My problem of not being able to stop making VC edits persists lol I got a request from @allwayssmilin to send them to prom and I found that hilarious! So...
THE VC VAMPS ARE GOING TO PROM!!! đđ„łđ
The following "photos" are all posts from Lestat's Instagram later lol they're still vamps in their universe z they're just pretending to partake in this human thing lol
Please keep in mind that some of these are a little sucky, it was really hard to find appropriate photos. Credits at the end of the post
Sweet Daniel went full nerd with his promposal â€ïž Armand had no idea why the sign is funny, but he's happy to be asked lol
Lestat came to pick up Louis with a limo and a rose cuz he likes to think he's a class act lol but he can't fool Louis that this isn't mostly so he can get this photo đ
Vampires use public bathrooms exclusively for selfies. đ€ł
Even Lestat has to admit when Daniel and Armand look good! đ„°
That's not daylight it's really really strong lamps lol
Need I say more? đ€·đ
Lestat, no one is touching your thunder!
Guess who crowned himself prom king đđđ€·đ
All in all a good time was had by all! Yearbooks were signed, selfies were taken, make out sessions were had under the bleachers and they all kept in touch! (Cuz they all live in the same place)
BONUS: Don't think I've forgotten about Marius! He just doesn't participate in such childish things so he was officially given the duty of chaperone. Well...he had to break up a few fights between Lestat and Armand and made out with Armand under the bleachers a bit
But it was a mostly chill night for him, so he just sat back and looked good!
The models are: Matthew Clavane as Armand, Ton Huekels as Lestat, Gerhard Freidl as Marius, Gabriel Marques as Louis and Niclas Gills as Daniel. Credit to @0junemeatcleaver0 for finding these models, credit to Faceapp for making this possible.
Harvey saying this is so funny cause there's no way both him and Mike are unaware of the fact that Kirk and Spock are like the main reason gay fanfiction exists, there is No Way they don't know about Spirk
You can't convince me Harvey isn't a shipper, he's too much of a lover to not be one
My hand slipped, and I wrote angst again, but for a fandom I've only ever read fics in before. Rant over...
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65791936
Notes: What am I doing here? No idea, but a beautiful piece of art on Twitter (I won't ever call it X) inspired me, so I wrote this 'cause it's been on my mind 24/7. It follows the donghua timeline where they switched events. The reason is because it fits my narrative better.
It's my first fanfic in this fandom (probably my last, too, been avoiding any writing ideas for years). I'll never not be nervous... Apologies for any kind of mistakes.
The title is from "Hamlet". One of Ophelia's lines, to be precise â> "And will a now no longer come again? No, no, he's dead."
Here is the stunning art! â> https://x.com/syvnyvoi/status/1919320871254061356?t=Tu2uUS2joO-HMEYTywAI-w&s=19
Jiang Cheng being 'hyper-aggressive' is likely a result of him having to defend and protect his Sect after it nearly got destroyed.
The mere fact he regularly gets called 'Jiang Cheng' (Birth/Personal Name) rather than 'Jiang Wanyin' (Courtesy Name) by nearly everyone after the Sunshot Campaign and the War shows that many didn't take him seriously.
Jiang Cheng probably had to further sharpen his aggressiveness in order to defend himself and to not allow himself to get walked all over by the other Sect Leaders. Unlike the Gusu Lan, Qinghe Nie, and Lanling Jin which all had a sword brotherhood amongst them, the Yunmeng Jiang Sect really didn't have any solid solid allys like that. The only ally Jiang Cheng had was Jin Ling and Jin Ling was still just a baby.
I currently don't remember if Nie Huisang and Jiang Cheng still even interact outside of official Sect related business with Nie Huisang doing his decade long scheme to cause Jin Guangyao's downfall and Jiang Cheng being busy with keeping his Sect alive.
There's a bit of a parallel between them as both being young heirs being suddenly thrust into leadership after their family member's death, but the big difference is the fact that Nie Huisang had Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao (even if NHS hated JGY), while Jiang Cheng had no one to support him.
Any peers that Jiang Cheng would've had to support or at least be there in the form of friendship were all dead, busy, or were otherwise not willing to interact with him.
Nie Huisang â Brother is dead, New Sect Leader, Has his whole revenge scheme.
Jin Zixuan â Dead
Wei Wuxian â Dead, Was already ostracised by the Cultivation world and couldn't be seen with the Yunmeng Jiang
Lan Wangji â Busy recovering from the 33 strikes for three years, Busy helping to raise Lan Sizhui/A-Yuan, and Hated Jiang Cheng for helping in Wei Wuxian's death so he didn't even want to interact with Jiang Cheng
Including the other Sect Leaders:
Lan Xichen â Busy with Sect Business, Busy with making sure Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue didn't kill each other (failed sadly), and Busy with trying to make sure Lan Wangji was healing, and didn't really interact with Jiang Cheng outside of Sect Business
Nie Mingjue (When he was alive) - Busy fighting Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao, Facing Qi Deviations, Didn't interact with Jiang Cheng outside of Sect Business, Dies
Jin Guangshan (When he was alive) â It's Jin Guangshan.
Jin Guangyao â It's Jin Guangyao, he was busy with everything.
He really didn't have anyone to help him but himself. He made mistakes and really terrible decisions and he's not totally innocent, but there's more depth to him than just him being some one-dimensional villain that is irredeemable. I, for one, would've broken if I was put in his position.
His aggressive nature also pushed away anyone else who wasn't already used to his nature (which is practically everyone who was still alive before Jin Ling came into the picture).
Winters in Scotland were notoriously brutal. The landscape was a study in stark contrasts, where the pale moonlight glinted off the ice-covered Black Lake, creating a shimmering expanse that seemed to extend the frigid grasp of winter into the very heart of the castle.
Nestled within its looming stone walls, particularly in the dim confines of the lowest floor, the chill seeped in through the cracks and crevices left by age in the chiseled rock, wrapping around you like an unwelcome cloak.
Tonight, the wind howled like a wailing specter, each gust rattling the heavy timbers of the castle, making the air feel all the more oppressive.
It was the kind of night that coaxed a shiver even from the fiercest of hearts, and while most opted to remain tucked snugly beneath layers of quilts, Tom Riddle was not most people.
Dressed in his dark robes, he had already set out to pace the cold, silent halls with an air of determination, steadfastly fulfilling his Prefect duties. Meanwhile, youâd garnered the courage to sneak into his dorm, hoping to find solace in a warm embraceâonly to be met with the sight of an empty, perfectly made bed.
The corners of your lips twisted into a frown, caught between disappointment and a hint of amusement. Always so resolute, Tom would never be swayed by âa little weather,â as he would airily put it, rooted in his steadfast belief in the order he maintained.
As you paused a few steps into his room, uncertainty crept in, leaving you unsure of your next move now that the main pieceâperson, that isâin your plan was missing.
âLooking for someone?â
The smooth, velvety timbre of his voice cut through the stillness, causing you to spin around in surprise, a spark of exhilaration igniting within you.
You recognized that voice instantlyâits rich tones were imprinted in the memories of anyone who had encountered him, echoing with a sinister charm.
You, however, doubted that you had much in common with the others haunted by Tom Riddle.
While others may have felt intimidated, turning on their heels to escape, save they get caught in the same room as him, you were drawn closer, far more interested in running after him then away.
From your first run in, Tom had captivated you. His aloofness from those around him, marked by scowls and cold, cutting remarks to make sure everyone but the bravest or dumbest souls steered clear of him, had only fed your fascination.
He had initially regarded you with a kind of contempt, particularly as you towered over him with your above-average height and broader frameâa feat that unnerved him. For he was accustomed to casting shadows over most of his peers, reveling in the involuntary need for them to look up at him. Having that particular trick now turned against him unsettled him deeply.
In essence, you intimidated him. Though heâd never concede that point outright, the way his gaze would flit over his shoulder more often than usual revealed his unease.
Little by little though, he grew accustomed to your presence, begrudgingly acknowledging that you brought a peculiar advantage when kept closer to him, allowing him glimpses into your thoughts and intentions.
You seemed to have a frustratingly accurate talent for stumbling upon the places wherever he stowed away in attempts to evade you, anyways.
Over time, he had unfurled cautiously, revealing himself in small doses, as if wary that ingesting too much of him at once would be deadly for one, if not both of you.
He let you linger near him during the time heâd sectioned off for journaling, as well as offering what he called âhelpful criticismâ when he noticed any slip ups in your notes and homework.
Then, as if by some unseen force, the dynamic between you shifted. Your intense gaze lingered on him with an expression he struggled to identify, making him feel exposed yet, oddly almost intrigued.
The moments of intimacy grew gradually, like a tide creeping ever closer to the shore, as he allowed soft kissesâonly short pecks reallyâ to punctuate your time together following up the mostly one-sided confession, thatâd left him momentarily off balance.
The mere act of tolerating your affection spoke volumes where his words didnât, especially when you found ways to keep your body close to his at all times and he never deemed it fit to move awayâwhether it was a knee brushing against his or your fingertips dancing along his hand.
Your latest scheme revolved around persuading him to indulge in a rare moment of warmth and comfort amidst the frostbitten air of the night.
To put it simply, your bed was cold, no matter you attempts to evade the chill with more blankets, and you were running low on options, so Tom it was.
âMm, nope. No one I can think of,â you teased, adopting a thoughtful expression.
âWere you looking for someone in particular, Tom?â
His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head in that habitual way that usually suffused him with poise and intimidation. Yet, in that moment, he realized the irony: standing before you, the height he was so proud of had no leverage against your own stature.
âI wouldâve had to be both blind and deaf to not notice you marching down the hall. Itâs my duty as a Prefect to investigate any students out this late in the night,â he countered defensively, his bravado faltering slightly as his gaze flitted away in the low candlelight.
A grin tugged at your lips as you stepped closer, reading the slight tightening of his posture as he prepared for your advance, expecting some embrace no doubt. Yet, instead of leaning in for the expected, you raised an eyebrow in a playful challenge.
âYouâre not denying it.â
The silence that followed was thick, charged with an electricity that set your heart racing as you observed Tomâs expression, the gears turning visibly in his mind.
âAwe, no need to say it, Tommy; I know you missed me.â You pushed your luck with the teasing, affectionate tone, your heart racing at the thrill of it all.
Despite himself, he tensed, inhaling sharply through his nose.
âDonât call me that; it sounds ridiculous,â he shot back, slipping past you to perch on the edge of his bed, rifling through his bedside table as if searching for something of utmost importance.
Seizing your opportunity, you glided closer, ready to bridge the distance between you once more.
Settling on the bed, you wrapped an arm around his shoulder with the same cation youâd take when picking up a venomous snake.
Dipping your head now to rest your chin on his shoulder, it painted a strangely domestic picture of you two.
You gave only a low hum to acknowledge his words, distracted as you lulled over the thoughts swirling around your mind. Finally, you spoke up, voice softened by proximity, giving way to an unusual, almost vulnerable note.
âWell⊠I like it.â
That alone was enough to give Tom pause.
He was well versed in faking sympathy, earning trust without feeling a sliver of care towards the person, only interested in what they could do for him.
But this, this was entirely new territory.
This, as Tom had stubbornly refused to acknowledge up until that very moment, was real.
The thought was a terrifying one. Youâd somehow managed to slip past each one of his defenses without being detected until youâd already secured yourself a place in his heart of stone.
Taking notice of the faintest traces of fragility shimmering in his eyes, you found yourself moving instinctively, as if drawn in by an unseen force.
You gently lowered yourself to the bed, carefully coaxing him down with you. The absence of his usual silent tension felt like a promising sign, allowing your arm to slide down his side, wrapping it around his waist with a shockingly tender touch.
Growing curious at the lack of well⊠anything from him, you propped yourself up on your free arm. Glancing over his shoulder, only to be met with a flash of movement.
You abruptly found yourself facing away from him as he attempted to get comfortable, stiffly mimicking the position you had just occupied.
You had to exert immense willpower to stifle a laugh, knowing how rare and precious this moment of intimacy was. Yet, it was almost impossible to contain your amusement as Tom triedâand stumbledâthrough several awkward attempts to fully envelop you in his embrace, his struggle against the unyielding height difference both endearing and amusing.
It was sweet, it really was, but that didnât drain any humor from the situation. In fact, it seemed that the simple knowledge that you shouldnât find anything funny in his serious attempts to cuddle you only made it that much more of a challenge.
A choked noise of laughter escaped you before you could rein it in, a single crack in the dam of restraint, and once it broke free, it unleashed a cascade that had your shoulders shaking in silent mirth.
Feeling the arm around your waist retract, you surrendered to the moment, flopping forward to lay flat on your stomach, your face burying into the pillow that did little to muffle your breathless giggles.
You regained your composure as swiftly as possible, rolling onto your back and shifting closer to where Tom lay, his arms crossed defensively.
Biting the inside of your cheek in a desperate attempt to suppress the overwhelming grin that tugged at your lips, you draped both arms around his waist, positioning your head against his upper arm, crafting the delightful illusion that he was indeed the taller one in this embrace.
âTom, seriously. Iâm sorry, it wasnât funny,â you said softly, the sincerity of your words mirrored in your eyes, though a small upward twitch at the corner of your lips betrayed a hint of mischief.
He finally met your gaze, suspicion flickering in his expression, his nose scrunched adorably, reminiscent of an irritated cat.
You halted the teasing thought before it could leave your lips, sensing he didnât need any additional blows to his pride at this moment.
Scooting closer with careful stealth, you gradually tugged him nearer, until you finally managed to hold him against your chest. You felt a surge of triumph as his rigid form began to soften, his posture reluctantly yielding to your affection.
âI really donât see what you found so humorous about it.â Tomâs voice broke the silence, eliciting a genuine smile that sparkled in your eyes. No trace of mockery lingered in your expression, even as his eyes searched yours with skepticism.
Finally content that Tom wouldnât bolt the moment you showed him some level of tenderness, you pulled the heavy covers up around the two of you, snuggling even closer, reveling in the warmth of his presence.
âWell?â Tomâs voice sliced through the comfortable stillness after a prolonged pause.
Your eyelids fluttered open, head cocking to the side in confusion.
âPardon?â
Your puzzlement deepened when a quick breath escaped him.
âIs this everything you dreamed itâd be?â The dry humor in his tone, which youâd come to recognize as a 50/50 chance of being his attempt at a joke, drew a grin to your face.
âWellll⊠In my dreams, we were more likeââ You paused mid-sentence, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension as you tugged him closer. Your bodies melded together, fitting as if they were pieces of a puzzle crafted by the universe itself. ââthis, andâŠâ
Leaning closer, you tilted your head to boldly press your lips against his in a delicate kiss, a soft sigh escaping you like a whisper of wind before you surrendered to a deeper kiss.
Your hand lifted to cup the side of his face, fingers delicately tracing his jawline. Each movement was filled with an overwhelming passion that sent Tomâs thoughts spiraling into a delightful chaos, earning a soft shudder when your fingertips momentarily brushed against his neck.
When you pulled back with a soft pant, Tom found himself gazing into your darkened eyes, which sparkled enticingly in the faint glow of the lamp. The light accentuated the mischief swirling within them, along with an indescribable warmth that he had never seen so vividly nor this close before. Had your eyes always been this breathtaking?
In that moment, he finally recognized the elusive emotion glimmering in your gaze: affection.
As if reading his thoughts, you leaned in, darting forward to shower his face with a flurry of soft kisses, each one a fluttering promise of more.
It was only a moment before he countered, pressing his palm firmly against your chest, halting your relentless assault.
You leaned into his touch, even as it restrained you, a guileless laugh bubbling from your parted lips as you took in the surprise etched on Tomâs face with some delight.
If it had been anyone else, they wouldnât have made it past the first syllable of âTommy,â yet here you were, unscathed and emboldened. That alone spoke volumesâlike a sealed letter confessing his love, you thought.
âYeah, Iâd say this is better than anything I couldâve thought up,â you confirmed, letting your head drop back against his shoulderâa position youâd quickly discovered he favored over being engulfed as the small spoon. You turned to look up at him, a roguish grin brightening your features.
The shared body heat enveloped you two, creating a sanctuary beneath the covers, keeping the cold, deadly chill at bay outside the cocoon of sorts.
The appreciation in your eyes sparked something delicate within Tom's chest, filling him with a sense of susceptibility that left him breathless. In that moment, he knew he was so, completely and undeniably, screwed.
hi! omg I would like to say that I LOVE that seer!reader that you wrote, it was exactly like how I imagined! if it doesn't bother you, can I make another request of the same seer!reader just staying by Tom's side no matter how dark and twisted he saw the future of him was? thankyou so much! - đź
Sleepwalker
Pairing: Tom Riddle x Seer!male Ravenclaw reader
Summary: Part two to âFrom the Eyes of a Seerâ
A/N: Seer anon back at it with another banger request!! Iâm so glad you liked the first story! Itâs so entertaining to write for this specific reader and Tom. Also apologies if this is lowkey bad, Iâve read it too much to be able to tell. Title derived from the song by akiaura.
Want more of my works? Masterlist
Want to request a story? Take your pick from my muses
It started off slow, barley noticeable. A change in the wind as it tore over the hills at breakneck speeds, caring with it the cries of the futureâa warning.
Itâs true what they say, the closer you are to danger the harder it is to perceive. Yet, as you grew ever closer to Tom Riddle, you had no intention of stepping back.
There seemed to be only two left unconvinced of Tomâs charming act. You, and Albus Dumbledore. You saw the knowledge of the man behind the façade a gift, Dumbledore was less impressed.
It happened that as you were paired with him on patrol less and lessâinconspicuously separated in the shared classesâthe two of you only sought the other out more.
While Tom wasnât the type to shout his affection from every rooftop, it presented itself in more subtle ways. His eyes would never fail to scan the room for you first, paying no mind to any other of his peers. He was drawn to your presenceâand in every quiet moment you found within the ancient castle walls, you could count on him to join you.
The more you got to know him, the more your attention strayed from his future. No matter your intentional ignorance, the visions that still found you were undeniable. You saw the things done in secret, his ventures for power. You were shown his actions of the past as well, your gift silently challenging you to see who you were falling for in his truest show of self, when he thought no one was there to witness him.
The patterns in his behavior never changed. Bullying others with undercutting words, getting the information, the power, that he craved through any means necessaryâthough he relied on his charm and pretty words only until they would take him no further.
All this and yet, he never plastered on the sickening sweet façade with you. He was quiet, giving small glimpses of vulnerability in honestyâhis inspirations, hobbies, dreams. You already knew most of it, of course, but earning those moments was something you would never take for granted.
It was his genuine nature around you that would the downfall of your heart. Love blossomed for the serpent coiled in your chest, and the mere notion that it was returned by Tomâin his own strange wayâtruly sealed your fate.
And so, you stood by and watched it all, doing nothing but nurturing your connection with Tom. You hoped that your mere presence would throw the future you saw coming off course. Deep down, however, there a growing part of you that understood Tomâs actions. Itâd be hard not to after being given a first row seat to his motivations and the movie of his life replaying in your visions.
Youâd both taken to meeting on your own terms, not your class and prefect schedules once those began to mysteriously misalign.
Tonight, you were seated in the Ravenclawâs common room, a lone figure perched on one of the plush couches. Your head was rested on your hand, reflections of firelight dancing in the smooth crystalline of your eyesâposture the perfect mix of elegant and relaxed to give you a regal look, like a statue, frozen forever in time.
An ironic comparison, considering the reason for the worry gnawing at your chest like a dog biting itâs own tail. You knew why Tom was late to your agreed meetingâthe face of the petrified Gryffindor student stuck evermore in stone was glued to the back of your eyelids.
You didnât stir when the large door slid open behind you, nor when Tom stood in front of you, watching with a glint of intrigue burning in his dark eyes.
The adrenaline of excitement radiated in the air around him, yet his exterior remained as calm as ever when he finally settled into the cushions beside you, leaving some room yet unable to resist sitting just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from each other.
It was then that your gaze turned to him, an odd expression that he didnât recognize on your features, made more extreme by the dramatic shadows cast across your face.
The stillness remained unbroken as Tom began to mull over the possibility of you being accusing when you spokeâa concept he found alarmingly distasteful. Damn you and your knowing ways, stealing into his heart with the silence of an owlâs soundless flight. He was pulled rather abruptly from the many assumptions and worries plaguing his head by a warm hand slipping into his, a thumb rubbing over it in a way that soothed him before you spoke.
âAre you okay?â Your sincere concern presented in a lower pitch, voice carrying a faint rasp from either from the heavy draw of sleep, or the quiet tone you adopted, as if not wanting to disturb the serene silence that floated over the room.
Tom was once again reminded of your supernatural abilityânearly on par with your divinationâto surprise him at every turn. No matter how much he swore to keep his guard up, the honesty in your voice wore down his resolve like a blazing campfire driving away the snow. Before he knew it, he was responding, his deepest worries reveled in his words. The sentiment seemed to comfort him instead of causing alarm. You were a Seer, surely you already knew all of it.
âDo you still believe my path is a good one?â
Your eyes leisurely scanned the room as you considered his words.
âIt is. Anyone would be proud to walk down it with you,â you confessed.
By the way Tomâs gaze found yours, gleaming with what you discerned as hope, you knew he was aware you didnât just mean âanyone.â
Itâd taken you a few days to uncover the truth, but youâd soon realized that his possible fates had never changed that nightâtheyâd just grown to include you.
How strange it was. One of the oddities of your gift was that you could never see too far into your own future, never got to see the end of the road. You supposed life wouldnât of been as interesting as it is if you were going through it knowing how you turn out. Yet, you got glimpses of yourself in Tomâs future. Peculiar, and with the broader frame thatâd come with age, but still recognizable.
Tomâs concerns were more than reassured, and you noticed that the constant tension in his shoulders had relaxed to a considerable degree.
âI donât think Iâd find much pleasure in traversing it alone,â Tom spoke in such a soft voice that you at first thought youâd misheard him. He offered you a thoughtful look, and you knew the words were true, warming the chill of the night air around you two as if the confession held magic of itâs own.
Soon, one of the many short school breaks found you roaming the halls of the deserted castle at night, kept awake by a sense of duty thatâd grown purely habitual after becoming a Prefect.
Tom had left to investigate his heritage, a path you knew would lead him to the Gaunt family house, to his uncle, then his muggle fatherâs family residence and finally to murder.
Heâd briskly claimed that he needed take this trip alone, and you let him go. You preferred it this way, if anything. Seeing visions of it was one thing, but watching the death of another person in real time was something you hardly wished to see.
Roaming the halls one night, deep in thought, you were thrown off track to realize that, while the visions drew unease to your chest, you couldnât particularly find any sympathy for the victims.
This particular thought was something that haunted you more diligently than any of the undead at Hogwarts could hope to. It was the love that burned brightly in your chest that kept the worries at bay, the thought that Tom would soon return to you putting you in a fragile state of ease.
As the sun set on the last day of break, another presence joined you. Or, more likely, you joined him.
Warned by a fleeting vision, you slipped quietly into Dumbledoreâs office even as he prepared to go find you.
âYou wished to see me, Professor?â Came your voice, smooth and clear as the trickling streams of water your eyes resembled on the brighter days of summer, yet with a darker undertone, like a fog rolling out across the unbroken surface.
âThat gift of yours is truly remarkable,â he spoke in a wisely cautious tone that you werenât sure what to make of, until he continued. âItâd be best not to squander it on the dreams of the power hungry.â
Stiffening, your gaze grew sharp, head quirking ever so slightly to the side in a bird-like manner reminiscent of your house, hands clasped behind your back to mirror another particular student.
âIs there something you wish to imply, sir?â The last word held a coldly restrained bite to it, eyes latched onto him with the hyper focus of a hawk.
Dumbledore didnât seem threatened, he had no reason to be, though a frown did began to curve his lips, biting back a heavy sigh and instead shaking his head.
âI donât need to imply anything, you know of what I speak,â he paused for only a brief moment, âYouâre veering down a dark path, and it will be your downfall if you do not turn back.â
It seemed that, while the headmaster was aware of your fate, he was still partially fooled by Tom Riddleâs act.
Breathing in deeply to stop from visibly bristling at the accusations, your let your eyes fall shut, focusing only on the air entering and leaving your lungs. When your gaze flickered open, there was a steely calm over it.
âI have done nothing to earn your distrust, Professor.â
He regarded you knowingly. âPerhaps not, but you know of someone who has.â Giving his words a moment to sink in, he pressed on. âSeeing, and doing nothing is just as reprehensible as committing the act yourself.â
The words echoed in your mind as your thoughts raced, the silence dragging on as your gaze bore into the stone beneath your feet. Looking back up at him, nothing but determination drew on your features.
âYou know nothing of my fate, Professor. Do not presume to.â With that, you turned to leave, your robes fluttering in your brisk exit to you give you a dramatic air.
Dumbledore was left watching the door youâd disappeared behind, disappointment lingering heavy in the air before he allowed himself a troubled sigh. So be it.
When Tom returned, he brought with him a new demeanor. The Gaunt family ring was display on his pointer finger, and the faintest red tinge shadowed the whites of his eyes.
Yet, he hadnât changed much, not around you anyway. Your presence had a calming effect on him, bringing with you the possibilities and hopes of the future.
It happened that his first night back found the two of you resting together in his bed, the comfortable silence only broken by the quiet drag of a quill on the pages of his diary and the occasional flip of a page.
Your head had found itâs way to rest on his shoulder, slumping against him like he was your own personal pillow. The fact that Tom not only tolerated that, but even allowed you to remove the Gaunt ring to mindlessly twirl it between your fingers as you grew lost in memory was enough to keep a light upwards curve at the corner of your lips, lifted by the affection warming your chest.
You gaze stayed away from the words he jotted down, giving him the privacy of his own thoughts. So it was the sound of the writing going quiet, not the sight of it coming to a halt, that first drew your attention.
Enchanting eyes flickering to Tomâs face, you found him deep in thought with a troubled look on his features, somewhat like heâd bitten into a lemon.
By now, it didnât take much encouragement to get him to speak his mind to you.
âMy fate, is it still⊠good?â The words echoed the memory of his inquiry in the common room before break, leading you to give him a thoughtful look, eyes glinting mischievously.
âYou know what my answer will be,â you teased gently.
His gaze lowered to where you were leaned against his shoulder, searching your expression for something until he spoke.
âYes, I do,â he admitted as if it were some great secret, âbut I still wish to hear you say it.â
The sentiment implied in his words made your smile grow, humming softly in amusement. âItâs a fine path, Tom. One Iâd proudly walk with you, time and time again.â
A soft sigh left his lips, awe laced in the sound. In one movement that was both smooth and sudden, his hand lifted to cup the side of your face.
Raising a brow curiously, you met his gaze with a playful sheen in your eyes. You mirth grew quickly when his brows furrowed slightly as his hand began to move, delicately feeling over your face, as if to confirm that you were really there in the flesh.
Tom had the oddest ways of showing affection, but you wouldnât of changed it for the world, leaning into the touch with a contented hum.
You let your eyes fall shut, feeling the need to offer a reassuring, âIâm not going anywhere, Tom,â voice laced with traces of laughter, yet even that couldnât disguise the truth of your words.
His hand froze for a second and you let yourself sink further into his side, lips quirking up in delight when it finally found itâs way up to your hair, movements somewhat awkward yet just as soothing as he played with your hair. Tom was almost too caught up in his curiosity to notice your breathing going slower as you steadily drifted off.
Nearly a week had passed. The warm, cloudless day brought with the false promise of peace. Your schedule carried out without a hitch, yet a dark cloud lingered over your thoughts. The reason for the disturbance? Tom was missing.
There were whispers in the halls, strange rumors, and even more peculiar looks sent your way from Dumbledore when you caught a singular glimpse of him.
It nagged at you all day, until you finally let your guard down in the calm atmosphere of your dorm room that night. The moon was nearly full, casting shifting shadows across the floor from your window as it clawed itâs way higher in the sky to find a place among the stars.
Sleep had finally found you, letting you rest and deeming the worries fit for tomorrow when your were well rested. Just as you began to let yourself fall into the embrace of the dream world, your door creaked open, startling you back to conciseness.
A familiar presence, coated with a frantic energy, was quick to ease your nerves.
âTom?â you questioned as you rose from your bed to greet him, hands cupping his face to get him to meet your eyes. You were startled to see genuine panic when your gazes locked, taking notice of the way his hands faintly shook when they lifted to cup your hands in return.
Sensing that any questions to his whereabouts were trivial, you decided to save them for later, instead asking only the most important thing. âAre you alright? Youâre shaking.â
Seeming to steel himself, finding strength in the warm hands holding his face and steady calm that followed you like a shadow, Tom let out a shaky breath, gaze flickering to the door with the slightest shake of his head.
âWe need to leave. Iâveâ⊠Iâve done something irreparable. I thought my magic was stronger than his andâŠâ Tom trailed off, gaze growing distant.
It was the closest youâd ever heard to Tom rambling, and that was enough to kindle the spark of concern into a steady blaze.
Nodding, you spared only a second to brush your thumb over his cheek before retracting your hands.
You retrieved a small bag of your belongingsâalready prepared due to a vision. Tom found brief respite in a moment of amusement when he took notice of it, before the two of you slipped off into the dark halls of the castle.
Every second spent trapped within the walls drew on your nerves, making your eyes snap to investigate any minuscule sound. You two shared an understanding that Tom was now well and truly out in the open, yet running would only bring with it unnecessary noise.
The intuition of a Seer was your saving grace, allowing you to steer the both of you away from crossing paths with any roaming the corridors.
It was by the entryway that luck failed you, and hearing a call of Tomâs name in the all too familiar voice of the headmaster was all the inspiration you needed.
Grasping Tomâs hand in your own, you spared a singular glance back, breath catching when you saw the great wizard rapidly approaching. You broke into a sprint, Tom not far behind.
The cool night air hit you in a gust as you fled along the well worn path away from Hogwarts.
Sensing a surprising lack of pursuers for the moment, you gave yourself a moment to look back, taking in the castle in all of itâs majesty, illuminated in the ivory hues of the moonâs light.
A hushed breath slipped past your lips, only then realizing that youâd stopped. Tom stood by your side, waiting stoically.
Your jaw set as a wave of determination spurred you onward. Spinning on your heel to resume your flight, you began to veer off path towards the Forbidden Forest. The main road would be far too open.
In the stillness after the first rush of adrenaline initially wore off, Tom spoke, mirroring his words from so many nights ago.
âTell me Seer, what do you have to say of our fate?â
Your gaze held something deeper, more moving than any affection heâd seen in those eyes before, displaying the true vastness that your love had grown into.
And as the two of you stole away into the night, your voice held a certain fondness that made Tomâs heart swell.
âItâs a fine one to have, especially with such good company.â
hi! I was wondering whether you could write Tom Riddle getting close to his fellow Ravenclaw Prefect, a boy with what could be described as having "divination crystal ball" eyes and no pupils? He's super duper talented in divination, some would say he's a seer. thankyouu! -đź
From the Eyes of a Seer
Pairing: Tom Riddle x seer!male Ravenclaw reader
A/N: I appreciate the request, and this was such a fun one to write. Hope you enjoy!
Pt.2
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As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a golden glow that gradually surrendered to the deep blues and purples of twilight, the castle's usual hustle and bustle began to fade into a quiet stillness. Only a handful of souls remained awake to embrace the enchantment of the night: Argus Filch, ever watchful with an air of grumpy vigilance, and his ever-loyal feline companion, Mrs. Norris. The occasional daring student dashed through the dimly lit hallways, their hurried footfalls echoing off the stone walls, punctuated by bursts of barely suppressed laughter driven by adrenaline coursing through their veins. And of course, there were the prefects, like yourself, dutifully undertaking their nightly patrols.
Tonight, your assigned route led you to the first floorâa middle ground where you were paired with the enigmatic Slytherin prefect.
The muted swish of your robes filled the silence as you emerged from the shadows that clung to the staircase. Observing the dark-haired boy ahead, you noted how tension tightened his posture, an uncharacteristic moment of surprise flashing across his face before he steeled himself, turning to meet your gaze. You couldnât help but feel a spark of amusement at how easily you had caught him off guard.
Although he seemed visibly startled, he quickly masked it, hands clasped firmly behind his back and shoulders squared in a commanding stance that underlined his height. His regal bearing, reminiscent of a royal, hinted at a certain pride in his lineage.
Noticing his intense gaze fixed upon you, a faint smile crept to the corners of your lips. âNo need to apologize. I'm aware I can be quite startling,â you remarked, a seriousness to your tone that veiled the teasing nature of your words.
âI wasnât going to apologize,â he countered with an air of princely authority, his voice dripping with sophistication. âYouâre late,â Tom Riddle continued briskly, pivoting sharply and starting down the corridor, confident that you would follow, his tone implying that the apology should rest squarely on your shoulders.
Matching his determined stride, you unconsciously mirrored his straight-backed posture and clasped hands, earning yourself a disdainful glance as he lifted his chin slightly higher, as if to convey that he was above such things.
âA seer arrives precisely when he means to,â you replied with a casual ease.
Tom shot you a prodding glance, suspicion lurking in his gaze, but you didnât return it. The slight twitch of your lips indicated the the phrase he vaguely recalled from his childhood spent in the Muggle world, had been intentional.
An enveloping silence fell between you, but it was a comfortable companion. You had much to ponder.
The reason for your supposed tardiness, trivial though it wasâa mere minuteâstemmed from a strange vision that had caught you unawares.
Most adept in divination received glimpses of the future through their inner eyes, some stronger than others. But for you, your âinner eyeâ had manifested itself in the physical sense, bringing with it vivid and often disorienting visions.
However, tonightâs vision was different. Within your mind's eye, darkness enveloped you, followed by the eerie echo of scales dragging against rough stone. A soft hiss penetrated the silence, and although fear should have gripped you, you found an unexpected calm instead. The smooth scales scraped your skin as the viper curled around your forearm, offering a weight that both entrapped and grounded your mind.
The night unfolded without much excitement and even fewer words, especially from Tom. But the uneventfulness hardly mattered; this was merely the beginning of many encounters to come.
You soon found that you were frequently assigned to patrol with him. With each meeting, you grew more aware of his presence, like a persistent echo that could no longer be ignored. You came to notice where your schedules intertwined within a handful of mixed Ravenclaw and Slytherin classes.
Usually lost in distant thoughts and daydreams, your attention frequently drifted, causing you to take only a shallow note of your immediate surroundings. Yet Tomâdespite his reserved demeanorâwas remarkably hard to ignore once he appeared on your radar.
So prominent was your inner eyeâthat wasnât so innerâyou often found yourself lost between worlds, an intensely stern look painting your features as you pioneered the future, slipping between realities long passed or those that had yet to pass. What could be, what would be, the endless paths that were constantly changing and growing wider. So many options, so many fates. How fascinating it was that such small changes could cause an immense domino effect, that many were never aware of. You thought that if your peers were as interrwined with fate as you were, they too would marvel at it, sometimes forgetting to ground themselves in the moment.
Tom, oddly enough, became that grounding point for you. He himself was an anomaly, someone of interest that it always paid to be aware of. And so, as you began to notice his strange habits and patterns, your visions began to orbit around him as well. You saw many private matters, hopes and goals, but you were used to it. You already kept so many secrets of students who had no idea of you awareness.
He stood out starkly in the fact that, there didnât seem to be endless possibilities for his future as with others. It was a much narrower path, with only two destinations.
It happened one day that, during Divination, you succeeded in reading your assigned partnerâs future, something they were simply ecstatic about, and Tom was there to witness it, eyes sharp and not missing a thing.
That night, you were once again at his side. He was distant, more so than usual, which you had come to realize was his reaction to being deep in troubled thoughts.
You could sense the restlessness from him, like a caged beast, stirring and pacing in a confined space, tail lashing and teeth bared anxiously.
Letting the silence drag on, you were perfectly content to let him breach the subject on his own time. You didnât question it when his path lead out to the courtyard, him slipping through the shadows as if they drew to him without him quite realizing it, while you walked on the outeredge, slices of moonlight catching your eyes and causing them to gleam on the occasion, brimming with magic, possibilities for what was to come.
By the time Tom noticed this reflection, the two of you were already on the worn dirt road beside the Black Lake. Feeling an intense gaze on you, you glanced over just in time to see his head turning sharply away.
When you gave up trying to catch his eye and let your eyes wander, it seemed that your attention leaving him was what finally got him to talk.
âTell me Seer, what do you know of my fate?â
You took note of his anxiety, if that was what it really was. His worries presented in a strangely calm manner, and you more so felt his concern rather than saw any physical signs of it. A sudden premonition came to you, prompting you to say the words he needed to hear before you had time to ponder them.
âYours is no better or worse than anyone elses. Death is the only promise⊠Why do you ask?â
You got the strangest certainty that he mustâve done something, or had some idea that he thought would change his life drastically.
âWhat is to become of me?⊠Do I want to know?â
Casting him a curious look that he didnt meet, you were intrigued by the latter tone that you could only assume was meant to be a grim joke. âOnly you can decide that, Tom, nothingâs set in stoneâ it never is.â
That finally seemed to calm his worries, if only a bit. He gave a jerky, single nod that endearingly reminded you of a hummingbird. You didnât need supernatural foresight to know that the observation wouldnât be appreciated.
Still, he persisted, hands nearly ghostly white with how hard he was clutching them behind his back, and when he turned to look at you there was a glimmer of something that stood out starkly in his usually so guarded eyes.
Fear? No. Concern⊠guilt, maybe, or curiosity, like he was searching your eyes for an answer he didnât want to voice the question to.
He was looking at you with the desperation of a child shaking the magic 8 ball to tell itâs chances of getting dessert. The thought made you draw in a controlled breath, your features frozen in a serious expression as not break into laughter. There would be time to concern your roomate with seemingly unprompted giggles in the middle of the night when youâd remember the thought. Now though, was too fragile of a moment to break.
âDoes what you see about me⊠disturb you?â
Your head tilted thoughtfully at that, eyes brimming with contained amusement that baffled him until you spoke. âI wouldnât stray to such a secluded place with someone I didnât trust, Tom,â you pointed out gently with a gesture to where you now walked on the far side of the lake.
Neither of you were hardly doing your job, but you had a feeling any students sneaking out would appreciate the sentiment.
Your answer had caught him off guard. Trust was a strange thing to be given away so easily, to him of all people. Sure, Tom was used to earning trust with charming words and the such, but heâd been intentionally keeping his distanceâmaybe just a little put off by your abilitiesâand youâd still deemed him worthy enough.
The silence grew as he mulled over your words, and it was that stillness that gave you the opportunity to notice something you mightâve missed normally.
A fate shifting. His, specifically. The narrow and complicated paths now had two occupying ones, and as you paid attention, another possibility joined them. Unable to hold back a small grin at the rare sight, you gave him a curious glance, realizing he must be considering his future in a new light, coming up with motivations and wants in real time.
You seemed to have that effect on people, causing them to look within themselves as more than just what the world saw of them. That in itself was a better gift than any amount of predicting large events.
âWhat do you think, of my future?â His sultry voice once more cut through the silence.
You were well aware that most people liked to hear about themselves, though Tomâs motives seemed different, something you couldnât entirely put your finger on.
As such, you allowed yourself a minute of quiet to consider his inquiry. Tom didnât seem to mind the wait, anyway. On the contrary, he almost appreciated the genuine thought behind your answer, even if the prolonged silence did vaguely worry him, preparing for the worst.
Noticing his mild unease in the way he rolled his shoulders or cast his gaze around your surroundings more often, a sudden strange feeling tugged at your heartâsome want to sooth his wearinessâalmost as if something lay coiled around it in your chest. The impromptu realization brought the baffling dream to light, and you connected the dots in an instant.
A pleasant smile grew on your lips when you tilted your head to face him. âI think itâs a good one to have. A very interesting one, at that.â
The answer was met with a long stare that you couldnât read as the two of you came full circle around the lake. He paused abruptly and you halted belatedly a few steps ahead, turning to give him a puzzled look.
Tom took a deep breath in through his nose as if he were preparing to speak, couldnât find the words he was looking for, and finally decided actions were a stronger voice anyways.
Resuming his stride, his arm carefully interlocked with yours as he passed, feeling your forearm uncertainly before his hand slipped into yours with the caution of a man fearing getting burnt.
Biting back a delightful laugh, you swiftly fell in step, eyes narrowed in mirth as you resumed the diligent patrol once more, two lone silhouettes bound by the words that remained unspoken between them.
Prompt: Kinktober Day 5: Mind Control/Dub/Non-Con
Pronouns: None mentioned except in summary
Physical Sex: AMAB
Rating: E/Smut
Warnings: Dubious consent, non-con vibes, mind control, drugging, Viagra potion, Tom Riddle being Voldemort in the early days, oral sex, anal sex, bottom reader, multiple orgasms, hopeful open ending, not proof read
Summary: Tom Riddle met a nice boy at Hogwarts. One he couldn't let get away. He keeps him away from his work and uses him as he sees fit.
You donât quite remember a lot from your time at Hogwarts before meeting Tom. You do remember meeting him. His rare but bright smile and his handsome features brought you in and begged you to stay. Who were you to object?
His kindness knows no bounds. Before he leaves for the day he always makes you your favorite morning drink in only the way he can. Thereâs something special he does that youâve never been able to do when you make the drink. He says itâs a secret. When heâs away from home he keeps an eye on you through the mirror and thereâs always one of his most trusted followers not too far away. Again, another secret. Youâre a secret. Only a few of his followers know what theyâre protecting. When he comes home heâs attentive as always. He ensures youâve had something to eat and that youâve behaved as he desires. And as the day winds down he prepares you for a sleepless night.
He makes you another drink, whatever you want before bed. He always adds that special touch that only he can. He leads you to bed after that. He sits on edge and you follow his silent commands. He draws you down on your knees, his hand remaining on your head as you unfasten his pants. You know he doesnât like to be teased, you would never have any intention of doing so. You take his hardness in your hand, preparing him with a few soft pumps before wrapping your mouth around him.
His hand tightens into your hair, pulling it as he guides your movements. It doesnât take much for him to move a simple blowjob into fully fucking your face. He relishes in using you. Even as he unloads down your throat he still keeps his hand harshly fixed in your hair with shrap thrusts. You swallow every drop he gives you, he would have it no other way. He keeps you there, mouth around his now soft dick for a moment, as he tugs at your hair and looks down at you. He loves this sight. You used and beneath him.
He leads you backwards, allowing your jaw to rest as his dick slides out. He pulls you up and you know to undress before laying on your back with your head resting on the pillows. He watches your every move, blinking very sparingly. He moves to your bedside table and pulls out a potion bottle. He holds it to your mouth as he does every night and watches as you swallow it.
You watch as his hand moves to your soft dick and begins to stoke it. He hates how long it takes for the potion to work, but itâs all he has. He told you long ago that you have a disorder that prevents you from getting hard on your own. There are fuzzy memories that vaguely contradict what heâs told you, but why would he lie?
He moves upwards and places his body over yours, laying almost fully on top of you. He begins to kiss you and you kiss him back, your hands moving to his hips just like you know he likes. He grinds against you as he feels you harden beneath him. Thereâs shuffling as his kisses get sloppy. Heâs positioning himself, hard once again. He enters you without warning and his lips leave yours in time for you to let out a cry from the pain.
âWho are you, my dear?â His hand rests on the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.
âVoldemortâsâ
One too many times youâd answered âTom Riddleâsâ and gotten punished. You know what he wants to hear now. His hips move sharply inside of you, bringing another cry. He sets a pace, a harsh one right away. He pounds into you without mercy, moving to just the right angle above you to slam all the way in.
He grabs your chin, stalling after a particularly harsh thrust. âI should be hearing my name.â
His voice is harsh, almost a growl.
âVoldemort,â You moan in response.
He smirks and resumes his harsh pace. His name continues to fall from your mouth, your eyes now closed as you try to process the sensations of pain and pleasure. There is a sudden, tight grip on your dick and you know heâs pulled out his wand. His spellwork in bed is well-practiced and he has you cumming in less than a few minutes. With the potionâs help you remain hard and Tom makes you cum over and over again with his magic and the harsh fucking. After your dick is finally spent he angles your hips up so he can further fuck into you and he cums within the minute. He fills you and leaves himself inside for a moment before muttering a spell with a wave of his wand, then he pulls himself out and not a drop of his cum leaves you. He usually plugs you up, he just likes to have part of him inside of you as much as possible.
When he sits back on his knees and releases your hips you fall back onto the bed and take heavy breaths. Tom watches you as he always does. His hand lightly stroking your thigh and watching your chest rise and fall. You hear him mutter something again before you fall asleep.
Most mornings he wakes you up and makes you your drink, but today heâs gone. When you wander into the kitchen there is a note by your favorite cup. He must have had something important come up. There is something in the back of your mind that tells you not to drink it as you always do. Itâs so strong that you dump the liquid down the sink before you head off to the shower.
Prompt: Kinktober Day 5: Mind Control/Dub/Non-Con
Pronouns: None mentioned except in summary
Physical Sex: AMAB
Rating: E/Smut
Warnings: Dubious consent, non-con vibes, mind control, drugging, Viagra potion, Tom Riddle being Voldemort in the early days, oral sex, anal sex, bottom reader, multiple orgasms, hopeful open ending, not proof read
Summary: Tom Riddle met a nice boy at Hogwarts. One he couldn't let get away. He keeps him away from his work and uses him as he sees fit.
You donât quite remember a lot from your time at Hogwarts before meeting Tom. You do remember meeting him. His rare but bright smile and his handsome features brought you in and begged you to stay. Who were you to object?
His kindness knows no bounds. Before he leaves for the day he always makes you your favorite morning drink in only the way he can. Thereâs something special he does that youâve never been able to do when you make the drink. He says itâs a secret. When heâs away from home he keeps an eye on you through the mirror and thereâs always one of his most trusted followers not too far away. Again, another secret. Youâre a secret. Only a few of his followers know what theyâre protecting. When he comes home heâs attentive as always. He ensures youâve had something to eat and that youâve behaved as he desires. And as the day winds down he prepares you for a sleepless night.
He makes you another drink, whatever you want before bed. He always adds that special touch that only he can. He leads you to bed after that. He sits on edge and you follow his silent commands. He draws you down on your knees, his hand remaining on your head as you unfasten his pants. You know he doesnât like to be teased, you would never have any intention of doing so. You take his hardness in your hand, preparing him with a few soft pumps before wrapping your mouth around him.
His hand tightens into your hair, pulling it as he guides your movements. It doesnât take much for him to move a simple blowjob into fully fucking your face. He relishes in using you. Even as he unloads down your throat he still keeps his hand harshly fixed in your hair with shrap thrusts. You swallow every drop he gives you, he would have it no other way. He keeps you there, mouth around his now soft dick for a moment, as he tugs at your hair and looks down at you. He loves this sight. You used and beneath him.
He leads you backwards, allowing your jaw to rest as his dick slides out. He pulls you up and you know to undress before laying on your back with your head resting on the pillows. He watches your every move, blinking very sparingly. He moves to your bedside table and pulls out a potion bottle. He holds it to your mouth as he does every night and watches as you swallow it.
You watch as his hand moves to your soft dick and begins to stoke it. He hates how long it takes for the potion to work, but itâs all he has. He told you long ago that you have a disorder that prevents you from getting hard on your own. There are fuzzy memories that vaguely contradict what heâs told you, but why would he lie?
He moves upwards and places his body over yours, laying almost fully on top of you. He begins to kiss you and you kiss him back, your hands moving to his hips just like you know he likes. He grinds against you as he feels you harden beneath him. Thereâs shuffling as his kisses get sloppy. Heâs positioning himself, hard once again. He enters you without warning and his lips leave yours in time for you to let out a cry from the pain.
âWho are you, my dear?â His hand rests on the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.
âVoldemortâsâ
One too many times youâd answered âTom Riddleâsâ and gotten punished. You know what he wants to hear now. His hips move sharply inside of you, bringing another cry. He sets a pace, a harsh one right away. He pounds into you without mercy, moving to just the right angle above you to slam all the way in.
He grabs your chin, stalling after a particularly harsh thrust. âI should be hearing my name.â
His voice is harsh, almost a growl.
âVoldemort,â You moan in response.
He smirks and resumes his harsh pace. His name continues to fall from your mouth, your eyes now closed as you try to process the sensations of pain and pleasure. There is a sudden, tight grip on your dick and you know heâs pulled out his wand. His spellwork in bed is well-practiced and he has you cumming in less than a few minutes. With the potionâs help you remain hard and Tom makes you cum over and over again with his magic and the harsh fucking. After your dick is finally spent he angles your hips up so he can further fuck into you and he cums within the minute. He fills you and leaves himself inside for a moment before muttering a spell with a wave of his wand, then he pulls himself out and not a drop of his cum leaves you. He usually plugs you up, he just likes to have part of him inside of you as much as possible.
When he sits back on his knees and releases your hips you fall back onto the bed and take heavy breaths. Tom watches you as he always does. His hand lightly stroking your thigh and watching your chest rise and fall. You hear him mutter something again before you fall asleep.
Most mornings he wakes you up and makes you your drink, but today heâs gone. When you wander into the kitchen there is a note by your favorite cup. He must have had something important come up. There is something in the back of your mind that tells you not to drink it as you always do. Itâs so strong that you dump the liquid down the sink before you head off to the shower.
synopsis: Something is getting rearranged in this fic and itâs not the ventilation system.
content warnings: 18+, smut, top male reader, the reader is a mechanic, AFAB Tom Riddle (masc-presenting), power imbalance, class kink, countertop sex, rough sex, degradation, spit, cum play, Tom is a rich brat, breeding kink, handprints on skin, non-magic AU, brat taming, heatwave smut, light manhandling, unprotected, reader is mean, Tom is ruined, filthy smut, no saving him now lol.
word count: 2.9k
a/n: we all love @deadmeat666 in this household (request)
Youâre already sweating by the time the front gate unlocks.
Big iron thing. Sensor barely responsive. The kind of place people inherit, not buyâtoo much stone, too much ivy, too many empty windows watching you as you pull your truck up the gravel drive. You half expect a groundskeeper to greet you. Maybe a housekeeper, maybe some assistant with a clipboard.
Instead, a man answers the door.
Pale. Sharp. Clean-cut in a starched button-up rolled just to the elbows, dark trousers pressed within an inch of their life. Hair parted and perfect despite the heatâthough thereâs a glint of sweat just behind his ear, right where it meets his jaw.
âTom Riddle, sir?â you ask.
He doesnât nod. Doesnât speak. Just looks at you. Down, then up. Like heâs deciding whether youâre worth stepping around.
ââŠYouâre early,â he says.
His voice is smooth, clipped. Oxford, maybe. Definitely private-school polished. The kind of tone used for commanding staff. Or ruining someoneâs week.
You shrug and adjust the strap of your toolkit. âYou said it was urgent.â
His mouth twitches. Not a smile. Something sharper.
âItâs intolerable.â He turns without waiting. âThe central unit controls the main wing. Itâs been pushing nothing but hot air since last night.â
You follow him inside, boots echoing over polished tile. The temperature hits like a wallâhumid and close, heat baking through the high ceilings and museum-grade curtains. You catch a faint whiff of something earthy in the air. Almost metallic. Heâs sweating. Not much. But just enough.
He gestures toward a vent in the wall like heâs offended by its existence.
âHere.â
You nod. Drop to a crouch. Toolkit hits the floor with a dull thud.
Youâre half-unpacking when you feel itâhis gaze, cutting through the back of your shirt. Lingering. Tracking the slope of your shoulders, the stretch of your sleeves. You ignore it. Youâve dealt with worse.
âWouldnât have thought a place this expensive would be running ancient ductwork,â you mutter, brushing dust off the casing.
He hums. âThe bones are original.â
Of course they are.
You start working. Screws out. Panel off. The smell of overworked metal hits your noseâburned out motor, maybe a blown capacitor. Easy enough to fix, but the heatâs sticking to your spine already, sweat trickling low between your shoulder blades.
Behind you, the chair creaks. Heâs sitting now. Legs crossed, arms draped over the sides like some vulture prince in exile. Watching.
âYou donât talk much,â he observes.
âIâm working.â
âHm.â
A pause. You feel him shift. Hear the soft slide of fabric against leather as he adjusts his seat. When you glance back, his collarâs undone. Just one button. But his throat is flushed, the faintest sheen of sweat catching the light.
His eyes donât leave your hands.
âYou always work like that?â he asks.
You pause. âLike what?â
âFixing things by beating the shit out of them?âÂ
You glance over your shoulder. Heâs leaning forward now. Elbows on his knees. His gaze is fixed on your fingers wrapped around the wrenchâknuckles flexing, wrist tense. His mouth is parted just slightly.
You smirk. âWould you rather I be gentle with it?â
The chair goes still.
Silence. Heavy. A breath caught between you.
He looks away first.
âJust fix it,â he says, too quiet.
You return to the panel. Smirk widening.
You get the fan spinning within five minutes. Cool air sputters, then hums, then flowsâsweet and low through the vents. You feel it wash over your neck and exhale.
Behind you?
A sound.
Soft. Choked.
You glance back.
Heâs still in the chair, but his knees have drifted open. His shirtâs clinging now, damp at the collarbone. His pupilsâhuge. His lashes flutter when the breeze hits him again, and his fingers tighten where they grip the arms of the chair.
Like itâs too good. Too much.
And just for a second?
His hips twitch.
You wipe your hands on your rag, slow. Deliberate.
âBetter?â
He swallows. Nods once.
But he doesnât say thank you.
He doesnât even look at you.
He simply tilts his head back against the chair, throat exposed, breathing through his nose like itâs the only thing keeping him from coming apart.
You let the silence hang. Cool air rolling out of the vent. Tomâs shirt flutters slightly where itâs plastered to his skin, his body caught somewhere between relief and something more volatile.
Heâs still trying to pretend heâs unaffected.
Still got that chin tilted, lips pressed into something unreadableâbut his pulse is jumping in his throat. You can see it.
You reach down and snap your toolkit shut.
The sound makes him flinch.
âIâll need to come back in a week,â you say, standing. âThe motorâs halfway fried. This fix wonât hold forever.â
His fingers twitch on the armrest. Still not looking at you.
âFine,â he mutters, but his voice isnât as crisp this time. The heat softened him. Made him pliant.
You step forwardâslowly. Boots heavy on marble. Cross the space between you with deliberate weight until youâre standing just in front of the chair. The cool air follows you. Tomâs jaw tightens.
He still doesnât look up.
âYou gonna say thank you?â you ask.
He meets your eyes at last. Calm and unreadable. But thereâs heat behind itâlike heâs daring you to make it worse.
âI paid for the service.â
You click your tongue. âDidnât pay for the extra attention. Or the fast response. Or the fact I didnât walk back out the second you opened your mouth.â
A beat.
He swallows. The tendon in his neck flexes.
âAnd yet,â he murmurs, âyouâre still standing here.â
You take him in. Carefully, now. Like a puzzle that needs prying open instead of solving.
His shirtâs sticking to his chest now, heat-slick. One button undone at the top, like he got desperate enough to loosen it but not enough to be obvious. His slacks are creased, but you can see the faintest tension in his thighs. Heâs holding himself together through sheer force of willâand his scent, underneath it all, is a mess of soap, sweat, and something utterly feral.
You lean forward. Plant a hand on the arm of the chair. Right beside his.
He doesnât move.
âYouâre ovulating,â you say quietly.
His pupils flare.
You feel itâthat crack in the air. Like something pulled too tight finally splitting.
Still, he scoffs. A dry little thing.
âBold of you to assume Iâd want you.â
You grin.
Then you grab him by the throat.
Not hard. Just firm enough to tilt his chin back, thumb brushing his jawline, the heat of his skin pulsing under your fingers. He inhales, sharp. Entire body tensing like a plucked string.
You feel it. The way his thighs twitch. The way his hands grip the chair.
âYou called me,â you murmur. âYou sat there watching me work. Breathing heavy. Legs open. Shirt clinging like you wanted someone to rip it off.â
He exhales through his nose. Shudders.
âYou want me.â
âI donât,â he hissesâbut his hips shift. His chest rises too fast.
Your grip doesnât tighten, but you donât pull away either.
His voice breaks. âI donâtââ
You lean in. Close enough that your breath ghosts over the sweat on his cheek.
âYou want someone dirty,â you say. âSomeone who doesnât ask. Who doesnât care how pretty your house is. You want to be bent over in this chair and ruined, Tom.â
He whimpers.
Itâs soft. Desperate. Unintentional.
And the way he looks at you now? Eyes wide, lip caught between his teeth, pulse pounding like a war drumâyou know heâs soaked.
So ready.
So close to falling apart.
Your hand slips down from his throat to his chest, where his shirtâs damp and clinging. You smear a stripe of grease over the fabric, just above his sternum. He gasps. Stares down at it.
âWhat are you doingââ
âMarking you,â you murmur. âLike you asked for.â
He doesnât argue.
He just watches your fingers as they leave another print. And another. His chest rising and falling faster now, mouth slightly open.
When your other hand starts unbuttoning his shirt, he doesnât stop you.
He just leans back into the leather, heat-flushed and shame-drunk, letting you peel him open inch by inchâuntil heâs breathless beneath you, trembling, and smeared with sweat and grease like a ruined little canvas.
The shirt comes apart easily once he lets you in. Slick fabric peeled down his arms, clinging in spots, already stained at the collar where your hand held him by the throat.
Tom stares at your fingers as you smear another streak of grease across his chest, just under the collarbone. He jolts when you do it, but he doesnât stop you. Heâs panting now, hands gripping the chair arms like theyâre the only thing keeping him upright.
âLook at you,â you murmur. âSweaty little mess. All that money and still dripping like a bitch in heat.â
His jaw flexes. âDonâtââ
You spit on his chest.
He gaspsâchokes on it. Shoulders jerk, hands twitchâbut he doesnât pull away. He just staresâlike he canât decide whether to wipe it off, or drag your fingers through it and lick them clean.
You smear it in with your palm. Mix it with the sweat. The grease. The pink flush blooming down his sternum.
âYou donât want me,â you echo. âBut youâre shaking.â
âIââ His voice breaks. âIâmââ
âHot?â You lean in. Bite his earlobe. âWet? Needy?â
He groans. Low and helpless. His hips twitch in the seat.
Your hand trails down his stomach. You watch his muscles jump under your palm, watch his thighs press togetherâbut you shove them open again with a knee between his legs, and he lets you.
âTake it off,â you mutter.
He blinks.
âYour trousers, Tom. Take. Them. Off.â
He fumbles with the buttons. Not because he doesnât want toâbecause heâs too far gone to unfasten them right. The fabric sticks to his thighs. You help, yanking them down hard, and he gasps as the cool air hits his skin.
No underwear.
Of course there isnât.
You laugh under your breath. âYou were waiting for this.â
âShut upââ
You slap the inside of his thigh.
The sound echoes like a gunshot. His head snaps back against the leather with a whine.
âTry that again,â you growl.
He breathes hard. His lip trembles.
ââŠPlease,â he whispers.
Better.
You run two fingers down the seam of his cunt. Heâs soakedâslippery, slick, and pulsing. The heat has him swollen and flushed, sensitive like heâs days into ovulating and desperate for friction. You circle his clit once and he bucks into your hand like itâs instinct.
âFucking hell,â you mutter. âYouâre soaked through.â
âJustâdo itââ he gasps.
You grip his jaw. Force his face up.
âSay what you want, or you get nothing.â
He looks like he might fight it. Just for a second.
Then he shudders. Chest heaving.
âFuck me,â he croaks. âI want you to fuck me.â
You grin. âWhere?â
He blinks. Flushed deeper.
You stroke two fingers through his folds, teasing his entrance, and he moans before he can stop himself.
âThere?â you ask. âWant me to spread you open right here? In daddyâs chair?â
He nods, eyes wet.
You push two fingers in.
The sound he makes is ruinedâhigh and guttural, like itâs been ripped from his lungs. He claws at the chair arms, legs twitching, grinding down on your hand like heâs been waiting for this all goddamn day.
âMore,â he gasps. âI can take moreâfuck, I need itââ
You curl your fingers. Hit just right. His whole body jerks.
âGood little mess,â you murmur. âAll that attitude, and now youâre soaking my wrist.â
You start fucking him harderâdeep and fast, thumb working his clit, and heâs coming undone fast. Squirming, whining, panting so loud youâre sure itâs echoing off the chandelier. You reach up and press your greasy hand over his mouth.
âBe quiet.â
He moans into it. Loud.
And when he comesâgod, he screams into your palm.
Spasming around your fingers, legs shaking, cunt gushing slick down your knuckles. You feel it run down to your wrist. His whole body trembling like the AC kicked in just to cool him off.
You pull your hand away. His mouth stays open, tongue slick and pink, eyes dazed.
You shove your fingers in.
He chokes. Sucks on them like heâs starving.
Then he gaspsâ
And youâre lifting him. Just like that. Out of the chair, over your shoulder, like he weighs nothing. He yelps, grabs your shirt, claws at it.
âWhatâwhat are you doingââ
âTaking you somewhere with fewer antiques.â
You kick open the nearest door. Marble bathroom. Gold fixtures. Steam already beading on the mirror.
You drop him on the counter with a thudâthe kind that echoes off stone and glass and expensive tile. His palms slide back, bracing himself behind him, legs falling open without thought.
Heâs flushed everywhere. Collarbone down to the hips. Damp with sweat, gleaming under the bathroom lights. The chill of the AC brushes his skin now, making him shiver, but youâre already unfastening your belt, and his eyes are glued to your hands like heâs watching something sacred.
âYou good?â you ask, casual, even as you fist your cock and stroke once, twiceâcoating it in the slick from your wrist, still sticky with him.
He blinks up at you, lips parted, chest heaving.
âPlease,â he says.
Thatâs enough.
You grab him by the hips and drag him to the edge. He slides easyâslick thighs catching on marble, hair sticking to his forehead. When the head of your cock presses to his entrance, he shudders so hard his legs kick out.
âStill want it rough?â you ask.
His voice breaks.
âDonât be gentle. Please. I donât want gentle.â
You push in.
Not slow. Not gentle.
You slide in all the way to the base in one thick, relentless thrustâand he screams.
Fists slamming back against the mirror, spine arched off the counter, eyes wide and wet and stunned.
âFuckââ he sobs. âIâgodâgod, youâreââ
âToo much?â you growl.
He shakes his head violently. âNoâ donât stopâdonâtâfuck, itâs perfectââ
You grip his hips and pull out almost all the wayâthen slam back in, hard enough to rattle the sink.
The sound he makes isnât human.
You set a pace thatâs brutal, punishing. Every thrust slaps skin to skin, echoing in the wide tiled space. The counterâs creaking beneath him. His thighs are spread so far he canât even brace, just flails a little with every snap of your hips. Heâs soaked and throbbing, clit slick and untouched, twitching every time your cock drags over that spot that makes him sob.
âLook at you,â you grit. âClenching around me like a needy little slut. You act so high and mighty, and now youâre justâtaking it.â
He cries outâshakesâhis mouth open and panting. His lashes stick to his cheeks.
âYou are a slut, arenât you?â you snarl. âNeeded a working man to come in and fuck you open while you dripped all over daddyâs furniture.â
His legs jerk.
âSay it.â
He whimpers. Tries to form words and fails.
You wrap your hand around his throat and squeeze just enough.
âSay it.â
âIâIâm a slutâ I needed it, I needed you to fuck meââ
âThatâs what I thought.â
You lean over him. His knees come up around your waist, and you grab under one to spread him wider. He gasps. The shift angles you deeper, and he wails when your next thrust slams in. You feel him clench, flutter, suck you in like he doesnât want to let go.
You spit in his mouth without warning.
He chokes on it. Moans.
âSwallow.â
He does.
You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back so you can suck bruises into his throat. Big, messy onesâmarks he wonât be able to hide for days. He claws at your arms, your back, sobbing now with every thrust.
âBreed me,â he gasps. âPleaseâplease, fill me upâmake me yoursââ
You slam into him harder. Hips pistoning. Your balls slap against the curve of his ass, his cunt tight and sucking and so wet you swear it sounds like heâs drowning on your cock.
âYou want that?â you growl. âWant me to fuck a baby into you right here on the counter?â
âYesââ Heâs nearly screaming. âPleaseâpleaseâyouâre so deep, I can feel it, I canâfuckââ
His eyes roll back.
You donât stop.
Not when he cumsâlegs locking, toes curling, cunt squeezing you like a vice. Not when he sobs through it, trembling under you, so overstimulated heâs twitching, drooling a little down his chin.
You keep going.
Keep pounding into him like the fucking air conditioning isnât even on. Like your only goal is to fuck him through the wall.
Heâs babbling now. Nonsense. Broken pleads.
âCanâtâ canât thinkâfeels so goodâso fullâyâgonna break meâgonnaâfuckâfuckââ
You growl against his throat. âYouâre mine now.â
He shatters.
You feel him spasm around you again, cunt pulsing, body wracked with aftershocks.
You slam in one last time and come undoneâa filthy, full-body groan tearing out of your throat as you grind in, burying it all. You stay there. Deep. Buried to the hilt as your cock throbs, thick spurts spilling into him until it leaks out around you and drips down onto the bathroom tile.
Heâs not moving.
Just blinking slowly, gasping, covered in spit, sweat, and come, shaking like his brain short-circuited somewhere between the first orgasm and the third.
You pull out slowly.
He moans. Hazy. Destroyed.
Your cum spills out of him and onto the counter in thick streaks. Heâs a wreck. Flushed, slick, ruined. Hair a mess, legs still open.
You stroke his thigh gently.
âNext time,â you say, breathing hard, âtry saying please before I walk in.â
