WOULD IT REALLY KILL YOU IF WE KISS? // TOM RIDDLE

💟☼💟 PROMPT 💟☼💟 Y/N L/N is intrigued by Tom Riddle. Almost to a dangerous extent. And even if it kills her, she’s going to learn his secrets… 💟☼💟 A/N 💟☼💟 Wow guys, I haven’t written a Tom Riddle imagine in SO FUCKING LONG. I’m sure you all are thinking, “Why can’t you just write more for Whispers in the Dark?” The answer is… the story direction for that series isn’t the current idea ringing around in my head. Give me feedback on this and tell me whether you’d want more Tom Riddle imagines, pls. If y’all think this seems unfinished, it’s because I wanted to see if you guys wanted a second part? See you all soon, I’m in an inspired mood haha! 💟☼💟 WARNINGS 💟☼💟 Angst, angst, angst… slight sexual content? Oh, and angst! 💟☼💟 WORD COUNT 💟☼💟 1781

“I know your secrets…”

It came as a whisper, in the dead of night. She was asleep, lost in a dream, but then his voice appeared. It snapped her from the abyss of sleep, gave her the sensation of falling. Now, she startled. Her eyes blinked open. She thought she saw a glimpse of a shadow on the wall, but it was gone before she had a chance to analyze it. He knows, doesn’t he? she thought.

He did know. Tom Riddle knew everything.

“Look closer, but you’ll find nothing,” said the voice—his voice—like a sadistic purr. He sounded like a predator who’d just crept on its unknowing prey. “Though, it’s not really unraveling the truth that tempts you. It’s the chase. It’s the thrill. Right, Y/N?”

Her heart thumped violently. He knows, he knows, he knows, she said in her head, like a fucking chant. She felt insane, yet there wasn’t a single drop of shame, for the lack of stability in her mind.

All she could bring herself to care about was the way he said her name.

“Say it again,” demanded Y/N, snoozing roommates be damned. “Say Y/N.”

He chuckled—was he mocking her?—as a bitter adieu, and Y/N was left in the darkness once more.

I’ll find your secrets, Tom Riddle, she thought, a cold sweat enveloping her body. She wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t fear the consequences of discovering the truth. And he was right—she didn’t even care about the truth. It was the chase that thrilled her. It was the thought of his cold eyes on her, that he’d punish her if she got too close. Even if it kills me.

She cornered him, at the end of Arithmancy, mere hours after she’d dreamt of his voice. He was walking with a group of Slytherin boys, barely contributing to their conversation, a look on his face that implied deep contemplation. Y/N had watched him all lesson, not bothered in the slightest when he returned her glances, and she was desperate to ask him his reasons for appearing in her dreams. Why his voice was all she could hear. Why she thought about him at every moment she was awake, and why her infatuation for him had turned into a full-blown obsession.

But when she appeared before him, when all the boys halted in their tête-à-tête to stare at her, she couldn’t work up the nerve to ask what she truly wanted. What would they all think of her, for saying she had an obsession with Tom? They’d think her mad—or, at the very least, pathetic.

Y/N batted her pretty Y/E/C eyes at Tom. “I’ve got something for you,” she told him.

The boys oohed, watching Tom for his reaction. What could Y/N L/N have for Tom? There was nothing in her grasp, no carry-on that implied a hidden gift. She was empty-handed, with a coy smile on her face. All the boys with their scatterbrained heads knew what that meant.

Tom played his disinterest well. He said coolly, “Alright.”

“Follow me,” said Y/N, with a beckon. Like a loyal dog would its owner, he matched her pace step for step, not even questioning her intentions when their walk led to a cupboard. Not even fighting it when she pushed him in and shut the door.

As the door slammed closed behind them, Y/N turned to Tom. Her smile turned mean. “You won’t be able to hide forever, Tom Riddle,” she told her. She pressed him against the wall, a loud smack! echoing in the tiny room. Tom’s face was unreadable, not even reacting when she dug her nails in his arms. “You aren’t invisible. Not to me.”

“You’ll find nothing,” said Tom. And then it was her that was about the wall, as he turned the tables, fast as lightning. His dark brown eyes were void of any human instinct. “Look all you want, Y/N L/N. You’ll be looking for a very long time.”

Y/N sneered. “I look forward to it.” And then she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. The kiss quickly became a bite, as she nipped at his skin. She wanted him to devour her, to ignite her until she was nothing but ash and residue, and if it took dressing down his mystery, if she had to change him from an anomaly to a revelation, she would.

She left the cupboard without another word.

HE WAS in her dreams that night.

She dreamt of herself in chains, as he watched from the other side of the room. He wore a cloak of scarlet red, his hair blending into the darkness. His eyes glowed a violent red, the very color of his cloak, and there were ugly, bulging veins that swept around his neck like snakes.

“You’re afraid,” said Y/N, as Tom’s cool gaze inched across her skin. “Afraid I’ll get too close. Afraid I won’t like what I find.”

Tom did not smile, nor laugh. He didn’t move his eyebrows, or give her anything to make her think she was right. His gaze stayed where it was.

“Fear is subjective,” said Tom simply, voice empty. There was not a single touch of emotion, nothing to insinuate he was human. It was like he was purely mechanical.

This did not settle well with Y/N.

“Or objective,” she countered. “Everyone is afraid. And you, you’re burdened with it. I’ve never seen someone so frightened.”

“What do you know? You’re an ignorant little girl,” said Tom, his arms crossed snugly against his chest. “You know nothing.”

“I know you’re full of secrets and full of fears.” And she looked at him—really looked at him. Even if his exterior were cool and calculated, that did not mean the same for his headspace. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe he truly wasn’t afraid. If he weren’t, then he wouldn’t mind for her to find out what he was hiding.

Every man is the same, thought Y/N. Made of blood, bone, and anger. A liar and a master manipulator.

“You know nothing,” repeated Tom.

“I know most,” Y/N said. And she smiled. “Soon, I’ll know nothing. Watch your back, Tom Riddle. You never know who might sink a knife into it.”

She laughed her way into a disoriented sort of awakening. What awaited her was a deep need, embedded into the nook of her belly.

It itched. It burned. It spread.

All because of Tom Riddle.

There weren’t many who stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, but two of the castle’s occupants were Tom Marvolo Riddle and Y/N M/N L/N. It wasn’t long before Y/N became aware of this interesting predicament. When she did, she began to follow him everywhere.

On the third day of being followed around, Tom finally snapped. He let her follow him into the Forbidden Forest, before he appeared to confront her.

Tom materialized behind her. “Are you my shadow?” he snapped. It felt gratifying when she jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. “You will find nothing. You’ll continue to find nothing, you foolish, insolent girl.”

“You underestimate me,” said Y/N, her bravery nothing but a reminder of her youth, of her ignorance. She looked and acted the part of naïve narrator, something Tom Riddle felt obliged to tell her, regardless of the time or day.

“You underestimate me.” Tom backed her into a tree. A creature howled in the distance, as though marking the setting. As his hands came up to trap her against the bark, he leaned closer. His eyes were like beads of nightshade in the moonlight. “I could hurt you.”

“But you won’t.” Y/N felt eager. She wanted him to hurt her. That same need she had felt for him for years made its grand entrance, turning her stomach into a rickety cage of nerves. It tipped and toppled, no amount of stability able to keep it stationary. “Maybe you should.”

“I could kill you,” Tom told her, narrowing his eyes. “Foolish. Foolish, foolish girl.”

Y/N smashed her lips into his as a response.

It was like animals who hadn’t eaten in days, made ravenous by their hunger. Tom’s nails left the wood and attached themselves to Y/N’s shoulders, digging into her skin so violently they left imprints. He slammed her deep into the wood, his teeth clashing against her own—as she opened her mouth, as she pressed her tongue into his mouth, desperate to taste him, feel him. Her skin went ablaze everywhere he touched.

Yet, his touches, his taste, they all felt empty. Dormant. His sexual ferocity felt like primal instinct, rather than a result of his human wants and needs.

Human. Is he? Y/N pushed him off.

“You’re not human,” she cried.

Tom simply wiped his mouth. “Don’t do that again,” he warned her.

“Maybe I should. Would you hurt me then?” Her smile was cruel. “Hurt me, Tom. I know you wish for it.” She wished for it herself, for fuck’s sake. If she truly wanted, she would imperius him, make him do it against his own will.

“I wish for nothing,” said Tom.

“I do not need to be a Legilimens to know you are lying to me, Tom Riddle,” Y/N said. Her lips tingled at the memory of his mouth, the way it moved against hers. Like they were molded for one another. Yet, she knew she was being pathetic. Pathetic, like he’d labelled her. Like they’d all labelled her. She was letting him control her. And the worst part was that she was letting him.

Tom eyed her coolly. “Foolish,” he murmured.

Foolish. A foolish girl. Is that all I am to you, Tom?

The thought plagued her for the rest of the evening, into the night, where she tossed and turned, his name following her into unconsciousness.

Not human.

Tom Riddle was not human. And even if he were human, he wasn’t made of the same constituents she was, nor their peers. He was sociopathic—selfish—with a mindset so subjective it was almost sinister to think he knew what empathy even was. Love. He didn’t know what love was.

I wish he did, thought Y/N, almost subconsciously. And that’s when she knew.

It wasn’t the chase. It wasn’t his secrets. It was her wishing he knew love, and wanting it, craving it—even if she knew, he was not capable. Even if she knew he was callous. Cruel. Cold.

He will never love you.

She truly was foolish for thinking he ever would. She let herself hope, for one solid second, that he wasn’t pure machine.

She was stupid. And she was wrong.

Just a foolish, foolish girl.

And she was.