Literally One Of My Favorite Tom Fics - Blog Posts

how love poems urged tom riddle to confess

summary: You wondered if reciting love poems with Tom Riddle was a good idea, because he started sending you notes with love poems written in them.

"Lang Leav is the best for hopeless romantics," you stated, your lips quirking up slightly. You fell into a comfortable pace walking alongside Tom Riddle through the corridor.

He hummed contemplatively. "Perhaps. Why do you say so?"

You shrugged. "One day I looked at you, and it suddenly occurred to me how beautiful your smile was."

You tried to ignore how Tom looked at you attentively when you started reciting and continued, "I heard music in your laughter... I saw poetry in your words."

You met his eyes for the last sentence. Funny. It seemed almost accurate saying that to a man like Tom Riddle - to Tom Riddle himself.

You looked away and started recalling another poem. "There's more," you said, changing your tone to a more excited one.

You and Tom both stopped at a staircase, standing behind multiple students who were also waiting to go to the first floor.

"It was a quiet love, a tacit love," you started, looking up at all the other staircases moving above you. "It came without prelude or preamble."

The staircase you were standing on started moving and you stumbled slightly, but Tom was quick to grab your arm. You noticed how rather than helping you stand closer to the railing, he pulled you closer to him instead.

"Thank you," you whispered as he nodded. You continued and looked up at him, "We never said the word love, we didn't have to."

As the students in front of you finally moved, you and Tom still stood where you where. A corner of his lips curled up slightly as his eyes fluttered. He always did that whenever he was feeling strong emotions about something, you noticed.

He placed his hand on your back and gently gave you a push to urge you to start walking. As you both descended the stairs, he said, "They're very impressive. I can see why you like them. I cannot say I agree that she is the best though."

You smiled nonetheless. You loved that about him. He was always so positive about your interests and what you liked, despite disagreeing with you about them at times. It was almost funny, considering this was Tom Riddle, who can be very critical sometimes.

"Who do you have in mind, Tom?" you asked, looking up at him and hoping that the way you said his name came off as natural.

He hummed thoughtfully. "You are the kindest thing that ever happened to me, even if that is not how our tale is told."

Both of you came to a stop in front of the library's wooden door. None of you made a move, as you were looking at him and he was gazing somewhere, recalling the poem in his mind.

"You showed me how a love like ours..." he paused and gazed at you. "...Can turn even the darkest, oldest realm into the happiest of homes."

Your heart jumped. You blinked and looked at the library door, finally opening it.

"There is another one," Tom said from behind you and closed the door after you.

You glanced at him, wanting him to continue as you both walked towards where you both usually sit together. It hit you, at that moment, the chemistry you had with him. You both had your own go-to table and for Merlin's sake, you were reciting love poems to each other.

You wondered why he hadn't said anything, but it seemed like he wanted to settle down first so you kept quiet as you sat in front of him as usual. You placed your notebook in front of you and prepared your quill in your hand, then you looked at him curiously.

"I don't hate you, I love you," he started, all while holding your gaze.

Your heart skipped a beat once more. Your heart was always doing exercises with him around. You forced yourself to hold the eye contact, because if you looked away, it would be very obvious then.

He's simply reciting a poem! Like how you did earlier! Calm down.

"But loving you is killing me," he said and leaned back to his chair. "So this is goodbye even if I don't want it to be."

Your eyes blinked softly. "Nikita Gill."

He nodded and smirked. "Who's the hopeless romantic here?"

You gasped with feigned shock. "I simply have read these arts before."

He laughed and you suddenly recalled the poem you read to him earlier. You heard music in his laughter.

"That would make you one as well," you joked. "You read love poems?"

He tilted his head, and you tried to ignore how his curls moved along. You tried to ignore how you wanted to softly brush his hair back with your fingers. "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't," he said smoothly.

"Regarding Nikita Gill, I think one of the first ones I read was The Girl Who Was Afraid To Be," you mused, tapping your finger on your chin.

"Lovely," he commented. "She speaks to me fondly of passions and talents, pianos and stars, then stops short and apologises for speaking at all."

He had a playful smile on his face and you rolled your eyes, yet you had a smile on your lips as well. This man would be the death of you.

"Don't even try to test my memory," you remarked. "I remember that it was guitars not pianos."

He chuckled and looked away. "It seems like I overestimated my memory."

You wanted to run away and hide. He was clearly lying. You of all people knew how amazing Tom Riddle's memory was. You wanted to run away and hide, because you knew that he knew very well you played the piano and you loved astronomy. 

You wondered if reciting love poems with Tom Riddle was a good idea, because he started sending you notes with love poems written in them. Of course, they were from Lang Leav and Nikita Gill. You would find them between the pages of book you brought with you, in the pocket of your robes and sometimes he would just slid the note towards you on the table in the Great Hall. Sometimes, he would walk past or towards you and simply put the note in your hand. It was the closest you would ever get to holding his hand.

The first time you had received it was during your Transfiguration class. You took out your notebook, only to find a handwritten, handwritten love poem between the page where you had last written on and a new page. The handwriting was very familiar and you knew very well who it was from. Of course, he had to sign off the note with TMR.

Anything Else

I want to plant a seed in your mind, some tiny particle of thought that bears a remnant of me. So little by little, day by day, you find yourself thinking of me, until one morning, you will wake up and realize you can’t think of anything else.

TMR

Since then, they just kept coming.

In your pocket...

To Love You

It feels bittersweet to love you, as though time has already run its ruinous path and everything good is over before it begins.

It feels perilous to love you, like a dust scorn swallowing up the sky or a comet skimming the stratosphere.

But it is an honor to love you. Like the snow drifts giving way to spring, I will hold you for as long as I can.

TMR

The one he had slipped into your hand so easily...

Eros

If time were governed by Eros, I would stay in your arms forever. If time answered only to lovers, I would never leave your side. The seconds pass by slower when I’m staring at the clock. And you wonder why I can’t take my eyes off you.

TMR

After reading this one, you recalled an interaction you had with him in the past.

"You stare a lot, don't you?" you had asked him out of the blue, after catching his eyes once again.

He didn't look ashamed at all. "In general?"

"In... general," you confirmed reluctantly, because of all the times you looked at him when he was looking away, he never actually stared at others much. Why was it that with you—

"Force of habit," he said smoothly. "Do you find it uncomfortable?"

"Not uncomfortable, merely curious," you chuckled.

"I stare at what I find interesting," he said, so casually. 

Was he saying he found you interesting? This was Tom Riddle, you shouldn't get your hopes up.

"A lot of interesting things around," you joked, going back to writing your notes.

A few seconds passed, until he said, "Not exactly."

You chose to ignore that for the sake of your heart, and started a new topic for your conversation.

Then, the latest one he had given you.

A Timeline.

You and I

   against a rule, 

   set for us by time.

A marker drawn 

   to show our end, 

   etched into its line.

The briefest moment 

   shared with you— 

   the longest 

   on my mind.

TMR

Your sighed lovingly upon reading the note. You were so doomed.

You recalled the playful look in his eyes when he had slid the note towards you earlier in the Great Hall. His slender hand slowly coming into your view with a note below his fingers and stopping right in front of you. He had tapped the note before pulling his hand away.

You had looked up at him and he raised an eyebrow upon meeting your eyes, with the smile on his face growing wider. At that time, it seemed as if the world around you was muffled. The conversations your peers were having around you and the clinking of forks and spoons. All becoming quieter simply because your eyes had met Tom Riddle's enchanting ones.

The briefest moment shared with you—the longest on my mind.

You had long accepted how you felt about him. You would never say out loud that you loved him, though.

Your eyes widened in realisation. Love.

What Does Love Feel Like?

One day you will meet someone

who will see the universe 

that was knitted into your bones,

and the embers of galaxies glow to life in your eyes.

And you will finally know

what love is supposed to feel like.

You grinned to yourself before ending the note with the initials of your name. You cannot wait for him to get a taste of his own medicine, lovingly of course.

The following day, Potions class was starting and you quickly walked over to Tom's table. He paused his conversation with his partner and looked at you expectantly. You said nothing and simply pulled his hand up by his wrist before sliding the note into his hand gently.

You looked up at him and smiled, before turning around to go back to your table.

Once again, you wondered if what you did was the right idea.

He wasn't replying to your note at all.

Sure, you both walked past each other several times, sat very close to each other in the Great Hall and talked in your classes. Sure.

However, it had been a while since your last library date and these library dates were the only times you would have private and genuine conversations with Tom. You weren't even sure when your next one could be.

It was almost silly, but you felt as though he was becoming... distant.

Maybe, you had overstepped. Then again, you were just doing what he did. Plus, if you were to talk about overstepping, you were sure both of you had overstepped a thousand times already. The table at the library that was only for you both, being alright with touching each other but not with anyone else, silly inside jokes that are too in-depth for anyone to understand and the way you treated each other differently than everyone else. The way you talked to each other. The words, the looks, the touches—

Most importantly, you could not forget the way he said I love you.

"But loving you is killing me, so this is goodbye even if I don't want it to be at all."

You sighed. You were overthinking this again.

Tom Riddle was driving you mad, and you could only hope you were doing the same thing to him.

Plus, it had only been two days since your note. You were really just overthinking.

You were just pushing him out of your thoughts when you sat down at your table in the library. You were hoping to see him, but at the same time, you were hoping not to see him, because you just tried so hard to get him out of your head.

Tom suddenly pulled the chair in front of you and sat down. No books, no quill — just him. He was also staring at you intently and you could almost see the gears turning in his head.

"Hello there," you greeted and raised an eyebrow at his behaviour.

"Hello," he replied, looking conflicted. "What Does Love Feel Like? — Do you agree with that?"

"Of course," you replied without missing a beat. As if you had wanted to talk about this for a long time now. Of course you did. "I wouldn't give that to you if I didn't agree with it."

You basically just confessed to him in some way, but then again, both of you were literally reciting and sending love poems to each other.

He parted his lips to speak, then he closed them again and you tensed. He was really conflicted, wasn't he?

"Are you okay?"

"You're the one—" he said and stopped himself as he looked away briefly. He turned back to you and continued, "You're the one that sees the universe knitted into my bones and you're the one that sees the embers of galaxies glow to life in my eyes."

You stared at him in shock as warmth spread throughout your body. You slowly placed down your quill and chuckled nervously, "You're the one whose laughter I heard music in, whose words I saw poetry in."

He then smiled, so widely and even looked relieved which startled you even more.

You were... confessing to each other.

You had fantasised many confessions between you two and none of them were normal at all. You hadn't expected your confession to go this way, but you had expected your confession to be this way.

Of course your love confession with Tom Riddle was through love poems.

You were pulled out of your trance when Tom stood up from his seat. You were about to question him until he stood beside you and gripped your chin gently. He gazed down into your eyes so lovingly that you might melt, and you knew you were looking at him the same way.

He leaned down and finally—finally, his lips met yours.

He pulled away, just a few inches from you. "Now I can finally give you all the poems I've written about you."

You blinked softly, startled once more. He wrote poems about you.

"I love you too," you whispered.

He froze, before letting out a soft laugh. He placed his hand on your cheek and caressed it with your thumb. "I really meant it when I said that," he said, sounding like he was suprised with himself.

"I know. I know now," you said, before turning your head to kiss his palm and you just enjoyed how his expression faltered, how he was slowly becoming more vulnerable.

He leaned down once again and you closed your eyes, feeling the familiarity of his lips on yours. You found that his kiss was so much more poetic than those love poems.

ao3