Warnings: Prisoner x Guard, power play, g!p sevika, non con/cnc, unprotected sex, creampie, pregnancy threat, hair pulling, spitting, spanking, size kink (slightly), dacryphilia, degradation/humiliation.
(Because who doesn't love a morally grey character 🤭)
"You can come inside you know. I don't bite... hard." That was the fourth comment today. Everyday since you started a week ago, the prisoner you had been hired to guard consistently tried to get you in her cell. Sure, she wasn't that dangerous, she was in here for a drug crime. Though people had mentioned to you that she had a... reputation.
"You know I'm not allowed too, Sevika. Plus we can talk with me right here." You let out a soft sigh, despite it all you did have a soft spot for her already. People had warned you about how rude she was, snarky and always threatening anyone who got too close. Yet with you she'd been nothing but nice... other than the crude comments about how nice your uniform fit and how you could help her feel less lonely.
"But I can't touch you when you're out there." She watches you shake your head, used to her crude comments, but she also notices how your thighs clench when she talks about you like you're nothing but a plaything...
"You won't be touching me at all, Sevika. So be quiet please." God you were too sweet to her, she was going to ruin you.
⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹
How she managed to steal your keys and drag you into her cell you're unsure, and definitely need to quit after this if you don't get fired. "Finally got you where I wanted you, under me, crying, begging- or trying too." Sevika had your hair wrapped around her fist, head pulled back, your own fucking panties shoved into your mouth as she ground down on your ass.
Her cock was throbbing between your cheeks, pulsing and leaking pre cum all over you, marking and claiming you as hers even as you cried, trying to get her off you- which was useless because she was 3X the size of you. "Don't stop struggling... I love making pretty things like you take it."
Sevika knew you wanted it, of course you were stuggling- but only because you knew you should. She knew if you really didn't want it you'd be able to put up a good fight, but you weren't...
"Mmph! Mmmmph mmph mmph!-" every word you tried to speak only came out muffled and quite honestly a little pathetic, and it only made Sevika throb painfully harder. As much as you hated yourself for it, each time you wriggled and squirmed beneath her you could feel you thighs glide against each other far too easily, coated with slick.
"That's it, keep fighting me, keep trying to tell me how much you hate me." Sevika chuckled as she sunk into your tight, warm heat, groaning at the sensation. The past two years she'd been so pent up, none of the other prisoners did it for her, at least the ones who were brave enough to try it. But there was something about you... she had to have you.
"Nnghhf! MMPH!-" your cheeks burn as you let out an unwilling moan as she slowly buries herself to the hilt. The taste of your own arousal on your panties was enough to have you embarrassed, though this was next level humiliating. Fucking a prisoner? Letting her hold you down and take what she wants when you're supposed to be the one with the power?
Absolutely, utterly humiliating.
And you loved it, clearly with the way your cunt was pulsing and strangling her cock. The soft spot you had for her was long gone with the way she was squeezing and pulling your ass cheeks apart, spitting on you only to pull out and spread the drool around with the tip of her cock, pre cum mixing with the saliva completely coating your entire lower half. "Didn't think you'd get so messy, guard. Gotta hand it to ya though, this pussy is nice and fucking snug."
Her hand came down hard on you ass over and over, catching your upper thighs in the midst of your struggling which only made it hurt even more... so why were you getting even wetter with each second that passed?
Sevika's hands gripped your hips, lifting them up as she thrust hard, sinking into you once more. "Ngggghhh.." your whines of protest were pitiful now, half protest half pure need. With each thrust of her hips a small, needy whine would escape around the lacy fabric stuffed in your mouth. In a last, desperate attempt to get get Sevika to stop you blindly pushed and scratched at her hips behind you, to which Sevika easily caught your flailing hands and pinned them to your back.
"Good girl, trying to fight off the big, bad prisoner. God I really thought you'd put up more of a fight but you've just been aching for it, haven't you slut?" Her words came out strained, desperate as she rut into you with no shame. After two years of her hand she need this. Needed you. "Maybe we can play with your toys next time, handcuff you to the cell door and let all the other guards watch me take what I need yeah?"
The mere thought of anybody seeing you like this, fucked absolutely silly by somebody you were supposed to have power over was arousing and humiliating. Yet despite it all, the dirty talk, the deep thrusts massaging you g-spot perfectly? Sent you spiralling over the edge, abandoning any pretense of trying to be quiet or fighting her off left your body as you twitched and spammed beneath her as you came all over her throbbing length.
Sevika let out a feral groan, burying herself deep as she lt go herself, spurting long steams of seed deep into you, settling deep in your tummy. "Fucking pathetic you are, cumming so prettily for me hmm?" Despite her harsh words, spat out to humiliate you she was gentle in helping you sit up. She was so rough, yet so gentle.
You sit up, pulling your panties put of your mouth the minute she lets your arms free. As you turn to face her, she has the proudest, goodies grin on her face and it almost, almost breaks you. "Sevika... what the fuck were you thinking!?" You whisper-shout as you get dressed, minus your panties.
She watches you scramble around the cell, trying to get your uniform back on and flatten down your hair like you hadn't just been fucked stupid. "You enjoyed it. Didn’t you?" Her smirk only grows as you scoff, trying to act like you hated it even though she knew you didn't.
"You get out in three months, can't you just... behave? I have to tell the head warden about this-" before you can open up the cell door and leave, Sevika grips your wrist, brusingly tight as she pushes you up against her. Chest to chest, dipping her head down so you're practically nose to nose. "I wouldn't do that, sweetheart. Considering you might get pregnant, you don't want me locked up unable to pay child support. Do you?"
The consequences sink in. Really sink in. You should've fought her off harder, made her stop but you really didn't want too. "You're fucking evil, you knew I'm not on birth control." Her grin says it all, she knew and she didn't care one bit. She had this little charade all planned out, threat and all... so why was the thought of carrying her child making your pussy leak again?...
warnings: This story contains dark yandere themes, heavy infidelity and cheating, extreme power imbalance, manipulation, coercion, and subtle forcing. It includes graphic gun threats, violence, raw and explicit hate sex, degradation, humiliation, creampie, breeding kink, and child trapping elements.
summary : In a toxic arranged marriage, you are bound to the ruthless Kim Taehyung, the violent head of Kaelum Enterprises. When you catch him with his secretary late one night..the mutual hatred between you explodes into raw and angry hate sex filled with jealousy, power play and dark possession.
Author's note : I seriously advise you to only read this if you’re into extremely toxic, unhinged and morally questionable vibes. This is pure fiction / I do not promote this behavior in real life (please don’t try to recreate any of this, you will end up in jail or therapy). Strictly 21+ only. If you’re easily triggered by dark yandere chaos, close this now and go touch some grass instead. Enjoy the ride~ 😈
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The marriage was never about love. This sham of a marriage was always about the goddamn business...fragile male egos and the violence that cursed everything it touched.
You never had a say in any of it though. Your father arranged your life like a chess piece. You were born into the kind of dirt you hated with every fiber of your being but maybe continuing to live in it was entirely your fault… you never mustered the courage to leave it all behind. Even though you despised where the money came from.....you still thrived on it. The expensive clothes.. the lavish meals.. the glittering accessories... the lifestyle had you hooked.
You couldn’t imagine going a single day without it all.
So you did what cowards do.. stayed silent and took whatever your father threw at you without making a noise. Nevertheless...you’d always thought he’d arrange you to a decent man. Someone less violent… someone more like you and less like him but he chose this darker and crueler version of everything you feared.
Lately, you’d been trying desperately to forget the ring on your finger because it bound you to the man you hated more than your own father... Kim Taehyung.
He wasn’t just your husband but was the one who built Kaelum Enterprises from the ground up.. dragging it to the top through blood.. deals and violence. You despised the kind of business he did because the underground violence followed him like a shadow.... it still gave you the luxury you couldn’t live without.
Taehyung always kept the mess away from you. He never came into the spaces you shared bloodied or disheveled. He kept you clean but that didn’t mean he was nice.
Kim Taehyung hated you down to your guts. He hated everything that threatened to snatch his free will. You were convinced that if he ever got the real chance.. he’d kill you without a second thought. The only thing stopping him was your father’s invisible leash... something you still couldn’t understand. Your father wasn’t the type of man who could overpower someone like your husband… but whatever it was, it had Taehyung right where your father wanted him.
_
You got home later than usual.. around past nine. The black strappy silk dress still looked flawless on you... clinging in all the right places. People always stared when you went out... sometimes because of how you looked and sometimes because of the guards who followed you everywhere because your husband told them to.
Dinner with your friends had been nice. You were tipsy.. just that warm buzz that made everything feel a little easier.
You stepped into the penthouse and kicked your heels off in the foyer not caring where they landed because the staff would fix it later.
The whole place was quiet and for a moment you thought maybe Taehyung wasn’t home yet.
Your mom had called earlier... asking again about the progress regarding the pregnancy. You gave her the usual excuses.
Six months married and still nothing. In their world an heir was basically required… but you barely let him touch you. How could you? You hated him too much. The only time anything had happened between you two was on your wedding night when you were both wasted....and you barely remembered it the next day.
You started walking up the stairs and that’s when you saw the light coming from his office. The door was cracked open.
Low... wet sounds were spilling out....Your stomach dropped hard.
You don’t even know why you pushed the door open... normally you would’ve just gone to your room and pretended you heard nothing... but the alcohol made you reckless.
Taehyung was sprawled back in that big leather chair like he owned the whole damn world. His black shirt was unbuttoned.. thick thighs spread. His secretary was on her knees between them.. lips wrapped around his cock.. sucking him like she was trying to win an award. The wet and filthy sounds she made churned your stomach.
For a second your chest got tight... Disgust.. anger and something you really didn’t want to name all mixed together.
Taehyung’s eyes opened slowly... sensing your presence. That lazy... lopsided smirk appeared the second he saw you standing there.
“Had a great night, wife?” he asked, voice low and rough... thick with pleasure. He didn’t stop her instead his fingers slid into her hair and pushed her down deeper as she gagged around him.
The question sounded so fucking normal.. but in this moment it made you sick. Hate burned hot in your chest and you let out a shaky and bitter laugh.
“At least have the fucking decency to close the door, you bastard,” you said, voice trembling.
“Why should I?” he shot back... head falling back against the chair like he was enjoying this way too much.
“Because people aren’t interested in seeing what a manwhore you are kim taehyung,” you snapped.. fuming.
Taehyung’s smirk didn’t drop but something flashed in his eyes. “Ah, is that any way to talk to your dear husband, kim Y/N?” he asked, voice mocking. “Hasn’t your mother taught you better?” taunting you.
“Haven’t you been taught to stop wetting your dick in every easy hole you find?” you snapped right back.. voice rising and anger visible in your eyes and posture.
You turned and pointed straight at his secretary. “And you- Ji-eun! Or Junhee! Whatever the fuck your name is..!! if even a single squeak gets out about this... I swear I’ll make sure you’re dead.”
Then the room went dead silent for a beat.
“Bold of you to threaten my people right in front of me… in my house, baby,” Taehyung said.. almost amused. His fingers flexed tighter in the secretary’s hair as he added, “Don’t forget your place.. dear wife. Trust me, I’d be more than happy to remind you.”
His voice had turned mean and dangerous.
Anger.. jealousy and frustration got the best of you. The words burst out before you could stop them. “I know my place very well, dear husband. Maybe you should remember yours too. There’s no fucking way I’m carrying the child of a bastard like you. You deserve to be back on the dirty streets where you crawled out from.”
The second the words left your mouth... even the secretary gasped... indicating that you’d crossed a line.
Taehyung’s expression darkened instantly. He shoved the secretary off him roughly. She scrambled to get up, trying to scurry away.. but he snapped, “Sit the fuck down.” He pointed at the leather sofa in the corner. She obeyed immediately... looking terrified like a kicked puppy.
He was already moving.. patience gone. In two strides he was right in front of you...his hand shooting out to grab your throat firmly.. making you gasp sharply.
“The moment I find something real against your family,” he growled.. face inches from yours, “you’re all fucking dead.”
You glared up at him...heart hammering still defiant. “You can’t do shit! Daddy has a tight leash on you...husband. Better remember your place.”
His grip tightened just a little more... thumb pressing under your jaw. His eyes were burning.
“You think so?” he said, voice dangerously soft. “Your father might have a leash on me right now… but I’ve got one on you too, baby. And I’ll gladly take it out on you whenever the fuck I want.”
The grip on your throat wasn’t choking you but it was more than enough to make your pulse race wildly under his fingers. Taehyung’s face was so close you could smell his cologne mixed with the expensive whiskey he must’ve been drinking earlier. He was pissed....really fucking pissed.
“You talk a lot of shit for someone who barely lets me touch her,” he muttered, thumb stroking the side of your neck almost mockingly. “What’s wrong, baby? Scared that if I touch you too much you’ll actually start liking it? That you’ll stop pretending you’re too good for my cock?”
His words hit hard...and yiu felt your eyes sting with unwanted tears...blinking rapidly so they wouldn’t fall. You weren’t about to cry in front of him...qtleast not like this.
You tried to shove his chest but he didn’t budge an inch...the room suddenly felt way too small and suffocating.
“Don’t touch me, you bastard. Get off,” you hissed but your voice came out breathier than you wanted...all shaky and weak.
Taehyung leaned in even closer...lips brushing your ear as he breathed, “You barged into my office without knocking, interrupting my personal time like you own the fucking place. and now you’re acting all high and mighty?”
“So now you’re gonna be a good little wife and pick up right where she left off,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “I’m your husband after all. It’s your duty to please me, right?”
“I will not,” you seethed, glaring up at him through blurry eyes. “I’ll bite it off. Don’t fucking test me.”
Taehyung’s laugh was low and ugly. His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your pulse thunder under his thumb. “Try that and I’ll make sure the only thing you’re sucking for the next month is my cock until you learn obedience.”
You glared up at him with pure disgust burning in your eyes. “I’d rather die than put my mouth on your disgusting cock.”
His expression turned ice-cold in an instant..without a word...he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sleek black pistol..aiming it straight at his secretary’s head. The girl broke instantly...sobbing in terror as she looked at you with desperate..tear filled eyes.
“Please… I don’t want to die,” she begged, voice shaking. “Please j-just do it… I’ll do anyhing, just s- suck him, please-”
The raw fear in her voice made your stomach twist..you hated him more than ever but you couldn’t let him pull the trigger just because you refused. She wasn't at fault overall.
“Fine,” you spat bitterly..humiliation burning through you. “I’ll do it. Jus-just let her go.”
Taehyung’s lips curved into a cruel..satisfied smile but he didn’t lower the gun. “No...She stays right there,” he said, voice dangerously soft. “She already saw too much tonight… let her at least have the full show, hm? Consider it a lesson for her on how a real wife pleases her husband..it'll help her in future.”
The secretary whimpered but didn’t dare move and You swallowed hard..pride shattering as you dropped to your knees in front of him. He had you where he wanted you...your hands were shaking when you wrapped your fingers around his thick cock and took him into your mouth...sucking angrily at first...rough and half heartedly.
At one point you bared your teeth..letting them scrape threateningly along his shaft.
Taehyung hissed in warning and yanked your hair back hard forcing your head up as he pressed the cold barrel of the gun briefly against your forehead. “Try that shit again,” he growled, low and deadly, “and I’ll paint the wall with your brains instead while she watches. Now suck it like you fucking mean it..wife.”
Terrified and seething with rage you obeyed. You relaxed your jaw and took him deeper..sucking him properly this time with wet..sloppy sounds your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock as you bobbed your head. Spit dripped down your chin while you worked him hating every second but too scared and turned on to stop. It was sick...he made you sick.
Taehyung groaned deeply his fingers tight in your hair as he guided your movements. “That’s it… good girl. This is exactly how you serve your husband.”
He kept you like that for several long..humiliating moments..enjoying your reluctant but obedient mouth and the terrified audience on the sofa before he finally yanked you off his cock with a wet pop..breathing hard. “You still need a lot of practice, darling, but don’t worry. I’ll train you for it later,” he commented...as if you were some broken toy that needed fixing.
He spun you around and bent you over the desk in one violent motion. Your cheek slammed against the scattered papers and spilled whiskey. The cold wet wood made you gasp. He kicked your legs wider yanking the silk dress up to your waist and tearing your panties off with a sharp rip.
You twisted...trying to push back against him even as he pinned your wrists behind your back with one large hand. “Get your filthy hands off me, you cheating piece of shit—”
His palm cracked against your ass hard enough to sting. “Filthy? Says the one who’s dripping down her thighs while calling me names.” Two thick fingers shoved inside you without mercy..curling cruelly. He took his time..pumping them slowly and deliberately stretching you open while his thumb circled your clit with lazy pressure. The filthy sounds of his fingers working in and out of your soaked cunt filled the office.
You hated how good it felt… absolutely hated the way your hips started rocking back against his hand despite yourself.
“You think you’re better than me?” he growled..scissoring his fingers deeper..stroking that sensitive spot inside you with infuriating precision. “Parading around in that dress, letting other men stare at what’s mine, then coming home to throw a tantrum because my secretary was warming my cock? At least she knows her fucking place.”
You laughed bitterly..breath hitching as another slow curl of his fingers made your toes curl. “Your place is in the gutter where you belong. Go finish in her mouth if you’re so desperate.”
Taehyung pulled his fingers out leaving you clenching around nothing. He glanced over at his secretary, still frozen on the sofa, wide-eyed and trembling. “You. Watch how a real wife takes what’s hers.” The girl was sobbing quietly as if too scared to make a noise and just nodded pathetically.
He pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance and pushed in slowly..inch by inch, letting you feel every thick ridge as he stretched you open. When he finally bottomed out..hips flush against your ass he stayed there..grinding deep and lazy..letting you adjust to the fullness while his hand stroked down your spine almost mockingly.
“Fuck-” you hissed, nails scraping the desk as you tried to stay rigid and defiant.
He started moving then...deep and rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive nerve inside you. He fucked you like he had all night to ruin you pulling out almost completely before sinking back in with deliberate force. The slow drag made your eyes roll back. Your breaths came in shaky gasps.
“Feel that?” he murmured against your ear..leaning over you. One hand kept your wrists pinned and the other reached around to tease your clit with slow..slick circles. “This pussy was made for me. So fucking tight… greedy even when you’re spitting hate.”
You pushed back against him harder..meeting his thrusts with your own anger. “Is this all you’ve got? Pathetic. No wonder you need easy whores on their knees—”
He snarled and fisted your hair..yanking your head back so he could bite the side of your neck..sucking a dark mark into your skin. His pace picked up gradually and hips snapping harder the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. “Careful, Y/N. Keep running that mouth and I’ll put a baby in you just to shut you up.”
You laughed through a moan...breathless and venomous even as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Getting me pregnant so you can have some sort of control?”
Taehyung’s control slipped. He released your wrists and grabbed your hips with both hands and started fucking you deeper and harder..the desk creaking under the force. But you still fought twisting and desperately clawing at him...nails digging into his thigh hard enough to draw blood. He groaned at the pain..thrusting punishingly in response.
“Unfortunate for you, wife,” he growled against your ear, voice rough and dark, “but you will bear this bastard’s child. I’m done playing games.” His hand slid around to press possessively over your lower belly. “From now on this cunt is the only one getting filled...No more distractions… every last drop goes inside you until you’re swollen with my child.”
The sick promise hit you like a drug and you clenched hard around him a broken moan escaping despite your best efforts. Your body was bending..hips pushing back to meet every thrust..back arching as pleasure overrode some of your defiance. Tears of frustration and overwhelming sensation pricked your eyes.
“Fuck you—” you gasped, but the words dissolved into a whimper when he angled his hips just right and hit that perfect spot over and over.
Taehyung felt it...the way you were starting to give in. He smiled against your neck. “That’s it… let go, baby. Hate me all you want, but your body knows who it belongs to.”
He reached around again...rubbing your clit faster and perfectly in sync with his deep thrusts. The pressure built unbearably slow and intense. Your thighs trembled and your moans grew louder..less controlled. The secretary’s presence only made it more humiliating and strangely hotter.
When your orgasm finally hit..it tore through you like fire. Your walls clamped down around his cock...thighs shaking violently as you cried out. You came hard..soaking his length and body surrendering completely for those long shuddering moments while he fucked you through it...drawing it out.
Only then did Taehyung let himself go. With a guttural groan he buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you..thick pulses of heat flooding your womb. He stayed buried...grinding lazily making sure it took.
When he finally pulled out his cum leaked slowly down your thighs. He turned you around..gripping your jaw firmly so you had to meet his eyes.
“Remember this… wife,” he said, voice low and dangerously soft. “My cock, my cum and my child..it's only you from now on…whether you like it or not… you’re mine.”
You stared back... chest heaving...legs still weak.. eyes blazing with the same toxic fire even after you’d bent under his touch. A twisted feeling settled over you... from now on.. maybe your marriage wouldn’t be so boring.
warnings: corruption, possessiveness, morally grey, dead dove, blood, innocent reader, smut (fingering, blood play, finger sucking, …), n0n-consensual (?), read at you own risk
before you ever met niki, you believed that heaven was incapable of making mistakes. it was not blind faith. at least, you never thought it was.
to you, heaven was simply the only truth you could rely on. unquestionable and eternal, stretching far beyond anything you could understand.
your duty was simple: listen, learn from them, and obey.
the older angels often praised you for it. whenever instructions were given, you just followed them precisely.
whenever a task was assigned, you completed it without complaint. you never questioned orders, never challenged authority, and never allowed pride to take root in your small heart.
at least, you tried not to.
every angel possessed flaws and yours was curiosity. trying your best, you always buried it whenever it surfaced.
the higher-ranking angels seemed pleased by that. curiosity had a way of leading souls into dangerous places.
disobedience had destroyed countless angels before. you had heard the stories: literally any angel had.
the fallen were spoken about with equal amounts of pity and disappointment. their names were rarely mentioned. their accomplishments were forgotten.
they had believed themselves wiser than heaven. they had also believed themselves capable of deciding right from wrong.
they had been punished accordingly.
whenever those stories were told, you listened carefully.
not because you feared becoming like them, because you could not understand why anyone would want to.
heaven was beautiful.
light existed everywhere, woven through every structure and every living thing. vast cities floated among endless clouds, their towers glowing with divine grace.
when you walked through those gardens, you often found herself wondering how anyone could abandon such perfection.
sometimes you would watch younger angels laughing among the flowers and feel warmth spread through your chest.
you loved heaven too much, with all innocence it'll provide you of.
many angels possessed gifts related to healing, creation, or protection, but first grace existed on an entirely different level.
it restored things to their original state. damaged wings could be repaired beneath your touch, corrupted grace could be cleansed, and wounds that should have lingered for centuries vanished within moments.
the older angels often smiled when they looked at you, but you never understood why.
it was only later that you would realize they had been looking at something fragile.
at the time, you simply assumed they were proud. approval mattered to you more than you cared to admit.
whenever an archangel praised your work, you spent days replaying the words in your mind. whenever you were entrusted with an important responsibility, excitement fluttered through your chest.
the desire seemed simple enough.
goodness was simple, or so you believed. since you’ve spent centuries living that way.
for today, you had to help with another request of the higher-ups.
you had been assisting with the restoration of a damaged sanctuary near heaven’s borders when you noticed something unusual.
part of the structure had been destroyed during a conflict involving fallen angels. their names had been removed from every official record.
there was one name you could make out. the dust over it made it almost impossible to do so though.
'nishimura niki - betrayed heaven'
when you asked why their names were removed, the supervising angel merely told you that some things were better forgotten. that answer should have satisfied you.
instead, you found herself thinking about it long afterward. better forgotten, why?
if the fallen were truly wrong, why erase them? would their existence not serve as a warning?
the same day, another task followed. and of course, you accepted the assignment without hesitation.
the archangel delivering the instructions seemed oddly serious. his expression remained unreadable as he handed you the scroll.
“do not cross the border”
“i understand”
“do not speak with the fallen”
“of course”
his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. almost as though he wanted to say something else.
then he simply dismissed you.
as you descended toward the borders a few days later, sunlight illuminated your wings in brilliant gold. your halo shone without a single imperfection.
you looked exactly as heaven intended.
accepting this task, would become the first mistake you ever made. somewhere between some bushes, you saw a silhouette.
the silhouette's dark wings shimmered like fractured starlight, a thin veil of golden mist where heaven's warmth bled into hell's chill.
and niki lingered in the shadows just beyond it, his black wings folded tight against his lean frame.
niki stepped forward then, his tall silhouette cutting through the haze with a predatory grace, black hair tousled by infernal winds and a smile curving his lips like a blade.
"lost, little guardian?" he murmured, voice low and drawing you closer with nothing more than the magnetic pull of his presence.
"who are you?"
"niki. you might’ve heard of me before since heaven forbid me"
before you could questioners words, his hands were on you, one sliding beneath your robes to part your thighs while the other cupped your face, thumb brushing your lower lip.
"what are you doing? get off me"
you tried to throw his body off yours, but it didn’t work. he was too strong.
he pressed you against the grass beneath, fingers finding the slick heat of your untouched pussy with deliberate intent.
he was circling your clit before sinking two digits deep inside, curling to stroke the sensitive walls that clenched around him in surprise.
your brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening to you.
a soft gasp escaped you, body trembling with the unfamiliar rush of arousal, yet you didn't try stop him. anymore.
your obedience to curiosity overriding caution as his touch ignited sparks along your nerves.
niki's breath hitched against your neck, his own cock hardening visibly beneath his tattered garments, but he focused on the corruption blooming under his hands.
he just ripped the skin sitting above his wrist open. niki's dark blood started dripping down his hand.
he smeared it over your entrance, mixing the crimson with your growing wetness as he thrust his fingers harder, scissoring them to stretch you while the blood's forbidden warmth sent a forbidden thrill racing through your veins.
pleasure coiled tight in your core, mixing with a heady shame that only deepened the sensations.
your hips rocking involuntarily into his rhythm as he whispered dark promises of surrender, his free hand pinning your wrist to expose more skin.
he made another teasing cut, that let fresh beads trickle down to where his fingers worked you open.
niki withdrew his slick fingers from your clenching heat with a slow, deliberate drag, the mixture of your arousal and his blood glistening on his skin as he brought them to your lips.
"taste what you're becoming angel," he urged.
his voice a husky command laced with dark amusement, pressing the coated digits against your mouth until you parted them in bewildered obedience.
you couldn't grasp the full weight of this violation, the way his corruption seeped into every of your nerves.
you didn’t even think twice, your tongue flicked out, lapping at the metallic tang mingled with your own sweetness.
he watched with satisfaction, his free hand now roaming to tug your robes aside and expose the vulnerable column of your throat.
he leaned in close, lips brushing your skin before sucking hard enough to leave blooming hickeys in their wake.
"let them see, yeah?"
niki's cock strained visibly against his garments, but he denied himself for now.
he was focusing on your unraveling as his fingers returned briefly to your pussy, thrusting deep once more before offering them again for you to suck clean.
heaven's mist swirled thicker around you both, hell's chill seeping into your bones even as your core throbbed with building climax.
your mind foggy with sensations you had no divine permission to understand.
those darkening feathers quivered harder now, edges curling black as the corruption took root, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped around his fingers.
he marked you with another hickey just above your collarbone, whispering how beautifully you were falling.
This story is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual events, places, or persons is purely inspirational.
This book contains explicit M/M sex and graphic language. For mature audiences only. (like minors give a fuck) and this story is set somewhere in europe.
PART - 1 PART - 2 PART - 3 PART - 4 PART - 5 PART - 6 PART - 7
SO THE FINAL CHAPTER IS HERE-
PART - 8
Rangi didn’t return in a few days.
Nor did he call. Uzair knew he could call, but the mere thought made him cringe. He didn’t want to seem clingy.
By Friday, Uzair didn’t know what to think. It didn’t help that Ameena and Ayla kept asking where Mr. Rangi was—the question Uzair had no answer for.
Where was he?
There was a niggling thought at the back of Uzair’s mind that Rangi was a commitment-phobe. Maybe he’d left because this thing between them freaked him out. If that was it, well, fuck him. Uzair would be damned if he let himself be the clingy one.
“What’s wrong with you, man?” Christian asked on Friday morning as they took their seats in Rangi’s class.
“Nothing.”
“You look like shit.”
“Didn’t sleep well,” Uzair muttered, rubbing his eyes. It wasn’t a lie. “I’m just—” He cut himself off, noticing the professor who walked into the classroom.
It wasn’t Rangi.
His heart sank.
Professor Ulfat took the seat behind Rangi’s desk and smiled at the students.
“Good morning,” the woman said cheerfully. “I’ll be substituting for Professor Rangi until further notice.”
A cheer went through the room. Uzair lifted his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Baloch?” Ulfat said.
“Where is Professor Rangi?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think it’s your concern, but if you must know… Professor Rangi is absent due to family circumstances.”
“Yeah,” the girl sitting on Uzair’s other side murmured. “I’ve seen in the news that he’s marrying some politician’s daughter.”
Uzair stared at her numbly.
Christian put a hand on his shoulder and said something, but he could barely hear it.
Married? Jaskirat?
“It can’t be true,” he whispered, more to himself than to the girl. “He’s gay. And he’s…” Mine.
Except he wasn’t, was he? He didn’t have any right to be angry. They were nothing to each other.
“Are you okay?” Christian said, looking at him with a frown.
Uzair returned home early, dismissed the babysitter, sat on the couch, and watched the twins play.
Their dresses were worn out and too small for them. They needed new clothes.
He closed his eyes and thought of how much that would cost. Christmas wasn’t far away, and Christmas was expensive, so he needed to save money. New clothes for the girls would have to wait until he found a better job.
Uzair sighed, rubbing his face. Yeah. That was what he needed to focus on. No more distractions. The kids depended on him.
The couch dipped as the girls suddenly climbed onto it.
“You’re sad,” Ayla said.
“We don’t like when you’re sad,” Ameena said.
Uzair smiled brightly and wrapped his arms around them, pulling them close. They were warm and smelled of soap and sweets. Of innocence.
“No,” he said. “Of course I’m not sad.”
“When is Mr. Rangi coming back?” Ameena asked once again, her blue eyes wide and glistening with tears. “He promised me a puppy! With a white star on its forehead.”
Ayla sucked on her thumb. “Yeah, when is he coming back?”
Uzair’s heart clenched. At that moment, he hated Jaskirat Singh Rangi more than anything. The girls had no one but Uzair; of course they’d become attached to Jaskirat, since he had Been practically living with them for the last couple of weeks.
Uzair smiled, but it felt like a grimace. “It doesn’t look like he’s coming back, sweetheart.”
Ameena’s brows furrowed. “Why?”
How was he supposed to answer that?
Uzair averted his gaze. “Because he has his own family. And it seems his dad asked him to marry.” At least that was the only explanation he could think of. “He’s going to start a family now.”
“Why?” Ameena said.
Ayla’s lower lip trembled. “Why?”
Uzair looked between them and didn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know, baby,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Ayla’s temple and pulling Ameena closer. “I don’t know.”
-----------
Uzair woke up in the middle of the night, shivering.
He burrowed deeper under the covers. The room was cold and damp, as usual, but it was harder to ignore it after weeks of sharing body heat with another person. He missed being warm.
Uzair sighed, turned onto his stomach and hugged his pillow, angry with himself. This was getting out of hand. Enough. Fuck Rangi and fuck his stupid warm body. Fuck him.
But no matter what he told himself, the ache in his stomach was still there. The hunger. The need that went beyond sex. He wanted Rangi’s body next to him, big and warm. He even wanted to hear his scathing remarks, feel his breath against his skin—
Uzair tensed and lifted his head. He could have sworn he heard voices coming from the living room. But the girls couldn’t possibly be awake, right?
Frowning, Uzair climbed out of bed, shivering violently as the cold air hit his skin, and padded towards the door. There was light in the living room, but it meant nothing: he had left the lamp on, because the twins were scared of the dark.
Uzair opened the door quietly and froze.
Rangi was sitting on the floor beside the girls’ bed, one of the twins in his lap.
Uzair’s heart started to thud in his chest.
He was back.
He was back.
“Where were you?” his sister said, rubbing her eyes sleepily with one hand while the other played with Rangi’s tie. It was Ayla, Uzair decided. Rangi seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for Ayla, though it was strange that Rangi was tolerating this even from Ayla.
That was, until Uzair studied Rangi’s face. Even in the dim light of the lamp, his face looked uncharacteristically unguarded and tired.
“I was visiting my family,” Rangi murmured.
Ayla sucked on her thumb. “I remember your family. Your dad didn’t like us very much.”
A strange look crossed Rangi’s face. He said nothing.
“Uzair said you’re getting a new family.”
Rangi stiffened. “Did he?”
Ayla nodded. “He was very sad.”
Uzair felt himself flush. Did she have to tell him that?
Rangi had an odd expression on his face. “Was he?” he murmured.
“I was sad, too,” Ayla said. “I don’t understand. Why do you want a new family? You have us.”
Kids, Uzair thought, biting his lip. They had no fear. In some ways, kids were braver than adults.
Rangi opened his mouth and then closed it. It was the first time Uzair had seen him at a loss for words. Rangi’s throat convulsed before he told Ayla, “Don’t worry, I won’t be getting a new family.”
Uzair breathed out.
“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, midget?”
Ayla studied Rangi seriously with her big blue eyes. “You’re sad, too. Something bad happened?”
A humourless smile twisted Rangi’s lips. “You could say that.”
“When I’m sad, Uzair hugs me and I don’t feel so sad anymore. You want a hug?”
Uzair expected Rangi to reject the offer with a sneer.
He didn’t. He said nothing.
Taking his silence as a yes, Ayla stood up and put her short arms around Rangi’s neck. Rangi had to steady her.
Uzair stared at Rangi’s big hands on his little sister’s back and then at his blank, stoic face.
Quietly, he closed the door and padded back to the bed.
About twenty minutes passed before he heard the door open again. There was a rustle of clothing before the mattress dipped under Rangi’s weight and he slid under the covers next to Uzair.
The speed with which Uzair latched onto him would have Been embarrassing if Uzair could bring himself to care; he didn’t. He just needed to kiss him. Needed to touch him. So he kissed him and Rangi kissed him back just as hungrily, his lips urgent, almost desperate.
Uzair wasn’t sure how many minutes they spent kissing—it felt like hours and seconds at the same time.
When they finally stopped kissing to breathe, Uzair was warm from head to toe. Hooking his leg over Rangi’s hip, he put his head on his chest. Rangi’s heart was beating under his ear, strong and fast.
For a long while, there was only companionable silence.
“He died, didn’t he?” Uzair whispered at last.
He felt Rangi go rigid under him. “Yes.”
Uzair hesitated, unsure what to say. “What happened? Someone said you were getting married.”
Rangi sighed, something Uzair felt more than heard as Rangi’s chest expanded under his cheek. “It was Jaiveer’s manipulations again. I went there because he told me he was on his deathbed. When I arrived, there was a huge gathering.”
“What kind of gathering?” Uzair said, running his fingers on jaskirat’s muscled chest.
“Lots of politicians, rich businessmen and journalists. When I arrived, Jaiveer made an announcement.”
Uzair’s eyes widened. “He actually announced your engagement without asking you? It’s crazy.” Wow. He knew Jaskirat’s father was a despot, but that was ridiculous, even for him.
Rangi seemed to hesitate. “I think… I think he hasn’t Been right in the head lately. And he probably hoped I wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of so many influential people and journalists. He was right—our family would have become a laughing stock if I did that. I took him aside and told him if he didn’t deny his announcement, I would do it myself.” Rangi paused. His voice was flat when he continued, “He got furious and had a heart attack. He was dead by the next morning.”
Uzair closed his eyes. “Did you sort things out before he died?”
Rangi chuckled, the sound harsh and humourless. “No. Even on his deathbed, he called me the biggest disappointment of his life. He tried to manipulate me even as he was struggling to breathe. Threatened to leave everything to Vaneet’s husband if I didn’t marry that girl. Of course he didn’t. He’s—he was too old-fashioned for that.”
Uzair’s lips brushed the warm skin, and he breathed in, feeling the steady beat of Rangi’s heart against his cheek. “He’s… I’m not saying that excuses him, but if he didn’t care about you, he wouldn’t have Been… I mean, he’s not a villain. When I talked to him, he was an arrogant asshole, but there was something he said… He said you were his son, and you were no fool. I think he’s—he was just too proud to say anything nice, even if he felt differently, you know?”
Rangi sighed. “It doesn’t matter now. I don’t care.”
Liar.
Uzair nuzzled against his skin. “I’m glad you’re back, Jaskirat.”
He felt Rangi’s body stiffen for a moment and then relax against his. A strong arm wrapped around Uzair’s back and pulled him close tightly, almost bruising his ribs.
Uzair didn’t complain. He snuggled closer to Jaskirat’s warmth and fell asleep momentarily.
He slept like a baby, for the first time in a week.
----------
“Jaskirat,” Uzair said, closing the door.
Jaskirat didn’t look up from his computer. “Not now. I’m busy and you’re… you’re too distracting.”
Uzair smiled. “Distracting, huh?”
Jaskirat shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted at best.
“Come on, just tell me already!”
“No special treatment,” Jaskirat said. “You’ll learn your grade when everyone else does. Tomorrow.”
Leaning back against the door, Uzair bit his lip. “Did I fail?”
He wasn’t sure. Jaskirat had helped him a lot lately, explaining a lot of the stuff Uzair had missed at the beginning of the semester. Uzair had thought his understanding of the subject improved and that he’d done pretty well on the exam, but now, looking at Jaskirat’s grim face, he wasn’t sure anymore.
“No,” Jaskirat said. “You didn’t fail.”
Uzair breathed out. “So what did I get? A C, right?”
Jaskirat pursed his lips. “You got a B.”
Uzair’s mouth fell open. “Really? Wait, did you—”
“No, I didn’t give you any special treatment,” Jaskirat said, his tone somewhat defensive. “You did a good job. You’re not unintelligent. If you actually bothered to attend classes, you wouldn’t have had any problems at all.”
Uzair grinned, feeling stupidly warm and giddy. He took a step toward the desk, but Jaskirat snapped, “Don’t.”
“Why?”
Jaskirat fixed his eyes on the screen in front of him, his jaw clenched. “I told you. You’re distracting. I have to work.”
Uzair didn’t want to go. He wanted to hug him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to celebrate with him. “But…”
Jaskirat sighed through his teeth. “Fine. Come here and kiss me. One kiss. Then you will go.”
Uzair went there and kissed him.
And kissed him again.
And again.
And one more time.
When their lips finally parted, Jaskirat brushed his thumb over Uzair’s cheek. “Good job, Mr. Baloch.”
Uzair grinned and pecked him on the lips. “Thanks, Professor.”
A reluctant smile appeared on Jaskirat’s face before he scowled and pushed him off his lap. “Now get out”
-------------
When Uzair opened his eyes the next morning, he found Jaskirat watching him.
“Morning,” Uzair murmured, their faces just inches away on the pillow. It felt unbearably intimate. “Sleep well?”
“No, I didn’t,” Jaskirat said, his arm heavy on Uzair’s back. “Your bed is terrible. I almost fell off twice.”
Uzair smiled lazily. “No one’s forcing you to sleep here.”
Jaskirat drew his lips into a thin line and averted his gaze for a moment before looking back. “It will be much more convenient if we use the bed in my house.”
Uzair blinked. “You know I can’t leave the kids on their own.”
“I have a spare bedroom for them.”
Uzair stared at him. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”
Jaskirat’s face was blank. “It would be convenient.”
“Convenient?”
“Yes, convenient.”
Pressing his lips together to keep himself from laughing, Uzair nodded solemnly. “Very convenient.”
“Shut up, uzair” Jaskirat said.
Uzair grinned slowly and looped his arms around Jaskirat’s neck.
They looked each other in the eye for a long moment, and Uzair felt something tighten in his chest. He said softly, “I love you, too, Jaskirat.”
Jaskirat stared at him for what felt like an eternity before he said, a little breathlessly, “Yes.”
Uzair laughed. “Okay, we’ll have to work on that—”
Jaskirat shut him up with a kiss.
Uzair pretended not to hear the ‘I love you’ whispered in his hair after he passed out on top of professor Rangi.
Summary- A detective becomes obsessed with hunting a brilliant serial killer who’s just as obsessed with her.
Warnings- More warnings disclosed in each part. Serial killer dean, violence, murder, obsession, dark romance, eventual smut mention of mutilation and restraints, mentions of word carvings in body. Hope you all enjoy this series!
My masterlist!! His only obsession Pinterest board
Dedicated to @moncouerbrise
Also my headcanon is that Nikolai's partner would be morally gray
My works: enjoy
Bye now - Mars ♡
It had become a routine of sorts. Every time your boyfriend washed his hair, he’d come find you, plop down between your legs and have you do his hair routine.
At first it started as a way to spend more time together when he was busy with his missions
But it stuck and now it has become a part of your week that you wouldn't give up for anything
“Darlingggg” your husband whined, stumbling into the living room, he plopped down on the floor, sitting between your legs
Nikolai leans his full weight on your chest, his head cushioned by your breasts
“Did you use my shampoo? You smell like me” you section your boyfriend’s hair, using your clawclips to hold the sections out of the way.
“No I didn’t” he smiles, glancing over his shoulder to you with eyes that were 100% guilty, “I will steal more for you”
“Please don’t”
As you work in sections, adding the products to his hair and massaging it in, rolling your eyes every time he leans his head back and demands you kiss him.
Nikolai had trouble staying still but he tried for you and he demanded to be rewarded with kisses. And you’d roll your eyes and lean down and press a sweet kiss to his forehead every time
You were finally done applying the products to his entire head, white fluffy hair soft to the touch now. Fingers meticulously working on braiding his long hair.
Separating the long locks into three parts and folding each section over the other and repeating that until you were at the end, securing the braid with a red fluffy pom pom
“All done, lover” you place the long braid over his shoulder.
Nikolai wastes no time in turning around and slumping against your chest, kissing you softly, “I love it!” he smiles, it’s big and bright and fills up the room with warmth
Crazy clown
You fix his bangs, letting your hands drift to caress his cheek softly, “And I am serious, do not steal any shampoo”
The bastard has the audacity to pout, “Do not try to cage me lover” he nips your neck, “Just one?”
“Hmm” you look at him, at that damn adorable pout, before finding yourself caving because Nikolai and his stupidly adorable pout does that to you
“Fine, but!”
“Yes?” he perks up, mischievous sparkles in his eyes, “Come with me” he whispers against your lips
“But you have to steal from big corporations, and no I am not coming with you”
He pouts, “Please? Pretty please?” puppy eyes staring at you, lips pouting because that was your weak spot and he knew that!
“No”
“Worth a shot” he giggles, capturing your lips in a sweet teasing kiss, “Love ya”
SYNOPSIS: In which Albus Dumbledore makes the mistake of keeping his niece in the shadows of her own origins, and Tom Riddle makes an enigma out of her, placing her in a position that puts her at war with herself.
Pairing: Tom Riddle x Dumbledore!Reader
xxmarcxline's masterlist !
TW: manipulation, violence, tom riddle in itself lol (please do let me know if i missed any)
TAGS: @edmundstxrch @udontseemewoah
WOOL’S ORPHANAGE WAS A DREARY PLACE. It was someplace where time didn't flow; it stagnated, where summer simply meant stickiness and sweat, where daybreak couldn't seem to shine its rays through the grime-streaked windows, and where most children were fed on a diet or gruel and false pretense that they would one day be sought after. They lived in the desperate hope that they would be cherished by loving parents, whisked away to a lovely home, and freed from everything the orphanage represented— that one day, they would be loved with the empathy and warmth they so severely lacked.
The lot of them were fools; they blindly placed their faith in the caretakers’ empty promises, in the hollow reassurances that they were all destined to meet their “chosen” families. They would hang onto their every word, every slippery lie, and they flocked like sheep, blissfully unaware of the slaughter that reality would eventually teach them.
The youngest of the herd were particularly stupid, one boy thought.
For so long, he had thought himself entirely separate from them. A “winter lamb,” the caretakers would whisper when they thought he wasn't listening. But to him, he was no sheep at all. No, he was something else. Something more capable, more superior—simply, more.
Tom Riddle was an alien to the residents of Wool's Orphanage. He had no room for friendship, no understanding—or the patience for the understanding—of empathy. He was a control freak who claimed the reins of any, and all things within his domain. He was a strange boy, one who mostly kept to himself, if not in the company of the reptiles that slithered in the far back corner of the gardens.
It was tragic, really, how no one ever came for him. He had no known relatives; none aside from his pitiful mother who died not long after bearing him in this wretched place. And when potential parents would come for a visit, it took only a conversation with him to drive them off. The other children both feared and despised him for that. While his presence would steer the adults toward other, more “manageable” children, other times, his sheer intensity would scare them to the next orphanage entirely. It was safe to say, no one was ever going to adopt him, and likewise, he had no plans of being taken in by anyone either.
Until one day, someone suddenly came looking.
The odd man introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, a professor at a school Tom had never heard of, looking to recruit him. The young boy found him to be deeply suspicious. From his shabby choice of wardrobe, to the man's intense, probing focus on getting to know him, Tom was on guard. He had to be some ward from the asylum— a doctor, or a psychiatrist, perhaps. It wouldn't be out of the orphanage staff's character to want to lock him away for his supposed weirdness.
But then, his wardrobe was cast aflame.
In a heartbeat, his suspicion and cold aggression vanished. In its place was an ecstatic sense of validation, and genuine, shimmering shock—maybe even terror, as vindication flooded his senses. Magic was real. His oddity, his lack of belonging— it all made sense now. He had always known he was special, that he was different, and by all means better than those around him.
Yet, something from within him whispered furiously, as he looked into Dumbledore's eyes, and the fire glittered reflectively in the depths of them. As the flames vanished, with his possessions and the wooden frame of the wardrobe itself remaining unharmed, the young boy's fear shifted into intense, cold focus. For the first time in his life, he realized he was looking into the eyes of someone who possessed more control than he did—with more power than he did.
The young Tom Riddle watched from his windowsill as the old professor turned from the orphanage gate. His eyes narrowed, tracing the way the man placed a hand on a girl's shoulder. She looked about his age, a girl with an air of composed, quiet intelligence that clashed violently with the filth of Wool's. She didn't look like an orphan; she looked like an accessory to the world Tom had just been promised.
He had already decided he held no affection for Albus Dumbledore; the man had already seen too much, and knew far too many things Tom was meant to keep hidden. But, the girl. . .
She was the only thing the old professor touched with any semblance of tenderness. He watched Dumbledore place a protective hand on her shoulder, a gesture so casual, so inherently human, that it turned Tom’s stomach.
His eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening.
She was a window, he realized. A window into the world Dumbledore had promised him, a world which he held the keys to unlocking.
Years later, the walls of Hogwarts were no longer a mystery, but a chessboard to be mastered.
While Tom had been sorted into Slytherin, curating a circle of influence from the most formidable and well-connected heirs of the wizarding world, you had been claimed by Ravenclaw. You moved through the corridors with an effortless grace Tom found both baffling and brilliant—though he was reluctant to admit the latter. You were the golden child of the faculty—tutoring your peers, assisting professors with research and extracurricular work, all the while maintaining a reputation of such pristine approachability. In the eyes of others, you were the epitome of academic virtue.
Tom, however, saw right through the “performance.” His research on you was meticulous, to say the least. He tracked your movements, closely observed your habits, and scrutinized the very essence of your intentions. In his search for ill-intent behind your demeanor, he attempted tracking signs of imperious charms and bewitching spells, as he couldn't fathom the idea of your character being genuine. Only to remain unsuccessful in his search—and that infuriated him.
In a fervor, he entrusted his Knights with the task of deconstructing you, treating your personality like a riddle, or a puzzle to be solved. Rosier was sent to flirt, Lestrange to provoke, Nott to charm, and Abraxas to intellectually challenge. It was a failure of epic proportions, granted their goal was to uncover any misalignment between your projection and your true character. Each attempt only served to earn them extended meetings and the searing agony of being on the receiving end of his Cruciatus curse. They were, he decided with growing contempt, utterly incompetent.
In his frustration, he chose to take matters into his own hands—shadowing you on Prefects shifts in a silence that felt heavier than conversation, subtly manipulating professors into pairing you for most core assignments, and deliberately peeling back layers of his own mask to see how you would respond to the darker reality beneath. Yet, the more he observed, the more he found his own carefully laid traps turning against him. Unfortunately for him, he was no longer the detached intellectual merely peering into your hide; he had leaned in too close, drawn to the flickering, curious flame of your presence with the helplessness of a moth.
You knew of his elite little organization, of the “Knights of Walpurgis,” as they had called themselves. You were familiar with the reputation each one of them had, and of the beliefs they all stressed with every word, and every action. It was exactly why you found their sudden interest in you so baffling. While you were a pure-blooded witch, you didn't exactly surround yourself with the company they expected out of one.
But, when suddenly, their apparent leader, the infamous Tom Riddle, had shown some form of interest in your person, you knew to be cautious. While his reputation rivaled your own, you heard your share of whispers about his nature. He was a charming man, he always had been. He was a looker, and knew how to use it in his favor. He had a silver tongue that drew anyone in, that everyone fell victim to simply because he was so, very irresistible. Yet, your uncle had forewarned you as early as that day you joined him to purchase your school materials. He spoke softly, guardedly, of his interaction with the boy from the orphanage, and of his peculiarity. But he did not say more than necessary—only a small word of advice that he had echoed repeatedly, and more alarmingly since.
But now, as he initiated conversations, as he found you on late nights in the Restricted Section, as he joined you, and made his presence more unignorable, you knew that he knew of something, that he wanted something. He would lure you into debates on magical theory, on magical potential, only to withdraw the moment you proved him wrong, leaving you off-balance. He would offer you glimpses into the dark, cynical corners of his worldview, only to pull back into his persona if he sensed you were growing too comfortable, as if he were testing just how much of his true, rotting core you could stand to witness before you turned away.
One evening, you had enough. The corridor was long, the stone floor biting through your slippers. While you had been wearing your school robes, you found no reason to wear anything more stifling than your night footwear. It was past midnight and your shift was nearing its end. The silence of the castle felt heavy, and somehow, the darkness felt more palpable. You were nearly at the portrait of the Fat Friar when the air shifted—a subtle drop in pressure, a charge that heralded his presence before his shadow detached from below the recessed archway.
Tom didn't offer a greeting. He simply fell into step beside you, his long stride adjusting to match your own. He was quiet, but it was an aggressive, consuming silence.
“My uncle warned me about you,” you murmured, not looking at him. You felt a prickling twinge in the back of your mind, and merely tightened your grip on your illuminated wand. “He told me you were someone who knew the price of everything, yet, ironically enough, the value of nothing.”
Tom didn't break his stride. The soft click-clack of your slippers against the stone was mirrored by the heavy, measured thud of his boots. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant, muffled snoring of a portrait somewhere down the hall.
“Albus has always had a flair for the dramatics,” he finally replied, voice devoid of its usual, carefully rehearsed cadence. It was flat, conversational, and that made it all the more unsettling. “He treats you like a fragile little thing—a relic he's terrified of breaking, of letting the world break, and he thinks that by painting me in a negative light, he can keep you under glass for longer.”
“But you're not fragile, are you?”
You stopped abruptly, the light from your wand casting long, dancing shadows that made the corridor feel suddenly claustrophobic. You turned, and he halted instantly, a measly few inches left between you.
“You've been trailing me for weeks,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your heart hammered against your ribs. “You manipulate my schedule, haunt my library hours, and you spend every moment of these shifts attempting to peel back the layers of my mind. It's exhausting, Tom. What exactly are you searching for?”
His dark gaze remained on you for a moment too long for comfort, unblinking and brimming with intent. He didn't retreat. He didn't offer the usual deflective charm that kept others at arm's length. For a moment, the mask he wore—the perfect, untouchable, charming prefect Riddle—seemed to sear at the edges.
“I was looking for a blink, for a crack,” he admitted, the words coming out with a clinical, biting precision. “I spend months awaiting some form of leverage, the hidden debt, or a secret ambition you were playing toward. I was so sure that your kindness, your charm was a strategic choice, a means of honing a network of people who owed you favors—who knew better than to misplace their faith in you.”
He took a slow, deliberate step forward. The already small gap between you both decreases further, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. “But you don't have one, do you? You don't want anything. You aren't playing a game. You're simply. . . consistent.”
“And that bothers you?” you challenged, tightening your grip on your wand.
“It's rather infuriating,” he rasped, his eyes dropping to your mouth for a fraction of a second before locking onto yours. “You aren't naive, and you're no weakling. You're stubborn. You believe in potential, that you can fix or reconstruct the broken, and you're resilient enough to withstand me while doing so.”
“I've witnessed your raw power, yet, you always hold back.” He reached out, his hand ghosting over your wand, his fingers brushing briefly against yours before retreating. “You're a curious case.”
“I've dedicated my life to learning how to attain control, to demand it,” he whispered, his voice losing its icy edge, replaced by a raw, jagged impatience. “I know how to make people fear me, and I know how to make them follow me.”
“But the concept of handling one who has no need for me, yet is also the only person who looks me in the eye without flinching—like I'm simply another person in passing, it's foreign to me, I must admit.”
He leaned in, invading the narrow space between you, his presence an overwhelming entity in itself, putting all your senses on alert. “You're making me question my own capacities, my own means. And I despise uncertainty.”
You steadily met his gaze; his eyes burned over your features, searching desperately for any cracks, any sign of a hesitation that had cooled off the moment he had given you power over him. “Then stop picking me apart, Tom. Stop trying to solve me.”
“You misunderstand,” he breathed you in, a deep, steady rise in his chest as his insides tore apart with restlessness and peace. “I already have. My goal, for weeks now, has been to rid myself of this fixation with you.”
“Yet, it seems to me that there is reason for curiosity with you.” He pulled back just enough to create a sliver of space, but his touch remained, his fingertips anchored where they were in a possessive, grounding touch. His eyes shifted, narrowing the longer he looked at you. “I saw you in the archives last night.”
He spoke your name like a secret, softly, yet with an unbridled edge that distinguished it from niceties. “Behind the section on parasitical entities and forces. I saw the records you were pulling.”
The air in the corridor seemed to sharpen. The cool breeze became needles, nipping harshly at your exposed skin, peeling back at your cheeks. You felt your blood still—the hum in your veins, the truth you had unearthed—suddenly vibrating with resonance and intensity.
“You've been digging,” his tone was void of judgement, almost praising even, “just as I was. Just as I have been—over my past, and on you.”
“You know what you are, don't you? You know exactly why Albus has been so meticulous in sheltering you, in keeping you tucked away.”
“Everything he has done has been rooted in care—in love.” You were defensive; while your insides were pulling itself apart over everything you learned, you felt the need to protect your uncle's image from this man—from this prodding, yet terrifyingly charming man. “He has only done what he has to protect me—”
“From what? From yourself?” He swiftly interjected, amused by your rebuttals. It made sense for you to be at war with yourself over your dear uncle. After all, the man was the only family you knew, aside from the Hogwarts staff and creatures that regarded you as their own. He was the only one who stuck by you, who cared for you, and saw you through all these years. Yet, he was the same man who had kept secret from you the nature of your own existence—of your origin. “He thinks you a liability, dear [Name], that if you were to understand the composition of your own blood, that you'd be the very catastrophe he had spent his life preventing.”
“Stop it,” you breathed, your voice wavering. “Stop it, Tom. You're being cruel.”
You wanted to pull away, to shove him back, but the crushing weight of his words held you in place. He was getting in your head. He was worming doubt into your mind, chipping away at the foundation of your loyalty to your uncle. Yet, the worst part was that you were not foreign to these words—that he was not wrong; it was that he was providing a vocabulary for the fears you had buried deep with those archives.
Tom didn't back down. Instead, his expression softened with a practiced, terrifying sincerity that made your breath hitch. He reached out, his hand hovering near your cheek before he finally cupped your face, his touch chillingly steady.
“Is it truly cruel if it's the truth—if it's the very same thoughts that linger in the furthest corner of your mind? Is it cruel to point out the cage, or is it cruel to keep you in it?” he murmured, his thumb grazing your temple. He uttered your name softly, but this time, it felt less of a calculation, “Albus loves you; you needn't doubt that. But he loves the version of you that doesn't threaten his peace of mind.”
“He loves you because you are a controlled miracle, a remnant of his gravest sin—proof that redemption is not so far from his grasp.” The cold calculation in his expression shifted into something far more dangerous: ambition. He was not horrified as you met his gaze, nor did he look afraid of what lay beneath. He looked like a man who had finally found the missing piece of an equation, or a grand design.
“I'm not asking you to hate him. I merely implore you to admit that he, above all others, has been handling you with a delicate, covert caution. You're exhausted from holding all that magic back, aren't you? You're tired of the containment, of the whispers, of the constant need to be good so he doesn't flinch away.”
His voice dropped to a barely audible rasp, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “He is a small man. He's terrified of anything he cannot understand, that he cannot categorize, so he regards them as danger. He has spent his life upholding the status quo, of maintaining peace because he's terrified of change—of the potential that comes with change.”
“But you are no catastrophe. You have the potential to be one, oh yes—but you also possess the grace to transcend it. You need only the means to harness it, to tap into the deeper magic without suppression.” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression stripped of its usual artifice. The intensity of his gaze wasn't merely magnetic; it was grounding.
Finally, it was stripped bare entirely.
“The first time I properly acknowledged you,” his voice was a tremble rougher now, betraying his cracked composure. “It was in our third year, near the Care of Magical Creatures reserve. You spent an hour patiently helping a first-year gain the trust of a Niffler. You had nothing to gain then—no prestige, no onlookers, no audience.”
“I watched from the shadows, waiting for the moment you would ask for something in return. A favor, perhaps, or a carefully disguised trap for their loyalty. I was mapping the motive behind your kindness, because in my world, there is always a motive.”
He looked at you with a mix of frustration and raw, emerging wonder, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “When I saw none, I hated you for it. I hated that your existence invalidated every lesson I'd ever learned about human nature. You were no longer a mere knot to untangle—you were the only thing in this school that refused to be reduced to another variable.”
He leaned in, his fingers curling firmly into the soft hair at the nape of your neck, tethering you to his gaze.
“You are an anomaly—in every sense of the word.” The silence of the corridor was deafening; the distant rumbles of the moving staircases, of the portraits, felt eons away when he looked at you, and spoke with you as he had.
“All this time, Dumbledore has wasted away at efforts attempting to curate your reality, ensuring you remained his kind niece, the perfect student—that you, yourself believed in the filters he had placed over the hum of your blood. For what would be a better mask, than one its wearer has never known life without to begin with?”
You felt the blood drain from your face, the familiar, grounding hum under your skin suddenly feeling less like a root of comfort, and more like a caged bird. You had spent years believing your temperament, your entire psychology, was a choice, your grace a virtue. And perhaps, to an extent, it had been. It remains as such. But, to hear him call it a filter—a constructed reality—was the first time you felt stripped, uncomfortably bare.
Tom took a slow step closer, his eyes tracking the frantic cadence of your pulse. He didn't appear triumphant; he looked almost sympathetic—pitying.
“He didn't make you a better person,” he uttered your name ruefully, his eyes scanning your face with a newfound, searching intensity. “He just made you a quieter one.”
You felt a flash of resentment—a sharp, stinging heat—and took a half-step back, though his hand remained firm, anchoring you in place. His fingers untangled themselves from the locks of hair hiding your neck, grazing upward, slowly, deliberately, and hooking themselves beneath your chin. His touch was ghostly, but absolute. “You found the records. You uncovered your truth in the archives. You know exactly what you are, and why he buried it.”
“Now, tell me,” his dark gaze flicked down to your parted lips—once, twice, then locked onto yours with a terrifying focus. “Will you carry on with the charade, disregard the truth of your own blood? Or are you going to see what happens when the cracks along this porcelain mask finally give way to the dormant power beneath?”
In that moment—as his breath mingled with yours, as the scent of old parchment and ozone clung to him, and as his lips met yours in a searing, deliberate dance—the internal conflict that tugged at your heartstrings simply dissolved.
His mouth met yours—not with practiced grace, but with a searing, desperate hunger that tasted like ichor. It was a relenting admission, on both ends. As one hand gripped the back of your neck, and the other locked onto your waist; as he pulled you against the hard, unyielding line of his body, the frantic knot in your chest—the one you had been nursing and blanketing for years—simply unspooled.
The struggle to fit into your uncle's mould, to gain his approval, to keep your magic contained, and silent—it all felt like a relic of a past life, of a life that no longer belonged to you. You realized, in the quiet, breathless space between heartbeats, that there was never a war to begin with. There was only the long, inevitable wait to see who would be reckless enough to set fire to the rain.
You didn't break the kiss. You merely leaned further into the fire, and for the first time in your life, you had no intention of dimming its light. You simply let it burn.
Years later, the pair of you took the wizarding world by surprise. Tom emerged as the youngest Minister for Magic, with you by his side, as his partner in every sense of the word. With you, Tom Riddle came to be the most influential and groundbreaking man of his time, enforcing a rule built on respect, deepened cultural appreciation, and growth.
It was a governance that bewildered his Knights; they had expected iron and retribution, yet they were met with a calm, calculated precision that dismantled their stagnation without ever needing to ignite the war they had so long foreseen. They were quite disappointed in the beginning, when their organization had been dissolved. Yet, they were loyal to the cause—to Tom, and now, to you, as the dissonant hum in your blood was used not as a weapon of mass destruction, but as the very heartbeat of a new, thriving era. You didn't rule from a pedestal; you didn't uproot the Ministry from where it stood. You understood, sought a deeper understanding of your reality, and created changes from the center of the storm, proving that true power did not demand submission, but grasped its environment, adapted, and grew.
And somewhere, in the quiet moments between the mandates and the galas, when the weight of a nation rested upon his shoulders, it was you he turned to—not only for counsel, but for grounding, for the only thing he could touch that burned in equal fervor. He found in you the mirror that he had been searching for since he was a boy at Wool's, and in the rare, soft quiet of your private chambers, the Minister for Magic was finally nothing more than the man who had been brave enough to find himself. Together, you were the promise the world hadn't known it was waiting for—a catastrophe, an anomaly, perhaps, but to each other, you were the only sanctuary left in a world you'd rebuilt from the ashes.
CELINE'S ANNOTATIONS:
hi hi! this is my first proper attempt at untwisting a mind like tom riddle's, and i truly do hope i was able to do his character justice :)
aside from that, i'm not sure if i was able to make dumbledore!niece's origins clear—but essentially, she was born from the obscurial of albus' sister, ariana, as she died in that duel.
ariana's obscurus, in its final, frantic moments of existence before her death, attempted to "birth" something—a concentrated vessel of magic to survive. albus found you in the immediate aftermath of the duel that killed his sister. and, wanting to keep close the last bit of his sister he could, he took you in and altered the memories of those who were there to witness it, bar from a few archived documents he stashed in a hidden compartment in the library.
anyhow, i hope you all remember to drink water, rest, and have a great day ahead :)))
