dark angel under the night sky

18+ Writing blog for reblogging and creating Fanfics. One shots and ongoing works. Currently writing for Harry Potter. Smut, dark romance, drama. Follow me on Ao3 @roses_r_redd -20 something-

[4ever-undead]

Blaise Zabini's Head Canon Alphabet

House of Selwyn: Gwead Cyntaf (ongoing)

Young!Tom Riddle x OC, MDNI, 18+, DEAD DOVE

ao3 link Wattpad link

Between Love and Loyalty (ongoing)

bbsf!Blaise Zabini x reader, MDNI, 18+

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

Crawl

Older!Tom Riddle x reader, PIV, rough oral m receiving, MDNI, 18+

lace banner by @strangergraphics

[crumblecreamery]

Jealousy's for the weak of mind- Tom Riddle CW: Condescension, mock sympathy, begging, rough sex, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, choking kink, hairpulling, brief spanking, he makes her taste it, dirty talking, filthy description

Tom Riddle is not a jealous partner.

Why?

Because jealousy is shallow and juvenile- a sign that someone cannot control their emotions, and an implicit admission that they believe they are not as good as the person they envy.

As someone who receives outstanding grades, glowing praise from every professor, a former prefect, and a Head Boy with a myriad of achievements, jealousy is beneath Tom Riddle. It's a weak, sentimental indulgence he simply cannot afford. A frivolous behaviour he refuses to entertain.

So if you decide to provoke him- to test or rile him up as a way to draw his attention- he'll not give you the satisfaction of starting a scene.

He'll remain steadily calm throughout Transfiguration as he observes the way your hand purposefully lingers and grazes against Rosier's whilst exchanging notes.

He offers no objection when you choose to partner up with Abraxas instead for a Potions assignment, despite the fact that he's Slughorn's star student. He simply returns to his cauldron, stirring with measured precision whilst mentally noting how close you've drifted to the blond, playfully dusting moondust onto his side of the bench.

As the day wears on and evening settles over Hogwarts with students gathering in the Great Hall, Tom cuts at his roast beef and sips from his goblet with his usual composure. Beside him, you laugh a little too enthusiastically at Mulciber's moronic joke and drawl, "Oh Mulciber, you're too funny."

You take a bite of the food from your plate, discretely glancing sideway towards Tom who sits primly with an impeccable posture by your side. Nothing. Not a clench of his jaw or a clipped remark. Not even a tightened grip on his drink.

If he notices your transparent attempts, he hides it well. He merely dabs his mouth with a napkin before rising from his seat, quietly excusing himself to retire early for the night.

His departure sends a small pang of disappointment stirring deep in your stomach. Had you really spent the entire day orchestrating schemes to make him jealous...only for him to remain completely unreactive?

Did he even care at all?

By the time you return to the Slytherin common room, the dungeons are veiled with a misty blanket of pale moonlight, serene and utterly quiet with only the distant trickle of a fountain and the occasional breeze of the castle's ghosts travelling about.

At this time, most of the girls' dormitory has fallen asleep, except for the dull, incremental rhythm of a grandfather clock. You're just about to crawl into bed when you spot it.

A small note written in a familiar, elegant script rests neatly atop your nightstand: "Come to my dorm. It'll be wise to not keep me waiting- T.M.R"

Back arched in a humiliating position, smudged mascara streaks down your cheeks, mingling with a broken stream of frustrated yet blissful tears. Your face is buried in his pillows, and the firm grip he has on the back of your neck does little to stifle the string of pleading noises that slip from your swollen lips.

"P-Please Tom-" You whine with a wet sniffle, the sound slightly muffled but loud enough for him to make of your request. "Too big...t-too much"

Tom's hips snap against yours, maintaining the same brutal and unrelenting rhythm he'd set from the moment he's sunk into you. Really, you should be glad he's even decided to fuck you tonight. After you publicly embarrassed him and whored yourself around his confidants and closest friends, you've given him every reason to be rough.

He wraps your hair around his hand and delivers a small but sharp tug that pulls your head up from the pillows until you're close enough to feel the warmth of his breath hit the shell of your neck. "What was that, hm?" he asks, his voice dripping with faux sympathy as he meets you with a particularly rough thrust that draws a broken moan. Tom tuts, "Too much for you? You want me to slow down, is it?"

Just as you’re about to answer, his hand that had been gripping your hip comes down on the curve of your ass with a loud smack, leaving behind a blooming sting that makes you tense.

"Ah! Please, Tom! Please-"

"Can't hear you, love. Not over the slicked sound of you taking me so well. Don't you hear that? How wet you are for me?" Tom angles his hips, watching you closely as he deepens himself to hit that spot inside you even more intensely. Plap. Plap. Plap. You don’t think it’s possible to feel this full.

His grip on your nape adjusts to wrap around the base at the front of your neck instead, squeezing just enough to manipulate your breathing but not enough to cut off your airway entirely. You gasp at the change, especially when Tom pulls out until only the head of his cock remains before slamming back inside, sheathing himself fully and feeling as your walls flutter and struggle to accommodate him, even now.

Seeing the tears on your cheeks, hearing the desperation in your voice, and feeling the way you're squeezing around him tighter like a vice only makes him harder in a sickening way.

"No more words?" Tom taunt, "Have I fucked you dumb on my cock? Pathetic."

Another smack lands on your ass, the sound reverberating through the room he'd purposefully chosen not to cast a silencing spell on tonight. Smack. Then another. Smack. And another. Smack. Let them hear, Tom thinks. All of them. In fact, they're probably rubbing and palming themselves to the sound of you being thoroughly wrecked right now. Knowing that only he gets to have you like this fuels him further.

"You thought you were so clever, didn't you? Parading around in that short skirt, leaning across the benches and laughing at their mediocre attempts at joking." Your vision has blurred at this point, thighs beginning to quake as your lips tremble. "It wasn't cute." Tom breathes out a dry laugh. "It made you look cheap and desperate, love."

Tom tightens his hold on your hair, your scalp now slightly sore as he yanks harder until your back is pulled against his firm chest. "We're not done yet. Don't you dare black out on me." His cock drills in and out of you, almost as if he wants to mould your pussy to remember the shape of him. At this point, your words have long transformed into incoherent babbles and discontinuous noises. You can feel it- the familiar pressure of climax building and building and building between your legs.

The hours stretch and pass by in a blur, and you've quickly lost count of the number of times you've come undone on his cock. A small patch of sticky mess has formed beneath the two of you on the mattress.

Finally, seeing your limp and fucked-out state, Tom releases a low grunt and buries himself to a hilt before spilling inside you- deep, warm, and full- before pulling out and leaving a messy trail seeping out from your sore cunt, slowly dribbling down your thighs. Your body collapses tiredly onto his mattress.

Tom gathers a smeared mix of your cum, commanding a low "open your mouth" before sliding his slicked fingers past your lips and pressing it against your tongue. "Remember how this tastes the next time you decide to do something this foolish." His expression softens only slightly as he brushes away your tears and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ears. "Never again will you test me."

The soft caress of his thumb is a stark contrast to the hours spent before as a reminder. "Nod if you understand."

Slowly, you do. A languid nod as exhaustion settles over you, making your eyelids heavy and droopy as the tension begins to fade.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, "If you want my attention, you need only ask. But you have it. Always."

Tom Riddle is not a jealous partner.

At least that's what he tells himself. And maybe, just maybe, there's a small part of him that knows it's not entirely true. After all, lying is another trait for the weak of mind.

A/N: First Tom Riddle fic bc there's a criminally low number of authors writing for him so... yeah! If it’s not the best it’s cause I wrote it half asleep

[torturedpoetism]

"Even you think she's good looking, don't you, Blaise? and we all know how hard you are to please!"

[chatgptsboyfriend-deactivated20]

sorry for liking all your posts it's because i like them

[itsgretta]

Wake up.

wordcount: 3.5k pairing: tom riddle x f!you warnings: 18+, light cnc in the beginning, oral (f!receiving), swearing, might be OOC? i don't know author's note: another dream fic because i felt like it!! still not sure if i did good with this one... haven't touched my Word in a month:( soo tired of being an adult. Anyways, thanks for reading xoxo! Masterlist

This rot inside you planted its seed a long time ago. It flared, gnawed at the remnants of what once held a name—‘loathing’. After countless years of childish rivalry, lost duels somewhere out of the sight of prefects, and with the excruciating desire to switch houses for the sole reason of not existing in the same common room, you’d finally dug up the source of the infection.

Yes, the rancour came close to healing, yet the wound kept bleeding darkness that was snapping at the heels of the dawn. The same darkness staring back at you in the ripples of your own face on the watery surface. The same darkness of the ink you used to write down your thoughts in the little diary you hid under your pillow.

And the very same in Tom Riddle’s eyes.

When you first called him ‘Tom’ instead of ‘Riddle’ in your head, the plague had already spread through your system—it took a mere matter of seconds to realise how deep the rabbit hole was.

Avoiding him had been your number one priority since your sixth year, pushing all other needs aside for the past two years. But was it easy to avoid someone whose presence had invaded the last safe place in the whole castle? No.

Your dreams bore witness to that.

Tuesdays with double Potions, History of Magic, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy were the cherry on top of your mental weariness. A whole basket of cherries, carried by none other than Tom Riddle, with whom you shared every class! Then came study sessions in the library, where the spot you had claimed and carved your initials into happened to be sat right next to the table Riddle spent most of his time at. After dinner, a peaceful minute in the courtyard with someone’s gaze boring into the back of your neck. Solitary Hogsmeade outings barely felt enjoyable anymore—as if another person had invited himself along and weaved his presence into your much-needed alone time.

Nothing was out of place. No one followed. Nothing extraordinary.

But it was there.

In brief glances across the corridor. In a lavender taste of the sleeping draught. In every flash of anger rushing through you. In every fucking dream the draught failed to keep away: where his touch felt like embers kissing your skin and his name tangled in breathless moans.

He.

Was there.

***

Ugh, how infuriatingly frustrating it was for Tom to talk with a wall. Another attempt to bait you into a discussion on a complex Arithmancy theory the professor had shown was met with a bleak stare of your bloodshot eyes. His lips curled, brow furrowed, but he said nothing when, instead, the professor pulled Avery into the dialogue. You looked away, out of the grimy window, eyelids heavy with the sleep you’d lost in the middle of the night.

He could lure you into an argument so easily that it became his daily sweet treat to hear you raise your voice and spit curses at him for being a thick-skulled forest troll. Of course, the two of you shared the same views on almost everything, so it had become his favourite game—to hear what other names you’d call him.

When the fun stopped, Tom knew something was wrong. A direct approach was out of the question, and threatening your best friend was, unfortunately, too. The solution came fast when you fell asleep in the common room some weeks before. Precision and care were all it took to slip through the breaches.

Since then, the game had adopted new rules.

***

The last students trickled out of the classroom, and you let out a tired sigh, shoulders slumping forward. Your bed was calling to you—left unmade, sheets crumpled, and a half-stripped pillow hanging from the edge. Another day born from an ounce of sleep and a sweat-stained nightshirt. Splendid.

Messing with your head was one thing, but torturing your heart was akin to going on a trip through hell. Maybe it was all your fault. Or Tom’s. Nah, definitely his. And the lack of physical affection. Out of all the male classmates you could’ve fixated on, your deranged mind had to choose him for the perfect candidate to satisfy your needs?! Really?

As if a single thought of Riddle’s hands on you, warm and pale, with long fingers and a map of veins stretching up his forearms, muscles hard from Merlin knows what extracurricular activi—well, a single thought couldn’t make your whole body shudder in disgust…

Your legs carried you up to your dorm, but before you made the final turn, your eyes involuntarily drifted to the black curls by the hearth. Please, let it be a night devoid of hushed grunts and assaults on your tranquility. Peace and quiet. No Riddles.

Please.

The door to your room closed. Tom sipped his coffee, the bitter taste soothing the irresistible temptation he felt in his bones. He took a deep breath, the darkness in his eyes swirled, and allowed his mouth to quirk into a smirk.

How he loved it when you begged.

***

Two other beds of your roommates were still made, covers neatly tucked under the mattresses so no crease would disrupt the Slytherin perfection. A small candle flickered on the nightstand; empty potion vials glinted in the golden light, their labels still fresh with your handwriting. Alas, they offered no escape.

You shrugged off your clothes, kicked off your loafers, and in one clumsy motion threw on a nightshirt, leaving a few buttons undone. The pillow, which usually felt like a lumpy sack of potatoes, now turned into heaven.

Drowsiness insisted on pulling you under the warm duvet where Tom’s snide remarks and sneers from today’s Potions were finally put aside. The edges of your consciousness blurred, and maybe somewhere in between the cloying taste of sleep and the chilly air of the room, you caught your first name spoken by the shadows.

Every syllable was stretched and savoured by the lips that travelled down the column of your throat. Wet, open-mouthed kisses leaving trails of heat. He always started right under your ear before moving down the slope of your shoulder. Teeth nibbled at the skin, tongue soothed the sting, but what brought even more pleasure was the velvety voice, close to the purr of a well-fed Kneazle.

“What’s wrong, love? Did I upset you? You’ve been avoiding me lately,” he cooed against your jaw, his hands wandering up and down your sides—gripping, caressing, toying with your thinning patience.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Instinctively, you tried to push him away: a shove to his chest, a kick to his leg, a hopeless struggle to squirm out from under the overwhelming weight pressing onto you. To your brain, it felt as though a great fight was putting up against Tom. In reality, your movements were sluggish, drunk, pliant body ignoring the mind.

“Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay.” A hot mouth hovered over your ear, his nose gently ruffling your hair.

How could you be okay when Tom Riddle was there again?! The emerald canopy hung loose over your bed, and in the small gap you could see silhouettes flickering—roommates or ghosts. Either way, no one would help you. You had learned it the hard way. A scream never came out from your parted lips. Panic surged, scratching at your insides with ice-cold fingers and inviting nausea. Too vivid to be a dream, and yet.  

Tom’s fingers worked at your buttons, a smug smile forming on his face at the sight of your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and treacherous arousal. It wouldn’t take long to make you give up. A quiet word here, a soft kiss there, and you would be melting as a candle lit by his own magic.

“Beautiful.” His breath tickled your already stiffened nipple, lips traced the delicate bones of your ribs, which kept your thrashing heart from escaping. “Despite how many times I have had you like this, I still can’t stop craving more.”

You felt him drawing lazy circles over your bare thigh, and your skin broke into goosebumps that erupted into fireworks where Tom’s touch lingered. And what a fatal mistake it was to look at him. A sinful, insatiable monster tilted its head, feigning an unabashed innocence. For a second you questioned yourself, wondering if Riddle truly was the one responsible for this madness.

Maybe it was your own consciousness all along. At the bidding of your heart, it had decided to feed you exactly what you desired. Where was the truth?

“Stop thinking,” he rasped, a low sound made you flutter. “It’s just a dream. Let it be.”

Definitely not there.

Tom tugged your knickers down, exposing your slick heat to the cold air. His nose, carved out of the finest marble, brushed your navel and moved lower; butterfly kisses marked the path to your centre. Your protest was caught somewhere in your throat. The muscles of his shoulders tensed under your palms, and you refused to name what that gesture was about—pushing him away or pulling him closer.

The white shirt hid his tall, lean frame, but the power underneath was unmatched, no Quidditch player could compare to the raw force of someone whose words and curses wounded more than good old fists. Honestly, it’s downright annoying to have a walking piece of art for a rival.

Your eyes met. He didn’t look away, nor could you bring yourself to break the contact. What he did next helped you a lot.

The first lick was tentative, fleeting, yet the shudder that ran through you felt ten times more intense than you could’ve imagined. So fucking real. It shouldn’t feel this good.

Another one came right after, the tip of his tongue traced the slit of your pussy, drinking in your wetness. When the taste of you hit his senses, his hips gave a weak thrust into the mattress.

“So sweet…” Tom swallowed, and a hungry sparkle ignited in the depths of his irises; he spread your thighs further to give himself better access to the main course.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, back arched off the bed, though at first, no sound left your mouth. Giving you no time to catch your breath, Riddle sucked on your clit with a low, satisfied hum. It all broke.

Never in your life had you thought you could make a sound like this—a pure, blissful cry of pleasure you should be ashamed of. With how hard your nails racked Tom’s back, you could swear you heard his shirt tearing. The relentless, eager strokes of his tongue against your clit did something terrible to your perception of reality: your vision blurred, and the ringing in your ears almost drowned out the pathetic whimpers spilling from your lips.

Surely, he had heard them many times before. Whether it was from his cock stretching your cunt, or his mouth leaving dark marks all over your neck and chest. Every time, they sounded better than the last, and Tom couldn’t help but find new ways to hear more of them.

“Give me some more.” Riddle slipped a finger inside you, curled it so perfectly your pussy squeezed it in no time. “Good girl—fuck!”

His mouth worked wonders on your sanity. You couldn’t care less about hurting him with your nails or how disgustingly needy you had become for his tongue within a few minutes. Tom groaned in response when your thighs clamped around his head; the sharp, irritating sting of your marks on his back only spurred him to go harder, faster, moving his tongue and finger with the same absolute confidence he applied to everything in his life. His cock throbbed painfully, and he ground himself against the mattress to ease the tension.

If it hadn’t been another illusion, the obscene slurping, mixed with your incoherent blabbering and breathless pleas, would’ve threatened to wake the whole castle

Waves of heat rushed down, pooling low, forcing more arousal to seep from your core onto Tom’s tongue, who gladly lapped up everything you had to offer. His free arm wrapped around your leg to pull you impossibly closer to his face—a necessity to have you as close as physically possible.

Your toes curled, hips rocked against his face, riding him.

“Yes, come on… show me how much you hate me with my mouth on your little cunt. Do you get this wet when we fight, hm?” That ‘hm’ vibrated deep through your belly, and the slow, heavy drag of his tongue down your slick made you tingle with strange excitement. “I know you do.”

“Please—” you begged, writhing and holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

Carefully, he withdrew his finger. Covered in your juices, it circled your entrance for the last time before moving to your clit. A small pressure, a graze of the nail against the sensitive nerves, and you shook. Your thighs quivered, fingers clutched Tom’s hair, fisted his shirt—anything to keep from falling off the knife’s edge where one thing awaited. Humiliation.

“Please? I’m more used to hearing ‘eat shit, Riddle’.” He licked his lips. “But I would prefer to eat you, if you don’t mind.”

At that, the tip of his tongue was pushed inside you. The heat in the small world of your bed, hidden away by the canopy, crossed the point of no return. Salty tears streamed down your face, an unfiltered moan was ripped from your throat, deafening and pitiful. Tom nearly came in his trousers; he could’ve sworn his underwear was already ruined, stained by the pre-cum dripping down his shaft.

He looked utterly captivating between your legs: his brow furrowed in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead, and the lower part of his face glistening with a combined mess of spit and your own slick. The heady, musky smell of sex mingled with the faint trace of burned parchment. You knew that the dream was about to end. Driven by a newfound energy, you pushed yourself into his mouth, chasing the release you would never reach.

After all, it wasn’t real.

Tom grinned; his tongue was fucking you, a hand on your stomach pinning you down to hold you in place. Eyes, two black obsidians, devoured your every expression, gleaming with a devious flames, while triumph remained permanently etched into his angelic features.

Your orgasm approached—a promise of complete wreckage delivered by none other than Tom Riddle. The fast, cruel thrusts of his tongue almost crashed over you like a thunderbolt.

Almost.

Because the moment that knot was about to loosen, your eyes flew open to stare into the empty space. Sweat-damp sheets tangled around your limbs as if snakes were trying to bound you to the bed, their scales scraping against your sensitive skin. Every nerve, every bone, every heartbeat screamed with unreleased tension still seething in your belly. You pushed away the bedding. One step after the other, you dragged yourself out of the dorm and down the stairs to the common room.

Tom was awake—of course he was! Sitting by the fire, absorbed in a book undoubtedly stolen from the Restricted Section. What a fucking bastard. You would end it now, once and for all. By Avada or a kick to his balls. Didn’t matter anymore.

At such a late hour… Tom was surprised to see you breathing after a tedious Tuesday filled with Arithmancy equations and Binn’s droning. Surprised to the point where he let the corner of his mouth lift, his tongue slowly wetting his lower lip where the salty aftertaste lingered.

“I swear to fucking Merlin, I will kill you, Riddle.” Your voice, hoarse from sleep, broke on his name.

Tom put away his book, straightened his robes, and stood up when your figure blocked out the dying flames of the hearth. His watchful eyes swept over your disheveled state: flushed skin, blown-out pupils, rapid breaths, trembling legs, and clenched fists.

“Skipping the pleasantries already?” He tilted his head, towering over you with ease. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

It took a lot of effort not to let your fist greet his nose. The same nose that had been buried in your pussy some time ago.

“Stop! I know it’s you! Do you get off on driving me insane, huh? Just tell me what you want from me, you insane, vile, psychopathic fu—”

His cock twitched in his trousers, yet he held the mask of a decent human being. “What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb! You messed with my head, broke into my dreams, and made it impossible to fucking sleep!” The words tumbled out of you; hurt, exhaustion, frustration—it all lay raw.

Tom blinked a few times, opened his mouth, closed it, opened again,

“What do you mean ‘broke into your dreams’?” he asked, tone dropping a few degrees.

Fiery tears burned your eyes, but you couldn’t stop now.

“I dream of you every damn night. How you fuck me, how you touch me, how you tell me all these things you would never tell me in real life! And the most disgusting part—I can’t stop looking at you not as the Riddle-I-hate-so-much-I-want-to-rip-his eyes-out, but in a… fuck-I-want-him-to-kiss-me kind of way!”

Maybe you weren’t supposed to reveal your deepest, darkest secret; however, how long could you let this keep building up? Until you fell down the stairs from the sheer exhaustion? Or until a Venomous Tenacula bit half of your head off?

The silence that followed was louder than your frantic speech. You stared at each other; the soft pop of embers was the sole sound in the night fading fast towards dawn. Tom’s eyes remained dark, nothing in them answered your call.

Only then did the tension drain from your body, and mortification finally overtook the anger.

Holy shit.

What had you done?

You stepped back, shaking your head, trying to rid yourself of the sickening realisation of having revealed too much. That should’ve stayed hidden; the moment the air touched it, the shattered pieces morphed into an ugly truth glinting off the edges.

“You want me to kiss you?“ Tom repeated, his perfect face showed no sign of remorse, nor a shred of understanding.

Mother of Morgana, had he really just ignored your entire speech for the single thing that could benefit him? UGH! Why did Riddle, of all people, have to make your brain to play such weird tricks on you—forcing to see a fucking man instead of the lanky boy from your childhood?!

Your teeth ground together, nails bit into the swell of your palms.

“Yes! Yes, I fucking want to kiss you! Is that a problem? Because I don’t care. You’ve already made my life unbearable enough to—”

You never got to finish your sentence, before Tom’s lips crashed into yours, rough and demanding, asking for no permission. He needed none. Never. He took what he wanted, when he wanted, and exactly how he wanted.

At first, you froze, a cold shiver rippling down your spine, soon you answered his kiss with equal ferocity. He gripped your waist, bunching the damp fabric of your nightshirt. Every part of your mind shouted what the hell are you doing while your heart sang the sweet melody of epiphany.

Better. Much better than those stupid illusions.

Tom nipped sharply at your lower lip, swallowing your gasps and whimpers. Your arms wrapped around broad shoulders, and the sudden pressure drew a painful hiss from his throat.

Reluctantly, the two of you parted, breathing heavily, letting the moment of unwanted secrets stretch between you.

“Finally, not a fucking dream…” you whispered, lips still burning where Tom’s had been.

He smirked. And your heart dropped.

No.

“Are you sure?” Tom leaned in to murmur against your ear. “Wake up.”

Your body jerked awake in the dark, still haunted by the kiss that felt awfully real. It was easy to get lost in dreams, you thought, closing your tired eyes once again.

***

Even Professor Dumbledore noticed your high spirits. Of course! For the first time in weeks, you had a good night’s sleep. The fog had completely cleared, your body moved smoothly through the morning, and even the muscles of your face remembered how to smile.

During lunch, you spared a quick glance at Tom Riddle across the Slytherin table. He sat with the very same book you had seen earlier, not a single stray curl out of place, his polished Head Boy badge proudly pinned to the robes. Yet, something in his posture was off—he would occasionally roll his shoulders, upper lip would curl in discomfort every time he shifted in his seat.

Hmph. You hoped he had tripped over his ego and hurt himself on his way to terrorise the school. The bastard.

[4ever-undead]

add this to your required reading list

QUICKLY 😤

[greedysadistpapa]

Craving some extremely toxic and selfish "You will always belong to me" (as a threat) type sex

[noah-wyles]

sorry boss i can't concentrate on work today i have a fanfic idea tumbling around my head like a gigantic beast desperate to be written and all i can think about is getting these characters to fall in love with each other you get how it is

[nottsangel]

bae can we get something with dealer!theo please i’m begging 🥹

ok we’ve talked about theo snorting coke off reader’s body… now it’s time for the other way around ;)

a sharp hiss escapes theo, the line of coke laid out on the table in a neat line disappearing into his nose. he scrunches his face in discomfort, wiping the remaining white powder with the back of his hand.

you sit beside to him. your folded arms only accentuate your short top, tits nearly spilling out as you frown. he doesn’t seem to notice you right away, still blinking and sniffing, but quickly catches your displeased look.

“hm? what’s up baby?”

“i want to try as well!” you pout, stomping your heel against the wooden floor.

“nah. i told you, i’m not letting you touch that stuff.”

huffing, you turn your back towards him, chin held high in the annoyance.

“unless…” theo says, making you slowly turn back. you open one eye curiously. “there’s one way i’d let you try it.”

your face lights up instantly. “really?!”

theo nods and rises to his feet, the shadow of his tall figure casting over you. to your surprise, he pulls his pants down along with his boxers. his cock springs free, already hard just from watching you prance around in your skimpy outfit (that he bought, obviously).

he doesn’t break eye contact once, as he grabs the transparent bag containing white powder with a smirk on his face. mesmerisingly, you watch him stroke himself a few times before opening the bag and tapping it with his finger, the white dust coating his hard length.

using a credit card, he neatens into a perfect line before casually tossing it aside and crossing his arms in anticipation. “go ahead, bunny. drop to your knees.”

sliding off the couch, you crawl towards his towering frame, big eyes gazing up at him. he licks his lips just at the sight of you crawling, stealing a quick glance right into your low hanging top.

“close one nostril and snort through the other. try to be quick so it doesn’t fall off.”

you lower your head over his cock, pressing one nostril shut like he instructed. holding your breath, you snort the line as fast as you can. theo hums in approval.

you grimace as the coke travels through your nose, the bitter taste creeping down your throat. you blink hard, rubbing the underside of your nose with the heel of your hand.

“yuck!”

theo snickers, unable to contain his amusement as he reaches down and ruffles his hand through your hair. “that’s my girl.”

[4ever-undead]

dealer!theo, my darling, I've missed you!!

[nottsangel]

Today my head said "Theo+titty fucking" and it won't get out.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

- 🍀

the room spins as both you and theo stumble into his dorm, a bottle of wine swaying in your hand. in a blur of motion, theo yanks your top off and gropes your tits, grunting like a hungry animal.

“hmm.. prettiest girl alive.” he slurs, mouth latching onto your nipples. you giggle at the touch, looking down at theo moaning around your breasts, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you close while his other hand squeezes your tits.

you raise the bottle of wine above you and tilt it, letting the wine flood over your chest. “drink up, pretty boy.”

with his eyes half-closed and his hands even rougher than before, he slurps up every drop of liquid spilling from your boobs, licking and sucking messily. “oh, fuck.” he groans between heavy breaths and gulps.

theo, unable to control himself much longer, pushes you back onto his bed, eliciting a drunk giggle from you. with a smirk, he undoes his belt eagerly, fingers fumbling in haste. his cock springs free the second he lowers his pants, precum glistening at the tip.

“jesus fuck, look at you.” he chuckles, eyes scanning you from head to toe. you lie flustered beneath him, your hair all messy and slick from sweat and alcohol, and your top long forgotten somewhere on the floor.

“i’m gonna fuckin’ marry you one day. you hear me, baby?” he sticks two fingers into your mouth, making you suck on his digits before wrapping them around his cock, coating it with your saliva. he props himself up on top of you, his length perfectly aligned with your tits. “gonna put a pretty ring on your finger and treat you like the princess you are.”

you push your tits together tightly, moving in rhythm with his sloppy thrusts. he hisses at the feeling. “every. fucking. day.”

“oh, shut up, nott.” you chide, body rocking with his movements as you bite your lip. “let’s talk again after that post-nut clarity hits.”

he sets a sloppy rhythm, hips stuttering from the alcohol and his quickly approaching orgasm. he doesn’t know where to look— your bouncing tits, your dreamy eyes, your plump, swollen lips. his eyelids hang low and his mouth’s agape in bliss.

“baby, you should—fuck—know by now that i want you no matter what, capito?” theo grabs your jaw, thumb slipping into your mouth. you suck on it without hesitation, earning a lazy smirk from him. “that’s a good girl.”

he lets out shaky breaths as he increases his pace. his hand, covered in your spit, glides down your face. sensing that he’s close, you stick your tongue out, making him groan loudly at the sight.

“oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. i’m gonna—” thick spurts of cum shoot from the swollen tip— landing not only into your mouth, but making a mess all over your face and tits as well. you close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his seed on your skin, and you obediently swallow what has landed on your tongue.

theo’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, sweat trickling down his temple and he grins at the sight of your face painted with his cum.

“just so you know…” theo pants, brown locks sticking to his forehead. he presses a gentle kiss to collarbone. “i’m still gonna marry you.”

[voidofsunlight]

Tips To Tips

Word Count: 607

A/N: Hello!! I saw this pic on pinterest and INSTANTLY thought about Matt and Theo, so.. THERE YOU GOOOOO! This is my first time writing anything MLM, thought it's not EXPLICITLY mlm, it can be read as bros being bros, or you know Mattheo being a little shit. ANYWAYS I hope you enjoy this quick write it was just an idea and yeah i'm over thinking it all cause i'm nervous LOL please gimmie feed back and thoughts? THANK YOUUUUU BYEEEEEEEE

Mattheo and Theodore are inseparable, the kind of close that goes far beyond ordinary friendship. They move through Hogwarts like one shadow cast by the same person, always together.

But like every friendship, they weren’t beyond arguments. When they fought, it was explosive and messy. Mattheo’s big mouth and hot temper ran wild, his sharp words getting under Theo’s skin like nothing else could. Theo wasn't much better, he also would fought back, yelled back, both getting into each other faces, only for a while before he inevitably shut down — going cold and silent, refusing to acknowledge anything Mattheo said — it only pissed Mattheo off more. Both of them were stubborn as hell, too proud to back down easily, and their fights could stretch for hours… or even a full day.

A whole day of silence passed, Theo’s favorite weapon. Mattheo was burning. On the outside, he played it cool, shrugging off the tension with that signature indifferent smirk, jaw tight as he stalked through the halls like nothing was wrong. But inside, irritation boiled under his skin, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He hated the quiet more than the fight itself.

When the usual whispers slithered through the corridor, something he only half caught about a sneering voice and “Son of Voldemort,”  — it was enough for him to snap. He didn’t bother with magic. He lunged, fists flying in a blind, furious rage. By the time it was over, the other boy was crumpled on the floor, and Mattheo’s knuckles were split, his lip busted, fresh cuts and bruises blooming across his cheek and brow. The familiar pain did nothing to quiet the storm still raging in his chest.

Until he spotted Theodore.

Theo was leaning against the stone wall in the courtyard just before dinner, half-listening to Pansy's rambles. A cigarette already between his lips. He flicked his lighter lazily, lighting hers first like the gentleman he pretended not to be, before lighting his own.

Mattheo didn’t even think.

He cut straight through the space between them, pushing Pansy aside without a word. Before Theodore could react, Mattheo’s hand shot up, fingers gripping Theo’s jaw with just enough pressure to tilt his face exactly where he wanted it. Their eyes locked. Mattheo leaned in close — close enough that their cigarettes touched, tip to tip. The ember on Theo’s flared as Mattheo inhaled, lighting his own. For a second that stretched too long, smoke curled between their mouths, strong eye contact burning. Part of Theodore wanted to ask about the fresh blood on Matt's face the other part already knew. A ghost of a smirk tugged at Mattheo’s bloody lips. A silent Fuck you for ignoring me. I missed you, you prick.

Theo’s cheeks warmed despite himself.

Mattheo pulled back slowly, eyes still locked on Theo’s as he took a long drag. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the castle, shoulders relaxed, pride rolling off him like he’d just won something important.

Theo stayed frozen for half a second, then he exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes even as the flush refused to leave his face.

Pansy raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Well. That was subtle.”

“Shut up, Pansy,” Theo muttered, jaw still tingling where Mattheo had grabbed him. He was still pretending to be mad.

He was still pretending to be mad. He wasn’t.

Yet no matter how fiercely they clashed, they were closer than anything, bound by something deeper than friendship. One always came back. One always forgave. Because at the end of the day, neither of them knew how to exist without the other.

THE END.

Created by Bug 𓆣 | @voidofsunlight Please do not translate, copy, or repost my work.

[4ever-undead]

Heyyy...

So yes, I'm still working on my Blaise and Tom Riddle fics, but like... if I just so happened to start writing for Invincible as well, would anyone read? 👀👀

Asking for a friend.

[dreaming-of-epiphanies]

ᢉ𐭩 casual relationship!tom headcanons

─ .✦ day 6 of celebration event

A/N: i feel like he'd totally think he could maintain a casual relationship and then quickly realize it would have to be all or nothing

Warnings: smut (fingering, p in v, tom being insatiable) (mdni, 18+)

tom riddle masterlist

ᢉ𐭩 casual relationship!tom, who...

✦ who despises the fact that he wants or even needs to continually seek relief for the hardness in his trousers when he could preferably be researching Horcruxes or learning Dark Magic. He is able to satisfy himself the first few times, but when it becomes clear only his hand is not exactly cutting it, he knows he is forced to look elsewhere.

✦ who carefully reviews every available girl at Hogwarts– and the unattainable ones too, if he thinks he can dispose of their boyfriends without too much trouble– to decide who would be the best to help him rid his body of these ridiculous desires. He finally chooses you, deciding you will be discreet about it and perhaps rather pleasant to have assist him.

✦ who thinks he will only need to be with you once or twice to get these… sensations under control. He has remarkable self-control on everything else (or so he tells himself), so why should this be any different? Of course, as soon as he finds himself buried to the hilt in your tight, wet heat, he knows this will irrevocably not be a one-time thing. 

✦ who is insatiable, pulling you out of class and encouraging you to sneak out past curfew only to pull you into his dorm or a nearby broom closet, divesting you of your clothes and rutting into you like it’s been an eternity without him inside of you. You have no qualms, but are rather surprised at the intensity of the desires he told you in the beginning were merely a distraction. If anything, he’s addicted to you, or at least to the pleasure you bring him, and you most certainly feel the same.

✦ who cannot get enough of you, and it’s obvious to everyone around you. He was worried about you drawing attention to his activities, but if anything, he is the one causing problems. His eyes linger on your ass, peeking out of the bottom of the skirt you wore just for him, or on your breasts, visible through your thin shirt with just enough skin to make him hard by only looking at you. He draws you away from prying eyes any chance he gets, which only encourages more rumours, and is almost always seen wiping his fingers on the fabric of his trousers. 

✦ who takes advantage of every class he has with you, taking you to the back of the room and resting his hand on the inside of your thigh, his fingertips brushing against you through your panties until your breathing is heavy and he feels indulgent enough to dip his finger underneath the fabric. He enjoys being knuckle-deep inside of you while you attempt to write your essay despite the stroking and curling of his fingers between your legs. 

✦ who is not casual about this, at all. He’s angry at both you and himself for this constant need he has for you. He fucks you on the side but it occupies his every thought. His throat becomes dry in class when he pictures you pressed up against a wall, his fingers deep inside of you as you milk his cock, his cum spilling into you and dripping onto the floor below. He practically seethes at the thought of you doing the same to anyone else, and makes it very clear to you he expects his to be the only dick you take until he no longer has need for your services.

✦ who sneaks you into his room every night, fucking you until he thinks the Silencing Charms won’t hold and you’ll have lost your voice and the ability to walk normally the next day. If he’s not inside of you, he’s imagining it, and if he’s not imagining it, then something must be terribly wrong because he starts very seriously believing he won’t want to be immortal if you’re not there under him. 

✦ who realises abruptly that this has gone too far for too long. If he had any sort of common sense, he’d stop this right now and send you off before you keep filling his head with this nonsense and distract him from the whole point of this entire endeavour to begin with. Unfortunately for him, he’s in too deep and he doesn’t even try to pretend that you aren’t all he wants anymore.

✦ who, begrudgingly, asks you to be his girlfriend after weeks of contemplation. He doesn’t want to admit he cares about you, but it’s hard not to when you’re with him nearly every waking moment of the day, and even with him while you sleep. You accept with a laugh, saying the two of you have been exclusive for much, much longer than he’d realised. You’re right, of course. 

✦ who knows he could never really be casual about anything in the end. At least when it comes to you.

general taglist: @viperify @xgloomy-kittenx @sea-lit-stars @kenobi-baby @rvvencrux @beelzebzb @m-mally @s00ty-feet @sophiadauno @cherrytintedlens @lunxrstellx @peony-haze @h0eforjp @mintydew @voldemortcest @coryoslut @frederissa @inlovewithallmusic @priv-rose

event taglist: @foxherder @whatupbuttercup2019 @helloamalien

[aropride]

opened my wip and didnt immediately write a thousand new beautiful and perfect words so i'm going to smash my laptop with a hammer

[inmyvampireempire]

I love tumblr because somehow I can end up being mutuals with a celebrity (someone that wrote a fic that I loved)

[theladyriddle]

"Tonight, I'm in the hands of fate I hand myself over on a plate now / Come, pull my strings, watch me move I'd do anything, please (I'm yours to keep)." —Behind The Wheel - Depeche Mode

The red glow of your bedroom lights illuminates Mattheo's sharp features as he grins at you beneath the crimson hues.

(You'd insisted they're romantic. His mouth had been too busy to disagree.)

The relationship between you is still new; the giddiness of falling for someone lingers over your every interaction. His kisses sprout butterflies in your stomach. His smile knocks the breath straight from your lungs.

It's that very same smile that has your heart thudding with a nervous beat as his hand snakes around your neck and glides under your hair like it belongs. His thumb, left free, rubs circles into the side of your throat. His grip is firm; it makes you feel safe and secure in a way you never before knew anyone could.

Mattheo pulls you into a kiss, your lips brushing together—once, twice, more; so chaste it makes your heart melt. When he finally pulls back, his dark eyes are sparkling with playful joy, ruby-red from the luminance.

It's the most gorgeous sight you've ever seen.

"You know," he murmurs, swiping his thumb up and down your neck, "I keep thinking how pretty you would look covered in hickeys." His grin turns predatory as he leans in at an angle and turns your neck in the direction of his hand, leaving your throat exposed to him. He begins to press firm kisses on the skin, each one slow and deliberate.

"Don't you dare," you breathe out in warning, even as goosebumps rise on your skin from the sensation. Damn him, and his soft lips, and his sultry grin, and absolutely everything else about him.

He sucks on the tough skin, his lips light enough to create a vacuum but not quite rough enough to leave marks. "I won't, pretty girl, don't worry," he hums in reassurance, though he's already found a new spot to worship with his attention. He licks a stripe up your neck, his tongue hot and wet. "But maybe one day..." His teeth graze on your skin, nip teasingly to wind you up as he continues, "One day, when we're all alone and no one's around to see..."

Your breath hitches in your throat, and your mind grows hazy from lust at even these simple gestures. He sucks a little bit harder, enough to leave a red mark that would fade by the next morning. You gasp quietly as he continues, "One day, like maybe on our honeymoon..." He punctuates the statement with another nip, but you barely notice it.

Honeymoon? He was already thinking about a honeymoon? You freeze, swallowing the lump in your throat as you listen to his seductive drawl.

"One day," he repeats, "I'll cover every inch of your body with my marks, until you're red and purple everywhere I can reach. Then, finally, everyone who ever looks at you will know that you're mine."

It's a hauntingly possessive statement for a relatively new relationship, but you can't hide the heated shiver it sends down your back. And you definitely can't hide your quiet moan when he goes ahead and sucks a love bite into your neck anyway.

At least he had the decency to do it where you can hide it with your hair, you manage to think before you kiss him senseless.

p.s.—welp, my first post. big thank you to @puddlesoffrogs for the beta read, as well as my irl editor E. and huge thank you to everyone who put up with all my stubbornness in the pursuit of peer pressuring me to post my first fic/drabble, lol. love you all <3

[i-await]

𝓑𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓈𝓮 𝒵𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓃𝒾 - 𝒫𝒾𝓃𝓀

[dreaming-of-epiphanies]

ᢉ𐭩 brother’s best friend!blaise zabini

A/N: this is one of the first times i’ve written for blaise, and the very first time i’m posting something for him.

written for blaise’s banquet. thank you to @i-await for hosting it!!

warnings: mild sexual content

✦ who has always claimed to be driven to the brink of insanity by you. You would never leave him and your brother alone when they made the mistake of coming over with you in the house. You'd always hover near wherever they were hanging out, asking questions and lingering in the background until they were forced to acknowledge your presence. At first Blaise would try to ignore it, but then he would start never leaving you alone. Just to get back at you.

✦ who would surprise you with how sharp-tongued he could be when he wanted, especially since he always seemed more reserved than your brother and his annoyingly loud friends. His well-timed snide remarks effortlessly countered any retort made to him without so much as a glance. With anyone else, you'd find it aggravating, but with him, you were oddly fascinated.

✦ who would start looking for you whenever he visited your house, or when he hung out with your brother in the common room at Hogwarts. It was out of habit more than anything. He'd find excuses to walk by the kitchen, where you might be making tea, or suggesting they go up to see Pansy in the girls' dormitories. Maybe he'd see you.

✦ who never noticed you, not really, until one day you weren't there and he suddenly found himself much more bored and irritated than he had any right to be. His friends noticed his sour mood, but he didn't tell them it was because he hadn't seen you today. You were studying in the library, or so your brother said. He walked by there on the way back to his dorm, just because.

✦ who keeps an eye on you, even when he shouldn't. He's always watching you when you leave for class, and what you do during the day, and what you talk about during dinner. At one point he thinks he has your entire wardrobe memorized because of how often he finds himself staring at you. No one notices, though, not even you or so he thinks.

✦ who is jealous when you talk about your encounters with other boys, even though he doesn't have any reason to be. He hates the way you smile when you say one boy's name, even though you never mention him past Date #2. He wants to be the one you're going to Hogsmeade with. He wants to be the reason you're choosing your shortest skirt despite it being the middle of winter.

✦ who never felt like he could pursue anything at all with you and it makes him furious. Your brother had made it very clear what he thought of his friends dating his sister, so Blaise didn't even want to bother. But he did; he wanted to so badly. Then he started to think you wanted him too, and that made everything so much more dangerous.

✦ who began to leave you little signs in hopes you would see and understand them. A rose slid under your door. The notes you missed from Transfiguration. And— far more daringly— an unsigned note wishing you luck on your Alchemy exam. He was the only one you'd told that you were worried about it.

✦ who realises, suddenly, that you know he's the person behind these strange little gifts. And that you are doing absolutely nothing to dissuade him. If anything, with the knowing looks and sly smiles you're giving him when your brother's back is turned, you are encouraging him.

✦ who cannot, absolutely cannot keep his eyes off your ass when you dare to wear a short skirt one day. He's distracted in the common room when he's talking with his friends. He can't focus during dinner and pretty much forgets to eat when he sees you walking in. He point-blank ignores everyone in the library in favour of looking across the room to where you're sitting, your skirt nearly revealing the curve of your ass and the smooth skin of your inner thighs. Fuck, he's hard.

✦ who finally gives into temptation like he's been dying to for weeks when you come down into the common room in the middle of night. He'd been sitting there, staring at the fading embers of the fire and trying to forget the image in his mind of the curve of your ass as you'd bent down to pick something up earlier in the library. Your voice had pulled him out of his daydream and into what very well might be a dream come true.

✦ who doesn't resist at all when you place a tentative kiss on his lips, and instead hauls you into his lap and kisses you like his life depends on it. To hell with the consequences, he decides, because Merlin knows he can't go a lifetime without your touch now that he's felt it.

✦ who agrees, reluctantly and yet wholeheartedly at the same time, to keep this development a secret. He can't tell your brother, nor can he give you up. Even if that means sneaking around and muffling your moans with his hand when you can't be caught.

✦ who takes fiendish delight in the way he's able to tease you with a slight graze of his hand against your ass or a reassuring hand on the small on your back when leading you into dinner, and watches you fumble for an excuse when your brother concernedly asks what's wrong.

✦ who lets you wear his jumper as long as you promise to give it back before anyone sees you wearing this. You forget, of course, and then have to hastily explain you put it on by accident and didn't know it was his. Your brother is suspicious, and so you and Blaise resolve to be more careful from now on. Naturally, you're not.

✦ who sneaks up to your room every night he can, kissing you breathless and dragging his hands drunkenly down your body because he'd been resisting doing just that all fucking day. You do the same to him.

✦ who eventually decides he doesn't give a damn about what your brother thinks and kisses you in front of all his friends.

general taglist: @viperify @xgloomy-kittenx @sea-lit-stars @kenobi-baby @rvvencrux @beelzebzb @m-mally @h0eforjp @s00ty-feet @sophiadauno @cherrytintedlens @lunxrstellx @peony-haze @mintydew @voldemortcest @coryoslut @inlovewithallmusic