[ghostlyglamoured]

i’m Fae ⟢ she/her ⟢ twenty five ⟢ currently obsessed with tom riddle ⟢ open to new friends, please talk to me about tom ⟢ updates every weekend ⟢ requests: open

⋆˚࿔ masterlist ⋆˚࿔

[ghostlyglamoured]

hi guys, sorry for not posting this weekend, i went on a much needed trip and i just didn’t have time to edit anything. i have stories to post for the next 3 weeks, i just need to add finishing touches so i’ll definitely post next Friday!!

here r some pics from my trip!!

[ghostlyglamoured]

happy 333 followers !! i honestly did not even realize it hit more than 300 i was so shocked! thank you to everyone for all the love and support, it really helps motivate me to continue with writing. i started this account with honestly not a lot of expectations for feedback, i was only doing it to share my writing and connect with other tom riddle lovers, and it’s just been so great to be on here again. everyone is so supportive and lovely. every comment, follow, and like means a lot to me.

as a thank u, i wanted to do a fun little project. send me your favorite song, and i’ll try to write something after listening to it!

i draw a lot of inspo from music, i think everything i’ve ever posted has been named after a song, so send me some of your music!! i’m eager to try this out again. i’ve done this sort of thing multiple times on other accounts, and it’s always so fun. i love listening to music so send me some stuff!! could be anything you like or also find inspiring :D

[ghostlyglamoured]

Post Sex Clarity

Summary: For someone who doesn't do emotional attachment, no strings attached with anyone he's hooked up with, Tom finds himself longing for your touch, wanting to be near you, even when he knew he shouldn't. Love is a torturous thing.

Pairings: tom riddle x fem!reader

Words: 9k

Warnings: unprotected sex, male receiving oral, fingering, kissing, sub!tom if u squint

Authors note: this was heavily inspired by the song post sex clarity from Lola young. listen it while reading if u want to :D im also like so torn bc, i rlly dont think tom would have sex with just anyone, but i bent how i see tom just a bit for this fic. i loved the song soo much i just had to write something about tom

How Tom got into this habit, he doesn’t know. It had just… happened, one day. He usually never gave into such desires, but when it was just so easy to get what he wanted, girls throwing themselves at his feet, Tom thought, why not? Why not try it. Sex was too human, too involved, but Tom had learned to just separate himself from it like he did with everything - sex was just sex, if he only allowed it to be that. No feelings involved. Ever. He made sure to make that known to whichever lucky girl found herself in bed with Tom Riddle. 

And it had worked, for a while. No one mattered to him. No one stood out. The sex was only good because Tom was good at it. The girl, her body, how she looked didn’t matter, but he didn’t allow just anyone to be with him. He had standards of course. Their status mattered. How she took care of herself, what foods she ate, how she carried herself. 

It wasn’t hard to find someone worthy, but after every encounter, after he’d finish, it was the end of their short lived relationship. He’d always have this strange feeling in his chest when staring down at them, as he always liked having the upper hand. It didn’t matter if his partner came or not; he kicked her out after he’d come, and shower to rid himself of her scent and sweat and change his sheets, because he could not stand the idea of sleeping in a bed dirtied by another. 

Then, he reunited with you. It had started off the same way, with you being interested in him that got the ball rolling, but Tom has known about you for years. You were smart, funny, and a strong quidditch player, good out on the field and in classes. The very little times he’d actually attended quidditch games, he was always drawn to how you flew. How you dove and fought off other players. There was a fierceness in the way you played, and it reflected in how you carried yourself. 

There was even a time when he considered you to be somewhat of a friend - or, the closest thing Tom Riddle could have to the word. But things had gotten complicated, as things usually did with friendships, and you two had grown apart. It had all happened years ago. Water under the bridge, no hard feelings, life went back to as it should be. You retreated into your group of friends, and Tom retreated into himself. 

Maybe that is what drew him in, almost excited, for once, to bring a girl back to his private dorm. 

He had little expectations, completely detached from the whole situation, but he would by lying if he said didn’t expect more from you than the other nameless faces that have been with Tom. 

Losing his virginity had been nothing special, he hadn’t wanted it to mean anything then, and every experience since then had been mediocre at best, but with you? Merlin, it was like he was playing with one hand tied behind his back with everyone else, never fully interested, never actually in the moment, but you were so different. He felt like a virgin again, nervous to have you alone. 

He doesn’t know what made it that way. Maybe it was your confidence, your history together, your strong hands from quidditch that knew how to stroke and tease noises out of him that no one had. Your smell alone had him half hard in his pants, and his mouth had watered when you’d stripped before him. You must have been expecting something to happen, probably hearing from others how notoriously easy Tom Riddle was once he showed interest in a girl, as you were wearing a dark green lingerie set that he’d nearly torn from your body. 

He can hardly remember the first time you’d been together, it had been such a rush of emotions, staggering highs that he nearly crashed back down to earth when it had ended.

“I should go,” you’d said from beside Tom, who had still been twitching from release, his breaths the only thing audible in the room. He’d waved at you to go, unable to really form words, and you’d left after pressing a kiss into his damp forehead. It pulls at a memory from years ago, the kiss so familiar, a gesture shared between two kids who didn’t know anything about the world yet. 

Usually, when Tom was with someone, one time was more than enough. 

But he finds himself seeking you out days later, eyes searching the crowds until he locked eyes with you in the morning. You hadn’t even acknowledged him, much to his dismay. That was how he liked it, forming no attachments to anyone ever, but he just couldn’t stop thinking of what you had done to him. How you’d taken him apart, piece by piece, and how he’d never felt anything like that before. He needed more. He wanted you again, and once Tom Riddle once something, he doesn’t stop until he gets it.

That is how he lures you into his room that same night, after slipping you a note between classes to meet him in his dorm after classes, like how you two used to arrange hangouts years ago.

“I’m surprised,” you say when Tom lets you in. He’s already eyeing you hungrily, eyes zeroing in on the smooth skin of your thighs. Your skirt was hiked up, rolled up a few inches on purpose. Tom has to hold onto the doorframe just he wouldn’t pounce on you. “Tom Riddle coming back for seconds? I thought you weren’t into that.”

Tom grits his teeth, closing the door with a loud bang that you don’t flinch at. You were ready, you weren’t nervous like he was, because even he had jumped at how loud the door had been. Why was he nervous? There was no reason to be. It was just sex. But Tom had been looking forward to it all day, fantasizing about the smoothness of your hands ghosting over his body, touching him, taking him into your mouth -

“I’m not,” he snaps, reaching up to grab at his tie. He loosens it, but his breathing doesn’t get any easier. In fact, the movement causes you to focus more intently on him, rather than glancing around the room you hadn’t looked at in years. He gulps when you come closer. 

“Then, why am I here?” you question, head tilting. Tom’s eyes find your neck, the muscles there drawing him in. He wanted to feel your skin beneath his lips. 

Instead of answering your question, because even he did not know, Tom advances forward a step, unable to help it anymore, and brings you closer. The first contact of your lips on his has him groaning into your mouth, hands dropping to grope blindly at the bare skin of your thighs. Your own hands find their way to his hair, lacing your fingers through his locks and pulling in just a way that it felt good. 

Tom was so used to, well, not feeling good with anyone he hooked up with, that it sends another rush of blood down to his aching cock already straining against his boxers. He growls lowly, growing impatient with the lack of skin on skin contact, so he picks you up without hesitation and carries your body to his bed. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” you murmur against his lips, but Tom doesn’t care. He pulls at your clothes, breaking the kiss to yank your shirt and his over your heads, and returns to grab with both his hands into the front of your bra. He slides his hands underneath, fingers catching on one of your nipples, and you jolt in place. He grins, amused at your reaction, until you press into his throbbing cock, and he loses the pace of the kiss to gasp out. 

He was eager, desperate to feel you against him. He fights to shuck off his pants and boxers, and brings his trembling fingers to your skirt, which you had rolled up for it to be shorter, just to get a rise out of him. He loved that. He makes quick work of unzippering it, and slides it down between the little space between your bodies. 

Only then does he notice another lingerie set, this time a shimmering black, and touches at the softness of the materials. He briefly wonders how many you had. He also wonders who else has seen it, but he locks that ugly feeling away for now, thrown back into the the moment when you wrap your legs around his waist to drag him down towards your heat. 

Tom rolls himself into your panties, needing some sort of friction to ease some of the growing tension in his cock. He didn’t want this to end just yet. He knew how to make himself last during sex, in fact in was never hard to do, but with you he had came all too quickly last time. He can’t even recall if you’d finished as well. He doesn’t linger on that, and instead continues grinding into the growing slickness between your legs. It’s taking all his willpower not to lose himself, not to come from this alone, so he focuses instead on kissing you instead. He’s methodical with it, precise, he knows how to kiss well, and you do, too. 

But his patience only lasts so long before he can no longer distract himself. He’s almost animalistic with the way he rips your panties off, not caring for the delicate fabric that rips all too easily beneath his hands. You don’t even seem to care, as now he had better access to your pussy, which he takes full advantage of. 

He knew how to work a girl up just on his fingers alone - he’s never actually taken his time with it, never caring for whoever he was with to really get her strung up, but he finds himself watching your face closely as he fingers you open with skilled fingers. His brows raise as your breathing picks up, grinding down on his hand, whining out his name in a way that has his ears standing to attention. He’s always hated the sounds other made, but he listens to how you gasp with every curl of his fingers, drawing noises from your throat that burned deep in his mind. You’re close to release, something that has never happened before, another first. Tom has never focused on someone else instead of himself, and only taking an interest in his pleasure. 

Tom doesn’t seem to mind that he was still untouched, leaking, cock twitching every time you moaned out his name. He was content with pleasing you, for now, he’d have his time soon, but he’s mesmerized with every little noise that tears from your throat. And when you come from just his fingers, he watches every second of the orgasm that tears through you, eyes screwing shut and head thrown back as your back arched off the bed. You’re left in a similar state Tom had been during your first time together, shaking and breathing hard. He’d gotten you back, for how you’d left him, but he wasn’t done just yet. 

“My turn,” he whispers in your ear.  

You nod, accepting your fate, as Tom raised himself above your body. He had just watched you come, nearly finishing just from watching you, and he somehow feels even more strung up than before, if that were possible. He’s still just as hard, wet fingers coating himself in your slick, as he places himself before you. He is slow to enter you, not wanting to come right away. He fights himself with every inch as he sinks in deeper and deeper, breaths shuddered and coming down hotly against your neck. His restraint is short lived, however, as he can’t take waiting another second. He’d wanted this so badly for hours, and now he finally had you here with him. He would take what he wanted, and more, if you allowed it. Only if you allowed it. 

Tom bites against your neck, teeth clamping down harder than he had meant, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you welcome it, and that makes Tom feel all the more free to fuck into you without forcing himself to take it easy. He shows you no mercy, no restraint, no holding himself back like he’s done with everyone else. It’s almost too easy to lose himself. He bites and sucks into your neck and he forces his hips to drive in and out of you faster, harder. His magic crackles at his finger tips, rolling throughout his body and dripping down into you, jerking you in place, goosebumps breaking out along your arms. 

It’s almost scary when Tom tips over the edge, because he had been trying so hard to hold himself back from that moment, wanting to make this time with you last. When it finally happens, it feels like he’s leapt from a great height, adrenaline roaring through his veins like he’s falling. He was never vocal during sex, but he can’t help the cry that rips from his throat.

When Tom comes down, he pulls out of you, arms unusually shaky. He drops down beside you, where you’re also trembling.

He doesn’t know what to say, can’t really say anything, as he breathes through the rush of emotions he was feeling. He never felt like this. Not even once. Nothing but pure magic has brought him such intensity. 

“I’ll see you later,” you say, breaking the silence. 

Tom’s hand shoots out to grab your wrist. When you glance down at him, he is quick to retract his hand, dropping his eyes down to the bed. He doesn’t know why he had just done that. No, he knew why. He didn’t want you to leave just yet, but he doesn’t say that, and just watches as you resume with picking your clothes off the floor. 

“This was one of my favorites,” you whine out when you picked up your ripped panties. 

Oh, right. He’d forgotten he’d done that, so caught up. 

“I’ll buy you new ones,” Tom says offhandedly, dropping back down onto his bed to stare up at the canopy of his bed frame. He didn’t want to see you leaving. 

“Really?”

Tom hums, and he thinks that is that, until you poke your head over his to meet his eyes. “Did you… want to do this again tomorrow?” you ask, not at all nervous, but more unsure of his reaction. “I have more lingerie that you can destroy. As long as you replace it.”

He wants that more than anything else, so he agrees, and you leave with another kiss to his forehead. 

The following day, Tom is at the edge of his seat, already so keen to see you that night that every time you meet his eyes in passing, it rattles him up even more and more, until he is so pent up that he is pacing in place when it is time for you to show up to his dorm. 

When you do, after taking your sweet time, Tom is all but frothing at the mouth as he nearly eats you alive. He had been in control at first, so used to him being the one who made the first move, finish first, but as you’ve proven, you are not like anyone else. You’re quick to flip the scripts and like the previous night, you show Tom just how skilled you are. You ride him like you’re utterly dying for it, and that makes Tom feel it all the more. He just sat back with his hands on your hips, staring up at you with stars in his eyes. 

Tom finishes two times, nearly allowing you to pull a third orgasm from him, but he didn’t want to lose control again that night. And he was already shaking from exertion, a tremor all the way down from his toes up to his twitching brows. You had come somewhere in the mix as well, which satisfies him enough that he can rest easy. He almost doesn’t notice you not leaving right away. Almost. But when you turn onto your side, your back to him, Tom suddenly becomes hyperaware of what you were doing. You were starting to nod off, tired from the quidditch practice he knows you had that day. 

“Y/n,” he says, but there’s no real authority in his voice. 

You hum in question sleepily, but Tom merely waits a beat, listening as your breaths become deeper, slower. You were asleep. 

He lifts his head to stare at you, not knowing what to do. He should wake you up and kick you out, like he has always done when anyone spent more than a few minutes in his bed after they’d had sex. 

But Tom traces over the curve of your hips, down to where your legs are curled up closer to your body, and lays back into his bed. He was tired too. So tired. 

It’s almost easy for his heavy lids slip shut, and he falls asleep without worrying that someone would be beside his body when he was the most vulnerable. He felt at home.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 

Waking up is slow, and warm, too warm. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so hot in bed alone before. 

Tom’s eyes snap open, but he doesn’t dare move.

He wasn’t alone.

You’re curled up against him, soft breaths reaching his ears. He even has his arm around you protectively, hand pressed against your hip. 

Tom’s throat tightens, blood rushing to his face as he fights to keep still. Fuck. He had let you stay the night. He’s never let anyone stay the night. He didn’t know what that meant - it was only meant to be a quick fuck, but when he was in it, he wouldn’t exactly describe it like that. It was deeper, it was better. He doesn’t dwell on it long, because then you stir, and your body goes stiff when you remembered where you were. 

“Fuck,” comes your quiet swear, and Tom nearly laughs at how oddly cute how had found that. He makes a face at that thought.

You sit up then, slowly, like you were trying not to wake him, but your eyes meet in the dim morning light of his room. 

“Hi,” you murmur softly.

Tom tilts his head. “Hi. You’re still here.”

“Yes, um. I’ll be going now.”

“That would probably be for the best.”

You’re quick to dress yourself, but all your movements are calculated and you don’t falter like all those others who’d tried putting on their clothes in a rush. 

“I’ll see you… later,” you say, and Tom knows you just mean a general later, but he sits up just as you head for the door.

“After classes?” he asks, and you pause from opening the door in surprise.

“You want me to come back today?”

Tom blinks at you, suddenly annoyed. “Unless you have better things to do.”

“I don’t,” you say, before you pause again, and turn to run back to the bed and press a kiss into his hairline. “I’ll see you tonight,” you whisper into his ear, before you exit the room without another word. 

Fighting the smile threatening to overtake his face, Tom falls back into the bed, stretching his body out with a groan. It’s infinitely times easier to get on with the day now that he had something to look forward to after classes. Life at Hogwarts was only so exciting, between homework and tests. He had no friends, after all, and all the girls he’d hooked up with previously were always so desperate to be with him again, that it made walking through the halls uncomfortable at times. 

Tom doesn’t even think to ask about who you’ve been with until he sees you in the halls with another student. 

You were skilled in a way that showed you’ve done your fair share of hookups as well, but seeing you with someone else, has him wondering if he was the only one you were - fucking? Seeing? You slept over in his room. That definitely crossed a line. Maybe too much. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he is left brooding on it, forced to ponder on the thought until you slip into his room. He left it unlocked, not bothering to answer when you’d knocked, so you come in like he’d been expected. 

Tom is there waiting for you on the bed, already half hard in his pants. He rises from the bed just as you close the door behind you, patient as you slowly stalk towards him, eyes roaming from your shoes to the top of your head, trying to find some sort of flaw, something he didn’t like, anything that would give him the excuse to end this. But he only wants you more, just like he always has, when you stop in front of him. 

Worldlessly, you sink to your knees, and Tom’s breath catches when you begin playing at his buckle. One hand roams upwards to his abs, while the other begins tracing lines down his cock, circling over his head, and back up again. You’re slow, teasing, a small grin pulling at your lips as Tom’s brows twitch. Maybe you were feeling merciful, as you unbuckle his pants, and drop them down to his ankles with a soft thud along with his underwear. 

Tom has to grip onto the posts of his bedframe when you raise on your knees, and bring your lips against his throbbing member. The first kiss you give to his leaking head has him biting back a pleased noise, but another slips through without permission when you take him into your mouth, his knuckles white as they choked the post. 

It’s a scene he’s watched countless times. He enjoyed watching girls suck him off, but not for them. Never for them. It was more of a powertrip thing. But he’s mesmerized as you take him deeper, and deeper, until your nose brushes his navel. And you don’t choke. He doesn’t think anyone has ever not choked, even others he knew were experienced. He was bigger than average. He knew it was a challenge not many could handle, but your eyes are shining brightly as you meet his from your knees. Your throat feels warm, so warm and wrapping around him in a hot, velvety vice.  

“Fuck, you’re…” Tom breathes out with a sharp grin. “You’re taking me so well. Like no one else.”

You hum around him, pulling back, before you hollow your cheeks and suck gently on his tip. Your other hand comes up to wrap around the base of his cock, slowly beginning to pump at his shaft. Tom’s knees tremble through it all, at some point you must notice because you pop off of him, and shove him back with a force harder than he anticipated. He lands at the edge of his bed, now properly supported, and you don’t waste a moment to continue giving him head. 

You must have noticed how much he liked being deep throated, so you take him down your throat again fully, bobbing your head up and down in slow movements just to fuck with him. Tom has to grab hold of your hair, needing something to hold onto, as his toes curl and he fights to last just a second longer. 

“Y/n -” he chokes out, warning you, giving a tug at your hair that he was about to come, but you don’t move even as he releases down your throat. He’s struggling to regulate his breathing as you pull away, and, merlin, you swallow his release. “You…” 

There’s a playfulness in your expression as you stand, and straighten your uniform. “What? Got something to say, Riddle? A thank you, perhaps?”

Tom blinks at you, a little lost for words at the moment. He’s never he’s never come from head before. It always became boring. Drawn out. You’d pulled an orgasm from him in under a few minutes. Maybe he should thank you.

“Anyways,” you go on, swiping at the corner of your mouth. “I should get going. I can’t stay long tonight.”

“What?” he is quick to pull up his pants, while you walk towards his door. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done here.”

“I’m busy.”

Tom’s anger flares up, but he stomps it down. “With what?”

“I have to study,” you tell him, hand on the doorknob. “I’m failing some of my classes, so… I’ll see you when I see you.”

He can’t think of anything to keep you there, because studying was important and he understood, so he allows it. Tom knows the importance of passing classes, which is why he leaves you alone for the remainder of the week. Of course, it was merely a Friday when he’d seen you last, and he thinks that he was being good for giving you space over the weekend. He didn’t want to see too desperate, even though he was. 

During the weekend, he thought about having someone else in his dorms, but the thought of having anyone else’s mouth on him had him shuddering in disgust.

But the weekend turns into two, and three, and before Tom knows it, it’s been nearly a month since he’d last been with you. He hadn’t asked you to come to his dorms, and you hadn’t either, probably too busy studying or with whoever got the chance to get into bed with you. Tom has gone without sex for longer, but that was before he’d had sex with you, and knew what he was missing. 

So on Monday, it is bright and early when Tom slips a note into your desk to meet him in his dorms that night. He sees you reading it, so he thinks everything is set. 

He waits. And waits. But you do not show. 

In his anger, and horniness taking over his brain, he goes looking for you. 

Tom finds you in the library, nose deep in a book when you should be nose deep with him instead.

“You didn’t come,” Tom says through his teeth. 

You jump in place, startled by his dark figure lurking behind you. “Oh, Tom,” you breathe out in relief, a hand to your heart. “You scared me.”

“You. Didn’t. Come,” he reiterates sharply. “I waited for an hour.”

You frown, raising your wrist closer to your face to see your watch. “I must have lost track of time. I have been studying and catching up on homework. I’m sorry, Tom.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Still? It’s been weeks.”

“I’m more behind than I thought. I have missing work because of quidditch practice, and injuries, and, well… other things.”

Tom’s brow raises. “Other things? Like what?”

You shrug a shoulder, but don’t elaborate, and instead go back to reading like Tom wasn’t still standing there burning holes into your head. He stares at you incredulously, how you could just ignore him like he meant nothing. He should spell you where you sit. You used to do it back then too, and it still annoys him to no end.

Instead, he comes up closer, to inspect what you were studying. 

“Charms?” he says, and you sigh in annoyance, glancing up at him. “You’re struggling because of charms?”

“Not all of us are naturally gifted,” you snap at him.

“Clearly,” he mutters, but you hear it and you growl out a furious nose. Sensing that he had said the wrong thing, and not wanting to upset the delicate balance of your relationship because Tom did actually enjoy himself with you, he says, “I don’t offer this to anyone, usually, but you’re… a special case. I’m offering you my help with studying. Just until you’re caught up.”

You seem genuinely surprised. “What? Why?” 

Tom glances around to make sure no one was watching, before placing his hands on your shoulders, and lowering his head to bring his mouth closer to your neck. You don’t react, not until he bites down at the skin of your traps, and you let out a strangled moan. 

“I help you with your problem,” Tom says, bring his hand down to brush over your nipple, before he pinches it between his fingers and your back arches from the chair with a gasp. “You help me with mine.”

Your breathing becomes quicker, heavier, as Tom bites down again into your neck. “A - alright, quit it, before someone sees,” you say quietly. 

Tom does stop, coming back to himself and what he had just done. Pda, where anyone could have seen. He glances at his hands like he was shocked at what he himself had just done. It had come so naturally to him that he hadn’t thought twice.

He drops into the chair beside you with a clearing of his throat, and gets to work. 

He doesn’t know how long you spend there, but it’s late enough where you get kicked out. It had been… nice, talking to you for once. Actually talking. Not just sex, or small talk between, passing notes. It is probably why your work had taken so long, with you going off topic and talking about things that did not relate to charms. Or it did, but it wasn’t important, but Tom listened anyways. 

You catch him up on all of the things he missed out on over the years. The wins and loses, how your friends were doing, old hobbies you still had and new ones you’ve picked up. He even answers your questions about how he was doing, giving away pieces of himself that no one else had, swapping secrets in the dark of the library.

“If you had to guess, how many girls have you been with?” you ask out of nowhere, throwing Tom a curveball with that question.

He didn’t know if he should answer, but considering you two were fucking, he tells you truthfully that he doesn’t know. He didn’t keep track, but it had to have been more than 15 or so girls since he’d started. And it hasn’t been that long, so, he was pretty active. 

“15?” you choke out, eyes wide. 

Tom doesn’t feel any shame. He assumed you had a high number too, so he asks you the same thing.

Only, you’re nervous about it, a hand coming up to pull your hair out of your face. “Well, not as high as you, Merlin, Tom. Have you gotten an STD test?”

“You have no room to judge,” he says with a scowl. “And I have routine checkups every month.”

You shake your head, grinning. “I’m not judging, just, damn. It makes sense. I see how girls throw themselves at you.”

“What about you, then, if my number is so high?” Tom asks again, curious now. “What, 10 people?”

You give an awkward laugh. “You probably wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

Tom’s eyes narrow. “5?”

“I have only been with one other person before,” you admit, and it takes a hell of a lot of self control for Tom not to react. “We were together for a while, which is why I’m not a complete amateur when it comes to sex, but it just… didn’t work out in the end.”

Right. Tom remembers him, and how he used to follow you around. He doesn’t recall his name now.

Tom almost feels relieved to know that you weren’t like him, and you weren’t like the other girls he’s been with. You were just you, how he remembers. Sharp, and funny, and completely original. 

It gets late, but the conversation doesn’t slow, even when you’re kicked out of the library.

Tom even walks you back to your dorms, where you both pause outside of your room. He knew he couldn’t come inside. You had roommates, unlike himself as he was a Prefect, his single room coming in handy. Curfew was approaching, and he didn’t want to get you in trouble any more than you already were if he brought you back to his. You had let it slip that you were nearly going to get kicked off the quidditch team if you didn’t get better grades, which he was surprised about. You were smart, it was evident in how you answered questions in classes and applied yourself, but you weren’t the biggest fan of homework and studying for tests. 

Tom would fix that. 

“Thanks for helping,” you say, uncharacteristically shy. “I owe you one.”

“Tomorrow, after classes. Meet me in my dorm,” Tom says. “And don’t keep me waiting.”

You nod, and Tom turns to be on his way, but you grab hold of his sleeve to stop him. He looks back to you in question, and he’s met with a heated kiss, his hands immediately taking hold of your hips to bring you closer. He hasn’t had this in nearly a month, and he grows hard in his pants almost immediately. He bites into your mouth with desperation, his cock brushing against your stomach, and you whine out. 

“I wish it wasn’t so late,” you whisper against his lips when you pull back. 

Tom kisses you again, returning the sentiment, before your door is unceremoniously pulled open. You and Tom separate before your roommate could see anything, thankfully, but Tom comes face to face with one of the girls he’s hooked up with before. 

“Tom,” she says in surprise. Her eyes narrow as they bounce between you two, the both of you breathing heavier than normal. “What’s going on here?”

“You know him?” you ask her, and Tom gives her a look that keeps her quiet. 

“Just from classes,” she says nervously, before closing the door without another word. 

You snort when it’s just the two of you in the hallway, and Tom sighs out. “That was awkward,” you say. “Let me guess, she’s someone you’ve been with before?”

Tom doesn’t know if that’s something he should disclose or not, but he nods anyways. “Yes.”

“Great.”

Tom pulls at his collar, before deciding that now was the time to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Tom leaves before you can bid him a goodbye. 

It was past curfew now, but he didn’t worry. He was allowed to be out late, and he was supposed to make his rounds just about this time anyways, so he patrols the areas. He thinks about what had happened in the library, with your roommate, someone Tom had hooked up with and cannot remember her name no matter how hard he tries. All he remembers is that she hadn’t been memorable, but then again, none of them had been.  

The next day, his classes breeze past him, nothing eventful really happening. You and Tom exchange glances throughout the day, and like it has been doing since you’d started getting together, it riles him up to the point where he nearly can’t wait for the day to be over. And at some point, during a break, he grabs you while you’re walking alone just so he could have a moment alone. He brings you into a deserted part of the school, and kisses you between classes. He thought it would alleviate some of the anticipation to having you later, but it only makes it worse. 

Your time between classes is short, and just when Tom feels like he’s starting, you’re separating to be on your way.

When you show up to this dorms later, Tom already knows what he wants from you. He doesn’t want to wait any longer. He lingers by the door, already hard just thinking of you, and when you finally step inside - without knocking - Tom seizes you by the arms and presses you up against the door. He breathes you in, smelling your shampoo, hair still slightly damp after you’d showered from quidditch practice. 

He wants you so bad, his teeth hurt from how hard he’s clenching his teeth. And judging from how you’re already wet when he brushes against your panties, you did too. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you say breathily, and Tom can’t help but roll his hips against yours, because he had too. He was happy too hear you felt the same. Maybe too happy, considering what this was. Just hooking up. No feelings. 

But as Tom drags your underwear down and presses into your glistening pussy, he feels all those emotions, the ones that have been around since the first time, roar at the back of his mind. Your soft whimpering only fuels him further, breaking his restraint, time after time. He fucks you against his door, not even making it too the bed, couldn’t stand the thought of not being inside you then and there. He doesn’t worry about anyone hearing your cries as he pounds into you, having soundproofed his room long ago. He is merciless, no room for you to do anything but beg him to go faster, harder, and Tom complies without needing to be told twice. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Tom murmurs without meaning to, his innermost thoughts leaking out through his mouth, and even he doesn’t hear himself, too lost in the moment.

You hear it, through, and finish first because of it. He can feel how you clench around him, and he follows a moment later. His vision blurs, head spinning, as his whole body seizes up to spill deep inside of you. He’s breathing haggardly into your back, legs weak, but he keeps both of you upright as you collapse back into his arms. Tom laughs airily, and sweeps you up into his chest with ease. He carries you to the bed, finally, and places you on the spot you’ve claimed as your side, from all those other times you’ve been here. 

Tom spells you clean, gentle hands smoothing over your legs as he rounds the bed to his side. He climbs in, and you don’t even say anything as you scoot closer, pushing him back onto the mattress to lay on his chest. He’s frozen for a moment, hand hovering over your waist, before you reach up and place his hand there yourself. His expression melts into something warm, forgetting himself, the agreement. But really, nothing had been talked about, no rules, nothing. 

He assumed you both stood where everyone always did when it comes to hookups. There were no rules talked about, but there were the unspoken ones. Tom is having trouble finding it in him to enforce them. He is so comfortable, after all, racing heart now beating at a slow pace, the smell of your shampoo dragging his eyelids down until they’re closed. 

When Tom wakes in the morning, an absent minded smile pulls at his lips as he comes back into consciousness, feeling his body and where yours were still connected. This time you both were on your sides, with your back against Tom’s chest, and his arm thrown over your waist. He nuzzles his nose into your hair without thinking about it, the domesticity of it all, until you make a soft noise that alerts him you were waking up as well. 

All at once, Tom remembers exactly who you were. You were just a girl he’d hooked up with a few times. A few times too many. And you’d spent the night again. He slowly peels himself away from you and sits up, watching as you did the same, eyes heavy from sleep.

“Your bed is so comfortable,” you say after a yawn, that Tom has to look away from because he was finding it endearing as hell to see you so sleepy. He has to mentally shake himself out of those thoughts.

“You should leave,” Tom says coldly, swinging his legs off the bed to stare down at the floor.

You’re quiet for a moment as you take a sharp breath. His brows pull down, his words coming out harsher than he had meant - or maybe he had meant it to be harsh, but he hated how you reacted to it, like it hurt to hear him speak like that to you. 

“What…? But you said...”

“I said what?” Tom throws over his shoulder. A hand touches his back, but he rips himself away from your hand. “I need to get ready for school. Get out.”

Tom squeezes his eyes shut as he listens to you rummaging around for your clothes. 

It’s not until you slam the door shut, making him jump, does he look up. 

What was he doing? Tom didn’t get involved. He wasn’t a relationship type of guy. He wasn’t the anything type of guy, and this, with you… it was becoming something bigger. But Tom already was involved. He was your tutor now, too. Something he willingly signed up for. He didn’t regret it, he didn’t regret any of it, but he wasn’t sure where this was headed. He was surely overthinking things. Maybe he was just making it bigger than it really was, because, well, he liked you despite not wanting to. He’s tried so hard to deny that whatever he felt for you was nothing more than what he felt for everyone, except, his chest hurts a little at how you’d left like that. 

As he gets ready for the day, Tom already plans on trying to make it up to you later. He had freaked out, just for a moment, things got too real and he just wanted you gone. He wouldn’t apologize, he’s never apologized for anything in his life, but he’d do the closest thing to it that his ego would allow. You two had previously agreed to have another study session today, where he already told himself that he would actually try to help you study instead of talking for most of it, but he figured he’d go easy on you. Just for today. 

And when it comes time for the study session, you’re already in the library when Tom walks up to the desk. You don’t even greet him as he places his things on the table. He opens his books, and peers over your shoulder to see what you were working on.

“Interesting choice of words,” Tom says, jolting him back into his seat when your head snaps towards him. 

“What’s wrong with my words?” you scoff, throwing him a glare. You go back to your work without waiting for his answer.

So, you were mad. That same fire he saw out on the quidditch field had been directed towards him, only for a moment, and Tom’s throat had gone dry. He was not afraid of you, but the edge to your attitude has him treading almost lightly now. 

“About this morning -”

“You don’t need to explain,” you cut in. “I understand perfectly where we lie. It was my mistake to think we were anything more.”

“Anything… more?” Tom wants you to elaborate, his hand outstretching to take your shoulder and turn you towards him, but he stops himself. He shakes his head, and sighs. 

You do the same, sighing softly. “Look, I’m not mad, ok? Let’s just drop it and move on, because I need your help on this.”

Tom can’t shake the feeling things were not ok, and that you were mad at him, but as you spent more time in the library together, the weird tension shifts back into the same sort of playfulness that Tom felt whenever you were around. He’s relieved that you’re back to normal by the end of the night. He doesn’t invite you back to his, but he does walk you back to your dorms again, expect he doesn’t get a kiss this time. When you leave him to enter your dorms, Tom is left standing there, almost feeling like he was missing something. You hadn’t kissed him goodbye this morning, either. He had gotten so used to those - your lips against his forehead, when you’d part. 

Days pass in which you do not see each other more than in the halls and classes, and Tom grows more and more tense with every passing day. He purposely tries to avoid looking at you, not wanting to think of you in bed, remembering how his hands felt against your skin. He throws himself into his studies, trying to distract himself, but it doesn’t work. He is so close to breaking by the fourth day, already planning out writing you a note to meet him tonight, but then he remembers that you two had planned to study again today.

It is like a great relief, so much so that Tom gets through every class without so much as a hitch, already looking forward to merely spending time with you, even if that didn’t end with sex. He hated to even think it, but he missed you. He missed you in his bed. After you had left that morning, his bed had smelled like you for a day or two. When he’d get into the sheets, he’d remember how you’d been sleeping so peacefully before he kicked you out. 

It is so out of character for him, that when he finds himself thinking those thoughts, he forces himself to stop. Tom Riddle didn’t miss anyone. He didn’t need anyone. 

And yet, showing up to the library, Tom is almost nervous as he pulls up to your designated studying spot, and parks himself there 10 minutes early. When you arrive, there’s that same smile you always had for him on your face.

“Someone looks happy to see me,” you say, setting down your books. You even reach forward and cup his face in your hand for a second in endearment, before you arrange your homework in front of you. It was such a simple gesture, but it has Tom’s heart skipping a beat. 

“What gives you that impression?” Tom asks, making sure to dip his tone down in disbelief, but he genuinely wanted to know what gave him away.

“You have this sparkle in your eyes,” you say with a teasing grin, before your eyes drop down to his pants. “And you’re hard.”

Tom is quick to rearrange himself, turning so his legs now hid underneath the desk. He throws you a dirty look, but you’re giggling to yourself, head shaking. 

“Laugh all you’d like,” he mutters, before he leans in closer to whisper in your ear, “but you’ll be begging for me just like you always do once we’re done here.”

That gets you to stop laughing, like he’d guessed, and your cheeks burn red. 

Not much studying was done after that comment, but he’d helped you with your homework and did his own, before he figures that it was good enough. He packs up his books as you do too, and head for his room before it is too late. Not much is said, but it’s apparent that both of you were looking forward to the time spent alone in his room. And when you reach his dorms, Tom opens the door for you, allowing you to enter first. 

“Such a gentleman,” you comment mockingly.

“Shut up,” Tom mumbles before he takes your face into his hands and kisses you, starved of your mouth for long enough. It is just as exciting, just as much of a rush, as it always was. Never dull even for a moment as he makes quick work unbuttoning your blouse. His nimble fingers have your shirt open in seconds, muscle memory from how many shirts he’s unbuttoned in moments like this. Damn Hogwarts uniforms. 

Tom backs you into his bed, where you fall back onto the mattress, grinning up at him with your shirt spilling open. He moves to get on top of you, before his eyes catch on something on your chest. He has to stop, frowning as he comes closer to inspect it. A hickey, right above your breast. Tom goes cold, his erection going limp as he reels back like you’d hit him. He knows that wasn’t from him.

“What… what is that?” Tom points to your chest with an accusing finger. 

“I told him not to do that,” you say in annoyance, brushing over the mark with a frown. When you look up at Tom, your brows raise in confusion. “It’s just a hickey, Tom.”

“From who?” his voice is like venom, bleeding poison into the growing tension in the room.

You sit up, pulling your shirt together. “Why does that matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?” you challenge, raising your chin defiantly. “I thought this meant nothing to you, just another hookup, so why does it matter if I’m with anyone else?”

Tom laughs out of pure frustration, his hand coming up to rake through his hair. He’s in a state of complete disbelief. He hadn’t been with you for four days, so you decide to find someone else in that short period? What, was Tom not enough for you, that you couldn’t wait?

“How do you know that this means nothing to me?” Tom asks, his voice dangerously low.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Like you didn’t just kick me out of your room for staying the night? I saw your face. You were disgusted with me.”

“I wasn’t disgusted with you!” he roars, a vein bulging from his forehead. “I was disgusted with myself. I was disgusted that I let this go on for so long!”

“Why, because you’re scared to actually feel something?” you stand from the bed to step into his space, eyes narrowed. You stab a finger into his chest as you say, “I know who you are, Tom Riddle. No feelings. No strings. But does this really feel just like any other hookup? Do you really not care for me, after all this time?”

Alarm bells sound in Tom’s head. 

Danger, danger, entering dangerous territory. 

He lets out an angry growl, grabbing your hand so you stopping poking at him because damn you, it hurt. 

Toms head lowers, breathing ragged. He looks between your unbuttoned shirt at the hickey, his heart panging painfully as he stares at it. He’s still holding your hand in his tight grip, but he’s losing steam quick, deflating the longer he looks at the mark. 

You had been with someone else. You had touched someone else, kissed him, you probably even kissed his forehead like you did with Tom. His eyes screw shut to try and stop feeling this horrible, gnawing pain that’s eating away at his stomach, but he only pictures you with someone else, and it sickens him to the point where his eyes begin pricking like they used to back at the orphanage, when he was just a child. Back when his emotions used to get the best of him, before he’d learned to control it. 

Your hand is soft when it touches at his cheek, but he jerks his head away, not wanting you to see him breaking. You’re as stubborn as ever, though, and try again, and this time Tom can’t fight it. Your finger smoothes over his cheek soothingly.

“We… we didn’t do anything,” you admit, stroking his cheek. “I felt sick to my stomach. I just kept wanting it to be you, so… nothing happened, Tom. I promise.”

He is so relieved to hear that, and unintentionally lets out a shuddering sigh. Tom brings his hand to cover yours. “I don’t know why I feel this way. I’ve… never cared for anyone before,” he says, like it is the hardest thing he’s ever had to admit, and it probably was. He was never honest like this. He’s never confessed… anything, before. It’s all so new to him. “It’s torture. I wish to be rid of this feeling.”

You laugh softly. “Don’t we all? Love is a torturous thing.”

His eyes open at your words, because of course. He never connected the dots himself because him, Tom Riddle, being in love? Preposterous. The chances were higher of another world ending meteor striking the earth than the Dark Lord ever falling in love. But somehow, it had happened, and Tom is so angry at himself for it. 

“I am not in love with you,” he tells you, but it is more for himself, trying to convince himself, but his voice is broken, accepting. It’s only been a few months, since reuniting with you, but even before, when you were kids, he’s felt something towards you unlike anyone else. No one else mattered. No one even came close. 

“For someone so smart, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long,” you say, smiling shakily. “I know it’s scary, and we have a lot to talk about, but… I think this could work. If you just gave it a chance.”

Being with you would mean giving up the freedom he’d had, never to be with someone else, because he knew that once he had you, fully had you, there would be nothing that could keep him from you. But anyone else other than you already meant nothing to him. He couldn’t imagine being here with anyone but you. 

So Tom agrees, hesitantly, to try things out. Something serious, where he didn’t have to go days without being without you, didn’t have to watch you in the halls with someone else, and especially, above all, you wouldn’t touch anyone and nobody would touch you, other than Tom. 

It’s odd in the beginning of the new relationship, walking through the halls with your hand in his, sitting with you at lunch, being introduced to all of your friends as your boyfriend. 

God, Tom wanted to throw up at the word. But he liked how you said it, the ring you gave it, but he was starting to like the word husband more and more.

[ghostlyglamoured]

Oh my goodness,first of all thank you for listening and not only listening making one for me!!! You might think I'm exaggerating but no when you come home all stressed and check if your favorite author has dropped something and you see and absolute banger I - I just can't ( crying in tears literally 😭) and now about the fic it's on the mark puuurfectly !!!!

Again sorry it's too long but but but I request from the bottom of my heart continue this I'll trade a soul for part 2 lol XD omg tonight is sorted for me thank you🙏🙏 ( waiting for part 2 eagerly but ofc take your time but still I'll wait for it everyday omg love you x 10000000

hiii ur so welcome!! thanks for the inspo, it was such a good idea and im sooo happy u liked it. i love how u worded that omg, i seriously appreciate u soo much. i was kinda unsure how u would feel about it and i was also just nervous to post again, but im so glad u liked it!!

i'll definitely try and work on it!! ilyt 🥹🥺🥺🥺!!!

[ghostlyglamoured]

i think it’s very obvious i like writing the emotional parts and crying and being dramatic in these fics lol. it’s just sooo fun. i rlly try to be like okay fae tone it down, but i just cantttt help it like i love drama and the longing ahhhh

[ghostlyglamoured]

I already sent an ask but this idea just came to me 😭

What do you think of a Reader who mothers Tom a lot? How would he react to it?

Again no pressure to answer!! These are just quick ideas <33

omg i love this idea. idk if it’ll go how u want but i have experience in this field so i’ll be writing it that way lol

[ghostlyglamoured]

Wicked Game

Summary: Tom did despise you. He despised you in the way that you did not look at him how he looked at you. He despised that you did not feel the same. He’d only come to realize his feelings only yesterday, but he burned for you the same he has always done. He just had a name to it, now.

Pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: vague mentions of child abuse if u squint, academic rivalry!au, kissing, handjob

Authors note: this was requested by @roughlypinkfalcon ! got so inspired at 3am, i stayed up till 7am writing this lol. if anyone has any requests, i feel like writing so shoot me an ask or a message and i'll do my best! i haven't been writing much but i've been in the mood for it again yayy. i might do a pt. 2 if anyone is interested so lmk :D

In the darkness of the forest, Tom finds you. Neither of you were supposed to be out outside of the castle this late, especially in the forbidden forest. He had snuck out to retrieve an item of great importance to him, but had come back empty handed. He had deemed the night a complete loss, until he had stumbled upon you by the lake. It was exactly what he’d been needing. Blackmail, to keep you at bay. You had become an annoying thorn in his academic life. 

Tom has always been smart, top of the class, but there was also you - someone dangerously on his heels, and sometimes getting the upper hand, burning Tom one too many times in your rivalry against one another. He hated admitting defeat. His hatred - at least, he thought it was hatred, he didn’t know what else to name it - for you simmered hotter and hotter with every passing year, every class you had together, racing to be the first to finish tests, answer questions first, get the better grade. 

You breaking curfew was exactly what he needed to get you in trouble, not permanently, but it brings a sickening smile to his face at the thought of you losing house points, and receiving detention. It was the last thing you wanted, so he could use this to his advantage.

“A little late for an evening stroll, don’t you think?” Tom calls out from the trees. 

Your figure whips around, but you do not raise your wand. Your arms remain wrapped around your middle.

Tom’s shit-eating grin falters when he catches the traces of tear marks glinting on your cheeks. He has never seen you cry before. You’ve never shown weakness. The only two emotions he ever saw from you was your smugness at besting him, and anger for losing to him. 

Feeling like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have, Tom takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable at catching you in such a vulnerable moment. 

“Tom Riddle?” you call out, squinting in the darkness. 

He could just leave. Pretend like he hadn’t seen you breaking down alone, in the middle of the forest, late at night. You were a private person, and this felt like the worst moment anyone, especially Tom Riddle, considering your history, could interrupt. 

But apart of himself doesn’t want to leave, maybe curious to know what had brought down his mightiest rival. 

“I know it is you,” you say hotly, that trademark tone you’d use on Tom bleeding back into the softness of your voice. “Come out.”

He does not come out because you had told him to, but rather for himself. 

The night was especially chilly tonight, a layer of fog creeping along the forest floor so thick that it does not even part for Tom as he makes his way to your side. You were not dressed for the weather, apparent by the way you were shaking slightly. Unless you were just that upset. It was probably both. You were in nothing but your nightgown, and it looks like you have been crying for some time. 

“Getting sick will earn you no pity points from me,” he tells you.

“I am not trying to get sick.”

“Then, where is your sweater?” he asks, and nearly grimaces at how it had come out. He was not worried for you. He didn’t care that you were out here alone in nothing but a thin cotton gown. 

“I did not realize you were concerned about my health.”

Tom narrows his eyes. “I am not.”

The silence that followers has Tom scanning the area. You were the last person he expected to see out here. He hadn’t expected to see anyone, but you would have been the last on his list. You were always careful. Never stepped out of line in fears of getting in trouble. You played by the rules, studied hard, and being caught out here would most definitely land you in trouble.

“What are you doing out here, this late at night?” Tom asks.

Before you can answer, you let out a sneeze that echos deep within the landscape of the forest. He glances around, almost like he was waiting for something to leap out and attack. When nothing happens, he zeros in on you with a hard stare before he begrudgingly shucks off his jacket. 

“Take this before you freeze to death,” he says with clenched teeth.

You look at the jacket he’s holding out for you for a moment, mouth parting in surprise, but ultimately take it without saying anything. He watches as you slip it on, the materials setting nicely upon your shivering frame. You’re quiet for a moment as you fiddle with the buttons.

“I couldn’t take the pressure,” you answer truthfully. Your voice is like gravel, maybe experiencing some level of pain at admitting anything to your rival. “I have been studying for hours. I… I felt suffocated in the dorms. I needed air.”

Tom knows well of the expectations your family held for you. A pureblood line, family running back to the families of old. It is why you tried so hard. It is why you wanted to be the best. You had family expectations to up hold, while Tom was trying to prove himself to the world. He didn’t need to be the best; but you did. 

Of course, Tom held some respect for you and your family’s name. If only you weren’t his biggest opponent, he would recruit you into his mission. He’s thought about it countless times. You’d make a good ally. With your combined smarts and magic, it would give him an unfair advantage above those lower than him. Your magic was strong, like his. Your pureblood magic was to thank for that. 

He did not have the same family as you did, not the same weight on his shoulders, but he understood to a certain degree. He himself had his own expectations. He had plans. Dreams. Things he wanted to achieve - no, needed to achieve, otherwise he was as good as nothing. He’s never given much thought to how you felt in all of this. He’s never seen this… human side of you. It felt too intimate considering the nature of your relationship. 

And he had given you his jacket.

Tom did not like others touching his things. But this was someone he held in esteem, reluctantly. He wished he could hate you, truly hate you, but there was always some form of excitement when you were neck and neck, fighting to come out on top.

“Studying for hours? There are no tests tomorrow, and the homework was nothing out of the ordinary. Trying to one up me again?” he throws out, in his weird attempt at trying to lighten the sullen mood. 

The setting was only adding to the mystery that was dripping from your form. He could see the marks of exhaustion and defeat in the eyebags carved into your smooth skin. 

“I am falling behind,” you say, bottom lip trembling. “My family will kill me.”

Tom does not know if you’re exaggerating, but he doesn’t think you were lying for sympathy. 

“You got higher marks than me on our last test. You are not falling behind, sadly.”

Trust Tom to know when he’s lost to you. 

You bring a hand up to wipe at the tears that have just begun to fall, a forced laugh escaping your lips. “Because I have been killing myself studying. I can hardly eat, sleep, without worrying that… if I do not come out on top, my parents, they will -” your hand finds its way to your throat, where it rubs absently into the skin. 

“It is not like you’re failing. You score perfect on nearly every exam,” he says in somewhat annoyance. 

“It is not enough,” you say quietly. “If I am not the best, I am losing in their eyes.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Tom asks then, uneasy, not know what to even say to what you had admitted. He wasn’t good at consoling people. No one has ever even cried to him, and for you to be the first one, well. He just wishes he knew what to do. He feels like he is doing a poor job at trying to consol you. If that was even Tom trying to consol you.

“I don’t know,” you say, shrinking further into his jacket that he was beginning to regret giving away. It was freezing. “You are quite possibly the worst person I could talk to about this.”

Toms lip quirks up in amusement, his sentiments exactly, but he hides it. “I agree.”

“What are you doing out here, anyways?”

“Business.” 

“Business? What business does a Hogwarts student have at this hour?” 

“Nothing of your concern,” he tells you snippily.

“I could report you for being out past curfew, you know.”

“I am the Prefect here. Who do you think they’ll believe?”

You give a shrug, defeated. 

Tom feels a chill go up his spine. He was tired. The night was a complete loss - except for this odd encounter. 

“And don’t expect me to go easy on you because of this,” Tom says.

For the first time since he’s known you, you give a small laugh. A real laugh, not the bouts of laughter brought out from your own arrogance or anger. It rings like bells in his head, and pulls an involuntary feeling in his stomach that has always taunted him. That same feeling he always gets with you. Not hatred, but… something else.

“I didn’t expect anything of the sort. And we should be heading back, it’s late.”

The walk back to the castle is quiet, but it is no longer awkward. He throws you a few looks, confused on how to feel about the situation, just wanting to make sure you were really still there. He didn’t know what to make of it. You’ve never spoken anything more than heated words between wins and losses, gloating or making promises that you would win next time. 

Tonight you were honest with him. You were real.

It was the most human connection Tom has ever had, and it has an odd feeling swirling in his chest. Ever since you’d laughed. You’d smiled at him. You’ve smiled at him before, but the self-satisfied kind for one upping him. This smile was genuine. 

And you give him that same smile when you stop to part ways, both not knowing what to say. Neither of you were worried about getting caught. It was a regular occurrence for the both of you to slip out past curfew, it seemed.

“Thanks for… listening to me,” you mumble, hands still playing with the jacket.

“I did not have much of a choice.”

Your eyes roll. “You’re acting like you couldn’t have just walked away.”

“I wouldn’t leave you there like that,” Tom says. You had been a pitiful mess when he’d seen you. He had thought about leaving - but he knew he wouldn’t really. Any thoughts of reporting you are also forgotten.

“Why? I thought you hated me.”

Tom chokes up for a second, almost feeling like he was caught. With what - caring for you? He does not care. He regains his composure. “There would be no one left to challenge me, if anything happened to you,” he says dismissively. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, turning and leaving him standing alone in the hallway. 

He does not even think of his missing jacket until he gets to his room. He finds himself not minding. He trusted you to look after it. You knew how to take care of things; you were probably one of the only competent students in the school.

The next day, when he sees you, the usual crackling of tension just… isn’t there. Not until a week later, when a test is announced, one that is worth a good chunk of your grade, and the odd truce you two had unanimously agreed upon goes up in smoke. 

He catches you in the hallway after class, slinking up to where you’re already furiously scribbling away in a notebook.

“You should know,” Tom tells you, and you glance up with a scowl. “That I am extremely well versed in the exams topic.”

“You should know that so am I.”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

Your expression falters for a moment, your fear showing through the mask of anger you’d been wearing, and Tom’s delight dissolves into a heavy sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t carry on walking with you after that. He lags behind, watching as you dart for the library to study. 

Your words from the lake play in his mind. Your family wanted you to be the best, and if you weren’t the best, then… he wonders, briefly, what they do when they’re unhappy with you. You seemed scared. He does not know if its because you simply do not like being talked down to, or if they hurt you in other ways. Some pureblood families were extreme. On the outside, your family was regal, pristine, but he doesn’t know what goes on behind closed doors. 

The test was in a week from the day it was announced, and Tom does not see you much, like usual, before a big test. He of course spots you in the library, but you never see him. You never do notice when he’d watch you from between the books, even before you’d talked. He had an odd fascination with you, and how your mind worked. He’s always wanted a glimpse inside; but now that he has, he almost regrets it. 

He thinks back to when you’d met. 

Your rivalry had started from the very first class you’d had together. 

Tom has always been smarter than anyone he’s ever met, so when he learned that he did not score the highest on a test, he’d immediately looked into you. He was pleased that you were a pureblooded wizard, and even more so from such a prestigious family. He’d thought about recruiting you, but then he’d notice that you fought to answer questions faster than he could in classes, and how you were always fighting for the number one spot he usually always claimed. It felt like you’d started a war with him. 

He’d hated you at first, thinking of all the ways he’d get rid of you, having you expelled, but over the years, he’d grown used to it. He had started looking forward to the push and pull of your relationship. Who would win and who would lose. Tom loved to gloat in your face and make you mad, but that was before he’d learned about just why you tried so hard. It felt different, now. He’d seen how worried you’d been at the lake. And now, he just sees that same girl from that night standing at the waters end, crying, at your wits end. 

When the test starts, Tom is almost nervous to begin. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, but you’re as composed as ever. 

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe you had exaggerated. 

The test isn’t easy, but it isn’t the hardest test he’s ever taken, either. He finishes it in record time, and sets down his quill with a sense of accomplishment when he notices that he’s completed it before you did. Only by a few minutes, as you are second to finish. Your eyes meet his, and he raises the corner of his lip into a sharp half grin. I win, it says.

“A little slow today?” he asks you once class is over, and students filter out of the room. He can’t help it, so used to poking fun at you anytime he had the advantage. You always did the same. It was just as annoying as it probably was for both of you. 

“I was merely checking my work,” you snap at him, but you’re soon wearing a smug grin of your own. “Are you so obsessed with me that you noticed I finished three minutes after you did?”

Tom tilts his head down closer to you, amused. “I never said it was three minutes.”

Your eyes widen, mouth opening with something to say. “I - I was guessing.”

“Oddly specific for a guess.”

That is the end of that, you decide, because you simply walk away. Tom doesn’t stop you. He carries on to his next classes, the test forgotten, until you’re given them back a few days later. He’s received top marks, 100%, to his satisfaction. He immediately looks to you, ready to rub it in your face, until he sees the unmistakable quiver of your bottom lip. Your expression was wrecked, unable to conceal your horror, only schooling your features when you finally look up to see Tom staring. 

For the remainder of the class, Tom keeps his eyes on you. And you do not look his way once. 

He’s never seen you react like that to any test. 

When class ends, you tear out of the room, with Tom hot on your heels. He knew you’d make a quick escape so he’d planned ahead to be ready once dismissed. He does not run, but he keeps a brisk pace to keep track of where you were darting off to. He loses you around a corner, and he stands there, lost, until he hears the unmistakable sound of someone crying. 

Up a flight of stairs and into a concealed room, Tom finds you curled up by a window sobbing into your knees.

“That bad?” Tom asks. 

You startle again, jerking your head up to see who had dared follow you. He almost thought you’d be happy to see him, maybe, but your reaction is one of disgust.

“Chased after me just to see me cry again, Riddle?” you snarl, angrily wiping your tears. “Do you like seeing me upset?”

No, actually. Not like this. Not when you were actually upset. He loved to rile you up, but not to the point of tears. This is only the second time he’s seen you cry, and it is just as uncomfortable as the first time. He doesn’t know why, but it brings a sickening kind of churning in his stomach when seeing you like this; truly upset. 

“No, I don’t,” he says, matter of fact. 

“Then why are you here? Did you really come to see if I was ok?”

You’re saying it like you’re saying something unbelievable, because it was. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t care. And he doesn’t. 

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. 

But seeing you crying, miserable, doesn’t bring him the pleasure he thought seeing his rival like that would bring him. 

“What was your score?” Tom asks instead of answering your question. 

You huff, reaching into your pocket to pull out a crumbled piece of paper and throw it in his direction. He catches it with ease, and smoothes out the paper. You’d gotten 15 points off a 30 point test. You’d failed it.

“I don’t understand…” Tom frowns at you as he brings the paper down from view. “How is this possible? I saw you studying all week.”

“I couldn’t remember anything,” you say lowly. Your head hangs between your shoulders in defeat. “I… I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I visit the lake every night to think.” 

Tom bristles. “What?” 

Not sleeping, and going into the forest, alone? You had a death wish.

“It is the only place I can go to be alone. Truly alone. Not surrounded by people who know me, and my parents.”

“You’re making yourself sick going out in the cold.”

You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear, looking almost sheepish. “Actually… I wear your jacket to keep me warm. I still have it, you know. I can, um. Give it back.”

Tom inhales a breath at that, surprised. He knew you had his jacket, but he hadn’t actually thought about what you were doing with it. You had plenty of your own clothes. Coming from a wealthy pureblooded family, you had whatever you wanted at your disposal. He was surprised you found something from him, a poor orphan, appealing. Comforting. 

“Keep it,” Tom says.

You glance up at him, calmer now. “Why?”

“If it provides you even the smallest bit of comfort, then it’s yours.”

Your eyes are red from crying, but it seems that you’ve regained your composure. You even offer a small smile. “It really shouldn’t, but it smells like you, and, well…”

Tom’s heart unexpectedly kicks in his chest at your confession. He didn’t know he meant that much, if anything, to you. Being comforted by his smell alone made Tom feel… confused, more than ever. 

“I - I mean, it’s just - it’s comfortable too,” you’re quick to tack on, like that’ll make Tom forget what you had just said. 

“Of course,” Tom says stiffly. 

Neither of you say anything for a moment, both struck by what you had admitted, before you give a sigh. 

“My parents are going to kill me,” you tell him. You’re no longer upset, but seem to be in a state of acceptance. There’s a faraway look that enters your eyes when you glance up at him. “You’ll get your jacket back soon enough, when I am gone.”

Tom balls his fists. “You don’t mean that.”

You drop your gaze to peer out the window. “I do. You don’t know my family. I have never gotten such a low score in all of my years at Hogwarts. I fear they will pull me from the school, saying they’re not teaching me anything, and have me home schooled.”

There’s a second where Tom pictures it; you, gone, no longer the first person he looked at in class - the first person he looked for, period, at the beginning of the day, and at the end of the day. No one else could keep up with him. No one else excited him to even a fraction of how you made him feel. 

“I won’t let that happen,” Tom swears. “Leave it to me.”

“What? Tom!” you call out, but he swoops out of the room with a swish of his robes. 

He scales down the stairs quicker than you can scramble to chase after him, and makes a beeline back to the classroom, where he finds the teacher. He’s preparing for the next class, and greets Tom, his favorite student, with a proud smile. Unbeknownst to the teacher, Tom locks the door behind himself, effectively keeping you out when you tug on the doorknob. 

Minutes pass in which you are outside of the classroom, nervously biting at your fingernails, when the door pops open with a click and Tom comes breezing out into the hallway.   

“What did you do?” you ask, trying to peer around him into the classroom, but he guides you away from the room with a hand to the small of your back.

It’s the first time Tom has ever touched you, and you’re both a little jittery from the contact. He leads you around a corner and stops you once you’re out of earshot from other students. 

“You need not worry about the grade you got on the test,” Tom says quietly. 

You blink up at him, stunned, not knowing what to say. You manage to splutter out, “what does that mean? What did you do?”

“I fixed the problem. You’re safe from your parents, and more importantly, you will stay here, at Hogwarts,” Tom says with finality. 

A silent “with me” lingers in the air.

You search his eyes, but he’s as firm as ever, not even an ounce of hesitation or fear in his expression. 

For the first time, someone has solved your problems. Your parents never offered their aid. They expected you to figure everything out on your own, using that smart brain of yours, and acted upset when you were less than perfect. 

You sigh out, relieved, so relieved. You trust him when he said he’d fixed it. You didn’t know what he did, you’d find out soon enough, but he had helped you. You, his rival. His sworn enemy. 

“Thank you, Tom” you say. To his shock, you grab hold of his tie, and pull him down to plant a kiss upon his cheekbone. “I owe you one.”

Toms mouth hangs open as you walk off, his hand absently coming up to touch at the warmed spot where your lips had been. He hadn’t expected any kind of reward from what he had done, you staying here was enough. But that kiss has his heart racing, breaths slow and almost labored, from a mere kiss to his cheek. He was reacting in such a way that when a boy receives a kiss from someone he liked. 

But Tom did not like you.

He loathed you.

But he hated the idea more at you not being at Hogwarts anymore. He couldn’t imagine how dreadfully boring school would become. It’s such a stark contrast to how he first felt about you, wishing you’d get expelled, no longer there to bother him. Funny how feelings evolve. He never thought himself as one to get attached to, well, anything. Whether it be other humans or objects. But he can say with certainty if anything happened to you - if an outside force, other than himself of course, got you upset, he wouldn’t stand for it. He loved those moments where your eyes were alight with fire. He loved when you spoke cruelly towards him, and only him.

He… loved you.

Somewhere in the battle, he’d unknowingly given apart of himself to you. You were his equal. You were his best match. 

He thought you were his enemy, but you were something to be valued, not discarded. 

It’s a hard thing to come to terms with, especially after all the years of what he thought was hatred, but was really the love he’s tried masking. 

Tom Riddle didn’t love. Not like a normal person would, anyways. His version of love was twisted. Warped by his upbringing and just how his mind worked. He wouldn’t settle for just anyone; and you were better than anyone he has ever met. By brains, magic, and status alone. He cared little for looks, but the slope of your nose, down to the shape of your hair, just made sense.

And physical contact was not something he went looking for. There were students who made passes at him, hinting that they would love to date, kiss, do anything with him, but he’s never been interested. 

Never interested till now. 

Till you’d kissed him, kissed his cheek, and now he is being consumed by thoughts he has never had for another before. He knows how to focus on his school work. He is a master at self control, but even you have him skirting the edges of those restraints. 

The day after he’d helped you, after you’d kissed him, he watches you like a hawk. He spots you from the moment you enter the dining hall for breakfast, and throughout classes. He does not think he’ll speak with you that day, until it is after the class you’d failed the test in. You’re there before him, so he assumes you’d talked to the teacher before class started. Your expression is blank throughout the entirety of the class. Eyes forward and focused, like you didn’t dare miss anything.

Afterwards, though, you level Tom with a look and nod for him to follow after you. And he does, he listens, following you through the halls until you lead him to the stairway, and up to the small room with a window. 

“You used a memory charm?” you ask him, incredulous. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“You dare doubt my ability to perform a memory charm? I have been using more advanced spells since I was in my first year.”

“What if he remembers? What if he - what if he tells Dumbledore?”

Tom scoffs. “He will not remember. You should be grateful.”

“I am, Tom, it’s just… I don’t understand why you would put everything at risk over me. I thought you despised me.”

He did despise you. He despised you in the way that you did not look at him how he looked at you. He despised that you did not feel the same. He’d only come to realize his feelings only yesterday, but he burned for you the same he has always done. He just had a name to it, now. It is why he had protected you. It is why he has risked his own expulsion so you could stay at Hogwarts with him.

“The only thing I despise, is you not being by my side,” Tom admits lowly. 

Your eyes widen. You’re at a loss for words, Tom can see, but there is no disgust in your expression. It is hard to tell what you’re thinking, until your eyes drop to his lips, the surprise melting into something that has Tom’s stomach rolling over in his abdomen. 

Like when you had kissed his cheek, you are first to initiate. 

Tom allows you to grab hold of his tie again, and bring him down, closer, his eyes slipping shut at the first brush of your lips against his. He sighs out through his nose, allowing everything to happen slowly, so slowly, so he doesn’t lose control. He’s trembling where he stands as he fights to have some composure, but when your lips press firmly into his, he lets out a soft groan that was hiding at the back of his throat. 

All those years of watching, fighting, rivalry, hatred that turned into something closer to admiration, bleed into the desperation of the kiss. 

You’re just as frantic, soft hands leaving trails of fire up his arms and scorching burn marks into his cheek and chest where they come to rest. 

It is you telling Tom that, just as he has watched you, you have watched him. You have noticed him in those quiet moments where he thought no one was looking at him. You’ve seen how hard he worked. You’ve seen how dedicated he was. It inspired you, just as you inspired him. You pushed each other to be better. Work harder. 

Tom bites at the plushness of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens up to let out a gasp, but in doing so you’ve only allowed Tom in. He kisses you hungrily, deeper, both of you fighting each other to be the dominant tongue. Like everything, you’re at war. You’re just as skilled, just as angry, as Tom was. 

At some point he’s backed you into the wall, and really, you should have just given in to losing this round. He can feel himself pulling ahead. His hands drop to your breasts, where he pinches and squeezes along your skin. With every pleased noise you make, Tom earns another point in his head. 

His concentration is shattered when you unexpectedly press your hand into his cock, jolting him in place. His eyes snap open only for them to screw shut when you beginning rubbing into his pants, the hands he’d been using to fondle you with twitching to a stop. He has to bring them up to plant on either sides of your head, nearly losing his footing as you use your nimble fingers to make him dizzy. 

Tom can’t hold the kiss any longer, breaking it to rest his head against yours, breathing heavily as he struggles to stay upright. He’s losing himself of the feeling of your hand petting him through his pants, maybe thankful for the barrier there, but it was like you’d heard his thoughts, and unbuckle his belt. He tries to muffle the noise he makes when you make contact with his bare skin, but it slips out between clenched teeth. 

“Still think you’re winning, Tom?” comes your silky voice. 

He was losing, badly, but the feeling of you stroking him has him not caring about that. Only for that moment. Only until you make him orgasm seamlessly, and he comes down from his high. He hadn’t lasted long at all. It was probably the most embarrassed Tom has ever felt. And for it to have been him who deepened things, started touching you, only for this to be the outcome? Embarrassing. He’d lost at his own game.

To make things worse, you’re grinning madly, watching as he hurriedly cleans himself up with a spell and quickly buckles his pants. 

“You had an unfair advantage,” Tom gives as an excuse.

“And what was that?”

You were, well, you. That put you at an advantage no one else had. 

Instead of telling you that, because that would surely inflate your ego even more, Tom levels you with a look he attempts to make fierce, but there is no anger to fuel it. He just stares at you for a moment, maybe in awe, before he says, “meet me in the library after class. We’ll study together, from now on. I cannot fix your problems every time you fail a test.”

“Wha - that was one time, Tom!” you shout after him, as he trots down the stairs. 

He shakes his head fondly. 

[ghostlyglamoured]

Hello Fae,

I'm so glad to see that you check in on this account frequently, I've been hesitating to write to you in case it would be much too overwhelming. I'm also constantly checking in for any updates on you 😭

Pardon me if this is too intruding, I hope your private life is going better and I'm happy to see that you prioritize your wellbeing and stopped writing once you felt burnt out. Not that I like you being gone 💔 but I'd rather you take a break than abandon this account completely.

I've written to you once before, just know that you have a lot of support on this page and I really appreciate your work <3 I hope this message cheers you up a bit, don't feel pressured at all to start writing again even though you've given us an update. Please take all the time you need to regain your strength and motivation.

pls dont ever hesitate to send an ask or just message me!! im so open to talking, i love making friends and talking about tom ahh

ur not intruding at all, and honestly, its not better but i think im coming to terms with it better and finding coping mechanisms. it was rlly rocky for a week or two but im finding my footing again. and awww i love how u worded that, not liking when im gone, that is sooo cute. that made me smile. i rlly dont want to abandon this account and i dont think i will, but i will probably be slower to update now

ur so right, there is so much support on this page which is why i love it soo much. i miss posting and seeing peoples feedback, and just enjoying posting. i rlly want to get back into that feeling and positivity. i need that right now tbh. thank you for this lovely message. it is so incredibly nice to read and really brings a smile to my face.

[ghostlyglamoured]

Omg !!!! Girl i was checking for ya everyday got worried about ya but yay I'm happy you're atleast online <3 well no pressure but if you're in a mood of writing ( again no pressure) maybe you could bring our tom and yn together and maybe write another part of ' A Little Death ' please. No pressure again and sorry it's going a bit too long but if you don't wanna write another part just give us a new oneshot of like academic rival tom riddle x yn maybe? ( I'm just obsessed with this trope) sry if I'm being weird but it's just I'm happy to see you again

With lots of love!!!!<3 >.<

– your loyal reader

awww thank u for checking so often!!! i rlly appreciate you checking. im cooking on the academic rivals trope lol i hope u like it ;3 also ur not weird at all, dont even worry, ur message is so cute and i loved it!! thank u for the request, i'll tag u in it when its done ! i got inspired and im up at 4am writing this haha

also i will make another a little death piece but rn idk how to end it happy so i dont wanna write while im unsure of that. i dont wanna end it on a bad note but i kinda set myself up to make it a bad ending lolll

[ghostlyglamoured]

i’m not promising anything but i’m lowkey in the mood to write something like.. happy so if anyone has a request pls send it to me and i’ll try my best :D

[ghostlyglamoured]

come back home Fae, the kids miss u 🙁🙁 (3)

omg i love u whoever this is. i rlly appreciate u sending ur third ask, i just saw them and it made me laugh. ig i should do an update.

it looks like my hiatus has no end date. i initially took a break bc i felt like i burnt myself out, but now i’m just not writing bc there has been a family emergency and everyday is just very tense and scary. i tried to write to see if it would relieve some stress and anxiety, but unfortunately i just can’t get into it.

i’m not saying goodbye forever, and i can post some short stories i’ve already written, but right now i am not writing. i do check this acc often though and its rlly nice to see that i still get notifications. i will comeback one day. thank u again anon. seriously appreciate u

[ghostlyglamoured]

hiatus till further notice but here’s a moon pic i took i love u guys

[ghostlyglamoured]

everyone knows jk Rowling is an asshole. ppl need to stop spamming the hp tag with talking shit about her because we all know already. separate the art from the artist. grow up

[ghostlyglamoured]

i haven’t written anything this weekend and i don’t think i’ll write anything during the week to post for Friday ): life’s been rough and i just don’t have the energy rn 💔💔 i’ll try to do something this week but i doubt i can. sorry guys

[ghostlyglamoured]

A Little Death pt. 3

Pt.1

Pt.2

Summary: Tom has read about love countless times. He never understood it; it sounded terrible. Maybe the worst sin of them all. Tom has always hated human behaviors, their desires, never giving into lust, or greed, or love. But with you, he gave into them all, selfishly. Happily. Wanting more and more. How easily he caved. How easily he gave into his human desires, something he thought he long ago burned out of himself.

Pairings: touch starved!tom x fem!reader

Words: 10k

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, violence

Authors note: pt.3 is finally here ahhhh. i had so many little things to write but it's done. enjoy! lmk what you guys think.

It comes to Tom in the middle of the night. In the middle of another night spent in turmoil, mulling over his plans, thinking about how you’d fit into them. He knew you would not stop him. You’ve never said anything to make Tom think you didn’t support his ideas, but with you by his side, it was hard to concern himself with anything else. 

Ever since you’d officially confessed, Tom’s mind has been a hurricane. 

He has always worried you’d make him look weak to others, that your presence would make his followers doubt him. No one has ever said anything. No one would dare.

But it is a feeling Tom cannot shake whenever you two are together, especially after that night. He is paranoid they knew. He can almost feel their eyes staring into him with disapproval. He does not know if it was in his head or not, but the sensation was there. Knowing people were watching him with you. His fellow Slytherin brothers and sisters judging him that even the great Tom Riddle has fallen prey to love. He felt weak. 

Nothing but your touch soothed him, the very thing he was fearful of others judging him for.

It all comes to a head in his last month at Hogwarts. 

Tom had become more lax with his show of restraint of physical affection for you around others, despite all of his worries. He couldn’t help it. It was apart of him, so used to being able to touch you in private that it bled into his public life. He hated how soft he had become. He always withdrew his hand from ruffling your hair, petting your cheek with his thumb, or merely having his hand near yours. He would remembered himself, coming back to where he was, surrounded by students.

He had been caught by his peers, after pulling you into a secluded hallway to steal a kiss before dinner. 

A choked laugh had ripped Tom from your lips to find another student there, eyes wide, shocked to find the elusive Slytherin’s head boy kissing you. 

It was the first time anyone had caught the two of you in such an intimate moment, and to make it worse, Tom knew of her. She was a horrible gossip. The girl had ran off before Tom could even think to obliviate her.

That was the final nail in the coffin. It was his last straw. 

At dinner that night, word had spread. Everyone knew you two were close, but not that close. 

Tom had burned with embarrassment when whispers of your name and his trickled throughout the dinning hall. His reputation had gone out of the window over one small kiss. He did not miss the way Lestrange burned a hole into the side of his head.

It might’ve blown over. Gossip usually died down within a week, but Tom could not allow something like that to happen again. And he knew himself; it would, if he kept going down this path. If he kept you close.

Ending things with you had been on his mind since then, but whenever he’d even attempt it, your gentle hands had him forgetting why he even wanted you gone in the first place. He caved. Every single time. He couldn’t even get a word out, even speak about his thoughts, before you’d lovingly pull in him for a kiss, a hug, into bed. He needed each touch desperately. 

If only he had obliviated that girls memory of seeing you two together. 

But that thought has him forming another one of his own, in the middle of the night - obliviating himself. Riding himself of his memories of you. Then he wouldn’t have to formally break up with you, and he wouldn’t have to live with the memories of you haunting him for the rest of his days. 

He knows he would never willingly give you up if he still remembered you. No matter how hard he tried, and he has tried with all of his might, to be free of you.

Only, he stalls on that as well. 

Every night when he holds his wand up to his temple, he would fight against the tears that would unwillingly prick at his eyes. He would breath heavily through his nose, his wand shaking violently from the tremor that would not leave his hands. 

He had a choice to make; take over the wizarding world, or live a simple life with you. He could not do both. He had tried, but every meeting pulled him from your side, every late night quest was another night away from you. His work became tiresome. He stopped wanting to fight for his ideals and instead be with you.

Tom has worked too hard to give up everything for something as human as love. He would not allow himself to be weak.

So, he makes a plan. A solid plan. One he would follow through with.

He’d give you one last day. One more day of allowing himself to revel in your touch, and give you all his affections back. 

He chooses a Sunday, exactly a month before Hogwarts was to end, for your last day together. 

Waking that day and getting dressed was like preparing for his death. He knew a large part of himself was to die once you separated. You were the only reason he had any faith in humanity, and he was about to lose that. He does not know who he will become without your moral compass guiding him, steering him away from a life of destruction and power. 

Tom is almost excited for the wizard he will be. How merciless and driven he will be. 

It is what he tells himself as he makes his way to your meeting spot, previously agreed the following day. Tom tells himself it is for the better. He will be better, the world will be better, once you are gone from his mind. He will no longer be held back by his own feelings. 

Tom is trembling as he comes up to you, but he forces himself to stop before you can notice him. 

The book you’re reading is from Tom himself. He remembers he’d given it to you a while ago, and it seemed to be one of your favorites as he’d find you rereading it every few months. 

You’re so immersed that you do not notice Tom standing there. He takes the moment to observe you. He watches as the wind softly blows your hair, taking in the way your eyes hungrily drink in the words on the page. His hands clench within his jacket pockets. 

His resolve crumbles, just a little, when you finally look up and smile at him. 

Maybe… he didn’t need to go through with it. 

He could live a life with you, where his sole focus was to make you happy. Where the smile you gave him would never fade.

“Tom!” You say happily, closing the book and slinking up to his side. Your hands push your way into his leather jacket, wrapping around his body and pulling him in for a hug. You’d only seen him just the day before, but you greeted him every time with such enthusiasm that it makes Tom’s heart jump with every meeting.

Today, his stomach is to the floor as you bring him in. It would be the last time he’d experience this. This type of greeting.

Tom returns the embrace with both arms, hugging you tightly against his chest. 

“You must be happy to see me,” you say, moving to pull away, but Tom tightens his grip. He just needed another second. He sighs shakily into your hair, and after a drawn out moment, he allows you to depart. His eyes do not meet yours when you glance up at him. “Tom? Is everything… ok?”

Clearing his throat, Tom says gives a quiet, “yes,” that is swallowed by the wind. 

Tom takes another breath, your hand already in his, and steels himself. He would give you your final day without him getting emotional. He wouldn’t ruin this last memory you’d have of him. 

“Come along, now,” Tom tells you, pulling you behind him. It was early in the morning on a weekend, not many students were up at this time when they didn’t have to be, so he doesn’t drop your hand. He knows you’re suspicious of this as you trail behind him, but he does not pay you any mind. 

He had a schedule to stick to. He had one of his famous plans brewing. 

The first thing he has mapped out is a picnic. You’d always loved them, but you loved any quiet moment you had with Tom. He knew this because he also enjoyed them. Being alone with you, truly alone, was when he was the most at peace. He could think freely, speak freely, without fear of judgement. He didn’t need to put on the false persona he’s worn around others his whole life. With you, his mask was off.

Before you had even woken up, Tom had prepared everything. He’d set out a blanket by the lake, and had even gone out of his way to make you your favorite breakfast in the kitchens before anyone noticed he was there. 

You’re shocked when he pulls out the concealed plates of food within the picnic basket. He had even spelled the basket to be in the shape of a heart, which you comment on with a flustered smile, maybe one of the happiest moments Tom has seen you. 

You’re grinning from ear to ear, cheeks pink, as you happily munch of the food he’d prepared. 

Although Tom is pleased to see you’re happy with the setup, he cannot bring himself to enjoy it. Impending doom lingers at the back of his mind with every touch, every kiss, every little question you ask him that he has to take a moment to answer, because his mind is elsewhere. He’s disassociating at nearly every word. He has to force himself to be present, actively listen to what you’re talking about. 

All he can think about is that this is the last time he’ll see you happy. He won’t even remember that, and it makes him… sad. He wanted to remember everything about you. He didn’t truly want to obliviate you, but really, he didn’t see any other way. And he was young, and ambitious, and he wanted to succeed. 

“Look what I brought,” you say, drawing his eyes from staring out at the lake in deep thought. 

He turns to find you with a camera in your hands. He rolls his eyes. He’s always hated having his picture taken, and you knew that. But maybe today, he’d allow it, just this once. 

“Alright,” Tom agrees sullenly. 

“Really?” you ask with a gasp. 

Before Tom can change his mind, you jump up, and pull him to his feet. He scowls as you dart back to get a good view of him, but his expression doesn’t last long. He watches you fondly, inspecting how you try and find the best angle to take the picture from, and finds himself allowing a rare, genuine smile to pull gently at his lips. 

A flash goes off within a second, and Tom startles. He had been caught.

“That was perfect!” you cry out in success, jumping up and down as you wave around the camera. “Merlins beard, you actually smiled. And I got it on camera!”

He huffs out in embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” he mutters, but he’s amused as you continue raving on and on about getting the picture developed, and having it framed. “Why don’t you… get a picture of us, together?”

You look up at him in surprise. “Another picture? Is today my lucky day?”

Tom’s brows twitch into a brief frown, with an agonizing stinging aching deep within his chest. Yes, it was. 

He merely waves you off and grabs the camera from your hands. 

“Wingardium leviosa,” Tom says with perfect precision. The camera raises into the air, waiting, as you two position yourself in front of it. “Tell me when to take it.”

Preparing for the picture, Tom resumes his usual stony expression. This time he wouldn’t allow any emotion to show on his face. He had just wanted a final picture of you two together, something you could look back on one day. 

“Now,” you say. 

Tom falters from taking the picture when you unexpectedly pull him in for a kiss, dragging him down with both arms draping over his shoulders. The shutter clicks just as your lips meet, and Tom is caught on camera for the second time that day, smiling. 

The camera falls softly onto one of the pillows he’d stuffed into the picnic basket as he doesn’t allow the kiss to be a simple brushing of the lips, and divulges into your mouth in desperation. His fingers hook into the loops of your jeans to bring your hips into his, overtaken with an emotion that burns so fiercely in his chest that it hurts. His eyes screw shut tightly as he fights himself with every kiss, every peck. 

He needed to erase you. 

He needed you. 

Tom didn’t know what to do. He thought this last day would give him some closure, but the kiss has drawn him right back in.

So Tom ends the kiss quickly, forcefully, and you’re left confused as you blink up at him. 

“We… we should be going,” Tom says stiffly. 

“What do you -”

“Hogsmede is opening soon,” he explains, using his wand to pack everything up in a second and picks up the basket. 

“Hogsemede? But you hate Hogsemede.”

“But, you don’t.”

You’re quiet as you follow him back up to the school, where he drops your hand at the first sight of other students roaming the halls. He can hear how you suck in a breath when he does so, but he can’t bring himself to look at you. You’re silent the rest of the way to his dorms, where he drops off the basket, and pulls you into his room for another quick kiss. 

Only, it is not quick. 

Your hands are everywhere on him, pulling, dragging his clothes away from his body to expose his skin where you immediately grab hold of. Tom is more than happy to do the same. His hands explore underneath your skirt, to the lace of your underwear. He plays at the edges as he ruts into the hand you’ve pressed into his trousers. 

He hadn’t meant for anything to happen, not so soon, but he is hopeless to his desires. 

Tom fucks you against the wall, a hand to your mouth to silence your cries at the ruthlessness of his thrusts, his hands squeezing at your breasts beneath your shirt. It is pure savagery; he doesn’t think he’s ever been so forceful. Not that you had fought him on it. You’d wanted him just as badly, but he’s always taken his time with you. He’d savor the feeling, revel in it. 

But he was on the brink of madness, the plan to obliviate you driving him into a state of derangement. 

He needed to feel you now. He needed to fuck you or he might lose himself, truly. 

The release Tom feels when he finishes is not like the other times - he feels as though he’s just spent a part of himself, left cold, chest a little hollow, as he takes a step away from you and hurriedly pulls up his pants. He watches as you pull down your skirt, breathing just as heavy as he was. 

When you turn, grinning, Tom is utterly relieved that you weren’t upset at how he had treated you. He had been almost nervous for your reaction. 

“That was… something,” you say teasingly. “What has got you so pent up?”

You, and only you. The only thing in this world that could get such a reaction out of him. He cared for nothing else enough for it to even influence his mood in the slightest.

In that moment, he nearly breaks and tells you everything. 

You had meant it as a joke, but he was losing grip on the objective at hand. 

Maybe he shouldn’t of done this. Maybe he should have just oblivated you last night. It was too late now, and Tom didn’t want to ruin the last few hours you had with him, so he merely waves it off. 

He smooths over your hair that he had messed up, straightens your clothes, and takes you to Hogsemede like he had planned. 

The rest of the day is a blur. His heart was not really in it. He hardly remembers anything from the trip, by the time you’re back at the castle. It was getting late. Curfew was approaching. The time to obliviate you, as well, if he could even really go through with it. He’s been doubting himself all day. He’d been so sure of himself last night, but being with you crumbles any resolve he’s built up when he was alone.

Tom is dropping you off at your dorms before he can really catch up to himself. The final moment with you was here. He felt on the verge of dropping to his knees, and begging you to forgive him for what he was about to do. He had put on an act all day, and it seems that you have bought it, because you do not ask him what is wrong again. 

You’re smiling, happy, like how he had wanted to leave you. 

“Wait here,” you tell him, before popping into your room for a moment. A few minutes go by, and Tom is a mess during all of them. He paces in front of your door, trying to reason with himself, a hand to his temple. You emerge before Tom can think on what to do next with the book you had been reading earlier. “Here, I’ve read it enough times.”

“Keep it,” he tells you.

You shake your head, and push it into his hands. “It’s yours.”

Tom accepts it, not knowing was concealed inside, because he had something else to give you. He shucks off his jacket, and drapes it over your shoulders. It was one of his only earthly possessions. He’d found it years ago with you in Hogsmede, before he’d really grown into it, and felt a claim over it almost immediately. It had been like a Horcrux of his before he’d even wanted to make one. 

And now it was yours. 

“Have this, then,” Tom says, but his voice sounded distant to his own ears. 

“Your jacket?” you bring your hand swallowed in the materials up to touch at the collar of the jacket. “But, you love this jacket.”

“Then you should understand the meaning behind why I am giving it to you.”

Your eyes search his. 

Tom has never said out loud how he really felt for you, but you knew. You had to have known. He was more of an actions speak louder than words, type of guy. He showed his love for you by walking you to class everyday, helping you study, teaching you secret spells, giving away parts of himself to you that no one else knew about or had.

And by giving you his jacket, one of his most prized possessions, was the closest thing Tom could ever get to telling someone he loved them.

“Are you… are you alright?” you question softly. Your hand reaches for him, but Tom flinches back in fears that if you touched him one more time, he would not follow through with what he had to do. You frown at that. “Tom?”

“Yes, I am fine. I should be going.”

Tom move to leave, but he sees the hurt flash across your face like a blade cutting into his flesh. He breaths out through his nose, before he turns and presses a final kiss to your lips. 

It is a goodbye. It is a promise that he will never see you again. 

“I love you,” you tell him, and the air is sucked from his lungs. 

He loved you too. He did. But you were in his way. You were holding him back. Now, he was to be free of you. 

Tom can’t stop himself from bringing his thumb up to trail along your cheekbone, mind dipping into the dangerous waters of accepting the nonverbal invitation to join you in your room. Curfew was approaching, but when has that ever stopped him. And he fears that anymore time spent with you will cave the already unstable structure of obliviating you. 

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, before he presses a final kiss to your brows, and finally allows himself to disappear into the hallway. 

He’s shaking again, hands trembling as he hugs himself, rubbing them up and down his arms to try and calm himself down. He has never needed to selfsooth before. He’s always had you there when a bout of anxiety flared up in his chest.

He had to do it now, or he would turn back around, and run to your side.

Tom takes his wand out once he’s sure no one is there, and ducks into a small passageway. There, he holds the wand to his temple like a gun, with his finger shaking over the trigger. It might as well have been. He was ending a life. The life he could’ve had with you outside of Hogwarts, sharing an apartment, living together. It was all about to cease from existence. 

Tom remembers the slow, maddening decent into falling in love with you. He’d also fought himself on it - he didn’t want to accept that he’d fallen prey to one of men’s many weaknesses. 

He remembers the first time he’d stopped pretending like he didn’t want you, and the freeness in his chest at accepting your touch. He remembers the late nights. He remembers the shared looks no one else could decipher. He remembers how shocked you had been when Tom had touched you, for the first time. 

He remembers it all. 

Tears falls from Tom’s eyes as he screws them shut tightly, and whispers “obliviate,” into the quiet of the hallway.

⋆˚꩜｡

What follows the morning after waking holds a softness to it that Tom has never really known. He’d gotten up before you to make breakfast, but he hadn’t slept, not really, though he hadn’t felt tired in the slightest as he went about the kitchen. 

He’d tired his best to be quiet. He had apparated to the store for a quick moment to pick everything up. He never had food in his fridge, but he had a strange feeling that was about to change. 

Tom silently made pancakes, eggs, and just about everything he could think of. He was so incredibly nervous for you to wake so he is sure to have made every type of breakfast food available to him. 

As Tom is putting the finishing touches on the mountain of pancakes, two arms snake around his middle. He tenses for a moment, before your hands smooth over his stomach, your face pressing into his back, and he relaxes. His heart picks up a steady pace as you peer around him to gaze at what he was doing. 

“Oh my god, Tom,” you say with a small laugh. Your eyes find the trays of eggs, bacon, waffles, and pancakes. And they were all overflowing with food. “I appreciate you doing this, but who are you trying to feed? An army?”

When Tom takes in everything he’s made, he grimaces. “I got carried away,” he tells you, almost sheepish. “I don’t know what you like, so I made… everything.”

It is another painful reminder that Tom doesn’t really know anything about you anymore, he only knows what he’s observed over the course of a few weeks of watching you. But that only meant he had a lot to learn; and Tom was a master at studying. You were surely to be his favorite subject.

“That is sweet. Thank you,” you murmur, before pressing a kiss to the side of Tom’s cheek. The gesture has his wand nearly slipping from his grasp as his eyes flutter shut. He would never get used to the smallest of affections you bestow upon him.

You and Tom eat as much as you can of the kings feast he has prepared, but ultimately Tom has to dump most of it in the trash. 

The both of you had work, but it is unanimously decided that you both would be calling out. 

Tom had a lot of catching up to do, and he wanted a head start. He wanted dates, a more in depth story of how you two had even met, how he had acted before he’d oblivated himself. He wanted it all. He was already well read when it came to your habits, but he picks up on new ones as he watches how you eat, how you meet his eyes now that all had come to light. 

Like in the bookstore, Tom is not sure how much time passes as you do your best to fill him in on all of the years you had known him. Time goes by within a blink of an eye when he is actually enjoying himself. 

He is extremely amused at the story of your first meeting - how you’d crashed into him, and had done so the following year. It did seem like something you would do. 

You weren’t inherently clumsy, but you weren’t as careful with yourself as Tom would’ve liked. He wishes you were a little more aware of your surroundings. How he’d managed to talk to you in the cafe proved his point.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” you say, rolling your eyes, before you go into a story from Hogwarts about how you’d nearly fallen off a cliff while you two had been out hunting for a secret magical item that would serve him when taking over the wizarding world. You go quiet then, hands pausing from where they’d been playing with Tom’s fingers resting on your leg. “Are you… do you still plan of following through with everything you’ve told me about?”

Tom had made that decision last night, and he intended to stick to it. He hadn’t known he’d have to tell you so soon. He wasn’t even sure how you’d felt about his master plans, he’d hadn’t even had time to ask, but he assumed you were supportive. 

But that reminds him; he had a meeting later in the week. It is when he would tell his followers he would not continue on as Lord Voldemort, and stay as Tom Riddle. He would not give away too much, as he expected the push back would be immense. He had promised them things. He had told them of a world that would no longer exist, at least by Tom’s hand. Just as every dark wizard fell, a new one rose. 

“Tom?”

He comes back to himself when you grip tightly to his hand, and the touch calms the slowly rising feeling of dread at what would unfold that night. 

“No,” he says. “I have no need to continue down that path any longer.”

Like you were relieved, you smile and squeeze his hand twice, before continuing on with more stories. In all of them, Tom comes to realize just how much he’d needed the feel of your hands on his, a fondness that he carries around to this day. Even before he’d come to know the true nature of your relationship, it had been something he’d craved from you since you’d barreled into him that night of your reunion. 

You even mention the small, petty fights you two would have, and you’d off handedly mention that Tom got over them all too quickly if only you’d touch him soon after the argument. You say it like you do not realize how much he needed the feel of your hands anywhere on his body. 

“You are like a cat,” you say, amused, freeing a hand from his to trail up his arm and thread your fingers through the hair on the back of his head, pulling softly, and he shudders into your palm involuntary. He then scowls at you, but does not move. “See? You act as though you hate it, but really -” your other hand is used to slowly make a path down Tom’s leg, where it stops at his hard-on already straining against his pants, “you love it.”

Tom clenches his teeth when you trace a frisky finger against his hardened length. 

You were saying it like you were trying to prove him wrong, but Tom had no objections to your words. He already knew what your touch did it him. He knew he didn’t want to seem like he needed it, but he came undone with any little brush against him. He wanted more. He needed it more than anything he’s ever come across in all his years of hunting cursed objects, in his hunt for power. 

It is why he had given up the title of Dark Lord so quickly. He didn’t need it anymore, like he had before you’d entered his life again. Being the Dark Lord had been what he’d been living for. 

But now, as you rise to your knees, pushing Tom further into the couch so you can straddle him, he sees his new purpose in life smiling down at him mischievously. He slots his hand against your waist like it belonged there. Like you were made for him, and only him. 

Your lips meet in a gentle kiss, so different from yesterdays desperate touching of limbs. It is slow, and loving, as you grind against him. Tom’s fingers dig into your skin to stop them from shaking, but he knows it is no use. He quivers like a leaf at the mercy of your wind, hoping he does not snap from his branch of sanity and plunge deep into the murky waters of darkness. He burns the memory into his mind, selfishly, so that no oblivation spell robs him of it. 

Tom gasps into the kiss when you circle your hips into his lap, fighting the urge to take control of the situation. He had no say in what was happening. It was you who was steering the ship, as you bit into his mouth, your hands rendering him into a puddle of affection as one continues playing with his hair, as the other began unbuckling his belt. 

He chokes out a moan when you take hold of him, freeing him from his pants and boxers, and stroke from the base of his cock up to play at his sensitive head. Without breaking the kiss, movements practiced, like you and Tom have done this before, you bring him to your the dripping entrance of your cunt. Tom’s back arches off the couch at merely touching you there, breathing harder ever second that you teased him, dragging the head of his cock between your wet folds. 

Tom was above begging - or, he thought he was, because a second later he gasps out a broken, “please, Y/n,” that has you smiling against his mouth. 

“I always loved it when you groveled,” you murmur, showing a rare streak of cruelty, but it only made Tom want you more. 

You do as he wishes, raising yourself up slightly to place yourself above his eagerly awaiting member, and sink down steadily. He does not have even a moment to adjust to the feeling of you swallowing him whole before you begin the same grinding of your hips against his, only this time Tom is already nearly on the edge of release. He has to break the kiss to concentrate on not coming immediately, too quickly, embarrassing himself. You do not make it any easier for him as you pick up your pace. 

“Y/n -” he croaks out, shuddering out another breath. 

“Come for me, baby,” you whisper into his ear, and Tom’s stomach lurches at that name. He had been close to the edge for the longest time, but being called baby has him tumbling right into oblivion. It’s almost painful how quickly he comes, a broken whimper falling from his lips as he arches off the couch for the second time. 

Tom is trembling when you climb off of him. He slowly sits up with heavy arms, a little bewildered at what had unfolded. No one has ever called him a pet name before, at least, he’s never liked it before. Maybe he’d liked it a little too much. He stares at you, almost wanting to hear it again. It does not come, but the chaste kiss you give him before going to clean yourself up is still enough to satisfy him. 

The next few days before the meeting are truly, without a doubt, the happiest times of Tom’s entire existence. He had been a shell of a person before you’d come back into his life. 

You moved in the day after he’d brought you home, your real home. 

Your apartment was lovely, but Tom’s held more space for two people. He allowed you to change anything you wanted, without argument, so that is how he finds himself with all of your pink appliances in his kitchen, your drapes and lace hanging from the walls and off his couches. You bring picture frames and dried flowers, and vases of new flowers and even more pictures to splash up along nearly ever surface of the walls. 

His favorite pictures are the ones of you two, together. Most of them he’s never seen before. Some of them were just of him, or of you, and he finds himself smiling to himself when he passes by them.

His apartment looks completely different on the third day, and it has him pausing to look around the room whenever he’d come home, or simply enter another part of the apartment. It’s a little like whiplash, but in a loving, positive way. He wasn’t used to there being color in the space that he lived. His world was a color wheel of monotone hues. 

Everything had been perfect; too good, too happy. He should’ve known the impending doom quickly approaching.

The meeting with his followers was to be held at a pub, to discuss further plans and such. He does not have a speech prepared for them, like he always did. He would merely tell them that his duties lied elsewhere. He had no interest in taking over the world.

Tom hadn’t expected it to go well, but the silence of the room is deafening. His stomach is curling uncomfortably in his gut as they all stare at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Why?” one of them asks. He cannot for the life of him remember their name.

“As I have said -”

“We know what you said,” says Lestrange boldly, one of his earliest, most devoted Knights of Walpurgis. “But we’d like the truth.”

“You forget yourself and who you’re speaking to,” Tom snaps. “Just because I am to no longer take over the Wizarding World, does not give you the right to speak to me as if we are equal.”

Lestrange doesn’t back down. In fact, he stands, meeting Tom at eye level. “It’s because of her, isn’t it,” he accuses. He does not need to give your name for Tom to know who he is speaking of. Lestrange knew of your relationship back in Hogwarts. He’d seen it unfold, how it made Tom weak. “You’ve gotten your memories back, then?”

Tom is taken aback. Had he been so obvious? Was it the subtle glowing of his usually pale complexion, that arose suspicion that the one thing that has ever made him happy was back? He didn’t like how transparent he was being. 

It shouldn’t be surprising that Lestrange, of all people, knew of you, and what he had done to himself. But it has Tom feeling a sense of protectiveness for him even mentioning you. 

And for him to be asking about it so openly, in front of everyone, has Tom fighting for restraint.

“That is none of your concern,” Tom dismisses. “That is all.”

“Wait!” roars a voice just as he goes to disapparate. Toms head whirls towards Lestrange, still angry, now with his wand out. “We didn’t fight all this time just for you to give up because of… love.”

The thing about the wizards Tom let into his inner circle - they were good with magic. Usually, Tom would not be fearful of his fate when faced with another’s wand, but he is rooted to the floor as he watches Lestrange’s movements carefully. 

“Obliviate her,” he says. “Or I will do it myself this time.”

A laugh rips from Tom’s throat at the absurdity of his words. “You dare threaten me? Threaten her? Do you not remember it was I who has shaped you into what you are today? You would be nothing without me.”

“That may be true,” he agrees. “But I am doing this for your own good. You will thank me some day. Obliviate!”

Tom reaches for his wand and blocks the spell with ease. He stares at Lestrange incredulously, never thinking that he would be attacked at his own meeting. 

Before Lestrange can throw another spell at him, Tom curses him where he stands. Green lights up the room, and the body of his first follower hits the ground in a heap. 

The room is deathly silent. Not even the sound of breathing reaches Tom’s ears. 

He looks out into the now darkened room, as the candles had blown out when he’d killed Lestrange. He cannot make out anyone’s faces, but he knew who was here. Some have been around just as long as Lestrange, or joined soon after. It was only a meeting for those higher up in command, so they could spread the word throughout his network of dark wizards without having to do it himself.

“Let this be a warning to you all,” Tom says through gritted teeth. “I will not hesitate to kill anyone who defies me.”

Tom disapparates without waiting for a response from anyone. 

When he makes it back to the apartment, he doesn’t realize he had been holding his breath nearly the whole time, until he sighs out a heavy exhale once he takes in the state of the apartment. His eyes scan the pictures you’ve put up, your shoes by the door, your blanket slung over the couch. 

There are pieces of yourself in every corner he looks. Every nook and cranny. 

It is home. 

“Tom!” 

Taken by surprise, Tom stumbles back a step when you apparate to his side and throw your arms around him. He is in fight or flight mode, but you posed no real threat, so he calms. He knows you had been worried for what he had to do tonight, and with good reason. He does not plan on telling you what had happened. 

When you ask him how it went, he tells you that it was fine, nothing truly happened. They had accepted it. He can tell you do not believe him. Maybe it had been the way his voice had a small tremor in it, or how he hasn’t let go of your hand since you’d reached him, that gives him away. 

He had been shaken up at nearly losing his memories of you again. The threat had been real. 

Tom just hopes he’s scared off anyone else at trying what Lestrange had attempted. Only time will tell. He didn’t like leaving things up to chance, though. He regrets not cursing everyone in the room, only because they now knew of you, of his weakness and why he was giving everything up. He had wanted to leave so badly, that he hadn’t thought of that, until he sees you now. There was no telling who else knew of you. It would be nearly impossible to track all of them down.

There were those from Hogwarts who would bound to remember the gossip of you and Tom kissing in the hallway. They were smart. They’d figure it out.

The anxiety stays curled up in Tom’s stomach the remained of the evening, until you’re both in bed, where your hand has been tracing lines up and down Tom’s arm absently. 

You’re emerged in a book, and so had he been, but he had lost his train of thought the moment you’d begun touching him. It was a simple passing of your fingers along his arm, but it was enough to bring goosebumps to his skin, and for his eyes to close to revel it. 

You must’ve not known how much he was enjoying it, as you stop not soon after. Tom goes a little cold when you return your hand to your lap. He stares at you, but does not want to ask if you could continue. He’s already shown enough weakness to last a lifetime. 

Your eyes lift from the book, and like you’d known what he wanted, you resume your actions. 

Tom sinks further into the bed and puts his book down on his chest happily.

“You know… I could give you a massage, if you’d like?”

The idea has Tom’s eyes snapping open, having not realized he’d closed them again. 

His reaction must’ve been an agreement enough for you, as you apparate into the bathroom and return with your bottle of lotion that Tom loved so much. It just smelled like you. Perfect notes of your favorite smells and perfume. 

“Lay on your stomach,” you tell him, and Tom nearly catapults the book off the bed as he quickly rearranges himself to your command. You give a gentle laugh when he turns to you expectantly. “You used to love this back at Hogwarts.”

Tom hums, and watches as you come closer, and to an almost shock to him, straddle his back. It was obviously for easily access to give the massage, but it has Tom’s face burning. 

“Tell me if I’m too heavy,” you say, but Tom waves it off, head shaking, because you weighted nothing to the ever constant pressure of expectations he had of himself already resting on his shoulders. And even if you were heavy, he wouldn’t of minded in the slightest. 

Tom hears you pump the lotion into your hand and rub it together for a minute to warm it, and at the first kneading of your hands into his tense shoulders, Tom’s eyes roll back into his head as he gives a moan. Your hands work magic into his skin as you use your thumbs to rub circles into his skin, squeezing and shaping the muscles of his traps beneath your palms. You then slide your hands down his back, on either sides of his spine, and back up again, and again. 

It must’ve only been 10 minutes, but Tom is putty under your hands. He feels one with the bed, from how relaxed he was into it. His body was humming with a gentle energy that he doesn’t think he’s ever really felt before; he was calm. Truly calm. Not the false sense of it that he’d wear. There was no underlying anger brewing, or anxiety, or the need to put on a show. He was just blissfully existing.

That is the last memory of the night that he remembers, because the next thing he knows, it is morning, and he is still on his stomach when he wakes. He blinks into the morning light, unable to process what had even happened. He immediately turns his head towards your side of the bed, and relaxes when he finds your sleeping form beside him. 

He must’ve fallen asleep during the massage, and stayed asleep the entirely of the night without tossing or turning once. 

How odd. Tom’s never had such a deep sleep before. Your hands must have relaxed him far more than he could’ve thought. 

And he feels lighter, throughout the day, than he usually did. He does not know if it was because he’d fully given up the Dark Lord title, or because of the massage. Maybe it was both. 

The feeling, as good as it was, predictably doesn’t last long. He has work, after all. 

Usually, it was uneventful, but upon walking up to the shop, he is rattled to find your name graffitied onto the front of the windows. It was a threat. A threat made by one of his followers, who knew of you, and knew it was your fault he had given up ruling the wizarding world. 

They had every right to be upset, they’ve devoted their life to his cause, but it made him angry all the same. It made him angry to know that another one of his followers, unknown to him, might take it into their hands to eradicate any obstacles keeping Tom from achieving everything he’d told them about. 

He wasn’t worried about your safety at the moment, as you were at work and he very much doubted anyone would even try to attempt anything with you there. Still, he stopped by every hour, possessed, just to check that you were alright. He’d apparate in front of the shop just to catch a glimpse of you, see that you were alive and smiling, and come back to the shop to resume his work. 

Guests come and go. Tom sells a locket to a shady man who hadn’t talked much, just said he’d needed something to torment an enemy he’d recently crossed paths with. Tom had asked him questions, trying to figure out something that suited his needs the best they could. 

“He has a wife,” said the man gruffly. “You got anything to give to her, curse her instead?”

Tom hadn’t been surprised the man had taken that approach. He did not judge. But it rubbed him wrong in the slightest way, until the man had opened his satchel to reveal a handful of gold coins, saying he’d pay handsomely for it. 

There was something that Tom had known was floating around the shelves. The golden necklace with a heart shaped locket attached to it had arrived weeks ago, not selling well, but he’s almost hesitant to sell it to the man. He could feel something off; something was off about every wizard who lurked these parts, but the man made Tom feel genuinely uneasy. He had this look in his eyes whenever they’d meet Tom’s. 

Nonetheless, Tom wanted him gone. It had almost been an hour since he’d checked on you. He wanted to go and make sure you were still alive and well. He’d already charmed your shop with an extra protection spell, but seeing you gave him peace of mind that you were still alright. 

“I do have something,” Tom says. He pops into one of the isles to gather the box the necklace was in. When he returns, the man is quiet as Tom goes on to explain the item. He simply nods at the end of it, and buys it off of Tom with his satchel of gold coins. 

That is that, and Tom goes on his way to check on you for the fifth time that day. Usually, Tom kept the shop open as late as he could stand, but he closes up when he knows your shift is over to accompany you home. He does so for a week before you comment on it.

“Don’t you usually stay at Borgin and Burkes until the late night?” you ask, snapping him into reality when your hands come to a stop on his back. 

The combination of the smell of your lotion plus the sensation of your hands rubbing into his back have him nearly falling asleep again. 

“Oh, I changed the hours,” Tom mumbles back.

“Why?”

“To spend more time with you.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie - but it wasn’t the entire truth, either. Spending the nights with you was an added bonus, but he was still paranoid of something happening to you, and has not let you out of his sights since the meeting. 

You were starting to grow suspicious, Tom knows. But he does not want to make you worry. He was worrying enough for the both of you. He wanted you to be happy, and live carefree after having to deal with such torment for nearly half a year. 

Tom does not know how he’ll ever make up for what you had gone through. He had listened tentatively when you’d told him the story of how you’d discovered he’d erased you with his heart in his throat. He cannot ever imagine experiencing something so painful. It was the cruelest thing he has probably ever done to another, worse than death, in his eyes. 

There had still been a month left of Hogwarts, and you had to endure seeing Tom everyday before you’d gone your separate ways. A month of seeing him everyday, almost hoping he’d remember, but that spark of recognition when he’d meet your eyes never came. He can only image how he’d treated you, with a fake front of friendliness you have never known before. He doesn’t even remember seeing you at Hogwarts. The first meeting after he’d obliviated you from his memories must have scared you off completely. 

You do not bring it up again until the next day, when you both have the day off - Tom had aligned all of his days off with yours so you wouldn’t be alone - and you give him a weird look when he invites himself to join you at the same coffee shop you loved.

“But you hate that place,”

“It is tolerable,” he argues.

“It is filled with muggles.”

“I can ignore them.”

“A vein bulges out of your head whenever you even see one,” you say, but do not fight him as he accompanies you out the door. 

You’re wearing his jacket, the one he’d given you, and it warms him to see you in it, knowing it was his. Before, it had been just an oversized lump of leather. Now it was a claim he’d staked on you. Whenever you wore it, it was like you were declaring you were his, and he loved seeing you in it. He loved seeing you in anything of his. 

Most nights, all you wore to bed was one of his oversized shirts. It made it easier for him, on a number of things, when you went to bed in only that.

The first few days after you had moved in, when Tom had first seen you in his shirt, he had been frozen on the spot. His shirt reached your midthigh, exposing the smooth skin of your legs but just long enough that your ass wasn’t completely hanging out. He had shamelessly craned his neck downwards to get a better look, and does so whenever you walk by. He cannot help it. It was like looking directly into the sun.

The muggle coffee shop is just as bad as it had been the previous time, but Tom does not utter a single complaint. You were amused with every glance you spared at his scowling face, so you do not stay long, not wanting to put him in more discomfort.

Luckily, the muggle coffee shop was the only outing of the day. There was coffee at home but you had wanted that coffee, despite Tom being able to prepare something just as good, if not better, with magic. 

The rest of your joined day off is spent at home, cuddling, and he even finds himself cuddling against you, with his head pillowed by your chest. 

It is the most wonderful thing, to lay on a woman’s chest. It was soft, and cushy, and Tom spends a good amount of time there before the embarrassment of the gesture has him clearing his throat and scooting to his side. He was an evil wizard capable of murder. Cuddling up to a woman’s breasts was not something he should allow himself to do for longer than appropriate. 

“Tom?” you question when he scoots to his side. 

Though, his side seemed to be the entirety of the bed, with you only having a small sliver, because most nights he found himself attaching himself to you and waking with you in his arms. He had no concept of personal space since you’d moved in. Your space was his space, and vise versa. 

Tom was learning more and more about you everyday, so he picks up on the small note of worry in your voice. You masked it well, but relearning your quirks came easy to him. It was like picking up a hobby after not practicing for a while. 

“I’m fine,” Tom tells you, propping himself on his elbow so he can press a slow kiss to your cheek. 

Giving the affection was a little more challenging than receiving, for him. They sent a hot rush of excitement up his spine, and sometimes, it was overwhelming. He was almost worried you would reject him with each kiss, each hug, and was thrilled when you accepted them; he knew you wouldn’t turn him away, but it was still all so new to him. 

“I’m hungry,” you say, and Tom knows he has approximately twenty minutes to find something before your mood turned sour. He had made the mistake of not taking you seriously the first time you had told him, and paid the price. You had been scowled at him, silently, and it had been amusing until you bodily turned away from him. 

It was a silly thing, to be mad over food, but Tom had gone cold all the same. He had taken you to a nice restaurant with a small ball of anxiety curling in his gut. It had been your first ‘fight’. 

Tom learned that day that being hangry was a real thing. He himself had never experienced it, never one to really enjoy eating, only out of necessity. 

“Take out?” Tom asks, and you nod, pleased. 

The list of menus from your favorite spots nearby whisks into your hands by a wave of Tom’s wand. You choose a spot, as Tom always lets you choose whatever you wanted because it truly did not matter to him, and he wanted you to be happy above else. You’re quick to find a spot, and Tom orders it, and with five minutes to spare, the food is delivered. 

Eating at the table has become the new norm for you and Tom. He lights candles, plays music softly from the radio you had brought, and sets the table. You had told him it was incredibly romantic. He kept it up every night, making sure to have at least one meal a day together and talk. 

Tom was never a big talker, only really speaking when spoken to, and when needed, but the conversation flowed with you. Whether it was about each others days, or whatever book you were reading. Tom hung onto every word. It was as interesting as ancient texts on magical items. You were just as interested when he talked. It felt right. Like he finally had an equal to be open with, instead of keeping to himself like he had done all his life. 

And most nights after dinner, Tom would turn up the radio, bring you close, and you’d sway to the soft music playing. Both of your eyes would be closed, holding each other close, and just enjoy the moment. It was healing. It was perfect. A lot of things felt like that with you - a happiness that only grew the more time you spent with him. 

Tom does not think he would ever get bored of you. He does not want these moments to end. He wanted more, desperately, everyday. He wanted to live forever just to be by your side for eternity. 

It brings forth something he’s been wanting to confess to you - thee confession. He was sure you knew that he loved you, but he’s been wanting to say those words that you have been murmuring to him every night, pressing an I love you sleepily into his chest, right into his heart. 

To you, those words came easy. To Tom, it was the hardest thing he’s ever faced. 

He was never good with expressing his feelings; his actions spoke louder than words. You’d told him that he rarely verbally praised you, before. Rarely ever said anything nice, but he was trying to change that. He wanted to be better than before. He almost felt in competitions with himself, who he was before he’d obliviated you, and after. 

Tom thinks extremely low of the person he was before he’d obliviated you. How could he had given you up, in the pursuit of power? Maybe he has given it up his power this time because he had tasted what a life was like without you - empty, dull, with the only excitement being from danger, and even then it was nothing special. With you, each day did not feel long enough. He wanted your attention from the moment you rose, to the second you fell asleep. It was a maddening feeling. 

So, the confession felt like the next step. 

Hell, marriage, something Tom has never considered before - or maybe he had - crosses his mind. He pictures you with a ring on your finger, from him, signifying the mortal bond you’d made. He wanted that with you. He wanted a life with you, where you were his in every sense of the word. 

No ring felt good enough, and Tom had looked. He’d taken a day off from work without telling you, and browsed jewelry shops all across town for something good enough for you. 

Nothing stood out. Nothing except the ring he already had, that he had made into a horcrux. Now that, was special. You’d be wearing a part of Tom’s soul on your finger. What could be more personal than that. 

He’d been mulling on that idea since practically the beginning, when you’d moved in. Maybe even before that. Since before you’d told him everything. He’s wanted you since he’s seen you, in every way possible.

Now, he wanted to make it a reality. The ring has been sitting in his desk for days. The need to confess his feelings also waited, eagerly, at the back of his mind. 

Where he would ask you, though, that was the real question. He does not even know where to begin to think of a spot. Most of your memories together were from Hogwarts, and he’d thought about taking you there, asking you at the spot by the lake you’d mentioned to him. The one where you’d spent your last days. He wanted to rewrite that memory, give it a new story instead of the horrible stain he’d left upon it.

You’re clueless to the storm brewing in Tom’s mind.

Not only was he worried for your safely, but he was also thinking about the future you two would have together, and how to make it immortal. 

Dancing at the end of the days brings him peace. You sending him off to bed with a massage as well. 

You are his biggest comfort, and his biggest worry. You are the love of his life, and the bain of his existence.

Ah, being in love. 

Tom has read about it countless times. He never understood it; it sounded terrible. Maybe the worst sin of them all. Tom has always hated human behaviors, their desires, never giving into lust, or greed, or love. But with you, he gave into them all, selfishly. Happily. Wanting more and more. 

How easily he caved. How easily he gave into his human desires, something he thought he long ago burned out of himself. 

Tom can only go so long without touching you, without making love to you. It is a craving he faces everyday. He thinks of your pliant body beneath the hard curves of his hand, so giving, so needy for him and only him. He tries to show any form of restraint - but each one of your touches only adds to those desires. He fights himself until he is shaking with need. 

Some nights, he fucks you slow, body warm with a fire of yearning in his chest that has him savoring every sound you make, every kiss. 

Other nights, it is like the first time. It is two atoms colliding and exploding, it is the creation of the universe, it is everything. He is a man possessed those nights. It does not matter where you are in his apartment - Tom has fucked you on nearly every surface, unable to even think as far as making it to the bed. He needed you in that moment, whether it was in the kitchen, on the couch, at the dining table. 

You took every side of Tom with grace, because you must have been used to it. You almost welcomed it. Like falling back into an old habit. You handled him like a master honing her craft. 

Tom only wished he could catch up. He learns everything about you that he possibly can. 

The next day, Tom drops you at work, before he apparates home and spends some time cleaning up, putting things where they were supposed to be because you had a habit of leaving things out, and heads to work. He goes through the usual motions, and checks on you every hour, not really expecting anything out of the ordinary. He had done it more so for peace of mind. Like he’d thought before, he didn’t think anyone was bold enough to attack you in a busy shop in Diagon Alley. 

Tom had been right, in a way. No one had attacked you.

But what freezes him on the spot, like a hand has reached into his chest and wrapped an iron grip around his heart, is the necklace you were wearing when you meet him outside of apothecary. 

You’re all smiles as you trot up to him, but it quickly slides from your face when you notice the shocked expression he wears.

“Tom?”

“Where -” Tom’s voice breaks off. “Where did you get that necklace?”

No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the same one he’d sold, weeks ago to the man Tom hadn’t liked.

“You left it for me earlier with my coworker, did you not?” you touch at the locket with a frown. 

Tom shakes his head, at a loss for words. It was too late to remove it. The spell had already gone into effect. It did not matter if you took it off and Tom destroyed it; the curse had been cast. 

The curse being, that it erased the wearers memories, specifically of those they loved, until there was nothing left to remember. 

This time, it would be Tom erased from your mind.

It was the perfect curse. 

“Let me… let me see it.”

You unhook the necklace and hand it over, but Tom doesn’t touch it. He inspects it closer, hoping, that he was mistaken. But it was the necklace, undoubtedly. Tom’s knees weaken as he stared at the cursed piece of jewelry.

The man he’d sold it to - he must have been one of Tom’s followers in disguise. 

And Tom had sold him the very thing that would ultimately take you away from him. Worse than death. Worse than Tom losing his memories once more. It would be your turn to forget Tom, but unlike the obliviation spell, all of your memories wouldn’t be gone immediately. It would be slow. It would be agonizing. He would be forced to watch as you forgot things about him, little by little. There was no telling how long the curse would take to go into effect; there hadn’t been much information on it to begin with. 

This was Tom’s fault. He’d been too bold, too proud, to think that anyone would dare attack you here. He should’ve taken and hidden you away the day the threat upon your life had been made. 

Tom lifts his horrified gaze from the necklace up to your eyes. His lips part, but he cannot speak. His knees feel weak. His stomach is to the floor.

He is going to lose you, again, and there was nothing he could do but watch.

[ghostlyglamoured]

today is my bday :D