#tom riddle is daddy

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

[mrsriddles-blog]

His Obsession

Gasoline

[mamalunawolf]

The (Almost) Capable Woman

TW: mature and sexual content. Minors don’t interact. Mentions of three people. Professor Riddle X ocreader (Amaya) X oc(Jackson) 🔞

Amaya and Jackson are mine. Thank you 😊

Author notes: I wrote this while putting my kid to sleep. So I’m sorry if it seems off. Also they are all adults in this time. I absolutely love how this went. Even though I made Amaya seem like a whore. But I swear in actuality, she is a loyal one type gal. I wish to roleplay her again.

Amaya wasn’t capable of many things.

Like simple equations or how to act well around others without slipping a few mumbled curses under bated breath. No. She couldn’t even hold a broom properly. Each slip up and she would fall. Or the fact that her history of magic was as bad as Professor Binns. Even though he would go on for hours. Poor girl and how she now became a herbology professor for Hogwarts. At least she had her friend, Jackson who aided her during their school days. Now that he was a top Auror. How kind and gentle he was to her. The way he offered to take her to the Hogsmeade fall festival dance if no one else would. The way her fingers slip so easily and delicately into his hands. Or how a pair of unwanted eyes gazed at her from afar. Seething and wishing to take her as his own. Professor Riddle was quite the character. Either you catch him on his good days or bad days. And the fact he aided her on her defense spells was a phenomenal achievement. Behind closed doors that is. Those private lessons paid off once she won her first duel. And he stood in the corner cheering her silently with a fist almost torn off by his teeth.

Oh how quite the character..

Now it was a matter of time when Professor Slughorn decided to have one of his annual dinners. The old man would talk on for hours and boast about how Tom Riddle was his prized student. And now had her friend, Jackson being the star pupil. How Jackson smiled with pride as she complimented him on his achievements. And Professor Riddle would clench his fork in his hand to the point it almost bent out of shape.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Amaya said softly, placing her napkin onto the side of the table of her now empty plate. Only for both Jackson and Professor Riddle to not hesitate for even a moment. To stand from their seats, the table shifting abruptly. As they wished Amaya a good night. She wasn’t even out of her seat yet when they suddenly stood. Or how oblivious she was to how smitten or head over heels they were for her.

How one wishes to taste her skin while the other wished to have her themselves. And that’s when she realized. She was capable of something.

As she stood in the empty dark classroom. Sitting on top of a desk. Her leg over one man’s shoulder, Jackson on his knees. Letting his lips brush along her inner thigh. While Tom was behind her, his hands touching her sides like she was just a canvas needing to be painted. His lips grazing across her neck. She had the power. She had full control over them. And she was enjoying every minute of it.

[deadghosy]

⊹˖✧°⋅

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲!𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐗 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Sugar daddy!Tom who would take you to fancy dinners.

Sugar daddy!Tom who pay for everything. He’s your sugar daddy, and you’re his baby.

Sugar daddy!Tom who does show off his expensive ice watch when some other bloke tries to impress you.

Sugar daddy!Tom who could definitely buy out a shop for you if you asked.

Sugar daddy!Tom who just hands you his black card. Don’t worry baby, he’s got himself and you all covered.

Sugar daddy!Tom who would paid for all your hair & nail appointments. You name it, he’s got it paid in an instant.

Sugar daddy!Tom bringing you to his business trips. He has to spoil his baby that’s always by his side.

He could possibly buy the world for you. Hell, he spoils you rotten.

He’s buying you Prada, Chanel, any brand you like. Just tell him and he’s buying it for you.

The cold type of sugar daddy that makes you beg for him to buy you something. He loves when you beg.

The type of sugar daddy to help put on your heels or any shoes on your feet.

When it’s your birthday, it’s never plain at the least. He’s always surprising you every time.

Your wardrobe is decked out in any outfits of fashion. Say thank you to him.

He always has reservations at the fanciest restaurants ever.

Buys your most expensive shit ever so you can flex how both have a good future husband.

[ladymoody]

THE MORNING AFTER

mattheo riddle x fem!reader

warnings: +18 content, dom!mattheo, mention of alcohol and weed, sex after breakup, explicit language, dirty talk, fingering, breast squeezing and nipple playing, spanking, v eating, p in v penetration, creampie.

word count: 2,3k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist ; navigation ; my website

I groaned as the stiff morning light cursed through the blinds, forcing me awake. I rubbed my eyes, probably smearing my makeup everywhere on my face. I didn’t have a mirror but I could feel the weight of my eye bags caused by the fact that I hadn’t slept so well.

I spent a few minutes in bed, trying to recall the events from the night before. what snapped me back to reality and made me remember was an arm loosely wrapped around my waist. I slowly made my way out of bed, taking the sheets off me and adjusting my clothes — I was wearing my panties and my cheetah-printed t-shirt from the day before.

I looked back at the guy on the bed as I brought my hand to cover my yawn. I didn’t know who the guy was but we had apparently spent the night together. I looked around the room just to recognize mattheo’s furniture and his unmistakable scent of weed and vodka.

mattheo had thrown a party in his house only inviting his close friends. he and I were close friends, sort of. actually, we had dated for 11 long months but it didn’t work out and we broke up. since none of us cheated or anything we decided to stay in touch and to remain friends. mattheo was a nice company after all.

I looked at the clock and noticed that it had stopped — my head hurt and my legs felt numb as I headed towards the exit. I had drunk a lot.

“morning.” a grumpy voice spoke. I entered the kitchen just to see two people peacefully sleeping on the couch and one of them was blaise but I didn’t know who the other girl was.

“mornin’.” I answered as I glanced over the direction where the voice came, and realized it was mattheo.

“slept well?” he asked sipping his coffee. he was leaning against the counter, his hair messy from the weird position he had probably slept in, barefoot and shirtless.

“sure thing.” I squinted my eyes as I felt another wave of headache hitting me.

I approached him and made a little jump to sit on the counter next to him. “are we the only ones up?”

“apparently.” he lazily responded taking another sip of his morning coffee before setting the cup down and turning his full attention to me.

“have you checked your phone?” he smirked.

his facial expression got me suspecting there was something up. I shook my head and reached for my phone which was previously left on the table in the center of the room. I unlocked it and turned off the airplane mode. oh my god.

+99 messages??

I couldn’t get what she meant so I immediately went to check theo’s story.

WHAT THE FUCK!

I was completely speechless in a mix of confusion, embarrassment, and panic. I immediately turned to look at mattheo who was now peacefully smoking a cigarette.

“mattheo…?” he heard me saying his name and his ears straightened up. he didn’t move, instead, he just breathed out the smoke and hummed to let me know he was listening.

“what’s on theodore’s story?” my voice had a slight hint of fear, my eyes almost cowed by the thought of his future answer.

“oh, you’ve seen it?” he smirked, playing dumb, now making our gazes meet.

I had no idea what game he was playing, but I didn’t like it.

“mattheo.” I warned him both because I wanted him to stop being so cocky, and because I was hoping for more information than a simple rhetorical question.

“y/n.” he copied my tone and turned his head to fully face me, now his grin had grown wider.

I stared at him for a few seconds trying to comprehend the thoughts behind his persuasive eyes, but nothing seemed to be there — except some sarcasm and his usual flirtatious expression.

I focused on my phone again and decided to text to enzo.

JUST smooching a bit? we had broken up!

“something wrong?” mattheo’s voice and hand suddenly resting on my bare thigh brought me back to reality which felt like a very harsh slap.

“did we…? you and I…?”

“you drank a bit. I drank too. guess we missed each other.” he winked at me before taking a drag from his cigarette. oh it couldn’t be… could it? I was so puzzled and I couldn’t even bring myself to form proper sentences.

“but did you-”

“no. I didn’t go further. theo posted a picture of us falling asleep on a bed so we probably were too tired.”

theo posted another picture???

“what did he post?”

“go check it. it’s on twitter.”

I still couldn’t believe the nonchalance he was talking with, but ostensibly he was fine with everything we had done.

oh. my. fucking. god.

“mattheo…” I sounded like I was whining.

he looked at me and took a few steps to stand right between my legs. I had forgotten how sexy he looked.

“what’s up, princess?” the cocky smirk never left his face as he kept his head up, staring at me.

I felt like all this time spent to forget our romantic memories was wasted in one night. I had worked hard trying to see him as a friend only, but the thought of me and him making out again and spending time with each other in an intimate way was freaking me out. I didn’t know what to say or do, mattheo was standing in front of me — his hands resting on both my thighs as he had previously finished his cigarette.

“we were good together, don’t you think?”

of course, I thought we had been good together. but it was over. I needed to remind myself that.

“we were a great couple, but we broke up. I think we should forget the past.”

“yeah, and think about tonight. or do you wanna forget about that too?”

“we were drunk… I- I don’t want to discuss it, mattheo.”

“we can avoid mentioning the topic, alright.”

“thanks.” I sighed.

he moved closer, holding me by my hips firmly before grabbing my waist and lifting me up. I automatically wrapped my legs around his waist and his hands moved to my butt to allow him to have a better grip on me.

before I could say something and object to what he was doing, he spoke — “you aren’t drunk anymore, are you?”

I wanted to get off him, I wanted him to let me go and put me down… but his scent, his touch, his eyes looking at mine, his appealing lips…

“I’m not.”

“so you’re thinking straight right now?”

“yes.”

“and what are you thinking about, mh?”

you fucking me. you bending me over the counter and making me yours once again. you eating me out like I was the best food in the world. you gripping my hair and pulling it. you squeezing my boobs and torturing my nipples.

“let me go, mattheo.”

“that’s not what you’re thinking about.”

I was about to say something back, but once again, he interrupted me. this time he didn’t use words — no — instead, he sat me down on the table in the center of the room, making me fall on a few bottles of alcohol that rolled down the table without breaking but making a loud bang. thank god nobody woke up.

I instinctively laid down, letting him do. he hovered over me, caressing my sides as he started planting heated kisses on my neck and collarbone.

there were no excuses this time, I wasn’t drunk.

“tell me you missed me…” he groaned against my skin, not stopping his work for a second.

I did miss him. mattheo was still the only man I could think of every time I touched myself.

“I missed you… matt… please…” I desperately whined into his ear.

“please what?” he stopped his kisses.

“please… fuck me.”

“that’s what I wanted to hear…” he immediately leaned down on me and slid my panties off, then he spread my legs wide. he grabbed my ankles and placed one of my legs on his shoulder.

mattheo was amazing at eating girls out. I loved every single second of it when we were together, and now I was feeling it again.

I arched my back, shutting my eyes and gripping his hair hard as his head expertly moved between my legs and he teasingly kissed my inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses that gave me shivers.

“still as soft as I remember…” mattheo grunted between kisses. he finally arrived at my folds, and he stared down, admiring the sight he once had daily back when we were dating.

he slipped one finger inside me and made a wet sound. I was drenched without a doubt. he knew. he knew so well he was the reason why I was like that. and he loved it.

“mattheo!” I moaned but he quickly got up — his finger still fucking me but my leg fell off his shoulder — and shut me up with a passionate kiss. “be quiet, babygirl, can you do that for me?”

I soon remembered how we weren’t technically alone, since some people from last night were still here and were sleeping unbothered. I nodded vigorously — I was determined to do whatever he wanted me to do. it seemed like I had lost my common sense, my reasoning... mattheo was too much to resist.

he increased the pace of his finger, his lips on my neck again as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

his lips kissed my collarbone and chest — my shirt was all disheveled now as he was rubbing against me in a very eager way. his kisses ended on my stomach and lower belly, which had me arching my back once again. I wanted more. I wanted him lower.

it was like mattheo read my mind. he knew where I needed him at that moment more than whenever else. he got back in front of my pussy, now dripping and throbbing, and licked his lips in hunger. he dived his head between my thighs, kissing my clit assertively and cleaning me from my juices that had previously trickled down. it was the best sensation. I loved his tongue more than anything. he grabbed my ankles again, making me spread my legs more to give him better access. his tongue dug into my hole, thrusting in and out as quickly as he could, yet trying his best to get my taste.

“yes! oh yes!” I let out a strangled moan. it was so hard trying not to let the others hear and find out about this — not that they didn’t know… the night before we did do something, but what we were doing now was much more wrong.

I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge as he tortured my cunt. one of his hands left my ankle and slipped underneath my t-shirt, grabbing my breast roughly and squeezing it almost painfully for me.

“I’m close… I’m so close…”

“mhh… not like this.” the total ecstasy I was in vanished in the air as his mouth left me. I pouted and my hips flexed upwards, looking for his touch. in one quick and smooth move, he took my shirt off, now exposing my boobs to his eyes — then his hands rushed to his belt, his gaze not leaving my chest just yet, and he undid it. his pants fell on the ground and so did his boxers, freeing what I had missed for all those months.

I looked at him. I looked at it. I had never felt that desperate for something in my whole life.

he leaned in and lifted me from the table, placing me down on my feet and harshly turning me around. he spanked my asscheek, probably leaving a purple mark later, and forced me to lie down on the cold surface of the wooden table. my boobs pressed against it, while my legs were spread once again.

mattheo spanked me another time but harder, making me wince in an attempt to hold back my moans. I bit my lip and grabbed the other end of the table, holding onto it for dear life as mattheo slipped into my pussy from behind.

his hips pistoned against my ass, and his hands were all over my back, sometimes spanking here and there. I couldn’t think of a more pleasant thing than his thick dick that had always reached so many spots inside of me, making me go completely crazy. he was maddening.

“ahh!” he groaned against my ear. his chest pressed against my back and his thrusts became harder as he went deeper and deeper.

his hand gripped my breast again, fondling it and provokingly playing with my already-hard nipple with his fingers.

“mattheo!!!” he brought his hand over my mouth, denying me to make any further sound and forcing me to stand up. he left his hand on my face as he kept up with his hard thrusts — my head weightlessly fell on his shoulder as my back arched due to the immense and indescribable pleasure.

not so long after, mattheo groaned and panted as he reached his high — his eyes shut close and his mouth hung open. I felt his hot seed spilling inside of me, the sensation of his cum painting my insides and dripping down my folds and onto the floor made me come as well, coating his member with my juices.

“I love you, baby… I never stopped loving you…” he panted. his face showing a weary expression.

“oh… mattheo…” I whined. “I love you too.”

he smiled, his eyes still shut, and he let go of me. he pulled his underwear and pants back on, while I wore my oversized t-shirt again as well. I reached to grab my panties but mattheo grabbed them first.

“I’ll keep these.” he said as he sneaked them in his pocket, before pecking my lips.

[danadiadea]

Tomerus AU with Tom teaching DADA and Severus getting hired as a young Potions professor, but wanting the DADA position and therefore being mean and passive aggressive to professor Riddle and trying to discredit him; and Tom thinking it's the cutest, most adorable thing he had ever seen. So he starts making subtle, than not so subtle moves on his youngest collegue, and all the staff and the students know that and place bets on when they are going to move into a couple suite, but Severus is totally oblivious and fully believes all the tension is professional rivalry.

[iniquitousyearning]

IF ANYONE HEARS INCOHERENT SCREAMING ITS JUST ME

Hii! Can I get a tea with Tom for Too Sweet by Hozier?

Hope this works for you!

[lightningant]

talking with a friend about snape like severitus as a genre is too tempted to make snape realize that harry is a poor little abused boy and go out of his way to protect him. he is a child-hater who tasked his only friend with being the sole proof of the world being capable of good and thus interpreted her death as nothing more than the death of that goodness. he barely cares about her love for harry. his reaction to finding out harry's family hates him [details unclear] is to simply retire "you're spoiled" as an insult and continuing to bully him. however mean you think he is he's not mean enough. he's a horrible little man. the catharsis only hits when snape is like oh okay it is impossible to rage against each other indefinitely and children are deserving of grace. the world is deserving of grace. am i deserving of grace? by releasing lily from her role as the arbiter of the world's kindness and brilliance he is forced to bear the horrifying burden of being responsible for the current amount of kindness around him. starting with harry who is currently trying to start a screaming match

also the most important part of severitus (TO ME) is that harry trusts snape's bad attitude as a comforting constant in his neglected child mind and snape being nice to him is inherently a source of conflict because harry doesn't like it. and the kindness he is afforded from snape recontextualizes his neglect in ways that upsets but validates him because its something his abusers should have also done yet snape who he hates twice as much could do it. do you understand. am i making sense

[bubblefina]

King of Hearts Chapter 30

Masterlist

Summary: Reader and Tom meet during their years at Hogwarts, but as the years pass a rivalry grows between the two of them, which leads from soft beginnings to tragic endings.

What the characters look like!

" The necklace around you felt like a choker, constricting your airways. You sob as you violently yank it off, hearing the clasp break. You hold it in your hand as you begin to cry audibly. Your fingers grip the snow until you feel the coldness of it burn your hand."

Pairings: Tom x f!reader

•̩̩͙˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙˚⁺‧.˚ •̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙˚⁺‧.˚ •̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧.

Chapter 30: Triwizard Tournament part II

When you woke up in the hospital, you couldn’t help but feel like the life was sucked out of you. Getting up from your resting position, you try to stretch as much as you can, taking in your surroundings. There were a few students that Crafince was tending to, nothing out of the ordinary. To your left however, there was a familiar face that was sound asleep. You smile as you try to get his attention.

“Archer, psst, Archer!” you whisper, trying not to disturb the other students in the ward.

Archer stirs in his sleep, his eyes slowly opening. He rubs his fingers against his eyes, blinking a few times before he fully looks at you.

“You’re finally awake, I was so worried.” he moves his chair closer to you, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Were you here the entire time” 

“It’s still early in the morning, I forwent breakfast to keep you company.”

You flick his forehead, sliding your fingers through his fluffy blonde hair.

“I don’t want you going hungry because of me. It’ll make me feel bad.”

“Can’t leave my best girl here alone now can’t I?” 

The comment makes you feel flustered, something that you haven’t gotten used to entirely. It had been a month since the both of you started dating, but if you were being honest, it felt like longer. Maybe it’s because of the times the both of you spent together before, it all added up. Crafince notices that you’re awake and makes her way towards you.

“I see that you’ve finally woken up, any longer I would have used a wideye potion on you.” Crafince begins to examine you, making sure that you’re good to go. 

Archer watches, but his growling stomach interrupts. Crafince gives him a brow and tells him to go eat immediately. Not wanting to get on her bad side, he pecks you goodbye and leaves out the door. Crafince continues with her checkup, making sure that she’s thorough.

“Alright, there’s nothing wrong with you. You may go, but do not do anything strenuous, I don’t want to see you here again for a while.” 

Once you exit the hospital ward, you only take a few steps before you’re stopped. In front of you was Lucy. Last time you spoke to her, she didn’t really want to reconcile, so it wouldn’t be the best idea to reach out this time either. You try to walk around her, but she calls out to you.

“Y/n, wait.” 

You look at her in surprise, not expecting her to even talk to you. She stays silent, almost as if she doesn’t know what to say to you. After taking a deep breath, she speaks.

“I realize that I haven’t been fair to you, or anyone else for that matter.” Lucy looks down at her shoes, you can see the redness on the tips of her ears. You remain quiet, not knowing what to say.

“It wasn’t right of me to be angry with you, or my brother and his relationship with Melissa. I wasn’t in the right state of mind when I said those things all those years ago.”

“What gave you this clarity?” you ask.

“When I saw how Melissa, Solomon, my brother, everyone was huddled together and cheering you on, I realized that I allowed my anger to prevent me from enjoying my life the way I want to. I wanted to join them and cheer you on, it hurt that my relationship with my brother was so cracked that I couldn’t even bear to sit next to him…”

Your eyes widen at her confession. It seemed as though she realized that her anger was misplaced. Instead of being angry at her brother, she should have been angry at her parents for trying to keep the pureblood beliefs that they held so dear. 

“Is there any way that you can forgive me?” She whispers, her brows furrowing as she tries to maintain composure.

“I forgive you Lucy, but I think the person you need to talk with the most is Corrin. He was really hurt that day in the owlery.” 

“I don’t even know how to approach that fool, I feel as though that bridge has been broken.” Lucy wipes her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Nonsense, you guys are twins. That’s a bond that can never be broken,” you look at her with pity once you see the redness surrounding her eyes, “I’ll try to get a little meeting between the both of you. How does that sound?”

“You’d do that?” She asks in disbelief.

“I don’t want your guys’ friendship to be strained forever. We should end our journey at Hogwarts how we started it, together, as friends.”

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Luckily, Archer agreed to help get Corrin to a discussed meeting spot. The rest of the group also agreed, even Melissa. She especially was happy that Lucy wanted to reconcile with Corrin. 

You recall that when you time traveled to the past, Dumbledore said something about the room of requirement. It was a perfect place to host a meeting that wouldn’t be visible to the eyes of the Fawley family's spies. When Corrin arrived with Archer, it would be an understatement to say that he wasn’t pleased to see Lucy there. In fact, he almost ran out of the room entirely. It took a while, but both of them were finally able to sit down and talk with each other. There was a lot of yelling, but thankfully, both of them were finally able to stand on common ground.

Lucy, after her conversation with her brother, approached Melissa. 

“I’m sorry for any discomfort I may have caused you. I hope that you and my brother will be able to live a happy life together, one day.” Lucy says. She’s quickly embraced by Melissa.

“I can’t believe the fallout was in fourth year, it’s been almost two years since then.” Azalea whispers, earning an elbow from Naomi. 

“I’m glad that everything turned alright. No burned bridges to report here.” Solomon appears from behind the two girls, frightening them.

“Don’t do that, at least walk a little loudly so we can hear you coming.” Azalea whispers harshly.

“I’ve been here the entire time, how could you not notice me?” Solomon retorts.

The two continue to bicker, but it doesn’t take away from what was truly important. Things seemed to be looking up.

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When it came time to go back to class, it was an understatement to say that you had more pairs of eyes on you. In almost every class you went to, you heard the students whispering while looking at you. Whether it be good or bad things, you’ll never know. It was in Charms class that you felt especially in the spotlight, with professor Elms directly complimenting you on your usage of spells during the first challenge of the tournament.

“How brilliant of you to use the magnifying glasses spell to your advantage. We only covered that once during third year, impressive of you to remember it, Miss l/n.” 

“Thank you professor.” You say, a nervous laugh at the tip of your tongue. 

Professor Elms nods with a smile, turning towards the blackboard. He uses his wand to etch in today’s lesson plan. For the past few weeks, all the sixth years were being introduced to nonverbal spells. As you write down your notes from the lecture, you think about the lessons with Dumbledore that you’ve had about your wandless and nonverbal magic skills. There was little improvement in the area, the most you were able to do was lift a few things, but even then it was a struggle.

It’s been two years since you last used that power successfully, the golden hue that swirled around your hand hadn’t been seen since. You began to wonder if it was just a one time thing. Even the search for answers revolving around your ancestors seemed futile, there was no book or person that knew of the Saphira’s. A last ditch effort would be to go look for your fathers side of the family, maybe they still have the medallion with the enchantment inside of it. That unfortunately was wishful thinking, you knew almost nothing about them.

Whilst tapping the tip of your quill against the piece of parchment laid out on your desk, your mind wanders to the restricted section of the library. Last time you tried to go in there, you were stopped by Tom. As more time passes, it just feels like he’s gaining more power than you can fight against. It was easy to work around him and break the rules when you were younger, but now he’s a prefect, he has more authority than before. Then again, you’re not really sure what kind of relationship you have with him now. He’s not dating Lela, so the animosity towards their relationship is gone, but it’s not like the both of you are two peas in a pod either. Other than the few words you say to each other during class or library, you don’t really speak to him that much.

Once class ends, you begin to pack up your belongings, but are stopped by professor Elms. He calls you up to his desk, digging through his drawers. He pulls out a black bottle that has a bulb atomizer attached to it. 

“If it wouldn’t be too much to ask, could you please take this back to professor Slughorn. I borrowed it some time ago and was never able to give it back.” 

“I don’t mind professor, but is there a reason why you can’t?” You asked out of pure curiosity, confused as to why Elms couldn’t just whisk his way down to the Slytherin dungeons himself. 

“To tell you the truth, I was supposed to return it to him months ago. Slughorn doesn’t like it when his potions are taken for longer than they were asked for. If I were to return it to him now, it would just be a mess that I don’t care for.”

You remain quiet, not sure what to say. You didn’t think that you were old enough to be listening to tittle-tattle about your professors, but here you are.

“However, what I do know is that Slughorn does like students that hold promise and fame. You, miss l/n, are a star of Hogwarts. Holding the school's pride on your back as you fight your way through the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Professor, you can’t really be saying that you want me to give this to professor Slughorn because he’ll be more lenient with me…?”

“Well that’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

You stand there flabbergasted. You’ve been asked to carry out tasks before, but this was something that felt like child's play. Were you really about to get in the middle of a potential quarrel between two professors over a potion? You sigh and take the potion from him, accepting the task. Taking a detour to the Slytherin dungeons wasn’t on your bucket list today, or ever actually. Once you had a chance to opt out of taking potions, you jumped at the opportunity. 

Whilst walking down to the potions classroom, you think about all the times you had to drag yourself to class. Potions were always one of your weak points, you were thankful enough to be paired up with someone who was a little more capable. In any case, you were a bit better at brewing than when you were a first year, it seems as though practice is key. 

When you reach the potions classroom, you open the door slightly and peek through. Slughorn was talking with a few students, but he seemed to notice you immediately.

“Y/n! To what do I owe the pleasure of your appearance?” he says rather joyfully.

“Hello professor, I just have something to return to you.” You hold out the bottle in your hand. Slughorn excuses himself from the conversation and walks up to you. The students he was talking to turn around, and it’s only then that you realize that the students were Tom and his friends. Abraxas you can recognize anywhere with his obnoxiously bright platinum hair, and Mulciber who was hunched over next to him.

“Doxicide? Yes, I recall giving this to Elm’s quite some time ago, I was wondering when he’d give it back. Thank you for bringing it to me,” Slughorn begins his journey back to his desk, “Join us in conversation will you?”

“I don’t think I'd have anything to add…” you laugh awkwardly, noticing the stares from the three Slytherin boys.

“Nonsense, I’m sure that the champion of Hogwarts must have plenty to add to our conversation.” Abraxus says, smiling mockingly.

You give him a skewed smile, unsure if you should actually respond to his comment. 

“Abraxas.” Tom cuts in, looking at the blonde with a straight face. The blonde rolls his eyes and averts his gaze. Who knew that Tom had such control over his friends.

“Before you leave, I must commend you in your efforts for the first round of the Triwizard Tournament. You truly do know your way around magic.” Slughorn sits down, placing the Doxicide in one of his desk drawers.

“Thank you professor, I wasn’t expecting so many people to be watching.” You try to focus your gaze on Slughorn, not wanting to spare a glance towards the trio.

“Nonsense, the rivalry between houses may be apparent, but we all join together to see another school bite the dust now don’t we?” Slughorn turns towards the boys who nod intently, “Why, Tom and a few others joined me in watching you.”

You raise your brows in surprise, “They watched?” You ask, your voice quiet. 

You finally look at them, Tom standing out from the three. Once he meets your gaze, he gives you a smile.

“You did well, your use of magic truly is remarkable.” Tom tilts his head slightly, his smile still visible.

You blink slowly, not sure what to do with the compliment. Sure, you and Tom have been on good terms as of late, but it’s not like you were expecting him to praise you. Heck, you didn’t even know that he was in the crowd watching you.

“Thank you.” You say, flashing a smile in return.

“I must say, that brute from Koldovstoretz had it coming. Attacking another contestant just to get ahead…actually it was quite smart.” Abraxas says, his lips curling upward.

“If he had been a little more careful with his temper, I’m sure he would have won.” Mulciber adds.

You roll your eyes at their comments. Not once in the past six years have you had a pleasant moment with them, and it sure isn’t going to start now. At least they haven’t outright said that you deserved to lose.

“Well, we can only hope that Hogwarts can achieve victory, but I’m sure y/n knows what she’s doing,” Slughorn gives you a sincere smile, it makes you feel at ease, as if it cut the tension in the room, “Actually y/n, I was hoping I could ask you to do something.”

“Oh, what is it?” You ask, but in your head you’re already wondering why you’re suddenly playing the role of errand girl.

“There is a special potion in the potions stockroom that I wish for you to have. Think of it as a gift for your endeavors.” 

“A potion? What kind?” You ask.

“Well that is left to be determined, I wish not to speak of what it could be. However, if you are unsure of what it may be, take Tom with you.” Slughorn turns towards Tom, asking him to accompany you.

“I don’t think that’s necessary professor-” you begin to speak, but are quickly cut off by Tom, who quickly approaches you.

“Let us be off then.” He says before heading towards the door.

You take a look at Slughorn, who looks content with himself. Shooting a quick glance at Abraxas and Mulciber who seem to be staring at you with frowns on their faces, you sigh in defeat and follow Tom out the door. The walk to the potions stockroom was short, but it felt like eons had passed. You trudge behind Tom, his long legs carrying him oh so quickly down the halls. When did he get so tall in the first place?

“We’re here.” Tom opens the door with his wand. 

The both of you step inside, the multiple shelves filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes, you were actually glad that Tom came with you, navigating through all of them would be a pain. He scans the shelves and reaches out for a small teardrop shaped bottle. 

“What’s that supposed to be?” You ask, observing the clear liquid inside the bottle.

“Felix Felicis, the liquid luck potion.” Tom places the potion in your hands.

“Liquid luck? Is this Slughorn’s way of telling me that I need fortune on my side?”

“I’m sure you’re aware that he favors those that have promise, it seems that you have caught his eye.” 

Your lip curls upward, “I’m surprised he didn’t give this to you, seeing how you’re his favorite student.”

“No need, I helped him brew it.”

“You helped him make this?” A soft laugh escapes your lips. It’s not surprising that he did, he always excels in his classes, “Are you sure that you don’t want it?”

Tom looks down at you with a straight face, “I have no need to take potions to better my chances, things will fall into place naturally.”

“You make it sound so ominous.” You lock eyes with him, a chill rushes down your spine. 

His eyes seemed as though they were looking through your soul. You didn’t know if it was the dimly lit room that was toying with your vision, but you could swear that his eyes were a deep shade of red. If you remember correctly, his eyes were always brown. Tom noticed you staring at him deeply with intrigue. He moves closer until he’s level with you.

“Is there something you find interesting?” He asks, his voice in an almost whisper.

“Your eyes…were they always like that?” 

“My eyes?” His brows furrow, a clear look of confusion on his face. 

You laugh awkwardly, “Red, they’re red. I always thought they were brown-”

Tom pulls back from you, turning his back. He takes out his wand, light emanating from the tip. The light illuminates the entire room, almost every speck of dust now visible. He turns around and faces you again.

“My eyes aren’t red.” He scoffs.

And he was right. His eyes were the same brown that you always remembered. You blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. Perhaps it really was just the dimness that confused your eyes. 

“Apologies, I was mistaken.”

Tom lowers the brightness, noticing you covering your eyes with your hand. 

“All is forgiven, but I fail to understand why you think I had red eyes. I’m not a snake.”

“Is snakes having red eyes a generalized statement?”

“No, but the one you keep on you certainly matches the description.”

“Orion?” It slipped your mind that Tom knew of her existence.

“Ah yes, that was her name wasn’t it?” 

“Yes. I’m surprised that you remember her.”

“What else do you expect from a snake charmer like myself?” Tom brushes past you, exiting the room. 

You let out a small huff of amusement. That was the nickname you had given him all those years ago, it was surprising that he still remembered it. You follow him out of the room, clutching onto the vial of liquid luck. Tom didn’t speak a word, rather he looked at you momentarily before walking away. It seemed as though this side quest assigned by Slughorn had run its course. You place the liquid luck inside the pocket of your robe, making your way out of the Slytherin dungeons.

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December rolled by, bringing with it snow and harsher winds. You began to write frequently to Nathan back home, it seems as though he and Dahlia are doing well for themselves with aunt Merin. You wrote that you’d definitely make an effort to come see him during the summer. Nathan’s letters, although full of the things he’s been doing in the countryside, also contain updates from the war. It seems as though things haven’t settled, the people are still afraid of what's to come. 

Many of the students and staff at Hogwarts that have family in the muggle world grew sick with worry. They have a right to be. You can’t help but recall the last time you spoke with your father, the summer before fifth year. At times, you find yourself fiddling with your bracelet when you think about him.

“Are you doing okay?” Archer, who had been sitting across from you, puts down his glass of Butterbeer.

The two of you began to frequent the Three Broomsticks every weekend. It felt nice to get away from the castle and enjoy each other's company outside the hallways. 

“I’m alright, just thinking about some stuff.” you adjust your bracelet one last time and give him a smile.

Archer reaches over and intertwines his fingers with yours. His hand was a little cold from holding onto the glass of Butterbeer, but the warmth quickly spread, blanketing you with comfort.

“You must have a lot on your plate right now, but remember to take it easy. The Yule Ball is coming up soon, so you’ll have that to look forward to.” 

The Yule Ball, a celebration that would take place on the twenty-fifth. Students and teachers would dress in their best attire and dance the night away with a partner of their choice. It all sounded like something out of a fairytale, especially with all the dancing lessons.

“Exams, the ball, not to mention the next challenge of the tournament is in a few months…” You mindlessly rub your thumb against his hand, eyes growing slightly heavy. The fatigue always hits hard right before a school break.

“We’ll face them when they come, no use worrying about the future right now.” 

“I suppose that’s true, it won’t do me any good if I lose my composure.” 

Archer smiles and opens his mouth, but is quickly interrupted by a voice that suddenly appears behind you.

“Didn’t expect to see the both of you looking so lovesick.”

Without even turning your head, you knew exactly who it was. You glance at Archer who’s rolling his eyes.

“C’mon, can’t you intrude on someone else's date?” Archer asks.

Corrin walks to the side of the table with a grin. He and Melissa are still meeting in secret, but things have gotten easier now that they both have the room of requirement to see each other.

“Sorry to intrude on your date, but I need to let your girlfriend know something”

“What is it?” You ask.

“My sister wanted me to tell you that she’s waiting for you. Something about dress shopping.” 

Your face drops at the realization. You had told Lucy that you’d meet her and the others to pick out dresses for the ball. 

“Oh no… I completely forgot.” You sigh, looking over at Archer with pleading eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, go do what you need to do.” 

Archer gives a warm smile, something that you return with a quick peck on the lips before you rush out of the inn.

“She sure is something.” Corrin says, taking a seat across from Archer.

“That she is, it’s quite endearing.” Archer finishes his glass of Butterbeer, letting out a deep breath of satisfaction.

“I take it that you haven’t told her yet.” Corrin says.

Archer grows quiet, avoiding eye contact. The smile that was once there quickly turned into frown. He relaxes his shoulders and leans back into the chair.

“It’s just going to cause more problems the longer you wait to tell her. Are you going to wait until the day of?” Corrin asks.

“No, I just don’t want her to worry more than she already is. I barely managed to convince my parents and aunt to wait until the night of the ball…”

“Don’t let the grass grow under your feet, mate. She’ll be heartbroken either way, but if you wait any longer, it will just get worse.”

“Don’t say it like that, the last thing I want is for her to be heartbroken. I just don’t know why my parents had to decide to move now of all times.” Archer runs his hand through his hair, frustration growing by the second.

“The war is getting bad, in the muggle and wizarding world. Your folks just want to be safe.”

“And is it safe across the world? Away from everyone and everything I’ve ever known?”

“You could still write letters, you can make it work-”

“Be real with me here. Could I possibly make anything work through letters, especially with her? I’ve seen how distressed she looks when she writes to her brother knowing that she can’t see him. Imagine how she’d feel writing to me when I'm on a different continent.”

Corrin stays silent, his mind running dry of any possible solutions. He remembers how hard it was to stay apart from Melissa, but he had the privilege of at least seeing her at school. With the way things are going for his friend, their romance would be cut short by the end of December. 

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Back at Hogwarts, you meet with the girls in the room of requirement. Lucy introduces a woman dressed in a deep burgundy robe and a witch hat. Small opalescent wings sit on her back, every flutter creates a jingle noise. 

“This is Madam Constance, she’s my seamstress.” Lucy says.

“Don’t be modest dear, I am far more than just your seamstress,” Constance clears her throat as she looks at everyone, “Good day to you, I am Madam Constance. I’ve run my own boutique for the past ninety years, specializing in formal wear as well as uniforms and luxury apparel.” 

“I managed to convince her to make all of our dresses. Of course, you guys won’t be paying anything. All the money will be paid for by my family.” Lucy walks back to the group and takes a seat.

“Your family? The pure blood fanatics-” Azalea’s comment is quickly cut off by Naomi, who elbows her side.

“Don’t say that, it’s still her family.” Naomi chides.

“Don’t worry about it, she’s right. Besides, when I meant my family, I meant me. I’ve had some savings set aside for occasions such as this.” Lucy smiles, gesturing towards Madam Constance to continue.

“I’ll take each of your measurements one by one, in the meantime you’re welcome to look at the catalogues I've brought with me. If anything piques your fancy, let me know,” Constance scans the group, her finger pointing outward as she locks into her target, “You there with the red curls, you’re first.”

Azalea takes a deep breath, giving the others a smile before she walks towards Constance. A measuring tape appears from a puff of smoke, wrapping itself around her limbs. Constance begins to write down her measurements, inspecting her closely as she does. 

Naomi grabs one of the catalogues, immediately flipping through the pages. Inside are what seems to be hundreds of designs and accessories, each one unique in its own way. Constance doesn’t seem to shy away from muggle influence either, even having some famous movie stars in the corner dressed in their best.

You stare at the pages as Naomi flips through them. You never got the chance to go see a movie before you left the muggle world, so many of these people are unknown. Luckily, Naomi does a wonderful job filling in the gaps.

“This is Hedy Lamarr, she’s renowned as one of the most beautiful women in cinema. I hope that I get to see her movies one day. I've only ever heard about them, but her pictures are everywhere.” Naomi stops at a specific image of her in a star dress. The large and intricate headdress is what draws your attention. It surrounds her in stars, making her look as though she’s too ethereal to be just a human. 

“The blonde, please come here.” Constance motions her hand as Azalea swiftly walks back to her seat. 

Naomi hands off the catalogue to you, jogging to the seamstress with a smile on her face. The other girls now crowd around you as you begin to flip the pages. Everyone points to different dresses that they want, the catalogue being pulled from your hands at some point. 

When the time for your measurements to be taken comes, your mind keeps replaying all the pretty dresses you saw. Perhaps asking for Constance’s opinion about which one would be the best choice of action, it’s not every day that you get to dress up and go to a ball.

“I take it that you’re the representative for Hogwarts?” Constance says.

“Yes, for the tournament.” 

“In that case, I have my work cut out for me. I will not have you picking just any dress. I will make one for you, one that has never been seen before.” The measuring tape wraps around your limbs, Constance scribbling down your measurements. 

“What kind of dress are you suggesting?” you ask.

“Well, I’m open to any suggestions that you may have. Did anything catch your eye?”

You think for a moment, eyes landing on her wings. With every flutter, they seem to shine brilliantly. The different colors radiating off of them enchant you in a way that couldn’t be described with words. 

“Your wings. They’re rather lovely. A dress encapsulating that would be wonderful.” 

Constance raises her brow, her neck turning to catch a glimpse of her wings. She gives you a knowing smirk.

“My, you do know how to flatter someone. Very well, I will capture that essence in your dress. Anything else?”

“There was this headdress I saw in that catalogue,” You look back to your friends who are giggling with the pages in their hands, “The actress, Hedy Lamarr, she was wearing this beautiful crown made of stars.”

“It truly is wonderful, but a little too dramatic for an occasion such as this. I’ll fix you up with something more subtle. Now go run along back to your friends, that’s enough for today.” 

Melissa was the next one to be called. You took your seat next to Naomi and looked through the rest of the Catalogues. It felt like a fairytale, to dress up all pretty and dance with your boyfriend. After all the turmoil, this felt like a reward for making it this far. It would be a night to remember.

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A few days later, a harsh blizzard swept through the open halls of Hogwarts. If students weren’t wearing their winter clothes before, the gusty winds and cold snow surely convinced them to. 

You paced up and down the halls with a textbook in your hands, clinging onto the loose pages that peeked from the corners. A herbology quiz wasn’t something that you were looking forward to, but since it was in a few hours you had no choice but to stick your nose in your books. 

“Fluxweed is used to make a polyjuice potion…” Each time you breathe in, the cold air cuts through your nose like a knife. 

“How many scruples do you need to make the potion?” Melissa rubs her hands together to create warmth. She’d been helping you study for the past hour.

“Sixteen…?” You stare off into space, searching through your brain to see if that was the right answer.

“That's right, but you should sound more confident. Second guessing yourself during an exam will just lead to bad answers.” 

You shut the textbook dramatically, taking a seat next to her. She offers you her hand which is readily warm, a nice contrast to the cold atmosphere.

“I can’t believe we’re waiting for their class to end like this. It’s so cold.” You whisper.

“They’d do the same for us, that’s what couples do. It’s a happy coincidence that Corrin and Archer have the same class, we don’t have to wait alone.” 

“Except for the fact that you and Corrin still can’t be seen together. Are you going to meet in the room of requirement?” 

“Of course, I go in first, and he follows a few minutes later. It’s worked well so far.” Melissa grins, the warmth from her hand growing.

Not too long later, students begin to crowd the halls again. In the midst of the chaos, you notice Archer walking with Corrin. You give Melissa a knowing look and she nods. Even though she hated it, Melissa knew that staying a good distance away from Corrin was the only way she could keep things on the down low. You weave your way past the students and reach the two boys.

“Hey.” You kiss Archer on the cheek, something he returns with delight.

Corrin rolls his eyes at the public display of affection, something that Melissa could see perfectly from where she was sitting.

“How was class?” You ask.

“As good as it could get. Charms class isn’t as exciting as it used to be.” Corrin replies.

“Well I enjoyed it. We learned the cleaning charm today, something I think that you should have been paying attention to.” Archer raises his brow at Corrin's nonchalant nature. 

“Are you suggesting that I’m messy?” Corrin asks.

“It’s not a suggestion, mate.” Archer stares sternly, but quickly lets out a huff of laughter.

“Exams are coming to a close soon. Did you want to go to Hogsmeade this weekend?” You ask.

Archer frowns slightly, sighing. 

“I wish I could but… I have something to do, it can’t wait.” 

“What is it?” You ask. Almost every weekend was spent at Hogsmeade, seeing as how it was the only way the both of you could get alone time. 

“I have to meet with my aunt, I’ll tell you about it later.” With a kiss on the temple, Archer rushes off. 

“He’s been acting weird, what’s going on?” You turn to Corrin, hoping to get some answers.

“Nothing, you heard him. That meeting with his aunt’s got him stressed.” 

“Right…” You look Corrin up and down with a raised brow before leaving. 

Thinking that he’s free from trouble, Corrin exhales heavily. His eyes wander towards where Melissa is sitting, expecting a tender smile from her as always. He’s surprised when he’s met with a scowl. She gestures her head to the side, getting up and walking away. That was the signal for him to meet her in the room of requirement. 

A few minutes pass before Corrin follows down the same hallway. The path to the room of requirement is usually empty, so neither of them needed to worry about being seen. After entering the room, he sees Melissa with the same look as earlier.

“What’s wrong, usually you’re happy when we see each other.” Corrin slugs his bag off of his shoulder, letting it fall on the floor.

“What’s going on with Archer?” Melissa asks.

Corrin stops in his tracks, “What do you mean?”

“I may not have been present in the conversation, but I heard what was said. He’s never been one to put off a date with Y/n.” 

Corrin laughs, “You heard that? Don’t tell me you used a hearing charm.”

“Corrin Fawley, don’t try to divert this conversation. He’s in my Transfiguration class, I’ve seen him dozing off and not paying attention. It’s unlike him. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Corrin stays quiet for a moment before answering, “He’s my friend, Mel…”

“And Y/n is mine, if there’s something that he’s not telling her-”

“It’s not that simple!” Corrin quickly cuts in, “It’s a very delicate matter.” he softens his eyes, hoping that Melissa would drop the topic.

“I don’t want Y/n to be hurt. Please, Corrin.” 

Corrin contemplates. Archer had asked him to keep the situation of his move a secret from you, but he didn’t say anything about telling anyone else. With the way that Melissa was looking at him, he would not make it out of the room alive if he kept it from her any longer.

“He’s…moving.” He says.

Melissa’s brows furrow, “He’s moving? To where?”

“America?”

“AMERICA?!” Melissa exclaims, “When, how long have you known?” 

“Only for a little while. He said he’s going to move after the Yule Ball.” 

Melissa stares at him, waiting for him to say that all of this was a joke.

“And he won’t be coming back after he moves…” Corrin adds.

Melissa’s fingers lace through her hair in despair. Hundreds of thoughts run through her mind. She knows how much you love Archer, and hearing that he won't be here in a few weeks will absolutely destroy you. 

“Is there any way to make him stay?” She asks.

“I offered, but his family is adamant that he comes. There’s no solution to this.” 

“When is he planning on telling her, the Yule Ball is two weeks away. Don’t tell me that he’s going to wait until the day of?” 

“No, he said that he just doesn’t want to make her more worried. She’s already stressed enough as is, according to him anyway.”

“No, that’s not a good enough answer. He needs to tell her now. The Yule Ball is her night, she’s the one representing Hogwarts in the tournament, and she shouldn’t have to be told that her boyfriend is leaving that night.”

Corrin flashes her a worried look, “What do you want me to do?” 

“Tell him to tell her that he’s leaving. I don’t want her crying during the ball.” Melissa picks up her bag and Corrin does the same.

The both of them walk out of the room of requirement. The hall was empty as usual. Melissa lets out a deep breath, but quickly becomes alert when she hears the sound of footsteps scurry around a corner.

“Corrin…” She whispers.

“Go, I’ll check it out.” 

Melissa walks the other way, hurrying so that she could get away from him. It wouldn’t be good if someone saw them together. She bites her lip as she walks, hoping that Corrin could talk care of whoever was there.

Corrin walks towards the source of the noise, but when he turns the corner, no one is there. The anxiety deep in his heart rose to his throat. He heard the noise, and there’s no way that someone could have walked away that quickly. He stood there for a moment, trying to look for any sign of movement, but there was none. Deciding that nothing was there, he walks away, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

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The weekend passed by in a flash, despite it being uneventful. Flipping through your textbooks wasn’t how you were expecting it to go, but it was all you could do. The upcoming exams along with Archer not being available left you bored in the Ravenclaw common room. Thankfully, the beginning of a new week meant that classes would resume.

DADA is the first class of the morning, luckily it was one of the ones you were studying over the weekend. 

You forego breakfast so you could get to the classroom early. With tired eyes, you turn a corner and run directly into someone. Now alert, you scan the person in front of you, relaxing when you recognize the figure.

“Archer, it’s just you. What are you doing here?” 

“Hey there, I just came here to talk to you. I’m really sorry I couldn’t meet you over the weekend.” Archer leans in to embrace you.

“It’s fine, I got my work done. How was the meeting with your aunt?”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about, actually.” His usual blue eyes grew dull, it was as though he was hesitating.

“What is it?”

Archer tugs on your arm, pulling you away from the crowd of students that walk by. The both of you end up in one of the empty corridors.

Archer continues to hesitate before he speaks, “The meeting with my aunt was to discuss me and my family moving.” 

A look of confusion appears on your face, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden revelation. He looked this worried because his family was moving?

“That’s fine, Archer,” You run your hand along his arm, “Moving can be stressful, but there’s no need for you to look this worrisome.”

“No…you don’t understand. I’m moving far, I’m moving to America.” He barely manages to get the last part out. Watching your face go from relief to dread was something that tugged at his heart strings.

“A-America?” You whisper unknowingly, “Why, why would you move there?” 

“The muggle war and the wizarding war has impacted my family deeply. My aunt works for the ministry, she managed to convince my parents that it’s too dangerous to stay here.” 

You remain silent, not knowing what to say.

“One of Grindelwald's acolytes attacked my relatives not too long ago. They worked for the ministry and wound up getting too close to his regime, and for that they paid the price. My aunt doesn’t want to take any more chances, especially since Grindelwald has already attacked Hogwarts once.” 

“But…it’s safe here now. There hasn’t been an attack for years.”

“I know, and I told her that. The fact is that he still hasn’t been defeated still puts us at risk. I couldn’t convince her to let me stay.” 

“When are you leaving…?” you didn’t know why you asked, knowing the answer would have hurt you regardless.

“The night of the Yule Ball.” 

You laugh, it was all you could do. Things were going so good, of course something bad had to happen to derail any of the progress you’ve made. 

“This is…quite the predicament, isn’t it?” you say in between your fits of laughter.

“Y/n…” Archer whispers. He could see the tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and he knew you didn’t want them to fall. He leans in once more, wrapping his arms around you. It was only then did you cry, letting your tears fall onto his robe.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.” He whispers, holding you tighter.

You remained in his arms until class was about to start. Archer wiped away your remaining tears before kissing you on the forehead. You keep your head low as you walk to class. From your limited vision, there was only one person in the class. You trudge along and sit in your seat, next to the only person in the room.

Tom, who was reading a book on god knows what, takes a glance at you. He notices your attempt at masking the sniffles from your nose, and how you refuse to show your face.

“Not going to talk today?” He asks.

You don’t reply, instead taking out your textbook along with your paper and quill. Your movements are sluggish, as if you’ve had the life drained out of you, something that he picks up on as well.

“If you’re planning on falling asleep in class, I recommend you sit at the back of the room.” He smiles to himself, flipping the page of his book.

It was only then that you turned to face him. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, and the rest of your face looked as though you went face to face with a dementor. Tom looks surprised at your sullen demeanor, it was unusual to not have you fight back with quips of your own.

“I’m not planning on falling asleep.” You mutter, placing your bag on the back of your seat.

“Did you…fall on your face on your way here?” He says, glancing at you to gauge your reaction. As he expects, you’re not amused.

“Must you always make jokes at my expense?” You ask.

“Apologies, I was trying to lighten my mood. Abraxas says that I need to ‘lighten up’.” Tom emphasizes the last part, something you mindlessly scoff at.

“Why do you need to do that?” 

“Apparently I’ve been a stick in the mud recently. I figured I’d start this new chapter of my life with you.” 

“Don’t bother, I’m not in the mood.” You turned your face again, aggressively rubbing at your nose.

Tom rolls his eyes, going through his robe to find his wand. He pokes the side of your cheek with the tip, making you turn your head. You raise your brow in what looked like disgust. Before you could ask what he was doing, a bright light shined in your face. The sudden brightness caused you to shield your face with your hands.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?!” You ask, rubbing your eyes.

“You don’t look good with that face of yours. I was doing you a favor,” A glow emits from his wand again, a mirror conjured onto the table, “Take a look.” 

You grab the small frame of the mirror and hold it in front of your face. The redness and puffiness from your face was gone, it was as if you never cried at all. 

“I don’t see why you need to concern yourself with my appearance.” You put the mirror down in front of him.

Tom smiles, “I don’t want to sit next to someone who’s a mess.” 

“Then allow me to remove myself.” You get up off your seat, about to collect your things, but Tom grabs your wrist.

“Did that spell mess with your brain? You’re not a mess anymore.” He says.

“You’re so frustrating-” 

“Class is starting.” he pulls you down into your chair. Students begin to flood the classroom, along with professor Merrythought.

You clench your teeth, but decide to let the anger pass. Tom has always been like this, annoying, and he always will be.

By the time class ended, you quickly pack your things and angrily walk out of the classroom, bumping shoulders with Abraxas who was standing outside the classroom.

“Pardon you, little Ravenclaw.” he says, something that you ignore.

Tom exits the classroom a few seconds later, meeting up with Abraxas.

“It seems as though our little champion has had her feathers ruffled.” Abraxas says whilst smirking.

“Merlin knows why. I even fixed her up, she was crying.” 

“Is that so?” The smirk on Abraxas’ face turned into a grin, “Trouble in paradise, I assume.” 

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It wasn’t long until your group of friends heard what happened. Naomi kept you company in the dorms whenever you didn’t feel like leaving. It was hard, but you knew that you had to go out. Whatever time you had left with Archer, you needed to cherish. But even though he hadn’t left yet, it felt like he was already gone. Every time the both of you held hands, you could feel his hand hold you tighter, as if he didn’t want to let go. 

As a last ditch effort, you confided in Dumbledore. It wasn’t anything new to tell him things, you had been doing it for years. This time around however, he played a different role than just a professor. He played the role of your father, adoptive father. 

Whatever time you did meet with him, you just couldn’t talk. Dumbledore took great pity on the situation. He even went as far as to talk to Dippet, but unfortunately everything had been set into stone.

Currently, you were sulking in his office room, sitting in one of the cushion chairs. You cried enough for one week, there was nothing else left to get out. 

Dumbledore sighs, waving his hand as a teapot pours you a fresh cup of tea. 

“Have you been eating well?” He asks.

You don't answer.

“I understand that you’re heartbroken, Y/n, but you cannot stay like this forever.”

“Heartbroken? He hasn’t even left yet, the heartbreak hasn’t even begun.” you say.

“Exactly. Enjoy the time you have with him, he’s still here. There’s no use sulking about right now while you still have him.”

“But how can I possibly enjoy the time I have with him knowing that as each hour passes he’s just closer to leaving?”

“By talking with him, being with him.” 

“I do! I do all of those things, but it doesn’t help the feeling deep inside of me. I hold onto him for as long as possible, I- I don’t think that I can bear to lose him.” your voice cracks at the end, breathing growing slow as you feel the surge of emotions rumble in your chest.

Dumbledore grabs a handkerchief from his pocket, walking up to you and offering it. You take it and wipe your face. There was only one more week until the Yule Ball, one more week until Archer leaves Hogwarts for good. 

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Regardless of how you felt, you knew that you had to cherish each moment with him. Every hour that the both of you weren’t in class or busy with other things, you were joined at the hip. Things felt normal again for a moment, as if there was nothing wrong, it made you feel calm and reassured. It was a fleeting feeling, but a welcome one nonetheless.

A week passed by in a flash, and before you knew it, you were wearing the dress that Madam Constance made for you. It was a stunning off the shoulder ivory gown. The hem was detailed with opalescent streaks, reflecting light every time you moved. The bodice had detailing of what looked to be butterfly wings that also reflected color. Constance puts the finishing touches by placing a necklace around your neck. A chain that hung a star inside was a gem that complimented the colors of your dress, it was beautiful.

“My, you look absolutely radiant. I apologize that I couldn’t get you your head piece, but I opted for the necklace instead.” Constance says, fixing your dress.

“It’s no worries, it looks lovely.” You say. Looking at yourself in the mirror, it looks as though you walked right out of a fairytale book. You ruffle with the skirt of the dress, watching as the colors dance in the light.

Your friends got ready before you, all dressed in the dresses that Madam Constance had made for them. This is what life is supposed to be. Having fun with friends, experiencing wonderful things, yet here you are feeling as though your wrists are tied with bricks.

“C’mon Y/n, it’s almost time for you and the other champions to make their entrance!” Azalea says. She looked stunning in her dark green gown, it complimented her eyes well.

“Coming.” You say, allowing Constance to give one last look at you before you leave. She smiles as you walk away, proud of her work.

You walk down the hall with the others towards the great hall. It had been renovated to look like a ballroom. The hall was adorned with winter inspired decor, courtesy of the professors.

Both Vadim and Elisa stood at the doors with their dates, Archer standing behind them. He did a double take when he saw you, mouth parting in amazement. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction.

“Hey.” you say, grabbing his hand.

“You look… You look like a princess.” He says, looking at you completely marveled.

“Thank you. You look quite handsome as well.” 

The doors to the great hall open, and one by one each of the champions enter. There’s a great round of applause for each, yet you can’t help but be nervous as you begin to walk through the doors. Inside you can see familiar faces, your peers, and professors. The room was cold, but nothing too overbearing. 

Archer holds your hand tighter as the music starts. He leads you onto the dance floor, hand going to your waist as he leads you in the dance. Looking into his eyes, you forget about all the worries that have been clouding your mind for the past two weeks. It’s just you and him right now. He spins you in the air, an action that makes the crowd roar with applause. 

“She cleans up well, I never imagined that rambunctious girl would dance like that.” Abraxas, who had been dressed in a black dress robe, smiles keenly as he watches you and Archer dance.

“She had her own strengths that still continue to surprise us. Doesn’t seem as though she’s glum anymore.” Tom stands next to him wearing a similar suit, courtesy of the Malfoy family. 

“I heard that he’s leaving tonight.” Abraxas says.

“I wasn’t aware you cared for their relationship.” Tom replies.

“I don’t, I just think that it’s such a beautiful opportunity. When she’s left at her most vulnerable, I do wonder who will be there to pick up the pieces.” Abraxas moves his glance towards Tom who does the same. Both of them smile as they drink from their cup.

You and Archer leave the dance floor, meeting up with your group of friends. Solomon and Aster are there dressed in their finest, along with Lucy and Azalea who were conversing.

“There’s our lovely duo. Did the dancing tire you both?” Solomon asks.

“It was starting to get crowded, best to get off the stage before we knocked into someone.” Archer says whilst laughing.

“It was wonderful while it lasted. This dress is so lightweight, give Madam Constance another thank you from me.” You turn to Lucy who’s wearing a deep orange gown. She smiles in return, giving you a nod.

“Where’s Naomi?” You ask.

“She’s dancing with her date.” Azalea points towards the dance floor. You turn to look, seeing Naomi having fun on the dance floor.

“And I suppose the other two…” Archer whispers.

“They’re in the room.” Lucy whispers back.

Melissa and Corrin would never be able to dance out here without being chastised. The room of requirement was their sanctuary, and thank goodness for that. The room was filled with pure blood fanatics who wouldn’t hesitate to tell Corrin and Lucy’s father.

As the night went on, the festivities continued. Filled with laughter and joy, no one paid attention to the time. You were dancing with Melissa who returned from her rendezvous with Corrin when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning you saw Archer who looked somber. The smile vanished from your face as you realized what it meant. It was time.

Your hand reaches for his, gripping it tightly as the both of you walk out of the great hall. Melissa walks back to your friends, whispering about what just happened. All of them look with worry as you disappear into the darkness of the castle.

Archer brings you outside the castle where it’s snowing. He turns to face you, cupping your face with his hands.

“Forgive me?” He whispers.

“For what…you haven’t done anything wrong.” You mutter, feeling the sting of tears crowd in your eyes.

“You know what I mean,” He laughs slightly, but his eyes begin to gloss over, “I love you, y/n. I hope you remember that.” 

“You can’t be saying that while you’re in the middle of leaving me.”

“I mean it. I’ve only been able to hold you like this for a few months, but with how long I’ve known you… It feels like a lifetime.”

“I want it to be a lifetime.” you whisper, feeling the warmth of your tears run down your cheek.

“I want it too, I’m sorry it had to turn out this way.” He kisses you on the forehead.

“I’m sorry that you have to transfer to Ilvermorny.” You say, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’ll try to manage.” He hugs you tighter.

A pair of footsteps cause the both of you to part. A tall woman stands near the bridge that connects Hogwarts to the mountain side. Her blond hair was tied back, she wore dark robes and boots.

“Archer, it’s time for us to leave.” She says. 

Looking behind her, there’s a carriage. It must be his aunt, the one who works for the ministry. Archer looks at you once more, embracing you tightly. You breathe him in one last time, your heart pounding as you feel him pull away.

“Take care of yourself, y/n. I don’t want you staying sad forever.” He pecks you on the lip before he begins to walk away. 

You watch him as he goes, as his aunt wraps her arm around their shoulder as they begin to walk towards the carriage. A word didn’t leave your mouth as you watched both of them get inside the carriage and take off into the sky. They disappear into the night sky, and it was only then that you felt the weight of it all hit you. He’s gone.

You fall to your knees, onto the snow. Your heart is beating like crazy, it feels like you can’t breathe. The necklace around you felt like a choker, constricting your airways. You sob as you violently yank it off, hearing the clasp break. You hold it in your hand as you begin to cry audibly. Your fingers grip the snow until you feel the coldness of it burn your hand. Why do all the good things leave you? You wonder while the tears fall down, searing your cold face. The cold air enters into your lungs, making it hurt all the more. 

You remain like this for who knows how long, letting yourself be wrapped in the cold of the snow.

✿ ⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆✿ ⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆

When you decide to walk back into the castle, you feel as though you have no soul left. Your dress is crumpled, your face red and tear stained, not to mention the slight purple tinges on your fingertips. You walk through the dimly lit halls, one hand on the wall to keep you steady. After a few near stumbles, you rest and lean against the wall. Your mind feels clouded, nothing feels real. Closing your eyes, you try to calm your breathing, chills flowing through your body.

“My, you look like hell.” Someone says.

You open your eyes, adjusting your position to see who it was. 

“Tom?” You whisper, your voice hoarse from the crying.

“You would be correct,” He walks closer to you, “This would be the second time that I’ve seen you with that kind of face.” 

He takes note of your tear ridden face, wrinkled dress, and then finally to your hands. He saw the purple on the fingertips of one, the other hand was clenched around your necklace. 

“Leave me be…” You whisper, trying to walk, but your legs turn to jello. You fall onto your knees once more.

“I can’t, there’s no way you’re going to make it anywhere on your own.” He bends down, gently taking your hand in his own. He examines the discoloration of your fingers up close and clicks his tongue.

“You need to see the matron, but unfortunately she’s out for the night.” He says.

You don’t reply, instead taking a deep breath to compose yourself.

“No matter, I’ll treat you instead. Up up up.” He grabs your waist with another hand, hoisting you up.

“Good god man, what will it take for you to leave me alone.” you say as he begins to walk you towards the hospital wing.

“You’re telling me that you’d rather let me let you rot in the hallway?” 

“I think that would be the best for both of us.” 

Tom rolls his eyes at your comment. When you reach the hospital wing, it’s empty. You sit down on a bed, staring blankly at one of the walls.

“Lucky for you, I know some healing spells of my own.” He pulls out a chair and sits in front of you. Taking one of your hands, he places his wand above, a faint glow emitting from the tip.

The purple from your fingers disappear, your hands feel warm now, yet you still don’t say anything. Tom gets up from his chair and points his wand at you directly, a familiar white glow engulfs you. He had returned your appearance to normal. With another flick of his wand a mirror floats in front of you. You look exactly as you did at the beginning of the ball, it was as if nothing had happened.

Tom circles back and reaches for the necklace that you tossed to the side of the bed. 

“Reparo.” He says, within seconds the clasp of the necklace was fixed. He looked at you as you stared at yourself in the mirror, still staying silent.

Tom drapes the necklace over your neck, fiddling with it.

“You know, I saw something peculiar a few weeks ago…” He begins to say. You still don’t have a reaction, he smiles to himself at your despondency

“I was walking through one of the halls and I saw two people exit from what seems like nowhere. I think you know these people, what were their names? Corrin and your friend Melissa I think.”

His words made your heart stop for a moment, your eyes growing wide. You slowly turn your neck to look him in the face. He stares down at you with an innocent smile.

“What…” you whisper.

“Nothing much, they just appeared out of the walls. I thought that they weren’t allowed to be together, Lela told me while we were still together.” He turns your neck forward so you can continue to look at yourself in the mirror. He sees as fear spreads through your face, something that amuses him.

Before he clasps the necklace together, you latch onto it, turning your entire body around to face him.

“How did you find them?” You ask, body trembling.

“I was walking around and just happened to see them. Are they still seeing each other?” He asks, fiddling with the necklace. 

You grab his arms, desperation taking over you.

“Please, please don’t tell anyone. I’m begging you.” You plead.

Tom looks surprised that you grabbed hold of him, but he doesn’t do anything to get out of your grip.

“Who said I would tell? I’m not a monster you know…but.” 

“But?”

“If you’re willing to do something for me, then I will permanently keep quiet about this.” 

“What, what do you want? I’ll do anything.”

Tom smiles, “Win.” 

You’re taken aback by his request.

“Win? Win what?” you ask.

“The Triwizard Tournament.” 

You furrowed his brows. Why would he want you to win the Triwizard Tournament? What good would that do for him?

“Why that of all things?” You ask.

“Don’t worry yourself with that,” He moves you to face the mirror again, wrapping the necklace around your neck and clasping it in place, “Just win the tournament and those two can be as happy as they want to be.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, the glint of the gem on your necklace was the only thing you could focus on. Tom's hands remain on your shoulders as you try to calm your breathing.

“Will you keep your promise?” You ask.

“Of course, I never break a promise.” He leans down, you can see him in the mirror now. You saw a glow of red. Rubbing your eyes you look again, and it's gone. Why do you keep thinking that his eyes are red? 

“I’ll do it then.” You move away and get off the bed.

“I’m sure the champion of Hogwarts will be able to win. Fate rests in your hands, y/n.” 

“You make strange requests, Tom.” 

Tom grins, “It’s not strange for me. Now, run along now, the ball is still lively. Your date may not be here anymore, but that doesn’t mean you still can’t have fun.”

Your heart clenches at the mention, but you bite your lip and walk away. Tom remains in the hospital wing, looking at his own hand. He recalls the warmth of your body when he held you. That warmth does something to him, to his heart specifically. It’s an irritating feeling, as though all of his ambitions disappear whenever he’s too close to you.

He barely managed to make the request of winning the tournament. Merlin when you were in his arms, all he could think about was your tear stained face. Why did it pain him to see you like this? Why does he want to turn into a hopeless wizard whenever he’s with you? Putting on a front does no good when he’s with you, it irritates him to no end.

“Curses.” he mutters, running his hand through his hair. He needed to understand why he felt like this before he did something he regrets. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Mini Taglist  ଘ(੭ºัᴗºั)━☆ﾟ*:.  : @regulusblackswhorecrux​ @the-slytherin-girl @omotan​  @kuratitsu @lilith771

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 17th. tom riddle — overstim, cockwarming.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: cockwarming as a punishment? clit stim cockwarming as a punishment? tom would think so.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, cockwarming, ft. tom’s mythical clit magic that i force into almost everyone of my fics for him, overstimulation, begging, sharp tongue banter, slight praise, tom is an infuriating bastard like always, dom!tom, slight part 2 from this.

also, thank you to my beautiful @cotttagecorewhore for the idea 🤍

He's a master of multitasking, you've learned in the passing months. Multitasking and complete self-possession, something you can see as he writes, without a break—as you sit perched in his lap, thighs on either side of his.

He's not writing anything of any particular importance—some letter, an order, some instruction for something. All of it is of little consequence to you, so you focus on the act of it instead—the way he holds the quill, the way it moves across the page in neat, angular script. He does it like it's something that requires no effort, not even a moment of thought, and you wonder if writing to him is as easy as breathing.

It's so easy to love you, you think, until your brain goes back to focusing on the feeling of him. His scent. His breath. His length buried inside you. His free hand not letting you move.

Him.

"That's a filthy habit," he murmurs, and you realize you've been biting your lip, watching his hand work across the page. "You’re breaking the skin."

"Can't help it," you grumble, and to make a point, you start biting your lip again. "I chew my lip when I'm impatient. I'm impatient right now."

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a huff and a sigh at that—and you can feel his attention shift from the page to look up at you for a moment—

"Patience, you've never had. Your only flaw, I'd say." He says, languidly taking in the sight of you before shifting his eyes back to his work. “That, and the penchant for damaging your skin."

You roll your eyes. You know he sees it.

"I didn't realize you were an expert in dermatology.”

You can feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs—a low breathless chuckle, and you can't stop yourself from shuddering.

"It's more because I don't want to taste blood when I kiss you."

When I kiss you.

You’ll never tire of words like that, and it’s the simplicity in which he says them that makes half your brain immediately short circuit.

Because it’s moments like this—and there are many of them—where you have to remind yourself to breathe, and it's almost embarrassing how easily he has that effect on you, how he can still make you dizzy from a single offhanded comment.

"I don't recall you complaining before."

You're trying very hard to make your voice sound nonchalant now, and you think you're doing a fairly good job of it, but you can feel the way your hips try to wiggle against him involuntarily, the way your hands tighten on his shoulders, digging your nails into his sweater.

He can feel it, he can definitely feel it.

"I'm not complaining now," he says, the smirk still in his voice. "Just stating my preference."

"I have a preference for you not writing right now," you toss back, and you sound whinier than you intended. "You're torturing me."

"Torture implies you're not enjoying it at all," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the page. "And I can feel how much you're enjoying it."

You can't stop yourself from shuddering again, as if half of your nerve endings are suddenly connected to him, and you bury your face in his neck.

"You're insufferable," you murmur, feeling the soft wool of his sweater against your face. "Can you feel how much I'm wishing to hex you, too?"

"I can," he replies, before his hips cant up a fraction—just the tiniest shift—pressing his throbbing dick up a little deeper into you, making you bite your lip again, and you're almost certain he's done it just so you'll react. "I far prefer the former, however."

You make an indignant sound at that, but it comes out all breathless and a little high-pitched—and it’s then that you decide to give up your attempts at sounding dignified.

"You and your fucking preferences." You hiss, half muffled against his shoulder.

"I'm nothing if not consistent," he says, and you think he actually sounds more distracted now, as if he's more focused on the wiggling of your hips against him then he is his writing. And then— "if you want something, you know you could just ask for it."

You lift your head from his shoulder at that, just so he can see the glare you're giving him now.

"I won't beg for you." You retort, and you realize halfway through that it's not quite as biting as you intended—it's hard to be biting when you can't seem to stop shuddering—when you feel so fucking full of him. "Not after this."

"I didn't say you had to beg," he whispers, and you realize his quill has stopped moving on the page. "I said you had to ask."

It takes every ounce of willpower you have to keep from rocking your hips against him again—you're not sure how much of this you're willing to take.

"And you'd actually indulge me?" You cock a suspicious eyebrow. "If I just, asked for it?"

Now his eyes have left the page completely—quill dropping from his hand as he brings it to your chin, gripping it gently, tilting your head up so he can look you in the face now. You know you're flushed—you can feel the heat crawling over your skin, your neck, probably to your ears, too.

"When have I ever denied you?" He wets his lips as he says it. "As long as you ask nicely."

"I always ask nicely," you mutter, but the effect is lost somewhat when, in your attempt to regain a semblance of control, his hips shift and his dick twitches inside you again. "Jesus—Tom, just fuck me. I can't—"

There's an instant when you think the corners of his eyes crinkle in satisfaction when you say that, and he knows just how undone you feel because he's the one who's gotten you there, and that's why he likes to take his time, because it gets you like this—

"That wasn't nicely," he tuts, tilting your head up a little further. "That was greedy. Selfish."

And there's a hitch in your breath when he says it, because as much as it rankles you to be called that, you know he's right—

"Please," you whine, slick walls clenching tight around him—craving the friction. "Please please please..."

You hoped you’d catch a hitch in his breath at that, something that shows you’re getting somewhere—but he just smiles—and it's a slow, almost cruel smile as his hand slips down to your throat, thumb running over the skin of your neck.

"Much better," he coos, and god it's so condescending you’re back to mentally hexing him. "For your efforts."

And the second he says that—you feel his magic swirling and massaging over your clit.

"Oh god," you manage, half a gasp and half a moan, your eyes squeezed shut. "Oh my god—"

It feels both instantaneous and instant—the wave of pleasure that washes through you at the exact time that the hand around your throat tightens. Another gasp gets stuck in your throat and you want to rock against him but he's holding you in place, and you have to settle for clinging on to his shoulders, clawing at him—

"Eyes open," he rasps, and you do, with an effort, the look on his face almost sinful when you manage to open them—his eyes darkened, watching you intently. "Just like that. Good. No moving."

That simple word—good—does way more to you then it has any right to, and you watch his face as the realization of how much you liked it shows there too.

"Don't be cruel," you whine again, your nails still biting into his shoulders because it's all you have, the only way to anchor yourself. "Tom—fuck—please—"

You see the way a muscle in his jaw clenches for a second—just a second—as if he's biting back a reaction.

"Relax," his hand slips to the back of your head, pulling you to rest your face against his shoulder as he goes back to writing. "I'm almost done here."

You want to make some biting comeback but you can't even think, let alone speak—the pleasure is already at a fever pitch that's almost too much, to the point where you feel like you're trembling, your muscles taut, your thighs clenching, your nails raking desperately up the wool of his sweater.

"Almost?" You manage between gasps as the sensation heightens and you can practically feel your climax prowling near. "You—you said you'd—give me what I want if I asked—"

"You're right," he's hardly focused, as if he can't be bothered in the slightest by your frantic state on his lap. "But I didn't say I'd give it to you now, did I?"

"You bastard," you gasp, your head lolling against the crook of his neck. "You're a fucking—mmffff—god—"

"Poor thing," he responds, all faux-pity as he runs a hand through your hair. "So helpless she's calling me a god."

You roll your eyes with a groan, while he just keeps writing—you can feel yourself trying to rock against him again as the pleasure is building and building and you can't find a balance—

"Tom," you gasp out, but you're not even sure what you're asking for, all you know is that it's him—it’s him and him and him. "Tom—I'm going to—you're going to make me—"

A shudder goes through him at that, barely perceptible, the smallest jerk that you're not sure anyone else would notice but you're so aware of his body and his responses that you'd never miss it—

"Go on." He urges, quietly. "I won't stop you."

You think it's probably the tone in which he says it—half pitying, half condescending—that does you in, and all you can do is bite down on his shoulder, hard, and then you're cumming, almost violently—as if something inside you snaps all at once and you're shaking with it, clawing at him, gasping for air, trying in vain not to make a sound because his dorm is not warded off yet and you're certain the rest of the school would hear if you screamed—

"Mfffff—"

You're clenching, walls fluttering around him as he lets you bite down on his shoulder as hard as you want—the shudder that goes through him at the feeling of your teeth on his skin doesn't go unnoticed, and you wonder if he likes it, if he wants you to mark him just as bad as you want to leave your claim.

"Alright," he purrs when you go limp against him, half slumped over his lap. "Alright. Relax. Good."

You feel utterly boneless and breathless against him, like you've been completely drained out of everything, still shaking a little—he's done this to you in a matter of a few minutes and you feel humiliated by the ease in which he manages it, the control—

"I hate you," you murmur breathlessly, wincing as you feel him—huge and solid, buried inside you—twitch. "Fuck, I hate you."

There’s a low, breathless hum that those words pull from him—and you feel him tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, before his hand goes back to your throat, tilting your head back up.

"Don't lie," he murmurs, mouthing at your jaw. "You don't."

You're half tempted to argue otherwise, or give him some sort of biting response—but at the feeling of his mouth against your neck, you feel a fresh burst of heat flare up again and you can't seem to fight it—

"No," you breathe out, and you sound almost delirious with it now, too far gone to pretend you have any semblance of control. "I d-don't."

"That's what I thought," he hums, you can feel that smirk on your skin and you hate it and you love it simultaneously, and you wonder how it's possible to feel this many things at once. "You've always been a terrible liar."

Your lips part in response to that, but before you can get words out, he's shifting to resume his writing, and the magic on your clit starts back up again—

"Fuck! Y-you can't be serious," you manage through a mewl, because you're sure you don't have anything left to give—there's no way you can feel it again, much less so soon. "You can't just—"

"I'm not done yet," he replies, simply. "That means you aren't either."

It's almost infuriating, how simple he makes it sound, as if you don't have any say in it, as if he's going to just pull another orgasm out of you the way you'd pull a tissue out of a box—and you want to hate him for it, only you're already going back to being desperate, all your nerve endings on fire again, your fingers clenching uselessly against the dark wool—

"Tommmm" you whine, clenching around him as he twitches inside you, as the stimulation on your clit grows stronger—making your hips jerk, making you lift yourself about an inch up his shaft—just enough to make him groan—

"Fuck."

His fingers immediately fist in your hair, jerking your head back—and you love it, yet hate it, making you hate that you love it—and he makes a low, guttural sound against your neck, almost a growl.

"If you keep that up," you think it might actually be a threat now, because it’s snarled through barred teeth. "I will never finish this."

"That's—that's sort of the point," you gasp out. "I don't care if you don't finish it—I fucking need you—now—"

He makes that guttural sound against your neck again, almost as if he's biting it back—as if he needs the restraint to resist just throwing you onto the desk and having you there—

"Patience," he growls, but you can hear how breathless he is too, now, how affected he is—and that thought makes you feel insane all over again. "You think you deserve to be fucked after what you did? Hm? Slipping me that potion—tying me up—"

"Yes—yes I do—" you don't care that the sound that comes out of your mouth is most definitely a moan, that it's completely pitiful how desperate you are now—you want him, and nothing else matters. "It was just a little potion, it didn't even last that long, you were just mad I made you—"

He shakes his head, telling you without words to shut up.

"Careful," his hand slips from your hair to cover your mouth. "Don't want you to go talking yourself into trouble," his hand tightens a fraction when you try to bite at. "You might end up getting what you don't want."

He shifts under you, making you gasp against his palm, your nails biting into his shoulder as the magic on your clit twirls and swirls with just a little more intensity, enough for you to undeniably feel it—and Tom jerks his hips up into you, just enough for you to feel that, too—

You shake, forcing the words from under his palm. "Tom, please—"

It's not a whine, now—it's a keening, an almost broken sort of plea—but it's as if he doesn't hear it, or maybe he just doesn’t care, because he's continuing to speak in that low, growly rumble against your neck that's just as torturous as everything else.

"You're going to be quiet. You're going to take it," he asserts, and your eyes nearly roll back at the sheer heat of it. "Until I believe you’re deserving of more."

You have no idea if you're nodding or trying to protest, you don't even know which one you want to do because both options sound impossible to you—and you're almost hyperventilating now, the intensity almost too much and not enough all at once—you're desperate, you're aching, you're needy, and then you're falling over the edge—second orgasm shredding through you like lightening—

Oh—fucking hell—

It wrings itself out of you, violent and all consuming, but you can't make a sound—can't do anything except bite down on Tom's hand and clench your eyes shut as you fall apart—your thighs shaking, every muscle taut, your nails clawing desperately at his shoulder.

And he's murmuring things against your neck that you can't make out, holding you against him through it, making you take it in the most exquisite kind of torture—and god, you're certain he must be smiling, you're certain he loves having you like this, a broken mess on his lap, unable to speak, only whimper as he pulls his hand away with a "good girl", and urges your head to rest against his shoulder again as he resumes writing.

For the next solid minute, you still can't speak, just gasp for breath—clinging to him helplessly in the aftershock of it.

"That was two," he says, his hand trailing lazily up and down your spine. "You're in for a long night."

You want to whimper at that, because you're not sure if you can take anything more—

"How many," you manage to breathe out, your voice rasping. "How many more."

"As many as you can take," his voice is so matter-of-fact you know the bastard is smirking. "And possibly a few more after that.”

[iniquitousyearning]

HELLO 😻😻😻MY HUSBAND😻😻😻😻

Tom Riddle

[jmliebert]

masterlist

hi, I daydream, I write and obsess over fictional characters (enjoy ˙ᵕ˙)

always very open to suggestions, requests etc, love to hear from you

very thankful for every nice comment, for every reblog and message!

support me here <3

✩ BALDUR'S GATE ✩

Halsin

♡ headcanons ♡

Halsin in love (fluff headcanons)

Little things that would make halsin fall for you harder (fluff headcanons)

Lovesick Halsin (fluff headcanons)

Halsin x shy!virgin (smut headcanons)

Halsin x you (smut&fluff headcanons)

Halsin x shy!insecure!reader (smut&fluff headcanons)

Love smitten Halsin x oblivious Tav (fluff headcanons)

♡ short-stories ♡

Scent of Seduction (short-story) (smut&fluff)

Hot and bothered (short-story) (smut&fluff)

Halsin longing for you (your scent makes him forget himself) (smut)

Halsin little distraction (short-story) (shameless smut)

♡ others ♡

Halsin x you by the lake (smut scenario)

Halsin teaching you how to kiss (fluff, halsin x shy tav scenario)

Halsin giving Tav wooden duck, and her returning the favour (little headcanon)

Apologising on their knees (gale☆astarion☆halsin)

Halstarion (halsin x astarion)

Halsin x Astarion (smut&fluff headcanons)

For the strongest, a hard claim (short story) (sub-halsin smut)

Astarion

♡ headcanons ♡

Lovesick Astarion (fluff headcanons)

Astarion comforting you when you're sad (headcanons)

Little things that would make astarion fall harder for you (fluff headcanons)

Astarion x shy!virgin (smut headcanons)

Random thoughts of being with astarion (a little bit angsty headcanons)

♡ others ♡

Apologising on their knees (gale☆astarion☆halsin)

Gale

♡ headcanons ♡

Quiet nights spent with Gale (fluff headcanons)

Lovesick Gale (fluff headcanons)

Domestic bliss with Gale (fluff headcanons)

Little things that would make Gale fall harder for you (fluff headcanons)

Gale as your husband (fluff)

♡ short-stories ♡

Starry nights belong to lovers (short-story) (longing) (smut&angst)

♡ others ♡

Tormenting Gale.... (smut scenario) (gale soft sub)

Apologising on their knees (gale☆astarion☆halsin)

How your lover would grieve you (angst headcanons) (astarion,gale,halsin,wyll)

bg3 (as a whole party)

Beach-day (headcanons)

✩HARRY POTTER✩

Tom Riddle

When Tom Riddle is attracted to you (headcanons)

Yule Ball with Tom Riddle (headcanons)

Nights with Tom Riddle (headcanons)

Tom Riddle as your professor (headcanons)

Tom Riddle as your husband (headcanons)

Tom Riddle in love (headcanons)

Tom Riddle x soft crybaby (headcanons)

Tom Riddle x Evil!Reader (headcanons)

Creature of the night (smut short-story) (manipulative tom)

Draco Malfoy

When Draco Malfoy has a crush on you (headcanons)

My favourite Draco (headcanons)

Draco x Harry (fluffy headcanons)

George Weasley

When George Weasley has a crush on you (headcanons)

George Weasley as ur boyfriend (headcanons)

Fred Weasley

Fred Weasley as your husband (headcanons)

James Potter

When James has a crush on you

✩HOGWARTS LEGACY✩

Sebastian Sallow

Yule Ball with Sebastian Sallow (headcanons)

Sebastian as your boyfriend (headcanons)

Sebastian as your husband (headcanons)

How to win over Sebastian Sallow (headcanons)

Jealous Sebastian Sallow (small, fluffy headcanons)

Academic Rivals with Sebastian Sallow (headcanons)

Ominis Gaunt

When Ominis has a crush on you (headcanons)

Ominis as your boyfriend (headcanons)

Ominis as your husband (headcanons)

How to win over Ominis (headcanons)

Garreth Weasley

When Garreth has a crush on you (headcanons)

Slytherin trio (you x sebastian x ominis)

Slytherin trio dynamics (headcannons)

Ominis x Sebastian having a crush on you (headcanons)

(mc x ominis x sebastian x poppy x natsai x garreth x amit)

HL friends-group dynamics

HL friend-group dynamics (drunk-edition)

✩JJK✩

Kento Nanami

When Nanami has a crush on you (fluff headcanons)

Nanami as your lover (fluff, smut headcanons)

Nanami in bed

Nanami as Your Husband

✩HOTD✩

Aemond

Aemond headcanons (modern, and vey random)

When Aemond has a crush on you (modern headcanons)

Aemond as your boyfriend (modern headcanons)

(lovely dividers by @cafekitsune)

[scaramionee]

It's currently 3 am here, I'm sitting on my bed, currently questioning my existence, wondering what on earth did that author sprinkled on their fanfiction to turn it into such masterpiece. I don't think I can ever recover from what I've just finished reading a moment ago. Holy shit, some Ao3 writers are just batshit insane. What the fuck do they eat in order to come up with a storyline like this??!!

That fic was just mind blowing, and now it's haunting me ugh. And the worst part is it's not even canon compliant but I don't give a fuck. I'll never be the same about gothic appetite and I will never look at Edgar Allen Poe's "Annabelle Lee" poem the same way ever again.

And yeah, I love Regulus Arcturus Black. Sorry if I ever badmouthed u bae 🙏🙏

I WANNA SCREAM IN PAIN AGONY AND DESPAIR NOW THAT IT'S ENDED WHY WHY WHY SHKFJKSHKSJSSHJJ-

[mamalunawolf]

Y'all can suffer. If I have to suffer with Daddy Tom. You all have to too 🙃🫠

I'm starting something

Daddy Tom Riddle

Just saying. We have Daddy Rookwood and Daddy Sharp from Hogwarts Legacy. But how about Tom Riddle as a dad. So. A new hashtag will be added. #daddyTomRiddle

I press t to you his wife and their children. Names have not been added. But the wife is my mc for now. Lol

[lyceana]

Baby Tom & The Riddles #01: The Big Sneeze Incident

[pleiades-7]

I knew which clips I wanted use for the middle of this edit, so I ended up going from there and working my way out.

I might’ve even gotten the quality to behave? We’ll see.

This isn’t a unique take, but I think a lot of the reason Tom Riddle went on to become Lord Voldemort, isn’t that he hated muggle-borns. I don’t think he hated half-bloods. Or rather, he hated them equally, and less than he grew to hate pure-bloods.

He’s far too intelligent to be blinded by the pure-blood inbred rhetoric. Perhaps before seeing the Gaunts, with the Black madness as the only example of the issues that inbreeding causes, he might’ve wanted to think himself the exception to the rule. He probably wanted to believe the evidence didn’t point to inbreeding being the cause of such drastic issues, in order to cling to some aspect of his heritage. To carry on the ideals of the only ancestor he could respect.

However, after seeing the Gaunts, and learning his father was a muggle, I can’t believe he would subscribe to the concept of blood purity. Especially as the first wizarding war came to be. Snape was a half-blood and he was the most talented, most valuable, death eater of the bunch.

I think it’s more likely that he was using pure-blood fanaticism to get what he wanted.

Which I’m going to assume, wasn’t just power. He could have always had power. He didn’t need any followers for that. It wasn’t influence he was after either. He could’ve been minister if he’d taken the long route as Tom Riddle, and he could’ve done it through brute force later in the second war. I think his real goal was to burn it all down. Everything. Everyone.

I think Tom Riddle was furious. He was orphaned, his mother too weak to survive long after giving birth to him. Something I’m sure he would go on to, in part, blame the Gaunts for. After realizing the reality they subjected her to. I think he felt robbed. Robbed of a mother, who might’ve survived if she was a little more talented. A little more beautiful. If she’d had the opportunity to learn a little more. If anyone had bothered to help her. I think he felt robbed of a heritage, absolutely disgusted with the Gaunts, and enraged with his muggle father. He believed he was superior to everyone else. For his magical ability, his magical reserves, his brilliant mind, his charm and finely honed manipulation tactics. And yet, he found himself surrounded by ruin.

Other pure-bloods, the Malfoys and the Blacks, had rich family histories. Vaults of books and knowledge and heirlooms and wealth, which the Gaunts had all squandered away. All these pure-blooded fools, less dedicated, less ambitious, less capable, less deserving, got what should have been his.

I think from the start it was always about tearing these families apart, one member at a time. I think he delighted in having them bow at his feet, the irony of his status as a half-blood is very in character for his unique sense of humor.

The families closest to him, the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Lestranges, suffer the worst consequences, continually. He had no qualms killing any pure-blood family, and so he gave them a war. He let his followers imagine they were soldiers. He could actively torture those with the mark, and kill those without. Either way, it was their destruction he was after.

He knew what a muggle war looked like. He had lived through one. The sound of bombs and the fear of everything exploding, actively drove him to create his first horcrux. And still, he never subjected the wizarding world to that. For many reasons. He didn’t need muggle weapons to get what he wanted, he was above the use of such indiscriminate methods of annihilation, and he didn’t want the whole magical community extinguished. He loved magic. He coveted magic.

Magic was the very first thing that ever brought him joy, and probably what brought him the most intense amount of joy. It was what solidified his belief in his sense of superiority. He traveled the world, to learn. To put spells and skills in his repertoire. He would’ve taught at Hogwarts if he’d been given the chance. Not because he’d enjoy teaching, but because he is a collector. Those with talent and ability, he could’ve encouraged, to his own means of course. He would’ve been surrounded by magic and potential, and he would’ve been home. The primary draw to obtaining a position as a professor, was to settle himself. To finally find that connection, if only to a place.

Hogwarts was the second thing that brought him joy. I think that using the founders heirlooms to create his horcruxes, was an action driven by the same desperation that drove an eleven year old Tom Riddle to hoard the other children’s toys. If he could not have any of his own, he would take what he imagined he was owed, what he deserved. He dug his claws into that school and had to be pried from it. After finding that he was related to a founder of the school, the belief that he had a right to it was cemented.

I think in the end, he was furious, and a lot of his actions were motivated by that rage. So many of his actions were governed by the fear he tried so hard to escape, to run from. So many of his actions came from the gnawing cavern in his chest, that demanded to be filled.

He had this need to be seen, to be unforgettable. Nothing would have ever enough.

He was seeking something he never got.

He’s so interesting. 🫠 I hope this doesn’t mischaracterize him, all discussion is welcome! Just be kind :)