#soulseeker fic

[oldangryslytherin]

Tom riddle at 2 am trying to seduce the transfer student into his weird little cult

[oldangryslytherin]

And he's moaning while being choked

They’re soulmates but one of them is infact trying to choke the other to death with the red string of fate tying them together

[solelyseeking]

Strings of Fate on AO3

[boyneptunee]

wip, 1.6k, tomarry, seer!Harry, time travel

(or) Harry is a point between very observant and very tired with life. Oh, and he keeps accidentally predicting the Future (chaos ensues).

"...and you are absolutely, completely, utterly sure that you have no Seer blood in you."

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Malfoy, God's be good! Yes! Yes, I am sure." When he saw the blond's lips move to open again, he added: "Asking again will not change my answer, shut your mouth."

"But Harry, what if someone down the line was a bast–"

"Continue that sentence and the next time you're walking drunk and trip over your robes I will let you fall to your death in the Moving Stairs." He spat. "Go on."

"How... how did you know! I didn't tell anyone it happened!" The godsmacked look on Abraxas face did something funny to his insides, a thought between a laugh and dispair at this silly blond boy who had simply been too drunk and couldn't look behind him to notice Harry had been following him the entire time that night to make sure he got back to his dorm and safe to his bed.

He didn't comment.

Abraxas groaned in an untimely, entirely inelegant way.

"You must be the devil. I get why Tom likes you so much."

Harry made a funny face, feeling conflicted. He didn't need to know exactly how much Tom Riddle liked him. He had enough at one glance, thank you very much.

Things had gone to shit one fine Tuesday afternoon when Falco Lestrange had almost killed all his Slytherin and Ravenclaw peers in a Potions Classroom.

The boy had been distracted, stealing glances across the tables and admiring the way the light hit the hair of a pretty Ravenclaw witch, where it cascaded in lustrous curls down her back to reach her waist. Her dark skin shone in the afternoon sunlight, and Falco was thinking of the best ways he could present his courting gifts, possibly in the Courtyard surrounded by white flowers, assuming they be received���.

His hand slipped, and instead of stirring his potion twelve times clockwise after simmering for twelve minutes, he stirred only eleven before he picked the Angel's Trumpet flower just after adding the last uneven cut pieces of Bloodroot.

His hand was about to let go of the flower with distracted movements when another, smaller, colder, closed around it.

He was startled out of his trance and he let out a grunt of discomfort as the cold hand closed more firmly around his, and that noise attracted the attention of his classmates.

When he followed the hand up an arm and up a body he found Evans face attached to it, black and white curls bouncing as the owner tilted his head towards him.

Before he could pull away in disgust, the boy hissed at him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Are you trying to kill yourself? Kill us?"

He stared uncomprehending at the boy before him, their hands still clasped.

When Slughorn hurried over, yellow robes flowing and catching on the corners of the adjacent tables, he took one look at the putrid color of the potion, another back at the cutting board where the uneven pieces sat inconspicuous and a last one at the flower crushed in between their hands, before he waved his wand dramatically over Falco's unfinished potion and vanished it to the void without further ado. His big blue eyes were open wide, a struck expression graced his round face.

"You almost killed us all!" He exclaimed, as flamboyantly as usual, despite the gravity of the situation. "One touch of a whole petal in the potion and the explotion would have taken us all out! And if not, the fumes from the poisonous plant would have done us in!" Evans had finally let go of his hand, green eyes hard. "This is a NEWT level class! Mistakes like this are ground for expulsion Mr. Lestrange!"

Falco's mouth opened and closed, no explanation gracing his lips.

"If I may, Professor" the blasted boy at his side dared to utter "I think it was an honest mistake." He cast a glance at Falco, venomous green eyes piercing him down to his soul. The boy flinched. "We can't all be potion prodigies. Specially when our mind is not in the classroom, and instead it's down in the Courtyard."

Falco turned incredulous eyes at him.

 

And that was that. It was the day the rumour started.

Harry Evans, the fucking seer of the House Slytherin.

(What they didn't know was that Harry had been sitting in one of the windowstills facing the courtyard with his sketchbook in hand when Falco Lestrange had walked in, hand in hand with a Ravenclaw. Harry didn't know her name, but could guess from the way Lestrange's eyes darted from side to side and nervously fixed his hair every few seconds that she was his betrothed, or was about to be. Harry guessed the later, or else the lad wouldn't be so anxious to be in her presence.

The boy seemed to catalog every nook and cranny of the inside yard, from the vines creeping up the walls and the statues, to the fountain drizzling water in the middle, to the few students sat scattered around.

He was thinking about it, Harry knew. His hands kept twitching towards the lapels on his robes, only to move out of the way at the very last moment.

Ah.

The proposal was to be carried out at a later time, it seemed.

He sketched them like that, standing side by side and smiling shily at each other with blushes high up their faces.)

It was not the only instance, sadly.

There was that one time, when one of the more damaged, older moving stairs had graced the path of the sixth year Slytherins on their way back to the Dungeons and Harry had simply taken one look at it, remembered the disgraceful fall he'd had on his fourth year where his leg had been trapped up to his hip and commented loudly from the back of the group:

"I wouldn't step on the second to last step, if I were you." He had nightmares about being trapped there as the old staircase moved and disappeared to wherever it went to when it was not in use.

But as things were, here he was a new student of questionable origins and no name to himself to back his claims, and every Slytherin simply dismissed him as if it had been an annoying insect buzzing by and not a wizard speaking.

Until, one of the boys walked to the second to last step, and his leg fell right through.

"Told ya" he muttered to himself, as he waved around the crowd and jumped the last couple of steps, not looking back.

Or that one time Harry had slapped the tart out of Orion's hand when he had been about to take a bite.

"Don't!" He had said.

And that was that.

(For the next long hours, the majority of the population of Hogwarts had been in line seeking treatment in the Hospital Wing for a horrible stomach bug.)

(Not Orion though.)

Or that time when Harry had predicted that Greengrass would fail her Care of Magical Creatures practical exam, looking at her with sorrowful eyes.

Or when he correctly gave books and trinkets and supplements to people before they even knew they needed them.

"I have an iron deficiency!" One student muttered excitedly at another. "Evans gave me booster the other day and recommended I speak to the Matron! And he was right!"

"One time I failed a Transfigurations essay and before I could tell anyone about it he approached my table in the library and dropped a whole stack of books. Said they might be of help!"

Or that one time with the tea leaves—.

By the time Harry stopped a Hufflepuff fourth year from being impaled to death by a stray broom free falling from unknown heights and close enough to the outside walls of the castle to not be noticed before it was too late, Tom Riddle had taken to watching the boy from the shadows, dark blue eyes following his every movement.

He moved around life as if it was a dance to be had, coming close to other people and pulling back in a symphony only known to him. The skips and turns of his steps unpredictable, sometimes even brisk but non the less graceful, when he seemed to go one way but change directions at a moments notice, something dark passing through his green eyes.

He looked at situations backwards and from a distance, head tilted in a curious way before his green eyes lit with recognition and he could, to a point, predict entire scenes just from one glance.

The way he looked at people, haunted and knowing and compassionate, like he knew each and every secret lodged in their souls.

Like he knew Tom's secrets too.

The first night after the feast, Harry Evans had stared long and hard at Tom from across the Common Room, green eyes unreadable and face not betraying anything. It had been going on for twenty minutes straight, seemly not noticing the other students stares, before furrowing his brows and quietly nodding to himself.

Tom had dismissed him after that, thinking the boy had probably noticed the hierarchy of the snakes and deemed Tom on top of the food chain.

But strange things seemed to happen around him. More importantly, didn't seem to happen.

He had an uncanny ability to predict the future, it seemed.

The rumours started and spread around Hogwarts like wildfire.

Slughorn was a terrible gossip, and even the portraits learned of Harry's careful consideration of the world.

It was not without consequences.

This beautiful, beautiful boy could be an asset.

It didn't help that he was pretty, with his wide green eyes and honey colored complexion. His curls where mostly black, except where they were not. White had steadily but surely been taking over the parts on the back of his neck, and the hairs framing his face. Tom often wondered if it was intentional, or if he'd had it since birth.

Tom wanted him for himself.

And another man wanted him gone.

(OR) we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands on AO3 (68k, 10/13 chapters, seer!Harry, fluff and angst, teenage drama, friendships, Harry gets adopted like three times in a row).

[chuueppz]

Tom's Professor Harrison

Tom Riddle was ready for the new year it was a few hours to begin. Not because he was becoming older, but because now he finally had all the connections he could dream of to accomplish all the greatest things that he was worthy of.

When he Woke up earlier this morning in his bed at Slytherin he was blinded by all the presents he received from his Knights, and now at night, he was ready to go to sleep, Wake up in a new year and Conquer the world.

But he felt compelled to take a walk on the grounds one more time, and thanked Merling for that, because now in front of him was a beautiful boy that's maybe five years older than him, with a white streak of hair on the right side accompanied by a huge lightning scar that only brought more delicacy. And the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

was he blind in his right eye too? No problem, he would give a new eye for him if he wants..

"Hello Tom, would you mind leading me to the headmaster's quarters?"

And instantly Tom knew that he would do anything to be by this man's side. He would split his soul a thousand times more, kill an entire city, create empires and present him as king, Tom would be his servant and kneel in devotion every hour of the day.

And What a blessing, his god knew his name.

"of course Sir...? "

"Harrison"

"Harrison" Tom says bowing his head

----

Can someone please take this idea off my mind and transform it into a fic?? I just need some silly Tom who would do anything to have the new professor's eyes on him for even a millisecond.

Like, he would try a zillion personalities only to see which one Harrison would like more, he would kill in front of him and would be merciful if Harrison asked to.

Only he could have Harrison's attention and if the teacher thought that he needed to be beaten, hugged, treated with roughness or showered with kisses, so be it.

(please, if you wanna do this fic just say so, I can even draw more)

EDIT: I'm writing this fic idea and I plan to post it entirely next month

[emi-gelfling]

For tomarry shippers, this fic is the equivalent of jegulus shippers' Crimson Rivers fic. Lots of banter and tension between Harry and Tom, but also maturation and character growth! Definitely a wip worth keeping track of!

LINK:

[theafrei]

I can't help but recommend my all-time favorite Tomarry fanfic. It's an amazing story about love, hatred, and how difficult it can sometimes be to make a choice. Harry is my sunshine, and Tom is a brilliant villain, just the way we like it ;)

The author not only writes, but also creates wonderful fanart.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61615369/chapters/157520764

[solosolace]

has anyone read or written a fic about Tom/Voldemort and Harry being reincarnations of past lovers who somehow failed to get the memo because harry was born late and are doomed to kill each other but still have this urge to claim and own the other.

Like is this real or am I going to have to write it.

[sc0rpiflow3r]

Why is it SO fun writing from the villain's POV?

I need to finish my WIPs, but here I am, writing 10k words about Voldemort unleashing terror on his Death Eaters for my tomarrymort fic.

Anyway, I intend to post this fic with at least five chapters, and it will be a long one (as all my fics tend to be).

It's a fever dream born from my frustration at never having had a hot teacher (yes, Professor Riddle is on his way to torment poor Harry 😏)

[rowena-rain]

I know things like number of kudos don't super matter, but I'm happy that I reached 1000 kudos on a fic for the first time today since I started posting on ao3 in July. On my dead dove accidental baby acquisition that I just started writing on a whim, of all things! Crazy! That's it, that's the post lol.

But seriously, thanks so much for your support 🙏 🥺❤️❤️. It really does help motivate me I'm weak and require external validation okay

[vaserlord]

Inspired by this post, because I agree with every word. So trigger warning just in case.

***

It was day… He had lost count, honestly. At the beginning, when he was first shoved here with those shiny new promises of care, he counted the days.

Two days since the treaty. Five since he started living with Voldemort. Seven since the Dark Lord said he was precious, cherished, something… a thing… to be protected.

One… one day since the obsession took its final turn. He had lost all other counts. Nothing mattered after day one.

Harry shifted, looking at his bare thighs. Again. At the faint bruises. Barely there. Even less pronounced than what Dudley used to give him. And yet… far more damaging. A brand. A permanent rot under his skin, under his flesh. Disgusting. He was disgusting.

What did he do? Was it the conversation that evening? Had he been too friendly? He was just trying to keep the peace, but… maybe Voldemort had seen it differently? Had he, unknowingly, given some kind of sign? An invitation? Was it his fault?

It definitely was. His body… he…

Harry shifted again, burying his warm, stinging eyes in the crook of his elbow. The all-encompassing wave of shame and guilt swallowed him whole.

Disgusting. He was disgusting.

He hated himself for all of it. For not resisting harder, for resigning in the end. For submitting to this… this process.

He hated himself.

A hot, burning feeling rose in his chest. It called for violence. For peeling the skin off his body. For shoving his hands into the ribcage and ripping that useless heart out. Would it stop the feeling? Would he finally be able to look at himself in a mirror again?

No… he thought. No. Even if the feelings disappeared - all the hatred and shame and this rot - even then, his body would still be tainted. Dirty. Used.

He had never truly belonged to himself. Always someone’s freak, someone’s savior, someone’s champion, someone’s liar… someone’s savior again. Always someone’s. But even then, he had his last reprieve: the safety of his own mind, of his own body. He could always rely on himself.

Now though… even that had been taken from him. With cold hands and words of obsession. With a hot mouth and coaxing. And force. And blindness to his pleas.

He felt broken. Like the long crack that had been there his whole life had finally reached the edge.

Many people - he thought - had experienced this. Many people who had been where he is now and still found the strength to move forward.

He wasn’t special. So many had it worse. So why… why did he so desperately want to cease? To cease to exist. Just disappear. Just not be.

This was too much. He hated, hated, hated himself. He didn’t want to be Harry anymore. He didn’t want to live in this body. He didn’t want to feel all this blackness and pain and anger. He was so angry with himself. So tired.

Why…

Why?Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywh—

Why him? Why was it always him?

He was the trouble. Uncle Vernon was right. He always caused trouble. Always made things worse. It was his fault. All of it was his fault. He was broken. A broken piece, always endangering people around him. Always ruining something. Always the cause. He was rot.

Now his body just matched what he truly was. Dirty. Disgusting. Trouble. Horcrux.

It would have been better if he had never been born, he thought. Would have saved so much suffering for others. It would have been better, he thought, if he didn’t exist anymore.

He ruined everything. And now, after this… he would never be able to look his friends in the eyes again, even if he saw them. He would never be able to look at himself and not see the handprints all over.

Yes. It would be better for everyone if he just disappeared. Maybe his friends would mourn him. But if they knew - if they knew how filthy he truly was - they wouldn’t care. He was sure of it. He finally returned to point zero.

Nobody will care.

They would know eventually. Everyone would know. And he couldn’t face them. He couldn’t let people look at him. No. It would be better for everyone. Better for himself.

He didn’t want to be.

He wasn’t anymore.

[oldangryslytherin]

Prompt

Harry punches Tom in the face

Tom gets a boner

That's the prompt

[oldangryslytherin]

He's just going: harder!

They’re soulmates but one of them is infact trying to choke the other to death with the red string of fate tying them together

[solelyseeking]

Strings of Fate by dizzydreamer on AO3

[boyneptunee]

4.6k words, tomarry, modern!Au

(or) Tom Riddle moves to a new apartment building, gets a new neighbour in the form of one Harry Potter and adopts a cat (chaos ensues).

There was an orange cat in front of his door.

There shouldn't be an orange cat in front of his door.

Tom had been bringing boxes left and right, adding the finishing touches to his apartment after the movers had brought in his furniture and unpacked everything for him. He still had a few things left in boxes in Abraxas' home, where he had been staying for the past two weeks, waiting for the papers of his new place to be in order and for the cleaners to come in and get everything ready for him.

And now, there was a cat at his door.

It didn't meow at him, didn't scream and definitely didn't purr. It simply sat there, it's big round face open and piercing yellow eyes staring at his soul, seemly deciding whether or not he was worth it's time.

"Well? Shoo." The cat simply kept looking at him, not moving an inch. He needed to finish unpacking before he could fall face first to his bed. Merlin, he was tired. "Go on, I need to get in." He motioned with his foot, his hands still occupied with a pile of boxes.

The cat's whiskers twitched, but otherwise gave no indication that it had heard him.

Just as he was considering the possibility of yanking the cat out the building by it's scruff, a door at his right opened and a head full of curls poked out.

"Snuffles! Did you get out?" The cat perked up, thrilling at the new person as it bounced to his door, tail up and the tip swinging from side to side. "Hello again, my love." The boy crouched down, long fingers scratching the massive cat's head.

Seemly not taking notice of Tom, he turned around and was about to slam his door shut after the cat went into the apartment, when Tom felt the anger rising and burning through his veins.

"Is that yours?" He spat.

"Oh? Hey." The boy turned, confused.

Tom didn't respond, simply bore cold grey eyes into his face.

The curly haired boy seemed to take in his words, and his face scrunched, indignant.

"Hey! It's not a that! It's a cat. A very lovely cat!" His face scrunched up in anger, cheeks flushed.

"Keep the cat in your apartment, then. I don't need it's filthy paws getting into my things."

The boy ran his eyes up and down his body, eyebrows furrowed before bringing a hand up his face to fix his golden wired round glasses.

"You don't live here." He stated, voice accusing.

"Now I do."

"Oh. Welcome, I guess. Please be kind to Mr. Snuffles." And with that he went back to his apartment and slammed his door non too gently and firmly behind him.

Tom stood stunned in his own doorway, boxes still in his hands.

He would definitely have words with the administration.

 

A few days after moving in, he got added to a group chat.

The group's icon was a picture of the same orange cat, eyes closed and basking in the sun. A yellow flower had been laid on top of it's head.

Surely, that boy–.

His phone pinged with a new notification.

7B: Morning! I leave early today. Anyone on parenting duty?

Tom took one look at the text and assumed the person had confused groups.

Minutes later came a reply.

12C: we in!! 

12C: send him to 12

7B: Going!

A door down the hall from his apartment opened and closed, before Tom heard the familiar sound of the elevator moving.

Just what in the hell was going on?

12C: he has arrived!!

12C: have a good day Mrs McGonagall!!

The text was followed by a picture.

A picture of the cat. 

The orange cat, sitting in a blue couch and looking out a window. To be more exact, out of the window of some apartment in the twelfth floor.

What the hell.

It wouldn't be the last time the cat made an appearance in his life.

There were daily pictures on the group chat, for starters.

There was even a feeding chart on the room just off the lobby with a white board and the days of the week written down, along with three ticks to indicate three meals a day. If someone fed the cat, they ticked off so he wouldn't be fed twice on accident. (The cat itself couldn't be trusted, as he often sat near his bowl and howled at passing people with huge pitying eyes, even if he had been fed twice already. There was a reason he was huge.)

There was colective money set apart by the administration for extraordinary costs, like the elevator breaking down, or the replacement of a cracked window, or new chairs for the lobby, or the expensive purple treats in the front desk, the towering cat scratch post or even the cat tower, the round little bed by the couch on the lobby that wasn't used or the bag of dry food on the janitors closet or the cans upon cans of wet food. Oh! And the meds.

Because the cat had asthma, and he needed his inhaler at least twice a day, everyday for the rest of his life.

It was a juggle trying to get the local cat his meds so regularly when he had no owner.

So, it'd seem the residents had decided early on to leave his medication on one apartment only and give the responsibility to one person.

His neighbour.

Harry Potter, of 7A.

So, no matter where the orange monstrosity was, twice a day he either was brought to the seventh floor to Harry, or Harry himself went out to hunt him down for his daily puffs.

 

It was the end of his second week after moving in, when he was stopped on his way up.

"Hey! Hey, 7C! Hold the doors!" By the time he registered the voice was talking to him, the boy had already ran all the way from the entrence lobby and into the elevator. It was his neighbour. The curly haired one, not the old woman down the hall.

His hair was braided, Tom noted.

"Thanks." He said, even though Tom hadn't even lifted a finger to help. "Hey, do you like spinach?" He asked as they made their way down the hall to their respective apartments.

He didn't answer.

Two days later someone rang his doorbell approximately seven times before he could yank the door open, hair still dripping wet from the shower.

"Hi! I have lasagna." The boy said as a way of greeting, manners be dammed. He pushed the casserole into his hands before disappearing into his apartment. His cheeks had been a lovely shade of pink.

The very next day, it was Tom who was ringing his neighbour's doorbell. Casserole in one hand, cat in the other.

"Hello, lasagna. I have your cat." He dropped both off by the confused looking boy before turning on the spot and disappearing behind the safety of his own walls.

He had been stopped on his way in by an eldery woman he assumed might be the other resident in the seventh floor but could not be sure. She had said that since he was already going up, he should bring the cat in for his daily medication.

 

Before he knew it, and before he could do anything to stop it he was adopted.

Picked right out of the crowd by some odd twenty people and promptly passed from hand to hand before going back to 7A. 

He was given treats, and gifts, and quality time.

And when he needed time alone when he got too overwhelmed or murderous they let him be, but were never far.

The old lady at 7B had a cat of her own he could sit with, while she chatted about her research papers on the laws of physics which she had put off for so long and finally, after retiring had time to delve herself into. He didn't much understand physics but he could understand the need to scratch an itch of interest.

The family up 12 drove him crazy. It was a whole floor taken up by redheads, all in different shades of orange. All freakled and kind and warm and the mom had a thing for giving him piles of knitted cloths. As if he didn't have enough already.

In the first floor, was the apartment he hated the most. A man with long greasy hair and a crooked nose looked down at him every time he walked by, instead of taking the elevator. The odor coming from the creaks between the door and the wall were dreadful.

In the same floor a man with a long white beard and twinkling eyes sagely kept his old crinkled hands to himself.

The boy in the seventh floor had no such reservations.

He kept bringing him food, even though he had his own. Kept giving him gifts, even though he didn't need them. He pet him, held him, sat with him. 

Tom was dismayed.

 

The fifth time Tom appeared by his desk with a prepared, deliciously looking homemade meal in hand Abraxas and Orion had sat him down for an intervention.

"Why didn't you tell us you were dating someone?"

"I'm not."

"–you come in, every single day with a delicious looking homemade meals in cute tupperware–"

"I'm not dating anyone, Abraxas."

"–and little handrawn notes of orange cats, and really! Tom, how could you we've knowing each other since we were eleven, do you now value our relationship–"

"Are you jealous?" Tom finally cut in, expression bored as he dug into the food. It was really good. Homemade sfihas today, with lemon slices added to the side for extra flavor, and rice to the side in a cute green bowl and cut fruits in shape of animals for snacks. He had even added a single, perfectly round chocolate muffin.

Harry was a saint sent from heaven, Tom thought.

He looked at Abraxas lunch, a pre-prepared meal from down the street, reheated in the offices microwave, all soggy and sad looking with dry vegetables and over salted meat. No dessert.

Did he say saint? Harry was an angel.

 

Living with a cat, coparenting with 20 other people notwithstanding, was a new experience for Tom.

His one and only pet had been a snake, and reptiles were nothing like warm blooded mammals.

He needed pets for no longer than twelve minutes, he mostly ate wet food and he had constant vet visits. He hated his nails being trimmed and he adored Harry with all his cat heart.

On that they were in agreement.

Harry, much like Mr. Snuffles the cat, had carved a place in his heart were previously there was none.

From receiving meals to spending time together to coparenting an orange lazy huge cat, they went from seeing each other every other day to reuniting every single night in Harry's apartment to give Mr Snuffles his medicine and eat dinner.

 

Tom had never had a rutine as healthy as this one he could follow. His life had always revolved around work, and his studies, and being the absolute best at everything he did, always coming out on top.

He could get used to this.

 

He took to buying Harry things. After all, he had more than enough money to spare, what with being a successful lawyer.

Did he say his favourite mug broke? Tom would buy him ten more. His dining table was wobbly? There was a new, better one coming. His mattress was too hard and he couldn't get any sleep as of late? Well, guess what, he got a whole new bed. The drawers of his dresser kept getting stuck? Oh! There was a dark green antique that really matched Harry's pretty green eyes in the store, who would have known!

Sadly, buying Harry things had extended to buying Mr Snuffles his toys, cat bed, new cute jumpers and most importantly: his meds.

All it had taken for Tom to cave in had been the sad eyes of two boys, one pair green and one pair yellow and Tom had ordered more than enough to last them the whole year.

 

When arriving from work well past midnight one day, he found at least five people arguing in the hallway by the elevators.

Tom's tired brain could not pick the topic of the discussion for the life of him. A headache had been steadily making it's way around and behind his eyes.

He called for the elevator, eyes closed as he leaned on the wall, the arguing not letting up.

A hand landed on his arm, touch gentle. When he opened his eyes he found big green orbs gazing worriedly at him from beneath long black lashes.

"Long day?" Tom simply nodded, english language going out the window. Harry nodded back, and by the time the elevator arrived Tom had leaned back into the wall, a hand still on his arm. The voices bouncing around the hallway were making his head pound worse.

The boy guided him into the elevator and quietly pressed the button to the seventh floor.

He was moved from side to side before a door was opened and a hand pushed him into a dark apartment, the only light coming from a lamp in the corner of the room. He was prompted to sit on a couch.

He tilted his head back as he rubbed his eyes. God, it was possibly the worst migraine he'd had in years.

A couple seconds later a cold wet towel was pressed to his face, and a heavy warm weight was dropped on his lap.

"Do you take anything?" Harry asked lowly, and even thought he was trying to be gentle his voice still rattled around Tom's brain as if he had shouted the question right in his ears. When he didn't answer, a hand landed on his thigh. "Tom?"

"Yes." He croaked. Right, the meds. But for the life of him he wouldn't be able to walk now that he'd sat down. He didn't know how he'd made the ride home from work. Maybe he was still sat in his car. Maybe he was hallucinating.

A hand reached into his suit pocket, where he kept his keys.

"Bedroom." Was all he could muster, but it seemed to be enough for Harry, who was out the door in a flash.

 

Loud purring started somewhere around his belly, and it took him a while before realizing it was not coming from him.

When he could peal one eye open and peer down at his lap, he found Mr Snuffles comfortably loafing on him, paws perfectly tucked beneath it's body and purring it's little heart out.

The purring was his only company.

Agonizing minutes went by, before Harry burst into the room with his tablets in hand.

He took them dry and prayed it would be enough to at least subside the pounding behind his eyes.

What seemed to be an eternity later, he could feel the pain receding. When he could open his eyes without piercing needles flying from the inside out, he found Harry crouched between his legs, long fingers petting Mr Snuffles.

"Harry." His own voice sounded hoarse to his ears. Just how long had Harry been waiting for his headache to pass?

"Hey." His smile was small, gentle on his face. His eyes were still big and worried. "Feeling better?" Tom hummed, "Do you wanna lay down? I'll make something to eat." At his raised eyebrows he added, "Don't look at me like that, I'm a hundred percent sure you haven't eaten dinner. I'll make something light, I promise."

"Laying down sounds good."

"Good."

And before he could tilt sideways onto the couch, his arms were grabbed as he was helped to his feet. He couldn't even process the entire situation before he fell face first into Harry's bed.

He was out like a light, not even processing the familiar warm eight settling on his back and the little motor starting up once again.

 

What seemed to be not enough time later, Harry woke him up.

"You have to eat, love. And Mr. Snuffles needs his meds too." When Tom groaned and made no move to get up, he insisted. "C'mon, just a couple of bites. I promise I'll let you sleep as long as you want afterwards."

The weight at his back was removed, and he was helped to a sitting position by the headboard before a tray full of food was placed on his lap.

"I'm taking Snuffles up to eleven, I'm pretty sure they have his inhaler."

"Isn't it late?"

"Yeah, but someone decided it would be a good idea to post on the group chat– didn't you hear all the fighting on the lobby?" At Tom's blank face, Harry nodded in understanding. "Well, anyway, we didn't get anything resolved. I just took the cat and Mr. Snuffles and here we are." 

It took a couple of seconds for the words to sink in.

Tom's grey blue eyes bore into Harry's mischievous green ones.

"Don't look murderous. Eat, I cooked for you." And with that, he hugged the cat close to his body before going out the door to hunt down Mr Snuffles' inhalers.

Tom looked down to the food in front of him. Suddenly he was ravenous.

Harry wouldn't let him leave, after. 

First, going on about, what if Tom got another migraine and he couldn't get up to eat or even open the door and– and when Tom's blank face was his only answer, he changed tactics.

Harry would be so, so worried! He simply wouldn't be able to sleep out of worry! All night, tossing and turning, his little heart racing and his stomach clamping in anxiety, green lovely eyes filling with tears, just thinking about–

 

It was possibly the best sleep he got in years. Harry laying at his side, warm body chasing out the cold. Both of them snuggled beneath a pile of comfortable heavy blankets, and Mr. Snuffles settled between their heads by the pillows.

The migraine didn't come back.

 

"My coworkers think we are dating." He said conversationally one night while they were having dinner.

"Your friends, Tom. You've known each other since you were little sprouts."

A beat passed between them, the sound of cutlery against the ceramic their only companion.

"Dating!?" Harry's face turned a lovely shade of pink, green eyes wide behind his glasses. "I mean–"

"Objectively speaking it would be a wise move. We already share much of our time together."

Harry made a sound at the back of his throat, face turning imposibly redder.

"–and Snuffles gets the responsibility of two working parents–"

"You say it like there aren't at least ten other families in this building at his beck and call–"

"–and of course, there will be always someone in case he has a breathing emergency–"

"Again, really! A whole building –"

"It would please me to know you accept this proposal." Tom finally said.

"I'm sorry, were you asking?" 

"I was stating points, in which–" before he could finish he was interrupted, yet again.

"Ask." His eyes this time were sure, face still flushed but meeting him dead on. "Ask me, Tom Riddle."

"Would you date me?"

The smile he got in response could possibly cure all maladies.

Mr. Snuffles took offence to them sharing a bed.

Most importantly, he took issue with Tom being in Harry's bed.

Since Harry was in charge of his inhaler, and with him needing one puff in the morning and one at night, he more often than not slept in his apartment.

The first night Tom had tried sleeping over, he had been attacked, scratched and bitten, meowed at and had it been physically possible, possibly spat at too.

Harry had laughed so hard he had fallen off the bed.

"Maybe it's best we send him down the hall. I'm sure McGonagall will have no issue having him over."

"You're not kicking the cat out just so we can have sex!"

"Are you putting the cat before me?"

"He was here first."

"He's not the one who's going to eat you out until you cry." 

"I'm not tossing the cat out, Tom. Maybe you two should try to get along."

Alas, nothing Tom said could convince Harry otherwise.

It was going to be the death of him. Death by blue balls, cockblocked by a cat.

 

The thing is, Tom did get along with the cat.

He took no issue with petting, feeding, carrying, playing or helping him catch bugs. In every other situation the cat seemed to love Tom, only ditching him for the clearly superior human that was Harry, when he was in close proximity.

To say that Tom was confused by the cat's behavior would be an understatement.

 

Until Harry got trapped in the elevator.

There was a power outage caused by the storm raging outside.

Tom had heard the banging completely on accident. He was bringing Mr Snuffles down to McGonagall's apartment, who had his emergency medication on hand when Harry wasn't home.

The banging was loud and clear, and coming from the metal doors down the hallway.

Tom did mental calculations. The power had been out for at least an hour.

He hurried down the hall, cat still in his grip, flashlight in the other.

When he was finally by the doors he could hear the muffled breathing on the other side, panicked and short and wet, as if the person had been crying.

"Hello?"

The banging suddenly stopped, the only sound coming from the thunder and the rain hitting the sides of the building.

When no audible answer came from inside, he insisted.

"Is anyone there?"

"Tom?" Harry. That was Harry inside the elevator. His Harry, who had been there for at least an hour. He dropped the cat. Dropped himself to the ground. "Tom!?"

"I'm here, love. Are you okay?" As he spoke, his mind jumped in at least ten different directions. How to get him out? He hadn't been there long enough to need medical attention, by his count. He would be distressed, no doubt. Would the elevator be stuck mid floor? Was it this floor? Above, below?

"I'm–" the panicked breathing picked up. "Can you get me out?"

"Yes. Yes, darling you need only–"

"It's dark." Harry sobbed out, voice small and scared. It broke something so deep in him, he had to breathe to calm himself. To think logically.

"Harry." He kept his voice steady, and left the flashlight by his side on the ground. "Harry, there should be a little lever on the right side of the doors, bellow all the floor numbers. Do you see it, love?"

There was a hum from the other side, but no spoken answer.

"Push it down, Harry. It should decompress the doors of the inside." 

"Okay. Nothing happened."

"It wasn't supposed to. You'll be able to open the doors now, love. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah."

The sound of metal moving against metal ran in his ears.

"Harry, listen. Is the elevator on this floor? Is it stuck in the middle?"

"I don't know." Came the small reply. Tom's gears slowed to a halt.

"How can you now know? You should be able to see–"

"It's dark." He said again, and it finally dawned on Tom.

He cursed under his breath.

"Okay." He took another deep breath for good measure. "Harry, listen to me."

"Okay?" He was still sniffing lowdly. Tom could imagine the tears running down his face, his small body pushed to one side and sitting all alone in the darkness.

"I need to go to the ground floor, to the maintenance room–"

"No, no, nonono–" Harry sobbed out, no air getting in his lungs.

"Harry! Love, my love you need to breathe." No answer. "Harry?"

The cat at his side meowed loudly. Tom started, having forgotten it was there.

"Tom?" the small voice at the other side of the doors asked.

"I'm here. And Mr. Snuffles is here too." He paused, considering. "It'll be five minutes at most love, I promise. I need the key to open the doors from the outside. Snuffles will keep you company."

Moments dragged by, Snuffles still chittering and chatting away at the metal doors. At Harry.

"Okay." And that was all Tom needed before grabbing the flashlight and booking it down the stairs. He didn't think he'd ever ran so fast in his life as he did now. By the time he made it to the maintenance room he hadn't even considered the possibility that it would be closed shut with lock and key. It didn't much matter in the end, as he used the flashlight to break the glass window and open the door from the inside, frantic eyes searching for the correct keys to open the elevator doors.

Once he found them, he ran back the way he came, not even bothering to stop a single moment before making it to their floor, no air in his lungs and thighs burning.

His hands trembled from the lack of oxygen as he tried to insert the key into it's hole.

The cat was still lowdly screaming at Harry, looking at Tom with judgemental eyes, as if wondering what had taken him so long.

When he finally got the doors open, Harry fell on his arms and sobbed so hard he was worried he would pass out.

A couple minutes went by, with Tom rubbing Harry's back, big hands leaving a trail of warmth from the expanse of his shoulder blades down to his hips. Their breathing synchronized, chests pressed together where Harry was sat on top of him, face on the crook of his neck.

Finally, he spoke.

"I wanna go home."

"Okay." He took Harry in his arms, slowly walking them back to 7B. He took his keys out, where he had a copy of Harry's apartment door just in case, and made it inside. Mr. Snuffles followed them in, chittering and thrilling.

He wrapped Harry in as many blankets as he would allow, before laying them both on the bed, stacked one on top of the other. When they settled, Snuffles stacked himself on top of them too, purring away.

"I don't like the dark." Harry said, what seemed like hours later. "I don't like small spaces either."

Tom hummed in response, fingers carding through his curls and nails digging lighly in his scalp.

When Harry lifted his head up to look into Tom's blue eyes, he caught his lips with his and kissed him like a man possessed.

He tasted salty, of tears.

The cat purred on.

 

Someone tried to kick the cat out of the building. Literally.

A girl with fiery red hair had watched on, horrified. She had instantly taken to screaming about it in the building's group chat.

12D: someone tried to kill snuffles

The flood of responses was expected. The private message plotting murder that slid in her dm's was not.

They demanded a physical description, whether or not the person had been standing within view of the security camaras and most importantly: did Ginny know this person? The floor where they lived? What had they done to poor Mr Snuffles?

Ginny feared for their safety.

Good.

The next day a message had been stuck with tape in the mirror of the elevator.

There was a picture of a balding blond old man with a ratty trench coat bent over and hand reaching for the orange cat at the man's feet. Bellow the picture, a message (more than a message, a promise).

'13 A hurt the cat again and I'll smash your head in'

Huh. So they did find out where the man lived.

Ginny posed and took a picture of the paper to send to the group chat, in case no one else had seen it.

 

When Tom saw the new notification on the group chat, he cast a long glance at his boyfriend. 

Harry had taken the printer out of storage last night.

(OR) paint your eyes with sunsets on AO3, 4k, one shot

[curioushabitforarivergod]

forgot to post this here, but it made the rounds on several discord servers for some reason

kid (call me when you're sober)

"The things you do to me, kid,” Harry murmurs, pausing. He reaches forward, thumbs skating the v of Tom’s hips, his shallow stomach. “I really shouldn’t be into the whole hero-worship thing, but I can’t stop myself. The way you look at me. It’s fucked up, I want you so bad. I wanna care for you.” Or; Tom spills beer on Harry at a concert. It ends with Pad Thai and them having kinky daddy sex on Harry's couch.

basically badly written smut. older punkrock star harry and tom is naturally very into it. daddy kink and incest kink (i blame the gaunt genes). a bit dubcon, age gap, and an unreliable narrator

it was initially meant to be a 250 valentines gift, it ended in 5k words