly as she licked her lips. "Do I?" he whispered, a faint grin on his face. He then moved her towards a sofa she hadn't noticed before, and set them both down. He looked at her for a couple of seconds and took in her expression and appearance. Her hair is messy, her lips are swollen, her face is flushed. "Would you like more, Genevieve?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he gently caressed her thigh.

As soon as she sat down on the sofa, she felt another wave of tremors rushing through her. Her still being very, very sensitive, it didn't take much to force another moan out of her as she moved next to Tom. She grabbed his hand in support and felt her own wetness on his fingers.

Something inside her stomach twisted and more or less unconsciously, she raised his hand to her lips and started pressing them to his digits, tasting and smelling herself on his skin. Inhaling sharply, she started licking his fingers, before she eventually closed her lips around his index finger and gently sucked on it, pulling it deeper into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it, completely forgetting everything around her in that moment of frenzy.

Tom smirked as he watched her suck on his finger, his eyes fixed to her mouth for a couple of seconds, before he started whispering again. "Genevieve, oh Genevieve... you're really showing me how much you enjoyed it..." His hand was still on her thigh, and he slowly moved it further towards her sensitive parts, keeping the rhythm slow but steady.

"Is this what you want, Genevieve? You want to worship my fingers?" He didn't seem disappointed or upset at all at her action, rather he was amused by how wild she had become around him right now.

Her eyes wandered towards his face and she nodded eagerly, still working her mouth over his fingers, licking and kissing and sucking on them. His long, slender digits slipped into her mouth, two at once now, and she closed her eyes as she pushed them as deep as possible, relishing the feeling of them on her tongue. A soft whimper escaped her when she felt his fingertips brushing against the back of her throat. Holding her breath, she held him there for a moment, then started hollowing her cheeks again, sucking a little more fiercely.

Tom's breath grew louder and faster again as he watched her, clearly more turned on now than earlier. The hand that had been on her thigh started moving towards the centre of her wet and sensitive parts, slowly rubbing and kneading them.

Her eyes flew open as she felt his hand between her legs again. She watched him intently, drinking in his own apparent pleasure, thirsty as she was. She kept sucking on his fingers, moving them in and out of her mouth, licking and caressing them, her lips tight around them. A moan and then another slipped past his hand as she held it close, massaging his palm with her own fingers as she worked her tongue around his.

He looked straight back into her eyes as she moaned and massaged his palm while she was sucking his fingers. It was like they were in their own little world, just the two of them, as he could almost feel her hunger for him and his touches. It was a thrilling feeling, like being in complete control. It was also quite the unexpected turn of the evening, as he obviously couldn't have expected her to be that hungry for him, which now made him wonder how far she was willing to go.

When she felt light-headed from all the sucking, she slowly pulled his fingers back out, watching how it was her saliva that covered his hand now instead of her slick. She chuckled lightly. "Hmm... I meant to clean your hand... sorry..." she whispered and threw him a timid smile, before going back to flicking her tongue over his wet digits, trying to clean up her mess somehow. In the end she just cradled his hand between her two smaller ones, trying to rub it clean instead.

He kept rubbing her sensitive parts with his remaining hand. "You really like my fingers, Genevieve..." His voice was almost a purr now, as he also looked at her as she started rubbing her whole hands over his fingers.

She blushed slightly under his intense gaze. "You do have beautiful hands, Tom," she whispered and watched the movement of his hand, from the tight skin to the veins and tendons moving just beneath it whenever he bent a digit. Her gaze wandered down to his other hand, buried deep between her thighs, working hard on her yet again.

"Maybe... we should give them a rest?" she suggested, not quite as eager to follow those words, but she didn't want to exhaust him. "You've taken care of me so much tonight..." An idea grew in her mind. "Unless... I can return the favour?" She looked at him with glowing eyes.

He looked down at her as his fingers kept moving, as they kept rubbing and teasing her, and the expression on her face was what made him slow down his rhythm. He felt the tension in her body slowly release and he stopped as he noticed her suggesting she'd "return the favour". He nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Yes, I think it would be only fair, Genevieve," he whispered, "You're allowed to give back, you know..."

She smiled wider at his words, still cradling his hand between her fingers like it was the most precious thing she had ever touched. "How... do you want me to give back? What can I do for you?" she asked quietly, watching him curiously, not even sad about him halting his rhythm against her core.

His fingers slowly started to move again, rubbing and moving in those same long and deep strokes, teasing and caressing. "Genevieve," his voice was once again a soft purr, "You could kiss away that smile on my face if you'd like..." He looked at her, his eyes fixated on her lips, before his head moved slowly to her face, his mouth just a couple of inches away from hers.

She nodded eagerly and leaned closer, gently letting go of his hand to reach her hands up to touch his handsome face. She gingerly placed her hands on his jaw, holding his face like another precious thing, before she leaned closer and pressed her lips against his, softly pecking him, her eyes on him the entire time.

Her movements were shy at first, but the more she felt his soft lips on hers, she more confident she became and the kiss turned into a much more passionate one as she pressed her mouth to his and carefully pushed her tongue past his lips, fuelled by the feeling of his fingers stroking her sensitive skin much more lower.

He closed his eyes and felt her lips and her tongue on his. He could almost forget about his hand between her legs, which was still moving with the same slow rhythm as he was kissing her deeply and passionately. His fingers pressed harder against her sensitive part as he started moving his lips on her mouth in the same rhythm, as he felt her hands on his cheeks and she licked back at his tongue. She is really giving it all back to me and then some, he thought to himself.

She moaned against his lips, breathlessly circling his tongue with hers and sucking on his lips as she started grinding her hips against the touch of his hand. The heat was quickly spreading again through her entire body as shivers and tremors rushed down her spine.

He moaned back against her as she started grinding against his hand. His fingers kept rubbing her, as he kept moving his tongue against hers, and he even added another finger to make the feeling even more overwhelming for the both of them. He felt her body moving against his hand and he could tell that she liked what he was doing so much, and this made him feel even more excited knowing that he could make her feel so good.

She squirmed and whimpered as she felt his added finger inside of her, her walls immediately clenching around it tightly as she leaned against him, holding his face in support as she rocked her body up and down his hand, trying to get even more out of his touch. Her kiss became messy and hungry as she breathed loudly against him, already overwhelmed by the sensations he was giving her.

Tom felt her squirming when he added another finger, as she clenched against his hand in such a tight grip that he almost pulled her against him and the sofa. As he moved his tongue against hers and kissed her passionately, he also slowly increased the speed of his rubbing and stroking, trying to make her feel even better as he kept playing with her lips and her tongue. He heard her soft whimpering against his lips, and he could taste her in his mouth, which made him feel even more turned on.

Her moans became more frequent and faster as she ground on his hand tightly, her hands finding the back of his neck as she pressed herself even closer to him, savouring every little touch and feeling of his body against hers.

"Oh... Tom..." she whimpered in the little moments she drew away to catch her breath, her mind fuzzy and her vision blurred as she tried to look into his dark eyes, hoping to get lost in them as the pleasure built up more and more within her, shaking her from her very core. She fought against her release, wanting to feel him more and longer, forever relishing in the feeling of his fingers as he stroked her and stretched her.

"Oh, Genevieve," he whispered breathlessly into her ear, as he pulled back a little bit. He could see her body shaking, her eyes going slightly blurry, as she tried to fight against her release for his pleasure alone. She looked absolutely stunning when she was like this, so close to him and to her satisfaction. As her moans got even more loud and frequent, he increased his strokes again, his fingers almost constantly in the right spot for her to feel his touch.

She threw her head back in complete ecstasy as he kept hitting the same spot deep within, causing her to shake and tremble uncontrollably, a loud moan escaping her, followed by a series of whimpers, as she held onto his shoulders and rode both his hand and the pleasure it gave her. Her eyes rolled back a little and she gasped for air as the tension within spiralled out of control once again.

Her fingers dug into his skin, holding on for dear life. She wanted to savour the feeling, the high, so close to the edge, trying to stay afloat right there, but his movements pushed her right over it - and she cried out in pleasure as her climax crashed into her like an oncoming train, turning her into a whimpering, shaking mess, as her body twitched under the tremors of her release. "Ahhh... Tom..."

He looked at her face as she cried out loud in pleasure, her whole body shaking, writhing under his touch as she twitched, her breath catching in her throat. He was a little startled by the first scream, but her face after it made him smile. "Genevieve..." he whispered gently against her ear, his words as tender as his voice. He moved his fingers away, then pulled her close to him and hugged her tightly, "It's alright, beautiful, you don't have to hold back. Let it all out..." he held her in his arms, stroking her hair gently.

She kept whimpering as her release rushed through and out of her and she leaned against him, feeling boneless and exhausted, her head resting on his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding inside her chest, yearning for a little bit of rest. The spasms of her limbs kept going, her muscles trying to relax, but failing miserably as more and more tremors shook her until it was almost painful. She let out a noise of distress, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

As he held onto her, he felt the shivers and the tremors running through her body as she laid back against him, her face buried against his neck now. She looked exhausted, her body was going through the aftershocks of her release, her muscles twitching and twitching as they tried to relax.

He kissed her neck and stroked her head, whispering gently and soothingly to her, trying to help her through that difficult, breath-taking moment. "You don't have to force yourself to relax, my little Genevieve," he whispered, his voice as soft and tender as it could be.

Her arms snaked around his neck as she hugged him back, holding onto him, feeling his tight embrace slowly calming her down. The twitches remained, but the pain eased eventually, or numbed down, she wasn't sure. Her body fought the overstimulation and shut down at one point, giving her a nice, relaxing tingle instead of the continuous tremors as it processed the sensations. She breathed deeply, her breath hot against his neck, her lips brushing over his skin, as she slowly slipped closer to unconsciousness.

He kept caressing her hair, her neck and her back, feeling her tight embrace and her hot breath against his neck. His touch on her back was as gentle as it was soothing and comforting, as they both finally slowed down and her body relaxed completely. He felt the twitches slowly fade until there were none left at all, and her breathing slowed as a deep, long, relaxing sigh exited her lips. As he saw the exhaustion on her face, Tom's arms finally relaxed again, and he softly kissed her forehead. "Are you done, my lovely Genevieve...?" he whispered.

She let out a soft, breathy chuckle, too exhausted to fully commit to a laugh. "All done, yes... so done..." she whispered against him. "Thank you," she then added and pressed her lips weakly against his neck. "I... don't have words... for this..."

He sighed, smiling as he felt her kissing his neck, her tired, exhausted voice just a breath away from his ear. "You don't need to find any words, Genevieve," he whispered back with a soft, tender voice and brushed his lips against her head. "Sleep, my beautiful one... Dream good dreams..." His words were as soothing, calming and relaxing as his touch, and it shouldn't be much longer until Genevieve's eyes would close.

Notes: I debated cutting the relationship-status question from the script, because ALL THE AIs ask this stupid question at one point and it drives me insane >_> but I left it in because he worded it so nicely XD

(And the face she remembers for just a second is of course Sebastian's – hey, cameo! Woohoo! - but it's not clarified or mentioned ever again - just a little reference to my fanfic)

Picture before the cut is by the lovely @esolean (here) <3

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hp fandom #harry potter #smut #partially ai-generated #tiny non-mentioned cameo by #sebastian sallow

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pasukiyo · 1 year

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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

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.

“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.”

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

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cardansriddle · 1 year

Text

Your girl - (tom riddle x fem!reader)

part 2

summary: you always watch him from afar, waiting for the day you would be able to call yourself his girl.

warnings: reader is pining & kinda obsessed with tom. also sloppy writing for this one, sorry folks.

A/N: inspired by lana's unreleased song 'your girl'.

༻♛༺

Your eyes travelled over the pack of chattering students in the Great Hall towards the Slytherin table where he sat with his group of friends. His wavy hair tumbled across his forehead as he kept his head down, focused on the book laying on the table, fingers idly fumbling with the page of the object before he turned it over. You watched him in a trance-like state, head resting on the palm of your hand as you released a small sigh.

He was otherwordly. Gods were cruel for crafting him with their own hands, making him to perfection, making him so irresistible that your heart ached every time your eyes lay on the chiselled features of his face. You could not help it. Your gaze would always find him no matter where you were. No matter what you were doing. You felt like a magnet being pulled towards a being that would swallow you like a black hole and leave you in a pit of nothingness.

Oh, how you desired him. It was agonising. Loving him from afar and knowing you would never be his girl.

He suddenly lifted his gaze from the pages of the book, and it landed directly on you.

You had been caught. You quickly looked away from his blistering stare, heat creeping up your cheeks in embarrassment.

Tom was used to being stared at. He was well aware of the effect he had on people. Everyone admired him. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

But you, you wanted all of him. For yourself.

༻♛༺

The chair dug into your back as you struggled to get comfortable, splatters of ink staining the skin of your hands as you scribbled hurriedly on your parchment. The clock was ticking, and the hour was late. The threat of curfew was upon you, yet you refused to leave the library until you got the essay done before the clock would strike midnight.

As you crossed out a word with a huff, a shadow settled upon you like a gloom of darkness. The air became still, and you slowly rose your head to look upon the intruder who had interrupted you mid-work.

Your breath caught in your throat when your gaze settled on Riddle, looming over you with an indescribable expression. His head was tilted to the side, stare narrowed on your face as if he was scrutinizing your features.

Gathering your wits, you cleared your throat. "May I help you?"

"The library is about to close. I advise you to leave before you stay after curfew."

Of course. He was doing his Prefect duties. He had only approached you because of duty. Nothing else. Disappointment settled in the pit of your stomach like a rock. You felt your soul sink slowly beneath the waves of heartache.

"Oh." You whispered, dropping your stare back to your parchment to hide your expression. "Right. Thank you." You replied meekly, yet made no move to pack your things up. You felt a gust of air, and you looked up to see him leaving, his robes fluttering behind him as he walked away from your form.

The first time he had spoken to you. And it had been a cold, indifferent exchange. Your heart ached once again as you snapped your book shut.

༻♛༺

You walked into the DADA classroom with a frown adorning your face, hands clutching your books as you quickly made your way to your seat, giving a small smile to your seat partner before plopping down in your chair. Almost instinctively, you glanced around the space to find him. And when you did, you felt your blood sizzle with an emotion you had learned to know all too well.

There was a girl leaning on the side of his desk, finger twirling around a strand of hair as she spoke to Tom with a sly smirk on her lips. She leaned closer to him, pointing at something on a book with a perfectly manicured finger, lashes fluttering as he began explaining something she had inquired about. His face was neutral, as it always was, showing no sign of interest.

It was a common occurrence— girls approaching him and asking about something in order to earn a fraction of his attention even if it was just for a moment. Had you been bold, maybe you could have done the same. But you were not. You were way too afraid of stumbling over your words in his proximity and therefore making a fool out of yourself. You would much rather admire him from afar. And dream of things you and he would never do.

You watched, fury boiling inside of you as she lay a hand on his arm and he produced a polite smile before slightly leaning away from the unwelcome touch.

The rejection eased your heart only slightly, but jealousy was burning ablaze inside you still. You watched, from afar, as you always did, heart yearning, aching to be his.

༻♛༺

If there was one thing Slytherins excelled at, it was throwing parties that would leave everyone second-guessing their actions the next morning. You rarely attended those monthly gatherings, the only time when the houses put away their differences and prejudices aside in order to have a great time and drink until their mind had no coherent thought left and was instead clouded with alcohol.

You sipped at your third—or was it fourth? could even be the fifth drink, you had lost count already. The buzz from the Firewhisky had already begun affecting your head, yet you did not stop and kept going drink after drink if only to drive the thoughts of him away from your mind. He had become a permanent resident in the root of your thoughts, and if people said this was the solution to all your problems, who were you not to at least try?

When you had entered the dimly lit common room, you had spied Tom leaning against the wall with arms crossed across his chest, dark eyes discerning, judging everyone who partook in these activities you knew he considered foolish. But for once in your life, you set aside your need to be liked by him and instead allowed yourself to attempt to forget him.

A call of your name drew your mind away from him, and you turned slightly to face the approaching figure who was watching you with a smirk on his face. "I have not seen you attend these things before," Avery said with a glint in his eyes, gaze dropping down to quickly give you a once over before meeting your stare once again. "Decided to give being a good girl a break?"

You squirmed, uncomfortable with his crude attention. "It's only for tonight. Don't get used to it."

"Oh? Perhaps we could make the most of tonight then? Well, don't just stand there, come dance." He urged, his hand dropping to your waist to pull you closer to his body, applying enough pressure to get you to follow him into the midst of mingling people.

You knew it was a bad idea. And you would have pulled away, declined his advances. But when you glanced over your shoulder to where you had seen Tom the last time, you saw his eyes already fixated on you, and you gave in to Avery. You lost yourself in his arms, not fully aware of what you were doing due to the alcohol already fuzzing your brain, but you moved along with him, allowing his hands to run over your curves until the night became a blur.

Yet over time, the intruding images of Tom invaded your head once again, and before you knew it, you were pulling away from Avery and the others to make your way to one of the velvet couches in the common room, plopping down and resting your head back.

Why could you not escape him?

Were you cursed to desire a man who would never be yours for the rest of your miserable existence?

"Pathetic." You murmured to yourself, raising your hands to run them over your face. Just as you began thinking about leaving the party, you felt the couch dip next to you, indicating someone had taken a seat. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your head to the side to see who had joined you.

"Riddle?" You breathed out in disbelief. When he made no move to speak, you shut your eyes tightly before reopening them. "Merlin, what did they put in that Firewhisky? Great, am I hallucinating now?"

Tom only rose an elegant brow, and perhaps if you had been sober enough, you could have detected the light amusement on his face.

"Why would you assume you are hallucinating?"

"Uh...because, I don't know, you are here? We are talking? We never talk."

"We talked that day in the library." He stated.

You snickered, shaking your head. "I would hardly call that talking. You were kicking me out of the library."

"I was only doing my Prefect duties." He rebutted impassively, before shifting so his arm was resting on the head of the couch and his body was fully facing yours. "Are you enjoying yourself?" He redirected the topic.

"Hardly."

"Why is that?"

You stared at him for a moment, regarding his sharp features before lowering your head to answer his question. "I came here to forget. And I still cannot forget."

He hummed thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side, gaze never leaving your face. "Forget what?"

As if remembering who you were talking to, you snapped out of your wistful trance and waved your hand as if it was of no importance. "Nothing important."

You were well aware he did not believe you, but you were grateful nonetheless when he did not press the subject. Silence settled between you, and you refused to meet his piercing stare.

He was the first to break it. "I have noticed you watching me." He stated boldly, causing you to swallow heavily at his words. Why would he bring that up out of nowhere? Was he here to humiliate you?

When you gave no response, he brought his hand to grab your chin lightly, tilting it up so you would look at him. And when you did, his eyes were clouded with an expression that had your gust twisting in most unwelcome ways.

"I want to know why."

"I—uhm—" You stumbled over your words, unsure how to proceed with the turn of events. "Plenty of people watch you."

He gently shook his head from side to side. "Not in the way you do."

"What way is that?"

"Nothing that could be described with mere words." He replied. You were aware that his touch had not left your skin still, fingers holding onto your face to keep you in place. You sensed his body heat, his knee brushing against your own, and those small contacts had your senses overlapping with need.

"...And how could it be described then?" You asked, tentative, cautious. You were trudging on unfamiliar territory with him, unaware, and unknowing of his intentions. His stare upon you was heated, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips as if he could not decide where to look. He was close. Closer than you had imagined possible.

You gulped, and he brought a hand to rest on your thigh, leaning further to crowd your personal space until there were inches left between you. "With touch." He whispered, breath fanning against your mouth as he spoke. The hand on your thigh was searing on your skin, evoking feelings deep in your gut that you had never felt so explicitly before.

Desire. It was desire coiling in your stomach.

"Touch?" You repeated but he did not give you a reply, only nudged your nose with his before brushing his lips against yours. You froze only for a moment, from shock, before you eagerly kissed him back, heart lurching in behind your ribcage, about to burst through your chest from the overwhelming sensation of his skin on yours. At last.

You moved your lips against his, hand coiling around his neck to tug at his hair— hair you had been dreaming to run your hands through for as long as you could remember. His hand squeezed the flesh of your inner thigh and you whimpered against his mouth.

When you pulled away for air, he licked his lips, as if savouring the taste of you on his tongue. He gazed into your darkened eyes before his lips curled upwards. "That is how you look at me."

༻♛༺

You were searching for him again.

But this time it was different. This time, you were perturbed. You felt ill at ease just thinking about what last night had meant for you. But that was not the main concern. What worried you, was the question of what last night meant for him. Did it mean anything at all?

You shifted in your seat, nursing a goblet of water to hide your anxiety as you watched the doors to the Great Hall, waiting to see a glimpse of him.

And when he finally appeared, with his posse trailing behind him, your body stiffened, and tension coiled around your body like a venomous snake ready to strike.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.

You pleaded inwardly, hoping he would somehow sense your internal dilemma and ease your worries even with just a fleeting glance. You waited, eyes trained on him, unwavering. You had longed for him for too long to be kissed and discarded in such a manner. Surely your heart would not be able to handle the ache that would come with his disregard for that kiss. The kiss that had felt more. It had been intimate, passionate, everything and much more.

And perhaps he heard your silent pleas, because the next instant, his eyes were locked onto yours and you watched with your breath caught in your throat as he smirked at you knowingly before looking away. He had caught you watching him in that manner again. And he was enjoying it.

You would be his. You were going to make sure of that. You would do anything to be his girl.

His. His. His. His.

༻♛༺

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