Winter sun streamed through the open windows of the Riddle Manor, putting dancing dust motes in the limelight. You laid sprawled across the silk sheets, a contented sigh escaping your lips as Tom traced lazy circles on your back. His touch was tender, and it was hard to believe this was the hand with the blood of countless wizards on them. He had been like this all day. Unusually attentive.

— You think I want you as others do, don’t you?

His voice was calm, his words coming out as a warm puff of air against the nape of your neck. His fingers paused briefly before continuing their slow, deliberate circles. For years, you had been his— his lover, his confidante, sometimes even his equal. But this... this felt different.

— It’s not enough having you in my bed. I want you in my very being, in a way that no one could ever take away.

He leaned back slightly, watching you with that familiar cold calculation, waiting for you to understand. When the silence stretched too long, he broke it.

— I want to be your horcrux.