you pick it up, turning the bottle between your fingers as you watch the dark red liquid slosh around within the delicate glass.

“we’re closed,” tom’s voice rings out behind you and you turn to face him. his eyes narrow under his gently tousled curls as he turns his attention to the little bottle in your hands.

“that’s not for sale, either,” he starts flatly, reaching out to grab your wrist and return the bottle to his desk but you step back quickly, evading his touch. you dangle the bottle between two fingers, holding it up and moving just out of the way every time tom steps forward, his eyes darkening.

he reaches for his wand tucked in his robes, holding it loosely between his fingers as he holds it up.

“now, riddle, that’s not playing very fair,” you retort as you step back again, a small pout playing on your lips.

tom raises a brow as he steps forward, his eyes flickering to behind you, and he strategically plans his approach to you, eventually cornering you against a wall. a devious smirk plays on his lips as he leans in, the tip of his wand poking against your throat as he whispers, “darling, you know i don’t play fair. now give that back.”

your eyes widen as tom’s wand pushes harder against your throat, forcing you to lean your head back, and your body goes limp against the wall as you contemplate giving in. you purse your lips, staring into his eyes before uncorking the bottle with your thumb and pouring the liquid down your throat.

it burns as you swallow, tom’s wand pressing harder against your skin as your throat bobs. the glass bottle falls to the ground with a soft clink.

you blink, a sudden fuzziness taking over your senses. as your sight unblurs, your eyes catching onto details you never noticed: the way tom’s shirt hugs his chest, how his adam’s apple bobs whenever he’s angry, the way his veins pop as he grips his wand to your throat, or the way his body is pressed right up against you, his hot breath feathering across your cheeks.

“oops,” you giggle, your knees shaking a little. tom scowls, and he leans in closer, close enough for you to touch those soft lips—

“do you have any idea what you just consumed?” tom growls as he stares down at you. you let out a soft laugh.

“you wish you could consume me,” you sigh dreamily, eyes trailing down to his hips, and your hand reaches out tentatively.

tom slaps your hand down, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pins it to the wall next to your head. “look at what you’ve done, darling, the effects are already sinking in.”

you blink wildly, your pulse skittering as he pins your hand to the wall, his face inches away from yours. if he just leans in to kiss you, and slip his hand under your shirt, and let you grind your hips against his—

fuck, you are horny. 

it comes out as a whimper, a plea, before you even could register the words that left your mouth. “tom, please.”

tom tsks, his eyes flashing. “please, what, darling? i don’t know what you want.”

you whine, your common sense thrown out the window and smashed into a million shards as you push yourself onto him, letting your aching core rub against his thigh. your brain hurt, and you couldn’t think clearly, the only thoughts in your head were tom, tom, tom.

tom smirks as you hump his thigh, rubbing your clothed pussy against his pants, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “is the doll in pain?” he asks with mock-concern, his brows raised. his thighs tighten up at the sight and feeling of you getting off on his leg, and tom feels his dick swell up against the fabric of his pants.

he pushes you off suddenly, a frown furrowing his brow as he adjusts his robes. wordlessly, he turns and walks to his desk, sitting down firmly on his chair, his legs spread, before beckoning to you.

“come here, darling,” tom says smoothly, all signs of the man he was when you first walked in gone. “on your knees.”

you quickly come to him, falling promptly to your knees when you approach. you rest your chin on his knee, looking up at him with those pretty little eyes, your core aching with need. tom takes your chin in one hand, tilting your head up and making you bat your lashes. he curses, feeling himself throb and strain against his pants.

you try to keep your eyes trained on his face but they still trail down to the tent in his pants, making warmth pool down to your stomach at the sight.

“didn’t know you were such a slut for me every time you came in here,” tom growls as his fingers dig into your skin as he grips your jaw. you let out a muffled whimper, and he chuckles, a dark, thirsty sound.

tom’s other hand comes down to his crotch, and he pulls down his fly and unbuttons his pants, pulling them down to his knees, revealing the large bulge under his boxers. he tugs at your jaw, pulling you in closer between his legs.

he raises a brow, dipping his chin down expectantly. with eager fingers, you pull down the waistband of his boxers just enough to let his erection spring free from the confines of his clothing.

you feel a slick wet your underwear, your pussy burning and aching at the sight of his cock. tom lazily wraps his free hand around the base, jerking himself off slowly as pre-cum glistens from the tip.

tom jerks your head closer to his cock, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches your tongue flick out to wet your lips. fuck. he feels his member swell up in his hand at your face, so ready for him, so fuckable.

“such a pretty little mouth for a fucking slut, hm?” tom coos, his thumb running across your wet lips. you nod breathlessly, your pulse quickening and your core dripping at his words. how could such dirty words come from such a proper… gentleman?

“suck,” tom orders as he leans back against his chair, widening his legs slightly as you scoot yourself closer to him.

you close your eyes as your tongue flicks out to lick the tip of his length, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. your lips pepper kisses on his tip, slowly taking in more of him in your mouth as you reach up to wrap one hand around his base. you ease him in, muffling whimpers and whines until his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag.

tom reaches down to grab your hair, forcing your eyelids to open up and look up at him, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. he smirks as you gag around his cock, a shiver of pleasure rushing down his spine.

“you look so much better when that slut mouth of yours is filled up,” tom observes, his fingers tightening around your hair, pulling your head up. he groans as your hand wraps around him, and you ease him out a little, letting your tongue swirl around his cockhead. “this cockslut is finally fucking quiet and doing what she’s told.”

his member stifles a soft moan from your lips, and as your lashes brush against your cheeks, tom tugs at your hair, forcing your eyes open again.

“no. keep your eyes on me, doll,” tom orders sharply, leaning in slightly. his cock throbs in your mouth as you bob your head up and down, almost a nod.

you continue to bob your head, moving your hand in time with your head, and tom throws his head back, his mouth open in a soundless groan. you finally let him out with a pop, gasping for air as you moved closer to him, letting him close his legs around you.

your clit burns against your clothes as you moved, and you shift to sit on tom’s foot, rubbing your pussy against the top of his shoe. you place kitten licks across the tip of his cock as you grind against his foot, your core’s burning appeasing slightly at the friction.

tom looks down at you with narrowed eyes, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “who said you could ride me?” he demands, his hand tangled in your hair moving down to your chin. he sneers as you whimper around his cock, your ministrations on his foot ceasing immediately.

“please—please, tom, please—” you whine, your mouth full of his member. 

“does it hurt, darling?” tom inquires, his eyes glittering under his curls. “does the doll need something to ride because her pussy hurts?”

you nod wildly, your lips parting around his cock as you silently plead him. tom smirks, and he prods his foot against your core.

“fine, fucking slut,” he hisses as you gratefully suck him, sitting back down on him and rubbing against his shoe.

your pussy burns at the friction, slick coating your underwear as your hips bucked against tom’s foot. you feel tom’s fingers entangle themselves back into your hair as your throat bobs around his long cock, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat again.

tom grunts, his thighs clenching as he sees your soft lips around his member, your clothed pussy rocking against his foot, your pretty eyes watering as you gagged around his length. his hips buck involuntarily in your face, making you gasp out, a broken moan falling from your lips as you greedily continue to suck him off.

“fuck. look at that pretty mouth sucking off my cock like candy,” tom growls, his fingers tightening around your hair as he pulls you closer. you whine softly, your hips rocking faster and harder against his foot.

tom’s cock twitches inside your mouth and you can see his balls tighten. you moan, lifting your hips to grind against his leg, your pussy aching as you rub hard against his pants. he lifts your head up by tugging at your hair, his eyes searching yours. you suck his cock harder, taking him in deeper as he groans, feeling his release build up in his lower stomach. 

his member swells up in your mouth and you let out a small whimper at the sensation. fuck, you dreamt of this. tom pulls at your hair again, this time more desperate and needing. tom throws his head back, all his muscles tensing as his cock expands inside your mouth.

he groans and you feel his hot cum in your mouth before you taste it. tom fills your mouth up with warm jets of his load and you moan around his member, ceasing your grinding against his leg to greedily swallow up every last drop of his cum.

“take it all. swallow it, fuckdoll,” tom breathes out, his fingers tugging at your hair. another moan escapes your lips and he sneers, bucking his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth.

you gulp the last of his load and pull him out slowly, the salty taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. your tongue glides over your lips, lapping up any drops of tom’s cum left on your face.

his cock slaps up to his abdomen once released from your mouth, and tom grunts as he feels himself harden again, at the sight of you licking up his cum from your lips. “tastes good, doesn’t it?” he growls as he pulls you up by your hair, forcing you onto his lap.

“yes tom yes, tastes so good,” you mumble as tom’s hands push you up to his desk next to him, and he stands up, sliding his pants and boxers down to the ground, placing himself in between your legs. you watch him shrug off his robe and unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned and bare torso to you.

your swollen lips part, and you’re already salivating at the sight of tom riddle, standing in front of you, naked.

he pushes you down and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head on his desk as his other hand starts taking off your clothes. tom’s mouth crashes down on yours and you feel his tongue immediately claim your mouth, swirling and exploring every inch of it.

he helps you take off your blouse, and essentially rips off your skirt, leaving you with nothing but your panties.

tom hums into your mouth. “no bra, darling?” he tsks. “how naughty of you. as if you were begging to get fucked by me.” he pulls away from your mouth and you whine, your hands struggling against his.

tom’s free hand brushes against your panties, and he chuckles as his fingertips brush against the slick-soaked fabric of you underwear. “so fucking soaked for me.” he hooks his fingers around the hem and tears them off, leaving your pussy bare and wet to him.

he pushes his fingers up your entrance and you bite your lip, stifling a whimper as slick coats his fingertips and he barely touched you. tom hisses with satisfaction, dipping two of his fingers deeper into your pussy, and you arch your back off his desk at the sudden penetration, a low moan escaping your lips.

he grunts, his cock throbbing as he fingerfucks you on his desk, his fingers curling and thrusting and pushing into your pussy. tom fixes his gaze on your face, the way your cheeks are flushed and you’re gasping out every time he plunges his fingers into your hole.

“why didn’t i fuck you sooner?” he asks himself aloud. he wonders when the potion’s effects will wear off and you’ll run away from him.

“tom!” you moan out, your tits shaking as your whole body shudders and arches off his desk. tom smirks and leans back in to kiss you, swallowing your moans and silencing your whimpers. he moves his tongue inside your mouth in time with his fingers, dragging his fingers against your tight hole before pushing them right back in roughly.

tom pulls his fingers out of your dripping pussy, pressing his fingers against your lips. you open your mouth eagerly, obediently as he shoves his fingers onto your tongue.

“that’s right. taste yourself, you slut. so fucking eager to get fucked by me, aren’t you, doll?” tom hisses as he watches you suck and lick your own juices off his fingers. his lips twist into a smirk as you nod slowly, and he lets you focus on his fingers as he aims his hips at yours, letting his cockhead rub against your clit.

you gasp, releasing his fingers from your mouth as you feel tom’s hot cockhead prod against your wet folds. he teases you, pushing in an inch and pulling out, watching you shudder and hear your soft, breathy moans escape your lips.

tom shallow-fucks you, grunting as he restrains himself from pounding into you until he’s balls deep, letting his cockhead dip into your sweet pussy and pulling out, before he lets your cunt swallow his cock whole.

his grip on your wrists tightens as he clenches his jaw, not being able to take it anymore. without warning, tom slams his hips into you, drilling his cock deep into you with a grunt.

you arch your back immediately, a loud moan leaving your throat as tom begins to pound your pussy. “moan like the whore you are for my cock,” tom growls into your ear as he thrusts his cock into you, letting it drag against your walls slowly before shoving himself back in.

he fucks you hard against his desk, making it move with every thrust of his hips. you moan loudly, the pleasure of his cock buried inside you making you see stars. tom shifts your legs, pulling them up to his shoulders to give him a better angle. he drives into you, the head of his cock pushing up against your g-spot, forcing a moan out of your lips and making you clench around his length.

a sweet pressure builds up in your lower stomach as tom ravages your pussy, his pace unforgiving. every time his cock hits your sweet spot, your vision goes dark and all you can hear are your moans and his grunts.

“so fucking tight,” tom groans as his hips slam against you, filling you up balls deep in one stroke. you shatter around him, moans falling breathlessly from your lips as you cum around him, your body shaking underneath him.

the pressure inside of you is so good, the way he stretches you out and fills you up. your pussy clenches around him forcefully as he continues to thrust into you, fucking your orgasm out of you.

tom swears, his cock twitching inside of you as his movements become sloppy and quicker. his hand tightens around your wrists, his fingers digging into your skin as he feels his own orgasm approaching.

his breathing becomes ragged and he pushes himself into you with one last thrust, burying himself deep inside of your tight pussy. you let out a breathy moan as tom releases his load inside of you, long jets of cum filling you up as he groans into your mouth, messily kissing your wet, swollen lips. “mine. all fucking mine,” he hisses as he rocks his hips against yours, riding out his high. “i don’t care if that was a lust potion, you’re my fucking cockslut now, is that clear?” tom breathes into your ear, making your heart skip a beat.

you kiss him, and his grip on your wrists loosen, finally letting you cup his face as you murmur, “i didn’t actually drink the potion, tom.”

taglist ꕀ

👔 The Buttons, Layers, and Surprising Realism of Snape’s Wardrobe

Yes, I’ve zoomed in. Repeatedly. Across every film, from Philosopher’s Stone to Deathly Hallows, I’ve counted his buttons—frame by frame, button by button, layer by layer. Let’s just say—I’ve become very familiar with this frock coat’s construction.

And darling, here’s the breakdown:

3 unbuttoned at the collar

9 buttoned down the front

10 per sleeve

4 per leg

🧮 Total: 40 buttons.

Forty. Let that settle in your bones.

On set, most were decorative—Alan Rickman wasn’t fastening all forty by hand. Hidden zippers, snap closures—clever costume design. (This is based on standard film costuming practices—where elaborate garments are often modified for ease of dressing with hidden closures. No official quote confirms this for Snape's outfit specifically, but it aligns with how similar costumes are constructed.) But in-universe? If the real Severus Snape wore this...

It’s safe to assume he used a spell. Realistically, no one’s spending fifteen minutes every morning fastening forty buttons—not even Severus Snape. He had essays to mark, potions to brew, and a corridor presence to maintain.

And oh, that presence.

—

🧥 The Full Layer Breakdown (Based on Alan Rickman’s Film Costume and Button-by-Button Image Zooming)

1. White high-collared shirt – stiff, sharp, and always buttoned to the throat. Clean. Severe. Scholar-coded.

+ Black cravat or neckcloth – visible in several key scenes (notably when inspecting the cursed necklace and seated with the Dark Lord). Likely silk or satin. It adds formality and structure, anchoring the layers while communicating a quiet, old-world elegance.

2. Inner black buttoned layer – possibly a waistcoat or inset panel. Tailored close. Minimal.

3. Frock coat – double-breasted with 14 visible buttons. Structured. Commanding. The real statement piece.

4. Long open-front robe – that iconic swirl. When he enters a room, it follows like a shadow.

5. Straight black trousers – clean-cut, no nonsense.

6. Tall black boots – polished leather, confident heel.

7. (Possibly) sewn-in underlayer for structure – subtle but significant.

—

🪡 What Could the Fabrics Be?

Shirt: Cotton or stiff linen—light but architectural. Holds the collar high.

Inner layer/waistcoat: Lightweight wool or twill—close fit, breathable, efficient.

Frock coat: Wool blend or gabardine—thick, silent, unmistakable.

Robe: Wool or silk-blend—fluid with weight, designed for drama.

Trousers: Soft wool or worsted—no embellishments, just utility.

Boots: Black leather—lived-in, lacquered, ready to move.

The entire ensemble whispers: do not underestimate me.

—

🔥 How Did He Survive the Heat?

All black. All layered. All day. In July? (Or August, depending on the school calendar—but we’ll get to that heatstroke later.)

The answer is geography. He lived in the dungeons.

The Slytherin common room sits beneath the Black Lake—stone walls, filtered light, the occasional squid gliding past. Cold enough to preserve potions and secrets alike.

So yes—he wore forty buttons and never broke a sweat. Because the walls were colder than any seasonal breeze. And honestly? So was he.

—

🧼 How Many Did He Own?

We never see his wardrobe, but let’s be honest—he’d need more than one. You don’t brew over a cauldron daily without carrying the scent of asphodel and burnt fluxweed for hours. Add parchment ink, dust from centuries-old tomes, a hint of candle soot—and you’ve got a potion master’s signature scent.

And let’s not forget: Hermione Granger literally set fire to his robes in Philosopher’s Stone—whether it was the hem or that slightly fluffy bit at his ankle, the damage was real. There can’t have been just one. Not in a school full of reckless students and volatile substances.

These garments weren’t just iconic—they were functional. And surely duplicated.

Three, at minimum. Five, if he allowed himself the luxury. All identical. All immaculate. Possibly with a charm or two to keep the folds crisp and the fabric warded.

—

🧣 The One Exception—His Layer for Weather

Across eight films and countless scenes, Severus Snape’s uniform never truly wavered—except once, perhaps twice.

In Philosopher’s Stone, during the infamous Quidditch match where he counter-cursed Quirrell’s jinx, he wore something different:

A high black scarf

Fingerless black gloves

A heavier, textured outer cloak—draped and more tactical

It’s the only time we see his silhouette altered so clearly.

Still black, still formal, but slightly more utilitarian. Weather-appropriate, perhaps? November in the high stands of the Quidditch pitch must’ve been brutal—wind cutting, robes whipping. Most students wore house scarves not just for pride, but to survive the chill.

So yes, that scarf and heavier cloak weren’t just stylistic flourishes. They were practical, protective, and quietly prepared.

Either way, it stood apart—and not just in costume. In that moment, he was cast as the villain, misunderstood and brooding in layers.

And I must wonder—where did that cloak go? At first glance, I assumed it had been lost to the flames of Hermione’s accidental sabotage in Philosopher’s Stone. A dramatic end to a singular garment.

But then—rewatching Goblet of Fire—there it was again. During the Hungarian Horntail trial, Snape sits beside McGonagall, and if you look closely: folded cuffs, denser weave, a broader drape over his shoulders. The silhouette is unmistakable.

The scarf and gloves are gone, but the cloak’s presence speaks volumes. Not flashy, but deliberate. A return not for spectacle, but for utility. Its weight, its shape, the quiet precision in its fit—nearly identical.

So no—it wasn’t destroyed. Not gone. Not forgotten. Simply reserved. Practical. Intentional.

Another glimpse into how even the rare deviations in his attire still follow a purpose. Nothing is ever random with Severus Snape.

Still all black, still stern—but there’s something in the added structure that reads more formal. Less dungeon-brewer, more event overseer. It’s functional, wind-resistant, and dignified in a cold, open-air setting.

Perhaps it was kept for outdoor events—or those requiring a touch more presence. It reminds us that even the most stoic wardrobe had its layers—and that nothing Severus Snape wore was ever without intent.

Even when the silhouette shifted slightly, the reasoning didn’t. Whether reserved for specific events or dictated by weather, every layer had purpose. He was always watching. Always calculating. Always protecting.

—

🖤 What the Uniform Meant: Endurance as Identity

The choice to wear such rigid attire wasn’t just style—it was declaration. It was discipline. It was Severus Snape, sealing himself into something he could control.

"It is endurance. Conditioning. Discipline—of body and mind. This attire is not meant for ease. It is meant for containment."

That’s how I imagine he would have spoken of it, if ever asked. With restraint. With precision. With the same measured control that shaped his every movement.

He didn’t wear black because he liked the colour. He wore it because black absorbs. It doesn’t reflect, doesn’t shine, doesn’t distract. It takes.

And if someone ever questioned the heat? The weight of so many layers?

"If I wear less… I feel more." "And for someone who has spent most of his life bearing what others cast off, that is… not always bearable."

It was never about temperature. It was about endurance as aesthetic. About turning vulnerability into fabric. A way of saying: I will bear what others shed.

To wear layers was to keep the world at a distance. To button forty buttons was to remind himself: control is chosen. Every day.

"There is a certain power in being the only one who does not wilt under pressure. Let them sweat. Let them squirm. I remain."

Snape didn’t need robes that breathed. He needed robes that held.

Because the man beneath them had spent a lifetime feeling too much. And hiding it all in plain sight.

And somehow, it worked.

He endured.