Tom Riddle One Shots

Gift

TW: smut, blood, knife, degrading, cheating

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The door flies open, hinges almost snapping with the force.

You look up from your homework to the person standing in her door frame, Tom Riddle. You smirk, the smile almost turning into a laugh.

"Is this funny? Is fucking Abraxas funny?" He asks, his voice shaky trying to control his anger.

You slowly push yourself out of your chair, trying to buy yourself as much time as possible. You need an escape route, the window perhaps? You could call you broom; it worked last time you guys had an argument.

"Don't think of leaving through the window again. I destroyed your broom so that attempt would just look pathetic," Tom spits.

The statement makes your eyes widen and you take a step closer. "You what, Tom?"

He closes his mouth. A sign of cowardice, you think. You take another step forward. 

"What do you want to say then? Tell me I'm a slut and how you put everything on the line for me. Say it if it makes you feel better," you take another step until you're nose to nose, "but we both know you've been fucking Rachelle Greengrass-"

He pushes you down onto the bed, locking your arms beside you. His breath mingles with yours as your anger suddenly diminishes into burning heat between your legs.

"Say her name again," he seethes, "and I will carve yours into my skin to prove whatever it is you seem to be doubting."

His words sink into the dark part of your brain, the part you only let him see. He's the only one that knows the golden girl's secret. The violence that you are capable of, the violence you want to enact.

"It'd be best if I do that myself." You lift your lips to his ear, "My handwriting is better."

He releases your wrist, letting you reach to your pocket and grab your wand. The tip is is uncommonly sharp, something that Ollivander shuddered at when you got it. You played the disappointed card, however you knew it would come in useful. 

You wrap your legs around his torso, flipping yourself to where you're sitting in his lap. Your grip switches to holding onto his wrist. His head rests on the silk sheets, the rosé color lowered by the darkness of the room. The candle lit on your desk makes the beautiful curves and edges of his face visible. You gently run your middle finger down his nose.

"Youth looks good on you. It'll be such a shame when you grow old," you whisper mostly to yourself.

You trace the wand down his jaw, to his neck, to his collarbone, to where his shirt is slightly unbuttoned, a pinkish lipstick kiss stains the inside of the white button-up.

"You were just with her, weren't you?" you murmur, "how hypocritical."

"I meant nothing-"

"I don't want to hear it. Frankly, I don't give a shit about who you fuck in your free time. As long as you come back to me," you pause, making sure he's paying attention to you. "Does she know about me?"

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes locked on your lips, which your tongue subconsciously wets. He sighs, the need in his body beginning to emerge.

"Could I leave her a gift then?" You ask innocently, your wand tip pressing up against his skin. You both know you're going to do it regardless of his answer.

He nods, clenching his fists in anticipation. You unbutton 2 more buttons so you have access to the area above his heart. You slowly apply the pressure of the wand, the skin splitting almost instantly. Crimson red spills down his chest as you carve the first letter.

He groans in pain and you smile at the sight. He arches into the wand but you quickly push him back down.

"You think you deserve this, don't you?" You let your wand-less hand travel from his wrist down to his thigh. He stiffens underneath you as you apply the slightest bit of pressure. 

Your wand continues to carve letters, blood soaking through the thin white fabric. Some blood falls onto the sheets, the stain spreading like wildfire. The first letter is done. You remove the wand and lean your head down, kissing the cuts in his skin. His breathy moans and whimpers are like music compared to the deafening silence of studying.

"Does she make you feel like this?" You can't help but ask. As much as you wanted her out of the situation the issue must be addressed.

"Don't..." he groans as you press your wand down and continue writing.

"It's a simple question. Does she make you look pathetic underneath her? Does she make you whimper and moan like I do?" Following your nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt, your lips graze down his abs. "Does she make your cock hard like I do?"

You finish writing, dropping the wand on the bed beside him. You grind against him as you sit up, the movement coming naturally. Analyzing your work, you trace the letters. He hisses at the sting of your fingers against the open wounds.

"You wear my name nearly as good as I do," you smile sinisterly, "now answer my question, Tom."

His staggered breathing is the only sound as you wait for a reply. Instead, he flip you back over, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the sheets. His knee spreads your legs apart, earning a gasp from you.

"You talk too much," he growls.

He takes off his belt and unbuttons his trousers, throwing them on the ground. As he takes off his last article of clothing you clamp your mouth shut to avoid the insults you want to throw at him. Blood falls onto your top, the slow trickles a ticking time bomb.

"The good thing about her," he lifts up your skirt and pulls your panties down, "is that she knows," he aligns his dick with your entrance, "how to shut the fuck up."

He slams into you, making you scream. It ends in a moan however, as the pain is replaced with overwhelming pleasure. You claw at his back he slams into you over and over again. God, you hate to admit it but you like it this way. 

His lips meet yours for the first time that night, the rough yet familiar sensation sending another rush of pleasure through you. One of his hands move to your left breast, massaging it through the shirt. You moan into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to bite your lip.

Your walls clench around him and you half-yell half-sigh, "Tom, I-I'm coming."

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, giving you silent approval. You come all over his dick and he pulls out right before coming on your stomach.

With you both panting, you pull him to your lips again, meeting in a passionate kiss. When you guys part you whisper, "I hope she likes my gift."

He clenches his jaw, debating on whether or not to retort. Instead he gets up, puts on clothes, and heads out the door.