enemies of the heir, beware.

ᴍᴀʀ. she/her. 21. Tom Riddle’s sweetest sin. Capricorn. Winter. Night. Freezing cold weather. Purple. Formula 1. Lewis Hamilton. Lazy days. Tiramisu. Funko Pops. Lilies. The English language. Have I mentioned Tom Riddle?

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻.⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

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I liked your theme on here! I think you shouldn't have to change the theme because of other people's opinions.

I love your fic too!

Have a good week.

heeelllooo!! 😽

hehehe no worries, it’s all just jokes! I wanted to change it anyway, it was time to let go🫡

he’s also quiet. like, dead silent. the only noise you get to hear from him is when he is close—a short, low groan—accompanied by his faltering rhythm, thick, warm cum filling you deep.

aftercare is a word unspoken. after he’s done, he merely casts a cleansing spell on both of you and carelessly tosses your clothes, which you left abandoned on the floor, in your direction—a sign that your shared time is over and he wants you gone. ASAP. most of the time, without speaking another word, Tom is back to wherever he left off studying 15 minutes ago, before you knocked on his door after he sent you an owl “requiring your assistance immediately”.

he never asks directly for sex—someone could find that letter and taint his sacred reputation.

you curse him under your breath as you hastily put on your clothes and slam the door closed behind you, heading back to your own dorm with shaky legs, his cum dripping down your thighs—curiously, the only evidence of your rendezvous his spell leaves behind every single time.

you swear to find a new guy who can both please you and also talk to you, no matter the thrill of being the girl Tom Marvolo Riddle choses to fuck in secret. the sex is good, the man is not—and you refuse to let him treat you this way any longer.

two days later, your owl delivers a new letter.

“resuming our unfinished project. my dorm in 10 minutes. urgent, don’t be late.”

you huff, shaking your head.

he doesn’t even sign his letters anymore.