j0s3f1n3

[j0s3f1n3]

SOMETHING TO BE OWNED // t. riddle

RATING: PG-13 / 3.1K WORDS

Tom Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After watching your boyfriend, Abraxas Malfoy, mistreat you for months. Tom decides to explain what love should be. (Song fic)

+ WARNINGS - Sensualilty, Tom is persistent in talking to you, crying, Abraxas is an asshole, implication that Abraxas may have hit reader at some point, language, not fully proofread (let me know if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Figure You Out - Voila

---

The way he looked at you sickened Tom. 

His eyes would curl over you like a rotting parasitic plant, climbing up your body and wrapping around your chest and throat, suffocating you from the outside in. Your eyes would flicker nervously from his predatory gaze to the floor more times than he could count, trying to draw his attention away from you. 

Tom couldn’t fathom what about Abraxas Malfoy was attracting you. The only thing that made an ounce of sense was his family’s money. That was it, though. He was loud, obnoxiously prideful, annoyingly materialistic, and anything but handsome. Still, though, you stayed with him. Always forcing your hand within his, swallowing bile down your throat when he leaned in for a too-wet kiss, concealing a shudder when he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. 

Tom didn’t get it. Why stay with him?

Those questions circulated his mind as his group of peers sat around the rounded table positioned in the far corner of the Slytherin common room. They passed jokes around noisily. Every time Abraxas would laugh especially hard, he would slap a gaunt, white hand on the table, and you would jump at the motion. Tom couldn’t help but feel his jaw clench at the notion of you being so jumpy around him. What reason would you have to act this way around him unless he was treating you wrongly?

“Oh, so, speaking of Potions class,” Abraxas started, guffawing unattractively. “Last week, we had to make some kind of…er…I can’t even remember. It was some kind of melting brew we were going to test on whatever the fuck, and—”

“Abraxas?” you piped up suddenly. Your voice was soft like a bell tingling in the distance beneath stone floors. Tom’s expression perked up as you leaned forward slightly from your cramped space between the arm of the sofa and Abraxas. 

The blond paused and turned back to look at you. His hands splayed out in a gesture as if to ask what was wrong, though he seemed annoyed. Tom’s knuckles clenched. 

“What?” Abraxas demanded. 

“You…,” you chuckled nervously, eyes glancing down to your twiddling fingers as the rest of the group stared you down. “Can you not…tell that story? It’s just…It’s embarrassing.”

He paused for a minute, as if considering your words, before shrugging his shoulders. “No, it’s okay, babe. It’s not embarrassing. They won’t laugh.” He turned back to the rest of the group. “You guys won’t laugh, right?”

Murmurs of dismissive agreement went around the group, but Tom remained silent, his eyes staying on yours. Your cheeks flushed wildly as you looked back down at your lap. Whatever this story he was about to tell was, you clearly didn’t want it spoken aloud. Tom’s lips parted to speak. 

“Anyways, so we were partnered for making this potion, right? And there was some kind of herb that you had to prepare very specifically before dropping it in. This was totally my fault. I was reading the instructions, and she was doing the work, which is typically what we do in projects like this—we just work well like that, you know? So, I was reading the preparation for the herb and she was doing it, and then I realized a second too late that I missed one super important thing about the prep, and, boom! This fucking thing blows up in her face!”

He’s laughing aloud—spit flying about, hand slapping roughly on the table in front of him. The rest of the boys around the table burst out in noisy fits of giggles. Tom remained silent. 

His eyes found you. The blush on your cheeks had made its way up to the tips of your ears, and glistening sparks of tears welled in your eyes. Your lips parted slightly as you tried to hold back the impending sobs.

“It makes the loudest fucking sound! The professor’s looking, and everyone else is looking over. I’m cracking up, of course. Dude, her face is straight black from the soot, and the herb is just puffing in her hands—”

Tom watched as you sniffled once and easily slipped out of your space on the couch, easing your way silently to the common room bathrooms with a hand pressed to your nose. Tom’s hand clenched beneath the weight of his anger.

“And, Merlin, I’m dying laughing and she—”

“Abraxas!” Tom shouted suddenly. “Shut the fuck up for once in your goddamn life!”

He jumped to his feet and made his way after your retreating figure, already concealed by the shadows cast by the narrow hallway. He didn’t bother to linger long enough to see the young Malfoy’s reaction to his outburst. He was only focused on one thing. 

Perhaps he was out of his league. Perhaps he had no business trying to talk to you, to check if you were okay, to watch you in the ways he did. Perhaps you wanted nothing to do with him. But, fuck, he knew there was no way you could stay with Abraxas. He wouldn’t be good for you either; he knew that. But he couldn’t stand to see that stupid boy mistreat you any longer. He had to say something. 

He weaved through the hallway leading to the single bathrooms, where he could have sworn he’d heard you crying more than once. 

He’d watched you for months—the cringing, the choked sobs, the concealed anger. He’d watched the way Abraxas treated you as though you were nothing more than an accessory. You weren’t a beautiful woman, desperate to be loved and held and worshiped. You were nothing to him. You were a status symbol, something to hang his money and title on and watch as you fell behind. It made Tom feel ill.

He didn’t have anything to give you, anything to show you. His possessions were resigned to the things he could fit into the little leather trunk beneath his dormitory bed. He didn’t know love—familial or otherwise. He didn’t know how to touch, how to worship, how to care properly. But he did know how to protect, how to defend, how to fight. Especially when concerning something he cared about. He couldn’t care well, but he couldn’t deny the feelings he felt toward you. You were something he couldn’t explain. But an explanation had never been his concern. Only your well-being had.

He stopped in front of the girls’ lavatory, knuckles lingering inches away from the door’s wooden surface, weighing out his options. 

He could turn away from this—not get involved, take an early night in, study a bit extra before tomorrow morning, and pretend like nothing happened. Or, he could knock. He could ask if you were alright, show you what it was like to be properly loved in his own delusional portrayal of it. He hadn’t felt desire like this in a long time. In fact, he rarely felt desire, but the feeling that circulated his body when he thought of you, saw you, breathed you in, could only be described as such. The closest thing he could find to describing the way he felt about you was possession. You were an article of his belongings that he could not lose, could not imagine losing.

But you weren’t a belonging. You weren’t a possession. You weren’t something to be held down. 

He knocked. 

He heard a distant sniffle and a small voice. “Just a minute.”

“It’s…er, Tom…Riddle,” he said, unsure. He cleared his throat, shrugging a bit of confidence back into his body. 

“Tom?” 

The door clicked and slowly slid open, revealing your swollen lips and tear-streaked cheeks. You looked positively ethereal. He cleared his throat once more. 

“Is something wrong?” you asked. “Just tell Abraxas I’ll be out in—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I was coming to check on you, to see if you were alright. I’m not sure what he’s doing.”

You looked shocked. “Oh, well, I’m alright, Tom. Thanks, though.”

Just as you began to push the door back closed, he spoke up once more, placing a gentle but firm hand on the door. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk.”

“About what?” you asked suspiciously, fingers twitching anxiously against the door. 

Tom refrained from rolling his eyes at himself. Of course, you’d be unsure why this quiet friend of your boyfriend’s wanted to speak with you. Tom had barely said two words to you the entirety of the time he’d known you. There would be no reason for him to speak with you, if not to just benefit Abraxas. 

“About Malfoy,” he said, clenching his jaw around the name in disgust.

“Why?” you asked, eyes flickering around.

“Allow me a few words, please?” he said, knuckles rolling against the door where he prevented it from closing. You seemed to be questioning his being here. It seemed that his concern that you’d mistake this for him trying to help Abraxas out was weighing on your mind. 

“I’m not here because of him,” Tom explained. “It’s about you.”

“Okay,” you finally breathed. “We can go to my room if you’d like.”

“Sure,” he nodded, once again painfully unsure. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He just wanted you to know what you were worth, what you meant to people other than your asshole boyfriend. 

He held a hand out, asking silently for your will to go with him, to trust him with your whole being, just for a few seconds. Hesitantly, you placed your smaller hand into his and sucked in a breath as the two of you whipped upwards in a swirl of magic. He controlled the Disapparation, but you imagined your dormitory, if only to help angle the route. Whether or not you were aware he was a Legilimens didn’t matter to him. He tried not to pry into your mind too much. Still, for just a second, he glimpsed into your quiet brain to see your destination. 

Then both of your pairs of feet touched cold, stone ground, surrounded by endless quiet and darkness. You whispered a quiet spell, and Tom’s attention was snagged by the fireplace in the corner as it roared to life, bringing with it easy warmth and ambient noise. 

You let out a sigh and, with your arms crossed tightly over your shuddering body, turned back to him. “Alright, Tom, what is it?”

“I think you should leave Malfoy,” he said abruptly, not giving himself any time to question if this was a good idea any further. 

Your lips parted in unmistakable disbelief. A nervous chuckle quickly spilled from your mouth before you were able to stop it. 

“What…?”

“I don’t understand what you could possibly see in him,” Tom said, shaking his head frustratedly. He took a step closer to you. “Please, understand what I see from my point of view.” 

You shuffled your feet nervously, trading your weight back and forth between each one. Your eyes flickered around just as they always did when Abraxas was using you as a symbolic punching bag. Tom flinched at that. He didn’t want you to be nervous around him. 

“Please,” he said. “Don’t be nervous. I don’t want you to be frightened of me.”

He took another step closer, drawing your eyes back to him. You couldn’t believe the words leaving this infamous Slytherin king’s mouth.

“That’s silly, Tom,” you scoffed. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to force your eyes back to his no matter which way your head turned. He didn’t want to upset you further, but you needed to see your worth. He wouldn’t give up until you did. 

“That’s like your whole thing,” you chuckled, your smile genuine for a moment. “Everyone’s scared of Tom Riddle. Even Abraxas.”

“Is that so?” he asked, smirking ever so slightly. It was satisfying to him that such a bighead moneybag was frightened of him. With all of the ego and pride and wealth that Abraxas boasted every single day, it seemed impossible that he’d be willing to bow down to anyone. Except for Tom, it seemed. 

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “He used to prattle on about how annoyingly perfect you were—your grades, your reputation, your looks…” Your eyes flickered away.

“He said that?” Tom asked, holding back a laugh.

“Yes, he’s said those things multiple times,” you sighed. “He’s so pathetic, I—oh, sorry. I know he’s your friend.”

“Please, that boy is not my friend. Especially not after I’ve witnessed him treat you the way he does.”

“Why does that even matter to you?” you scoffed, refraining from rolling your eyes at his sudden interest in you. For Merlin’s sake, he hadn’t even spoken with you for more than a few seconds at a time before this. 

“Because you…” His options for a response rapidly danced in his head. He didn’t want to screw this up. Anything he said right now could completely throw this whole thing off the rails, and that is the last thing he wanted. “You deserve better. Someone better.”

“What, like you?” you laughed meanly, rolling your eyes. “I should’ve known that this was just a ploy to fuck with your friend’s head. Find a soft spot in the relationship, wiggle your way in, and then show me off, right? That’s how this was going to go.”

“No, that wasn’t my intention at all,” Tom responded. You seemed shocked, like you genuinely couldn’t imagine his desires were anything but cruel and selfish. “All I wanted was to check on you and to give my opinion on the way Abraxas treats you. You truly don’t deserve it.”

“And what do I deserve, Tom? Since you know me so well.” You were getting angry. He could tell. He didn’t know what to do to turn this conversation back around, so he decided to give his honest thoughts and hope for the best. If you never wanted to talk to him again after this, at least he’d hopefully been able to sway you away from Abraxas. 

“Someone…loving. Someone to know the way you like to be held, like to be talked to, like to be touched as if it were their own desires. Someone who puts your needs before theirs and then some…” Tom took another step toward you. He was now only a foot from you. He could hear your stifled breathing, could hear the sound of your fingernails picking nervously along the side of your fingers. 

Though your nervousness had kept you from looking into Abraxas’ eyes as often as you could, the kind of anxiety you felt around Tom was not the same. This kind made it impossible to tear your eyes away from his. His lips parted gently as one of his hands raised between the two of you. 

“What else?” you murmured, swallowing thickly, the motion not being lost on Tom’s ever-watchful eye. 

His hand rose even more, slowly coming forward just enough to press a slow, cold fingertip to your hairline. He eased a strand of hair away from your face, tracing its length all the way down to where it met behind your ear. You shuddered beneath his gaze and touch. 

“He wants you to be something you’re not,” he whispered. You could feel his breath on your face. “You’re not silent, you’re not dumb, you’re not something to be owned.”

Your chest began to move quicker, your breaths shortening and intensifying all at the same time. Tom’s eyes flickered down to where your uniform shirt parted at the third button, only slightly teasing the part of your cleavage and the scattered beauty marks that resided there. If he stepped an inch closer, he’d be able to glimpse your bra. 

“You don’t like his music, you don’t like his friends, you don’t like anything about him,” he continued. “The only good thing about him is his money, and I can get you that.”

Your lips trembled. The hand that had pushed the hair out of your face rose once more. His thumb traced across your bottom lip with a featherlight touch, so gentle that you weren’t sure you’d even know it was there if you couldn’t see it. His other hand selected your hand and brought it up between the two of you.

“You need love—gentle and clawing and all-encompassing. Don't you want to be loved? To be satisfied? He cannot give you that. Let me give it to you.” He placed his lips to the palm of your hand, dark eyes never leaving yours.

The tiniest gasp permeated the air between the two of you as he knocked out of the haze you set across his body. He’d walked you up against the post of your bed and had trapped your body against it, knee separating your thighs, lips so close they brushed against yours with every move.

“Fuck,” he whispered, slowly pulling away from you. You let out a deep breath as your body seemed to decompress. “I’m sorry.” His voice was nothing more than a murmur. 

“It’s okay,” you responded. “Would you?”

Tom’s eyes flicked back over to you. “What?”

“You asked me to let you give it to me, that love you described…,” you said, voice suddenly a bit more confident than it had been. “Would you give it to me?”

“I can’t love you right,” Tom breathed. “But I could love you in the way I know how—with undying, all-consuming obsession.”

You didn’t say anything. Just chewed your lip nervously, though you seemed to have made up your mind.

---

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[j0s3f1n3]

Reblog if you write fanfic and would be totally down with your followers coming into you askbox and talking to you about your fic

[j0s3f1n3]

me, reading my own incomplete writing : *gasp* and then what happened?

[j0s3f1n3]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵

Sebastian x f!reader

Count word: 252

ALL CHRACTER ARE 18 OR OLDER !

TW: Smut, oral f!recieving, slight somno ?, MDNI

Notes: I was so busy because of my birthday last week i almost forgot i had this text in progress. Fun fact, i first started with Tom in mind but it's better with Seb so here you go !

Sebastian Sallow always makes sure everything is perfect on your birthday, especially the moment you wake up. So it’s no surprise to find him between your legs, kissing your thighs the moment you stir. You always had a small fantasy of being woken up by your boyfriend this way and today he did.

Sebastian Sallow will make sure your birthday’s the best you can possibly have. It was your first with him and everything would be perfect in every way. And it starts with him between your legs, underneath the cover of your bed.

It’s not long before he puts aside your panties so he could access your already dripping cunt. The vision of him like this, had made you soaked in seconds. 

Today was your day and he wasn’t planning on forgetting it, his tongue tracing between your folds, savoring your arousal. Soon after, moans escaped your mouth the more he pleasured you. 

He hummed at your taste, the vibration against your clit making you jolt with pleasure. You won’t last long and you both knew it. Sebastian knew. The way you started whimpering and how you clenched around his two fingers already buried inside you.

And when the tension finally broke, you came undone. His name falling from your parted lips. Your back arched. You were beautiful, thought Sebastian. He worked you through it, eyes locked on yours. Mesmerised. Slowly, you came down from your high to meet his warm brown eyes. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”

-----------------------------------------

All rights reserved. This is an original piece by ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ. Divide vu r from @strangergraphics •°. *࿐

[j0s3f1n3]

Where the Game Ends

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Word Count: ~4.3k

Summary: You stayed up too late replaying Hogwarts Legacy. Just one more run. One more goodbye to the boy with too much to handle and no one left in his corner. You hit 100% completion.

Everything done. Everything perfect.

And then you fell asleep.

But you wake up in the Undercroft.

Sebastian Sallow-real, alive, and seconds from hexing you-is standing over you with his wand drawn. The story hasn't ended. It's still happening. But now, you're inside it. No wand. No plan. No way back. And nothing to explain your existence.

Content & Trigger Warnings (18+): Explicit sexual content (NSFW), raw intimacy, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, light pain kink, overstimulation, time-slip/self-insert themes, consent emphasized but emotionally charged.

A/N: This is a standalone one-shot. Emotional development would unfold more gradually in a full-length fic.

This is part of a fanfiction concept that may eventually become a full-length book-but for now, I just wanted to explore it as a single, self-contained scene.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

You set the controller down and sigh. The cutscene plays out—same as always. You’ve seen it five times now. OWLs complete. House Cup secured. This time, you even hit 100%. Every side quest, every hidden chest, every Merlin Trial. It’s all finished. Finally.

And still, something’s missing.

Sebastian Sallow.

He should be here. He deserves to be standing with everyone else, part of the celebration. But for whatever reason, he never is. You never sent him to Azkaban—you couldn’t. No matter how many times you replay the game, you always choose to let him go.

The credits begin to roll, and your eyes are already heavy. It’s late—past 3 a.m.—and you’ve been playing for hours. The soft music wraps around you, familiar and final. You sink back into your blankets, eyes slipping shut, heartbeat slowing.

And then… you drift off.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

You wake slowly.

Your head feels heavy, like you’ve been asleep for years. For a second, you assume you’re still in bed—maybe you passed out with the TV on again. But you smell something different, something heavy: dust. Musty air. A weird hum beneath it all.

You blink.

You’re not at home.

You’re lying on stone flooring, the surface cool beneath your bare thighs. Torch light flickers across the walls. Boxes are scattered around the room. You recognize the architecture immediately—the Undercroft. From the game.

What the hell kind of dream is this?

You slowly sit up and glance down at yourself. You’re still in the clothes you fell asleep in: your oversized frog-print T-shirt and a pair of black underwear. Your cow slippers—lopsided and slightly scuffed—are still somehow on your feet. The sight of them against the stone is so ridiculous it almost makes you laugh.

“On your feet. Now.”

Your stomach drops as you recognize the voice.

Sebastian.

He stands just ahead, half-obscured by the shadows curling around the Undercroft’s columns. His wand is raised—aimed directly at you—and there’s no trace of the familiar smirk you’ve seen a hundred times in cutscenes. He’s taller in person. Broader. Tousled brown hair falls just above his brow. His robes hang open, his vest wrinkled, tie loose, and collar undone like he dressed in a hurry.

His face is freckled—faint, scattered across his nose and cheekbones, especially vivid in the flickering light. And his brown eyes pin you in place with suspicion.

He looks real. He feels real.

And he is seconds away from hexing you.

His gaze drops.

“That’s… quite the outfit to wear sneaking into a place like this.”

You follow his stare and freeze.

He looks completely floored. Not just confused—stunned. Like he’s never seen so much bare leg in his life and can’t decide if you’re cursed or criminal.

This has to be a dream.

But the cold is real. The silence is too loud. The feeling of his gaze on your skin makes you hyper-aware of every breath you take. And the way he’s watching you feels far too precise to be imagined.

You scramble to your feet and throw your hands up in surrender.

“I—I don’t know how I got here,” you say quickly. “My name is Y/N. I woke up here!”

“How did you find this place?”

“I told you—I don’t know!”

“Liar,” his voice snaps. “Try again.”

“I was in my room!” you blurt. “It was late. I fell asleep and then—I woke up here. I was playing a game!”

“A game?” His eyes narrow. There’s a flicker of disbelief. The wand stays up. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Not really,” you say, lifting your hands higher. “But it was worth a shot.”

You shift your weight, and glance around the room—searching for something to anchor you. “I really can’t tell if I’m dreaming or not.”

Sebastian moves suddenly—just one quick step forward, wand lifting higher, and the movement is so real, so close, that you flinch.

“Sebastian!” The name leaves your mouth instinctively.

He freezes.

“You know my name?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I know you because of the game. I know this place is called the Undercroft. I know your best friend—Ominis Gaunt—was the one who found it first.”

He doesn’t move, but something shifts in his expression. Something unsettled.

“Impossible,” he says tightly. “Tell me who you are.”

“Look,” you say quietly. “I’m from the year 2025. This place—Hogwarts, this world—it’s not supposed to be real where I’m from. It’s fictional. It’s… a story.”

He stares at you like you’ve gone mad.

“It’s a game,” you continue. “You’re in it. I played it. I watched your story unfold through a character with ancient magic.”

“Explain,” he says, voice barely audible. But the wand stays up. The tension doesn’t leave the room.

So, you try.

You tell him about screens, about controllers, about pixels and code and decision-based dialogue trees. You try to explain what a video game is, what Hogwarts Legacy is, how you explored every part of this world—from the Highlands to Hogsmeade—and how he was always your favorite part of it.

The whole time, he says nothing.

But his grip on the wand loosens. Just a little.

“Ancient magic…” he hums after you finish explaining. His tone is thoughtful, but there’s something brittle under it. “You’re talking about Milton Shagworthy.”

You blink. “Sorry—what?”

“Milton Shagworthy,” he repeats, completely serious. “He’s the new fifth-year. Helped me with the Scriptorium. With Anne. All of it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Milton Shagworthy? Who—who named their character that?”

He shrugs, unfazed. “I don’t know. But that’s who you just described.”

You’re still laughing. “You’re telling me someone made a custom character, named him Milton Shagworthy, and played through your life like it’s a joke—and you’re just fine with that?”

He raises a brow. “I’m not fine with it, I’m just telling you what’s real. Apparently.”

“And I’m telling you… it was a game. You were in it. That story? It’s something we play. Make choices in. Milton Shagworthy is the result of someone’s really unfortunate imagination.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

“Then you know what I did.”

“I do,” you whisper.

He doesn’t look at you, but you see it—how his shoulders tighten, how his grip on the wand slackens just slightly. Like something cracked open inside him and hasn’t been sealed since.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean—”

“You already did.”

It’s not harsh. Just… hollow.

You hesitate, then take a cautious step forward.

“Let me help you.”

That gets a reaction. He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Help me? How could you help me?”

You meet his gaze and hold it.

“Because I’ve seen what comes next. In the game, your story ends—or fades into the background—but here? It’s still happening. You’re still in it. And maybe that means I’m not just here by accident. Maybe I’m here to help you get through it.”

He doesn’t respond. Just watches you for a moment—long enough to make your heart stutter. His wand lowers an inch, then two, until it’s finally at his side.

That alone feels like a truce.

He sighs, like he’s weighing his options. Then, without a word, he steps back and gestures—barely—with a tilt of his head.

You settle onto one of the wooden boxes, the edge creaking softly beneath you. He doesn’t sit, but he doesn’t stop you either. You’re not close, but you’re not far anymore.

“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence. “You said you were playing the game before you ended up here?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone can play it?”

You nod. “Pretty much.”

“And it just… ends like that? My story never finishes?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Not really. You just kind of disappear. It’s vague. Unresolved.”

He frowns. “That’s absurd.”

“Yeah. A lot of people think so. Which is why they write about what they think happens after.”

“Write?” His brow furrows. “Stories?”

“They call it fan fiction.”

He repeats the words slowly, like he’s tasting them. “And what—these stories… are they good? Do they give me better endings?”

You smile faintly. “Most of them do. Some don’t. Some are completely unhinged.”

“What do you mean?”

You clear your throat. “Some people write… other things.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Other things?”

“…Intimate things.”

A beat.

“Intimate,” he echoes, cautious.

“They write about you. About you doing… things.”

He stares. “With who?”

You hesitate. “Usually themselves. Or their own characters.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

He looks at you. Really looks. “And have you…?”

You raise a hand quickly. “I plead the fifth.”

“The fifth what?”

“Never mind.”

He watches you for a long moment after that—like he’s still trying to figure you out, still deciding whether you’re real or just a cruel trick played by magic and grief.

You don’t say anything else. Neither does he.

But the silence that follows isn’t as tense as before. It settles between you, strange but not unwelcome.

Eventually, he sits beside you.

Not close at first. But then his shoulder brushes yours as he shifts, and when your thighs touch—briefly—he doesn’t move away.

He glances at you sideways, guarded. Searching.

“You really don’t belong here.”

“I know,” you say with a small shrug. “But I’m here.”

“You’d really help me?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

You meet his eyes without flinching. “Without a doubt.”

He looks away fast, jaw tight. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you understand.”

“I do.”

“You couldn’t possibly—” His voice catches. “You couldn’t understand what it was like for me.”

“I do.”

You hold his gaze as the words spill from you.

“Sebastian, I watched you suffer. Alone. I saw the pain. The desperation. The way you love your sister so fiercely it tore pieces out of you. I know.”

He’s breathing hard now. Not from anger. From something else.

“You never deserved to be alone,” you say gently. “And you’re not a monster. Not the one you think you are. You’re not.”

Your voice softens.

“How could you be a monster for trying to save the people you love?”

He goes still.

Then he moves so fast you don’t even register that his lips are on yours until you’re already kissing him back.

The kiss starts like a detonation—hot, fast, fueled by everything neither of you have said.

But then… it shifts.

Less rushed. Slower. Less like a spark and more like collapse. Like he’s been holding back for so long that now, with your mouth on his, he’s finally unraveling. His hand curls behind your neck, anchoring you in place. The other slips to your thigh, then higher. His palm burns through the fabric of your shirt like it’s nothing.

You breathe against his lips, voice trembling. “Sebastian—”

He doesn’t pull back. Just leans his forehead to yours, panting, brows furrowed like he’s trying not to fall apart.

“You say my name like it means something.”

“It does,” you whisper.

His eyes search yours. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says, voice cracking. “You. Here. Wanting me like this.”

“None of it makes any sense,” you say. “But it’s happening.”

You’re still sitting on the wooden crate, knees touching, breath tangled. Your shirt’s falling off one shoulder. His tie is hanging even looser and useless around his neck.

His gaze drops to your lips. “Tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you say, breathless. “But… I’ve never done this before.”

He freezes.

You can almost hear the gears grinding behind his eyes. “Never?”

“Not with anyone.”

His eyes flash—not with lust, but with concern. “And you want this to be with me?”

“I already chose you,” you say. “Every time I played. Every time I watched the story—I chose you.”

He stares at you like you’ve cracked him wide open.

Then he kisses you again. Harder.

And that’s when you feel it—his restraint breaking. His tongue slides along yours, and his fingers tighten on your thigh. He groans into your mouth when you whimper, when you dig your nails into his shirt.

He yanks his vest down his arms, then shrugs out of the shirt underneath, breath shaking. You run your hands over his firm, freckled chest. His body is hot beneath your palms, and you want more.

He pulls your shirt up—pauses just beneath your chest. “Can I see you?”

You nod, and raise your arms.

The shirt comes off.

Your breasts rise and fall with your breath. He’s looking at you like you’re something special—like if he blinks, he’ll miss it.

“Bloody hell,” he breathes. “You’re unreal.”

Your mouth tilts. “You can touch.”

He does.

One hand, gentle but desperate, cups your breast. His thumb brushes your nipple until it stiffens under his touch. You moan, and that’s all it takes—his mouth is on your throat, then your collarbone, then down to your chest. His tongue flicks over your nipple. He sucks, just once, and you move into him.

“I want you on your back,” he growls.

“Then take me there.”

He stands, grabs you by the hips, and lifts you off the crate like you weigh nothing. The stone floor is cold against your back, but the heat from his body makes up for it. He kneels between your legs, eyes drinking you in.

You reach for his belt. “Take this off.”

He unbuckles it fast, shoving his trousers down to his thighs. His cock presses against the fabric of his boxers—thick, long, hard, and already leaking.

But he doesn’t touch himself. He’s focused entirely on you.

He crouches over you, fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “These too?”

“Yes.”

He pulls them down slowly. The air hits your soaked core and your thighs twitch.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

He spreads your legs and settles between them. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping and massaging like he can’t believe you’re real.

You prop yourself up on your elbows just in time to watch his head lower.

Then his mouth is on you.

You cry out.

His tongue licks a long, slow stripe through your folds. Then another. His mouth wraps around your clit and sucks, gentle at first, then firmer, and your hips buck.

He grabs them. “Stay still.”

“Can’t,” you gasp. “I—Sebastian—”

He looks up at you.

And the sight knocks the breath from your lungs.

His face is buried between your thighs, freckles flushed, mouth glistening, eyes locked on yours. Hungry. Possessive.

“Keep talking,” he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing your clit. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“You’re—you’re going to kill me,” you pant.

“I haven’t even started.”

He dives back in.

His tongue flicks, laps, then flattens and drags in slow circles. He switches rhythms—teasing one second, focused the next. You can’t keep your legs still. One of your hands fists in his hair and tugs, hard. He groans, and the vibration makes you see stars.

“Oh yes—please—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He devours you like it’s the only way he’ll survive. He kisses your pussy like it’s holy. Like he’s worshipping you with his mouth. Like your pleasure is the only thing he’s ever wanted.

Your thighs start to shake. Your hands try to grip the floor.

“I’m going to—fuck—Sebastian—”

He moans, “Come on my tongue.”

And you do.

It crashes through you like wildfire. Your body locks, your back arches, and you scream his name.

But he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it, softer now, slower, coaxing every wave of aftershock until your legs are trembling and your voice breaks.

You collapse. Boneless. Gasping.

He kisses up your thigh, your stomach, your chest, until he’s over you again.

“You alright?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “You ruined me.”

He grins. “Good.”

Then you reach for him.

“Now,” you whisper. “It’s your turn.”

You reach down into his boxes and wrap your hand around him. 

His cock twitches against your grip. His breath quickens, eyes slamming shut as your thumb swipes across the head. When he opens them again, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “you’re going to undo me.”

He kisses you hard, biting your bottom lip, hips stuttering forward like he can’t stop himself from grinding into your hand. You stroke him once, twice—just to feel him, the way he pulses against your skin.

Then your voice goes soft. “I want you inside me.”

His forehead presses to yours. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything.”

Sebastian pulls back just enough to strip the rest of his clothes off—tossing his boxers to the side—and kneels between your legs again, completely bare.

You look down at him. Really look.

He’s beautiful.

Not just his body—but the way he looks at you. He keeps looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense in his fucked up world.

He strokes himself once, spreading your pussy along his length, then presses the head of his cock to your entrance. He’s slow, like he’s bracing himself for the moment everything changes.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmurs.

You nod, barely breathing. ���I want to feel all of it.”

And then he pushes in.

You gasp. The stretch is violent, unfamiliar, and so, so full.

“Y/N—” he growls, jaw clenched. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm—”

You whimper, your walls pulsing. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he breathes.

He inches in deeper, watching your face for any hint of discomfort. You feel every inch of him until he’s fully inside you. When his hips finally meet yours, you moan—long and low.

“Ah—Sebastian,” you gasp. “You feel so deep.”

“Because I’m not holding back,” he murmurs. “You’re going to remember this. Every time you close your eyes.”

He stays still for a moment. Breathing. Letting you adjust.

Then he pulls out—just enough to tease your entrance—and thrusts back in. Your breath catches again. The burn is already fading, replaced with unbearable pressure and dizzying heat.

He fucks you slowly at first, hips rolling, grinding his pelvis into your clit with every stroke.

“I—I can’t believe this,” you pant.

He lowers his forehead to yours. “Believe it.”

His pace quickens. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes in the chamber. His hands grip your hips. Your moans turn to gasps. Then to curses.

“Fuck—Sebastian—”

“You take me so well,” he pants. 

He leans back, grabs your thighs, and lifts your hips slightly—just enough to tilt your pelvis toward him. The change is subtle, but when he thrusts again—

Oh.

It’s like lightning.

The air punches out of your lungs.

His cock drags against something inside you that makes your entire body lock up.

Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out at first—just a strangled inhale as white heat rushes through your spine. Every nerve in your body lights up. That spot—that spot—he hits it again, and your legs jerk in response. Reflexive.

“Right there,” you moan. “Fuck—right there—don’t stop—”

You feel helpless under it. Like he’s got his hands wrapped around the base of your soul and he’s pulling pleasure out of you one grind at a time. Every deep stroke forces your body open wider. Every motion drags a desperate sound from your throat.

It’s not just penetration—it’s precision. Pressure. The perfect collision of want and anatomy and the kind of slow, focused rhythm that drives people mad.

Your thighs tremble. Your vision pulses. You can feel another orgasm building and you’re not even sure how long you’ll last.

He sees it in your face. Smirks like sin and does it again.

“Oh my God—”

He’s relentless now. Slamming into you. His brow furrows, his mouth hanging open. Sweat beads at his temples, rolls down his chest. You cling to his forearms while your nails dig into his skin.

Then he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You whimper.

“Oh, you like that,” he smirks.

“Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

He thrusts even harder. Merciless.

And then he lets go of one wrist to reach down and rub your clit in tight circles.

“You’re so close,” he grunts out. “I can feel you—tightening up—fuck—come for me. Want to feel you lose it on my cock.”

Your mouth falls open. A high, broken whine slips out.

You’re already right there—so close you’re throbbing. Your body’s coiled tight, burning, clenching around him like you’re trying to drag him deeper. He keeps hitting that spot, over and over, every thrust stealing more of your breath.

“I—I can’t—” you cry out, voice wrecked. “Please, Sebastian—don’t stop—please—fuck—I’m going to—”

“That’s it,” he groans. “Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

“Please—please—want you to feel it—want you to feel how much I need you—”

And then you come.

Your entire body tenses around him. You scramble to grip anything to keep your body from losing control. Your thighs shake violently around his waist. Your pussy clenches down hard—dragging a groan out of him.

“Fucking—hell—

You can barely speak, barely breathe. You cling to him, whimpering, still trembling through the aftershocks.

“Inside,” you gasp. “Sebastian—please—want it—want you to come in me—I need to feel it—need you.”

He loses it.

He slams into you one last time—deep, deep—like he’s trying to put something permanent inside you.

“Fuck—yes—I’m coming—”

You feel the first hot pulse of his cum, then another—thick, filling you completely. He moans your name into your neck, over and over, hips grinding through it, desperate to push every drop into you.

You’re still fluttering around him, soaked and full.

The Undercroft is finally quiet.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, echoing louder than the torches crackling along the walls. Sebastian lies half on top of you, still buried deep. His breath ghosts across your shoulder.

For a minute, neither of you speak.

“Are you… alright?” His voice is shaky. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “No. You ruined me, sure. But in the best way.”

He lets out a soft, relieved sound—half laugh, half exhale—and kisses the hollow of your throat. His lips linger there like he doesn’t want to leave.

You shift, and both of you hiss—his cock twitching inside you, your thighs sticky with sweat.

“We made a mess,” you mumble.

“We did,” he agrees, smirking against your skin. “I’m proud of it.”

You let out a breathless laugh, but your body trembles when you feel him slowly pull out. You whine at the sudden emptiness. His cum leaks out of you immediately.

Sebastian watches. Then mutters, “Fuck, that’s obscene.”

He runs two fingers along your core—just to spread it wider, watch it drip out of you. You squirm.

“Stop,” you whimper, hips twitching.

“Oh no,” he murmurs. “I’m not done looking at you.”

He leans down and kisses your hip, then trails his mouth to the inside of your thigh. His tongue flicks out, tasting what he left there.

You flinch. “Sebastian—”

“You taste like sex,” he groans. “Like mine.”

Your legs nearly close around his head, but he pins them open. “Hold still.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you let me fuck you on the floor of a cursed hideout,” he says. “What does that make you?”

“Very, very lucky,” you whisper.

He kisses your clit—just a soft brush of lips. You flinch again, oversensitive. He hums.

“You’re still so swollen.”

You glare. “That’s your fault.”

He grins. “You’re welcome.”

Sebastian crawls back up over your body, settling between your thighs again, his now-soft cock brushing against your sensitive core. You gasp—still sensitive.

“I can’t,” you say, voice shaking.

“I know.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You wrap your arms around him, tuck your face into his neck. You feel safe there—tucked under his weight, surrounded by his warmth.

“You were incredible,” he whispers. “The sounds you made—the way you looked at me—”

You lift your head and kiss him. A different kind of hunger is there now—slower, sweeter.

“I meant what I said,” you whisper. “You’re not a monster. You never were.”

His eyes shutter. He leans his forehead to yours again. “You’re the first person to ever say that and mean it.”

“I watched everything you went through. I know what you did. But I also know why.”

“I wanted to save her. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I know.” Your thumb strokes the line of his cheekbone. “And you deserved someone in your corner. Even if I had to fall out of the sky to do it.”

He gives a broken, hoarse laugh. “You really are mad.”

“Maybe” you whisper. “But you’re here—wrapped around me like you never want to let go.”

“Because I don’t.”

That silences you both.

He eventually rolls to the side, gathering you into his arms, pulling your body against his chest. Your leg hooks over his hip. His hand drifts up and down your spine, barely touching. Just enough to feel like you’re real.

You whisper, “What now?”

He thinks for a moment.

“Now…” he says, brushing hair from your face, “I memorize every inch of you. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case this isn’t real. Or in case it is, and I wake up without you.”

You pull him closer, leg tightening around him. “I’m not leaving.”

He holds you tighter. “You promise?”

You nod against his chest. “Promise.”

[j0s3f1n3]

Drabble

⋆.♡.ᐟ˚Not a game

⋆.♡.ᐟ˚Tom Riddle x quidditch player!reader

Sumarry::Tom bents you over the bench and shows you how to fall apart.

Warnings::18+,smut,P in V (unprotected),dirty talk,a small hint of degradation

you’re not sure when it stopped being a rivalry.

maybe it was when he started showing up to every match.

maybe it was when he dragged you into an empty classroom and told you you’d fly better if your legs weren’t always so tightly shut.

maybe it was when you let him in.

right now, you’re bent over the quidditch locker bench, still half in uniform, slick and sore and panting like you’ve just played another game. except this time, it’s not the snitch you're chasing—it's his fucking praise.

tom’s behind you, one hand twisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. he’s been fucking you for what feels like hours—relentless, deep, mean.

“you like this?” he growls into your ear. “being bent over like a filthy little trophy?”

you don’t answer—can’t. the words dissolve into moans, breathless and broken, as he pounds into you harder. the sound of skin slapping fills the room, echoing off tile and wood like applause.

“no attitude now, hm?” he sneers, dragging his fingers up your spine. “so quiet when your cunt’s doing all the talking.”

your nails dig into the bench, jaw clenched, tears pricking your eyes from how good it feels. disgusting. perfect.

he leans over, chest flush to your back, lips against your ear. “this what you wanted, star player?” he hisses. “to get used like this after a match? stuffed full of the boy everyone warned you about?”

“yes—” it slips out, too fast, too raw. your voice is wrecked.

he laughs—low, cruel, satisfied.

“pathetic,” he says, pulling out just to slap the head of his cock against your soaked cunt, watching you twitch. “soaked just from getting told what you are.”

you whine. he slides back in slow. on purpose. you cry out.

“you beg so pretty,” he murmurs, voice like a hex, hips snapping forward again, deeper now. “keep making those sounds. i’ll let you come.”

you nod frantically, every inch of you unraveling. your body’s burning from the inside out. each thrust sends you closer to the edge, your moans getting louder, messier, shame curling up in your chest right next to want.

“go on then,” he breathes. “show me how a quidditch star falls apart.”

and you do.

loud, legs shaking, mouth open with a sound you don’t recognize. he fucks you through it, doesn’t slow down, not even as you come hard around him—trembling, twitching, ruined.

“fuck—look at that,” he mutters, watching you clench around him. “you were made for this.”

he chases his own release like he owns your body, hips bruising against yours until he finally groans, low and ragged, spilling inside you with one final snap of his hips.

you both go still. except for your breathing.

harsh. tangled. filthy.

and then he leans down, mouth brushing your jaw.

“next time,” he whispers, “you’ll thank me for it.”

[j0s3f1n3]

Today’s my birthday ! Turning 20 ✨ I will definetely write a fic for this occasion ! Happy birthday for all 26th May girls/boys and others :3

Lots of love ❤️

[j0s3f1n3]

This is a work of art.

𝓛𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓘𝓷

PART 2 TO LOCKED OUT

Description: Slytherin!fem!Reader and academic rival!Tom finally get a chance to continue their unresolved business from before. (SMUT WARNING)

A/N: This was set up so well for a part 2 I couldn't resist. This is my first time posting smut so I hope you enjoy, because I have some more planned 😈 But seriously, hope you guys like this part 2!

Warnings: Smut (explicit) and bad language.

--

Ebony hair. Dark eyes. That smirk. Long, pale fingers that would feel incredible on your bare skin. You wanted them everywhere on you. You wanted him everywhere on you, in you… 

“Are you alright?” 

The concerned voice of your friend, Eleanor, pulled you from your thoughts, making you jump a little as you looked over at her in surprise. She was watching you sceptically, a slight frown on her face. You’d nearly forgotten she was there.

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You said with a smile, quickly trying to cover up your awkwardness by dipping your quill into your inkpot, all business-like. Unfortunately, your odd behavior didn’t escape her notice. 

“You know, you’ve barely been doing your work for the past thirty minutes,” she pointed out, gesturing with her quill at your half-finished Arithmancy essay. The parchment hasn’t had a new sentence added to it since you arrived at the library and your brain traitorously wandered off to the same subject it had been going to for days. 

“Yeah, I’m just a little… distracted. I have prefect duty tonight.” You shrugged, hoping she wouldn’t poke around anymore. You weren’t sure how in the name of Merlin you’d be able to explain you were fantasizing about Tom Riddle, should she ask what you were thinking about. He was supposed to be your academic rival, the one infuriating person who scores higher than you and who you were supposed to hate! You were definitely not supposed to wonder how his lips would feel on yours and how he’d feel inside of-

Shut up!

You flashed another smile at Eleanor and she eyed you suspiciously for another moment before turning back to her work. You breathed a sigh of relief before dipping your quill into your inkpot again and bringing it back to hover over your parchment. It took all of twenty seconds for a flash of mahogany eyes to appear in your mind’s eye and you were lost in a daydream yet again. 

Riddle slides his hand across your neck and down your arm, letting it ghost across your skin. He lowers his lips to your collarbone, pressing a light kiss there before letting his mouth descend further down. He snakes one arm around your waist, pushing his hand up your shirt until he reaches the clasp of your bra. Gently nipping at the skin of your chest, he unhooks the bra and slowly drags it off of you, beginning to pull your shirt up as well. He lifts his head and his eyes pierce into yours, all darkness and hunger and you can hardly-

“...hello?” For the second time, Eleanor’s voice brought you back into the present moment. You jolted out of your fantasy and she gave a long sigh, rolling her eyes in exasperation. 

“I don’t know what’s been up with you recently, but you have patrol in thirty minutes,” she said, pointing to the clock behind you. You glanced at it and muttered “shit,” before starting to shove your things away. 

“Thanks for letting me know,” you said sheepishly, buttoning your bag and swinging it over your shoulder. She nodded and then gave you a knowing look. 

“I hope whoever’s on your mind finds a way to get out of it,” she said, and you winced. Great. You hadn’t been as subtle as you’d hoped. 

You left the library, hastily making your way back to the Slytherin common room so you could freshen up before patrolling the halls. You’d barely gotten any work done today- well, actually for the past week- and you were beginning to get more and more frustrated. The sooner Riddle left your mind, the better. You’d had a strange interaction with him once and suddenly he was all you could think about. 

You muttered the password to the common room and shoved away the reminder of you and Riddle outside that very same door less than a week ago. The last thing you needed was to zone out during your prefect duty. 

Hurrying across the common room, you threw a quick glance around to make sure Riddle was nowhere to be seen. You somehow hadn’t seen him since he’d… almost kissed you (or whatever had come close to happening). Now that it had been nearly a week since that had happened, you were dreading running into him again. You just knew it would be awkward and uncomfortable as hell. Besides, with final exams approaching, your mind needed to be clear and focused on studying, not coming up with some stupid daydream of you and him frollicking across the grounds holding hands or something. (Of course, your daydreams about him never went down such… appropriate paths.) 

You dropped your bag on your dorm bed and shrugged out of your casual outfit, changing into your prefect uniform for the night. As you did the buttons to your shirt, you tried not to think about how badly you’d wanted Riddle to rip them away during your- Merlin, what could you even call what happened?- encounter. 

You huffed a little as you grabbed your robe, swinging it over onto your arms. Really, this was an incredibly inconvenient development. You and Riddle had been perfectly fine as rivals! Why did he have to go and almost kiss you? And make you want him to? Rivals shouldn’t be wanting to kiss each other. 

Pinning your prefect badge onto your robe, you resolved to put the encounter you’d had with him out of your head for the night. You had to focus on your patrol. But as luck would have it, the second you opened the common room door to leave, you came face to face with-

“Riddle.” You stopped short, frozen in your tracks as your hand dropped from the door in surprise.

He stared back, clearly having not expected to see you there either. His hair was perfectly smoothed back, as always, and his eyes glinted dark in the muted light from the common room. Your heart jumped a little as you looked at him, remembering how close he’d been to you the other night. Was he going to say something? Kiss you right then and there? Your mind started to whirl with the possibilities before noticing the way his gaze hardened. He didn’t seem happy to see you. 

Quite the opposite, in fact: he flicked his eyes away from yours as he stepped past, making sure to create a wide berth between your bodies. Without a word, he disappeared around the corner of the common room and you let the door swing shut, still frozen in place. 

Yep. Definitely awkward.

You were a little shaken up but forced yourself to lift your head and straighten your robes before setting off down the corridor on your patrol. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, the sharp click of your shoes on the stone floor was the only sound that echoed through the halls of the castle. It was late at night and nearing the end of your patrol, so you were doing one last sweep of the second floor before heading back down to the dungeons. The corridors were deserted and dark, except for the faint bluish glow of the moonlight streaming in the windows. The portraits were all snoozing and there wasn’t a ghost in sight, so when you saw a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, it immediately caught your attention. 

Pulling your wand from your pocket, you strode towards whatever you saw, preparing to cast Lumos or Stupefy, depending on what had caused it. 

“Who’s there?” You called quietly, eyes narrowed as you tried to make out any shapes in the shadowy corridor. Nothing made itself known, but you got the distinct feeling that you were being watched. You stopped next to the door of the girls' bathroom, casting your gaze about suspiciously. Still, you couldn’t see a thing. 

Then, almost so inconspicuous you nearly missed it, you felt the light but slightly uncomfortable feeling of someone attempting to read your mind. 

Riddle. 

You quickly shut your brain down with Occlumency, but not all of it. You made sure to leave a little part of your thoughts unprotected, allowing them to be penetrated by Riddle. He was clearly a skilled Legilimens, considering his efforts had nearly escaped your notice and had successfully remained undetected the last time he did it, but now you were prepared. 

You let your annoyance and confusion at him fill the space of your mind you had left exposed, focusing on how strange he’d been acting earlier, allowing him to feel some of your frustration before immediately turning your attention to wondering what had been the cause of the suspicious movement. Just a little flash of your thoughts to give him something to think about. If he could tempt you, you could tempt him. 

You felt the poking at the edges of your consciousness draw away and knew it had worked. Part of you hoped he’d make himself known now, the other wanted him to remain hidden in the shadows so you could return to the common room without another interaction with him 

Luckily- or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it- he stepped into the light, tall, dark, and imposing. He wasn’t supposed to be out this late, no one was except for prefects. But of course he was. Despite being a model student and maintaining a spotless record, Riddle broke more school rules than you’d ever seen anyone break before. And he still managed to get away with it. This time, though, you wouldn’t let him escape breaking curfew without a consequence. 

Maybe you were being slightly petty. 

“You’re out late,” you remarked, lowering your wand as he stood there, still partly obscured by the shadows. 

“As are you,” he said. You tapped your prefect badge in response. 

“I’m supposed to be,” you said, tone slightly charged. “You aren’t.”

He straightened up slightly but remained still. “What are you planning to do about it?” He asked in a voice so low it sent a slight shiver through you as tilting his head to the side, eyes marginally narrowed. A small flame of anger sparked in you. Was he teasing you? Trying to see how you’d react? Was he doing this purposefully? 

You were struck with how similar this was to what brought about the near-kiss with him last week: one of you staying out past curfew, the other tasked with giving them a consequence. The only difference was that Riddle hadn’t written you up last time, but you were planning to give him detention now. 

“Write you a slip for detention, of course,” you said matter-of-factly, pulling a pad of paper and a quill out, already starting to write him up. You heard a small laugh and before you could even write his name, a pale hand was placed on top of the paper pad, lowering it down. You cut your eyes up to him, indignant. 

“Ah, now we don’t want that, though, do we, darling?” He asked in a smooth voice, cocking a brow as his eyes bored into yours. The nickname aggravated you, making you tense up slightly in annoyance. Yes, he was definitely teasing you on purpose now.

He took another step closer, stopping less than a foot away. He was so close you could smell his cologne. The same one from last time, you thought, and a small smirk grew on his face at that as you realised you’d unconsciously lifted the barriers against Legilimency and he could freely read your mind. You quickly shut it down again, angrily forcing him out of your thoughts. 

“Maybe you don’t, but I do.” You pulled the paper away from him, stepping back and continuing to write the detention slip. “At least I was in the library when you found me out past curfew last time. You were just lurking in the shadows.” 

Riddle went silent at this, which was never a good sign. You glanced up despite logic telling you not to, and was met with a slightly foreboding smirk on his face. 

“Have you been thinking about our last encounter a lot, darling?” He asked, apathetically enough, but you could feel the undercurrent of tension in the loaded question. If you’d let him, he could’ve fully read your mind and figured out just how much the memory had been plaguing you. If you told him now, then you weren’t sure what his next move would be. Would he attempt to pick up where you’d left off, or continue avoiding you like he had been all week, which had left you frustratingly perplexed?

“Have you?” You countered, pocketing your quill and ripping off the detention slip. “You have detention, Riddle,” you said, pushing it unceremoniously into his hands. “Saturday at ten.” 

He lifted the detention slip, inspecting it like it could be counterfeit. “Hm,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “What a waste of paper.” Then he tore it in half. 

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him as he looked back defiantly, a smug smile on his face. Merlin, he was such a prick!

“Problem?” He asked innocently, and that’s when you lost your temper. You took a step closer, tilting your head up so you could maintain eye contact with him. 

“You just blatantly disobeyed a prefects’ order. Of course there’s a problem.” You snapped, glowering into his eyes that had a glint of challenge in them. 

“I am a prefect too, as I am sure you’re aware. I can simply invalidate the detention slip,” he said, so smugly confident and completely aware he was the cause of your anger. From the looks of it, he was enjoying it too.

“Only you would deign to be so difficult,” you hissed, stepping closer until you were nearly toe to toe. He looked down at you, smirk still in place. 

“And why should I stop, when the reaction it incites in you is so… pleasing?” He murmured, and all of a sudden you realised just how close you were standing. 

“Pleasing?” You echoed scathingly. Your first instinct was to pull back, to step away before there was a chance for anything along the same lines of what happened before to happen again. But a little flare of fury in you told you to stay, and vex him the same way he had to you. 

“Pleasing?” You repeated, with a more musing tone rather than an angry one now. You dragged your eyes from his down his body and up again, making sure to take a couple extra seconds to look at his lips before meeting his gaze again. “Mm, I like the sound of that.”

You took another step closer, having to almost completely tilt your head back to look him in the eye. Your chests nearly bumped up against each other, and you gently placed your hands on his arms. He glared down at you, a muscle working in his jaw and evidently caught off guard by the turn this interaction had taken.

You were playing with fire, you knew it. If you went too far, you’d get burned. 

But then again, maybe that was what you wanted. 

You lightly drifted one of your hands up his arm and across his shoulder, much like the way he had done to you except in the opposite direction. Placing your palm against the back of his neck, you toyed with the hair there, letting your fingers sift through it and watching the way his breathing got quicker. 

“Who knew you liked when I’m authoritative?” You smiled, using your other hand to trace across his chest, making sure to flick his prefect badge off kilter. He wasn’t on patrol tonight, he didn’t even need to wear it. But of course he did, perfect Riddle. 

“It’s really too bad I can’t use Legilimency,” you continued, biting your lip and feeling him stiffen beneath your touch as his eyes zeroed in on the motion. “I would just love to know what you’re thinking right now.”

Without warning, Riddle brought his hands up to your waist and backed you up to the wall, head bent low so his mouth was hovering over yours.  

“I can hear what you’re thinking, darling,” he hissed, lightly stroking your torso with his thumbs. “I can hear you wishing I’d fuck you.” 

Your breath caught and your mouth fell shut, the previously confident words disappearing as you felt your throat go dry. He leaned in closer, so close you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.

“I can tell you what I’m thinking, too,” he said, voice silkily smooth and laced with danger. “And I’m wanting to fuck you as well.” 

He leaned down and your eyes closed, ready to hungrily meet his mouth, but before your lips could touch he pulled away. Your eyes flew open in fury, about to tell him off, but then you heard the telltale footsteps of somebody approaching. 

Riddle had stepped back fully, and just in time. Professor Dumbledore emerged from the shadows, looking between you and Riddle with an expression of intended ignorance. It was clear he knew what had just (nearly) happened, but was choosing to pretend it hadn’t. 

“Good evening,” he said. “It is rather late for two model students such as yourselves to be out. I believe prefect patrol ended just a few moments ago, if my watch is correct.”

You blanched. You had forgotten all about your patrol. You shot Riddle a dirty look, since he had made you forget, but his eyes were fixed on Dumbledore. 

“Certainly, sir,” he nodded, the perfect picture of obedience. “We were just heading back.”

Dumbledore nodded as well, turning to look at you over his half-moon spectacles. “Please make sure you return to your dorms promptly,” he said with a knowing smile before stepping past you, his long robes swishing behind him. 

You waited until he rounded the corner to turn and glare at Riddle. “Really?” You snapped. “Dumbledore almost caught us-” You stopped your sentence halfway. What had you been about to do? Snog? Makeout? Tumble into the nearest empty room and rip each other’s clothes off? “...You almost got us in trouble.” You finished. 

“Had we gotten into trouble, I was not the one who incited the incident,” he said, not looking at you as turned on his heel and set off for the staircase leading to the lower levels of the castle. 

You let out a groan and followed him, letting your footsteps echo pointedly on the floor as he led you back to Slytherin common room. He didn’t look at you once, but nearly snapped the password at the door once you arrived. 

It swung open and you couldn’t help but let out a scoff. “Didn’t forget the password this time, hm?” You muttered, pushing past him to the staircase leading to the girls dormitories.

“Your behavior is horrendous at times,” he bit out at your retreating form. 

“And you’re an incorrigible prick,” you snapped back, whipping around to face him, your eyes ablaze with anger and ready for an argument. But he had already turned his back and was stalking away towards the boys dormitories. 

You glared at his back for a split second longer before stomping the rest of the way to your dorm. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the week passed without any more interactions with Riddle. Seeing him again had only made you think about the situation even more, and you had barely been able to focus in class due to the anger that always started simmering in your veins whenever you thought of him. Noticing your lack of focus, your friends had convinced you to come with them to the Gryffindor party that weekend, telling you it could help take your mind off things and maybe even give you the distraction of another boy to place your attention on instead. You hadn’t told them it was Riddle yet, but they knew it was something having to do with a guy. 

So on Saturday night, you put on your favorite dress and headed to Gryffindor Tower with your friends. It was around ten, and the party was packed with people. You spotted students from every house, recognizing a few familiar faces from your classes. The one person you didn’t see, however, was Riddle. But you pushed the thought of him out of your mind, trying to follow your friends’ advice and enjoy the party without dwelling on him. 

The party was fun and lasted into the early hours of the morning. It neared one with no sign of stopping. You hadn’t found anyone to “distract” yourself with yet (and honestly didn’t want to), but when a nice boy from Ravenclaw approached, your friends practically shoved you into his arms. 

The two of you danced for a bit, but you couldn’t help wishing it was Riddle’s dark brown eyes you were looking into instead of the boy’s green ones. 

And speaking of his eyes… 

You caught a glimpse of someone glaring at you from across the room, clutching their goblet of firewhiskey with a grip so tight their knuckles were turning white.

It was Riddle. 

And his eyes were shooting daggers. 

Your heart skipped a beat at first, but then you almost scoffed at his expression. He looked jealous. But he’d had two opportunities in less than two weeks to do something about it if he really felt anything for you, and you were done with the near misses. 

Still, you were finished dancing with this Ravenclaw boy, so you removed yourself from his arms when the music came to an end, heading back over to your friends. 

“So? How was it?” Eleanor asked when you stepped up next to her. You shrugged. 

“Fine. But I don’t think it helped.” You frowned, thinking of the way Riddle’s glare was burned into your brain, and she sighed. 

“Well, it was worth a shot. Whoever you’re thinking about must really be worth it, then.”

Your thoughts turned to the guy standing across the room, all darkness and danger and intoxication. You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull. 

“I don’t know about that, but I can’t seem to get him off my mind,” you muttered, and took a swig of firewhiskey. 

The party continued on for a while until you decided you were done and wanted to go back to your dorm. You had prefect duty later that day, and had to make sure you were well-rested lest your mind be filled with pointless thoughts about Riddle again. 

Excusing yourself from your friends, you left the party and were nearly halfway to the winding staircase leading to the castle’s lower floors when you heard the sharp clearing of a throat behind you. You closed your eyes briefly in frustration, already knowing who it was. 

“What do you want, Riddle?” You asked in irritation before turning to look at him and immediately getting startled by the speed and anger of which he was walking towards you. With quick, determined strides, he stalked up to you, eyes glinting hard and sparkling with wrath. 

“You are intolerable,” he hissed, towering over you. “You insist on teasing me and making me jealous. Why?” 

“Making you jealous, really?” You scoffed. “You teased me first!” 

“You hardly pulled away.”

You clamped your mouth shut at that, knowing you couldn’t deny it. Still, you were seething with anger and wanted to take it out on him. 

“If you wanted to kiss me, you would’ve done it already,” you said wildly, and Riddle’s eyes narrowed into slits, glinting ruby red in the dim light. 

“I was under the impression academic rivals do not want to kiss each other. Or is that not what you’ve been thinking?” He snapped. 

“You’re right- they don’t. So why did you try to kiss me?” You countered, crossing your arms. 

“Why didn’t you stop me?” He retorted, and with that, he stepped past you, robes brushing roughly against your arm. You let out a scoff. 

“Oh, don’t you dare walk away from me!” 

You chased after him, nearly having to run to keep up. He was headed further into the corridors of the seventh floor, not slowing his pace even as he heard you stomping after him.

“Riddle,” you called sharply. He kept walking, not even flinching at your words or pausing his stride. You let out an aggravated sigh, continuing to stalk after him as he abruptly turned a corner, leading you down a corridor with nothing but a tapestry on one of the walls. All of a sudden, he turned on his heel and whirled towards you, eyes alight with rage. 

“You are impossible,” he thundered, stalking at you before turning on his heel again and pacing the other way. “You are infuriating and maddening and get on my every last nerve.” He turned around, coming towards you again. “You insist on scoring higher than I do, out-competing me for everything, and then refuse to leave me alone.” He spun yet again, stalking back down the corridor away from you before pivoting back to you once more. “You are in my mind during every second of every day and I do not want you to leave it!” 

With that, he grabbed your elbow and tugged you towards a door that you were certain hadn’t been there before. Without giving you time to respond or even process his words, he yanked the door open and pulled you into him before it could shut. Your lips met and immediately it was the most fiery, all-consuming kiss you’d ever experienced. 

His hands grabbed at your waist, clutching you into him as you plunged your hands into his hair, pulling at the strands and hearing him groan into your mouth. He swiped his tongue at your lips and you opened them without a second thought, relishing the feeling of his hot tongue on yours. 

His arms swept around you, pulling you closer into him and you wrapped one arm around his neck, forcing his head down to yours. His lips moved against yours, crushing your mouths together. You experimentally bit lightly at his lip and when he let out a strangled sound, you smirked against his mouth and leaned in more. 

One of his hands made its way to your throat, holding it with a light but firm pressure as the kiss deepened. You could barely think, barely breathe, and-

Fuck. You’d forgotten all about oxygen.

You reluctantly pulled your lips away from Riddle’s, inhaling deeply as your lungs filled with air once more. You were still gasping for breath, but you didn’t think you’d ever been more satisfied to need air. Riddle’s hand was still on your throat and yours were still pushed into his hair. Well, one of them was. The other somehow made its way to his chest and now your palm was resting against it so you could feel his heartbeat. 

You looked up at him and couldn’t help the smile that forms on your face. He hasn’t torn his eyes from you and his chest is still heaving like yours.   

You leaned your head back and steadied your hand on his neck, grinning up at him. “Finally,” you said, and he shook his head, a smirk quickly growing in his face. 

“I second that,” he drawled, leaning in to press another quick kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, you sighed contentedly. 

“I have to say, I’m very glad you tore up that detention slip from the other night,” you told him. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to the party and this wouldn’t have happened.” He rolled his eyes, looking fondly down at you. 

“I suppose I have to agree,” he conceded, gently squeezing your waist. You grinned and pulled your arms from around his neck reluctantly. 

“We better get back to the common room, though,” you said. “Before Dumbledore catches us out again.” 

He nodded, though his frown let you know wasn’t happy to leave the room. You weren’t either. If it was up to you, you’d stay for the rest of the night (or longer). 

Reaching for the door handle, you pulled at it only for it not to budge. You tried again. Nothing. 

“Uh…” you stared in confusion at it, only to hear an understanding laugh coming from Riddle. You glanced up quizzically, surprised to see a smirk on his face. 

“It would seem you have discovered one of the quirks of this room,” he said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “This is the Room of Requirement. It changes its interior and properties in accordance to the needs of the person who summons it. I summoned a place for us to… interact undisturbed.” 

You looked around the room with interest, noting the regal yet intimate atmosphere. There was a velvety looking couch to your left, a wall of books that stretched to the ceiling, and- your heart leapt- a bed in the far corner of the room.

“You wanted this room?” You asked, not sure what to make of the fact it seemed Riddle thought he needed a bed for whatever interaction he’d had planned with you. An image of him throwing you down on it flashed through your mind and you quickly altered that previous statement with a fluttering in your stomach. You knew exactly what to make of it. 

Riddle nodded, still smirking down at you. “Yes. And as it would appear, you do not want to leave so the Room is… helping us with that, so to speak.” You cut your eyes down to the suspiciously unmoving door. 

“The Room locked us in?” You said, a small, understanding smile forming on your face. Riddle hummed in agreement, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“The only question is… what do you need to do in here?” He murmured suggestively, voice low and dangerous. You grinned a little, stepping closer and roping your arms around his neck. 

“Hm, I’m not sure,” you teased, biting your lip in the way you knew he liked. “Maybe we could study for our exams, or discuss what feedback Professor Merrythought left on our essays-” 

Riddle interrupted you with a kiss and you couldn’t help but smile into it, pulling away just enough to get your next words out. 

“On second thought, I think you know exactly what I want,” you muttered before pressing your lips onto his again. He laughed into your mouth, immediately bending down and scooping you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he backed you up towards the couch, leaning you over the arm of it and promptly climbing on top of you. 

“Isn’t there a bed in here?” You gasped, breaking away from his lips long enough to catch a breath before his mouth descended onto your throat and you couldn’t breathe again. 

“Too far,” he grunted into your neck. “Need you now.”

Oh Merlin, you probably could’ve come from that alone. Riddle slid his hands up and down your torso, brushing his palms teasingly over your breasts and you arched your back up, overtaken by sensation and that satisfied little laugh he made at your reaction. His hands reached your thighs again and found their way under your dress, pushing the material up as he ascended his fingers across your bare skin. 

One touch of his hand on your breast had you moaning and you felt him grow even harder on top of you, his grip getting a little firmer as he kneaded at your chest. You wrapped your legs around his torso, pushing yourself into him and he broke away, eyes dilated and lips swollen. 

“Do you want to do this?” He asked, moving one of his hands down to your thigh and sliding it up and down. You nodded, already breathlessly pulling him back into you. 

He kissed you for a few moments more, sliding his hands all about your body and relishing finally being able to touch you that way until you bit at his lip again and something in him clearly snapped. 

He pulled his hands away and you heard the clinking of his belt buckle, followed by a louder clang when it hits the floor. His lips remained on yours as he shoved his trousers down, frantic to get as close as possible. 

Positioning his hips against yours, he continued to kiss you, sliding his tongue against yours and lightly grasping your neck with hand, while the other made its way down to your panties. 

“I like these…” he whispered, fingers toying with the lace fabric. You frowned a little at the strange comment.

“Yes-”

“..but I like them better off.” He finished and the sound of ripping fabric filled the air, but you barely had time to process it before he kissed you again and-

Fucking hell, this man was incredible. His fingers moved against you in such a perfect rhythm you were sure this was a dream. He seemed to know every spot, every little thing you need that it wasn’t long before you were panting and chasing your high, seeing stars form at the edge of your vision

At the last moment, his fingers are pulled away, only to be replaced with-

“Tom-” you gasped, clutching at his shoulders. 

“You can take me, darling,” he murmured against your skin, biting slightly at it. “Just breathe.” 

And then he slid in. Immediately, every other thought and feeling vanished as you were overtaken by the feeling of him inside you. He moved slowly at first, adjusting you and making sure you were comfortable before pulling back and pushing in with a quick, insistent speed. The message was clear: Tom needed you, and he needed you now. 

Your high approached faster than you expect, but from the combination of Tom’s kisses and movements, it wasn’t long before you’re pushed over the edge. Tom followed almost immediately, spilling into you hot and collapsing over your body, pressing kisses onto you as you both caught your breath.

“That was…” you panted, running your hands through his hair. 

“I hope you get us locked in here more often,” he said against your skin and you laughed, throwing an arm across your face. 

He sat up, pulling out of you and moving to guide you into his arms. You threw your legs over his lap, hearing both of your breaths slow down. 

“You called me Tom,” he said suddenly, and you blinked in surprise. 

“Did I?” You asked, genuinely not sure, and he nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “Right before we-”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. “I’m not sure I remember that,” you said teasingly, slowly leaning up and throwing your leg over his hips to straddle his lap. “Maybe recreating the scene will help me recall?”

His lips formed a devilish smirk as his hands came to rest at your hips. “Oh, glady,” he murmured, already leaning in for another kiss. You eagerly returned it, pushing his head back slightly against the couch before groaning his name again as his hands drifted up under your dress.

“Rivals are not necessarily supposed to call each other by their first names,” he pointed out, drawing back slightly. You grinned and tightened your grip on his shoulders. 

“Rivals aren’t supposed to do a lot of things we’ve been doing, but I can’t say I’m complaining.” You shrugged, biting your lip. 

“No, neither can I,” he agreed with a smirk, before pulling you into another kiss. 

You smiled against his mouth, hoping the door would keep you locked in for a whole lot longer. 

--

A/N (again): Did anyone notice where Tom was when he was "lurking in the shadows?" Second floor of the castle, near the girls' bathroom... thought that would be a fun detail to include. Also, I'm not sure if the Room of Requirement has the particular skill to lock people inside should they want it, but let's assume it does for the sake of the story. Thanks for reading! :)

Credit to @sunder-soul for the headcanon that Tom doesn't do choking. I agree!

aaaand tagging @viperify because we both love academic rival!Tom

[j0s3f1n3]

ꜱᴇʙᴀꜱᴛɪᴀɴ ꜱᴀʟʟᴏᴡ'ꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴꜱ

I had the outline of these on my notes for weeks omgg. Enjoy ^^

Sebastian Sallow is the type to not be ashamed of being needy of his partner. He doesn’t care that everybody could see how he looks at you and how much his neediness is visible.

He’s a master of multitasking. He can do many things at the same time like reading a dark arts book, working on something else and taking care of you. You are in awe at how he managed to do the three things perfectly.

He usually loves to hear you talking but when you start to ramble about useless things (to his opinion) and when you’re arguing, he just has to stop the torrent of your words by shutting you up. And what's better than kissing you out of nowhere. You usually don’t have time to react that he already has you humming in the kiss.

He knows you like he knows his pocket. He could walk into a room and notice how you’re feeling just seconds after. He would then take the matter to his hands to make you feel better.

Sebastian isn’t the type to go easy with you, especially in sex. He is rough, very rough. Pouring all his frustration and anger in it. But after, he is a love sick puppy. He is the king of Aftercare. Cuddle, cleaning you, cooking for you even. He wants to make sure you’re alright. He would praise how good you did and kiss every inch of your body he spanked before.

Because he never really experienced safe love, he doesn’t really know how to show it. So he practically drowns you with gifts, hugs and kisses. But most of all. He loves to give you nicknames. When most guys would just call you ‘love’, he calls you ‘MY love’. To be sure you’re his and because you’re his everything. Love isn’t quite the word that could describe how he cares about you.

He is known to have quite a hard head. But with you, everything disappears. His pain, his anger and sadness. You’re his soft spot, his light.

He’s always been reckless with himself, but with you, he's careful. He watches every move you make, especially in duels. He can’t have the luxe to lose you so he would protect you like you’re everything.

The man can’t take his hands off you. He never realised how he was touch deprived until you came. He is always, either, touching your cheeks in intimate moments or his hand is on your thighs when sitting, or even his arm wrapped around your waist when you’re walking together. He is glued to you.

He doesn’t show his jealousy. But if someone comes too close to you to his liking or tries to flirt with you, you’ll feel his hand on your lower back, a possessive kiss on your neck or a murmur saying ‘I hope they weren’t bothering you’. And if they did, Merlin knows what he would do to make sure they don’t do it again.

During sex, he would mark you with love bites, hickeys and everything he could think to mark you as his. He loves to see it on your skin after. It stirs something in him either feral or possessive.

Sebastian isn’t the type to be drunk. He finds it stupid and a timeloss. But there’s evening when everything seems to get on his bad luck and he just can’t resist. He drinks and at last, becomes very drunk. When you pick him up, you’ll see how bad he is as every emotion is ‘worse’. He would be clingier as if scared you might disappear. Depending on his level of drunkness, the sex is rougher too. He would lose himself in you.

Sometimes, he believes he is a monster for what he did to his uncle. He would shut him off from the world and you’re the only one that can bring him back because you’re the only reason he isn’t a monster. You're proof he isn’t.

-----------------------------------------

All rights reserved. This is an original piece by ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ. Divide vu r from @strangergraphics•°. *࿐

[j0s3f1n3]

Sobbing right now. And not only from my eyes

oneshots | ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⚔︎ You Promised.

Short Summary: he is ruthless when he kills, doesn’t show an ounce of mercy. Cold and quick with it—if you are lucky. Because for most captured Order members, he likes to drag it out. Not because they are the only remaining resistance against his father. He’s stopped caring about that a long time ago. No. They took something from him. The only person he has ever truly cared about. You.

Warnings: 18+ only! angst, mentions of death, violence, murder. Tom is Voldemort’s son. dub con if you squint? brief rough sex, praise, unprotected piv, creampie

A/N: I think I bent the meaning of assassin a tiny bit. Anyway, this is my participation for week three of @acourtofchaos’ Festival of AUs!

wordcount: 3,1k

You were aware going out to hunt that one rare potion ingredient that night was a mistake. Yes, it was only available during full moon and then only for two to three hours—but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t be the only one looking for it. And running into Snatchers really wasn’t something you wanted to risk.

But when Harry himself came asking whether you could look for them that night, you knew how urgent it was. The Order was so close to running out of healing potions, and if you denied—

You sighed and agreed.

Later that night, you and three others made your way to the Forbidden Forest, the only place nearby where you could find the rare flowers you were looking for. Not too deep into the forest, you find what you were looking for—blooming in bright purple, surrounded by fireflies.

The forest was eerily quiet at that time, except for the crunch of branches each time you took a step and the occasional screeches of birds nearby. Though, when you heard the distinctive sound of apparition somewhere not too far away, you stilled, froze. You tried to convince the others to leave, as you’d surely have enough for the month to come—yet nobody wanted to listen, there were more—just a few more—just a little further into the forest—

Until you were surrounded by the very people you warned them about before you left.

Outnumbered by at least five.

There was nothing you could do—your wand was taken faster than you could react. And without a wand—you were helpless.

—

Hours later, and you all find yourselves lined up in a basement—knees scraping against the cold, rough ground beneath you. Hands tied behind your back, scratchy cotton material secured over your head, blocking your vision.

This is it. You are going to die today.

Back when rumours spread that most killings are done by one single person, you didn’t believe them. Surely no human could muster up the strength to kill day in, day out.

Right?

Except—

No.

Tom wouldn’t.

Couldn’t have—

However, the longer you are left waiting, the more time you have to think about it all—you haven’t seen him since you left Hogwarts, since the war started. It’s been more than a year, and a lot has happened since. A lot has changed. He might have changed.

Then, your thoughts slip to just Tom.

How people, including yourself, would be afraid to even look at him—Voldemort’s son.

How he’d always be top of the class—except for that one time you were.

And the next time too.

How it would turn into a rivalry, a bitter fight over who would score higher on the next exam.

How most of your nights were spent in the library from that point on.

Tom would be there too. Never leave before you did.

How he would steal glances at you from the other side of the library.

How glances would turn into stares, stares that you noticed, that made your cheeks grow hot, that made you question whether you actually hated him as much as you told yourself you did.

And how that hatred turned into something completely different when you outscored him on a Defence Against the Dark Arts paper. His subject. The one nobody had ever even come close to him. When you smirked at him as soon as you realised, and he had this unreadable expression etched on his face.

How, as soon as that class ended and everyone had left, he pushed you against the cold stone wall of the corridor. Accused you of cheating. Accused you of Merlin knows what.

“I hate you,” he whispered, and then, just a second later—his lips crashed on yours. And it was even better than what you had imagined all these nights in the library—how your lips moved in sync with his, how eager he was to feel more of you, hands slipping under your blouse, leaving goosebumps in their wake. How you leaned into his touch as though this wasn’t the son of the most feared wizard of Great Britain, probably the entire world.

Fuck, you wanted this more than anything else.

And when you broke apart—both of you gasping for air—he would breathe a soft “Merlin, I hate you so much.”

“I hate you too.” You replied, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

And you’d kiss again.

How from that point on, you’d study together. You were just trying to help each other—that’s what you told anyone asking. Tom would always tell you how nobody could know.

Students started giving you strange looks. Because how could you possibly spend time with someone who seemed to care about no one and nothing except himself and his studies?

They didn’t know. It was better that way, you told yourself.

How, in free periods, he’d always come to find you. Push you into the nearest classroom, lock the door behind you. Lips on yours before you could even complain. Ripping your blouse open because he was too damn impatient to unbutton it—and you’d scold him for it every single time—and he would just do it again next time.

“There is a simple spell to repair it. There is no spell to spend more time making you feel good, sweetheart.”

And with his lips trailing kisses down your neck, sucking marks into your skin, right at the spot he knew would have your knees grow weak—any rational thought left your brain in an instant.

He’d kiss down the valley between your breasts, fingers slowly making their way underneath the lace of your panties, preparing you for him.

He treated you like you were made of glass—which even surprised you sometimes. The quiet, nerdy boy who’d have witty answers to all questions. Who’d only have to look in the direction of students nearby to silence them, make them leave.

Tom was always careful with you.

Except if you outscored him on an exam. Then, he wasn’t as careful.

You didn’t mind that, though.

It all had to stay a secret, he liked to remind you of it. That nobody could know, not even your best friend, who would pester you with questions if you came back past curfew from one of your “study sessions”. You couldn’t tell her. Nobody. Not even your parents, who didn’t know anything about the wizarding world. You wondered if it was because of that. Judging by the way the corner of his mouth twitched whenever you mentioned your muggle parents, you had your answer.

Your love was forbidden—but so, so delicious.

—

You hear the door to the basement creak open, and what you guess to be five Death Eaters approach you with heavy footsteps.

You don’t know if you are lucky or unlucky when they pass you, instead start on the other side of the line.

Make you witness the death of some of your closest friends.

Their blood-curdling screams and unheard pleas as they are left bleeding to death on the cold, wet stone floor.

Because—whoever does the killings—and you are pretty certain it is only one of them—doesn’t use their wand, but a knife.

Too many killing curses are known to have long-term effects, after all.

But with each victim more—you feel as though they do it with pleasure.

And Merlin, you weren’t ready to die that way.

You don’t have much time left to think about it before a firm hand tugs at the material over your head, tilting your head backwards.

“Last one.” An unfamiliar voice remarks somewhere to the left of you, and not even a second later, you feel the cold, unyielding metal of a knife press against your throat.

You don’t want to give whoever it is the satisfaction of any reaction—but when the sharp blade scrapes against your skin, drawing the first drops of blood—you can’t help the soft, pained whimper escaping your lips.

As if stunned, the hand holding the knife stills, and they let go of your head.

Instead, the material covering your face is cut, and you blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the different lighting—and when they focus, your heart skips a beat.

You are met with a pair of dark brown eyes you would recognize under thousands of others—his.

Tom’s.

“Fucking hell.” He mutters under his breath and doesn’t waste another second thinking. He draws his wand and turns around. Spells fly in all directions, and you duck—the room lighting up in green, red, buzzing with electricity.

Then—silence.

For just a moment.

He takes your hand in his, and the next second you apparate away, finding yourself in a small, cozy place hidden somewhere in the woods. The wound on your skin burns, but he doesn’t let you touch it.

“Let me do this.” He insists, and with just two or three spells muttered, it stops bleeding and the pain fades.

You study him for a moment. It’s really him.

“Tom.” You whisper. Silent, careful.

He finally looks at you. Not like he did back at Hogwarts. He looks different now. Sharper features, older, more mature, with a scar right above his left eyebrow. You want to ask what happened, want to trace it with your finger, want to kiss it.

Kiss him.

His eyes are cloudy now, and he’s lost the spark he used to have whenever it was just you two. And—he has become what he promised you he wouldn’t.

Just like his father.

Maybe they were right, after all.

His grip on your shoulder tightens, and you wince softly as the rough wood bites into your back.

“You told me you wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. That you would be careful.” He raises his voice, and it almost breaks. “Merlin, you fucking promised me.”

He sounds more disappointed than angry when he says it.

He’s right. You did promise him. Right before the war, you promised each other two things. One, you’d be careful, wouldn’t take any risky tasks, would do anything to stay alive. Two, he would come back for you. Would find you after the war. Although he was aware that the chance of both of you surviving was rather slim.

You shake your head softly.

“It was always supposed to be like this, Tom. Us. Enemies. We fight for two very different things.”

He scoffs softly at that.

“You think I still care about any of this? He’s ill. He’s dying. Barely gets up nowadays.” Tom takes a step back, and you swallow. “He has been using me for— this for months. And if you think—“ his hands clench into fists as the muscles in his fingers twitch at the mere thought, and he pauses briefly. “If you think I get any better treatment than others when they don’t act according to his instructions, you are mistaken.”

You sob.

“You killed them. All of them.”

He takes your face into his hands.

“They took you from me. They let you get these ingredients when they knew how dangerous it was. You almost died at my hands. Because of them. You left me for them. I offered you a safe house, far away from here. Yet, they convinced you to stay. If you believe even for a second that I would shy away from killing them— think again.”

Tears are streaming down your face by the time he is done.

“I chose this, Tom. Nobody forced me.” You hiccup. “This was my choice, and my choice alone.”

One of his hands slips to your neck. They are cold. Not warm like they used to be when they roamed over your bare skin. You miss the warmth.

He pulls you closer again, eyes narrowing at your words.

“And fuck— a part of me wants to hurt you for this. Punish you. But I— I can’t.”

His gaze drops for a second, and his voice softens.

“I missed you. I thought of you every day, wondered whether you were doing alright. Wondered whether you were thinking of me too.”

You exhale a shaky breath, trying to find the right words. Of course you did too.

“Tom, I—“

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“You have moved on, haven’t you? Found someone else.”

Your heart aches at his words.

“No!” You gasp, shaking your head. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—“

Then, without letting you finish your sentence, he pulls you closer to kiss you. Soft at first—giving you space to draw back—but when you don’t, he holds you close, kisses you like it’s the first time all over again.

When you separate, there is this all-too-familiar fire behind his eyes—the one he used to have. And as much as you wanted to—

“We have a lot to talk about.” You try, but he merely shakes his head.

“That can wait. Let us have this.”

Before you get to object, his lips are on yours once more, and he guides you towards the bed in the centre of the room without once breaking the kiss.

Shirt torn open, button of your pants clinking as it drops to the floor.

Old habits.

“I hate you,” you murmur against his lips, and his mouth lifts into a smirk. “I hate you so much.”

It all happens quickly after that. Moments later, you are on the bed and he’s on top of you, trailing kisses down your neck—just like he used to do.

Then, you feel him pressing against you—already hard, tip swollen and leaking. You gasp when he swipes through your folds and instinctively squirm at the contact—but Tom is quick to reposition you, pinning your hands above your head with ease.

“No. You don’t get to run from me anymore. You’ll stay right here and take it. Take it like the good girl I know you are.”

He doesn’t wait much longer. He’s been waiting too long for this, and now that he’s finally got you back—he is going to utilize every single second he would get to spend with you before he’d have to leave again.

He pushes inside with one singular thrust. Doesn’t give you time to adjust.

And God—it’s been a while. You forgot how big he is—the burn of the stretch so overwhelming that your nails dig into his back and your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t feel you tensing beneath him. Doesn’t spot the strained look on your face. Instead, he has already set a rhythm. Hips slamming against yours so harshly, the headboard hits the wall with each thrust.

You don’t want him to stop. You really don’t. But when he shifts his angle to reach even deeper—a strained whimper slips from your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

The moment Tom hears the soft sound spilling over your lips, he lifts his head and stills inside of you.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks, concern visible in his eyes as they search yours. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have— I will stop.”

You hold onto his arm when he begins to pull away, shaking your head no.

“No. Please don’t. Please don’t stop.” You plead as his eyes scan your face. “Just don’t— I haven’t— you know.”

Tom gives you a tight nod, taking it slower with you after that. Carefully giving you inch after inch, kissing along your jaw. Praising you for how well you are doing for him.

“Forgot how amazing you feel wrapped around me like this,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hips stay flush against yours for a second—before he continues his slow and steady thrusts.

His hand slips between the both of you when he feels your walls flutter around him, rubbing your clit in tight circles—just how he knows you like it.

“Tom— Tom, please—“ you moan against his lips, and he rests your legs on his shoulders, allowing him deeper, brushing against that one sweet spot that has you see stars with every single thrust of his hips.

“Come for me, pretty girl. Let it all out.” He tells you, and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge. You whimper-moan as the knot in your lower abdomen snaps, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your walls pulse, clamping down tight, drawing a low groan from him.

He helps you through it, prolongs your pleasure for as long as possible—then, gently, shifts your legs to either side of him, allowing him to lean in close once more. And when he’s close, cock twitching inside of you—

“Where— where can I—“ he rasps, hot breath against your neck, and your legs lock around his waist, keeping him pressed against you.

“Inside. Inside, please.”

“Fuck— so long— been waiting so long for this— “ he drawls, and with one more rough thrust, he spills inside of you—deep, painting your walls white with his release.

His body rests on top of yours after, catching his breath. None of you talk, not until he rolls off to lie beside you, and he takes your hand in his.

You look at him when you feel the muscles in his fingers spasm.

“Cruciatus Curse? Have treated many people with the same symptoms.” You say softly, thumb easing along his index finger.

“I told you. It doesn’t matter to him.” He retorts, voice calm as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh, Tom. I am so sorry.” You whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. You rest your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath you—eyelids slowly fluttering closed as his fingers brush through your hair.

It’s not long until he wakes you, though.

“I am being called,” he tells you, sitting up after placing your head on the pillow next to you, and your gaze drops to the mark on his arm. “Means they found the bodies.”

You too sit up, taking his wrist in your hand as you look up at him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want them to hurt you because of me.”

“If I don’t, they’ll be here within the next five minutes. Neither you nor I would want that. You will stay here.”

Your hand grips his tighter.

“You’ll be back?”

He gives you a nod. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

He smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I promise.”

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

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

[j0s3f1n3]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓛𝓪𝓭𝔂

Tom Riddle x OC

Notes: Hello there ! Here's the chapter 2 (a little shorter than chapter 1) I hope you'll like it. This first encounter between Amber and Tom had me thinking for days before writing it !

Prologue here - Chapter 1 here

Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ２－ ＨＯＵＳＥ ＯＦ ＳＨＡＤＯＷＳ

The rain was slamming the tile floor when she apparted to the location Abraxas Malfoy gave her. Through the walls of water she could see a big mansion, almost like a manor standing just before her.

She was in awe at how grandiose the house was and she had to force herself to walk and tear her eyes off it. There was no light inside, she was wondering if she got the right location. Weren’t these gatherings supposed to be crowded? Lively? At this hour, any normal house would be lit.

The nervousness crawled inside her skin at each step she took, the door coming closer. She felt as if she was being watched but there was no one inside, or at least that she could see.

She had barely knocked when the door swung open, her hand still in the air. She was met by deep blue eyes and blond hair. 

“Malfoy,” She said, the tension backing down inside her. It was nice to see a familiar face even if he was supposed to be a bad man.

“I told you, Amber, you can call me Abraxas” He was smiling saying so and she felt her cheeks warming just the slightest. 

Damn, he was handsome.

He stepped aside to allow her inside. She took off the hood of her cloak while studying her surroundings. It was a very nice place. She only saw the hall but she was mesmerized by how huge, how clean and beautiful it was. All marble and dark wood.

The sound of the door closing behind made her startle. Malfoy offered to take her cloak and she allowed herself to smile. She had to play the act perfectly and it implied a fake appreciation to those people.

“I’ll show you your room,” He said after smiling back.

She followed him upstairs to see that everything in the house was decorated the same way of the hall. He must be rich and powerful to have such a mansion.

They stopped in front of a door at the end of a corridor and he turned to look at her. His eyes wandered on her face as if looking for something before smiling.

“Well this is your room. We will have a meeting at 7pm. He wants you there” And then he turned and disappeared with only the sound of his shoes echoing.

He. Always that word. No name. No face.

She had come to the conclusion that ‘he’ must be the leader but why didn’t she see him when they first met with Malfoy?

She opened the door of her ‘room’ and she wasn’t surprised to see that it was the same palette as the rest of the house. There was a huge bed against the left wall, a desk and some other furniture.

She sat on the bed and found it very comfy. Comfier than hers at her home. She didn’t know how long she would stay here but it was nice to have a good bed for once.

Waiting for the meeting at 7pm wasn’t too long. She stayed in her room, too scared to either get lost in this big house or to see someone.

Her stomach tightened as voices echoed through the corridor ; low, male, dangerous. What she saw in Blackwood’s office, had frightened her to the bone. How someone could do this to people who had nothing to do with them.

A soft knock on her door pulled her out of a book she found and had started to read. Something about a monster living inside a man. It was nearly 7pm so she stood up and walked to the door.

It wasn’t Malfoy at her door. She forced herself not to frown as she looked at the man before her. The man before her had brown hair and tired blue eyes. Not tired like he needed sleep, tired like he’d seen too much.

“Anthony Nott,” he said with a rough voice greeting her

She nodded, saying her name. He raised an eyebrow, as if he was surprised of what she did but he didn’t say anything after.

He guided her to the meeting she supposed. When they arrived at the hall, there were many other people. Mostly men. They all had something strange around them. Something twisted in their eyes when they met hers.

Nott left her at the entrance of the meeting room as he went to sit on one chair that was around a huge table. The table was almost completely surrounded by these people. There were at least twenty of them but there were still many chairs empty so there could be more.

At the end of the table was standing a bigger chair and no one came near it as if it was damned. She wondered who would sit in it. Maybe the leader? The ‘he’.

She looked for Malfoy but she didn’t find him so she sat at a chair where there was no one else. She didn’t know if they would talk to her as they were doing with the other but she was scared to have to talk with them. What could she say?

Soon after, the room was filled and there was just the chair at the end of the table which was empty. The others were conversing with the person next to them. She stood silent, studying all their faces, to memorize them. 

Just as she noticed Malfoy, next to the man of earlier, Nott, the door swung open and everyone straightened, their conversation dying. Their faces hardened just enough to show that the moment was serious now.

A man walked quickly to the chair that was empty. She couldn’t see much of him but she was sure he was the leader. It had to be. How he was walking, the aura surrounding his presence was making her feel that he was important.

When he was at his chair he didn’t sit at first. He stood there, watching the people around the table. When his dark eyes landed on her she felt something change in his eyes that were hard just before. 

The man was deviously handsome. She thought that Malfoy was the most handsome she ever saw, more than Julian, but she was wrong. 

The man before her had to be a fallen angel. His face was shaped with straight lines and his skin was pale. His eyes, even from far, could be seen as a deep shade of brown. His hair, soft curls, were perfectly styled on his head. He was tall. Even if she was sitting she could say that.

His eyes lingered on her just a second more before he moved on before she could completely lose her breath. His expression was unreadable, watching the others as if they were beneath him. And seriously, she was sure they were. A man like him, looking like god himself, couldn’t be lesser than them.

Finally, he sat and he waited a second more before he spoke. “Thank you for coming tonight for this meeting” His voice, like steel wrapped in silk, made the hair on her neck straightened. She wasn’t scared, yet. But she knew he was something different.

“Tonight, we are granted another member” Before she could understand, all eyes were on her, their stares almost undressing her. Whereas, his stare was just there, watching, waiting.

Amber held his stare a bit more, surprise almost showing in his eyes before she looked away. She felt his stare on her as she focused hers on her hands. What an impression she was giving.

“He’s waiting for you to present yourself” Someone to her right was murmuring so she looked up. Gathering all her confidence she stood up watching all these people.

“My name’s Amber Duskwyn. I’ve seen how fragile the system is. I know where it breaks. If you need someone who knows the cracks…” She paused, daring to look at the man. His eyes were locked on her and she couldn’t see what he could possibly be thinking so she looked back at the others looking at her with satisfaction almost “I’m right for this” 

Then she sat again watching as a smile appeared on most of their faces. All but him, he was looking intently at her as if he could see her soul. He looked away and started the meeting without saying anything about her.

She listened to what was said by the people around her. They called themself, the Death Eaters. Charming. What she heard them say and what he was saying, made shivers run down her spine. But she had to make sure they think she agrees with them. So she nodded and smiled from time to time. Not participating.

She felt him look at her while the others were debating an approach about a gathering they were planning. When she dared to look at him, he wasn’t looking anymore at her, watching as his Death Eaters were debating.

His Death Eaters because she manages to see that there was a huge gap between them and him. Many talked to him with ‘My Lord’. She wasn’t wrong saying he was above them. A lord and his subject. 

Nearly one hour later, he called the meeting to an end. The room slowly emptied. The chatters came back slowly as they planned on their evening.

As she was about to leave, still looking for Malfoy. She was interrupted by his voice. “Duskwyn, stay behind a bit.”

He wasn’t unpleasant but not pleased as well. Just coldly looking at her when she turned back and came back. There was something around him. Not something she saw in the other Death Eaters. Darker.

He gestured to a chair closer to him than the one she was at the meeting. “Sit.” Not an offer, an order.

He waited a bit, watching her before speaking again. “I apologize for not greeting you before. I had… Things to attend to.” A smile spread on his face. She didn’t know why but it seemed fake. He was charismatic and it looked like he knew it, using it to have what he wanted.

“It’s okay, Malfoy guided me to my room in your house” She smiled back, faking it. 

Something in his eyes changed and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Malfoy’s house,” He corrected. “But I am glad you arrived well. I hope you’ll find everything to your liking”

Now, his eyes were scanning her face, watching every change of her expression. He had emphasized the word ‘everything’ just enough so it didn’t seem forced. She knew he wasn’t talking about only her room but she acted innocent.

“Everything is great, sir” She let a small smile spread on her face.

She was sure he was about to correct her and say that she had to call her ‘My Lord’ but he leaned on his chair watching her once again.

“You can go, I’ll reach for you soon enough. We have many things to do” A smirk on his lips as if he knew something she didn’t.

She stood back up, nodding before leaving. Just as she was opening the door she heard him talk again.

“Call me Tom, Amber.”

-----------------------------------------

All rights reserved. This is an original piece by ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ. Divider from @aquazero •°. *࿐

[j0s3f1n3]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝓤𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓴𝓲𝓷 (part 2)

Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Count word: 2489

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ OR OLDER

TW:  Smut, not protected p in v, oral sex f!receiving, bite (kinda?), MDNI

Notes: I was so busy and i had so much trouble writing this part 2 but here it is. I don't know what to feel about it but i still love it that way. Feel free to share your reviews, or not (;

(part one here)

Two days, it had been two days since you last saw him. Avoiding him wasn’t easy when all you can think of was his freckled face and his lips on yours.

But you couldn’t flee now. 

Your footsteps echoed in the dungeon. You didn’t see him right away. Maybe he managed to get away of Detention? It wasn’t something Sebastian Sallow couldn’t do.

But then his figure appeared. Leaning on a wall, presumably waiting for you. 

The sight of him made you freeze. It felt like the air had been sucked from your lungs. He didn’t seem to have noticed you. Maybe if you turned now, you could pretend to have the flu. Or any other contagious sickness. 

“There you are” Your heart stopped at his voice before beating again. Why were you acting like you were in love with him? It’s not like you even liked him. 

You hated him.

You started walking again, each step making the inevitable come near. You had to talk to him. And he was silently waiting for you.

Would he pretend the kiss didn’t happen like you were planning to do? You thought that like you, he got caught in the moment and that this kiss didn’t mean anything. It had to be.

He didn’t let you have time to talk. He took a cloth on the floor and started rubbing the floor. “Sharp told us to clean the section we didn’t do last time and after that we’re free to go” His voice was rough as if he had held his breath too much. It wasn’t mean, the way he talked but you felt the change.

He wasn’t avoiding you, right? Sebastian Sallow never missed an opportunity to annoy you. But it seems that what happened last Saturday made him avoid your stare. Was he ashamed of it?

You shouldn’t be sad that he wouldn’t dare to look at you. You shouldn’t want to be near him. 

You hated him.

Silently, you took the other wet cloth and started cleaning. The room around you, yet silent and empty, was like the walls were watching you. Anything but him. The silence was tense and you had to restrain yourself not to fill it. You weren’t the type to do small talks but this silence was making you squirm.

About an hour later, you had finished cleaning. Sebastian hadn’t talked nor looked at you. And you didn’t know why you felt pissed by it.

You hated him.

You walked away as quickly as you could. You needed to be far away from him. Because you didn’t know what you would do if you were not at least a tower away from him.

You heard his footsteps behind you and before you could do anything, his hand grabbed your wrist. You turned to yell at him but his expression made you freeze in place. It was as if he was physically in pain. Or at least, his expression was softer than usual.

“I think we need to talk” You didn’t know if it was a plea or an order but you didn’t protest waiting for him to continue. 

When he didn’t you raised a brow. If you hadn’t your nerves on alert you would have loved to see Sebastian speechless. That wasn’t something you usually see. And you would have loved to annoy him with it.

“Actually, can we talk in private”

Was this nervousness? 

“Why? What do we need to discuss that needs privacy?” You were scared of the idea of being somewhere way more private than the dungeon or an empty corridor with him. 

Whatever you felt around him since Saturday, you could manage it but completely alone with him, you didn’t know what could happen and that was terrifying.

“Please” He was almost begging now. You couldn’t refuse him when he was looking at you like that. 

You almost forgot you hated the man.

“Alright, but I don’t have all the time in the world” 

He grinned, his usual cocky attitude coming back.

You followed him inside the empty castle, avoiding the Prefects making their rounds. You frowned when you entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower. And you were even more confused when he guided you to a space just to the side of the stairs near a strange clock.

“What are we doing here, Sebastian?” He smirked and pointed his wand to the clock. The gears moved and a door opened. 

“Come in” he ordered and you raised an eyebrow.

“If it’s one of your prank-”

“It’s not, come in” You rolled your eyes before following his order.

You walked in the dark before a room appeared before your wide eyes. You knew most of the secret rooms and secret passages but this one had been out of your radar.

The room was like a big storage room but there was a couch facing a fireplace. A desk with paper all over it and even some empty bottle of firewhiskey.

You felt like home and the tension on your shoulder loosen a bit. 

Sebastian passed before you and lit the fireplace with a movement of his wand. He turned to face you, and the look on his face confused you

He was nervous, that was certain. You didn’t know why but he was.

“Sit,” He said, gesturing to the couch separating you for now.

With narrowed eyes you sat. He followed just after, sitting at a right distance but yet too close for your liking. You didn’t know why but his presence was making you feel dizzy. His scent made your brain longing for his touch. But you shouldn’t feel this way.

You hated him

“About Saturday” He started but you interrupted him.

“It was a lapse of judgement from both of us.” You didn’t want him to think that you enjoyed it. Wanting more even.

He stayed silent, looking down at his hands. He started fidgeting for a while now. Then he looked up at you. Really looked at you and you had to look away.

“You think it’s a lapse of judgement?” He asked softly.

Your head snapped to him. “Because you don’t?”

“I’m not pretending it is. Are you?” He had approached a few inches on the couch and you felt your cheeks burning by the intensity of his stare.

“This kiss was nothing, right?” He stayed silent again. “You hate me, I hate you.” You continued. You were trying to convince yourself more than him. His body was too close.

Your brain short-circuited and your resolve was loosening. Why was he making you feel those things?

You hated him.

“It was never hatred.” His voice was merely above a whisper that if you hadn’t paid attention you wouldn’t have heard him. “It was easier to be someone you could push away… than someone you’d never want close.”

You knew what he was implying. And you knew deep down for a while. But you didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

The way his eyes always followed you. When he defended you, made you laugh, or got under your skin not out of spite, but because he cared. 

That’s when it hits you: you never hated him and he never hated you either. You were in denial that he fell for you the day your eyes met the first time.

You shook your head. You didn’t want to believe it. But you knew it was the truth.

“Yes, don’t deny it. I always wanted you and you knew it.”

His eyes locked with yours and the softness in it, the longing. Your walls broke down.

The man you thought you hated, was in front of you, looking at you like you were the first woman he ever laid eyes on. 

And you loved it.

“If this is all some twisted joke, Sallow, I swear…” You started but he interrupted you.

“It’s not” His voice was gentle like you never heard him. 

You studied his face a bit longer before you completely abandoned your reasoning. You grabbed his face and crashed your lips on his. He wrapped his arms around you a second after returning the kiss.

It was as if you both had waited for it the whole time. Craving for each other's touch. Longing for more at every eye contact. Saturday was just the beginning, now you were unleashed.

This kiss wasn’t like last time. You weren’t questioning it. You surrendered. You weren’t scared of wanting more.

So when his hands traveled to your hair while he guided you to lay completely on the couch, you let him. You let him because you were longing for him to have you. To touch you, claim you, fuck you.

His kisses traveled to your neck where he trailed open mouth kisses to your collarbone. His free hand moved to your blouse before he stopped, looking at you, seeking your consent.

When you nodded, he started to undress you kissing each inch of skin appearing. You were burning by his kisses, the pool of pleasure in your lower belly making you feel even hotter.

He took off your blouse and bra. His gaze darken with lust at the sight of your bare breasts. The hand supporting you slid to your right breast, playing with your nipple with his fingers.

A moan escaped your mouth and he hummed at the sound before wrapping his lips around your left breast. Your hand fled to his hair. Not pulling away, pushing him closer.

You didn’t know why you liked it so much. Like you were waiting for this moment your entire life. You had some sex with other guys but it wasn’t this way. This hot.

Every touch ignited a fire that spread on your entire body. The moans leaving your mouth filled the room as Sebastian kept licking on your breasts until you were a whining mess.

His kisses, then, went lower as he made his way to your skirt he pulled off. He trailed kisses down your belly, then looked up at you. Waiting for your consent again.

The vision of him between your legs was making your core twitch. And you had lesser control over you than earlier. You would beg for him to touch you more.

“Please… Seb-” You don’t have time to finish your answer that he planted a kiss on your clothed cunt. You gasp, throwing your head on the couch.

He kissed you over your panties before pushing it aside. After planting two kisses to each side of your inner thighs, he put his mouth or your aching core. A strangled noise left your mouth, all this pleasure was already threatening to unravel you on his face.

He licked you like a starved man, sucking your clit which made you moan louder. Your hand still tangled in his hair, you were grinding on his tongue, back arched, chasing your release.

And when you reached it, your vision was blurred as if stars had fallen in front of your eyes. Pure hot white pleasure flowing in your veins as you moaned his name.

Sebastian kept licking or whatever he was doing to make you feel this way, through your orgasm. The man had to be a pro at this. It was like he knew every spot that made you moan.

You slowly came down off your high to find him staring at you. There was something in his eyes making your cunt twitch, again. Something hungry. Primal even.

“You’re so pretty when you cum, love” His voice was thick with desire and the kiss he placed on your thigh made you shiver in need.

The smile he gave you when he noticed the look in your eyes would have made your knees fall if you weren’t lying on a couch.

How did you manage to bottle up the feelings for him? And most of all, how did you manage to be this oblivious about how hot and attractive this man was?

“I need to see it again” The kiss travelled to your breast while he said that. “Need to see it with this sweet pussy around my cock”

He sucked at your neck making a soft whimper fall off your parted lips. You swore he could make you fall over the edge just by talking to you.

“Are you gonna let me make this pussy feel good again?” His eyes were locked to yours now, looking for any discomfort or annoyance. But when he found nothing he smirked.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss like he couldn’t get enough of you. His restrain slowly got thinner as you moaned in his mouth.

A curse came out of his mouth when he heard you. “Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me?” He whispered.

He kissed you again, rougher this time. His hands roaming your body as if he wanted to memorize every curve. You could feel how much he had wanted you. How he never hated you, no he couldn’t.

“I need to feel you” He murmured as he was grinding his hips on you. “Please” He was begging now and Merlin, it was the hottest thing you’ve seen him do and that was a lot considering how much you’ve discovered of him tonight.

He was losing control, you could sense it. And you wouldn’t forbid him what he craved the most. Because you wanted more as well. All your body was reacting to him in ways you didn’t quite understand.

“Sebastian, I need you…” It was all you could manage to say. And even if you could, you wouldn’t say more.

He groaned, nipping at your neck before he started unzipping his pants. He was trembling as he did so. Then he guided his painful hard cock to your entrance giving you plenty of time to stop him. But how could you stop him when your body was begging for his cock.

“Please,” you whimpered and that was the final straw of his restrain as he slammed into you filling you in one single thrust.

You moaned and he started a steady pace. He wasn’t making love to you, he was fucking, hard what he had craved for years. His grip on your hips tight as he fucked you like a goner.

Every thrust driving him even more mad and making you moan his name louder. Your nails digging in his shoulder. Everything was brutal but Merlin you loved it that way.

It wasn’t long before you both had your climaxes. Moaning each other's names as his body collapsed on yours with breath heavy.

He didn’t pull out of you as he nuzzled in your neck while you started playing with his hair as if it was the thousandth time whereas you were just starting.

“I’ve never wanted someone like I want you.” he whispered, listening to your heartbeat.

You would love having the habit of having him like this.

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All rights reserved. This is an original piece by ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ. Divider from @saradika-graphics•°. *࿐

[j0s3f1n3]

"I write for my own enjoyment"

And

"I'm happy when people interact with my writing"

Are two sentences that can coexist!

[j0s3f1n3]

ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ'ꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴꜱ

I had these in mind for a while and my brain allowed me to write them so enjoy (;

Tom Riddle would definitely yearn for you. He would do anything so you can be his. Small things that aren’t seen at first.

Tom Riddle would memorize every little thing, every detail you said so he can buy and read your favorite book for example. He needs to know everything about you.

He keeps a small picture of you in his notebook. Not one you gave to him, no. You can’t know how far his affection goes. It’s a picture he took of you when you weren’t paying attention. Reading on your favorite spot, your face slightly smiling at what you were reading. It’s a small thing showing that he cares. Even if he doesn’t want anyone to know.

During meals, if you're beside him, he would put his hand on your thigh, if in a good mood. But yet, his face stays unreadable, keeping on the conversation he has while he is possibly teasing you underneath the table.

To blend in more and to empty his head, he would smoke (a lot). He likes the scent of tobacco. But, he would completely disagree with you smoking just one. Won’t ‘forbid’ it but would clearly judge you. As if the man didn’t smoke an entire pack per day.

Tom Riddle isn’t the type to like PDA (public display of affection). The thought of having people around you see that you’re his weakness makes him loathe every touch. But he is always there. Staying near so people know not to bother you.

Tom wouldn’t die for you, because he is afraid of death. But he would definitely kill for you. And with no regrets. Without you knowing of course, you’re too nice for your own good but he would definitely kill anyone threatening you.

He would definitely watch you sleep. Not in sinister way. But because he is kinda sleep deprived, he would take this opportunity to watch how beautiful you look when asleep. He would claim that it’s to make sure you’re alright but he just likes your peaceful face.

Even if he doesn’t like PDA, he is very possessive. And when he’s jealous, you can’t get away from his grip on your waist. He will make sure every living person will know you’re off limits, you’re his and only his.

The man has a big ego. Sometimes he even thinks of him as a god. And he doesn’t like to blend in with the ‘other people’. But with you it’s different. If he’s god, then you’re his goddess.

Tom Riddle doesn’t like losing control. Ever. But with you, everything comes with emotions he doesn’t usually have. Control slips from his hand and he’s raw to you. Especially in bed.

You’re his soft spot. There’s always a storm in his eyes, a sharpness in his movements and words. But his eyes land on you, everything softens just a bit. He doesn’t acknowledge it and doesn’t want anyone to notice it but you’re his soft spot, his weakness.

He is clearly an ‘ass man’. He loves the soft bump of your butt and loves to grab the cheeks of it. So, of course, his favorite position is doggy, so he can see and touch your ass all he wants.

Talking about sex, I think that unlike what we can think. He can give aftercare. Small yeah, but it’s Tom we’re talking about. If he cares about you (in his own twisted way), he would know what you like and do it so you’re happy.

Truthfully, he is rough. Using you like a stress relief. But isn’t it like you like it?

He likes to ruin you. Just enough so you’ll know who you belong to. He’ll tease, make you beg, break you. You’re his to use and will make sure you know it.

In rare moments, he would let you see his vulnerable part. And when this happens he’s the softest you’ll ever see him. Kisses without hurry, gentle and almost loving. He would even fall asleep on your breast, listening to your heart beats like you do usually on his chest. You’ll then fall asleep playing with his hair. But in the morning, you’ll find his side of the bed empty and Tom back to normal. Cold.

-----------------------------------------

All rights reserved. This is an original piece by ᶠᵃˡˡᵉⁿ. Divider from @strangergraphics •°. *࿐

[j0s3f1n3]

neutral colored lace dividers for @strangerstilinski

please like and credit if you use, reblogs are appreciated! thank you! 💕

[j0s3f1n3]

thinking about…

ᡣ𐭩 lazy sex with Tom Riddle

after a stressful day.

The kind of sex where you strip each other’s clothing piece by piece. Where touches are slow and deliberate, exploring each other like you rarely get to do. Where his lips are on yours as soon as he slips inside, muffling your soft whimpers with a gentle kiss.

His hands on either side of your head, keeping you close. His eyes, the most beautiful dark brown, locked onto yours. 

Soft praises falling over his lips.

“Good girl, taking me so well.”

“I know, I know.”

“Just what you needed, isn’t it?”

“Let go, darling.”

Hips rolling into yours slowly, his body weight pressing down on you.

Fingers tangled in his dark curls, drawing shapes and patterns along his toned shoulders with your other hand.

Breaths mingling as he closely watches your every expression, placing soft kisses on your slightly parted, swollen lips.

Sex without haste, without responsibilities gnawing at your conscience. Sex to calm you both down. Sex where the main goal is not a quick build-up of pleasure and release, but rather the feeling leading up to it.

When you do finally tip over the edge, your entire body trembling, he holds you close, helps you through it. Prolongs your pleasure for as long as he possibly can. Works you like he’s studied your body, like he knows it better than you do.

He might, after all.

And when he follows, right after you, it’s never without sounds—whimpers even. Praising you, again, for how well you are doing, how well you are taking him—all of him.

After, his body rests on yours, all spent. Dark curls sticking to his damp forehead, his chest heaving with every breath he takes. Your fingertips explore along his back, gently caressing the skin over his tense muscles. Tom, trailing kisses down your neck, starting just below your ear. Mumbling just how much you mean to him.

One of the few times you’ll see Tom with his guard down. Raw and pure need. Affection almost. 

Love, if you dream.

For you.

Only for you.

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

⋆˙⟡

A/N: this is so short, forgive me. will see yall again when my finals are over!!! love u all sm🫶🏻

[j0s3f1n3]

🐍| Slytherin Version

🦁| Gryffindor Version

🦡| Hufflepuff Version

🦅| Ravenclaw Version