What do you mean IM pregnant?!
Tom Riddle x reader--Crack fic taken seriously
Summary; Tom Riddle got drunk and took a particular potion that allows a person to 'take' the pregnancy from their partner upon conception. aka Tom Riddle gets pregnant crack fic lmaaooooo.
warnings; mpreg, drinking, reckless potion use, Tom Riddle being a hormonal mess. SUPER occ dont even think about it lmao. seahorse style mpreg. non-descriptive sex, like its there and the mental image is there but its not detailed.
uh, enjoy my brain??? idk why i was so intent on making an mpreg Tom fic lmao, i think i just wanna get this man pregnant so bad.
=
Tom Marvolo Riddle was an impeccable young man.
He had a strict routine, top grades, and a polished reputation.
And he had the stupidest friends.
He should’ve never agreed to a night like this, stupid decisions always happened around spiked Butterbeer and smuggled in Firewhiskey.
But here he sat, in the Slytherin common room on a late Friday night, more than tipsy and already a few potions deep.
Nicholai had practically bought out the Hogsmeade Potions apothecary, from joke potions—like one that would turn your skin blue—to full-on transfiguration potions—Abraxas had been a girl version of himself for the last 30 minutes, looking overly pleased with himself.
And none of the potions were labeled, you had to drink, spin a quill tip, and drink the potion it landed on. Tom so far had downed a potion that gave him scales for 10 minutes, a potion that turned his pair pink, and one that made him mute for the last hour—and it had just worn off.
His eyes were half closed, swaying in place as Dmitri spun the quill and grabbed a shimmering silver potion, downing it in one go, and he just started laughing. “Alihotsy Draught,” Elija snickered, taking a sip of his spiked butterbeer as Tom leaned forward and spun the quill for himself, taking a shot of Firewhiskey as the quill tip pointed at a yellow bubbly potion.
He picked it up, downing it without a second thought. He shifted, licking his lips…nothing. “Nothing,” Tom grumbled, only feeling a warmth in his lower belly—but that was just the alcohol.
“Boooring,” Alexi groaned, spinning the quill himself. Tom closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch, feeling the Firewhiskey burn in his stomach, warming up his whole body and making him sleepy.
“I’m done,” Tom muttered, half slurring, getting up from the couch—grabbing the pitcher of water and downing two cups of water before grabbing his cloak from the back of the couch.
“Night Tom!” Abraxas slurred, staring down his shirt—admiring his temporary boobs. Revius was admiring them too.
Tom gave a half-hearted wave and walked down the hall to his dorm room. He bumped into his doorframe, fumbling with his keys, blinking dumbly as it opened on its own.
Well, not on its own.
“Hi,” Tom said, dumbly, a little bit of a dopey grin on his face as he looked at (y/n), his girl, standing in his room—staring at him, amused. She’d known he was going to drink with his friends, so she decided to wait in his room for him to take care of him and his upcoming hangover.
“Have fun?” she asked, laughing as he fell into her arms, nuzzling into her shoulder and kissing her bare skin—his shirt that she wore slipping from her shoulder
“Lots,” Tom mumbled, feeling her fingers card through his hair. “Is my hair still pink?” he asked, stumbling over his words.
“Yes, you should keep it, it’s cute,” (y/n) teased, snickering as Tom bit her cheek in retaliation. He slumped over her, and she groaned, adjusting to guide him to his bed. “ugh—stop dead-weighting on me,” (y/n) groaned, dropping him onto his bed, watching him bounce for a moment.
He was way more…ragdolly when drunk. “You’re drunk,” (y/n) huffed, rolling her eyes as Tom pointed at her. “You’re pretty,” he slurred, and (y/n) shook her head, amused. She turned to grab his pajama’s, yelping as a tug of his magic yanked her back and into his arms. “Don’t goooo,” Tom whined and (y/n) groaned, letting her head fall back.
“Clingyyyy,” She teased. Tom didn’t say a single thing in his defense. He only hummed, his hands being very brave, one slipping up her stomach as the other dipped beneath the band of her sleep-shorts. “Tom,” (y/n) warned, clearing her throat as his fingers pressed into her skin, his hand cupping a boob.
Tom made some sort of muffled noise against her shoulder, lips pressed to her neck, already sucking a hickey into her skin. “Tom, baby, you’re drunk,” (y/n) said, pulling his hand out of her panties as he pressed it against her clit.
She stood, turning, sighing at the stupid sweet brown eyes he was giving her, and a full-on pout. “No,” (y/n) said, firmly, cupping his pouting cheeks. “You’re drunk, and I’m not going to have sex with you when you’re like this,”
Tom groaned, rolling his head in her hands. “but I wannaaa,” he whined, actually whined. He fumbled with his wand, and a potion from his personal stash came flying from his desk drawer, he drank it and shuddered—the drunken haze easing from his eyes.
(y/n)’s cheeks went pink. “Seriously, you took a Sober up potion? Just so we could have sex?” She teased, biting her lip as Tom gave her a pointed look with those dark eyes of his, he grabbed her hips—dragging her closer, resting his chin between her breasts.
“Nothing will stand in my way, when it comes to something I want,” He whispered, and (y/n) gasped as he yanked down her shorts and panties, twisting around and pinning her beneath him, bruising their lips together as heat exploded between them.
She could taste the Firewhiskey on his tongue as it shoved against hers. She pushed back with equal fire, curling her arms around his neck as he shoved up her shirt and his hand attached itself to her boob—the other drawing down her side before beginning to slowly rub her clit.
“Rubber,” (y/n) whispered several minutes later as Tom barely got his trousers down just enough to pull his cock out, already leaking and more than hard. Tom groaned against her lips.
“Just take the potion tomorrow?” Tom asked quietly, peppering kisses down her jaw, and (y/n) sighed. She could, and…fuck it, she did prefer the raw feeling as well, along with the feeling of him coming inside her.
“Yeah, fuck it,” (y/n) groaned, gasping as he slipped inside her, his hips tapping against her thighs—the two barely moving apart with each thrust, Tom didn’t want to pull away for a second, clinging to her like a second skin.
Neither lasted long, and neither noticed as a soft glow came from beneath the skin of Tom’s lower belly, it faded quickly, leaving a warmth in his stomach that he chalked up to the Firewhiskey.
--
In the bin of the common room, a torn tag of a potion vile sat among many others.
Warning; if partner takes morning-after potion—Tincture will still work on user.
--
Six weeks later
Tom had been in and out of the hospital wing for the last, two weeks? (y/n) thought with a sigh, looking down at her charms essay. He’d been struck with a long-standing stomach flu that seemed to fluctuate with no rhyme or reason, giving him trouble in potions class like it had this morning.
Tom had just been working on a potion, but could barely stand the smell, Slughorn had noticed Tom’s distress, asking if he was okay—and Tom barely made it to the lavatory before puking his guts out into a sink.
Slughorn formally excused Tom from class, and he’d been in the hospital wing since, for the 4th time that week—and the 6th time in the two weeks since the flu symptoms began.
(y/n) sighed, having had enough of sitting here alone. She stood and packed away her things, heading for the hospital wing, where she found Tom eating…ginger cookies? He hated ginger cookies.
“Tom?” (y/n) asked softly, approaching his bedside, he was flushed at his cheeks and looked outright miserable, slumped down in the medical bed wearing his silk pajamas(a Christmas gift from Abraxas), because everything else made his skin crawl.
His eyes met hers, and he quickly glanced away again, glaring ahead at nothing. “How are you feeling?” (y/n) asked, stepping closer, and he let out an irritated huff.
“I’ve been nauseous every day for the last two damn weeks, I can't keep any food down, I’m eating bloody—ginger cookies!” Tom spat—he really hated Ginger cookies, but for some reason right now they tasted so good, and were helping with his nausea. “And Madam Tegner doesn’t even know what’s wrong with me!”
Tom pouted and (y/n) frowned gently, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and he slumped into her, burying his face in her shoulder. “Your perfume smells good,” He grumbled out of nowhere, and (y/n) sighed, rubbing his back as he kept his face in her neck.
“Madam Tegner?” (y/n) asked softly as the head healer approached Tom’s bedside with some nausea-easing potions. The dark-haired woman hummed, tapping her wand to Tom’s sheets—setting a cooling charm to help keep him comfortable. “Do you know what's wrong with Tom at all?”
Madam Tegner sighed, shaking her head. “My charms are being oddly faulty today; everything I’ve tested for is coming back negative, so im unsure of what could be ailing him. I’ll have him stay overnight again and see how he feels in the morning,” Madam Tegner said, handing Tom some lemon tea and going to deal with a student whose feet had grown several sizes too small.
Tom groaned, flopping back in the bed, glaring at the ceiling. “This sucks,” He grumbled. He hated being sick, what was worse—he hated being sick and not knowing what was wrong. He had flu-like symptoms but tested negative for the flu or any more dangerous wizarding illnesses, and the only thing he could keep down were bloody ginger cookies.
(y/n) looked at her watch and sighed, kissing Tom’s cheek. “I gotta go, I’ll be back with notes,” Tom nodded stiffly, arms crossed as he watched (y/n) go while he was stuck in bed, with no knowledge of what the hell was wrong with him.
Great. Just great.
Two weeks later
Tom’s head thunked on the toilet seat, a heavy textbook laid open in his lap. Magical Maladies and ailments, an advanced guide on diagnosis and healing charms sat on his lap, his dark eyes wide as he took in the image of the floating bubble in front of him, a mirror image of his inner body.
And below his stomach, nestled tightly against other vital organs, was an artificial womb. Within that? A baby. An eight-week-developed baby.
It had all been too odd to be just a flu, with how it fluctuated and how persistent it was, how he now hated black bean soup and instead couldn’t stop craving ginger cookies and—ugh, steak. Tom hated steak usually, he was much more of a poultry person but as of two weeks ago, he’d started craving red meat.
Tom sighed, moving and thumping his head back against the stall, eyes clenched shut. How had this even happened? There wasn’t much that could cause a male pregnancy, other than that one potion—
Tom’s eyes flew open, remembering eight weeks back, the stupid potion roulette, he’d had snogged (y/n) that night, with no protection, and that potion—
Tom scrambled to his feet—having to pause and throw up again before running back to the library and scrambling through the potions section, soon finding what he needed.
“Wombwise Tincture,” Tom muttered, finding that chapter within the potions and pregnancies textbook, it was a small book, no longer than 50 pages, but it was important right now.
Wombwise tincture is a potion that mimics sea horse pregnancies, where the male will effectively carry the babies instead of the female. A revolutionary potion, used in many different couples around the world, such as trans couples where the trans woman wishes to experience pregnancy, or a couple who have difficulties being pregnant in the traditional way, it is a very safe and effective potion—usually catching on right away and providing safe and full-term pregnancies to all potion users.
Tom swallowed hard, hand pressed over his mouth as he continued to read in the dusty corner of the library, sitting beneath the early fall sun because it was warm and felt good.
Wombwise tincture creates an artificial womb in the potion takers body and take a fertile egg from the partners body—if they have them— and ones own sperm, placing both into the artificial womb and creating a baby out of the best possible eggs and sperm provided.
Notes; Will still work if partner takes morning-after potion/pill the morning after, as any morning-after actions must be used by potion taker within 24 hours—or the pregnancy is permanent, and cannot be terminated past this point.
Potion was made with knowledge that, usually, only those who want to be pregnant, will use it, so no termination potion was ever made to combat this particular potion.
A male pregnancy must go to full term. It is highly unlikely the baby will fail, or the pregnancy will miscarry, 2 out of 1,110 male or trans fem pregnancies have failed since the potion's creation in 1891.
Well…fuck.
Tom frantically flipped through the rest of the pregnancy potion chapters, but all the rest were either fertility potions that wouldn’t affect him this way—(y/n) would’ve been the one pregnant—or wouldn’t have been in the roulette due to being discontinued years ago for being so dangerous.
Tom buried his head into his hands, taking a heaving breath as his stomach churned and his chest burned. Pregnant. He. Was fucking. Pregnant. With (y/n)’s baby.
What the hell has his life come to??
He was back in the hospital wing a mere four days later, sick with nausea and dizzy spells, laying on his side in the bed, arms curled around his middle—holding himself tightly. On the bedside was ginger tea, cookies, and some nausea-easing potions.
He reached out, begrudgingly taking a cookie and nibbling on it as the little parasite inside him demanded it. Ugh. Madam Tegner came around once every hour to check on him, Tom trying to gather his courage to talk about what was wrong because Madam Tegner still had no clue what ailed him, and (y/n) was getting more worried with every hospital wing visit.
And Tom wouldn’t be able to hide it forever.
He thought, pressing his hand to his lower belly, swallowing hard as he felt saliva build in his mouth, and he quickly grabbed the bin and threw up in it, groaning as he flopped back onto the bed.
And when Madam Tegner came around again to check on him, he finally said it…or well, blurted it out. “I took a Wombwise Tincture potion eight weeks ago,” he said quickly, avoiding eye contact. “My friends and I had a potion roulette; all the potion labels were taken off. I didn’t know. I had sex with (y/n) shortly after; we didn’t use protection.” Tom said weakly, flushing as Madam Tegner quickly drew the curtain around his bed and felt around his middle—before casting the same charm he had, revealing his temporary artificial womb with the eight-week fetus inside.
“Well…you’d be right, Mr. Riddle,” The stunned healer muttered. “And it aligns with all your symptoms from the last six weeks,” Madam Tegner said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. Tom’s face tightened, leaning away from it. “Does (y/n) know?” she asked, and Tom shook his head.
“I only figured it out a few days ago,” Tom said quietly, staring down at the scratchy blanket of the medical bed. Madam Tegner nodded, casting a few more charms, stepping away and returning with several potions. “Prenatal’s, and as it is the Wombwise tincture, you’re in for a long ride, Mr. Riddle,” Madam Tegner said, her voice supportive as Tom took the first of many prenatal potions, the rest stored in a box and slipped into his bag as he lay down to take a nap.
“Do you want me to call Ms. (y/n)?” Madam Tegner asked and Tom swallowed hard, staring at the wall before nodding, curling up, hand pressed to his belly.
-
(y/n), the absolute wonderful girlfriend she was, took the news in considerable stride, curling up in the medical bed with him as he buried his face in her neck. If a few tears slipped out, no one but (y/n) would know.
He expected anger, possibly disgust, but when he said as such, all (y/n) had said was, “Would you react that way if I told you I was pregnant?” and Tom could only shake his head, feeling off kilter and just needing her as close as possible.
“And we can't do anything about it, right?” (y/n) asked softly and Tom shook his head again. Termination was highly risky with this particular potion, the only way this baby was coming out was naturally—or if he neglected himself to the point of having a miscarriage.
“Then I see no reason to be mad at you, besides, neither of us knew this would happen, I’m just glad we’re not both pregnant, that would be terrible,” (y/n) chuckled and Tom let out a quiet huff, resting his cheek on her shoulder as her fingers gently scratched his back.
“This is gonna suck, isn’t it?” Tom asked quietly, and (y/n) only nodded. Yeah. It was going to suck.
While Tom didn’t like it, Madam Tegner did have to let the professors and headmaster know of the mishap, so they could be aware and dismiss Tom from classes and provide leniency when it was needed.
And so, the journey began and…it wasn’t fun.
By the end of the 9th week, Tom was already miserable, he could barely eat, he could not stand to be in potions class, and he threw an actual fit over how his clothes felt against his oddly sensitive skin, and he was just so damn tired all the fucking time. Abraxas was the first to find out, being Tom’s closest friend, and with all the signs, and some guesswork, he’d figured it out quite quickly.
“And you can't do anything about it?” Abraxas asked Tom, who glared at his ginger tea, cheeks flushed from the stupid hormone changes, and he had acne. Acne for crying out loud!
“No,” Tom grumbled, sipping at his tea, cringing at the taste, but it helped with the stupid morning sickness. “Wombwise is too…perfectly made, and never made with a termination potion in mind, any potions I would use would just damage my body and cause some sort’ve hemorrhaging,” Tom grumbled.
Abraxas winced, and then went quiet for a moment, before smirking behind his goblet of pumpkin juice—which thankfully the parasite enjoyed. “I call godfather,” Abraxas said, cackling as Tom began hitting him with pillows.
(y/n) entered the room, blinking as she watched Abraxas fall to the floor and Tom scramble on top of him, smacking him with a pillow—hard. “I give, I give! Stop!” Abraxas cackled, and (y/n) sighed, amused, not caring to stop Tom. He deserved to beat up someone after all, with what he was going through.
“Just leave me here to die,” Tom groaned as (y/n) pushed open the door to the toilet stall, where Tom was sitting against the wall, leaning on the toilet seat—looking ready to give up.
“Not happening,” (y/n) said, sitting down in front of him, their legs intertwined. Tom pouted, yes full-on pouted, at her—shifting to lie halfway on top of her, burying his face in (y/n)’s neck. “I’m sorry,” she said faintly, running her fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms tight around her, his long legs splayed out behind him.
“You better be, this is your fault,” He grumbled, and (y/n) held back a snort. She wasn’t the one who took a random potion, but he’d smack her for it, so she’d stay quiet.
“Do you need anything?” She asked instead, and Tom sniffled against her neck, his cheeks wet with tears from throwing up. (y/n) winced, uh oh, hormone crash, she thought as Tom began to sob—just pure blubbering that came out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere, just sudden.
(y/n) ran her hands up and down his back and sides, rocking slightly against the wall as Tom’s wet cheek pressed into her neck. When the wave of sobs passed, (y/n) spoke quietly, pressing a kiss against Tom’s cheek. “wanna get strawberry croissants?” she asked, those were a major craving for Tom right now.
Tom nodded, pouting against her collarbone—standing with (y/n) and finally leaving the bathroom with her to go to Hogsmeade and go to that one new bakery that was chock-full of sweets and goods that Tom(and the baby) just adored.
The best of it all? Strawberry croissants.
=
(y/n) sighed in relief as Tom devoured his strawberry croissants, handing him a napkin as strawberry juice from the fresh fruit folded into the pastry dripped down his chin. Tom licked the mess before wiping it away with the napkin, slamming his arm around the box full of pastries as Abraxas reached for one—glaring hard.
And hissed. yes. Hissed.
“Sorry,” Abraxas snorted, holding his hands up in surrender. “Right, don’t take pregnancy-craving treats, or you’ll get your head bit off,” Abraxas snickered, and Tom glared, full of hate, half-eaten strawberry croissant still in hand.
“Pregnancy craving?” Tom and Abraxas froze as Orion and Elija, and every single of ‘knight of walpurgis’, came up, having overheard. “(y/n)’s pregnant?” Alexi asked, looking at her, but she was not eating anything, and Tom was the one hoarding the pastries—and looked terrified.
“uh—” (y/n) said, tapping her nails on the table, wincing a little as Tom looked like a deer caught in headlights, moments from his secret being revealed.
Tom, however, decided to get it over with—even if it was humiliating. “One of the potions I took during that—party, we had, was wombwise tincture,” Tom groaned, burying his face in his hands. Nicholai winced, ah—he was the one who bought all the potions, and took off all the labels so…
“You’re pregnant?” Dmitri gasped, and Tom nodded miserably. They were all silent, unsure of what to say—before Nicholai pulled out his wallet full of galleons and put it in front of Tom. “I’m partly responsible, so—I will help with what I can, I apologize for being reckless and buying that potion.” Nicholai said sheepishly, and Tom—not even taking a moment to appreciate the gesture—snatched up the galleons.
“Apology accepted,” Tom said, devouring another pastry.
The boys sighed with relief, sitting down around Tom and (y/n).
Tom huffed, some anxiety easing from his shoulders. It did feel better to have them all know now, he wouldn’t have to try as hard to hide it.
His hand instinctively rubbed his belly, plucking another strawberry covered in vanilla cream from the croissant.
(y/n) found Tom in the library, hunched over a book. Not studying—though that was what he’d come here to do—but dead asleep.
She sighed softly, quietly approaching and gently sliding the book from under his head, catching it before it thunked against the table. Tom was utterly exhausted all the time, another first trimester pregnancy symptom, and he hated it.
He never had energy anymore, even though he was eating twice as much as he used to and slept way more than he ever had in all 7 years at Hogwarts.
And now he was falling asleep during his precious study time—not that he was comprehending anything anyway. (y/n) sighed softly, flicking her wand to send the textbooks back to their spots and adjusting Tom to carry him.
The halls of Hogwarts were thankfully empty and quiet as she carried him back to the Slytherin common room, passing by the boys—Abraxas stood, opening Tom’s dorm room for her as she slipped inside, propping Tom up against his pillows, taking off his shoes, tie, and tugging off his uniform vest.
She smiled a little as his arms flopped back down, still deep asleep—the most peaceful she’d seen him. She kissed his temple, drawing a thin blanket up—he ran very hot nowadays—and made sure the cooling charms on it were working before stepping away, Tom turning over in his sleep, snoring.
“Get that,” Tom hissed, lips curled up in a nasty sneer, eyes narrowed at Abraxas' very posh and fancy caramelized pear tea. “away from me.”
Abraxas pouted and quickly vanished his expensive—owled-from-China—tea away, but Tom hated the smell of any type of tea right now, even the ginger tea—but thankfully the morning sickness had eased quite a bit, and he was able to just settle his stomach in other ways.
“No…pear…tea,” Dmitri muttered to himself, scribbling on a notepad that was full of survival notes. Titled ‘how to survive the dark lords pregnancy’ at the very front.
‘no strong colognes’ that was scratched out and replaced with ‘no colognes at all, only wear scents similar to what lady (y/n) wears’
‘help in potions class, the lord gets very nauseous doing anything in that class now’
‘have Elija write class notes, he writes pretty and in the style Tom likes’
‘buy new softer fabric clothes, all old clothes are heavily irritating Tom, caused a meltdown that broke several windows and Abraxas’ precious tea cup’ This note was checked off, already having been completed.
‘never complain, just do.’
‘buy all the cravings Tom demands’
‘never take (y/n) away from Tom when he is hormonal.’ Another note, in different handwriting, was added beside that ‘just don’t take her away from Tom ever, lest we all want to be beheaded’
‘don’t make ‘uncle’ jokes, unless you’re Abraxas.’ Abraxas’ handwriting stat beside that, proudly. ‘I called godfather’
‘Avoid wool, denim, chiffon, fleece, and leather for any types of clothes’
‘buy cotton and linen instead, or just hand off (y/n)’s clothes to Tom’
‘remove all pears, corn, oregano, beans, knuts(yes the money), eggs and owls from Tom’s presence.’
‘keep stocked; strawberries, cream cheese, fish(salmon in particular), peanut butter(didn’t even know what that was till a week ago), chips, potatos, apples(he enjoys sugarbee’s).’
‘Go to Tom’s Bakery EVERY Hogsmeade weekend to stock up on strawberry croissants!’
‘no baby shower, he’ll kill us for it’
‘private gifts only’
‘Buy beach manor, pregnancy/early pre-wedding gift’ this note was written by Abraxas.
“Seriously?” Tom drawled, glaring hatefully at the notebook as he caught a glimpse of it. Dmitri quickly snapped his shut—eyes wide.
“They’re just trying to not die,” (y/n) cooed, and Tom pouted, slumping into her. They were all sitting in the ‘meeting room’, as Tom proclaimed a few years back, it was an empty abandoned classroom turned into his personal club room, filled with several comfortable couches, a dueling mat, and now—a chilled pantry full of his common craving foods and a chest full of his blankets.
“They should just dig their graves already,” Tom grumbled back, and (y/n) snorted as Elija went pale and Dimitri waved for Alexi to pass the damn croissants!
She was glad Tom told the knights about the pregnancy—their reactions to anything about it, including Tom’s terrifying hormones, were hilarious.
Tom sighed as he left the hospital wing, more prenatal potions and pregnancy books in his arm—all disguised to be regular healing text-books. His weekly visits were disguised as him taking apprentice lessons from Madam Tegner, and considering Tom’s obsession with knowing all forms of magic, no one looked at this oddly.
It was officially 12 weeks now, three months since (y/n) had gotten him pregnant, and three months into pregnancy—the end of his first trimester.
The morning sickness would ease out, as Madam Tegner told him, the baby was about the size of a plum, just barely smaller than his palm. He rubbed his belly—which was still mostly flat—and with glamor’s, no one but him, and (y/n), knew the size of his slowly growing stomach.
He looked down at the moving picture Madam Tegner had whipped up for him, watching as the little plum-sized baby moved around in a loop, swallowing hard at the feelings that rose up in him.
He had to pause, sniffling quietly as he stared down at the picture. Goddamned hormones!
He forced himself to move on, still holding back a wave of emotions, heading back to his dorm room—pausing midstep as he walked into (y/n) moving some stuff around in his room, at his…sort’ve request.
He’d had a fit the night before about how things felt ‘off’ in his room, like that everything was in the wrong place or was just wrong. (y/n) called it nesting, Tom called it bullshit.
And now? Tom called it hot.
He swallowed hard, watching (y/n) push around his bed all on her own, using her magic to help hover the bed into place on the other side of the room—tugging the rug along with it.
A feeling that had been dimmed into nothingness for the last 12 weeks roared to life—Tom tossed away the picture, set down the potions, and jumped on (y/n).
She squealed, sweaty and unaware, letting out a grunt as he pinned her to the bed and kissed her breathless. (y/n) groaned, moving her lips against his as Tom inhaled her scent—merlin she always smelled so good, especially right now.
“Tom?” (y/n) murmured, her eyes fluttering as he peppered kisses down her neck, licking the sweat from her skin. “Babe?”
“Shut up, fuck me,” Tom groaned, the heat in his stomach roaring louder and (y/n) obeyed, tossing off her tank top and twisting him over to his side.
“So when’s it due?” Orion asked as Tom busied himself over a giant bowl of pasta. He ignored the question, only caring for the food in front of him, while (y/n) tilted her head, thinking back.
“Early summer, June I think?” (y/n) guessed, Orion nodded, watching as Tom devoured a bowl full of tortellini—a craving he’d actually screamed about until the bowl was set in front of him, coated in alfredo sauce with a pound of parmesan cheese layered on top.
“Before or after graduation?” Orion asked, and (y/n) shrugged, Tom continued to ignore them, eyes closed as he savored the taste of his food.
“I’m hoping before, so the birth happens here, I’m—I’m not sure if we have a place after graduation just yet,” (y/n) said, Abraxas perked up.
“Oh, you do, you’ll be moving into a beachside manor after graduation.” Abraxas said with a grin; Tom’s head snapped up, eyes wide and brows furrowed—(y/n) looked just as shocked. “i—what?” (y/n) choked out as Tom rushed to swallow his mouthful of food.
Abraxas looked too pleased with himself. “Call it an early wedding gift, and it wasn’t being used anyway, it’ll be the perfect start for the three of you.” Tom stared, so many emotions bolting through his chest it was hard to pinpoint one.
So, he burst into tears instead.
Abraxas panicked, (y/n) did too, Tom screamed at Abraxas.
Things were going great.
The 2nd trimester was without any major incidents.
Well, until Tom’s stomach began to grow, for a while—he could hide it, between his already slightly oversized uniform and the uniform cloaks, the baby bump wasn’t difficult to hide.
What did freak him out was the small—fluttering feelings—inside his artificial womb. Little movements against everything else, Madam Tegner told him the baby was now big and developed enough for Tom to feel him moving; and just about every single person that knew Tom was pregnant wanted to feel.
Only (y/n) was able to get close enough past Tom’s hexes to gently rest her hands on Tom’s swollen belly, and feel the little flutters of their baby within. She’d gone starry-eyed, and Tom was having trouble keeping his emotions in check—damn hormones.
At 25 weeks, Tom might’ve had a full-on meltdown.
(y/n) carefully stepped into his private dorm room, watching as clothes went flying everywhere as Tom tried on one shirt—and then tossed it away when he couldn’t button it right or it didn’t cover up his now a little too visible baby bump.
Tom let out a harsh scream as he covered his face with his hands, pushing his palms into his eyes. “nothing fits!” he said, voice raspy and broken as he spotted (y/n) in the mirror, whirling around on her—and she held back the reaction to scramble away as he stomped—waddled—towards her, finger in her face. “this is your fault!”
“I’m sorry?” (y/n) said weakly, holding her hands up in surrender—swallowing hard as Tom glared at her, looking ready to wrap his hands around her throat.
“It’s your fault I’m in this—mess! Nothing fits! And nothing is covering it up!” Tom said frantically, tears spilling over as he yanked at the shirt he wore—it fit, but just barely.
(y/n) was…unsure how to deal with this, but—she probably would’ve reacted the same way in his spot—except she wasn’t a guy and no one was expecting Tom to roll around with a baby bump.
“I learned some charms to help hide the bump for a little longer,” (y/n) said softly, charming one of Tom’s shirts—because he’d been far too distressed to think of just changing the size of his shirt—and helping him put it on, the fabric resting more than comfortably around his belly—Tom’s lips still wobbling.
“We’ll know the bump Is there, and it’ll still technically be there, but no one else will know, and its safe, I checked,” (y/n) said, cupping Tom’s cheeks to kiss him gently. He sniffled and she wiped his tears, offering a smile she hoped helped; before taking her wand and casting a glamour charm that melted the baby bump away under an illusion, his shirt fitting the same as it usually did.
“Better?” (y/n) asked gently, hugging him from behind now, resting her mouth on his shoulder as Tom worked his jaw, face still flushed and cheeks wet.
“It’s fine,” Tom grumbled, avoiding her gaze as she kissed his cheek and helped get his uniform robes on, he buttoned it up in the front—because even if the baby bump was hidden behind glamours now, he just wanted to be sure. “I hate you,” Tom grumbled, closing his eyes and scrunching up as (y/n) just kissed his cheek.
“I love you too,” She replied, and Tom glared, grabbing his book back and following (y/n) out to breakfast, which was already halfway done.
“How many is that?” (y/n) asked as the Ravenclaw Prefect ran crying down the hall, a glaring Tom standing on the other end.
“Fourth, today, within the hour,” Dmitri sighed, marking another tally in his notebook. (y/n) sighed too, rubbing her face as Tom turned his face up and stormed down the hall the other way, probably to the kitchens, or the lavatory.
These days, it could be both, in either order.
“And what else?” (y/n) asked then, the two beginning to follow Tom down the hall.
“Ten students sent crying, Professor Slughorn was traumatized and has excused his classes today, Potter got turned into a teapot, three books disintegrated, a desk set on fire, and he turned Abraxas into a peacock,” Dimitri listed off, closing his notebook, the two pausing as—comically—peacock Abraxas came running down the hall, sounding off with honks and cries.
Probably begging Tom to turn him back.
“Next time, I’m the pregnant one,” (y/n) groaned, and Dimitri winced.
He wasn’t sure if that would be better.
Elija yawned as he walked down the frigid corridor of the Slytherin 7th year boy dorms, squinting as he looked down the stairs and saw (y/n) sitting with a pout, wearing her pajama’s. “What happened?” He asked, voice croaky with sleep—having got up to get some water.
“Tom kicked me out,” (y/n) grumbled. Elija winced. Tom was 30 weeks pregnant now, and was getting more easily agitated by the day. Usually, (y/n) was spared from his pregnancy wrath. “I was hogging the bed apparently,” (y/n) muttered, even though the bed had been charmed to fit at least four people.
“Why not go to your dorm then?” he asked, wondering why (y/n) was sitting just outside Tom’s headboy dorm rather than just going to her dorm room she shared with a handful of other 7th-year Slytherin girls.
“What if he needs me?” (y/n) said, as if it was obvious. ‘What if he changes his mind’ went unsaid, and Elija nodded, rubbing his face.
“I'm gonna grab water, want any?” Elija asked, and (y/n) pursed her lips in thought. “Grab me some lemonade actually,” She mumbled, and Elija nodded, heading off to the refreshment table the house elves kept stocked, grabbing a glass of cold water and lemonade, handing it to (y/n) on the way up to his dorm, leaving (y/n) behind on the steps as she waited to see if Tom would let her back into his dorm.
Tom emerged from his dorm only a few minutes later, cheeks flushed, a watermelon on his belly now—it was so late he didn't bother with the glamour. “What are you doing?” Tom hissed while (y/n) stood, quickly making her way back to her very pregnant boyfriend. “get back in here,” Tom grumbled, taking (y/n)’s hand to yank her back into his room.
(y/n) smiled, letting him steal her lemonade and slipping back into bed, pillows stuffed between them—all so Tom could use her as a pregnancy pillow.
“The baby's due in 4 weeks, and you two haven’t thought of any names?” Abraxas asked, practically gasping as Tom devoured a cinnamon bun, and (y/n) rubbed his swollen feet and ankles.
“I mean, I’ve thought about names, Tom and I just haven’t….talked about it,” (y/n) said slowly as Tom chewed thoughtfully, he looked up at her.
“What names have you thought about?” Abraxas asked, probably already planning on custom blankets and toys with the baby’s name on it.
“Arella, for a girl, I’ve had that picked out since I was small, im still on the fence for boy names, I like Damien but I’m not in love with it,” (y/n) said, and Tom leaned back in his seat, rubbing his hand over his—now huge—baby bump.
“Any ideas, Tom?” Abraxas asked, grinning behind his teacup, clearly trying to make Tom talk about it—as Tom mostly avoided talking about the baby that made his back ache and made it impossible to sit still for longer than 5 minutes.
Tom huffed, glaring at his friend, who comically avoided his gaze. “This will be a private matter, Abraxas.” Tom hissed and Abraxas lifted his hands in surrender, the other boys snickering lightly as Nicholai arrived with a box of strawberry croissants—as promised due to him spilling Tom’s breakfast that morning, resulting in a very angry, crying, screaming pregnant Tom Riddle.
Tom held his hand out in demand, stuffing the last of his cinnamon roll into his mouth. Yes, he just had something sweet, he wanted a strawberry croissant, sue him!
“We will talk about it?” (y/n) asked Tom softly as he handed her a croissant. Tom met her gaze, and after a moment—nodded. (y/n) smiled, and Tom stared down at his croissant.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about it, but—not talking about baby names made it all feel less, real. Yes he was carrying a watermelon on his belly, he had every pregnancy symptom under the sun, and he no longer slept normally; but not talking about baby names helped him make believe that this wasn’t happening.
Yet he only had four more weeks till the baby was here, and wouldn’t be able to deny it anymore.
Or deny that he wasn’t scared out of his mind.
Because there was going to be a baby coming out of him, a real human baby that was going to be totally dependent on him and (y/n). A baby that would grow into a child, a child that he’d have to parent, and he’d not grown up with anyone for him to reference.
Oh merlin what if he screwed up? What if he ruined this child just like he’d been ruined?
Quite suddenly, Tom wasn’t sure if he could do this, not like (y/n) could. She was nurturing, she was patient, she was already good with kids—he’d seen her before with her nieces who loved her. Tom was nothing like that, he could barely give affection to (y/n)—he was getting better, (y/n) refused to let him be avoidant—he lost his temper frequently even before he got pregnant, and he struggled to even interact with kids; hell, he was sure the first years were scared of him.
(y/n) quite easily noticed his sudden, tension, and waved everyone away—the boys grumbled and slumped out of the meeting room as (y/n) turned to Tom, holding his knee. “Tom?” she asked softly, his dark eyes meeting hers. “What's wrong?”
“What if I fuck up?” Tom asked, quiet, teeth clenched as he stared at her hand. “I don’t know how to—do this,” he gestured to his belly, swallowing hard, feeling the baby move around inside. “I didn’t grow up with parents, I didn’t—play with the other children, I’m not meant to be a father—mother, whatever I am,” Tom’s voice broke, and (y/n)’s expression tightened.
She wasn’t fully sure how to respond, but. “Tom,” she whispered, moving closer to him, wrapping her arms around him and he got as close as he could without making himself uncomfortable. “I love you, so much,” she could feel the heat of his face against her cheek—she said those words often, but it never failed to make Tom fluster.
“But you can't let fear destroy the future. This is something neither of us are prepared for, we’re gonna make mistakes, we’re gonna fuck up and upset each other, upset our baby, and that’s okay—we’ll learn, and I think you’re gonna be great.” (y/n) said gently, and Tom inhaled rapidly, wiping at his eyes.
“How do you know that?” Tom asked, joining her hand on his belly—feeling the baby move. (y/n) smiled, kissing his cheek.
“Because you know what not to do.” (y/n) said, and Tom sighed, she had too much confidence in him. “Tom,” she said his name again, more stern, and Tom glanced at her, pouting lightly. She smiled, holding his face. “It’s going to be okay, we’re in this; together,” (y/n) said softly, and Tom sighed, leaning into her.
“Together,” he murmured, and (y/n) kissed the top of his head, holding him close and gently rubbing the base of his back as it flared with aches and pains again.
Abraxas and the others skidded around a corner, racing towards the hospital wing in the dead of night on June 28th. Abraxas managed to hit the breaks before hitting the hospital wing doors, but Elija and Dimitri slammed into the heavy doors, hitting the ground into a heap.
Alexi threw the doors open, panting as the knights scrambled inside, eyes wide. “Out!” Madam Tenger demanded—a privacy screen surrounding a bed in the far corner, (y/n) slipping behind it with wet cloths.
“Is he okay?!” Abraxas asked quickly, and Madam Tegner nodded.
“He’s fine. Out!” the boys stood wearily for a moment, wanting to be there for Tom but also this was a sensitive moment, and they slumped back outside the hospital wing.
Abraxas paced, ringing his hands, the others sat against the wall—staring at the doors. Finally, around sunrise, the doors opened and (y/n) came out. Abraxas froze—eyes wide and a little glassy as he looked at the tiny thing in her arms, wrapped In a soft pastel green blanket.
“Everyone, meet Arella,” (y/n) said softly, as to not wake the newborn that had fallen asleep. Druic and Revius scrambled to stand up—Abraxas just barely catching them before they barreled into (y/n).
“She's so tiny,” Elija whispered, easily the quietest he’d ever been. They all stared in awe at this new little life that had joined their group, Arella would for sure be spoiled by each and every single one of them.
“How's Tom?” Abraxas asked, glancing at the doors.
“Exhausted, but in no pain, Madam Tegner confirmed everything is back to normal—he’ll have to recover from the C-section they did to get Arella out, but nothing more.” (y/n) said softly, leading the way back into the hospital wing, where the privacy screen had been pulled back.
Tom was pale, sweat drying on his brow. But he was asleep, his hair a curly mess on his head—and he was carefully laying on his side. He stirred as Arella made a small noise and he turned, reaching up as (y/n) sat at his side, his fingers catching the soft curve of Arella’s cheek.
“She’s real,” he murmured, a dopey grin on his face and (y/n) smiled, catching his hand and kissing his fingers, the two new parents staring at their brand new daughter.
Tom stared blankly at the actual pile of presents that sat in front of him, Arella in a sling around his chest, (y/n) standing beside him, snickering with disbelief. He looked up at his knights, raising his brow.
They gave a sheepish grin in return.
“I said some baby gifts were allowed, not for you lot to buy out a whole baby product store.” Tom drawled as (y/n) picked up a box full of baby blankets.
“Abraxas started it!” Revius complained, the blonde glared and crossed his arms.
“I’m godfather! It’s my job to spoil her,” Abraxas said and Tom sighed, pinching his nose as Arella made a small noise, drawing all attention to her instantly.
….
“I’m gonna buy more toys,” Dimitri said quickly, already fishing out his wallet as Abraxas wondered if his girlfriend/fiancée wouldn’t mind having a baby, and Alexi made a strangled noise—suffering from the cuteness.
“They’re gonna be like this forever, you know that right?” (y/n) teased Tom, and he sighed, smiling down at his daughter that snuggled closer to his warmth.
“Yeah,” Tom sighed.
-four years later-
Tom sat quietly at his desk in his office, quill scratching against a long-winded piece of parchment that Tom had been staring at for the last two hours—long enough for his eyes to ache and vision to blur just a little.
The peace of his office—the window facing the nearby ocean, its waves that crashed against the shore just barely audible from the manor—was disturbed by tiny thumps just outside his door. The door was oh so carefully pushed open, a head of dark curly hair ducking down to not be seen—unaware she’d already given away her position.
Tom smirked to himself, staring at the parchment in front of him, some document for his ministry job. He counted down in his head, gasping in fake fright as his little Arella jumped from beside his desk, making a loud noise to try and scare him.
“Arella! You scared me!” Tom gasped, pretending his daughter had actually scared him, much like how lions and tigers pretended not to notice their cubs' bad hunting skills. Arella giggled brilliantly, her little hands—her tiny nails painted sparkly green—clinging to his pants.
“I got you!” Arella said, grinning big, clambering up onto his lap as he scooted back, giving her room.
“You got me,” Tom hummed, leaning back in his chair, arms wrapped around Arella as she grinned at him—her braided pigtails a mess, and—was that marshmallow on her cheek? “Where's mommy?” Tom asked, licking his thumb and cleaning Arella’s cheek—she squirmed, pouting.
“Mommy’s s’eeping,” Arella complained, but she’d already been explained to why (y/n) was sleeping so often these days.
“Mmm, is she?” Tom murmured, scooping Arella up, her little arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her out of his office, closing the door behind him and making his way to the living room, smiling softly as he saw (y/n) asleep on the cozy couch.
She was always exhausted nowadays, but he let her be; after all—he knew just how much energy growing a baby from scratch took. He kissed her temple and moved into the kitchen, it was around Arella’s snack time anyway. “When's mommy gonna stop being so s’eepy?” Arella asked, finding her balance as Tom set her on the floor.
“Not for a few weeks, mommy’s very busy making a little sibling for you,” Tom said, his tone practiced as he’d said this multiple times over the last few weeks. Arella pouted; she wanted to play with mommy now! Tom saw her pout from a mile away, crouching beside his firstborn, kissing her pudgy cheek.
“Mommy doesn’t love you any less because she’s not able to play with you as much, I promise, she’s making a baby from scratch, and it takes a lot of energy,” Tom explained, and Arella still pouted, turning her big eyes—the color matched his—to his.
“Did I take lots of energy?” She asked, and Tom held back a snort, but nodded. She didn’t know that Tom was the one to be pregnant with her, and depending on how the future went—probably never would.
“Lot’s, maybe even more than your baby sibling, which no wonder—with all your energy, no wonder we were so tired all the time.” Tom teased, tickling Arella’s stomach and she squealed, running away from his fingers as he chased after her, waking up (y/n) as she blearily watched Tom chase after their daughter, a smile growing.
She lay back down, watching with intense fondness as Arella just barely kept out of Tom’s grasp, snickering as Arella juked Tom around the coffee table and raced back into the kitchen, Arella bursting out into giggles as Tom fumbled over his feet and hit the floor.
“I win!” Arella bellowed from the kitchen as Tom narrowed his eyes at the ceiling, twisting up and flicking his hand—Arella squealing as she flew into his arms and screamed with delight as he began tickling her. “Mommy help!”
(y/n) quickly shut her eyes, holding back a smile as Arella screamed for her help, giggling all the while—mixing with Tom’s chuckles.
For all the chaos of Tom’s unbelievable pregnancy, it was well worth it to hear the house, their home, so full of laughter and warmth.
-end-
Yaaaay! I did it! The mpreg Tom fic is done!!! Okay now who wants the omegaverse x reader?
iiii dont think anyone asked to be on the taglist for this nonsense, but uh, i hope you guys enjoooyed