#idk what else to tag this as. let me know if I should tag it with anything specific

[slytherinboysappreciation]

SMUT REQ LESGOOOOO

Male reader and Tom are from the Wool's orphanage and they grow together, so ofc it would be natural for Tom to think that they would end up together, right? To have reader standing beside him as he becomes the Dark Lord? Wrong. Reader never considered him more than a best friend or a brother that should be protected. So when there's a rumor abt reader dating someone Tom was furious, he went to search reader to confirm the rumor (which is not true) but alas, he's too furious to listen so he fuck him dumb, and Tom started speaking parseltongue while getting it on

Bruh idk how to explain this lmao, English is hard 😔 But hey u can make the setting for this one when Tom was alr a Dark Lord (daddy) or when he's in the 7th year.

Rumor - T. R. x male!Reader

A/N: I’m so sorry for taking so long to get to this 😅 My writing motivation has been a little skewed lately. However, I did it! And I hope you like it!

I changed the parseltongue part to him speaking it when he gets angry enough because it just helped the story along more. I hope that’s okay.

It’s unedited with no use of Y/N. I think I tagged everything, but let me know if I missed something please! 💛

And of course, this fic contains explicit sexual content so ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS!!!!

CW: Possessiveness; mentioned failed love confessions; angst; a mention of horcruxes; anger, lots of anger; murder mention; Tom gets a bit physical with reader; dubcon touching; dubcon sexual content, (consent is there, but not referenced); handjob; doggy style, I think?; Tom ties reader’s hands with a belt; anal sex; anal penetration; no lube mentioned; dirty talk; aftercare; slightly fluffy ending; also, this takes place after Hogwarts so Tom and Reader are both of age!!!!

1676 words

You were Tom Riddle’s best friend.

Everyone knew it. He’d made sure of it as soon as your friendship had been born. You were his friend. First and foremost, above anything else.

You were his. His friend. His follower. Almost his lover even.

Not anymore.

From as far back as he could remember until his seventh year of school, you’d been by Tom’s side. The two of you grew up together. Shared classes together. Practiced dark magic spells together.

And then graduation came and ruined everything.

He hadn’t meant it to. When he’d confessed to you, he’d thought you’d felt the same. Thought you’d felt the spark between you. The feverish heat that came with late night talks and too long glances.

But no.

You hadn’t seen Tom as anything more than a friend. Even worse, you’d called him your little brother. It had made him sick, to think that all that time he’d been pining after you, you’d never even looked his way.

So he’d cut you out of his life. Carved you out of his heart and left a bleeding hole there instead.

It hurt every day you weren’t there.

But he’s stronger now. He has Abraxas and Bellatrix to take your place.

He never finds himself clutching his chest, gripping so hard his knuckles turn white from how strong the pain is of missing you. Never. Not even once.

Not even making a horcrux hurt as badly as missing you.

But Tom was content. He was fine. He had other followers who were just as loyal as you’d been. He didn’t need you anymore.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

It all changed the moment your name fell from Abraxas’ lips.

Tom’s head snaps up immediately, eyes cold and intense. “What did you say?”

Abraxas blanches, as if realizing his mistake. “My Lord. I just— I didn’t mean—“

“What did you say?” Tom’s voice is low, almost a hiss of warning.

“I— I said that Lestrange saw him out with someone. A— A woman, it looked like.”

The fury is slow building, but its intensity could’ve fueled countless more murders. Tom rises slowly. He stands, his aura sucking the life out of the room.

“I will return.”

With that, he sweeps out of the room, a cold blaze of fury and betrayal following in his wake.

Neither Abraxas or Bellatrix try to follow.

He finds you in your house. Whether he knocked or not, you’re surprised to see him all the same.

“Tom?” You stare in bafflement, maybe even awe.

He’s not surprised. Tom’s been told many times of his physical beauty, something that only heightened over the years. And it’s been many years since he’s seen you.

You look… very much the same as ever. New hairstyle, perhaps. Your face has matured a bit, making you look a little older. But you’re still you.

“Hello.” He spits out, barely able to hold back the rage and flood of feelings that fill his mind. Anger, betrayal, hurt; as if the rejection had been mere moments ago.

“What are you—“

“Who was she?” Tom demands, interrupting you. You blink.

“Huh? Who was who?”

Tom grabs your shoulder, his fingers digging into your shirt. “The woman you were with.” His voice is venom, pure anger in his tone. His voice shakes with it as he speaks. “Lestrange saw you with someone. Who. Was. She?”

You blink, visibly confused. Then your expression clears. “Oh. Her? She’s just a friend.”

“I don’t believe you. Who. Is. She?” Tom grabs your other shoulder, barely holding back from shaking you.

“A-Aurora Greengrass,” you stammer out, looking even more startled by his anger. “I swear, we’re just friends—“

‘Just friends.’

That’s exactly what you’d called Tom’s relationship with you. A ‘just friends’ thing.

He doesn’t even listen to the rest of your words. Blind to everything but the fury in his veins, he starts rummaging through your shirt pocket. Looking for something. Anything to prove you wrong.

He only finds a pack of cigs and an old lighter.

He tosses them to the side and hauls you over to the nearest wall. Slamming you against it and holding you firmly in place with one hand. “Who is she to you?”

You stammer, unable to form words. Tom grips your shoulder tighter, pressing closer to you. “Answer me!”

“I— I can’t understand what you’re saying!” You cower in the face of his anger. “I can’t understand— Ahhh!”

You yelp and shudder as Tom’s hand grazes your groin. He ignores your reaction and digs into your pants’ pockets, looking for anything at all. There’s nothing but fabric and a single money bill.

Still, his hand continues to search, roaming from pocket to pocket like something will appear. Nothing does.

It only heightens his anger, makes his jaw clench with fury. His words coming out in a hiss. “Is she your lover? Your wife? Or is she just another useless little toy for you?”

You let out a pathetic little moan, hips jolting a bit. Tom’s vaguely aware that his hand has stopped wandering where it’s supposed to be. But he can’t be bothered to look.

“Answer me!” He spits out. “Who is she to you, really?”

“I can’t—“ Your voice comes out as a pathetic whine. “Tom, please! I— I can’t understand you!”

Your hips jolt again and Tom finally looks down. He’s groping you, hand wandering across your half-formed hard on. Unconsciously feeling you up.

And you’re not pushing him away.

In fact, you’re stifling a moan, resting your head back against the wall. Eyes half closed. As if you’re… enjoying this.

A plan forms in his mind. A wicked, wicked plan. If you’re not willing to answer him… he’ll just have to fuck the answer out of you.

“Couch,” he hisses, “Now!”

He yanks you after him, relishing the way you stumble. You don’t deserve his kindness right now; what you need is to be fucked dumb.

Tom pushes you down against the couch and reaches for your belt. You don’t even protest. You just whimper softly and let him do what he wants.

He pulls your cock out, sliding his thumb along the tip. You moan and arch up, precum coating his thumb.

“T-Tom!” You gasp as he fists your cock, gripping tight enough to make you see stars. Your hips thrust up automatically, fucking into the sweet pressure of his hand.

“Shut up!” Tom hisses, eyes narrowing. He starts to move his hand and you choke with pleasure.

“I can’t— fuck!” Your head is thrown back against the couch, hands gripping the cushions tight enough to make your knuckles white.

You moan and writhe under Tom as he guides his hand along your cock, shifting and changing the pressure until he finds what makes you gasp.

And then, he pulls back.

Making you almost sob from the loss.

You reach for him, voice cracking pathetically. “Tom, please…!”

He bats your hands away, manhandling you until you’re kneeling on the couch. Pants around your ankles.

You grip the back of the couch tightly, practically clinging to it as Tom undoes his own belt. He grabs your hands, looping the thick leather around them. Pinning your hands together. You’re tied up now, unable to free your hands.

Tom frees his own cock, lining himself up with your asshole. You shudder and whimper, face flushed red. “Please!”

“Needy little bastard,” Tom hisses. “Can barely even wait for me.”

You just moan and press back against him. “Fuck, that’s so hot…”

Slowly, Tom sinks into you. Inch by glorious inch, he slides his cock into your greedy little hole. You clench hotly around him, making his breathing stutter.

You feel divine.

Hot and tight and perfect.

He bottoms out, cock buried deep inside you. He grips your shoulders, resting his forehead against your back in an effort to keep from cumming on the spot.

You’re a moaning mess, soft pleading babbles mixed with whimpers and gasps. Tom can barely understand you, you’re so incoherent.

It’s exactly what he wants. You fucked out enough that you forget how to speak.

Finally, he starts to move. In and out, each thrust getting faster and more aggressive. Slowly building up until you’re sobbing underneath him, mindlessly whining with pleasure.

You look glorious. Perfect.

It’s like a dream come true, you underneath him finally, just like it was always meant to be.

The thought makes his hips stutter and he grips your cock. He won’t last long like this; you’re clenching around him too tightly.

With a couple good firm strokes, you’re spilling onto the couch, cumming with a loud cry.

Not even moments later, Tom thrusts into your ass, filling you up with a gasp of his own. He shudders and leans against you again, struggling to catch his breath.

Slowly, he pulls out of you, absently rubbing along your back. The rage is gone from him, leaving him feeling tired and drained.

“Are you…” Alright doesn’t seem like the right word for the situation.

But you just moan softly. Roll over onto your back and gaze up at him with dreamy eyes. “Fuck yeah…”

Tom chuckles softly, almost tenderly. He can’t help it. It’s you.

Gently, he undoes his belt around your hands. They flop uselessly to your sides, as boneless as the rest of you. You just melt into a puddle of dreamy gazes and soft smiles.

He literally fucked you dumb.

As you continue to bask in the afterglow of your fucking, clarity starts to return to Tom. This is his opportunity. His chance to look around and see what you’ve been doing with your life since he cut you out of his.

But…

Gazing down at you…

Tom settles himself on the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms. You happily snuggle into him, burying your face in his neck.

Snooping can wait.

It’s been forever since he had you all to himself like this.

And he’s planning on taking advantage of every moment he can get.

[todayisafridaynight]

journalists underestimate the magnitude of my addiction and how far i'll go for the bit

[micamicster]

Folks, now that you have heard my story (Say, boy, hand me over another shot of that booze) If anyone should ask you Tell 'em I've got those St. James Infirmary blues

St. James Infirmary Blues, performed by Louis Armstrong, Cab Calloway, and various others

[totaled-drama]

Hi :) I know most, if not all, of you follow me for my art but I wrote a fanfic for the first time in ages.

It’s a rajbow and juliayne fic :) hope you like it if you decide to read it.

[cashmere-caveman]

Hanif Abdurraqib, it’s not like nikola tesla knew all of those people were going to die | Anne Carson, H of H Playbook | Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain | Franz Wright, Heaven | Toby Whithouse, shooting script for Being Human S1E1 | Franz Wright, Heaven | Erin Slaughter, I Hope My Salt Lamp is a Weeping Deity | Richard Siken, Straw House, Straw Dog & My Country: The New Age, Episode 16

image descriptions in alt

[longhands]

[lighthouseas]

so uh

[caloboletus-rubripes]

hey how do you forgive yourself for doing something something you feel is irrevocably embarrassing even though you know you can do anything you want forever

like how do you unlearn that shame

[iiboronii]

i think that i might've posted about it before but i <3 all the little -ler blogs on here. i'm being so fr. nothing clears my skin more than seeing a -ler blog answering questions. i love you guys please keep making silly little -lers.

[thecherrygod]

/

[ch3shire-rabbit]

Something I wrote based off of something that’s not canon in my Kirby interp’s timeline anymore

——————

It has been years— no, millennia since the last of his family and friends had succumbed to old age and faded away. His once strong wings are now patchy and bony. His horns were chipped and worn—practically crumbling away—and was missing its golden glow. The bright fuchsia hue of his body had faded into a sickly pink, his bones the weakest they’ve ever been. Galacta Knight had lived far longer than he should have. Impossibly longer. He knows. 

The butterfly reaper watches him approach as he limps towards it. Its ghostly white eyes offer nothing but an unreadable stare. For not the first time, Galacta pleads to it.

“Please let me die,” he rasps, “I am very tired. The ones I loved and befriended are long gone. With too much time, I’ve lost my sense of purpose. I’ve lost everything.”

A hint of betrayal flashed in his company’s eyes, but dissolved as quickly as it came.

“Then wend and maketh yourself new friends,” Morpho Knight stated, it’s tone of voice eerily calm. Anger bubbled at the back of Galacta’s throat.

“There’s nothing left!” he groans. Long ago had he lost his ability to yell.

He grabs Morpho’s gloved paw with urgency. It’s wings twitch, and mirror the drooped posture of Galacta’s.

“Por favor,” Galacta pleads. “Déjame morir.”

Morpho’s glow dims ever so slightly. Something flickers behind it’s eyes. Frustration? Exasperation? … Sadness?

“It is not thy timeth yet,” Morpho only says.

It recoils from Galacta’s hands as if it were burned. Ignoring the whimper from said knight, it morphs into a butterfly and flutters away. It’s glow disappears into the darkness.

[me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink]

sometimes I’m scared that other people only think my outfits eat when they emphasize my waistline and make me look skinny and not when it’s an outfit that I put a lot of care into because it’s another form of expression for me

[fertbutt]

forever sick and tired of the way tiktok teens and society in general treat homeless people. yes, I'm sorry the man thats been violently rejected from society and denied his human dignity was rude to you that one time, but jesus christ please just have an ounce of empathy. homeless folks are, surprise, actual people, with personalities and preferences and dietary restrictions. homless people are allowed to not like certain foods. their control over their lives has literally been stripped away from them, atleast give them the choice of what they eat. all of the comments on this post are people fantasizing about harassing a disenfranchised person because he was mean. just because a homeless person wont play into your weird savior fantasy doesnt mean theyre undeserving of food or money or even just basic decency. always remember that we are all just a couple bad days away from being just like them, on the streets with literally nowhere safe to stay, being judged by well-off white women masquerading as progressive activists and expecting you to act like theyre mother theresa.

[goldkrone-struggle-tweets]

I am an adult, I have responsibilities, I can log off at any time, it is beneath me to get involved in or vaguepost about petty fandom disagreements- sees a post ah.

[theboy-thebitch-thelegend]

untitled.

you sit beside me under the tree  I offer you my heart in the midst of casual conversation, like a piece of fruit, and you say you are not hungry- so I retreat my extended hand and take my pocketknife and carve my heart into slices like a peach. 

I sit beside you under the tree eating my own heart in front of you, the blood running, sticky, sweet, down my hands and forearms and chin- I wonder if my love for you has become,  more than anything else, an exercise in devouring myself.

[healersadjust]

So..... I know I missed thigh day.... But I think its ALWAYS time for Aki thighs