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imagineitup · 4 years

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it’s just episkey : tom riddle x reader

request : What about a imagina where Tom Riddle gets hurt but he's too arrogant to admit that he needs help, but luckily reader doesn't care about how he can be such a bitch with everyone and ends up taking care of him? And he thank her at the end for saving his life.

a/n: reader is a crackhead i don’t make the rules :DDD // look at that jawline

- -

“I don’t need help,” Tom spits, and the glare he gives you is venomous. Perhaps it would’ve been common sense to leave him there, even if he was limping against the wall, breathing heavily. But you’ve always prided yourself on your common decency to everyone, no matter who it is.

And today, the person on the receiving end of your kindness just happens to be Tom Riddle. Oh, well. It’s not like you’re scared of him, or anything. Right?

“Of course you don’t,” you end up saying. “You’re just limping for what? Fun?”

Tom nearly growls. “Don’t touch me.” He bites his lip, pushing against the wall to stand up straighter, although the effort makes him breathe in sharply. Yet he still manages a sneer, as he tilts up his chin, “Mudblood.”

You stare at him blankly. It’s far too late in the year for this. While this might have hurt you in first or second year, you’d long since accepted your blood-status and were actually more than happy to be exposed to the “muggle” culture. “Oh boo hoo. You big baby. So what? I don’t give a damn about my blood. That’s gross, dude.”

Tom looks momentarily taken back. Either from being called a ‘dude’ or the complete lack of emotional response from what he’s just called you; either way, it doesn’t matter to you. “What?”

“You want to go, huh? I’ll talk to you about blood. Oh boy, when I get my period --”

Tom winces, and you can tell he’s seething. “Okay, okay. Stop.”

“Thought you were all about that stuff.” At his glare, you shrug at him. “My bad.”

Tom looks like he wants to disappear. His face starts to turn ashen, and he stumbles, both hands gripping against the wall. He grits his teeth, shutting his eyes for a moment. “I’m fine,” he says fiercely, and you’re not sure whether he’s talking to you, or trying to convince himself.

You blink, a sigh escaping your lips as you step closer. “Alright, sit down.”

Tom makes a move to fight, to resist, but the moment he sees your notorious “no bull-shit” expression, he swallows his words and begrudgingly sinks to the floor, slowly letting his leg fall against the floor. He grimaces, a choke escaping his mouth. “Ah, fuck.”

You kneel beside him, staring at the blood gushing through his leg. It’s infected, probably, and you take out your wand.

“It’s a simple episkey, you know.”

“I know that. I lost my wand,” Tom says. “I don’t know where.”

A simple non-verbal accio, then? Does this boy have a deathwish?

You shake your head, doing your best to gently unwrap the blood-soaked fabric that Tom’s tied tightly against his shin. The wound exposes itself to the air soon enough, and you grimace as you take in the brutality that’s occurred.

For a moment your hand trembles. You’ve never had to do anything like this before. Taking a breath and clenching your wand, you swallow past your discomfort, murmuring the incantation over and over.

Slowly, slowly, the bleeding ebbs. Tom’s skin starts to stitch together, a golden sort of haze settling in the air around his leg to help heal.

There’s no doubt about it, the spell leaves you drained. You’re starving, and you bite your lips together, your wand clattering to the floor. “There.”

It leaves a long, white scar stretching across his skin, but it’s healed now, and that’s all that really matters. “Now you’ve got a real story to tell, Riddle.”

Tom angrily grabs his things and steps away from you. He looks like he’s intentionally ignoring you, his gaze set stonily in front of him.

“I, of course, live to serve,” you call after him, mockingly. “Nice seeing you. Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

Tom pauses immediately, sighing. He turns back around, and you watch as a war rages across his face. He lowers his head, eyes dipping to the ground, and then, finally, he meets your gaze. You’re surprised to see his face smooth without glare, and most of all, you’re surprised to see him looking … grateful.

“I,” he starts, screwing up his face, “thank you.”

You’re too speechless to respond.

Tom nods at you now, and that’s the most respect you’ve ever seen him regard you with. And then the moment ends, and Tom briskly turns the corridor, leaving you stumped. You’ve never seen him nice, ever. It’s a strange thing.

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