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bellsofblueficlets · 10 days ago

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Choices Made, Chances Written

Time. Time. Time… It passed, it flowed, it served. His greatest tool, his greatest weapon, and the one thing too, that he couldn’t out weave, out think, out plan. Time moved at it’s own pace, to its own sway, and the rest of eternity was left to meet it’s rhythm, or be left behind.

The hound had a name now, he called it Barghest. UnDreamt had suggested the name, purportedly in jest, but didn’t seem displeased when it had stuck. The creature’s first loyalty was to its nightmare, as was such creature’s nature, and it stayed close whenever he allowed- but when UnDreamt extended a hand, it always answered. And he knew that UnDreamt would never admit how much this pleased him.

One more timeline, struck from his list. One more group of faces, of names, removed from his list. One more branch of his mage’s family, given to hellfire. He could have killed them any other numbers of ways, but he wanted them to feel the flames, wanted them to scream for mercy that never came, as the once mage had before…

This was the magic they had built their empire on, the magic they had used to raise up puppet kings, and cut down great kingdoms. They deserved to know it, intimately, in their last breaths…

Was he losing himself to that same magic? Maybe. Maybe one day the fire would take him, as it took so many before. If that day came, maybe he would regret. Once, he would have believed it. He didn’t anymore.

Time passed. It flowed. It served. But most of all, it changed…

He saw the tapestry everywhere now, saw Fate’s weavings behind every gesture, knew the shadows it might cast in every offered word. He guessed and second guessed and followed threads down a dozen different paths with every choice he made. Was this life? It seemed it was his. Constantly changing, writing and rewriting, constantly in flux-

Through every path though, one thing remained unchanged. One singular point, upon which he knew he would always be able to depend. And more and more, what that meant troubled him. The way his dusty looked at him never changed. Ready, devoted, his right hand, his trusted in all things. He didn’t know if there was anything at this point that could drive Soot from his side, and…

Sometimes he traveled down those threads of fate, that should. Just to see where they laid. Pressed things to the point of decision, to their furthest point that could still be withdrawn from, just to see. And every time, Soot stood beside him… right to the end. Even when that end was at his own hand.

Again, and again, and again. Even when he had the chance to stop him. He would die on his knees, blood on his lips, his gaze locked loyally on the demon’s… his blade in reach, his nightmare exposed for a blow, and he would just… die. Rather than lift his hand against him.

Further. Further. Khary traced the threads to bloody, horrible ends. A slow death. A butchering. A betrayal soul deep. Holding Soot’s soul in his hand, and-

This was the thread that fell from his fingers with a sudden, violent sense of nausea, sending him to his knees. UnDreamt had stared at him, a narrowed gaze, suspicious, as the nightmare was violently sick. His hound had whimpered, approaching slowly, and nuzzling him. Khary had lifted a hand, patting it, reassuring the creature, though the same reassurance was absent in him.

Soot… Soot waited for his master’s orders. His loyal dog, forever, and ever, to the end.

Khary stepped back from his threads after this. Tried to remember what the sky looked like. Tried to remember what color looked like, beyond this strange broken reality that was both his sanctum, and his living tomb.

Most of all, he tried to remember the moon. The stars. The night sky, that as a nightmare, bitty or otherwise, by all rights fell within his domain.

He needed to get out. But more than that… He needed to give his most loyal, his first sworn, something more than himself to live for. Because while he was willing to accept being damned, while he weighed the risk and the price, and found it one he was willing to pay… He feared what it would mean, If Soot followed his path all the way to it’s end.

His mage was dead. Reborn. Moved on. By necessity beyond his reach, forever and ever. Therefore, if he still loved anything anymore…

…It was the one he knew would share that path, forever. And the one who, above any other he might pull into his madness, might plow down before it, deserved better.

For days after this, he’d been silent. Withdrawing into himself. Soot had stayed near, refusing to leave him unless ordered, and he hadn’t been able to bear ordering him. Finally he’d left the clocktower, and left UnDreamt and Barghest waiting, uneasy, for their return.

For days they lay back to back, still and silent, alone in the Sketching.

Throughout all of this… the once mage was silent. Khary couldn’t even remember the last time they’d spoken. Had it been years? He thought it had…

Maybe they’d already fused. Maybe they were already one. Maybe he’d missed it.

At last, he fell into a fitful, feverish sleep. And when he woke? Soot remained beside him. Sitting up, slowly, for the longest time Khary just stared at his dusty, worn, exhausted, and resigned. And then he’d stood, and Soot stood with him, and they’d returned to the clocktower.

As though under some mutual, unspoken understanding, no one said anything about his breakdown, or following absence. No one asked any questions.

Then. UnDreamt was an empath too. Maybe he didn’t need to. But he felt the worry in the shattered, and saw the lingering glances. It wasn’t a day later that UnDreamt dragged a makeshift bed into the Sketching, told him in a mutter that he was a fucking idiot, and then stormed off again.

That night, for the first time in… How long had it been? Decades… He slept in a bed. Soot stayed close, the whole time. UnDreamt, maybe surprisingly, stayed close too, albeit on his own private couch- vacated by the hound, in favor of lying by it’s chosen master.

…Maybe he dreamed. If he did, he didn’t remember them.

In the weeks that followed, he slowly drew back into what had become his normal. Fell back into routine, even when it still felt like going through motions. But for now, he looked away from fate, choosing instead to look over the notes he’d gathered, and the things they’d done.

Maybe people weren’t meant to gaze so deeply into Fate’s threading. Maybe not knowing the many paths that could be taken, or what lay at their ends, was important sometimes. Necessary even. Part of being a person, being alive.

UnDreamt brought him food more often. Sometimes Soot brought back things clearly made by bitty hands, though he never said where they were from.

He didn’t need food or sleep to survive. Not really. But, it made a difference. It helped. And he remembered more and more, the final lesson that Rantrum had imparted to him. ‘Don’t repeat my mistake. Don’t do this alone…’

Soot knew his nightmare well, and had learned across decades to read his expressions and gestures, his intention and his need. He knew exactly what it meant when a brief flicker of annoyance crossed his nightmare’s face, knew the weariness in his movements as he stood, and the tight control in his voice when he said, “Stay.”

He stayed, of course, and offered not so much as a twitch as he waited in the shadows for his master’s return. His brother? Well, his brother didn’t obey, but he was used to that. He simply waited as the phantasmal skeleton wandered here and there, black streaked sockets all but lightless as he took in the meager surroundings, and as he did, laid out all he saw to Soot’s mind as well.

His Papyrus was many things, a second pair of eyes, a constant low murmur in the back of his mind, and a part of himself that he’d never understood how deeply he ached for the lacking of, until his brother was there to fill the silence in his mind.

Most of all, his Papyrus was his insanity, manifest. The violent impulses, the manic energy that gripped him from time to time, the self destructive nature, as well as the near constant urge to kill, destroy, and betray. It gave voice to all those urges, all those impulses, with a skeletal grin and an unsteady laugh…

A voice distinct from his own. At times, yes, it offered a jarring counterpoint to his own silent, inner dialogue, and yes, at times the urge to move, to strike, to kill, crept down his arm and into his fingers, his eyes narrowing, his breathing quickening-

That was when his nightmare would notice, and offer himself as a buffer against that need. Sometimes with a long and particularly violent sparring match, sometimes that meant giving him a mission, and giving him free rein, and sometimes that meant drawing off the worst of that urge, that need, and talking him through the rest with promises of suffering, of bloodshed, of screams…

Along with all of this? He called Soot his second, and his sworn. His lieutenant, and his right hand. And always, always, reminded him who he was. Papyrus was part of him. Papyrus was not him. And maybe, as a dusty, he’d always needed the distinction that offered.

Horror bitties had their cracks for a reason, his nightmare would remind him sometimes. Almost absently. Dust bitties had their Papyruses…

…and nightmares, had their dreams. This part, always unspoken, but Soot knew it just the same. He knew too, when the way his nightmare didn’t say it, changed. Saw the added glance towards ‘his’ dream, ever huffy and irritable, something he found there briefly gentling the nightmare’s eyelight.

And Soot? Soot understood. After all, his Papyrus had come late too.

When his nightmare returned, his lieutenant was exactly where he’d left him. Soot read the agitation that prickled at his corruption, not an actual shape, but a shifting in the dark tarry liquid somehow reminiscent of a bristling cat. His single eyelight was pure ice and fury, but he said nothing of why he’d been called away, looking past Soot, towards their target for the night.

After a three count, he looked away, his socket closing briefly. The fingers of one hand curled tightly into his palm as he weighed what to do next.

Finally, he turned back, giving his dusty a long look. The dust bitty waited. Whatever his nightmare decided, he would serve. It was the part of his existence without doubt, without qualm, without hesitation. He didn’t try to anticipate, he didn’t worry, he didn’t second guess, he just waited for his nightmare’s order.

Two long tentacles twitch. His claws twitch. He turns away. Soot waits.“Destroy the records.” Deep rage lie beneath his words, despite the control in his tone. “Destroy the equipment. See none of them leave. See everything burn.”

An extended silence follows, the small movements slowing, and for a moment, his gaze seems fixed at some point in the sky above. At least, if the sky could be seen from where he stood. Maybe all the more significant then, that the moon lays right where it would be if he were.

“Spill whatever blood and dust you need,” He finishes at last, his voice rough, bitter- but decided. “Tonight my magic is yours, and you, my will, manifest. See it done. But above all else-”

His nightmare turns enough for a glimpse of cyan, no more, no less than this, “See that what is mine, returns to me.”

…Soot understood. A small incline of his head, no more. It seems to satisfy his master, who grunts softly, muttering, “One hour, my dusty.” And then, he was gone.

To Soot’s eyes, his nightmare seems to rend apart at the seams as he vanishes, to be twisted by the wind into nothing at all. But there is deep certainty that he’ll return.

“My dusty…”

Maybe there were emotions that aligned with this. He gave them little thought. For him, it was simply a reaffirming, a reminder of his place in the multiverse, and his worth in the eyelight of his master. It was enough. It was everything.

In his mind, his brother shrieked silent glee, laughing and goading, promises of the satisfaction of yielding flesh, of gushing blood, and the exhilaration of splintering bone. His laughter filled Soot’s senses until he could feel it pounding in his chest, feel it pulsing in his fingertips.

He let it wash over him, looked up to the air vent grate some eight inches wise by four inches tall, nearly ten feet above, and silently promised his brother blood to come.

It was easy to tell that they’d used his nightmare’s own magic to ward and seal the place, but there was no point reflecting on the kind of thought process that led people to keep using locks that still actively bent to the locksmith’s command. It was his master’s magic, and therefore it was his to call on.

He knew how to move without even stirring a recognition of magic to magic- as it echoed in him, therefore he was part of it, therefore he wasn’t there, as there was nothing to recognize. Short cutting into the little vent was about as much effort as breathing, bypassing the grate, and leaving all the little alarms and traps that guarded it undisturbed.

He knew the way in, he knew the locks that guarded it- from here though, he’d be going in blind. His nightmare had never bothered with windows or grates before, his ‘Sketching’ as he called it, able to slip past without ever needing to take them into account, much less circumvent them.

This time though… he’d hesitated. Stared a long time at the building. Muttered about unfamiliar magic, strong magic, and spatial disruptions. And something… had made him unsure.

To his mind, this meant only one thing. Something here posed a danger to his nightmare. And that something needed to be destroyed.

The already silent cackling of his brother now grew more silent still. He was ready. Eager. All but vibrating. Soot could hear the sounds of life. No words being exchanged, but movements. Clicking, clacking, clinking. He reached the end of the vent, and peered out-

Usually, these things had cages, or cubicles, or binding sigils of some kind. They were businesslike, efficient, well orchestrated. People moved to and fro, talked, worked-

What he was looking at now, more than anything, was a room filled with people standing perfectly still. There was a wall of computers, there was a wall of tubes and piping and strangely colored liquids, but while he suspected many were magic, he felt no trace of any magic but his nightmare’s, and his own.

And in front of the computers, the scientists and workers stood completely still, silent, save for the scratching of pen on paper, and the near silent pressing of of computer keys. The sound of clinking, clacking, clanking, came from the tubes. From time to time, there was a sound, like a releasing of pressure.

He was no empath, nor had he ever attempted to draw on that part of his nightmare’s magic, but even to him, for all the emotions that may have been ‘scraped away’ when he was made, fear was one he knew, and one he recognized. And it was one he saw before him now. A held breath, a soft exhale, a tense stance, a twitched finger. An aborted attempt to reach out. A heavy swallow.

Soot watched, and felt a sense in the room like a great weight, almost like something being restrained by an enormous pressure, but even that was his nightmare’s magic, so he shrugged it off with ease. Maybe that was what had them so still, so afraid- Maybe not.

Clink. As he watches, fluid slowly crawls up one of the tubes. One of the scientists catches his breath. A glass vial slowly turns, the liquid within almost spilling out, but never succeeding. Each time it seems about to, it suddenly seems as though it never had been to begin with. Another scientist is so taunt, watching this, that he’s almost shaking.

It looked wrong, to Soot’s eyes. Like things half happening, then half happening differently, and then doing it again. Like everything and everyone in the room was just on the cusp of… something. And everyone was aware of it. And nobody knew how to take the next step. And he watches, waiting at first too… Then frowning, and instead, stepping forward, and shortcutting through this grate too, landing in a tucked away space behind-

But the folders he’d just been standing behind weren’t there. In fact they’d never been there at all. In fact they’d never been at all. He narrows his eyes, and shortcuts again, this time to a higher vantage point. He chooses on of the humans, a woman, with short, messy blond hair, and a clipboard in her hands. She’s writing. And writing. And writing. But what she’s writing flickers and shifts while he watches.

This was what his Nightmare had sensed. Soot’s gaze scanned the people in the room again, this time seeing them for what they were. Everyone in this lab was a prisoner. Some seemed to realize it, others just knew something was wrong. There was no telling how long they’d been trapped this way. There was no telling if the world outside even knew they still existed, or if, in the world outside, they still ever had.

He looked around again. As seconds passed to minutes, he picked out more and more things that changed, and changed again. But a few things? A few things never did. A single manila folder, tucked just to one side, next to a pile of others that flickered in and out of existence, changing form, shape, contents, and then vanishing altogether. A single screen readout that continued scrolling, rather than winding back, changing or repeating. A single vial of fluid, that while it never fully emptied, continued to pour its contents smoothly, without interruption.

Here and there, were a few others things as well. None though held his attention for long. None of them were important. Whatever was… He wasn’t seeing it.

His Papyrus shifted, narrowed his sockets, and began to dart back and forth with increasing urgency. Then stopped, gaze fixed. Soot instinctively turned, following his brother’s gaze-

One of the researchers was staring at him, confusion, disbelief, and fear in her eyes. A moment later, she was facing away, and she’d never seen him at all.

His Papyrus continued to stare, something like confusion itching at his mind.

Soot had seen enough. He had his orders, and one of these had been to meet his nightmare in an hour. And time here seemed like a fickle thing…

There’s no sound of warning, just a sharp black bone, driven deep. A researcher, sinking to their knees. He waited for them to rise again, for someone to raise alarm, for panic, and blaring sirens-

But they just laid there, dead. No one looked towards them. Silence continued.

It was… an execution. He mind, had no problem with that, once he understood how it worked. And Papyrus? Papyrus shrieked in silent joy, darting about the room is wide swathes to see the devastation from every angle. And when the last one fell, it wasn’t enough, and Soot was breathing fast, his pupils dilated, sweat beading his brow, gaze darting around as he looked for one more target, just one more-

No movement meets his eyelights. A shiver traced down his spine, a promise of something wrong, and an uneasy counterpoint to the rush of adrenaline that came hand in hand with killing, and LV, but nothing in his expression changes to betray the brief trickle of fear.

Reality shifts. Profoundly, completely. One is standing again. Two never fell. A fourth had never existed at all. The memories of what had always been overlapped with what, beneath that, he knew had actually been. But he killed them once, he can kill them again.

After four more times, killing them again, after they change in age, in number, and identity, only one remains. She looks… tired. Confused. Scared. Human. Her hands are trembling as she looks around, like she doesn’t know where she is.

His orders were to see that none of them leave. He doesn’t hesitate. A blaster skull appears, its jaws already around her. Sharp teeth snap closed. Her eye widens, briefly, as they meet in the middle, her middle. It lets go. She falls. She isn’t dead, but he fixes that quickly. Ruby liquid spreads across the floor.

Now there are two, ruby red in color. Not human, not monster. Just a wet ruby red, but standing there like they belong. One takes notes, the other asks questions in static.

Slowly, his hand lowers. He has his orders, but this isn’t working. What is he missing?

Destroy the records. Destroy the equipment. See everything burn. He summons the blaster again, not his, not strictly, but where his powers begin and end has long blurred. It’s close enough to his. There’s a familiar sound, a powering up of energy-

Gaster blasters were dangerous things, but it was easily to underestimate the damage they could so, when they belonged to bitty. His though? His dripped black tar. His breathed in blasts of raw energy, and in hellfire-

And as the demon’s magic rushed through the room, as desks and computers and papers and figures of liquid ruby red were vaporized, something else, made with that magic, cried out a thin, high wail of recognition, and fear. And Soot? Went briefly still, before reaching out with the demon’s magic, and searching for the source of the sound.

It was something that touched everything that had been made from his nightmare’s magic, after all. Him, his brother, the beast, the dream- He knew like he knew his own breath, his own magic.

Hellfire grew in a ring around them, but advanced no further. Something held it back. And it took that something almost everything it had to hold it back.

Then, with one final rush of effort, of magic, a conclusive force of magic erupted through the room, and the hellfire went out. Then, as he watched, reality, the deeper reality that he’d felt beneath the rest from the beginning, reemerged, and stabilized. Everything reverted to what it had been before he arrived, but this time, the scene he saw was very different.

It was almost like a glamour had fallen away. The researchers he’d seen, upon entering? Little but bones remained now of the humans, and these months old, and rat chewed. Not even dust remained of the monsters, if they’d ever been there at all. Soggy papers laid everywhere, damp files, moldy charts- the computers that had been humming and beeping and clacking away were dead, and silent.

And in the silence, Soot heard tired whimpering. It wasn’t hard to find the source. A containment tank that hadn’t been there before now stood at the very center of the room, filled with a bio-gel that had been intended to sustain and sedate the creature within in a suspended state.

Easily ten feet wide by seven feet tall- it held a single, tiny, babybones within, bare and fragile, and all appearances brand new, encased behind multiple protective barriers and behind what had once been an extensive defense system, like some weapon of mass destruction.

‘Subject X- 355,’ a plaque on it’s surface said. Nothing less, nothing more. Still, he could hear the seemingly brand new bitty whimper, despite being trapped deeply in sleep.

Whatever he was, it seemed he’d been having a nightmare. And made it everyone else’s too.

The containment tank was running on backup power ‘now,’ however long ‘now’ had been, but it was beginning to fade, and his magic had been all but exhausted. Whatever they’d created, whatever risk he posed, it would end soon. Soot watched through the glass as it tried to move, tried to open it’s sockets. Watched as the lights on the tank dimmed, flickered, and started to go out…

The walls of the container were made made from the type of material that could withstand a detonation at close range without collapsing. No less of course, for their newest dangerous little weapon. Resisting the sharp impact force of a blaster ramming it though, again, again, again, in the same place over and over- Well, that it wasn’t designed for.

Cracks spread, across the container’s surface, and across the blaster’s skull, spilled magic leaking from the injuries- But it was the container that gave way first.

The fluid within… didn’t rush, or gush, so much as it oozed out, slowly. Soot summoned his blaster back to him, climbing on top of it, and then commanded it back to the tank. One last nudge from the blaster’s muzzle brushed away the swaying veil of connected shards, and Soot climbed inside, wading, trudging, and sometimes swimming through the thick liquid to reach the child still out of reach, and beginning to grow still.

The dangerous bitty’s hand’s closed about the infant’s waist, and pulled him into the air, where his ribcage swelled as the infant gasped his first real breath-

Here is where most babies would have cried. He’d been crying, only moments before. But as the killer, the murderer, the assassin, the living weapon, like him, slogged through the gel, struggling not to loose him footing, or drop the tiny little babybones, all it did was open it’s sockets, and look up at him.

Such a strange, glowing purple…

It watched him as he carried the baby to safely, it watched him as he removed what remained of his scarf and tried to wipe the child clean, or as clean as he could, and it watched him as he looked back the way he came, before shortcutting back into the vent, and began the trek back along it’s length towards the outside. It watched him as, exhausted himself, he summoned his blaster one more time, and climbed on top of it, letting it carry them both back towards where he was to meet his nightmare-

Then it closed, and the infant fell into sleep. And with a rush of fury and heat, the hellfire returned-

No records would survive. No equipment would survive. Everything would burn. It was just as his nightmare had ordered-

Except, maybe. That someone had left, alive-

Soot hops down to the grass, and waits for his nightmare. It doesn’t take long. Khary looks first surprised, then concerned, but offers no protest as he steps into the Sketching.

“…What’s his name?” The Nightmare asks, quietly, gently taking the child to look over.

The dusty thinks. Then signs, simply-

“Excess.”

#fictional infant endangerment #unreality #questioning sanity

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viperify · 6 months ago

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Smutmas 2024 | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ᴍᴜɢɢʟᴇ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

We will meet again. | pt 2

Short summary: Ever since you had met Tom, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was mysterious and intriguing in the best possible way – if only he hadn’t disappeared out of nowhere at the Christmas market. It’s two weeks later now and you intend to spend Christmas Eve by yourself. Or will you?

Warnings: 18+ only! stalker!Tom, dub con, rough sex, extreme choking, impact play, degradation, biting, bondage, slight blasphemy ig, unprotected p in v, no aftercare

A/N: All I want for Christmas is… uhhh…

wordcount: 2,9k

part one | part three

Nobody messes with Tom Riddle’s head.

Especially not a muggle girl.

He let his guard down that day, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. You intrigued him in the worst possible way– an odd feeling he wasn’t used to blooming in his chest. One that only got stronger every time he had looked into your beautiful eyes, one that he couldn’t seem to let go, one that distracted him any time he wanted to simply read a book or study.

It has been driving him close to insanity.

Two weeks have passed since your encounter at the Christmas market and he had since found out where you lived, when you arrived home after work and, most importantly, he had a well worked out plan where he would teach you a little lesson.

Christmas Eve.

Fourteen days ago you met Tom, and he has never left your mind since. He has even followed you in some of your dreams. The necklace – you don’t wear it. Too much of a reminder of how he just left you behind, essentially having your friends think you’ve gone crazy as you rambled on about this tall, handsome stranger who you swore was just sitting there next to you on the bench. Without paying it any further attention, you have put the jewellery away, somewhere where you were sure you wouldn’t have to encounter it again for the next few months.

You live in your own apartment, within a small living room currently decorated with a middle-sized Christmas tree. The smell of pine needles and gingerbread hangs thick in the air, altogether creating a pleasant holiday feeling which perfectly fits to your tradition of watching a seasonal movie on Christmas Eve.

The season of love and peace doesn’t feel much like it when you have to decorate and organize everything yourself. The past few days have been nothing but tiring, which is why during the movie your eyelids flutter close every few minutes and you have to fight sleep with all your strength. Your exhaustion finally gets the better of you and you decide to head to bed, slipping into your fluffy bunny slippers and turning off the TV. After, you make your way to your bedroom, only the flashing Christmas decorations you had put up leading your way, casting a faint light on the otherwise empty hallway.

You touch the cold metal of the door handle and push down, entering your bedroom. Instead of darkness the dim light of your motion-sensing lamp greets you. It has been bugging often lately, just like the camera surveilling the front door entrance. Not even technicians you had hired could fix the issue – strange, you thought, especially as you have never had problems before. It’s probably due to the chilly weather they told you.

As you take a breath, a strange, yet familiar scent hits your senses. It reminds you of that day at the Christmas market. As you try to figure out where it was from exactly, Tom crosses your mind. It was his perfume, unmistakably, one that was so unique it was easily recognizable. Then, on the other hand, how could-

“You left your front door unlocked.”

A familiar voice, which you instantly make out to be Tom’s, snaps you out of your thoughts. You shriek, turning to face the figure behind you. You weren’t mistaken.

Your blood is rushing through your ears as he’s just standing there, arms behind his back, staring at you. Even in this faint lighting you could swear his eyes have gotten darker than last time you saw him.

“What the-? How did you get in here?” You breathe heavily, furrowing your eyebrows at the sight of how calmly, eerily so, he was standing in the corner of your bedroom.

His lips twitch slightly, almost like he was about to reply, but instead he takes a measured step towards you. “Why aren’t you wearing my present?” he asks, voice low and controlled as his gaze sinks to the exposed skin of your cleavage, scanning it for the silver necklace he had left you in your handbag.

A scoff escapes your lips, and you shake your head. “Now tell me one good reason why I should. We have barely talked. You left without saying anything. I never asked you to come back either, especially not by breaking into my house.”

It wasn’t exactly true – of course you have been thinking about him. About how he caught your attention so easily in the first place, how different he was to other men. You even have dreamed of him. Yet, you weren’t a person to just simply forgive and forget.

“Leave, just like you did two weeks ago. You have no business being in here anyway.”

Tom’s expression doesn’t change as he stands still for another moment. Though, he then quickly advances toward you and before you can react properly, he grabs your arm and pushes you back against the cold wall of your bedroom, pinning you in place with his body.

“I am not going to leave any time soon.” He snarls as his hand wraps around your throat, just enough to feel your pulse under his touch. You have been messing with my head. And you know what happens to people that mess with my head?”

“Bad things. Horrible, in fact.”

You avoid his piercing gaze best as you can. “Well,” you huff, “that is not my fucking-“

Smack.

You hiss, head whacking to the side as his palm strikes your cheek forcefully, the burning sting radiating through your body. And damn – it shouldn’t make you feel the way it does.

“I am going to scream.” You croak best as you can, though you aren’t quite sure if you could under his firm grip.

“For help?“ he taunts, his lips curling up in a smug grin, “I would like to see you try.”

“I know what you have been dreaming of the past two weeks. Exactly this, isn’t it? My hand wrapped around your pretty throat, fucking you senseless. You can’t hide from me.”

“I have no clue what you-“

You hiss as a sharp pain in your head cuts off your lie, and the world around you shifts into something oddly familiar, a scenery you recognize from one of your dreams you had two nights ago.

It was you and him after your encounter at the Christmas market, but instead of disappearing, he had come home with you.

Not only that, though.

“God Tom, please!” You whine, lifting your hips from the mattress to meet his harsh thrusts, desperately chasing your high as he hits all the right spots that have your vision blur.

He looks so perfectly messy like this – sweat glistening on his skin, his beautiful brunette curls sticking to his forehead as he looks down at you with hazy, lust-filled eyes. The most raw and gorgeous groans come from his slightly parted lips, and you swear that sight alone would push you over the edge soon enough.

“Tell me what you need, and I will give it to you.” Tom encourages, sucking marks into the tender skin of your neck.

“Need you to choke me. Please.” You manage, and his hand tightly wraps around your throat in an instant, as though he was waiting for those exact words to spill over your lips.

“Anything for you.”

And just like that, the scenery shifts again. You whimper as the stinging pain in your head disappears, and you are met with the brunette staring right at you with a cruel smirk, his face inching closer to yours until he is merely a breath away.

“It would be oh so cruel of me to deny you-“ Tom rasps, his voice laced with sarcasm as his hand finds its way under your skirt, “what you have been craving for so badly, don’t you think?”

A nod. A nod is all you can manage in return. You don’t even have time to question whatever just happened, inhaling shakily as his hand travels up your bare thigh, thumb brushing over the damp spot on your panties. Tom furrows his eyebrows and groans, lowly, at the feeling of your arousal on his finger.

“This turns you on? You are more pathetic than I thought.”

The firm grip he has on your throat softens, and your lungs finally expand with oxygen as you suck in a deep breath. He takes out a weird looking stick from inside his coat and mutters something for you inaudible. Just a second later your clothes are neatly folded on the floor and you stand there – half-naked, merely your lace underwear left on your otherwise exposed figure. You gasp in surprise and instinctively try to cover yourself, however Tom is quicker, grabs your wrist and sits you down on the soft mattress of your bed. Then, he does the same thing again, to himself this time.

Your eyes widen, trying to comprehend whatever just happened right in front of your eyes. “How- who are you? Some kind of magician?”

The brunette huffs, pushing you down onto the velvety sheets of your bed. “I am much more than a mere magician.”

And this time, he would let you keep the memory.

Before you can reply anything, he hovers above you, trailing kisses down your neck. Not like those you are used to from past experiences, though. They are rough and full of hunger, teeth grazing your skin, biting down here and there, practically marking you up as his own. Just like those dreams you have had.

Tom trails lower, stopping right at the swell of your breasts. “Still wearing too much.” He mutters under his breath, but it’s too late when you realize his intention. The material of your bralette rips with a sharp tear as it gives way to the force he is applying, the fabric sliding off to each side.

You want to complain, tell him that was one of your favourites, but when his teeth sink into the flesh of your breast any sane thoughts vanish from your mind. “Tom! Are you crazy?!” You shriek, attempting to push his head off you.

“Some people would say insane.” He retorts almost too calmly, lifting his head to answer, though not wasting much time before he dips down again to wrap his lips around your stiffened bud, sucking and biting down on it.

You throw your head back as soft moans escape your parted lips, your fingers raking through his perfect curls, tugging on them just slightly. His hand wanders down your stomach, and with a quick motion your panties are thrown on the floor.

“That is by the way no proper way to undress a woman.” You scold, and his eyes meet yours for a moment.

“You must be utterly delusional to assume I cared about that.”

Shaking your head you reach to the waistband of his briefs to get rid of them, blindly taking his length in your hand while you study his facial expressions. Only when you stroke him up and down, rubbing your thumb over his with precum glistening tip, you notice his size. Fuck.

His hand takes yours, pinning both of them above your head. Tom stills then, his eyes skimming over your naked figure underneath him for a brief moment as though he wanted to imprint your form into his mind forever.

“Keep your hands up there.” He demands lowly, and that is when you feel him aligning himself with your entrance, pushing into you steadily. You gasp at the blissful stretch Tom is providing you, burying his cock in your warm, welcoming walls.

“Season of love and peace, hm?” He rasps, pulling out of you almost entirely. “Let me show you what that means to me.”

A whole lot apparently.

“Because all you have caused me is anger and frustration.”

“Oh fuck- that’s too deep!” You cry out as he thrusts back into you at his last words, with much greater force this time. “Yeah? And I know you love it. Look how greedy you are, sucking me right in. See what a pathetic slut you are for it.”

His demeanour has in the meanwhile changed into something darker, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he mercilessly pounds into your tight cunt. You don’t exactly know what you have done wrong – he left you behind after all, not the other way around. However, who were you to complain if it meant you would get this?

Your hands reach to hold onto him, digging your nails into his skin, mark him like he did with you. A short-lived idea, it turns out. Tom hisses something, a word you can’t quite understand, and your hands return to their position above your head. Securely fastened with invisible binds.

“Wh- oh god! Oh dear god fuck-“ you cry out as he repeatedly hits that one spot deep inside of you that has stars blur your vision, subsequently having his hand wrap around your throat to muffle your moans. Then, his burning gaze meets yours.

“God? Pray to me. I am the only one above you, pray to me.”

Tom’s grip on your throat tightens at that, almost cutting off your airflow entirely.

Dreams do come true, after all.

The sounds of skin slapping against each other fills the room, and the air grows thick with the smell of lust and desire. You get to feel all of him, every single vein, even the slight curve of his perfect length. It all feels too good, too much for you to take. With your hands tied and voice taken away, that though is the only thing you can do – taking it.

“How does it feel-“ he breathes heavily, his dark brown curls sticking to his forehead as he punctuates his question with particularly rough thrusts. “How does it feel to be completely at my mercy, hm? To have me decide whether you get to take another breath?”

You can’t manage a reply, too caught up in pleasure clouding your mind, too focused on the slight sting you get as he brushes your cervix with every thrust as your walls give way to him entirely.

Soon your eyes flutter close, your consciousness slowly fading away under the firm grip he has on your throat. His hand then releases you, instead delivering a harsh smack to your cheek.

He adds another one as you don’t respond immediately.

“Breathe.”

You cough, gasping for air as your vision slowly comes back to you and are met with the brunette glancing down at you. “Doing so well for me.” He groans lowly, his thrusts growing more erratic as you clench around him, feeling your own high building rapidly.

“Please- please I need you to-“ you whine, bucking your hips against his thrusts for more friction. He reaches between you two, thumb finding your clit, rubbing figure eights on it. “S’ that what you need?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, oh Tom-“ your wrists pull at the bindings, but it’s no use. “Come. Come and show me how much of a slut you are for me.”

That’s the only thing you need to hear before the waves of your climax wash over you, repeating his name like a prayer as your cunt greedily pulses around his length, encouraging his release as well.

“I fucking- hate you-“ he grunts, emptying himself inside of you, biting down on your shoulder and collapsing on your spent body afterwards. You two stay like this for a brief moment before he pulls out of you. Tom keeps your legs spread and you whimper softly as his fingers swipe through your glistening folds, gathering some of your mixed arousal before he brings it to your lips.

“Open up. Taste us.” He demands, and you follow his command, taking his digits into your mouth to suck them clean. You never take your eyes off him, and the sight in front of you is heavenly. Tom looks oddly messy like this, hair disheveled, beads of sweat visible on his forehead, lips slightly parted as he breathes. Lord have mercy, you think.

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth and cleans himself with what you have learned to be his wand. “You are a wizard?” You ask, sitting up to meet his gaze.

Tom nods. “Do not speak to anyone about this. Or I won’t have mercy with you next time.”

You grin. “There will be a next time?”

Just another second later and he stands before you, fully dressed in his black robes, his eyes wandering over your figure and his lips curl into a satisfied smirk. “Maybe. If you wear the necklace.”

You point towards the mess on your sheets and inner thighs expectantly. “Could you-“

“I am quite positive you will be fine.” Tom replies sternly, getting ready to leave.

It’s not that you were expecting him to stay the night, though you couldn’t help but feel disappointed he was leaving so soon. Your eyes follow his tracks, and when he then stands before you to hand you your clothes and a towel, you take the opportunity.

“Would you stay if I wanted you to?” You ask, still hopeful, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head. “No.”

And so Tom takes out his wand, hesitating for a moment before he turns to face you for one last time.

“Happy Christmas.”

Just like that, he is gone again.

And the necklace? The most beautiful you have ever worn.

tagging for pt 2: @theacreativity @sirenseaborne @tomriddleswhcre

#do not question author’s sanity #idk if this is what yall expected after pt 1 whoops #am i going crazy?#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle smut #slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #smutmas 2024 #dividers by strangergraphics #dividers by saradika #ᯓᢉ𐭩 ᴍᴀʀ’ꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

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