#go on and name him tom riddle as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amongemeraldclouds · 2 months

Text

The Slytherin Boys as Disney Princes

Ft. Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Blaise Zabini, Tom Riddle, Draco Malfoy, and Lorenzo Berkshire. Also features x f!Reader as their equivalent Disney princesses.

✿ Masterlist | 1.8k words

From the Wizarding World to magical fairytales, let’s crown our beloved Slytherin boys as the following Disney princes:

Theodore Nott as Prince Charming (Cinderella)

Note: Prince Charming doesn’t have much personality in the original 1950s film, but we learn more about him in later films, where I drew information from.

✭ Raised in privilege as a prince, Theodore Nott lived a very charmed life just as the name Prince Charming suggests.

✭ With only royals and commoners to distinguish class, he is less prejudiced and more accepting of others. His father taught him at an early age that they have a responsibility to their people just as their people serve them.

✭ Because of this, he is open and friendly to everyone, including animals. He was once hunting down a deer only for it to be a game in the end, him and the deer are actually friends. (Note: Yes this is canon Prince Charming and is very Theo as well.)

✭ If Disney were less wholesome, Theo as Prince Charming would have regular lovers, but it will only always be physical. He has not yet found a connection with anyone, but it doesn’t matter because he enjoys sex. He certainly never runs out of women to sleep with.

✭ Beneath all the charm, he secretly hopes to find a love match. The kind of relationship that transcends strategy and status. He longs for passion and romance, much like in the books he reads in the castle’s library, though he’ll never let anyone know.

✭ His father in the meantime is keen to see him married to an eligible maiden so he threw a ball. He rolled his eyes and yawned when no one was looking, initially bored because he still couldn’t find the connection he longed for. At this point, he doubted he’d ever find it.

✭ Then he met you. You in your light blue dress and glass slippers. Everything about you sparkled and it ignited something in his heart. He never knew romantic love before you, but he recognized it right away.

✭ He wouldn’t care that you were a commoner, he’d admire your courage and kindness once he got to know you. Besides, true love was far more valuable than any precious metals and gems.

✭ After you ran off, your glass slipper gave him hope. He was going to stop at nothing to find you, his true love.

Mattheo Riddle as Flynn Rider (Tangled)

⋆☀︎. Left to his own devices, Mattheo Riddle would go on countless adventures across different kingdoms and forests, thieving only as a means to an end so he could survive.

⋆☀︎. He enjoys the rush, being chased by the authorities and not being held down by rules or responsibilities. (Except they can never get his damn nose right on Wanted signs despite the distinct cut he has on the bridge of his nose iykyk.)

⋆☀︎. With his charming personality and irresistible smolder, he’s an expert in banding together with fellow criminals and often smooth talks his way into ladies’ beds. All temporary partnerships for his on-the-go lifestyle.

⋆☀︎. Until one day he comes across you, the girl with golden hair and big eyes — not to be underestimated with your ferocious pan wielding tendencies. He learns the last part a little too late, the hard way.

⋆☀︎. As he promised to take you to see the floating lights in exchange for the crown, he finds himself having fun swinging his fists and learning about your power to bring out the good in people.

⋆☀︎. You managed to charm tough guys in a bar, getting them to talk about their dreams—of being a florist, of performing on stage, and of falling in love. He realizes it may not be so bad to go on adventures with someone else.

⋆☀︎. He was already mesmerized before he learned about your magical hair. He saw the light within you long before that enchanted night when lanterns floated through the air like stars hung low just for you. And of course, they were always meant for you.

⋆☀︎. Before Mother Gothel could plunge the weapon in him, he already knew he was a goner. He knew he could never go back to who he was. He was now and forever going to be a moth to your flame, your soul as radiant as the sun even long after your golden hair turned brown.

Blaise Zabini as Kristoff (Frozen)

•❅*ִ Much like Kristoff, Blaise Zabini exudes a quiet confidence that does not need to declare itself.

•❅*ִ As an ice harvester who works with ice picks, hooks and ropes, he has an athletic build and a tough exterior, but do not be fooled for he has a soft heart within.

•❅*ִ Having grown among trolls and reindeers, he sometimes gets frustrated when interacting with people. He believes reindeers are better than people, but all that changes when he meets you.

•❅*ִ He is very practical and honest, but when he is blunt he often means well. He is quick to call you out on the fact that you’re about to marry a man you hardly know.

•❅*ִ He initially agrees to help you end winter to save his ice business and get a new sled. However, the more challenges you face together, he grows to admire your fearlessness and determination.

•❅*ִ While you initially find him to be annoying, you soon discover his charming and funny side.

•❅*ִ He will however suppress his feelings for you, thinking it’s better to let it go because you’re already engaged anyway. But when truths are revealed and no one is who they appear to be, you’ll melt his frozen heart with a kiss on the cheek.

Draco Malfoy as Li Shang (Mulan)

✿ To Draco Malfoy, loyalty and family legacy is important, just like Li Shang who aims to be just as great as his father, the head of the Imperial Chinese Army.

✿ He is disciplined and has mastered both physical and strategic ways of waging war. He has a lot of traditional beliefs, including making a man out of his troops using elaborate physical training.

✿ He starts questioning those beliefs when he sees your determination as Ping, using both weights to climb up the pole even though it took you countless failures throughout the night. What were these confusing feelings in his chest?

✿ Yet he couldn’t deny it, nor would he try. He was ready to lay his life down for you even before you saved him. It didn’t take him long to return the favor when he found out you were a woman and so he spared your life.

✿ Despite his firm upbringing, he was always loyal to his heart. Even though you betrayed the army, he knew your intentions had been good and that your hard work made you a skilled soldier.

✿ He listened and trusted your last ditch efforts to save the Emperor, even resorting to cross dressing as part of the plan. It all paid off as you saved the Emperor and all of China.

✿ In the end, you were absolved of your deceit and honored for your heroism, finally letting your reflection show who you are and what you’re made of. Your final crime was stealing his heart.

Tom Riddle as Aladdin (Aladdin)

✶ Tom Riddle grew up as an orphan and resorted to a life of crime to survive in Agrabah. Secretly, he enjoyed it too.

✶ Smitten by your beauty, he saved you from a merchant at the market and he was impressed with your agility when it came to dodging the authorities.

✶ When you reached Aladdin’s home, you revealed you were from the palace and left thinking you’d never see him again. He longed to visit the palace to get another glimpse of your beauty.

✶ Named as a diamond in the rough, Jafar recognized Tom’s talent and recruited him to steal the magic lamp from the Cave of Wonders. Encouraged by the promise of riches (therefore power) and a subconscious need to please Jafar, he takes on the task, saving a magic carpet in the process.

✶ Back at the palace, your father sought to marry you off to find a successor to his throne. You met suitors, including a flashy prince called Ali from Ababwa.

✶ On a magic carpet ride, you trick Ali into admitting he’s the thief you previously met at the market. He manipulates you into thinking he’s the prince and the thief persona was just an act for him to get to know the city better.

✶ When Jafar uncovers Tom’s identity, he steals the magic lamp and wreaks havoc using the genie’s wishes. Understanding Jafar’s ego, he tricks him into wishing to be the most powerful being in the universe, which imprisons Jafar in his own lamp as a genie.

✶ Instead of using his last wish to continue being the rightful prince who can marry you, he used it to free the genie, as he has now learned how power corrupts others. It wasn’t worth it.

✶ Crowned as the next sultana, you recognized how our actions and choices defined us. Despite Tom’s manipulations, he showed up and was willing to learn. He was not afraid to look into the dark and make the right decisions when it mattered, a husband fit for a ruler.

Lorenzo Berkshire as Jack Frost (Rise of The Guardians)

Before you come at me, I know Jack Frost is not a Disney prince, but I’m a Jelsa truther so here we are.

❅ Lorenzo Berkshire mirrors Jack Frost’s love for mischief and games. As the guardian of fun, he enjoys playing harmless tricks on children and hearing them laugh as a result.

❅ Beneath the playful exterior, he deeply cares for those around him, having saved his sister from a frozen lake. His ultimate sacrifice led to his untimely demise, which the Man in The Moon rewarded him by making him immortal and granting him powers.

❅ He never found much need for romance, opting to spend his days playing with children and visiting his fellow guardians instead. Until one day, he visits the Enchanted Forest and comes across you, its mighty protector.

❅ Despite the initial distrust, he wins you over with his easy smile and sincerity. You never realized it until then, how lonely it was to be an ice queen without her king.

❅ Jack was also amazed to find someone else who could play with the magic of snow. He felt seen and understood like never before. For once, the loneliness in his heart melted away.

❅ So you spent your days together, laughing over silly jokes and exchanging stories. The cold never bothered you, but being with him made you understand why people enjoyed the sweetness of hot cocoa and why they cuddled close to a fire.

❅ Both your friends and family were happy for you. One day, Jack asked you to invite everyone so you can have a contest on who built the best sculptures. Your audience and judges comprised of Jack’s fellow Guardians, Queen Anna and King Kristoff, Olaf, and Sven.

❅ You showed off with iced gardens, towers, and even the shape of Sven, but none was more impressive as when you turned around to find Jack on one knee, a gleaming diamond in his hand. It was a picture perfect moment with ice sculptures in the background, celebrated with loved ones.

❅ And soon, the ice queen would never be without her king.

✿ Masterlist <- read more!

532 notes · View notes

hp-hcs · 3 months

Text

i didn’t realize the riddle brothers were a "buy one get one free" type of deal, but alright — simp! overprotective! yandere! riddle brothers x gn! oblivious! bullied! slytherin! reader

requested by 🎀!

2.5k words, not to brag 😌

i love writing the bros’ interactions with each other as like, actual sibling-core yk? they r just so cutie patootie

the reader's patronus makes an appearance in this, but i tried to make it as accessible to everyone as possible, so it's never explicitly stated what animal it is. it is implied that it’s able-to-fit-under-a-table sized though

also this is totally just pre-slash nothing that interesting happens

warnings: couple mentions of blood, mild descriptions of wounds, implied violence, implied bullying, murder

not edited!! this is my first like, really long fic so constructive criticism is welcome!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A well-timed shove to the small of your back sent you tumbling down an entire flight of moving stairs.

You groaned as you hit the bottom, sprawled out on your back on the cold stone floor. You laid there for a moment, winded. You could hear the occupants of a nearby painting titter at your gracefulness (or lack thereof), so you rolled your head to the other side to give them an award winning smile and an unabashed middle finger.

You could hear them all grumble about kids these days and how I never would’ve treated my elders this way. You just rolled your eyes at their pettiness.

“Uh…what are you doing?” A decidedly alive voice interrupted your momentary satisfaction.

“Ah- evening, Riddle!” You said cheerily as soon as you recognized the speaker, scrambling to your feet and dusting off your uniform. “Nothing! Just…tripped. Couldn’t see very well in the dark, that’s all.”

Tom blinked, his lips twisted into a frown. “.....Fine. But don’t let me catch you out of bed past curfew again. You’re a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Act like it.”

And that was it. Tom turned on his heel and continued down the hall without another word. Tom Riddle: prefect, teacher’s pet, and obnoxious hardass extraordinaire—he just...let you go, with no threats of detention or loss of house points.

Huh.

~~~

Tom, having just returned from a full night’s shift of prefect hall duty, flopped face-down onto his bed, his cheeks aflame as he let out a muffled shriek into his pillow.

His brother, in the process of getting dressed for the day, paused at the scene in front of him.

“Dude, what’s your deal?”

“L/n,” Tom said by way of explanation, kicking his feet as he shrieked into his pillow again. “They acknowledged me. And they know my last name.”

“Most people know our last name, Tom,” Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“No- you don’t understand,” Tom said emphatically. “L/n is like…the cutest person to ever exist. And they’re so sweet, and smart, and funny, and-”

“And terrified of us?”

“Well…”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “You talk about them too much. It’s getting insufferable.”

Tom just scowled and flicked his fingers to cast a wandless spell that straightened Mattheo’s tie and neatened his uniform. “The way you dress is insufferable. Slob.”

Mattheo stuck out his tongue at his brother before ruffling Tom’s hair to purposely mess it up. “Dick.”

“Idiot.”

~~~

Mattheo glanced up at you as you hovered uncertainly by the corner of his desk.

“Can I sit here…?” You mumbled shyly, your cheeks flushing as the pretty dark-haired boy in your year smiled up at you.

“Course!” He grinned brightly before realizing that might have been too enthusiastic of a reply for eight in the morning and quickly tried to cover up his slip. “Uh…Y/n, right? I’m Mattheo.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.”

Mattheo’s stomach dropped.

Fuck, that’s not good.

“You let me copy your homework in third year for that essay on the properties of wormwood, or whatever.” You said offhandedly, like it wasn’t batshit insane to remember that pointlessly tiny detail. “Thank you for that, by the way. Potions sucks ass.”

Before Mattheo could even think, the words left his mouth. “I could tutor you if you want.”

You looked at him oddly, but grinned after a second. “Yeah, sure. That’d actually be really helpful. Snape hates me, man.”

“Really? Even though you’re in Slytherin?”

“Mhm, his baseless nepotism only extends so far.”

Mattheo barked out a startled laugh as your deadpan humor caught him off guard. You just grinned at him in response, causing the tips of his ears to immediately burn bright red.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Um…do you wanna meet in the library after school today? For our tutoring session,” Mattheo hurriedly added.

“Sure, alright.” You shrugged. “See you there.”

He beamed, giving you that stupidly adorable grin once more. “Awesome! Yeah- yeah, cool. Awesome. See you there then.”

~~~

You were still shit at potions.

It had been six weeks of tutoring, and you’d learned pretty much nothing. Although, that wasn’t an issue on Mattheo’s part, but rather on his annoyingly hot older brother’s.

Tom Riddle was surprisingly funny. For someone who gave off almost exclusively stoically austere bastard vibes, he enjoyed cracking jokes and enlisting your help in pulling pranks on his brother a bit too much.

It became your routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, you would meet the two brothers in the library, waste like three hours joking around and getting absolutely no work done, and then going back to your dorm and ranting to your roommate about how fucking cute they are and how you would gladly pay for the opportunity to make out with one- no, both of them.

(Your roommate is so fucking tired of hearing about the Riddles. You’d better buy them a latte and a cake-pop as an apology.)

~~~

You struggled to get up, your legs giving out. You cursed under your breath, putting a hand to your forehead as it throbbed in pain.

It came away sticky with blood.

This wasn’t going to work, you realized belatedly. With what remained of your strength, you were able to reach out and grab your wand, murmuring a quiet, “Expecto Patronum.”

A spectral creature formed in front of your eyes, remaining motionless as it stared at you.

“Go find Riddle,” you mumbled to the Patronus, your eyelids growing heavy.

You barely registered the wispy glowing animal immediately bounding off at your instructions, your vision doubling before your body went completely slack, the wand slipping from your fingers and hitting the tile floor with a clatter.

~~~

Mattheo doodled mindlessly in the margins of his parchment as his brother droned on and on about the properties of willow bark in potions and really, this is important, Mattheo. Pay attention.

“Why isn’t Y/n here yet?” Mattheo asked his brother for the third time.

Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Matt. Just like how I didn't know when you asked me five minutes ago. Maybe they just don’t want to see your stupid face any more, huh?”

“What if they’re in trouble? Or hurt?” Mattheo worried, chewing on his thumbnail and ignoring his brother’s insult. “They’re never late, Tommy.”

Tom wrinkled his nose at the use of the dumb (albeit endearing) nickname Mattheo gave him when they were children, but the sinking feeling in his gut at hearing his brother’s distressed tone didn’t help to ease the niggling worries at the back of his mind of maybe they are in trouble.

As if on cue, Mattheo shivered as something icy cold brushed against his ankles. He glanced down. A glowing spectral creature nudged his leg, looking up at him expectantly with unnervingly empty eyes.

A Patronus.

Y/n’s Patronus.

~~~

They followed the Patronus down the deserted hall, the animal occasionally pausing to make sure the boys were both still following it before bounding forward again.

The Patronus stopped in front of a bathroom door, giving them both that same unnervingly hollow-eyed stare of expectancy.

Tom gulped and pushed open the door, fearing that he might find the worst.

He did.

~~~

Your eyes cracked open slowly, and you winced at the multitude of stinging and stabbing pains that wracked your body.

You had to blink a couple times for everything to come into focus. You were in a small room with white walls and white flooring, and the gentle dawn illuminated the quiet space with soft rays of light. The steady beep of a vitals monitor faded into the background as you stared down at yourself.

You weren’t wearing a shirt, for one, or even a hospital gown. Pretty much your entire upper torso was wrapped in bloodstained gauze. The jagged edges of a brutal slash across your chest peeked out of the top of the dressings, and you had to close your eyes and hold your breath for a moment to keep from throwing up. Once you’d calmed back down, you opened your eyes, startled to see that you weren’t alone.

Mattheo had pulled up a chair to the side of your hospital bed and crossed his arms on the mattress, using them as a makeshift pillow. His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, his breaths slow and even. He looked so peaceful and...unguarded in his sleep. You reached down to brush a loose curl away from his forehead.

“Having fun?”

You startled, jerking your hand back.

Tom leaned against the doorframe of your room with an amused expression, quirking an eyebrow and wiggling his fingers in a wave.

“Shut up,” you hissed back in a whisper, your cheeks flaring red.

Tom’s amused grin only grew at your dark blush as he invited himself into your room fully, closing the door behind him.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” He jokingly winked, tapping the side of his nose.

“You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“What am I doing here?” You quickly changed topics, refusing to even look down in Mattheo’s direction.

Tom sighed, any amusement on his face rapidly vanishing. “You sent us a Patronus, thank Merlin. Pomfrey said you would’ve bled out if you hadn’t.”

You had no memory of casting the Patronus charm at all, but you trusted Tom’s recollection of events better than your own jumbled and spotty one. “Bled out?” You questioned, your heart hammering in your throat as your voice climbed an octave in anxiety.

Tom nodded, his face carefully schooled into a blank and neutral expression. “You were hit with the Sectumsempra spell. You've been out for three days now.”

Your brow furrowed. “Malfoy got hit with that last year though—and was in and out of the infirmary in less than a day.”

“Snape knew the counterspell and found ‘im just in time last year,” Mattheo mumbled sleepily, his eyes still closed as he tuned into the conversation at hand. “But whoever hit you with it just left you there to die.”

“Charming.” You mutter under your breath.

“Regardless of what happened in Malfoy’s instance,” Tom interrupted briskly. “You were on the brink of literal death. So I’ll ask you this one time and one time only. Who did it, Y/n?”

~~~

“I brought you a cookie from the Great Hall,” Mattheo grinned widely, climbing into your hospital bed next to you and unwrapping the napkin in his hand. “And the notes from today’s Charms lesson, but those’re boring and we both know you won’t actually read ‘em.”

“Aww, you know me so well.” You teased, breaking the cookie in half and handing him one of the pieces.

Mattheo cupped the cookie fragment in his hands like it was a priceless treasure, staring down at it in unrestrained awe.

You just shook your head at his antics and brushed the odd reaction off.

~~~

You woke up this morning and just felt like shit. You were nauseous, and dizzy, and felt borderline faint. Tom’s voice, usually soothing and comforting to hear, sounded like nails on a chalkboard right now. He rambled on and on about the delicate process of making the temperamental Felix Felicis potion.

“Tom,” you interrupted, your voice scratchy and quiet. “Can we take a break? Please?”

He blinked, surprised at being interrupted, but nodded slowly. “I suppose…? Why?”

“Don’t feel good,” you mumbled, setting your textbook down and rubbing your eyes.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Madame Pomfrey said brusquely as she bustled around your hospital room, shooing Tom out of the way to stand by your bedside.

(Poppy Pomfrey remains the only person who can and has shooed Tom Riddle III and lived to tell the tale—and all without a single ounce of fear.)

“I’ve raised your dosage so that you can be out of here in time for your N.E.W.T.s.” Pomfrey elaborated upon seeing your confused look.

“Fantastic.” You mumbled dryly, grinning sleepily up at Tom as he grabbed onto your hand and interlaced your fingers together. He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat in favor of letting you hold his sweaty palm.

“Go to sleep, L/n,” Tom muttered under his breath. “Potions can wait.”

~~~

Tom lay in your hospital bed beside you, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Please? We promise we won’t do anything.”

“Yeah,” Mattheo chimed in from the other side of your crowded bed, one arm tossed over your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Or at least, nothing we’ll get caught for.”

You sigh, tired of their ceaseless pleading. “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll tell you who it was.”

Both boys leaned in close.

You sigh again and roll your eyes at their overprotectiveness. “Alright, it was-”

~~~

Tucker Thompson and Devin Dobbs: Gryffindor Sixth Years Found MURDERED at Hogwarts! Dumbledore: “No comment at this time.”

You tilted the newspaper so Madame Pomfrey could read the article over your shoulder as she replaced your IV bag.

Pomfrey just sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how Skeeter is still employed at the Prophet.”

“Cause shock value will always hold weight in the media?” You answered dryly around a mouthful of depressingly plain infirmary wing toast. “And Skeeter’s good at nothing if not coming up with bullshit shock value titles.”

“That may be true,” she began, snatching the paper from your hands. “But patients shouldn’t be reading about such dark subjects, and certainly not while under my care. And don’t talk while eating. I rather like your company, and would hate to see you choke.”

You rolled your eyes at her suffocatingly motherly behavior. “So are they? Thompson and Dobbs; they’re really dead?”

Madame Pomfrey hesitated.

You let out a relieved breath of air that you tried (and failed) to hide behind a cough. “That’s…terrible.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied you for a long moment, her fingers mindlessly worrying the deckle edge of the newspaper in her hands. “It was them, wasn’t it? Your boys.”

“My boys?”

“Yes, yes, Riddles one and two. Your boys.”

“Oh- we’re not…”

She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she tried to hold back a laugh at the utter obliviousness of teenagers. “Do they know that, dear?”

You spluttered out a half-assed rebuke to her statement, but Pomfrey quickly interrupted you.

“They’ve been staying here for hours every day for the last month. They want more than just your friendship, hon.”

“No way. We’re just friends.” You insisted firmly. “That’s all.”

Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Friends. Keep telling yourself that.”

You stared after her, open-mouthed in bafflement, as she rolled up the Prophet, tucked it under her arm, and turned around without another word—leaving you with zero reading material and a million questions.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

you have to love how pomfrey could not give less of a fuck that the riddles murdered two students as long as she gets her ot3 absolutely iconic behavior

935 notes · View notes

sinsirellaxx · 2 months

Note

Man I love your toxic Slytherin boys writings (I reread them as my bedtime stories every night since I found your account 🤭) but knowing my personality and temper, there's no way I would let their toxicity slide 😩🫸

Pls pls pls pretty pls will you write where we put them in their place and have them grovel and trail after us like a lost puppy? 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

Slytherin Boys – What they’ re like if you put them in their place

Warning: Toxic Slytherin boys 😌

A/N: Thank you so much! That is very sweet of you – hope you always have sweet dreams! 🤭 Honestly, same – I love a good temper! Hope you like what I have come up with! And sorry that some are a bit shorter than the rest! If you want a part two (for the groveling and trailing part) let me know! (I didn't include this here and I only noticed that it was part of the request now – so, sorry about that)

On another note: I've added Tom Riddle to the boys and will be doing so from now on! Comments are appreciated!

Mattheo …

… is shocked. He was used to always getting away with things, given the status he had attained through his family name – and his own actions. In his past relationships (or situationships) he had his girls practically kiss his feet and were ready to do everything for him and to him. But here you were, his first real relationship and apparently the boon and bane of his existence. You were getting ready for the party in your common room and had chosen a rather risky black skin-tight dress for that evening. Mattheo usually never cared about what his dates or girls wore – actually, he loved them to wear revealing clothes because he wanted to show off. But with you, he hated the idea of other people staring at you. He’d walked into your dorm room before the party – also something he had never done before – and immediately shook his head upon seeing your dress. “Absolutely not.”

You turned to look at him in confusion, closing the lip gloss you had just applied before putting it back into your make-up bag.

“You can’t wear that. The dress is way too short and – just no.” Mattheo glared as he looked you up and down. “I don’t want anyone to stare at you with like that. You’re mine –“

You scoffed loudly, fully erupting into a laugh as you stared at him with raised brows.

The frown on Mattheo’s face deepened as you walked up to him, placing your hand on his cheek as you slowly shook your head. It’s sweet you think you can tell me what to wear – because you can’t. You spoke smirking at him. And I’m not yours.So please get that silly idea out of your head. You can’t tell me what to do. You tapped his cheek slightly before walking towards your door, leaving Mattheo no time to react. The door closed behind you leaving him to brood in silence as he breathed through his nose, his hands clenched at his sides.

Well fuck.

Theodore …

… is kind of pissed but also kind of turned on. He can’t decide which feeling is stronger. You two have been fighting over you refusing to always tell him where you’re going and with whom. If he had asked nicely, you probably would have told him. But Theodore had been rude and controlling about it.

“You can’t just go wherever you want without telling me first. I need to know where you are and with whom you are.” The tall male demanded as he had you pressed against the door to your dorm room. He had waited for your arrival at the top of the stairs because he wanted to talk to you. You had ignored all his calls and messages, and he was livid with you – how dare you not answer him?

Upon seeing him you had rushed past him, with the hopes of closing the door to your room right in his face but he was quicker than you had expected.

You rolled your eyes for the umpteenth time, obviously annoyed by his antics.

Fuck off. Get off my fucking dick, Nott.

Theo smirked, he loved when you got bratty. “No, but you can jump on mine.” He whispered against your ear as he opened the door to your room and pushed you inside.

Lorenzo …

… is speechless. Lorenzo Berkshire is known to have many girl friends falling for his prince-like appearance. He enjoys the attention and loves to feed his ego. It was something that you had to get used to when you agreed to be with him, but you eventually found your peace with it. You were sitting on Enzo’s bed with your phone in your hands, typing away and smiling at the screen.

Lorenzo noticed your smile and raised his brow as he watched your fingers move quickly. If not for the typing, he would have thought you were watching cute animal videos, but he was sure you were chatting with someone. He couldn’t help but ask, “Who are you texting?”

You didn’t answer at first, your fingers still moving until you finished your last message. As you clicked ‘send’ you lifted your head to look at your boyfriend. You told Enzo you were talking with your seat-neighbor about something funny that had happened in divination that day.

“Oh, is it Granger?” He added, growing slightly nervous because you left out the most important detail. Who was it, that made you smile like that at your screen? Lorenzo was known for being – well he tried to be – patient with you. He loved you after all. He had managed to be in almost every single class you had – except for divination. Ever since the beginning of the term he’d been thinking about it: Who were you sitting with? Were there many boys? Would you talk to any of them?

You finally answered him: Harry Potter. Enzo felt this weird warmth spread through his whole body as his heart started beating incredibly fast, his hands unconsciously balling up into fists to prevent them from trembling.

“You are friends with Potter?” He spat, putting special emphasis on the Chosen One’s name. Oh, how he hated that boy. You just nodded; your phone vibrated in your lap. Lorenzo ripped the phone out of your hand before you even managed to unlock the screen. “I don’t want you to talk to him. Block him.”

You just rolled your eyes at him and demanded him to give you your phone back.

“No.” He shook his head and stood up from the bed, already typing in your code he had managed to figure out from staring at your screen whenever you unlocked it.

“I don’t want you to have any male friends – am I not enough for you?” His voice raised a notch as he held you at arm’s length with his left hand while trying to open the messenger app with his right one. He clicked on the chat with ‘Harry’ and read through the messages, scoffing as he saw just how much you have been chatting with him. His face contorting in anger as he reread the messages from last night.

“You’re planning on going to Hogsmeade with him?!”

“Fuck, no.” He exclaimed loudly, rolling his eyes when you had finally managed to get your phone back before he could send whatever message he had typed in.

“You won’t go.” Lorenzo added with finality, glaring at you in hopes of intimidating you into submission.

He expected you to cry and get insecure, but he did not expect you to scoff at him, hands on your hips as you told him he couldn’t tell you what to do. You quickly grabbed your things and left the room not bothering to close the door after you. He could do that himself.

Lorenzo was too stunned to speak.

Draco …

… (almost) has a panic attack. Remember that scene in the bathroom in the sixth movie, where Harry finds him? Yeah – that kind of panic attack. You had just told him to leave you alone until he got his head out of his ass because he had threatened to break up with you if you didn’t break off your friendship with the golden trio. Draco would not have expected you to walk out on him – he usually always got what he wanted, and this turn of events completely threw him off. He gripped the front of his shirt as he gasped for air, the other hand combing through his hair as he paced through his room.

Rushing into the bathroom he splashed his face with cold water as nothing else seemed to help. When he finally lifted his head to look at his reflection in the mirror he had to accept the truth: He apparently needed you more than you needed him.

He would have to win you back. Even if he had to beg.

Blaise …

… would think you were joking when you told him you didn’t need him to protect you.

You were fuming as you pushed Blaise’s hands off, telling him that what he had done was completely wrong and uncalled for.

“Why are you mad? I just protected you, doll. I saw the way he looked at you.” Blaise tried to reason with you. He couldn’t just sit still when another boy tried getting closer to you. Over his dead body. But you didn’t seem to agree with him as you shook your head in disbelief. “I didn’t push him away for no reason, did I?” He sighed, growing impatient with you as told him that there had been no reason to hurt the other boy. “Babe, I did it for you, you know?” And that was the last straw for you as you yelled at him to leave you alone. You are suffocating me, Blaise. This is over – we are over!

Blaise knew then that he had overstepped your boundaries. Again. He should have run after you and begged for your forgiveness right away. But he also knew that you probably would need some time to cool down. You’d be back in his arms soon, he was sure of it.

Tom Riddle ...

... would let you have your moment. Tom had been bored nowadays and he was actually intrigued to know how far you'd go and what you'd do exactly.

Tom is known to be an intimidating and bossy persona – he is the born leader one could say. Seeing as he is the oldest son of the Dark Lord that came as no surprise to anyone. Everyone had high expectations of him so he projected all that pressure onto you: You had to be perfect. Not what you deemed as perfect but what he thought was perfection. At first you let him control you, blinded by love and the attraction you felt for him. But after months of dating, and his demands getting increasingly more suffocating you have had enough.

Your complaints and worries, however, were met by indifference. Tom did not care. "What do you expect me to say?" He spoke lowly as he looked up at you from where he was sat on his bed.

You just blinked at him dumbfoundedly not sure what outcome you had expected.

"You knew what you were getting into, when I asked you to be my girlfriend." Tom tilted his head as he leaned back on his arms. "Now, if you have anything else to add to this ... very productive conversation, please, go ahead. If not, get on your knees."

There it was again. The hurt and the humiliation. He only wanted one thing and nothing else. But this time, you wouldn't let yourself be manipulated. This time, you told him to go fuck himself before storming out of his room.

726 notes · View notes

weasleyreidstyles · 5 months

Text

Serendipity

chapter seven

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): this is quite long, canonical voldemort style violence, use of one wizard slur (bloodtraitor), one mention of torture, parental death (minor mentions)

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The weeks flew by after that day in the Room of Requirement. In those weeks, you and Mattheo had gotten nowhere with researching your newfound siphon abilities, as most literature was just a regurgitation of previous works. The two of you grew closer, sessions usually ending in a spontaneous make out or sensual tryst, but he still refused to go any further than that. Refused to be completely vulnerable with you. Safe to say that your days were a lot more interesting, but it was becoming harder to hide your clear feelings from the prying eyes of your curious friends.

Harry had been frequently visiting Dumbledore's office for his own lessons of sorts and he had learned more about Mattheo's father, Tom Riddle, but nothing about why he needed one of Slughorn's specific memories.

The four of you were slaving away in one of the Herbology greenhouses when Hermione brought up the subject of Slughorn's illustrious dinner parties, which Harry had been avoiding.

"There's no way you'll be able to get out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come." she said, wrestling with the weird pod-like creature that you were studying for that week.

Harry groaned as you snickered at his misfortune. Meanwhile, Ron, who was attempting to burst his pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could, shared a look with you and said angrily, "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?"

"Just for the Slug Club, yes," said Hermione, annoyance written on her face.

The pod flew out from under Ron's fingers and hit the green house glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout's head and knocking off her old, patched hat, causing you, Ron and Harry to let out loud laughs that died out at the Professor's unimpressed look sent your way.

Harry went to retrieve the pod while Hermione carried on, "Look, I didn't make up the name 'Slug Club'—"

"'Slug Club,'" repeated Ron with a sneer worthy of one of Malfoy's. "It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—"

"You almost sound jealous, Won Won." you teased, using Lavender's cringe-worthy nickname that he clearly abhorred. Despite having a girlfriend, you just knew that somewhere deep down in his stupid, stupid brain, Ron still had feelings for Hermione.

"We're allowed to bring guests," Hermione, who had turned a bright, boiling scarlet, snapped, "I would have asked you, but I don't think your girlfriend would like that very much."

You turned to face Ron as he gufawed at your best friend. "Don't worry Ronald, I'm not one of his favourites either. Teddy's invited me as his plus one for this one, I'll let you know what we're definitely not missing out on." He only glared at you again in response.

Theodore had asked you to accompany him so that he wouldn't be stood alone as Blaise flirted his way through the other pureblood attendees. You had agreed and he gave you free reign of his Gringott's vault to choose a dress from a boutique that Pansy had graciously taken you to. It paid well to have a rich friend or two in this world.

It seemed that everyone knew of Slughorn's party and the chance of going as a guest with one of his members – you and Hermione caught Romilda Vane and her friends whispering about 'Harry' and 'Fred and George' and 'Love Potions' in one of the girls' toilets in the intermission between Transfiguration and Potions, and had watched in shock as they discreetly opened one of the twins' own Love Potions disguised as perfumes between them. You had both warned him to be wary of them, but of course Harry rarely listened to the two of you.

The three of you were walking out of the now-closed library, Ron off with Lavender Brown somewhere, when Romilda came up to him and offered him a bottle of Gilllywater. Hermione's i-told-you-so look had him declining it, but she seemed prepared and had shoved a pink heart shaped box of chocolates into his arms.

"Chocolate Cauldrons." the girl had said. "They have fire whiskey in them. My grandma sent them, but I don't like them."

Romilda smiled before walking away.

"Definitely firewhiskey in there," you say sarcastically. "Give it a whiff before you eat them. Make sure it's not Ginny you're smelling." you say before leaving the pair, laughing at Harry's disgruntled look and making your way to the Ravenclaw common room, intent on researching a book on Mermaids and Siphoners, but you weren't confident that you'd find information that wasn't in the books you'd already combed through.

~∞~

"I'm going with Luna." Harry said the next day. "To Slughorn's party. I'm going with Luna."

"That's wonderful, Harry." you say with a smile. "She really needs a pick-me-up bless her. Some idiot in her year keeps stealing all her things."

The girl came and told you not an hour later, an excited gleam in her pale blue eyes.

~∞~

A few days later, you were waiting outside the Slytherin common room, nervously smoothing out nonexistent creases from the fine silk of your deep green evening gown. You had agreed to meet Theo, Blaise and Pansy here before walking to Professor Slughorn's office together, where the dinner party was being held.

Hesitantly, you knocked on the door to the common room, not knowing the password for it, obviously. The person who answered it made you want to smite them immediately – Greggory Goyle was as nasty as they came.

"What do you want, bloodtraitor?" he spat as he glared down at you, before his beady eyes snapped to your body, namely your chest.

"Not that it concerns the likes of you," you say, voice full of venom, "But I'm waiting for my date to Slughorn's dinner party."

"What poor soul agreed to take you to something as sophisticated as a dinner party?" the boy sneered, his gaze beginning to become an uncomfortable hindrance before your friend's voice rung out into the empty corridor.

"I did, Goyle. Now kindly fuck off." Theodore snapped before his gaze softened on your form. "Tesoro, you look dazzling." his face lit up with a smile as he twirled you under his arm.

"Thank you, Teddy." you flushed, while giving him a once over. "My, my, don't you clean up nicely." he swatted away the hand that patted his cheek.

As you were greeting Theo, the rest of his friends exited the common room, Lorenzo announcing that you'd have to wait for Blaise to 'stop staring at his reflection' as he did. It was obvious that Theo and Pansy were regulars at illustrious dinner parties: Theo wore a tailored suit, with a crisp white shirt and a dark green silk waistcoat and tie (charmed to match the exact colour of your own dress); Pansy wore a sleek dress in a rich shade of deep plum and her face was painted exquisitely with makeup that accentuated her pretty siren eyes, her short black hair styled into a flattering bob. She had come right up to see you in the dress she'd helped you pick out: a dark green silky number that hugged your body in the most flattering way.

She was busy fawning over the way your hair fell over your shoulders gracefully, when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and you felt a familiar prickle in the back of your mind. You turned to find Mattheo, white shirt partly unbuttoned, hair disheveled and eyes slightly bloodshot as he admired you with no shame. The way his deep, onyx eyes took you in from head to toe made you feel hot all over, and the words he spoke into your mind, made you melt even further. If that was even possible.

You look beautiful, love.

You smile at him in gratitude which was sent in waves to the forefront of his mind – a new trick he had taught you. He nodded his head with a proud smirk which sent flutters right to your core.

You look much better in Slytherin green than Ravenclaw blue, darling. You should indulge more often.

The boy was actually flirting with you and he basked in the sight of your flustered expression.

Pansy was the only one of the surrounding group to see your interaction and she gave you a look that you understood was her way of telling you that the two of you would be discussing this later.

Finally Blaise, who had just stumbled out of the stonewall entrance, said with an exasperated breathe: "Let's get this over with, please. I want to get there so I can leave earlier. If Slughorn asks me about my mother's latest husband one more time I may explode."

You stifle a laugh behind your hand as the tallest Slytherin glares down at you. "Were you not the one making us all wait in favour of admiring yourself in the mirror, Zabini?"

"When you have a face like mine, it must be admired Meadow." he replied with a self-assured smirk. Lorenzo practically guffawed at this, which is when you notice that his eyes were bloodshot like Mattheo's. But he was always a cheerful boy, seeing him laugh was a regular occurrence within this group.

Soon after Blaise appeared, you hooked an arm in the crook of Theo's elbow and the four of you began your walk to the classroom, completely missing the glare that Mattheo was pointing at the back of his best friend's head.

Compared to other offices you'd seen, Slughorn's was namely the biggest. Drapes of emerald, crimson and gold were streamed about the ceilings and walls, creating a tent-like effect about the room and thousands of faeries fluttered about the golden glow of where the apex of the drapes met, the faint fluttering of their wings could be heard over the music and chatter. The moment the four of you entered you'd commented on how crowded and stuffy it was as a live classical band played over the loud conversation from older wizards all around the room.

"I didn't know he invited elders here." you mumble to Theo who hums at you.

"It's all networking. A way to secure future positions in the Ministry." he said, resentment dripping from his tongue.

"And you don't want that?" you ask, staring at his profile, thanking him when he gave you a flute of champagne.

"I wanted to be a professional quidditch player, but my father wants me to follow in his footsteps." he says, before dropping his voice to a mere whisper. "And I mean that in all senses of the word, tesoro. It's not something I particularly want."

You hummed at his answer but squeezed his arm all the same. He sent you a sideways glance full of warmth. You'd almost forgotten about what he would endure during the upcoming holidays; it made you feel inexplicably guilty that you'd be having fun with your friends and family while Theo would be suffering.

Blaise and Pansy had already found themselves at the table of food platters with Daphne Greengrass, which is where you also found Harry, Hermione, Luna and Cormac Mclaggen. You grabbed Theo's hand and dragged him towards them, ignoring his discontent with being within radius of Harry and Mclaggen.

"Hi guys! Mclaggen." you say as you reach the quartet. "Mione, Luna you both look gorgeous."

They both thank you before all four of them frown at the boy behind you. "Oh for Rowena's sake, he won't bite, will you Teddy?" You sent him a pointed look over you shoulder, which had him instantly agreeing, albeit reluctantly.

"Only if they don't bite first." he says, his deep, accented voice dripping with uninterest. "Let's go and dance, tesoro. Make the night a little less unbearable."

You agreed and spent a majority of the night sipping on expensive wine and laughing with your three Slytherin friends, mindful to avoid Harry's looks of something that you couldn't name that he sent your way.

~∞~

The four of you spent hours dancing, only interrupted when Harry asked to steal you away to dance with him, as Luna had become caught up in a conversation with Ginny, Dean Thomas namely absent from her side. While you and Harry were contently swaying, there was a disturbance at the entrance.

You watched in the corner of your eye as Harry's face lit up with a sinister smirk at the sight of Malfoy being dragged into the room by Filtch who had him by the scruff of his robes.

"Professor Slughorn!" he said in his typically slimy voice. "Found this one lurking in the corridors upstairs. Claims he was invited to your party but was delayed in attending. Did you issue an invitation?"

If looks could kill, Filtch would be six feet deep.

Malfoy was glaring at the man with distain and fury as he yanked himself free of the caretaker's grasp, brushing away imaginary flecks of dirt from his rumpled suit.

"All right, I wasn't invited!" he said angrily. "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"

Filtch was evidently not happy about this, but the look of immense joy that crossed his face sent shivers down your spine.

"You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the Headmaster say that night-time prowling's out, unless you've got permission, eh?"

Slughorn dissipated the situation with drunken ease, inviting Malfoy to stay for the remainder of the dinner party. Harry's face was a picture of bewilderment, mirroring Filtch's one of overwhelming disappointment.

"He looks a bit ill doesn't he?" you say under your breathe as Hermione comes to stand beside you.

"Who?" Harry asked, dumbly. You stared at him with a deadpan expression on your face.

"Malfoy. He does look ghastly pale." Hermione mumbled while you all watched as he chatted away to Slughorn about his grandfather.

"He's up to something." Harry said obstinately. You and Hermione shared a look and simultaneously rolled your eyes.

"You've got to stop with this Harry. You don't know for certain that he's a Death Eater." Hermione muttered, keeping her voice low enough that others wouldn't hear. "It's bad enough that you outright accused him in front of Professor Mcgonagall and Professor Snape."

"I still can't believe you had the audacity, to do that." you say, but Harry wasn't listening to either of you. In fact he followed right out behind Snape and Malfoy when they exitted the room, not ten minutes after the latter's noisy arrival.

"Oh for fuck's sake." you grit your teeth at your friend's stubbornness. Hermione shook her head before dragging you over to where Luna and Ginny were stood, having watched Harry sneak out.

~∞~

With the Christmas holidays finally upon you, you were spending a few days at the Burrow with Ron's family before you floo'd home to your family.

Hermione's lack of presence seemed to lay heavily upon you as you sat next to the empty seat in the kitchen that she'd always sit in. You don't know how she puts up with Ron and Harry without you – a headache was slowly building up in your temples as Ron asked Harry to repeat what he'd heard when he followed Snape and Malfoy out, for the millionth time, as the three of you polished Mrs. Weasley's cutlery.

Finally reaching a breaking point of sorts you snap at the pair.

"If you defy the unbreakable vow, you die. It's a sacred pact, Harry. Are you certain that Snape accepted one?" they turn to look at you as if forgetting you were there.

Ron nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Fred and George almost convinced me to make one when I was five, but Dad went mental when he found us. Only time he's ever been scarier than mum." he pauses before adding an anecdote about Fred being punished pretty severely, which seems to summon the two giant twins into the kitchen, clad in expensive slacks, making fun of the fact that Ron and Harry were still not of age yet – unlike you. Fred turned to you then, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Hello gorgeous, how are you coping with these ninnies without Mione?" he had a dazzling smirk on his face, which you would've fallen for once upon a time, had a polar opposite, wicked smirk not taken up your entire mind.

"Barely, as usual. How've you been, Freddie?" you smile up at him as he sits on the edge of the table, leg brushing your's.

Ron dramatically gagged, interpreting this as a flirtatious interaction. This turned the twins' attention onto him once more.

"We've heard through the grape vine that you have a new beau, Won Won." George said with a smirk. Ron turned to glare at you and you held your hands up in surrender. If you could use your legillimens abilities on him, you'd be screaming "it wasn't me, I swear!", but Ron would surely have a heart attack if you so much as whispered into his mind.

"Lavender Brown, was it? That's what Ginny said in her letters. How'd you manage to bag a girl, Ronniekins?" Fred chimed and they snickered as Ron's face went bright red.

"Piss off, will you." Ron mumbled, you and Harry smirked at his discomfort. "She's sweet."

"And here I thought he and Mione would've overlooked their pride and gotten together by now." Fred murmured to you, his breathe hitting the shell of your ear. You turned to face him, finding his alluring blue eyes staring right into your own.

"I believe that means you owe me a galleon...or five. I recall a bet we made at the Yule Ball, Weasley. It's time to pay up." you say, your eyes glinting mischievously as you held out your palm expectantly.

"You and your memory will ruin me, woman." he mutters scornfully, but he gives you a stack of galleons, discreetly nonetheless. You smile victoriously.

"Good to know business is treating the two of you well, Freddie." he smiles and shares a look with George.

"When are you coming to visit the shop, Meadow?" George asks as he uses his wand to slow Ron's polishing down.

"Is that an official invitation, Weasley?" you ask, satisfied with the peace you feel by being in the Burrow again, despite Hermione not being there.

~∞~

Mattheo hates his father with a burning passion. Tom Riddle was a cold, manipulative and tyrannical man who was absolutely not fit for the role of 'dad'. It's ironic, he thinks, that he should have a father who was incapable of feeling love, in all senses of the word. But Tom had loved Mattheo's mother once, in some sick and twisted way. Maybe it wasn't love, but he had a sick devotion for the woman that Mattheo never got to meet. She died after giving birth to the Riddle heir.

When his father was defeated all those years ago, Mattheo was handed off to the first family that bothered to know of his existence. Theodore Nott Senior was even less of a good father, to both him and Theo. But Teddy's mother took on the responsibility of showing them what it is to be kind, loving and compassionate.

That all withered away upon her death when he was only eight years old. It broke him, but it broke little Theo even more to lose the only parent who ever cared for him. Over the years, the well-mannered, inquisitive little boy transitioned into a coldhearted, unfeeling person, but sometimes Mattheo wished that people saw him for who he truely was, instead of the person they painted because of who his father was.

It's the reason he feels so drawn to you, he summises.

Someone who should hate him, someone who should despise him for all that he is, looked past his carefully constructed armour and saw that broken boy within. He wondered how long that would last, when you found out how much of his facade was his true identity. In his eyes, Mattheo was a monster. A carbon copy of his father.

The vast dining room that he found himself seated in felt entirely too small. The atmosphere was ripe with anticipation as the Dark Lord himself stared down at them from his erected throne at the head of the table. Mattheo sat in the seat adjacent to him, as his 'right hand man'. Showing that he would never be anything more than a soldier to his father. Lucius Malfoy sat opposite him, Bellatrix Lestrange in the next seat as she nodded in rapt attention to whatever Voldemort was saying.

The doors to the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor swung open with a slow and menacing creak, inviting Draco to walk in, followed closely by Theo and Enzo.

This is the part of the holidays that Mattheo had been dreading the most.

"Thank you kindly for fetching me our guests, Draco. Please be seated boys, and let dinner be served." Voldemort's hand sweeped through the air and the three chairs beside Mattheo pushed out at their own accord; his friends took the seats wordlessly, Theo seating in the one opposite Bellatrix.

Shortly after, the family's house elves wordlessly clicked their fingers and a feast appeared before them all. Mattheo didn't touch a single piece of food on his plate. Neither did his three friends, his brothers. He was infinitely grateful that Blaise and Pansy were not here. He planned on maintaining that for as long as he possibly could.

After the food, some of which had barely been touched by the hoard of Death Eaters in attendance, had disappeared, Voldemort stood up, towering above them all like an angel of death.

"Now we indulge in my favourite part of the evening." he says, clapping his thin, boney hands together delicately. "Theodore, Lorenzo...please, join me."

He held out his hands, offering the 'stage' to his son's friends. Mattheo had to physically claw at the seat beneath him to refrain from stopping them as they obeyed. Theo's chest shook with uneven breathes and Enzo didn't dare look anyone in the eye. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unprepared to watch his friends submit to the same fate.

"Who wants to go first?" Voldemort asked the two boys, his snake-like voice coated in something akin to excitement and glee. When neither boy spoke up, he slammed a hand to the table, causing everyone in near viscinity to flinch. A vision of pure psychotic rage paints the monster's face.

"Fine." he snapped. "Mattheo, my son, come up here please."

Mattheo schooled his features and locked any thoughts of his friends, of you, up tight. When he was within reach of his father, Voldemort caressed his shoulders, strong from years of relentless Quidditch training, and whispered, his voice a mere hiss as he spoke in the tongue that only the two of them, and Harry Potter could understand.

Choose. He whispered. Who will go first? Choose and I'll spare you my wrath later.

Mattheo didn't know what to do, he was crumbling in front of his father's loyalist of followers, who were snickering and whispering amongst themselves. The insurmountable feeling of guilt festered in his stomach, a sick feeling persisting in his gut. How could he subject any of his friends to this?

CHOOSE! Or I will hunt down anything you hold dear. That is a promise, boy.

He couldn't let his father know about you. He knew the moment he discovered your abilities, Voldemort would seek you out and trap you with no hope of escape and use you for his own power hungry means. He couldn't let that happen.

"I'll go first." Theo's voice broke through his inner turmoil and Voldemort's sinister smirk travelled to his best friend's face. Theo was masking his terror well, but Mattheo saw right through him. Enzo visibly sagged in relief, no matter how short lived it was. He straightened when Mattheo entered his mind.

Don't show weakness. It'll be over soon, I promise brother. I'm sorry.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. His features schooled into masked indifference.

"Theodore, my boy." Voldemort crooned. "What a good example you set for our young recruits. So...eager." a dig at Draco, who was yet to make headway in his task. "Come."

He beckoned Theo with a single come-hither motion. Theo moved with poised grace and knelt before the Dark Lord, staring up at the creature with stoney eyes. "Just like your mother." he tutted, and Mattheo clenched his fists tightly, fury painting his veins in vibrant fire. "It's a shame, truely."

Voldemort took hold of Theodore's left arm with bruising force but did the opposite of what Mattheo expected. "Mattheo, come. Since you failed to choose, you will do the honours for me. Mark him."

He began to protest, but Fenrir Greyback was behind him in seconds, pushing him to the ground with brute force. He struggled and fought until his father held a hand that physically stopped the fight with his magic.

"I won't do it." Mattheo spat. "No."

Voldemort's head contorted the way a snake's would when agitated and he shot a singular curse at his son with no hesitation.

Mattheo writhed as the effects of the Cruciatus curse overtook all his senses. Consumed in his agony he failed to acknowledge the sound of his best friends' grunts and screams as their skin was branded with the skull and snake of the Dark Mark, identical to the one festering on his scarred left arm.

There was no saving them now.

But at least Blaise and Pansy were safe in their own manors, not privvy to the price he would eventually pay in exchange for their own freedom and safety.

~∞~

hope everyone had a lovely christmas and a happy nye🫶🏼 thought i'd give you a long chapter by delving into a mattheo pov ;)

i love my degree but sometimes psychology makes me want to rip out my hair🙃🙂

taglist:

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @topguncultleader @gimalo135

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #blaise zabini #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #hermione granger #ron weasley #pansy parkinson #enzo berkshire #serendipity series

554 notes · View notes

tomriddleslove · 4 months

Text

Pick up the phone.

✩Tom Riddle x F! Reader

Summary: The one where your classmate can’t take a hint and Tom doesn’t like people trying to take what’s his. Alternatively : Tom is over possessive and he can’t bear the thought of someone wanting you.

A/N: Despite my Mattheo and Theo fics doing the best i absolutely love writing for tom and this imagine had me going FERAL. I usually don’t like writing non timeline accurate fics but this worked best with tom so pls ignore the fact that they probably wouldn’t have phones during this time. As always, reblogs and replies absolutely make my day so please let me know what you think!!!

Warnings: Slight dark/controlling Tom, unhealthy relationship. Slight NSFW at the end

Songs: House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls - the weeknd

Pick up the phone - Travis Scott and Young Thug

You just about manage to dash into class, trying to calm down your laboured breathing as you slide into your seat, thankful that Professor Slughorn was busy writing something up on the board.

You pant lightly, unpacking your stuff onto your desk. Your desk mate, a boy by the name of Jamie Grimshaw, grins. He was a rather unaware boy, never seeming to catch onto your half-assed laughs and awkward smiles that suggested the last thing you wanted to be doing was entertaining his poor jokes and conversation. He nudges you with a small grin, almost teasing, and you let out a small awkward laugh, grimacing as you look away.

You look up as you place your bag to the side, your gaze immediately locking onto Tom’s. He’s gazing at you, or rather, your desk mate, with a look of such distaste you have to be sure he’s not actually trying to cast some sort of non-verbal spell. You shoot a warning glare at him and his gaze softens ever so slightly as he looks at you.

Keyword - slightly. Because Tom Riddle was certainly not soft. Even for you, the one who had somehow defied every single rule and wall that Tom had so carefully constructed with such reckless abandon, forcing your way into his life, his heart.

You look away as Professor Slughorn begins droning on to the class, and begin attentively scratching down notes, so absorbed in your work that you don't notice the way your desk mate steals glances at you.

Tom watches from afar, itching with the urge to reach out and wrap his hands around the boy's throat and strangle him till the life seeped out of his undeserving eyes that dared to look at you. He hated the idea of someone else seeing you, and wanting you, to the point where he was sure he’d only be satisfied if he could lock you away and keep you somewhere where only he could see you.

It wasn’t that he was scared you’d leave him, no no. Tom was certain that you couldn’t. His love for you (if you could class it as that) lingered in the spaces between your heartbeat, intertwining so seamlessly with your essence that to let go of him would be to unravel the very fabric of who you've become.

So no, he didn’t feel such a strong desire to keep you hidden because he was scared you'd leave him, but rather because he hated the idea of anyone laying their eyes on you. No one would ever be deserving enough of doing so, and the idea that some people (namely Jamie Grimshaw) had the audacity not just to look at you but to let their lustful gaze linger down to your thighs made him furious, ready to gouge their eyes out.

Stuck in his own mind, Tom snaps out of it when his gaze flickers over to you. He sees you working with diligence, and the suffocating feeling of anger subsides for a second. Your hard work, your drive, it was part of what made Tom fall for you. That, amongst many other things. Surprisingly, he found himself largely drawn to the way you got along with everyone (to an extent). Seemingly demure, you were polite and gentle. Something that would be of great benefit to him as well, for who better than to gain the trust of people than the girl beloved by all?

Then again, with everything that has its benefits, it also has its drawbacks. And that was what he was witnessing now, seeing you go along with Jamie’s flirting in an attempt to be polite. You tried to see the best in everyone and consistently denied the fact that Jamie was flirting with you, insisting that Tom was being irrational and overprotective whenever he’d approach you about it.

The second the lesson is over Tom is swiftly up and out of his seat, looming over your desk as you pack up. You look up at him and smile softly, a sweet gaze that disarms him ever so slightly.

“So, I was wondering whether you’d be free to-” Jamie starts.

Tom’s jaw clenches. How dare he? Such an insolent fool, thinking he had the right to speak to you.

Before you can even speak, Tom’s hand comes down to grab your arm and pull you slightly towards him, speaking up.

“No, she cannot. She will be busy tonight. And the night after that.” Tom says, a venom belying his tone as he drags you away.

He ignores your protests as you walk through the common room and up to his room, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly.

“Tom!” You protest, wrenching your arm out of his grip as he closes the door to his room, tossing his bag down as he turns to you.

"Tom, what was that back there?" you demand, your voice a mix of frustration and confusion.

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming as he towers over you.

"I can't stand seeing him look at you like that," he says, his voice low and intense.

You take a step back. "Look at me like what?" you ask, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Like he wants you," Tom replies, his eyes burning into yours. "Like he thinks he has the right to even think about you in that way."

You feel a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze. "Tom, he's just being friendly," you try to reason, but even to your own ears, your words sound feeble.

Tom's expression darkens, and you realize you've struck a nerve. "Friendly?" he scoffs, his voice dripping with disdain. "There's nothing friendly about the way he looks at you. He wants something from you, something I won't allow him to have."

Tom steps even closer, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the fire in his eyes. "I'm not irrational," he murmurs, his voice softening ever so slightly. "I just can't bear the thought of anyone else having you. You're mine, and I won't let anyone forget that."

Your frustration subsides, and you let out a small sigh, leaning into his touch.

“No one else can have me, Tom. I'm yours.” You murmur, and a small smile tugs at his lips. He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss. His hands tilt your head back slightly, deepening the kiss as you sigh into his mouth, melting at his touch. He pulls away, and you look up at him, a fire ignited within you even after the briefest of touch. His thumb caresses your cheek lovingly before he pulls away, gazing at you with a mix of possessiveness and adoration.

“Good. Let’s do some work now” He mutters, eyes roaming over your face.

It was only the next day when Tom had thought the whole thing was over and done with, and you wouldn't have to deal with it again. He walks into the common room, expecting to find you sitting by the fireplace, reading a book.

You were there, but not alone. Jamie sat by you, his arm draped behind you on the sofa as he chatted to you, clearly making you uncomfortable.

“Jamie, can I help you with something?" you ask, trying to sound polite but firm.

Jamie's smile widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Actually, I was hoping we could grab a butterbeer sometime?" he says, his voice low.

You laugh nervously.

“Maybe in a few days? I have to do some work right now and it’s-” You say, and Tom is furious, moving over to you.

"Jamie," he says, his voice tight with restrained anger, "I think it's best if you leave her alone. She's not interested."

Jamie's smile falters, but he quickly recovers, his tone mocking. "Oh, I'm sure she can speak for herself, Tom," he retorts, his eyes flickering with challenge.

Before Tom can respond, you intervene, feeling the tension between them escalating dangerously. "Tom, it's fine," you say, trying to diffuse the situation. "Jamie was just leaving."

Tom's jaw clenches, but he nods curtly, his gaze never leaving Jamie's. "See that you do," he says, his voice low and threatening.

With one last defiant look at Tom, Jamie gathers his things and makes a hasty exit, leaving you alone with Tom in the common room.

You shoot Tom a pointed look, silently demanding an explanation for his behaviour, but he merely gestures for you to follow him. Reluctantly, you fall into step behind him as he leads you up to his room, his pace brisk and determined.

Once inside, Tom slams the door shut behind you, his frustration boiling over.

Like a scene from a movie, this conversation is all too familiar, and all the more agitating.

"What were you thinking?" he demands, his voice laced with anger. "Talking to him like that, letting him get too close."

You bristle at his accusatory tone, your temper flaring up. "Excuse me? He just wanted to go out! Why must you assume everyone has bad intentions?” You scoff, and Tom feels his restraint slipping as he lets go of your arms, sighing angrily as his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek.

“Honestly, I have to wonder whether you think sometimes. Do you not see the way he looks at you? The way he stares at your legs when you're in class? Do you know the disgusting things that go through his mind?” Tom says, harshly. You see his anger rising and begin to panic, not wanting it to spiral out of control.

“Tom, I promise you it wasn’t anything. He really just wanted a drink.” You reason, trying to diffuse the tension as you look up at him, placing a hand on his forearm. He looks down at you, anger still evident in his eyes.

Your phone pings, breaking the momentary silence. Your eyes flicker down to it, briefly glancing at the message on the screen. You curse internally, stomach dropping at who had messaged you. It was practically the worst time for them to have messaged. You slip the phone into your pocket, praying Tom won’t probe further.

“Look, Tom. He doesn’t-” You start, but your phone pings again, cutting you off, This time Tom most certainly notices, his eyes also flickering down to your pocket.

“Who’s messaging you?” He asks, as though he can sense your unease. You brush it off, just shaking your head.

“Oh, no one. Just Hannah asking for the homework.” You say, and Tom stares down at you, his gaze scrutinising for a second before he hums, taking a step back. You're partially grateful because if you can get away with this you can avoid the confrontation about Jamie as well. He turns to walk over to his desk and you turn around, going to get your books to join him. Just as you’re doing so, the sound of your ringtone fills the otherwise silent room.

Shit.

You hastily reach for your phone, fumbling with it as you decline the call, cursing. You slowly turn around and Tom is glaring at you, dread settling in the pit of your stomach.

“Seems like the work must be quite urgent if she has to call you as well. Why don't you pick up the phone?” Tom utters, voice strained as he looks over at you.

You laugh nervously, shaking your head as your phone begins ringing again. Jamie’s relentlessness was really beginning to annoy you, and you weren’t sure how on earth you'd explain this to Tom. The fact that Jamie was calling you would be enough to anger Tom, let alone the fact that you lied to him about it.

“Oh no, that’s just Hannah. Bit of a teacher's pet, she panics if she dares to miss a day of school because she was in the infirmary.” You say with a nervous chuckle, trying to lighten the atmosphere slightly as you pray he stops calling you.

A chilling smirk tugs at Tom’s lips, a low laugh escaping his lips, a smile gracing his face. You let out the breath you were holding, thankful that he (by some miracle) bought into it as you also laughed, trying to move on from the topic as soon as possible.

“Pick up the damn phone,” he says suddenly, his voice eerily calm yet laced with a dangerous undercurrent.

The dread in your stomach multiplies tenfold, your smile fading as you take a step back.

“Tom-” You start, but he takes a step closer, hand finding its place on your jaw as he speaks again.

“Pick. up. the. Phone” He says, each word punctuated with a chilling intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His grip on your jaw tightens slightly, his eyes boring into yours with an unnerving ferocity.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you reach for your phone, your fingers trembling with apprehension. With a shaky breath, you answer the call, putting it on speaker.

"Hello?" you say, your voice barely above a whisper, anticipation gnawing at your nerves.

On the other end of the line, Jamie's voice comes through, smooth and confident. "Hey," he says, his tone casual. "Just wanted to see if you're free tonight. Thought we could grab that butterbeer we talked about."

Your pulse quickens, panic rising within you as you glance up at Tom, who is watching you intently, his expression unreadable.

“Oh, uhm-” You begin, a squeak escaping your lips as you feel Tom’s lips on your neck. Your eyes widen as you look down at him, dumbfounded.

“Carry on. Go ahead and speak to him.” He mutters against your neck, pressing kisses along the side.

“I- I uhm. I w-was… fuck” You stammer, a breath gasp escaping your lips as you desperately try and stifle any noises that threaten to escape your lips as Tom nips at the delicate skin on your neck, soothing it with his tongue.

He continues to pepper your neck with kisses, relishing in the way your body shivers under his touch.

His voice, husky and filled with dark amusement, interrupts your stammering. "Oh, what a shame. Seems like you're a little preoccupied at the moment," he taunts, his lips trailing lower to the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

He bites down gently, eliciting a gasp from you as you struggle to maintain your composure.

Tom's fingers creep up your waist, slipping beneath the fabric of your blouse. His touch is possessive, his grip firm as he pulls you closer.

Your voice trembles as you try to regain control of the situation. "I-I'm sorry, Jamie, I can't... tonight," you manage to say, your words punctuated by a soft moan as Tom's lips find your earlobe, nipping at it playfully.

Tom chuckles darkly, his breath tickling your ear. "Tell him you're busy, darling," he whispers, his voice dripping with both amusement and dominance. His hand slides higher, squeezing your breast through the fabric of your bra, causing you to gasp and arch into his touch.

"J-Jamie, I... I can't. I-I have commitments after s-school," You stammer, your voice strained with a mix of pleasure and frustration. Tom's touch is maddeningly intoxicating, clouding your mind and making it difficult to focus on anything else.

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Jamie's voice sounds disappointed. "Alright, no problem. Maybe another time then," he says, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. You let out a small whimper as he hangs up, tossing your phone to the side as a string of curses escapes your lips.

Tom, satisfied with his disruption, pulls back. His eyes glance over the myriad of purple bruises scattered all over your neck and chest.

“Good. I’ll make sure my name is the only one you’ll ever remember.” He utters.

Before you can respond, Tom pulls you into a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that matches your own.

He manoeuvres you to the bed, not once breaking the kiss as your legs hit the edge, and you fall backwards onto the soft mattress. He lowers himself down over you, kissing you with fevour as he mutters.

“Mine, all mine.”

@mildlyuninformative @chgrch @gillyweeds @anti-hero03 @schaebickel @lillywildly @batmandabest @always-reading

#slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #harry potter #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fic

417 notes · View notes

msgrieves · 2 months

Text

𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅

summary : tom riddle decides to give you a lesson in herbology when you seem to be slacking 💞

warnings : smut, in public (a library), she/her pronouns used, dumbification, handgag??, fingering, lowercase intended!!

ೃ⁀➷ this is my first time writing a fic/smut so be warned for cringe; fyi i chose to make the reader's last name carrow!!; written in 3rd person because i can't bring myself to write in 2nd person rn 😣😣; no use of y/n

lonely, she felt. amidst the solitude of the library she felt lonely. all signs of life had long left, leaving her alone with merely her own consciousness and the heavy snores emitting from madam scribner's dribbling mouth.

she felt like she was going crazy, rereading over the same article over and over again, fruitlessly scavenging for any information she hadn't picked up through her last fifty searches. in the pindrop silence she heard a cough, nearly sending her into a heart attack; glancing up from her disordered desk she met the protruding gaze of tom riddle,

"miss carrow, are you aware the library closed over twenty minutes ago?"

his expression mocked her, as if she was unaware of such primary rules. of course the library had closed long ago, she'd been checking her rustic pocket watch every five minutes in fear of a professor waltzing in and catching her. she feigned a tone of innocent obliviousness:

"oh sorry tom, i seemed to have lost track of time, i best be on my way now."

she hastily shuffled out of her seat, slotting assortments into her rugged leather satchel and slinging it over her shoulder in a hurry.

"not so fast.." riddle tutted at her condescendingly.

he took a sharp inhale, glancing at his dress shoes before back up her, taking a small step back.

"how come you're out so late?"

the dreaded question.

she'd hoped to escape him before he had the chance to completely humiliate her: give her a good scolding.

"..studying" she answered, vague.

a questioning look arose on his face.

"studying?" he repeated, his voice mocking hers.a simple nod would do.

"for what?"

"herbology."

an incredibly useless subject she took only because she wanted as many qualifications as possible.

he scoffed, he'd certainly shown up in a pissy mood. there was an uncomfortable pause, him looking her over before opening his mouth again.

"you're free to go."

her eyes widened, her tongue unable to stop herself from saying:

"what?"

...

"would you like a detention then?"

"..no" she shook her head, quickly.

"then leave, now." he repeated, this time firmer than before.

well this was shocking. he'd allowed her to leave freely. normally it'd take an entire hour of him berating her before even considering letting her return to her dorm - usually accompanied with a week's worth of detentions, just because he could.

she didn't pass the oppurtunity, scurrying out before he had the chance to rethink his decision. she didn't question why he let her off the hook. she was simply thankful he did.

a day had passed. it was now sunday night. she had the huge herbology test in only a few hours. she couldn't score anything below outstanding, otherwise her parents would be upset with her, professor beery would be dissapointed, and riddle would get one over on her but that mattered very little to her considering the worser consequences.

again she sat at her little table tucked away in the corner of the library. the incompetent librarian snoring away as per usual.

she took a break from her relentless studying, idly volunteering her help by sorting jumbled books which the first years had so carelessly tossed around.

she strolled a lap of the lavish library, sorting out obvious messes of disordered books before returning to her desk, finding riddle occupying her seat.

without needing to announce herself, he spoke up, somehow just knowing she was there.

"you've got this all wrong."

a focused look fixed upon his face as he flicked through the endless notes she'd written over the past week on the various plants professor beery had instructed the class to research.

"excuse you?" she scoffed in annoyance, striding largly over to him and harshly snatching the worn notebook from his hands.

who did he think he was? searching through her personal belongings?

"your notes. they're all wrong." he repeated, a blank look on his face as he fixated his gaze on her now, leaving her stomach a fluttering mess which she chose to ignore in fear of what could be revealed about her stemming from it.

"you shouldn't've even been snooping through my stuff. get up." she urged, waiting for him to move so she could reclaim her seat.

"but they were wrong-"

"-i don't care, get up."

his jaw clenched and he inhaled sharply, standing up nevertheless as she resat in her wooden chair. he pulled another over, inviting himself to join.

"i think you're forgetting whose in charge here."

he gave her a daunting glare, sitting down next to her. in all fairness as head boy he had the ability to send her back to her dorm right now, seeing as she was out past curfew, again.

"now.." he took a breath "do you need my help?"

he sounded empathetic. shocking for someone like him, who despite his charming reputation she knew to be one carless soul.

"no, i do not need your help-"

"-i think you do." he replied, his blunt tone not budging.

he brought his chair closer to her, gently taking the notes from her hands and spreading them on the table in front.

before, him going out of his way to help her seemed like a distant fantasy. what on earth was his motive behind this?

"read over your notes for me."

he placed a strong hand on her shoulder, patting it harshly as if it were an easing, friendly gesture, but instead it caused her to stiffen and shrink further into her seat.

"the entire thing?"

"would you like a detention?"

he kept using that stupid threat. it worked every time though. she took a deep breath, biting back her anger.

"lavage-"

"first of all you've spelt it wrong."

he interrupted abruptly, bringing his hand from her shoulder to point it at the word written in a messy scrawling at the top of the parchment, then residing it down on her thigh. she tensed up, unsure of how exactly should she react.. should she push him off? she wasn't quite sure how she felt just yet.

with his right hand he borrowed her quill, scratching out the incorrect spelling to rewrite it as 'lovage' in a smaller font just above her old writing.

"continue" he hummed, now drawing light circles with his thumb onto her upper thigh.

her breath hitched, she tried to steady its pace, restarting her reading.

"lovage.. similar to broccoli-"

his hand made a sudden dip to explore her inner thigh.

"celery." he corrected, not arrogantly.

strange. he was being helpful, not mocking her for being wrong.

"celery." she repeated affirmatively, "its common use-"

merlin this man wouldn't shut up and let her talk.

"start from the beginning. once your done you can return to your dorm.. depending on how well i think you've done."

how well he thinks she's done?? in what world is that fair. she scowled at him, giving him a distasteful look, though he was too focused on the notes in front of the two of them to notice.

she took a deep breath,

"lovage." she repeated, rather dramatically.

his fingers began tracing higher up her thigh, slipping up her skirt and beginning to toy with the elastic hem of her undergarments beneath the desk.

"similar to celery, its common usages are-"

her sentence was cut by a breathy moan, where in gods green earth did that come from.

he'd traced lower down to her cunt, his fingers precise and sure.

"restart." he sighed exasperatedly, as if nothing out of the ordinary was occuring.

for merlin sake, he was nearly fingering her under the table- and she let him??

she groaned, in annoyance of his persistance, in annoyance of his fingers hovering so teasingly over where she needed him most.

"lovage. similar to celery. its common usages are for befuddlement draughts,"

"and what else?"

"what do you mean 'what else'??- the book only sAI-"

his index had slipped between her already moistened folds, applying the lightest pressure to her clit as he dipped the tip of it into her hole, she stiffled an unholy noise from seeping out from between her lips.

"quiet. madam scribner's still asleep." he warned, holding back a cocky grin.

what a sick freak. fingering her in a fucking library?? what was he thinking?

she covered her mouth at the attempt of another moan pushing through with his movements unceasing, abiding silently despite the protests inside her head.

she shook her head after a moment, her brows furrowed.

"i can't do this."

"sure you can dear."

"no, no, no i genuinely can't-"

she couldn't. not with someone she hated so much but was so attracted to? all it did was fuck with her feelings.

"keep reading."

she gulped dryly, trying to restart but without warning he'd slipped a first finger into her. she covered her mouth with her hand again, muffling the lewd noises from the innocent ears of the librarian a few metres away. sure the distance between them and madam scribner was large but it was only them there. if she woke up, there was no hiding.

deep breaths.

"lovage, similar to cE-lery, its common usages are for befuddlement draughts,"

her voice cracked as he swiped her clit with his thumb.

"well actually any confusing draughts." he interjected.

she groaned loudly in frustration with him interrupting and with the pressure he fiddled her with. he now clasped his own hand around her mouth, shushing her.

"that's all you need to know for this plant, don't worry about the rest dear." he eased, her taking his word for it seeing as she just wanted him to end this torture already.

he pushed in another finger, her slouching down on the chair as much as she could to push him deeper inside her.

he waited a second, slowly beginning to slide them in and out, careful as to not make excessive amounts of noise with the obscenely slick sounds envolping the silent room. the rough ends curled up, fingers exploring her insides with expertise.

she could've came on just two fingers alone.

"tell me, what was the name of the plant again?" he questioned quietly, his pace fastening by the second.she was limp now, lost in his touch. this was becoming clearer now. it was just his sick and perverted way of humiliating her.

"..huh, m'sorry..?" she asked, nearly sounding drunk as her eyes gazed up at his again.

"name of the plant dear," he uttered, looking her into her soul as he was reminded of how easily he would sway the morals of others simply by using his less.. dignified skills along with his good looks.

"lavage," she answered, confident as she didn't think over her answer.

"haven't you been listening? or has me simply slipping a finger or two into you made you this dumb?" he cooed, his words lined with a condescending type of mocking.

"oh, fuck- lovage i meant-"

she was quick to correct herself, earning a swipe at her clit as he began to pay more attention to it.

he sighed, as if this was an inconvenience to him - if so why was he doing this?

"and it's similar to?"

merlin, she didn't need an entire herbology lesson whilst he was messing around with her insides.

"celery,"

she was met with an ever deeper push of his fingers, hitting a spongey area deep inside her, one she didn't even think was possible for him to reach with his fingers alone.

"again."

"..celery..?"

she was confused to say the least, his motive was rather unclear.

he tutted and abruptly pulled out his fingers, wiping them on the inside of the fabric as he slipped them out of her panties, smearing the remainder of her juices that he unsucessfully wiped away onto her thigh, making the sheer tights she wore glossier.

she squirmed, an uncomfortable tensing in her abdomen having being left to suffer.

"why- why d'you stop?" she murmered, her thighs rubbing together to mimic the previous sensation but not even being able to come close to the pleasure of it.

"i need to work harder to knock my teachings out of your pretty little head."

ೃ⁀➷ sorry for the abrupt ending i just wanted to get something out, lmk if you want a part two !!

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

#tom riddle #knights of walpurgis #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle smut #voldemort #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x oc #harry potter #chamber of secrets

251 notes · View notes

mattyriddlesbitch · 1 month

Note

So I got to thinking…(probably not a good thing)

What if it’s like a Blaise Zabini x Reader x Tom Riddle threesome, and like the reader is Tom’s girlfriend but she wanted to add a bit more to their sexual activities and Tom decides to like surprise her by bringing Blaise in. Also I have no idea why I but I feel like Tom and Blaise would get along pretty well, just me? Anyways thank you lovey 💗 your writing is absolutely amazing 🤩

Sorry this one took so long! I was struggling with it a bit, but I hope this works!

Please Him

Tom Riddle x F!Reader x Blaise Zabini

Warnings: Oral(male and female receiving), fingers, unprotected sex, cream pie, cussing, threesome.

18+ Minors DNI!

You and Tom had a really good sex life. You never had any problems, but you wanted something…more. You wanted to try something. A threesome. Tom denied it. He really wasn’t fond of sharing you. But the idea was eating at his brain more and more. There was only one guy he would trust with sharing you with, Blaise Zabini. They were really close friends and Tom knew Blaise wouldn’t try anything stupid afterwards. That just because you had sex, didn’t mean you were his and he would flirt with you.

But Tom also didn’t like backtracking on his words so he came up with another idea.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you kneeled in front of him, guiding your head up and down his cock, making you gag on it. You both were already naked, him just using your mouth for his pleasure at the moment. You heard the door open and were going to turn your head to look, but Tom kept your head forward with his other hand on your jaw, still guiding your head.

“Fuck.” You heard Blaise mutter behind you.

“She’s been wanting someone else to join us. Greedy little thing.” Tom said. “Isn’t that right?” Tom looked down at you and you gave your best nod. “Well, go on then. Please him.” He let go of you and leaned back on his hands.

You turned around and saw Blaise taking off his pants. You crawled over to him, giving Tom a good view of your ass. Blaise was already hard when he pulled down his underwear. You took his cock in your hand, giving it a slow stroke before spitting on it, using your hand to coat his length in it.

“Fucking hell. You’re filthy.” Blaise said before grabbing your hair and guiding your mouth onto his cock, letting out a groan.

“She is. She’s a filthy slut. Isn’t even happy enough with one man.” Tom said from his spot on the bed, watching his friend fuck your throat.

You moaned in response to their words, making Blaise moan. “Guess she likes being called ‘a filthy slut’, huh?” Blaise chuckled, pushing your head further onto his dick until you needed air and pulled out, a trail of your saliva connecting your mouth to his dick as he let you catch your breath.

“Come here, doll.” Tom said and Blaise let go of you, letting you crawl back to Tom. He pulled you up onto the bed, setting you between his legs, facing towards Blaise. “Let’s let Blaise get a taste of you, huh?” He said against your ear as his hands held your legs apart.

Blaise finished stripping and kneeled between your legs, licking a stripe up your pussy before focusing on your clit.

“Fuck, Blaise.” You moaned, threading your fingers in his hair.

“Is he making you feel good, doll?” Tom’s finger dug into your thighs harshly.

“Yes! So good!” You leaned your head back onto Tom’s shoulder as you moaned.

He tsked before moving a hand to your jaw to tilt your head back down to watch Blaise. “You wanted this, you gotta watch.” His tone was harsh, which contrasted with Blaise’s soft eyes peering up at you.

Blaise eased two fingers in you, making you bite your lip as you moan louder, eyes closing.

“Look at me, ma.” Blaise said. You opened your eyes after a few seconds. “That’s it. Keep looking at me.”

You didn’t last long with his pretty eyes looking up at you, crying out his name and trembling only a few moments later.

“You’re so pretty when you cum, ma.” Blaise said after you came, gently rubbing your thighs.

Tom moved you two so you were on your hands and knees with him behind you.

“Suck his cock, slut.” Tom ordered.

You quickly obeyed and wrapped your lips around Blaise’s cock again, moaning around him.

Tom pushed into you, gripping your hips as he pulled you back onto him. He started thrusting which made you push onto Blaise’s cock further. Tom’s thrusts setting the pace for you. Blaise held your hair, keeping it out of your face as he watched you taking his cock.

“Your mouth feels so good, baby.” Blaise trailed his free hand along your cheek and jaw.

“If she behaves, I might let you feel her pussy another time.” Tom said. “Would you like that, doll? Wanna feel Blaise’s cock in you?”

You could only moan around Blaise in response, but that seemed enough for the two of them as Blaise moaned and Tom gave your ass a spank.

“Fucking slut, taking us both. Is this all you wanted? Asking for another man’s cock.”

“You’re doing so good, ma. You like being fucked by both of us?” Blaise asked, seeming to enjoy the way you choke around him.

You could feel your second orgasm building, the way they were talking and the way Tom’s dick was fucking into you. You came again, crying around Blaise’s cock as your body shook.

“Swallow his cum, doll. Be good for us.” Tom said as he kept pounding into you.

Blaise was cumming down your throat a moment later and you followed Tom’s command, swallowing every bit of it.

You were whimpering and whining from the overstimulation as Tom kept thrusting. Blaise was stroking your hair and face and praising you to soothe you.

Tom finally filled you with his cum, a soft groan escaping his lips. “That’s it. Take all my fucking cum, slut.”

The two boys helped soothe you, helped you relax and clean you up, letting you sleep peacefully after to rest.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath

Let me know if you wanna be added!

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

231 notes · View notes

fatesundress · 1 year

Text

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this.

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same.

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it.

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction?

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet.

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner.

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party.

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten.

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again."

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him.

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins.

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks.

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them.

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did."

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.”

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything — is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting.

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers.

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient.

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still.

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in.

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him.

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #NO LONGER!#but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

2K notes · View notes

pasukiyo · 1 year

Note

Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises.

“Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters.

‘To my dearest son,

Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling.

With all my love, your mother.’

Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they.

It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden.

She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say.

Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood.

But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.”

Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act.

When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried.

And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else.

But Tom… Tom Riddle was different.

Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool.

She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head.

And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was.

In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would.

So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year.

She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin.

At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not.

Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped.

And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more.

But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle.

“Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached.

She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing.

Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll.

“My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably.

Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling.

“Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord.

“Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious.

Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others.

All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family.

Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same.

But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her?

Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of.

“So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating.

The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view.

The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave.

“Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight.

Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

“Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his.

“Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess… I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear.

Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

“—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him.

“What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether.

“He’s not my brother.”

The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour.

But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them.

“Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed.

Why was Tom coming over here?

“Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

“It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

“Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it.

It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace.

Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone.

Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood.

It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away.

He wanted her.

“Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level.

“Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him.

“Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

“And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom.

Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate.

He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either.

“So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned.

“Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress.

All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all.

She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal.

Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs.

“I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem.

She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away.

“Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away.

But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer.

“Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed.

Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side.

Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here.

But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

“Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not.

She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger.

“Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?”

She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents.

Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet.

“Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering.

“You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat.

Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way.

It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together.

They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her.

Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was.

They had never ever been this close before.

“Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips.

It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability.

“Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted.

So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him.

“I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going.

So she did.

“They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside.

“They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything.

So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear.

“You are not nothing,” Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody.

And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear.

A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him.

So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep.

This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him.

He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that.

But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away.

For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone.

She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh.

“T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs.

“Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well.

She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches.

So eager, he thought.

He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched.

She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds.

“P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes.

“Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory.

He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next.

Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years.

Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces.

And maybe that was the goal all along.

Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire.

But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own.

But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person.

He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him.

For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her.

Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same.

This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

…then surely he could learn to embrace it.

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

#tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #wizarding world #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle

2K notes · View notes

mysmuttyy · 7 months

Text

M.R

📸- jade69044 on Pinterest (her photos are amazing, check them out!)

PERSONALLY, this is what i believe mattheo riddle to be like. If you do not like the way I portray him, then i kindly advise you to move along 🤍

⚠️- includes smut, name calling, possibly offensive language, etc

🌈- purple means innocent & red means not so innocent

Mattheo has a tattoo of his mothers birthday on his heart.

Mattheo owns a red electric guitar, plays extremely well + has an amazing voice.

Mattheo loves swimming.

Mattheo loves the black lake and begs for you to go down there with him, either for a swim or just to sit under a tree.

Mattheo has a massive heart, always puts others before himself.

Mattheo is friends with longbottom & sticks up for him whenever it’s needed.

Mattheo loves to read to you.

Mattheo’s love language is physical touch. He loves to hold your hands, put his hand on your thighs, hug you, etc.

Mattheo: Aside from you and theodore, tom is his favourite person. Mattheo goes above and beyond to defend his older brother, as tom basically raised him.

Mattheo isn’t incapable of love, he can love, just doesn’t know how to express it.

Mattheo is top of all his classes, literally one of the smartest people, but he doesn’t like to show it.

Mattheo is literally cupid. He can tell who likes who and what people are good matches for one another.

Mattheo loves art; painting, drawing, etc.

Mattheo loves tattoos & has plenty of them. Sleeves that he lets you colour in.

Mattheo gym rat, man has massive muscles.

Mattheo loves making you nervous in public. He’ll secretly touch you, slap your ass, whisper dirty things in your ears, etc.

Mattheo calls you mommy when he’s feeling needy.

Mattheo is always horny, even after.

Mattheo is a switch; both dom and sub. He likes being a bottom, as well as a top.

Mattheo draws 🥵 photos of you two, but mostly you.

Mattheo gets hard easily, but only for you. You could touch him and boom, he’s hard.

Mattheo loves to call you a dirty slut, whore, stubborn bitch, etc.

Mattheo is obsessed with you, your body and always remind you how gorgeous you are. “You’re so gorgeous, it makes me so nervous.” , “Let me see that beautiful face, baby.”

Mattheo is a fucking MUNCH and a needy one at that. “Fuck, your pussy is so good.” , “Mhm, let me eat you out.” , “I’m not hungry for food, bitch, open your fucking legs.”

Mattheo likes to be called sir, makes him feel good.

Mattheo is a whiny boy, even when he’s dom. “Fuck, fuck.. good little slut, hm?” , “Please speak up, princess.”

Mattheo loves coming inside and will always beg for it. “Mommy, please! Let me.. let me cum inside hm? I’ll be a good boy!?” , “Fucking let me cum inside you, fuck!”

Mattheo loves getting head almost as much as he loves giving it.

Mattheo is extremely needy in the morning, he loves waking up with his throbbing cock in your mouth.

Mattheo never fails to fuck you good, it’s literally a talent of his.

Mattheo always makes you lose your ability to walk and laughs whenever you fall, but loves helping you around.

Mattheo is so easy to tease, he immediately breaks.

Mattheo secretly wishes you’d cuff him and edge him til he’s begging. If you were to do it, he wouldn’t make it easy for you and would def ‘punish’ you afterwards.

Mattheo fingers you in class, but stops when you get close then disappears for the rest of the day. At night you either have him begging for you to stop edging him, or you’re begging him to fuck you.

Mattheo fucks you before every game, claims it brings him luck. If he loses, you’re being fucked all night.

631 notes · View notes

siriusblackloml · 7 months

Text

Day 7 - Tom Riddle (Kinktober 2023)

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1700+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: swearing, smacking, derogatory terms, oral sex, TOM BEING VERY, VERY TOXIC. LIKE MAD TOXIC BRUH. MDNI (18+)

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist┊Day 8

Never in a million years would you ever intentionally try to do something that would piss off your boyfriend. That is the very last thing you would want to do. Therefore, it should be understood right off the bat that you never, ever meant to upset Tom today. Simply put, you made a small mistake.

Sure, a part of you knew that you were breaking the rules, but it was only meant to be brief. The contract that Tom had you followed in order to keep a clean, pristine relationship between the two of you included many…rules. These rules varied among different topics and areas of intimacy. However, one of the biggest rules that Tom insisted that you followed at all times was that you could never be seen with boys by yourself. It didn’t matter if they were your friend for a few days or even years; he was your boyfriend, therefore he was much more important.

Tom knew that he couldn’t completely separate you from boys at this school, there were literally everywhere you went. However, he figured it looked better if you were only around boys other than himself if you were in a large group with other girls. He has always been such a firm believer that if you were to be seen hanging around boys by yourself that it looks bad on your relationship. It would appear to the remaining students of Hogwarts that you had a lingering eye. Or, in his own words, it would make you look like a whore.

You didn’t want that, of course. But this simple little mistake you made today was never meant to blow up into something so big. You were innocently studying at the library, or at least had been for some time before you realized you were growing hungry. As you were just about to exit the library, a classmate stopped you in the middle of your walk. A boy, whose name you weren’t quite sure you could place, asked you, “Hey, Y/N! Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but do you remember how many scrolls long this paper has to be? I can’t remember for the life of me.”

In an instant you stop in your tracks at the question. Turning your head towards the voice, you share a soft smile and respond in a cheerful voice, “Yeah! It’s supposed to be three scrolls long. Good luck with that.”

The boy says, “Thanks, you too! I really can’t stand these papers. They’re such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

This should have been your cue to leave. Then again, you’d been at the library for what felt like hours now. You deserved a quick interaction, and how likely would it be that Tom would be coming in here anytime soon anyway? You take a step towards your classmate and chime in agreement, “Yeah, I totally agree. I have so much trouble trying to get to three scrolls, and I know it’s going to be even worse later in the year when we start getting assigned five scrolls minimum.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine though. You always do so well on assignments.” He tells you.

In a matter of seconds, your cheeks are tinted pink from the compliment. You appreciate the boost of confidence. Maybe it was dumb that you were so easily flattered by a boy that was clearly not your significant other, however you didn’t seem to care. You liked that he saw you for your talents within the classroom and made sure to tell him such. “Thanks! I really appreciate that.”

“Y/N.” A familiar voice echoes in the library.

Your heart drops instantly. It was as though the air around you was sucked out of your lungs from the sound of your boyfriend catching sight of you breaking the rule. You knew damn well you were in for a punishment later that night, there was no doubt about that. It was unfortunate that he was going to treat you like you had cheated on him when clearly you hadn’t…it was even more unfortunate that the thought of Tom’s cruel, toxic behavior made your panties wet beyond belief.

Later that night, you’re glued to the floor by your knees. Tom’s trousers were already pulled down while his girth was shoved down your throat. Eyes watery, spit pooling from your mouth, you groan around his length as he pummels himself into your wet cavern over and over again. You moan around Tom, “Hmpf! Ah, T-Tom!”

It was perverted the way Tom’s face alters so proudly to see you flail around from the strength of his thrusts. Your hands were holding onto his thighs like it was a lifesaver from the massive blows to your throat. The sensation of your warm tongue licking at his cock makes him groan. Without missing a beat, Tom continues thrusting into your mouth. “Such a dirty girl. You deserve this, Y/N. You deserve to be used after today. Need to make you feel like the whore you are.”

Your hearts rapidly racing like crazy. Despite the disgusting words that spewed from Tom’s lips, you continued to moan around him and attacked his cock with quick motions of your tongue. You were enjoying every moment of this, though. While he could be overbearing sometimes, there was nothing about this situation that was scaring you. If anything, it only turned you on even more.

Your eyes meet Tom’s as you look up at him through wet eyelashes. His grin flickers into something more sinister as he continues to watch you cry over the force of his length. “Such a whore. You can’t even stop yourself for one second, you need the attention of some boy in the library. Wonder what he would think if he saw you now. Choking on my cock like some dumb slut.”

Suddenly, Tom has pulled out his length from your mouth. He smacks the tip against your cheek a few times as a reminder that you are still beneath him, that you’ll always be beneath his power; but that was fine by you. You loved the way he treats you even if it is degrading. You knew you deserved this. Because after all, you’re a dirty whore for sitting alone with a boy that wasn’t your boyfriend.

Coughing from the burning sensation in the back of your throat, you look up at your boyfriend and tell him, “I-I’m sorry, Tom. I really didn’t mean-”

“Get on the bed, now. Hands and knees.” He commands you in a dark voice.

Not wasting another second, you strip off all clothing and get onto the bed without a second thought. The cool air of the bedroom hits your glistening cunt. In the midst of all the dirty talking and face-fucking, Tom had managed to find a way to make you soaked wet. You feel his hands trail along your bare bottom. Goosebumps run up and down your thighs. Tom seems to take note of this behavior and allows his fingers to dig deep into the plumpness of your legs. He squeezes the fat and gives it a quick jiggle, right before pulling his hand back to slap the flesh hard. You yelp out of pain, “Oh, fuck!”

“My naughty whore. You should be able to handle this, right? It’s what you deserve after today.” He says huskily, getting into position between your legs. He smacks your thighs once, twice, multiple times in a row. Your skin stings in pain, red and hot from the blows.

However, you loved every second of it. You know Tom loves it when you apologize, so you continue with your begging. “I’m sorry! I love you, Tom, I do. I only want you and your cock.”

At the mention of his girth, the boy instantly grabs the base of the member. He guides the head of his cock to spread your wet lips, barely grazing your clit. Your entire body shudders and you let out a soft moan. He tells you, “If you really do want me, you’ll have to prove it. Take me like a good girl.”

Looking back at Tom, you stare at him intently as you feel the tip of his member push past your lips and enter your wet hole. You comply immediately to his wants and push back against him so that he can enter you easier. As scary as he sounds, you know you two have a safe word that you could blurt out at any moment if you truly were terrified. Which you weren’t, and he knew this. Without prep, it burned like hell to feel Tom push himself inside you, but felt satisfying nonetheless. Your mouth is open wide as you let out a whine. He inserts himself all the way in, making you gasp loudly. “F-Fuck, Tom. F-Feels so good.”

“That’s fucking right.” He growls, hands finding their ways to your hips. He pulls out and slams inside you harshly, thrusting into your sweet pussy with enough force to make you fall forward onto the bed.

Face pressed against the mattress, you scream loudly. “Yes! YES! Fuck me, you feel so good! Such a big cock!”

You can feel your breasts rock back and forth violently from the intensity of his hips slapping against your bottom so harshly. You can feel his balls slapping against your ass as he continues to fuck you relentlessly. He hammers into your cunt with deep, long strokes and nearly laughs at how hard you squeeze him like a vice. “You’re so damn tight. Damn, I love fucking your pussy.”

You arch your back and can feel your ass ripple from the force of his thrusts. Not long after Tom pistons his cock in and out of your hole, you feel an orgasm rocket through your body and leave you a moaning mess. Juices leak out of you and onto his member, and the sight makes your boyfriend fall apart.

He pounds you into submission, groaning loudly as the knot in his stomach grows tighter and tighter. Tom spanks you with the emphasis of each word, telling you, “Take. My. Fucking. Cum.”

He pulls himself out of your leaking cunt, stroking his cock to spray his warm seed all over your thighs. You sigh blissfully at the feeling of his liquid covering your bottom. It was incredibly hot and made you smile wide. You turn your head to Tom, watching him grin at the artwork he left on your legs. You ask him, “Are we good now?”

He nods his head, wiping sweat from his brow and tells you, “Yes. You did well, honey.”

And that’s all you need to hear to be able to fall asleep happily later that night.

TAGLIST: @calmspencer, @baddiebbarbietngz, @slytherclaw1978, @serendipitous-fernweh, @pandanation24, @rachelreallyroars, @tinafuentes, @chvmpion-jack, @ethereallovr, @godknows-shetried, @waggoth, @ellieswhor3, @wildestdreamers-tv, @faefaes-world, @hahahafucku, @delusional-13s-blog

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #harry potter kinktober #kinktober siriusblackloml #tom riddle smut #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle

459 notes · View notes

slavicdelight · 5 months

Text

METANOIA

Pairing: Tom Riddle x f!reader

Summary: Metanoia - the journey of changing your mind, heart, self and way of life

Warnings: slightly ooc Tom, pureblood ideas, hits of murder

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

Tom Riddle was a name recognized by everyone at Hogwarts. The infamous Slytherin Head Boy commanded respect from every student and even from professors, thanks to the aura surrounding him. However, what most people didn't know, or perhaps didn't care to notice, was that there was something sinister lurking behind his captivating gaze and mannerisms.

His friend group, constantly present by his side, consisted of members from the most well-known pureblood families. Tom considered himself superior to them because he possessed the blood of the noble Salazar Slytherin. By the age of 19, he had already committed horrifying acts, such as opening the Chamber of Secrets during his 5th year, resulting in the death of Myrtle Warren. He also murdered his remaining family around the same time. Furthermore, he created Horcruxes in order to reach immortality, which was one of his goals and the initial step towards becoming the greatest dark wizard in history.

Tom was a skilled manipulator. He had the ability to hide his true emotions, always putting on a mask of politeness. In addition, he was brilliant and could be described as an over-achiever. Tom thoroughly planned everything and never allowed setbacks to hinder him. There was only one person who saw right through him - Dumbledore, the person Tom despised the most in the entire school.

Tonight, Tom was strolling through the hallways of Hogwarts, carrying out his patrols as a Head Boy. Although it was generally a mundane duty, it had its advantages. One of them was being out after curfew without anyone questioning it. The corridors were dimly lit, so Tom had to cast a spell to produce light to see clearly."Lumos." he muttered, before continuing on his way. It appeared to be another uneventful night, where nothing of particular interest occurred.

As he was heading back to the Slytherin dorms, someone bumped into him, causing both teenagers to fall to the ground. "I'm so sorry," said a girl who appeared to be about the same age as him, possibly a year younger. He was about to reprimand her for running into him and give her detention for breaking curfew, but then he looked at her and was instantly captivated by the most beautiful pair of eyes he had even seen. They were warm and welcoming, but what truly enthralled him was their enchanting violet color, which sparkled under the light emerging from his wand.

"I should've watched where I was going," continued the witch. He cleared his throat and gave her a cold stare, trying to hide his intrigue. "Why aren't you in your dorm? It's past curfew," Tom questioned the girl. Another surprising thing was that he had no idea who she was. He only noticed the Ravenclaw emblem on her robes, indicating that she was a member of the eagle house. The Slytherin prided himself on knowing almost everyone at school, from students to professors, yet he didn't know her. How could someone with such captivating eyes escape his attention? "Oh, right. I got caught up in the library and forgot about the curfew," she explained. "I'll go straight to bed." With that, she tried to pass him and walk away.

She wanted to end the interaction as quickly as possible, knowing that Tom Riddle was trouble. Despite his perfect student persona, she sensed a hidden darkness beneath the surface and wanted to avoid getting involved. "Now, now. I can't possibly let the witch with such incredible eyes leave without knowing her name, can I?" he asked, causing her to freeze. "I fail to see how my name is of any interest to you, Riddle. I would prefer you not knowing it and allowing me to go.”

Tom didn't expect his charm not to work, but he hid his surprise. He wondered if the girl was brave or stupid, perhaps both. She didn't know that she piqued his interest, and that was something dangerous. "It hardly seems fair that you know me, but I don't know you, don't you think?" He took a step closer to her but didn't predict what she would do next. "No, I don't," she said, while taking a step back and bolting in another direction. The Head Boy simply stood there and let her get away. 'Let her run,' he thought. 'I shall find her anyway.' And with that, he continued on his way to the dorms.

The next morning, during breakfast, he scanned the Great Hall in search of her. Tom tried to be discreet, but his best friend, Abraxas Malfoy, noticed. Abraxas was his most reliable follower, someone Tom could trust. "What are you looking for, Riddle?" he asked. The boy with raven hair turned to glare at him and said, "It's none of your business, Malfoy." He was becoming increasingly frustrated that the witch from the previous night was nowhere to be found.

Finally, the girl made her entrance, walking into the hall accompanied by another girl. They both headed towards the Ravenclaw's table and took a seat. He couldn't help but gaze at her. It was as if she sensed his gaze, as she turned and looked directly into his eyes. Their staring contest continued until Headmaster Dippet began greeting students and wishing them a good day.

After finishing his meal, Tom made his way to the Potions classroom, his first subject of the day. He enjoyed this class, despite Professor Slughorn being a bit overwhelming. Tom was the professor's favorite student, excelling in this class just as he did in every other. He was an exceptionally talented wizard.

It turned out he shared the class with the violet-eyed witch. He wondered why he hadn't noticed her before. He took his usual seat and waited for the Ravenclaw student to enter, which didn't take long. She sat two rows ahead of him, accompanied by a boy he recognized as the Ravenclaw's seeker. Shortly after, Slughorn entered and the lesson began. Today, they had to brew an advanced potion called the Elixir to Induce Euphoria in pairs. As always, Tom was the first to finish his potion, with the help of his partner, Rosier. The potions professor, impressed with their work, allowed them to leave early. Tom decided to wait outside the classroom to talk to the girl who had sparked his interest and learn more about her.

As the girl walked out, he quickly grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the abandoned broom closet across the hall. She protested, but wasn't strong enough to break free from his grasp. Tom pushed her inside and blocked the entrance.

"Hello again," he said, noticing the anger on the girl's face. "What do you think you're doing? Let me go!" she yelled, attempting to escape from the classroom.

"No, I don't think I will," Tom replied. "What do you want, Riddle?" she questioned, gritting her teeth. Her captivating eyes locked with his, and he could swear they had the power to melt a man. But he was no ordinary man, and he wouldn't allow that to defeat him. "I already told you what I want," he started, before she interrupted, "and I already told you that you won't have that." The girl had some nerve, he had to give her that. "Listen, darling, either you tell me your name yourself or I'll find out on my own. But I would prefer to hear it from your beautiful lips.”

"And what?" she spat, her eyes narrowing with a mix of defiance and fear. "Will you force it out of me?" If looks could kill, he would already be six feet under. Tom's lips curled into a malicious smirk as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You'll soon discover that I can be very..." He paused, relishing in the anticipation he was building. "...persuasive." The words hung in the air, sending a shiver down her spine. As he observed her reaction, he couldn't help but notice the subtle trembling of her breath, a sign that his presence and words were affecting her.

“If I tell you my name, would you stop pestering me about it?” she asked not looking into his eyes. Tom grabbed her chin and forced her head up, just enough for him to see her eyes. The Slytherin just nodded and took a step back. “Fine. My name is Y/N” she finally answered and moved past him, heading straight for the door. As Y/N was walking away she heard him say “Such a beautiful name, for someone with such extraodrinary eyes.”

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine as she left the broom closet, the encounter with Tom Riddle leaving her unsettled. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had just opened a door to a world of complications. Her day continued with classes, but her mind kept wandering back to the mysterious encounter with the enigmatic Head Boy.

Days turned into weeks, and Tom's fascination with Y/N only deepened. He started to make subtle attempts to engage her in conversation during Potions class or whenever their paths crossed in the hallways. Y/N, however, remained guarded, careful not to reveal too much about herself. She sensed danger around Tom, but there was also a part of her that felt an inexplicable connection, an undeniable intrigue that kept her from avoiding him completely. She didn’t like it, preferring to stay away from the drama that would undeniably follow her once she got too involved with the boy.

As time passed, Tom's pursuit became more relentless. He would show up unexpectedly in places where Y/N was, asking about her interests, her family, and her background. Y/N, althrough in the beginning sheltered and slightly annoyed, soon found herself drawn into conversations that danced on the edge of forbidden topics, and Tom, turn, discovered that there was more to Y/N than met the eye.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Tom found Y/N sitting by the Black Lake,reading a book . He approached her cautiously, and for the first time, his demeanor seemed less calculated, more genuine."You're a puzzle, Y/N," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I can't quite figure you out." Y/N turned to look at him, her violet eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. "Maybe some puzzles are meant to remain unsolved," she replied cryptically. Tom chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Maybe so, yet here we are. Both of us puzzling each other. But I do enjoy the challenge." he admitted. "And you, my dear, are the most intriguing challenge I've found at Hogwarts so far."

As the weeks turned into months, their interactions became more complex. Y/N found herself reluctantly drawn to Tom's charisma and intelligence, while Tom, discovered a more vulnerable side of himself. He couldn't quite understand why Y/N had such an effect on him, but he was determined to find out.

Their dynamic took a turn one evening in the Hogwarts library. Tom, managed to convince Y/N to join him in exploring the restricted section. As they looked through ancient tomes and hidden spells, Y/N couldn't ignore the growing tension between them. In the quiet space of the library, Tom leaned in, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "There's something about you, Y/N," he murmured, his breath sending shivers across her skin. "Something that both intrigues and unsettles me." Y/N looked at him curiously and asked “What is so unsettling about me?”. Tom only looked at her and leaning closer said “You’re making me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

As they continued their meetings, the lines between friend and enemy slowly became blurred. Tom’s past and his ambitions started to rub off on her, making her question everything. But she wasn’t weak and wanted to stay true to the right side. She wasn’t about to go down the same path as the Slytherin boy, and wanted to make him see that it was wrong. Little did she know that the choices made in the upcoming months would shape the destiny of the wizarding world.

As the weeks unfolded, Y/N found herself in a dangerous position. The more time she spent with Tom Riddle, the clearer it became that he was wavering on the edge of darkness. His thirst for power, his relentless pursuit of immortality, and the shadows of his past painted a grim picture. Yet, among all this darkness, Y/N saw moments of vulnerability, moments where the mask slipped, revealing a fractured soul. Y/N couldn't ignore the pull she felt toward Tom, a pull that went beyond fascination. Beneath his charming facade, she noticed loneliness that mirrored her own.

One evening, as snowflakes danced outside the castle windows, Y/N found Tom alone in the library. The fire cast a glow on his face, making him appear more handsome than ever. Y/N hesitated but she knew she had to ask the next question. "Tom," she began softly, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you." He looked up, his piercing gaze meeting hers. "Ask away, Y/N."

"Why are you so afraid of letting people in?" she inquired, her voice gentle but filled with genuine curiosity. Tom's eyes moved towards her, she could see suffering behind them. He took a deep breath before replying to her."People often betray and are fake in order to get what they want from you. After they get it, they leave and never come back.” Y/N took a step closer, closing the distance between them. "But it's also lonely, isn't it? To carry the weight of responsibilities on your shoulders without anyone to share it with."

Tom's mask wavered, revealing the boy beneath the facade. "Loneliness is a small price to pay for greatness," he stated, but a small amount of doubt could be seen in his eyes. "Maybe attaining greatness isn’t meant to be done alone." Y/N suggested. "Maybe it's in the connections we make, the people we let in"

In the days that followed, Y/N continued to challenge Tom's perspective. She introduced him to the joy of laughter, the warmth of genuine friendships, and the beauty of simple moments. As the walls around his heart slowly crumbled, Y/N became a beacon of light in his world, a reminder that there was more to life than power and darkness.

One evening, beneath the sky covered in stars, Y/N and Tom found themselves strolling through the Hogwarts grounds. Tom, usually composed, seemed uncertain, as if something was bothering him. "You don't have to be alone, Tom," Y/N whispered, her words carrying the weight of sincerity. "There's goodness in you, which you only have to choose." For the first time, Tom Riddle looked genuinely conflicted. The darkness within him warred with the flickers of light that Y/N had ignited. He was standing on the crossroads where the choices made would shape the future.

In the quiet of the night, Y/N extended her hand, a silent invitation to choose a different path. Tom hesitated, his gaze locking onto hers. And in that moment, the boy who had been consumed by shadows took a small step toward the light, changing the course of history forever. The journey towards redemption would be a long one, but with Y/N by his side, Tom Riddle was confident in succeeding. He realized that greatness could be found not in the pursuit of power but in the capacity to love and be loved.

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

A/N: let me introduce you to my first ever Tom Riddle imagine. The obsession I have with this man is unhealthy. Anyway let me know if you enjoyed it. Thank you for all the support ♡

322 notes · View notes