MATURE
NOT PROOFREAD
premature ending
‼️VERY IMPORTANT NOTICE, IF YOU READ THE CHAPTER WITHOUT READING THIS, I WANT TO HEAR NO COMPLAINTS‼️
| These chapters are based off the canonical Tom Riddle, his behaviour, his actions, the way that I personally believe he would treat somebody. Warnings must be issued. This is dark, it is twisted, and it is sick, it is everything that Tom Riddle is. Do not expect any less.
She's only partially done, I just wanted to get something out to you guys after a while of not posting, so here is something slightly unpolished. No idea when 2-3 will be released.
This is the first chapter of three, "You lied to me."
WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, non-verbal consent, violence, oral sex, misogyny.
Set in 1949. Tom is 20.
Some of the events are changed to fit the story.
Starring:
Tom Riddle
Abraxas Malfoy
Reinhard Lestrange
Clarence Avery
Evander Rosier
And yourself.
That clock, the dreaded clock that speaks to your mind as if trying to tell you that your time is running out, the way its ticks scratch your brain in violence and horror, the way the sound paints a picture of destiny, desire, purpose, but what was yours? To lay in the bed soiled with your sweat, your saliva, and possibly even your tears? To watch as the man beside you catches his breath, his body covered with those sheets, the sheets you yourself know all too well. Was there supposed to be a written out plan? To ensure you do not fall down a path of unfulfilled hopes and dreams, all because you wish to get lost under the gaze of the man you despise, just as much as he does you? The clock ticks again, mocking the silence in the room, it feels so wrong, so very wrong, but even a broken clock is right twice a day.
You looked to your side, the one and only Tom Riddle next to you, his chest beginning to slow down after a night of passion — well, pleasure. It was nothing out of the ordinary, you had been sleeping together for the past two years, you saw it no use to deny your desire for him, and clearly he did not think it necessary to push his down either, and so it began, a duel of morality and fantasy. God you hated him, there was no one else in this hell of a world that you hated more, but his body, the way he touched you, it all felt too good to walk away from.
"Have you prepared a vial?" You broke the silence, watching as he looks at you with that well known apathetic expression, his eyes never revealing even a hint of what he could have been feeling behind them. No one could ever know what Tom had going on in that mind of his, whether it was good or bad, something of injustice commonly, no one could know, and no one did know, not even the woman who lays in his bed so often, not even you.
He moved his body, twisting it to the side to face his bedside table, his hand grazing the dark wood, his ring clanging with it as he opens the top draw, a collection of empty and full glass vials, those in which he brews up for you specifically. Tom had created a potion back when you first started having sex with him, neither of you wanting for you to be impregnated by him, but he was far too selfish to just pull out, he needed you to have all of him, to feel empty when he was not there — it was almost psychological sociopathy. "I added an extra half of a dosage."
You looked at his hand as he held out the small vial to you, the black substance so recognisable bubbling inside, filling the entire tube up to the cork this time, probably enough to take out an entire orphanage. "Why, have you recently started to produce more sperm?" You tease, a failing attempt at a joke. Tom was never someone anyone could joke around with, aside from the usual Professors that he would have to face with a mask of course, but with everyone else he did not care for, no joke should be uttered.
