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“Nothing more”

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Little friends with benefits

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Everyone warned you about him. And maybe that’s why you said yes the first time.

It started in a hallway — late, quiet, just the two of you. He smirked like he already knew what you were going to say before you said it.

“You look like you need a distraction,” Mattheo murmured, voice low, dangerous. You raised an eyebrow. “And you’re offering?”

He shrugged. “No feelings. Just fun.”

That was the deal.

—

Now it’s stolen nights and hidden bruises. He knocks on your dorm door with blood on his knuckles and mischief in his eyes.

And you always let him in.

You tell yourselves it doesn’t matter. You don’t ask questions. He doesn’t stay the night.

And you don’t look at him for too long when he’s sleeping.

But sometimes… Sometimes he looks at you like he wants to mean it.

—

“You ever think about stopping?” you ask once, lying beside him in an abandoned classroom.

He lights a cigarette. “Why would we stop something that feels this good?”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You wish he’d lie. You wish you could.

—

There’s a girl in the hallway who flirts with him. You pretend not to notice. He pretends you’re not watching. That night, he’s rougher. You let him be.

Neither of you talks about why.

Eventually, someone asks if you two are a thing.

“No,” you say, too quickly. “Just friends,” he says with a smirk. But when he walks past you in the corridor, his hand brushes yours like a secret. And it burns.

Because the truth is: You were never just his friend. And he was never just a distraction. You’re both just too stubborn to admit it.

So you keep pretending. Keep burning. And keep letting him in.

Every time he whispers “nothing more,” you hold your breath…

…hoping one day, it’ll be a lie.

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[luvvlanadr]

“The devil’s dove”

Tom Riddle x Reader

Tom being psychologically obsessed

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You didn’t remember when it started — the way the world began to shift around Tom Riddle.

One day you were yourself. The next day you were his.

He never needed to touch you to own you.

He did it with silence. With perfectly timed glances. With praise that felt like sunlight — warm, but blinding.

“You have such a quiet mind,” he told you once, after watching you during a study group. “So rare. So clean.”

Clean.

Like something to be kept.

It was always subtle. A missing book here. A whispered rumour there. People who once smiled at you no longer made eye contact.

He remained close. Protective. Possessive. Too polite to be alarming, too magnetic to be resisted.

And whenever you doubted yourself, he would tilt his head and ask,

“Are you sure it happened that way?”

You stopped asking questions.

He said it was because you were “growing.”

You said nothing.

But deep down, something in you screamed:

I’m not growing. I’m vanishing.

They started calling you “his dove.”

His quiet one.

The gentle shadow beside him. To beautiful to be real, too still to be alive.

And when you looked in the mirror, you understood why. The girl who looked back at you had his fingerprints etched into her soul.

—

One evening, in the Slytherin common room, he came up behind you, placed a hand on your shoulder, and said,

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just let go?”

“Of what?” you whispered.

“Of doubt,” he said. “Of fear. Of pretending you ever belonged anywhere but here, with me.”

And for a breathless moment… you believed him. Because devils don’t always use fire. Sometimes they use love.

But doves — even broken ones — can remember how to fly.

And somewhere deep inside you, a tiny voice whispered:

What he calls love is a cage. And you were never his to keep.

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“Daisy fresh girl”

Tom Riddle x Reader | Dark Romance | Hogwarts Era

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You remembered the first time you saw him—Tom Riddle.

Polished shoes, pristine robes, a voice smooth as dark honey. Everyone said he was brilliant. You had no reason to doubt them.

You were a daisy fresh girl, as your grandmother would say.

Sweet. Unscarred. Trusting.

Tom noticed that immediately.

“You’re different,” he said one evening in the library, fingers brushing the spine of a worn book. “Innocent.”

You smiled. You thought it was a compliment.

Days turned into weeks. He walked you to class, quoted poetry he claimed was Muggle (though he always looked disgusted saying so), and made you feel seen in ways no one else had. He never touched you unnecessarily. That restraint made it worse—more magnetic. He always seemed to be holding back, like he could devour you if he wanted. Maybe he already had.

It started small. A secret.

“Don’t tell anyone I was in the Restricted Section.”

Then a favor.

“Can you distract Professor Slughorn for a moment?”

And then something darker.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered, eyes glinting red for the briefest moment. You wanted to run. Instead, you nodded.

You don’t remember exactly when it changed—when you started lying for him, sneaking around, reading things no student should read. But the mirror told the truth.

You didn’t look daisy fresh anymore.

Your eyes were tired. Your hands trembled when they weren’t holding your wand. And your heart—your heart ached with a coldness he’d buried there.

One night, in the empty corridor outside the Slytherin common room, you finally said it:

“I was a daisy fresh girl, Tom. Look what you’ve done to me.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, he stepped closer, voice low and sharp like a blade.

“You were weak,” he said. “Now, you’re magnificent.”

And you didn’t know what was worse—what he turned you into… or how much you liked it.

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