House Of The Dragon Masterlist

Dark! Tom Riddle x Hufflepuff! Reader

Tom Marvolo Riddle was hard to avoid especially when he is the one who wants you.

At Hogwarts, the Slytherin heir is what every girl wants in a boyfriend, handsome, intelligent and powerful.

The fact that he already has followers who worship the ground he walks on, made you realize that he is a red flag, therefore you made sure to avoid him.

I mean his followers terrorize muggle-borns and you have a feeling that Tom is associated with the forbidden type of dark arts.

Staying away from him is probably a good decision.

Unfortunately, Tom took an interest in you simply because you are a descendant of Merlin and Helga Hufflepuff.

You would always shy away from his flirtatious gazes and sweet spoken words which he is clearly trying to seduce you with.

At the beginning, he thought of you as a way to achieve his goal of getting the ancestral hufflepuff's cup, but Tom found himself attracted to you.

You are shy and kind but not silly.

However, you lack in your studies, a chance that Tom took as he convinced you that he could tutor you.

You were forced to accept his off after you were pressured by professor Slughorn.

When you received high grades on your exams, you started to trust the Slytherin heir.

But only as a friend.

However, that did not please Tom.

After all, he always got what he wanted whether it was by agreement or by force.

His foolish mother might have managed to get his father to marry her with a love potion.

But, Tom will use the imperius curse on you instead, a much more effective curse then some silly love potion.

All he has to do is wait after you both graduate just so he can control you fully.

"Tell me, (Y/n)...have you ever thought about marriage?"

Aegon: So you like Aemond?

Y/N: Yes...Thoughts?

Aegon: and prayers, girl what

MIND OVER MATTER.

+ . jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

part two to 'sacrifice'.

synopsis. you return to jacaerys. a gift from the gods.

3 + . contents. canon-divergent. no use of y/n or any variation. mentions of violence. heavy angst. no comfort. hurt. descriptions of torturous aftermaths. 3.2k words.

Warm firelight bathes the sharp and strong features of the prince, dark brows furrowed so tightly that the crease between them may become permanent. There’s a drowsiness in his eyelids and yet his mind is louder than the storm that rages outside of the stone walls. Shifting on his shoes, his strong hand fidgets and shifts along the smoothness of the hilt of his sword as he watches the flames burn at the wood and lick along the stone walls it’s confined to. Hand so tight along the smooth leather and grooves that he may just snap the hilt itself. In his other hand he gently smoothes his hand along a hairpin, pretty with a dangling flower off a chain of silver and made of glass. Jacaerys’s dark almond eyes slowly flutter shut and he inhales through his nose with a tight jaw, head throbbing and stomach feeling hollow.

It’s been two months.

Two months. Jacaerys hasn’t seen you in two months, he hasn’t heard a word in two months. Jacaerys swallows thickly as a stinging moves through his nose and his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword while the other eases around the glass hairpin. You should have returned to him already. You should have returned, come back to him so he might be stronger and less of a coward as he had so promised. So Jacaerys could do what he’d been too weak to do so many times before. Yet, it’s been two months. So much has happened and you’re still gone.

Heavy doors open and Jacaerys’s eyes open, broad shoulders stiffen and he blinks away the stinging in his eyes. Slowly, he straightens up and conceals the hairpin beneath his dark sleeve. Gentle footsteps and the soft brush of fabric against stone, Jacaerys listens to the footsteps of his mother and the sound of her setting down supper onto the table within his quarters. Jacaerys is wordless, he doesn’t look away from the flames. Silence is thick, heavy, he awaits her departure but he knows her, his mother. So, she never leaves.

Instead, she speaks.

“Please eat.”

And Jacaerys wishes she’d care less, then he’d feel less guilt over the ruin this is bringing him. The ruin of his affections and his…love may bring this war that he’s meant to be entirely focused on. Yet, all he can think about is you. You. You. Fucking you. In no response, Rhaenyra’s footsteps grow closer and Jacaerys looks away from the flames when his mother suddenly steps before him. Her hands reach out but his boots step back and his hilt is grasped even tighter.

“Mother.” Jacaerys says as a warning. He loves her. He doesn’t wish to snap at her or say things in harsh blindness as he’s been doing all too often during this war. Especially as of late. Jacaerys’s eyes screwed shut and he finally releases the hilt, his hand coming up when he makes the mistake of looking at her porcelain face of love and concern for her sweet boy. Grooves line the inside of his hand from the design of his hilt and his fingers shake, he’s so tense he’s trembling. “Please.” The word comes far less firm and stiff, it comes pathetic and desperate. Begging her to not break what he’s been so horribly holding together.

Rhaenyra’s brows sew up, her eyes flickering along the face of one stricken by grief before a death. The Queen exhales deeply as Jacaerys slowly lowers his hand and she presses her hands over her stomach. “My sweet boy…this–you cannot let what we do not know bring you to your knees.” Rhaenyra’s voice is soft, gentle and all the worse for Jacaerys. He tries to keep his burning gaze to the floor, but he weakens again in the atmosphere of his mother’s comfort and love. Dark eyes look at her beautiful light ones and his jaw tenses as she shakes her head. “We do not know of her fate, she would not wish to see you like this. I cannot bear to see you like this.”

“Like what?” Jacaerys asks as if he does not know.

“Like a shell of my boy.” Rhaenyra replies swiftly, her brows sewing up and eyes squinting in an almost pained way. Jacaerys swallows thickly, his hand running down his face as he turns away and slowly walks over to the supper. Thumbs smooth dark circles and sweep slightly sunken cheeks. Jacaerys’s eyes look at the food and his stomach curls in disgust, what if you’re starving somewhere? What if you’ve starved? “There are still loyalists seeking her, Jacaerys.” His mother tries with a soft tone, a gentle one as he picks up a piece of bread and holds it in the hand not occupied by the glass hair pin.

“Do you remember what I was like when we first met, mother?” Jacaerys speaks softly, quietly, his brows twitching as he holds the bread in his hand. Glancing at the Queen, Rhaenyra’s expression softens and the hint of a smile on her pink lips brings a hint to that of Jacaerys’s. But it makes his stomach all the more sick as he nods gently. “She has been my closest friend since I was a boy. She’s proved herself loyal to me, to you – to us since…since before there was a loyalty to be deserving of. I wish she weren’t such.” Jacaerys’s eyes screw shut and he swallows thickly. “I wish she would betray us, I wish she would stab me in the back, I hope and pray to the Gods that she were more selfish, more disloyal, dishonorable I–”

“Jacaerys.” Rhaenyra breathes out.

Jacaerys shakes his head and drops the bread crushed into crumbs along the plate. And he inhales shakily, he looks down and unsheathes the glass hair pin. That stinging in his eyes has grown worse, his vision blurring as the little glass flower gently sways off the chain. “L–Luce–” Jacaerys voice grows choked as he looks down and his vision blurs further. “H-He gave this to her. An expression of gratitude for all she did when we were still children. So many times I’ve tried to get her to wear it, Baela’s tried the same – after h–he…” Jacaerys trails off. “We stopped but…I still remember why she refused to wear it. She told me so confidently that she wanted to wear it for my coronation.” And Jacaerys inhales shakily, footsteps coming towards him.

The moment Rhaenyra’s hand touches his arm, Jacaerys sets the glass pin onto the table and embraces her with a choked sob. Rhaenyra holds him as she did not long ago in mourning her son and his brother. Jacaerys clings to her gown and shakes his head. “I could not stand it, m-mother – blood sheds in war but mine own and that of mine heart…two at once, for us…” Jacaerys sobs into her neck, his mother gently swaying him while holding him close as if he’s still just a little boy that needs his mother. Rhaenyra’s expression is one of pain as she holds him close.

For a while Jacaerys seeks comfort in his mother, then they talk about the recents events together – nothing too touchy, they are not privileged yet to truly and fully mourn – and Rhaenyra eats with Jacaerys.

It’s an hour and some later when the doors suddenly open, bursting practically. Jacaerys and Rhaenyra look at Baela, panting with wide eyes. “Baela, is all well?” Jacaerys asks with immediate worry.

Jacaerys nearly crumbles at the words to leave her lips.

“She has returned.”

It feels as if all the blood in his body is cold. It doesn’t feel as if Jacaerys is of his own mind or body – his soul and heart racing him down the corridors to follow Baela as Queen Rhaenyra leaves to notify Rhaena. Jacaerys is quick, dark curls bouncing and moving as he follows the sound of instructions tossed at sworn guards from the maester sworn to Rhaenyra. Cold winds from the open walls and windows bring an iciness to once warm skin, but Jacaerys can feel nothing. Nothing but an anticipation and overwhelming sense of fear of what he might face.

Quick hands catch Baela when the followerer to that of the maester extends his hand to stop Baela from grabbing the handle of the door. The guard shakes his head after a formal bow, his brow beaded in sweat and tan skin a bit red against the heavy armor he adorns. “Forgive me, your graces, but the maester has given strict instructions to not allow anyone within the chambers – her guard may be infected with a contagious fever.” Jacaerys’s eyes widen and he feels himself ease back into his body, he looks to Baela who silently urges him to cling onto some semblance of patience or hope.

But Jacaerys knows with fevers, death is always almost certain – and he must know of all that happened, he must see you one last time. He couldn’t say goodbye to Lucerys, he will not find his opportunity lost with you.

Jacaerys pulls back Baela with a gentle touch of her wrist and his dark eyes meet her rounded ones. “Oblige the instructions of the maester, no one shall enter.” Baela can see the resolve in his face and she inhales deeply, her brows sewing up as she nods and gently squeezes his hand holding her wrist before she steps away. Immediately, the prince turns to grab the door but the guard steps in front of it and Jacaerys looks at him with soft breaths and wide, incredulous eyes as the loud sound of servants in the chambers come through the heavy door.

“My prince, I cannot risk your–”

“I am the prince – you are sworn to my blood. Let. Me. Through.” Jacaerys’s voice is hard and thick as his eyes burn into the gaze of the guard. The guard, clearly taken aback, seems to hesitate. Jacaerys can feel him pondering whether he fears the heir or the Queen more, how would the Queen feel about her son possibly being exposed to a horrid fever? Jacaerys can’t seem to care. He doesn’t. And thankfully, he wins. The guard quickly steps aside. Jacaerys nods. “Thank you, Ser.” And Jacaerys enters the chambers untouched yet closest to the entrance of the castle.

The sound of the maester ordering the servants fills the air, the old man hunching over the bed and for the first time in two months, over eight weeks, over sixty days, one-thousand four-hundred and sixty hours, over five million seconds – Jacaerys’s eyes fall to you. His expression hard and his entire body going numb, a servant rushing to him to place a precautionary cloth around his face and Jacaerys merely allows it to happen as he watches you laid down and being tended to with a quickness.

Your face is filthy. Covered in smudge and dirt, hair the same and matted so severely that it’s being cut off. Beneath unconsciousness, being stripped of your dirtied clothes that were not the ones you left Dragonstone in, Jacaerys feels sick suddenly. Lashes cover your back, flesh risen and scabbing over with signs of infection in some green to match that of the bruises on your face and flesh. Jacaerys stumbles backwards, a hand going to his heart that feels it may just give out and he turns around.

Emptying the contents of his first true meal in two months into a glass vase, he screws his eyes shut as the scent of the dungeons burns into the room.

Soon, Jacaerys is given everything he must know while alongside his mother and cousins.

A guard of the Keep was assigned to watch you when you were discovered – you were stupid. You stupidly tried to help a woman being given a public lashing and what did you get? Recognized and imprisoned. It wasn’t enough to be imprisoned, plenty of the cunt usurper’s came to visit you but Jacaerys could hardly stomach the knowledge that Aegon saw to you the most. The guard to help you escape, unable to handle the cruelties of the usurper Aegon against a woman of honor and loyalty, recounted to Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Jacaerys all you had gone through in those two months.

Every horrid detail.

Jacaerys was nearly going to kill himself. To fly to King’s Landing and bring Aegon’s head to be the centerpiece of a grand feast. But it was during the loud chaos of attempting to keep the prince at bay that the guard offered something – something that was enough to make Jacaerys settle.

Your words. One of the long conversations you had with the guard, one conversation after a bad set of lashing that left you drooling and hunched over a bale of hay with your torn dress bloodied and dirty. The guard says he had asked you why you did not merely give Aegon what he wanted, why you did not tell them what the Queen was planning, why you did not kill yourself, why you did not agree to be the best sword beside that of the Kinslayer Aemond Targaryen. Jacaerys could hear your voice in his head rather than the guard’s when he offered your response.

“I know I will see him again…I could not look in his eye if I were to ever give these true bastards what they desire, so I will not. Because I know that someday…I will see my Jacaerys again.”

The maester had delivered the news of your condition. Needless to say it wasn’t well. Starved enough to keep you in agony yet fed enough to keep you alive, beaten more often than not, and used by more than just the usurper cunt and given moon tea so many times you are all but promised to never bare a child. But the maester said there was no fever, no flu – that the only thing anyone could do now is to wait. To wait and to not let the task be in vain, for a guard of the Keep that’d been close to the King was now in their palm.

But Jacaerys – try as he might – couldn’t care, not about being ordered to find rest and eat and every other thing he could not do and not about anything else. The next night, when all are silent and the guards are patrolling where they should, he went to your chambers. He had to see you.

Now here Jacaerys sits, at the edge of your bed and looking over you with tears falling down his cheeks and body stiff. You look ghostly. That warmth and brightness gone and replaced by a splash of hideous colors to be a reminder of what you faced. You’re more white bandages than skin. Jacaerys swallows thickly as he sniffles and shifts on the seat, shaking his head when a tear finally falls and he reaches out. Strong hands are gentle, treating your hand like the glass hair pin and cradling it between his hands. You’re cold yet sweaty.

Inhaling shakily, Jacaerys swallows thickly and he shakes his head. His eyes trace your features, your hair, and he forces a smile as hot tears roll down his cheeks. “You will go mad once you awake and see your hair.” Jacaerys whispers out softly. His thumb smoothes your knuckles and flesh of your hand. “Once, I hardly even cut an inch as a foolish little joke of a young boy trying to get the attention of a strong girl and you nearly made me bite my own heart with your punch.” He laughs softly, sniffling as he nods and looks down at your hand in his. “I must apologize as well for going through your things in your absence. I–wanted to find your hair pin, to keep it safe. It–is.” Jacaerys nods stiffly as his eyes trace hair choppy and cut, wet from the bed bath you’d been given.

“Oh and–I have already ordered a surplus of your fruit you so love.” Jacaerys nods, his eyes shooting back down to your hand. “I–whenever I fell ill you…you would bring me chocolates. You would not let me eat them though, no.” The prince swallows the lump in his throat that simply forms again as blurry vision trains on your hand. “No, you told me that the chocolates were to be my reason to get better sooner. You told me that if I could not get better, I would never taste chocolate again. Then you w-would jest and pretend to eat them when I–would refuse my medicine or the help of the maester. I think the chocolates were my remedy.” Jacaerys’s voice breaks off as his smile falters and shakes, his hands smoothing along your hand.

“Or perhaps you were my remedy.” He whispers quietly.

And Jacaerys looks at your face. The bruising along your face, the cuts, the bandaging and bandages – Jacaerys swallows thickly and he shakes his head with a hard and deep sniff.

“So, you m-must be quick. You must get better, lest the fruit rots. O-Or I will eat all of it. The crates of it. You m-must get better, you m–must awake please–please a-aw–” Jacaerys’s voice breaks off into chokes sobs, his head falling forward to press his forehead against your knuckles. The prince’s body shakes and jumps in pure agony and pain as he holds your hand. Kissing your knuckles and along the inners of your palms, up your fingertips, pleading and begging fills the air with his chokes sobs. “Wake up for me – do not leave me…d-do not–”

It’s sometime before Jacaerys finds slumber, head throbbing, eyes puffy, and throat aching as he slouches in slumber in the seat beside your bed. His hand holding yours, pinkies interlocked. Well, his with yours.

It’s his first full-night’s rest since your departure.

The prince slowly stirs sometime later, his brows twitching and his head foggy from the ache that comes with sobbing and crying for hours on end. In his head he can hear the soft sound of your voice calling him, the scent of medicinals and herbs staining his nose as he shifts his face on the surface of soft bedding. Hunched over now and asleep against the edge of his bed, his hand still feels your skin and Jacaerys fights consciousness. He fights consciousness to cling to his dreams of you being well and alive in his arms, not incapacitated and broken on a bed. Each mark is a remnant of what Jacaerys did to you, how he should have stopped you, done anything to prevent you leaving.

Waking up in his chambers, Jacaerys is slightly annoyed to have been moved from you but his neck and body is relieved. Sighing heavily and rubbing at his eyes, Jacaerys shifts to the edge of his bed and runs a hand over messy curls. Pondering over what he should bring you from your own quarters to make the unfamiliar room more comfortable for you, he stands and he makes his way over to his wardrobe for fresh clothes. Just in case you wake up. But the sound of his heavy doors opening stops him and he turns.

His eyes fall to Baela’s. His cousin holding bated breaths and in her hand a rolled letter, she swallows thickly and rapid blinks barely conceal the glassiness of her eyes. Jacaerys feels his heart sink to his shoes. "Cousin..." Baela breathes softly. "I--am so sorry."

Rest doesn’t come easy ever again for the young prince. And the fruit rots. Just as you did.

I also block people if they're rude! You're based/gen

-tendergraphite

Thank you! I literally just don't want any drama on my account

Tasm!Peter Parker x Reader Headcanons

His love languages are acts of service and physical touch.

Doing kind things for people just comes naturally to him. He’ll let you copy off his homework answers if you got sick/or something serious happened, and he’ll help you study. He helps you pack up your things if you need to go somewhere.

Peter loves to touch you. He gives you quick pecks on your lips or on your cheeks if he’s in a hurry to get somewhere. In the mornings he likes to wrap his arms around your waist and hide his neck in the crook of your neck.

You're his lockscreen.

He teaches you how to ride his skateboard if you don’t already know. His hands on your waist, telling you that he won’t let go if you’re scared that you’re going to fall. He might pretend to let go at some point to prank you.

Lowkey stalkerish, but I think he’d watch you while he was patrolling the city as Spider-Man. Maybe when he’s swinging by and he sees you, he’ll stop and just look at you. If you guys got into a fight he’d be more likely to do this as well. Just looking at you from afar, missing you.

He loves to tease you. He’s just so cheeky. You could tell him that you missed him and he’ll smirks and say something like “You missed me?”

Peter knows that at some point he’s going to have to tell you that he’s Spider-Man. He’s out till it’s late and he’s covered in bruises at times. You’re bound to ask questions. He’d probably tell you himself when you both have been dating for a while.

He doesn’t want you anywhere near him when he’s doing his job as Spider-Man. He’s scared that you’ll get hurt or worse.

If he’s patrolling the city during the day, he’ll call you every now and then to check up on you. During the night, he’d prefer not to bother you, but if he’s missing you, he’ll send you a voicemail. Though, he would prefer just seeing you in person. He’d sneak into your bedroom through your window.

There aren’t many secrets in your relationship after he’s told you that he’s Spider-Man. One of the only times I can see him keeping a secret from you or lying to you, is if he thinks it’ll protect you/you’re safer not knowing.

Yandere Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader

Warnings: Yandere Behavior, mentions of suicide, baby trapping, kidnapping, based off of the 1994 movie and book(s), a bit of misogyny(?), verbal abuse

Lestat is a selfish yandere, who puts his desires above his lover’s. 

He does whatever he can to make you stay with him. 

Belittling you, so that it may seem like he’s the only one to care about you. Tells you how stupid you are for believing others can love you.

He’s very likely to kidnap/trap and isolate his lover. (He literally baby trapped Louis so he wouldn’t leave him).

He’s very clingy. Nicolas killed himself and Louis left him, causing him to form a fear of abandonment.

He’s a bit delusional. He doesn’t really understand why you get upset at him, and may mock you at times.

He doesn’t want to, but he may forcefully turn you. You would have to do something drastic for him to do so. Or he may coerce you into letting him turn you, so that he may feel less guilt.

Lestat is controlling. Specifically to your guys’ money. If you're a woman this would be easier for him to do so.

Arguments with him are terrible. Yelling about all the things he does for you, and even threatening to kill the people you hold dear to yourself.

You may soon believe that Lestat is the devil.

A/N: I'm really proud of this. I had to go through the book to write this and forgot how good it was.

The Guest of Riddle Manor

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, p in v, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, fem reader, past trauma, mentions of war, semi-public sex

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: Sent off to stay at Riddle Manor after your home was destroyed, you meet the enigmatic Tom Riddle.

Riddle Manor towered above you. It’s been a while since you’d seen a house so untorn from the consequences of war, and so, you couldn’t help but just stand there and take it in.

In your hand, you held a suitcase. Almost all of your belongings rested there. Your family's business had been going through a rather rough time, and so many of your dresses and other luxuries had been sold off to keep afloat. This saddened you greatly but it had to be done.

The reason for you being at Riddle Manor was because your neighborhood was one of the many victims of the bombings. It was horrible! For a great many days afterwards, you could not sleep without the fear of a repeat of the incident looming over you, and you would now also awaken at the smallest of sounds. Hearing of the violent news, Mr. Riddle so kindly sent out a letter to your family. In it, he had written of welcoming your family as guests at Riddle Manor.

Your family’s business had been doing rather well, and you had a small inkling that Mr. Riddle thought that by welcoming your family as guests to his home, your parents and Riddle’s already strong friendship would become even stronger, and that once your parents got over the current rough patch in their company’s sales, they might reward him handsomely.

You had arrived at Little Hangleton late in the evening, and the shadows of the setting sun made the building look almost haunting.

Walking towards the front door of Riddle Manor, a strange and sudden ache spread itself through your mind. You brought your free hand up to your head to massage your temples. The train ride to Little Hangleton must have taken an ever bigger toll on you than you had thought.

Just then, you had gotten the feeling that you were being observed. Almost as if your body had a separate mind to your own, you looked up. In one of the many windows, a pale face looked down at you. Your eyes locked with his before he quickly hid behind the curtains.

You thought it was rather strange but brushed it off.

You knocked on the front door, and after a few moments an old woman opened the door. Her hair was cut into a bob and it was of the colour grey. The woman’s wrinkled face wore a look of annoyance. She wore a maids uniform.

She gave you a look over before speaking, “Mr. Riddle has been expecting you, girl. I’ll take you to him.” She turned around and added: “Don’t bother with taking your shoes off.”

Stopping inside the foyer, you shut the door behind yourself, and rubbed your shoes on the carpet so as not to track in any dirt.

The maid led you to the drawing room, where a man who looked to be in his early forties sat. He was a rather attractive man, and though he was older, there was not one grey hair on his head. His skin was pale and a kind contrast against this dark hair and eyes.

Mr. Riddle got up from where he was seated. “Oh, how lovely it is to finally meet you!” He grabbed your hand with his own gloved one and gave it a quick shake.

“And it is nice to meet you, Mr. Riddle.” Your hand limply fell back to your side once Mr. Riddle let go of it.

He looked you up and down. Though you tried to look your best so you could make a good first impression, you could not help but feel embarrassment creep upon you under his intense gaze.

“As it happens, you’re right on time,” said Mr. Riddle. He gestured for the maid to take you luggage. She grabbed it and left to place it in what you presumed to be your bedroom. “My son – Tom – and I were just about to have dinner. You can eat and then go up to the room you will be staying in to unpack.”

“That sounds nice,” You agreed.

“Yes, it does. Now, follow me.” Mr. Riddle led you out of the drawing room and into the Manor’s halls. You tried not to gawk at the various paintings hung upon the vast walls, but it was rather difficult not to. In each one was a handsome, pale skinned man or woman, with dark hair and eyes to match. They were similar to that of Mr. Riddle, so you thought they must have been his ancestors.

Once you reached the dining room, your gaze landed on a boy around your age. He sat with perfect posture, with a small, leatherbound book in one of his hands that he must have been reading before you and Mr. Riddle barged in. He placed the book down on the table.

Mr. Riddle pulled out a chair for you, and you sat down. Your seat was across from his son’s. Mr. Riddle sat at the head of the table.

“My name is Tom. What might yours be?” the boy – whose name you just discovered – asked.

You told him your name.

The food arrived, and though you tried not to stare at Tom over the course of the meal, you couldn’t help but notice his beauty. He looked very similar to his father, and the fact that they were kin was undeniable. If Mr. Riddle were any younger they could have passed for twins.

“I do hope you will like it here,” said Mr. Riddle after swallowing a forkful of vegetables.

“I’m sure I will.”

Dinner was tense, to say the least. Tom and Mr. Riddle didn’t speak much to each other, which you had found strange because they were father and son.

After you were done eating, Mr Riddle excused you. The maid from before led you to the room you would be staying in.

Before leaving you to settle in, she gifted you with a warning: “It’s best not to leave your room at night. Who knows what one can be up to at the wee hours of the night.”

The warning left you confused, but you didn’t linger on it for too long. You chalked it up to the maid not wanting to have any additional messes she would have to clean up in the morning.

You spent the next little while unpacking your suitcase. You hung your clothing in the mahogany wardrobe, and placed the several books and stationary you brought with you on the desk.

Afterwards, you took a warm bath, changed into a baby pink nightgown, and tried to go to sleep.

Though you were quite exhausted by the day's happenings, you didn’t fall asleep as quickly as you wished to. The fear of waking up to a crushed house overcame you, and you had to pace around the room for what could have been hours just to come yourself down. You were safe now… is what you kept telling yourself. Eventually, you tired yourself down enough so that you could fall asleep.

The knocking of the door was what awoke you the next morning. An agitated groan passed through your lips; You had just finally fallen asleep! You now didn’t wish to get out of bed.

“I don’t mean to be a burden, but I must insist you open the door, Miss.”

Your eyes cracked open in horror. It was Mr. Riddle’s son!

You cleared your throat before replying: “One moment!” You grabbed a robe from your wardrobe and threw it on.

Opening the door, you were faced with Tom. Though it was early in the morning, Tom was impeccably dressed. He wore a crisp, grey suit with a white button down shirt along with a dark green tie. His dark hair was styled with gel to hold it in place, similarly to how his father wore it the day before. If one saw you next to him, they must have thought you to be the toad and him the prince.

“Is there something I could help you with?”

“Perhaps.” A soft sigh passed through his lips. "I am to show you around Riddle Manor so that you know your way around.” 

“So early in the morning?” You couldn’t help but question him on his choice of timing. You heard no birds chirping to pull you out of the hypnotism dreams put one under, and no sun agitated your eyes into opening.

“It’s best to get certain things finished as soon as possible rather than wait around.” His tone left no room for argument, and so the desire to have an extra bit of sleep was diminished.

“Am I allowed to get ready for the day, or would you rather not be kept waiting?” you couldn’t help but tease the boy. You never spoke much to boys, but the ones from your past neighborhood that had you grown up with never acted so refined.

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’ll wait.”

Casting one final glance at Tom, you shut the door.

Quickly, you brushed your teeth, and put on a fine, navy blue dress. You handled your hair with not as much care as you usually would, but you were in a rush.

After you were done with focusing on your beauty, you re–opened the door.

“I’m ready.”

Tom inhaled through his nose. “This will be quick.”

You followed behind Tom as he led you around the manor.

“You won’t be needing to go through many of these doors. I presume you already know where both the drawing room and the dining room are… I am not sure why my father put me up to this, as you shouldn’t be leaving the room much unless it was to eat.”

Your eyes widened at this. “Excuse me?”

Tom down at you blankly. “Where else would you go?”

You shrugged your shoulders. You hadn’t expected him to say such a thing.

“Well, we do have a library, if that interests you,” said Tom.

You nodded in delight. “I love to read.”

“Good.”

You followed Tom as he led you to the library. Once entering there, you couldn’t help but be amazed. At Least you wouldn’t have to read the several books you brought along with you repeatedly over the course of your stay.

“What kind of books does your family own?” You ran your fingers down a shelf of books as you walked down one of the aisles, looking for something that peaked your interest.

“I’m not quite sure. None of the books here have held my interest since I was a young boy,” Tom answered honestly.

You stopped at that, and looked over at him. Yet again, you were reminded of his beauty. He looked like the kind of man one would watch in the pictures. He matched the aesthetic of an academic quite well, as he looked to be quite an elegant man; One who would spend his free time studying the pages of the books held in this vast room.

“But I saw you reading yesterday at dinner,” the words slipped through your mouth with no reason other than wishing to continue the conversation. You resumed exploring the shelves, with Tom following behind you like a mother hen who didn’t wish for her chick to wander off and get lost.

“Yes,” Tom’s melodic voice was closer behind you than you had expected it to be, “I was.” After a pause, he resumed: “It’s a book related to my school studies.”

You frown, and stop walking, turning around to face him “But it’s summer! It is the time given for one to relax.”

“I find myself quite entranced by my university studies,” he replied simply.

“I suppose that is a good thing.” You were happy with Tom’s answer, and so let him be.

Soon, you and Tom made your way to the dining room to have breakfast.

There was not much talk during the meal, besides Mr. Riddle asked Tom if he’d given me a tour of the manor, to which he replied with a simple: “Yes, I have. She’s taken an interest in the library.”

“Well,” Mr. Riddle started, after swallowing a strawberry, “That is good to hear… Now, I will be departing tonight. I have a business trip I must go on. I’ll only be gone for a little over a week, so not too long. I trust you two will behave yourself?” Mr. Riddle gave Tom and you a pointed look.

“Yes, Father,” answered Tom.

“Of course, Sir.”

“Good, good.” Mr. Riddle looked over at you. “I truly hadn’t expected to leave so early on into your visit, I do hope you don’t think I’m trying to escape my duties as a host?”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “Of course not.”

Mr. Riddle left in the middle of the night, while you slept.

The next day was a bore. You ate breakfast, and Tom didn’t seem keen on making any conversation.

You spent the rest of the waking hours catching up on lost sleep, and when night fell, you still found that you were exhausted, but were unable to sleep. Having missed dinner, you were also hungry.

Laying in bed for a few moments, you listened to the heavy rain patter against the windows. You may have found it calming, if it didn’t remind you of that night… It had been raining quite a bit the day your house was destroyed, and so memories of that time spread across your mind, like a river that never ended.

Rain, crying, smoke… It was all too much for you.

You got out of bed and decided to grab a book from the library to entertain yourself and a snack from the kitchen.

Barefoot, you snuck out of your room, and made your way to the library. Thunder could be heard through the thick walls, making a chill go down your spine. You entered the library and explored the shelfs. Some of the books were about business; Nothing that held much of your interest. Soon enough, you found the shelves for fiction. There, you snatched up a hardback copy of Frankenstein. You had heard a bit about it, and tonight was the night you would finally allow yourself to be consumed by the piece of literature.

The next part of your plan was to get a snack from the kitchen to eat while you read in bed. Oh… how you couldn’t wait to do so. Tonight would be as calm a night as you could make it.

You tiptoed down the hall when you suddenly bumped into Tom. A scream of surprise tore through your throat and you dropped your book onto the ground. You clutched your clothed chest as you took in a few breaths of air to calm yourself.

“You scared me, Tom!”

“As I can see…” Tom crouched down and picked up your book, before standing up and holding it out for you. You stared down at his pale hand for a moment – noting its beauty just like the rest of him – before grabbing the novel.

“Thank you.” You held the book to your chest.

“You shouldn’t be up so late,” his voice was crisp, and reminded you of that of a teacher’s.

“But you are up, or am I speaking with a ghost who imitates others?” You quirked a brow.

Tom looked you up and down. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed before his dark eyes looked back into yours. You were suddenly aware that you were just in your nightgown.

He held his hands behind his back. “And I suppose you’re going back to bed?”

You shake your head. “No… I was hoping to grab a snack from the kitchen.”

Tom’s shoulders sagged, if only just a little bit. “I’ll join you.”

Tom took the lead, and you both made your way to the kitchen. First, you grabbed a glass and filled it with some water; Your little adventure left you dehydrated. Then, you rummaged through the cabinets, until you found a jar of cookies. You placed a few in a bowl.

“Would you like some tea with them?” Tom asked. He’s been watching you the entire time. “It would help you fall asleep.”

Before you could answer, Tom rolled up his sleeves – he wasn’t even dressed for bed yet – and turned on the stove. As you both waited for the kettle to heat the water, you cracked open your book, leaned your front against the counter, and began reading: “You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings…”

Tom’s warm presence was felt behind you. Perhaps he too wished to entertain himself while the water heated. He was so close to you that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. In all honesty, you did not despise his closeness. You would actually like it if you and Tom were to become close…

Soon, the tea was ready, and Tom and you sat in one of the living rooms. The book lay between you both to read. The rain beat against the wall and the fire crackled. Tom and you were so close that your breaths almost became one. You could smell the tea on his lips.

Soon, you had dozed off and no nightmares haunted you that night.

You never did find out why Tom was roaming around the halls of Riddle Manor so late at night…

You awoke in bed the next day with no memory of how you had gotten there. Your book laid upon the nightstand, with a dark feather stuck between the pages you and Tom had last left off on.

“I would like to show you something,” Tom’s voice broke you out of your trance. You had spent the entire day reading Frankenstein, and finished it just moments before, and now you could not keep your mind off of it.

“Hm?” You blinked. “Show me what?”

“The gardens in the backyard. They’re beautiful when the night falls.” Tom looked at you, expecting your acceptance.

You gave it to him. “I would like that.”

“It’s a nice reading spot as well. You could bring your book there to read.”

A smile graced your lips. “So, we could read? Oh, but I’ve already finished the book, Tom! But I suppose I could grab a new novel from the library.”

A small smile made its way to Tom’s face, almost like you were doing everything he had ever wanted from a person. He spooned a bit of soup and brought it to his lips.

Dinner passed, and you made your way to the library. Your eyes the books on the shelves until a short novel grasped your attention. It was named “Carmilla.” It was a short book; A piece of writing one could begin and finish reading in a night.

You then went up to your room and shrugged on your coat. Though it was summer, the nights recently were cold. While waiting for Tom to collect you, you wrote a letter to your parents, informing them of how your stay at Riddle Manor has been so far.

Just as you finished writing, there was a knock at your door. You placed your feathered pen into the pot of ink and answered the door.

There, Tom stood. “Are you reading to come with me?”

“One moment.” You went back to your desk, grabbed your book and shoved it into your coat pocket. You made your way back to Tom. “Now? Yes, I am.”

You and Tom made your way to the backdoor. The pair of you slipped outside, revealing yourselves for the moon and stars to gaze upon. Unfortunately, their light would not be enough to aid in reading the words of Carmilla.

“We need a light.”

Tom grabbed a strange stick from out of his pocket, and muttered a word you had never before heard under his breath: “Lumos.” The strange stick produced a light.

A small gasp passed through your lips at the trick, and you couldn’t help but clap your hands together. “Wow. I’ve never seen anything like that before. It’s almost like magic.”

A peculiar expression masked Tom’s usual face. A strange feeling spread through your stomach, but you decided to ignore it. It must have been the night's cold that was making you feel strange.

“Come. Follow me.” With that, Tom turned around, and walked towards the labyrinth of bushes. Tom clearly seemed to know which way he was going, and so your anxiousness faded away, until you could not even remember that you had felt such a thing in Tom’s presence.

You must have reached what you assumed to be the centre of the Maze. There, a beautiful fountain was placed in the middle. You made your way over to it, staring down at the water.

Tom’s reflection in the water showed that he stood right next to you. Strangely enough, his reflection had crimson coloured eyes… You quickly glanced at Tom’s face, but no, his eyes were as dark as ever. Perhaps, you were mistaken. Maybe, your eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark properly… Yes, it must have been because of the dark.

You sat down at the edge of the fountain, and Tom joined you. You both listened to the sound of the water for a little while. You could hear the hoot of an owl, and the croaks of frogs, hidden in the bushes. The sound of crickets calmed you.

Tom’s voice broke the silence. “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, you felt his warm breath softly hit your cheek. Tom traced your jaw with that strange stick of his. He seemed to be contemplating something, as if his brain was warring with multiple ideas of what to do with you.

Tom leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, and you let him. You shut your eyes. His lips molded against your own, and a note of pleasure passed through you, making you press closer to him.

Tom wrapped one of his hands around your waist, pulling you closer, while the other pressed against your jaw, positioning you so that you faced him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, but you soon very quickly parted on account of needing air.

Tom helped you out of your jacket. He grabbed your hand and kissed up your shoulder until he made it up to the area your shoulder and neck connected. There, he sucked on the flesh. A pleasure you had never in your life before felt coursed through you. A moan passed through your lips.

Once Tom was satisfied, he made his way down to your collarbone, where he left a trail of kisses. He unlaced your dress and a small gasp passed through you as you finally became aware of the night's cold touch. But Tom’s touch was warmer.

You wore no bra and so Tom gently grasped your hardened nub between two fingers and tugged on it. A gasp passed through your lips. No one but yourself had ever touched you in such a way, and it felt so different from one’s own hands.

Tom kissed at your neck as he rubbed his fingers rubbed at your nub, causing your back to arch. Tom was all too aware of how your legs spread as pleasure coursed through you.

Tom dropped onto his knees on the grass and pushed up your skirt. Oh… You had read about such things in the romance books you had hidden under your bed at your past home.

Tom tugged your underwear off and slipped it into his pants pocket so it would not get dirty.

Legs spread for him, Tom settled his head between our thighs. His tongue experimentally poked at your genitals, and quickly found your clit. Tom ravished you like a man starved. One of your hands gripped his shoulder while the other held onto the edge of the fountain as he gifted you with a pleasure that was all too familiar yet foreign at the same time.

Just as you were nearing your end, Tom stole away your satisfaction. He pulled his head away from your vagina, and littered your thighs with kisses, so as to tell you: ‘Good. Now, keep being good for me.’

Tom stood, and helped you up. Your legs shook with what could have been, as Tom pressed you against one of the labyrinth walls.

“Tom… Oh, Tom…” You called out for him, your body’s need for him taking over all your other senses.

Tom pressed a kiss to your lips, silencing you in what you found to be the most kindest of ways.

Finally, Tom pressed his sex against yours. Your head fell back, your mouth open in a soundless gasp. Tom wrapped one of his arms around your hip, while his other hand pressed against the wall behind you.

Once he was fully sheathed in you, he paused. His lips pressed against your neck, his warm breath hit your neck, a contrast to the cold night, causing you to shiver.

The movement caused a small hiss to escape between Tom’s teeth.

“Please, move,” You begged, and so Tom did.

He pulled his cock out before pressing back into you again. You both moaned at the same time, pleasure overtaking you both.

The pair of you pushed your hips against the others, trying to maximize the amount of pleasure the other could feel. Skin slapped against skin, moans freed themselves from the throat, and sweat dripped down flesh.

As your bodies neared the end of being one, Tom brough one of his lithe hands down to rub at your clit. You tensed as you finally finished, before relaxing altogether. Tom was right behind you nearing the end of his pleasure, and once he finally did, he embraced you warmly.

The only reason you hadn’t fallen yet was because of Tom’s hold on you. Tom shyly nosed at your neck. For a moment, you were surrounded only by Tom. His body and scent consumed you whole, and you never wanted it to be any different.

a/n: Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, as they are motivating! :) divider creds: @saradika

Tom Riddle Masterlist

if he don’t look at me like this… i don’t want him!

Daemon tried stealing Rhaenyra's throne so she stole his girl