tomriddlehyperfixataion

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Big brown puppy dog eyes- Tom Riddle x Reader -oneshot(crack/funny)

summary: Tom is so down bad for a girl that he lets his followers turn him into a puppy.

warnings; Tom being obsessed, doing dog things, tricking a girl into thinking he's just a puppy, kinda creepy if you look into it but i did this for the funnies so dont look to deep into it.

=

He really did not know why he allowed his ‘friends’ to do this, all for the sake of, what? Getting a girls attention? Tom had never been so foolish to yearn for ANYONE’S attention, not since he was small and gullible. And yet, she persisted.

(y/n). A few months older than him, a Slytherin; sweet, loved animals, and to her-Tom was just another face, but to him? (y/n) was…everything he thought he never wanted. His friends knew; Abraxas teased him relentlessly for it, Orion compared shades of red to Tom’s face when he flushed at the mention of (y/n), Avery would go “hey (y/n)!” in a direction behind Tom and laugh when Tom would whip around to look for her.

And now, in their final year, with only a few months left towards graduation, operation; get the girl for Tom was in effect.

And it involved the STUPIDEST thing Tom had ever done.

He let himself be transfigured.

He only let Abraxas do it, the only competent one, but the boys had not told him which animal, (y/n) loved animals, they were turning him into. So when the world swirled around him and suddenly he was on all fours and so very small…he got angry.

Except it wasn’t very intimidating, puppies weren’t intimidating. Avery was snickering at him, ORION PICKED HIM UP?! “Awwww, aren’t you a cutieeee, she’s not gonna be able to resist you m’lord,” Abraxas chuckled at Orion’s words, casting a mirror charm so Tom could see himself.

A puppy. He was a bloody puppy.

A Doberman puppy, small stature, huge paws, floppy ears, brown and black short fur, and sweet puppy brown eyes.

A humiliating form, why the fuck did he agree to this?!

He glared at himself and growled, then proceeded to stop-he just bloody growled?! Who does that?! He began to writhe in Orion’s hold, until Orion couldn’t hold him and set him down. “Hey, c’mon Tom, on the bright side, (y/n) wont be able to resist you, I mean, what girl doesn’t love puppies?” Abraxas said with a smirk, kneeling to pat Tom’s head, avoiding a narrow nip of his sharp teeth. “Down Bessie.”

Tom growled, baring his teeth, half of them still puppy teeth. His friends only chuckled and then he got scooped up again, this time by Abraxas. “Come, let's go find (y/n).” Abraxas said, holding Tom like a bloody baby as Orion and Avrey followed close behind, both snickering.

Tom was going to rip them new ones once this ordeal was over.

Abraxas came to a stop around a corner, peeking around it, seeing a whole gaggle of girls-a lot of them having crushes on Tom. Abraxas and the boys shared a smirk, a smirk Tom did not like-he was suddenly put down and shoved into view of the girls, his stupid big paws that he had no control over made him tumble and yelp-gaining their attention.

There was a pause, and then squeals-Tom scrambled to his feet and ran-genuine panic going through his bones as he ran from the girls squealing and running after him. “Puppy puppy! Come here puppy!” the lot of them called for him and he kept running, a pitchy yelp coming from his throat as he kept running.

Abraxas, Orion and Avery were laughing their asses off, gasping for breath as Tom ran out of sight, the girls chasing after him. “That was so mean,” Orion cackled as Avery leaned onto the nearby wall, smacking his hand on it. Abraxas snickered, flicking his wand, replaying the moment Tom scrambled for it and prey-pitched.

Avery and Orion burst into laughter again, meanwhile Tom was running for-what felt like-his life, tumbling over his paws and nearly taking a painful trip down the stairs if he hadn’t caught himself in time. He looked behind him-the girls still yelling after him and chasing him-he looked back at the stairs-leaned back on his haunches, and leaped-only to be caught and brought to a warm embrace.

He squealed, writhing around in their arms, only to be held tightly, one hand going beneath his neck and the other under his belly. “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” They cooed very softly, Tom recognized the voice-he looked up, (y/n), smiling softly at him, hiding in an alcove as the girls ran by. “You’re okay puppy,” She whispered and he stopped fighting, looking up at her with big brown eyes and she cooed. “Sweet boy, they scared you to death didn’t they?” she murmured, sliding down the wall to sit, adjusting him to be more comfortable in her arms.

Okay…okay…okay…maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Tom let out a whine, shifting in her hold, his paws on her ribs as he sat up, looking right at her. She smiles sweetly at him and if he was human right now-his face would be bright red. “Now where did you come from sweet boy? Did someone sneak you into the castle after spring break?” (y/n) asked softly, checking his teeth-it was uncomfortable but he allowed her to pull up the lips of his mouth. “Oh, you’re still pretty young, still got some puppy teeth,” (y/n) murmured, moving her hand to rub his head and behind his ears-and he very much leaned into it, unable to stop the kicking of his leg when she scratched an itchy part he didn’t realize was there.

(y/n) laughed softly, adjusting the puppy-unknowing who it truly was-in her arms and standing up. “now, lets go see if we can find your owner,” She said softly, carrying him out of the alcove and through Hogwarts, asking a few students here and there if they knew anybody who snuck a puppy in, but none could give her an answer, and Tom snapped his teeth at anyone that tried to pet him that wasn’t (y/n).

(y/n) sighed, going to Professor Dumbledore at the end of the afternoon, asking everyone she came across about the puppy in her arms. “Professor?” (y/n) asked after knocking on his classroom door, the older wizard hummed, perking his head up, waving her in, a strange knowing twinkle in his eye as soon as he spotted the puppy in her arms.

“Ms. (l/n),” Dumbledore greeted, raising his brow as she stepped into his classroom, puppy in her arms. “and…where did this little one come from?” Dumbledore asked and Tom was very surprised Dumbledore didn’t out him right away, clearly able to tell it was Tom, just transfigured.

“I found him, he was running around the school, I don’t know where he came from.” (y/n) said, adjusting Tom in her hands and he let her move him. Dumbledore only hummed.

“Perhaps a stray from Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore said and Tom barked at him, oh merlin he just barked someone end him now, Dumbledore would hold his over his head for years. Dumbledore smirked, telling (y/n) that she could, well, keep Tom, until his rightful owners were found.

“oh, okay, thank you professor,” (y/n) said, carrying Tom back out of the classroom and he glared at the professor, mostly in confusion-why wasn’t he doing anything? Why was he just-letting this happen. Dumbledore only winked at him and left Tom very confused.

Why was Dumbledore, Toms #1 enemy, helping him do this???

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it further because (y/n) took him back to her dorm, and he was set down on the floor, standing stiffly as she dropped her bag onto her bed and went into the bathroom. He glanced around it…was very much a Slytherin dorm, not too different from the boys dorms, except more girl things around, like hair ties, brushes, a lot more blankets, and a bit messier.

And it smelled like (y/n), okay yeah, maybe this wasn’t so terrible. He slowly began to walk, tripping over his paws, climbing onto the trunk at the end of (y/n)’s bed and then onto her bed, laying down, rubbing his face into her bedding.

He was a puppy, he could get away with it right now.

He heard her giggle and his heart skipped a bit, he glanced up-(y/n) cooing at the sight of the sweet brown puppy dog eyes looking up at her. “you are a cutie, aren’t you?” she murmured, sitting on the trunk at the foot of her bed, smiling at him.

Tom couldn’t resist crawling forward to kiss, or well, lick her nose, his heart fluttering at the sound of her laughter as she pulled back. “silly puppy,” she said with a chuckle, turning as her dormmates entered the room…and promptly squealed-Tom scrambled for cover, leaping into (y/n)’s arms as she gasped, wrapping her arms around him so she didn’t drop him as her dormmates instantly crowded her and the puppy she held.

All too quickly, Tom once again decided he was going to kill the boys, this wasn’t worth it.

(y/n) held him closer, his face pressed against the curve of her neck, paws on her chest.

…okay…worth it again.

-

That night he didn’t sleep in his room, oh no no no, he was curled up with (y/n), in her arms like a stuffed animal, and he was enjoying every single second of it. It was probably the fastest he’d ever fallen asleep since…well ever, he was no longer going to kill Abraxas.

That morning, he was limp as (y/n) rose from sleep, stretching out and yawning. It was a Sunday, which meant no classes, so (y/n) simply turned and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her. He let out a huff, yawning. “ugh, puppy breath,” (y/n) mumbled, shoving his face away and he huffed again.

After sleeping in, she took him outside to, eugh, go potty, and he did the humiliating act of any human temporarily in animal form…he went potty outside, like a dog. He proceeded to hide his face in (y/n)’s legs as she vanished it with a wave of her wand. “Why are you embarrassed?” (y/n) laughed with adoring glee, finding his shame about going potty absolutely hilarious.

He was going to kill Abraxas.

Sunday goes on and then before curfew, Abraxas, Orion and Avery walk up to Audrey, who is still holding Tom and tell her he’s Abraxas’ dog that he’d brought back after spring break to ‘show off’ and the ‘poor pup must’ve gotten loose’ and ‘they thank her dearly for taking care of him’.

(y/n)’s a little…disappointed to hand over the puppy, kissing his forehead and Tom decides to not kill abraxas again as Abraxas takes him and thanks (y/n) again. They leave her sight, set Tom on the floor, and Abraxas transfigures him back to human.

“So?” Abraxas chuckled, Tom straightening up and brushing off his clothes.

Tom lets out a huff, side eyeing Abraxas. “How much do Doberman puppies cost?” He drawled, and Abraxas laughed.

Hilarious or not, Tom was making sure she got that puppy, and he was going to be the one to give it to her.

-end-

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 | 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -In a rare moment of quiet, Tom Riddle casts a spell that takes him back to his most treasured memory — a peaceful day in a sunlit cabin with Y/N, pregnant with their daughter, and their young son Mattheo asleep nearby. There’s no war, no title, just love, warmth, and the life they built together.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 -Little random but couldn't stop imagining Tom seeing his wife pregnant and free so I wrote this...

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The Riddle Manor was quiet.

Too quiet.

Tom stood in the center of his study, jaw clenched, the pressure of the latest mission still thrumming in his veins.

The title Dark Lord wasn’t what weighed on him tonight. It was the decisions, the risks, the lives in motion. His desk was buried beneath maps, intelligence reports, half-finished plans each one a whisper of rebellion, a demand for precision, for certainty. For him.

He closed his eyes.

One hand lifted slowly, deliberately, as he whispered a charm — Tempus Cordis.

A spell meant only for him. A conjuration of magic born of memory and emotion, tied to the anchor of his soul’s favourite moment in time.

The air shimmered.

And the manor melted away.

When his eyes opened, he was standing at the edge of the old cabin’s sitting room.

Sunlight streamed through hand-sewn curtains. It smelled of pinewood and chamomile.

Outside, the war was over. Peace hung in the air like the scent of spring.

And then he saw her.

Y/N, younger, barefoot, and glowing.

She turned the moment she sensed him, one hand resting on her swollen belly, the other brushing hair from her eyes. Her lips curved into a gentle smile.

“Love?”

Tom’s chest caved a little.

Gods, He had forgotten she used to look like this.

Not the regal, commanding Dark Lady she would become — but this version. Relaxed. Luminous. His wife, in the quiet between storms.

He exhaled, the sound shaky, and when she stepped forward and cupped his cheek, he leaned into it without hesitation.

Her eyes softened with realization.

“You’re not my Tom,” she whispered, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. “But you are… him, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

She didn’t ask why or how. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she gently guided him to the couch, charming two cups of tea to float beside them, settling one in his hands before wrapping a light blanket over her lap and curling beside him.

From the corner, a quiet breath stirred.

Tom’s head snapped toward the crib.

Inside, three-year-old Mattheo lay in a tangle of curls and blankets, one thumb in his mouth, snoring softly. A stuffed dragon was tucked under his arm, chewed on the edges.

Tom’s chest ached.

This was his Mattheo. Soft. Untouched by the burden of legacy. Not yet sarcastic, not yet doe eyed with ambition — just a boy. A little boy dreaming.

He stood for a moment, unable to help it, and walked to the small bad in the corner. He leaned down, brushing a lock of hair from Mattheo’s brow.

“I forgot what he looked like when he still needed us,” Tom murmured.

Y/N watched him from the couch. Her voice was warm, teasing. “He still needs us. He just doesn’t let us see it anymore.”

Tom smiled, faintly before kissing his sons forehead.

When he returned to sit beside her, she shifted, curling closer.

“You look tired,” she said, reading his face like a book she’d memorized.

“I am,” he admitted. “The future… it’s loud.”

“Of course it is. You’re in it,” she teased.

That coaxed a soft huff from him — something dangerously close to a laugh.

She tilted her head at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. “We won.”

His eyes drifted to her stomach, then to the crib. “I know. But this—” he said quietly, “You're safe, Mattheo sleeping—that’s the victory I cared about most.”

Y/N hummed, rubbing a slow circle on her belly. “Can’t believe this one’s a girl.”

Tom nodded, softly. “Delphini.”

She smiled. “Well yeah, I met her remember?”

“She ends up stomping on the Chosen One’s foot.”

Y/N barked a laugh. “Good girl.”

They sat in silence for a beat, tea cooling on the side table. The wind rustled outside.

Then she turned toward him, eyes glinting. “Alright—be honest. How many kids do we end up with?”

He paused, just long enough to make her narrow her eyes.

“What?” she said, nudging him. “I already know the future… technically. Might as well tell me.”

Tom hesitated, then allowed a rare, amused smirk. “Five.”

She sat up straight. “Five?!”

Y/N blinked, then instinctively rested a hand on her belly. “Okay… so there’s Mattheo, obviously. Delphini,” she added softly, glancing down at her bump. “And Marvolo. That’s three.”

She looked up again, brow furrowed. “What’s he like, by the way? Marvie. I’ve only met him once — briefly.”

Tom’s expression shifted, quiet and unreadable for a beat. Then he nodded. “Quiet. Smart.”

Y/N’s lips curved. “Just like you.”

Tom smiled for once, he gently said, “He’s strong. You’ll see.”

Y/N smiled again, reassured, and went on. “So that’s three. And the rest?”

He took her hand again, steady and deliberate. “Silas and Lilith.”

Her breath caught.

“Twins,” Tom continued.

Y/N’s lips parted in stunned silence. “Lilith?” she whispered. “We named her after—after Lily?”

He nodded once. “You wanted to honour her.”

Her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Lily would’ve loved that,” she choked out. “She would’ve—Merlin, Tom, she would’ve spoiled them rotten.”

“She’s part of them,” he said softly. “Always will be.”

A shaky breath left her, and a tear slipped free.

“And Silas?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Tom’s expression softened. “Dark hair. Grey eyes,” he said slowly. “But not like mine.”

Y/N blinked. “No?”

He gave a small, reverent nod. “He looks like your father.”

Her breath caught. “Regulus?”

“Exactly like him,” Tom murmured. “Same eyes. Same quiet intensity. It’s… uncanny.”

Y/N let out a soft, overwhelmed sob and leaned into him fully. “We have Twins,” she whispered. “And Five kids.”

“Five,” he confirmed.

She shook her head, laughing tearfully. “Merlin, we’re insane.”

“We’re in love,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “There’s a difference.”

Y/N placed a protective hand over her belly, eyes damp and full of wonder. “Delphini could’ve mentioned she had that many siblings.”

“She hinted,” Tom said. “But you didn’t believe her.”

“I thought she was being dramatic.”

“She was being honest.”

Another tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, but this time, it was accompanied by a soft smile. “Mattheo, Delphini, Marvolo, Silas and Lilith,” she repeated, as though trying the names on her tongue.

From the crib nearby, Mattheo stirred in his sleep, thumb still tucked in his mouth, the soft puff of his breath like punctuation on the moment.

She quieted.

There it was — the soft vulnerability between them. The kind they only shared in moments like this. With tea, and quiet, and sleeping sons.

She reached for his hand, threading their fingers together.

“Was this your favourite time period?” she asked, voice gentle.

Tom’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

“Yes.”

She nodded. No teasing this time. Just knowing. “Mine too.”

They sat there, in a stolen house, wrapped in peace that would not last — but mattered more than anything else.

The weight in Tom’s chest lifted. Not because the war was gone, or the power was irrelevant. But because here, in this moment, he remembered what he was fighting to preserve.

Family.

Home.

Her.

Mattheo stirred in his sleep, murmuring something that sounded like “mum.”

Y/N rested her head against Tom’s shoulder. “When you go back,” she murmured, “take a breath, alright? Take care of them.”

“I will.”

“And take care of you.”

He didn’t answer.

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me, Tom.”

He turned, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I promise.”

And for the first time in days — maybe weeks — the future Dark Lord smiled.

Not out of triumph.

But because for three months, once upon a time, he had everything he ever needed.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

♱Loaded.

♱Tom Riddle X muggle!reader

Sumarry:: Your boyfriend doesn't mind you spicing things up.

Warnings::18+,smut,vaginal sex (unprotected), gun play,gun kink

Tom Riddle despised anything remotely connected to the Muggle world. Absolutely everything.

So, when he first began to feel something for you—a Muggle girl—it shattered him. He was convinced he had gone mad. The idea that he, of all people, could care for someone like you was unthinkable.

But time has a way of softening even the sharpest edges. Eventually, he learned to tolerate the feeling... and then, somehow, he learned to love you. He just needed time. A great deal of it.

What he hadn’t anticipated was how captivated he’d become by your world. Despite growing up in a Muggle orphanage, there was so much he had never truly seen, never truly understood. You showed him things—techniques, knowledge, curiosities—that even the wizarding world hadn’t yet grasped.

That included new ways to please a woman.Not because Tom was inexperienced—far from it—but because magic, for all its wonder, was often bound by tradition. Rigid. Outdated.

And that’s how you ended up showing your dark, brilliant boyfriend something dangerous.

Something forbidden.

Something that shouldn’t have made you burn.

But it did.

He always preferred to be on top. Loved the power that it gave him. He needed,desired it. Control meant everything for him.Much to his - and your surprise,he didn't complain when you pushed him down onto your bed and held a gun to his chin.

There was just something magnificent about Tom Riddle - the boy feared by everyone in hogwarts – looking doublessly ridiculous. His erection tented his ebony colored pants – completely fucking ridiculous. So ridiculous,so submissive just for you – you were fucking wet.

You lift the gun to aim at his face and hold it right between his eyes. The grip warms in your palm. He doesn’t flinch, doesn't blink— he trust you so much. Not that you didn't tell him,that it's unloaded.

“Such a mighty weapon for a small girl like you,doll” he says, looking past the weapon into your eyes for the first time...god his beautiful mahagony eyes. You felt butterflies in your stomach.

“I’m a big girl now” you answered, and put the gun to his mouth. His lips twisted into a quick smile.

“I don't think so” he says, his hands gone busy as he fumbles to peel back his pants.

“Oh, shut it.” You hiss, as the tip of his cock presses hot and hard between your thighs. God,how the hell was he perfect at everything? He was all you desired,longed for. You couldn't help but let out a soft moan as you dragged the gun up to his temple and he slicked himself wet along your folds.

He loses his breath for a moment, he bites his lip and lifts his hips to slip inside you. His cock pushing into you makes your arms quiver, and you put the gun aside to lean over him. You smooth your hand over his forehead, his dark hair silken under your palm. His head rolls back with the firm press of your fingers, and an expression of bliss staggers across his face.You decide to settle on him with your thighs against his.

Eyes closed as you roll your hips. Your breasts hang heavy, brushing against his smooth chest. You enjoyed the power,using him for your own pleasure.You where the one who decided the pace,his dick going all the way in.

His hands grip your hips now—tight, possessive—but not to take control. No. Tom Riddle may have commanded shadows and serpents, but here, beneath you, he was yours. Every gasped breath, every flex of his thighs beneath your own, every pulse of his cock buried inside you—yours.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" you murmur, rolling your hips just a little slower, grinding down until you feel the tremble in his legs. “The way you give in to me.”

His lips part, but no words come out. Just a ragged breath and the flicker of his tongue against the corner of his mouth. His eyes lock on yours again, fever-bright and reverent, like you were some forbidden deity he'd dared to worship.

You lean in, brushing your mouth over his jaw—just enough to tease, to make him chase the contact. “You could hex me right now,” you whisper into his ear. “Curse me. Stop me.”

“But you won’t.”

His fingers twitch where they hold your waist. His control frays with every wet, desperate sound echoing between your bodies. You ride him harder now, pace quickening, feeling him hit deeper, stronger—your nails digging into his chest.

"Fuck," he breathes, and it's barely a word, more a surrender.

You kiss him then, all heat and hunger and teeth. He moans into your mouth, the sound needy and raw. And it’s that — not the magic, not the danger — that truly undoes you.

It’s him. Tom, not the Dark Lord. Tom, with his messy hair and trembling voice and the smallest, strangest look of awe on his face as you take what’s yours.

When you come, it's with your forehead pressed to his, the heat of his breath against your cheek, your body clenching around him like it never wants to let go. He follows soon after, helpless, lost, gasping your name like it’s a spell he doesn’t dare forget.

And when it's over, when you're both slick and shaking and tangled in each other, Tom touches your face like he's trying to memorize it.

"You'll be the death of me," he says quietly.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

fml (a Manchild by Sabrina Carpenter inspired fic)

you rope theo into going to a party with you and accidentally fall for his juvenile mannerisms (theo nott x ravenclaw!reader)

a/n - decided to polish this up and publish it in honour of the man's best friend announcement!! I know how controversial the title and cover art has been but i have Thoughts about it if anyone wants to hear them/discuss hehe (I rlly need to stop using this as my sabrina sideblog help) also lets pretend u can actually see shit from alllll the way up in the Ravenclaw towers and the 'decent' joke is (quite obviously) plagiarised from tumblr I think, I did not come up with that lmao

tropes/warnings - fluff, comedy, technicallyyy fake dating? but it's not the focus here

word count - 3.7k

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167

Theo pushed his hair off his clammy forehead for the hundredth time that morning. He was long overdue for a haircut he kept forgetting about except on mornings like these, when his overly long fringe kept falling in his eyes during the laps he ran with the rest of the Quidditch team around the perimeter of the pitch. It was barely 9 am when most students were still enjoying breakfast. It was far too early for him to already be sweating buckets.

Theo slowed to a stop, pushing his hair back once again as he seriously considered ripping it from his skull. He scanned the pitch. It was barely 9 am, and he could hear the usual faint murmur of students having breakfast in the Great Hall. There was a diffused quality to the light of the cloudy day and the grass was still damp with morning dew. It was peaceful. Typical. Calm.

And yet.

Theo looked around, an uneasy feeling in his gut. Something felt...off. He gently rolled out the ankle he had strained last week, starining his ears. It felt fine. It didn't even ache from the humidity of the morning. He watched his teammates jogging along the other side of the field. The pitch was quiet, but no quieter than it usually was. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the way they did in Quidditch games when he would sense rather than see a Bludger coming his way.

Mattheo jogged past, pausing briefly.

"Ankle?" he asked breathlessly.

Theo shook his head mutely, still thinking hard to the sound of Mattheo's panting as he caught his breath. Just as he gave up on figuring out the strange feeling, he noticed Mattheo frowning at something over his shoulder.

Theo was beginning to hear a set of quick, light footsteps distinct from the rest of the team's sluggish yet relentless footfalls. He turned and immediately got barrelled over by a blur of white and navy blue, knocked flat on his back with a tongue stuck down his throat.

Blinding sunlight rushed in as the figure pulled away. Dazed, Theo was distantly aware of Mattheo gawking at the sight while someone told him off in a waspish tone. He regained his wits just as Mattheo jogged off, sniggering under his breath. Tentatively, he turned his sight to the Ravenclaw girl peering down at him.

"If anyone asks, we were celebrating our 1-month anniversary last night."

Theo shut his eyes briefly, willing himself not to pass out. There was an awful ringing echoing in his skull. Was this what a concussion felt like? And what was that about a one-month -

His eyes popped open despite the searing pain. "Month?"

The girl gave him an impatient look. "Yes. As far as anyone is concerned, we've been dating for the past month."

Theo gaped at you. He had to be hallucinating. How much pain medication did he take last night?

"We have?"

Her lips thinned into a line.

"I can't tell if you're being purposefully dense," she muttered, sitting back on her heels. Theo propped himself up on skinned elbows.

"You, and I," her silhouette repeated, stabbing a finger between the two of you, "one month."

Theo squinted up at her through the sunlight she wasn't blocking. "W-"

"One. Month." she repeated firmly as she stood, brushing imaginary dirt off her pants. She scanned the pitch casually, appraising the rest of the team with a mildly critical look.

"That is all. Enjoy your laps."

Theo watched her walk off back to the castle, befuddled.

After feeding Madam Pomfrey some fib about running laps the wrong way, Theo had his elbows bandaged up. He was barely in time for Ancient Runes and was too restless to pay attention. By the time class finished, all Theo wanted was to tuck into a warm, comforting lunch, even if it was a little early.

He walked into the Great Hall and there you were, like a bad penny, already halfway through a bowl of soup at the Ravenclaw table.

He visibly winced. You had the gall to look cluelessly concerned.

"Merlin, what happened to your elbows?"

Theo just about had an aneurysm.

"You," he forced out through clenched teeth. "You happened."

You looked genuinely surprised.

"Don't tell me you're still upset about this morning?" When Theo remained stony-faced, you rolled your eyes, turning back to your lunch. "God, that was so three hours ago."

Theo stared at you, speechless.

"Don't you think you owe me some kind of explanation?"

You glanced at your watch impatiently. "Fine. I've got 20 minutes before Transfiguration anyway. Sit down."

He didn't. You cleared your throat anyway.

"So, I have this stupid roommate who will not get off my back about bringing someone to this 80s-themed party her cousin's hosting at Hogsmeade this weekend, because she's convinced I'm still hung up on my ex from 5 months ago."

You didn't sound like you were going to be done anytime soon. Theo reluctantly slid into the seat opposite yours.

"Are you still hung up on your - ?"

You nodded, waving a hand carelessly. "Oh, yeah, totally. The pining - it's a whole thing. Don't worry about that. Anyways, she was going at me again last night, and the only way I could get her to shut up was to say that I was bringing someone. So, obviously, she asked who, and - now this part is kind of your fault - and I looked out the window, and there you were, decked out in your Quidditch gear and whatnot, and I thought you were as good of a choice as any. So I said I was bringing you."

Theo blinked at you.

"You told your roommate you're bringing me to a party I'm only just hearing about."

"Mhm."

"And it's my fault," Theo continued tonelessly, trying to make sense of what you were saying, "for going to Quidditch practice...as part of the Quidditch team."

You shrugged. "Yeah, I 'spose. Anyway, she was like, no way, and I was like, way, and I knew she wouldn't believe me if I said we had only just started seeing each other, so I had to say it was, like, our one-month anniversary. But she was still watching me like a hawk, so I had to spend half the night outside of our room. And I think she could still tell I was lying - "

"Still? Are your lies always this elaborate?"

You looked a little embarrassed. "I might have a bit of a problem with...telling the truth, or the whole truth, sometimes." You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Anyway, I had to get to you before she did, but you both take Ancient Runes together on Thursday mornings, so I had to catch you before then, so..." you gestured vaguely. Theo raised his eyebrows.

"That's it? She's never seen the two of us in the same room, but my word is enough to convince her we've been dating?"

"Oh, please. She hardly sees me. I've got quite a bit on my plate."

Theo eyed your book bag, bursting at the seams with textbooks and parchment.

"I'll say. When do you even find the time to, er, pine after your ex?"

You shot him a withering look. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Right now? The person who didn't tackle me at eight in the morning."

You rolled your eyes. "I can't believe you're still going on about that," you muttered. "It wasn't even eight."

You continued eating your food while Theo mulled over your story. His mind drifted to your face, to the sharp, strong cut of your nose and the plain, straightforward edge to your words. You had a bit of a problem with the truth, there was no denying that, but something about your story didn't seem fabricated or exaggerated. It was a largely unappealing scenario that would only be too easy to refute, which made it all the more convincing.

Theo tilted his head. Huh. Maybe it was the concussion talking, but you were starting to seem a little less insane. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

"Why don't you tell your stupid roommate to pi- erm, go away?"

You glared at Theo.

"Stupid Roommate is my best friend. I would kill for her."

It was like he couldn't say anything right. Theo sighed, massaging his temples.

"...okay. What's stopping me from telling her I don't know you?"

You put on a pained look.

"Babe. You can't be saying those things about your one-month girlfriend."

"You're not my - "

"Besides," you continued, finishing up your soup, "we've been holding hands for, like, the past fifteen minutes."

Theo glanced around at the students filing into the Great Hall for lunch, some of whom were eyeing your clasped hands with interest. He yanked his hand away.

"So good luck explaining that to...literally everyone here." You stood, gathering your things. Theo marvelled at the resilience of your book bag when it didn't split open as you pulled it up to your shoulder.

"I'm off for Transfiguration. See you Saturday at 6."

And when you bent to press a kiss to Theo's cheek, he didn't bother leaning away.

Theo was staring into a mirror, hair slick with gel, trying to fix this cowlick that kept falling right in the middle of his forehead. Around him, chaos ensued.

Enzo was studying a retro muggle video game for his Muggle Studies project and, naturally, Mattheo had to screw with him as much as he could. All the while, Blaise was yelling at them to take their scuffle elsewhere, telling them off for crumpling the plastic sheaves of his good binder. Somewhere in the background, there was a knocking sound. Did ankle sprains cause tinnitus?

Empty weekends like these were always rough, but they were especially so when all four of the boys were cooped up together. The air outside was heavy and sticky with the week-long drizzle that refused to let up, making the walk to Hogsmeade downright unbearable.

Theo shook his head, separating his curls. The knocking got louder. It was definitely real, presumably by someone coming to tell them to keep it down. The cowlick fell stubbornly against his forehead once again. From outside the bathroom, there was a violent crash.

That was it. After multiple warnings and 'don't make me come over there's, Theo had finally reached the end of his fuse. He stepped out of the bathroom.

"Oi! Cut it out, all of you. Mattheo, give Enzo his game back. Enzo, go sit in the corner 'til you've calmed down. Blaise, get over yourself and get a new binder."

The thudding on the door increased in volume.

"And somebody get the fucking door!"

Theo retreated back into the bathroom. The noise immediately ceased. He sighed in relief. Finally, some peace and quiet.

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door.

"Theo, someone's here for you."

Theo fiddled with his hair, only half-listening. "Tell them to go away."

"It's a girl."

"Tell her to go away."

"Are you decent?"

Theo looked up at the sound of the striking voice. He had only heard it a couple of times, and never before this week, but it had the kind of piercing quality that made it stand out in a crowd. He glanced at the clock. You were 15 minutes early.

And too impatient to wait for a reply, apparently. The door swung open to reveal you, dressed in frills and ribbons with gigantic hair, carefully shielding your eyes, next to a shit-eating-grin-wearing Mattheo.

"Is he decent?" you asked Mattheo.

"Morally? Debatable. But he has pants on if that's what you're asking."

You dropped your hand. Your eyes swept his outfit. You didn't look too pleased.

"You're not even dressed yet?"

Theo looked down and scanned the very outfit you were eyeing disapprovingly.

"This is what I'm wearing."

He looked up and caught a glimpse of your face.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

You looked visibly aggrieved by his fashion choice.

"It's so...boring. I said '80s' and you thought black shirt, black jeans?"

"What's wrong with a black shirt, black jeans?"

"Nothing. Unless you're going to an 80s-themed party."

You stepped away from the bathroom's threshold while Theo frowned over what he had thought was a simple, perfectly acceptable outfit.

"This was the best I could come up w - yeah, sure. Go ahead. Go through my clothes. Turn my wardrobe upside down. Go right ahead. It's not like this is my room. Or my clothes. Merlin forbid I claim an inch of this space as m- "

"Are you done?" You asked, extricating yourself from the recesses of Theo's wardrobe. He couldn't tell if your hair looked more or less frizzy. You held out a frilly, powder blue suit Mattheo had bought him as a gag gift for his seventeenth birthday.

"No."

"Just try it on!"

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, please? I probably won't even like the look of it."

"Brilliant. Then what I'm wearing is perfect."

You gave him a look. "But I have to make sure that I won't like it."

Between his roommates and you, Theo's resolve was worn out. Grudgingly, he changed into the suit. If anything, his cowlick made him look even more stupid in this get-up.

"You look so much better," you chirped happily, approvingly examining the patterned insides of the jacket's pockets. "Don't you think?"

Theo narrowed his eyes at your too-innocent smile.

"I think," he said, "you're wasted in Ravenclaw."

"It's just one night, Theo," you continued, like you hadn't heard him. "I don't even have a camera or anything."

"But I do. Smile."

Theo was blinded by a flash from Mattheo's camera from behind you. He scowled at Mattheo, who was too busy pulling out the printed polaroid. He eyed it with satisfaction as it began to develop. "I always knew this day would come," he murmured.

Meanwhile, you doubled your wheedling efforts.

"Please? For me? The girl who knocked you down in front of all of your teammates and won't hesitate to do it again?"

Theo glared at you. "You're not helping your case, you know."

But you must have been doing something right, because five minutes later, he was waving goodbye to his roommates in the powder blue suit. The two of you walked up to the castle's gates into the Muggle car Theo had rented for the evening. As Theo turned the key in the ignition, adjusting his mirrors and seat, you reached over to fix his hair.

"Don't touch my - " Theo swatted your hand away, warily checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. Shockingly, his cowlick was gone. His hair was exactly how he wanted it.

"Long hair suits you. Did you know that?" you said, following his gaze into the mirror, in that assertive, know-it-all tone of yours, like it was a universally agreed-upon fact that Theo looked good with long hair. Grumbling, Theo shifted the gearstick into drive, turning down the road to Hogsmeade.

"Can I try?" you asked for the sixth time, perched on the boot of the Cadillac convertible. Theo pushed his fringe out of his eyes, feeling the back of his neck grow moist.

"I've almost got it," he replied from somewhere underneath the hood for the sixth time.

You rolled your eyes, fanning yourself with a magazine you had found in the backseat. Halfway to Hogsmeade, the car decided to sputter and choke to a stop. What Theo had initially diagnosed as a five-minute problem had grown into a twenty-minute problem and showed no sign of ending.

“I thought you said it was the carburettor,” you called out, already feeling sluggish in the heat of the setting sun.

“I said I think it’s the carburettor.”

You rolled your eyes.

There was a loud clang, a muffled curse, and an alarming hissing sound. Sighing, you abandoned your magazine and hopped off the boot. You came around the hood to see Theo shaking out his hand, like he had been burned, swearing colourfully under his breath.

While he had the sense to leave his jacket in the car, the front of his shirt was splattered with windshield wiper fluid. A rogue curl had escaped and was now sticking to his forehead. His collar had wilted in the heat, and half of his sleeves were probably crumpled beyond help from where they had been folded to his elbow.

And yet, infuriatingly, he still managed to look good. Good in that maddening, ravenous way where you couldn't decide if you wanted to ditch him on the side of the road or climb him like a tree.

Theo tapped at a knob tentatively with his wrench, dropping it when the knob sparked. You had to physically shut your eyes. He was so pathetic, so hot.

“I'm pretty sure I’ve isolated the issue,” Theo was saying, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Definitely a leak of the, erm, braking fluid.”

You fixed Theo with a look. You narrowed his eyes at him.

“You made that up just now.”

“Did not,” he replied, a little too fast.

“Did so.”

Theo frowned, squinting into the hood. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbled, picking up his wrench again.

You muttered something rude under your breath and pushed him out of the way gently, not that he resisted much. You pushed back your hair and studied the interior of the hood.

"See?" came Theo's slightly whiny voice from somewhere cooler. "There's too many fiddly things, it's impossib-"

You pulled out your wand. After a little trial and error, a few whispered spells, the engine gave a healthy sputter and purred back to life.

You stepped back and closed the hood. Theo blinked.

“Huh.”

“Huh,” you repeated mockingly.

You examined your watch and hurried back to the passenger seat. "Now let's get going before it gets too dark."

"Yes, ma'am," Theo said, climbing into the driver's seat.

You flicked his ear in response. You could see the smile biting into his cheek as he checked his mirrors, not noticing that his cowlick was back with a vengeance.

You looked out the windshield, watching the trees go by as you tried to ignore how you were half in love him.

The party was more fun than you expected. And it did feel a little less lonely having someone to drive you there and back, all the while patiently taking the brunt of your teasing. Theo took you back to the castle, walked you up to your common room with surprising stamina (he didn't run all those laps for nothing, then) and bid you goodnight.

And that was the end of that.

Only, you were realising, part of you didn't want it to end. Against your will, everywhere you looked, Theo kept catching your eye - in the corridors, on the staircases, in the Great Hall, on the pitch. It was his fault, really, taking up so much space with all that height. Taking up so much of your mind with all those lazy half-smiles and crinkled eyes.

A couple of mornings later, Theo was jogging laps on the Quidditch pitch again. His grey shirt was soaked in sweat, his fringe falling into his eyes. The early morning air had that familiar crisp edge and the rhythmic murmur of his teammate's footfalls. Theo slowed to a walk, wiping his face with his shirt, when he felt it - that same pricking at the back of his neck. That same unease. He looked in the direction of the Great Hall warily.

“Stopping so soon?” you called out suddenly, from where you had been watching him in the stands.

Theo startled so hard he almost tripped.

“Fuck - how long have you been there?”

"Long enough," you replied languidly, taking in the endearing rosy flush of his cheeks. You waved Mattheo's Potions textbook in the air as Theo walked towards you.

"You can't be doing that to people with already elevated heart rates," he scolded weakly, taking the book you were holding out to him.

You grinned. “Mattheo’s. Try not to get too much sweat on it.”

Theo nodded. "Thanks. I've been needing to level my bed with something."

You swallowed the smile that threatened to break across your face. Merlin forbid he realised you found him funny. You tried to keep your tone light, casual.

“So… what’re you reading these days? Anything interesting?”

Theo looked a little lost. “Like...books?"

You held back an eye roll. “Yeah, I guess.”

"Oh. I've been re-reading Gatsby lately."

You nodded. “Classic. You should tell me about it sometime, over coffee."

Theo’s brow furrowed.

“You've never read The Great Gatsby?"

You gave Theo a dirty look, unable to maintain your polite veneer. "Of course I've read The Great Gatsby. I just wanted to hear your take on it."

Theo stared at you some more. "You want to hear...what I think, about Gatsby?"

"Yeah, sure." It was almost insulting, really, of how disbelieving he appeared of your good, perfectly innocent intentions.

“Uh… okay?” Theo said cautiously.

You stood, partly disappointed, partly peeved. “Great," you said flatly. "Good chat, then.”

You turned away and started walking back to the Great Hall, kicking yourself. How much plainer did you have to make the invitation?

Theo watched you walk off, still a little confused. He jogged back to the pitch, resuming his laps. What was all that about? You wanted to hear what he thought about Gatsby? Not much, especially in comparison to you. He'd hardly have anything to contribute to the conversation that you didn't already know. Why, the two of you would be better off talking about literally anything else.

Theo stopped. The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

"WAIT - talk - coffee - yes, Y/N, YE- "

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

GIVING AND RECEIVING // t. riddle

RATING: R / 3.6K WORDS

Tom Reader x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this and this* Tom's been eyeing you for months. He's obviously interested but can't find it in himself to approach you. So, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Slightly dub con, kissing, oral (f!receiving), handjob, dirty talk, sub!tom, dom!reader, slightly mean dom!reader, discussions of other sexual encounters, mentions of slapping (very brief), very slight public intimacy, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC -

test drive - Artemas

---

You hated him. 

Every single fucking thing about him. His stupid dark eyes and the way they caught you in each class, in the hallways, in town. His lips and the way they’d part every time you walked past him, daring you to say something, to demand what the hell his problem was. 

Did he think you were stupid? Did he think you couldn’t see the way he stared you down? Maybe he thought, because of his dark reputation, that he could get away with burning a hole through you with his eyes, but you weren’t the kind of girl to take that shit. Staring was a pet peeve of yours. Take a fucking picture, it would last longer. 

And that was the current problem. 

You sat back in one of the creaky, mismatched chairs set around one of the longest tables at the Three Broomsticks. Your friends were crowded around you, chatting idly and giggling over their too-spiked butterbeers. 

The glass in front of you, however, remained untouched. You were completely sober, arms folded, leaning against the back of the chair. Your legs were crossed, with your hanging foot tapping impatiently against the table stand. 

Your eyes were locked onto him—Tom Riddle—just waiting for his eyes to glance back over like they had been all evening. The minute you and your rowdy friends had walked through the door and found your table, his eyes had begun to flicker over every few minutes or so.

He sat in a dark corner, beneath one of the small, grimy windows through which the fading afternoon light illuminated his dark hair. Two boys were sitting across from him—random Slytherin friends of his, you supposed. 

And so, you decided to stare at him until he looked back again. You were going to catch his eye and finally challenge him. Enough was enough. You were tired of the rudeness. You didn’t care who he or anyone else thought he was. You were both human beings with equal magic. He was no better than you were, and you didn’t go around staring at him. 

Then, right as you were going to turn away, figuring he’d caught you staring out of the corner of his eye and decided not to look again, his eyes closed in on you once more. When he realized you were staring, his eyes widened slightly and his nostrils flared. Surprisingly, he didn’t look away like he usually did.

He just stared back. His fingers thrummed nervously on the table; one after the other, tapping noiselessly. 

His friends did not seem to notice him looking—they just continued their hushed conversation. 

Your heart pounded in your throat at the prospect of confrontation, but you couldn’t look away. You refused to. If anyone were to back down from this contest, it would not be you. 

One of your eyebrows quirked, challenging silently. Finally, he glanced away, down to his fidgeting fingers where they rested on the table. 

A short burst of breath pushed through your nose as you laughed at his submission. Of course, this was the big, bad Riddle everyone was scared of. He couldn’t even handle a little eye contact. Fucking pathetic.

“I’m gonna use the loo,” you announced to your friend, uncrossing your arms and scooting away from the table. You picked up your butterbeer and took a long swig from it, the overly strong drink already buzzing in your head. 

You crossed the restaurant floor, ignoring Tom’s glare as he followed your body all the way down the hallway to the bathroom. 

You figured if he were going to say anything, now would be the time, but given how strong he’d been so far, he likely wouldn’t. So, you used the restroom, washed your hands, and examined your appearance in the mirror in complete silence. He never came to the bathroom door.

However, he was waiting in the hallway when you stepped out. 

The dim lighting from the torches and windows barely reached this area of the restaurant. Despite the deep black surrounding you, you absolutely knew it was him. His familiar scent filled your senses as if he were within you. There was no doubt about it.

“Riddle…can I help you?” you asked, crossing your arms. Your eyes flickered over his shadowed face rapidly, trying to force your vision to adjust to the darkness. 

“Can I speak with you?” His voice was soft but strong, as if he wasn’t completely confident in his words. 

“We’re speaking now.”

“Somewhere more private?” he suggested. Shrugging, you agreed and tilted your head toward the end of the hallway where it broke off into a separate alcove with one small window and a few cleaning supplies. 

You walked down to the end of the hall and stepped into the corner. You could see his face a bit more as it towered over you. He was taller than you realized.

“What is it?” you asked. “Come to explain why you stare so much?”

He was taken aback. He scoffed. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” you interrupted, scoffing. “You can never take your eyes off of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he argued, rolling his eyes. “Actually, I wanted to discuss your staring.”

“Me? I’ve only been watching you because I noticed you doing it first. I feel like every time I glance over, you're staring me down like some predatory creature. I was wondering when you were going to say something, considering how rude it is. If you wanted me, you could have just said something.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, teeth clenching slightly. He was beginning to anger. “If I wanted you, I would have approached you. I’m only here now because…because, er—”

He stumbled over his words. It seemed he was unsure why he was here. You weren’t stupid, though. You could see his cheeks beginning to flush and his breath beginning to quicken. 

“Because you want me?” you finished for him.

“No—”

“I’d be willing to bet,” you interrupted, “that if I reached down between us right now, you’d be hard as a rock.”

He swallowed thickly, lips parted, unsure what to say. This was exactly what he’d wanted; he couldn’t lie. But he wasn’t going to let you just know that. He knew that you were aware of his feelings toward you. He’d been anything but subtle. He just hadn’t expected for you to be as willing as this. 

He was Tom Riddle—perfect, top-marked student with a looming reputation that followed him like a dark, pretentious cloud. Everyone knew who he was. The attention he received from every useless professor and snivelling student was the complete opposite of the type of attention he received while at the orphanage. 

Hogwarts and his attitude were meant to conceal his upbringing and help him forget about it. Somehow, though, the way he was treated in school made him remember his time at the orphanage even more. The sudden praise and acceptance always made him reminisce on the degradation and shunning he received while amongst the other orphans. 

So, with your downright refusal to treat him like everyone else in the school did, he’d found that it wasn’t the praise or the degradation or even the connection he was missing from everyone else around him. It was the indifference you gave him. For once, someone didn’t give a shit about him and, for some fucked up reason, that had his knees weak. 

You weren’t clawing for his attention, you weren’t disgusted by him. You were almost annoyed by his acknowledgment of you. And that was perfect. 

You were exactly what he wanted. But this was different for him. Very different. He didn’t understand where or how to start…so he hid it.  

“Fuck you,” he seethed, leaning in closer.

“What’s the point of all of this if you’re not gonna let me give you what you want?” you teased, refusing to pull back from his approaching face. You would not be intimidated by him. 

“And what is it that I want? Because we’ve already established that it is not you.” Lie.

He was so close now that you could feel his breath fanning over your face. His eyes almost seemed to flutter as his lips parted gently. You knew he was going to lean in soon, but you hoped you could string this out just a little longer for his sake. He was certain that he was not going to give in to you, but you knew he would. You almost had him. Just a little more and he’d be like clay in your hands. 

“I think it is me,” you whispered, lips nearly brushing his. His breath hitched in his throat at your proximity. He was restraining himself from touching you, holding his hands back from caressing your skin. 

He shook his head pathetically as a last-ditch effort to insist that you were not what he wanted. You nodded in response to him. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered. He sighed shakily at the pet name. “Let me take care of you.” 

He’d never done this before. Never wanted to. But you were like some kind of drug, intoxicating his senses, filling his head with a heady, hot desire that coursed through his veins. He couldn’t think straight when he watched you day to day, let alone when you brushed past him and your scent filled his nose. 

And what was worse for him was the protection charm you had cast over yourself, rendering his Legilimency completely useless. He could not read any of your thoughts. 

He could not hear any of the sinful plans racing through your mind, deciding what you were going to do with him the minute he gave in. He did not know what you had in store for him, and he was almost frightened. 

And you could tell he was trying, that he wasn’t used to not being able to hear thoughts, because every time his eyes flickered down as if to focus, he would begin to squirm. It was as if his inability to read your mind was making the whole situation better somehow. His lack of insight into your twisted brain only heightened the “indifference” that was turning him on. It made him feel even more insignificant in your eyes. Like you couldn’t be bothered to allow his powers to work around you. He’d never felt like this before. Fuck, he loved it. 

“Tom, look at me,” you murmured, ducking your head to catch his shielded eyes. “Would you like to come back to my dorm?”

His eyes widened at the suggestion. His lips parted, beginning to protest as if he was shocked you’d ask him something so intimate, so inappropriate. When he realized that your expression indicated you were dead serious about your question and weren’t playing a practical joke on him, the blood in his head began to drain into his dick. His hips jerked ever so slightly at the realization that—despite your infamous indifference toward him—you still wanted to fuck him. 

His eyes flickered up, and his jaw ground determinedly. His reluctance to just fall to you was waning fast, and you both knew it. But he was just as stubborn as you were, and he wasn’t going to fail so quickly. His perception of his pride was on the line here. Even if no one else knew that he was seconds away from falling to his knees before you and allowing you to have your way with him, he would always know. He didn’t want to look back and cringe at himself. His narcissistic tendencies always came back to bite him in the ass, particularly when concerning the topic of pleasure.

He’d prevented more than one advancement of lust in his time. He supposed that came with being Tom Riddle, though. Or, at least, wearing the mask of that particular character. 

Ultimately, that’s what pushed him to do nothing to thwart your decision to slide your hand along the right side of his hips. The notion that he didn’t deserve pleasure or the idea of it due to his ego or reputation, birthed enough anger in him that he was able to ignore the shame coursing through his body. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. You knew it was because his brain short-circuited the minute your hand touched his side, urging his body against the wall just behind him. He was oblivious to anything else that went on externally, or not, once your lips latched to his neck, marking a trail along his ivory skin. 

He stifled a moan by slapping a hand across his lips. His eyes were clenched shut as shudders of desire floated along the surface of his skin. Between the mixture of your tongue, teeth, and lips across him, he didn’t know how quiet he could will himself to be. He was mostly inexperienced with any kind of intimacy. He just hadn’t seen a need for it. 

Of course, there had been a few times where one of his peers from Slytherin house had given him a handjob in the lavatory, but only to get some of the tension off. He’d returned the favor a few times as well. It was only fair. He was nothing if not painfully fair. 

And those particular thoughts were racing through his head as you Disapparated, whisking him away with you. 

He was thinking of how hard it had been to pretend that he was in charge every time he’d receive a “favor.” He’d grab their hair, curl his fingers tight against their scalp, spit out cruel-hearted praise, then walk away when he was done, muttering nothing but cold thanks. 

And he felt okay afterward. He felt mostly satisfied. 

But when you shoved him down atop your satin duvet amidst the empty, silent dormitory, he all but forgot about his efforts to maintain his charge on the situation. His head was rewired instantly. Flashes of your actions and words reminded him of the time he gave favors. 

Their hands clutched tightly around his head as to your fingers curling in his hair and pushing him down between your thighs. Their lips speaking praise, sprinkled with vile names as they fucked his throat as to your voice calling him a perfect slut as soon as his tongue slid between your folds. Their hands slapping viciously across his carved cheek when he attempted to get off on the hard floor beneath him as to you pressing his face roughly into the sheets as soon as you realized he was grinding into the bed while running his mouth across you. 

And when you pulled his arms above him and pinned them to the mattress, threatening punishment if he didn’t keep them right there, and yanked his trousers down his legs, he found that he didn’t care about the inevitable shame that would come later. Everything you did to him was too good for him to care about that.

He was bent over the edge of the bed, sprawled out and completely exposed to you. His fingers were gripping into the sheets as he anticipated the sensations that were to come, the ones he’d denied himself for so long. You were trailing your fingernails lightly down his back where you’d tugged his uniform shirt off and abandoned it somewhere on the floor. He was completely naked before you. 

Once he’d finally put it out of his head that he was going to be in charge, he was a very willing, needy partner. He was in a headspace only achievable by someone as pathetic as he was, and it lit you up like a storm from the inside out. He was going to regret doing this because you were certain he’d never stop coming back after this. 

And, when you finally slipped your hands between his legs and wrapped your fingers around his dick, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. 

He all but cried out as your hand began to move around him, beginning the ultimately quick trek to his orgasm. The left side of his face was pressed into the mattress, his fingers threatening to rip a hole in your sheets. His eyes were clenched shut, his jaw slack, and his lips echoing the rough kisses you’d placed on them only moments ago.

Your free hand caressed down his naked back, tracing the lines between each of the marks you’d placed along his skin—deep, reddened bruises that had already started to purple. At one particular flick of your wrist, he pulled one of his hands down to cover his mouth just as he’d done in the Three Broomsticks. 

“C-close…,” he sighed, voice muffled by his palm pressed to his lips. But that wouldn’t be happening. You stopped your movements and stepped away. 

He gasped at the loss, eyes flying open, and torso leaning up to look at you. “What—what was that for?” he sobbed, his hands gripping the mattress, knuckles bleeding white. A hot flush had appeared across his cheeks, and sweat plastered some of his dark curls to his forehead. He looked downright gorgeous. 

“I asked you to keep your hands up above your head, didn’t I?” you cooed gently. You wandered over to the opposite side of the bed where his head had lain. His eyes followed your every step as you approached his face. He had himself propped up with one bent elbow beneath him, his free hand partially concealing his nakedness from you. You scoffed lightly, ignoring his insistence on modesty. 

Your hand reached out and pressed gently against the line of his jawline. Though he’d flinched ever so slightly, he eventually leaned into your touch, his eyes never once leaving you. He looked utterly fucked out though he hadn’t even finished once. In fact, you’d barely done anything at all—a couple kisses and half a handjob. But for someone discovering these things about himself and stepping into a whole new world of sensations, you assumed this was a lot for him to take in. 

Still, you’d asked him to do something and he’d refused. Your gentle, caressing fingers transitioned to a rough grip wrapped around his jawline and pulling his face up as high as he could manage in his current position. He whimpered at the feeling, neck straining against your strong hands. 

“When I ask you to do something, you do it,” you said slowly. “Is that clear?”

He didn’t respond, only looked on openly. His eyes were slicked over as if he were unable to understand the words leaving your lips in his current state. You struggled not to roll your eyes. 

You released his jaw and gripped a fistful of his hair in your other hand. Ignoring his small yelp, you wrenched his head back to look back at you. 

“Tommy, I asked you a question.”

He nodded as best he could with his hair trapped within your knuckles. “It’s clear.”

“What’s clear?” you demanded, your grip on his hair tightening. He fought back a moan. 

“When you ask me to do something…,” he gasped beneath the weight of the lust coursing through his veins. “I…I do it.” 

You could tell it was almost difficult for him to say that, almost difficult for him to fully let the Tom Riddle mask slide off his face. But it did, and if he wanted to continue this thing with you—whatever it was—he’d better be prepared to keep it off. 

You weren’t going to let some Slytherin with a “reputation” fight you off. If he wanted submission, he wasn’t going to find it here unless it was in the form of him on his knees, hanging on your every word. And that didn’t seem to be putting him off. 

So, when you’d pushed his head back into the mattress and pumped your hand along his dick as rapidly as you could, he came quite quickly with an unobstructed, broken moan that reminisced someone a bit different than the dark boy before you. But you didn’t mind. Being able to pull that kind of sound out of this kind of man only fed your ego. 

You’d smirked knowingly after his first orgasm that night and had continued to do so after the other three you pulled out of him. And, by the time you were done with him, he’d looked at you with the most pathetic expression you’d ever seen. 

He’d looked at you, huffing and red-faced, begging you to pretend you didn’t care, that you didn’t give a shit about the impossible pleasure you’d just granted him for the last few hours. Like you didn’t care if he was going to come crawling back for more the very next night. 

And you’d obliged his desparate ass. You’d pulled him out of your bed by his ringing, dark curls and threw him out of your dorm with his clothes tossed out after him, laughing as he quickly Disapparated to avoid being seen by any passersby. 

And, just as you predicted, he was knocking on your door the very next night, face already flushed and dick already hard, switching his weight back and forth between each foot and asking if you were busy. 

Of course you were, and, of course, you still let him in.

---

Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithidedout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie, @synicaljah, @2dloveshp, @seagull-on-toast

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Last Call - M.R (Part 3)

masterlist | nav | part 1 | part 2

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

warnings: alcohol use/dependency, mentions of war, death, depiction of injury/blood, dark themes, post-war vibes, implied trauma, reader suffers from night terrors, Mattheo is being a little shit...

w.c: 4k

summary: Mattheo Riddle was sharp, charming, and haunted. Now he’s just a shadow at the bar—drunk, quiet, unraveling. You don’t know why you care. Maybe it’s who he used to be. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he doesn’t expect kindness anymore. But one things certain: you won't turn your back on him, not like the rest of the world already has.

The walls of Hogwarts would always feel like home to you, no matter what age you were, or how long it had been since you'd last stepped foot in the castle. There was just something comforting in the flickering sconces that lit every hallway, the warm crackle of wood burning that was always in earshot, or the distant smell of that evening's feast carrying through the air. Fresh pastry, roasted chicken, caramelised vegetables— all wafting through the heavy stone walls.

Your shoes clicked against the thick stone floors, the sound both familiar and comforting, reminding you of a younger version of yourself, trodding through the hallways as you tried to remember the route back to your common room. But something was amiss, something was different, and no matter how hard you tried to pinpoint it, you couldn't figure it out.

The halls were empty, for starters. Not just quiet, but empty. No portraits muttering to themselves or conversing with each other. No shifting suits of armour, or cheerful ghosts floating by. Not even the hum of magic in the air, something so small but so innately part of the school's charm.

No, all that remained was silence. Cold, hollow, silence.

You slowed your pace, gaze flickering to the stained-glass windows lining the corridor. They didn’t show the usual saints of Hogwarts or the heroic founders that you'd so often admired in your youth. Instead, they were blacked out. Not shattered or covered, but blank. As if the once colourful glass had been painted over with shadows.

Any attempt to peer outside was useless. Where you would normally catch a glimpse of the Scottish landscapes, the tall hoops of the Quidditch pitch, or even the distinct outline of the giant squid lounging in the Black Lake, there was nothing.

You squinted, as if by some miracle that might somehow bring the world back into focus, might claw something back from the nothingness. But instead, the darkness just stared back at you, cold and unflinching.

An unsettling sensation ghosted up your spine, like you'd suddenly materialised in some sinister, other world. One that looked exactly like Hogwarts, but in some twisted way wasn't.

Your feet moved as if they had a mind of their own, carrying you deeper into the castle. But with each step you took, you noticed something different, something wrong.

Each altered detail stuck out to you. As you passed the Great Hall, your brows furrowed at a stairwell you didn’t remember being there. Your fingers tensed at your sides as you turned down a hallway that definitely never existed. The air grew colder, and with each step, your chest burned as breathing grew harder and harder.

The torches were lit, but the flames didn’t flicker. They burned still and silent, blue-white and unnatural, casting no warmth over your chilled skin.

You didn't recognise your surroundings, and when, finally, blessedly, you heard a sound other than the gnawing stillness, your blood ran cold.

It wasn't comfort. It wasn't the chatter of students filing out of their classes, or the sound of cutlery clinking together as the feast began.

It was a scream.

A choked breath. A broken groan. Someone struggling to speak through clenched teeth— like they were drowning in their own blood.

Your walk became a run. Shoes pounding against the stone floors, echoing against the walls in sharp thuds. The persistent ache in your side forgotten, chest heaving with each laboured breath. You didn’t know what you’d find; all you knew was you had to get to whoever it was.

Before it was too late.

The corridor ended in an arched doorway, and the moment you crossed it, the world shifted. The warmth of Hogwarts vanished, flickered out like a flame with no more air. You were somewhere deeper now, older.

The walls were carved with symbols that seemed to squirm if you looked too long. The air damp and metallic, thick with the scent of earth, blood, and fire left to die.

And in the middle of it all— Mattheo.

Bound. Kneeling. Head bowed like he couldn’t lift it anymore.

You tried to call out, but no sound came. Your lips didn’t move. Your hands wouldn’t lift, no matter how hard you tried. Frozen, like you’d just caught the reflection of a Basilisk.

He looked up slowly. His face was drawn tight with pain, shadows under his eyes like bruises. Mattheo looked like hell personified; gaunt, bloody, and broken.

He heaved, gaze fixed on your face, eyes pooling with desperation. You tried again to reach out, to move closer and release him from the rope that dug painfully into his skin, but your feet felt glued to the floor.

Helpless you tried to call out to him, watching in horror as Mattheo’s figure lurched forwards once more, writhing, mouth wide in a soundless gasp of agony.

Growing desperate your pulse quickened, body twisting to look for a way out. But the hallway behind you was gone, you were trapped. Frantic now, your head whipped around scouring the stone walls for an explanation, for help, for mercy.

You were alone. Helpless but to watch as he squirmed in pain.

Nauseated, your gaze fixed on Mattheo. His body arched sickeningly, contorting as a silent, strangled sound wretched from his throat. His eyes wide and burning with terror.

Your own pulse roared in your ears as you tried to scream, pleading to Merlin, God— whoever— to make it stop.

Just as you were certain you couldn't watch another second, the scene before you began to warp— walls bending, light distorting, the sconces flickering and stretching like flames underwater.

It was like all oxygen had been stolen from the air, your throat too tight, lungs burning with each strained breath. Then, like a candle snuffed out between two fingers, darkness.

You gasped awake, thrashing against the damp sheets twisted tight around your limbs like ropes. Your pulse was hammering, sweat beaded on your forehead as your hands skimmed the damp sheets around you.

Gasping you propelled forward, panting as your bedroom came into focus. You blinked, head snapping from side to side, room illuminated only by one flickering candle you’d forgotten to blow out.

Mattheo wasn't here; he wasn't in agony. You weren't trapped. It wasn't real.

You didn’t move for a moment. Just sat there, spine rigid, chest heaving, hands fisted in the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring you to reality. You half-expected the candle to go out, for the silence to crack open again. Like the dream hadn’t finished with you yet.

But the candle on your bedside table only guttered in the quiet, its glow casting trembling shadows across the room. Your gaze fixed on it, unblinking, as if it might suddenly flicker out too. Cautious, anxious almost, you waited for it to morph once more into the still blue-white light from your nightmare.

Your pulse was still racing, still beating that sick rhythm in your ears like a war drum, but the change never came. Slowly, your fingers loosened, releasing the twisted fabric beneath them. You flexed your hands, not even noticing the way they shook as you held them out in front of you.

It was just a dream, you reasoned. Knees coming up to your chest without thinking, wrapping your arms around them as if to make yourself smaller— less exposed. Your forehead dropped to your knees, eyes fluttering shut as you let out a shaky breath.

Just a dream. A horrid, twisted dream you repeated in your mind.

The pressure behind your eyes was sharp, hot and searing, like something inside of you had cracked and hadn’t quite sealed right. That look in his eyes. That look of pure, unbridled fear settled at the forefront of your mind. Flashing across your vision, no matter how hard you tried to blink it away.

It had felt so real.

You pressed your forehead harder against your knees, squeezing your eyes shut. You knew what this was. You'd had dreams like this before—trauma dreams from the war. Not always like this one, but close enough. Dreams where you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t stop something from happening.

Couldn't protect someone from death.

Your body hadn’t caught up, so it didn’t matter what your mind said; didn't matter how many times you told yourself it was only a dream—it still felt like you'd been there. Like you’d failed him.

You pushed a shaky hand through your hair, dragging it back from your face. Your fingers snagging on the damp strands. Somewhere in the back of your mind, Mick Tolliver’s voice crept in—quiet and offhand, but echoing now in the quiet of your bedroom.

"Fellas like that? They don't come back clean, that's for sure."

You let out another long, shaky breath. You weren’t a seer. You didn’t have visions. This wasn’t that. It was your brain, dredging up things it didn’t know how to process. A pressure valve releasing in the ugliest way possible. You knew that.

But it didn’t make it any easier to sit with.

Your hands were still shaky by the time morning came. Showering had no effect; no matter how hard you scrubbed at your skin, it was impossible to wash the dream away fully.

Your appetite was non-existent; the thought of eating made you gag, never mind the uneasy feeling that had settled at the pit of your stomach. Even as you walked to work, your mind couldn't sit still, couldn't detach itself from the memory of Mattheo strung out and writhing before you.

"You're slow today."

The voice pierced through your clouded thoughts— Albion, already behind the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and a crate of Odgen's Firewhiskey bottles in his arms.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze and glancing up at the voice disorientedly. You’d been standing still, one hand on a drinks tray and staring blankly at the wall of spirits behind the bar like they owed you something.

"Didn’t sleep," you muttered, realising Albion was expecting a response, and setting the tray down before your fingers dropped it. Avoiding his gaze, you busied yourself with unloading the glassware from the washer, wiping over the already dry glasses to keep yourself busy.

Albion didn't answer straight away. Just set the crate down with a thud, and looked at you the way someone might study a mirror that had fallen from the wall for fractures.

"You've looked better," he said finally. Not in a judgmental way, you knew he didn't mean it like that, but you could hear the concern in his voice as he said it.

"Thanks," you retorted flatly. You tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite land. More of an awkward grimace than anything. Your bottom lip stung beneath your teeth, willing yourself to keep it together.

But Albion didn’t push. He never did, and he didn’t look away either.

“You look like you didn’t come all the way back from wherever you went last night,” he commented, voice dry but quiet. "Is it the dreams again?"

Your hand paused mid-reach for a bar towel. Lips twitching as you tried to pretend he wasn't right. But he saw through you, immediately.

That was the thing about Albion. He noticed everything and always seemed to know the right thing to say, perks of being a bartender, you assumed.

You didn’t answer. Just nodded once and busied yourself wiping down the already-clean bar. Albion knew about the dreams more than anyone else; he was the only person you trusted not to have you checked into St Mungo's the minute you opened up about them.

Albion didn’t say anything for a moment. Just leaned against the back counter, arms crossed, watching as you lined up the tumblers with unnecessary precision. The silence stretched, but not unkindly.

“Is it still the same ones?” he asked, brow arching curiously. “From the war?”

You hesitated. That was usually the answer. But this time, it wasn’t true. You debated lying for a moment, but he always knew when you were lying to him. It was like a sixth sense, you weren't entirely convinced he wasn't a legilimens at times, no matter how much he denied it.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, ashamed almost. “A... different one.”

Albion tilted his head slightly, waiting. You took a breath and reached for the next glass, only to stop short, fingers trembling just enough to rattle it against the one beside it. Your eyes closed in frustration, grasping at the back counter to steady yourself.

Albion moved toward you and began placing tumblers onto the shelf like he'd not noticed. "You know," he spoke, sparing a glance over at your shaking hands, "some things in that part of town… they’re built to see your weaknesses before you even step inside."

You swallowed dryly and nodded, solemn and slow.

Albion gave a low chuckle, the kind that didn’t quite reach his mouth. “Always said you Gryffindors are terrible at keeping your noses out of trouble. And worse at pretending you don’t care.” He nudged a tumbler into place with a small clink, just as he fixed you with a stare. “Hearts on your sleeve's even when it’s bleeding through your jumpers.”

You laughed under your breath, even when he meant to chastise, Albion seemed to know how to make you crack a smile.

"Knockturn's a dodgy place, love. No wonder your mind's playing up again." He continued, softly and with the wisdom that people his age seemed to possess. "Don't let it get to you."

You nodded awkwardly and pressed your palms flat to the bar top. The polished wood was cool beneath your skin, grounding.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “It was stupid, Albion. I know.”

Albion let out a long, slow breath. Not disappointed. Not surprised. He'd probably expected you'd do it, likely even knew the second you made a move to leave the night before.

“Well... did you find him?”

“No.” You swallowed. "That Mick Tolliver's got a few loose cauldrons rattling around upstairs, though." A small smile spread across your face as you spoke.

Shuddering, Albion barked a laugh in agreement. "The world's full of strange folk. I knew Mick back in the day, he's harmless—but he's a bit... full-on. Knows how to talk a good game, right enough, but you can't trust a word out of his mouth."

Albion straightened, pushing off the back counter when you didn't reply. You were already wondering how much of what Tolliver had said was truthful, if Mattheo really was in any danger at all. Albion seemed to notice the thoughts swirling around, even if he didn't let on.

"Maybe he doesn't want to be found, love," he said, reaching for a bottle at the back of the bar. Something dark, and by the dust lingering on the neck, one that wasn't touched very often. "Whatever it is, he's bloody lucky he's got you lookin' out for him, eh?"

Your eyes dropped, despite his tone, you couldn't help but feel like you'd disappointed him, too. He'd warned you from the start not to get mixed up in this, yet here he was, still acting like you could do no wrong in his eyes.

He sighed as he uncorked the bottle, grabbing one of the clean tumblers he'd just stacked, and poured two fingers' worth without asking. The glass slid across the polished wood with a gentle scrape, stopping in front of you as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Drink that." He said gruffly, yet with more kindness and sympathy than you probably deserved, you'd done it to yourself after all. "Calms the nerves."

You stared at the drink for a second, then your fingers curled around the glass, eyes sweeping over him from the corner of your eye. He watched with an approving look as you took a long sip, the liquid burning as you swallowed nearly half in one gulp.

It certainly wasn't a calming draught, but it helped to settle your frayed nerves, at least.

"Was it him, then?" he asked eventually, once you'd swallowed the whiskey and your eyes had fluttered shut in contemplation. "In the dream."

Your jaw clenched as you gave the smallest nod. Embarrassed, almost, but grateful that it was Albion who was seeing this side of you. He didn’t sigh, didn’t offer comfort. Just looked past you at the dark window above the sink, deep in thought as he scratched at his beard.

“Some people,” he said, “don’t know they’re drowning ‘til they’re under. And even then, they won’t reach for help. Not unless they’ve got something left to hold onto.”

He had a way with words; sometimes he'd come out with things like this, and you'd just be left to sit with them. You set the glass down tenderly, glancing toward him.

“And you think I’m that something?”

“I think you want to be,” he said. “Which is worse, probably.”

You blinked. His answer hit hard, true in a way that made your chest tighten. But Albion had that bluntness about him, that ability to tell you something straight, no matter how hard it may be.

And it made you think. Did you really want to go chasing after ghosts? After someone you once knew— and, years ago, at that. You weren't so sure you could, not if it meant you'd never sleep well again.

“I can’t fix him,” you said finally, but you weren't entirely sure if it was Albion or yourself you were convincing. "I know that."

“No,” Albion agreed. “But you can make sure you don’t go down with him.”

Silence fell again, but it didn’t feel like judgment. Just quiet. Like he’d said his piece, and now it was up to you—cut your losses, or keep stringing yourself along.

“You plan on opening tonight?” you asked eventually, voice hoarse, dipped in humour. Grasping at straws, not wanting to speak anymore about the curly-haired boy who plagued your thoughts night and day.

Albion gave a dry snort. “Not unless you plan on helping me unload the rest of that Firewhiskey,” he gestured toward the crate, all seriousness gone from his face.

You nodded once and smirked a little at how easy things flowed between the two of you. How simple it was to have a difficult conversation and never worry about the aftermath. You grinned slightly, lifting the glass for another sip and swallowed what was left whole.

"Better get a shift on then, Albs." You said, straightening yourself up and dusting down your apron.

The next few hours passed in a blur of serving on autopilot and nodding at jokes you didn't really hear. You were split down the middle, tugged in two directions. But you kept circling back to one fact: You didn’t know Mattheo. He was just another customer at the end of the day.

Besides, he had friends. Friends who cared—even if they didn’t always show it. If he needed help, he had options. Theodore had all but crumbled at the bar not long ago when Mattheo was nowhere to be seen, and even Draco had seemed nervous when he asked after him. Which said more than words ever could.

If Mattheo Riddle truly was in danger—if he really had people after him—he should go to them. Draco Malfoy was one of Britain’s top Aurors, for Merlin’s sake. If anyone could protect him, it was Malfoy.

Not you.

You were being dramatic. Some stubborn Gryffindor streak you hadn’t outgrown. You weren’t responsible for him. No matter how much you wanted to help, it wasn’t your place.

You’d already felt guilty enough to go walking into Knockturn Alley, alone and with no backup plan if things went south. But that wasn’t bravery—it was stupidity.

It had just been a dream. A bad one. Your body would forget the worst of it soon enough. Your brain was already trying to file it away—into whatever drawer it kept nightmares full of fire and blood and people you shouldn’t care about.

Mattheo Riddle was not your problem. And by the end of your shift, you’d nearly convinced yourself it was true.

You left the bar that night with tired legs and a tighter chest, the sky above you heavy with clouds that didn’t break. The streets were wet from a drizzle you hadn’t noticed starting. You didn’t look over your shoulder once.

The curtains were already drawn, and you were certain you hadn’t left them that way.

You noticed it the second you stepped into your flat. The air was different — cooler, disturbed. The kind of change you didn’t notice with your eyes, but with your skin. Instinct.

Your hand hovered by the doorframe for longer than it should have. Listening. Waiting. Every nerve stretched taut like a bowstring. Fumbling silently, your fingers clutched your wand, drawing it out of your pocket slowly and pointing it ahead of you before you made any attempt to move.

Then you heard it. A thud. Not loud, but definite. Coming from your bedroom.

Your blood ran cold. Mind wandering back to Mick's words yesterday, "They'll come for you too."

Part of you wondered if you should call someone, but it was a small flat. Whoever, or whatever, was in your bedroom would have heard you by now; there was no time to write a letter to MLE or send a message via Patronus.

Not if you wanted to catch them before they caught you.

You exhaled shakily, knuckles white with how hard you were grasping your wand, and took a few tentative steps into the hallway.

You could hear it again, like bedsheets rustling around. Like they were looking for something. Perhaps you were being burgled, you reasoned, just an ordinary muggle thief searching for cash or jewellery. You inched closer to the door, cursing silently as the floorboard underneath your foot creaked loudly.

The rustling stopped.

You froze, wand raised, and heart hammering like it might crack a rib. The noise had definitely stopped, and no matter how much you reasoned with yourself, you couldn't get the image of a masked hit wizard waiting on the other side of the door.

You moved again, breath caught between your teeth as you edged toward the bedroom door like it might explode. Silently, your hand reached out, gently grasping the cool brass door handle and twisting it slightly. Your wand still pointed ready to use whatever curse came to mind first on your attacker.

As the door swung open, you inhaled sharply. A nasty knock-back curse on the tip of your tongue when your eyes settled on the intruder.

Collapsed halfway onto your bed, coat drenched, boots trailing muck across your floor like he'd dragged himself inside. Mattheo Riddle.

For a moment, nothing made sense. Like your brain had short-circuited from exhaustion and fear. Like your dream hadn’t ended, just bled into real life. Your first thought was that it wasn’t real.

“What the fuck?”

It came out sharp and breathless. Your wand stayed pointed. Your heart tried to claw its way up your throat. “What—how— Riddle what the fuck are you doing in my bed?"

He stirred weakly. Barely. Drunken.

You advanced one step, fury outrunning fear. “You broke into my flat? You broke in—why?”

Mattheo didn’t respond. Just slumped further onto the bed, like even holding his head up was too much.

"Godric give me strength," you whispered, your wand arm dropping limply by your side, rushing towards his slumped figure. His wand dangled uselessly from one hand, forgotten. His mouth was bloodied. One eye swollen shut.

"Mattheo," you hissed, unsure whether you wanted to slap him or tend to his wounds, "Mattheo, wake up!"

He didn’t. Just groaned once, barely conscious, arm pushing your fussing hand away, and passed out cold on your bed. He didn’t move again. Not when you dragged off his boots, not when you muttered every curse you knew— he just lay there, dead to the world, while you took the couch. Infuriated yet slightly relieved.

At least he wasn't dead, yet.

©️riddlemelater. 2025.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

okay even though we all know mattheo’s father is shitty,can you imagine if he wasn’t? like adult tom riddle in the head of the table talking about serious dark matters with his followers when a tiny kid walks in mumbling “dada i had a bad dream” and tom just telling everyone to get the fuck out so he can take care of his kid🥹🥹

Okay, this but instead of kicking people out, he sits Mattheo on his lap and just keeps talking while rocking him and rubbing his back gently. Like this serious dark lord with a tiny 3 year old wearing a little onsie is sitting in his lap and no one says a word.

Or little Mattheo going around, showing everyone his drawing and everyone is too scared to be mean, and who would be mean to a little toddler anyways, but they're all like "oh that's nice! wow!" and then he goes back to his dad's lap and starts coloring again.

Or imagine even tinier Mattheo who's still learning to say words and just babbles and repeats words he hears from his dad and Tom just goes "Yes, good job." before talking again.

Or Tom setting up a playpen for baby Mattheo to play in because he keeps crying when he doesn't see his dad, so this was his solution, so they're all just hearing Mattheo playing with random baby toys and giggling while Tom's trying to be serious

And he will never apologize for his son interrupting them, he just lets him do whatever.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

── .✦ tom riddle crashing out in his dorm after finding out his crush didn’t use amortentia on him ⭑.ᐟ

abraxas malfoy was beyond perplexed as he watched his dark lord lay face down on the dorm floor, groaning continuously into the cold marble. for a previously composed, moody, and intelligent heir of slytherin, tom riddle was … difficult for the past two months. ever since she arrived.

he hadn’t blamed his lord when he wanted to get to know the girl, after all she was breathtakingly beautiful, a pureblood, and had appeared whilst in the middle of ancient runes fighting a cloaked man, killing him with a spell unknown to any wizard. of course, tom riddle would want to know her after hearing dumbledore beg the headmaster to allow her to continue her studies at hogwarts.

no, abraxas knew that was what his dark lord would want need to do. anyone who’s whole future was to become powerful and immortal would be clawing at the opportunity to get to know a mysterious, devastatingly beautiful, kissed by the gods, woman.

what he didn’t understand was how far riddle had taken his “research” on the girl. how he had went from walking her to her door—“i’m a prefect, malfoy, it makes sense and courteous of me to do so.”—to accompanying her on picnics with gryffindors. gryffindors for god’s sake! from pairing up with her for projects—“i’m keeping an eye on her, see what she knows.”—to sneaking out to watch the stars at the astronomy tower with her.

rosier had once made a pass at her, and when she had flirted back, riddle had called the knights for a meeting where he crucio’d rosier until the sun had came up. the rest had to clean up the blood pooling around their fellow friend.

his lord had came to them, yelling as he clutched at his chest. “she poisoned me! she must’ve drugged my tea with amortentia when i was not looking!”

everyone exchanged glances, malfoy suffering from constant whiplashes with his master’s mood swings.

“my lord, she’s smart, but i don’t think she would have the—“ nott started, shutting up as soon as riddle had focused his anger at him.

avery jumped in, not wanting to spend another day cleaning up blood like muggles. “surely she couldn’t have used amortentia without you noticing, my lord. you don’t miss such things!”

the group nodded, half terrified, half anxious.

“she’d had to!” riddle had yelled, pacing around the dorm. “i feel—these revolting emotions surface when she comes around, she plagues my mind, and even my body, my body, reacts to the scent of her perfume!”

the knights had taken turns being crucio’d that night.

abraxas knew his master had been investigating the girl, so he had been more than aghast to find his lord groaning on the floor. for half a second, he wondered if the girl had done something to him, but quickly dismissed it when he saw riddle’s wand in his hand.

he stepped slowly into the room, clearing his throat. “my lord? … are you alright? have you been harmed?”

tom stopped groaning, though stayed face down on the floor as the other knights came into the door, dumbfounded by the sight.

“ ˢʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ’ᵗ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃᵐᵒʳᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵃ “ riddle mumbled into the marble floor, body limp and unmoving.

rosier tilted his head, brows furrowing. “my lord, what did you say? nott could not hear.”

nott threw him a glare before turning back to their master, concerned and frightened.

abraxas watched as his lord stood, taking a deep breath, casting a silencing charm before screaming into the room. it was raw and fervent, as if he was letting out years of pain into it. everyone flinched, waiting for a crucio to be casted, whether on them or the other.

the knights had reached new fears when their master waved away the silencing charm and laid back down on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

“she didn’t use amortentia.” riddle repeated, closing his eyes briefly. “i watched her for days, every movement, my eyes never left her. i’ve looked at her wand, looking for an intimacy spell but found none. i’ve searched her belongings, nothing came to fruition other than her love for pearls.”

everyone stayed silent, lestrange on the verge of cracking a smirk as he watched his feared lord have a crisis over a girl.

tom riddle didn’t have to say the words out loud for everyone to understand. they all witnessed as their lord stood back up, took an usually long shower, and exited the dorm without another word.

meetings became less and less until they longer happened. abraxas observed as riddle spent more and more time with the girl, knowing the look in his eyes as he’d seen in many couples before. he studied how his master had spent the next years courting her, witnessed when riddle had asked for her love in the astronomy tower.

abraxas and the rest attended their wedding, surveying how their master pledge his allegiance and love to her.

riddle had disbanded their group when they graduated, and though the knights had been disappointed, abraxas couldn’t find it in himself to feel dismayed when she and tom asked him to be the godfather to their daughter.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

The anon button is not for hate. The anon button is for horny and embarrassed about it.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

No matter how much I’m enjoying a fic, if it says he’s buff or has abs I will instantly click away lol. Not my pathetic evil nerd.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Did you know that some blogs have code built into their HTML that can track your IP address, even if you use a VPN, because it links to a Tumblr address, like this one, for example? Been sending people anon hate lately? Mmmm be more careful sugar.

I....okay?

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Big brown puppy dog eyes- Tom Riddle x Reader -oneshot(crack/funny)

summary: Tom is so down bad for a girl that he lets his followers turn him into a puppy.

warnings; Tom being obsessed, doing dog things, tricking a girl into thinking he's just a puppy, kinda creepy if you look into it but i did this for the funnies so dont look to deep into it.

=

He really did not know why he allowed his ‘friends’ to do this, all for the sake of, what? Getting a girls attention? Tom had never been so foolish to yearn for ANYONE’S attention, not since he was small and gullible. And yet, she persisted.

(y/n). A few months older than him, a Slytherin; sweet, loved animals, and to her-Tom was just another face, but to him? (y/n) was…everything he thought he never wanted. His friends knew; Abraxas teased him relentlessly for it, Orion compared shades of red to Tom’s face when he flushed at the mention of (y/n), Avery would go “hey (y/n)!” in a direction behind Tom and laugh when Tom would whip around to look for her.

And now, in their final year, with only a few months left towards graduation, operation; get the girl for Tom was in effect.

And it involved the STUPIDEST thing Tom had ever done.

He let himself be transfigured.

He only let Abraxas do it, the only competent one, but the boys had not told him which animal, (y/n) loved animals, they were turning him into. So when the world swirled around him and suddenly he was on all fours and so very small…he got angry.

Except it wasn’t very intimidating, puppies weren’t intimidating. Avery was snickering at him, ORION PICKED HIM UP?! “Awwww, aren’t you a cutieeee, she’s not gonna be able to resist you m’lord,” Abraxas chuckled at Orion’s words, casting a mirror charm so Tom could see himself.

A puppy. He was a bloody puppy.

A Doberman puppy, small stature, huge paws, floppy ears, brown and black short fur, and sweet puppy brown eyes.

A humiliating form, why the fuck did he agree to this?!

He glared at himself and growled, then proceeded to stop-he just bloody growled?! Who does that?! He began to writhe in Orion’s hold, until Orion couldn’t hold him and set him down. “Hey, c’mon Tom, on the bright side, (y/n) wont be able to resist you, I mean, what girl doesn’t love puppies?” Abraxas said with a smirk, kneeling to pat Tom’s head, avoiding a narrow nip of his sharp teeth. “Down Bessie.”

Tom growled, baring his teeth, half of them still puppy teeth. His friends only chuckled and then he got scooped up again, this time by Abraxas. “Come, let's go find (y/n).” Abraxas said, holding Tom like a bloody baby as Orion and Avrey followed close behind, both snickering.

Tom was going to rip them new ones once this ordeal was over.

Abraxas came to a stop around a corner, peeking around it, seeing a whole gaggle of girls-a lot of them having crushes on Tom. Abraxas and the boys shared a smirk, a smirk Tom did not like-he was suddenly put down and shoved into view of the girls, his stupid big paws that he had no control over made him tumble and yelp-gaining their attention.

There was a pause, and then squeals-Tom scrambled to his feet and ran-genuine panic going through his bones as he ran from the girls squealing and running after him. “Puppy puppy! Come here puppy!” the lot of them called for him and he kept running, a pitchy yelp coming from his throat as he kept running.

Abraxas, Orion and Avery were laughing their asses off, gasping for breath as Tom ran out of sight, the girls chasing after him. “That was so mean,” Orion cackled as Avery leaned onto the nearby wall, smacking his hand on it. Abraxas snickered, flicking his wand, replaying the moment Tom scrambled for it and prey-pitched.

Avery and Orion burst into laughter again, meanwhile Tom was running for-what felt like-his life, tumbling over his paws and nearly taking a painful trip down the stairs if he hadn’t caught himself in time. He looked behind him-the girls still yelling after him and chasing him-he looked back at the stairs-leaned back on his haunches, and leaped-only to be caught and brought to a warm embrace.

He squealed, writhing around in their arms, only to be held tightly, one hand going beneath his neck and the other under his belly. “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” They cooed very softly, Tom recognized the voice-he looked up, (y/n), smiling softly at him, hiding in an alcove as the girls ran by. “You’re okay puppy,” She whispered and he stopped fighting, looking up at her with big brown eyes and she cooed. “Sweet boy, they scared you to death didn’t they?” she murmured, sliding down the wall to sit, adjusting him to be more comfortable in her arms.

Okay…okay…okay…maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Tom let out a whine, shifting in her hold, his paws on her ribs as he sat up, looking right at her. She smiles sweetly at him and if he was human right now-his face would be bright red. “Now where did you come from sweet boy? Did someone sneak you into the castle after spring break?” (y/n) asked softly, checking his teeth-it was uncomfortable but he allowed her to pull up the lips of his mouth. “Oh, you’re still pretty young, still got some puppy teeth,” (y/n) murmured, moving her hand to rub his head and behind his ears-and he very much leaned into it, unable to stop the kicking of his leg when she scratched an itchy part he didn’t realize was there.

(y/n) laughed softly, adjusting the puppy-unknowing who it truly was-in her arms and standing up. “now, lets go see if we can find your owner,” She said softly, carrying him out of the alcove and through Hogwarts, asking a few students here and there if they knew anybody who snuck a puppy in, but none could give her an answer, and Tom snapped his teeth at anyone that tried to pet him that wasn’t (y/n).

(y/n) sighed, going to Professor Dumbledore at the end of the afternoon, asking everyone she came across about the puppy in her arms. “Professor?” (y/n) asked after knocking on his classroom door, the older wizard hummed, perking his head up, waving her in, a strange knowing twinkle in his eye as soon as he spotted the puppy in her arms.

“Ms. (l/n),” Dumbledore greeted, raising his brow as she stepped into his classroom, puppy in her arms. “and…where did this little one come from?” Dumbledore asked and Tom was very surprised Dumbledore didn’t out him right away, clearly able to tell it was Tom, just transfigured.

“I found him, he was running around the school, I don’t know where he came from.” (y/n) said, adjusting Tom in her hands and he let her move him. Dumbledore only hummed.

“Perhaps a stray from Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore said and Tom barked at him, oh merlin he just barked someone end him now, Dumbledore would hold his over his head for years. Dumbledore smirked, telling (y/n) that she could, well, keep Tom, until his rightful owners were found.

“oh, okay, thank you professor,” (y/n) said, carrying Tom back out of the classroom and he glared at the professor, mostly in confusion-why wasn’t he doing anything? Why was he just-letting this happen. Dumbledore only winked at him and left Tom very confused.

Why was Dumbledore, Toms #1 enemy, helping him do this???

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it further because (y/n) took him back to her dorm, and he was set down on the floor, standing stiffly as she dropped her bag onto her bed and went into the bathroom. He glanced around it…was very much a Slytherin dorm, not too different from the boys dorms, except more girl things around, like hair ties, brushes, a lot more blankets, and a bit messier.

And it smelled like (y/n), okay yeah, maybe this wasn’t so terrible. He slowly began to walk, tripping over his paws, climbing onto the trunk at the end of (y/n)’s bed and then onto her bed, laying down, rubbing his face into her bedding.

He was a puppy, he could get away with it right now.

He heard her giggle and his heart skipped a bit, he glanced up-(y/n) cooing at the sight of the sweet brown puppy dog eyes looking up at her. “you are a cutie, aren’t you?” she murmured, sitting on the trunk at the foot of her bed, smiling at him.

Tom couldn’t resist crawling forward to kiss, or well, lick her nose, his heart fluttering at the sound of her laughter as she pulled back. “silly puppy,” she said with a chuckle, turning as her dormmates entered the room…and promptly squealed-Tom scrambled for cover, leaping into (y/n)’s arms as she gasped, wrapping her arms around him so she didn’t drop him as her dormmates instantly crowded her and the puppy she held.

All too quickly, Tom once again decided he was going to kill the boys, this wasn’t worth it.

(y/n) held him closer, his face pressed against the curve of her neck, paws on her chest.

…okay…worth it again.

-

That night he didn’t sleep in his room, oh no no no, he was curled up with (y/n), in her arms like a stuffed animal, and he was enjoying every single second of it. It was probably the fastest he’d ever fallen asleep since…well ever, he was no longer going to kill Abraxas.

That morning, he was limp as (y/n) rose from sleep, stretching out and yawning. It was a Sunday, which meant no classes, so (y/n) simply turned and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her. He let out a huff, yawning. “ugh, puppy breath,” (y/n) mumbled, shoving his face away and he huffed again.

After sleeping in, she took him outside to, eugh, go potty, and he did the humiliating act of any human temporarily in animal form…he went potty outside, like a dog. He proceeded to hide his face in (y/n)’s legs as she vanished it with a wave of her wand. “Why are you embarrassed?” (y/n) laughed with adoring glee, finding his shame about going potty absolutely hilarious.

He was going to kill Abraxas.

Sunday goes on and then before curfew, Abraxas, Orion and Avery walk up to Audrey, who is still holding Tom and tell her he’s Abraxas’ dog that he’d brought back after spring break to ‘show off’ and the ‘poor pup must’ve gotten loose’ and ‘they thank her dearly for taking care of him’.

(y/n)’s a little…disappointed to hand over the puppy, kissing his forehead and Tom decides to not kill abraxas again as Abraxas takes him and thanks (y/n) again. They leave her sight, set Tom on the floor, and Abraxas transfigures him back to human.

“So?” Abraxas chuckled, Tom straightening up and brushing off his clothes.

Tom lets out a huff, side eyeing Abraxas. “How much do Doberman puppies cost?” He drawled, and Abraxas laughed.

Hilarious or not, Tom was making sure she got that puppy, and he was going to be the one to give it to her.

-end-

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Big brown puppy dog eyes- Tom Riddle x Reader -oneshot(crack/funny)

summary: Tom is so down bad for a girl that he lets his followers turn him into a puppy.

warnings; Tom being obsessed, doing dog things, tricking a girl into thinking he's just a puppy, kinda creepy if you look into it but i did this for the funnies so dont look to deep into it.

=

He really did not know why he allowed his ‘friends’ to do this, all for the sake of, what? Getting a girls attention? Tom had never been so foolish to yearn for ANYONE’S attention, not since he was small and gullible. And yet, she persisted.

(y/n). A few months older than him, a Slytherin; sweet, loved animals, and to her-Tom was just another face, but to him? (y/n) was…everything he thought he never wanted. His friends knew; Abraxas teased him relentlessly for it, Orion compared shades of red to Tom’s face when he flushed at the mention of (y/n), Avery would go “hey (y/n)!” in a direction behind Tom and laugh when Tom would whip around to look for her.

And now, in their final year, with only a few months left towards graduation, operation; get the girl for Tom was in effect.

And it involved the STUPIDEST thing Tom had ever done.

He let himself be transfigured.

He only let Abraxas do it, the only competent one, but the boys had not told him which animal, (y/n) loved animals, they were turning him into. So when the world swirled around him and suddenly he was on all fours and so very small…he got angry.

Except it wasn’t very intimidating, puppies weren’t intimidating. Avery was snickering at him, ORION PICKED HIM UP?! “Awwww, aren’t you a cutieeee, she’s not gonna be able to resist you m’lord,” Abraxas chuckled at Orion’s words, casting a mirror charm so Tom could see himself.

A puppy. He was a bloody puppy.

A Doberman puppy, small stature, huge paws, floppy ears, brown and black short fur, and sweet puppy brown eyes.

A humiliating form, why the fuck did he agree to this?!

He glared at himself and growled, then proceeded to stop-he just bloody growled?! Who does that?! He began to writhe in Orion’s hold, until Orion couldn’t hold him and set him down. “Hey, c’mon Tom, on the bright side, (y/n) wont be able to resist you, I mean, what girl doesn’t love puppies?” Abraxas said with a smirk, kneeling to pat Tom’s head, avoiding a narrow nip of his sharp teeth. “Down Bessie.”

Tom growled, baring his teeth, half of them still puppy teeth. His friends only chuckled and then he got scooped up again, this time by Abraxas. “Come, let's go find (y/n).” Abraxas said, holding Tom like a bloody baby as Orion and Avrey followed close behind, both snickering.

Tom was going to rip them new ones once this ordeal was over.

Abraxas came to a stop around a corner, peeking around it, seeing a whole gaggle of girls-a lot of them having crushes on Tom. Abraxas and the boys shared a smirk, a smirk Tom did not like-he was suddenly put down and shoved into view of the girls, his stupid big paws that he had no control over made him tumble and yelp-gaining their attention.

There was a pause, and then squeals-Tom scrambled to his feet and ran-genuine panic going through his bones as he ran from the girls squealing and running after him. “Puppy puppy! Come here puppy!” the lot of them called for him and he kept running, a pitchy yelp coming from his throat as he kept running.

Abraxas, Orion and Avery were laughing their asses off, gasping for breath as Tom ran out of sight, the girls chasing after him. “That was so mean,” Orion cackled as Avery leaned onto the nearby wall, smacking his hand on it. Abraxas snickered, flicking his wand, replaying the moment Tom scrambled for it and prey-pitched.

Avery and Orion burst into laughter again, meanwhile Tom was running for-what felt like-his life, tumbling over his paws and nearly taking a painful trip down the stairs if he hadn’t caught himself in time. He looked behind him-the girls still yelling after him and chasing him-he looked back at the stairs-leaned back on his haunches, and leaped-only to be caught and brought to a warm embrace.

He squealed, writhing around in their arms, only to be held tightly, one hand going beneath his neck and the other under his belly. “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” They cooed very softly, Tom recognized the voice-he looked up, (y/n), smiling softly at him, hiding in an alcove as the girls ran by. “You’re okay puppy,” She whispered and he stopped fighting, looking up at her with big brown eyes and she cooed. “Sweet boy, they scared you to death didn’t they?” she murmured, sliding down the wall to sit, adjusting him to be more comfortable in her arms.

Okay…okay…okay…maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Tom let out a whine, shifting in her hold, his paws on her ribs as he sat up, looking right at her. She smiles sweetly at him and if he was human right now-his face would be bright red. “Now where did you come from sweet boy? Did someone sneak you into the castle after spring break?” (y/n) asked softly, checking his teeth-it was uncomfortable but he allowed her to pull up the lips of his mouth. “Oh, you’re still pretty young, still got some puppy teeth,” (y/n) murmured, moving her hand to rub his head and behind his ears-and he very much leaned into it, unable to stop the kicking of his leg when she scratched an itchy part he didn’t realize was there.

(y/n) laughed softly, adjusting the puppy-unknowing who it truly was-in her arms and standing up. “now, lets go see if we can find your owner,” She said softly, carrying him out of the alcove and through Hogwarts, asking a few students here and there if they knew anybody who snuck a puppy in, but none could give her an answer, and Tom snapped his teeth at anyone that tried to pet him that wasn’t (y/n).

(y/n) sighed, going to Professor Dumbledore at the end of the afternoon, asking everyone she came across about the puppy in her arms. “Professor?” (y/n) asked after knocking on his classroom door, the older wizard hummed, perking his head up, waving her in, a strange knowing twinkle in his eye as soon as he spotted the puppy in her arms.

“Ms. (l/n),” Dumbledore greeted, raising his brow as she stepped into his classroom, puppy in her arms. “and…where did this little one come from?” Dumbledore asked and Tom was very surprised Dumbledore didn’t out him right away, clearly able to tell it was Tom, just transfigured.

“I found him, he was running around the school, I don’t know where he came from.” (y/n) said, adjusting Tom in her hands and he let her move him. Dumbledore only hummed.

“Perhaps a stray from Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore said and Tom barked at him, oh merlin he just barked someone end him now, Dumbledore would hold his over his head for years. Dumbledore smirked, telling (y/n) that she could, well, keep Tom, until his rightful owners were found.

“oh, okay, thank you professor,” (y/n) said, carrying Tom back out of the classroom and he glared at the professor, mostly in confusion-why wasn’t he doing anything? Why was he just-letting this happen. Dumbledore only winked at him and left Tom very confused.

Why was Dumbledore, Toms #1 enemy, helping him do this???

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it further because (y/n) took him back to her dorm, and he was set down on the floor, standing stiffly as she dropped her bag onto her bed and went into the bathroom. He glanced around it…was very much a Slytherin dorm, not too different from the boys dorms, except more girl things around, like hair ties, brushes, a lot more blankets, and a bit messier.

And it smelled like (y/n), okay yeah, maybe this wasn’t so terrible. He slowly began to walk, tripping over his paws, climbing onto the trunk at the end of (y/n)’s bed and then onto her bed, laying down, rubbing his face into her bedding.

He was a puppy, he could get away with it right now.

He heard her giggle and his heart skipped a bit, he glanced up-(y/n) cooing at the sight of the sweet brown puppy dog eyes looking up at her. “you are a cutie, aren’t you?” she murmured, sitting on the trunk at the foot of her bed, smiling at him.

Tom couldn’t resist crawling forward to kiss, or well, lick her nose, his heart fluttering at the sound of her laughter as she pulled back. “silly puppy,” she said with a chuckle, turning as her dormmates entered the room…and promptly squealed-Tom scrambled for cover, leaping into (y/n)’s arms as she gasped, wrapping her arms around him so she didn’t drop him as her dormmates instantly crowded her and the puppy she held.

All too quickly, Tom once again decided he was going to kill the boys, this wasn’t worth it.

(y/n) held him closer, his face pressed against the curve of her neck, paws on her chest.

…okay…worth it again.

-

That night he didn’t sleep in his room, oh no no no, he was curled up with (y/n), in her arms like a stuffed animal, and he was enjoying every single second of it. It was probably the fastest he’d ever fallen asleep since…well ever, he was no longer going to kill Abraxas.

That morning, he was limp as (y/n) rose from sleep, stretching out and yawning. It was a Sunday, which meant no classes, so (y/n) simply turned and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her. He let out a huff, yawning. “ugh, puppy breath,” (y/n) mumbled, shoving his face away and he huffed again.

After sleeping in, she took him outside to, eugh, go potty, and he did the humiliating act of any human temporarily in animal form…he went potty outside, like a dog. He proceeded to hide his face in (y/n)’s legs as she vanished it with a wave of her wand. “Why are you embarrassed?” (y/n) laughed with adoring glee, finding his shame about going potty absolutely hilarious.

He was going to kill Abraxas.

Sunday goes on and then before curfew, Abraxas, Orion and Avery walk up to Audrey, who is still holding Tom and tell her he’s Abraxas’ dog that he’d brought back after spring break to ‘show off’ and the ‘poor pup must’ve gotten loose’ and ‘they thank her dearly for taking care of him’.

(y/n)’s a little…disappointed to hand over the puppy, kissing his forehead and Tom decides to not kill abraxas again as Abraxas takes him and thanks (y/n) again. They leave her sight, set Tom on the floor, and Abraxas transfigures him back to human.

“So?” Abraxas chuckled, Tom straightening up and brushing off his clothes.

Tom lets out a huff, side eyeing Abraxas. “How much do Doberman puppies cost?” He drawled, and Abraxas laughed.

Hilarious or not, Tom was making sure she got that puppy, and he was going to be the one to give it to her.

-end-

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Big brown puppy dog eyes- Tom Riddle x Reader -oneshot(crack/funny)

summary: Tom is so down bad for a girl that he lets his followers turn him into a puppy.

warnings; Tom being obsessed, doing dog things, tricking a girl into thinking he's just a puppy, kinda creepy if you look into it but i did this for the funnies so dont look to deep into it.

=

He really did not know why he allowed his ‘friends’ to do this, all for the sake of, what? Getting a girls attention? Tom had never been so foolish to yearn for ANYONE’S attention, not since he was small and gullible. And yet, she persisted.

(y/n). A few months older than him, a Slytherin; sweet, loved animals, and to her-Tom was just another face, but to him? (y/n) was…everything he thought he never wanted. His friends knew; Abraxas teased him relentlessly for it, Orion compared shades of red to Tom’s face when he flushed at the mention of (y/n), Avery would go “hey (y/n)!” in a direction behind Tom and laugh when Tom would whip around to look for her.

And now, in their final year, with only a few months left towards graduation, operation; get the girl for Tom was in effect.

And it involved the STUPIDEST thing Tom had ever done.

He let himself be transfigured.

He only let Abraxas do it, the only competent one, but the boys had not told him which animal, (y/n) loved animals, they were turning him into. So when the world swirled around him and suddenly he was on all fours and so very small…he got angry.

Except it wasn’t very intimidating, puppies weren’t intimidating. Avery was snickering at him, ORION PICKED HIM UP?! “Awwww, aren’t you a cutieeee, she’s not gonna be able to resist you m’lord,” Abraxas chuckled at Orion’s words, casting a mirror charm so Tom could see himself.

A puppy. He was a bloody puppy.

A Doberman puppy, small stature, huge paws, floppy ears, brown and black short fur, and sweet puppy brown eyes.

A humiliating form, why the fuck did he agree to this?!

He glared at himself and growled, then proceeded to stop-he just bloody growled?! Who does that?! He began to writhe in Orion’s hold, until Orion couldn’t hold him and set him down. “Hey, c’mon Tom, on the bright side, (y/n) wont be able to resist you, I mean, what girl doesn’t love puppies?” Abraxas said with a smirk, kneeling to pat Tom’s head, avoiding a narrow nip of his sharp teeth. “Down Bessie.”

Tom growled, baring his teeth, half of them still puppy teeth. His friends only chuckled and then he got scooped up again, this time by Abraxas. “Come, let's go find (y/n).” Abraxas said, holding Tom like a bloody baby as Orion and Avrey followed close behind, both snickering.

Tom was going to rip them new ones once this ordeal was over.

Abraxas came to a stop around a corner, peeking around it, seeing a whole gaggle of girls-a lot of them having crushes on Tom. Abraxas and the boys shared a smirk, a smirk Tom did not like-he was suddenly put down and shoved into view of the girls, his stupid big paws that he had no control over made him tumble and yelp-gaining their attention.

There was a pause, and then squeals-Tom scrambled to his feet and ran-genuine panic going through his bones as he ran from the girls squealing and running after him. “Puppy puppy! Come here puppy!” the lot of them called for him and he kept running, a pitchy yelp coming from his throat as he kept running.

Abraxas, Orion and Avery were laughing their asses off, gasping for breath as Tom ran out of sight, the girls chasing after him. “That was so mean,” Orion cackled as Avery leaned onto the nearby wall, smacking his hand on it. Abraxas snickered, flicking his wand, replaying the moment Tom scrambled for it and prey-pitched.

Avery and Orion burst into laughter again, meanwhile Tom was running for-what felt like-his life, tumbling over his paws and nearly taking a painful trip down the stairs if he hadn’t caught himself in time. He looked behind him-the girls still yelling after him and chasing him-he looked back at the stairs-leaned back on his haunches, and leaped-only to be caught and brought to a warm embrace.

He squealed, writhing around in their arms, only to be held tightly, one hand going beneath his neck and the other under his belly. “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” They cooed very softly, Tom recognized the voice-he looked up, (y/n), smiling softly at him, hiding in an alcove as the girls ran by. “You’re okay puppy,” She whispered and he stopped fighting, looking up at her with big brown eyes and she cooed. “Sweet boy, they scared you to death didn’t they?” she murmured, sliding down the wall to sit, adjusting him to be more comfortable in her arms.

Okay…okay…okay…maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Tom let out a whine, shifting in her hold, his paws on her ribs as he sat up, looking right at her. She smiles sweetly at him and if he was human right now-his face would be bright red. “Now where did you come from sweet boy? Did someone sneak you into the castle after spring break?” (y/n) asked softly, checking his teeth-it was uncomfortable but he allowed her to pull up the lips of his mouth. “Oh, you’re still pretty young, still got some puppy teeth,” (y/n) murmured, moving her hand to rub his head and behind his ears-and he very much leaned into it, unable to stop the kicking of his leg when she scratched an itchy part he didn’t realize was there.

(y/n) laughed softly, adjusting the puppy-unknowing who it truly was-in her arms and standing up. “now, lets go see if we can find your owner,” She said softly, carrying him out of the alcove and through Hogwarts, asking a few students here and there if they knew anybody who snuck a puppy in, but none could give her an answer, and Tom snapped his teeth at anyone that tried to pet him that wasn’t (y/n).

(y/n) sighed, going to Professor Dumbledore at the end of the afternoon, asking everyone she came across about the puppy in her arms. “Professor?” (y/n) asked after knocking on his classroom door, the older wizard hummed, perking his head up, waving her in, a strange knowing twinkle in his eye as soon as he spotted the puppy in her arms.

“Ms. (l/n),” Dumbledore greeted, raising his brow as she stepped into his classroom, puppy in her arms. “and…where did this little one come from?” Dumbledore asked and Tom was very surprised Dumbledore didn’t out him right away, clearly able to tell it was Tom, just transfigured.

“I found him, he was running around the school, I don’t know where he came from.” (y/n) said, adjusting Tom in her hands and he let her move him. Dumbledore only hummed.

“Perhaps a stray from Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore said and Tom barked at him, oh merlin he just barked someone end him now, Dumbledore would hold his over his head for years. Dumbledore smirked, telling (y/n) that she could, well, keep Tom, until his rightful owners were found.

“oh, okay, thank you professor,” (y/n) said, carrying Tom back out of the classroom and he glared at the professor, mostly in confusion-why wasn’t he doing anything? Why was he just-letting this happen. Dumbledore only winked at him and left Tom very confused.

Why was Dumbledore, Toms #1 enemy, helping him do this???

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it further because (y/n) took him back to her dorm, and he was set down on the floor, standing stiffly as she dropped her bag onto her bed and went into the bathroom. He glanced around it…was very much a Slytherin dorm, not too different from the boys dorms, except more girl things around, like hair ties, brushes, a lot more blankets, and a bit messier.

And it smelled like (y/n), okay yeah, maybe this wasn’t so terrible. He slowly began to walk, tripping over his paws, climbing onto the trunk at the end of (y/n)’s bed and then onto her bed, laying down, rubbing his face into her bedding.

He was a puppy, he could get away with it right now.

He heard her giggle and his heart skipped a bit, he glanced up-(y/n) cooing at the sight of the sweet brown puppy dog eyes looking up at her. “you are a cutie, aren’t you?” she murmured, sitting on the trunk at the foot of her bed, smiling at him.

Tom couldn’t resist crawling forward to kiss, or well, lick her nose, his heart fluttering at the sound of her laughter as she pulled back. “silly puppy,” she said with a chuckle, turning as her dormmates entered the room…and promptly squealed-Tom scrambled for cover, leaping into (y/n)’s arms as she gasped, wrapping her arms around him so she didn’t drop him as her dormmates instantly crowded her and the puppy she held.

All too quickly, Tom once again decided he was going to kill the boys, this wasn’t worth it.

(y/n) held him closer, his face pressed against the curve of her neck, paws on her chest.

…okay…worth it again.

-

That night he didn’t sleep in his room, oh no no no, he was curled up with (y/n), in her arms like a stuffed animal, and he was enjoying every single second of it. It was probably the fastest he’d ever fallen asleep since…well ever, he was no longer going to kill Abraxas.

That morning, he was limp as (y/n) rose from sleep, stretching out and yawning. It was a Sunday, which meant no classes, so (y/n) simply turned and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her. He let out a huff, yawning. “ugh, puppy breath,” (y/n) mumbled, shoving his face away and he huffed again.

After sleeping in, she took him outside to, eugh, go potty, and he did the humiliating act of any human temporarily in animal form…he went potty outside, like a dog. He proceeded to hide his face in (y/n)’s legs as she vanished it with a wave of her wand. “Why are you embarrassed?” (y/n) laughed with adoring glee, finding his shame about going potty absolutely hilarious.

He was going to kill Abraxas.

Sunday goes on and then before curfew, Abraxas, Orion and Avery walk up to Audrey, who is still holding Tom and tell her he’s Abraxas’ dog that he’d brought back after spring break to ‘show off’ and the ‘poor pup must’ve gotten loose’ and ‘they thank her dearly for taking care of him’.

(y/n)’s a little…disappointed to hand over the puppy, kissing his forehead and Tom decides to not kill abraxas again as Abraxas takes him and thanks (y/n) again. They leave her sight, set Tom on the floor, and Abraxas transfigures him back to human.

“So?” Abraxas chuckled, Tom straightening up and brushing off his clothes.

Tom lets out a huff, side eyeing Abraxas. “How much do Doberman puppies cost?” He drawled, and Abraxas laughed.

Hilarious or not, Tom was making sure she got that puppy, and he was going to be the one to give it to her.

-end-

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

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[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Vetiver.

Tom Riddle

Sumarry:: Tom Riddle steals more than laundry — and his roommate isn’t letting it slide. Slow burn, quiet tension, and things getting heated fast.

Warnings::18+,smut, the absurdity of Tom Riddle doing laundry

Tom Riddle rarely believed in feelings. He never really experienced any affection from anyone in his childhood. And sometimes he couldn't even name what he was feeling. But most importantly–he didn't understand weekness.

But there was something about you… something quiet and intangible that slowly, relentlessly, unraveled all his defenses. Something that couldn't quite put his finger on.

It couldn't have been your words — you didn't speak much in the begging — being too occupied in hating each other.

It wasn’t your gaze — you never held it long.

It was your scent.

Something strange, earthy, smoky-sweet. Like freshly damp soil or a forest just before a storm. Vetiver, he had once named it silently. Not perfume — something more. Something that came not from a bottle, but from skin. From air. From corners of a room no one looked into.

You had been his roommate for six weeks now. A mistake in housing assignments had put you together. Supposedly temporary. But no one corrected it, and neither of you asked for a change.

At first, he merely tolerated you. You annoyed him with your pure existence.

Then… he started to notice you. Really notice you. Small things that perhaps no one else would.

The way you tied your hair up. The quiet, focused expression you wore when reading. Those mornings when you barely greeted him — but always made his tea just the way he liked it.

And of course the scent.

It was everywhere. On the couch you curled up on. On the books you touched. In the air you both breathed.

Sometimes Tom felt like he was going mad. There was no escaping your stupid scent. He even thought that maybe you poisoned him with Amortenia. But he found no evidence of that.

But the nights… the nights were the worst.

Beyond the wall — so close he could almost hear your breathing — you sometimes… lived. Quiet sighs. A subtle shift. The sheets rustling faintly. And then the silence that followed. Hot, guilty, suffocating.

At first, Tom never moved. Couldn't quite believe what he has just heard. Just stared at the ceiling. Every muscle taut, holding himself back.

But one night he gave in. Gave in to the aching in his sinful body.

One hand on his body, the other gripping the pillow. Your scent like smoke wrapping around him, clinging to his skin. He imagined you— you curling under the sheets, your lip between your teeth, eyes fluttering shut as you slipped into another world.

And Tom followed you.In silent, repressed pleasure that no one else would ever see.

He woke with guilt every time.

But you only smiled at him in the mornings. As if you knew something.

He needed time to understand everything that had happened – that's how he found himself doing laundry. The fiflthy muggle way.

As the days went by he notices a misplaced shirt of yours.The next time,it was a pair of socks. Tiny things. But Tom began to notice. To look for them.

And finally, one afternoon, he found it.

Silk.

Dark, elegant, lace-trimmed. It slid between his fingers like water. His body reacted before his mind had even caught up to what he was holding.

And the scent…

Still there. Deeper than ever.

He knew he should return it. But instead…

He hid it.

Under his pillow.

That night, he didn’t wait. Didn’t listen. Didn’t hope for anything beyond the wall. He simply lay there, with the silk in his hand, and surrendered to instinct. Desperate, urgent movements. Her name whispered into the dark. Her scent filling the air, flooding his senses, sinking into his bones.

When it was over, he heard something. A soft sound. A door. A step.

Maybe he imagined it.

Maybe… not.

The next morning, she smiled again. Handed him tea. Their fingers brushed.

Tom didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

The silk remained under his pillow, warmed by the heat of his shame. The scent of her clung to his fingertips, more potent than any perfume, more damning than any sin.

He’d tried to tell himself it was harmless. A moment of weakness. A private indulgence. No one had seen. No one knew.

And yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling. The air in the flat was heavier than usual. Quiet, yes—but not the comfortable kind. It was the quiet that came before something broke.

Then—

A knock.

Soft. Barely audible. Like she wanted him to think she might walk away if he didn’t answer.

He stood before he could stop himself. The door creaked open. She stood there in a loose shirt that dipped just slightly off one shoulder, and bare legs beneath it.

His shirt.

He recognized it instantly.

A deliberate choice.

“Can I come in?” she asked softly.

Tom said nothing. He simply stepped aside. She walked in slowly, her gaze flicking across the room, assessing. Not nervous—curious. Like a cat that knew exactly where the mouse was hiding.

She sat on the edge of his bed, fingers trailing over the duvet. Her expression unreadable.

“Did you find something of mine earlier?” she asked, so casually he nearly flinched.

His throat felt dry. “I—”

“You were doing laundry,” she interrupted, tilting her head slightly. Her voice still calm. “And I’ve been missing something.”

She let the pause settle like smoke in the air.

Tom watched her like prey, unsure if he should run or kneel.

“What exactly are you implying?” he asked, voice carefully measured.

“I’m not implying,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’m asking.”

There it was—challenge. Her power didn’t come in raised voices or anger. It came in quiet knowing, in control so perfect it became cruel.

He considered lying. Denying. Laughing it off. But his body betrayed him—hands clenched, heart racing, eyes betraying far too much.

She stood. Walked toward him slowly. And when she spoke again, her voice had dropped a note deeper, rougher.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She was close now. So close he could smell her again—vetiver and heat. His undoing.

And then—without hesitation—her fingers reached beneath his pillow. Found it.

She pulled the silk out slowly. Held it between two fingers like something delicate. Precious.

“You kept it,” she said. Not surprised.

He said nothing.

She stepped closer, the garment still in hand. “And what did you do with it?”

He swallowed.

She smiled. But there was no softness in it. Only dark promise.

“Did you think of me when you wrapped your hand around yourself?” she whispered. “Did you picture how I sounded? How I touched myself on the other side of that wall?”

Tom’s breath hitched.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Do you want me to show you?”

That broke him.

In an instant, he grabbed her waist and pushed her back against the wall. Their mouths met like a clash of hunger, desperate and bruising. She gasped into him, and that sound alone nearly undid him.

His hands found her thighs, lifted her effortlessly. She wrapped around him like she was meant to be there—soft, hot, and dangerous. Her nails dragged over the nape of his neck, her mouth messy on his jaw, his throat.

“I thought about you,” he growled, pressing her harder into the wall. “Every night.”

“I know.”

He carried her to the bed, laid her down like something sacred and wicked all at once. She pulled his shirt off, dragged her fingers across his bare chest with a low hum of approval.

He slipped the silk strap from her shoulder, then another. She watched him with half-lidded eyes, breathing shallow, daring him to worship her.

And he did.

His mouth mapped her collarbone, her breasts, the soft skin of her stomach. Every inch he kissed like it had haunted him. Every sound she made spurred him further. When he finally touched her where she needed him most, her back arched, and she moaned his name—not shy, not sweet. Possessive.

“Tom,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He moved like he had memorized her, as if every sigh and whimper guided him closer. His fingers, his mouth, his hips—all hers now. She came undone beneath him, and he followed soon after, the taste of her name on his tongue.

When it was over, she curled beside him. Sweat cooling. Breath slowing.

And in the silence, she took the silk from where it had fallen… and slipped it beneath his pillow again.

“You can keep it,” she said with a sly smile.

“Next time,” she added, brushing her lips against his neck,

“don’t make me come get it myself.”