#voldemort drabble

[heavenlybodies333]

Saints & Sinners - T.R.

!warning!minorsdni, bdsm, drugs/alcohol use, violence

word count: 2.9k

Pairing: Tom Riddle x you

Slytherin’s annual Saints & Sinners party was the only night of the year where indulgence wasn’t just encouraged—it was expected. And you were in the mood to sin.

The lace clung to your thighs, the delicate garters stretched taut as you adjusted the clips, breath hitching when Bellatrix pulled the corset strings even tighter. “Fucking hell, Bella—”

“Oh, shut up,” she snickered, giving the laces one last vicious tug. Your tits nearly spilled over the top. Perfect. You weren’t one for dressing up. Even on a good day, your tie was loose, your uniform skirt wrinkled from the way you constantly tucked your legs under yourself in class. It wasn’t that you didn’t care—it was just that other things mattered more.

Like staying up all night with a certain someone, legs spread over his lap, lips bitten raw, thighs trembling.

Tom fucking Riddle.

It was stupid, honestly. The way he occupied your thoughts, the way he got under your skin. How he acted like he owned you but refused to say it outright. And you let him—again and again and again—because you liked how it felt, let him hurt you.

The mirror reflected a version of yourself you barely recognized. Lips slicked with gloss, a dark kohl rim lining your eyes, skin glowing under candlelight. You looked fucking dangerous. Bellatrix stepped back, admiring her work before smirking at you. “Merlin, you’re a whore,” she teased, smoothing the fabric over your chest.

“you love it,” you mused, smacking your lips together before turning to grab the bottle of Firewhiskey off your desk. You poured two shots, handing one off to Bella. “To bad decisions.”

“Only the best kind” she grinned, clinking her glass against yours before throwing it back. The burn in your throat was nothing compared to the way anticipation curled in your stomach.

The boys were waiting. And he would be there.

Not that you were dressing like this for him. Of course not. It wasn’t as if you were picturing the look on his face when he saw you like this. Or thinking about the way his fingers would tighten around his glass, his jaw going rigid. It wasn’t like you wanted to drive him mad, to make him jealous—totally, absolutely not.

“Alright,” you said, grabbing the bottle of Firewhiskey from the desk. “One more before we go.”

Bell laughed, biting her lip. “Oh, you are trying to die tonight.”

Maybe. But if you were going to Hell, you were going in lace and stilettos.

Bellatrix linked her arm through yours as you both stumbled through the corridors, the alcohol already making you lightheaded. You barely noticed when you arrived at Malfoy and Nott’s dorm, pushing the door open without a care.

The boys were already there, draped across the sofas in tailored black, a haze of smoke curling in the air—every last one of them looking like sin incarnate. But one was missing.

Tom Riddle was nowhere to be seen.

Where the fuck was he?

Bellatrix, unfazed, made a beeline for Malfoy’s stash. “Abraxas, give me the strongest shit you’ve got. No downers.”

You laughed, watching her dig through his collection of illicit substances. Your mind wasn’t on whatever poisons she was about to ingest. No, your mind was on Tom, and how utterly ravenous you were for his attention.

Oh. You had spoken too soon. A presence at your back. The heat of a hand on your waist, firm fingers moving you aside. And then—his voice, dark and smooth as ever.

“You’re in my way, princess.”

Your breath caught. His touch was fleeting as you swallowed hard, turning to watch him stride past you as if you weren’t even there. He greeted Nott and Rosier, taking a drink from Bellatrix without so much as a thank you before sinking into the sofa. His eyes flickered up at you, dark and unreadable.

And then, as if daring you—he dragged his gaze down, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your hips, your tits, the garters at your thighs, the sheer stockings hugging your legs.

Why that arrogant bastard.

You strode toward him, your heels clicking against the floor and You plucked the drink from his grasp without asking, bringing it to your lips. The burn of whatever the fuck it was nearly made you choke. Definitely not firewhiskey. Maybe absinthe. Maybe something worse, you had to keep yourself from gagging.

“That drink is filthy,” you muttered, handing it back.

Tom looked up at you lazily, his gaze trailing from your lips, down your throat, lower, lower—until it settled exactly where you wanted it to.

“Yeah,” he murmured, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t say that’s the filthiest thing in here.”

You didn’t let your smirk falter. Oh, if only he knew how much that pleased you instead of pissing you off. Instead of answering, you turned on your heel and walked away. You knew he was watching. Knew he was drinking in the sight of your ass, barely covered by the sheer lace of your dress, the same one he’d bent you over just last week, fingers buried in your mouth to keep you quiet while he ruined you.

He couldn’t do shit about it.

And that? That was the best fucking part.

The party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of firewhiskey, expensive cigars, and the underlying electricity of debauchery. The Saints & Sinners party was a tradition as old as Slytherin House itself—an exclusive, unhinged, beautifully depraved event where only the elite were welcome.

And you? You were made for it.

Everywhere you turned, Slytherins and their carefully selected company indulged in the wicked excess of the night. Mulciber and Avery had a table littered with shot glasses and cigarette ash, their laughter curling into the heavy, perfumed air. Lestrange was already drunk, leaning too close to some Ravenclaw girl who looked both delighted and terrified. Realizing you didn’t see Tom again was irritating, whatever, you had better things than to wait for him.

Instead, you turned your attention to Orion Black, the heir to one of the oldest, wealthiest pureblood families—gorgeous, arrogant, and so desperately in love with the idea of you. He had been since your fifth year, and despite his best efforts, the boy couldn’t hide it for shit. He was the type of man who thought he was subtle, but the way his gaze would drop to your lips, the way he’d adjust his robes every time you so much as breathed in his direction? Pathetic, really but useful nonetheless.

You leaned in closer to him, your lips barely brushing his ear as you reached for the bottle on the table, pouring yourself another shot. You could feel his sharp inhale, his knuckles going white around his glass.

Orion wanted you. Always had.

But he wasn’t the one you wanted to suffer for it.

Tom Riddle was.

Orion stares. His hand hovers at your waist like he’s debating whether or not he has permission to touch you. The answer is no. But he doesn’t need to know that just yet.

“You look—” He swallows hard. “You look fucking insane.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

His jaw is tight, fingers flexing at his sides. He’s trying so fucking hard to act like he’s not losing his mind over you, over the way you’re looking at him like he might actually have a chance.

It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic.

“Yeah.” His voice is rough, “You know you do.”

You smile. Sweet, slow, your eyes looking up at him through your dark lashes. Then, just because you fucking can, you reach out and drag your fingers along the collar of his shirt, adjusting it like you actually give a fuck about the way it sits against his throat.

You didn’t let it linger for too long. Pulling your fingers away, you felt his body stiffen, eyes widening in disbelief.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. Tom Riddle.

He was standing a few feet away, lent against a green marble pillar. The moment he saw you looking, his expression darkened, lips curling into that sly, twisted smile that always made your pulse race. There was no hiding the way you felt about him, no pretending like you weren't aching for the chaos he brought.

All the while, Orion had been talking—what about, you weren’t sure. Something about how he could drink more than anyone else, something about how Mulciber had nearly passed out last year after five shots. You let him, pretending to listen, nodding along as the alcohol warmed your stomach, making you feel light, untethered.

Orion, ever the oblivious fool, hadn't caught onto the shift. His eyes darted from you to Tom, confusion flickering over his face.

“Riddle,” he said, his voice caught somewhere between confrontation and panic, trying to get Tom’s attention but clearly nervous about how he might react. "What the hell are you staring at?"

You knew it wasn’t Orion Tom was watching. His eyes were only on you, and that was exactly where you wanted him. But that’s when Tom spoke, his voice cold and laced. “Really, Black? This is what you’ve been reduced to? Bragging about alcohol tolerance to impress a girl who isn’t even listening to you?”

Tom didn't look away, his lips twisting into something darker, amused. "You're out of your depth, Black. You might want to sober up before you start making a fool of yourself."

Orion’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists. "Fuck you," he spat.

You rolled your eyes, trying to intervene. “Tom, come on, don’t start. It’s not that serious.”

But Tom had already made up his mind. He smirked, eyes flashing with amusement, and spoke low, just for you and Orion to hear. "No, it’s not serious, is it? Just a drunk idiot thinking he can impress someone who doesn’t want him."

Orion wasn’t having it. His face flushed red as he moved to shove Tom, anger and alcohol clouding his judgment. The movement was so fast, so reckless that you barely saw it coming.

And then, everything happened at once.

Orion’s fist swung toward Tom, but with a speed you could never hope to match, Tom, sidestepping with perfect reflexes. You should’ve been paying attention, but you weren’t. You were too focused on Tom’s eyes, the way he moved.

The next thing you knew, you were staggered by the force of a punch hitting your cheek. Pain shot through you, sharp and stinging. You blinked, disoriented, blood trickling from the cut on your face. You barely registered the explosion of anger on Tom’s face as he turned on Orion.

"You fucking moron," Tom hissed, stepping forward, his fist connecting with Orion’s face with a sickening crack. "Get the hell out of here before I make you regret it and next time, try hitting the person you were aiming for."

Orion, groaning from the impact, staggered back, but it was Abraxas Malfoy who appeared next, ready to diffuse the situation. He didn’t seem surprised by what had happened, but he stepped in, pulling Orion away with a knowing look in his eyes.

Tom’s eyes were on you, though. The anger that had surged through him now simmered into a possessive kind of fury. He reached out to you, his hands gentle but firm as he cupped your face, inspecting the cut that was already starting to bleed.

“You alright?” he asked, voice now soft.You blinked up at him, the alcohol still fogging your brain, the sharp sting of pain mixing strangely with the warmth in your veins. “M’fine,” you muttered, then frowned when you saw his hand. “Your knuckles.”

Tom let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he studied you. “You just got punched in the face, and you’re worried about me?”

You hummed, barely registering when his arm slid around your waist, steadying you as your balance wavered. “I mean…it looks bad.”

He rolled his eyes, but the amusement didn’t leave his face. “You’re ridiculous.”

He paused, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The hallway was quieter, only the distant pulse of music vibrating through the walls. His hand never left your waist as he guided you down the corridor, fingers pressing firmly, possessively. When he pushed open the bathroom door, he pulled you inside, locking it behind him with a sharp click.

“Sit,” he ordered, and before you could protest, his hands gripped your hips and lifted you with ease, setting you on the counter. The cool porcelain kissed your thighs, and only then did you realize how exposed you were—your dress had ridden up, bunching at your waist, baring the delicate lace of your lingerie. The only thing keeping it from rising higher was the corset cinched tight around your torso.

Tom didn’t react immediately. His expression remained impassive as he grabbed a clean towel, wetting it under the tap. It wasn’t until he turned back that you noticed. He wasn’t looking at your face.

You smirked, the alcohol making you bold. “My eyes are up here, Riddle.”

His jaw twitched, but he said nothing as he stepped closer, dabbing gently at the cut on your cheek. You winced at the sting, but it was nothing compared to the heat burning through you. His free hand trailed down, fingers along the inside of your thigh, barely brushing where you needed him most. The contact made you whimper softly, shifting forward, desperate. “Something the matter princess?”

You didn’t answer, just bit your lip and rocked your hips toward his hand. He slipped his fingers beneath the lace, running two along your slick folds, groaning at how wet you already were.

Grabbing your chin as he kissed you softly, not preparing you for when he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them in just the right way to make your back arch, a broken moan spilling from your lips. He fucked you with his fingers, slow and deliberate, dragging it out, making you squirm. You moaned against his mouth, your own hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard. His cock pressed insistently against your thigh through his trousers, and you were suddenly desperate. Your hand fumbled for his belt, desperate, tugging, and he smirked at your impatience. But he didn’t stop you. If anything, the sight of you like this—drunk, needy, desperate for him—only made him harder.

You barely registered when you slid off the counter, sinking to your knees before him, yanking at his trousers until you freed him. He was thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip, and fuck, you wanted him.

You wasted no time, licking a stripe up his length before taking him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. A sharp inhale above you, and then his fingers were in your hair, gripping tight guiding your movements as you sucked, licked, let saliva spill down your chin. He watched you with that same unreadable intensity, his own breath ragged as he fought to keep control.

“Look at you,” he grunted, voice strained.

You moaned around him, taking him deeper, the feeling of his cock stretching your throat making your thighs clench. He pulled you off him suddenly, yanking you to your feet before spinning you around, bending you over the sink.

The sound of fabric tearing filled the small space, and you gasped as cool air met your bare skin. He had ripped your corset clean off, along with your panties, leaving you completely exposed.

“Fuck, Riddle—”

A sharp slap to your ass made you whimper, and then he was lining himself up behind you, teasing you with the head of his cock. You tried to push back, but his hands gripped your hips, holding you still.

“So impatient,” he murmured, amusement laced with something darker.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the mirror, eyes burning with frustration and need. “Then do something about it.”

His grip tightened. And then he slammed into you, stretching you wide, knocking the breath from your lungs. You cried out, fingers gripping the edge of the sink, barely able to hold yourself up as he set a brutal pace, fucking you hard enough that the mirror shook. His hand wrapped around your throat pushing your head up to look at yourself in the mirror. Seeing him behind you, the way he moved your body as he thrusted into you, his biceps flexing as he tightened his grip on your waist. The only sounds in the bathroom were your moans, his grunts and the filthy slap of skin on skin. He reached around, fingers circling your clit, pushing you closer, closer—cunt clenching as you came hard around him, crying his name out loudly. Tom groaned, thrusts turning volatile before he buried himself deep, cumming inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing. As his lips ghosted over your shoulder, almost gentle, soft. A contradiction to everything he was, or at least tried to be.

“Saints and sinners indeed,” he said, voice still thick with pleasure.

You laughed, breathless, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Guess we know which one you are.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: attached to him like a whorecrux

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[megwritesriddles]

MDNI 18+ !!!

Tom Riddle is the type of guy you would assume would never go down on you, but it turns out he’s OBSESSED with being between your thighs. It’s a total power thing for him, taking you apart until you’re trembling and panting and pleading. He wouldn’t never admit it to you or himself, but he’s crazy for the way you taste, eating you out almost every time you hook up. You let him believe it’s just about power, but the way he looks up at you while he feasts on you lets you know the truth. If you ever denied him his favourite meal, there’s no telling how he’d act…

You might find yourself waking up in the Chamber and not getting out for a while…

[rxsilabeth--er]

What about Tom Riddle, who just lingers in corners and watchea through shadows and reader who likes to sneak up on him?

:)

Hello? Yes, thank you for the request! More of a drabble now, I suppose, but it's still so cute!! Okay bye-bye!!

Tom dating someone like you, says a bit about his fucked up life. Okay, leaving that, I'm just imagining him standing there in the dark reading a book and out of nowhere a little squirrel climbs up on him making him scream like a girl and fall over while Abraxas tries to stifle his laughter because it's you...you.

He gets constant heart attacks from you because he never knows where you're going to sneak up and jump on him from,

but he adores your nonetheless, even though he got his first white hair at 11. And it only got worse from his first meeting with you.

I imagine you both met when he was sitting in a train compartment, and you popped out of a bag and sat down like nothing was wrong.

, and he was ready to jab his wand in your eye?? Because wtf?? Huh??? Poor boy was so scared and confused, his inner voldy died in that moment for a good few hours.

He is now equipped with her safety hazards which are his hands so he catches you when he can, which is half of the times you sneak up on him, poor thing is scared to death by it.

He cannot count how many white hair he finds a day after you sneak up on him... He's gonna turn 50 by the time he's out of hogwarts, poor thing..Don't get me started on the way you hide in shadows

Imagine him freaking out because he saw your beady eyes staring at him while he's working with his basilisk..

© rxsilabeth--er.Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading and if you like this check out my blog!

[liquidluckandstuff]

I'm sharing this from twitter because i'm proud of it. Go cry a little it's okay you probably need it.

[garfunkelworld]

A boy walks into the woods. When he walks away, he is lighter, a smaller soul in his chest. He goes where he is meant to go:

Home, at last.

A man walks into the woods. He does not walk away. He stays, unmoving and unchanging, because there cannot be an afterlife for a man who already considers himself God.

[chaos-bear]

Birdsong woke Voldemort that morning. His suite looked out over the east lawn, and the apple trees there attracted robins in the spring. Last night, he'd cracked a window, letting the sweet night air cool their skin. Now, it let in a gust of wind and the fragrant scent of warm grass, blowing the curtains open so the sun could peek through.

He felt heavy in his body, warm and relaxed, muscles slightly sore but in a satisfying way. The blankets had been pushed down near their feet, and only a simple sheet remained, but he was warm from the body curled against his back, the arm slung about his waist.

Voldemort wasn't a soft man, nor a gentle one prone to allowing others close, but this was an exception. He was the exception. He always had been.

And so he lay, feeling Harry Potter's soft exhalations on the back of his neck, the tiny twitches of his foot where it lay pressed against Voldemort's own, and watched as the sun slowly crept across the carpet. The march of time pressed in, encouraging him to rise and begin another busy day, but Voldemort resisted.

Instead, he twisted to look at Harry's sleeping face, brushing one finger down his cheek to press against his plush lower lip. Memories of their night flooded in, the sounds he'd made, the look in his eyes.

Harry's arm tightened to pull Voldemort closer, and he went willingly, letting that solid heartbeat lure him back to sleep.

* * * * * *

A Valentine's Day gift for @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts 💖💖💖

[kyokimidori]

Send me Prompts

Want to have a prompt written but don;t know who to send it to? Wel do I have news for you! For a limited time, you, YES YOU, can submit a prompt with any pairing from the Harry Potter universe and it will be written.

We take ships as Harmless as Dobby and his sock to Outlandish like Hermione and the Giant squid and all the places in between.

How do you send in a prompt you ask? SIMPLE, simply go to my tumblr page, click askkyoki and submit a prompt. The prompt can be a phrase, a word, a feeling. Maybe you have a full fledged story idea and you want someone else to write it. We can do that to.

Don't forget to send in one today!

[teacup-gathering-itself]

With so much

So much love in my heart

I’m proposing a crack au where Harry has a different patronus. Could be after he backchats Death too much or just. A crack fic worthy idea. Could be after he’s disillusioned with his father if you need a serious angle idk.

Anyways

This patronus fits because

1. Can fly at TERRIFYING speeds, with little to no regard for his own safety, just his goals and somehow it all turns out fine. 0/10 would like to be flown at by his patronus or by him (Mr. Youngest Seeker in a Century, plus his general approach to everything in canon)

2. Has very big feelings about food waste (cough cough Privet Dr cough cough)

3. Sneaky, fits in small dark places (parallel to his invisibility cloak plus the closet under the stairs), somehow manages to get into literally anywhere he’s not supposed to (listen this is referencing the entire plot)

Will survive attempts on his life (Boy-Who-Lived)

Repeatedly (Boy-Who-Lived-AGAIN)

Could survive an apocalypse tbh (Just surviving canon in general)

Scuttles around in the dark at night (He solemnly SWEARS he is up to no good)

Very polarizing either you think

“yikes FUCK NO”, “I need this mf DEAD RN”, “Harry Potter biting the curb 4k hd” (Voldie, Ms. Toad-face, and possibly also Rita, plus occasionally the entirety of Wizarding Britain)

OR

“awww look at himmmm he’s just a little guy y’all” (the Weasley twins, Luna, occasionally Wolfstar)

….

Anyways it’s a roach

His patronus is a cockroach. 🪳

Again I say this with love. But it also makes me cry laugh.

[jaspermeiao3]

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Co-Parent Scorned

Summary: Based on that old internet post where a fae and a demon are promised the same baby. Voldemort (the demon) and Harry (the fae) both technically have custody over the child, and neither of them are willing to back down about it (what do you think they are, losers?) A prompt by BorealisPhonix.

Word count: 947

The crossroads was a place of paradoexs, where shadows whispered secrets to the light, and the air shimmered as though it was unsure whether to be warm or cold. It was here, beneath a sky split between perpetual sunlight and a simmering blood moon, that two figures materialised in a storm of angry magic.

On one side stood Voldemort, a towering silhouette cloaked in the scent of brimstone and despair. His eyes, two glowing embers in an otherwise featureless face, burned with malice as his shape flickered, serpentine and shifting, revealing something even less human beneath a mass of shadows and spines that clawed at the edges of reality.

Opposite him, Harry emerged from a glade that hadn’t existed a moment before. Flowers bloomed in his wake, twisting into shapes too intricate to be natural, while silver vines coiled around his feet, pulsing with energy. His face, painfully symmetrical and glowing faintly with a light that hurt to look at directly, was framed by wild black hair that seemed to move in an unfelt breeze. He smiled, wide and sharp, revealing teeth that were perhaps a little too perfect.

Between them, the baby wailed, a mortal child wrapped in a bundle of tattered cloth, wholly unaware of the cosmic custody battle about to erupt.

"Excuse me," Voldemort intoned, his voice deep and reverberating like the toll of a funeral bell. "This child belongs to me. The father promised me its soul in exchange for dominion over his enemies."

Harry tilted his head, the motion unnervingly fluid. "Oh, did he now?" His voice was as melodic as a lullaby, yet carried an undercurrent of razorsharp mockery. "Funny thing, that. The mother struck a bargain with me. She asked for fae protection for her precious oldest son. And you know how we fae are about promises."

A tension crackled in the air as reality itself seemed to groan under the weight of their conflicting claims.

"You cannot take what has already been claimed," Voldemort hissed, the shadows around him coalescing into the vague shapes of writhing creatures. "A contract sealed in blood trumps your frivolous little agreements."

Harry chuckled, a sound that was maddening. "Blood? Cute. But a mother's word carries far more weight than you apparently understand, demon. Or perhaps you’ve forgotten the rules of our game?"

"The rules are malleable," Voldemort snarled, stepping forward. Each of his steps burned the ground beneath him, leaving smoldering ash in his wake. "And I do not play. This child is a tool, a weapon to be sharpened. A soul bound to me will accomplish far more than anything your flowery tricks could achieve."

Harry’s grin widened impossibly, the corners of his mouth nearly reaching his ears. "Flowery tricks? Oh, darling, if only you knew what you were up against. This child could become a legend under my care, a hero, even! Not to mention how much fun it will be watching you sulk about it."

As the argument reached an impasse, a sudden crack of thunder split the sky. The ground trembled, and a swirling portal of light and darkness erupted between them. From its depths emerged a third figure, draped in neutral-toned robes that shimmered with incomprehensible sigils. They were neither fae nor demon but something else entirely, an arbiter of cosmic law.

"Enough!" the mediator bellowed, their voice ringing with the authority of a dozen overlapping realms. "Your dispute threatens the fabric of reality itself. The child belongs to neither of you entirely."

Harry pouted, looking up through his long lashes that covered his sparkling green eyes. "Oh, but you can’t just let him have it. Do you know how boring demons are? It’ll be all fire and brimstone, with no room for whimsy."

"And leaving the child with the fae," Voldemort interjected icily, "will doom it to a life of frivolity and delusion. Mortals were not made for endless dances and riddles."

The mediator sighed a sound that carried the exhaustion of eons. "By the laws that bind your realms, you both hold valid claims. Therefore, the child’s custody must be… shared."

"Shared?" Voldemort’s voice could have frozen magma. "You expect me to share with him?"

Harry clapped his hands together, laughing with delight. "Oh, this is rich! We’re going to be a little family! Isn’t that just precious?"

The arbiter raised a hand, and both Harry and Voldemort fell silent, their gazes snapping to the being. "The contract is sealed. You will co-parent this mortal child. Any attempt to subvert this arrangement will result in—" They gestured vaguely at the fabric of reality, which shuddered ominously. "Unraveling."

Harry leaned down, scooping up the baby with unsettling grace. The child instantly stopped crying, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes. "Well, this will be fun," he mused. "Don’t you think so, Voldey?"

"Do not call me that," Voldemort growled, his hands curling into claws.

Harry wiggled his fingers in the demon’s direction, his smile nothing short of insufferable. "Oh, we’re going to get along splendidly, I can already tell. Come on, darling," he cooed to the baby. "Let’s go set up our little home."

Voldemort glared at Harry, shadows gathering around him like an angry storm cloud. "I will not tolerate your frivolities, fae."

"And I," Harry replied breezily, "won’t tolerate your doom and gloom aesthetic. But I suppose we’ll just have to compromise, won’t we?"

The arbiter, apparently satisfied that their job was done, vanished in a flash of light, leaving Harry and Voldemort standing in the now-silent crossroads.

The baby hiccupped.

Harry grinned. "This is going to be so much fun."

Voldemort, his fiery eyes narrowing, muttered darkly, "This is going to be Heaven.

[heavenlybodies333]

What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her - T.R. part II

!warnings!minors dni, infidelity, explicit content

part I to this fic

pairing: Tom Riddle x gf!Bellatrix x bsf!you

The Yule Ball should’ve ended when the music stopped—but it didn’t. Not with drinks flowing and the haze of smoke clouding better judgment. You shouldn’t be here—straddling Tom Riddle in his locked dorm, moaning against his mouth while your best friend, his girlfriend, roams the halls looking for him. You knew it was wrong. And yet, here you are—hips rolling, nails digging into his skin—risking everything for the one boy you were never supposed to touch.

The Yule Ball had officially ended hours ago, but the party in the Slytherin common room was only just beginning. The air hung heavy with cigarette smoke, and the sharp bite of alcohol burned down your throat as you tipped back another shot. Laughter rang out around you—wild, reckless—but you barely heard it. Not with Tom sitting across the room, his dark eyes fixed on you like a predator stalking its prey.

You weren’t a saint, not by a long shot, but even you knew that staying any longer was a bad idea.

Yet, you stayed. Because of him.

He was leaning back against the leather sofa, a glass of firewhiskey in hand, and his dark eyes—those damned eyes—never left you. They burned through the room’s haze, setting fire to the space between you. No one else noticed. Why would they? You were just friends. Always had been.

At least, that’s what you wanted them to think.

Bellatrix’s laugh cut through the noise, loud and sharp, as she tipped her head back, her black curls wild over her shoulders. Her hand lingered on Tom’s thigh, fingers curling like she had a right to him. And maybe she did.

After all, she was his girlfriend.

You shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be looking at him like that. Not with Bellatrix there, but you were. And worse—you knew he was looking back.

"I need some air," you muttered to no one in particular, setting your empty glass on the nearest table.

You felt him follow before you even reached the dimly lit corridor leading to the dormitories. His presence was obvious to you, from the way you could feel his eyes burning through you.

And that was all it took.

His mouth was on yours the moment the door shut behind you. Desperation masked by roughness—biting kisses, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as his hands dragged you closer. He tasted like firewhiskey and sin, and when his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging your head back, you let him. You always let him.

"You're such a fucking mess for me," he murmured, lips trailing down the line of your throat.

"You’re an asshole," you hissed, even as your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

His laugh was low and cruel. "And yet, here you are."

His dorm was cold, but you didn’t feel it—not when he shoved you onto his bed and pulled your dress up over your hips. His fingers traced the line of your thigh, teasing, before yanking your knickers down and tossing them aside.

You straddled his lap, feeling the hard press of him beneath you as he leaned back against the headboard. "So eager," he mused, dark amusement lacing every word.

"Fuck you," you snapped.

"Oh, I intend to."

He didn’t wait. He never did. His cock stretched you open in one rough thrust, and the burn of it stole the air from your lungs. Your back arched, legs wrapping around his waist as he filled you, deep and unforgiving.

"You’re going to get us caught," you breathed, voice shaking as he set a brutal pace.

His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as you bounced on his cock. "You like this," he sneered, thrusting up to meet you. "Like knowing I fuck you while she waits for me."

"Shut up," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

But he was right. You did like it.

A loud knock echoed from the corridor outside his door. Your heart slammed against your ribs as panic jolted through you.

"Tom?" Bellatrix’s voice. Sharp. Suspicious. Just outside.

You froze.

Tom didn’t.

He didn’t stop. If anything, the threat of being caught made him rougher, more relentless, dragging you closer to the edge.

"She’ll find us," you whispered, panic licking at your edges even as your body betrayed you, clenching around him.

"Not if you keep your mouth shut," he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "Can you do that?" You buried your face against his neck, desperate to quiet the moans threatening to spill from your lips.

You should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve gotten off him and fixed your dress. But instead, you stayed—straddling him, his cock buried deep inside you—while your best friend stood on the other side of the door.

The doorknob rattled. Locked.

"Tom, open the door!" Bellatrix demanded, her voice dripping with irritation.

The door rattled again.

"If you’re in there, open the damn door," Bellatrix snapped.

He didn’t answer.

His grip on your waist only tightened, dragging you down harder. "She won’t come in," he said, voice smooth and cold. "And even if she did…" He leaned up, teeth grazing your ear. "Would you stop me?"

You hated him. Hated how well he knew you—how much you wanted him. Even now, with Bellatrix’s shadow looming just outside, you couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

"That's what I thought," Tom drawled, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he fucked up into you.

Finally—finally—the sound of her footsteps faded as Bellatrix moved on, her frustration echoing down the corridor.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, hard enough to taste blood, as your orgasm crashed through you. You were shaking, body arching beneath him, and still—he didn’t stop.

"Fuck Riddle," you breathed, barely audible.

Shifting you on his lap, movements slowing as he groans against your breasts. His warm cum filling you up as he swirls his tongue around your aroused nipples, biting lightly as you shiver in response.

Tom leaned against your ear. "Next time," he murmured, a cruel smile curling against your skin, "I won’t lock it."

And well—if you were being honest—that only thrilled you more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: another write I owe to @shyamanuensis for this brilliant idea🫦 xx my girl knows how to inspire🤞🤞

[megwritesriddles]

Tom Riddle on Valentine's ༊*·˚

Riddle would only celebrate Valentine’s if the two of you were dating

He’s not going to follow you around like a lost puppy sending flowers and notes

He may leave one anonymous note somewhere he knows you’ll find, but otherwise you will have to come to him

If you were dating, he would get you something simple, one enchanted rose, a simple but elegant quill set if he felt you’d prefer it

He would give it to you in the Great Hall, making sure everybody can see what an exemplary boyfriend he is

It just adds to his charming good boy image, and secretly he does like associating with you in public, letting everyone know you are both taken

A kiss on the cheek after exchanging gifts and a hand on the small of your back would be all the PDA you’d get from him

He’s avoiding getting in trouble with any professors but also secretly finds the vulnerability terrifying, he cannot show weakness

It’s a little annoying how aloof he makes himself seem, but you understand his fears and are grateful he doesn’t hide you entirely

Behind closed doors, he uses Valentine’s as an excuse to tell you a few things he’s been waiting to say

He can’t go as far as to say he loves you (despite meaning it), but he stiffly tells you that he would kill anybody who ever harmed you in any way

You laugh him off, but his expression remains deadly serious

MDNI starts here !!

“You make me feel… good?” he offers. “You satisfy me, of course, but I mean… emotionally I… it doesn’t feel so bad when you’re around,”

It’s kind of sweet how much he struggled to say this to you

He gets a little angry when you tell him that, but you move into his lap and you’re quickly forgiven

Would definitely be expecting special treatment on Valentine’s

Lies back, hands behind his head expecting you to do the work

“There’s no use pouting, darling, don’t you want to give me a special day?”

“How about you put your pretty mouth to work, hm?”

He’s more gentle with you than normal, his hand threaded in your hair as you bob your head over his length, not tugging, just slowly guiding you

“That’s it, darling,” he purrs, locking eyes with you, gently thrusting up into your mouth. “What a good girl,”

Pulls you off of him just before he finishes, pulling you up to lie beside him, facing each other

He wraps your leg around his hip and pushes inside of you, holding you close as he gently thrusts

You know he’s making an effort to keep himself controlled, kissing up and down your neck sensually as he moves, wanting to make this romantic for you, sucking softly at various points

He lays on the praise heavier than normal, wanting you to know how he feels for you without really saying it

"You are perfect, perfect, everything I could ever want,"

Eventually he does lose control, pushing you down and pounding into you

“Sorry, darling, but slow and sweet isn’t my thing,” he grunts, drinking in the sounds of your pleasure as he ravishes you, “You’re my thing, I intend to fully indulge tonight,”

After pulling you apart with an earth-shattering orgasm, he lies beside you, smirking

"Happy Valentine's to me," he chuckles, tracing a hickey you hadn't even noticed him leave

The next morning, rushing to get ready in his bathroom, you notice the shape of it with a start, a little messy but clear for all to see

A heart

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist

[rxsilabeth--er]

ftm tom riddle x male reader. reader eats him out like his life depends on it and tom can’t help but feel needy and fuck into his face like a desperate slut begging for release.

Eating out, cum denial aka edging, slapping (slightly), nipple play? I don't know bro, smut is so embarrassing to write sometimes...Slightly OCC??

"You're-u're-Fuck.... extre-Ngh...extremely luc-lucky...!" He whined, as if he wasn't the one to shove his cunt more in your face.It was a wonder how he ended up below you rather than above you.

maybe it the fact that after a fight his school work was depleting and so he was doing what it took to be perfect again. And it started with you, as he huffed.

Your tongue gently prodding his puffy clit and gently sucking on it, as you shoved your fingers in and out gently in his folds, his cunt drooling on your face, just like you were..your drool slobbering down your chin, as he pulled on your hair gently...

"Fuck! Ah, no...wait...fuck.." he whined, almost as if trying to get away while you simply drooled on his cunt, eating him out gently, while also gently fingering him but roughly rubbing his clit, making him whine in pain and pleasure, as his thighs kept trying to close around your ears.

"Behave." a simple order from you made The damn Tom Marvolo Riddle stop his twitching thighs to shove you deeper almost, as he kept grinding on your face as she held his hips down to stop him from moving, a muffiliato stopping his dorm-mates from entering,

Your fingers rubbed gently eights and raggedy circles on his clit roughly, pressing down with just the right pressure, as he pulled on your hair but tried to behave so you wouldn't stop,

his whine and angry moans becoming high-pitched as he fell back on his pillows, his back arching as he pulled a pillow to shove his face into- Just as you pulled away, stopping his orgasm, "NO!" he hissed angrily, as you simply shrugged, moving from the foot of his bed to stay crouched on the balls of your foot, your shirt off, as he huffed..

his face burning, as he gently pulled your hair as he complained about you stopping right when he was getting there and how you're ungrateful, you weren't sure, you weren't listening to him right now, before you simply pushed him back, holding him by his throat and pressing down roughly,

"Listen, hide your face again or misbehave, I'm leaving you right here." you simply said, as he glared up at you, before scoffing, "Fine." he huffed as your fingers gently stroked his cunt before moving up his stomach, making his breath hitch as he leaned his head back.

One hand on his chest, the other moving inside his cunt to finger him, while the thumb rubbed irregular circles on his wet clit. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t appeal to you; head swimming with the image of him as a sobbing, gushing little mess that can’t stop creaming nice and hard onto your hand, but god was he a brat, you found it cute sometimes though.

Your fingers gently pinching, pulling and tweaking his nipples as he continued to writhe under you, twitchy..his body covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead and suffocating warmth filling the dorms, as your fingers began going rougher,

plunging in and out with the sloshy on his cunt around your middle and ring finger, the ring you wore on your ring attending a cold spot to his cunt over the hotness as even the ring was covered with his juices, as you bent down a bit down the foot of the bed and gently started eating him out again as he sighed in almost relief.

You plunges your fingers deeper and deeper and then back out, hitting the bundle of nerves which was making him almost freeze on shock and pleasure, "'stoomuch-!...NO...Ah-Fu-No..! Gentle, pl-please! Sir..Hn, mm..Fuck!"

The knot in his stomach tightening, as the cold ring mixed in with the warmth, hitting his nerves as you pushes your fingers into something that makes him cry out. Something too wet and deep and warm and he just keeps hitting it, you weren't slowing down- Whywon't youslowdown!?

He protests against it, actually trying to misbehave so you stop, but he can't do it, even as his thighs close around your head, you slap his thighs gently to push them away, but he's close?!..but it's feeling weird, fuck!!..!

and then he reach it - his whole body trembling while he thrash against you, as you hold his hips down gently, as you look up with a wet face, as his head fell back on his pillows, his face covered in tears..as he squirted on your face with the loudest mix of a cry and whine, as you smirked up as he fell back...almost going unconscious,

“Y'did such a good job, baby. Congratulations on finally being a good boy.”

© rxsilabeth--er. This writing work belongs to me, Aurelia, Rosilabeth, Cerine, kiara. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading this and if you like this check out my blog!

[liquidluckandstuff]

Harry having an eating disorder. All from Dursley abuse

He feels extremely uncomfortable eating in front of other people and only takes a bite when he thinks other people aren't looking.

Hides food in his pockets even after being there for months because he is so used to not knowing when he is going to be fed next.

Binging every now and again because he feels safe enough to eat and doesn't know when that will happen again but ends up throwing it all up later because he feels so guilty about wasting food on himself.

He loves that Mrs. Weasley wants to feed him, but hates how much pressure she puts onto him to eat.

Harry finds quiet hidden places in the castle to sit on the floor and snack on something he took from the Great Hall just so he can feel comfortable. He particularly likes cupboards

Shall I add in some Voldemort stuff too?

Harry has visions of Voldemort when he is feeling too strong of an emotion, but Voldemort has visions of Harry when he is just too hungry.

Harry got better about his problem, but after the graveyard its worse than ever.

Voldemort doesn't understand why Harry would do something like this to himself until Harry is sitting in the great hall and is afraid to eat a sandwich. It's not even just that. The boy can't sit at a table and take a bite at the same time. His mind is rejecting the thought.

He watches Harry take small bites in corridors or hiding in his bed. He watches as Harry gets thinner and thinner and has to glamor himself to hide how bad it's become.

He watches as Harry faints in the hallways after a detention with Umbridge because blood loss + no food = bad times.

It makes it all to easy to kidnap Harry. A starving mind is not in the right spot to defend itself.

He doesn't even want to kill Harry anymore. Not with as weak as he has become. It becomes more of an experiment.

He provides Harry with food and space.

one time he offered Harry lunch and of course Harry refused for every reason. Until Voldemort made them both a plate, vanished the chairs, and then crawled under the table to eat in silence. Harry thought it was ridiculous until suddenly the plate of food didn't look so intimidating and he was able to take a few bites.

Voldemort sees him hiding food, and offers him a snack or two every time he sees him even if they only separated for an hour.

He doesn't comment on Harry's appearance, and hides every mirror so Harry doesn't have to agonize over the way he looks everyone is always so obsessed with how he looks (just like your father except your eyes ) (he's so thin! Harry why dont' you grab an extra plate) (have you seen that scar?)

Slowly, Harry starts feeling more secure and joins others at the dinner table, although he still loves sitting on the floor with Voldemort in their own private time

and yeah sure Harry finds it really really hard to betray the man who sits with him and makes him breakfast just the way he likes it because he'd never had an option to try things like that before it's always just been decided for him

and then Harry's studies become better because now he can eat and has to make someone proud.

I can do this all fucking day

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Voldemort tended to push Harry a little too far - give the monster an inch and he’d take a mile - but that wasn’t anything new.

Harry never took a shove lying down and became reckless, heedless. Red touches yellow, kills a fellow, they say, but all Harry saw was a snake — and a snake is a snake is a snake.

Warning signs on his skin - in those eyes - or not, Harry was playing a game with a beast that bites and he had the anti-venom in the shape of a lightning bolt etched into his forehead.

[garfunkelworld]

Pain is water. 

It seeps into every pore, saturates every one of your shirts and every one of your coats until you are drenched with it. Until all people see when they look at you is the wetness of your misery.

[chaos-bear]

Harry could feel the spell draining from his body like warm water trickling away. Its grip on his impulses grew weaker with each heartbeat, leaving cold clarity in its wake.

He gasped for breath and shook away the sting of sweat to blink down at his hands where they dug roughly into the pale flesh of lean thighs, leaving fingerprints in their wake.

He swallowed the salty, bitter tang of cum on the back of his tongue and felt a small shivering aftershock of hot desire at the memory of the pulse and jerk, the thick throb of it being spilled down Harry's throat. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, recalling the tight grip digging into the muscle of his jaw, those controlling hands that belayed the helpless whimper Harry knew would be forever branded on the inside of his skull.

Magic had made fools of them both.

Unable to avoid it any longer, Harry glanced up and into Voldemort's burgundy eyes. He wore a smug, satisfied smile on his reddened lips and nothing else—his formal robes crumpled on the floor. Harry's gaze slipped down Voldemort's body, cataloguing the bruising bite and nail marks Harry had left behind when he'd been fucked on his desk for the first time, however many hours ago.

Lust spells were tricky to break once they'd taken hold. Tricky, but not impossible—unless you didn't want to be freed.

Harry flushed at that knowing gaze and glanced down at where he was still buried inside his ex-nemesis. Voldemort's pale skin was reddened and slick, stretched obscenely around Harry's still hard cock. He swallowed and, despite himself, ran his thumb along Voldemort's sensitive skin, slippery from cum and lubricating oil. Voldemort hissed and tensed, lean muscles rippling over his stomach, and Harry whined slightly at the clench.

Five years of working together after the truce hadn't done much to dilute their antagonism, but it had added a certain degree of...tension. Even without their political enemies' sabotage, they were bound to have cracked eventually. Harry just didn't anticipate it being so fucking good.

Voldemort raised a foot and pushed back on Harry's chest until his cock slipped free. Harry's hips trembled from the overstimulation, and he swallowed hard as he watched the proof he'd fucked the Dark Lord trickle out of his body. He crushed the impulse to reach out and push it back inside.

Voldemort cast a cleansing charm on them both, summoned his robes and went to stand. Harry felt a stab of panic—he didn't want him to leave. Which was...a problem all on its own, but he knew that if he let Voldemort slip from the room, they'd never speak of this again.

Without thinking, Harry reached out and grasped Voldemort's wrist, the bones thin under his tight grip. "Wait," he blurted, daring to pull Voldemort closer. Those red eyes narrowed in anger before widening again in disbelief as Harry closed the gap and pressed their mouths together.

It wasn't lust. It wasn't forced by a spell. It was soft, hesitant, and searingly intimate, a simple brush of lips and a pause where they shared a hot breath before Harry sat back again. They looked at one another for a long moment.

"Can we do this again?" Harry finally forced himself to ask, feeling as though he were baring his heart.

Voldemort stood, gracefully slipping his robes on, and glanced around Harry's ravaged office with a small moue of disdain before turning back to him. "Not here, that is for certain."

* * * * *

A Valentine's Day gift for @marrythemonstersao3 😘😘😘