yunloyal

yu | she/her | 24

226 posts

Can You Write An X Reader Story With Tom?, Where Tom "falls In Love" Or Is Attracted To Reader, But She

Can you write an X Reader story with Tom?, where Tom "falls in love" or is attracted to Reader, but she is dating someone else (a Slytherin boy maybe or... from another house) and tries to make she his even if he is rejected at first.

(Perhaps even try a more extreme approach, for example at Professor Slughorn’s party under the table while she is sitting next to him).

Can you write something fluff and smut? Thank you very much.

(sorry if I wrote something in English that is wrong...it’s not my language...I hope you understand). ★

First of all, your English is great, second of all, this prompt is amazing.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Spoken For

Summary: You’re already spoken for when Tom Riddle asks you to Slughorn’s party, but luckily (or unluckily), Tom is hardly known to give up on anything he wants so easily.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Content warning: explicit sex.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“No,” you frown, turning and striding away as quickly as you can, hoping he doesn’t follow but –

“Why not?” Tom says at once, falling in close step beside you.

“I don’t need to give you a reason to turn you down, Tom,” you mutter.

“But you have one.” His eyes are trained on your face, watching for anything he can glean.

“And why exactly do you want to go with me?” you say dryly, weaving through the students milling in the hall between classes and rather desperately hoping that he falters at the question and leaves you alone.

“You want me to list your virtues?” he asks in an equally sardonic tone and not shying away in the slightest.

Damn. The boy’s persistent. “I’m not looking for an ego boost,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised that I want you to be my date?”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps if you indulged me, the reasons would become clear,” Tom says delicately.

You shoot him a look. “Nice try.”

“You seem to have already made up your mind regardless,” he replies at once, eyes narrowing.

You exhale slowly, holding your books a little tighter. You hadn’t wanted it to get to this, but it looks like you have no other choice. “I already have a date to Slughorn’s party,” you say, frowning again.

Tom stops walking, catching your arm and making you stop, too. Your heart thrums nervously in your chest. “Who?” he asks quietly.

His expression has gone perfectly smooth, but you’re hardly fooled. It’s well known that Tom’s tenacity is rivalled only by his intolerance of failure, a combination that won him his place as the best student in your year – you can only imagine how he’s processing the fact that it hasn’t done him any favours with you. “That doesn’t concern you,” you say with deliberate sharpness, pulling your arm from his grasp.

His expression doesn’t change, his dark eyes levelled on yours with a heavy, inescapable scrutiny.

Your stomach twists with guilt and nerves in equal measure. The truth is that you’re (reluctantly) already spoken for, Axel Pembroke asked you out three months prior and you’d been on quite a few dates since. Whilst you aren’t exactly head-over-heels for the boy, your family adores him, he’s polite and innocuous, and he doesn’t seem to mind (or perhaps notice) your lukewarm feelings towards him.

Which is exactly why you’d tried to shut Tom down and get away so quickly. Intelligent and quiet, observant and shrewd, beautiful just to top it off; Tom makes you curious, you want to say yes to him, and that makes him more than a little dangerous to you.

So here you are, turning him down so abruptly that it must be fairly easy to interpret it as callousness.

“Tom,” you say quietly, “I… maybe if I wasn’t… already…”

He blinks, his attention as unrelenting as ever, but you’re suddenly wondering what people would say if it got out that you’d told him such a thing whilst dating Axel.

“I should go,” you say hastily, forcing your eyes away from him. “I hope you find another date.”

You hurry off, and thankfully this time Tom doesn’t follow.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

In retrospect, you should have known he wouldn’t give up that easily.

The dinner party is a long, tedious affair made all the worse by the fact that Axel is too busy discussing the merits and flaws of the Holyhead Harpies line-up for the coming Quidditch season with the boys next to him to have spoken much more than two complete sentences to you all night. His attentiveness to you, you’re learning, is apparently extremely fickle and entirely dependent on whether or not he’s around his friends. Even worse, the seat beside you is empty and you’ve been forced to spend the evening in silence as you pick at your food at the end of the table, wishing time might pass faster.

Around seven-thirty the door to the chamber swings open and everyone looks up as Tom walks inside, dressed in smartly-fitted but simple black dress robes and looking so strikingly handsome that you catch several people at the table trade furtive glances with each other. “Apologies, Professor,” he says with a polite nod at Slughorn, “the meeting with the Headmaster ran overtime.”

“Not to worry, Tom my boy!” Slughorn says jovially, leaping to his feet and sending his napkin flying into Phoebe Minks’ soup. “Take a seat! The night is still young!”

Your blood runs hot and electric under your skin. There’s only one seat left at the table and it’s next to you.

“Of course, sir,” Tom says smoothly, eyes flicking to you with humour as he approaches.

You avert your gaze, trying (completely in vain) to catch Axel’s attention – he’s half-turned from you so as to better hear some fifth-year Gryffindor’s rundown of the previous season’s highlights and is not paying you any attention in the slightest.

“Good evening,” Tom says softly as he takes the seat beside you.

You nod silently, suddenly very preoccupied with refilling your goblet.

“Tell us about this meeting then, Tom!” Slughorn calls from the other end of the table.

“Dull affairs, I’m afraid, sir,” he says back with a good-natured drawl. “I’m due to supervise the third years on their first trip to Hogsmeade next month.”

“Oh? Nothing else?”

“No, sir,” Tom says with a razor-sharp smile, “I’m sure whatever you were discussing before my arrival was of infinitely more interest.”

Slughorn chortles but returns to his conversation with the aristocratic-looking Ravenclaw seventh-years beside him. You glance desperately at Axel. Please turn around, you will him, please turn around so that I don’t have to talk to –

“The aforementioned date, I presume,” Tom says softly.

And you can’t avoid turning to him. His elbows are resting on the table before him, slowly tilting his crystal goblet in small circles and watching the liquid shift inside. He’s not looking at you but it’s obvious where his comment is directed.

“And yet you end up beside me regardless,” you mutter.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Tom says, giving you a delicate smile.

Your eyes dart across his face suspiciously, but his smile doesn’t budge.

“Your chemistry is overwhelming,” he says smoothly, nodding at the back of Axel’s head. “I can see the appeal.”

“Stop it,” you mutter pointedly, frowning at your goblet again.

“No, I’m quite serious,” he continues, smile widening, “your rejection makes perfect sense, now, how could I possibly compete with such enamoured affections?”

“It’s not usually like this,” you say quietly, embarrassed.

“Oh?” Tom asks, lifting his goblet to his full lips and watching you closely. “Normally you’re utterly infatuated, are you?” He takes a slow sip, not looking away.

Damn him, you think angrily, wrenching your eyes off his beautiful face and feeling heat on your own. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Well, in the absence of your date’s conversation, perhaps my own might suffice as an adequate substitute,” Tom says smoothly, lowering his goblet and setting it down on the table before him.

“And what would you want to talk about?” you ask with an unmissable brush of sarcasm.

“Oh Quidditch, naturally,” he says with a smirk, glancing briefly at Axel again.

You shoot him another look but his amusement doesn’t falter. “You’re hilarious,” you drawl.

“Well what would you like to talk about?” Tom asks quietly, tilting his head and giving you a strangely penetrating look.

You blink. Something about his demeanour makes the question very easy to answer honestly. “I’d rather talk about anything other than Quidditch.”

Tom breathes a small laugh and he turns towards you. “Well in that case, I’m very well prepared to please you,” he says very smoothly, “I know next to nothing about Quidditch and I’m quite determined to keep it that way.”

You laugh too, and then get very annoyed at yourself for doing so. “This isn’t a date,” you tell him quickly, leaning in a little closer and speaking as quietly as you can.

“Of course not,” Tom replies smoothly, his lips curving into a smile as he lifts a hand to his cheekbone and leans against it thoughtfully.

“Just a conversation,” you continue very intently.

“Naturally.”

“It’s normal to converse with other people at a dinner party.”

“Utterly commonplace,” Tom smiles.

You hesitate, suddenly wondering exactly which of you you’re reassuring. “Alright,” you say slowly, lifting your goblet. “Let’s talk.”

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’re hardly surprised when he’s sitting next to you at the next Slugclub dinner party, too. And the next. In fact, Tom is mysteriously beside you at every one of Slughorn’s gatherings all term, and you’re quite certain that Axel might have drawn issue with someone talking to you so much if he’d bothered to turn around even once.

Not that he has any reason to be bothered, of course. They’re just conversations, nothing more. Maybe Tom’s dry, bitingly observant sense of humour makes you laugh more than anyone else ever has, and maybe he asks questions with direct, astute candidness that make it unavoidably obvious that he’s paying very close attention to your answers, and maybe he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life – but they’re just conversations.

“Slughorn is having another dinner this weekend,” Tom says casually as he falls into step with you in the Charms corridor.

“Is he now?” you say wryly, trying to ignore the excitement curling in your stomach.

“Go with me.”

Your smile fades and you stop walking, looking up at Tom in surprise. He stops too, his regal features settled into something serious and impenetrable as he looks back at you.

“You mean… sit together?” you ask carefully.

“No,” Tom says plainly, “I mean as my date.”

You blink, glancing around nervously. “Tom, you know that I’m going with –”

“If Pembroke paid you any less attention you could strangle Slughorn to death right on the table and he still wouldn’t stop talking to Blakeslee and Dunn about which broomsticks the Americans are using this year,” Tom interrupts, arching a brow.

“He’s my date,” you say coolly.

“He’s not your date,” Tom retorts immediately, all humour vanishing as he steps closer. “Don’t insult yourself by considering that a date.”

“I told you that we’re just having conversations, Tom,” you whisper angrily.

“Oh? Are they just conversations?” Tom breathes.

But all you can do is stare at him as the hours you’ve spent talking to him in Slughorn’s parties swim across your consciousness and you realise with mounting horror that no, no they were not just conversations. You swallow hard and look away. “I don’t want to have to turn you down again,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Then don’t,” he says bluntly, not moving away.

“Tom.”

“I know you want to choose me.”

You shoot him another look of warning. “Stop it,” you hiss.

“Stop lying to yourself,” he hisses back, leaning closer.

“I won’t throw Axel under the bus just because I have feelings for you, Tom,” you say angrily.

Tom immediately stands up straighter, triumph glittering in his eyes as he looks down at you and you realise exactly what you’ve just said. Horror washes over you in a cold wave and you turn on your heel and flee, barely paying attention to where you’re going in your haste to get away from him.

You’re already dreading the coming weekend.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You seriously consider not going until Axel starts getting suspicious as to why you’re so reluctant and you’re forced to swallow your mumbled collection of excuses, put on a nice dress, and follow him to the party. Tom looks up from where he’s sat at the far end of the table when you enter and you quickly avert your eyes as warmth erupts on your skin, giving Slughorn a very forced smile at the head of the table.

“Excellent stuff in the last match, Pembroke,” Slughorn winks, “I’ll have to have a word with Begonia Pincushion from the Wimbourne Wasps – old student of mine, you know –”

Axel immediately starts gushing in excitement and walks off without you to sit next to Slughorn, leaving you quite alone and without an open seat beside him. You blink, embarrassment filtering through your chest as the other party-goers awkwardly look between you and Axel – now so engrossed in his conversation with Slughorn that he hasn’t even noticed the whole room staring at you standing by yourself.

“There’s a spare seat here, if you’d like,” a Hufflepuff girl you don’t know offers quickly, smiling at you as she gestures at the chair beside her.

Your eyes drift unbidden to Tom at the end of the table and find him already looking at you, composed and inscrutable. His group of Slytherin fanboys fill the seats around him, but there’s a space. There’s a space on his right. You don’t think for a second that it’s just by chance.

“Thank you,” you say to the Hufflepuff girl, feeling brazenly reckless, “that’s very kind, but I think I’m spoken for.”

And you resolutely turn and make your way over to Tom, ignoring the way his lips slowly curl into a knowing smile as you approach, the way the other Slytherin boys immediately turn away and fall into deep conversation with each other, they way they don’t look at either you or Tom again.

Tom turns to you as you sit down, lightly resting his head against his hand the same way he had the very first time you’d talked to him, his expression somewhere between satisfied and amused. “Hello,” he says dryly.

“Don’t push it,” you mutter, seizing a goblet and filling it.

He breathes a laugh. “Did I just witness the final straw?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you frown, glancing down the table where Axel still hasn’t noticed your absence.

Tom’s amusement slowly fades as he looks at you, his own brow furrowing. “Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

Your eyes flash to his, something thrumming unignorably in your chest. You nod and force yourself to take a sip of your drink.

“You look beautiful.”

You blink, something fragile fluttering in your chest as your face floods with heat as you stare at his calm, attentive expression, his posture unmoved.

“Am I allowed to say that now?” he asks smoothly, smirking slightly.

“I think that counts as pushing it,” you mumble, knowing he’s bound to have noticed your blush as you look away.

“You’ll have to tell me when I cross the line,” he says softly.

“You’re relentless.”

“I am,” he smiles, lifting his goblet.

You try to smother your own smile with very dubious success, having to hide it behind a sip of your drink instead.

“So,” Tom says a good two hours later, setting down his empty goblet, “I think it only fair that you give me a definitive answer, all things considered.”

“An answer?” you echo, arching a brow.

“Are you going to be my date?” he asks lightly, looking at you.

You falter, eyes darting to Axel at the front of the table. Most of the dinner guests are a little tipsy on the heavy wine Slughorn always serves, and loud, boisterous conversation fills the room – though nothing can drown out Axel’s brazen lack of acknowledgement that you’ve been sitting with Tom all evening. “I… don’t know…” you say, frowning.

“You’re not seriously going to consider him after this, are you?” Tom says at once, leaning towards you with a dangerously sharp look in his dark eyes.

“What do you want me to do, Tom?” you breathe. “Our families get on, he’s not horrible to me –”

“He’s not horrible to you,” Tom repeats, scathingly unimpressed.

“I have no good reason to end things with him!”

Tom’s eyes flash and his hand is suddenly on your thigh under the table, his fingers pressing hard into your skin and your heart just about stops. “No good reason,” he echoes softly, gripping you tighter. “Is that true?”

“Tom,” you whisper, frozen in place.

“Is it?” he asks silkily.

You can barely breathe. Tom’s grip is loosening but not to let you go – his hand is moving, agonisingly slowly, relentlessly, sliding up your leg. “Tom,” you say again, barely audible.

“Have I crossed the line?” he whispers, his palm pushing up your dress as it slides higher up your thigh.

When you don’t reply, Tom’s lips curve into a smile and he turns quite casually back to his plate, hand still on your thigh under the table as he reaches forward and lifts his goblet. “You did agree to tell me if I did,” he says softly, his fingers grazing up the inside of your leg and making you supress a shiver.

And you beg yourself to tell him to stop, to ask him to take his hand away, but heat is flooding your stomach and his hand is warm and firm on your skin, and there’s a burning look in his eyes when he glances at you that makes something between excitement and desire spark in every part of your body.

Tom’s hand moves higher and you lean your elbows on the table in front of you, staring unseeing at your plate as his fingers brush the hollow where your leg meets your hip.

“Are you going to choose?” he asks quietly, watching you.

You look up across the table in fear that someone, anyone might have noticed – but no one is paying you any attention in the slightest, the rambunctious conversation drowning out Tom’s words and the wine blurring their awareness of everything else.

Tom lifts his goblet, his eyes fixed on your face. “Tell me to stop,” he says softly, sliding his fingers across your underwear and making you grit your teeth to stop yourself from reacting.

“Tom,” you try again, barely audible.

“Tell me.”

His fingers are playing with the top of your underwear, and you look over at him, arousal and fear and nerves and excitement tearing in your chest. Tom’s eyes are alight with amusement, his attention still on your face as he smiles, brings his goblet to his lips for a slow sip that you watch him take, captivated.

You grit your teeth again and say nothing.

Tom’s smile grows and suddenly his hand is gone. You blink, cheeks flooding with sudden embarrassment and dread at what has just occurred, wondering if he’ll tell people what you’d let him do, wondering if he’d done it all just to mess with you –

“Make your choice,” Tom says smoothly, leaning back in his chair very languidly.

“You’re seriously trying to seduce me?” you manage to say under your breath.

“It appears to be working,” he smirks, glancing at you.

Your blush returns and Tom’s eyes roam your cheeks looking very pleased with the reaction, when he suddenly stands. “Some music, perhaps, sir?” he asks Slughorn with an unaffected smile.

Slughorn is delighted by the suggestion (of course he is), and in mere minutes the dinner party is milling around the room in small groups of conversation, reedy music blaring loudly from a large golden gramophone by the fireplace.

“Axel,” you say quickly, approaching him where he’s talking to three other boys you don’t know very well.

“Oh – haven’t seen you much tonight,” he says casually, glancing at you.

“No – listen, do you want to dance?” you offer, nodding at the small group of other couples a few feet away. Please say yes, please say yes, please give me a single reason to choose you, please do something –

“I’m in the middle of something,” Axel says distractedly, turning back to the three boys, “maybe later.”

He’s already back in conversation before you can reply. You stare at him, your disappointment almost as potent as your absolute absence of surprise.

A hand around your wrist makes you jump, and you wheel around to find Tom already insistently leading you towards the back of the room. “What are you –”

But Tom just casts one last look over the party before he tugs you into a very small, shadowed alcove behind a large wooden column out of sight and pushes you hard against the wall. “You’re going to have to be very quiet, can you do that?” he asks softly, resting a forearm on the wall above your head as his other hand slides up your leg again – though this time the touch is anything but slow.

“Tom,” you gasp, looking back out of the alcove – but no one is there. No one can see you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers again as he leans down. Your breath catches in your throat and suddenly Tom’s lips are pressed against your neck and his hand is sliding teasingly along the band of your underwear again. Anything you might have said dies in your throat.

“Go on,” he murmurs against your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

“Tom,” you breathe again, your hands lifting without conscious thought and lacing around his neck.

You hear his little laugh, feel it brush warm across your neck, and he’s pulling your underwear down, and with a touch that feels like fire he slides his fingers against you. Your moan barely slips out from between your lips before Tom’s arm drops from the wall above you and his hand presses firmly over your mouth. “Didn’t I say to be quiet?” he tells you softly, but his fingers are stroking at you and you can barely breathe, your eyes closing tightly as dizziness and pleasure storm in your body.

You hold onto his arm just to stay grounded, his hand over your mouth stifling the noises threatening to escape as his fingers send pleasure coiling low in your core, his lips teasing your neck and making heat spread tingling across your skin.

Tom lifts his head and looks down at you breathing hard beneath his hand, his fingers making you shift with pleasure. “Can you be quiet for me?” he murmurs.

You nod. You would have agreed to anything he’d asked you in that moment.

Tom’s hand vanishes from your mouth and he’s kissing you, soft lips, tongue hot against yours, and you’re dizzy and delirious, kissing him back without thinking, without caring about anything else –

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your mouth, “legs spread for me, so wet for me –”

“Tom,” you moan, whisper-quiet.

“Say it again,” he commands softly.

“Tom.”

He kisses you hard again and you feel the pleasure in your gut start to build and build. “There,” Tom murmurs, pulling back, “there it is. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?”

“I…”

“Ask me for it,” he says softly.

“Tom, please –”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

You look up at him. Tom looks back with his burning dark eyes, his hand cupping your jaw and pulling your closer to his lips barely breath away from yours as his fingers keep building the smouldering pleasure in your core. “Tell me,” he whispers.

And you nod.

“Say it.”

“I…”

His fingers slow against you and your head falls back against the wall in frustration, your eyes falling shut.

“I want you to say it,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to his again.

You look up at him, and for a second you just stare, watch his eyes drag across your face, drinking in your expression. You try to focus, try to ignore the achingly slow caress of his fingers between your legs, the pleasure right out of your grasp, the dark heat in Tom’s eyes that’s making you crave giving in, making you wonder why you’ve been resisting at all.

“I’m yours,” you whisper.

Tom’s lips curve into his most dangerous smile as he leans back in, kissing you very softly as his fingers press a little harder, as you breathe harder, your arms wrapping around his neck again and he’s not slowing down anymore and you’re right on the edge, feeling yourself start to tip –

“You’re mine,” Tom says softly, and it breaks over you so hard that his hand smothers your mouth again, holding you tightly as you shift and writhe beneath his touch, unable to stop the moans.

Somehow, no one notices the two of you slipping back to the main party, no one comments on it, and for the first time, you’re glad that Axel pays you less than no attention because your absence passed him by entirely without detection.

“Time to go?” Axel asks you near ten o’clock, shrugging his coat on.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost your date, Pembroke,” Tom says smoothly from where he’s standing beside you.

Axel blinks at him, and you expect that a similar expression is on your own face, too. “Excuse me?” Axel says disbelievingly.

“Perhaps you might be more attentive, next time,” Tom continues casually, offering you his arm. “Very rude of you to ignore someone for weeks on end, you know, and that unpleasantness when you arrived tonight… shameful…”

You don’t hesitate before slipping your arm through Tom’s, and he immediately gives you a heated, knowing look that makes you smile up at him reflexively.

Axel’s gobsmacked gaze turns to you. “Are you serious?”

You shrug lightly, feeling strangely empowered.

“Goodnight, Pembroke,” Tom says very pleasantly, stepping towards the door and leading you with him. “Do find a new date to the next gathering, won’t you? Mine is spoken for.”